#apparently I started biting myself a lot while rocking in a corner

[yourdeepestfathoms]

could you write about maggie being diagnosed with her add pleaseee

absolutely! Y’all ready for ride on a roller coaster that’s in a tornado that’s also always doing loops because that is what this fic feels like :) until you hit a brick wall and then go flying into ANOTHER brick wall but this one has thumbtacks glued all over it :) but then you’re on fire but it’s okay because there’s a sweet dolphin swimmin around and like hahaha that’s funny :) why my body numb though???? :)

Because that’s what undiagnosed ADD feels like :)

Also the ending had me WEAK

TW: Meltdowns, destructive stimming

———————

BITE.

        It all started with an itch under Maggie’s skin.

No—not an itch. A buzz. Like touching a bare bulb with wet hands. Maggie’s done that once; Bessie griped at her but she still did it anyway, mainly because she didn’t hear. Her hands wrapped the bulb and she immediately yelped as the current rippled through her, twitching and biting and—

It’s like that.

There’s a buzz under her skin. A current.

It makes her heart beat too fast sometimes. It makes her leg shake and her fingers twist and her voice leave her throat too loud. It makes her words knot and tangle, it makes her cling, it makes her—

It makes Maggie too much.

She tries, she does, she tries, she tries. She tries so hard to modulate, to concentrate, to listen, to stop, stop, stopstopstop.

But there’s something electric under her skin and it hurts sometimes to sit and listen and focus.

It just hurts.

It makes something in her stomach twist and knot and ache. It makes her head squeeze. It makes her breath leave her lungs too quick.

She tries.

But sometimes things are too fast or too slow or too loud or too quiet. Sometimes things are too—

Sometimes there are details.

She gets too lost in details, she knows she does, or sometimes she skips over them completely, or—

Her head is like a camera, she thinks, except that the camera only zooms in way too close or zooms out way too far and she can’t—

She can’t get to that middle setting.

She doesn’t hate it the way she thinks she probably should. The way she’s sure other people do. She just—

This is how she is.

And she doesn’t hate it even if sometimes she gets frustrated. She gets frustrated a lot, really. She gets frustrated when her body is exhausted and the buzz to movemovemove hasn't gone away, or when she looks up and realizes she’s lost half an hour messing with a plastic cup she doesn’t even remember grabbing, or when her mouth is too slow for her head, or—

Or when she looks at Bessie or Maria or Joan or someone else and sees the subtle way their lips press together because- because it’s the third time, fifth time, tenth time they’ve said something, explained something, and they’re patient at first, but sometimes—

Sometimes the words don’t filter right. Sometimes the words twist or tangle or hook the wrong way or sound strange and- Maggie loses the thread.

She tries so hard.

But it’s not this buzz she hates.

She hates herself.

She hates her brain and body for creating this current that sears beneath her skin. It’s ruining her, she knows it. It’s made her broken and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

But-

But-

But-

Bessie, believe it or not, is the most patient. Bessie repeats over and over, makes Maggie look at her eyes or her mouth, asks Maggie to repeat, to show her that she remembers.

It’s strange. Bessie is usually the one to lash out the most, although she had her reasons and they were very good ones.

A lioness waiting to pounce. That’s what Bessie reminded Maggie of.

Regardless, Bessie is smart in a way Maggie wishes she could be.

(She tries not to think about that. She tries not to think about people being better at things than she is. She knows how those thoughts catch like hooks in her fish-mouth brain and tug and tug and tug and tug until she breaks the surface, struggling to breathe.)

Maria and Joan are usually good. They love Maggie enough to not snap at her when she loudly goes “Huh?” for the fifth time in a row. They play along with her when the buzz makes her skin too tight. Maria lets her mess with her hair for hours and Joan simplified things that might have been too much to take in.

They’re good with that. Maggie loves them so much.

(She loves them enough to let them be, to pull herself away, to shut herself away in herself as best she can when she finds— when she realizes she’s not—

When she sees the clench of Joan’s jaw and the twitch of Maria’s nose and the way they glance at each other, and it’s never mean, it’s never intentional, it’s just...

Maggie knows herself enough to know when she’s too much, and she loves them enough to spare them the discomfort of having to actually tell her she’s too much, to figure out how to explain that she’s overstepped, to put into words that they have limits.

People have limits. Maggie tries not to push them. She does.)

The queens are the least patient. The queens try, they always try. Maggie likes that they try. But the queens get a pinch between their eyebrows after the third time they repeat an explanation, like they’re starting to wonder if Maggie is just being a little shit. The queens are quick to get annoyed, or to fake annoyance, and sometimes Maggie can’t tell the difference. Sometimes it feels like there is no difference.

But none of them knew what was wrong with her. Not really. They just assumed this was how she always acted or that reincarnation messed something up in her.

And it did. Because this buzz was unfamiliar. It wasn’t always there. Like a parasite that slipped into her skin when she wasn’t looking. It latched onto her body.

Still, she dealt with it.

Until the other symptoms came up, that is.

Paranoia, anxiety, depressive thoughts- they all filled Maggie’s head like a thick black haze. She didn’t know where they were coming from or how to stop them. She couldn’t. It was impossible. Impossible to ignore them, impossible to block them out, impossible to disagree with the things it made her think about.

And she couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it, couldn’t take it-

Everything became too much. Maggie was too overwhelmed. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating, burning.

She felt like she was dying.

Bessie had had enough of all of this when she found Maggie collapsed in the dressing room, keening in pain. She kept saying over and over again that the lights were too bright, distant noises were too loud, her clothes were too tight. She had somehow managed to claw open her costume around the sleeves and stomach before she was in her current position. Curled up and biting herself.

Before Bessie came rushing in, noises from outside in the theater were all encompassing, rattling Maggie’s skull, eardrums threatening to burst. She squeezes her eyes closed, covers her ears, rocks frantically with her head bent to her knees in an effort to block it all out. But no matter what she does, she can't, and that's it.

Tears spring to her eyes, and she lets out a loud, pained keening noise as she cracks her head back hard against the wall behind her, digs it in firmly when she sinks to the floor. She claws at her costume like fire ants were crawling all over her, desperately trying to get it off but it won’t, it won’t, it won’t. The material tears, eventually, but it doesn’t help.

Fuck.

Her head shakes hard, side to side, side to side, repeat. She swears she can feel her brain trying to detach and fly out her nose. Her hands snap to her scalp, pulling harshly on her hair and god fucking dammit, it's still not enough. Her fingers leave her hair with one last tug, loose strands of dirty blonde stuck between them, and ball into tight fists to strike down on the sides of her head. She pushes her feet firmly into the floor, thrashes and squirms in the corner.

Nothing is enough nothing is enough why is this happening nothing is enough

She slams her feet down harder, digs the heels into the floor until her thighs ache. Then, she lifts one arm and clamps down hard and firm on her wrist with her teeth. Her other hand finds her hair again, this time not tugging but holding it in a death grip and staying there.

She stays like this, rocking and writhing and biting at her wrist with tears rolling down her cheeks, for what feels like forever. All she knows is she can still feel it- the lingering, bone-deep pain of the noises, eyes sore like she's looked at the sun too long.

That’s when Bessie rushed in. One of the stagehands had heard the commotion and alerted the nearest lady in waiting, which had been the bassist.

The sight terrified Bessie, to say the least. Watching her young protégé spasm and sob and bite herself like a rabid dog made her blood run cold with fear. She snapped into action almost instantly, practically gaining wings due to her panic.

Maggie didn’t register Bessie as Bessie. She didn’t even register her as a human being, just a presence she felt nearby. The touch she began to feel on her body, however, made her whimper in fright. First on her stomach, grazing lightly over scratches she knew she had carved in the flesh, then her head, where strands of hair had been pulled out, next her shoulder, over more angry red claw marks, and finally her wrist, with blood dripping down porcelain skin. The hand was gentle with each prod, which was the only reason why Maggie didn’t scream. She even relaxed into it a few times, almost cooing through her painful sobs.

But then fingers wrapped around her wrist and she bit down on them.

Bessie hissed on pain, flinching backwards a little. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

   “Maggie,” She said softly, despite the pain. “Maggie, let go, honey. Let go. It’s just me.” She felt like she was speaking to a dog rather than a human being.

Maggie showed no sign of hearing her. Her eyes were glassy, blank, and glazed over, which terrified Bessie even more. The young musician looked more dead than alive at this point.

   “Maggie,” Bessie tried again. “Maggie, darling, it’s me. It’s Bessie. I need you to let go.”

Maggie’s eyes flickered up a little for a moment before darting back down. Her entire body shudders and she bites down harder for some kind of grounding. Bessie has to grit her own teeth to keep from screaming as it felt like her fingers were about to detach from her hand.

   “Maggie-“

She winced at the increasing pressure. The skin breaks open and blood fills Maggie’s mouth.

That’s what snapped her out of her trance.

The girl lurched backwards with enough forced to make the wall rattle when her spine connected with it. Bessie rips her hand back, shaking it in the air to try and ebb some of the pain. There were marks left on her fingers, scarlet at the center and purple all around them. She hissed, shaking her hand again.

Meanwhile, Maggie looked to be completely out of it. Her head was lolling back and forth across the wall, Bessie’s blood still wet on her lips. Her tongue instinctively flicked out and her entire face contorted into a grimace. She blinks once, twice, then sees the bruising already forming on Bessie’s hand.

Maggie was guilty, to say the least. She would not stop apologizing for two days and couldn’t even look Bessie in the eye out of shame for what she had done. Bessie, however, constantly told her it wasn’t her fault and she wasn’t mad. But it didn’t make it better. Maggie still felt horrible for hurting one of her bandmates.

It was just. Terrifying. Becoming a passenger in her own body.

After that, they all went to the doctor with Maggie- Bessie and Joan and Maria. She felt safer when they were there, even though she thought she was just burdening them. And she was, she knew she was. The buzz was making her think these things.

The buzz was attention-deficit disorder. ADD.

It didn’t end there, because of course it didn’t.

She had a combination of ADD. Limbic, Temporal Lobe, Overfocused, and Anxious. Four out of seven. Of-fucking-course.

Maggie felt...wrong after the diagnosis. She didn’t feel like a human anymore. She just felt...broken.

Maggie was broken.

So were her medications, because she was having another meltdown. This time in front of all of the queens, who gawked at her like she was a demon loosed from hell. Aragon and Jane tried to help her, which she appreciated, but she refused to stop biting herself. She just wanted to be left alone in this blasted dressing room (was it not hers?), wanted to bite and burn herself out in peace. Yes, it was bad and it was dangerous, she knew it was, but she needed it. She wanted it.

Why did she want it?

   “Move.”

A voice cut through the roaring and screeching and howling in Maggie’s ears. She saw Maria drop down in front her, while Joan shoos away Jane and Aragon. She’s bringing in her keyboard for some reason.

Maria gazed over Maggie’s trembling body as she grinds her teeth down on her wrist for a moment before nodding to Joan. The keyboardist started to play gentle chords. Maggie’s eyes flicked up to her for a moment but then almost instantly went back to Maria.

   “You know I love you boy

In every single way.

Though I love you, boy

I’ll miss you every day.”

Maria was singing. Singing Parr’s song, I Don’t Need Your Love, in a voice that could only be described as angelic and, dare I say, better than the sixth queen’s by a landslide. Those first few lines nearly made Maggie release her wrist from pure shock of her jaw almost dropping open.

   “Oh I love you, boy

I wish I could stay with you

And keep the life I’ve made with you.”

Maria nodded at Maggie, smiling warmly. Maggie doesn’t react for a moment, so Joan extends the notes, but then she pried her teeth loose.

   “And...even though this feels so right...”

Her voice is hoarse and weak from crying, but it still has a beautiful hum to it, like the howl of a wolf. Maria’s smile brightens and she joined in again so they were singing together.

   “I’m holding back the tears tonight.”

Maria coaxes Maggie out of her fetal position and takes both of her hands in her own. She continues to gently serenade the young musician, slowly but surely calming her down with each word she spoke and each note Joan played. All the while, the queens watched on in pure shock.

   “It’s true, I’ll never be over you.

‘Cause I have built a future in my mind with you.

And now the hope is gone.

There’s nothing left for me to do.

You know it isn’t true

But I must say to you...”

Maria glances at Joan, who joins in with a voice just as powerful.

   “That I don’t need your love, no, no.

I don’t need your love, no, no.

It’ll never be better than it was, no, no.

But I don’t need your love, no, no.”

Maria gently wipes away a tear rolling down Maggie’s cheek with her thumb. She leaned forward and kissed the top of the girl’s head.

   “Better?” She asked softly.

Maggie nodded, her lips quivering.

   “Thank you.” She whispered. She glanced to Joan and repeated herself, “Thank you.”

Joan stepped away from her keyboard to kneel beside Maggie and Maria. She sets a hand on the guitarist’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

   “We’re always here for you, kid. No matter what.”

Maggie collapsed into both of them, and they held her tightly, rocking and soothing her. Bessie joined soon enough, as she had been alerted way too late (which she was absolutely pissed off about).

   “Is she okay?” Bessie asked, rushing over.

   “Just fine,” Joan smiled down at the girl cuddled between her and Maria.

   “They sang.” Maggie croaked. Maria passes her a water bottle she had brought in, which she takes gratefully.

   “Damnit,” Bessie hissed, “I can’t believe I missed that.”

She would be there other times, though, because Maggie’s episodes wouldn’t stop, even when she got her Adderall dosage bumped from twenty-five milligrams to forty milligrams. It was just a natural thing, but the other ladies in waiting were there for her.

However, she always assumed it was the music that calmed her down. She now realized it was the loving presence of three caring musicians she was thrilled to call her family.

She loved them.

[icollectyoursins]

Merman Jotaro x Fem!Reader NSFW Part 1

Anon said: "Merman Jotaro merman Jotaro merman Jo... SPICY PLEASE"

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Honestly. I dream about this often. 9/10 times it’s hot. 1/10 times it’s really hot. It’s not gender neutral, I guess, but it’s not a fem!reader. The reader just happens to have a vagina and tits. I could do a reader-with-a-dick version of this, if you want. This one is very long. Couldn’t stop writing! I am the biggest Jotaro simp and I am not afraid to admit it.

Heads up, Jotaro is referred to it as ‘they’ for most of this, only because the reader doesn’t really know what he’s packing on first glance. Anyway, I hope this is in character because Jotaro is one I haven’t quite nailed yet.

For as long as you can remember the ocean would call to you. After a lot of resource managing and hard work, you finally had enough money to get a boat and a small cabin by the beach, free to escape to the vast blue as much as you liked. Which is exactly what you did today. Someone was a little less than happy to see you in his territory.

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Dubious consent (dub con), size difference, fingering, cunnilingus, nipple play (sucking specifically), uh... tentacle dick? Kinda, two dicks, breeding, mention of kidnapping at the end.

Word count: 2506

Rest and Reproduction   

     The smell of the salty air tickled your nose as the mist of small waves splashed your face. You breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the railing and staring out at the land. You could just barely see the sand and your little cabin. The rest was blue. A deep, calming blue. The stars reflected on the surface, twinkling pleasantly. Maybe you should go out a little bit further?

   Maybe tomorrow, you were tired from preparing your boat all day. The sun was just starting to set when you finally got on the water. You deserved a break.

   You sat down on a small fold-out chair you grabbed yesterday. It was comfier than you thought it would be and you sank into it happily, curling yourself into it as you stared up at the stars. A long sigh left your lips. Today was a good day.

   A loud splash to your left startled you, making you sit up quickly and run to the source of the sound. All you saw were the ripples it left behind. Whatever it was, it was big. Then another large splash, this time it was accompanied by a thunk on the metal. The boat rocked from the impact, instinctively, you reached for the railing, holding on so you don’t fall over.

   A third splash comes from behind you. You turn around quickly, catching the glimpse of a tail, pure black and big. It banged the side of the boat again, throwing you off balance. You stumbled backwards into the chair, knocking both it and yourself over. The knocking suddenly stops along with the rocking. Silence never felt more terrifying. You sat, frozen by fear.

   Then the bow started to dip and creak. You scrambled backwards hoping to keep out of the water as long as possible. A large, black, clawed hand gripped the front of the boat, then another. Whatever it was, it was trying to pull itself up. Slowly, you were able to see its face the closer it got to you. 

   Sharp, angular features with piercing blue eyes and full lips. Short, black hair messily stuck to their face. They crawled towards you, eyes narrowing with focus the more they tried to fit themselves onto the boat but their weight kept tipping it. You were holding onto whatever would keep you up, unfortunately, nothing was helping and you slowly began sinking towards your pursuer. 

   You tried to scramble your way up to no avail. The closer you got, the less they moved, waiting for you to come to them. They reached out with one of their massive hands, grabbing your ankle then pulling you towards them. What happened next was a blur.

   Arms wrapped around your torso, holding you close to keep you from struggling. Whoever was holding you was massive, significantly stronger than you, easily trapping you and pulling you into the frigid waters. The salty sea stung your eyes as it whipped around you. Then, just as you were about to blackout, you were pulled to the surface again, gasping for breath. 

   You pushed against what you assumed was a rock sticking out of the water because of the sting against your back. Your arms were pinned down as your attacker shifted himself so your legs were under them. They were cold and wet; slimy. As your eyes gradually focused, you saw fully who this thing was. 

   Glaring down at you was some kind of half-man, half orca or shark mix. Their arms up until the elbow were black, then faded to a light flesh tone. You couldn’t quite see the rest of their body, but you imagined the rest was similar. Light skin transitioning to a pitch black. Bright blue eyes started you down, full of rage and confusion. 

   “What are you doing here?” A low, rumbling voice boomed from them. You struggle to speak, unable to think straight with this whatever it was on top of you. Their eyes narrow at you, threatening you without words. You continue to stutter and attempt to free yourself from their grip which only tightens, claws digging into your skin. They snarl, face getting closer to yours. “What are you doing here.”

   “Ah! I’m just- nnf- I didn’t do anything wrong!” You gritted, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. “I was just trying to relax, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.” Their lips pulled back, baring their teeth slightly. It was at this point that you noticed that they were... well. Hot. They were hot. “Who are you?”

   They glared at you, deciding whether or not to answer and you felt yourself shrink under their gaze. After a few seconds, they finally did. “My name is Jotaro and you are in my territory.”

   “I didn’t mean to, I swear!” They snarled again. You could feel your heart race. They leaned into your neck, sniffing. You gasped, trying not to move, hoping you wouldn’t upset them more, but the closer they got to your neck, the more (regretfully) aroused you got. You moved your head away, stretching out your neck, shamefully trying to entice them. Meekly, you said: “I didn’t know.”

   They rolled their eyes, tail swishing in frustration. You could feel them moving against you, which only made your situation worse. You moaned quietly at the slight movement on your groin. They stopped, staring at you; perplexed. Embarrassed, you screwed your eyes shut, praying they wouldn’t notice the blush on your face. They moved again, deliberately this time, deeper and more fluid making you bite your lip to stifle another moan.

   Jotaro leaned in, raking their teeth along your sensitive neck taking in how you shivered. You were ashamed, but it’s hard not to react like this when there’s a really hot, strong, slightly intimidating merman on top of you. They released one of your arms, placing it by your shoulder to get more leverage as well as loosening their grip on the other. Their lips came dangerously close to you, breath kissing your skin, then they sat back again. 

   “You have two choices. I rip open your guts and feed you to the sharks, or-” they lean in, lips brushing against your jawline teasingly, “-satisfy me enough and I’ll let you get out of here alive.”

   “What?”

   “I’m not repeating myself. Now, hurry up before I make the decision for you.” You gulped. I mean... it’s not like he’s giving you very many options... you shyly nodded your head. “Say it.”

   “I’ll uh... satisfy you...” your voice trailed off into a question, not sure if that was the right word.

   “I’ll be the judge of that.” They pushed themselves back, looking up and down your body, probably to see if you were built to satisfy them. “You’re lucky I haven’t found a female yet, otherwise there would be two to worry about. The others of my kind aren’t so forgiving.”

   Okay, so they were a he. Good to know. That meant he had the... parts for everything to work, right? Or, at least most of the parts. He makes eye contact one more time before getting to work. Jotaro rips your bottoms off, slightly scratching your thighs, a low, rumbling sound coming from his chest. What little fabric is left is tossed aside and he holds open your legs, inspecting you.

   You stare at him a little dazed. This can’t be happening, right? He drags his teeth along the inside of your thigh while glaring at you from the corner of his eye, the shivers down your spine prove that this is very much real. When he gets close to your sex, it’s very apparent how aroused you were. He can smell it so strongly. A clawed finger cuts open your underwear leaving you completely open to his stare.

   He quizzically pokes at it, pushing your folds apart. Gently, he takes his thumb and rubs your entrance, eyes flicking up to you as you squirm, moaning quietly. His brows furrow together, testing you further by swiping up to your clit, pressing into it then circling. You moan louder this time, bucking your hips up into his finger.

   He quickly gets sick of your squirming, pulling his fingers away and bringing them to his lips, tongue slipping out for a taste. Jotaro stopped, sitting completely still. You shook, hoping he wasn’t offended. He looked at you with a new fire making you gulp down a breath. He slams one arm down across your hips, pinning you down while he brings his face closer to your cunt, licking along your entrance. Your hands fall into his hair, back arching off of the rock as much as it could in your immobile state. He groans at the taste of you, needing more. 

   He leans into you, lapping up your juices vigorously. His lips then wrap around your clit, lightly sucking. Your body tries to move, buck up into him as you mewl, but his arm is too strong. His eyes flick up to you, watching your cheeks get more and more red as he picks up his pace. Suddenly, he pulls back making you gasp. The two of you make eye contact before he crawls up to your face again, cool body rubbing against your unclothed lower half.

   Jotaro crashes his lips into yours. The kiss catches you off guard and you let out a small, muffled sound of shock, but soon melt into him. The taste of you mixed with the saltiness of the sea had your eyes rolling back into your head. Again, just as you were starting to enjoy yourself, he pulls back, moving onto another area of your body. This time it was your breasts.

   He tore a large hole in your top and bra, wide hands roaming over your now exposed chest, pinching where ever he saw necessary. Immediately, he drags his tongue along your soft flesh, flicking over your pert nipple. You gasp and groan, grinding up into him as much as you could under his weight. He pulls away sharply, baring his teeth as he growls at you.

   “Stay still,” he warns, pinching one of your nipples harder than he probably should have. You arch up into his touch, crying out in a mix of pain and pleasure. He twists. Hard. Your hands come to meet his, trying to pry him off, pain now taking the forefront of your feelings. Obediently, he pulls off, leaning into your face, voice low and dangerous. “Stop moving.”

   You meekly nod your head, still holding onto his hand which he then brings up to your face, wrapping your hair around a clawed finger. A sweet, kind change from the aggressiveness before. Jotaro’s eyes wander over your face, taking in your soft features. Once again, he kisses you, gently this time before shifting so he could focus back on your vag with his other hand. 

   His fingers spread your lower lips open again, middle finger pressing into your entrance. He’s careful, doing his best not to scratch you with his sharp nails. He moves his finger up and down before finally pressing into your warmth. You both gasp as your head tosses back. He starts with a slow pace, gently massaging your walls, coaxing more of your juices to seep out of you, squelching whenever he moves back in.

   Gradually he picks up the pace, testing your limits as well as listening to the sweet sounds that fall from you. He adds a second finger when he thinks you're ready, then three, stretching you open. You were so close, holding onto his hand still, pulling him closer to you as you reached your peak. Unfortunately, you never got there. He pulls his fingers out, licking off any traces of you from his fingers before moving so he was exposed to you.

   Jotaro takes your hand, bringing it to a slit below his waist. Your fingers trace over it lightly next to his, taking into account how he shudders. He leads your fingers, pressing into the top of the slit. Slowly, you watch it grow wide, a small pink nub starting to protrude from it. The more you tease his slit the bigger the nub grows into two full, smooth, tapered cocks. Tentacles? You weren’t quite sure, but they looked... exciting if a little intimidating. 

   You let go of his hand, opting to hold one of his cocks instead. They were slick and warm with a pleasant weight to them. The one you were holding curled around your hand slightly, covering your hand in moisture. You start jerking it with slow, shallow pumps, noticing how his eyes close shut and the slight buck of his hips. You pick up the pace, enjoying how the tip starts drooling what you assume it pre onto your hand. 

   Quickly, your hand is pulled away and he moves to align himself with your entrance. Slowly, he slides into you, groaning as he gets deeper. At first, it was okay, but the more that entered, the more full you felt, his tapered tip reaching into every crevice inside you. His other tenta-dick rested between your cheeks, teasing your back door, but never entering. He growls, picking up the pace slowly so you got used to the new intrusion.

   The feeling was driving you mad, whatever warm liquid was seeping out of him added to the pleasure, gradually building up to a tingly feeling that made you babble like an idiot. Jotaro places one of his arms above your head, pressing into you more while the other hand reaches up to your breast, teasing your nipple again. Instantly, you wrap yourself around him, pulling him closer as he gyrates into what feels like your soul. You cry out his name over and over, head tossing back in ecstasy.

   His breath tickles your ear as the two of you chase your release. He groans into your ear, lips trailing down your neck to your shoulder where he kisses you gently before sinking his sharp teeth into you. You scream as pain and pleasure mix together again. He speeds up, the lip of his slit stimulating your clit more and more. 

   “Ah, ah ~aah! I’m cl-hnn. I’m so close!” He laps up the blood from your shoulder, taking your words to heart, somehow getting deeper into you. A few powerful thrusts into you sent you hurtling over the edge, eyes rolling back while your vision when white and you fell limp in his arms.

   Jotaro soon followed you, the feel of your tightness around him made him plunge deep into you, spilling as much of his seed as possible. A vision of you growing round with his pup dances across his eyelids. He looks down at your face, flushed and relaxed. You were more than satisfying to him. He would never allow anyone else touch you after this.

   The last thing you recall was a warm kiss placed on your temple before being swallowed by the cold water and then black...

[jinkicake]

What Are Limits To Ushijima Wakatoshi?

Jealous!Ushijima in which the reader develops a plan with Oikawa to make her soft boyfriend show how rough he actually can be.

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

For anon!! I made the reader and Oikawa friends because I wanted to sprinkle in Iwaoi. I apologize, I do, but I can’t handle myself when it comes to Oikawa. I can’t. TT (/ε＼*)

