#welcome to the forest ask box

[drone-of-theforest]

A small white drone stumbles through the frozen forest, her white optics darting to and fro in frantic hope one of her siblings will show up, but no one did.

Drones should love the cold, but, it was getting too cold

@assortedmurderdrones

hmm? god damn it

[hops out of the tree hes in infront of the drone]

what the fuck are u doing in my woods?

[he says prepped to use force to get whoever this is out of his territory]

[buckets-and-trees]

Taking You Home

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 6.2k Summary: After waking up in Curtis's booth at Obsidian Stain Studio, you decide to explore more with the two men who've just ruined you.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut, mfm threesome, kissing, oral (female and male receiving), spit roasting, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, marking, overstimulation, after care, insatiable sexual appetites, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, manhandling, allusions to voyeurism/exhibitionism

Author Notes: While not strictly a series, this is the second of probably four stories I plan to write for these three...

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You groan as you blink back into consciousness, the light too bright, and the the sound and feel of everything not as familiar as it should be.

And then there’s a warm hand on your cheek, and you lean into it, but that doesn’t seem quite right either.

“Welcome back,” Ari says with a soft chuckle.

You gasp and jolt up, memories flooding back to you now all at once. You're still in the tattoo chair, but it's been adjusted to a more upright position. A large, soft flannel shirt drapes over you, its sleeves hanging past your fingertips. The scent of pine and musk clings to the fabric, oddly comforting in its unfamiliarity.

Ari places a hand on your shoulder, easing you back into the chair. Your eyes scan around the room, taking in your surroundings with remembered clarity. The harsh fluorescent lights that had seemed so bright moments ago now reveal the familiar setting of the tattoo parlor booth. The buzz of machines has been replaced by a gentle hum of activity and soft rock music playing from a distant speaker.

"Easy there," Ari murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "You're alright. Here, have a drink."

He reaches behind him, retrieving a bottle of water and handing it to you.

You reach for the water bottle with shaky hands, your fingers brushing against Ari's as you take it from him. The cool plastic feels grounding against your skin. You unscrew the cap, the faint crackle of the seal breaking seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet booth. The first sip of water is a relief, soothing your parched throat. You hadn't realized how thirsty you were until the cool liquid touched your lips.

As you drink, you become acutely aware of the aches in your body - a dull throb from your freshly tattooed ribs, a deeper, more intimate soreness that makes you shift uncomfortably in the chair. The flannel shirt - Curtis’s, you realize - rustles softly with your movement, the fabric soft against your bare skin.

As if thinking of the man has summoned him back, Curtis returns to the booth, his hands full of cleaning supplies.

Curtis's eyes meet yours, a mix of concern and something darker flickering in their icy depths. "How are you feeling, sugar?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

You take another sip of water, buying yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. How do you feel? Sore, certainly. Overwhelmed, definitely. But there's also a strange sense of contentment, a warmth that has nothing to do with the flannel shirt draped over you.

"I'm okay," you manage to say, your voice a bit hoarse. "A little sore."

Curtis nods, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's to be expected. You took us both so well."

The memory of what transpired earlier floods back, causing heat to rise in your cheeks. You look down, suddenly unable to meet either man's gaze, and you take another swig of water.

Curtis gets to cleaning his tools and his station. Ari seems to give you a moment, but you can feel his eyes on you, and then he lays his hand on your knee and squeezes gently. You look up and give him a tight smile.

As you take another drink, your eyes roam over Ari's face, taking in the soft concern still etched in his features. His blue eyes, which had been dark with desire earlier, now shine with a gentler light. You notice a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, a few strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. It's a strangely intimate detail that makes your heart flutter.

“Do you have plans after this?” he asks.

“Um…”

“Because we’d like to take you to our place, do this more properly, see where things go.”

Your eyes widen at Ari's suggestion, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through you. The idea of going home with them, of continuing this unexpected adventure, is both thrilling and terrifying.

"I..." you start, then pause, unsure how to respond. Part of you wants to say yes immediately, to dive headfirst into whatever this is. But another part, the more cautious side, hesitates.

Curtis looks up from his cleaning, his ice-blue eyes locking onto yours. "No pressure, sugar," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But we'd like to take care of you properly."

Ari nods in agreement. "We got a bit... carried away earlier," he admits, a hint of regret in his tone. "We just want to make sure you're okay, and, honestly, we'd like to explore this further if you're interested."

You bite your lip, considering their offer. You look from Ari to Curtis. His ice blue eyes are intense, but there's a warmth there that wasn't present before. "We don't usually do this, sugar," he says, his voice low.

“And by ‘don’t usually,’” Ari interjects, “he means we’ve never done this.”

Your eyes widen at this revelation, a mixture of surprise and intrigue coursing through you. The knowledge that this is as new for them as it is for you adds an unexpected layer of vulnerability to the situation.

"Never?" you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Curtis shakes his head, a rare hint of uncertainty in his usually confident demeanor. "Never like this," he confirms. "We've had our fun, sure, but…"

"But nothing like what happened here," Ari finishes for him. "Never in the studio, and certainly never shared anyone before.”

“Until you,” Curtis confirms.

The weight of their words settles over you, and you find yourself at a crossroads. The rational part of your brain screams caution, reminding you of the risks, the unknowns. It tells you to politely decline, to go home and process everything that’s happened. But there's another part, a part that's been awakened by these two men, that yearns to explore this connection further.

"Okay," you hear yourself say, surprising even yourself with the decisiveness in your voice. "I'd like that."

But maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. Getting your first tattoo had been significant, a mark of a new chapter in your life where you made more bold choices about your life. Coming back for the second one had been wanting more beautiful ink on your skin, yes, but this time around it had also been to see what you had left unexplored with Ari, only to end up with Curtis, and then to have such strong connections with them both.

If you were trying to let go of rigidity in your life and make more decisions based on being happy, not on the expectations of others, to allow yourself to explore, this certainly hit that mark.

And that’s what you remind yourself of when you’re in the shower in their home just over half an hour later. You’d ridden over with them in Curtis’s old truck - old but beautifully well-kept - taking the middle of the full-length leather bench seat. Ari spoke more than the quieter Curtis, but the conversation had been easy between you three together.

They’d shown you quickly around the modestly-sized bungalow house, then Curtis suggested you shower while they waited for the dinner Ari had already ordered ahead to be delivered on the drive over. You’d agreed, feeling sweaty and sticky from the earlier sex, and also wanting a moment to yourself. The hot water running over your skin felt nice, but after the first few minutes, you found yourself more anxious being alone and eager to be back with them. It seemed strange to be away from the men while you were in their house, and you also wanted to uncover more of what this might be.

You only showered from shoulders down, keeping your face and hair dry, while also being careful around your freshly tattooed ribs. Stepping out of the shower, you quickly towel off, and hang the towel on the rack. When you look to the bathroom counter, your clothes are gone, but have been replaced with a pair of grey sweat pants and a soft looking, forest green t-shirt. They’ll both be big on you, but there’s a drawstring in the waistband of the sweats.

You slip into the borrowed clothes, the soft fabric a comfort against your clean skin. The t-shirt hangs loosely on your frame, the neckline dipping low enough to reveal your collarbone. You roll up the hem of the sweatpants and cinch the drawstring tight around your waist.

Taking a deep breath, you open the bathroom door and pad barefoot down the hallway. The smell of food wafts through the air, making your stomach rumble. You realize you haven't eaten since before your tattoo appointment, and suddenly you're ravenous.

You hear the low murmur of voices as you approach, which die away as you enter the living room. Ari and Curtis were setting out takeout containers on the coffee table. They both look up at you, their eyes roaming appreciatively over your form in their clothes.

"Feel better?" Ari asks, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You nod, returning his smile. "Much better, thank you," you reply, your voice soft. The smell of food draws you closer, your stomach growling audibly.

Ari chuckles. "Sounds like someone's hungry.”

“Come on, sugar,” Curtis reaches for your arm and tugs you closer, “let's get some food in you."

You move to join them, settling on the plush couch between the two men. The coffee table is laden with an array of Chinese takeout containers, the aroma making your mouth water.

Ari hands you a plate and a pair of chopsticks. "Help yourself to whatever you like," he says, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

As you start to collect an array of the delicious spread on your plate, Curtis reaches for another of the containers, watching you. "So," he says, his voice casual but his eyes intense, "tell us more about yourself. What do you do when you're not getting tattoos and driving tattoo artists wild?"

You laugh and bite your lip a little. Driving them wild? The notion that they’d really been thinking about you makes your heart race.

You play off the latter part of the question, but do begin to share some of the standard stuff.

Plate filled with a good array of food to start off with, you sit back and settle in, acutely aware of their warmth on either side of you. The domesticity of the moment - sharing a meal, dressed in comfortable clothes - contrasts sharply with the intensity of your earlier encounter, creating an intriguing dynamic. That had been surreal, overwhelming. This is tangible, even cozy. Yet, there's still an undercurrent of electricity, a tension humming just beneath the surface.

The three of you eat and talk. Bouncing between the three of you, it’s across the board from where you’re from, where you work, hobbies and interests, friends and family, nothing too deep, but all of the good beginning pieces.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The initial awkwardness fades, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You're surprised by how easy it is to talk to them, how naturally the conversation flows.

Curtis, you discover, has a dry wit that catches you off guard, making you laugh unexpectedly. Ari is more openly charming, his stories animated and engaging. You find yourself drawn into their world, fascinated by the glimpses they offer into their lives.

Their dynamic fascinates you. At times they seem like oil and water. You learn that they met working at the tattoo parlor - both of them had ties to Steve, the owner of Obsidian Stain and Sin. They admit they would never have ended up roommates except Curtis had been closing on this house about the time Ari and his wife separated (then divorced), and timing just seemed to make it convenient. From what you see, though, three years of cohabitation has forged a strong, almost fraternal bond between them.

Curtis reaches for your empty plate, his fingers brushing against yours. "All done, sugar?" he asks, his voice low and warm.

You nod, suddenly aware of how close he is. "Thank you, it was delicious."

Ari stretches, his arm coming to rest on the back of the couch behind you. "So, now that we've fed you," he says, a hint of mischief in his eyes, "what would you like to do next?"

As the question hangs in the air, you feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks. The earlier encounter at the tattoo parlor flashes through your mind - intense, frenzied, almost dreamlike in its surreal passion. But now, in the cozy comfort of their home, you find yourself craving something different.

"I…" you start, then pause, gathering your courage. "I'd like to take things slower this time. To really savor it."

Curtis's eyes darken with approval, while Ari's lips curve into a slow, sensual smile.

"Slow can be good," Ari murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your shoulder through the borrowed t-shirt. "Very good."

Curtis leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "We can do slow, sugar. We can take all night if that's what you want."

A shiver runs down your spine at Curtis's words, his low voice sending tingles across your skin. You turn your head slightly, meeting his intense gaze. The icy blue of his eyes has darkened with desire, and you find yourself drawn in, unable to look away.

Ari's hand slides from your shoulder down your arm, brushing the backs of his fingers along your skin, drawing goosebumps in their wake. "Why don't we start by getting more comfortable?" he suggests, his voice a low purr that makes your breath catch.

You nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady. Curtis stands first, offering you his hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Ari follows, his hand never leaving your body as he rises.

They lead you down the hallway to a spacious bedroom. The king-sized bed dominates the room, its dark sheets inviting and intimidating all at once. Ari gently turns your face towards him, his blue eyes dark with desire. "May I kiss you?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a kiss that's both tender and passionate, a stark contrast to the frenzied encounters earlier. You melt into it, your hand coming up to rest on his chest.

As Ari kisses you, you feel Curtis shift behind you. His strong hands find your waist, slipping under the hem of the borrowed t-shirt to caress the soft skin of your lower back. His touch is deliberate, exploratory, but mindful of your freshly tattooed ribs, and it sends shivers of pleasure through your body.

Ari breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath. You feel Curtis's lips brush against the nape of your neck, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. The dual sensations make you dizzy with desire.

"Is this okay?" Ari murmurs, his hands cupping your face.

You nod, unable to find words as Curtis's hands slide around to your stomach, his fingers splaying wide across your skin, seeming to have no cares for your soft belly, touching in a way that dispells your own typical self-consciousness over your figure.

“Words,” Ari is insistent to prompt.

"Yes," you manage to whisper, your voice breathy and low.

Ari smiles, then leans in to kiss you again, this time with more intensity. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. You part your lips, granting Ari access as his tongue slides against yours. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate but still maintaining a languid, exploratory pace. Curtis continues his ministrations on your neck, alternating between soft kisses and gentle nips that make you gasp into Ari's mouth.

Ari's hands slide down your sides, avoiding your freshly tattooed ribs, and come to rest on your hips. His thumbs trace small circles on your hipbones, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Curtis's hands, still splayed across your stomach, begin to inch higher, his touch feather-light and teasing, brushing up against the underswell of your breasts.

Ari breaks the kiss again, his eyes dark with desire. "Let's get you out of these clothes," he murmurs, his fingers playing with the hem of your borrowed shirt.

Since they took your bra and panties to the laundry along with your other clothes, you’re acutely aware of how little - only the shirt and sweatpants - stand between you and nakedness. But you nod, lifting your arms, and Ari slowly peels the shirt off. As your top half is laid bare, you feel momentarily exposed, but the way both men look at you - with hunger and appreciation - quells any insecurity.

Then Curtis turns you in his arms and traces a finger under your jaw. “You need to know we will always take care of you, but we also want to thoroughly ruin you.”

A ripple of fear and intrigue surges through you, and you shiver, pressed between them.

"Is that what you want, sugar?" Curtis asks, his voice low and gravelly. "To be thoroughly ruined by us?"

You swallow hard, looking up into his intense blue eyes. "I think I'd like that," you whisper, surprised by your own boldness.

Ari's hands slide around your waist from behind, his chest pressing against your back. "We'll take it slow," he murmurs in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "But we won’t hold back unless you tell us if something is too much."

You nod, unable to find your voice for a moment. Then, remembering Ari's earlier insistence, you whisper, "Yes. Please."

A slow, predatory smile spreads across Curtis's face. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. His tongue explores your mouth, dominating and possessive. You moan into the kiss, your hands coming up to clutch at his shirt.

Meanwhile, Ari's hands roam your hips, fingers tracing the waistband of the borrowed sweatpants. He hooks his thumbs under the elastic, slowly sliding them down your legs. You step out of them, now completely naked between the two fully clothed men.

Curtis breaks the kiss, his eyes raking over your exposed form. "Gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

Ari's hands glide up your sides to cup your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, causing them to harden into tight peaks. You gasp at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"Sensitive," Ari observes, a smile in his voice. He continues his gentle ministrations, rolling your nipples between his fingers and Curtis watches, his eyes dark with lust.

Then Curtis drops to his knees in front of you, his hands running up the backs of your thighs. He looks up at you, his ice-blue eyes dark with lust. "Spread your legs.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you comply, widening your stance. Curtis's hands slide up to cup your ass, kneading the soft flesh appreciatively. His hot breath ghosts over your inner thighs, making you shiver with anticipation.

Ari's lips find the curve of your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. His fingers continue to work your breasts, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer kneading. The dual sensations of Ari's ministrations and Curtis's teasing touch have you trembling with need.

Curtis leans in and presses a kiss first to your mound. You whimper, wanting those lips lower. He chuckles, but a moment later he satisfies your craving, dipping lower, his tongue darting out to taste you. You gasp at the contact, your hips jerking involuntarily. He chuckles against you again, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you.

"Steady, sugar," he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.

Ari's lips brush against your ear as Curtis's tongue delves deeper, exploring every fold and crevice of your most intimate area. "Look at you," Ari murmurs, his voice low and husky. "So beautiful, so responsive. Wet and eager for us, aren’t you?”

You whimper, unable to form words as Curtis's skilled tongue finds your clit, circling it with exquisite pressure. Your legs tremble, and you're grateful for Ari's strong arms supporting you from behind. “Can you feel how good Curtis is making you feel?"

You can only moan in response, your hips rolling against Curtis's face as his tongue tortures your clit, undeterred, a desperate edge of hunger to it. Ari's hands continue their ministrations on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

"I bet you taste divine," Ari continues, his breath hot against your neck. "Curtis is savoring every drop of you, isn't he? Look at how eagerly he's devouring your sweet pussy."

Blinking open your eyes, you peer down to witness Curtis's ice-blue gaze unwaveringly locked on yours as he diligently presses his lips and tongue against your sensitive flesh in a delightfully intoxicating rhythm.

Ari's voice continues to weave a sensual spell, his words sending shivers down your spine. "Watch him explore every fold, every crease. Can you feel how he's drinking you in?"

Curtis's eyes remain locked on yours as his tongue delves deeper, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks against your clit. A sudden involuntary shift of your hips is met by his strong hands gripping your waist, maintaining control.

"I bet you taste like honey and sin," Ari purrs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Sweet and intoxicating. Curtis can't get enough of you, can he? Look at how he's losing himself in your pussy."

A soft moan escapes you as the dual sensations of Ari's provocative words and Curtis's expert exploration create an all-consuming sensory experience. The gentle scrape of Curtis's stubble against the tender skin of your inner thighs leaves a pleasant tingling sensation in its wake while he sucks on your clit, holding you firmly in place.

“We started to talk about you, about all the things we wanted to try,” Ari continues. “And anytime you came up, it escalated, until we started scheming over what we could do to you together,” Ari's voice drops even lower, his words a sensual caress against your ear. "We imagined tasting every inch of your skin, exploring every curve and valley of your body. Curtis would fantasize about burying his face between your thighs, just like he's doing now. Can you feel how hungry he is for you?"

Your breath hitches as Curtis's tongue flicks rapidly against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Ari's hands continue their assault on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples until they're almost painfully sensitive.

"I'd picture how your eyes would flutter shut in ecstasy, how your lips would part in a silent scream of pleasure," Ari continues, his voice thick with desire. "But silent screams won’t be good enough for what we’re going to do."

Your breath catches in your throat as Curtis's tongue flickers with increasing speed and precision over your clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure coursing through your core. Ari's hands persist in their exploration of your breasts, teasing and tormenting your nipples with an urgency that leaves them tingling and hypersensitive.

“You have no idea the things we’ve talked about,” Ari presses on. The pressure in your core builds, aching for release as Ari's seductive words fuel your desire. "Dirty things. Depraved things. Things you’ll only ever experience with us. We want to make you lose control, push you past your limits, see how much pleasure you can truly handle."

