#even if said solid ground is out of bounds

[linogram]

climbed through a small hole in the ceiling under the mausoleum of king deshret and accidentally went out of bounds

[brunchable]

THIS, is your boyfriend, Mom? [4]

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Our savage wittle boi Lucas x f!Reader.

Summary: The family went on a camping trip with Lucas' cousins. Warning: Lucas fell into a river but is unharmed.

A/N: I will just keep posting Step-Dad Bucky content, this doesn't really have set plot, just cute and funny moments while Bucky navigates how to be a Dad. ALSO, note I am still trying to fix the tag list for this.

The stars had just begun to shine as you, Bucky, Lucas, and a few of his cousins sat around the campfire, laughter filling the air as the kids toasted marshmallows and dared each other to make the strangest marshmallow combinations.

After a while, Lucas and his cousin wandered over to you, their faces lit with excitement. “Mom, can we go skip rocks by the river?” Lucas asked.

You nodded, giving them a warm but serious smile. “Alright, but don’t go too close to the water. Stay safe.”

They nodded, promising to be careful, and you watched as they bounded off toward the riverbank, their giggles mixing with the sound of the flowing water. Bucky was sitting next to you, his gaze steady on the kids as they skipped stones, trying to beat each other’s number of skips.

Everything seemed peaceful.

But after a few minutes, you overheard Lucas’s cousin daring him. “Bet you can’t skip one from way up close,” his cousin said, pointing to a spot near the edge of the water, where the bank was muddy and slippery.

Lucas hesitated, glancing back at you and Bucky, then shrugged, puffing his chest out a little. “It’s not even that deep. I’ll be fine.”

In that split second, he took a bold step closer, right to the edge, and threw his rock. But as he shifted his weight forward, the muddy bank gave way, and he slipped, his arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance—only to tumble forward into the icy water.

“Mom! Help!” Lucas screamed, panic overtaking his voice as the river’s current tried to pull him in.

His cousin tried to reach him, stretching out his arm, but the water was too strong, and Lucas was quickly losing his footing.

In that moment, Lucas looked up, his breath catching as he saw a figure racing toward him with unwavering speed and determination. Recognizing Bucky’s shape, he reached out instinctively, the word spilling out in sheer desperation.

“Dad!”

Before you could take a step, Bucky had already shot up, sprinting to the river with a look of pure terror etched across his face. Reaching the boys in seconds, he gently but firmly shoved Lucas’s cousin back toward you, his voice low and firm. “Get to your mom. Now.”

“Lucas!” you screamed, your heart pounding.

Without a second thought, Bucky stepped into the river, his boots sinking into the cold, swirling water as it tugged insistently at his legs, urging him to stay back. But he moved forward, steady and sure, his eyes fixed on Lucas as if the world held nothing else. The river pressed against him, but he barely noticed, reaching Lucas in a few strides, wrapping a solid arm under the boy’s shoulders, and lifting him up with a fierce certainty. Holding Lucas close, Bucky turned and waded back to shore, his grip firm, his gaze steady, as if he were carrying something infinitely precious.

As soon as they were safely on dry ground, Bucky knelt down, gripping Lucas’s shoulders tightly, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with anger and fear.

“What were you thinking, Lucas?” he snapped, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to go near the edge? Do you understand what could have happened if you’d fallen in deeper?”

Lucas glanced up at Bucky, then looked over at you. The sight of you standing there, tears streaming down your face, struck him like a punch to the chest. His mother, the person he always wanted to keep happy and safe, was crying because of him.

Lucas looked down, his face pale, but tried to stammer out a response. “I-I… I didn’t think it’d be that slippery…”

Bucky’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and his voice grew louder, thick with emotion. “Exactly. You didn’t think! What if the current had pulled you in? What if you’d been swept away before I got there? What if… what if you had gotten hurt or worse?” Bucky’s voice wavered, but his tone stayed stern. “This isn’t a game, boy. You could’ve been lost to that river in an instant.”

Lucas’s cousin, standing nearby, shifted nervously, his face turning pale as he realized the seriousness of the situation. Bucky’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, his tone still unrelenting.

“And you,” he said, his voice just as firm as before. “Why would you dare him to go closer? Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

Lucas’s cousin looked down, guilt spreading across his face as he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Bucky… I didn’t think anything bad would happen. I just… thought it’d be fun.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t soften as he spoke, his tone filled with disappointment. 

“Fun? What if he’d fallen in and the current was too strong? What if I hadn’t been here in time? You don’t push someone to take a risk like that, especially near the water. You’re supposed to look out for each other, not encourage recklessness.”

The weight of Bucky’s words began to settle over both boys like a heavy blanket. The “what ifs” replayed in their minds, each one sinking deeper, and they both suddenly felt small and helpless under Bucky’s fierce gaze.

Lucas’s voice shook as he whispered, “I… I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to make you and Mom worry. I just wanted to see if I could do it…”

“Wanting to prove yourself doesn’t matter if you’re putting yourself in danger. Bravery doesn’t mean being reckless, Lucas. Do you understand that?” Bucky’s stern expression didn’t waver as he looked down at Lucas, still gripped by the terror of almost losing him.

Lucas’s shoulders slumped as the weight of his mistake settled over him like an unwelcome shadow. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and his voice broke in a whisper, “I’m really, really sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean for it to be this bad… I just didn’t think.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his face softening as he caught the guilt in Lucas’s tear-filled eyes. He let out a quiet, unsteady breath, the last of his anger dissolving like smoke. He pulled the boy into a fierce hug, an instinct older than words, holding him close as if, in that one embrace, he could keep the world and all its dangers at bay.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Lucas’s voice was muffled against Bucky’s chest, his small hands gripping Bucky’s shirt like it was his only tether to safety.

Bucky’s arms tightened around him, one hand moving up to cradle the back of Lucas’s head. “I know, kid. I know you didn’t mean it.” His voice was soft but steady, filled with something deeper than mere forgiveness.

He stroked Lucas’s back in slow, reassuring circles, feeling each shaky breath. “You scared me, you know? Really scared me.” The words were simple but carried a weight only Lucas could feel, pressing gently on his small shoulders.

Then, Bucky pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, brushing a tear from Lucas’s cheek with his thumb. “Listen. You don’t need to prove anything. You’re already enough, just as you are. And I need you here with me. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

Lucas nodded, a fierce, wide-eyed sincerity in his gaze. “I promise.”

Bucky’s lips curled into a small, warm smile, and he ruffled Lucas’s hair gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “Good. That’s my boy.”

There was a pause, a quiet weight to the moment. Then, Bucky gave Lucas’s shoulder a soft squeeze, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable note of resolve. 

“Now,” he murmured, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes, “go apologize to your mom and get yourself cleaned up. You’ve given her enough to worry about for one day.”

× × × ×

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the clearing as the night deepened. The kids were finally asleep in their own tent, their quiet breaths rising and falling in a rhythm of exhaustion and dreams. You stayed by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought as you watched the flames dance.

Bucky came up behind you, draping a blanket over your shoulders and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, warmth spreading through you beyond the blanket.

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching for his hand. “For what you did for Lucas today.”

Bucky shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s nothing,” he said softly, settling down beside you. But as he looked into the fire, a quiet chuckle escaped him, his eyes crinkling with a mix of disbelief and something almost… tender.

You turned to him, curiosity in your gaze. “What are you thinking about?”

He glanced at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still reflecting the firelight. “He called me ‘Dad,’” he said, voice soft with wonder.

You nodded, your own smile widening. “He did.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as he leaned back. “Think that’s going to cost me the dad fee?”

You laughed, a warm sound that felt like it belonged to the night. Bucky grinned, clearly pleased to lighten the mood, and his hand found yours as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling as the stars watched over.

After a moment, Bucky’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, closing the space between you with a look of pure adoration. His hand cradled your face as his lips brushed against yours, warm and lingering.

Just as you melted into the kiss, a small voice pierced the quiet.

“Oh, wow. Seriously? Now?”

You and Bucky broke apart to find Lucas standing outside his tent, hands on his hips and an exaggerated look of exasperation on his face. “Guys, it’s, like, bedtime. Some of us are trying to sleep here without… that in our minds.”

You stifled a laugh, and Bucky sighed, glancing at the sky as if asking for patience. “What do you need, kid?”

Lucas rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, I was going to the bathroom, but now I’m scarred for life. So thanks for that,” he added with a smirk, gesturing toward the trees. “I’ll be back—try to keep it PG, alright?”

With that, he turned and shuffled off, muttering loud enough for you to hear, “Can’t believe I had to see that.”

When he was out of earshot, Bucky shook his head, chuckling softly. “That kid…”

You bit back a grin, leaning into him with a sigh. “So, where were we?”

Bucky pulled you close, a smirk on his lips. “Somewhere between dad fees and permanent interruptions, I think.”

× × × × 

Back home a few days later.

It was a quiet evening, and Bucky had been waiting for the right moment, nerves humming beneath his calm exterior. Lucas was sprawled out on the living room floor, building a small LEGO fortress, completely focused. Bucky took a deep breath, gathering himself, and then sat down next to Lucas, watching him for a moment before speaking.

“Hey, bud,” Bucky said softly, ruffling Lucas’s hair.

Lucas looked up, his face lighting up. “Hey, Bucky! Want to help me with the fortress? It’s almost done.”

Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe in a sec, kiddo. I actually wanted to talk to you about something… something important.”

“Okay… what’s up?” Lucas tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Bucky took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

“So… I’ve been thinking about your mom,” he began, his voice gentle. “She means everything to me, Lucas. You know that, right?”

Lucas nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, I know. She loves you, too.”

Bucky swallowed, his heart pounding a little harder as he reached out, resting a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “Well, I was wondering… how would you feel if I asked her to marry me?”

Lucas’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in surprise. He looked down, taking it in, before glancing back up at Bucky with a raised eyebrow.

“You mean… you’d be my dad?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of sass. “Like, officially? You’re not just trying to get a tax break or something, right?”

Bucky laughed, the tension easing out of him a bit. “No, not for a tax break, kid. I genuinely want to be there for you and your mom. I want us to be a family.”

Lucas stared at him for a long moment, his face scrunched up in thought. Then, with a small, knowing smirk, he said, “So… you’re asking me for permission? Wow, you must really like us.”

Bucky chuckled, ruffling Lucas’s hair again. 

“Yeah, I am. It’s important to me that you’re okay with this. You’re the most important person in her life, and if we’re gonna be a family… I want you to know that you’re part of this decision.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, like he’d just been struck by the weight of Lucas’s words. For a moment, he could only stare, his heart swelling with an unexpected, overwhelming sense of joy. He felt a lump form in his throat, and before he could say anything, he pulled Lucas into a tight hug, holding him close.

Lucas’s face softened, and after a brief pause, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck in a tight hug. 

"You don't have to ask," Lucas whispered, his sass melting to something sincere, "I already know you're my dad."

As he closed his eyes, a tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t care. “Thank you, Lucky,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That means more than you know.”

When they finally pulled back, Lucas wiped his eyes, his grin returning with a mischievous edge. “But… you still have to do it right. Like, you know, get down on one knee and everything. And maybe a big sign that says, ‘Will you marry me?’ in case you mess up your words.”

Bucky laughed, nodding. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going all out. Your mom deserves the best.”

Lucas nodded, looking proud. “Good. She does. And you better not make her cry… unless they’re the good kind of tears. Otherwise, I’ll have to come after you.”

Bucky chuckled. “Only happy tears, kiddo. I promise.”

Lucas gave him a firm nod, his eyes sparkling. “Good then it’s settled. Now, are you going to help me finish this fortress, or are you too busy planning your big proposal?”

Bucky grinned, feeling the last of his nerves slip away as he settled beside Lucas, picking up a LEGO piece. 

“Alright, kiddo, let’s finish this fortress. Gotta make sure it’s strong enough to withstand all the big plans I’m about to set in motion.”

Lucas gave a mock-serious nod. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want you bailing on me halfway through.”

Bucky chuckled, nudging him gently. “Hey, I’m in this for the long haul. Fortress-building included.”

They both settled back down to work, side by side, focused on finishing the fortress together, each piece clicking into place as easily as their bond had over time.

[sunny-mercya]

Breakable Mind

Poly! Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist | Related OS

Oh how it shouldn't went down like this. How it wasn't meant to be, that you, their adorable crybaby—with a heart of gold, emotions so sensitive and a mind so submissive weak—of a boyfriend, finding out about their little secret.

You had though and although not on your own—as it was all thanks to little miss princess Sidney Prescott, who told you—planting subjective doubt in your pure mind—about her suspicions of Billy—and somewhat Stu and you too—being the Ghostface Killer, who terrorise her and the town as if it was some funny game—it did brought a minor bump into their plan.

Though nothing Billy and Stu weren't able to fix. There would be, if ever the case occurred that you might found out, only two options; kill you, which would be truly a tragic shame to do—or holding you hostage and making you in every possible way submit to them, showing who you belong to.

And of course Billy and Stu chose option two, because after all—like said before—it would be truly a tragedy of shame, if they had to kill you.

So when you've confronted them about it—honestly, it was more a question than an accusation from you, but it's the whole point about it which matters—well, Billy and Stu started with the simplest way—of necessarily disciplinary measurements and methods—to keep you at bay and by them, close under pressuring watch, making sure you wouldn't go off running to the police anytime soon.

~~~

In the first night, when you got told about the ugly truth, they started simple—not wanting to scare you right away into a mindset of sheer panic. Although, thinking back to it, perhaps they should have started with scary approache—would have saved them a few nights of not so gentle actions.

You were caged in Stu's hold—his lanky strong arms tightly enclosed around you—trying to break free from him, struggling considerably in your task as Stu's taller and a lot more stronger than you.

It's futile to break free, you soon realise the longer and more you struggled around. Body going limp, having giving up—for now at least, only for the remaining night as you felt tired—and while Stu said sweet meaningless nothing into your ear and then throwing you onto your bed—like he had playfully done all the times before—Billy's gaze that night was cold.

Perhaps breaking your hips and having you thus bedridden for a while now—till Billy and Stu have to either break some of your bones again or threaten you in any other way, to keep you at bay and by their side—might sound a tad bit extreme to do, but in hindsight—it was a necessary measurement to do.

You sobbed and screamed in agony through that night, some of your neighbours had called the police because of the disturbing noises and Stu—even though your bedroom was on the second floor and down below your window was nothing but solid hard concrete ground—had the brilliant idea to literally throw you out of your window to make sense as of why your hips are broken now.

Waking up in the hospital, high on morphine and other pain killers—bound to the bedside by one hand, because Billy told your dad and the doctor of your possible “suicidal” tendencies—you were neither depressed nor suicidal, but someone had to deliver an plausible explanation of why you did throw yourself out the window and breaking your hips in the process—and with Stu cooing lovingly endearments next to your side, wasn't another pleasant memory to remember.

All the while you were in the hospital, Billy inflicted you with more pain and injuries—going even as far and slitting your wrist open, breaking one of them as well, strangling you and giving you so much pills to swallow that a nurse had to force you to vomit.

It caused so much high strung anxiety and stress in you, that you started to hyperventilate into panic attacks—everything and everyone seemed to trigger them and sometimes it were yourself which did—that you occasionally, if not always, passed out from them—getting nosebleeds and migraines in the aftermath.

»You know, [Name]« Billy begun one morning, when he came for another daily visit—it was during your recovering period, which went really well so far—moving closer to you, till he had warped one of his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

»Wouldn't it be a shame, disappointing even, if you're getting injured once again? I mean, your dad, god bless him—Stu and me really likes him, he's a good man with a big heart after all—wouldn't want his precious only son to be any longer in the scary hospital and neither do we.«

Billy, after leading you back to your room—it was a slow and agonising walk back with your crippled hips and crutches—had caged you between the wall and his arms, slowly leaning in towards your neck—licking over your skin with his tongue, before biting into it—leaving behind a nice hickey.

»Really [Nickname],« Billy continues, picked you up with ease and carry you towards your bed and laying you down.

»Stu whines constantly about wanting to cuddle with you again, he misses you and so do I. Does that what we do, our small hobby, really deterred you from your love for us?«

Billy hooked you up on the morphine, setting it as high as possible, when you whined—moaning—out when the pain started to flare up again.

»I really don't like to see you in any pain and neither do I want to cause you any, but if you don't behave, love, I'm afraid it will end even more ugly than it was intended to be.«

»How....how could I still love you or Stu, when you two......you two...kill people as a hobby?« your voice was hoarse, dry like a sandpaper—as you had stopped to speak, after you were coherent enough from the morphine a few days later.

Billy drove his hand through your hair, his eyes—and maybe it's just the hospital light which makes it seem to look like it—emitting a soft gaze—an stark contrast to that night, where he glanced at you with such coldness that it stills cause a shudder through your spine.

»Maybe hobby was the wrong word to use. We're not killing people for fun or anyone we randomly see, love. Stu and I only kill those who deserved it, these people who ruin lives of others.«

With each passing second you're getting more and more drowsy and you wonder if that had always been the case when you're hooked on the morphine and pain killers.

And you didn't even knew yourself of the whys, but you nodded along to what Billy said—it sounds so logical now, making somewhat sense.

Maybe, you thought, you were wrong about your Boyfriends—still consider them as such, as you never broken the relationship off, not that you could anyways—and their possible evilness and murderous actions.

Billy seemed to see your hesitations and while you slowly begun to descend into dreamland, Billy continued to tell you all about their reasoning—feeding you sweet little believable lies.

~~~

It took almost three months of recovery, till the doctors (and psychiatrist) deemed you well enough—you still have to attend weekly therapy sessions, Physiotherapy and some other medical appointments of check ups—to be discharged.

Now you're here, back at home—in the comfort and safety zone of walls, you could call your own—and the first thing, besides your dads bear like hug as a welcome—because he's the most happiest to got you back, ready to pampering you in all his parentally love—was Billy and Stu's constantly touching and butterfly kisses at you.

»Stu, love, I can walk on my own again,« you reminded Stu once again, patting his grinning cheek softly—wanting to be let down.

»Oh I know, I know, but I love to carry you.« he swings you, in gentle ways, from side to side before walking towards the couch and laying himself with you down.

»[Nickname], I could just eat you up right away, you look so candy good, baby.« Stu preps your face with lots of tinies kisses, brought a giggling smile from your lips.

While Stu entertains you, showering you with much excessive up building love, Billy was in the kitchen—pouring for all of them some cool cola into cups.

Billy adds a few drops of highly dosed medications, the one which makes someone drowsy and loopy in the brain, in your cup—after all it's just a small precautions for them to guarantee you're forever theirs.

[junkdrawerfics]

Gonna ask me to dance, Cowboy?

Jasper Hale X Reader

Summary: Reader was in an accident that damaged her spinal cord and left her temporarily wheelchair bound. It's during this time that the Cullens move to Forks, and she meets and falls in love with Jasper. A little bit of your story, wrapped up with a big surprise at the end. Requested by @twilightlover2007

Words: 2457

Note: Obviously went with Jasper and boy did this take on a life of its own! I hope you like it!!! It's a little cheesy, but that's what I like.

Disclaimer: I have limited knowledge of temporary paralysis and life with a wheelchair. If I'm wrong about anything, please let me know!

---

The accident happened before the Cullens moved to Forks. You don’t remember much of it, which the doctor says can be common given the head trauma you experienced. All you know is that you were driving home from a game and a drunk driver decided not to stop at the red light.

The accident left you with some severe damage to your spinal cord. Not irreversible, but enough to strand you in a wheelchair. It took almost two months alone for the fractures in your leg to heal, and then another to find a good physical therapist in Seattle who could work with you.

In the midst of this, the Cullens showed up. And you fell for Jasper like a newborn fawn trying to walk for the first time. A fitting comparison considering your legs worked just as well. 

Your friends thought you were crazy. Afterall, he was the least…approachable of the group. Always frowning. Not at all talkative. Everyone thought he was a bit of a grouch. But you knew better.

You met the real Jasper the first Friday after they arrived. It was another game day, meaning your little high school was going all out cheering for the team throughout the day (even though everyone knew you didn’t stand a fighting chance). 

You were making your way to the pep rally at the end of the day when someone jostled you from behind, sending your wheelchair right over the sidewalk’s ledge and into the grass. You cursed the school’s outdoor hallways so hard that day. It was raining, as it always was, and the moment your wheels hit the ground, you could feel them sink into the mud.

You were effectively trapped.

Or at least, you thought you were. Until a certain blond appeared out of nowhere.

---

“Are you alright, miss?”

You huff out a laugh, trying to keep a smile despite it all, “Yah, yes, I’m okay. Just a little stu-”

When you look up, the words get stuck in your throat. Jasper Hale. Jasper Hale is standing right in front of you, in the rain, hair already sticking to his face, and despite the concern dripping from his features, you can’t help but notice how absolutely gorgeous he is. How did you not notice before?

Before you can stop yourself, the thoughts spill out of your mouth, “Wow, you’re really pretty.”

Shock flickers across the blond’s face, though it’s quickly replaced by a soft smirk that makes his eyes crinkle just a little, somehow making him look more attractive. You blink. And blink. And blink. Until what you said finally sinks in.

Your face goes impossibly red. 

“I am so sorry,” you squeak, eyes wide. His smile only widens when you continue to sputter, “I’m fine! Really. And um, I, you can, you don’t have to worry! I’ll just-”

You try to push yourself forward, anything to escape this moment, but your wheels just spin futilely in the mud. You’re not going anywhere, not without help, and Jasper seems to know that, his gold eyes glinting with amusement. You purse your lips, face only going darker.

“Would you like help, darlin’?” Jasper asks, voice low and honey-like, and wow - it seems so unfair for someone to look so handsome and sound like that too.

You cast him an embarrassed smile, “Yes please. If you really don’t mind, that is.”

The blond chuckles, the sound making your heart flutter. He makes it look effortless, the way he maneuvers you out of the grass and back onto the hallway sidewalk. You hum happily when you’re back on solid ground, wheeling back and forth a bit to dislodge the mud from your rims.

“That’s better,” you sigh, spinning back to face him, “Thank you so much.”

Jasper nods, “It was my pleasure, miss.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Please, call me (Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n). Miss makes me feel so old, and I’m like, a hundred percent sure you’re older than me.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it came. 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/n).” You narrow your eyes, but he only grins a little teasingly, which you refuse to admit makes your pulse race even more. “The name’s Jasper Hale.”

“Nice to meet you too, Jasper.” Officially at least.

“I suppose you were headin’ to the rally?”

Your nose scrunches,“Yep. Before the impromptu shower, at least.”

“Would y’mind if I accompany you?” 

Blinking, you glance up at him in surprise. Jasper just looks down at you, face still set in a charming, calm smile, so different from the scowl you’d grown accustomed to in passing. He’s being genuine. Actually genuine. It makes your face go warm all over again.

“I think I’d like that.”

---

You don’t know what possessed Jasper Hale to help you that day, but he did.

From then on, you and Jasper became friends. He was still a bit odd, but his whole family was. And you liked them. Even Rosalie, whose bluntness was refreshing compared to most of the girls at your school. You befriended all of them, but you and Jasper were particularly close.

Falling for him was easy. Between the soft smile he seemed to reserve only for you and the way he always supported you, how could you not? You realized it after a particular hard day of physical therapy, when your legs were aching and it felt like you were making absolutely no progress. It was a day that Jasper offered to pick you up because your dad had to work late.

---

Jasper can tell you’re upset before he even reaches you.

You sit at the entrance to the rehab center, head ducked, fingers fidgeting in your lap. You see Jasper’s shoes first before he’s kneeling in front of you, honey eyes dark with concern as they flicker over your features. You look back at him, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

The blond’s gaze softens, “Oh, darlin’.”

And you break.

All the pent up frustration and guilt you’ve been holding onto comes pouring out. You manage to stay quiet, barely, but your whole body trembles with your tears as you collapse forward into Jasper’s arms. He holds you close, not saying a word, just humming softly into your hair.

The longer you stay like that, the calmer you feel. It’s like magic, the storm of your emotions calming to a dull roar, until you can take in a few deep breaths

It’s only when your hiccuping goes quiet that he draws you back, eyes scanning you again. You glance down, feeling too raw, too vulnerable like this, with his thoughtful gaze burning over you. But you also feel undeniably safe somehow.

“You’re doin’ so well, darlin,” he eventually murmurs, voice low, soothing your frayed edges. “I know you’ve been hurtin’ and you’re feelin’ like giving up, but we’re all so proud of you. Someday you’ll be back on your feet and I’ll be here ‘til that day comes. And long after it.”

It’s the most you think you’ve ever heard him say at once. His words ring with something so genuine, you can’t help but melt.

“Thanks, Jasper.”

“Always, darlin.”

---

It felt like more than a promise about that day. More than just a friend being there for another friend. And it was the moment you realized you really liked Jasper Hale. 

It was only a matter of time before you learned about his world.

None of them told you, of course. They couldn’t. But the truth was hard to deny when a lone vampire came through Forks and almost killed you. 

You knew it was a bad idea to go out by yourself. Even though your legs were getting stronger from your perseverance in physical therapy, you still couldn’t walk by yourself. Which made you quite the easy target.

Luckily, Jasper was just in time to save you.

After the shock, though, came all your questions. Why did that man try to bite you? How did Jasper throw him all the way down the alley? How did he know where to find you and that you were in trouble?

A silently distraught Jasper ended up taking you back to the Cullen house. The air was tense, except for Alice, who was more than excited. She foresaw it all, of course.

Carlisle explained it all to you as Jasper paced off to the side. A scowl lingered on his lips, his eyes set on something distant. The moment you felt a flicker of panic though, he was there, kneeling at your side, smoothing a hand over your shoulder. You covered his with your own, holding on so tightly that if he were human, he'd probably be hissing in pain. You had a good grip strength from wheeling around for a few months.

It took time to settle into this new reality. Jasper gave you space to process, scared to push you too hard, but you wouldn’t have it. Vampire or not, you couldn’t stand the distance. You hadn’t realized just how ingrained he was in your life until then. Whenever something happened, no matter how small it was, you wanted to rush to him and tell him everything. You hated life without him.

So you ended up asking him out.

Dating came as naturally as breathing. Nothing changed. He still drove you to physical therapy and walked you to all of your classes. Only now, he would press a kiss to your forehead when you parted ways and take you on dates after every p.t. appointment. 

You had never been happier.

That’s when you came up with an idea for the upcoming school formal.

---

“You ready, darlin?” Jasper pauses at your side of the car, wheelchair pulled out and set up behind him.

You grin, squashing the nerves buzzing in your chest before he can sense them, “Yes! Now help me out of here, mister.”

The blond chuckles. He helps you down from the car, touch overwhelmingly tender, as if he’s scared of breaking you. Which, you suppose, he could. You settle into your wheelchair with practiced ease, your dress only causing a little trouble.

The night starts off perfectly. You take your pictures and meet up with his siblings inside the venue. Everything is beautiful. As usual, Forks high went all out with the theme. It’s something cheesy, like ‘a night under the stars’, everything draped in a deep navy blue, the ceiling decorated with shimmering stars.

When the dancing starts, you give Alice the cue. She sends you a little wink before dashing off to the dj booth. You catch Edward grinning out of the corner of your eye. It was impossible to keep him out of it, what with the whole mind reading thing, so you just shoot the man a playful glare. He stifles a chuckle, making an excuse to go get some punch, despite the fact he can’t drink it.

