#lots of things are shifting around right now. don’t take every moment as a chance for destruction

[insecuregodcomplex]

by the way let’s make sure to fact check especially as we head into the next four years. don’t do the work of sowing fear for them

[cognitiveoverload]

Basic human decency – 1/4 (platonic Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader)

summary: You're the surgeon who operated Hotch, and you're annoyed that he immediately starts working after waking up.

masterlist

“I hoped you would be knocked out a little longer,” you say with a playful smile as you enter his room, stopping at the foot of his bed. He stops typing and raises an eyebrow in question, which makes you shake your head in disapprovement. “Dr. Young warned me that you’re a workaholic, but I didn’t think you would be working so soon after a surgery.”

Hotchner let out a sigh and put down the phone to focus on this conversation. “It’s important. I can’t just lie here and do nothing,” he replies.

Nodding, you put the chart on the bed next to his feet, then move a little closer to him. “Look, you need to rest. When you were brought in, things didn’t seem serious, so no one talked to you about this, but due to that complication, and after such a serious surgery, I’d rather see you taking it easy for now,” you explain with a kind smile.

All it takes is one look to know a lot about him. You heard that he’s working for the FBI, it’s clear that he’s a born leader, but that mixed with a stubborn attitude can be dangerous in hospitals. As a doctor, you give instructions to patients, expecting them to do as you say, but people like him often ignore these orders. If it was up to you, you would take away every device that can help him work, but you have no right to do that. 

The best you can do now is try to reason with him. Well, seeing the doubtful expression on his face, you’d probably have a better chance convincing a brick wall.

“I’m just making a few phone calls,” he tries with a smile.

“Work calls?” For a few moments, he watches you with a blank expression, but then it all changes and suddenly he looks like a kid who was caught doing something wrong. “You have a son, right?”

He nods in response. “Jack. He’s six,” he replies, sounding a little unsure. “Why?”

Your attention is drawn to the door where a nurse waves at you, so you quickly signal her that you’ll be there in a moment, then return your attention to the patient. “It’s the summer break, right? Why don’t you ask someone to bring him here? You would have the chance to spend more time with him, and you wouldn’t spend that time working. It’s a win-win to me,” you offer with a laugh.

There’s a strange gleam in his brown eyes as he considers your idea. While he thinks about this, you go to pick up his chart, then flash one last smile at him before telling him to rest and that you’ll be back soon. You even dare to jokingly threaten him that you would confiscate his phone, to which he replies with a silent nod of understanding. But there’s something under the surface, something that just doesn’t click into place, yet you can’t figure out what it could be. 

Shaking off this feeling, you leave the room and get lost in work again. After checking on a few patients, you have another small surgery, which manages to take your mind off this for now. In fact, the rest of your shift passes without thinking about the agent again, but then, about half an hour before you can finally leave, you find yourself at the nurses’ station across his room. You don’t notice it at first, only when Dr. Young stops next to you with a teasing grin on his face. 

When you ask him what it’s all about, he just shrugs and points at the room with his pen. “Well, well, well, young lady, you are officially a miracle worker. According to my sources he stopped working after you left,” he explains with a kind smile as he looks at you. 

You follow the pen and notice that Hotchner isn’t alone, there is a young boy sitting on the edge of his bed, while a few people are standing around it, deep in a conversation. Something tells you they’re his colleagues, partly because you can see one of them carrying a weapon, but they are all smiling and laughing, it’s surely not work-related. So he did listen to you. Good. That’s exactly what you wanted. 

“Let’s hope it stays this way until he’s discharged,” you note quietly, but while you want to say something else, the words don’t come out. Because through the window you can see him turn to you, as if he could sense you are standing there, watching him, and you could swear he flashes a thankful smile at you. And then you jump from the surprise, because Lisa, one of the nurses, holds up an envelope in front of your face. “What’s this?” 

She shrugs with a teasing smile, then bumps her shoulder into yours as she hands it to you. “Oh, just a message I was asked to give to you. And it came with that bouquet of flowers. No big deal,” she says happily. 

As you open it, you watch as she and Dr. Young leave your side, giving you space to read the card. It’s a gift from Hotchner, and he used this way to thank you for making him understand that he can allow himself to retreat and recover instead of jumping back into work, possibly stressing himself out because of it. That’s all. It’s just a short message, but it’s surely one of those small things that make your job a hundred times better. 

As you look back at him, you see him watching you again, so you raise the card and nod in his way, to which he responds with a smile. And this catches his colleagues' attention, because they all turn to you suddenly, which makes you flee the scene before they could find you to ask questions. Maybe it’s time to go home now. But first, you scribble a short thank you message on a piece of paper, and ask a nearby nurse to give it to him once he’s alone again. There are no questions, but you can see the knowing grin on his lips that make you roll your eyes. 

This isn’t flirting.

This is basic human decency.

[wibben]

As Stars Go By

You and Choso thoroughly enjoy your first vacation together up in the mountains.

↳ pairing: boyfriend! choso kamo x afab! reader

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, sub! choso, sex (p in v), creampie, breeding if you squint, choso is a real sweetie pie, established relationship, whimpering, pathetic male mess! choso, art by @/yume041624

↳ wc: 7,233

↳ notes: this was posted on my ao3 quite a while ago, but I've finally decided to make my first foray into tumblr! So this is a cross post but nonetheless I hope you enjoy, and bear with me while I figure this whole thing out <3 tagging: @jasminelee324 , @verydreamerfairy I hope I did that right, feeling a bit grandma-esque here.

“—You were right, it’s kinda cold, huh—”

“—let me take you inside—”

“— like hell we’re going inside already.”

You press yourself closer to Choso's side, knees hiked up to your chest as you lean into the warmth of his arm. The uneven bumps of the grass beneath the picnic blanket serve as the perfect excuse to nestle even closer, shifting your weight onto your hip and burrowing into his flank so that you’re pointedly squished hip to hip. Glued, unmoving, decidedly not going inside.

This trip had been in the making for a while—a sweet escape to a cabin in the mountains. The epitome of rustic charm , complete with an authentic outdoor shower, access to a serene lake at the foot of your mountain retreat, miles of scenic hiking trails, and an unparalleled view of the stars. Each detail meticulously planned, every moment a step closer to this perfect getaway that you’ve been dreaming of for months.

It was going to be perfect. A slice of heaven on earth, really. The antithesis of the bustling city you both so desperately needed a break from.

The only problem?

You envisioned this place in the summer to properly enjoy your itinerary. Instead, you now watch as blue frost ensnares dew-kissed blades of grass around your blanket, winter’s chill stealthily settling around you and clouding your breath with every disgruntled exhale.

A booking error, they told you. A glitch in the system; but not to worry. You weren’t eligible for a refund, but you were welcome to reschedule—if you didn’t mind the year and a half long waitlist for another chance to disappear from the world together.

But you minded. A lot . You spent too long coordinating this trip. Time off and away from the usual commitments that chain you to everyday life, the mental ticking countdown to the day you finally get to leave. You couldn’t bear to push it off; and you would rather die than see the kicked-puppy look on Choso’s face if you were forced to tell him your vacation was canceled. You and Choso were going on vacation, and that was final—sacrificing a few toes to the cold was a small price to pay.

The outdoor shower was out of the question, and so was the lake, half-slush and uninviting. But the stars? Those weren’t going anywhere.

“I kind of forgot stars existed,” you muse softly.

Choso hums in acknowledgment beside you, his hand rubbing firmly up and down your arm, generating a fire-starting friction to keep you warm. 

You continue. “It's like... all the planes, and towers, and cars back home, y'know? I swear—when I was a kid, I saw them every night. Not really sure when they disappeared. I don’t think I ever noticed, never mind really missed it until now. You know?” With your head resting against his shoulder, you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. It makes you feel warmer too, even if only just.

The silence that follows is a comfortable, familiar companion. Choso has always been a man of few words, but you know he listens intently to every word you say, his attention filling the gaps louder than anything he could speak. It just makes the things he does say all the more profound when he finally does say them.

“I’ve never seen the stars before.”

You can always trust Choso to say something unintentionally heartbreaking. You already knew this, knew he never had the opportunity to see them with his whole life spent under smoggy light-polluted skies, but hearing him say it so matter-of-factly without any regret or longing, so unperturbed by his lack of experiences, bothers you . It makes you all the more determined to fill his empty chalice with more memories than it can possibly hold; to leave it and him overflowing with a life well and truly lived.

“Well they’re pretty, right?” You needle.

“They are,” he agrees, and his arm tightens around your shoulder, drawing you even closer into the firm curvature of his body. 

“But you are beautiful—” “— I am cold —”

Choso chuckles, the sound low and melodic as he slips off his jacket and wraps it over your shoulders, pre-warmed with the heat of him and you smile, so utterly besotted, as you draw his sleeve up to your mouth to cover the saccharine dripping of your happiness.

“There,” he murmurs, and you can feel his lips press gently against your temple, brushing aside your hair with the spun bow of his smile. “Beautiful, and less cold.”

Your laughter is warm and fond, like air slowly escaping from a balloon, releasing the swell of adoration inside your ribcage before it makes you burst. “You’ve gotten good at that,” you tease.

You can almost feel the slow furrow of Choso’s brow without looking, the way the left side wrinkles just a bit more than the right, his mouth forming a curious frown. Innocently, he asks, “Good at what?”

You love that expression—the thoughtful curiosity, always eager to learn something new, even about himself, because it’s a reflection of how you see him in a mirror he could never hold. With a grin on your face, you tilt your head back to gaze up at him, and your heart promptly swoops down to your diaphragm and crashes straight through it.

His eyes are cast up at the stars, eyelids pulled back so far they’re almost lost in the exhausted bruises of his sockets. The way they reflect the stars above, it's as if each tiny distant light is captured and magnified within them, turning his dark irises into shimmering cosmos of their own. You see constellations in the depths of his wide gaze, entire universes dancing just for you—and you couldn’t be more lost in orbit if you launched yourself directly into the stratosphere.

You're grateful for the rush of blood that warms your frozen cheeks as you stare openly, every beat of your heart directing more heat up to your face. The moonlight bathes his face in a gentle glow, turning his hair into strands of liquid mercury. Each one catches the light, shimmering threads of pure moonbeam woven into his skull. He looks almost otherworldly, a celestial being come down to earth to grace you with as divine a gift as his warm jacket—

Feeling the weight of your gaze, his attention is reeled downward. The macrocosm held within his eyes shifts, now focusing solely on you, and you feel as if you’re the very center of that universe now. It was so easy for him to look away from the breathtaking sight of the stars up above you—because as far as Choso’s concerned, you were the one who hung them there.

“Good at what?” Choso repeats, seeming oblivious to the almost religious experience you just underwent simply by looking at him—he wants an answer. He’s curious.

Suddenly, your intention of teasing him feels so utterly withered. Dead on arrival to your tongue that you almost can’t bring yourself to say it because of just how sincere it feels now. You chuckle sheepishly, seeking escape in the milky way above you but finding yourself drawn back into his gravity instead with a slow sloping smile. “Being all… romantic, ” you mutter. You were cold only moments ago, but the blush on your face keeps you toasty now.

His eyes widen slightly, a look of innocent surprise washing over his face. "Really?"

You nod. "Yeah, really."

Choso beams, and your mind almost short-circuits at how devastatingly beautiful it makes him. You’d think the blood rushing to your head might power your brain, make it easier to think, but it does the exact opposite; it boils you dumb, leaving your skull little more than a soupy bone bowl.

Without thinking—because how could you really? —you lean up and kiss him gently to taste that sweet smile of his.

It’s Choso’s turn to flatline then as your lips brush his, warm and firm with just enough give for him to want to sink into you forever. No matter how familiar the sensation or how many times you kiss him, he isn’t used to it. He might never be used to it. He hopes he never will be. 

When you pull away, he makes a small noise of complaint, a soft whimper that tugs a fine red thread connected directly between your thighs. His eyes, wide and vulnerable, chase after your lips, his body moving on instinct until he's tentatively leaning over you. There’s a raw, unspoken need in his gaze that makes your breath falter.

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours, his breath clouding white and breathing him directly into your lungs as you inhale each other's cold vapor. “...Wanna kiss you,” he whispers, his voice tinged with a soft plea that makes your abdomen tighten.

You reach up, your fingers threading through his hair, gleaming like spun silver and breaking free dark commas that hang messily over his forehead. His brow pinches in a look that almost spells confusion—a familiar expression of utter bafflement at how badly he needs to feel you. He’s experienced much more with you, felt you, tasted you, had you in every way that matters, but somehow a simple kiss always galvanizes his desire like nothing else.

His lips find yours again, more insistent this time as his tongue dips into you. You gasp as he moans at the taste of your mouth, your fingers tangling into the roots of his loose hair, holding your celestial deity willingly captive to your body; tied through fingers rather than Promethean chains.

He shivers against the feel of your nails on his scalp, spurring him to bear down on you further with a needy groan. All at once, Choso’s ardor is a palpable, desperate thing. His hand roams your back, bunching his jacket in his fist but not daring to slip beneath, only pressing you closer to him. Even with that barrier, his touch scalds you, making you arch up at his insistence, molding against his hovering chest with your arms slung around his shoulders for support.

Your lips part for a moment, your nose wedged against his as you catch your breath. You both sink so seamlessly deep into each other that its an effort not to get lost completely, though between the two of you, it’s always Choso who has a harder time clawing his composure back; displayed by the displeased whine that escapes his throat before he pulls you back in with a gentle but insistent push against your lower spine.

You move with the gesture, your body turning fluid against his as you roll over, straddling him now as he lays flat on the blanket. Your hands brace against the firm planes of muscle that band his chest, fingers splayed as if to feel and grab and claim all of him at once, and god —it’s never quite enough. You crash into him again, ruled by gravity, only you don’t know which of you is the object and which is the ground, only that a collision was inevitable. 

Choso’s hands shake as they slide to your hips, pinning you against his waist as your tongue thrusts back into his mouth and you were loath to ever have left it. His lips seal around yours, hungry as he sucks on your tongue with a wanton moan swallowed directly into your mouth and your teeth bare in a victorious grin. 

His hand cups the back of your neck, hesitant and unsure despite the number of times you’ve told him he can be much firmer with you. In reprimand you nip his lower lip between your teeth. Choso gasps, his hips automatically bucking up into you to smash his straining cloth-covered cock into your crotch—the sudden sensation only making him whine again, wrenching his lips from yours with a flustered gasp. 

He hadn’t realized how turned on he was just from this. Hadn’t felt it until you did, and suddenly he’s mortified, frozen and statuesque as he tries and fails to will himself soft.

“S–sorry. ‘msosorry– '' He chokes, and now he’s caught your blush like it's something contagious. You can feel his cock jump beneath you, hard and urgent, a wordless plea that has your stomach immediately tightening in response, like your insides have been gripped in an iron fist and twisted.  

You’ve never once had to question whether Choso wants you or not. He’s never been subtle, and he’s never tried to be. It’s flattering in a way that instantly thrusts your brain into the realm of reciprocity, your own desire pooling hot and slick between your thighs, making you acutely aware of just how much you need him too.

His eyes, wide and dark, gaze up at you with a need that makes you feel like a goddess descended from the heavens, and you grin, all luminous teeth and coy intent. “What’re you sorry for?” you whisper, hovering nose to nose as your hips chase his back to the ground.

“I–” He swallows, the pretty dusted blush on his cheeks darkens, the night sky painting him in shades of monochrome, but you know just how red he can get. He shakes his head, but his fingers don’t move from your hips; if anything, he holds tighter. As if there was a chance in hell of you disappearing.

“You…?” You press coyly, to which Choso groans in breathless exasperation. And because he’s taking too long for your liking, you decide to encourage him with a slow, rolling grind against the pinned tent in his pants. He stiffens—both his cock and his entire body going rigid before his head thumps back against the ground wordlessly.

Choso’s lower lip trembles, and you so badly want to sink your teeth into it. “Don’t tease me…” he whispers pleadingly, his mouth curving into that awkward smile you know and love.

And god, do you love him. So much so, that you decide to be merciful…a move that might seem altruistic, if your own panties weren’t thoroughly soaked and sticking and in desperate need of removal. Your mercy is just as much for yourself as your shoulders roll, starting to shrug off his jacket—

Choso’s eyes widen and his hands fly from your hips to your shoulders, catching the garment before it can fall. The move was so sudden that it surprises you, making you recoil and sit deeper into his lap. Choso’s eyes flutter and he clenches his jaw with a grunt, but he shakes his head. “What are you doing?”

You blink down at him, a slow and confused smile building on your lips. “I–I thought…do you not want to —?”

“ Oh —I do. Very bad. But we–we can’t out here.” Choso tugs the jacket back up, pulling it tight in front of you.

“Cho–there’s nobody around for miles. Maybe…maybe raccoons or something, but—”

“You’ll get cold,” he interrupts resolutely. His brow is set low over his eyes, stubborn and unyielding. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

You can’t imagine ever feeling cold again with how warm you feel now. Your heart swells with affection, and you smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll be fine,” you reassure him. But his hands remain on your shoulders, firm and insistent, and you realize he’s serious.

“Choso…”  you murmur, your voice a seductive purr that sends a visible shiver down his spine. You delight in the way that the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue makes his body soften and tremble. “Do you want to take me …” You let your words trail off as your hand drifts down over his chest, lingering suggestively just above his navel. Your fingers trace a teasing path lower, slow and unashamedly provocative, “…inside?"

As if your words were a trigger and he was waiting for you to say exactly that, Choso reacts with breathtaking speed, scooping you up effortlessly and throwing you over his shoulder. His grip on your thighs is firm, unyielding, and you let out a surprised squeal, heart pounding as he strides toward the cabin without hesitation, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

You laugh, half in shock and half in delight, as he practically kicks the door open and steps inside with you. He doesn’t bother with the stairs or even look for a bedroom. Instead, his eyes dart around the entryway, searching for something, anything, to set you on. He zeroes in on a tall table in the foyer, decorated with knick knacks—a bronze statue bust of a deer, a small clock, and other rustic-y decor items.

Evidently, this will just have to do. He sets you down on the table with a bit more force than intended, your butt thumping solidly against the lacquered wood. Trinkets scatter, your body sweeping them aside like a battering ram and knocking the fragile clock dangerously close to the edge. The table wobbles slightly under your weight, sturdy but clearly not meant for this kind of use.

Choso stands between your knees, nudging them apart with his thighs as his long, cold fingers cup your face with a tenderness that wholly departs from his urgency. His lips crash against yours for a second time in a searing kiss, full of raw need and longing. He moans quietly into your mouth, the sound vibrating straight through you like a knife to the gut.

He grinds himself against you, his cock hard and throbbing beneath his clothes as he presses between your legs. The movement is subconscious on his part, an instinctive need for friction that his body knows exactly where to find even with his brain being too addled to seek it. You can’t help but respond encouragingly, your hips moving to meet him with a firm upward swipe of your pussy—as much as you can while pinned like a taxidermied butterfly to the table.

Choso groans, his focus shoved even closer to the abyssal edge of total composure loss. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He wishes so badly that he had more of them. To hold your face, to rip your clothes off like a wild animal, to encourage your hips against him harder if he were to be so bold. But he only has two hands, and he isn’t bold, just eager. So eager is he that his hands frenzy over your body, everywhere and nowhere all at once, making you laugh low and husky against his lips. 

His hand tangles in your hair but is quick to leave it, moving instead to cup your jaw but no–that isn’t quite right either. From your jaw, to your neck, then to your spine, and he groans and shakes his head at his own indecision. Not enough hands. He finally pulls the jacket from your body and tosses it to the floor.

“Too many layers…” he mutters. But the removal of those layers…that does something more for him. 

So he makes a choice. Clothes off. Clothes off is good.

His hands fly from your face down to the hem of your shirt, tugging at it without ceremony or preamble. You raise your arms above your head to help, but his refusal to part his lips from yours makes the task harder. The shirt gets stuck beneath your chin, rucked up over your breasts, and he growls, forced to pull away just to finish the job.

You giggle as he steps back, helping you wrestle your shirt over your arms where it catches, momentarily blinding you. Eventually, he frees it from your body, and as it falls away, you catch Choso's flushed face in the flickering orange light of the fire. He stands there, gazing at you, almost transfixed.

He’s seen you shirtless before. He's mapped every inch of your body with his hands and his mouth like a blind man reading braille. But without fail, the visual of your shirtless body, breasts heaving with each forceful breath, leaves him completely stunned. He stands there, frozen and sedated, as if he simply isn’t allowed to touch something so perfect. Like you should be kept high up on a shelf somewhere, not down here with the likes of him.

His lip wobbles needily, eyes blown wide and spun like glass as he drinks you in like he might never see you again. With a sure smile you reach behind you to unclip your bra with deft fingers, and the sight of the fabric falling away from your skin as if in slow motion snaps Choso’s restraint like a toothpick.

You watch as Choso yanks his shirt off too, shoulders hunching forward to slip it off over his head and he’s back on you in the same breath. There’s no quiet moment for you to drink in the sight of his tightened abs or his broad, tense shoulders trembling. He’s almost selfish in his consumption of you, taking and giving nothing back, though not intentionally. He's simply impatient, unapologetically needy.

His tongue plunges desperately into your mouth, sloppy and squirming, as he presses his chest against yours, craving your warmth and sandwiching your breasts between your bodies as he molds to you. Your nipples graze against his pecs, tripping the sharp wire that sends electric jolts of pleasure straight to your clit. You inhale sharply, sucking the oxygen straight from his mouth in a greedy gasp.

Instead of returning to his mouth, your lips veer to the side, trailing fire as you plant open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw and down his throat. You scatter pretty roses along Choso’s collar bone with sharp nips of your teeth, quickly soothing the thorny sting with your tongue. 

His head falls back, shoulders taut and quivering, his lips parted so prettily that you’d love to slip your fingers between them, if your hands weren’t already occupied tugging at the waistband of his pants. Your fingers tease the edge, your pinky slipping just underneath and it’s as if you’ve just reminded him— oh, right, he wanted your clothes off.

His hands are a flurry of movement again, batting yours away in his haste to reach you. He grips your pants, pulling hard . With one hand clinging to his shoulder and the other to the edge of the table for stability on its increasingly unstable surface, you raise your hips. "Wait-..." but you're too slow.  Choso is as strong as he is predictably impatient, and he tears your pants from your body with an explosive rip. You gasp, and he sheepishly mumbles, "Sorry," though he isn’t sorry at all. In fact, if you never wore pants again, they wouldn’t get in the way and he wouldn't be forced to tear them off you.

