#i keep feeling like i have to be on here All The Time to maintain social progress ive made instead of trying to find a balance of being

[jweekgoji]

psst

if u have time pls do a continuation of the Yandere d-16 and reader but somehow he finds the reader when he’s Megatron and this time HE tops

Yandere!Megatron/Reader [TFO]

tw: ROBOTS sexxx (minors don't read please), possesive behavior, mentions of jealousy, brief violence/threats, biting, word count: ~1,2k additional tags: dom!Megatron, sub!reader, decepticon!reader, idol!reader, cybertronian!reader. a/n: it's not like /megs/ finds reader here but the other way around (ig) hehe.

The news of the sudden death of Sentinel Prime had reached you suddenly. Another ordinary, simple day, as it seemed back then. You were used to living in comfort and coziness, after all, from the moment you were born, you were special. At least, you couldn't help but feel that way in a privileged society.

Now, thinking about it, a feeling of pity and wrongness overwhelms your thoughts. It was no surprise that those who were unlucky enough to be born with t-cog had no choice but to dedicate their entire existence for the greater good of your entire race.

Standing humbly behind the decepticon leader's back, you only gave a silent glance in his direction. How much had he managed to endure? What exactly did he have witnessed that day when he went from an obedient and shy D-16 to...

“Why are you still here?” a deep, gravelly voice suddenly yanked you out of your thoughts.

For a moment, you didn't know what to answer. Was it that important? No, you never noticed him asking the same question to the others.

“To fight alongside you, Megatron,” you quickly replied, your arms kept hidden behind your back, like a well-trained soldier.

A soft, almost inaudible huff escaped from his lips as he shook his helm in mild frustration. He slowly turned around to bore his own red optics into yours. Weren't they orange? You didn't recall.

“That's not what I asked you,” Megatron narrowed his optics, his gaze still as stern. “You know what I'm talking about.”

You tilted your helm down, as if in submission or simply unable to maintain eye contact with him. Either way, an ominous feeling of regret continued to grow inside you, despite how often you tried convincing yourself that it was never your fault.

Funny, isn't it? It seemed like a while ago, here were the two of you right next to each other. His smaller, so small but never fragile frame, was so tender in your servos.

The chassis was completely tarnished in little bruises and scratches, yet it was always a pleasure to gently run your servo over the surface of the silver metal, feeling how the mech beneath you could only bite his fist in a desperate attempt to not make a single sound.

But now, everything seems so different, strange perhaps, but at the same time in its own way familiar. Above you now is a different person; to deny that would be foolish, if not pointless.

The frame is wider, much bigger, than you can remember. The chassis is now peppered with a lot of scars after numerous battles in which you can only feel sorry for every opponent he's faced. All stained in energon, the pink liquid slowly oozing out to smear your own frame. You know it doesn't belong to him.

“Mine, you're all mine,” his servo tightening around your wrists, pinning them both above your helm.

Megatron's heavy breathing made a pleasant shiver run along your spine, and almost instinctively, you pressed your hips against his own.

Everything felt so hot now, so suffocating, that you were barely hanging on to keep from passing out. His chassis only pressed you down further, taking away any chance you had of escaping.

You wish you could tell him so much now. That now, all in his power, you would have never dared to leave him at a moment like this. You would take whatever he would choose to give you, even though he was still inexperienced with controlling his own power.

The thoughts of the past fight gave Megatron no relief. It seemed that the more he focused on the past, the more he wanted to lash out with all of his pent-up anger at you. And you would take it, wouldn't you? You'd always come back and beg for more.

His servo squeezes your thigh, stroking and massaging, then, moves only lower to forcefully spread your legs. Your interface panel was open long ago, presenting him your soaking wet port. Getting off on this as much as he is, what a freaking pathetic duo you both are. That is why you have always been perfect for him, he thinks.

With a rough thrust, Megatron buries his spike inside you to a halt; the way you squeeze around him, writhing in pain and pleasure, is a godlike sight for him. Primus, he should have done that a long, long time ago. If only he wasn't so meek and weak-willed back then, but now he's thankful for it.

He lets out a low, guttural growl as he slams his hips against yours once again, receiving a soft whine. A small, still sensible part of him restrains himself to ruin your body more. That deep-rooted care and desire, genuine love, still makes him act all soft with you. It tells him to leave more kisses, to shower you in that love and care he grew for you for cycles from only observing.

Megatron grits his teeth at the thought. Acting soft and weak already cost him enough suffering in the past. Making the same mistakes again will only show off how little he changed since that day...

He tastes the energon on his glossa, leaving a cold, wet trail of saliva on your neck, only to be followed by a sudden bite, which makes you gasp in surprise.

It was a miracle that no one had entered the room by that time, with none of you trying to hide your gasps and moans from the potential listeners. Perhaps, they already found out; even Starscream, with how often he comes here to complain and grumble about everything, doesn't dare to bother Megatron at the moment of raw need, adrenaline rushing through the whole frame.

Your soft moans are music to Megatron's mind. Every single time you let out his name, breathlessly asking for more, only makes him pepper your neck in wet kisses, more of those bleeding marks forever marking your body. That is how it should be, how it always should have been. You underneath him, so beautiful and perfect, and the most important, this way everyone will know that you are his.

He had grown tired of competing for your attention since when he was a miner. Every day of hard work, daydreaming about you, of you finally noticing him instead of attending another race, with countless of other Iaconians showing their love for you. He would not make any more mistakes.

His, his and only.

“If you ever think of leaving me,” Megatron leans his helm closer to you, burying your face into the crook of your neck. “I will find and kill you with my own servos.”

What you said to him that day never left the mind of the leader of the decepticons. And it seemed that from that moment on, your relationship with each other took on a very different direction.y

Who knew that the threat of your own execution by no one else, but Megatron, would sound so hot to you?

[sleepystargaze]

Why You May Not Relate to Vi's Choices in Season 2

Vi is an adult who was parentified as a child, and her actions are largely influenced by the lasting psychological effects.

If you aren't familiar, parentification is when children become caregivers in their families and take on responsibilities that are inappropriate for their age. These responsibilities are often beyond their capacity, either because they lack the knowledge or the emotional maturity to perform these adult roles.

In Vi's case, she was largely left to care for the well-being of her siblings in the place of a consistent parental figure. And likely even before they lost their parents, Vi was left to care for Powder when her parents could not. The show literally starts with Powder in the care of Vi. Which can also explain why Vi was very deeply affected by the loss of their parents, while Powder was not, since Vi would likely have been her primary caretaker.

In adults, this generally can results in:

difficulty functioning independently

a greater risk of anxiety, depression, and substance abuse

difficulty setting boundaries: generally neglecting oneself to satisfy the needs of others

trouble relinquishing control

feeling a need to be a peacekeeper

tending to be a "fixer"

There are other things, but the ones above are the ones relevant to this discussion and they constitute a significant majority of the signs in adults. So, with this context in mind, let's take a trip down memory lane.

Inmate 516

Humans don't exist in a vacuum, but Vi lived in the closest mental equivalent of it with her time in Stillwater. I don't think it's a stretch to assume the Vi that Caitlyn meets is much more emotionally grown than the young teenager who was dragged off by Marcus.

The one thing I've gleaned from the show about Vi's time here is that she has this Schrodinger's Powder thing going. She tells conflicting stories to Caitlyn and Jinx, but neither seem like a lie. She believed, or "knew", her sister was dead but persisted with the thought that she'll get out and return to Powder some day.

So, to survive her years at Stillwater, the only thing keeping her going is this idea. Her own self-preservation is reliant on this feeling that she could return to not only Powder, but also the way things were. She still wants to take care of her sister. And honestly, it's only further reinforced by Vander's last words, "Take care of Powder."

Enter Caitlyn from stage right, detective extraordinaire, bearing the sole evidence that Powder is, in fact, alive. Vi's daydream becomes a reality and she wastes no time shooting any shot she can to get out of Stillwater.

A Little Walkabout with a Piltie: Part 1

Gather round ladies and gentleman, here we have our top hits under the "trouble relinquishing control" category, featuring:

"Too risky": a tale of avoiding bathyspheres.

"Don't you wanna blend in?": There are easier ways to get people out of their clothes, but I guess forcefully throwing clothes you just stole off a stranger 5 minutes ago works, too.

"We're here because I'm hungry.": Not the best first date, but at least the food was good.

And a fan favorite, "You're hot, Cupcake."

Jokes aside, all of these actions are meant to maintain control over Caitlyn. This is Caitlyn's investigation, Caitlyn released her, and Caitlyn is an enforcer. All things that should give her control, but Vi is not having any of that knowing Powder is out there. Thing is, though, the result would likely be the same if she did let Caitlyn have more agency. Afterall, they looking for the same person. The only thing she is gaining by doing these things is the control itself.

A Little Walkabout with a Piltie: Part 2

Well, our favorite redhead runs off to get stabbed and has to be nursed back to health by Caitlyn. Here, we have a significant dynamic shift. Caitlyn tells Vi she has a "good heart." Right before Vi passes out, she hears Vander telling her the same echoing in her head. When she wakes she sees:

Vander and her mom, Felicia, were Vi's major caretakers growing up. When Vi becomes conscious to her surroundings, she's met with Caitlyn caressing her face. Suddenly, Vi is associating these people's care for her with Caitlyn. It is exactly at this time that Vi begins opening up and allows Caitlyn to act as a caretaker.

Flash Forward to Tragedy

Well, we all know what happens, but the major takeaways here are Caitlyn has suddenly lost a parent and Vi has realized she can no longer help Jinx, she cannot "fix" her.

Caitlyn is no longer in a position to care for Vi in the way Vi needs, and Vi needs someone to care for. The roles in their relationship have suddenly been reserved. When Caitlyn opens up about the void her mother left, she says, "It's all coming apart."

Vi tells her "We won't let it."

If Caitlyn needs to keep things together and needs to feel control in her life again, then that is now also what Vi needs.

The Grim Truth of the Matter

Honestly, the most harmful thing for people who were parentified as a child is the fact that it becomes extremely difficult for the person to prioritize themselves over others, especially the ones they love regardless of if those loved ones treat the parentified adult fairly or not. You would be amazed the degree to which a parentified individual will let themselves turn a blind eye and forgive and sacrifice themselves.

I think a lot of people found Vi's story arc dissatisfying in season 2, because a lot of it relied on other people and her making seemingly uncharacteristic choices. Like her purpose in the show was solely to help other storylines. The sad truth is, parentification creates a severe lack of sense of self, and I think this is the biggest hidden battle for Vi throughout season 2. Who is she when she isn't acting in the interest of others? What needs to happen for her to let all of that go? How do you show that?

It doesn't feel great, because at the end she's only at the beginning of her healing journey. And if you have trouble relating to her struggles, you probably weren't a parentified child, yourself. It's hard to understand the effort required to let go, and by the end, Vi has. I think my favorite representation of this change is how she has less bindings as the story progresses until, by the end, she has none. She has finally unburdened herself and is learning to prioritize her own needs, and now she can finally begin to properly heal.

No, it's not the most satisfying ending for a character arc, but not all major wins end in thunderous applause and fanfare.

[tropes-and-tales]

First Time for Everything

(Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (friends-with-benefits; idiots in love; talk of bad past relationships; injuries); smut (vague references to sex; oral sex gone awry); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5591

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way. Likely grammar bugaboos, tense switches, etc.

Bob Floyd would have never thought he’d end up in a friends-with-benefits situation, but there’s a first time for everything.

You’re the one who drives the entire enterprise.  A civilian who works at Top Gun, you’re no stranger to the stress of dealing with a multi-billion-dollar fleet of planes.  You serve as a liaison between the Navy and the bevy of contractors who build and maintain the planes, and if Bob has to juggle a million complicated systems mid-flight, you have to juggle a million tricky relationships and contracts on the ground.

You put the question to him, late one night at the Hard Deck.  Harvard and Yale had been leading a spirited conversation about dry spells, long distant relationships, juggling hook-ups.  You and Bob sat there, listening but adding little.  But after the other Daggers started to peel away one by one, you had turned to Bob and started asking about his love life.

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Same.”

There was a beat of silence—you sipped at your drink; Bob cracked another peanut.

“Any prospects?” you asked.

Another shake of his head.

“Yeah, same here,” you replied.

Then there was another long stretch of silence, but this time you fixed Bob with a curious look.  It lasted long enough for him to notice, for him to squirm in his seat—

“So, I have an idea, and you’re totally free to say ‘no,’” you started, and the rest was history.

-----

That was months ago.  Bob has gotten to know you much better since then.

Much, much better.

He knows what you feel like.  He knows what you taste like.  He knows the place on your neck that makes you keen when he puts his mouth to it.  He knows exactly where to press the tips of his fingers when they are inside you, where to find the spot that makes your pussy pulse with arousal, that makes your breathing stutter and your eyes roll back, that makes you moan out his name—

He knows how it sounds when you moan his name, and he knows how that affects him in turn, and he knows that he doesn’t know nearly enough about you.

He doesn’t know what you eat for breakfast or how you take your coffee or if you even drink coffee at all.  He doesn’t know much about your family, little about your childhood, only a bit about your wants and likes and dislikes.

Because of the rules you laid out that night at the Hard Deck.

Hooking up, friends-with-benefits, you had explained, requires clear lines be drawn.  Otherwise, it gets messy.  Feelings develop.  Misunderstandings happen.  People get hurt, sometimes badly.

Your rules keep those lines clearly drawn.  No spending the night.  No dates beyond sex—no lunch dates or movie nights, no days at the beach together.  You call each other and make plans to fuck, and then you part, and that keeps it neat.  Clean.

There’s no way you can know it, because you don’t really know Bob either, but there’s no rule on earth you could put in place that would keep him from falling for you anyway.  You work with numbers and contracts all day, so you believe in the power of words, in rules. 

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

Which is why your rules turn out to be so important after all:  because here he is, hopelessly, painfully in love while you only see him a safe place to release your sexual frustrations.  He cannot imagine how much worse it would hurt if those lines didn’t exist.

*****

You have a chronic issue with men.

You pick the worst possible boyfriends.  From high school until now, you seem to only attract cheaters, losers, and general assholes.  Numerous boyfriends cheated on you.  One stole your car.  One stole your prescription sleeping pills and got arrested trying to sell them. 

It’s not that you’re attracted to assholes, really.  The whole bad-boy schtick bores you.  It’s more that you like to fix things; you like to turn chaos into order.  That trait serves you well at work, untangling all the intricate contracts and orders and rules between the Navy and their contractors. 

