#if there's any spelling errors no there's not

[godricgryffinsnore]

So......tadaaaa, just when you thought you have striked off another request from the list, you have another.

(because I need some good Harry Potte/reader stuff, even if it takes weeks)

He was in a pretty bad mood, he had been stood up on a first date. He slumped on his way back when a girl came and sat beside him on the train, crying.

[slow burn please. Like the slowest slow burn. I am looking for a long slow burn...And Sirius is alive.]

All the Quiet Things ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : When a chance meeting on a train changes the course of two very different lives, what begins as quiet companionship turns into something deeper—something far more difficult to ignore. Amid shared silences, buried feelings, and a few missteps along the way, two souls learn what it means to heal, to choose, and to love without fear.

warnings : Emotional distress, crying, and healing, Jealousy, arguments, and dramatic love confession, Strong language and romantic angst, Explicit sexual content (18+): oral (both), unprotected sex, praise/dirty talk, slow to rough progression, Embarrassing moment (others overhear them), Canon divergence (Sirius, Remus & Cedric alive), Comfort, fluff, and aftercare. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3. THIS IS AN 18+ FAN FICTION. PLEASE DO NOT ENTER IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE OR IF YOU ARE A MINOR!!!

della's note : Ya, so it happened... I don't know how, where or when I got the urge to write a smut scene, but I did. But don't worry, if you want this fic in a free-smut type of way, you can read it without the smut too. Smut is at the very end of the fan fic... and I will let you know when it starts. I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT <333

word count : 4.8k

main master list <3

banners : @uzmacchiato and @cafekitsune

He had never liked dates.

He didn't know why he’d even said yes. Lavender had cornered him with her glittering eyes and her sugar-slick voice, and something about the way Ron had elbowed him had made Harry nod before his brain could catch up.

Now, it was raining. Of course it was raining.

The coffee shop had smelled too sweet, and the date never showed. Harry had sat at the window, watching the clouds gather like an omen. He didn’t even like coffee. He’d stared at his reflection in the glass—scar, glasses, eyes too tired for eighteen—and had wondered what he looked like to the rest of the world.

The train back to Grimmauld Place was nearly empty. The wet streets had scared the tourists off, and he was grateful for the silence.

He slumped into the seat by the window, coat damp, hair clinging to his forehead. His jaw was tight. The overhead lights buzzed.

Then—

A soft sound. A sniffle.

He turned, and there she was.

A girl. His age. Book pressed tight to her chest, sleeves too long, eyes swollen and red.

She sat across from him, not noticing him at all, crumpling into the corner like she was trying to disappear.

Harry should have looked away.

But she was crying. Not loud, not the kind of crying that begged attention—no. This was the silent kind. The lonely kind.

The kind he knew well.

“Are you alright?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She startled, blinking up at him like she'd only just realized he was there. Her lashes were soaked, and there was a smudge of ink on her cheek.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. It was the automatic kind of lie.

He didn’t believe her.

But he didn’t press.

The train groaned into motion, and the city lights outside blurred into gold.

She turned her face to the window, but not before he saw it—that broken sort of look, the kind people wore when they’d held on too tightly to something that slipped right through their fingers.

He wanted to ask. Who hurt you? Why are you crying? What book is that?

But instead, he sat in silence. Watching the rain. Listening to her breathe.

They didn’t speak again that night.

When the train stopped, she stood and disappeared into the dark, and he didn’t even know her name.

── .✦

They saw each other again.

Weeks later, in the library at Grimmauld Place.

It was Sirius who called her in. “Harry! This is the one I told you about—she’s working with the new historical records team from the Ministry. She’s got the brains of a Ravenclaw and the patience of a saint.”

Harry turned, and there she was.

She didn’t look surprised to see him. But she did smile—a small, knowing thing that twisted something deep in his chest.

“You’re the girl from the train,” he said, before he could stop himself.

Her eyes flickered. “And you’re the boy who stared at me like I was made of glass.”

Sirius looked between them, brows raised.

Neither of them explained.

── .✦

Weeks became months.

She started showing up more.

She was clever. Quiet. Laughed softly at Sirius’s ridiculous stories, asked sharp questions during Order meetings, and always smelled faintly like old parchment and stormy nights.

Harry liked talking to her. He liked the way her mind worked—how she made him feel like he wasn’t just the Boy Who Lived but a person with questions and dreams and wounds that didn’t need to be hidden.

But it wasn’t easy. Nothing ever was.

There were arguments. Disagreements. He didn’t like how she looked at Malfoy when he visited to give intel, didn’t like how she smiled when she spoke to Cedric Diggory at the Ministry.

She didn’t like how he shut down when he was hurting. How he’d go quiet and cold and pretend like nothing ever touched him.

“Harry,” she said one night, voice sharp with something unnameable, “You don't get to decide who I talk to.”

“I’m not deciding,” he snapped. “I’m just saying—Diggory? Really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

And that’s when it began.

The bitterness. The bite. The awkward silences at meetings. The thunder in his chest when she smiled at someone else. The way she flinched when he ignored her in front of Ron and Hermione.

They became enemies in the way only people who used to care could be.

But oh—he still watched her.

He knew how she took her tea. Knew she cried when she read tragic poetry. Knew she kept a picture of her little sister in her notebook and touched it when she thought no one was looking.

She knew him too.

She knew how he clenched his fist when he lied. Knew when his nightmares came back, even when he didn’t say a word.

But they were silent. Too prideful. Too afraid.

Until the night everything broke.

── .✦

It was a storm.

It always had to be a storm.

Grimmauld Place, the attic, papers flying, windows rattling. The Order had had a terrible night, and Sirius had been nearly killed, and Harry found her pacing, wild-eyed, her hands shaking.

“You could’ve died!” she shouted at him. “You just ran in! No plan—no—nothing! What if—what if I never saw you again, you bloody stupid boy?!”

“I didn’t need a plan!” he yelled back. “I needed to save him!”

“You’re reckless! Arrogant! Self-sacrificing and completely idiotic—!”

“And you’re impossible!” he roared. “You smile at Cedric like I don’t exist, then act like you care—!”

“Because I do care, you great big idiot! I always did!”

Silence.

Breathing.

The storm howled outside, but inside—utter stillness.

“I always did,” she whispered again. “From the moment you asked if I was okay on that train.”

Harry stared.

She looked like everything he’d ever wanted and been too scared to ask for.

“I love you,” he said, voice hoarse, cracking. “I love you and it’s miserable. You make me feel like I’m worth something and I hate it because I’m terrified of losing you.”

And then—

They kissed.

Like a war ending. Like peace being signed on trembling lips. Like two storms learning how to hold hands without turning to thunder.

── .✦

They didn’t speak about the kiss.

Not the next day. Not the day after that.

She went back to the library. Harry helped Molly with dinner. They exchanged glances like secret letters—quiet, cautious, trembling with things unsaid.

Sirius noticed, of course.

“Why are you walking like you’re being haunted by your own hormones?” he muttered to Harry in the hallway, raising a brow. “Did something happen or not?”

Harry flushed so deeply he might’ve been hexed.

But no answer came.

Because the truth was this: kissing her had felt like magic, real magic—the kind Hogwarts never taught. And now, he was afraid that if he said it aloud, it would vanish into smoke.

── .✦

A week later, she packed her bag.

The Ministry needed her in Bulgaria for a temporary assignment. Three months. Maybe four. She didn’t tell Harry until the morning she was leaving.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” she said quietly, her fingers knotting in the strap of her satchel.

Harry stared at her.

“I care too much,” he replied. “That’s the whole problem.”

She smiled sadly. “You’re not the problem, Harry. You never were.”

And before he could say something—anything—she was gone.

── .✦

He wrote to her.

Every week.

He never sent them.

They were scrawled on napkins, the corners of maps, the back of old Order memos. He’d fold them, unfold them. Sometimes burn them in the fireplace, watching the words curl into ash.

I miss the way you whisper when you read aloud. I miss your damn tea order. I miss your stupid bookmark collection and the way you smell like lavender and rain. I miss you like a wound. Like air.

She wrote too.

But never to him.

She wrote poetry. Scribbled it between research notes. Tiny verses that felt like bleeding.

He looks at me like I’m holy and runs from me like I’m fire.

── .✦

When she came back, it was snowing.

December wrapped London in white lace, and the streets were muffled with softness. She arrived at Grimmauld Place with wind-blushed cheeks and frozen fingers.

Harry didn’t know she was coming.

He opened the door and nearly dropped his wand.

She looked... different. Softer, maybe. A little older. But the second their eyes met, something in his chest cracked wide open.

“You’re back,” he said dumbly.

“Apparently,” she whispered.

And then—

He stepped aside, and she walked back into the house. Into his world. Into the place that always felt like it had been waiting for her.

── .✦

It wasn’t easy.

They were awkward. Stilted. She would laugh too loud around others, and he would grow quiet again, like a tide retreating. He was still jealous. She still didn’t explain the way she’d touched Cedric’s arm at the last Order meeting. The tension curled between them like smoke—every conversation a slow unravelling.

Then one night—it broke.

A Christmas party. Too much firewhisky. A hallway. A sideways glance.

He snapped.

“You still love him, don’t you?” he said, sharp as glass. “You talk to me like I matter, and then you run to him every time he walks into a room.”

She turned slowly. Her eyes were on fire.

“How dare you,” she hissed. “You don’t get to dictate who I speak to, Potter. You don’t even speak to me unless it’s convenient for your bruised ego!”

His breath hitched.

“You kissed me,” he said.

“You kissed me,” she snapped. “And then you disappeared.”

“I was scared!”

“So was I!”

A pause.

A breath.

Her eyes glistened. “You think you’re the only one who’s been broken? You think you’re the only one who’s terrified of being loved just to be left?”

Harry’s hands shook. “I’m not good at this.”

“Neither am I,” she whispered. “But I’m still here. I’m trying.”

And then—softly.

“I love you,” she breathed, voice raw. “I’ve loved you since the train. Since the moment you looked at me like I wasn’t invisible.”

His chest cracked. Splintered.

“I love you,” he said back. “I love you so much it hurts.”

And this time, when they kissed—it wasn’t fireworks.

It was home.

── .✦

“You’re an idiot.”

Harry turned, startled. Sirius was leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, an infuriating grin on his face.

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve got that guilty ‘I kissed her again and now I don’t know if it meant everything or nothing’ look.”

Harry groaned and dropped his head to the table.

Sirius chuckled. “Relax, Prongslet. I’m proud of you. Took you what—two years and a raging argument to finally confess?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you hate how much you care. You hate that she makes you nervous. You hate that you want forever and don’t know if she does.”

Harry looked up. “Do you think she does?”

Sirius tilted his head, suddenly serious. “She looks at you like you hung the stars, Harry. That kind of love doesn’t fade.”

── .✦

Meanwhile, upstairs, she stood in front of the mirror, still trembling from that kiss.

She touched her lips, blinking at herself like she wasn’t sure she was real. There was something quiet blooming in her chest—hope, maybe. Or peace. Or the terrifying beginnings of both.

And then—

“Mistletoe,” Sirius announced, bursting into the room.

She screamed and spun, nearly throwing her hairbrush.

“What the hell—?!”

He grinned. “I need your help with some holiday decorations.”

“Sirius Black, if you ever want to live to see another Christmas—”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted with a wink. “The mistletoe’s not for me.”

He disappeared before she could hex him.

── .✦

The next few weeks were... soft.

Not perfect. But gentle.

She and Harry spoke more. Laughed more. There were long walks in the snow. Quiet tea in the library. Glances that lingered like poetry.

And the touches—

A hand brushing hers when passing her a quill. A shoulder leaning too close while reading by the fireplace. A pinky that hooked hers under the dinner table.

They didn’t talk about labels. Or plans. Or the future.

They just were.

And it was enough—for now.

── .✦

New Year’s Eve.

The entire house was glowing—candles floating in the air, laughter echoing through the halls, the scent of cinnamon and firewhisky thick in the air.

At 11:59, Sirius shouted, “Make a wish!”

Harry didn’t need to.

He was already standing beside her.

And when the clock struck twelve—

He kissed her. Quietly. Reverently. Like a prayer.

Not because he had to.

But because he could.

Because she was real. And here. And his.

And when she smiled against his lips, he felt like maybe, just maybe, all the quiet things were the most beautiful.

── .✦

It was late January when they went back to Hogwarts.

Not as students, no—not anymore.

McGonagall had invited them to speak to the sixth-years about magical ethics and wartime resilience. (Sirius joked that his own speech would be titled “Don’t Trust the Government, or Your Mother.”)

But really, it was just an excuse. An excuse to go back. To remember. To stand in those halls again and feel, for a moment, seventeen.

They walked through the front doors together, their fingers brushing but not quite intertwining, boots crunching on the snow-slicked stone.

The castle was quiet, blanketed in soft winter. Icicles like crystal daggers hung from the towers. Somewhere, faintly, a choir of enchanted birds sang from the rafters.

She looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall and whispered, “It still feels like home.”

Harry looked at her.

So do you.

But he didn’t say it.

── .✦

Later that night, she found a small box on her pillow in the guest quarters.

Wrapped in dark green ribbon.

No note.

She opened it carefully—and gasped.

A charm bracelet.

Delicate. Golden. With three tiny charms already affixed.

A lightning bolt.

A teacup.

A moon.

When she touched them, they shimmered with warmth—enchanted.

The lightning bolt whispered, I’ll protect you.

The teacup murmured, I remember.

And the moon breathed, Even when we’re apart, you’re never alone.

She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes burning.

He hadn’t said a word.

But it was the most beautiful confession she’d ever heard.

── .✦

They went into Hogsmeade the next day.

It was bright with winter sunlight, the sky a sheet of silver-blue. They laughed together in the snow, tried butterbeer with cinnamon, got caught in a tangle of enchanted scarves at Gladrags.

And then—

He saw it.

A man. Laughing with her near Honeydukes. Brushing snowflakes from her cheek.

Cedric.

Harry froze.

He knew they were friends. He knew.

But still.

His blood went hot.

Jealousy curled through him like smoke. He stood, fists clenched, eyes locked on the soft, lingering way she looked at Cedric as he handed her a sugar quill.

Later, she found Harry sitting alone by the Shrieking Shack.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at her.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

A pause.

He exhaled sharply. “You smiled at him like I wasn’t even there.”

She blinked. “Harry—”

“You still like him, don’t you?”

Now she was angry.

“Are you serious? Cedric is my friend. He’s been there since before you even looked my way!”

“I’ve always looked at you,” he snapped. “You just never saw me.”

“Oh, I saw you. I saw you when you ignored me. When you let me walk away. When you kissed me and vanished.”

“I was scared!”

“I wasn’t,” she hissed, eyes glistening. “And I still showed up. I still loved you. Even when you gave me nothing.”

His breath caught.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She turned away. “Maybe sorry isn’t enough anymore.”

── .✦

She didn’t speak to him for three days.

Not in the corridors, not in the common areas, not even during the goodbye dinner in the Great Hall.

Harry felt like the walls were closing in.

Everywhere he went, he looked for her. Every empty chair she used to occupy, every ghost of her laugh echoing down the halls—it all clawed at him.

And yet, he said nothing.

Until Sirius—who’d had quite enough—shoved him up the Astronomy Tower steps one evening, locked the door behind him with a muttered, “For Merlin’s sake, fix it,” and vanished.

She was there.

Of course she was.

The stars tangled in her hair, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out at the frost-glittered grounds below. She didn’t look up when he entered.

“I thought you’d given up,” she said softly.

He stepped closer. “Never. Not on you.”

She still wouldn’t look at him. “Then why did you keep leaving?”

Harry’s voice cracked. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Her breath caught.

“Because I was terrified that the second I touched something good, it would disappear. Like everything else.”

She turned then. Slowly. Her eyes—shining, tired, beautiful.

“And what changed?”

He stepped forward, close enough to brush her cheek with his breath.

“You didn’t disappear,” he whispered. “You stayed. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was a coward.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—quietly, trembling—he dropped to his knees before her.

“I love you.”

She stared.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another charm for the bracelet.

A star.

“Every time I lost my way, I followed you,” he murmured. “You were the light.”

Her lips parted. Her heart pounded.

He took her hand. “Let me try. Let me show you that I can be soft. That I can be better. That I can love you the way you deserve—without fear, without running.”

The silence cracked wide open.

And she kissed him.

Not in a storm of fire—but in a hush of stars. Slow. Gentle. Forgiving.

Her fingers trembled against his jaw.

“I love you,” she breathed back. “I think I always did.”

── .✦

Years later, Harry would still remember that night.

The soft rustle of her laughter, the way her fingers laced through his. The first time he felt like the world had stopped spinning just so they could finally begin.

They’d return to Grimmauld Place, hand in hand.

She’d read to him by the fireplace.

He’d cook (badly) and she’d pretend to love it.

Sirius would roll his eyes and tell Remus that finally, the idiots had figured it out.

And Harry—

Harry would never forget what she said to him one night, curled against his chest beneath a sea of blankets.

“You don’t have to fight for me anymore,” she whispered.

And he’d kiss the top of her head and murmur,

“No. But I’ll love you like I still have to.”

Grimmauld Place, the night they moved in.

The house was quiet. For once. Sirius and Remus had left for an Order errand, something vague and dangerous-sounding that neither Harry nor she had pressed too hard about. The silence that followed their departure was warm—not heavy. Not haunted. Just theirs.

And then Harry walked out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea—shirtless.

Shirtless.

With the waistband of his grey sweatpants slung far too low on his hips, hair still damp from a rushed shower.

She was curled up on the sofa, blanket around her legs and a book balanced lazily in her lap, but when she looked up and saw him standing there, her Harry, in their house—something shifted.

She grinned. “You’re not even trying to be subtle, are you?”

Harry raised a brow and handed her the mug. “Subtle?”

She gestured lazily to his very bare chest. “You’re practically begging to be devoured.”

His smirk curled up devilishly. “You offering?”

She blinked. “Oh, I’m more than offering.”

And just like that—air crackled.

Harry set his mug down slowly. Purposefully. Then crawled onto the couch, straddling her legs with a wicked look in his eye. “You think I planned this? That I came out here thinking, ‘Let’s seduce her tonight’?”

She leaned back, smirking. “Did you?”

“No,” he murmured, mouth brushing her jaw, “but now that we’re here... I’m thinking about a lot of things.”

His lips were hot as they kissed down her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. He chuckled against her skin.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

So he did.

── .✦

They kissed like the air between them had finally caught fire. Slow at first, teasing, his tongue coaxing hers into a rhythm that made her toes curl under the blanket. His hands found her thighs, pushing the fabric aside, letting his fingers trail up and up until they ghosted over the soft cotton between her legs.

“You’re already wet,” he whispered against her lips, voice low and wrecked. “Is this all for me?”

“All of it,” she breathed. “Always for you.”

He groaned, deep and desperate, and kissed her again before sliding down the couch and settling between her legs.

“Let me taste you.”

She nodded, eyes wide, heart racing.