semi-smut? not really? LOL

WC- 1,742

~~~

“And you really think this is going to work?” Oikawa asks as he flips his beautiful bangs from his face and you maintain your serious expression while sending him a brief nod. The two of you are deep in a very important conversation during lunch. “Ushiwaka is as dense as a rock, he’s not going to pick up on shit.” Your friend continues to complain and you roll your eyes. “Why do you even want to make him jealous?”

“W-well he’s just so gentle and I know there is much more to him, he’s holding back and I want to test his limits.” You stutter out and Oikawa can’t hide the disgust off of his face, you scoff at him. “Do you know how many times you used me to make Iwaizumi jealous, I don’t want to hear it from you Oikawa.” You seethe and narrow your eyes, the boy opposite to you only lifts his hands defensively.

“Fair enough, tonight it’s you and me.” He lends his hand out and you gladly shake it. “For friendship and the chance to make our significant others so jealous that they fuck us into next week!”

“For friendship and sex!” You cheer with him, clinking your iced coffee with his own.

You later find your boyfriend sitting outside the library, reading a psych book, with Tendou sitting on the other side of the table.

“Wakatoshi~” You call out to your boyfriend, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You want to go to this party tonight, it’ll be so much fun!” You ask and smile when he places one of his hands on top of your own. “Tendou you should come too!”

“Getting black-out drunk on a Thursday night? You son of a bitch, I’m in.” The redhead points to you and you laugh at his words.

“Please Wakatoshi, go with us!” You sit down in the chair beside him and watch him carefully, hoping that you hadn’t overstepped.

“I’ll go.” He glances at you before going back to his book and you press a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m so happy, we are going to have so much fun!” You cheer and Tendou can see that the excitement in your eyes is not just because of the party. The redhead sits back in his chair, mentally preparing for the drama that is bound to go down tonight.

- - -

The first thing you do when you enter the house is look for the devil himself.

“Oikawa!” You call as soon as you see him, not noticing the way your boyfriend’s face puckers up at the sight of your friend. “Ushijima do you want to come say hi?”

“I’m good.” The hand wrapped around your waist loosens and he places a kiss on the top of your head before he walks over to Tendou. Your friend sees you quickly and hands you a drink, one that you instantly clink with his.

“Where’s Iwaizumi?” You ask while Oikawa drags you over to a wall, right in the spot where nearly everyone can see.

“Out and about.” He shrugs and rolls his eyes, clearly, you’re not the only one trying to get someone’s attention. “Shall we begin?” Oikawa darts his eyes to where your boyfriend is, mischievously holding eye contact with him, before sending a teasing smile. He makes a big show in turning his attention back to you.

“Okay, how do I make him jealous without being an asshole?” You shout at Oikawa over the music, sipping on your drink while nervously glancing back and forth around the room. “I don’t want it to look like I’m ditching him for you.” You motion towards your friend, swirling your drink around in your cup, Oikawa looks offended.

“You’re dumb (Y/N).” He glares down at you, placing one of his hands on the wall beside your head. “Let me do all the work, just seem mildly interested in what I have to say but not too interested, okay?” His voice is low as he speak into your ear and you stiffen at the close proximity. “Don’t look at him, look at me.” He coos and grips your chin every time you try to look at your boyfriend but you accidentally make eye contact with someone else.

“Oikawa, Iwaizumi looks like he is going to punch my face in.” You whine nervously and try not to look back at the muscular boy, who is gripping his cup too tightly in his hands, across the room.

“Serves him right, you know how long I’ve been waiting for him, he can handle a little jealousy.” He teases and you laugh loudly, tilting your head back, at the stupidity of your friend.

“You two are ridiculous!” You yell and tag another large gulp of your drink, already feeling light-headed from the strong kick.

“You chase Ushijima around for nearly two decades and then come back to me.” He defends and you laugh along, always finding something funny in his words.

Across the room, you don’t notice how Ushijima glares at you, how the need to rip Oikawa off of you becomes so apparent it hurts. He tries to calm himself down, remind himself that Oikawa is a good friend of yours so there is nothing to worry about and there is no reason for him to be jealous. Instead, he slowly drinks from the water bottle he is holding and nods along to whatever Tendou is saying. His eyes still glance at you every once in a while as he tries to put a lid on his simmer jealousy.

“See I fucking told you he is a rock!” Oikawa accuses and motions towards your boyfriend who has not shown an ounce of interest in your stunt. “Either he trusts you a ton or simply is not paying attention, hopefully it’s not the latter because that’s sad-“

“Oikawa.” You glare and hit the top of his head, downing the rest of your drink. “If you don’t want me criticizing Iwaizumi then don’t criticize Ushijima, Iwaizumi is also a rock!” You spit and Oikawa agrees.

“Touché, you’re still a bitch though.” He leans down and places a warm kiss on your cheek, winking as he pulls away. “Wait let me try something,” He teases and brings his hand down to your waist before taking a step closer to you. “Let’s make a bet, who will come knock us away first. Ushijima or Iwaizumi?”

“Ushijima you fucking idiot.” You narrow your eyes at him and Oikawa can only roll his eyes.

“Fuck you for being right.” He sighs and you pat his shoulder comfortingly.

“Your time will come too, Oikawa.”

“Really?” He gasps, full of fake excitement. “After twenty years, really?” His theatrics only cause you to laugh more, the loud noise catching your boyfriend’s attention.

Oikawa is right, you really are dumb. Ushijima has been watching you closely the entire night. He just about loses it when Oikawa presses a kiss to your cheek. Maturely he makes a decision and walks over to you. The first thing he does is wrap a hand around your bicep, breaking you away from Oikawa and pulling you directly into his chest.

“Oikawa.” Ushijima narrows his eyes and Oikawa has to hide how content he is that his plan worked.

“Ushiwaka, finally done playing with yourself in the corner?” He bites before winking down at you, purposely leaning down to whisper something only you can hear. Oikawa makes a statement by holding his gaze with Ushijima for as long as possible before turning into the kitchen.

“Wakatoshi?” You stare at him worryingly and your heart drops when he doesn’t look down at you, he simply drags you out of the house. The cold air causes goosebumps to rise on your skin and you try to ignore how warm Ushijima’s hand feels on you. Your boyfriend brings you all the way to his car, standing in front of you before caging you between himself and the car. He simply stares at you and you continue to look up at him, mildly confused.

“Did you drink a lot?” His first question makes you tilt your head in thought as you try to wonder what he is getting at. You shake your head, even though it was a lie. “I know you did. I didn’t drink because I have practice tomorrow.” The small talk is starting to make you nervous and you nod your head along with his words.

“What's wrong?” You ask, laughing nervously when he glares down at you. He feels so guilty when you wince, Ushijima tries not to look intimidating, the last thing he wants to do is scare you. He lowers his face to yours and captures your lips softly. His mouth moves gently against your own and you continue to wonder how far you’ll have to go to make him snap.

“Oikawa is just your friend?” He asks when he pulls away, you continue to stare at him with an expression he can’t read.

“Of course, he’s just touchy.” You try to laugh it off but one of his hands wraps around your waist and he leans down to press his body into your own.

“I don’t like the way he touches you.” Finally, finally you feel like you are getting somewhere and you have to hide the excitement off your face. “Doesn’t he know you’re mine.” His arms wrap tighter around you and you nearly choke when he bites your neck roughly.

“Fuck.” You whimper and lean your head further back. “Wakatoshi ruin me, remind me who I belong to.” His hand squeezes your ass harshly and you let out a breathy moan at the sensation. “I-I only asked Oikawa to put on a show because I wanted to see how rough you could get.” You confess and pinch your eyes shut when he nips at your jaw.

“Did you really, (Y/N)?” Ushijima asks, his lips ghosting over your ear and you have to refrain from shuddering in pleasure. “Was I not rough enough with you before? Who knew I was dating such a dirty little thing?” He groans against your lips and you can only stare up at him with hopeful eyes. “You sure baby? Once I start I won’t be able to stop.” You fucking moan at his words.

“Please.” You beg and Ushijima watches you with a grin.

“If you insist.” His lips are back on yours in an instant.

[holidaywishes]

It’s Just A Scratch

  Summary: Mat gets into a fight at a game and ends up a little worse for wear.

  Author’s Note: I hate myself. For writing this. But, at the same time, I don’t. I felt like writing it, so I wrote it. Mat Barzal is not typically who I write for but after seeing him in that GIF, I just couldn’t help it. I hope you enjoy it and I wanna shout out @imbennguintrashbaby​ for introducing me to the “whumper” world lol.

  Warning: Smut, violence/hockey fights, maybe some fluff, a little bit of angst

  masterlist

  the other masterlist

xx

  It seemed like this was a game like any other. Not a playoff game, not a qualifier, just a regular season match against Pittsburgh. But as you sat there, surrounded by angry hockey fans, you realized how different this game felt from others. There was something in the air that you couldn’t ignore and it only became more apparent when Mat began shoving different players; only to be stopped by the whistle.

  “This isn’t like him...” you said to your friend, Grace, who was stress-watching the game with you, “do you think they’re saying something to him?”

  “Probably just typical game trash talk” Grace said and you shrugged to yourself. It was possible that’s all it was, The Islanders were down three in the final period and it didn’t seem like there was much more they could do with as little time as there was left in the game; a fact you were all too sure Mat was aware of by now as well. That being said, Mat was never the most aggressive player on the team but he seemed to be the one creating a lot of the tension, which made you feel like something was going on to irritate him. Once Mat overreacted to a seemingly routine penalty, you knew there was more going on so, you rushed down to the ice to try to get him to see you, in hopes that he would somehow calm himself down; it didn’t work.

  “MAT!” you yelled to him as he yelled at the ref, “MAT!!” When the puck finally came into the corner where you were standing, you thought you’d finally have a chance to get his attention. You were wrong. You understood, because he was focused, but at the same time you just wanted to get him to take a breath so he wouldn’t get hurt. Another whistle blew and you noticed Hörnqvist push Mat after saying something pretty pointed at him, forcing Mat to drop his gloves. You gasped when you saw Mat’s fist collide with Patric’s jaw and the two of them hitting each other as hard as they could as blood flooded the ice. It wasn’t long after that the final buzzer rang and the game was officially over, leaving you to decide whether you wanted to give Mat some space or meat him by the locker room

  “He’s probably gonna be pissed,” Grace said and you scoffed, “I’m serious. Let him just have the night. He’s got a giant cut on his lip and his eye is all bruised. I really don’t think he wants to deal with his girlfriend’s concerned face right now.” You scowled at her before biting the inside of your cheek and sent Mat a text

  “Wanna Netflix?” was all you could think of to say without getting too annoying

  “Maybe.. maybe it’s just better if I’m alone tonight” he replied and your heart sunk

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, (Y/N), I’m sure. That’s why I said it”

  “Fine. You don’t have to get all grumpy about it”

  “I’ll talk to you later, I have to see the medic”

  “Mat... I’m sorry. I love you”

  “I love you too.” You could feel his anger through the screen so you let him be for the rest of the night but that didn’t stop you from thinking about the entire game. You found yourself glued to YouTube videos that showed all the blood lost from Mat and Patric and the cameras zoomed in on your boyfriend’s bruised eye and cut up face. ‘Fuck it’ you said to yourself before grabbing your keys and phone and heading to see your boyfriend

  “What?” Mat yelled before he answered the door to find you there with worried eyes

  “Oh my god, Mat...” you said, reaching out to touch his eye

  “It’s nothing,” he sighed, pulling his face away from your touch and walking away from you, “it’s just a scratch”

  “A scratch?!” you shouted, closing the door behind you as you followed him in, “Mat, you’re bleeding and your eye is bruised and your lip is cut and--”

  “Yeah, (Y/N) I get it. Thanks for the recap” he said snidely

  “Why won’t you just talk to me? Let me help you!”

  “How are you supposed to help me? The damage is already done!”

  “Fine, I can’t help you.” You threw your hands up in exasperation before sitting on the couch

  “Babe...” he said quietly, letting out a sigh before coming to sit next to you, “I really am fine”

  “I know,” you sighed, head in your hands, before turning to him, “but why won’t you just talk to me?”

  “I don’t want to relive what happened during that game”

  “What was he saying to you?” you finally asked, “I’ve never seen you that agitated before...”

  “He was just chirping me the entire game and I.. I dunno, I just got fed up with it”

  “Was it all just typical game chirps? Or was it personal? It seemed personal...”

  “It’s always a little bit personal...”

  “So..” you tried, placing your hand on his knee, “what did he say?”

  “Can we not?” he sighed, falling back against the couch and you nodded to yourself, knowing you were starting to annoy him

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not so much anymore... I took an Advil before you got here.” You pursed your lips side to side as you tried to think of what to say, lifting your legs up onto the couch to tuck yourself into his side

  “I don’t like you fighting” you said and Mat leaned in to give you a quick peck on the lips before smiling at you

  “That’s why I don’t do it very often” he laughed

  “I have to admit though,” you smirked, “seeing you fight like that? Made me feel... probably some way I shouldn’t have”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair, “absolutely primal.” You snickered before kissing him and he pulled you into his lap. Your lips attached themselves to his and they moved in tandem with Mat’s as his hands snaked their way down to your hips

  “Your lips taste sweet tonight” he smiled and you laughed

  “Do they not usually?”

  “Just more so today I guess” you giggled at his response before moving your lips to kiss the sensitive skin behind his ear, hearing his moans as your hands began to roam his body. He pushed his fingers under the hem of your shirt, lifting the fabric slowly up your skin as your lips found his again; the feeling of his hands cupping your covered breasts leaving you wanting more of his touch. He seemed to read your mind by the way his hands found the clasp of your bra, unhooking it easily and letting his warm hands cusp your breasts once more while your hands pushed the fabric of his t-shirt quickly over his head so to not lose any time with his lips, caressing his body gently as your fingers traced the curves of his ab muscles. When he flinched suddenly, you stopped what you were doing and pulled away from the kiss

  “What’s wrong?” you asked, panting slightly as your eyes bounced across his face

  “Nothing, I’m fine” he dismissed his pain, leaning in to try to continue the kiss but you stopped him, pushing him back until you finally noticed the bruise on his ribs

  “Oh my gosh...” you cooed, gently placing your fingers on the purple and green mark covering his skin, “why didn’t you say something?”

  “It doesn’t hurt...” he lied and you scoffed

  “Then why did you flinch?”

  “Fine.. it hurts a little but not enough for me to stop this” he smiled as his hands crept across your skin. You looked at him for a second before returning his smile, his eyes following you as you leaned down to lay a soft kiss to his bruise

  “That hurt?” you asked and he shook his head so you continued, stepping off of him so you could trace down his body easier, pushing down his shorts when you reached the elastic waistband. You teased him a little before standing up to push your own bottoms off, leaving you in only your underwear and you slowly straddled him once more; Mat’s lips trailing your chest as you lowered yourself onto him. Your tongue danced with his as you took his member in your hand to prepare him for your entrance and, as if your moans were your only language, you pushed him into you. He moaned at the feeling, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling his head to your breasts, nipping at your hardened peaks and you giggled at the sensation, riding his length slowly to make sure you weren’t causing him any pain

  “You’re not gonna hurt me you know?” he laughed

  “What?” you breathed, continuing to rock slowly up and down

  “You can go faster” he whispered

  “What? You got plans?” you joked as you stopped moving entirely

  “Hey, come on!” he groaned

  “What’s your rush, Matty?”

  “Nothing... I just like going fast” he smirked before crashing his thrusts up so you would continue riding him

  “Fuck, Mat!” you screamed, “slow down!” He leaned in to kiss your neck as your panting overtook the sounds in the room

  “Shit babe,” he cursed, “you look so good, fucking me like this.” You wanted to speak, to match his dirty talk, but it was like the wind had been knocked out of you and all you could do was whine. 

  “Hmm” you hummed pathetically, but it was about all the sound you could muster before you dropped your head to his shoulder as his fingers dug into your hip bones to push himself deeper into your core

  “Fuck” he moaned

  “Mat...” you breathed, kissing up his neck, your body beginning to shake

  “Cum for me,” he growled, “cum on my dick, baby.” His words were quick to make you come undone, biting his shoulder to muffle the sounds slightly and Mat laughed

  “Just don’t move for a second” you heaved, your chest rising and falling harshly against his

  “I love fucking you on the couch” he said, laughing at the shocked look on your face, “I love fucking you...”

  “Gee, thanks” you rolled your eyes before finally climbing off him and grabbing the blanket he’d had strewn across the back of the couch to wrap yourself up

  “I love you” he finally said, a honey smoothness to his words, before kissing the crown of your head

  “I love you, too,” you smiled to yourself before you decided to tease him a little, “but I like fucking you more”

  “Oh so you can say it but I can’t?”

  “You’re a good fuck, Barzal, what can I say?” He poked your sides and you jerked your body straight, laughing uncontrollably until Mat was hovering over you. You found yourself staring up at him, pressing gently at his bruised eye before he kissed you gently, “I really did hate seeing you in that fight. I hated opening the door and seeing you like this...”

  “I know, baby” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as your hands settled on his chest

  “The sex was great though...”

  “Maybe I should get into fist fights more often?” he joked but you could only scowl at him

  “Please, don’t.”

  “Okay, okay, I won’t,” he smiled, “but I can’t promise I won’t end up with any more bruises.”

  “Fine. Just.. try not to okay?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

[iipeaxhyiisforum]

Disclaimer:

This is not related to FNF, but I wanted to post it here since @dreamwarrior365 and I worked on this together, I thought this might be appropriate!

Hope you like this fanfic because we sure had a lot of fun writing it!!

A Spark of Pink

“Well, I guess we can scratch that one off our bucket list.” Penny sighed as she knelt in front of the newly made fire pit. She snapped her fingers, and a spark of electricity jumped, igniting the small twigs into flames.

Alfred’s face contorted into a mix of confusion and surprise. “Who the fuck puts getting trapped in an underground cave on their bucket list?!”

“Me, apparently.” Penny answered sarcastically. The rest of the group gathered around the now blazing fire, now ready to heat up after walking in a cold cave for what seemed like hours. They were able to keep track of time since their phones were on a full battery, thanks to Penny’s electrokinesis. Mar opened his backpack and took out a few granola and energy bars. He handed them out to the rest of the group.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Penny turned her head towards Mar. “PLAN?? What plan?” Mar shrugged his shoulders as he took another bite of his granola bar. “Well, we’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Might as well start ciphering this code while we’re at it.” Chase said as he took the small scroll from his pocket, he opened it up and used rocks to support the corners so the wind from the smoke wouldn’t blow it away.

The team gathered around Chase, their eyes glued to the scroll as he tried to make sense of what it said.

“Maybe this code is a clue to our way out of here,” Chase suggested. “But…out of all the writing systems I’ve observed in college so far, I’ve never seen anything like this.” (A/N For context, Chase is an anthropology major.)

All seemed lost for the group until Red did a double-take. “Wait a sec…gimmie that scroll!” They said. Chase, looking confused, gave it to them, and Red’s eyes quickly skimmed the words. Suddenly, their eyes widened in shock, and they gasped. “Holy shit, I know this code!”

“Wait, what!”

“It's a diagrammatic cipher, also known as pigpen code,” Mar exclaimed as they hurriedly reached into their backpack and yanked out a notebook and pencil. “It’s a geometrical monoalphabetic substitution cipher.”

“Uh, English please?” Alfred asked.

Red looked up and sighed. “It means rather than using letters of the alphabet, you form words from geometric symbols. It’s been used since the 1500s. And I think I still remember the code for it.”

“When did you learn this?!” Ryan asked in disbelief.

“I dunno. I was bored one day and had nothing else to do, so my 12-year-old self said. ‘Hey, why not learn how to write using some random code?’ So I did. I searched for easy codes to learn and taught myself how to write it. And it’s stuck with me to this day.” They finally put the pencil down. “Okay, I think I finally got this figured out. That’s weird….” The group froze.

“What's wrong?” Penny asked. The group gathered around Red and looked in curiosity at the translation that was written:

“When the world becomes shrouded in shadows, a spark of pink will cause the return of the resistance.”

“Hehw eht dlrow semoceb deduorhs ni swodahs, a kraps a knip liiw esuac eht neuter fo eht ecnastiser.”

“I think this is some type of prophecy.” Red guessed. “But why would someone leave something like this here? So far, it hasn’t seemed as if anyone lived in this cave in the past.”

Red looked back at the code, trying to figure out the meaning. A spark of pink… What did it mean? They looked up at the rest of the group and noticed that they were as confused as Red was.

“Wait a sec!” Chase snapped his fingers. “Remember that shadow we saw as we were running from the avalanche earlier? I remember feeling a sense of dread as it engulfed us. I can’t even describe how it felt. It was too….unsettling.” “I think I know what you mean.” Sophie agreed. “It felt as if something was draining all the life energy from me, if that’s even a thing. I couldn’t even react when Penny was knocked out by that huge rock.”

Penny felt the gauze that was wrapped around her head. It still throbbed in pain from the hit, but the pain was less than before. The group was silent, still trying to process what had just happened. Red’s eyes soon widened, and they snapped their fingers. “Penny,” They turned their head. “Snap your fingers for a sec.”

“Uh…okay?” Penny replied, tilting her head quizzically. She snapped her fingers, and a spark lept from them. “Okay, do it a few more times.” Red instructed. All eyes were on Penny as she continued to snap her fingers. “Okay, a little faster.” Penny was still confused but continued to follow their instructions. Pretty soon, she was snapping so much that her fingers started hurting from the heat.

“What the hell does this have to do with the prophecy?!”

“Just keep going! I wanna see if my theory is correct.”

“WHAT THEORY-AHH!”

All of a sudden the group flinched as a blast of heat flew from Penny’s hand. As the heat died down, Penny opened her eyes and gasped.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=CVz9XmTkTik

Her right hand was engulfed in a flame of pink fire. It sparked and sizzled as it grew slightly bigger.

“NO. FUCKING. WAY…” Penny breathed. After a few moments of silence, Alfred spoke up. “Wait-Penny! You’re eyes!”

“What?”

“They’re glowing pink!” Red exclaimed. Red took out their cell phone and opened the camera app. They turned it towards Penny and the latter gasped to see that her eyes were bright pink. And it wasn’t the type of pink you’d get when you’d have pink eye. These eyes glowed with a brightness like never before. And the light pulsated with each beat of Penny’s heart.

“I..I don’t understand…” Penny’s voice rose in nervousness. “Th-this has to be a coincidence! It HAS to!” Her eyes glowed brighter as her voice rose.

“Penny, I don’t think it is.” Ryan replied. “I mean, who else can create glowing pink flames like that?”

“But-I-what-” Penny struggled to speak and stumbled backwards in shock. This has to be a coincidence… She panicked. A prophecy, saying she would lead a resistance to save the world? How? Her heart beat faster and her eyes glimmered in response.

Then, she remembered everything.

The shadows.

The random spasms she was getting. Those weren’t spasms. They were electric shocks caused by her powers.

The way her voice sounded weird and distorted as her emotions grew.

Many other events flashed across her mind, each one making her more and more dazed. No, this wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. But some way or another, it was.

Looking up, Penny gulped as her face turned beat red. How did it all come to this?

END?

[anonniemousefics]

The Nine Terrifying Moons | Chapter Three

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Synopsis: Based on the response to this post. :) Jude’s not sure what she expected motherhood to be like, but it isn’t this.  

(SO MUCH FLUFF HERE. Really. Just. The fluffiest. I can’t help myself.)

Chapter Three: The Third

I think maybe I am meant to be a cautionary tale, not a happy ending.

I think that someone who has manipulated and lied and schemed as much as I have is destined only for tragedy.

And now it’s finally come for me.

I think this over and over again, like a spell I’m chanting to grant myself some measure of grim acceptance, while Cardan and I ride a ragwort horse all the way to the mortal realm. It’s the best course of action we can come up with in the moment of panic.

The moment I knew we were facing a potentially devastating complication, I wanted – no, needed – a human doctor.

Pregnancy is rare among the Folk, and I now find I’m not interested in trusting faerie midwives with a decidedly human condition. If there is something wrong with me, or with our baby, I want to know what it is, everything about it. I don’t trust anyone who might want to strike a deal for my child’s wellbeing or concoct some potion that, while saving the pregnancy, also gives our baby a third eye or snaggle-teeth or an appetite for blood. I’m also having flashbacks of a conversation long ago with Oriana, when she divulged details of Oak’s horrific birth. How there’d been complications that had cost Liriope her life. How Oriana herself had carved the baby out of her friend’s stomach.

I shudder hard at the recollection and press my cheek hard against Cardan’s back as we ride, my face between his shoulder blades. Hard pass. On every bit of that. Just – one massive hard pass. We are finding a real doctor.

Cardan didn’t even argue. Though he insisted it was time to tell The Court of Shadows, if only for safety reasons while we made an unannounced, unplanned emergency run to the mortal realm.

Nothing goes like either of us had hoped. There are no tears of joy. There are only tight, grim expressions and tense words while plans are made. How we will prevent our enemies from learning of the child and our absence. How we will remain protected while among mortals.

I have hardly a word of help to offer, and that alone is horrifying. I have always schemed and survived – it’s what I am. But there, instead, I can only sit with a hand at my flat stomach, my sole focus on willing this little rebel in me to hear her mother’s first command.

Don’t go. Please. I love you.

Please stay.

Please.

I’ve resented this for weeks, and now I’m begging for the nausea, the aches, the exhaustion to stay – all of it. Any reassurance that I’m not losing this newfound love before I’ve even really gotten to know it.

But I also wonder if I should just accept fate. I have always felt from the beginning that I did not deserve this. That I am stealing a happiness that I have not earned.

“How are you faring?” Cardan asks me over his shoulder, the whine of the wind in my ears. We’re somewhere over the sea, jostled by the roll of the ragwort horse’s gallop beneath us.

“The same,” I answer. Sick. Dizzy. Terrified of what comes next. Unconsciously, I grip his body to mine harder. He’s tense, every muscle on edge. This is unlike any journey we’ve made yet. There’s nothing to fight, and still everything to lose.

“Nearly there,” says Cardan, but it sounds like he’s saying it more for his own benefit. He hates the journey over the sea, the precariousness of ragwort horse travel. I’m not in any state to offer reassurances, or even tease him to lighten the mood.

Sure enough, the clouds part, and the city lights along the coast of Maine wink up at us. It’s evening, and dark beneath a heavy rain cloud, and as soon as we’re low enough, we’re being pelted with sheets of rain. By the time the ragwort horse alights its oaken-hooves on the pavement, Cardan and I are both soaked to the skin.

We dismount, invisible beneath a glamour, at the far end of a hospital parking lot. The sign at the entrance glows with a red cross and the name, Down East Community Hospital. It was the best I could think of to do at a moment’s notice: instruct the ragwort horse to find us an emergency room.

I wrap my arms around myself as Cardan holds out a hand to gather up the horse. The leaves of its mane and the bark-like coat of its body begin to curl in on itself, like a plant rolling in on itself for the night. A moment later, it’s only a few leafy twigs that Cardan can hide in his pocket.

We both look absurd, and I’m just now realizing it. We look like we’ve just run out of a community theatre dress rehearsal for a low-budget melodrama. Cardan’s tried to dress down, but he’s still Cardan, and he’s wearing tight black trousers and tall boots over his calves. He’s thrown one of the zip-up hoodies I keep in my wardrobe for trips to the mortal realm over a loose white shirt. He also must have been feeling particularly festive this morning after last night’s romp, and he’d gone and added a bit of kohl to his eyes before I’d woken up and shit hit the fan. And he’s still wearing gold rings all over his fingers and in his pointed ears. Combined with his soaked, inky hair, he looks a bit like a member of an 80’s rock cover band who’s recovering from being pushed into a pool.

It’s kind of nice. He rarely looks a mess. It makes me feel like we’re in this together, at least.

For my part, I didn’t let Tatterfell braid my auburn hair today, and now it’s just long and windblown, so I’ve tried to pull it all to one side to keep it managed. I’m wearing a simple pair of brown trousers with little silken flats that were my least flashy pair of shoes. I’ve got a shirt and olive-colored vest on beneath a hoodie similar to Cardan’s that was supposed to keep me warm, but now it’s sopping wet.

We both pulls the hoods on our sweatshirts up over our heads as we make a mad dash for the automatic sliding doors of the ER, racing against the onslaught of rain. Once we’re inside the vestibule between sliding doors, I stop a moment to grab Cardan’s arm and gather myself. He puts a bejeweled hand over mine, his expression tightened in concern.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess, breathless. Hospitals, emergency rooms, doctors. It’s all foreign to me.

“I’ve done it even less.” Cardan’s looking more pale by the minute. The rising terror in both of us is palpable.

“I should call Vivi,” I spout, and Cardan’s nodding furiously in agreement, for once graciously not pointing out how he’s been saying this very thing for weeks.

But when I look around, there’s not a phone in sight. There’s only a poorly lit waiting room on the other side of the glass vestibule, and bored-looking nurses waiting at intake windows. Shit. Shit. How do mortals do this? How to they get treatments for mortal ailments and weaknesses and not fall to pieces fretting over their inherent, inevitable vulnerability in the process?

Suddenly, the surety of immortality is looking rather cowardly by comparison.

“Maybe one of the nurses will let me commandeer a phone,” I mutter, and I let my fingers slide from Cardan’s arm to his hand. My palm is starting to sweat when he laces our fingers together, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

The glass door to the waiting room slides with a hissing whisper, and inside there are people crowded in the cheap chairs lining the walls. Somewhere, a toddler is wailing out of sheer boredom while the evening news anchors jabber on a TV mounted in the far corner above a potted plant. Cardan’s already drawing stares with his ominous, messy appearance. He found a beanie in the pocket of the sweatshirt to cover the pointed tips of his ears, but there’s still kohl streaking his prominent cheekbones. I’m gonna need to clean him up at some point.

Right now, all I’m focused on is slipping into the first open intake seat and figuring out how in the hell I’m going to see a doctor for the first time in my mortal life. I am going to be brave. I have trained for nothing less.

“Hi, how can we help you today?” says a warm-looking middle-aged nurse behind the desk. She has short grey hair and floral scrubs, and a pair of readers perched on the bridge of her nose. Her badge says her name is Josie.

“Um.” My mouth feels dry, but I push on anyway. “I am—I am pregnant, and, um, I’m having some…” I draw in a shaking breath. Why is this so hard? “Some bleeding. I think I need to see a doctor right away.”

“Of course, honey,” Josie says, and peers over her readers. “Have you spoken with your OB?”

“I don’t have one,” I shake my head, my face starting to flush as Josie’s concern increases. I’ve never felt like I belonged in the mortal realm, and it’s never felt more apparent that I’m an outsider.

“Okaaay,” Josie says, slowly, adjusting her readers as she turns to her computer. “Let’s get you registered. Name?”

I hesitate again. I’ve never given my name in any sort of official capacity here among mortals. Especially not since I’d gotten married. What do I want to be called?

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar,” I hear myself answer. From the chair beside me, Cardan titters a little amused laugh to himself and then bites it back when I shoot him a look. He likes the sound of it, too.

“Okaaay,” Josie says again, pecking at her keyboard. “I’m gonna need you to spell that for me, honey.”

I appall Josie further as the registration process yields the fact that I have neither a driver’s license nor an insurance card. With each of Josie’s judgmental sighs, I can sense Cardan stiffening with repressed irritation next to me, and it’s only stressing me out more. I should have had a talk with him first about promising not to curse anyone. I’m half-expecting Josie to sprout cat ears at any minute.

“While we can’t legally decline services based on insurance,” Josie says, doing little to suppress her concern, “I will need you to sign this agreement that says you understand that, since you are not presenting insurance today, you will be personally responsible for the entire cost of today’s visit.” And she shifts a clipboard toward me.

“Oh, look, love,” Cardan suddenly chimes in. He slides a wet leaf from his pocket across the registration desk as his voice takes on the heady, dangerous quality of magic. He’s conjuring a glamour. “I think you can see all of the insurance information you require here.”

“Oh, good, you found your card!” Josie exclaims, delighted, as she takes the leaf and begins happily clacking away at her keyboard.

“Do not get carried away,” I hiss at Cardan while Josie’s distracted. “That should be a one time thing.”

But Cardan just slits his kohl-lined eyes at me, looking like the smug bastard he’s always been, and leans an elbow on the registration desk, throwing Josie a coy smile. The glamour in his voice when he speaks again is just as sinfully seductive.

