#these two have been in my brain unstoppably

[emberglowfox]

somewhere gentle

[oh-cramity-its-amity]

its so weird to read some of my old fics (do NOT do it but i'm just being hypothetical rn) and reading it. like who even was this person?? i completely was in a haze back in 2020. i literally was posting 3 chapters a day. A DAY. what in the WORLD was that shit.

anyway i remembered some STUPID sappy shit and i didnt remember if i'd put it into a fic or not BUT I FOUND IT.

She and Hope had been dating in secret for months anyway, and any attempt to go talk to Ryan only filed her disposition of displeasure upon knowing that she couldn’t tell anyone, Molly especially, it destroyed herself mentally. They couldn’t really go anywhere near the school, always having to lie to everyone about having projects together when Molly wasn’t around them. It’d consisted with 9 PM - 2 AM intervals of being able to actually see each other. Hope would sneak through her small bedroom window with a portable record player and whatever she had gotten from the vintage record store downtown, and Amy would always fall asleep around eleven because of her internal clock. She would always wake up to find a single sticky note stuck on the edge of her desk whenever she woke up to her alarm the next morning. One of them, Amy still had tucked inside of her phone case, a heavily detailed human heart, with blue and red ink sketched onto a neon pink sticky note, there was a caption that headed the small paper reading the phrase over every now and again makes her almost melt every time. “You have my heart.”

yeah idk why the fuck but i thought of this fucking idea again today and i was like "omg did i ever put that heart note thing in a fic???" yeah you fucking did.

all that to say ME AND WHO???? imagine. thats so fucking.... RAHHHH.

[scoonsalicious]

Unstoppable

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky have bee having a LOT of sex. It's annoyed some people.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Just a stupid cute little drabble I came up with. Enjoy!

A cool vibranium fingertip traced the outline of your lips, along the meridian of your chin and neck, between the valley of your breasts, down to your navel and back again, leaving a trail of tingles along your skin. 

“Never gonna get tired of this view,” Bucky hummed. He was propped up on his flesh elbow, looking down on you with warm, sultry eyes.

He had just finished fucking you so well and so thoroughly on the living room rug that all you could do was sigh contentedly and smile up at him. Using what little strength you had left in you, you reached up to cup his stubbled jaw. Bucky leaned into your touch, pressing his lips to the pad of your thumb as you ran it over his plush lips.

His hair was a mess, locks going in every direction from where you had fisted your hands in it, pulling it as he had thrusted you into oblivion. In your eyes, he could never look better than he did right after he had cum inside of you.

And lately, that had been pretty much constantly. After China, he made good on his request to Tony for some time off, and the two of you had been doing your absolute damnedest to make up for all your lost time.

“You’re so pretty after you fuck,” you told him, your mouth letting out words long before your brain could determine if it was a good idea to say them. 

Bucky dropped his chin to his chest and let out a low laugh. “Thanks, sweets,” he said, leaning down to kiss you softly. “So are you. Always thought you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, from the moment I first saw you.”

“The very first moment you saw me?” you asked him with a smile. “Cause I’m pretty sure I had a gun pointed at you the very first time.”

Bucky chuckled as he lowered himself down to lay next to you, his forehead pressed against your temple. “Honestly, I wondered if you even remembered that. We never talked about it.”

“Well, if it helps, had I known you gave such good dick, I never would have pulled the trigger.” 

Bucky laughed and wrapped his forearm across your breasts, pulling you closer to him. “You should have seen yourself, doll. Up on the ramp of that jet, standing up to two super soldiers all by your lonesome? You were a vision; it was hot as fuck.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted at his arm. “Sure it was, Buck.”

He squeezed you lightly. “I’m serious, Pocket. You were out-muscled and out-numbered, but you held your ground, and you were sassy as fuck to Steve in the process.”

“Yeah, and got rendered unconscious for my efforts,” you said with a sad smile, remembering how Steve had knocked you out so he and Bucky could steal the Quinjet. “It all worked out, though, in the end,” you added as you snuggled up against him. “It brought us to right now, so I’m thankful for it.”

You felt the firm press of Bucky’s lips to your temple. “So thankful,” he agreed. “Though, if I could go back and change things…”

“I wouldn’t,” you interjected. You turned onto your side to look him in the eye. “If there was even the slightest chance that we wouldn’t end up here, right now, just like this, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He smiled a lopsided, boyish grin at you that managed to light a fire in your core, and you reflexively rolled your hips against him. “Again, doll?” he asked with a laugh. “We’ve already been going at it for hours, but if you insist. We’ve got time before we have to go to dinner.”

“Shit!” You bolted upright and checked the time. You were scheduled to have dinner with Tony and Pepper in a little over an hour; there was no time to get caught up in another round of ‘What the ‘F’ Was It?’ with Bucky. “We need showers,” you told him as you rose to stand. Turning, you reached down a hand to help him up. “We probably stink of sex.” 

“I love it when we stink of sex,” Bucky said with a laugh as he followed you up the stairs to your master bedroom. “I like to think of it as a souvenir of time well spent.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Buck,” you said with a playful roll of your eyes, “other people don’t want to smell it on us.” You moved to your closet and began pulling out clothes to wear to dinner.

Bucky came up behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist. “We could shower together, you know,” he said, kissing your shoulder. “Save time and water. Very economical of us.”

Ugh, the man was a menace! “You know very well,” you began as you slid out of his grasp and put some safe distance between the two of you, “that if we do that, we are just going to fuck in there, and we’ll be late for dinner.” It wasn’t a theoretical concern of yours; you’d learned the hard way long ago, and after getting reamed out by Tony and Steve Rogers in front of the entire team for missing an important mission briefing, the rule ‘no shared showers if we have somewhere to be' had to be established.

You went first, seeing as it would take you longer to get ready than it would Bucky, but you were in and out in almost no time, putting on your silk robe as Bucky moved to get in. 

“Last chance to join me,” he said with a teasing wink. 

“Go clean yourself off, you filthy beast,” you laughed, playfully shoving him into the bathroom. 

He’d just started the water when you heard the unfamiliar sound of your doorbell ringing.

You padded down the steps, curiosity getting the better of you. Most of the people who visited you had the code for the private elevator and would bypass the door all together. Standing on your toes, you looked through the peephole. On the other side, rocking back and forth on the heels of their feet, stood an attractive, but anxious looking, young woman with thick, light brown hair. You’d probably put her at a handful of years younger than you, if you had to guess. 

She didn’t look like a potential threat, but you could never be too careful. “Who is it?” you called through the door.

“Um…” the woman said uncertainly, “my name’s Caity Wallace? I live in the apartment below you?”

Like a puzzle piece slotting into place, you were hit with a jolt of recognition; you’d briefly met her in the lobby around the time you’d first moved in. Opening the door, you smiled warmly. “Caity, hi. What can I do for you?”

She eyed your robe and quirked an eyebrow. “Listen,” she said anxiously, “I really didn’t want to do this, but I kinda feel like you’re not leaving me a choice anymore.”

You stared back at her, puzzlement written all over your face. “A choice in what?” you asked hesitantly.

“Could you… fuck, this is so embarrassing, but could you, I dunno, maybe… not have such… loud… sex… so often?” At the astonished look on your face, she hurried to add, “I mean, I think it’s great that you’re so… liberated, with all your guys, I’m definitely not trying to slut shame you or anything, it’s just… well, I can hear the furniture banging across the floor, and you scream a lot, and–”

“Wait,” you said, caught by something she’d said. “What do you mean ‘all my guys’? There’s just one it guy.”

Caity’s eyes got comically wide. “WHA–I mean… how?! I mean, no offense, but you’re always going at it. There’s no way one guy’s got that much stamina. To be honest, at first I thought you were filming porn up here or something.”

You ducked your head to hide your laugh. “It’s just the two of us,” you assured her. “My boyfriend and I were apart for a long time, so I guess we’re kind of in a honeymoon phase?”

Caity nodded, her eyes wide.

A floorboard squeaked somewhere behind you, and you turned to see Bucky, making his way across the living room, fresh from his shower, in only a towel. “Forgot my phone, sweets,” he said with that gorgeous lopsided grin. He noticed Caity in the doorway and froze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, shit!’ he muttered, ducking himself behind a pillar and out of Caity’s line of sight. He popped his head out from around the corner. “Everything alright?”

It was cute how modest he became in the presence of another person. “Yeah, baby,” you told him. “Just a visit from our downstairs neighbor, Caity. You wanna come say hello?” You smirked as he shifted uncomfortably and scowled at you.

“Maybe another time,” he said, giving you a glare at your mischievousness and an apologetic wave to Caity. “When I’m actually wearing pants. You gonna be long?”

You smiled at him. “Nah, baby. I’ll be up in a minute.” He nodded and winked at you before turning away.

Turning back to Caity, you were amused to see her eyes following Bucky as he retreated back up the stairs, her mouth slightly agape.

“I’ll make sure we tone it down from now on,” you assured her. Caity shook her head, as if you’d just snapped her out of a trance. “What?” she said, her attention now back to you. “Oh my god, girl, no. I’ll invest in some noise cancelling headphones. Get it. Get it as much as you want. As much as you can. That man’s a fucking god.”

[sp4ceboo]

a/n: ok so. alpha deku. this was specifically inspired by @kajinovaa's art (here and here) because. what the fuck man. this gave me severe brain rot. absolutely delicious artwork, belongs in museum.

tw: 18+, smutty, afab omega reader, a/b/o, alpha deku goes into rut, breeding kink (it's abo, what were we expecting)

wc: 1.2k

Everyone knows when your alpha is close to his rut.

Since Izuku has risen on the hero rankings, ‘everyone’ has become anyone who happens to be watching the news that week. Citizens, villains, news reporters, hell, even his mother - they all know. It would be hard to not notice, not with the pheromones that practically ooze off him, and especially not with the way he acts.

Normally, the villains are the first to know. You always patrol with Izuku (he insisted it be that way, but you wouldn’t have been paired with anyone else with how obvious it is that the two of you work best together), and usually, you’ll divide and conquer any minor villains with ease. You’re ridiculously attuned to each other, able to communicate in battle just as well with your eyes as with your words, and it makes it pretty hard to mount a defense against.

All of that flies straight out of the window the moment his pre-rut hits; the hormones give him an extra edge, a strength derived from something primal, and his hindbrain takes control. Your mate is a force to be reckoned with already, but in pre-rut, he’s unstoppable.

You’re aware that he knows you’re perfectly capable of holding your own, but once his instincts take over, there’s no stopping him. He’ll break a villain’s hand if they come too close to you, flashing his canines and snarling keep away from my omega while he pumps out a ridiculous amount of pheromones. By then, they’re already running: it’s no secret that his threats aren’t empty when it comes to you.

The reporters are the next to find out, and you hope that the ones that get sent to interview you and Izuku while he’s in pre-rut get paid extra, because he’s impossible; once he’s sure the villains are successfully detained, he’ll latch onto you, curling an arm about your waist and wrapping himself around you from behind.

It’s worth acknowledging that Izuku is big, even by alpha standards. He’s fucking huge, broad shoulders and massive thighs, still bristling from the fight, and he dwarfs your frame entirely when he crowds into you the way he does. You’ve seen fan-made compilations, clips of him draped over you, nose buried in your hair as you answer reporters’ questions, captioned with things like ‘proof pro-hero Deku can’t get enough of his mate, if you hadn’t noticed already’.

You always politely smile for the cameras, but he has no patience for them. He never speaks during those interviews, instead drowning his restlessness in the familiarity of your scent, growling if anyone comes too close and only letting up once they retreat.

At that point, you already reek of him - well, more than you usually do - and when you feel that you’ve shown face enough, you excuse yourself. No one can refuse you, not when you have a more than just sizeable alpha hanging off your shoulders, glaring at anyone who might dare to object.

On the way home, you’ve made a habit of filing your request for leave from work (that is, if your manager hasn’t seen the news and already granted it). You’ve never been refused leave, but that doesn’t surprise you. The risk of having pro-hero Deku off patrol is nothing compared to having him half crazy, half feral and fully grumpy, supposedly watching over the city while in reality all he does is want after his omega.

Reliably, you’ll barely have gotten through the doorway of your home, struggling to close the door behind you, when he finally lets loose.

He’ll be all over you, hands tugging at your clothes while he laps at your scent glands, almost drooling as he breathes in your pheromones. Rut reduces your alpha to nothing but a mess. You won’t even be more than a metre into your house, and he’ll be grinding against you, fondling you, groaning in your ears and telling you sinful things: that you smell so fucking good, that he can’t wait to be deep in your sweet omega pussy.

They’re always dirty, the things he mumbles in your ears, but it always circles back to the same thing - I protected you so well, didn’t I, omega? I kept you safe, right? - and you nod every time, kissing him sweetly - yes alpha, of course you did - and tilting your head back to give him access to your throat, a display of trust, because that’s what he needs to hear. That’s what has his cock throbbing against your hip, achingly hard.

It’s what sets that part of him ablaze, just like you burn whenever he tells you that you’re such a good, pretty omega for him and that you take him so well while he fucks you through your heat. Yes, Izuku understands you can protect yourself, but he needs to know that he’s a good alpha to you, that he takes care of his mate and keeps you happy and safe and content.

The moment he hears that, he won’t stop until you're knotted and pumped full of his come.

He’ll take you against the first flat surface that presents itself (usually the wall of your foyer), slipping in easily because your body responds to him even before you’ve smelt his exquisite pheromones, your pussy all slicked up and fluttering for him. He won’t stop for days after that, ruining you on his cock over and over again, eyes rolling back in his head as he slurs about how he’s going to give you his pups, and though you know it won’t take because of your medication, sometimes you wish it would.

Right now, you lie on his warm chest, tracing the constellations of his freckles with your fingertips. Today his rut started no different from how it normally does, and he’s purring softly in his sleep beneath you, his warm palms splayed wide over your back; you smile at the occasional snore that leaves him. Your mate has been busy recently. You’re not surprised that he knocked out so quickly.

He’s fucked his knot into you already, and from where it sits snugly inside you, you can feel it slowly coming down. You don’t bother to lift yourself off him though - he’s far from done, and besides, he’ll just ease it right back into you the moment he wakes up.

You’ve heard people comment on how your Izuku is pretty high maintenance during his rut, that he should take suppressants to give you a break, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He stirs, and you watch his green lashes dip as he blinks his way back to consciousness; gently, he catches your fingers, his palm calloused against your skin, and lifts your hand to his mouth to press kisses your knuckles. Your lips curl up at the sight of him, unruly hair mussed, glowing in that way he does during his rut, and sleepy eyed, he smiles back.

Already, you can feel him stiffening inside of you, his body getting ready for another round. He cups your face in his hands, fitting his lips to yours, and you find yourself grinning into his kisses.

Yeah, you definitely wouldn't have it any other way.

[inbabylontheywept]

if you are my fav tumblr account, who else should i follow? any suggestions? maybe your other followers can chime in too.

oh. that's very sweet. i've been told i have a lot of overlap with @foldingfittedsheets. she does art too, i just rec her in general. if you like me for my poignance, shes like that too, plus she can draw. @gallusrostromegalus is another storyteller, and they've been at it quite a while longer than me. absolutely massive archive of stories. top quality and top quantity. i'm in awe of the quantity - some days i feel like i'm scraping the bottom of my bucket and they just keeps going, and going, and going, and going. they are kind of unstoppable. @derinthescarletpescatarian did hfy and was frankly quite a bit better at it than i ever was. if you like my fiction. they have several books too that i've seen people go feral over. on my to-read-list after i finish my cormac mccarthy binge. god help me. or stop me. they also do life update stories that kind of fit into my niche.

there's @lizardho, who is my sister, and frankly has a similar storytelling and speaking style to me. we grew up just 14 months apart. she doesn't write as much as i do, she just got out of grad school and which consumed basically all of her mental and emotional energy for the last couple years (ive only really been writing for around... 4 years? and basically started as soon as school stopped kicking my ass) but when she does you'll go ah, yeah, family resemblance here. case in point.

@miseria-fortes-viros is more fandom focused than me, but if you read me specifically for my random emotional kicks to your stomach, she is fantastic at that and she occasionally dips into greek works, which is something i've always been interested in. if you liked my odysseus in space story then this and this are gonna burn through your brain like acetone on styrofoam. also she occasionally does life stories and theyre always top notch. you will love this.

those are all my you-will-find-works-like-mine recs. i'm opening it up to the audience if they have anyone they'd like to throw into the ring.

(i'm gonna close with someone whose work isn't actually terribly similar to mine, but i like @letters-from-the-gaps so much i'm gonna give them a rec too. their poem "Bone Saints" is probably my favorite work of theirs. i think about it at least once a week. you can go through their entire body of work in like, maybe a day or two? but it's good. feels like home to me. we both love our sunscorched deserts.)

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“Let me get this right,” the villain said. Their smile was all teeth. “Your plan included an undercover operation in which you tried to infiltrate the supervillain’s facility. You succeeded and started working for them. You hacked into their system, got the information you needed but the supervillain started liking you a little too much. And now you need my help to fake a relationship?”

“Well, if you put it like that, it sounds a bit pathetic,” the hero answered. They were currently sharing a wine bottle with the villain in their office. It had been a long day and the hero wasn’t too keen on even more conflict.

Two weeks ago, the villain had told them that they’d figured out their identity.

That had been alarming. The hero had acted fast, had given the supervillain their resignation.

Unfortunately, the supervillain had basically been on their knees, begging them not to quit. They’d offered them more money, their own office, new tasks, less tasks, less work days, more breaks.

That was pathetic, too.

Even more unfortunately, the hero’s original excuse wasn’t good enough to say no to the supervillain’s offers.

“And I don’t think they’re…in love. They’re either lonely or I’m a pretty good asset,” the hero continued. “Either way, it would be nice to have you as a backup.”

“A backup?”

“Yeah, to be on the safe side. So if they ask me out on a date, I can tell them I’m in a relationship.”

The hero tilted their head. The wine had made them a little dizzy and the villain looked a teeny tiny bit too good right now.

“Believe me, a partner is not an obstacle for the supervillain.” The villain crossed their arms. They looked as exhausted as the hero felt.

Spending that much time around the enemy was…dangerous. The hero found them more and more entertaining. The villain was easy to talk to when they didn’t try to murder them.

“Exactly my thoughts. That’s why I asked you. Do you seriously think the supervillain would risk the stability of their own hierarchy? You’re more than capable to beat them in a fight. And together? We might be unstoppable if we actually started agreeing on a few things.”

“I like how you worded that.” The villain smiled and for a moment, they looked a little lost, as if they were imagining it all already. Their eyes went over the hero a couple of times until they focused on the hero’s. “You flatter me.”

“I’m stating a fact.”

“What’s in it for me, then?” The villain’s voice was deep and calm. As if they were deeply content with the situation.

Their hair was messy. Their eyes half-lidded. God, the hero should’ve said no to the wine.

“If we could somehow eliminate the supervillain, you’d be the next top predator in the food chain,” the hero argued. They shrugged. “If you’re nice, you can keep that position for quite a while.”

“A little corrupt, no?” the villain asked. They were sitting next to the hero on the couch, quite close actually, the hero realised.

Right now, they feared, the villain was their weakness.

“A problem I can deal with later. Right now, the supervillain is part of an illegal organ-selling business and I need to stop them. Stopping you can be my futures self’s problem,” they said and the villain laughed softly as response. They put their arm on the backrest of the couch. Their finger touched the hero’s back slightly but the hero doubted it was intentional. Their brain couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“You’re quite confident, hm?”

“I’ve known you for longer.” The hero leaned in, their face close to the villain’s. “I know your little secrets.”

The villain played along, smiled and their gaze dropped to the hero’s lips.

“Not all of them, dear.” The hero leaned in even closer but the villain’s hand landed on their thigh and squeezed gently. “Before you seduce me, I still have questions.”

The hero pulled back.

“Oh? Haven’t you edged me for long enough now?” Again, the villain laughed before they responded. It was a sweet sound, something the hero needed more of.

“First: why shouldn’t I tell my boss who you are? Us being in a relationship means that you’re in my business.” Their smile was undoubtedly of playful nature. The hero liked a challenge.

“Well, you don’t wanna be a subordinate forever, do you? The supervillain keeps you at their side because they’re afraid of you. You’ll be the new leader if we get rid of them.”

The villain nodded slowly.

“Good. Second: if you want to find out more about them, why aren’t you just dating them?” the villain asked.

That was a little more difficult to answer.

“Uhm, well…They’re not my type.”

The villain raised their eyebrows.

“Oh? Well, that leads me to my last questions already: am I your type? Why did you choose me? There are enough scary villains you can walk around like your dogs but you chose me. Why?”

The hero could only blush. Fuck, the villain could be really direct if they wanted. Along with the flirting and the teasing, the hero was quite aware that the villain wanted a confession, a true explanation as for why the hero had chosen them.

Because, truly, the hero had hoped for an opportunity like this.

And unluckily, the villain had seen right through it.

“Look, this organ-selling thing is really bad.” The villain checked them out yet again. But they didn’t push further. The hero assumed they loved the teasing a little too much.

“Mm. Oh, yes, yeah. I get it, I get it. Don’t worry about it.” This time, the villain leaned in, close enough for them to kiss but they only let the hero’s heartbeat go crazy. “I’ll think about it, hm?”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nikolai proposes to Price.

cw: mention of past and present homophobia in Russia and the UK.

The rotor blades hadn't even stopped spinning when Nik clambered out of his cab, his hand fumbling through his pocket in search of that velvet box. The gravel of the broken tarmac scratched under the soles of his boots, his knee grazing through his jeans as it hit the ground.

He'd almost lost John.

Two meters between his head and a steel beam falling from a nearby building as an IED had detonated.

As the smoke had cleared, Nikolai had heard and felt nothing. Like someone had reached through his ribs and pulled his heart and lungs out. John Price had always seemed invincible, unstoppable, like a force of nature. But in those few moments when Nik had believed he had been killed, the reminder of John's mortality had stunned him cold. John was not immortal, not a god or a hurricane, but a human man; vulnerable, killable, and Nik's entire world.

Nik had only started breathing again when his helo had swung round and the downdraft had whisked the cover of smoke and ash away to reveal the captain hunkered down, Ghost's arm thrown across his shoulders, Gaz and Soap guarding the rear.

The lieutenant had regained consciousness on the flight home, his concussion slurring his speech, his arm broken, but he was alive. They were exhausted, slumped against each other as the danger receded and Nik carried them to safety. Soap helped his lieutenant out now, supporting his weight as they staggered over the tarmac with Gaz following, his head low.

It was in the gap between Task Force 141 and their captain that Nik knelt, his shaking hand clutching the box against his knee as the adrenalin caught up on him, his words stuck. He had planned this. A dinner at the nice steakhouse John had seen in town, and then a walk through one of the big parks to the lake where they had spent many a night fishing. There, Nik would have asked. No audience, no public display, just them in the peace.

Their love was private. Not because it was shameful, but because it was theirs. It was a place John could tentatively explore the parts he had buried to survive, and Nik could be himself without apology. They could discard their defences and show each other the soft underbelly they guarded so fiercely from others. The vulnerability, the intimacy that came with it, belonged to them and only them; one of the very few things that did.

But what if he never got the chance? What if John had died today? What if John died tomorrow? Or the next day? What if, what if. There was no waiting for them because there might be no tomorrow. They had to live here, now.

Price dropped onto the tarmac, pushing his M4 behind his back as he looked down with a quizzical expression. "Nik?"

Nik drew in a shaking breath, his gaze lingering in the smear of black ash and crust edging a cut on Price's face. He'd lost his boonie hat in the scramble to rescue his officer, so his scruffy brown hair and beard formed a wild mane around his head, framing those blue eyes that were all the brighter as they shone from the sweat and grime on his skin. Nik started talking without thinking. "Lyobit tebya - eto kak dishat… s toboi bremya ostanablibaetsya e ya shivu lish mnovyeiyami pyadom toboi..."

"I can't speak it that well yet, ya muppet, and my brain was just shook inside my skull like a maraca," John said, his voice gravelly and dry. The corners of his eyes crinkled in wry amusement, and Nik's heart ached. He lifted the box, his thumb sliding beneath the lid, and watched John's expression fade from amusement to shock.

"Ty vyydesh’ za menya?" Nik clenched his teeth, irritated at himself, but before he could open his mouth and find the English, John's hand slid over his and he dropped to his knees.

"What is this, Nik?" John croaked, those beautiful blue eyes that so reminded Nik of a summer sky over Kiev glistened.

"A promise," Nik replied. "A... plea."

John leaned forward and their foreheads met, his fingers tightened over the box and Nik felt the coarse material of John's gloves against his knuckles. His hand shook. He was keeping the ring covered, like it would vanish should he look at it, or believe for a single moment it was real.

They had talked so many times about their experiences as young men. In the early hours of the morning, when scotch and exhaustion had worn down their defences, the rawness and the hurt had surfaced. Nik, who had hidden what he was lest he face a bullet or prison, acknowledging his very existence criminalised even now; John, who had grown under Section 28, made to feel degenerate and filthy, his lack of worth reinforced by a slighted father's retribution.

Never for a moment had those boys dreamed of a happy ever after, and both had fled into the arms of violence and bloodshed to lose themselves. Both had tucked their hearts away and buried their dreams until they existed only as dogs of war; weapons of the states that had failed them.

And now there it was. Represented as a single tungsten ring with a thread of vibrant blue in the metal. Like his eyes, Nik had thought as he had purchased it.

They shared the same quivering breaths, the promise clasped between their palms, and Nik watched as the low light of dawn caught the first tear as it escaped. Those soulful eyes closing as John caught himself. Nik stroked his cheek with his free hand, thumb brushing through the tear track. "You own me, body, heart and soul. I only ask for your hand in return," Nik whispered, so very meek compared to what he had imagined.

John threw himself forward and Nik caught him, wrapping his arms around his back as John's face pressed into his neck. He smelled of char and blood, sweat and pain, and Nik held him as he sought strength and stability. There were injuries beneath the Kevlar and padding of John's body armour, and Nik would care for him tonight no matter his answer. They had lost men today and John would need convincing to rest before he embarked on the sombre task of informing their families.

When John sat back on his heels, he sniffed, wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist and then uncovered the ring in Nik's palm. "S'nice," he said, soft and boyish despite the gruff rasp of his voice. Nik could see that young boy in John's eyes, still uncertain, still struggling to believe that someone would love him enough to want to spend the rest of their life at his side.

"Da," Nik said, "it suits you, no?"

"I like it."

"I am glad."

John smiled, the lines at his eyes returning and making Nik's heart ache. "So this is for real, then."

"Da."

"For keeps?"

"For keeps," Nik said, running his thumb over the cool metal. He remembered fondly the first time John had asked him that. Many years ago, when they had only really just met, still circling, still probing tentatively lest they reveal their secret to someone who would react badly. He had offered John a cigar and John had stared at it suspiciously before asking the very same, and Nik had been endeared by it even then. Lieutenant Price had been even rougher around the edges than Captain Price. They had already done so much healing together.

John huffed a soft laugh, wiping at his eyes before glancing at the sky, and then back at Nik. "Yeah..." He cleared his throat, another sniff, "Nikolai, I want t'... bloody 'ell," he took a breath, "I want t' marry you. Yes, I... I'm sayin' yes."

Nik barked a laugh of relief and Price echoed it, watching as Nik ran a hand through his hair as his heart settled. John pulled at the velcro of his left glove with his teeth, tugging it off between his thighs so that Nik could slide the ring over his weathered knuckle. He pressed a kiss to John's open palm, nuzzling his face to it with a contented sigh.

John leaned to the side to see Soap and Gaz gasping at them from the edge of the tarmac. Ghost was, of course, unreadable, but Nik had already talked to him about his intention. Who did you ask for a man's hand in marriage when his father was unavailable? The loyal lieutenant that had fought at his side through the worst the world had to offer, of course. "The whole base will know by lunch," John muttered.

"Da. I... I am sorry. I could not wait any longer. For a while there, I thought I had watched you die."

John lifted Nik's chin and then gathered his hand to his chest. "Ay, I'm here, aren't I? We got home, we made it. Because of you, Nik."

Nik could only nod. There was no point thinking of next time, not when John knelt before him, battered but alive. "You need a medic."

"I need a shower..."

"Medic," Nik insisted. "And if you are a good boy and don't swear at the nurse, I will shower with you."

"Hmm," John smiled, bashful and soft, "seems a fair exchange."

Nik helped John to his feet. Now that the adrenalin had faded and his men were safe, John was limping, an arm folded across his torso. He submitted to inspection with only a minor grump, and then checked on Ghost, Soap and Gaz. They were sound, as John liked to say. Ghost had to stay the night and Soap remained in the chair at his side, but the nurse was happy John's sprains and cuts were manageable with a little support from Nik.

As they stood in the shower, Nik's lips on John's skin, his arms around his waist to hold his body close, Nik let the hot water disguise the tears running down his face. Happiness, relief; they were as heady and overwhelming as anger and sadness sometimes. Nik let himself feel it, knowing it would leave his mind clear for enjoying John later.

"You solid?" John asked, warm hands stroking down Nik's forearms.

"Never better, solnyshko."

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

💥slams into your room like a ragoll

Some fluff idea for you, with Simon

Simon, who loved discovering new things about you, whether it was the way your eyes crinkled more than other smiles when you were super excited to share something, something you'd hyperfixate on for the next four months or so, or the way your giggles gave you away before you could even tell him the story.

So how about writing this, he leans about the lil nose scrunches you do when he kisses the tip of your nose today…and he starts kissing more all over your face just to find out what else you do at certain places he kiss, sending you into a giggling blushing mess :3

- ya not so suspicious panda 🐼

you better repair my door u evil panda

A whole bag of sugar’s been added into this drabble

Simon Exploring Your Cute Reactions

Simon’s in love with your little reactions, hence discovering new things from you is his daily mission.

Like how you accidentally added salt instead of sugar into your tea yesterday, and stuck your tongue out when the unexpected saltiness hit you.

or how you yelled out his name in a hurried tone, and as he rushed to check if you were alright, it was just you showing him the flower you tried to grow finally had a little bud after countless times of failure.

He sometimes wonders why you have so many different expressions, but he sees this part of you as a treasure chest, providing sparkles of anticipation to his life.

Now Simon sits on the couch, with you sitting on his lap, reading the ‘For Plant Killers: how to keep a plant without needing a brain’ book. He looks at you burying your face in the pages with a serious frown, the urge to kiss you is too difficult for him to resist.

“Oh!” You let out a little squeak as you raise your head from the book, eyes wide with curiosity, like a surprised bunny, his mind notes it as he plants another kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Hey, what you doing?” Your little nose scrunches at the touch, triggering his enjoyment with how cute you’re doing it.

Simon just shakes his head, and continues exploring.

Another kiss lands on your eyelid this time, your feather-like eyelashes flutter as you giggle at the itchy feeling.

“Stop you silly man, what are you doing?” You catch his cheeks between your palms after he gives your temple a kiss that lasts longer.

You’re a blushing mess right now, face inches from his, so he’s able to take a good look at the pink smears across your face, making you more vivid and splendid.

“Researching.” He shrugs.

“Well, now’s my time to do some research.”

The chuckles are unstoppable as you start your revenge, from the brushing of your lips at his jawline, a open mouth kiss on his face, to the light pecks at his freckles.

“Not so composed now, huh?” A devious grin plays on your glossy lips when you take a rest from your attacks, looking at him with joy-glinting eyes.

He knows his face is red like an apple now, he can sense the heat gathering at his cheeks, but in front of you, there’s no need to hide his true emotions. Not to mention, he’s on the cusp of victory, since the ace card for this cheeky game of you two is between his fingers.

“Do you remember to water your plant today?”

“oh shit!” Realization strikes you like lightning. You jump off his lap, leaving Simon a glimpse of your hasty figure as you disappear behind the corner.

Tons of discoveries today, he licks his chops while taking a sip from the lukewarm tea.

What will he find tomorrow? He leans back and taps unconsciously at your book. You’re like a mystery bag, he doesn’t think he’s able to guess what’s inside, but hey, your priceless demeanors are worth spending time exploring, and he’s already looking forward to tomorrow’s investigation.

[archesnalleyways]

Doctor!Coriolanus Snow x Naive!Reader

power imbalance, dubcon, corruption kink

dead dove do not eat

You’d go in for a full checkup, trying to stay ahead of your health. He checked your blood pressure, reflexes, listening to your breathing.

Doctor Snow has a habit of wanting to work in a cold room, and that’s made very evident from the way your nipples are straining against the thin fabric of your dress, creating two pebbles which made eye contact near impossible for him.

And you’d been so quick to follow his every task, looking up with expectant, nervous eyes. Lifting your arms with barely any prompt, twisting your torso for him to roam his stethoscope over your body. And something dark is starting to tug inside of him, something unstoppable.

“You seem nervous, miss” he starts with a voice full of fake concern, “is there any reason for this?”

Your face flushes and you twist your fingers in your lap.

“Oh.. well, um, it’s just my first, real doctors appointment” you mumble.

First. First. The word rings in Coriolanus’ mind. First means clean, first means uncorrupted. He wants to change that.

“I understand your nerves, miss, but there’s no need for them” he answers with a sweet smile, but he can’t hide the sinister glint in his eyes.

He goes over to his desk, ‘checking’ what else there’s left for him to check.

“Next thing I need to check for is for breast cancer” he states in a professional voice, walking back to the examining table where you’re sitting. “So I need you to lay down and, if you’re comfortable, the exam is best done on bare skin.”

Your eyes shoot up at his face but you’re met with a calm, almost knowing, look. In practically a trance your hands move up to unbutton the three buttons over the bust of your dress before pulling the fabric down to reveal your breasts to him.

It takes everything in Snow to not groan, to not ravage you on sight. But he knows that this is a delicate situation and too much desperation from his side will push it to break. So he just motions for you to lay down, which you do, and he places his hands on of your boobs.

“What I’m doing is checking for lumps” he explains in an attempt to prolong the façade that this is completely routine, “just say the word if I’m pushing too hard.”

His fingers start to move over you, digging into the fat of your breast. To his credit he does do a check for breast cancer. And he makes sure to check both of them very thoroughly. But then he can’t help himself from just touching you.

Roaming his hands over your tits, moving them together and then apart. He moves the tips of his fingers to your nipple, moving in tight soft circles.

And you let out a small, small gasp. It’s embarrassing, a professional just doing his work and you’re about to moan. But the pleasure was so overwhelming, so unexpected.

“There’s a lot of nerves in nipples” Dr Snow starts to explain, focusing on keeping his breathing controlled, “it’s important to check to see if there’s proper blood flow.”

He moves his hands so his knuckles are supporting your tits, either thumb on either nipple as he continues playing with them.

Your lips part and there’s a very faint line from your furrowed brows, but it feels so good that it’s hard for you to stop yourself from moaning.

And the sight is making something else hard, Snows eyes flicking between your boobs in his hands to your face mixed between embarrassment and pleasure. He can’t stop his fingers from giving your nipples a slight pinch and tug before moving away from you.

“Now I only have to give you a gynecological check..” he tries to say authoritatively, and turns around to grab gloves, “may I remove your underwear?”

And you’re in such a haze, brain already slightly fried from his fingers, so you just let your head fall in a nod.

He backs his chair down so he’s sitting by your legs, hands moving up your dress to pull down your pretty panties decorated with flowers. He folds the skirt of your dress over to get a better display of you. He feels his cock twitch obnoxiously in his pants at the sight of wetness that’s already pooling in your slit.

The doctor’s hands spreads you apart, forcing down the groan moving its way up his throat, and moves the tip of his middle finger to your hole. He pushes in gently, your self-made lubrication making it almost too easy, and he hears your breath hitch.

And you’re so tight, almost too tight, around just one of his fingers and it’s making his head spin. It also fills with dirty fantasies and the sight of it disappearing into your heat is not helping. After a few pumps he moves to add a second finger, and it’s a little stretch but you take it so well.

He moves his other hand so his thumb can move over your clit, and your teeth push into your bottom lip to stop every moan threatening to spill out.

“This is another very important nerve” he mutters, putting some extra pressure on your clit to clarify what he means.

His eyes move from your pretty pussy to your face, contorted in pleasure and obviously keeping your sounds in.

“It is very normal, and encouraged, to feel pleasure from this exam, miss” Snow explains, like this is protocol, “it is completely fine to.. emit sounds.”

With the blood for his brain drained to his cock he has a hard time keeping up with professional jargon. Even so his words of calming makes you release your lip from your teeth, letting your mouth hang open at first. But then his fingers graze your g-spot and the moan just falls out.

“To.. um, to make sure everything is working properly I need to bring you to orgasm.”

Coriolanus knows he’s pushing it, but your own words are still ringing in his head. It’s your first, how are you supposed to know this isn’t how doctors treat their patients. Plus after hearing your cunt squelch around his fingers he can’t possibly stop now.

So he’s pushing his fingers into you faster, curling them when they’re in the deepest parts of you, his other hand is working idly against your clit.

Your mouth is now, almost, shamelessly emitting all those sounds you swallowed earlier. He looks up at you with dark eyes, seeing how in your haze of pleasure you had not yet buttoned up your dress again, your tits still on display for him.

He feels you start to clench around his fingers after switching from circles over your clit to moving them back and forth, “yeah? That feel good?” He mutters, desperately wanting to feel you clench like that around his cock.

You feel your stomach starts to twist, legs tensed to the point of shaking and your eyes squeezed closed.

“You’re gonna cum, huh?” Snow taunts, moving his fingers impossibly faster.

And a moment later you’re stunned by white hot pleasure, gushing around his fingers. Every sound is muffled like your ears are stuffed with cotton, you can’t even register the words Doctor Snow are saying as he throws away his gloves before helping you button up your dress. He offers his hand to you and passes you your bag, bidding you adieu.

You’re so out of it that you don’t realize that you’re not wearing your panties as you walk out of his office, unaware that they were placed in Doctor Coriolanus Snows back pocket.

[kurokens]

In The Middle | Satosugu

anime/manga: jujutsu kaisen

character: gojo satoru & geto suguru

words: 798

pronouns: they/them

request: none

notes: probably an overused prompt but idc sue me, i needed to write one of my own. im a sucker for misunderstanding. i haven't written anything in such a long time, it's been a while im sorry, satosugu have been on my mind for a while, and i needed to write something with them because i love them so fucking much. it's gonna be a series, so hopefully i dont disappear after one part lol... later on it might be specific on some insecurities bc i need it and i thought well let's just share it with the world and other who might need it. sorry for any mistakes T-T

not proof read

song rec: SHE'S - In The Middle

genre: hurt comfort, fluff, slowburn, a little bit angsty, poly?

warnings: bad english not my first language, satosugu are in a loving relationship, misunderstanding, pinning, a lot of pinning on satosugu's end, reader is so oblivious (is that the right one?), insecure and self conscious reader

You've always told yourself you weren't the type to live with anyone, you liked your quiet and your peace. Alone in your little bubble, without a soul to disturb it. And yet, here you were awoken by your roomates lover quarrel in the room next door, for the hundredth time this week.

"Don't you love me anymore? Am I not enough for you?" a whiny voice whisper-screamed "Satoru, my love, it was a dream, it was all in your head." an exhausted voice replied

"So what?? It doesn't mean anything? Are my feelings not valid?" Gojo huffed.

"How are you so dramatic so early in the morning? Let's go back to sleep come here.", Geto carefully lifted the blanket so his boyfriend could go back exactly where he belonged, asleep and quiet in his arms.

Such occurences weren't new to you, you could even say there were your daily life, that's why you laughed hearing the bickering couple, and turned around in your bed to try and fall back asleep while their muffled voices could still be heard in the background. This was without counting on what part of their conversation your brain decided to pick up on next. "I dont know for how much longer I can do this Sugu.." Satoru sighed. "Me neither love, but there is nothing much we can do about it.They live with us." His black haired lover replied. "I know, ugh I know, but it's getting so much harder everyday. Seeing them is becoming unbearable. I can't stand it anymore, we need to do something." He went on. "Shh, I know, I feel the same. But we can't just drop this on them all of the sudden and expect it to go well." The oldest reasoned.

Your heart shattered on the other side of the wall, now sitting against the headboard, an unstoppable flow of tears falling down your face. You were a bother? You thought the three of you were friends, shit, scratch that, best friends. And yet, yet, this was how they felt about you. Fuck fuck FUCK You needed to calm down, it's okay, you're okay. It must have been a nightmare, yeah that's right, a nightmare. Your brain loved playing tricks on you, waking you up in the middle of the night with the most vivid and realistic nightmares ever, enough to send you into full blown meltdown. Nothing to worry about, it was just a nightmare, nothing else. That's what you told yourself and yet when you woke up you couldnt shake this weird feeling in your stomach. You contemplated staying in your bed all day and avoid your roomates but that would be silly to ignore them for something that was potentially just a dream. So you shook the silly feelings away and got out of your bed, made your way to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Your two roommates were already there, being lovey dovey in each others lap and the weird feeling made its way back into your stomach. "Hi there." You greeted tiredly, only to be met with an echo of short hms, and not even a nod to accompany the cold greeting. The lack of acknowledgment not helping with your already overthinking mind, you decided to take a quick breakfast and just leave them be. It could just be a coincidence, nothing to worry about haha, right? Or so you thought, because you were back in your room mindlessly scrolling through tik tok when you once again hear the muffled voices of your roommates. Your brain screamed at you to put your headphones on and drown out their conversation, but you couldn't get yourself to do it, and you decided to listen to them, to at least finally be able to know whether or not you dreamed what happened last night. And maybe you shouldn't have, but what else could you do now but listen to the cruel words of the ones you once considered your best friends. "Suguru, we need to do it soon. I can't even handle looking at them in the eyes anymore, let alone utter a word to them. We can't keep going like this." Satoru complained. "I know 'Toru, I know, but you need to understand it's not as easy as you think it is." You heard the black haired man answer. And it was enough for you, you needed to get out of there. You obviously were no longer welcomed here, and the sooner you left, the better it would be, for both parties. So inbetween tears you picked up a bag and threw some spare clothes and anything that you could think of in your frenzy state before you ran out of there, determined to never come back, at least not for a while.

here u gooo!! sorry i've been away for a while, i've been finding it hard to write and staying focused, but i missed it so much, especially for these two. i'll try not to take too long to write AT LEAST a second part, but would love to do more than this bc i want it to be extremely slown burn and a little bit angsty krkrkr

part 2 is here!!

[uracutieraka]

Something stupid

★・・・・・・★

The time is right, your perfume fills my head

The stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue

And then I go and spoil it all

By saying somethin' stupid like, "I love you"

★・・・・・・★

Kuroo Tetsuro x F!reader

Tw: nothing! Lol!

★・・・・・・★

Synopsis; you and kuroo grew up together and one slightly intoxicated night you admit things you probably shouldn’t have.

★・・・・・・★

You and Kuroo met when you guys were 6 years old.

You had just moved in to your new home only to be greeted by a tall dark haired boy asking if you wanted to play volleyball.

You, ever so excited about the opportunity to already make a new friend took him up on his offer.

He tricked you.

He didn’t want to actually play volleyball, he just wanted you to throw the ball to him.

You were okay with this though, you thought the chatty boy was funny and cool.

“So your names y/n but can I just call you n/n? It sounds way cooler. No offense.”

“N/n is way cooler Tetsuro!” You chirped back.

“Cool. N/n it is then!”

Something about how sure of everything he was lured you in.

Even when asking questions it’s like he already knew what your answer would be.

That’s what kept you coming around him, he intrigued your little brain.

He felt the same about you.

You had big eyes that were always so full of wonder and joy that he wished he could have.

Tetsuro was smart. Extremely smart. He had heard his parents say he was too smart for his own good so many times he had lost count.

He hated being the smart kid.

Always knowing what the adults were talking about had made him stressed. More stressed than a six year old should ever be.

He had found himself bored with life. Dreading big questions all the time.

His parents fought a lot, he wondered how long it would take for them to get a divorce.

Divorce. He learned what that was a year ago when he over heard his mom mention getting one to her friend one night, while his dad was out of town for work.

‘I just cant stand this anymore. Im only here for Tetsu.’

‘Have you thought about… you know?’

‘Divorce? Yeah i have. I just- I don’t know how to even start.’

His mom was unaware of her son’s presence, otherwise the conversation would have been over the second she knew.

‘Divorce’ had repeated in his mind for the whole weekend.

Finally when school came around he asked his teacher.

“What’s a divorce?”

The teacher, thinking nothing of it, answered.

“It when a married couple breaks up.”

It took 3 more years for them to leave each other.

But he was lucky. He had you.

By the time you two were nine he had surpassed you in every academic way possible.

‘N/n! N/n! Guess what?!’

‘What?!’

‘I’m reading at the same level as middle school second years do!’

‘Wow Tetsu! You’re so smart!’

You didn’t care though, you always remained proud of him. Openly expressing it all the time too.

When you were 10 though, there was a suddenly shift between you two.

A younger kid from down the block named Kenma had started coming around.

Practicing volleyball with Tetsuro everyday nearly.

You weren’t one to get jealous but something about this whole situation made your stomach hurt.

The boy you had known for three years was pushing you aside for someone he had known for 3 months! How unfair!

‘You never play with me anymore Tetsu!’

‘Well yeah, Ive been busy!’

‘Playing with Kenma! It’s not fair!’

‘You’re dramatic!’

You guys didn’t talk for a whole year after that.

You had never been so lonely in your life.

On your 11th birthday though, Kuroo decided enough was enough.

He used all his allowance money to buy you the biggest stuffed animal he could find.

Rushing over to your house with it he practically ran your door down trying to get in.

‘Happy birthday n/n! Stop being mad at me! Im sorry! I miss you!’

A few years later, you had came around to the idea of Kenma. Creating a trio you three became unstoppable.

Middle school was rough for all three of you.

Kenma was a year younger than both of you so seeing him was harder to do than you thought it would be.

You decided Friday nights were mandatory sleepover nights because of this.

That’s how you ended up here, eight years later, on the floor of your new apartment with Kuroo.

Kenma’s mom said he needed to get his grades up before he even thought about asking to go out again.

It had been like this the past 6 Friday’s.

Just the two of you, because Kenma couldn’t get his damn grades up.

“Well maybe if you stopped bleaching your hair you wouldn’t have so many chemicals seeping into your brain so you’d actually focus in school.” A shit eating grin was plastered across the tall mans face.

“It’s not the bleach Tetsu. It’s the video games obviously.” You stated, propping your phone up so you both could properly see your younger friend.

“Both of you shut up!” Kenma groaned, throwing his face into a pillow on his bed.

“Welp! Maybe get your grades up!” Tetsuro said, sticking his tongue out tauntingly.

“Whatever asshole.”

‘Kozume! Watch your mouth!’ You heard kenma’s mom yell in the background.

“Whatever!,” he replied back, grabbing his phone and holding it close to his face. “Im gonna go now. Do my homework or something. I hate you both, bye!”

“Hate you, love you byeee!” You said pressing the big red ‘X’ in the corner of your screen.

Sighing you roll over on your mattress which is smack in the middle of your (soon-to-be) living room.

“Tetsuuuu,” you coo out, a sign you were up to something sneaky. “I have a surprise from my grandparents!”

“Oouuu what is it?” He said, matching your devious tone.

You hopped up and skipped over to your mostly empty fridge.

A pizza box and bottle of wine sat in it.

The pizza curtsey of your best friend, his ‘housewarming gift’ was dinner for the night.

And the bottle, a gift from your grandparents for turning 19 and moving out.

You grab the, now, chilled bottle and skip back out to the empty living room.

Lucky for you they also gifted you a corkscrew with it.

Sitting down infront of him you shake the bottle in his face.

“Oouuhh fancy, where’d ya’ get that?” A quizzical eyebrow shot up on the mans face.

“My grandparents. They said its a tradition and good luck to drink a bottle of wine when you get your first place.,” you huff looking down at the bottle in your hands. “I just think they’re cool as fuck and were trying to reason with my parents.” A small chuckle leaves your lips as you now look back up at the black haired man across from you.

“Hey nana l/n has always been awesome as hell! Cut my girl some slack!” He replies, reaching out and grabbing the bottle to inspect it himself.

You laugh at his response.

He’s always been so quick witted. It was one of his most charming traits, in your opinion.

“So! We gonna crack this bad boy open, or what?” You say, drawing his attention off the label.

“Yes, sorry!,” He smiles up at you apologetically. “Do the honors ms. l/n!”

You take the bottle from him and slam the cork screw in the end. After a moment of twisting a ‘POP!’ Sounds through the echo-y room.

“Hoorah!” He shouts, throwing his arms out wide in the air.

“You’re such a nerd!” You shout back.

“Whatever! Just fill my damn glass!” He shove the glasses in your face.

You stick your tongue out at him but do as he says, pouring the contents of the bottle out into the glasses.

After you fill each of them very generously to the half way point of the cups, you take a curious sip.

Your face contorts into a sour look.

“Ew! This is disgusting!”

“Really?” Kuroo asks, taking a cautious sip himself.

You watch as his face also turns sour.

“Oh my god thats horrible…”

You two stare at each other for a moment before bringing the glasses back up to your lips, both chugging the alcohol down, hoping to finish before the other one.

You finish your glass first and snatch the bottle off the floor, pouring another glass and doing the same thing.

He finished not long after you, waiting for you to fill your glass again before following your actions and refilling his.

After a few minutes of chugging down glasses you grab the bottle again, its empty.

“Damn!” You say, finally catching your breath.

You both are panting heavy at the lack of air intake.

“We finish it? Should be a few minutes before we start feeling it.” He finally says.

He was right.

10 minutes later you stand up to get some water to was the nasty after taste out of your mouth. But it hits you like a truck.

You wobble around for a second before giggling at your actions.

“Oop!” You slur out.

He laughs out behind you, standing to help you.

He trips slightly over his own foot, falling flat on to the ground.

Youre laughing so hard your stomach starts to hurt.

“Te- testu! Are- HAH are you okay?” You finally manage to ask through bursts of laughter.

He stands up, laughing just as hard as you.

“Yeah, im fine.” He says when he finally stands up straight.

He stumbles over to you.

“Where’s your speaker at?” He asks, brushing the front of his black t-shirt off.

You fumble around the counter, moving boxes around to find your bluetooth speaker.

You pull it out from behind a box and turn towards him.

“Here!” You hand it to him.

“Perfect..” he mumbles, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. He pulls it out and makes haste turning it on and connecting it.

A familiar song starts playing.

One that you two listened to on late night, alone in your old room.

Record old and scratchy, from your grandmothers collection.

You and Kuroo were far from just friends.

He was your first kiss, after all.

It happened when you were 14.

An off chance that kenma stayed home.

Kuroo had snuck a beer from his dads fridge the weekend prior, on a mandatory visit due to the divorce agreement.

He save it for this weekend hoping to share it with you and kenma, but kenma had a new game that had just released that day. He obviously had to play it right away.

You didn’t mind though, it was hard for you and Kuroo to find time to hangout just the two of you anymore.

You loved Kenma but Kuroo was your best friend first after all.

Kuroo stands up and reaches his arm out.

You grab it and stand up, facing him.

"So, I've been thinking, neither of us has kissed anyone yet," his face flushes and turns away from you as the words leave his mouth. "And it's probably better we get it out of the way before first year starts. That way we're not like, you know... behind?"

"Behind?" You ask.

"Yeah, all my friends on the volleyball team have had their first kisses and it's normal to do it. Plus we're best friends and friends can kiss too!" He says, a giant smile on his face.

"Friends... can kiss too?" You had never really thought about it like that, but you guess he's not wrong.

"Friends kiss all the time! It's normal in other cultures! Plus one little kiss couldn't hurt anybody," He leans forward to be slightly over you. "So? What'd ya' say?"

"Okay." you say quietly.

were you really about to kiss your best friend?

He leans forward and you close your eyes.

It was a quick and slobbery kiss to your lips.

He pulled away quickly. Unsure what to do next.

You blush and look away.

“Ok now we kissed so can we go back to what we were doing?

He laughs before sitting back down on your bed.

“Y/n?” Youre broken out of your train of thought by kuroo extending his hand out to you.

You grab it and he pulls you in close to his chest.

This was familiar.

You slightly inhale his smell while you adjust to the new position.

Your finger tips slowly trace up his arm, until your right hand meets his left one. He intertwines your fingers together.

At the same pace you slide your palm flat against his chest up to his shoulder.

He hums and closes his eyes and his right hand drops down to rest on your hip.

Kuroo enjoyed these moments. Slow and calming. They were a nice break from the busy schedule he had.

Everything and everyone around him was so intense all the time, but you? You had a way of stopping time and calming him down. And you didnt even have to do anything.

He begins swaying you two around languidly around the small kitchen.

Youre both humming to the tune of the song when he begins to sing softly.

“I practice every day, to find some clever lines to say, to make the meaning come true”

You giggle at his antics before joining in on his singing.

“But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you”

Its now his turn to chuckle at you, he instead opts to spin you around.

“Oh!” You say at the sudden movement. Stumbling a bit he grabs your waist to steady you out.

“Sorry.” He says, wide eyes trained on you.

“It’s okay dont worry!,” You say, resuming the position you were in before. “Let’s keep dancing.”

He nods, continuing to sway around.

"Y/n." He says, the sudden seriousness in his voice sends a chill down your spine.

"Hm?" You hum back in response, focused on where your hand intertwines with his.

"You know, this isn't, normal for friends right?"

You knew that. You weren't stupid.

Sneaking kisses when nobody was looking, intertwining your pinkies while you guys walked together, cuddling up whenever you guys could. All these things were things that couples did. Not friends.

"What about it?" You ask and he finally stops swaying you around, lowering his other hand to rest on your other hip.

He takes in a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling. When he looks back down at you he begins to talk.

"So, maybe we should talk about it?"

You bring both your hands to smooth over the fabric on his shoulders.

"Do we have too? I like whatever this is." You huff out, now looking up to make eye contact.

He rolls his eyes.

"Yes! We obviously have too!" He's hurt at your response.

He would much rather be your boyfriend than best friend. In fact the idea of forever being whatever he was to you drove him crazy.

You step backwards a bit, breaking from his hold.

Obviously you want him to be more than your best friend, but was it worth it?

If you say no you risk losing him either way.

"Look, Tetsuro," He cuts you off before you can finish.

"If you're going to say no then you have to answer another question." His eyes hold an emotion you've only seen when he loses a match. Defeat. Like he's already accepted the fact you would turn him down.

"What is it?" You ask, curious as to what he wants to know.

"If you say no, then you have to tell me what all of this was then? All the late nights sneaking around, the long glances, the flirting, everything. What did it mean to you?"

The question begins ringing in your ears.

'What did it mean to you'

"Everything." it's a quiet whisper, you're not surprised he didn't hear you.

"What?" He says, voice low.

"It means everything to me. That's why I'm scared to do anything about it. It's so perfect right now, what if everything changes?"

He studies you for a moment. Obviously looking up and down.

You shy away slightly at the attention.

He just can't believe something so beautiful could casually stand around in front of him.

You're in old running shorts and one of his t-shirts. It was beaten up from years of use.

Once he grew out of it last year he finally gave it to you.

Your hair is messy and frizzy from the humidity of moving and drinking. Falling out of the bun you put it in lazily hours ago.

"I understand where you're coming from, but I can't just do this forever." His reply doesn't shock you. It isn't fair to ask him to wait forever. You know that.

"I know..." You sigh, looking down at your socks.

"Can you stop being so emo and just be my girlfriend?" He sighs loudly, taking a step forward, hands finding your hips again.

His tone is teasing but you know he means the words he's saying.

"Promise to not let it ruin what we have?"

"Hmmm....," He puts a finger up to his chin and taps it, like he's pondering the idea.

"We have to acknowledge that there will be certain risks, such as, since you'd be my girlfriend if anything happened between us I'd probably die of a broken heart, im pretty sure."

"Oh my god you are such a nerd Tetsu!" you playfully swat at his chest, laughing.

"Ok but seriously, be my girlfriend."

"I gotta think about it."

"There's nothing to think about, be my girlfriend."

"There's a lot to think about actually."

"How about, you say yes to being my girlfriend right now, then think about it later?"

"That makes no sense."

"Who cares?"

You didn't realize he'd be slowly leaning down with each question until you feel his breath on your face.

You can smell the alcohol from earlier on his lips.

"I care." Your voice is stern.

He backs up again, removing his hands from you and leaning back against the counter top.

He's so tall that the counter is in line with his hips. Making it the perfect resting spot for him.

You lean on the counter opposite from him. The kitchen is small so you guys are still close enough that your feet are touching.

You put some weight back on to your wrists, allowing you to lift your leg up and give a small kick to his shin.

He looks up at you, taking his focus from where your feet were once entangled.

"What?" He asks, a hint of attitude lacing his tone.

"Don't do that Tetsuro."

He doesn't respond, but instead rolls his eyes.

You huff, not caring to argue with him.

"Look, I'll be your girlfriend," You watch as his face perks up, he goes to say something but you're quick to shove your hand out in to his face to keep him quiet. "But, you have to make one promise."

You drop your hand, allowing him to respond.

"I'll do anything!"

"Okay, and I'm so serious about this. Like, this is do or die."

He nods his head up and down quickly, showing his blind alliance to whatever you were going to say.

"Okay, So, I need you to promise that you'll stop making corny science jokes all the time."

He stops moving to stare at you, popping a brow up at you In annoyance.

"That's it?"

You nod 'yes' quickly.

"No can do sweetheart. Science jokes are baller."

He rolls his eyes again, grabbing you and pulling you back into him.

Your words are muffled due to him holding your face into his chest.

"And you can't say 'baller' to describe things anymore!"

"Uh-Uh! You're asking too much of me!"

He lets your head go and move your head back to look up at him.

"Fine, I'll be your girlfriend. No conditions."

"Swear?" A cheesy grin overtakes his face.

"Yeah. Swear."

He leans over, grabbing your face in both his hands, squishing your cheeks until you're lips poke out.

A giant wet kiss lands on your lips and he makes a show of popping his lips with a 'MWUAH'! He drops your face and you wipe the excess spit off your mouth.

"Okay one condition, you have got to stop giving such wet kisses! It's gross!"

He just laughs, signaling that won't happen anytime soon.

"Too late you already said swear."

You roll your eyes and push his chest a bit, finally going to grab a glass of water.

You guess having him as your boyfriend couldn't be so bad.

[eybefioro]

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @ghostsparrow 💛💛💛

The TNAN server hosted a secret santa, and Sparrow said he love pirates AUs and space AUs. I immediately thought about treasure planet, so here it is <3 thank you @captainblou for organising it!!!

Wacky races - fairly odd parents - powerpuff girls - scooby doo - adventure time - Cowardly dog - JJBA

(Time-lapse and ramblings under the cut)

Extra long Time-lapse this time as a THREAT.

I remember NOTHING about Treasure Planet's plot, but the ✨️Aesthetics✨️ are seared in my brain forever. I mean-

HOW COOL IS THAT. I love this retrofuturistic(?) Style, the mix between robots and cyborgs and SPACE with uniforms and SHIPS. It's just soooooo good.

I didn't really followed 100% this Disney style, more the idea of it. I've been trying to find my footing and draw stuff without replicating each stylistic choice. Idk if I succeed or not but it was fun!

One thing about this is that even if it's not perceptible here, the perspective is a bit huh... different. I had to figure it out by trial and error, and this end up having 4 focal points.

(Sorry this prob doesn't make that much sense but it was the only way for me to show it lol)

DO YOU SEE THOSE NICE RED AND GREY LINES?? I learned how to use rulers on ibispaint and NOW I AM UNSTOPPABLE. I know how to draw perspective by hand, on paper, but on my phone it was impossible. The screen is too small, and the precision too crappy since I don't have a proper pen. But now with this thing I can assure the line is straight and that direction is right, and now I can do nice perspectives hell yes!

This drawing I did of muriel and Eric is were I was testing stuff out. The rulers, the perspective, the not copying any style thing.

I'm not super satisfied with the end result of this perspective here, bc I wanted to make something more warped, more dynamic/stretched but I really don't know how to do that yet so simple perspective it is lol

This drawing was also supposed to accompany a fic, but it took me too long to do this, so I didn't had the time to write it. Maybe one day...

Now with details that I liked:

STAR FRECKLES THAT FLOAT OVER CROWLEY'S FACE! Also he needs sunscreen. Have tou seen his thighs? LMAO

The rendering g on Aziraphale’s clothes! Especially the trousers. I think this might be my best clothes that I painted so far. I'm getting better at this :D I was inspired by Aziraphale’s bastille and Edinburgh looks, + Mr Fell magician cape (and also the uniforms from treasure planet). I hope it looks OK in the end, I had too much fun mixing all this together lol

Earth colonised by two opposing forces. I spent too long playing with this concept and how to draw it lol I hope it looks nice!

[berenwrites]

Better Half - Stranger Things - Steddie - PG

Summary: Henry targets Steve - this is a mistake!

A/N:  This started off as a different fic idea, but that morphed into something too long in my head, so this one took over. I hope you enjoy it. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated, thank you. Don’t forget to check out all the other great fics at @steddiemicrofic too💖.

Written for prompt: NEW | wc: 517 | Rating PG | cw: none

Tags: Steve has powers, pre-steddie, Vecna|Henry|One

Also on AO3 | ( My Other fic on Tumblr)

Better Half

“New experience, Henry? Must be terrifying to find yourself the helpless one. You chose the wrong victim this time.

“Don’t look so shocked, and give up struggling, you can’t win.

“My name’s Seven, we’ve met before. I’m one of the first batch, Brenner’s experiments he dosed with cocktails of drugs. Everyone thinks only Two survived, I made sure. Papa signed my death certificate himself. I was only five, but when your brain explodes with every thought in ten miles, you adapt or die. My mind fractured, became me and Steve. I took everything I learned from every mind and became unstoppable.

“The world is lucky my only purpose is to protect my better half.

“I took him out of the lab, found him parents and made him forget it all. Poor Steve never could understand why they didn’t seem to love him, but I can’t work miracles, only fabricate memories. We hid and he was safe.

“Until you touched him, you were safe too. It was more important not to alert the government than play heroic saviour. I mean I’ve had to make Russians think they hit Steve more than they did, stop Billy Hargrove from killing him, and a few other things, but it’s all been under the radar.

“You made the ultimate mistake coming in here, into our mind. Out there I can read thoughts and memories like books, make people remember whatever I like, mess with their perceptions on a good day.

“In here … in here I’m God.

“Now we’re going to do three things.

“First, you’re going to free Eddie Munson. Bringing him back to use him against us was a good plan, it would have been devastating to the Party, but you’ve missed your chance. Steve has some unresolved feeling for Eddie he needs to work through, and I want him to be happy. Eddie will be good for him. Someone needs to show him he doesn’t have to be strong all the time. Eddie will give him what I can’t.

“Second, you’re going to heal Max. You broke her, so you can put her back together. We’ll put your abilities to a good use for once.

“Then, finally, we’re going to let Eleven find us, and you’re going to put on a good show of fighting her before we give her the victory she deserves.

“It’s going to be glorious, Henry. A final battle from one of Eddie’s campaigns where good triumphs over evil.

“I told you to stop struggling. It’s pointless and annoying. You don’t want to annoy me anymore than you already have. I’m going to let you die a good death, Henry, don’t make me change my mind. Steve has all our goodness, all our kindness, you don’t want to know what I’m capable of when I’m angry.

“Brenner’s lucky he’s already dead. I’ve had years to plan what I wanted to do to him.

“You have amazing abilities, Henry. Using you like a remote is fun. I should have lured you in here ages ago. Ah well hindsight is 20-20. It’s time to finish this now.”

( My Other fic on Tumblr)

[stealingyourbones]

Hi! So I’m doing a little research project and I wanted to ask you since I consider you a big voice in the dpxdc fandom what originally drew you to the dpxdc crossover? What aspects of it do you love, don’t love? What has been your experience in the fandom? Please let me know, thank you!!

!! Bet!

I was originally drawn to dpxdc because I saw a few fics while searching for Batfamily fics on ao3. My brain is a tad muddy why I went to tumblr.

While scrolling on tumblr I saw that folks had easy ~300 notes for posting things and I was bored one day and decided I’d take a swing at things and essentially tap into the fanfic market (sue me I was currently in a marketing class and that’s how my brain was wired at the time). I knew an ok amount about DC and wanted to write about DC characters that weren’t in crossover fanfics I’ve seen. That’s why I was drawn to the fandom, I watched Danny Phantom as a teenager and was really into DC and the nostalgia plus my current hyperfixation lead to my first post about Danny meeting John Constantine. It made 500 notes within two days and so I thought I’d continue with my writing and after repeated positive reception, here I am now.

My experience in the fandom has been nothing but warm and welcoming. When I started I was near instantly getting reception and acknowledgement (again, right place right time and right ideas). The only negative reception I’ve ever gotten is DC or DP folks who got mad about tagging (THEY ARE RIGHT TAG YOUR SHIT PROPERLY). People in this fandom are unique because it’s an incredibly versatile fandom with so many characters to pick and choose from that (after a point) requires canon material to understand but it isn’t necessary. This has cultivated an incredibly diverse group of folks with different varying levels of knowledge on canon and fanon that has created the perfect breeding ground for incredibly varying AUs and Headcanons.

Aspects of the fandom I love is definitely the creativity and community. Since my platform is built as a idea haven for folks to create new ideas and to slowly increase the amount of DC characters in fanfics commonly seen in DPXDC, my main interactions are with people bouncing ideas back and forth. I build the foundation and scaffolding and the community finishes the building. The insane creativity in the fandom is incredible, the willingness to learn and fanart is gorgeous, and the people are so so nice and from that community there are folks I have made lifelong friends with.

Dislikes are very personally charged, I must clarify they aren’t a “hate” but just a general dislike. These are probably gonna be long because I feel I have to back myself up on these claims. Since the fandom is a mainly fanon focused community the lack of characters that aren’t in mainline comics don’t get spotlight. Characters like Animal Man in particular I feel would be an absolutely incredible addition to the DPxDC hero roster but since he’s a C list superhero (he’s literally in a team called The Forgotten Heroes) and it’s a lot to ask people to read comics when there’s such a financial and motivational barrier in the way for most. The general fact that comics are an expensive hobby to have or most can’t afford the digital DC Infinite comic subscription or don’t know where to start reading is a huge roadblock for fandom creativity that isn’t a fault of their own and it’s a bummer.

Another is the echoness of fanon, some mainstay AU’s I feel create walls that block creativity. Ghost King AUs are great but a non OP Danny or just regular superhero Danny could be another route that leads to more in depth character writing as OP AUs can cause the character in question to gain a more 2D personality as all weakness is removed leaving them just an unstoppable being with no flaws.

Another dislike is just how relationship focused the fandom is. I acknowledge that this is partly my fault as for a long time my thought process for prompts was “lets take two characters and then write a scenario that could be ship worthy” and the amount of adoption prompts I’ve written but I feel like the writing could thrive if the main relationships weren’t always romantic, paternal, or brotherly. Mentor, friend, cousin, mentee, kismesis, friendly rivalry, and other relationships of the sort being the focus could open up new and interesting stories that aren’t commonly seen in the fandom and I feel we all could benefit from it.

[reds-skull]

The Dollhouse

[AO3]

(note: TW for hallucinations, general dissuasion of past domestic abuse and mental illnesses, and mild gore. Happy/bittersweet ending as always. If I miss any warnings, you're welcome to let me know!)

Made myself cry with this one twice so I'm sure it's gonna hurt lol

Since people seemed to like it last time, I'll be writing my thoughts in the comments on AO3 right after I post everything, which you're welcome to read!

Joseph has a dollhouse. The thing was bloody expensive, or so Tommy told him, but Beth practically begged him to buy it, along with her son. She said she always wanted one as a kid, and Tommy couldn’t say no.

Simon played with him a little bit, always taking the role of the mom. He refused to be the dad. It hasn’t been long enough for him to hear that title without bile filling his mouth.

He was cleaning up after another playing session, his nephew running off to greet his parents at the door. Simon avoids looking too hard at his scarred, gnarly hands, instead focusing on the dolls.

The set has 4; a mom, a dad, and two siblings. He shoves each of them into the little rooms, along with the tiny furniture, when something gives him a pause.

There are dolls in the house that he doesn’t recognize. He didn’t know Tommy bought more.

Simon leans in closer, brows furrowing. There are four of them, one laying face-down on a red carpet, the others surrounding it.

The dolls are… odd. They’re wearing tactical gear, the one on the carpet completely covered in black. One of them has a bucket hat, the other a baseball cap, and the third what looks like a tiny warhawk.

Simon stares at the fourth one. Something about the red carpet it is laying on reminds him of blood more than anything, and a sharp feeling echos through his chest. An odd beating, a knife tearing through his organs, a cruel hook at his side.

He reaches to turn the little doll, when Beth yells, “Simon! Lunch is ready, where are you?!”

Simon turns away to call back, “cleaning up, be there in a minute!” he sighs, returning to the dollhouse.

… The dolls are gone.

Things have been… weird since coming back. Maybe it was foolish to think he could leave everything that happened in Mexico behind him.

As if his mind couldn’t function without an enemy, it turned against Simon. Hallucinations weren’t uncommon for him, things appearing and disappearing, minutes lost staring at a wall. Voices, echos of pain.

Some days he locks himself in his room, laughter bubbling up along with tears, both unstoppable. Tommy broke down the door the first time, chest heaving like he was expecting a fight. It surprised him, in hindsight. That his brother cares.

It got better, and it didn’t. Simon sighs, smoke billowing from his mouth. The scars crossing his lips tingle uncomfortably, still sensitive to changes in temperature.

He can feel mum staring at him, as he sits on the back porch, smoking. She has a hard time hiding her worry, they all do, really. It makes him feel all the more pathetic.

Simon huffs. He can almost hear his therapist chiding him for those thoughts.

He takes one more breath of smoke before stamping out the cigarette. Sitting around feeling bad about himself never solved anything, wallowing in emotions bigger than his shriveled heart can process did nothing to change them. Simon gets up, wiping the dirt off his jeans, and means to step back inside, when he gets knocked down to his knees.

The chair next to him falls, flimsy wood splintering, the hanging plants above him swaying violently.

The ground is shaking.

His brain takes precious seconds to remember that you’re not supposed to be inside in an earthquake, and his body wastes several more trying to get enough balance to rush back inside.

“TOMMY! BETH! GET JOSEPH AND MUM OUTSIDE, THERE’S A BLOODY-” Simon shouts, slipping around a corner where he slides to a stop.

His brother is staring at him, confused, hand frozen midair as he was about to remove his coat. Beth and mum look equally bewildered, and Joseph’s expression is just enough scared that he is shocked back to reality.

“I’m…” Simon swallows thickly, “I’m sorry.”

Tommy sighs and opens his mouth to speak, but…

… But the voice that comes out isn’t his, “don’t you fuckin’ apologize to me, you bastard!”

“You don’t get to say that, not now!” Joseph says, in a voice of a fully-grown man.

Simon takes a step back. It’s not back to normal yet- his mind is still fucking with him. He needs- he needs to-

His legs take him to his room, running up the stairs, ignoring the calls of his name behind him. They’re wrong, their voices are not theirs, he’s still not back.

The door threatens to splinter as he slams it shut, his breaths wheezing up his chest, sounding almost like a laugh if he wasn’t on the verge of tears.

Simon slides down to his knees, forehead pressed to the cool door. Eyes shut, ears covered. He can’t trust them anyway.

Desperate, he begins doing the exercise his therapist taught him.

“Roba is not here.” he says in his mind, “Roba is not here.” he repeats until he truly believes it.

“I am safe,” is repeated after that.

“I am home.”

“None of it was real.”

The room is dark by the time Simon finds the courage to open his eyes. He uncurls from the floor, muscles creaking in protest.

Mum is waiting on the other side of the door when he finally exits his room. Her eyes scan him, and a relieved breath visibly escapes her when she finds no injuries.

“How are you feeling, luv?” she asks, carefully, but Simon can’t detect any fear in her voice.

He ducks his head to avoid her eyes all the same, “fine. Sorry about- sorry.”

“No need to apologize. It’s… it’s been a while since it happened, right? At least there’s progress.” she tries to cheer him up, like always.

She used to do the same, after dad blew up on them for acting their age, for having the gal to be a child. It made him simmer with barely-concealed anger. How could she try to be positive all the time, when everything was clearly fuckin’ not fine.

Simon recognized it for what it was when he left home for bootcamp. Recognized she was doing her best. That maybe if she could find the good in everything, the bad will be easier.

Bitterly, he thinks that’s why she chose to marry a man like Simon’s father in the first place.

“... Yeah.” he says, because he doesn’t want to scare her any more than he already did. She gives him a gentle smile, and a softer caress to the shoulder.

“Oh, what are we doing chatting around here, you must be starving! Come, we are about to eat dinner, I made pie!”

Simon lets his mum lead him downstairs, where the table is already set. Joseph visibly lights up when their eyes meet, and it makes something in his heart melt.

“Uncle Si!” he says with a full mouth, “Nana made your favorite pie!” Joseph lifts the pie dish to show him, or attempts to, as Beth has to help him.

Simon smiles, “how’s the taste, Joey?”

“The best!” his nephew grins back.

He takes a sit beside him, the plate in front of him already laden with food. Tommy gives him a look, silently asking if he’s alright.

Simon nods. They both know he isn’t, but as long as he can hold it together for now, he’s alright.

They’re used to sweeping things under the rug, after all.

Simon called it a day early, the “attack” draining him. It’s fucking annoying, that things that aren’t even real make him so tired.

He wonders for how long will Roba’s hands and knives and tools will haunt him. If his mind will ever stop playing tricks on him. 

As tired as he is, he can’t find enough peace within himself to fall asleep. He turns for the millionth time, before sighing and getting up.

Ever since he returned, Simon can’t sleep in complete darkness. Childish as it sounds, the moment the lights go out he can feel scorpions crawling up his limbs, phantom stings keeping him tense under plush bedding.

The street lights are often enough to illuminate the room, the curtains never drawn shut. Simon walks over to the window, opening it to inhale the crisp, cold night air.

His fingers itch for a cigarette, but mum would kill him if he stunk up the house with them. He knows what the smell reminds her off, and he tried quitting, but…

The view outside his window is blurry, almost fogged over, likely from his lack of sleep. He inhales again, deeply, if only to feel the slight bite of chill in his lungs, if only to replace the dirt and rot that hasn’t left his veins since he came back.

Wind blows over the silent neighborhood, the curtains fluttering around him. Simon shivers, his scars tingling. He huffs as he thinks of how his mum would probably tell him to close the windows, lest he get a cold, if she was here.

As if he didn’t spend months in a cold basement, wearing rags.

It’s… odd. To be cared for. Not that she didn’t care for them before, it just never really felt like this when it was undone the moment his father returned home from his job.

Violent gusts knock over something behind him, but Simon is lost in thought, memories of his dad and mum and Roba mixing, whirling. The wind picks up, beating against the trees outside, against the open window, thudding, thumping, hammering against his chest-

A knock on his door makes him refocus on reality. “Simon?” Tommy asks through the thin plywood, “you alright?”

Simon frowns. Why is Tommy still awake in the middle of the night? He steps away from the window to open the door, “m’fine. Something happen?”

Tommy looks over his shoulder, “the wind…”

“What about it?”

“I thought-” Tommy cuts himself off, “never mind. Goodnight.”

“... Goodnight?” Simon responds, his brother already halfway back to his and Beth’s bedroom.

The confusion is enough to distract him from the fact the wind stopped the moment Tommy showed up.

Simon doesn’t go out much. Or at all. His day consists of helping his mum around the house, working out in the backyard, and trying not to lose his fucking mind every time something reminds him of Mexico.

Mum is having her afternoon nap now, leaving him alone in the living room. His hands beg for something to do, and his first thought jumps to the hours and hours he spent cleaning guns and knives back on base. It used to relax him like nothing else did, the monotony quieting his mind.

He didn’t hold a rifle for months now. Doesn’t even know if he’ll ever return to the service.

Simon decides to get up and scrub the kitchen sink, hoping it would be similar enough, when the landline phone rings. He rushes to answer before the shrill noise can bother his mum, and says, “Riley’s.”

He hears only static for a few seconds, “‘ello?”

“... Please…” a single word comes through, “Don’t leave…”

“Who is this?” Simon asks more firmly, chills running down his spine as he hears sobbing.

“C’mon, Simon… stay with me…” the voice begs.

“Who are you? What the fuck are you talking abou-”

The call disconnects. Simon slams the phone down, exhaling roughly. He’d chuck it to a prank call, if whoever it was didn’t say his name. They sounded… desperate. In a way that a soldier is, surrounded by the bodies of his brothers-in-arms.

It could’ve been another trick of his mind. He heard plenty of soldiers beg like that right before getting shot in the head. His memories don’t lack in suffering and desperation, that’s for fucking certain.

Simon walks to the kitchen, picks up a sponge, and begins scrubbing at the counter. Movements robotic, he ignores the voice in his mind that says he’s missing something important.

A figment of his imagination. That is all it was.

“What’s this one called, Joey?”

“A tri- trisera-” Joseph struggles to say the name.

Beth snorts from the couch, “triceratops?”

“Yes!” his nephew smiles, putting the little toy dinosaur in Simon’s hand, “it eats grass!”

“That so?” Simon turns the toy in his hands, small horns digging into his palms.

Joseph continues, “yeah! I tried to eat it as well, but mum said I can’t.” he leans closer to Simon, whispering, “I did eat some later, but it was really gross.”

Simon and Beth’s eyes meet, her exasperated expression telling him she heard everything, “let’s leave the grass to the triceratops, hm?” he tells him.

“Okay!” Joseph agrees immediately, much to Beth’s relief. His nephew goes back to his imaginary battlefield, where the triceratops is a commander of a troop of velociraptors. Simon gives up on trying to understand who is winning, and sits down beside Beth.

“He really admires you, you know?” Beth speaks after a few moments of silence. Simon turns to her with furrowed brows. She smiles, “would always ask what were you doing when you were away. When we got the news that-” 

“That I died.” he continues for her, hating the pity in her tone. He doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t want them to be so careful around him.

She sighs, “that you died. I couldn’t tell him. I told him you were… lost. A day later I find him trying to sneak out of the house, to search for you.” tears gather at Beth’s lash line, and she turns to wipe them away. Simon notices, even if she tries to hide it.

“I’m here now. Won’t let him run off to search for any lost soldiers again,” he assures her, and she smirks.

“Always one to take things with the utmost seriousness, Simon. Sometimes I wonder if it was the military, or you were just born like that. Your mum and Tommy sure aren’t like that.”

She doesn’t mention his father, but he supposes it was obvious it didn’t come from him either. Simon was always serious, emotions locked deep in his chest. When your old man slaps you for every overly loud noise, whether it be a laugh or a cry, you learn to suppress.

Maybe, in a way, it did come from his rotten dad.

“Tommy cries too easily. Fuckin’ sobbed like a baby on Joey’s first birthday.”

“Language!” Beth slaps his arm lightly, “of course he would, it’s his first son! You’d understand if you had kids.”

Fucking unlikely. No way he becomes a father, the world doesn’t need any more of him. Any of those kids wouldn’t be as good as Joseph is, anyway.

“When’s he coming back? Joey must be hungry by now.” Simon looks to the front door, once again glad their house has an open floor plan.

Beth checks the clock on the wall, “he’ll be here any minute now. Joseph love, are you hungry?”

Joseph looks up from his triceratops, who has just run over an enemy T. rex, “a little. Can I have a treat?”

“Not before lunch, you know the rules.” Beth reprimands him lightly. She turns back to Simon, “let me see if your mum needs any help…” she leaves for the kitchen.

“How’s the battle going?” Simon asks as Joseph lets a chunky, colorful helicopter land in front of a fallen velociraptor.

His nephew shoves the dinosaur into the helo, “we’re taking him to the hospital! The T. rex took a bite out of his leg, so he needs a new one.” he explains, making a whooshing sound as the helo takes off.

Simon leans closer, his lips tugging upwards, “and where’s the hospital?”

“Uh…” Joey stops the helo midair, “on the dining table!” he runs off to it, the poor velociraptor rattling inside the helo.

Simon gets up to follow, when the front door opens. Tommy locks eyes with him, “sorry I was late, some idiot tried to move the photocopier up the stairs… unsuccessfully.”

“How horrible… I’d rather go back to Mexico than deal with that.” Simon mutters, and his brother barks a surprised laugh.

“Bloody ‘ell, don’t let mum hear you.” he takes off his coat, hanging it on the hooks next to the door, “or the psychiatrist, for that matter.”

“They would tell me, ‘humor is a perfectly fine coping mechanism’, or some shite.” Simon grumbles.

They both join Joseph at the table, as mum and Beth set plates down. The makeshift hospital (nothing more than a few napkins folded to look like beds) has to be moved, much to Joseph dismay, but Tommy promises him the velociraptor will understand.

As everyone settles in, Simon can’t help but think of a similar scene, 20 or so years ago. Back then, there wasn’t laughter, smiles, a warm aroma in the room. No, there was only the cold stare of a man playing a false God with his own family, bitter eyes striking fear in his heart whenever they met his.

It’s moments like these, where Simon thinks things will be alright after all.

“-And then, Sam dropped the photocopier down three flights of stairs, his face pale as a sheet.” Tommy says between child-like giggles, his wife and mum laughing along. Joseph looks intrigued but confused, opting to focus on his meal, humming a little tune between bites.

“I told him, ‘mate, if I were you I’d run before the big boss comes around,’ as a joke! But the bloke bucks it outta the building like someone set fire under his ars- butt.”

Mum laughs quietly, “oh, love, the poor intern probably had his life flashing before his eyes-”

Everything falls silent. The hum of electricity, the clock in the living room, the birds outside. Joseph’s tune, his mum’s laughter, Tommy’s cheery voice, Beth’s fond sighs.

They all click their mouths shut. Simon lowers his fork slowly, his heartbeat picking up.

“...what-”

They turn to stare at him, their gazes lowering to his chest, unnervingly synchronized. Simon looks down, and his fork clangs loudly as he drops it to the floor.

Red blooms across his chest, liquid turning his dark shirt shiny. He clutches at his front, panic rising within him, when he realizes it can’t be real - he feels no pain.

But- “you’re… you’re seeing it too?” Simon’s hand twists into the sodden fabric, “but it’s- it’s not-” dark tendrils creep from the edges of his vision, lightheaded as if he’s really loosing blood, chest shaking with loud beats-

“See what, uncle Si?” Joseph asks innocently. Simon’s eyes focus back on his family.

They all look normal. A bit confused and worried, but none of them are looking at the supposed wound blooming across his chest.

Simon raises his palm from his shirt, hand shaking as he scans it.

His pale, scarred skin is completely devoid of blood.

Mirrors became another enemy of his, after he came back. Ignoring the effects of what happened would’ve been easier if there wasn’t tangible proof Simon was irrevocably changed by Roba. It’s not usually a problem to avoid them, as the one in the bathroom on the first floor was removed (after several… incidents).

But the ground floor still had one. And Simon is staring at it right now.

He ran off after what happened at the dining table, heart beating so hard he worried it’ll stop. He tries to keep his eyes below his neck, checking his shirt again and again, searching for blood that never existed.

It didn’t, but something did. His family saw it, Simon is sure of it. They never reacted to his hallucinations like that before, even when he saw fire burning the house down, earthquake shaking the ground, he was always met with confused looks that ignore the surrounding chaos.

His fingers ache with how tightly he’s grasping at the sink, at his chest. Uncertainty twists his gut, the intrusive thought that none of this is real burrowing into his mind.

What if he never escaped Roba? What if this is nothing but a drugged-induced nightmare? Maybe he’s in that fucking grave right now, maggots eating at his barely-alive flash, the bones of his traitorous commander cradling his broken body?

Simon can’t do this again. He can’t, he can’t, he-

Someone knocks on the door, “Uncle Si?” Joseph asks, voice wobbly. It startles something in him.

The lock clicks loudly as he unlocks the bathroom door, and Simon instantly crouches down to face the teary eyes of his nephew, “what’s wrong, Joey?”

Joseph’s lip trembles, and he wraps his small arms around him, “I don’t want you to leave again, Uncle Si.”

Simon hugs him gently, careful as to not hurt him. “I’m… I’m not going anywhere?” he answers, unsure of what Joseph could be talking about.

“Nana said it will be time soon.”

“Time for what? Joseph, what’s going on-”

His nephew shrieks as a loud crashing sound echos in the bathroom. Simon grips him tighter, shielding him as something hits his back. He turns around, adrenaline pumping in his veins, ready to protect his nephew when he sees what caused it.

The mirror broke. Cracks spreading from a single point as if a phantom hand punched it, blood seeping into the crevices left behind.

Simon looks down at Joseph, “you saw that too, right? And the- before, when we were eating.”

Tears run down his nephew’s cheeks, Simon wiping them slowly. “Joey. I need you to answer me.”

Joseph breaks down, whispering, “don’t tell mum and dad, Si.” he shoves a few small objects into Simon’s hand, his little fingers twisting into his.

Simon opens his mouth to ask him for more details, anything, when Tommy and Beth rush towards them, “we heard a scream- Joey, love, why are you crying?” Beth scoops up her son. Joseph’s gift, four little dolls by the feel of it, stays hidden in the pocket of his sweatpants. 

Tommy crouches down beside him, ignoring the crunch of glass under his slippers, “you alright?”

Simon’s eyes flicker from the broken mirror to his brother’s eyes, “fine. Sorry for upsetting Joey, think he’s… worried.” he rises to his feet, “I… I’m going to be at the back. Tell mum I’m sorry for lunch.”

He doesn’t wait to hear Tommy’s answer, hurrying to the back door. Once it’s closed behind him, Simon takes a deep breath, and pulls out the dolls Joseph gave him.

It’s the little soldiers he saw before. The ones that… disappeared…

Simon turns each of them in his hands, trying to figure out why Joey thought this would help him understand what’s going on.

They all have the Union Jack on their gear, which looks similar to what he wore when he was still in service. It’s the fourth one that interests him most, the one that was face-down in the dollhouse.

What he wasn’t able to see before, is the skull mask covering its face. With shaky fingers, Simon checks if the balaclava the mask is stitched to is removable. The tiny piece of fabric shifts under his fingertips, and he pulls it up.

His breath catches in his lungs. The doll is an almost exact replica of Simon.

Where did Joseph find these? And more importantly, if this one looks like him, does it mean the other three are also of real people?

Simon stares at their faces, trying to think back to before Mexico. Those memories have been muddied by months of torture, faces redacted in his mind long ago, but no matter how much he tries to think, he can’t remember meeting anyone that looks like them.

He shoves the dolls back into his pocket, scrubbing a hand over his weary eyes. Simon gazes upwards, the English grey sky looking whiter and whiter the more he stares. He’s unsettled, bones misplaced inside his body. It all feels deeply wrong.

One thing is certain, now. Joseph saw his ‘hallucinations’, which means the rest of his family is lying to him about them.

The house was quiet when Simon eventually returned inside. He finds his family still at the dining table, though they’re not quite as happy as they were before. In the few moments before any of them noticed his reappearance, Simon watches how Tommy and Beth seem on the edge of tears, their hands clutched tightly between their plates.

A mask seems to slip back on their faces when they see him standing in the doorway, “Simon.” Tommy says, alerting Joseph and mum. Simon doesn’t reply.

He takes his previous seat next to Joseph, the young boy staring at him, “alright, Joey?” he asks.

Joseph blinks, biting his lip as if he mulls it over. The longer he doesn’t respond, the deeper a knife twists in Simon’s gut.

“I’m not going anywhere, understand? Not anymore.” he tried to cheer him. From the outside, it may seem they’re talking about him leaving the table, but he’s sure Joseph understands he doesn’t mean that.

His nephew nods, picking up his spoon again, scooping a bit of his food and eating. He doesn’t seem convinced.

“You should eat, love.” his mum says quietly, almost meekly, as if she’s… afraid of his reaction.

They know he knows, or at least suspects, that they’re lying. That they’ve been hiding something from him, something big, making him think he’s losing his bloody mind again.

Simon stares at her. His mum always had a way to tell what he’s thinking, whispering to him that his eyes talk to her.

Her eyes talk to him now, and they beg. ‘Please don’t say it.’

Simon picks up the newly cleaned fork beside his plate, and begins eating. “Ta for the food, mum.” he tells her, and a small smile spreads on her lips.

Whatever she knows, scares her. Enough that, at the threat of voicing it, she’s desperate. Simon isn’t a good man, but he would never do something that brings his mum distress. He’s better than his rotting father. He has to be.

So, they eat in silence, his heartbeat the only sound. Bite by bite, he finishes his lunch.

It tastes like nothing in his mouth.

Simon helps Tommy with the dishes after they all finish, passing wet plates for him to dry. He waits until the rest of the family leaves before speaking.

“The mirror in the ground floor bathroom.” Simon gives him a set of forks.

Tommy gives him a confused look, towel wrapped around the utensils, “what about it?”

“It broke. That’s what made Joseph scream.”

Tommy sets down the towel, “the mirror is fine, he was probably just frightened by your reaction-”

“Tommy.” the water in the sink continues pouring over Simon’s now still hands, “don’t lie. We both know you’re shite at it. I know he saw.” his eyes drag over his brother’s paling face, “and I know you saw too.”

Tommy is silent for a long minute, Simon’s stare not wavering.

“What are you hiding from me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

Simon growls, patience thinning, “bullshit. You think I’m bloody stupid-”

The tap gurgles loudly, making both brothers stop in their tracks. Simon pulls his hands away to shut it, when it begins spitting out something that is very much not water.

Blood drips onto the dishes, clogging the drain and quickly filling the sink. Simon and Tommy take a step back as it spills on the floor.

He scans his brother’s horrified expression, “...you see it, don’t you?”

Tommy’s disturbed eyes are enough confirmation for him. “You’re running out of time.” his brother mumbles, voice unusually thin. He takes Simon’s hand in his, dragging him away before he can ask any of the thousands of questions bubbling up in his mind.

“Tommy, what-” they stop in the living room, where mum, Beth and Joseph are. They’re startled by Tommy’s hurried steps, but his mum seems to understand what’s going on.

“Is he…?” Beth asks, rising from the couch. Tommy nods, and she covers her mouth with her hand, on the verge of tears.

Simon shakes his brother’s grip, “can any of you tell me what’s going on?! I’ve been losing my goddamn mind, thinking I’ve been hallucinating shit, but clearly you all can see it, and unless mirrors can spontaneously break, and sinks are supposed to pour blood, this is all- you’re all-”

Tears horrifyingly begin pouring from his eyes, his voice breaking.

“This isn’t real.”

A rumbling shakes the house. Deep, like the moans of dead men. Simon watches, frozen, helpless, as slashes are cut through the walls, the floor, through furniture, butchered like the flesh of an animal ready for slaughter.

“Uncle Si!” Joseph screams, running towards him and Tommy. His mum steps back, shaking, until a slash goes through her.

Simon yells as blood spreads on her chest, and her eyes dim. Despite the mortal wounds blossoming on her skin, she smiles at him through tears.

Beth leaves them next, the cuts leaving dark red lines on her face, and her hand stills before she can reach her son.

“Tommy…” Simon looks away, unable to watch his family die again.

… Again?

His brother clutches at his shoulders, grip desperate, “you can’t give up, Simon, you hear me? Whatever you do, stay alive-”

Gashes tear through Tommy’s temples, one after the other. He brings a hand to wipe away the blood, only for more to replace it.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer.” his brother grunts, “but we will see you again. I promise.”

“Tommy- don’t leave” Simon grabs his hand as it slips, “not again… please, I can’t do it again, I can’t be alone again-”

“You’re not alone.” Tommy mumbles, words almost lost under the screaming house, “they saved you before. They’ll save you… again…”

The grip on his shoulders loosens, and his brother falls, never to rise once more.

Simon stares at his bloody hand, before a whimper catches his attention.

Joseph. Oh, Joseph.

“Joey…” he wraps his arms around the boy, sinking to his knees, as if he could shield him from events that are already set in gravestone.

Joseph trembles, sobbing. Crying for his mother, crying for his father, crying for his nana.

Crying for him.

“I don’t want you to die, Uncle Si.” Joey weeps. “Promise me you won’t die.”

Tears blur Simon’s vision, as their house falls apart, as the screaming becomes louder and louder.

“I promise, Joey.”

Joseph takes his face in his little hands, fingers squeezing his tear-streaked cheeks. His eyes have a tragic acceptance to them, and he gives his uncle one last bright smile.

“Then wake up.”

Ghost blinks his eyes open. Something about the world feels sharper. Maybe it’s the pain in his chest.

Bright lights burn strange shapes into his vision, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He looks to his side, finding wires connecting him to medical equipment, a constant beeping exposing just how fast his heart is beating.

It comes back to him in waves. His family’s death, Roba’s, re-enlistment. Years and years of bloodshed and war.

His fingers skim over his chest, and he winces as they hit a mass of bandages. Whatever got him, got him good.

Fingers digging into his wounds, his eyes fall shut.

It was all a bloody dream-

Ghost’s thoughts come to a halt when familiar voices fill the hall outside his room. He watches as the door opens, three men walking inside, talking like they didn’t notice him yet.

“The temporary LT is fuckin’ shite and ye know it, Captain. Bastard wouldn’t know good leadership if it hit him over his heid.” a Scot with a messy warhawk grouses. In his arms are a bundle of slightly crushed flowers.

Ghost’s eyes drift to the drying flowers on his bedside table, warmth spreading through his heart.

A man with a baseball cap joins him, “Soap, you’d complain about any LT that is not Ghost.” he ignores Soap’s indignant noises, settling into a chair beside the window, “but you’re right, he’s bloody hopeless, Price.”

Doesn’t sound like he’s been replaced just yet, he huffs silently.

Price sighs, lifting his bucket hat to scrub a hand through his short hair, “for the hundredth time, Gaz, Soap, the Lieutenant is temporary. We just need to wait for Ghost to wake up.”

“Well,” Ghost clears his throat, “you’re welcome to put the Sergeants out of their misery now.”

His team freezes, before three pairs of eyes land on him.

“LT!” Soap jumps into action first, practically running to his side, “ye’re- you’re awake! Fuck, you’re really…” he grasps the railing tightly, bright blue eyes not leaving his, “we thought you’d never-”

“Think that little of me, Johnny?” he asks teasingly, “it takes more than this to take me out-”

Gaz talks over him, looking like he’s about to slap him, “it nearly bloody did, sir.”

What? “What happened.” Ghost demands from Price.

The Captain sighs as he sits in the chair nearest to the bed, “we found you after you missed several check-ins. Seven stab wounds to the chest, you’ve been bleeding out for at least half an hour.” Price shakes his head, “coded once on the helo on the way here. Surgery was successful, but you didn’t wake up.”

“How long was I-”

“Two weeks.” Johnny answers, his face grim. “Ye’ve been out for two weeks.”

Fuck. Ghost swallows, “well, I’m awake now.” he gazes at Johnny, who gives him a weak smile.

His eyes drift away from his Sergeant, to the bright window. There, on the windowsill, he sees something that makes his breathing stop.

Gaz picks up on what caught his attention first, “you had them in your hands when we found you. We weren’t sure if they were important to you, you didn’t let us take them until your heart literally gave out.”

On the windowsill, lit by warm sunlight, are four little dolls. A taller, blond one, his wife, a fiery redhead, their son, with the most radiant smile in the world, and his nana, with her meek hand in his. Their house gone, but not forgotten. 

“Simon…?” Johnny asks, and he hums. “Why are ye crying?”

Simon looks over his team, smiling, even as tears roll down his face.

“They saved you before. They’ll save you again.”

“Just glad to be back home.”

[givemea-dam-break]

daughters of the evening

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

pairing: luke castellan x (fem) reader

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

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

words: 5.8K ⭒⭒⭒⭒

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

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

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

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

⭒⭒

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop what?” (y/n) asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maps don’t go out of date, stupid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the source of the power lay further afield.

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

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

“That’s one big tree,” Luke said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Ladon?” Beckendorf asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even Luke faltered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But none of them deserved it.

It was at that moment that Luke took his leap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything you make is better,” he said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which what?”

“Stupidly brave, handsome, or charming?”

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

“Stupidly stupid,” she decided. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her throat was achy. “And Beckendorf.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with it came anger.

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

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

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

This was a breaking point.

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

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

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