That trait serves you less well in love, because people often can’t be fixed, at least not without wanting to be fixed.  And anyway, the guys you date need deep fucking therapy, not a girlfriend with a fetish for setting order to the universe.

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

But the therapist did make you aware of your bad patterns with men, so you swear off relationships, which is easy enough. 

You still have needs, though.

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too.  Profile them, watched how they acted when they think no one is watching.  Watch them sober, watch them drunk.  Watch to see which ones are handsy in an unwelcome way, and which ones remain respectful.

It’s Bob Floyd who catches your eye.

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually, but you aren’t looking for a boyfriend or a future husband.  You just need a zero risk, reliable guy to get off with.  It seems like a long shot because Bob is so quiet, but when you put the idea to him, he blinks…then asks you to clarify.

Then he agrees.

-----

That was months ago.

The arrangement works.  It’s exactly what you were looking for.  Bob Floyd is exactly what you thought he was:  reliable, steady.  He’s no broken man-child; he’s quiet but that belies a secure sort of masculinity that you’ve never really experienced before.  He knows who he is and what he wants, and he isn’t swayed by anything.  He’s solid.

He’s also surprising, in some ways.

To be crude about it, in looking for a friend-with-benefits, you needed only two things in a man:  a clean bill of health and a hard dick.  Bob is able to provide both (he hands you his test results from his latest physical, neatly folded in an envelope the first night you meet up).

He is also able to provide more than that.  The first night is a little awkward, but only because you are near-strangers.

The second encounter is better.

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

It's been months, but for fucks sake, you’re falling for him.  It’s embarrassing, because you gave him this tough-girl speech about rules and lines and not catching feelings, and he had nodded seriously and said he understood…and now here you are, the idiot who is catching feelings, who is realizing that maybe your type of man was wrong all along, that maybe who you needed was a reliable, steady man with warmth and blue eyes that swim a bit behind the lens of his thick glasses.

*****

It’s been months, and Bob always worries that this arrangement will end. 

One of your rules had been that the arrangement stops the moment one of you find someone else, and Bob always worries that someone else will catch your eye.  That you’ll find some man—you are surrounded by handsome, capable men every day, for heaven’s sake—that you find an appealing prospect.  Someone you want to sleep with and be with.

Someone better than him.

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

Bob decides to do what he can, which is to just be the best lover he can be.  To be the most considerate, most adventuresome, most giving man you’ve ever taken to bed.  It’s all he can do anyway, so he might as well give it his best.

-----

Bob usually lets you lead.  He lets you set the schedule, and for every five times you call to hook-up, he calls once. 

The arrangement, such as it is, does work for him.  For all the angst of his unrequited love for you, the hooking up does relax him.  It helps him burn off extra energy, which helps him focus at work.

It also helps him explore things he has never tried before.

With you, Bob has played around with role play:  tame scenarios where he gets to pretend that he’s a different person than he is.  He has tried a variety of positions that have tested him in both strength and flexibility.  If there’s a list of sexual acts, Bob feels like he’s steadily working through it with you.

There’s still one, though…

It’s Fritz who starts the conversation at the Hard Deck.  You’re not there, but the guys all are, and the conversation drifts towards the usual locker room talk.  Fritz kicks it off by talking about his latest girl.  The guys egg him on for details.  Bob grins around the rim of his glass, says little, but then Fritz says, “man, when she sits on my face and smothers me in that pussy, I could die happy.”

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

The idea takes hold so fiercely that Bob has to shift in his seat, suddenly warm at the thought of you sitting on him, his mouth on you.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, and he’s sending you a text before he even has a beat to rethink it.

Want to meet up tonight?

You reply within a minute.

Sure.  Mine or yours?

Bob pauses and considers.  He catches Rooster’s eye and tilts his head at him, gesturing to his roommate for a sidebar.  Rooster comes over and stands beside Bob.

“What’s up?” Rooster asks.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

Rooster grins at the question.  It’s not exactly a secret that you and Bob are hooking up, though you don’t publicize it either.  Bob doesn’t know that his fellow Daggers have a betting pool about how the situation with you will resolve.  He’s caught the sly grins between them sometimes and wondered at what they mean.

“You asking if the apartment will be empty?” Rooster asks.  “Hell, Baby on Board.  Keep it to your room.  I don’t care what happens in the privacy of your own room.”

Bob can’t help the blush that heats his face.  He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but sometime the two of you get lost in the moment, and more than once, Rooster has sidled up to Bob the day after and clapped him on the back, congratulated him on his prowess—

Rooster catches the man’s discomfort and elbows him in the side.  “I was planning on finding myself some companionship for the night,” he finally says.  “The place is all yours.”

Bob thanks him, then texts you. 

My place?

Another beat before your answer comes.  When?

Now.

*****

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

Like his text.  No softening his final message, just a simple, single word that holds a universe of promise.

Now.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur.  You only take a minute to brush your teeth and slip into nicer lingerie, but then you get in your car and head over to his place.

He must have been waiting at the window, watching for you.  You aren’t even halfway up the steps to his porch when the door swings open, and there he is. 

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

-----

“Explain it…again,” you manage to get out between kisses.  “How does…it work?”

Bob raises himself, props himself on his forearms on either side of your head.  His hair is mussed (perfect), and his glasses are on the bedside stand, so his blue eyes peer down at you. 

“You sit on my face,” he replies simply.

You huff out a breath.  “Sure, but….like, how?  I weigh a lot—”

He shakes his head.  “Not a problem for me, honey.”

“But I could hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could kill you.” 

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

“Not funny!”  You poke him in the side, and he laughs again.

“Seriously, Bob.  I don’t want to hurt you,” you continue.

“You won’t.  I promise.  It’ll be fine.  But I want to do this.”  His smile fades, and he fixes you with a darker look that sends a bolt of lust right through your core.  “Please.”

*****

The two of you, once you got over your initial awkwardness, usually move so well together.  Perfectly coordinated, in sync. 

This…is not that.

For the first time, the two of you aren’t working together.  Bob can’t know it, but it’s not just a physical misalignment—there are hidden feelings at play.  As you tentatively hover over where he lays on the bed, you feel suddenly exposed, like Bob might be able to see the feelings you’ve caught for him.  It’s so intimate, you think, being so bared to him.  You hold yourself back, shy, and Bob doesn’t understand the sudden reticence in you.  He chalks it up to fear of hurting him.

And you can’t know it, but Bob absolutely loves how intimate it is, being so exposed to him.  There are hidden feelings on his side too—how hard it hits him, that he’s never done this with another woman before, and how he cannot imagine doing it with another one after you.  He’s ravenous for you, wants to possess you in every way he can, but when he tries to tug you closer to him, you chalk it up to general horniness and nothing more.

It is all misunderstanding, in the end.  You hold yourself back, hover over his face.  He grips your hips, tries to pull you to him.  The two of you struggle against the other, not understanding what is really driving the other—

“Come on,” he growls.  “Give it to me, honey.”

“Bob, I don’t—”

“I can take it.”

“But I—”

It happens in a split second.  Bob tugs you down against him in the exact moment you try to get a better balance over him, and the force of his pulling you down is added to the full weight of you shifting, with a bit of gravity, and you hit Bob so hard.

There’s a sickening crack, like a chicken bone snapping.  You look down at him, startled, and see his blue eyes widen in pain—shock—

You scramble off of him, call his name, but he doesn’t move, and then you see it.

Blood.  There’s so much blood, all over his face, and you yell his name now, but he still doesn’t move—

You’ve killed him.  You’ve murdered him, and you scream.  You reach for your phone and fumble it, and your body just acts.  You back away, your mind scrambling, and you think I need to stop the bleeding, so you think to go to the bathroom for a towel, but when you pivot quick on your heel and turn towards the closed door, it is already swinging inward, right at your face, hard, and there’s an explosion of pain behind your eyes.

Then everything goes dark, and you don’t wake until you’re in the ambulance.

*****

Bob wakes up to the paramedics sliding him onto the backboard, his head immobilized between two foam blocks.  Rooster hovers at the perimeter, a worried look on his face.

“What—” Bob manages to croak out, but the room grows dim again, and he fades in and out until the hospital.

-----

He comes to and stays awake in a quiet hospital room.  There’s the steady beep of a monitor somewhere behind and above him.  When he tries to turn his head, though, he finds himself held in place by a brace.

“You’re awake finally.”  The voice is familiar, and a moment later, Phoenix’s face swims into his peripherals. 

“You scared us, Baby on Board.”  Rooster, to the left of him.

“Who knew you had it in you?”  The voice at the foot of the bed, the hint of smarm.  Bob feels a hand on his ankle, jostling him lightly.  “You dirty fucking freak.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”  Phoenix glares at the cocky pilot, then turns back to Bob, her gaze softening.  “How are you feeling?”

He considers his answer.  He feels…rough. 

He also notices that his Dagger teammates are there, but you are not.  Which makes him feel worse.

Phoenix seems to read his thoughts.  Something in his expression must give him away, because she leans in closer and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She’s still downstairs,” she says, low near his ear.  “You got a room, but she’s still in the E.R.  They haven’t released her yet.”

“E.R.?”

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.”

Rooster steps closer to the bed and grins down at him.  “You’re lucky I struck out at the Hard Deck.  I come home, barely get my shoes off, when I hear a scream.  I go running back to your room just in time to knock your girl out.  She ran headfirst into the door when I opened it.”  He claps his hands together.  “Down like a bag of rocks.”

Bob’s heart rate picks up, and the monitor registers it.  Phoenix glances at the machine and snorts again.

“She’s fine,” she assures him.  “I’ve been bouncing between you and her.  It’s just slammed down there, so she’s been waiting for the doctor to release her.”

“She’s okay then?”

Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Bob smiles despite himself.  “She thought I was dead?”

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.”

“You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds.

“She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

“Wow.”  Bob breathes out a reedy whistle.  “And you’re sure she’s okay?”

Phoenix nods again.

Rooster and Hangman offer to go grab some coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving Bob and his partner alone.  Phoenix drags a chair over and settles closer to him, and Bob feels his mood sour little by little.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix finally asks. 

He lifts his hand, drops it back onto the bed.  “I guess it’s ruined now.”

“What is?”

“Our…arrangement.  Mine and hers.”

She tilts her head.  “How so?”

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

Phoenix stares at him, but a smile starts to creep across her face.  She shakes her head then, grips his shoulder again.

“Do you love her, Bobby?”  The question is asked softly, kindly.

Bob forgets the brace for a second and tries to nod.  “Yeah.”

“You ever tell her?”

“Against the rules.”

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?”

“No.”

Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

*****

Hangman’s the one who stops to check in on you.  He has a paper cup of coffee in each hand, and he holds both up to you.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked.  One is black, one is cream and sugar.”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He walks over to your bed and hands it to you, then studies you.  You know you must look like hell—your eyes red from the hysterical crying of thinking yourself a murderer.  Your nose—not broken, only dislocated—swollen and tender.  And the general misery of how badly everything has turned out.

“You like the little nerd, huh?”

You take a sip of the coffee and thank him for it. 

You don’t answer his question.

Hangman sighs, leans against the wall.  “It’s just that, if you do, I’d like to know.  I have a lot riding on it.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.”

“You bet on us?”

He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

You shake your head.  “I don’t understand.”

“Some of us bet that you’d end up together.  Others bet that you wouldn’t.  Not that hard to understand.”

You try to take a steadying breath through your nose, which is an effort with how swollen it is.  You look away from him and fix your eyes on the open doorway of your room.  You watch the nurses and doctors scurry back and forth, the gurneys of hurt and sick people. 

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?”

Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

You can only wince at his word choice.  It’s not funny at all.  Miramar is a gossipy hive of rumor, and Bob’s injuries will put him out of commission for at least a while—

“Is this gonna hurt his career at Top Gun?” you ask Hangman.  You glance over at him and catch the way his expression softens at the angst in your voice.  “Did I just fuck up his life completely?”

He reaches out and grasps your hand for a moment, gives you a friendly squeeze before he releases you.  “Shit happens.  The Navy knows that.”

“Still…”

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

“Jesus,” you groan, and you cover your face with your hands while Hangman laughs, but a second later the doctor enters your room and tells you that you are being released.

Hangman doesn’t take the hint and leave.  He watches you sign off on your discharge papers, sips his coffee.  He hands you your shoes, and he helpfully holds out your coat so you can slide into it.

“That little nerd loves you, you know,” he says suddenly.  “It’s obvious as hell, which is why I laid a big bet on it.”

“He does?”  The surprise in your voice makes him chuckle, then shake his head.

“Probably hard to see it from where you’re sitting, but he does.  His dumb face lights up the minute he sees you, and when you aren’t around, he’s like a lost puppy.  So if you feel even an inkling of the same for him, just go upstairs and put him out of his misery, okay?”

It feels like grace you don’t deserve.  You hurt Bob, even if you hadn’t meant to, and for Hangman to offer this sliver of hope you don’t think you deserve—

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes.  Hangman doesn’t remark on them; he only stands by the doorway and waits for you.

“You’re a regular Cupid, Jake,” you offer.

“Nah.”  He finishes off his coffee, crumples the cup, and tosses it in the nearby trash can.  “I just want that fucking pool money.”

-----

The tears that threatened downstairs…they break free the moment you finally see him.

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first.  His nose is swollen in a splint, he’s in a neck brace, and both eyes are so bruised that they can barely open beyond slits.

But his smile…

God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

Phoenix and Rooster have the good sense to leave, ushering Hangman along with them.  Bob, when he sees the tears coursing down your face, frowns and holds a hand out to you.

“I’m okay.  I’m okay.  It’s fine,” he repeats.  You make your way over to him and take his hand, and maybe it is okay.  He holds you tight, his big, warm palm enfolding yours—

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  You’re not okay at all.  You don’t know if Jake was lying, but you can’t lie to Bob anymore just as you can’t lie to yourself.

“I broke one of the rules,” you admit.  You watch him, wary.  You have the sense of how he might react, but you can’t know for sure.  You just have to push through and say it.  Put it out there.

“I broke a rule too,” he replies.  He squeezes your hand.

“Yeah?”  It comes out shaky, unsure.

“Yeah.”

“Which rule?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and brushes a gentle kiss to the back of it.  He’s so damned soft, and you blink against the fresh tears that threaten to spill over your face.

“It’s your own fault,” he grumbles, but he smiles when he says it.  “If you didn’t want me falling for you, you shouldn’t have been so easy to fall for.”