You laugh exasperatedly as he takes a half step back, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants with such urgency that his briefs come down with them. The sight makes you practically salivate . His cock springs free, red and ready, smacking against his stomach which concaves as he hisses, shying away from the sudden contact with himself. It bobs back down, horizontal and already pearled with pre-cum.

“You’re so pretty—”

“—Sah…–says you—” Choso objects bashfully, all but tripping over himself to close the meager distance he created between you. He reaches for your hip at the same moment your fingertips skim his waist and he squeaks adorably, his hips impulsively thrusting forwards. 

His thighs hit the edge of the table, and the weeping head of his cock rams against your clit, making your vision streak with stars as you yelp and jolt forward. The table rattles and sways with a sense of impending collapse, but Choso is quicker. His arm scoops behind your waist, lifting you clear of the danger, and in a flash, he ducks, his hand shooting out to catch the teetering clock before it crashes to the floor.

You blink owlishly at him, then burst into laughter as the tension diffuses like morning mist. The galloping of your heart from the near collapse settles into a gentler rhythm, your life no longer flashing before your eyes, yet still stirred by being held in his arms. Choso grins awkwardly, taking a moment to gently place the clock back on the table.

“Nice,” you snicker, legs wrapping around his waist and leaning into his neck, nipping at the junction of his shoulder.

“Thank y–mmph-! ” Choso’s gasp and appreciative moan of your name curls from his chest outwards, muffled by his face burrowing into your shoulder. His cock jerks upward, a long string of pre-cum dripping from the tip and stringing down to the floor. He could just drop you right down onto his cock and make you scream his name and twitch in his arms and neither of you would ever pull apart again, he’d fuck his cum into you over and over and over and anytime it leaks out he can just replace it—

“—guh–gotta find somewhere–somewhere better for you. Better than–ah–a table— ”

You hum approvingly, nosing along the flushed pillar of his throat and trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the same path. Your lips and tongue worship his skin. Lost in the haze of need, you barely register where he’s taking you. You hardly clock that you’re being moved at all.

Choso moves quickly but slowly enough to support his precious cargo. He’s been so accident prone, and now he’s scared to trip or bump you into a wall or accidentally sneeze and bury himself inside you —

With a grunt he suddenly drops to the floor in the center of a fluffy rug in the main room, legs crossed with his ankles pinned beneath his knees, settling you in the gap created with your legs still locked behind his waist. 

The fire crackles beside you, hot and flickering and smoky. You reel back in his lap and his hands slide up your sides to support you, gripping and caressing up and down your spine. His forehead tilts to thunk against yours, the fire playing in his eyes in a way that makes you feel weak-kneed.

Choso murmurs your name, adoring and dreamy. “So pretty,” he praises, “— sososo pretty—”

He starts to rock the underside of his cock against your pussy, his brows knitting as his head drops against your shoulder, lips parted and panting over your skin. Your folds part around his shaft, his head snagging against your clit before cresting all the way through. You squeak, reflexively pressing yourself more insistently against him. 

He does it again, his entire body tense and hard with the concentration it takes to exercise patience. You deserve patience, to feel good and cum again and again, and he’s determined to be the one to make it happen. He shudders, his tongue poking out from between clenched teeth, nodding to himself in silent declaration. But that careful restraint is flimsy at best, sorely tested with each shallow drag. His cock returns shinier and wetter, the friction driving him to the brink until he’s gripped wholly by the need to have you .

Desperate for distraction, Choso’s hands roam eagerly over your breasts, squeezing with a blend of urgency and reverence. A low, needy moan escapes him, his lips hovering before his tongue flicks out to tease your nipple. He captures it in his mouth, sucking gently, each pull sending ripples of pleasure radiating through you. You arch into him, breath hitching as a soft moan escapes. The sensation of your body pressing against his elicits a deep, primal groan from him, vibrating against your skin. His free hand caresses your other breast, rolling and pinching your nipple with growing confidence, his touches more assured and deliberate.

With each slow roll of his hips you can feel every exquisitely familiar detail. Thick and firm, with a pronounced upward curve that rubs perfectly against your sensitive bud. The veins along his length pulse with engorging blood—you’re shocked he’s even lasted this long without begging to be inside you. But he wants tonight to be special. You’re on a trip, together, for the first time and he wants to be good for you. Every grind and thrust feels electric, his cock divinely crafted to drive your burgeoning craving to new heights.

Choso moans and dislodges from your nipple, his lips leaving a slick, magmatic trail as he moves upward. His hand snakes down to grip the base of his weeping length, squeezing it hard as he manually drags it between your puffy folds. The sensation makes him shudder, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he looks at you, his gaze pleading and desperate.

"–oh my– fffuck –" he babbles, his voice shaky with need. "I'm sorry, I... I need you so bad. In – inside…please. " He whispers, his hips bucking involuntarily as his cock slides against you, the tip catching on your entrance before he drags it back along your clit. You mewl and clutch at his shoulders the sound alone is almost too much for him to bear. "Please," he begs again, his eyes locked onto yours, almost teary.

The fire pops loudly beside you, a stick collapsing into ash in the brick tray, and with it, your restraint burns away. You nod, your voice a raspy plea, " Please —don't tease me." The scent of him mingled with the burning wood makes your head swim. The tables have turned, and you now find yourself on the other side from where you began. But Choso would never tease you, not like you would him—his need is too great, his desire to obey you too strong. Your voice when you beg is lovely, but god he wants to make you sing.

He presses his thumb against his cockhead, gasping as white-hot pleasure courses through him, the pad of his finger immediately slick with arousal. He pushes it down, notching against your entrance, his breath hitching. “ Gon–gonna make you feel good, ” he asserts shakily, his voice thick with need. “ Gonna try— ” At the same moment, his arm wraps behind your waist, pulling your body to him. He rocks his hips up and forward, the head of his cock slipping inside with agonizing slowness.

Your breath catches, a moan escaping your lips as he fills you, every inch stretching and teasing. Choso's muffled cry vibrates against your shoulder as he buries his face there, his teeth sinking into your skin. You clutch at him, nails digging into his back, urging him deeper. The sensation is electric, overwhelming, and you arch into him, your breath mingling with his as you stare downward at the connection of your bodies.

You watch with an almost voyeuristic fascination as every inch and vein slowly disappears inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—every ridge and curve of his cock stretching you perfectly, filling you with a heat that borders on unbearable. Choso's breath is a series of ragged, desperate gasps. His eyes narrow to hot-whiskey slits that are caught between wanting to watch and needing to look away as he fights to maintain a very fragile sense of control. His teeth sink into the plush of his lower lip, almost hard enough to break through the satin-soft skin.

When he's about halfway in, he stops, tense and quivering, his cock pulsing inside you. "Oh god...fuck, you feel so good—I’m sorry, I can't—I just...shit, you're perfect...I'm so sorry—I need...I need this." He babbles, his words an unconscious stream of desire and apology. His body shakes with the effort of holding back, every other word punctuated by a shallow, needy thrust.

Your velvety walls clench around him, drawing a whimper from his lips as he grips your hips with bruising strength. "I’m sorry—can’t wait," he gasps, his voice trembling. With a sharp, desperate thrust, he buries himself fully inside you, the sudden fullness making you gasp, nails raking down his back as you cry out in bliss.

Once fully inside, Choso’s body relaxes, his tension melting away as if he’s finally home. His breath steadies, the frantic urgency pacified and giving way to a deep, consuming need for more. No longer driven by desperation, he seeks to savor every moment, to make this last, cherishing the sensation of being completely enveloped by your wet heat.

He pulls back slightly, the slow drag of his cock against your slick walls making both of you shudder, sweat springing up along your throat. His hands, no longer gripping you with bruising force, now glide gently over your skin, caressing, exploring. His eyes meet yours, filled with a tender intensity that takes your breath away. “I love you. You know I love you?” he whispers, his voice soft, and so so grateful.

His hips move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust deep and measured, designed to draw out every pleasurable quiver he can wring from you. You moan softly, his words coiling around your brain like ivy vines and rooting deeply into the mortar. You are fluid above him, warm and malleable and so very his. Completely enthralled with the delight of being so selflessly possessed are you, that you need to possess him right back. He loves you and that feels better than anything.

Your legs coil tighter around his waist, drawing him closer, deeper. “ Mhm— ”  You lean your temple against his shoulder, a profound sense of relaxation blanketing you soul-deep, even as your body goes absolutely haywire just beneath the prickling surface of your skin.

The fire crackles beside you, casting a warm, flickering glow over your entwined bodies. When you look up at him with those adoring doe-eyes, the muscles in your stomach flex, drawing a deep grunt from Choso as he feels the sudden tightening. The flames paint his sweat-slicked skin in hues of orange, setting him ablaze. In that moment, you understand the fatal attraction of moths to a flame, feeling an irresistible pull toward the incandescent heat and the beautiful, dangerous glow of him. 

His hands brush down your sides as gently as if you were an antique vase, the same hands that tore your pants in two capable of such softness. His palms settle on your hips, kneading for a moment before curling into a gentle hold. He gives an experimental squeeze— lifting you up as he shifts back, and lowering you down as he rolls his hips up. 

You are utterly tranquil. Perched so prettily in his lap, skewered so softly on his cock and lulled with rocking pleasure so soothing you very well could sleep like this. The fire, him, surrounds you like a cocoon, a heady tonic borderline alcoholic in your placidity . It feels like sinking into a bath of milk and honey, your brain dopey and slow. But you feel his encouragement, the way he moves you up and down his length; every now and then by a stroke of chance he nudges against your sweet-spot, or his pelvis grinds just right against your clit, jolting you back to reality with a start.

It’s not enough to be an idle passenger, your body chases that instinctual high before your brain can fan away the fog. Your hips begin to rock against his in time, adjusting your angle, and as soon as you do, Choso sighs low and shakily against your ear. He holds you steady, aiding the slow oscillation of your body, encouraging your languid participation with an appreciative squeeze of his hands and a more forceful buck of his hips.

“ M’not gonna break—you…you can do more—”

At your insistence Choso groans as if he’d been waiting for permission to do exactly that. “You– yeah…oh–okay —”

His grip tightens, and ever your servant he thrusts into you harder in an effort to appease you, his movements growing more intense, more insistent. The change in pace sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, each thrust hitting deeper, each glide against your clit setting off bursts of ecstasy that makes your vision spot and rips those gorgeous little whines he cherishes straight from your chest.

Your breath hitches, and you start to meet his thrusts with equal zeal, fucking him back with newfound determination. The rhythm between you shifts, Choso’s hands sliding back from your hips to dig into the meat of your ass. His control, whatever little he had of it to begin with, starts to unravel. His eyes flutter shut, a strained moan escaping his lips. His hands, once guiding, now grip you almost helplessly, holding on as you move with increasing fervor.

Choso's brain melts under the onslaught of sensation. His thrusts become erratic, less coordinated, until finally, he forgets to participate altogether, lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re giving him. His hands fall to the side and brace back against the floor, and he surrenders completely, letting you use him, his body yours to command.

You take full advantage of his surrender, moving with a purpose, driven by a mounting need that seems to eclipse everything else. The slick, heated slide of his cock inside you, the way your bodies meld together with each rise and fall like grafted metal in a forge, tempered and hammered into something far more beautiful than your base materials; you succumb fully to the intoxication that starts as a slow embered burn low in your belly.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale tinged with the smoky scent of the fire, each exhale a soft moan of pleasure. The world narrows to the point of contact between you and Choso, the delicious friction, the way his length fills you so completely. Every grind against your bud is ruinous in your body, every nudge against your depths making you see stars.

Your mind feels suspended in a dreamy fog, every thought reduced to the primal, desperate need for release. You can feel your orgasm building, a tight coil of heat and pressure in your core. A garden blooms in your womb, overcome with the primitive need for it to be filled, belly round and full with Choso’s seed. But you do not care what becomes of that garden as molten heat spreads outward, burning it to ash and making your muscles tense and quiver. 

Your hips move faster, more urgently, chasing that peak, riding the wave of pleasure that threatens to consume you. You want to be consumed. Choso's moans mix with your own, his body a pliant vessel beneath you, his pleasure a mirror of your own.

And then, all at once, the coil snaps and your ears ring with a sound you only vaguely recognize as coming from your own mouth. Your orgasm crashes over you, powerful and all-consuming. Your body convulses with the force of it, muscles clenching around Choso's cock to suck him impossibly deeper as the pleasure ripples through you in intense, shuddering waves. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, you lose all sense of time and space, reduced to a primal, instinctual being driven solely by overwhelming bliss. You are something made perfect, born anew in the flood of holy fire and ecstasy. For that brief period you are nothing but stardust.

Choso’s voice breaks through the fog, a frantic litany of curses and gratitude spilling from his lips. " Fuckfuckfuck—thank you—so beautiful...oh fuck, you’re so perfect, " he babbles, his voice shaky with awe and need. The intensity of your climax has pushed him to the brink, and he’s barely holding on. His hands roam over your body, trembling with the effort to restrain himself.

His movements become erratic, driven by an almost savage pride that you came first, but now he’s desperate to find his own release. He sinks into you to the hilt, each movement filled with an urgent, raw need. The sensation of him jabbing into you, bluntly knocking on the door of your cervix prolongs your orgasm into the realm of exquisite agony.

Without warning, Choso shifts his weight, and in one fluid motion, topples you both over so you're on your back. The transition is seamless, and before you can catch your breath, he’s over you, inside you, fucking you into the floor with a relentless, desperate rhythm. The raw intensity in his eyes, the primal need driving his movements, rips your breath away before you’ve even begun to try to catch it.

Each thrust is powerful and deep, a claim and a plea all at once. You can see the strain in his muscles, feel the desperate edge to his movements as he chases his salvation in your body. The firelight casts shadows across his face, highlighting the fierce determination etched in his features. One hand grips your hip and the other flutters down your wrist to plait his fingers through yours, shakily moving it above your head to pin it to the rug.

He is wholly possessed by an uncharacteristically primal urge to take you , to etch himself into you, to rewrite your DNA with his name and be bound to you forever by something altogether greater than himself. “ Gah—gonna–gonna marry you. Haa– nngh! Have you forever— ”

Choso’s thrusts become more erratic, his breathing more ragged. " Gonna...gonna cum, " he gasps, his voice thick with needy warning. His eyes lock onto yours, a silent plea for release. And then, with a final, deep thrust, he shudders violently, his orgasm punching against his abs as he shouts and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he cums. You feel the muscles in his back bunch and tense as he spills himself inside you, each forceful contraction painting your walls with his warmth. 

His cum coats you, thick and hot, sticking inside you as he continues to move slowly, coaxing it deeper. He fucks it into you with tender, deliberate thrusts, bidding it to seep into your womb, ensuring every drop is claimed.

Choso collapses onto you like a warm, protective blanket, his weight a soothing comfort and far from oppressive. The two of you lie there entwined and spent, bodies still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, your skin slick with flame-licked sweat. The silence between you is broken only by your shared, labored breaths and the soft pop and crackle of the fire beside you. He doesn’t move, his body gone completely boneless, and neither do you unwilling to disturb him or yourself. The quiet wraps you both in a cocoon of tender, post-orgasmic bliss.

Eventually, you begin to rouse him with soft kisses along his jaw, your lips brushing tenderly against his skin. He laughs, a bubbly, euphoric sound that makes your heart swell. The sound is infectious, and soon you find yourself giggling too.

Choso shifts slightly, propping himself up just enough to meet your dewy gaze, his exhaustion evident in his heavy-lidded eyes warmed like melted honey. He presses his nose to yours, the touch soft and sweet, before tilting to plant the lightest of kisses on your lips, then your cheeks, then your forehead, showering you with affection and gratitude. "Can we come here every year?" he whispers hopefully.

You smile, your heart swelling with tenderness. "Every year," you promise.

[thesassypadawan]

Beloved Master *Fragmented* (Unburnt Darth Vader x FemPadawan Reader)

Summary: A dream? Was it really all just a dream? Or maybe…it’s a second chance? A second chance to set things right, to bring him back. (A ‘What if’ to Beloved Master, where Anakin’s padawan fights to bring him back from the dark side.)

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of some violence and mention of character death. Padawan reader is of age.

Note: Read Beloved Master First

Happy Hayden's (And Mine) Birthday Event! In honor of the man, the myth, the legend; I will be posting nothing but Anakin, Vader, and Hay stories all April long!

A little something for @jediskywalkerblog ! It was truly a pleasure to write this! As soon as I read your ask, I knew exactly what do! I had a lot of fun with it, cannot not emphasize that enough!  Hope you like it! ❤️

“I love you too, Lord Vader.”

As the words fell from your lips, the world began to shift…distort. Until it was all fragmented…then faded into darkness.

“Little one… Little one…” A voice rang out. One you hadn’t heard in quite some time. One you thought no longer existed. “Little one, don’t listen to him!”

Your eyes snapped open. Dazed and confused, you tried to take in your surroundings. Orange skies. Cries of agony and pain all around you. The temple engulfed in flames. And a distraught looking…

“Master Kenobi!” You exclaimed in disbelief. Shocked and horrified as the events of that dreadful night slowly unfolded in front of you once more. “What are you-”

“Now’s not the time!” Obi-Wan yelled; tugging on your arm, trying to lead you away from the chaos. “You need to come with me! We must-”

A familiar presence, a blaze of blue light. Only this time…you met it with your own burning yellow. “Nooo!”

Catching him off guard, you had sent Anakin stumbling backwards with a force push. A mix of anger and confusion etched on his face. “What are you doing?!”

Straightening yourself up, you swallowed hard. “Bringing you back.” And without a second thought, you ignited the other half of your saber.

You flew at him, easily falling into step with one another. Clash after clash. Spark after spark. Sizzling endlessly as yours repeatedly came down against his.

Back and forth, the two of you continued this dance. Eyes reflecting each other’s pain…remorse…desperation. As you both fought with your all.

Every swing, every blow sent waves of raw emotions down your bond. Threatening to tear your hearts apart.

Twisting quickly, you knock the saber from his hands. Sending it sailing through the air, leaving him defenseless.

“Well done, angel,” Ani muttered. Bowing his head in defeat as he dropped to his knees.

Chest heaving, tears cascading down your cheeks. You nodded in acknowledgement, saying softly. “I learned from the best.”

Deactivating your own saber, you joined him on the ground. Hands reaching out shakily, pulling him into a tight embrace.

You felt him hesitate for a moment, before he wrapped his arms around you. Burying his face into the side of you neck, sobbing. “I’m…I’m s-so sorry! I…I…”

“It’s okay, it’s over now,” you whispered, hands rubbing soothingly up and down his back. “All that matters is you came back to me. That-”

“You came back to us,” Obi-Wan added. A hint of relief in his voice as he came to stand behind you. “And I do believe that this belongs to you.”

You didn’t need to see to know that Obi had returned his saber. “Thank you, master. For always having faith in me, for being so…naïve.”

Because the sound of it igniting and the painful cry that followed after told you so.

“Ani,” you spoke slowly. “What have you done?”

“I did what was necessary,” he replied nonchalantly.

Untangling himself from your hold, he stood. Yellow eyes staring down at you menacingly; his hand outstretched, waiting for yours. “It’s all going to be okay; you’re safe, my empress.”

You knew you should be terrified. That you should be completely, utterly distraught…disgusted with yourself. Instead you took his hand and stepped over the cold, lifeless body of the man you both had fondly called ‘father’. “Light the way, my lord.”

As the words fell from your lips, the world began to shift…distort. Until it was all fragmented…then faded into darkness.

“Hatari… Hatari…” A voice rang out. One you love so dearly. One you dread so thoroughly. “Hatari, are you all right?”

Your eyes snapped open. Dazed and confused, you tried to take in your surroundings. Silken sheets. The sound of a fire crackling in the hearth. Ominous red light trickling between a crack in the lavish bed chamber curtains. And a concerned looking…

“Ani?” You asked groggily. Body feeling heavy as you tried to push yourself up into a seated position. “What’s-”

“Little one okay too?” He muttered softly… “He’s not kicking you too hard, is he?” …placing his hand on your very swollen stomach.

A familiar chill ran down your spine, the realization setting in. That it was only a dream, that this was your one and true fate. Forever at your beloved master's husband’s side…no matter what.

Fighting back the tears, your hands joined his. Fingers lacing with his, tracing the small flutters across your stretched skin. “Everything is fine. I love you, Lord Vader.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @loverforoldermen

[rafyki]

Goth! Nico/ Surfer! Percy AU Part 3!