“And Josie, my sweet,” he says, “you’ll let my wife borrow your phone to speak with her sister, won’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, Mr. Greenbriar,” Josie replies, with the charmed-sweet smile of the glamoured. She shifts her desk phone to me, handing me the handset. “Just press nine for outgoing calls, honey,” she tells me.

I’m frowning at Cardan’s wicked smirk as I accept the phone.

“I don’t think that was entirely necessary,” I whisper to him while Josie types away. He grins at me. I don’t really want to admit that he’s just been pretty useful, and he knows it.

Regardless of how ill-gotten this privilege is, I do need Vivi. I dial her cell phone, one of two numbers I know, and wait while it rings.

And rings.

And rings.

“She might be screening her calls,” I say to Josie, sheepishly. “Her father is…” Oh, how to describe what Madoc is like these days. “…over-bearing and tricky.” And I hang up and try again. Josie gives a tight, uncomfortable smile, peering over her readers.

“You are not concerned about how unusual this is,” Cardan tells her, the glamour dripping off his voice, and I smack his arm to get him to stop. Josie settles again as the phone keeps ringing.

I have to hang up and dial two more times before Vivi finally picks up. She sounds irritated when she answers.

“Vivi, this is Jude,” I say, slumping in relief that she’s finally answered.

“Jude? Seriously? What?” The annoyance in her voice vanishes as she’s scrambling to understand. “You’re calling me? Where are you? Are you ok?”

“I’m at the Down East Community Hospital emergency room,” I say. “Can you come?”

“Oh, my God.” It sounds like Vivi’s suddenly frantically looking for her keys. “Yes, I’m coming. I’ll be there. Why are you there? What’s going on?”

“It’s a lot to explain over the phone,” I say, slowly, white-knuckling the handset. “I’m ok, and Cardan’s here, but I just really need you.” I hate it more than anything, but I can’t keep the frightened younger sister out of my voice now that I’m actually talking to Vivi about this. The first rush of relief hits me when Vivi replies without hesitation:

“Ok. It’s gonna be ok. I’m on my way.”

I let out a long breath as I hand the phone back to Josie.

“The nurse will call you back when they’re ready for you,” says Josie, and gestures to the crowded waiting room. “Have a seat.”

“Or--” Cardan starts, leaning forward, and I know he’s about to throw out another glamour to speed things along. In the blink of an eye, I clap a hand over his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you,” I tell Josie, through a gritted smile, and urge Cardan to move along.

“Your moral stance on glamours ought to have a loophole where our child is concerned,” Cardan gripes as we shuffle to the nearest available two chairs.

“You Folk are like addicts with glamours,” I snap back as we take a seat. “You don’t know when to stop.”

“I believe I’ve proven myself capable of great restraint,” Cardan says, looking miffed for a moment until a People magazine on a nearby table catches his eye and his curiosity of mortals gets the better of him.

He has the right idea, I think. Distraction would be the key to getting my mind off the blood and not falling apart right now. I’ve done everything I can at this point, and now we must wait.

I busy myself for a moment by wrapping the cuff of my sleeve over my fingers and wiping off the rain-splattered streaks of kohl off Cardan’s face, so that the father of my child looks less like the troubled D-list celebrities his People magazine is trashing. He’s not drawing any less attention, but there’s not much either of us can do about that. If you’re not accustomed to the allure of the Folk, it’s nigh impossible to not stare and stare and try to decipher what it is about them that’s so otherworldly. But at least now they’re staring for the right reasons and not at his ruined eyeliner.

With nothing more at arm’s length to distract me, I rest my head against the wallpaper behind me and let my vision go unfocused in the general direction of the TV in the corner. I don’t want to think about the whining toddler in the room, who’s mad at his mother for not bringing the right stuffed animal with them to the hospital. What would I do with a half-human child in Faerie who fell ill or wounded? What would we do? Would the land let Cardan heal him? Would we have to make this journey again? What if I forgot the right stuffed animal, too??

Amazing that I’m suddenly assuming this child is going to survive whatever’s happening now, I realize, and this worry spiral is helping no one.

Once upon a time, I’d been the girl determined to become a thing feared. What has happened inside me, that I’m now this terrified woman? I hate it. I hate it, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“You’re not afraid of that everything will change?” I remember asking Cardan, three moons ago. I had thrown out the last of my birth control that day. We’d snuck away from a revel to lie beneath the massive tree that grew out of the top of the palace of Elfhame, staring at the stars above and dreaming of what they could hold.

Cardan looked to me, his hands behind his head in the loam, his crown slightly askew. He smiled, and the moonlight made him almost too beautiful to bear.

“I cherish every change you’ve ever brought me, Jude,” he said, and he stretched out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers softly lingering at its rounded edges. “I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“You’ve not always felt so gracious about the changes I’ve foisted upon you,” I pointed out. “And you don’t get to exile me now if my parenting pisses you off.”

I’m not sure what I thought he’d think of such a statement, but it was out in the night air anyway. His gold-rimmed eyes darkened as he pulled his hand back, folding it over his chest. I watched him as he stared up at the stars again, waiting for his response, and with each second, regret began to sink in.

“I consider myself fairly thick-skinned,” he said at last, “but that was uncalled for.”

“I was teasing--” I started, but he shot me a dark look.

“There was a measure of truth in your voice,” he countered. “You don’t lie as well as you think you do.”

“I don’t see what you’re so put out about,” I huffed, pulling back to glare at the night sky. “You weren’t the one living in exile.”

“Not this again,” Cardan groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Five years, Jude. It’s been five years,” he sighed into his palms.

“And now we’re discussing children, and it’s a very large and potentially aggravating change,” I said. “Maybe I am a little wary.”

“Of me?” The moment I saw the unguarded devastation on Cardan’s face, it was like I’d slapped him, and not in the fun way. I wanted to be swallowed down by the loam, covered in a grassy grave. Everything about this was awful. I wanted children with this man. Why was I dredging up ancient history?

But Cardan had been right. There’d been a measure of truth to it. It’s been a deliriously wonderful five years, but we are not entirely new people. We have a terrible past. And I feared what demons a significant change like this could summon.

When I didn’t answer right away, Cardan sat up so his back was to me, burying his head in his hands.

“Cardan…” I shifted so that I was propped up on my hands.

“What else can I give you to make this right?” he fretted to the ground in front of him. “I have given you everything. Every part of me, everything you see before you. It was wrong for both of us to take our games as far as we did, but I would have thought by now--”

“It was an off-handed comment made in poor taste.” I wanted to put a stop to everything that was happening. Rewind the whole evening.

Instead, he looked over his shoulder at me, visibly aching.

“I will not be like my father. I refuse it,” he retorted, and when I cocked my head to the side, not understanding, he went on. “Eldred collected consorts and sired children the way some people curate shoes: to suit his vanity. And I have that in spades already; there’s no need to spawn more. What I would want for a child, more than anything, is to not know what it is to grow up as an accessory. To not fear that his mother will be discarded. Jude, if you cannot trust so little of me, then this is poorly timed. Perhaps we need another five years. Or ten. Or however long you require.”

I sat up and scooted next to him, tucking my chin against his shoulder.

“I trust you,” I assured him in a whisper, and, as if he couldn’t help it, his eyes closed as he leaned his head towards mine. He smelled like oakwood and leather, like everything I’ve ever wanted. “I would not still be with you if I did not trust you.”

I wanted to push back the thick curls from his forehead, and so I did. And held my palm against his jaw as I leaned my forehead to his while the stars twinkled overhead.

Five years later, and sometimes we’re still finding little bits of armor that need to come off. For me, becoming a fearsome thing is not an option for handling motherhood, just as Cardan refuses to mirror his father’s vanity. But when I take off this bit of armor, this need to be feared and respected, it feels as if there is nothing underneath yet. Only vulnerability. Only terror.

I think of it now, in the ER waiting room of the Down East Community Hospital, while I snake my arm through his, looking at him while he’s ogling People magazine. He looks a mess, and there is no one I trust more. I’m still not convinced we’re shining examples of excellent would-be parents. But I’m afraid and vulnerable in the worst ways, and there’s no one I’d rather see me through it.

“Eldred would never have done something like this for any of his consorts,” I point out to him in a whisper, and he looks back at me with a pleased smirk.

“You are my wife,” he indicates, and gives my cold knuckles a swift kiss before turning back to whatever filth is engrossing him in People.

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar?” There’s a nurse at the emergency room door calling my name. I draw in a breath. Here we go.

The nurse in blue scrubs takes my vitals and makes us somewhat comfortable in a makeshift space where we’re surrounded by taupe-colored curtains on three sides while I wait on a hospital bed. There’s a squeaky grey plastic chair for Cardan to sit on, and no more TV or People magazine – just the assurance that a doctor will see me soon. And then we’re left with our dread to stare at the taupe curtains around us, listening to the squeak of hurried shoe soles against linoleum and the occasional beeping of hospital pagers. The air is acrid, like someone’s tried to scrub it clean, and it’s making my stomach lurch. It must show on my face as I swallow hard against the rising bile, because Cardan swiftly hands me a blue plastic barf bag that the nurse has left him in charge of. He’s wary of my empty threats to aim for his shoes.

“Jude, are you decent?” calls a voice from the other side of the curtain. “You have visitors.”

The curtains scrape against their tracks on the ceiling, and I can’t hold back a relief grin at the sight of Vivi and Heather.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” It’s all Vivi can say as she sweeps in to wrap me in a hug.

“Hey,” Heather graciously greets Cardan while the two are awkward to the side. She’s looking effortlessly cool, with her shoulder-length pink hair in soft waves. She has holes in her jeans in all the right places, and she’s wearing a breezy, colorful boho top that shows off her brown shoulders. I try to give her a wave while Vivi is squeezing the life out of me.

“What are you doing here?” Vivi demands when she pulls away, holding me by the shoulders. She’s given her golden hair a short, edgey chop that almost hides the pointed tips of her half-fae ears when it falls the right way. She tends to favor t-shirts and jeans, but today she’s in tight black pants and a grey v-neck under a jacket, and I’m hoping I haven’t interrupted a date.

“Well.” I shift a glance between the two of them, simultaneously gladdened that they’re here and nervous with how I now I have break the news. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out…” And then Vivi gasps.

“Are you pregnant?!” she squeaks.

“Oh, my God, V,” Heather rolls her eyes. “You can’t ask people if they’re pregnant.”

“She’s right, though,” I interject. “I am.”

“Jude!” Vivi exclaims, fondly, and takes my face in her hands, and, for a brief moment, I realize this is all I’ve been wanting for weeks. I grin, sheepishly. Then Vivi narrows her cat-like eyes at Cardan.

“You knocked up my sister?” she jabs.

“Bold of you to assume it’s mine,” he quips back, and Vivi feigns a disgusted gasp as throw the empty barf bag at him.

“Force of habit,” Cardan tells Heather with a shrug.

“Congratulations, Cardan,” Heather replies, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“But why are you here?” Vivi turns to me again. “Does Taryn know? Does Madoc?”

“No on both counts,” I shake my head. “It’s early. And we’re here because--” Ugh, I hate this. I hate this. “I started bleeding.”

“Oh, no.” Heather’s face is etched with genuine concern. It’s been a roller coaster of a few minutes.

“But why are you here?” Vivi tries again, and I see what she’s getting at. Why not be seen to by the royal midwives?

“I’m mortal,” I say, quietly. “This is a mortal thing. I felt like I needed a mortal doctor.”

And Vivi takes my face in her hands.

“I completely, one-hundred-percent agree,” she says, whole-heartedly, and there’s relief there, too. She’s always wanted me to spend more time in the mortal realm.

We crowd around the hospital bed for a while to catch up. Heather makes a run to the vending machine to bring back some snacks, and soon the tightness in my chest is releasing and unwinding. This was the distraction I needed. For a few minutes there, I could almost forget what had brought us to this weird, curtained-off corner to begin with.

But then the curtain scrape on the track again. There’s an orderly waiting there in blue scrubs, pushing a wheelchair.

“They’re ready for you in ultrasound now, Jude,” he tells me, and indicates that I’m supposed to ride in the chair. I bristle at the gesture. I’m not sure of the last time I’ve been asked to do something so vulnerable and humiliating. I am not ill. I don’t need this.

Vivi notices and puts a hand at my arm.

“It’s just standard hospital procedure, Jude,” she says, in her tone of voice she uses to convince Oak to eat vegetables.

So I comply. Heather and Vivi tell us they’ll wait for us to get back, and then we’re off. Cardan follows the orderly, and every once and awhile, I hear him having to jog to catch up – he’s easily distracted by what all the mortals are up to in this place.

I’m wheeled into a dark room with an exam table. Next to it is a bunch of strange equipment I’ve never seen before – screens and wands and all sort of buttons. A technician waits for us there, a woman in pink scrubs with a badge that says her name is Brenna. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back tight against her scalp, and she has kind brown eyes that smile when she tells me to make myself comfortable on the exam table.

“And is this Dad?” Brenna wants to know, cheerfully waving Cardan in to have a seat on a grey plastic chair next to me.

“Not my dad,” I say, not understanding the question at first. Then it dawns on me. “I mean, he’s the father, yes. Of the baby.” Oh, my God. This is off to a great start. Cardan’s trying very hard to not laugh outright at me and failing miserably. His laugh comes out like one long snort.

“Happens all the time,” Brenna says, with another cheerful wave, which makes me wonder why she’s still asking it, then.

“First baby?” Brenna now wants to know, making small talk while she’s queuing up her equipment.

“First everything,” I reply, hoping that will explain my nerves. “First baby, first ultrasound, first try.”

“Oh.” Brenna sounds impressed and looks to Cardan as she wheels around in her swivel chair. “Nice shootin’, Tex,” she tells him, with a wink.

“Thank you, Brenna,” Cardan accepts graciously, puffing out his chest a little. I roll my eyes.

“This may be the only time I’m ever complimented on my marksmanship,” he tells me. “Let me have this moment.”

“All right!” Brenna interrupts. “Let’s see what you’re cookin’ in there, mama.”

She rolls up my shirt and tucks in some scratchy paper into my leggings. Then squirts some cold gel across my abdomen. I watch in fascination while she rolls her device over my stomach, and then she turns her screen to us.

“And here’s your little guy,” she says. “Or gal. Can’t tell yet, obviously.”

For a moment, time stops.

Next to me, Cardan draws in a breath.

Something squirmy and alive curls and stretches in the grainy black and white pixels of Brenna’s screen. It doesn’t look quite human. Or fae. It looks kind of alien, if I’m being honest. But I can see its tiny limbs and the outline of its perfectly round head, and it’s moving. Like a manic little seahorse, our little shrimp is bobbing all over the place, alive and well.

“Looking good,” Brenna says, and Cardan barks out a surprised laugh. I’m smiling so hard my face might break.  

“Oh, I was sure I’d stabbed it,” Cardan sighs in relief, slumping in his seat, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“That’s not actually possible,” Brenna tells him, and maybe now he’ll believe it. “Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat.”

She clicks and clacks at some buttons, then turns a knob. Pushes a little harder on my abdomen.

A fluttering, steady whooshing sound fills the speakers in the room. I don’t know when I grabbed Cardan’s hand, but I’m squeezing it hard now. I glance at him. He’s utterly transfixed on the screen, his dark eyes wide, his lips parted. He looks like how I feel when I’m in bearing witness to great and ancient magic.

This isn’t all vomit and exhaustion. This is happening. This is real.

We are making something new. Something entirely unique. Like magic.

“Ok, this might be your issue.” Brenna breaks the enchantment, zooming in on something dark on her screen. My heart, which moments before felt like it might burst, squeezes and contracts in panic now.

“This is a sub-chorionic hematoma,” she says, pointing to the screen and making some notes. “The doctor will explain all this to you.”

“What is it?” Cardan’s voice is tight, panic thinly-veiled. “Is it dangerous?”

“They’re pretty common,” says Brenna, not looking at us while she takes measurements and notes. Like she drops these kinds of bombs regularly. “It’s basically an accumulation of blood between the uterine wall and the fetal membrane. It can cause bleeding, especially as the baby gets bigger and jostles it around. They usually resolve without much issue.”

“Usually?” Cardan’s not assuaged.

“Well, again,” Brenna says, looking at him sidelong, “the doctor will read this and give his advice. But it can increase the risk of miscarriage in some cases. Not always, though. The doctor will tell you how he wants you to treat it, but it usually involves some bed rest or limited activity, nothing too strenuous or crazy. Don’t go horse-back riding!” And she laughs as if only a crazy person would get on a horse while pregnant.

I look to Cardan. He looks to me. It’s hit us at the same time.

The ragwort horse.

How the hell are we getting home?

“Huh.” I barely had time to digest my realization about the ragwort horse before Brenna was back with more. She swivels the device on my stomach around some more. Cocks her head to the side.

“Are either of you a twin?” she asks.

Cardan points at me like I’ve done something wrong he doesn’t want to be blamed for.

“Why?” I ask, slowly, cautiously.

“It does run in families,” Brenna says, and turns the screen to us again. “And I’m seeing two babies here.” She looks back at Cardan. “And on the first try, Tex,” she says, looking impressed again.

Now, nothing feels real. I think I might leave my body. There are two squirmy aliens in the black and white screen, the lazier of the two now floating into view. Brenna adjusts the knobs some more to bring the new heartbeat into focus, just as strong as the first.

“Jude.” I can’t decipher what Cardan’s feeling now. He looks unlike I’ve ever seen him before. Something between elation and sheer dread is warring between his wide eyes and furrowed brow. He grips at the beanie over his hair like he’s trying to keep his own head from flying off.

“Are you and your twin identical?” Brenna asks. I nod, stupidly.

“These, too,” she nods, and points at the screen. “See: they’re sharing a sac.” She draws in a deep breath. “This does elevate the risk more, with the hematoma. The doctor will go over all of this with you. But I’ll bet he’ll want you on some kind of bed rest. Weekly check-ups. That sort of thing.” And then she squints hard at the screen. “What is that?” she wonders aloud. “Is that a tail?”

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, but he’s so flustered and shell-shocked, he’s forgotten to use the glamour.

“I think I might, though.” Brenna squints harder.

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, louder and hurried, this time with the weight of magic heavy in his tone. “Everything you see looks normal to you.”

A glamoured smile flutters over Brenna’s pleasant features as she lifts the device from my belly and clicks off her equipment.

“Everything looks normal,” she hums, happily. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Everything but the hematoma, right?” I cock my head to the side as she rolls away her swivel chair. “The doctor will speak to us about that.”

“What hematoma?” Brenna’s still smiling as she stands with her clipboard. “Everything looks normal. I’m going to call an orderly, but pretty much you’re free to go. Congratulations!”

“Cardan,” I accuse under my breath as she leaves, leveling a glare at him.

“You are carrying twins.” He’s just agape at me, either unaware or unrattled by how the poor wording in his glamour just muddled everything.

“The doctor won’t know about the hematoma now!” I exclaim.

“We’ll scrounge up another one somewhere,” Cardan waves me off. “Jude. Twins.”

It’s not helping me feel any better, him saying it over and over again. I slump into my hands, weighted by disbelief and frustration. What am I going to do? This can’t possibly be real, can it?

“I am going to get so huge,” I moan into my palms in self-pity. I know it’s vain, but at the moment, it’s all I can think. In the land of willowy Folk, I already stick out like a sore thumb. Now I’m going to be a sore and massively swollen thumb.

Cardan’s shifted to stand in front of me on the exam table. And he runs his hands up and down my arms, almost reverent.

“You are magnificent,” he reassures me, softly, and presses a kiss against my head.

“Why are you not freaking out?” I ask, and pull him by the hoodie pockets so I can hug him again if I need it. I think I may need it. “This is two babies. We don’t even know Thing One about taking care of one baby, and now there will be two.”

“We may require a few more house cats,” Cardan jokes, and when I scowl, he asks, “That’s still not amusing? I shall persist. One of these days.”

“You know, I hear that’s a mortal fatherhood trait,” I point out. “Persisting over and over with the same unamusing joke to the embarrassment of everyone around you.” And I wrap my arms around his waist as I look up at him. He’s warm, and everything is a little more bearable when he’s close and smiling.

“I think you are implying that I’m excelling at fatherhood so far,” Cardan grins down at me, and I’m surprised to see it looks as if his gold-rimmed eyes are glistening.

“Are you all right?” I ask, softening at the sight. He blinks, furiously, as he buries his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me close as he looks over my face.

“I just--” His voice is hoarse when he starts, so he clears it and tries again. “This is more than I ever dared to consider,” he says. “I did not dream that this kind of life would ever be an option for me. Family that looked after each other, that loved each other – that always seemed to me to be a strictly mortal gift. As if the Folk had bargained for everlasting life long ago and forsook all hope of familial love in the process. I had accepted that it wasn’t mine to have. But you.”

He shifts his hands so that he holds my face, and I feel swallowed by the adoration in his admission. All I can do is close my eyes as he holds me. I can think of nothing else when his nose brushes my forehead.

“I am overcome by all you have given me,” he whispers, and I think I might cry. My hands twist in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears.

“I love your words,” I whisper back, “but you give me too much credit.” I pull back to look at his mirthful, glistening eyes and say: “If it were left up to me, I would never have given you twins.”

He laughs outright, unguarded and thrilled.

“Lucky for me, then,” he says, and kisses me.

I have kissed him hundreds, maybe thousands of times. We have shared passionate, unbridled kisses and desperate, devouring kisses. We’ve kissed at quick partings, and we’ve kissed with soft, gentle comfort. I like everything about them all. But this is something entirely new, something that surprises me still. It’s filled with gratitude and promises and dreams of the future, and though it is intimate, I would not have felt ashamed if someone had walked in.

It’s the kiss of complete trust, and in that moment, I feel assured that, in Cardan, I have not made a mistake. There is much to figure out still. But this is right.

So, we will have twins. I will meet this challenge with resolve. For right now, anyway, the quantity of babies is the least of our concerns.

“How in the hell am I supposed to get home?” I ask, the moment we pull apart. Cardan rests his hands on my shoulders, screwing up his beautiful mouth in thought. The ragwort horse. The bed rest. The doctor we must scrounge up somewhere. There are a dozen new bullets swirling on a to-do list, and none of them lead us back to Faerie any time soon.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he confesses. “Which further complicates matters, because there is absolutely no chance that I am leaving you here.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I say, and press back a smile. “And also glad,” I add.

Cardan meets my smile with a little wicked smirk of his own.

“Is it time we scheme together once again?” he asks.

We cannot get home until this is resolved, and we cannot leave Faerie ungoverned. I have no idea where to even start on this problem.

But that’s certainly never stopped us before.

There’s a knock at the door. The orderly has arrived with the wheelchair to take us back to Vivi and Heather. I give Cardan a secret, knowing smile.

“I suppose it is,” I agree.

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

Tag list! Let me know if you’d like to be added: @yellowavocadopit, @dagypsygirl, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @booklover-sleeplover, @mwejh, @courtofjurdan, @faeriequeenofwest, @sugawsites, @loveyourselfsolid, @owl0y0s, @feelinglikecleopatra, @akaloto, @charrise, @persephxnecoven, @raging-bisexual-alert, @rteme, @nahthanks, @emmabookworm08, @elorcanislife, @snusbandxknifewife, @poeticbrownmermaid, 

[chemist-ana]

Chapter 10- The Company Picnic— Sams POV

Book: The Nanny Affair

Characters: Sam, Ana Schuyler (MC), Robin, Mickey and Mason, Sofia, Mason Sr., Vivian,

Pairing: Sam Dalton (male) x Ana Schuyler (MC)

Rating: 18+

Content Warning: NSFW, Sexual Language, Adult Language, Sexual Situations

A/N This is a brand new series that I was inspired to write. I am going to go chapter by chapter in Sam Daltons POV. This story is completely inspired by Choices The Nanny Affair. I have used most of the dialogue from the actual story, anything written in BOLD was taken directly from the book and therefore is not my writing- credit to our good friends over at Pixelberry! All characters are credit to Pixelberry except for my OCs

Summary: When you let your guard down at the company picnic, will you be ambushed by friendly fire?

Word Count: 4740

Tag List: @txemrn @secretaryunpaid @lifeaskim @aussieez @pixie88 @thefrenchiemama @sfb123 @mainstreetreader @shewillreadyou @khoicesbyk @lady-calypso @choicesficwriterscreations @somersetmummy @melalicious8383

Robin stood there, his eyes flicking between Ana and I with a knowing look.

Fuck.

I run my hands through my hair, trying to gather my bearings.

“Robin, what are you doing here? And why is Sofia calling you?” Wait, why is Sofia calling him… I have my cell on me…

“She was looking for you. Do I even want to know what you two were up to?” His eyes narrow at me.

“We were just working!” Ana says breathlessly. Not exactly the perfect cover, Ana.

“You know you don’t actually work here, right Ana?” Robin crosses his arms and widens his stance, his frown deepening.

“Sam was showing me the prototypes. That count as work…” Her voice has grown quiet.

“We don’t need to explain ourselves to you, Robin. Did you finish the press release for the Milan breach?” My anger evident in my tone.

“I’ve been a little busy, but apparently I’m not the only one.”

Fucking drop it Rob.

“Enough. If you have something to say, say it. If not, then get back to work.” My eyes narrow at him in challenge. I watch as he turns on his heel to leave the lab, pausing briefly at the door and looking over his shoulder.

“I almost forgot. Sofia had a message for you, Ana. She said since you were doing this office tour today, you should come to the company picnic this weekend.”

“Really? I thought she wanted me fired.” Her eyes grow wide as she looks between Robin and I.

“It’s probably a ‘keep your enemies closer’ type of thing. She already told Mom and Dad about the invite, so they’re expecting you to be there.”

I clench my jaw, fighting back my ever increasing desire to punch that look off of his face. God I have been wanting to do that to him a lot recently... I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose when I hear the door close to the lab, leaving Ana and I alone again.

The silence is palpable as I look at her, she is looking down as her fingers twist together.

“Ana, are you okay?”

“Sam, we have to be more careful. We’re lucky Robin was the one who walked in on us. It could’ve been much worse.” Her voice quiet as she continues to watch her hands.

“You’re right. It won’t happen again.” I don’t know how lucky we are that it was Robin… “You don’t have to come to the picnic, you know.”

Her emerald eyes lift to mine as she studies my face for a moment.

“If you… think it’s best I don’t-“ She takes a step away from me, looking back down at her hands. I reach out and gently place my hand on her arm.

“That’s not what I meant. I want you there. Against my better instincts… I always want you wherever I am.” Close to me.

Those words get her attention as she slowly rises her eyes to mine. I hear her breath catch and it sends a reminder of the passion that we just shared only moments before.

“Okay then, I’ll be there.” She gives me a small smile.

I return her smile as our eyes linger for a moment before my mind wanders to a less important question... Why was Sofia on the phone with Robin? I reach into my pocket and check my phone, no missed calls or texts. Weird…

I spend the rest of the day thinking of Ana, spread out before me on the lab table, the sound of pleasure that escaped her lips, and the sweet taste of her arousal on mine.

***

I wake up early the next morning, as I walk quietly into the kitchen, I pause outside of the door to Ana’s room. God how I want to just bring you into my bed and get lost in you… I shake my head, fuck these thoughts need to disappear… I need to escape while everyone is still asleep. I write a quick note and leave it on the counter- Went into the office early- will be home early to take the boys out for a treat. -Sam. Good enough.

I run my hands through my hair as I ride the elevator down to the lobby, Carter is waiting at the curb, always ready.

When I enter into my office the sun is just breaking above the skyline. The building is eerily quiet as I sit down in my chair, turning my attention to the waking of the city as the sunlight casts its morning shadows.

Suddenly I hear the door to my office open.

“How did I know you would be here already?” I close my eyes. Robin.

I hear him sit down in the leather chair on the other side of my desk and I turn my chair to face him, a smug look on his face.

“Sammy, what in the actual fuck is going on with you and Ana?”

I take a sharp inhale, “First of all, there is nothing going on between us. Second of all, even if there was, it would be none of your fucking business.”

“You are really going to lie to me? What I walked in on yesterday didn’t look like ‘nothing’.”

“Yeah, well, you know what happens when people make assumptions.”

“Sam, I thought by now you would understand that there are consequences to your actions.”

“Robin, save the kingly speech for someone who gives a damn. There is nothing going on between us.”

“You’re going to hurt her, and when all the chips fall, she is going to have nothing, and you are still going to have everything.”

I stare at him for a moment, biting the inside of my cheek.

“Why were you on the phone with Sofia?”

“I told you Sam, she was trying to find you.” He points a finger at me, before he shakes his head and stands up. “You better figure your shit out.”

Without another word he turns around and strides out of my office.

It’s going to be a long day.

***

I bring a glass of water to my lips for a sip as I type out a few quick texts, and alert Carter to be ready with the car in five minutes. Now where are the boys?

I make my way down the hall, and knock softly on Ana’s partially open door.

“Ana, have you seen the boys-“

“Dad, look! Ana’s wearing the outfit we picked out!” Mason pushes the glasses up his nose with a smile.

“Oh, wow. You look… nice.” My eyes flash as they run down the exposed skin of her delicate neck and her long legs. I swallow down a surge of desire.

“Just nice?” She asks with a coy smile.

I glance over at the twins who are now lost in a conversation between themselves before I lean in and the smell of jasmine fills my senses.

“Definitely not ‘just nice’, but I’m trying to be good.” My eyes flick to the twins.

“I think I like you better when you let yourself be bad.” Her emerald eyes darken and a memory flashes in my mind of the soft whimpers that escape her lips when I touch her.

I clear my throat, breaking myself of my trance as I stand up and look to the twins.

“Right. Is everyone ready to go in here?”

“I am!” Mason cheers running out of the door.

“Wait, I forgot my socks!” Mickey calls as he follows close behind.

My eyes linger on Ana before I reluctantly turn away.

***

Ana and I walk side by side down the large path in Central Park, the boys follow close behind.

“What’s the problem, you two? You don’t like picnics?” We stop and turn towards the boys who are kicking at the rocks on the pavement.

“Normal picnics, yeah. But who knows what Aunt Sofia has done to this one?” Mickey whines as he drags his feet.

“Boys, I promise you, Aunt Sofia didn’t have any part in planning this picnic.” I fight back the urge to laugh.

“But, we still have to follow her rules, don’t we?” Mason looks at Ana with a pleading look.

“You can still have fun too.” She gives him an encouraging smile. “Besides, there’ll be so much going on, I bet she won’t even notice if you sneak an ice cream cone. Assuming your dad says it’s okay, of course.”

“Really?” Mickey breaks out into a big grin.

“Sure. But just the one treat. We don’t want you to get a sugar overload.”

That seems to get them moving, because they run ahead. Ana and I share a look before we continue walking.

“It’s beautiful… I can see our building from here!” Mason shouts as we round the corner and the field comes into view.

My eyes meet Sofia’s as she starts walking towards us.

“Sam, you’ve got to see this. It’s accounting versus legal on the badminton court!” Her eyes are bright, you are unusually cheery today. Than her gaze falls on Ana, and I see a flash of something in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can tell what it is.

“Well, don’t you look adorable. You always know how to turn it on when it matters most, don’t you?” I resist the urge to close my eyes and sigh. Adorable, really Sofia?

“I try.” Ana gives her a confident smile.

“Can you also try to keep the boys from getting too dirty or being too loud or eating any sugar or running near the adults? Sam and I will be right back.” Sofia grabs my arm and leads me towards the badminton courts. I glance back at Ana who is herding the boys in the opposite direction.

“I am glad she decided to come today.” Sofia squeezes my arm. “Robin mentioned she had some hesitation.” My stomach sinks as I think about Robin… did he say anything to her?

“Yeah, so legal vs accounting huh?” I say effectively changing the topic.

***

After laughing a little too hard watching the accounting team get slaughtered by legal, I hear my dad’s voice calling over a megaphone.

“Welcome to the Annual Dalton Enterprises Company Picnic! I hope you’re ready for some good old-fashioned fun! We’ve got everything from giant Jenga to croquet to kickball.. But the highlight of the afternoon will be starting in five minutes… tug-of-war!” I hear a few good natured cheers and my eyes scan the field for Ana.

I see her talking to Robin, her brow furrowed.

“It’s Complex A versus Complex B! If you’re not an employee, pick a side.” My dad drops the megaphone and my eyes are still locked on Ana and Robin as I make my way across the field.

I don’t realize Sofia is behind me until I walk up on Ana and Robin and she is the first one to speak.

“Are you sitting out too, Ana? This game is so filthy and juvenile, I always sunbathe through it.” Sofia looks down at her manicured fingers and walks to the sidelines.

“Ana! You have to be on our team!” Mason shouts as him and Mason jog up to us.