You laugh, a nervous sound that nudges up against the wall of tears you’re struggling to hold back.  “Even though I almost killed you?”

“I mean, you didn’t almost kill me, but you definitely owe me for all this.”  He gestures with his free hand at his face. 

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—”

“Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

“That’s it?”  The sick feeling in your stomach starts to recede, and it’s replaced by the fluttery feeling of promise, of something new and wonderful starting. 

“Just once chance to show you how good it could be.”  His expression is dead serious, and he squeezes your hand again.  “Me and you.  For real this time.”

“I, uh…”  You clear your throat and glance at his bright blue gaze, then look away.  You fix your eyes on where your hands are joined together.  Your hand fits perfectly in his.

“I’ve only ever dated assholes,” you admit.  Another glance at him to see how he takes in your words.  “Guys who don’t have their shit together.  It’s why I wanted the whole…arrangement with you.  I’ve never been with a man who didn’t need, like, intensive therapy.  Or the occasional law enforcement intervention.”

“First time for everything,” Bob replies mildly.

“What if…what if I don’t know how to be in a relationship unless…unless…”  You trail off, not sure how to say it without it sounding completely terrible…but then, the reality of your dating life has been completely terrible anyway.

“You afraid you don’t know how to be in a relationship unless you’re miserable?” he asks gently. 

“Maybe?”

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

You perch awkwardly on the sliver of bed available to you, but Bob reaches up and gets a hand on your shoulder, tugs you gently down towards him.  It’s careful maneuvering—a stark difference to what got you here—but you eventually get comfortable beside him, your cheek against his shoulder, your temple against the hard molded plastic of his brace.  His hand finds yours again, and he threads his fingers through yours.

“What if we started with that one date you owe me?” he offers.  “And then maybe a second date.  I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and you see how it feels to not be miserable.”

One date, maybe a second.

“I think I can handle that,” you reply.

“Then a third date, then another.”

You smile.  “Okay.”

“Maybe around, say, the fifth date, you can spend the night.  Let me make you pancakes in the morning.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Then after maybe a month, you could keep some stuff at my place.  Shampoo, extra clothes.  So you’re comfortable.”

“I could take you to my favorite taco place,” you offer.  “Over in Imperial County.”

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.”

“Would they make me miserable?” you tease.

“Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

“They sound horrible,” you laugh. 

“The worst.”  He chuckles, and a long moment of silence stretches between you, but it’s comfortable.  His warm hand in yours, the quiet beeping of the machines monitoring him, the steady sound of his breathing…the slightly whistling quality of your own breathing through your swollen nose. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home to meet my family before,” he says, and his voice is serious.  “Never even considered it before.”

You lift your head a bit to look at him, and you see the thoughtful quality of his expression.  You settle back against him.

“And you’re considering it with the girl who broke your neck, broke your nose, and shamed you in front of the United States Navy?”

He chuckles again.  “You didn’t break my neck and I’m not in trouble with the Navy,” he says.  “And yes, I’ve considered it.  First time for everything.”

He doesn’t add anything else, and the drama of the evening starts to hit you.  You feel your eyes getting heavy, start to doze off in the hospital bed with him.  His verb tense choice, though—he has considered it, past tense, not is considering it, present tense—makes you wonder how long Bob might have been breaking that rule…

Bob doesn’t say anything else, but he thinks it:  he never took a girl home to his family because he vowed to only ever do it once—with the girl he plans to marry. 

[clown-friend-gt]

Fantasy AU Part 1

It's been a while since I've posted any writing, so I wanted to change that! Here's the first part of my fantasy AU of Heroisms. I talked about the basic premise of this story here.

In this part, Trevor and Addie are younger than they are in the main story around 12/13. There's also a lot of focus on Addie getting ready in the beginning, but I thought it was a nice way to highlight some aspects of the setting. Also, it's my story, so I get to decide what details get included, so if you don't care about what people in a psuedo-historical fairy tale setting eat and wear, too bad! (or just skip it, you do you)

As for the main story, I am still working on it! The next chapter is actually almost done, but I'm thinking of waiting until I get the next few chapters done until I start posting that one again, since I have some time off from work right now. It's coming fairly soon, I promise. Until now, enjoy this AU!

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Once Upon a Tower

5.7k words

Princess Adelaide woke up for the first time in her new room. She was surrounded by cloud-soft bedding. Gentle sunlight shone through the windows to warm her face. Just beyond, she could the chorus of birdsongs. All in all, it was a rather lovely place to be held captive.

She sat up and stretched her arms above her head to try and chase off some of her sleepiness. Despite herself, she began to yawn. She quickly placed a hand in front of her face to stifle it. Even if no one was around to see her, she had to remember to keep up appearances. If she was ever to earn her way out of here, she’d have to carefully maintain her regal sense of poise.

She stepped onto the plain wooden floors with her bare feet. Despite the warm sunlight, the floor was still a bit chilly. A shiver ran up her spine. She waited for it to pass before making her way over to the room’s only window.

       

The bars on the window were the only indication of her imprisonment. It wasn’t as if they were necessary; she’d be sent plummeting to her death if she tried to escape through this window. They only served as a cruel reminder. No matter how nice the room behind them was, the iron bars proved that it was nothing but a gilded cage for her.

       

Adelaide felt her eyes begin to sting and tore her eyes from the window. She couldn’t get upset, now. Her curse always started acting up when she let herself get emotional. Even now she could feel that strange feeling of weightlessness bubbling up within her. A gentle but powerful urge tugging her away from the ground.

       

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. She hadn’t noticed herself beginning to float, but now she felt her feet gently return to the ground. She felt oddly heavy after, just like she always did once the magic left her body.

       

Today will be a normal day, just like any other, she told herself, turning away and leaving the window behind.

************************************************************************

Out of all of the troubles she’d imagined would come from being locked away in a tower, Princess Adelaide never thought that making breakfast would be one of them. It had never occurred to her just how reliant she was on the palace staff for little things like this. But now that she was on her own, she was utterly lost.

       

Finding food was no trouble, of course. Her family had made sure that she would always be provided for while she stayed here, and the cupboards full of food clearly demonstrated that. The trouble was, she had no idea how to prepare any of it.

       

She had decided on a simple breakfast of bread and jam. She figured even she could manage something as straightforward as that. She found a plate, a napkin, and her utensils easily enough. Then she had to slice the bread.

Logically, she knew the nice, neat slices of bread she’d had served to her before had to come from somewhere, but she found herself slightly unsure of how to proceed when presented with a loaf of bread. Was she just supposed to tear it apart with her hands? Surely that couldn’t be right.

She searched her little kitchenette for something to cut it with. In one of the drawers, she found a few knives. She selected the sharpest one, assuming it would be best for this job. She carefully held the handle in both hands and began to cut the bread.

       

It took her a couple of tries to find purchase. Instead of biting into it like she’d imagined it would, the knife started smooshing the bread, flattening the top. She frowned to herself as she pushed harder, and the knife finally cut into the bread.

       

Once she’d managed to slice the bread all the way through, she held it up to admire her handiwork. The slice was misshapen, and much thicker than she preferred. It would have to do. She set it aside on her plate and got to work on the next one.

       

Her second try didn’t fare much better than her first. The only difference was this time, the slice of bread was much too thin. She set the knife down, looking between her pitiful slices and the loaf of bread. Maybe she should throw these out and just try again?

       

She shook her head. No, this was the start of a new life for her. She couldn’t live her life as frivolously as she had in the palace. She had to fend for herself, and that meant that she couldn’t waste precious resources.

       

Now it was time to select a jam. She had plenty to choose from. Apple jam, cherry jam, even grape jam. She eventually decided on a jar of blueberry jam. It was her favorite, after all.

       

She held the clay jar in one hand and began to pry out the large cork with the other. But the cork was wedged tighter in the jar than she had expected. She dug her fingers into the cork and pulled with all her might. With no small amount of effort on her part, the cork came loose from the jar with a pop!

       

As luck would have it, though, the jar slipped from her hands the moment the cork was freed. It fell onto the floor and shattered, spreading its contents all over. Addie glared at the globs of jam.

She ignored the way her mouth watered as she stared at the mess. She may have been living a rougher life now, but she would not be eating off of the floor. She was still royalty, after all. But it was disappointing. Blueberry jam only came around in the late summer, and that was months away.

       

Addie sat down to eat her breakfast of bread and no jam. She chewed it lazily; it was good quality bread, but it made for far too dull of a meal on its own. Occasionally, her eyes would drift over to the jam covered floor, her temptation only increasing as time went on. But her sense of discipline prevailed.

       

After breakfast, she went back to her mess on the floor. She carefully picked the ceramic pieces from the jam. Then she stared longingly at her fingers coated in that sweet berry-flavored substance.

       

Just one lick wouldn’t hurt.

       

After her meal of boring bread, the sensation of blueberries practically danced upon her tongue. So tasty. So tragic.

       

With a heavy sigh, she reluctantly cleaned the rest of the jam off of the floor with the cloth napkin she’d set aside for herself. She cleaned as much off as she could, but there was still a bit of sticky residue left on the floor. And the napkin was utterly soiled. She’d have to throw it away.

       

Then she went to the bedside table where there was a mirror, a pitcher of water, and a bowl. She poured the water into the bowl so she could perform her morning ablutions. She wet her face with water, then patted it dry with a towel. She also swished a little water around in her mouth, then spat it back into the bowl. Then she set it aside to empty out later.

       

She examined herself in the mirror. She’d had her hair braided for her before she left, so her natural hair would be protected for at least a month. She frowned at the few pimples that dotted her dark brown skin. They’d started showing up a few months ago, around the same time as her curse. Their unsightly appearance was an ugly reminder of the reason she was trapped.

       

She stared deeply into her amber-colored eyes. Was it just her imagination, or did they hold a little less luster than they used to, before she was locked away? She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to chase those thoughts from her mind.

       

Now, it was time for her to dress herself. Yet another thing she’d never done on her own. But she’d seen her maids do it hundreds of times. Maybe she could pull it off by herself after all.

       

She exchanged her nightgown for a white chemise. That was easy enough. Then she pulled on her stockings, bending over in an undignified manner to do so, and tied her garters on to secure them. After that, she pulled on a pair of drawers under her shift.

       

Then she went back to her wardrobe to select a pair of shoes. She chose a simple blue pair of slippers.

       

Cautiously, she selected a pair of jumps from her wardrobe. These were less structured than the stays she wore for formal occasions. They also laced from the front, although Adelaide rarely did so herself. She pulled them on over her head and pulled the laces tight.

       

She paused before tying them. No one was around, right? She could maybe afford to leave them a little loose. She didn’t have the smallest figure by any means, and her maids tended to lace her undergarments tight to make up for that fact. Now that she had to dress herself, she got to make that choice for herself, and she chose to loosen her jumps a bit before tying them in place.

       

She chose two petticoats to wear beneath her skirt. It was sunny out, but still a little chilly in the stone tower. Two petticoats would hopefully provide her with a bit of warmth. She pulled them on, and, after fiddling around in front of the mirror for a few minutes, managed to secure the ties in place.

       

Finally, she was ready to choose her outerwear. She wanted to keep things fairly simple, but her clothing was rather limited in that regard. She eventually found an unembellished skirt of blue silk, as well as a white waistcoat with bluebirds embroidered onto it. Perfect for spring.

       

To finish it all off, she tied a pale-yellow sash around her waist. She examined herself in the mirror, and decided she didn’t look too unkempt. Not bad for her first time dressing herself.

       

Now that she’d finally finished feeding and clothing herself, all Adelaide had to do was to find something to occupy her time. That sounded easy enough, but it was the part she had been worried about. All that time couped up with no one around for miles sounded absolutely dreadful. Like the stuff of nightmares.

       

She approached the bookshelf that rested against one of the walls. She examined the titles that lay within, weighing her options. The books rattled in place, distracting her from her search. She examined the bookcase, but it seemed stable. Then it happened again, and with a start she realized that it wasn’t just the books; the floor beneath her was shaking. Every few seconds, a tremor vibrated the whole tower.

Was it an earthquake? She’d read about them in books but had never experienced one herself. There hadn’t been one in the kingdom in decades. Her family had been promised this tower was the safest place in the world for her to stay. Had they been lied to?

The light from the window dimmed momentarily. Something blocked out the sun. She rushed over to see what was the matter. Her blood ran cold as she spotted the gigantic figure in the distance. Then the realization hit her like a slap to the face. It wasn’t an earthquake she was feeling.

       

It was that thing’s footsteps.

************************************************************************

It was spring in Trevor’s forest again. He could feel the warmth of the earth in his roots and the light of the sun on his leaves. Most of all, he could feel the urging of his kin through his connection to them. It was time for him to wake up.

       

His trunk shifted back into the shape of a human body. His branches twisted back into his arms. His roots receded into what became the soles of his feet. Finally, the knots on his bark reformed into a human face. His face.

       

Regaining human form was always a bit of an adjustment. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get used to having his sight back. For a few moments, the early morning sunlight was blinding, and all of the vibrant colors of the forest were dizzying. He took a few uneasy steps forward, trying to regain his sense of balance.

       

The clothes he’d been wearing before he went into hibernation had reappeared on his body. He looked down at the plain white shirt he wore, rubbing the fabric between his fingers and admiring the craftsmanship. He wore long brown pants on his legs and simple shoes on his feet.

       

The clothes were a gift from his magus friend, Wren. They were enchanted to appear whenever he took human form and disappear whenever he turned back into a tree. He’d worn them since he was a child, and they grew along with him. He didn’t quite understand how it worked; Wren’s magic was so different from his own.

       

Wren had always been a good friend to him. He’d known them for almost as long as he could remember. In addition to gifting him the clothes he wore, they’d also taught him to speak what they called “the common tongue.” Of course, he’d never had the chance to speak it with anyone but Wren.

       

He made a mental note to visit them the first chance he got. But first, he had a number of duties to attend to. He was the guardian of this forest, and ever since he was a young sapling his kin had taught him the importance of his role.

       

He’d start by patrolling the forest. That was the easiest way to check on all of the flora and fauna that called his forest home. He’d visit everyone and ask them how they’d fared through the winter. The elders always emphasized that “attachment is a risk to the balance you keep.” But he’d come to care for many of the living things in his forest, and it was hard not to think of some of them as his friends, too.

       

He set out on his journey, keeping his steps light. Most of the forest was used to his presence by now, but he still did his best to be careful. He was as tall as the tallest trees in this forest now, and if he wasn’t mindful of how he carried himself it could spell disaster for his environment.

       

He hummed a song as he walked along, weaving a spell as he went. It was one of the first things the elders had taught him. While he carried this tune, he could walk on the ground without shaking it and pass through the trees without knocking them aside.

       

Birds flitted through the trees as he passed. He kept a silent tally of each as they flew alongside him, making sure that most had returned from their migrations. Occasionally he’d stop to commune with them. They didn’t share words like he and Wren would, but they communicated in songs instead. Through the music they exchanged, he caught glimpses of images, sensations, and feelings.

       

He held out a finger and let a few robins land upon it. He smiled as they regaled him with tales of their migration. Through their song, he saw places he’d never been, the warm islands far to the south. He’d never get the chance to leave the forest, so he enjoyed hearing about their travels instead.

       

He gave them a small wave as they flew away. It was a gesture Wren had taught him. It had little meaning to the birds, but he still liked to use it.

       

He continued making his rounds. He visited the lake and made sure it had thawed completely. He checked on some of the newer saplings to make sure they were getting enough light. Bit by bit, he made sure everything in the forest was as it should be.

       

About halfway through his trek, he felt something tugging at his pantleg. He looked down to see what it was, only to see a red squirrel scampering its way up his leg. He bent over and offered it his hand to climb into. It leaped on, and he stood up again, raising his hand in front of his face.

       

Through distressed chitters, it informed him of the large number of humans that had spent most of the winter traipsing through the woods. It bemoaned the fact that it’d been unable to dig up the acorns it distinctly remembered it had buried near the old ruins due to their presence.

Trevor nodded along, choosing not to remind the squirrel that its memory was far from perfect. In fact, many of the trees in this forest likely sprouted from seeds buried and subsequently forgotten by squirrels just like this one.

       

After assuring the squirrel he’d look into the issue, he placed it onto a nearby branch, letting it scurry away.

       

Humans. Trevor never knew what to think of them. His kin had mixed opinions on them; some were perfectly content to live alongside them, while others swore that they were nothing but a danger to the delicate ecosystems they protected. He had never even met a human, much less had time to form much of an opinion about them.

       

Humans tended to avoid him, for the most part. That is, when they even noticed he was there. It was a shame, really. As far as he knew, he was the only one amongst his kin who spoke their language. Perhaps if he could talk to them, they could figure out a way to coexist peacefully.

       

As he got close to the clearing that housed the ruins the squirrel had mentioned in its story, he dropped the spell that let him travel lightly. It always gave him a little pang of sadness in his heart when he came by here. The forest had yet to recover from when this spot was clearcut so many years ago. Save for the grass that grew from the ground and the small trees that dotted the makeshift plain, this area was completely uninhabited.

       

It wasn’t a huge clearing, at least. It was roughly a circle, a little longer across than he was tall. In the middle stood a strange pile of stones, stacked nearly as tall as he was. Wren called it a “tower.” Many of the stones towards the bottom were covered in moss, and a creeping ivy clung to one side. It was built and then abandoned by humans a long time before he’d sprouted.

       

He’d seen it plenty of times before, but he’d never had a reason to approach it until now. He had to wonder what its purpose might’ve been. Was it some kind of dwelling? It didn’t look much like the homes he’d seen humans inhabiting before, in the village that sat closest to his forest. And why had the humans visited it while he was asleep?

       

It did have one of those pointy things on top like a human’s den had. A “roof,” Wren had called it. They’d told him they were made out of straw, or something they called “shingles.” It didn’t look like straw to him, more like small black squares layered on top of each other.

       

The glint of an object on top of the roof caught his eye. It was a metal ornament the likes of which he’d never seen, hammered into the shape of a rooster. It creaked forlornly as the wind pushed it this way and that. He watched on in delight as it reluctantly turned in the direction of the shifting breeze. It was like the metal bird was dancing, beckoning him closer.

       

Unable to restrain his curiosity, he reached out and touched it, stopping it in place. Then he carefully set it to spinning again with the tip of his finger. He smiled as he watched it spin. While it spun, he pinched the thin bar that it sat upon, trying to understand how the thing worked. But he misjudged how delicate it would be, and it snapped off the tip of the roof. He examined it for a moment, before slipping it into his shirt pocket. Hopefully no one would miss it.

       

Now that he was closer to the tower, he saw that the top had openings on one of its sides. He leaned down and put his eye to the opening on the front. He looked around as best as he could, but he couldn’t see much. The opening was blocked by a pair of large metal bars.

       

He was incredibly curious about what was inside. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and, when it seemed he was alone, he wedged the tip of one of his fingers through the bars. The metal burned him slightly; the bars must’ve been made of iron. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. If he could quickly pry them off, he’d be able to see inside without burning himself too badly.

       

The elders often warned him to be mindful of his strength. But again he misjudged the durability of the construction, and he ended up prying away part of the wall along with the bars. He winced as he dropped it, feeling sorry for damaging it.

       

At least he could get a better look inside now. He leaned in and looked around eagerly. The room inside was filled with many objects seemingly made by humans. He considered taking some to show to Wren, who could explain their purposes to him.

       

Then he heard something inhale sharply, and his eye darted over to look at the source of the noise. From underneath a larger object draped in fabric, a small set of widened eyes stared at him. His own eyes widened in response as he bit back a yelp. It seemed he had been wrong.

       

The tower was far from abandoned.

************************************************************************

As soon as she spotted the giant, Adelaide quickly ducked below the windowsill. It hadn’t seemed to notice her yet, and she planned to keep it that way. Her eyes scanned the room for somewhere to hide.

       

The entrance to the tower was locked, so running wasn’t an option. But even if she could, where would she go? She didn’t know this forest, and even if she did, there was no way she was outrunning that thing.

       

Another tremor shook the tower and she silently cursed whoever had thought to keep her here. A giant. Really? You think I’d be safe here with a giant nearby?!

       

On a childish whim, she darted beneath her bed. Internally, she heard the voice of her etiquette teacher scolding her.

       

“Princesses do not hide under beds,” the voice said, high and slightly nasally.

       

Who cares about propriety? I’m trying to hide from a monster here! She shot back at the voice, in her head of course.

       

The room shook again, and her nerves were electrified. She felt the telltale feeling of her curse firing up inside of her.

       

Not now, please, not now, she pleaded silently.

       

Instead of floating off of the ground herself, she spotted objects around the room beginning to float instead. Bottles of perfume lifted themselves off her vanity, and the books began flying off of the shelves, hanging in midair.

       

This happened sometimes when she was especially distraught. Instead of her curse affecting her, it’d affect her surroundings, and small objects would hover around her of their own accord. She glared silently upwards, powerless to do anything to stop it.

       

She heard the giant shifting around outside. Looking up at the window, she saw a large chestnut-colored eye gazing inside. She froze, her heart hammering in her throat. She prayed silently that it wouldn’t see her.

       

It seemed like someone was listening, because the eye went away from the window. She let out a sigh of relief, only a moment too soon. The giant forced its finger through the bars of the window and hooked the tip around them. Then it pulled, wrenching the window, and part of the wall, away from the room entirely.

       

It looked into the room again, and this time, she saw more of its face. Its features were much like a normal human’s, although much, much larger. Instead of skin, its face was covered in a treelike bark. It had a knot under its left eye, like a mole. She’d heard tales of the giant guardians of nature who watched over the uncivilized world, but she’d never dreamed of coming face to face with one.

       

What struck her was how young the thing looked. If it wasn’t for its size and the strangeness of its appearance, she might’ve thought it was a boy her age. Her breath caught in her throat.

       

The thing’s eye shot over to where she was hiding, dialing in on her. Its eye widened in shock, and it retreated away from the wall. There was a large *CRASH* as it seemingly fell backwards, causing the tower to shake like never before. A single stone brick fell from the hole the giant had created, smashing on the floor below. Just when she thought the humongous creature’s fall would cause the tower to collapse, the shaking stopped.

       

She heard the creature grunted at her in its bizarre guttural language. The sound was somewhere between a cow lowing and a person speaking. Then it startled her by speaking in words she could understand.

       

“—Sorry! I’m so sorry!”Its voice echoed around her. Despite its volume, its voice sounded young, like that of a teenage boy.

       

“I didn’t know someone lived here,” he continued. “I’m sorry about you’re—ah, wall.”

       

She was speechless as he stood up and brushed himself off. Unlike the stories she’d been told, this giant not only spoke her language, but wore clothes much like that of a commoner. Where he’d gotten enough material to make clothes that fit him, she had no idea.

       

“I am called Trevor,” he said, running a hand through his leaflike hair. His voice had a strange accent to it that she couldn’t place.

       

He began to speak very quickly, like he was in a rush to get all of his words out. “I’m sorry if I scared you, like I said, I didn’t know anyone was living here. There aren’t really any humans who live in these woods. You’re the first one I’ve met! What is your name?”

He looked at her expectantly.

       

What was she supposed to do? Everything in her screamed for her to run, but she stayed stuck in place. Sure, he acted friendly enough, but that could be some kind of trick to get her to drop her guard, to lure her out of hiding.

       

He tilted his head at her as she stayed silent. “Do you speak?”

       

She opened and closed her mouth, floundering. He seemed to notice she was in some kind of distress.

       

“Are you stuck? Here, let me help.” He began reaching towards her with a single, enormous hand, with fingers that were nearly as long as she was tall. That knocked her out of her stupor.

       

“No, no, no! I’m fine,” she stammered, squeezing herself out from under the bed. His hand stopped in place, then retreated as she stood up.

       

He smiled at her again. His bright white teeth stood in stark contrast to the bark-like skin that covered his face.

       

“So you can talk! That’s good, I was worried you couldn’t. That’d be a disappointment; the first human I ever get to speak to can’t talk themselves. It’s a good thing you can!”

       

“Y-yes,” she said, swallowing dryly.

       

“You never told me your name,” he reminded her.

       

“O-oh,” she stuttered, before clearing her throat and standing up straight. If there was one thing she’d been trained to do so well she could do it in her sleep, it was introducing herself.

       

“I am Adelaide Luanda Johannesburg, First Princess of Johannesburg, Heiress to the Pearlescent Throne and Descendent of Harmonia’s Grace.” She paused briefly, trying to gauge how deeply to curtsy. She eventually decided to curtsy deeply as a sign of respect, hoping that would keep him happy.

       

“Wow, that’s, uh,” he hesitated. “That’s a lot of names.”

       

She cursed herself silently. She shouldn’t have used all of her titles, that would only confuse him.

       

“You may call me Adelaide,” she granted him.

Calling her by her first name was a special privilege, not to be given out lightly. Only her mother and her brothers called her by that name. But as far as she was concerned, this was a matter of survival, and keeping the giant happy and peaceful was more important than her honor.

       

“Ade—Ada-luh—luh—” He still seemed to be struggling with her name.

       

“Just Addie, then,” she said quickly. It was what her youngest brother used to call her, before he’d learned to speak properly.

       

“Addie. Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she replied automatically.

Trevor’s eyes drifted around the room she stood in. She followed his gaze, spotting all of the knick-knacks floating around her room. Suddenly, she felt strangely embarrassed, like he’d caught her with something she shouldn’t have.

If he noticed something was amiss, he didn’t mention it.

“What are you doing in my woods?” he asked instead.

Adelaide’s heart rose into her throat. His tone was light, but his question was disarming. Did he think she was invading his territory? She’d heard stories about giants who would grow violent if they felt their domain was under some kind of threat.

She decided to tell him part of her story. If she was lucky, he might pity her instead of becoming aggressive.

“I’m trapped here. This is my prison,” she said, truthfully.

“Your prison?” he asked. “So you don’t live here?”

“Not by choice,” she answered.

“Why don’t you just leave?”

“The door is locked.”

“Why does that matter? I can help you get out, if you’d like.”

Without waiting for an answer, he began to reach for her again. An undignified yelp escaped her lips and her hands flew out in front of her, an instinctive reaction to the sight of that huge hand reaching out to grab her.

“No!”

He froze, a look of hurt briefly passing over his face.

“…I see.”

He retracted his hand sheepishly.

Adelaide felt sorrow for a moment, before that feeling was replaced by confusion. Why did she care if her actions offended him? It wasn’t like he was human.

“Besides—” she spat out, as if to cover for her blunder. “I can’t just leave.”

“Why not?” he asked, with seeming reluctance.

She paused. Adelaide didn’t really want to divulge her troubles to a stranger, and to a giant no less. But what would she say instead?

“Princesses do not tell lies,” came the sing-songy voice of her etiquette teacher in her head again.

Adelaide sighed deeply. “I—I’m cursed.”

Trevor gave her a puzzled look. “Cursed?”

She nodded, then gestured to the many objects that now glided through the air in all directions.

"Can’t you see? All this chaos is because of my curse.”

Trevor followed the path of one of the flying books with his eyes, almost as if he was noticing it for the first time.

“I was wondering about that,” he admitted.

“Well, now you know,” she said, barely hiding the bitterness in her voice.

Turning away, Adelaide began trying to fish things out of the air so she could put them back in their proper place.

“And until I learn how to get it under control, I’m stuck here,” she finished, placing a few books back on their shelves. She half expected them to fly back out, but now that her mood was falling, so too did the chintz around her room start to sink to the ground.

The floor began to tremble lightly again. Apparently, while she’d had her back turned, Trevor had started resting his hand on the side of the tower, near the hole he’d made. He tapped his pointer finger on the floor of her room absently.

“So…you do live here?” he asked.

“For the time being,” she answered carefully, thrown by the odd sensation of the vibrations of his tapping travelling through the floor and up her legs.

His lips curled into a smile. “Then I guess I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”

Startled, she exclaimed, “What?”

His smile widened to a grin. “Watching over every living thing in this forest is my responsibility. Now that you’re staying here, that includes you too.”

Adelaide was stunned. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted him “watching over” her. What exactly would that entail? But it wasn’t as if she had much choice in the matter.

       

At least she wasn’t frozen in terror like she had been before. Not to say that she was entirely unafraid of him now. He was so many times larger than her, and it would’ve been easy for him to do with her as he liked. But if he had any intention of harming her, he’d had plenty of opportunities to do so. Of course, that didn’t guarantee that his intentions with her were pure.

And now that her initial terror was fading, a kind of curiosity was left in its place. Trevor was already so unlike any giant she’d ever heard of. His manner was certainly…intriguing. She had so many questions she could ask him. That is, if she could ever get over her wariness to speak to him.

For now, though, she had to demonstrate her gratitude. She wasn’t yet sure if she was thankful for his offer, but she still had to keep up appearances.

Watching him carefully, she slowly approached the opening in the wall. Trevor hurriedly removed his hand, standing up straight as she came near. She lowered herself into a curtsy again.

“I’m most grateful for your hospitality,” she said, holding the curtsy for a moment before standing up again and forcing herself to look him in the eye, if only for a moment.

Trevor scratched the back of his head. The sound of his leafy hair moving around almost reminded her of the sound of the wind travelling through the trees.

"Wow. You sure use a lot of fancy words,” he said, sounding a little lost.

“It just means ‘thank you for letting me stay here,’” she clarified

“Oh. Of course,” he said, smiling again. “It’s my duty, after all.”

[givethemsmut]

Cody Rhodes x Reader

Made of Gold | Chapter Seven

I had grown accustomed to living on Cody’s bus, exploring the city during the day and at night watching the monitors showcase his talent. I was thriving while I hit the ignore button for the millionth time on my father calling.

Shoving my phone into the back pocket of black skinny jeans with rips in the knees I headed to catering while Cody warmed up.

I had been avoiding Brandi, keeping myself on high alert, every turn backstage I was scanning the space for her. I b-lined it for the coffee when her voice sent goosebumps over my arms.

“Still around? I’m shook.”

Reminding myself I was still a few days away from eighteen I still had to channel every ounce of adulthood to argue with anyone backstage. “Sorry I made it impossible for you to shoot your shot, sweetie.”

She laughed and my eyes snapped up to hers, “You being here doesn’t stop anyone for shooting their shot. That’s your first mistake - thinking you’re his only until you have a ring on that finger.”

“I am his only, exclusively.” I quipped my words right back so quickly I even impressed myself.

She smiled, a shit eating grin, like she knew something I didn’t. “First mistake.”

Brandi left me there after her calculated attack and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had missed things. Cody was top dog here, talented, paid handsomely, and his body was rivaling Greek statues how could woman not be throwing themselves at him.

How could I miss that?

Wandering the maze like hallways of backstage I tried to find Cody but my mind was its own distraction. Wondering how anyone maintained a relationship with their partner on the road, that kind of trust and lack of cracks in their self esteem seemed impossible now that I knew how lingered back stage.

Coming around the corner I stopped short see Cody and his boss in a heated discussion or what looked like it. Pressing myself against the wall to listen I heard their exchange loud and clear.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Cody? She’s seriously fucking seventeen? You’ve been parading her around like a goddamn lucky charm.” Hunter, the weathered man still sporting muscles and champion rings spat in his face with his words.

Cody was fresher but none less a street dog ready to fight. “Her age doesn’t matter. She’s legal in a few days. Big deal.”

“Are you fucking insane? This could destroy your career if anyone else found out. You’re lucky it was just me.”

I watched their faces get so close I felt the weight of their argument sit directly on my chest.

All the ways I wore being Cody’s like a badge of honor felt cheap. Almost like I didn’t deserve it at all, not with people acting like I was poisoning his dreams. Everyone was trying to pull us apart and it felt like I should fall in line instead of fighting fate.

Hurrying with my cup of coffee I scurried away as fast as I could, taking shelter behind the first door I saw. Letting it close slowly, I let my forehead press against the cold door, and an expatriate sigh leave my lips.

“Well that’s one way to make an impression.”

Slowly looking over my shoulder, all the tattoos came into view and his gruff voice seemed to fill the room. “I’ll be gone in a second. I’m just hiding from your boss.”

I kept my voice casual and my body relaxed even though he only had a towel hanging around his waist. A gallery of tattoos decorating his skin, his hair slicked back and this grimace attached to his face that kind of made you want to slap him.

“You can make whatever excuse you like.”

“I’m with Cody…” I almost added duh because everyone knew Cody and by extension me as his.

His sinister laugh had me take a step back into the door. “Not friends with Cody. Not even close.” Ignoring him I clamped my eyes shut and waited out their argument when he spoke again. “How old are you? Are you his sister?”

I could feel the way his eyes were digging into me and pressuring me to answer. I rolled my eyes and yanked the door open but not before slinging a remark back. “Maybe you’re just used to old pussy.”

“Look at Mister WWE himself breaking the rules. I could almost be proud if I didn’t hate him so much.” He started pulling on his sweats under his towel and I could feel my cheeks burning.

“Mister WWE? He just came back.” I quipped at him, wholly offended and letting the door close again.

Ripping the towel from his waist I let myself analyze hin, the messy hair, and the way he was the opposite of Cody. He wasn’t all American, clean cut, he was rough around the edges.

He chuckled, pulling his cut up shirt over his head, “you don’t know him at all. How did you even meet him?”

Crossing my arms I stood there, barely grasping my coffee. “I know what you’re implying… I’m not some one night stand.”

His elbows dug into his legs as he leaned forward on the couch that sat against the wall. “You really don’t know him. He’s always been the good soldier, the golden boy here, and when he left he didn’t have to play by the rules anymore. Making us all look bad when he’s keeping a jailbait secret.”

I stood there, my shoulders pinned against the wall and my face smeared with guilt. I was too young, no matter how good I made it sound, and that could end everything he worked for.

He took my silence as contempt when he looked up at me, his baby blue eyes shimmering against the florescent lights. “The real question is what are we going to do about this.”

It wasn’t really a question, it was a clear intention that I owed him if I wanted him to keep my secret.

A secret Cody wasn’t ashamed of but his boss and career depended on me being legal.

“It’s not a big deal. I turn eighteen in a month.”

“That’s why you look as pale as a sheet? This isn’t high school anymore, babe. You’re playing with the big dogs now.” His voice was the perfect villain, laced with edge and charm.

I spewed snark, “Are you saying I can’t hang? I eat assholes like you for breakfast. Grow some tits then talk to me about holding your own in a man’s world.”

He chuckled like what I said was funny before he sat back. “Okay, spitfire, let’s see if you can hang. This is gonna be fun.”

“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes at him and cracked the door open to scan the hallway to make sure neither of them were in the vicinity.

Looking over my shoulder he waved with a big smile plastered across his mouth. “Have fun out there.”

I safely made it back to the gorilla area cluttered with monitors and tech things that kept the production going. Between his ex-finance, his boss and his enemy I ran into it felt like I had no allies here. The loneliness I didn’t feel until now felt like a weight on my shoulder I didn’t expect to carry.

Not while surrounded by people.

Without touching me I felt a hard chest scrape my shoulder blades and a warm mouth practically close over the shell of my ear. “I gotta talk to you.”

Cody’s voice was full of dark clouds and I knew it was about to pour.

All the ways we were safe in our bubble at his house no longer existed.

Taking his hand I trailed behind him, letting him lead the way with a melted expression. He lead me back to the bus and stood in the aisle with his arms crossed.

Standing in front of him I let our soon-to-be argument a wide birth. “Fucked me out of your system.”

I wasn’t going to wait for him to break it off, I was going to beat him to it.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He paused, his eyes half mast and full of unhinged rage. “Fucked you out of my system? You really think I can fuck the kind of poison you are out of my system?” His arms unfolded and his palm ran over his crotch before giving himself a hard squeeze.

I bit the inside of my cheek, staying silent while I waited for him to continue.

“Your dad called Hunter. He wanted to let him know that was kidnapping you, raping you and WWE would be found as an accomplice. As much as being told I can’t have you makes me want to fuck you more… we need a game plan. One that doesn’t involve you ending things between us.” His stern voice hit me like a pillow case full of bricks.

Taking out my phone of my back pocket, I tapped my missed calls and dialed. Telling his boss? That’s just foreplay, my dad just wanted a way to force me to call him back and it worked.

“Father.”

“Daughter,” he repeated. “Have you come to your senses?”

“What is it going to take for you to back off?” I slice my words making sure it’s all business, no pleasure.

There was a pause of silence but it felt like it was for my benefit instead. “Sweetheart, he’s taking advantage of you. I’m just looking out for your best interest.”

Fighting the urge to pace I sat down on the edge of the seat, leaning forward into my phone when I hit speaker. “You’re ruining his life. He’s not some predator, I threw myself at him numerous times and he rejected me like a gentleman.”

“I don’t need to hear all the ways he forced you to act like a slut. You’re lucky I haven’t involved the police. Get home - before I do.”

The line went dead and I fought every urge to scream when I gripped my phone so hard I was willing it to crack.

I knew we were doomed. At least until eighteen.

“I’m gonna go… he’s not going to stop until he gets his way. I’m gonna go pack.” I brushed by him, letting the reality of us set in when I closed the door behind me.

A few moments later the door sprang open and Cody was making demands while I sat on the floor with my open suitcase. “Delete your socials. All of them. Anything with your birthday that the public can access. Unfollow everyone. No one can prove shit if they can’t find you. Two can play that game.”

I looked at him confused not sure how deleting my online presence was going to satisfy my dad.

Or his job.

“That doesn’t change anything, Cody. I’m still not eighteen and too many people know now.”

I kept packing, avoidant but still filling my suitcase when Cody sat on the end of the bed. “Too many people know? Who else knows?”

I could see his eyes slant and the wonderment scatter across his features. “Some guy backstage… I didn’t say anything. He just knew. He thought I was your little sister.”

Scrubbing his face he paused before speaking again, “Who? Who was it?”

Continuing to pack I stopped, kneeling between his legs, I looked up at him. “Tattoos, slicked back hair, said he doesn’t like you…”

“Phil fucking Brooks? Are you kidding me?”

Looking at his in confusion I rested my hands on his knees waiting for him to elaborate.

“He hates me. Not for the sake our keeping storylines authentic but deep fucking hate. How did he find out? What were you doing around him? He never leaves his dressing room.”

Letting my head drop and my arms press even more against his legs I explained. “I overheard your boss and I accidentally ended up in his dressing room. He was pleasent enoug.”

Not that it helped Cody feel better but I tried to smooth it over, playing it down and leaving out the blackmail part.

Standing up eruptly I stumbled backwards, catching myself on my hands, and looking up at the god like tower of his body. "I'll figure it out. I gotta get warm. I booked us a hotel already, no shows tomorrow and we could use a bigger shower. Take a rental and I'll meet you there after the show."

He wasn't so much asking but making demands. It wasn't going over my head that I was being banished to the hotel to hide out, where no one could question my age or mistake me for his little sister.

I nodded my head, agreeing, and watched him walk back off the bus from the back suite.

Continuing to pack, I filled up a suitcase with everything I needed before escaping off the bus and heading inside to snag some keys for a rental. Security looked more intimidating than most of the roster for WWE, big, burly men with stern features that begged you not to speak to them.

"Just snagging keys for a rental?" I spoke softly, hoping he didn't ask too many questions because I didn't have answers.

“Badge.”

Pushing up my phone to his face I showed his the plastic stuck inside the clear plastic case. Looking down he nodded and slide to the side grabbing a pair of keys before handing them to me.

Beeping the alarm I found the car pretty quickly, shoving my bag into the passenger seat, and climbing behind the wheel. Realizing I had no idea what hotel where or where I was going I sat there full of frustration until all of my cracked.

Startled by the knuckles tapping against the tinted window I jumped back against the soft leather. Trying to control my breath I pressed the button to roll the window down when the stranger in a cap looked up.

Revealing him and his familiar voice I let myself shift right into annoyance. “Can I help you? Phil, right?”

“You’re going to the hotel?” His eyes were bright, piercing the over cast day and I felt hypnotized.

Nodding I bite my tongue.

“I’ll bum a ride.” He rounded the car and yanked the car door open, sliding right in to the passenger seat. “It’s a mile away.”

I scolded him, “is this the favor I owe you?”

His grimace smile took up room on his face when his hand pushed his hat off. “Oh, no, sweetheart. You’ll know when I cash in that favor." Pausing only long enough to iritate me he continued, "I'm not into jailbait. Stop worrying."

"I'm with Cody."

Backing up and flooring it around the building I merged onto the street. Forcing him to cough up the directions I had no problem aimlessly driving around a strange city when he finally pointed out each turn.

Pulling into the hotel I slipped out before he could and slammed my door. I could hear his footsteps against the pavement trying to keep up with me. "Let me guess, he wants you at the hotel since Hunter found out you're under age? Out of sight, out of mind?"

I ignored him even though I already had the same thought. Standing at the desk, smiling politely, I gave Cody’a real name when the woman smiled back and came up empty.

Stepping to the side I had to call Cody, first I didn’t even know the hotel and now I couldn’t check in without whatever name he uses to check under.

It rang a few times before he answered, “What’s wrong?”

“Apparently you don’t book under your name…” I let my annoyance disappear as I spoke.

I could hear Phil checking in next to me, pouring through my ears as much as the phone.

"Is that Phil?" His voice was cut, sharp but less damaging. "Stardust, don't ask. It was a bad time in my life."

The way he trailed off made me thing there was so much more to the story. "If it was a bad time why do you use that name?"

"Don't change the subject. I thought we talked about staying away from him."

"I can't help he is at the same hotel, Cody. Don't worry, I am staying out of sight." I meant it as a dig when I rolled my eyes aggressively before dropping my phone down to the counter and hitting end call. Phil's intrusive thoughts had crept in and made a home right in my insecurity.

Not so gracefully, I gave them Stardust and she handed me two key cards. I felt exhausted when I dragged myself to the elevator, standing there I hit the button for my floor when Phil narrowly escaped being asked for photos. As the doors closed I watched their disappointment grow against their features.

“So you’re a dick to everyone. Cool.”

“Self preservation, sweetheart. If you take one photo you have to for everyone so I don’t take any. This is actually your first rodeo so I would really keep your opinions to yourself.” Crossing his arms he leaned against the rail lining the elevator.

“He’s not keeping me a secret.” I tried to sound cruel but it came out sad instead.

He silently chuckled, the way your mouth opens but you stay silent, “How long until you turn eighteen?”

“17 days…”

He laughed out loud, knowing he was right. Part of me knew too but I wanted him to be wrong. “His image is everything to him. The second you don’t comply with that good boy act, he’ll kick you to the curb, sweetheart.”

"I'm just suppose to believe you? Aren't you his enemy or whatever?" The elevator dings, the doors opening and a large family continued to pile in even though we were going up. Still waiting for my answer, Phil, better known as CM Punk, swiftly moved closer, invading every inch of my personal space.

I could smell his cologne mixing with burnt black coffee he was so close. Swallowing hard against my dry throat I tried to keep my eyes focused ahead instead of analyzing every tattoo cover his exposed arms.