He tugged her panties off slowly, dragging the damp fabric down her legs like it was a gift he’d been aching to unwrap. And then he licked a stripe up her slit—slow, reverent—before moaning like he’d been starving for her.

“Fuck, sweetheart… you taste so good.”

His tongue was sinful. Deliberate. He licked, sucked, and circled her clit with slow precision, using his fingers to tease her open. She arched, hips rocking toward his mouth, gasping his name.

“Harry—oh, God—”

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice thick, lips wet. “Let me hear you. Let me make you come.”

He slipped a finger inside her. Then another. Curling them just right while his tongue stayed locked on her clit, flicking harder, faster.

She cried out—sharp, broken—and came with a full-body tremble, hand tangled in his hair.

But he wasn’t done.

He kissed his way up her body, letting her feel every inch of his weight as he pressed her into the couch. Her fingers found the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, gasping when his cock sprang free, hot and heavy against her thigh.

She flipped them suddenly, pushing him back onto the cushions.

“My turn.”

He stared up at her, dazed. “Are you—”

But she was already sinking down between his legs, tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock. He groaned, head tipping back, one hand gripping the couch while the other threaded into her hair.

“Shit—fuck, baby…”

She took him deep, slow at first, letting her tongue swirl as she hollowed her cheeks, moaning around him. He bucked instinctively, hips twitching, then stilled.

“Merlin, you’re gonna ruin me.”

She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, mouth full of him, and smiled.

That did it.

He pulled her up, breathless. “I need to be inside you.”

“Then take me.”

And he did.

── .✦

He lined himself up and pushed in slowly—so slowly—watching her eyes flutter shut, her mouth fall open in a silent moan.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, burying himself to the hilt. “You feel perfect. So fucking tight, sweetheart…”

She gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “Move, Harry, please—”

He pulled out almost completely, then thrust back in hard. She cried out.

And he talked her through every second.

“Just like that.” “Taking me so well.” “You were made for me, weren’t you?” “Look at me. I want to see your face when you fall apart.”

Their rhythm built—slow and deep, then faster, harder. Their bodies tangled, sweat-slicked and desperate, Harry’s name falling from her lips like a prayer.

He kissed her through her next orgasm—held her as she shook around him, tightening impossibly—and then buried his face in her neck as he followed, moaning into her skin.

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and breath and love.

── .✦

Later, when the sweat cooled and the stars were peeking through the curtains, he pulled the blanket over them and kissed her temple.

“You okay?”

She smiled sleepily. “I’m perfect.”

He looked down at her, wonder in his eyes.

“We live here now,” he whispered.

“We love here now,” she corrected.

And Harry Potter—her best friend, her storm, her home—held her tighter and said,

“Only you. Always you.”

── .✦

The first morning in their home.

The sunlight spilled in warm and golden. It bathed their skin in honey, lit her collarbones, kissed the curve of her thigh where Harry’s hand had curled all night long.

He was awake before her.

Still naked, hair a disaster, the sheet barely covering his lower half, and his eyes were locked on her. Soft. Mesmerized.

She stirred, blinking against the morning light.

“Harry?” her voice was hoarse, sleep-heavy.

He smiled. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Mmm… I’m sore.” She winced as she stretched, then gasped when she felt it—the dull ache of being loved properly.

Harry leaned over, kissing her bare shoulder. “Good sore?”

She glanced at him and raised a brow. “Smug much?”

He kissed her again. “You were perfect. You always are.”

Her fingers found his curls and tugged him in. “Then do something perfect again, Potter.”

He smirked—slow, sinful—and slid the sheet down, exposing her breasts to the cool morning air.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

── .✦

It wasn’t fast this time.

It was slow.

He worshipped her.

Kissed his way down her body like every inch of her was sacred. Bit at her hips. Licked at her inner thighs. Suckled her clit with aching tenderness that turned quickly filthy, his tongue moving in perfect circles while his fingers dipped into her soaked heat.

She gasped, cried out, her hand over her mouth to keep quiet—but he pulled it away.

“Don’t,” he whispered, voice dark. “Let them hear. Let the whole bloody house know who you belong to.”

She came with a strangled moan.

But he didn’t stop.

He flipped her over and took her from behind, her chest pressed to their pillows while his hands gripped her hips, fucking her slow and deep.

“You feel that?” he panted, voice rough. “That’s mine. All of this—yours and mine.”

She clawed at the sheets. “Yes, Harry, oh fuck—”

He reached around to rub her clit in fast circles, hips slamming into her harder now, all rhythm lost in raw need.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “Come for me again. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And she did. Shaking. Crying his name.

He followed a second later with a broken, “Fuck—yes—”, spilling inside her as he buried himself one last time.

── .✦

Later, when they finally dragged themselves to the bathroom, still shaky-legged and flushed, she tried to brush her teeth.

Tried.

Harry stood behind her in nothing but boxers, arms wrapped around her waist, his face in her neck.

“Stop,” she giggled through a mouth full of toothpaste. “Let me brush.”

“I like watching you,” he said, voice gravelly. “You’re too pretty to ignore.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m your menace.”

She spat, wiped her mouth, and turned around to face him—only to find herself lifted onto the sink, Harry between her legs again.

“Again?” she laughed, arms around his neck.

He kissed her, slow and deep. “Always.”

── .✦

Bonus :

Grimmauld Place, still warm from last night’s sins.

The kitchen smelled like toast. And sin. Mostly sin.

She was perched on the counter in one of Harry’s oversized T-shirts, her legs swinging lazily while Harry hovered at the stove, flipping eggs with the focus of a man who was absolutely trying to avoid a conversation.

Not with her.

No, she was grinning like the cat who’d eaten the canary. It was the other two occupants of the house they were both actively ignoring.

Because Sirius and Remus were seated at the kitchen table. And they were smirking.

“Well,” Sirius said, dramatically stirring his tea, “someone had a very active morning.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed. “Do we need to do this?”

Remus tried to keep a straight face. Failed. “You moaned her name like it was your Patronus.”

“Loudly,” Sirius added. “Repeatedly.”

“Honestly, I thought it was a murder.”

“A very sexy murder.”

Harry turned around slowly, face beet red, spatula still in hand. “You two have no boundaries.”

Remus lifted his mug. “We raised you. There’s nothing left to protect.”

Sirius leaned forward, chin in hand. “Though I have to say, I’m deeply offended you didn’t use a Silencing Charm. I live here, Harry. I live here.”

Harry turned to her, horrified. “Why didn’t we use a—”

She just beamed. “Because I like making you moan.”

Sirius choked on his tea. Remus actually blushed.

Harry groaned and buried his face in the kitchen towel. “I’m moving out.”

“You just moved in,” Sirius grinned. “And now you’ve christened the whole damn house.”

Remus chuckled. “Honestly, we’re just happy for you both.”

Sirius grinned, eyes sparkling. “Disgusted. Traumatized. But happy.”

Harry handed her a plate, still scarlet. “You’re evil.”

She kissed his cheek sweetly. “You moaned my name first, Potter.”

Sirius and Remus both groaned.

Harry hid his face in her neck.

The kitchen was filled with laughter, toast, and a love that was far too loud to be ashamed of.

[missimaginx]

MY GIRLFRIEND IS A WITCH | KA12

pairing: kimi antonelli x f!girlfriend!witch!reader

plot: where kimi discovers your biggest secret.

warnings: narrated in first person (reader’s pov); female reader; the reader is a witch; all information in this one shot about magic, spells, potions, etc. were taken from universes such as: harry potter, samantha the witch, sabrina the apprentice witch, wandavision, the worst witch and other films and books; possible grammatical errors; english is not my first language :).

a/n: images taken from pinterest. i know this is more of a halloween vibe, but i was binge watching harry potter again and then the idea came to me and didn't leave my head until i wrote it 🙃. hope you like it!! (wc: 1k)

remembering that this is just fiction, all the people portrayed here have their own personalities and their own relationships.

I knew something was going to happen.

The moment I woke up, I felt that sensation—a slight tingling behind my ear, the faintest hint of a premonition that didn’t match how I was actually feeling. It was as if my body had received an emotional spoiler from the universe. And, like any sensible person with an active magical sixth sense, I did what any witch would do… I ignored it.

Was it my smartest choice? No.

Did I have my reasons? Yes.

It was Saturday. Finals week was finally over. Summer had officially begun. Just one week to go until vacation. And I had plans with Kimi: we were going to spend the afternoon binge-watching all the movies on our “cheesy couple movie list.” It was our ritual. I wasn’t about to let a random feeling ruin our session of couch time, laughter, and sarcastic commentary.

Today I wasn’t going to be: Y/N, the witch with a magical sixth sense blaring like an alarm…

Today I was just going to be: Y/N, the cool girlfriend who makes the best jam cookies in all of Italy.

In other words: no magic. Just me, a recipe book, and fresh ingredients.

Except… I had cruelly underestimated the art of baking.

The three sad, demoralized batches on the counter stared at me with something like… pity. The first one was overcooked — basically charcoal. The second barely baked, with a soft, depressing center. The third looked edible, but the strawberry jam was so bitter that the smell alone soured my mood.

It was supposed to be easy. I’d done this before. Many times. But apparently, mixing powdered asphodel root with wormwood infusion for an Anti-Fire potion is not exactly the same as mixing flour and eggs for dough.

I sighed, checking the clock. 2:00 p.m. Kimi would arrive at three. I didn’t have a single presentable cookie.

Okay… I know what I said. No magic. But desperate times call for equally desperate spells.

“What kind of spell does a witch who can’t bake even use…?” I muttered, staring at the battleground my kitchen had become… where I had clearly lost every battle.

That’s when my eyes landed on Nero, my black cat and eternal culinary critic — or just eternal critic in general — perched on the counter stool. His emerald green eyes pierced me with the silent judgment of someone who’d seen this movie before.

“Alright, I know it’s a bad idea to use magic for this,” I rolled my eyes. “But have you seen these cookies? I can’t give these to Kimi! He’ll think I tried to poison him!”

Nero blinked slowly, flicked his tail with disdain, and jumped off the stool, strutting with full feline royalty up the stairs to the shop’s upper floor—where my family lived.

“Hey! You’re supposed to help me find the right spell!” I shouted after him. “That’s what familiars do, isn’t it?”

No answer. Of course. He was a cat with priorities — and clearly, my lack of baking skills wasn’t one of them.

I huffed, walked to the cupboard, grabbed Grandma’s grimoire, and flipped to the section on light kitchen spells. The spell seemed simple enough: the right words, the right motion, clear intent. Okay. I can do this.

I made the gesture the book described, recited the enchantment, and let the magic flow.

The kitchen came to life in seconds. Sugar measured itself, eggs cracked perfectly, the dough stirred itself in bowls with grace, spoons floated elegantly — everything looked… enchanting.

Literally.

I was so focused, smiling proudly at the magical symphony I’d orchestrated, I didn’t hear the store’s door chime as it opened. Nor the soft footsteps on the wooden floor. Nor the sound of a bag being placed on the counter.

“Y/N?”

The voice hit me like an ice spell. I turned slowly, heart pounding like a small explosion.

Kimi.

My very human boyfriend who had no idea I was a witch. Standing in the kitchen doorway. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Watching floating cookies, self-cracking eggs, dancing jars on the counter, and a grimoire open in the middle of the table.

“AH!” I screamed. But not just any scream. A Y/N™ scream — the kind that immediately cancels spells out of sheer magical reflex.

Result? Chaos.

The flour bag dropped, creating a white cloud of processed wheat. The bowl of jam tipped over, strawberry mush splattering to the floor like a sugar bomb. Eggs shattered in slow motion. A wooden spoon fell from the air and bonked me on the head before hitting the ground.

For a moment, the world froze. Like, literally. I didn’t even breathe.

Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the kitchen stool. But clearly, I was the one who needed to sit down. My legs were shaking.

“I was going to tell you! I swear I was! Someday! Later on! Like… maybe when we were married?!” I blurted out way too fast. “But I wanted today to be normal! I swear I tried to make the cookies without magic! I really tried!”

“Y/N…” he said again, voice way too calm for the situation.

“And then everything went wrong, and I panicked, and Nero left, and then the spoons started rebelling and… and… and—”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!” I yelled, breathless, hands trembling.

Kimi looked at me with that lopsided smile of his — half amused, half affectionate — and said:

“That explains a lot.”

I blinked.

“You… you’re not freaking out?”

“No.”

“You’re… not running away?”

“No.”

“You think… I’m crazy?”

He laughed.

“Y/N, I’m dating you. I’ve already accepted that logic isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

I rolled my eyes and let out a nervous giggle.

“But seriously,” he continued, now with a sparkle in his eyes, “I always knew there was something kind of magical about you. You shine in a… different way.”

My brain melted a little.

Slowly, Kimi reached out, held my wrists, and gently pulled me to sit on one of the kitchen stools.

I sat down slowly, still half in disbelief.

“So…” I began, trying to sound steady. “I’m a witch.”

“Figured.” He smiled, leaning in to wipe some flour off my cheek. “Is this like Hogwarts? Do you have a wand?”

“It’s different. More… traditional. My family follows an old lineage of Italian witches. We use natural magic, gestures, ancient words, symbols. And yes, sometimes a wand helps. But my mom always says ‘the strongest catalyst is intention.’ And…”

“And the chess?” he interrupted, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Was that all a cover?”

“Totally,” I sighed. “I don’t do tournaments. Every time I said I was traveling for one, I was actually going to Scuola di Stregoneria di Valdorcia — a secret magic school in the middle of Tuscany. I suck at chess, to be honest.”

He burst out laughing.

“Knew it! You always dodged playing with me!”

“Obviously. You’d figure out my strategy was pretending I had a strategy.”

He laughed again—and this time, I laughed too. We laughed together. At the situation, at the jam on the floor, the flour in my hair, the magic revealed, and the sheer madness of our lives.

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking—about spells, potions, Valdorcia, Nero, how strict my grandma is with magical traditions, and how hard it is to hide a wand in a school backpack.

Kimi listened to everything. No judgment. Just fascination. Asking questions like a kid discovering a new world.

“Can you stop time?”

“Is there a spell to pass physics class?”

“Does your cat talk?”

“Can you teach me one?”

As he asked, his eyes curious and gleaming with excitement, I realized how scary it was to tell my truth… and how freeing. For the first time, I talked about everything: how I grew up helping in my family’s café where every espresso had a pinch of magic; how I lied about chess tournaments while sneaking off to Tuscany on weekends; how keeping up the athlete scholarship facade was the only way to attend a regular school while still honoring my family’s traditions.

And between one question and another, I realized: he wasn’t scared.

He was enchanted.

In the end, we cleaned the kitchen together—or rather, he cleaned, and I just whined about the lost cookies.

“I’m sorry I ruined our romantic afternoon…” I mumbled, wiping up a jam stain.

“Y/N, you just revealed you’re a witch. You really think that ruined my day?”

“But the cookies…”

He picked up one of the survivors (barely), took a bite, and made a hilarious face.

“Okay, maybe the cookies. But you?” He smiled, leaned in close and whispered: “You’re the best part of my day.”

My heart melted faster than the butter in the recipe. I blushed. All the way to the tip of my ears.

And before I could say anything, he wrapped his arms around my waist, touched his forehead to mine, and murmured:

“Even without cookies. Even with jam on the floor. Even with you being a fully outed witch. You’re still Y/N. My Y/N.”

And in that moment… I knew. That I could breathe. That I could be myself. That the strongest spell wasn’t the one I cast on the cookies.

It was the one Kimi had cast on me since day one.

And he didn’t even need magic to do it.

[asingleshampdition]

Some people said they're scared about the implications of Lu Guang zipping his jacket up while Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi have their jackets loose. I'm here to offer some copium cause I don't want the highly likely bittersweet ending to actually come true 😭😭

In this section of the MV, Lu Guang is laughing at the error screens, likely as a homage to how many times he might have failed the timeline.

The clip of him zipping up his jacket and walking away can be interpreted as him letting go of his friends and leaving the past as it is, but also!---the Bridon Arc to Season 2 timeline is likely the furthest he's come in his journey (and I do believe the entire show takes place in one timeline because I don't think it would make sense otherwise). Qiao Ling gaining the abilities of Li Tianxi is very likely something Lu Guang has never seen in any of his previous attempts, and as seen in her deflecting Xia Fei's spell, she's going to be a powerful and important addition to their team.

Also, even though she shows up alongside Cheng Xiaoshi in Lu Guang's view of them on the TV, she's destroying a smaller TV with her bare teeth.

I believe this symbolizes how Lu Guang currently views them as critically endangered and how he believes it's up to him to save them. This makes sense because he always keeps his concerns about the timeline to himself, fearing that telling Qiao Ling or Cheng Xiaoshi the truth would destroy everything he's worked for. But in this clip, Qiao Ling proves that wrong (Cheng Xiaoshi does it later too) by biting down on the TV, even through Lu Guang's perception of her. She bites down on fate and shows her support for the latter. And at the end of the day, the trio is a team! Qiao Ling blows through Xia Fei to reach Liu Xiao and Vein, and even with the setback of Liu Xiao casting his spell on them, they still gather themselves and get ready to fight Vein.

Then Vein challenges Cheng Xiaoshi to mahjong, which the latter accepts.

I guess this could be read as him playing his game and falling for a trap, but I think it's really important to remember that Cheng Xiaoshi is not stupid, despite being painted as the silly himbo! He has saved three people from certain death throughout Season 1-2 (the little kid, Xu Shanshan, then himself in Lu Guang's body AND THEN LU GUANG TOO) and tricked Li Tianxi into surrendering his first host through quick thinking and insane improvisation (and Lu Guang's help, because they're a team!). Sure, he doesn't get everything right and isn't a genius like Lu Guang is, but I feel like after the big twist and Bridon Arc, we all kind of forgot just how smart he is because Lu Guang isn't a very reliable narrator after everything that's happened to him. Judging by the smile on his face, I'm sure he knows what he's doing, especially with Qiao Ling and Lu Guang to back him up.

Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang are partners. They work together intensively, and their past performance demonstrates they don't work well independently. Cheng Xiaoshi has his back if anything goes wrong; as shown in the last frame of the MV, he will go after anything that threatens his partner without hesitation. He will protect Lu Guang if he's in over his head in the new season, without any exception. My conclusion about the zipper clip is not that Lu Guang will have to leave the past be. In fact, I believe the people he sacrificed himself for time and time again will be more than eager to back him up, regardless of they know the full truth. Both Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi reaching for the screen as Lu Guang walks away represents this.

The problem is Lu Guang's reluctance to open up and let them in on what he needs help with. Like I said previously, Lu Guang has never let them in on anything he's gone through or experienced because of his fear that it will destroy all he's worked for. So while Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi try to reach him, jackets open and ready to support him, he zips his jacket up and their videos are cut short.

Lu Guang will probably have trouble communicating with the two in the new season out of fear for the timeline, because he thinks he's the only one who can bear the effect of his 'sins.' Also, he's a wanted fugitive in this part of the MV.