“Yeah! Together we’ll be unstoppable!” Mickey chimes in as he gives Ana a smile. Ana’s eyes look between the boys then rise up to mine.

“We could use the extra hands…” I tell her.

“If Ana doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t have to play.” Robin’s eyes narrow at me.

I bite the urge to call Robin a petulant child.

“I can’t resist a good competition. I’m in!” She flashes a cocky smile at Robin.

“Yeah! Suck it, Uncle Robin!” Mickey jumps in the air and sticks his tongue out at Robin.

“Mickey…”

“I mean… you’re going down?” His eyes widen.

“We’ll see, kiddo.” Robins eyes soften as he looks down at Mickey, but harden immediately when he looks back at me. “At least we don’t have any distractions on our team.”

“Bring it on.” Ana turns on her heel and we walk towards our side of the rope.

We huddle together with the rest of the people on our team.

“First thing’s first, we need a team name!” Mason takes charge. That’s my boy.

“What about winners?” Ana says.

“Yeah, go winners!” Mason and the rest of the team cheers.

“Enough conferring! It’s time to play!” My dad’s voice booms over the megaphone.

We all line up as my mother explains the rules.

“Boys up front. Ana, you can stand by me.” I give Ana a smile as she stands directly in front of me.

I see Robin glaring daggers at Ana from the opposite side of the rope. My eyes dart back to Ana as I catch her sticking her tongue out at him. What were those two talking about earlier?

“Is that your method of long-distance trash talk?”

“It’s working, isn’t it? Robin’s head isn’t in the game, which means we’ve got this in the bag.” She gives me a confident smile.

“Let’s put that theory to theory to the test.” I give her a smile before she turns around, wrapping her hands around the rope.

My dad starts the pulling match and I lean back, digging in with my heels as the rope goes taught.

“You’’ll have to do better than that!” Ana shouts. You’re a competitive little thing aren’t you.

The boys are urging everyone to pull. I wrap my fingers tighter around the rope and heave and it seems to work, because the other side starts to give.

“That’s it, winners! We’ve got ‘em on the ropes!” I shout.

My eyes are locked on the muscles that are tense on Ana’s back.

“Almost… there!” Her voice rings out.

“We can’t… let them win… look at them!” Robin’s face is angry as he pulls. “Though I guess Ana does have some experience playing dirty.”

My eyes fly to Robin, but his gaze is focused on Ana. She ignores him and continues to pull, until we pull the marker onto our side. The momentum of her pulling causes her to stagger back… and right into my arms.

The smell of jasmine and Ana rush my senses as I squeeze my arms tightly around her, to steady her or hold her close I don’t know anymore. She looks over her shoulder and her emerald eyes meet mine, and for a moment the world fades away.

“…Hi.” A blush creeps up her neck as our eyes linger.

“Hi.” I smile.

Her eyes dart down to my lips as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes growing dark. I slide my tongue across my lip and I feel her body tense.

“Sam…” She whispers and the sound sends a shockwave through my body.

“Ana, I-“ Fuck, you are in public, and Sofia is here.

“And the winner is- Team Winners!” My dad’s voice booming over the megaphone breaks me from my trance.

“We did it!” Mason and Mickey jump around excitedly. I drop my arms from Ana just in time for Mason and Mickey to tackle me in a hug. My eyes never leave Ana as they wrap their arms around me.

“You did it, boys!” I finally break my gaze to ruffle the twins hair as they cheer.

“We did it, Dad!” Mason looks up at me with a grin.

“Yeah, we couldn’t have beat Uncle Robin without you and Ana!” Mickey looks over to Ana.

“And we couldn’t have done it without you two.” She reaches out and ruffles Mickey’s hair.

God, this just feels so right.

“That’s one way to put it.” Robin. Moment fucking broken.

My eyes fly up to Robin’s who has his eyes narrowed at Ana. I am about to snap when my mother walks up besides us.

“Nobody like a sore loser, Robin. Be a good example for your nephews.”

“Samuel, my big, strong man! I’ve got a wet wipe and a fresh shirt with your name on it.” Sofia walks up and wraps an arm through mine, and pulls me away from the group. I look down at her as she leads towards a tent, her eyes focused.

***

I stand silently next to my father as we watch everyone start to leave.

“I would call that a success.” He glances over at me.

“I would say so. You and mom should go, let me handle the clean up.” I clap him on the back as my mother walks up to us.

“Are you ready to go Mason, dear?”

“Yes, Viv.” He extends his arm for her to take before turning to me one last time. “Well done today, Sam.”

“Bye, Samuel.” My mother brushes a kiss to my cheek before I watch her and my father walk towards the edge of the park.

With a sigh I grab a few trash bags and begin walking around, picking up loose plates. My eyes fall on Ana and the boys and I make my way over to them.

“I’ll take those.” I hold open the trash bag for Ana and the boys to drop their used plates and napkins in. Ana and I fall into step next to each other as we follow the boys to the edge of the park.

“So, did you have a good time today?” I glance down at her and the sun has left a beautiful glow on her olive skin.

“Well, I missed you.” She says softly, turning her beautiful face towards mine. “I feel like I barely got to see you all day after tug-of-war. But this moment right here, with you? It’s been the best part of my day.”

“The party planning committee will be disappointed to hear it… but it’s my favorite too.” I chuckle, my eyes lingering on hers as I watch the sun reflect off of the little specs of gold amongst the emerald green.

As we round the corner I see Carter waiting at the curb, Robin and Sofia already there besides the car. Why are they always together…?

“Looks like the ride home will be a little crowded tonight.” Ana murmurs.

“Good thing I can get out of it for once, I always stay behind and help the cleaning crew after the picnic. It’s the least I can do to show my appreciation for everything.” I look down at her as our arms brush.

“No ones too good to clean up their own mess, right Dad?” Mason asks as he kicks a rock on the pavement.

“That’s exactly right, little man.” Damn proud.

“But we don’t have to stay… right?” Mickey’s eyes grow wide.

“Not until you’re a little older.” I smile at the look of relief on his face.

The boys climb into the car and I catch Sofia’s eye.

“Yes, honey, very inspiring. See you at home.” She leans in and brushes a kiss against my cheek then follows the boys into the car.

“Ana, are you coming?” Robin asks as his eyes scan Ana’s body.

Ana looks up at me with a question in her eyes.

“You’re welcome to stay and help, if you want. It won’t take long between us and the crew. We usually divide and conquer to cover more ground.” Please stay…

“Sounds like a great way to help out this afternoon.” She meets my eyes with a warm smile, her eyes not hiding her true intentions.

“Sure. Just… remember what I said.” Robin regards Ana with a firm look, before shifting his focus to me, and finally climbing into the backseat of the car.

Ana and I turn around and head back to the picnic area, our arms brushing lightly as we walk in a companionable silence.

“Have you ever been to a big picnic like this before?” The breeze blows through her hair as she looks up at me.

“I have never been to one before. Neither of my parents ever had a company picnic, so this was a first.”

“And? What’s the verdict?”

“I’ll let you know when I have one.” She gives me a coy smile before turning her attention back to the park.

I hand her a trash bag and she begins picking up stacks of paper plates.

“I bet you’ve been to a million of these over the years.”

“You could say that. I was still a kid when we held the first one, but it looked nothing like this. We could practically all fit on one blanket back then.” I smile at the fond memories… we have come a long way since then.

“It’s hard to imagine the company being that small.”

“Yeah, we’ve definitely grown a lot since then. But as much as I sometimes miss how… simple things were back then, we also couldn’t make as big of a difference. We can help so many more people now that we’re bigger.”

“I bet that feels good.”

“It does. And it definitely makes the hard days a little easier.”

“Speaking of, I can’t believe you’re not soaking in a bubble bath right now. You were at the center of all of the activity today.” She glances at me. I want to be in a bubble bath with you.

We bend down to pick up a red solo cup at the same time, our fingers brushing, and a blush spreading across her cheeks as her eyes snap away from mine.

“Sorry.” She says quickly.

“No worries.” I smile at her, but I can sense a change in her mood. “I am pretty tired, but it’s a Dalton family tradition to stay behind with the workers and, well, work. My father always stayed behind, but now that he’s older, the mantle falls on me.”

“You know, Robin mentioned one time that he’s also being considered for CEO… but I can’t really picture him staying behind, even if it’s part of the job description.” What else has Robin told you about my family? Yeah, well, if there is anything I know about Robin is that he does the bare minimum.

“Yeah, well, he probably wouldn’t have to, even if he were CEO. My dad has always held Robin to different standards than me. But at this point, that would only happen if I really, really, messed up.”

She glances around and when I follow her eyes, I realize we are all alone on this side of the park.

“Taking responsibility has never been Robin’s strong suit. Great at making messes though.” I flash her a smile but she seems to be avoiding my gaze. “You’re being awfully quiet over there.”

“Hmm? Oh, I just… have a lot on my mind.” She replies without looking at me. There is definitely something wrong… and fuck I hope it doesn’t have to do with Robin. “Actually, Sam… there’s something I wanted to talk to you about…” Her lips turn down in a frown. Definitely Robin.

“What did Robin do now?”

“Earlier today, he pulled me aside and demanded that I leave you alone…” I stare into her eyes, trying to read the expression on her face.

“What did you say?” Please tell me you didn’t tell him anything…

“I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about… but I don’t think he believed me.”

I let out a deep breath and reach up to rub the knots in my neck. Fuck…

“I’m so sorry I’ve put you in this position, Ana. You shouldn’t have to deal with my brother confronting you like this.” What are you doing to her?

I reach out and cup her cheek and I can see the pain in her eyes.

“Robin seemed pretty sure that at the en dog all of this… I would be the one who ends up hurt.” Fuck Robin, stay out of my business.

“As much as I hate to say it- and as much as I will do everything in my power to prevent it- he’s probably right.” I cringe as the words come out of my mouth. “But Ana, my parents’ expectations, the company politics, Sofia… it all just fades away when I look at you.”

“Sam…” My name rolls off her lips in a whisper.

In that instant, the sprinklers turn on, sending a jetting stream of water onto both of us.

She cries out and leans into me as I wrap my arms around her, trying my best to shield her from the water.

“Okay, seriously, who sets their sprinklers to go off in the middle of the afternoon.” I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, even though I can’t complain having Ana in my arms.

“Someone who got AM and PM mixed up?” She laughs and the sound brings an even bigger smile to my face.

I lean away from her slightly, my eyes roaming her face as I smooth the hair from her face. She is so beautiful…

“You look beautiful like this… I’ve never seen you wet before.”

“You don’t know that.”

Her words send a shockwave to my cock. I definitely didn’t mean it like that, but fuck am I glad you did.

“That’s not fair. Now that’s all I can think about…” You, wet, in my arms, in our home, in the car… fuck…

“Sam, now you know how I feel.”

“Does this mean you think about me all the time? At night, in bed, alone…?” My voice has dropped to a husky whisper as images of her on her back, naked, and moaning fill my head.

“Yes… touching myself, thinking of you, wondering if you’re turned on because of me.” The huskiness of her voice matches mine as her eyes wander my face and linger on my lips.

Holy fuck, you naughty little thing.

“Always…” I tighten my grip on her waste as her breath catches in her throat.

“Sam… kiss me.”

I was hoping you would say that.

I lean down and capture her perfect pink lips in mine, my hands roam her every curve, trying my hardest to memorize the twists and turns. Our kiss grows in passion as she lets out a moan into my mouth.

I grab her hips, pulling her against my growing desire.

“Ana… what are you doing to me?” I whisper against her mouth… I have never been so out of control in my life as I am when I am around you…

I drop my lips to her jaw, trailing light kisses up to her ear, the smell of Ana, sunshine and jasmine, fills my senses as I taste her sweet skin.

“I can’t seem to control myself around you…” I whisper into her ear.

“Maybe I want you to lose control…” She whispers, her lips lightly grazing mine.

She tangles her fingers into my hair and drags my lips back to hers. I want to lose control with you… My fingers continue their exploration as I graze my fingers over her erect nipples through her shirt, god this wet shirt is doing wonders for you…

“I want nothing more than to lay you down and take you right here, but…” I whisper in her ear as I blaze a trail of kisses down her neck, her body responding to my every touch with soft whimpers and gasps.

“We are still in public… and broad daylight.” Her breathing is erratic as I press my forehead to hers. I close my eyes, and listen to her erratic breathing and feel the rise and fall of her chest.

“Dammit.” I whisper. I lean in and press a soft, slow kiss to her lips before I pull away. My body instantly missing the contact. I grab one of her hands in mine and give it a light squeeze. “You’re going to be the death of me, Ana. Or at least, the death of my reputation.” I take a moment to check my surroundings, fortunately we are still alone.

“…You’re welcome?” Her soft laugh ringing through my ears.

“We should probably get back to cleaning, or we’ll never finish.”

“Oh, I’m desperate to finish, alright.” Her coy smile spreading across her lips.

I smile at her with a shake of my head, her lips red from our kisses and her skin flushed… so damn beautiful…

We make our way out of the line of fire of the sprinklers and continue working, well into the evening. My fingers moving in time with the rise and fall of her curves, remembering the sparks of electricity and the sound of her moans.

[piceuscelus]

loved your ovi fic!! I'd love to see another. Maybe Geralt is sick of Jaskier trying to follow him on hunts so he tries to scare him off by using him as bait for a monster with an ovipositor who pumps him full of eggs. The eggs have to stay inside a host for 24 hrs, so Geralt plugs Jas up and watches gleefully as the grotesquely swollen, sobbing bard has to painfully waddle around after him for a whole day, too big to fit into his fancy clothes. He might just let Jas come on more hunts after all

hi i want to do So Many Things with this and not the least of which is write like 10k of jaskier being stuffed and then paraded around, but i’m supposed to be keeping this short(ish) SO

bless you and your cow, have your dub-con oviposition and geralt being questionable and horny

Geralt expects that the threat will make Jaskier back off, maybe finally make him feel afraid.

Apparently, it’s as fruitless as expecting Jaskier to stop following him.

“If I let you come on this hunt, I’ll be using you as bait.”

Jaskier blinks. “...well,” he says. “I suppose. What do you mean, exactly, by bait?”

Geralt sighs and rubs at his temples. “Exactly what I said, bard, I don’t speak in metaphors and half-truths like you. You’ll be bait. Tied up in the forest to lure the creature in.”

Among other things, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Jaskier hums. “Well, that seems easy enough. Is this a particularly violent monster?”

“...no.” Geralt shakes his head. “It’s not malevolent at all.”

“So you’re not killing it?”

“No. I’m helping it. Sort of. More helping myself and a mage willing to pay a whole lot of gold for something that’s rather hard to obtain.”

“...alright,” Jaskier says. “I trust you.”

Geralt frowns. You shouldn’t. “Leave your lute and the doublet. It’s not likely to be kind to your clothes or anything else in its way.”

Jaskier nods. Of course, now is when he decides to be obedient.

– – – – –

“So what kind of monster is it? I’ve seen those bestiaries of yours.”

“Elementa,” Geralt answers. “Came with the Convergence. It’s made mostly of slime and tentacles.”

“Disgusting!” Jaskier says brightly. “Should make for a good drinking song.”

Geralt bites back on a snort. “Yeah, sure,” he murmurs.

– – – – – 

Geralt isn’t quite sure which is the worst part of this: the fact that when he tells him to, Jaskier strips naked as if he has no qualms about being entirely bare in a monster-infested forest with Geralt staring at him, or that when he ties Jaskier up, the bard’s cock starts to fill.

His does, too, but he knew that would happen. After a century of life, shame is kind of hard to come by. 

Jaskier is humming quietly to himself while Geralt finishes with the ropes. The bard is standing a few feet in front of a large oak, legs spread shoulder-width apart and arms stretched above his head. There’s rope around his ankles that’s anchored to stakes on either side of him, pulled taut so he can’t close his legs, and the rope around his wrists is secured to a thick branch above his head. 

He’s vulnerable. He’s looking around the clearing as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Geralt wants to fucking ruin him, but he knows that the monster will do that for him, so he holds back.

“Is there anything particular I should do to lure the creature out?” Jaskier asks as Geralt begins to pack up. He’ll be close enough to watch, but the monster isn’t likely to come around if it can sense too much silver. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “The smell of you will be enough.”

“The smell of me?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt gives a pointed nod to his half-hard cock.

The bard at least has the decency to flush. “You have very nice hands,” he says, as if that’s any kind of explanation or excuse. “So the monster is, uh...interested, I suppose.”

“Yes.” More than, Geralt thinks. It’ll think you’re the perfect host to lay its eggs. “I’ll be watching.”

He makes no more promises. After all, he’s not withholding the true intent of the monster – or this hunt – for shits and giggles. He’s trying to teach Jaskier a lesson.

“Alright,” Jaskier agrees. “I’ll be here.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, and makes off for the tree he’d scouted before beginning to tie Jaskier up.

– – – – –

It takes barely ten minutes after Geralt’s scent has faded away for the monster to show up. It’s a brilliant blue, looking like the water of a lake at high noon in the summer, and moves a lot like a river might, if water were thicker than it is. At first, it looks like a mobile puddle, really, but then, as it gets to the center of the clearing – finally catching Jaskier’s attention – the tentacles appear. They’re darker in color, more solid, but no less slick and viscous, Geralt knows from experience.

He’s far enough away to not alert the monster, but he’s close enough to see the microexpressions cross Jaskier’s face, to hear his sharp intake of breath. To smell him, just faintly, on the wind. He’s more turned on than before. Go figure.

The monster investigates for a moment, tentacles leaving sticky trails over the ropes first, and then Jaskier’s feet and calves, his wrists and forearms. Jaskier makes an odd, choked sound, then giggles and squirms – ticklish.

Interesting.

Slowly but surely, the monster’s explorations move toward Jaskier’s center, until there’s one sliding curiously over his cock, and – judging by the short, sharp noise Jaskier makes as he rocks onto his tiptoes – his ass.

“Fr...friendly, aren’t you,” Jaskier pants. “That’s – oh.”

Geralt almost wishes he’d tied Jaskier differently, so he could watch the process of the monster slowly working a tentacle into his ass, but he’d only had so much rope and limited options for how to get Jaskier tied properly. It’s an unfortunate loss, but he does get the next best thing, getting to watch Jaskier’s face as the reality of what’s happening starts to dawn on him.

He squirms, feet wriggling in the damp soil, hips twisting. “Geralt, Geralt,” he calls. “This is – are you – ”

Geralt doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to, not really. He’d said he'd be watching; he didn’t tell Jaskier he would be listening, or that he’d come to the rescue. 

Again, he’s teaching the bard a lesson.

He can see the moment the tentacle breaches Jaskier’s body from the way the bard’s eyes go wide as his mouth drops open. Seemingly against his own will, his hips rock back and then forward again, and he moans, loud and clear.

Well. That’s interesting.

He’d expected Jaskier might, but….

The tentacle sinks deeper, then pulls back and thrusts again; once more, Geralt wishes he could see it properly, watch Jaskier’s hole stretch around the slimy girth of it, but he can’t move now. It will have to suffice to see the movement of the tentacle and Jaskier’s face.

It doesn’t take long to work up to the right point, the tentacle brutally efficient in its job of stretching Jaskier’s ass wide and slicking him up. Jaskier is moaning throughout the process, eyes crossed when they’re not closed, body shaking where the ropes are suspending his weight. His cock is much more than half-hard by now, and as Geralt watches, it throbs and drips a string of precum to the forest floor.

“Geralt,” Jaskier mumbles weakly. “Geralt, you….”

He doesn’t finish. Geralt doesn’t wonder what he was going to say, watching with anticipation as the preparing tentacle slips away and a new one replaces it. Jaskier whines when the first leaves, and then whines again, louder, when the second appears.

“Oh, what,” he mutters, wriggling his hips again. Two tentacles appear at his sides, wrapping tight around him like the rope, functionally immobilizing him. He gasps sharply, eyes flying open wide, and then he’s doing it again as they slam shut again when the new tentacle behind him starts to push inside. 

“Big,” Jaskier whimpers, lashes fluttering. Geralt allows himself a small, nearly-silent chuckle. Big, indeed, he thinks. It’ll get worse.

This tentacle sinks inside with a slow, steady pace, no thrusts at all. Jaskier is panting and whining at the stretch of it, at the fullness, his cock bobbing and drooling as he shifts as much as he can with how captive he’s become. Geralt can tell the moment that the second tentacle reaches the right depth, because he can just barely see the way Jaskier’s belly bulges around it. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines again. “What is it – what’s – ”

His eyes go wide again and he properly tries to struggle this time, no more wriggling but instead trying to thrash. He doesn’t get anywhere, held tight with Geralt’s rope and the tentacles still around his waist. Geralt’s eyes flick to the part of the tentacle still resting on the ground, behind Jaskier’s calf, where he can still see it. There’s a slightly darker shape moving through it, up toward Jaskier’s body.

He bites his lip and watches intently, wanting to capture the exact moment that Jaskier feels the new stretch, as well as when the egg is deposited in his guts. 

He catches both. Jaskier’s eyes widen even further somehow, and he chokes out an alarmed noise; once the egg is past his rim, he just squirms fruitlessly some more, and then he’s choking around a deep, startled grunt when the egg slips into his belly. Geralt can see the bulge of it, and his cock throbs in his breeches.

Jaskier is panting. “Geralt, this is – what is happening, this isn’t…. Fuck.”

Another egg makes the journey, and Geralt watches everything repeat, sees the way Jaskier’s cock jerks and pulses as it settles into his belly, too. Another, and then another – half a dozen, a dozen, two dozen. 

Finally, Geralt watches the twenty-fifth egg pump into Jaskier, where his belly is already swollen, lumpy with the eggs and probably aching. Jaskier’s cock is, impossibly, still hard, purpling at the tip and shiny with the wealth of precum smeared over the head. 

There’s a moment where the tentacle pulls out slightly, then pulses one last time before it drops to the ground, and the monster begins its slow crawl away. Geralt watches it go out of the corner of his eye, most of his focus on Jaskier where he dangles from the ropes, exhausted and clearly in pain and still wanting, somehow.

Jaskier whines when Geralt re-enters the clearing. “Hurts,” he rasps. “I – Geralt. They won’t...come out.”

“It’s plugged you,” Geralt explains. “The eggs have to stay in a host for 24 hours. The plug it made will dissolve in about half an hour, but I’ve got another to make sure they stay.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Tw – twenty four hours?” he asks breathlessly. “Geralt, I can’t – this is – ”

“You wanted to come on a hunt,” Geralt shrugs. “I needed bait and an incubator.”

Jaskier whines. “What – what if I hadn’t come along.”

“I’d have done it.”

“...you say that like you’ve done this before.”

“I have. Not very often, but it’s lucrative. I’m going to untie you. Lean on my if you need to, but don’t press your stomach against anything too hard.”

“...fine.”

Slowly, Geralt unties Jaskier – feet first, and then arms, letting the bard lean on him and then lowering him slowly to the ground while he gathers the rope and stores it away. Once everything is packed, he grabs the plug he’d brought and walks back over to Jaskier.

“Legs open,” he orders, and Jaskier squeaks, but does it. His cock has softened, but only just, and Geralt feels his own throb again. He gets the plug into Jaskier’s ass with as much professionalism as he can, then stands and offers a hand out.

Jaskier gapes. “You’re – we’re not going, are we?”

Geralt raises a brow. “Yes,” he says. “We need to get to the next town before sundown. Find an inn.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, voice rising in panic. “I’m – my clothes won’t fit like this. I can’t just – we have to camp.”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “If I had done this, we’d be moving on – so we’ll move on. Come on, up.”

He reaches out and grabs Jaskier’s wrist to pull him up. Jaskier shouts and stumbles to his feet, groaning loudly as the eggs shift. Geralt watches in fascination as his cock starts to harden again.

He’s clearly in pain, and upset, and a myriad of things that Geralt would think would squash his arousal.

And yet.

“Maybe if you’re good and walk along until we get to the next town, I’ll let you come,” Geralt offers.

Jaskier sucks in a breath, then whimpers when that clearly hurts him. “Geralt,” he pleads, but Geralt just shakes his head, and the bard sighs. He settles a hand over his bulging belly and grunts.

“...okay,” he says. “Help me get my boots back on, and okay.”

Geralt does just that, carefully not letting himself grin.

– – – – –

Jaskier is whimpering three minutes in. Ten minutes in, he’s crying. Fifteen, and he’s sobbing, shoulders shaking as he holds his belly. 

All the while, his cock never flags all the way.

Geralt watches him, pleased, as he sobs and gasps and stumbles, naked as the day he was born aside from the boots. His belly is starting to bruise, mottled from the inside because of the pressure, and his knees are shaking with each step he takes. 

By the time they can see the town on the horizon, the sun casting a gold-orange glow as it sets, Jaskier is gasping, heart rate almost dangerously elevated, and his eyes are hazy. Obviously, they can’t enter the town like this – no matter how much Geralt wants to, wants to see the looks they’d get, a Witcher on his horse with a swollen, bruised bard stumbling along behind him looking well-fucked and ruined, a plug settled in his ass.

So just outside, in a dark patch of trees, he stops, and pulls Jaskier into the shelter.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. “Geralt, please, this is – too much, too much.”

“Nearly a whole day to go, bard,” Geralt says, not unsympathetically. “But I did say I would give you a reward, no? And we need to get you somewhat decent to go into town, anyway. Come here.”

Jaskier lists into Geralt’s arms immediately, whimpering, and Geralt carefully situates him so there’s no weight on his lumpy belly, but he doesn’t have to hold himself up at all. 

It only takes two strokes and a soft murmur of, “Very good, Jaskier,” to make the bard come with a cracked scream.

When he’s done convulsing through the pleasure – likely jostling the eggs around his insides, which either hurts or feels incredible, Geralt knows from personal experience – he goes back to sobbing.

“Geralt, Geralt,” he whimpers. “I, I can’t.”

“Yes you can, bard,” Geralt says. “Just a little more.”

Jaskier sucks in a sharp, ragged breath, and Geralt feels the way the cramp rocks through his body. His own cock throbs heavily in his breeches, but he continues to ignore it. He can deal with it later – maybe even have Jaskier deal with it….

But later, all the same.

“Come on, Jaskier.”

“...o-okay.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, vyxynheartssterek!

For @vyxynheartssterek. I hope you enjoy it!

Read On AO3

*****

Forward Motion

Claudia rocked back on her heels and brushed her hair out of her face. “Well, I think that was the last box.”

Stiles admired their shelves, the glossy dark wood lined with dusty tomes that they’d finally hauled from home. They’d been in the attic, the basement, the kitchen and the living room for longer than Stiles had been alive, and seeing them on display, all together and organized neatly instead of piled haphazardly on a box of old baby clothes was surreal and a little thrilling. “It looks great.”

She gave him a sideways look. “We still have stock to put out, pal. Don’t get comfortable.”

He laughed, knocking their elbows together. “Yeah yeah. It still looks good. I told you it would.”

She snorted. “Save the “I told you so”s until after opening day. Why don’t you go get us some caffeine to power us through until lunch, then we’ll get your dad to help us with some of this?”

“He said he’d help this morning, too.” Stiles stepped over a crate of crystals, around two stacks of boxes, and through a maze of shelves they’d yet to fill. “Usual order?”

“Yes, please. Oh, can you move that shelf to the window on your way out? It’s where I want to put the potted herbs.”

“Sure. Be right back.” He maneuvered the herb shelf—still empty for the moment—over to the window, adjusting it until it was lined up with the window, before he stepped outside. It was chilly out, just on the edge of cold, with a breeze that smelled like wood smoke. He turned and stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, balancing his sneakers on the curb so he could admire their sign.

It’d just arrived the day behavfore, and installation had only taken minutes. The Beacon’s Raven curled in the deep red Claudia and Stiles had chosen weeks ago. The window had a beautifully painted raven with its wings outspread on it, front and center, and off to the side, a neat list of their hours. A banner hung over the glass door: “Grand Opening: 2 Days!” It was satisfying to see people passing by, peering in the windows on tip toes to see deeper into the store, chatting about how soon they could go in and poke around.

Stiles headed for the coffee shop down the road. He’d finally talked his mom into opening a real, actual store after years of her (and, eventually, him once he’d gotten old enough to grind herbs and mix potions) operating out of their house. The supernatural community of Beacon Hills had known and trusted Claudia and her family for generations, trusted and knew their magic and quality of products. It only made sense to finally move from backdoor sales to a real shop, where people could browse and where they could store extra potions without accidentally mixing them in with the cooking spices.

Although Stiles still thought John was overreacting about accidentally putting a sleeping potion in the chili that one time.

The coffee shop on the corner, Mocha Latte Memories, was also relatively new—only two years old, which in Beacon Hills meant it’d be referred to as “the new place” for another thirteen years—but it was doing great. It also happened to be Claudia’s favorite, so she’d dragged Stiles there as soon as he’d come home from college; they’d both been going at least once a week ever since.

Stiles caught sight of his reflection in the big bay window of the café and paused. His hair was covered in dust bunnies and cobwebs. “Gee, thanks, Mom,” he grumbled, using the window as a mirror to bat the dust away. He spent a minute combing through his hair with his fingers so he looked less disheveled.

A shadow moved beyond the glass.

Stiles reared back. “Oh! Oh, gods.”

A man on the other side of the glass was grinning at him, apparently watching while he fixed his hair.

Heat rushed to his face. “Oh my god.” He turned on his heel.

Claudia laughed at him when he told her why they wouldn’t be having coffee and why they should promptly move to the next town over. She called John to ask him to bring lunch and coffee while still tearing up with laughter.

Stiles worked through his mortification by sweeping aggressively.

“You two,” John sighed when he arrived. He took a drink of his own coffee while they were digging into their lunch. “The place looks great already.”

Claudia smiled up at him, heels bouncing off the crate she’d perched on in lieu of a chair. “You should’ve seen Stiles with the books.”

“My organization skills are legend,” he muttered, biting into his sandwich.

John snorted. “I still can’t believe you’re putting them out like this.”

She shrugged. “Beacon Hills is our town. We’ve always shared the knowledge anyway, and this way, they can look for themselves.”

The family spellbooks weren’t for sale; they’d dragged them all out and to the shop with a different idea in mind: at the back of the shop, they’d created a little reading room filled with chairs, two-top tables, and jars of pens. Witches and starter spellcasters could come to research spells and potions from their collection if they wanted, copy down instructions, or just read a while, rather than asking Claudia for a copy of a spell they’d heard she had.

And as an extra bonus, whatever they needed for most of the spells, rituals, and potions could be purchased from the shop before they left, if they wanted.

Stiles couldn’t wait to get started.

John stayed to help until well into the evening, when he made them leave for the night. “Your boxes will still be here in the morning,” he sighed. “Let’s go get dinner.”

Claudia set out one last display container, waiting to be filled, and let her fingers trail over the shelf, smiling as John led her out.

Stiles hung back, watching them hold hands down the sidewalk. He and Claudia had come in the jeep this morning, but he figured she’d ride back with John. He brushed dust off his cheek and smiled to himself. He’d missed them while he was away at school, he’d missed Beacon Hills, and being back, opening the store…it felt right.

“Absolutely not.”

Claudia grinned, shaking a box of amethyst at him. “Stiles, don’t be a coward.”

“Mom, don’t be annoying.” He ducked when she swatted at his head. “Why don’t you go get the coffee, and I’ll finish putting the crystals out?”

“I have a plan in mind, I need to do it a certain way.” She arranged the amethyst in the display box she had on the shelf, then tilted her head, studying the effect. She bent to grab some jasper.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You just want me to embarrass myself again.”

“You did that all on your own.” She set down the jasper next to the amethyst, then wrinkled her nose. She faced him, putting her hands on her hips. Her white POISON shirt was smudged with dirt and old paint stains, hair braided back with flyaways sticking up around her face. “What are the odds of seeing that same guy again? And,” she continued before he could reply, “what are the odds that he’d even recognize you? The man saw you for a total of ten seconds, kid.”

He made a face at her. “What if he works there?”

She smiled.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you’re getting the coffee next time.”

“Of course. Next time it’ll be my turn.” She shooed him and turned to the flat carts of planters, which were filling the shop with the heady scents of jasmine and lavender.

Stiles preferred to make potions with dried plants himself, but a lot of people were into growing their own lately. He didn’t stop outside this time—he didn’t want to give himself time to chicken out and go to Starbucks further up the road.

Mocha Latte Memories was right between the breakfast and lunch rushes when he got there; there were three girls at a table posing for a picture and an older man sipping from a mug and reading a book, but otherwise, the place was empty.

The walls were strung with photographs and every other table had an instant camera set up on a bolted tripod next to it. There were also disposable cameras set on the bookshelves, the counters, some tables, the window sills, and the console by the door, with a laminated sign on the wall explaining. The cameras confused Stiles until Claudia had dragged him and John to a table, set the timer on the instant camera, and took a photo of the three of them, waving it in his face.