"That's exactly why you know I'm not lying. He's kicked every woman to the curb for not being the perfect trophy wife... or getting knocked up... You don't strike me as the kind who sits in a hotel room waiting on some guy."

The suitecase bubbed into my leg and I felt my knees buckle as I fell right into Phil. Catching me, his arm wrapped around my waist while his hand braced against the elevator railing. "Good thing you don't know me," I quipped back.

The large family got off, we had missed our floor or maybe the elevator never got there, who knows. I was distracted by the way Phil smelled and was reading me like a book. I was drunk off it even though my heart belonged to Cody.

Pushing past him I faced the doors, leaning against the cold surface of the wall and trying to ignore him.

Phil kept his distance, taking the hint, when the doors pried open on our floor. "Alright trophy wife, see you at hell in a cell, if he lets you watch, of course."

I watched him walk down the hall, waiting for it to be a safe enough distance before I stepped out. Going the same direction I scanned the numbers on the door until I found mine. Of course his was next door.

Behind the closed door I finally exhaled in relief.

Phil had delivered the ultimate insult and I wasn’t about to let him be right.

I didn’t see Cody at all that night and when I stirred awake I felt my ass hit every hard inch of his body tucked against mine. His arm was lazily draped over my waist and our legs were one movement away from tangled when I rubbed my eyes awake.

Without a word I heard Cody’s sleepy voice, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re tense and planing an escape. I’ll ask again, what’s wrong?” His voice was soft and his eyes were still closed as I looked over my shoulder.

Twisting towards him, “I’m not a trophy wife… I don’t wanna be banished to a hotel and hidden.”

His hand hadn’t stopped roaming my body as he crept closer to me. “I’m not hiding you, I’m keeping the peace until you turn eighteen. As for trophy wife, sounds like Phil got under your skin.”

“Under my skin? How about grating every insecurity and nerve?”

Cody’s lips caught mine in a simple peck as his hand cupped my face. Pulling away only enough he whispered, “Everyone had opinions. Everyone is going to hate us, you have to ignore it.”

“Why does everyone have to hate us?” I barely managed to ask when his mouth found my neck, covering my sensitive skin in kisses.

His hand fell down my body, cupping my breasts and feeling my hard nipples scrape his palm. “Because I unapologetically want you. I’m not hiding it. People love misery, not happy endings baby.”

Cody’s hand drifted further down me until I felt his fingertips smoothing against my panty covered slit. I gasped right into his chest as my hands clutched onto him.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want.”

My legs fell open and I was biting my lip as his fingers pushed my panties to the side. “More, please, more.”

“More what, baby?” He teased me and my hips pressed into the firm mattress.

His warm breath cascaded down my bare pussy and all of me shook. With an exhale I said, “Fuck me.”

Cody didn’t need to be told twice when he pulled down my panties, flinging them at the floor and taking up the space between my legs. The backs of my thighs rubbed against his while his hands worked over himself like a pep talk he didn’t need.

“Why do you do that? Like you aren’t hard already…”

I was hypnotized by his lazy hand jerking himself off between my legs.

“Because your little, tight, pussy gets so much wetter when you watch me baby. I need you as wet as I can get you if I want to fit…” he trailed off while lining himself up. With one hard thrust I felt Cody take up every inch of vacancy my pussy had and gasped at the thickness.

“Oh my God,” I clamped my eyes closed and moaned through the way he felt inside me.

“That’s it, baby. I love the way your pussy chokes my cock. Fuck.”

His dirty mouth only made me wetter when he held himself above me, our mouths full of friction without kissing.

Cody fucked me until I was screaming his name and begging him to not let me come again. My legs were still shaking and I could still feel the orgasm lingering by the third time he made me come all over him.

Kissing my temple he sat back on his heels. “Fuck, I’m gonna end up getting you pregnant, I like making you come too much. Look at this mess you made all my cock, baby.”

He was looking down at himself, still hard, covered in my orgasm still and I felt the iron butterflies in my stomach flutter again.

My cheeks burned and nothing could have felt further from the truth. Cody wasn’t hiding me, he was enjoying me and the two couldn’t both be true.

After Cody showered off he headed to the gym when I got dressed to explore what shopping was near by. As I opened my hotel room door I didn’t see anyone in the hallway as I got on the elevator.

Charging towards me Phil stopped with millimeters between us, barely making it before the doors closed. “Do you think you’re funny? Fucking him so loudly I can hear you coming in my room?”

[thesorcerersapprenticeu]

Chapter 12: 🎁 Christmas Special: Last Christmas 💔

Summary:

Christmas - a holiday that everyone here probably celebrates. As not all the presents have been bought yet, you and Powder head off to Piltover to do the last bit of shopping. Back at home, small conversations arise and familiar faces reappear. And Vander dresses up as Santa Claus.

---

Piltover's streets are a chaos of life and color.

Golden decorations shine everywhere, the windows of the crowded stores glow in warm light and the air is filled with the voices of traders shouting out their prices. It's as if the whole city has breathed for this moment, as if everything were a dream - vivid, intense and yet almost too beautiful to be real.

But the best thing about this dream runs right next to you: Powder.

She had insisted on going into town with you, up here, into the shining streets of Piltover. And now you're both off to buy presents for the others.

The crowds, the noises, the glittering decorations - normally you would concentrate on them, soaking up the details, as you always do. But today is different. Your eyes keep wandering to Powder. She's wearing clothes you've never seen on her before - a coat in a soft shade of blue that matches her hair and a scarf that wraps around her neck. Everything about her seems to be bathed in the golden light of Piltover, and you can hardly concentrate.

Your stomach tightens, almost like a knot, and your heart beats so fast that you can feel it even in the noisy crowd.

What's wrong with me?

Even her voice confuses you.

"Where are we going next?" she asks, her words playful yet curious as she lightly touches your arm.

Your heart skips a beat and you swallow hard. You look at her - the hundreds of people in the background fade away as if they no longer exist. All that reminds you that this is real are her eyes: those deep, sapphire-colored eyes that meet you in your dreams and never let you go.

"I... um, I heard about a family who walked past us," you begin, your voice trembling slightly. "There's supposed to be an inventor's store at the end of the main street."

A slight smile spreads across her face and you wonder if she has noticed the stutter in your voice. Probably not - the background noise is loud enough to swallow everything.

"You're going to get something for Mylo and Claggor, aren't you?" she asks, her tone curious and familiar.

"Yes... and Vi. I've already done for her... I think." You're not quite sure if you should really say it.

If she tells Vi... No, better not.

Powder laughs softly, and the sound alone throws you off balance. "Ha! I've already got your present too!" she exclaims proudly.

You smile automatically, but your eyes quickly wander away to hide your cheeks. The crowd around you thins out, the streets quieten, and at that moment she reaches for your hand.

Her grip is gentle, her skin warm despite the cold, and your heart starts to race again, this time even faster. You try to maintain control, but the feeling floods through your body, a tingling sensation that you can't really place.

Powder turns to you and you almost stop. The bright city behind her, her soft face in front, her blue eyes, her red cheeks - it's an image that burns itself into your mind.

"Then let's walk faster!" she says with a smile that almost knocks you off your feet as she tightens her grip on you. "Then we can go to a bakery later and get cookies for everyone!"

Her words pull you back to reality, and without really realizing what you're doing, you let her pull you through the streets - still caught between the warmth of her hand and the chaos in your head.

The cool wind tugs at your coat and you are actually glad to be almost completely wrapped up in it. But Powder doesn't seem to mind the wind - at least for a moment.

She stops for a moment, a few seconds at most, and pulls a black scarf out of her hip pocket. With a concentrated expression, she tries to tie it around her neck, but the knot just won't work.

Her gaze wanders to you, and that alone makes your heart beat faster.

"Can you... help me for a moment?" she asks, her voice soft, almost shy.

You feel the blush creeping back into your cheeks and for a moment you can't breathe. You don't say anything - not because you don't want to, but because you're afraid of stuttering or saying the wrong thing. Instead, you just nod slowly and step closer.

You slowly walk around her and stand behind her. The wind blows through your hair as you take the ends of her scarf in your hands. The fabric feels soft, almost like the moment itself - calm and strangely personal.

Your fingers move carefully as you adjust the scarf and tie a knot. You can feel Powder's closeness, she's so close you can almost hear the hitch of her breath. Your heart is beating so loudly that you're sure the people around you can hear it too.

Some passers-by in the crowd actually give you a quick glance. Maybe it's the gesture, which radiates more affection than you realize. Maybe it's just the way you both stand there so still, almost like you're in a little world of your own in the middle of the hustle and bustle.

When you're done, you slowly let go of the scarf. Powder turns to you, and her blue eyes meet yours. She smiles - a small, genuine smile that hits you right in the face. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and whether it's from the wind or the situation, you can't tell.

You notice that you are staring at her, that your gaze lingers on her eyes and you admire the depth of their sapphire blue color. They sparkle in the light of the city, and for a moment, everything around you is unimportant.

"Thank you," she finally says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Then let's go! We'll get the last presents!" Powder shouts, with an enthusiasm that is infectious. She snatches her right arm in the air, her other hand remaining securely in yours.

You continue through the streets of Piltover, which are still full of people, but the fading sun slowly bathes everything in a warm, golden glow. Powder pulls you from one stall to the next, her eyes shining with every little trinket, every idea she has for the others.

You find a pair of new boxing gloves for Vi - sturdy, made of high-quality leather, and in her favorite color. Powder laughs when she sees the price tag, but you split the amount with her, and the sales clerk wraps the gloves in paper and puts them in a bag before handing them to you.

You discover a small tool bag for Claggor, packed with everything he needs to continue his repairs. "He'll love this," Powder says with a broad smile as she holds up the bag. "Especially because I picked it out!"

She fetches a small, mechanical toy for Mylo - a sort of robotic bird that flutters with a few crank movements. "This is perfect," Powder says, her voice almost a whisper as she carefully places it in a small box. "He'll show it off, but that's what Mylo is."

You also find something for Vander: a small bottle of a special spice drink he loves, plus a handmade card that Powder designs on the spot while you wait for the vendor to wrap the bottle.

You keep taking short breaks between presents. At one point, you stop at a stall selling warm, freshly baked cookies, the smell of which is irresistible in itself. Powder orders a large portion and, without thinking, you break a cookie in half to share it with her. Your fingers touch briefly and you feel your heart skip a beat again.

Another time, you find a stall selling hot chocolate served in small, decorated cups. You both drink slowly as you sit on a bench and watch the people pass you by. Powder carefully blows on the hot liquid, her face focused, and you catch yourself looking at her instead of drinking your own mug.

Time passes faster than you expected. Between the laughter, the conversations and the warmth of their company, you barely notice the day fading away. The sun slowly sets over Piltover, the golden colors give way to soft reds and purples, and the streetlights gradually come on.

"Almost over," Powder mutters as you stop together at a corner and look out at the fading sun. She looks thoughtful, her eyes briefly fixed on the evening light before she smiles at you. "But that was the best day I've had in a long time."

Her words hit you and you feel your heart stop for a moment. It's strange, but at this moment everything around you seems to fade into the background - the sounds of the streets, the light, even the cold.

You both know it. You are the outsiders.

That was clear from the start, and the whole group knows it just as well as you do. Claggor, Mylo and even Vi - they're all connected somehow, a close-knit team that stands up for each other without hesitation. But you and Powder? You're... different.

No less part of the group, but still apart in a way. Maybe it's because you both live in your own world, one that is sometimes hard to understand. Maybe it's because you both see things differently, feel differently, than the others do.

Powder knows that as well as you do. And maybe that's exactly what connects you two on days like these - a silent agreement that it's okay to be different.

With your hands full of bags overflowing with presents for your friends, you make your way back to Zaun.

The streets of Piltover become quieter the further away you get. The glorious lights and gleaming store windows gradually disappear, and the crowds that previously populated the streets become fewer. The air becomes colder, denser, and the familiar smell of metal and smoke creeps back in.

You cross half of Piltover, your steps accompanied by occasional laughter and brief conversations. But at some point, even this becomes less frequent as you pass a run-down house - a building that stands in sharp contrast to the elegant streets above.

In front of you is the elevator, old and rickety, the metal doors rusty and covered in countless scratches. Powder gives your coat a gentle tug, as if to tell you it's safe, even if it looks anything but trustworthy.

You step inside and the elevator emits a weary squeak as Powder pulls the lever. With a jolting jerk, it starts moving and takes you down, deeper and deeper into the hideous undercity of Zaun.

The light flickers dimly as the elevator rattles, and you notice Powder holding the bags with one hand and leaning briefly against the wall with the other. Her gaze is calm, but there is a hint of tiredness - or perhaps melancholy - in her eyes.

Zaun finally greets you with its familiar, dreary sight. Dark streets, green lights, damp concrete, the smell of oil and chemicals - a different world compared to the festivity you have just left behind. But strangely enough, it still feels familiar.

At home.

The word echoes in your head as you continue to walk through the dark streets of Zaun. You call this place that, even though it wasn't originally. It's a term you've become familiar with, but deep down you know it's more a facade than the truth.

Because that is a secret that only Vander knows.

He is the only one who knows the truth about your origins - about the family you were born into. A family known in Piltover, not for rebellion or oppression, but for their groundbreaking inventions and scientific breakthroughs. The most famous scientists in the upper town.

But down here you are not the child of visionaries or scholars. Here you are simply you - someone who is trying to find a place in a world that always seems to throw you off the rails.

Powder gives you a quick sideways glance as you continue walking. Her smile is faint but genuine, and you wonder if she ever suspects that the world you come from is so different from hers. That you have more in common with the shiny streets of Piltover than you let on.

But that doesn't matter. Not now, not here. Zaun may be bleak and cold, but the people here - your family - have given you something Piltover never could: a place where you belong.

You continue on your way to The Last Drop, exposed to the cold of the Undercity, which feels different to the clear, almost clean cold of Piltover. Here it has a heavy, raw quality that pushes through your clothes and makes your breath visible.

Some people give you looks as you walk past - two children with bags full of presents. Such easy prey.

An unpleasant feeling creeps into your stomach. You try to ignore it, but the shadows of the alleyways and the figures lurking there keep your nerves on edge. We should hurry. Although Vander knows everyone here, you feel an underlying fear that you can't quite shake off.

