#whatever it is it definitely smells more like business than beard

[larrylimericks]

17Mar25

The formula’s never finessed: Insta moots, dodgy pics, trashy press. The Sun shouts “Exclusive!” Which means it’s conclusive: Strictly business and strictly BS.

[okaysonny]

i saw a guy kissing santa claus! ╎ jake kim

★ summary: being santa claus is the biggest big girl job there is.

★ details: fluff, established relationship, f! reader, spoiler free.

★ wc: 1.8k

★ A/N: erm...it'll make more sense as you read. but my second fic! yippee! heard the song while i was shopping and the idea just came to me lol. merry chrithmus <3

"you promised you wouldn't laugh!"

jake is laughing anyway. not a quiet chuckle either — full on can’t-catch-his-breath laughter, covering his mouth so you can't see the extent of it. “sorry, sorry. it’s just…i thought you were joking when you told me. you actually went through with it?”

the suit didn’t fit. of course it wouldn't fit. it's designed with a jolly old man in mind, not…you. the coat has you swimming in fabric. the pants were two sizes too big, and the large belt barely cinched your waist. then there was the beard — a fluffy contraption that tickled your chin and smelled faintly of whatever cheap detergent the mall used to sanitise it. definitely a look.

you cross your arms, the red velvet sleeves swishing dramatically. "i was dead serious, jake. but i didn't think i'd actually get it!"

he exhales, trying to compose himself. "i can see that. so…santa claus? really?"

"the one and only!" you tug on the beard's elastic strap in an attempt to make it more comfortable, but it snaps back with a vengeance.

"so, they didn’t think it was weird that you’re…y’know…not an old guy with a beer belly?"

"don't say that! that's not what christmas is about!"

"…what does that even mean?"

“it means…” you plop down next to him and take off the beard. “only a person who truly embodies the joy of christmas could be santa this year. and according to the manager, that’s me” you huff, slightly delighted with yourself.

jake gives you a skeptical look. “you? the joy of christmas?”

"i have loads of christmas joy!" you try your best to look offended. "the manager said enthusiasm is more important than looks. um, or maybe he's just a creep. i dunno. anyway, the pay is fucking amazing, so i didn't question it!"

"right" he nods solemnly. "that’s exactly the kind of logic santa would have"

he earns a smack from the santa beard. "whatever!"

your expression shifts into something more sincere. "it just sucks, because i can't see you much for the next few weeks"

“…you don’t want your boyfriend visiting you at work? that's cold” he feigns disappointment.

"are you crazy? of course not! this isn't an office job…it's embarrassing" you take off the hat, tossing it on the table. "and you're a busy guy too! so don't even think about swinging by"

what a bizarre situation. he can't hide his amusement, but still decides to surrender. "okay, okay. i'll stay out of your winter wonderland"

you take his hand and squeeze it apologetically. "thanks, jake. just for a few weeks"

⋆꙳•❅‧₊⋆❆₊⋆

as he descends the elevator in your apartment building, he whips out his phone, a smile tugging on his lips. he picks up instantly.

"jerry?"

"yes, boss?"

"do we have much on the schedule tomorrow?"

"no, boss"

"alright. thanks, jerry"

"you're welcome, boss"

the mall is a bustling snow globe come to life. string lights twinkle like they’re winking at you, and wreaths hang on every surface. oversized ornaments dangle from the ceiling and in the distance, a giant christmas tree is bursting with red, green, and glitter.

the main event is, of course, the santa station. a giant throne surrounded by candy canes and a line of impatient kids. it stretches longer than you expected, and parents are eyeing you like you’re the reason holiday shopping is ruining their lives.

you shuffle in your boots, shifting your itchy red pants for the millionth time. too late to back out now. you plaster on your best smile and remind yourself that the paycheck is worth it. probably.

dressed in an elf costume, reluctantly it seems, a colleague sighs, casting a weary glance at the children. he unhooks the red rope. “alright folks, one at a time, please. santas ready for you” he mutters, waving them through.

"hohoho! merry christmas everyone! santas caught a cold this year, so he may sound a little different!" it's the best santa voice you can manage. alright kids, do your worst.

the first boy bounces onto your lap. “what do you want for christmas, kiddo?” “a new gaming console, please! the one with the ultra HD graphics!” he says, eyes sparkling with excitement. you nod wisely, stroking your beard. “a solid choice. santa’s got your back — unless the elves get stuck in a multiplayer match” “r-really? tell them to hurry!”

the next child hesitates before climbing up, clutching a sparkly notebook. “and you? what’s your christmas wish?” “i want an electric guitar!” she says confidently. “and lessons, so i can be a rock star!” “love it” you tip your hat. “we’ll have you practicing in no time. don’t forget to thank your parents” she grins. “i won’t!”

one kid runs up, practically throwing himself onto you. “what can santa do for you?” you ask, smiling. “i want daddy to come home again!” you blink. oh boy. “that’s…a really nice wish!” you say, patting his shoulder. “i’ll do my best!”

his mom hurries over, her face beet red. “timmy! what did i say about that?”

“but santa can fix it!” he insists, beaming up at you. you wave weakly as she drags him off, muttering: “we’ll talk about this later.”

there's only so many hohoho's you can manage before you start to tire. but every now and then, a child would hug you so sincerely that you felt like you were truly santa claus. motivation to keep you going.

until finally. "okay kids, that's all the time santa has for today! he'll be here at the same time tomorrow!" a line of children start crying. your elf-dressed colleague hooks the rope back again, before hastily walking off.

could you manage this for the next few weeks? you slump back on the throne in contemplation before something catches your eye. blue tracksuit. you sit up suddenly, eyes scanning the crowd to see if you're right.

sure enough, there he was. with that stupid lop-sided grin. jake just stands there, arms crossed, looking like he’s about to start laughing any second. you glare at him, but he doesn’t flinch. if anything, his grin widens.

whatever. you try to play it cool, leaning back into the throne. just ignore him, you tell yourself. he’ll get bored and leave.

but then he does the unthinkable. he raises his hand and waves - big, dramatic, and impossible to miss. a kid tugs on his dad’s sleeve. “is that santa’s friend?”

“oh, look at that! santa needs to check the naughty list real quick!” you push yourself off the chair with a forced chuckle as you scurry away. your attempt at casual speed walking is anything but that, and the kids confirm it for you. one kid pipes up: “santa walks really fast!” another adds: “he looks kinda mad”

"hohoho! what’s this? a surprise visitor from the north pole?" you say, speeding up until you’re right in front of him. you jab a finger at his chest. "did those silly elves send you here early? they’re always causing mischief!"

"yeah, they’re the worst. real troublemakers" jake peers at you in all your bearded glory, as he stifles a laugh. "you should see what they did to my uh…sleigh"

"unbelievable!" you boom, grabbing him by the arm and guiding him away. "let’s take this up with mrs. claus, shall we?" the parents watch the two of you with furrowed brows, and you hear one whisper “did santa just kidnap that guy?”

you practically shove him into the break room, your cheeks burning under the beard. "what the hell jake?! i told you not to come! don't you have a street to look after?"

he waves a hand dismissively. "they can manage without me for a few hours. jerry has everything under control. are you saying you don't trust jerry?"

"what? no! but i told you not to come! it's humiliating if you see me like this!" you splutter.

jake shrugs. "i've seen worse. remember the time lineman tried to wear a tie? he looked like he was being choked out."

you blink, caught off guard. "that's not the same thing!"

"sure it is" he says, leaning against the wall. "besides, you’re bringing joy to the children of the world!"

your eyes narrow. "jake, be serious."

"i am!" he protests, gesturing to your outfit. "i mean sure, the beard’s a little…fluffy, but it suits you. adds character."

you tug self-consciously at the itchy material. "i swear-"

"hey…" he cuts you off, his voice softer now. "i’m just here to keep you company. nothing humiliating about that. you really want me to go?"

"of course not, it's just…" you frown. "i feel like i'm not doing a good job at this. i dunno"

jake gently takes your hand, pulling you towards him. "you’re doing fine. trust me. the kids love it. you’re the best santa they’ll get this year."

"but i don't even look like santa…" you mumble.

he smiles, adjusting your hat into place. “so what? they can't even tell. you're just that good”

“oh” you grin sheepishly. “really?”

“yes, really” he laughs. you love his laugh.

“so stop worrying. speaking of which...” he leans in just slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. “santa, can i get an early christmas gift?”

you scrunch your nose in disgust. “jake. that's so corny”

still, the pink on your cheeks betray you. for once, you're grateful for the beard.

“yeah” he admits, gazing at you with adoration, santa suit and all. “but you like it”

you roll your eyes as he leans in to kiss you. the beard tickles your chin, and you’re pretty sure it tickles his too, judging by the way he pauses and laughs against your lips. it's soft and sweet. practically magical.

well. it would have been magical, if not for the tiny squeak that echoes in your ear.

“mommy, look!” a little voice shouts. “who’s that guy? why is he kissing santa?”

you both dart your heads, panic setting in as you see a little boy pointing at the two of you. the door you forgot to close fully creaks a bit wider as his mother tugs him away.

“hush! don't point! it's rude! let’s not interrupt santa while she’s — i mean, he’s, uh…working!” she says quickly, shooting you and jake an apologetic smile before hurrying off.

you stare after them in mortification before glancing back to him. “i can't believe it. did i just traumatise a child?”

jake just bursts into laughter, shaking his head. “i can. never mind, you’re seriously the worst santa ever”

“yeah? maybe next time you can wear the beard” you shoot back, smoothing out any creases in the suit.

“deal” his smile grows wider as he drapes an arm over your shoulder. “but don’t blame me when the north pole gets a new leader after i outshine you”

you can’t help your own smile from forming. “merry christmas to you too”

A/N: typing 'mall' pained me deeply, but it seemed like the best choice of words. i am not american (-.-)

divider: @strangergraphics

header image: Madokka on pinterest

[mariaofdoranelle]

Catastrophic Blues

Written for @sjmromanceweek

Prompt: Favorite tropes (exes to lovers yay!)

I wrote most of this oneshot a year ago, and I never posted because it’s so sad, and also it’s the only time I fully trauma dumped on my fics. Anyway. Enjoy this thing that was based on one of the most pathetic days of my life lol

Warnings: none?

Words: 2,2k

The low lighting the uber had at night only called more attention to the cold, churning mess that was Aelin’s stomach. It was the lack of something to focus on when what she needs right now is sensory overload. The smell of alcohol, loud music, strobe lights.

Aelin wanted to focus on anything that wasn’t her destination—or who she’d meet there.

It was fine. She was fine.

It was Fenrys' birthday. The cheeriest of Aelin's cheery friends. Aelin definitely couldn't miss his birthday. Today was about Fenrys, and not the ex-boyfriend who was also invited.

But Aelin was fine. It wasn't a big deal. It’d been more than a month since they broke up, and Rowan even texted her asking if she’d be comfortable if he brought his new girl tonight.

How considerate of him.

But Aelin agreed, with no regrets. The only thing she regretted was merging her group of friends with her ex-boyfriend when they were dating. That was something she’d keep in mind for the next time she met someone.

Out of the car and in front of the bar, Aelin let the cool summer breeze wash her nerves away. He was probably in there already, always on time. She knew this would eventually happen when they broke up and decided to stay friends for the sake of the gang. There was no need for her to freak out—good thing she wasn't. And if she acted weirdly today, what would Rowan do a month from now?

The crowded place was booming with laughter and drunken yells, busy waiters running around the place, barely paying attention to the graceless group of friends singing Bohemian Rhapsody at karaoke.

A large hand gripped her waist, turning her towards the source, and Aelin met a smiling pair of onyx eyes.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Fen!” She hugged her friend and handed him his present, wishing him a happy birthday.

“Everyone’s at a big table back there, and…” Fenrys trailed, trying to read something on Aelin’s expression. Whatever words he was about to say died in his throat.

Aelin crossed her arms. “Spill.”

He shrugged. “You’re hotter than her.”

Lyria, he meant. And Aelin agreed, she was definitely hotter. It wasn’t hard to find Rowan’s new girl on Instagram after she commented a red heart on his last picture like a dog peeing on the comment section for territory. She found out about it even before he told her himself.

Aelin narrowed her eyes at Fen. “I’m over him.”

He shrugged. “Just thought you’d like to hear it.”

Her smirk was met with a similar one from Fenrys. He knows her too well.

Then Aelin shook her head, chastising herself for such thoughts. She was the one to end things, due to her… distressing circumstances. She had no right to shame Rowan for settling for a less hot person.

It’s not like she cared, anyway.

Stepping onto the back of the bar, Aelin quickly spotted the table and greeted everyone—including the lovebirds.

Rowan was stiff like a robot, and Lyria was polite. Bland. Guess he lied when he said he liked Aelin’s fiery personality and the way they clashed, since his new girlfriend is the total opposite. He’d probably still be his dutiful self to her in a month, and Aelin would be in Suria with rows of men—or vodka, most likely—lying at her feet.

She sat beside Elide and ordered a non-alcoholic beer—the doctor had cleared her to drink alcohol with moderation by now, but she didn’t want to risk it. Connall decided to restart whatever work gossip he was telling to keep Aelin in the loop.

She was paying attention, or at least she was trying to, but—why did Rowan shave off his beard? God, she loved his jawline. How it looked so firm by far, but felt so soft under her lips and teeth. Aelin could still remember how his beard tickled against her skin when he decided to grow it, or even better, the feeling of it against her thighs when he--

"Ace, are you alright?" Elide whispered in her ear, "You look a little lost."

Aelin blinked, trying to focus on her friends. Apart from Ellie, no one noticed she'd zoned out. Looking back at her friend, Aelin nodded, a small smile on her lips.

Her friend arched one eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Rolling her eyes, Aelin chuckled. "Of course."

Looking back at everyone, she caught Rowan’s eyes on her. Busted, the only thing left for him to do was send her a small, close-lipped smile and tip his head to the Heineken 0.0% she clutched. Aelin raised it and took a long swig, letting the bitter beverage go down throat, the feeling so close to the real thing.

He feels proud of her growth. Not a big deal when he keeps a perky brunette under his arm.

But she knew this feeling was just an initial clash of their lives apart. Aelin was fine, she truly was. Her feelings towards Rowan would never be the same she had to a regular friend, because the nature of their memories together was different. Erasing their history was impossible, so it was either fully leave or learn how to live in the shadows of what they used to be.

This hollowness she felt in her chest was just an initial shock, an adjustment. Aelin wasn't the only person in the world to lose the love of her life, and some of them even did great after that, with their second-best significant ones.

No one can keep every good thing that happens in their life forever. Even if said good best thing is right there, standing in front of you.

Actually, she was wrong. Aelin did keep Rowan in her life. As a friend. Which was enough, and just what she needed.

“…Right, Ace?”

Aelin blinked, being dragged out of her thoughts back into the conversation. “Excuse me?”

Elide sighed. “The birthday cake, Fenrys got it from Emrys’. Isn’t that the place you recommended to him?”

“Oh.” Aelin blinked. “Yes. Absolutely, yes. They’re the best.”

Ellie gave her a quick look that was hard to decipher, but maybe it was time for Aelin to pay attention.

And pay attention she did. She leaned on the table and held her chin under her palm. Turns out the owners of Emrys’ are regulars at the motel Fenrys works at. Disgusting news to hear, and Connall agreed with her unshared thoughts. Fenrys accused his brother of being homophobic, since they’re talking about a gay couple. Connall retorted, saying that he can’t be homophobic if he’s gay, and it’s not prejudice if he hates everyone equally.

The twins bickered on and on. Rowan watched them as if it was a tennis match, with undiluted attention, while Lyria seemed endlessly amused by it.

Aelin wished she had stayed home.

But she came here for Fenrys, and for Fenrys she stayed. And stayed and stayed and stayed until that fucking song started playing. For Mala’s sake, today was not her day.

Aelin looked around, trying not to be too obvious that she was looking at them. Trying not to look too much or too little.

He's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on my heart.

Rowan took Lyria's hand and held it against his chest.

Just like he used to do with her.

Aelin swallowed, her chest shrinking. She was going to be sick.

She excused herself and got up, walking to another section of the bar near the restrooms where she couldn't be seen from the table, and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

Breathe in.

She could still feel the shape of Rowan’s lips against hers.

Breathe out.

She could still feel the weight of his body above hers.

Breathe in.

She could still feel his calloused hands caressing her bare back in bed.

Breathe out.

Her heart was beating just as much as on the day she finally got the courage to cuddle him after sex, almost two years ago. When she first rested her head on the crook of his neck, Aelin scented her favorite version of Rowan’s smell because it was completely ingrained with hers. And she did it again. And again. And again. Her hand could trace the shape of him even that long after the last time they were together. She hated how much she'd cling to those small details, and she hated even more that she cared about this. Because she did. Aelin would barely admit it to herself, but of course she did.

She took a deep breath, ignored her quivering stomach and schooled herself, walking to the bar's counter.

The man next to her leaned on the counter so much he was half laid in it, but he still managed to turn his piercing blue eyes at Aelin and smile.

"Can’t find a bartender," he complained, his speech slurred. "I need a beer."

Aelin chuckled, leaning her forearms on the surface too. "And I need water."

He raised his head a little. "I'm Dorian."

"Aelin." She looked at him up and down, from the fumbled hair to the rumpled clothes and untied shoes. “Are you sure the bartenders aren’t bartending you on purpose?”

“I’m sure they are.”

“Huh.” Aelin scanned the liquor selection, tempted. She really was doing better with this new medication, and Dr. Hafiza cleared her for an occasional drink. She could definitely use a drink now. Instead, she tilted her head at Dorian and said, “Did you lose a puppy or something? Or this is just your usual Friday night?”

He ran a hand through his hair and grinned at her, so confident it reminded her of Fenrys. "My answer depends on whether you're giving me your number or not."

Aelin snorted. She thought of how satisfying it would be to watch Rowan watch her leave the bar with someone else, but a drunk wouldn't do. Besides, this wasn't a competition. Aelin had already lost.

"Not a chance. Spill."

He sighed and slumped again on the countertop, hitting his head against it.

"My situationship doesn't see me as dating material."

Aelin grimaced. "That sucks"

He waved a hand, dismissing her pity. "You?"

Her mind went back to a year ago, how he stood by her side, red-rimmed green eyes when Aelin became a shell of herself. How his anxiety skyrocketed when hers did too. How well he was doing now that she wasn't his problem anymore.

A bitter chuckle left her lips. "My sadness is contagious."

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I just bared my soul to you, and this is what you tell me?”

“You did not!”

“I’m gonna get another drink if you don’t entertain me.”

“Is this a threat?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

Aelin sighed, looking up while she gathered her thoughts. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”

“Obviously.”

“Because I was bringing him down. No drama. We decided to not break up our group of friends.”

“No drama, you said?”

“He’s with his new girlfriend at the back of the bar and all my friends are schmoozing with her now.”

“I sense drama.”

“And we have a trip booked for next month we didn’t discuss.”

“Paid it all before the breakup, huh?”

Aelin nodded and ordered two waters before they traded stories about their pathetic love lives. She didn’t know how long they stayed there, neither if she liked Dorian or just this escape from the table from hell, but being here was a respite.

They were about six Tinder horror stories in when a hand landed on Aelin’s shoulder, making her jump, heart racing with surprise.

Rowan stood beside her with his trademark frown. “It’s been a while since you left the table.”

“Yup.” What was she supposed to say?

He jutted his chin towards Dorian. “Is he bothering you?”

“Not at all.” She squared her shoulders, trying to find a light way to describe their pity party. “This is Dorian. I’m getting funny dating stories out of him before I call an uber and send him back to his world of heartless women and tawdry men.”

“I see,” he trailed, eyes trained on them, and took a step back. “Okay. I have to go back there, but if you—“

“I know.” She waved him off. He needed to be at the table and be a good boyfriend to someone else, she got it.

Aelin was fully aware that her mind was going on a petty path, but she couldn’t help it. Yes, Lyria was nice. Yes, Lyria had been nothing but polite to her the entire night. The only problem was that Lyria was dating the wrong person. Or the perfect one, if Aelin wanted to address her issues more directly.

She banged her head against the disgusting counter, resting there to contemplate this rare moment of self-pity.

Aelin dug her own grave.

Dorian had his eyebrows raised. “Damn, he’s hot.”

“And thoughtful.”

“I wasn’t thinking about his thoughtfulness when he murdered me with his eyes.”

“He did not.”

“He did. And you know why.”

“I do not.” Aelin sipped her water. “Anyway, what happened to the guy who was cheating on his wife with you?”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled with the memory of this unfinished divorce story, and she was thankful to get the spotlight of the conversation away from her.

Unlike Aelin, Rowan had his shit together and was happy. She wouldn't—actually, she couldn't—disturb this little peace he found after she cut him off.

Her selfishness only went so far.

Read part 2 here

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[blanknamed]

trial and error pt. 3 [senku x reader]

I had a lot of issues writing this chapter for some reason. I think I ran out of creativity for a good few weeks so I kinda struggled trying to keep Senku in character. I really just wanted to get the third chapter out though so I hope you like it!