Here, have some awkward flirting by two absolute lovestruck losers (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Oh how I love writing them being absolute disaster around each other asdsgsdhdff

@neo-kid-funk I managed to finish this part before I thought, I hope you like it!!! And I hope it fuels your inspiration for new art *evil laugh*

(For everyone who hasn't seen it yet, go to Neo's blog and enjoy her beautiful art!! This fic was inspired by her perfect design of older goth Nico <33)

Part 1, Part 2

~~~~~~

Nico didn’t expect it to become a habit. He expected it to be a one time thing, the kind of thing that turns your world upside down for a while but doesn’t really change anything in the long run. 

He expected to go back to work the next time for his shift and to not exchange more than a couple of words with Percy.

Even in his wildest fantasies he had not expected Percy to actually go and make conversation with him. 

“Doesn’t it drive you crazy? That you’re always on the beach so close to the ocean yet you can’t go in the water?” 

Percy had his usual drink in his hand, and Nico had been ready to wish him a nice day and watch him walk away as it always happened.

That was how things usually went. Not this.

Nico could feel his world shift around its axis (a little dramatic, yes, he knew, and he also had no doubt that Leo would tease him nonstop if he told him), and an annoying blush creeping up his neck to his face as Percy looked at him with a curious look.

He looked away, trying to find something, anything, to do that would make him appear busy and give him an excuse to avoid those way too perfect eyes.

He had not been prepared for this.

“Uhm”, he started, remembering that he had been asked a question.

He could almost hear Jason’s voice in his head yelling at him that it’s your chance, it’s your chance, talk to him!; together with Leo’s voice screaming go make him fall for you, goth boy!

Shaking his head a little, he tried to shoo them away.

“I’m not a huge fan of the ocean”, he said in the end.

And, well, that had been perhaps the wrong thing to say, judging by Percy’s horrified expression. Eyes wide wide and mouth hanging open there where he had been about to take another sip of his drink, he was looking at Nico like he had just admitted that he liked to kick kittens in his free time. It was equal parts comical and mortifying.

Before Nico could decide if he wanted to laugh at that expression or regret every life choice that had led him up to that point, Percy let out a shocked “What!?”

And for some reason, that made him chuckle, left him smiling behind his hand.

“Was that the wrong answer?”, he asked, trying and probably failing to keep the teasing tone out of his voice. 

Percy took a moment to answer. He was looking at Nico carefully, a weird expression on his face now that Nico couldn’t read. It made Nico feel a little unstable on his feet; he didn’t even realize he was staring right back at Percy until he noticed the slight red on his nose and cheekbones and found himself thinking that it was cute how Percy still got sunburn even when it seemed that he basically lived on the beach under the sun.

Percy cleared his throat, and the world started moving again around them.

“Yes!”, he said. “How can you not like the ocean?”

Nico shrugged, and threw a glance at the immense expanse of water before him. There were a lot of reasons he wasn't really fond of it, but he wasn’t sure Percy would appreciate them.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I just don’t like getting in the water”.

“That basically means you don’t like it though”.

Nico rolled his eyes. His heart was beating a little too fast, his hands were sweaty, and he kept playing nervously with the rings on his lips. And he wanted nothing more than for this moment and this conversation to stretch on for as long as possible.

“It seems you’re taking this pretty personally”, he said, smiling. 

Percy smiled back, and Nico’s heart replied with somersaults. “I am, I take the ocean very seriously”.

Nico had guessed, but it was nice hearing it directly from Percy, adding this information to his mental list of things I know about him. For some reason, he had the feeling that that list would keep growing from now on.

His eyes fell on the trident tattoo on Percy’s left bicep. It made Nico feel weak in the knees every time he saw it, his mind immediately offering him the haunting thought of what it would feel like under his fingers. He sort of wanted to bite it.

No, not the time for this kind of thoughts!

He was definitely blushing now - he just hoped that the shadow of the kiosk's little roof was enough to hide it. 

You’re the worst, Nico di Angelo, shame on you.

Percy must have noticed where he was looking though, because he glanced at his tattoo too. “Yeah, I guess it was pretty obvious”, he laughed. 

Oh he had such a nice laugh. 

“You’re a big fan of the Little Mermaid?”, Nico asked, because for some reason that was the first thing that had come to his mind.

It made Percy laugh a little more though, so Nico counted it as a victory.

“That’s definitely part of it, I think I must have watched that movie a thousand times when I was little”.

Nico mentally added that new information to his list.

“Maybe you were a mermaid in your past life”, he suggested. “Or some sort of sea god”.

Those last words escaped his mouth before he could hold them back. He had not meant to say them out loud - damn his brain and his too fast mouth and his stupid huge crush. Percy did look like a sea god but that didn’t mean Nico had to say it out loud and expose himself like that. See, that’s why he didn’t want to talk to Percy, he knew he would make a fool of himself. Maybe the ground would be so nice as to open up and swallow him whole right now.

(Oh, he knew his friends would laugh at him like crazy for this later).

When he found the courage to look back at Percy, he found him still smiling, an amused look in his eyes. 

Nico’s stomach curled painfully on itself in a mix of embarrassment and stupid fondness. He was so weak for that look.

“In that case that would mean you just told a sea god that you don’t like the ocean”, Percy said. “That could be a problem”.

“I never said I don’t like it”, Nico pointed out, surprised at himself for how he could still speak despite his internal turmoil. “And also, I said you might have been one in your past life”.

Percy waved a hand. “That doesn’t matter. You know gods aren’t that reasonable”.

“Are you saying I should apologize?”

“Precisely”, Percy said, nodding solemnly.

That was such a weird conversation to have with someone you barely knew. Yet Nico couldn’t hold back the smile growing on his lips. Despite the continuous maelstrom raging inside him, he probably hadn’t stopped smiling for a second the whole time; it made him feel like a fool, but it was alright because Percy had been smiling for the whole time too.

“And how should I do that?”, Nico asked. 

Percy seemed to think about it for a moment. “You could let me teach you how to surf”.

Nico stopped. Time stopped, the whole world stopped, even the waves of the ocean itself probably stopped moving.

In the least useful way possible, his mind conjured the terrible image of himself on a surfboard in the water with Percy wet and handsome next to him, holding him to show him what to do.

No, nope, no way. He would end up drowning after two seconds, either because surfing was definitely not his thing, or because letting the ocean swallow him would be the less embarrassing option.

“Uhm”, was the only thing that came out of his mouth“I… don’t think that would be such a good idea”. 

Why is he asking me this though, oh my god what’s going on here.

His embarrassment must have caught up to Percy, because suddenly his smile turned awkward and so was also the short laugh that escaped his lips.

“I was just joking of course!”, he said quickly. Nico watched the way he rubbed his neck, the way he wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Well, then-”

“I mean!”, Nico cut him off without thinking. 

That well then sounded way too much like Percy was about to leave, and Nico didn’t want that.

The relaxed feeling from before was gone, replaced with awkwardness hanging heavily in the air around them. If he had let Percy leave now, Nico was afraid he wouldn't see him again.

Don’t ruin this! It’s your chance!

This time, he tried his best to listen to his friends’ voices in his head.

“I- I mean���, he said again. “I’m really not good with water”.

He hoped his smile came out more apologetic than absolutely mortified and embarrassed. The pounding of his own heart was deafening almost, he could feel it in his throat, making it hard to breathe and push the words out. “Thanks for the offer though…?”. It came out more like a question than anything.

Idiot idiot idiot.

“Ah- uhm”, Percy, said, letting out an awkward laugh. He wasn't looking at Nico anymore, his eyes fixed on his still half full drink. “Yeah, sure”.

You have to fix this!

“I'll just- look at you surfing and enjoy the ocean from afar for now”.

Weird, that was weird! Had he really just admitted that he would just stare at him? Maybe drowning in the ocean really was the best case scenario for him. No way his blush wasn't visible right now. 

Percy must be thinking that he was the weirdest and creepiest guy right now. Nico wanted to die.

But then, Percy looked back at him, and the look on his face wasn't creeped out or uncomfortable - just surprised, eyes blinking slowly and mouth hanging open like he wanted to say something but didn't know exactly what. Nico watched as a small smile made its way back to his lips. The red sunburn on Percy's cheeks was mesmerizing.

“Sounds good to me”.

And okay, perhaps he hadn't ruined everything completely. Perhaps he would get to talk to Percy again.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, making Nico almost jump out of his skin. He had forgotten there was a whole world outside of himself and the man in front of him.

“Nico, we have to switch, it's time for your break”, Jason's voice reached him, bringing him back to reality. His friend was looking at him with a clear question in his eyes and badly veiled excitement - Nico knew he would want to hear everything about his conversation with Percy later. 

“Yeah, right”, he replied, half relieved and half disappointed that the moment was over.

He turned to Percy. He couldn't read the expression in his eyes. “Well, I have to go”, he said.

Percy nodded. The soft smile was back on his face, and Nico felt his heart melt at the sight. “It was nice talking to you Nico”.

“You too. Have a nice day, Percy”.

It was the first time he called him directly by his name, he realized. It sounded way too nice ok his tongue.

He kept staring at his retreating figure as he walked away, feeling unstable on his feet like someone had suddenly changed the gravity on Earth.

“You okay?”, Jason asked.

“Uhm… I think so? I'm not sure what just happened”.

Jason laughed and put a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

“You can tell me everything later, alright? Come to my and Leo's place after work”.

Nico grimaced at the prospect - he could already feel the teasing that would come of it. But he did need to talk about it, so he nodded.“Yeah, alright”, he agreed. “But I really need a smoke now”.

[bearwriting]

Casing

Start Here Previous Chapter

Summary: Bruised and bloodied, you end up with the last person you thought you'd turn to, and you're taking him to see an old friend.

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: Vomiting

“What did you do before you worked for Wednesday?” he barked.

“I-I dunno. I don’t remember what I did, I don’t remember what my life was.” You were crying now. “Before Wednesday, everything is blank.”

He knew this. You had told him this before, that Wednesday had found you wandering through northern Minnesota, half-frozen and with no memory to speak of. But now…he had to wonder. Did Wednesday happen upon you by chance? Or had he lied? Knowing the old man, the latter was far from impossible or even unlikely.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I think we need to get some answers,” he murmured against your hair. “But first, let’s get you to bed.”

The next day, you woke to find yourself crammed into the backseat of your car with Sweeney’s gangly form sprawled beneath you, his chest rising and falling as his snores rattled the windows. You yelped and untangled yourself from him, opening the door and falling out backward in your haste to extricate yourself from the situation. Your face burned and a piercing headache threatened to cleave your skull in two as your vision swam. Groaning, you lay back on the cool asphalt of the bar’s parking lot and desperately wished that the world would stop spinning.

Sweeney sat up, peering blearily at his surroundings. “Sure, was I not comfortable enough for you?” he called down to you.

“Don’t fuck with me right now,” you begged. “All my energy is going to trying not to yak in this parking lot.”

He chuckled and flopped back on the seats. “Better out than in.”

“Fuck you.” Your head was stuffed with cotton and your mouth was all but glued shut, every word a struggle. You smacked your lips and rubbed the heels of your palms into your eyes in an attempt to rid them of the wretched sandpaper feeling and groaned again. “I think I’m dying. Is this what dying feels like?”

Sweeney unfolded himself from your car and stood over you, nudging you with the toe of his boot. “You’re not dying, mo chara, you’re hungover.”

You flung a dramatic arm over your face. “I’ve never had a hangover, I don’t think. I think I’d rather I was dead.”

Sweeney snorted and reached out to clasp your forearm with a massive hand and hauled you to your feet with a grunt, steadying you when you swayed slightly. He was watching you closely and you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?”

He remained silent for a moment. “You’ve never been hungover?” he eventually asked.

You shook your head.

The look on his face told you he didn’t believe you.

“I’ve seen you drink, you must’ve had at least one.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” you said. Your patience was wearing thin and you were beginning to get annoyed.

“You’ve never been hungover?”

“No. Do you want it in sign language?” You made a rude gesture.

He cocked his head to the side like an animal appraising something it didn’t understand. “D’you think it’s the healing thing?”

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth and chewed it thoughtfully. “I mean maybe? But then why do I have one now? What’s different?”

His eyes darted across your face as though searching for something. “What do you remember about last night?”

You shrugged, releasing your gnawed-on lip. “Dunno. I guess falling off the bar? I remember you yelling at me for some reason.”

Sweeney forced himself to look away from your mouth with a shake of his head. “D’you remember why?”

You shook your head and he sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “You said something about a battle that I was in.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So? We talk about that stuff all the time, why was that enough for you to go off on me?”

Sweeney looked like he wanted to shake you. “You’re not understanding me. You spoke about it like you were there.”

You blinked. “What, like a memory?”

“Sure, that’s what they’re usually called.”

You glared at him. “So…I remembered something I wasn’t supposed to and now I have a memory hangover? Or something?”

“Or something,” he muttered. You couldn’t put your finger on why, but you got the distinct feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Anything else?” you prodded.

He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels. “Nope.”

You opened your mouth to push further, but he curt you off. “We need answers,” he said firmly, “and I might know where we can find some.”

You rolled your eyes and gestured for him to continue.

“Portland.”

You looked at him blankly. “Oregon?"

He shook his head. “Maine. East coast.”

“What the hell and fuck is all the way up there?” you demanded.

“The Morrigan.”

A rat scrambled across your sneaker and you jerked your foot away, grimacing. The cool morning air was starting to warm with the inevitable heat of the day. There was a wad of what had once been bright blue bubble gum stuck forlornly to the concrete, specked with debris, the vivid color chewed to a muddy grey-blue, and a hypodermic needle lay some yards away with a used condom. “Come visit picturesque Kentucky,” you muttered to yourself as you scuffed your shoe over the ground, thinking of the poster you had seen at a bus station with the phrase. “I want to go to Circe,” you said.

Sweeney’s mouth gaped. “In Florida?”

You scoffed. “Like Maine is any closer. If someone’s going to dig around in my head, I’d rather it be someone I know.” you said.

If his mouth opens any wider, his jaw is going to dislocate, you thought mildly.

Sweeney snapped his mouth shut like he could read your mind. “Don’t tell me you trust her.”

“I’m not a moron,” you snapped. “I’d just rather not have a stranger rummaging around in there. Plus, she’s a millennia-old witch and we have questions about magic. And it’s my car,” you added.

The two of you stared each other down in that dingy parking lot for what felt like an eternity before he relented. You had dug your heels in and he knew better than to try to argue.

He pointed at you. “Fine. But if she can’t help us, we’re going to the Morrigan.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine.”

“I’m driving.”

“Like fuck you are,” you told him. “Let’s get the lead out, my beautiful passenger princess.”

He glared at you before he slung himself into the empty seat and slammed the door with more force than was strictly necessary.

The nearly twenty hours to Florida dragged by impossibly slowly. You and Sweeney traded for the driver’s seat every few hours and your time in the passenger seat was passed either sleeping or poring over your journals and books in a futile search for answers. The two of you spoke little, save for your occasional questions about certain customs or rituals. Sweeney was uncharacteristically quiet, deep in thought and his brow furrowed so deeply that you could have put a pencil between them and it would have held there.

“You’re gonna give yourself a headache,” you murmured, reaching over from the driver’s seat and running a thumb over the wrinkles in an effort to smooth his forehead without taking your eyes off the road.

He grunted and swatted your hand away from his face. “I don’t like this,” he grumbled.

“Which part?”

“Any of it!” he exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. “All of this feels wrong. It feels like we’re missing something. Something isn’t right.”

You snorted. “When is it ever? Our job is secrets and lies, this isn’t anything new.”

Sweeney leaned back in his seat, flipping his coin across his knuckles and in the back of your mind you were painfully aware of how smoothly it rolled across the breadth of his strong hands. You forced yourself to think of something other than the freckles and the fine orange hairs that traveled from the back of his hand and up his wrist. Christ, you scolded yourself. Get a grip. The muscles of his shoulders flexed involuntarily under the fabric of his blue button-down and everything in his body language screamed anxiety and discomfort, from his constant fidgeting to the tension that arced through him, and you worried that he would snap like a rubber band wound too tightly.

You sighed. “Look, we’ll be at Circe’s in a couple of hours. Maybe we can start to get some answers.”

“Or maybe we’ll just be more confused and a three days’ drive from where we should be.”

You glanced over to snap back at him and your heart froze in your chest.

He blinked. “Y’alright there?”

The grass green eyes were gone. In their place were sightless black pits that wept a black viscous ooze.

“S-Sweeney?”

The black pits narrowed and the figure that had been Mad Sweeney leaned closer. You pressed back against the passenger door, seized in that moment with an absolute certainty that this man, this thing, was going to kill you.

His mouth moved, but no words came out. Instead, a heinous and inhuman keening issued from his lips and burrowed into your skull. You clutched at your head as if you could block it out and curled up against the door, making yourself as small as you could. You were in a speeding car with a demon changeling that had taken your leprechaun and wanted you dead. You were going to die.

The monster in the driver’s seat pulled the car to the shoulder of the highway and shut off the engine. You flattened yourself against the door, your eyes screwed shut as you willed this creature to disappear.

After a few minutes of silence, you cracked an eye open. Not-Sweeney was standing outside the car and watching you closely with those hideous eyes and you could feel your heart climbing up your throat.

You wondered if it really was possible to die of fright.

It opened its mouth, its jaw making a nauseating popping sound before dislocating, and again that horrible keening pierced your skull and it didn’t stop. It came closer to you and you scrabbled for the door handle, desperate for escape.

He came around to your side of the car and opened the door slowly. Someone was screaming and it was only after a moment or two that you realized the sound was coming from your own mouth. Not-Sweeney crouched in front of you, keeping a few feet of space between you.

You were aware that he was speaking, but your terrified mind refused to comprehend it. He reached out to touch you gently and you flinched so violently you nearly bit a hole through your tongue, but he didn’t remove his hand. Instead, his thumb began to rub the skin of your arm and he kept talking to you. After a few minutes of this, the blood roaring in your ears quieted enough that you could hear what he was saying. You kept your eyes glued to the ground, too scared to look into those horrible eyes, but you could hear his words now.

“— and I don’t know what you’re seeing right now, but it’s still me. I promise you, it is still me, and I will never hurt you.”

His voice was so soft and gentle and it instantly made your eyes well. You blinked, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, and looked up at him. That horrible face yawned before you and you cringed away from him, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone. The black pits had returned to their shining green and his jaw was back in one piece and covered with four-day-old ginger scruff.

Your relief at the sight of his face was so immediate and overwhelming that you threw yourself against his chest and buried your face in his shirt, your shoulders heaving with sobs.

His enormous hands rubbed small circles between your shoulder blades and stroked the back of your head.

You fought to breathe through your hiccuping sobs but couldn’t quite get enough air into your lungs. He guided your face up to look at him. His palms were rough with calluses, but they were warm and they were so, so gentle.

Before you could say anything, before you could even try to take a breath, his head dipped towards yours and he was kissing you. He was kissing you and he was holding you so tightly, like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go, with one hand on your face and the other against the small of your back, pulling you as closely as possible.

You clutched at him and he just felt so real under your hands. Clove smoke and liquor filled your nose and his scruff scratched at your lips in a way that made you shiver. This was real, he was real. Not the monster. Never the monster.

He broke away from you, leaving you staring at him wide-eyed and thunderstruck.

The sadness you saw in his eyes punched the air from your lungs.

“You were scared of me,” he said quietly, the despondency in his voice nearly cracking your heart in two. “What did you see?”

“I — what the fuck?”

Sweeney’s face flushed scarlet. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“‘M sorry,” he murmured, ducking his head. “Dunno what that was.” He got up and strode back to the other side of the car and climbed behind the wheel, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were bone white.

“Sweeney —“

“Don’t,” he said softly.

You stared at him mutely, your mind reeling. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say.

“Can we just —“

He started the car and whatever you were about to say was drowned out by the roar of the engine. The conversation was over.

If there had been tension in the car before, it was smothering you now. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, not trusting your voice, and Sweeney hadn’t even looked at you since you had gotten back in the car. The trees outside had long since changed from oaks and beeches to towering palm trees that waved in the breeze as though they were welcoming you.

Unease crept up your throat, settling in the back with the unpleasant oily feeling that comes with nausea. You remembered that Circe had told you how Florida had been formed from the grit and dirt that had sloughed off the Appalachian Mountains and settled in the Gulf. You figured this was at least a partial explanation for all the weird and unsettling things you’d seen there. What else could you expect from somewhere that had been born from the blood and dirt of gods that were older than the Atlantic? Here, all bets were off, but whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen.

The remainder of the drive passed in what felt like an eternity of that tense and anxious silence when, at last, you arrived at the ferry that would take you from Fort Myers to Key West. From there, you would take a small boat that would take you to Circe’s island, an uncharted islet that held the ancient witch’s home.

On the ferry, Sweeney seemed to come back to himself. He had disappeared the moment you stepped onto the deck and reappeared shortly with snacks and drinks clutched in his hands. He had gotten your favorite snacks from the vending machine along with two hot drinks from the small ferry cafe.

He held your snacks and one of the cups out to you. “Tea,” he grunted. “Help keeps y���from getting sick. Immune system boost or something.”

Whatever remaining anxiety you had from the drive melted away as you took his offerings. “Thank you,” you said, giving him a small smile.

He rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Dunno if you can even get sick, but between the driving and the not sleeping I figure it can’t hurt.”

You inhaled the steam, letting it clear through your sinuses, and sighed contentedly. “Thank you,” you said again.

He nodded and sat down on the opposite bench facing you. “D’you have a plan for when we get there?” he asked.

You chewed on your lower lip. “Beyond just sort of showing up?”

Sweeney groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “Of course you don’t. S’pose you show up and she’s not there? Or s’pose she’s not willing to help?”

“I could ask the same of Maine,” you muttered.

He leaned forward and pointed a finger at you. “Sure, except I do have a plan for Portland.” He sat back. “Do you even have anything for her?” he asked. “You’re smart enough to know that she won’t give help for free.”

You patted your backpack. “I’ve got something I’ve been holding onto for her.”

Sweeney looked at you skeptically. “Like an offering something, or is this another. Gungnir situation?”

You glared at him. “It’s an offering, dickhead,” you snapped. The annoyance from earlier was suddenly back in full force. “Stop acting like I’m completely incompetent.”

“You’re the one that wants to drop in on her with no advance warning,” he pointed out. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Sweeney,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut, “please, just shut up.” As you spoke, a shiver ran up your spine and the tip of your tongue tingled.

He moved to retort angrily, but it seemed that he couldn’t open his mouth. His green eyes bulged and your own widened as he clawed at his throat.

