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throneofsapphics · 11 months ago

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old faces, part eight

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: you and Rowan meet again after seven years, and deal with the fall-out of a secret.

Warnings: mentions of death, drinking

Word Count: ~5.6k

A/N: i’m not too sure about this one, but here it is!

series masterlist

The sun shifted, light hitting you directly in the eyes. You groaned, throwing your arm over your head. Disentangling yourself from your sheets … not your sheets, the one on your bed at the castle.

Lurching forward in bed, a pounding headache set in, and not alcohol induced this time.

The hungry look in Aelin’s eyes. Rowan’s hands on your face, your hips, in your hair. Aelin’s hand running over your shoulder, down your arm. Soft lips, canines grazing over your neck, whispers in your ear …

You slammed your palm into your forehead, like you might shake the memory out - or reverse it.

Was it a bad idea? Probably.

Did you want it to happen again? Yes.

Should it? No.

You debated all of the possible reactions to last night’s events.

Pretend it didn’t happen? That wouldn’t work.

Hide out in the staghorns for the rest of your days? First, Ceri. Second, they might be concerned and come looking.��

Tell them it shouldn’t happen again? The most ‘mature’ reaction, but the most terrifying one to you. The next few weeks would be busy, and with a little luck you could limit encounters, and have time to find the courage to say what you needed to.

“Don’t run away in the morning.”

Like you’d run all those years ago. Was that what he meant? You’d run to keep yourself safe. But now … you’re struggling to grapple with a reason why that shouldn’t change. Everything was different now, and that meant you should react differently. Gods, it felt like your life was full of ‘shoulds.’ Everything you should, should have, and should not. If you could kill a word and bury it deep under, that would be the target.

Pounding on the bedroom door. You’d been distracted enough you hadn’t sensed or scented anyone coming - but it was Ceri and Evangeline, and sure enough the door swung right open. The older girl had an apologetic look on her face as Ceri nearly sprinted in, jumping right up on your bed, flopping down on her back.

You sent her what you hoped was a reassuring smile, and she only grinned back, telling the two of you she’d see you at breakfast. A nice way of informing her she was expected.

“How was your night,” you prompted your daughter, and was treated to a full recounting of events. It took your mind off of the end to your night - or the beginning of your morning, and her joy was infectious. Listening attentively, you found yourself drawn into her story.

“We jumped over a massive fire, taller than you!”

“That’s impressive.”

She nodded, “it was all magic.”

“It was,” you added, smoothing out some of her hair.

A few hours later, another pounding on the door - not the bedroom one this time. Swinging it open, it was him. Instantly, your face turned bright red. His mouth quirked at one corner.

“Aelin’s still asleep,” he looked past you to see Ceri, grinning at him but not moving. An orange fluff ball was on her lap. Fleetfoot ran past him, running over to greet the two.

“I’m glad they get along,” you said, as Halle jumped down, and the two went past them, probably to try and find someone to slip them bits of meat. Whenever you were here, so was Halle. Even if they tried, they couldn’t keep her away.

Rowan was also treated to a full recounting of the previous night's events, something you tried hard to pay attention to - very intentionally not looking at him. Had he come to make sure you hadn’t run away? At least that meant they still wanted you here.

Rowan was a bit surprised you were still there in the morning. He’d not expected, necessarily, but was fully prepared for you to disappear. Just like before. That wasn’t fair of him, not at all, but it didn’t stop the unwanted thought from popping in. You could barely look at either of them, as expected.

Still, nothing seemed awkward throughout the breakfast - if you could call it that, the sun was already bright overhead. Aelin looked like, and had, just rolled out of bed. He debated what time to come knock on your door, but turns out someone beat him to it. Apparently she’d woken you up around nine, when the majority of the castle was still sleeping off the night before. You’d smiled fondly at her as she told everyone, before ruffling her hair.

He found himself scanning the table. Their friends, and court, all in one place. Generally it resulted in some level of chaos, but he didn’t mind it. In four days, guests would start flooding in, and he relished in the temporary peace.

Five months ago, they’d first brought up the ball to you. In the time that passed, you’d started your work as an advisor, and it had been invaluable. Although once word fluctuated to the librarians, they’d stolen plenty of your time with help for research.

Too much of it, once they’d noticed the absolute exhaustion, Aelin had a little chat with them. Well, Ceri had brought it up first. Never giving any hint that you’d neglected her somehow - Rowan knew you wouldn’t - just that you weren’t sleeping as much, that you’d stay up half the night with books. Your daughter had always been skilled at sneaking around, and she’d only gotten better.

“Ceri told me you spoke to the librarians,” you said casually, glancing up from the papers you were studying. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

Aelin snorted, “they’d run you down to the bone if you let them.”

You would be ‘on-call’ during the week of meetings, but not ‘required’ to attend them, like the rest of the court advisors.

It happened this year several countries outside of Erilea would attend. That was confirmed before your arrival in Orynth, but Ceri’s appearance - and your own, would add an extra layer of interest. Anyone with two eyes could see who Ceri was related to, and he wouldn’t deny her anyway.

He’s certain people know of her by now, but seeing and knowing are two very different things. He hated it, but it would be good to note who asked too many questions, and everyone in the castle already knew what to listen out for, and that was one item on the list.

Now that Beltane was over, there were several days of different kinds of preparations to do. Ones that were much less enjoyable.

Ceri was staying for another few nights, but after breakfast you managed to slip away, with Fenrys, before he or Aelin could catch up to you.

“Tell me what happened last night,” Fenrys demanded as you walked through the door.

“We’re supposed to be working,” you tried to deflect, failing miserably.

“I can’t do that until I figure out why you’re so …”

“So what?” you hissed

“Skittish.” Fenrys raised his brows, arms crossing over his chest, daring you to disagree. Unfortunately, you couldn’t. With an overdramatic groan, you collapsed back onto the couch. “That bad?” He took the seat across from you.

“No,” you closed your eyes. This might be easier to say if you don’t look at him. “Aelin and Rowan kissed me,” it came out barely above a whisper.

“And how do you feel about it?” He asked, and you peeked your eyes open. His expression was carefully neutral, giving away nothing.

“Conflicted,” you answered honestly.

“Was it not enjoyable?” A bit of amusement slipped into his tone. If you told him that - it would be a lie, and it would get back to them - he wouldn’t be able to resist making fun of them for it. Maybe if that happened … they’d be inclined to come prove you wrong.

No. no. no.

“That’s not it,” your hand ran over your face. “It just can’t happen again.”

“Why?”

“You’re nosy today.”

He snorted, “it’s my default.”

“Fair enough.”

“You weren’t supposed to agree,” his eyes rolled before his expression slipped back into neutrality. Unfortunately, he didn’t give up. “Why?”

He stayed silent during the long moments you attempted to put words to it. “It’ll make things … messy. Complicated.”

“Simple is boring.”

“It’s easy. Maybe that’s what I want.”

“The fact that you said ‘maybe,’ proves that wrong.”

“What about Ceri? This is probably strange enough for her already”

“She’s a kid.”

“Exactly.”

“So she’ll adapt. Are you scared she’ll ask if you’re special friends again?” You laughed, it wasn’t that funny, in fact the idea of it was horrifying, but it was enough to make you loosen up.

Once you’d calmed down, Fenrys kept opening his mouth. “It’s obvious you all want each other. Why would you deny yourself?

That damn word again. Are you going to deny her? Are you going to deny him? Your toxic thoughts chose a fantastic time to resurge. Maybe you were nothing more than a way to pass time, a temporary reprieve to their boredom. Something to get out of their system. The mere thought left you feeling dirty, made your skin crawl. You didn’t know if you were capable of seeing them in that light.

“Maybe I'm a masochist,” you finally responded.

“I don’t know what to do,” she told Lys, collapsing back onto the couch. Twelve hours ago, you’d been here with her.

“That’s a new one,” Lysandra grinned. “About the kiss?” Aelin scowled, and flipped her off. She hadn’t told her, hadn’t told anyone, but somehow the shifter figured it out and promised to keep it a secret.

“No,” she gritted her teeth. Although she was a bit lost on that one, something she could figure out with Rowan. One task at a time, she reminded herself. One gods-damned thing at a time.

First, get you a dress.

Second, figure out when she can kiss you again. They hadn’t expected you to fall right in with them, although it would’ve been nice. But, the last thing she wanted was to scare you off - and that meant patience.

Rubbing at her temples, she refocused herself. “On how to get her to go dress shopping.”

“What’s stopping her?” Aelin kept her mouth shut.

Definitely not something she’d be spreading around, she’d been trusted with that precious kernel of information. The main reason was to not betray her trust. But, even if you’d given your permission for her to share, she’d be reluctant to. A precious gift. One she’d want to keep to herself. Then again, Aelin had pissed several people off in the past for withholding information. What could she tell Lysandra without giving too much away? No matter what she said, it would imply something, and she refused to lie to her friend. Thankfully, before she could come up with an answer, Lysandra nodded in understanding.

“Should we ambush her? Take her out to one of the shops?”

“Catching her by surprise is our best shot,” Aelin paused, “but she’d hate being taken out into public like that.” She grinned at Lysandra, her plan already formed. Emerald green eyes twinkled in response.

You intended on having a slow morning. All of the work you wanted to accomplish for the week was done, and for once you had zero plans. Recently, keeping yourself busy seemed like the only reasonable way to keep your sanity. Two days ago you’d kissed them. They’d kissed you.

Maybe having zero plans was a bad idea.

Aelin’s thumb grazing over your lips. Rowan’s fingers sliding into your hair.

A loud meow snagged you out of the memories, and you mumbled a ‘thanks’ to Halle. At least nobody could witness you speaking to your cat, currently winding herself in between your legs. You leant down, scratching between her ears.

“What is it?” Yellow eyes stared up at you, before she darted towards the cabinet. “I know Ceri snuck you one this morning.”

Dried pieces of fish. Would stink up the house permanently, if you hadn’t a small box to contain the … stench. She wouldn’t stop staring, and you caved. A little bit of magic floated it, just high enough for her to lean up, snatch it, and dart off somewhere else.

Less than a year in Orynth, and it already felt like home. At first, it felt a bit like a betrayal to Antica - to the friends there who’d become family, but … someone could have multiple, you supposed. Part of you might always belong there, but another part was growing its roots in this city, and Ceri was flourishing. That always helped. Your ‘advisor’ role helped too, bringing a different kind of purpose and motivation. Maybe you weren’t ‘vital’ or ‘essential’ to the country, but you felt like you were helping - and that was enough.

A pulse from the wards showed visitors coming. The feel of their magic told you who, and your cheeks preemptively flushed. Glancing at the clock, Aelin was up early, for her. And dragged Lysandra with her. You didn’t have a good feeling about this.

The door creaked, and then swung open. Maybe you shouldn’t have told them if it isn’t warded, locked, or before eight in the morning, they could come right in. Still in the kitchen, you sighed and started making tea for them. Then, you’d figure out whatever Aelin’s plan is, and try to keep yourself from blushing every time you looked at her. Halle re-appeared, winding herself around your ankles.

Aelin wasn’t surprised you didn’t come meet them at the door. After all, you’d told all of them that if the wards didn’t keep them out, they could come right in. They’d all taken advantage of it one time or another - Fenrys, most of all.

“You’re up early,” you commented - water set to boil on the stove. Aelin, on instinct, quickened the process for you, flames heating it up. A flash of surprise, you glanced at the pot, before shooting her a smile. “Thank you,” you murmured.

“We’ve got things to do today,” she grinned, catching your eye.

You looked at her skeptically, before asking Lysandra, “should I be worried?”

Lysandra shrugged, and she jabbed her elbow into her ribs. At least you looked amused, rather than concerned. She waited to broach the topic until you were all seated.

Halle had hopped into your lap, and you sighed - but didn’t try to remove her. There was a barely detectable smell of fish coming from somewhere.

“Do you have a dress yet?” She already knew the answer.

“I don’t,” one hand stroked Halle's fur, but the cat was still tense - staring right at Aelin, as if she could read her mind. Maybe it was too early, because it felt vaguely like the cat was warning her. “Ines hasn’t stopped harping on about it, one of her cousins is a seamstress.”

“Who?” Aelin tilted her head, and you named the exact person she had in mind.

“She told me last night she already gave her my measurements,” you groaned, “and I agreed to meet her tomorrow afternoon.” Aelin’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“That’s wonderful,” Lysandra cut in, and your eyes darted between the two of them, bottom lip rolling between your teeth.

“It’ll be just me, here. If you’re not busy, I could use a friend or two with a good fashion sense.”

Friend.

“We volunteer,” Lysandra replied, “what time?”

“She’ll be here around two.”

Meetings for the morning, some of the final preparations, wrapped up at half past one. They’d be a bit late, but could still make it.

“Perfect timing.” Aelin noticed the cat finally settled.

The kindest way to put it, was you were a wreck the next morning. In fact, you drank several cups of tea designed to keep you calm, and it worked somewhat. Baking carob cookies helped too.

At least you knew the seamstress, Lya, from nights out. Unfortunately, she detected some of your nerves.

“I promise I’ll try not to jab you,” she grinned.

Laughing, you asked, “how much will I owe you?”

“I’d be willing to trade instead.” That worked fine for you.

Aelin and Lysandra showed up a quarter of an hour after her, and you were grateful they’d come. Their presence added excitement, instead of dread. They spoke eagerly to Lya, already familiar with her, about different colors, textures, designs, and you tried your best to keep on top of it.

Gold. That was the color you ended up deciding on, and a small gleam appeared in Aelin’s eyes at it. Sleeveless, gauzy and flowing, and a v neckline - bordering on the hint of modesty.

An hour later, you’d made it through unharmed. You ended up trading three amulets, and a ward to alert of anyone approaching. She tried to insist the ward itself was enough, but you’d refused. If you were exchanging actual cash value, it probably would even out. But, without knowing, she’d made you feel comfortable during it, calming any nerves, and that was worth much more to you.

Neither Aelin nor Lysandra commented, but they stayed with you until after the seamstress left. Just in time for Ceri to come home, her three friends in tow. The same friends she’d convinced to attend the local school with her, for the three days a week she went.

“They really are inseparable,” Lysandra commented as you watched them through the window, running right up the path. Ceri paused twenty paces away, and her eyes lit up, she knew who was here. Maybe she remembered Lya was coming today - and you always baked when guests came over.

The door swung open, and after a few quick hellos they breezed right into the kitchen where the sweets were.

“And I thought you were excited to see me,” Aelin called after them. Laughter, and then the sound of a box opening. It took a few months, but they always made themselves at home now - and you loved it.

Minutes later, they sprinted out into the back garden - going to check on the chickens. Lysandra made an excuse to leave, and it was just you and Aelin.

“More tea?” You asked, heading towards the kitchen. You needed something to do, because looking at her kept bringing back memories, and being alone with her was dangerous.

Aelin stood, and caught your wrist as you passed, calloused fingers closing around your skin. Knowing you’d probably regret it, you let her invade your space. Jasmine and lemon verbena. Her eyes met yours, before slowly scanning down your face - pausing on your lips, where your teeth bit almost painfully.

You were frozen in time and place, stuck and lost as her thumb tugged it free, before slipping between your lips. Your skin heated, heart quickening as you swirled your tongue around it. The smallest touch from her should not be doing this to you.

Hearing the back door open, you both separated, Aelin with a particularly feline grin.

It was Terrasen’s first time hosting, and Aelin was glad to see everyone gathering under different circumstances. Several people who’d been in Orynth during the battle were coming. Dorian, Manon, Chaol, Yrene, Ansel, Sartaq and Nesryn, a few of Rowan's cousins, and more.

The entourages from Adarlan, and the Witch Kingdom arrived first.

In the end, they had to tell Ceri Manon was coming, likely with Abraxos, and coached her several times on what not to say. For example; ‘Rowan tells me bedtime stories about you.’

Gods, part of Aelin hoped Ceri did say it - if only to see Manon’s reaction.

Still, her mind wandered to you. To that night. She’d only had that brief time alone with you, that moment when your eyes met hers, and she saw lust start to glaze over. The feeling of your tongue against her skin, the sound of your heart pounding, she wanted more. You were quickly becoming a sweet addiction.

They weren’t announcing you were Rowan’s ex-lover, but anyone with two brain cells would put the pieces together. Instead, you were an advisor to their Court, and Ceri’s mother.

It was probably one of the last things on everyone else's minds, but it was circling around in yours enough to cause a headache. Several headaches.

“I can do this,” you muttered, in front of the mirror. There wasn’t any other option.

“Do what?” Ceri asked, and you spun around to see her, lurking just outside of the door. She waited for you to answer.

“Meet all of these new people,” you answered honestly.