When you finally arrive at the Last Drop, some of the tension is gone. But the bar is absolutely packed, the air heavy with conversation, laughter and the smell of alcohol. People crowd around the wooden tables, their voices loud and energetic as large jugs are pushed across the table.

Some of the guests notice you and greet you with a nod or a brief smile. Powder waves to a few people as you move through the crowd.

You reach the solid wooden door at the back, which separates you from the other rooms in the bar. You push it open with a creak and behind it are the stairs leading down to the cellar.

The room downstairs is a familiar sight - warm, cozy and filled with the sound of voices that already carry the festive mood. Vi, Claggor and Mylo are already waiting, and it's obvious they're excited for the feast.

Vi is sitting in her usual armchair, her head resting casually on one hand as she looks at you with a wry grin. Her fiery red hair is combed back, a few small strands falling loosely over her forehead. She has a posture that looks relaxed, but her eyes are watching everything attentively, as always.

Claggor and Mylo are sitting on the couch, each on their own side. Claggor leans back, one arm resting casually over the back of the couch. His round face wears a broad smile, and his short, dark brown hair is neatly cut, almost as always, as if he has just had a fresh trim.

Mylo, on the other hand, sits almost on the edge of the couch, his body bent forward, gesticulating wildly as he talks to Claggor about something. His thin, wiry figure is in motion as always, his brown hair sticking out in all directions as if he had forgotten to tame it.

But the moment Mylo sees you and Powder, he pauses. A broad, mischievous grin spreads across his face and he lets out a short, two-note whistle.

"Well, look who's here! Little Miss Christmas Fairy and her faithful servant!" he calls out in his typical, slightly nasal voice. His gaze wanders to the bags in your hands. "Are those presents for us, or have you finally decided to rob a bank?"

Powder rolls her eyes, but the smile on her face shows that she is not really annoyed by the comment. "I don't know, Mylo," she replies dryly and slightly annoyed. "Then again, maybe you're not on the list because you've been a jerk all year."

Claggor laughs out loud, the sound filling the room with a pleasant warmth. Vi, on the other hand, just shakes her head slightly, a wry grin on her lips, and beckons you over with a relaxed look. "Come on. Sit down and show us what you've got."

"Huh? These are mostly presents for you!" Powder replies with playful indignation and lifts up one of the bags. She points a finger at the group in front of you, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. "I can show the present for Vander - but not the others!"

Mylo dramatically puts a hand to his chest, his face put on aggrieved. "What, why not? We're the most important people in your life, aren't we? I want to see that now!"

"Shut up, Mylo," Vi says, her voice calm but authoritative. She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms in front of her chest, a smile that looks like silent victory on her face. "She's right. Gifts are a surprise. Unless you want your present now and then you won't get anything at Christmas."

Claggor laughs again, his broad shoulders shake, and he nods in agreement. "Yes, exactly, Mylo. It's called self-control. Give it a try."

Powder grins with satisfaction and takes the bottle out of one of the bags for Vander. She holds it up in the air, the label reflecting the cool light of the cellar. "This one's for Vander. And I know he'll love it!"

Vi looks at the bottle, raises an eyebrow and finally nods approvingly. "Not bad, you two. You really picked something good."

Powder beams with pride, but before anyone can add anything, Mylo speaks up, as always loudly and without being asked. "Yes, yes, yes. Can we talk about the important stuff now?" he says, leaning forward and waving his hands. "Who else is joining us later? I want to work out how many presents I'm going to get!"

Vi snorts audibly and gives him an annoyed but also slightly amused look. "As far as I know, Ekko, Silco and maybe Benzo are still coming. At least that's what Vander told me yesterday."

Mylo grimaces and shakes his head exaggeratedly. "Silco? Really? That's great. That guy brings nothing but those boring speeches anyway. I bet his present is something like... books again."

"Better than nothing," Claggor comments dryly as he leans back a little more comfortably on the couch. "And besides, Mylo, you probably won't get anything from him anyway. So calm down."

Powder giggles softly as she puts the bags down on the small table and sits down on a free seat. "I'm glad Ekko's coming. I'm sure he'll bring something cool - and he likes to play with us."

"Yeah, Ekko's okay," Mylo mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. "But when Benzo shows up, it means we have to behave. The guy's kind of like Vander, only... stricter."

Vi rolls her eyes and brushes back a strand of hair. "Benzo's not so bad. Besides, you're never quiet long enough to behave anyway."

"Hey! That was mean!" protests Mylo and crosses his arms, trying to put on an offended expression, which is drowned out by Claggor's loud laughter.

You just keep watching as they all talk, laugh and tease each other. The room is filled with their energy, but you feel strangely absent.

Your mind wanders as you look at the bags of presents.

There is still a lot to do.

Some of the gifts are not quite ready yet, and you still need to prepare them to make them really special.

The conversation in front of you seems to be going in all sorts of directions - but none of them are really important to you. You already know who else is coming today, and that's enough for you. It's the details that really matter to you: the little moments, the finishing touches to make sure the gifts are perfect.

With a soft sigh, you lean back and take a moment to go through your plan in your head.

Everything has to be right tonight.

With that, you move quietly and disappear from the room without saying anything. The presents and everything else must be perfectly prepared.

"I'm really nervous," Powder says, her voice echoing slightly through the large room, which is suddenly surprisingly quiet.

You're all back upstairs, and by all we really mean all of you. The Last Drop has officially closed and the announced guests have also arrived.

Silco, with his unmistakable, sharp gaze and cool charisma, sits relaxed on one of the chairs, his posture both casual and aloof.

Ekko, always full of energy, is a shining contrast. His eyes light up and he bobs his foot slightly as if he can't sit still. Every few seconds, the little boy looks over at you and Powder.

Benzo, calm as ever and with that unmistakable authoritarian presence, leans back and watches the group with his arms folded.

To accommodate you all together, Vander, Benzo and Vi have put together several tables, creating one long, massive table. The atmosphere is cozy, but also a little tense - it's not often that so many different personalities come together in one place.

Powder is sitting right next to you, and her nervous hands tell you that she's just as uncomfortable as you are - maybe even more so. She gives you a quick glance, an uncertain smile on her lips, before turning her attention back to the table.

Should I say something?

The thought bounces like an echo in your head. But immediately the familiar uncertainty comes back:

No, what if my voice sounds too high? What if I make a total fool of myself?

You force yourself to stay calm, your hands resting firmly on your lap, almost like Powders. Maybe Vander will break the ice. Someone like him - strong, confident - is made for situations like this.

Your gaze wanders to the other end of the table. Vander is sitting on the last single chair, his massive body leaning heavily but relaxed against the backrest. To his left sits Vi, in her typical posture - one arm casually resting on the edge of the table, the other supporting her head, while her fiery red hair frames her forehead in light wisps.

Silco sits to his right. His figure is narrower, almost like a shadow in contrast to Vander. His face is motionless, almost cold, and his eyes wander slowly across the room, as if he is weighing up everything and everyone in his mind.

But it's Vander who fixes you.

His gaze is calm but firm. You have the feeling he's been watching you for a while, and the longer you look back, the harder it becomes to bear the silence.

Why does he look like that? Does he expect something from me? Does he want me to say something?

Your pulse is quickening. Come on, think! Say something!

But your fear is holding you back. No! Be calm! Don't embarrass yourself!

You break eye contact, lower your head and stare at the grain of the wooden table. It suddenly seems incredibly fascinating, almost hypnotizing.

It won't be long now. We'll all be eating in a few seconds anyway and then it'll be over.

But before you can think any more about the food or the strange tension, a loud bang breaks the silence.

Benzo places a huge plate on the table, the wood literally shakes under its weight, and all heads turn to watch the spectacle.

"Well, it's about time!" exclaims Mylo enthusiastically, his eyes almost sparkling as he examines the food.

But Benzo is not finished yet. He goes back behind the counter and brings plate after plate, each laden with food that almost looks like a feast in Zaun. Plates of steaming pieces of meat, perfectly roasted vegetables, crispy potatoes and even a basket of freshly baked bread - the smell alone makes your stomach growl.

Claggor whistles softly, his eyes widening in surprise. "This is... more than I expected."

"By our standards?" Powder murmurs quietly next to you, almost as if she's saying out loud the thought that's running through all your minds. "That's... unbelievable."

Vi leans forward and examines the plates with a critical but appreciative look. "Benzo, did you buy half the market empty or what?" she asks, her voice slightly amused.

"It's Christmas," Benzo grumbles back as he places another plate on the table. His voice has its usual gruff tone, but there is a hint of pride in it. "I thought you kids deserved something proper."

The eyes at the table wander from the food to Benzo and back again, everyone seems lost for a moment in the sheer abundance of this feast. Even Silco, who normally seems rather emotionless, raises an eyebrow slightly as if acknowledging the effort.

Vander nods at Benzo, his gaze warm, grateful. "You've done well, Benzo."

"Come on, Vander," Benzo replies as he sits down heavily on a chair. "Just start eating before Mylo here devours half of it by himself."

The meal proceeds with a warmth and joy that is rarely found elsewhere. Conversations buzz around the table, from boisterous laughter to quiet, serious stories. Mylo, of course, has the floor most of the time, but everyone contributes something - even Silco with a sharp but dry comment that unexpectedly makes the others laugh.

Later, you are all gathered in the cellar. The air is heavy with conversation, but pleasantly warm - a contrast to the cold outside. Vander, Silco and Benzo are sitting together on the larger couch. Vander has his arms relaxed over the backrest, while Benzo leans forward with a slight grumble, his hands wrapped around a glass. Silco, on the other hand, sits quietly, his legs crossed, and his penetrating gaze occasionally wanders around the room.

Vi, Claggor and Mylo are sitting on the other couch. Vi leans back and relaxes, her arms folded loosely over her head as she tells one of her stories, which always sounds a little exaggerated, but captivates everyone nonetheless. Claggor listens attentively, occasionally nodding or laughing, while Mylo tries to draw attention to himself with a slightly mocking comment.

You, Powder and Ekko are standing a little apart, but together in a small group. Powder gestures animatedly as she tells Ekko about your day in Piltover, her eyes shining with excitement. Ekko nods, a broad smile on his face as he occasionally throws in something himself that makes them both laugh.

The gift-giving takes its course as Vander leaves the room, followed by a brief moment of silence. Silco and Benzo stand up and lean backwards, reaching for the presents they had hidden behind their couch. The tension rises noticeably as they pull out the packages and place them on the table.

One by one, they follow her example. Some quietly place their presents on the table, while others - like Mylo - can't wait to get up and press the parcels directly into the hands of those for whom they are intended.

"Here, Claggor," Mylo says with a broad grin as he presses a bulky package into his hand. "Open it quickly, I want to see if you like what I've picked out."

Claggor laughs softly, his gaze slightly skeptical. "If you chose it, I'm sure it's... interesting."

Vi leans back and relaxes, her arms crossed, but a smile plays on her lips as she watches the first parcels being opened. Powder presses a small, carefully wrapped present into Ekko's hand as she grins excitedly. "I hope you like it! I've been thinking about it for hours."

Ekko returns the grin as he holds the package like a treasure. "I'm sure it's perfect."

The atmosphere becomes louder and more exuberant as more gifts are presented. The crackling of paper and the laughter of the group fills the room, and for a moment everything around you seems unimportant - only this moment counts, the warmth and the smiles you share with each other.

But suddenly a new figure enters the room - something that nobody expected. No one but you. You had seen the shadow under the door, a tall, broad silhouette that had moved inconspicuously.

Santa Claus?

Tall, broad and with a bushy white beard, the man dressed in red enters the room with a box full of presents. The effect is immediate - all conversations fall silent and heads turn towards the door.

"Santa Claus!" Ekko exclaims enthusiastically, his eyes as big as saucers as he almost jumps up from the couch.

But you can recognize it immediately.

That is clearly Vander.

The beard, the cap, the red and white clothing - it's not enough to hide his unmistakable stature and striking eye color.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Who's up for a few presents?" he calls out in a deep, overly festive voice as he enters the room. The box in his arms seems to be almost overflowing with small, lovingly wrapped parcels.

Powder begins to giggle, her hands over her mouth as Mylo laughs out loud. "That's definitely Vander! Really now?!" he exclaims, but the smile on his face shows that he's enjoying the moment anyway.

"Don't ruin the magic, Mylo," Vi says dryly, but even she has to grin as Vander, aka "Santa Claus", places the box on the table and glances around.

"Good, good," he murmurs in his deep, feigned voice as he lifts the first present out of the box. "Who's been good this year? Or should I start with the naughty ones?"

"By the naughty ones, you probably just mean Mylo..." replies Benzo dryly, looking around the room with a mischievous smile. His gaze lingers briefly on Vander, who has to remain serious in his Santa costume. "Mister... Santa."

The group bursts out laughing, even Mylo, although he crosses his arms indignantly. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean? I was great this year! Even better than Claggor!"

"Dream on, Mylo," Claggor murmurs, his voice accompanied by a broad grin as he leans back casually. "I'm sure Santa already has an extra list just for you."

"Shut up," hisses Mylo, but he can't help smirking as Vander, alias Santa Claus, reaches for the first package.

"All right," Vander begins in his deep voice as he holds the gift in the air and looks around. "Let's see who's been really good... or who's just pretending."

His gaze deliberately falls on Mylo, causing the group to burst into further laughter. Even you giggle slightly as you put a hand over your mouth.

But now Vander, or Santa Claus, pulls out a list. And he starts reading it out:

"The bravest, smartest one on the list is... Y/N," Vander announces with an overly theatrical tone as he looks directly at you.

All eyes are immediately on you. You feel how the attention feels like a spotlight - intense and uncomfortable. Your heart beats faster and you notice how you unconsciously lower your gaze as nervousness rises within you.

Vander steps forward, in his "Santa Claus" manner, and hands you several presents. They're not just small packages - some are big and heavy enough that you have to put them down on the floor for a moment to be able to hold them.

And then Silco suddenly gets up.

The attention in the room shifts to him almost instantly, and you feel the tension rise. Silco moves with his characteristic calm, his face expressionless as he steps towards you. For a moment, time seems to stand still as he holds a large, elegantly wrapped gift in his hands.

Without a word, he places it in your hands. His gaze is penetrating, almost as if he is looking deep inside you, and the silence his presence leaves behind feels almost overwhelming.

"You have potential... don't waste it."

Those are the only words he says. His voice is quiet, almost like a whisper that nevertheless reaches everyone in the room.

He remains standing in front of you for a moment, then turns around and returns to his place on the couch, where he settles down with a serene movement.