You moan louder now, unable to keep quiet any longer as the two men continue their assault on your senses. Their combined efforts push you closer and closer to the edge until finally, with a shudder and a cry of pure ecstasy, you reach orgasm.

Curtis eagerly laps up the remnants of your pleasure, a satisfied moan escaping him. Though you are momentarily lost in the haze of bliss, Ari brings you back to the present with a sudden slap to your breast. You gasp and flinch in his embrace, but before you can react further, he scoops you up and tosses you onto the bed. Following closely behind, he hoists you upwards by your hips until you find yourself on all fours, vulnerable and eager for the next stage of this illicit exploration.

You feel Ari shifting to remove his shirt behind you, hear him toss it to the floor, all the while your body still tingling from the sensations that just overwhelmed it. You look around for Curtis, pleased to find him coming around to the other side of the bed. You watch, mesmerized as Curtis shrugs out of his shirt and laying it aside, revealing a toned chest covered in coarse hair and intricate patterns of ink. His stomach muscles ripple under your gaze as he steps closer.

Curtis approaches you, his eyes dark with desire. He reaches out, caressing your cheek before gripping gently at the nape of your neck. "Open," he commands softly.

You comply without hesitation, parting your lips as Curtis guides your head towards his crotch. With his free hand, he unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper. You watch, breath quickening, as he frees his hardened length from the confines of his underwear.

Ari leans down and presses himself against your back. You feel the heat of his body and inhale the scent of his cologne. His large hands knead your hips, stoking the needy ache in your core back up. “You're so fucking beautiful," he says, his voice dripping with desire. “You ready for both of us?”

Curtis guides the tip of his cock to your lips. "Take me in, sugar," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "Show me what that pretty mouth can do."

You part your lips wider, welcoming Curtis's thick length into your mouth. As you take him in, you feel Ari's hands spreading your legs further apart. The anticipation of what's to come makes you tremble with desire.

Curtis groans as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. "That's it," he murmurs, his fingers tangling in your hair. "Take me deeper."

You comply, relaxing your throat to take more of him in. The taste of him, musky and masculine, fills your senses. Behind you, you feel Ari's hands caressing your ass, kneading the flesh appreciatively.

"Look at you," Ari says, his voice thick with lust. "So eager for us. Your pussy is dripping, begging to be filled."

You moan around Curtis's cock at Ari's words, the vibrations eliciting a deep groan from him. His fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your movements as you bob your head up and down his length.

Behind you, you feel the blunt head of Ari's cock pressing against your entrance. He teases you, sliding it up and down your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. "You want this?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

Unable to speak with Curtis in your mouth, you push your hips back, silently begging for Ari to fill you. He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "So impatient," he murmurs, then slowly, torturously, he begins to push inside you.

You gasp around Curtis's cock as Ari stretches you, filling you inch by inch. Ari's thick length stretches you deliciously as he pushes deeper, his grip on your hips tightening. "God, you're tight," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "So wet and hot for us."

Curtis's hand in your hair tightens, guiding you to take him deeper into your mouth. You relax your throat, allowing him to slide further in until you feel the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickling your nose. He holds you there for a moment, your nose pressed against his pelvis, before slowly pulling back.

"Go on," Curtis growls, his ice-blue eyes dark with lust. "Take it all."

Ari begins a steady rhythm, his thrusts deep and purposeful. Each time he pushes in, it forces you further onto Curtis's cock, creating a delicious cycle of penetration. The dual sensations of being filled from both ends overwhelm you, pleasure coursing through every nerve in your body.

"That's it, baby," Ari purrs, his voice dripping with lust. "Take us both. You're doing so well, stretching around my cock while you swallow Curtis down." His hands grip your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust.

Curtis's grip on your hair tightens, his other hand coming to cup your jaw. "Look at me," he growls. You raise your eyes to meet his intense gaze, ice blue eyes dark with desire. "Good girl," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the apple of your cheek as your eyes well with tears.

The intensity of their ministrations overwhelms you, pleasure and sensation flooding every nerve. Ari's thrusts grow more forceful, each one driving you further onto Curtis's length.

"So fucking tight," Ari groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. "Taking us both so well. You were made for this, weren't you?"

You moan around Curtis's cock, the vibrations eliciting a deep growl from him. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your movements, holding you far down on him, and he goes for a shallow rut, pulling back only a fraction with each rock of his hips, dominating your mouth.

Your eyes water as he pushes deeper, testing the limits of your throat.

Ari's hands grip your hips tighter, his fingers surely leaving marks on your skin. "You're ours now," he pants, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Gonna fill you up, mark you from the inside out."

Their bodies continue to move in unison, sweat dripping down their flushed skin as they moan and curse.

"Fuck," Curtis hisses, his hips jerking. "I'm close."

His cock twitches in your mouth, and you know he’s close to the edge. His hips buck more wildly, but he keeps his eyes locked on yours, until finally, with a loud cry, he spills his seed down your throat. You stare into each others eyes, and the possessive intimacy of that moment rocks your to your core, as you do your best to swallow every bit of him.

Seemingly as affected as you, the second he withdraws his cock from your mouth, he’s stooping to claim it in a kiss, even while you’re gasping for air. He doesn’t care, desperate to devour you. His release is on your tongue, and that seems to make him feral, but you also taste yours in his mouth, and both of you moan into each other, tongues stroking and tangling. You don’t need to breathe, you need him consuming you like this, his lips as eager against your lips as they were against your cunt.

Ari's thrusts become more frenzied, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your moans.

“Fuuuuck,” Ari’s voice is primal from behind you. “You were right, watching someone else wreck her while inside her is unreal.”

Your brain glitches at his claim - that they talked about you like this, that he’s saying it right now? Your cunt clenches around Ari’s cock, and he groans. You feel him twitch inside you, and you whimper.

“Mmm, you like that, baby,” he says, no question at all. His hand snakes beneath you, and he begins tapping your puffy clit.

You cry out, bucking at the assault, and Curtis pulls away to watch you fall apart even more.

"Come for us, sugar," he growls, still holding your face in his hands. "Let go."

And the combination of his words with Ari’s thrusts and the torment of your oversensitive clit have you shaking and shouting out incoherently.

“Flip her,” Ari instructs Curtis, and Curtis deftly and swiftly grips your shoulders and has you on your back the next second. You grip his arms, needing to hold on to something as your head is spinning in pleasure and with the swift repositioning. As you look up, it’s to the intimidating but glorious sight of these men looming over you. Curtis is still watching your face, and it’s with difficulty that you tear your gaze away from him, but Ari’s grunts and heavy breathing beg for your attention, and you watch, transfixed, as he furiously fists his cock, bringing himself to finish. He cocks his head up in triumph as he groans and shoots his load over your stomach and chest, hot ropes of cum sinfully marking you.

You lay there panting, your body trembling with aftershocks as you try to process the intensity of what just happened. Curtis and Ari hover over you, their eyes roaming your body appreciatively, taking in the sight of you marked and thoroughly debauched, face flushed, chest heaving.

"Incredible," Ari murmurs, his hand tracing patterns through his release on your stomach.

Curtis leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss. When he pulls away, his ice-blue eyes are dark with satisfaction. "You did well, sugar," he praises, his voice low and gravelly.

He cups one of your cheeks in his hand, and you lean into the touch. Then he licks the trail of salty tears from your other cheek, and the gesture deals a bolt of heat through you again, though you feel exhausted and boneless.

“Think I could become addicted to you,” he murmurs quietly, and Ari grunts in agreement.

Ari disappears for a moment before returning with a warm, damp cloth. He gently cleans you up, his touch tender in contrast to the roughness of moments before. The care in his actions makes your heart flutter.

Curtis takes the chance to step away briefly, as well. He’s back once you’re clean, and helps you sit up, supporting your back and handing you a glass of water.

You accept the glass gratefully, your throat parched from exertion. As you sip the cool water, you feel the bed dip on either side of you as Curtis and Ari settle in next to you. Their warm, solid presence is comforting, grounding you after the intense experience.

Curtis keeps a steadying hand on your back as you finish the water, then takes the empty glass from you.

"How are you feeling?" Ari asks softly, his hand resting on your thigh.

You take a moment to assess yourself. Your body feels pleasantly sore, used in the most delicious way. There's a lingering tingle of satisfaction coursing through you, mixed with a sense of vulnerability that's both thrilling and slightly overwhelming.

"I'm... good," you manage to say, your voice a bit hoarse. "Really good, actually."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Glad to hear it."

Curtis takes the now-empty glass from your hands. His eyes rarely seem to leave you, always intense on you. It’s as intimidating as it is captivating. It truly takes someone with Ari’s charisma and assertive manner to compete with the way Curtis’s intense stoicism draws you in. They’re a dangerous force to be reckoned with.

They both lean in to you, beginning to slowly kiss and touch you again, and you hold onto each of them, one hand tangling into Ari’s luscious hair, the other snaking around Curtis’s strong back.

As Curtis and Ari press closer, hands and lips exploring your body with renewed curiosity, you can't help but marvel at their seemingly endless stamina. Their touches are gentle yet purposeful, igniting sparks of pleasure across your skin.

Curtis's lips trail along your neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to a hard peak. You gasp at the sensation, your body still hypersensitive from your recent orgasms.

Ari's hand slides up your inner thigh, his fingers dancing teasingly close to your core. His lips find yours in a deep, languid kiss that leaves you breathless. When he pulls away, his blue eyes are dark with renewed desire.

"Think you can go again, beautiful?" Ari murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. "I... I think so," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

Curtis smirks, his ice-blue eyes glinting with approval. “Think we may have you passing out again?”

Ari laughs, and your face flushes as you bite your lip. You let out a shaky breath, both intimidated and thrilled by the prospect of more. "Maybe," you admit softly, "but I'm willing to find out."

Curtis's smirk widens into a predatory grin. "Oh, sugar," he growls, his hand sliding down your stomach, "we're going to have so much fun with you."

Ari's lips find your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. "We're going to take you apart," he murmurs against your skin, "piece by piece, until you're nothing but a quivering mess of pleasure."

Their words send a shiver down your spine, arousal pooling in your core despite your recent orgasms. You feel almost drunk on their attention, their touches, their promises of more pleasure to come. You surrender yourself to their touch. The night is still young, and you find yourself eager to discover just how much pleasure these two men can wring from your willing body.

read the next part: Worship in the Bedroom

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I got to the end and realized I did not feature their gorgeous tattoed bodies nearly enough, but I GUESS THAT MEANS I'LL JUST HAVE TO WRITE MORE OF THEM ASAP!

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[thefreakandthehair]

mistletoe.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompts: mistletoe | wc: 999 | rating: teen & up | tags: alternate universe- no upside down, alternate universe- flower shop au, eddie pov, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington, confident!steve harrington, fluff, getting together, first kiss, background buckingham mention

It’s chaos. 

Clippings, and rogue petals, and ribbons that still need to be tied into bows as far as the eye can see. Long tables lined with crinkling plastic to protect the aged wood take up the center of the room, and somewhere off in the distance, Eddie can hear Chrissy on the phone with what sounds like a disgruntled, last-minute customer. 

“... Sir, it’s December. Most of our poinsettias have been reserved for weeks. We have two left that we can give you. You can have them, or you can—”

Eddie’s sure Chrissy’s about to kindly tell the phone stranger to go fuck himself and he couldn’t be prouder of how far she’s come, really, but he loses the thread on the conversation when Steve bustles in from the back.

“How many carnations does one middle school Winter Wonderland dance need, anyways? Are there even this many kids in the town?” In his warm, forest green jacket and black beanie with wind-flushed cheeks and rosy nose, Steve exhales and sets the box of carnations down on the counter. 

“Enough to pay the rent this month with carnations alone, apparently,” Eddie jokes, tapping Steve’s jean-clad shin with the toe of his boot. “We’ll be here all night doing these ribbons, won’t we?”

He tries to make it sound like a chore, like something he hasn’t been looking forward to since Chrissy told them she had a date and couldn’t stay. Any amount of alone time with Steve is welcome, even if it means tying tiny bows on small carnations and pricking his finger a hundred times with the stupid little pins. 

“Probably, yeah,” Steve shrugs with a smile. “It’s not so bad though, right?” 

“Not at all.” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep from beaming. 

When Chrissy wraps up her part— invoices, confirmations, and all of the paperwork shit that Eddie and Steve are better off leaving to Chrissy— she practically skips out of the office with a wave and a smirk. 

“You do know that if she and Robin hit it off, this is gonna be a regular thing, right?” Eddie jokes, hoisting himself up to sit on one of the tables and grabbing a ribbon to wrap around another flower. 

“Robin hasn’t stopped talking about Chrissy for months. This is going to be our life, Ed. Mark my words.” Steve laughs with Eddie’s favorite crooked smile, the one that only ever seems to be targeted at him. 

He tries not to let Steve’s phrasing dig its claws too deep into his lovestruck brain, but our life wiggles its way in regardless. 

Eddie looks around and takes in all of the fine details— a half-eaten bag of plain chips, two cans of coke, carnations and ribbons strewn about in somewhat orderly piles. Chrissy left the radio on when she left, the station alternating between the top hits and classic holiday songs, and Steve bobs his head to Wham!’s Last Christmas. 

This could be their life; not just the tumultuous riptide of highs and lows, but all of the mundane minutiae in between. 

Eddie and Steve. 

EddieandSteve. 

“You okay? Stab your thumb again?” Steve asks, tearing Eddie from his reverie. 

“Yes, and actually, yes,” Eddie laughs, breathy through his nose, and wipes his thumb on his jeans. Before Steve can grab his hand and check him over, and probably push Eddie over the edge into doing something incredibly fucking stupid in the process, he brushes it off. “It’s fine. Let's get these bitches done.”

Hours pass, quickly and comfortably, and they eventually tie their last ribbon. 

“We did it, Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie celebrates, hopping off of the table and tossing the last carnation into the box. “Do you still have skin on your fingers? I don’t think I have fingerprints anymore.” 

“Now would be the time to go commit some crimes,” Steve snorts, his nose wrinkling, and Eddie wants to kiss him right on the mouth. “Before you head out though, I uh, I think we forgot one. Close your eyes for a second.” 

“What?” 

“Just close your eyes? Please?”

Eddie does as Steve asks because he’s helpless to not, his brows knitting together in confusion because closed eyes. He hears rustling and the sound of scissors snipping ribbon. What’s so special about this carnation? What’s so secretive that Eddie has to close his eyes and miss valuable alone time with Steve? Doesn’t Steve get it? Every second with his eyes closed are seconds he doesn’t get to stare. 

Steve’s stool slides against the tile floor, scraping as Eddie feels Steve standing closer. Close enough that he can feel Steve’s breath against him when he says, “Okay, open your eyes.”

In front of him is Steve Harrington, his favorite smile, and wide, hesitant eyes holding a hastily tied together bundle of mistletoe just above their heads. 

“I know it’s not Christmas yet or anything, but I couldn’t wait.” 

“You’re not fucking with me?” Eddie asks, heart clattering in his chest as hope gouges its way out of its deepest recesses. 

“Definitely not. I really like you, maybe more, and I know I didn’t have to wait for some big moment but tonight, just the two of us, it felt right. If I’m wrong, I’ll chuck this in the garbage and we can never bring it up again but—”

Eddie launches himself at Steve, both arms wrapping around Steve’s neck. 

Maybe he should’ve taken it slower— maybe their first kiss should’ve been patient, tender— but he’ll have other opportunities to show him the softness he deserves. Instead, Eddie kisses Steve just like he’s fallen in love with him: spontaneously, impulsively, urgently. Steve drops the thicket of branches and pulls him in closer, one hand balling the edge of Eddie’s shirt up in a fist by his hip and the other cupping the back of Eddie’s head, meeting his intensity wordlessly. 

Through the murky daze of Steve’s lips against his, Eddie hopes that this is their life. 

[oaksgrove]

Lieutenant’s Sanctuary

pairing: Platonic Task Force 141 & Lieutenant!Reader, CallSign ‘Reaper’

synopsis: After years of tradition, the 141 team decides it’s time to crash at Lieutenant Reaper’s place for the first time. They’re expecting something practical and minimal, but instead, they find a storybook-like sanctuary.

warnings: Fluff, humor, found family vibes, and Soap being Soap.

word count: 1700

a/n: I’m such a sucker for Found Family and tiny cottages so this was so cute to write!

Every time Task Force 141 returned from deployment, they followed the same ritual: gather at someone’s place to decompress. It started as an impromptu thing—no one ready to face an empty flat just yet—and quickly became tradition.

Ghost’s apartment was Spartan: a single chair, a TV that looked like it had seen combat, and exactly one fork in the kitchen drawer. Soap’s place? Chaos incarnate, with mismatched furniture and a fridge stocked solely with beer, takeout boxes, and mystery condiments. Gaz’s flat was sleek and modern, but he was never there long enough to enjoy it. Price’s house was comfortably captainly, with sturdy furniture and the scent of pipe tobacco lingering like a welcome mat.

But no one had ever been to Reaper’s.

“You got a place, Reaper?” Soap asked, leaning against the Humvee after their latest mission. “Or d’you just materialize out of the shadows like a proper ghost?”

Reaper glanced up, her expression unreadable beneath the smudges of dirt and exhaustion. “I’ve got a place,” she replied simply, tossing her gear into the back of the vehicle.

“Really?” Soap pressed, grinning. “I thought you just slept hanging upside down somewhere…”

“It’s a house,” she replied, voice as flat as her expression. “And it’s off-limits.”

Soap didn’t relent. “So you do live in the shadows! Does it come with creepy fog and a drawbridge, or bats coming out of the chimney…?”

Reaper gave him a deathly glare through the rear mirror

“It’s a house,” she deadpanned. “And no bats.”

Soap wasn’t done. “How do we know you’re not just haunting an abandoned castle somewhere?”

“Because I’m not you,” she shot back smoothly.

The team laughed, but Soap was relentless. “So, when are we visiting this haunted manor of yours?”

Reaper sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. One visit. But don’t touch anything.”

And with that ominous warning, the deal was sealed.

The drive to Reaper’s place was unnerving, to say the least. Pavement gave way to gravel, gravel turned to dirt, and dirt became a narrow trail flanked by looming trees. The deeper they went, the quieter it got.

“Are you sure you’re not leading us to a burial site?” Gaz asked, staring out the window at the oppressive forest.

Reaper didn’t answer, her silence only adding to the tension.

“Swear I saw this in a horror film once,” Soap muttered. “Five soldiers go into the woods, only one comes out.”

“I’ll keep the engine running,” Ghost said, his voice as dry as the leaves crunching under their tires.

When they finally pulled up, everyone stared in stunned silence. Nestled by a bubbling stream, the house was a picture-perfect storybook cottage. The small structure had ivy creeping up its stone walls, a pitched roof dusted with moss, and a chimney that puffed lazy spirals of smoke into the air. The garden surrounding it was meticulously cared for, with rows of herbs, vegetables, and vibrant flowers. Wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze.

“Did we take a wrong turn?” Soap whispered. “This looks like something out of Sleeping Beauty.”

“Is this where you live,” Ghost asked dryly, “or where you lure unsuspecting hikers?”

“Are we meeting a witch to trade for supplies?” Gaz joked, his arms crossed as he surveyed the scene.

Soap, standing behind him, squinted. “If a witch comes out of there, I’m running back to base.”

Reaper cut the engine and grabbed her bag. “It’s mine. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Before anyone could respond, a low bark rumbled through the trees.

The massive dog bounded out from behind the house, a massive blur of fur and slobber. “Bloody hell!” Soap yelped, scrambling behind Ghost, who, to his credit, stood still as the enormous Saint Bernard thundered toward them stopping in front of Reaper, wagging his tail so hard it could have knocked a grown man over. Clifford, as Reaper introduced him, was as big as he was slobbery.

“You never said you had a bear,” Soap muttered, peeking out from behind Ghost.

“Harmless,” she said, scratching behind his ears.

“Harmless, she says,” Soap grumbled. “That thing could bench-press me.”

Clifford tilted his head at Soap’s voice, letting out a deep woof before trotting over to sniff at his boots.

Gaz, meanwhile, was practically cooing at Clifford. “You’ve got a dog? That's adorable.”

Reaper raised a brow. “I’m not adorable.”

“Your cottage begs to differ,” Gaz shot back, gesturing to the idyllic scene around them.

Ghost raised a brow. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Gaz gestured helplessly at the idyllic scene. “You don’t exactly give off ‘granny in a cottage’ vibes.”

Reaper smirked faintly. “Good.”

“Figured you’d live in a dungeon,” Gaz teased. “Not... whatever this is.”

If the outside surprised them, the interior rendered them speechless. The cabin was minimal yet cozy, every detail carefully curated. Handmade quilts and pillows adorned the couch, and shelves were lined with jars of dried herbs and homemade preserves. String lights cast a warm glow, and a faint aroma of lavender and something earthy lingered in the air. A bookshelf in the corner overflowed with worn novels and journals, while a small fireplace crackled softly.

Ghost, who rarely spoke about anything unrelated to missions, ran a gloved hand over the carved wooden mantle. “You made this?” he asked, nodding to the intricate designs.

You nodded, a little sheepish. “Most of it. I like working with my hands when I’m not… you know, shooting.”

Soap was already poking around, pulling open cupboards and exclaiming over jars of pickled vegetables. “You’ve got jam? Like, homemade jam?” He held up a jar like it was a precious artifact. “She’s got jam, boys. Homemade bloody jam!”

“Yes,” Reaper said, crossing her arms. “Try not to break anything.”

“Did you crochet these pillows too?” he teased, holding up a throw pillow embroidered with flowers.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Keeps me busy.”

“Busy,” Soap repeated, incredulous. “You’re secretly everyone’s gran, aren’t you?”

“Oi, I’m not that old,” you protested, swatting at him with a dish towel.

“But look at this!” he said, holding up a patchwork quilt.

Reaper didn’t dignify that with a response, just shrugged, but Clifford let out a loud snore from the corner, effectively ending the discussion.

As Reaper prepared a hearty stew, the team gravitated to the kitchen. Soap and Gaz hovered like starving children, while Price helped slice bread.

“Is this… homemade?” Price asked, nodding at the loaf cooling on the counter.

“Figured you’d be hungry, it’s not that hard.” Reaper said, not looking up from the pot.

“Not that hard,” Soap mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Meanwhile, I nearly set my flat on fire boiling pasta.”

Dinner was a revelation. Ghost surprised everyone by going back for thirds, and Soap declared it the best meal he’d ever eaten (between mouthfuls of stew and bread).

“Not bad, Lieutenant,” Ghost muttered, which from him was practically a glowing review.

“You’ve ruined us,” Gaz added, wiping his plate clean. “How’re we supposed to go back to regular food after this?”

“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in months,” Soap muttered around a mouthful of bread.

“You’ve been hiding this paradise from us?” Gaz said, gesturing at the cozy interior.

“Thought you preferred your chaos,” Reaper replied, smirking faintly.

“We do,” Soap said quickly, “but this? This is next level.”

By the time the meal ended, the team had fully invaded every corner of Reaper’s space. Soap challenged Gaz to cards, Clifford sprawled across Price’s feet, and Ghost—ever the enigma—quietly helped Reaper chop vegetables for tomorrow’s meal.

“You don’t have to,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

“I know,” Ghost replied simply, his tone soft.

“You’re full of surprises,” she said as he handed her a perfectly diced carrot.

“You have no idea,” Ghost replied, his tone unreadable.

As the night wore on, the team sank into an unspoken rhythm. Soap’s laughter mixed with the crackle of the fire, and even Ghost’s stoic presence seemed lighter.

Price absently scratched behind the dog’s ears, looking unusually relaxed. “You’ve got quite the setup here, Lieutenant.”

Reaper glanced at him, settled into one of the armchairs near the fire, her expression softening slightly. “Thanks, Captain.”

As the night wore on, the unspoken bond between them deepened. For all her stoicism in the field, Reaper’s home was a haven—a place of warmth and quiet that each of them hadn’t realized they desperately needed.

By morning, it was decided.

“This place is a bloody sanctuary, this is the spot now,” Soap declared, stretching as the sunlight streamed through the windows. “First day back, we’re coming here.”

Reaper raised a brow. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“You didn’t disagree either,” Gaz pointed out, grinning.

Reaper sighed, but there was no real frustration in her tone. “Fine. But next time, you’re bringing the beer.”

“Sorry, Ghost,” Soap added. “Your spooky flat’s been officially replaced.”

Ghost shrugged, leaning against the wall quietly observing as Reaper worked on mending a tear in her field jacket. “Fine by me.”

For all her darkness in the field, Reaper’s home was paradise, and her team decided they’d never let her live it down.

“Well, Reaper,” Soap said, biting into a fresh slice of bread, “you’re officially the heart of this team.”

She rolled her eyes, though couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t mind having you lot here—as long as you pull your weight in the garden.”

As the team loaded into the Humvee, Clifford gave each of them an affectionate nuzzle. Reaper stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her usual stoicism softened by the faintest smile.

“Drive Safely” she said simply.

And they knew they’d return—because for all her darkness in the field, Reaper’s home was a haven, and they were lucky to be part of it.

-

Months later, after another long and grueling deployment, the team returned to the cabin. This time, Clifford greeted them like old friends, and the warm light spilling from the windows felt like a beacon.

Reaper, standing in the doorway, simply smirked.

“Welcome back.”

[throughparisallthroughrome]

"Got the Blues Back in Boston"

Chapter 1

Pairing: Modern!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Description: Leaving behind an incompatible college and profound heartbreak on the Virginia Coast, you find yourself home again in Brookline, Massachusetts. A new opportunity presents itself to you at MIT, joining your brother ben and childhood friends/neighbors, Anakin and Ahsoka. Despite the familiarity, you discover just how much of a difference 2 years away can really make between the people you once considered family.

Warnings:f!reader, angst, jealousy, pining, smut, masturbation, mentions/descriptions of domestic abuse, cursing, drinking/drug usage, academic obsession, general obsession, hardcore partying, frats, general college bullshit

DISCLAIMER!!! READ BEFORE PROCEEDING: I’ve never been in an abusive relationship- I’ve only witnessed them. I’m an aspiring psychology major and have done a lot of research on the topic of domestic abuse/violence. This series deals with this topic HEAVILY, so be warned. 

Word Count: 6.3k A/N: First chapter is up! I'm sorry it took so long, I was really hoping to nail a certain feel and aesthetic with this series, and I really hope that translates. I'm probably gonna post the playlist I listen to while writing this because it does have a lot of influence on the story and everything. Please let me know if you wish to be tagged! Requests and ask box is open, and any/all criticism is welcome! Thank you for reading and supporting me <3

masterlist.

The drive to Brookline was always a hassle. Whether it was crossing the scary bridge along the coast of Virginia or through New York City—knowing that you’d still never been—it always ached. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been home in two years—and you missed Boston. 

Piled high in the back of your black Ford Focus was the last two years of your life that you could fit. You left behind everything else. 

The forest that encompassed you on I-95 offered a clearer perspective on your situation. As devastating as it had been, your new beginning after high school was not quite what you expected it to be. Hampton was a lovely place; the beaches were excellent, the people friendly, and there was always something to do. Somewhere to go. You made decent money working as a cocktail waitress in a club near your apartment, which is how you met Nick.

Tall, with a handsome face and a charm that was impossible to resist, Nick was the kind of man you couldn't help but be drawn to. He had a gorgeous smile and a body sculpted from the gods. The night you met him, he smooth-talked his way into your bed, introducing himself as Nicholas, saying how he never met someone as beautiful as you. The other waitresses just didn’t compare. And the rest was history. Were you usually the type to sleep with someone on the first date (if you could call it that)? Definitely not. But something about him was so captivating. 

But as the trees passed you by and your grip on your steering wheel tightened, you felt a tear fall onto your shaking hands. What happened to the Nick you loved? What went wrong? Who did you both turn into? Besides, the whole thing going south was your fault- you both knew that. You wanted too much; you let those men flirt, and you were never there for him. You never did what he asked. And you’d never amount to anything. At least, that’s what Nick always told you- and part of you was inclined to believe it. 

Your heart ached at the loss. The 11-hour drive was increasingly painful by the second, only two hours in and not even through the first city. The morning sun beamed in your eye as your car trudged through the wetlands, bathed in its golden hue.1 In the distance, you could make out the skyline of DC, the first city you needed to travel through.

It was nice in DC. You had attended a few times in the past. On one of the many family vacations you took throughout the years, you, your parents, and the Skywalkers had all made a trip together to that specific destination. You intentionally took the longer way home to ensure you remember it all. Besides, the Delaware Peninsula was far from interesting. And you needed the time to think- and probably mentally prepare yourself for what you’d arrive at.

The most exciting part of the trip was Baltimore, Philly, and NYC back to back. Despite sitting in mind-numbing traffic a lot of times, there was always something to look at. And people-watching was always your favorite. You felt your heart hurt, wishing for the opportunities that these cities could bring. As New York City and Hartford disappeared in the rearview mirror, the approaching Boston skyline sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching in your throat. And there was the traffic.

You shakily reached for a cigarette out of your purse as your car came to a stop, breaking your own promise that you wouldn’t smoke in the car you bought. A wide smile spread across your face as you lit the cigarette, your body relaxing as the sweet scent filled the air. Naturally, your mind went straight to Anakin. Whenever you tasted cigarettes, it was impossible not to think of him and the bittersweet moments you shared. After all, he started your bad habit. Once again, your hands shook. Did he ever think about you while you were gone? You were close, but he was also an incredible pain in your ass. And what if he and Padme suddenly got back together? Ahsoka would have told you, right? Maybe. 

She would have told you. 

The familiar streets of Brookline outstretched before you, energetic and alive, instantly flooding your mind with cheerful memories that brought a grin to your face. Your smile widened across your face as you glanced at the familiar sports bar on the corner, reminiscing about the laughter and friendships you developed during your time as a hostess in high school. You turned the corner at the next light, a quiet laugh escaping your lips as the vibrant lights of the movie theater danced before your eyes, eliciting the sweet nostalgia of your god-awful first kiss. You weren’t expecting little Tommy to stick his tongue down your throat in 7th grade. As you approached Emerson Garden, a bittersweet ache tugged at your heart, memories of laughter and familiarity flooding your mind—the memories it held. 

The streetlights flickered as you turned down the most familiar road of all. You bit your lip in anticipation and ignored the urge to light another cigarette right then and there- your mom didn’t need to know about your filthy habit (although she smoked, too). The soft melodies of Radiohead and the laughter echoed from the back porch as you parked in the driveway. Gazing at the house with a smile, you felt a hint of excitement about reclaiming your old room. It had been far too long. 

The porch light turned on, and out ran Ahsoka, not even giving you a chance to turn your car off.

“You motherfucker!” She yelled, opening the car door and throwing her arms around you as you laughed, “It’s been so fucking long!” 

You looked back at her, pulling the beanie off her head and giggling, “Well, don’t tell the others, but I only came back for you.”

“Shut up,” she stands up, pulling you up with her, “Get your ass inside.” You laugh and salute her, following her through the familiar corridors of your house and into the kitchen. 

“Shut the FUCK up. She’s real!” Your mom squealed and quickly set her wine down, embracing you as if you’d be gone in an instant. “Never leave me like that again.” She pulls away and laughs, her tone laced with a hint of seriousness. 

“Never.” You promised, smiling wide before your dad caught your attention, tossing you a beer and shooting a wink in your direction. Although he wasn't typically sentimental, you could tell he missed you. 

“Where are the boys?” you asked, opening the can and drinking the bitter liquid. “Jesus Christ, Miller Lite never gets better, does it?” You squinted your eyes in disgust, giggling at your own reaction. 

“Nope, thought I taught you better than that.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, kissing the top of your head. “They’re outside with Cliegg and Shmi.”

“Okay, sweet, I’ll go say hello.” You motion towards the back door, catching a glimpse of Ben from the back porch. 

“Hey,” He grabs your arm before you can turn to leave. “We missed you. I hope you’re okay. Ahsoka didn’t give us any details, but she said things really went to shit in Hampton. I just want to make sure you know you always have a home here, and we will do what we can to make it better, okay?” 

You nodded and smiled before practically running out the back door, forgetting exactly what you were throwing yourself into. 

“You fucker, you cheated!” Anakin yells, throwing down his cards as Ben takes a swig of his beer and laughs. 

“I’m afraid you just have an awful poker face, Anakin.” He sets his cards down and stands up, turning to face you with a smile. “There she is. About time you graced us with your presence.” 

You give a shrug before embracing Ben tightly, fighting back tears welling up in your eyes. You and Ben were close, and you knew that if he found out what happened, it would devastate him. He and Anakin were always there to keep you safe, but you had a distinct sibling connection. He knew you too well, always able to read your thoughts with uncanny accuracy. 

“You okay?” He pulled away and whispered, searching your sad eyes.

“Yeah, just tired. Long ass drive. Took the long way this time.” You sniffled, and he nodded in response, letting go and pulling a chair out between Anakin and what you assumed was Ahsoka’s chair. With a quiet thank you on your lips, you raised your beer to your mouth and took a long, satisfying gulp, feeling a gentle buzz settle in. 

“So, you’re back.” Anakin avoids eye contact, shuffling the cards before him as Ahsoka stifles a laugh. “Took you long enough.”

“Anakin!” Shmi scolds, noticing how his lips turn into a smirk, “You know he missed you, Y/N. He’s just a sore loser. Ben’s kicked his ass at poker three times now.” 

“Ah,” You nod, a grin spreading across your face, “He just doesn’t want to admit he sucks at poker- OW!” You feel a sudden impact as Anakin's foot forcefully meets the top of yours, causing you to shoot a glare in his direction. His eyes remain fixed on the cards, completely disregarding your look, while he bites down on his lip, trying to contain his amusement. "Sore loser indeed," you mutter under her breath, shaking her head in annoyance as you pick up the cards he handed you.

Of course, the hand was awful. You weren’t sure how you’d make it out of this alive. Family poker nights were a tradition started by your parents and the Skywalkers, which you were all quickly introduced to by your 10th birthday. Once you hit double digits, you were old enough to gamble. Ahsoka was always the best, but you had a habit of making a comeback when people least expected it. And you had a great poker face- Anakin did not. Anakin had a habit of wearing every thought and emotion on his sleeve his entire life. Shmi always swore it would be his downfall- as a child, you thought she was just talking about his downfall at poker. But once you got older, you quickly understood. 

When you discovered his breakup with Padme, you felt like maybe part of you understood. But you never really knew why they broke up. Everyone just told you, “They were better off as friends,” and that was all you knew. Did you want the real story? Absolutely. But part of you was worried about what he’d tell you. You knew better than to get involved in Anakin’s love life, and deep down, a part of you didn’t want to taint the image you had always had of him in your mind.

“Heard you finally got into MIT,” Anakin breaks the silence and your train of thought as he pushes a couple of chips into the center of the table, “Congratulations, although I’ve never heard of anyone going to MIT for an Archeology degree.” You roll your eyes and sigh. 

“There it is.” You giggle as everyone groans, setting their cards down as they fold. 

“There’s what?” He shoots you a disapproving glare.

“You’ve never given me a compliment without an insult. Was waiting for it.” You shrug, laying down your cards, “Full house.” Anakin’s jaw drops as you pull all the chips in your direction. 

“Shit,” He mutters, setting his cards down and laying his head on the table as he groans loudly in annoyance, “Fucking done with this game.”

“And so are we,” Shmi motions Cliegg to stand, “Love you guys. Have fun. Good to have you back, sweetheart.” Shmi kisses your head as Cliegg ruffles your hair before leaving to say goodnight to your parents. 

“Mhm,” you hum, finishing the last of your beer, “and plenty of people go to MIT for archeology. It’s a great school. Besides, it’s about time I joined you all there. And it’s only a 15-minute drive. Speaking of- how’s biochemical engineering going, little one?” With a gentle tap on Ahsoka's knee, she reluctantly tears her gaze away from her phone and responds with an eye roll.

“Fucking awful! I love what I’m studying; the school is incredible- just so much work. I’m so tired. I have time for nothing!” She groans and sinks further into her chair while you, Anakin, and Ben burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Coming from a recent MIT graduate- it doesn’t get any better. Just wait until you get further into your major- Biochemical Engineering is far from easy.” Ben offers her a smile while you and Anakin continue giggling. 

“And on that note,” You stand up, shaking your empty can, “I’m getting something stronger than this Miller.” 

As you enter the house, a soft purr fills the air as your familiar furry companion, Giz, wraps himself around your legs. You squat down on the floor and feel the warmth of his fur as you pet him, "Missed you, little guy."

“He missed you too.” Your mom leans against the doorway, handing you an obnoxiously full glass of wine. “Had a feeling you came in for this. Are we gonna talk about what happened?” 

You sigh, standing up and rubbing your hands on your thighs. “Now’s not really the time or place, Mom. I just got here. The last thing I wanna think about is that.” You grab the glass out of her hand and attempt to turn around before her hand is on your shoulder, pulling you back. 

“Not so fast.” You turn around and meet her concerned eyes, your hands feeling more sweaty than they did a minute ago. “Y/N, no one just up and leaves their entire life for the past two years suddenly without something major happening. I know you haven’t told anyone- and I know the last thing you want to do is talk about it- but please, for the love of God, talk to someone. We can all tell something is off. You’re not yourself, honey. We care about you- and we’re concerned. As much as I’m so fucking happy to have you back, I know something bad happened, and I want to be there for you.” 

“Mom,” You put your hand on her shoulder, fighting back tears with a smile. “You’re doing enough. I just want to have a good time, focus on being in my dream school, and g-get my life back together, okay?” 

“O-okay,” she nods, her voice laced with apprehension as she turns away from you and back into the kitchen, “Pasta on the stove if you want it!” 

“Thanks!” you yell, shutting the back door behind you and sighing loudly as you plop back into your chair, earning an eyebrow raise from everyone, “I’m here for an hour and she’s already bugging me.”

“She just loves you, Y/N/N.” Ben tries to reason, and you feel your leg bounce. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, fidgeting with the poker chips on the table.

“So,” Anakin leans forward, opening another beer, “You and that guy still together? What was his name.. Harry? James?”

“Nick.” You answer for him, unconsciously biting your lip. “And no, we’re not.” Everyone’s ears suddenly perked up at the confession, the consensus being just how little they knew about your life. 

“Damn, what’d you do?” Anakin jokes, searching your face for a smile, only to be met with nothing.

“Ha. Good one.” You chuckle under your breath, your lips forming into a frown.

As soon as Anakin brought up Nick, you lost interest in the conversation. Nick never met the family; you only told them about him over the phone while you were gone. He had always insisted that your life was meant to be in Hampton with him, where you would create something new together. You didn’t need to return home to your family; if you did, you’d be leaving him all alone. Holidays and significant moments came and went, and all the while, you were stuck at a college you loathed, sharing your life with a man you mistakenly believed was the one.  

During your nights in Hampton, you and Nick would often find yourselves curled up on the couch, indulging in excessive drinking while he introduced you to various illicit substances. You pretended to enjoy soccer and cocaine, drinking more tequila than you needed. Shot after shot, followed by line after line, you barely knew who you were. He constantly told you how pretty you were, how you were made for him, but if you forgot to run to the liquor store that day, he would treat you as if you were dead to him. Nick offered little in return for your support, except for empty assurances that the life you would build together would make it all worthwhile. Nick's behavior took a downward spiral as he began staying late at work and arriving home in a drunken stupor. From that point on, things spiraled out of control. 

And maybe a part of you once loved Nick, but now you felt suffocated in the relationship. And when you tried to bring things up to him, he’d tell you that you were a cheap whore who was only made to be his personal fuck toy. And just like that, the conversation came to an end. The coercion left, and he started to force you to use the drugs he’d use, tell you to skip class, skip tests, skip your job- you were losing yourself within him, and you were worried about the consequences if you didn’t let it happen. He was always a kind, sweet, romantic boy- but he could be so, so evil. 

And you’ll never forget the first time he hit you, the sound of his hand connecting with your skin echoing in your ears. As you sat on the counter, the alcohol made your vision blur, and your head throbbed as if it was about to explode. You were already at your limit, and the last thing you wanted was to do was another line. Your nose was already starting to bleed a little, and he begged and begged for you to keep going- telling you he needed it. He didn’t want to do it alone- you had to do it. As you stubbornly declined once more, a sudden, fiery sting seared across your cheek, causing your nose to finally bleed and droplets of blood to stain your thigh. He apologized profusely, waiting on you hand and foot as he cleaned you up, held your hair as you puked, washed you, and still talked you into sex- but it had happened. You knew you needed to leave, or your life could be at stake. 

“Y/N?” Ben asks, and you break out of your Nick-induced trance with a sharp gasp, your eyes glossy and lips bloody from your nervous tic. 

“I’ll be back.” You stand back up, taking a concerningly long swig from the wine before exiting out the back gate and into the driveway. 

“I’m really concerned about her.” Ben watches you leave and bites his lip. Ahsoka nods along with him. “Listen, as happy as I am to have her back, something’s not right. As her brother, I just- I fear the worst. She’s not herself.” 

“Did you see the way she reacted when you asked about Nick?” Ahsoka whispered, leaning in to closer to the table, “Something had to have happened.”

“Wait.” Anakin says, as he and Ben both turn to face her, their brows furrowed in confusion and concern, “Ahsoka, you don’t know anything either? She’s your best friend.”

“I- I know nothing. And I hate it.” She confesses to the boys, the air growing thick as Anakin uncomfortably shifts in his seat, and Ben sighs.

“I think I’m gonna try to talk to her.” Anakin stands slowly as Ben raises a brow and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes.

“Anakin, no offense, but I doubt she’ll want to talk to you,” Ahsoka murmured, avoiding his scowl. 

“Well,” he pushes the chair behind him, walking towards the gate. “We’ll see!” 

Curled up in the Papasan chair on the porch, you lit the joint between your fingers and watched as the lights in your neighbor's windows turned off. Your thoughts drifted from Nick and onto the childhood you missed dearly—so many snowball fights on the street before you, bike rides, and scraped knees. You remember the Johnsons across the street particularly not liking Anakin, so you and Ahsoka egged their house, only to backfire and get Anakin in trouble. You confessed to doing it, and no one believed you. It had to be Anakin. But for some strange reason, he never cared. He accepted the punishment, mowed their yard for a year, and never brought it up to you, no matter how many times you apologized. And every apology that slipped from between your lips was met with a grin. 

And that time in 7th grade when Ahsoka really got into it with Julie down the street. She never liked Ahsoka and always found a way to get under her skin. However, this time was particularly awful. When you found Ahsoka, she was sobbing on the corner while Julie laughed at her, calling her pathetic, telling her that even her adopted parents didn’t love her and that her big brother wasn’t there to save her now. But you were. You pushed Julie onto the grass so fucking hard, only for her to get back up and swing. Ahsoka screamed for you to stop, but a newfound rage took over as you pounded into Julie’s face. She ended up on the pavement with a broken nose, and you ended the fight with a fractured wrist and grounded for a month (Only a month because your mom found out who you fought and what she said). Anakin was waiting for Ben to return from tennis and heard the commotion. He ran down the street, finding Ahsoka sobbing, Julie on the pavement, bloody and teary, and you sitting on the corner, shaking and clutching your throbbing wrist in your hand. He instantly asked Ahsoka what happened before making his way to you, holding your wrist, picking you up, and taking you and Ahsoka back to your house. Your mom called Julie’s mom and talked about what happened, and fortunately, Julie confessed to everything. And that’s when you found out her parents were going through a nasty divorce, and Julie was starting therapy. And surprisingly, she actually grew into a really decent, respectable person. 

The four of you had always done everything together. You had always been inseparable. And when you left, it tore that apart. You left a hole in Brookline, and you knew it as well as they did. Even though they swore they were happy for you, moving on and doing more, you could see in their eyes that they selfishly did not want you to leave. They didn’t like the years of friendship to be put on hold just like that. And, of course, you felt guilty about it all, but you thought you needed to get out of Brookline. You assumed you wanted something bigger than Boston, bigger than you, bigger than those childhood friends. And two years later, you realize just how naïve you were. Those were your lifelong friends; your life was in Boston, and your dream school was there, too. You missed them more than you could ever envision, and the guilt ate at you every single fucking day. And you wished that 19-year-old you had just stayed. Things would be so much simpler if you had stayed. You let some pathetic man in Hampton tell you that it was just you and him- forever. And you knew deep down your 19-year-old naive self didn’t believe a fucking word he said- she just wished she did.  

“Oh, that’s not a cigarette.” Your eyes flicker up from the street and towards a drunken Anakin leaning against the patio rail in front of you. His lips were curled into a mischievous smile, his hair curly and messy. 

“No,” You lean forward, handing him the joint, “No, it’s not.” 

“So,” He took a quick draw from the joint, flicking it against the deck railing as he looked back at you and smiled, “You just got here, and you’re already running from us? What’s up with that?” 

You scoff, snatching the joint from him and leaning back in the chair. 

“Just wanted some alone time, is all.” You avoid his gaze, and it’s his turn to scoff, plopping himself next to you in the chair. 

“Yeah, because you’ve been so fond of that your entire life. I don’t believe you.” 

“And? Never said I cared that you did.” You quickly retorted, earning an eyebrow raise and a smirk. 

“Relax,” he said, snatching the joint back from you and holding it hostage. “Talk to me. It’s just us.” His hand met yours; his gaze was intense and empathetic. 

You weren’t sure why you wanted to tell him. It was probably the weed mixed with a bit of liquid courage, but in that moment, you needed to get it out. He was so welcoming, holding your hand and offering you the comfort you needed in that moment. Was it pure manipulation? Possibly. But you knew Anakin loved you just as much as you loved him, and you knew you could trust him. He had kept your secrets before, so what’s another one? However, none of those other secrets typically included an abusive relationship; it was mainly about Ben and Ahsoka. You gripped his hand back, watching his eyes soften and his lips curve into a small smile.

“Just-” You started, dropping your voice into a low murmur, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” He looked into your eyes like he would die to protect your secret. That was precisely what you needed to see. 

“Nick- uh- sorry,” You sniffled, rubbing your eyes as you searched for the right words. “He- uh- he hurt me—a lot. I barely made it out of that relationship in one piece. I think my breaking point was when I asked him to visit for your grandma’s funeral, and he knocked me out. I woke up in my bathtub, my face covered in my blood, and he was gone. I applied to MIT that morning. The day after I got in, I packed everything I could and left. He’s blocked on everything, and he hasn’t attempted to reach out in any sort of way. Anakin- I don’t know what would have happened to me if I didn’t leave.”

Your eyes met Anakin’s glossy ones as your hands shook underneath his touch. He crooked his head to the side, bringing you in for a much-needed hug. You let yourself cry softly in his arms, feeling his shaky hands rub in slow motions up and down your back, his other hand stroking the top of your scalp.

 But when he looked back at you, the softness in his gaze had disappeared. His fists clenched at his side, his eyebrows furrowed as he bit his lip in frustration. 

“A-Anakin?” 

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell anybody? We would’ve come to help! We could have put that piece of shit in jail by now!” He stands up abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing deeply. 

“I-I’m sorry- I-” You stutter, your mind racing as he paces before you. His eyes meet yours, and he points at you as your heartbeat accelerates.

“Y/N, I swear to god- I’m gonna kill that motherfucker. He’s fucking dead. I don’t care what hap-” He stops momentarily, cut off by your sobs from the chair. Fuck. He’s yelling at a domestic violence victim- no- he’s yelling at you. What a fucking asshole. 

“HeyHeyHeyHey-” He’s quickly on his knees in front of you, shushing and brushing your hair out of your face, “I’m so fucking sorry- that was so selfish of me to do. I shouldn’t have said or done any of that. You opened up to me, and I yelled at you.. that will never happen again, okay? Why don’t we get you to bed?” He held your hands in his, searching your red eyes for an answer as you quickly nodded. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go say goodnight to everyone, you just hold tight here. Sound good?” You nodded once again, and he giggled. “Words, sweetheart. I need you to say something.”

“That’s what I want, Ani. Bed.” You mumble out, forming your lips into a sad smile. His heart broke at the sight of you. 

The second the back gate opened back up, Ben and Ahsoka immediately shot out of their chairs at the sight of Anakin. Their interrupted conversation suddenly had no meaning as he entered, taking a quick seat next to them.

“She’s- uh- she’s pretty upset. And fucked up. I’m gonna take her to bed.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair as Ben and Ahsoka looked at him, puzzled. 

“Well, what happened? Is she okay? Does she need help?” Ahsoka frantically broke the silence, asking the questions she and Ben were both thinking. 

“Listen, she’s in rough shape right now. I’m just gonna get her to sleep, and I’ll tell you guys all about it. I don’t even know if she’s done talking about it. I’ll be right back.” 

“Y/N?” He calls out your name as he steps on the other side of the gate, jogging up the front porch to see you passed out in the chair, joint hanging loosely from your fingers. 

Amused, he grabs the roach from your fingers and casually tosses it off the porch, letting out a small laugh. Clearly, you didn't waste any time before drifting off to sleep. All the crying and weed must have done something. As he crouches down beside you, he tenderly brushes your hair, his eyes filled with adoration as he looks at your sleeping figure. 

“I’m so sorry about everything,” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, sighing softly, “I know you’re going to hate me for what I’m gonna do. Just please know it’s in your best interest. I care about you so much.” He bites his lip in thought, his eyes searching your figure.

As he rises to his feet, he effortlessly swipes your phone and tucks it away, his eyes briefly glancing at your water bottle. With a tender gesture, he reaches his arms beneath you, drawing you close to his chest and ensuring the blanket envelops you snugly as he lifts you from the chair. Your head is cradled against his chest, his hand wrapped around your waist and under your knees. 

Anakin carried you gently up the stairs of your house, each step creaking under the weight of his feet. Passing through the familiar corridors, he reached your bedroom door and pushed it open, immediately being overwhelmed by the alluring scent of your space. As he laid you down on your bed, he couldn't help but notice how little the room had changed since you left, the same photos on the walls and the same worn-out rug. Your mom kept everything intact, probably hoping you’d come back eventually. He filled your water bottle, plugged your phone in, left some medicine on your nightstand, and tucked you in tightly. Just as he turned on the fan and kissed your forehead goodnight, your eyes fluttered open to meet with his, and you gave him a sleepy smile. 

“Ani?” You mumbled, watching as his smile grew above you. 

“Hey, sweetheart, feeling pretty sleepy, huh?” 

“Mhm,” You stretched your arms out momentarily as you yawned. “I’m sorry I dropped all of that on you earlier. And I’m just- I’m sorry about it all. I feel so-”

“Y/N,” He gets on his knees next to you, the warmth in his eyes matching the tender smile on his lips, “You don’t need to apologize for a thing. I’m always here. And so are Ben and Ahsoka. We got you. You take as much time as you need to process, recover, and do whatever you need to, okay? It’s about you, Y/N/N, don’t worry about us.” You giggle and nod at his words, your eyes attempting to flutter shut. He laughs at your exhaustion, ruffling up the hair on your head. “Sleep well, okay? I’ll be here if you need me.” 

He closes your door and leans against the door frame, exhaling heavily as he tries to make sense of everything that happened throughout the night. How could someone be so fucking despicable to do this to you? His girl. His fists clenched tightly at his waist, his eyes burning with rage as he vividly imagined the torment you endured. He tried not to let his mind go there. He really did. Resting against your bedroom door, vivid visions of you, covered in blood and pleading for help, overwhelmed him, plunging him into a downward spiral. And in a moment of weakness, he did exactly what he promised he wouldn’t do.

“She was abused. Badly.”

“WHAT?”

Ben and Ahsoka jump from their seats on the porch, rushing towards Anakin as he angrily makes his way from the house onto the deck. 

“That fucking piece of shit!” Ben shouts, punching his fist against the side of the house while Ahsoka tries to calm Anakin down, asking him for more details.

“Okay, Anakin, I need you to give me more than just ‘abused.’ I know you have details.” Ahsoka sputtered while she held the sides of his arms, guiding him over to the table to sit down while Ben paced behind them. 

“It was that asshole she was dating for the past two years- Nick. The one we conveniently never met, which I’m sure was on purpose. She didn’t tell me much other than that if she didn’t leave when she did, she could’ve- well- she- it just wouldn’t have ended well.”

Anakin's words hung in the air, creating a thick silence that was almost tangible with tension. Anakin's throat tightened as he locked eyes with Ben and Ahsoka, their glossy gazes reflecting their shared pain. Ben found a spot at the table, deep in thought, as he absentmindedly stroked his chin, his eyes devoid of any emotion. Ahsoka carefully finished the last of her wine, the cling! of it ringing out as the glass met the table one last time.  

“Well-” Ben tried to start, cut off by his sudden sobs. He pushed his head on the table, covering his face from Ahsoka and Anakin as he attempted to take deep breaths, processing the information he had just learned. In an effort to hold back tears, Anakin bit his lip, his hand trembling as he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. As she silently wept, Ahsoka soothingly rubbed Ben's back, hoping to ease his pain.

“I just- I should have known.” She mumbled, picking the cat's hair off of the back of Ben’s sweater. 

“There’s no way you could’ve, Snips.” 

“It’s just that- I thought it was odd when she suddenly asked me to pick up her cat. Saying she couldn’t take care of him and that it was an emergency. I never even met Nick, and she wouldn’t let me stay at the apartment long. I hardly saw her. So many fucking red flags..” she trailed off, feeling her head hurt at the thought. 

“Ahsoka, it’s okay.” Ben sniffled, lifting his head off the table as his red eyes met Anakin’s. “There is no one at fault here other than Nick.”

"Exactly," Anakin paused momentarily at his comment, his eyes widening. “Guys, she made me promise I wouldn’t tell you. Considering everything, I think we should wait until she opens up. Even though it hurts, the last thing I’d want to do is hurt her anymore.”

“Yeah,” Ben whispers, and Ahsoka nods, holding onto each other as they try to calm down.  

“We should get to bed, guys. It’s 3:30.” Anakin mumbles as he stands up and stretches, offering his hand to Ahsoka. “We’ll see you soon, Ben. Get some rest.”

As he lay in bed, Anakin’s mind wandered off to you. How could it not? Besides being your best friend, he always looked for more in you. The knowledge weighed heavily on him, and he despised himself because of it. To him, you were his world, his everything. Always. And hearing/seeing how hurt you were? It fucking destroyed him. So, he let himself cry. He allowed himself to feel those emotions for you, and he always had buried them deep down. Instead, he buried his face in his pillow and soaked it with his tears. His admiration for you would never falter, and neither would his protectiveness. He felt as if a part of him failed, and as a result, his guard was down. He felt the desire to love you and keep you safe increased, knowing that getting the chance to do so may destroy him inside and out.

And it didn’t help that you lost your virginities to each other. Sharing such a unique, intimate moment with the person he always knew was the one, well, that just really fucked things. Literally. There wasn't a moment when he wasn't haunted by the memories of that night; it was a constant presence in his mind. And then he got with Padme, and you left for Virginia, and things got so lost and confused, and life moved on. You moved on. He tried to. But he searched for you in everyone and everything. Padme knew it, he knew it, fuck, his mother probably knew it! He’s just thankful Ben doesn’t know it. As much as he hated to say it, Anakin knew he would have gone back in time to do anything to change that moment. Because now you’re here, and his feelings have only intensified. Feelings that should have left a long, long time ago. And yet, as he cried himself to sleep, he continued to dream of you, just like every night before.

Please let me know if you wish to be tagged!

Series tags: @w0rsh1psells @ursogorgeous13 @tommyvelvet @mistress-amidala @queenofnigthdarkness @nikkissecretlibrary @doblasftcisco @ann4zw @catachlysmicjedi @googie-jeon @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo @anakinstwinklebunny

[tolkienhorrorweek]

Welcome to Tolkien Horror Week! This is a new event, following in the footsteps of Terrifying Tolkien Week, last run in 2019. This event celebrates all things spooky and creepy in Tolkien's work—both the things he tells us explicitly and the things he leaves up to our imaginations.

The event will run from October 27th to November 2nd and accepts all types of fanworks. There is an AO3 collection for the event here.

Below are some suggested prompts for each day of the week. They are not mandatory; feel free to combine them or disregard them entirely.

Day 1: Angband & Utumno | seeth all things crooked | captivity Day 2: Angmar, Rhudaur, & Minas Morgul | of such dread and dark enchantment | sorcery Day 3: Mordor & the Dead Marshes | the pitiless land | control Day 4: The Barrow-downs & the Old Forest | the clinging mists | corruption Day 5: Mirkwood, Nan Elmoth, & Taur-nu-Fuin | the shadows grew long in the forest | hunting Day 6: Nan Dungortheb & the Paths of the Dead | by perilous paths | terror Day 7: Isengard, Moria, & Númenor | we cannot get out | trapped

Please mention @tolkienhorrorweek in the body of your post and tag #tolkienhorrorweek and #tolkienhorrorweek2024 in the first 10 tags. You may also submit a post.

Given the nature of the event, please also tag for any potential triggers or content warnings and place any NSFW content beneath a read more/link to AO3.

For more information, please see the FAQ. If you have any questions, drop them in the ask box.

Art is by Alan Lee.

[celiastjamesoscar]

Clean

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: when Natasha comes back hurt from a mission, she lets you clean her wounds.

Warnings: fluff, light cussing, mentions of sex, jokes about kidnapping, reader being a menace

My Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6K

AN: this is probably the softest fic I have ever written 💀

The sound of soft footsteps echoed throughout the compound as Natasha made her way into the kitchen. She quietly opened a cabinet and grabbed a bowl along with the box of Raisin Bran. She set the bowl down on the island before moving to the fridge and grabbing some milk, and then she made herself a bowl of cereal.

Today had been one of the rougher missions she's been on; it was supposed to be a simple bag and grab, but Hydra agents had gotten the drop on them, and she came back battered and bruised. Along with the bruises, Natasha had minor cuts littering her body, and a small jolt of pain ran through her body every time she moved.

You had warned Natasha not to go on the mission; it sounded too easy. And now, as she sat on the couch and rewatched her comfort episodes of New Girl, she wished that she had listened to you. You were always the wiser one in the relationship, and Natasha sometimes hated that about you. You would always try and talk her out of doing risky missions and she rarely listened to you. She was scared to face your wrath, so she wasted as much time as possible before entering your shared bedroom.

You had joined the Avengers as a surgeon; you were one of the country's best and met Natasha during one of her missions. She was undercover at a bar in Italy when she saw you.

It was a rowdy Friday night, and Natasha’s target was at the same bar. You had accidentally bumped into her, causing her to ruin her dress, and naturally, she was bitchy with you for it. You ushered out a plethora of apologies; you told her that you were only here because your friend had dragged you here but then left once she found someone to hook up with, causing you to be stressed, and that’s why you accidentally ran into her.

You bought her a drink as an apology, and she gladly accepted it. You wanted to talk to her, but she told you she had some business to take care of once she saw her target leave the building.

“See you in a minute, yeah?” She asked once she finished her drink and placed her hand on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course,” you replied, smiling as you watched the redhead leave the bar. Natasha was a willow, and she bent right to your wind, begging you to take her hand and meet her after dark.

Naturally, you didn’t see the woman again, and you felt ashamed for getting your hopes up. Eventually, you saw Natasha again in the same bar, and this time, she bought you a drink. The two of you conversed back and forth about your lives, even though you suspected she wasn’t telling you the whole truth about her job.

“I do background checks at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington,” Natasha said as she sipped her drink. You lightly laughed at her words but didn’t pry; you knew she was lying because her forest-green eyes refused to meet yours for over three seconds. You told her that you were a surgeon at one of the hospitals in New York City, and when she asked what specialty you are, you told her trauma.

The pair talked into the hours of the night, and when it came time to leave, Natasha asked you for your number, and you happily gave it to her. You spent one more week with Natasha before you returned to New York, and it was the best week of your life. You went on lunch dates with her every day she was free, and you quickly bonded with the woman.

When it came time for you to leave, you kissed Natasha’s cheek as you stood outside her apartment with a bouquet of lavender and violets. “I’m heading back to New York at 3 today, and I just wanted to say goodbye before I left,” you said with a smile, but your eyes had pain in them as you handed Natasha her flowers. She smiled at them and welcomed you into her apartment while she put them in flowers. The apartment was bare of any photos except a few that you could tell were of a fake family near the fireplace in the living room.

Take-out containers were in the trash can, while the fridge had a scarce amount of food in it. You weren’t naïve; all the signs you had picked up on that Natasha was a spy. You had dipped your toes in this line of work before; you had worked with Interpol for a year and a half before switching to medicine, so you knew all the signs.

When Natasha returned after putting the flowers in a vase, she invited you to watch a movie with her until your flight, and you gladly accepted it. When the clock hit one, you pulled your head up from Natasha’s lap and grabbed your things. “See you in a minute, Natasha,” you said as you kissed her cheek again and disappeared down the hallway.

Naturally, when Natasha returned to the States, she ran your name across all kinds of databases, and eventually, she found you. She read your file a dozen times: graduated high school as the valedictorian with enough college credit to be an incoming sophomore, finished a year early in criminal Justice, and soon worked with Interpol as a spy. You spent 18 months with Interpol before an injury threw you out, and that’s when you switched to medicine.

Just like high school, you graduated at the top of your class and got an internship at one of the best prestigious hospitals in the country. You’ve been there for roughly a year now, but you were one of the best residents there.

You weren’t even back home for three weeks when an agent from SHIELD asked you if you would like a job offer at Stark Tower. At first, you were a bit shocked at the offer, but when you entered the first floor of the Stark Building, and you saw your redhead, you knew it was her doing.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Natasha said with a sly grin as she led you through the luxurious building and toward a room with ‘T. Stark’ on the name mantle beside the door. You give her a questioning look before entering the room. “Good luck,” Natasha said gently before leaving you alone with the genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

The interview went well, aside from the fact that Tony kept hitting on you, and you were offered the job of a head surgeon. The salary was definitely an increase, and it had much better benefits than your old job, plus, you would get to see Natasha a lot more, so of course you took the offer.

One week into your new job and Natasha asked you on a date. It was nothing fancy; a picnic date on the top of Stark Tower, but you would be lying if it weren’t the best date you’d ever been on. You two talked and drank a bottle of Dom Perignon deep into the night, and when it was time to go your separate ways, Natasha pulled you into a soft and gentle kiss. It’s been eight months since Natasha started calling you hers, and she’s never been happier.

However, as she recalls all the happy memories since the start of your beautiful and gentle relationship, she gets called back into reality when she hears soft footsteps echo off the walls. She held her breath and prepared for the scolding that she would inevitably receive, but to her surprise, it was Wanda up looking for a light night snack. “Trouble in paradise?” Wanda asked as she grabbed her own stash of pop-tarts; no one dared to mess with Thor’s.

Natasha sighed at Wanda’s words; the poor girl was on the same mission as her, and Wanda knew how badly Natasha was banged up. “No, I just know that Y/N is going to have my head when she sees how bad it is,” Natasha said with a defeated sigh as Wanda walked over to her.

The Sokovian placed her hand on Natasha’s shoulder and gently squeezed it, “I wish you the best of luck with your lady; may your survival be long,” Wanda joked as she walked off.

“May your death be quick,” Natasha mumbled under her breath once Wanda left the room. She finished up her cereal and cleaned the bowl and spoon before she tipped-toed to your shared bedroom. The Russian quietly opened the door and gently climbed into bed, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into her. You sighed at the contact before subconsciously nudging your head into your girlfriend’s neck.

“Where were you?” You mumbled into the crook of Natasha’s neck before kissing her clothed collarbone. “I had an amazing day, love. I’m so glad you asked,” Natasha joked as she pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head.

You groaned at Natasha’s words before nudging your head against the redhead’s chest. “Life360 said you got home an hour ago, Nat. So where were you?” You asked as sleep left your body. Natasha knew that this conversation could go one of two ways: she could be honest with you and have you scold her, or she could lie and have you not find out until training in the morning and then have you scold her. “I'm cheating on you,” Natasha lied.

“Seriously, Natasha? I'm not going to fall for that,” you stated. The last time she had pulled that was when she snuck out at midnight to watch Barbie with Clint. When she told you she was cheating on you, you went ballistic; you were on the verge of throwing her off a cliff until you saw a pink box in her purse backpack.

“Natasha, what’s this?” You had asked as you made your way over toward her bag. She tried to stop you, but you were too quick, and you pulled out a Barbie doll from its box. “Did you go watch Barbie without me?”

“Y/N, I love you so much, but this was the only time Clint could go with me. You are so beautiful,” Natasha said while making her way over to you. “I bought you the Barbie and car the theater was selling.”

You scoffed at Natasha’s words before setting the Barbie down on your dresser along with the car. “I want to wrap my hands around your neck and not let go, but I’m going to let it slide: on one condition,” you stated as you walked back to Natasha and stopped before her.

“Yes, anything.”

“I get to be on bottom for a week, no questions asked.”

“Deal.”

See, Natasha was one of those people who will lie only when the truth sounds like a lie, and you quickly found that out after that incident.

Pulling back from the memory, Natasha wrapped her arms around you tighter and whispered, “Promise me you won’t get mad?”

“Depends on what it is,” you replied. Natasha took a deep breath and kissed your head once and then twice before speaking, “The mission went a little south today, but I’m okay.”

At the mention of the mission going wrong, you pushed yourself up and the bed and turned on the lamp next to the bed. “What happened, Natasha? Are you alright? I swear to god if someone hurt you,” you trailed off at the end at the thought of losing your lover. “I’m fine, detka. Don’t worry,” Natasha replied as she gently grabbed your hands at the hems of her shirt.

“Natasha,” you warned as your eyes pierced the other soul; she knew you could be intense, especially regarding her safety and well-being. The Russian groaned at your words before allowing you to take her shirt off, and her heart broke at the small gasp that left your lips.

“I told you it’s not bad,” Natasha joked as you pulled her into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. You motioned for her to sit on the sink while you looked through the cabinets for a first aid kit. Now that you were in better lighting, you could see all the cuts and bruises that littered your other half’s body. There was hardly enough skin that wasn't either turning a dark purple or that didn’t have a cut on it; you didn’t know whether to scold her for being so reckless or to cherish her for still being here with you.

Deciding to go with both, you gently cupped Natasha’s cheeks and pulled her into a loving kiss expressing all your love for her. She kissed you back as she wrapped her arms around your waist and slid off the sink. “I love you,” Natasha murmured against your lips as her breath fanned your lips. You kissed the words and pulled back, “I love you too, but I cannot believe you got this hurt and didn’t tell me about it! Now, get back on the sink so I can take care of you,” you said as you opened the first aid kit.

You grabbed some peroxide and put it on a cotton ball before gently pressing it against a cut on Natasha’s lower abdomen. Natasha hissed at the sting and gripped the sink’s edge as she groaned. “I told you to be careful,” you remarked as you set the cotton ball down and put some Neosporin on a bandit. “Yeah, yeah,” Natasha mumbled.

“Tell you what, for every cut I clean up, you get a kiss?” You proposed as you gently placed the bandit on Natasha’s cut. The redhead smiled at this proposition and tried to pull you into another kiss, but you put a finger to her lips, stopping her advances, “Nuh-uh, you’ve already gotten yours for this cut.”

The woman threw her hand back and groaned at your words, “Why do you hate me?” She exclaimed. You scoffed at her words as you grabbed another cotton ball and put peroxide on it, “I don’t hate you; I’m just not letting you bend the rules,” you said with a playful smile as you ignored how Natasha mumbled something under her breath.

When you placed the cotton ball on a cut near Natasha’s collarbone, applying more pressure than needed, she hissed and pushed you away from her, “Ow! What the fuck was that?!”

You rolled your eyes at Natasha’s comment before grabbing her shoulder with your left hand to keep her in place as you pressed the ball back onto her skin. “Stop being a baby, Nat, and let me clean your wounds,” you replied with a slight chuckle, causing Natasha to smack your arm. “Hey! Do not hit me, you little shit!”

“Don’t call me a baby, then!” Natasha retorted, refusing to let you clean her wounds again. You scoffed at her words and put the first aid kit back in the cabinet, and walked off to bed, “Fine, then. If you aren’t going to let me take care of you, I guess you just have to have Doctor Lee take care of you.”

Natasha froze at the mention of Doctor Lee. She’s only been to him once since you started working here, and she hated every second of it. You had the day off and were having dinner with a friend when you got a call from Natasha.

“Excuse me for a second,” you said to your friend while exiting the dining table. “What’s up, my love?” You asked when you stepped outside the restaurant and answered the phone. You had expected Natasha to ask if you would pick her up some food or maybe even ask if she could top tonight, but you didn’t expect her to scream in Russian about Doctor Lee. You had picked up a little Russian just from being around Natasha, so you knew the basic of what had happened: she had gotten a small cut on a mission that required stitches, and Lee made the cut worse, so Natasha had to get more stitches than needed and Lee complained about how rude Natasha was to her face.

Doctor Lee was a grumpy older man but was the best doctor you had ever worked with, so everyone put up with his attitude. You listened to Natasha rant about him for another five minutes before you interrupted her, “Natasha, I love you so much, but I’m going to need to get back to Kate before she thinks I left her,” you said with a small laugh when you heard Natasha groan. “Fine, let’s just hope I don’t bleed out all over our floor, and you have to clean it up,” she replied in an upset tone.

You rolled your eyes at her comment as you walked back into the restaurant, “you will be fine until I get back. If it’s that bad, I’m sure Lee can help you again.”

“He’s the one who got me into this mess!” Natasha yelled into the phone.

“Ah, so it must have been him who stabbed you then?”

The phone was silent for a few seconds before Natasha replied, “Yes.”

“Oh my god, you leave that poor man alone! He’s brilliant,” you said as you sat down at your table and across from Kate, who sent you a knowing smile. She was friends with Natasha’s sister, and she knew that the sisters shared a similar trait of exaggerating things.

“Just because he’s smart doesn’t mean he’s a good person,” Natasha retorted.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll talk to you when I get home, okay? I love you.”

“That’s if I don’t bleed out and die,” Natasha mumbled into the phone before adding with excitement, “I love you too,” before hanging up.

Natasha shook off the painful memory when she heard you get into bed and shut off the lamp. “Hey, Y/N. Wait,” Natasha said as she walked into the bedroom and sat beside you, touching your hip. “Please don’t make me go to Lee.”

You rolled over and faced Natasha, your face heating up as her hand was now on your lower abdomen, and you had to fight back your thoughts. “Are you going to complain?” You questioned. Natasha shook her head and prayed that you would finish cleaning her wounds; she would rather die than return to Lee. “Okay,” you said as you moved from the bed and walked back into the bathroom with Natasha on your heels.

“Do I still get kisses for every cut cleaned?” Natasha asked as she sat on the sink. “Maybe, if you behave,” you replied with a playful smirk as you got out the first aid kit again.

You repeated the same actions with the cotton ball as you did moments earlier and lightly pressed it onto a small cut on Natasha’s shoulder. “Do you remember when we first met?” Natasha asked randomly as you placed a bandaid on her cut. “Mhm,” you replied as you quickly kissed the Russian’s lips, holding up to your end of the deal, “the bar in Italy.”

“Yeah, but do you remember when we met again in the bar?”

You weren’t quite sure where Natasha was going with this, but you wanted to play along. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

The redhead hissed when she felt the sting of peroxide seep into her cut as you pressed the cotton against her skin. You noticed how her eyes looked everywhere but you and how she played with her fingers in her lap; she was nervous about something, and you had no idea why. “I went to that bar every single night after I first saw you,” Natasha admitted after you placed another bandaid on her.

You laughed at her words and her nervousness. “Natasha, you literally stalked me and basically kidnapped me after knowing me for a week! Why are you so nervous to admit you also stalked the bar looking for me?”

“I did not stalk you!” Natasha defended, “I just missed you so much; I searched everywhere for you and didn’t stop until I found you. And I didn’t kidnap you. You were 24 years old!”

“Mhm, if you say so, you can still kidnap an adult,” you replied as you threw away the ball and kissed Natasha again, “that looks like all the serious ones.”

Natasha frowned at your comment; she didn’t enjoy you cleaning the cuts, but she wanted the reward of your kisses. “No, I think I have some more on my back,” your girlfriend replied.

You pulled her off the sink by her hands and turned her around; there were tiny cuts over her back and some light bruises, but nothing that needed cleaning. You pressed your pointer finger into a bruise that was turning purple, “nope, looks good.”

The pain that shot through Natasha’s back when you dug your finger into her bruise was something she would never forget; she would be on her deathbed and still remember that feeling. She ducked away from your finger and turned around, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! That hurt!”

“That’s what you get for ‘adultnapping’ me,” you replied as you put up the first aid kit and left the bathroom. The older woman was right on your heels after turning off the lights, “Don’t act like it wasn’t the best crime ever.”

The sound of laughter bounced around the room as you climbed into bed and opened your arms for Natasha, and she quickly crawled into your grasp, laying her head on your chest. “We were jet-set; Bonnie and Clyde, huh?” You replied and placed a kiss on Natasha's head. “Mhm. I’m just glad you didn’t turn me in for the crime,” Natasha mumbled against your collarbone as sleep slowly took her.

“Of course not, my love,” you replied as you kissed Natasha’s head and rubbed her back as sleep consumed you; slowly drifting off with the love of your life in your arms.

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

AN: I rushed this and I kinda hate it but oh well 💀

[yanderecrazysie]

Title: Rulebreaker (Part 1)

Pairings: Yandere! Riddle Rosehearts x Reader

AU: My Fantasy AU

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Notes: Riddle’s story was second-most voted, so I decided to start working on it. A Dragon’s Hoard will probably get a NSFW Part 3 on Tumblr, so look out for that lol.

What you had expected to see was a bustling marketplace, chaotic and teeming with life. Instead, market day seemed to be a subdued event. Each stall was tidy and pristine-clean. Every item for sale was arranged perfectly- books from A-Z and fruit by color. People didn’t seem to talk unless necessary, leading to long silences while customers perused goods in utter quiet. 

Your orange-and-black striped tail twitched with discomfort, off-put by the eerie silence. With as good hearing as yours was, the quiet seemed amplified. You let out a soft chuckle that sounded loud to your ears and muttered, “Well, he’s managed to ruin this too, huh?”

No wonder you were the only non-fae attending this event- no one would feel welcome in an atmosphere so dominated by a need for perfection. 

You walked up to a stall run by a young man around your age. You took a moment to admire his rounded, transparent wings and his pointed ear tips before requesting, “One tour of Heartslabyul Kingdom, please.”

“I ain’t no tour guide,” he snorted, turning up his nose at you. You pulled a pouch of coins from your dress pocket, allowing the opening to part a little to show the gold within, and his eyes went wide. “One tour, coming right up!”

The “castle” itself was a tall, stone-walled building that stretched across entire villages and kept them all in one giant box with only one exit. A secondary castle, front and center, served as the royal family’s home. This castle was pointed and elegant and, as daunting as it was, with its dark shadow over the villages, you were eager to visit it.

The home of the royal family was enclosed in a garden, similarly to how the primary castle was surrounded by forest. The garden is what you wanted to see most, as news of its beauty had traveled all the way to your home in Savanaclaw. 

Ace, as you came to understand your guide was named, pointed out mundane things on your way to the royal castle, such as the well he fell into as a child and every flock of flamingos around watering holes.

Finally, the dirt gave way to grass, signaling the start of Heartslabyul’s royal garden and it was every bit as breathtaking as you had hoped. The grass beneath your bare feet was soft and vibrant and put a spring in your step. The air smelled of flowers and, while plenty of species were present, perfectly arranged in separate beds, they could not compare to the roses the size of your head that lined the hedges.

Ace looked around with a mixture of admiration and apprehension, “Don’t step on anything, the queen’s got a thing about keeping this place clean.”

“Queen?” you asked, ears perking up.

“Figure of speech,” Ace said, peering up at the towering spires of the royal castle, “King Riddle runs this show, but you’d think he was some kind of flower tyrant with how much he obsesses over his precious garden.”

You smiled, “I’ve heard of this ‘King Riddle’. I’ve heard he’s got over a thousand ridiculous rules.”

Any trace of a smile disappeared from Ace’s face, “And you’d better follow every single one of them if you want to make it out of here.”

You hummed in response, not particularly bothered by the fear in his voice. Your tail swished back and forth as you reached out a hand towards one of the biggest roses in the garden. Each petal was the size of your hand, and you found yourself caressing the soft white petals, loving the feeling of the silky texture on your fingers.

“Someone’s here,” Ace said, stiffening, “Behave yourself!”

The man that came around the corner was not who you were expecting in the slightest. He was short, with red hair and blueish-gray eyes, and he looked absolutely furious, charging towards you with the air of a charging bull. You quickly let go of the rose and stepped away from it, eyes on Ace, who looked like he was now made of stone. From his reaction, you could surmise that you had just met the “Queen”. 

The red-haired man stormed ever closer, his wings trembling with rage. Despite his small stature, each of his steps carried the weight of authority. “You!” his sharp voice rang out, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Your ears flattened at how loud he was yelling. You held up your hands in surrender, “I was just admiring the roses.”

“Admiring them?” Riddle’s voice became dangerously low, “Rule 412: No foreign hand shall lay claim to the blooms of the Life-Garden without express permission from the king or queen!”

You blinked in surprise, “I wasn’t ‘laying claim to the blooms’. I was just touching them a little. No harm done.”

Ace threw up his hands, “Your Majesty! She didn’t mean any harm! She’s just a visitor so she doesn’t know all the rules!”

Riddle was not swayed, “Ignorance is no excuse for disorder!”

“Oh, shut up,” you snapped, “The roses are fine and your rules are dumb.”

His head snapped back as though you had slapped him. He spluttered for a moment, completely blown away by what you’d said. “These rules were put into place by the Great One herself!”

“I don’t care,” you said simply, “And if you try to lock me up for this, I guarantee you the Savanaclaw officials will come for me.” That was a lie, but you really didn’t feel like going to jail.

Riddle glared at you, but there was something behind his blueish-gray eyes that made you feel bare. “You’re insolent! Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?”

“I do,” you replied, “You’re King Riddle. You’re the one who thinks a list of rules is more important than the people who live under them.”

Ace gasped loudly, wings twitching in panic, “She didn’t mean that!” He waved his hands as though trying to undo the damage.

Riddle ignored him, an unkind smirk curling at the corner of his lips, “You’re unlike anyone I’ve met before,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Bold but foolish.”

You crossed your arms, “I’ll take bold, but I don’t claim ‘foolish’.”

Riddle’s eyes flashed, “Why are you here? What brings you so far from home, Savanaclaw were-tiger?”

“I wanted to see the kingdom everyone’s always gushing about. I guess it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Riddle’s smirk vanished, “You tread dangerously close to treason. A stay in the court would do you good.”

Ace’s wings drooped, “Oh boy…”

Fear flashed through you at Ace’s expression, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Riddle’s smirk returned, “You’ll remain here as my guest. You’ll learn the rules of Heartslabyul and you’ll come to understand the beauty of order.”

Your tail lashed, “Yeah, that’s not happening. I’m leaving.” You turned to storm out of the garden, but Riddle called to you.

“You’ll find leaving… difficult.” The glint in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, “Every flower, every tree, even every blade of grass answers to me.”

“You’re trapping me here?”

“Not at all,” Riddle said smugly, “You’re free to leave at any time- if you can.” Riddle let out a bitter laugh, “You wanted to see my kingdom? Well now you can experience it in its entirety.”

He stepped back, wings spread wide, “Welcome to Heartslabyul, little rebel. Let’s see how long your defiance lasts.”

[soiwj]

Tasty Treat

Arlecchino x fem!baker!reader

Link to part 2

Very ooc arlecchino

(i dont know her character wel but she's hot, so i thought I'd give it a shot)

Planning on doing research on her though!!

Fuckk i love women omg

Second mini-fic ever how exciting!!

Please request stuff here!! It's hard to come up with prompts ;-;

I wrote this at 3 am so excuse the lack of structure

You start your usual routine of setting everything up for the day, although today is a bit special. Your bakery doesn't have many customers, considering the place it's in is quite remote. A peaceful forrest that's still in fontaine borders yet far away from any other buildings or people.

You chose this place because you appreciate the beauty and peace that nature brings you. The birds whisteling in the morning, the foxes chittering, the sound of tree leaves rustling. Yet that peace comes with quite a heft price. Loneliness. Besides the old lady that lives in a small village near the forrest, you don't get much human interaction. Even though your bakery is quite big and fits lots of people, you don't really have a lot of customers to share it with.

A week ago, you received a business offer from the house of the hearth. Since the bakery near the orphanage closed down, they don't have any establishments providing them things like breakfast treats and pastries. That's why they're employing you. The contract has you preparing and delivering the food to the hearth.

Even though this seemed like quite a lot of work, you accepted. I mean, how could you not? You get to make pasteries for adorable kids, making them smile, AND you get paid? This is a dream come true. After years of sulking alone in the damp forest serving a customer here and there, you get the privilege of a constant source of profit.

After hours of baking, your tired eyes look at the required amount of food stated in the order, and you realize that this is only enough for the kids. How strange that the boss herself did not order anything. Does she eat breakfast somewhere else? Nevertheless, you decide to make something anyway.

After packing up the orders, you start walking towards the orphanage, barely holding on to the several boxes stacked on top of eachother.

As you arrive, you set the boxes down and ring the orphanage's doorbell. An earie ring echoes from inside.

A tall woman opens the door. Her snow white hair with the occasional black streak looks down at you from the doorframe. Her brows furrow slightly at the sight of you, and the boxes.

"Are you alone?" She asks, you're confused, to say the least. "...yes?" You mutter. "How come you've managed to carry all those boxes on your lonesome?" Her sultry voice sounds out as she crosses her arms in amusement, holding back a grin. Before you can answer, you hear who you assume are the kids, walking slowly towards the persumed dining room.

"I'll help you with these," Arlecchino says curtly as she picks up a few boxes to bring to the kitchen. You pick up the last remaining boxes as you tail behind her.

As you and Arlecchino start unpacking and putting the treats on plates, you can't help but think of how different you expected Arlecchino to be. Clearly, her reputation precedes her. All the while your mind is drifting off to several different subjects, you don't notice the red-crossed eyes staring your way.

After the children finish eating, you stay a while, wanting to hear their opinion on the treats. As you basically survey them, you take the time to get to know some of them. Playing games with them and answering their unending questions.

As you realise you've overstayed your welcome, you say goodbye to the kids and quickly leave the orphanage. On your way back, you reach your hand into your purse, trying to take out your cherry flavored gum. You eventually find it but with it a little pink box brushes your hand. The cookie, you forgot to give it to Arlecchino.

Sat in her office, Arlecchino can't stop thinking about the kind-hearted baker she employed. Just looking at her interacting with the kids made something burn up inside of her. A little warmth that warms her cold, unfeeling heart. She looks out the window, hoping to have some reprieve from this strange feeling. Yet it seems the archons are against her wishes as she sees a certain baker running towards the orphanage. Almost tripping on her way. Even though it is foolish to entertain feelings for such a seemingly simple creature, Arlecchino can't help but grin at another interaction with her. Usually, she doesn't like to play with her food. But this time, she might make you an exception.

You stumble into the building as one of the kids, whom you now know is called Tealus, opens the door for you. With the pink box in hand, you stride through the halls looking for Arlecchino's office. As you ask one of the children, they point to the dark, long hallway without windows. How fitting. Your heels clicking softly as you walk over to her black office double doors. This place seems more like a villain's lair than an orphanage to you now, but you digress.

You knock 5 times in a specific pattern you were used to as a child when you hear a stern "Come in." You pull the golden doorhandle as the office window light starts flooding the hallway. You quickly close the door behind you as you step closer to her desk.

She does not look up from the paperwork on her desk as she multitasks without problem. "Why are you still here, baker." Just because she approves of your bond with the kids does not mean she will treat you differently from other people. "I saw there was nothing for you on the order list, so I made you something." You say proudly. You start rambling as you explain how you forgot to give it to her during breakfast.

She interrupts you as she reaches out her hand. "Can I see it?" You're flustered as you quickly hand her the box. She places it down gently on her desk as she lifts the packaging. Facing Arlecchino is a cookie with a white base, decorated with a black and red spider on top. "How adorable," Arlecchino mutters softly. Your soft 'huh' drives her back to reality as she responds. "I'm not very fond of sweet treats. I prefer savory things." She almost chuckles at the sight of your worried eyes locking with hers. "I can make you something else if you'd like? Hmm, although I can't think of many savory pasteries..." As you start naming some options, you reach for the cookie, trying to throw it away, but Arlecchino's quick reflexes hold your wrist before you can get close. "I thought you didn't like it?" Your confusion radiating off of you. "I never said such a thing. I merely said I prefer savory treats." She softly lets your wrist go as she stores the cookie on a desk extension behind her.

From then on, this has become routine, although some things have changed throughout the weeks. Instead of delivering the food alone, Arlecchino stops by early in the morning to help you carry them. Sometimes, it results in small talk when you haven't finished packing the orders yet.

Usually, she doesn't speak much and lets you do all the talking. You fear she's getting annoyed from your constant ramblings, but unbeknownst to you, she loves it when you talk about your interests and things you love.

This was a bit short, but if you wanna see a specific trope with this situation, you can req anything you wantt!!

Might do a part 2 of this idk yet

[ilovejungwonandhaechan]

scented skies - hjs. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

pairing: scentshop owner!joshua hong x reader

trope: friends-to-???

summary: getting the first smell of joshua's new scents comes with the best friend benefits, but getting a full line of scents dedicated to you? that was not exactly a part of the deal.

🎧 1979 by the smashing pumpkins

word count: 2,926

a/n: happy belated birthday joshua!! not proofread lol

fic under the cut!

The shop was quiet now, a soft hum of the world outside the only sound reaching your ears. The last of the daylight had long since faded, and the warm glow of the scattered lamps gave the room a peaceful, almost dreamlike atmosphere. Shadows flickered across the shelves lined with jars, their contents a rainbow of wax waiting to be transformed into unique candles. The gentle scent of melted wax lingered in the air, adding a cozy layer to the ambiance.

You and Joshua were the only ones left in the shop. The front door had been locked, the customers long gone, and the usual hustle and bustle of the shop had given way to an intimate calm. Joshua's workshop, the create-your-own-candle table, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by an array of fragrance oils, waxes, and little glass containers. The low hum of a fan in the corner was barely audible, but the delicate warmth it radiated added to the shop's welcoming vibe.

Joshua placed two boxes in front of you on the table, the cardboard a little worn from use, but inside, the promise of something new. A freshly brewed coffee, still warm from the café down the street, sat between you two. Its rich, earthy scent blended nicely with the soft perfume of the shop, and for a moment, you just let the quiet and the coziness of the scene settle around you.

"I’m glad you're here," Joshua said, his voice almost conspiratorial as he leaned forward, excitement dancing in his eyes. "I've been waiting to show you our new lines of scents."

The first box Joshua opened revealed small vials, their glass smooth and cool in the dim light. The labels were minimalistic, hand-written with care. You could see the weight of each scent as it was revealed—a promise of new memories to create, new moods to set.

He pulled out the first bottle and held it up, a glint of pride in his eyes. You reached out eagerly, your fingers brushing against the cool glass before uncapping the bottle. As soon as the scent hit you, it was as if you had stepped into a tropical garden at dawn—sharp, sweet pineapple mingled with the fresh, zesty bite of bergamot, and the earthy undertones of cedarwood brought you back to the deep, rich scent of an old forest after rain. It was fresh yet grounding, evoking a sense of summer mornings and long, lazy afternoons.

"That's the first one," Joshua said, his tone soft with an almost secretive air. "I don’t have a name for it yet, but I was thinking something tropical, maybe even a little nostalgic."

The second scent you tried was more delicate, a warm embrace in a bottle. Vanilla, sweet and smooth, curled gently around a subtle hint of coffee—like an espresso brewed fresh on a chilly morning. A touch of pear added a crisp, juicy sweetness, and together, they created a fragrance that felt like the perfect rendezvous in a small, hidden café, the kind with dim lights and rain softly tapping on the windows.

The third scent was a complete contrast—deep, rich, and bold. A blend of almond, rum, clove, and vanilla, it was something undeniably masculine, reminding you of leather-bound books and old whiskey glasses, a dark room lit only by the glow of a fireplace. It carried a weight to it, an air of mystery, like a story that had yet to unfold.

You leaned back in your chair, the soft creak of the wood beneath you grounding you in the moment. The room, now illuminated by scattered lamps, seemed almost enchanted. The faint scent of wax and the lingering perfume of the oils mixed in the air, creating a heady atmosphere that invited conversation.

"You know what’s funny?" you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joshua glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow. "Not particularly."

You giggled to yourself before speaking again. "This is exactly how I imagined Baekhyun’s new album to smell." The words slipped out easily, the connection between scent and music obvious to you now. You didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you before, but these fragrances had a way of capturing the essence of each track you'd been listening to.

Joshua's laughter echoed in the room, warm and rich, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world outside had fallen away.

"I’m being serious," you said, still grinning. "The first one is so obviously 'Pineapple Slice', the second one is so incredibly 'Rendez-Vous, and the last one is totally giving 'Truth Be Told.'"

Joshua let out a dramatic groan, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. "What, do you want me to name this new line of scents after your king Baekhyun?"

Your sarcastic laughter joined his. "Yes, Shua, I think that would be a great idea."

He shook his head, though his eyes twinkled with humor. "I will never take name suggestions from you. Ever."

The air between you both was filled with warmth and familiarity, the kind that only comes from years of friendship. The room, the scents, the soft glow of the lamps—everything seemed perfectly aligned, as though the universe had conspired to create this simple, yet unforgettable moment.

Joshua’s hands moved with a practiced fluidity as he pulled out the second box. It was a bit larger than the first, and as he placed it down in front of you, the lid came off with a soft scrape, revealing yet another set of bottles, each carefully sealed, their colors deep and inviting. The faintest glimmer of excitement flickered across his face as he began to unwrap the scents one by one.

The air in the room seemed to shift slightly, charged with anticipation, and you couldn’t help but lean forward, intrigued. The first bottle he lifted smelled almost cold, a crisp, fresh scent that immediately took you to the edge of a windy cliff, the sea below churning with frothy waves. You could almost feel the air stinging your cheeks. There was something sharp in the top notes—eucalyptus and mint—sharp and clean, like a sharp breath of air after a storm. Beneath it, a grounded base of moss and earth, almost like the feeling of standing in the middle of a clearing just after the rain, the grass still damp beneath your feet.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. “If this was weather…” You trailed off, eyes still closed as the scent wrapped around you. “This would be a cold, windy morning, the kind where the sky is cloudy and heavy with the promise of rain but it never comes. The air is thick with anticipation, and you’re standing outside, waiting for the storm that never quite arrives.”

Joshua leaned in, watching you carefully, a little smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I knew you were going to say something like that,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head affectionately. “Always reading the sky, huh?”

You shrugged with a smile. “I can’t help it. The world smells like weather sometimes, and my brain just connects the dots. Anyway,” you said, reaching for the next bottle. The second scent was much softer, warmer, a delicate mix of amber, warm vanilla, and the faintest hint of lavender. It was the kind of scent that made you think of the slow, steady descent into dusk, when the world is soft and golden. It was a soft glow, the fading sunlight kissing the horizon, and everything in the world seemed to slow down.

“If this one were weather,” you mused with a dreamy look in your eyes, “it would be a late afternoon thunderstorm—one of those brief, violent storms that rolls through, but then the sky clears up again, and everything smells fresh and soaked. The air’s still warm, but there’s this crispness that follows after the rain.”

Joshua’s eyes softened as he watched you, a knowing glint in his gaze. “That’s exactly it. I knew you'd say something like that.” He pulled out the next bottle, this one a darker, more grounding scent. It smelled like deep woods and earth, with notes of sandalwood and leather, wrapped in the comforting warmth of a smoky fireplace. There was something ancient about it, something you could imagine walking into an old cabin in the middle of winter, where the air is dry, the fire crackling, and snow falls silently outside.

You sniffed it deeply, your mind already wandering, and then laughed softly. “This… this is definitely a winter night. The kind when it’s snowing heavily outside, and the world is quiet and still. There’s a clear sky, so you can see all the stars, but the cold just lingers in the air. It’s peaceful but heavy, the kind of night that makes you feel small but also strangely at peace.”

Joshua leaned back with a grin. “I thought you'd say something like that, too,” he said, his tone affectionate but laced with something else, something that made the air between you feel thicker. He began pulling out the labels for each scent, one by one, placing them in front of you as though he couldn’t wait to see your reaction. As he slid each label toward you, your heart skipped a beat.

Each label was adorned with a photograph of the sky—clouds, sunsets, stormy horizons, or a deep, endless night sky—each one a text message you’d sent him over the past few years. There was the picture of the sunset you had sent last summer, with the caption: “The sky's a canvas right now. I swear it looks like the colors are coming alive." Another label had a photo of a thunderstorm, the caption: “The world feels like it’s holding its breath right before the storm hits. Can you smell it?” And the last one was a quiet winter evening you’d shared with him years ago: “The air smells like snow tonight. So still, so clean.”

You froze, your breath catching in your chest. As you looked at the labels, the realization hit you like a wave crashing against a rock. It wasn’t just about the sky or the weather anymore—it was about the connection between you and Joshua, one that you hadn’t seen for what it truly was until now. You hadn’t noticed before, not with this kind of clarity.

He was looking at you now, his expression soft but laced with a hint of vulnerability, something he rarely let show. There was a depth to his gaze, an unspoken understanding in the way he watched you now. The corners of his lips curled up in a quiet smile, but there was something different in the way he held himself, something that felt as though the entire room had shifted.

For a moment, you were completely still, your heart thudding against your chest. His dedication—the care he had taken to incorporate your thoughts, your feelings, your interpretations of the world around you into something so tangible, so beautiful—felt like a promise.

The realization struck you harder than any scent, any image, any word. You’d been falling in love with him for years—since childhood, really—but now, with the pieces of his heart scattered before you, the truth was undeniable. You didn’t know when it had started, or if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment. But suddenly, everything about your relationship with Joshua felt different. He saw you with new eyes. And for the first time, you wondered if maybe he’d always seen you this way—if maybe, all along, he had been falling in love with you, too.

You looked up at him, feeling a pang in your chest. There was warmth in your face, but a strange ache at the back of your throat. “Shua…” you whispered, not quite knowing what to say, but feeling everything at once. You blinked, not trusting your words to come out right.

Joshua didn’t say anything at first, just gazed at you with an intensity that made your heart skip. Then, as if testing the waters, he spoke softly, a touch of humor in his voice but something deeper beneath it. “You know,” he said, his voice almost too quiet, “I’ve always thought the sky is just as beautiful as you say it is. But now… I think I understand it a little more.”

His words, though simple, made the air between you two feel electric, like everything had just changed. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or simply sit in the stillness of it all. But one thing was for sure: the landscape of your relationship had shifted forever.

The space between you felt different now, fuller, like an unspoken truth was hanging in the air, too delicate to name yet too real to ignore. And in that moment, the only thing that mattered was how everything—his words, his look, the way your heart seemed to flutter—felt like something new, something you'd both been dancing around for years without ever realizing it.

[drone-of-theforest]

Hello! is this rp blog for asking questions or full on rp? I'm just curious because I don't have many fellow rp muns in the Murder Drones Fandom

for both really, i'll be posting and other rp peeps can interact and reblog stuff, u can also ask questions and we can rp from there with reblogs-ooc

hope that clears stuff up and didnt sound confusing-ooc

[buckets-and-trees]

Welcome Home, Pumpkin [sugar]

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 2k Summary: Bad ethics. Zero impulse control. This is what everyone says about him. What will it mean for you tonight?

Content/Warnings: pregnancy talk, use of pet name "Pumpkin," established relationship, explicit smut (vaginal intercourse, slight overstimulation, fingering, marking/biting), dacryphilia, dirty talk

Notes: This is one of three in a set of short stories with Lloyd served three ways - soft, soft!dark, and dark. The three will feature the same setting, overlapping themes, shared thoughts, and bits of dialogue. Sugar is the soft version. Also, this is the first time I've written something significant for just Lloyd - I've had him in a multi-character piece and some thots/drabbles, but *takes deep breath* first solo project for him from me! Thank you @stargazingfangirl18 for holding my hand periodically throughout this!

sugar pumpkin | spiced pumpkin | smashed pumpkin

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You shut the door behind you and sigh, happy to be home after a long day - a long week, really. 

You kick off your shoes, drop your bag, and turn on some music before padding down the hallway to your bedroom, more than ready to change from your more professional clothes to something comfy to lounge in the rest of the evening. 

You jump when a deep, serious voice you aren’t expecting says, “Welcome home, Pumpkin.”

Your heart rockets into your throat, hand flying to your chest. “Lloyd Hansen!”

He chuckles, rising from the spot he’d been perched on the edge of the bed. 

“You’re not supposed to be here!” 

He makes a show of bowing slightly, “And yet, here I am.”

You hesitate in the doorway, studying the face of the man you are so familiar with. The steel blue eyes, the sharp jawline, the ridiculous mustache you’ve come to love. 

You can sense he’s eager, impatient, but he will wait for you to come to him. 

As if you’ve been anything but drawn to this man since the day you two first crossed paths. He was dangerous and certainly not suited for you. Yet that had changed, little by little, until you couldn’t imagine living your life without this fierce man folded into every part of it, and every part of your heart. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re keeping from me?” he asks, lifting his chin just a fraction. 

And oh that look does something to you - the delicious swoop in your stomach that always makes you weak and eager for him. 

Slowly, you take measured steps toward him, biting your lip. 

How will he react? 

It’s been the question on your mind all week. 

“Pumpkin?” he presses, tone low, calculated. 

Two final steps to bring you nearly toe to toe with him and you reach for his hand. 

“There’s a little pumpkin on the way,” 

Lloyd opens and then closes his mouth. 

You can hear the beats of one of your favorite songs drifting to you down the hallway from the kitchen, and your heart races in anticipation, needing him to say something. 

You scrunch your nose. “Have I finally rendered you speechless?” you laugh, but there’s a nervous edge to it.

You’ve only spoken about children once, and it was fast, but that was then and hypothetically, and this was now and reality.   

Lloyd sits back on the bed, tugging you forward to stand between his legs. He brings each of his large hands to your hips, then slowly rubs up and down your sides, eyes focusing on your stomach. 

“I knew it,” he whispers. 

You place your hands gently on his broad shoulders. You leave the left one there, but your right hand smoothes over the tightly corded muscles, then up his neck until you’re cupping his jaw, encouraging him to look up at you. 

“Fuck. I wasn’t made to be a good father,” he says. 

You brush your fingers over his forehead. You’re the only one who gives him softness. Sometimes he leans into your touch, but this isn’t one of those times. His mind is too locked into this revelation. 

You tip your head down and press a kiss to his lips. He does kiss you back, and his hands squeeze your waist. 

“You weren’t made to be a good husband either,” you say, pulling back for a moment, looking directly in his eyes, “but you’re the husband I want.”

In one swift motion, Lloyd flips you around and has you on the bed pinned beneath him, body pressing into yours. He growls into your mouth as he claims you in another kiss. He props himself up slightly on one arm, and his other hand reaches to tear the front of your shirt open, rending the fabric in two. You look up at him, waiting with bated breath. 

“I’d burn down the world for you, you know that?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. Your body surges up, pelvis seeking his. “I do.”

He gives you what you want, grinding down into you, and you moan. “And fuck if I’m not already ready to burn it down for them, too,” he murmurs, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down your chest. He pauses above your belly, tracing his fingers over your soft curves, where you’ll soon start to grow with his child.

Lloyd's touch is reverent, almost hesitant, as his fingers ghost over your skin. You've never seen him like this before - so gentle, so in awe. It makes your heart swell with love for this complicated man.

"I never thought..." he trails off, voice thick with emotion.

You card your fingers through his hair, encouraging him to continue. "Never thought what, my love?"

He looks up at you, eyes shining. "That I could have this. A family. Something pure and good."

You cup his face in your hands, drawing him up for a tender kiss.

"You deserve it," you whisper against his lips. "We deserve it."

Lloyd pulls back slightly, studying your face with an intensity that makes your breath catch. His thumb traces your cheekbone, then brushes over your bottom lip.

"I don't deserve you," he says, voice low and rough. He pulls back slightly, searching your eyes. "I've done terrible things, Pumpkin. Things that would make you run if you knew. But I'm too selfish to let you go."

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "I’ve told you before: I'm not going anywhere."

His lips crash into yours, hungry and demanding. You respond with equal fervor, arching into him as his hands roam your body, knowing every inch of it intimately after so much time spent like this, body to body, skin to skin, the rest of the world forgotten.

Lloyd breaks the kiss, leaving you breathless and wanting more. He trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. You gasp and tilt your head, giving him better access.

"Mine," he growls against your throat. "All mine."

"Yes," you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair. "Yours, Lloyd. Always yours."

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping them possessively. He pulls back to look at you, eyes dark with desire and something else - a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart race.

He yanks the clothing completely down and off your bottom half, and then he’s between your legs, cock out, and pushing his thick, blunt head inside you. You moan and clutch at his chest.

Lloyd growls, grabs your wrists, and pins them above your head in one of his giant hands.

Then he proceeds to fuck you.

Slowly.

Lloyd's pace is agonizing, each thrust deep and deliberate. You melt into him, and your eyes slip closed, but he won't allow it.

"Look at me," he demands, voice rough. He grips your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "That's it, Pumpkin. Let me see that pretty face.”

You don’t realize you are crying until you feel Lloyd thumbing the tears away from your cheek. Your heart skips a beat as you stare into his fierce, blue eyes. Lloyd's mustache twitches as he smirks, clearly enjoying the way you’ve gotten lost in the moment.

It only seems to spur Lloyd on, his thrusts becoming harder, but not faster. Each powerful movement forces small whimpers from your lips.

"Such sweet sounds," Lloyd murmurs, his breath hot across your face. "I can’t fucking get enough of hearing you sing for me like this."

Your body trembles beneath Lloyd's, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the relentless rhythm of his hips. You strain against his grip on your wrists, desperate to touch him, to pull him closer.

"Please," you whimper, arching your back. "Lloyd, I need…"

He chuckles darkly, nipping at your earlobe. "What do you need, Pumpkin? Tell me."

"You," you gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. "All of you. Faster, harder…"

Lloyd releases your wrists, allowing you to wrap your arms around him and pull him flush against you. His muscular body covers yours completely as he picks up the pace, driving into you with renewed vigor.

"Like this?" he growls, snapping his hips forcefully.

"Yes!" you cry out, digging your nails into his back. "Oh god, yes!"

Lloyd buries his face in your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there as he pounds into you relentlessly. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your breathless moans.

You feel the tension building within you, coiling tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust. Lloyd's breath is ragged against your neck, his muscular body moving with a primal intensity that leaves you dizzy with desire.

"That's it," he growls, voice low and gravelly. “Fucking come around my cock, Mrs. Hansen.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you arch into him, chasing your release. Lloyd shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly stars explode behind your eyelids. You cry out his name as you come.

Lloyd growls in satisfaction as he feels you clench around him, your body shuddering with pleasure. He doesn't slow his pace, driving you through your orgasm and beyond. The overstimulation makes you whimper and clutch at his shoulders.

"Lloyd," you gasp, voice trembling. "I can't—"

"You can," he insists, his tone brooking no argument. "And you will. Give me another, Pumpkin."

His hand snakes between your bodies, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. He rubs tight circles there, timing his movements with with his thrusts.

Your body responds to Lloyd's expert touch, despite your protests. The overstimulation borders on painful, but the pleasure builds again, impossibly intense. You're trembling, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as Lloyd pushes you relentlessly towards another peak.

"That's it," he growls, his voice strained with his own approaching climax. "Show me how good I make you feel."

With a keening cry, you shatter again, your body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over you. Lloyd's movements become erratic as he chases his own release. His fingers dig into your hips, sure to leave bruises, but you don't care. You want to be marked by him, to carry the evidence of his passion on your skin.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice strained. "You're so goddamn perfect."

With a final, powerful thrust, Lloyd buries himself deep inside you and comes with a guttural groan. You feel the warmth of his release filling you, and you cling to him, savoring the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

You can feel his heart thundering against your chest, but Lloyd's weight is comforting, grounding you as your own heartbeat slowly returns to normal.

As you both come down, you lace the fingers of one of your hands with his, and your other hand drops down to stroke softly up and down his back.

Finally, Lloyd lifts his head from the crook of your neck, his steel blue eyes searching your face. His expression is softer now, a tenderness there that only you ever get to see.

But still, there’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. “You make me crazy, Mrs. Hansen.”

You laugh. “Don’t you mean, ‘I love you, Mrs. Hansen?’”

Lloyd's eyes crinkle at the corners as he chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates through your body. "Isn't that what I said?" he teases, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You roll your eyes playfully, but your heart swells with affection. "I love you too, you impossible man."

He shifts, carefully rolling off you but keeping you close, tucking you against his side. His hand splays possessively over your stomach, and you can't help but smile at the gesture.

"A little pumpkin," he whispers.

“Ours,” you join your hand over his.

“Fuck,” he says, and you laugh and kiss him again.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

all Welcome Home, Pumpkin stories

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[ax-killjoy]

☆ Because, you’re kind.

Note ! 𖦹 : this is based on a D&D tiktok i saw. :,) i hope this fic makes sense- if not then it becomes part of my sleep deprived nonsense.

Jake Sully/Gn!Reader (Platonic !)

tw !!: child neglect

Y/N was a child birthed from two horribly neglectful parents. Jake Sully remembers vividly, the way your body was born into the light, a gift from Eywa. And the look of your mother’s disgust written on her face, and the distant look from your father.

Jake couldn’t tell whether the heat rising from his throat was bile, or the anger he felt.

I guess Na’vi can be shitty parents too.

He tried giving your parents a chance, seeing that maybe they were just simply fatigued. But that wasn’t the case, he watched over you closely as you grew up. Neytiri could tell something was up with Jake, whenever your parents came to help with operations.

Jake was stiff, his teeth gritting, his jaw clenched and furrowed brows. “you should be looking after your kid.” he seethes, glaring at the parents who were gathering guns. They were chanting loudly, loading guns into saddles as they cheered, killing sky people around the wreckage. “Why ? That child is no gift from Eywa, a mistake maybe. but no gift.” The father says, and Neytiri ears flatten. A crack in her heart, like glass. Jake Sully suddenly stops what he is doing, “You will love your child, you should. Your child, EVERY child is a gift from Eywa.” he says, before storming off to find more guns.

After that, both Neytiri and Jake swore to look after you. To watch you closely, to treat you like one of their own. Until you officially became one of their own.

When you turned 13, you don’t remember it. And Jake thanks Eywa for that, but both of your parents seemingly forgot about you. Or maybe it was intentional.

It was your first hunting trip, you had been begging your parents to take you hunting. They took you to the forest, to the deepest parts of forbidden to unmarked territory, Telling you that all the good animals to eat were here. Your father and mother say that they will watch from afar, and before you knew it. They had left you there, in part of the forest unmarked on a map.

It took a week for Jake and Neytiri to find you, you hid yourself in the nook of the tree. You slept soundly, and the seeds of Eywa surrounded you like an unspoken hug, as if Eywa was reassuring you. Jake’s eyes became glossy, he kneeled down over your body, and he cried. His body shivered and small sobs were let out, god he was so scared. He was so fucking scared you died.

That was when you became an official Sully.

.｡.:*☆♡*.+

As you grew up, you forgot about your parents. Or that’s what everyone saw, you were bubbly now. Nature loving, Curious, full of life. A personality that was never shown when your parents took care of you.

The Sully family cherished you dearly, quickly becoming one of the eldest of the Sully children. Jake and Neytiri were everything your parents weren’t.

Your parents were quickly exiled from Omatikaya, It felt like the sun got brighter, the stars twinkled more, and the breeze welcomed Jake when they left. Relief washed over him.

It was a quiet day, you had come back from hunting with Neteyam. You and Neteyam had just finally turned 15, meaning you both could officially hunt without supervision. Neteyam went to explore with the rest of the family, whilst you and Jake stayed home. He watched as you prepared food, whilst he cleaned his weapons and reassembled them. Checking each bullet intently, putting the broken ones in a separate box. It was a comfortable silence, the warmth of breeze welcomed both of you.

“I know you’re not my real father.” You said simply, cutting the chunks of meat and putting it in a basket with various vegetables.

Jake stopped what he was doing, looking up but not looking at you.

“I know that Neytiri is not my mother.“ you say softly, like it was a secret. As if it was forbidden to say.

“how did you know ?” he asks, his voice is raspy yet ever so soft.

You look back at him, your eyes bright yet spoke a million words. you stopped cutting the meat, you walked to him and sat next to him. Letting your head rest on his shoulder, and you sigh.

“because you and Neytiri are kind.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Christmas Bingo Card 2024: Surprise Gift - Joe Velasco x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @storiesofsvu @rosaliedepp

The squad room is quiet when Joe gets in. The brightly coloured lights along the bank of glass panels twinkle in the dimness of the office, an attempt by Curry to inject a little holiday spirit into a place where people come at the worst time of their lives.

When he gets to his desk, he doesn’t expect to find a neatly wrapped gift sitting upon it. The paper is forest green, his favourite colour. The corkscrewed ribbon a glossy gold.

It must be a mistake, he thinks but then he picks up the tag and it’s his name written on it in your pretty italic scrawl. There’s an ache in his chest because he remembers that conversation in the car during a stakeout a couple of days ago.