This could be in a symbolic or literal way (or both!), being guilty of going against his own principals and manipulating time for selfish reasons, OR he actually lands in jail because of miscommunication with Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi. I would actually really like it if the latter came true because Lu Guang going to jail and the other two having to bail him out is so funny to me.

Ironically, Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi both have their own mugshots on the song cover, and Lu Guang doesn't. I guess if Lu Guang goes down, they'll all go down with him to show their support.

Anyway, my conclusion about the zipper is that Lu Guang isn't leaving the timeline behind and moving on, and instead it's going to be some internal conflict with him not being able to confide in his friends and the shenanigans that are derived from it. And then they clasp hands and with the power of friendship Lu Guang shoots Vein and Liu Xiao between the eyes and they all ride off into the sunset!! And Shiguang becomes canon!!! 💥💥💥🙏🙏

[demigod-of-the-agni]

I wrote this because you inspired me. I’m sorry for any spelling and Grammar errors;

Lloyd had never seen that much blood. Though he wasn’t quite sure it was blood. Sure, it leaked out of its pierced feathery bodice like blood but it didn’t look like blood. It was black like tar and seemed burn the ground it drenched as if the earth below it was rejecting it. The creature, no the monster, had been a towering beast. A grotesque amalgamation of animals: a bird of prey, a lion, and even hints of what could have been considered a humanoid women all clunked together as if stitched by the hand of a child who may have experienced the worst nightmare of their life. It’s thick clawed hands responsible for much damage both to the village that it terrorized and the Ninja who came to subdue it.

Yet, the tower beast lay crushed under the lance of another great beast. It’s monstrous body crashing into the earth, and it’s black tar-like blood gushing everywhere like a kind of acid rain. Most ran for shelter, grabbing whoever they could to bring them out of the way. Lloyd ended up dragging Frak away from a rather nasty blob that almost took him out. When the dust settled, he could finally take stock of what was truly happening. He was frantically doing a headcount of his family as he heard the familiar clanking of metal behind him where the monster was.

The monster seemed to realize what had happened to her (it) and it gave a large screech. It rattled what remained of the windows of the village. However, it wasn’t the ferocity of the scream that made his blood run cold but it was the fact that it felt so scarily human. Lloyd dragged his eyes from making sure Frak had all his fingers, toes, and scales back to the monster whom struggled frantically with the lance that was lodged in her (it’s!) chest. Her eyes looked so scared that it looked horribly out of place plastered on her (its) monstrous body. It was a perfect contrast to her assailant.

The mech(?) stood immovable, its hand plastered around the lance it had imbedded in its chest. The metal behemoth was unbothered by the blood and the female monsters cries. Its eyes showed no emotion as it dragged the lance from the monster’s chest and let it fall back on its hind legs. It gave an animalistic growl and despite its gaping wound it surged forward. She slashed at for the mech, but in a truly humanistic move that Llyod had never seen a human piloted machine make it dashed and dodged the monster’s slash and managed to maneuver beast to the ground where with a graceful spin of the lance and a hard (SMASH) it was once again embedded in the beast.

Another sad humanistic scream followed as the monster frayed back and forth like a scared animal pinned under a superior predator. The misplaced sympathy that bubbled in his chest almost made Lloyd not hear Nya yell at them all.

“Move!”

He barely saw it the beast’s other wing came lurching forward. It hadn’t grazed him, the impact probably would have shattered every bone in his body, but the wind it created blew them all into the nearest building or wall. Truly, even on the ground the beast was not yet defeated. With a thunderous roar, the winged panther woman surged forward ripping her wing in half to get to the now defenseless mech who was too close to dodge.

But just as the monster surged, a blast of red came out of nowhere, then a blast of green, and finally the village was engulfed in flames. Red, green, hot flames.

“Kai, what the hell?” Lloyd heard someone yell but Lloyd couldn’t tell who the smoke made it hard to think. All he could focus on was his brother who crawled up the mech as if he had the speed of hundred individual legs, his sword gleaming with red.

It matched his eyes, a part of him whispered. But before he could wonder why he thought that, a shadow spread over the village as if the sun had been erased and it drenched the world in darkness.

A dragon, the size of the firstborn, hovered over the them all. Haloed, fearsome, awe-inspiring, the dragon was everything a child could have dreamt up in their imaginations when asked to describe their opinion of a “cool dragon.” Yet, it was this dragon who hovered above them ready to rain down hellfire down to them.

Blast.

Scream.

Blast.

Scream.

Blast.

Scream.

This haunting dance repeated for minutes as the monster was assaulted by barrage after barrage. Its skin beginning to smolder, boil, and fill the air with a noxious all encompassing smell of death.

And yet despite it all, the dragon smiled as the monster howled in pain. Lloyd was almost entrapped in the cruelty of the action that he almost missed Wyldfyre yell out, “Kai!”

Kai had finished his ascent and launched off the mech and like a cannonball armed with a sword slashed at the monster.

On the battlefield, for a quick moment, all was silent expect for the squishing, squashing, and cracking of bones, cartilage, and veins of the monsters neck as Kai’s sword slashed through it. A strangled scream, one that horrifically sounded like a “no, please” was the last thing the monster squawked out. Its freakish head landed with a crash, locked forever in a terrified expression.

Kai, on the other hand, never landed on the ground. He had clung to the mech’s lance which he caught after his finisher. His face was unreadable, but his eyes weren’t locked on the monster, his mouth was not curled into a smile, he wasn’t cracking a joke instead his eyes shifted between the mech and the dragon. The later of which, began to the descend, powerful thrust of winds threaten to destabilize what was left of the village below and as she landed her clawed foot landed (rather deliberately) on the bird panther’s head squishing it a truly horrific amount of jiblets that couldn’t be defined at anything anymore.

“Overkill,” the mech finally spoke.

“You always make sure that it’s dead,” the dragon replied. Their eyes trained on Kai, who remained on the lance.

He looked back. “Hello,” his voice sounded like the wind had been taken out of it. Quite in a way, Lloyd didn’t think Kai could actually reach.

“What is wrong with your hair,” the dragon asked. Finally, Kai smiled.

“What the hell is going on right now,” Wyldfyre asked. Lloyd had never been so glad for her candor.

anon. anon who are you. i need to grab you by the shoulders and shake you so VICIOUSLY HELLO???? YOU DROP SUCH AN EXQUISITE MEAL????? INTO MY LAP?????? trust that i am going to be chewing on this ALL DAY OH MY GOD (i'll leave my screaming below :3 !!)

ohhhh you and i. oh we do enjoy the idea of the monsters being cursed. oh we absolutely revel in it. the moment lloyd makes the connection that the monster shares too many human elements- he just can't get it out of his mind. him being the supposed elemental master of life energy he is absolutely connected with this creature and he has to actively detach himself from what he feels at what he sees.... oh my god. you cooked so good. the constant internal corrections he makes- "she (no, it)"- is SOOOO good it is so chilling

btw i'm in love with your characterisation and the description of the monster,,, making it feel so real, the amalgamation of familiar creatures, yet so alien nonetheless.... chef's kiss !!

RUSTY !!!!! you've made em feel sooo badass, the absolute ENERGY you've given to rusty and their movements- he works so efficiently, comparing his skill with that of a (superhuman)person is an ABSOLUTELY goated decision, hints that there is more to rusty than them simply being a mech

DAIDAN MY QUEEN !!!!! OHH I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE HER. SHE IS SO GOOD AT WHAT SHE DOES!!!!! pummel the enemy down until they can be pummeled no further. her utterly destroying any semblance of humanity in the monster by crushing its head, perhaps ending the turmoil lloyd found himself in... she takes survival so seriously. she has wholeheartedly embraced all the gore, smiling through it all (as she should. queen)

KAI'S ENTRANCE GOT ME SO HYPED I'M NOT JOKING. HIS ENTRANCE??? FLAWLESS. ATE. DEVOURED WITH NO CRUMBS LEFT. "...as if he had the speed of hundred individual legs" i know what you are (i'm jumping up and down with glee) him dealing the killing blow is so... it's so cinematic. jaw dropping action. and all the while kai's running out autopilot like it's second nature for him.... really highlights the disconnection and the ease he is able to slip into defense after his experiences. oh my poor baby

THEIR BANTER GOT ME GIGGLING KICKING MY FEET TWIRLING MY HAIR. they're all like high school buddies rocking up one day at someone's house lmaoo "what is wrong with your hair" crazy thing to say to someone who you saw absolutely shred themselves in devastation and loneliness a few months back girl. KAI SMILING WHEN THE FIGHT'S OVER AND HE KNOWS HE'S GOT PEOPLE WHO GET HIM AND ARE STILL BY HIS SIDE???? i'm going to scream. very loudly. TwT WYLDFYRE MY BBY she's going to have so much fun learning about all the insane things kai's done before they met haha

anon. please anon. let me give you a kiss. do you want more treats? i got food, seeing as you DEVOURED everything with this piece. holy crap. literally sitting in my chair like i got punched in the face. the flow, the action, the atmosphere, the tragedy of ending a cursed soul coupled with returning to the familiar, to home.... it speaks to me on such a deep level, goes right into my soul. THIS WAS SUCH A WONDROUS PIECE I'M SO HONOURED TO HAVE READ THIS :'''3 let me know if you decide to post this or write more I WILL COME RUNNING SO FAST,, the monstrosity-starved beast in me has been satiated... thank you dear anon, may you continue to write so beautifully and ethereally <33

[dollsltt]

౿ ݁ . 🚀 ︵ ｡ Ꮺ ˚ now introducing… an 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 x 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋 story .ᐟ⋆

synopsis: Lyla always knew she was different, she just didn’t realize how different. Sure, being raised by a trigger-happy raccoon and a talking tree isn’t exactly standard in any galaxy, but it was her normal. It’s what shaped her into the seventh member of the Guardians of the Galaxy. And after getting caught up in a mission gone wrong (something she was pretty used by now), Lyla believes she ended up stranded on another side of the galaxy... Or maybe, another universe?

𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . .

TRACKLIST !!

falling skies — yungblud ft. charlotte lawrence

1960 — humbe

black star — radiohead

get jinxed — league of legends, djerv

headlock — imogen heap

love — zoé

chihiro — billie eilish

vienna — billy joel

and more !

CHAPTER COUNT . . .

empty for now, see you soon !

1. —

WARNINGS — AUTHOR NOTES

🛸, firstly, english is NOT my first language, so if you notice any errors or spelling mistakes, pls tell me so I can fix it!

🛸, since this is fanfiction, I want to take creative liberty at certain points. Don't expect material 100% attached to the movies, comics or the series, I'm trying to deliver something that feels a little fresher. Just as I will make modifications, as I said before, things that don't happen in the series may happen here and things that DO happen in the series may not happen here. The point is for it to be entertaining and for me to be able to create my own plot twists.

🛸, i'm not a marvel or invincible expert, I love both franchises, but keep in mind that the content may not be completely canon, so bear with me. 😭

🛸, even though this fanfic is about Mark Grayson, it is also about the Marvel universe and is a story about an individual protagonist who does not rely on a romantic interest to tell her story. There will be chapters that are exclusively about my protagonist, her story, her world, and what surrounds her. And if this doesn’t appeal to you, you are completely free to withdraw.

🛸, i hope every one of you enjoys this story! it’s my first time posting a story here on tumblr so i feel a little nervous, but i really wish that you guys would like it 💗 i’ll post the first chapter soon !!

[aspenous]

As an absolute sucker for A/B/O Au's I love the idea of Kim Suho getting thrown into that kind of verse.

Imagine living your life, dying (?) And waking up to the concept of alpha, beta & omegas being the norm???

Plus the number of changes he'd have to deal with in his new body (omega!Lloyd hc).

This naturally brings only trouble for Javier (ノ^o^)ノ

It turned into a ramble more than anything tbh. Don't mind that <3 if there's anything plot vise I forgot/overlooked thru this it's cause my memory is A s s)

Javier POV lowkey:

Lloyd couldn't get any weirder. To add onto his sudden change in demeanor, he'd begun to get reckless with his scent as well. A scent similar to a Clementine or Tangerine that wafts in waves whenever Lloyd is particularly pleased with himself or got his way with another contract. Its a sharp contrast to the smell of booze everyone was used to, and it more often than not left a few townsmen sputtering when they spoke with him. Javier was left to deal with this change too, except he was beside his master 24/7. When that scent would hit him full force every morning, leave his nose twitching when Lloyd gets into the rhythms of his new work and when it calms into something comforting around noon; when the days almost gone and Lloyd decides to rest.

Javier first chokes up this lack of scent control to Lloyd's cold turkey sobriety. But it's been weeks now. Almost two months and Lloyd still hasn't tried to restrain his scent. Worse, others seem to be picking up on it as well. Loitering around the young master when they get the chance, chatting it up now that Lloyd wasn't defaulting to throwing chairs and yelling. Lloyd himself doesn't seem to enjoy it either; after a few minutes of chatter his lip would start to twitch and that scent of Tangerine (it was definitely closer to tangerines than clementines) would sour. Javier learns to take that as close enough a hint to pry his master away from the crowd, spill a white lie about how he's needed elsewhere and get Lloyd some air. He tries not to be pleased about how Lloyd visibly relaxes when it's just the two of them.

"Master Lloyd–" Javier is at his wits end. He's a patient man. Strong willed and resilient when it comes to most obstacles. His Master however? His loud , arragont, obnoxious at times master being this stupid? Javier is a patient man but he's a man nonetheless. A Knight who's had to deal with his masters turbulent scent that just doesn't want to leave him alone. And worse, Lloyd turns back to him with a genuine look of confusion (as genuine as it can be). Javier ends up questioning his master through a locked face and Lloyd in response looks bewildered. "The drinking must have hit me worse than I thought" is all he gets. Javier refuses the sleeping spell that night, throws a hand over his masters mouth before he can get a word in and declares to help him control his scent again. From then on they spend an hour every night before bed going through the motions, and Lloyd (after months) finally learns to control his own scent. Javier sighs in relief, and tries not to think about how he misses that familiar tangerine scent.

Master Lloyd seems to loose his filter as well. Not when around the staff, count or contracted men he's hired no. Only when it's just the two of them, in a moment of what Javier could've hoped was peace before his master opens his mouth. "You smell like mint." he says unabashed. "I'm safe when you're here aren't I?" He laughs with no shame. "I trust you." He declares. Javier understands this is comradery of some kind. A trust and faith in him that no one else has given him before. His master is far too good at feeding that quiet voice in the back of his mind, and Javier let's him. (Alpha instincts have low standards lmao)

It's after they get back to the estate that Lloyd gets his heat. It's not hard to notice. He asks for seconds during meals, sleeps late into the mornings, speaks more with his summons than with anyone outside the estate and avoids half the staff like the plague. It's rather obvious when that overripe scent of tangerine clings to his skin and his expressions screams dazed more than anything. The count had noticed, Javier had as well, but Lloyd hadn't. Despite being days into Pre-heat, his master still drags himself out of bed and goes about the motions, despite how miserable he looks. It ends up being Javier's job (once again) to pull him aside and question him. "My what-" is all he gets before Javier realizes he has more on his plate than he expected.

(+I like to think heats can be sexual and non-sexual given the circumstances!)

His pillow is missing. Javier turns his room inside out and still can't find it. He assumes he'd left it where he last slept; Lloyd's room. When he enters said room however, he doubts he would've found it if he tried. The beds drowned in pillows and blankets. The summons are jumping around in their own world until they notice Javier and greet him with small chirps and sounds. Javier ends up smelling Lloyd coming before the door opens. Sweet Tangerine and hints of earth that hit him when the door opens. He finds his pillow then, tucked under his masters arm as if it belonged there. Javier blanks out for a moment. "Ah Javier! Great timing. I was just looking for you." Lloyd smiles. Something often quiet in Javier's gut comes to life then and there. He doesn't end up on the chair that night. Lloyd doesn't let him. Spouts nonsense about how the chair isn't comfortable and how important sleeping positions are and only shuts up when Javier relents. He ends up in Lloyd's nest, the only barrier between him and the other being his own damned pillow. He falls asleep without the sleeping spell that night.

That's it for now? That's a lie my brains rattling with more HCs but I should stop here lmao. If people like this word vomit I'll make a part 2.

[baronboar]

How equal can a society be if some fundamentals are unusable by a third of the population? You can learn a lot about a world by looking at the little details, especially in furry settings!