Patrons were encouraged to take pictures with any of the cameras so they could be displayed on a rotation—they were also just allowed to take the instant photo home, if they wished. After a week on display, the pictures could be claimed by the person who took it or who was in it.

It was cute, Stiles thought. There was potential for creepy people to abuse it, but from what he’d seen, the staff kept a sharp eye on the cameras and who claimed which photos, and the owner was an old high school friend of Claudia’s and had gotten some witchy protections against that kind of thing. Photos taken of people without their consent would show up completely blank, as far as Stiles knew. There were other protections in place, but he hadn’t gotten any further details.

“Hey, Stilinski,” the barista, Cora, called out. “The usual for you and Miss Claudia?”

“Yes please.” He used his card to pay and found two fives in his wallet. Feeling cheerful—one day until opening and they were nearly done setting everything up—he dropped one into the tip jar, making Cora grin.

Behind him, the bells set above the door chimed as someone came in.

He set the five on the counter. “Put that toward their order?”

Her grin widened. “If you’re sure…”

“Yes, please.” He moved off to wait by the pick-up counter, looking at this week’s photos while he waited.

“Hey, thanks for the coffee.”

Stiles winced. He knew Cora was quick, so he’d kind of hoped his drinks would be done before the guy could notice him. He turned. His smile froze on his face.

The guy’s eyes lit up with mirth and recognition.

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed. He looked down and wondered how hard his mom would laugh at him if he filled the place with smoke and fled.

“You do remember me. I’m Derek.”

“Stiles,” he managed, strangled. “I-I—we’re—there was dust,” he blurted. “There was dust and I was trying to get it out of my hair, okay, and I don’t think it was that big of a deal, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said, still looking amused. “I didn’t say it was a big deal.”

“Right.” Stiles eased back, even more mortified. “I-I-”

“Stiles! Drinks are up,” Cora called.

“Bye,” he croaked. He snatched the drinks and left as fast as he could.

Claudia was waiting outside when he returned, a worried frown on her face. “I felt you panicking, what-”

He shook his head. “I bought,” he gasped, “the guy coffee.”

Her brows shot up. “Start at the beginning,” she said, so he did.

He was right: she laughed at him.

The Beacon’s Raven opened at nine sharp on Saturday morning, doors flung wide and a mixture of orange and lavender smoking gently, filling the place with Claudia and Stiles’s favorite scents. The shelves were full, neatly organized, and inviting, the floors gleaming clean, and there was a carafe of hot chocolate and individually wrapped cookies set up by the register. Claudia turned on lively violin music and Stiles kept himself busy straightening the shelves.

“Mrs. Stilinski,” a familiar voice called out. “It looks wonderful in here, doesn’t it, Mom?” Lydia and Natalie Martin came in, arm in arm, already holding two other shopping bags.

“It does! Good job, Claudia.” She grinned, crossing to give Claudia a quick squeeze. Like Lydia and Stiles, Natalie and Claudia had gone to school with each other. “I wanted one of those wind chimes you make for Lydia’s new house and we thought we could take a look at the tarot cards—I’ve never been much of a reader myself but we think Lydia’s a bit of a sensitive.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at Stiles, but followed their mothers into an aisle anyway.

Two more people, witches Stiles recognized as regulars for dream talismans and ritual potions, came in, chatting about the store. Dotty, dream talisman buyer, spotted Stiles and shot over to commend him on the choice of orange and lavender— “Peace and energy in one, what a good idea for the first day,” she said, catching his arm.

Melissa and Scott showed up after that, then Heather and her boyfriend, and a group of local witches and some shoppers who were non-magical but interested in the local-made jewelry they were also selling.

Stiles kept busy ringing people up, helping a man pick out the right set of rune stones, and bagging things, keeping up a steady chatter about the store, so he shouldn’t have noticed one more person entering the shop. He should’ve heard the bell and called out a greeting and let Claudia handle it. Something made his head snap up. His eyes narrowed.

Coffee Shop Derek waved at him.

A tall, dark haired woman stood next to him, reading from the back of a crumpled receipt.

Stiles blinked back to his customer and smiled. “Thank you, have a great day.”

Mavis smirked at him. “Oh, you too, Mischief.”

He grimaced.

Mavis had been buying ritual herb bundles from Claudia since Stiles was three. She knew too much.

Claudia crossed to Derek and the woman and, to his surprise, hugged the woman. She gave Derek a sober handshake, smiling and saying something Stiles couldn’t hear.

He didn’t really recognize them aside from some vague familiarity, but Claudia clearly did. He glanced around, but everyone was busy looking—they were crowded, which wasn’t surprising. Beacon Hills was small enough that everyone and their grandmother had heard that little Dee Gajos, no, Stilinski now, and her son were opening a shop finally, and they all had to check it out, witches or not.

Stiles flicked his fingers.

“-Mom wanted some new talismans for the house, and Aunt Nettie wanted some cleansing potions for the party we’re having,” the woman was saying. “Mom also wanted us to congratulate you and let you know she’ll be out to see the shop as soon as she can.”

“Thank you, that’s sweet. I know she’s busy. Oh, one moment.” Claudia turned. “Stiles!” Her voice boomed, making him clap his hands to his ears.

Crap. He’d definitely been caught eavesdropping.

Her smile was far too wide. “Sweetie, why don’t you help the Hales find the things on their list while I run the register for a while?” Her voice was still too loud—raised so he could hear her across the store, if he hadn’t been eavesdropping.

He had two options, and only one of them would preserve what little dignity he had left at this point. He sighed and rounded the counter.

“Hey, I’m Laura.” She smiled when he approached. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Stiles.”

“Oh, really?” He narrowed his eyes at Derek, cheeks going red. Two mildly embarrassing run ins and the guy goes blabbing to his family.

“Yeah! You’ve met my mom Talia Hale a few times when she was picking up talismans from Claudia.”

Stiles’s gaze snapped up to Laura, then skimmed over her. “Oh, you’re werewolves. And Hales. I’ve met some of your pack.”

She laughed. “Yeah, that’s us.” She passed the list to Derek. “I actually wanted to talk to you about some blessed candles, Claudia, if that’s alright? I’m sure Stiles and Derek can handle the list.”

“Oh, sure. Here, we can go up to the register and talk.” Claudia smirked over her shoulder.

Stiles turned his back on her. “So.”

Derek lifted a brow. “You aren’t going to run away this time?”

“I’ve got nowhere to run,” he muttered, making Derek laugh. “Besides, I didn’t run. I just—I had things to do.” He cleared his throat. “Your mom buys talismans from my mom. I’ve helped make them before,” he added with a grin, deciding that he could push past his embarrassment. “She likes her bases covered, huh?”

Derek chuckled. “You have no idea. She’s going crazy over having the whole family at the house for our winter gathering. That’s why she wants to replace the talismans now.” He checked the list. “Four talismans, a house cleansing potion for Aunt Nettie,” he yawned widely, “new bells for the windows and,” another half-stifled yawn, “my uncle wants bloodroot.” He made a face.

“For what?”

He lifted that brow again.

Stiles flicked a hand at the shelves behind them. “I just mean if he’s making something for protection, we can make a bundle that’ll help more than just one plant.”

He shook his head. “No idea. He just came in and scribbled down bloodroot when we told everyone where we were going.”

“Ah.” Stiles shrugged. Not his problem. “Well, if they’re all concerned about the house, we can get some herbs to help with that, too.” He glanced at Claudia, but she and Laura were still talking. “The talismans take three days to make—they’re specific, so we don’t typically have them ready-made.”

“Oh.”

“Everything else is ready though.” He led Derek down the prepared potions aisle; already-made potions were popular with werewolves, shifters, and regular humans who couldn’t make potions themselves. He handed him the teal-colored cleansing potion. “There’s a tag with instructions on the cap, but I know Annette Hale buys this every few months.”

“She does.” Derek yawned again as they made their way to the herb aisle, stifling it in his elbow and shaking his head, like he was annoyed.

Stiles scooped bloodroot into a bag, avoiding eye contact. “Did you have a…long night?” he asked, and cursed himself for being so awkward.

Derek shook his head. “I just keep having these weird, vivid dreams, and when I wake up, I feel like I haven’t slept. And then I can’t make sense of the dreams.” He shrugged self-consciously.

“Have you tried-?” Stiles paused and frowned at him. “Sleep potions don’t work for werewolves.”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” Stiles touched some vervain thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No. What about an herb bundle?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never tried any of this stuff,” he admitted. “I don’t usually have trouble sleeping, either.”

Stiles dropped his hand and wandered over to the bells. “Maybe you should put a bell on your bedroom window instead.” He examined the smallest bells they had on display and picked out a silver one with a raven carved into the side; some of the bells had symbols or animals carved in them for extra protection, and others had nothing, a blank slate, but Stiles thought Derek could use the raven for some clarity. He held it out with a smile. “If anything is causing bad dreams, the sound will ward it off, and it should help make the dreams clearer so you can figure out what’s going on.”

Derek held the tiny bell in his palm. “Thanks.”

Stiles nodded, then looked back at the others. They had sets and singles. “Did Talia say what colors she wanted?”

“Oh, uh, no. Just some basic, uh, bells for us to string above the windows this winter.”

“Hmm.” Stiles chose a brassy gold set and a few tiny yellow gold chimes, and added a coil of delicate, triple braided twine. “Your mom will know how to string them.” He helped Derek carry everything to the register. “We’ll get the talismans started today.”

Claudia smiled as they set everything on the counter. She was wrapping up a full set of candles for Laura already. “One of you can come back to get them on Tuesday,” she assured them. “Oh, bloodroot alone? But-”

“Uncle Peter only asked for bloodroot.” Laura shrugged. “Nettie tried to get him to explain but he wouldn’t.”

“Huh.” She shook her head. “Maybe he’s got something in mind.” She rang them up while Stiles carefully bagged the rest of their purchases.

“Maybe.” Laura poked at the silver bell.

Derek snatched it and put it in his pocket. “That’s mine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh-kay. Thanks again, Claudia. We’ll be back on Tuesday for the talismans.”

“No problem, thank you guys for coming in!”

Derek turned back so he could wave and smile at Stiles one more time as they were leaving.

By the time they closed at seven, Stiles was dead on his feet; the plan was for them to open again the next morning at the same time, and be closed on Mondays and Thursdays, but he wasn’t sure they’d make it to Monday at this point. They needed to hire some more people.

Claudia was sprawled in a chair in the reading room, beaming and as exhausted as Stiles. “That was…better than I had hoped for.”

Stiles flopped into a chair across from her. “I told you people would come.”

She shrugged. “It’s different, selling little mixtures and plants from my kitchen and selling it in a store.” She flung her hands out over the arms of the chair. “I expected…well, you know how people here can be.”

“Assholes.”

“Fickle,” she shot back. “Supportive one second, and then the next saying I’m thinking too highly of my skills.”

He snorted. “I would love to see anyone from Beacon Hills claim that. They know you, Mom.”

She smiled. “They can be assholes, a little bit,” she admitted, and he laughed. “I was thinking of hiring some part timers, to cover us when we need breaks and a day off. Thoughts?”

“Yes, please.” He dropped his head over the back of the chair. “If we have more people here, we can close a little later, stay open most days without working everyone twenty-four seven, and be able to help more people. Also, we have to get the Hale talismans going.”

“Right.” She tapped her fingers on the edge of the chair. “What did Derek Hale need one bell for?”

Stiles lifted his head. “Hmm?”

She shot him a look. “Don’t play dumb. One silver bell.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Well, he kept yawning while we were finding the stuff his pack asked for, so I asked him if he was having trouble sleeping. He said he was having vivid dreams that were keeping him from resting, so I thought a bell would help, you know, in case it was something coming in.”

She frowned. “But they’re not nightmares?”

“Apparently not. Just vivid dreams.”

“That’s odd.”

“Maybe the bell will help.”

She nodded. “Okay! Let’s go straighten up, count the till, and get started on the talismans for the Hales.”

Because they’d known they would be brewing potions on-site, they’d picked this building in part because it had a kitchen already, so they wouldn’t have to have one built.

“We really need more people working here.” Stiles rocked to his feet.

“I’m working on it. Natalie Martin was interested already, but I’d like a few more witches on staff, too.”

“Dad can help out.”

She smiled as they headed for the kitchen. “He’s bored now that he’s retired.”

“He needs a hobby.”

“Please.” She handed him a broom. “Sprinkle some orange and violet ashes for luck first.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

It wasn’t quite as busy the next day, although they were making an almost equal amount of sales—fewer browsers, Stiles guessed. Around noon, Claudia left him alone to get some coffee and lunch, which was when Derek wandered in. Stiles straightened from the counter and smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied uneasily. “Um, your talismans are still soaking in the first potion.”

Derek looked blank. “Oh, no, that’s not why I’m here, but thanks. I actually—the bell didn’t help,” he blurted.

Stiles frowned.

The woman over in the reading room sneezed, making Derek jump.

“Alright…let’s try an herb bundle.” Stiles rounded the counter. “Something to promote deep sleep, good dreams, some peace….that could help.”

Derek followed him. “I’m willing to try, I’m exhausted and the dreams don’t even make sense.”

“Hmm.” Stiles picked up a mesh sachet and skimmed through the dry herbs, letting his magic pick for him. He sprinkled in lavender, which was an obvious first, a tiny bit of valerian followed by peppermint mostly to disguise the foul scent of the ashes, chamomile, a tiny bit of eryngo, and some gardenia to tie it together, then sealed the bag. “Okay, there’s enough in here for you to sprinkle a tiny bit around your room, and keep the rest in this bag under your pillow while you sleep.” He put the sachet in Derek’s hand.

“You didn’t look at a recipe,” he pointed out.

Stiles frowned, plucking at the hem of his shirt. “Well, I don’t need one for that. I was just…feeling out what seemed right for you.”

“Do you do that for all of your customers?” he asked, smirking. His hair was damp from the chilly rain turning everything gray outside, curling over his forehead.

Stiles focused on a drop forming just above his eye. “No, not really. But none of them have asked,” he added defensively. He crossed his arms. “I was trying-”

“Excuse me. How much is this journal, young man?”

Stiles held his finger up at Derek and went to help the guy in a patchy tweed jacket with the journals. To his surprise, Derek was still waiting when the guy had paid and left. “Yes?”

He lifted the sachet. “I haven’t paid.”

Stiles blinked. “Oh, I—I was giving that to you.” They stood, blinking at each other for a prolonged moment.

Slowly, Derek’s cheeks reddened. His eyes went wide. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Thank—you?”

“No problem.” He smiled. “Did you ever figure out what your uncle wanted the bloodroot for?”

He shook his head. “He just took it and left, didn’t even thank us. He’s been annoyed all day, too, which for Peter means he’s been insufferable.” He turned the sachet over in his hand, then lifted it closer to his face to sniff.

Stiles glanced around the store, but the only person there was the witch in the reading room still. “We have some cookies left from yesterday, want some?”

“Sure.”

Stiles went to get them from the kitchen and poked at the talismans that were gently simmering in a warding potion. The first of three; the next would be applied later that evening. He scooped up the cookies.

Claudia had returned when he got out to the front, asking Derek how his parents were. “The cookies are still good,” she added with a quick smile in Stiles’s direction. “Why don’t you two eat in the kitchen while I watch the store? I can eat after you’re done.” She smiled again. “I got an extra sandwich.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

She winked at him and looked at Derek again. “You have time, don’t you, Derek?”

“I…uh, sure.”

“Great!” She thrust the sandwiches at Stiles. “Derek, I hope you like roast beef on rye with mozzarella and onions?”

Derek looked between her and Stiles. “Yes…that’s…my favorite.”

“How lucky,” she chirped.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, “lucky.” He glanced at Derek, who looked surprised but not suspicious.

He clearly hadn’t spent enough time around witches.

Stiles took the sandwiches to the kitchen anyway. “You don’t have to stay,” he told Derek. “She’s just…” He didn’t know what she was doing. Teasing him for his two embarrassing encounters with Derek? Being overly friendly? Trying to help Stiles make friends like a shy five year old?

“It’s okay. I was just going to get lunch when I left anyway.” Derek looked around the kitchen, the glass front cabinets and the crockpot simmering on the counter. “I guess customers aren’t really meant to be back here.”

Stiles shrugged and set the sandwiches on the table. He grabbed some napkins, gesturing at the seat closest to Derek. “It’s only our second day open, we don’t have rules yet.”

Derek tucked the sachet into his pocket before he sat and unwrapped his sandwich. “You guys have been selling potions and talismans and stuff for a while though, right?”

“Yep.” Stiles licked mustard off his thumb. “Mom’s been doing it her whole life—before she and my dad got married, she and her parents sold supplies and stuff from their kitchen.” He rotated his wrist. “Beacon Hills is getting bigger and it was getting harder to run all this from our kitchen without overrunning the whole house with it.” Stiles took a minute to eat a few bites, watching with his head lowered as Derek did the same. “Your mom and your brother Sean, your dad Leo and your cousin, I think, Connie, I’ve met them all in passing. Annette, too. Amulets, talismans, potions, herbs, crystals—Connie bought a crystal when she was doing her midterms, more for a worry stone than anything, I think.”

“She still has it,” Derek said with a smile. “She wears it on a chain.”

Stiles smiled, too. “See, I’ve met several of your family members—your pack mates. But you’ve never come for anything.”

Derek shrugged. “Everyone else always had plenty and I never really needed anything.”

“Until now.” Stiles nodded at him, indicating the sachet in his pocket.

Derek flashed a grin. “Until now.”

After Derek left, thanking them for lunch and smiling at Stiles an extra time before he left, Claudia whirled on Stiles, beaming.

“What are you up to?”

“Absolutely nothing, how dare you accuse me of being up to something.” She wiped the counter with a damp rag, a smile playing on her lips.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was accusing her of quite yet, so he fell quiet. He’d bide his time and get her back later. Three giggling high schoolers came in to ask about love potions and, having already been subjected to the Love Potion Lecture at age seven, and then twelve, Stiles made himself busy straightening the shelves and checking the plants for dry soil.

Claudia went into the back to eat after the girls left, so Stiles was left to deal with Mrs. Howard’s very particular taste in rose quartz for her daughter’s birthday. It wasn’t so bad, not nearly as bad as the PTA parents wanting “luck” potions for a bake sale.

John wandered in when things died down, while Stiles was drawing mindlessly on a legal pad. He leaned over. “Anything good?”

Stiles studied the shape. “Not sure yet.” He added another line. “I think it might need…copper. Amethyst.” He tilted the pad. “Some spirit quartz for an added layer, maybe, to clear things up.” He rubbed his finger over the top curve thoughtfully.

“Who’s it for?”

“Dunno. It just keeps coming to me.” He finally looked up and grinned. “What’re you all dressed up for? I thought you were strictly into jeans these days.”

John ran a hand down the neat button down shirt that he’d paired with a completely wrinkle-free pair of khakis. “I’m here for a job interview,” he said grimly. “Think I got a chance with the boss?”

Stiles grinned. “I dunno, she’s pretty strict.”

Claudia came out of the back wiping her hands on a towel. Her eyes widened. “Well, now, Sheriff, don’t you look handsome.”

Stiles, still grinning, shook his head and hopped off the stool behind the counter to hunt up some of the materials he needed for the amulet he was going to make. Chips of amethyst and flint were his first ingredients, and the rest, he figured, would come to him as needed. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, just copper wrapped around three very small stones in the shape he couldn’t get out of his head.

He rang himself up after he’d gathered a few more things, then put his supplies aside—his tools and the other things he needed were at home.

“What’re you making?” Claudia asked after watching him tuck his bagged purchases away.

“An amulet, I think.”

“Hmm.”

John was across the shop enthusiastically helping a witch select a chain for her new pendulum.

She looked amused despite the fact that John clearly had no idea what to direct her toward.

“He always was better with herbs,” Claudia mused. “I can’t believe he hasn’t picked up more from us after all these years.”

“Maybe he should just run the register.”

“He’s got it.”

Stiles shrugged and went back to his rough sketch, tracing the spirals with his finger.

He spent the evening coiling copper wire at the kitchen table, carefully wrapping it around the smallest piece of pearl dolomite he’d been able to find, then spirit quartz, and finally a tiny piece of flint. The amethyst chips went along the wire, and after that he sprinkled gardenia and lavender ash on it to sit for the night. He studied it; it wasn’t his best work, but not his worst, either. The amulet would need to be charged with his magic to bind it together, and he’d need a chain for it before it could be worn. The amulet itself was small, about the size of a silver dollar.

He left it overnight and took it to the shop the next morning. Stiles and John were handling the front while Claudia retreated, with a miserable growl, to do the accounting.

Her day job, after all, used to be the head of an accounting firm, and she had the most experience. Besides that, she wasn’t ready to hire someone else to take care of it.

“I’m still not sure, this one over here is really beautiful.” The customer indicated a hand painted tarot deck made by a local witch Claudia had grown up with.

“If you’re just starting, a basic deck is the best way to learn how to read the cards.” He smiled. “You can get fancy later, I promise.”

“Well…I suppose you’re right.” She sighed. “My mom said the same thing, and I definitely knew that was the right way to do it, but the hand painted deck is so…” She picked up the deck Stiles had pointed out to her. “Do you guys carry altar cloths? I would like to get a new one.”

Stiles grinned. “We do, actually. Dominic Birch embroidered them, his work is unbelievable.”

After she’d paid and left—with two new journals, an altar cloth, and her tarot deck—John helped a guy pick out a potted aloe plant and Stiles sold three necklaces and a ring.

The bells chimed as he was restocking with more jewelry. “Hi,” he called out, turning.

Derek waved awkwardly and held up a piece of paper. “Peter wants some more stuff.”

“Ah. Did he say what it was for this time?”

“Nope. He’s just as irritated today, too.” He passed the list to Stiles, thumb brushing the back of his hand. He was wearing a blue sweater in concession to the chill hanging in the air, and the fact that the sleeves were just a little too long for him was too much for Stiles. “Oh, hey, I think those herbs you gave me worked, last night I barely had any dreams at all.”

Stiles smiled at him. “That’s great.” He flipped the list over. Buchu, rose, dandelion—dried and ground. Huh. “Did he say how much of this stuff he wants?”

Derek shook his head. “But he did send his debit card, so feel free to ring up as much as you’d like.”

Stiles snickered. “I’d love to, but I think we should try to keep our reputation good, you know, since we’re so new and all.”

Derek snorted. “If he noticed, I doubt he’d say anything anyway. There’s so much going on at home, though, I don’t think he would notice.”

Stiles bagged the herbs as they talked. “What’s going on?”

“Just the usual holiday madness. For our winter celebration, our extended pack—that’s everyone who’s moved away and joined or formed other packs—comes to visit. All three houses are overrun for days.”

Stiles laughed as he tipped a scoop of dried dandelion into a bag. “That sounds awesome.”

“I guess it is, sometimes. That’s why everyone is freaking out, though. It takes a lot to prepare for all those werewolves.” He rubbed the back of his head, sighing. “I’m gonna have to share my room with a couple of my cousins.”

“Aw, didn’t you miss your cousins?”

“No.” He scowled, then sighed. “Yeah, a little bit. There’s just a lot of them—we all end up completely sleep deprived by the end.” He took the bags Stiles held out. “But it is fun. You guys should stop by. The festivities start on the twentieth.”

“You make it sound like a carnival,” Stiles laughed as he walked him to the counter.

“More like a circus,” he muttered. “But I swear it’s fun, and there’s enough food to feed at least three armies.”

“Won’t your family mind if we crash a family gathering?”

“No, I’m pretty sure my mom invites Claudia every year, only she always had plans.”

“Yeah, we usually do year end rituals and stuff, but I can probably, uh, stop by. If you wanted.” He studiously avoided the way John was looking at him while he rang up Derek’s purchases.

Derek beamed at him. “That’d be great.”

Stiles smiled. In his pocket, the amulet grew warm, then hot. His hand jumped to it, closing around the wire, and his eyes widened. “Should—should I bring…anything?”

“Just yourself. Maybe some earplugs. Aunt Nettie’s sister-in-law just had triplets.” Derek grinned at John. “Sheriff, you and Mrs. Stilinski are more than welcome, too. My mom will probably be calling sometime tomorrow or the next day to invite you herself.”

John smiled. “Maybe we’ll stop by this year.” His gaze inched over to Stiles and his smile stretched into a grin. “Just to make sure Stiles stays out of trouble.”

“Very funny,” Stiles muttered. “I’m an angel.”

“Lying is a sin, angel.”

Stiles, unable to flip him off, stuck his tongue out, and got a pitying look in response. He remembered Derek a second later and flushed, whipping around so his back was to John. “Uh, uh—let me know how—if the weird dreams come back,” he stammered. “We can try something else.” He cast around for something else to say as they inched away from the counter and noticed Derek’s bag. “Your uncle isn’t…trying to see the future, is he?”

“No idea.” Derek peered into the bag. “Why, is that what this stuff is for?”

Stiles tilted his hand side to side. “They can be used for a few different things, but yeah, divination and visions are some of the more popular things.” He shook his head. “Not that it matters, it’s not a big deal. Plenty of people use herbs for prophetic visions,” he assured him. “Us, we prefer crystals if we’re trying to see something.”

“Do you look into the future often?”

Stiles shook his head and met Derek’s gaze. “I prefer to be surprised. The future can change, so what’s the point in worrying about one vision you saw once, by chance, that might not even happen?”

Derek’s lips quirked. “Speaking from experience?”

He glanced back at his dad automatically; Claudia had joined him at the counter, their heads tipped together as they spoke. “Yeah, I peeked and I didn’t…” He shook his head again. “Doesn’t matter, it’s already changed.” He smiled at Derek.

“What kind of magic do you use, if you don’t try to see the future?”

He lifted his shoulders. “All kinds, I guess.”

“What are you good at?”

He laughed. “You want me to brag about my skills?” He waggled his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Stiles laughed again, he couldn’t help it. “Well, I’m pretty good with water-based magic, and my telekinetic prowess is, if I do say so myself, pretty awesome.”

“You’ll have to give me a demonstration sometime.”

Stiles nodded and lifted his hand, palm up. Water formed on his fingers and slid down, gathering into a ball. He flexed his fingers. It froze solid.

“Okay, that was impressive.”

“A Stilinski, flirting by showing off, why am I not surprised.” Mavis’s voice made Stiles jump, the ice ball flying out of his grasp. “How utterly predictable.”

Derek snatched the ball before it could hit the ground and shatter.

“Mischief, you are just like your mother, I swear. You can do better than that to impress the man. Claudia,” she called in her croaking voice, “did you see what Mischief was doing?” She shuffled away from them.

Stiles covered his eyes. “Good gods.”

Derek mouthed, “Mischief?” but dropped it when Stiles shook his head. “Well, I thought it was impressive.” He held out the ice.

Stiles closed his hands over it. “There’s no reason to do big spells indoors, Mavis.”

“Balls of ice aren’t impressive, Mischief.”

He rolled his eyes at Derek. “I’ll see you later, I have to go chase an old lady with a broom.”

He laughed. “Good luck.”

Stiles finished the amulet on his break, holding his hand over it and binding the ingredients together, all the pieces, the copper, the flint, the quartz, the dolomite and amethyst, with his magic. He found a black chain he thought went well with the copper triskelion and attached it, then stared at the completed piece. It’d come to him for a reason, amulets usually did, but he just couldn’t figure out who it was meant for.

Claudia put the Hales talismans in the last potion while he was still staring at it. “Looks good. What made you use a triskelion?”

“I’m not sure, it just…came to me.” He shrugged. While Claudia had always had an instinct for talismans, Stiles had the same instinct for amulets, the shapes and materials often coming to him and hovering in his mind, behind his eyes, like he’d stared at a light too long. She’d found him making them enough throughout his life to know he hadn’t made it for himself.

“Have you figured out who it’s for?”

Her tone made him look up, eyes narrowed. “No…why?”

She poked at the talismans, then covered them again. “Well, the triskelion is the Hale pack’s symbol. They use it to identify their pack.”

Stiles looked at the amulet. “Huh.”

“Maybe you made it for Derek,” she teased.

“Mother, are you implying something?”

“Just that he keeps coming here…daily…and that he invited you to his family gathering.” She shrugged. She had an ivy leaf caught in her hair from that morning.

“He’s just being friendly.”

She snorted. “Laura, maybe, Nettie absolutely, but from what I’ve noticed, friendly is an optional trait in the Hales and they don’t bother unless they think you’re worth it.” She held her hands up. “Could be he just likes you as a friend, that’s true.” Her eyes gleamed. “But I say you take that amulet over on the twentieth and see if he says no when you ask him out.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“If he turns you down, I will admit I was wrong, somehow.”

“Not good enough.”

She tapped her fingers on the table. “If I’m wrong, what would you like?”

“Grandpa’s book of charms.”

“Oh, Stiles.” She shook her head. “They’re messy.”

“Blood?”

She held her fingers a half inch apart. “But it’s more in the mud and clay and wet ashes way. Trust me. Messy.”

“I want them.”

She put her hands up. “Fine, since I’m sure I’m right, if Derek shoots you down, I will dig out your grandfather’s book of charms. Only if I’m wrong. If he accepts, you do Laura Hale’s interview. She wants to work here,” she added with a smile.

“That’s absolutely not on the same level.”

“Those are my conditions.”

“Ugh, fine. Are you and Dad going?”

She smoothed the wrinkles out of her black and pink dress, smiling serenely at him. “We have to be there, dear, it’s only polite.” She turned on her heel, ponytail swishing as she left.

“You’ve got ivy in your hair!” he shouted after her. He looked down at the amulet. “Damn it.” He needed to find a box for it now.

The twentieth arrived before Stiles was fully prepared. They’d been busy with people coming for ritual kits, herbs, potions, and gifts, enough that they could consider their first two weeks of being open a resounding success. Stiles found a decorative cherry wood box with a small raven carved into the side to put the amulet in, on a bed of gardenia and lavender, and dressed casually for the party.

Cora at Mocha Latte Memories turned out to be another Hale that Stiles hadn’t met and had told him to just show up whenever. “The dress code?” she’d repeated blankly when he’d asked. “Uh…casual. We’re a mess, don’t worry about it. Some of the littler kids probably won’t even be dressed.” She’d shrugged. “Shifters, you know.”

So Stiles wasn’t sure what to expect as he headed to the Hale property. It used to be just one house, but they’d added two more to accommodate their growing pack. Stiles hadn’t seen it in a while—not since he was a teenager, wandering the preserve at night with Scott and Heather, being stupid—so the sight of about twenty extra cars and a camper clogging the long driveway and part of the yard, plus about six people on the wrap around porch just chatting, was something of a surprise.

Stiles parked behind a blue SUV and turned the jeep off deliberately slow. He stared at the little box on his passenger seat and sighed.

John and Claudia had come over earlier, just after noon, but Stiles had managed to procrastinate so long that he now had to arrive alone. Maybe he could just sit here until he spotted Derek and act like he’d just arrived.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

‘Coming in at any point, son?’

Stiles scowled. He figured blocking her wouldn’t work, so he just shoved it back in his pocket, swiped the box, and got out. He had to weave through several cars to get to the yard, where he could see a flattened path from everyone walking the same route.

Behind him, someone shouted, “Quit it!”

He turned.

Fifteen feet away, Derek got tackled by a tall, skinny werewolf with short dark hair.

Stiles tensed, but it wasn’t until another werewolf, shorter, partially shifted and snarling through long fangs, joined in that he started running. “Hey!”

Derek snarled and rolled, but the shifted werewolf bit his ear, making him yelp, while the other sat on his legs to pin him down.

“Hey!” Stiles shouted again. He stopped before any of those flailing claws or fangs could hit him and studied the ball of werewolves.

Someone up on the porch noticed them and snickered.

Stiles flinched when blood spattered the grass, a yelp coming from the bottom of the pile. He rolled his eyes and put his free hand out, then swept it aside.

The taller werewolf tumbled aside, landing on his butt a couple feet away.

Stiles caught the other one and flicked him away, too, leaving Derek disheveled and a little bloody. Stiles turned to the two that’d tackled him and shook his head. “Two on one is shameful,” he scolded. He could see now that they were teenagers; their partial shifts had made them look older, but as the fangs and tufted ears melted away, they looked young.

The taller one looked petulant while the other simply looked mortified.

“He drank our hot chocolate!” the tall one snapped.

“Uh—what?”

Derek sat up. “You can’t prove that.” Blood trailed down his cheek, but the cut had, thankfully, already healed.

“It’s always you,” the embarrassed one piped up. “Uncle Peter says you keep stealing his coffee, too.”

Derek’s ears went red. “He’s exaggerating.” He looked up at Stiles sheepishly. “I always refill the cups after. I’m just useless in the morning.”

“You’re always useless.”

“Markus,” a man on the porch snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry.” He looked at Stiles. “How’d you do that?”

“He’s a witch, dummy.”

“Todd,” the man scolded.

Todd held his hands up. “But he is.” He squinted at Stiles. “Right?”

“Right.”

Todd smirked at Marcus.

Stiles held his hand out to help Derek up. “Brawling with teenagers?”

“They hit me first.” He smiled. “I thought you’d decided not to come when your parents showed up without you.”

Stiles shook his head. “Just running behind.”

Derek nodded, fighting a huge yawn that nearly wrenched his jaw apart.

He lifted his brows. “Dreams again?”

He nodded. “They came back a couple days ago.” He looked toward the house, ears going red. “You were in them this time, even though they still don’t make sense.”

Todd rolled his eyes and pulled Markus to his feet. “Stop stealing everyone’s drinks!”

“I thought it was Peter’s coffee,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to steal your hot chocolate.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “Make your own coffee, jeeze, Uncle Peter’s right. You are nose blind.”

“I am not!”

Stiles prodded Derek’s shoulder. “Excuse me, did you just say you’ve been drinking your uncle’s coffee?”

Todd nodded, aggrieved. “Derek steals everyone’s drinks, every year.”

He looked guilty. “Only when it’s really early, and I always refill the mug, brats.” That last bit was directed at his cousins, who were clearly unconvinced.

“You do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“You can sleep in Cora’s room tonight,” Derek hissed.

Stiles shared an exasperated look with Todd, though he was sure Todd was more bothered by the hot chocolate theft than he was. He had a bigger problem. “Derek.”

“Yeah.”

He tried to think of a nice way to phrase it, but… “Are you, possibly, nose blind?”

Todd and Markus cackled.

Derek looked insulted. “No!”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uncle Peter is the uncle who’s been sending you to get potion ingredients from my shop, right?”

“Yea—ah, fuck.”

Markus’s mouth opened in a wide, wide grin. “I’m telling Aunt Talia.”

Todd’s hand shot out, catching his shirt. “Derek can buy our silence.”

Markus’s eyes went even brighter, delighted.

He glared at them. “What do you want?”

“Take us to the potion place.”

“Excuse me?”

“We never get to go to witch stores, we want to buy magic potions.” The boys looked excited by the mere idea, breathless at the power that was just in their reach.

Stiles leaned around Derek. “If you go find Miss Claudia in the house, she’ll tell you all about magic potions. That way when Derek takes you, you know which one to pick.”

They looked at each other, smirking, then ran for the house.

He straightened up. “That lecture should keep them busy for at least twenty minutes.” He swung back around to Derek. “You’ve been drinking coffee laced with potions.”

“Apparently.”

“Potions for prophetic dreams.”

“Yep.”

“Then refilling the cup before anyone noticed the coffee was gone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Which means your uncle has been drinking regular coffee thinking it was laced with potions, and probably getting annoyed that it’s not working—stop laughing!” But Stiles was laughing, too. “This is serious, you could’ve poisoned yourself.”

He shook his head as he wheezed. “Peter’s been so pissed lately, and it turns out it’s because his experiments aren’t working—because I’ve been drinking them.” He shook his head, overcome.

“Didn’t he—no, you said he didn’t tell you guys what it was for.” Stiles rolled his eyes. The cold was starting to seep under his jacket finally, chilling him.

“No, he didn’t. Serves him right for not telling us what he was making us run errands for.”

Stiles lifted a brow at him.

“Hey, I got my payback by losing sleep.”

“Somehow that doesn’t seem to compare.” Stiles looked at the box in his hand and sighed. “When was the last time you drank his coffee?”

“Yesterday morning,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and shuffling his feet. They were barely an arms’ length apart, over the muddy disturbed grass where he’d been wrestling with his cousins. He scratched drying blood off his temple.

“You’ve probably got another couple nights before the dreams wear off.”

He nodded. “Hey, I’m—I’m glad you came over.” He smiled shyly.

Stiles smiled back. “Me too. Now I know why none of my usual tricks worked for your weird dreams.” He tapped his finger on the box. “You don’t remember any of them?”

“Nothing that makes sense.” He shrugged.

Too bad. He shook it off and held the box out. “I brought this for you.”

“Thank you.” He took it carefully, tilting it so he could see the carving on the side. He traced it gently with one fingertip. “You guys are fond of ravens, I guess.”

“They’re a thing with my mom’s family. And they’re good friends.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to wait ’til sundown to open it, you know.”

Derek made a show of examining every inch of the box before he pried it open. His lashes fluttered. “You made this.” Not a question, no surprise. A fact.

“How’d you guess?”

He lifted his gaze. “I can feel it. You weren’t kidding about your magic being powerful. Can I wear it now?”

“Of course, I made it for you to wear.” Stiles had to look away, his neck prickling. He normally didn’t make a big deal of his amulets and the receivers of them typically followed his lead. He didn’t know what to do with such gravity. When he looked up, Derek was wearing the amulet around his neck, the triskelion resting just beneath his collar bones.

“How’s it look?”

Stiles nodded. “Pretty good,” he squeaked. He looked over his shoulder, but everyone who’d been on the porch was gone. He took a deep breath. “Well, now that I’ve given you fancy jewelry…”

“A protective amulet,” Derek corrected, cupping his hand over it as if he was shielding it.

“Right. I was—I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out on a date. Maybe get coffee from somewhere your sister doesn’t work.” He caught his breath and reminded himself that either way this went, he would get something he wanted.

He just, maybe, wanted to date Derek more than he wanted that book of charms.

Derek smiled. “Sure, that sounds great.” He lifted his gaze and winced. “But, uh, first we have to survive this.” He pointed.

Claudia and Talia were watching from the door, both grinning, while noses pressed against nearly every window around them.

“We could make a run for it,” Stiles said out of the corner of his mouth. “I think I can hold the door closed from here and we can make it to the jeep.”

“You can’t run from every problem.”

“I am fast enough to out run most of them,” he pointed out.

Derek caught his hand, twined their fingers together, and tugged him up toward the house. “There’s not that many of them in this house—most of them are out in the backyard.”

“Your mom is in there,” he whined.

Claudia winked.

“My mom is in there,” he added under his breath.

They laughed together and moved out of the doorway, linking arms and heading toward the kitchen, by the looks of it.

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand. “Because you didn’t shoot me down, I have to give your sister a job interview.”

“If you can survive this, interviewing Laura will be nothing.” Derek kissed the back of his hand, making him flush all over, before he went into the house.

“Derek!” a man growled, followed by a yelp and a thud.

Stiles shook his head and went inside to save him from Peter’s wrath.

[nerdzzone]

Light After Dark: Chapter Eight

Summary: Brooke Harris was trying her best to be grateful. As the world tackled the COVID-19 pandemic, she was healthy and safe and so was the rest of her family, but her dreams had very quickly been crushed by the economic fallout. Trapped on the quaint island of Jersey with nothing, but free time to wallow in her mistakes, Brooke’s mental health was taking a hit, but when she collides with a handsome stranger she starts to realize that the future might not be so bleak and there might still be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

______________

May. 27. 2020

Henry: Any plans for this lovely warm day?

Warm felt like an understatement. It was hot. The temperature had shot up out of no where making it feel even warmer than it actually was, but at twenty-four degrees it felt like the height of summer for England.

Me: I'm way ahead of you

Me:

The picture was more revealing than things I'd sent him before, but I was at the beach so it would have been weird to cover up for a selfie. At least that’s what I told myself as I waited eagerly for a response.

Henry: Wow, it looks like I'm missing out

Henry: Do you want some company or are you enjoying the alone time?

Me: I'm always happy to have your company if you want to join!

Henry: Excellent, what beach are you at?

Me: Beauport

Henry: Great, I'll see you soon

I put my phone back under my bag and out of the sun before resting my head down on my arms. The feel of the sun on my back was lovely, just warm enough to feel like I was laying under a nice hot blanket, but not hot enough that it felt like my skin was literally burning. Days like this were my absolute favourite. Anything between twenty-three and thirty degrees was just right for me and I tried to appreciate that this was a moment I wouldn't have had if my plan for the year had worked out.

I was in my own world, still basking in the warmth when a bark and a wet nose pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Kal!" A sharp voice shouted as I lifted my head to see the massive dog above me. "Leave her alone!"

I giggled as he licked my face frantically and reached up to ruffle his fluffy coat.

"It's okay," I assured Henry as he jogged over. "He's alright."

"He knows better than to run off like that," Henry frowned. "But he saw you and bolted."

"Well I appreciate that enthusiasm, but you should listen to your boss, Kal."

He boofed at the sound of his name before darting a few feet towards the sea then running back to Henry. He did it twice more before letting out a bark towards his owner.

"Alright," Henry chuckled. "You can go, Kal. Go!"

Kal didn't even hesitate before shooting off and jumping into the waves. I laughed as I looked over my shoulder at the sight while Henry spread out the blanket that was tucked under his arm and sat down next to me. I rolled over, leaning back on my elbows so it was easier for us to talk.

"He must be so hot in this weather."

"He is," Henry nodded. "But he does well. He's been to some places that are a lot hotter than this."

"Well then he's a trooper," I smiled. "Because much hotter than this and even I get cranky and I don't have a built in fur coat."

"He is," Henry chuckled, but paused as Kal started trying to bite the waves. He whistled sharply, catching his dogs attention. "Kal! Come here!"

The dog happily charged back towards us before flopping down in the sand, panting.

"He's so obedient!"

"I worked hard at that," Henry admitted. "I knew that if I wanted to take him everywhere I go then he had to be well-behaved, but he's still a dog so sometimes he does things that he shouldn't like drinking salt water until it makes him sick."

"Sometimes it's the things we love the most that hurt us," I smiled. "Like humans with alcohol."

"Fair point," Henry laughed. "But at least there's some fun to be had with alcohol, can't say the same with salt water."

"I wouldn't know," I shrugged. "It's not something I've tried."

"Me neither," Henry smiled before leaning back and tilting his head up to the sky, sighing contentedly. "Wow, it's such a nice day today."

"I know, it's perfect. It's hot, but not overwhelmingly so."

Henry looked down at me, a smirk on his face.

"I would imagine that it's hard to be overwhelmingly warm when you're wearing as little clothing as you are."

"It's a bikini," I defended myself, matching his smirk. "We're at the beach, what else would I wear?"

"Oh no, I'm not complaining," Henry assured me. "You look great."

My face heated up at that, but I quietly thanked him and turned my face towards the sun, hoping that it would account for my red cheeks. However, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Henry pulling his shirt over his head and I couldn't help, but take a peek. It was quite a sight to say the least. I'd seen him shirtless in the Witcher of course, but seeing it up close made him seem even more unreal.

The smirk was still firmly planted on Henry's face as he caught my eye and I shook myself out of it.

"Do you have sunscreen on, Mr. Cavill?"

"No," He admitted. "I didn't even think of that before I left the house, but I don't burn too easily so I think I'll be okay."

I frowned at that and reached over to my bag, pulled out my sunscreen and tossed it onto his blanket.

"It doesn't matter if you don't burn easily, it's still bad for your skin to be in sun this strong with no protection," I warned him. "Besides, isn't Geralt supposed to be super pale? Don't give your make-up artists more work."

He laughed, shaking his head at my scolding, but did as I asked after mumbling something about how bossy I was being. I ignored him though. I loved laying in the sun, but was paranoid about the potential damage it could cause so I was very used to friends and family making fun of me for my strict sunscreen rules.

I watched while he applied it to his face, arms and his chest until he turned to me with a problem.

"That's all the places I can reach," He sighed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "What if my back burns?"

"I guess you'll just have to keep it against your blanket and out of the sun."

"Or you could do it for me?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but it had suddenly gone dry at the thought of running my hands over the broad, muscled back of the man I was looking at. I quickly took a sip from my water bottle to remedy that problem as he watched me closely waiting for my reaction.

"We're supposed to stay two metres apart," I reminded him, but all I got was a pout in return. The giant, manly, thirty-seven year old man actually genuinely pouted at me. And I was powerless to resist. "Alright, fine. But keep your head forward and away from me the whole time, okay?"

He grinned and nodded as he sat up and leaned forward. I shifted onto my knees before crawling over and settling behind him. I squirted some sunscreen onto my palm and gently placed it against his back. I felt nervous which made me feel silly, but this would be the most physical contact we'd had so far and it felt shockingly intimate as I carefully rubbed my hand across his skin.

His muscles were rock solid and my breath caught in my throat as they quivered under my touch. Tiny little goosebumps rose up on his skin as I took my time, exploring every curve of his shoulder blade and ridge of his spine. We were closer than we'd been since he carried me to the car on the day that we met and it suddenly hit me how much things had changed between us in that short time. A temptation washed over me to press my lips against the soft hairs on the back of his neck, but I pushed the thought out of my head as I rubbed in the last of the sunscreen, knowing it would be inappropriate.

I cleared my throat as I moved back to my blanket, feeling a new kind of heaviness in the air between us. There were a million thoughts running through my brain as we sat in silence until I managed to speak.

"It's really such a shame that you've let yourself go so much these last few months."

Henry stared at me for a moment before laughing and the thick tension between us faded slightly, at least to a point where it wasn't quite so hard to breathe.

"I know, it's embarrassing," He playfully hung his head, sarcasm dripping from his words. "It's going to take me ages to get back into shape before filming starts again."

"Do you have any idea when that will be yet?"

I felt an anxious pang in my stomach as I asked the question. I almost didn't want to know the answer because I knew how disappointed I'd be if it was anytime soon.

"No, not yet," He sighed and despite feeling sympathy for him, I was relieved. "The best guess they can give right now is maybe September, but they don't want to commit to anything because things change so fast these days."

"That's very true," I nodded. "Did you hear about them easing the restrictions here soon?"

"I did," Henry smiled. "Is it on June 10th?"

"The twelfth," I corrected. "Apparently we'll be allowed to have parties with a maximum of twenty people. My mum's already working on a guest list for a barbecue."

I rolled my eyes and Henry laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure my mum will be doing the same. You'd think having a house full would satisfy her, but I think she misses seeing people that she isn't related to."

"I can relate to that," I laughed. "That's why it's been so nice having you to spend some time with."

I thought that might be a bit cheesy, but Henry nodded.

"It has been nice for that," He agreed. "And it doesn't hurt that you flounce around in skimpy pajamas and barely there bikinis to get my attention."

My jaw dropped as he shot me a smug look.

"I am not doing anything for your attention," I protested as he laughed, tossing his head back.

"Oh, sure," He grinned. "All I did was ask what you were doing and you sent me a picture of you half-naked on the beach."

My cheeks were burning, but I laughed as I shook my head in disbelief.

"Okay, but how fast did you get here? It took you less than ten minutes and I know it's at least a fifteen minute drive from your place."

"Maybe if you follow the speed limit," He chuckled. "But the roads were empty so perhaps I went a bit fast."

"Perhaps? Sounds like you were speeding desperately to ogle me in person," I teased. "And then you make me rub sunscreen all over you? I don't think I'm the one desperate for attention here."

"You're the one who was so concerned about my sun protection," He pointed out. "But anyway, my point was that I enjoy spending time with you as well."

I laughed, letting my head fall back so the sun hit my neck and chest.

"I'm not sure I stand by that statement anymore," I mused. "I might need to find someone else to hang out with who doesn't try to wind me up all the time."

"Oh, c'mon, where's the fun in that?"

"The fun is that I keep my sanity," I joked as I pulled my sunglasses off my head and tossed them towards my bag. It was nearing two o'clock and I realized how hot the sun was starting to get. "I think I'm going to go for a swim, do you want to come with?"

Kal leapt up as I pulled myself to my feet, barking happily at me.

"She wasn't talking to you," Henry laughed, ruffling his dog's fur as he stood up as well. "But a swim sounds lovely. That sun is getting intense."

"It is," I nodded as we headed off towards the water. "It feels way hotter than I thought it was supposed to be, but it's refreshing after such a rainy spring."

"Absolutely," Henry agreed as we got to the rocky part of the beach. Closer to the water was more soft sand, but there was a middle stretch of rocks that was proving to be rather inconvenient. "Are you a good swim-"

Half-way through Henry's sentence I went down. The rocks were slippery and I lost my footing, falling on my bum with an embarrassing shriek. Kal bounded over, barking frantically from the commotion as I could barely stand myself up through my laughter.

"Oh my god," I choked out. "I can't believe that just happened."

Henry had his hand on Kal's collar to give me space and there was a smile on his face despite the look of concern.

"Are you okay?"

I got my laughter under control and nodded as I got to my feet.

"Other than my bruised ego, I'm fine."

Henry chuckled and shook his head.

"I can't believe how clumsy you are!"

"I'm really not," I insisted. "Maybe if someone didn't shatter my ankle a few weeks ago, I'd have better balance."

"Oh, sure, blame me! Last I heard, you were insisting that incident was mostly your own fault as well!" He had a valid point, but I just stuck out my tongue as I subtly tried to adjust my bikini bottoms. "You're really okay though? You didn't hurt your ankle again?"

"No, no, I'm fine," I assured him. "Just embarrassed."

He let go of Kal and we resumed our walk, making sure to be extra careful where we stepped.

"So, what I was going to ask was: Are you a good swimmer?"

"I am," I nodded. "We used to spend a lot of time at the seaside when I was a child so I love being in the water."

"That's good," Henry's smirk returned. "Hopefully you're better at sea than on land."

I cringed slightly as another wave of embarrassment at what just happened washed over me, but I couldn't help but laugh at the situation.

"Oh, please," I rolled my eyes. "Don't act like you wouldn't love an opportunity to give me mouth to mouth."

Henry laughed at that, shaking his head in amusement.

"Cheeky girl," He tutted. "But I'll admit, it wouldn't be too much of an imposition if my services were needed."

He shot me a wink and for a brief moment I was actually considering letting myself drown just to give him the chance to save me.

****

We stayed at the beach for the next few hours. We swam for a bit with Kal paddling around us as we splashed each other, teased each other and had a very competitive race back to shore that I obviously let Henry win. Once we were back on on our blankets, we lounged in the sun to dry off, but since it still wasn't quite summer it did start to cool off as it got closer to dinner time.

“I should probably head home," I reluctantly said as I checked the time. "I've been here all day, my family probably think I've drowned."

"I don't know about that," Henry smirked. "You are a strong swimmer, they're probably more worried that you've fallen and broken something."

"Piss off," I laughed. "You're so rude."

Henry grinned proudly at getting under my skin once again as I slipped a sundress over my now dry bikini. Henry followed suit, putting his shirt on as I folded my blanket and checked to make sure all my things were tucked safely in my bag.

"How did you get here?" Henry asked as he folded up his own blanket as well. "Did you drive?"

"No, I walked."

"You walked?" He raised his eyebrows. "That's a long way to walk."

"It was a nice morning," I shrugged. "I just popped on an audio book and it didn't feel like such a long trek."

"Fair enough," Henry nodded as we headed towards the parking lot with Kal hot on our heels. "But how are you planning to get home?"

"I hadn't really thought of that," I admitted. "I'll probably call my dad and see if he can pick me up. Otherwise, I guess I'll be walking back too."

"I can give you a ride," Henry offered immediately. "Seems silly for your dad to drive all the way here when we're going to almost the same place."

It was a tempting offer and it did make sense, but I bit my lip nervously. We really were supposed to be staying two metres apart and we'd already been closer than we probably should have been throughout the day. Sensing my hesitation, Henry rushed to assure me.

"We can keep the windows open if it makes you feel more comfortable and I really haven't seen anyone other than you and my family for weeks now."

"We're so bad at this two metres apart thing," I laughed with a shake of my head. "But okay, thank you. I would love a ride home."

"Perfect," He smiled. "I wasn't really going to take no for an answer anyway."

I smiled at that knowing it was probably true. I hadn't known Henry all that long, but I'd already discovered that his dog wasn't the only stubborn one in their little duo. It was nice though. I might not have dated much in the last couple of years, but I knew that chivalry was hard to find and it was becoming more and more clear that Henry really was a true gentleman and I was very grateful to have someone like him around to brighten up the dark lockdown days.

_________

I’m starting a tag list for this story now so let me know if you would like to be added!

Tag List: @heartfelt-pen​

[wincestisasincest]

The Green Book (Thorin’s Company x Reader, Part 2)

Hey gang! Sorry it took so long to get a Part 2! I wish I had a better excuse but in reality I just watched all of Game of Thrones and cried a lot.

I don’t know if anyone reads these descriptions, also, but if you are, send me asks/suggestions for characteristics of the reader, or objects that they have on them, or even pairings! I love to hear what people think, and will almost definitely incorporate them into this.

Summary: (Y/n) falls into Middle Earth. Shocker. Somehow, she gets recruited to join a party of dwarves on their kinda crazy mission to reclaim their home of Erebor. 

Part: 1, 2

Tags (let me know if you want to be added to the list!): @stuckupstucky, @dianaarelyfernandezgarza97

Words: 1820

Warnings: Plot clichés, vomit

“Do not touch her face.” 

“But uncle, look at her! Who knows what else she could be hiding? We should check to be sure.”

“Do not. Touch. Her face.” 

“What if it gets her to wake up?” 

“Lad, if you touch her face I’ll poke yours a lot harder with the back of my hand.”

“Right, right, sorry.” 

“I believe, at the moment, there is a greater threat that deserves our attention.” 

My eyes fluttered open, only to be met with several new faces, looking just about as shocked as I did. Though I didn’t get an in depth look, they all had thick brows, long hair, and even longer beards. They had also taken to certain sacks, made out of burlap. I couldn’t really make out the scene clearly as it was quite dark, a proper nighttime like I had missed earlier, but there was the aggressive firelight with shadows passing over it that illuminated their expressions. 

I tried to move, only to realize that I was in a very similar situation. A sack was up to my neck, and though I could move freely inside of it, the toughness of the fabric and the smallness of the sack was very limiting. 

“Psst. Hey! Lass!” I turned my eyes up only to meet with a blonde haired man, with braided bears and hair like a lion’s mane. I raised my eyebrows in response to his question. 

“Yes?” I answered meekly. 

“Hey, is that the lass?” Another young, spry voice answered from over the rest of the bodies. 

“Both of you, shut up!” A rather authoritative voice, quite deep, and apparently coming from someone with no sense of humor, rose over the din.

“Ey, stop ya talkin’ or I’ll cook yew first!” I looked up, only to be met with a pallid, monstrous face leering at the group of men. It held a slightly spiked club with its massive fingers as it scrunched its snot filled nose. 

It took nearly all of my willpower not to scream, but I did allow a gasp to escape. I turned to the blonde man, and scooted a little closer.

“What the fuck is that?” I whispered frigthfully. 

“A troll, it would seem.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?!” I responded, just confused as this man dispensed tales from fantasy novels like they were fact. 

“What are they gonna do to us?!” I continued my interrogation.

“Well, I think that they’re planning to eat us, but don’t you worry. We won’t let that happen.” He gave me a confident wink like there was a chance of escape, before going back to angrily grunting against his sack. 

I sighed and leaned back, trying to absorb the situation. I couldn’t get a good periphery. If only I had my backpack, or something. 

Some sparse conversation between a smaller, meeker voice and the larger one of the troll was occurring to my left, though I was too dazed to make out most of it. Something about worms. 

The group then began caterwauling, all moaning about how they were riddled with the worst possible worms, and I had caught on to their scheme. If they were riddled with worms, then the trolls, of course, wouldn’t want to eat them. 

“What about her? She seems fine.” My vision went from blurry to dreadfully straight as the great club in front of me came into focus. Shit. 

“I, uh-” I struggled against my frightened breathing to put on a convincing performance. It would not be an exaggeration to say that my life depended on it.

“I have the worst case of all.” I used my tired breathing to my advantage, before employing a trick that I had learned on the playground in elementary school. I crossed both my eyes, before rolling them back into my head, creating the gross, veiny effect that used to make the younger kids throw up. 

I pretended to struggle against my health once more as I tried to spit out more improvisation, not even realizing the great number of eyes watching me. The only thing that I was focused on was the grossed-out fear in the eyes of the troll, who had clearly never seen such grade school witchcraft. 

“We all got it from eating a herd of cows that had worms,” I added, “That’s how it gets passed on.” 

“She’s lyin!” One of the other trolls, because of course there were other trolls, yelled from the back.

“Did you see what ‘er eyes did? You can’t make that up!” I had finally had the will to stand up, like an attorney defending someone in court. 

To my left, there was a very short creature, assuming that he was standing at his full height, of course, with brown skin and blonde, curly hair. He seemed just as scared as I. 

The larger troll hustled closer and whipped out a long, rusty knife that was hitched to his hip, holding it up to my throat. I could feel it biting into my jaw as some blood trickled, but I held my resolve.

“Why don’t I just cut you open to see them worms, girl?” He snarled. I heard a few gasps from behind me, before one tried to scramble its way out of my own throat. 

“I was going to die soon anyway because of my disease, you would be doing me a favor by ending the pain,” The troll eased his knife slightly, and I saw his expression falter as he realized that he hadn’t succeeded in visibly scaring me. 

“That would be all that it’s good for!” The small creature added, his voice rising almost an octave, “The worms are completely clear, you wouldn’t see anything.” 

I nodded, under the pressure of the blade still to my throat. 

“The only way to find out would be, of course, to eat us and die,” I added an edge of harshness to those last words, “Ready to take that chance?”

“The dawn will take you all!” A booming voice shouted from behind me. Though I didn’t turn around swiftly enough, I heard the cracking of rock and saw the rays of the sunrise spilling out over the three trolls on front of me, who were very swiftly turned to no more than stone. 

I jerked my throat away from the blade, which was now completely stone, and struggled to release myself from my burlap prison. My struggle, however, was ended by a sharp force slicing through the back of it and dropping to the floor, exposing my body to the rest of the world. It felt new to have the wind on my skin. I turned around to face my savoir. 

“Well, you’re a new face, aren’t you?” 

The first clear look that I had gotten at a person in a long time and it was, of course, Gandalf the Grey. Given how perceptive he was, I was sure that he caught the glint of recognition in my eyes, though he chose to say nothing. 

I turned to the side, only for my fears to be confirmed. Slowly crawling out of their sacks was a group that I had grown very familiar with, none other than the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, fully equipped with their wizard and hobbit. A flood of memories came back to me as I could recall both the book and the movie (like a moving picture with sound), both common tales from where I came from. I had just helped the legendary company escape from one of their earliest trials, the trolls, without even realizing it. 

The complication in this, of course, was that all my life, I had been taught that such company, and by extension, such a land as Middle Earth, was nothing but a tale. The fact that they were in front of me at this moment, and seemed to be very corporeal, was off putting to say the least. 

My face twisted into confusion.

“Never seen a dwarf before, lass?” A wizened old Balin, I assumed, stroked his long white beard while speaking for the equally confused looks of his company. 

“Uh,” I stuttered, tripping over my words, “uh, well, not in, I, uh, no.” I finally settled on not bothering whether or not I offended them and using plain, simple language. 

“From the looks of it, she’d never seen a troll before either.” The blonde haired one, Fili I remembered him as, said to the crowd as he was gathering up his equipment. 

I could feel my breathing grow heavy, and I swear that I was beginning to sweat. This was some fucked up dream. 

“Are you alright? There’s no need to be afraid, Miss.....” a small voice, that of Bilbo Baggins, who had appeared next to you as silently as hobbits are known to do, gave me a concerned look.

“(Y/n)” I answered bluntly, shunting his question.

“That’s a bit of an odd name. Mind tellin’ us where you’re from?” Balin leaned forward.

“I, uh, I-” All of the confidence that I had while confronting the trolls had completely vanished. I felt my stomach begin to churn, though I was so hungry that it felt out of place. 

“Yes, and where you got such strange garb from as well?” The man himself, Thorin Oakenshield, stepped forward, though I knew before seeing him from his voice. He looked as he always did, stern and focused. 

I stared down at what I thought to be quite normal, some jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt, and a jacket, though only thoughts of how abnormal and alien I must seem right now could come to fruition.

“Let’s not bombard her with questions.” Gandalf intervened as every dwarf and hobbit eye was trained on me. 

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw my red canvas backpack glinting in the sunlight. It had been carelessly thrown to the side.

“I, um, I have to go!” Before turning around to see their expression, I gathered up my stuff and started towards the forest. 

“Go where, exactly?” I could hear Gandalf yell behind me, and stepping forward slightly in my direction.

“I don’t know!” And with that confident dismissal, I darted off into the forest, with my stuff behind me, not bothering to answer some of the screams and pleas. 

When I had convinced myself that I was far enough away where they couldn’t hear me, I grasped the nearest tree and threw up my entire stomach. My vision was getting dizzy again, and I could feel tears in my eyes. The adrenaline had gotten me through the trolls, but now, I was lost, scared, or, at best, completely insane. 

I took out my phone. The background on it was a picture of my family. My sobs only deepened. I curled into a ball and continued to cry, and hours passed before I would stand again. 

**********

Well that was fucking depressing. 

It will get happier, I swear, but I always thought that the concept of getting completely plucked from everything that you know and placed with a bunch of stange, unknown people was quite scary and emotional, so of course, it will be treated as such. 

Be on the lookout for a masterlist at some point!

[cpd5021]

What’s Life Without a Little Risk? (8)

Because there’s simply never enough Upstead smut....

“I hate this uniform,” I grunted, struggling to wrangle the pant portion of my dress blues onto the ironing board. “Almost as much as I hate ironing.” I heard Jay chuckle behind me from his perch on my bed. 

“You’re the one who agreed to this stupid charity dinner!” Jay teased, coming to stand next to me.

“I didn’t agree! The whole unit has to go!” I exclaimed with huff. 

“I know, I know...I’m just messing with ya.” Jay moved to stand behind me, settling his hands on to my hips and pulling me into him. 

“Careful, it’s hot.” I said, nodding towards the iron set haphazardly on the ironing board. 

“You’re hot.” Jay’s nose trailed up my neck, leaving a trail of hot breath in it’s wake. 

“Jay...” I warned, we definitely didn’t have time for any of his antics. We were already running late as it was. 

“Yeah yeah.” He groaned and stepped away from me, going to situate his own set of dress blues. 

    Once we were both donned in Chicago Police Departments very finest attire, we made our way to his truck. Luckily the drive to the hall were this dinner was being held was short because the only thing more uncomfortable than wearing this uniform was being crammed into a vehicle with it on. We headed up the steps of the newly renovated building and met our team members just inside the door. I grinned when I saw just how uncomfortable Kevin and Adam looked, sharing a smile with Kim before meeting eyes with Voight, who was the only one seemingly unfazed by the rough woolen material. I heard Jay chuckle behind me and tipped my head up to see him under the stupid hat that topped off the outfit. Luckily I would be able to take it off as soon as we were seated so that became my next mission. Making our way into the hall, we stopped to feign interest in the posters plastered all over the room, displaying all the positive attributes CPD apparently held. Finally, we were settled around the round table in the far corner of the room. Jay sat on one side of me, while Adam flanked the other. I held back a chuckle as the irony of being sat between a past and a present love interest hit me. Jay glanced over at me, sending a quizzical look at my smirk, but I just shook my head and blew it off. The first half of the evening dragged on as speaker after speaker took the stand. All of them some unsung war hero of the department. I’m sure they all had something interesting to say, but I was finding it increasingly harder to focus as Jay’s hand was resting on my thigh under the table, his fingers dancing up and down the seem leading directly to my core. I made the mistake of sending him a glare at one point, but that only seemed to spur him on. I took a sip of water as I watched his eyes turn from mildly amused to mischievous in one blink. His fingers gently tapped their way higher up my thigh, his eyes now glued to the next speaker. I struggled to keep my hands clasped in front of me on the table when his fingers found to exact spot they were looking for. My breath hitched when he applied just enough pressure to elicit a reaction, his eyes darting to mine before shifting away quickly. I would pay to wipe that smug smirk off his face right now. His fingers pressed in again, harder this time, and my one hand flew to his wrist in a vice grip. He raised an eyebrow at me, challenging me to make a scene, and all I could do was silently mouth the word “don’t”. 

    His teasing continued for an ungodly amount of time, from his fingers trailing up and down my thigh to him placing pressure against my core just long enough to leave me throbbing. This dinner wasn’t going to end soon enough. I must have been controlling my reactions better than he liked because after a while, Jay decided to up the anti. I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped my mouth when suddenly Jay’s hand cupped me underneath the table, his fingers pressing the hardest yet into my aching core while his palm rubbed against my throbbing bundle of nerves. My hand flew to my mouth as Adam turned to give me a concerned look. 