“Th-this isn’t funny,” you stammered.

Sweeney shook his head vigorously. He wasn’t messing with you.

“Fuck.” You tried not to panic. Clearly, this was your fault, but you had no idea how to undo it. Your hands fluttered as you tried to think of how to undo whatever it was that had been cast. “Um…Christ. Fuck, okay, um…speak,” you tried, like he was a dog that could be trained to bark on command. He looked at you in reproach and you winced. “Okay, yeah, sorry. I have no idea how to undo this.”

You tried again and again to no avail, succeeding only in further upsetting yourself. Your hands began to shake and your words stumbled over each other and you couldn’t quite catch your breath and oh god what had you done —

Warm hands covered yours and squeezed gently. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

You swallowed and took a shaky breath. He nodded and took another and you tried to breathe in tandem with him.

Your heart slowed and he nodded. He paused and thought for a moment and then he grabbed a pen and a notepad from your backpack.

“Hey!” you protested, but he paid you no mind as he scribbled something on the page in front of him and handed the notepad to you. You didn’t recognize the word he had written down.

“I have no idea how to pronounce this or what it means,” you told him.

He rolled his eyes and took the pad from you, once again scribbling something before handing it back to you.

You scanned his chicken-scratch writing. “’Just feel it’? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

He gave you a look that said try.

You stared at the page for a moment, not sure where to begin, and then took a deep breath and carefully sounded out the word. Nothing. “Did…did I say it wrong?” you asked cautiously.

He shrugged, which you took to mean It was good enough.

Eyes closed, you leaned back against the sticky brown vinyl of the seat. You knew this likely had to do with the tingling you’d felt when you accidentally cast whatever the hell this was, so you just had to get that back. Reaching forward, you tried again but still felt nothing. You cracked an eye open to see Sweeney staring at you expectantly. It hadn’t worked. Your shoulders sagged with frustration. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “Maybe it’s temporary?” You had been aiming for a light, joking tone, but your voice cracked and you had to press the heels of your trembling hands against your eyes in an effort to stop the dam from breaking. There was a pressure that had been building behind your eyes for several days, all the fear and anxiety and exhaustion piling up and threatening to spill over, but you couldn’t let it. You refused to cry in front of him.

The seat next to you dipped with new weight and you opened your eyes to see that Sweeney had moved to sit next to you. When his eyes met yours, they softened. He wasn’t mad at you, he knew this had been an accident.

Mortifyingly, your eyes began to brim with tears that quickly spilled down your cheeks. You realized that you wanted to hear his voice. You needed to hear him say that you would figure it out because that’s what you always did. You refused to meet his gaze, instead staring straight ahead and willing yourself to stop crying. Then, in a gesture that you had always understood to be unlike him, Sweeney put an arm across your shoulders and gently squeezed you against him.

The dam broke. You slumped against him and turned your face to bury it in his side, tears now flowing freely down your face and soaking into the fabric of his shirt. The feeling that you were overreacting to this comparatively small misstep in the grand scheme of everything else ate at you, but in the smaller scheme of right now, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Your body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds and your hands were trembling.

Sweeney’s thumb gently brushed back and forth over your arm. The callused skin on the pad of his thumb snagged at the looser fibers in the flannel you wore. His head rested on top of yours and his breathing was slow and even. You did your level best to focus on the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest and tried to sync your breath with his. The two of you sat like that for several minutes while you worked to stem the tide flowing from your eyes. Sniffling, you sat upright and swiped at your eyes.

“Maybe Circe can fix it.” You didn’t even bother to hide the misery in your voice. You were exhausted and there was an odd smell in the air that you initially attributed to a general Florida-ferry-scent, but upon further inspection, you realized that the odor was wafting from your own self and Sweeney. Never in your life had you longed for a shower and clean clothes more than you did at that moment.

A second wave of tears overcame you and you folded in on yourself, desperately wishing you could disappear and hating how weak you felt in that moment. You couldn’t even fix your own mistakes, between running to Circe to save you and Sweeney being the reason you had stayed alive long enough to get Gungnir to the old man. Sweeney being the reason you hadn’t died after you escaped the Jötnar and Sweeney being the reason, Sweeney being the reason, Sweeney being the reason. Fuck.

Your shoulders hunched forward and you stared at the linoleum floor of the ferry as you chewed at the dead skin of your nail beds. You didn’t understand why Sweeney was still by your side even after you had dragged him across state lines and nearly killed him. He’d said you were his best friend, sure, but everyone had their limits. How many strikes until you found yourself alone?

Sweeney laid a hand on your shoulder and gave what you could only assume was meant to be a reassuring squeeze, but it only threatened another round of crying. Again, you found yourself surprised at how badly you wanted to hear his voice.

The remainder of the ferry ride was filled with suffocating silence, Sweeney unable to speak and you unwilling. There was nothing you could say that wouldn’t feel depressingly hollow, so you buried your nose in your journal and scribbled down everything that had led to the right now in excruciating detail. You didn’t know if Circe would find it helpful, but you figured it couldn’t hurt. At the very least, she might be able to help you figure out where to even begin to learn to control whatever was happening to you.

The moment you stepped off the ferry, you were submerged into the hot Florida air, which clung to you like a second skin. The palms waved at you merrily and you glared up at their dancing fronds. They were where they belonged and you, most assuredly, were not. You couldn’t help but feel like you were being mocked.

There was a small marina beside the ferry terminal and it was there that the two of you headed next. You led the ginger giant down to where the boats bobbed gently in the saltwater and towards the farthest end of the marina. As you walked past yachts that increased in size the farther you went, you could see Sweeney’s eyes darting excitedly from vessel to vessel. He thought you were leading him to what had to be a spectacular super-yacht, you could tell, and your misery lifted long enough for you to make the decision not to tell him otherwise.

Despite the everything about how you were feeling in that moment, you couldn’t help but snicker when a small and rather dingy sailboat came into view and a look of dawning horror came across his face when he realized that you weren’t going to stop at one of the enormous sleek monstrosities that stood sentry on either side of the walkway.

Approaching the vessel, it became clear that it was even shabbier than it had seemed on first glance. The deep blue paint of the hull, which must have been breathtaking when it was new, was flaked and peeling with bare wood visible in places. The glass of the aft porthole of the cabin was spiderwebbed with cracks and appeared to be held together with duct tape and there was splintered wood everywhere. The gold-painted letters across the stern that had once proudly spelled “Aeaea” now read “Ae e “ in script that was just as faded and peeling as the rest of the boat. You didn’t need to look at Sweeney to know how he felt about your ride and he didn’t need to speak for you to know exactly what he was thinking.

“I know,” you told him, “but she’s never sunk before.”

He gave you a look and you knew then that it wasn’t just the boat that was giving him pause. The witch had turned him into a pig the last time they had crossed paths and there was nothing to say she wouldn’t do it again. You couldn’t really blame him for his reticence.

“I won’t let her turn you into a little pig boy again,” you teased. Both of you knew that it was not within your power to stop Circe from doing anything.

Sweeney’s shoulders hunched with reluctance and you gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the boat, mentally preparing yourself for the possibility of having to body-check him over the rail, but you were pleasantly surprised when he climbed aboard with no complaint. Not that he could complain even if he wanted to, but it was nice that he didn’t try to fight you over it.

The two of you sat on the cracked and yellowed vinyl seats that circled the perimeter of the deck. You folded your hands and waited patiently and Sweeney looked at you, clearly confused as to how this was supposed to work.

“Give it a sec,” you told him.

Sure enough, after a moment the boat lurched forward, its engine coughing and spluttering and belching black smoke. Sweeney’s face told you that he did not think that this was a good idea and you could see his reluctance only increase as the little boat trudged down the jetty. As soon as you were out on open water, a thick, unseasonable fog descended around you, obscuring everything from view.

“This is the only way to the island,” you explained. “I mean, it’s the only one I know of, at any rate. I’m sure there are other ways to get there, but this is the easiest and also the least dangerous.”

He gestured for you to continue.

You huffed out a breath. “Okay, I don’t know how well I can actually explain this, but I’ll do my best. Basically, the island is shielded. You know how in The Magicians, how the school in that has wards on it to keep people from finding it?”

He nodded. You had plowed through those books and made him watch the bad TV adaptation with you, he remembered how it worked.

“It’s not the same shielding, obviously, but it’s the same concept. Circe has a shielding spell on the island that keeps it hidden. The only people that can get to it are people who have been there before. The boat has an enchantment on it that will guide it to the island with the right person.”

You could almost hear his voice demanding that you explain to him how you’d gotten to Aeaea before and you knew that if you didn’t tell him now he would only be annoying about it later.

“You know I spent time with Circe, yeah?”

Sweeney nodded. “Wednesday sent me to her after he found me. I didn’t learn anything major or super helpful, but he had her teach me basic protection magic and some other small things here and there. She was the one who helped me get my feet back under me.”

There was more to the story, and he could tell that you were holding something back, but that was a can of worms for another day. You lapsed into silence and leaned back against the seats and gazed out over the water. Even having been to Aeaea before, your breath still hitched when the fog cleared and the small dot of Circe’s island came into view. Memory had dulled the beauty of this place, you could tell even from a distance. The water that lapped at the hull of the boat was a bright, seemingly impossible shade of cerulean that almost hurt to look at in its brilliance. The fish that swam beside you seemed like something from a dream, so beautiful were they with bright orange crests arcing down their backs and sunlight glinting off of their silvery scales.

You leaned over the side and let your fingers trail in the warm water. A sea turtle slid gracefully through the water, close enough that your fingers could skim its shell, and you couldn’t help but gasp. In doing the work that you did, you saw so much ugly without reprieve and it was easy to forget that there was still beauty and wonder in the world. In spite of it all, there was still beauty. Even the little boat looked new, whatever enchantment that had disguised it now lifted, its blue paint glossy and no longer peeling and the wood polished to a mirror shine. The cracked porthole was now in one piece and the vinyl on the seats was now a soft beige and looked brand new.

You closed your eyes and tilted your face skyward, taking a deep inhale of the clean salt air. The rays of the sun warmed your cheeks and seagulls wheeled through the sky at incredible heights and you opened your eyes to watch them. You envied their freedom. They didn’t have to do anything, no one ever asked anything of them. They were free to go where they wanted when they wanted and answered to no one. You’d have liked to be a bird. When you had asked him about it, Sweeney had said that he didn’t remember much of his time as one, but he remembered the freedom and the feeling of soaring through the air, weightless and free.

You looked to the island. Now that you were closer, you were able to see some of the animals that lived among everyone there and among the bustle of the witches on the beach. You’d have liked to be an animal. You’d have liked to be anything other than…whatever it was you were. It was a cruelty, in some ways, that you had been given this life and this form. You looked to Sweeney, curious what was on his mind as you approached the white beaches, and found that his gaze was already burning into you.

The moment your eyes met his shocking green ones, all thoughts of wishing you had been made differently evaporated.

Sweeney looked away from you quickly and scratched the back of his neck. That moment passed in the space of a heartbeat, but you didn’t think you were imagining the flush that was creeping up from under his collar.

Before you could dwell on it for too long, the small vessel glided neatly to its dock. Waiting to greet you were three gorgeous women with jet black hair and clear gray eyes. They smiled at you in unison and you could see rows of needle sharp teeth, stark white against pink mouths. These women had been at the docks when you had last arrived years ago. They’d made your skin crawl then and they made your skin crawl now.

“She’s been expecting you,” they said as one. Their voices made your frontal lobe buzz unpleasantly. Their mouths moved, but their words felt as though they were being beamed directly into your mind. Judging from Sweeney’s grimace, he felt it too.

You cleared your throat and regained your bearings. “She knew I was coming?”

Sweeney moved to stand behind you and once again you were grateful for the solidity of him in the face of the Gray Women.

The Gray Women said nothing more, only turned and began to walk down the dock towards the beach. A look passed between you and the leprechaun before you followed. The sisters (Were they sisters? You’d never been sure.) led you to a cobbled path that ended at an enormous manor. It was an elegant building that you could only imagine was what the home she had grown up in looked like. Its façade of soaring columns and well-polished stones supported snaking vines with fragrant blossoms that were as big as your fist and there were gas light fixtures on either side of the massive oak doors that were banded with iron and sported heavy brass door knockers that had been cast in the heads of lions, their jaws agape in mighty roars.

The tallest of the three women raised one of the lion heads and let it fall against the oak with a boom that echoed through the house.

After a moment, the doors swung open of their own accord and you were hit with a gust of incense-perfumed air and woodsmoke. The women gave you one more eerie smile before vanishing back the way you had come and you stepped inside.

Sweeney moved to follow you, but you turned and placed a hand on his chest. “Maybe you should wait here,” you told him. “You know how she can be.”

He looked as though he very much wanted to protest and shook his head vigorously. He was not going to let you talk to the witch alone.

You patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” you promised and walked down the hallway. You could feel Sweeney’s glare boring a hole in the back of your head.

Though it had been a while, you still remembered the layout of Circe’s home. It was approaching late afternoon and you knew she would be taking her tea in front of her hearth in the great-room as she attended to her rituals and the hearth would not be difficult to find.

You dodged the dryads that bustled around the halls, their hands full with rich fabrics, decadent dishes, and wine in jugs made from the most beautiful ceramic you’d ever seen. The walls were hung with vivd tapestries and patterned with intricate mosaics, both holding images that were so lifelike you half expected them to leap out at you. Treasures on pedestals lined the walls and glinted in the warm light of the sun. Carved chests were tucked into corners and soft rugs padded the cold stone floors. You ran your fingers along the cool marble of the windowsills and traced the intricate scrollwork of the wooden shutters. Undeniably, the home of the sorceress was breathtaking, but there was a cold, hard feeling that lurked beneath it all. You supposed centuries of forced exile would do that to a person.

Eventually, you got to where you wanted to be and, as expected, when you rounded the corner she was sat before the fire at her loom, her fingers deftly sending the shuttlecock back and forth with a glimmering thread. Another woman sat adjacent to her with her back to you. You couldn’t see her face but her auburn hair was intricately braided and threaded with silver beads. She waved her hand as if to illustrate a point and you saw silver rings adorning long slender fingers that were covered in inked symbols that were too small for you to make out.

From your backpack, you retrieved the bottle of 1869 Château Lafite that had been packed carefully at the bottom of your bag and set it on the long cypress table. You contemplated knocking on the table to make yourself known, but Circe spoke before you could.

“It’s rude to stare,” she said calmly without looking up from what she was doing. “Either speak or leave.” Her voice was cool and carried through the space so that it sounded like she was right next to you. You had never once heard the witch raise her voice, but she always made herself heard.

You picked up the bottle and made your way to the hearth, your cheeks burning. Like the rest of the house, the grand room was a thing of beauty: the high ceilings boasted intricate frescoes of what you knew to be scenes from The Odyssey. Columns stretched from floor to ceiling, the tops of which curled into delicate scrolls. Two stone lions bracketed the enormous fireplace and you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching you as you moved, and more rich tapestries hung on the walls. You could see threads of gold gleaming among the royal purples and bloody crimsons. Despite the oppressive heat of the day, there was a roaring fire blazing merrily before them.

“I apologize Teacher,” you said sheepishly.

She eyed the bottle of wine in your hands.

“Is that the 1869 Château?” she asked. Her eyes shone hungrily with the promise of an offering.

You nodded. “Yes.”

She snatched it from you. “Oh, well done indeed.”

You cleared your throat. “I know I come without invitation, but—“

“Dear one, have you met my friend?” She spoke as though you hadn’t said a word.

“I — no, ma’am.”

Circe indicated the woman beside her, who smiled at you kindly. Her ice blue eyes glinted and her smile actually reached her eyes. “This is Angrboda. She’s a dear friend and a fellow practitioner of the craft.”

At the woman’s name, your blood ran cold. The old man had told you stories about this witch. Mother of Fenrir and Jormungandr. Loki’s wife. A force to be reckoned with above all else, who had died at the hands of the Æsir more than once but now sat five feet from you. And yet, the woman before you didn’t seem as cold and wretched as Wednesday had made her out to be. Those sparkling eyes had crow’s feet and there were smile lines around her small mouth. This was a woman that smiled often, even with the aching sorrow you could see behind the twinkling in her eyes. You liked her immediately.

You gave Angrboda your name and she inclined her head.

“Pleased to meet you.” She was soft-spoken, her voice gentle and delicate, but like her Greek counter, she radiated power and authority.

“Likewise. Teacher, you —“

Circe held up a hand. “I know what you’re here to ask. Where’s that ginger giant of yours?”

You ground your teeth. “I left him in the front hall. I didn’t want to risk offense and, forgive me, but he’s still a little skittish after last time.”

She scoffed and tossed her head. “He ran his mouth, I set him right. The man has nothing to fear as long as he minds his manners. He’ll be brought in shortly, I should think.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

At that moment, the doors at the end of the hall banged open and Sweeney strode through, looking for all the world as if he owned the place. A harried dryad trailed after him but Circe waved her away and she made a quick retreat.

“Mad Sweeney!” Circe exclaimed in delight. She stood and spread her arms to hug him. “Lovely to see you,” she said, kissing him on both cheeks. It almost sounded like she meant it, but you didn’t miss the glimmer of disgust in her eyes.

Sweeney raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and surprise flitted across her face. For a split second the witch was visibly annoyed, but she quickly wiped her face and plastered on a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No biting comment?” she teased. “Am I not worth your words, great king?”

You tensed but Circe waved her hand. “Sit down.”

An invisible force yanked you into one of the high-backed chairs like you were attached to a string.

Circe approached Sweeney, inspecting him like he was one of her cattle.

“Oh, now this is interesting,” she remarked. She prodded his jaw. “You can’t speak at all, can you?”

Sweeney’s face remained impassive. Circe waved Angrboda over. “Boda, come look at this.”

Angrboda rose from her seat and crossed the room with impossible grace. Her pale fingers delicately probed along Sweeney’s jawline and down his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped and you snorted derisively. Not that you could blame him though, Angrboda was otherworldly in her beauty.

“This is wonderful work,” she murmured, forcing Sweeney’s jaw open so Circe could stick her fingers in his mouth and poke around in his cheeks and under his tongue.

Circe removed her fingers and took a step back. “It’s rudimentary and a little crude, but it’s clean and to the point.”

Angrboda hummed. “It does feel unintentional, but it’s better work than some of your novitiates.”

The Greek witch turned to you. “Is this your doing?” You nodded. “I thought it felt familiar,” she said, more to herself than to you, “but if it is, it is stronger than it used to be.” She sniffed the air. “You smell different, too. Much more wild.”

You blinked at her.

“I don’t think they’ve come to be told they stink,” Angrboda said gently.

Circe cleared her throat. “Right. Why have you brought him to me? I know that this alone isn’t what brought you back to my shores.”

You swallowed. “I was hoping you could remove the enchantment. Please.”

She pretended to think hard. “I don’t see why I should. I like him better this way anyway. All of the strong and handsome brooding with none of the insufferable speaking.”

“I need him to help me find answers,” you said.

The witch looked at you in a way that made you feel naked and exposed. “It’s your spell, you should be able to do it yourself.”

Your eyes were glued to the floor and you let the sole of your boot scuff across the textured surface. She knew you well enough to know exactly why you hadn’t undone this, she just wanted to hear you say it.

“I haven’t…been able to,” you said reluctantly.

She scoffed. “You cast it, didn’t you? You can remove it.”

“The casting was unintentional,” you snapped. “I haven’t been able to figure out how to undo it. I don’t even know how it happened in the first place!”

“Did my teachings mean nothing?” Circe demanded. “Did nothing stick in that thick head of yours? I’ve seen you cast. You’re more than capable.”

“Only defenses and wards,” you protested. “It’s never been like this before.”

Angrboda regarded you carefully. “This unintentional magic, is it a recent development?” she asked. You nodded and she turned to Circe. “That could account for the wild smell, but why now?”

Circe scratched her chin and looked at you. “Have you had any particularly traumatic experiences lately?”

“Broad question,” you muttered.

“Let me rephrase. Have you had any experiences recently that go beyond what you would typically encounter?”

You looked to Sweeney, unsure it was safe, but he shrugged and nodded. Might as well, his body said. You reached around to hike up the back of your shirt to show the witches what the Jötnar had done. There were sharp intakes of breath as they took in the ruined flesh of your back, which was already beginning to scar over. Circe’s face hardened but Angrboda’s eyes went wide.

“Nine hells, it was you,” she realized.

Circe’s gaze snapped to Angrboda. “Explain,” she demanded.

Angrboda’s eyes didn’t leave your back. “I heard a rumor about a week back that one of the All-Father’s people had been taken by the Jötnar. They said they had trespassed and stolen something valuable.”

“Is it stealing if they stole it in the first place?” you muttered.

Angrboda ignored you. “I had no idea this is what they were doing.” Her voice was strained as she spoke. “Talk about traumatic. Child, I am so sorry.”

Circe bent to examine your wounds more closely. “I can heal the rest, but I can’t do anything about the scarring,” she said as she ran her fingers lightly over the angry intersecting cuts. “Boda, you said this was a week ago?”

Angrboda nodded and you piped up to confirm, “I broke out around then and found him.” You pointed to Sweeney.

Circe raised an eyebrow. “He was nearby?”

You nodded and she put you under that scrutinizing gaze. “Quite a stroke of luck, isn’t it?”

You shrugged. “I’d be dead if I hadn’t found him, so I’m choosing not to question it. We’ve got more pressing issues.”

Circe straightened. “I see. And I’m sure that you’ve figured out that you’re healing much faster than you should be?”

You nodded again and she turned to Angrboda. The two began conversing rapidly in a language you didn’t understand. When they had apparently reached a conclusion, Circe’s attention came back to you. “We have much to discuss and what remains of the day is passing us by. Let’s get started.”

She swept past you and Sweeney glared at you and coughed into his fist. Circe huffed in annoyance.

“Oh, right. Are you sure you want to undo this?” she asked you. “I really do prefer him this way.”

“Yes, please,” you said. “He’s…he’s my friend,” you finished lamely.

The knowing look on Angrboda’s face only served to add to the awkward anxiety that was railing against your mind.

Circe heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Fine. I’ll show you how so you can fix your own mess next time. You,” Circe pointed at you, “I need you to tell me exactly what happened in the moments that led up to the unintentional casting.”

Wordlessly, you reached into your backpack and handed her your journal. She took it from you with a raised eyebrow and flipped through the pages you had written on the ferry. When she finished she handed your journal back and looked between the two of you.

“You tried in English and Irish?”

You nodded.

“What did it feel like when you spoke the words?”

You didn’t understand and said as much.