[savaralyn2]

Dungeon Meshi - Monster Tidbits: Kensuke (Part 1) (Part 2)

[actual-changeling]

welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, today's topic: the chest touch at the pub. that scene has me in a chokehold for some reason and i still cannot stop thinking about it.

the first thing i wanna talk about is crowley's reaction, since this is the shorter part. he did not expect aziraphale to reach out to him like this and freezes for a second while aziraphale happily chatters away.

they were both walking and the hand on his chest stops him, so he comes to a stop right next to him while he was slightly behind him before that. his gaze also snaps to aziraphale's face, who is very much not looking at him.

they were having a conversation, but the touch essentially shuts crowley up and zira leaves him to get their drinks.

now, my question is why aziraphale does it. sure, it could just be an absent gesture since they're in a crowded place, just that he has never really done so before. i think it was very much planned, like asking crowley to dance and grabbing his hand later on.

a second before he actually reaches out, he also looks back to check whether crowley is where he thinks he is. that is the only time he does that, he was busy looking for a free table and miracles them one when he cannot find one - the look back is deliberate. especially since crowley is practically glued to his side, he has no need for confirmation, he can feel him brushing against him while walking.

the hand motion he does gets me, too. he is busy fidgeting with his hands like normal and has them clasped in front of him. aziraphale lifts them once he gets to "that is precisely the point", yet also already moves it slightly towards crowley, realizes he miscalculated where exactly he/his chest is, looks to check, then looks away again before actually touching him. am i reading too much into it? maybe.

i think it is his version of a little temptation. not only does it make crowley's brain short-circuit for a second, he also gets them their drinks and is now (or so aziraphale hopes) a bit calmer and will take the news aziraphale is about to give him better. the conversation at the cafe did not go entirely as planned, after all.

additionally, something i am not sure if other people have noticed or not is that aziraphale does not just touch crowley, it is a caress. he moves his hand down his chest.

the movement in order:

bar girl unfortunately moves in front of them, but you can clearly see the way his hand takes. to give you a direct comparison of the starting and end point:

a good point of reference is crowley's bolo tie but also the angle of aziraphale's arm while it is still visible.

the best part, in my opinion, is that aziraphale puts his hand right on top of crowley's heart. i think the symbolic importance of that is pretty clear and does not require any more explanation, although it makes me want to throw myself into a river. but that's by the by.

to summarize, aziraphale caresses crowley's heart chest to get him to calm down and not go insane over the news he is about to give him. he is also simply a bastard and knows exactly what he is doing to crowley.

as always, this is me going nuts with analysis, but i'm also curious to hear other people's thoughts on this.

don't tell my therapist about my unhinged meta posts or she will probably be very concerned for my mental wellbeing

[citricacidprince]

can you draw candy as fiddleford. plz plz plz OuO

Oh believe me I have,,, SO MUCH ART of Candy as Fiddleford she literally drives me wild

Take this massive dump of art of young Candy and Dipper because they made lose my mind in the best way possible 💥💛💥

EDIT: A kind soul named DastardlyWLW decoded all the codes in the replies because I was an idiot who forgot to write down all the codes before I merged my layers, so if you wanna know what the codes all say just look in the replies and thank them for saving my sorry ass 💥💛💥💛💥

[readngandweepng]

talking about ftm (high honor) arthur going through a pregnancy !!

some nsfw included but this is 90% sfw so still, minors dni. warning for lots of pregnancy talk and afab language. no pronouns for (top) reader mentioned. i’m not educated on pregnancy so bear with me on this. tbh this isn’t that interesting of a read, but i randomly started fixating on the topic of pregnancy and really wanted to do this. kind of long, only half proofread because i like to live with blissful ignorance.

btw the plot isn't really that fleshed out lol kind of due to it being formatted like a diary? but just imagine this in an alternative timeline where the gang is a lot more settled down. this is also entirely fluffy shit because i hate angst sorry,,,

i feel like arthur would be such a child magnet. completely against his will, town kids will flock to him and ask to see him shoot his gun or let them ride his horse. he’d return to camp with braids in his hair and crumpled flowers among weeds stuffed into his pockets. he’d be giving his silent blessings to abigail everyday realizing this probably isn’t even half of what she goes through everyday taking care of not only jack, but her own husband. arthur can’t blame you for the way you have to hide your laughter at the sight of him. he can’t catch a break, not only does he have to deal with the man-children at camp but he also has the admiration of kids he passes by occasionally in town who now have his face and horse memorized to the point where they’re waiting for him by store entrances. even more so than the bounty hunters, he thinks.

eventually they grow on him and he stops grumbling every time they stop him to ask to get piggybacked. and eventually, arthur starts to wonder just what it would be like to have a child with you—it’s a thought he brushes off just as fast as it came, but he can’t just brush away the dreams he has. soon, he starts thinking of hypothetical names; he meets a luther, sam, olivia, alexander, josephine. every person that introduces themselves, he stores them in the back of his head, just in case. because what if you had a daughter named dorothy? what if you had a son named jasper? would you name your children after charles, javier, mary-beth? it makes his heart ache thinking about it, but once the thoughts come flowing in they don’t stop. would your children have his eyes or yours? would they have curly hair or straight? would they have your smile? he hopes to god they do. he becomes so busy mulling over these things it gets you worried, wondering if something was wrong, if he was thinking of bad things. his face flushes beneath his hat when you ask and it quells your concerns. he can’t tell you what he’s thinking of though. honestly, he probably wasn’t even aware just how much he had on his mind. you leave him be, but your concern only makes his thoughts worse because it reminds him of how kind and attentive you are. he thinks about how good of a parent you would be and how good you’d be to him. 

he’s thought of pregnancy before, but it felt almost mythical—in what world would an outlaw like arthur morgan have a child? if you’d raised the idea to someone like sean or john, they’d surely laugh in your face, probably spitting out their beer in the process. however charles and hosea, they’d entertain it; encourage it even, under certain circumstances. of course he wonders what kind of father he’d be. in his mind he’d certainly be a deadbeat, something akin to his father perhaps, and with the kind of life he lives how could he be so selfish to even entertain the thought? it hurts his heart in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. he thinks about the weight that lifts from his shoulders when he’s with you. he’s spent so much of his life being loyal to someone who even he knows doesn't completely deserve it. he sometimes feels unworthy of having a better life for himself, but letting you wiggle your way into his heart gives him the courage to move forward and take the opportunity to finally do something good for himself, because maybe, just maybe arthur morgan does deserve something nice. so he brings up the whole, having a kid thing.

of course arthur isn’t going to just straight up ask you, he’s going to beat around the bush a little. it’s an incredibly difficult thing for him to articulate, so he just sort of goes like, ‘you ever think about what it’s like being a parent?’ and maybe you start talking about john and his less than ideal role as a father and the work abigail puts in to take care of both jack and john, and even half the camp if you’re being honest. and then eventually after some foot tapping he asks if you would ever want children someday. he doesn’t specify whether with him or not, but the implication hangs in the air. you shrug with a simple ‘maybe’ as your answer before flipping the question onto him. he tilts his head down to hide his face with his hat as he tries to find his words. it’s endearing how shy he can get with conversations like these, and his reaction proves he’s been pondering the question a while already. you’d have to reassure him as gently as you can manage for a man like arthur. “with you, i’d do anything.” it would make his heart swell. tears would prick at his eyes but he’d be happy. and for once, hopeful.

there’s a chance you’re probably not going to tell anyone at camp just yet. at least not until you have no other choice where it’s completely unavoidable to talk about the bump arthur would be bearing. this would be a private affair between you and arthur, which is almost humorous to say considering what the hell even is a private life at camp with people like sean and uncle loitering around looking for gossip to drink to? he won’t ask for a night in a hotel but he also won’t be opposed to the offer. he’ll get embarrassed if you try to be too romantic with him but he does appreciate the gesture(s). even though it’s not your first time together he’ll be acting like it is. suddenly his body feels hot at the softest touches, your lips on his neck make him feel like he’s melting. it all starts to feel extremely real to him. arthur, with some convincing, will sit back and let you take care of him as you slowly open him up with your fingers and tongue. he’ll be cursing under his breath the whole time, barely even being able to look down at you without his entire face blossoming red. he’ll flutter around your fingers when you tell him how handsome he is, but arthur will have to kiss you to shut you up when you start talking about how pretty he’s gonna look pregnant. 

when your cock slides into him he has to hide his face in your neck because he can hardly take it. his heart is racing and his palms become clammy but he doesn’t want you to stop. you go slow, making sure to bury your cock deep into him with every thrust. it’s not entirely different from your normal sex with arthur, however this time you do feel a different sense of urgency and desperation. his pussy sucks your cock back in every time you pull away with such ease, as if his body knows you plan on impregnating him. arthur’s legs shake beneath you but he denies that it’s from the nerves, until he double backs and tries to say, well, maybe it is because of the nerves so that he doesn’t have to admit his legs are shaking because your cock is hitting him so deep that he feels like he’s going to cry from how good it feels. 

arthur’s perfect for this sort of thing. he’s so obedient about laying down and staying still so that you can fuck him. he doesn’t ask you to go faster or to slow down, he just keeps his legs open and takes your cock, which is why you know that regardless of whether or not he gets pregnant the first time around, he definitely will eventually. you fit so well inside him that a part of you wonders if he’s hoping he won’t get pregnant just so you can fuck him like this again. arthur quickly gets very blissed out. his moans become sweeter and he’s much more complacent, easily responding to questions he’d previously be too shy to answer; as his orgasm builds so does his confidence. his legs wrap around your waist and he looks you in the eye as he bucks his hips into your thrusts. when you tell him you’re close he kisses you, encouraging you to cum inside him. you grab his hips with one last thrust, burying yourself deep before you cum. arthur holds onto your wrists as he gently rocks up into you, his orgasm following. he’s out of breath and his legs are even more shaky as he slumps against the bed. you don’t pull out. the both of you stare at each other before you exchange one more kiss, one much longer and candid. you gently lay down atop him and he wraps his arms around you as you feather kisses to his neck. his body is still flush with shades of pink and red but you keep the thought to yourself. after a minute or two you ask how he’s feeling and by now he’s back to his usual self, keeping his eyes down as he answers you. for a second he insists you stay inside, but with a little convincing he allows you to pull out. he tries not to look, but he can’t help himself; your cock is shiny with fluid and he can feel you twitch inside him one last time, and then he’s empty, aside from your cum that keeps him feeling warm and full. you lay down beside him and instinctively you rest your hand on his stomach. the action has arthur shooing you away with a bashful look but he does the same. he surveys his stomach, and you can see just by looking at his face what it is he’s picturing. 

a week later you and arthur have sex again. it’s at camp this time, in the comfort of your shared tent. he’s laid down on his stomach as you lift his hips up to fuck him. he takes you effortlessly, only occasionally having to keep his face to his cot to drown out a stray moan or two. before you finish you pull his hips up just a little bit higher, making sure you’re nestled as deep as you can go before spilling into him. the feeling of your cock pulsing against his walls makes arthur cum. his pussy convulses around you, making sure it squeezes out every drop. you both collapse back onto the cot as you pull out and roll off him to rest at his side. arthur immediately relaxes into the blankets when you softly drag your fingers down his back. his eyes open to look at you as he swallows, “think it’ll, y’know—work?” you swipe away the loose strands of hair that fall in front of his face and give a reassuring smile. “i hope so.” is your response, and it soothes him. 

about 2 weeks later arthur comes up to you talking about a nauseating headache. he’d just got back from a trip into town and you could see from the way he’d been clasping his forehead on the way down from his horse that he’d been hurting for some time. you fetch him a cup of water as you sit him down on your cot, planting a gentle kiss on his temple as he takes slow sips from the cup. “have you been hurting anywhere else?” he shakes his head no. you ask him if you can write something down in his journal and he flips to a blank page before handing it to you along with his pencil. you mark down his headache at the top. it’s not confirmed whether he’s actually pregnant or not, you both know this, but you make note of it anyway. unbeknownst to you, as arthur reads what you’ve written his heart skips with every letter. he feels an almost childlike excitement at the thought of filling the page with symptoms of his (hopefully) developing pregnancy. you ask him if he’ll be okay, and he tells you yeah, he will be. arthur says it with such confidence it alarms you momentarily but the giddy smile on his face cuts your words of concern short. his headache is gone by the time pearson calls for dinner.

arthur doesn’t bring up the fact you’ve begun to hover over his shoulder the next few days. he hasn’t experienced any further symptoms since the headache and he can tell it’s driving you a little crazy. you try not to make it obvious when you ask him if he’s been feeling ‘different’ but he can see through it right away. admittedly, you may be getting a little too overbearing about things; for god’s sake he’s not even showing yet, he doesn’t need to sit down after lifting one damn hay bail. your attempts at beating around the bush have caused some eyebrows to raise at camp. arthur will remind you a lot that he’s perfectly fine and that he can take care of himself. he doesn’t need people poking and prodding at him on top of you stressing out to the point of not even letting him get up on his own horse alone. he appreciates the gestures, of course not admitting that he finds your concern endearing, but he also is his own man who needs some space every now and then. you respect his wishes and (try to) lay off the mothering. 

the 4th week rolls in and arthur starts to experience some body aches. he wakes up some mornings and his hips and shoulders hurt like he slept on a boulder, which unfortunately dampens his mood for the rest of the day. you once reminded him a little too happily to write it down in his journal and he gave you a look so hauntingly sour you didn’t say another word to him for the next six hours out of fear. however you started offering massages to him that he gladly took after long days. one of these massages led into sensual heavy petting that resulted in you and arthur having sex almost three times in one night, where the next morning he woke up with a throbbing headache (which you wrote in his journal when he wasn’t looking). arthur had occasionally reminded you that his pregnancy wasn’t yet set in stone. despite his eagerness to become pregnant, he’d developed a habit of denial to protect himself from the disappointment of possible failure. however at the end of the week, abigail came up to him sipping a cup of coffee, another cup in her other hand, still in her night clothes. she handed him the full cup that he took with a quiet thanks. they stood in silence for a moment before abigail asked him if he’d been feeling alright. “just.. you need somethin’, don’t be afraid to ask, okay?” arthur tells you about the conversation and it makes you smile. he reminds you not to get your hopes up but the both of you know that by this point it’s a little too late for that.

a day into the 6th week and arthur throws up. he’d been making his way over to the stew pot for a bowl of dinner and the smell stopped him dead in his tracks. he stepped off behind some trees, vomited, and went to bed hungry. in the morning you brought up the idea of breakfast which unfortunately triggered another wave of nausea. you gave him some water to take sips from and let him have an hour before offering up an oatcake. he rejected it but didn’t vomit at the thought, so you urged him to have a bite or two to at least get some food in his belly. though reluctant, he ends up eating two oatcakes and on top of that stomachs a cup of coffee and eats a can of peaches you’d recently bought for dinner. the waves of nausea end up continuing on and off the rest of the week, resulting in a lack of appetite. he has to go to bed early because he can’t stand the smell of pearson’s stew. last night of the week you hold him against you, being sure to gently rub his stomach in slow circles. you place a kiss on his neck as your hand on his stomach stills. “so.. maybe?” your voice is quiet. he turns his head to kiss you on the lips. “maybe.” 

by the end of the 7th week, arthur has told you about chest soreness and muscle cramps. he says they’re not so bad, but it’s the nausea that keeps a hold of arthur. he’s thrown up almost every morning and it’s starting to grab the attention of others at camp. you and arthur have felt abigail’s eyes on you for days now but by now you’ve gotten used to it. however a new face appears one late morning. “sit down a minute.” it’s hosea who ushers you over to one of the empty tables where he sits with a newspaper in hand. “how have you been?” you tell him you’ve been fine. he hums. hosea’s face almost looks sculpted in the early sun. “and arthur?” you hesitate a second. he’s been fine. you look away from hosea’s stone-cold gaze. he sighs. hosea tells you a little story, something about him and bessie. he tells you how bessie had always wanted children but due to his lifestyle they decided not to have any. “we already had john and arthur.” you nod. you definitely understand that. he’s quiet for a moment. “it was like looking in a mirror,” he turns in his seat. “seeing you and arthur.” you stare at him. there’s a melancholic look in his eyes, but there’s also wisdom and gratitude, one you have grown to respect and admire. later in the day you see arthur grab himself a cup of water. going up to him you remind him to take small sips which he stubbornly abides. you don’t tell him about your conversation with hosea, at least not until arthur tells you about his own. though neither of you are surprised by hosea’s spot-on observations, you are surprised by the lack of lecturing. apparently hosea had told arthur something about the strength of parenting and the importance of children to our future. arthur’s retelling is unenthusiastic, but you can tell hosea’s words won’t be forgotten despite arthur not really getting it. you go to bed after having dinner. you bought an apple just for arthur but he didn’t have the energy to bite into it so you sliced it up and, to his chagrin, hand-fed it to him and chased it down with some crackers. before settling down to sleep you flip open arthur’s journal and write down his pains and nausea. he’s asleep by the time you finish.

week 8 and arthur’s nausea hasn’t gotten any better. he now wakes up an hour earlier than he usually does. it’s a schedule you’re still getting used to, but you’re motivated by your new ritual of hunting rabbits just to make a meal out of it for arthur. at the moment rabbit is the one meat he can stand to eat without getting sick, and he seems to have developed a strong liking for peaches of which you’re sure to pop a can open for arthur to eat on the side. he hasn’t been eating as much as he used to, but thankfully you don’t seem to notice any weight loss as of yet. your eyes are on him like a hawk the second he takes his shirt off to change, which embarrasses your lover to no end. arthur told you he’s convinced you would notice if a single freckle on his body disappeared and you don’t deny the statement. you tell arthur to write down what he eats and what foods he can think of without feeling sick. by the end of the week, he doesn’t write down much besides peaches, rabbit, strawberries, almonds. so at least there’s something new. you spend the first day of the ninth week in valentine, popping into saloons and bribing the bartenders in letting you pay for a pound or two of almonds. you return to camp and make arthur a meal that he delightfully scarfs down before asking for another plate. that night arthur gets a little restless and you two have sex, however the morning after arthur gets so nauseous even dutch told him to take the day off to rest. 

throughout the 9th and the start of the 10th week, you could see slight visible changes to arthur. one morning you’d woken up an hour later than him. you could see him hanging around the fire as he spoke to john, both of them sipping on a cup of coffee. you made your way over to them, and right when john turned to leave your eyes immediately darted down to arthur’s clothed chest. “what?” he asks, prickling under your gaze. for a second you couldn’t pinpoint what it was until it hit you. “your breasts got bigger,” arthur is dumbfounded as he hushes you down. “what the hell are you talking about?” your hands awkwardly fan out towards arthur but he just clicks his tongue and lightly shoves you. “don’t say them things,” he doesn’t have a hat on so he turns away to hide the color on his face. as he’s about to walk away you tell him to write it down and he damn near throws the coffee in your face. the rest of the week he still mentions some soreness in his chest (where he also curtly declined your offer for a massage..) and more hip pain. he also said he’d been a lot more tired lately. you told him to take it easy and rest early, which he normally would have declined, however the second he laid down he slept through the rest of the day and woke up to scarf down another rabbit and peach meal. 

the 11th week moves forward and arthur starts to wake up a little more tired than usual. abigail has begun stopping by your tent occasionally with a cup of tea. “it’ll help,” is all she says. he says the tea tastes like ashes and dirt but he drinks it anyway and the lingering soreness of his body slowly dissipates like water trickling from a spilt canteen. one early morning you wake up at the same time as arthur. it’s before abigail comes around to give him some tea so you help him unbutton his shirt to ease some of his muscle cramps. upon doing so your gaze fixates on his stomach. you maneuver yourself behind arthur, wrapping your arms around him. he asks you what you’re doing and you just settle your palm on his stomach. “arthur..” you attempt to whisper but you can barely contain your excitement. “you’re starting to show!” he looks down at himself in amusement. “looks the same to me,” your palm cups the faint bump. “i swear it’s different—” he bats your hand away. “it ain’t!” but he’s got a warm smile on his face as he looks back at you. you offer to make him a meal but he sighs at the suggestion and asks if you happen to have fresh peaches on you. unfortunately you don’t, so you spend the next hour buying fresh peaches for him. he ends up eating about two a day and has to carry a full canteen with him due to his increase in thirst. after downing lots of water, he’s able to work up the energy to do chores around camp. once or twice he’s stopped by micah or bill so they can badger him about not doing any work but hosea is quick to put a stop to it. you’ll have to help convince arthur to take it easy because he hates feeling useless, although he doesn’t want any small, measly tasks handed to him either. take him with you to town and arthur’s mood will lift. also, give him the opportunity to pick something out to eat and he’ll take home a little bag of treats of which he ends up savoring for so long that sean somehow sniffs them out and eats the last one.

the 12th week you go hunting with arthur for slightly bigger game. arthur still hasn’t eaten any other meat besides rabbit, but you’re hopeful that you can maybe get something more in his diet. you’d originally planned on getting turkey but arthur insisted on deer so you decided to get both. by the time you’ve hunted and killed a deer as well as two turkeys, you’re far enough away from camp that you decide to set up a tent and camp out for the night. arthur’s already gnawing on a hunk of venison the second he gets it cooked but you still take out a peach from your satchel and slice it into pieces so you can occasionally hand him a slice. unfortunately he can’t finish the venison before he has to get up and vomit so instead you let him eat the rest of the peach and grab some leftover rabbit from your bag to cook. despite the slight nausea, arthur tells you he’s fine. you both talk for a while before you go to bed. you hold him close to you, covering him in a warm blanket. he can feel you smiling against his skin but decides not to say anything. he clasps your hands together and falls asleep, only waking up once or two to down a few gulps of water.

the 13th week dutch has you and arthur meet him at his tent where he sits with a book in hand. he rolls off some evelyn miller excerpt before closing the book and urging the both of you closer. “now, i want the two of you to understand that we are family. alright?” it’s nothing he hasn’t said before, but his words sound almost solemn with care. he goes on about sticking together and working to sustain the life that we worked for! he looks between you as he says this, looking into your eyes but not really making the mental contact. it’s all sort of nonsense, something arthur is definitely used to by now. still, the conversation brings relief. it means that one, dutch knows arthur is pregnant which is most likely hosea’s doing (who you pray to god gave a convincing argument to settle any concerns of dutch) and two, you and arthur’s child will have a home. you’re positive abigail is ready with her arms open to assist with whatever is to come, and with hosea’s support you at least have two, if not three when you count dutch, people who are willing to help raise a child, especially arthur’s. you two share a look when dutch dismisses you, but you don’t get a moment to talk before grimshaw is in front of you, her foot already tapping with irritation, though she greets you politely nonetheless. just the woman you wanted to avoid. she’s sporting her typical who do i gotta yell at to get any work done around here? look, however she doesn’t yell or sneer, she simply asks, “how have you been keeping?” the question is directed towards arthur who nods his head with a ‘just fine, miss grimshaw’. she purses her lips. “i see you’ve been busy.” your heads drop as you shuffle in place; you should have known it’d be arthur who got the heat. you open your mouth to speak but she cuts you off with a dismissive hand wave and a little scoff. “though i rather we had discussed this beforehand, what’s done is done—you won’t be leaving camp any time soon, mister morgan, not until that baby comes out. there’s still plenty of work that needs to be done ‘round camp.” it’s not what you expected to hear but you’re grateful nonetheless. you can’t argue further so you walk arthur back to your tent and gesture for him to sit down. no doubt the news will reach the rest of camp soon but it’s expected. at the very least arthur will have things to do while he’s forced to listen to people blathering nonsense in his ears all day. 