SHIPPING: SENKU X READER

PREMISE: [Name] had always known Senku was a little bit of an oddball but that’s what made him so interesting to her as children. Now in the Stone World, he’s only even more interesting what with his claims about shooting up to a million years worth of technology back, but some things never change with him; specifically on the concept of love. As a way to get him to think about it as something other than “disgusting feelings” she proposes for him to think of it differently, though it seems to be going in a direction she never expected.

PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

{–*–}

CHAPTER THREE: FINDINGS

He was standing near his base by the time [Name] was done. From the looks of it, he had tried to dress up as well, even if it looked like the littlest effort was made. His hair stayed as big as it was, but what seemed to be a makeshift bowtie was settled on his neck (albeit lopsided, but [Name] didn’t really expect much from him in the first place).

“Jeez, who dressed you up, the local village boys?” She asked once she was within hearing range with Senku.

Scowling, Senku only shook his head. Flicking the strip of rag around his neck, he said, "Chrome and the bumbling fools of guards obviously haven't gone on dates before."

"I don't think you have much room to talk. Besides I’m pretty sure that was obvious," [Name] replied humorously, remembering when Ginro couldn't even look her straight in the eye during her and Senku's first few months at the village. "Why would you ask them of all people anyways?"

Senku raised his eyebrow, as if finding the question peculiar. "Who should I have asked?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the married men in the village?" [Name] suggested, watching as Senku furrowed his brows even more. Giggling, she shoved his shoulder. "So much for being a genius. What, were you so nervous to go on this date with me you forgot something as simple as retrieving data from the most obvious people?"

Senku rolled his eyes. "I'm busy with other things--saving the world from going back another thousand years in society, being one of them.” He reasoned as he turned his head away from her.

[Name] only laughed at him, pushing him to forward so they can start walking towards the woods. “Let’s just get this date other with, shall we? You didn’t forget to plan, I’m presuming?"

“Of course I didn’t. Do you take me for some idiot or something?” Senku asked as he peered at the younger girl, who only gave him a knowing look. Instantly, he shook his head. “No don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” [Name] trailed off. “Remember when you were so caught up in one of your projects you ended up putting too much laundry detergent in your washing machine?”

That day had been burned into her memory--it had probably been the only time she’d seen Senku visibly panic over something so mundane. They were helplessly watching the washing machine shake violently and become a soapy mess in it’s little area for almost an hour until Byakuya came home to a disgustingly sweet smelling hallway and two elementary school children covered in bubbled up laundry detergent from head to toe. 

“Don’t remind me; I smelled like laundry detergent for two months.” Senku muttered.

“It was funny, though. Definitely took thoughts away from my dad and brother.” [Name] replied happily. She didn’t need to turn her head to see that Senku had immediately spun his head toward her at the mention of her father.

A warm silence followed between them, no doubt Senku was thinking of something to say--should he say something about it? Should he brush it off? Senku had known [Name] enough to know that, while he never took anything like emotions too seriously, she wasn’t exactly emotionally attached to much either. He didn’t doubt for a second that [Name] thought about her family during those late night preparations she partook with him when Kohaku or Chrome couldn’t stay up past the 20th hour like they did.

He also didn’t doubt that she had done the same thing he had done once she thought her family over--understand the probabilities of seeing her mother and finding her father and brother’s grave were most likely slim and choosing to focus the task at hand: saving the world from total chaos at the hands of Tsukasa and his wildlings. So, she kept it silent, just like she always did.

Should I even mention anything about that? He wondered to himself as he helped her walk down a narrow junction between some large trees. They’d known each other long enough to understand each other without much verbal communication. Even after not having much contact once Senku entered middle school along with the whole thousands of years of being petrified in time, they still had a weird connection with each other. Maybe that was why he decided to free [Name] of her stony confindes; no one else could read his mind or understand what he’s thinking like she does.

Whatever route he took, it wouldn’t be awkward, he finally concluded when they reached the river. He let [Name] hop on the rocks that stood above the water before following suit. “Right, that was the day they got into that car accident.” He stated once they reached the other side.

[Name] hummed. “Mom was stuck at the hospital all day and wanted to take me with her; I couldn’t bear the smell there. It was too clean. So I went to your place thinking you might need something since you’re so useless--OW!” She rubbed her head as she glared over at Senku, who looked the other way, acting as if he hadn’t just slapped the back of her head so hard it made her hair flip over her head. “Anyways, I thought you needed me for something and apparently you did, but I don’t think an eight year old could have done much if a ten year old couldn’t do anything except stand around and watch the mess. It was funny, though. Mom and I laughed about it after a few years.”

“Glad to know my endless suffering and pure shock brought joy.” Senku said sarcastically, though [Name] could pick up the light heartedness behind it.

Elbowing him lightly so he can turn to look at her, [Name] smiled at him. “Well just so you know every time I think of the dad and brother, I also think of you with a bubble beard right after.”

Senku, for a moment, felt something turn before he wrinkled his nose. “Did you just family zone me? During a date?” He asked disgustedly. It was his turn to get a slap on the back of his head.

“Seriously? That’s what you took away from that?” [Name] asked, irritated. She decided to look forward as they kept walking, however it seemed as though they walked mindlessly through endless amount of trees. “Where are we going anyways?”

“Just a few more feet. There’s a clearing close by; I think you’d like it.” Senku said as he nudged her forward.

[Name] covered her eyes as she began to notice leaves becoming lower and lower to the point that she had to duck and sometimes even squat to get through some spaces. Man, if I knew this would happen, I would’ve worn something besides this kind of dress, she thought reluctantly as she watched the ends and edges of the dress get dirtied. Still, she persisted as she had been curious as to what the clearing had looked like. She hadn’t gone so far in terms of exploring for the past few weeks; winter was coming and Senku needed every available person possible to help prep the village for the freezing season. She spent hours lining and sewing furs onto their cloaks and coats to the point that she left little prick marks on her hands permanently.

“Okay, we’re here.” Senku announced once they both managed to stand again. Shaking a few leaves away from her head, [Name] looked up to see a green clearing, like Senku said. However, he never said how… Ethereal it was. Wild flowers, ones she vaguely recognized to be new versions of flowers from the past, spread across the spanse of the field. Lightning bugs flicked and glowed every now and then, being the main source of light besides the makeshift lantern Senku was currently crafting beside her.

“Whoa,” was [Name]’s only response. “Don’t tell you found this last minute just for a date, Senku.”

A snicker followed right after. “No. I found it a few months ago when trying to collect foxtail millet for the noodles. Let’s keep walking, though. This isn’t what I wanted you to see.”

It’s not? [Name] thought as she let Senku lead her further past the clearing, walking around the flowers as best as possible. The walk was silent, which surprised [Name] since Senku sometimes never did keep his mouth shut when it came to his little experiments. Could it be he's taking this date more seriously than she expected? She let that thought cross her mind as she watched him walk ahead of her. Not possible. If anything, he might just be keeping things a secret since I'm the test subject. [Name] thought to herself. Why would he even take this seriously in the first place?

"Look I know this is a date and all, but could you not glare at me?" Senku finally piped up, looking at his companion warily. "You look like you're about to plot my murder?"

"Who said I haven't already?" [Name] quipped, finally shaking herself from her thoughts. "Anyways, where did you take us, Casanova?"

She laughed as she watched Senku's face scrunch up in disgust at his nickname. He opened his mouth, ready to spew an insult before he stopped himself, staring at the shorter girl. Sighing, he just waved a hand forward. "Look above you."

"Above…?" [Name] questioned as she craned her neck. She sucked in a breath as she looked at the lightened sky above her. Of course, she's had plenty of nights where she stood outside to marvel at the stars and sky--she had never seen it so bright pre-petrification. She had thought that was the brightest and clearest she'd ever seen when she was in Senku's observation tower. 

That is, until today.

"It's so… So…" [Name] started, but couldn't quite put her words together. She felt Senku brush up against her shoulder as he finished for her.

"Beautiful." He complimented as he stared up as well. 

The sky was littered with various shades of purples, pinks, and blues. There wasn’t a coud in sight, which allowed the stars to litter across the dark plain above them. Faintly, she can make out certain constellations, pointing out the ones she wasn’t too sure to her companion, who nodded in confirmation to all of them.

"Who knew we'd get to see the sky as non-polluted as this." Senku said as they continued to keep watch over the sky.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." [Name] laughed. "I thought the observation tower was something else, but you really outdid yourself here, Senku. I didn't even expect you to walk this far without having you get carried by Chrome or something."

"Killing the mood." Senku replied, flicking her forehead, though [Name] made sure to take notice of his shortened breath he tried to hide. She pretended to feign ignorance even further when she let him walk behind her, catching his breath behind some bushes and then shuffling around until he finally brought a basket out.

"Suika should've given better instructions on where to find this thing." The spiky haired scientist said. "It looked like it got buried under a bunch of dirt instead of sitting plain out in the open like she said."

Senku opened the lid, raising an eyebrow as he pulled out two bowls of his notorious green ramen, wrapped tightly in large leaves to keep it from spilling. With it came a makeshift picnic blanket (though, it just looked like old scraps of dresses sewn together over the years; no doubt Suika had asked one of the older village women if she can borrow it). Together, they worked to keep the blanket down, placing heavy rocks at the corners to keep it from flicking upward since the wind picked up a little stronger from where they placed themselves.

"This ramen tastes gross." Senku groaned once he settled down, though it didn't stop him from continuing to eat it. [Name] only rolled her eyes as she ate it herself (though she did have to agree with Senku; the ramen was gross, but she put up with it anyways), basking in the windy air.

“I’m surprised you haven’t said anything yet about the information you’ve gathered for this date,” [Name] said. “Usually you relay the data to me once you get it all down."

“Can’t exactly tell the subject about the data I’m gathering about them.”

“Oh but you’re dying to tell me, aren’t you?” [Name] pushed. Truth be told, she was more curious on just how exactly he thought of the experiment. Sure, she had been the one to suggest it, but she had zero idea on what his plans are--what were his variables? Was he gathering information? Was he including numbers or was all of this just pure observation? There was no doubt in her mind that someone was observing them as well; most likely Kohaku since she’s better off at hiding and watching without being noticed once.

“Maybe. I’ll tell you after I’m done with this whole experiment.” Senku replied as he took a sip of the water packaged with them before handing it off to her. [Name] took it graciously, taking a few sips as she thought about his wording.

Quirking up her eyebrow curiously, she asked, “Wouldn’t that be tonight?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Senku confirmed. “You think one night will determine this whole thing? It might take more days actually--a few weeks even. I’ll gather all my information, relay it to you, and then confirm whether or not love is just a construct of emotions for me. Which it will be, from the information I’ve gathered.”

[Name] watched him in disbelief. There was no way she actually heard that correctly. Weeks? How’s that going to work? Would I even last a few weeks managing to go on more dates with this idiot? She questioned. “Wha-- I-- Don’t you have a grandiose plan that requires all your time and attention?”

She only received a shrug as an answer. What the hell does that even mean? She questioned herself as [Name] watched Senku stretch. He was the one repulsed by the idea of going on a date. Why would he extend this to weeks? She let herself wonder, pulling all the probable possibilities as to why he decided it so suddenly. Sure, Senku was right about not being able to gather enough information from just one date, but he could have easily just done one or two more nights of their little experiment dates instead of presuming it down to a matter of weeks.

Finally it finally hit [Name]: he was hiding something. What it was exactly, she’s not entirely sure, though she knew Senku was probably planning something stupid that could most likely put him in danger, or worse killed, which in turn would cause her to intercept and talk him out of it. He was probably using this date shenanigans to distract her from his death inducing plans.

Squinting her eyes at him, she decided to hold back on her on findings. After all, if he isn’t bothering to tell her what he’s gathering on her, she’ll do the same. Instead, she sighed, opting to make it seem as if she should have known. “You’re unbelievable.” [Name] replied.

“Oh, I know. That’s what gets you on your toes right?”

PREVIOUS PART - NEXT PART

[danasevans]

Perceptions

So @tinathedragon gave a Very Good prompt on the discord that was half a fic in itself but I'm just writing a small chunk of that. Thanks for the prompt!

Summary: Ted Lasso college AU. Ted and Rupert are in the same fraternity, and when Rupert inevitably wanders off at every party, like clockwork, Ted ends up keeping Rebecca company.

"I brought you a beer," he says, his Midwestern accent disturbing the cool night air. "Still in the bottle, just so you know it's safe. I know open cups at this kinda thing are a gamble."

Rebecca turns, less startled than she might expect, and takes the drink from him. "Thank you, Ted," she says quietly. He gives her a dimpled smile and sits next to her on the porch swing.

She looks at him, her head tilting. "Don't you want to be in there enjoying the party?"

He holds her gaze, as if he's looking not at her but into her. "Don't you?"

Rebecca turns away. This isn't the first time he's sought her out on this porch; they both know the drill by now. "Well, my date's sort of-- forgotten about me. So, no." She takes a swig of beer and tries to change the subject. "You couldn't get your friend to come?"

Ted shakes his head. "Nah. Beard has some very specific opinions about Greek Life. He's not a fan."

She squints at him. "I'm still not sure why you call your roommate by his last name."

"Oh, I don't know his first."

Sometimes, she can't tell when Ted is joking. She usually waits for him to crack a grin, his chuckle giving it away. But he seems to be serious.

"Sorry, you don't know the first name of the person you live with?"

Ted shrugs. "He introduced himself as Beard, and Beard he shall remain."

"Okay." She sips her drink again to cover that she really has no response to that, but the cold liquid and the night air make her shiver.

"Hey, do you want my jacket?"

Rebecca nods, and then blushes as the soft, warm letter jacket surrounds her. It's from Ted's high school, complete with the badge that says he'd been on his varsity football team. Their different definitions of football had been one of their first discussions out here, and now she's more focused on how intimate the gesture feels. How the jacket smells like him.

"Hey, Rebecca, can I ask you a question?"

She's leaning into him now, just because of how he'd reached around her to put the jacket on, and she has to twist a little bit, and almost look up at him. "Well, that's how this normally goes, isn't it? You ask me some icebreaker about my favorite concert or if I'm secretly an heir to the British monarchy."

"I stand by that last one. You just give off princess energy," Ted insists. "But this is, uh, a little less icebreaker-y."

Rebecca furrows her brows, but nods. "Go ahead, shoot."

"Why are you--" he hesitates, but pushes on. "Why are you with him?"

She isn't sure what she was expecting, but it's not this. "Sorry?"

"I'm not trying to be insulting, I just--" Ted blows a huff of air, and the hair that sometimes falls into his face flutters. "You're-- you're a great girl, Rebecca, I mean, you're funny and smart and sweet and a total knockout, like, Wonder Woman or something. And you're dating a guy who's doing seven minutes in heaven with the closest girl he can find as soon as he's had two drinks. I don't-- I know it's not my business, but I don't see it."

Rebecca laughs uneasily, trying to recover from the blunt truth of his statement. "I... I suppose I don't either."

It's Ted's turn to look confused. "Whaddya mean?"

"He's in there, doing... whatever, and I'm out here," she says. "I don't have to see it, or think about what he's doing. I just have to take him home and let him sober up and then it'll all be normal again, and he'll bring me lunch when I'm studying and take me out to dinner and other nice places where I can have some fun and be the center of his attention." Saying it out loud makes her cheeks heat with embarrassment; it sounds rather pathetic. "I don't-- I don't know. It's hardly a healthy relationship, but I-- I don't see any reason to go to the trouble of breaking it off. It's just university; it's not like we'll spend the rest of our lives with each other. And..." she shakes her head. "I suppose I'd rather play his games than just be... alone."

After all that, after pouring her heart out to him in a way that only her roommate has heard (and Sassy won't remember half of it; they'd both been wasted at the time), she finally looks up to Ted. Her first instinct is bitter regret, the reflex that she should've kept it all inside, but Ted's gentle expression washes that feeling away.

"You're not alone," he says softly, squeezing her hand.

Rebecca can't find her voice, so she just leans into him, planting her face against his chest, feeling the softness of his hoodie against her cheek. She's still holding his hand.

"Thank you."

For listening. For being here. For not judging me like everyone else.

His other arm wraps around her shoulders. "Of course."

[sweetpeasgirl]

Treat You Better | Sweet Pea

Description: Based on the song “Treat You Better” by Shawn Mendes, Jughead and Y/n’s relationship is at it’s bittersweet end and Sweet Pea, her best friend, is there to defend her

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Female!Reader

Warnings: Kinda angsty but not really

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

The White Wrym is not where you thought you would spend your Saturday night but Jughead had said that he needed to take care of a few things and you didn't want to be blown off again. You understand that he's busy, you really do. He's the son of the former Serpent leader; of course he's going to have a lot more on his plate. You just didn't think he'd push you off of it- the plate.

Sweet Pea had warned you about that. It was the latest topic of argument between you. For best friends, the two of you fight a lot. You know he's just trying to look out for you, that's been his role since the two of you were kids. He's in the grade above you, and was originally your older brother's friend, but they fell out a couple years ago. He never left you though.

He's always been the one watching your back. At first he just kept you out of harm's way, whether that be from grade school bullies or the men who lurk in alleyways when you're trying to walk home. Now, though, he has to watch out for boys who say they care about you but don't. He has to watch out for heartbreak.

That's where Jughead comes in. Sweet Pea is just being his overprotective self, like usual. Sure, you've had your fair share of walking out into the busy street with your head down, and he's had to pull you back quite a few times, but this is different. He can't save a heart that's supposed to break. Jughead does care about you, or at least he did when you first got together last year. Some things, however, just aren't meant to last forever.

Forever is a long time and time has a funny way of changing things.

"Juggie, it's your turn," your voice is quiet as you hand him the wooden pool cue, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

It's cold in the bar and you had been alerted so suddenly that date night was getting moved here that you didn't have time to grab a sweater. You can feel the stares burning into uncovered shoulders. It puts you on edge as Jughead accepts the cue from your shaky hands and takes his shot absentmindedly. Something's going on in his head, you can tell by the way he furrows his eyebrows and watches the people around him.

You, meanwhile, are trying hard not to look anywhere but the green felt of the pool table. There's commotion all around you. Shouts can be heard from the bar and the sound of smashing bottles that accompanies them. There's laughter coming from somewhere else but it doesn't sound friendly. Whatever it's about is cruel; it’s something that should not be made a joke of.

You're definitely way out of your comfort zone. Hell, you're way out of your un-comfort zone. You're just plain scared and, with the lack of conversation that Jughead is providing, the regret is bubbling quick in your chest. You almost wish he would just break up with you so you can cry and move on already.

"Jughead," a loud voice breaks the awkward silence around the crowded pool table, "there you are boy. We can finally discuss what you wanted to talk about now."

A tall, middle aged man with light brown hair and a weeks worth of beard growth pats your boyfriend on the back. Jughead shoots you an apologetic look as he passes the pool cue back to you once more. Your blood runs cold as he starts to walk in the opposite direction with the newcomer. He's seriously leaving you alone, in a room full of people who honestly aren't the safest characters, on what was supposed to be your night. Something happened to the boy you first knew and this just settled what you already thought. It’s over.

Your eyes blur with unshed tears at the hurt and fear circulating through your veins. He disappears from sight and the dark atmosphere gets hazier as you grip the side of the table to keep yourself steady. You can once again feel the stares burning into your back. It's like they were waiting for you to be left unattended. When you're with Jughead, the heir of the Serpent crown, you can't be touched. When you're with Sweet Pea, their deadly warrior, you can't be touched. When it's just you, though, anything goes.

You don't know what to do. It's only a matter of time before someone approaches you and when that happens you'll be in a situation that you probably won't be able to get yourself out of. That's the one thing your mother always told not to do; never put yourself into a situation that you can't get out of. Sweet Pea would not be happy.

"Y/n, what the hell are you doing here?"

Case in point. You jump at the sound of his voice but spin around instantly and bury yourself into his chest nonetheless. The tears fall down your face before you can stop them but you really couldn't care less. The smell of leather and pine surrounds you and warmth finally fills your body. Apparently you're colder than you had originally thought.

The relief that fills you is unmeasurable and you cling to Sweet Pea tightly, "It was supposed to be our night but-” you hiccup, tugging on his jacket- “I didn't want to miss another date night-” another hiccup- “I didn't want to-” you rub your forehead against his chest, your voice now just a whisper- “he left."

Your thoughts come out scrambled and between ugly sobs but it's enough for Sweet Pea to gather the overall picture of what happened. After all, he has been doing this for a while. He tightens his arms around you, the anger radiating off his uncovered skin in heated waves.

"He left you? Here?" Sweet Pea is seething when he pulls back.

He lifts you to sit on the edge of the pool table, the game laying discarded behind you. The visual reminder only makes the tears come faster and the warmth leave your bones again. You start shivering but this time you can't steel yourself enough to stop, the realization dawning before you can lie to yourself again. You and Jughead are done. You have been for a long time now and everyone else saw it before you did.