Sighing softly, you steel your nerves, spinning back to your boyfriend.

“Hey,” you call, catching the cuff of his suit.

Jasper’s eyes turn to you, and oh, wow, you’ll never get used to that. The way he looks at you, it’s like you’re one of the stars decorating the night. His eyes glow with an overwhelming warmth and something so so fond. All of a sudden it feels like you’re the only two in the room, everything else fading away.

“Yes, darlin?”He hums, slipping your hand into his to brush his thumb over your knuckles.

The touch sends sparks cascading over your skin, settling in your chest among the wild butterflies. You bite your lip to try and hold back a massive smile.

“You gonna ask me to dance, cowboy?” You tease.

A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.

Jasper makes a show of pretending to tip a hat, voice bright with amusement, “My apologies ma’am. I shouldn’t have kept you waitin’.”

“Mmm, I’ll forgive you,” you hum, biting back a laugh, “just this once, Mister Hale.”

“That’s very kind of you, darlin. Now, would you give me the pleasure of escortin’ you to the dance floor?”

“Why, of course.”

Jasper figures he’ll hold you up as you dance, or maybe spin you while you sit. Anything you want.

Except you do neither of those things. Instead, you gather every ounce of your strength, and shakily push yourself to your feet. Your wheelchair disappears (thank you Alice) and you stand there, all on your own.

After a few seconds, you’re certain that your legs won’t give out, and glance up at the blond expectantly.

Jasper stares back at you, eyes wide, brows arched. It almost looks like he’s forgotten to breathe, his whole body rigid. Shocked. Your grin finally breaks loose, so wide it makes your cheeks ache. Squeezing his hand, you take a tentative step closer. A little wobbly, but you stay standing. It’s only one step, but -

You’re walking.

In an instant, Jasper’s hands are cupping your face, and it’s only then you realize you’re crying. Tears race down around your smile and he’s quick to wipe them away, drawing you close so he can rest your foreheads together.

“My Lord, darlin-” He lets out a breathless laugh. “-you’re goin’ t’make this old man’s heart start again.”

You giggle, curling your arms around his neck, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Been a long time since I’ve been surprised.”

“But I did?”

“Yes, you certainly did.”

Jasper leans down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft, featherlight, and you feel like you’re floating. It’s perfect. Everything about it is perfect and so much better than you expected.

The vampire pulls back, just enough to whisper against your lips, “You’re amazin’ darlin. Absolutely amazin’.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you hum back, “Now, dance with me, cowboy.”

Your song comes on. The one you first danced with Jasper to in your kitchen, when he set you on his feet and held you close to support your weight. A knowing grin falls across his lips, his eyes creasing as he looks down at you.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Unlike that first time, you don’t have to stand on his feet. You don’t even have to clutch onto him to stay upright. Instead, you rest your hands on his shoulders, and Jasper traces his along your waist. The two of you move together slowly, perfectly.

By the end of it, you’re leaning against him, head tucked under his chin, just soaking in the feeling of his arms around you, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. Your legs are shaking, but you don’t care.

This is everything you could ever ask for.

---

I had fun writing this!! It came really clearly for me, though it ended up being a lot longer than I thought because I wanted to add so much exposition.

[oneforthemunny]

Older!eddie, reacting to hearing both his girls swear for the first time for the blurb request 🤭

i'm assuming you're talking about brielle and delilah, so that's what i did haha! a little parallel type blurb since i know the older!eddie crowd loves it lmao. tw: gina

Seventeen Years Before

"Brie, where ya at, Munchkin?" Eddie's sing-songy tone floated through the small home, over the hum of his boombox in the window.

"In here!" Brielle's little chirp of a tone came from the other room, where she was 'cleaning up', which really meant moving her toys from in front of the TV to the hall.

Gina was gone for the day, and Eddie felt sick at the fact that he was so relieved. They'd been going through a rough patch, endless fighting and bitter remarks behind the toddler's back. So when Eddie had the rare Sunday off, he encouraged Gina to go out with her friends, promising he'd take care of everything.

"Can you come in here, please?" Eddie craned his neck to try and look into the living room, hands still elbow deep in dish water. "I need some help in here. You wanna dry for me?" Really, he wanted to make sure she hadn't somehow found the magic markers, scribbling on the walls again.

"Yes!" Brielle shrieked in laughter, tiny footsteps bounding on the carpeted floor towards the kitchen.

Eddie's head whipped around at the crashing sound, a solid thud that shook the doorframe. Brielle looked up at Eddie from the doorway, hands on the ground, braced from her fall.

"Oh, shit." Eddie muttered, shaking his sudsy hands off, wiping them on his shirt. "Uh-oh. Did you fall?" He tried to keep his voice level. He had learned if he freaked, then she would too.

Brielle looked up, face contorting with a grimace that looked freakishly similar to Gina's. Eddie cringed, crouching in front of her. "Let me see." He picked her up gently, turning her hands over. "No scratches. You're good. All good." His tone lifted, standing with a groan, the toddler on his hip.

"Sit up here and help me dry. Can you do that for me?" Eddie asked, grabbing the rag from the drawer, handing it to Brielle. "Hold it with two hands, alright?"

Brielle's little legs swung on the counter, carefully wiping down each dish Eddie would hand her, his hand hovering over the bottom in case she dropped it.

Eddie turned for a moment, going to finish the stack of sippy cups he hadn't washed out yet. "Are you excited to go to Grandpa's in a few days?" He hummed, looking over at Brielle.

Her face lit up, squealing with excitement, legs kicking faster. "Yes!" She squeaked, arms flinging the towel, knocking over a cup. It toppled before tipping over the side, Eddie's soapy hand splashing out of the water, barely catching it before it crashed.

Brielle's wide eyes met his, matching rounded expressions. "Oh, shit?" Brielle repeated, her tone so adorably soft that Eddie almost thought he heard her wrong.

"What?" Eddie gaped.

"Oh, shit?" Brielle repeated, a slight lisp, the word unfamiliar to her. "It falled?"

"No, no, no," Eddie shook his head, setting the mug down. "Jesus, no, Brielle, look at me." He tried to even out his tone. It would've been funny- really fuckin' funny, actually- if he didn't think Gina might kill him over this. Throw it back in his face and prove her point that he was already not a good father, like she already loved to do.

"You can't say that word." Eddie shook his head. "That's a bad word. A really bad word."

Brielle frowned in confusion. "You says it." She tilted her head to the side.

"I know, and I shouldn't say it." Eddie shook his head. He didn't even realize he'd said it, that she'd heard it. "Look, that's not a good word, ok? And if you say it..." He hesitated.

"If you say that word, Santa doesn't come to visit you." Eddie said seriously. Brielle's face dropped, eyes widening in horror. She was finally old enough to realize the magic of Santa, that he'd bring her toys, all kinds of toys - too many toys, thanks to Santa Wayne who insisted on spoiling her.

"That's why Daddy doesn't get gifts from Santa, because I say bad words." Eddie wasn't entirely sure he should say that, sure parenting books would go against that, but still, he was desperate for her not to say it in front of Gina.

Brielle's face fell, crumbling with fear. "I-I didn't means too!" She wailed, more dramatics than real tears.

"I know, hey, it's ok. You didn't know. That was Daddy's fault." Eddie cringed; definitely not the best thing to do. "It's ok. Now you know, so just don't say it anymore ok?" By some miracle, Brielle managed to forget the word, or at least not say it in front of Gina, which Eddie was beyond thankful for. At least that was one thing she didn't have on him, couldn't throw back in his face and guilt him with.

Seventeen Years Later

"Ed!" You called, flinging through the racks of clothes in the closet. "Eddie! Did you make sure to pack her floaties?"

"Yes, honey." Eddie called back, dragging the next suitcase down the hall towards the front door. "I put two pairs in the beach bag."

"And sunscreen?" You leaned back, eyeing him from your place in the closet.

"Also in the beach bag." Eddie nodded.

"Uh, your sunscreen." You glared at him lightly. "You better make sure that SPF 70 is in there, Munson."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "It is." He grumbled, leaning on the doorframe of the closet, arms crossed over his chest. "Even if it's not, I'll be alright. Never used it before-"

"-And that's why you had to have that place cut off." You glared at him with finality. "Your derm told you to use that, so you better use it, Edward. I'll hold you down and spray it on you if I have to."

Eddie grinned, lines by his eyes crinkling gently. "Don't tempt me with a good time, bunny." He growled lowly, playfully pinching your ass.

You jumped, rolling your eyes at him lightly. "Lilah!" You yelled down the hall. "Do you have your tablet charged? It's a loooong ride, baby. Make sure you've got your charger."

"Okay!" The five year old called back. "I have it in my backpack!"

"Good. Can you bring your backpack here so Daddy can take it out to the car?" You nodded, looking over at Eddie. "Check her bag and make sure."

"I got it." Eddie nodded. "Relax, sweetheart. If we forget something, we'll just stop and get it when we get there."

"I know, I just hate that feeling. I feel like I'm forgetting something, and it's driving me fuc- crazy." You cut yourself off with a small smile, Delilah's bright backpack entering the room before she did. "Thank you, Lilah. Do you want to go potty before we leave one last time?"

Eddie unzipped the backpack, looking in it. "Hm, I don't see your ear phones. Did you pack them?"

"Oh, shit. I forgot." Delilah said flippantly, jumping off the bed. "I'll go get them!"

You and Eddie paused, stunned at the ease and the accuracy that she said. "Did she- you heard that too?" You whispered, eyes wide in shock.

Eddie's lips twitched, swallowing back a smirk. "Yeah." He snickered.

"Eddie!" You gasped. "Don't encourage that." Your own lips were curling, trying to keep your stern composure.

"I'm sorry! But you gotta admit, that's a little funny." Eddie laughed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"She used it correctly too." You rubbed your temples, swallowing back your own smile. "That's somehow worse."

Eddie giggled into his hands, ducking into the closet to compose himself. "Holy shit, never been prouder in my life." He laughed teasingly.

You smacked his shoulder lightly, lips pressed in a tight line. "You're so immature." You shook your head. "Wonder where she got it from." You glared at him lightly, sending him into another fit of giggles.

[fratttymatty]

Grown

(All characters are 18+)

Riley Grant had always been comfortable in his own skin. At 20, he was confident, passionate, and deeply rooted in his liberal values. He was a proud gay college student studying political science at a progressive university, spending his days debating everything from human rights to climate change. He had a close-knit group of friends, a boyfriend named Jonah, and a future filled with dreams of activism and social change.

But one day, everything changed.

It started innocuously enough. Riley had signed up for a strange elective called "Theories of Identity," a course that promised to delve into psychological and philosophical ideas about the self. The professor was eccentric—Dr. Jonathan Rivers was a tall man in his mid-50s with wiry glasses and a perpetual half-smile, as though he knew a secret the rest of the world was oblivious to.

One day, during a lecture on the nature of personal transformation, Dr. Rivers handed out strange, leather-bound journals to each student. "This," he said, "is an experiment. A test of your ability to reinvent yourself. To become someone else, entirely. This journal will guide you. Write in it, follow its instructions, and you might experience something... unexpected."

Riley, curious but skeptical, took the journal with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't one to believe in metaphysical mumbo-jumbo, but he liked the challenge. That evening, he opened the first page of the journal, where it instructed him to write about his deepest desire for personal change.

"I wish I could be more confident in my future," Riley wrote, his pen scratching across the paper. "I want to feel grounded, more sure of who I am, and find a place in the world that feels... stable."

It was a simple wish, something Riley had been pondering for a while. He didn’t expect much to come of it.

The next morning, Riley woke up feeling different. His usual morning routine—checking his phone, scrolling through social media, texting Jonah—felt strange, almost foreign. When he looked in the mirror, something was off. His face appeared… older. His jawline was sharper, his cheekbones more defined, and his eyes had a new hardness to them, as if they had seen more of the world than they should have for someone his age. He ran his hand through his hair and froze. His normally messy, untamed curls had been replaced with short, tousled waves that felt oddly natural.

But that wasn’t all.

Riley glanced at his phone, but when he read the notifications, a sense of unfamiliarity washed over him. Instead of messages from his college friends or Jonah, there were calls from people he didn’t recognize, reminding him of meetings, appointments, and a gym schedule. His inbox was filled with emails from work, and most disturbingly, there was an invitation to a family dinner later that evening.

Confused and unsettled, Riley stood up and stumbled out of his apartment to the bathroom. That’s when he noticed the changes in his body. His frame was broader, more muscular. He had the chest of someone who worked out regularly—and his arms were solid, like a boxer’s. He even felt a strange pull to the idea of boxing, something that had never crossed his mind before.

In a haze, Riley went to the living room to check the journals again, but they were gone. He only found his reflection staring back at him, a man he didn’t recognize.

The first few hours after his transformation were a blur. Ryan felt like he was waking up from a long dream, disoriented, his old identity slipping through his fingers like sand. Eventually, the reality settled in—he was no longer a college student with a boyfriend. He had a wife, kids, and a whole new set of beliefs.

When he checked his phone, he saw that his calendar was packed with meetings, family events, and even training sessions at the gym. Ryan glanced at a picture on the kitchen counter—there he was, smiling with a beautiful woman and three children in front of a well-kept house. The woman’s name was Jessica, and she was stunning, with long blonde hair, a radiant smile, and a grace that made Ryan’s chest swell with pride. His two sons, Ethan and Luke, both 18 were both healthy and active, always eager to play sports or spend time with their dad. And then there was Olivia, his sweet daughter who had Ryan wrapped around her finger.

Jessica was pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl, and Ryan couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of responsibility, a desire to protect and provide for them all. The future, once so uncertain for him as Riley, now felt crystal clear. It was his job to take care of his family, and nothing else mattered.

His phone buzzed again with a message from Jessica: “Can you pick up the boys from school? I have a doctor’s appointment today.”

Without thinking, Ryan grabbed his keys, changed into a comfortable hoodie and jeans, and headed out to the minivan. He noticed the way his hands gripped the wheel with confidence, the ease with which he navigated the streets. He was a man in control.

At the school, Ryan was greeted by a friendly teacher who called him “Mr. Grant” with a warmth that seemed so familiar. As he loaded the kids into the car, Ethan, the older son, turned to him with a grin.

“Hey, Dad, don’t forget—my first match is Saturday. You’re still coming, right?”

Ryan chuckled, ruffling Ethan’s hair. At 18, Ethan was already a towering figure, well on his way to becoming a star athlete. “You bet I am. Just try not to knock your opponent out too quickly, alright? You’ll leave me without much to watch.”

Ethan rolled his eyes playfully, but there was no mistaking the bond between them. Ethan was more than just his son—he was his teammate, his training partner, and his co-conspirator in the gym. Ryan had been coaching him in boxing for a while now, and it was one of their favourite activities.

Later that evening, as he sat down to dinner with Jessica and the kids, he noticed something else: his worldview had shifted. The conversations were different. He wasn’t debating politics with friends; he was talking about the importance of family, the value of hard work, and the role of faith in the home. He found himself nodding along to Jessica’s thoughts about raising children with good moral values and emphasizing respect for authority. It all felt right, the way life was supposed to be.

When the conversation turned to their growing family, Jessica smiled at him, her hand resting on her swollen belly. "Can you believe we're about to have two more? I think the twins are going to complete our family perfectly."

Ryan leaned over, kissing her on the cheek, and felt a deep sense of contentment. This was his life now. He was a man who was proud of his role as a father, someone who loved his country, his family, and his way of life. His new identity was firmly in place, and as he watched his children laugh and play, he realized he wouldn’t change a thing.

In the end, Riley Grant—the passionate, liberal, gay college student—was gone, replaced by Ryan Grant, a 36-year-old conservative father with a strong sense of duty and an unwavering commitment to his family. The transformation was complete.

Riley’s journals remained locked away, their purpose fulfilled. But for Ryan, life was just beginning. He had a beautiful wife, wonderful children—including a 18-year-old son with a promising future in sports—and a future he could be proud of. And as he laced up his boxing gloves that evening, ready to train for a fight—whether in the ring or in life—he knew one thing for sure: his new life was exactly what he had always been meant to have.

As the presidential election approached, Ryan could feel the weight of it hanging in the air. It wasn’t just about voting anymore; it was about the future—the future of his children, the future of his country. Ryan’s political transformation was complete, and it was clear where he stood. He had become a staunch supporter of the Republican Party, and this election was pivotal.

The conversation started over dinner one evening, as the family discussed their plans for Election Day. It was the first time in a long while that Ryan and Jessica had discussed politics with such intensity, and the shift in Ryan’s perspective was unmistakable.

“I’ve been reading a lot about the candidates,” Jessica said, her voice calm but firm. “It’s clear the Democratic Party has lost its way. Their policies are dangerous for our future—socialism, open borders, and government overreach. We need a leader who will make this country stronger, not weaker.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. The person he once was—the liberal Riley Grant—would have debated Jessica fiercely, maybe even argued for the Democratic Party’s platform. But now, with his focus on his family, his home, and his new sense of duty as a husband and father, his beliefs had aligned with the Republican Party in ways he hadn’t imagined.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ryan replied, his voice steady. “The Republican Party stands for the things that matter most to me now: personal responsibility, a strong economy, and making sure our kids grow up in a country that respects traditional values. The Democratic Party has pushed policies that are more about entitlement and less about the values that built this country.”

Ethan, their 18-year-old son, who had spent the last few months keeping up with the election, was quick to chime in. “I’ve been hearing a lot about the Republican Party at school, and I’ve been doing my own research too. I think the Republican Party is the right choice. They’re about securing our borders, strengthening the economy, and putting America first. I don’t want to live in a country where the government controls everything.”

Ryan couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride. Ethan wasn’t just agreeing with his father; he was forming his own opinions, thinking critically, and seeing the world in a way that reflected Ryan’s own values. It was a sign that Ryan and Jessica’s influence was already taking root in their kids.

“That’s exactly right, son,” Ryan said, looking at Ethan with approval. “This isn’t just about politics—it’s about making sure we have the freedom to live our lives without the government telling us how. The Democratic Party has been pushing all these policies that take away freedom and responsibility. The Republican Party understands that the best thing for this country is self-reliance and the strength of family.”

Luke, at 18 years old, was just like his twin, Ethan, listened intently. “So, we’re voting for the Republican Party, right, Dad?”

Ryan smiled at his youngest. “Yes, buddy. The Republican Party is the party that stands for what we believe in. They want to keep us safe, protect our rights, and make sure America stays strong.”

Olivia, also agreed, it was clear to Ryan that she was growing up in a household where their values were firmly rooted. This was the world he wanted for her—a world where she could grow up surrounded by the freedom to make her own choices, secure in the knowledge that her family was protected and valued.

On Election Day, the entire family gathered together in the living room, their eyes glued to the TV as the results began to roll in. The tension in the air was palpable, but Ryan was confident in his choice. He had voted for the Republican Party, knowing full well that the future of the country—and of his children—was at stake.

Jessica sat beside him, her hand resting gently on his knee, as they watched the numbers tick across the screen. “This is the future we’ve been working toward,” she said quietly. “It’s about securing a better world for our kids. A safer world, a stronger country.”

Ryan nodded, his chest swelling with pride as he looked around the room at his family—his beautiful, strong, and intelligent wife, his two sons, and his daughter who would grow up in this new world they were helping shape. It didn’t matter where he had come from, or who he had been before the transformation. The man he was now, the life they had built together, felt like the right path.

Ethan leaned forward, watching the election results unfold with a sense of excitement. “I really think the Republican Party is going to win. I just don’t see how the Democratic Party can push forward with everything they want. The country needs a strong leader.”

Ryan felt a deep satisfaction in his son’s words. It wasn’t just about the politics—it was about the way Ethan was embracing the values that Ryan now held dear: individual liberty, family, and national pride. Ethan was becoming the kind of young man Ryan had always hoped to raise.

“I think you’re right,” Ryan said. “This country needs a leader who understands the importance of tradition, of family, and of putting America first. I’m proud of us for making the right choice.”

As the night wore on and the election results became clearer, Ryan knew without a doubt that he had made the right decision. His world had changed—he had changed—and in this new life, the Republican Party was not just a political choice. It was a way of life.

Jessica smiled, squeezing his hand as the final votes were tallied. “We did it, Ryan. This is the future we’ve worked for.”

Ryan looked at his family—his wife, his children—and felt an overwhelming sense of pride. They were safe. They were strong. And they were ready for whatever came next.

[todorokis-girl]

Welcome to the Stone Age - Senku Ishigami x f!Reader

I’m trying something new. My boyfriend recently got me into Dr. Stone and while I’m not a HUGE fan, this premise just seemed so sweet! I HAD to write it.

Masterlist

The world was dark and silent, a deep, timeless void. She floated in it, suspended, unaware of the passing moments, months, or perhaps even years. There was no concept of time here, only an endless sleep.

But then, as if pulled from the depths of an abyss, a flicker of consciousness stirred within her. She felt a strange warmth, a sensation she hadn’t known for so long. Her body began to tingle, an unfamiliar but comforting sensation spreading through her limbs.

Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. Blinding light flooded her vision, and she squinted against it, her heart pounding in confusion and fear. The world around her was hazy and indistinct, shapes and colors blending into a chaotic swirl.

She sat up abruptly, gasping for breath, her chest heaving as if she had been underwater for too long. The disorientation was overwhelming. Where was she? How long had she been asleep? Panic clawed at her throat as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings.

And then, through the fog of her bewilderment, she saw it—a familiar grin, wide and mischievous, hovering above her.

“Nice to see you again, Y/N,” a voice said, its tone light and teasing.

Her eyes widened in shock, the voice pulling her back from the brink of hysteria. She knew that voice, that grin. It was impossible, but there he was, as real as the ground beneath her.

“Senku?” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

His grin widened, and he gave a small nod. “In the flesh.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision once more. She blinked them away, unable to believe what she was seeing. The last thing she remembered was a world turned to stone, an unending nightmare. And now, here he was, standing before her, unchanged, as if no time had passed at all.

“How...?” she began, but the words caught in her throat.

Senku stepped closer, his expression softening. “It’s a long story,” he said gently, “but we’ve got all the time in the world now.”

He reached out a hand, and she took it, feeling the solid, reassuring warmth of his touch. For the first time since waking, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. She wasn’t alone anymore.

Her mind drifted back, memories flooding in as she recalled their past. They had met in a high school science competition, she remembered, the smell of chemicals and the hum of electricity vivid in her mind.

The auditorium was packed with eager students and stern-faced judges, all gathered to witness the brightest young minds showcase their scientific prowess. Y/N stood by her project, heart pounding with anticipation. She had worked tirelessly, hoping this time she would finally beat him.

But then, there he was. Senku, with his wild hair and confident smirk, presenting his project with an ease that belied the complexity of his work. The judges were captivated, and she could feel her chances slipping away.

When the results were announced, she wasn’t surprised. Senku had taken first place again, and she, as always, was second. The scholarship she so desperately needed to stay at her school slipped through her fingers.

Defeated, she ended up transferring to Senku’s school, her dreams of a full-ride scholarship shattered. But over the years, as they faced off in competition after competition, a strange camaraderie developed between them. Outside of the fierce rivalry, they found common ground, spending countless hours discussing theories and experiments.

They were frenemies in the truest sense. During competition season, they were fierce adversaries, each determined to outdo the other. But outside of that, they were almost inseparable, bound by a mutual respect and understanding that few others could grasp.

As she looked at Senku now, she couldn’t help but smile through her tears. Despite everything, he was still here, and so was she. They had faced the end of the world and come out the other side.

“Tell me everything,” she said, her voice steadier now, filled with the same determination that had driven her all those years.

Senku’s grin softened into a genuine smile. “I will. But first, welcome back, Y/N.”

He helped her to her feet, and she looked around, taking in her surroundings. They were in a village, rustic but bustling with activity. People were working together, some tending to crops, others crafting tools. It was a scene from another era, yet there was an undercurrent of something more—something scientific.

As Senku guided her through the village, curious eyes followed them. Whispers spread quickly, and soon a small crowd had gathered.

“This is Y/N,” Senku announced to the villagers. “She’s a brilliant scientist and was my equal back in our time. She’ll be helping us with the science of everything.”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. Y/N felt a mix of emotions—pride, determination, and a renewed sense of purpose. She met the villagers' gazes, seeing curiosity and hope reflected in their eyes.

A young girl with bright eyes stepped forward. “Is it true you’re as smart as Senku?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “I’d like to think so,” she replied, glancing at Senku with a playful challenge in her eyes. “We’ve always pushed each other to be better.”

Senku chuckled. “That’s right. And now, with Y/N here, we can achieve even more.”

One by one, the villagers introduced themselves. There was Kohaku, the fierce warrior with a heart of gold; Chrome, the self-taught sorcerer-scientist who looked at her with awe and curiosity; and Gen, the mentalist with a sharp mind and a knack for persuasion.

Each introduction filled Y/N with a sense of belonging she hadn’t realized she missed. These people had built something incredible out of nothing, and she was eager to be a part of it.

After the introductions, Senku led her to a small hut filled with makeshift lab equipment. “This is our science lab,” he said, pride evident in his voice. “We’ve made a lot of progress, but there’s so much more to do.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the sight. It was a far cry from the state-of-the-art labs they had once known, but it held promise and potential. She could already see the possibilities, the advancements they could make together.

“Where do we start?” she asked, rolling up her sleeves.

Senku’s grin widened. “I knew you’d say that. First, let me catch you up on everything we’ve done so far. Then, we can start brainstorming how to take things to the next level.”

As they delved into their work, exchanging ideas and theories, Y/N felt a sense of exhilaration she hadn’t felt in a long time. The world had changed, but her passion for science had only grown stronger. And with Senku by her side, she knew they could achieve anything.

Their journey was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.

As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the village, Y/N looked around at her new home. She felt a deep sense of gratitude and determination. The future was uncertain, but with these people, with Senku, she was ready to face it.

After the villagers dispersed, Senku led her to the edge of the village, where a small, secluded clearing offered a perfect view of the sunset. They sat side by side, the silence between them comfortable yet charged with unspoken words. The sky shifted through hues of orange and pink, casting a serene atmosphere over the scene.

Y/N's mind wandered back to the time before the petrification event. She remembered the countless nights they spent working late in the lab, the friendly banter and heated debates. Beneath their rivalry, she had felt something more—a growing affection that she had never dared to acknowledge. Senku was brilliant, driven, and endlessly fascinating. She had admired him, respected him, and, in quieter moments, wondered if he saw her the same way.

She glanced at Senku, who was gazing thoughtfully at the horizon. His profile was softened by the fading light, and she felt a pang of longing. The world had changed, but her heart had not. Her thoughts drifted back to specific moments that had cemented her feelings for him.

It was late one night, the lab quiet except for the hum of machinery. They were the only ones left, working on their respective projects. Y/N had been struggling with a particularly stubborn equation when Senku appeared at her side, peering over her shoulder.

"You're making it more complicated than it needs to be," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

She frowned, frustration bubbling up. "Oh, really? Then why don't you enlighten me, Mr. Genius?"

He smirked, taking the pen from her hand and quickly scribbling out a simplified version of the equation. She watched in awe as the solution unfolded effortlessly under his skilled hand.

"See?" he said, handing the pen back to her. "Sometimes the simplest answer is the right one."

She had been too proud to admit it then, but she had been grateful. It was moments like these—where his brilliance shone through effortlessly—that her admiration for him deepened into something more.

Another memory surfaced, this one filled with a softer, more intimate light. They were at a school science fair, the air buzzing with excitement and competition. Y/N had just finished presenting her project when Senku approached her, holding two cups of coffee.

"Truce?" he said, offering her one.

She accepted with a wary smile. "For now."

They had found a quiet corner and talked for hours, sharing their dreams and ambitions. It was the first time she saw past his competitive exterior to the passionate, dedicated person underneath. She realized then how much they had in common, how their dreams were interwoven with the same threads of curiosity and discovery.

As she looked at Senku now, illuminated by the fading light, those old feelings stirred within her. She had missed him more than she realized. The world had changed, but her heart had not.

“Senku,” she began softly, breaking the silence, “before everything happened, there was something I never got to tell you.”

He turned to her, curiosity in his eyes. “What’s that?”

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Do you remember all those nights in the lab? The science fairs? The competitions?”

He nodded, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Of course. Those were some of the best times.”

“I always admired you,” she continued, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “More than that, actually. I—” She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. “I think I had feelings for you. I don’t know if it was obvious, but I wanted you to know.”

For a moment, Senku was silent, his expression unreadable. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, uncertainty gnawing at her. Then, he gave a small, almost shy smile.

“You always kept me on my toes, Y/N. You were the one person who could challenge me, push me to be better. I respected you for that, admired you.”

Her heart swelled with hope, and she leaned a bit closer. “And now?”

He looked at her, his gaze intense and sincere. “Now, I still feel the same. Maybe even more so, knowing everything we’ve been through. We’re a team, Y/N. We always have been, even when we were rivals.”

She smiled, tears of relief and joy welling up in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that, Senku. I’ve missed you.”

He reached out and took her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’ve missed you too. And now, we’re going to build a new world together.”

As they sat there, hand in hand, watching the sun dip below the horizon, Y/N felt a profound sense of peace. The world was different, but some things hadn’t changed. Her feelings for Senku were as strong as ever, and now, there was nothing holding them back.

They had a long road ahead of them, full of challenges and discoveries. But for the first time, they would face it together, not as rivals, but as partners in every sense of the word.

The night deepened, and the stars began to appear, twinkling above them like countless possibilities. Y/N leaned her head on Senku’s shoulder, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek.

They sat in comfortable silence, the future stretching out before them. Whatever came next, they would face it side by side, with the strength of their minds and the bond of their hearts.

And for Y/N, that was more than enough.

[ragingbookdragon]

There’s not much to see in between the minute slits of the burlap sack thrown over her head, but she still strains to see anything and everything that she possibly can. The men holding onto her arms dig their fingers into her arm, a bruising grip that is in part her fault as continually digs her feet into the ground and struggles with something fierce. Ghost is behind her, can feel it, even if he hasn’t said a single word. She on the other hand hasn’t stopped spitting fire every chance she gets, venomous threats and cold warnings.

It’s only until she’s shoved down onto a seat, arms tied behind her back with her legs bound too that the hood is harshly yanked off and she shuts her eyes at the bright light above her, much like driving on the road at night and being blinded by powerful LEDs. As her vision clears, she sees the captors who’d managed to get the jump on her and in turn, capture Ghost as well, and he’s in the same position as she is, but there’s definitely more rope around him than there is her. She snarls at them when they come close, baring her teeth in a way that says, “touch me and lose a finger.”

“What do you want from us?” she gripes, voice devoid of any emotion but annoyance.

“Answers,” the leader asks. “You know where the resistance is hiding out.”

The second one crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell us where their headquarters are.”

She spits down at their feet. “Suck my dick.” A moment, a pause before a backhand sends her careening to the side, chair tipping slightly and she growls, turning back to face him with blood dripping down her split lip; she licks it, the wound stings but it burns in a way she likes. “Your dad hit me harder than that last night,” she cracks back, and the man grabs at her chin, hauling her upright until they’re nose to nose.

“I will make you scream in ways you’ve never imagined.”

“That’s what I told your mom before I—”

His other hand reaches for her combat vest, and she thrashes as he undoes it and yanks it open; he’s centimeters from the thin tank top she wears and only then does Ghost make a single noise, the scraping of a chair, fingers clenching white on the arm rest as he snarls, “Touch her and I’ll fucking smear the goddamn walls with you.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a fucking warning. One not to be ignored.

The man pauses, looks to the side, sees Ghost’s golden eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His breathing isn’t labored. It’s calm. Deadly calm. And the man, taking in the sunken nose of Ghost’s full-face mask, the raised skeletal plates, decides perhaps this isn’t a fight he really wants neither then nor later.

He lets her go and she sinks back into her chair, but Ghost’s eyes don’t leave the man even as he slinks behind his commander. The ropes at his wrists strain under Ghost’s flexing forearms and she hums low in her throat.

“Easy,” she murmurs. “Not here.”

This time Ghost eyes both of the enemy captors, and he answers, a barely-contained, seething rage in his chest and out of his throat, “I’ll fucking kill any bastard that touches what’s mine.” He snarls beneath the mask, and she feels it deep in her chest, the sound reverberating through her. “I’ll fucking rip your guts out through your back. Touch her again. I dare you.”

This time, even the commander shifts nervously on his feet, and he clears his throat in an exaggerated fashion to ease whatever fear is ebbing in his stomach as he turns to the second and says, “We’ll come back with more questions.”

“Don’t keep us waiting long,” she retorts, watching them leave and as the door shuts and locks, she reaches out, brushing her fingers against Ghost’s knuckle and all at once, he relaxes his grip. “Easy, Simon,” she calms, and he lets out a single deep breath.

“I don’t like people touching you.”

“You can’t kill everyone who does,” she jokes, and he looks over at her, his eyes glinting in the light, a solid ring of gold around a deep pit of a void; her throat dries up at the beastly hunger in them, but no fear is in her heart, in fact, quite the opposite.

“I’m the only one allowed to fucking touch you.” He looks down at the silver necklace on her chest. “You’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.”

She swallows thickly, the S dangling at the apex of her throat feeling like a branding, but it doesn’t hurt, she loves the burn, craves it, wants to drown in it—in him. “Yeah, Simon,” she breathes, heart pounding in her chest. “I’m all yours.”

[everylastbird]

I've been thinking of a soulmates style au wherein hualian discover they are soulmates after XL saves HC as a child.

In this AU meeting your soulmate is incredibly rare and very auspicious, so even though HC is a commoner he is recognized as XL's future spouse and taken into the care of the royal family, but sequestered away from XL to maintain decorum. They see each other now and again, and interact during events and gatherings, but otherwise are kept separated. HC is delighted and pines and generally dreams of the day he gets to officially marry XL and be his wife.

(I like to personally use the term 'wife' in danmei specifically to mean 'the spouse that marries into the home of the other', so as he is marrying into XL's home, he would be the bride in this scenario.)

XL ascends, as in canon. Unlike in canon, when a soulmate ascends, so too does your soulmate, and HC ascends with XL.

XL also descends and falls from godhood, as in canon. Ever so magnanimous, JW ~kindly~ allows HC to stay in heaven upon XL's request, as HC didn't break any rules. HC is, however, bound to the heavens, unable to descend to seek out XL.

Centuries pass, and HC becomes known as a God of constancy, faithfulness, and marriage. He is regarded with both awe and pity. Poor HC, who remains loyal to a faithless god of misfortune. Isn't it incredible, how much he is willing and able to endure to uphold the sanctity of his marriage vows? He has a large faction of worshippers, mostly brides and wives in arranged, unhappy marriages, who pray to him for strength.

Few, if any, remember that Xianle fell before HC had the chance to marry XL. That all this time he has remained steadfast and true to his fiancé, rather than his husband. The gods that do look upon him with scorn and judgment. No one expects him to remain loyal to the likes of XL, so who does he think he is putting on this show for?

It doesn't matter what those gods, or even what his worshippers think of him, however. HC is loyal to XL out of love, and devotion. He is not suffering out of obligation. His only pain is that felt by his fiancé, and the pain of separation forced upon him.

And despite what the gods and his worshippers assume, he is not a long-suffering bride who sits and pines for his beloved. While he yearns for the day he can reunite with XL, HC spends his time playing the long-con. After all, is the keeping of house and home not one of the primary roles of any good wife? And the heavens are so steeped in filth. Certainly not worthy of his husband to be.

As for XL, he strives and toils to regain his godhood under the weight of his lost worshippers and the scorn of the gods who once praised him.

More than that, he worries, often, about HC, and his misplaced loyalty. Every now and then XL hears another tale of HC's endless, unshakeable loyalty, but with those tales also come stories of that devotion being nothing more than a shackle. Nothing is ever said of HC's love for his husband, or HC's happiness, only his impressive endurance in the face of obligation to a worthless husband. XL fears that HC is little more than a long suffering would-be bride, held back by XL's mistakes and the fate that bound them together without either of their say.

So XL does his best to regain his godhood, so that he may re-enter heaven and finally free HC from himself for good.

When, after 800 years, XL finally ascends once again, nothing is as he had expected it to be. There is a crowd, but no one is casting judgment or disparaging him. Instead, it seems as though he has ascended amidst the start of a lavish celebration.

As XL stands amidst a sea of joyful revelry, a procession slowly makes its way towards him, and at its end, a bridal sedan.

When the sedan stops before him and a hand moves aside its curtain, XL reaches out to grasp it without thinking. Gently, he leads the bride off of the sedan and onto solid ground.

XL looks up at a veil of opaque crimson silk. He cannot see the face behind it, does not even know, after all this time, what HC would even look like... But in this moment he knows, unquestionably, that this is not just any bride, but his bride.

Part of XL recalls that one of his main reasons to rise to godhood again was to let HC go, to finally allow him freedom from the weight of being tethered to someone like XL. And yet, any thoughts of breaking his vows to HC dry up in his mouth. He has thought of so many ways to say it, so many ways to cut HC loose of him without bringing HC any more pain, but he cannot bring himself to say any of them.

The hand in his grasp turns, and laces their fingers together. His bride's hand is strong, XL observes as though from a distance, unflinching and sure.

"Hello, gege," HC says. His voice is deeper than XL remembers, richer and more vibrant than anything he has experienced for decades, if not centuries. 

"Ah, San Lang, I'm sorry, " he manages to force out through his shock. His laugh is pitchy and uneven even to his own ears. "I'm afraid I'm not quite prepared...!"

"It's okay, gege." A thumb carasses his knuckles tenderly, and XL's throat tightens. "I already have everything ready for us."

[delopsia]

Springsteen | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 5,100 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, (Note the Reader does wear a dress!) unprotected sex, dancing, sex against the hood of Rhett's truck, mentions of Rich!Reader, wearing Rhett's jacket <3. This is best enjoyed with a listen of Springsteen by Eric Church, but you're welcome to imagine any song you'd want. Brief Summary: Dancing to the radio with Rhett gets heated a little bit too easily.

"Go, go, go!" 

"I'm going, I'm going!" You squeal, damn near jumping off that last stair. Water splattering beneath your feet as you tear through the gravel driveway. Led along by the hand that's caught your wrist in an iron grip. 

Wind catches beneath the ends of your dress, blowing it up past your knees as you run. The kind of brazing breeze that sends you knocking into Rhett's much warmer side, clumsily clinging to his side. Limbs painfully knock together, shoulders and elbows not coordinated enough for such a thing, but he's getting his arm around you and cinching your body into his, and it's almost enough to ward off the bite of late autumn. 

"Told ya t' get a jacket!" Rhett sputters, but he hasn't a problem with having you this close. Even if that does mean your ankles are hopelessly tangling. Can't slow down out of fear of that front door opening and the sound of your name serenading through the air as you're summoned back inside, but can't speed up because someone is bound to trip. 

"You said the wind wasn't that bad!" Your retort is rewarded with a patch of loose gravel sliding out from beneath you, nearly sends you careening into the ground as you turn. 

"Yeah, if you got somethin' more than a dress on!" It's the singular, distant barn light that lets you catch a glimpse of his grin, couples so wonderfully with his wild blue eyes, untamed and free, like that of the herd of mustangs who roam the outskirts of town. 

For a moment, time stops. 

It's just you and Rhett in this big, cold world. Seconds away from disappearing from the sights of anyone who may be peeking out the house windows. Hidden in a dimly lit room, just the two of you, for as long as you want. 

Until his shoulder clips his truck mirror. 

"Shit—!" He's already biting into the side of his meaty palm, gaze darting toward the house, where a hundred ears could have heard him. 

But you doubt anyone would come out here, even if they did hear him. 

Slipping out from his side is the worst thing you could ever do because the chilly air nips at your skin, even in the safety of the barn, but being cold will have to wait. Too busy looking over to see if he's broken his mirror or, worse, cut himself open.

"'m alright," somehow, you already knew he was going to say that.

And now here you are, shivering in front of his broad frame, struggling for words. Of course, he's alright; a man who works on a cattle ranch has worse injuries than a shoulder bumped into a truck mirror. Falling off his horse, cattle trying to run him over, bull horns getting jabbed into soft flesh.

His deep chuckle dances through the air. Effectively snatching and running away with every single one of your thoughts. "You're cute when you're worried 'bout me,"  his hand rises to push his hat further up on his head. Makes it a little easier for him to lean in, bumping your noses together, "Y' know that?" 

It's a little bit too easy to reach up, smoothing your hand up his body, feeling the gentle swell of his broad chest and the solid ridges of his collarbones, all on your way to curl your fingers around the back of his neck. You hardly have to pull him in. The slightest pressure, and he's stepping forward to close the gap. 

Rough stubble scratches your chin as his lips meet with yours. Chapped and bitten to the brink of bleeding, but just as familiar as three nights ago. Slower than the last time, no longer fueled by the crippling frenzy of desperation to feel each other and excitement over finding a stolen moment. No rush as Rhett's arms curl around your waist, drawing you in until your chests bump together. 

"Y' weren't kiddin' 'bout bein' cold, were you," he observes aloud, voice rumbling against your lips. Big hands smooth up and down the back of your dress, like he's trying to create a semblance of heat there.

Delicate, he pulls you in. Closer this time. Where your arms can coil around his shoulders, and your frigid nose fits into the scruffy underside of his jaw. For a man who's always complaining about being cold, he sure is warm. The chest against yours feels warmer than the fireplace you were idling in front of earlier, entertaining small talk with some boy in a gaudy blazer that he spent far too much on. 

His head tilts, nose bumping into your temple as he nuzzles into you, "'s this better?"

"I hope you plan on gluing yourself to me, cowboy," because you're not letting him go until spring comes back around. 

Or at least, not until the frost melts from the joints of your fingers and the tip of your nose doesn't feel so numb. 

"Wouldn't mind that," he's pausing to press a kiss to your forehead, then another, can never seem to get enough, "not sure if you'd like bein' out at dawn, chasin' cows through rain n' snow though."

"Who said I'd give you back to your folks?" You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes roll. Both of you know that Royal will come kicking the door in if his youngest isn't at work bright and early, busting his ass for a job that pays less than minimum wage because he's family, but it's fun to imagine. 

Just one week alone, in a cozy home, cuddling through movies and bickering as you try to put a dinner together, uninterrupted by the responsibilities of life. It's all you ask for. 

Rhett's shoulders shift as he shrugs out of his coat. Unveiling that slightly-too-tight flannel that shrunk in the washer a few Sundays ago, sleeves clinging to the curve of his biceps like they're being paid to do it. Such a fascinating sight that you hardly notice the sudden warmth wrapping around you. 

"But now you're gonna be cold," your protest is weak, thwarted by the flutter of butterflies in your belly. His coat is so warm, fitting around your shoulders just right, and freshly scented with his favorite cologne—the woodsy one with the scent of autumn crammed into a bottle. 

"'s alright," it may be dim in this barn, but it's so easy to catch the way his cheeks have flushed pink, a little too eager to see you in his jacket. "I got somethin' that'll warm us up."

Before you can even begin to ask what that could be, he's stepping off toward his truck. Hinges squeal as he opens the driver-side door, one of its many, many signs of age. It's a miracle the old thing even runs, considering its rough life as a ranch truck. Still clinging to its last bits of life, too stubborn to go just yet.

"I found this at a yard sale the other day," Rhett grunts, lifting something gray out of the passenger seat. Square, with a big antenna that reminds you of...

"How is a radio gonna keep us warm?" Your head tilts to the side, since when did he own a radio, anyway? 

"You'll see." There's a long, dangling cord that Rhett's coiling in his free hand as he hauls it over to the outlet. The one on the workbench you've been using as home to your laptop as of late, where the Wi-Fi connection is the weakest. A small price to pay to watch movies together without needing to worry about sneaking into each other's homes. 

"Only downside is, the damn thing ate my Eric Church CD," the end of his sentence disrupted by his own laughter, "'s what I get for buyin' yard sale radios." 

As he says that, the radio flickers to life, the coarse sound of static rumbling through the air as he fumbles with the buttons. A little unfamiliar with the layout of this old machine, dented and splattered in hot pink paint. 

Music erupts from the speakers. Looping through the same three seconds of a lyric that you can't quite hear. Then dies into silence just as quickly. A familiar song wavers through the air, growing louder as Rhett messes with the dial. 

You still don't get what he's on about. "Springsteen?" How is an Eric Church song going to warm you two up? Catch fire? 

The track loops, the intro catching on a new scratch in the CD. You've heard him play this CD enough times to know it's never skipped in this song until now. 

But then Rhett's holding his hand out, grin so wide that his eyes curl with it, "c'mon," he breathes, his voice light as an autumn leaf, "dance with me."

You know better than anyone that Rhett Abbott cannot dance. Yet, you're slipping your palm into his, letting him sweep you into a lazy spin that flares out the ends of your dress. Your silhouette picture perfect on the barn floor as the song finally starts to play.

"This is your idea of warming up, huh?" You giggle, accidentally stepping nose to nose with each other, then stepping a bit too far apart. Eager to be close but afraid to step on each other's toes. Carefully turning and moving with no real rhythm, just doing whatever feels right in that given second. 

"Remembered that video y' sent me, 'bout that couple dancin' n' all," funny, how he remembers that because you can hardly recall when you sent it to him. What other ideas has he been storing up in that pretty head of his? "Couldn't figure out how t' get a beach in a barn."

Now you're finding your pacing, something slow that lets him nudge your foreheads together. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders like they belong there. The ruggedness of his jacket an uncanny contrast against the soft, delicate material of your dress. A mashing of two styles that would send many of your visitors into a tizzy. But God, it's so warm. Like a  second Rhett, curled around your body to keep you safe from the nip of the wind. 

It's no romantic sunset dance on a white sand beach, but it's better than it has any right to be. Because your bodies bump together with all the clumsiness of two people who don't know what they're doing, and you're starting to drift across the barn, but it's you, and it's him, and it's so...

Enchanting. Perfect. A daydream that has slipped from your head and into the thin blanket of reality. The kind of scene that can be shoved into a snow globe and sold to every tourist who wanders into Wabang.

"Thinkin 'bout somethin'?" He asks, but those eyes suggest he can hear the gears turning in your head, just might be able to read all the wandering thoughts floating past.

"Wondering what they'd say if someone walked in on us, right now," the wayward wondering slips right past your lips, unable to be held back. 

Humming, Rhett's head tilts, "s'pose someone would faint," he says, with all the confidence of a man who has seen it happen before, "can't have the big, bad cowboy muddyin' up the prettiest thing in town, now can they?"

"Something tells me you'd enjoy that," you can already see it, the devilish grin as everyone at the party realizes that you're taken after all. Heart stolen by the bull rider they see every Sunday at the rodeo. 

"If it means showin' everyone who ya belong to, then—" spurs clank together. One moment, he's there. The next he's gone. Hat bouncing off his head as his ass meets the concrete barn floor. Mere inches away from the start of the gravel driveway.

Big blue eyes blink up at you. Cheeks flushing with crimson as he braces his palms on the ground behind him, leaning back like he meant to do that all along. 

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Struggling to speak around your grin, you bend to pick up his hat by the crown. 

Rhett's silent. Mouth agape as he continues to blink at you, gaze akin to that of a baby deer. And maybe he would be able to talk if you weren't setting his hat atop your head. Have to be careful, it's so big that it'll fall over your eyes if you move too quickly. 

But it stays in place, even as you kneel, settling into his open lap. Knees straddling his hips, nose to nose once more. "Showing everyone who I belong to, hm?" 

This. This is what you've been missing. The awkward wobble of Rhett's bottom lip as he struggles for words. Overtaken by the sight of you in his clothes, the soft fingers caressing his jaw, and the hand delving into his messy hair. So confident until he's not.

"Uhuh," he breathes, dumbly. 

You don't know who moves first. If it's you who dives down or if it's him surging up, but your lips are meeting, and that stupid Eric Church CD is beginning to skip around again. The glitchy repetition of the song an illustration of the way your brain shorts out, set off by the arms circling around you. 

Kissing him before was soft, delicate. This one...this kiss is something warmer. A lick of a flame that you recognize all too well, the kind that promises more to come. His hands roaming beneath his jacket and up your back, the scruff of his jaw tickling your chin. Maybe it's the cold that makes you cling to him, maybe it's the way your head is starting to spin, you cant say for sure, but you can't get close enough. 

His soft mouth glides against your own, groans at the way you nip at his lower lip. He knows what you want. You know what you want. And yet, you're surprised by the way his tongue darts out to lap at yours, a bolt of electricity firing down your spine. Sloppily tangling, spit slicking your lips, parting just for the sake of meeting each other again. 

Strong hips roll upward, growing bulge nudging between your legs. The rough material of his jeans a wicked sensation against your core. 

Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, drawing it between your bodies. And for a moment, you part, panting for a breath you can't catch, eager to focus on his handsome face as you guide him beneath your dress.

His eyelashes flutter. Rough fingertips dip between your dripping folds. "How long you ain't had those on?" 

"Since you texted and said you were coming to get me," and there's more to that statement of yours. Ramblings about how you'd intended to part your legs and give him a view when he was flagging you down through the window. But he's bringing his glistening fingers to his lips, and your brain has effectively gone silent.

All of a sudden, it's too hot in this jacket of his. The wind isn't chilly enough to bite back the wildfire blazing across your skin. 

Everything moves so fast. One moment, you're in his lap, and the next, your chest is against the hood of his truck, knees knocking together as his calloused palms slide up your inner thighs. Feeling their way up to the curve of your ass, squeezing greedy handfuls. 

"Fuckin look at you," he hisses under his breath, and you just know he's leaning back to capture the full picture. 

Impatient, you wiggle back into him, whining, "hurry up."  

Rhett doesn't need to be told twice. Gaudy, oversized belt buckle jingling as he pops it open and yanks down his zipper. Music to your ears, even with the jumpy radio still droning in the background. That poor CD is so close to reaching its final resting place, but it's not quite there yet.

A familiar hardness nudges between your thighs. So hot against your chilly thighs that it almost burns. His leaking tip slips through your folds, rubbing past your entrance in favor of grazing your clit. A perfect glide that has you biting into the side of your palm to keep quiet. Only sickened by the packet of lube he's pouring onto himself, using your cunt to spread it across himself. Lazily fucking himself against your sex without much effort. 

"Can't believe you're out here lettin' me do this," he grunts, blunt head catching, beginning to nudge into you, "what're ya fixin' to do if one of them folks comes lookin' for ya, hm?"

Blunt nails trail up your exposed thighs, a light tickling that has you unintentionally jerking back against him, that thick tip slipping into you without warning. So suddenly full of him that you gasp, head dropping down to rest against your forearms. 

Rhett's still talking, eating away the silence as he takes hold of your hips, holding you still while he pushes into you. "What're ya gonna do if you get caught with a ranch hand balls deep in your sweet lil pussy?" 

"And how do you plan on dealing with the whole town knowing about your sex life?" Your voice strained, wound too tight by the thick length that's splitting you oh so wide. Don't think you'll ever grow used to how he drags against your walls, such a simple sensation that sends a tremor into your legs. 

"Don't mind it," inhaling sharply through his nose, Rhett bends down, his warm chest pressing against your shoulders, "long as they know you're mine."

Kisses pepper against the side of your neck, where a thin sheen of sweat has already begun to collect. A vague distraction from the way his hips press against your ass, skin flush together. You've taken him to the hilt, can barely understand how you've done so, and yet he's still pushing impossibly deeper. Urging every last millimeter of his cock into you, just to hear you grunt, your hand pawing at the slick hood of his truck.

"Rhett..." you whisper, aren't quite sure if it's meant to be a warning or a whimper. Maybe both.

"Y' can take it," his breath tickles your skin as his nose bumps its way up your neck, not stopping until he can graze his teeth against the shell of your ear, "know ya can, sweetheart."

In the back of your head, you know he's right; you've done this more times than you can count, but every time, you can't help but wonder if it'll be your last. Split wide open on his cock, until you're aching from the stretch of him, so full that you can focus on nothing else. 

You've never been so thankful to be pressed up against the hood of a GMC Sierra, the cool metal a welcome relief to your overheated cheek. Makes it a little easier to look over your shoulder to steal a glance at your cowboy with his half-unbuttoned shirt and half-lidded eyes. 

With a deep breath, you open your mouth again, "move." 

A breathy laugh fans out against your ear, so amused by your request and so eager to fulfill it. A gust of wind breezes past as he gingerly draws his hips away. Cock sliding out of you a little under halfway, only to ease back in with the same carefulness as the first time. 

His balls bump against your clit on his next push inward. A soft tap of attention that has you squirming back into him, fluttering around his cock like a butterfly. And you know he can feel it because he sucks in an audible breath, the only thing he can do to keep himself from swearing out loud. Twitches into you a little too hard, rocking your body up against the truck, balls slapping against that throbbing little button again and—

A whimper tears its way out of your throat. 

"Like that?" Rhett's leaning back, big hands settling on either side of your hips like a warning, "y' wantin' me to be rough with you, darlin'?"

You don't know what you want. So long as he keeps doing this. Working up a pace that rocks your bodies into the truck, the only noises in the air are the soft patter of skin on skin, the gravel shifting beneath your feet, and the soft grunts falling off Rhett's tongue. Barely there noises meant for your ears only.

"Wish you could see yourself," Rhett's muttering, his free hand smoothing across your exposed backside and beneath your dress, feeling its way up your spine, "pr'ty lil ass in the moonlight like this."

Those wicked hips slam into your ass, pushing you forward and up onto your tip-toes; metal squeals as your clammy palms scramble across the truck's hood, searching for purchase. 

"Rhett!" You all but yelp. Can't do a goddamn thing but take every bit of him, spasming around him as he drives right into that little bundle of nerves, plush tip kissing it on every pass over. 

There's no way someone won't hear you if they open the front door. Will recognize the rocking of the truck and know exactly what it is that you're up to. Bending over for your beloved ranch hand instead of getting close with one of the Tillersons or their equally well-off associates. Desperate for the devilish smack of Rhett's balls against your clit, can no longer think of the elusive opportunities that come with pretending to like someone with more money than the entirety of Wabang combined. 

All you can think of is this. The sensation of Rhett's unshaven jaw grazing against your collar as he bends down to press warm kisses to the underside of your jaw. How your dripping sex squelches with his every thrust. 