14th week and you finally convince arthur to speak to strauss. you dislike the man as much as he does—if not more—but your concern for arthur’s health outweighs your disdain. you’d originally suggested a doctor in saint denis but the distance is what concerned you, figuring it’d be better to wait until arthur’s nausea was at its lowest before taking the risk, among many other things. so instead you kiss arthur goodbye as he makes his way over to strauss’ tent while you get on your horse and ride out of camp to find supplies you might need for the baby. now, you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for, or what you were supposed to be looking for, but you waltzed into rhodes’ general store with confidence anyway. it’s the same as it always is, supplying the few things you usually get, however this time your attention is caught by the dolls that sit in the centerpiece. is it too early to buy something like that? what if your child doesn’t even like dolls? would they even have time to play with them? you move on. the cashier greets you, gesturing to the catalog of which you flip open. after going through the pages, among the cigarettes, soap, and ammunition, you find a few products that catch your eye; baby powder, more soap, blankets, clothes—not a lot, but some. the advertisements were foreign; you’re only just now realizing your lack of knowledge on child care. oops. as you scan the page(s) you hear the cashier retort some comment you ignore. what the hell is soothing syrup? you close the catalog. you decide not to make any decisions yet, at least not now—you’ll bring abigail with you next time—however you don’t leave the store empty handed; you cave, buying one of the dolls, one with a blue dress and dark, empty eyes. you figure you might give it to jack, see if he likes it. maybe him and your child will share toys and play together? feeling disappointed with just a doll in your satchel, you take the next few hours touring the tailors in saint denis. there wasn’t anything too interesting, only a small section for children’s clothes that didn’t offer much at all for a baby, but the experience was insightful nonetheless. on the way home, out of pure desperation you ransack an abandoned cabin. it was small, most likely only homing one or two adults. inside you find some blankets that you fold into your satchel, and sitting beside a rundown armchair, you spot a woven basket filled with yarn and fabric. the sight suddenly makes you feel guilty for taking it, as if there was anyone present to mourn its loss. you take it anyway, keeping it held close in front of you as you ride back home. the sun has begun to set, and arriving into camp you’re greeted by the smell of fresh stew. you make your way to your tent as subtle as you can with a basket in hand, and within it is arthur who’s nursing a bowl of stew. his mouth is full so your question comes first. apparently pearson decided on rabbit as tonight’s main course, as well as tomorrow’s. with a grateful smile, you gently set the basket down and greet your lover properly. 

15th week and you’ve gotten swamped with work. you’ve begun fulfilling arthur’s jobs on top of yours and damn is it exhausting. you don’t dare complain though, not with arthur around else he’ll jump to his feet and tire himself out, so you power through it. you knew that arthur’s role around camp was a significant one, but you weren’t expecting so many people asking you for things; train robberies, got that easy. stage coach, even easier. possible money stashed away in a fancy suite in saint denis, sure, whatever. but then you have the girls asking you for things, simple stuff like jewelry or things they’ve lost, things with barely anything to go off of. and then there’s micah who’s deliberately sending you on wild goose chases just because he knows that you’ll do it, basking in your blind obedience with beastly perversion. right now on your metaphorical list you need to find oleander, a pocket watch, a pen or two (one hopefully with red ink and one with black, of course) several books, some type of yellow flower (god knows what) some spices, thyme, and then pearson needs you on hunting duty for fish and venison and everything and you’ve only just gotten a sliver of what arthur has to deal with in his day to day life and though you’re happy you’ve taken this weight off of his shoulders you are overwhelmed. you hardly get to see arthur with his new sleep schedule and your now packed one, but some mornings he’ll drink a little more coffee than usual just so he’ll stay awake long enough to kiss you goodnight and fall asleep with you holding him.

the beginning of the 16th week you almost get yourself shot trying to rob a stagecoach with bill, and somehow arthur could tell despite you not saying a word about it. ironically, the most difficult part of taking arthur’s load of work is trying to convince him not to intervene. his nausea has started to subside, but he’s still on a lackluster diet. you’ve tried sneaking in protein packed meat alongside the rabbit but his pregnancy seems to have granted him a laser-eyed tongue that can detect the slightest discrepancies. strauss had suggested possible foods to keep arthur upright and make sure he doesn’t become underweight, but he’s hardly touched anything you’ve given him besides the rabbit and peaches and almonds. which is why it’s almost a miracle when arthur starts craving something he didn’t used to care much for: violet snowdrop. you asked him if he’s ever even eaten some before and he just shrugs. no, it doesn’t exactly make for the most hardy meal ever, or like, really make a meal at all, but it’s something new and that’s good enough for you. you get on track right away, riding out to annesburg and picking as many as you can find. arthur eats it up like he hasn’t eaten in days, using it as an extra flair to his rabbit. the girls come by occasionally, offering different herbs and fruits that arthur might take a liking to. you’ve learned that (at least during his pergnancy) arthur HATES pineapple. just looking at a can of it makes him double over, so you keep stocking up on the fresh peaches and almonds. on one of your tracks to find a stagecoach, you came across a small farm, one that harbored a single bush of strawberries among their crops. it lights a fire in you, and you make sure that its owner(s) don’t spot you as you pick the few full-grown ones and wrap them in a piece of fabric within your satchel. again, not the most fulfilling food ever, but it’s something new, and anything that arthur will eat is something you’ll protect like glass. when you bring them out to him, he visibly lights up. there weren’t a lot on the one bush, but arthur is satisfied anyway. after he eats you retreat to your tent and sit down with him. he sighs when he sits, immediately leaning his full weight onto you. you can see the faint outline of his bump beneath his vest and it fills you with pride. you unbutton it and pull his shirt up just enough to show his stomach. you can’t stop smiling and it makes arthur bashful at the attention, but he instinctively puts his hand on his bump, most likely feeling as happy as you are in the grand scheme of things. 

throughout the 17th and 18th week, mary-beth and tilly have come by your tent to check up on things. you can tell they’re excited, if not nosy, about the baby. mary-beth goes on about how romantic it is to raise a child with the person you love and tilly keeps asking about baby names. they’ve offered their ideas—most of them being names you’re certain are straight out of their fantasy books—and even their own names more so as a joke, though you’re not opposed to either tilly or mary-beth as a girl’s name. sean joins this as well, and every week or so he likes to remind you and arthur about how heroic the name sean would be for a baby boy. their investment is sweet and relieving, especially grimshaw’s when she bounds her way into a conversation however arthur doesn’t seem too happy about having to be reminded to wash up every day and drink as much water as he can handle. you’ve gotten your fair share of scolding although you can’t help but feel grimshaw is just going a little bit easy on you due to your hard work around camp if her screaming at uncle and reverend lazing about is any indication. she certainly is keeping the others in line, shooing away sean and the girls and anyone who tries badgering you within her sight. thankfully, no one’s been too pissy about it. you get an occasional comment from bill about giving us another mouth to feed but the malice dies down after a while and he starts to hang around like he’s invested in a story and is waiting for what happens at the end, along with kieran; you can feel his eyes on you when you’re with arthur, like he wants to be included and ask what’s up but fears rejection. you and arthur have deliberately not made any public announcements, instead resorting to let the news carry around naturally. it’s hard to keep things on the downlow when mary-beth is swooning at the thought of you taking care of arthur, and especially difficult when a drunk sean is going around offering to be the next one bed-ridden just so he can get out of doing chores like arthur. you suspect javier knows because he insists on singing specific songs while arthur is sitting by the fire, like he wants your baby to memorize them—and who knows, maybe your child will develop a love for music, become a pianist in a saloon, something like that (anything but an outlaw). regardless, things around camp are strangely serene, not as hectic as it may have been months before, and you can’t help but wonder if arthur’s pregnancy has somehow created a new environment, one more domestic and hopeful. sure, you get the occasional covetous looks from molly, or a passing comment from uncle and micah, but it’s nothing real. there’s something different being lifted into the air, something the gang hasn’t felt since blackwater. the future feels bright, and with the good word from strauss about arthur’s health, you’re no longer afraid, but at home. 

the 20th week you return to camp after a short (and slightly uneventful) stagecoach robbery to see arthur being swamped with attention by the girls. now that arthur’s bump is starting to become noticeable even under his usual attire, he can’t avoid the excited squealing every time he’s in line of sight of either mary-beth or tilly. he could deal with just them two, but now he’s even got karen standing over his shoulder insisting he lets her put a hand on his stomach to see if there’s really something in there; her words, not yours. it’s a sweet sight, even when arthur harbors a look that would put an o’driscoll to their knees; the girls are unaffected, much to his dismay. when you get closer you can hear mary-beth going on about how something is ‘just like in the fairytales!’ you can’t imagine what arthur has had to put up with while you were gone, but at least you don’t have to worry about your child growing up with a lack of attention if the sight of karen holding arthur’s bump and urging the other girl’s forward to feel doesn’t prove it. upon seeing you, arthur heaves a sigh of what looks like both relief and frustration (probably because you’re just watching this all happen and not doin’ anything about it). tilly and mary-beth retreat back to their original positions as they greet you with a frivolous tone. “go on, girls. arthur—and the baby—need some space.” they walk back to their stations, and a comment from karen seems to cause the other two to burst into giggles. you can tell arthur’s exhausted so you lead him back to your shared tent. next to the woven basket you found, you see a small folded blanket. with flushed cheeks arthur tells you the girls made it. “you know, for the baby.” he says nothing else to you as he pulls his journal out, most likely to write about his day. it makes you feel a bit giddy. not that you weren’t interested in the life that is held within his journal, but the thought of you and your unborn child being on his mind and possibly recorded on the thin pages is a feeling you’ll be happy getting used to.

for the rest of the 21st week, it’s all chatter among the camp. there’s barely a moment of silence aside from when everyone’s asleep. arthur’s developed a habit of putting his hand on his stomach every time he sits down or gets up that almost always raises a comment he has to brush off with rosy cheeks. you can tell things are livelier—molly and dutch haven’t been fighting, abigail and john are spending more time together, even reverend, of all people, has stopped asking for money. people are drinking in celebration (precisely sean and uncle) who thankfully have been less obnoxious than usual aside from sean’s occasional ribbing, “o’l morgan’s got himself knocked up, did he?” yet, with a bottle in hand, he welcomes the two of you over to a table anyway and doesn’t mention it further. dutch seems to be in high spirits, laying it low on the planning and scheming and letting everyone catch a break. you haven’t left arthur’s side in days, your mother-henning even making abigail shake her head in amusement. a lot of camp members have to talk you into giving arthur space, grimshaw and hosea especially. sadie comes up to you occasionally with warmth in her eyes and praise on her tongue. despite her disinterest in children, she offers to find supplies in your place to allow you time with arthur. your heart fights its love for arthur and concern for sadie, but she gives you no choice in the end. at the moment, you are surrounded by friends and family. arthur keeps trying to turn mary-beth and tilly’s attention to you instead of his ever-growing stomach (from what you can make out they’re trying to guess whether the baby will be a girl or not) until hosea makes a short toast that shoos them away once more. the lack of quarreling makes being at camp relaxing, not only for the overworked (and cain, whose arrival makes bill and jack lively once more) but especially for your poor lover. his body aches strike back like lightning, but for once he can sleep without feeling like there’s work he needs to do and people he needs to help.

week 22 and arthur’s pains start to flare up again. he wakes up with it in his hips, shooting up to his back and down to his ankles. they seem to be worse than they first were, judging by the amount of time he spends lying in the same position, trying to stay still so as to not irritate it. you can only assume it’s helping to ease the pain, because arthur refuses to expand on it, most likely to keep you from worrying. unfortunately, it only worries you more. you practically throw strauss out of bed in furious concern, but he says the pains are normal and hold no real threat. you retreat back to arthur to hold him in your arms, smoothing your hand over his hips and thighs to try and massage the pain away. he hums, melting before your touch. you strike up a conversation in hopes it might distract from the aches. you first ask him if he’s hungry, and though he says yes, he doesn’t let you get up from your spot which you hope means that what you’re doing is helping. after a pause, you ask him how he’s feeling about the pregnancy. there’s a bit of back and forth as he tries to change the subject to you, but eventually he starts answering. he’s got his doubts and fears, but overall he’s happy. he’s satisfied, or at least the closest he’ll ever get to it. he’s unsure of himself, but one thing he knows is that he loves you, and he loves his child. his child, the baby. his chuckle is sardonic. you still haven’t picked a name yet. you’re not sure when you’ll settle for one, or if you’ve even put enough thought into it with all that’s been going on. you make a joke about naming them after dutch or molly and he elbows you with a smile. now, hosea isn’t the worst option. neither is charles or susan, or even abigail. sadie, too. arthur thinks of john, though he knows if he named his child after him he’d never hear the end of it. regardless, he reminds himself to write them all down in his journal later. you suggest a name or two, just ones you’ve heard in passing that you thought were interesting. he doesn’t say much as he ponders them, but his hand goes to his stomach as if he were trying to imagine it. his body has stopped aching for the time being, though despite the crick that has now formed in his neck he turns over to kiss you. your massaging of his hips and thighs turn into playful squeezing as you kiss his neck. the two of you mutually decide to spend your morning in bed until either dutch or grimshaw calls your name to get the day moving and the work started. 

the start of the 24th week, arthur and you are eating breakfast together, away from the main campfire and away from the noise and smells. he’s eating strawberries that charles had found on his way back from a hunting trip. arthur finishes eating and wipes his hands on his jeans before he makes a surprised uhf! sound that has him staring you down with a tell anyone about that and it’s over for you kind of look on his face. you ask him what’s wrong and he tells you something about cramps in his stomach. you must have looked worried sick because he immediately adds that it’s not painful, just weird, like there’s a fish flopping around in his stomach. his description has you putting your hand on his forehead that he swats away like he would a mosquito. he means that it feels like there’s something moving—like the baby? a soft silence falls between you as you put your hand on his stomach. you feel nothing. he clicks his tongue, you ain’t feel it just yet  because that’s what abigail had said. you smile anyway, and he shakes his head with a little laugh. you keep your hand in place as you admire him. he becomes bashful under your gaze but doesn’t stop you. you only pull away when you hear the crunching of dirt behind you as javier calls the both of you over to join the others in some early-morning bickering.

funnily enough, it’s not until the 26th week that jack finally learns about arthur’s pregnancy. “i thought you were just fat, uncle arthur!” an ego-killer for sure, as innocent as it was. abigail hushes him the same way she hushes john who you can only guess learns the news about the same time as his son, silently questioning arthur with a look that practically screams wait, you’re pregnant? though it’s better not to talk about it, for john (and abigail’s) sake. your break gifted by dutch is nearing the last of its days (or perhaps hours, depending on any bright ideas he comes up with) so you spend them with arthur and arthur alone. sadie and charles have done you wonders, charles going out to hunt and gather arthur’s current favorites and sadie robbing as many folk as she could find to spare you extra dollars, something you’d been afraid to attempt in concern for your possible absence to arthur and your baby. she also found what looked like a doll made of fabrics and yarn; some threads had been pulled from its scalp of which sadie commented upon it looking like uncle. you don’t exactly disagree. arthur’s appetite has grown. he says it feels like he’s never getting full, being able to eat three plate-fulls of food and still be hungry for three more. this makes arthur feel extremely guilty, fearing that he’s eating food that could be used to feed someone who’s “truly” hungry. it’s difficult to knock arthur out of these thoughts, but bringing up the baby and how, in reality, it’s most likely the baby that’s hungry, he finds it a little easier to eat just one more peach. the herbs he craves aren’t filling enough, but charles gave you some advice on how to feed arthur something hardier while keeping the taste that he desires. you thought it’d never work, using a thick rub for the meat you cooked for him. you just assumed he’d notice right away and spit it out, but arthur’s intense hunger wins him over. thankfully, no one really makes any harsh comments on arthur’s eating habits aside from the typical jokes thrown from sean or john, or micah even. sometimes jack will see arthur holding one of his peaches and he’ll ask if he can have a bite and of course arthur just gives him the whole peach because he just can’t reject jack like that, not when his emotions are all over the place and he’s thinking about his future child asking him for a peach he’ll probably still have a shit ton of left over (though god knows after his pregnancy is over arthur is probably never going to want so see another damn peach again). jack ends up being a lot better company for arthur, asking him questions that are difficult enough to answer that arthur can swerve around them with ease, much to jack’s frustration. as arthur eats, he thinks of his baby, mostly of their name. and then he thinks of his mother, beatrice. beatrice ain’t too bad a name. arthur doesn’t say it, but from then on he’s silently rooting for his child to be a girl. maybe a girl would have a better chance of living a civilized, pain-free life, anything unlike his own. as long as they grow up to be as kind as mary-beth, strong like sadie and intelligent like charles or hosea, arthur will be happy. though he doesn’t view himself to be much of a father figure (lord knows he didn’t exactly have much to look up to) arthur promises to protect his child with all that he has until his very last breath. he doesn’t plan on making the same mistakes again.

the 28th week, hosea manages to convince you into taking arthur out of camp. you decide on strawberry, deeming the quaint town to be one of the safer options. there, the first thing you do is take arthur into the general store to buy him some clothes. he’s not far along to bust out of his clothes just yet but you want to make sure he’s got something comfortable for when the time comes. the shirts you buy him are a size or two too big, and though you get a glance or two from the shopkeeper as he watches you drape the large flannel over his body to see if it will ‘fit’, you leave the store pleased with your purchases. there aren’t exactly a large variety of things to do in strawberry which you are silently grateful for; boredom means safety. you and arthur walk through the town, stopping occasionally to give arthur a rest so that he can sketch some flowers and birds in his journal and whatever cat or dog passes by, giving them a pet and a scratch as they make their way through the road. after you tend to your horses, you rent out a room as well as a bath for arthur of which you keep watch outside the door (arthur insisted on washing up alone, much to your disappointment). you practically have your ear pressed against the door before arthur opens it to reveal that he was in fact, still in one piece. strawberry’s hotel was beautiful and homey. in your mind it perfectly encapsulated arthur due to its warmth and closure. in the amber lighting, arthur is like dripping honey, sweet and alluring. in fresh clothes and still somewhat damp from the bath, his body fills out the cream-colored shirt perfectly. the faint outline of his swollen breasts urges you forward and you spend the rest of the night in bed, snuggling into the warm blankets after a slow, passionate endeavor between the sheets. arthur’s out like a light in your arms, his soft breathing like a lullaby, but you don’t get much sleep, instead keeping your eyes on the door and your ears out for any danger. his grasp is comforting, like his presence alone could cure any ailment. your hand falls to his side, just slightly cupped beneath his stomach above his hip and you can feel the faintest thump against your hand and then one more before it’s gone. now you can blame your lack of sleep on the excitement you felt waiting for arthur to wake up to tell him the news. 

around 30 weeks is when arthur’s pregnancy takes a small turn. he’s been anxious for the baby since the start, but he’s now suddenly gained this excitement that has his typical pains and nausea pushed away to make room for his new schedule. you return to your shared tent to hand arthur a cup of coffee when you see him cleaning down the tables and cups. some of the clutter had been organized, the pictures safe, pushed the farthest away from the edge as possible. the lantern you kept had the same treatment, unlit and unlikely to fall from the edge. the basket you’d found is tidied, clothed with a soft blanket ( that you assume had been freshly washed considering you vaguely remember seeing it hanging from the clothes line) and set atop a table that rests right next to your cot. the doll sadie brought you sits next to it, still ratty as ever. usually the canvas falls down for complete privacy, but arthur had pulled away one of the ends to keep the sunlight shining in. he always looked ethereal in the morning, as if the sun shone entirely for him. he’s so focused on wiping down every surface he can touch in the tent he doesn’t see you approaching. when he notices you, he doesn’t stop cleaning but he keeps his head down with a shy smile on his face as he greets you good morning. you ask him if grimshaw made him do all this but he shakes his head and tells you with a soft voice, “jus’ felt like it i suppose.” you know that arthur is riddled with anxiety, but his words are just so sweet that you want to hold him close and cry. afterwards, you end up taking the girls into town. you originally only planned for you and abigail to go, but tilly and karen claimed to be painfully bored so now it’s them three, mary-beth, and sadie all tagging along with you. abigail helps you look for baby supplies as the other girls pop into saloons, probably finding folk to rob blind. at some point sadie ends up in the shop with you after throwing some drunkard into an alleyway and leaving with his pocket watch. it feels oddly comforting, just being in town with your friends and shopping for things for your child. you only wished arthur were with you, but the sound of yelling paired with the sight of tilly slapping a man flat across his face right outside of the general store makes you grateful he’s not. thankfully the trip wasn’t for nothing. though you’re not completely prepared (mainly due to the limitations imposed upon you by the lack of baby-prep valentine’s stores possess) you’ve got just about all that you need. and with what can be made by hand right at camp, clothing your child is no longer a concern even with so few store options. on the way back home, abigail had offered you some words of advice. they were blunt, but her words softened upon memory of the bond you shared with arthur. at least you had the choice—her final words of the day evoke a certain strength from you. back with arthur, you watch him eat peaches and strawberries, his hand resting on his stomach. his cheeks are rosy from the sun, and they only become more flush when you tell him how beautiful he looks, like he doesn’t look beautiful every second of every day anyway.

despite your compliments, arthur certainly doesn’t feel beautiful. at 32 weeks, arthur feels horrible. everything hurts, his hips, ankles, back, neck. he can hardly sleep, waking up multiple times at night due to an active bladder, most likely caused by all the kicking and fussing going on in his stomach. grimshaw has been on his heel more often, barking orders at him to sit and lay down if he’d been up on his feet too long. you’ve become victim to more and more of her scolding, partly due to your occasional absence when going out to gather food arthur will eat, and partly due to your ignorance as a soon-to-be parent. thinking about it, the whole camp has been facing grimshaw’s wrath, mostly the slackers who have now been distributed some of your work, allowing you to give arthur more attention. it’s frustrating how much he insists he’s fine, but at some point he can no longer keep up the facade, allowing you to slip a rolled up blanket between his thighs as he rests. he’d been getting a lot more hot at night, so you’ve kept a small tin of water by your bed to dip a rag in to lather some cool water onto his skin. at the very least, arthur’s nausea hasn’t worked itself up again, and he hasn’t thrown up in weeks. his headaches are back however, so you make sure that you bring arthur food he’ll eat enclosed within the comfort of your tent. every now and then you have to run sean or uncle off because they stink of alcohol but are too drunk to get the idea that arthur needs to be left alone. abigail is back to bringing over some tea she’d stashed away, generously letting arthur have the few amounts she had left. it’s definitely the most difficult part of arthur’s pregnancy either of you have had to endure. at least for the most part camp is relatively quiet, the only noise really being some of the chatter during breakfast and dinner, however groups begin to dissipate once the day really gets started and everyone splits off to do their chores. the best you can do for arthur is pull his hat down over his eyes to help with his headache and massage parts of his body that are in pain. unfortunately it’s not much help, the pain only subsiding naturally after hours have passed before coming back the next morning. you’ve tried several different sleeping positions, and only two have helped to lessen the pains, though not by a substantial amount. even through his exhaustion, arthur can look into your eyes and tell you he doesn’t regret a thing. there’s a bit of sarcasm on his tongue to mask his vulnerability, but you know it’s the truth. arthur morgan was never much of a liar anyway. his pains fade away with time, only leaving a dull ache in their wake. peaches are a good distraction, and though you were only able to get him the canned kind, he eats them anyway. he even has enough energy to sit with everyone by the fire before they all head to bed for the night. 

2 weeks later at 34, arthur is very exhausted. not only mentally, but physically. the pains are on and off, varying to last for hours or minutes. when he does finally catch a break he doesn’t know what to do with his time. when he has the energy to walk and stand about, he gives his horse some attention like usual, petting them and making sure they’re brushed and that they’ve been fed. his horse bathes in his care, pushing his head into his hand and flicking its tail. his stomach’s big enough that he has to take smaller steps to get around, so it is just a little bit entertaining to see arthur try and bend over to grab some hay for his horse. he can’t blame you for laughing, but he definitely can blame you for getting him pregnant and making him go through all this pain and he will dodge around the conversation when you bring up how it was his decision as well. he has to go sit back down despite only being up for like five minutes, but don’t bring it up or he’ll kick you out of your tent for an hour. arthur becomes a little snuggly between the pain intermissions, he’ll try to scoot as close to you as he possibly can with his belly getting in the way. it’s kind of revolutionary when you discover you can very slightly lift arthur’s belly. it’s relieving enough that arthur can drift off to sleep and not wake up at the times he usually might. he still gets kicked a lot, and laying down with arthur you’ll hear him cursing his unborn child out a lot under his breath. you definitely know what their first words are going to be and it ain’t gonna be pretty. he does think it’s endearing how excited you get when you can feel the baby kicking beneath your hand, but at the same time he’s really grumpy and is momentarily really allergic to fun, sending you a glare everytime you giggle or smile. it’s kind of silly how much of an old man arthur starts acting like when he’s in pain, but you better believe the second the pain goes away he’s feeling like this baby is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he starts tearing up a little. arthur’s really convinced that he’s not deserving of most good things so he becomes a little anxious, thinking about all the things that might go wrong. the third trimester is a really tough one for him, probably one of the worst states the gang has ever seen him. arthur’s not the easiest guy to lift the mood of but it really does warm his heart at your care and attention when you attempt to put him into a position that might put less stress on his body. he ends up keeping a grumpy reputation even when he’s walking about painlessly but most people like to joke about how pregnant arthur isn’t any different to normal arthur, complaining about back pain and acting like everyone’s a nuisance. which isn’t entirely unwarranted, considering even you find yourself having to drive away some of the nosier camp members who offer ‘assistance’ to get out of doing any real work outside of drinking and sleeping all day. hosea’s told you that everything is under control. him and dutch have probably had hundreds of conversations since they discovered arthur’s pregnancy. hosea most certainly doesn’t blame arthur for his work leave, but you can only hope that at least dutch will give him a break to let him rest after he gives birth. you envision dutch with his hands on his hips, barking orders to your newborn. it’s not particularly something you'd look past him doing.

36 weeks and grimshaw has finished setting up a separate tent for arthur. it’s mostly empty at the moment, aside from a cot that resides in the middle. there aren’t many supplies inside but she says she’ll get everything when the time comes, that time being when arthur goes into labor of course. tilly’s become a little anxious which you guess is because she’s been assigned grimshaw’s backup to help with delivering arthur’s baby alongside abigail. mary-beth also seems a little on edge, though she appears just a bit more excited than tilly. grimshaw’s ordered you to keep close to arthur, saying that if anything goes wrong he needs you there to assist her in helping him. all of a sudden the cheery atmosphere at camp turns into a dark cloud of anxiety that seems to only be raining over you and arthur. grimshaw’s cynicism is expected, though you’d hoped there’d be a little less to be worried about than your brain was telling you. abigail tries to ease your worries realistically. birthin’ ain’t easy but his body will know what to do. abigail’s still here ain’t she? and so is jack, and they’re fine. you don’t expect his birth to have been anything less than long and difficult, but she’s not wrong. arthur is strong. he’ll get through it. and if he doesn’t then his baby will, because arthur won’t let anything happen to his child, you know that much. you try your best to spend the last weeks of his pregnancy as normal as possible. arthur’s appetite hasn’t budged, he’s still eating peach and rabbit with violet snowdrop rubs and some sort of herb that charles managed to get arthur to eat without causing a wave of nausea. strauss says his diet could be better but at least he’s eating. he seemed a little underweight but not dangerously so. his belly is the typical size for thirty-six weeks, fat and round and in the way, as arthur likes to mention. his flannels keep him warm at night despite the occasional hot flashes. oddly, he doesn’t seem all that worried. you consider the idea that he might have just tired himself out worrying the entire first two trimesters but arthur tells you that for the second time in his life he’s entirely sure of what he wants (the first being you) and what he wants right now is his damn baby. it’s very heroically arthur, the way he says it with his drawl hanging off his words and his mouth full of peach. you don’t know how he does it, always staying strong despite the misery he’s forced to put up with. his fly is folded down to make room for his stomach that looks like it’s threatening to pop the damn buttons off his flannel but he’s still resilient as ever. even when he finishes his can of peaches and looks at you with such dejection as he reluctantly asks for another, he is absolutely gorgeous. 

38 weeks and arthur wakes up with some, what you realize now, are contractions. it’s early in the morning where the only people awake are grimshaw and dutch. in about an hour or so the rest of camp will begin to stir. arthur doesn’t wake you up at first, assuming they were just regular pains. when the first wave rides out, he takes a deep breath and gets up to try and start his day. he’s not hungry, though he’s incredibly thirsty so he downs two cups of water before another wave of contractions begin. you’re not entirely sure how long they last, or how long they’ve been lasting, but by the time the sun has risen half the camp is awake now, and more importantly the girls and strauss are awake. you hurry over to grimshaw first and she has to ask you to slow down so you can properly tell her what’s wrong. she says something about it being early, early in the morning? early in the pregnancy? you can’t hear straight at the moment. arthur is trying to take deep breaths and the pain seems to be getting to him. you feel like you want to cry at the sight. grimshaw strikes you across the face, not too hard but certainly not delicately. it wakes you up and you can hear her now as she speaks to you. more hours have passed and arthur has been moved to the new tent. you’re crouched at his side, hovering but staying out of the way as grimshaw makes her way between strauss’ tent and the one arthur resides in. you try to stay calm so as to not pass your anxiety onto arthur, but he seems right as rain, breathing through the pain and letting you hold his hand that starts to feel wet coated with your nerves. you seem to be more scared than arthur, which both worries you more and also fills you with pride at his courage. you can only focus on arthur and the sweat that drips down his forehead, either from the pain or heat or stress. in an odd way you’d rather not know which one. thankfully he’s wearing a particularly large shirt so it doesn’t look like it’s too tight around his stomach. you unbutton it anyway, giving him some breathing room. at some point grimshaw takes off arthur’s pants, but she doesn’t seem concerned. from where you’re sitting you can’t see what’s happening. she’s focused, not talking unless she tells arthur to sit or lay down a certain way. at the very least she doesn’t mention anything about bleeding. at some point she tells you to get out to give everyone some space and you almost yell at her to let you stay but arthur is the final voice of reason who looks at you with such conviction you can’t even get a word out. you’re hesitant to go but charles comes in with a bowl and towels in hand and reassures you that everything will be fine. your legs move on their own, mary-beth even guiding you out of the tent before she’s directed back in by grimshaw. you’re at least greeted by hosea whose voice drowns out the chatter behind you. he walks you to a table, his hand on your back with friendly sentiment. some of the other camp members drop their chores to talk to you (only for a moment though, knowing grimshaw will get on their case if nothing gets done) but everyone’s presence just feels ghostly, like nothing is real. your blood runs cold. your hands are shaking so much you have to hold the cup of water hosea offers you with both of them. you can’t even take a sip because you’re certain it’ll just wind up on the ground and be a total waste. you keep looking back at the tent, it’s so far away you can’t hear the chatter but you occasionally see mary-beth coming out to fetch something from strauss’ wagon. when your eyes focus enough you can see some blood on her dress. 

it’s hours before abigail comes up to you. you’re not entirely sure how long it’s been, having been dozed in and out of sleep, but when you stand up your legs are numb and shaking from the stress put onto them. thank god, the first thing she tells you is that he’s alive, and so is the baby. you almost faint pushing through the tent, your eyes jumping to arthur’s exhausted form. he’s holding your baby in his arms who’s currently wrapped up in a light green blanket. you have a healthy baby girl is what abigail says when you crouch down next to arthur. she’s got some dark hair on her head, almost reminiscent to arthur’s where there’s some shimmery, somewhat gold color that shines through when the light of the lantern hits it. you’re so close to arthur that you can feel the heat radiating off of him like he’d been doused in melted copper. he’s crying, or he was crying since you can see his eyes are glossy and tinted red at the corners. he offers you to hold the baby, and hesitantly you take her into your arms. she’s so small and fragile. her skin looks flawless, her puffy face perfectly crafted. she’s making the softest noises, almost so quiet you can barely hear them over the sound of you and arthur breathing. grimshaw tells arthur something you can’t focus on enough to hear. your daughter wriggles gently in your hands and (very delicately) arthur takes her back into his own to help feed her. tilly’s beside you now, taking arthur’s abandoned clothes to wash them up. before she leaves she asks you what you’re gonna name her. it’s not much of a question by this point. beatrice, of course. you’d read it somewhere in arthur’s journal and his lack of reaction to her question proves to you that the name had been set in stone for a while now anyway. beatrice’s eyes peer up at you, hazy and pure. they bloom with color, blue and grey like a cloudy sky with the sun peeking out to burst into gold just slightly. she makes a little huff that has your face finally cracking into some emotion. knocked awake out of your daze you can see arthur’s color on his cheeks, his eyes still glossy and hopeful and alive. he looks at you with so much love as he wipes away the tears falling from your eyes. later in the night, beatrice is whisked away to be swaddled into a new blanket of which the next morning she bursts out of with a stronger perseverance than you expected out of a newborn. dutch luckily grants both you and arthur some time to spend with each other and beatrice. it takes immense effort to get everyone away, and though unfortunately a few strays make their way into your tent to say hello to your daughter, things don’t feel as bad anymore. arthur doesn’t bother trying to get on his feet, not even to defend his daughter from curious eyes. you've had jack on his tippy-toes trying to see her, mary-beth gushing with a little toy in her grasp as she attempts to entertain beatrice, and even kieran and sadie among the shadows to observe in silence, but arthur only sighs in a stubborn acceptance. grimshaw’s presence alone is reassuring of her safety, but your confident voice and tender expression is what helps arthur drift to sleep to get at least an hour or two of rest. he doesn’t tell you the details of the birth, though the lack of yelling and screaming should probably be enough to reassure you things went fine for the most part. arthur is tense in sleep, every coo from beatrice causing a stutter or jolt from his body. still, he eventually wakes with high-spirits, his eyes sunken but filled with solace. your daughter still breathes, alive and healthy, along with arthur. you don’t take your luck for granted—both you and arthur got more than you could have ever imagined possible. beatrice is heaven scooped up in your arms, and though arthur can’t speak due to a mouth full of peach, he’s thinking the exact same thing.

[posts-from-pluto]

Humans are strange - willing hosts? (pets)

(This is just me exploring the idea of how it would go if someone requested permission to get a dog) (ft no names again bc I can't be bothered rn)

Edit: upon rereading this in the morning I've realized that the idea was floating around my head bc the post I reblogged before this so credit for inspo to them

----

Alien: Human.

Human: Yes?

Alien: Why have you requested permission to obtain a parasite?

Human: ....I haven't????

Alien: Ooh have I perhaps been mistaken? You were not the one who requested a small lifeform of the Canis lupus familiaris classification from your home planet be brought aboard?

Human: ....What's the common name for that classification?

Alien: Domestic dog

Human: Wait yeah that was me then... but they're not parasites?

Alien: There is no need to lie to me human for I have done the research.

Alien: You poor creatures have been subjected to harrasment from these lifeforms occupying your homes for far too long and I have been lead to understand that your species does not benefit from them.

Human: .... no wait we do benefit

Alien: Some of you do, having the creatures assist you with minute tasks, but the majority those who are being subjected to their exist are in parasitic relationships simply providing them with food and housing.

Human:.... Actually they do provide a essential service to all the people housing them.

Alien: And what is that???

Human: They make us happy

Alien:.... Is this the stockhold symdrome I have heard of?

Human: What no

Human: where did you even hear about that haha

Alien: That is unimportant. What is important is that you are safe here human, there is no need to return to a parasitic relationship.