“You okay?” He asked quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the others, who had somehow not noticed. 

“Yeah.” I nodded quickly, hating how husky my voice sounded. “Just hit my leg on the table.” I gave him a fake smile, praying that he wouldn’t see through my fib or recognize the arousal in my voice. I shifted my head to glare at Jay, both threatening and pleading with him to stop. He gave me another smug smirk, but withdrew his hand. Finally we were given a brief intermission from the speakers, with the promise of our meals arriving shortly. Jay excused himself to the bathroom and I took the moment to regroup myself mentally from his onslaught of teasing. I was just striking up a conversation with Kim when my phone rang in my pocket. I gave the table a sheepish grin as I stood, telling them it was a CI as I briskly walked away from them. I was in the entry hall before I answered my phone, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. 

“You’re dead.” I seethed into the phone, eyes searching for the man on the other end. 

“If you kill me, then I can’t finish what I started.” Jay challenged smugly. 

“Where are you?” I questioned, having completed a full circle around the room and coming up empty handed. 

“In the truck.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. 

“What?” I exclaimed in confusion. “The food is going to be out soon. What are you doing in the truck?” 

“You if you get out here fast enough.” Jay hung up before I could reply, leaving me stammering in the middle of the entryway. I glanced back into the dining room before jogging out the door. Jay had parked in the back corner of the lot in a dimly lit area, something I had internally questioned when we arrived but didn’t actually voice. Now I see he had alternator motives all along. I made it to the truck, standing on tip toes to peak into the seemingly empty vehicle when I felt him come up behind me, gripping my waist and spinning me around. I didn’t have time to protest before he made me step back and pressed me into the truck for a kiss. My hands went to his chest, rubbing against all the metal pins that covered his pockets, before pushing him back. 

“Are you insane?” I asked through gritted teeth, my eyes darting around to make sure no one could see us. 

“Maybe.” He smirked for the millionth time tonight. “Get in.” He instructed, pulling open the backseat door behind me. 

“We don’t have time for this.” I meekly protested as I watched him shrug out of the uniforms coat before quickly unfastening mine. He pulled open the front passenger door and tossed both coats inside before slamming it shut and nodded towards the bench seat that was his back seat. 

“In.” He repeated himself, stepping closer to me with a hungry look in his eyes. 

“Jay...” I protested again, losing steam quickly the longer I stared into his eyes. He didn’t say another word, but instead lifted me into the truck effortlessly, pushing me to lay back as his body laid into mine. His mouth found my neck, trailing hot kisses just below my ear lobe despite the fact that the door was still wide open. I moaned as he nipped at my neck, motioning for him to shut the door as I scooted back. He climbed in and quickly started tugging at my pants. 

“Off.” He said, tugging at my belt. A man of few words tonight apparently. I glared at him incredulously as I made quick work of the buckle and slid them down. I went to unfasten my tie but his hands halted mine, a devilish look on his face. I watched as he tugged his pants just low enough that his rock hard member sprung free and then his hand was gripping at my thigh for me to move closer. I shifted my weight so that I was straddling him, moaning when his tip rubbed against my core. Jay’s hands gripped my waist, moving me to grind up and down his length and his mouth came to mine, pressing a hot and heavy kiss onto my lips. I moaned when his teeth grazed my lower lip, pulling it into his mouth and gently biting down and then again when his hands lifted my hips just enough that he could line himself up with my center. Our eyes met as I pressed my forehead into him and with one quick snap of his hips, he was inside me. He stilled for a moment, allowing me to adjust to his length before he set about a quick rhythm. With one hand still firmly gripping my hip, holding me in place, his other hand came to pull on my tie, pulling me down into his mouth and eliciting another moan from my lips. My hands gripped at the back of his neck, pulling at his short hair as I could already feel myself nearing the edge. His hips thrust up into mine as I ground down onto him, searching for more friction.

“Jay...please..” I panted against his mouth. He knew what I was asking for and I felt his hand release my tie and make it’s way between us. His thumb rubbed circles where I needed it most and my walls trembled around him. He moaned when I clenched against him, nearly there. His teeth grazed my neck, nipping the sweet spot he knew would finish me and my body arched against him as the waves of my orgasm crashed into me. I felt him chasing his own high as my body tingled from the release. My breathing was ragged as I came back down, chuckling at the thought of what we had just done. There is no way we were going to get away with this and we both knew it. Jay lifted me gently and pulled himself out. I shifted my weight to sit beside him, heart still racing as I fought to control my breathing. We cleaned ourselves up to the best of our ability and then pulled our clothes back on. Jay stepped out of the truck first, glancing around the empty lot before motioning for me to follow. Deciding there was no way to feign innocence, we didn’t bother walking back into the dining room separately. Luckily, we timed it right and the wait staff was delivering everyone’s food, allowing us just enough distraction to slip in mostly unnoticed. The conversation flowed between the table and we were able to work our way into the discussion easily. If anyone noticed our mysterious disappearance or disheveled appearance they didn’t mention it. I thanked the waitress filling my glass with water and lifted it to take a drink, thinking that maybe, just maybe, we had managed to get away with it. My eyes traveled about the room, taking in the tables around me for the first time tonight. I landed on one of the tables that sat the patrol Sargent’s and spit my sip of water out when I locked eyes with Platt. With water dripping down my chin, I panicked as the look on her face told me she knew exactly what we had been up too. Her eyes narrowed, holding my stare for an uncomfortable amount of time before she finally looked away to rejoin her tables conversation. I gave Jay a swift kick under the table, hiding my smirk when he cried out in pain. He gave me a questioning look and then followed my nod towards Platt’s table, his face going pale when he realized what I was silently communicating. There’s no way she was going to let us get away with it this time.      

[mancavecloset]

The Waterpark, Part 2

Part 1

...

The four of us hadn’t been on the road more than an hour by the time I noticed Kyle and Josh had begun to read restaurant signs aloud as we passed them on the highway. The PB&J sandwiches, the chips, and the cookies were all ancient history by this point, and I got the sense that Kyle and Josh were itching to eat something else.

“I really want to make sure we have enough time in the park,” I said wearily, “But would y’all want to stop for… uh, well we already had breakfast, so… brunch?”

A chorus of “YES!” resounded from all angles of the car.

I rolled my eyes. I was used to putting a decent amount of food away during swim season, but these guys seemed to have hollow legs. I had been the least greedy when it came to the food, only eating a single PB&J, no chips, and just two cookies. Still, I wasn’t the least bit hungry, and frankly I was a bit surprised and turned on by the fact that it was only 10am and all of my friends were ravished despite sharing 11 sandwiches, 22 cookies, and a family size bag of chips between themselves.

“I do need to get gas soon,” I remarked. “Next exit with a gas station, we can stop for a quick bite.”

A few miles later, I pulled off and filled my tank. Josh graciously threw me some cash that covered about half of the gas money, and Kyle offered to cover my meal, with one caveat.

“… but dude, we have to go to Cracker Barrel,” Kyle remarked, pointing across the highway at its 50-foot tall sign.

“That’s not exactly fast,” I replied. But the quick reinforcement of support for the idea from Josh and Sam left me no choice.

“Fine,” I sighed, slightly annoyed that we would probably be pushing noon until we arrived at the waterpark. “Let’s make it quick though.”

---

We filed into the restaurant, Josh leading the way. I followed behind him, watching the ripples in his shoulders that jutted out from his tank top. My eyes wandered down to his muscular ass, which strained against his shorts. I slowed my pace, letting Sam also walk in front of me. Somehow, despite going to the gym far less frequently than Josh, and being a good 9” shorter than him, his ass looked even more impressive despite his baggy shorts, dancing as he walked like two tussling melons.

Kyle brought up the rear, and as he entered the dining area I once again caught his shirt riding up towards his bellybutton, showcasing his broadening stomach and wiggly love handles.

We sat down at the table and quickly looked at the menu. I wondered if I would get anything, but decided that since we were eating now, I might as well keep myself full so that we didn’t have to eat as soon as we got in the park.

I planned to order two eggs and some hashbrowns to go with my much-needed coffee, opting not to add any breakfast meats or toast, since I knew I’d never be able to finish them. My friends, however, seemed to have different plans.

“Dude I forgot how cheap the food is here!” Josh exclaimed excitedly.

“For real,” Sam chimed in.

Kyle, belly rolls resting inches from the edge of the table, nodded in agreement as he intently studied the menu. “Yeah, I can’t decide between the country boy platter or the pancake breakfast, so I might just get both since it’s so cheap. I can just heat up the leftovers tomorrow morning.”

I tried to mention that we had plenty of food packed and wasn’t sure there was a microwave, but Sam cut me off. “Oh shit, those both do look good. Smart.” I noticed him smirk just a tiny bit out of the corner of his mouth.

So Kyle ended up ordering two of the biggest meals that the restaurant had to offer, throwing in a side of bacon “for the table.” Josh ordered the country boy platter and also added a short stack of pancakes.

“I might as well carbo-load since we’re going to be running and hiking around the next two days, and I might sneak a workout in tonight anyways,” he reasoned.

We all rolled our eyes jokingly at him. So like Josh to bring up working out any chance he could. But Josh had a big appetite and fast metabolism, and he was probably right: the day at the waterpark combined with the hike we had planned tomorrow would probably erase a few thousand calories, not even accounting for this so-called “workout.”

Sam surprised me, also ordering the large, 1300-calorie platter. I figured he would have gone for something smaller since he had already had breakfast, two sandwiches, and a handful of cookies, but apparently he was also as ravenous as Josh and Kyle.

When I ordered my food, Kyle chided me. “Micah, just cause I’m paying for yours doesn’t mean you have to get the tiniest, cheapest thing on the menu.” He turned to the waitress, “He will also have a side of sausage.”

I lightly protested that I wasn’t hungry, but Kyle was having none of it.

“You came one slice short of beating Josh and I in the pizza eating contest at Cici’s, I know you’re hungrier than that.”

He was right about the contest, but he also failed to account that it had occurred in the winter, after an especially draining swim practice. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to make too big a show of not eating a lot, considering everyone else was pretty much pigging out.

I shrugged at the waitress and said, “I guess I’m having a side of sausage too.” I didn’t even bother asking her to hold the toast, figuring Kyle would badger me even further.

The meals came, and I nibbled on my hash browns and over medium eggs while taking in the sight of the three men across the table from me. They all attacked their food like it was the first thing they had eaten in 30 hours, when in reality it had been about 30 minutes.

Kyle’s two huge platters of food disappeared at a crazy rate. I noticed that as he ate through the pile of eggs, the mound of hash brown casserole, generous saucer of fried apples, slabs of country ham, two large golden biscuits topped with thick gravy, four pieces of toast, four thick dinner-plate size pancakes, and laughably small fruit cup, his stomach inched ever closer to the edge of the table. The plate of bacon, supposedly for said table, ended up consumed solely by Kyle as well. During it all, I watched his jiggly rolls dance under his shirt climb higher and closer as he shoveled forkful after forkful. As he neared empty-plate status, his shirt painted itself against the top arc of his belly, forming creases where his expanding belly rolls hugged against each other.

He started to slow down with about a third of the second platter remaining. By then, Josh had finished his food and patted his now slightly-distended abs in satisfaction. Sam seemed to have finished too, sipping intently on his coffee as he watched Kyle try to finish his immense meal. We all cheered him on, and when I mentioned that I wasn’t sure that the cabin had a microwave, it provided the fire he needed to power through the final remnants of the plate.

As he sat back in his chair, his jelly rolls morphed into a round arc, poking hilariously far out underneath his meaty moob-pecs and rounding down towards his straining belt. He reached down and loosened the belt a notch, leaving his pants button undone, which just gave his gut more room to expand outwards. He looked proud and stuffed.

“Fuck,” he said. “That was really good. Thank God I’m bulking.” He chuckled lightly. “Josh, I want to make sure I put this to good use, so maybe I’ll join you for that workout tonight.”

Josh nodded in agreement. Kyle stood up to go take a leak, and he had to brace himself on the table to do so. As he leaned forward, the gut rocked back and forth in his shirt like a cannonball on a sling. As he stood straight, it was clear just one belt notch looser was probably a temporary fix, as his belly poked out from below his shirt and formed a dramatic muffin top. His spare tire wrapped from one love handle to the other, hanging lowest in the center of his belly and covering about half of his belt buckle. The overhang was slight but undeniable, and made my cock leap in my underwear. As Kyle walked away toward the bathroom, his noticeably wider ass strained against the fabric of his incredibly tight olive khaki shorts.

Sam turned to me. “Micah, you really only halfway done? Wasn’t it you who wanted to get out of here quick?”

“I really wasn’t all that hungry.”

“Dude, if you never bulk, you’ll always be Lank,” Josh chimed in. Normally, the teasing remark would have bothered me enough to chow down more, but I was full.

“That may have worked in getting me to suffocate on pizza at Cicis, but I truly cannot eat more,” I said back. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t really get hungry while driving.” Or I’m not a huge human who lives in the gym and needs 8,000 calories a day to get ripped, I thought to myself.

“Not me,” Sam said, “I always get hungry on car rides.” He surprised me and asked if he could have the rest. “You know, since there might not be microwaves?”

“Go for it man,” I said, somewhat surprised, and pushed him my plate.

“Look at Sam-boy over here with the studly appetite. You’ve bulked up, haven’t you?” Josh goaded, reaching over and squeezing Sam’s bicep and shoulder.

“Yeah man, YogaFit has been really hitting the strength training stuff this summer and I mean, I guess I’m filling out finally,” Sam said confidently. The affirmation from his much-taller, muscular friend clearly boosting confidence.

“Better watch out, M, you’re going to be the only one of us that isn’t stacked soon,” Josh said, turning to me with a playful double-eyebrow raise.

I tried to hide how much the comment hurt. It sucked to see Josh slip back into his douchier self, but with Kyle in the bathroom, maybe he felt insecure. He knew Sam and I had grown closer this summer and that he and I had barely spoken. Without Kyle, we has kind of the odd man out. So I laughed it off.

Besides, I was still very aroused and very intrigued by how much Sam had been eating thus far. I began to notice how much he was filling out in the chest and shoulders. His biceps definitely did look more prominent, and even the muscles in his neck gave his once-boyish features a more manly look. Josh may have had a point about Sam getting bigger. Despite being a solid 6” taller than him and historically, about 30-35 lbs heavier, I surmised that with Sams newfound “man-body,” I probably only had about 15 lbs on him anymore. My eyes traveled down to a little belly poking against the fabric of his snug white shirt. Maybe only 10, I thought, cock stirring once more.

Still, the extra heft was probably a welcome sight for the slight-framed Sam. He had always had boyish facial features and had never really been able to put on weight, so filling out probably correlated with looking more grown-up. Regardless, he definitely had the start of a little belly on top of the new muscle, and I was interested in it.

Sam scooped up the last of my egg and sausage with a piece of my toast, and patted his tummy after his final bite. I made sure to walk behind him as I tried to determine if his recent ‘gains’ extended to his ass, but the baggy shorts made it tough to really gauge.

We cashed out and piled back into the car. A few miles into the drive, I checked my phone’s GPS.

“Good news – we’re just over a half-hour away!” I chirped excitedly. “We will be on a waterslide by noon!”

“Are we going to stop by the cabin first to drop the coolers off and change?” Kyle asked.

“Well check in isn’t until 4, and the coolers have plenty of ice, so we can just go straight into the park and then take a break when its time for check-in,” I answered. “And they have changing rooms in the park.”

“Oh ok sweet,” Kyle replied, going back to whatever game he was playing on his phone.

As I tapped my fingers to the beat of the alternative music playing loudly in the car, the circumstances of what I just told Kyle began to sink in. The first thing we’d be doing in the waterpark would be changing into our swim trunks. In the same room. The thought of the four of us naked together teased my dick into attention yet again. I was equally nervous and excited at the possibility of catching a glimpse of any of my friends in the changing room, especially after all the weight they each seemed to amass that summer.

At 11:30, we pulled out of dense forested road and into view of the waterpark’s entrance gates. Behind them, colorful waterslides covered the front side of the slope of a mountain, woven between bare spots of land – presumably ski paths for the winter months. We had arrived.

“Lets get wet boys!” Sam hollered from the back seat. We all let out a whoop in response and piled out of the car. We gathered our drawstring bags and marched through the parking lot, up to the park’s gates.

___

Because it was a weekday, the crowd was light, which was awesome because it meant no long waits for any of the slides. It was also awesome, because when we got into the changing area, we were the only four people in the entire room.

Josh led the pack into the room and turned right, into a row of benches and lockers that dead-ended about 20 feet in. Kyle and then Sam followed suit, which left me on the end of the row. Everyone kind of stared straight ahead into their lockers as we started to open our drawstring bags and pull out our swimsuits and towels. Out of the corner of my eye, I waited for someone to start changing, but realized I was the first. As I slid off my shorts and balled them up to throw into my bag, Josh spoke up.

“Woah guys, look at this!”

Everyone turned to see what Josh was talking about. There he stood, facing us, athletic shorts pulled halfway down his thighs. He was still wearing his Under Armour boxer briefs, but the fly was gaped open. His cock hung soft and thick through the fly, and flopped five or six inches below the opening to meet the waistband of his mid-thigh athletic shorts. Even soft, it was a big penis… borderline huge. It had definitely gotten bigger since the last time I’d seen it. Three years ago, Paisley had talked about it being north of seven inches hard, and that was back when his soft cock was smaller than I was seeing in front of me now. Hell, it was most of the way to seven inches even in its flaccid state. His expression turned upwards into an evil grin as he rocked his hips side to side, sending his dick flying around like an elephant trunk.

“Nice,” Sam deadpanned sarcastically, turning back to his locker. Kyle chuckled and then did the same.

I, on the other hand, found myself staring at the pendulous swing of Josh’s impressive cock for a second too long. A large central vein ran down the thick, smooth shaft, and his bulbous mushroom head hung low, flopping against the fabric of his athletic shorts.

When my gaze shifted upwards, I caught Josh’s eyes fixed back on mine. Still smirking, he bounced his eyebrows upward at me. Trying not to look guilty, I puffed air out my nose and rolled my eyes at him before turning back towards my locker. I tried to will my cock soft as I slipped off my underwear, settling for a half-chub that wasn’t entirely obvious. I quickly wriggled into my tangerine-colored swim trunks, not daring to steal more glances to my right. I was terrified of getting caught looking again.

As I slid my shorts and underwear into my bag, I heard Kyle making annoyed huffs and grunts to my right. Sam, who was midway through pulling off his athletic shorts, turned at the same time I did to ask what was wrong.

“These… fucking… shorts…” Kyle grumbled, trying to force the Velcro of his swim trunks to meet under his overhanging belly, which poked out from underneath his hiked-up shirt. The shirt was pulled up, perhaps for Kyle to see his shorts, a few inches above his belly button, where the round arc of his belly started to curve back towards his pecs. “… they must have shrunk when my mom washed them.”

“I don’t thi…” I started, but Josh cut me off.

“It’s all the GAINS man! Your glutes, your core, your lower back. Everything’s thicker now, man. Here, inhale your chest,” he said as he grabbed the two ends of waistband that constituted Kyle’s maroon floral swim trunks. The two Velcro strips were about 6 inches apart from each other, but they might as well have been a mile because there was no way they’d ever meet under current circumstances: separated by a long berth of overhanging gut. Still, Kyle did as he was told as Josh, now in just his boxer briefs and tank top, spun Kyle towards himself and tried to yank the two pieces of fabric together, chiseled arms rippling with exertion.

Kyle’s backside faced towards Sam and I as Josh tried to will the Velcro strips to meet below Kyle’s belly. What we saw was a good two or three inches of pure love handle spilling over the waistband of Kyle’s swim trunks, in every direction. Below the love handles sprouted a wide, jiggly butt that strained against the seams of the two-year-old swim trunks. Even Kyle’s meaty thighs filled out the pant holes nearly the whole way, where they finally opened up above his knees.

“Got it!” Josh exclaimed, pressing the two ends of the fly into eachother as Kyle still strained to suck in his gut. I was impressed that he managed to get it fastened at all, but his unlikely victory was quickly nullified as Kyle exhaled. The shorts flung back apart with a loud brrrrap, and Kyle’s exhaled gut crashed back down, splitting the Velcro fly once more.

“Fuck,” Kyle said.

“I have an idea,” Sam interjected, thrusting his loose athletic shorts to the ground and kicking them into his locker. This left just his powder blue Calvin boxers, and his bubbly ass jutted out from underneath their waistband, further than I’d ever seen.

I didn’t get to look long though, because Sam jumped over the bench and next to Josh. “You pull, I’ll tie,” Sam directed Josh. As Josh strained to pull Kyle’s shorts back together, Sam grabbed the laces, yanking them towards each other and weaving them across the other, before pulling the strings tight enough for Josh to marry up the Velcro. Sam double-knotted the laces and clapped one of Kyle’s love handles. “There ya go bud.”

The result was almost comical. Kyle’s swim trunks, which he had bought the summer after sophomore year when he weighed a trimmer 190 lbs, encased his lower body like a sausage. There wasn’t a free centimeter of space anywhere in the shorts. In the front, his exhalation lowered his overhanging gut to cover the entirety of the swim trunk’s laces. His meaty thighs pushed against every seam. Even his junk had no room; you could see his package pressed against the crotch of the floral trunks in a tennis-ball shaped arc. Kyle grumbled and turned around to put his remaining clothes in his locker, removing his shirt the rest of the way. The effects of the three-man effort to tie his swimsuit showed from behind as well, his love handles spilling comically far over the sides of his waist like a soft-serve ice cream cone. His globulous butt strained against the fabric holding it in - it looked like the seams were even starting to pull apart slightly where his fat, bubble ass mounded to its furthest arc. “I don’t know if I can go all day in these and still breathe… I guess they do sell swim trunks here,” he sighed, turning back around.

I sensed the slightest bit of shame in Kyle’s voice, almost as if he had begun to admit to himself that maybe his recent “bulk” had gotten a bit out of control. And a bit out of control was an understatement. Without his shirt on, Kyle’s fatty pecs rounded into muscular, fleshy tits, framed by a moderate smattering of light-brown chest hairs that thinned out as it traveled in a faint happy trail over his plump, fleshy belly. The “dad-bod” as we call it today was in full view, and he stood sturdier and much fatter than he had ever had before.

Josh seemed to have picked up on Kyle’s newfound shame as well. He reassured Kyle: “Dude, you’ve had those shorts since you were barely 16. You're a man now,” punching him playfully in the side. “You absolutely should get a new swimsuit that you haven’t had since you were just a kid. Man bodies aren’t built like boy’s bodies,” he said. Though Josh’s back was still turned to me, I was almost certain he darted his head in my direction as he said “boy’s bodies,” as I watched Kyle’s eyes briefly flick to my shirtless abdomen and back at Josh.

The validation from Josh (perhaps combined with seeing my “lanky” body) seemed to make him snap out of it, smiling sheepishly at first, but then proudly. “You’re right... and it’s bulking season anyways! Might as well have a proper swimsuit for it.” His stomach, looking massive above the suit’s skin-crushing tightness, jiggled in a downward arc towards his thighs as he swung his drawstring bag onto his now-bare back. “I’m gonna get us a spot along the deck chairs” he said, walking out of the locker room. He passed an incoming kid, skinny as a rail, who did a double-take at Kyle as he passed by, his big stomach swaying with each step at the kid’s eye level.

As I began to apply sunscreen, I turned my attention to Josh as he lowered his boxer briefs, big dick flopping out as he bent over to step out of them. I forced myself to steal only the quickest glances so as not to get caught staring, and it was all over too soon as Josh quickly yanked his blue and red-striped polo trunks up to his waist and stuffed his egg-sized balls and bratwurst-sized flaccid cock into the netting.

Sam, directly to the right of me, had been changing as well, quickly swapping his boxers for his trunks. I saw some bare skin out of the corner of my eye, but was too scared to fully turn my head as he was directly next to me. Sam wiggled his hips as he pulled the shorts up, and I realized he was struggling to pull the waistband up and over his bubble butt. This made me lust once again, thinking about the two bubble-cheeks exposed a few mere feet to my 4 oclock. Sam eventually got the shorts over his ass, but was now having some issues bringing the button of his pants together as well. Not nearly as dire a situation as Kyle’s trunks, but I stole a longer glance as he inhaled slightly and buttoned the trunks before exhaling his tummy, the slightest spare tire pressing into the waistband. They were snug alright, but as he turned around to leave, it was even clearer why Sam had struggled so much more to pull them on. His narrow waist curved nearly 90 degrees below the trunks’ waistband, jutting out to a proportionally enormous bubble ass. It pulled dramatically at the seat of his pastel-blue Nautica trunks as he walked out of the locker room. So much so, that the leg holes, which fell right above his knees last year, now ended much higher, at his mid-thigh. His ass swallowed the seam of the seat of his trunks, disappearing as his cantaloupe-shaped cheeks rubbed the material inward as he walked out of the locker room. I had to will my plumped dick from growing any further in my swimsuit as I dumped my sunscreen bottle into my drawstring and began to lock my locker.

Josh had apparently seen Sam struggle to get his suit on as well, because as Sam walked out of the locker room, Josh finished locking his locker, and turned to me. “Looks like you’re the only one that still actually fits in your suit, Lank,” he chuckled friendlily, pulling off his tank overhead by the back collar with rippling arms. His shirtlessness revealed two defined, bulging pecs, with perfect nickel-sized magenta nipples that sat atop an upside-down triangle of bulging traps, abs and obliques. His muscles were covered by the slightest layer of fat that only enhanced their size, creating a smooth silhouette like a marble statue. Deep “v” lines ran along the bottom of his six pack and pointed towards where his muscled torso met his polo swim trunks. The trunks were snug along his waist, and got even more snug on his upper legs, large quads and thighs filling out the upper part of the pantlegs. As a result, his package had nowhere to go but forward. If Kyle’s package created a tennis-ball shaped bulge, Josh’s girthy dick and huge balls formed a softball pressed up against the lower crotch of his trunks. He playfully turned his hips 180 to show his well-muscled ass straining against the swimsuit’s fabric, and I could see the outline of Josh’s sizable glutes.

“I guess you’re right” I half-smiled. “You and Kyle are both going to have to buy new suits I guess. For your... “man bodies,”” I air-quoted.

“Kyle needs a new suit so he can keep gorging himself without tearing through his pants,” Josh responded with a surprising glib acidity. “My man-body,” he said more playfully, melodramatically running his hands from his pecs to his abs to his hips, “looks pretty great in this tight suit, don’t you agree?” His facial expression changed from playful back to serious as his eyes met mine with surprising fire. As he finished the question, one of his hands moved from his hip to his immense package, giving it a light squeeze. I held his gaze, not really knowing what to say, focusing mostly on keeping my cock from getting any more chubbed than it already was. Perhaps three or four seconds passed, which felt like eternity due to the silence and unbroken eye contact, before Josh lowered his gaze, cracked a cheesy smile and clapped me on the back. “Let’s get out there and ride some water slides, Micah.”

I did my best to mirror his snap out of the awkward interaction. I smiled a half-sheepish, half relieved grin, and cheered, “finally! Let’s go!”

I followed him out of the locker room, shaking off the strange encounter and slipping my shades on. I smiled, knowing the day was young and I was about to spend the rest of it with my three shirtless friends in the hot sun and refreshing water.

...

part 3 to come.

[isolavirtuosa]

Cass & Dean's Infinite Playlist 6-10

[fanfiction] Dean/Castiel

Canon Compliant Coda

The one where Dean makes a lot of mixtapes.

Parts 6-10/26 under the cut.  Previous parts here. Referenced songs playlist on Spotify.

- 6 -

“Hey, Cass, you wanna go for a drive-”

“Yes,” he said agreeably, appearing out of thin air.  Then his nose wrinkled.  “Motörhead?”

“What’s wrong with Motörhead?”

“Nothing, it’s just… loud,” Cass said, loosening his tie.

“You say that a lot,” I said, “but you know that we could just turn down the volume?”

“No, not loud like that,” he said, shaking his head.  “It is… difficult-to-have-a-conversation loud.”

“I don’t really see the difference, but okay, what do you want to listen to?” I asked.

Cass seemed to freeze.  “…me…?”

“Yes, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, what do you want to listen to?” I asked, nodding my head towards the cassette collection.

“I can… choose?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, sure,” I said with a shrug.

“But I am… the passenger,” he said, baffled.

“So you want to listen to Iggy Pop?”

“No, I… I mean, the passenger is to shut his cakehole, is he not?”

“Generally, yes,” I agreed.  “But just this once.”

Cass seemed flustered.

I had just said it offhandedly.  It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

The way Cass was reverently flipping through the tapes seemed like A Big Deal.

“I get final veto power,” I mumbled, trying to regain some semblance of my authority.

Cass hummed his assent, then pulled out a tape.

I held my hand out to him and he placed it into my waiting hand.  I felt the warmth of his fingertips, then held up the tape for inspection.  “You really like Bowie, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said, ejecting Motörhead and putting in The Man Who Sold the World.

Cass rolled down his window, letting the wind blow against his face as he watched the passing scenery.

Our conversations always meandered, about Cass’s work, about what was going on in my little patch heaven, about the past.  I felt relaxed, listening to Cass’s low voice talk about organizing angel tree planters floating over heavy guitar and a cacophony of drums.

He paused when the title track came on, his mouth tilting into a little smile.  “I like this song.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, it’s hard to put my finger on it, but… it makes me think of you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.

“Did I sell the world?”

“You might have.”

“Huh.”

“I like the Nirvana cover, too.”

“Really, Cass?  Grunge?” I scoffed.

“Kurt Cobain was an exceptional poet,” he informed me.

“Oh, man, are you trying to recommend music to me now?” I asked, amused.

“You know Dean, they did not stop making music after the 1980s.”

“Might as well have.”

Cass exhaled a little laugh, turning to look out the window again.  He started singing quietly to the chorus, “who knows?  Not me.  We never lost control.  You’re face to face with the man who sold the world.”

I liked listening to my tone-deaf angel sing, joining him in the final lines.

When the tape finished, I ejected it, then nodded my head to the cassettes again.  “What’s next?”

“I can choose again?” Cass asked, surprised.

“Pick something good.”

He grinned happily as he started going through all the tapes.

- 7 -

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, rocking out to Van Halen.

Cass held out the bag of donuts he’d brought for our drive and I took one, taking a bite and continuing to mouth the words.

“I like sprinkles,” he decided, staring very hard at the strawberry donut he was eating.  “They do not seem like they add anything of value, and yet without them, the donut is lesser.”

“Rainbow sprinkles for Cass, check,” I said, going back to singing.  “I can barely see the road from the heat comin' off of it.  Ah, I reach down between my legs.  Ease the seat back.”

“Apparently there are many people who think this song is called Animal,” Cass put in.

“But it is actually called…?”

“Panama,” he said, beaming at me.

“Look at our little Cassie, all grown up,” I said, reaching over and patting him on the shoulder.

“The younger angels all come to me to learn about the ancient music of the 1970s and 80s,” he said proudly.

“Ancient?” I repeated.

“Quite,” he agreed.

“Anciently awesome,” I muttered.

“Are songs about strippers… anciently awesome?” Cass asked, his tone implying that they might not be.

“Strippers are awesome,” I declared.

Cass snorted at that.  “Dean, your performative masculinity is unnecessary.”

“Performative… what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I growled at him.

He shrugged, a bizarrely human gesture on him.  “If your idea of a good time is watching scantily clad women struggling to pay their bills while dealing with issues of paternal abandonment-”

“-which I do-”

“-then you should spend your time in heaven doing that instead of driving around in your Impala with me.”

“I can do both,” I protested.

“When have you…” Cass trailed off, squinting at me.  “Dean, I think you need feminism.”

“You sound like Sam,” I groaned.

“No, our tones are significantly different.”

I just rolled my eyes.

“I am going to make you a mixtape,” Cass decided.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Of only female artists.”

