#blue crab hand roll

[cartoon-food]

[kumkaniudaku]

At Last: Part One

Summary: Patrice returns home to celebrate a birthday and a new beginning.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: None

In a little corner of Wilmington, NC, tucked behind towering Spanish moss trees and sprawling acres of lush green grass, the Habersham family were monarchs on ancestral turf. 

Enslaved Sierra Leonean men and women had tilled this land long before Patrice was a twinkle in her mother and father’s eyes. They hoped, prayed, and danced for a future where babies far down their lineage could have a place to visit for a connection to their love and guidance beyond the physical realm. According to some, their spirits still roamed the fields once holding them captive in great triumph.

Long-held West African customs preserved and passed down over time had transformed into the uniquely rich Gullah culture that still governed the eldest generation of Habershams and their children. While much of the language patterns had been lost, Sybil Habersham-Lewis and her baby sister, Rosalyn, worked tirelessly to keep the family home tidy and traditions alive. 

They never hesitated to tell stories of how their great-grandfather rebuilt the big house with his bare hands to rid his offspring of a torrid legacy from a man he reluctantly called father. They sometimes laughed about how he, a fair-skinned man with green eyes and a mean streak, met and married a slender songstress with blue-black skin within six months of laying eyes on her. Paul and Efua produced eight children in that home. Those eight children created a line of movers and shakers that stretched far and wide. 

One of those movers and shakers stared out of the passenger side window with eyes wide as saucers and a smile that rivaled the sun, watching trees donning brown, red, and orange leaves whiz past on the way to her favorite place in the world. Patrice was itching to get out of the car and kick her shoes off to feel the soft tickle of damp Bermuda grass between her toes. She longed to see her uncle’s horses, eat fresh seafood until her stomach ached, and recap moments in her girlhood with her cousins. She couldn’t wait to kiss Nana's face 95 times for her 95th birthday. She needed to smell the blue hydrangeas in her auntie’s garden. She needed to be home.

Terry stole glances at Patrice, finding joy in her enthusiasm. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before or in the nearly two-hour ride from Fayetteville. He knew she’d tucker out eventually, but seeing her brimming with unbridled happiness made his heart swell. 

“God, I hope my auntie made okra. Oooh and crab cakes. I haven’t had any in so long!”

Terry listened to the way her accent slurred and shortened words in rapid succession with a smile. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to understand you by the end of the weekend.” 

“You’ll be lucky to keep up past tonight.” she laughed. "My granny ‘dem Geechee tuh de bone."

“Y’all make everything sound like music. I like it.” 

“If you tell Moon Pie that, she might try to take you from me.” 

“You gon’ let her?” 

“Hell nah. I’ll whoop her ass. She ain’t crazy.” 

The thought of having to put hands on her cousin behind her man made Patrice scowl while Terry let off a loud, shoulder-shaking cackle. Though she was serious as a heart attack, she laughed along with him to release the tension building in her muscles. 

Terry reached across the center console to gently rub her arm before playfully caressing her chin to pull a smile from her lips. 

“No way I’d let you fight as pretty as you are. Plus, we’re celebrating all weekend. If you aren’t smiling from tonight ‘til Sunday, I didn’t do my job.” 

Patrice’s mouth twisted into a suspicious smirk. “And what’s your job? You know, if someone were to ask for a friend.”

“Keeping you happy.” His cheeky quip made her eyes roll as she kissed her teeth. 

For over a week Terry had been tight lipped about something Patrice couldn’t put her finger on. She’d tried to catch him in a fib or make him slip up and share whatever details existed behind hushed calls and unmarked deliveries. But, Terry was notorious for keeping secrets under lock and key. Whatever he was planning would sneak up on her like a thief in the night. 

“You nervous to meet everyone?” Patrice questioned to change the subject.

“Nah, I’m good.” He cut his eyes in Patrice’s direction and smiled when he found her already eying him skeptically. “Think I’m lying?” 

“Yeah, I think you’re full of shit. Either that or you’re truly unaware of how crazy my folks are. No way you aren’t a little concerned.” 

He shrugged. “I’m not too worried. I love you, so I know I’ll love them. We’ll figure out the parts in the middle.” 

Everything Terry knew about Patrice, in his mind, was a beautiful amalgamation of those who had a hand in raising her into the woman she’d grown into. He knew her mother and how the two shared the same heart for community service. From her father, she’d inherited an uncanny ability to stop a whole room from speaking with only a raised eyebrow. Though he’d only heard stories of her grandmother, he could tell that her independent nature was a founding feature. And, if those things could make his heart turn flips with one look across a crowded room, he’d have no trouble making space for his bonus family. 

Patrice tried to formulate a counterpunch to Terry’s levelheaded assessment of the situation but had a change of heart as smooth asphalt transitioned into the familiar crunch of gravel beneath her car’s tires. 

Black iron gates adorned with an ornate H were pulled open, giving anyone casually walking by a peak into an almost mythical land. Terry’s eyes darted from place to place, lingering on the hanging moss trees lining their path, then on the children gleefully chasing each other through fallen leaves around a small white gazebo, before landing on a magnificent wrap-around porch serving as a gathering spot for elder men taking inventory of fishing equipment for an early morning trip to catch the evening’s meal. The Big House, as Patrice affectionately called it, was a modern marvel, an oasis for every hue of black man, woman, and child with Habersham blood in their veins to feel like they were somebody in an otherwise cruel world. 

“Beautiful, ain’t it? Auntie did her thing with the last renovation.” Patrice asked, beaming as she started to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“Incredible. Is this al-” 

Whatever was left of Terry’s awe-inspired sentence was swept into the wind as Patrice hopped from the passenger seat and onto the concrete driveway before the car could come to a full stop. 

Like a child finally released from the confines of their classroom onto the playground for 30 minutes of recess freedom, she hit the ground in a slight jog to greet a woman about her age skipping down the porch steps to meet her halfway. 

“Imani,” Patrice hollered, her arms already outstretched in anticipation of a hug. 

Imani called her name back with equal excitement until the two women were joined in a tight embrace. Terry watched from afar, a warm smile tugging his lips to one side as he shut off the engine and exited the vehicle. 

The two women rocked side to side until they’d had their fill of one another. Imani pulled away first to get a look at her favorite baby cousin. 

“My girlfrieeend,” she sang, imitating the theme song from the only show they watched for a full summer in their teens. “You look so good. The skin, the hair, the body! It’s all working right now.” 

“Me? Look at you! I know for a fact this caftan is from like Paris or Bali or somewhere crazy.” 

“Oh you know, just a little somethin’ custom from London. Not too much, not too much.” 

“How you stand it there with that nasty looking food is beyond me, girl.” 

Imani laughed. “That’s for them other folks. People that look like us know where to get a good meal. You oughta come see me sometime. Book a flight and let me worry about the rest.” 

“Next summer?” 

“I’ll throw it on my calendar. Bring Mister Man, too.” 

Patrice didn’t need to turn around to know that Terry had made his presence known. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her lower back as he joined her side. 

If he hadn’t known her for nearly two decades, Terry would have easily gotten Patrice and Imani confused. Both women wore glowing deep dark skin like a badge of honor, soaking up rays of sun and reflecting them in the way that only ethereal beings could. Wide noses and plump, pink and brown lips complimented impossibly high cheekbones. Beauty marks at the corners of opposite eyes might possibly be a tell-tale sign if one could fight being lulled into a trance by the sheer grace they both possessed. The only difference was Imani’s slight height advantage and low, ash blonde haircut.

“Wow,” he whispered, the words catching him by surprise. He shook his head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just - y’all are damn near twins.” 

“Don’t I know it,” they spoke in unison. 

Patrice took over after a chuckle. “They used to call us Frick and Frack. Mostly because they couldn’t always tell who was who.”

“Which Petey over here never wanted to use to our advantage.” 

“Petey?” Terry questioned. 

“Wait, she never told you her nic-” 

“And, that’s enough,” Patrice hollered, purposely eclipsing Imani’s voice to keep her cousin from going further. “Terrence, this Imani. Imani this is Terrence, my man.” 

Terry could feel a bolt of lightning surge through his body as he reached out to shake Imani’s hand. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what Patrice might call him in a simple introduction. He’d always given her a treasure trove of titles - his lady, the love of his life, maybe his wife one day if the Lord willed it so. He’d introduced her so much that they never explored how the inverse would work. But hearing himself be proudly referred to as her’s was a shock to the system that he hadn’t prepared for but welcomed all the same. 

Imani waved his outstretched hand away and pulled him in for a hug. “Boy, we family. Come here and get this squeeze.”

Like an old friend, Imani pulled Terry into a welcoming hug. Patrice looked on with a silent thanks to God. If what she knew of her cousin still held weight, they’d be fast friends and thick as thieves by the end of the weekend. 

Pulling away, she lightly tapped his chest and looked at Patrice. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet Terry Richmond in person. You’re basically her Nelly!” she laughed, recalling Patrice’s near obsession with St. Louis and their hometown hero after Hot in Herre debuted. Patrice rolled her eyes while Terry and Imani held on to each other through loud laughter.

“Got damn, Moanie, hold ‘em hostage why don’t you! You ain’t the only person they know ‘round here.” 

“Hey, Daddy!” 

“Hey, Baby Girl!”

The perfectly timed distraction took Patrice’s attention away long enough for the newest tandem to exchange hushed conversation.

“Yeah, but I’m the best!” Imani hollered back before winking at Terry and Patrice. “Go on. I’ll have the boys get y’all’s stuff. Make sure you get to the kitchen. Think Mama’s got some pound cake cut for you.”

The mention of other family members awaiting their arrival was a quick reminder that Terry had barely scratched the surface of new faces and connections. Every direction he turned presented another opportunity to be pulled into a spirited handshake or warm hug. 

With the men in her life, he was immediately received with masculine equivalents of praise for his physical form.

“Son, you look like ya 'bout tuh buss out dat shirt 'round ya arms. Petey, you don’t have to worry ‘bout no protection, huh?” was Uncle PJ’s way of saying he was confident in Terry’s ability to keep Patrice safe. 

“You comin’ out fishin’? Country boy like you probably catch catfish with your bare hands!” 

“Where you from?”

“Where your people from?” 

“They white? How you get them green eyes?”

“You got kids? You sure?” 

“You know you got some ears on you, don’t ya!”

Patrice’s father, Leon, interjected to save Terry from an increasingly invasive dive into his personal history. “Don’t answer none of that. But I would like you to come out on the water with us. Have a beer or two so we can finish that conversation from the other week.” 

“Y’all talking about me behind my back?” 

“Hell, I do,” Junior laughed. “She aggravating, bruh. You can say it. Go ‘head.”

“You better not.” 

Patrice playfully poked a perfectly manicured finger into Terry’s chest to force his silence, earning a chaste kiss on the forehead. Junior scoffed and sipped from his half-empty bottle of water.

“T, you grown now. Your big ass don’t have to let her boss you no more.” 

“That’s my favorite part,” Terry answered, finally speaking up for himself. “She sweet when she wanna be.”

“I ain’t seen it.”

“Because I don’t like you, Junior. How many times do we have to go over this?”

Terry tried to contain his wide grin from watching the siblings bicker like old times. He’d been in the middle of many a verbal tussle between them, always stepping in as the voice of reason. He still held the role of peacemaker all these years later. 

“She loves you, man. Still keeps your room up and everything.” 

Leon shook his head at his children’s antics. “Good thing you here. I couldn’t take that shit this weekend.” He pointed at the passenger seat of his truck and the open lunch box resting in it. “So, you comin’. Got food for you if you wanna ride.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Terry started before looking toward the house at the small audience of women crowding at the kitchen window. They scattered when he caught their gaze, making him laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. “Give us a few minutes. I think there’s some people inside I gotta meet first.” 

“Good luck, man. I would say you got five minutes but we both know that ain’t happening. We’ll wait a bit.”

With one trial by fire ending, another began. In their short walk to the front porch, Patrice had given Terry opportunities to gracefully bow out of the incoming circus and take her father’s invitation as a get out of hell free card. He’d refused every effort with a kind smile and unfounded reassurance that everything would be okay. In his mind, he’d hug a few necks, kiss a few cheeks, and be out of dodge before anyone could hold him long. 

Stepping into the home’s foyer felt like being in a museum. Photos of Habersham descendants living and passed on to Glory lined the hallway as a reminder of their history on this land. Eyes that carried an array of stories looked back at him, leaving goosebumps across his arms. Especially once he landed on a young woman with a familiar half-smile encased behind an antique picture frame. 

Patrice noticed him stop short to give the photo his full attention. 

“My great-great-great grandma,” she informed, adding extra emphasis on the final ‘great’. “Efua. Nana says she was barely bigger than the kids but ran this place with an iron fist. I believe it. She look like she don’t play.” 

“She looks kinda like you and Imani.” 

Patrice tilted her head to get a better look. “Hm. I guess you’re right.”

Clamoring in the kitchen pulled them away from Efua’s watchful eye and around the corner for their grand entrance. 

Women of every age, size, and shape filled the room from wall to wall, each one participating in the cooking process. On one side, a small group of teenagers huddled to inspect bushels of greens for bugs and cut them in preparation for a proper wash. On the other, small girls shelled black-eyed peas and giggled amongst themselves over TikTok videos. But in the center of the room, where spices and fresh ingredients intermingled for an almost intoxicating aroma and conversation was the loudest, all of the cornerstones of the family gathered to share gossip and wisdom alike. 

Terry’s appearance, tall and muscled with a winning smile to match, sent a hush over even the loudest woman present. 

“Oh God,” Patrice mumbled to herself, preemptively embarrassed by the storm she knew was sure to follow. 

Someone whistled. Then came a low “mm-mm-mm” from an auntie fighting hard to contain herself. Terry let every sound and look fuel his ego for just a few seconds before speaking. 

“Hey, ladies.” 

“Hey, Terry.” 

Every voice greeted him in unison like the Angels speaking to Charlie over that old speakerphone. Patrice screwed her face and pinched his shoulder. He’d been given strict instructions the night before, but being in the moment called for an audible that immediately made him a shiny new toy to be paraded.

Before he could have any say so, Patrice’s mother was ushering him around for every aunt and cousin to say a personal hello. He charmed each woman who met his acquaintance like a seasoned politician. If nothing else, they could all hang on to the memory of meeting the long-fabled Terrence Richmond. 

But, for all the pomp and circumstance, every breath hitched once Rosalyn led Terry to matriarch. 

She wore 95 years on Earth well. Chestnut skin covered in beauty marks crinkled around her eyes as she smiled back at him. Even as she sat in her wheelchair more slight and fragile than Patrice remembered, Terry could see her inner strength shining through.

Patrice watched her mother lean down and speak something into her grandmother’s ear before directing Terry to crouch down to eye level. He did as he was told, gingerly capturing her much smaller hands in his. 

“Hi, Ms. Ida. I’m so happy to finally meet you. My name is Terrence.” 

The softness in his voice ignited a chorus of heartwarming sentiments from every corner. Patrice had become so enraptured in the meeting she never thought would happen that she nearly missed her mother directing her to join Terry’s side. 

Ida didn’t say much back to him. Instead, she slid her hand from his grasp and traced her fingertips along the perimeter of his face. She examined him from all angles with a nostalgic look in her gaze. Terry tried not to let confusion come through in his expression, but Rosalyn caught the sliver of uncertainty. 

“You remind her of somebody close, that’s all. Same eyes.” 

He’d inadvertently sent her back to her childhood, bringing back memories so deep in her mind she thought she might never get them back. Even with slightly darker skin and broader features than Paul could boast back then, Ida still saw him clear as day. And that, all those years later, made her feel more alive than ever on her 95th birthday.

Ida tapped his jaw lightly and laughed. “Mhm. Petey, this him?” 

Finally joining Terry’s side, Patrice mimicked him and knelt by her grandmother’s feet. 

“Yes ma’am. He wanted to be here for your birthday.” 

“Nice looking boy, ain’t he?” 

Patrice giggled. “He cute, I guess. I heard he got you a gift for tonight, but he won’t tell me what it is. Can you believe it?”

“Well, hell, this all the gift I need. Give me anything else and I might not make it to 96!” 

“Mama!” 

Sybil hated when her mother made jokes about death, but Terry couldn’t help but laugh. He wanted to joke with her, see what else she might say knowing that no one in the house could tell her what to do, but the loud blast of a car horn in the front yard reminded him that he’d made a prior commitment. 

Gently, he squeezed her knee and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Now, I go gotta go catch you somethin’ for tonight. You gon’ be here when I’m back?” 

“Oh yeah,” she answered, reinvigorated and saucy like her younger self. “I’ll be dressed up real nice too. Might leave here with two gals on your arm.” 

“You know I never been the sharing type, Nana.” 

Ida smiled at Patrice, nodding in approval. “That’s my girl. Keep that up.”

A second and longer beep let Terry know that time was running out. He quickly bid the group farewell, ending on Patrice with a simple kiss on the cheek and a promise to be back soon. 

While she became swept up in a whirlwind of who, what, when, and where, Rosalyn and Sybil slipped away to speak with Terry on his way out of the door. He’d become the center of attention, even long after his scent had faded. 

“Is he the one from high school?” 

“What’s he like?” 

“Is he always this nice?” 

“Y’all shackin’ up?” 

“When y’all getting married? What about kids?”

More questions, more prying, more assumptions than she could handle. Short, vague answers weren’t enough for them. They wanted the full scoop from the young lady they once knew as a shy girl who only focused on her studies. 

Patrice answered every question with enough detail to satiate their curiosity and maintain some level of privacy in her relationship. For a moment, that was enough. They’d unveiled the mystery of Petey’s other life and could move on to more pressing matters.

They quickly shifted to discussions of other people’s business. Who’d had a baby? Who was divorcing? Who’s kids were raising hell in the community? They took a winding road filled with chats about celebrity news and politics, nonsense about music, and, Patrice’s personal favorite, the old days. 

Those chats, full of lore and laughter, always took place in Nana’s parlor. A room covered in powder pink wallpaper and situated in the corner of the home where natural sunlight welcomed any guests that had the privilege of visiting. 

The older women sat side by side, crammed on expensive armchairs and soft couches, to convene at their leisure. Patrice stood by her favorite spot beside the window with Imani sitting on her right and her grandmother positioned in front of her. On her left stood a small table holding hair grease, a fine-toothed comb, and duck bill clips to help her pincurl Ida’s shoulder length silver hair. Her favorite pastime. 

“Everyone of y’all was bad,” Sybil laughed, referring to the crop of children that came up with Patrice. “Y’all came here every summer acting a damn fool.” 

“Not me and Petey!”

“Especially you and Petey. The worst of the bunch. Just sneaky and sassy!” 

“I don’t know what you talkin’ about. All I did was read and sit up under Nana.” 

Patrice’s highly inaccurate recollection of her time in the country every year made Ida laugh in her wheelchair. “Don’t let ‘em lie on you. I never saw my baby gettin’ in no trouble.” 

“Oh yeah right!” Sybil exclaimed. “Ros, wasn’t you there when these two let all the chickens out and had us chasin’ them ‘round out back.” 

“Sure was. They had all the grown folk out there huffin’, puffin’, and ‘bout to blow the house down!” 

The room fell into laughter watching Sybil imitate the group of adults fighting to capture livestock. Patrice remembered that afternoon and tried to defend their actions. 

“Okay, that is true, but I remember that being your daughter’s idea. I was only helping my sis.” 

Imani shrugged and sat back in her seat. “You raised an activist. Those animals were in captivity.” 

“Moanie, you eat meat,” Moon Pie commented. 

“I never said they didn’t taste good. I said we were holding them captive. The circle of life is different. Now let’s talk about how Moon had us sittin’ at the eating table all night because she wouldn’t finish her Frogmore stew thinkin’ there were real frogs in it.”

“Heaven forbid a girl need proof!” 

More laughter. The kind of laughter that healed deep emotional wounds. The kind that seeped into the walls, keeping the home full of love and light. The kind that made Patrice happy to not only be home but to share a piece of her heart with the man she loved. 

While she wished he could hear the silly stories and witness the exaggerated retellings, Terry was fidgeting with his fingers as he waited for Patrice’s father to meet him at the back of his truck. 

Across the way, the other men sat in small clusters, chatting their way through a midafternoon lunch break. As much as he wanted to talk shop with them about the fate of the Carolina Panthers, there was a more meaningful matter on the table. 

Leon grunted as he closed the driver’s side door and rounded the truck’s cab. “Let that down, will you?”

Terry sprung into action quicker than he meant to, nervousness making him move at hyperspeed. Leon laughed and lifted himself onto the truck bed before handing over a small cooler. 

“Grab whatever you like. We got plenty.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Just Leon. Kinda weird to call your father-in-law sir, ain’t it? Plus that’s that fool’s name over there and he ain’t worth a damn. Lazy sumbitch.” 

“I got you. Won’t happen again,” Terry chuckled as he pulled a piece off of his turkey sandwich and popped it into his mouth. They sat in silence for a few moments to enjoy the sound of nature around them until he reignited the conversation. “I appreciate y’all agreeing to all this. Especially so quickly. I hope things don’t feel rushed.”

“You ain’t doin’ nothin’ I wouldn’t want for my girl. She need somebody willing to go above and beyond for her. I know you always have and I don’t see you slowin’ down no time soon.” 

Terry nodded, smiling. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“I know. Moanie got the ring, right?” 

“Yeah. We worked it all out a couple weeks ago. She’s hiding it for me and keeping Treece distracted. You know she’s nosey.”

“Her mama said to call it inquisitive.” 

“Hm. Inquisitive, huh?”

They looked at each other and spoke at the same time. “Nosey.”

“That’s her,” Leon remarked. “Time’s flyin’, ain’t it? I remember when it looked like you was drowning in your clothes. Now look at you. Big as a damn tank. What they feed y’all in the Corps?” 

“Shit, nothing but slop and a hard time seasoned with a dash of casual racism from some crazy white boy outta one of the Dakotas every once in a while.”

Their shared laughter disturbed a cluster of nearby birds, making the rest of the men look in their direction. Sir threw his hands up in the air. 

“Well, damn, Leon. Gone ‘head and fuck up the catch!” 

“Or I can fuck you up instead.” He looked over at Terry struggling to keep his face neutral and shook his head. “I can’t stand his ass. Or his daughter. Or his wife. All of ‘em get on my nerves. C’mon, so we can finish up.”

As high noon gave way to early evening and the sleepiness of fall pushed the sun into the west earlier than usual, Imani and Patrice sat alone in one of the guest rooms engrossed in conversation. 

Imani was the only sister Patrice had ever known. It didn’t matter what portion of the world they occupied or how long it’d been since they last talked, they always picked up right where they left off when they were reunited. 

Patrice focused on the vanity mirror to examine Imani’s careful twists and twirls to place her thick natural hair into bantu knots.

“You think I can grow my hair out like this by January? I’m going to Ghana and I wanna switch it up a little bit.” 

“Of course. Manifest it, my sister!” 

Imani laughed as she parted out another section. “If I ever need somebody to follow up my foolishness, I know I can count on you.” 

“What Whitney said on the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack?” 

Together, they broke into song, harmonizing to breathe life into the final track from one of their favorite movie soundtracks. Imani hugged her cousin from behind and kissed her cheek. 

“I love you, girl. I miss you so much. It gets so lonely being away from home all the time.” 

“I love you, too. Life be life-ing, don’t it?” 

“All the time. I gotta make my way out to Fayetteville and spend more time with y’all. Maybe learn some more about Mister Man.” Patrice tried to hide her bashful smile, making Imani squeal behind her. “So…tell me about Terry. I know you said something downstairs but I wanna know the real scoop.” 

Patrice sighed at the mere thought of their romance. “The way I love that man, girl, I can’t even explain it. I feel like I’m going crazy.” 

“Oooooh! Swept you clean off your feet, huh?” 

“Threw me over his shoulder and hasn’t put me down since. Never in a million years did I expect to end up here with him. I mean I hoped for it, but to be here is mind-blowing. He’s so sweet, Moanie. So, gentle. Kind. More affectionate than I think I was ready for. I don’t know. I’m just in love. I’m happy.” 

“It’s all over you. I see the glow.” 

“Well, that’s from other things,” she added, a cheeky grin spreading across her face.

“Not the choir boy!” 

“Please, don’t let him fool you. Can’t keep him off me or keep his mouth closed when he gets to talking.”

Their shared laughter spilling out into the hallway became a beacon of their location for Terry as he dragged his tired legs up the stairs in search of Patrice.

His knuckles rapping against the closed bedroom door halted the private conversation until they gave him permission to enter. He slowly pushed the door open before poking his head into the room. 

“Everybody decent?” 

“Mhmm. Come on in.” Imani invited over her shoulder. She looked back at Patrice through the mirror as her cousin adjusted her clothing and sat up a little straighter in anticipation of Terry’s avalanche of affection. 

His eyes seemed to close beyond seeing clearly from the sheer force of his smile. 

“Hey, pretty.” 

“Hey, love. You have fun?” 

Terry released a dry chuckle. “Yeah. A real hoot.” 

Imani watched the young couple flirt back and forth, her hand outstretched to pass a small black velvet box from a drawer in her vanity to Terry while he kept Patrice occupied with short kisses. He secured it in one of his cargo pockets before pulling away. 

“You stink,” Patriced joked, half lying.

“I know. I still have some set-up work to do, so I’ll bring your stuff. Don’t want you to get behind on account of me.” 

“Thank you, baby. You’re so sweet.” 

Patrice captured his chin with her fingers and pulled him closer for another kiss. 

Terry lifted an eyebrow in concern. “You sick?” 

“No. I just love you.”

“I love you, too.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The way she softened her gaze to scan his face. The way the gloss on her lips caught the sun. The way every one of her perfect features was on display with her hair pulled up and away from her face. He’d never been more confident in a decision in his life and, if not for the promise he’d made to half of her immediate family, he would’ve done what he drove all the way out to Wilmington for right then and there.

Knowing time was of the essence, Imani cleared her throat and gave Terry a look to urge him along behind Patrice’s back. 

“Well, Terry, think you oughta get down there and set up a table or something, right!”

Snapping out of his trance, Terry stood to his full height to look down at Patrice. “Yeah, you're right. See you a little later?” 

“It’s a date.”

He wanted to give her one more kiss to take with him, but a final reminder for him to scram was the catalyst to push Terry out of the room and leave the ladies to readying for the evening. 

She was all he could think about as he toiled away setting up tents and placing tables exactly how Rosalyn wanted them, sometimes several times over. Even as he casually sipped strong moonshine with Junior and the younger men under lantern light, all dressed in his most pristine white to fit strict instructions, he thought about Patrice and what might look like in the dress she’d chosen. He needed to see her.

His hands were sweating inside of his pockets. He casually caressed the velvet of that small black box, occasionally flipping it open to touch the cold metal inside. Time moved painfully slow. Hunger gnawed at his empty stomach. His mother’s constant phone calls for updates and reassurance didn’t help. Nervousness made his chest hot with anxiety. 

“You gon’ be alright,” Rosalyn assured while adjusting his collar on one of her many trips around the backyard to adjust the tablescape. “Breathe. Won’t be too much longer.”

He thanked her for her kindness and prayed she was right. Or he prayed for the dream he’d written down on a random Tuesday in his creative writing journal to come true. He wasn’t sure anymore. But, when he opened his eyes and lifted his head to check that sliding glass door for the umpteenth time, there she stood amongst the Habersham women as they escorted the guest of honor arm in arm. 

Angelic was the only way he could describe her. Cosmically beautifully and capable of bringing the strongest man to his knees just by batting those long lashes. A toothy grin helped him bare each one of his teeth as he watched her saunter down the decorated pathway to the event tent with Imani in tow. 

“Happy Birthday to you,” the group sang once Ida and all her ladies had made it to the long communal table packed to the brim with food and decorations. 

They serenaded the woman responsible for much of their existence until their faces ached from the singing. She bobbed her head along to the song with a smile on her face then quieted their loud applause with a simple wave of her hand. 

“Ninety-five of those and you’d think I’d be used to it by now,” she laughed. “Thank you. Each of y’all are beautiful. Young and strong. Blood of my blood and I’m glad to have you here with me. Even the ones who just came along to spend some time with an old lady. I love you. Eat, drink, and dance ‘til you bust out your clothes. That’s alright with me! We got a lot to celebrate.”

Teary-eyed and full of gratitude, Patrice reunited with Terry at the dinner table as soon as she ensured her grandmother was comfortable. He worldlessly dabbed at her waterline with his thumb and kissed the top of her head. 

“You okay? Need to step inside for a second?” 

“No,” she answered, laughing at herself for her dramatics. “I’m just really happy. C’mon. Let’s eat.”

Eat, drink, and be merry had a whole new meaning under the soft, warm light wrapping variations of black skin in its embrace. Loud pockets of conversation and laughter made for a melodious cacophony of sounds while music played in the background. 

Patrice clung to Terry the entire time, always staying connected by a hand on his thigh or their fingers laced together beneath the table. Every once in a while, they’d break from separate conversations and catch each other’s eye and smile like schoolyard crushes sitting at the lunch table together. 

The romance in the air between them was palpable enough for Imani to pull out her phone and covertly shoot Terry a quick text. 

Dessert’s out. Do it now or they’re gonna start dancing. 

Now?

NOW!

Terry eyed Imani across the table. She urged him to do something with a sideways nod. He chewed his lip and fiddled with the box in his pocket. The music was starting to pick up as a few small children hit the dancefloor. Imani gave Rosalyn the signal to make a video call.

Now or never. 

He nervously clinked his knife against his wineglass and cleared his throat. 

“Nigga, you gone break it! That’s Big Mama good crystal.”

“Shut the hell up, Sir! You ain’t pay for none of this.” Rosalyn’s reprimand came with visual daggers sent to her baby brother at the far end of the table that only softened when she looked back at Terry. “Go ahead, sweetheart.” 

Terry stood to look at every confused face in the vicinity while he waited for one of the teenagers to turn the music down. 

“Sorry, y’all. I just had a few words to say. I won’t be before you long. In the real way, not the pastor way.” His attempt at a joke fell flat. Patrice tried to keep him motivated with a smile, but her eyes begged him for answers that he couldn’t provide. “Um, I know I’m the odd man out around here. Y’all have been incredibly kind and welcoming. I really appreciate it because you didn’t have to. Especially you, Ms. Ida. Happy Birthday, again. You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you, baby.” 

He nodded his appreciation and continued. “I also wanna thank Ms. Ida and everybody else who gave me permission to ask a question of somebody really important to me. Because I know being here with all of y’all is really important to her. Can you stand up for me, Treece?”

Patrice allowed Terry to help her to her feet before whispering through her teeth. “What are you doing?” 

“Something I’ve been wanting to do since I met you.” 

There wasn’t time for Patrice to process his statement. Terry slowly dropped to one knee, not caring about the dust below him. He kept his focus on her the entire time, even as quiet whispers turned into fervent murmurs. 

“When we were kids you told tell me that, if you ever got proposed to, you didn’t want a big speech or any of the stuff they did in movies. So, I promise not to do that. What I will do is tell you how much I love you. And I’ll do that today, tomorrow, and every day after that if you allow me the privilege of being your husband.” 

“Terrence,” Patrice huffed out as she tried to contain her mess of emotions. He reached up to grip her hand. "Don't make me cry in front of my people."

“Too late. Patrice, I’m askin’ you scared as hell in front of all these people, will you marry me?”

Everyone watched as Terry presented Patrice with an open ring box and a sparkling diamond illuminated by the small light tucked into the inside.

“I knew it,” Patrice whispered, losing the battle against the happy tears pouring from her waterline. 

“No, you didn’t, girl! We got you. Answer that man,” Imani hollered.

Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears. The cheering from her family began to muffle. Her body temperature skyrocketed. She felt faint. The people were waiting. What would she say? 

Just as reality began to slip away, Terry’s eyes looking back at her quieted the external and internal noise. 

Driven by pure love, Patrice met Terry in a squat and grabbed his face with both of her hands. 

“What you doing tomorrow?” 

“Hopefully saying a couple vows to this pretty girl I know from way back. I brought a tux with me just in case she wasn’t too busy.” 

“From way back, huh? I think I talked to her and she has a little time on her books.” She took another look at the ring before plucking it from its box and placing it on her left ring finger. She examined it for a bit then leaned forward to kiss her betrothed with enough passion to send the crowd into a frenzy. Pulling away, she smiled and wiped gloss from Terry’s lips. 

“Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

----

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Prince x Witch! Reader

TW: Drugging (Love Potion), dubcon

Wanna buy me a coffee?: ☕

Once upon a time, in a land full of magic, a witch is in her tower stirring liquid in her cauldron.

"Ok, my seafood boil should be ready," You say, wiping the sweat off your head.

Your phone rings from the counter, and zap it so it answers the call.

"Y/N, we've gotta go to this ball!" Your friend, Ella, full name Eleanor Charming, exclaims, making you roll your eyes.

"Ella, just because your family has extreme luck finding love at balls, doesn't mean I will. Besides, I like living in the woods. The princess with powers and Eduardo are good friends. I babysit their kids sometimes, real firecrackers," You respond, tying your hair up. "Now, if you excuse me, I have crab legs to eat."

"Too late, I already magiced up a dress for you!" Ella exclaims, appearing behind you. "Boom!" 

White light hits you, and suddenly, your comfy purple pajamas are replaced with a long, purple ball gown with black lace covering the front. You have long, black latex gloves and thigh-high high-heel shoes swirling around your legs made from crystal. Your hair is in a bun and is held by an ornament resembling thorns. 

"You really chose a look that says I'm from the Woods, huh?" You question, walking to Ella. 

"Yes, I did. Now, come on, we're about to be late!" Ella giggles, grabbing your hand and running to the black Mercedes outside your castle. "I modified the animal into carriage spell into something more modern."

You buckle your seatbelt, and Ella speeds off to the prince's castle. As you wait in the line of limos, you redo your lipgloss and spritz a bit of perfume to get the crab smell of your skin. 

"It's our turn, get ready!" Ella squeals, giving the car to the valet.

"Princess Ella Charming and her friend, Lady Y/N L/N!" The announcer yells as the two of you walk into the ball.

"Wow, this place is bright," You comment, looking at all the jewels, lights, and glamor.

"I know, right? It's so we can glimmer as we dance," Ella exclaims, dancing away with a man.

"Well, I've been left alone," You grumble, grabbing a glass of wine and walking to the hallway.

While exploring the castle, you find a path leading to the royal garden. You see a handsome man with blonde hair, tan skin, and greenish-blue eyes crying near a large fountain with a mermaid spitting water. You realize it's Prince Henry's younger brother, Prince Helio.

"Henry...why did you have to go?" He cries, making you feel sorry for him.

"Uh, hi! Sorry to interrupt your crying session, but would you mind me asking what's wrong?" You ask, revealing yourself. 

"Oh, sorry. I'm supposed to be out there finding a queen to rule with, but I'm out here crying over my brother. Henry was such a good older brother to me. He helped me with studies and sword training, but then he went into those woods and never came back. Now, here I am about to be king alone with only my mom and dad as family," The young man weeps, wiping tears from his face.

You knew what happened to the former Prince Henry. Everyone in the Woods did. But, it's things like this that are the reason people like you live in the Woods.

"I'm sure your brother misses you dearly. Even if he can't come back, I'm sure he'd want you to be a good king to your people," You comfort him, handing him your glass of wine. "Besides, it's your party. Wouldn't exactly want to let everyone down, would you?" 

"You're right. I, Prince Helia, shall make this the best pre-engagement party in this kingdom. Now, do you desire another drink, love?" 

"Yes, and just so you don't have to keep calling me love, my name is Y/N L/N."

Prince Helia leaves to get a cup of wine for you, and he pulls out a pink vial from his cape and pours it into your wine. He shakes the cup a little and lets the potion settle into the wine. He smiles lustfully, knowing he'll have the eternal love, the fairy tale ending he always wished for.

"Here's your class of wine, princess," Helia says, passing you the drink while he secretly pours the rest of the vial into his wine. "To happy endings!"

"To the Woods!" You proclaim, wrapping your arm around his to do your toast.

"To love!" You and Heli exclaim, drinking the wine.

When the wine travels down your throat, the potion takes effect immediately. You feel dizzy, and your wine falls to the ground. You fall, and Helia catches you.  

"My love, are you ok?" Prince Helia asks, holding you in his arms as he feels his heart beating. 

"Helia~" You moan, sitting up and leaning in to kiss him.

You kiss Helia, and it's like you both have lost control of your body and emotions. The kiss feels so good, you could've sworn you are in heaven. His hands roam your body as your tongues intertwine. Spit comes out of both of yours and Helia's mouths, and his short blonde hair ruffled as your hands run through it.

"I love you. I love you. I love you!" Helia chants, his kisses trailing down your neck. 

"Ah-ah~" You moan, sticking your neck out as leaves his mark.

Helia undoes your corset, and he throws it to the side. Your dress falls to your waist, leaving your breasts bare for him to see. You quickly shimmy off the rest of the dress and kiss Helia again.

"You look absolutely gorgeous, darling," Helia compliments, his eyes full of lust and love. "I need to worship your body. Come here and let your prince worship every inch and imperfection of your body and soul."

"Yes, my love," You reply, straddling Helia.

Your beloved prince traces every part of your body with his hand and circles the beauty, birth, and stretch marks. He kisses your clavicle, breasts, armpits, every body part on the way down to your pussy. When he finally reaches your clothed sex, Helia kisses it. 

"Helia, I'm-"

"A virgin? I know. But that doesn't matter because I would've loved you even if you weren't. I love everything about you. Your stretch marks, your body hair, even your scars."

Helia gently takes off your underwear and spreads your legs. He deeply kisses the entrance of your pussy, and he inhales the scent of it. His tongue enters your vagina, and your body can't help but react. Your back arches and your hands grip the stone steps. As Helia eats you out, your hips buck into his face. Helia speeds up his licking, and you suddenly start to feel weird.

"Helia, I feel strange!" You moan, sitting up.

"It's ok, my love, embrace that feeling," Helia replies, giving one last kiss to your pussy and kissing your inner thighs as you cum.

Helia begins to strip, and his clothes go flying off. His six-inch cock drips with precum, and you instantly want it in you.

"I'll be gentle. I know it's your first time. God, I can't wait to make love to you and give our kingdom an heir," Helia says, crawling towards you and lining up with your entrance.

You lift your legs to give him room, and he holds your hands. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he kisses you deeply. 

"I'm going to enter you. Tell me if there's any pain," Helia states, slowly inserting his dick in you.

You twitch in pain, and Helia's hands are on your face. He kisses you again, and you kiss him in return.

"I'm ready, Helia," You say, looking at his beautiful green eyes. "I'm ready for you."

Helia thrusts slowly, panting and moaning as if your body is sweet nectar. His steady rhythm of thrusting sends your body into ecstasy.

"Mm~ Helia," You moan, feeling Helia's cock move in your pussy and kisses on your neck.

"Are you enjoying me, my love?" Helia questions, speeding up the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Yes! Yes!" You exclaim, loving your high.

Your toes begin to twitch, and hearts appear in your and Helia's eyes. Helia's thrusts speed up, as do his kisses. Love bites cover your neck as Helia reaches his orgasm.

"I-I love you, my-my princess! I love you!" Helia stammers, climaxing and cumming into your pussy. His legs twitch as he orgasms.

"Oh-oo-ah-Helia!" You scream, your toes curling from the release and your pussy tightening around Helia's dick.

Helia kisses you, tears flowing from his eyes as he rides out his climax. When he's done, his sweaty body rests on yours.

"I love you. I-I love you so much, Y/N. I want to be with you forever. I need you," Helia rambles, resting his head on your chest.

"I know, my prince. I know," You pant, rubbing Helia's head.

~~~~~~~~~

After your passionate session with Prince Helia, your prince covers both of you with his cape. He's been kissing your skin since fucking you, holding you in his arms as if you would go away.

"I'll announce our engagement tomorrow, and we'll be married next week," Helia says, kissing your hand, knuckles, and fingers.

You fall asleep in your prince's arms, and he kisses you goodnight. 

"Goodnight, my darling."

[gfdazai]

Combing his hair. ♡

Dazai is implied to have a negative mental health episode, established relationship, blah blah blah. GN reader. 750~ish words. I still don't know how to end fics.

Dazai feels broken. Useless. He still hasn't gotten out of bed, and it's 11am. He should've been at work three hours ago, yet he can't find the will to.

He's lying there, wanting to move, but he can't. He can't bother even rolling over to get a drink. The bottles from the previous night lie by his bed, some knocked over, some still standing up.

He forces himself onto his side, trying to ignore the stinging pain of his back, and the pounding, repeating pain of his headache. His groan goes quiet when he hears the front door unlock, open, and shut.

You're here... Again. He did say you could stop by whenever, but he doesn't want to see you right now. Not when he's like this — not when his apartment is like this. He wishes he could shove you out, deep clean and then let you back in.

"Doors open." He barks lazily once he hears you approaching the door. He wants to turn and get up, give you a kiss; but he can't find it in him to even roll over and face the door.

He can barely spare a blink when he hears the door creak open — he's been meaning to get you to fix that. "Osamu?" He slowly blinks, forcing his gaze away from the wall and to your form.

"Bad day?"

"Mm." He hums blankly as an answer, his eyes slowly following you as you get on the bed beside him.

"Wanna talk about it?"

He doesn't answer, feeling you move him a little. His head isn't on the pillows anymore, now on your lap. It's a bit of a distraction from him feeling his clothes on his skin.

"...You wanna take a shower?" You question softly, feeling his forehead to check for a fever. He seems colder, rather than burning hot. He shakes his head a smidge.

"Well, uh... I'll admit, I don't know what else to offer." You chuckle, and he melts a little at the sound. You're always so sweet and gentle to him, it makes him nauseous. He doesn't... Deserve this.

"...Can I brush your hair?" You ask softly, placing your hand gently on the back of his head, rubbing your thumb against his messy, greasy hair.

He blinks slowly, forcing himself to nod a little. "Mhm.." He swallows, trying to wet his dry mouth. "Please." His voice is weak... Broken, and shaky. Like he hasn't had a drink in the past week... Or maybe that's because he hasn't water in the past 24 hours.

You smile a little, "okay." You say softly, looking over at his nightstand. You grab a dark blue comb, gently sectioning off his hair, before starting to comb through it.

A few minutes pass, and you're onto the next section. "I bought you more crab. Some of it is canned, but I got some of that fancy stuff that you said you wanted last time we went out together." You say. He blinks a few times, clearing his throat halfheartedly.

"...Really?" He mumbles softly. "That's... Too much. I can pay you back." His finger twitches as he starts to force his hands to move, but he stops when you press him back down.

"No, it's really nothing. Think of it as a late, uh... Present for national crab meat day?" You smile a little, and he smiles a little back.

"Oh?... Thank you." He sighs softly, feeling you move onto the next section of his hair.

A few moments pass... "...Are you mad I didn't stop by last night?" He mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed, not wanting to see if he hurt you. He hears you sigh, and his heart drops. This is it — he fucked it all up, he's gonna be alone again, and you'll move on, and he'll end up —

"Of course not. You did say that you might be too busy to stop by." He blinks, opening his eyes and looking up at you.

"...Oh." He mumbles. "I didn't think you'd be so... Okay. About it." He swallows, eyes falling back down to his mattress.

You finish combing his hair, grabbing a hairtie from your pocket and gathering as much of his hair as you can, tying it up. "Ta-da." His heart melts at your giggle.

"Mhm..." He yawns softly, closing his eyes. "Love you." He mumbles, exhaling gently...

"Love you too, 'samu." You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, before leaning back against the headboard, letting the silence play for the both of you.

Please don't steal my work, nor feed it to any sort of AI. Thank you! ♡

[aloysiavirgata]

She walks in beauty, like the night

Scully in the simplest, blackest silk. Scully pale, moon-kissed, vulnerable. Scully’s hair and eyes like where the stars are born.

***

Scully comes to him when even the moon is all but asleep, like a single calla lily from a secret admirer. Unbidden. Unexpected.

Unparalleled.

“Mulder,” she says, outside his open door, in a negligee that last shade of sky blue before it goes pitch black.

Spaghetti straps and a low décolletage, though not shockingly low. Lace trim, mid thigh. It looks like something Katharine Hepburn would wear to slap you.

Not you. Him.

Specifically him.

She looks up at him through her heavy-lashed, heavy-lidded eyes.

He stares at her for his own sake because deep in his 12 year old heart, no one would ever, ever, believe that nerdy Fox Muld-

Scully takes another step closer onto the sad oatmeal carpet of his hotel room. She has such pretty ankles, she has such pretty calves. She smells like honeysuckle and hot bike tires and buttery lobster rolls and the sweetest, purest moments of his life.

She tips her face up to him, Agent Scully does, all eyes and lips and cheekbones like a geometric proof.

“God,” he says. And he means it.

***

LA belongs to the sun and Scully is a San Diego baby but he knows, he knows, she is an East Coast girl at heart. He knows she loves the first retinal purple-orange sunrises of America and the first sapphire kisses of night. He knows she loves the stars by which her father learned to navigate. He knows she loves the distant moon.

He knows she loves blue crabs and wool duffel coats and khaki shorts and aspires to East Hampton in her most secret, silent heart.

One day he will make love to her in London because she will, he knows, hark to the call of the City. She is a creature of old stone and lichen and liminal space.

She is the answer to Samson’s riddle.

***

He’d rented a jet black ‘57 Chevy Bel Air because Christ, this girl. Abductions and cancer and the most awful brutality and stolen ova and Christ; this brilliant, moonbeam girl.

She sees the car and she says nothing. But her eyes, her eyes. Her Star of India eyes.

Scully sees the car and she smiles, shy. Scully squeezes his hand.

***

He fucks her - hard, desperate - in the Chevy out over Mullholland and she cries out for him because even Saint Teresa writhed in ecstasy.

He kisses her the way a mariner kisses his homeland soil because she is his human credential. He kisses her like a Torah scroll. He shudders, murmurs I love you, I love you into the hot, sweet dark of her mouth.

***

She is bleeding, just a little. She is bleeding in the warm caress of a Southern California night. She is bleeding as though she were a virgin and maybe she is; maybe there is sex and there is fucking and there is making love and there is This.

Are you there, god? It’s me, Dana.

She touches his sleeping rosebud lips. She touches his funny nose and his beautiful jaw and she doesn’t say I love you aloud like he had because she’d learned it was shameful. She’d learned to salute.

But it’s 3 AM, neither properly morning nor properly night. It’s 3 AM and she isn’t LA pretty, not by a long shot, but she’s here with him, with Mulder, who is very LA pretty and has money besides.

She’s too short and too pale and her nose is patrician rather than cute and she gets burnt instead of tan. She doesn’t laugh in the right places at movies. She likes copper because it burns green, she likes moths more than butterflies, she can quote Jane Austen’s most acerbic lines.

She thinks of Mulder swimming hard across the Vineyard tides, Mulder with his cinnamon skin in the whipped cream breakers. Riding a red fixed-gear along Lake Tashmoo, tugging his tiny sister along. Mulder basking on the beach like a young god of summer. Mulder with his heart afire like Saint Margaret Mary Alacoque.

Her father is dead and look, look Mulder has such a tender soul even if he’s Jewish and atheist, Daddy. Mulder has eyes like fern moss.

“I love you,” she says, her eyes brimming with tears, her eyes bright as the newest stars.

[milkteabinniechan]

all twisted up

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY ☕|m.list

pairing: Upperclassmen Chan x Underclassmen Felix

contents: college classmates Chan and Felix need to study for exams. But Felix is stressed, and Chan has a fun way to break the tension.

a/n: this was so much fun to write!! I am caught up in this whole academia au so please let me know if you want more :))

"You look absolutely desperate like this, you know."

Felix hissed through his teeth. He hated losing. Despised it. He pushed his arm through an an available opening.

"Who's idea was it to play Twister anyway?" Felix grunted.

Chan chortled heartily as he spun the wheel for the next move. Felix could feel his arm getting numb. How he managed to work himself into such a ridiculous shape he'll never know. Somehow he was on all fours, facing upward, with his right hand looped through Chan's legs, touching the yellow circle in front of it. Barely.

"Right foot red!" Chan shouted victoriously. A red circle placed a little too perfectly in front of his right leg. He was still standing, comfortable and confident. He lightly tapped his right toe onto the red circle.

"You're cheating!" Felix huffed. His legs beginning to shake from the cumbersome position.

"How would I do that? That spinner is completely random." Chan patted Felix's head like a puppy. "I know you hate losing, buddy."

Felix shook Chan's hand off of his head. He wouldn't give up this easily. He was no quitter. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath in, preparing for whatever the next move may be.

"Just spin the wheel, big boy." Felix gave a glaring look up at Chan.

Chan swallowed hard at the sound of being called big boy by his friend. A reaction he didn't expect his body to have. He leaned forward to spin the wheel on the floor. The tiny black needle spun fast until...

"Left foot blue." Chan muttered. They both turned to look at the next available circle. The only one even remotely possible for Felix to reach. The distance was still too far and they both knew it.

Felix took another full breath. He watched the blue circle in front of him as if it would move or jump further from him. It sat just a few inches from where his right hand was, underneath Chan. If he took his weight off his left hand to move it, he could fall. Felix knew his next move had to be made carefully. He slowly lifted himself from the crab position he was holding so that he was crouched. His right hand still holding strong, he stretched his left hand out through Chan's legs and reached for the blue circle.

In an instant, his balancing skills betrayed him. His right hand slipped beneath him, carrying too much of the weight. He fell to the matt with a thud.

"Damn it!" Felix squirmed, his leg swiping across Chan's shin, causing him to lose his balance.

Chan fell with a heaviness on top of Felix. Their faces just inches from each other. Felix's eyes were the most beautiful color, Chan had forgotten how clear they were. How they sparkled when the light caught them. Felix's breath hitched in his throat. His eyes pulled towards Chan's full lips, wet tongue resting inside. His hips swiveled underneath Chan's waist.

They were supposed to be studying. They had exams at the end of the month. Felix had to pass this semester or he'd be expelled from the university. Chan had offered to help him study. That's what they were supposed to be doing. Now Felix could feel all of the blood rushing somewhere else. His pants tightened and his hands were starting to move on their own.

Felix grabbed the bottom of Chan's shirt, and pulled it towards him. Chan eased his body down in response and craned his head up over Felix, so his entire body was towering over him. Chan playfully nudged his lips across Felix's mouth, letting their lips touch quickly, grazing himself in and out. Felix mimicked Chan's movements and let his lips flick and brush across his upperclassmen's open mouth.

Chan began to thrust his hips slowly. Felix whimpered at the feeling of the bulge against his own. Felix lifted his head in earnest and pressed his mouth against Chan's. The kiss pushed and pulled like ocean waves hitting the shore. Chan continued to grind desperately against Felix's clothed cock. Moaning filled both of their open, squelching mouths until they pulled again, a single strand of saliva still connecting them.

"I told you Twister would be fun, didn't I?" Chan growled with a smirk.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 5 MATCH 3

Elliott propaganda:

“Just look at him. Pure hunk energy.”

“I will punch anyone who dislikes him. He’s like a fire emblem character in the modern day. He’s so flamboyant and handsome, he can play the piano and he’s best friends with the old fishing man!”

“dramatic writer man with sexy hair”

"Since I like elliott. I will state some reasons why I like him

Imagine if Mr. Darcy didn’t insult your family first time you met him, that’s Elliott. The man who’s basically the hallmark romance love interest. He’s a writer who moves to the small town in the country side to find inspiration for his writing. Then he finds the farmer.

He has a crab living in his pocket

He can play the piano (hopefully it isn’t the river flows in you however)

His fans sometimes hc him as a merman and that’s just a major plus IMO

He genre of the book he writes is dependent on what genre you say you like.

He also sends letters to you if you marry him

Okay and also some things I dislike

His liked gifts, the easiest one is pomegranates, which cost like 6000g to grow a tree if you don’t pick the fruit cave. I AM NOT GETTING SQUID INK IN YEAR ONE FOR YOU.

he might be British /j

The fact he has no kitchen but still likes food like lobster, like he is just a mystery. Lives in a cabin, with no kitchen, no washroom (okay no character has a washroom), but still likes the most fancy food out there and has luscious hair worthy of a L’Oréal ad.

Gifting him on rainy days when you don’t have two hearts"

Dimitri propaganda:

“He's chivalrous, he's blood thirsty, all rolled up into one package and calling you "his beloved". Get you a man who can do both.”

“My husband <3 He's schizophrenic just like me and I love him for that.”

"First, look at him. No disrespect to the monster lovers, but even if blonde, blue-eyed hunks aren't your thing, you can't deny that Dimitri is very pretty.

Second, one of the things I love most about Dimitri is how self aware he is of his privilege as a prince (or king) and how seriously he treats the gravity of his position. He has a strong sense of duty and wants to be a good leader who listens to and provides for the needs of all of his people. This includes the citizens of Duscur, who were nearly wiped out by his own countrymen in (mistaken) retaliation for his father's murder. His commitment to righting this wrong is one of his primary goals in life.

Third, while he is more than capable of crushing a man's skull with his bare hands, under normal circumstances he absolutely wouldn't. A large part of the reason why his fall is so shocking and devastating to witness is because by the time he snaps, we know that Dimitri is actually a kind and gentle soul who hates violence and understands that even his enemies are human. Even at his worst point he still recognizes this, which feeds into his extreme self loathing. He extends compassion and forgiveness to others but struggles mightily to allow himself any forbearance for his own mistakes. He's kind quite literally to a fault, as his empathy is both his greatest strength AND his biggest flaw and I find that as heartwarming as it is heartbreaking."

"Okay first for all the "he needs therapy haha funny" (and its annoying corollary "I can fix him") comments, 1) don't we all? And 2) you can't romance him til end game when he is in a much healthier place due to his own choice to change his priorities and the support of you and his friends. He battles daily with severe mental illness in a repressed society that doesn't talk about it. And on multiple occasions tells people that it is okay to feel your feelings and offers support despite his own struggles (I include that bc that is a date able trait to me). If he's not your fave that's cool, but leave the ableist language out of it pretty please 💙💙 Okay reasons he should be your boyfriend now!!

He calls you his beloved and wants to hold your hand 🥺

His happiest moments in game are when you smile

And in conclusion, he is shaped like a dorito and has a huge cloak to snuggle you up in"

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ｃａｋｅ ♡

♡ I got a Big Matthew request ya'll! I love this man so much and never met someone else who loves him so, like, yay ♡

♡ Pairing: idol!boyfriend!bm x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: You've been feeling insecure dating your idol boyfriend but a weekend away quiets your worries

♡ Genre: fluff/smut

♡ Word Count: 1.3kish

♡ Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, & that's all babes

When your boyfriend suggested that you rent a house by the shore for the weekend, complete with your own private stretch of beach, you thought it was kind of excessive given the price. Even still, Matt insisted that nothing could ever cost too much when it came to his girl and you were on your way to the beach house in a matter of days. Now, as you sit along the white sandy beach on your striped towel reading that one book you’ve been putting off reading for ages, you’re happy that he convinced you to come.

Nothing in recent memory has been as soothing as the clear blue water crashing to shore. Birds fly above singing the sort of song that could lull you off to sleep in minutes. The bright rays of the sun are softened by the few clouds that surround it. You smile to yourself thinking of how hesitant you were to come only to find yourself dreading the thought of ever leaving. “Baby!” You hear Matt’s voice booming in the distance.

You peek over your shoulder to glimpse his muscular 6 '1 frame waving to you from the balcony of the beach house, not too far from where you are. In nothing more than a pair of gray sweatpants, your mind can’t help but drift off to the filthiest place possible at the sight of him. “Hey you!” you shout back, smiling sweetly despite your recent thoughts. Matt smiles back, his phone casually held up in your direction, “Say ‘hello’ to the people!”

“To the people?” you ask, eyes squinting as you notice the phone in his hand, “What people?” “I’m on Instagram live, baby. Get up. Come on!” In an instant, your heart’s in your stomach. Instagram? Live? You jump to your feet, wrapping the towel around your sheer black bikini. “Matt, you’re joking right?” you laugh, praying you’re right, “You can’t do that can you?” A part of dating an idol that you never questioned was the secrecy with which you had to navigate your relationship. No one besides his inner circle could know, especially not his fans.

It was honestly a relief for you. Not because you were afraid of how his fans would react but because you were nervous it might be weird for him if everyone knew he was with a plus sized woman. Matt has never made you feel anything short of beautiful yet somewhere inside of you there still exists this fear of how things might change if you went public. How he might change. You feel every single one of these thoughts flooding your brain at once. And, like the little hermit crab scurrying past your discarded book, all you want to do is hide. 

But you won't have to because he’s not embarrassed. From the moment he flipped the camera onto you, you’d officially gone public and the only thing he’s done is look out at you with stars in his eyes. “She is cute, isn’t she?” he says in response to a commenter, “Oh! Baby! Baby! Show them the bathing suit I got you! Her body in this? Oh my god!” “Stop it. You’re just saying that” you blush, softening in the presence of his adoration.

“I’m not. I swear you look so good, Y/N. Your body’s everything.” Matt’s excitement rubs off on you, even from a distance. Before you can second guess yourself you’ve dropped the towel, standing there feeling shyer than you ever have but somehow…liberated? “Yeah! Come on, girl! 360! 360!” he chants and you roll your eyes, offering him a graceful pageant spin. 

“Damn, I love you girl!”

“I love you too!��

You break into a fit of giggles, covering your face with your hands. Matt switches the camera back on himself, throwing up a peace sign. “You guys, I've gotta go. I’m…kinda in a mood now so take care of yourselves, okay?” Hanging up the phone, he leans over the railing, biceps flexing as he grips the ornate metal. “Meet me downstairs” he says in a voice…the voice…that lets you know exactly what he’s thinking. He winks at you, disappearing into the house, and you’re running to meet him like it’s Christmas morning.

Your bodies collide in the luxuriously decorated living room. Matt scoops you into his arms, kissing along your neck as you adjust your legs around his waist. The air conditioning’s off but you still get chills when his lips gently run along your collarbone. “You sure you should’ve done that?” you ask, playing with his short neon green hair. He looks up at you, his expression serious enough that you can’t question a word he says next.

“I know what you were worried about. It could never be that with us. I’m so proud to have you.” You almost tilt your head down, flustered beyond words, but he kisses you before you can. Having his lips against yours, his tongue exploring parts of your mouth only he’s ever been able to reach, is getting you wet already. “So beautiful” he whispers, long fingers slipping between your thighs to stroke your slit. Your bikini might be moisture wicking but there’s no denying how wet you are.

Pushing the material to the side, he presses two fingers into you. You gasp into his mouth, palming the thick bulge in his pants. “You want it?” he teases. “Mmm” you hum, nibbling at his bottom lip, “Just shut up and give it to me.” You’re rarely this bold but it drives him crazy when you are. In the blink of an eye he has you against the wall, a breadcrumb trail of clothes behind you. Your hands ride smoothly across his sculpted body as he caresses the softness of yours, guiding his head to your quivering entrance.

When he raises his hips, pushing into you, you whine and all he can do is groan at how pretty you sound. The way it feels to have him inside of you…it’s like electricity prickling at the tips of your fingers. It’s the waves of his movements washing against your shore, giving and taking from you all at once. He holds you so effortlessly, makes you feel so light, that the only thing you have to focus on is the pleasure that reverberates through your core when he grinds into you.

“Oh…fuck. Just like that” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. Matt slams into you harder, hitting your sweet spot every time, “Like this?” “Yes…mmph…I’m gonna…” You lay your head on his shoulder and he strokes your hair, his other arm keeping you steady for him. “It’s okay, baby” he coos, kissing your shoulder, “Come.” You’re shaking, doing your best not to scratch him but you can’t help it, when you finally come apart, gushing around him.

You press your face into him, muffling your moans. Matt tugs your hair, gently tilting your head back, “I wanna hear you.” So you let him, filling his ear with every noise you can make. Some you didn’t even know you could. When your body collapses, your muscles reduced to jello, he carries you over to the couch and lays you on your back. “You good?” he asks, caressing your soft belly before resting his head on it. “Are you good? You’re kinda big for this couch aren’t you?” you tease, legs wrapping around him once again.

“Shut up!” he shoots back, lifting his head to kiss your stomach. Nuzzling against you, taking deep breaths of your scent, he stares up at you the way he did on the balcony. “Mine” he sighs, “Now everyone knows it…” And for once the thought of that isn’t scary. In fact, you’ve never been happier ♡

[starlightshadowsworld]

The Sheep King and his Demon AU

Aka Bsd except Chuuya doesn't join the Port Mafia.

"What's the occasion, Chuuya? Don't tell me we have an anniversary I'm not aware off." Chuuya rolls his eyes but his smile is found as he hands Dazai a large bag.

"Nothing like that" he hesitates "just... Open it." Dazai takes it, intrigued as to what's gotten Chuuya so shy.

He's about to tease him for it but pauses, seeing the bags contents.

It's a hoodie. A large one, so it's definitely not one of Chuuya's. It's a sandy brown with a patch of a white crab sewn on the front.

"None of us have a problem with you wearing your usual clothes. But the weather's getting cold, and we don't exactly have the best heating." Explains Chuuya, pointedly looking anywhere but at Dazai.

Dazai runs a hand over the fabric, it's soft and cosy but not in a way that would make him feel uncomfortable.

"We found it. The rest, well we couldn't get you anything new so we all pitched in." Says Chuuya, seeing Dazai pull out the rest of the items.

Yuan's light blue gloves. A pair of Shirase's tan trousers. Brown boots Dazai recalls Chuuya complaining about not fitting him. A white t-shirt with short sleeves, would cover the parts his bandages wouldn't.

And a black coat, but unlike his Port Mafia coat this one was shorter, waterproof and warm.

"And I know it's no Port Mafia fashion but-" Chuuya is cut from his nervous rambling by Dazai kissing him. Dazai smiles, a fond and warm smile that eases all Chuuya's fears.

"You did this, all so I wouldn't catch a cold?" Chuuya blushes, gently turning over the coat and revealing the back, the symbol of the Sheep sewn on.

"And so when you come down here, everyone in Suribachi knows, you're one of us. That your mine and not to mess with you."

It was Dazai's turn to blush brightly and he laughs, warm and bright and hugs Chuuya who hugs him.

The next time Dazai shows up it's in his new outfit. He's suprised by how light he feels wearing it.

Maybe it's because it shows the Sheep accept him, having given pieces of their own meager wardrobes to keep him warm.

In a way that is comfortable because they know him well enough to know what he likes.

Or maybe it was Chuuya's smile when he saw Dazai walk in wearing it. And the approving smiles of the Sheep, even if they did smirk knowingly.

Dazai was sure it was both, and both was good

[givemea-dam-break]

daughters of the evening

⭒⭒⭒⭒ in which luke’s descent from good may be found.

pairing: luke castellan x (fem) reader

a/n: hey guys!! first fic in a while and i know, i know, pjo book readers are disappointed in me… but i’m just a girl! i’m literally just a girl! please enjoy my brain baby i love her :) i love writing quests so much, so this was really nice to write for my first fic back on tumblr. i hope you guys enjoy! if anybody wants to be added to my pjo taglist, let me know!