The room is silent for a moment. Everyone seems surprised by the brief interaction, perhaps even a little intimidated. Powder stands next to you, her eyes wide with wonder as she stares at you.

You look at the gifts in your hands and feel the weight of Silco's words as if they are heavier than anything you are holding.

Potential...

The laughter and conversation slowly resume, but you are caught up in your thoughts for a moment.

The laughter and conversations return, slowly but steadily, filling the room with warmth and liveliness again. But you are still trapped in your thoughts as you stare at the gifts in your hands. Potential... don't waste it.

Silco's words echo in your head as the others get stuck into the presents. Presents are passed around, the rustling of paper and the laughter of the group momentarily drowns out your thoughts.

Mylo tears open a package with exaggerated enthusiasm and triumphantly lifts up a mechanical bird. "What did I say? I'm the best here!" he shouts, while Claggor shakes his head next to him and Vi playfully throws a pillow at him.

Powder beams with joy as she unwraps a small set of tools - something she can use for crafting and inventing. Ekko claps his hands enthusiastically when he finds a new watch, hand-engraved and perfect for him.

One by one, each gift is unwrapped and you only notice it peripherally, while your thoughts revolve around the words and the books that Silco has given you.

Later, as the gift-giving comes to an end and the evening draws to a close, you take a closer look at the books. They are heavy, high-quality works on physics, chemistry and biology - certainly not easy reads, but each one feels like a challenge, an opportunity to fulfill the potential Silco sees in you.

You got all sorts of things from Vander and the others: warm clothes, a hand-carved knife, even a little leather-bound notebook from Powder that she handed you with a shy smile.

The gifts reflect the people who gave them to you - each with a meaning that reminds you that you are part of this family.

Wow...what a great Christmas. Hopefully it's not the last holiday you'll ever celebrate with them all.

Notes:

It was a pretty quiet Christmas, I think. Of course, none of this is canon - it's a special chapter after all. It was the first idea that came to mind - a quiet celebration with familiar characters and, of course, Powder by your side. A little warmth is simply part of a winter celebration. I really appreciate any feedback and am happy to answer any comments. So I would be delighted if you could let me know what you think. Merry Christmas to everyone.

[ye4gerism]

hiii😊 I kinda have a few questions about curly’s mom Ngl and maybe his dad. I think my first question for his mom though is….is she racist or just a toxic boy mom or both. I also kinda wonder like what makes her like jimmy so much. Then about his dad. Ik we don’t really know much about him but I just wanted to know like does he likes us at all or more than the mom. I also kinda want to understand curly and his mom’s dynamic. Like when it comes to the toxic boy mom is she trying to see the husband she wants in curly. Because it kinda just came to point where is like these weird boy moms are kinda grooming or being weird with their son. Or is it more of just she’s jealous like jimmy but they aren’t jealous in the same way. I guys my class question is just why did curly’s mom and dad and how did curly take it. Also sorry if this is a lot😭 happy holidays 🎄

author’s note hi! thank you for your ask. this is a long post and i don’t want to clog up the feed. so click ‘keep reading’ to keep reading lol.

content good luck captain

ok so, here’s the long answer to your first question 😭 as you’ve probably noticed i am a black writer and make it my purpose to write for readers who look like me. the mouthwashing fandom is still so new and i haven’t really seen any black reader stories for curly (or really anyone) except for @grimmsbride who i’ve seen writing for curly and daisuke (check them out!).

because i still want an audience to cater to (and i don’t know what demographic i’m actually pulling from my fics), i would say yes and yes to your question about curly’s mom in good luck, captain. i could definitely see her being prejudice to reader if they’re poc and is most definitely a toxic boy mom. whatever the case is for you, she’ll never really see you as the best fit for her son.

as for jimmy, i’ve mentioned he grew up with curly in happy birthday, jolene. she just sees him as another son just based on shared history and proximity. he’s family.

i haven’t thought much about curly’s dad and just now realized i probably should have included him and his reaction to the tuplar crash in best wishes, curly. i feel that curly really favors his father and i hinted in dream of fish that his mom doesn’t really like that. as it’s been previously mentioned, he lives in australia and had most of the custody over curly. i imagine him as a really chill dude who’s really really funny and charming and likes to explore. he’d probably get remarried to someone who shares his humor and sense of adventure. when reader and curly are dating, she’s only spoken to mr. curly a few times over facetime or skype. but he likes you and accepts you as his son loves you tons. he let curly propose to you in his home.

i would say that during the events of best wishes, curly, he didn’t come visit you in person as it was hard for him to handle the loss of his son but he did call from time to time. even when curly came back, it was still tough for him to see his son but he still maintains a relationship with him.

curly respects his mom but there is a limit to their relationship. he did go to school in australia and came to stay with her on breaks - he didn’t get to see her all the time and as he grew, he tries to maintain a healthy and balanced relationship with her. he got closer to her when he decided to go to college in the united states and she really takes advantage of their proximity. i wouldn’t say she’s grooming him. she left a marriage that she felt wasn’t perfect and would lonve to be involved in curly’s decisions when it comes to who he’s in love with. sometimes she’ll suggest the daughters of her friends from work or church bc she thinks they’ll fit in her idea of what curly’s family and future should look like.

over time, i feel that she would be jealous of reader bc she got the family that mrs. former curly wanted.

mr. curly and mrs. former curly just fell out of their rhythm. they were high school sweethearts and had the perfect white picket fence life and it just didn’t work out one day. after countless arguments, curly’s dad decided to file for divorce and mrs. former curly signed them in a heartbeat. obvs curly was confused and heart broken as his parents did a good job hiding their issues and he couldn’t fathom why they would separate. having to go back and forth between continents was stressful at first but it became a routine for him.

and no worries about the length of your ask. i appreciate your interest in good luck, captain! happy holidays to you too!

[impala124]

Bad Buddy Ep 2

My thoughts on Ep 1

Guys, y'all weren't exaggerating about OhmNanon chemistry. I was in a trance whenever they were on the screen together. Now onto my thoughts—

It speaks a lot about my affection towards Pran that I'm willing to overlook him cutting his sandwich into rectangles and not triangles.

Pat sleeping with a dog plushie just makes me double down on my he's just a lost puppy running after Pran agenda.

Not my boy Pran cooking up lore on the spot just to avoid them fighting at the pavilion. And Pat following the lead. I just can't 😂😂.

I like how they don't know that the person in the opposite dorm is the one they've been told to dislike since birth. The anonymity might help them realize their genuine feelings for each other without their familial rivalry coloring it.

Once again, Pa keeping it very real with Pat and not feeding into his delusions.

Pat's signature move when he wants to distract someone seems to be to treat them with food. I love that for him, but bestie has to come up with alternative moves if he doesn't want to end up going broke. I can already tell that Pran is going to be the haver of all brain cells in his and Pat's relationship.

Pran's friends teasing him about a man crushing on him and the camera cutting to Pat laughing. So, it seems like we aren't going for subtlety here.

Well, the anonymity didn't last long. Gotta applaud Pran for letting Pat know the truth instead of leading him on, which he could've if he really hated Pat.

Pat's dad being the quintessential Asian dad by saying, I'm not putting pressure on you; you have to maintain my reputation. Sir, how about I don't see your face for a while?

Okay, I'm not taking sides about the family rivalry, which I know nothing about, but Pat's dad definitely seems like the instigator. Just saying. We'll have to see if I change my opinion of him.

Again, the irony of the father saying that Pran followed Pat around with his guitar when the Freshy Music contest wasn't (probably) even on Pat's radar until he followed Pran to the registration area.

I'm very interested in their individual friend group dynamics, though. Pran's friends, after they discovered that a guy might have a crush on him, responded with teasing but not in a malicious way. On the other hand, Pat's friend's reaction when they found out that the person Pran thought might have a crush on him was a guy was just total avoidance of the matter at hand. Will they address it in the future? We'll have to see.

Is Pran's mom the coach dad from High School Musical to Pran's Troy??? The familial rivalry better be something serious given the way the parents are acting.

I love Petty Pran. His I want you to continue being guilty; coutinue owing me to Pat is giving me life.

Awww, the ticke fight/tussle shows us that even though Pat is physically stronger, Pran is the one who'll end up on top.

Not these dumbasses fighting at the fucking pavilion. All their friends need to just fuck each other to get rid of the tension. Because what is the purpose of men fighting with each other if not a heterosexual excuse to touch another man?

Not mentioned in this episode, but if I'm remembering correctly, Pran has one of Pat's shirts with him from Ep 1. Will he return it or keep it with him just for old times sake? Will they ever mention it again? Only time will tell.

(Tagging some people here because I've seen some express interest in following along. Let me know if you also want to be tagged in the future)

[nbmudkip]

rehyperfixating on a children’s game that came out in 2015, is one of the least popular entries in its series, and has minimal content, the vast majority of which i’ve seen before. the series has been dead for nearly 10 years, nothing has happened recently that would warrant anyone’s returning interest in it, very few of my friends give a shit about this specific game, and those few who played and liked it in the past have no reason to give a shit about it at all right now. i have been coasting through on a playthrough i’ve been doing with a friend who’d never seen the game before and who was kind enough to let me show it to them, but we just beat the game, and after we play the epilogue we will have nothing left to do, and on top of that they really have just been humoring me as they have their own very strong current hyperfixation they would much rather be thinking about. also i am depressed enough right now that literally nothing else except for waiting to play this game with them and playing this game with them and watching them enjoy it at least a little has been able to briefly quiet the constant cacophony in my head screaming how much of a worthless, lazy, constantly-failing miserable excuse for a living person i am and how much better everything would be, especially for myself, if i stopped existing lately. would anyone like to volunteer to 🔨💥⚒️Kill Me With Hammers🔨💥⚒️ because i would really like for someone to 🔨💥⚒️Kill Me With Hammers🔨💥⚒️ right now

[wizardnuke]

does anyone know if we have to roll that rock up the hill again tomorrow

[shirogane-oushirou]

☺️: replaced my ipad screen protector (and -- shock and awe -- for the very first time ever i see no bubbles?? and the only piece of dust is on the outer edge away from the active part of the screen?? despite my messing shit up Royally on application??? wild.), so i can draw my beloved again!! and maybe properly explore a pk.mn au!!!

😔: i am Quite Sick this week. lol. lmao. and i've been kind of all-around burnt out socially for a few weeks. i'd like to finally continue playing the otome game i'd been waiting for since like 2020 but havent touched since i got it in Fucking September Holy Shit. I Want To Kiss One Of My Longest Running F/Os. Please. ...so i might actually be around a little less for a while. 👋🏻

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[warrior-of-sunlight]

.

[designernishiki]

I think I’ve said this before on here but. it really baffles and somewhat annoys me sometimes how people hear that a character is in their 40s-50s and immediately assume they should be weak or feeble or less attractive than they are. like. no. i think everyones just been brainwashed to think that attractiveness/health/worth is determined by how young someone is. why is it more understandable to view a teenager as more attractive and capable than a fit 40-50-something year old. kinda wack

[wisteryuu]

vent in tags don't mind me

[empresskylo]

ghost knows he’s too rough and impatient with sex. knows he won’t know how to please you properly. knows he can’t possibly do things right with you, knowing you’ve never done this before. but god, he wants to. he wants to treat you how you deserve. never thought he’d be so desperate to fuck someone good and slow like he does with you.

so he goes to price. the one man who will know all the right ways to please a lady properly. asks him to show him how to take care of you. tells him he doesn't know how to care for someone else's needs, at least with someone inexperienced like you. tells him he needs to be instructed. to see just how he should work you.

you’re nervous at first, thinking it’s an absolutely insane idea, but you can’t hide the wetness along your panties as you sit on ghost’s lap, back pressed against his chest, legs spread, his knuckle dragging down your warmth. price sits back in his chair, telling ghost exactly how to move his fingers, paying close attention to your body's minuscule movements, the way your brows furrow when ghost moves a certain way, or your eyelashes fluttering.

and this was supposed to be a strictly hands-off approach… but god, watching ghost fumble, unable to maintain the slow speed you need, keeping you from reaching your orgasm, has price on edge. he leans forward, rolling his chair with him, and tells ghost to stop. tells him to watch and to pay close attention. price tears your panties off and your eyes go wide at the contact. you swallow, expecting ghost to be furious, but his hands only settle around you and he takes notes as he watches his captain work.

price runs his thumb up your slit, circling your nub, and tells ghost to hold your thighs apart when you unconsciously try to clench them. then his finger is sinking into you and your head falls back against ghost's chest, eyes shut. you moan and you feel ghost harden beneath you. “how’s that feel, sweetheart?” price asks you. you babble out incoherently, price adding a second finger, and chuckling darkly at your response.

it becomes too much, his fingers thrusting in and out of you, his other hand rubbing your clit, ghost's fingers digging into the softness of your thighs as he forces them apart. “ohmygod,” you slur, “m’gonna—“ price smirks, his eyes darkening as he watches you orgasm, your body clenching around his fingers shoved deep in your heat. "talk her through it," price tells ghost. so ghost does. you're shaking still and ghost rubs his hands over your exposed skin. "that's it, baby. you're doin' s'good," he praises.

"whata fuckin' sight," price mumbles to himself, his fingers leaving you empty. you steady your breathing, coming down from your high, completely limp in ghost's arms. price can see the way ghost's eyes have gone dark, his pupils swallowing his irises whole. knows ghost doesn't know how to be soft. sees the feral need to ram himself into you overtaking his features. "gonna take it slow with her, yeah?" price asks.

ghost breathes rapidly out, his hips begging to buck up against you. he knows he wouldn't be able to control himself if you let him fuck you. so he answers honestly. "not sure I'd be able to."

price tsks, sitting back in thought, his eyes roving over your spent body. you suddenly feel shy, wanting to close your legs, but ghost's arms tighten on you. "need me t'break her in?" price finally asks after several long beats of silence.

ghost grinds up against you, his hand sliding into your hair and pulling your head to the side so he can kiss your neck. your eyes flutter at his attempts to be so delicate with you. "want the captain here to be your first time, love?" ghost asks against your skin. you stutter when you answer. "don't you want to be?" "course I do. but I won't go easy on ya. I'd hate to ruin you, sweet girl. price will take it nice n' slow. just like you need." and after, you'll be ready to take ghost. ready to adjust to his size.

you swallow hard, ghost's hands escaping and clawing at your clothed chest. you nod. "o-okay."

price stands from his chair and begins to undo his belt. "come sit on my desk, sweetheart."

part two

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