"Lookin' so innocent in your little party dress," Rhett's murmuring into your ear, him and his dizzyingly deep voice. So up close and all over that he floods your senses, mind cluttered with Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. "Gettin' roughed up by a cowboy while all them snobs in there wonder where you're at." 

You fear you've forgotten how to speak because your lips are moving, but nothing is coming out. Mind growing foggier with every collision of his body up against yours, whimpering high in your throat. Oh, you've missed this. 

"Ought to cum in this tiny lil pussy of yours," his voice vibrates down your spine, sends your skin prickling, "pump y' nice 'n full of me 'n make ya walk right back in that party with my cum runnin' down your thighs."

It wouldn't be the first time he's paraded you through a crowd; your thighs squeezed together as you try to keep yourself from falling apart at the seams. Forced to grin and pretend that you can't feel the way he's spilling out of you. 

And you're already so full of him, a plume of heat just beginning to spark where his thick cock disappears inside you. Bodies tangled together so hopelessly that neither of you can figure out who starts and ends where. Only worsened by the hand that tilts your head to the side, your mouth weakly meeting his swollen lips. You can hardly hold the kiss for more than a second, broken apart by how he jerks into you.

"Do y' want that, hm?" He's still talking; fuck, fuck, fuck, why is he still talking? Cooing those sweet words into your ear, a spell that you have no hope of resisting. "Waddlin' 'round your own house, actin' like you didn't just get fucked nice 'n good."

You don't know where you're finding the strength to push back against him. Feet scrambling for purchase in the loose gravel, trying to meet the unrelenting slam of his hips. A futile attempt at getting more that gives him the space to reach down between your legs, coarse fingertips dancing around your swollen clit. 

"Fuck, Rhett—!" Your choked cry is anything but quiet, echoing through the dark blanket of the night and carrying its way up to the stars. The same ones that twinkle behind your eyelids, growing brighter with every plunge of his cock, and the massage of his fingers against your clit. Working over and over and over. 

Rhett's cheek bumps into your shoulder, his body curving to fit against yours until there's not an inch of space left between your bodies. "Or would y' rather me carry you in and let 'em all see who y' belong to?" 

Oh, oh, oh. You can already hear the dramatic gasp of your visitors, the shattering of the steep expectations they've held for you. 

But that's only if they don't catch you first, and the noises whittling out of your throat do nothing to help your case. Unable to shut your mouth, dissolving into a limp mess against Rhett's ranch truck. No better than a warm doll, clinging to the remnants of your control while he fucks you. Rhythm falling apart, chasing the same high that's making your head spin, heat washing across your body. 

"C'mon, sweet thing," Rhett's voice wavers, sweat dripping from his trembling jaw and landing on your shoulder. "Where do y' want it?"

He'll pull out if you want him to, has so many times before, but you're already babbling, mouth struggling to wrap around the words, "inside, inside, Rhett—hah."

And he doesn't need to be told twice. The weight of his body growing heavier as he settles against you in earnest now, unafraid of not being able to pull himself away in time. Working into your spasming pussy like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do. The underside of his cock rubbing into that sweet collection of nerves, never once losing contact. 

There's a shake in his arms, and it's starting to match the trembling in your thighs, his breath quickening in tune with yours, those deep groans like music to your ears. No longer able to keep himself quiet, weak fingers still working your clit with what strength he's got left. You're right there, you're right there, you're right—

Rhett's forearm muffles the cry that leaves you. 

For a moment, your mind is blank. Only dimly aware of the rhythmic spasm of your pussy as Rhett's hips stall, cock twitching as a familiar head spreads inside you. A whine tumbles off someone's lips, might be yours, might be his; you can't fucking tell anymore. Ears washed over with a dull ringing as that heat eats you up from the inside out. 

What strength remains in your body begins to dissolve. Your head is still spinning up with the stars when your knees give out from beneath you. But your knees don't hit the ground, instead held up by a nondescript body—Rhett's, you think, pinning you to the truck. 

It's the ache in your jaw that brings you back to the real world. Eyes fluttering open as you pull your mouth away from Rhett's forearm, an outline of teeth imprinted over the thick vein that runs through it.

"Y' bit me," he chuckles into your ear, "ain't never done that one before."

You don't know when your dominant arm got trapped between your stomach and the truck, but a portion of the GMC logo has been imprinted on your skin. A temporary brand, only takes one look for it to reveal your recent rendezvous, shows itself off as you paw at the metal hood, struggling to regain your bearings. 

On its own, Rhett's spent cock slips out of you, and already you can feel the cum spilling down your thighs. 

"I'm gonna be so sore in the morning," you'd sound more dramatic if you weren't caught in the midst of a yawn, "how am I supposed to get up to my room without anyone noticing me waddling like a damn penguin?"

Rhett's warm nose nuzzles against your cheek, and you can't see it, but you can feel his smile. "I'll kiss it better if that's what you're wantin'." 

Certainly wasn't an idea that was on your list, but you don't mind the idea of that. 

Your legs sway as you push yourself off the side of the truck, leaves you stumbling into Rhett's big, sweaty chest. And you're so, so fortunate that he's quick to react, big arms coiling around you and securing you to him because you know your ass would be hitting the gravel otherwise.

"At first, I was kiddin' 'bout carryin' you inside," he chuckles, nothing but smiles as he presses a kiss to your temple, "but now I think 'm gonna have to." 

"Or," holding up your finger, "you could not take me inside."

He's leaning back, just enough to get a glimpse of your face, crushed up against his shoulder, "'n here I thought you wanted to go back in." 

"I do," on their own accord, your arms rise to circle his waist, grabbing greedy handfuls of his flannel. "But I don't wanna leave you." 

Because going inside means that you have to leave your boyfriend out in the cold, forced to remain out of sight and far away from the families who aren't so fond of the Abbotts. Old rivalries in a cattle industry that only Rhett's family remains in, forever unable to acquire the same wealth as the others did. As yours did.

But sleeping beneath the moonlight or in the barn isn't feasible. The temperature has only begun to plummet; body heat alone isn't enough to protect against autumn Wyoming nights. 

If only the numbers in Rhett's bank account were big enough to buy the respect of the assholes spilling wine on the freshly cleaned carpet of your living room. Carelessly wasting a drink that costs more than this old GMC Sierra, modifications included. 

"What if..." he's thinking aloud, gears visibly twisting and turning in his pretty head, "I take ya to that hotel outta town? The one with the theater next door."

"Well, if you let me get my wallet—"

"Naw," Rhett's cutting you off before your sentence can be finished, already knows where the conversation is headed, "you let me worry 'bout that."

All these people at your home, with their needlessly expensive items and mile-deep pockets, and yet it's your blue-collar, run-of-the-mill cowboy who is the least concerned about money. Even when he's got every reason in the book to worry about the numbers in his bank account and the unnecessary expense of a nice hotel.

"Sound alright?" His nose bumps against your cheek, tickling.

"That's more than alright," on their own, the corners of your lips rise into a smile. Your eyes dart toward the barn doors, can already hear that same Eric Church track starting up again. Funny how you now have a memory to go with a song about a memory. "But maybe you should shut off that radio first." 

[beauiestars]

Cherik x Good Omens AU

Angel!Charles Xavier/Demon!Erik Lehnsherr

Word count: 1610

Warnings: Angst, Fluff (if you squint), Religious elements/imagery (Good Omens style, duh), Forbidden romance

Summary: In a world where angels and demons are bound by divine law, Erik, a fallen angel, and Charles, a devoted angel, fall into a forbidden love that defies the natural order. Willing to face any consequence, even death, Erik is determined to protect Charles from the dangers their bond brings, as they navigate the tension between duty and desire.

After several million years in Charles' company, Erik thought he knew the angel's moods like the back of his hand. However, that couldn't have been further from the truth. As Charles strode up and down the bookshop with an unreadable expression—and responded to Erik's questioning with nonsensical monosyllabic answers—the demon was left perplexed.

Less than a moment ago, they had been engaging in amiable conversation near the fireplace, which was gradually becoming less out of character for the two men. Yet, Charles' demeanour had flipped like a switch and he hadn't uttered a coherent word since.

"Charles, your tea is getting cold," Erik said in a poor attempt to coax the angel back to his side. Of course, Charles didn't spare him a glance. He was offended for only a moment before reminding himself that he hadn't done anything wrong and that Charles was the one behaving peculiarly. With a flick of his wrist, the tea steamed in the mug once again.

Erik watched Charles' erratic movements, only growing more bewildered each time the angel passed by with another stack of books. There was no rhyme or reason to anything Charles was doing; he moved piles of books from one spot to another, and then back again, all whilst muttering incoherently under his breath.

When Charles tried to move a bookshelf using brute strength—unsuccessfully—Erik had to step in. "Stop that. What on earth are you doing?" Erik planted himself between a red-faced Charles and the bookshelf. For the first time in almost an hour, Charles finally looked up at Erik. A huff escaped his pouted lips, and his blue eyes filled with determination.

"If you'd excuse me," Charles said, trying to budge past Erik to resume his secret agenda. Erik planted his feet firmly on the ground, a solid force against the interminable stubbornness of Charles Xavier. Exasperated, and unwilling to fight a losing battle on this occasion, Charles resigned himself to the armchair beside the fireplace, crossing his arms firmly against his chest. "I'll do that later."

"Do what, Charles?" Erik raked his hands through his hair. For reasons he couldn't quite discern, not knowing exactly what went on inside Charles' head unsettled him. Reading people—especially Erik—was always Charles's strong suit. Much to Erik's dismay, it rarely worked the other way around. "You're making no sense."

"To you, maybe," Charles scowled from his spot on the armchair. As far as Erik knew, he was an innocent man—though not really, but in the current situation, he certainly believed it—and Charles' attitude toward him was unwarranted. If Erik hadn't been offended before, he certainly was now.

"Charles," Erik's tone held a promise of dispute. Charles' name had never been uttered from Erik's lips so harshly, and it appeared to rattle him. He sat up straighter, and his hands fell into his lap. The demon approached him in long strides, planting his palms on either arm of Charles' armchair, trapping the angel in place. "If you don't tell me what I've done, I can't fix it. Can I?"

"I suppose not," Charles said at a hushed volume, preferring to keep his eyes trained on Erik's chest rather than his face. He bit down on his lip, continuing to shy away from eye contact. An inkling of hurt bloomed in Erik's heart. Opting to worry about the implications later, he hooked his thumb and index fingers under Charles's chin and turned his face up to meet Erik's softened gaze.

"Tell me what I've done, liebling." The term of endearment rolled off Erik's tongue before he could stop it—not that he would have. Charles sighed, his blue eyes finally meeting Erik's. The angel couldn't resist these moments of softness from the demon, no matter how fleeting. Charles' freckled cheeks grew redder, but Erik dismissed it as the heat from the hearth.

"When we were talking just now," Charles began, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. He'd been so shy to make eye contact a minute ago, but now his gaze was impenetrable. "Or a while ago—my fault—the way you spoke so passionately. I just..." Charles' voice trailed off, and he bit into his bottom lip.

Erik, overflowing with burning anticipation, urged him to continue. "Did I upset you? Was it something I said?" His overt impatience came across more intensely than he'd intended. Charles leaned back in his seat, creating distance as Erik's fingers dropped from his jaw.

"Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact," Charles laughed. It was a short and intrusive sound, but innocuous. Erik knew Charles wasn't laughing at him, per se. Even so, Charles didn't elaborate. The burgeoning expectation was driving Erik mad, and it must have shown on his face. "You captivated me."

Erik felt the tension ease in his shoulders, and he released his bated breath. "In that case, I can't possibly fathom why you've been pacing around the bookshop and avoiding me for the last half hour." The more Charles tried to answer Erik's questions, the more arose in their place.

"I was afraid of what it might mean," Charles said. Erik silently cursed Charles' prudence—which now seemed to be the basis for Charles' caprice. Keeping his mouth shut and his agitation restrained, Erik urged Charles to continue. "I was afraid of what I would have to admit and how it would affect us."

"Us?" Erik hoped that Charles would stop being so vague and verbose for one moment to get his point across. "What about us?" His confusion seeped into every syllable, his frustration palpable.

"For goodness' sake, Erik. I'm bloody in love with you," Charles finally confessed, his chest heaving and his eyes scanning frantically over Erik's expression. Suddenly, Charles' hesitance was warranted. The words lingered, suspended in the air like the beginning winds of a storm, heavy with the threat of something that could tear them apart.

Something forbidden—unheard of—had burgeoned  between the two men. Anything more than a reluctant cooperation between an angel and a demon was unprecedented. Their bond defied all realms of natural law regarding their kind. The punishment for such a crime, if there was even a concept for it, could be detrimental.

To say Erik didn't feel the same would be a sordid mistruth. Getting to know someone over the span of eternity leaves little to be uncovered, and although Erik couldn't predict Charles' moods, he knew everything that truly mattered. All of the good and bad—though the latter was negligible. Erik loved it all. He loved Charles.

The aphotic depths of this new territory offered no guarantees of punishment or forgiveness. Perhaps they would be pardoned, but one could never make such an optimistic assumption. Erik knew the wrath of God. Would she punish their kindred spirits and bleeding hearts?

"Erik?" Charles' anxious voice anchored Erik to the present. The contrite look the angel's face filled Erik with shame. Unaware of how long he had remained silent, he had left Charles to draw his own conclusions and assume the worst.

A fire lit behind Charles' lustrous eyes, catching Erik off guard. "I'm not sorry," Charles said. His tone tremendously assured, as if his attitude had changed with the flip of a switch.

"Pardon?" Erik shook his head, mystified by the other man's sudden impertinent countenance. Charles' stare was unrelenting, and Erik recognised the tacit agreement that Charles would not repeat himself.

Erik, at a loss for words, dropped to his knees in front of Charles. For the first time, Charles looked down at Erik, his blue eyes swimming with expectation. Erik had always been a man of few words, but he invariably made his intentions clear. "Charles, I worship you."

Charles' eyes widened, and an incredulous gasp escaped his perfect lips. He was unaccustomed to the way Erik unflinchingly uttered blasphemy. Once, the fallen angel had questioned the iniquitous rules of God, and she had struck him from the Heavens. But his angel could never be so cruel. "My devotion belongs to you. And you alone."

"Oh, Erik," Charles said longingly. Erik's beliefs scarcely aligned with those Charles had held since the beginning of time, but Erik selfishly hoped the angel might indulge him and embrace the forbidden moment. The thrill of defiance filled Erik with a desperate hope that they could make this work.

"I love you," Erik said like a prayer. Charles wordlessly sank onto the floor in front of him. His hand found its way to Erik's jaw, four fingers grazing the side of his face and his thumb brushing the apple of Erik's cheek. The demon leaned into the angel's touch like it was a sweet reprieve.

Charles leaned in carefully. His free hand trailed into Erik's hair at the back of his neck, and flames erupted within him. Their noses touched for a second before their mouths met, already soft and open. They fit together like puzzle pieces or missing ribs.

Erik kissed Charles as if he were desperate to memorise the feel of his lips and the taste of his sweet, warm mouth. Charles' lips were softer than anything Erik had ever known, and his kisses were all-consuming. Erik couldn't think or do anything but drink Charles in, savouring the movements of his lips and each breath as it came.

When the time arrived—if it arrived—that they would face trial for their crime, Erik would take all the blame. He'd lie to any jury, and say he coerced Charles; the possibility of Charles paying the price of their love was inconceivable. If loving Charles meant death, Erik would choose death every time.

Thankyou for reading my short lil oneshot! The idea was given to me by my good friend Dani when I was struggling to write for my main fic. This is my first time publishing any of my work since around 2020, so please be nice :.)

28th August 2024

TAGS:

[thescarletnargacuga]

Could you write a time capsule au fic? Maybe one where it’s after Caine and Pomni become a couple but Pomni is looking for a way out while Caine keeps trying to hide it from her?

NO MAN'S LAND

A TIME CAPSULE AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

AU credit @mangotangerinepastry @the-amazing-digital-time-capsule

WARNING: hurt/comfort, angst, body horror/abstractions, blood

~~~

Pomni hid against the corner wall, peeking every so slightly to watch the guests wandering the circus between shows. Someone had to be leaving. Surely someone had somewhere else to be. Her focused eyes widened when he saw a guest snap. A bright red door appeared out of thin air. The guest opened the door and stepped through.

Pomni seized her opportunity. She bolted for the door as it started to close and dove through the threshold. For a moment, there was light. Hope of escape.

Error. Connection not found.

A jolt sent Pomni spiraling through digital space. She was cast into darkness and splashed down in some unknown viscus fluid. Discombobulated, Pomni fought to find the surface until she smacked her knees on the hard ground. She gasped for air and coughed as she shakily stood.

The sloshing black fluid echoed through a long narrow corridor that curved off in the distance. Soaked and scared, Pomni saw no option other than to walk. The fluid up to her knees, she slowly moved forward.

~

Caine nodded his head in greeting to a passing guest. Pomni's next show was coming up and he hadn't seen her backstage. He scanned the lobby and even outside the circus main entrance but...no Pomni. He was concerned about what BUBLE would do to her if she refused to perform. He needed to find her soon. "Zooble. Can I borrow you a moment?"

Zooble stopped their work on a broken hallway light and climbed down the ladder. "Yeah, what is it?"

"I can't find Pomni. I need to use your radar." Caine said matter-of-factly, but with an apologetic look in his eye.

"Whatever." Zooble activated the radar on their torso and watched the blips representing the cast show up on screen.

~

Pomni shivered from the cold blackness soaking her clothes and numbing her legs. "Where the hell am I??" The corridor was solid concrete with cracks along the top of the walls where faint light would shine through. Every few dozen feet, she would come across a joining tunnel but it was gated off. More black fluid slowly flowed in from these tunnels.

A skittering noise from behind her made her gasp. She spun around and searched the shadowy corridor for movement. "Hello..? Anyone there?" Whatever trouble she would be in for being here was worth paying to get out. "Hello!?"

A horrific screech answered her call. Something big and fast was climbing the walls and closing in. She caught glimpses of the insect-like legs as it passed over the lit cracks. The black creature was covered in multicolored glowing spots that took up half of the space in the corridor. Its movements were unnatural and jittery like a glitching avatar.

Pomni took a few steps back as her mind tried to process what was happening. Then adrenaline kicked in and she ran as fast as the knee deep fluid would let her.

~

Caine's eyes darted from one blip to the next, not seeing Pomni anywhere in the vicinity of the circus. "Can you zoom out? I'd hate to think she went outside without an escort."

Zooble broadened the scan to include the other structures within the time capsule, now showing everyone but Pomni. "Oh....you don't think..?"

"No." Caine didn't even want to think of the possibility that Pomni had abstracted somewhere and hadn't been found yet. "Zoom out entirely. Scan everything."

"Dude. If she's not showing up inside the capsule-"

"Just do it." Caine said more harshly than he intended but he was starting to panic. "Please."

Zooble increased the scan all the way to the edges of the capsule. A solitary blip was out of bounds and moving quickly around the outside edge.

Caine's stomach twisted. "Oh god, she tried to- [%$!#]!!" He flexed his fingers, tugging on the red strings that connect him to BUBLE. By silent will, he summoned the power of the controlling AI. The digital possession climbed his arm and spread across his body, static tingling his skin.

Zooble stepped back. They had rarely witnessed Caine use the AI willingly.

~

Pomni could hear the creature closing in. The noise of the chase drew more attention. Monstrous screams and deafening roars surrounded her. She slipped on the slick floor, going face first into the black fluid. She spat and gasped as she tried to get back up, but something ahead blocked her path.

A creature with two heads and too many mouths drooled into the black fluid. It's body split open, breaking inky black skin and glitching. Pomni looked back to see the spindly body of the pursuer almost upon her. She had nowhere to run.

A sharp pain from behind. Pomni stopped breathing. She looked down to see a barbed fleshy spear sticking out of her shoulder. As she reached for it in shock, the tongue of the creature with two heads retracted, pulling Pomni towards it.

Everything was in slow motion. This was how she was going to die, consumed by some flesh beast alone in the dark. Without memory, her own life didn't even flash before her eyes.

But she saw Caine.

He appeared, grabbed onto her and then the most searing pain imaginable destroyed her body. Was this what it was like to die?

In the blink of an eye, she whole again. Red and yellow banners and soothing music surrounded her. There was no screaming. No monsters. No black fluid. But she was still in incredible pain and soaking wet. Her body convulsed and she collapsed.

"Pomni!" Caine kneeled to the backstage floor, keeping her from dropping like dead weight, but he almost dropped her when he felt the painfully familiar sensation of abstraction. "Pomni!?" He gasped when he saw the gaping wound on the right side of Pomni's chest. Blue and red blood pooled around her twitching body, her eyes rolled back. The wound itself festered quickly and black lines crawled across her skin.

"Pomni, I need you to listen to me. You're abstracting. I know it's overwhelming, but you can't let it consume you." Caine pleaded with her as calmly as he could, keeping himself clear of her infected body. "I know you can fight this. You're one of the strongest people I've met. Your stubbornness gives mine a run for its money."

Caine watched the wound. It contiued to spread as Pomni's avatar was slowly breaking. He balled his fists, praying he wouldn't have to send her back. "Please, Pomni. I know you can do this." He urged. "Fight."

The black lines stopped. Caine's eyes went wide. "Yes! Atta girl! Fight!"

Pomni's body gradually calmed, twitching less and less. Her eyes came forward but remained unfocused. She coughed blood, gasping for air. The crawling blackness slowly retreated into the open wound, her skin pulling itself back together. "Caine..?" She said weakly.

"I'm here." Caine took her hand, considering her safe for the moment. "Don't let up. Keep pushing back until it hides. You'll know what I mean when you feel it." He wiped the blood from her face with his own hand. He watched the abstraction infection disappear inside Pomni, leaving the fresh wound clear of blackness.

Caine sighed heavily with relief. The worst was over. He checked her injury. It was a few inches around and burrowed a hole clean through her body, he could see the floor beneath. It was in a relatively lucky spot, top right corner of her chest just below her clavicle. However, it would be impossible to heal with just stitches.

"BUBLE." Caine grimaced, loathing having to talk to her wretched AI.

"Yes, Caine?" BUBLE answered robotically in Caine's mind.

"Pomni's shoulder needs repairing."

"I can see that."

"....so do it!" Caine demanded.

"I need a valid reason to authorize avatar repair."

Caine swore under his breath. Protocol. "Because she can't perform with a broken shoulder you digital jagoff!" He growled, losing his cool.

BUBLE computed for a second. The show must go on. Guests must be entertained. "Authorized. However, she broke protocol by leaving the circus during on duty hours. This behavior must be corrected."

"The pain of being put back together will be punishment enough." Caine said quickly, he didn't want BUBLE to do anything worse than what Pomni just experienced.

"This is acceptable. Do not let her miss her next performance."

Caine checked his watch. He had five minutes. "This just keeps getting better." He said sarcastically. "Pomni? Pomni, focus on me."

Pomni blinked. "Caine...I saw monsters."

"I know. I'm going to fix you, but it's going to hurt. Try not to move." He kept hold of her hand and placed his free hand over the wound. He pressed his finger tips into the skin surrounding the hole and the red strings entered her avatar's flesh.

Pomni sucked air in through her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't see the strings but she could feel them moving through her shoulder. They burned a trail around the wound, jumping across the gap and pulling her avatar together.

The white hot pain of BUBLE repairing part of her body was almost enough to make Pomni scream. She bit down on her tongue, drawing blood and struggled not to move. Her body shook from the pain.

"Just a few more seconds." Caine's gut twisted seeing Pomni in such agony, but it was better than the alternative. She was crushing his hand, but he didn't care if she broke it. Whatever it took to get her through this.

Finally, the repair was complete and the strings left Pomni's body. She groaned loudly and relaxed as she caught her breath. Tears flowed down the sides of her head, mixing with the coagulating multicolor blood.

There was no way in high hell Pomni was performing in her current state. Caine needed to make a last minute change to the show schedule. "Pomni, wait here. I will be right back." He ran through backstage and found Gangle. "I need you to take over for Pomni. There's been an emergency."

"uh-"

"Thank you, you're on in one minute. I'll be back soon." Caine rushed away, leaving Gangle dumbstruck.

"You are changing the performance mid show." BUBLE's voice spoke clearly in Caine's head. "You are aware of the consequences if it is not received well by our guests."

"I've dealt with you long enough to know." Caine responded coldly. "Now get out of my head."

"I'm sorry, Caine, I'm afraid I can't do that. The failed performer must be evaluated for my report."

Caine sneered but didn't respond. He found Pomni sitting on a crate, dripping lightly with black water. "How are you holding up?"

"My shoulder doesn't hurt anymore." Pomni was still shivering lightly, staring off into the distance. "Where was I?"

Caine could still feel BUBLE's presence. "I'm afraid I can't answer that here. Get yourself cleaned up. Don't worry about the remainder of your performances. Gangle and I have it covered."

Pomni nodded and went off to her dressing room, holding herself and head hung low.

"She seems fine to continue." BUBLE buzzed in Caine's head. "If your changes fail-"

"I know the consequences. Shut. Up." Caine hissed, hoping Pomni didn't hear him. He wiped the dried blood off his hands and rushed back to Gangle to help her cover Pomni for the rest of the day.

~

Pomni showered, changed and didn't leave her room the rest of the day. She sat at her vanity, staring at herself in the mirror when a soft knock came to her door. "It's open." She said flatly, knowing who it was.

Caine entered and closed the door behind him. He stood straight with his hands behind his back, a neutral expression. "How are you doing?"

Pomni cranes her neck to stare blankly at him. "I was almost eaten alive by horrors beyond my comprehension. What do you think?"

"So, good then. Great to hear."

Pomni was caught off guard by the oddly neutral tone snarky response, breaking her out of her spiral of reliving the day's experience over and over. "Uh...what-"

"As long as you've learned not to try that again."

"It was worth a try." Pomni sneered and turned away from him.

"Was it? You could've died." Caine leaned against the wall next to her vanity, looking at the back of her head.

"Do you want me to say I'm sorry?? Because I'm not!" Pomni responded angrily.

"No. I want you to understand something. There is no way out of here. I've tried. Multiple times. And to answer your question from earlier, you went where we send people when they abstract. No Man's Land."

Pomni slowly turned back around. "Abstractions...those were people?"

"Once upon a time."

"Oh god..."

"Don't think about it. Literally. It makes it worse."

"But I have been. Especially about seeing you down there. How did you..?"

Caine looked down and away, shifting his stance. "I... teleported."

"...you can do that?"

"Sometimes. It hurts like a mother, so I only do it when I have to."

Pomni felt a pang of guilt. "I- I see. I thought I was going insane, but...you saved me."

"Technically, you were-"

"Thank you."

Caine's brain stalled. "Uh, you're welcome. I mean, it's my job as ringmaster to keep things running and-"

"The show could've gone on without me." Pomni interrupted again. "It almost did. You didn't have to put yourself at risk like that. That was rather heroic of you."

Caine's neck went red. He fidgeted with his hands as he searched for words. "I was just..." He sighed. "No one deserves to die like that. I would've done it for anyone here."

"Including Jax?" Pomni asked with a small upturn on her lips.

"Almost anyone." Caine responded with a small smile of his own.

"Nonetheless, thank you for saving me. Twice."

"Twice?" Caine raised a brow.

Pomni looked away this time. "After you brought me back, I could feel myself slipping into some deep dark pit in my head, but I heard you. I...followed your voice. I climbed out."

Caine's gaze softened. "I'm glad you did. Not many would have been able to do that. With or without me. You're incredibly strong."

Pomni's heart fluttered, suddenly very aware of his eyes on her. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you."

"Happy to be of service. I have to ask, will you be okay to perform tomorrow?"

"Yeah. And tell BUBLE he can go [%$!#] himself." Pomni crossed her arms, looking back at Caine.

Caine snorted. "Gladly. Wait- how did you know BUBLE was involved?"

"You really think I can't hear you when you talk to yourself?" Pomni smirked.

Caine opened his mouth, but had no response.

Pomni chuckled. "Thank you again, for everything."

Caine's smile reached his eyes. "You're welcome, again. Have a good night, Pomni."

"Good night, Caine." Pomni returned his sincere smile.

Caine kept his eyes locked with Pomni's, almost fumbling the door knob, but left without embarrassing himself. His body jolted with surprise, seeing Gangle in the hallway.

"Took you long enough, I wanna go to bed. I did a FEW extra performances today." She said, rightfully annoyed.

"It was an emergency. You know what would happen if no one went on."

"Yeah. Yeah. I don't have to like it." Gangle pouted and put her hand on the doorknob. "...is she okay, though?"

"She's one tough broad. I'll give her that." Caine looked longingly at the door.

"Huh, high praise, coming from you." Gangle gave him a look. "You fancy her. Don't you?"

Caine glanced quickly at Gangle and then away. "Good night, Gangle" He started walking away.

"Run away all you want, but I can STILL SEE HOW RED YOUR NECK IS!" Gangle shouted after him with a mischievous grin.

Caine popped his collar higher and kept walking.

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hiiii! I loved ur Hermes kid!

Could I ask for a male son of Dionysus x either Leo or nico?

Sorry if I got ya wrong and don’t feel pressured or anything!

Have a lovely day!

When there isn't a lot of info in an ask I kinda have to make the reader a personality so that it isn't too bland too read so sorry to y'all that aren't like this <3

Redecoration---Nico di Angelo x Son of Dionysus

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico had been glaring at the roof of skulls for a solid ten minutes, sort of hoping the hatred in his eyes would just poof them out of existence, when someone finally showed up. 

Apparently after an incident in the Aphrodite cabin, people weren’t allowed to just grab a bucket of paint and some new furniture to fuck around and find out, which was why Nico had been sent someone to help him fix the mess that was the Hades cabin.

Apart from the hundred skulls hot glue gunned to the rood, the beds were wooden coffins, the lamps were ancient looking chandeliers, and all of the walls were a dark ugly gray, like there was a serious mold problem. Now that he thought about it, the color might actually be a mold problem. 

“Never fear, goth! For I am here!” 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Nico took a deep breath and turned around, obsidian eyes already narrowed with dislike as he took in the taller boy trotting over. He was holding a crate in his arms, filled with color swatches and chunks of fabrics, magazines sticking out of the top. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who needs redecorating, right?” The boy asked, already letting himself into the dim cabin that smelt of rich dark chocolate for some reason. “Yeah… no offense but we have to fix this, even if you're the wrong person.” 

Nico felt a sudden need to defend the atrocious carpet and bat shaped door knocker from this boy, who was wearing a maroon shirt picturing a glass of wine. “I was eight.” 

“No shame here, everyone makes bad decisions.”

There didn’t seem to be any point arguing with this boy, who had already dumped the box of supplies on one of the coffin bed lids, and was staring around at the dark cabin, hands on his hips. 

Nico just followed him inside, shoving his hands into the slightly ripped pockets of his aviator jacket. He peered into the cardboard box, which was promptly tipped out onto the ground. He watched with a frown as the son of Mr D sat on the carpet and began rifling through the empty notebooks and cut up magazines. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, scrapbooking? We can’t just start painting the walls yellow yet, you have to plan this stuff out, goth.” He said, as if it was obvious. Then he smirked. “You don’t like arts and crafts?”

Nico’s frown deepened, but he couldn’t let this mildly infuriating boy with surprisingly cool bracelets upstage him. “I love arts and crafts.”

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, and pulled out a leather bound book containing a few stickers and a strip of torn paper where a page had been pulled out. “Are you just gonna stand there in the corner and be grumpy?... That wasn’t sarcasm, you can if you want, I was just checking.”

Nico wasn’t an asshole, of course he was going to help. Still, he had to glare at the boy for that comment. Then he sat down and opened one of the magazines, which was featuring a life sized Barbie Dream House bed frame, fluffy pillows included. He flicked the page over with a grimace.

“So, what kinda vibe are we going for?”

“What?”

“I’m assuming you're sick of Dracula,” he said, waving his arms at the general doom and gloom around them. “So what aesthetic are we replacing it with?”

Nico didn’t want to admit he hadn’t planned this far into the venture, he’d really just been hoping he could repaint the walls, or maybe burn the whole thing down and start over. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Okay, well… I’m assuming you wanna keep it edgy, but seriously? A roof of skulls? You’re not a caveman. Maybe we should go with an Addams family style.” He shivered. “With less spiderwebs and disembodied hands. “ 

Ah, another gap in his modern education. “What’s an Addams family?” 

All Nico got in return was a gaping mouth and wide eyes. “How do you not- okay, I’m making you watch the entire timeline later, but for now we need to pick a color scheme.” 

Nico opened his mouth.

“Not black.”

Nico closed his mouth.

“Obviously there’ll be lots of black, but you need another color to fit with it, something dark and scary but colorful.” He pulled out a binder of color swatches, and flipped it open, skimming the pages of baby blues and lavenders. “Maybe dark green, or...”

“Red.” Nico said, peering over at the pages of ruby and scarlet. He pointed to the dark one, which had a little title below, ‘Blood red’. It was a little on brand, but it was better than ‘Crimson Tide’. 

“Oooh, nice. If we keep the walls black, and pull up the black carpet, there’ll be floorboards underneath.” He started to ramble, ripping a color swatch out of the binder and gluing it into the leather bound book. He glanced around at the musty cabin. 

“We can get a red rug for the middle of the cabin, and definitely new beds, but if we get Drew to refurbish the chandeliers they’ll look great. Oh, and the coffin bed frames could be a bookshelf if we get the mattress out and ask Nyssa to put some shelves in. Do you read? Because otherwise it’s sort of pointless. But so are the skulls on the roof, so…”

“You’re good at this.” 

It took Nico a moment to realize what he’d just blurted, and when he did the warmth was already in his cheeks. He’d only been a little caught up in watching the son of Dionysus’s eyes sparkle as he talked, pointing to different parts of the cabin, and somehow ruined it. “I mean, you just sound like you’ve, you know, done this a lot.”

The glimmer in their eye didn’t fade, they only grinned harder. “I have. A lot. It’s fun!”

“I suppose so,” Nico said, his lips twitching, and opened another magazine. He skipped a page on clawfoot bathtubs [There was already a white one with gold trim in the bathroom]. There was a large heart shaped mirror, He ignored that too, and found a simple bedframe, painted black. He held it out gingerly. “What about this one?”

“Yes! Good job.” He said, snipping it out of the magazine quickly, and sticking it next to a picture of a glass chandelier. “If you’ve got a simple bed, we could find a zebra print blanket, they always look good with black and red, as long as you don’t have, like, leopard print.”

“I thought you’d like leopard print?”

“And I thought you’d like skulls on your roof and coffin shaped beds,” he teased, with a smug little smile. Nico rolled his eyes, and picked out a strip of dark red fabric, passing it over.

He shook some glitter from his hands, there seemed to be piles of it in the box. “It’s a little over the top, but it’s not as bad as Jason’s cabin. It’s just rock. Everywhere. And a giant statue of his father.”

“Maybe he can be my next client,” he hummed, wiping glue from his fingers onto the molding carpet beneath them. A few shards of rounded glass were taped to the pages of the scrapbook, shining in the light of the dusty stained chandeliers. 

Nico wanted to object. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want the boy in front of him with glitter on his cheekbones and scissors in his hands to be cutting out pictures and teasing someone else. Instead he looked away, feeling something in his chest surge, something like fear. Fear of what, he didn’t know, but he cleared his throat and moved on.

“Don’t you have a sister too?”

The fear surged back forwards and Nico whipped around, his tone sharp. “What?”

“The roman one, I swear I saw her the other day, when Reyna visited to plan something or other.” he said casually, not seeing the pale tinge to Nico’s face. “With the overalls and the bulldog?”

“That’s Frank,” Nico said, his shoulder sinking with relief. 

“No, I’m pretty sure it was Hazel, she had those light up sketchers, with the little wheels on the bottom.” He said, somehow with a moon shaped sticker on his nose as he stuck little cut out paper skulls around the four page collage. 

“Frank’s the bulldog, he can turn into animals.” Nico had a strange urge to reach out and press the sticker on his nose, so instead he held his hands tightly in his lap. 

“Well, is there something Hazel’d like in the cabin when she visits? Does she read?” 

Nico sighed, and reached back for the magazine he discarded. He shook it open, cut outs of fluffy teddies falling into his lap. He found the page with the heart shaped bathroom mirror and ripped it out carefully. He could take a few hearts in his cabin if Hazel would like them. “This one.”

“Oh, that one's cute, Nyssa could totally make it.”

“I can ask Leo, he owes me a favor.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I haven't killed him yet.” 

                                  »»————-　★　————-««

Nico pressed down the front of his shirt. It was a black Camp Halfblood shirt, which he’d gotten from Piper after the Aphrodite cabin had started making shirts in other colors. Apparently there were only so many outfits you could wear with orange. 

Black goes with everything though, so it wasn’t a problem for him. 

He made his bed [closed the lid of the coffin] and dragged the last of the furniture not nailed to the ground out onto the little deck all of the cabins had. His decking only had a few pairs of shoes and a pot of dead roses he’d never bothered to keep alive. Maybe he’d have another go. 

Drew had taken the chandeliers already, to polish them and whatnot, so he only had to wait for his assigned son of Dionysus to show up, and they could start hunting for zebra print blankets and ripping skulls off the ceiling. What fun. 

When he still hadn’t shown up, Nico finished pulling all of the previously made bedding from the coffins and dumping it to the side so that Leo could turn it to a bookshelf [He could read, he just had dyslexia thank you very much], and then set off to the Dionysus cabin. It was easy to find, the only male god on the female side, with trelice’s of ivy decorating the whitewashed walls and a grumpy looking leopard snoozing on the purple swinging chair out the front of the small cabin.

He didn’t really want to knock, but he was sure someone would report him for standing around too menacingly if he just waited. He was saved from indecision when the door opened, revealing a tall sandy haired boy.

“You’re the goth, aren’t you?” Pollux sniffed, his nose red. “We can’t help today, but Butch is free, he can do some heavy lifting, and I’m sure Drew’ll criticize your style if you ask nicely enough.” 

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“I mean,” Pollux started, rubbing his eyes, and Nico only then realized he was still wearing his pajamas. They had an elongated cartoon owl sticking out of a doorway on it. “Skulls on the ceiling is a bit much, and everyone think you’re a vamp-”

“I meant with you guys, not my style,” Nico interrupted, his eyes narrowed.”

“Someone, decided to go visit Lou Ellen even though we all know she has a cold, and now I have it-” Pollux was cut off once again, his mockingly loud voice reaching the people inside. 

“I’m sorry I was concerned for my friend, she wanted soup!”

“She always wants soup!” Pollulx yelled back, and Nico moved past the older child of Dionysus, slipping off his shoes and letting himself into the cabin. 

There was nasally muttering behind him and the door slid shut. Nico peered around, and saw a bundle of fluffy blankets on a couch, only a sneezing head poking out the top. “Why did you get sick?”

“I mean it wasn’t really on purpose,” he mumbled back, wiping his nose with a tissue and sinking back into his cocoon. “I can’t help today, but-”

“I don’t care,” Nico started, and plopped down on the white couch, avoiding a deep red stain that could be alcohol or blood. He couldn’t tell. He also didn’t know how to say he’d rather sleep in the coffin again then have to spend the day with someone else. 

He sniffed, falling sideways a little on the couch and squinting at the square tv, which was showing some old cartoon about cavemen. “Mkay, well you should probably go if you don’t wanna get sick.”

Nico thought for a moment, trying not to focus on how much he wanted to scoop up the bundle of blankets in his arms far too skinny for that sort of stuff. “Why don’t we watch ‘an Adam family’?

He got watery wide eyes in return and a toothy grin, “wait really?”

“No. If I was making a joke it’d be funnier than that.”

“Okay, let’s watch it,” he said, hopping off the couch and moving to a box of DVDs with a lot of energy for someone so sick. “And it’s the Addams family, goth. You have to learn the basics of this culture if you’re gonna have coffin bookshelves.”

He fiddled around with the tv and then a grainy black and white intro came on, tinny music over the top. Nico watched as he danced to the theme tune in his blanket burrito, all the way back to the couch, where he landed, coughing and winded. Nico raised an eyebrow. “I could’ve done that, you’re sick.”

“Yeah yeah whatever,” he mumbled, tucking the fluffy socks on his feet up onto the white couch and wiggling with excitement. Nico watched him for a moment, and then turned back to the TV, feeling his lips twitch into a grin.

Duh duh duh duh, click click. Duh duh duh duh, click click.

Their creepy and they're kooky-

                                      »»————-　★　————-««

“Neeks, this mirror is so cute!”

“You’re welcome,” Nico muttered, rubbing his nose and rolling over, pulling the zebra print doona cover further over his head. 

He heard Hazel’s wheelie shoes click along the floorboards and she gilded out of the bathroom. When he peered out, her hair was in bunchies and she was pulling a purple hoodie over her head. “It’s so much nicer in here now, but how did you get sick redecorating?”

“Uhm..There was a lot of dust. I might be allergic?” 

The door slammed open, the clear chandelier hanging from the roof shaking as Nyssa trudged in, her work boots leaving mud on the fluffy blood red rug. She was holding the glitter covered scrapbook in her gloved hands. 

“So, I know I’m supposed to make everything in this, but what am I supposed to do with the polaroid of you kissing Mr D ‘s kid?”

                       »»————-　★　————-««

[ssaeri]

the moon as our witness

☆ tags: elliott x gn!reader, established relationship, reader is farmer, moonlit beach picnic, alcohol mention, drunk shenanigans, silly people in a silly relationship, I quite like the location of elliott’s beach house, I wish we could keep it when we marry him ☆

When Elliott invited you to his home for a picnic under the full moon, you said yes immediately. He’s the writer, not you, but there was something to be said about the feeling of wind in your hair, salt on your tongue, and sand beneath your feet.

And when it came to beach picnics, Elliott could not be beat. At ten o’clock exactly, you walked around his house and arrived at a scene taken straight out of his romance novels. He offered you a glass of wine as you slipped off your sandals and settled onto the checkered blanket next to him. The only thing he let you do was provide the ingredients; he insisted on doing the rest himself. Lemon butter lobster, glazed potatoes, garlic stir-fried string beans, chopped kale and parsnip salad, steamed cauliflower, wild rice, and—he promised with a wink—a strawberry and rhubarb pie waiting in the oven.

The epitome of spring in a meal. You thought that the night was going to be perfect.

However, a bottle and a half of pomegranate wine, split between both your glasses, was all it took for your sweet picnic to devolve into something else entirely.

You wrestle the wooden oar from his hands, and Elliott honest-to-Yoba pouts at you.

”It still counts as operating a vehicle under the influence,” you say, pointing the handle of the oar at his flushed face. “As much as I love you, I am not continuing a relationship behind bars.”

Elliott, ever the drama queen, falls back onto the blanket and throws an arm over his eyes. “O, cruel and cursed fates! You have bound my heart to someone whose love is conditional!” he bemoans to the stars. After a beat of silence, he peeks under his arm. “Wait a minute, the Valley doesn’t even have a jail. Lewis is our only form of law enforcement, and he would simply slap a fine on my door.”

“Taking advantage of an underdeveloped justice system, I see.”

He sits up. “At this hour, you’re the only one around,” he says, slowly turning to you. You do not like that glint in his eyes.  “I’d never be caught if I just…get rid of the only witness.”

You shriek when he pounces and pushes you onto the sand. The oar doesn’t help, either; it keeps you pinned as he giggles breathlessly into your neck, his hands coming to rest on your waist. It takes some wiggling to move the oar out from between you, but once it’s free, you toss it to the side. It lands somewhere with a soft thud.

Elliott settles his head against your shoulder and sighs. After a moment, he says, “You smell lovely.”

“And you’re tickling me,” you retort, but you make no move to change positions. He smells nice, too—a curious mix of pomegranate, sea salt, and ink that’s uniquely his. You feel him smile into your skin as you thread fingers through his hair.

Distantly, waves crash onto the shore, and somewhere at the end of the pier, a leashed wooden rowboat bobs on the water, awaiting its passengers who are—much to Elliott’s disappointment—too inebriated to enjoy a romantic view on the ocean.

You’ll pass, thanks. You’ve seen the movies, you know what would happen next, and waking up stranded on a random island in the middle of the Gem Sea is not on your bucket list.

You’re enjoying the view just fine—here, on solid ground. The full moon bathes everything in a gentle hue, peeking around tree tops like a halo. And the stars. You never saw stars like this from your cramped apartment in the city. Going from the honking bustle of downtown Zuzu City to the buzzing cicadas of Stardew Valley was a hard transition for a cityslicker like you. When you first arrived here, the quiet of evening was unnerving; the silence made space for your thoughts, and the dark for your fears. Time slowed, and for seasons, it felt like you were drowning. Until you let yourself be held by the Valley’s embrace—its land, its resources, its people—and realized that maybe you were actually just learning how to breathe.

You breathe in deep, just because you can.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” you murmur, arms spread wide.

Elliott rolls to the side and props his head up with one hand. “Very beautiful,” he agrees, unabashedly staring at your face.

You push him over. “Okay, cheeseball.”

He only falls onto his back with a chuckle. “...it was also a full moon when you gave me the Bouquet.”

“How do you remember that?”

“How do you not?”

“I’m pretty sure I blacked out. I just remember chasing you after you left the saloon earlier than expected, and when I woke up, you were hugging me.”

“Well,” he hesitates, then sighs. “Yes, I must admit you made little sense at the time. Perhaps a stammer of my name as a warning before shoving the flowers into my face. But on the footbridge under a full moon? Incredibly romantic, dear. Great job; I couldn’t have done better if I tried.”

“Are you kidding me?” You sit up and gesture at the food. By some miracle of Yoba, you’ve managed to make a sizeable dent in the spread, but you hope that he has a cabinet full of takeout containers and space in the fridge.

“You deserve at least this,” he says absently, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, “if not more for making me the happiest man alive.”

You have to turn to hide the smile on your face, but you’re not fast enough—he sits up and catches your chin, earnest green eyes boring into yours. He scans your features like he’s committing them to memory, and then his gaze flits to your lips. You don’t know if you lean in first or if he does, but the kiss is inevitable either way.

His lips are soft, the movements steeped in wine and adoration, and you distantly register the hand on your chin smoothing out to cup your face. Elliott is always gentle with you. Cradling. Cherishing.

When he pulls back to pepper more kisses across your forehead, you pretend to wrinkle your nose in annoyance.

“Hey, why does it feel like I’m forgetting something?”

“I don’t know.”

.

.

.

Three or so kisses later, you both snap to attention at the same time. “The pie!”

[blueraineshadows]

Chapter 15

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett

12k words. Chapter Master List and Ao3

Tags: NSFW / torture / physical injury / sexual scenes / angst / dark magic

Chapter 15: Love's the Death of Peace of Mind

MC

She had not seen it coming. 

Still rattled by the suspicious robed woman in St Mungo’s, MC had been so eager to get back to Sebastian, the weight of feeling like something could happen pressing on her chest, that she had been distracted. She should have been more prepared, more aware, but when she Apparated into Sebastian’s tent and saw the bed empty, her first thought was not to take out her wand, but to feel a sense of panic. The last 24 hours were beginning to take their toll, and she had been wallowing in her own whirlwind mess of emotions, exhausted.

The camp executioner was a big man, tall and solid, but he could still move with the stealth of a cat. His large, gloved hand had smothered her mouth from behind, his arm wrapped like a crushing snake around her, pinning her arms to her sides as they  Disapparated from the tent. There was no time to take a breath let alone shout a protest, and when they landed, she barely struggled in the executioner’s iron grip, a cold wind whipping at her hair. 

Shock had her rigid, but as she was roughly spun about with the turning of the executioner, her eyes landed on the Sallow twins on the ground. Anne was bound and gagged, Sebastian desperately clinging to her whilst shaking, his face a harsh grimace of pain. Her shock still rang in her ears, but she began to struggle harder against the executioner’s hold, fear creeping like a vine along her spine. 

“There she is,” Rookwood said, stepping into her view. He gave her a reproachful look. “We have been waiting for you, sweet one. Where did you slip off to in the dead of night? Your little bodyguard claims he didn’t know.” 

MC yanked at the hand covering her mouth, quickly trying to get control of her fear as she glared at Rookwood. The executioner freed her mouth, but his hand didn’t go far, it slid down to her throat, clamping it with just enough force to keep her still. She gulped against the leather clad vice, instinctively trying to suck in bigger breaths. She flinched as Rookwood stepped up really close, his hand sliding up her thigh and slipping her wand from its holster. He wiggled it before her eyes with a smile. MC eyed her wand, but kept her mouth tightly clamped shut, her magic already beginning to pull and surge in her blood.

“I’ll be keeping hold of this for the moment, if you don’t mind,” he said smoothly. “We wouldn’t want any more little slip ups like before. Luella is still most upset about her boots.” 

MC’s gaze glanced across to where Luella stood, her wand aimed down towards Anne. She had a different pair of boots on, her coat stylish and clean, hair neatly pinned. Her smile was smug, eyes glittering with triumphant malice as she looked down at Anne. Sebastian held his twin closer, his hands shaking. MC could see the fear in his eyes, but also his fury. 

“What did you do to them?” MC demanded, glaring at Rookwood. 

Rookwood strolled towards the twins, relishing the moment as he nudged his boot against Sebastian’s side. Sebastian flinched, gritting his teeth as he whined in pain. Anne struggled against her bonds, snarling like some kind of beast. 

“Think of it as a warning,” Rookwood said, turning to flash a smile at MC. “I’m not too pleased with how things seem to be happening around here. I thought perhaps a bit of leverage might be in order. I find people are far more cooperative when they have an incentive. Everyone has their weakness, MC. Even you.” 

Fighting against the tremble in her limbs, she tried to twist against the solid mass of the executioner, but a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and the grip he held on her throat gave a subtle squeeze. “Easy now, little kitten,” he purred near her ear.

Revolted, MC almost gagged, her eyes watering against the chokehold and the stinging chill of the wind. Her magic bubbled and sparked along her veins, a pressure building in her chest. 

“I am doing as you asked,” she gulped, her hands gripping the thick forearm of the executioner. “We found deposits. That’s what you wanted.” 

Rookwood spun to face her fully, stepping up until she could feel the full force of his icy glare. “I did not ask for your impertinence,” he hissed. “You dare to issue orders to me, insult my flesh and blood. Let’s not forget who feeds you, provides shelter to you. You may hold ancient power in your grasp, but without me you are nothing. Just an ex prisoner the Ministry would seek to control. I offer you the chance to become more than what you are, and you disrespect me and mine.” 

MC narrowed her eyes knowing full well that he intended to strip her of everything she had, but she kept her silence. The whispers of her own insecurities began to echo in her head, that feeling of being nothing and nobody. Still trying to grasp who she truly was, Rookwood’s words scraped along sensitive wounds. Her gaze dropped to Sebastian on the ground, the rigid pose of his limbs. She knew how that felt. The torturous, blistering pain. She could see the frustration and fear in his eyes, and knew he would hate feeling so powerless. 

“Why bring them into it? What more do you want?” She asked, craning her neck against the choking grip.

Rookwood leaned even closer, lifting a hand to drag a finger down her cheek. His finger was cold, but smooth. Flinching, she tried to turn her head, but the executioner held her firm, her whole body now shivering with cold and fear. 

“Don’t…don’t touch her,” Sebastian grunted. 

Rookwood’s smile was cold and cruel. “And there it is,” he said softly, stroking her cheek. His eyes wandered lazily over her face. He was far too close. Her heart pounded painfully. “Loyal, protective, Sallow. A man so willing to step foot inside the black walls of Azkaban to retrieve a girl who murdered his own blood, and not for one minute does he seek revenge on you. A man who insists on staying by your side, no matter how menial the task. We find you in his tent, in his bed. You are not just old school chums. I think he has feelings for you, my sweet. Does he love you? I think the real question here is, do you love him?” 

Rookwood grasped her chin, her face and neck now claimed by two ruthless men. She gasped and stared up at him, gritting her teeth against the scream of fearful rage that was building in her throat, her magic blistered but she fought for control. If she let it explode, she could hurt the twins on the ground close by. It would also reveal that she could unleash it without her wand.

“Look at her left hand, father,” Luella urged, her boots scraping on the rough ground as she moved to crouch beside Sebastian, her wand still aimed on Anne. Sebastian cried out as she seized his left wrist, his limbs painfully sensitive to touch, turning his palm upwards to reveal the neat, red welt of his scar. “See? A wound that never fully heals, and she has one to match.” 

“The plot thickens,” Rookwood smirked. His fingers ghosted down her left arm, making her cringe back against the executioner. As MC tried to pull her arm away, Rookwood wrapped fingers like iron around her wrist and wrenched her hand up and out. She made a fist, her eyes stinging with tears as she glared at him. 

“Get off me,” she spat. 

He ignored her, turning his gaze towards Luella. “How sad that she isn’t playing nice,” he said, his voice laced with mocking woe. 

Luella smiled and calmly cast Crucio. Anne screamed against her gag, her whole body arching viciously, her head thrown back. Sebastian screamed, too, trying to comfort his twin, ripping his arm from Luella’s grip to hold Anne. 

MC might hold a bitter resentment towards Anne, but the sight of her twisted agony made her wince, a stray tear sliding down her cheek. Sebastian’s horrified scream echoed in her ears. “Alright, alright,” she gasped, unfurling her fist to expose her left palm. 

Biting back a whimper, she watched as Rookwood traced his cold fingers across her own red scar, his eyes lit with gleeful curiosity. “Such lovely, soft skin you have,” he crooned. “To mark such beauty shows real commitment. I have heard of these blood pacts, but to see one cast in such a young witch is fascinating.” 

MC could hear the twins sobbing on the ground, her own body so rigid, frozen in the moment as she stared at Rookwood. She had known that all this had been too easy. 

“What did you promise him, hmm?” Rookwood asked, tilting his head. “Is it something hopelessly romantic, such as never ending love? A fool’s game if you ask me, destined for failure, and failure isn’t an option when it comes to these pacts. No, I think this was perhaps something a little more in keeping with Sallow’s need for control. He found something pretty and shiny, and never wanted to lose it. Am I right?” 

MC glanced down at Sebastian, saw him stroking his sister’s hair. Anne lay limp in his arms, her breathing laboured. Much more torture, and perhaps she would die. Her physical state was already weakened by her curse. But, then she met Anne’s eyes. Brown eyes so like her twin brother, glaring up at MC from where she was held against Sebastian’s chest, lids narrowed as they blazed with ferocity. No. That bitch had an inner strength that made her cling to her pathetic life with a death grip, her stubbornness matched only by the twin she seemed determined to control. 

Hardening her gaze, she glared at Rookwood. “I can only assume you know little about love,” she said flatly. 

Rookwood laughed, his shoulders shaking as it bubbled up his throat. He let her go, twirling around, arms out as he laughed at the sky. “Ah, but there is nothing quite like the bold and heedless recklessness that comes from young love,” he crowed, theatrical as ever. “And that is where your weakness lies. Your feelings towards young Mr Sallow will be your undoing.” 

The words slid along her spine and settled in the pit of her stomach like a prophecy of doom. Everywhere she turned, it seemed there would always be reasons to doubt her connection to Sebastian. Ominis had warned her, Anne had sent her to prison to keep her from him, Leander begged her to choose him with those soft eyes of his. Solomon had tried to kill her. 

Every choice she made, every path she took, there had been pain and darkness. Magic had been her light, a self discovery that offered hope, and Sebastian had been like a conduit. Born with Gaunt blood in her veins, but somehow destined to be entangled with a Sallow. To whatever end. 

“I wouldn't expect you to understand,” she choked out. “Just say what you want and be done with this.” 

“Always so cold and to the point, aren't you?” Rookwood mused, rubbing his chin. “It's all rather easy, really. You do as I ask, or I shall be forced to use leverage.” 

“What kind of leverage?” 

“Well, let's play a little game, shall we?” Rookwood grinned. He gestured and Luella dragged Anne up off the ground, Sebastian trying to crawl after her. “Oh, look at her, poor thing. Don't imagine for one moment that I don't recognise you, little bird. How's that curse feeling? Cooking along quite nicely, I expect.” 

Anne struggled and growled behind her gag, Luella smirking with smug glee as she held her firm. MC couldn't help but wonder what Anne would say if she could speak. Sebastian crawled jerkily towards them, but Luella put out her booted foot, pressing it against his forehead before shoving him back to the ground. 

Rage swept over MC and she twisted harshly in the executioner’s hold, choking as he restrained her. “Leave him alone,” she hissed.

“I do love it when my toys fight back,” the executioner murmured into her ear, squeezing her throat in warning. “Keep wriggling like that and I might start to enjoy you.” 

“Fuck you,” she said harshly, pulling on his forearm, horror creeping over her flesh at his body pressed against hers. 

Rookwood chuckled. “Hurt him again, Luella. I don’t think she liked that.” 

“With pleasure,” Luella said silkily, aiming her wand down towards Sebastian where he was trying to get back up onto his knees. “Crucio!” 

Both MC and Anne yelled in protest as Sebastian fell to the dirt, flickers of red sparking along his frame as he screamed. His throat sounded raw, hoarse, his fingers like claws as he tried to fight the pain. Flickers of memory danced behind MC’s vision as she recalled the pain of that curse. The darkness of the Scriptorium, Ominis sobbing quietly, and the dusty bones of Aunt Noctua resting uneasily in the corner. Anne was thrashing like a wild cat, screaming in rage behind her gag as she watched her brother twist in agony on the ground. MC was tearing at the executioner’s fingers around her throat as she yelled through her restricted airway. 

“Stop it! I’ll do what you say! Just stop it!” Tears were now streaming down her cheeks. 

“See? Isn’t it all so easy when everyone understands the rules of play,” Rookwood said, utterly calm and unfazed at the torture unfolding at his finely polished, booted feet. “I make a request, and you oblige me. Failure to do so will mean pain for those you care about.” 

“What more would you request of me?” MC asked warily. “You already have me seeking deposits, what more would you have me do?” 

Rookwood’s smile was slow. “I want you to absorb that repository under Hogwarts. The huge vessel of power that Ranrok wanted. You’re going to go down there and take it.” 

MC stared aghast, her blood freezing in her veins as she pictured that shimmering darkness in the cavern beneath the school. She could have taken it into herself back in her fifth year, but she had stepped away from it, repulsed by the swirling mists of other people’s pain, stolen against their will. What good could ever come from absorbing such a thing? In that, the Keepers had been right. It should never have been made in the first place, no matter how good Isadora’s intentions had been in the beginning. 

Anne began spitting venom behind her gag again, fighting with whatever strength she had left, her eyes glowing like hot coals of vicious hatred towards MC. Rookwood chuckled and glanced between Anne and MC, his head tilting slightly. “Is it just me, or does my little cursed one not like you much, MC?” 

“What gave it away?” MC muttered, glaring at Anne and wishing she would just shut up. Revealing too much was dangerous, it only gave Rookwood more leverage to play with. 

“Isn’t she the one who testified against you before the Wizengamot?” Luella asked, gripping Anne by the hair in an attempt to hold her still. “Unlike our dear Sebastian down here, this Sallow twin clearly isn’t so forgiving about the murder of their uncle.” 

MC clamped her lips together, refusing to take the bait, her eyes dropping to Sebastian who was groaning into the dirt, his body twitching with aftershocks. 

“Ah yes, this is interesting,” Rookwood said, narrowing his eyes and twirling MC’s wand in his hand thoughtfully. “Perhaps we ought to play another little game. Untie Mrs Gaunt, if you would, and give her a wand.” 

MC’s pulse quickened and she stilled, her eyes widened as Luella obliged. Immediately, Anne yanked her gag free of her mouth and snatched her wand from Luella’s grip. “Are you happy now?” She hissed, staggering forward and aiming right at MC. “This is all your fault, but nobody would listen to me when I warned them about you. Not Seb, not even my Ominis. The only one who understood was Uncle Solomon, but he is now dead. Because of you. You and your poisonous magic.” 

“Anne,” Sebastian whimpered, rolling stiffly on the ground. “No…” 

Rookwood was lit up like Christmas in the Great Hall, watching with fascination as Anne advanced on MC. MC swallowed tightly under the choking grip, her eyes fixed on Anne’s wand. Surely, Rookwood wouldn’t let Anne hurt her. He needed her. To her shock, Rookwood stepped forward and held her own wand out towards her, a malicious grin on his face. 

“Stop her, little bird,” he urged, his voice like silk. He held out her wand, handle first. “It wouldn’t take a lot, she’s hanging by her last thread. Make her suffer for the way she speaks to you. Demand her loyalty. It’s a lesson you must deliver on your path to greatness, MC. You deserve so much more respect. Take it. Show her.” 

MC felt her lips tremble as she stared at her wand, her hand already reaching out for it. The burn in her blood was a rushing, fearsome force. A blend of her ancient magic, her bitter desire for revenge, and her blood bound promise to never turn against Sebastian. To hurt Anne, was to hurt him. If she hurt Anne, she would suffer the consequences.

“Expelliarmus!” 

The spell shot from Anne’s wand, snatching MC’s wand and sending it flying through the cold, morning air. It landed and rolled across the dirt, Rookwood turning to Anne in surprise. Anne was intent on her course, her gaze fixed on MC, ignoring Rookwood’s protest as he held up a hand towards her. MC struggled in the executioner’s grip, the man mountain not even flinching as Anne’s first cast hit MC near her hip. The stinging burn was breathtaking, and she gasped, her knees buckling. If she wasn’t being held, she would have gone down. 

MC felt the pressure in her chest expand, her eyes glowing with blue and white flames, and the world seemed to slow down. Both Rookwood and Luella made a lunge for Anne, arms outstretched. Sebastian was dragging himself across the dirt, his face so pale and grim with pain. If she didn’t do something, her body was going to sizzle up in the furnace of her emotions, boiling with the urgency of her magic as it raged under her skin. Just like in Azkaban, when the Dementors had been about to take Leander, her magic exploded out of her control. 

The first blue lightning bolt struck the earth between MC and Anne, the glare of it blinding hot, the crack of its impact deafening. Anne was blown backwards into Luella, both women sprawling out across the ground. The executioner staggered slightly, but didn’t let her go. MC didn’t have the time to appreciate the awestruck horror on Rookwood’s face as the second bolt of lightning struck, this time taking out the executioner. MC felt the sizzle of the blast on her flesh, her ears ringing from the impact as she was thrown to the ground. Pain bloomed down her side as she rolled, but she got to her knees, gnashing her teeth against the burn as she scrambled to snatch up her wand. 

Bolt after bolt of searing blue lightning struck the earth, scorching the ground and filling the air with the scent of burning. The executioner lay still, the flesh of his face steaming, and MC gagged as she threw herself at Sebastian. He wasn’t moving, and terror filled her as the air crackled and burned around them. She shook him, grasping his face with one hand. The ringing sound in her ears blocking out the screams of Anne and Luella as they resorted to cat fighting in the dust. 

Sebastian’s eyes opened to look up at her, hazy and unfocused, but he reached out a shaking hand towards her face. It was enough. He was alive, and he was her only priority. Grasping him to her chest, MC closed her eyes, fighting against her exhaustion as she Disapparated, leaving the chaos of the clearing behind. 

Leander

After managing a light breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, Leander sat propped up against the pillows of his hospital bed as he sipped a cup of tea. He had watched the dawn break through the window, the sky lightening with shades of pink and autumn gold against a backdrop of the London skyline. The pain in his head had receded to a dull ache that had almost gone, his ribs were still tender but well on the mend. He didn’t need anyone to tell him how lucky he was to be alive. 

Ivy had filled him in on the events of their capture and escape, her eyes burning with curiosity whenever she mentioned MC. Leander kept his feelings to himself, unwilling to reveal just how close he had become to MC despite the Auror’s offer of help. So caught up in the knowledge that MC had risked everything to save him, Leander had taken a while to find sleep after Ivy had departed. Loving MC was a complicated and painful process, each step forward resulting in a stumble back, only to be yanked forwards again. She may insist that they could never have a future, but something deep in his bones told him that she felt something for him. He kept that little flicker of warmth safely tucked away in his heart, nurtured it, savoured it. Even if it came to nothing, maybe it could be enough just to know that she had dared to feel something for a man like him. 

Daydreaming into his tea cup, he jolted when his hospital room door opened and a nurse swept in, her pale green robe swishing softly as she approached the bed. She had black hair with strands of grey threading near her ears, pale blue eyes that seemed to appraise him with a calm curiosity. A new face, seemingly kind and warm as she paused beside him. 

“Good morning, Auror Prewett,” she said, her smile quick and bright. He couldn’t help but stare at her. There was something vaguely familiar about the shape of her eyes. “How are you feeling today? I read your notes. You took quite a beating by all accounts.” 

“I’m feeling much better this morning, thank you. I count myself very lucky indeed. They weren’t kidding when they said that designated Auror beds were a necessity,” he said, placing his tea cup carefully onto the saucer. A crease appeared on his brow. “Have we met before?” 

Her smile was there and then gone again, like the flicker of sunlight on a cloudy day. “No, we haven’t met before,” she said, gesturing towards his arm and holding up her stethoscope. “May I?” 

“Oh, of course,” he said, giving himself a mental shake. He had been staring, and a hot blush stained his cheeks as he placed his tea on his bedside table and offered her his arm. Her hands were warm and gentle as she rolled up the sleeve of his hospital gown, and with a quick flick of her wand, he felt the tightening band of pressure about his upper arm. She placed the stethoscope against the inside of his elbow and checked a little watch pinned to her robe. 

Leander felt himself staring at her profile again, noting the gentle slope of her nose, the constellation of beauty marks near her ear. There was a captivating beauty about her that pulled strongly with recognition. He felt like he knew her in some way.

Her pale blue eyes shifted his way, and her mouth curved upwards. “Your heart is beating rather quickly, Auror Prewett, and I can feel your eyes staring right into my soul” she said softly. “It’s nice to know I can still turn a head.” 

His face burned with shame. He slapped a hand to his forehead. “I’m so sorry. Please…gods, forgive me,” he spluttered, cringing at himself. “I didn't mean to stare, it’s just…well, you remind me of someone. Someone special.” 

Her eyebrows lifted and she released the pressure on his arm, rolling down his sleeve with deft fingers. “The young lady in your life?” She asked. 

He nodded, and then frowned, looking back up at her questioningly. She smiled again, fussing with his bed sheets, smoothing them neatly. “I was here through the night,” she said. “I saw two young ladies visit your room. One of them was your colleague, and she did not fall asleep holding your hand, unlike the other one. That one is very pretty up close, nothing like the unflattering prisoner photograph printed in the Daily Prophet of her, for sure.” 

Leander shifted in the bed, rubbing the back of his neck, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. “You recognised her?” 

The nurse paused in her work and gave him a piercing look. “You won’t receive any judgement from me, Auror Prewett. We are all human after all.” She moved back up towards the head of the bed and checked his pillows, her hand firm as she placed it on his shoulder to settle him back against the plush softness. 

“You called her someone special,” she said, furtively glancing at him. “I get the feeling that she thinks rather highly of you, too. She cried at your bedside before falling asleep.” 

Leander felt his pulse quicken, his senses kicking up a notch as he studied this nurse a little more closely. He tucked that little nugget of information away to savour over later, for now, his Auror trained mind was edging towards suspicion. “Who are you?” 

“Call me… Beth,” she said, a curious little smile on her lips as she moved away from the bed. 

Her hesitation was enough to suggest that the name had been plucked from the air. He leant forward slightly, concern etched on his features. “You’re lying. Why are you asking about MC? Did Rookwood send you?” 

Panic flared in his chest and he gripped the bed sheets, preparing to launch himself from the bed. She hurried forward and placed her hands on his shoulders, her pale blue eyes wide. “Do not fret,” she said quickly and quietly, glancing over her shoulder towards the door much like MC had done when she had been here. “I mean no ill will, nor do I wish any harm upon your young lady. I’d rather die than be a soldier for Rookwood. He is a stain on the earth.” 

“Then, who are you really?” He demanded. 

Something in her gaze softened as she stared back at him. “You are a good man, Auror Prewett. I’ve done my research on you. An honourable man, and I give you my thanks. You take care of her. She is safe with you.” 

Leander could only stare, his lips parted. The pieces to the puzzle were floating within his grasp, he just needed to slot them into place. Her smile was warm as she stepped back from the bed. She nodded at him. He had known as soon as she walked through the door, hadn’t he? It just took some time for his brain to catch up with itself.

Her eyes, her smile, the black hair… She even had beauty marks on her face like Ominis.

“Wait,” he called out, gripping the sheets again. 

Her hand was on the door, opening it. She turned back once, their eyes meeting in a strange, but final understanding, and then she was gone. Goosebumps spread swiftly along his arms as he stared at the now closed door. He felt like he had seen a ghost, but that nurse had been no ghost. 

Beth.

Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth Gaunt. 

He had just been visited by MC’s birth mother. She was definitely alive. And she knew about MC, she had been watching them both, and he had just let her walk out of the door. 

Sebastian 

The warmth of the bath water seemed to envelope him, soothing over skin that felt raw and sensitive as though he had the flu. His hands still had a tremor, but the worst of the shaking seemed to be over. Sebastian winced as he leant back in the cast iron tub, trying to allow himself to relax, but fear held his insides in an icy vice. 

Rookwood had Anne. If they were all still alive that is.

A shudder rattled through him as he recalled the horror of every moment laying in the dirt whilst pain ripped through him, but his fear for Anne had been greater. To see her twisted with the same pain had torn him in two. Closing his eyes, he could hear her screams, the whole sky alight with blue fire, the same fierce glow burning in MC’s eyes. Blinking away tears, he pressed his hands to his face and took a few steadying breaths, panic beginning to swell in his chest. He hated feeling this weak, this powerless, but he would take all the pain he had to if it meant keeping it from Anne.

He stared at the unfamiliar walls of the bathroom, the dark wood panelling and cast iron fireplace where a crackling fire blazed for warmth. Pale sunlight streamed through a window catching the dust in delicate sparkles as they danced in the air. This house was aged and unused, bought with old money. Gaunt money.

He could hear the muffled sound of voices from the other room, Ominis and MC, still bickering, still unable to come to any sort of agreement. When MC had brought him to Ominis and Anne’s house, the fallout had been on a scale Sebastian had not seen since the day of the catacombs. Ominis went from being anxious about Anne’s whereabouts, to downright livid with rage when he discovered what had happened. Sebastian felt certain he had blacked out through some of it, the uncontrollable shaking and the unbearable pain stealing all rational thought from him. When he had come around again, they were no longer in Anne’s kitchen, but miles away amid the peat marshes of Norfolk, safely away from prying eyes in Noctua Gaunt’s riverside house. 

Weak, and exhausted, Sebastian had slumped on the settee as potions were poured into his mouth, MC’s hands carefully smoothing back his hair with worried glances. Ominis had paced, muttering and pressing his hands to his ears, reliving old horrors as MC recounted the torture. It seemed the darkness would never recede, it would always be there waiting in the wings to claim them, and for the first time, Sebastian felt a deep and true sense of guilt and shame. For so long he had walked the darker path, shrugging off the consequences of his actions, but to feel that pain, to experience first hand the true horror…

Sinking lower into the bath water, he let the burn in his eyes succumb to tears until his shoulders shook with his sobs. How much more of this could they take? How much more could he take? The weight of it all crushed over him, dragging him under until he felt like he would never breathe clear again. 

But, he still had to fight. He had to keep the game in play. Now, more than ever. He had to get his sister back. 

The click of the bathroom door made him look up. MC peered around the dark wood, her face pale and drawn, her eyes dark. “I just thought I would check on you,” she said softly. “Are you alright?” 

He didn’t think he would ever feel alright ever again. “I’m feeling better,” he nodded, managing a weak smile. 

Her teeth worried at her lower lip as she studied him. “Ominis left for the Ministry. He is going to report Anne as missing,” she said, still lingering behind the door. “Harrington is going to be all over this. I should contact Leander, too.” 

“If it means they get Anne back home, then maybe that’s a good thing,” he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I just said that.” 

MC pushed the door a little wider. “May I come in?” 

Sebastian reached a dripping wet arm out of the tub towards her, his fingers splayed outwards. “Come here,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. 

Closing the door behind her, she moved carefully across the floorboards, putting a hand to her side as knelt beside the tub, taking hold of his hand. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, frowning in concern. 

She waved him off. “I’m fine, don’t you worry,” she insisted, pressing her lips to his palm, over and over. “You’re cold,” she grimaced. She reached to dip her hand into the water, her eyebrows lifting in surprise at the heat of it. 

His smile was grim. “Must be that cold blood of mine,” he said darkly. 

She met his gaze. “You are definitely not cold blooded,” she whispered. “Too hot blooded for your own good sometimes, if anything.” 

He watched her through lowered lids as her gaze dipped to his chest, travelling slowly downwards where he lay back in the water. He made no moves to cover his modesty, watching with curiosity as a flush of pink coloured her cheeks. She cleared her throat, blinking rapidly as she averted her eyes, swiping back loose strands of hair. It put the beginnings of a fire curling in his belly to see that spark of desire in her eyes, to know that she still wanted him, even if she did try to hide it.

She had bathed and changed, too. Wearing a blouse of snowy white, it contrasted with the midnight ebony of her hair. There were dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes, her cheekbones still looked too sharp, and tension lingered around her mouth, but she was beautiful still. His heart ached for her in ways he could never explain but he didn’t move as her fingers stroked his hand. She slid them slowly over his skin, tracing over his wrist and along his forearm until she came to the tally of black marks he had cast onto his flesh. Her fingertip brushed over them as she frowned. “What is this?” 

“A mark for every soul departed by my own hands,” he admitted, swallowing thickly. She met his gaze, dark horror shadowing her face. “I don’t want to forget what I have done, MC. I carry the memory of them always, a reminder of my shame. It never gets any easier to carry the burden, and that’s how it should be.” 

“Oh, Seb,” she whispered, staring down at the black markers. Her horror turned to sadness, her eyes glassy and pained. 

“Don’t cry for me,” he said, touching a knuckle under her chin. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you, either. All those marks on my skin are a stark reminder of all the bad shit I’ve done, but I would do it all over again, every single one, if it means that you and Anne are safe. I love you both. I would do anything for you, anything at all, but that’s my choice. So, don’t cry for me.” 

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” she said, her chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers. A determined gleam lit her eyes and she leant against the edge of the tub. “Once upon a time, you and I used to do fucked up shit together. For whatever reason, fate put you and I on the same path. I think it was set in stone long before we were both even born, and even when events try to separate us, we find each other again.” 

The seriousness with which she spoke made his heart clench, his pulse kicking up and fluttering in his neck, but he tilted his head and fixed her with one of his mischievous little smirks. “Careful, now, sweetheart,” he teased, trying to keep things light. “That sounds awfully romantic. Are you going soft on me?” 

“Someone is feeling better,” she said sourly, her brow creasing slightly. 

A hoarse chuckle left his lips and he tugged on her hand, needing her to be even closer. The bath water sloshed as he brought his other hand up to touch her jaw, his humour fading into raw honesty. “I always feel better when I’m with you,” he said. “Like you just said. Fate brought you to me, and I’m not letting you go without one hell of a fight. Rookwood was right about one thing. I did find something beautiful and precious, and if I’m selfish for trying to keep it, then so be it.” 

He sat up, the water sloshing noisily as he met her gaze nose to nose. “You’re mine. Body and soul. Bound by blood, bound by darkness, bound by the souls we have sent into Death’s hands to keep each other safe. I know it’s fucked up, MC, but it’s ours. I’d rather face all of this with you beside me than alone. You are the only one in the whole world who understands.” 

She nodded, leaning her forehead against his. “That’s why I’m going back,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I’m going back to Rookwood, and I’m going to find Anne. Not for her sake, but for yours, and for Ominis.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He frowned, apprehension stiffening his already tortured muscles. “Give me a few hours and I can go back myself.” 

“No,” she said firmly, placing her hand against his wet chest. “You need proper rest after what happened back there, and I don’t want you anywhere near Rookwood right now. I’ll go. Anne may hate me, but she won’t have a choice. She knows something, Seb, and I want to get it out of her.” 

He gave her a dubious look. “Good luck with that, Anne is more stubborn than I am.” 

“And that is saying something,” she smirked, her fingers gently digging into the solid flesh of his chest. His skin tingled harshly in protest, still raw, but he bore it. Anything to keep her hands on him. 

“You’re lucky I’m still weak and shaky, sweetheart,” he said, curling his fingers into the front of her blouse, his blood heating in slow, flickering pulses. He pulled her closer, his mouth barely grazing hers. He heard her soft gasp and smirked. “Keep sassing me with that smart mouth of yours, and I’ll be dragging you into this tub with me. I’m certain I could find another use for it.” 

He waited for the bite back, a smart comment, maybe she would shove him back down into the bath with one of her stubborn little looks, but she didn’t. Her hand slid slowly down his chest, fingers splayed, blistering heat following in a lazy trail as she dragged her fingernails gently across his stomach. His muscles contracted, pleasure and lingering pain sparking like tiny bites in his flesh, drawing a whimper from his mouth. Her pupils dilated, and he was entranced, caught in her gaze. Utterly in her hands. 

“In your state, I don’t think you could handle me,” she murmured, the low tone of her voice sending a shiver down his spine. 

“I’d happily die trying,” he gasped, his words more a desperate moan as her hand slid lower, fingers teasing at the edge of dark, curling hair. His dick twitched eagerly, hot blood rushing to swell him with an aching throb, the wet, silken tip grazing against her forearm. His eyes rolled, lips parted in a stuttering breath of sheer, teasing pleasure. Her mouth was a hot sin, her tongue so soft as she slid it over his lip. For a few blissful seconds he thought he might forget the pain as she kissed him, losing himself in her taste as desire blazed against the lingering ache in his muscles.

He trembled, one hand grasping the rolled edge of the iron tub as she reached for the bar of soap, and he watched with bated breath as she lathered it up in her hands before slowly spreading it downwards over his torso, the frothy bubbles swirling through the trail of dark hair around his navel and lower. He groaned and lay back in the water, biting his lip as the blend of pleasure and pain her touch conjured sung across his skin. 

“Am I hurting you?” She asked, her hands pausing at the apex of his thighs. 

“No…yes,” he whimpered, a crease appearing on his now sweat beaded brow. Desperation had him breathless. “Don’t stop.” 

Her slow smile did things to his insides, made him quiver with anticipation as her hands encircled his length, slippery and soapy as they glided up to the tip and all the way back down again. He didn’t even recognise the sound of the moan that left his own mouth, his pelvis lifting upwards from the base of the tub to chase the exquisite sensation of her touch. His head lolled against the tub edge, all rational thought eradicated as she worked with deliberate, slow strokes. 

“Good?” She murmured, watching him with dark eyes, a delicate pink flush highlighting her cheekbones. 

“So…so good,” he rasped, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the tub. 

Heat was pooling thick and fast at the base of his spine, every muscle and sinew strung to their tightest point as tremors of flickering pain lingered in his limbs. He would have thought that the effects of the curse would have killed his desire, but no, he wallowed in the tub as pleasure and pain blended into one mind blowing sensation. He never knew how delicate the balance could be between two very different sensations, but put them together, and he was dangerously close to climax after a few delicious strokes. Of course, it helped that it was MC’s deadly little hands doing the fucking. 

She picked up her pace, two hands fisting with just enough pressure over the head of his dick to have him bucking greedily, chasing the blistering peak with desperate, breathless moans. It took all of his remaining strength to cling on to the edge of the tub, with one hand he moved to reach for her, needing to feel her, but gasping he clamped onto the tub once more as she slid one soapy hand lower to cup his aching balls. 

“Fuck,” he panted, staring up at the white washed ceiling now, sweat streaking down his neck, a vein throbbing at his temple. What was that he had said about dying happy as he tried to keep up? 

The pressure in his lower back expanded, waves of heat rolling outwards as his balls tightened. So violent was his release, he cried out, almost blacking out as he coated his chest and her arm in impressive amounts of cum. The bath water rolled in mini waves after the shuddering arch he had made with his back. Sinking back down to the bath base, he panted, trying to reassemble his scattered thoughts with his eyes closed. Exhausted wasn’t the word.

He heard MC washing her hands off in the water, felt the soft swipe of a wash cloth against his chest, but he remained still, lungs burning with every deep breath. Only when he felt gentle hands take hold of his face did he crack open his bleary eyes. She smiled at him. 

“There, that’s better. You feel much warmer now,” she said, smoothing a thumb over his heated cheeks. 

“I fucking love you,” he mumbled. 

She huffed in amusement through her nose and bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I think I quite like this submissive, well behaved Sebastian. Can I keep him?” 

“Don’t get used to it,” he warned, but his words were no more than a soft mumble. He lifted a shaky hand and touched his fingertips to her lips. “Once I’m back on my feet, I’m going to put you on your back and repay the favour.” 

“I shall hold you to that,” she said, kissing him softly on the mouth. Then she stood, fetching a clean towel that hung on a rail. She held it up. “Let’s get you out of there and into bed. You need rest.” 

He wasn’t even sure he could stand. The day's events slammed into him, the post climax glow making his muscles feel loose and sated, but the horror of earlier still clung to him. A lurking darkness hung over his head, but a deep, glowing sense of warmth settled in his chest at her words. The promise of more. It was in her smile as he clung to her, his legs shaking as she helped him out of the tub. It was in the way she touched him, the softness in her voice as she towelled him off and pressed kisses to his flushed skin. She was finally coming back to him, and this time, he wouldn’t let her down. 

MC

Only when Sebastian was settled in sleep could she gently let go of his hand. She had tucked him into the freshly made four poster bed, ignoring his requests for her to climb in with him. They had compromised with her sitting beside him, their hands clasped as he began to drift. Staring down at his face relaxed in sleep, it struck her how vulnerable he seemed. So used to his cocky smirk and hands on approach, it gave her pause to see him weak and soft like this. 

It reminded her of those dark days after Solomon’s death when Anne had abandoned him, her heart contracting with pain to recall the nights spent wide awake in horrified tension in the Undercroft. So much pain and suffering seemed to find them both. 

She watched the delicate flutter of his closed eyelids, the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath the soft bed sheet. Alive. It struck her deeply how terrified she was of losing him forever. To use his own words, he was the only one who understood. To lose him would mean loneliness with cutting finality. 

When she had found him in the bathtub, his eyes red from crying, the urge to take his pain filled her with longing. If she probed that thought deeper, perhaps she could understand the lengths that Isadora had dared go to erase pain from others. MC didn’t think she could ever go as far as that, however, and when she had seen Sebastian naked in the water, her own body had fancied a rather different approach. It still gave her shivers to think of how he had moaned, her hands coaxing him to pleasure, pushing back his shadows and reinforcing that connection between them.

If he was indeed fated to be her undoing, then so be it. She was in too deep now, connected to him in ways inexplicable, but rooted so far into her soul that it seemed impossible to imagine her life without him in it. 

Is this what they call love? As a teen she had believed it so, but had never been entirely sure. She held a strong affection for Leander, cared about him, but it could never be like this. It brought a tear to her eye to contemplate such heavy thoughts, the web of emotions thick and binding in her chest. As she stared down at Sebastian in his sleep, she supposed she really must love him if she was preparing to go and seek out his stubborn, vicious mouthed sister. 

Slipping quietly from the bedroom and closing the door, she wandered the old house that had once belonged to Noctua Gaunt. Ominis had brought them here where nobody would think to look for them, allowing Sebastian to recover before they made any other moves. Considering his rage, Ominis had been rather gracious. As she awaited his return from the Ministry, not wanting to leave Sebastian alone, she began to pay more attention to the house around her. After all, Noctua had been her aunt, too. 

The furniture and decor held a charm of its own. The house was reasonable in size, and yet it felt like a home despite years of being empty. Cosy and welcoming, the house was nothing like she had thought to expect from a Gaunt, but then Noctua had broken the mould when it came to her family. The art was light and pleasing, seeming to favour themes of flora and landscapes. MC trailed her hands against fine curtains and plush cushions, her boots crossing delicately woven rugs. 

Opening a door, she came across a room lined with many bookcases, a leather settee placed before a cast iron fireplace. A bureau style writing desk was placed against one wall, above it hung a portrait of two dark haired girls and a stern faced boy. MC moved closer, noting the resemblance to Ominis in their faces. First, she stared at the boy, likely Ominis’ father. There was none of the gentle nature in his hard eyes that she had come to know about Ominis. The set of his mouth was cruel, even at a young age. She guessed Mr Gaunt to be around fourteen in the picture, his arrogance apparent in the way he placed his hand on the back of the chair where the smallest girl sat. 

The older of the two girls had to be Noctua. MC had seen a portrait of her before that Ominis had shown her not long after their visit to the Scriptorium. It was the smaller girl in the wing backed chair that made her pulse quicken, her throat working as she studied the delicate features of the raven haired girl, sitting so straight backed and yet demure as she posed. A proper lady at approximately eleven years old.

“Hello, mother,” MC whispered, seeing her own blue eyes reflected back at her in the painting. They had the same shaped nose, the same hair. She found herself longing to know how she moved, the sound of her voice. What would it feel like to hear her laugh? It brought a lump to her throat. 

Pressing her fingers to her cheeks, she could see with her own eyes the similarities in her features to those of the three Gaunt siblings. If Ominis had been able to see, would he have noticed long before just how much she looked like his relatives? It chilled her to think that his family would have seen her photograph in the newspaper. Would they realise? But then, she remembered what Ominis had told her. That he had always believed his Aunt Elizabeth’s daughter long dead. 

Pushing back against the burn of tears, MC turned her attention to the fine writing desk, smoothing her fingers over the lid before carefully pulling it down. It made no creak or groan as she lowered the writing table, everything inside neatly stored, the wood finely painted with floral designs on the drawers and pigeon holes. Quills and bottles of ink, neat stacks of correspondence and notes, envelopes and a wax seal with the Gaunt family crest were all stored here. MC picked through the various items, not really reading any of the private letters still kept, until her gaze fell upon one that gave her pause. 

Her fingers shook as she held the parchment, her mouth going dry as she sank down into the antique chair placed before the bureau. 

My dearest Noctua, 

I felt compelled to reply to your recent letter at once. I fear that I may already be too late, but if I am not, then please…you must do nothing. You know how Father is. He would cut you off, or worse, he would see you cold in the ground before you betray your blood. Do not fret for me, sister dearest. I made my choice. I could never regret my love for William, and I already adore the babe that grows within me. He, or she, will be the light of my life, and if I need to run in order to protect my child, then that is what I must do. William and I plan to marry at the first opportunity. We shall go to Gretna Green to become handfast. It will be the start of a new life for me, away from the dark corners of Gaunt manor, and the wickedness that pours from Father’s wand. 

I shall remain, as ever, your most loyal and loving sister. I implore you again to be careful, and I beg that you press a million kisses to baby Ominis’ cheeks. 

Love always, your sister, Beth x 

This glimpse into her mother’s world only threw up more questions. What happened? How did a woman so intent on her new start manage to disappear, and the light of her life ended up in an unforgiving children’s home in the poorest part of London? Where was her father now? This William her mother spoke so fondly of. And how did Solomon Sallow fit into all of this? 

MC read the letter again before returning it carefully to the collection of letters in the desk, thumbing through the rest to see if she could find any more. Tucked to the rear of the desk was a rolled parchment, a broken wax seal displaying a circular symbol she had never seen before. Unrolling it quickly, she scanned the inked words and the mystery deepened. 

It was addressed to Noctua, and it spoke of a matter discussed at a previous meeting, however the details were not mentioned here. The sender of the scroll was signed only as Head of the Circle, whoever that could be, and they claimed that Elizabeth was safe and well. MC studied the document, noting the neatly scribed words, the delicate designs drawn at the top along with the words ‘The Circle of Avalon.’ 

Sitting back in the chair, MC let her hands drop to her lap, her gaze staring off across the room as she considered this. She had heard Avalon before, and she dredged through her memories as she tried to remember where. Sebastian would likely know, but she was loath to wake him yet. He needed to recover his strength. As she pondered this Circle of Avalon, the nagging feeling that she needed to talk to Anne hung over her. It didn’t appeal, but that stubborn bitch knew something, and she was hiding it from both her and Sebastian. 

Turning to the desk, she pulled out her secret communication parchment that she shared with Leander and smoothed it out on the table top. Tapping her wand to it, a single sentence appeared in his neat script. 

We need to meet as soon as possible. Lee x 

Expecting this to be about Anne’s disappearance now being known, MC took up a quill to write her request for Andrew Larson to look up The Circle of Avalon in the Ministry files, and promised to meet with him soon to explain. There was something she needed to do first. 

….*….

Time slipped into late afternoon by the time Ominis arrived back at Noctua’s house, his face drawn into one of tight fatigue. MC had been standing out on the back terrace, looking out over the river as the sun began its descent. The sky was a glorious sweep of golds and pinks, the Norfolk landscape a flat marshland as far as the eye could see, broken only by the many windmills scattered here and there, and the odd late sail boat making its way through the broads. 

“You’re still here, then,” Ominis said, holding out his wand, the tip blinking red. He could not hide the downward turn of his mouth, his grimness understandable. “Where is Sebastian?” 

“Sleeping,” she replied, pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders as she moved to stand before him, wincing at the bruising to her ribs. “Now that you have returned, I thought to leave him in your care. I intend to return to Scotland and see if I can’t find where they are keeping Anne. How did it go at the Ministry? Did you speak with Harrington?” 

“Harrington has put out an alert about Anne’s disappearance. From what I can gather, Prewett will be released from St Mungo’s this evening. I’m sure they will want to speak with you,” he said, fidgeting slightly, rubbing long fingers against his forehead. “Perhaps I ought to warn you. I also spoke with my brother whilst I was in London. We don’t tend to stay in touch, and so the meeting was rather strained to begin with before I even mentioned Anne. He is a despicable human being, much like my father. However, Marvolo is in cahoots with Rookwood, and I want my wife back.” 

“What did he say?” MC felt a shiver start at the back of her neck. As curious as she felt about her blood family, she had hoped to avoid Marvolo as much as possible. 

“He claims he knew nothing about Anne being taken, and quite frankly he didn’t seem to care,” Ominis scowled, his mouth a tight line. “He seemed more interested in how Sebastian took his torture, and if you were compliant in Rookwood’s game play. My distress has always been a source of enjoyment for him, I can’t see how this will change anything.” 

MC placed a tentative hand to Ominis’ shoulder. He immediately tensed under her touch, but she kept her hand there. “I am sorry, Ominis, for whatever part I have played in this mess. But, I want to fix it. Anne may not like me, but she means a lot to you and Sebastian, and you both mean a lot to me.” 

“You will do the evil that Rookwood asks of you?” He asked, tilting his head, his pale eyes luminous in the light of the setting sun. 

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” she said, letting her hand slide from his shoulder. “I can’t promise there won’t be anything dangerous about this, but it is the path we find ourselves on. Just make sure Sebastian stays here. He needs to rest, and I don’t want him anywhere near Rookwood until I know the state of things. I’m not having his death on my conscience.” 

“Nobody should have any deaths on their conscience,” he said bitterly. 

“In a perfect world, perhaps, Ominis,” she said sadly. “I shall take my leave, then.” 

Her boots scraped against the stone flagging underfoot as she took a step back. Ominis reached out a hand and grasped her sleeve, his fingers clenched tight. “Be careful. Come back to us.” 

The expression on his face brought a lump to her throat. “I promise,” she whispered. 

Slowly, he let her go, his shoulders seeming to carry a heavy weight. With a last glance back at the house, MC Disapparated out to the cluster of trees near the Ashwinder camp. 

The shadows were long and creeping as she stepped through the carpet of leaves, wand in hand. It was quiet. Too quiet. A chill wind rustled the canopy above, and she pulled her cloak closer as she peered around the trunk of a tree, a sinking sensation made her stomach clench. The camp had gone. The clearing ahead had been filled with pitched tents and cook fires, chatter and even some singing filling the air, but now, it was barren. Evidence of stamped out fires and flattened wild grass where tents had stood were all that was left. The Ashwinders had moved on and she had no idea where. 

Slumping against the tree she considered travelling to London and paying a visit to the Black Rose. Someone there would be able to tell her the new camp location, but that would risk word getting back to Rookwood that she was looking, and she had been rather hoping for subtlety. Perhaps that was Rookwood’s plan. Frustrated at being stumped at the first instance, MC sighed and rubbed her face. She would have to go back to Norfolk and ask Sebastian if he had a clue how to find them. 

A twig snapped to the left of her and she spun, wand out, but couldn’t see anyone in the rapidly descending darkness. On full alert now, her pulse quickening in her ears, she stared wide eyed into the trees. It could be an animal she supposed, but the hairs had lifted on the back of her neck. She didn’t feel alone. 

The flickering beam of a spell shot through the shadows, catching her off guard. Jumping to one side, she yelped as the sensation of coiling rope wrapped around her calf, slithering easily to bind both of her legs together. Losing balance, she thumped down into the bed of leaves with a cry of pain as she crushed her already sore ribs. Gasping against the winded feeling, she wriggled into a sitting position to aim at the binding curse with her own wand and release it. Strong hands grasped her shoulders, dragging her back to the ground and pinning her there, face down. Her spell scorched through the crispy leaves, missing its mark.

“Well, would you look at that? I’ve only gone and caught myself a cute little bunny in the woods.” 

MC twisted her head to try and see who it was, the voice vaguely familiar, furiously trying to buck against the hands holding her down. “I wouldn’t get too cocky,” she grunted. “This isn’t over yet.” 

He laughed, leaning down until she could feel his breath against her cheek. His cologne was fresh, citrus scented, and his fingers massaged into her muscles. “I love a feisty bunny,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “We have to stop meeting like this, chosen one. Why are you always lurking in dark places? Oh yes, one should always expect that you are up to mischief. That was what you said, wasn’t it?” 

Her breath left her in a gasp, leaves fluttering at her nose. “Rosier?” She squeaked. 

“We meet again, MC,” he chuckled, rolling her onto her back. 

Leaves were caught in her hair and there was a fresh smudge of dirt on her cheek, but her eyes flashed indignantly as she stared up at his handsome face whilst he knelt over her. Even in the deepening twilight you could see the fine cut of his jaw and charming smile, his dark blonde hair swept romantically to one side. Her hands clenched. She hated being taken at a disadvantage, and had the urge to slap his smug face. 

“Release your spell,” she demanded through gritted teeth. 

His smile widened. “You’re lucky you Apparated into my surveillance patch, love. Otherwise you would be dealing with a lot worse than a little binding hex.” 

“What do you mean?” She frowned. 

He bent closer. “Rookwood expected you to come back, so he set watchmen to wait for you,” he said. He tilted his head, his eyes curious. “I’m surprised to see you alone, though. Where’s Seb?” 

“After what he went through? You seriously expect him to be up and about already?” 

Rosier’s face fell, no longer cocky, but serious. “He’s hurt?” 

MC studied him, unsure if he was bluffing. “Rookwood didn’t brag about his little torture show?” 

“No, he did not,” Rosier said tightly. His hands let go of her shoulders as he shook his head in annoyance. “Rookwood didn’t say an awful lot, to tell the truth. Is Seb alright?” 

Perhaps Rosier’s concern was genuine, but MC didn’t have time to debate it out. Whilst he was distracted thinking about Sebastian, she sat up, using her momentum to slam into him and take him by surprise. He grunted and lost his balance, falling sideways into the leaves. Her legs were still bound, but she threw her weight on top of him, aiming down at the ropes, and cast quickly. The ropes disintegrated, and as he grabbed her by the arms, she fought back, swinging her leg over until she could straddle his chest. She pressed a hand to his throat making him choke, forcing him to still, her wand tip pressed into his cheek. 

She smirked down at his surprised face. “I told you not to get too cocky.” 

His eyes gleamed as he smiled. “Nice moves. Sallow’s girl through and through, ain’t you, love?” He said, his throat bobbing under her palm. His gaze swept down over her, his eyebrows lifting up playfully. “This is quite the view, though. Can’t say I’m complaining.” 

Narrowing her eyes, she pressed the tip of her wand deeper into his cheek. “Keep it in your pants, Prince Charming,” she warned. “Look all you want, but keep your hands to yourself.” 

He groaned and bit his lip. “Merlin’s balls, you’re turning me on, love. Didn’t I tell you?  I love a feisty bunny.” 

She gaped at him and he laughed, his hands wrapping snugly around her wrists. “Relax, love. I’m messing with you. Seb would have my bollocks on a platter if I so much as laid one finger on you. He ain’t the revealing type, likes to play his cards close to his chest, but he has got it bad for you. I can tell.” 

She looked pointedly at his hands around her wrists. “You’ve laid more than a few fingers on me so far. A little daring for one who seems overly confident about his dick appeal. Maybe I should platter you up right now, hmm? I don’t need Seb’s help for that.” 

A delighted bark of laughter escaped him. “Oh, you are delicious. There will be no need for that, though. What can I say? I love a good game of flirting, and you are far too lovely to pass up on the opportunity for a spot of banter.” 

“You call tackling women to the ground flirting?” She wrinkled her nose in disapproval. 

“I couldn’t risk you disappearing on me now, could I?” He said, grinning ear to ear. “You’ve got that all powerful ancient magic thing in your favour. I had to give myself at least a little fighting chance.” 

She eyed him carefully. “So, what’s the plan? Are you to take me to Rookwood now that you have caught me?” 

“That is what he wanted,” Rosier said, attempting to ease her hand from his throat. “Care to do a man a favour, and come quietly?”

She gave his throat a gentle squeeze. “What if I won’t go willingly? I’m not too impressed with his performance earlier this morning. He made me watch as he tortured Sebastian and his sister in the dirt. Rookwood can go fuck himself. What do you say to that?” 

Rosier was quiet for a moment, considering her words. “Sebastian’s sister?” 

“Yes, his twin. Anne,” MC nodded. She frowned as a look of stunned realisation swept over his face. “You do know about her, right?” 

“Anne is Sebastian’s twin? I had no bloody idea!” He exclaimed. “Seb never really spoke much about his family. He always got cagey whenever the subject came up. When Rookwood mentioned this girl, Anne, I had no idea of the connection.” 

“What did Rookwood say about her? Do you know where she is?” 

She felt him swallow under her hand, his eyes wary as he spoke. “What makes you think I would know that?” 

“Sebastian will start ripping heads from necks if Rookwood has done anything to hurt his sister,” she said. 

He nodded awkwardly, still holding her wrists. “I can quite imagine it.”

“You and Sebastian seemed friendly enough. You shared a tent after all. Is there any honour amongst thieves?” She asked, shifting her weight on him. 

His eyes narrowed. “What are you asking me?” 

“I’m not going to let you drag me before Rookwood. There has been enough of that for one day,” she said bitterly. “I want to know how loyal you are to him. You may be buddies with Sebastian, but I don’t know if I can trust you.” 

“How about I prove my worth to you?” 

“I’m listening,” she said, tense and ready, her wand still pressed to his cheek. 

He cleared his throat and she eased her grip a little. “I know where Anne is. But, if you think you’re going to just waltz in and get her out, you’re mistaken. Luella is the keeper of the charm holding the house, and like I’ve warned you before, she isn’t a bitch you want to cross.” 

Hatred made MC’s skin crawl as she thought about Rookwood’s entitled bitch of a daughter. “I’ve come face to face with a few bitches in my time, Rosier. Luella Rookwood made her first mistake thinking she could put her hands on Sebastian. She picked a fight with the wrong woman when she pissed me off.” 

Rosier flinched back, letting go of her wrists as he stared up at her. “What the fuck is that in your eyes? They are glowing blue.” 

Her smile was slow as she dragged the tip of her wand down his face. “A reminder not to fuck with me,” she warned. “I still don’t trust you. Ashwinders are aptly named. Slithering snakes born out of chaos, spreading your flames until you’re all burnt out.” 

“You’ve made your point,” he said, swallowing hard. “Let me up, and I’ll take you to where Anne is being held. There isn’t a lot of honour amongst thieves, but Seb has always had my back and I’ve always had his. You can trust me on that.” 

“Time will tell, I guess,” she said, releasing her hold. Keeping her wand at the ready, she got to her feet, hesitating for a moment before holding out her hand towards him. “If this is some kind of trick, don’t think I won’t hurt you. I didn’t get sent to Azkaban for making daisy chains.” 

He eyed her hand, and then smiled as he took hold of it, allowing her to haul him up. He got to his feet, brushing loose leaves from his coat. “I’m only a fool when it comes to bedding pretty women. When it comes to survival, I know which side of my bread is buttered, love.” 

Now that he was back on his feet, his face held that ridiculously charming smile. She figured that smile could be dangerous to the unsuspecting victim. He made you want to smile back, the smoothness of his voice a clever ploy to lure you in. 

“So, where are we going?” She asked, expecting it to be somewhere like Rookwood’s old family estate, or maybe even somewhere in London. 

“Hogsmeade,” Rosier said, holding out his arm like a fine gentleman escorting his lady. “Shall we?” 

He returned her look of surprise with another disarming smile. She hoped to gods she didn’t regret this, but slipped her arm through his under the shifting shadows of the trees, that gut twisting tug behind her navel making her gag as they vanished. They landed on the windswept, craggy hill above Hogsmeade, the tall pointy roofs of the village spread out below them under a shroud of misty rain. The lights appeared like yellow, hazy glows, and in the distance stood the huge, hulking mass of Hogwarts. A magical, slumbering giant under low, heavy clouds. 

Rosier held a finger to lips and pointed to an abandoned building clinging to the edge of the rocky hillside, the flickering light of a candle dancing in a low level window. MC creased her brow in memory. She had been here before, a long time ago. Rosier took out his wand and cast the Disillusionment charm, his form vanishing in the misty rain. MC swiped at the dampness gathering on her cheek and did the same, apprehension settling in her chest. 

A hand sought out hers, warm fingers clasping firmly, but gently. “Follow me,” Rosier whispered. 

To be continued...

Tagging: @eternalremorse @slytherin-paramour @writing-intheundercroft @evaslytherpuff @loving-him-was-red13 @sevprince-91 @lucy-withthediamonds-inthesky

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🐺 My Best Friend’s Father

My Best Friend’s Father: Isla has been friends with Allison Argent since she moved to Beacon Hills, and it was given that she would eventually become friends with Christopher Argent. After begging Chris for some hunting tricks to protect herself from the supernatural, Isla finds herself breaking an unspoken rule between best friends. Do not fall in love with their father.

Warnings: Language, Explicit Material  (Unprotected Sex is a No No).

To Note: Christopher Argent x NAMED!Female!Reader, Legal Age-Gap, Allison is NOT Dead, Reader is Depicted to Have Hair Long Enough to Pull Up.

Word Count: ~7.6k

There is an unspoken rule about best friends. Don’t ever catch feelings for their father’s, no matter how attractive they are, or how nice they can be. It was a recipe for disaster and certain death for said friendship, not to mention the glaring age gap and societal standards. It was wrong, and you knew that.

But can you control who you love?

You had met Allison when you had started a tutoring job in chemistry at the local high school, you were already friends with Lydia, so becoming friends with her was bound to happen one way or another. You had been with her through thick and thin, from her mother dying, her breakup with Scott, and her near death experience at the hands of the Oni.

Out of everyone in Beacon Hills, you would say that you were closest to Allison, but that also came with a draw back. The longer you were friends with Allison, the more you got to know her father, and the more he got to know you.

Friends. You would say that’s how you started out, you had practically begged him to teach you some hunting tricks to learn how to protect yourself. He was agreeable given your proximity to Scott and the fact that you spent a lot of time with him and Stiles. They were bound to drag you into something.

Training was probably the worst thing you could have asked from him. Close proximity, hands on your body to show you correct form, and rolling around a mat while trying to learn how to throw an actual punch had all made the subtle feelings glaringly obvious. Especially when you ended up just staring at each other for a solid minute rather than doing the work you intended to do.

Your last training session had you so close you thought he was going to kiss you while you straddled him after successfully pinning him to the ground. Well, he hadn’t and you had hopped, skipped, and leaped out of there a soon as you were done to take a long, cold shower.

Since then you had been ducking out on your training sessions, saying you were busy with your online classes, or telling him you were sick. You had pulled every trick in the book you could think of, and eventually Allison had come sniffing, asking why you hadn’t been by in nearly three weeks.

Thank god she wasn’t a wolf because she would have instantly smelled your lie.

You had edged around it, since you both had a pack meeting to attend and if you spent the time talking to her about it, you’d be late. So with a promise to eventually talk about it, you headed for the meeting where you spent the entire time under the gaze of one Chris Argent.

Fidgeting for what had to be the thirtieth time in the last hour, you tried to get yourself into a comfortable sitting position. You couldn’t, not with those blue eyes practically staring holes in your head. The worst of it? You were planning on going on a date afterwards so you were dressed up nicely for once.

This was probably the first time he had ever seen you in something other than jeans, leggings, or sweatpants, and he probably knew exactly what you were dressed up for. Now you may be hopelessly in love with Chris Argent, but that didn’t mean you were trying your best not to. The whole reason why you were going on this stupid date was to try and forget about him, not because you actually liked the guy you were going with.

You were hoping he was charming, or cute enough to distract you, you didn’t even care of it was only for one night. That’s why you had gone all out on yourself for once. Make up, clothes, heels, hair, you had done it all in hopes to entice your date.

After pulling out a black boat neck long sleeved shirt, you had paired it with a leopard print asymmetrical ruffled skirt that had a slit that went up to your left thigh, flashing a bit of enticing skin. Pairing that combo off with a pair of black, chunky ankle strap heels, and a cute little black handbag, well, you were set. You had even gone the extra step to curl your hair before pulling it up into an updo held by a clip.

It went to show just how desperate you were to find someone else to supplement the love you longed to have. Find someone else, forget about Chris. That was your new mantra.

“So that’s it for the patrols,” Scott finished talking. “If anyone wants to be added or removed text me, other than that, we’re done.”

“About time,” Your muttered underneath your breath before shooting to you heel covered feet and striding towards the door.

“You’re in a hurry tonight,” Derek muttered as you strode passed him. You shot him a look, daring him to say more with your eyes.

“I’m busy,” You snapped out.

“Yeah, not until eight so you and I can have a nice conversation.” Allison spoke up, practically skipping up to your side and taking your arm. Allison pulled you out of the loft and then to a quiet place where you wouldn’t be disturbed. “Well you look hot tonight… got a date?”

“Actually yes, I do.” You returned, crossing your arms over your modest cleavage. “So if I could please leave so I’m not late…”

“You’ve got thirty three minutes,” Allison huffed at you, crossing her own arms and owning up to the fact that she had probably dug up information on you. “So what’s up with you and my dad, Isla? You haven’t been over in three weeks, dad’s been moping and you look like your nonexistent boyfriend broke up with you.”

“Chris does not mope, Allison.” You returned, your eyebrows furrowing at the picture of one Christopher Argent moping. “And like I said, I’ve been busy, classes—“

“Ended four weeks ago, I know when my best friend is avoiding someone. What happened?” Allison said, cutting you off. “You two get into a fight or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, its— Allison it’s probably best if I start learning hunting from someone else. Someone I won’t—“

“Fall in love with?” She offered, cutting you off again. Your eyes went huge and darted around, looking to see if anyone was near and had heard her.