warnings: canon typical violence, book spoilers, blood/injury description, rusty writing

words: 5.8K ⭒⭒⭒⭒

(y/n) couldn’t remember when the change in Luke became permanent.

She could remember the hints of something at the corners of his eyes, something that bit at the happiness that filled them, eating away at it like rot on wood. She could remember the slow decline in his respect for his father, respect that had barely been there for years, though was now bridging on outright disrespect.

She could remember the crux of it all, the very moment in which all of the little things began to coalesce into something ugly. A flash of claws, the deep scarlet of mortal blood followed by shimmering gold ichor. The horrible sound of screaming. Gleaming fruits of gold. Gorgeous, blooming green trees towering above them that concealed the violence below.

It was after the quest that Luke, her Luke, was never the same.

⭒⭒

“I don’t remember San Francisco looking like this.”

Luke’s lips curled into a smile. “You’ve never been to San Francisco.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen it in movies through which I have lived vicariously. It’s in one of the Indiana Jones’s, right? Looks different.”

“Those movies are from the eighties,” Luke said. “So, yeah, it’s going to look different.”

Charles Beckendorf, their questmate, heaved a sigh. “Do you guys ever stop?”

“Stop what?” (y/n) asked.

“Being annoying? Flirting? Whatever you want to call it.”

Her face felt awfully hot and she found herself unable to even look in Luke’s general direction. It was a comment that had been made many times in the past, one she was sure Luke was sick to death of, but she found herself yearning for comments like it. They meant that maybe she wasn’t dreaming up something between them.

Either way, she didn’t acknowledge it, rather stuffing her hand into her unzipped backpack and scrounging around until finally she found what she wanted. With a dramatic flair, she revealed three paper maps, each embellished with their names written in colourful pen at the top.

A moment of silence, then Luke said, “Why do we need a map each? Can’t we just share? And where did you even get those?”

“I got them back in Salt Lake City, before we happened upon that massive crab, you remember the one? All blue and slimy.” She pressed the maps into their hands. “There are multiple because knowing you both, you’ll lose them and I’m not buying any more. But, look! They’re colour-coded. Green for me because, duh, Demeter. Orange for Beckendorf, red for you. We can at least make this quest for some stupid apples interesting.”

Beckendorf raised a brow, giving her a strange look. “With glittery gel pen?”

“Glittery gel pen makes everything better,” she insisted. “I’m glad you acknowledge that. Now, come on. With all this talking you two have been doing, we don’t have much time to spare. You’re like a pair of gossiping grannies.”

The two shared a look over her head, one they thought she didn’t see, but it only made her hold back a laugh. They were a relatively upbeat group as it was, but she prided herself on keeping the mood light, especially when danger was looming. With the might of glittery gel pens, a travel-size game of Monopoly, and a cheesy puns book they had picked up off the side of the road, they would be unstoppable should their enemies need a good laugh.

It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of what was ahead of them that she felt the need to joke around, it was just her regular nerves. The three of them were experienced and powerful demigods, skilled fighters and strategists, the best of the best. Luke had his immense skill with a sword and the mind of a trickster; Beckendorf had the brains and strength of a blacksmith, and could sense a trap a mile away and disarm it in moments; (y/n) herself was a powerful daughter of Demeter and, though not to the standard of Luke, was also skilled with a sword.

They hadn’t faced much trouble before. They were a tried-and-tested trio, having been on multiple quests together in the past and finding themselves working well together. 

This time, it seemed like a match made by the Fates. A quest ordained by Hermes, Luke’s father, to retrieve the Apples of Immortality from the Garden of the Hesperides - gardens and plants being the domain of Demeter and, by extension, (y/n). And, no doubt, there would be many traps or the need for a strong mind, hence Beckendorf. He was a year or two younger than she and Luke, but had proved himself upon countless occasions. She trusted him with her life.

Almost a week now they’d been on this quest, and still she felt like a giddy child. Almost seventeen and, at her big age, she was holding back smiles and giggles befitting of a schoolgirl with a crush. Part of it was gratefulness that a demigod such as Luke had chosen her to join him on this quest, even after being friends for years and having gone on numerous quests together already. Part of it was simply that she was madly in love with the boy.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then, watching the way the afternoon sun gleamed on his face, setting his dark eyes alight with flame. There was a curious smile on his lips, one that concealed mischief and intelligence; one she had loved for as long as she could remember. His hair was messy after days of travelling and not bothering to fuss with it - she dreaded to think of what her own looked like, the only mirror she had being her sword - but there was something so extremely endearing about it. Wild curls that gave his lightly-freckled face even more life.

Their maps didn’t help their hunt for the Garden an awful lot. For what had to have been at least two hours, they stumbled around the city, turning this way and that, earning odd looks from strangers. 

“For being the son of the god of travellers,” (y/n) said, “you are horrendous at reading a map.”

Luke gave her a nudge with his elbow as he scanned the map. He was grinning. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. “Maps make sense enough, but I think these ones are out of date.”

“Maps don’t go out of date, stupid.”

Beckendorf was holding back a smile. “I think he’s right. I think our maps are too old.”

(y/n) glowered at them, plucking their maps from their hands. Fine. They didn’t deserve to hold maps graced with her glittery gel pens anyways.

“Well,” she said. “Unless either of you have any ideas, we’re going to be stuck wandering for hours. Come on, Luke. Use your magicky journey powers. They got us this far.”

His eyes shone, and her knees felt a little weak. She loved it when he looked at her like that, when she had said something funny. It was as though the heavens themselves had descended and flooded his face with light and beauty. She couldn’t look away.

“It’s a big garden,” he retorted. “Find the big garden, daughter of the mighty Demeter!”

She knew he meant it as a joke - the sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice - but there was something in his tone that she couldn’t identify. Something deeper than a simple sarcastic comment. This had been a pity quest, of sorts, she knew. Luke had been getting restless and his father had wanted to satiate him, but it wasn’t enough. He was displeased with the gods, to say the least.

But he kept a good lock on his expressions, on his words. She wouldn’t have suspected a thing had she not known him as well as she knew the feeling of grass beneath her feet.

Eventually, combining their powers and the single brain cell that seemed to be taken by Beckendorf, they found their way to the Mount Tamalpais State Park, which was not open to visitors now that the sun was setting.

They stared up at the distant mountain, the sloping greenland and towering trees that led towards it, and heaved a synonymous groan. Quests could never be even slightly easy, it seemed. Why would the gods let them head to a random park in the city when they could have them trespassing in a state park at night, lives in the hands of the monsters and animals alike that roamed the woods? The gods would rather have them arrested than have something be easy.

“You’re kidding, right?” Beckendorf said. “We don’t have to walk all that way?”

(y/n) frowned. She wished more than anything that they could just turn around and leave, a feeling she did not often get on quests. But something didn’t feel right. There was a twist in her gut, a deep intuition that told her something was going to go wrong.

But her gut was also pulling her towards the mountain. There was a power there, unlike any she had felt before, and she wanted to know what it was. 

“We’ll be fine,” she insisted, though she didn’t feel entirely sure herself.

She was the first to make the step towards their darkening fates. If she had known the outcome, she would have turned and fled immediately.

The three of them trudged up the path, flicking on torches when the sky grew darker and the ground in front of them too hard to see. It gave them an eerie glow, entirely unlike the warm glow of their weapons. All of their features were in stark contrast to the dark surroundings; Luke’s cheekbones, Beckendorf’s eyes, her brownbone. It was disconcerting, and it felt all too much like they were the lead characters in a ghost story.

She was considering turning back about halfway there. The tug in her gut was becoming stronger, almost unbearable, and her head was pounding, filled with the worry of the possible incidents that had not happened yet. 

The only thing that kept her going was Luke’s pinky finger wrapped around hers.

Maybe he felt her nerves, so acute that she feared her sinews and tendons and bones could snap at any moment. But Luke knew her. He had known her since they were barely teenagers. He knew her better than she knew herself: every habit she had; every face she made; every hint of a feeling before she knew it was coming. He had some deep understanding of her, one that would have made her feel vulnerable in any other situation with any other person. Luke was not any other person.

His pinky was wrapped around hers tightly, warmer than the rest of her body put together. It curled around hers just so, acknowledging her worry. His jacket sleeve brushed hers.

It wasn’t until they reached the Garden at the foot of the mountain that his hand wrapped around hers fully, encasing it entirely in warmth and comfort. His palms were calloused, fingers ribbed with light scars, but she could not imagine it any other way.

The Garden of the Hesperides was easily the most beautiful place she had ever seen and was likely the most beautiful place she would ever see. Stars hung above them in the night sky, glittering so brightly it was as though they could reach out and touch them with their outstretched fingers. Lush green grass coated the ground beneath their feet and beyond, speckled with flowers so bright they almost glowed in the dark. It was bristling with life, so full of it that (y/n) could feel it all deep in her bones.

But the source of the power lay further afield.

A tree, much taller than the rest, stood at the centre of the garden, boasting more golden apples than (y/n) could count. Its branches swayed in the faint breeze in mesmerising swoops, and the scent of fresh fruit laced with something that could only be described as addictive brushed over them. A faint mist swirled around the trunk of the tree, glittering slightly in the moonlight.

“Holy Hephaestus,” Beckendorf murmured, slack-jawed.

“That’s one big tree,” Luke said. 

“You certainly have a way with words,” (y/n) said.

His hand only squeezed hers in response. She could feel his heartbeat in his wrist. How was it so steady?

There was a shift in the wind, then, and a soft bite came into the air. Goosebumps prickled the skin of their arms, raising the hair there. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she swore she could hear the faintest lull of singing voices and could feel the weight of some large presence in the air. Nothing could be seen but the beautiful garden and the decadent tree in the centre.

“Luke Castellan,” said a soft voice. Luke visibly tensed, eyes narrowing at the usage of his surname. “(y/n) (l/n). Charles Beckendorf. We have been expecting you in our Garden for quite some time now.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. But, finally, after a few moments, the speaker emerged from the fine mist.

She didn’t look like much, appearing to be barely older than (y/n), but there was something about her surrounding aura that suggested she was much, much older. Dark, inky hair tumbled over narrow tawny shoulders, framing even darker eyes that shone with unknown magic. The woman seemed to blink slowly, as if bored or tired, and it looked as though she were merely floating over the ground rather than walking. It was hard to tell. Her Greek chiton covered her feet.

“We are the Hesperides,” she said, voice ever gentle, as four more women appeared, each almost identical in appearance. “Daughters of the Evening. Nymphs of the Sunset. Protectors of this Garden. What is your business here?”

There was a cockiness to Luke’s smile then, one that had (y/n) on edge. “If you’ve been expecting us, then surely you know our business.”

The lead Hesperide drew nearer, stopping a few feet away from their trio. Her sisters gathered at her sides, dark eyes sparkling with stars and cold curiosity and something overtly bitter. The demigods were clearly unwelcome here, but they intended to make a game of their quest.

(y/n)’s hand squeezed Luke’s in warning. He spared her a glance, her heart drawing still when his warm eyes met hers. His chin dipped slightly in a nod, and he gave her hand a squeeze before turning his attention back to the Hesperides.

“We’ve been sent here on a quest by my father Hermes,” Luke announced. His voice held more confidence than she felt. “We’re here to retrieve a golden apple.”

It was strange watching the Hesperides’ heads tilt in unison as if they were each an extension of the other. Voices lulled around them, soft and gentle, and the worry seeped from her very bones. Her hand fell from Luke’s. Something felt strangely at ease in her stomach despite their circumstances.

“You may try,” said the lead Hesperide. Her skin glimmered like marble in the moonlight. “Our dearest Ladon protects this tree with his life. He does not sleep. Every second of every day, he guards our gift from Gaea, the goddess Hera’s wedding gift. Do not think it will be easy to pass him.”

The Hesperides seemed to fade into the mist, then, their bodies becoming light and transparent as they slowly backed away until nothing was left but the faint singing swirling around them. The voices gave (y/n) a strange feeling, as though pulling her towards the tree.

“Who’s Ladon?” Beckendorf asked.

The three of them stood for a moment, watching the swirling mist.

“A dragon,” (y/n) said. “A big dragon.”

She could feel his presence, she realised. The heavy weight that had settled over them upon entering the Garden, it couldn’t be anything else. Even still, she could feel him through the ground, like an impending sense of death and doom. She’d had similar feelings before, an innate knowledge that the strawberry fields were close to wilting one year. Campers had called her crazy, but she knew. The earth knew.

And it knew now. She was horribly aware of the heaviness in her gut that surrounded the bright power of the apple tree. It could be nothing but Ladon.

“Any ideas, Luke?” she asked. “You’re our idea guy.”

He scoffed. “Since when? You’ve been dragging us around by our ears this entire quest.”

But he could see the nerves that she felt. He knew how strange this was for her, to feel so deeply worried about a quest. He knew something was wrong.

“I’ll get the apple,” he said, and his shoulders rose with confidence. His hand, the one that had held (y/n)’s moments ago, twitched just so. “I’m the fastest out of the three of us. You two, keep our friend distracted.”

There was a deep grumble at that moment, as if Ladon were making himself known. It shook the ground and the boughs of the tree trembled. Sweet-smelling apples tumbled into the mist.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to get the apples?” (y/n) asked. “You brought along a daughter of Demeter for a reason.”

He smiled softly at her. “That’s not the reason I brought you along.”

And, before either she or Beckendorf could protest his stupidity or question his statement, Luke’s glowing sword materialised in his hand and he was running into the mist.

The mist spread apart as his feet made contact, and (y/n)’s heart dropped. Beckendorf, one of the bravest demigods she had ever met despite his age, had a tremor in his hands as he pulled free his sword.

Within the mist was the largest monster (y/n) had ever seen. It was wrapped around the tree in a serpentine-like way, scales glimmering in the moonlight like molten copper and bronze. Massive claws sunk into the dirt surrounding the tree, at least the length of her forearm and as wide as Beckendorf’s. Every breath it released shook the branches of the tree as though caught in a gale.

The most horrifying part: the dragon had a hundred heads.

She had read about Ladon, had familiarised herself with the myths surrounding the Hesperides. Days before the quest, she and Luke had sat down at the canoe lake, poring over old history books that told the tale of Heracles and his Twelve Labours, one of which was the very quest they were being made to repeat. Luke had made a joke of it back then, unhappy with the quest he had been given and disbelieving that what they faced would be much of a threat.

But Ladon was no joke. It was an entirely different thing seeing drawings of the dragon and seeing him in real life. His hundred heads slithered through the air like snakes on the water, luminous yellow eyes watching the demigods with piqued interest. 

Even Luke faltered.

A deep breath came from all two hundred of the dragon’s nostrils, washing over them in a hot, acidic wave. The smell alone was horrendous, like an old, decrepit sewer filled with rotting rats, and it had the hairs on her arms standing and her eyes burning. 

She was worried that she may never be able to move again, frozen in place by the sheer might of Ladon, but when Luke turned to look at her, blood flooded into her veins again. He was counting on her. She wouldn’t let him down.

Ladon expected a frontal assault. He was waiting for Luke to attack, watching like a predator on prey, but he did not expect the very tree he protected to act against him.

With a heave of energy, (y/n) stretched out her arm and watched as the tree’s trunk began to swell as if filling with liquid. Ladon’s serpentine body writhed around it, twisting as he moved to accommodate the growing tree. The branches above him shook, dipping towards the ground slowly. Too slowly.

The dragon seemed to realise what, or who, was causing the change, and snarled ferociously. It was at that moment that Beckendorf grabbed a ball of Celestial bronze from his belt and, with a strong arm and remarkably good aim, threw it at the beast.

An explosion of green ignited before them as the ball slammed into Ladon’s thick hide. The dragon roared, whether in pain or fury, and set its bright gaze on (y/n) and Beckendorf.

Fear coursed through her body. She could hardly breathe. The branches wavered, pausing the pursuit to the ground. Beckendorf launched another one of his Celestial bronze bombs.

A pity quest, that’s what this had been. But, maybe, it was more than that. Maybe this was Hermes’ punishment for Luke wanting more from his life. Maybe this was (y/n)’s consequence for falling so irrevocably in love with Luke - for feeling the way she did, she would have to follow him to impossible circumstances.

But none of them deserved it.

It was at that moment that Luke took his leap.

With speed befitting a child of Hermes, he leapt onto Ladon’s mighty body, feet finding purchase on his rough scales, and launched himself upwards towards the descending branches.

For a moment, there was hope. Even Heracles had not retrieved the apples by facing Ladon, but maybe Luke would. Perhaps Luke would succeed where Heracles had not. Pride swelled in her heart, coated her tongue like warm honey, and she almost smiled.

Copper-coloured claws flashed in the moonlight. A chorus of soft, harmonising voices swirled around them like mist.

Mistake, they sang. The boy has made a mistake.

There was a cry of pain so guttural that (y/n) felt it in her soul. Her feet were moving before she could truly comprehend what was happening. The grass tried to reach for her ankles, tried to stop her in her mission, but nothing could. Had a god stood before her, she would have found her way past them. Nothing could stop her, not even this dragon that caused such fear in her bones.

She reached Luke as Ladon wound around the tree tightly, snarling protectively. Something in the beast’s demeanour hinted at pain beneath the danger, and when she saw the gold blood pooling just a few feet away, she knew why.

A claw, one of Ladon’s, severed from the knuckle down lay strewn in the grass. The dragon hissed as Beckendorf snatched it up, hefting his sword as (y/n) pulled Luke away.

He was bleeding badly. A deep gash ran from the tip of his brow down to the corner of his  mouth, somehow missing his eye but cutting just above and below. His skin was already becoming dangerously pale. Her hands were covered in blood. His blood. She was going to be sick.

“Hey,” she murmured, gently laying his head on her lap. Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Luke shuddered, eyes half-lidded and struggling to find something to focus on. “Are you -?”

“I’m fine,” she said. After a terrible moment, one that took far too long, she pulled free a small vial of nectar, wrapped tightly in old face-cloths to keep it from smashing in her bag. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking as she tried to unwrap it.

Beckendorf knelt beside her, claw at his side, and took the vial from her hands. She didn’t know how his hands could be so steady. She could hardly breathe. Not with Luke so injured, not with Ladon eyeing them hungrily.

He handed the vial back, and she propped Luke’s head up slightly. With a hiss of pain, she managed to open his mouth just enough to pour the small amount of nectar in. He swallowed with a struggle.

There was no telling how long it would take the nectar to work, but they couldn’t stay there under the watchful glare of Ladon, who looked ready to attack again. (y/n) took a trembling breath.

“Beckendorf,” she said, “are you able to carry him? At least until we can get out of this place. I can try - I can clean the wound when we’re safe.”

He nodded and hoisted Luke up into his arms, careful not to jostle his head too much.

She didn’t realise she had been crying until they stopped.

Beckendorf set Luke down on a soft patch of grass beyond the Garden, and (y/n) tucked her jacket underneath his head. The nectar seemed to be working, albeit slowly. Some colour was returning to his skin, but it was hard to see under all of the blood.

“You’re okay,” she murmured again, but she wasn’t sure who she was telling. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands.

She grabbed one of the face-cloths the vial of nectar had been wrapped in, soaking it in water from her water bottle, and slowly brought it to Luke’s face.

His eyes seemed to have some ability to focus now, watching her beneath a glaze of pain. It tore her soul in half to see him in pain, wincing as she gently dabbed the blood from his cheek. Her fingers were stained. His cheek was, too.

“I’m going to keep watch,” said Beckendorf. “Those Hesperides gave me a bad feeling.”

(y/n) nodded, watching for a moment as he trudged a few feet away, just out of earshot, but her focus soon returned to Luke. She tried not to think too much about how his hand was gripping her knee as she cleaned the rest of the blood.

“Is the nectar working?” she asked when she saw his eyes drooping. “What does it taste like?”

His gaze found hers, warm and cloudy. A pained smile fought its way onto his lips despite the slowly-healing scar on his cheek. She could see the skin trying to sew itself back together with the aid of the nectar.

“That smoothie you made a few months back with the - with the camp’s strawberries,” he uttered. “And whatever those green leaves were.”

She found herself smiling despite the red coating her hands. “Mint. And it was that good, huh? Last I checked, nectar for you tasted like that weird concoction of Coke and Sprite you liked so much.”

For a moment, his eyes grew distant before refocusing on her face. They flickered over her features as if seeing them for the first time. His hand felt awfully warm on her knee.

“Anything you make is better,” he said. 

“Is that so?” She brushed his hair back from his face softly, cleaning the last bits of blood.

His skin was still stitching itself back together, but the nectar seemed to have stopped the bleeding. Second by second, blood flooded back into his face, giving him the colour that seemed to have been leached from his skin.

He nodded, his smile seeming as though it pained him less. His hand slipped from her knee, coming up to wrap itself around hers. The cloth fell from her fingers and onto the grass. Her fingers were still wet, though in the dim light she couldn’t tell if it was from water or lingering blood. She didn’t have the stomach to find out.

“You said you didn’t bring me on this quest because of my mother,” she said cautiously. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “So why did you?”

A soft squeeze of her hand. “This wasn’t a quest I wanted to do without you,” he said. “I like having you by my side. You give me strength.”

She was sure he could feel her pulse beating rapidly in her fingers, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t need to. It was entirely likely that he was able to read her mind, he knew her so well. And she was okay with that.

“You’re stupid, you know,” she said, but her voice wavered.

“Stupidly brave?” he suggested. “Stupidly handsome? Stupidly charming?”

“I’m supposed to be supporting you right now,” she grumbled. “Not the other way around.”

His cocky grin was back and her heart fluttered. “Which one is it?”

“Which what?”

“Stupidly brave, handsome, or charming?”

All three, she thought. All three and so much more.

“Stupidly stupid,” she decided. 

Her thumb grazed his cheekbone, the one without the scar, and a shiver ran through his body. His hand tightened on hers and his smile softened into something more personal. It was the kind of smile she would have leapt into Tartarus to ensure its permanence on his lips. Soft and kind and reserved just for her. If she'd been standing, her knees would have buckled.

“You give me strength, too,” she murmured.

A sliver of hair slipped in front of her eyes, and moments later, Luke’s free hand was there, gently brushing it away. His eyes sparkled. They seemed clearer now, less agonised.

The events of the last hour - gods, it had felt like much longer - came crashing back onto her at his touch, asphyxiating and terrifying. Overwhelming guilt filled her veins and arteries with terrible speed, sapping all the strength from her bones. Her fingers trembled once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her throat felt suddenly raw. “If I’d done a better job distracting Ladon, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt.”

Luke’s eyes were dark for a moment, swirling with something she couldn’t identify, but they softened seconds later. His hand rested on her cheek, warm and comforting, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at his eyes now.

“This is not your fault,” he said, and his voice was remarkably strong. “This is the gods’ fault. It’s my father’s fault. But it is not your fault.”

She tried to believe him, truly she did, but looking at the fresh scar on his face, even having been almost entirely healed with nectar, had her heart heavy in her chest. 

He knew this. Gods, he knew her every thought. His hand slipped from hers, cupping her other cheek and tilting her head so that she would look at him properly. There was a flush to his cheeks now - good, it meant he was getting better. 

“My father did this,” he insisted. “You hear me? This was not you. And, gods, believe me when I say that I’m glad it was me that went for the apples and not you. I couldn’t live with myself if you got injured.”

But you did, she wanted to say - no, scream. How do I live with that?

“I’m okay,” he said softly, cautiously, as if talking to a child who had just woken from a nightmare. “I’m okay.”

His hand fell from her face, taking hers in its grip once more, and placed her fingers on the newly formed scar.

She jerked back, terrified that the sensation would cause him more pain, but he just gave her that smile again, the one that made her knees feel like jelly, and pressed her fingers to it once more. Already, the skin was raised and slightly twisted, accommodating for the injury. She could faintly feel his pulse beneath his skin, slow and infuriatingly steady.

“It doesn't hurt,” he promised. His voice was so reassuring that she could feel it in her bones, and she was half-convinced he was secretly a child of Aphrodite, blessed with charmspeak. “I’m okay because of you.”

Her throat was achy. “And Beckendorf.”

He gave a small laugh. “And Beckendorf. But mainly you. You’ve given me strength.”

It was then that the world itself seemed to stop. He was leaning upwards, bringing her face close to his, and his lips brushed hers so softly that she feared she may have been dreaming the entire encounter.

She could taste the faint remnants of metallic blood, though it was easily brushed aside. Luke’s lips were slightly wind-chapped but she found herself uncaring when they slotted perfectly against hers.

This kiss was something she had been waiting years for, and it was better than she could have ever dreamed. The feeling of his hands on her, his lips against hers, it was something that could not be replicated in a dream, like flying for the first time and feeling the clouds beneath your fingers.

It was addictive, more so than the stupid apples that had caused Luke such pain, and she found herself wanting more. It was an effort to pull away from him, but eventually, she did. Beckendorf was only a few feet away and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. It would make for an awkward journey home.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Luke murmured.

Finally, there was a smile tugging on her lips again. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting.”

It took another hour or so before Luke was well enough to get moving. The dark trails gave all of them a bad feeling, and (y/n) wasn’t able to shake the almost hypnotic choral voices of the Hesperides until they were out of the State Park. Luke was shaky on his feet for a little while but his strength was returning.

And with it came anger.

Not anger at (y/n) or Beckendorf, no. He still smiled at them as usual, fingers entwined with (y/n)’s so tightly it was as though he was afraid she would slip away. Jokes still slipped past his lips despite the events of the evening.

But he was filled with fiery rage. It was hidden, but (y/n) could read him like a book. She had seen the inklings of it throughout the previous days of their quest, had seen it more clearly while she was cleaning the blood from his face - this anger, though, was pure. Harder to mask.

He had already been furious with his quest, a detail he had tried to keep hidden from her. He hated the idea of repeating history and the fact that this quest was simply made to satiate him, to prevent him from growing restless at camp and questioning the authority of the gods.

This was a breaking point.

It became clearer the more time passed. As the days and weeks went by, he would hold her hand like a lifeline and kiss her so softly it felt as though she was dreaming, but the anger never left. It ate away at him, dimming his smiles and reducing any respect he had left for the gods until there was nothing left but a shadow of what had once been there.

The scar never faded. It became a reminder of what he believed to be the gods’ failure. His failure.

He was still her Luke. The Luke she had known and loved since she was thirteen. She was just terrified of what he might become.

[spinningwebsandtales]

Vita Nova

Orm Marius X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Spoilers, mentions of death, crying, hurt/comfort, reader has some trauma, suggestive themes, angst, and fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

Fic Swap with @the-marshals-wife

(A/N:) Happy (belated) New Year everyone! And my first fic of 2024 and it turned out to be a whopper! My lovely best friend and I just adore the Aquaman movies and in light of the new movie that dropped around Christmas we decided to do a ficswap together! This bad boy is my contribution and you lucky readers get to read it! I hope I can make the other Orm fangirls happy with this as I honestly had way too much fun writing it as you can see! Over 4,000 words of just Orm goodness! I look forward of sharing more writings in this new year and I'm glad I could open up with this! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Reader's POV is in italics.

SPOILERS FOR AQUAMAN AND THE LOST KINGDOM BELOW

DO NOT CONTINUE AHEAD IF YOU HAVE YET TO SEE THE MOVIE!

Orm stood upon the beach, his toes buried in the warm sand as the setting sun painted his features in orange and pink hues. His heart longed for Atlantis once more as homesickness always reared it's ugly head when he was feeling alone. While tension still remained between him and his older brother, deep down he was grateful for Arthur, giving him a new chance at life. With Atlantis finally revealing themselves to the people of the land, he no longer had to be so secretive about himself, except when it came to Atlanteans. He had burned too many bridges that most likely would never have the chance to be rebuilt. He sighed deeply as the warm salty foam washed over his feet.

Orm turned, leaving his regrets and longing to drown in the crashing waves. While he could see why his brother loved the land dwelling humans, Orm normally avoided them as much as he could. Especially when it came to his time on the beach, he rather not be bothered. And despite the world knowing, he still swam in deserted parts of the beaches he visited. His favorite places were around the docks where the shade kept him cool and various sea creatures stuck around. The fish and small crabs made him feel a little less lonely and made everything feel more like home.

Orm's bare feet padded against the planks of the dock as he tugged his shirt over his head. The breeze rippled his blond locks and whispered promises of a good evening swim. His vision staying straight ahead, Orm was preparing to run and dive into the bright blue water when a yelp caused him to stumble and he fell to the dock. He almost slid off when a slender hand caught his wrist and kept him from rolling off and slamming into a boat.

"Are you okay?!"

A feminine voice had him blinking against the pain in his skull before he finally got his eyes to focus. Orm sat up quickly, backing away from the woman looking at him with genuine concern. It was an emotion Orm was unacquainted with.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," the woman blushed getting to her feet and brushing the front of her shirt and shorts off. A quick flash of annoyance had him glaring before Orm sucked in a deep breath and calmed the raging tide threatening to overtake him. She offered him a hand up and old him would have swatted it away with a snarl, but new him remembered his older brother and took her offered hand. She shuffled her feet before him awkwardly, refusing to look up in embarrassment. Though Orm was worried he was intimidating her, though he wasn't trying at the moment.

"Sorry again," she apologized once more only to break the silent tension between them.

"I wasn't paying attention," it was the most polite thing he could say. "Though I can't help but ask. Why were you laying across the dock?"

Her cheeks flushed bright crimson, a pretty red color, and now she really refused to look up at him, more interested in her bare feet. This in turn made Orm feel more awkward, like he had pushed across some threshold that he should have never even touched.

"You'll laugh," she mumbled. Her gaze quickly darting up towards him before once again looking away. When she noticed that he wasn't going to say anything else her shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I like watching the fish. They feel like they're my friends and they're so peaceful living their lives without a care in the world," she whispered. "I've also always dreamed about Atlantis and going there and now that it is truly real I can't help but long for it even more. Silly huh?"

Orm shook his head and smiled remembering his home fondly, "No it's not. I think it's a wonderful dream."

Though home always brought a smile to his face, in this moment of his life it brought a pang of sadness with it. One mistake had taken his chance of ever seeing that beautiful city ever again. And here he just met a mere human upon an empty dock longing for the same as him. Maybe he had more in common with the humans of this side of the world than he had first realized. She smiled and nodded, happy to have someone not laugh at her for a change. She walked away moments later leaving him to ponder upon the dock as the waves whispered softly against the sand. Then Orm dived in.

Usually Orm moved around a lot. If he liked a place more than others he'd normally stay for a few days. But for reasons he didn't want to know he had stayed in this particular spot for weeks. And it wasn't because the food was anything extraordinary nor was the beach one of the most beautiful he's seen. If he dug down deep inside he knew it was because of that one moment, where he had seen a glimpse of that beautiful humanity that Arthur was always talking about to him. So Orm did what every normal man would do, he kept his distance and watched her from afar. She visited the dock he had found her at nightly, just to talk to the fish and to watch the sun set behind the horizon of the ocean. She would hum tunes, almost stroking the water with her gentle hands. She would hide sometimes as people would come to the beach calling out a name he had never heard. What would shatter his heart more than anything was when she would come some nights crying. His heart would clench as her salty tears dropped into the ocean. He shook his head fighting the urge to go towards her. But she was different, she wanted to know his world, that she had no idea he was from. That he had once been a prince, let alone a king of that world but it didn't matter, not anymore. He was dead to that world and he had to find his place in this one.

It didn't take many times of him watching the lone girl sob on the dock before Orm concocted a plan. Atlantean technology to help humans make the trip undersea had yet to be brought to them. Except for the scuba gear the humans already had invented, but Orm wanted his plan to be perfect. So he would do something that would make his older brother proud and possibly bring an end to his life. To get what he needed he would have to venture back to the Sunken Citadel and hope that the pirates that still lived didn't kill him at first glance.

You didn't know what kept bringing you back to this particular beach, though you had a inkling that it was in false hope of finding that same blond haired man that you had tripped. He was a complete stranger and yet you found yourself hoping to see him once more. So every night you came, no matter how bad things got at home you escaped bringing yourself to this little place of serenity, hoping, waiting, that you would see him again. But every night became a disappointment, though you enjoyed seeing the fish. The sun quickly set seeping the warmth from the Earth but the ocean water still held those waning rays of warmth. The lights of the dock quickly blinked on illuminating the surrounding water so you could still watch the fish swim peacefully by. You hummed a quiet tune as the waves lapped against the barnacle crusted wooden posts. A shadow darted by causing you to suck in a quick breath. Sharks would sometimes come up or a curious dolphin but this creature was too fast to be one of them. Your heartbeat quickened but against your better judgement you stuck your hand back down along with your head, trying to find this mystery that had suddenly come upon you.

Orm had a difficult time in the Sunken Citadel and he had gotten into a few brawls, but he did get what he searched for. It had cost him, but if his well thought out plan worked as well as he hoped, it would all be worth it. He made his way back to the normal spot and he had timed his return just right. As his mystery woman he had begun to adore made her way out onto the normal dock. She was light on her feet and she greeted some of the boatmen, who were leaving, politely before going to her same spot Orm could always find her. She stuck a hand in the water tracing the patterns of the fish below as they swam close to the surface. She had a small content grin on her face as she enjoyed the creatures below the surface. Orm moved his arms slower, trying to keep from interrupting this moment as he was more than happy to watch her for a little while. She hummed a tune while tucking strands of untamable hair behind her ear, only for a breeze to send them back to fluttering. He sucked in a breath letting the peace of her presence wash over him. And then he went under the surface and swam close by and quickly. He heard her gasp and he grinned to himself. He could have a moments fun at her expense, especially with the gift he was bringing her. Despite not knowing what he was she braved the unknown and he had to admire that about her. She was proving his theory of humans being a cowardly race wrong every moment he watched her.

You searched timidly for any sign of the shadow you had seen. Your eyes darting across the eerily still waters. You were about to pull yourself back up onto the dock when an arm breached the water and grabbed onto your wrist. You screamed yanking yourself backwards and the person attached to the hand around you came up with your panicked movements.

Orm laughed loudly at your terrified face while he treaded the water. He had never been one to play tricks as he had been trained as a prince of Atlantis, but he found it quite fun. The woman he had yet to put a name to a face laid on her back panting, trying to regain some form of control.

"Why did you do that," she screeched once she finally found her breath.

"Think of it as payback for making me fall on my face the first time we met," Orm smirked as he lifted himself from the water easily.

She took in the fact quickly that his upper torso was bare and the form fitting pants only seemed tighter by the fact that they were dripping water everywhere. She looked away, pink coming to her cheeks.

"You come out here every night," Orm said after a few moments of awkward silence.

Her head whipped around and her eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you know that? I never see you around!" Those moments of wishing to see him again, hoping he'd be around, and he had been hidden from her the entire time.

"I was," Orm paused. He knew he couldn't just tell her that he had been watching her from afar. But he didn't want to lie. "I was swimming."

"Swimming?" Now she was suspicious of him. As she rightly should, though they had already met once he was still a stranger.

"I'm a decent swimmer." Understatement of the century Orm thought to himself.

"I can see that," she gestured towards him before darting her gaze away once more.

Orm chuckled. He liked that little of color that would pop up in her skin. He found it endearing and despite himself his heart began to pick up speed. He offered out a hand and she glanced at it warily.

"I'm Orm," he offered in greeting. "Orm Marius. I should have introduced myself that first day we met."

She laughed, taking his offered hand. "(Y/N). And I should have thought of it too. But I did almost make you faceplant into the water. Though it seems like it wouldn't have bothered you so bad if you had."

Orm shook her hand, reveling in how smaller it was compared to his. "Do you mean to tell me that you wish you had let me fallen into the water now? Instead of rescuing me?"

"Well after you just basically scared the daylights out of me, yes."

Orm pouted playfully, "And here I brought you a gift."

"A gift?!" Once again those beautiful colored eyes glowed in delight. It sent his heart a flutter and he could have sworn it skipped a beat. Is this what his mother had possibly felt when she looked upon the man that fathered Arthur?

"I think I am rather partial to it now," he teased. "Maybe I will just keep it for myself."

"You can't just say that you brought me a gift and then keep it for yourself. That's mean," she whined.

Orm couldn't keep stringing her along though he was finding it fun just to get a rise out of her. He brought the gift from behind his back and he wasn't expecting her to jump up and down. Her confusion was to be expected and he found himself grinning once more. She was so expressive, he found it endearing.

"Your dream of seeing Atlantis stuck out to me and their technology is above what your people have. I wanted to show you a part of that life even if it is just a small glimpse."

He was revealing himself. His heart was almost leaping out of his chest. He had kept his identity a secret, revealing nothing to the humans he had contact with. She would be the first and he didn't know what to do if she didn't accept. She placed her hands on the oxygen helmet, a question on her lips. But without a word he once more grabbed onto her wrist and lead her to the end of the dock. She wordlessly tugged the pirated good on her head and with no hesitation followed Orm into the water.

Orm dived down, keeping a good grasp on her hand, their fingers interlaced as he didn't want to hurt her by tugging on her joints by the speed he could swim at. The oxygen mask was working like a dream and despite the time of the evening the moon was doing a good job of lighting the sea life below the ocean. She gasped in awe at the sea creatures and plant life below. But mostly she gaped at him.

"You are," she hesitated saying the word.

Orm nodded. "I am."

You absolutely couldn't believe your eyes. A true Atlantean. It was everything that you could have ever dreamed of and as he kept you from floating away this moment was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Orm didn't want anything left unsaid. This was his chance. His chance to be himself and to stop being so alone in this world that he was learning more about every day. His time in Atlantis was done and now he was going to have to start anew. Maybe you were that new chance that he had been needing for a long time.

"It's okay," she answered. Her voice muffled in the helmet. Fish swam by coming near to Orm, pecking at his arm. He shooed them away gently causing her to laugh. "You don't have to explain yourself. We had just met that day and even at this moment we are still basically strangers. But I'm glad I met you Orm and your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," he choked. Gratitude had been lost on him long ago but as he looked at this young woman, so genuine and beautiful in his eyes, that feeling was no longer a stranger. "Would you like to see more of my world?"

"Absolutely!" No hesitation and no fear. Orm kept her close, keeping her safe as he swam them further out into the sea.

Back on dry land you couldn't believe what your eyes had beheld. The world under was far beyond anything you could have ever imagined as Orm helped steady you. Spending that much time in the water had left your legs a little wobbly and you glared at Orm walking perfectly though he did have to take a moment to cough up water. You held out the helmet towards him but he shook his head pushing it back into your chest.

"Keep it," Orm insisted. "I want to take you out more now that you have it. There's so much more I wish to show and tell you. I hope that you don't mind."

She shook her head, stepping towards him. "I would like that so much."

Without a second thought she embraced him, squeezing Orm tightly before backing away, that familiar blush coming back to her cheeks. Reaching out Orm brushed a stray droplet of sea water off her cheek.

"Until tomorrow," he whispered and she nodded quickly.

Days had followed that moment before it had turned into weeks. Orm met with her daily, the helmet in tow every time as they explored together. She the underwater world he had grew up in and him emotions never before explored. Orm knew he couldn't take her far below the surface as he wished. He was trying his best to get a suit that would keep her from being crushed by the water pressure or freezing from the depths, but it would take some time. The helmet was easy to obtain, well easier than the suit. But she didn't complain nor did she beg him for more. Always content with their outings he began to realize that he looked forward to every second they spent together every day. It didn't take Orm long to figure out the emotions he was feeling and everything seemed to fall into place. She was beginning to swim closer to him as every day passed. Gentle touches and encounters that would leave her in awe and him trying to not overstep his bounds.

She swam closer keeping to his side as the day began to wan and like everything good in life their time together was ending that day. Orm always took his time bringing them both back to shore whenever it was time to head back in. She never seemed to be in a hurry herself and it had Orm wondering on things that he couldn't ask her when they first me. He wondered why she came by herself every day and those moments she had hid on the dock as several people had come searching, yelling her name. He wondered at the days that she had came crying as if she could no longer smile. And now that he had gotten to know her more it was something he could no longer keep himself from asking about.

Back on shore she removed the helmet and rung the sea water from her hair. Orm stayed near as he gathered up the courage to ask her. He was about to ask her about something she had yet to give up willingly and he didn't want to cause her to shut him out. He honestly didn't know if he could take losing her. He breathed in deeply gathering up all his courage, he stepped closer and grasped onto her shoulder to gain her attention and steady himself. She grinned up at him before it fell at the seriousness in his blue eyes.

"What is it," she asked covering his hand with hers that still laid upon her shoulder.

"Why do you come to the docks every day? And why do you hide from the people that call out to you and cry on some days?"

There he asked and he felt faint as she looked down at the waves lapping at their bare feet.

"You saw those moments too?" She whispered.

"I did," Orm confessed. " I've come to care for you these past few weeks and I can't help my curiosity getting the best of me. Knowing that you hurt or have any reason to hide is too much for me to bear."

She paused for a moment, gathering her strength. "I was in a bad relationship. I got out of it but the pain is still there and some days are worse than others. I find peace out here and that's why I always come and then I met you. And despite me telling you why that day, you didn't laugh at me like he and several other people did. I was really glad. You made me happy. Part of me was hoping that I'd get to see you again and yet I was afraid of getting hurt again too."

"That was brave," Orm cooed bringing her into his arms. He was warm despite the lack of shirt and all the time spent in the water. She shook from the cold and from telling things that had been hard on her. "You're the bravest and kindest person I have ever met."

"I'm not really," she answered.

"You really are," Orm breathed. "I'm the coward. I didn't like this part of the world at all. I tried to destroy it because of my older brother. I blamed him for a lot of things and I hated him. I still don't love him as a little brother should but my hatred cost me. I was prince of Atlantis once and I was even it's king for a short spell. But that was taken from me and now I am thought of as dead. I cannot go back there because I have officially been killed in action." Orm sucked in a deep breath as he feared what you would do now that you knew about his darkness, though he kept going. "This is both my punishment and my new life. This is both my brother's way of blessing me and cursing me. But I don't see it as a curse anymore, not that I know you now."

"Orm," she sniffled.

He tugged her in, her trembling body pressed to his as he tried to will any form of comfort into her smaller body. He felt lighter and more at peace than he had ever felt and while she held onto him tightly, Orm lost the battle on his emotional restraints. Holding her out he took in the sight of her, clearly seeing everything about her for the first time. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly loved. Not for being royalty of Atlantis or because they had to. Genuine love that asked for nothing in return. He leaned down towards her his stature always towering over her and it wasn't until his lips met her warmer ones did the fireworks start shooting off in his head. She didn't shove him away and she didn't protest so Orm pulled her closer. Deepening the kiss as he could taste the salty water still on her mouth and the scent of the ocean breeze on her skin. In that moment she was everything to him and he could want for nothing else as long as she stayed. She cupped his cheek, stroking his skin before Orm finally pulled away. His chest heaved and he couldn't bring himself to give her up just yet. He continued to hold her against his chest, not ever wanting this moment to end.

"Is it okay that we start a new life together," her voice quivered in uncertainty. She felt like she was going too fast or overstepping her bounds.

"I think I would like that more than you know," he agreed. This was when his life started. That new beginning he wanted for so long, that he dreamed about in that prison cell. This was the moment he longed for and had no idea. That moment he met her had been fate and had lead him to this moment. Their days together didn't have to end when their feet touched the shore, it was only the start of something on the shore. While he was her guide in the water, here on the land and in the midst of people it was her turn to guide him. She took his hand, taking the responsibility for teaching and leading in stride. They would learn together what this life meant and what it meant to know each other and keep together through thick and thin. Orm had baggage and come to find out she did too. But Orm didn't see that, he saw a woman who could light his way. She saw a man that had found redemption and was looking for a way to claim it. The sun had set behind them on the beach but the dawn was rising before them as they left hand in hand towards the life they would find together. Like two ships destined for each other, a new life was just beginning.