Something inside of me rebelled against the idea of it.  But another part of me thought about that catchy Taylor Swift song that I couldn’t quite get out of my head.  “I don’t need weepy chick music,” I said dismissively.

“Deaaaaan,” he sighed heavily, like my name was ten syllables long.

“Do you even know how to make a mixtape?”

“I am very good at figuring things out.”

We all knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t say anything more, and the next time Cass appeared in my car, he was proudly waving a cassette at me that read in very tiny lettering, ‘A Mixtape of Various Female Artists Made by Castiel for Dean as a Means of Edification'.

I shook my head at him.

He just grinned.

“You gonna put it in?” I asked.

“No,” he said, adding the tape to my collection.  “You should listen to it alone.”

“That sounds ominous,” I said with a snort.

“I just mean that your reaction will be more authentic.”

“Okay,” I said, squinting at him.  Like I was performative.

“Can we listen to Led Zeppelin today?” he asked.

“Um, we can always listen to Led Zeppelin,” I said.  “Whaddya wanna hear?”

“We could start at Led Zeppelin and proceed chronologically?” he suggested.

“I like the way you think,” I said, feeling around for the tape and then pushing it into the deck.

After Cass had left, I could feel his mixtape sitting there, staring at me.

I glared at it.

What had Cass said?  That I needed feminism?

This was going to be so annoying.

I pulled the tape out and pushed it into the deck.

The guitar that greeted my ears was familiar.

“Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train.  When I was feeling nearly faded as my jeans.  Bobby thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained.”

I felt a little smile tugging at my lips.  I could respect some Janis Joplin, and the fact that Cass had chosen to open up his mixtape with Me and Bobby McGee actually had me a little impressed with his mixtape-making skills.

Then the song ended, and I could hear Cass’s faraway-sounding voice in the back of the recording.  “Did it record the song?”

I cracked up, listening to him struggle to figure out how to stop the recording before putting on the next song.  I had no idea what kind of equipment he’d decided to use for this, but the sound quality was a little scratchy, suggesting he might have just been holding up a microphone to a tape player.

Then the twangy guitar of Fleetwood Mac suddenly filled the speakers.

I listened to the tape from start to finish.  There were some random moments of Cass mumbling to himself, trying to figure out what he was doing.  There was also a very loud crash in the middle of Patti Smith, followed by some cursing that had me laughing so hard I had tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

And at the end of it all, I couldn’t help but wonder how the hell Cass had known enough to pick out each of those songs.  Sure, Metatron had braindumped him with a bunch of pop culture references, but there was a depth to his choices.  It was obvious he was mostly trying to choose songs he thought that I would like, with rockers like Suzi Quatro and Heart.  But then there was Joni Mitchell, which was just so Cass to me.

“I am on a lonely road and I am traveling, traveling, traveling, traveling.  Looking for something, what can it be?”

It was kind of beautiful, and I found myself rewinding it and listening again.

[Listen to Castiel's full C46 mixtape 'A Mixtape of Various Female Artists Made by Castiel for Dean as a Means of Edification' on Spotify.]

- 8 -

Me and Cass sat on the hood of the Impala, drinking beers while Black Sabbath blasted through the speakers.

Cass suddenly leaned back, staring up at the sky.  “The stars are beautiful here,” he observed.

“Yeah, no ambient light in heaven,” I said, laying back beside him.

“Shooting star,” Cass pointed out happily.

I was looking at him instead of the sky.  I looked back up, but it was already gone.  “Haven’t you seen a million of them?”

“And I hope to see a million more.”

“How can you be like that?” I asked, shaking my head.  I sat up again and took a pull from my beer.

“Like what?” he asked.

“I dunno,” I said.  “Hopeful?”

“Is it hopeful to enjoy the beauty of my father’s creation?”

“I got no idea.”

“What’s on your mind, Dean?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You just seem like you want to talk about something,” he said, sitting up next to me.

“Not really,” I said with a shrug.

He stared at me for a long moment, then looked away with his own shrug.  “Don’t tell me, then.”

“Don’t be like that,” I complained, nudging him with my elbow.

“Then talk to me,” he said with a scowl.

“Hey, Cass,” I said.  “How you doin’?”

“Crappy,” he responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t be like that,” I repeated, nudging him harder.  That of course did nothing because he was an immovable lump of celestial intent.

“I am just being myself.”

“A grumpy-ass angel?”

“A grumpy-ass angel,” he agreed sarcastically.

“I like when you’re a happy, non-grumpy-ass angel,” I said, looking him in the eye.

“I am very happy, Dean,” he said, staring back unbothered.

“Why?” I asked before I could help it.

His expression took on a more thoughtful countenance.  “Well, to be happy is to be ‘characterized by well-being and contentment’,” he said, like he was reading from the dictionary.  “Heaven is still a work in progress, but it has been greatly transformed by Jack, and I am able to be a part of that.  I derive great satisfaction from my work.”

“And that’s enough?” I asked.

“No, it’s not enough,” he said, shaking his head.  “Work is just one part of life.”

I found myself chewing on my bottom lip.

“I have my friends and my family,” he continued, leaning in a little closer and trying to maintain eye contact.  “When my work is finished, I can visit with them, go for drives with my best friend.”

“And that’s… good enough?” I asked.

Cass gave me a scrutinizing look.  “Are we talking about me…?”

“Yes, we’re talking about you, who else would we be talking about?” I grumbled, feeling annoyed for some reason.

“Dean.”

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I looked away.

“I find great satisfaction in my personal life,” he finally said.  “And I am enjoying my new hobby immensely.”

“Hobby?”

“Earth music,” he explained, his expression softening into a smile.  “I want to listen to it all.”

“Yeah?” I said.  “That’s a lotta music, Cass.”

He nodded happily.

“So me makin’ you mixtapes… that makes you happy?” I asked, weighing the words out before I spoke.

“Yes, Dean, so very much,” he said sincerely.  “It’s like you’re giving me a piece of your soul with every song.”

“Um, I don’t think it’s quite that deep.”

“Music is truly powerful.”

“Not that powerful.”

“And yet…”

I let him have the last word, shaking my head and taking a drink.

“Dean, are you happy?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, sure,” I said with a shrug.  “Ya know, for a dead guy.”

Cass sighed very loudly.

I gave him my most charming grin.

“You are in heaven,” he said to me.  “You are supposed to be experiencing the ultimate form of contentment.”

“I am,” I said, knocking our shoulders together.  I realized he was starting to get upset, and I didn’t want that.  I liked Happy Cass, as unsettling and foreign as he was.  “I am experiencing many forms of contentment right now.”

He looked at me.

I let my hand drop to his knee, resting there.  “I’ve got my baby, I’ve got my beer, I’ve got my tunes, and I’ve got my angel.”

That got him to half-smile.

I squeezed his knee.  “I’m okay, Cass.”

“I wish that you were more than okay,” he told me.

“How much more okay do I need to be?” I asked, rolling my eyes and reclaiming my hand as I took a drink.

He just looked at me.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Can we listen to something else?” he asked abruptly.

“Too loud?”

“Yes.”

“Put in whatever you want,” I said, nodding my head back towards the car.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tape, smiling at me hopefully.

“What’s that?” I asked, holding out my hand.

He passed it to me.

“Joni Mitchell?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Blue is a masterpiece,” he informed me.

I looked at him.

“You said whatever I want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, handing it back to him.

Cass looked pleased as he slid down off the hood and headed back into the car.

Ozzy Osbourne’s voice cut out, and suddenly the night was quiet.  It was only a moment, and then Joni Mitchell’s acoustic guitar kicked in.

“I really like this song,” he told me as he climbed back up on the hood.

“It’s alright,” I said.  “For chick music,” I couldn’t help but add.

“Dean, there is no such thing as chick music.”

“Uh, it’s music made by chicks.”

“So music made by men is dick music?”

I spit out my beer.

Cass shrugged, playing it off like he was just making an observation.  Like he didn’t know exactly what to say to make me laugh.  “I might like chick better than dick,” he decided.

I was dying.

Cass smiled a happy, pleased smile.

I slung my arm around his shoulder and drank my beer, contentedly listening to the haunting sound of Joni Mitchell’s voice.

- 9 -

“This album is a revelation,” Cass informed me.

“Really, Cass?” I asked incredulously.  “Beyoncé?”

“Queen Bey, yes,” he said with a sincere nod.

“Oh, is this a monarchy?” I asked.

Cass sighed loudly.  “Be quiet and listen.”

I was quiet, but I couldn’t guarantee that I was listening.  “What is the point of sampling?” I grumbled.  “Come up with your own music.”

“Sampling is like a storyteller passing down the oral history of one generation down to the next,” Cass explained, using that voice that sounded like he was talking to a child but usually meant he was talking to me.  “It is actually incredibly intricate and beautiful when done well.”

“I don’t know, Cass, I don’t think Andy Williams reggae is for me.”

“Listen to the words,” he growled at me.

I tried.  “I’m just not into jilted lover chick music.”

Cass straight up scowled at me.

I groaned.  This was going to be a long ride.

Then something caught my ear.

“…is that Zepp?!”

Cass gave me a haughty look.  “Funny how excited you get at hearing a lowly ‘sample’.”

“Zepp rules,” I said with a shrug.

“You should try being more open-minded, Dean.”

“I’m very open-minded,” I said incredulously.

“Because you like that one Taylor Swift song?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Cass ignored me and started singing along.

I decided to ignore him, too.

We got through a few more tracks that had me really thinking this wasn’t an album for a middle-aged white guy, but then out of nowhere there was a country song blasting through the speakers and Cass had gone quiet, touching my arm.  “Listen,” was all he said.

“Came into this world daddy's little girl.”

“So relatable,” I mumbled, and Cass pinched me.  “Ow!”

“And daddy made a soldier out of me.”

That gave me pause.

“Daddy made me dance and daddy held my hand.”

Losing me again…

“And daddy liked his whisky with his tea and we rode motorcycles.  Blackjack, classic vinyl.  Tough girl is what I had to be.”

I swallowed.

“He said take care of your mother, watch out for your sister.”

‘Watch out for Sammy,’ Dad’s voice echoed in my ears.

“Oh, my daddy said shoot.”

‘All right, if somethin' tries to bust in?’ Dad asked.

‘Shoot first, ask questions later,’ I found myself answering.

Cass didn’t say anything for the rest of the song.

I hit the ‘stop’ button.

His head tilted as he gazed at me, waiting.

“The fuck was that?” I finally ground out.

He blinked at me.

“I didn’t like it,” I said abruptly.

A frown tugged at Cass’s mouth.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  I did not mean to upset you.”

“Who’s upset?” I growled, speeding up.

“You are,” he said, like he was pointing out the obvious.

“Whatever.”

I almost jumped out of my skin when Cass put his hand on my arm again.

“Sorry,” he said softly.  “I didn’t know that things between you and John were still so… unresolved.”

“Dad and I are fine,” I lied, and no one believed me.

Cass left his hand on my arm, and after a while he reclaimed his Beyoncé tape and put in some Metallica.

- 10 -

Cass left the damn tape mixed in with my collection.

I kept rewinding it, listening again and again.

“Oh, my daddy said shoot.  Oh, my daddy said shoot.”

Cass caught me, appearing in my passenger seat out of nowhere without the customary invitation.

I hit ‘eject’, and neither of us said anything about it.  “What do you want to listen to?” I asked.

“Driver picks the music,” Cass said.

I shrugged.  “Fish out some Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

He did so, pushing in their debut album.

I started singing along to I Ain’t the One.

This was what we did.  Except, usually I called Cass.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.

“Hm?” he said, looking away from the window to face me.  “Oh, I just wanted to see you.  I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” I said.  “You don’t need an invitation.”

“You have said that before, so I thought… I thought I might take you up on it.”

“Good.”

Cass leaned back more comfortably in his seat, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows.  He’d been taking off the trench coat and the suit jacket more and more often lately.  “Sam said the same thing, but I didn’t know that kitchens were a place for sexual intercourse.”

I slow blinked.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Sam told me to stop by any time,” he said.  “Then he told me to knock first.”

“Wait, wait, so Sammy was hitting it on the kitchen table?”

“He wasn’t hitting anything,” Cass said, squinting at me.

“Cass, come on, you mean to tell me that you still haven’t figured out the art of the sexual innuendo?”

“Sam and Eileen were… in a compromising situation on the kitchen counter,” he explained.

“Nice,” I said agreeably.  “Good for Sammy.”

“Sam was not quite as enthusiastic about the situation,” Cass said, shaking his head.  “At least Eileen thought it was funny.”

I leaned back against my headrest, chuckling.  “Eileen is so cool, how did she ever end up with my dorky brother?”

“Opposites attract?” Cass suggested.

“Apparently,” I said.  “So you got a real eyeful?”

“I saw more of Sam than I ever wanted to, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.

I cracked up.  “Gross, man.”

“Indeed.”

“Pick up any new techniques?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows at him.  “Knowing Sammy, probably not…”

“Sex techniques?” he asked, making a face at me.

“Yeah, man,” I said.  “Never know when some lovely lady- or uh… dude, uh… might, ya know, walk into your life.”

“I am not interested in having sex.”

“Dude, come on,” I said.  “You don’t ever get the urge…?”

“No.”

“Cass, you’re killing me here.”

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much,” he said with a shrug.  “Your sexual activity decreased significantly after the whole Mark of Cain skulduggery.”

I was scandalized.  “I did not-” and then I thought about it.  “How would you know?” I blustered, deciding to take a different tack.

“It is very obvious when you’ve had sex, Dean,” he said, like he was talking about the weather.  “Elevation in mood, increased winking and eyebrow waggling, excessive cockiness…”

“How is that-”

“Also, the smell.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The pheromone smell,” Cass said, nodding his head.  “Very distinct.”

I sniffed the air around me self-consciously.

“There’s also the ritual,” he said, gazing ahead thoughtfully.  “Primping yourself-”

“Hey, now, I do not primp-”

“Fixing your hair, making sure your clothing lies just right…” he explained.  “Then it is off to the bar, a few drinks, a few well-placed aw-shucks country boy smiles-”

“I do not-”

“Find a willing partner and take her to where it is convenient to fornicate-”

“Dude, really?”

“All I am saying is that you stopped having a strong interest in such superficial acts, so I do not know why I should have to be interested in them.”

“I am still very interested in those superficial acts,” I grumbled.  “I just… there was always so much going on, ya know?  And I just… well, okay, maybe I didn’t just want to pick up some random girl at a bar and take her home.  I…” I trailed off, at a loss to explain.

“I understand,” Cass said.  “I wonder if I would be more interested if sex with the person I love was possible, but since it is not, it all seems rather frivolous.”

“You can’t just dismiss it like that when you’ve barely even tried,” I said, shaking my head.  “Look-” I started and froze, the synapses in my brain finally firing.  “Wait, I’m the person you love.”

“Yes,” Cass agreed.

“Wait, wait, wait.”

He waited.

“So… you would want to have sex if it was with… me?” I asked slowly.

“Yes, I think so,” he said, nodding.

“And I’m not… interested… so, you’re just gonna be celibate…?”

“Correct,” he agreed.

“Cass, man, I can’t be the reason for you not getting laid.”

“You’re not,” he said, giving me an amused look.

“You just said…”

“Dean, I have experimented with human sexuality, and I do not find it fulfilling without a ‘connection’,” he said, making air quotes.  “Maybe someday I will make a ‘connection’ with another being who returns my feelings, but for now I am content without sexual contact.”

“But-”

“Perhaps you should worry more about your own sex life than mine,” he said.

I glared at him.

He held his hands up.  “I just mean that if sex makes you happy, then why aren’t you having it?”

“Oh, you watch,” I muttered.

“Are you inviting me for some sort of voyeuristic experience?” he asked, looking perplexed.

“No!” I cried, but then I couldn’t help but laugh.

Cass was quiet, but he had a little smile on his face.

“Is this really enough for you?” I asked softly.

“What?” he asked, eyes flicking to mine as he studied my expression.  “You and I?”

I nodded.

His smile went soft.  “Of course it is, Dean.”

“Okay,” I said, because when he looked at me like that I had to believe him, as improbable as it seemed.  “Cass, I…”

“Yes?”

I struggled for the words and finally gave up.  “You can drop by whenever you like.  You don’t even have to knock.”

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, looking pleased.

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug.  And that was all there was to say.

[gingerwritess]

All I can think is “ vending machine “ idk why?? Maybe you can do something with that??

lmao i don’t think many people like this pre-dating idiots kick i’m on but look i’m just proud of myself for actually managing to create a plot and i rly love this so oops have some more t e n s i o n

also i’ll answer asks asap so sorry it’s taking me a while!!

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

Thirteenth floor. Break room down hall H. Use code 1217. Now.

Who is this?

Your lover.

Right. Your lover, the not-yet-released psycho who’s pretending to be a doctor in the same facility where you work, and now apparently has a phone.

And your number.

Great.

We’re not dating, you type back. I’m busy.

I’m dying.

Good for you.

You grin to yourself—nice one.

A couple minutes pass with no response and you wonder if he’s actually dying…would that be the worst that could happen?

No. No, I don’t think that’d be too terrible.

But why would he ask you for help? I mean, it’s not like you’re friends—but then again, you’re the only one who knows who he really is…who else can he ask?

Fine. Be right there.

Turns out your fake doctor boyfriend already has a higher clearance than you. Your ID stops unlocking doors by the seventh floor, much to your chagrin, and you have to use the code Loki gave you to enter the psych/physiology floor.

Hall H turns out to be the furthest hallway from the elevators, so by the time you find it and start looking for the break room, you’re pretty sure he’ll already be dead. Since he was dying, after all.

You’re half expecting him to be lying in a puddle of his own blood, some other worker having discovered his real identity and not having as much self control as you did, but nope.

He’s still Robert Laing, reddish-blond and donning a lab coat that’s a little too short for him, staring at the vending machine in the corner.

“You came.” He doesn’t look up when you walk in, a dollar in one hand and two quarters in the other. “I’m shocked.”

“Of course you’re not dead,” you groan, turning right back around to walk out the door. “I gotta admit, by the fourth floor I was hoping—”

“I’ve given you every opportunity to kill me,” he snaps, making you stop in your tracks.

“You’re hard to kill. I shot the hell out of you that first time.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, please, your heart wasn’t in that.”

“Well, gee, I’ll be sure to mean it next time—”

“Next time?”

“I’m not very optimistic about our relationship, Doctor.” You cross your arms over your chest, scowling at him from the doorway. “Why’d you call me all the way up here? Just to rub it in my face that you have a higher clearance than me?”

“That was just an added bonus,” he sighs, turning back to the vending machine and waving his dollar at it. “I, erm…could use some assistance.”

Oh my god.

“You don’t know how a vending machine works??”

“I’m from another realm, stop laughing,” he hisses, and one of his quarters bounces off your forehead.

“HEY—”

“Just help me, woman. Please.”

“Well, since you said please…” you can’t help one more snort of laughter as you head over to him and take his money out of his hand. “Okay, what are you trying to buy?”

He points.

You try not to laugh.

“Okay, you have to punch in the code underneath it. B-4, see?”

“Here?” He points again.

“On the keypad, idiot.” You point to the keypad and watch him carefully enter the code. “Now you have to put in your money. Coins in here, bills in here. It’s a dollar fifty.”

“But I only have a dollar twenty-five—”

“Yeah, cause you threw one of your quarters at me, genius.” A big part of you wants to just tell him oh well, guess you can’t eat, but you fish around in your pocket for another quarter.

“Here.” You press it to his open palm, trying not to sound too annoyed. He’s just a big baby, you’re quickly discovering, death threats aside. “Found it on my way up, get your candy bar.”

There’s a beat of silence—shouldn’t have done that.

“…thank you.”

He sounds genuinely surprised.

“No problem. I mean, you are dying, after all.” You brush it away with a chuckle, smoothing out the corners of his dollar before trying to slip it in the machine.

“I didn’t know how to get you up here,” he admits, watching you closely. “Though nobody usually responds to my death announcements anymore.”

The machine spits his dollar back out and Loki huffs, trying to shove the bill back in the slot.

“Easy, Loki, stop it,” you laugh, taking the bill from him and trying to flatten it again. “Don’t force it in, just let it take it gently.”

You guide the dollar back in and this time it takes, whirring to life to retrieve Loki’s Snicker bar.

“That’s what she said,” you mumble to yourself as an afterthought, realising what you just said.

Loki coughs behind you.

“Sorry.” You turn around and give him a sheepish grin—he’s a little red in the face, but that might just be part of the facade. “Can’t help it.”

“That’s…quite alright,” he replies smoothly, taking the candy bar as you hand it to him. “Although…is that what she would say?”

“You disgust me.”

“And here we almost had a decent moment.”

“Almost,” you sigh, throwing up your hands in a helpless shrug. “I almost forgot you were Loki, to be completely honest.”

“Ouch. That seems unnecessary.”

“Dr. Laing isn’t completely unbearable,” you continue, holding up a finger to shush him. “So you can take…like, fifteen percent of the credit.”

He rolls his eyes again, ripping open his candy bar. “How gracious of you.”

“No need to thank me.”

You just stand there for a moment, arms crossed as he takes a tentative bite.

“Y’know, you seem more like a KitKat kind of guy.”

“I like chocolate,” he shrugs, “even more so when it comes with caramel.”

“Seriously?” You can’t help but grin—the more you talk to him, the less and less intimidating he becomes. There’s no way you’re letting this guy actually threaten you anymore.

“It used to be considered a delicacy meant only for the gods.” A flash of light fills the room and Loki’s back to Loki, gesturing at himself. “Back before your kind corrupted it.”

“Um, Loki, hate to burst your bubble, but humans invented Snickers.”

“Well, you’re not all terrible.”

Figuring you might as well take advantage of the opportunity, you flop down on one of the couches, staring at the god across from you.

…munching happily on a Snickers.

“Why are you doing this?”

He blinks and clears his throat, taking a couple steps closer. “What?”

“What are you getting out of this, all this pretending to be a doctor, getting hired here?”

“I have nothing better to do,” he answers carefully, studying your face with a quizzical gaze. “I certainly don’t want to be sitting in a cell talking through my emotions, so I might as well be putting my skills to use.”

“You’re actually taking patients??” You can only imagine what happens to them—Loki doesn’t come off as the kind of guy who’s taken his pledge to never harm. “What kind of doctor even are you?”

“To use your terminology, you’d consider me a neurosurgeon.” He sighs and lowers himself onto the couch across from you, still working on that candy bar. “Maybe in part a physician, as well.”

“Damn,” you whisper, undeniably a bit surprised. “That’s…a lot of work—for humans, I mean. Did you go to school for that?”

“I’ve studied my entire life. Never one particular subject, on Asgard w—they steer clear of limiting children’s knowledge to one specific field.”

“That’s pretty smart. Here, you’ve gotta pick one thing and just try to be good at that.”

“Identity can be terribly limiting,” he says quietly, picking at the candy wrapper. “If I identified myself as a ‘good’ neurosurgeon and only that, I don’t think I’d ever have discovered my aptitude for diplomacy, writing, mathematics, anything else.”

Diplomacy, neuroscience, math, writing, chocolate, caramel—this guy has layers, that’s for certain.

“So is this some kind of redemption plan?” You try for a smile, maybe feeling a little bit guilty for laughing before. “Gonna help a bunch of people to prove yourself and then make a big reveal to your brother?”

“That’s not a terrible idea.” He stands and stretches, crumpling his empty candy wrapper and tossing it into the trash bin. “Though I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I were ever redeemed.”

“You need to meet a nice someone, maybe settle down for the next few centuries,” you laugh, following him out the door as he shifts back into Dr. Laing. “Have a few creepy, greasy-haired babies. Might be good for you.”

He laughs and holds the door for you to leave the room, heading away down the hallway as you wait for the elevator. “That’s the furthest from a future I’d ever want, darling.”

“I’m not your darling, dipshit.”

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

hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

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[itshardcandy]

The Ramen-Noodle Incident

Min Yoongi x Reader 

1870 Words

Genre: Fluff, Crack 

Warnings: Friendship, Clumsiness, Swearing, Reader is dumb, Yoongi is equally dumb and also a sweetheart, Hospitals

Summary:  You were meant to spend a chill evening with Hobi at his place when Yoongi kinda burns your plans to the ground.

Preview:

“No one, except us and the reception lady, knows what happened, so keep cooling your skin and let me finish this, ok?”

You pouted but didn’t talk back until he had given the registration form back to the lady and led you to the waiting area to sit. He sighed heavily when his butt met the chair and pulled his beanie off to ruffle his hair, before putting it back on,

“that sounds awfully strained, considering you’re not the one cooling her ramen-burned-boobs right now”

You said, annoyance definitely obvious in your voice,

“Don’t remind me of my ramen… I still haven’t eaten anything”,

You had to bite your lip as to not laugh, he was unbelievable,

"I'm on my way, I'll be there in 20 minutes, ok?"

You sent the quick voice message Hobi's way before you clicked the door shut behind you.   Apparently, he didn't live that far away. You'd never been to his place before, so you didn't know if taking the car was the best idea, but it was certainly the most comfortable. Hopefully parking wouldn’t be a problem, wherever he lived.

Turns out parking wasn't a problem at all, since the building had its own underground lot. You asked Hobi just to be sure it was the right one. It seemed more like a business complex with lots of office space, than a housing unit. He was waiting for you down by the elevator, dangling a set of keys in his hand. He greeted you with a big smile and a quick hug,

"How are you? Did you have any trouble finding the place? Are you hungry?"

Hobi asked and swiped a card against a pad next to the elevator to call it,

"Good, no and not yet"

You answered with a smile and when the elevator announced its arrival and opened its doors Hobi ushered you inside,

"I'm sorry to spring this on you but I've got to quickly take care of something and then I'll be back, ok? This is the key, it's the first door on the left. No one's home, so just get comfortable. I'll get take out on the way back"

He explained and before you could even say 'what the fuck' the doors closed. Well, you thought, at least he's getting you dinner. And then the elevator transported you to Hobi's floor.

_____

After getting the key stuck in the wrong door and profusely apologizing to the people, who live in the apartment and opened the door on you to try and find out who was trying to break into their apartment, you found the right door and let yourself inside. You left your shoes and coat by the entryway and then walked further inside to find a big, open living space and kitchen combination. It wasn't really what you expected, since it was way bigger than the bachelor's place you imagined Hobi living in. You realised it was way bigger, when you explored around the corner and found 3 locked doors and the bathroom down the corridor. Of course, you didn't mean to be rude and snoop around but... He did leave you alone, so... There was even a staircase leading upstairs. How much space does one man really need?  You decided to just take a quick look upstairs and you discovered more locked rooms and another bathroom. Nothing spectacular here. You heard the sound of a door clicking open and shut. Must be Hobi. You climbed down the stairs and rounded the corner to the kitchen and living room only to bump right into Yoongi and the bowl of hot ramen he was carrying,

“Oh sorry!”

You exclaimed and Yoongi stumbled backwards a little, a bit of the soup dribbling over the edge of the bowl and onto his hand,

“Fuck that’s hot!”,

“Let me help y- oh fuck that’s really hot!”,

“Oh no, I’m so sorry”

You tried to help him stabilise the bowl but ended up rocking it again and scalding your own hand in the process. Yoongi tried to pull the bowl away from you, so you wouldn’t hurt yourself again but you didn’t realise it and when he pulled, your hands snapped the bowl back and its contents spilled all over you,

“Shit, shit, shit”

The empty bowl clattered to the floor and Yoongi stared at you with wide eyes,

“Fuck, I’m sorry, YN, are you ok??”

Before you could answer, he pulled you to the sink and let cold water run over your hands and arms,

“Why do I have to be so fucking clumsy…”

You muttered to yourself,

“Don’t say that, it’s not your fault, I was the one with a craving for ramen…”

You chuckled and looked at Yoongi from an awkward angle,

“I ran into you! I should have been more careful…”

He ignored what you said and gently lifted your hands out of the sink to examine the damage. You winced and he pulled his hands away immediately,

“Ok, this looks bad, and it got all over you… we should get someone to look at it, I don’t think cold water is gonna do much more to help”,

“I don’t know, it’s not that bad…”,

“I can literally see you biting your lip and holding back tears, YN, I’ll get you a new shirt and then we’re leaving”

He was already zooming to his room before you could protest. Ok, maybe letting someone have a look at the burns was not a bad idea. They kinda hurt. A lot.

_________

“I thought you meant a normal doctor, not the fucking ER!”

You were agitated when you whispered in Yoongi’s ear, while he filled out some form to get you registered. You had already received some cooling packs after you showed the nice lady at the reception your reddened skin,

“Well, this is the easiest and fastest way to get someone to have a look at you”

He was stating calmly, the sound of his voice muffled by a face mask. He’d given you one, too, after you had changed out of your soiled clothes agonizingly slowly, as to not irritate your skin even more,

“I guess you’re right but I feel so exposed in here, this is super embarrassing…”

You could probably still find some cooked noodles in your hair if you tried hard enough. Yoongi chuckled and looked away from the form in front of him,

“No one, except us and the reception lady, knows what happened, so keep cooling your skin and let me finish this, ok?”

You pouted but didn’t talk back until he had given the registration form back to the lady and led you to the waiting area to sit. He sighed heavily when his butt met the chair and pulled his beanie off to ruffle his hair, before putting it back on,

“that sounds awfully strained, considering you’re not the one cooling her ramen-burned-boobs right now”

You said, annoyance definitely obvious in your voice,

“Don’t remind me of my ramen… I still haven’t eaten anything”,

You had to bite your lip as to not laugh, he was unbelievable,

“Sorry, next time I’ll try and not get scalded by your soup, so you can enjoy it”,

“Ah thank you… but it’s no use… I can feel myself growing weaker… maybe I should register, too, for malnutrition”

He made his voice sound gruff and held a hand to his chest to look more dramatic. You didn’t hold your laughter this time and smacked his arm with the area of your palm, that was not burned,

“You’re unbelievable! Get a snack from the vending machine if you’re hungry”

He snickered next to you, the evil fucker.

You let out a long breath and relaxed as much as possible. With boredom slowly settling over you, you let your gaze travel over the other patients waiting in the area and that’s when you noticed a group of two girls and a boy checking you and Yoongi out. You looked over to Yoongi, who had pulled out his phone held it close to his face, like he wanted to hide behind it. Then you looked back to the group; they couldn’t be older than 16-17, they were still teenagers. Still, how they looked at you and started giggling and whispering made you feel uncomfortable. Sure, it didn’t help that you were wearing a shirt, that didn’t fit you, and some noodles or vegetable pieces showed it your hair but that didn’t mean you appreciated being made fun of. You wiggled in your seat and then got up, deciding to go to the restroom for a break. Yoongi’s head shot up when you stood,

“What are you doing? Do you need something? You know I was just joking about the food, right? I didn’t mean any—”,

“Relax, I was just going to the bathroom”,

“Oh, sorry, don’t mind me, then…”,

“…”,

“…”,

“You want something from the vending machine?”,

“Yes, please, get me those shrimp chips, pleeease”

You rolled your eyes and smiled at his pleading. Sure, you’d get him the chips on the way back.

_________

It didn’t take long for your name to be called after that and the doctor who examined you, didn’t comment on your ramen-accident, although you could see, he desperately wanted to. He put some lotion on your arms and hands and gave you a tube to take home and apply to the rest of the burns and then he discharged you.

Yoongi was waiting for you in front of the main entrance, ready to take you home and probably more ready to prepare a new serving of ramen, not minding that you were now experiencing PTSD-symptoms just thinking about them.

You walked back to the car and after you settled inside and fastened your seat-belt Yoongi spoke up again,

“I just wanted to say, I’m sorry, again”

He was pouting a little and drumming his hands on the steering wheel,

“Don’t worry about it, I burned myself at home more times than I can count”

You tried to laugh it off but he looked a little serious all of a sudden,

“I’ll make it up to you, ok? Give me your number, I’ll send you the money for your clothes, or the cleaner, if they’re salvageable…”

He had pulled his phone out already and you blinked at him in confusion,

“Ah… ok”

You pulled yours out carefully, as well and went to look up your own number when you spotted the missed calls and messages from Hobi,

“Oh shit, I completely forgot to text Hobi and tell him what happened…”

You made an expression that said yikes in Yoongi’s direction and he copied it,

“Better let him know now, I’ll text him while you look for your number”

He said and was engrossed in his texts a second later, so you did as you were told. Quite frankly, you didn’t need him to send you any money, since the shirt had been an old one and your pants were barely even hit by the soup but you figured he felt a little guilty still and so you didn’t object. And also, judging from the things Hobi told you about all his friends, they were loaded and you weren’t, so there was that,

“Ok, he said he’s waiting for us with food”

He probably said a little more than that, knowing Hobi and his dramatic ass,

“Alright, sounds good. I could really use some food now, too…”

Yoongi smiled at you expectantly,

“Not ramen!”

You added with an even bigger smile and he held up his hands in defense,

“Fine, fine, I won’t be coming at you with ramen for a while. Now, gimme your phone”

He snatched the phone out of your hands and typed your number in his before he called yours and saved his number in it,

“Now let’s get back and not keep Hobi waiting”