Human: No I was being serious about them making us happy

Human: well, to explain it better they generally help us be more emotionally stable which is positive for our mental health

Alien: Oh I see, I will have to ensure that no occupants aboard the ship would be harmed by sharing the space with a 'dog' first, but I may approve your request then.

[albertserra]

Hi I wrote something long-form about film for the first time in years, please read if you're interested!! And also watch Memoria (and maybe Szamanka)

[snail-noodle]

eternal sugar cookie x reader

"what has you lost in thought?"

eternal sugar cookie observed you as she played a gentle melody on her harp. she layed next to where you sat, her large wings provided you shade from the sun that was set high amongst her eternal paradise.

you had been separated from hollyberry cookie the moment you had reached eternal sugar cookie's territory. you had foolishly followed the sound of a sweet melody in the distance, unaware that your path would lead you right to the arms of the slothful beast.

from what hollyberry cookie had been told about the beast cookies in pure vanilla cookie's letter, the beast cookies were dangerous and ruthless beings. they would show no mercy to gain back the other half of their soul jam.

your queen had warned you to stick close, but that sweet melody was too hard to ignore. now here you were, in front of the beast of sloth.

you were expecting mockery to slip from her mouth, for blindly following what was clearly a trap set for you. you even expected to be captured as a way to lure hollyberry cookie towards her.

what you weren't expecting was for eternal sugar cookie to welcome you with open arms to her paradise. a table full of sweet desserts and rare fruits awaited you as she beckoned you forward.

and you did.

you weren't sure how many days have passed since you separated yourself from hollyberry cookie. eternal sugar cookie and her loyal subjects would find every opportunity to distract you from thinking about her.

you didn't go a day without eating a good meal, eternal sugar cookie would always have the time to play you sweet melodies and sing her heart out, and your sleep would be filled with nothing but pleasant dreams and honey-coated whispers.

and now here you were, sitting next to the beast as you watched her servants attending her garden or talking amongst eachother. you couldn't help but mull over hollyberry cookie. the guilt of having left her behind gnawed your mind and heart.

"what has you lost in thought?"

eternal sugar cookie's sweet voice broke you from your thoughts. you looked at her, her eyes were full of warmth and curiosity. you hesitated to ask her, but your guilty conscience ended up winning.

"where is hollyberry cookie?"

silence.

a chill ran down your dough as the garden and its many colors turned dull. the servants amongst you had grown still as stone, their eyes locked unto you, but their faces showed no emotion.

even the sun itself seemed to have lost its' warmth.

what unsettled you the most was eternal sugar cookie's face. the gentle smile she once held had turned to a frigid frown. her eyes, once full of warmth, were now as cold as ice.

"do not bother thinking about her. she's exactly where she needs to be."

and just like that, her warm smile returned, continuing on playing that gentle melody. the garden's vibrant colors returned and the servants continued on as if nothing had happened.

you were the only one who remained the same.

you stared wide-eyed at her with terror, despite the colorful atmosphere. before, you felt content in her blissful paradise, but now?

now you felt nothing but dread.

the beast lazily looked at you, her smile growing just a bit. "come now, my dear, there's far more pleasant things to think about than that silly, little thief."

she put aside her harp to stretch, her wings spreading out at the action. a yawn escaped her as she started to grow drowsy. without wasting a moment, she stood up and summoned one of her fluffy clouds.

you knew what was about to happen. this has become a routine ever since you were placed by her side. you couldn't utter a word as you found yourself being picked up bridal style as she placed you upon her cloud.

the two of layed together as the cloud slowly rose, the voices of her servants slowly becoming distant until there was nothing but silence.

her wings had wrapped around you as she started to doze off into her usual slumber. the wings that once felt warm and soft to you now felt like a cold cage. the unease within you refused to leave, even as she slept peacefully next to you.

you had to get out.

you need to find hollyberry cookie.

your mind raced with ideas on how to leave this dreadful paradise that you had fallen into. you couldn't stay here while your queen is in danger.

fear started to claw and tear at your heart.

how can a prey escape the jaws of a beast?

[solmire]

Overworking yourself for a dream job wasn’t unfamiliar to you, and especially to your bf!Sukuna.

Nowadays, late nights you spend among stacks of books, trying to memorise everything for your upcoming exam, but it more feels like wasting your time because a terrible headache cannot give you any mercy.

Anxiety keeps creeping up on you, always staying right behind you, making you suffer insomnia without any help to study and comprehend information.

Sukuna is too tired to see you like that.

“You do this every day and I can’t see any type of improvement in your knowledge.” He grumbles while sitting next to your right. He can see how your eyelids are trying to not to close and your head keeps moving in every direction just to feel some relief. Bags under your eyes are darker, hands are too shake to hold pen still and he just takes it from you.

“You know, you are not preventing dementia by fooling around with your health. You are probably gonna die earlier than hitting your middle thirties with that lifestyle.” At that point, a sneer is the only expression he can manage to show. But under all that babble you can notice the way his hand is reaching for you, squeezing your thigh in supportive manner, showing that you are not alone here, he is always by your side.

“Do you even know how to support your partner, kuna? Last time when I checked you were the one not sleeping for some stupid game.” The memory of him staying up for almost 3 days in a row just to beat Gojo and Toji in a game still lingers right in front of your eyes. Especially how he made you sleep with him for 15 hours in a row after that. He lost to Gojo but he would never admit that the asshole has managed to do it.

“And what? I can do that, but you do not have the right to do that too.” He stands from his sit and tugs your arm in direction of bedroom. “Stand up, playtime’s over, right now you need to go to sleep.”

You lost all your ability to go against him, and the way he puts his arm in your back and starts rubbing cyrcles also leaves you without any choice.

“Kuna, do you know that I am not a child and I can do what I want?”

“Stop saying bullshit. Just go to bed and shut your mouth.” His voice is too heavy in a room, but you find comfort in it. He knows you might have a terribly headache right now and if he starts to speak in his comfortable volume it will only leave you to suffer and not having sleep at all.

He helps you to get under the blanket, the hand that was patting your back now slowly massaging your head and temples, lips are leaving soft kisses all around your face. “Kuna, I want to be a big spoon tonight.”

The man doesn’t give you the answer right away. Sukuna walks around the bed and lies down to his side. Still without any word he turns his back on you.

“I told you to shut up.” He says and lets you to hug him from behind.

You are not ashamed of a smile that creeps on your face. Be leaving small kisses on his back and squeezing his muscles you are trying to show the love you feel for him.

“Kuna, I love you.” It was the last thing you mumbled before falling asleep.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He says and lifts one of your hands to kiss the palm and to hold it tightly so you will never leave him.

[aziawow]

now that we're here... (benny weir x f!reader) nsfw, 6.6k words

summary: in the heat of the moment, you and benny sleep together. you don't even kiss. a devilish plot (and teenage awkwardness) keeps you from talking to him about that night. the solution, however, might just be part of the very thing you're avoiding.

warnings: nsfw, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (DO NOT EVER HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX!!! USE A CONDOM EVERY SINGLE TIME!!!), implied reader isn't a virgin, blood, language, devil mention, implied animal abuse, death (of ocs), panic attack. if there are any other warnings please let me know so i can add

notes: no use of y/n, she/her reader, can also double as a rory x platonic!reader bc they're such besties. this fic is so fun pls give it a read!

You’re not entirely sure how it happens. Seriously. Yes, you’re super ultra mega attracted to Benny, but you never expected this to happen, especially as suddenly as it did. 

You’re a planner, extremely detail oriented, and you’re almost never taken by surprise. Impulsivity isn’t you, it’s Benny. So what made you throw caution into the wind and do this? 

You’re not even together; you didn’t even kiss. 

Suffice to say, you’re freaking the fuck out. 

***

You and Benny are chilling together, watching a movie on his bed. It’s rare for you two to be alone, but Ethan had to help his parents with whatever, Rory was doing whatever Rory does, and Sarah and Erica were having fun in town. They invited you, but with the supernatural craziness of the last few days, you just wanted a quiet night in for once. 

Years of familiarity resulted in you and Benny being pretty comfortable with each other, so you were cuddled together, you mostly on top of Benny while you both made fun of the movie and stuffed your faces with popcorn. 

You think it happens because you got thirsty. 

One second you’re reaching across Benny to grab your drink, then another has Benny hissing through his teeth and grabbing you. He held you still, and you glanced up. 

His eyes were squeezed shut, and a peculiar red flush adorned his face. His breathing was quickened, and he was practically shaking. 

Startled by his behavior, you sat up, still half on his lap and completely oblivious. 

“Benny, what’s wrong?” You place the back of your hand on his cheek, thinking he might have a temperature. Hot, but not feverish. You scoot forward a little to reach his forehead, and Benny gasps. 

“Please,” he strains, “stop moving.” 

Your eyebrows knit together. He was making no sense. “What…”

Then, you feel it. 

Your leg was brushing against his very prominent, very hard, erection. 

“Oh,” you gulp.

Benny’s eyes spring open, his mouth starts to move, but he can’t seem to say anything. You know he’d try to shrug this off, tell you it’ll go away, and apologize to lessen the sheer awkwardness of the moment. 

You don’t want him to. 

His lips are parted, panting quietly, face blushing the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, skin sheening with sweat, and his eyes? One part horrified and the other completely and utterly aroused. 

You really don’t want to waste this moment. 

Without thinking, you place a hand on his upper thigh. Firm enough to not get lost in translation but gentle so he could brush you away if he didn’t want this after all.

Your eyes meet, confusion and hope and desperation swimming in his. Slowly, you slide your hand upward, waiting for him to swat you away. 

He doesn’t. 

When you reach his front, you apply pressure and palm him through his pants. 

Benny groans delectably, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

You can feel yourself get wet at his reaction, the burn between your legs throbbing as the seconds pass. The fact that one little touch from you elicits a response like this makes your veins rush with power. 

Then, he moans your name. 

You’re done playing. You unzip his jeans and push them down. Benny, who has all but collapsed on his pillows, eagerly helps you slip the rest of it off. 

You climb on him again, fully this time, and take him into your hands. You pump him a few times, having to wet your hands with your spit. He’s shaking under you, making these small pathetic noises that have you grinding on his thigh. 

He’s lasting for a lot longer than you expect a teenage boy to, especially a virgin. 

Benny surprises you yet again by sitting up abruptly, and you let him go. He takes his shirt off, and when it’s discarded somewhere on his messy floor, he presses your foreheads together, mouths breathing into each other but not quite touching. 

His hands play with the hem of your shirt.

“Benny,” you moan, when his fingers disappear under the fabric and press against your hot skin. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks, throat raspy and deep. You nod at him, and your top joins his on the floor before you can blink.

Your hands roam each other’s bodies, just feeling and squeezing. Benny nuzzles your neck and collarbones, pressing kisses and leaving nips here and there. You grip his hair and pull, feeling the whine of pleasure Benny lets out against your skin.

After a few moments of this, you realize Benny is nearly naked, and you still have your pants on. You pull away from him and sit up higher on your knees. When Benny realizes your next course of action, he wastes no time in helping you rid yourself from your pants, and when they’re gone, he grabs a handful of your ass and blinks up at you, wide and ready. 

You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, peeling it off slowly, almost painfully so, for Benny. You toss it aside, and all he can do is stare. 

You reach for his hands and place them on your breasts. When he starts to feel you up and squeeze, you throw your head back and keen at the sensation. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. You look down at Benny, and he’s peering up at you through his dark lashes with nothing but want behind his eyes. Instinctively, you pull his head to your chest, and your pleasure multiplies when Benny immediately starts licking and sucking and kissing you all over. 

Your legs are delightfully weak at this point, so you push Benny back down on the sheets and fall on top of him. You’re still touching each other and it feels like he’s become a second skin. You hardly register his hand going further down until it rests on your lower abdomen, toying with your panty line.

“Can I touch you?” he all but pleads, and who were you to deny him? 

You’re nearly sobbing when he slips his fingers into your folds, feeling the wetness he caused. You can tell he’s trying to finger your clit, so you decide to be a good partner and guide him to its location. You shudder when he finally finds it on his own and begins to rub, the friction nearly too much for you. 

You’re kissing and biting his skin, one hand gripping his sheets and the other skimming along his chest, your nails scratching and digging into him. You grind back on his hand, so he picks up the pace and you know right then you’re about to cum. 

“Benny,” you warn. “Benny, don’t stop.” 

He doesn’t, and you cry into his neck when you orgasm on his fingers. 

You both lay there panting, but you have no time to bask in the afterglow when you remember he hasn’t came yet. 

You get on your hands and knees above Benny, and you lower your face to his, still not touching except your hair brushing his. 

“Do you want me?” you ask. You want him. You want him so bad you don’t know what you’d do if he said no. 

He nods, and your heart flutters. 

“No,” you whisper. “I need to hear you say it.”

He nods again. “Yes. Yes I do. Please,” he begs. He starts to babble his affirmation and continues to do so when you get your underwear and his boxers off. You grip him and slick his head up with your juices, and when you finally sink down, Benny shuts up and you both sigh as you seat him fully inside you. 

You start to rock, fucking yourself with his cock and feeling so, so good. Benny’s hands find your hips and together, you find a pace as you ride him. Your hands are on his chest as you slide up and down on him. He begins to feel you again, your torso, your breasts, shoulders, and hair. You don’t want him to stop exactly, because it makes the pleasure increase tenfold, but you’re in control, and it's so hot when Benny does what you want. 

You grab his wrist and pin them on either side of his head, and the flash of lust in his eyes as you do so makes you smirk. 

You keep holding him down as you pump in and out of him, as you rock against him, but after a while your legs begin to ache. Benny, feeling you slow down, takes the reins. 

You let him go, and he wraps an arm around your body, pulling you down flush against him. The other hand weaves through your hair, angling your head once more into the crook of his neck. Holding you tight, he fucks up into you, and you feel something you never have before. 

For a virgin, he’s a natural at this. Your bodies know what they want and how to get it, the carnal desire guiding you the whole way. You can feel him pulse inside you, and you know you’re both about to cum when his thrusts grow quicker. 

“Benny,” you moan into his ear, and that’s all it takes. His motions get sloppier as he climaxes, but you don’t care because you’re in the middle of coming yourself. 

You’re laying there, trying to catch your breath and clinging together tightly. He’s practically hugging you, and you're running your fingers through his hair. 

You know you can’t stay like this forever, so you pull off of him, both of you wincing as you do so. You want to find your clothes and dash, but your legs wobble and you fall back down on him. 

You expected Benny to crack a joke like he always does, but when you turn around, he has an arm thrown over his eyes. His chest rises and falls quickly, and you wonder if you should risk it and leave after all. 

But then, Benny wraps an arm around you, much gentler this time. “Good night,” he says softly, and he’s out. 

You’re actually grateful Benny doesn’t seem to be aware of aftercare, because you have no idea what to do, and would have even less of an idea if he stayed awake and wanted to talk about what just happened. 

You’re contemplating whether to stay or go, and when you finally decide, your eyes slip shut, and you cuddle into Benny’s warmth. 

The next morning, you have a proper freak out. 

You need to talk to him, you need to not talk to him. You need caffeine and a pregnancy test and a change of clothes. You need an ice pack and a salt bath because holy fuck you’re sore, Jesus Christ Benny. 

You need Sarah and Erica. 

Luck is on your side today, because as you make your way into school, there’s no sign of Benny. You find who you need chatting at Sarah’s locker, and when Erica sees you, she immediately asks what’s wrong. 

“Oh my god, I don’t even know where to start,” you choke. They blink at you and you start to ramble. “I did something so stupid last night, But it also wasn’t stupid except for the parts that were but ohmygod I need to tell you something. It cannot wait and I am freaking out.” You pause to take a breath. “I think my heart is about to give out.” 

“Okay, okay relax,” Sarah calms you down. “We have 20 minutes before first period. What’s up?” 

“Hold that thought, Sarah, I think she needs to sit down.” You nod, so the girls take you to a more private area, which turns out to be an empty classroom, and as soon as you get there you crumple onto the nearest chair.

“So… what's up?” 

You sit up, your whole body jittering with nerves. You wanna tell them so bad but you don't know how. This is a kind of confession that needs a strong lead to get there, but you’re totally blanking. 

“Well?” 

It burst out of you, “Benny and I slept together!” 

Neither girl moved. They stood there, gaping like fish. You knew they believed you, this isn't something you'd lie or joke about. Oh how you wish you were. 

“How?” Erica finally spoke.

You grimace. “Well, it was kind of an accident at first. We were just watching a movie, then we got really horny at the same time, and it just went from there.”

Sarah’s face twisted at your words. “Were you at least safe?” 

You pinched your lips together and avoided their gaze. 

Sarah groaned and Erica exclaimed, “Are you serious? That was so stupid!”

“I told you I did something stupid! I wasn’t really thinking about protection in the heat of the moment and I seriously doubt Benny had a condom laying around.” You stop then. “Oh my god. I took Benny’s virginity.”

At your words, Sarah and Erica looked at each other. “Ewww!”

“You did what?” a voice shouted from the previously closed door. 

Rory. 

Son of a bitch. 

Erica pulled him into the room and slammed the door shut. You’ve never been more thankful for her as she began to threaten Rory within an inch of his undead life. You expected him to wet himself, but Rory’s face was calm, and not the kind of blankness you’re accustomed to seeing on his expression.

He huffed. “No wonder Benny was being so weird this morning. I thought losing your virginity was supposed to change a guy in a good way. His face looked exactly like the time I accidentally dropped him in a dumpster.”

That… did not do anything good for your ego. 

“He hates me,” you pout. 

“I don't know about that,” Rory shrugs. “He asked if I saw you and told me to tell him if I did. Oh, well now that I’ve seen you, I should probably go tell him.” Rory started to walk away, but the three of you shouted after him and dragged him back. 

“Okay, jeez. I don’t get what the big deal is.”

Erica facepalmed and Sarah scoffed. “The big deal is that two close friends slept with each other. That’s not a thing friends do! It’s probably awkward for them!”

You sigh. “Guys, it’s more than awkward. We didn’t even talk about it. I left before he woke up.”

Erica gasps, “You did not.” Sarah and Rory both wince, and again, this did not make you feel better. 

“What was I supposed to say! It happened so suddenly—we didn’t even kiss!” 

The three of them pause and gawk at you. You threw your hands up in surrender. 

“It just didn’t happen. We were kinda focused on other things.” You were pulled back to the memory, his lips and hands everywhere, his whiny little mewls and pants hot and breathy in your ear… 

“Oh my god. She’s thinking about him right now, ewww!” Erica squealed.

“Wait, was Benny actually good?” Sarah asked in disbelief. 

You sigh dreamily, “Let's just say, if he wasn't already a spellcaster, he'd still have magic in his fingers.”

“EWWW!” Three voices cried in unison. Rory gagged and Erica covered her ears. Sarah closed her eyes, her worn expression letting you know she very much regretted asking at all. All three looked rather like a steak to the heart would be a perfect end to this conversation. 

The end, however, came in the form of the warning bell. Before leaving you swore all of them to secrecy, with an emphasis on Rory’s discretion. He gave you a thumbs up and said “You can count on me!” You were not confident in his ability to keep his mouth shut. 