“I’m excited,” she grabbed your hand, tugging you away. “I’ll get to meet Manon,” she peered up at you, “do you think she’ll let me see Abraxos?”

“You’ll have to ask nicely,” you squeezed her hand. “And maybe wait until you know her a bit better, Wyverns aren’t pets.”

Ceri agreed, and you headed out. All you had to do was make it through dinner, and then you could overthink everything alone.

She’d been to Terrasen before - since the battle, but visiting with several others would be interesting. From the air, she’d spotted the memorial to her … to her thirteen. Although she didn’t come here often, each time she did it almost felt like she could feel their presence - could hear Asterin; “Live, Manon. Live.” With some difficulty, she let the memory slip from her mind. It never got easier with time.

Manon didn’t know what to make of Rowan’s child. The girl was perfectly polite, but kept sending her looks throughout the entire meal. Nothing rude, more like curious.

She didn’t seem afraid of anyone. Her mother, on the other hand … you’d been introduced at the beginning as an advisor to their court. A few others seemed to vaguely recognize your name.

“The child's mother,” she asked Dorian later on - keeping an ear open for anyone crawling around. “Who is she?”

“A specialist.”

Manon scowled, at the small smirk growing on his face. He was enjoying knowing something she didn’t. The King didn’t say anything further, waiting for her to keep asking.

“A specialist in what?” She hissed.

Shrugging his shoulder, he only responded when she shot him another glare. “Wards, enchanted objects, those types of things.” Mildly interesting, and she noted it for later. “Ceri couldn’t stop looking at you,” he commented.

“I’m aware.”

Manon couldn’t tell from where, but she felt eyes on her. Launching to her feet, she began to search around the room, and felt Dorian’s magic doing the same.

Then - soft paws, and a meow. An orange cat, bright yellow eyes, was staring at her. Not a shifter, and her body relaxed somewhat.

“Where did you come from?” she crouched down, holding her hand palm up. It, Manon tilted her head, she trotted over, her head rubbing against her hand. Too well taken care of to be a stray, but she supposed there were always mice to find.

She scented them first, then three knocks on the door. Dorian called them to come in, and Chaol, Yrene, and a good portion of Terrasen’s court followed.

Aelin stopped as she saw the cat, eyes widening in surprise.

“Halle,” she called, and the creature looked up.

“You have a cat?” Dorian asked, “how does Fleetfoot feel?”

“Fleetfoot loves her,” Aelin huffed, “and she’s not my cat.”

Sure enough, the cat spotted Yrene and bounded towards her - like greeting an old friend. “Or my cat,” Yrene said, but still bent down to scratch between its ears. “How did you end up all the way out here?” Another meow, and a purr.

“Yrene,” Chaol cleared his throat.

She glanced up at him, to find most of the room staring at her. “She’s part Baast cat, I didn’t know any lived outside of the Torre. “Or that they mixed with other kinds.”

“It’s almost like she knows you,” Aelin looked between them.

“Well, they’re certainly not normal cats. To offend one is to insult them all, it's best to stay on their good side.”

“She’s y/n’s cat,” Rowan finally said. With a swish of a fluffy tail, the creature trotted off through the still open door. Ceri’s mother is getting more interesting. “I should warn you,” he fixed his gaze on her, “Ceri’s recently -”

“It’s not recent,” Aelin interjected - and she ignored him,

“Become obsessed with Wyverns - and dragons.”

“And?” Manon pushed.

Aelin stalked over, and flopped down on the couch next to her. “We’re apologizing, in advance, for when she tries to badger you with questions.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t already,” Lysandra added, taking a seat across from them.

The subject changed after that, and a bottle of wine was brought. Manon supposed if she was stuck talking to anyone, this group wasn’t the worst option.

They couldn’t force you to, but had offered for you to come meet their friends, aware you’d probably decline. Aelin might consider them friends, but to you - you’d see rulers of different countries, a lot of which most people in Terrasen would never be in the same room as.

As expected, you turned down the offer and although she understood, Aelin couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed, even as she tried to imagine herself in your situation. Rowan came up with the idea to warn Manon, instead of having Ceri catch her off guard. It was a smart decision, but it would’ve been nice to see the Witch Queen surprised.

Gods, Aelin wanted you here - even felt like you’d belong. Aelin was waiting to see if you would be brought up, if someone would ask questions.

“Your friend,” Yrene asked carefully - not sure who to address, “y/n, she’s from Antica?”

“She lived there for a while,” Rowan answered.

“I thought she looked familiar.”

“Familiar?”

Yrene paused, her mouth tightening for the briefest moment - debating what to say. “Antica is busy - but I still remember faces.” Chaol’s hand covered her own, her friend smiling.

You didn’t come up again for the rest of the night.

Mind whirling, you tapped your foot incessantly against the carpet. Ceri was nearly asleep, Rowan finishing up a story. Likely, he had somewhere to be after this, and with a touch of luck he’d say a quick goodnight and walk right out the door.

Instead, he stopped, eyes tracking your movements. Your foot stilled.

“Nervous?” He asked, and took a seat next to you, still a healthy distance away. Shields of wind went up around the room, keeping nosy ears from listening.

“A bit,” you admitted - fixing your eyes on the wall. It wasn’t nearly as nice to look at as the male next to you.

“Look at me,” Rowan said rather gently.

You couldn’t. A few seconds passed.

“Look at me.” His words were more forceful, more demanding this time. “For fucks sake,” you heard him mutter, and his fingers closed around your jaw, turning your head. The grip didn’t hurt, but it was firm. He almost looked … worried.

“Rowan, I'm fine.”

Two fingers tapped together, he caught it. “Don’t lie to me.”

Shrugging out of his grip, you stood, one hand through your hair. “Fine. I’m a fucking wreck, is that better?” Squeezing your eyes shut, you forced the memories out, back into the past - where they needed to stay.

Grabbing your arm, he tugged you back down to sit. “Stay at the castle after.”

It wasn’t a question, and something you’d already agreed to do. The look in his eyes … as if he was saying it for his own reassurance.

Your throat bobbed, “I will.”

Rowan’s hand slid down your arm, stopping to squeeze your hand. “Good.”

The next morning, over breakfast, Ceri finally cracked.

“I’ve heard all about you,” she told Manon. In the rush of everyone getting seated, they hadn’t noticed she was directly across from the Witch.

Rowan braced himself.

“Really?” Manon paused, putting her fork back down and giving her full attention. Aelin may have killed all of the Gods, but he still prayed.

She hummed, “I want to be a Wyvern-rider,” he could tell she was holding her tongue - avoiding saying and a witch. She’d been very upset when they had to tell her Witches were born, not made.

“I can take you on Abraxos.” The entire table went silent.

“Absolutely -” Aelin started, he was still in shock that she'd even offered. He glanced at you, on Ceri’s right. Your shoulders had tensed, but you weren’t protesting.

“Yes please, that would be amazing,” eyes identical to his own lit up in pure joy and excitement.

Manon’s mouth briefly curled up at one corner, “then it’s settled.”

His eyes slid to you, again, at how your mouth had tightened. Rowan watched as Manon met your gaze, and you held her stare for a few moments, before nodding almost imperceptibly, before nudging your head towards him.

Wanting him to agree as well. Very briefly, you looked at him.

Ceri had tracked the silent conversation, and now stared at him with pleading eyes. Shit.

He looked at Manon instead - more like glowered, enough Aelin stomped on his foot.

A silent stare said; anything happens to her and I'll destroy you.

Manon rolled her eyes, but her mouth indented at the corner. Was he really about to trust her to take her daughter on a wyvern?

With you already agreeing, and Ceri likely to throw a fit if he disagreed, the decision was already made for him.

The next morning, at dawn, a small crowd gathered as Ceri trailed Manon, approaching Abraxos. You were on edge, and this was insane, but a dream came true for your daughter. Maybe it wasn’t entirely fair you left the final decision on Rowan, but in your defense Manon looked at you first.

You’d always been good at reading people, and animals, and this was the safest way possible. Plus, a hawk would be trailing them - wind prepared to slow her down if anything happened.

Abraxos seemed to like her, and Manon explained everything, answering all of her questions. Honestly it seemed to surprise everyone around you as well. It was all she’d talked about last night, and it took some convincing to get her to actually go to sleep.

You could’ve sworn little screams of joy were heard over the city as they did a loop around the castle and surrounding areas, a white tailed hawk trailing after them.

Ten minutes, but possibly the longest ten minutes of your life.

You fidgeted with your gown. Gold and elegant, Lya had really outdone herself. It was nothing like the last one, and you were grateful for it. Even then, part of you still wished your parents were here with you.

“There’s going to be several guards watching over Ceri, all night,” Fenrys said, appearing behind you in the mirror. He’d told you this before - probably dozens of times by now, like he needed to beat it into your head that you were allowed to enjoy yourself. Still, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to tell another person about the last ball you went to.

“Aren’t you supposed to be down there?”

“I have a few minutes,” he glanced at the clock. “Don’t forget you have to be there too.”

“You won’t let me.”

After unnecessarily moving a pin around in your hair, you let Fenrys loop his arm through yours. “Remember to have fun. Remember you don’t belong to anyone.”

“Obviously,” you nudged him. “What are you trying to say?”

Voices started filling the hall, and he shot you a sly grin before merging both of you into the crowd.

Ceri glowed. She wasn’t introduced as a ‘princess,’ but a member of the royal household. You were well aware that several parts of the world still shunned children born out of wedlock - especially in Royal families, and seeing her up there made you proud. Proud of how high she held her head, of the confidence radiating from her.

Although her existence was already known, murmurs still rose in the crowd - just from a few people. A few sharp looks from Terrasen’s court and the Witches, cut those right off.

The ball was beautiful. Joy, laughter, feasting, and dancing. Gods, just after a few hours you thought your feet might fall off. But as Aelin and Rowan swept across the dance floor, it brought a strange feeling. It wasn’t jealousy sneaking into you, but a realization.

There would never be a place for you there, with them, not with how perfectly they fit together. As far as you were concerned, whatever that night was - physical attraction drove it. Nothing more. It couldn’t be more, even if you wanted it to. Giving in to that same desire … it wouldn’t end well. If you grew attached like that, it would rip your heart out once they realized you didn’t fit, and that would come eventually.

You can’t speak for them, a little voice whispered in your mind. Likely part of you trying to convince yourself it could work. But, it wasn’t like you to wait around in denial.

‘You don’t belong to anyone,’

When a witch strode up to you with confidence, asking if you wanted to dance, you said yes without a second thought, sore feet forgotten. When she asked if you’d like to get some fresh air, you agreed.

In a private corner of a garden, her hand slid around your waist, the other sliding into your hair, you let yourself lean into the moment and forget.

The light hit your dress at all of the right moments, drawing his attention to you. Gold. He knew Aelin must’ve been behind it. You were absolutely beautiful, and each person you danced with seemed charmed. He hadn’t made his way over to you, but he planned on it at some point throughout the night.

Just as he thought he had an opportunity, your last dance finished, Rowan saw you smile at her, watched the witch lead you from the ballroom, and couldn’t do a damn thing.

taglist: @holb32 @fussel9913 @moonlightttfae @cassianswh0reeee, @reidishh

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #throne of glass fic #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #throne of glass x reader #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 11 months ago

Text

Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

A/N: Oops, I made this chapter a little angsty. I do love Nancy now, flaws and all. Oh, the title is a play on for stuck between a rock and a hard place. Thought it was funny.

Chapter One

Nancy Wheeler was confident in her decisions, to say the least. She never really doubted when she was in the right. It was a constant struggle, though, to look at someone's else's side of things. It was why she loved looking at the facts, put plain and simply before her. The facts are that she was interning at the local newspaper and that the news reporters seemed to hate women or look down on them at least. They surely didn't respect them.

"I mean, like what year are we in now? There are tons of female news reporters. Get ahead of the times!" Nancy complained.

"Well, there's a reason why people call this town so conservative. Will this town ever be willing to change?" Steve asked, shaking an invisible magic eight ball. "Sources say: unlikely. I mean, now, they really won't be subject to change with the way this mall moved in and took away their businesses."

"The same mall you work at?" Nancy asked in amusement. "By the way, what the hell are you wearing?"

"I can't believe you're just now noticing. This is my uniform," Steve said and flipped the hat back onto his head.

Nancy had stopped by Scoops Ahoy after coming into the mall to try to find Holly a birthday gift. She had spotted Steve behind the counter and had to stop in. Now, here they were, in the back room conversing like old friends. Steve stood up from the table and slowly twirled around before striking a pose. His back was to her, and he peered over his shoulder, his hand over his mouth as though he was shocked. His rear end was sticking out. He looked like he got caught doing something he shouldn't. Nancy burst into a fit of giggles.

"You're an idiot, Steve Harrington," Nancy said softly.

"And you're - uh - anyway, yes, this is my uniform. It's completely fucking embarrassing but not as embarrassing as being too stupid to get into anywhere," Steve said.

"Despite what I said before, you're not stupid. Although, you can be an idiot at times. It's not who you are, and if your dad ever makes you feel like that, then just send him my way. I'll kick his ass," Nancy said.

"You're the only person in the world I believe could actually take that asshole," Steve said.

"Thanks. I should probably go. I told mom I would be home soon," Nancy said, getting up.

"One thing first, and I'm not sure it was my place to say, but this job of yours. . .you're not getting paid, your skills aren't being put to good use, you have to ask what else am I getting out of this? What else am I learning?" Steve asked.

"Well, I'm learning what not to do," she said, and he laughed.

"You know, it's okay to give up something that's not working for you, and it's okay to fight for it. Whatever decision that works best for you, Nancy, it's okay," Steve said.

"Stop saying okay. I hate that word," Nancy said softly.

It made her stomach turn the way he said it softly, reminding her of the way he said it that night he told her to go with Jonathan. A small portion of guilt nestled in her stomach. She shook it away and smiled.

"It was good to see you again, Steve," Nancy said. "We should talk again soon."

"Definitely," Steve grinned. "Did I help at all?"

"Yeah, actually, you did," Nancy said.

As she walked out of the break room, she passed Steve’s co-worker Robin. She gave Nancy the stink eye. She wondered if it was because she thought there was something between her and Steve. Was Robin jealous of her? Did she want to date Steve? Or was she dating Steve? God, Nancy hoped not. She blushed, realizing that she had no right to be jealous of someone she didn't have any interest in anymore. . .or did she? Nancy walked briskly away, moving out of the parlor and towards the exit as quickly as possible. Halfway towards the exit, Nancy realized that she had left her purse. When she walked back in, there was a closed for lunch sign out front. She went in and headed towards the break room. She paused by the door when she heard her name.

"You're friends with your ex?" Robin asked. "That's a little. . . Unusual."

"I take what I can get," Steve said.

"What does that mean?" She asked and paused. "What? Are you still in love with her?"

Nancy sucked in a breath and waited hopefully for the right answer.

"I mean, I don't know. I guess so. How does one fully stop loving Nancy Wheeler?" Steve asked. "I just want her to be happy. If Jonathan makes her happy, then I'm happy, too."

"It doesn't kill you inside every time you hang out to see her with another guy?" Robin asked.

"Well, this is the first time we hung out in a while. After it all. . .ended, Nancy invited me to have lunch with her Jonathan, but I couldn't. . .it was too painful. I spent lunch in my car blasting Careless Whisper and crying. I got my heart broken, and I didn't have any friends. I mean, the friends I had I walked away from. They were assholes, yes, but I knew Tommy all of my life, and he wasn't always like that. My parents were never home, still aren't, and I just had no one. The kids I started to babysit helped a lot, but considering they were kids and one of them was Nancy's brother, I couldn't exactly talk to them about this," Steve said. "Before we broke up, I tried everything to befriend Jonathan because I knew how much he meant to Nancy. I guess I just didn't want to admit how much."

Nancy pressed her hand to her mouth, tears filling her eyes as she tried to muffle her sobs. She didn't know anything about all of that or the fact that Steve tried to make friends with Jonathan.

"You didn't want to lose her. The fact that you tried to befriend him says a lot about you," Robin said. "I wouldn't have been able to do that."

"I can't hate her for making the choice that she did. I was never enough to be it for her, but I respect her choice even if I don't like it. I can't force her - " Steve choked up. "I can't force her to love me."

"So pathetic," Robin said softly with a hint of affection and Steve laughed.

"Definitely pathetic," Steve said and paused. "I miss her so much that it's stupid. I just wish that I could move on. I think I'm trying too hard. I guess I can't force that either."

"I think I can help with that," Robin said in a mischievous voice. "It requires me taking over the whiteboard, though. What are your preferences?"

"Men, women," Steve said.

"I meant like how do you want me to tease you mercilessly while I do this, but that is. . . That is good to know," Robin said. "Um, right, thanks for telling me."