[zwhoreo]

Second post… i’m BACK!

swimming - luffy x gn!reader

suggestive fluff

summary: luffy needs a bath, but he can’t swim. how can you help?

includes.. just detailed descriptions of you washing luffy in the ocean, basically

words: 1.7k

_________________________________________

It’s warm today, the sun on the water is nearly blistering, the waves are gentle in the cove you’ve found and it’s all electric blue. The morning is ripe. There’s no wind to stir the ocean here. You sit on a low cliff, white rock over sky water, kicking your feet. You want to go swimming

You’re in a bathing suit, white, small, your hair is salt-burned, dry. The water is clear, you wouldn’t get hurt if you dove from here, right?

Luffy is playing on the beach, investigating something you can’t see, wandering around without a shirt on, tanned by the summer. He sits down on the sand and looks up, excitedly, waving to you, shouting, “[name]! I found something cool! Hey, [name]!”

You wave back, then motion for him to join you on the rock, beckoning him with a smile, and he doesn’t hesitate before scrambling up to sit beside you. He’s holding a crab in his hands, tiny and red and obviously furious, scared. 

“LUFFY! Put that down, he’ll pinch you.” You take the crab gently, looking around for a tidepool, and on cue you feel a sharp sting on your finger as it grabs hold of you, flailing, falling into the water below. You yelp and Luffy quickly takes your hand, inspecting the drop of blood pooling on your skin. 

He looks sad, a little angry. But concerned, too, as he stares down at your finger. “You ok?” His voice is genuine, kind. You reach out with your other hand, petting his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’m alright, it doesn’t hurt.” You smile reassuringly, laughing a little. “I liked the crab.”

“Ya did?” His smile glows, he gets close to your face, his eye contact almost too much. He’s almost in your lap is how close he is to you. So you put a hand in his hair, because that’s what it seems like he wants. 

His hair is greasy. 

Trying to be nice, you don’t pull away, you pet his stringy, sticky hair and he’s still just shining with happiness at your touch, so it’s worth it. You notice the shimmer of sweat across his skin, the sand stuck to his body, he hasn’t had a bath in awhile. 

Maybe it’s the effort it takes? The way his energy fades away, how it gets hard to move in even as little as a few minutes in a bath? So times like that it’s just so much easier not to, he’s usually pretty dirty, which annoys you but you understand a bit. 

“Luffy…” You run your thumb along his forehead. “You’re a little sweaty, want me to help you clean off?”

He looks at you curiously, big-eyed and uncomprehending. 

“Wanna go swimming?”

“Huh? But… but I can’t, remember?” Luffy tilts his head a bit, his hands fidgeting, playing with the skin on your bare thighs. 

“Yeah, I know. But I’m gonna hold you. And I’ll help you wash yourself.” You cup his face in your hands, feeling him lean forward a little into your touch.

“Oh- okay!” He smiles at you, excited at the prospect of being held, which he always loves, no matter the context, so he turns around and jumps off the rock on the beach again. 

“Hold on!” You follow him onto the sand, catching him by the shoulders, and when you’re right up in his face again you say, “lemme undress you first.” 

His eyes light up, he grins and tries to hold still as you drop to your knees, unbuttoning his pants, but he immediately starts rolling back and forth on his feet as you slide your hands down the smooth skin of his bare hips. He’s brimming with energy, he shudders under your every touch, you admire him as you undress him, tossing his shorts into the sand behind you, now he’s standing naked on the beach of your little cove. He looks good like this. 

But you don’t want him for anything else, right now, you just wanna go swimming, so as you press your body against his it’s an embrace of friendship more than lust, showing him that you’re here and you’re gonna keep him safe in the water. 

He pulls away so he can kiss you, his lips warm and damp, pushing against you with too much pressure so you stumble a little before he grabs your waist and lets you relax into his arms, comfortably, quietly. 

“This is gonna be fun, huh?” He says into your mouth, still wanting to keep the kiss. And his hips stutter against yours instinctively, so you place your hands on his thighs gently to settle him down.

“Mm.. mhm..” you say, muffled by his kiss. He’s so eager, just to be close to you, to be doing something with you, it’s adorable. 

You take his hand and dip your feet into the water, the shock of the cold is startling but it soothes the burns from the white sand and you pull him along with you. 

But Luffy doesn’t need encouragement. He runs up to his knees, soft waves hitting his legs as he giggles and looks back at you, his naked form a silhouette against the cloudless sky, framed wonderfully by the cove, you look him up and down slowly even as he tugs your hand to pull you in with him. 

“I’m coming!” You assure him with a smile as you ignore the icy feelings and wade deeper, lazy currents pushing you towards him. “You’re beautiful,” you tell him honestly. 

“Thanks!” He goes further, up to his hips, shuddering a bit as the water laps between his exposed legs, staring deep into your eyes. “So are you.”

And without much thought you lay down in the water, temperature shock coursing through you, your hair drifting away in a swirling halo. Luffy wastes no time in laying himself on top of you. 

“H-hey- no-“ You wrestle him off and into your arms, fighting to keep from sinking, and his body is soft, skin like velvet, he slips easily into your tight embrace, and smiles innocently and this is what he wanted from the start. 

He hasn’t lost his energy yet, he still squirms playfully as you drag him further out, feet kicking the water, splashing you, so you splash him back and he shrieks, biting down on your shoulder and shoving himself against you. 

“You gonna wash me?” He seems joyful at the thought, which is a bit surprising, you thought he’d complain more, but he just gazes up at you expectantly and stretches a bit, leaning back in the water, muscles shifting under his skin as the sun dances off of his glistening curves. 

“Y-yeah, hold on…” So you wade out to where the water encircles your waist and you let his body drift, supported by your arms and the salt in the water, and you dig your fingers into his hair again, pulling gently as you caress his scalp and he closes his eyes in complete bliss already. 

His thick, black hair becomes loose and shimmery against the waves. He leans into your touch and it moves with him, he’s alive but at peace, his skin is golden in the sun and against the water and he has turned to silk. 

So it’s easy to slip your hand down his hair and over the back of his neck as he shivers in your arms, eyes opening, hooded. Your nails dig into his upper back and he arches into you sharply, you adjust your hold on his arms. And time slows as you curl your fingers around his waist, a gentle gasp escaping his lips as you begin to knead the sensitive muscle and you bring your face against his, just so you can hear and feel his breathing. And you set out to go swimming so you raise your feet above the sand of the ocean floor and float beside him, the curves of your body rising above the water for Luffy to sleepily admire.

He is getting sleepy. Those hooded eyes turn down further as his body sways in the water that’s been taking his energy slowly, then all at once. He’s going slack against you so you have to work more to keep him up as you still touch and rub him diligently. The ocean cradles him even as it drains him.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” you whisper in his ear as you trace your fingers to his chest, his abs, an intimate grace as you lean even closer. His breathing hitches, then slows. He kicks the water again, a desperate struggle to stay awake so he can feel your touch for longer. You feel the rise and fall of his stomach as your hands slide lower, pressing into his skin almost painfully, the salt of the water helping to raw his skin and wash away the dirt and sweat of the week. 

He tries to say something but you can’t hear him, you quickly put a hand under his head to keep him above water. Propping him up you return to his hips - the sensitive, soft skin just inside his hips - making him squirm with dwindling strength, making a smaller sound, a sound of pleasure. You kiss him delicately, taking time to savor his quiet need and want. 

Digging your fingers into his upper thighs makes him tremble and whine for you. His body is still warm through the water, his muscles flex instinctively at the foreign touch, this is what he’s been craving. The sensation, for him, only grows as you move inwards, the caressing of the inside of his legs is nearly too much. He’s so tired now, that feeling is the only thing left in his mind. 

As your touch becomes a rhythm he begins to slip away, clouded with fatigue, the water hungry for the last of his energy. You feel him begin to go limp in your arms and you speed up your cleaning, you don’t want him to be out for too long, his slacked mouth curls into a smile as he falls asleep. 

And when you’re done, and his skin looks polished, his hair not so stringy anymore, you find the sandbed again with your toes and swim him back to shore. He becomes heavy as you leave the ocean. You drag him onto the beach and immediately kneel over him to check on him, make sure he’s ok, and he’s still asleep but he moves a bit, just enough to reach up and squeeze your hand.

[mediumgayitalian]

The Great Current is, as most things in Hades’ domain, expressly forbidden.

The Surface is iffy grounds. If Nico is feeling strong enough to brave his father, he may attempt to convince him to allow him up on the ice sheets long enough to catch some of the sun, unbidden, even as he is burned by the winds. If he is lucky he will have the time to watch the penguins as they tussle, leaping and bounding down their steep slides. If he is luckier Hades will allow Hazel to come with him, and he will poke her in the ribs, teasing, one when of the nestlings waddles after its father, tripping down the slope and rolling into a feathery birdball. On his luckiest days she will shove him tail over fin as she cursesinto a half-frozen ravine, cackling as he shrieks his promise for revenge.

Neither have them have been to the Surface in a some time.

It’s hard in the winters, he knows. Air whistles away the sun’s warmth so quickly, as flighty and biting as a dolphin, and to be beached upon the ice sheets in the dark is to die buried and forgotten under the snow, too far gone even too pay the due rites. But even the dry and barren ice sheets are a mercy compared to beyond the Great Current. As much as Nico chafes under Hades’ frozen glare and icicle rule, his strictness is protective. He has swum the wide expanse outside of the Underworld; endured the desert endlessness, the scarcity, the risk. Here m, within the boundaries of the Current, the boundaries in which Hades as confined them, they have plenty. Here there is no surface untouched. Here there is ice and cold and silent, endless stillness, but never emptiness. Inside the Current, inside the castle walls, is safe.

Nico peers around the castle wall. A small hole in the ice-crust allows a beam of sunlight, brightening the grounds significantly more than inside, bouncing and twinkling off the frozen pillars. Many of the bottom feeders have retreated away from it, slinking into the shadowy corners, but a minke whale floats near the surface, basking in the heat. Her warped shadow leads a trail across the grounds to a small-mouthed tunnel — more of a crack in the ice sheets than anything.

She catches sight of Nico’s lingering form, raising a lazy brow. He shrugs — minkes, unlike his father’s favoured starfish, know to mind their own — and smiles sheepishly. She holds his gaze for a moment, blinking long and slow, and then begins carelessly floating upwards towards the square. With every inch, her shadow grows larger, darker.

Nico grins.

As fast as he dares, mindful of the chattery crabs still hiding along the edges of the seafloor, Nico darts across the path, keeping every stroke of his tail short and shallow to remain within the minke’s shadow. She, for her part, takes an extra-long breath, cheekily enjoying the sweet air of the wintery Surface, remaining up top until Nico is curled entirely in the tiny crack, careful to tuck his fins against the ice walls.

“Thank you,” he whispers, poking his head out.

She shifts, humming low and rumbly. She begins her descent, slower even than her climb to fresh air, and winks when she is low enough to be eye level. Nico waves one more time before turning and rushing, careful not to get stuck between narrow walls, through the tunnel. The ice is slick enough to almost push him through, which is as fun as it is disorienting. The isopods hadn’t mentioned that when he’d asked for directions, but he supposes they’re not quite big enough to notice. Nor are they very smart, so Nico will have to take the sacrifice. The crabs would have surely tattled to his father after one too many questions.

He’d worried, in the weeks he’d planned this, that he would grow tired in the middle of the tunnel and die, hands outstretched, trying to wiggle his way out either end. Usually during long swims he can simply float somewhere to rest, or lie against the back of a blue whale if there’s one around. (Aside from the scratchy barnacles a whale ride is almost pleasant.) But the tunnels are thin and long, and colder than the regular waters. If he pauses to catch his breath, how long would he have before the blood moved too sluggishly in his veins; before eternal sleep would pull as he used to on Bianca’s sweeping fins? A question he’d save usually for Seph, on her kind days, but they’d been few and far between. Lately the cold has made her irritable.

Thankfully, his worries had been unfounded. Energy thrums unusually in the cavity of his chest, pounding along with the erratic beat of his heart. Even if he grew tired the endless twitches of his tail would surely propel him forward enough to eventually escape the tunnel’s narrow confines. Even moreso when the end of the tunnel begins to grow brighter, burning his pupil-blown eyes — he’s close. Bright enough to be blue, the isopods had promised; nothing but sun past the widest expanse of the ice. Sun and churning, twirling water, disturbed flurries of floor flakes.

His heart grows loud enough to echo, with every swish pushing him closer to the exit.

When the tip of his head breaches the narrow end of the passage, he hesitates. The tunnel has widened, now, wide enough that he can just barely bend his tail up under him, fins brushing gently on the round icy walls. His hair has escaped from his tie in his rapid drag against the ice and it floats around his head, now, inky against the startling bright blue of the definitely-warmer water.

The stories his father would warn of him, when he and his sisters were young. The stories he still tells, when he catches Nico watching out the castle windows. Of snarling mers and sharpened coral, of flesh-feasters, of endless grudges. Of monsters from the depths and water hot enough to boil a mer alive.

He is fabricating. Or at least exaggerating; that kind of danger cannot be so adequately held behind a border. Not for so long.

Other mers must be gone by now, mustn’t they? So much fighting, so many wars…wiggling migration lines and danger after danger…endless scarcity of food, of shelter…even the relentless beat of the sun, with no ice for shelter. How could they survive? Seph braves the Current to pay her respects, as is her duty. The restless dead are worth the risk of the living; they demand that respect. But had her kin lain inside the Current, she surely would never breach it. She charges under Hades’ strictness, sours under his chains like the rest of them, but she returns. With great harry, usually. The Underworld is the only place the Ocean will accept his kind; will welcome them.

But a visit is, Nico is sure, warranted.

Without another lingering second to talk himself out of it, Nico darts forward. The moment he is free from the close-cropped ice walls he can feel the difference, the beat of the sun pressing into his skin, the giggling warmth of the shallow waters. The unbelievable blue of the water makes him lighter, makes the near-translucence of his skin even more obvious, the dark of his hair almost navy. He spins, once, to watch his scales catch the light, his fins flare out and swirl against each other in a spiral as dizzying as snail shells. The smile on his face is wide and unbidden, ache pulling at his cheek, and he can’t help quiet laughter, carried away by the roar of the Current.

He’s hardly a few dozen sponge-lengths from home, but he feels as if he’s woken up from a dream, floating within a brand-new planet.

All the worries that had plagued him burn to melting lava in the bright heat of the sun. They have no place to fester here, in the shimmering light, the roaring water. The flakes from the seafloor shoot upwards in a constant stream, unrested by the rapidly cycling streams, and they catch the sunlight in little burst of light, dotting Nico’s skin. He’s seen snow like this only in the deadliest of Surface storms, watched safely from the thinnest sheets of ice in the top of his father’s castle, but it is beautiful without the barrier; delicate.

There is no one beyond the Current. Only pods of dolphins, at this time of year, and the beautiful, brainless fish they brag of teasing; graceful whale sharks and pretty pink corals. Nico won’t stray too far. He only needs shells, glittering and iridescent, and a moment in the open sea. Hardly longer than a minute, really.

He needs to feel it. For himself. To say that he’s done it, if nothing else, to remember in his own head that there is somewhere outside his father’s domain.

With a resolute, steady nod to himself, Nico swims towards the Current.

It gets louder as he approaches. The churned-up snow gets thicker, too, so much so he swims nearly blind, and he is grateful for it. Much harder to back away from a threat he can hardly evaluate. He lets himself sink into it all, the roar of the current, the tickle of the flakes, the thick presence of them in the water, the lovely, bubbling warmth. They swirl around him, a pressurized swell of constancy, and drag him forward, swirling hands of promise, if chainbreakers, of swelling breaths of freedom. He churning current whips him around and he rides through it with all the bravery he can summon, loose somewhere in the expanse of his skull, churning identically to the water in the echo of his chest. He forces his tail to rest loosely, to ride along where the water takes him; swimming, he knows, is futile, fighting against the current useless. There is no force more powerful than the water, no pillar thicker or stronger than ice. The ocean will drive as she sees fit and Nico can only hope she finds him satisfactory enough, that she hears his silent begging, his endless longing. I want to see all I can, he whispers to her, eyes squeezed shut, teeth burrowing into his bottom lip, gills flaring. Please, even just a sponge-length into the open sea. Under the wide, sizzling sun.

It is only after an eternity in the brushing pound of the current that he is released. His skin almost aches with its absence, body reeling from the sudden loss of feeling; his ears, only, relish in the still-constant sound, if at all muffled. His head still spins as dizzy as the hermit crabs he and Hazel used to toss around, chasing after their warning claws and retreating legs. His hair billows in every direction.

Slowly, allowing himself to relish in the sensation, he blinks open his eyes. His fins are the first thing he sees, tangled as they are all around him, reaching far enough even for of them that the tip of it tickles his wrist. Some of his scales are missing, even, torn off in the power of the water, but he is almost pleased at the physical marker of this change. No matter what, pieces of him will have stayed in the Current. Even, perhaps, crossed the border entirely.

In looking under him he realizes the water is still churning — he has not, yet, made it entirely outside of the Current. Water roars in a wall behind him, circling around him in a giant, lengthy spiral. He hovers in the inside of the great churning river; hardly a sponge-length away from fully foreign waters. Once he crosses he has a few hours, at least, before his absence is noted; to swim around, to note, to gather. Or even simply to bask in the sun, swim up the the Surface and breathe air outside of what his father rules.

Smile spreading giddily across his face, he looks up, determined to find the weakest link of the Current wall and swim right through it.

And locks eyes with another mer, staring at him as if he’s a ghost.

[cipheramnesia]

Vivisection

I sloughed the shell in a flourish of our shared sweat, blood, and mucus. Cold on the steel-grated floor lift, tech eyes wide over me as my psyche twitched itself back together from the needles. My eyes said you must be new but my mouth spoke in thick puked up fluid whilst my sopping slick shuddering fingers clawed nerve pads off my tits and slid catheter from my dick. All of us nerves had little twitches of pleasure as we found ourselves whole, and made it to sitting.

"Towel," I found language, and the tech handed it, eyes carefully elsewhere at the pink and red cockpit still quivering in urgency, wet with quenched desires. Methodically cleaned under the wet warm terrycloth ministrations, top to standing, adjusting to eyes and ears 'side skin and taste. The hangar was all echoes of more experienced crew on the teardown fifty feet up and down the shell, didn't need the look I turned anyway at my love, the crab. Rested claws in bands of carbon, four squat legs and rolling condensation off the quieting spiracles. Charred, twisting armor coated over with clotted brown patch like scabs and fading blue drips of other less evils' blood, sparkling at places from shattered refractive layers, spongy intrasteel glistening through here and there. Below it discharged glutinous tar from the trap, all spent oil and shock fluid plus shells and fused filters, burned heat hexes all and all bound for the reprocess, someone else's hand-me-down armor or shoes.

The wasp staggered past us to its own home sweet safety net so I hung the rail in a gentlemanly way and bade our tech meet my goddess in crime at her door. "They have their own lift," the tech observed. My goosebumps agreed, emphasizing the questionable temperature, but a lady must pay her respects. "I don't care," I suggested so we went.

Parked up under those gangly legs adripped with the glow and silver of thirty confirmed kills and gored holes through musculoskeletal tubing told the tale, I held my arms in chivalry as the mandibles underside the shell parted ways and dripped Ari into my embrace along side her own deluge of girl-juice and veined amniogel shreds. Knees buckled as my stomach protested my lack aforethought, but no one could dispute the benefits of a girl pressed against my breasts, slinging her long arms around me. She barfed over my shoulders, warm and phlegmy.

Ari'd pulled her cords in the shell like a good girl, still shook gainst my skin as she stuttered, "fuh- fuh- fuh-" while I jerked my head at the tech who shrugged. Outta towels, well my bad. Leaned us on the railing and thought about tonight, you know the human body's pretty heavy all said? "Your... skin is... freezing!" she articulated, not a request mere observation, but my arms acquiesced nevertheless. We leaned on each other watching black muck drain from the wasp's thorax, standing around naked in a pool of shell vomit. "Yer dumb," she added, hocking up more phlegm. "Now're both shlimy." The other shells crawled in with the tide, blasted with sterilizing powder and steam, various scorpions and mosquitos and spiders seeking succor as we finally made our way down the textured rubber steps.

"Fuckin so hungry," Ari slurred, dribbling blood and saliva while my own stomach answered midst shouts of our squad as they were reborn, crawling free and bloodied from the shell, some still babbled nonsense, tried to move limbs no longer bodied and no shame to them. "You threw up so much, 'spected," I said. Watched Spinning Jenny shaking mucus off his head, snapping teeth together.

"Gonna eat three horses," Ari added. "Fuck potatoes, my dick can fuck a pile of potatoes I'm starving." She shook my shoulder, my legs wobbled in tune, "Clingy bitch." But her hand stayed, fingers digging the tense muscles in my back, mine squeezed her hips. "Casey I want you to hold me down and force feed a gallon of cheese into me." Managed to cross the whole hangar naked, didn't eat shit. Techs hooted appreciating and I tried to bow but just did a cockeyed vanity wave. Brain twitched but kept my cool, remembered I don't see in sonar. "Maybe later tonight," I murmured sotto voce. I cleaned the fresh blood from my ears with a pinky finger.

Lockers, showers, Ari always liked when I soaped and dried her, little bit of a tease, ease of limbs back into bodily limits. She was wiping gunk from her eyes, still going, "I fuck shit swear I'm getting mission reruns in my sleep now. Bullshit we don't hang on to PDN memories, I've deffo had the same shit we throw at the elves in my head at night."

"They're not elves," I said.

"Whatever, magical monster tree bugs, I dunno, are you getting shell feedback?" I was toweling her thick curls, my own short hair dried sweet quick. Threw on those almost paper scrubs. Sexy. "Babe, we all got feedback, I'm not even sure how much me is in my mind."

She grabbed my hair and gave my head a little shake, "Lucky you, I'll fuck your brains out anyway," and blew my hair out my eyes. I grabbed her hand and pushed back, she swooned, we crushed hard as team shelled and molted, in bed or in field. Just a way to anchor, comes with the piloting, nothing new. Lots of pilots fall in twos and fours of strange bedfellow - gets you back in mind after so long parted. "Shut the fuck up," she said to my smile, shoved back, I reeled her in and smiled more til she punched my shoulder. "Fuck you, feed me." We joined the aching crowd clustering to the mess hall.

Slammed our piled trays on a table, minutes later. Scatter Hawk had beat us there somehow, last in the bay, first to the hay per usual. Jelly was still in their hair and they were tearing into a pile of beef flavored protein patties they'd slathered with garlic chili sauce and pickled carrot chips. Shoved it in their blood-smeared face with mixed results twohanding a fork, missed the target 30% of the time. "Glad you're a better shot with the 40," I suggested and they replied, "Slip your own dick sideways fish brisket," spittle and snot sprayed with each word, language not quite in the altogether I guess. I slapped some nerves back into their shoulder and they grunted wetly and appreciatively.

Ari pushed me onto the bench and dropped down, catted up against me and chugged hot sauce from the tube, followed by a fistful of fake bacon and chips dripping with jalapeños. "Thid fit gess weeper effy dah" she spat out with a mouthful of half chewed food, elbowing my ribs in the process, so I slipped my hand over her thigh and gave her a reassuring stim. I was busy with whatever passed for kimchi and pork flavored protein while the table started filling up with other pilots eating an entire day's worth of food in one sitting, trying to feel and speak and touch and taste all at once with mixed successes, all of us trying to pick our nerves up from the sludge being in the shell made out of our bodies. DeeDee shoved a fork at us and said, "Fuck were you, suckin dick? Tank's supposed to keep hits off."