Classes went on, but you were on edge in fourth period, the first class of three you and Benny shared, not including lunch. You got there early, as usual, and Benny came in second before the bell, also as usual. You didn’t dare look up at him when he walked by you, knowing it was him by his clumsy footsteps and the scent of his cologne. He sat behind you, and you felt the weight of his stare on you the entire class period. When the bell finally rang you were first out the door. 

Your whole group usually sits together at lunch, unless the dorks had a mathlete meeting or Erica decided to sit with her boytoy of the week, which happens more often than not. She promised to sit with you and Sarah today just in case a buffer (or a badass vampire) was needed. 

Rory is the first of the boys to sit down and starts yammering about his day. Apparently the stray cat he feeds in the junkyard went missing and it’s been days since he saw it and he’s getting worried. He was in the middle of the “epic” tale of their friendship and why they don’t try to eat each other anymore when Benny sits down. Right in front of you. Where he always does. Very normal, but you can’t ignore the shaking feeling that no, everything is decidedly not normal. 

Unfortunately for all of you, Rory trails off. 

The table is silent for a long, long while.

You want to say something so bad, you hate this awkward tension between the two of you, but you can’t speak. It’s like your voice was stolen by teenage embarrassment. 

You have enough strength of mind to meet Benny’s eyes, only you’re unable to read him. Is he disgusted? Regretful? If so, of what specifically? Is your friendship completely over? He just looks and looks. 

Just as a headache began to form between your eyes, Ethan barrelled into his seat in an anxious flurry. You’ve never been happier to hear the words: “Guys, I think we have a problem.” 

Your focus is 100% on Ethan now, you don’t even notice the pinch of Benny’s brows at his best friend's words, or the way his fingers twitch for his spellbook, or the way he licks his lips like he always does when he concentrates. 

It’s Benny, of course you can’t help but notice. 

Except, something Ethan just said actually pulled your focus. “Wait, you said you saw strange markings in your vision. Was there anything concrete? It sounds like whoever drew them and left the animal hearts and talismans were attempting a ritual.”

Ethan nods. “There were pentagrams all over my vision, and there was a flash of goat hooves and a clock.”

“A clock?” Benny asks. 

“Yes,” he confirms. “The hands were set to midnight.” 

“The witching hour,” you and Benny speak in unison. You snuck a peek at him, almost startling when you see he did the same. You dart your eyes away, and a sinking feeling hits you as you realize what Ethan’s vision most likely meant.

“Rory,“ you start slowly, “what color is your junkyard cat?”

Your friends tense as you say this, also connecting the dots. Rory, bless him, remains oblivious. 

“He has black fur! That's why I named him Shadow Ninja! I hope the little guy is okay…” Rory digs into his sandwich, and you don’t know if he’s being willfully ignorant to spare his own feelings, or if he genuinely knows nothing about superstitions. The group glances at each other, all silently agreeing to keep Rory in the dark. 

“We need to find out who’s behind these rituals. It’s one thing if they’re idiotic humans, but another if they’re witches,” Sarah comments. 

“What do they even want?” Erica asks. “What are the rituals for?”

“Well, if Ethan’s visions and the ritual’s remnants are anything to go by,” you muse darkly, “I’d guess they’re trying to summon the Devil.”

Benny hums. “Making a deal with the Devil is not good, Grandma says that all time. We need to find out for sure where the rituals took place.”

He begins to flip through his spellbook when Ethan asks why the location matters. 

Then, it hits you. “Ley lines.”

“Exactly,” Benny confirms, but he doesn’t look at you. “If they’re doing the rituals on the ley line, it’ll be easier to find out where they’ll go next.”

Sarah puts a hand on your arm. “Hold on, what are ley lines?”

“They’re invisible, mystical energy lines that run underneath the earth. They connect various historical sites, prominent landmarks, and sacred spaces to conduct the energy. They’re said to amplify the supernatural, so it makes sense if there’s one running through Whitechapel.”

“There is,” Benny says. He flips the book around and shows everyone the page he found. It details the line running through your province of Canada, but there isn’t anything you recognize. The map isn’t updated for the 21st Century, apparently. 

You make plans after school to go ley line hunting, deciding to split into three pairs to cover more ground, one vampire and one human in each. Out of everyone, you have the most success at keeping Rory on task, so you’re partnered with him. His protective side comes out most often with you, being the only fully fledged human of the group, no vamp, seer, or spellcaster powers in sight. 

You can fend for yourself of course, though you find fighting magic with magic more often than not solves the problem. It’s no bother to you when you have brains. You help Ethan make the plans and connect the dots, you don’t need to execute them. 

Admittedly, the idea of summoning the Devil scares the shit out of you, it also helps take your mind off of the Benny issue you’re facing. 

You and Rory have been searching for an hour and a half (with you only needing to pull Rory back on task three times) when you realize the section of the map took you to a familiar house in the rich part of town. 

“Rory,” you get his attention. “Isn’t this Jesse’s mansion?” He, briefly serving time in Jesse’s cult, frequented this house more often than that one time you paid an unwanted visit, would know for sure. 

“Oh hey. Yeah, it is.”

The mansion looks different than the last time you saw it. After Jesse’s imprisonment in the cubile animus, the place remained abandoned; and no one, not even the HOA, dared to mess with what he left behind. 

The lawn was overgrown, leaves and vines creeping up and curling around the corners and windows. The siding was darkened with dirt and grime, and some of the shillings had fallen off, leaving a gaping spot where it once lay. 

“Does the magic line go through the house?” Rory questions.

According to the map, it did, but you had a feeling it wasn’t this easy. 

“We need to get in and check it out. Something doesn’t feel right.” 

Rory walks up to the gate and pushes it open, the hinges squeaking and built up rust grinding as it opens. The two of you approach the former vampire den cautiously, the brick driveway filled with green in its cracks and all kinds of foliage strewn over the walkway left by wind and storms. 

Once inside the house, you shudder. It might've been abandoned, but the air felt dark and tainted still. 

“Hey,” Rory called from where he ventured further in, “I’m not sure this place is as abandoned as we think.” 

He’s right. In the corner of the living room, messy sleeping bags and junk food wrappers littered the entire space. There were school bags tossed haphazardly on a table, and books on every available space possible. 

You made your way to the kitchen area, where there was more discarded food, spilled liquid, and even more books. On the dining table, dried blood, a variety of talismans, melted candles, and ashes lay within a pentagram.

You made your way to the island, which was clear of everything except one book in the center.

Rory came up next to you and pointed. “I know this book. It has Jesse’s prophecy in it.”

You skimmed the book, and Rory stopped you on the page about the prophecy. You scanned the page, and when you saw a familiar line, you read it aloud: “The dead take root, the barren orchard bears the devil's fruit.’” You pause. “Rory, check the map. I think the ley line runs under Ethan’s house, specifically the tree in his backyard. They tried the ritual here, and it didn’t work. The other failed rituals happened at the church, the cemetery, and the stump of Whitechapel’s oldest tree. If they found this book, it won’t take them long to figure out their next spot, and I think it might actually work this time around. I mean, symbolically, it seems like the place to catch the Devil's attention.”

Rory’s eyes widened. “Woah. This is getting kinda scary.”

“I agree, we should get out of here before they get back.”

You start toward the door, but Rory stops you. His face twists regretfully as he responds, “Too late. I can hear them outside.”

His words make your blood run cold, and you hear the creak of the front door opening. 

As quickly and quietly as you can, you and Rory squeeze inside the empty walk-in pantry. You’re easing the door shut as the kitchen door slams open. 

“I’m telling you, that geek is onto us. He’s a seer, right? I bumped into him before lunch and I swear he saw something,” a husky, feminine voice said. Through the panes on the door, you can make out a silhouette of her, but nothing too clear. 

A hand slaps the counter. “Why does it matter?” Deep, male, and insanely grating. You can see his hulking frame lean on the island. “He might be shacking up with vampires, but they’re not invincible. They can’t stop us no matter what they know.”

Behind you, Rory murmurs, “I know them from somewhere.”

The first one sighs, apparently not hearing a peep even from a few feet away. “I guess, but his friends are vampires. The small one, Sarah, babysits him on Friday’s right?”

“Yup. But, with some garlic and a sharp wooden steak, it shouldn’t be too hard to negotiate for that virgin’s blood. And he doesn’t even need to die!”

“That we know of. The instructions say the blood of a virgin, who’s to say that doesn’t mean the life of one? The 17th century assholes who wrote it down weren’t very specific with the recipe.”

“And the awful fucking poetry. I could’ve done without that,” the guy scoffs. 

“Whatever,” the girl snaps. “We will do it tomorrow night after his parents leave. We get what we want and hey, maybe once the Devil himself turns us into vampires, we’ll kill the virgin anyway. I hear they taste the best.”

The two cackle, and their voices dim as they clomp away. 

You and Rory tip toe out of the pantry, keeping an eye on the door as you walk. The thing is, you’re not completely aware of your surroundings. In a stroke of bad luck, you trip on a stack of books, and they clutter noisily to the ground. 

You meet Rory’s eyes, horrified. 

“Who’s there?” the guy shouts. You hear the stomp of their boots getting closer, and Rory tugs you away to the other door and up the stairs. You follow him like you’re on autopilot, everything you heard and what’s happened catching up to you at the wrong time. 

You’re being pulled up another set of stairs and Rory kicks the bedroom door open. 

“This one has a balcony. Gord pushed me off it when I was learning how to fly.”

“What a dick,” you mutter and suddenly you’re gasping in the cool outside air. 

Rory grabs onto you right as the door flies open, the two satanists rushing forward. Not a second too soon, Rory takes off. 

A few minutes and half a heart attack later, you land on the designated meeting point, which was, of course, Ethan’s front porch. Everyone was there already, and you felt comfortable enough to have a panic attack. 

You’re still gasping and your legs give out on you. You’re caught by familiar arms, and Benny lowers you down to the porch chair.

“We—we found—the book. The lines—the tree, it just. They’re going to attack you! Take your, your blood. They wanna turn. They need him to turn.”

You’re not making a lick of sense to anyone, and Sarah starts to rub your back. 

“Breathe,” she says softly. She doesn't have the compulsion ability mastered, but you want to listen to her, so you do. 

“You found something? What happened?” Ethan asks. 

“Dude,” Benny chastises. “Maybe wait til she stops freaking out? Rory, what’s going on?”

Rory explains your findings as best he can, and you use the lilt of his voice to calm down. “The guy and the girl look so familiar. I can’t place it, though.”

With a huff, Erica reminds him, “They go to our school, genius, obviously they’ll be familiar.”

Rory starts to protest, “Yeah but, that’s not where I recognize them from.”

“Vampires,” you finally say. Everyone stops and stares at you. “The deal they want to make with the Devil is to become vampires. Why would they go to all this trouble when this town is crawling with them? I think it’s because they literally can’t. Vampires won’t turn them.” You twist your body to face Sarah and Erica. “Does the Council have some kind of banned humans list? Like, “Do not turn these people under the penalty of death” list?”

Sarah hums and furrows her brows together in thought. “I’m sure they do, I’ll go check,” and she vamp speeds away. 

“It’s the only reason I can think of. Anyone else have a theory?”

You look up from your place on the chair, and everyone (again) is staring. 

“That,” Benny declares, “was incredible.”

You meet his gaze, and for the first time since last night, it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… normal. Right. 

You smile at him shyly, and think yeah, you’ll be alright. 

A nudge to your side has your attention on Erica. Apparently she caught that little exchange. She quirks a playful eyebrow at you and you shrug your shoulders innocently. 

After that, it doesn't take too long for Sarah to return in a whoosh of air. “They do have a list! And it comes with pictures. Here,” she hands everyone a stack. Thankfully, it’s not too big. It only takes a few seconds before Rory spots them. 

Ethan nods. “Yup. I ran into her this morning and that’s when I got the vision. She didn’t seem too pleased with me.”

Now that you have all the pieces, you plan. 

A pizza is ordered and you all gather around Ethan’s dining table.

“These people know way too much about us, so what if we give them more?” Ethan suggests. 

You hum in agreement. You reach for a slice, and your hand brushes Benny’s. You lock eyes over the table, and he’s flushing that sweet red again. He retracts his hand, and you grin to yourself as you take the slice. 

“Like what?” Erica asks. 

“They think the ball is in their corner, right?” you explain. “So what if we change it up? Make them comfortable, make it even more easy for their plan to unfold, but what they don’t know is that we’re doing the same thing, only better.”

“Okay,” Rory remarks, voice laced with confusion. “What do we do?”

You and Ethan share a near manic smirk. 

“We’re gonna set a trap. Tomorrow, I will very loudly say in front of them that I’m Jane’s babysitter tonight instead of Sarah. That gets rid of one vampire, they think ambushing us will be a walk in the park if it’s me.” 

“Tomorrow night, you three,” Ethan informs Sarah, Erica, and Rory, “will be waiting in the shadows, ready to attack when necessary.” 

You take a deep breath. “Benny, you need to be with us.” 

Ethan startles. “What, why?”

You ignore him. 

“Benny, do you trust me?”

Instantly, he says yes. 

“Good,” you breathe. “You need to be the sacrifice.” 

Ethan protests immediately, and the others look at you like you’ve grown a second head. 

“Um, they need a virgin for the ritual, right?” Erica speaks up, deliberately slow as if you somehow forgot you were the one to change Benny’s virginal status. 

“Yes,” you confirm, and as subtly as you can, you explain. “They need a virgin to complete the ritual.”

You can see the moment it clicks for Sarah and Erica; unfortunately, Rory is more vocal with his understanding. 

“Ohhh, is it because Benny—YEOUCH!” He yells as Erica elbows him particularly hard in the side. 

Ethan’s eyes dart between all of you. “Uh, okay. Whatever. As long as it isn’t Jane, I don’t care who gives up their blood.”

The next day at school, you get the wannabe vampires hook, line, and sinker when you bring up your status as tonight's babysitter right in front of them. Unbeknownst to them, Jane is going to be safe next door with Benny’s grandma the second their parents leave for date night.

It takes a few hours for the “ambush” to happen, just minutes before midnight. You have fun pretending to act scared and whine when they tie you up, though you could’ve gone without the grass stains as the burly guy tossed you next to the tree. 

They make quick work of setting up the ritual, and hey, there's Shadow Ninja! Anger flares in you at the sight of Rory's friend tied up and muzzled like that.

When it’s all set up, they mix together what looks like the world’s most disgusting cocktail in a gold chalice. 

“Now,” the girl announces as the two stalk up to you, Benny, and Ethan. “Who will it be?” 

“We were gonna do mega geek over there,” the guy said, nodding toward Ethan, but then he points to you. “But what about her?” he asks his friend. 

The girl, the absolute bitch, throws her head back and laughs. “Her? Are you kidding? She’s a slut, no way am I drinking her blood. We need a virgin, not some high school whore, remember?” 

Your mouth drops open, “Well fuck you too! At least I got hot while I was still in high school. You wanna be eternally 17? I feel sorry you need a do-over when some of us got it the first time around.” That might not have been the best response, you think as she backhands you across the face, but it felt damn good to say. 

“Leave her alone,” Benny growls, eyes flaring, and wow, that’s hot. “Do not talk about her like that, I swear to god.”

The guy taunts Benny. “Oooh I think lover boy here just offered himself up! Gimme your arm, nerd.”

They aren’t gentle as they take Benny’s blood. You send them death glares every time he winces and hope this ridiculous ordeal is over soon.

You watch as they mix the blood into the chalice. They chant in terrible latin, and finally, they drink, draining the cup dry.

The air is still as you wait for a long moment.

Suddenly, they’re both doubled over in pain, clutching all over their bodies and heads, screaming so forcefully the veins in their forehead pop out. 

“We’re sorry!” the girl shrieks. “We don’t know what happened!”

The guy falls to his knees. “We didn’t mean to insult you—we did everything right, we promise!” 

“What do you mean,” the girl wails, and she spits up black. You realized then that someone must be talking to them in their heads. Him, possibly? 

The guy is shaking on the ground; he has the same black liquid spilling out of his mouth, and you know then that it’s blood. His eyes lock on Benny, and he began to crawl toward him.

“You!” is all he can gurgle out before he disappears in an ashy poof. The girl gives an ear shattering shrill, and a second later, she’s gone too. 

Sarah, Erica, and Rory emerge from their hiding place, instantly moving to free the rest of you from your bonds. 

“What just happened?” Ethan sputters. He didn’t expect that. What the fuck. 

“They messed up the ritual,” you smile. 

Ethan frowns. “Really? I don't see how.” 

Rory laughs and puts an arm around Ethan’s shoulder. 

“It’s because Benny took a trip to Bonetown,” he snickers, and you punch him in the shoulder as hard as you can. 

Rory makes an offended face at you. “Ouch! What was that for? I was just answering Ethan’s question.”

“Rory,”  You speak calmly, eyes closed. “Shut. Up.”

“What! We should all be thanking you! I mean, if it wasn’t for you, they totally would’ve summoned the Devil. Unless they chose Ethan instead but—”

“Rory, look! There's Shadow Ninja!”

The blond vampire squeals and tears off toward the tree, freeing his very much alive, but incredibly pissed off, feline friend. 

Only, the damage is done. 

You seek out Sarah and Erica, but they just shrug and chuckle awkwardly at you before vamping away. Rory, once he comes back with the squirming cat in his arms, senses the sudden tension he unwittingly created, and after a few seconds of deliberation decides the smartest move is to do the same. Jerks, all of them. 

You really, really wish Ethan wasn’t as clever as he is. You know the instant the explanation dawns on him. His mouth drops wide open and he points to Benny, who gives him an awkward smile. Then Ethan points the accusatory finger at you, and all you can do is pinch your lips together and watch him freak out.

“You—but how—why didn't you say—but that means—you exploded them with sex?”

He shakes his head and spins around, walking away to fetch Jane and muttering to himself like mad. Poor guy.

You and Benny are the only ones left of your ragtag group still lingering, so you walk to his house, and when you reach the steps, you can’t take it anymore. You blurt:

“We didn’t even kiss.” Benny stares at his shoes and bites the inside of his cheek. “We didn’t, so I didn’t know if you actually liked me or not. It was good, it was so fucking good. I should've stayed. I wasn’t thinking when I left the other day. I hate the morning after talk but you deserved so much better than what I gave you. I’m sorry. I like you Benny, I really do and I want to make this work.” You keep rambling, just saying what comes to mind and you’re still rambling when Benny cups your face in both his hands and pulls you into a blessedly mind numbing kiss. 

It’s everything you ever wanted. It's soft and sweet, yet firm and demanding, just like Benny. Your mouths move together skillfully, slotting together like they were made for it, and you’d like nothing more than to kiss him until you can’t breathe any longer. 

He pulls back slightly, lingering in your space, breathing in your air. 

“If I invite you in, will you stay this time?” 

You don't have to think. 

“Yes.”