“When you spoke the words that cast this and when you tried to undo it, how did it feel?” Circe asked, the way you would ask a small child a question with an obvious answer.

“Like…emotionally or physically?”

“Physically.” Her tone indicated a strained sense of patience.

You shook out your hand, remembering the pins and needles feeling that had danced across your tongue and the chill that had run through you. “It felt weird. Like, my tongue got kind of tingly and it felt like something was slithering up my spine.”

Angrboda nodded. “That’s the magic.”

“What about when you tried to undo it?” Circe asked.

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

She clicked her tongue and walked around you in a slow circle. “You were trying too hard,” she said as she came to a halt in front of you. “When you said it the first time, you did it without thinking. On instinct, no matter how endearingly misguided. The second time, though, you were trying too hard. You have to simply let yourself feel it.” Circe directed the two of you to stand before the fireplace and face each other. When you were arranged to her liking, you were staring into his green eyes. This close, you could see the faint ring of gold that circled his pupil between the black and the bright green and the freckles that were splashed across the bridge of his nose and scattered across his cheeks and his forehead.

You swallowed nervously.

“You also need to believe that this will work and that you can do it,” she said pointedly.

“I get it,” you muttered.

“Watch it,” the witch said sharply. Sweeney’s jaw flexed and you knew him well enough to know he was suppressing a smirk. Circe reached out and cuffed you both upside the head. “I can still send you both back where you came from,” she reminded you. You mumbled a sheepish apology. “The Irish word that he gave you, say that again, but this time chew on it. Feel the shape of the word and how your intentions mold it. Hold those intentions in your mind, look at him and hear his voice as you speak the word aloud.”

You closed your eyes and did as she said before speaking the word, but nothing happened and your shoulders sagged.

“See, it doesn’t work,” you told her, unable to keep the frustration from your voice. “If we keep going it’ll just piss me off.”

“You think if you don’t get it on the first go it won’t ever work? I never took you to be a quitter.” Circe’s voice was mocking and Angrboda glared at her sharply.

“It’s like anything else,” the Norsewoman told you, infinitely more patient than your hostess and teacher. “You need to practice.”

“Do it again,” Circe ordered.

You clenched your jaw and tamped down your growing frustration. Sweeney reached out and guided your eyes closed with the callused tips of his fingers and then took one of your hands in his and pressed the tips of your fingers against his chapped lips.

Your eyes flew open in surprise, but the sight of his face so close to yours was so disorienting that you quickly closed them again. Just feel it. You reached deep within yourself for the feeling from before and poured as much of your will into it as you could. You allowed yourself to feel its meaning beyond the literal translation. What it meant to you in that moment, and in that moment it meant his crude jokes, the obnoxious laughter, and his voice. Loathe though you were to admit it, it meant the feeling of safety that you had somehow come to find in that stupid brogue. You didn’t ever think you would miss it, but now that his voice was gone it was fucking untenable. He needed it back. You needed it back.

“Labhair.”

The word fell from your lips as naturally and as easily as breathing and you felt it. The tingle on your tongue and the chill down your spine, but this time it felt like it was twisting up and around your spinal cord and flooding your brain. The point of contact between your finger and Sweeney’s lips grew uncomfortably warm and you jerked away like you had been shocked, but as quickly as it arrived, the feeling dissipated. Green eyes met yours and your fingers tapped nervously against your thigh. You held your breath and you watched each other carefully. He was silent for what felt like an eternity and tears of frustration and disappointment pricked at the corners of your eyes. You covered your face with your hands.

“Sure you’re not after crying again, are you?”

Your head shot up so quickly you nearly broke your neck. Sweeney had an enormous shit-eating grin that nearly split his face in two plastered firmly in place.

“It worked?” you asked hoarsely.

“Unless I’m being puppeted,” he said easily, “I’d say looks like.”

Your knees jellied with relief. Part of you, a part that you had refused to fully acknowledge, had been afraid that it couldn’t be undone, but you had done it. You hugged him tightly, burying your face in his chest and gripping he fabric of his shirt so tightly that it was a wonder it didn’t tear in your fists.

Sweeney huffed out a laugh as his arms wrapped around you. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and you both missed the look that passed between Circe and the Norse witch.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

He palmed your forehead and gave you a playful shove.

“No blood, no foul,” he said simply.

To your exasperation, your eyes began to well once again.

Circe waved her hands. “Enough of that. We’ve fixed one problem, but I know that wasn’t all you came here for. You want to know what’s happening to you.”

You nodded. “This keeps happening. Magic that I can’t explain, incantations that I never learned.” You told her about the Bocánaigh in Missouri and the incantations that pulled themselves from somewhere deep inside you. Circe listened, the crease between her brows growing more defined the longer you spoke.

When you finished, the witch remained silent, though her fingers tapped nervously along her staff. She regarded you carefully as she chewed on the inside of her cheek, seemingly deep in thought.

“I don’t know that I can give you all of the answers you need,” she said at length, “but I think I may be able to offer some assistance. Come.” She swept from the hall with Angrboda in step beside her and led you back outside to the path that had led you up from the beach. You followed it further inland, taking a fork in the packed earth that led you to a sizable pristine white tent. Circe held one of the flap doors aside and gestured for you to step through. Inside, you realized that you were in the island’s infirmary. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, impossibly bright, with thuribles hung between them and from those drifted rivers of smoke that were scented with lavender and frankincense. The stone floor had been polished to a gleam and there was a stream that cut through it, neatly separating the space into two sides. One had a row of beds that were neatly made with creamy linen sheets, while the other held what appeared to be exam tables.

Circe exchanged a few words with her sister witch and kissed her on both cheeks before following you inside as Angrboda went back the way you had come. “She’s going to see if any of her sisters might know anything about this,” Circe told you, answering the unasked question in your eyes. “As for you—“ She grabbed your shoulders and sat you in a plush armchair, whose immense royal blue cushions threatened to swallow you. “You,” she pointed at Sweeney, “outside.”

He snorted. “Like hell.”

“I wasn’t asking,” she said icily.

You looked up at him and tugged gently on the hem of his jacket. “It’s okay,” you said quietly.

He knelt before you and put a massive hand over your knee. “I don’t like it, mo grá,” he murmured. “I don’t trust her.”

You let your forehead rest against his. “We don’t have a choice,” you said softly. “I’m a big kid, I’ll be okay.”

Sweeney sighed and stood. “I’ll be right outside. If anything happens—“

“You’ll come charging in, I’m sure,” Circe said in a tone that conveyed utter boredom.

He shot her a glare and stood and gave you a pat on the shoulder before taking his leave. You watched him disappear through the canvas. You’d been feeling different in his presence since he had stitched you up almost two weeks ago, and it had only gotten worse since he’d kissed you. No longer was he the obnoxious and barely tolerable coworker that you’d put up with out of necessity. After nearly two weeks of his constant presence, you should have wanted to claw his eyes out, but to your mild horror, you realized that the thought of being separated from him now nearly made you nauseous. Two weeks that had felt like a lifetime.

“I truly don’t understand why you keep that troglodyte around,” Circe huffed after he had gone.

“He saved my life,” you murmured as you toyed with a loose thread in the arm of the chair. “More than once.”

She clicked her tongue. “Be that as it may, he’s crass and indelicate and I find him grating. Here, drink.” She had busied herself preparing a tonic, which she presented to you in a steaming willow-pattered mug. You inhaled the vapor and nearly choked on the foul scent of it.

Poison, hissed a voice in the back of your mind. Your head snapped up and your gaze shot to Circe. The chill, ethereal beauty of the sorceress was gone. Her flashing golden eyes had become the same sightless, weeping black pits that you’d seen on Sweeney’s face the day before. It oozed down her cheeks, the skin there now pitted and scarred. The planes of her face seemed to be melting, her skin turning a livid red before settling into a foul necrotic black as it sloughed off of her bones. Her fiery hair hung lank and matted and you were able to make out lice and squirming maggots weaving in between the strands on her scalp.

You knew in your bones that this witch was trying to poison you. She would not let you leave Aeaea alive.

You screamed, a horrible and inhuman sound that tore from your throat.

Sweeney burst into the tent, green eyes wild and searching for you, but you were already up and scrambling away. Like Circe, his face was twisted and terrible. They both sneered at you as they approached you.

They’re going to kill you. The voice was wailing now. You gripped your hair as your heart hammered against your ribs so hard you feared it would burst from your chest. Sweeney made for you, but you dodged his outstretched hand and somersaulted away from them both. You came up on the other side of them white-knuckling the knife that had been in your boot and sobbing with fear.

Sweeney was trying to say something to you, but you screamed in his face, drowning out his voice. He tried again to approach you. You lashed out and kicked him square in the chest and his breath left him with an oof. But even with the wind knocked from his lungs, he still managed to catch the next kick you aimed at him and pull you towards him in the same movement. His other hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, twisting and forcing you to drop the knife to avoid your bones being snapped.

You flailed in his hold, but he was still bigger and stronger than you were. Circe pointed at one of the tables and Sweeney hauled you bodily onto its surface. He pinned your hands to your sides and sat astride your torso, effectively holding the rest of you in place even as you bucked your hips and thrashed beneath him in an effort to unseat his massive frame and free yourself.

Your face was slick with sweat and tears. Your hair was plastered to your forehead and you tasted blood. You must have bitten your tongue, but you didn’t feel it and you didn’t care. You had to escape. Fear forced your throat to constrict, threatening to choke you with it and swallow you whole. Every nerve in your body burned. Sweeney was shouting at you, something you didn’t understand, and Circe was barking orders to the dryad nurses, but you processed none of it. Fear, animalistic and primal, had consumed you and erased all else.

Scream after scream ripped from your throat and tears that weren’t yours dripped onto your cheeks from above. You were going to die here, pinned and cornered like a wounded animal. Eventually your voice gave out and the only sound you could make was a pathetic keening as you writhed in the leprechaun’s grasp.

Then Circe was there, her face hovering inches from yours, and she was wrenching your jaw open and pouring something warm and oily down your throat. You had a moment to register Sweeney’s stricken, tearstained face before you rolled over and voided the contents of your stomach. After that, everything went black.

You woke tucked into the white linen sheets of one of the infirmary beds. The sky outside had darkened to a deep purple and you wondered how long you’d been out.

What the hell had happened? You had been fine one moment and the next you were being choked by overwhelming terror that—

Oh. The Dark Man. He had found you here, somehow, and filled your mind with abject terror. It had been him in the car, turning your leprechaun into something straight from a nightmare.

You desperately wanted to cry, but you were too spent to do even that. Your whole body ached and you felt as though your bones were made of stone. A memory swam before you: Sweeney’s tearstained face, twisted and grotesque and…scared. He had been afraid of you. You squeezed your eyes shut and let your head fall back against the pillows, wanting badly to disappear where no one could ever find you again.

A dryad bustled into the room with fresh linens. When she saw that you were awake, she smiled pleasantly, but her stance was still guarded.

“You’re awake!” she said brightly. “You gave us all quite a fright. How do you feel?” Her voice was soft and musical and carried the clipped vowels that you had come to associate with the tree nymphs.

“Sore,” you said truthfully, “and a little freaked out.”

She moved to stand at your bedside and briskly began checking your pulse, your skin, your throat.

“But none of the terror from before?” she asked as she peeled back one of your eyelids and peered intently into your eye with a penlight. You noticed that her eyes were green, but not the same green that you were used to. Your green eyes were the color of lush, sprawling leas. The eyes of this nymph were the deep green of oak leaves. You could smell the forest on her.

“No ma’am.”

The dryad straightened and scribbled something on her notepad. “Well, physically you seem all right. Circe will be pleased you’re awake.”

“Is my friend okay?” you asked.

“You mean that beefy leprechaun?”

You flushed and nodded.

“He’s fine,” she said dismissively. “Worried himself sick over you and Circe had to bar him from the infirmary just so he would get out of our way.” She shook her head. “He refused to let you out of his sight.”

You chewed on your lip. “Can I see him?”

She shook her head. “Not until Circe has had a chance to speak with you.”

You stared down as your hands, folded together in your lap, and deflated a little. “Oh.” Your voice was small.

Your nurse looked at you pityingly. “We’ve been given instructions not to tell him you’re awake.”

Her gaze was sandpaper against your skin.

“Okay.” Even to your own ears, your voice was hollow. “Could you get her?”

“I’ll let her know you’re awake, but she’s busy on the other side of the island. It may be a little bit.”

You laid back and stared at the canvas ceiling. Your eyes traced the curls of smoke that drifted from the golden thuribles. Couldn’t catch a fucking break. You were beginning to get angry, but it was the sort of anger that had no outlet. Anger that could direct itself at no one and so reflected inwards.

No. That wasn’t right. There was someone. The old man.

Your life had never exactly been easier for him being in it, but the recent string of bullshit you’d had to survive was almost entirely his fault. That one-eyed cunt.

“Okay,” you said again.

She nodded and left the tent, leaving you feeling small and alone.

After what felt like an eternity but likely was no more than an hour or two, Circe appeared.

“Hello child,” she greeted you, calm and unbothered.

You swallowed. “Teacher.”

She sat at the edge of your bed and presented you with a cup of the same malodorous tonic she had tried to give you before.

“It’s not poison,” she said, sensing your trepidation. “It’s not a hallucinogenic, either. It’s only some herbs meant to help you relax.”

Still not entirely convinced, you knocked it back all the same, your eyes watering at the taste. You coughed. “Christ, that’s foul.” But the witch hadn’t lied. As soon as it passed your lips, a soothing warmth spread through your limbs to the ends of your fingers and toes. You could feel your muscles relax as all of the tension and stress you had been carrying melted away, leaving you feeling lighter than you had in ages. You sighed.

“Better?” Circe asked.

You nodded. “How long was I out?”

“Almost two days. Your leprechaun has been insufferable.

You managed a weak smile. “Sounds like him.”

“Mhm.” Circe regarded you carefully. “What happened?” Her voice was soft and it made you want to throw something.

“You don’t need to speak to me like I’m made of spun glass,” you snapped. “I’m not going to fall apart just because someone used the wrong tone.”

“You tried to kill me and your friend because I gave you a tonic that smelled bad,” she said cooly. “I apologize if I attempt to be cautious.”

You said nothing.

“What happened?” she asked again.

You spread your hands in front of you, palms up, helplessly. “Do you really need to ask?”

A shadow crossed her face. “I’d hoped we were wrong,” she said heavily. “He shouldn’t have been able to find you here. I’ll need to reinforce the wards and I’ll see if I can’t add something to your defenses.

A horrible thought occurred to you. “Did I hurt anyone?”

Circe sighed. “Your knife caught that boy in the arm and he needed stitches, but aside from that, no,” came the reply.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes.

She placed a hand on your knee. “It’s all right, child. He’ll heal. As for yourself,” she stood and circled the bed so that she was standing behind you, “there’s some things that need to be figured out.” She took your head between her cool hands, her slender fingers at your temples and just beneath the place where your jaw met your ears. She applied the smallest amount of pressure and you could sense her magic reaching out, trying to connect with yours.

The witch made a noise of frustration. “There’s a wall,” she murmured, more to herself than you. “Someone’s put up powerful wards, but if I prod it just right, I may be able to—“ Her fingers flexed and you could feel her poke at a place in your mind that you hadn’t even known existed. The moment she touched it, you pitched forward and vomited over the side of the bed and all over the polished stone floor.

“Oh dear.” Circe gently patted your back as your body heaved like it was trying to expel your stomach. After a few moments it passed and you looked at her with bloodshot eyes. You had never seen her look so concerned.

Sweeney chose that moment to burst in, looking panicked. His eyes widened when he saw you, but before he could do anything stupid, one of the dryad nurses shoved him back outside.

Circe beckoned the nurse, who approached with a crystalline glass of water that smelled faintly of mint and soothed the burning in your throat and calmed your stomach as you sipped it carefully.

“What the hell was that?” you managed to rasp once the glass was empty.

Circe furrowed her dark brows, her bright golden eyes distant. “A memory spell,” she said slowly, as though she was testing how the idea sounded out loud. “A powerful one.”

You blinked. “Can you undo it?”

She prodded again at the same spot, more gently this time but still enough to make a wave of nausea sweep over you, making you groan.

“I think the only one that can is the one who cast it,” came the reply. “The failsafes on this…I’ve never seen work like this. Someone really didn’t want you to remember whatever it was that they shut away.” She stood to face you and took your face in her hands, her narrow golden gaze examining you intently. “You don’t remember anything from before Wednesday?”

You shook your head. “I was actually hoping you might. Somehow. He sent me here after he found me, I thought maybe…” you trailed off and your shoulders slumped, the weight of your exhaustion returning. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking.” This was never going to work. If Circe couldn’t give you what you needed, if an ancient sorceress like her didn’t know, what hope did you have?

Circe gave a quick command in Greek and the nurse that had brought you the mint water left, reappearing momentarily with Sweeney in tow. His right forearm was wrapped in crisp white linen, but you could already see he was beginning to bleed through it. Your chest constricted painfully. You had done that to him. He looked at Circe expectantly.

“Well?”

“You might want to try manners sometime,” she said drily. “You’d be amazed at what it can do for you.”

Sweeney made a face and you shot him a warning glance.

Circe pretended not to notice. “What is up in your mind is a barrier of sorts,” she told you. “It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever seen, but parts of the casting feel familiar.” You waited, but she did not elaborate. “There’s someone who may be able to help where I cannot.” Her eyes flicked too Sweeney and then back to you. “Do you know the Morrigan?”

You didn’t need to look at Sweeney to know that he was giving a good run for the world record for “most smug grin.”

“If you say anything, I swear I will let her turn you into a pig and I will leave you here,” you snapped.

Circe raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve already discussed that option, then,” she observed. “May I ask why you chose my island instead?”

You looked at the floor. “I felt better about someone I knew digging around in my skull.”

Circe hummed. “Well, touching as that is, whatever is going on is much more akin to their particular branch of magic. They will be better equipped to give you what you need.”

Circe saw the two of you down to the docks and watched as you boarded the small boat that had brought you to the island.

“Remember,” she told you, “see the sisters in Maine. Use your magic as little as possible until you get to them, otherwise you’ll as good as tell him where you are.”

You nodded and she patted your cheek. “Sweeney,” she called over your shoulder. “Do try to get them there in one piece.”

He snorted but stayed silent, to your immense relief.

. . .

She watched from the shore as the boat disappeared beyond the horizon and the island’s wards. Her old wolf sat beside her in the sand.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” the wolf asked. Her voice was low and rumbling. Circe imagined she could see the grains of sand dance whenever the wolf spoke.

The witch buried her hand in the thick fur along the scruff of her friend’s neck. “I couldn’t,” she said softly. “It wouldn’t have helped even if I could. They wouldn’t understand.”

“You can’t know—“

“You misunderstand me,” Circe said sharply. “The wards in their mind…any attempt to tell them anything would have been distorted. I physically cannot.”

The wolf’s yellow eyes scrutinized her mistress before turning her gaze back to the water. “What will happen to them?”

Circe shook her head. “Would that I knew. I can only hope they get there in the end. We will need them for what’s to come.”

Tagged: @kind-wolf @imaginethatneathuhpartdos @cosmiccandydreamer

[ramblingoak]

Ratte Art

A little drabble set in an au where Omega runs a coffee shop called The Ghouls Den. (Thank you to the amazing @writingjourney for the art!)

~ Omega helps Copia deal with a customer that doesn't appreciate his latte art ~

Copia x GN Reader (coffeeshop au, background Terzo x Omega, nothing but fluff here, sfw, 1,300 words, not beta read)

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Omega had owned The Ghouls Den for almost 10 years now. 

He named it after the mascot of the local college, a place that held a lot of sentimental value for him.  For almost four years he had been the captain of their rugby team.  It all came crashing down when he’d injured his knee and was told he wouldn’t be able to play his favorite sport ever again.  So he ended up being forced to fall back on the business degree he had half-heartedly been working on.  

The coffee shop was right on the edge of campus.  It was his favorite place to study and eventually the owner threw an apron at him and told him if he was gonna be there all the time he might as well earn some money.  So he slowly began to learn how to make all sorts of caffeinated beverages as well as all the ins and outs of running a coffee shop.  When he graduated the owner offered him a chance to buy the place and Omega couldn’t think of a reason to tell him no.

There was only one thing that would have stopped him from buying the place (besides a severe lack of money).  Although it wasn’t so much a thing as it was a person: Terzo Emeritus.  He and Omega had met in their first year of college and despite a rocky start it didn’t take long for them to realize they were meant for each other.  Terzo was there when Omega hurt his knee and had to face the harsh truth of never playing rugby again and Omega was there when Terzo’s father, Nihil, cut him off.

Thankfully Terzo was an extremely talented artist and with his income from selling his pieces to Omega’s income from The Ghouls Den they both lived a very comfortable life.  Terzo sometimes worked at the shop (although Omega would use the term ‘work’ very loosely), but the majority of the other employees were college students.  His newest employee was hired as a favor for Terzo.  He had waltzed into the shop one day dragging a guy behind him.  Omega had vaguely recognized him, but the sideburns and mustache were definitely new.

College is for experimentation afterall.  

He hadn’t been very confident in Copia’s barista abilities at first.  Or his customer service abilities.  The guy seemed way too anxious for his own good.  After a few extremely iffy shifts Omega had decided to schedule him with Aurora during the mornings.  The perfect companion for Copia while he learned the ropes. She was his best employee, personable and quick.  Although she was a terror with sprinkles and ever since she had started Omega had been forced to double his order for them every week to keep up with her.  

Omega’s biggest worry was how Copia would handle a rude customer.  Most of the folks that came in were pretty chill.  Everyone wanted to be nice to the people providing caffeine.  But every now and then you’d get someone that seemed to be itching for a fight no matter how stupid the reason was.  Unfortunately this morning would be the real test because Omega had been pulled out of his office by the shouts of a woman from the front of the shop.  She was squared off against Copia, wearing a business suit that probably cost more than his monthly rent.  He observed for a few moments to figure out what was going on and once he did, Omega had to turn around to hide his laughter.

“Why would I want a rat in my latte?!”

“Technically it’s on your latte.”

Poor Copia, he seemed genuinely bewildered as to why this woman didn’t like his latte art. 

“Rats are pests!  They’re disgusting!”

Copia immediately straightened up and squared his shoulders.

“Rats are actually some of the most intelligent and cleanest creatures in the world.”

“Well I still don’t want one on my latte.”  While Copia just stood frozen in place Omega could see her gear up and he knew the next thing out of her mouth was gonna involve asking for him so he decided to intervene.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

He had honed his customer service voice many years ago although anyone that knew him well enough could tell he was annoyed.  Aurora was definitely one of those because out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn around, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“Yes this idiot seems to think putting a picture of a rat on top of my latte was a good idea.”

He was really glad Terzo wasn’t here right now.  Terzo had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to Copia and Omega knew this woman would’ve been wearing the latte if he had heard her insult his little brother.  Omega was angry enough on his own and all of his fake niceties flew out the window.