Crying softly, Nancy quietly and quickly walked away. She'd get her purse some other time. She ran all the way to the bathroom and locked herself in a stall. What he had said then was something she always suspected about Steve, but she never asked, never wanted to be pushy about that part of his life in case he wasn't aware, but turns out, he was. It was all the other stuff that was overwhelming her. She couldn't stop picturing Steve alone in his car, crying. She had so wanted to believe that he had been fine, that he wouldn't be affected by what happened. Or maybe she just hoped that he wouldn't care because it was easier to escape the fact that she fucked up. She didn't intend to hurt Steve, but she did it anyway, and maybe there was another reason why she didn't want to think about how he felt or that moment at the school. She didn't want to think about him walking away from her after begging her to tell him that she loved him. She didn't want to think about him telling her it was okay or hearing him call himself a shitty boyfriend. It was easier to ignore all of that than to admit that she didn't feel like she deserved him.

Jonathan doesn't deserve for her to think that way either because her relationship with him means something, doesn't it? Everything happened so quickly. Maybe that was why she wanted it to happen so fast. Why she had acted the way she did with her feelings for Jonathan? She wanted to destroy her relationship with Steve, to make him hate her the way she hated herself, and she wanted him to feel guilty the way that she did with Barb. She was so mad at her before she died. Why couldn't Barb have understood that it was her choice to have sex with Steve? That the moment he talked to her, it was decided, and the very moment his lips touched hers. She bought a new bra, bought a new sweater, and she even lied to her mom about why she needed birth control.

"This isn't you, Nance," Barb had said.

"Why couldn't you have just gone home?" Nancy whispered to the empty bathroom.

The real person she wanted to be angry with was Barb, and how grotesque was that? How could she be angry at Barb for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? No, because if Barb had gone home and just let her make her choice, then Barb would still be alive. Nancy's stomach rolled. That's what Steve represented, not his guilt because he did nothing, but her own for being so angry with Barb before she died and for being angry after. The real person to be angry with, she knew, was Dr. Brenner. He was the man who started all of this, who led Barbara to her death. If she could bring him back and kill him again, she'd kill him a thousand times. She couldn't go down that road again. She knew the risks she took when she sought justice for Barb. She risked the whole damn town to do it. She wasn't sure she could put something like on Steve again because she still loved him, and he deserved better than that. Nancy wiped her face and came out of the bathroom to find Robin leaning against the wall. She was holding her purse.

"You left this. I saw you run in here. Damn, you're fast," Robin said and handed her the purse.

"Thanks," Nancy said, taking the purse and Robin narrowed her eyes at her.

"You came back for the purse. You heard us," Robin said, and Nancy didn't say anything. "You still love him."

"He deserves better," Nancy said.

"Doesn't he also deserve to make that choice for himself?" Robin asked.

"I - why do you care so much?" Nancy asked.

"I'm a firm believer in second chances. Without them, I wouldn't be here. My mother thought she'd never see my father again or to tell how she felt, but the chance came around again, so . . . Here I am," Robin said, raising her hands up in a shrug. "Gotta believe that there's hope for everyone."

Nancy stared at her for a moment, trying to figure her out. She washed her hands and dried them off.

"Don't tell Steve about this," Nancy said softly.

"Tell him what?" Robin shrugged and left the bathroom.

When Nancy walked into the house, Holly was playing barber shop with Mike's hair while he screeched that she was pulling his hair on purpose. Judging by the mischievous look on Holly's face, she was. Nancy smiled and shook her head before walking into the kitchen where her mother was making lunch.

"Hey, Nance. Did you find what you were looking for at the mall?" Karen asked.

"I think so," Nancy said softly as she stared at her mother.

She realized then where the choice she made with Jonathan was leading her. It was the path that she thought Steve would lead her down to: an unhappy marriage. She still liked Jonathan right now, and she wanted to continue to like him. Not that her mom didn't love her dad. It's just that she didn't like him very much. She wanted a partner that she not only liked but loved as well.

"We like Steve, but we don't love Steve," Murrary had taunted.

Nancy blushed furiously. He had been wrong. She should have said something then, defended Steve then because it was true. She liked Steve, and she loved him too. As much as she cared for Jonathan, as much as she liked him, she didn't love him the way that she loved Steve. The more she thought about Steve, the more she started to remember everything that she loved about their relationship. She remembered nights when they would curl up and watch Tom Cruise movies. They would both gush and giggle over him. Thinking about it now, he definitely had a crush on him like she did. She remembered watching him bake, and when a Bob Seger song came on, he would pull her in his arms to dance. He wasn't afraid to let her lead either. It wasn't just Bob Seger. It was Queen, Bowie, and Madonna. Occasionally, it was stuff like Eddie Van Halen, too. She loved the fact that he didn't just have a particular genre that he loved. He appreciated all sorts. And when she had to babysit Holly, he would come over to help, and he was always so good with her. He was good with both Holly and Mike. She loved the way that he wasn't afraid to be an absolute dork. Her dad was a quiet man, but he always some managed to pull a conversation out of Ted, and he loved to help her mother in the kitchen. She remembered all if without the cloud of guilt weighing her down.

"Nancy, honey, are you okay?" Karen asked.

"I messed everything up," Nancy burst into tears.

Chapter Two

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dragon-kazansky · 8 months ago

Text

Veil of the dreamless

Morpheus x Reader

A cursed Morpheus holds your father prisoner when he enters The Dreaming without permission. You, also able to enter the realm, take his place. Now a prionser to the Dream Lord, you do all you can to learn about the curse and hopefully break it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Eight - The mirror

☆☆☆

Morpheus takes you back to his room. He claims there is something else in there he should show you. While he fetches the item in question, you stand in the middle of his room and look at the ruby rose.

It has very few petals left on it. You frown. You still don't know how to break the curse.

A pain settle in your heart.

Morpheus returns to you with a mirror in his hand. He looks at you gently.

"This mirror is magic. It can see into your world." He holds the mirror our to you. You take it carefully. "I've been keeping an eye on your village..."

You look down into the mirror. At first, you only see your reflection, but then it changes to your home in the village. You see your father pacing back and forward in the house. He looks worried.

You see Hob sitting on the couch watching your father. Your father is talking to him, explaining what has happened. Hob believes every word. The Dreaming. Morpheus. The curse. Hob believes every word.

You watch Hob stand up and place a hand on your father's shoulder.

"I know of him."

"You do?"

"He's an old friend."

"Can you save them?" Your father asks.

"They're not in danger. Not unless Desire is there, too."

"Desire?" You look at Morpheus.

"My sibling. The one who had me cursed."

"How do I break it?"

He looks like he wants to tell you, but resists. He looks back at the mirror again.

"I need them safe."

"They are safe." Hob says.

"I want them home."

Your heart aches for your father. You miss him. But you're glad he's safe at home.

"I... I'm going to send you back."

You look back up at Morpheus. "What?"

"You will no longer be kept here. I will send you home."

"Morpheus..."

He shakes his head at you. "I was angry at first, but you have gained my trust and my friendship. I will not keep you here any longer. I will send you home to be with your father."

You reach out and take Morpheus' hands in yours. "I will tell him what a good man you are. I will tell him of how you looked after me, how you saved me."

Morpheus smiles. "Thank you."

"But-!" You go to ask him how you can break the curse for him, but je doesn't give you time. You're swept up in a gust of sand and the next thing you know you're standing outside your house.

"Morpheus..." You whisper his name.

You look up at the house and feel your heart breaking. You're glad to be home, but you also didn't want to say goodbye to Morpheus. Would you even see him again?

You realise you're still wearing the clothes from the ball, and you almost want to cry. Tonight had almost been utterly perfect... and now he had sent you home. You look at the mirror in your other hand. You can see him in it. He looks... sad.

You reach for the front door and find your father and Hob. Both of them turn when you enter. Your father calls your name and reaches out to you. He pulls you into a hug.

You look at Hob. Hob looks at you.

There's an understanding. Hob can read you like his books. Something about you has changed.

You cling to your father.

"What happened to you?"

You look at him. "Morpheus looked after me... I... Father... he needs my help. I need to go back..."

"Back? You can't go back! He's a madman!"

You try to argue with him. Hob comes to your side and takes you in his arms. "Tell me," he whispers.

"His time is nearly up... if I don't do something, he'll be stuck like that forever..." You tear up.

Hob rubs your back. "Desire will go to him when his time nears its end. I can help you get back to him."

You look up at Hob. "How?"

"Come with me."

Your father watches as Hob takes your hand and leads you out of the house. You follow without question.

The only thing you can think about is saving Morpheus, and perhaps you can be open with him. Deep down, you know, you're falling in love with him.

He needs to know.

☆☆☆

@littleblackcatinwonderland - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @missdreamofendless - @intothesoul -

#veil of the dreamless #morpheus x reader #the sandman #beauty and the beast au #au #dragon writes

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rel124c41 · 3 months ago

Text

WALT DISNEY WORMDOG III. jade leech/oc

please contact your local doctor if you are experiencing the following symptoms: prophetic dreams, the feeling that someone is calling from across the water and from across the wave, midnight visitors, scars from sand, new friendships, black blood coming out your ears but NOT your nose, inhuman strength, canine teeth on your throat, & the philosophy that we should move on from our past and never let it hold us back from the possibilities of tomorrow.

a/n: It's Wednesday night and we're going to play Bingo!

tags: main character deaths, symbolic and not literal, blackberries symbolic for overblot stones, bingo, mindfuckery, minimal flirting, & shotguns.

word count: 2,468

Eight tables are fashioned into a heptagon like an old Elizabeth II era coin. Table eight is placed in the heptagon’s center. Naturally, the placement already calls attention to itself because the center table disrupts the flow of the seven-sided shape. Attention is also drawn to the table because the attendant is late.

It is truly odd because neglected, unsought Malleus Draconia has even made his way to the meeting. Which is why the Headmaster asks with a string of impatience in his tune, “Does anyone know if young Marion is planning to attend?”

The typical happens when a crowd of people is asked a question: a head shakes, a monotonous no, some murmuring of didn’t he say he would be here in five minutes, have you seen him, i think he went to the restroom. No clear hint or knowledge about the situation. Three astute voices break the mumbles and murmur with more concrete words.

“I think he’s still cleaning up the cones for Vargas,” Jack Howl hypothesizes.

“His punctuality is unorthodox tonight. Let’s wait another minute or two,” Riddle Rosehearts suggests.

“His text messages indicate that he is planning to attend,” Ortho Shroud informs.

Thus, they wait for another extended period of time as the wick of the Headmaster’s benevolent patience shortens. Time passes with a bit of low mumbling. Nothing too secretive is said because each word and syllable feels like a gunshot in the silence. Floyd Leech takes to stamping Azul Ashengrotto’s non-dominant hand with a Do-A-Dot marker, fashioned into the shape of a periwinkle mouse head and mouse ears, because he has already polka-dotted the majority of both his forearms. Time passes slowly, and time passes even slower the longer it goes on.

Outside of the heptagon, three waiters wait like racehorses in a starting stall. Time will never accelerate for them as per their profession’s namesake. Besides. Waiting means not playing the game, which basically means they have already won.

It is only when the Headmaster moves a taloned hand to close the door with magic that the young Marion shoves his foot in the closing door. No one says anything as he walks in, not with his head low in shame or with his head held high in confidence. He does not know he has been keeping everyone waiting.

Demurely, Marion rests his double-barrel shotgun Excalibur on the edge of his table in the center and leans back in his seat. As soon as he sat down, the game began. Yet, Marion takes his time, straightening himself up like a string on the top of his head is pulled and the air bubbles in his back crack. Everyone else’s attention moves from the center and onto their paper cards.

With a hollow, plastic ball already in his golden talons, the Headmaster says, “G17.”

The starting stall opens for the waiters. Dressed in shawl lapel suits, two of them make their way around the heptagon. They take to refilling waters that had been drunk in the waiting period. The third races towards the middle, his claws clicking on the linoleum.

“Henchman, why don’t I get to play! We’re the same student. The sidekick shouldn’t be playing the role of the hero.” Grim pouts, resting his paws on the edge of Marion’s seat.

“B5.”

“I’m surprised. That makes it sound like you want to do work.” Marion takes a sip of his untouched water, not having looked at his playing card yet.

“O36”

Grim grimaces at his least favorite four-lettered word, work. “Playing a game isn’t work though.” He is a little too short to look at what is on the table so his eyes flicker to the sleek black shotgun. “I wanna play.”

“B13.”

Resolute, Marion shakes his head and sets down his water to grab something else. “No. Go help out Ace and Deuce.” The color of his Do-A-Dot marker is gray-blue. It matches Grim’s magestone – which is concealed under his suit.

“I4.”

The dire-beast gives a miserable, little frown at Marion’s words. However, he concedes. It is only due to the good faith between them that causes the beast to waddle away on his hindlegs. Like a ringleader who must convince his lion that jumping through flaming hoops is fun, trust must be drilled and hammered into the relationship for continual flaming-hoop-jumping.

The game continues on without further interruptions. Each player devotedly reads their sheets when a number and letter is called. This first round has been outlined only as a test to familiarize players with the mechanics of Bingo. Like a prologue of a video game, there are no real stakes in this.

However, that does not lessen the arrhythmic fluster of every player’s heart when Marion, dominant hand painted in black, says Bingo with his arm raised.

Less than a handful of wandering eyes flicker over to Marion with mild interest. Smidgens of skepticism colors their irises. A magicless student just won the practice round? However, anyone who did turn around in his seat or glanced in Marion’s direction turns back to their playing cards easily. Must be a one-off thing.

As Marion wipes so purple-it-almost-looks-black juices from the blackberries he ate off his fingers, Ace delivers the playing card to Crowley for it to be checked. Crowley returns it with confirmation that Marion is the winner, the players throw their used playing cards in the middle, looking at their fresh one on the top of their pile of seven, remaining cards.

Marion feeds a blackberry to Grim so they can revel in their almost-shared victory.

“G2.

“I12.

“N49.”

So on and so on. It is a sparse wave of moving, stamping hands. Many do not seem to be participating. Predictably, people like Leona Kingscholar and Idia Shroud barely give their playing cards more than a glance every tenth or eleventh called out number matched with a letter. People like Riddle Roseheart are very vigilant.

Serious-minded as always, he makes sure to pay attention to the rules of the game. The night before, he took to researching online a beginner’s guide to the game. And since he is fonder to strawberries instead of blackberries, his focus does not wilt away from the playing card.

Blood red drops stain B13, G2, and I61. With his free spot predone for him, Riddle Rosehearts only needs O30 to win his cross line. At his table, Cater Diamond is enthusiastic about his housewarden’s encroaching win and Trey Clover offers a timid smile of encouragement.

“Bingo.”

Attention is drawn once more towards the center table. This time it is Grim who takes the playing card up to the Headmaster. Marion does not sit back down as he waits patiently for confirmation that he has won.

“Well done, Marion,” Crowley says as he hands back the playing card to the suited dire-beast. “Bingo.”

A smile graces Marion’s face. His hand is stainfree as he reaches down by his legs. Grasping fingers do not curl around his returned playing card but instead curl around Excalibur, leveling it in his arms. Shotguns are such weight-y guns, like trying to hold a snapping crocodile with the grace of a sleepy pomeranian.

When he aims it at Riddle Rosehearts, the two other Heartslabyul students stiffen. “Nothing personal?” Marion asks, but waits for no confirmation this time, as he empties the chamber of one bullet shell.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bingo is a tactical game about tracking down who is the biggest threat.

You must survey each player like they are intruders in your household at night. You must always check each Bingo player’s hand for a Do-A-Dot marker each ten seconds or you might find they have switched out that marker for a gun. An essential rule of Bingo – as Riddle Roseheart, blood red smeared on his playing cards, read the night before – is to find the biggest threat and eliminate them.

To eliminate players, the only method acceptable is with guns. Usually, guns that fire off bullets made of void or elemental magic are a player’s favorite choice. Excalibur is a bit avant-garde in the sense that bullet shells are made magic relative to what Marion needs them to be.

“G7.

“G18.

“N55.”

Leona Kingscholar had not seemed like a big threat until the end, with a perfect, lucky lineup of golden dots on the numbers underneath the bold I. Azul Ashengrotto also hardly seemed a threat, with a slippery melange of snot and tears running down his face onto his periwinkle spotted playing card.

But, Marion had to clean house.

So, he blew both their brains out with the swiftness of a seasoned pest exterminator.

Deuce took to scrubbing up the blood on Savanclaw’s table while Grim stood on a magically-made stool to wipe down Octavinelle’s table. Since the waiters had their hands full with cleaning, it was up to someone else to aid Ace, who had already cleaned up Heartslabyul’s table and is refilling the bowls of blackberries.

Marion got to select from the crowd of individuals, surrounding him in a heptagonal ring. The Headmaster might have been calling the numbers, but Marion was calling the shots. “Jade Leech.” The Headmaster’s gold eyes search Marion’s green eyes.

“Have Jade Leech help serve.” His green eyes are so focused on the Headmaster that he misses the look of twisted longing that fills the vice-housewarden’s eyes, the skin of his blood-splattered, under-eyelids creasing with mirthful affection.

Jade Leech is dressed in a shawl lapel suit and given immunity. Azul’s blood is left on his face. The game continues on. Players maneuver Do-A-Dot markers that match up to their dormitory’s colors as waters and fruit bowls are refilled. Jade takes to refilling up waters Ace misses, so effective in a familiar routine that he has enough time to linger by the center table with amorous intents.

“G77.”

“Excuse my unprompted comment, but you seem to be having quite a stroke of good luck. Do you think it will be finite?” Jade fills Marion’s glass with a pitcher of plain water; they both watch it slowly rise to the very top and quake with surface tension.

“B93.”

Marion feels the keen eyes trained upon him with tangibility found in a very real knife or gun pressed to his temple. Sipping without spilling, Marion responds with his lips on the glass rim, “I’m hoping to come out victorious. A SS rank.”

“I25.”

“May I ask another question?” Jade tries to appear sheepish but it is hard with the cool, collective look he wears. He looks like he will ask the question even if Marion’s answer was no. “What is it: confidence or arrogance?”

“G46.”

Marion dots his playing card. He only has three dots on the twenty-five squares, which includes his free spot as well. Though he certainly seems to be losing, the Prefect smiles and asks a question in response to a question, “Aren’t those words synonymous, handsome?”

“O10.”

“Well,” Jade leans his body down and encompasses Marion’s bicep in his gloved hand, delighted that his fingers do not touch as he squeezes the flesh, “keep up the good work, Marion.”

Jamil Viper has been waiting for this for a long time. He has mapped it out in his head since he was young and he has prayed that all the puzzle pieces will fall into place. Though Bingo has always been a game of luck, Jamil Viper uses skill too in this operation.

This is how his Bingo board looks. Along the B row, he has everything besides B3. Four dark maroon dots. Diagonally, he has everything besides G14. Four dark maroon dots. Across his second row, he has everything besides a B3. Four dark maroon dots. If he gets a B3, he will get double Bingo. Victory is predestined to him. All of his hidden hard work will yield his success.

“B33.”

A hysterical, frightened voice billows up from the heptagon. “Someone should call the cops!!” Only for it to reveal itself as Marion’s voice when he smiles, satisfied and smug. Witty, he sings, “I’m killin’ it~! Bingo!”

He waits for confirmation as Jade passes off the playing card to Crowley. Jamil grips the edge of his table. There is still time to scrounge up his last resources; besides, Marion could be mistaken and misheard a number-and-letter combination. However, the table splinters under Jamil’s oppressive grip a mere second later.

Because of the familiar routine, the shotgun feels as light as a handheld pistol when Marion swings it up like a baseball bat and fires.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Bingo Hall is quiet and full of smoke.

It floats at about shoulder height. It is thicker than any fog and stinks of acrid ammonia. If you were to playfully tug at it, the smoke would follow the motion of your hand in curling, gray-blue wisps. It is so thick that Marion sincerely thinks one of the residential ghosts of NRC might be swimming around in the fog. It covers like a fleece blanket, luring everyone to rest their heads on the tabletops in coma-like sleep.

Malleus had meant to make them all fall asleep but …

Marion is the only one still awake. Even Ace, Deuce, Grim are laid comatose on the ground like discarded dolls, even Jade (stripped of his shawl lapel suit after Idia’s death) is resting his head on the table. Marion is awake. Though, not for long. It is evident through the way he rubs his eyes and continuously yawns. He is going to fall asleep any second now.

He can feel each breath lure him deeper into comatose. Thick nose-fulls of ghosts and fog running through his lungs. All you can hear is the sound of ragged, measured breaths.

“Bingo,” Malleus states.

“Bingo,” Marion states.

Both at the same exact time.

The thing about Bingo is: the one that says the name of the game first gets their sheet checked first. Each syllable of theirs is perfectly lined up like the dots on their sheets.

In the absence of waiters and headmasters, the Dark Mirror takes both the playing cards (one dotted with blue-gray and the other dotted with green) with levitation magic. The apathetic face searches each sheet, checking the numbers dotted with the number called. And even though the reviewing is not completed, Marion has his shotgun aimed at Malleus’s head and Malleus has his shotgun aimed at Marion’s heart.

A shotgun shell will rip through a body. A shotshell fires from the barrel after the heat and sparks in the primer starts the process. Pellets leave the barrel and begin to scatter or spread. Once the shotshell hits a part of the body, it looks like a fruit tree of shrapnel, holes like hanging oranges.

One usually does not survive a shotshell because of this spread of pellets.

“Both of these are winners. BINGO.”

Malleus and Marion fire their weapons.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland #jade leech #riddle rosehearts #jamil viper #malleus draconia #jade leech x oc #twst

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violetmina · 1 year ago

Text

Chokehold - Ch. 8

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot @itsyellow @lmarina2000 @d3adite666

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,577

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, my bad attempt at wriiting flirting, lots of tension of multiple types, choking, and good ol’ Butcher himself.

A/N: I know, I know, It's been too damn long. And so is this chapter, longest one to date. Despite it being, in my opinion, kind of all over the place, I really hope you guys enjoy.

Scalding and fresh from the pot, the coffee glimmers like a black mirror in your work mug. Your reflection peers up at you but you're too elsewhere to notice it, its pensive glare or the hint of fatigue on its face. It mimics your dazed pose, one hand on the cupboard handle above you in the break room.

"It's not a magic eight ball."

You jerk, finding Hughie entering the break room beside you. He looks split between amused and mildly concerned at you. "What?"

"Your coffee," he gestures, side-stepping you to rummage for his lunch in the fridge. "You're staring at it like it's got all the answers or something."

With a shake of your head, you pull yourself out of your daze, rummaging through the cupboard for the fixings for your drink. "Wouldn't that be nice?," you sigh. "Caffeine fix and all my questions answered in one little mug."

Hughie settles at the table as you deposit your drink there and fetch your own food. "You wanna talk about it?"

You can't help but stiffen a little as you dig through the fridge, and hope he doesn't notice. Talk about it? About how this morning you'd woken up in a sweat, disoriented at finding yourself lying on your back instead of straddling the subtle v of Butcher's hips? Talk about the brutal shock of cold shower spray and chattering teeth it took to zap you back to reality?

Or talk about the nerves coffee couldn't fix but now made worse? You were strung on a tightrope of mild dread and anticipation for tonight's upcoming jiu jitsu lesson. After feeling his eyes burning along your spine, you were just a bit nervous of how Butcher planned to go forward from here.

"Just a lot on my mind," you shrug, taking up the chair next to him.

He gives a brief glance at the doorway as you shuffle out a sandwich then asks, "About future work projects?"

It's become an easy code to decipher between the two of you; the upcoming gala mission. Admittedly, it's another gnawing concern of yours. So you nod. "Yeah, a bit. There's some minor details that got me thinking."

"Like?," he asks quietly.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening it to the text from MM you'd been reading just before you'd zoned out. Hughie takes it, eyes quickly absorbing the vague message there. His brow furrows. "Um…am I missing something here?"

"It's a little info on the work project," you answer.

"Okay. Again, am I missing something?" He subtly peers about once more and lowers his voice. "It's stuff you'd find on an invitation. Venue, time, dress code-"

"Bingo," you sourly cut him off into your mug.

Hughie lets out a laugh. "Wait…A dress code? You're getting rattled by a black tie dress code?"

"Yes, exactly. Black tie. That means I have to wear an evening dress."

"You've worn dresses before," he replies between bites of his food. "Why is this any different? What's special about an evening dress?"

You rub at the bridge of your nose and sigh. "It's not about wearing a dress. It's about wearing a full-length dress, and heels, which are mandatory for black tie. And those are extremely impractical in shitty situations. Like not having full range of motion, or being able to run! I…" You lower your voice in admittance. "...I don't like potentially not being able to protect myself."

Hughie's face drops for a second as he takes that in. Then places a hand on your shoulder. "Okay, that makes more sense. I don't like that either. Hey, what if I talk to Annie?"

"Annie?," you ask, perplexed.

"Her whole job is about kicking ass in a costume, right?" He flashes a lop-sided grin. "I'll ask her if she can stop by and see you after work sometime. I'm sure she'd have more than a few pointers to share. It'd get her out of the tower for a bit. You find something that you'll pass dress code and feel more comfortable in. I think it'd be a win-win."

"And they say you're not the smart one," you wink. "I appreciate that, Hughie."

"Don't mention it. Do you want me to see if she's available tonight?"

You shake your head. "No," you reply after swallowing a thick bite of food. "Already got plans. Maybe night after next."

"Y/N's got plans? Somebody call the five o'clock news."

You and Hughie both find Victoria leaning in the doorway. A knot flips in your stomach and you do your best to not look suspicious as she strides in. She leans on the table, and you give her a little wave between bites.

"I know, right?," Hughie chimes in, jumping in before it can get weird. "I was just…offering her and Annie an opportunity to cut loose. Girls night, or whatever."

"Aren't you sweet? Good luck getting this work horse to slow down, though," Victoria says as she nods in your direction. Then turns fully to you. "Must be good if you're postponing an all-nighter in the cases. Don't tell me…" She wiggles an eyebrow at you. "Hot date, perhaps?"

You can't help a nervous snicker before shaking your head. "No," you answer into a napkin. "No, not a date."

"Now that's a shame," she says with a playful pout. "Here I thought somebody finally recognized your worth. God knows what I'd do without you."

"You joining us for lunch?," Hughie interjects.

"I'm afraid not," the congresswoman sighs. "I was going to ask Y/N to take some pressing cases over to your team to work on tonight. But maybe you could pick them up, Hughie?"

"I can still drop them off, at least. Before I call it a night," you shrug. "I'm not scheduled here tomorrow, so I'll be there most of the day anyway. I can start on them first thing in the morning."

"See?," Victoria waves in your direction before standing. "Like I said - work horse. I'll have one of the interns drop them by your desk before you clock out tonight. But I insist you wait till tomorrow to start on them. I'll cut you some slack, just this once." Then mutters as she turns for the door, "God knows Butcher doesn't know the meaning of the word."

"You never know. He has his good days," you call after her.

She pauses just outside the break room, casting you both a flat expression. "You kidding? If I had to work with him as much as you do, I think his head would explode. If not, it would definitely be mine."

After the sound of her high heels in the hall disappears, you and Hughie give each other a look. That was a little close for either of you, and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God she's not a supe," you whisper into your coffee.

^^^

The rest of the work day goes by at its usual tedious pace. By the time you're flipping through the files you were to deliver, your nerves make it difficult to read through them and retain anything. Agitated, you stuff most of them into your work bag and clock out. When you get home you have just enough time to grab a bite to eat and change for the impending training session.

You settle on a small snack, something light that'll give a pep of energy, and wash it down with a glass of water. You'd quickly learned that rolling with a full stomach is not even remotely pleasant, and an empty one wasn't much better. Nerves aside, you manage to keep that little nourishment down and quickly shed your work clothes for something better suited for rolling.

You're admonishing yourself for feeling so jittery when your phone buzzes on the bed. You finish tearing the t-shirt over your head and read the new text from Frenchie.

Hughie says you have files for us. Mon couer and I left early today. We all have something for you as well. See you tomorrow, mon amie.

Will do, you promptly reply. Then almost as an afterthought, Congrats on convincing Butcher to let you off early! What kind of mood is he in now?

Frenchie's reply comes in just as you finish locking your front door behind you. No clue. He's been gone all day. Kimiko says to take it easy tonight. Or else.

The playful threat isn't what makes your shoulders tense. It's wondering what kept Butcher away from the office all day, and if it has anything to do with what you're about to walk into.

Relax!, you snap at yourself. You're reading way too much into this. You're just training. You have a job to do. Focus on the job.

Remembering that feeling of eyes on your back though makes you pick up your pace as you reach the pavement. Then quickening again when you check the time. You're going to be cutting it close. Maybe too close.

…Don't try my patience, love…

And what if I do?

You shake your head as you try to dash through the crowd over the crosswalk. That was definitely not focusing on the job. Being able to handle yourself was still one of your main priorities but this whole shift, whatever happened last night…well it's making you question your priorities.

Is that really necessary?, the little voice sneers from its corner of your brain. You're just getting awfully flirty with a handsome, murderous widower. That's all.

That makes your step falter and you manage to stay upright, but only just. Widower. After all that time and the fucking mess Vought had wrought on them, a widower. And only for a matter of months now. The fact that that feels more pressing and not the murderous part is an issue of its own entirely.

The hell am I doing? Having a crush is one thing. But this feels…a bit disrespectful. To Becca. And to him. A trickle of doubt pools in your stomach. Has he even stopped for one fucking second to grieve? Really grieve?

Not likely, the little voice whispers. Butcher feel his feelings? If it weren't for him trying to step up for Ryan, he'd be washing them away in supe blood… or smoke, drink and fuck them away. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe you're the rebound, it cackles.

You swallow with a thick, dry click. If that's true, you think as you return to the quicker pace you didn't realize you had dropped, should I care? Would that be so bad?

But that's not what you want? Is it?, the voice sneers again.

You grit your teeth and ignore it, willing the constant noise around you to drown it out. You've got a job to do. You have supes to hunt, Hughie to convince, and people counting on you to do your part, play your role. And you have no time nor room to question your role with Butcher.

For all of your sakes.

^^^

The elevator feels particularly slow as it ascends to the office. It takes some effort but you keep from tapping your foot like an impatient child. It was five after eight when you had entered the building, and you had questioned Butcher's definition of punctual the moment the elevator doors had closed. Just how many minutes could you push it tonight?

The familiar ding finally comes and you dash out for the office doors. Your hand wraps around the handle and you burst in. Only instead of into the office you burst into the door. You jolt from the shock to your shoulder, glaring at the handle when it doesn't turn. You glance up and find, to your surprise, that there are no lights on inside. It's locked tight.

Perplexed, you fish out your keys and find your copy to unlock the stubborn handle. You can't help a scoff at the sight of the vacant office. "Don't be late," you mutter in your best Butcher impression, which is laughable at best. "Boss me, ditch work all day, and not even be on time? Oh I'm gonna give you shit for that…"

You open the door just enough to side-step in, fingers skittering along the wall for the light switch. It crosses your mind that maybe something had held him up, that something might have happened to him. A knot of apprehension slips through the dark and coils in your chest. But you swat the thought away, no need to panic over a few minutes late. You breathe a sigh when the switch finally greets your fingertips, giving it a sharp flick…

Nothing. Just shades and shapes in the office. Even the city glow only does so much for visibility. A groan slips out as the apprehension begins to coil again, making the hairs on the back of your neck prickle slightly. You drop your bag against the wall and fumble with your phone to turn on its light, slowly tiptoeing into the room to find the breaker. "Damn it, Frenchie!," you hiss into the dark. "What did you do now?"

You only take a few shy steps in before holding the light high, hoping it would reach the far wall. A wisp of memory comes to you, telling you the breaker should be closer to the front of the office. Surely Frenchie would have had the courtesy to tell you there were technical issues, knowing you were dropping by!

You pause. You suddenly realize if he had forgotten, Kimiko certainly would have reminded him, or text you herself. Standing stock still, light still glaring into the space, another realization creeps over you, thick as the uncanny silence.

The hairs on the back of your neck aren't prickling now. They're standing on end.

Click.

You're just whirling to run for the door when a thick arm wraps about your neck, a hand clapping tight over your mouth. In a snap you're back at the warehouse as you frantically squirm, it'd been just like this, it's happening again! Panic bursts hot in your chest for a split second before a tug of muscle memory kicks. Do something!, it screams.

You try to yank on the arm round your neck, go for a hip throw. It gives you perhaps centimeters to breathe but you weren't fast enough, you're not throwing them forward. At your attempt, your attacker yanks hard, dragging you backwards across the floor.

Adapt! Fight!

You try to drop, lower your center of gravity, make the bastard work for it! Again, they yank, this time picking you clear off the floor. You shift your hips as you're lifted up, swinging hard to plant your feet back as far as you can. When they hit the floor again you scramble, hooking an ankle around the back of your attacker's leg. They stumble and it gives you just what you need; you facing opposite your attacker, their arm in your grip. If they're not going to go forward, then you're taking them backwards.

You shift your hips, shoving them hard into where you guess is the bastard's back, and pull with a yell, adrenaline-fueled force far greater than in practice. The sound of impact booms across the hardwood and a twist of angry satisfaction flits through you at the groan of pain that follows. But it's brief, you turn and scramble hopefully away, utterly disoriented in the dark. You spot your phone, light still on, and the door behind it, like a lighthouse beacon.

You barely manage two steps before your ankle is snatched. Your hands protest against the solid contact with the floor, your face barely missing the same fate as the wind is nearly knocked from you. Fingers stretching fast, you just get the phone in your hand before you're yanked back. Muscle memory kicks in again - Not your back! Don't give them your back! - and you twist off your stomach as you kick blindly-!

Blind! Blind them!

You turn the light towards the attacker, pulling back your free leg again, ready to break their goddamn nose as your own eyes try to adjust. Past the flares and dots swimming in your vision you grit your teeth and face-!

Butcher.

Your jaw drops, and he recoils, squinting in the bluish glare for just a split second. Then he swats the phone out of your hand, sending it across the floor again. "If they're going to teach you how to read a room," he rasps, pulling you roughly until he leans over you, "they've got their fucking work out for 'em." He tsks at you, shaking his head. "Fucking stupid, love."

"You-! You-!," you rasp back. Then your lips peel back in a snarl, fists flailing at him in the dark. "You asshole! You fucking asshole! Should've fucking known!"

Your blind punches are short-lived as he manages to wrangle your arms across your chest. "Alright! Knock it off! Knock it off!" You squirm and yell before he grips your wrists tighter and leans heavy into you, making you grunt out a breath. "I said…knock it off."

"You-!" You swallow thickly, cotton-mouthed, panting. "I thought it was-. Again. The warehouse. You- you almost-! Gave me a fucking-! Panic attack!"

"I had to. And you're about to have it again if you keep fucking hyperventilating," Butcher growls. "Now breathe, goddamn it. Real slow like."

He keeps hold of your wrists and leans up enough to let you take full breaths again. You glare at him as your eyes adjust, sucking air through your nose, shakily breathing out through your mouth. Adrenaline is still white hot in your veins, spiking through your spine. Along with the anger. God, you want to throttle him! After a minute or two, you attempt to speak again.

"Had to? The hell do you mean 'had to'?"

"What I said. I had to know how you'd react in crisis. Especially if it were anything like what happened to you before."

"I think you're full of shit, but fine."

"I told ya," he says, hard and glaring back. "Over anything else I taught you, you can't lose your head."

"Well I'm off to a great start," you huff.

"Weren't that bad," Butcher shrugs. "You used your training. Even adapted that hip throw. That was good. Real good."

You blink back surprise. Maybe you're still a bit out of it…but did he just give you a little credit?

"But you still lost your head a bit, right there at the start. You panicked. That's why that first throw didn't work for shite."

And he's back. Realizing you've been in this position for a while, you shift slightly against the floor. "So what now?," you ask as he lets go of your wrists. "You jumped me, now we fix the lights and warm up? Or is that it?"

"I dunno," Butcher drawls, a mischievous curl in his lip. "You feel pretty warmed up to me."

He shifts off you, and you're grateful for the brief moment to process. Butcher had always been blunt. But you hadn't exactly expected him to openly flirt this soon. Then again when did Butcher ever do as expected? Maybe it's a tactic? Throw you off your training tonight?

"And the lights stay off," his voice cuts through your musing, as he takes one of your hands to haul you to your feet.

"Why? How am I supposed to train when I can barely see?"

"I distinctly recall telling you not to be late," he quips. "Besides, you gotta learn to adapt to conditions anyway. That gala ain't no morning brunch."

"I'm sure they paid the light bill," you utter, looking about for your phone. You locate it beaming under the lip of your desk just next to you. When you stand back up with it, you nearly jump feeling Butcher's hand slide to your lower back.

"What's matter, love?," his voice ghosts over your ear. "You afraid being all alone with me in the dark?"

The nervous giggle that titters out of your throat is borderline embarrassing, but you counter quickly, "More like afraid of getting used to not seeing that mug of yours. Might give me another panic attack when the lights come back on."

He gives a begrudging chuckle as he steps back, shifting his hand to hook lightly in the crook of your elbow. "For not being able to see, you came pretty fucking close to stomping in me mug. Turn off that torch before ya blind us again. Step this way."

You can discern outlines and you do see sections of the office where light from the hallway to the elevator and the windows is a bit brighter. But it doesn't do much to boost your confidence. "How do you see in this?," you ask sincerely, shuffling after him, hesitantly turning off your phone light.

"What? You think we do all our work in bright, shiny spaces? That those cunts want us to be able to see 'em coming?" You can just make out his head shaking. "Nah. And I would think as often as we are in this place, you'd have it mapped out like I do by now."

He stops you in one of the faint outlines of the windows on the floor. In your murky vision you see that he's already cleared the area. "Down here," he prompts, tugging on your elbow and you both sink to the hardwood.

"So are you gonna tell me what you were planning on doing with me?," you tease, nibbling on your lip when you hear a more suggestive tone than you had intended.

Butcher's long legs stretch out along either side of yours, and you feel a laugh rumble in his chest when he pulls you back into him. "I've been planning since last night. I've got plenty of ideas for you."

Christ, he's not beating around the bush is he?

You refrain from biting your lip again as you become aware of something else. With your vision impaired, your other senses are trying to compensate, to help you reorient in the room. But it's leaving your skin more attune to his proximity, the warmth radiating off him. And your hearing is gonna be the death of you. Butcher's voice had always been one of your weaknesses, and now your ears are keened in on every rough, baritone syllable, every rumble, every damn hum that passes his lips.

He's being a tease. A fucking tease!, you think with a wave of indignation. Putting those SAS interrogation tactics into a game. Bastard is trying to get me to break!

Your pulse kicks up, you feel it begin to patter a quick rhythm in your veins, against your chest. And pressed against your back, apparently Butcher can feel it too, as he loosely settles his arms around your torso. "Feeling alright there, sweetheart?," he croons with faux innocence. You can practically hear the smug look crawl over his face.

You. Fucker. A smug look of your own twitches at the corners of your mouth before you recompose. Alright, Billy. You wanna play a game of who breaks first? You're on.

"Just getting my head into training," you reply coolly. "What are we working on?"

"We're starting with this. Showing you exactly why you shouldn't let anyone take your back." His arms move up to cross snugly around your shoulders. More of a warning than anything else. His legs move over yours till he hooks his ankles just behind your knees.

"Thought you just did that when you jumped me?," you mutter.

"A little. But that was what some sloppy thug would do. If someone really wants to hurt ya, they're gonna incapacitate you first, then drag you off. So you're gonna learn a rear naked choke. How to do it, what it feels like, and how to get out of it."

"What it feels like? Why?"

Butcher's hands slide up to your shoulders. "If you're going to work with the team, get your hands dirty, you gotta learn to be uncomfortable. You've been in that cushy office at the bureau for too long. And again, you gotta learn how to act in crisis. Not gonna get out of it if you don't know what it feels like neither."

"So you're desensitizing me."

"Only to certain things," he replies slyly, draping one arm over your left shoulder. His tone becomes serious when he speaks again. "Now listen close. This is gonna be right uncomfortable. I'm gonna put the choke on you slow. You're gonna push through for as long as you can, which won't be long at all. But don't be daft about it. Tap when you need to, I fucking mean it. If I have to put you in recovery position 'cause of your ego, we'll have problems when you wake up. You understand?"

"I think I can handle a-"

"Do you understand?," he growls hot in your ear, beard scraping along the delicate skin.

You nod, then firmly answer, "I understand."

You watch Butcher's right arm slide up and across till his wrist is just across his left elbow. Then he secures it by curling his left arm back till his fingers just cup the back of your head. The action brings his right elbow to cradle your windpipe with practiced precision, your neck now firmly encased in his arm. But the muscle and bone feel like thick, iron bands and you suck in a surprised breath, hands shooting up to cling at his arm on impulse.

"Easy. Not gonna put it on ya full throttle. Take a calm, deep breath when you're ready," he says as you take a couple shaky breaths. Then low, low enough that you feel more than hear it, "I got you."

You fasten your eyes on the office door, willing yourself to relax. Which isn't much, being wrapped so tightly into Butcher, getting ready to be potentially choked out. After a moment, you remind yourself to tap, give a quick nod and fill your lungs.

Butcher executes slowly, but nonetheless your fingers clutch his arm again as the pressure increases, eliciting an instinctual response from your body to try to get away. But his legs give you nothing to work with and you quickly realize why he had you take a deep breath. You can still breathe, or wheeze rather. But the pressure in your head is firm, quick and thunderous. Blood choke, you think distantly, a ringing beginning to rise in your ears, throughout your skull.

It's mere seconds, but he was right. It's damn uncomfortable. No, actually, it's flat out scary as the edge of your vision begins to fog out the office doors. With a strangled sound rising from your throat you slap his arm in rapid succession. Butcher's response is quick, releasing you within the second hit, arms dropping to your torso.

"You alright?," he asks, craning round your shoulder to peer into your face as you gulp in a mouthful of air. You nod, blinking rapidly when the motion brings a wave of lightheadedness. "You seeing stars?"

"Fuck." It comes out drunkenly. "Lotsa stars."

"I bet there are. Lean back, get your bearings." Butcher pulls you back into him, untangling his legs to set them aside yours again. "You'll be right as rain soon enough."

"Always thought that was an air choke," you sigh. "That you could just hold your breath and try to get out."

"Not a chance," he shakes his head as you rest your dizzy one on his shoulder. "Now you understand why you can't panic. 'Cause there ain't no time for it. You lasted about three seconds, and that's me being sweet on ya. You might last five, maybe even ten seconds if you fight real hard, if they don't cinch it right the first time."

Seconds. Mere seconds. Just to pass out. How long before the lights never come back on..?

"Please tell me you won't make me do that again."

"No," Butcher says firmly. "Not tonight. Doing that too many times too quick is hateful dangerous. Like mucking about with matches; it's all fun and games till you get fucking burnt. Besides…" The arm draped across your hips pulls you in snug. He ducks his head into the dip of your shoulder as you feel fingertips trace the curve of your hip over your t-shirt.

"...I got far better ways to leave you dizzy and panting."

Even with your brain recalibrating - and those calloused fingers brushing by your belt not helping the matter - you manage a smile. Then ask, "Does it involve you actually teaching me more positions? Or are you gassed out already?"

You feel a chuckle hum in your shoulder where his head still presses. "Don't you worry. I'm just getting started."

Before you can respond, verbally at least, to the heated promise - threat? - in his words, he pulls you into a loose version of the choke again. His legs move back to hooking behind your knees. No sense of danger, but now your hyper awareness of being at his mercy returns.

"Let's kick this up a notch, eh? Get a little tricky. I'm gonna tell you how to slip out. Once you do, you're gonna try to take mount, and not let me take your back again."

"Shouldn't be too tricky to get out of your grasp," you shrug, as if you're unbothered. Even though you're definitely a little bothered.

"Slipping out ain't the tricky part. Just remember that. Now, turn us onto the opposite side I'm choking with. My rights at your throat so…That's it," he says as you roll you both onto your left sides. "Reach back with both hands, grip my hand I got against your head and yank it over. Good, don't let go of it till you try to take mount. You're not going anywhere until you untangle yourself from my legs, now are ya?"

"And I thought you wanted to keep me between them," you sass.

"Question is if you wanna stay there, or if you want to mount me," Butcher quips back without skipping a beat. A flash of his hips under you in your recent dream appears in your mind's eye, the very ones now tucked into the back of yours, and a bolt of heat shoots through your core.

"If you want out," Butcher cuts through your haze, "you'll put your right foot on my left leg, good and solid, slip out your legs, and move yourself to the left. Once you're perpendicular, you flip over onto your belly and see if you can top me. And I bet that's a big 'if'," Butcher sneers.

With a scoff at the challenge, you go for it. It takes a bit but you manage to wrangle out your legs, pivoting your body hard. Once in line with his shoulders you twist, pulling his hand out of the way. You recall the one pass you learned in your early gym days, sliding your knee across Butcher's belly to keep low and straddle his waist. You sit up high, grinning, "How big is that 'if' now-?"

You realize you fell for the setup when you see the glint of Butcher's grin in the light from the window. Which is a millisecond before you feel his hips throw you. You barely catch yourself from flying into the floor and in a blur you're spinning, right onto your back. By some miracle you manage to wrap Butcher into closed guard as you land.

He gives you no moment to recuperate, a broad hand sliding under to cup one of your shoulders. Going more off feel than sight, you manage to wrap your arm around his and clamp it to you just as he starts to pry. You pull your shoulders as flat against the floor as you can, and pull him forward and off balance with your legs.

"Well, well, well!," Butcher crows above you. "I do believe the spazzy white belt might be picking up on this afterall. You countered me once. But how long before I take your back again?"

"Try it," you challenge, a lop-sided grin on your features. "The next time you see my back is when I walk out that door."

"You are in over your head."

Butcher goes again for your arms, maneuvers to turn your shoulders for leverage. You squirm, shift, counter in what little way you know how. It's no easy task. Even now adjusted you're still half-blind, and Butcher is stronger and more agile than you've seen before. You know he's not going full force, but he's certainly making you work for the lesson.

Only as the moments pass, there's a shift again. It feels less like a lesson this time. With each counter, with each second you begin to sweat from exertion, each curse from both of you, a complex air wraps around you. When you try to trap Butcher in close, almost like a bear hug in an attempt to limit his movements, you realize what it is. As he mocks your amateur attempt and pries himself free of your arms, you realize that it doesn't feel like the militant sparring from before. It's more like…rough housing. You're actually having fun with this.

By now the two of you have scuffed and shuffled over the floor, the office door now down past your feet, the bathroom just by your heads. It gives a little more light to see by, glittering through the glass from the hallway. You take advantage of it, catching Butcher just in time to see that he's moving his elbows to go for the less pleasant guard pass. Before he can dig his elbows in you shoot up an arm, managing to grab the back of his collar.

He counters in a flash however, raising an arm and leaning back in a snap, preventing you from getting in the other hand. You see his eyes widen, a little laugh slipping out between panting as you continue to hold your grip. "Cross-collar from guard? You thought you were gonna be that sneaky with me?"

"What's the matter, Billy?" You smile back as you try to seize the brief moment to catch your breath. "Maybe feeling a little slow? Or did I make you a bit nervous just now?"

He reaches back and pulls off your slipping grip. A devious smirk appears. "I think now is a good time we covered stacking." Before you can reply, he wedges an arm under and around one of your thighs. You squeeze your legs tighter, certain he's trying to break your guard. Until he moves off his knees, straightening his legs, and pushing forward. You let out a curse as your lower back comes off the floor, and your hips protest as Butcher's weight begins to inch your knees up towards your chest.

"Nice little stretch, innit?," he says with a waggle of his brows.

"Nifty trick, trying to fold me in half," you grit out. You try to push back with your legs. But even with your hips just barely off the floor, you've essentially lost your leverage. You give a strained chuckle as the pressure increases minutely in your hips. You try to reach down to grab at him, pull yourself back to the floor, but he's too far at this angle. "Real nifty. I guess I did make you nervous."

"Nervous, eh?," he asks, eyes narrowing. "With all that panting and sighing, and filthy words coming outta your mouth?" Butcher pushes a little more before shifting back. Just when you think he's letting you up he jerks on your hips and slides back up, slotting himself between your thighs. You let out a gasp when you feel the firm bulge in his jeans begin to press against your core, his weight heavy on your hips again as he leans into you.

"That feel like nervous to you, love?," he husks against your cheek.

Words fail you as your fingers splay on his shoulders, uncertain whether to pull him in or…or what? Butcher's fingers, however, are far more decisive, one hand slipping just under the hem of your shirt to grip your hip firmly. Your brain is a tangled mess at this point, a tiny portion still in rolling mode, prompting you to do something. The rest is fixated on his fingers, and his beard scratching along your jaw, and the heat and the friction…

"Oi," he mutters, raising up enough to leave mere inches between your faces. You swallow when he traces your lips with his gaze. "I'm still waiting for an answer…What's it feel like?"

You rifle through the haze, searching for words as you hear your breathing mingle, your pulse soft in your ears and…the elevator ding?

"... I swear, mon coeur, it'll take two seconds."

A cold shock of realization wrenches you firmly out of your haze. Butcher's eyes widen like yours for a millisecond before his face turns murderous. "Fuck!," he snarls under his breath, eyes darting about. "Roll! Roll!," he hisses, hooking your legs at an awkward angle.

You gasp, then let out a muted squeal as you're spun and rolled in a tangle of limbs with Butcher. It takes a moment to orient up from down when you find yourself on your ass on the bathroom floor, your back firmly against Butcher's chest again. Inky blackness snaps around you when he pulls the door shut. The lock clicks with a flurry of his fingers just as you hear the office doors open on the other side.

You try to slow your breathing, placing a hand over your own mouth as you will your heart rate to please not be so fucking loud! You'd heard and seen for yourself that Kimiko's hearing was far better than the rest of the crew. But you weren't certain just by how much. And by the way Butcher was controlling his breathing, one palm cupping over your hand at your lips, he must have been thinking the same thing.

"Oh, you think I left our apartment key on purpose? What purpose? I'd much rather be snuggling with you at home than back…" There's the sound of a switch being irritably flicked once or twice. Frenchie's voice turns from teasing to confused. "The fuck…? This fucking place! Hold on…."

As you listen to Frenchie shuffle along, and the boot tapping on the floor most likely being Kimiko's, you try to stay still. To be calm. A task not made easy with Butcher's half-hard length pressing against you, and your own lust still pulsing at the apex of your thighs. You dare to slowly shift your hips to try to find a less distracting position. But Butcher's other arm ensnares your waist, a strangled grunt cut short in his throat, giving you a silent command to not fucking move.

Kimiko's boot stops tapping.

Shit, shit, shit!

"Found it!," Frenchie calls. "Goddamn breakers been flipped. Just a little flick of the wrist and…"

In Butcher's haste to lock the bathroom door he must have bumped the light switch. Or someone had left it on before. But you both flinch when the lights suddenly hum to life with a stab to your eyes. You will to whatever powers may be that neither of them notice the light under the bathroom door.

"...Let there be light. Now the key should be…" There's rustling of papers, a desk drawer opening. Then, "Aha! Just as I thought. Alright, mon coeur, lets-! Huh? What's weird?"

There's a pause, the sound of their steps coming back to the office door. "You're right. That's Y/N's bag."

Your gut drops. Your bag. The one you had left by the door when you came in earlier. A whole litany of curses run through your mind as you and Butcher both tense.

"Hughie did say she had plans tonight. Maybe she was in a hurry? Just wanted to drop it off, perhaps? We'll leave it on her desk, she'll be back tomorrow anyway."

There's shuffling again, the sound of something placed on a desk surface. Your phone, where was your phone? Was it out in the open? You couldn't remember where you had left it, and you hoped they wouldn't spot it. You listen to Frenchie begin to flirt with Kimiko as he turns off the office lights. Followed by the sound of the door closing, the sound of the lock again. With straining ears, you both hear the muffled sound of the elevator doors closing. Only then you pull both his and your hands from your mouth and heave a sigh.

That's two close calls today. Jesus.

"Fucking hell," Butcher grumbles, dropping his head back against the wall with a dull thump. You turn your head just enough to see the sour look on his face. "Too damn close, that one. Gonna have to find somewhere else. We can't keep meeting like this."

You nod. Then start to snicker. He glares down at you with a confused brow. "What?," you smile. "Don't wanna get caught like two teenagers playing seven minutes in heaven?"

Your snickering intensifies as his sour look turns to a snort. Then a wheeze. The nerves from the last few minutes finally spring loose in your chest, and you burst into a full on fit of giggles. It amplifies when you feel Butcher's shoulders shake with a fit of his own, and you see the first actual smile on his face in months.

"Couple of twats hiding in an office bathroom. Fucking stupid!," he wheezes as you try to fight the ridiculous wave of giggles. The sight of his eyes crinkling with humor, a rare sight if there ever was one, makes you smile hard enough that your cheeks start to hurt.

A sudden buzz and tune rattle on the bathroom tile, and you jump. You bite hard on your lip against laughter as Butcher unwraps your waist to wrangle his phone out of his pocket. "What the fuck now? Hold on, hold on. Keep it down." Clearing the laugh out his own throat, he answers, "MM! Fancying a chat are we?"

When Butcher's face morphs to serious, your fit finally subsides. The situation and current setting finally kick in, and after a minute of debating, you seize the lack of hold on you to stumble to your feet. Butcher gives you a disbelieving look as you step over his legs and out into the office, before shuffling to follow.

"Yeah, I heard ya. Which one?," he continues into his phone as you sweep the floor for your own. You find it under another desk again and snatch it up to tuck in your pocket. You lean back against the desk, watching Butcher carefully as the conversation unfolds. "How long we got?...Right now. Of fucking course," he scowls. "Alright, see ya soon."

"What's wrong?," you ask as he severs the connection.

"MM just intercepted a call to Vought from one of the hospitals," he says, shrugging on his coat with agitation. "Someone was dumped at the ER checking off that special list of symptoms."

"Persuasion?"

"Most likely. And we gotta get to them before the company lackeys show up."

You grab your keys from your bag, doing your best not to disturb it on its spot on your desk. "Training for another night then? Well, good luck at the hospital. Keep me posted."

"Now hold on. The fuck you think you're running off to?" Butcher stalks towards you with heavy eyes. "You're part of this crew. We got a job to do. And I didn't say we were done tonight, now did I?"

"Yes. And you heard Frenchie. They know I have 'plans'," you explain as he braces his hands on the desk, caging you in. You smile coyly in response. "And if I show up, especially when MM only called you…They’re all gonna have questions, right?"

Butcher gives out a dissatisfied growl to the ceiling. "We ain't done here," he intones.

He had almost done it. You'd nearly broke there on the office floor. And it had been so very tempting to see what would have happened had you not got up and left the bathroom. But now that you've had a moment to reset, and duty calls…well he can't have all the fun now can he?

"You're running out of time. Wouldn't be a good idea to keep MM waiting."

Butcher stares you down, a knowing smirk on his face. He nods slowly. "I'll be damned if those fuckers beat me to it," he concedes. "But like I said…"

Before you can blink, he hooks a finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. You had expected it to be heated, greedy. But you're startled at how soft it is. A borderline tenderness you had never seen coming, sideswiping you hard enough to make your breath hitch. You feel him smile at the sound and he pulls back just before you find it in you to kiss in return.

"...We ain't done." His thumb idly swipes over your bottom lip just before he's out of reach. In a few long strides he's out the door, leaving you recovering from the whiplash of the evening.

As fun as it is to tease, you muse, sneaking a taste of him on your lips, I wonder how I can kill one cockblocking Frenchie without Kimiko gutting me alive.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic

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idiotvision · 14 days ago

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if you shake him like a magic eight ball all his fur flies out

#silly silly

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arcteris · 8 months ago

Note

Honestly it would probably undercut a lot of the emotional moments from Heavensward but it would be really funny if Nidhogg just kept shit talking to the party through his eye. Like an annoying magic eight ball that speaks Shakespeare. The party takes turns shaking the eye to get him to shut up

hmm funny that you mention magic eight balls --

#asks

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empresskadia · 8 months ago

Note

I think the most powerful gifts you can give a Spartan is one that reminds them of you for when you're aren't there. Sometimes they're off doing missions, and you're separated, and they really miss you. Having that little reminder always makes it better.

Like, say, for Naomi, her partner has an Ace of Spades playing card on the pauldron of their armor like their uncle did back when the Human-Covenant War began. Luck was important to him, so it was important to you. Naomi was just as important to you, so when you couldn't always be together on the same ship, you gave her two things: A copy of the card on your shoulder and a magic eight ball to keep in her room. You may or may not have replaced the die inside with things you would say, so it was like you were there in spirit when you couldn't be there in person.

Not when you're getting scouted for some big secret project led by a guy whose name you forget but a number that reminded you of hers.

096?

First, I got chills reading this! Second, I gasped so loudly my dog came to check on me to make sure I was okay. Third, I was like ‘fuckin Musa! Naomi’s gonna murder you.’ Like I didn’t know how the Spartan IV program started. I lowkey went feral for this ask, you’re spoiling me and I adore it.

I love this so very much and this is canon in my head now. How cute is this!!! Spartans don’t have personal things but the item their partner gives them becomes their prized possession and they would break bones if someone tries to take it.

Like for Linda, she has pressed flowers that you gave her and kept on her dog tags at all times, when she’s thinking about her partner or missing you, she grasps the chain and feels a little closer to you. Or a small charm on Nornfang that you made for her that Linda never takes off. Whenever she takes down targets and sees the charm, she thinks to herself that she can’t wait to hear about the mission you’ve been sent on or just to see you in general.

There is a ring that your grandmother passed down that you always wear on your pointer finger and end up giving to Kelly because it fits on her pinkie/places it on her chain because you wouldn’t see her for a few months. When Kelly’s thinking about her partner/missing you, she subconsciously spins the ring, and later, ends up seeing her name/spartan tag engraved inside the band. Or give her one of your earrings that your father gave you, so she had half of something that was super important to you and feels very protective of the jewelry because she knows you adored your father.

For John, it’s the exchanged dog tags, one is his and the other is yours. Sometimes he takes it off and runs his finger across your name and service number, he doesn’t realize that his expression softens just a bit but Cortana and Blue team know he’s thinking about you.

Everyone on Blue team knows that Fred has a favorite combat knife that you gave him and if something happens to it, he is going to kill someone, and no, it’s not an exaggeration. Kelly witnessed him panic about losing it once and horde of brutes didn’t even have a chance to blink before they were dead. There are personalized words written on the inside of the knife from you and it will be over his dead body before someone tries to take it or use it.

But also! Luck is important to Naomi because it reminds her of John too and we see how worried she is for Chief in the books, this is very important to her! So you give her the card and tell her about it, she’s putting that on her armor in the same spot that you have it in. It makes her feel closer to her partner and her eyes soften anytime she glimpses it from the corner of her vision. Especially once she gets recruited for Kilo-Five and you get sent on a secret ‘mission’ that she can’t know about. Naomi knows there is something you’re not telling her but she won’t push because it’s classified, which kind of worries her.

When Serin tells her about the whole Halsey thing or finds out about her dad, she shakes the eight ball wishing you were there to talk with but quietly laughs to herself when she reads the message because it’s 100% something you would say. Naomi constantly starts asking BB if there were any messages sent to her, getting antsy when he tells her no every time to the point BB shares this with the captain.

Eventually, Naomi asks Serin if she could find any information about you, giving her your full name, service name, rank, and all the important things to find your file. If anyone could get into classified mission files, it would be BB and Serin.

It's BB saying, "Oh that's rather somber to find out." that has Naomi wanting to panic. Did something happen? Was her partner hurt? Were you hospitalized? Did you get killed? She knew she should've upgraded your armor with those last bits of data, what was she thinking?! Naomi's thoughts are spirling but nothing prepared her for what your file read,

'SPARTAN-IV Lieutenant - pending transfer to REDACTED'

'Augmentation Procedure - Successful'

'AI Partner - Pending Compatibility with REDACTED'

'Stationed - UNSC REDACTED'

'Notes - Expand'

"What does it mean by Spartan-IV?" Naomi had to ask, she had to know because all she recalled was her own augmentation, the pain, the recovery, the loss of her sisters and brothers in arms, something that she might've just lost her partner to.

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agirlhasnonamehotd · 1 month ago

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Here we go: The crew of the Prometheus play with a Magic 8 Ball!

“Janek, it’s too early in the day for this shit.”

It’ s 6:30 am.

The crew is huddled around a mess hall table, a mediocre breakfast laid out before them. Most of the crew sits in a grumpy, drowsy stupor, including the Engineer, whose eyes are half open and bottom lip is stuck out in a pout.

David arrives in perfect form, not a hair out of place. His small smile instantly annoys Shaw, who nurses her coffee and prays the caffeine will make the murderous feelings go away.

“Morning, everyone,” he says cheerfully.

Only Janek acknowledges him.

“Good mornin’,” he replies, holding up a round object, “David, know what this is?”

David takes it from Janek’s extended hand and studies it, his mind raking through information to find more about this relic. He turns it over to look at the little viewing window, and a message floats into view.

“Why, this is a Magic 8 Ball, a vintage children’s toy!” David exclaims.

“Yes, it sure is,” Janek replies, “thought we might have a little fun with it before we all get to work.”

Vickers groans into her bowl of oatmeal. Holloway, having barely swallowed down his last bite, scoffs. Bits of egg fly onto the table.

“That was the most bullshit ‘toy’ ever made,” he mutters.

Shaw makes no response at all, concentrating on the warm positivity that is slowly spreading through her body.

The Engineer, however, is intrigued. He stands and walks over to David, who hands the toy off to him.

“Shall I explain what it is?” David asks. The Engineer nods

“Well, it’s a toy that children use the ‘predict the future’”.

The Engineer looks up, alarmed and tries to hand it back to David.

“No, no,” David chuckles, “it doesn’t really predict the future. Children just use it for fun and games.”

The Engineers expression dissipates; nevertheless, he gives it back.

“What do you say, folks? Let’s ask it some questions, and see what it has to say,” Janek suggests, “David, why don’t you start?”

David smiles and flips the ball eight-side up.

“Hmmmm…Dr. Holloway and I have scheduled a basketball game later,” David thinks aloud, “So…Magic 8 Ball, will I win my basketball game against Charlie?”

He shakes the ball, flips it upside down, and waits for the response to appear.

“It says ‘outlook good,’” David shares.

“Ooh, better watch out Charlie,” Janek teases.

Holloway flips Janek off and continues eating. David hands the toy off to Janek.

“Okay…Magic 8 Ball, is to day a good day to play my accordion?”

The crew groans as he shakes the ball and looks for the response.

“‘Better not tell you now,’” Janek reads, “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait and see then.”

Vickers takes her turn, asking if Janek will ever run out of childish games to torture the crew with - the answer is not favorable.

The Engineer takes his turn next. After observing the others, he understands the basic use. Despite his growing knowledge of English, he asks his question in his native language. He shakes the ball - perhaps too enthusiastically - and smiles when the answer appears.

“Using your language isn’t fair,” Holloway mutters, “David, translate.”

“Well you see, Charlie, he was asking if Shaw liked-”

The Engineer shoots David a menacing glare, followed up by a growl. David stops short.

“Uh…perhaps we will leave that one be,” he recommends, “Dr. Shaw, your turn now.”

The Engineer eyes Shaw softly as he places the toy in her hands. Judging by the way he looks at her, his question definitely had something to do with their growing affinity towards one another.

“Hmmm…okay, got one: Is Engi handsome?”

Charlie grunts out, “ what a dumbass thing to ask.”

Shaw jiggles the ball and turns it.

“‘As I see it, yes.’”

The Big Fella goes a little pink in the cheeks, but he's smiling triumphantly.

“Oh, bullshit- give me that!”

Holloway grabs the ball out of Shaw’s grasp a little too rough. The Engineer’s smile fades and he emits a grunt of warning.

“Okay…Magic 8 Ball: Will I annihilate Davie later in our basketball game?”

He shakes. He looks. His face falls.

“What does it say, champ?” Janek asks.

Charlie frowns.

“‘Outlook not so good.’”

A fleeting smile can be seen on David’s face.

“Okay…just warming up here,” Charlie jokes, “let’s try again. Magic 8 Ball, will I have a great day?”

Shake. Look.

“‘Very doubtful’, huh.”

Charlie is perplexed. He shakes the ball around a few times. David tries to take the toy, but Charlie retracts from his grasp.

“Charlie, I do believe-”

“Shut up, David,” Charlie interjects, “let me have some fun.”

David puts his hands up in resignation, and sits down at the table.

“Magic 8 Ball, will I get lucky in love?”

Answer: Unlikely..

At the end of the table, the Engineer smiles.

“This damn thing,” Charlie grumbles, “Magic 8 Ball, does the crew like me?”

A few shakes later, and after some hesitation from Charlie, he checks the window: 'Better not tell you now.'

“Oh, come on!”

Vickers clears her throat and takes the opportunity to excuse herself. Nothing good will come of this.

“Charlie, this may be an indication that we should not tempt what you people call ‘fate’-”

“Quiet, tin can,” Charlie retorts, “ Magic 8 Ball, do you like me?”

He shakes, and shakes….and shakes so hard Janek is convinced it will bust open any minute.

With a sigh, he flips it over and waits a moment.

‘My reply is no’

“Fuck!”

Charlie drops the ball on the table and it rolls towards David. A resonant chuckle escapes the Engineer and he makes no attempt to hide it. Charlie grumpily stares at his unfinished breakfast.

“God damn thing is broken,” he bitterly spits.

As he sits there, brooding, David picks the toy up once more. After some thought, he speaks.

“Magic 8 Ball, am I… better looking and smarter than Charlie?”

“David-”

Shake, shake, shake.

“‘Yes, definitely,’” David declares.

Janek chokes on his cereal.

Shaw takes the Engineer by the hand and hurries him out of the room.

Then the tantrum begins.

“WHAT THE HELL?! AND FUCK YOU, DAVID!”

Eggs go flying across the table and Charlie storms out of the room, muttering swear words under his breath.

When Charlie is no longer in sight, Janek finally recovers and claps David on the back.

“David, was that really the response?” He asks.

“Goodness, no,” David replies with a smile, “It was ‘reply hazy, try again’”.

#prometheus #alien franchise #space jockey #the last engineer #the engineer #last engineer #prometheus 2012 #elizabeth shaw #shaw #charlie holloway #meredith vickers #janek #david

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svechnikovvv · 2 years ago

Text

good-luck charm

pairing: trevor zegras x fem!actress!reader

warnings: profanity

summary: you meet trevor on the set of mighty ducks: game changers, and maybe it was a good thing you did.

a/n: i was absolutely in love when z had a cameo in the show, so i’ve been wanting to write something about it for a while.

masterlist: here

i was beyond excited that for today’s mighty ducks episode, we were going to be at the honda center. i was a big ducks fan, so this was the experience of a lifetime.

they didn’t need me for the beginning, so i sat in the stands. i watch all the kids get in their hockey gear and skate around before the cameras started rolling, just as amazed as me.

“places everyone!” the director calls out and all the kids go where they need to. the camera starts rolling and everyone says their lines.

“hey! i found some friends who said they’d scrimmage with ya!” i watch as three ducks players skate out onto the ice and my jaw fucking drops. a couple feet away from me stands trevor fucking zegras.

“it’s the real anaheim ducks!” one of the kids yell and i feel a bit frozen.

“how cute. mini ducks,” trevor says and i’m starting to wish they made my character be one of the players. don’t get me wrong, i was fortunate enough to still be on the show for this far. considering the fact that i played logan’s sister and they cut him, but not me.

they cut after trevor and max deliver their lines.

“y/n! you’re needed soon!” they call out for me and i practically stumble down the stairs leaving the stands. my excitement was through the roof. i stand beside lauren and she looks at me.

“excited?” she whispers and i nod

“that’d be an understatement. i’m flipping the hell out.” she quietly laughs

“why so?” i nod my head in direction of trevor, troy, and max.

“trevor fucking zegras, pardon my french, is within ten feet of me.” she smirks

“you a fan?”

“i got a schoolgirl crush on him is what i am.” she shakes her head, a smile on her face.

“okay, rolling!” the kids start to skate around with the guys, scrimmaging them. once that scene was done, the kids all take a seat on the bench, adrenaline through the roof. taegen walks over to me and starts shaking me excitedly.

“your man is looking at you.”

“he’s not my man. i just… have a little thing for him. and nobody felt the need to tell me he’d be in this episode?” she shrugs, smiling. she looks behind me, her eyes slightly widening.

“don’t look, but he’s walking over here.”

“trevor?” she nods and i internally panic. she then says goodbye and walks away to join everyone else.

“hi,” i hear a voice from behind me and i turn around. god, he’s so much more prettier in person.

“hi,” i give him a smile and he does the same.

“you a part of the crew, or cast?”

“cast. surprised they’ve kept me this long,” i laugh to myself and the smile is still on his face.

“i’m sure you’re important if they kept you.”

“i don’t know about that. see, i play this kid’s older sister. but his character got cut after season one, yet somehow… i’m still here.”

“have you ever asked why that was?”

“i uh, didn’t think about that.” i scratch the back of my neck and he laughs, shaking his head.

“see…” he pauses and i get the hint.

“y/n”

“y/n. if you don’t ask, then how are you supposed to know? that’s like shaking a magic eight ball, but not asking it a question.”

“well, mr zegras, you do have a point.”

“mr zegras? wow, straight to formalities, huh?” i shrug

“what would you rather me call you?”

“trevor will do”

“see, i didn’t want to jump to conclusions and act as if we were all buddy-buddy.” he mock gasps, placing a hand over his heart.

“i thought we were building a friendship here, y/n.”

“puh lease. you’re too cool to be friends with me.”

“as if. i’m friends with jack hughes. i think you’ll be fine.” i laugh and shake my head.

“now what would you do if i told jack this information?”

“i’d tell you jack never answers anything so you’d be talking to the wall, pretty much. besides, it’s all jokes.” i nod

“are you sure that isn’t a cover up?”

“i feel like i’m being interrogated right now?”

“maybe you are” he laughs, shaking his head and i drop my facade, laughing with him. he nods at the ice

“you skate?”

“i dabble into it here and there.” he chuckles

“tell you what, meet me here around… let’s say 5ish?” i nod.

“i’ll be waiting for you,” he calls out to me, walking off and i turn around to see the kids and lauren looking at me. the kids start tapping their sticks on the ground and i cover my face.

“you guys are seriously the worst.” i tell them, walking over to the bench.

“i’m the bridesmaid!” luke islam calls out and everyone looks at him.

“there’s more than one bridesmaid, luke.” taegen says

“shhh, let him have his moment.” lauren says

“guys, nothing is happening.”

“then why did he say he’d be waiting for you?” naveen asks and they all wait, expectantly. i don’t answer and he points a finger at me.

“see!”

“okay, fine.” i cave. “he told me to come back by here around 5ish. why? i don’t know.” they all ooh.

“wait until josh hears this.” lauren says and my eyes widen.

“no no no. i’ll tell him myself.” i point at everyone. “you all are to keep this between us.” we all exit the arena and head back to the other set. around 5, i arrive back at the arena. i walk through the doors and make my way down the stands. i see trevor standing on the ice, waiting.

“zegras!” he turns around and when he sees me, he smiles.

“thought you ghosted me.”

“ouch. i keep my promises” he skates over to me.

“what size skate are you?” he asks

“huh?”

“what size? so i can get you a pair.”

“oh, we’re gonna be on the ice?” he laughs

“duh. why do you think i asked if you skated?” i shrug

“i dunno. just assumed that was your version of an ice breaker.” he lets out a loud laugh.

“an ice breaker? y/n, if i wanted to do ice breakers, i’d ask you what your favorite food is. now come on, let’s find you some skates.” i follow him to a room and he gestures me to sit on a bench.

“what’s your shoe size?” i tell him and he grabs two pairs of skates.

“try these ones on first. then if they’re too big, try on these.” i nod and take them. they fit perfectly.

“perfect fit. look at that.” he then tells me to follow him and i grab my shoes i came here in and follow him back out to the ice. i see a stick leaning against the bench and a puck on the wall.

“you ready for a little 1v1?”

“lucky for you, i always love a good challenge.” he smirks at me and we both skate onto the ice. i grab the stick leaning against the wall. i toss the puck onto the ice and it glides over to trevor.

“okay. so, i’m not here to mansplain you. we’re just going to see how well you can defend your puck.” i nod

“bring it on” he slides the puck in my direction and he skates over to one of the goals.

“i don’t have all that cool, fancy goalie gear, so go easy on me!”

“no promises!” i start to skate and move the puck down the ice. when i get close to the goal, i bring my stick back, shooting the puck. it goes flying and hits the top right corner of the net. i drop my stick and my hands go up in the air. trevor is smiling.

“you got a hell of a slapshot, y/n.” after my little celly, i bow at his compliment.

“guess i’m a woman of many talents now.” he laughs, shaking his head.

trevor and i continue to go at it until we’re both tired. we skate over to the bench and i collapse onto it.

“i’m sleeping good tonight.” trevor let’s out a tired laugh and holds up his hand for a high-five. i give him one and he takes a big sip out of his water bottle he had on standby.

“you did great out there. seriously. they should let you play in the show.” i shrug

“i’ll take whatever they get me. it’s better than being cut.” he nods

“got me there.” when we’ve pretty much calmed down, trevor fishes into his pocket and pulls out a metallic sharpie. he grabs his stick and the puck we were playing with and scribbles some stuff onto it. he then hands it to me.

“what’s this for?”

“good luck” i chuckle

“i think you’re the one that needs the good luck, zegras. i totally kicked your ass out there.” his brows raise

“language, missy”

“there’s no kids around.” he waves me off. i pocket the puck and grab the stick.

“where’s that sharpie?” i ask him and he holds it out to me. i take it and sign the stick i was using.

“here’s your good luck.” he smiles, but takes the stick.

“i’ll use this at my next game. you better be my good-luck charm, y/n.”

“i’ve been told i’m quite lucky.” i take the skates off and slip my other shoes back on.

“here, i’ll take them back.” he stands up and i do the same. he takes the skates back and then comes back.

“thank you for giving me a good challenge… even if you did kick my ass.”

“now now, let’s not make this about me.” i pause “oh what am i kidding? keep it coming.” he laughs, shaking his head.

“you drive safe going back. okay?” i nod

“likewise. hopefully my good luck will make you not catch any red lights.” he smiles and we bid our goodbyes. i walk out the arena, his hockey stick in my hand. i set it in my back seat and slide into the driver seat. i let out a scream of happiness and then shake it off.

when i get home, i take a nice, hot shower and check my phone. i see a couple messages from the kids and lauren asking how it went. i figured i should fill them in. but first, josh. i facetime him and prop my phone up.

“l/n!”

“duhamel!”

“what’s up?” he asks

“so, uh. kinda sorta just came home from the honda center.” his brows furrow

“but filming is over?” i nod and his eyes widen

“what haven’t you told me?”

“listen, it was unexpected for me too. but trevor zegras-” he cuts me off.

“like, the trevor zegras you gush over?” i roll my eyes

“yes, that trevor.” he bites back a smile

“continue”

“anyways. trevor told me to meet him at the arena around 5. so i did. and we had a little private 1v1. then he signed a stick for me,” i flip the camera so it’s facing the stick propped up on the closet door. “and a puck. i kinda wanna see what he wrote because he was scribbling away.” josh is waiting patiently and i grab the puck off my nightstand. i also get up and grab the stick. i lie it horizontally across my bed.

“okay, let’s see. he just put his name on the stick.”

“okay, typical. now what’s on the puck?” i look at it and i laugh, shaking my head.

“sly fucking dog.”

“what? what? tell me!”

“he wrote his number and said ‘text me’ and a winky face.” josh gasps

“text him!”

“alright alright. i will.” i grab my phone and head to my messages. i start a new message and put in trevor’s number.

real smooth, zegras.

i hit send and watch as it says ‘delivered’.

“okay, i sent him something.”

“what’d you say?”

“i said, ‘real smooth, zegras.’” josh nods

“i gotta go, but keep me updated okay?” i nod and we say our goodbyes. my phone then pings and i see trevor texted back.

thank you, thank you. i was hoping you’d see it

i think on what to send him. when i do, i start typing away.

is this your way of flirting?

he’s quick to read the message and the three dots pop up.

what if i said it was?

the corners of my mouth quirk up and i type a response.

then i’d say that it’s working (;

i shut my phone off and decide to head to bed.

a day passes and trevor and i have been texting non-stop. it was the day of his game he was telling me about and i happened to not have any scenes today, so i stayed in and watched the game.

the ducks were doing pretty good so far. it was halfway through the first when trevor scored the second goal of the game. he does his little celly and the other three guys on the ice skate up to him, all happy.

once the first period ended, intermission was underway. they were having a special game interview with trevor and i was ready to see this.

“so trevor, that shot you made out there gave you guys the lead. how’re you feeling?”

“yeah, uh, i’m feeling pretty amazing right now. but honestly, it’s the stick.” he says and i shake my head, smile on my face.

“the stick?”

“yeah,” he smiles to himself “my lucky stick.” they continue the interview and i scream into one of the pillows on the couch. i grab my phone and shoot trevor a text.

your lucky stick, huh? 😏

i knew it’d be a while before he saw it, but i just needed to say it.

the game ends with a ducks win of 3-1. around 11, trevor answers me back.

you saw the interview?

but yeah, you bring me luck

i smile down at my phone and see he’s typing again.

i need to see you.

i send him my location and he tells me he’ll be here in ten minutes. sure enough, in ten minutes i hear knocking on my door. i check the peephole just to be safe and i see trevor standing there. i open the door and am immediately engulfed in a hug. trevor spins me around and i’m laughing and so is he. he then sets me back on the ground and i look at him. his hair is slightly wet from what i’m assuming is a shower and i think he might’ve come here straight from the arena.

“you’re all happy.” i say and he nods

“ducks won. i scored a goal. you’re my good-luck charm, y/n.”

“is that so?” he nods

“would the odds be in my favor if i asked you on a date?”

“hmm. i’d say that they would.” he smiles.

“y/n, will you go on a date with me?” i nod and his eyes light up.

“great. i’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.” he smiles and walks off, not before saying goodbye. i smile and close the door, heading to bed. i end up sleeping like a rock that night, thinking about trevor and i’s date tomorrow.

i guess all it takes sometimes is a little luck.

tags: @goldenbrokenheart @woodruff-edwards @hockeyboysarehot

a/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HANUKKAH TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE <3 this is my gift to you all (:

#trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras #nhl hockey #nhl #anaheim ducks

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stevesjockstrap · 1 year ago

Text

Eddie Month day 12

prompt: soulmates & perceptive & Eight - Sleeping at Last | read on ao3

rated: T | a/n: This was supposed to be fluffy and cute but then this song, man

I remember the minute It was like a switch was flipped I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit God, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago I was little, I was weak and perfectly naive And I grew up too quick

Steve had called a meeting. It had been getting out of hand.

“Listen guys, it’s completely normal for everyone to be processing Eddie’s death in different ways…” Dustin was already shaking his head about to interrupt him, so he put his hand up. “He’s gone, buddy. And that sucks, and it’s hard, but it’s going to be okay.”

Dustin and Will exchanged a look.

“Go ahead and say it,” he sighed and sank onto the coffee table in front of them, his head in his hands.

“We both had the same dream about him last night. And Max and Lucas said he was in their dream the night before. Sometimes he can talk and sometimes he can’t. Last night, Will was able to ask him a question!”

Steve looked up at them. At their little hopeful faces. He knew this was the closest they’d dealt with death before. Dustin had been up close and personal with someone he loved when they just slipped away. But this wasn’t something he knew how to deal with.

“What did you ask?”

“I asked him if we could help him. And he got excited. Jumping around and waving. When he was able to, he just said one word.” Will looked at Dustin. Like he wasn’t sure he wanted to give this information to Steve. Steve wasn’t sure he wanted it, either.

“Guys, look, maybe we can get Owens to get someone for you to talk to, this-“ he let his head fall into his hands again. He wouldn’t cry in front of them. But he was so close.

Will reached out to touch his arm. “Steve, he said your name. He said ‘Steve.’ Like it was the answer. Have you… has he shown up in your dreams yet?”

Steve coughed out a sob, barbed wires tangling around his throat as he tried to hold them back. That was the kicker, wasn’t it? Eddie hadn’t visited him in his dreams. Only the party and now Max. El couldn’t find him in any dimensions. He shook his head, not able to lift it up or speak.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Robin sat next to him and pulled him into her chest. That didn’t help the silent sobs wracking his body. This wasn’t how this was supposed to be going. He was supposed to be comforting the kids. Telling them this is fine and normal but to stop trying to make it something supernatural and just grieve.

Robin held him and seemed to have sent everyone silently to another room. Or maybe that had been Nancy. Anyways when he’d raised his head he was thankful he didn’t have an audience to his puffy snotty face.

“I don’t know how to fix this, Bobby. This isn’t something I can hit with a bat or throw Molotov cocktails at. How do I be there for the kids while I’m trying to hold myself together, too?”

“You just keep doing it, babe. You can be weak in front of them. You show them that it’s hard but it gets easier, and you talk to them. These dreams have to mean they’re processing it, but they’re not used to having a problem they can’t fight or a puzzle that needs solving. We all just have to keep doing what we’re doing and being as normal as possible.”

They both laughed. “Who do we know who’s normal?”

“Not a clue.”

Now you won't see all that I have to lose And all I've lost in the fight to protect it I won't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford, no, I refuse to be rejected I want to break these bones 'til they're better I want to break them right and feel alive You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong My healing needed more than time

Eddie was in his bedroom at the trailer again. He usually ended up there, more often than not. Probably because that’s where he spent most of his time. When he was alive.

He picked around in the debris. Chuckling to himself, he picked up the Magic 8 Ball he found under his bed.

“Am I dead?” He asked before shaking it vigorously.

The little die inside stopped. Signs point to yes.

“Where is my body?” Cannot predict now.

Eddie threw the thing with a howl.

When I see fragile things, helpless things, broken things I see the familiar I was little, I was weak, I was perfect, too Now I'm a broken mirror

Steve laid awake in his dark bedroom, staring around at the shadows. He blinked. The shadow behind his door moved. He wrapped his hand around the hilt of the bat under his pillow. The shadow moved towards him slowly.

Eddie sat on the floor next to the bed, fidgeting with his hands and mumbling to himself.

It was so normal for a second Steve was about to ask him what was wrong. Why he was creeping around in his house at night without waking him up. Steve told himself he’d fallen asleep and he was finally getting to see Eddie in his dream.

When Eddie looked up at Steve, they made eye contact and Eddie was the one who seemed shocked. His big eyes widened even more and his eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. Crab-walking backwards to try to get away. When he banged into the wall he stopped.

“Are you okay?” Steve breathed, unable to help himself.

“Can you see me?”

“Yeah?”

“What? How?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know.” He sat up, but forced himself not to approach Eddie. “What are you?”

Eddie huffed a shallow laugh. “That’s the million dollar question, Harrington. I don’t even know. I remember getting attacked by the bats. I remember talking to Dustin, and your face. Then nothing. I’ve been kind of popping up places. I figured out how to touch things, after a while.”

“And go in the kids dreams.” His voice was low and dry.

Eddie winced with a nod. “It was an accident, the first time. I’d just, brushed Dustin’s hair out of his face. Then I was there. With him. But we couldn’t really talk to each other. Nothing like this. And you’re awake. No one awake has been able to see me.”

“But it’s you? Really you?”

“As far as I know.” Eddie shrugged.

They stared at each other for a few moments before Steve jumped out of bed, scaring both of them as the bat still in his hand dropped to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Eddie yelped.

“I have to call Robin.”

But I can't let you see all that I have to lose All I've lost in the fight to protect it I can't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford to let myself be blindsided

“Where?”

“Right there.” Steve pointed at him, sitting on the couch.

“There’s nothing there, Steve.” Robin looked back at him with a sad look on her face. “Are you sure this isn’t from the meeting tonight? You’re projecting, because you’re in-“

“No, Robin. And stop talking like that. Eddie is here, and it’s- it’s not polite.” That didn’t make sense to any of them, apparently.

“I told you no one’s been able to hear or see me, Steve.” He sighed, pulling his legs up onto the couch to hug them. “Well, except for you.”

When it got late enough in the morning to call everyone else, they all came over. Steve made pancakes and coffee and they all filed in. No one else could see or hear him.

He took to staying close by Steve’s side, it was unsettling when people walked through him or accidentally sank through him sitting on the couch. The kids were constantly asking where he was in the room or asking Steve what he was saying. It got to be too much after not having any attention on him, so he was hiding out a bit in the kitchen with Steve. He didn’t mind because everyone was sort of looking at him like he was making this all up, even after a round of questions that only Eddie would know.

“It’s okay, Eddie. We’re going to figure this out.”

Steve reached to him, seemingly on autopilot. But he felt pressure on his shoulder where he was touching. They both froze. Steve turned to look at him.

“Eds-“

“I can feel you. Holy shit, Steve.” He put his hand on top of his on his shoulder. They stared at each other for a moment, then Steve yelled for Robin.

I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart And all I want is to trust you Show me how to lay my sword down For long enough to let you through Here I am, pry me open What do you want to know? I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough To hold the door shut And bury my innocence But here's a map, here's a shovel Here's my Achilles' heel

“I know what this sounds like. I know, okay? Please stop looking at me like that.”

“Steve, I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard. But you’re saying you’re the only one able to see, hear, and now touch the dead guy you had a crush on. Yesterday you were the one who wanted to have an intervention because the kids were dreaming about him. I think I have a right to be concerned.”

Steve paced around his bedroom. “Yesterday!” He stopped and went to sit next to her on his bed. She looked at him sadly again. “Look, Rob, yesterday Will told me Eddie said my name in his dream! And today he showed up to me. That has to mean something. Maybe he’s stuck somewhere, or he’s getting stronger. Please just believe that I’m not hallucinating or losing my mind, okay?”

I'm all in, palms out I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in

Steve had gone to talk to Robin again, and he’d promised he’d stay downstairs. He’d put Eleven in charge of him, guarding a dining room chair so no one sat on him. She seemed nice, he couldn’t talk to her or touch her, but she looked vaguely where his face would be and talked quietly to him, like this was normal.

Steve came back downstairs with Robin and they both came over to him. El wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist and Steve casually dropped a kiss to the top of her head. He tore his gaze away from them. Trying to ignore the selfish wanting in his gut.

“Eddie, Will said yesterday in his dream you, uh, you said my name. Like an answer when he asked if we could help. Do you remember that?”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s hard for me to talk to them like that. I have to chose my words carefully. But I said your name, because I couldn't go in your dreams. When I’d find myself in your room, and tried, you know, touching your forehead, nothing would happen. I assumed it was a clue. Something that was different, at least. You know?”

He relayed that to Robin and Eleven. They didn’t seem impressed.

“You said something about touching things before?”

Eddie nodded. Then he got it. “Oh yeah. I’m sorry I forgot about that. I should be able to move stuff around. I’ve, uh, never done it with an audience.” Eddie felt terrible for not thinking of this sooner, he’d been watching and listening to everyone all morning, thinking Steve was delusional or having hallucinations.

They all went to the living room. Eddie started getting anxious. He laughed to himself. When Steve raised an eyebrow at him, he laughed out a, “performance anxiety.” Steve shook his head and laughed.

Steve handed him a book from a shelf. He took it, concentrating on keeping the book in his hand. Robin and Nancy gasped. The kids nodded and laughed.

He tossed the book to Robin, who flailed but caught the book between flat hands. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Eddie. Steve, I-“

“It’s fine. I didn’t believe the kids either until last night.”

Nancy and Robin bombarded him and Steve with more questions.

I'ma shake the ground with all my might And I will pull my whole heart up to the surface For the innocent, for the vulnerable And I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

Steve ended up having to limit the amount of magic tricks they all were asking Eddie to do, he even disappeared for about an hour and Steve was terrified they’d broken him or exhausted him or something. But suddenly he was standing back in the dining room. He explained he didn’t ever have control over where he popped around to. He’d ended up back at the old trailer. Dustin hypothesized that he needed to go back there to recharge. Steve explained Eddie’s shrug and look of uncertainty. Steve gave up his spot on the couch for him, but leaned against the arm and into his legs. He didn’t feel solid, but he didn’t fall through him like the kids had. It was tingly along his bare arm, not unpleasantly. Eddie reached a hand down to caress his cheek. Steve gasped and had to make up something stupid when everyone looked over at him. Argyle piped up from the corner a few minutes later, “You know, maybe you’re soulmates and your soul called his back. Like, that’s why you’re the only one who can see or hear him. And you’re who he asked for.”

Steve gulped and couldn’t make himself look up at Eddie. Until his hand came down to pull his chin up, to see Eddie beaming at him, tears in his eyes. “That sounds right.”

And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, give my sweat An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again Invincible like I've never been

@eddiemonth

#Eddie month #eddie month fic #Mine #Steddie #steddie fic #steddie soulmates au #Stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #ghost!eddie #Maybe need a part two Kinktober fic with ghost!sex?

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kingofthe-egirls · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, its my first time requesting something so could I get some friendship Headcanons with the monster with a gn reader who can channel the powers of yokai?

STAR BALL: KITSUNE!LUFFY x Y/N

So I took a completely different approach with this, but I hope you like it! Also I used a lot of imagery from this fandom wiki article!

(cw: fight scene, slight violence, kitsune!luffy, fluff, food)

(a/n: i have no idea about japanese mythology, so all of this has been based off my cursory internet searches! i'm more familiar with faerie lore tbh)

Songs: "Starsick" by Maude Latour

words:

"I'm booooored," your yōkai spirit friend sighs out, hopping up your back to drape himself dramatically across your shoulders. You nuzzle into his soft fur, letting his scarlet tails flick around you angrily.

"Well, I'm sorry, but we're not there yet, Luffy," you scratch the kitsune behind his ears. He's in fox form, having shapeshifted back to ride on your shoulders instead of walk. He paws at the diamond dangling from your earlobe. The scarlet fur scratches against your chin. You wave him away, "Stop it."

He groans. His little red paws start playing with your loose hair, instead. "Luffy!" You chide, and he groans again in agony, sliding off your shoulders to melt into his human form again.

Luffy is a kitsune, having gained a tail for each hundred years he's been alive: Luffy has eight. They say the wisest kitsunes have nine.

He stalks in front of you, hands in his pockets as he walks backwards. The dirt path is littered with rocks and stones, but he deftly avoids stepping on any tripping hazards. Stupid spirit magic.

"When are we getting there?" He asks again, whiny. You roll your eyes.

"Another three miles, Luffy. Keep walking."

"Uggghhhhh," he drags his feet, turning back around to face forward. His foxy grin catches you off-guard, and you stumble. Luffy snickers, surely aware of your stupid mortal crush on this spirit fox.

"We have to walk," you point out, catching up to him on the dirt path, "Because someone broke our only other means of transportation."

"Stupid rowboat," Luffy mutters, kicking a stone. Two of his tails flicker into existence, shortchanging his disguise from agitation.

"Stupid Luffy," you counter, flicking him in the forehead. He whines, frowning at you as he rubs the now slightly red spot. You sniff. "Besides, it should be good for you to stretch your legs. You've been fox-form for a while now, huh?"

Luffy nods, stepping in place beside you. He stares at the sky, sparkly eyes tracking clouds as they race across the sky. "Gonna rain soon," he says, ominously.

"How can ya tell?"

Luffy shrugs. "Dunno. Just can," he sharply glances behind you, and something aggressive flashes in his eyes. "Get behind me," he whispers, and you do. Your hand goes to the knife at your belt, but Luffy's already balled his hands into fists.

"Hey, asshole!" Your spirit guide calls, staring at the bushes along the side of the road. Something rustles from within them. You gasp slightly, stepping back. Your heel snaps a twig.

Suddenly, a red-gold blur lashes out at Luffy, startling him slightly as he stumbles backward. You give him room, now fully drawing your knife. Luffy curses, ripping at the thing that's now clawing at his face.

You surge forward, stabbing at the thing as it scrabbles around your friend's head, suffocating him. The thing cries, yelping in pain as it hops away from Luffy's now-scratched up face. Anger burns in his dark eyes. He stalks forward, holding up his fists.

"Bad foxy," he accuses, spitting on the ground. The thing, which you now see is another kitsune, hisses at him.

"What the fuck," you breathe, shuffling behind Luffy a bit more. He crouches down, staring at the fox as it hisses and spits into the ground. He tilts his head.

"Oh!" He apologizes, suddenly softer and more earnest. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize! Who stole it?"

"Stole what?"

Luffy shakes his head. "His star ball," Luffy explains, as if that made any sense to you.

"Star ball?"

"Life force ball," he turns back to the kitsune, who only has one tail. "You're pretty young, huh?" He asks, holding out his hand.

The kitsune growls, but doesn't attack. Doesn't run away, either. You frown. "Does he need our help?"

Luffy grins.

"Of course."

****

The fox's name is Ember.

"Hi Ember," you say, sliding a tangerine slice his way. The kitsune yaps at you, but gobbles up the fruit without a second thought. You lean against the trunk of an oak tree, while Luffy translates the poor spirit's story. You grimace. "Sorry for stabbing you," you say, softly. The knife hadn't left more than a scratch, but you'd still offered to help patch it up. The fox had refused, but you hope the time spent together will let him change his mind. Luffy sits cross-legged in front of you, nodding seriously as the fox tilts his head back and forth, chewing on the squishy orange slice.

"So, a traveler stole it?" He repeats, flicking his eyes to you, "We're chasing a traveler right now, in fact. What did they look like?"

The fox flicks his ears in answer, and Luffy nods. "Sounds like the same guy. Long, sharp claws? Weird feet?"

The fox yaps, jumping up and down. He nods. "Y/N and I are gonna go kick his ass for ya, okay? We'll get your star ball back."

You slide another tangerine slice his way, but Luffy intercepts it. He chews the citrus loudly, with his mouth open. He tilts his own fox ears, now completely visible in his mortal form. They flick scarlet over fluffy black hair. You scan the length of Luffy's lithe form, bent forward as he starts playing with the younger kitsune.

"You're gonna have so many tails one day!" He's saying, giggling as he lets the kitsune play-fight with his fist. He loosely muzzles him, before letting him frisk away to snap his jaws and laugh. Foxes laugh, loudly. Luffy joins in. "You'll have as many as me!" He grins, crossing his arms with pride. He lets his eight, flickering tails pop into existence. They're white at the base before fading to dark red at the tips. His ears are red, too. His paws are red in fox form, but his hands are the same honey-tone as the rest of him as he is now. Half-boy, half-fox. All smiling and silly. His eyes crinkle up like crescent moons.

The child-fox gapes at his display, jumping around in excitement. You stand, having finished your tangerine. "Let's get started!" You suggest, tossing the orange rind off to the side. The smaller fox snaps forward, closing its jaws around the peel before you can stop him. He swallows it in one gulp. You roll your eyes.

"Luffy junior," you huff, sticking your hands in your pockets as you walk back to the road. Luffy follows after you, the junior in question now riding his shoulders. "Why doesn't he change shape?"

Luffy stares at him, while the kitsune chitters. "He's really only a teenager," Luffy explains, catching up to you. His shoulder bumps into yours, and a spark shoots through your stomach. You clear your throat.

"Can you not shapeshift til you're older?"

"Well, ya get better at it," Luffy smiles, meeting your curious gaze with mischief in his. His nose crinkles. "But everyone can shapeshift no matter how old they are. But ya can't," his face darkens, and the kitsune on his shoulder croons sadly. He scritches his soft-gold ears.

"Ya can't shapeshift without your star ball," Luffy continues, "It's like, your essence of life. And ya gotta keep some of your spirit safe while ya change shape. And now that someone has it, he can't safely turn back and forth. Plus! It's really hard to get your own star ball back yourself." Luffy's eyebrows pull down hard over his eyes.

He looks furious.

Luffy's voice turns dark, and raspy, "Because he now has to follow the orders of whoever stole his ball. He's completely under some human's control." Luffy spits this out like stones in the street. He clenches his hands into fists. You bump your shoulder into his. He meets your eyes, questioning; his jaw clenches.

"We're gonna kick that guy's ass," you smile. Luffy grins, beaming from your confidence in him, as well. Even the kitsune's ears perk up.

"We're gonna get your star ball back."

****

"Here," you hiss, crouching below a gnarled tree root. Luffy sneaks in behind you, rustling the bushes as he goes. You glare at him to be quiet, and he grins sheepishly.

"Sorry."

You roll your eyes, but don't answer. You turn back to the scene in front of you: a man in a hooded green cloak, crossing his legs in front of a campfire. By the time you all had caught up to him, the sky had already darkened for night. The traveler throws back his hood, grinning at the small bauble in his hand.

A shiny white star glows in the center.

You gasp, softly, and Luffy growls. The kitsune huddles back against the tree root, waves of anger pouring off of him. You turn to meet his eyes, reassuring him with a slight grin. "Don't worry," you whisper, brandishing your dagger by your bent knee. "We'll get it back for you."

The kistune nods, and hides farther back in the undergrowth.

Luffy grunts, and springs forward.

You curse, but chase after him.

Luffy flies at the traveler, all fists and teeth, before you dive in to steal the traveler's bag for yourself. He had stolen your sketchbook, after all. Luffy snarls, half-feral, with arms and legs both stretching out to kitsune claws. His ears are flat against his head, and his tails are whirling around in anger. The traveler lets out one, loud cry, before falling to his knees. He slumps over, defeated.

Luffy grins, and bends to pick up the shiny star ball.

"We should get outta here," he says, sparkling, "Before he wakes up."

****

You head back home, kitsune safely rescued. The orange fox-spirit had taken his star ball back gladly, insisting he now owes you a favor, but Luffy waved him away.

"Just pay us for it next time!"

You wished Luffy had actually asked for some money, but oh well.

Now, you're both seated across from each other on your living room mat. You shift on the tatami, steaming bowl of rice held in both your hands. You breathe in: delicious.

Luffy devours his rice in one fell swoop, sighing heavily as he leans back. He scratches his hand through his hair. "Good job today, y/n! Thanks for helping me rescue that kit’s star ball.”

“Welcome,” you say, scraping the bottom of your bowl. And then, “Do you have a star ball?”

“Duh,” he says, fishing the glowing orb out of his pocket. Your eyebrows raise, but you say nothing. He twirls it deftly in one hand, tossing it up before catching it again. It glimmers gold in the lamplight.

Crickets chirp in the night, and you stand up to head to bed. “Cmon,” you say softly, leaning down to scoop a now-fox-form Luffy into your arms.

He purrs happily, wriggling around in your hold until you dump him unceremoniously onto the bed. He curls into a ball on the pillow, snoring immediately.

You curl in beside him, and let sleep take you.

****

#hope you like this!!!#request #ik it’s different from the prompt but #inspiration is inspiration and i tried my best #fics are rhe only thing i give a hundred percent effort to #btw #dumpster dive #my writing #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #luffy fic #locallysourcedfriend

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