“I don’t do gifts.” He’d told you as you were sorting the skittles on the dashboard. You always separate out the yellow ones from all the others because you know they’re his favourite.

“Giving them or receiving them?” You ask him half serious and Joe doesn’t respond. He just stares out the window, his gaze firmly fixed on the building in front of him.

“Oh.” You say and his jaw tightens. “Has it always been that way?”

“For the past couple of years.” He concedes and it breaks your fucking heart to imagine him with nothing to open on Christmas Day, thinking that no one cares about him. “It’s not a big deal."

But it is, to you it’s a big fucking deal.

When he removes the paper, he’s surprised to find a watch box amongst wrapping. His mouth turns dry as he opens it. It’s a practical time piece, something that closely resembles an Omega De Ville Prestige but a fraction of the cost. The face is white with a silver rim and gold numbers, the strap made of brown leather. When he removes it from the box, he can feel something etched into the metal on the back. When he turns it over he sees his name engraved on to the silver plate, not his American name, his real one.

Jose.

He can’t express in that moment how much this gift means to him. It’s not just a watch, it’s a symbol of your partnership, the affection you have for one another.

He thinks about the message he got from you this morning.

Come over after your shift, help me with the left overs my mom makes me bring home.

He hadn’t responded, he thought it must come from a place of pity but now when he looks down at the watch he knows that it comes from a place of love.

He withdraws his phone from the pocket of his biker jacket, his thumb typing out a message.

That offer still open?

He sees the three dots and his heart beats a little faster in chest.

Always, you tell him. You’re always welcome.

Love Joe? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König's Favourite Place (Aside From Your Side)

König grew up in a small, rural Austrian village. It intersected with a large, rolling forest that spread for miles. As a little boy, he'd spend his time walking along trails, following his Mama and Papa and his three older siblings through the woods. Later, when he was a teen and he couldn't stand the world, he went hiking on his own.

He found solace in the pines. The great oaks were family to him. Moss and ferns became his pillows when he rested. He would find delicate wildflowers and take pictures with his Papa's old camera and develop them at a local shop, then proudly show his siblings. His favourite spots were the places where the forest gave way to a clearing, and he could look up and see the clouds gently wafting by in the sky. Nature is what keeps him human.

More below the cut:

In the forest, you can expect what threats you'll come across. He'll never forget the day he encountered a mother bear and her cub. He won't lie to you, he pissed himself a little bit, but he thanks the heavens he's alive today. But, if you keep your distance and watch, nature is welcoming. It's beautiful, and it won't hurt you the way humans do. It will test you, it will change you and it will tear you apart, but it will put you back together again afterwards. Nature is a beautiful beast to be respected. König will always firmly believe that animals are better than humans.

With his older brother Friedriech, they'd go hunting with their uncle and Opa. They taught him to hunt carefully, treat the woods with respect. Every animal you catch is a gift from nature to be revered. They were careful to try to not kill mothers or babies, as they were the future of the forest. When they did get a good catch, he learned to use every part of the animals he caught.

Being so in tune with nature, König became a natural survivalist. He's made his own shelters out of nothing but scraps before. He can build a nice hut with sticks, grass and leaves. He can survive out there easily, even in the cold. It's harder in the cold, yes, but he can endure it. His affinity for nature and survivalist training is part of what made König a natural Jagkommando. Others in the program learned to get close to him, and it's through this that König made his very first friends. If you treat nature well, it will reward you handsomely.

Nature is home for König in a way that no human settlement can replicate. There is no greater comfort than the songs of chaffinches and wood pigeons. He'll tell you that wood pigeons sound like they're always complaining. My toe hurts, Betty. My toe hurts, Betty! That's what he'll tell you they sound like if you ever ask him what bird is calling. Heck, he can list off all the most common birds around his little village. He'll tell you how he would raise abandoned nestlings with his Mama in shoe boxes before letting them go back to the wild.

If you let him, he'll turn over stones (only briefly) to show you the world underneath the forest floor. Under the leaves and brushes, there is an entire ecosystem in the soil. Just take a look! There's an alpine salamander. Don't touch it, just leave it be. The oils on your hand will clog the airways on his skin. And do you see the little isopods? Look at how silly they are as they scurry away! Best put this rock back and let these under dwellers return to the dark.

When he goes travelling with his company, he'll grab local guide books for birds and animals. He'll tell you he needs to know how to survive if he gets stranded out here, but really, he just likes learning about all the wildlife.

His favourite vacation destination is to just go camping. He already has all the gear, so you might as well tag along. Two heads are better than one, after all. You'll come with him, won't you? It won't be easy, but you'll see a new side to him.

He'll teach you, of course. However, he won't teach you like you're a new recruit or some battle-hardened soldier, he'll teach you like he was taught, back when he was a boy. He'll praise you with laughter and shower you with adoration when you succeed in starting a fire, he'll gently encourage you when you fail to gather enough sticks for a shelter. König will be there for you every step of the way, guiding you with love and affection laced in every word and action he makes. But, on the off-chance you're better than him, he'll love you for it.

If you need a break, he'll happily take over. Please don't feel upset when he can do things better than you can ever hope to, he was raised this way. He won't ever look down on you. Instead, he'll take the time to encourage you. If he needs a break too, he'll happily join you, but not before taking a shower in his rudimentary shower system. Being clean is extremely important in survival situations, actually, little known fact.

You might find you like camping with him. If you don't, he'll be sad, but he won't force you to join him. But please, you have to understand that he needs this to be himself. He needs to be out in nature. He'll go alone if he has to, but please don't take this away from him. He needs this to be there for you. He needs this to work. Without nature, König is a broken man.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 38

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I've been awake since 2am.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

After breakfast, you get ready to go into town with Frigga and Hela upon their vaunted ladies’ trip. An air of uncertainty persists around what exactly that means. Flowers, shopping, and what else?

You try not to let the mystery overshadow the Odinsons’ hospitality. You’d hate to come across ungrateful after all they’d done. Odin and Frigga hadn’t asked for anything in return all while receiving you with an open hand. Just like with all things, you go along to get along.

The drive has you in a sort of trance as you watch the landscape pass. The lush greens and speckles of violet and pink across the fields, thickening to looming forest of coniferous pines and towering oaks. Finally, the wilds thin into even ground and open into a township with a painted wooden sign.

The buildings are old but well-kept. Not like the large city with its pitted brick and steaming sewers. Every street here is like those that surround Laufeyson’s own estate. Curated and pristine. Just like the Odinsons themselves.

You pull in at a large gated lot. The iron barrier is overgrown with flowers and as you enter, you gape around at the expanse of petals and stems. You’ve never been anywhere so spectacular.

You trail behind Frigga as she browses the selection. You shy away from Hela but she’s hardly concerned with you as she admires a bunch of dark roses. You peer around as an assistant approaches at Frigga’s signal.

“What do you think, dear?” Frigga calls to you, “we want white for the event. Lilies, baby’s breath, gardenia?”

You blink and give some thought, “what about daisies?”

She smiles, “daisies, so simple but pretty.” She turns to the assistant, “do you have many?”

“We should have a few boxes ready for delivery,” she answers.

“Wonderful, we will have some daisies. Oh, and we could have some wisteria hanging. Mm, and miss, white tulips? You have those too?”

The assistant scribbles on her pad, “we can do those as well.”

“Hydrangea,” Hela insists as she approaches, standing behind you, “for the posts.”

“Yes, certainly, hydrangea,” Frigga repeats with a sharp point to the assistant. “Oh and lastly, I spoke with Val about the moonflowers, tell me they’re ready.”

“Yes, Mrs. Odinson, we have those set aside already.”

“Good, good,” Frigga remarks, “well, we’ll look around a bit more and let you know if anything else is required.”

“Yes, Mrs. Odinson,” the assistant nods and prompts strolls away.

“You wouldn’t like a splash of red, mother? Maybe some black?” Hela muses, “this Walpurgisnacht will be blinding.”

“Oh, tosh,” Frigga dismisses, “we have a theme. Which reminds me, darling,” she turns to you, “do you have a white dress packed?”

“White?” You blink, “um, no, I didn’t…”

“Not to worry, it’s why we came to town,” she tweets.

“Oof, mother,” Hela cringes. 

“Well, I know you certainly don’t have suitable attire,” Frigga reproaches.

“Actually, I’ve a marvelous white jumpsuit selected for just the event,” Hela challenges, “I can listen, I just often choose not to.”

Frigga gives a pinch look before she returns her attention to you, “well then, our task will be easier. I think chiffon might be nice…”

“You know, mother, I do feel as if I’m being replaced,” Hela snickers. You send her a guilty look but her smile holds no malice. She winks and arches a brow. “And yet I do think this little creature will look delectable in white.”

“Mm, yes,” Frigga side-eyes her daughter, “you do have a way with words, don’t you?”

“Oh, pardon me, I should be more like my brothers, would you prefer Thor,” Hela mocks and reaches for your hand, taking it as she caresses it emphatically, “oh lady, you are beautiful, I should wonder if what you hide under your skirt is equally as stunning–”

“Hel,” Frigga exclaims, mortified as she snatches her grasp away from you.

“Ah, alright, Loki,” Hela clears her throat and stiffens her posture, adjusting a non-existent tie, “yes, you are rather adequate. Hm, very acceptable.”

“Don’t,” Frigga commands, “you didn’t have to come if you’re only going to make a joke of it.”

“Oh, mother, that’s simply what it is, a joke,” Hela bats her lashes, “loosen up. Is that not what this day is for? To enjoy ourselves?”

Frigga sighs and shakes her head as she turns away. Your mouth slants as you watch after her nervously. Hela clucks and flicks her fingers dismissively, “once she has a taste of wine, she’ll let go.”

✨

You stand in the fitting room, staring dreadfully at the two hangers. One chosen by Frigga, the other by Hela. They are both beautiful but you’re not certain either of them suit you. You feel the long chiffon as you mull over the choice.

“Well, darling, let us see,” Frigga calls through the curtain.

You wince and recoil. You pull down the longer of the two, the flowy chiffon that caught Frigga’s eye. The one-shoulder cut cinches to draped skirt which drowns you. You look at yourself in the mirror and frown. The fabric seems to drown you.

You turn with a swish and pull back the curtain, stepping through awkwardly as you tug the skirt out of the way of your feet. Hela makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a gasp. Frigga fawns and daintily touches her cheeks.

“Oh, gods, that is gorgeous, isn’t it?” She comes forward and pinches a fold in the skirt.

“She looks like she’s caught in a snowstorm,” Hela muses, “please, she won’t be able to do much in all that.”

“I suppose,” Frigga backs up and folds her arms, “but I like the style, perhaps we might find something similar with less length.”

“Try mine,” Hela demands.

You look between them, not daring to argue with either. They seem to do enough of that. You spin and sweep behind the curtain once more. You shed the chiffon layers and pull on the satin sheath. There isn’t much to it. Thin straps and not much length, a slit up your thigh. It’s more lingerie than a dress.

You peek out shyly before you make yourself come out. Frigga’s face flushes and her lips part. Hela smirks and tilts her head as she bites her lip.

“Oh, fabulous,” Hela remarks.

“She cannot wear that,” Frigga throws a hand up.

“Why not, she has nice legs.”

“That isn’t… appropriate.”

“Well, mother, she can’t dress like an old matron either.”

“It was a perfectly nice dress–”

“For 1912,” Hela shoots back.

You shrink before them and let their back and forth fade into the background. You glance over the rack of white garments and zone out. You just want this to be over. You’re tired of being pulled back and forth like a game of tug-of-war.

Your name draws you back and you focus on the women watching you. You wince and teeter on your feet, “sorry, I was distracted.”

“I was saying,” Hela intones, “we should let you choose.”

“Me?” You blanch.

“Well, it is your dress,” Frigga utters reluctantly.

“Oh, but I… don’t know much about… clothes.”

“Never too late to learn,” Hela insists, “go on, have your pick. Surprise us.”

You glance back at the rack and wiggle your fingers. You slowly approach as the two other women retreat, still muttering to each other. You push through the hangers; too heavy, too stiff, too sheer.

You think you like this one. A simple sheath lining with a mesh overlay, little crepe flowers sewn into the out later. The straps are slender but the bodice is straight cut. It’s wonderful and dreamy. You take the hanger and quickly scurry back behind the curtain.

You switch out the short dress for your pick. You look at your reflection and nearly stagger. You love it. It’s adorable. You go to the curtain and brace yourself. What if they don’t like it? You exhale and ready yourself for disappointment.

You step through and the women face you. Neither say a word as they look at you. They consider you, eyeing you head to toe. Oh no! It’s hideous, isn’t it? You have no taste.

“I love it,” Hela chirps, “what about you, mother? Isn’t it gorgeous on her?”

“I… it’s so… you,” Frigga squeals, “yes, it’s perfect. And the little flowers. Ugh, amazing.”

“Really?” You stand on your toes nervously.

“You must have it,” Hela insists, “next, shoes… the pairing must be perfect.”

“Shoes…” you murmur. Does it ever end?

✨

Your day doesn’t end after the boutique. The tumultuous night slumps in your shoulders and droops in your eyelids as the hours stretch on. Your next stop is a sleek white building with sparkling glass doors. As you enter, the sterile lobby has you minimizing yourself in fear of staining the pure white tile or breaking the crystal counter.

Frigga and Hela strut towards the woman who stands behind the glass table and greet her breezily. She welcomes them by name as you trail behind like a mouse. You don’t belong here. Not a place like this. You might be with them but you’re not one of them.

Once more, you sink into a daze, trying to distance yourself from the present. From those feelings of unbelonging. Those old wounds from the schoolyard when you stood by the fence and kicked rocks, not daring to provoke anyone with an errant gaze.

“Dear,” Frigga jars you as she gently touches your arm, “did you have ID?”

“ID?” You say dumbly, not processing her request at first.

“They serve alcohol so it’s required to check-in,” she explains.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you clumsily grab your purse and unzip the top. You dig out your ID card and hand it over. Frigga has a brief glance at it before handing it over. The twitch beneath her eye worries you; has it expired?

You wait as Hela taps her short nails on the counter top. Finally, the woman behind the counter approves you for entry. You still don’t really get what this place is. There’s no signs aside from the marquee in swoopy cursive; Hvergelmir.

Another woman appears and takes you through an angular doorway. You’re guided to a private room with robes on hooks, cushioned benches and small cubbies. You watch Hela and Frigga as they remove their heels and set them on the low rack. You do the same, doing everything they do at a delay.

They tuck their bags into the cubbies and undress without shame, keeping only their underwear on as they wrap themselves in the silken robes. You face the corner as you strip and pull on a robe yourself.

It isn’t until you move on to the next room that you realise what this place is. A spa. You’ve never been to one but it’s exactly like you’ve seen on television. You recline as a woman smears your face with a mask and places cucumbers over your eyes. It’s relaxing even if it feels a bit strange.

After laying there for what seems like forever, a woman comes in to offer stemmed glasses of sparkling wine. You remove the sliced veggies from your eyes and accept one in kind with the other women.

“I think I might get a wrap,” Hela declares, “I need the cleanse.”

“Mm, I think I might do the steam room,” Frigga drawls before she sips from her glass. You take a tiny sip, reminding yourself of your last indulgence and the disaster that followed. Hela downs half the glass in a single gulp.

“What about you?” Hela looks at you pointedly. “Would you like to join me for the seaweed wrap?”

“Um, what is that?” You ask.

“Oh, darling,” Frigga sits up and grabs a leather folio, “have a look. You can choose whatever you like.”

You accept the little booklet and open it up to the laminated inside. You read through each item and the description below. The steam room sounds uncomfortable, you’re not a fan of sweating, and the seaweed thing sounds slimy…

“Mud bath?” You read allowed.

“Good choice,” Hela praises, “I might join you after my wrap.”

“Oh, okay,” you close the book and put it on the small round table close to you.

Frigga picks up the small golden bell and rings it. The same woman appears and Frigga lists off the treatments for each of you. She’s led away first, then someone comes to fetch Hela, and finally, you’re taken away by another woman with a high ponytail.

The woman helps you cover your hair with a towel and hands you back your wine glass. She leads you into a room with long rectangular tubs filled with reddish brown muck. She points you to one at the end and you put your glass on the little ledge that juts out from the side.

She helps you remove your robe, “you can keep your underwear on if you like. We can provide a fresh pair after, but you may want to remove your bra.”

You nod and dip your head down to unhook your bra. She reaches to take it and you hesitantly hand it over. She hangs your robe from a hook on the wall and leaves you there. Alright, so you just get in?

You step over the high wall of the tub and lower yourself into the warm mud. It doesn’t feel too bad. You slide around slightly before you’re able to find your bearings and reclining against the slanted back. Is this relaxing? 

You close your eyes but not for long. You end up staring at the lines between the ceiling tiles. You stir the mud with your fingers. You feel childish, like you're making mud pies.

You stop as you hear voices. You peek over for just a moment as someone else enters. A tall woman with a swirl of black hair escaping the towel on her head strides in, her tall figure draped in one of the ivory robes. The attendant takes her to the tub across from yours.

You try not to watch as she opens her robe, revealing her sleek body shamelessly. She eases into the tub with a sigh and the attendant leaves. You keep your eyes up as tension fills the space.

“The mud is nice today,” she says, startling you.

You nod and look at her as she stretches her arms around the walls of the tub. Her chest is barely concealed by the muck.

“You don’t come here often. I’ve not seen you around.”

You shake your head, “first time.”

“Ah,” her blue eyes gleam, “special occasion?”

“Erm, not really, I… Walpurgisnacht,” you pronounce the word delicately.

“That’s not for a few days,” she intones.

“You know it?”

“Yes, of course, everyone around here does. And this year, with Frigga hosting, it will be a spectacle.”

“You know Frigga?” You wonder.

She laughs, “of course I do. Who doesn’t?” Her tone is dry and her expression haughty, “how do you know her?”

“Um, I… work for her son,” you utter flatly.

“Thor?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you correct her.

“How amusing,” she smirks, “what’s your name?”

You answer, your chest binding up tightly. You feel like you shouldn’t be talking to her. Something about the way she grins.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she purrs, “I’m Sif. You might tell my ex-husband I send my regards.”

You swallow dryly and stare at her. Your heart is pounding and your ears ringing. Sif? In the flesh? She’s absolutely gorgeous. You can see why she haunts the Odinsons. She’s perfect. 

Now you know why you will never live up to Laufeyson’s expectations. Why he’s so hard to please. Compared to her, well, you can never compare to her. She is immaculate.