“My apologies ma’am, I’m sorry you didn’t like the rat.  We’ll skip the art next time.”

“That’s all I get?  An apology?!  You’re not going to offer to fix it or even refund me?”  

The woman’s voice was getting more shrill with each word and the line of customers behind her was growing.  He always hated dealing with this shit, but he hated giving in to rude people more.   

“You want me to fix it?  Fine.”  Omega reached around Copia and grabbed a small straw.  He plunked it into the cup and gave it a quick stir.  As the poor rat disappeared Copia sighed next to him.  Omega clapped a hand on his back before addressing the woman again.  “There, the rat’s gone.  Next!”

No one in the shop moved for a moment as they waited to see what the woman would do.  Omega was really hoping he wouldn’t have to call campus security on her.  When she finally moved it was to dump the latte all over the counter.  With a frustrated growl she turned and started shoving past the other customers towards the door.  She had just made it outside when Aurora shoved her way in between Omega and Copia, shouting after her as loud as she could.

“Have the day you deserve!”  The woman’s gasp was cut off as the door shut behind her.  “What a bitch.  I can help the next customer!”

Aurora gave Copia a quick hug and then scooted back to her register.  Copia was quiet as he grabbed some towels and started to sop up the spilled mess.

“Hey, you ok Copia?” 

“Si, si.  I’m fine.”  

Omega was pretty sure he wasn’t fine, but he didn’t want to push.  

“Don’t let someone like that bother you.  They just enjoy making everyone around them miserable.”  Copia nodded as he finished wiping the counter off.  “But maybe don’t do any more rat art, ok?”

“Yeah, you’re prob—“

“Actually I’d love a rat on my latte!”  Omega, Copia and Aurora all turned to stare at the customer that had spoken up.  They actually appeared to be blushing a bit when their eyes met Copia’s.  With a little shrug they walked up to the counter.  “Rats are my favorite animal.”

Copia’s mouth fell open and Omega was pretty sure if this was a cartoon there would be hearts coming out of the younger Emeritus’s eyes.  Another good reason Terzo wasn’t here.  The teasing would be relentless.  Omega would have to use some of his old rugby moves to make sure Terzo didn’t try to “assist” his little brother with whatever this might be and judging by how Copia and the customer were looking at each other this was definitely going to be something.

Omega knocked his shoulder against Copia’s and gave him a wink when he looked up at him.    

“One ratte coming up.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

P.S. Ratte is rat in German (thank you again @writingjourney 🤣)

If you'd like to see more from this au let me know!

my masterlist

my ao3

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 9

Oh wow, a new chapter? Who'd have thunk it.

My posting schedule is all off and I honestly don't know if I can get it back under control. I have no idea when I'll get time to sit down and write and when inspiration will strike, so I can't assure weekly updates. But I'll try my hardest to get this story out! I have future chapters written, it's just that I have no way of connecting them right now :/ Oops.

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Ah shit, here we go again. Angst, arguments, jealousy

Word Count: 2,250

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8]

Some moments are easier than others. Sometimes you feel like you’re not pining like a love-sick teenager enough to think that you can actually do this – you can actually be friends with the man you love.

But then there are moments like tonight.

A few weeks have passed since community get-together, and you and Bucky are the new kids in town. Everyone drops by to say hello, leave you with enough food to last the winter, and invite you both back to their homes for dinner. It’s all very sweet, and you would appreciate the hospitality in any other situation.

But the amount of mothers trying to marry their daughters off to Bucky is insane. 

Several have not-so-subtley seated Bucky next to daughters of marriageable age, while everyone else is silently discouraged from interrupting their conversations. It skeezes you out when the girls are barely out of their teens, but most of the girls are around your age or older. Morality-wise, that’s a whole lot more appropriate. Internal monologue-wise, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh doesn’t even begin to cover it. What you feel whenever he laughs at something they say, or looks at them with his intense blue eyes – it hurts. That’s how he used to look at you, once upon a time. Like his life wouldn’t be the same without you in it, like you’re one of the most important people in his world.

To be fair to Bucky, you probably read waaaay more into it than he ever meant. And you only ever really saw that look come out when you were straddling his waist and grinding hard on his cock, skin mottled with his teeth marks and wearing his metal hand as a necklace. 

Stop, stop, stop, stop!

Anyway,

You’re usually placed next to older, widowed relatives, as most of the young men in the town have already settled down and popped out a few kids with their spouses except for Petre. Tessa foists the two of you together at every possible opportunity, hoping you’ll hit it off and decide to get married in the near future. 

Petre is nice, smart, cute, but not really your type. You’re convinced that you’ve only ever had one type and he’s off-limits. But Petre’s company is much more enjoyable than the sad, lonely older men they try to pair you with – it never feels great to be compared to someone’s long lost love – so you don’t mind having someone around your age to talk during these things.

Speaking of.

“It’s a nice night, yeah?” Petre comments. The night is warmer than expected, but you and Petre are still bundled up in your coats as you stroll through the dead copse of trees near the latest dinner party. The sun had set only minutes ago and the stars are making their presence known. There’s next to no light pollution in this area, so you always take the time to admire the night sky when you have the chance. 

You often take walks with Bucky up and down your street as a way to decompress after your shifts at the HYDRA facility. After the first week or so of being everyone’s errand-runner, they’ve slowly built up your workload to include calculations and deductions based on redacted data – it’s not as much information as you’d like, but it’s enough to build a foundational understanding of what the experiment was about.

You hum in agreement and continue walking. It’s about time to turn around and head back, but you can’t bring yourself to return only to watch Bucky flirt with the pretty girls that were also invited.  

“Is something the matter?” Petre asks you.

You startle out of your petty, jealous thoughts. “Hm? Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong,” you reply with a smile.

“It’s just that you seem very distracted tonight,” he responds.

With your hands in your pocket, the only thing you can do is shrug your shoulders. “Just tired, is all. It’s been a long week at the office.”

“Ah, I know the feeling,” Petre commiserates. 

All of the sudden, a wailing, piercing shriek ricochets between the tree trunks and reverberates in your ears. Tensing with adrenaline, you take two steps forward, ready to intervene in whatever events are unfolding in the darkness.

Before you get much further, Petre reaches out and takes hold of your elbow. Turning you around, he starts leading the way back. You try to tug your arm from his grip, but he holds firm.

“The cry of a vixen who is looking to mate. They’re rather vicious creatures this time of year, foxes. We don’t want to get in her way,” Petre deters.

“But…” you begin, looking back over your shoulders and watching for unexpected movement among the swaying branches. “It sounds so real.”

“Terrifying, really. I was just as concerned when they began, as well.” Petre gives you a tight smile and relaxes his grip slightly when you stop trying to pull away.

“What do you mean?” you question.

“What?” Petre’s eyes flash around quickly, looking through the woods that surround you.

“‘When they began’. What do you mean by that?”

“Ah,” Petre replies. “When mating season began.”

There’s no more discussion on the eerily accurate sound of a woman in distress. You can only trust that Petre would know the local fauna and their habits better than you, since you’ve never spent an extended period of time in areas such as this.

***

The neighbor’s house finally comes into view. A lone figure stands silhouetted against the porch as they lean against the railings, their arms braced against the banister and posture rigid. When you get closer, you realize that the figure is Bucky. 

You can’t see his face, but you can feel his eyes on you. And apparently Petre can as well.

“He doesn’t like me?” Petre asks.

“Why do you say that?” The question puzzles you because Bucky has no reason to dislike Petre. He’s been incredibly helpful so far, allowing you to ask as many questions as you want about himself and others and he doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. In fact, you feel as if you and Petre have become friends.

“It just seems like he’s never happy to see me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that – James just has RBF,” you reply nonchalantly.

“RBF?” Petre replies.

You laugh as you and Petre climb the stairs, only now realizing that he still has a hand on your arm. You’d forgotten all about it, but you miss the slight warmth that permeated through your jacket when he removes his touch. You turn to look at him, but Petre is looking away, his hands now deep in his pockets. Turning your focus onto Bucky, you see him watching Petre, his eyes squinted.

A large smile returns to your face as you reach up and grab Bucky’s chin, squishing his cheeks and making his lips pucker from the pressure. “This –” you say triumphantly, “is an RBF.”

Bucky glares down at you and swats your hand away. You cackle at the perfect example of Resting Bitch Face™ in front of you, throwing your head back in joy. When you right your posture again, you can see a small smile on Bucky’s face as he laughs along with you.

“Whatever,” he murmurs. He shakes his head in exasperation before circling his arm around your shoulders. Bucky begins dragging you back down the steps you had just ascended and you grunt in protest. “It’s time to go,” he says simply.

“Ugh, you’re so rude,” you say to him. Craning your neck as much as possible, you look back towards Petre who remains on the porch. “I’ll see you later!” you call backwards with a wave. Petre raises a hand in return, face hidden in shadow as Bucky’s had been.

Focusing back on the road in front of you, you can practically feel what little mirth Bucky had drains away. Looking up, you notice that his jaw is clenched and a hard look has entered his eye.

“What’s wrong?” Now you’re worried that something happened to Bucky while you were gone that has put him in a bad mood. Did someone say something to him? Did one of the women reject his advances? You can’t see who in their right mind would turn him down, but not everyone feels the same way about him as you do. But if it’s the latter, the guilt you feel only slightly outweighs the relief.

“You don’t think you’re spendin’ too much time with him?” Bucky says between clenched teeth.

A frown appears between your eyebrows as you continue to look up at him. “No?” you respond. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Ofcoursehedoesn’t,” Bucky mutters under his breath, but you can still hear him.

You slide out from under Bucky’s hold, his agitation sparking flames of your own. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You don’t think you’re leadin’ him on a bit, Y/N?” Bucky asks you.

You scoff. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You’re always hangin’ around him!” Bucky quips back. “You’re flirting with him and walking out of parties together. All these people, Petre included, are going to think you’re pitching for an engagement.”

The hurt and pitiful feelings from earlier tonight come flooding back. Only this time, instead of feeling them for what they are, you combine them with the anger his comment brings. How dare he accuse you of leading Petre on? As if he isn’t doing the same thing to all those girls?!

“And what about you?!” you yell, the last word ripping its way between your lips and setting your tongue ablaze. “You don’t think you’re stringing all these girls along behind you? You don’t have any intention of getting into a relationship with any of them, either, do you?” 

As the words escape, you remember how Bucky sat you down and asked for a friends-with-benefits situation. Said he wasn’t ready for a real relationship, but tired of one night stands. How the two of you could help each other out since you weren’t seeing anyone either. The old resentment towards yourself and how you let yourself fall for someone wholly unavailable whiplashes back into your mind after months of repressing it. 

If he could ask that of you, does that mean he’s asked someone else? You usually arrive home later than him, but on some occasions that you are released early, he’s not there. Instead of asking where he’s been, you had just let it slide since it could have been construed as possessiveness. Like your feelings – that Bucky believes to be long gone – entitle you to his life. You hadn’t wanted to risk anything at the time, but now your mind can’t help running wild at the possibilities.

“It’s not like I’m screwing his brains out every time we’re gone!” You shout at Bucky. You had been walking down the road away from the house party which was on a street with few homes, so there’s nobody around to hear your fight. “We’re not in the bathrooms having quickies, he’s not fucking me against a wall, or bending me over his motorcycle! He hasn’t proposed we fuck around with each other until someone better comes along!” 

Your chest heaves with the effort of expelling these vicious words from deep within your heart, and you can feel a burning beginning to creep behind your eyes. You hate getting angry – hate that any strong emotion makes your eyes well with tears and makes you look weak. And in this situation, you are weak – weak against Bucky, weak against yourself, weak against the knowledge that the one man you’ve ever loved never felt the same way and never will. Your inability to keep yourself from falling for someone you knew you could never have? Your jealousy that he is probably sleeping with one or more of the women in town? That makes you weak. 

And you can’t stand to be weak in front of Bucky again.

“Newsflash, Buck: I know how it feels to be lead on by you and it fucking sucks!” You lower your voice slightly and take another step away from him. “I know that wasn’t your intention, and I didn’t feel that way at first, but that’s how I feel now.”

“You were my best friend, Y/N – I didn’t want to lose that!” Bucky exclaims. “And I genuinely thought we were on the same page!” He takes a deep breath and clasps his hands over his eyes before saying, “And seeing you run off with Petre all the time just reminds me of us – how we’d always sneak away to get some time alone. It’s just –” He drops his hands and sighs heavily, looking up at the star-studded sky and then back down to you. “I’m jealous.”

“You’re jealous?” You ask incredulously. “Why?”

“Because –” You can tell that he’s struggling to get this out, and if he hadn’t started this argument and accused you of wronging Petre, you might have been more receptive to what he’s saying. More understanding. But right now, your anger swallows all empathy and hope that his words would usually supply. “Because that could have been us,” he breathes. Bucky takes a tentative step in your direction, but freezes solid at the icy glare you send his way.

“No,” you say flatly, “No, it couldn’t have. You made that abundantly clear when I asked.”

You turn your back on him and start running, ignoring the sound of your name as you leave Bucky behind.

Part 10

Taglist: @jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewifeife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshinee @happinessinthebeingg @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

[weenwrites]

love 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 LOVE your writing! You’re one of, like, three authors I can actually identify. (I don’t pay attention to who writes what nor do I remember, but you write so well that from rereads and new reads I recognize you).

When you feel up to it, can you do TFP Smokey, OP, and Ratchet with an s/o (cargo plane alt, big bot, like Stratosphere) crashing like Smokey did and the surprise reunion? Aaaand maybe other misc reactions of such a big bot?

✎ A/N: Aa thank you so much for your kind words!! :D Also I could've sworn I did a reuniting with S/O on earth thing with Optimus and Ratchet before, so I leaned more towards reactions about having a massive S/O instead.

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Smokescreen

When the two of you first met, he was in complete and total awe at your sheer gargantuan size. In fact, the way he gawked at you the whole time he was passing by, may have caught your attention and saved him from bumping straight into a glass panel that two bots were moving, and if that wasn't the case, then ah well.

Anyway, back before the war grew so hectic, he was proud to have a partner as cool as you, and every time the random person he was talking with would comment about you, he'd casually just slip in a "yeah, that's my partner" with the most love-struck look on his face.

There's no place in the world where he wouldn't recognize you right off the bat. Aside from your size being your most defining trait, he'd recognize your color scheme, alt-mode, and voice anywhere, no matter what was going on. And the moment you crash-landed right in front of him, he was so confident that he knew you well enough to tell you apart from any phony.

Of course the rest of the team were immediately going at him, telling him that it's not that easy to tell their real friends apart from the spies, but when he's proven right that it is indeed you, he never lets them live it down and now all they want is for him to shut up about it.

As badly as he wants to share a habsuite with you, the chances are that you are waaay too big to fit in any rooms. The largest room that could possibly fit you is the training room, but even then you dwarf it easily (and also they need to use that...). Once you get your own room, however, he spends much more time with you in there than he does in his own habsuite.

He brags about you quite a lot to the rest of the team and says things like "did you know that my s/o—" or "oh hey! y/n used to enjoy doing that before the war—" and at this point they're all fed up with how lovesick he is. They would shove him off on patrol with you to take care of the problem. Even Arcee's started teasing you, about all these things that Smokescreen's said, and honestly it'll get so embarrassing that you'll probably ask him to stop at some point.

He's very eager to fight along side you, and keeps encouraging you to go out with him into battle. He'll paint vivid pictures of your shared glory—just imagine, the moment you step onto the field you'll completely level the cons to ashes! They won't ever know what hit them!

Optimus

If you met sometime before the war, when he was still an archivist, then he'd frequently go out to visit you since you were probably too big to be walking around the Iacon Hall of Records. Flying with you was one of his favorite past times after any long and difficult shifts. Unfortunately the two of you don't get to enjoy that once peaceful feeling of flying together when the war started. Flying lost its relaxing touch and soon became more stressful and frightening, as the fear of being shot out of the sky became more prevalent in both your lives.

Soon enough, the fear of losing one another had became something so horrifically possible, and the next second it became real, and the rest became history that passed in several long, agonizing years.

As opposed to expressing joy and relief to seeing you again—well, he partly was—he was initially skeptical that it was truly you. The team had been tricked by a decepticon spy before, who's to say it won't happen again? Yet the moment you confirm your identity, he allows his cold, distant front to drop, and he sincerely welcomes you back.

Though he didn't express any enthusiasm outright upon seeing you again, he makes his feelings clearer once the two of you are away from prying eyes. And as you catch up, it's not hard to miss how the war has made him jaded and weary, yet you don't have to look too far to see glimpses of how he was before.

He tries to situate a nice comfortable living space for you—preferably somewhere that's within the base, but since you're too big to fit in any of the current rooms they have, the best they'd have is probably someplace outside. And if this is sometime after the base was destroyed, then unfortunately the best he could do for you was get the biggest hangar they have on base to house you in your alt-mode.

But then there comes the problems with energon rations... Your massive size and your altmode automatically constitutes an equally large portion of energon is required for you to function, and with the team's unfortunate shortage and size, it's difficult to obtain enough energon to keep everyone functioning... Yet perhaps now with your assistance, it may be easier to obtain enough energon to supply the entire team.

Ratchet

Even before the war, he was no stranger to loss. There have been patients who he couldn't save and the war only increased that amount ten-fold, yet the feeling never ceased in it's capacity to tear him apart from the inside. A lot of horrible things have happened to him, but the moment he lost you took the cake for the "worst thing that's ever happened". And in that moment, it was as if things were as painful and horrible as possible, it couldn't get any worse and it would never get better again.

And yet that moment eventually passed, as all things do. Though the tears shed have long since dried, and the loud, echoing sobs have grown quiet, that absence always stuck with him. He doesn't think of it as much as he used to, he's far too occupied with his own work to mourn, but it's still there.

Beholding you was like beholding a ghost, and he couldn't really believe that you were standing right there in front of him. He's nigh speechless, but somehow he manages to get himself together to say your name at the very least. He's quick to run a general check-up, and your massive size doesn't slow his work in the slightest.

As much as he'd prefer to have you live within the base, the place is already pretty crowded as is, and with someone your size packed in with the rest of the bunch, he wouldn't be surprised if the number of accidents around the base would skyrocket tenfold. Of course he doesn't mean any offense to you, it's just that there's no space for you. Their current base is so ridiculously minuscule in comparison to the buildings back on cybertron that it feels like they're living in a cardboard box that the U.S. government kicked over to them. While it's certainly far from ideal, he still has to make do, so he'll try to help think of something to improve your living conditions.

Sure, the thought that someone could get hurt on a mission is something that weighs on his mind every single time, but for some reason whenever you're deployed, that anxiety of his worsens ten-fold. It may be because you're partners, but from a medical standpoint, if you were to get hurt, you could leave a massive crater in the team's resources. Not only could you easily wipe out what little energon they have, but the team doesn't have the proper resources to patch up any major injuries, and the last thing he wants right now is to be forced to say goodbye to you permanently.

[theoceanoasis]

Dratchrod where Drift and Ratchet mention being too old for Sparklings while Rodimus barely touches his food one night while in their home. They make jokes about it and don’t pay too much mind to Rodimus not really laughing along.

As time goes on they notice Rodimus is a bit distant while also seeing that his frame has changed. His hips are wider and his tanks are growing round. He sleeps a little more and eats more too.

They ask little things like “are you okay,” and make secret faces about the fuel he consumes because they never knew Roddy to like sweet cyber fruits.

Its not until they get home from a late shift do they see Rodimus packing a bag and putting his important things in there do they block the door and rush to find out whats wrong.

Its then Rodimus tells them, “I’m leaving,” his face is empty yet so sad.

“Why?!”

“What do you mean leaving?!”

He’s their conjunx, they won’t allow him to leave.

“It’s better this way.”

“The slag it is.”

“You are not leaving us.”

There’s a long moment of high tension as the two get close to him. They’re not an arm length away when Rodimus drops his secret. He’s not afraid of being hurt physically just emotionally.

“I’m sparked.”

The silence is loud and their open jaws say a lot.

Ratchet is running a scan and Drift is feeling along Roddy’s tanks and they get the further confirmation they need.

It ends on a happy note though.

They never want rodimus to leave and they would gladly have a sparkling with roddy. They just knew their frames couldn’t handle it and they would never ask that of roddy knowing how uncomfortable he is with the subject of tank carrying.

Even though he was a little tired from being sick that morning he was hard at work making dinner. Tonight was special and he knew it would be a night they'd never forget.

He practically jumped with excitement and couldn't wait for them to arrive. He had amazing news to share with them and couldn't wait to tell them.

He tried not to be too impatient as he finished cooking and set the table. He made it look all nice and fancy wanting it to be perfect.

"What's the occasion?"

Drift wrapped his arms around him and he leaned back letting him kiss his cheek. Not wanting to give anything away he told him a half lie.

"I had time and wanted to do something special and show you two how much I love you."

Drifts face softened and he kissed him before they both turned towards the door which opened to reveal Ratchet.

He came over and kissed them both on the cheek taking in the nice dinner he gave them both a curious look.

Drift explained while the three of them sat down and started to eat. His spark was racing as he tried to figure out when the right time would be. He desperately wanted to blurt out the news but the two of them were in the middle of a conversation.

When he heard Drift mention someone on board being sparked he found his attention drawn wondering what they thought about it. He was about to ask when Ratchet snorted talking about how he was too old for a sparkling.

He felt his spark sink as he listened to them go back and forth joking about how they were too old and wouldn't have time.

With every word it felt like his spark was being stabbed and he found himself holding back tears, not wanting them to see him cry. What was once a happy moment was now ruined and he found himself panicking wondering what he was going to do now.

He wanted to keep the sparkling. From the moment he learned he was sparked he'd been so excited. He'd always wanted a sparkling and this was his chance.

If he told Ratchet and Drift they'd be upset with him and would want him to get rid of the sparkling. They'd be angry if he refused and he hid his face as a few tears fell.

Even though he loved them so much their relationship wasn't going to work out. He needed to leave now and find a way to raise his sparkling on his own.

