#old miser 💕

[kittyandco]

i need to talk about how much i love TF Go-Go Starscream

he's so stupid and cute and i LOVE HIM. here's the proof

he literally has bubblegum bombs? how does he know what bubblegum is and how did he get enough to make them into "weapons" and why was this his first instinct upon trying to best the Autobots

2. this cute smug smile that makes me giggle he really thinks he's an evil genius. he is. but. he isn't. don't tell him

3. he literally takes Bumblebee's energon juice box like he's an elementary school bully with his rocket heels

4. he's such a brat i love him 🥺

i'm patting him on the head and swaddling him in a blanket and kissing him

[red-doll-face]

Getting caught in the rain with Arthur leads to him finding creative ways to warm you up.

(high honor) arthur morgan x fem. reader

I love this trope! prob been done before but I cant resist... 😔Can you believe I wanted this to be a short head canon post?? LMAO it ended up way longer than that. That's why it has a more casual thing going on despite being super long 🥲Happy thanksgiving! This is for the girlies who are stuck with family and need something absolutely filthy to read !!! 💕💕💕💕💕

Warnings: NSFW content, vaginal sex, while honor isn't too relevant, arthur is very sweet and hes kind of a weenie here, in a good way! arthur does not have bad intentions here, he's genuinely a sweet little man...

-

Thinking of begging Arthur to take you away from camp for a while. Maybe you haven't had a bath in a bit or you're sick of hearing Swanson drunkenly parade around camp. But you've decided to ask Arthur, he's always so sweet to you and you know he won't say no. And Arthur and his stupid bleeding heart (the one that bleeds so much more for you) grumbles and pretends he's thinking about it but really he'd probably say yes to anything that came from your lips. He has no regrets when he sees the smile you give him. You're hoisted up onto the back of his horse, holding onto his waist so you don't fall. Arthur is desperately trying to play it cool. 

Then the rain starts coming down, you're soaked through very quickly and Arthur, such a gentleman, sheds his coat to give it to you, except now he is soaked through as well. The both of you are freezing and he tells you that you have to stop until the weather clears. He’s cussing up a storm worse than the one you're in. You nod, just wanting to be warm, wracked by shivers. He comes up on an abandoned shack and guides you inside, shutting the rain out. You're standing in the center of the room, looking like a wet cat after a miserable bath, Arthur is kind enough to take his coat off of you, giving you a ratty old, moth bitten blanket but it doesn't do much of anything for the cold. Trying to get a fire going proves fruitful but it's a small one and the wind blowing in from the flue almost puts it out several times.

Arthur feels so helpless, sitting there watching your teeth start to chatter as you sit in front of the pathetic little fire. He's trying to apologize (Ah, I’m sorry, I didn't know it was gonna come down like that,) but you only tell him it's not his fault. He has to help, all he wants to do is help. Things aren't getting any better and he doesn't want you to come down with something on account of him being an idiot. And then he gets an idea. He’s red all over flushed at the thought but he knows taking your soaking clothes off would help. And he's standing there, awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to hide under his hat. He’s gently clearing his throat, trying to get your attention. 

“Maybe we could try… I…could…” he's nervously stumbling through his words and he's looking at you, sitting on the floor, desperately trying to warm your hands by the fire. You look up to him but he can hardly speak, so enraptured by the look of utter trust, reliance on him. His mouth hangs open but he swallows the lump of spit in his mouth. He tries to shake off these boyish jitters he gets around you. “Uhhh- I mean, it would be better if we weren't sittin’ round in these clothes, I guess, can’t be doin’ you any good...”  

“Really, you think so…?” Your voice is quiet and meek, struggling to say anything past the clicking of your teeth and the shivers. “Well then, turn around, Arthur,” at your obvious attempt to be modest, he nods stiffly and turns towards the wall, listening to you take your dress and your underskirts off, landing in a wet plop on the floor. You whine, peeling yourself out of your undergarments before a quiet ok leaves your lips. He turns and you're desperately covering yourself with that dusty blanket, legs bare, fabric hardly long enough to cover the soft mound between your legs, the fat of your inner thighs squished together. Arthur has a hard time keeping his gaze from locking onto any of the inviting bits of skin you show him. You're embarrassed, biting your lip, squeezing your arms around yourself. 

“Aren't you gonna- Arthur, you're gonna do it too, right?” Arthur has a hesitant nod and a course even though he just now thought he should probably follow along to help make you more comfortable. He’s removing his hat first, nothing to hide under now and he notices that you watch him take his gun belt off, unfastening his suspenders from his pants. You finally look away, his boots and his pants are peeled off and his shirt is unbuttoned. He’s breathing heavily now, naked as the day he was born. But you won't stop shivering. Your hair is still wet. And the fire is struggling to warm you from the bitter cold that clings to the dusty air. There isn't much left to burn for the fire. 

“You want me to hold you?” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, trying to smack away these thoughts about the glimpses he’s getting of your naked figure underneath the blanket. He swears it's only out of necessity, that you're just not warming up fast enough. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick on me,” He really does only want you comfortable. Unrealistically hoping this won't change what you most likely consider a friendship. You nod, vigorously. 

“I think it would be ok, maybe if you just didn’t- didn’t look. Just- don’t look,” and you're desperate, curling up in his lap in front of the wavering fire. You're unable to look at him, but you still rub into him, enjoying how his body warms up a lot faster than yours. And both of you make some excuse that things would be better without that old blanket between you two. And suddenly you're pressed into him, his arms tight around you while he looks at the ceiling to avoid staring at things he shouldn't. Arthur struggles hard to keep from rubbing upwards into you, trying to keep you from sitting directly between his legs, afraid the way his body reacts to the feel of your body will scare you, scandalize you. But you only seem to want to be there more, getting comfortable with him. His chest hair tickles you, the hair creeps all the way down his torso. You giggle softly as it tickles you. His heart beats fast at the feel of you, so soft compared to the roughness of him.

As if all of the blood hasn't already rushed down to the very center of him, you just have to sit squarely on his lap. He tries to readjust you but it's too late and you've felt him, hard as a rock, pushing at you. He's so embarrassed, stumbling over an apology, “Shit-I-I’m sorry, I-” in that surly voice, all rough and low. you gasp and look over your shoulder. You see how he can hardly stand to look at you with his pretty blue gem-toned eyes. Instead he shows you his profile as he turns away. 

“It's ok”, Arthur has no idea how he's supposed to look at you after this, he can't see himself looking you in the eyes for a long while after you've felt his cock nudging the swell of your ass, unable to deny his own reaction to you. Hopefully he’ll be able to dismiss it as a fluke and not a devastating hope that you’d be interested in him that he's been crushing down for months now. He's trying to will away the burgeoning desire just under his skin, tamping down fires that rage on. And you look up at him again with that look of trust in your eyes, too ashamed to continue touching you, wholeheartedly convinced you don't like him. 

But then you're only closer than you were, looking up at him, so close, he's breathing in your scent, sweet and like fresh summer rain. His eyes search yours for any inclination and all you have to do is put your hand on his prickly cheek for him to lean and kiss you, hands on his broad chest, rushing over the warmth you can feel. How he ends up with you on his lap, tits pressed up against his hairy chest, his big hands squeezing at your hips, he's not too sure. Your arms are over his shoulders, playing with his light brown hair sweetly, rubbing the sore muscles in his back. And the glide of his tongue over yours is heaven, he swears. You whine into his kisses, the heat between the both of you licks over your skin, noses clumsily bumping into each other. 

Then he’s on top of you, tucking you over the blanket. “You gotta tell me you want this, want me,” and all you can do is say “Yes, please, Arthur, please,” features showing your ecstasy, anticipating his hands on you.

His hands are rough; petting down your sides. Any worries he had about being too old, too ugly and too brutish for you are forgotten when you kiss him, spread your legs for him to fit between them. When you push your breasts in his hands when he goes to touch them. Your nipples are hard from the cold but his hands start to warm them up when he gropes at them, squeezing languidly at your breasts, grabbing handfuls.

It's not long before he’s pinning your thighs up with his hands, spreading you and licking eagerly between your legs, so selfless. Letting you moan as loud as you like, telling you how good you taste, the roughened pads of his fingers circling at the sensitive button at the top of your slit. And he's so strong, doesn't put much effort into keeping your legs up. He has dulcet praises for you, “Such a pretty girl, darlin’, jus’ beautiful,” making you soften and ease.

He’s so warm, holding you, like you wanted him to, messy kisses that taste like you. The very tip of him catches on you, dipping softly between your folds. Your nails dig into him, thighs clench tight. He's sweet talking to you, shushing you, rubbing hard at the delicate little nub, getting you as wet as possible. Saying how good you look. How he must be dreaming. That’s my girl is what he says when you soak his fingers with your own arousal, heat rising to the apples of your cheeks. Even more when he's working his cock inside of you, panting, he seems overwhelmed, mumbling and groaning praises to you, his sweet girl, perfect in that slow easy voice of his. You feel him carefully easing you open, hissing at the feel of you wrapped tight on him and leaking down his shaft. You can't say much but his name, begging him not to stop, feeling his fingers almost bruise the tender softness of your hips. 

Arthur pushes so deep, a growl of pleasure leaking from his lips. You didn't think he would feel so big. Telling him how big he is and feels; “You're so big, Arthur,” in a wispy moan, makes him groan. He just wants to hear how much you like him. The rhythm he was trying to keep slow and careful speeds up. And he doesn't last very long, poor thing. It's been a while for him and he's flushed bright red, embarrassed and feeling a tad emasculated. The disappointed son of a bitch he lets out has you petting his hair back tenderly.

But all you have to do is give him a minute, kiss and nip gently, lock your legs around him so he can't pull away, until he's pushing his own seed deeper, mindlessly pinning you under his weight. He loves feeling so close to you, so small underneath him. 

The way you feel clenching down on him, moaning for him, begging him to keep going has him rutting into you, following his instincts, brain feeling like it's melting. He's harder than he has ever been, listening to the sound of your wetness slide on him, the mess he’s left between your thighs sounding dirty and sticky. You don't have to tell him to keep rubbing you, grinding your hips into his so he can press into the perfect spot. 

His thumb is rubbing at the very center of you, that tender bud, so sensitive, has you pushed to the edge and falling over, legs locking up behind him, bucking and moaning much too loud. You sink your fingers into the layer of fat over his broad muscles, arching your back, feeling so complete. Seeing you so relaxed, feeling so good because of him makes him push as deep as he can, making your toes curl, forcing more of his cum even deeper, a sloppy wet mess that drips out of you when he pulls out. But he revels in those few moments where he's catching his breath, still so deep inside of you, feeling you pulse on him. 

Arthur can’t not hold you afterwards, unsure what to say. He thinks it might be too soon for I love you, maybe you’ll be scared away by his raw sentiments and his lovesick words. But you stare into his eyes; his heart jumps when he blurts it out in the silence, too late to shut his damn mouth. But you only smile and say you love him too. You're the farthest thing from cold, tucked into his chest, not even noticing that the rain has stopped.

Thank you for reading! SO sorry this ended up being so long. Excited to write more for high honor arthur, this was more fun than i thought... I love him 😔😳

[sm-baby]

Most exciting part of the trailer for the next TADC episode for you?

More so an Analysis rather than things I'm excited about X3

I watched the sneak peek on loop I can process everything! Waahh!! I'm so excited for episode 2 💞 only a few weeks away! 💕

I wanna get this out of the way, I love Lizzie Freeman and Alex Rochon's Improv work on this promo 😭 they were really put in a booth together, were told to say things to promote episode two, and came up with that 😭 Genius.

The environment work is GORGEOUS! I love the look of everything, the world-building, the colors! It looks like a full-fledged movie guys! Absolutely beautiful and WONDEROUS work from the Glitch team-- it's so beautiful for half a year of work??? God damn!!

Haha! As an in-universe creation, