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cheyisagirlkisser · 2 months ago

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"My Sugar Mommy"

MODERN AU ABBY ONESHOT (Sugar Mommy Abby Anderson x Fem! Reader)

Contents: Smut, oral sex, strap-on sex, use of the term "Mommy", kind of angsty, bitter ending, older Abby, feminine college student reader, age gap between reader and Abby(reader is in her twenties, both are consenting adults!), seemingly unrequited feelings, THIS ISN'T PROOFREAD so there are probaby a few grammar mistakes Word Count: 3k

Description: When you're working some minimum wage job in college and money has you stressed, you resort to what feels like a laughable option: finding a sugar mommy. When said sugar mommy is the woman of your dreams, you end up worse off. You fall for Abby Anderson, and that was the one rule you promised you wouldn't break.

How you got into this predicament, you'd never want to say out loud to anyone who knew you. Neither family nor friends, not even the ones who knew the depths of your soul in ways that only she can reach. Those people who you seemed so close to were only brushing against your heart in ways that Abby had enveloped you, the ways she absolutely corrupted your once so sweet personality into her own insatiable sugar baby.

You were a simple girl with simple needs before you met her on that wretched website. You majored in English because you loved to write, and you wished to someday publish and get your name out into people's minds. You came from an average middle-class household, and struggling wasn't impossible, but you never knew the feeling of truly struggling financially until your sophomore year of college.

Your freshman year at your new university was tough, sure. However, you never had to resort to eating Maruchan on the regular. You never had to say no to hang-outs with your friends because you didn't have enough gas in your car. And you certainly never had a thought in that sweet little head of yours that you would ever need to go to a website like Sugarbabies.com to make ends meet. Things just seem to get more difficult as you become more financially independent, though. Even the miserable job at the gas station 10 minutes away from your university that you seemed to be working at nonstop was barely paying your living expenses.

At first, you truly considered Onlyfans. But your friends talked you out of it. That was a silly idea even for you, who was probably as poor as the dirt between the grass. They suggested something that could spare you some dignity: sugarbabying. You initially laughed off the idea, but as you found yourself struggling more and more along with homework toppling over you, you found yourself resorting to the last option. And that is how you met Abby Anderson.

Abby wasn't as old as most sugar parents; she was maybe 45, and she was extremely fit. When she initially sent you a friend request, you spent hours upon hours examining her muscles like it was going to matter whether or not you chose her as your sugar mommy. (You were totally whipped for her already..) The way you obsessed over the older woman was practically a sin, staring at her pictures as if she would jump out of the screen and fuck you silly on your twin-sized bed-

That small obsession was probably the first sign that the whole situation was a bad idea that could end in utter heartbreak for you. But what choice did you have?

Your first meet-up with Abby was extremely awkward for you. She was just as beautiful as she was on her profile, her dirty blonde haired braided, and her body adorned with a pair of baggy cargos and a casual t-shirt. She dressed so basic and you were still salivating. To you, this was no longer an act of money-making, but a pathetically huge crush on an older woman.

Abby was nothing like what her intimidating physique told you about her–she was sweet and caring. She went over every rule with you slowly and in this impossibly gentle voice, and she even complimented the skirt you had on that day. You laughed, pretty giddy and comfortable enough to express yourself around the woman.

The terms of her being your "sugar mommy" were simple: you would be cared for both emotionally and financially. She promised to take you out to the mall and buy you whatever cutesy outfits you liked, made sure to add in how much she already loved the way you dressed. She promised fancy dinners, and you were a girl who was obsessed with crab legs and anything other than shitty college-student food, so you happily agreed to that. However, the aspects of being in a sugar mommy / sugar baby relationship that were more catered to Abby was... that was where things got difficult to easily understand.

Abby was very upfront with you about the sexual aspect of your relationship. She warned you that in her previous relationships, sex was a common activity. She would never require it, but she did expect some level of romantic affections as a sugar mommy in order for the dynamic to work. You weren't an idiot- you understood what sex was, obviously. You also expected whoever you'd be in your arrangement with to expect sex, and you thought about it many times before signing yourself up on that website. It was the emotional aspect that left you feeling grey, and that was something that came after the two of you had already fucked around.

You agreed to a sexual relationship, and Abby didn't immediately request any sexual relations. The first month of your time together, Abby would simply pick you up and treat you to a shopping spree or just take you back to her luxurious home, treating you to wine and appreciating your company. Sometimes when you'd come back to your dorm after a long day with her, you would find random amounts of money slipped into your pocket. You found it endearing.

The sugar baby lifestyle was paradise in the beginning, especially that first easy month. You never had to worry about money, never had to say no to going out with the girls or hell, even worrying about your tuition. Anything you needed, Abby provided. If you were stressed, she'd massage away at your shoulders with her big, strong hands and make you feel at ease.

Really, you could say the first time you had sex with her was where things got so messed up. But that wasn't even true, because you were already so addicted to Abby by just her personality. She was everything anyone could ever want. That being said, the sex definitely lit the fuse that made you so certain you were falling for her.

The day the situation made a turn for chaos started off normal. You spent most of the Saturday morning at your job, and when you got home, you spent most of the evening finishing up homework that needed to be completed. It was when you got a short text from Abby saying that she wanted to pick you up that you felt a shift in your life. Usually, her texts were detailed with what she'd do with you, how fancy she wanted you to dress up, etc. This felt scary. You almost thought that she was planning on breaking off your relationship, which sent an ache through your heart that you should not have felt, but that wasn't the case.

You drove to her house, the road seeming to wind on forever before you finally turned into her drive-way. When she opened the door for you, she didn't look somber though. More serious with a slight twinge of nerves. When you stepped into the house, you were ordered to sit on the couch and listen to what your sugar mommy had to say.

"Look, I'm just going to get straight to the point with you.. I think it's time to take this further. I'd like this relationship to become more physical."

Of course, you agreed. You wanted her for a while, stared at the way her muscles flexed when she'd do certain mundane tasks. The two of you had kissed before, which was usually a short and sweet action, but you were always left wanting more. You didn't even know if you were supposed to be so eager for sex with her. Afterall, you were the one that was supposed to be entertaining her. You knew that you were supposed to enjoy it, obviously. It'd be quite awkward if you didn't. However, you figured that most sugar babies were never supposed to fantasize about their sugar mommies the way you did...

Just the night before, you were in your bed, hand in your panties, two fingers pathetically fucking away at your sopping cunt. Touching yourself was one thing, but dreaming of Abby's fingers taking over? That was a whole new can of worms to open. You'd never even admit to Abby how you gripped at your sheets when you came, biting your bottom lip hard to keep from screaming her name for the whole floor to hear.

When you agreed to Abby's new suggestion, she was pretty much indifferent. That made you feel so exposed: the fact that she could tell that you'd say yes. Maybe she was just some secretly magical sex goddess that could smell the twinge of arousal dripping off of you anytime she'd take you out to spoil you. Maybe she was aware of the feelings of attachment you'd harbored for her that you hadn't even known about that first month of business. Nonetheless, she calmly led you to her bedroom.

You hadn't seen it before, but now that you were standing in the middle of her bedroom, you felt a deep-seated wave of intimacy approach your heart. The lights were dimmed, a few candles lit on her dresser. There wasn't a pile of messy clothes on the floor, or a stray piece of trash on her nightstand like your dorm contained. It was so..mature looking. It suited her well, a clean and cozy bedroom.

You were told to sit down on the bed, so you obliged. She gently parted your legs with her knee to stand inbetween them. You looked up at her with slightly widened eyes, pupils blown. It wasn't surprising that you were already so ready for her. She didn't have to rush to feel between your thighs to know how soaked your pussy already was. That should've been a sign that you were too far gone, but Abby was a bit selfish. She ignored it.

Abby leaned down to press a few kisses onto your reddened cheeks before meeting your lips with a sweet kiss. Kisses with Abby was the best part of being her sugar baby. She kissed you like you were a treasure, like you needed to be protected and deserved every bit of attention you received. Her lips kissed you in ways that were so controlled, in ways you hadn't experienced from your past, when sloppy and fast was the way to go. No, she slid her warm lips against yours and when it was finally time, she'd coax your lips wide to swirl her tongue into your mouth, which had a way of making you moan into hers.

Her mouth finally broke away from yours with a burst of ragged breathing. Her voice was thick with arousal that you hadn't heard before. "Are you going to be good for mommy and let her eat that pretty pussy of yours?"

The thoughts resurfaced, the countless nights spend fantasizing about how her tongue would drill into your hole-

"Yes, mommy..", you answered, arousal seeping into your own voice, a hidden gem of emotional want buried so deep within it that Abby hadn't detected it, or chose not to.

With you naked on the middle of her bed, Abby's head between your legs, her tongue between your wet folds, heaven was no longer debatable. You should've thought of the consequences of letting yourself get so emotionally invested in what she was doing. It was just sex. That was something that was repeated into your mind overtime by friends and by social media. You knew that people could fuck and never love each other, but it was so difficult for you to not fall in love with Abby. The sex only made your conflicted feelings worse. The way your thighs engulfed her head, you could squeeze her face until your heart's content and she'd never complain. She'd only squeeze your soft thighs harder, only intertwine her fingers with yours which made you let out an embarrassingly horny moan. You were too high on Abby's treatment to even consider how badly it was to have what was supposed to be casual sex in a way that you knew wouldn't be casual for you.

Abby's tongue only swirled around your clit at times, and other time's it would ruthlessly devour your pussy just how you needed her to. She was drawing out your pleasure, coaxing every bit of need out of you and attempting to satiate your cravings. She was silent, mouth focused on your cunt, while you were loud and shameless.

"Abby, please- fuck, right there, please.."

"I wanna cum, please just make me cum..stop teasing."

"Ooh, fuck-"

Yeah, you were insatiable. After a torturous amount of time, the blonde finally stopped teasing your clit and let her tongue fuck you at a brutally fast pace. It didn't even take long to send you right over the edge, all over her gorgeous face.

Her tongue didn't cease, only continued with pressured strokes against your clit, milking every drop of pleasure from your body. You were on another planet, practically seeing stars. In that moment, you consciously knew that nobody would have such a hold on you the way Abby did. Nobody could have you wrapped around their finger, make you cum around hers...the way Abby had you.

After you came down from your high, Abby held your bare body in her lap, in her arms, muttering soft words to you. "Yeah, that's my good girl. Shh, just stay here, I'll hold you, okay?", she cooed to you, coaxing you back down to Earth.

You went home that night all giddy and surely in love.

Surely, loving Abby wasn't such a bad thing. She was a huge part of your life, and she was so caring. Who wouldn't fall for her? You recognized your feelings, your attachment, your dependency. Yet you just couldn't find it inside of you to think of it as a dangerous thing yet.

Over the months, Abby had you in countless ways, on countless nights, in countless moods. Sometimes, she was a bit stressed from her job. Those nights, she'd have you mainly pleasure her. You'd be so eager for the times you could lap away at her pussy, because it was a rare occurrence that she'd be vulnerable enough to let you. See, that's the thing about love. You want to give your person everything you have, and more. Other nights, Abby was feeling really sweet with you. She even bought a strap-on to use on you. She'd fuck you with the fake cock so mercilessly and yet so sweetly, just shy of breaking you. You almost broke down once and spilled out how much you loved her on one occasion after she had you in missionary, staring into your eyes at some points and kissing you while you came, whining muffled noises into her mouth so she could practically swallow your pleasure at its peak. Some nights, she was really tired but still wanted to see her baby cum. She'd let you bounce on her strap, whispering how good you were at taking her cock while kneading your tits in her hands like dough.

However, things seemed to change for the worse. You didn't even notice it at first.

It started with turning down your friends' questions to hang-out to go to dinner with Abby and have sex after. Then, you quit your job. At that point, Abby had paid your tuition off for you, and you felt financially well off. That was a truly stupid idea, but you really didn't want a job in the first place. It was too hard to balance a job and homework and Abby. The final major turning point was when you found yourself relying on Abby for more than just expenses. You were relying on her emotionally as if she were your actual partner.

Anytime you'd find yourself crying over stress or had a bad day, it was Abby's door you knocked on. No matter how many times that week you had already came over, you'd still call or knock right back on her door.

At this point, both of you knew how in love you were. How much you needed Abby. But to her, you were the perfect girl, and you had everything she needed in a sugar baby. You weren't spoiled or demanding, at least not first. But as time went on, it was clear the intense love was not leaving. It was only developing into something horrendously serious. And hell, maybe Abby felt the same. Felt the feelings rise up in her soul for you. But she was an older woman, she was more equipped in pushing them back. Anything she felt for you left as soon as it bubbled up.

The late-night calls you initiated, the constant need for reassurance because the current situation was just not cutting it, every part of your love was starting to grate at Abby. You started out as her perfect girl, and now you depended on her in ways that left her unable to simply move on.

Most of Abby's previous sugar babies simply moved on after a few months, when they had the closet of their dreams and had everything they wanted. But when what you wanted was an actual relationship, when Abby so accidentally ruined the sweetness in you, that's when she had to end it all.

You didn't take the "break-up" very well. You couldn't even call it that, because you were denied a true relationship. It was miserable being alone after having someone that you felt like was your everything. You fell back onto your bed each night yearning for something you didn't even get to fully experience, and your grades that were already suffering only got worse. You were still financially stable, at least enough to give you the time to find a new job, but none of that even mattered to you.

You were ruined, bitter and corrupted from someone so sweet. It was all your fault. You knew the rules, and yet nothing stopped you from falling face-first into Abby Anderson. And the worst part is, somehow, this wouldn't be the true end of the hold Abby had on you. Not when Abby had realized how wrong she was about her own feelings, her own naivety of her attachment to you after she ended it.

Maybe you had corrupted Abby back, and the two of you were far from done with each other.

#abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson #tlou2 #the last of us part 2 #abby x reader #abby the last of us #tlou

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kingkat12 · 18 days ago

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fuck-me eyes and first times (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, loss of virginity, inexperienced sex?, oral sex (female receiving), mutual masturbation, awkward real moments lol, dry-humping, use of contraceptives, drunk driving, Roman using his powers for good?, blood, FLUFF, a dash of angst

summary: you've been unlucky with your first times all your life-- but tonight, you're sleeping with the equivalent of your shooting star.

word count: 12,139 (i love you guys, do u see)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10

a/n: FINALLY THEY’RE FUCKING ISTG?? tihiii this is a bit of a different chapter!! i'm dead tired of reading smut where everything goes perfectly the first time and they barely communicate, so hopefully this will be a bit more realistic (hopefully!!) sorry for the wait, and hope you enjoy!!!!!!;)

The first time I broke a bone, I kicked my foot into the wall in a fit of rage.

The first time I got an A on a test, I cheated by writing the answers under my skirt.

And the first time I lost a friend? That was the story of how I got here in the first place.

To say my track record for first times was bad, was an understatement. I didn't see myself as an angel of the world. However, as I glanced to the side for a brief moment at an intersection, I looked directly at the man who'd often joke he was the devil. Roman had spread out in the passenger seat, still a little drunk as his long legs rested against the dashboard. It didn't matter how many times I told him to take them down, that if I were to crash his car he'd fold in two and die-- he didn't care.

We were still a little intoxicated from the party, but I was in a better condition than him, which was why I was driving; something he'd never let me do if he wasn't in this state. Roman's head lolled back against his seat, his eyes closing as he hummed along to the music. Space Song by Beach House was always my favorite song to drive to at night, and I was glad he seemed to like it as well.

The first time I heard this song, I had been driving home after getting introduced to Letha at a party. I was over the moon, happy to have finally found a person in this wretched town that I could enjoy the company of. I had been so dreadfully bored of all the others.

Letha was a good hugger. A good listener-- never scared to tell the truth, especially as we grew closer.

"Roman is my baby cousin, I love him to death, but damn he can be annoying," she had said, smiling at me as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "The amount of friends I have lost to him is just crazy. Every single one seems to fall over like dominoes whenever he's around, and honestly? I don't get it. Maybe it's because we're related and all, but there has to be a fucking limit to how many times something like this can happen? How many times can he sleep with my friends and get away with it? Him doing that is the same as me sleeping with Peter, it's just not okay! I would never fucking do that! This situation is becoming hysterical, to be honest."

I remember frowning-- "Hysterical?"

"Yeah... If I wasn't so pissed at him, I'd just laugh at the absurdity," Letha's green eyes remained kind despite the heaviness of the topic. "But at the end of the day, I'm glad I get to keep you to myself. My previous friends were nothing compared to you."

Letha's words were sweet, but something felt off. I smiled as I spoke, hoping to keep my query a light one; "What do you mean, keep me to yourself? Gonna chain me up, Letha?" I gave her shoulder a nudge as she laughed.

"Not like that, you freak! I mean that Roman doesn't seem interested in you at all, so I feel safe that you'll stay. And if he were to be, you'd never do anything like that to me," She put away her empty can of beer, and something in her eyes shifted just a smidge-- I wouldn't have caught it if my senses hadn't been sharpened by the mention of his lack of interest in me.

"... Right?" Letha asked, urging a response. It seemed to dawn on her that she sounded on the brink of bitterness, and she broke out into an even wider smile to compensate; "You don't seem like the type to sleep with my cousin, but maybe I'm wrong?"

"Never," was what I had answered that night.

Never... Gosh, I was delusional to think I could behave.

Once again, I glanced at Roman at the next red light, watching the way one strand of hair strayed from his stylings and laid in a soft wave over his forehead. He opened his big, green eyes, smirking as he realized he was being watched-- "Eyes on the road,"

It was embarrassing how fast I blushed. I quickly nodded, gripping the steering wheel harder as I fixated on the red light above us. "Was it the next intersection I needed to get off on?" I asked, hoping not to linger on the subject of my peeking. "Could you maybe turn on the GPS on my phone just in case you fall asleep?"

"I'm not sleeping," Roman prompted, holding out his hand to take my phone.

As I reached for it in my back pocket, I felt it vibrate as the lights turned green. I gave Roman my phone, in a rush to not miss the light even though we were the only ones on the highway. "Who's calling?"

Roman didn't answer me-- I pieced together who it was when he started greeting my mom.

Oh no.

I freed one hand from the steering wheel, trying to get a hold of my phone as Roman quietly laughed at my attempt. I didn't succeed; "Yeah, she's here," he said, grinning as he motioned for me to keep driving. "I hoped to have her stay over at my place tonight, as my mother is desperate to meet your lovely daughter."

I rolled my eyes, mouthing a simple fuck you. Roman had to bite down on his lip to suppress a laugh-- we both knew his mom was out of town and that his intentions were far from anything as pure as to introduce me to her.

My mom seemed flustered by his pleasantries on the other side of the phone, but I couldn't make out the specifics of what she was saying. It didn't sound like she was objecting, though.

Roman nodded along as he turned down the music on the stereo and (finally) removed his legs off the dashboard. "No, of course, I wouldn't dream of giving your daughter any alcohol! Yes-- Yes, we were at a party just now, but we're both sober as rocks!" He glanced at me, mischief dancing in the green of his eyes.

The look on his face now was priceless. Although he was lying to my mom right up her face (her ear?), he still looked damn charming as always.

"Uh-huh..." Roman mumbled, now reciting his phone number at her request. "We'll probably be up having dinner, so you can call me anytime if you have any questions!-- Yes, I know it's late to have dinner, but my mother is European like that. Your daughter is in good hands, don't worry!"

I rolled my eyes once more, knowing how fond my mom was of him and how easily she'd eat all of this up. When Roman finally got off the call, he broke out into a string of laughter-- "Your mom is so damn sweet, but I can tell she's terrified we'll have sex. It seems you've taken after her,"

"I'm not terrified!" I whined, turning left to get off the highway.

He snorted; "I was two seconds away from telling her I have a stash of condoms, and that she shouldn't worry about having to take care of a mini-me when you leave for college,"

I did my best not to blush-- this conversation was getting more and more suggestive. "Shut up," I mumbled. "I'm not terrified."

Roman's eyes softened as he sat back in his seat and watched me drive his car. I knew I was giving away my true feelings regarding the matter with the way I was anxiously tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. I continued; "I just had you locked in a closet trying to convince you I'm not. It's not that big of a deal,"

"Relax, I'm just teasing you," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, gazing into the rearview mirror to check how messed up it had gotten. His red car had an open roof, after all. He sighed, trying to choose his next words wisely. "Not a big deal, you say?"

"Well..." I was unsure whether to be honest or not.

Roman nodded, looking out at all the trees passing us by. His silence was unnerving, and I turned up the music to tune it out. I couldn't stand this. Something in him switched; Maybe he was upset that I said it wasn't a big deal? Or maybe he was realizing it was a big deal to him? I needed to change the subject; "This is the right direction, no? I feel like I'm just driving deeper into the forest--"

"I've never told you this, but after the first time we kissed, I kept having the same dream where never left the seven minutes in heaven closet," Roman placed his head in the palm of his hand as he leaned his elbow against the car door, sighing. "Over and over, every night. Nearly drove me mad. And in the dream, there were no seven minutes, no time limit. So it was just you and I, and we were going at it like fucking crazy."

I held my breath, my eyes widening further with every sentence. What? Was he drunk-rambling or was this something else?

Roman sighed again, attempting to relax as he closed his eyes and stilled in his seat. Like this, I could nearly mistake him for being asleep. "It all started with me wanting to fuck you," he mumbled. "But every night, at the end of the dream, I got greedy... Because suddenly, I also wanted you to love me."

Had I not been good at keeping calm, I would've probably crashed the car into the nearest tree. I didn't get much time to process, to feel the weight of his confession, until Roman snapped out of it like a character taken straight out of an animation, now sitting up; "Turn here,"

I drove up to a huge gate, stopping the car as I tried to steady my breathing. "Roman--"

"Two seconds," he said, getting out of the car to walk up to the intercom. He was as good as normal now.

I was left still gripping the steering wheel for dear life, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to find the right words. I watched as Roman typed in a code, and the massive gate slowly opened as he jumped back into the car.

My breath was still held in my chest as I turned to him, eyes wider than plates of expensive china.

Roman glanced back at me with an innocent smile; the mood had completely switched. "Breathe," he cooed, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's just a mansion." With a sharp intake of air, he glanced at the backseat and the crumbled-up hot pink crop top we had brought with us (stolen, actually) from the party-- "A mansion with a possibility to put that anomaly in the fucking laundry."

I turned towards it as well, returning to my mind at the sight of the obnoxious colour of the top-- Knowing I had made him cum into the fabric of it merely an hour ago still felt like a triumph.

... Was it maybe my turn, now?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And he was right-- this was an absolute castle of a house. I had suppressed the truth about Roman's wealth for as long as I could, not wanting to think about it in case my mind went haywire about it, but now it was smacking me in the face.

Still, Roman's hand on the small of my back was a comfort as he led me through the mansion on the most impromptu show-around I've ever witnessed. "This is the room where I learned how to shoot darts," he mumbled, pointing at the small dents in the wall. "I didn't know the darts were actually stuck to the wall and not the printed dartboard I hung up..." He bent down, picking up the painting his mother had hung up to cover the indents.

I couldn't help but laugh, clinging to his arm as we moved from room to room. The mansion was gothic, vampy, but that might've just been my imagination playing with me. The tall ceilings were intimidating, yet beautiful-- judging by my surroundings, there was no denying that everything around me cost a fortune.

I was yanked out of my trail of thoughts when Roman led me behind a red curtain by one of the big windows in the next room, and I giggled as he wrapped it around us. My back was pressed against the wall, engulfed by both the curtain and Roman's embrace; "This is where I learned how to French," he whispered, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "And it was horrible. She fucking bit me and I squealed like a girl."

If Roman was trying to distract me from what he had said in the car, he was certainly doing a good job. The mental image of his first French kiss kept me beyond entertained, and we both continued laughing as he got us out of the wrap of the curtain.

However, it was the walk up the circular stairs that truly made it dawn on me who I was dating-- Roman Godfrey, the future heir to a billion-dollar company. Fuck. I stared up at the painting above us, the one of him and his mother posing with a rather regal-looking background. He couldn't have been more than fourteen in that picture, and I could see his classic intimidating stare through the painting and the way he clutched the chair his mother was posed on. It was clear that the boy in the painting didn't want to be there at all.

Roman turned, realizing what I was looking at; "I fucking hate that one," he grumbled, giving my hand a squeeze. "I refused to smile at that age. I look like I'm on the brink of killing myself."

"Not true," I squeezed his hand back. "Give yourself some grace. How old were you?"

"Fourteen,"

There you go. "Judging by the painting, I think we could've been friends at fourteen,"

Roman stopped in the middle of the curved stairway, his brows drawing together. "How so?"

I shrugged, trying not to focus on how much taller he was than me. If I thought about it for too long, I'd jump him. "Because I wore all black for about a year. If you refused to smile, and I refused to show any joy, I think we would've been a killer duo,"

Roman blinked twice before cracking into a chuckle. "That's unexpected,"

"Bet,"

"You're all... cute and bubbly now,"

"You think?" I wasn't sure how much I agreed. "The girl that's fucking around with her ex-best friend's cousin?"

Roman had to bite down another laugh. "What do you mean, fucking around? I haven't as much as touched you compared to how I could've,"

Oh.

Oh God.

I held back a shiver, staring up at him as he resumed leading me up the stairs. "But... you have touched me,"

"Sure," Roman proceeded to get a proper look at me in the darkness of the night when we reached the second floor. The green around his widened pupils practically shone-- it was impressively cat-like. "Impossible not to, with those fuck-me eyes of yours."

"Hey!" I wasn't sure why I was protesting, but I knew his snicker egged me on. "I don't have... that!"

I could see that Roman was on the brink of cooing at me, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. I hadn't seen him this amused in a while. "Right," he purred. "You don't. Not a trace at all." With a short kiss on my forehead, he moved away from me and started walking down the dark corridor. "Keep those fuck-me eyes in the hallway, and I might let you sleep tonight."

I sighed before gearing up into a walking sprint to catch up with his long strides-- If only he knew that sleep was the last thing on my mind.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When we finally reached Roman's bedroom, I couldn't believe the size of it. My room was nothing in comparison. I had certainly not expected the posters-- there were many rare classic horror films and some bands I was sure his mom probably loathed. However, I was surprised by the lack of half-naked models on his walls which I had always imagined; I let out a short, relieved breath. "Your room is nice,"

Roman hummed, throwing his jacket on a chair nearby. "Not too boyish for you?"

"Nah," I mumbled, walking up to the posters on the opposite wall. There were a lot of movies I hadn't seen yet-- still, I couldn't help but laugh a little when I saw The Godfather. "It's very you."

"How great that you like me, then,"

"Lucky for you, yeah," There was something about this room that I couldn't help but love-- this was where Roman woke up and fell asleep. This was where he probably spent most of his time. I wondered whether the pillows smelled of his going-out cologne or the lighter one he usually wore to school. I wondered whether he'd been caught smoking in here, whether he'd done coke with Peter on his desk, and how many girls he'd had up here. By the likes of it, I somehow doubted anything like that ever happened at his place. If he had waited this long to have me over, I decided it was highly unlikely he'd invite someone he didn't know very well.

I clasped my hands behind my back, taking long strides as I scanned the many posters on his walls.

Roman sat down on the chair by his desk, spreading out as he watched me with a smirk. "Not what you expected?"

I turned to him, my brows drawing together; "Why? Are you nervous or something?"

"I'm not nervous," Roman huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Now that I was looking straight at him, it was clear that he was. "I'm simply asking."

A knowing smile crept up my cheeks-- it felt like I had the upper hand, for once. "You're nervous,"

"Am not!"

"And now you're fidgeting,"

I was correct; Roman's right leg had given into a slight bounce. He rolled his eyes, muttering curse words under his breath. "It's not every day that I have girls up here, okay? I'm never here, stuff always happens at someone else's-- well, now your room. Because this is, like... my lair,"

I had to bite back an amused smirk; "Your evil lair?"

"Bingo. This is where I dissect people and stuff," He pointed to the table next to him. "So... yeah. Your opinion matters to me, I guess."

"Oh, does it now?"

"On some things, sure,"

I nodded, focusing on how the moonlight was dipping into the dark brown of Roman's hair. He didn't have to be so pretty all the time, did he? How rude. "Such as...?"

With a shrug, Roman now gazed at the tall ceiling. Like this, he almost looked bored. "Your opinion of me is the one that comes to mind, I guess,"

"My opinion of... you?" That was new.

Roman met my eyes again, this time with a new emotion-- his head was slightly tilted to the side, and he was looking at me through his brows. I had a feeling he didn't intend the look to be as intimidating as it was. "It fluctuates,"

"My opinion?"

"Yep," he said. "Some days, you look at me like I'm everything. And then, the next day, I'm the biggest asshole in the world."

My lips drew together in a tight line-- this was unexpected. "And here I thought I was the only consistent thing in your life," I mumbled. "I don't know, Rome, every couple has its ups and downs, no? But I don't want them to make you doubt what I feel for you. Because... you know, right?" I started taking wary steps across the room. "You know I adore you, there is no way you've managed to miss that?"

With a sigh, Roman sat back in his chair with a smile. "Sure, I know that," he murmured, watching my every step with anticipation. "And I bet that tree you carved our initials into can attest."

Goddamn it. "You're never going to let go of that, are you?"

As I finally approached him, Roman led me between his legs with a gentle hold around my waist. "Nope," He pressed his lips against my clothed chest, his fingers slowly digging into my top. My arms draped around his neck, and my next words were muffled against his hair; he reeked of his usual cinnamon-flavored cigarettes-- "But sure, if the tree ever starts talking, it will agree. You know I'm crazy about you,"

"Crazy is the keyword here,"

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, pulling away to get a proper look at him. Roman was so damn beautiful-- I had missed the sight of him in the past twenty-four hours I had been unsure of the state of our relationship. "I still can't believe you thought I was going to break up with you... Do you know how shitty you would have to be to drive me to that point?"

Roman pulled me back in again, enjoying the scent of my perfume with his next deep inhale; he pressed a short kiss to my neck. "Let me be paranoid," The next kiss lingered for longer, the warm exhale through his nose grazing my skin.

"But I don't want you to be," I tried. "I don't ever want you to doubt us like that. Never, ever again."

Roman stilled. With a sigh, he spoke; "Okay... but that's where you step into what people in my family call a deathtrap," He motioned for me to sit down in his lap, and with wary movements, I draped my arms around his neck and sat down, allowing him to place a sweet kiss to my cheek. "Deathtrap?" I echoed.

"Deathtrap," Roman shifted, placing one arm around my waist as his free hand traced small circles into my thighs. "Otherwise known as... hope." And just like that, it was as though his mind went elsewhere, as though something in his eyes shifted.

However, I'd had enough of that-- I wasn't having any of it tonight. Knowing Roman saw hope as a deathtrap made my heart burn. Wary of not being too abrupt, I slowly placed a finger underneath his chin, catching his attention. "If you don't want to harbor any hope of your own, I'll lend you mine," I whispered, gently nudging his nose with mine.

Roman's pupils dilated as his hot breath fanned against my upper lip. I could smell the beer on him, the cigarettes, yet the most prevalent was the anxiety-- it brushed upon my skin, and caressed my heart. "All of it, Roman," My hand went back into his hair, stroking through the softness of his locks. "All my hope, all my love... it's all yours to borrow. To keep, to mold, to steal, to hold, for as long as you like. It's not a trap of any kind. You're safe with me."

That was all it took, and so he gave in; with the smallest of sighs, Roman closed his eyes, relishing in the moment. "You make me feel... you make me feel," he echoed, almost in disbelief. "It's a painful thing, is it not?"

I dared to let my hand brush down the side of his face, my thumb gently ghosting over his closed lid to feel the softness of his lashes against the pad of my finger. "It doesn't have to be. It could feel really, really good,"

Roman let out a shaky breath against me; "I want that for you," he said, opening his eyes. The green in his eyes shone in the white shimmer of the moonlight, illuminating the intent in his words. "Want to make you feel good... in every way possible."

Something about the drop in his voice nearly made me shiver-- I couldn't allow myself to, not in his lap. It took a few seconds for me to notice that I was holding my breath, staring back at him with a look on my face which I hoped didn't give away too much. Maybe I had misinterpreted his words? Maybe Roman meant that in a romantic way?

However, with the following upward curve of the corners of his mouth, so small I could barely notice it, I knew my intuition had been right. Roman definitely meant that in a different way.

... I needed to listen to my intuition more, didn't I?

Roman's hand on my thigh lifted, now removing the vial of blood around my neck to place it on the table nearby; he proceeded to put his palm against my cheek with the gentlest touch, softly caressing my skin with his thumb. This was when it dawned on me that we were alone. Completely alone. Possibly for the first time ever. No interruptions, with no one to hear anything. Had this been a month ago, that fact alone would've been enough to make me jump off his lap, and I would've probably paced up and down along his room with nervous steps to soothe my anxiety. Being alone with him meant that I wouldn't be able to contain my need for him, I was sure of it.

But now? I believed Roman could do that for me. Soothe me. He could calm me down like no other. Now, I knew he wouldn't run off after getting what he wanted-- because now, I knew that what he truly wanted was me.

"Could you let me do that?" Roman breathed, the green of his eyes finding my lips. I was confused as to how I hadn't melted into his lap already. "Make you feel good?" He leaned forward, just a few inches, now brushing the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, transfixed. "Or... are you sure you want to do this? Have your first time with someone like me?"

There was something about the fact that he was even asking-- the old Roman would never. "Who else would I have my first time with? It's always been you," My lips parted in a soundless intake of breath, my gaze darting to his plush, pink lips. Like this, I could almost feel them against me; we had kissed so many times that my body remembered the sweet push of his lips simply by gazing at them. Still, I was afraid it would never be enough, and every kiss was as thrilling as the first one. "Just being with you like this feels good already."

Roman hummed, absentminded. "Not what I'm getting at,"

"I know," I breathed. "But I can't help but worry that--" I had to clear my throat, swallowing. Why was I getting so damn nervous? It was getting harder to breathe, and I was sure my cheeks were flushing. "Well... That I won't know what to do."

With a sigh, Roman bit down on his lip to hold back a laugh. "It's your first time, you won't have to do much," Despite his lids hanging heavy over his darkening eyes, I could see the want building in him. "I'll take the lead, okay? You just relax." He steadied me with his palm over my cheek before leaning forward-- my body hitched with caution as he brushed his lips across mine, slanted, until I allowed myself to give in.

The soft pillow of Roman's lips was the sweetest pressure I had ever known. I could feel my blood heat with the intent of the kiss, and I suddenly got the urge to cross my legs to calm myself down-- I knew I couldn't. Roman's breath fell softly against my cheek as my hands went up into his hair, tugging gently at the tips of his dark locks as I kissed him back with my lips slightly parted, moving against his as though he was whispering me a question.

Maybe I didn't hear it-- maybe it was a warning? Had he actually whispered something, or was I imagining things? Because with the next second, Roman hooked his arm under my knees, lifting me off the chair as I yelped into the kiss. It didn't take long before I eased, telling myself he had lifted me many times before, and that he would never drop me. Never, ever. Roman smiled against my lips, humming just slightly as he carried me bridal-style across the room. It felt silly, cliché, until it dawned on me-- was he playing the cliché out for me? Was this what he perhaps imagined I wanted, something pure, something classically virginal?

In the few seconds our kiss was broken, Roman placed me down on the bed and watched as I giggled; it was impossible not to laugh as the recoil of the springs threatened to bounce me up in the air again. He tsked, now grinning as he made space between my legs, drawing me closer before he kissed me once more. It was bolder this time, pressing the soft fullness of his mouth against mine-- there was nowhere else for me to go but to him.

My hands wove into Roman's hair again, pulling him closer as my heart thumped hard in my chest. Was this really happening? Or was this maybe something I was imagining, maybe the alcohol hadn't left my system yet? "Rome--"

Before I could continue, his lips were on mine again like a magnet, drawing us together, unable to separate the magnetic forces long enough to let me speak. It was confirmed; he was definitely here. This was real. There was an urgency to Roman's stubborn kisses-- you're mine, just accept it. Being kissed into submission was something I had never imagined was possible, yet here I was, my lips parting with a soft whimper, feeling his tongue against mine; it filled me with a complete and utter satisfaction, a final statement.

I wanted him to devour me. As I coiled my fingers around Roman's dark hair, tugging him closer, I so desperately wanted only that. To melt into him, to become one-- was that maybe the core concept of sex which I had misunderstood all up until this exact moment? Just the thought of being connected with Roman like that, knowing he could possibly be inside me-- that thought had never evoked the physical reaction in me before as it did now.

Well, fuck. I realized I was screwed before it had even happened.

Sucking in a sharp breath, the silk of Roman's expensive duvets kept me grounded as he softly groaned into my mouth. His tongue circled mine before gently sucking the tip of it into his mouth, and he listened to my whimpers as he withdrew shortly after, a lone string of saliva still linking us. I was unsure why I was left so speechless, why every little thing he did made me feel like my body was on fire, but I knew there was no rationality in need. The innate need ravaging through your veins. There was no way to make sense of it, and I was certain Roman was aware of that too. Yet suddenly, he was near-motionless, blinking twice as if he was a little lost on what to do, which I immediately thought was odd--

Oh. There it was. I was wondering when that would happen.

So... Roman wasn't lost. Far from it. Flustered might be a better word-- I felt his erection poke into my stomach, and it made me realize how big his pupils had gotten. That was quick. "Uh... Surprise?" He awkwardly cleared his throat as his green eyes nearly devoured me whole. "Fuck it, there's one thing I want to do before we go on. It'll take a second."

I held my breath-- with Roman, that could mean anything. "... Okay?"

"Don't look so scared," he teased, getting off the bed and walking to his nightstand. In my head, I wondered whether he was grabbing condoms, or whether he was about to impose something kinky on me. I was ready to start my rehearsed lecture on going slow with me, that it was my first time and everything, until my mind blanked at the sight of a... candle?

Roman got a lighter nearby, looking back at me with a trying smile. "You once said that me and sweet don't go together," he explained, lighting the candle. "On our first date, I believe, if we can call it that. The blackmail part of it was probably not ideal, but it counts in my head. Anyway, I thought you might be right about the sweet part... but it doesn't mean I shouldn't try to be."

I was afraid I'd melt much, much faster than that candle. "Don't tell me you went out and bought that candle just for this?"

Roman shrugged, hoping to brush it off. "Well... I was determined to prove you wrong. And I had a candle for my first time, and I guess it eased me a little. But, uh... I think this is actually a funeral candle,"

"I see," I had to contain a laugh. Sitting up, I reached for his fingers as I longed to touch him again; "Well, no one's dead yet, but the night is still young."

Unable to hold it, Roman snorted, placing the lighter back on the nightstand before he interlocked our fingers. "I'm never doing anything like this again, so I suggest you cherish it,"

"What? But now I'm growing fond of the funeral candle, you're breaking my heart!"

Roman rolled his eyes, sinking down on the bed again, and he brought our intertwined fingers above my head. "If that's what I need to do to get you in my bed, I'll buy the whole fucking candle company,"

There was something exciting about the fact that Roman genuinely could. It wasn't just an empty threat. If he got high enough one night, I was sure he'd know who to call. I was surprised to feel he was still hard now that his erection was pressed up against me once more, but I didn't get much time to think about it-- Roman freed one of his hands, and he managed to make his way under my top as he kissed me once more.

My breath hitched against the soft push of his lips as it hit me that I might have to get fully naked for this. Fuck. Okay. Yet my anxiety eased at the thought of him being fully naked too-- I found my hips keening up against him, my need for friction growing with my arousal.

Roman smiled into the kiss; it was a ravenous feeling. "Impatient?" he asked, barely leaving my lips.

"Yeah," It was merely a breath-- I felt his hand ghost over my bra, slowly tracing the hem. I could barely think, too excited to function anymore.

"No need," Roman pulled away, letting go of the remaining hand above my head as his fingers now toyed with the edge of my top. "We have all the time in the world."

His tone was enough to bring scarlet to my cheeks, but I nodded, swallowing when he bunched the fabric up in his hands and lifted it up and off of me. I raised my arms, pouting just slightly at the loss of contact-- who would've thought I'd get more drunk from kissing Roman than the beer Peter gave me earlier?

With a sigh, Roman's eyes consumed me; the smirk with which he looked down at me only made me more flustered. "Rome," I whined, reaching my hands out for him. "Stop that, get back here. This isn't anything new." That was true-- me in my bra wasn't a sight he hadn't seen before.

Roman tsked, sending me a stern look. "You're disturbing my thought process,"

"Your thought process?--"

"Yep," he said, shrugging. "I'm just thinking about how I want to cum right..." Roman trailed a line across my lower abdomen with his finger, using a touch so light it immediately made me squirm. "... here."

The squirming quickly turned into a small shiver, and my hands went straight to my face as my blush deepened.

There was a change in Roman which was noticeable by the way he lost his smile, lost in whatever images he had in his head as he now leaned back down, pressing eager kisses to the apex of my collarbones. His lips trailed down my body, his fingers digging into the sides of my waist-- his mind was gone. I tugged at his hair as he inched further away, and I whimpered at the sensation of his tongue tracing a circle around my belly button. I never expected myself to like anything like that, but damn-- heaven. This was heaven.

I was reminded of how much bigger Roman was than me when I was suddenly yanked to the edge of the bed, and I could only yelp as I did nothing to fight it. His hands trailed down the sides of my hips, now hooking his fingers around my panties, not yet taking them off-- instead, he was kissing me through my soaked underwear, humming.

Christ, this was something I could get used to. I managed to register the fact that he wasn't on the bed anymore, and I propped myself up on my elbows with the last remaining power I had to confirm my suspicions. Roman stopped for a moment, pulling away to glance right back at me; "What?"

"You're... kneeling,"

"... Yeah?"

It didn't register in my head. "You don't kneel for anyone," The Roman Godfrey didn't get on his knees for anyone in the world. In my mind, he thought the world should be kneeling to him, and that he would never stoop so low.

However, the look he gave me in return told me everything I needed to know. Come on, now. Roman pulled my underwear off as he spoke, peeling it down my thighs; "I kneel for you," To him, that was as simple as a fact. The most logical thing in the history of the universe. He didn't even seem to deem the subject worthy of a further conversation, now grabbing my hips to bring me even closer to the edge of the bed as I let out a small squeak. Roman led my legs to hang over his broad shoulders as he leaned forward, rings of desire around his eyes as he licked a broad, flat stripe up my sex.

Fuck-- I did my best not to mewl as my fingers reached for his hair once more, twirling into the soft curls of his hair. "Rome--"

At this point, I was sure he wouldn't hear me no matter how loudly I spoke. Roman sensed I was about to start keening against him, and he pulled my legs back and held my thighs in place as he slicked his tongue in between my slit, mouth moving as though he was pressing deep, heavy kisses against me. I whimpered, my grip on his hair loosening as I felt my conscience slip into its usual drugged-on-Roman state. A very, very dangerous state of mind, if you ask me.

Giving me some time to breathe, Roman moved to leave soft kisses up along the crease of my thighs. "Keep your legs like this, okay?" he said, slowly trailing one hand up my thigh. Roman's finger teasingly tapped my clit, and he turned to watch the thin line of slick connecting the pad of his finger to me. It was hard not to squirm, and I brought one hand up to my mouth to hopefully suppress any noise. "Rome, what are you?--"

Oh. My breath hitched as he eased his slicked middle finger into me, careful to go in with slow strokes. I whined against my hand when Roman's mouth returned to me, sealing his perfect lips around my swollen nub, adding pressure. It was almost too much-- I felt myself clench around his finger when he curled it upwards, just as his lips covered my mound, sucking me in.

"Christ," I breathed, reaching down to grab a hold of Roman's hair, the slick sounds of his mouth making goosebumps appear along my skin as I contained a shiver. "Shit, Rome, it feels-- so, so good--"

My mindless ramble came to an end with the next hitch of my breath; Roman added another finger, humming against me as an answer. With how nervous I was, it was a tight fit, and the sting that followed made me instinctively tighten my fist in his hair, my skin straining over my knuckles. It was hard to keep still, a string of whimpers escaping my lips.

My hands shook as Roman continued slowly stroking his fingers into me. I wondered whether he could feel my anxiety seeping into my lust-- it was becoming so real. Roman's green eyes darted up at me, stilling his fingers, giving me time to adjust. He pulled away from me, leaving his digits in me as he spoke; "I'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that later,"

His words conjured a deep blush to my cheeks, and I brought my hands up to my face to hide. "Sorry," I breathed. "I don't-- don't know what's happening."

Roman shrugged, placing a wet, gentle kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You're nervous. It's normal," His hot breath ghosted over my soaked sex as he moved to the other thigh-- "I think it'll help if I make you cum like this. You'll relax more. And I'll keep my fingers in, get you used to the feeling... Unless you want them out?"

For a man who said he didn't deal with virgins, he certainly knew how to talk one down from the cliff. I let out a shaky breath, peeking down at him past my fingers; "N-No, it's okay,"

Roman seemed to be holding back a laugh; "You look a little spooked,"

"I... do?" Knowing my boyfriend, I knew he probably found that incredibly hot.

"A bit. Wanna stop?--"

"No!" That was a little too quick. Fuck.

Roman chuckled as he proceeded to bite down on the inside of my thigh with a teasing smirk-- I squeaked, clenching around his fingers. "Good," he purred, leaning forward to press a short kiss to my clit, drawing out another squeak from me. Something told me he liked the sound of my pleasured panic. "It's been some time since the last time you let me do this. I've missed the taste of you."

"... It's been, like, four days,"

Roman let out a groan, and I could see in his eyes that it was building in him-- the innate lust. "A fucking eternity," he breathed, a new rasp appearing in his voice. With that, Roman didn't lose a single second leaning back down, slicking his tongue between my folds, returning to suck down on my clit with a moan.

Oh, well-- I knew I was done for. Still, knowing his goal was to make me cum, knowing I didn't have to hold back, I let my hands wander back into his hair with a whimper of pleasure. It didn't take long before I clenched around his fingers again, the burn of the stretch subsiding with every flick of Roman's tongue.

"Fuck," I breathed. "Fuck, fuck--"

Any attempt to speak dissolved into incoherent cries, teetering on the edge while pleasure surged through me like a relentless wave. Still, it didn't take more than two more sucks to ease me over, and I felt my climax drawing out long and slow against Roman's mouth, tightening around his fingers with a whimper.

My head lolled along the duvets as I tried to catch my breath. With every time Roman did this, it only got better-- it was hard to believe that was even possible. I came to my senses when I felt his fingers slide out of me, the twinge of pain having long passed.

"Fuck," Roman said, a laugh to his voice as he pressed kisses up along my stomach, getting up from the ground. "Best fucking pussy in the world."

God-- I hid my face again, my blush deepening. That dirty mouth of his. "That was so good," I purred, reaching out for him; "Come here, Rome. I miss you up here."

Chuckling, Roman shook his head, motioning for me to scoot further up the bed. "Just a sec," he said, walking back over to his nightstand, opening his drawer again and shuffling around. I did as told, watching him with a sigh; he was right, that orgasm had relaxed me. However, my zen didn't last long-- I suddenly felt all my muscles tightening when I watched Roman bring the fingers he just had in me to his lips, absentmindedly sucking on them as he now held up a silver wrapper with his free hand as though that was the most normal thing in the world. I also spotted a clear bottle which I could only assume was lube.

What the fuck? The sight of him doing that made me want to disappear into the bed-- why was the sight so... thrilling? It must've been the look of enjoyment on his face. "Oh, that's hot," I mumbled, my eyes immediately widening with the realization of what I had just blurted out.

Roman cocked a brow as unclasped the vial of my blood around his neck, placing it next to the candle before he got back on the bed, now trailing the residue of spit and slick on his fingers across my thighs. "Well, you taste nice,"

"Not that nice?"

A hum; "Wanna try some, make up your mind?" he asked, a teasing smirk spreading across his plush lips as he brought his hand up to his mouth, wiping off the remnants of my slick to coat his fingers.

I shivered, grimacing— "No, thanks," Hoping to distract Roman from trying to convince me, I sat up, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Frankly, I had enough of being the only one that was undressed.

Roman hummed, following my hands with his eyes, grinning from ear to ear as he threw down the condom and the lube somewhere on the bed. "More for me, then," he mumbled, licking my slick off his fingers as he kept his gaze on me-- it didn't take long before he pushed me back down on the bed, unbuttoning the last of his buttons with ease I could never match.

My heart had probably never worked this hard before in my life. "Rome," I tried, watching him discard his shirt. Fuck-- he was gorgeous. I could feel myself blushing in an instant, shamelessly looking him up and down; I knew he didn't mind. Why was I reacting like this? Roman being breathtakingly handsome wasn't news? "I think... I think--"

"You're still thinking?" Roman's hands gripped my waist as he leaned down, kissing up my torso as I whimpered beneath him, reaching for his hair again. "Stop thinking. No thinking."

"No thinking?" I echoed, giggling as his eager kisses reached my neck, getting ticklish. "You're asking for too much." Now that he was finally close again, I draped my arms around him, trailing my fingers across his broad shoulders with a sigh. Being skin-to-skin like this was my favorite thing in the world-- being connected.

Roman hummed, his erection once again pressing into my lower abdomen. "Either you stop thinking of your own volition..." he said, pulling my chest up against his. "... Or I'll have to fuck your brains out. Your choice."

I shivered, feeling my mind start buzzing. That was a damn easy choice. "That sounds rough," I mumbled, my breath hitching as Roman pressed a kiss to my ear. "You said you'd be gentle..." To be completely honest, this was the part I was nervous about-- would he maybe not be able to be? I was a little scared he'd be like one of those horror-story guys Letha had told me she'd been with, one of those guys that just slap you all of a sudden or start choking you cause they've seen it in porn and think that's normal behavior.

Roman pulled away, hovering barely an inch above my lips; his breath grazed my cheek, and the green of his eyes were glazed over with a look of confusion. "Am I not being just that?" he asked, nodding to the candle.

Oh-- I turned to the supposed funeral candle.

It allowed sweet a kiss to my cheek, the tip of his upturned nose pressing into my cheekbone; "Trust me. I wouldn't want to hurt you, you know me,"

He was right-- from the very first moment we got together, he had told me just that.

Still, it was only when I felt Roman's lips against mine with the softest of pressures, that I pushed my concerns away. It was the sort of kiss that made my heart burn, the sort of kiss that made my hands trail up into his hair to keen him closer. I pushed all my thoughts of horror into a heap, churned it in my mental grinder, processed it, and allowed the product of it to slip past my lips; "I want you," I breathed, feeling myself grow needy against him.

Roman hummed, a small roll of his hips onto mine following-- I didn't expect it to make my breath catch in my chest. "I want you too,"

Something in me ignited; I wanted him to do that again. Disoriented, I reached down for the zipper of his jeans, moaning into the kiss that followed. "Want you more,"

Roman smiled; "Not possible,"

At this moment, I was thankful to be made up of solid matter-- if not, I was sure I'd have melted straight into the bed, a puddle of pure horny. I wasn't sure when Roman lost his pants, too consumed in the kiss to function. My state of arousal only heightened when my hips bucked up, feeling the hard outline of his cock between my legs; I was suddenly reminded of the time we did something similar in an alleyway on our first day. But this was different-- this was a direct contact of his clothed length brushing up against my clit with repeating strokes, a motion which had my breath hitching as my nails dug into his shoulders.

Roman let out a soft groan, nipping at my neck as he ground down against me. "This," he breathed. "This is what you do to me. I wanna be in you so fucking bad."

With the next roll of his hips, I whimpered; the buzzing of my mind refused to still. "Have me, then," was all I managed to say, tugging at Roman's hair as the tips of my fingers burned.

What followed happened so fast, I barely registered it. I heard the ripping of the silver wrapping in the midst of our heated kiss, adrenaline and dopamine coursing through my veins as every little sweet word rolling off Roman's tongue filled me with that familiar warm feeling I always got around him.

For this, it was all worth it. All the drama with Letha, all the tears, all the pain-- it was all worth it.

"You're everything," Roman whispered, rubbing the head of his cock along my soaked sex as my hands skimmed the muscular range of his back. "You're my everything, do you know that?"

God, how I wanted to be one with him. Wanted him in my head, wanted him in me, wanted to melt into him and become one single entity, never to part. From the first moment I met him, from the first moment I laid eyes on him in class, from the first moment he smiled at me, I knew it was Roman. It would always be Roman, it would always, always be Roman for me, and knowing he thought the same of me as well, that I was his everything-- all my longing, everything, had been worth it. Because I was his everything too, finally, just like he had always been mine.

However, as Roman angled his cock and gently pushed the head in, kissing my cheek with the sweetest touch, I didn't expect the painful, sharp sting-- I wasn't sure how loudly I gasped, how far my nails dug into his back, but I was really damn certain that this hurt.

Roman was out of me within the blink of a second; "Shit," he breathed, a panicked look in his eyes. "Should've-- Should've warned you."

The sting remained as I did my best to breathe through it. "That's a stretch," was all I managed to say, stroking over where I had scraped his back.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Roman mumbled, scanning me. He didn't seem bothered by the crescent moons my nails were leaving behind. "You okay?"

"Yeah..."

He cursed under his breath, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. "I forgot about this part... My brain doesn't work when you're naked," Roman sighed, reaching for one of the hands I had on his back. "If you want to go on, I might know a way to make it a little easier."

I met his eyes as he brought the back of my hand to his lips; "I guess it's supposed to hurt a little, Roman, just... just do what you usually do, I trust you," Maybe I needed to push through it? I could take a little pain, couldn't I? That was until I remembered the pain again-- it made me clench. Ouch.

With a certain look I knew too well, he shook his head as he now wrapped his fingers around my wrist. "No. It's not supposed to hurt," he said. "And I said I wouldn't hurt you, so..." Roman trailed my hand down along my body, watching as my eyes widened. "In my experience, it helps if you... help."

"Help?"

"Help yourself, so to speak," Roman purred, his signature cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Cause I doubt this will be your first time doing this."

"Doing what?-- Oh," As he placed my hand over my sex, he slid two fingers above mine, guiding me to rub my clit. Roman was right; it wasn't my first time doing that to myself. Still, this was a different feeling-- My hips immediately bucked up into our hands, and when Roman leaned down to kiss me, I knew I was done for.

Everything felt warm, everything felt right. "Just keep doing that," he whispered, sinking his teeth into my lower lip. "Wanna?-- Again?"

Roman didn't need to use more words than that; I knew what he meant. I nodded, feeling my cheeks redden at the fact that I was touching myself in front of him like this-- however, I didn't have time to think much about it.

Soon, I wasn't the only one touching myself, anyway.

"Should've used this from the start," Roman mumbled, cursing under his breath as he poured a dash of lube on his cock from the clear bottle nearby. "Got too excited... fuck." With a lazy grip, he wrapped his hand around his length, spreading the lube with slow strokes.

My mind was buzzing.. I watched as Roman's lips parted, a shaky breath escaping him. "It's okay," I tried, rubbing mindless circles around my clit. "It's just me."

"Yeah, and I care about you," Roman's eyes were halfway closed as they met mine, darkened with growing lust. "Ready?"

I nodded-- yeah.

This time, when Roman's cock pushed into me again with the slowest of strokes, the pleasure from my clit dulled the sting. The only thing left to adjust to was the stretch; my breath hitched as my free hand went back up into his hair, wincing against his lips as his thick length stroked me open.

Roman cursed as his parted lips hovered above mine. He held me tightly against his body, watching out for any signs of discomfort before he spoke; "Shit... This feels better than I--thought,"

My head rolled back against the duvet, breathing against Roman with small heaves. "Rome," I whimpered. "Fuck, this is--" I didn't expect the feeling, didn't expect the tips of my fingers to burn more as I grasped at his hair, didn't expect the way my whole body reacted-- it was different from anything else I had ever felt or thought I could feel. Being filled up by Roman was...

It was everything.

Everything I had ever dreamed of.

It felt good, it felt right-- I moaned, clenching at the feeling of his cock slowly sinking into me at a steady pace, my body aching with love. This was as gentle as I bet anything like this could possibly be, and I squirmed a bit beneath him, adjusting to the feeling of having his cock inside of me.

Roman let out a shaky breath, containing the urge to pound into my warmth like I supposed he usually would. "Hurts?"

"No, no-- Ah,"

With his next thrust, Roman kissed up my jaw, keeping every stroke careful. "Want me to put it in all the way?"

"The-- There is more?"

"Baby..." he breathed, containing a choked laugh. "I'm only halfway in."

I was sure I was about to faint. How the fuck?-- No, I couldn't think clearly in this state. No more thinking. I decided to trust him; I knew Roman would pull back if it hurt, anyway. "Okay... Let's try,"

As Roman pushed in more of his length, the quiet moan escaping him blended in with my string of panicked whimpers. I didn't even know I had space inside me for more-- my eyes sprung open, my legs giving into a tremble. "Rome, I-- a-ah, this is--"

"Shh, look at me, breathe," Roman brought his hand to my face, guiding me to look into his eyes. His voice was soft, caring; "You okay? Is this too much?"

The shock was the thing that had gotten to me, I was sure of it. Because after a few more deep strokes, a few tighter circles around my clit, my fear eased as I realized this was a sensation I would be chasing for the rest of my life.

"Feels good?" Roman asked, his voice nearly breaking-- I imagined it was hard to not give in to the pleasure of the tight embrace around his cock.

Still, I could only nod, twisting my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him towards me to smother him with a heated rush of my lips against his, moaning into the kiss as I pulled my hand from between my legs-- it was starting to brink the line of overstimulation.

"Good," Roman muttered against my mouth.

The kiss didn't last too long; my shock was still coming and going in waves. "I'm-- we're having sex," I blurted out, my cheeks flaring red. The truth was hitting me like a blow to the head. The thing I had dreamed about since the first day I laid eyes on him was actually happening.

Roman contained a laugh, looking rather endeared by my realization; "Yeah, you're doing it, you're having sex... I'd give you a high five, but-- hah, that wouldn't work,"

Why were we laughing? Why was this... fun?

Caught between the fire in my chest, the twinge of humor, and the ache pulsing low between my legs, I whimpered as I realized I wanted-- no, needed more. Still, a small, meek call of his name was all I managed to stutter out.

Roman shifted, pushing my body so that my knees were bent at his sides; "Speak your mind,"

How was I supposed to conjure a cohesive sentence in this state? "I want-- you, more--"

"We're going-- hah, back to that?"

"Not that! More, Rome-- just, more, I need--"

He let out a breathy moan, smiling back down at me; he knew exactly what I meant. "Thank God," Roman's cock filled me over and over, his thrusts growing harder, faster as he found a steady pace to rock into me. "You're taking me so good, aren't you?"

My head felt like it was spinning. This couldn't be real. I couldn't possibly be as lucky as to finally sleep with Roman Godfrey.

His voice brought me back; "You're doing so well," he murmured, burying his face into the crook of my neck, muffling a quiet moan against my skin. It was the most magical of sounds-- my heart was threatening to beat out of my chest, and I was sure the warmth of skin against mine probably helped with the overheating of my brain. "Doing so, so well for me... I've wanted you like this for so long."

"Me too," I breathed, my hips keening to take his thrusts. "Wanted you-- since forever."

My words only seemed to reel him on; Roman hips snapped harder into me as I whimpered. "Forever?"

"Forever-- a-ah,"

Something in Roman's breathing changed. It was almost as though I could read his thoughts, feel his new reality form. Was it maybe the last push he needed to believe I was his till death? That there was a person out there walking this earth, breathing the same air, that could possibly want to be with him for an eternity? "Forever," he breathed, latching onto my neck with repeated needy kisses in an attempt to drown out the noises threatening to spill past his lips. "You and-- and I, forever."

As Roman's cock repeatedly pushed into me, I could only whimper; the stretch was still something to get used to, and my nails bit into his back as I tried to steady myself. "Forever," I managed to breathe out, hearing him moan into my neck at the sharpness of my nails against his back-- I knew he'd like that. I knew Roman too damn well.

"Forever," he echoed, breath washing warm against my ear as he raised himself, his cheek nuzzling mine in an intimate embrace.