"Yeah, take many hits?" I wiped the dribbled of blood off my lip.

"Like ten! Two in a lung!" He jabbed a beef patty for table wobbling emphasis.

Barely audible Ari whispered, "You're alive aren't you?" Head was drooped under her curled hair near to my level, flying below table radar, still about hit direct to a nerve with DeeDee's bloodshot eyes going big and Hellis beside scooting its flat ass away but none of us got further into what manner of dicks weren't or were sucked (my carefully planned speech - about the pincer move we broke while I was still jamming longways thanks and the relationship of DeeDee's dick being vaporized vis a vis our suckage - wasted). Squad command rudely storming our table with the demand: "Death Claw! Kill Strike!"

Silence resumed in sudden shock as he stood authority thrust chinward, all our eyes tracking the table. He repeated the command, "Death Claw! Kill Strike!" Silence abounded, roamed the plains, handed him a look of weary resignation as his lips, with all the distaste of gingerly dropping a dead rat into a toilet, formed, "Kitty Candy and Raccoon Enchantment," he struggled to recover his momentum but the wind was dead, "I need to speak with you both." Tablewide "ooooo" and Spinning Jenny added "someone's in trouuuble," as we took our ways in the talking wake of the baron of bluster.

Followed breadcrumbs of wet bootie prints and bloodsmeared walls back to the old bay so he could scream at us with an echo. "You semen stains mind explaining what the fuck you were doing back in that shitshow?"

Her nose was bleeding heavily again and I could feel Ari's arm spasm as she pushed close behind me, whispering without sound. I had answers mercifully drowned in a wad of spit and phlegm suddenly dumping into my mouth and down my chin.

"Gods you're all fucking sick. Disgusting. Got nothing to show for it?"

I swallowed another gob of something unpleasantly solid which mercifully shot from my lungs into my mouth giving moments for me to think forward. Rare enough, I treasured them. Figured best not mention what was the thing, blowing the drop bolts early cuz she wanted to try and fire the primary on the wasp from directly above a banyan whilst midair, sans stabilizers, which for the record she hit the thing but caught an extra eighth mile sky above the crate.

"Listen," I gurgled, wiped off my face. ("Listen SIR," he interjected, so I waved indulgently.) "Hurgle. My decoms pinged a hostile lake, looked like a stand of banyans an' a anthill so we bailed at drop beta." Ari's fingers drug out blood from under my paper sleeve, fuck ridiculous she's like eight inches taller trying to make my ass into partial cover.

"Drop beta," he repeated the words to emphasize their unwelcome intrusion to his shriveled brain. I realized the part of my memories with this squad commander's name got sliced in the shell. His face was twitching as bad as mine ever has. "There was no drop beta! There was one site, slash and burn, the end!"

"Well lucky you! We set one up before that swampfire cut our lines up, no thanks necessary please, you know we do it for the love of our jobs."

He looked at the melted up muscle and vatsteel carapace curves of my beloved crab and wasp. Some mirror shaved surfaces, bug blood all black where it congealed. "Fuckin trannies, disgusting, undisciplined- Why we hire so many I don't even-"

"C'mon, you know we're your best guys."

"You're literally my worst guys! If I had anyone else fucked in the head enough to shove into those- those fucking meat grinder abominations, I'd dump your freakshow asses so far in the back beyond you'd fart just for the conversation!"

I elbowed Ari in the gut before she said something dumber than I had in mind. "You know the old saying, a tranny in the shell will give em all hell."

His face snapped shut like crab's load-in maw. Gritted teeth rumbled, "Scrape duty for the next two hours." He shoved us out of the way off to ruin someone else's sex lives, his own probably.

Two hours and two trays of congealed processed protein with vinegar and hot peppers, we trudged down the narrow hall to bunk. The ganglia stopped twitching but it'd been a minute last I had this much elf blood under my nails and my hair reeked of burned polyfilament lubricant.

Ari stretched her arms back because the ceiling was too low for up grumbling, "Don't wanna spec nother fuckin face for a whole shift." I shrugged half drop slept and headed my roomways, brought to heel with her hand on my wrist. "The fuck you think you're going, you promised." Her, lips, just as crusted with blood and snot as mine still a cute pout in dire times.

I gauged my cramping stomach up against that hand and those lips. We hadn't been on-mission for a sec, and fuck for the moment I'm only human and very horny. Still. "You said-"

"People, I mean people." She punched the latch and I let her reel me into her narrow cabin, coming attractions you could call it. I said, "Babe, you gotta pick up your underwear - or anything - sometime." Ari grabbed a bottle of the rancid wine someone was making from cooking oil and caramelized vinegar. She put it against my chest, and put us against the stowage wall, and put her tongue into my throat. Her lips were gunpowder nachos, burning hot, both of us careless to chapped cracked open blood. I took a slug of the wine, with its notes of artificial PTSD raspberry flavor, as she pulled the bunk from the wall. I held up the bottle, tipped it to her lips, spilled it into her mouth, on her face, down her bare flesh and cheap scrubs.

Ari yanked it away and tossed it to the refuse under her fully unused sliver of a desk. I grabbed her by the front of her scrubs, they tore, so I grabbed her arm and fumbled us against the edge of the cot, struggling with my pants and paper booties. "Fucking elastic, now it works?" Ari tried to rip the pants off, snapping a yelp and a shock outta me when she snapped the band on my stomach, so I pushed my hand into her pants and grabbed her dick, hip checked her onto her back on the cot, then furiously yanked both our pants off. We smashed tongues and lips again, her guided by my fingers in her hair, me by her nails on my back, furrows through the grime mottling my acne scarred skin. I clambered onto her, a full tangle of legs and elbows with the sweet serenade of the cot, joints protesting weight and unwelcome thrashing. But I had hold of her now, me and my little growls, her softly repeating "please," as I pressed our hips, tits, lips together. Teased and pinched on and around her nipples, scratched the welcome back real world long her ribs, pulled myself to myself with her rhythmic panting breaths. Shudders passing through from her to me, traded in kind as we reminded our bodies and each other of the dwindling human embers in our chests, the dregs of what once was bright and happy in the world still enough between us to reignite into the shape we suffered through bereft of shells. A minute for our hearts to hammer together, to take in the mossy dried blood scent, the reek of sweat and metal, both of us hard and slick against one another.

When she murmured, we gingerly squirmed our legs and arms around and across each other til Ari lay on her stomach, the pathetic, thin excuse of a mattress rolled under her chest and arms. Lube was spread over her ass and my fingers with wasteful urgency. I worked my hands slowly down her back, gently caressing her sync ports with my thumb, watching them contract and gape with her moans. The lips of them tingled and sent pulses of pleasure through my hands from lingering protonerves. Moved downward to her ass and sliped in one finger at a time, stroking inside her folds, touching her walls, three in and rhythmic spreading and relaxing as she sucked in air, so I leaned up close and slipped my tongue into her neckport, the sphincter closed tight and opened wide and I could feel my ports sympatic response, taste her tasting tasting her. She twisted her pillow into knots and I pushed my cock into her as my fingers slipped out, slowly, feeling her tense up and relax.

Slivers of amniogel squished against my cock in her ass, protonerves shot echos of her through me, flaring and then crushed between us. We pressed ourselves closer, trading pulses back and forth, that one flashing minute of her ass against my hips and one hand on her dick, my face in her hair, one hand pressing into jer back ports, letting her suck the lube from my other hand. It was almost the ecstasy of feeling our minds dissolve into one another. Then we moved again. Hours or minutes, I felt her cum trickle over my hands and wiped it on her thigh as I kept going. Mucus spilled from her contracting back sphincters and my own. Fucking the trace of vat grown life to death until we might have a hope of sleep tonight.

It was humid and reeked of sex, everything about Ari barely fit, except for me, so we stole away these moments from each other to remember and forget. It was nothing in the world, but it was better than dying alone. My leg hung off the bed when we had rolled free of one another, too filthy to breathe and too wasted to shower. My elbow and hip hurt from banging against the wall. Her legs were curled up and her left knee jabbed painfully into my thigh, I couldn't find a place to put my right arm and it was falling asleep but the tingle felt better than trying to stand up. Head was jammed into my neck, couldn't be comfortable, I brushed tangles out of her hair. Muffled, she said, "You smell bad."

"You love it. You missed my pit stank, my demure little corpseflower." She made gagging noises into my clavicle. "I'm gonna have to go back to my nice bunk where the floor is clean, can't stay under my wing forever birdie."

"Whatever," I felt her lips mashed against me with each word, and braced for her to shove me off bed, but her arm just squeezed me closer. "Can so stay f'rever," she sounded almost asleep, her head pushed closer to me and she muttered something like "glove mew bits."

Rolled eyes, but pressed a little closer. "Sure, marinate some new strain of bacteria, they can spatula us out the morning." Unprepared by her momentary snuggle, my ass hit the floor in a pile of unwashed tanktops with a sleep slurred "fuck off."

I left my dignity in the laundry and blew a kiss. "You're gonna hate you in the morning if you sleep that way," she made and grumpy noise and wrapped herself around the rolled up mattress, trying and failing to fit on the metal cot. I tripped a little on the way out the door, on my half naked way to a luxury five minute hot shower to a low bid bargain cold sleep.

Dreams told tales from the shell. Techs all swore in the slice nothing transfers. True enough we lost a short term or three but that's the balance to cost against feedback, they said. Dreams were my four legs crushing earth compact from the drop jump as my decoms rolled over the banyans and bugs slinging spells, my nightmost terrors unfolding from the PDN and flooding their foci and fetishes. In the mindscape ground ran fluid under mechanized polyplastic muscle, the world putty with my gargantuan claws. Chaff launched from deep inside my chambered shell to spark the incoming green, a deathly spray to casual sunblock rads, no mind to armored skin.

Myriad wave of banyans moving, windblown, roots crawling, but there she is, my darting wasp hurling her thousand stings, finding targets in my trackers n hackers through the grassfield bugs. Their blood glows blue, all the work of their spells to brittle silver threads that fall to pieces. She lands and I bathe the hill in freaks, veritable fog of messy tracking til her thorax slides open and erects its throbbing, winged main gun, legs planted, struts in, and a hurricane throws banyan trunks to shreds, clears a canyon of death, and she screams, and I see the branches from the earth tearing her apart, I am slow, bogged in sudden mud, green spears her, the angry earth rips her legs from limb, black ichor and green coolant and I wake up screaming as she shouts for me to go. Clutching the metal edge to my cot, seeking my body again, for a moment unable to hear or see, I exist only as pounding blood and raw nerves til each flexed muscle brings me to human.

Some time passes to rise, rollout hours more hence, I spent time to feel my body, put on shorts and t-top and try to forget the dream and Ari's voice screaming for me to leave her.

I tried to sleep the echo away, then folded my cot and dug the glass bottle of beauties. Rattled a couple hatch-down to flatten it out. Nothing doing, no washing or wiping or jerking off removed the unwelcome night haunt, so I made my soft shod way down to mess.

Rigs like these, there's never quiet. Air cycles, night crew, the odd distant clatter we all always hoped wasn't the seconds off warning of full breach. I paused by Ari's door, halfway to clacking it, but moved counterspin towards mess. No sense both of us losing sleep over one misfire of psyche. Half light in the mess, couple plotters and binders poked listless fried protein and I took my separate peace with a cup of the juice. Sick sweet chemflavor kicked caffeine to my heart and guts enough to winnow away the hours trying a dozen different flavors of artificial spice on artificial food, feeling artificially alive.

DeeDee showed in first after rollout, guy was never not angry at me over some shit, angry at something, put a lot of that through the lines good for us. Hellis always hung round, I specced on their afterhours but never pried the privates. Wouldn't have minded a bunk with either, but oh well. Shadow Jumper and Stepper and Jenny and so on filing their way through gallons of sickening juice and overcooked daybreak. Ari was last in, skulking through the rising shine and din of the mess, caught a tangle of her eyes but crowds were parting our ways.

"See how long you last without that filter, you'd hurl minimal," Jenny kept prodding at Scatter Hawk putting away more forkfulls than any two of us, just grunting back, while DeeDee yelled down the table at Stepper over horrendous and audible farts. I couldn't find a minute to catch Ari's eyes, roll em back and forth with mine, she was digging a hole through her tray.

I spent a frustrated week shipping past her nights. Some asshole I learned was apparently in charge of the squad demanding press-ups and running laps spin wise. Got mad when I said we don't use any muscles and I had to do extra sit-ups, and I threw up and didn't see Ari in the lockers. Tear down on the crab, coming and she was on her grease stained way showers, grimacing. Asleep when I catted around her doors at the odd hours. Anxiety in my spare space left my skin crawling. Ran into her at the psyche cracker and said hey, how you doin? Ari said, "Fine," with those tangled up eyes.

"You okay? I do something you wanna talk?" Whatever was left inside my skull felt like it wanted me to vomit it through my ports. My intestines wanted my skin rippled.

She shook her head. "It's not. You're good, you're good, I just." She shook her head again, tugged the hem of her shirt. Bless I was horny as fuck but just wanted to untangle her eyes, please.

"Listen, I got-"

"Casey!" The skull breaker slid its door up. Check-in time, its glassed eyes and masked mouth glittered, jovial work for a septic system.

"Ari, one second doc. Hey."

Backing down the hall, miming apologies. "I'll see you around Case."

I got a good grade from the psyche. "Very little degradation today," it exclaimed. "Your connectivity must have been quite well balanced! If you maintain this synchronization, we can expect to keep memory and autonomic function nearly optimal. Please ensure you take your supplements to maintain neural plasticity, excellent work!"

It always ignored my questions so I didn't ask anymore but one time I looked up "autonomic" and I was not very excited about the implications. Clacked Ari's door on the way back roomwards, to no result. Shut my door hard, rattled more beauties down my gullet and lay on the floor, tossed aside my psyche chart with all its healthy green and admonishing yellow. Degradation did not feel minimal, I was fragile with worry and my body wanted to fly apart, uncontained by the shell and trembling with skin crawling fear. Nothing flattened, the spin felt too fast, and I wiped confused wetness off my face. I clenched fists to my sides and shook uncontrollably. When would the drop would come?

Rolled out and rounded up came down soon enough against my liking. Marched our asses cross to the bay and posted us up. The squad leader looked uniquely miserable for each syllable of "Kitten Candy! Raccoon Enchantment!" He might actually kill me if he figures out how I changed our call signs.

Ari lurked behind me, sleep deprivation coming off her in radiant heat. I'd woke on the aching floor to rollout chimes, back still sharp from the sleep I should've skipped. She'd been doing teardown some long hours fore we got the callout. "Since you two reliably fuck up anything more complicated than bright colors and shapes, you're doing drop targeting. Three sites, think you can handle it?"

"Probably not, SIR!" I said, and he was not amused, Ari flopped hands affirmatively over the task a drone could do.

"Get synced up because that's the mission. Fuck off, the adult pilots are talking."

Could've argued, didn't, not with the halides in my skull and Ari walking away for the wasp. "Hey! Hey." Caught up around and walked with her. "Lotta radio silence, you good? I mean, girl, you look like shit, but you good?" We reached the lift. My hand was more tentative on her shoulder than my first time trying on a bra. "Are, like, are we? You know, did I say something?"

"Shit, you're fuckin impossible," Ari pulled a smile from an awful place. "Never said nothing except all I wished-" She started climbing. "Ah, fuck off, you know you're good. So good I want... like, fuck. I'm good. Had feedback something fierce this week. Hcch." I walked behind her, hand at her back and lifted, she grabbed my wrist. "C'mon, bitch, gimme a boost up."

The tech up top had the wasp open, long tongue dangling, pink, dripping ready to enfold. The mandibles were an umbrella over us, the whole cockpit slung between a sensaray and fire platform up front and the main gun taking up most of the thorax, flightless wings for short jumps and bristled with beams and missiles webbed into veins and live nerves. Ari stripped off her clothes and I helped her with the mass of thick tubes dangling from the soft flesh of the wasp's underbelly. Gentle with the catheter while she gripped my shoulder, taping the skin contacts on, then slipping the fat red sync cables and their gently writhing filaments into the sphincter along her neck and spine.

"Hey." I looked up from making stirrup hands and Ari's fingers lifted me from kneeling. "You be here when we come back, kay? I don't wanna open this cage if I don't see your ugly mug waiting."

"You fuckin wish," I said. "Believe, I'll be here, I got nothing better to do."

She had that smile, eyes almost past her tangle. "Yeah, what the fuck do I care, you're just, like. Well fuck you, anyway, you better be here, no excuses."

I put my hands together and knelt. "No excuses, bitch." She stepped into me and I hoisted her up until the closing mandibles caught her and pulled her the rest of the way in. The wasp began to breathe, the metal and polymer exoskeleton tightening as it straightened. The multiplicably enfolded legs flexed all their joints. I made my way from Ari's lift to my own, perspective and spin distorted neath my crab all encompassing the view and my world. The stairway to its cockpit was considerably longer, but no aid was needed. Sixfold mandibles waited for me, tubes lay cross the steel grate for my own administration. That same tech still couldn't look as I stripped and strapped. Didn't need help with my ports, just held crab's feelers up and they squirmed their way to the intimate fibers of my spinal cord. I sighed and my ports contracted to pull the connections deeper to the nerve.

The tech muttered, "I can't cope with the freaky shit," stepped off lively. Probably thought I couldn't hear as I wound myself into the folds of the crab's intimacy, and was encased in the dark. The peristaltic folds squeezed and swallowed me into the wet warm depths in the heavy polycombine plate armor of our turret. Impact gel, amniogel, blood and mucus flowed over my feet and hands, the added nerves and plasm more deeply fusing us. I felt my vision shriveling through a tunnel, my gritty eyes black in my skull, each muscle of my limbs unfurled from bones to thread themselves into the limbs of a colossus. My spine grew through my skin to blossom across a carapace and turret, flexed my claws and the wide flat armor wings across my back, felt the hangar through its myriad complex electrical systems and programs running in constant state of adjustment. I could smell the synapses of the crew inside the rig, all the redundant added systems, multiple layers of security, still so vulnerable inside this soft underbelly. My web crackled and fluttered along my body. I could kill everyone around me with a thought and leave only my fellow, slumbering shells for company.

I vacuumed air through my body and filters, hundreds of pounds in a breath. Piece by piece I cut my mind free of its cage, each part of it a point in a web of a thousand stars to guide my way. How had I ever let myself believe I could be human? How could I be when I was this, so much more, the parts of my mind I never before realized were incomplete. Destroy me, I urged the crab. Consume the last of my flesh and bones, and let me free once and for all. I slipped my claws out of their bands and tested link with wasp - with Ari. She vibrated enthusiasm, her stimulant chemicals were flooding overtime, and I selected the clam path of her many input and system indexes to aid her, grant her focus to the still before the burn. The dropship waited and we obliged, neither of us patient for departure and planet fall, once again to taste the alien atmosphere and feel true gravity pull at our tissue and joints.

Countdown for slow minutes, and we jammed to our sync. I felt at peace, each part of my psyche sliced from itself, and we lay distributed across our body, through small cortexes fired with the parts of my consciousness. We ticked through systems and my subconscious night terrors spooled into projectors while my self sense expanded to the decom in preparation for target tracking. Ari and I could feel one another as we synced, her slender body and long legs torquing their secondary legs into alignment. Her deepest horrors became a narrow band of foci, accompaniment to each one of her eight gun placements

We swayed for a minute as the drop slid out through the bay doors til thrusted still in a white noise of rocket and atmosphere. Open doors spilled a flurry of blinding light and boiling air. We cut the cord and took flight. Fission cycled to jets and Ari soard around my less graceful lander module decel, both flirtatious and efficient. Earthshaking on point, I breathed in the beacon for the first drop target, then pulled myself free of deeply fertile soil, felled the odd red thornbush in the way of our determinedly stealth free journey. Ari was more nimble in her travels, caught us both up fair to the prep kit. My decom swept all sides of the range for crevices of organized blue, and looked through my wavspec for tattletale knurled arms and segmented torso trunks.

"Whistle clean," I thrummed to Ari and she slipped up through to the prep barely shifting a twig. My hearts beat in time to her showy work then my pace crushed the evidence in passing. Exultation flooded my glands and fluttered my filtration, we set to the lungs of the future. My claws could lift and move enough whilst Ari's more dexterous complex digits hooked in power, nutrient starter, bacteria loads. All color coded and writ large enough couple pilots couldn't fuck it up, track records notwithstanding. Few hundred and we'd be able to turn the toxic swamp of atmosphere to nearly breathable. Plenty for firsts, let them deal with the messy genes for the twenty-threes to come later. Not us, not our yards and acres of lungs filtered enough to breathe near vacuum. Minutes confirmed the bactomix was good, and we beamed our confirmation.

"Nice and tidy," Ari observed the dirt churned circle round the target. I tasted the ground, messy but starter ready.

"Good enough. It'll be dust in a year anyway. Grab a ride?" We're supposed to march it point to point, no riders no passengers, but it's slow n tedious. She grappled to my exo instead. Put a safe-ish distance from the drop target, hunkered. Earth churned to mud and boiled around my feet as we sank down, I wrenched all I could from dirt rocks clay, sprayed hot waste out my vents, and we exploded into the air on jets carved from living thorns and earth, second drop in record time. Nothing rumbled I could spec but still. "Tastes sour," I trembled contact to contact. Ari slithered down and crouched near my shoulder.

Moments she said, "It's stilled air, might be some action crosswinds." Her wings flexed a bit and we looked for the petrichor druid chemsign. At range I could pick out just the echo of their craft, the sizzle of their spells registered a bare zero zero DV scale. "Specced it, action's noways near," I thrummed between us. "Sus, though, we're ahead of schedule, let's walk it." She affirmed, and we moved like glass, opened the target pack and specced every step.

Thorns still, sharp rocks earth clay uphill still, air still, but the maddening aquamarine fuzz of rain cluttered my sights. Ari flexed her wings on her thorax again, rocket platforms twitched nervously. "There's too much fizzing," she hissed, picking up my discomfort. Gauss guns on her sensary pointed hither and yon. "Fuck it," I thrummed, "Bact's good, bail." She mounted me from behind and we dug in the dirt, boiled and processed and locked. Branches burst up from earthbound as every spec greenlined on me, and I screamed in sickeningly fractured agony.

I could feel my exo cracking where the branches of an Atlas banyan crushed around three of my legs, pain and fluids pouring out of my body. Had to be a twin trunk, at least. Even my spiracles bled. Jagged shapes stung my left claw and numbed one of my injured legs. I could hear Ari's screeching and felt her weight shift from me to the ground. My specs were greened out in swampfire, I could taste the ozone and my own charred exo, but I was blind.

"I can't scope!" Ari's panic crackled and echoed through my body, fuled the rush of toxic stims and lit up my heat sinks bright from overclock. "I'm on it, I've got guidance," I lied, throwing a narcofilter into com. I dialed in broad spec and fired a wave of chaff, unspooled PDN for mass nightmare. Swapped high-speed into UV infra sonic organize scope range til I could line out the elves. Ari's screeches spiraled in time to hits I felt in my neuron clusters, dirt and rocks rattled from being skywards. Contermanded a second hit of stims in my system, cooled collect.

Instant recovery between the chaff and PDN. The stinging cold geometry faded its intensity on my exo. I experienced the reward of disrupted Atlas' soundscreams enduring the mortifying ordeal of being scoped. Shortburst the dial range to Ari. Caught backflow of her relief. Found the seconds we needed to move.