"Pea, we're over," you can't raise your voice above a harsh whisper, covering your raw face with your hands to suffocate the onslaught of cries you can feel bubbling to the surface, "we're over now. You were right."

You close your eyes to avoid staring into Sweet Pea's murderous chocolate ones. All you feel now is the ice circling your veins.

"Baby, hey," a large jacket that smells too much like Sweet Pea to not belong to him is draped over your shoulders, "it's okay. We'll go home."

The anger seeps out of his voice and you peer up to see the concerned face of your best friend once more. He's looking at you in the same way he was the time fell out of Jughead's tree house. You had blacked out from the fall and woke up in the hospital with a broken leg. He was so scared that he didn't leave your side for a minute. But it's different now, you're not physically hurt, so he shouldn't look worried.

You let out a sorrowful breath and just nod your head, a deep weariness settling over your being. At least you're getting what you had wanted. A clean break.

"Y/n, can we talk?"

You hadn't noticed Jughead come back but now he stands a little behind Sweet Pea who is still in front of you. Sweet Pea instantly turns at the sound of his voice, the rage back and in full swing. You just lower your head, too tired to keep it up.

"Jones you're so lucky I'm not beating the crap out of you right now. I didn't think you were stupid enough to leave her here but I guess I was wrong! You're just lucky I happened to be here. And that she doesn't hate you." Sweet Pea spits his words at Jughead

"Look, man, can I just talk to my girlfriend?" Jughead's voice is monotone, both of you knowing he's just calling you his so that he can officially end it once and for all.

It's for the best and you both know it. His phrasing, however, doesn't go over well with Sweet Pea.

"Are you serious right now? Or is this a sick joke? You forfeit that title when you left her as free game for anyone in this place,” Sweet Pea steps towards him and you hold your breath, knowing quite well who would win the fight if one were to ensue. “You're dating the most beautiful girl in this shitty town and you treat her like she doesn't even matter! If it was me she wouldn't be crying on a damn table, she would know damn well just how much I love her!"

Your head snaps up at his words, your breath hitching in your throat. The commotion of the bar is drowned out around you and all you can see is Sweet Pea's back. He can't really love you, can he? He's just making a point, being the best friend he always has been. The logic makes sense to you but you can feel your heart breaking for the second time tonight because of it.

You place a hand on Sweet Pea's shoulder, drawing his attention back to you, "it's okay Pea, I should talk to him at least."

He doesn't look happy but he nods, helping you off the table and moving to the side to let you pass. You look at Jughead and toss him a melancholy smile. It's wrapped with bittersweet memories from all your late night's at Pop's and early mornings coming back from the drive-in. Jughead and you had some pretty good times despite your inevitable end. Maybe, just maybe, though, you can make it a peaceful end.

"Y/n I do love you," Jughead takes his beanie off and runs his hand through his already messy, raven locks, "but not like I did before. Somewhere between moving here and, well, taking on the role of my dad I let us fall apart. I'm sorry."

"It's okay Juggie. I probably wasn't putting as much effort in as I could have," he scoffs at that, a guilty smirk on his face.

You both know that you gave this relationship your all. But, standing here now with Sweet Pea's eyes searing into your back, it's pretty clear that your heart was forming attachments with another person. Which means that sooner or later you and Jughead would have fallen apart anyway. Sometimes these kinds of things are no one's fault. It's a mutual heartbreak and when it needs to happen, it needs to happen.

"You know, y/n, I don't feel too bad about losing you to him."

You furrow your brows at his comment, your voice cracking slightly when you speak, "what do you mean? He was just saying all that stuff. Pea doesn't love me."

Jughead rolls his eyes and glances quickly at Sweet Pea before walking closer to you. You can tell he doesn't want him to hear what he's about to say.

"Y/n that boy is in over his head. It's a feeling I can relate very much to but listen to me," his eyes capture yours in a serious stare, "he's going to treat you better than I ever could. He's not going to leave you in dangerous situations or bail on plans. Can't you see he'd take a bullet for you?"

Your heart races at his words and you spare a glance at Sweet Pea. He's already looking at you, the worry back in his mesmerizing eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you, pulling a smile to your lips. Maybe Jughead is right. Maybe you love Sweet Pea as more than a best friend.

Looking at him now, his tanned skin glowing under the dim lights and his dark brown hair pushed behind his ears, there's no doubt in your mind that you're attracted to him. Sweet Pea has always looked handsome in your eyes, even after a fight with purple bruises staining his face. You think back to all the times he's been there when you needed him most. That boy drops whatever he's doing when you call; no matter if you're just bored or looking for someone to nap next to he’s there next to you. You've always felt at home when you're with him. Hell, you have a drawer in his room devoted to your clothes.

Sweet Pea loves you and you're pretty damn sure that you love him too.

Turning back to Jughead, you nod your head, "I'd take one for him too."

"Good. I think I'll leave now. Thanks for everything, y/n," Jughead pulls you into one last hug before heading out the door.

You pull Sweet Pea's jacket tighter around you as you walk back towards him. He gathers you once more into his chest and you let the last of your tears fall. There will never be a time when parting isn't such sweet sorrow. It's the beginning of something new but also the end of something that you once thrived on. However, wrapped completely in Sweet Pea's scent, you've never felt like you belonged somewhere so much.

"Ready to go home baby?"

"Yeah Pea. Let's go home."

[giorno-plays-piano]

Money, Money, Money Part 1

Pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader, slight Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: lots of swearing, silly drunk mobs, mentions of alcoholism, parody, Peter is adult, is this a crack fic??

Words: 2578.

Summary: When Steve finds out somebody has stolen their money, Bucky realizes he has to take his ass off the leather couch in his office, finally.

P.S. This is my first attempt to write humor and I’m sorry in advance for everything I’ve written here 😅

_________________

“BITCH, DID I STUTTER WHEN I SAID TO KEEP THAT SAFE CLOSED AT ALL TIMES?”

Allyson massaged her temples softly and let out a groan: if Mr. Rogers continued to yell like that, he would definitely choke soon. This morning he had been pretending to be the death, vengeance and fury, ready to kick the ass of her immediate superior, James Barnes, who acted like he was deaf, unable to pull himself from the couch where he slept after getting drunk as a fish last night. Oh, poor Bucky. Apparently, he fucked things up again if Mr. Rogers stormed into his office like he was getting chased by a 200-pound dog.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you son of a...” glancing at a pouting man-child with a three-day beard, Steve covered his face with his palm and let out an exasperated sigh, “... respectable woman who would die of shame if she saw you now!”

“Come on, Stevie,” the man yawned, finally moving his huge, muscular body up to sit instead of just laying on the couch since he felt a little guilty Steve was getting all riled up while he just chilled, “why so serious? Yeah, somebody took a bit of cash from the safe, it’s not a big deal.”

Allyson heard everything as if they were speaking right in front of her - Bucky was a real Mr. Cheapo who didn’t want to rent an office with decent walls - and quickly closed her ears, wishing she had taken her earplugs today. Her boss just made a grave mistake, and now both of them were going to pay for it with their eardrums.

“NOT A BIG DEAL? NOT A BIG DEAL, YOU MASSIVE BAG OF DOUCHE?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE, HUH?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THOSE MONEY WERE FOR?!”

Seriously, she considered getting a new job, but these free daily standup shows were both tiring and so fucking funny she was afraid she might wet her seat.

“Oh my fucking God, Bucky, I swear I’ll kill you, I’ll... no, I have a better idea!” Steve gave his best friend a dirty look. “I’ll call your uncle. Yeah, you know which one. He’ll be sooo happy to take you drunk ass to jail and then give your mama a call. I bet she has a cure for both your attitude and alcoholism.”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

Suddenly realizing the danger he was in, Bucky quickly got up, almost falling to the floor but holding on the leather chair in the very last second. When Steve talked about calling his uncle, a chief of police of the neighboring town where his whole family lived, it meant things were going bad. Real bad.

“Bucky, it was the part we were going to invest into Pierce’s casino. I have to take it to him tomorrow morning. TOMORROW FUCKING MORNING, DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU STINKING DRUNK?”

“I’m drunk but not deaf, Steve!”

“Oh my God, I’m driving you to a rehab, go gather your stuff right now!”

Allyson sighed, getting up and proceeding to choose the most beautiful cup to fill it with fresh coffee: when their conflicts escalated to threats, it meant her boss would soon start to sweet-talk, apologizing to his best friend and promising to sober up and get things right. Every time she felt like Mr. Rogers would really do something to Bucky, the guy used his natural charisma and charm and got away with anything by just reminding Steve how he fought for his best friend in the dark alleys when Rogers was a sick, skinny kid. It worked every damn time.

There they were again, talking about same things with Bucky swearing on his mother’s life that he will find the money and bring it back to Steve. Usually it meant the threats were coming to an end, and soon Mr. Rogers would open the door and come out red as a lobster, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon. There he would see her with a cup of nice coffee with cream and two spoons of sugar just like he preferred, gladly accepting it and saying nobody understand him but her. Then Allyson would smile compassionately, listen to his small talk before he went out the office, and wait until her grumpy boss would fall out the room, reeking alcohol, and ask her what the fuck had happened yesterday.

After that in a couple of minutes things would finally settle down, and Allyson would have a chance to give a call to her best friend.

_______________________________

Your day couldn’t start better: you had finally received your Amazon order - hooray to the stupid makeup tools you would use, like, once a year - and even watched your favorite Netflix series with a cup of a fragrant coffee with marshmallows because it was Sunday and you were finally free from both work and cleaning the apartment. It felt so nice to just do absolutely nothing, laying on your couch with a piece of pizza in your hand. Seriously, even a workaholic like you had to do it more often.

Your lazy morning was interrupted by Peter, a sweet college student who was getting into troubles more often than a drunk in a local bar: you seriously considered calling him Harry Potter after you found him half-naked with a scratch on his forehead standing in the corridor of your building and holding a broom. To protect himself from bullies, he said, by the look on his face you could tell it was as good as a magic wand against 6"4 ft tall guys, seriously.

Since he rented an apartment with other unlucky nerds who had zero skills how to survive in this cruel world, you ended up nearly baby-sitting Peter, patching him up after he was getting in a fight and lending him some money time after time when he struggled to pay rent or buy food. His parents were elderly people with income below average, but they still did whatever they could to give him an education, so you decided to give the guy a hand.

Now that baby was standing in front of you, lit up like a Christmas tree, with a bouquet of wonderful pink roses, big box of hand-crafted chocolates and a whole bag of what looked like some very fine food, even a bottle of champagne clinking inside.

"Good morning, Fairy Godmother! I came to bring back what I owe you!" His smile was a mile wide when he looked at your face, happy to the point he couldn't stand still, dancing like those Duracell rabbits in the tv ad.

"You're up early, Cinderella."

You yawned, laughing when you saw the guy pouting at the nickname you gave him - tf he expected for calling you Fairy Godmother?

"Don't stand there, come in."

When he actually handed you the flowers and chocolates, giving you a quick peck on the cheek shyly, you froze, finally realizing he brought all this for you. Wait, what? Where the heck did he get so much money to buy that expensive stuff? You thought he was helping his other neighbor who was planning to finally propose to his girlfriend. Perplexed to the point you nearly missed that peck, you blinked at tomato red Peter.

"Please don't tell me you robbed your 90-year-old paralytic professor."

"Why don't you ask if I robbed a bank?" He pouted again, putting the bag on the floor and getting a hundred dollar banknote out of his old leather wallet. "I actually came to thank you for everything you've done for me. And I didn't rob anyone! I got a real job!"

"Real job?" You eyed him curiously. "But don't you already have a job in delivery?"

"Pfft, you can't call it a job. It was getting one nasty smelling pizza from one place to the other while looking miserable."

You barely held your laugh, leaving the bouquet and chocolates on the side table and rubbing guy's back. Poor Peter, nobody was giving him a hand - while you couldn't question people's decision since the guy wasn't the most reliable one, it was still a shame he wasn't treated decently as if all of them weren't young and careless once.

Wait, but who on Earth gave him such a well-paid job all of a sudden? He must have spent hundreds of dollars on the bouquet, chocolates, food and champagne, not even counting those 100 dollars he owed.

Oh God.

"Please don't tell me you're working for some shady business." You looked at him in horror, your hand flying to your mouth. "Peter, is it Tony's band?!"

"Jesus woman, why would I work for some stupid mob." The guy rolled his eyes, and you sighed in relief, not knowing what to except from this trouble on two skinny legs. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing bad! I just have to keep it a secret before I get a contract. Once I figure it out, I’ll explain everything, I swear!”

“Alright, alright, don’t stress over it, I’m not your Ma.” Smirking, you went to take a square glass vase you hadn’t use in ages, filling it with water to drop the bouquet inside. “Let’s celebrate it, then! Woah, careful there, give me that bottle until you drop it on my clean floor, I’ve been scrubbing it for hours yesterday!”

_______________________

Bucky still felt like Steve was making too much of a big deal out of it: obviously, it was Tony who went to him at night when Bucky was already drunk like a monkey, celebrating the birth of Clint’s daughter. Nobody else had the courage to steal from him, Steve’s right hand, an ex-soldier who had a reputation of a man killing with the first punch. Not that Bucky ever killed anybody, actually being a ex-trumpet in an army band...

Anyway, the man was heading over to Stark’s Tower, a motel where he and all his guys lived when his wife Pepper was out of town. Pepper had definitely been out of town lately since Tony didn’t call: when she was coming back, Steve and Tony were having a two-day truce with nobody getting in a fight because it was making Mrs. Stark upset, and when she was upset, both Steve and Tony didn’t risk getting out of their holes to face this enraged blonde woman who could make anyone wet themselves with one her glance. If there were anyone killing with just one punch in the town, it got to be Pepper.

As he got closer in his Cadillac that looked like it went through fire and water before being sold to Bucky, Barnes stared at the motel suspiciously: it was strangely quiet with everyone hiding inside, not a man guarding the motel’s entrance. What the hell happened? Tony loved showing off, pretending he ruled over the town, and he would definitely act like a king after stealing Steve’s and his money. It was unbelievable Bucky so nobody welcoming him with a smirk.

Hoping he didn’t use all that money for emptying a liquor store, Bucky parked the car and went to the motel, dying to have some beer: one heartless blonde boss of his emptied his fridge.

“Oh, more drinking partners returning to continue the fun, huh?”

Bucky froze immediately, staring at Pepper who stood in the doorway with a face of an iron maiden. Jesus fucking Christ. She returned to the city way before Tony told him, and it was clear she found him not in the condition she expected to. While Bucky considered whether it was better to run, Tony’s head appeared somewhere behind his wife, and Barnes saw Tony was as drunk as him, if not even more. He could see a huge blue mark from Pepper’s heavy hand on Stark’s cheek.

“Who’s that, honey?” The man asked innocently, earning an enraged glance from his wife, and Bucky thought he should have run. “Hi, Buck! Come on in, it’s ok if you didn’t bring beer even if I asked twice.”

Oh. Something was going on. Of course, Bucky could rat the man out immediately, telling Pepper he wasn’t drinking with Tony yesterday’s night, but he wasn’t such a heartless bastard - by the look on Stark’s face Barnes could see his sweet blonde wifey would beat poor Tony to death with her Dior handbag.

“Sorry, I blacked out for a couple of hours in my car.” He mumbled, bowing his head in respect. “Pepper, such a pleasure to see you.”

“Come on in, alcoholic.” Her gaze was heavy, and Bucky shivered a little, carefully leaving his shoes near the door and scurrying away to the coach where Tony sat, nervously biting his fingers. “Well, do you wanna tell me something, huh? How many hookers have you brought here yesterday?”

Glancing to Tony and back to Pepper, Barnes suddenly realized his frenemy had been so drunk he had no hecking idea whether somebody really brought hookers to the motel - it was a total taboo, but once they got drunk they could barely control themselves. Once they literally woke up to a Santa Claus singing Jingle Bells in the tub in the middle of June because Tony missed Christmas.

Of course, Stark would never slip up the night before Pepper was coming back to town, but, apparently, she didn’t stay with her mom for as long as she planned, and Tony was royally fucked.

“I’ve asked you a question.”

And now Bucky was, too, if he didn’t think of something quick. Of course, he could tell her the truth, but it meant losing Tony completely, and Barnes didn’t want that. A real mafioso should have at least one strong enemy, right?

“I’m sorry, Pepper, but I don’t think there were any hookers here last night.” He said, carefully choosing words. “You see, first, Tony never allows us to. Second, we’re good Christians. We would never invite some hookers when we celebrated the birth of Clint’s daughter!”

As he got silent, enjoying the effect his words were having on Pepper, Bucky looked at the man sitting to his right, watching Tony’s eyes watering: it was definitely God himself who sent Barnes his way that morning, saving his from near death. Nothing would work better than this excuse. Clint and all Bucky’s guys were so drunk to the point they barely remembered what had happened, and it would be easy to convince them Tony and his gang came to see Barnes for something and ended up staying with all of them.

Besides, there was a nice bonus Bucky could add to make it work even better.

“By the way, Clint named her Natasha. That’s also the name of your mom, right?”

By the look on Tony’s face the man realized he was ready to sing.

“How did he know my mom’s name?” Pepper eyed Steve’s right hand distrustfully, but he could tell she was less irritated.

“Oh, you know, he and his wife couldn’t choose the name, so we started saying whatever names we knew, and Tony mentioned Natasha.”

For a second Bucky thought Stark was going to kiss him through excess of joy.

When he finally left the motel, getting his pack of beer given him by lovely Pepper who changed the anger to mercy, Tony ran out of the house after him, giving him a pat on the shoulder and whispering quietly, “I own you one, brother.”

Bucky sighed. Stark didn’t take the money.

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​ @helenaeisenhower​​ @villanellevi​​ @hurricanerin​​ @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @navegandoaciegas​ @rosalynshields​ @brattycherubwrites​ @sllooney​ @angrythingstarlight​ @lookiamtrying​ @buckysbunny​ @soleil-dor​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @dillybuggg​ @literate-lamb​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @jaysayey​ @megzdoodle​ @gotnofucks​ @lux-ravenwolf​ @iheartsebandchris​ @ximebebx​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @sourpatchspinster​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place Like This 2

Warnings: this short series will include dark elements including noncon, possible violence, mentions of mental illness, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start asking questions but you might not like the answers.

Note: I’m a filthy liar and this is gonna be obv more than two parts and I dunno what I’m doing.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your office was the room across the hall from Andy’s, just beside the bathroom and furthest from your mother’s.

You had a routine; it helped you keep on track. You woke up, had a coffee and a small breakfast, and climbed back upstairs to begin your work. At noon, you took a break, you went for a walk or just sat on the porch with your mother if she wasn’t in her room. You returned to work and later in the afternoon you came down to remind your mother about her pills. Then you started dinner as the day was in its final decline.

Andy only changed that slightly. He woke earlier than you did and was on his way out as you got up. He came home around dinner time and you left a plate for him in the oven if he was late. He was quiet, he ate, and went upstairs. The first week went by as such. You almost pitied him for living in what seemed a crowded isolation.

Then the weekend came. Like the other lumber workers, he had those two days to himself. It would be the first real test of your arrangement.

You woke at your usual time and went down to make your coffee. You only wrote for a couple hours on weekends. Breaks were good. You measured the grounds into the percolator and filled it with water. You turned on the decades old stove and turned as you heard the old stairs groan.

Andy appeared in the door. He wore jeans and a thick knitted sweater. His hair, overgrown and shaggy, was pushed away from his face, his beard a shade darker and starting to puff out from its length. You suspected that as a lawyer, he never looked so unkempt and yet even now, he still managed to look refined.

“Hate to be selfish but you think there’s enough for me?” He crossed to the table and sat. 

“Should be,” You rubbed your hands together. You wore an old sweatshirt with a grizzly on the front and your old faded jeans with the bleach stain on the knee. Unfashionable but warm. ‘“Cream, milk, sugar?”

“Black’s fine,” He said as he scratched his chin. “I was thinking today I could stock us up on wood for the fireplace. Since it’s snowing now, it’s better to get it done before the winter is really here.”

You squinted at him and played with the frayed cuff of your shirt. “So, you got a lot of snow in the city?”

“Not as much as here, I’m sure.” He let out a long breath and you saw the cloud in front of him. 

You paused and listened for the rattle of the furnace. “Fuck.” You pushed yourself away from the counter. “I gotta light the furnace.”

“Where is it? I’ll do it.” He offered. “Since you made the coffee.”

“You sure?”

“Think I can handle it,” He stood. “City boy and all.”

“Basement door’s outside. It’s a pain but this place is old and not very well put together.” You said. “There’s a lighter in the drawer.” You pointed at the counter. “Thanks. Oh, and the key too. Hanging by the door with the green tag.”

“Alright,” He crossed to the door. “Think I’ll figure it out.”

He disappeared down the hall and returned with his big boots. He put them on before the back door and unlocked it. He tramped down the steps as the door clattered behind him and you listened to his crisp footsteps. 

You wrung your hands as you thought. Nice enough, you surmised, but evasive. Maybe he wasn’t running from some heinous offense but he was trying to get away from something. You could tell by the way he always seemed to direct the conversation, especially when it turned on him.

You heard the sudden rumble of the furnace and the vents hissing. You turned as the percolator began to shake almost in tandem and the small glass knob bubbled with brown coffee. You took it off the burner as the basement door squeaked and the jingle of the key accompanied the snowy steps across the yard.

Andy kicked off his boots and slipped through the back door. He hung the key and he shook the snow from his hair and smoothed it back. He left his boots on the mat as you poured two mugs. He approached and you slid one to him. He took it with a soft thank you.

You added milk to yours and sat at the table as he did the same. You regretted it almost immediately. You should've taken it up with you and hid in your office. 

"Any plans today?" He asked. You blinked and he rested his palm against the hot mug. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

"Nah, nothing planned," You replied. "So you just plan on chopping wood on your day off?"

"Not much else to do up here. It's nice. Mindless." He shrugged.

"You have a lot you don't want to think about?" You wondered.

His jaw ticked as he eyed you and his lips curled slightly.

"Don't we all?"

"You'd have to to come all the way up here from wherever you're from." You commented. 

"Hmm," He chuckled under his breath. "You'd make a good prosecutor. You don't miss a lot."

"I'm a writer. I write about people, so I gotta study them closely."

"I thought you wrote about animals."

"That's what I'm paid to write about but… I have my own projects." You lifted your mug and tasted the rich brew.

He sucked his bottom lip in as his thoughts wrinkled on his forehead. "Uh huh," He uttered carefully. "Guess that's true then."

"So… is it too much to ask why you ditched being a lawyer?" You asked.

"You do anything long enough and you get bored."

"And you never did anything else? Never got married?" You prodded.

"Well, what about you?" He challenged as he hooked two finger through the handle of his mug. "Not many fish in this pond, huh."

"Touche," Your lips slanted, "You definitely are the lawyer type."

🍂

Later that day, after you gave your mother her second round of pills, you ventured out into the forest that skirt around the old property. The snow was only just past your ankles, the powder fell in spurts but didn’t seem to get much deeper. When you were met with a block or an impasse in your writing, you always came out to the trees to clear your mind. You were done for the day but you had a long week ahead of you.

You kicked the snow of a fallen tree by the river and listened to those critters not yet in hibernation in the blanket branches above. You thought about the man staying in the room next to yours and the answers he would give you; the questions you were too afraid to ask him. 

He wasn’t telling you everything, perhaps he didn’t owe you everything, but the lines in his forehead, the crinkles beside his eyes, the depth of his irises as they watched you. There were things you needed to know about a person and you feared you didn’t know enough about this stranger you’d invited in. You had been too intent on the money, on your own keeping.

Or maybe you were paranoid. You were starting to sound like your mother when she claimed the birds were listening to her and taking the messages back to the monsters of the forest. When she had barricaded herself in her room and refused to come out for fear you were one of them in disguise. The day it had all fallen apart.

Your nose was numb and tingling. You pulled your scarf up over your face and turned back. The snow was crisper now. The temperatures fell with the sun and that happened quickly in the winter. The sky was a dark grey as you came back to the house, the chimney billowed up toward the quarter moon and a soft amber light shone between the curtains of the front room.

You dusted your boots off before you stepped inside. The voice didn’t stop as you took off your coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. You slid your boots off and listened. The scene was unexpected as you peeked into the front room.

Your mother sat with her favourite blanket over her legs before the fire. A fresh stack of wood sat beside it, the basket full of split logs as well. Andy bent to poke at the embers and send up sparks as he got the fire going higher.

“So, this book you’re reading,” He said as he set the poker aside. “Did she get away yet?”

“I don’t think she’s gonna,” Your mother replied as Andy stood and brushed off his jeans. “I don’t think that’s what the story’s about.”

“That’s too bad.” He looked up and his eyes met yours. You moved so that you stood in the doorway. “But I guess that’s truer to life. Not everyone gets their happy ending.”

“Well, I’ve been taking my time because it doesn’t have an ending. Yet.” She explained. “I’m waiting for her to finish.”

Your blood went cold. You crossed your arms and cleared your throat.

“What book is this, ma?” You asked.

She looked around the chair at you and blanched. Andy sat on the sofa and you pushed yourself away from the door frame. Your mother shook her head. 

“I told you not to read my stuff.” You grimaced as you came closer. “It’s a first draft. Unfinished, unedited. It’s… personal.”

“From what she says, it’s pretty good regardless,” Andy offered. “Can’t blame her for her curiosity.”

You looked at him sharply and sighed as you dropped your arms.

“Whatever. Just don’t look at it again til I’m done.” You reprimanded. “Please. I’ll give you a look when I’m ready.”

“Dunno why it’s such a big deal. You write for the magazine all the time.” She grumbled.

“Because this isn’t an article on leaf fauna, ma,” You rubbed your cheek. “You already eat?”

“Just about to. Andy put a casserole in the oven.” She smiled. “Never knew a man who cooked. Your father, he couldn’t even salt his own eggs.”

“Mmm,” You sniffed as the smell of the burning wood melded with another more savoury scent. “Well, thank you, Andy. That was considerate. I’m sorry I waited so late, I was a bit distracted.”

“No problem,” He shrugged. “Really, the least I can do.”

You glanced between him and your mom. She hadn’t been this awake in ages. Her meds usually had her napping until dinnertime and asleep just as quickly after. She was vibrant and more friendly to this man than people she’d known for decades. You felt as if you’d walked in on something. 

“Well, let me know. I’ll be upstairs.” You backed up. “There’s some strudel left from yesterday we can have for dessert.”

You left them and stopped at the bottom of the stairs as you looked back into the front room. Andy’s voice droned as he spoke to your mom and as she chuckled his eyes found yours. They narrowed for just a moment before he turned back and smiled at the older woman. 

Nice enough, you presumed, but why didn’t you believe it?

🍂

The next day, you watched Andy through the window. The snow was thicker, a harbinger of the storm that had been brewing for over a week. He crossed to the trees, his boots barely higher than the blanket below. He sank down with each step. Only a fool would venture out as the windows billowed and flung the snow errantly.

You tore yourself away and pulled the curtain shut. You crept out into the hall and listened. Your mother slept late that day and when you gave her her pills, she’d just rolled over and fallen back to sleep. 

You neared the door of Andy’s room and your hand hesitated on the knob. You took a breath and twisted it. You entered and were struck by the man’s smell; of his sweat and the deodorant that always lingered around him. The bed was made and the room barely looked lived in. 

You walked slowly to the closet. Flannel shirts and jackets hung within above a single suitcase.

You felt a pang of guilt. Had you not just chided your mother for her snooping? You bent and unzipped the bag. It was empty. You checked the pockets; empty too. You stood and slid the door back into place. You went to the bed, the table next to it with the drawer that didn’t quite shut all the way and you wiggled it open.

The bible your mother left in there as if it were a hotel and pack of smokes. You’d never seen Andy smoke, never even smelled it on him. You took the carton and flipped open the top. Inside, a folded picture. You tiptoed to the window and looked out. His footprints faded into the trees.

You slid the photo out and opened it with shaky hands. It was Andy, shorter hair, trimmed beard, smiling, his arm around a dark-haired woman and a young boy in front of them. You folded it quickly and pushed it back behind the sticks in the pack. You placed it as you had found it and forced the drawer shut. 

Was he running from his own family? Or maybe, what had happened to them?

You fled his room and closed the door guiltily. You were only more confused than before. You descended the stairs and hastily pulled your coat from the hook. Your hat was pulled on carelessly and you tied your boots without thinking. You pushed your hands into your gloves and angled yourself out the door. It was fucking cold; the fleece lining of your coat made little difference.

You grunted as you forced your boots through the snow and followed Andy’s tracks as they filled with a new layer of powder. You weren’t sure what you were doing, why you were doing it. What could he be doing all the way out in the woods which would be incriminating?

You went on, even as the questions floated in your mind. You followed his large boot prints, placing your feet in them as you followed his path. You came to a stop before the river, the overturned tree showed where someone had brushed aside the snow. The tracks veered off away from the log and you looked around.

You were forced back into an upright trunk, the breath knocked out of you as Andy pinned you with his arm across your chest. His eyes seared into you as he leaned his weight into you and you gasped for air as you smacked his shoulder.

“Why are you following me?” He growled.

“What? Andy, let me--” You gasped, barely able to breathe, the snow clumping in your lashes. “And--”

“Hmm? I see you watching me. I see the way you look at me.” He hissed. “I help you, help your mother and what? What do you think I am?” He grabbed your chin, his hide glove rough against your skin. “Am I that villain you write about? Is that what you think?”

“No, I…” You smacked him again and again. “I was just---” He let off just a little as you gulped for air. “There’s a storm. You shouldn’t be out here--”

“You think I can’t handle a storm?” He snarled. “You’re not a very good liar and trust me, I’ve known a lot of liars.”

“Let go of me.” You pleaded. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I followed you, okay? I was just… curious.”

“Uh huh,” He turned you and forced his arm around your neck as he bent you over. You kicked as he dragged you through the snow towards the river. “WHat do you think? I’m hiding some big secret like one of those books you read?”

“Let--go,” Your feet slid through the blanket below. “Stop! What are you--”

“You think I’m what? A criminal? A murderer!?” He pulled you up and spun you away from him. You stumbled backwards as you faced him. 

Your boots slid beneath you and you hearth the hard thunk of your sole against the the ice. Thick but not thick enough. You held out your hands as you looked down at the river coursing below the brittle surface. Your heart raced in your ears. You tried to take a step forward but he was at the bank, watching you.

“Ah ah,” He raised his hand. “You stay where you are.”

“What are you doing?” You pushed your feet apart. “Andy--”

“Terrible accident you falling through the ice like that. There’s just so much snow, you can’t really tell where the water begins.” He smiled and tucked his hands in his pocket as you heard the slow crack beneath you. “Your mother will be devastated.”

You swallowed as your eyes wetted and you looked between him and your feet. You lifted your boot and the snap below you had your heart in your throat. You plunged into the freezing water with a shrill shriek, your arms flying up to grab onto the ice. 

The frozen sheet broke as you tried to latch on and you kicked as the water soaked your coat and dragged you down into the depth further. You flapped helplessly and spun in circles in the waves. The water filled your lungs and you choked and you stared up through the frigid foam, the blurry shadow staring down at you.

The cold bit deep into your flesh and your limbs weakened the more you struggled. The water smothered you and your body spasmed in the thralls of finality. Your eyes rolled back and the dark water flowed around you in welcome.

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 9: Percy Forces Me To Join A Quest

The next morning, Percy moved to cabin three. Luke was the only one I could hang out with from my cabin. He was also the one who took care of my wounds after the thing happened. Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, that I managed to command a hellhound; and two, I came with the son of Poseidon. They all assume I would be as great as Percy. The other campers steered clear of me as much as possible. Only Luke struck around. Yes, even Percy started ignoring me. I figured it had something to do with water and stuffs. Cabin eleven was too nervous to have sword class with him after what happened in the woods, so he had one-on-one with Luke. I usually sit in to watch them in hopes of Percy talking to me again. But nada. "You're going to need all the training you can get," Luke promised, as they were working with swords and flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper-beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions." Annabeth still taught Percy and I Greek but on different times I had mine in the mornings. Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill me. I wished she would just yell or punch me or something. I'd rather get into fights every day than be ignored. I stayed with Luke most of my time. We'd gotten close that talking about gods wasn't such a touchy subject. He also told me stuffs about himself, like how he got his scar and small stuffs. I was still in bed in cabin eleven. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn't dreamed that. It was so early that most of the campers were still asleep. "Good morning?" I saw Luke standing near the door. "Eh... good enough I guess." I said sitting on my bed. "It's really boring since I don't do anything." "Not sure if I'm bringing you good news or bad," He smiled taking the seat beside me. "But Mr. D wants to see you." "Really? Will I finally get to do something fun?" "I feel like I should be offended." He gasped dramatically. "Why? Am I not fun?" I laughed, "Pretty much yeah." "Ouch. Anyways, I'd better let him tell you what's up." "Walk with me?" I asked with an UwU face. "I would, but commitment and all that." He joked. "Aight then. I'll get ready, wait for me outside." "I said I won't!" "Geez don't need to be in a hurry. I won't take long." I got dressed and went out to see him with an exaggerated frown. "You better walk fast. I'll leave as soon as you get there." For days, I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that Percy was declared a son of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figured it was a crime for him just to be alive. They're probably suspicious of me now as well with Percy and I's relation. The other gods had probably been debating the best way to punish me for existing, and now Mr. D was ready to deliver their verdict. "So... with Percy being a big three material. What would that make me?" "Well, putting aside the fact that you suck, you drown at every body of water that's at least a foot deep, you don't smell like a half-blood. I'd say you're... one of the big three's. Maybe Zeus's." "Har har. I'm just really worried you know? With Percy getting claimed as Poseidon's... and I came with him. And water just loves me so much. I'd assume I'm somewhere along the lines of Zeus and... Zeus. Is there someone stronger than Zeus?" "Depends on who you asked." "If I asked Zeus he'd definitely answer Zeus." I heard a loud thunder echoed. "Someone's brave." Luke laughed. Over Long Island Sound, the sky looked like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain was coming in our direction. I asked Luke if we needed an umbrella. "No," he said. "It never rains here unless we want it to." "So my kiss under the rain fantasy is a no?" "If it has to be here... probably." I pointed at the storm. "What the heck is that, then?" "Bad news. But don't worry, it'll pass by us." I realized he was right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley. But this storm... this one was huge. At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin were playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysus's twins were walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everybody was going about their normal business, but they looked tense. They kept their eyes on the storm. When Luke saw the front porch of the Big House. "Whatever they say. Don't choose the option where you'll die." "Half a promise. Depends on the other option." "Well I'll give you an easier promise. Don't die." "Not really easier but okay."

After he ruffled my hair, I walked up to the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sat across the table in his fake wheelchair. They were playing against invisible opponents--two sets of cards hovering in the air. "Y/N!" Grover greeted. "Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity finally got his request." I turned to see Percy who was looking at me and then moved away. I waited for him to greet... "Come closer, both of you," Mr. D said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father." A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house. "Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said. Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth. "If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm." "Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in. "Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father." "Mr. D—" Chiron warned. "Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do." Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A security pass. He snapped his fingers. The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind. Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, Percy, please. You too Y/N and Grover." We did. Grover sat between us. Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use. "Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?" "It scared me," I said. "If Y/N hadn't told it to stand down, I'd be dead." I saw Percy turn to my direction, which made me roll my eyes. "You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done." "Done... with what?" "Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?" I glanced at Grover, who was crossing his fingers. "Um, sir," I said, "you haven't told me what it is yet." Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details." Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I could see, the sky and the sea were boiling together. "Poseidon and Zeus," Percy said. "They're fighting over something valuable... something that was stolen, aren't they?". Chiron and Grover exchanged looks. Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?" "The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And... I've also been having these dreams." "I knew it," Grover said. "Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered. "But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!" "Only the Oracle can determine." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt." I laughed. "A what?" "Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives." "Oh." "Zeus's master bolt," Chiron said, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers." "And it's missing?" "Stolen," Chiron said. "By who?" "By whom," Chiron corrected. Once a teacher, always a teacher. "By you." "At least"—Chiron held up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best', 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it." "But I didn't—" "Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief." "But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!" Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around us, as Luke had promised. They were rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid. "Er, Percy...?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky." "Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy. Chiron was waiting for an answer. "Something about a golden net?" He answered. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods... they, like, trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler, right?" "Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you've come along—the proverbial last straw." "But I'm just a kid!" "Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, that he's fathered a new mortal hero who might be used as a weapon against you.... Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?" "But I didn't do anything. Poseidon—my dad—he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Percy?" "Bad?" "Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight." "Bad," I repeated. "And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath." It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky. I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of Percy. I was furious. "So he has to find the stupid bolt," I said. "And return it to Zeus." "What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?" "If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" "I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago... well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle." "Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?" "Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge." "Good reason." "You agree then?" He looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly. Easy for him. He wasn't the one Zeus wanted to kill. Percy then turned to me, "All right," he said. "But, I'll go when Y/N comes with." "Woah there! I am not going anywhere." I hissed. You ignore me for days and now you want me to die with you now? "Why do I have to go with you?" "Percy---" "I don't want to leave without her." He looked down. I felt guilty about turning him down. Which was stupid since he's the one at fault. I gave a sigh, I hope Luke won't get mad at me. "It's better than you being turned into a dolphin." I mumbled. "I'll go." "Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more." Before Percy came up he took my arm and pulled me in a hug. "I wanted you there, so we could save our parents together. After this quest, you me your mom and dad and my mom, will stay together." I hugged him back and nodded. "Thank you." Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor. Percy pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into place. After he went up. Chiron turned to me. "Hmm? Something to say?" I asked in a hopefully not rude tone. "I've had enough of people staring at me thinking, I summoned that hellhound." "Y/N, I assure you I don't think you'd do that. I am just confused as to why it followed your command." "Did you maybe forget to tell us something? I really can't seem to find out who you are." "Well... I don't think I forgot to mention anything. Maybe the fact that water hates me, I've never been on a plane, and I am low-key kinda scared of the dark depending on the situation." "Water hates you?" Grover asked. "First time swimming, beach, I was 5. I drowned at a supposedly 3 feet deep water. I haven't been near any bodies of water ever since. Until I met Percy, I drowned at the beach again. If I wasn't mistaken I was few meters away from the water and it pulled me and I almost drowned." "It would seem, Poseidon hates you. Why would he?" "My parents must've realized that fish god hates me and didn't take chances on the others." I could tell Chiron wanted to continue but Percy came down, "Well?" Chiron asked. He slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. I could see he wasn't happy. "Are you okay?" I asked him. He looked at me warily and nodded. "She said I would retrieve what was stolen." Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!" "What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "This is important." "She . .. she said I would go west and face a god who had turned. I would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned." "I knew it," Grover said... Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?" "No," He said. "That's about it." I took a hold of Percy's hand. And he gave me a look that said, 'I'll tell you later.' "Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass." "Okay," I said, anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?" "Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?" "Somebody else who wants to take over?" he guessed. "Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken." I thought about my dreams, the evil voice that had spoken from under the ground. "Hades." Chiron nodded. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility." A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh-what?" "A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades." "Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon... ." "A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-blood before he can take on the quest." "Great," Percy muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me." "Hey, I beat you, I got all of them." I smirked. I was trying to lighten up the mood and Percy finally cracked a smile. "But a quest to..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year." "Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth." A strange fire burned in my stomach. The weirdest thing was: it wasn't fear. It was anticipation. I wasn't feeling scared of anything right now. I felt like I could face anything. I was ready to take him on. Anyone in a matter of fact. Besides, if my mom and dad might be in the Underworld... which would be unlikely. Who knows maybe I could bribe him and talk him into reviving them. Or what if he's misunderstood? What if there's a plot twist somewhere here, and it actually wasn't Hades's fault? Grover was trembling. He'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips. The poor guy needed to complete a quest with us so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that was. This was suicide. "Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy told Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads." "It might not be him you know." I added. "She's right, suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron said. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?" "You're saying I'm being used." "I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs you." "Damn, my parent doesn't? I'm going on a deadly quest thanks to Arthur Curry right here. Least they could do is support me and let me know They'll be proud of me saving the world." I huffed. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?" "I had my suspicions. As I said... I've spoken to the Oracle, too." I got the feeling there was a lot he wasn't telling us about his prophecy, but I decided I couldn't worry about that right now. After all, I was holding back information too. "So let me get this straight," I said. "We're supposed go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead." "Check," Chiron said. "Find the most powerful weapon in the universe." "Check." "And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days." "That's about right." Percy and I looked at each other then we looked over at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts. "Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly. "You don't have to go," Percy told him. "I can't ask that of you. "Oh..." He shifted his hooves. "No... it's just that satyrs and underground places... well..." He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt. "You saved my life, Percy. Both of you did. If... if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down." I felt so relieved I wanted to cry, though I didn't think that would be very heroic. I wasn't sure what good a satyr could do against the forces of the dead, but I felt better knowing he'd be with us. "All the way, G-man." Percy turned to Chiron. "So where do we go? The Oracle just said to go west." "The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America." "Where?" Chiron looked surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles." "Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane—" "No!" Grover shrieked. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?" I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash. "We're not allowed to fly because Zeus is a stuck up who doesn't want others touching his stuff without permission." "Y/N!" Grover panicked when loud thunder echoed above us. I wanted to yell, 'Oh shut up thunder boy.' But I still wanted try fulfilling my promise to Luke with all I can. "Percy, think," Chiron said. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive." Overhead, lightning crackled. Thunder boomed. "Okay," I said, determined not to look at the storm. "So, I'll travel overland." "That's right," Chiron said. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other is Y/N. But someone else has already volunteered, if you will accept her help." "Gee," I said, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?" The air shimmered behind Chiron. Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket. "I've been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain," she said. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up." "I'll gladly give you my spot and all but... Percy and I are a duo." I lifted my fist which he bumped. "But she's right, we can't leave the world at the hands of two idiots and a scaredy-cat." "Can't we have four people on a quest?" "You can also pick more than two people to join, but this is considered dangerous as three is a sacred number. Any more than three on a quest could result in a catastrophe, including a member of the quest going missing, dying, or the quest failing." "Willing to risk it Peabody?" She gave me a glare. No. I assure you no one shall be lost in this quest. They were all looking at me weirdly. "What did you say?" "I asked if you were willing to risk it...?" I was confused. "Y/N you're doing it again." "Doing what? I am literally not doing anything wrong. Wanna fite me? I will back out of this quest." I gave an exaggerated glare. Annabeth turned to Chiron, who was looking down on me. "I suppose... if Percy is willing to risk it and all parties approve. I could allow this as a four person quest." "Well, I call not it to the dying person." I raised my hand. "But you can come Peabody. We need a not so stupid guy." "Well, if she say yes..." "I-I... don't really..." "I want to come." "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?" Her cheeks colored. "Do you want my help or not?" "A quartet," I said. "Hopefully it works." "Excellent," Chiron said. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own." Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather. "No time to waste," Chiron said. "I think you should all get packing." I took Percy's hand and gave him a look to remind him about his quest. "I'll tell you later."

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UwU Haha I'm better now :) I am sorry for being on haitus And for some parts that I might've forgotten to erase UwU -kookie-doughs

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Calling It Even

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You just moved 'across the pond' from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts, but before you actually moved you'd made a friend! Well, two and you just so happen to bump into them at the Leaky Couldren!

Warnings: Swearing, Slightly Suggestive (Ron's raging hormones™).

Note: Hi! This is my first time writing and posting a fic in a few years, so I'm sorry for spelling errors or stupid mistakes! It'll get better as I rewarm my.. Writing.. Muscles? Anyway, Thank you for reading! Let me now if this is good and enjoy!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Moving from the US to Britain was just as stressful as you figured it would be, but going from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts felt like an actual asteroid was thrown into your world. You had to leave behind your friends, close relatives and of course your home, then you had a whole new school to deal with on top of that. Different houses, different teachers, different classes and the rules. Merlin's beard, were the rules different. You can distinctly remember bombarding your guardian with question after question. You were still surprised you got to carry your wand around with you outside of school! Of course the actual moving process had taken its toll on your guardians, and they knew what it was doing to you. You were tired, emotionally, physically- Godric, did you need a break before school started.

You would be starting your fifth year when summer ended, and that was in a few weeks or so. This should’ve given you the time to gather up the books, potion supplies and robes needed, maybe even find some friends your age, but you had other plans, apparently. You had spent the entire summer huddled over their desk waiting for an owl to return with a response letter and avoiding the cluttered shopping strip. You didn’t wanna tackle getting lost and missing a response from your favorite redheads. Now, your headmaster at Ilvermorny had recommended you create a quill-pal at Hogwarts so it felt less chaotic when you arrived, but you ended up finding two that were the pure embodiment of chaos.

So, technically, you did end up making friends with the program, just not what you expected. Each letter was seemingly cut in half, one with orange ink, one with purple. In said response, you learned the orange was usually Fred and purple was usually Georges. In said letters, you learned they are two years older than you, live in what they call a ‘Burrow’ and owning their own shop was definitely wrapped in their future. You spent a solid year getting to know the Infamously Famous,Charming and Totally Destructive personality of the Weasley Twins. Honestly, you seriously looked forward to seeing them in person, even if it was their last year. You three managed to get along like you’d known each other their entire lives. Best part is they promised to find you on the first day and show you around!

You remember Fred mentioning their roles on the Quidditch team and George saying something about pranks with fireworks and you knew. Oh, you knew the three of you would cause chaos and you were so excited. The red-headed duo also promised they’d introduce you to their friends and their extensive family. Fred had brought up having a younger brother your age and judging from the cluttered moving photo they sent you, he was awkward but in the best way. You managed to remember the names of the red-headed family members only because of the scribbled writing on said photo pointing out who was who. But for whatever reason, the youngest Weasley son always manages to be the first one you notice yourself staring at. He was genuinely really cute. Blue eyes, freckles, red hair, absolutely adorable- Ok. So you may have a crush on him without even knowing him but you can not blame yourself. The twins told you stories about the younger redhead and he only got cuter as time went on, but I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

Currently, you are walking down Diagon Alley. Not only did you need a break from unpacking, sorting and waiting for the Weasley's owl to return, but you also needed to restock on quills. Yup. Of all things, quills. (P/n) has this terrible chewing habit and adores the flavor of quills, or so you guess. You loved the rascal to bits, but damn, they ate the feathers like they drank water. Your guardian said they would finish unpacking the very few boxes your family were collectively avoiding while you went shopping down the popular alley. Oh! And speaking of water, you glanced up from the cobblestone pathway and noted the Leaky Cauldron sign hanging a few shops down. You’d heard stories of how comfortable the atmosphere of the little restaurant had been from the Weasleys and you couldn’t help but overhear wizards and witches around you chatting it up about possibly getting a butterbeer. You decided, why not? Could spare a few coins to buy the golden drink or maybe just a water. It was, like, 90 degrees outside and the cluttered path way didn’t help the soft summer breeze flow through at all.

You gently nudged your way through the bustling crowd of wizards and witches and pushed open the creaky old door. The smell of sweetness and smoke hit your noise as you stepped in, your eyes briefly wandering over the crowd, looking for an empty table. Once you spotted a table for two in the corner, you gently shuffled past crowded tables and rushed waiters apologizing as you went by. Finally sitting down at the small table, you let out a relieved sigh, not noticing a set of eyes following your every movement. Your eyes easily wandered around the shop but landed on piercing blue across the small restaurant. You immediately snapped your gaze to the fire pit and walls, choosing to avoid the gaze until a server walked over. You were tracing the gray, worn down bricks of the wall right next to you when an older woman in a simple uniform walked over the table.

“Good evenin, love. What can I get you?” she casted a bright smile your way, her hands in the small pocket of her apron as she waited for a response.

“Just a butterbeer, please.” You managed to stutter out, sending her a shy smile back. She nodded her head and headed off to another table after putting in your order.

Once she left, your eyes met a set of blue eyes once again. The longer you looked, the more you thought they were formilair, but you turned away, choosing not to dwell on anything besides the table that was placed in front of you. You were so busy tracing the grooves in the old wooden table, you didn’t notice the owner of the blue eyes nudge the red-head next to him and point in your direction. What finally brought you out of the tracing trance was a glass mug filled with liquid golden and soft foam slide toward you, followed by the sound of chairs scraping the old wooden floor and a distinct female voice calling out “where are you two going now?” Your hands wrapped around the glass and just before you could bring it to your lips, two people moving toward the table got your attention. You turned to look up and almost choked on air, your chest shaking as you coughed causing your mug to nearly empty all over the table. You didn’t even have time to fully register who was advancing closer because the warm drink was flowing off the table and onto your new shirt.

“Shit-!” You grumbled down at the spilt mess. Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you placed the mug down hoping to save what was left in it as you grabbed napkins.

“Now, I knew we shocked people, but I had no idea we had this kind of effect, Georgie.” Fred spoke and took up the seat across from you, causing his twin to let out a snort. Your head shot up at the sound of the British accent. He'd managed to effectively put a stop to you drying up the mess with one sentence. Fred grabbed a few to help wipe down the table, but was far more focused on your reaction. Your eyes snapped over to George as he leaned on the back of his brother's chair and flickered between the two freckle covered idiots. You made a mental note of who was who.

“Do you always sneak up on your victims or do you introduce yourselves like normal people?” You scoffed out, a smile growing on your face as you awkwardly piled up the useless napkins.

“We only sneak up on people we’ve been friends with for years and finally get to meet.” George spoke, sass laced in his voice.

“Oh please. It’s been like 1 year.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for your cup again and taking a small sip.

“And I don’t think we got an anniversary gift from you, love. I believe you owe us an apology. Missing our 1 year anniversary like that.” Fred spoke, a hand going to his chest in fake shock as George just tsked and shook his head responding with his own ”Shame, really.”

You let out your own soft laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I'm sorry.” You spoke setting your glass down again, sarcasm dripping from you as you crossed your arms over the table and leaned forward. “I didn’t realize I got something from you two for our ‘one year anniversary’.” You used air quotes, outlining the obvious.

“Godric, it’s so good to meet someone who finally matches our sass level.” Fred smiled at you. “But how did you not see us?” he used his thumb to point at a table behind him, almost taking out George's eye.

“Oi. Watch it.” the ever so slightly younger twin shoved the hand in his face away.

“Well, obviously, I didn’t expect you to run into you guys here.�� You spoke, finishing the little amount of what was left of the butterbeer. After wiping your mouth on your sleeve, you shot the two a playful glare. “You owe me a drink.”

“Or you can meet Ickle Ronniekins and we can call it even.”

“That doesn’t even come close to equal.” You whined, sitting back in your chair, your head hitting the wall behind you a little too sharply. As much as you wanted to meet the younger bro, you were nervous. You may have let it slip out to the brothers that you desperately wanted to get to know Ron, but what if he didn't like you?

It didn't matter what you thought. You didn’t have a choice because the two may or may not have shipped you two, but that’s for them to know and for you to never, ever, ever find out. The twins let out a laugh at your demise and both stood up, one grabbing the empty mug and the other practically dragging you out of your cozy corner.

“I say it’s fair.” George spoke, following the older redhead who was almost quit literally dragging you by the arm. The two idiots led you to a table in the middle, where it was borderline empty besides 3 people sitting, all chatting to themselves. The chatting came to a stop when George set your mug down in the middle and Fred forced you to sit across from another redhead, who you quickly recognized.

“Um, Fred..” The witch next to Ron spoke up just as Fred sat to your left and George to your right. “Who is this?”

“This, Granger, is our quill-pal, (Y/n). He comes from America and just transferred over. Good old quill-pal (Y/n), meet Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and our own little Ickle Ronniekins.” Fred pointed to each witch and wizard, pointing them out so you could put names to faces. The nickname caused Ron to groan out a ‘shod off, Fred’, to which the older brother just snickered.

“Oh, hi! I’ve heard alot about you guys.” You smiled, casting them a small wave. Your accent, to them, was very interesting. It was so different from what they were used to, which definitely wasn’t a bad thing. They actually thought it fit you really well.

“Well, (y/n), it’s great to meet you.” Harry spoke up, a smile replacing the confused expression he once held. He was just relieved you weren’t asking for an autograph or constantly shaking his hand. It was refreshing.

“Likewise!” You flashed a smile to the messy raven haired dude before stretching back in your chair, head turning, trying to avoid the twins in his view to find a waitress. You gave up on searching when the twins purposefully blocked your view and Ron cleared his throat.

“Wait.. This is (y/n)? The bloak you guys don’t shut up about?” Ron pointed at you, almost as if accusing you of causing him pain. The twins nodded their heads, in sync, while landing a kick to both of his legs. “Ow-! I'm just asking!” he rubbed his bruised shins and rested his chin on the table so he could shoot them a glare. “Arse holes.” He grumbled. The twins gave him a sort of look that meant ‘shut up or we will not hesitate to strike again’ and honestly, Ron felt a tiny bit of fear enter his soul and his glare dropped.

“Aww! Did you two really mention me that much? I’m flattered, boys!” A confident smirk stretched across your face as the twins blushed ever so slightly, George a little redder than Fred.

“No.” They countered.

“Yes.” Ron groaned out, wanting revenge for the kicks. ”Merlin. They’d go on and on about how cool you were. ‘Ma, he said he plays Quidditch, too! Can we get the booms out?’, ‘His favorite color is (f/c) and his favorite animal is (f/a)! We should work on (f/c) (f/a) fireworks for him!’. My family officially knows more about you than I know about the Chudley Cannons.” He ran his right hand through his hair and his left waved around as he spoke. You couldn’t help but snicker. “It’s been actual hell. I’m just glad you're here so they can shut up.”

Harry nudged his best friend in the side before speaking. “Hey, be nice, This is probably their first crush!” The comment caused Hermione to almost snort butterbeer, Ron let out a very loud laugh and you to high five Harry meanwhile the twins turned redder than their quidditch uniforms.

“Oi, Potter. I will burn your broomstick.” Fred threatened, pointing at the boy who lived.

“Aw come on Freddie, be nice. It isn’t their fault you gave them the material for this. Relax, bud.” You shoved his hand away.

George took your mug and slid it out of your reach and to the end of the table. “Well, we were gonna buy you another drink, but since you're being an arse, you're not getting a sickle from us.” George turned to you and stuck out his tongue.

The simple banter continued as the 6 of you sat in front of the simple fireplace, laughter filling the little stone eatery. You had known the group in person for about 15 minutes and you already fit in like a puzzle piece. After a few more butter beers and another 15 minutes later, the 6 of you had decided to go on the hunt for some goodies, so you all paid for the drinks and led the cluttered restaurant. Fred and George started off leading the group, but got sidetracked at Zonko’s. Hermione had practically dragged Harry off into Flourish and Blotts when he mentioned not having his school supplies. That left you and Ron alone to get to know eachother better.

“So, what’s Ilvermorny like?” He asked, his hands in his pockets as he walked beside you.

“Well.. " you hesitated."Definitely different, if what Fred and George said was true. We don’t have a sorting hat, instead statues would pick who they want. It’s a whole history thing. Everyone's robes are blue and this reddish color, so i'm excited for a change! And jeez, the wand rules. They're, at least, 10 times stricter than here. I had to get sorted before I could even hold a wand and Ilvermony students can’t legally have wands until their 17. Bullshit if you ask me.” You scoffed. “I was put in Wampus. I guess that's a cool thing.” This caused Ron to let out a snort and a cackling laugh.

“I’m sorry- you got put in what??” He turned to you, a huge smile on his lips.

“A-A wampus?” You spoke, hoping he’d ignore the stutter. You ended up staring at his smiling face, making a promise to make him laugh whenever it was physically possible. It was so perfect.

“Aaaanndd that is what, exactly?” The redhead's smile turned into a small smirk as he responded. “Is it like- like a creature or a plant? It sounds like a plant-”

“How on earth does Wampus sound like a plant??” You looked at him with a confused expression. Your arm shot out to punch his bicep lightly. “Of course it’s a creature, Ronald!”

You went on to explain all about what a wampus was, however, Ron was no longer listening. He was slowly drifting toward the quidditch shop, his jaw practically on the floor. He pressed his freckled covered hands to the glass window of the shop.

“You really must be yanking my wand! Do you see this?!” The redhead was drooling over a brand new broom. The little plastic sign next to the window model read ‘Firebolt Y.5’

“Oh my go-Is that-” You stood next to him, a look of shock. “How did I walk past this shop and NOT see this??” You grabbed his arm and whisked him away from the window, bringing him into the shop. Quidditch, of course, was your favorite sport. You were even on the Wampus quidditch team! You played a seeker and you loved to believe you were the best! “Oh my god, yes. If I had this across the pond” you spoke while pointing at the brooms hanging on the walls, "I'd be the best damn seeker in Ilvermorny history!” You all but squealed out.

While you were ranting about the possibilities of owning this bad boy, Ron was noticing something. He was noticing, since you grabbed his arm, he wanted to hold your hand. He was noticing how your eyes lit up while you were talking about destroying other teams on the fields and how big your smile was and how cute- Cute. Cute?

Wait.

Hold on. Cute? You? He thought he thought Hermione was cute? But now, now it was you. You suddenly clouded his mind and he'd only know you for less than an hour? He blamed his hormones.. Or maybe it was the way your eyes were sparkling so much more when compared to the photo you sent his brothers. Or your stupid perfect hair was so perfect even if it was a mess from constantly running your fingers through it. Every freckle, every mole, every dimple on your skin, he wanted to memorize it all. Suddenly, you turned to him, the smile wider than before. Shit, you were waiting for a response, but he was too wrapped up in how perfect you were for him to think straight.

“WhUt?” His voice cracked as he basically shouted at you. His face turned pink with embarrassment, but it transformed into a color to rival the Gryffindor red he usually sported during the school year. The poor git basically melted into a puddle when he heard you let out a giggle.

“I was asking if you wanted to split the cost! Fred and George told me when Harry got his Firebolt, but I bet it’s nothing compared to this baby. We could split it!” You were basically jumping up and down.

Ron blinked a few times, his brain trying to process everything. “Split?”

“Yes, Ronnie. Split.” You giggled, wrapping your arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to your side.

“Ronnie split.” He muttered without realizing it. “OH! Oh- The broom! Split the broom! Cost! Right!” he ran a hand through his hair, his entire face felt hot. Ron was sure his face was blending in with his red locks. “I-I can check! With Fred and George and- and we see?” He squeaked, noticing how close he was to you. He audibly gulped, his tongue poking out to lick his suddenly dry lips.

“Cool! We could all share it!” You reached into your pocket, pulling out all the coins nestled in your pocket. As you counted over the coins, the only words that stuck in Ron’s head were ‘we’ ‘share’ and he could basically hear sirens going off. You’d already gotten to know his older brothers. What if you already liked one? Or both? He didn’t even know if you were single.

“Ah- Well i'm sure we can just handle it. Just the two of us.” He clapped his hands together, choosing not to think of how much attention the noise brought him. You looked at him with a confused expression but let it be with a shrug.

“If you say so, Ronnie.” You smiled, shaking your head. You had no idea the redhead was avoiding the idea of his brothers sharing you instead of the broomstick.”Iiisss there a reason you don’t wanna share?” You asked as you shoved your hands in your pockets, putting the coins away. You missed Ron's face turning bright red as you gazed on at the Chudley Cannons merchandise hanging off the walls.

“I-I’m just sick of sharing with my siblings, y-ya know?” His voice cracked as he spoke, but he tried to cover it up with a cough. “Um.. I do have a lot of older brothers, so hand-me-downs are really all I get-”

“Oooh, right. Right. That’s fair.” you looked down at your feet. You forgot. Gerd and Feorge didn't throw it in your face, but they did mention when money got tight and how they planned on opening a joke shop and how they told their products to kids for extra cash. You should've remembered. You cleared your throat, your eyes darting to him, to the door back to him. Desperate for a way to change the atmosphere, you offered leaving the store. "Honeydukes?” you asked way too loudly in the small shop. ”Wanna.. Go to Honeydukes?" You cleared your throat into your hand. Ron couldn't have agreed fast enough.

The two of you walked out of the store, making small, awkward talk as you continued your stroll across the stoley path. When you came up to Honeydukes Ron, to your surprise, hurried to the door and held it open for you. As you walked in, he did a playful bow as if you were royalty. It brought a smile to your face and things fell into the rhythm from before.

"I'm not too keen on pumpkin pasties, but I do love chocolate frogs. When I was a kid, I dreamed of being put on one of the cards, but that kinda faded. I’m thinking maybe a famous quidditch player? Not quite sure yet." You rambled as Ron grabbed what someone might consider way too much of the chocolate treat. He would call that someone insane and double the batch. While he was literally filling his arms with the small boxes, you were busy looking at the candy wands, your mouth practically drooling at the idea of sweets. "We don't have a lot of this across the pond." you muttered to yourself as you reached across a table to grab a few different boxes of candy you've never tried before, one being Bertie Bott’s Everything Flavored Beans.

"Really? What are you used to?" Ron spoke up behind you, his eyes going from the candy resting in your hands to your forearm. The redhead found his eyes trailing up and landing on your bicep, causing his mind to wonder and basically dive head first into the gutter.

"Well, we had candies like Skittling Soot Poppers. They're these dark chocolate little balls that pop in your mouth once the chocolate melts. It's so cool! If you put one in your mouth and keep it open, sparks will come out. All kinds of colors, too." you smiled, remembering staying up far too late into the night with your Wumpas housemates and munching away. "Oh! And these little cakes called Twinkles. They would glitter like gold in the moonlight, but turn silver in the sun. They always taste like vanilla and cream."

Ron gulped. We all know what he's thinking at this point. He'd love to try some cream, and not the filling of the Twinkles, if ya catch my drift. He blinked out of a fantasy and shook his head. Bad Ronald. He scolded himself, but was yeeted out of his head when he heard you laugh.

"What? What's so funny?" his head tilted like a confused puppy, one of the chocolate frogs falling from the top of the pile and landing with a soft thud. As you bent down to pick up the box for him, you answered his question.

"Nothing, you're just being cute." you set the chocolate frog box on top of his pile and began down the aisle way.

"W.. Wait, really?!"

His response brought a snort out of you. He sounded so excited it made your heart jump. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Ronnie. Godric, even that was cute." You spoke as you turned the corner and headed down a new aisle. Your eyes scanned along the other treats laid out on the shelves while your hand grabbed a few sugar quills. “Ok, I think we got enough now. What do ya think?” You turned to where you thought he was, but your view lacked the pale freckled boy. “Ron?” Your voice carried through the store. “Ronnie?” You called out again as you went to the last aisle you saw him at. When your head popped around the corner you were met with a sight you thought was kodiak worthy.

There he was, bright red in the face, bright wide blue eyes standing out against his red skin, mouth hanging open and every chocolate frog box laying at his feet. You broke him. How the hell did he manage to get cuter?

“Ron?” Your legs moved without you even demanding them too and soon you stood in front of him. Has he even blinked? Is.. Is he ok? Shifting the candies in your arms, you managed to free a hand to gently close his mouth. “Hello? Are the lights on inside?”

“You said I was cute.” You were lucky you heard him over the crowded shop.

“Yes, Red.” You spoke, a giggle escaping your lips. “We established this already.” You shook your head, but it was halted when his blue eyes finally landed on your own, causing a heat to spread to your ears.

“Yeah.. But what KIND of cute?”

“Kind? What?”

“There are different kinds. Like am I cute like a crup or am I.. Am.. Like am I romantic-” He froze again when you leaned over and kissed his cheek, hopefully answering his question. You chose to ignore the grumpy customers trying to fit down the aisle and, instead, rested your hand on his hand. You would’ve held it but the stupid boxes of cursed choco frogos where in the way. “I hope that was ok.” You, also, chose to ignore his tiny, squeaky ‘bloody hell’ and dragged him to the counter.

“Ya know, when your brothers told me about you, I couldn’t get you out of my head.” You confessed, laying all the candy out on the counter and turned to him again. His blush had died down and he wasn’t as jumpy or frozen. Ron followed suit and dumped the boxes onto the counter and immediately whipped his hands on his jeans.

“I-I was glad I got to hear about you everyday.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at his shoes. “I um- I wanted to write, but uh, thought it would be weird.” He didn’t turn to look at you but his crystal blue eyes bounced between you, the candy and the glass counter in front of him. “A-and I’d love to get to know you more. And m.. Maybe do this again? Just you and me? Again?”

Your face almost split in two as you felt Ron’s hand brush against yours.. “I would absolutely adore to do this again, Ronnie.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, his blush coming back easily, causing you to let out a chuckle. While you did end up paying for most of the candy and forgetting about the quills, you managed to leave hand in hand with the red haired Chudley Cannon loving dork. Of course this caused the twins to tease you relentlessly about falling so hard for their baby brother. Hell, they even made a lame song, something about ‘Ronnie I love you’ and ‘when we’re apart my heart beats only for you’. It literally never stopped. In fact it got worse as time went on, especially when you were sorted into Gryffindor once school started.

Oh, but was so worth it.

[stormcallart-blog]

|| A Sliver of Moonlight ||

Life is pretty boring serving for the slowly decaying villa in the countryside in Toussaint. It's when a Witcher comes clamoring into your life that it all changes. Grabbing a few herbs from the city shouldn’t be that bad, right?

Geralt x Reader, Mature content: depictions of injury, gore, violence, animal death, unresolved sexual tension. 

This is based off of the Witcher 3 DLC, but no real spoilers! I just love the vibe of it so much. Tbh this is old, wrote it about a year ago but love it so much that I thought I’d post it. Not too sure if I’d do another chapter, but maybe if the mood strikes!

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The estate known as Corvo Bianco Vineyard had been your home since you could remember. Your parents had grown tired of the cold in Skellige when you were but a babe and had made the journey to the endless heat and beautiful landscapes of Toussant. Years had come and gone and with those years so did the owners of the Vineyard. You went from plucking grapes to planting olive trees to tending the grounds as the owners made one financial mistake after another. Where once was beautiful herb gardens there was now only crumbling leaves and rotting wood, the stables were now empty and the once beautiful main house began to peel and fall apart. The last owner had dumped all his coin into just keeping the Vineyard afloat and when he couldn’t anymore handed it off to the Duchess, who luckily saw it fit enough to still need the workers.

No longer needed for picking the Vineyard stock you were tasked to look for herbs for the cooking staff. Even with spending most of your days in the sweltering summer heat searching for various herbs you were thankful, especially since you had gained a new found interest in Alchemy. How a certain concoction could heal wounds or cure illnesses fascinated you to no end and you were desperate for more of that knowledge.

When the whispers of the Beast of Toussant emerged you were hesitant. Whispers of the beast deep in the cellars of Corvo Bianco spiked your interest a little too much. All the workers on the estate stayed far away, sometimes in the night you could hear it scrape its claws against the stone, sending shivers down your spine. Your novice knowledge of alchemical things made it impossible to even research any kind of repellent against the beast, not like it would help since not a soul knew what the beast actually was.

One warm night it came, hissing and slashing through the Duchesses guardsmen as it barreled back into its den as you watched shaking from your chamber. It was terrifying as it moved, slashing and gnawing at the duchesses men as if they were nothing more than paper. All hope seemed lost until a man clad in black with a sword so bright it seemed to hold the moon, silver no doubt, made his way after the monster. His hair as white as his blade and yes, you were sure of it, even from your bedroom there was no mistaking those golden eyes. A Witcher.

Never before had you seen one, your heart leapt at the thought. They were master swordsmen and even better alchemists , expert monster hunters in every way. You had no doubt he would be the one to slay the monster of Toussant .With bated breath you waited for the silver haired man to emerge victorious, tapping your fingers against the windowsill in nervous excitement. Just when you thought maybe the Witcher had fallen prey to the beast a flash of white hair stepped out into the moonlit night once again.

However before you could get a good look at him he was gone from sight, riding off on a dark horse into the warm night air. You sighed, noting the amount of bloodshed and work that awaited the villa in the morning.

That night you tossed and turned, dreams filled with the man they call the Witcher.

After the gorey cleanup you stomached with a handful of other workers the following day, all was quiet. No beast stirred from the depths of the vineyard and it seemed like life would continue just as boring as it had been before you set eyes on that White Wolf.

You heard it from one of the kitchen maids first. A new owner was on their way with the deed to Corvo Bianco! It was hard to remember the last time the estate had ever been governed, which made you both nervous and excited at the same time. Curious of the new owner you wanted to get a good look when they came striding down the street.

Busying yourself with some wild mint that grew from the picket by the road you waited, peering up every few minutes to keep an eye out. The sounds of hooves beating against the stone pulled you from your harvesting as you watched in awe as he neared. The Witcher. The Witcher was head of the estate at Corvo Bianco? Your jaw clenched to keep from hanging as he strode by, yellow cat-like eyes regarding you for merely a second before he continued towards the main house. So it was true!

Your fellow workers were… less enthused about the new owner. Most just scoffed and went about their work, while others tossed around names you’d never heard before but were sure they were not meant endearingly towards the Witcher.

You found him interesting. Knowing very little about them you were less inclined to see them as sub-humans as most others seemed to suggest. If anything he just seemed… exotic. And there was no denying that what you had seen of him so far was attractive.

The smell of fresh mint tickled your nose, peering down to see you’d driven your nails into its soft leaves, pushing the smell into the air. Surely the main quarters kitchen would need some for dinner tonight, a perfect excuse to learn more about the Witcher. The servant entrance was easy enough to slip into, silently greeting the cook who pushed her finger against her lips as you entered. Laughing softly you both listened in.

The Majordomo introduced himself but you weren't prepared for what came next. The deep timbre of the man who spoke nearly knocked you sideways from just a mere greeting. That was definitely … not what you had expected, but not that you were complaining.

The rest was fairly boring conversation which explained the updates needed for the estate to which the Witcher stood silently and listened.

“He’s called the White Wolf.” The cook whispered with a cheeky grin, “ Arrived in Toussaint only a few days ago on orders for the Duchess.”.

“Imelda, you are shameless!” You teased as she smiled, “How do you find this out so quickly?”.

“Advantages of working in the main house kitchen, my dear. ” she said with a wink. “Here child, take this bowl of fruit and set it in the dining room for me , would you?”

Squinting at her smile you took the small bowl of fruit from the table, taking a deep breath before opening the door and stepping into the center room. Walking around you saw the Majordomo first, dark circular glasses facing you. The Witcher had his back towards you, listening as the Majordomo spoke, shoulders square and standing much taller than you first would have thought. His silver hair was shoulder length and lay against the metal chain padding across his broad shoulders. You must’ve been staring because the Majordomo coughed, shocking you out of your daydreaming, prompting the Witcher to turn to see the disturbance.

His golden irises met your own, the slits of his pupils striking as they flared in the firelight. It was impossible to speak while caught in his gaze as he examined you silently. His light brows furrowed , proud nose flaring as he peered down at the fruit bowl you undoubtedly had in a death grip. His grizzled face split into a wry grin as his armored hand reached into the bowl and plucked out an apple. “Thanks.” He spoke flatly, holding the apple up with a slight nod of his head.

You didn’t speak, you couldn’t. You felt trapped, entranced even. Instead you nodded back before hastily placing the bowl down on the dining table.

“I’d like to work on revitalizing the herb garden first.” The deep thrum of the Witcher’s voice bounced off the barren walls. The very mention of the herb garden had you turned on your heels to meet the steely cat-like gaze once again.

The Majordomo nodded excitedly as the Witcher handed over the coin, “That is a good start, sir!” he added in cheerfully, “Y/N here is our closest thing to an herbalist, surely she wouldn’t mind picking up the necessary ingredients.”

The Witcher's creased eyebrows flicked slightly in a mute expression of surprise, “So you know herbs, hm?” his gritty voice almost seemed amused.

“Y-yes.” You spoke finally, a small smirk lined his features, peeking out over a white beard. He let out a chuckle that seemed almost cold, “So tell me then, how does one harvest Ribleaf?”.

The question almost made you laugh. You weren’t professionally trained but certainly not that much of a novice. It surprised even you how confidently the words left your mouth, “Cut from the bottom of the stock, try to pluck or remove from any other point and it’s practically useless.”.

If the Witcher was impressed he was damn good at not showing it. “Very good.” His deep voice bellowed in an even tone, eyes studying you even still. “I’ll leave it to you then.” Was all he managed before he turned for the exit.

Hastily you turned to exit through the kitchen, so caught up in thought you didn’t catch the Witcher’s eyes trail after you as he exited into the sunlight. Imelda was already smiling as you closed the door behind, trying hard not to laugh at your flustered expression, “So? How is the famous White Wolf?” she said lightly, stirring the soup she’d been working on.

“Almost as intimidating as staring down a Gryphon.” You breathed out, mind still reeling from that look. Whatever Imelda said next was lost on you, mind still lingering on the golden irises that seemed to read your mind. Could Witchers read minds? Gods, you hoped not. It was amazing how quickly the workers began tending the Herb Garden as soon as the White Wolf forked over the funds. The Majordomo followed suit and bid the Witcher farewell before the armor-clad warrior mounted his steed and took off into another great adventure no doubt. You heaved a heavy sigh, almost jealous that his life seemed so filled with adrenaline whilst you sat around most days picking ingredients or tending to the ground's needs. The Majordomo turned to you quickly, withdrawing a list from his little notebook, “Ah, there you are! Here is the list. Please go into town and gather these seeds and plants from an Alchemist.” he finished by dropping a good sum of gold into your open palm , eyes widening at the weight in your hand. You had never held so much gold in your life.

“Do you wish for me to go now?” You tried not to sound ungrateful, for any chance to go into town was a welcomed one, but half a day's walk nonetheless.

“Preferably while the day is still young.” He spoke with a high dialect.

“Of course.” You said without a pip of disobedience, you’d walked those roads before and with a knife strapped across your thigh you were confident you could make it there and back.

You grabbed a sizable satchel and placed a good amount of gold in several hidden pockets, just in case. Luckily it was much cooler this morning than it had been all week, the smell of grass and ripening fruit blowing through your tresses as you set off up the hill. The walk to Beauclair was long and uneventful. You stopped briefly here and there to take a break or spotting a herb that was marked on the list , finding it easier to pluck than spend the extra gold for it in town. The Quiet of rolling hills slowly gave away to idle chatter of the city, smells quickly turning sweet to sour, always was a stark contrast to the countryside life. You enjoyed the capitol but the rose-tint seemed to fade quickly while within its walls. Spotting the Alchemists shop sign you weaved in and out of beggars and Duchesses men alike, Rich and poor mingling into a sea of endless faces. There was only one word for the crowds of people, overwhelming.

The shop was a cozy hideaway, empty save for the shopkeeper and her wares. The smell of incense wafted into the air , its smoke crowding at the ceiling, mingling with the earthy smell of plants. Greeting her plainly you read off the list and examined the herbs thoroughly before making a sale, walking back into the late afternoon sun a few gold coins lighter but with quite a sizable workload to haul back. The thought crossed your mind to stop by one of the taverns and have a refresher before returning, with your own coin of course, but you knew if you waited much longer night would fall on your journey back and that’s the last thing you wanted.

All tension faded with the chatter as cobblestone streets gave way to dirt roads and open fields once again. It was nice to breathe without feeling boxed in. Your steps were slower this time, sweat rolling down your temples as the bag seemed to only gain weight with every passing minute. You stopped, pulling the small glass container of water you’d stored away and took a few refreshing gulps before totting the satchel over your shoulders and continued on. At this pace you may not make it back to Corvo Bianco before nightfall and the thought alone made your stomach sink.

It was an arduous journey back home, cursing yourself for picking up a few extra things as the leather strap bit into your shoulder. You guessed you maybe had another hour to go before you could finally unburden yourself, but dusk was nipping at your ankles. Trying to take your mind off the weight you looked out into luscious fields, grateful that the journey had been void of monsters when you saw it. The long stalks of red poking out in a lone field was like an oasis in the desert. Eyes lighting up you stared in disbelief, taking a few extra seconds to confirm what you’d seen. It was Winter Cherry. One of the rarest herbs to come across, something not even the Alchemist shop had in stock. Your heart swelled, remembering the many benefits you’d read not so long ago on your last trip to Beauclaire.

Hoisting the bag higher you set out towards the plant, long blades of grass tickling your ankles and knees, the patch of land long forgotten. You withdrew the blade from your stocking strap, thumbing the blade over the leaves of the rare plant, remembering that the Alchemy book had mentioned it had to be cut from the root or otherwise it would be completely useless.

The blood red petals swayed , knife cutting clean through its roots and you bubbled with pride. This certainly was a treat, a rare find to add to the new herb garden, the Witcher would be undoubtedly impressed. Your excitement was snuffed out in an instant when the blood-curdling howl echoed in the night.

“No.” You whispered, hands beginning to shake as you hastily stuffed the Winter Cherry into the already full satchel, nearly tripping over your own dress as another howl screamed into the now Twilight sky, blade still in hand. “No, no, no!” You continued as you made for the road, as if it was a safe haven from the gathering wolves. The sound of rustling dry grass began to double, triple, before you were keenly aware there was no getting out of this. Heart pounding in your ears you turned, oval eyes reflecting through yellowing foliage as the soft crunch of grass slowed, the animals circling in.

“Come on you bastard.” You growled in your own way back, knowing there was no way out but like hell if you wouldn’t try your best to fight them off. As if responding to your threat the first one lept, jaws snapping and snarling as it went. Dodging to your left it missed your arm by just a hair, the hot breath of the beast tickling the hairs of a limb that could have easily been its next meal.

The next time you weren’t so luckily, the second wolf snapping down hard on the skirt of your dress, yanking you almost completely over as it ripped and tore at the material. Swiping the small blade wildly the animal retreated, eyes still trained on your every movement. Heavy breaths left your dry mouth, adrenaline pumping through every vein as senses heightened. You were going to die.

The third wolf was too quick, coming toward you from the side as you focused on the others. Its Black fur barreled towards you, ferocious teeth biting through your thick dress and into your thigh, ripping a shriek from your throat as it sunk its razor-like teeth into the meat of your leg. You swiped at the wolf, jutting the knife into the scruff of his neck as it whimpered and recoiled, but the damage had been done and now you were merely a game to the hungry canines.

“FUCK OFF!” You howled, which startled them momentarily before the first one jumped you again, pushing you to the ground , shoving your fist into it’s open mouth just in time to keep it from getting a killing blow. Its fangs scrapped at your knuckles, sharp claws digging into your soft skin. A faint sound of a horse barely registered, knowing no matter how proficient the rider, there was no way of saving you. The only thing you could do was take one of the wolves down with you. The wolf atop you bit down, teeth sinking into the flesh of your arm as you let out a pained cry, its pack surprisingly absent. The cries you heard were not your own and soon the wolf that pinned you down with your fist in its mouth seemed dazed, drunk even, eyes glassy as the moon reflected off its dark eyes. It’s jaws relented, your blood now oozing from open wounds. Puzzled at first you seized your only chance, ramming the pathetic blade into the top of its skull, piercing thick pelt and bone. The wolf swayed, eyes rolling back as its blood soaked your hand, pushing it off just before it pooled over your already ruined garments.

Your head was swimming, jolting up as you frantically searched for the other two wolves only to find an empty field and a man.

A man with hair as silver as moonlight.

Adrenaline left your body quickly, eyesight dotting with bright white before fading to black completely.

It was all a blur, the hard motions of a horse galloping faded in and out for you, unconscious to the strong arms that encased you.

You awoke with a start, instead of dry grass beneath your touch there were soft sheets instead. A bed? "Oh, you're awake." The deep rustling voice spoke from the corner , nearly startling you out of the bed. Everything hurt and you peered down at the bandage around your thigh soaked in blood. "How'd i-" you barely managed before the White Wolf intervened, "lucky for you I was on my way back here and heard you off in the distance. Witcher sense does wonders. Have to say you put up quite the fight.". Was that… praise?

"Thank you." You managed, wincing as you sat up against the headboard, "how long was I out?"

He shrugged with heavy shoulders, "Long enough to haul you back here give a few hours or so. It's well past midnight by now. What the hell were you doing in the middle of nowhere at nightfall?" He seemed irritated by that.

You sighed, "getting herbs from the alchemist." You stated plainly, hoping he picked up your satchel, otherwise it would be all for naught. Warmth spreading across your cheeks realizing he had carried you unconsciously and rode all the way back to Corvo Bianco with those large hands around you.

"You won't find an herb shop in a field." He spoke plainly but with just enough sarcasm for your brow to quirk.

"Majordomo sent me into Beauclaire to get supplies for the herb garden you ordered. I found some Winter Cherry in the field and that's when I was attacked by wolves. Was that… a joke?" You should have been more formal, but seeing as you were laying in his bed with half your body bare, it seemed almost pointless to be.

He chuckled, "An attempt at one at least. Witchers have subdued emotions, call it a blessing and a curse." He sat back in the wooden chair he had propped in the corner, " Shame, Winter Cherry is useless unless-"

It was your turn to interrupt "Unless you cut it off at the roots." He looked to you with a hint of a smile.

You gaped, so that's why he seemed so calm and collected. That was definitely something you weren't expecting. "I should have been quicker on the walk back. But I'm glad you were there, otherwise I might've had to kill all those wolves on my own."

He let out a half laugh as did you, Geralt always appreciated a strong woman and you were fastly becoming more and more interesting to him with each passing moment.

"Geralt." He muttered as he stood, metal from his armor clinking and the wood of the house creaking under his shifting weight.

"Hm?" You asked inquisitively as he neared, drawing your legs closer , confused at what he was doing.

"My name." He sat on the edge of the bed, removing his gloves, "I need to check those wounds.".

You nodded, giving him permission to touch you, giving your name with a wince as his large warm hands unbound the bandage around your thigh. You watched Geralt transfixed, breath catching at just how high up his fingers traced since the bite had been dangerously close to your hip. He seemed to feel you tensing at sweeping touches , golden eyes looking up to yours with a muted smirk across such handsome features. "It tickles." You lied and he only let out a small puff of air that hinted at humored before continuing. It was amazing watching a Witcher work. He'd rooted through his belongings finding ingredients for the healing salve without needing any type of recipe. Casually mixing ingredients that, had you attempted, would have surely given you a headache.

"So" your name rolling of his tongue made it hard to concentrate, "you're a bit of an alchemist?" He spoke casually as he transferred the salve into a large bit of wax paper.

"Afraid not, I know but a few things from experiments and what little I've read while in Beauclaire."

Geralt hummed at that, " Well it looks like you'll survive. I've made some salve that'll help heal the bite , but it's only enough for one or two days. Put it on in the evenings and when you run out come back. Maybe then I'll even teach you a trick or two." The last part made your heart leap as he rebandaged your wound, blood now completely stopped. "Thank you for saving my life." You said as you stood, leg in agony but unwilling to show any more sign of weakness.

"I got you into this mess, only fair I should rescue you from it." Geralt replied coolly, eyes transfixed on your heart rate that had thumped harder as you stood. You were in pain but far too stubborn to show it. He liked that about you.

"Goodnight Geralt." "Goodnight. "

You turned to leave, hobbling across the main house stairs and towards your quarters which luckily weren't too far. The plants you'd brought back were already laid on in the garden and you thanked the gods that geralt had brought back the satchel so that your near death had not been for nothing.

Finally in your quarters you bathed and added the salve , teeth clenching at the sting of it sanitizing the wound. You were pretty much asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Dreams emerged from the fog of your mind that night. Large scarred hands gently skating across your legs, pulling up your nightgown forcing a weak whimper from your throat. A deep rustling of a laugh accompanied with cat-like eyes as slightly chapped lips graced your skin. It was heaven , feeling the white beard scrape along your neck, sending you into a moaning fit. "Stop that, you're injured." His voice playfully mocked as you squirmed under him.

…"Geralt" you awoke with his name on your lips. Eyes wide and hand slapped over your mouth you scanned the room. It was bright, so bright. Almost midday by the way the shadows casted along the floor of the small room. The biggest mistake was moving, which nearly had you wailing in pain from the tender wound. Removing the covers it had bled through only a little in the night , of which you were thankful.

When finally dressed and on your way to the main house you waved off concerned workers as you hobbled by, far too tired to give them the entirety of the story of what happened the night before. Instead you stepped into the kitchen and shut the door with an exasperated sigh.

[woahitslucyylu]

NSFW Alphabet - Angel Reyes.

GIF is not mine, credit to OG creator. I’m back with the resident sasshole of the MC. Here’s Angel’s alphabet. Beware: Smut beneath the cut. 

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NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

It depends. Angel is broody and his emotions wreck him daily. Sometimes, he cuddles and whispers sweet nothings in your ear, but other times, he is closed off and getting dressed before you can catch your breath. He isn’t intentionally distant, but he struggles with the noise and the constant feeling that he just isn’t good enough. 

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Angel loves his arms. He loves how they flex when they grab you tight, pulling him close to you. He takes pride in being fit and looking the part - his machismo oozing from his pores, and his arms are the product of that hard work. 

Angel is an ass man - he loves to touch and rub on you alllll the time. At club parties, his hand is glued to your hips, pulling you close and keeping you right up against his muscular frame. He loves smacking your ass - both playfully and otherwise. He loves watching it bounce against his hips as he fucks you from behind. He’s an ass man.  

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Angel will finish anywhere. Inside you, in your mouth, on your tits - he loves to see you covered with him. He seeks ownership and being covered in his cum definitely says ownership. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

You like to sleep in Angel’s shirts. He likes to keep your panties in his cut. He doesn’t do it often, but on long runs, he has been known to slide his favorite black lace boy shorts into his pocket for nothing other than to feel closure to you. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Angel’s charisma and charm have never left him lonely, and if he were to compete with EZ in anything and win, it would be bedding women. Adding the cut, Angel’s bed has never been empty. He loves all women and uses the experiences to meticulously work your body and shower you with affection. 

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

He’s an ass man, so doggy is his favorite. He loves the feel of your hips bouncing against his as you fuck yourself at his request. He loves holding your hands tight as he pushes you into the mattress - refusing to let up until you are crying his name. He loves feeling dominant and craves to be in control, and taking you from behind - his fingers wrapped through your hair, pulling you closer, is just the way to do it. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Angel is playful and that spills into the bedroom. He teases and taunts you with a flirtatious attitude - pushing your buttons and embarrassing you for the sake of foreplay. He loves to make you blush with dirty talk. He teases you in the most intimate moments. 

“Look, you made such a mess, querida.” He mumbles as you gush on him - coming so hard you’re dazed. He is painfully flirty and teasing, yet you melt with every mild insult and sexual suggestion. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Angel is trimmed and neat and smells heavenly. He takes such pride in his appearance, you won’t catch him slacking. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Angel feels most alive when he’s buried inside of you, whispering how good you feel and how it’s his pussy. He thrives on sensations, both physical and emotional, and there’s nothing more intimate than watching you come undone underneath him. 

Although he loves it rough and hard, Angel will pour out the romance and make you feel like a queen. He loves soaking in a bath with you - bubbles covering you as he massages you with expert hands. He will surprise you with a road trip for dinner - flying through the desert with you holding tight, finding the perfect place to picnic and watch the sun set. Angel is a man who was made to love. 

J = Jack/Jill Off (Masturbation headcanon)

His hand will never measure up to you, but he tries - especially when he’s buried with club business. FaceTiming you late at night and listening to you get yourself off makes it easier to take care of himself. He loves listening to your moans as you try your hardest to make it feel like him. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Angel. Is. A. Whole. Daddy. 

This man will pamper you and punish you in the same breath. He gets off on dominance. He may feel like he isn’t the first choice in other areas of his life, but with you, he is the boss and there is never a doubt that he is in control. He will bend you over and spank you till you’re dripping and ask you “Do you deserve this dick, mami? You were so rude in front of my brothers. I don’t even think I should give it to you.” 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Angel will take you anywhere, and the thought of discovery turns him on more and so does the chase. Rumor is you’ve been found in the back hallway of the clubhouse more than once, and poor EZ has walked in on you in his trailer more times than he can count. 

When you first started dating, you had so many reservations, but with Angel, you’re pulling your skirt up as he slides into you in the club bathroom while his brothers are laughing and drinking right outside the door - fully aware that you’re fucking in the bathroom. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Angel’s motivation is to be your first choice. He craves the dependency - it makes him feel valued and important. When you slide your arms around his waist and whisper how much you love him, he melts into you. The validation gets him off and even more so, when you beg for his physical attention. When you walk into the living room wearing his t-shirt and slide into his lap and ask for Daddy’s attention, he is more than happy to give in. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Angel doesn’t share. He spends his whole life dealing with an inferiority complex, and when it comes to you, he isn’t going to play around. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Angel will shamelessly beg you to ride his face. He loves when you use him for your own pleasure. With your hips rolling back and forth across his thick beard, he feels like a king. He will gladly bury himself in your thighs to remind you how much he loves you - “You’re my favorite flavor, chula. Did you know that?” 

BUT, 

Watching you sink to your knees and choke on his dick electrifies him. You may or may not be the queen of spontaneous blow jobs, and when Angel is on the receiving end is one of the moments he knows you’re the one. He will slide in and out of your throat as saliva slides down your chest and tell you how beautiful you look stuffed with his dick. 

“Can’t talk shit now, mami. You look so pretty like this.” 

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Pace is determined by location and occasion - if you’re squeezing in a quickie on his lunch break, he’s fast and rough - pulling your hips against his as he fucks you against the sink in the service office. If you’re at home and you have hours to make love, he’s thoughtful and gives you orgasm after orgasm with more than just his dick. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

If he can have you, he takes you, which means quickies are a staple in your relationship. He loves taking you in any way he can have you. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

There is no reward without a risk, and with Angel, he will lead you into temptation without asking. You’ve never been more embarrassed than when Bishop found you in the kitchen, pressed up against the fridge, as Angel buried himself in you. Angel was smug and unfazed at the presence of the president as he zipped his pants and smacked your ass - walking out of the kitchen so nonchalantly. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

You will beg for mercy as he prepares for round 4918353. Angel will go for as many rounds as you let him and each time, his goal is the same - for you to scream his name. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Angel’s toys are whatever he finds around him - his belt, a scarf, a shirt made into a blindfold. He’s spontaneous and whatever feels right in the moment is what he uses. He isn’t one to browse through Adam + Eve, but he is always okay with whatever you bring. He thinks sex should be fun and limitless. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Angel will make you beg just because he loves to hear it. He will slide into you so slowly that you are sure you will die from anticipation. He will run his thumb over your aching clit and watch you raise your hips for more. 

“What do you want? Use your words, mami.” He will whisper in your ear knowing that you can barely respond as you wiggle under him. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Angel speaks three languages - English, Spanish, and filth. He isn’t loud. He is dirty. Angel’s beautiful mouth says the dirtiest things as he fucks you in any position. He will tell you how good you feel as you clench around him. He will remind you his dick is a gift and you should be grateful. He will pull your hair and smack your ass and order you to beg for more from Daddy. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Angel didn’t sleep with women he had sex with until you. Surprisingly, literally sleeping with someone was his intimacy line - reserved for women who earned the trust of the Mayan. Sleeping leaves him vulnerable and that requires trust that a simple hang around or hook up hasn’t earned. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Angel has big. dick. energy. It’s thick, it’s veiny, and it’s all yours. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He is ready to go at any point. A stolen glance, an accidental bump into him or a sweet kiss - that’s all it takes to get him going for you. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Angel will only sleep right after if he feels comfortable and, with you, that’s every time. Club business keeps him in a perpetual state of exhaustion, and after he works you over, he is ready to sleep. 

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Make it Hurt (Brooklyn Baby Series)

Summary: Bee visits John and finds a very different man than she has grown used to. A very good kind of different in her opinion. Part 1: Brooklyn Baby | Part 2: A little loss of innocence | Part 3: Insatiable Craving | Part 5: Play with Fire |

Paring: John Wick x Reader (Bee)

Wordcount: 4,5 K

Warnings: age gap; smut (rough sex; powerplay; choking; dirty talk; unprotected sex)

Author’s notes: we’re getting to know Bee a little better. Hope you enjoy it and feedback is always appreciated.

You turned around in front of the mirror to take a better look at the flimsy fabric covering your breasts and groin. Could that even be called fabric? Just delicate lace held together by sheer tulle in a deep blue. The boyshorts hugged your hips snuggly, the material covering everything but so seethrough that you still felt exposed.

At the same time, you felt beautiful. Powerful. Attractive. Like the saleswoman suggested, the bra pushed your breasts up, making them look bigger, inviting, while the panties accentuated your curves. You were a feast to the eyes and even just admiring yourself in the mirror was enough to set your heart racing.

You had never done this before, buy special lingerie with someone in mind.

Before Mr. Wick came into your life, you only ever had two real boyfriends. One throughout high school, the one that took away your virginity. The second one in your freshman year of college, before your father died. There were a few other hookups here and there but you had mostly kept yourself guarded and uninterested in relationships. Especially with boys your age.

Besides, they were always more interested in having you naked and their cocks in your cunt. No one had ever looked at you as if you were something precious. Not until Mr. Wick. Every time you stripped for him, it felt like he was committing every inch of you to memory so it felt fitting to give him something to look at. Something you knew he would appreciate. Even if the lingerie set cost you a big chunk of your month’s salary. You knew it would be worth it.

You could almost picture now in your mind, the darkness in his deep chocolate eyes. You could hear the rumbling growl vibrating in his chest as he took you in, his calloused hands dragging all over your skin; his wicked mouth leaving marks on your neck and collarbone, making you drench the lace covering your cunt until it turned a darker shade of blue...

“Damn Bee!” Daisy’s voice startled you from your thoughts, making you hurry to grab a towel and wrap it around your body. “You look hot! Is that for the new boyfriend?”

You could feel the blood rising to your cheeks. Every time Daisy mentioned your boyfriend, guilt sunk in your gut like you had swallowed a rock. Could you even call Mr. Wick a boyfriend? The denomination seemed so wrong. There was nothing boyish about him and you certainly didn’t know if what you had with him could be considered a relationship… But it was definitely something you were more than willing to explore.

Everytime you thought about it, you asked yourself how could you bear looking at Daisy when you were fucking her dad? She was your best friend. Surely there was some unwritten rule that said this was a capital offense, making you one of the most horrible friends in this God’s green Earth. Still, even if guilt consumed you, every night Mr. Wick haunted your dreams and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Life had never been all that kind to you. Unlike Daisy, who came from a wealthy family, your mom was a school teacher, your father was a cop. They had to gather every penny to put you through college. And you had to work every single day since you were 15 to be able to get the things you wanted in life. And you never wanted something as badly as you wanted Mr. Wick.

You wanted his softness and care. You wanted his experience and the ability to reach the highest edges of paradise with the work of his fingers. You wanted the domination and the thinly controlled savagery that you could see peeking through his dark brown eyes. You wanted everything Mr. Wick was willing to give you and maybe that made you a crappy friend, but you weren’t about to give it up. Not even for Daisy.

Did that make you an awful person? That you were putting a man above your friend?

“Maybe,” you shrugged, taking off the lingerie while your body was still wrapped around the towel, replacing them with your usual cotton panties and sports bra. “I just saw it and thought it was pretty.”

“It’s more than just pretty,” Dasy said bouncing on the bed. “So, things are getting serious huh? When do I get to meet him?” You wanted to let out a hysterical laugh at the irony.

“I want to make sure it’s really serious before...” you bit your lip unsure. Before what? Before you confessed to your best friend? Before you knew if it was worth sacrificing your friendship over it?

“Alright,” Daisy shrugged, but you could see it bothered her not knowing. “As long as you’re happy. You are, right?”

“Yes.” You grinned. “Very happy. I’m spending the weekend with him,” you confessed, tone giddy and Daisy smirked.

“Nice! You won’t be able to walk for a week.” You giggled, covering your face. You sure hoped so.

“I should get going,” you got up, shoving the lingerie into your bag and turning to face Daisy. “What are your plans?”

“Just gonna head to my mom’s. Do some laundry, and hang out.”

“That sounds good.”

At the mention of Mrs. Wick that weight on your gut returned. You liked Daisy’s mom. She was so warm and kind. Even took the time to show you how to take proper photos with your camera and using telescopic lenses. You never considered the implications of fucking her ex-husband. Especially because you knew one of Daisy’s biggest dreams was to see her parents together again and here you were, playing the other woman.

“Have fun,” you said with a choked voice as you stepped out of the dorm, Daisy barely looking up as she called ‘you too’ after you.

You took the bus to Mr. Wick’s house even if he had offered to pay for your taxi. It was a long journey and you wanted to take the time to center yourself and be ready for whatever the weekend had in store for you.

Once again, Mr. Wick had been away on business and you had to content yourself with your hands and toys while Daisy was in class, but they didn’t even come close to the high you got from Mr. Wick’s fingers or even his words. You keep playing and replaying your time together, the way he held you down and kissed you breathlessly and worshiped your body like the most gorgeous work of art.

Just thinking about it now was enough to send a flush of arousal through you, making you press your legs together and bite your lip as you stared out the window, watching the street lights passing you by, your skin being cooled by the air of the bus.

You took a second to stand outside his door, fixing your hair and making sure everything was in place before you rang the bell. The second you crossed the threshold, Mr. Wick had you in his arms, claiming your mouth in a kiss that was passionate and with just the right edge of teeth.

You hadn’t seen him the entire week and the best you got was a few text messages here and there, as he was busy with work, which you still didn’t know exactly what that meant. Daisy seemed unable to explain what her father did for a living beyond the general concept of something with import and export and that it took him out of the country a lot.

You didn’t understand how uninterested she could be about what her dad did but couldn’t exactly push the subject without attracting too much attention to yourself and your curiosity. You would have to ask Mr. Wick yourself, even if he seemed even less inclined to offer you any information either.

He pressed you against the wall of the foyer, dislodging your bag from your shoulder and it fell to the ground with a soft thud that you barely noticed, too busy enjoying the chapped lips that pressed against yours and the wicked tongue that seemed keen on finding and exploring every inch of your mouth.

You have barely caught a glimpse of him when you got in, noticing only dark fabric and you felt eager to look at the handsome face and kind and warm eyes.

“Wait, wait...” you said pulling yourself away with a little struggle.

You took a second to look at him and this was a far cry from the Mr. Wick you were used to. He was clad in a black, three-piece suit that looked tailored to perfectly fit his broad shoulders, strong chest, narrow hips, and thick thighs. His hair was slicked back with gel, exposing his face and showing a severe scowl. His eyes blazed with a sort of wildness that you hadn’t seen before and that went beyond just arousal. It was more like a salvage need and it was enough to make your blood boil.

“Never mind,” you sighed, letting him claim your mouth again, lift you up and take you to the couch, setting you on the armrest.

“Take those off before I rip it off.”

His voice was almost a growl as he tugged on your jacket and shirt so you obeyed as quickly as you could because you actually liked that jacket. You shrugged it off and yanked the shirt over your head, throwing carelessly to the side while he worked on your jeans, pulling it down your legs.

There wasn’t just rush in his movements, it was plain desperation that you could almost taste on his tongue as he kissed you. The smell of metal, close to shiny new pennies lingered on his skin, as well as that same acrid scent that reminded you of fireworks in fourth of July, but much more intense. Those smells were quickly becoming your favorites, along with the lingering smell of leather and paper, with just a touch of cigarette smoke­­. The scents that made up this man.

His kisses were harsh all over your jaw and neck. His beard rubbing like sandpaper over your skin and you knew you would end up with beard burns, but you didn’t fucking care. You could already feel the tightness in your cunt, that constant throbbing of arousal as blood rushed through your ears, being cut only by the clank of metal as Mr. Wick unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers, lowering them only enough to free his cock.

You glanced between your bodies to look at his erection, hard and hot and, leaking. You licked your lips, ready to get to your knees for him. You have been researching and practicing deep throating and you wanted to show him what you learned, but Mr. Wick held you still and tugged on your panties to expose your cunt to his heavy gaze.

A low rumble escaped his lips, like a feral animal looking at his prey as his fingers brushed against your swollen clit and slick entrance. Just checking how wet you were, how ready for him. Mr. Wick guided the tip of his cock to your slit and, through the haze of wildness in his eyes, you thought you saw a hint of hesitation.

“I can take it,” you assured, your arms coming around his neck, bracing yourself. You knew he was probably too big to take it all at once like this but at the same time, you knew this was something he desperately needed and you weren’t about to deny him. “Do it. Take what you need.”

It was all Mr. Wick seemed to want to hear because he pushed inside you with one hard thrust, making you scream.

It hurt. Fucking hell it hurt.

He was so huge and thick, and you could feel your walls stretching to try and accommodate him, your legs squeezing around his waist as if they wanted to close themselves, protect your most vulnerable spot from the intrusion but it was too late.

Tears prickled your eyes as you buried your face against his neck, weeping softly. And that made Mr. Wick pause, one of his fingers pressing under your chin, tilting your face up to look at you. That wildness was still there but laced with something else. Worry and maybe even guilt.

He gently kissed your eyes, as if to taste your tears, before he brought his thumb to your mouth, pushing past your lips and you sucked it on it, swirling your tongue around it, coating with saliva.

Mr. Wick took it out and brought it between your bodies rubbing your clit just the right way until the familiar sparks of pleasure were back. At the first quiet whimper of need, he started to grind against you and it was still a little painful but you were getting wet again, so it also brought you such arousal. Especially as he peppered kisses all over your neck and shoulders, softer this time, with just a hint of tongue and teeth caressing your skin and collarbones.

You buried your hands in his hair, tugging gently until you could reach his lips, sealing them with your own as you rolled your hips to meet his and Mr. Wick’s thrusts started to gain speed and strength according to the noises you murmured against his mouth.

Soon pain and pleasure mixed and you were doing your best to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, faster and harder. His grunts and growls spurring you on, your heels digging on the small of his back. You wanted to let him take everything from you. Use you for his needs like a dirty little whore. That thought filled you with such a deep lust that you barely recognized yourself or the steady torrent of filthy words coming out of your mouth.

“Please, sir, don’t stop. Fuck my pussy, make me hurt,” you were moaning against his jaw, your breath coming in short and hot puffs. “I like it when it hurts. I like feeling your big dick drilling into me.”

His hips were snapping so hard against you now, you could feel his balls hitting your ass. The wet sounds of your drenched cunt filled your ears along with your moans and his grunts. It was filthy and you loved it and the coil of pleasure kept tightening so hard inside your core at each stroke of his cock and swirl of his thumb on your clit.

You could feel your body beginning to tense in need, your thighs quaking and that delicious heat that always started at your center began to spread through your veins almost as if it was being driven by each sharp hit of his cock on your cervix.

“May I cum, sir?” you sobbed, fingers digging on his back, the fabric of his suit thick under your touch. You knew you weren’t going to last.

“No,” he growled, looking into your eyes, that dark edge returning as he brought a hand around your neck. You keened softly and nodded, trying to focus on anything else but the overpowering arousal going through you but it was impossible. Your entire being felt alight with it and you couldn’t hold yourself together.

“Please, please, sir,” your voice was a pathetic whine and there were tears in your eyes again. Mr. Wick wasn’t slowing down and you couldn’t control yourself.

Your climax felt like a rushing wall of fire, bright and all-consuming, especially as Mr. Wick easied his grip on your neck, letting blood flow again. Another scream tore through your throat as the high of oxygen made you dizzy and hazy. Your body convulsing and your cunt pulsing around his cock. It only spurred him to thrust harder and faster, his grunts becoming louder as he finally stilled and spilled inside you.

For a moment, the two of you just panted against each other’s cheeks, sweat cooling in your skin as you tried to recover from the intense sex. You could almost see the change happening in Mr. Wick. The ferocity from moments before dying down as his breathing slowed and his eyes cleared, being replaced by guilt and regret as he pulled out of you.

He dropped down on the couch cushions with a sigh, his fingers digging on his muscled thighs, head ducked low. Dread filled you. Did he regret it? Did you do something wrong?

“Mr. Wick...” you started softly, kneeling beside him, unbothered by the mess of fluids running down your thigh.

“You know, considering what we’re doing I think you can call me John.” His chuckle was almost self-deprecating as he turned his head to look at you.

“Alright. John.” The name felt foreign in your tongue, as you sat on your heels and looked at him. You two made quite a sight. Him, still mostly dressed, apart from the undone trousers, while you were a complete mess. “Is everything ok?”

“Yes,” he assured cupping your cheek but the smile he gave you was too sad for you to actually believe in it. “I just... this isn’t how I planned our time together to go. I shouldn’t have used you like that.”

“I don’t mind,” you said with a shrug and a smirk, turning your face and pressing a kiss to his palm before running your tongue teasingly over the calloused skin, making him smile. “Apparently, I liked to be used.”

“Still…” he sighed again and you took the opportunity to climb in his lap, arms coming around his neck again, not really caring about the mess you were making on his very expensive looking trousers.

“No. You don’t get to feel guilty for giving me exactly what I wanted,” you argued, hands cupping his jaw, forcing John to look at you. “I enjoyed every fucking second of it. You can wreck my pussy anytime you want.”

This got him to smile again and it looked a little more real this time, some of that guilt slowly fading as he rested his forehead against yours, breathing the remains of your cologne and the natural musky of your sweat.

“It isn’t supposed to be like that, darling,” he said. “If I’m gonna be your dom, I have to take care of you even if you are willing to push past your limits. I’m the one that’s supposed to say no to that.”

“It was a good hurt,” you replied with shrug. “I promise I liked it, more than I can put in words. And besides, you’ve given me so much; I’d like to let you take what you need in return.”

For a moment, John just stared at you in consideration then he pulled you closer for a deep kiss, full of gratitude and affection and something you were deeply afraid to think about too closely because it terrified you to realize you might be starting to grow feelings deeper than what would be healthy.

Once he pulled away, you caressed John’s face, tracing the sharp lines and you looked into his eyes as the two of you just breathed together. You wondered what had happened that broke through his control and made him so salvage with you. You wondered if you could ask.

“Not yet,” John breathed out, cupping your cheek like he could read your thoughts. “Maybe soon.”

“Ok.” You smiled, resting your forehead against his again. “I can wait.”

“Thank you.” He smiled too, tightening his grip on you and getting to his feet with you in his arms, your legs around his waist. “Let’s shower and then I’ll think about your punishment.”

“My punishment?” You frowned at him as John smirked and kissed you softly.

“I seem to recall you coming without authorization, darling.”

“Oh yeah,” you giggled, hugging him like a koala as he took the stairs towards the second floor and his bedroom, setting you on the bed long enough to shed his clothes. It was only then you realized you hadn’t seen John fully naked yet so you took the time to admire his beautifully shaped body.

As you first suspected, he wasn’t ripped like a gym rat, but built with solid muscles that one developed from working with your body for too long and once again you wondered what John did for a living to keep himself in such good shape because it didn’t strike you like something out of vanity.

He turned his back to you to set his clothes aside, giving you a perfect view of his tattooed back and your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t think anything could make him more attractive to you.

Apparently, you were wrong and before you could stop yourself, you came to your feet, running gentle fingers over the inked skin, and John shivered and tensed, turning around and catching you in his arms. Now you could see the scars dotting his pale skin, the long vertical line on his stomach being the most prominent one.

“John…” you started, but he kissed you into silence, distracting you from your questions as he tugged into the master bathroom and the shower stall, fingers finding that spot inside you and rubbing it until you were crazy with need and riding his hand into a brand new orgasm.

After the shower, you two lied in bed together, John in his stomach, and this time he let you ran your fingers over the dark ink adorning his back, tracing the slightly different texture of the tattooed skin as you explored the lines. Despite his relaxed position, you thought you detected a slight tension evident by the bunching of his muscles whenever your fingers landed on a scar.

“Do they mean anything?” You asked, fascinated by the man under your hands. “I mean, I know this one.” You traced the bold lines of the letters of fortis fortuna adiuvat across his shoulder blades. “My dad had one just like it. He was in the marines.”

“Had?” John turned his head to look at you.

“He died a couple of years ago.”

It was almost impossible to hide the small tremble of sorrow that always invaded your voice whenever you thought back on your dad. Here you were, trying to pry information out of him and John, completely silent managed to get even more out of you.

There was no point in doing this halfway now and you took a breath, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.

“He was a cop and died on duty. Investigation ruled out as a random mugging gone wrong and the case went cold but he was investigating this Russian crime family. I always thought it might have been them but what do I know? I’m just a dumb girl.”

Your tone was bitter and angry, and you couldn’t help but pull away from John even more, feeling too bare and raw. Talking about your father’s murder always did that to you. Tears gathered in your eyes and you squeezed them shut, trying to steady your breath and ignore the tightening in your heart. You didn’t want John to think you were a pathetic little girl crying for daddy but sometimes you couldn’t avoid the bitter frustration.

He died two years ago, but it still felt like it happened yesterday. Back then, you had gone to everyone you could think of: your dad’s partner, his captain, the superintendent of the police department… anyone who you could try to ask for help. But they all repeated the same line that there was nothing they could do and let your father’s case just die down.

So you decided to take up the investigation yourself, taking hold of your father’s files on Tarasov’s family before the department could take them away. You also shifted your major to pre-law so you could get into the force. Follow his footsteps. You only had another year to go before you could apply to the academy. Maybe by then, you would have enough to prove they did it and no one would be able to ignore you again.

“I’m sorry about your father,” John whispered, his arms coming around you, his lips pressing soft kisses over your shoulder and nape. His tone seemed honestly apologetic and his hold comforting so it was easy to relax against his chest.

“Thanks,” you turned around, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “Now you know my sob story. It’s your turn.”

There was a long moment of silence, the only noise in the room was the sound of both of your deep breathing. You almost thought that John wasn’t going to say anything, but after a kiss to your forehead, he finally spoke.

“I have no other family aside for Helen and Daisy. I grew up in a group home, never met my parents and I joined the Marines at 18 because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I’m so sorry, John,” you wrapped arms and legs around him and he chuckled at your nearly octopus-like hold on him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he kissed your forehead softly once again before he rested his chin on top of your head. “I should start dinner if we’re planning on eating something.”

“I am hungry, so get your ass to the kitchen, Mr. Wick.”

“Don’t be cheeky, young lady,” he smirked at you, his mock glare a pale comparison to the scowl you had seen hours before.  

You just giggled letting go of John and watched him put on a pair of jeans before moving out of the room. For a while, you just lingered in bed, smiling to yourself every time you shifted your body and the dull soreness between your legs made itself known.

It was nice to feel the evidence of John’s passion and you were even happier that you managed to get out of him a bit of his story. Maybe this could lead to something more serious but that was something to think about in the future.

Right now, all you could think of was getting your clothes and the bag that remained at the foyer so you could put on the lingerie you got for John and you could distract him while he made dinner.

Trying to be as quiet as you could, you tiptoed down the stairs to the main floor of the house, wearing only one of John’s white button-downs. You managed to gather your clothes and move to the door to pick up the bag without alerting him. That was when you saw through the glass panels of the front door, Daisy jumping out of a taxi. Panic filled you and for a couple of precious seconds, all you could do was stand there, frozen in place.

All it would take was for Daisy to look up from her phone to see you. Fortunately, you managed to shake yourself and bolt out of the foyer, coming back to John’s room. Fuck! What were you gonna do now?

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[the-last-cuddlebender]

hi! if youre still taking requests could you do the gaang doing dumbassery because they are all dumbasses? (if you want) anyways ur cool have a nice day

Aw, thanks, Anon🥰 I’ll raise you one better and give you Christmas-themed-Modern!AU dumbassery (feat. Zuko, Sokka, and Aang)

Words: 973

******************************

Zuko approached the house with a slack jaw and a firm questioning of...well, of everything. He blinked three times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, and he immediately wanted to walk away when he realized he wasn’t imagining things. He had developed a sixth sense for knowing when he needed to have plausible deniability, and his instincts were screaming at him to get away from there.

Why. And why today. He was too tired for this.

“What…” Zuko struggled to find the ability to string his thoughts together. ‘Confused’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what he was feeling. He was concerned, for certain, and for many reasons. Some of it was for his own sake, but most of it was for his dwindling hope that humanity, as a collective, would be able to evolve forwards ever again. “...What is he doing?”

Sokka shrugged and didn’t look away from the warning-label-in-the-making wandering around on the roof. He lifted the lower half of his face out of his powder-coated jacket and accepted his fiancé’s greeting-gift of hot cocoa—extra marshmallows and a little gingerbread-man on top because being extra had its perks when Zuko got in trouble.

“He’s trying,” Sokka said between sips.

Zuko stared at the roof and the confused monk on top of it. And as he watched Aang gamble his life amongst the snowy shingles, he couldn’t help but have the same feeling of watching a documentary on National Geographic where he knew the baby deer was going to be killed and couldn’t do anything about it.

“But what is he trying?”

Sokka shrugged again. “‘Dunno. I’m just here to keep him company and to catch him when he falls off the roof again.”

“Again?”

Sokka spared him the same half-lidded gaze he had been giving their tattooed brother (in all but blood). “You were his teacher, Zuko. You should know he can be a pretty slow learner, sometimes.”

Zuko rubbed his growing headache and fought the urge to pound his head into the nearest tree. Aang was on the highest point of the roof and tangled in what had to be forty or so feet of Christmas lights. Thankfully, he had stopped waddling in a circle in his vain search for freedom and plopped into a seat in the snow. If the inevitable two-story fall didn’t kill him, then hypothermia definitely would. Born and raised in the mountains or not, he had no business wearing only jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with the damn sleeves rolled up to his elbows (the shirt was reindeer themed and had ‘Naughty List Advocate’ printed across the chest).

Sokka sipped his hot cocoa. Zuko contemplated his place in the universe. “...She’s going to kill us for letting him do this,” he said.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Sokka slung an arm around Zuko’s shoulders and tugged them together. He gestured with his cup of cocoa towards the arrowed human hazard. “Katara won’t spill blood around the holidays. She’s too much of a goodie-goodie. Besides, this is Aang’s first Christmas. She wouldn’t dare mess it up for him.”

Zuko scowled but looked thoughtful. “I guess it is, technically, his first Christmas. Has he really only been here for less than a year?”

“Eight months. Feels a lot longer than that. And don’t worry too much about him falling from the roof. He pretty much lived up there for the first few weeks he moved in.”

“...Why?”

“He missed the altitude.”

“Ah.”

A small avalanche slid off the roof and plopped into a heap in front of them. The Christmas lights were all somehow turned on and probably an electrical hazard with how taut they were pulled, and Aang paused for breath from trying to free himself of his cocoon of pretty colors. He moped—nearly pouting—in a way that made them fight the urge to hug him and donate to an ASPCA commercial.

“Has he even seen Christmas lights before?”

Sokka smiled from ear to ear. “Nooooope,” he said, suspiciously happy.

“And you didn’t bother correcting him on…,” Zuko gestured to Aang’s creative stringing of lights, “...whatever that is?”

“He knows what Google is. He can look it up if he wants to.”

“Does he, though? Does he really?” Zuko shook his head. “Someone has to tell him.”

“I think it’s cute. Let him figure out what it means to him all on his own.”

“Hey, Sokka!” Aang shouted from two sheer stories above them. “Are all of the lights working—Oh, hey, Zuko!” The overgrown golden retriever disguised as their best friend smiled down at them with a floodlight’s intensity. He flailed his freed arm like one of those inflatable things in front of car dealerships. “What do you think? Pretty cool, right? I’ve been working on it all day!”

“Yeah, I can see that!” Zuko said. Sokka cackled, and Zuko elbowed him. “It looks...It looks very nice, Aang! Just be careful, okay?”

“I am, don’t worry! I’ve fallen from higher places back at the Temple!”

Zuko gave Sokka a pointed look. “You still think he’s going to learn?”

“Point taken.” Sokka passed Zuko his hot cocoa so he could cup his hands over his mouth. “Hey, Aang! I think that’s enough! It looks really good, but you don’t wanna overdo it! It’ll be too bright!”

“But...But I still have so much left to do!”

“Can’t you finish it later?” Zuko yelled. “You’ll catch your death out here if you don’t put on a jacket!”

Aang ignored that last part. “I can’t stop! Katara is going to be home in a few hours, and I have to have the lights up before she gets here! It’s a surprise!”

Sokka cupped Zuko’s mouth with one hand and projected his voice with the other. “Okay, that’s fine, then! Just be careful, okay? We’ll be right here if you need us!”

Aang nodded so fast that his head threatened to come off his shoulders. “I will! Thanks, guys!”

Sokka released Zuko’s mouth, and Zuko mumbled through his forced smile so Aang couldn’t see him talking. “You do realize that if he gets so much as a scratch, then our lives are forfeit, right?”

Sokka laughed a little, shrugged yet again, and sipped his cocoa some more.

Zuko rolled his eyes so hard that it was a miracle he didn’t go blind. “Do you have to have a deathwish for Christmas?”

“Eh, it’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Right on cue, Aang appeared as if he had been summoned—first as a startled yelp, then as a snowballing cocoon of lights, and then as a projectile.

Luckily, Zuko caught him.

Not so luckily, Zuko hadn’t meant to catch him.

...Zuko’s broken arm throbbed just as badly as his headache, and Aang—lying in the hospital bed right next to him and admiring the little Christmas wreaths and snowflakes Katara drew on his leg’s cast (she even colored a blue line to show where his tattoo wound down his leg)—wasn’t exactly helping him.

He was way, way too tired for this.

Zuko made the mistake of looking at his companion-in-cast. Aang’s puppy-dog eyes were internationally ranked, and they disabled Zuko’s ability to say ‘no’ when he asked if he could pretty please make up for breaking his arm by decorating his cast for him.

(‘Creative’ wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the end result...But Zuko really did like the pair of red and green dragons. They had antlers and snowy-white beards, and the fire they breathed looked like Christmas lights thrown into a blender. It made the nauseating amount of permanent-marker-smell completely worth it.)

Every few hours, Sokka brought them greeting-gifts of hot cocoa and fruit cakes—extra marshmallows and moonpeach-flavored gooey centers because being extra had its perks when Katara was contemplating her allowance of her brother’s and her future brother-in-law’s continued existences.

Aang meekly showed Katara the little drawing he made of what he intended their roof to look like.

She kissed his frown away and practically lived on the roof for the next two days to make it happen.

Once the lights were lit, a small crowd gathered around their house like how people did when they saw a car accident.

But Aang couldn’t have been happier, and, when he slung his arms around their shoulders and thanked them for making his first Christmas that much brighter, Zuko and Sokka couldn’t not smile along with their brother (in all but blood) if they tried.

[obihoekenobi]

title: fools

pairings: obi-wan kenobi/reader

ratings: gen

word count: 1,476k

warnings: gratuitous fluff and mutual pining

Inspired purely by how happy Obi-wan looked when he visited Dex's diner during Attack of the Clones.

Link to AO3

He's here again, your Jedi.

You're with another customer, but your eyes catch on him as he peers in through the window. You send a silent prayer into the Force, hoping that this time he'll come inside. It's hit and miss, whether or not he actually does. There was no rhyme or reason to the time that passed between his visits. Sometimes it was months, sometimes it was days and sometimes it was years. There were times he lingered outside and times he actually came inside, though those were few and far between.

You almost don't recognize him for a moment, his hair is drastically shorter than the last time you saw him. If it's possible, he looks even more handsome than before, older. You avert your gaze so he doesn't see you staring again, though you can't help but sneak a look at him as you watch him loiter outside.

He's alone this time, which is becoming more and more common. Before, someone always used to accompany him. At first it had been a towering Jedi, his master your mother had explained, and then a string of other Jedi, a normal sight so close to the temple. Then one day, everything changed. A child appeared at his side, demanding his full attention. You had watched over the years, as the child grew and grew until one day he appeared less and less. You couldn't help but mark those days, as you wondered if you imagined the sadness that followed after him.

Your Jedi, you felt embarrassed to even be thinking it.

You're almost ready to mark it down to another close encounter but then he steps inside. You falter as your mother goes to greet him, distracted by the tap of her cane along the ground. You can't help but shake your head as you watch them interact. Growing up, she always had to serve him instead of you. You had cried and wailed in the kitchen, as she tried to coax you over to his table, where he sat with his master. Back then, he used to visit a lot more often. He had been happier then, carefree. The one time he had smiled at you, you had knocked over a decanter of sugar and had refused to go back outside until they left.

Your mother still liked to remind you of that, and it never failed to make you groan. You hoped he had forgotten that incident, not that he ever brought it up. Not that you ever talked to him. You were usually busy when he came in, engaged in some conversation or already taking someone's order, and someone else usually ended up serving him. It was probably for the best, the only times you had ever interacted, you had been too tongue-tied to say anything.

Now, as you watch him smile up at your mother, you can't help but feel like a teenager again. You pretend to busy yourself at the counter cleaning glasses, as you take the chance to take him in. His hair is darker then you remember, and you can see a hint of grey at his temples that wasn't there before. He looks more mature, but his fringe still flops endearingly across his forehead, a few strands escaping his careful ministrations.

You've just run out of glasses, when your mother begins calling your name. You shoot her a distressed look, that you carefully smooth out when the Jedi turns to look at you as well. Steeling your nerves, and internally deriding yourself for your silly crush, you make your way over.

"There she is, my girl", your mother coos, acting innocent your mind supplies, as she latches onto your arm. You keep your gaze trained carefully on her, arching an eyebrow as you wait for to continue.

"I was just about to take our Jedi friends order", she continues, completely undetered by your stink eye, "but my hip is acting up again".

You're torn between asking if she's okay and rolling your eyes. After a million arguments with her over her health, you knew there was no way she was actually admitting she had a problem. This was just pure evil, was what it was. "You can take his order, can't you dear?".

"Of course, mother, go sit down and I'll come check on you after".

You watch her dodder away, all the while throwing insults at the back of her head. She may as well be innocently whistling, for how obvious she is. The Jedi has to clear his throat, to get your attention. You don't know if you're relieved to see him containing a wry grin, or mortified that he might have caught onto your mother's needless meddling. You don't need her interfering with your non-existent love life, and you definitely don't need her trying to set you up with an actual monk. It would be hilarious, if it wasn't absolutely tragic.

"I hope she'll be okay?", he asks, gesturing over to the doorway your mother had disappeared through. You don't have to look over, to know she's probably peering out through the serving hatch.

"Oh she'll be fine", you answer dryly, before quickly reeling yourself in, "I mean, her hip has been bad for awhile now, she just needs to not exert herself too much".

You say this all to the notepad you now clutch in your hands, eyes flickering up once or twice to take in his concerned expression. Hopefully, he fell for your cover story. The other option was too embarrassing to consider.

Another strand of hair slipped down onto his forehead, and you couldn't help but open your mouth again. "You cut your hair".

He seems surprised by the statement, hand raising up as if to check the truth of your statement, and you can't help but notice the blush that rises to the top of his cheeks, almost hidden by the smattering of freckles that spread across the bridge of his nose.

"Oh yes, I did, seemed like it was time for a change", he replies, awkwardly clearing his throat. You curse your lose mouth, as you drop your eyes back down to the blank page infront of you, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation back to clear waters.

"Your hair", he begins, looking almost startled to hear himself speaking, "you changed it too".

This time it's your turn to raise your hand, as you shyly tuck a lose strand behind your ear. You can't believe he even noticed. In all your years of pining over him, you had never noticed him looking back but now you considered the possibility that you might have simply missed it.

"Like you said, it was time for a change".

You're smiling at him like an idiot, and he's smiling right back. You feel like you both exist in your own little bubble, as the din of diner seems to fade away. You feel the tension uncoil from your stomach, as the nervous weight in your chest eases away. A part of you wonders why you ever felt awkward around him.

"What can I get you today?", you ask finally, still smiling as you fish another pen from your pocket. You're always losing them, and usually end up stealing from your mother's collection.

"Well, you see I'm not quite sure", he replies, staring down almost balefully at the menu, "I don't know why I came in today, if I'm being honest".

With a considering look around the diner, you slide into the booth across from him. He looks startled for a moment but it quickly smoothes into the same pleasant front as before. You might not have noticed, if you hadn't spent so many years observing him.

"So you what, followed the Force?".

You keep your voice quiet, leaning in as if to share a secret. You're pleased to seem him follow suit, as he considers your words. He smells like the inside of you tea cupboard, something woodsy and herbal, mixed with expensive cologne. You decide there and then that whatever it is, it's your new favourite scent.

"Something like that", he replies, a rueful grin peaking out from beneath his beard.

"Okay, well I'm about to go on my break, so how about I make us tea and we figure it out over lunch?".

The mask drops again, and you can see his mouth forming words of surprise before his expression breaks out into a smile. It's genuine this time, you're pleased to see. "Yes, I think I'd like that".

"Me too", you say, smiling in return, "and you don't have to ask the Force about that one".

It looks like you owed your mother a life time supply of pens.