“Allison!” You hissed at her. “You can’t say things like that, especially with those sensitive ears around.”

“It doesn’t make my words any less true, I know you love my dad.” Allison responded with a shrug. “It was weird to think about at first, but now not so much.”

“Alli, he probably doesn’t even like me like that, why would he?” You answered in frustration. “He’s your father for Christ’s sake.”

“So? It’s kind of obvious that he likes you back, and age aside, you two make each other happy, which my dad really needs right now.”

“Allison!” You screeched, your face flushing with heat. “God! Your his daughter and I’m your best friend! That’s just— no! Why do you think I’ve stayed away for the last three weeks!”

“Well, I’m not bothered by it as long as I don’t have to call you mom,” She said with a shrug.”You really should give him a chance, I love both of you and I want you two to be happy.”

“Allison,” Your sighed, resisting the urge to rub your face and smear your make up. “Now really isn’t the time, I’m supposed to be going on a date with another man.”

You started walking for the exit, Allison trailing behind you. Just as you neared the exit, Scott and Stiles appeared with Malia, Chris following shortly behind.

“Oh, that reminds me, can I borrow your phone Isla?” Allison asked as you tried to ignore Chris’s perpetual stare. Yep, he definitely knew something was up with you, and you had a feeling he had caught on to your avoidance.

You plucked your phone from your purse, not questioning why Allison would need yours when she had hers, and handed it over. While Allison did whatever she was going to do on your phone, Scott turned his eyes to you.

“Hey Isla, do you want me to put you down for next Wednesday night?” Scott asked, his eyes peering into yours. Blinking yourself from Chris’s gaze, you looked at Scott before nodding.

“Sure, yeah, Wednesday’s are best for me. It’ll be better than staying home and twiddling my thumbs.” You answered Scott, taking your phone back from Allison. “But I think I have a prior obligation on Friday so I’m going to have to bail on that one.”

“No problem, someone will fill in,” Scott answered before looking at his girlfriend. “Ready to go?”

You didn’t hear Allison’s answer because your phone buzzed, looking down at your purse, you pulled my phone out and checked the screen.

I’m sorry to hear about that, hopefully we’ll be able to schedule some other time. Hope you feel better.

You blinked at the screen, confused by the words, but before you could open the text and figure out what was going on, you heard the sound of Stiles’s Jeep rumbling to life and taking off.

“What!” You exclaimed before hurrying forwards. “Don’t you dare! Stiles!”

You ran out into the parking lot just in time to see the Jeep leave the parking lot, stranding you at the loft. Letting out a sigh, your arms dropped down as you tried to figure out what the hell you were going to do now.

“Need a ride?” You jumped in place at hearing Chris’s voice so close to you. Putting your hand to your racing heart, you reluctantly turned to look up at him.

“I—“ You started before chewing on your red lip. “Well yes, Stiles was supposed to be my ride, but clearly I’ve been ditched. I have— well I mean… I’m supposed to be meeting someone at the nightclub… and Stiles said he’d take me.”

“Since when do you go clubbing?” Chris asked, his eyebrows raised skeptically, before his blue eyes washed down your body for what had to be the thousandth time this night.

“I don’t,” You responded meekly. “But I was invited and thought I’d live a little for once…”

“Come on, I’ll take you,” Chris said, reaching up and placing a hand on your back, steering you towards his SUV. “Last thing I need is for you to be wandering around town dressed like this…”

You didn’t respond to that comment but reluctantly allowed your body to be lead over to his car. You could feel the heat from his hand soak through the thin fabric of your shirt and couldn’t help but shiver. It was just cold enough that his body heat felt wonderful, and you had to resist the urge to stop walking and lean back into his touch.

Reaching his SUV, Chris was gentlemanly enough to open your door for you and shut it when you had climbed onto the seat. Sitting stiffly in the passengers seat, you waited as Chris walked around and got into the drivers seat, turning the car on.

You spent the first five minutes of the drive in uncomfortable silence.

“You look nice,” Chris spoke up, breaking the thunderous silence. Your fingers curled around your handbag.

“Thanks,” You whispered out, your cheeks flushing once more.

“This wouldn’t happen to be a date, would it? I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” He asked as he came to a stop at a red light and turned to look at you. You could only look in his eyes for a few seconds before feeling guilty and looking away.

“I’m not dating anyone… and yes… it is,” You whispered before your phone once again buzzed. You pulled your phone out and looked at the new message.

Check Ur Messages

“What the— Allison?” You questioned, unlocking you phone and going into your messages. While you were checking your messages, Chris pulled into the parking lot of the nightclub and found a spot. A frown appeared on your face as you noticed a bunch of texts on the chat between you and your date you didn’t remember sending, and opening it up, your mouth dropped open.

“Isla?” Chris asked, leaning forwards. “Everything okay?”

The hand holding your phone dropped into your lap.

“Well, I had a date,” You muttered. “Allison texted him back pretending to be me and claimed that I was sick with food poisoning and had to cancel.”

Letting out a drawn out sigh, you leaned back against the seat.

“I went to all this effort to look nice for one, and she canceled it. Why the hell would she do that?”

“It’s not a complete waste… and you always look nice, Isla, no matter what you wear.” Chris mused quietly, letting his hand rest on the steering wheel. “Isla, why have you been canceling our sessions? I thought everything was going great?”

Going great as in you now wanted to jump him? Yeah… Not so much.

“Well my classes—“

“Ended four weeks ago,” Chris spoke up, giving a you soft look with a raised eyebrow. “Allison has been keeping tabs on you for me. You literally have been doing nothing but avoiding me for the last three weeks. I may be old, but I’m not a fool.”

“You’re not that old,” You responded quietly, your cheeks a hot. “And everything is fine, I just think that I should maybe ask Derek or Peter to train me, you know, get a broader experience…”

“Really?” He asked, skepticism in his voice. “Those two? You do realize you are human, Derek might be a better choice but Peter spends half his time staring at your chest or crotch.”

“He does not!” You exclaimed, your blush deepening at his words.

“I’m a guy, Isla,” He said, waving the hand resting on the steering wheel.  “I know when he’s doing it.”

“Well, so what?” You huffed, your voice rising. “If it gets the job done then so be it! It’s not like he’s the only one looking!”

“I still don’t understand why you’d rather go to those two!” He argued back. “They’ll snap you like a twig Isla!”

“Again so what!” You fired back, now getting worked up. “Maybe I’ll actually learn a thing or two about fighting a werewolf!”

“You’d really rather learn from them!?”

“I’m not supposed to fall in love with my trainer!” You snapped, not thinking about your words before you spat them out. As soon as you realized what you had said, you felt your heart dropped and the car went silent. Your voice dropped to a whisper as you covered your mouth with one hand. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But you did,” You flinched slightly at his quiet words and your hand slowly reached for the door handle. The door was locked. “And you are not running away before we talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” You said in a hush. “I’m just an idiot who fell in love with someone I shouldn’t have.”

“You’re not an idiot, Isla,” Chris spoke up, his hand reaching over and gently taking yours. “You are beautiful, loyal, comforting, and I have found my life revolving around when you come over.”

“But it’s— Allison’s my best friend, and—“ You dropped your head into your remaining hand as he squeezed the one in his grasp. “What would people think?”

“You think I care what people think?”

“You should, it’s your reputation.” You shot back, giving him a look. You stared at each other for a full minute, and you wondered if your words had finally sunk into his brain. Letting out a breath through your nose, you slipped your hand from his and pressed down on the seatbelt release, letting the straps slide free from you body. “Thanks for the ride, but since I dressed up this nice, I might as well try to put it to good use.”

Just as you fingers went to unlock the door so you could sulk out of the car and pretend that this never happened, you heard Chris’s own seatbelt sliding free. Momentarily stopping your exit, you turned back to him with a raised eyebrow, wondering what he was doing this time.

Within seconds Chris had an arm around your waist and was hauling you across the leather console. With a small squeal of surprise, your hands shot forwards and your fingers sunk into his shirt as you clumsily tottered around, your knees hitting the edges of the drivers seat as you straddled his lap.

Before  your brain even had a chance to catch up with the fact that you were no longer sitting in the passengers seat, Chris’s lips were on yours. He was going for broke and not using any ounce of restraint or control.

His scruffy face scraped across your cheeks, gently scratching your skin as he pressed his mouth against yours in an open, far from chaste, kiss. His lips tugged at yours until you relented to his unspoken wishes and opened yours with a soft groan.

As you were pulled into a deeper kiss, you slipped your fingers up his soft shirt to grip his shoulders, needing a way to anchor yourself before you floated away. Chris’s own hands trailed across your body, his left sliding around your back to hold you against his chest while his right slid up the slit in your skirt to rest against your upper thigh.

Months of wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, have his lips pressing against yours, have his hands on your body because he wanted them to, rather than because he was trainingy you. It was all over. 

It was better than you could have dreamed of, not just his kisses, making your mind race before tripping and tumbling into a tangled mess. His fingers gently caressing your skin, making goosebumps appear on your skin and electricity run beneath your skin. All you could think about right now was how much you didn’t want him to let you go.

It was only when your lungs were burning that you separated, your face was flushed and your breathing heavier than you would have liked as Chris buried his face into your shoulder, pressing his lips against your bare skin. Your own chin rested on his shoulder as you tried to come up with a logical excuse for that, or a reason why it should be a one and done type of thing.

You came up with nothing, your mind and body only wanted more now that you had a taste.

Straddling his lap with your legs and body squished against his was the most distracting thing you had ever experienced, but at the same time, you didn’t want to move. With a tentative breath, you dropped your chin, resting your forehead on his shoulder while wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You are going to be the death of me, Christopher Argent.” You whispered, gently running your fingers across his neck.

“Hopefully not anytime soon, I quite like your company.” Chris responded, brushing his fingers up your back. “And I’d really like to start up your training again. You have three weeks to make up for.”

You couldn’t help the groan of misery at the mention of making up for those three weeks of missing training. Just because he had finally gotten you to admit why you were avoiding him, didn’t mean he was going to start going easy on you, if anything, he might start pushing you harder. Chris chuckled at your groan before pulling back so he was looking at your face.

“I’ll whip you back into shape in no time.” He told you with a cheeky smile.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You moaned out, your head dropping back. You received more chuckles before he pressed another kiss at the edge of your mouth.

“Come on, I’ll take you back to my apartment, since you tried so hard to dress up, I might as well be the one to enjoy it. Plus, we need to have an actual conversation about this.” You waited for him to let go so you could go climbing back into the passengers seat. He didn’t. Clearing your throat, you gave him a teasing smile.

“Chris, you actually need to let me go, because I don’t think you driving with me straddling you would be a good idea.” He let out a huff before releasing you and helping you crawl back into the passengers seat. You put your seatbelt back on as he started the SUV up again. While Chris pulled out of the nightclub parking lot, you started drumming your fingers on your thighs.

Everything was out in the open now, and it felt awkward to you. After fidgeting for what had to be the tenth time in the span of three minutes Chris reached over and grabbed onto your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Your eyes darted to your joined hands resting on your thigh, he knew you all too well.

Curling your fingers around his in response, you relaxed slightly and looked out the window at the passing lights. You knew each other, you were both adults, you could handle this properly.

Standing in the kitchen of Chris’s apartment, you tried not to drum your fingers on the countertop as Chris pulled out two glasses and then a bottle of scotch.

“You planning on getting me smashed?” You questioned as he poured two glasses and then slid one your way. A humor filled smirk flashed across his face.

“You look so wound up that you could be played like a violin, Isla.” Huffing at him, you snatched up the glass and raised it to your lips. You took a careful sip, keeping your face straight as the liquor burned down your throat.

“Can you blame me?” Chris leaned back against the cabinets behind him and studied you. “Chris, you are respected man, a highly respected man at that, there is no way I could ever allow my personal feelings be the cause of your reputation being ruined.” 

“Have you ever considered asking my opinion in the matter?” He returned, taking a sip from his glass. No, you had not taken into consideration how he felt because you were convinced that you getting involved him would be life destroying for him.

“No, but—“

“Relationships aren’t one sided, Isla/N, I have a say in it too, and right now, what’s hurting me is you avoiding me.” Your eyes widened and your mouth opened to respond. But any response you could have made was caught in your throat and you just slumped were you stood, wordless. That… hurt to know.

He was right naturally, he pretty much always was. Pursing your lips, you looked down at the glass in your hands.

“We have seventeen years between us, Chris,” You finally whispered out. “I don’t want you dealing with whispers and gossip you don’t deserve.”

The glass in Chris’s hand paused halfway to his mouth as his blue eyes stared at you, he slowly lowered his glass back down to the kitchen counter top. Transfixed with every little moment of his body, you watched as he straightened up and started prowling towards you.

You couldn’t help but feel like a rabbit being hunted down by a fox, and your feet agreed with that statement. Stepping backwards, you backpedaled as Chris advanced until your butt hit his countertop and your hands snapped to steady yourself. Blindly setting your glass down on the counter top, you stared up into Chris’s eyes as he placed his hands next to you, caging you in.

“Work with me, Isla, please,” Chris asked softly, somehow managing to look pleading despite being having an ‘alpha male’ air to him. Your lips parted as you stumbled to respond, your face heating up while a light blush dusted your cheeks and the bridge of your nose.

“You don’t play fair,” You finally managed to whisper out, your voice just as weak as your knees were feeling at the moment. A relenting sigh passed through your lips before you responded. “But if this is what you really—“

He was on you before you could complete your sentence, his mouth instantly claiming yours as he moved a hand to the center of your back and pulled your body against his. Gasping into his mouth, your eyelids flickered closed when his tongue traced your lower lip, begging for entrance. Whimpering slightly when Chris further nipped at your lip, you parted your lips just enough for him to gain entrance.

Chris dove in, stealing the breath your lungs while hungrily tasting every inch of this kiss he could get. He was insatiable taking everything you had to give and then more, and when his tongue started teasing yours, a flare of fire burned up from the core of you body. Letting out a moan, your right hand jerked up to grab a hold of his bicep, your nails digging as your brain literally started to short circuit.

All you could think about was the hand splayed on your back, so big and strong, the smell of musk invading your senses, how your skin prickled from the cold room. You had never wanted this man more than you did right now and it was a little scary to think that you could actually have him.

Despite Chris kissing the daylights out of you and dominating your mouth like no other man or boy had before, you still managed to register his other hand slipping beneath your skirt to caress your outer thigh. Groaning at the light touch, your nails dug into his muscles when he started to slide his fingers up.

Between his mouth and his fingers lightly drawing up your leg, getting higher and higher, you didn’t know what to do or what to think. You felt like you were caught between feeling dazed and overwhelmed, and wanting more. His fingers grazed the thin strap of the thong you had bravely pulled on tonight, slipping beneath the thin strap and running along your skin.

Whimpering from his touch, your eyes nearly rolled back when his deft fingers slipped inwards to brush through your folds. That sent a blast of fire through your belly and had your hips jerking while your head dropped back, your lips detaching as a low moan poured out of your mouth. Chris let out a pleased chuckle before bending down to press open mouthed kisses along the delicate skin just underneath your jaw.

Your chest heaved against his, a clear indication at how worked up he could get you with a couple of kisses and light touches. Chris continued to stroke his fingers while you dug your fingernails into his arm even harder and tried not to wiggle around. Every pass he made against your clit had your trembles increasing and your breath more ragged.

It was evident how undone you were becoming between your trembles, your panting, and your white knuckle grip on both his arm and the counter top. Your neck was quickly becoming a center of pleasure with just a kiss of burn from Chris’s stubble.

“Chris please,” You breathed out and rising on your toes. Your body alight with burning desire and a need for more consuming your every thought.

“Do you need me like I need you?” Chris questioned, brushing his lips up the column of your neck until you were once again gazing at each other in the eyes. “Do you want this as much as I do?”

Your puffy lips were wobbly as you stuttered to get words out, he really did mean every word he said. Well he had his fingers shoved into your thong and practically in your body, you’d think that would be more than enough evidence for your brain to figure out that he was deadly serious.

“Yes,” You whimpered, fully giving into your desires for once. Chris let out a sigh of relief before withdrawing his hand from your thong. Your mouth practically dropped open, he makes you finally say yes and he pulls away!?

Smirking at your apparent shock, Chris raised his fingers and stuck them into his mouth, licking the wetness. Your cheeks burned with heat as your eyes went wide, his smirk remained on his lips well after he finished cleaning his fingers. The hand pressing into your back, slipped down, over your ass to just underneath your asscheeks where he picked you up against his chest.

Lurching forwards slightly, you let the counter top go to clutch at his shoulder while he wrapped his other arm around your back. Holding your body against his, Chris started walking through the apartment. Releasing his muscled arm, you lifted your hand to run your fingers down his scruffy face.

“I’m sorry,” You told him quietly as you brushed your fingers along his jaw. His blue eyes met yours and a forgiving smile stretched across his sinful lips.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Isla/N, you were trying to protect me, I can’t be mad at you for that.” Chris answered with a light chuckle.

“Well that’s good because you’ve got me so wet and horny right now I might scream if you don’t do something about it.” His smile turned into a smirk as he entered his bedroom.

“Believe me, Isla, I’ll have you screaming but not because I’ve left you needy.” Chris replied, brushing his nose against yours before abruptly letting you go. Letting out a gasp as you dropped back, your arms flailed for a second or two before you landed on the bed. Staring up into Chris’s face, your eyes remained connected while his hands gently took hold of your left leg and his fingers started undoing the straps of your black chunky wedges.

Holding your ankle, he pulled the heel free from your foot, his fingers trailing over the bottom of your foot making it jerk a little in his grasp. Breathing steadily through your parted lips, you watched as he repeated the process with your right leg.

With your shoes off, Chris climbed back up to jerk my sweater over your head, revealing your lace bra that matched the scanty lace thong still hidden by your skirt. But Chris didn’t reach for any more of your clothing articles. Instead he chose to push your back flat against the sheets to press his mouth against the tops of your breasts spilling out of your bra.

It was a rare occasion you had decided to wear a push up bra, you had full intentions to get laid tonight just to forget about your Christopher Argent woes. Jokes on you because said man was now lavishing your chest with sharp little kisses that left little marks behind. The sting from his little bites followed by the soothing feeling of his tongue flicking across your skin quickly reduced you to a softly moaning mess beneath him and you weren’t even naked yet.

Your hands went above your head to latch onto the silky sheets, needing something to hold while he mercilessly explored your chest. All lovers before Chris pale in comparison already, boys thinking they were men were only interested in getting in and then off as quickly as possible. But not Chris.

He was taking his time, exploring your body, mapping it out beneath his fingers and mouth, acquainting himself with what your had to offer. Which was everything. When he wasn’t kissing or tugging at your skin, his breath was tickling your skin until goosebumps appeared.

Chris moved up your chest, his tongue dipping into the grooves above your collar bones. His hands settled on your bare sides and started to slide around to your back, heading for the bra strap in the middle of your back. Arching your back so his fingers could undo the three hooks, you closed your eyes and breathed out slowly as each hook came free.

When the bra snapped open and the straps on your shoulders went slack, a streak of nervousness went through you. You didn’t have time to stew in the ‘what ifs’ because Chris was pulling your bra free from your shoulders and arms. He tossed it to the floor and took a moment to just hover over you, staring down at your bared chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” Chris murmured before bending down to capture your lips once more. His mouth nipped at yours, tugging on your lower lip until you parted your lips and he could kiss you deeper.  Abandoning your grip on the sheets, your hands snapped around to take his face in hand. Just the feel of his skin and stubble beneath your fingertips felt heavenly.

Every brush of skin on skin contact had you pulling him closer and wanting more. While you were hungrily kissing each other, you started tugging his shirt up, revealing toned stomach and sculpted muscles. Being a hunter sure paid off… Pulling apart, you ripped his shirt off his body, ruffling his hair as you chucked the offending material to the floor.

You hands snaked underneath his arms to yank him down so he was flush against your body. Feeling his skin pressed against yours was serendipitous. While you were digging your fingertips into his back, Chris was finally working his own hands down your sides to pick at the waistline of your skirt.

Lifting your hips, the leopard print fabric was dragged down from your waist, over your hips, and flicked from your legs. Cold air hit your wet thong and thighs, drawing a shiver up your spine and pulling a throaty sigh from your lips.

“Matching set?” Chris questioned, his lips curving into a smirk as his eyebrow rose. You gave him a defiant smirk back. His hand landed on your thigh and his thumb started brushing up against your sensitive inner leg. “You really are asking for it, aren’t you?”

“Come on,” You breathed as you sank your nails into his belt, tugging at it to make a point. “You’ve made your point already, Christopher, I need you.”

“Don’t worry, Isla,”Chris said as he bent down to place a line of kisses along your collar bone. “I’ll save the teasing for a later date.”

He withdrew his hands and the glorious sounds of a belt being undone reached your ears. Your blood hummed in your veins while your eyes focused on staying connected with Chris’s blue ones. The sound of metal and jeans hitting the floor was music to your ears and you practically screamed with joy when Chris’s hands grabbed your legs and yanked your body closer to the edge of the bed.

A soft moan left your lips as he bent down to kiss a fiery trail across your hip bone, Chris’s mouth then started to brush across the low edge of your thong. You barely hand time to blink before his fingers were hooking around the straps and yanking the material down your legs.

You couldn’t close the space between your bodies fast enough, reaching up to slip your hands underneath his arms, you pulled him back down for a passionate kiss. Chris’s own hands went to your hips as he kissed you back, your mouths working against each other like you had hours spent exploring each other, not minutes.

Hands briefly leaving your hips, a partial smile appeared on your lips at the sound of a condom being ripped open. Oh well, you could tell him later…

When the tip of his cock brushed against your folds, you shuddered in his grasp and let out a breathy moan against his lips. Chris devoured each and every sound that came forth from your throat, and your noises only increased when he started pushing in.

Your head dropped back into the sheets as your back arched, your walls burning slightly as they stretched. You will admit, you hadn’t thought this entirely through. You were used to boys caught between teen and adult who thought their dick was bigger than the next guy. You were totally unprepared for what it felt like being with a real man.

Breathing heavily while trying to keep yourself fully relaxed, you hugged Chris’s body against your, burying your face in his shoulder as he ran his lips along your neck whispering praises.

“You’re so unfairly perfect,” You complained breathlessly, curling your nails into his shoulders when he bottomed out and just stayed there, letting your body fully adjust. Chris chuckled in your ear before pressing a few kisses on the tender skin.

“It’s called experience and knowing how to treat a woman right, Isla.” Chris responded while moving his hot and sinful lips along your jaw. Sighing out, you opened your eyes to gaze up into his burning blue ones.

“If you are trying to prove a point, you already have,” His lips twitched into that half smile of his you loved before he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I don’t need to prove a point anymore,” He answered, your noses brushing while he released one of your hips to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed across your kiss swollen lips. “I only wanted you to give me a chance.”

“Your cock is stuffed so far in my body I feel liked a stuffed turkey, I think that you’ve more than just made a point.” You stated boldly with a wiggle of your eyebrow. His own eyebrow rose at your words. “Fuck me already.”

“You kiss your mother with that dirty mouth Miss Y/L/N?” He questioned with a teasing smile. You giggled in return, your lips stretching into a devious grin.

“What mommy dearest doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.” You returned with a shrug of your shoulders. “Now are you going to put those delicious muscles to work? I haven’t got all day…”

“So demanding,” Chris murmured before complying with your demands and wishes. Keeping his intense blue eyes locked with yours, he pulled back almost to the point of leaving you high and dry before thrusting forwards. Your mouth dropped open as you let out a loud groan, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Chris pushed the hair back from your face before angling his lips back to yours. Pressing yours lips firmly against his, you ran your tongue over his upper lip. You had never kissed a man quite like Christopher Argent, every time you gave an inch, he took a mile and left you skydiving with land nowhere in sight.

Wrapping your legs around his torso, you held onto him while trying not to be overwhelmed by both physical and emotional feelings that consumed your very being. Lost in a world of reverie and pleasure, your heart rate increased along with the blood pumping through your veins. Chris’s mouth pulled away from you and started trailing down your neck, sucking possessive marks on the areas of your skin that were most sensitive.

You had always pegged Christopher Argent as a gentle lover, that was true and you were sure he could be. But not when you’ve been skirting around him for months, not willing to take things further than friendship. Giving into his touch tonight showed you the darker side of him, the possessive, rough, yet fully satisfying love.

You would not be walking away from this bed unsatisfied, if you would be able to walk period.

Fingers dug into your hair, pulling your head back as Chris’s other hand brushed down your back to take a hand full of your ass and give it a squeeze.

“You are so perfect, Isla,” Chris rumbled against your neck before drawing his mouth down to your breasts, in an instant his mouth was covering one of your nipples once more. His hot mouth combined with hard thrusts had your chest arching to him while your mouth parted to release whimpers.

Gasping and trembling beneath his body, you could only anticipate the orgasm that was slowly building in the core of your body. Your back slid up the sheets every time your pelvises crashed against each other. With your face faced against his shoulders, you slipped a hand to the back of his neck and pressed his face to the breast he was currently lavishing like it was the best damn thing he had ever put in his mouth.

When your orgasm finally hit you, you threw your head back as you writhed underneath his hot touch. You knew your mouth was open but you couldn’t hear what sounds you were making because the ringing in your ears over took all other sounds. Chest heaving, you panted for breath while Chris ripped his mouth from your nipple and growled.

His own body jerked while he chased his own orgasm, finally slumping down where he placed a few kisses on your marked neck. It was silent for a few moments as you both breathed heavily. Your hand stroked through his short hair as you stared up at the ceiling.

“Would now be a bad time to tell you that I have an implant and you could’ve forgone the condom?” The exaggerated groan/sigh that came from his lips was the exact answer you needed, and down right laughable.

“It took me who knows how long to even kiss you, and you’re telling me I could have come inside you?” Chris questioned before sinking his teeth into your neck lightly. “You are a teasing little shit, you know that?”

The giggles that poured out of your mouth where unstoppable as you snorted in laughter, slapping a hand over your mouth to smother your enjoyment of his exasperation.

“Next time, Christopher, next time,” You giggled while curling your fingers against his scalp. “I owe you a couple of dates…”

“Yes, you do,” He responded with a sated sigh. “But at the moment all I want is to hold you in my arms.”

“Great, cause at the moment all I feel like doing is lying here.” You responded while leaning your cheek against his head. Chris pressed a few more kisses on your neck before raising his head and brushing his fingers through your now messy hair.

“Why don’t you tuck yourself in, I need to lock up.” Chris murmured, giving your head one last kiss before pulling away. You let out a groan as he slipped from your body and his heat disappeared. Chris laughed as you propped yourself up and rubbed your prickling arms.

Watching as he went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweatpants, your view of his ass quickly disappeared (much to your disappointment), and next came out a shirt. But rather than diminish that view, he tossed the shirt your way. Catching the soft material before it hit your face, your raised an eyebrow and looked down at it.

“You’re trusting me with one of your favorite shirts?” You questioned him as you held the soft material up in front of you. It certainly looked like it would feel divine on your skin, and it was a bonus that it smelled like Chris.

“Something tells me you’ll look better in it than I ever will,” Chris returned with that little smirk of his tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Put that on, I want you under the covers by the time I’m back.”

“Someone’s feeling bossy,” You huffed before pulling the shirt on over your head. Chris made a noise of approval as you crossed your arms and gave him a “are you happy now” look, before leaving the room. Grumbling underneath your breath, you turned around and crawled to the head of the bed.

Pulling back the covers, you climbed underneath the sheets and rolled onto your side, letting out a sigh as your body ached in satisfaction. Well tonight certainly hadn’t ended like you were expecting and you were still slightly hesitant with the end result, but a promise was a promise and you would give the two of you a shot.

It had to have been only a few minutes before the lights in the hall turned off and the bed moved slightly as Chris climbed in to join you. Scooting over to where you were laying, Chris slung an arm over your waist before burying his nose in your neck.

“You do realize that Allison is never, ever, going to let me forget this, right?” You questioned sleepily as you wove your fingers with the hand resting on your stomach. He chuckled against your neck and hugged your body closer to his chest.

“That’s what you get for being best friends with my daughter, Isla,” Chris answered smugly while you groaned softly at the implications. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not explaining this one to her.”

“Isla, I’m pretty sure my daughter knew what she was doing when she sent that text and had everyone ditch you.”

“So my best friend knows I slept with her father? Great, just great.”

“At least we don’t have to tell her.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better Christopher!”

“We’ll deal with it in the morning, now go to sleep.”

“You are so bossy,”

“Isla!”

“What!?” You huffed at him before wiggling backwards to tuck yourself as far into his chest as you could. Sighing, you closed your eyes. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, Is.” Chris murmured, burying his face in your hair.

Date Published: 6/5/22

Last Edit: 6/5/22