I clenched around the girth of his cock, shivering. This was so unbelievably sweet, nothing I had ever expected from him. Roman was so much taller, and his broad build served as a comforting weight through the wave of new pleasure my body tried to comprehend. With the next surge of love washing over my chest, the next pump of Roman's cock, I felt my chin give in to an involuntary quiver as I gripped him tighter.

It was at this moment that it truly dawned on me;

I loved him.

I loved Roman Godfrey.

Tears swarmed my eyes as one of my hands went up into his soft hair, hoping he'd take it as an urging for him to kiss me again. I didn't want to have a chance to talk, to blurt it out and scare him away-- which is why, when Roman shifted and crashed his lips against mine, I only felt relief.

I was safe. I was cared for. And damn, I felt good.

However, what I hadn't expected, was for the shift of angle to brush past a spot inside of me I had only ever felt when Roman's fingers curled into me. But this was far greater, far more stimulating-- I let out a choked moan against Roman's lips, my eyes springing open as my head tilted back into the duvet, heaving for air as my legs gave in to a tremble.

I didn't have to look up at him to know the exact look on his face, yet I dared to take a peek; he was too hot to resist. And there it was, those parted, perfect lips paired with that dark look in his green eyes of victory. This is exactly what he had wanted to reduce me to all along, wasn't it? Roman's hair had never been this messed up (courtesy of my hands), and the sheer look of it nearly made my heart swell. "Good tears?" he asked with a whisper, scanning the look in my eyes.

Fuck, yeah. I could only nod.

Knowing Roman, I was wondering when he'd-- oh, hello, you. I was waiting for the eventual switch. A man like Roman Godfrey couldn't stay sweet forever.

At the sight of my tears, I knew something new in him ignited. He placed a hand over my mouth, placing more of his weight on me as his other hand pulled me tighter against him, the wet snaps of his cock pushing into me growing louder as I moaned out against his palm. "Listen to this," he purred, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he made me listen to the sound of our union. "This is sex, you're damn right. This is what you'll be craving from me."

God-- I squeezed my eyes shut, the continuous push of the tip of Roman's cock against my sweet spot inside sending my brain into a frenzy.

"I get why you've been reserved... You'll never be who you were before this again," With a grunt, the next snap of his hips only grew harder, knowing I could take it and adjust. It certainly didn't help the tremble of my body. "Gonna get you fucking addicted to this feeling. To me. Cause you've given yourself to me now, do you-- do you realize that?"

My wet lashes fluttered as I slowly dared to open my eyes, my heart thumping harder than ever before. If only he knew how addicted I already was.

"This is it," Roman breathed, the green hues of his gaze engulfing me; "This is us. This is you. This is who you are from now on. My girl... Only mine. Forever. Gonna help you cum on this cock, okay? Gonna give you the first time you deserve, h-hah--"

Something about the look in his eyes unnerved me, despite the hot nature of his words-- What? There were many ways for him to make me cum, surely, but the second my fingers started numbing up, my mind started flaring red with a passage from my most hated book;

The upir's ability to mesmerize is an ancient and powerful form of psychic influence, capable of bending a victim's will. This control often manifests subtly, with suggestions that feel like one's own thoughts. If one is being mesmerized by a upir, it is often accompanied by a stilling of one's inner monologue, or a numbing sensation. Prolonged exposure can lead to disorientation, memory lapses, and a gradual erosion of autonomy. The key to resisting lies in anchoring oneself to reality—through pain, strong emotions, or focusing on a meaningful object. Beware: once under an upir's thrall, distinguishing truth from illusion becomes a perilous challenge.

Beware.

The last time my fingers had numbed up like this, was the time Roman forced me to tell him what had happened between Jasmine and I. It felt like the autonomy of my thoughts evaporated, seeped out of my ears, and disappeared into Roman's grasp.

However, at this moment right now, this moment of blinding pleasure and complete rapture of my soul and love, I wanted nothing more but this. I knew I wasn't being mesmerized of course, because upirs weren't real-- but as Roman kept my face still and my eyes on him, it felt like it. It was almost like I heard him telling me to cum. A few more thrusts were all it took, the complete transfixion of Roman's unnaturally dilated pupils swallowing me as I only saw green, green, green-- his hand quickly left my mouth to hear me cry out, a choked moan escaping me as the fear toppled me. This was an orgasm unlike anything else I had experienced, and I felt myself pulse around Roman's length, practically milking his cock as I struggled to grapple with the most intense climax of my life. "Fuck-- Fuck!" I whimpered, my nails digging further into his back as tears welled in my eyes.

The mere sight of it was enough for Roman to nearly buckle over, and I was ripped out of the trance, heaving for air as he spilled into the condom, teeth grazing my shoulder as he tried to bite back his moans of pleasure, hips keening into my tight warmth.

I slowly slid my hands off Roman's broad back, realizing we had both dripped sweat onto each other's skin as I hoped my breath would soon go back to normal. My body ached in a way it had never ached before, and I winced as Roman eventually pulled out of me with a sigh.

There was a long moment after he rolled off of me where we simply gazed at each other. I watched the heave of his chest, the way his brown hair laid over his dangerous green eyes, and wondered how on earth I had been so lucky as to have him fall for me too.

However, suddenly, amid my awe, a small droplet of blood gathered at Roman's nose. To my surprise, he was completely unbothered. The look in his eyes told me he had an inkling this would happen, and it further confused me.

I leaned forward to wipe away the blood pooling at his upper lip with my thumb. "You're bleeding," I echoed, aware that I was stating the obvious.

Roman's eyes softened; "Are you, though?"

"... What do you mean?"

Shifting, he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer as his other hand slid between my legs, sliding a finger against the wetness of my sex as I squirmed, a short giggle escaping me as I nuzzled up against him. Roman then scanned his finger as I continued to wipe away the stream of blood coming from his nose, watching as it smeared against his cheek. He hummed; "You didn't bleed. At least that's good?"

"I guess?"

Roman kissed my bloodied thumb, a shaky breath escaping him at the taste of the iron; "How was that for you? You okay?"

If only he knew. "You were great," I purred, nipping at his jaw. "It was lovely, Rome."

He let out a breath; "Thank fuck," Roman murmured, visibly relieved. "And you were really damn sweet. I knew those fuck-me eyes would be the death of me... Sorry if it got a little intense at the end, there."

"No, no, that was-- fuck, that was so hot,"

Roman smiled. My sweet boy. Another kiss; "But now, there's one thing I wanted to do." He propped himself up on his elbow, and I closed my eyes as he made sure I laid with my back against the bed-- I was too tired to focus. The ache between my legs refused to subside, making me worried about the state of my thighs tomorrow. They better not fucking cramp up with every step, similar to the day after a hard session at the gym.

And just as I was about to ask him to return to me, to stop doing whatever the fuck he was doing, I suddenly felt a warm, slick substance drip onto my lower abdomen. With a gasp, I snapped out of my drowsiness, only to be met with the sight of Roman holding the condom above my stomach with a devilish grin, letting the content pour down on me.

He chuckled at the sight of my widened eyes, my speechless state-- "Didn't manage to cum here, as I said... so this will do,"

"Roman, for fuck's sake!"

"What? You look good with my cum all over!--"

"Roman!"

"Fine!" he huffed. "Gonna go grab some wipes, I'll be right back. Anything else you need? Water?"

I wondered whether Roman realized how sweet he was being-- I glanced over at the candle flickering in the moonlight, the vial of my blood lying neatly next to it. The sight made my heart swell; God, how I loved him. It killed me that he couldn't know. I knew he'd run in the other direction if he did. "Water would be nice," I breathed, watching as Roman got dressed again.

It all hit me like a wave, now;

The first time I got my heart broken, I had been at fault.

The first time I got a black eye, I had swung the first punch.

But the first time I had sex? It had thankfully been with the man I loved. Still, I was sure the cosmic imbalance would catch up to me again and drag me back down into the dirt soon enough.

But not right now.

Not right now.

Here, I was safe with Roman. The universe couldn't get me now, no-- not with the equivalent of the moon lying next to me. He had returned to me in no time, holding me close in his nearly immediate slumber after having lent me a shirt of his to sleep in. The cosmos wouldn't dare to touch me now.

I adjusted the cover on top of us, kissing Roman's forehead; "Are you sleeping?" I whispered, poking his cheek with the gentlest of touches.

No response. Phew.

And just as I started to fade into sleep as well, I ran my thumb across the softness of his cheek. I connected our foreheads with a content sigh before I pressed my lips against his in a loving kiss. Roman looked so peaceful-- the universe wouldn't dare to take me now, wouldn't dare to wake him up.

"I love you," I whispered like I would be put to death if I awoke him. With one last glance at the candle, my heavy lids fluttered as my heart cried;

"I love you,"

(a/n: thank you SO MUCH for reading this monster of a chapter!!<33 if you've made it all the way down here, here are all the other chapters if you're interested!!<33 MWAH)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10

tagging those that seemed interested!!<333

@mentallyscreamingsincebirth @putherup @corawithfanfiction @vladsgirlxx

@iamaslytherin0 @sexualparkour @the-universe-is-complicated @heavenly-bratt

@lafemme-nk @namiusedbubble @useyourwandbro @strmborns @literally-lani

@virgosapphire79 @star-girl-04 @veyzus @ddipotassium @pecxiebu

@mil88691 @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @katifefe @sn0wybowie-blog

@lilithskywalker @likecherriesinthespring @sadheartjellyfish @vadersangel

@shehangsbrightly @burningmiraclekingdom @dollforaswan @austinswhitewolf

@nico-velvet @shiiiii-okayyyy

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #bill skarsgard #fluff #angst #fanfic #highschool!au #hemlock grove fanfiction #THIS WAS SO LONG #I'M SORRY #AND I WANTED IT TO BE AWKWARD I'M SORRY #ARRRGHHH

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daydream-wordflow · 2 months ago

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Dear Liam,

never in a million years did I think this was how it was going to end, but here I am saying goodbye.

I must admit that when I saw Zayn's name on the shared statement, it affected me in ways that I wasn't expecting. This whole situation has affected me in ways that I wasn't expecting.

One Direction entered my life when I was 12 years old. You were five ordinary boys, with a great voice, but not so good dancing skills, that sang their way into my heart. It was so admirable, even when you were performing for 65,000 people, to watch you sing around the world while being your goofy, gentle, true selves. It felt like you were having the time of your lives.

Looking back on it, I can't stop wondering if it was too much. I can't stop thinking that maybe I would rather never have known about the existence of One Direction than be going through this now.

I was sad when Zayn left and I was wretched when the band went on hiatus, but deep down, there was still hope. Now I am devastated and heartbroken, and I only knew a small part of you.

One Direction will never be the same without you, I hope you were aware.

I never had the chance to watch you perform live, although all the youtube videos and documentaries made me feel like I had. When the time comes, instead of singing with you, we will sing for you.

I listened to 1D songs, and also all your solo albums, during various periods of my life. Somehow, they always said what I needed to hear. It wasn't just a phase. It cheered me up during some of the hardest moments of my life and it made me company during some of the best. Every time I was anxious or afraid, I would sing a song from my favourite artists to calm myself down. I listened to your songs on my way to school, during a long car drive, on my way to college, while I did house chores, it was the soundtrack while I wrote my master thesis and it accompanied me on my first day to work.

Right now, they are helping me grieve. And it won't stop here. I will have the time of my life dancing to some of them on my wedding day, I will sing them to my children and have dance parties with my grandchildren. It's forever.

I am truly sorry that this is how things ended. I am sorry we couldn't save you. It is so unfair. I know that if you were given the chance, you would have done things differently. You deserved all the good things in the world. You deserved so much more.

I can't even imagine what your loved ones, your family, your friends and the boys are going through right now. I hope that, one day, your son will smile when he thinks about his father, knowing that he touched so many hearts and saved so many lives. That he was talented, enough and loved just by the way he was.

This is not how it was supposed to go, but thank you for bringing the guys together one last time. Thank you for bringing us together. It has been healing to see that so many people loved you and cared about you.

Thank you for the songs. Thank you for my teenage years. Thank you for the smiles. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your laugh. Thank you for your words. Thank you for the love. Thank you.

"I want to write you a song, One to make your heart remember me, So any time I'm gone, You can listen to my voice and sing along."

I promise to remember you.

Always and forever.

Lisbon, 27th october 2024

#one direction #liam payne #harry styles #louis tomlinson #niall horan #zayn malik

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adnauseum11 · 10 months ago

Text

Listening Post (John Price x Reader)

John goes M.I.A, and all is not as it seems at first.

900 words

CW: swearing

feedback welcome!

You’re starting to get worried. It’s out of character for John to ignore you. Even when he was still on active duty, he would tell you if he was going to be in the field. He’d never compromise himself with any details but he’d at least let you know he was away. And he always let you know when he was back on grid, his simple ‘back here’ text enough to reassure you that he had made it home once again. You stand in your kitchen, gnawing a thumbnail and obsessively looking at your phone.

He wasn’t in the field any more, and he shouldn't be away, you had plans to do Trivia Thursday night this week at the pub. He would have told you if he had left town. If you weren’t dating the wretched man, you would send him a text about being a miserable bastard and try him again the next day to see if his mood had improved.

You scroll back in your texts, checking the timestamps. He’s never let a text go unanswered all day before. What kind of trouble could an ex-SAS Captain possibly get in to? He can take care of himself. Surely, he’s fine. He’s been in his share of fights. If the cops had picked him up for something, you would have got wind of it, you’re certain. You’re trying to convince yourself to remain calm, annoyingly something that’s normally John’s job between the two of you.

You realize you’re going to spend the evening standing in the kitchen, agonizing in silence, so you resolve to sort the situation out one way or another. You pull on your jacket, thumbing through your phone to a ride share app. You find yourself in front of John’s flat less than 20 minutes later. His car is there, and instead of making you feel better you get a sinking sensation in your stomach. At least if he was away, you could tell yourself he was busy. Now it looks like he’s just dodging you.

You let yourself in using the key he gave you years ago, knocking gently and calling for him. Nothing. No signs of life in the kitchen or living room. His neat flat looks immaculate. You’re heading down the hall when you hear low groaning. A flame of anger licks at your belly and you have to keep yourself from stomping the rest of the way down the hall.

If he’s cheating on you before you’ve even had sex, you’re going to string him up by his balls. If you have to pay to find someone who knows how to do that, you will. It will be worth it –

By the time you clear the doorway, you’ve convinced yourself of what you’re going to find. Even brace for it, your face screwed up into a wince. So, when it’s just John, sweating buckets and groaning in pain in the middle of his bed it takes you a full ten seconds to reboot your brain.

“What’s wrong?” You’re leaning over him, not bothering with pleasantries or admonishments now, running your hands over his face and chest with anxious movements. You’re instinctively looking for a wound of some sort before you can process your own actions. He squints at you, grabbing your hands and covering his eyes with your palms, curling towards you.

“My fucking head. Holy shit.” His voice is like gravel, and you wonder how long he’s been like this if he’s openly admitting to what ails him. You’re crawling into the bed, moving on autopilot despite never having seen him like this. John’s misery does not like company, thanks very much. But it seems those old rules of engagement for you both are shifting. You’re pillowing his head on your thighs, curling over him protectively and making sympathetic noises softly. As relieved as you are he’s not up to anything nefarious, guilt at it being a thought at all is hot on its heels.

“A migraine?”

He confirms with the tiniest tilt of his head, pressing his cheek into your thigh while you gently cup his forehead. He’s burning hot, sweaty to the touch. You’re stroking a palm over his hair slowly, easing him off your lap so you can run around his flat, gathering anything you can think of that might help - ice water in a bowl with a facecloth, a bottle of water, fruit from the bowl in his kitchen. He’s groaning again by the time you get back and arrange everything on his bedside table.

You spend the rest of the night playing nurse, finally able to get more information out of the miserable man on what might make him feel better. The cool cloth helps, as does the darkness and gently stroking his scalp. You’re able to get him to lightly doze after a few hours of concentrated efforts. Grateful for the small stash of clothes and essentials John insisted you bring over a few days prior, you keep one eye on your sleeping patient while you change into pajamas. The thought of leaving him alone like this makes your stomach drop and your skin crawl, as does the slow realization he’s likely been dealing with these episodes alone for some time.

You manage to crawl back into bed without disturbing him, resuming your slow stroking passes over his scalp. Your insides are wobbling dangerously, like you might fall into a heaving cry at any moment. You’re supremely grateful when exhaustion takes over, silencing any and all thoughts.

Next Chapter

#fanfic #john price x f!reader #john price x reader #call of duty #captain john price #john price cod #john price #friends to lovers

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vagabond-umlaut · 3 months ago

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la douleur exquise

(noun) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable

———————

gojo satoru x fem!reader; 18+ content so mdni; former teacher gojo x former student reader; angst & smut; heavily-implied satosugu angst; semi-public sex [car sex] with WAY TOO MANY feelings; unrequited love; hurt/no comfort; age gap [characters are adults older than the age of consent]; no one's rly happy or lucky in love in the story...

header is from pinterest. jjk isn't mine. pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this. hope y'all enjoy reading this ❤️❤️

———————

"Grant that one request of mine and I promise to be fine with whatever you say, Gojo-san."

You're lying. Gojo can see you're lying. Yet he says nothing of that.

He lets his eyes roam over your earnest face from beside. So young. So sweet. So caring.

A shudder racks through Gojo, betraying the toasty temperature in the car. He steers his gaze away from you to focus on the snow-covered highway before. These terrains are awfully known for the lives they have devoured, after all.

Although… the sorcerer wonders if it might be better to be consumed by the precipice to his right, than by the chasm of your coy words.

He manages to eke out a chuckle.

"You're tired after the mission," Gojo says, mouth twisting into a well-practised smile of ease, "Once I drop you home, go straight to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

"And what if there's no tomorrow?"

The steering wheel goes slack for a beat in his grasp, before his firm hold returns. If not worried, he chances a definitely curious glance at you. A serene smile greets him. His smile fights to fray. "Too desperate," he teases, voice airy and free of the weight thrashing against his ribs, "Yet that wasn't the worst way I've been forced to give an answer… I'll give you an eight out of ten, I think."

"Aw no." His grading receives a pout. "Is there no way I can increase it to ten?"

You've no knowledge of lip care, is the first thing Gojo realises.

The second thing, he doesn't know how to deal with you without hurting you.

It would have been infinitely better if Nanami was here, he thinks to himself. A foot presses a tad too hard on the accelerator. Shoko too would have known how to navigate this. Hell, Utahime too would have evaded this situation just fine.

But no. It has to be him. Trapped here. With no escape route in sight. Just two eyes, bright with innocence, dull with gravity, gazing at him. Perhaps even into the depths of his soul. An invisible sharp knife twisting in the back of his skull, Gojo sighs—but finds himself an instant too late.

You answer the question you meant for him.

"You'll never give me a ten," you state simply. No frown. No tears. Nothing.

The man nods, an eye trained on the road. An eye on you. "No, I won't."

"Is it because I'm not him?"

Gojo hits the brakes, the car skidding a foot or two before reaching a stop. Teetering too, too close to the edge of the road- the sorcerer finds himself uncaring of the fact, however. You simply look out the window before redirecting your attention to him. A wry smile clashes with the grim line on his mouth. With the maelstrom of emotions ravaging his insides to shreds. For the first time the evening, he lets go of his faux cheer.

"Stop this little game you're playing," he breathes out, knuckles growing white on the wheel. Memories searing the landscape of his mind. Black eyes. Black hair. Red blood. Oh god, so fucking much of that damned red blood. On the walls. On the road. On his clothes-

He nearly chokes on a gasp, struggling to form syllables. "You don't know what… it's better… you better not speak on this ever again."

"Just so I can watch you slowly fade away?"

A yell, a scream, a roar- anything, everything, something swells within him. Whetted by your soft query. Fuelled by his white-hot fury. Incensed by his overwhelming guilt. Growing, growing, growing-

Until nothing remains.

Having withered away in the wake of the gleam in your irises. A wretched gleam he has seen himself wear far too many times for his liking. A wretched gleam, he is seeing, kept for him but not by the person he fervently wished it to be from once.

Gojo slowly removes his hands from the wheel. And twists towards you. Feeling terrified-out of the blue, for no particular reason. His words come out as no more than a few faint puffs of air, stern yet pleading. "You can never make me forget him. He is a part of me, always has been-you can never separate us. You…"

Sorrow swallows the rest of his sentence. He offers you one last look. Warning. Entreating. Hoping.

Only for you to disregard it with a giggle of yours. It sounds worse than the worst noise in the world to him. Blissfully ignorant, you watch him, he watches. Your timid smile, unruffled.

"I know I can never do that, Gojo-san," you say, "First loves are the most difficult to move on from… Trust me, I know. However, it'll never do you good to dwell in the past forever. Let yourself be stolen away to the present for a while- please?"

No. No. Never.

Gojo feels a new wave of old emotions crash on the sands of his conscience. Knowing he should reject you. The same way he has rejected every person who approached him before. After him. For there's only one person who may steal him away. No one else, he can allow to.

Yet he finds himself unable to tell you so.

Chest heavy, mind heavy, tongue heavy. The sorcerer finds himself rendered utterly useless in front of your request. Sitting with you in the stifling silence of the car. Staring at the specks of dried blood on your cheeks, glowing in the moonlight. Zeroing in on that gleam in your gaze.

Something horridly bitter like pity, horridly salty like fatigue bombards his senses.

The strongest sorcerer concedes defeat.

"Your place or mine?" he asks.

****

Gojo makes it to neither.

Not that you're too surprised.

Self-control is nothing to a deity, mortal or not. Nothing to his devout follower too, pining or not.

Though now you wish you knew some of that damned quality.

Maybe then you would have been lying on your bed. And not on the backseat of his car. Maybe then your gaze would have been dancing across the familiar old walls of your room. And not drowning in the sky above the open moon-roof. Maybe then you would have bitten your lip and drawn blood. And not asked your ex-mentor to fuck you.

Like the shameless slut you know you aren't, but your request says otherwise.

But the moans you're stifling beg to say otherwise.

A particularly harsh snap of hips against yours makes you yelp. In a blinding burst of pain. Plus pleasure. Perhaps. You don't really know. After your third climax, everything's become pretty hazy. Much like the secluded forest outside the fogged windows. Much like the blur of lust and irritation in those beautiful, eerie, bewitching blue eyes atop.

The grip on your two wrists over your head tightens. You hold back a hiss. Three rules are all the man asked you to follow- no kissing, no noises and no more such 'requests'- you think you would much rather be damned than break any of them. Or pop this bubble you two have slipped into.

A bubble, too desired by you. Too precious for you. Though you wish heard something other than sultry squelches and subdued groans. Smelt something other than expensive cologne and sweat. Tasted something other than tears. And copper.

Did you bite your cheek too hard? Or is it just an injury from the mission?

You don't really know. Like said before: everything's become pretty hazy.

A long finger taps the side of your face. Tap, tap, tap. You see a bright smile flit over the face in those ocean mirrors. Wow, you're a natural at acting, eh? Gojo huffs. His movements stutter once, then again. A jolt of electricity runs through you.

"You still here or not, girl?"

"'m still here, Gojo-san," you murmur, spent and shy. Another sloppy thrust. As toe-curling as ever. Your voice quivers. "I- ah, fuck- I'm s-still here."

"Good, good," he says. It's absent and strained. Very, very strained, in fact. Your brows pucker for two seconds before lifting in realisation. And you gasp. Tears rush down your face in steady rivulets. The tightness ascends a steep curve in your lower belly. Neither seems important to you, however.

Nothing does, except the man with whom this night of yours is ending a bit too soon. Way too soon.

You wish you knew how to freeze this moment. You wish this moment never began in the first place.

A calloused thumb messes the wet stains on your cheek. Paired by a frown for you. Concerned, yes. But conflicted, all the same. Gojo looks as beautiful as the day you first saw him, six years ago on the grounds of Tokyo Jujutsu High. He thumbs your lower lip, inquiring, "Wanna do this again?"

No.

Please, no.

His heart is not in it. His heart will never be in it.

You should refuse. You're strong enough. You can, you will live with the pain. You should refuse.

You Should Refuse-

"Yes, please." The words escape you, mixed with a mewl and a moan. Something flickers in Gojo's expression. Before it's disappeared, replaced by a pretty flood of pink. He cracks a smile, neither crinkling his eyes nor dimpling his cheeks. It hurts. But you don't let your attention waver from his lips as he croons, "You make the cutest noises, y'know?"

"Really?" you want to ask. But you don't.

Rather, you can't.

Your beloved deity is already, finally kissing his adoring believer.

———————

masterlist

———————

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #kit posts 📝

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the-insomniac-emporium · 8 months ago

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Liminal (RL!Mia Winters x MC/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil 8/Resident Lover Genre: Fluff and angst and fluff and angst Rating: Idk T? for blood. kind of. Warnings: Major character death, major spoilers (mainly implied) for Resident Lover, minor violence (not in detail) Summary: Mia's memories layer over each other, nineteen lives and hundreds of different loops, confusing and muddling her perception of the present. There is only one constant: Love. Notes: Less of a series of scenes and more like a lot of musing, with a tiny, tiny "scene" at the end. Most of the Mia/MC vibes are implied (referenced past fwb situation, but it's implied that they had feelings beyond that). References to the MC dating a few of the other characters because loops.

She doesn’t intentionally seek the memories out, doesn’t chase the heart-killer of nostalgia, the wretched thing hiding rot behind a shiny facade. But neither does she spend any effort to avoid the trappings of the past. When the moments come, when deja vu greets her, Mia only ever lets it wash over her. Peacefully. Hauntingly. After this many lives, it is the easiest lesson to heed.

Sometimes the memories come with a smile, a soft exhale that flows into a snicker. The first time she watches you on stage, pouring your heart out as Romeo, she can’t help but remember having to help you cram for your Language Arts final. Recalls the way your lips pouted after a particularly exasperated sigh; she can trace the mental image of the way those lips curled back into a smile at one of her dumb jokes. It’s the joke itself she can’t remember. A jab at Shakespeare, probably, the man an easy choice of target.

There’s a moment (it repeats, by God it repeats, a dozen times over the loops, every instance layered on top of the last) where she sits next to you on a couch meant for three. Instinct makes her legs twitch, yearning to prop her feet up on your lap, not letting anybody sit between you. Instead, she suppresses a smile, and watches as one of your roommates all but sits on top of you. It doesn’t matter which one; in Mia’s eyes, they’re both better than Miranda, if only in this moment, for this purpose.

Other memories make her breath hitch in her throat, words stuck to the sides of her mouth like cotton, another stone to sink in her stomach. These are the ones that blend together the most, twisting further with every loop, muddling her perception of which life she’s in. Most come by accident, echoing the way she’s met you before. A bump in the hallway, papers scattering, both crouching down to pick everything up. Sudden rainfall making you scramble to share an umbrella, going back and forth between who gets most of the cover. Teaming up to take down the reigning asshole at whatever drinking game the campus is currently obsessed with.

“You look familiar- have we met before?” You’ll ask, once in a blue moon of a loop, except this time it’s more than reuniting with a childhood friend. This time it’s reaching out to pluck the heartstrings of your soulmate. One of your soulmates, that is. Mia’s response only ever comes with unearned confidence, mirth dancing on her tongue, deflecting, deflecting, denying- a hint of flirting, maybe, when she can afford it. Getting you to blush had been a favorite pastime of hers, once, twice, many times. Even if it never extended into anything more official than sharing a bed.

Seeing you at parties makes her feel like so little has changed. Always the same drink of choice, always too readily egged on by friends. If she squinted, it would be easy to put herself in Daniela’s place at your side, and so Mia never lets her gaze linger for too long. When the cups get too deep for you, it’s far too easy to stop herself from intervening. She never did before. Even when she should have. Those are the timelines where Angie does more for you than Mia’s past self could ever dream of.

It almost makes up for the time she finds your body crumpled in front of the doll’s car, crimson splashed across the bumper. She stares, only for a moment, wondering when she stopped feeling anything at the sight of your corpse. Then she catches a glimpse of three familiar fanatics in the crowd, makes note of the way their horror differs from those around them. Figures their attempts at keeping you out of the spotlight would go too far, eventually. Figures that the real nostalgia greets her fingers as they wrap around the handle of her knife. Revenge was an old friend- just one rarely visited these days.

Hard for her to thrive on revenge when she’s got the bloodiest hands of them all. Strange how the feelings shifted over time, guilt warping into freeing comfort. The first time she killed you, the first time she brought on a new loop across a knife’s edge, she almost threw up. Stared at the deep cuts and lost herself in the memory of finding Miranda cradling your lifeless body, the end of your past incarnation. It made her stomach churn, made her heart drop, and fully solidified her need to make sure the loop would meet a perfect end (the only way to guarantee you’d never meet that fate again).

By now, the blood flows freely, remorse a trinket left forgotten on dusty shelves. It’s for the best. Better her than someone else, better for her to soak your bond in blood than to let it rot in the open. Ending the loop fills her with relief, with joy, as she invokes her promise to give you not just a happy ending, but the right one. She loses track of how many times she’s knocked you down or out, how many loops she’s filled with blood, how many times she��s allowed you the comfort of bleeding out in her arms.

Ironic, then, that you never accuse her of murdering you, only someone far less important. More ironic yet that the finger of blame forces her to recall the life that bound your souls together. But that memory doesn’t perfectly layer over the present, when she’s not burning by your side, dying with your name on her lips. The way you look at her almost makes her miss the flames (the next moment she focuses on has your hands touch in passing, knuckles brushing up against each other, and she feels an entirely different kind of fire).

There are times where she wonders how much you remember. Not consciously, not truly, but which memories are etched into your soul itself. Now those are the moments that test her resolve, that tempt her to chain herself to pursuing the past the same way that Miranda does. All it takes to make her heart stop is for you to tilt your head to the side, eyes not quite narrowed, a sly smile paired with a twinkle in your eye. Something about that expression always lets her know you’re on the verge of remembering something. Half of the time you’ll follow it up with a carefully worded question, never sure if Mia feels the same deja vu that you do.

Your timing isn’t always perfect; she can’t blame you, not with the way her memories layer over each other, fighting to see which controls her present.

One hand in her pocket, clutching her switchblade, the other placed gently on your shoulder. Now that the election is over (again. how many times have you won? why do you never walk away, even when Bela begs you?), she needs to remove you. But your eyes light up as soon as she touches you. Head tilt? Check. Sly smile? Check. You should be scared by the way she’s looking at you, by the way she has you cornered on the balcony, but somehow your mind has skipped past the familiar danger and right into the familiar flirting. Aren’t you supposed to be in love with Bela this time around?

“Care to dance?” You ask, offering your hand. How long has it been since the two of you danced?... Not since Miranda refused to go with you, a lifetime or two or five ago, long before the loop. Mia had been the one to ask you then. Her expression now must mirror what yours had been that day. Surprise, amusement, and adoration. Of course she agrees.

By the time Bela interrupts, the way she does in too many loops, Mia is grateful. It had been hard enough to avoid kissing you in that past life, it was almost impossible now. Still, the Dimitrescu stands frozen for a moment, her own layered memories not finding any match for the sight. She’s supposed to be tackling Mia, knocking her off the balcony, body breaking in the bushes below. Neither of them move, trying to calculate a route to familiar endings.

Mia misjudges her decision, ruins the feelings, guarantees that you’ll harbor a hesitance to dance with her for all loops and lives to follow. She holds your hand, she holds her knife. She holds your hand, she takes your life. For once, Bela is the one who’s two steps behind, her shove coming too late, even if it still carries Mia off of the ledge.

Death never takes either of you for terribly long. Miranda pulls back the fog of limbo, breaks the rules, makes the void spit you both back out, resetting the loop. One wakes up with memories of everything, the other with only impressions. Lingering pieces of nineteen strange dreams, and a hundred futures cycling over one another with interlocking grooves, the only set pattern being love and love and wretched, bloody love. Mia doesn’t chase the nostalgia, doesn’t seek out the ways she knows will lead to love, to the familiar warmth of your heart next to hers. Why would she? All roads lead back to you.

#it's messy it's lovable it's conceptual #but at least I finished it #mia winters x reader #mia winters x mc #mia x mc #resident lover #resident lover spoilers #mia winters #reader insert #there are a lot of tidbits that didn't make it in because they didn't match the vibes of memories well enough #but good insp for future stuff

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weirdmarioenemies · 6 months ago

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Name: Crazy Cars

Debut: WarioWare, Inc.: Mega Microgame$!

I hate cars. Wretched contraptions! Wretched infrastructure! Far too dangerous for any average schmuck to have total control over. Thankfully, WarioWare has asked the question of "what if cars were sillyfunny instead? What if they were goofy? And what if they were trying to kill Wario and nobody else?". And they made a bunch of wacky cars! And now I will share them with you, using the updated sprites from Gold! Sorry it the wheel placements are a few pixels off. It's ok.

Shark Car is the main character of the funny cars! You've heard of shark faces painted onto warplanes to make them more intimidating (which is hilarious. If that intimidates someone then they would be fooled by a moth's eyespots) but this car is an entire shark, upon some wheels! A speeding car would be a very bad thing to be struck by, and potentially even worse if that car is a shark. Imagine such a high speed chomp! Jeepers! But also imagine it hits you with its nose and gets a little disoriented after you get sent flying. It was having so much fun driving its self!

Next is Hot Dog Car! Or maybe a different kind of sausage, because it's so girthy. What's so funny? Stop laughing! I didn't mean it like that! I would never say "penis" in one of these posts. This Fast Frank is very endearing to me for how it looks like a novelty car for a hot dog vendor to drive! You just know a hot dog vendor in Bikini Bottom would drive one of these babies.

My favorite of the original trio! Potato Car! This is the tallest of the three, but also the shortest in a width sense. For whatever reason, some cars get regular green wheels, while others get yellow wheels that squash and stretch like a cartoon. Potato is always a splendid and funny thing to see in any situation, including barreling down the road to kill you! Shark, Hot Dog, and Potato are an interesting trio. Shark and Hot Dog are both made of meat. Hot Dog and Potato are both basic foods. Shark and Potato both have a bunch of little dots (potato eyes, and ampullae of Lorenzini). And what do all three have in common? Wheels!

WarioWare Gold added three NEW funny cars! The first is Lightbulb, which is honestly the least interesting to me, so instead I will use this paragraph to say that the funny cars can be Tricky. Sometimes instead of just driving, they will jump! It is very hard to react to. But sometimes, the usual "Dodge!" prompt will be replaced with "Dodge?" and the car will suddenly stop, and then either reverse or stay still for the remainder of the time. I hope that if you thought these funny cars were simply being pushed from offscreen, you now believe that they have free will.

Teapot Car has a trick up its spout...! Sometimes, it will stop, but rather than reversing, its lid will open, and spit out a smaller teapot car! The previously discussed cars have all had tiny versions that can spawn, but Teapot Car is the only one that releases its baby into the world before our eyes. Maybe the others come out of funny car birth canals off screen. Tiny cars will just bounce of Wario if they touch him, giving this microgame quite a few unloseable variants! I don't care about the challenge, though, I care about the funny cars! And I've saved the best for last!

This is not just "Door Car". This one has been given a name, as it appears in the Wario Kard minigame as an opponent. This is Door to Nowhere! A door is already a pretty silly thing to be hurtling toward you dangerously. Just move to the side a bit. But are you forgetting about Door's Special Attack? Door can open! And this door can stop rolling, but then open, and release another car out of itself! I really love the concept of portable cartoon passages like this. I don't see it often, and the only other one that comes to mind is the portable hole teleport feature from ToonTown, but it is so whimsical!

That is all for this post! Good bye! *enters a door that then drives away*

#crazy cars #wario #warioware #warioware inc mega microgames #mario #wario entities #mod chikako

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seonghw4ffles · 5 months ago

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sunk cost fallacy

"im reeling in my brain again, before it can get back to you."

playing ricky montgomery ...

seonghwa x fem!reader

< chapter one > chapter two (?)

genre: 4am rant, angst, second chance, ex, seonghwa mc

w/c: 2.6k

summary: he ran for you like a fool when you called him saying your car broke down after fifteen months of no contact

tw: quite poorly written (its pretty much my vents into a fic), reader METAPHORICALLY referred to as "small," no happy ending (unless this gets attention), minor swearing, just sad, thats it though

note: the indented are memories. hi guys im back from school camp hehhee!!! i have never seen angst being on the s/o's side, its always carried on the y/n which frustrates me... might delete this cus i havent proofread,, yeah i might make a pt2 of hea if anyone cares 😭

"oh what am i supposed to do, without you?"

THURSDAY 04:17

seonghwa had no intent of anything, when he was unable to sleep.

seonghwa had no intent of anything, when he minimised himself across his bed.

his mind is a merry go round, already worn out. he doesn't know if these feelings in the air are beautiful or wretched.

seonghwa had no intent of anything, before his phone rings to a call.

he looks over and reads your name across the phone screen. it was almost a reflex when he instantly straightened himself, grabbed his phone and answered.

"y/n? hello?"

“hey, seo- seonghwa…” you shudder as you say his name. “could you help me?”

oh how he missed your voice. yet, his full name sounds strange under your lips.

and only after a moment of communication on the phone, he grabs his keys off the nightstand.

˖ ࣪⭑

"sorry. i couldn't afford a tow truck," you speak through the call.

"no, don't apologise. i'm coming for you."

he's already driving through the dark, apathetic to his dishevelled state. as well as the speed limit.

you’re trapped on the side of the road with a broken down car. you happened to be without any other choice but to call him. and honestly, thank the fates that this was the situation.

“are you okay? its so loud, are you driving safely?” you say, hearing influx of seonghwa’s very own car horns.

“yeah. don’t worry. just a whole lot of mindless drivers,” he replies. people who couldn’t drive should get off the road.

as he speaks, he notices how exhausted his voice sounds, as though he hasn’t spoke in so long. but one couldn’t really get a chance to talk if there was never anyone to talk to.

more horns fill the air.

seonghwas hunches forward. he is on the brink of smashing the pedal, just to distract himself from his own overwhelming mind. the drive is so damn slow.

as he steps back, he cries, realising all is gone. "what about my friends? my parents? they all hate you. fuck it, they hate me too. im sorry. i just can't."

somebody blocks his way, and he punches the steering wheel. well, it’s more because of the memories that begin to trespass his head, however it is impossible for him to care less.

he hates himself for the way he took your vast, beautiful hope for granted during then. for how he was so dense, so scared to let his love take over his fear. and now that everything all had dissolved, he wishes he did something differently. so that perhaps the current state wouldn’t be so.

and so perhaps you wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of nowhere but a road, all alone, in the night. for hours.

you’re in trouble. and he is obliged to save you, be your hero, the way he used to, and the way he was always supposed to.

“are you alright? are you cold? do you have a jacket?” he asks through the phone, almost at your location.

he waits for a response, but he's only met with silence.

"y/n? hello? y/n??"

and there was still no answer.

his heart rate drastically increases. he's really smashing the pedal now.

"y/n,, answer me? please?? hello???" he shakes.

a hundred, a hundred and ten, a hundred and thirty.

he's so scared.

he's yelling over the phone at this point, but you're still not responding.

"Y/N!! FUCK," he yells, almost to tears, vigorously pushing his back against the seat as he continues the drive.

and when seonghwa sees your familiar vehicle in the far distance from his windscreen, he swerves his steering wheel to turn to the side. he doesn't care if he's too far to stop. he roughly slams his hand to the gear for adjustment and swiftly releases his seatbelt, stepping out of the door and slamming it behind him. he leaves his car resting diagonally out of the highway, half onto the grass, because he really doesn’t care about anything else right now.

he runs desperately towards you in the soft moonlight.

it was windy and cold while he’s wearing nothing but a thin shirt and trousers, when he appeared outside your car door, finally laying his eyes through the window.

his heart stops for a little bit, seeing you for the first time in what felt like ages.

he finds that you're asleep, and he's so relieved that you're safe. yet what currently alters him more is your mere presence right upon him. you look so fragile and so small, your knees huddled to your chest, and his stomach twists. you're prettier than he could ever remember.

and he misses you so, so much.

he gently knocks against your glass window.

and you gradually open your eyes to his panting, his wide eyed gaze, and the wind in his hair.

"y/n?"

he steps back as he watches your beautiful figure exit the car. you are thankfully wearing a thin jacket.

the moment you shut your car door, he walks over to you and engulfs you under a tight embrace.

oh how it felt for him, to hug you like this again.

"seonghwa."

he immediately noticed how you tensed up when he pulled your frame into his body, and he softly released you.

his heart breaks a little bit. he's so ashamed of his thoughtless actions.

he looks down at you, his heart twisting as he realised he was undeserving of your comfort, and takes a step back.

"my bad," he mutters under his breath, covering his face to accept the fact that he just messed up the moment he got to see you.

"no, don't worry. it's alright," you reply, smiling in a way which looks so obviously forced.

he doesn’t know what to say, as there was no excuse for the way he treated you. all he could do is look at you, noticing every little crack in your demeanour.

he guides you back to his car.

when you fell back into the structure of the road with him, the air was empty and silent.

you were unsettled of the vast tension.

"how are you doing?" you manage to say out loud, but even you flinch at your own words. a such normal phrase sounds so drastically different than it did before.

doing? how does he answer that question if he had done nothing for the past fifteen months and four days, supposedly since the day of when his love of his life had disappeared?

"i'm doing good. how about you?"

he swallows hard as he sees your lifeless expression through the corner of his eye.

he had always seen you uplifting and cheerful, yet right now he couldn’t fathom how you’re the same person. you appear so worn.

"i'm great. just a bit tired tonight."

he stares endlessly at the many lights flashing from his windscreen.

one could say it was awkward, but he is too dismantled to conclude this precious moment like that. he's happy enough that he gets to see you again, although he knows he shouldn't. but he hopes you feel the same too.

"how long were you there for?" seonghwa asks for an attempt to keep the conversation.

"well, since twelve."

he almost crashes to the car in front.

"what? are you alright?" he says. "the hell were you doing for four hours?"

"sorry. i mean.."

"no, why are you apologising? i'm just.. why are you-"

your instinct to apologise hits him greatly. seonghwa knew he was the reason for your anxiety, and he despises himself. he turns to you, and for a second, he sees all that he put you through.

"i should've listened to my friends," seonghwa tells you, broken in state. "you've done nothing but cause me stress."

he wants to throw up.

"what were you doing for four hours?? why did you have to wait four hours to call someone???" he asks with great worry.

"it was dark, and there was nobody i could contact. i called all my friends, and none responded. i assumed they were asleep."

although he is happier to find you again, it still hurts that his wound is severely reopened by this moment beside you alone. it hurts that he couldn't even blame your search for him.

"i initially planned to wait until the next morning, but i lost patience. i called you, and you picked up almost instantly," you conclude.

after when you said the last sentence, he suddenly felt like you knew him too well.

perhaps you also knew that the sole reason he never falls asleep was because of you. because he is waiting for you. because he still loves you so much, he couldn't sleep bearing the thought of his feelings unrequited.

"you're safe now," he says.

you tighten, bringing your arms closer to yourself. "thank you so much. for this. seriously. i know i'm probably not the person you wanted to see."

"don't be sorry. please don't. i'm happy to see you again."

the moment was now quiet, but calming to the ears.

he felt lucky he didn't give up on the sunrise too soon. if fifteen dreadful months led to having an hour with you, he's more than grateful.

he wonders if you feel the same. that you're happy too.

he wanted to convince himself that maybe you lied when you said you couldn’t afford a tow truck. that maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see him again.

"are you hungry?" he asks to fill the air. you must be.

"no," you reply.

"lets stop to eat."

"no, it's okay. i'm not hungry."

"you lie too much. you've been stuck in some damn car for half a lifetime. we're eating, yeah?" he says, and there's no stopping him.

truthfully, he did not care if you were uncomfortable eating with him. he felt selfish, inconsiderate. he panicked when he watched the gps get closer and closer to you're place. he only wanted to use this chance to find more time with you regardless, because he knew you would never come back to loving him no matter how hard he tries.

"fine," you admit. but it sounded like you really wanted to stop to eat with him. and he wanted to believe that.

"what about convenience store food?" he says.

he knows you love miniature food. it's far more accessible to have many small packs of diverse dishes, rather than otherwise.

you smile, and his heart flutters ballistic.

you laugh once you walk into the bright, empty store with him.

"i want sushi… i really craved sushi," you say, pointing to the aisle.

"of course you do," he smiles, following you.

you take a compact sized pack that's fairly cheap, and now it starts.

he waits there in the corner as you run around the small store, taking almost anything you think looks good. he watches you far happier than before, and he felt something in his chest that wasn't fear. more so, it felt like he finally released all that he carried.

seonghwa felt alive again for the first time after fifteen months.

"this!!" you suddenly come into sight, holding about six or seven packets of food that you almost struggled to carry.

"you want that?" he chuckles. "alright."

there was no queue, so he went straight over with you to pay. seonghwa gets nothing but a small coffee.

if he could at least be your friend again, there's nothing more that he could ever want.

he leads you out of the place, back into the car. he held the door for you.

"thank you," you say. "thank you so much."

"don't worry," he replies.

once he gets in the car, he views you opening your food. although he used to recognise himself as a mass eater, he doesn't remember the last time he did. his body is destroyed with nothing but coffee and water.

and when he starts driving, he watches you enjoy your food. he softens more than ever at the sight.

"want some?" you ask, holding out a whole ice cream tub you're just scooping with a spoon. you're quite of a silly person.

seonghwa laughs. "i'm driving."

sooner or later, you hold up the same spoon of vanilla ice cream to his face. his heart beats faster before he takes a bite out.

"shove it in," you laugh at the way he's struggling.

he tries his hardest not to laugh in order to properly eat the ice cream.

"goodness, you're so peculiar," he says after he managed to consume the load.

"no, you are," you say. "youre the strangest person i know."

he smiles and turns to you for a second, unable to say anything. "well, i dont eat my ice cream off its tub."

"i dont eat four ramen packets at once," you rebut, hitting his shoulder playfully.

"oh be quiet right now," he replies.

you laugh, scooping another piece straight from the tub.

"i don't care about that. i know its impossible, but i want to believe its possible," you say, with the eyes of the most warmth so generously offered to him.

and there the two are, acting as though nothing had happened between them, acting as two lovers.

˖ ࣪⭑

he follows you to the apartment complex you stay in, and he's unable to let you go.

as you say your farewells walk away into the building, he catches your wrist, and you turn around.

"i still love you. im sorry i messed up before," he whispers to you. he steps closer as he takes his slightly trembling fingers to guide a stray hair behind your ear.

you didn't expect the sudden confession. "seonghwa.."

he shuts his mouth. the way you hesitate sort of leaves him uneasy. he stops to look at you, to cherish this little time he has with you. who knows if this will be the last time he sees you?

no matter how far it hurts him to admit, he couldn't deny how beautiful you are.

"can we try again?" he says almost mindlessly. he felt like he lost everything with that sentence, and wishes he could take it back.

it was silent for only a moment. those few seconds were more anticipating than he had ever felt, he wishes he were gone.

you looked down, as though trying to find what to say. there was nothing but ringing in his ear, until you answered, "i’m interested in somebody else."

"im sorry," he mutters, shamefully pulling away. he covers half his face with his palms to look down upon for a second. it's shattering when he absorbs all your words, burrowing them deep under his anguished heart.

you moved on already?

"its okay." you reply.

who is this new man? is it your really close colleague he never liked? or your guy that's always been part of your friend group?

"why is it so hard for you to just trust me?" you yell, and it seems as the glass tipped over.

he lets go of his arms. "who is this guy?" he asks, almost instictively. he spoke more aggressively than he intended.

"i don't think you're obligated to know."

he tightens his eyes shut.

so fast. you’re so fast. everyone is so fast. it had been fifteen months, yet he’s still in the same place he was in those fifteen months ago.

you’re moving on, while he had stopped. how does he fill the gap that does not shrink?

you’ve really given up on him.

you like someone else.

it's all over.

he subtly bites his lip, stepping back. he couldn't even look at you anymore. "well, i..." he barely mumbles, his voice trembling. "i really wish i could be the man you fell in love with again. i really do."

you almost flinch, looking away from him. you couldn't believe he could say such a thing. you seemed like you pitied him, for how vulnerable he currently reveals to you. "i’m sorry. just... leave me alone for a bit, yeah?"

it felt like knives to his heart. "you want me to leave?"

his voice is breaking. he looks back up to you, trying so hard to find a hint in your expression that you wanted to take it back, even a tiny hint, but he couldn’t.

"if thats okay," you say, as he freezes at your words. he felt like he said something he shouldn't have. what if this is the last time? what if this is really the last encounter? is this the moment everything is said?

“okay. then i'll.. then i'll see you,” his voice slightly trembles.

"im sorry. i'll see you," you reply, watching him leave.

"i wish i was strong enough. for us,” he says.

seonghwa steps back, and follows hesitantly. he stares to the cold, stone ground, exiting the complex as all his instincts scream against him.

the way you speak is destroying him piece by piece. he doesn't want to step any further away from you. he could never accept that you no longer love him. but if this is what you choose, he couldn't really do anything.

his love for you is overflowing in his hands. who else could he give this to if you refuse it? it hurts to carry.

its okay. he’s is willing to wait more for you. for something to happen again.

but how long will it take?

#seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa ff #seonghwa fic #ateez imagines #park seonghwa ff #seonghwa angst #ateez angst #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fanfiction

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cyb-by-lang · 16 days ago

Text

Deluge Scrapped Scene

As a reminder, Deluge is the branch in the timeline where Shinso is the bonus hostage picked up by the League of Villains instead of Kei.

I cut this scene for redundancy, but it's fun on its own for being in Midnight's POV.

Kayama Nemuri jolted up when her phone vibrated on her desk, dislodging a pile of paperwork tall enough to form an avalanche. After a couple seconds to find the purple liquid glitter case amid the disaster, she flipped her phone upright and blinked at the caller ID.

Giving out her working phone number to her homeroom was one of those choices Nemuri didn’t make lightly, but she was determined to be available in a crisis like any hero. She carried it into the field during nighttime patrols, which meant she might respond even faster than police in some cases. Knowing that one of her students was a disaffected child soldier had, if anything, reinforced her belief that making time for them was vital. Plus Ultra, after all.

“Midnight speaking. Gekkō-san, is everything all right?”

“No, Kayama-sensei,” was said in such a wretched tone that Nemuri shot to her feet and grabbed her whip off the rack on her desk. Someone was going to feel the business end of it by the end of the night.

Transferring the call to her wireless headphones and then tucking her phone into her costume, Nemuri said, “Talk to me, Gekkō-san. What’s wrong?”

While staying late at UA wasn’t solving any problems, Nemuri hadn’t felt comfortable heading home while her friend was preparing to be lambasted by the press. Shōta waved off her offer of assistance with his damned tie, again, but she’d been among the teachers who waved him and Nezu into their chartered car to the broadcast studio. Sekijirō, Power Loader, Cementoss, and All Might were all still active, according to the teacher group chat, but she was pretty sure that no one was about to visit the staff room and interrupt her attempt to keep busy.

And now she was headed for Power Loader’s most ambitious portal experiment like that’d give her a leg up on the situation. She wasn’t sure whether to thank or curse her sense of impending doom for giving her the option now.

“I was just on a call with Shinsō-kun,” Gekkō mumbled, her voice tinny as Nemuri descended the nearly-empty building.

Howling wind on Gekkō’s side obliterated any detail Nemuri might otherwise be able to get from listening to background noises on the call. Was her student out in public this late? Given the number of highly publicized villain attacks, Nemuri expected even Gekkō to be staying safe indoors. She was supposed to be avoiding any more stress. Every single red flag in Nemuri’s head was waving.

The explanation surpassed all expectations, despite being relayed in Gekkō’s low, upset voice: “The League of Villains grabbed him.”

Nemuri stumbled down the last two steps, one hand lashing out immediately to grab the handrail. Muffling a vicious curse against her whip, she took a breath to steady herself and then said, “You’re sure?”

“Unless the League got rid of Compress and Toga Himiko and Kurogiri.” Gekkō let out a bitter laugh as cold as winter. It sounded like defeat. “I muted my phone when I realized what was going on. They…I heard them talking.”

In what felt like a different life, Nemuri encouraged Shōta to join her in teaching at UA. As the homeroom teacher for 1-A, she’d been sure he’d train any student who showed promise into a real hero. His pragmatic views weren’t something Nemuri’s classes had time for, but she knew their value. And she’d winced when 1-A this year ran into villain after villain like some brutal carnival game, patterns emerging from effectively nowhere. It was brutal, unfair, and yet—some part of Nemuri was quietly, pathetically grateful that her students didn’t attract that level of attention. No more than the rest of UA.

And now this.

“Multiple pro heroes have been organized into strike teams on the League’s known bases,” Nemuri told Gekkō anyway, because she wasn’t supposed to encourage vigilantism even from her most wayward student. Even if she understood the impulse. Her heels clacked on the floor as she proceeded down the hall. “We’ll get him back.”

Shinsō was Nemuri’s as much as he was Shōta’s, and fuck if Nemuri wouldn’t find out exactly when and where to crack some skulls.

Toga Himiko, Compress, and Kurogiri. Nemuri didn’t need much of an imagination to work out how they might have worked together to kidnap Shinsō. With the Sports Festival as reference, it would have been as straightforward as stopping his Quirk—possibly with a knife to his throat or in his mouth—and shoving him through a portal, as long as they had the element of surprise.

None of them were heavy hitters, but they didn’t have to be.

And Nemuri was out of position and off the roster to help. Between that and their lived experiences, her reassurances to Gekkō rang utterly hollow even to her own ears.

“That’s assuming the League wants to recruit him,” Gekkō pointed out, sensing that doubt and seizing it. “And I don’t trust that. I can’t.”

Nemuri’s heart went out to her class’s self-proclaimed misfit—who’d genuinely latched onto Shinsō like a mother bear with a new cub—and still, Nemuri didn’t want to risk her. They’d all just agreed to let Gekkō sit this fight out. This was too much. But at the same time, Gekkō’s brutal upbringing made basic considerations like “laws” hard to get through her skull on a good day. She understood them, but she didn’t prioritize in a way that let anyone rest easy once they knew about her motives. Nemuri’s contacts—specifically Nezu—left no ambiguity there, nor did Stain’s hypothermia.

What Nemuri wouldn’t give to just let these kids be kids.

“I already called Sensei,” Gekkō continued quietly, with just a touch of steel entering her voice. “I’m done sitting and waiting for things to get done.”

Nemuri, opening the door at the exact moment Power Loader looked up at the powered-up portal generator, managed to avoid Gekkō’s mysterious “Sensei” by sheer chance. One moment there was empty air, and the next there was a man in grayscale standing between her and Power Loader. Only the faintest whisper of moving fabric served as a warning, and Nemuri suspected it was a courtesy to offer even that much.

“Good evening, Power Loader and Midnight.” The stylized fox mask turned Nemuri’s way. In that same polite, upbeat tone, Gekkō’s nightmare teacher went on, “Or is it Maijima Higari-san and Kayama Nemuri-san when it’s this late?”

Clearly wrong-footed, Power Loader managed, “Who are you and how did you get in here?”

“I’m a teleporter and I’m a teleporter,” he replied, deadpan. The masked face turned toward Nemuri. “And I was looking for Kayama-san.”

“Hero names will do,” Nemuri said firmly, before Power Loader could trip over himself figuratively while literally doing so. Again. “Though we don’t have one for you, at least not in that getup.”

“‘Fox’ will do.” He bowed, just a fraction. “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, and I doubt All Might or Principal Nezu are currently available, given the circumstances,” said Fox. That masked face dipped a little, with the lip of the hood shadowing its top half with a palpable air of menace. “But my student called for help. What kind of teacher would I be if I refused?”

“Agreed.” Nemuri tapped her earpiece, drawing Fox’s attention to it, and added, “My question is if you’ll follow our lead,” Nemuri said, waving her free hand to indicate UA and maybe this world in general, “or if you plan to tear off on your own.”

“Good question,” Gekkō muttered in Nemuri’s ear.

“Hm. Well, I’ll be right back with an answer.” With a quick salute, Fox vanished between one blink and the next.

Dammit.

There was a quiet beep as Nemuri’s call with Gekkō disconnected, which probably sufficed as an indicator of Fox’s teleportation range. From what Nemuri remembered, she lived within the city. They’d have to come up with something to augment that, or this mission was getting nowhere fast.

Gekkō didn’t talk to the adults at UA about anything if she could avoid it. Even Gekkō’s consultations with Nezu and All Might were more mission-focused, from Nemuri’s understanding. She probably barely understood that the point of high school was to get an education and make friends. All of the trust prerequisite to that experience was lying broken on the floor long before UA.

And now her best friend was missing. Kidnapped. Any faith that pro heroes could handle the situation just fine was dead on arrival, probably made even worse by the recent failure at the training camp.

God dammit.

“Midnight. Exactly how involved have you been in all of this?” Power Loader asked, once it was clear that Fox would not be coming back instantly.

“His kid’s in my homeroom.”

“Ah.” And with that, Power Loader clearly decided that more information was for people whose department budget wasn’t going violently up in flames every other day.

With that, she pulled out her phone and scrolled down her contacts list until she found Eyesore Goggles, clicking the green call button.

Shōta answered on the third ring. If her guess was right, he was either backstage or regretting his life choices or both. He was a multitasker.

“Nemuri, what—?”

“Is Principal Nezu next to you right now?” Nemuri asked sharply. “Because I have an update for the strike teams.” And, with the most gentle tone she could manage amid this new hell, she added, “The League attacked again. It’s Shinsō.”

#keisuke gekko #kayama nemuri #shell game #deluge #catch your breath fanfic #crossover #snippet #snippets

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bearwriting · 6 months ago

Text

Casing

Start Here Previous Chapter

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

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: Vomiting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head.

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

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

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

“You’ve never been hungover?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “What, like a memory?”

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

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

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

“Anything else?” you prodded.

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

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

You rolled your eyes and gestured for him to continue.

“Portland.”

You looked at him blankly. “Oregon?"

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

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

“The Morrigan.”

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

Sweeney’s mouth gaped. “In Florida?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes. “Fine.”

“I’m driving.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Which part?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked. “Y’alright there?”

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

“S-Sweeney?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I — what the fuck?”

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

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

“Sweeney —“

“Don’t,” he said softly.

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

“Can we just —“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Th-this isn’t funny,” you stammered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gave you a look that said try.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give it a sec,” you told him.

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

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

He gestured for you to continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I apologize Teacher,” you said sheepishly.

She eyed the bottle of wine in your hands.

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

You nodded. “Yes.”

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

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

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

“I — no, ma’am.”

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

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

You gave Angrboda your name and she inclined her head.

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

“Likewise. Teacher, you —“

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Broad question,” you muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Circe raised an eyebrow. “He was nearby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You tried in English and Irish?”

You nodded.

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

You didn’t understand and said as much.

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

“Like…emotionally or physically?”

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

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

Angrboda nodded. “That’s the magic.”

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

You shook your head. “Nothing.”

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

You swallowed nervously.

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

“I get it,” you muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do it again,” Circe ordered.

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

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

“Labhair.”

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

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

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

“It worked?” you asked hoarsely.

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

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

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

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

He palmed your forehead and gave you a playful shove.

“No blood, no foul,” he said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted. “Like hell.”

“I wasn’t asking,” she said icily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No ma’am.”

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

“Is my friend okay?” you asked.

“You mean that beefy leprechaun?”

You flushed and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

Her gaze was sandpaper against your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you said again.

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

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

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

You swallowed. “Teacher.”

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

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

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

“Better?” Circe asked.

You nodded. “How long was I out?”

“Almost two days. Your leprechaun has been insufferable.

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

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

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

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

You said nothing.

“What happened?” she asked again.

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

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

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

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

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Can you undo it?”

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted but stayed silent, to your immense relief.

. . .

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

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

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

“You can’t know—“

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

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

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

Tagged: @kind-wolf @imaginethatneathuhpartdos @cosmiccandydreamer

#mad sweeney imagine #mad sweeney x reader #mad sweeney reader insert #american gods x reader #american gods imagine #american gods reader insert #bear writes

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