The Atlases were over halfway out of the soil, still partly wrapped their heavy branches over Ari and me. Quad trunks, fuck. Druid support, double fuck. The fully exposed organizing casters ways off, spec a kilo or two, but their alien decoms were holding up to the PDN. I pulled back to Ari and my pain receptors shut off the instant my legs twisted and shed broken exo like ice, steel grinding itself each movement. I checked her stat. Half a leg and one wing had been torn off. Her body was coated with slick black and green fluid, mixed with white foam. Her secondary leg was intact and functional, but I could see six bad hits from those light spears.

I cut loose a second wave of chaff, narrowed for the type-beta shieldworks from the druids, scattered an arch of green spears - I put my wings and claws out front to do their job just in time to take the secondary hit of jagged blue geometry. My back legs twisted excessively past their limit. The tri-polyplate claws held, mostly, some smoldering layers blasted free and others melted. I tight focused neural disruptors at the Atlases, cut more chaff, joyed at their screams of fear and agony. "Ari, my target." She swayed but unfolded her stabilizer struts, hit one of them with three rockets, a particle shot, and a full sec from the gauss, frosted it's decom and tore up the left half of its body. Glistening dark blue blood exploded across the other two and it laid out, alive but no threat. Heat fins spread wide open white hot underside her wings, her legs. "Casey your fuckin legs they-"

I flickered low beams at the druids, didn't connect but gave em a minute to think, redirected a broad neural disrupt at our six, more encouraging screeches, I filled the crab with the worst of my mind to saturate multiple kilometers in the PDN of my own fears and nightmares. "Ari, not now, cover."

Even on a wing and half a leg she was a beautiful flower of agony, spread of rockets, heavy beams, blistered depslugs streaking from her to seek the druids proved weakest by their alchemical conversion to bright blue explosions of blood and bone. Steamed heavy off her sink. The second Atlas was fighting up through my disrupt. I hit it with a PDN flare mix, and didn't catch the green blue spellwork shield crackling twixt its bark til I had to duke it.

The Altas caught a claw with one limb, put two more into my main body, right center, and I was overwhelmed by the vomit stench of my tissue and exo and endo rupturing, polymuscles shredded, but I boiled my feet in deep with stage one for jump, and got my other claw on its middle trunk. My com was choking garbled but I said, "Ari-" before I felt the left rear third joint sheer and snap.

She was to me before I could waver with her forelegs' high beam up to max in its face. Light hotter than stars burst the banyan into three flaming pieces, sheer through the trunk, bloodless, charred beyond recognition in a second. She buzzed me. "We can't stay." The last of the Atlases was pulling a highdef organized multiplier out of the earth. Looked like pine tree trunk but carried in a single limb. I specced another Atlas closing. One good HDOM shot would dust my armor. One bad shot would vaporize Ari. "You're right."

I tried to spool up, but the PDN was dead, so I blasted chaff along the ground in front of the Atlas. Give it some hot shrapnel to work through, dialed the rest for max dispersal, and cut three quarters skyward. "Grab a lift," I snarled and she was on me. "And set your main."

The earth churned and my legs threatened to give, but held. "Case. I tried that last week, rec? I couldn't hit shit."

"Yeah. You tried it. We didn't." I hit the jump, we caught sky.

Ari's limbs folded around my body, and her remaining claws clamped, support struts pierced my exo secondary limbs unfolded to add more stability. She shifted the main rifle forward from inside her thorax and opened the remaining wing, heat vents fully extended, coolant spraying out of her wounds as it pumped triple time through her sinks. Her thorax flexed heavy with breath and the gun's wiring and nerve rigs flushed the scent of her excited musk around us. I wrapped my three remaining legs up over my body and clung to her, spun us with my wings on our axis. We had a beautiful aerial view of the remains of our own ambush, our legs fallen close like hands of dying lovers.

The main gun of the wasp would not be possible to see if we had human eyes. A three stage system requiring the finest care with aiming and multiple stabilizers to the firing platform ensuring a clean hit, combined with full heat dispersal for blowback. It would break up shield and decoms, disruptors and polyplate, followed instantly by a particle beam depslug mixture.

I wrapped my claws over her cockpit segment and she fired. The slug obliterated the Atlas, its multiplier detonating and spraying organized green spears haphazardly with blue geometry. The drop target went up and threw a cloud of concentrated bacto over what looked like eight kilometers. I saw the beam digging a canyon through the earth moments before the bacteria and debris blacked the site.

We were thrown, I lost a second leg and both wings. Deaf to coms. My chaff clattered off us, shredded our armor. The full thorax and both of Ari's rear legs were torn away by recoil and a furnace blast of overheating power couplings as I held fiercely, even when my left claw was cleanly severed by the last flash of the beam and my main body punctured and boiled by her shrapnel. I realized I wasn't deaf, I simply was unable to hear anything except Ari screaming and lost valuable seconds - nothing to see but sky and only rushing air over our spinning bodies.

I jetted waste from my secondary vents, they spat angrily but caught air. Risked it, held Ari with my only two legs and put my claw between us and the freight train rush up on drop target three. I hoped enough was left of her to hear me shout, "Impact Impact Impact!"

The ground was very wide and very fast and black. It was-

Nothing. Black.

Casey. Casey. You need to get up.

"Casey," Ari's hiss was a near inaudible comm. "Casey please... I can't move my legs."

I specced, half blind, dialed it through. There was a flicker of distant green. Move. I felt joints and plastic muscle, raw tissue and white foam dig the earth, I moved in a little circle. The drop ship was waiting - no pilot, just auto for a grunt mission in and out.

"I'm up," I lied to Ari. She hissed, "I know you aren't." I specced myself. One leg could move, claw somehow intact, thank you polyplate. Other legs just partial joints, trailed their hydraulics and burned nerves. Quarter chopped off the rear platform. "Am so," I thrummed and put my claw in the ground, levered. Slid my partial legs underneath and my one good one up. "I'm up." I started pushing myself along the earth.

Felt like dragging the big protein drums on kitchen duty, couldn't lift much as rock myself back and forward one side at a time. I found what was left of Ari.

"How's it look," she hissed. One of her two remaining legs was shattered in half a dozen places, congealed foam doing nothing for the fluid leaks. Her other leg might last. Sensary might even be salvageable. There were holes gaping in her deformed cockpit, gel and blood oozing through cracks. "Looks great," I thrummed. "You lost so much weight."

Her laugh wheezed. "You got one good leg Ari, I need you to hitch a ride." She fumbled in the mud and found the tattered edge of my exo, dragged herself half onto what was left of my main body, and I pushed. Her voice was distant now, "Hey Case, remember that night fight, we jumped a bunch of elves with a flashblind."

Just a few meters. "Yeah, pretty funny. Guess they remembered us." She wheezed again, her comm was rattling. "And that time we used ice for heat sig?" My claw hit metal. I strained on the loading ramp without traction. "That was pretty good too, yeah." Fuck it. I grabbed one of the less important control struts and heaved, pulled. Felt my innards and Ari slither along metal, almost home. One more pull. "Hey Casey, hey. Remember when the fuckin elves ambushed us with our same dumb ideas and you thought I should shoot em on the jump."

I punched the recall code, the hatch cranked shut, dumped the tangled mess of our bodies into the drop bay. Acceleration crushed us. "Yeah Ari, that wasn't the best idea ever." The rig loomed up. "Right Ari? I'm an idiot." The comm was quiet.

We were in the bay and I was in a pool of sludge. I could feel my legs and arms and bruises and my own real blood on my face. I could walk and and almost stand, crawling clambering falling down the lift stairs before the tech could say anything. He slipped after me, clutched railing and tried to keep his footing in the mucus as I went sidewinding to our sad and shattered shells, tech prying open the jaws of Ari's with hydraulic levers.

I shoved through as the seal cracked, reek of poisoned atmos and stagnant amniogel, the snap of bone and it fell open, pouring Ari onto the hanger floor, washed up against me. I was on my knees, she was in my arms. Bone showed through one of her broken legs and a bloody hole in her ribs frothed blood. Her bottom lip split so bad I could see her shattered teeth sticking through it. Blood from her ears, nose, eyes, whole body a contour map of bruises.

Ari's one good eye cracked and she gurgled wet and rough, "You look like shit, Case." She spit blood.

"Told you. No excuses bitch."

"Fuck. No exchs." Nitrile gloved hands pulled us apart, and meds were shoving tubes into her, slapping dermals on her. They had a stretcher. Someone shone a light in my eye, I felt the cold slap of a dermal on my shoulder blade. "No excuses," I slurred as loud as I could. He said, "You shouldn't be standing up." I didn't know if Ari could hear. "I'm gonna be waiting!" They hit me with another dermal and goodnight.

It was like that for awhile, before I could go back to my bunk. Lot of debrief, I got a commendation, which mostly meant some extra cash in my account if I lived to spend it. Some looks. DeeDee came by and said "Mad respect." Scatter stopped in with some nearly not paint thinner whiskey. Squad leader came in and chewed me out. Then some days in my smaller, worse bed. I lay on my clothes and punched back painkillers and beauties, then got out of my space and flipped the latch on Ari's room to get into hers.

It looked the same. Laundry unlaundered, whiffs of fermented sweat and sex, crumpled up wrappers for hot sauce, thermalprint hentai, congealed shampoo and soap blocks. I held a tanktop to my face and inhaled, poked around her trash listlessly til I saw a scrap of print. Her last psyche, pages of red and yellow, warnings cautions, parts of it printed red on black. I banged out of her room with it clenched in my hot fist, storming along the counter spin corridors to Ring 2.

Medical. Deep breath. I pushed the door in and gave Ari the biggest smile I could muster and she asked, "Oh no. What's wrong," from where she was still ensconced in tubes to keep her lungs working while the biogels slowly closed her skin over. "What do you mean, what's wrong," I forgot to separte teeth for talking. Maybe a couple weeks before she was walking wounded. "You got a smile like you dropped a battery pack on your foot."

She looked better with her lips stitched back together. Her new front teeth were steel. I blinked and shook and pursed my lips so I wouldn't snarl when I unfolded the psyche chart she'd left balled up under her desk. Needles prickled along my feverish forehead. Tried to find words as she shifted her eyes away from mine and just said, "Oh. That."

I dropped it on her stomach. "Why? You could've- It... Why?" I've been called poetic in my time.

Ari started to bite her lip then stopped. Rubbed her eyes with her palms. "Ow. Everything hurts - Casey, what are you gonna do when you get outta here?"

"Because you can- Huh?" I blinked several more times rapidly. "Uh, I dunno. Little place with some twenty-threes? Maybe a dog? Nothing too special, just wanted a shot at like... living yeah?"

"But you think about it and... y'know, you see something?"

"Yeah, I guess, I mean a little. Who knows?"

She shut her eyes. "Well I didn't see anything." Squeezed her eyes. "I didn't think I'd- Case, I didn't come here for a shot at living. I... didn't see that. That idea." Tears slipped out of her eyes and she grimaced, shoved her hands against them. "I never planned to live that long," her breath hitched.

I didn't know what to do with my hands, whether to move over to her, or what. I nodded to her closed eyes, felt stupid. "Ari, I'd, uh, like it if you did."

She let out a long breath and opened damp eyes. "That's what, I mean, I met you. It's been good, and like. I realized I had started thinking about it."

"Thinking about it?"

"About being alive. Somewhere there, I mean, like, I thought about that I might want a future if it had you in it. And I guess I freaked about the idea it might not happen, and I wanted to keep you somewhere safe where I wasn't going to mess that up."

I folded my arms. "Ari, I fucking swear." She looked back at me. "I don't care how much it hurts, move the fuck over right now, I'm gonna hug you so bad you break another four ribs."

She slid a bit, and I managed to half lay in the bed around the IV tubes. I managed not to break her ribs. Big, stupid and hot tears dripped down my cheeks and nose as I squeezed, then grabbed her hands in mine. "Every day you wake up. I'll give you that future. You might not see yourself and that's okay because you'll see me, and I hope that's enough."

"I kinda kinda love you bitch," I clutched her tight. She kissed me, stitches rough against my lips, and smiled as she did. "You can stay," she said.

"I'll stay." And I did.

[moralesmilesanhour]

Hi!! I really liked your “Teamwork” piece could you write something else with Miles and how he is in that one? Like them going on a date-ish type thing or maybe just hanging out more in school, the counselors office thing was really cute. Every other fic I see paints him as this hard ass street type but him being nervous about things was refreshing to see!

Hey there, I'm really glad you enjoyed the series this much! I think we should all let hood boys be nervous and a bit weird :) Thanks for requesting!

date night with miles g !

Miles tapped his pen to his chin as he sat at his desk, staring down a little pad of sticky notes. 

At the top of one of them, the words ‘Conversation Topics’ were written in neat print, followed by a series of bullet points detailing just that. He had decided that school talk was off-limits, but favorite shows were fair game. Music, of course, was a no-brainer.

Before he could come up with a third topic, a knock at the door interrupted his train of thought.

“Yes?” he called out. The door opened to reveal his mother Rio’s face, wearing a cheeky grin.

“Tu novia está aquí,” she said with a playful movement of her shoulders. “Don’t keep her waiting.”

She held back a laugh at the way Miles shot up from his swivel chair, shoving the sticky notes into the pocket of his leather jacket. 

“See you later, mami,” he said once Rio opened the door wider to let him out, and he ducked underneath her arm. 

“Remember, 9pm. Claro?”

“Claro!” 

You squinted as the evening autumn breeze swept over your face. Massively underestimating how much leeway seventy-five degrees would give you, you had only gone out in a light blouse.

“Hey, Miles!” you called out from the open front door. You saw him padding down the stairs in his socks before stopping at the base. He beamed as soon as he spotted you.

“Hey! Just gimme a second,” he replied as he slipped on the pair of black and white Jordans he was holding and jogged up to you. 

Miles looked down at your sneakers and whistled at their pristine, almost blue-white tone. It didn’t hurt that you were wearing the exact same pair.

“Nice kicks.”

You looked down at his feet and laughed, “They must be if you’re stealing them out my closet.”

“Aight,” Miles said as he hopped down one step. “You ready to bou–”

“Aht-aht!” you interrupted, tugging on the collar of his jacket to stop him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Miles pouted in confusion, which melted into a frown when the realization hit him. “We just goin’ out to eat! The food is gonna be right in front of my face!”

He knew that he was about to fight a losing battle when you crossed your arms. With a dramatic groan, he spun around and climbed back up the steps to go inside.

“Tienes suerte de que eres lindo,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

After a few moments, Miles was back with the case containing his glasses in-hand and a small black crossbody bag to keep them in. You raised an eyebrow.

“What? They’re right here,” he held it up for emphasis.

“Miles, we’re not leaving until they’re on your face.”

“Wooow.”

“I’m not kidding!” You laughed. 

He opened the case and put the notorious green spectacles on with a huff, earning him a peck on the cheek.

“Alright, can we go now?”

“Yup.”

You gently took his hand and began tugging him along towards the nearest subway station.

“Where’s your jacket?” Miles asked, slowing you down to a stop. 

“Look, I thought it was gonna be hot out. I’ll survive, I promise.”

Not even a moment after you had spoken, Miles was already in the process of removing his jacket. It was now your turn to groan.

“Come on now, you saw this coming,” he said with a triumphant grin as he draped the jacket over your shoulders. “No need to thank me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Such a gentleman.”

-

You thanked the server as she set down two plates of crab cakes in front of you.

“Whatchu wanna order for dessert?” you asked Miles, who still had his nose in the large menu with his brows furrowed. He looked up.

“Not a damn clue. I’ll get what you get as long as my card don’t max out.”

“Hm,” you turned to the dessert section of your own menu. “They got peach cobbler, how ‘bout it?”

Miles made a face at the suggestion, and your jaw dropped. “You don’t like peach cobbler?!?”

He shrugged. “Not a fan.”

“Well, okay, what about apple pie?”

“Nope.”

“Blueberry pie?”

“Nah.”

“Pumpkin pie?”

“Nuh-uh.”

You leaned back into your seat, thoroughly shocked and offended. “Fuck you mean ‘nuh-uh’?”

“Fruit just shouldn’t be hot,” Miles explained casually, “And Ion like the texture.”

You sighed, “Chocolate cake it is, then.”

He winced. “See, about that–”

Before Miles could cause you any further distress, he was interrupted by the server returning with the main entrees. You both said your thanks at the same time, each taking your respective plate.

"Anything for dessert?" The woman asked, notepad at the ready.

You gave Miles the side-eye before answering, "A bowl of ice cream, please."

"Same here."

The woman nodded and took note before leaving your booth.

“So, what foods do you like?” you asked, leaning forward again. “Other than the alfredo, obviously.”

Miles paused, looking genuinely deep in thought before replying. 

“Arroz con gandules,” he counted on his fingers, “Platanos, of course, mac and cheese, and uh…” 

He trailed off for a bit, having run out of meals to list off. “Other…stuff.”

You snorted, “Don’t push yourself too hard, now. I take it you’re a picky eater, then?”

Miles grinned bashfully. “I guess you could say that. You?”

“Nah, I’ll eat anything for real. Long as it fills my stomach.”

“Explains why you like eating baked fruit,” he quipped.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I have taste.”

That's it! Thanks sm for reading, pls feel free to reblog if you enjoyed this :) If you're curious about my other work, check out my masterlist!

[quilteddreamz]

Not Allowed to be a Night Owl

"Did you really think the mornings ire wouldn't cross over into the night?"

Part 1, Part 2(Here), Part 3

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As a treat before I post the last part, I'll gift you all the complete 2nd chapter here on tumblr! Enjoy :3

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Rain washed away the evening sun, pattering against your window as muddled sound. Your legs were drawn up to your chest, face lit by the bright blues of your computer.

The bags under your eyes were more prominent now. Dark, puffy reminders that you should pause the film. You could watch it tomorrow. But the possibility of getting the ending spoiled kept your eyes glued.

On the corner of the desk, peaking out behind the computer, sat two little plushies— a Sun and Moon. Even in plush form, Sun’s eyes bore into you with fake cheer. You chewed your cheek, remembering Sun’s pettiness throughout the day. Who was he to police your habits? He barely took care of his own, too busy making everything else perfect.

You turned the plush around, feeling sour. Maybe you weren’t perfect, but you were trying.

The Moon plush still stared with red felt. It held your phone in its embrace. No matter the smile sewn onto it, it was still creepy. Similar to the real thing.

The door creaked. A series of soft metal clicks followed.

You sighed. Think of the devil and he shall come.

The clicks continued like a scuttling crab. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the jester was crawling on the ground— you had seem him do more bizarre things.

Claws clasp around the sides of your chair. He rose up, body slouched. His head came to rest on your shoulder. It was cold, but quick to warm against your skin.

Silence is filled by the musical lilt of the fight scene. You barely bat an eye at the gore in front of you. The weight on your shoulder distracting.

Moon’s hand sneaks up on the armrest, engulfing over your own. Red flashes clash against his blues. An inch of sharp navy blue curled off the end of each fingertip, resting overtop your own. You thought it odd that a nighttime attendant — one meant to coax children to sleep — would have such wicked claws.

His other hand lifts. Index pressing against the screen, taping methodically against the digital clock in the upper corner. The nine close to becoming a ten.

You sigh, shoulders heaving with his weight.

“I’m almost done,” you say, words tinged with annoyance.

His finger stills off the screen. You feel his head press heavier down— though you could have imagined it.

It shifts down to the progress bar. The dot sat not even a quarter in.

You grimace, nearly scoffing at his insistence. It wasn’t that late. The movie was an hour and a half at most. You’d be done before the clock struck eleven. Yet the animatronic wouldn’t let up. Your frustration grew with the tapping of metal on glass. Exhaustion shortening your fuse.

“Moon.” The bite to his name harsher than his claws.

His hand lowered, followed by an electronic sigh. He turned his head away from the bright screen, hiding away in the crook of your neck. Goosebumps spread over you as your neck was exposed to more cold metal.

“You woke up late,” Moon rasped against you; his voice always sounded like he needed a cup of water.

“I had a bad night.” You roll your eyes, leaning away, “It’s not a big deal.”

Your gaze stayed glued to the screen. The plot was a blur at this point, you didn’t recognize half the characters on the screen or the castle they stood before. You’d have to rewind it— wasting more time.

Moon hadn’t shifted away despite your cold shoulder. He stayed firmly against you.

Absently you wondered if your words were too harsh. You were tired, your judgment feeling swayed to the side of anger. Your lip twitched with the want to apologize.

Your screen gradually dimmed. Confusion crossed you until your eyes caught the culprit. Moon’s hand was on the keyboard, quieting the blaring light.

Regret died as annoyance rose. You grabbed his hand, trying to yank it away from your keyboard. Frustrated sounds left you as he didn’t budge. His hand snatched yours, stopping your fruitless attempt.

“Do we need to watch you?” Moon growls, “Again?”

The threat hung before you, but defiance hung lower.

You scoffed, turning back to the screen. Internally you bristled. You thought the scolding had ended when the sun set.

“We had thought these sort of habits were done,” he brought your hand back to the armrest.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you seethed, shifting in your seat. His hold, tight on your hand, like shackles designed for you.

“Sun says otherwise,” he dragged his head forward, bringing it over your shoulder. His upside down smirk showed how much he relished in your frustration.

Moon reaches past, tugging your phone off the desk.

Sputtering you reach with your free hand. He raises it just out of reach. You huff, making him chuckle.

The lock screen opens for Moon, despite his lack of a human face.

“Just because ’Sun says’, doesn’t mean he’s right,” you growl, watching him slide through your phone. Did the animatronic not understand the concept of privacy?

He stills. The hand on yours clenches. The degree near painful.

The phone groans under his grip. A shiny web of glass splinters across its screen.

You gasp in disbelief. Raising slightly from the chair, grabbing it back. His hold loosening to allow you.

The cracked screen shone with your screen-time: fourteen hours.

You paled. Anxiety swelling. You kept your phone close, wincing at its cracks. Though at the moment it, you had a more pressing anxiety to deal with. 

Claws release your shaking hand. They twitch through the air, annoyance evident in them.

“Really!?” His voice booms in your ear, static crackling at the high pitch.

“W-wait, that’s-“

His arms come back to wrap around your waist. You grip the chair, hooking your legs under the metal bar. He pulls but your grip doesn’t relent.

You look up at him, pleading: “I can watch it at double speed!”

He tries again, giving a sharper tug, but your legs keep you anchored. He growls, releasing you. The peeved animatronic storms off.

Stunned victory holds you. Was it that easy to dissuade him? He was easier than his counterpart-

Your screen turns black, your disbelief reflecting.

You turn, mouth a gasp.

Moon’s glowing LEDs glare, now bathing the space in red. Your eyes snapped to the power cord in his hand.

“Bed.” He glowered, dropping it “Now.”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you try to argue back.

“Your bad breath is a problem for Sun,” he pulls the back of your chair harshly as he wheels you backwards to the bed, “Not me.”

The chair is lifted, you included. Moon shakes it, like a person trying to get a pest. The aggressive motion is enough to dislodge your hold. You crash onto the bed, face-planting into the pillow.

His hand pins you, covering over the entirety of your upper back. He works at shoving the edges of the blanket under you, wrapping you up like a burrito. Your struggle earns you his fingers gripping the back of your neck.

Once wrapped to his satisfaction he rolls you onto your side. His limbs encompass you, further trapping you in this snuggly prison.

Grumbling you continue to wiggle about, refusing to let him win. A shake of your head frees it.

“Quiet,” he snaps, pushing his head down on yours.

One of his hands sneaks into the folds of the blanket, rubbing between your shoulder blades.

You scowl, slumping in the comfort. The desire to snap back and struggle was being drowned out by the tired buzz in the back of your mind.

He shifts his head when your body relaxed. It returns to nuzzle into the back of your neck, softly rubbing. He hushes you, softer now.

Defeat crawled over you as thick waves of drowsiness. No more screen straining your eyes to keep you alert. Just the gentle, warm breath against your neck. The lulling affect, threatening to take you under.

You weakly glare forward. Through the dark you spot the two plushies. The Moon plush looking back at you, that damn sewn grin looked wider.

Hands fall over your eyes, hiding the dimly lit room.

You bitterly accept sleep.