He looked at his plate in disgust feeling sick at the very idea of eating. He moved the food around in his plate but didn't eat anything.

Ratchet and Drift didn't notice too busy talking about how much they didn't want a sparkling and stabbing the knife in further.

Having made up his mind to leave he began to distance himself. At first Drift and Ratchet didn't notice which hurt a lot even if it gave him time to get his stuff together.

He didn't want to leave but he didn't want them to resent him for choosing to keep their sparkling. He knew they wanted nothing to do with their little one and even though it hurt he had to think about his sparkling.

Looking in the mirror he noticed that his body was changing. His hips were growing wider and his belly had gotten bigger.

He only realized when Ratchet made a comment about him eating too many sweets. At the time it had felt like a slap in the face but now looking in the mirror he knew it wouldn't be long before it was obvious he was carrying. He needed to get out of there before that happened.

Even though he knew it was part of carrying he still found himself watching what he ate. He also didn't let Ratchet or Drift touch him thinking he was too disgusting to be touched and that maybe it's a good thing they didn't want the sparkling. Otherwise he'd be forced to deal with their disgust when his body started to change and they no longer felt attracted to him.

He felt tired all the time and after some pointed comments made by those around him. He started sleeping when no one was home. That way he didn't have to be criticized by those around him. He was exhausted and he couldn't help that his body needed more sleep. He didn't know why people had to immediately assume he was being lazy or disrespectful during meetings.

As time went on he knew Drift and Ratchet were catching on. They kept looking at him oddly and would share looks between the two of them they thought he didn't notice. It made him more insecure and he refused to eat in front of them. Tired of being judged for what he was eating. It wasn't his fault their sparkling was craving a very sweet mixture of energon.

When the day came for him to leave he was nervous and sad. While packing his bags he'd broken down and begun crying wishing things could be different.

He was just about to leave the apartment with his bags packed when he was stopped by Ratchet and Drift who'd come home early.

They stared at him in shock not processing what was happening until they both started shouting.

He'd flinched back refusing to look at them when he told them he was leaving.

They both gave him a shocked look and Ratchet immediately demanded to know why. They both blocked the door refusing to let him out and wanting to talk about this.

"It's better for all of us if I leave."

Drift shook his head giving him a sad look.

"You can't leave."

"The slag it is!"

Ratchet glared.

"You are not leaving. I don't know what's going on with you but we can talk it through."

"I'm sparked."

He blurted out flinching slightly in preparation for the horrible words that were about to be thrown at him. Except none came and when he looked up he found Drift and Ratchet staring at him in surprise and to his shock happiness.

They were both immediately on him. Ratchet scanned him and Drift was feeling his swollen belly. Both of them looked at him with love and adoration and it was so shocking it nearly brought him to the floor as his knees went weak.

"I don't understand I thought you wouldn't want the sparkling."

"Of course we'd want the sparkling."

"Why would you think we wouldn't?"

"The jokes you two were making about not wanting a sparkling?"

"We're both too old to have sparklings and our bodies have been put through so much that it's not possible. We never thought we'd ever have the chance to have sparklings."

"We joke about it because it's easier to cope."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We didn't want you to feel pressured. We know how you feel about being a tank carrier and everything you've gone through."

He felt tears fall and both Ratchet and Drift hugged him. He collapsed into their arms and sobbed in relief because they loved him and wanted their sparkling.

The three of them eventually moved to their bed where they cuddled together excitedly talking about the future.

[m00nlight-ramblings]

Like Real People Do: Chapter 3

Chapter 3 of "Like Real People Do"

Working a Saturday shift, Eddie and Dustin come to the rescue to help you leave work early...only after you've met potentially a new friend.

Read Chapter 2 here

Pairing: Eddie x female reader (named "Brooke" because I hate using Y/N, but will also be using "you" to make it reader-centric!)

Warnings: swearing, angst if you squint enough

Word Count: 2.11k

A/N: Graphic made by me. I do not give permission for my work (graphic and writing) to be shared without my permission. I have a taglist for this fic, let me know if you'd like to be added to it!

The weather had finally gave way to autumn, the citizens of Hawkins saying goodbye to their tank tops, and hello to their sweaters. The sun was shining on this crisp, autumn day, making you a little stir crazy while you worked your Saturday shift.

Huffing and wiping your brow, you pushed the shelving cart through the Non-Fiction section, feeling like you were missing out. It was a Saturday and the library was virtually empty, and as you watched a group of kids run past the windows, you frowned slightly, wishing you were anywhere but there.

Sure, you loved the library – you loved reading! – but now that your social life was taking a turn for the better in Hawkins (you had gone out a couple of times with Nancy Wheeler, and oddly enough, her younger brother and his crew…most importantly, Eddie), you wanted to go do fun things. For instance, you knew that Eddie and the rest of Hellfire were going to the mall that afternoon, and were later grabbing burgers at Benny’s.

Your mind wandered to Eddie as you grabbed a small stack of books to re-shelve. Thinking of how, in the past few weeks, you had fallen into a nice friendship with him, and how, if given the chance, you’d want to seriously suck face with him.

Not that you’d admit that out loud.

Butterflies appeared in your stomach as you couldn’t help but smile, thinking back at the last time you had hung out with Eddie – after a Hellfire Club meeting, you met him in the parking lot to grab late night sodas at the local convenience store. Somehow, he made sitting in a dimly lit parking lot until 1 AM excessively fun, especially when he kept leaning into you every time he laughed.

Sigh.

His hair was extra curly that night, the summer humidity hanging on for dear life fluffing it up a bit. You noticed he smelled really good too, which, was how he smelled all the time…but it was still really good, and sill worth noticing.

“Uh…excuse me?” Some said from behind, snapping you out of your daydream. You jumped a little and turned around, facing a boy around your age, waving his hand awkwardly. When he finally got your attention, he smiled, “Hi. I’ve been trying to ask for help for a bit now…I hope you’re not in the middle of something?”

You blushed, embarrassed, “Oh god, no. I’m sorry. My brain is…somewhere else.”

He waved his hand as if to say “no big deal”, “It’s Saturday. Your brain isn’t supposed to be working that hard today, anyway.”

You laughed and nodded, “What can I help you with?”

“Well, I’m doing a report on Napoleon for school, and I was wondering if you could help me find some stuff on him?”

“Oh…well, you’re in the right section, and it’s alphabetical, so you can start at the N’s…but unfortunately, I’m not a librarian, so I can’t help you find exactly what you’re looking for…I just put stuff back on the shelves,” You gestured to the pile of books you were holding in your arms, “Eventually. I do put them back on the shelves…eventually.”

The boy nodded and stalled a moment, looking down at your outfit. “Do I…know you? Do you go to Hawkins High?”

You nodded, “I do. I transferred this year. I’m Brooke.”

“Michael. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand to shake it, but suddenly took his hand back, “Actually…let’s not. Because of the books…” He blushed a little, “I don’t want you to drop them.”

You smiled and waved your elbow as a greeting, “Nice to meet you,” Awkwardly, you transferred weight on your feet, “Well…I better get back to this…the librarian is over in the corner over there if you have questions.” You nodded towards the librarian, who may or may not have been currently sleeping.

Michael gave a little wave, “Yeah, sure. Thanks…it was nice to meet you.” He turned and walked a few steps away, but turned to look back at you. Giving you one last smile, he disappeared around the corner.

Huh. He was nice.

Suddenly, there was a giant crash near the front of the small library. You craned your neck and saw the front display of books on the floor, the books scattered in every direction. You followed the two pair of sneakers standing in front of the (now broken) display, and unsurprisingly, you found Eddie and Dustin. Sheepishly, they waved.

You rolled your eyes and put the book stack down, marching towards them, “What are you guys doing here?” You asked, your voice a hoarse whisper. You snuck a glance at the librarian at the front desk who was wide awake now.

“We’re here to bail you out!” Eddie said proudly, crossing his arms. You smiled at him.

“…you’re what?”

“We’re here to bail you out!” Dustin echoed, shouting excitedly. The librarian stood and put a finger to her lips.

Shh!

“No, I get that, but,” You ushered them over to a corner, trying to not get in trouble, “Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t be cooped up at work on such a beautiful day.” Eddie said, almost in a “duh!” fashion.

“Okay…and how are you going to bail me out?” You asked, incredulously.

Suddenly, Eddie grabbed your arm and dragged you over to the librarian’s desk, Dustin in tow.

“Ma’am!” Eddie said, suddenly acting nervously, “I am this young lady’s brother and I just found out that she is really sick…our doctor just called our house. He told us she shouldn’t be out, so our mom just asked me to take her home.”

“SHE’S CONTAGIOUS!” Dustin wailed dramatically, earning another “Shh!” from the librarian.

“You guys!” You hissed, embarrassed. You could feel the deep blush rising in your cheeks.

The librarian looked at them, then at you, and then at the clock. It read 2:30. Slowly, she looked back at you and sighed heavily.

“You’re lucky you only have a half hour left of your shift,” The librarian said, monotone. She waved her hand in the air, “Go…enjoy the beautiful day. I mean…enjoy your…” She looked over her glasses at Eddie, “Quarantine from your contagious illness.”

Dustin pumped his fist in the air and Eddie smiled, snagging your arm and taking you outside. “I can’t believe that worked.” He said, laughing as soon as he got outside.

“I can’t either…but you canNOT do that again, you guys! I could’ve gotten in trouble!”

“With that dinosaur? She’s so old she’s not going to remember this in like, five minutes.” Dustin said. He shoved his hands in his pockets, “So, Benny’s?”

“To Benny’s!” Eddie said, looping his arm in yours and leading you to his van. You giggled and followed suit, happy to be enjoying the day.

-*-

With your milkshakes to go, you and Eddie were the only two left after everyone had gone home. Currently, you were sitting in the back of his van, the doors open, watching the sun go down outside of the empty field next to Benny’s.

“Cookies and cream was the way to go.” Eddie said, slurping up some of his milkshake, speaking with his mouth open. You shook your head.

“You can’t go wrong with chocolate, Eddie. Any other flavor is just…not right.”

“Chocolate is so boring!”

“Chocolate is a classic!”

“I refuse to argue this bogus point,” Eddie said, putting his hand up in your face, “Quite frankly because there is no argument…I am right.”

You huffed, giggling and crossing your arms. You swung your legs and sipped your milkshake, falling in a comfortable silence with Eddie.

“So…who were you talking to?” Eddie asked randomly. Confused, you shot him a look.

“Huh?”

“When Dustin and I got to the library today, you were talking to…some guy. Who was it?” He nonchalantly sipped his milkshake, staring off at the sunset.

You furrowed your brow, “Oh…his name is Michael? He’s doing a project for school and needed help finding books. Apparently, he goes to our school but…I’ve never seen him,” You shrugged, following Eddie’s gaze.

He paused for a moment, “Oh. Michael Cardin? I think he’s in my study hall…” He nodded slowly, “Cool.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

You softly punched Eddie’s arm, “Why did you want to know?”

“I dunno,” Eddie said, lifting the straw out of the milkshake cup over and over again, “Just wanted to make sure he wasn’t like…bothering you…or something…” He grumbled.

You could feel your ears turning a bit pink – what was with Eddie wondering that? “Aw, Eddie…are you looking out for me?”

“I just know what people in this town can be like, especially with new kids, so I wanted to make sure he wasn’t giving you shit!” He smiled and chuckled, “Sue me!”

“That’s very nice,” You murmured, looking at him. He met your eyes and smiled, a drawn-out moment between the two of you. You got lost into his eyes before he cleared his throat uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair, “But I wouldn’t be able to sue you for like, anything. I’m the one who had to buy these milkshakes, if you’ve forgotten already.” You joked, trying to ease the tension.

“I told you, when I’m a rich and famous rockstar, I’ll buy you all the milkshakes you want.” He countered, nudging you with his elbow.

“Nah…when you’re a rich and famous rockstar, you’ll forget all about me. You’re gonna have like, 80 million chicks surrounding you, with bleach blonde hair and fancy makeup and tits out to here,” You held your hands far out on your chest, like you were holding beach balls. “That’s who you’re going to be buying milkshakes for.”

“First of all, those kinds of chicks probably don’t want milkshakes, they’ll probably want tequila,” He started, poking your shoulder, “And secondly…what makes you think that I’d ever forget you?”

You turned and looked at Eddie, his brown eyes seemingly boring into your skull. Your breath hitched in your throat as you searched his eyes, trying to find what he meant by that. He was leaning close to you, completely still. Uncomfortably, you shrugged.

“I don’t know…because I’m forgettable?” You mumbled.

“Okay, you must not be as smart as I thought you were because that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true!” You said, throwing your hands up in the air, “I didn’t have a lot of friends back home! And let’s just say I didn’t have a line of boys waiting to take me on dates, either…” You sighed, “I mean, I don’t think I should be putting a brown paper bag over my head, but-”

“Yeah, well, you don’t need a line of boys waiting for you to take you on a date, just as long as you have the right one.” Eddie said, sucking out some more of his milkshake.

You eyed him and pressed your lips together, your heart starting to beat like crazy in your chest.

“Well…I don’t even have one yet, so…” You tried, quietly. Eddie snorted, putting his milkshake down.

“Well, that Michael guy seemed to have those goo-goo-ga-ga eyes after you guys talked today, so…” His voice tapered off.

You frowned, looking away in disappointment. You didn’t know why you thought maybe Eddie would give you an admittance of a crush, but hearing him try to go the Michael route was a bit crushing.

“Yeah…” You mumbled, sighing lightly and leaning against the edge of the van. You could hear kids playing off in the distance, the sun almost fully set now. Maybe you had read the situation with Eddie wrong? You thought he wouldn’t have been hanging out with you unless there was some sort of feelings there, but he was just given an easy in, and didn’t take it.

You felt lame.

“Are you getting cold? I can drive you home.” He offered, tossing his cup into a garbage can in the parking lot. It went in first try and he pretended to be a crowd roaring, throwing his hands up in the air. You felt sad, but also silly now that he was doing that.

He didn’t seem to even notice what was going on, and now he wanted to drive you home. Great.

You nodded, hopping out the back of the van. Making your way to the passenger seat, you finally spoke, “Yeah, I can go home.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, but got into the driver’s seat after closing the back doors to his van. He looked at you for a bit, and when you turned your head to meet his eyes, he immediately looked out the front window, starting the car.

He drove you home in silence.

---

As always, reblogs, likes, and comments mean the world to me!

Taglist: @cosmicdanielle @sapphire4082 @findmeincorneliastreet @hugdealer @chipster-21

[hungry-hungry-reader]

Dione x fames (Just fluff, Fames teaching Dione how to cook) MUAHAHAHA

Dione is @thereseuwu's puppet character. He is a delightful little grape prince!

Dione has always had a soft spot for chefs. 

No, that sentence didn’t give enough justice to his love for men who can cook. How could he not swoon over someone who knew the proper sous vide technique, or how to masterfully filet a fish within just two minutes? 

Frankly, the whole thing felt like a setup. The moment Dione laid his eyes upon Chef Fames in the very first loop, he knew he needed that man. In many ways, yes. But particularly to show him a recipe or two. Cooking for the highest beings in the universe had to have demanded the very best chef the Garden could offer… Especially one who could cook humans and their essence while resisting the inner urge to sink his canines into the supple flesh with the hint of the essence. No one else could do it quite like he did. And when Dione had a chance to watch Fames hard at work? Oh, how delicious that man looked, pun most definitely intended. His precision made Dione forget, even if for just a moment, that he could’ve been the one on the receiving end of those knife skills. Not that he would’ve minded much if he knew it was for Fames. 

And even now, Dione stood off to the side in the hotel’s kitchen, watching the chef work his magic, flawlessly julienne-ing those veggies. Frankly, Dione’s constant insistence on taking the time out of his day to watch the chef prepare for the shift confused Fames. It’s not that it bothered him much… Well, it did. In the beginning, especially. But since Dione somehow always managed to procure a bottle of high-quality wine and didn’t interrupt any of the chef’s well-established procedures, Fames let his presence go. He would never admit it to anyone, of course, but he even started to find the presence of that peculiar human somewhat comforting. Almost like a lucky charm, every time Dione had a chance to swing by before the dinner service, it always went a lot smoother than any other time. 

Not even Nulla would tell Fames it was because Dione’s presence lifted the chef’s spirits.

“Hey,” Fames found himself breaking the comfortable silence of the empty kitchen without necessarily intending to… Well, now he was committed, he figured. 

Dione shook the trance off his features, nearly dropping the crown in his hands, startled by the sudden exclamation. He looked at Fames quizzically as the chef lowered his head, exasperated by the choice to speak to the human. 

Whyyyy…??? Why did he have to say anything?! Stupid, stupid, Fames!

“Uh,” Fames set the paring knife down, rolling his sleeves up, just to have something to fidget with. “C’mere, human.” 

Dione smiled and, despite every fiber of his being shrieking at him that it was a horribly dangerous idea, set his crown down and took steps toward Fames until he was right next to the chef. Fames, in turn, was surprised, not only by his own boldness and blatant disregard for his instincts to devour Dione, but also Dione’s own fearlessness. Surely, the human should know by now that everyone within the Garden finds his smell irresistibly delicious. Even if Fames tried to dismiss it by calling it a “stench”. Surely, Dione knew better… 

“You’ve been watching me work for weeks now. Let me show you the actual techniques. There’s only so much you could learn from spectating from 10 feet away, eh?” Fames fished out a second paring knife from the knife block, his eyes lacking the usual gloominess. 

Dione’s initial shock wore off as swiftly as it came upon him, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. 

“I’m just offering, you don’t have to say—”

“YES, PLEASE!” Dione clasped his hands in an attempt to contain myself. The prospect of learning from Fames himself excited him to no end! And it was absolutely definitely just because Fames is an amazing chef, and not because Dione was already imagining the chef wrapping his strong arms around him to better demonstrate the paring technique, no-no. 

Fames was startled by Dione’s delight, chuckling lowly.

“Well, first thing’s first, settle down. You should be calm when working with a knife. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself now, would we?” “Secondly, wash your hands. You’ll need both clean hands and mind for the lesson, Dione.”

[bihanspookies]

I’m the same person who did the clingy request and it was so cute that I need a part two of them just cuddle and talking sweet nothings about the baby (maybe Y/N is scared and Jin comferts her)

YOU GOT IT ANON 🫶

Part one here!

It’s nearing midnight and you still weren’t asleep. Too many thoughts plagued your mind and your little one was also feeling a bit restless, kicking against your stomach every now and then. You groaned softly into your pillow, attempting to shift your body pillow more under you when you feel Jin rustle behind you.

“You’re still awake?” He grumbles, his hand coming to rest over your belly, scooting in to press his chest to your back.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” You whisper, feeling bad for disturbing his sleep. He had been working a lot with Lars as of late, always tired and getting even more worried about you since he wasn’t around as much as he used to be.

“Just go back to sleep, honey.” You mumble, instantly calming the moment Jin starts to caress your bump. You feel him shake his head, kissing your shoulder in response.

“You need to sleep too. And I can’t when you’re shuffling around so much.” You can feel his lips stretch into a lazy smile, his hand slipping under your shirt to have more contact with your stomach. He sits up on his elbow when he feels the baby kick against his palm, his black hair all messy and sticking in random places.

“Ah, the little one is awake too I see.” Jin lifts your shirt to expose your stomach, continuing to rub soothing circles as he watches for anymore movement.

“Yeah, they’re keeping me up right now…” Jin looks over to you, taking note of the way your jaw clenches. He moves his other hand to hold yours, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“And?” He urges softly, wanting you to speak what’s on your mind.

“And… I’m worried.” He laces your fingers together, his other hand still rubbing your stomach,

“The Devil Gene.”

You didn’t mean to start crying but pregnancy had made you much more emotional. Involuntarily tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to silently keep your sobs at bay. Jin takes his hand off your belly to wipe your tears, his expression calm. He caught every tear that slowly dripped, leaning down to press a kiss to the center of your forehead,

He wasn’t hurt, not at all that this was something you were worrying about. He had warned you that it was genetic and you knew that. He said there was a high possibility that your child would go through some sort of experience to trigger it and you knew what the risk was for having a child with Jin but you loved him with your entire being and were willing to take that chance with him.

It didn’t meant you still didn’t have your worries and fears about it amongst other things.

“It’s not just that. What if I’m not a good mother? What if I accidentally lead our baby down the wrong path? What if—“ Jin shushes you, leaning to kiss you tenderly.

“We both have our worries. All very valid, sweetheart.” He pulls back, his dark eyes looking deep into yours.

“I won’t lie to you and say I’m not afraid because I am. Worried that I will end up like Heihachi and Kazuya—“ Now it was your turn to interrupt, squeezing his hand hard.

“You are nothing like them, Jin. Not even close.” The conviction and sincerity in your voice has him smiling, placing his hand back on your stomach.

“We’ll be good parents.” He murmurs, his hand making circles on your belly once again. You smile at the sight, seeing Jin so content always warmed your heart. You’re about to say something when you feel the baby start to kick again.

“I don’t think they want to sleep right now.” You laugh, placing your hand next to his.

“It seems they do not. I’ll set up some tea?” You give an appreciative nod, kissing his cheek before he throws the covers off his legs and makes his way to the kitchen. You sigh and adjust yourself to be more on your back, searching for the tv remote to put on some background noise.

“Jin?” You yell out to him.

“Yes?”

“The baby wants pretzels and barbecue sauce!”

You could hear him sigh, opening the door to the pantry.

“Of course they do.”

[vodika-vibes]

Hiya! I hope you're feeling better ❤️🌸

Can I request some crumbs of A'den Skirata, pretty please?🥺It can be some light angst with Order 66 with Jedi reader escape shenanigans, maybe some comfort or even something spicy? Whatever you feel like writing!

Thanks in advance~

Not Your Fault

Summary: After escaping the purge by the skin of your teeth, you seek comfort in the arms of the person you still trust, A’den Skirata.

Pairing: A'den Skirata x F!Jedi Reader

Word Count: 677

Warnings: some angst, implied spice

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hi there! I am feeling a lot better. Well, sorta. I didn't stretch my foot properly, so there's an ache and some discomfort, but I'm getting better every day. Sorry that this is so short, but I kind of wanted to write a snapshot of them right after order 66. I hope you like it!

It hurts.

The loss of the other Jedi, of your former master and your padawan siblings, echo through the force. It’s like taking a punch to the chest.

Over and over and over—

Every time you remember that you’re alone in the galaxy now, the pain returns.

A warm hand smoothes over your hair, and you shudder before curling into A’den’s warmth.

He sent you a heavily encrypted message several hours after the Purge happened. He offered you a safe place to hide from the Empire and promised to protect you.

For a moment, you feared that it was a trap, that it was a trick for him to get his hands on you so he could kill you…but if that were the case, A’den would have just tracked you down and killed you.

So you took a chance and came to him.

You’re glad you did.

“How are you feeling, cyare?” A’den asks, his voice quiet and comforting.

“Awful,” You reply, honestly. “I never thought that I would be alone in the galaxy.”

“You’re not.” A’den smooths his hand over your hair and then turns your head so you’re looking up at him, “You have me, and my brothers. We’re not going to leave you alone.”

You lightly grip his wrist, “I’m grateful for it, but it’s not the same.”

“I know, cyare.” He shifts on the bed to lay beside you, rather than sit over you, “How can I help?”

Your hand presses against his cheek, “Can you make me forget?”

He leans in and presses his forehead against yours, “If I could, I would.”

You blink tears out of your eyes, “Did we do something wrong?” You ask, “Did we somehow deserve—”

“No.” A’den rolls you so you’re on your back and he’s laying over you, “No. You did nothing wrong. This isn’t your fault.”

“I survived. No one else did.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault.”

“I can’t help but think—” You trail off, hesitantly.

“Go on.”

“That maybe it would have been better if I died with everyone else.”

A’den pulls back to stare at you, “How can you think that?”

“I don’t know.”

Smoothly, A’den pins your hands next to your head, “I’m glad you’re still alive.”

You sigh softly, “I know.”

“You’re the best thing that came out of this war,” A’den adds, “The only good thing that came from the war.”

“No.” You shake your head, “No, A’den. That’s not right.”

“Cyare—”

“The only good thing that came from the war is you and your brothers.”

A’den stares at you, startled.

“You’re all good men. You deserve better than what we did to you.”

A’den shakes his head and his grip tightens around your wrists, “I love you.” It’s blunt and straightforward, just like him, and you know that he means it. “You didn’t do anything. You, and your people, are as much victims in this war as me and my brothers.”

“It’s not quite the same—”

“You’re right. It’s not. The majority of my vod’e are still alive, after all.” He leans in and presses himself flush against you, “Your people were the victims of a mass genocide. A genocide committed by my people.”

“It’s not your fault either.”

“Oh, I know.” A’den presses his lips against yours, “But you’d be well within your rights to hate me.”

“I don’t think I could.” You admit, “I love you too much.”

“I’m glad for it,” A’den murmurs, he scans your face for a moment, “Do you still want to forget?”

“Yes.”

“Keep your hands here. I’m going to help you forget, at least for a little while.”

“How?” Your face heats when his hands drip under your tank top, sliding the thin material up.

“In a very physical way.” A’den slides down your body and presses his lips against your sternum, “Unless you’d rather not?”

You lower your hands and card your fingers through his hair, “Please, A’den. Help me forget. Just for one night.”

His gaze locks with yours, and he smiles soft and warm, “As you wish.”

[tulipmusez]

after the battle

masterlist

Steve Harrington X (Female) Reader

after the battle against the demogorgons in hawkins, steve and the reader return to their home. the reader is hiding a secret though...she is hurt, bad. reader is also jim hoppers daughter. enjoy!!

The evening air felt heavy, burdened by exhaustion and the weight of what they had just survived. y/n leaned back in her seat, staring absently through the window as the blurry lights of Hawkins flickered by. She caught a glimpse of her reflection, the dark, curly hair framing her face, her soft blue eyes exhausted yet resolute. Subconsciously, she rubbed the fabric of her shirt, a small semblance of grounding comfort amidst the chaos. 

“So, um, we definitely kicked some demogorgon ass tonight, huh?” Steve broke the silence, his voice light but tinged with concern. He kept a firm hand on the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

y/n forced a small smile, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But honestly, I didn’t think it would be that intense.”

“Intense? Try terrifying,” Steve looked at her quickly before refocusing on the road. “I thought you were a goner when that thing lunged at you.”

“I mean, I handled it,” she shrugged, trying to deflect from the moment, though a flash of pain shot through her thigh. She winced instinctively, biting her lip.

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve’s protective instincts kicked in immediately, his voice lowering in intensity. “What was that?”

“Nothing! Just… cramped up,” she said quickly, dismissively. The last thing she wanted was to worry him even more.

“y/n, don’t lie to me. Seriously. This isn’t like one of those times when you just need a snack. You look pale.” 

“I’m just tired, Steve. We saved a lot of people tonight. I’m just... I don’t want to think about it right now.”

Steve turned the car into their driveway, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires signaling that they were home. “No, no, no. Not thinking about it isn’t going to work. You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

He parked the car, and before she had a chance to protest, he was already out and rushing around the vehicle to her side. Opening the door and looking down at her, he put a hand on her shoulder, his brow furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Steve, I’m really fine—”

“y/n, what’s wrong? Please tell me.” His urgency was palpable.

In that moment, she met his gaze. The warmth in his brown eyes made her stomach twist. “I… I got hurt during the fight. A scratch, nothing major. It’s fine, really,” she attempted to brush it off again.

“y/n!” Now his voice was a mixture of fear and anger. “What do you mean ‘nothing major’? You’re supposed to tell me these things!”

“I didn’t think it mattered. It wasn’t that bad!”

“Let me see,” he said, taking a step back, his arms crossed. He wasn’t angry at her; he was worried. 

“I don’t want to—”

“y/n,” he insisted, his tone softer but firm. “I can’t help if you don’t let me.”

With a resigned sigh, y/n nodded and stood as Steve scanned her thigh. She felt a sharp gasp escape her lips as she moved, and he quickly scooped her up into his arms, carrying her over the threshold before they even said another word. 

“Steve, I can walk—”

“Nope,” he interrupted, concern etched in every line of his face. “You didn’t tell me you were hurt, so I’m taking care of it. Deal with it.”

With a playful roll of her eyes, she fell silent, allowing him to carry her to the bathroom. He gently placed her on the rug, his expression shifting to an overwhelming mix of determination and concern. “Okay, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

She felt a blush creep across her cheeks. “You’re such a dork sometimes, you know that?” 

“And yet here we are, with me being responsible and you scaring the hell out of me,” he shot back, already rummaging through their poorly organized cabinet filled with expiring medical supplies. “You’re lucky I’m a pro at this from all those times we’ve had to patch each other up.”

“Funny how that happens in Hawkins. Also, I’m not lucky; I just have you,” y/n teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“You should be thanking your lucky stars,” he commented with a small smirk while tossing a roll of gauze on the counter. “But now, shorts off, y/n.”

“You could make this sound a little less awkward,” she laughed lightly before hesitating, the tension weighing heavily around them. “It’s just a scrape, Steve.”

“I’m not taking ‘it’s just a scrape’ as the final word. You need stitches.” His face softened, a hint of worry still in his eyes.

y/n eventually relented, gripping the edge of her shorts and slowly slipping them off while Steve turned his back, feigning decency. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath.

“You’re the one who waited until after almost getting killed to tell me,” he shot back, turning around again. His breath punched from his lungs at the sight of her injury. The gash was deep, a stark contrast against her skin, and fresh blood was seeping through the makeshift bandage she had applied earlier in a rush.

“y/n… that looks bad,” Steve said, his voice softening with concern. “You need to go to the hospital.” 

“No,” she shook her head vehemently. “We can do it here. It honestly doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Seriously, I can’t just let you bleed out. We’ll fix it ourselves, but I think you need professional help.” 

“Steve, no. Just trust me. You can handle this, okay? You know the ins and outs better than some nurse at a hospital.” 

He let out a heavy sigh, glancing at the gash again. “Fine.” He moved closer, gently grabbing her waist and lifting her carefully to the countertop, where she sat awkwardly, both vulnerable and grateful. 

“I can do it myself, you know,” she said, trying to retain some semblance of independence. 

“I know you can. But you’re in pain, and I want to help.” 

As he began cleaning the cut, she flinched, tears pooling at the corners of her blue eyes. “Damn, that stings…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured softly, whispering words of apology as he worked methodically. “You’re doing great. Just breathe; I’m right here.” 

He shifted to grab the needle and thread, explaining what he was doing. “I’ll be quick, just a couple of stitches, and then we can get you comfortable”

She nodded weakly, still biting her lip to hold back the tears. “I trust you, Steve.”

“Alright, love,” he said, almost distractedly, focusing intently as the needle pierced her skin. The rhythmic process of stitching helped him dispel the tension building in his chest. 

“I promise you, y/n,” he added, locking eyes with her in an attempt to keep her grounded, “I’ll always protect you. Even if it means telling you what you don’t want to hear.” 

“Just don’t freak out next time, okay?” she managed to joke lightly through the pain.

“Deal,” he replied with a small chuckle, though the worry never left his face. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he finished, a prideful breath escaping him.

“See? Not so bad,” he said gently, cleaning up the area around her. “You did great!”

“If I were doing it myself, I might have had just two accidents instead of one,” she quipped back, allowing a small grin to play on her lips. 

“Exactly. Now we both need to shower before we collapse into bed,” he instructed, lifting her gently off the counter. 

Once in the shower, they took turns helping each other wash away the grime of the day—the blood and sweat and tears. The steam wrapped around them like a comforting embrace as y/n leaned against the shower wall, her heart racing both from the fight and from being this intimately close to Steve.

“I can’t believe we didn’t end up as demogorgon snacks,” y/n mused, the warmth of the water soothing her nerves. 

“Thanks to my supreme battling skills,” Steve said dramatically, flexing his biceps like they were nothing but a show.

She couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension ease between them. “Yeah, and my incredible stealth mode. You know, moving stealthily while almost screaming.”

He leaned in with a smirk, “I’ll give you that, you’re the best at that. But you’re also the best at worrying me.”

“Maybe we both worry each other a little too much,” she admitted softly, brushing her wet hair back from her forehead. 

“Not a chance. I’m the king of worry,” he replied, his brow furrowing again. “And you know what? I’ll take it. Because I’ll always be here.”

After rinsing off completely, they wrapped towels around themselves and walked back to the bedroom, y/n leaning heavily against Steve for support. 

As he laid her down gently onto the bed, she sighed deeply, pulling the covers up around her. “You’re so sweet.”

“Just trying to do the right thing,” he replied quietly, climbing in beside her.

They cuddled close, the day’s events still weighing heavily on their minds but comforted by each other’s presence. Everything felt cozy and safe until y/n's breathing began to slow. Just as he was about to drift off himself, y/n suddenly twitched and sat up, screaming as the world around her shifted into the terrifying scenes from earlier that night.

“y/n!” Steve’s voice was immediate, pulling her into him as she sobbed uncontrollably. He cradled her in his lap carefully, his heart racing. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s me. You’re safe.”

“Steve! The demodogs… they were everywhere,” she cried, the panic still running through her body as the memories flashed vividly before her. “I couldn’t breathe; it felt real!”

“I know. I know.” He hushed her softly, running his fingers through her hair. “It’s over. You got through it. We beat them, remember?”

Tears streamed down her face as the adrenaline of the nightmare lingered. “I kept thinking about how I should have said something sooner, but...” 

“Shh, none of that matters right now. You’re safe here; I won’t let anything happen to you—ever.” Steve squeezed her gently, a firm promise in his voice.

Finally calming down, she looked up at him, her heart slowing while their eyes locked. “I’m really scared, Steve.”

“Let’s go somewhere else.” He started to shift, careful of her leg. “I can’t let you go through this alone.”

He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her in a protective hold that felt like a shield against the chaos. Moving slowly, they made their way out to the living room, where he settled them onto the couch and wrapped them both in a blanket.

“Alright, my lap is the best spot,” he said, helping her into a comfortable position. “You’re safe here. I promise I won’t let them get to you again.”

y/n nodded as they relaxed into the cushions. She had her face nestled into his shoulder, trying to recapture the feeling of calm. Steve played with her hair softly, humming a tune as she closed her eyes, allowing tranquility to envelop them like the blanket. Their laughter danced in the air, momentarily replacing the tension from earlier.

Suddenly, the phone rang, ringing into the stillness of the night, causing them both to jump. “Who would call us this late?” Steve asked, furrowing his brow as he pulled back from her slightly.

“I don’t know; it’s probably just one of the gang,” y/n said, still slightly shaken.

Steve let her go gently and stood up, trying to shake off the nervousness from her startling yelp. “Stay here. I’ll check.”

As he grabbed the phone, he turned to her for a moment, reading the concern still etched on her face. “It’s probably just a prank. Don’t worry.”

He answered it with a curious, “Hopper? Is that you?”

“Steve,” Jim Hopper's gruff voice exclaimed on the other end. “How are you guys holding up?”

“Not great,” Steve admitted, glancing back at y/n, whose eyes were wide with curiosity. “Actually, kinda rough. y/n got hurt tonight.”

“Is she alright? What happened?” Hopper's voice shifted immediately from the usual banter to concern.

“She… she didn’t tell anyone and I had to fix her up. It wasn’t pretty, but she’s okay now,” he reassured, feeling a surge of protectiveness swell inside him again. “But, like, she might need to see a doctor.”

There was a brief silence before Hopper's voice carried through the phone again. “Thank you for taking care of her, Steve. Just make sure she’s really okay,” he added, his tone stern but grateful. “I mean it.”

“Always, Chief. I promise,” Steve said, glancing at y/n, whose expression had turned serious as she strained to hear her father’s voice.

“Good luck getting some sleep, okay?” Hopper warned. “You both deserve the rest after tonight.”

“Thanks, Hopper,” Steve replied before he hung up the phone and returned to the couch, settling back down beside y/n, who looked curiously at him. 

“It was just your dad,” he said, relaxing into the cushions. “He was checking on you and freaked out because I told him you got hurt.” 

“What did he say?” She shifted closer, seeking comfort in their cocoon of warmth. 

“That he’s glad you’re okay and thanked me for patching you up,” he shrugged lightly. 

“What else?” y/n smiled softly. 

“Just wished us luck getting some sleep,” he smiled back, feeling lighter after the call. 

That eased the lingering tension in y/n’s body, and as they started talking softly about trivial things—everything from movie jokes to ridiculous childhood stories—the warmth of the couch, the sound of Steve’s laughter, and the weight of their earlier fears faded, allowing sleep to finally claim them. 

As y/n nestled deeper into his lap, she felt safe. She drifted off, secure in the fact that, no matter the darkness they faced, Steve would always be there to guide her back into the light.

[junikicker]

Under Her Spell - Lady Bellaston x fem!reader

Under Her Spell - Lady Bellaston x fem!reader

warnings: smut

word count: 2.3k

note: Lady Bellaston has my heart. Well, Hannah does. Anyways here is something I just came up with.

You were the only heir to your family’s wealth and fortune. Desperately, your father had hoped for a beautiful baby boy to take his spot someday. Your mother died giving birth to you, a little girl. Your father couldn’t help but grieve. But after losing the only hope for a male heir, the only thing that seemed to reason with him was to raise you as his son.

From the beginning you were dressed in boy’s clothes, learned to hunt, and play sports. You grew up wealthy, your father being the Viscount, making you the Hon.

You sure had noticed the shift of atmosphere around your home in London upon the arrival of the infamous Sophia Western. Your father had made it more than clear that she would be a suitable match for you as you were almost twenty-two years of age and had yet to be wed. Upon his request, you had agreed to see her.

You were greeted by a great entrance hall, people running around, carrying things from one place to another. “I am here to see Miss Western?” You asked a young lady that looked as if she knew how you could find her.

“Of course, follow me.” She spoke and started walking. “My Lady, I’m here to introduce Viscount Huntington’s heir upon request to meet Miss Western.” She spoke to someone you couldn’t yet see. “Very well then. Let him in.” You heard the reply. Sometimes you’d forgotten that to the public you were a male.

The young lady stepped aside and let you in, closing the door behind her and leaving. “My Lady Bellaston. It’s an honor to meet you.” You spoke, gently bowing down in front of her. You’d heard a lot of stories about her. Her wealth and how she loved to seduce young men.

“If it isn’t the Viscount’s only son.” She flashed you a smile and stood up, walking towards you. You wanted to correct her but decided your chances were best if you didn’t.

“I must admit you would be a good fit for my niece.” She stated, starting to circle you. “Tell me, what are your intends in marriage?” She asked you, coming to stand in front of you, looking down on you.

Lady Bellaston was, undoubtedly, a beautiful lady. Her features were so detailed. She could have easily been a marble statue made by the great Michelangelo himself. She stood taller than most women did. She stood taller than you. You thought she might take suspicion.

“The question should be what do you see for her if she and I were wed?” You inquired, looking straight into her green eyes. “A tough one we have here, don’t we.” She smiled again.

“I shall lead you upstairs.” She replied and started walking, you followed her suit. She led you through the hall you had come in just a few moments earlier and up two flights of stairs. “Sophia is a bit occupied at the moment, would you mind waiting with me for a few more minutes?” She asked you, leading you to a room a bit further down the hall.

The theme of the room seemed to be the color blue. It also seemed to be a bedroom, but that was something you didn’t really pay attention to. The view out of the windows was nice, you could see most of London looking out of it.

There was a table close to the fireplace. That’s where the two of you had sat down. Someone had brought in tea just as you entered. You never really understood how things like this just worked. Even after living your whole life in wealth, you never seemed to understand how meals and beverages just appeared at the right place and time.

You ran a hair through your short hair. Your father had it cut by a hairdresser every three weeks so that under no circumstance anyone would ever think you to be a woman.

“You will do your best to try to capture her with your charms, I believe. But do remember what I tell you now.” Lady Bellaston began, standing up from the chair opposite you and taking a seat on the one closest to you. “A woman does not only fall for the charm of a man.” She rested a hand on your thigh. “A woman adores the subtle touches. The feeling of something soft, the art of eye contact.” She spoke further and placed a hand under your chin, making you meet her eyes.

“A look that lingers and that promises so much more.” She continued as you held the eye contact, unable to tear your eyes away from hers. “And lastly.” She started, leaning in closer so that your faces were only a breath apart. “Taste.” She whispered and with that, placed her lips to yours.

You couldn’t quite believe you had fallen for her act. You were no better than all the other men that she seduced over the years. But it all was so intoxicating. Her taste and the smell of her perfume. The way she moved with such grace and caution.

Her lips felt soft against yours. When you had slipped your tongue into her mouth, you drew a small moan from her that traveled to your lips.

Once air became a problem, the two of you drew apart. “You’re so young still.” She whispered. “So eager to follow your father’s request and marry already. But for someone like you. So kind and handsome, you could sure have yourself anyone you want.” She continued and stood up, taking your hand, having you stand up as well.

And then she kissed you again and you felt the world dissolve around you, her soft lips feeling like heaven. You press kisses along her jaw and down to her shoulder before turning her around and starting to undo the strings of her dress on her back, continuing to press kisses to her shoulders and neck.

Once the strings were close to being completely opened, the blonde spun back around and started to undo the buttons of your clothes, sending one after the other either to a completely different part of the room or just letting the item fall right to the floor.

You stopped her just as she was about to remove the last thing covering your torso and lower half. “Let me help you out of your dress.” You offered and she immediately agreed with a feverish kiss on your lips. She had been just as eager as you. Once she was down to her corset and undergarments, you pulled her in for another fierce kiss. You bit down on her lip and she let out a whimper. Music to your ears.

“Such a pretty lady.” You sighed as you shoved her down on the bed, trapping her glorious body between your legs as you straddled her lap. You had a perfect view of her breasts as you looked down on her. “That corset of yours must be quite restricting. I’d love if you were to have your full range of motion.” You stated and pulled her up, your eyes now one level with hers. She kissed you deeply and passionately. She had not yet muttered a plead so that you would start pleasuring her. But you could practically taste the need on her tongue.

During the kiss, you undid her corset. She immediately relaxed into the new found comfort. You drew away to lift the corset over her head. “For heaven’s sake.” You breathed as you took in her figure. She had this tiny waist, wide hips, and her chest was huge. Nothing like you’d ever seen before.

You pushed her back down and started pressing kisses to her shoulders and chest. Her hands had a firm hold on your hair and started dragging you down toward her core. “I could cherish your body for all eternity.” You breathed against the soft skin of her stomach. “Please.” The word had left her lips so quietly that you almost didn’t hear them. “I will need you to elaborate, my Lady.” You teased her.

“Make love to me.” She whispered and you were happy to oblige, once again, your lips locked. You hooked your fingers under the hem of her undergarments and gently slips them down her legs before sending them to the floor next to her dress. Once that was done, you leaned down to place kisses on her breasts. You weren’t sure if she had never experienced someone paying much attention to that part other than occasionally giving it a squeeze here and there during the act, but the way she arched into your touch and how her eyes widened in shock and ecstasy when you wrapped your lips around her nipple made you almost certain that this had been something new for her. Not to mention the stream of moans that left her mouth like a waterfall.

You let your hand wander down her body again, making sure to trace as much of her soft, pale skin as she could, as her breathing got heavier by the second, anticipation growing.

Her breathing was even heavier when you reached her thigh and let your hand slide between her legs. She was dripping wet, and you let your finger slide up her slit before you took it to your mouth. “You taste heavenly, my Lady.” You groaned, throwing your head back at the taste. “As sweet as honey.” You added, looking into her eyes. Her pupils were blown, and very little of the emerald green color was left. She seemed to regain some sense of the situation and grabbed your hand, placing it between her legs again and leading the other one up her body, to her breasts. You started circling her sensitive bundle of nerves and she let out a rather loud moan now that she finally had what she wanted. You pressed kisses to her breast while your hand started to caress the other one. The sight of her face, so full of pleasure in front of you had you feeling intoxicated.

“What sort of witchcraft is this?” She breathed out between moans and you couldn’t help but smile. “Do you want me to stop, my Lady?” You asked her and she immediately shook her head. “Don’t you dare. I’m not gonna last very much, oh, longer.” She breathed and you bit your lip. The fact that you could have her tumbling over the edge by as little as you had done to her made you confident.

True to her words, she unraveled before you moments later, a loud moan leaving her throat that was unlikely not to be noticed by anyone.

You gently guided her through her high and once she had calmed down, lay down next to her. You pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and met her eyes, pupils still blown wide with lust. Now it was your turn to hold her chin and crash your lips into hers.

This time, you took your time to cherish her body, taking the time with exploring every part of her that you hadn’t had the time to before.

Eventually, you settled between her legs, placing kisses up her thigh, skipping the area where she needed you most before kissing down the other thigh. When she least expects it, latch onto her clit. Her grip on your hair tightens harshly as she tries to comprehend what is happening. Her scent was overwhelming and intoxicating. Within minutes, she was a whimpering, moaning mess, head and back arched, eyes closed, her body on fire. A fire you had started,

“Oh, please!” She moaned. “Just a bit more!” And you gave her that bit more, expertly inserting your fingers into her, feeling her clench around them immediately. The feeling of your fingers inside her was something that, based on her reaction, seemed rather new to her as well. You couldn’t help but grin as she released around your fingers just moments later.

Once again you helped her calm down and then lay down beside her. “Where did you learn this?” She asked, genuinely interested. “Let’s just say I got around a lot.” You replied and tugged a strand of hair behind her ear.

“How am I to repay you for this?” She asked, something in her feeling as if you were left unsatisfied. “I have to return the favor.” She said, sitting up in bed, pulling the covers over her chest. “Oh no. You don’t have to.” You said genuinely. “I cannot possibly-” You cut her off with a finger on her lips. “Shh.” You hushed her. “I can wait till next time.” You said and climbed out of the bed. You had spent about enough time in her bed, your father would be asking questions upon your return if you were to stay much longer.

“What about Sophia?” She inquired as she watched you gather your clothes and get dressed again. “I still deem you a suitable fit for marriage.” She added, looking a bit disappointed. “We both know that I am no match for her. She is in love with Tom Jones. The heart wants what it wants, I suppose.” You explained.

“What are you going to tell your father?” She asked as you slipped your shoes back on. “I suppose I’ll tell him that lovely Lady Bellaston did not quite share my intention to marry her niece.” You explained with a smirk.

You walked over to the small desk in the room, sitting down and wrote a quick note.

“Meet me here. Thursday. At eight.” You said as you handed her the note. Champagne Lane. Thursday. 8pm sharp. X Huntington

You placed one last kiss to her lips before heading out. You weren’t quite sure what you were doing but it did feel better than you expected it to. And you were looking forward to what was going to become out of this.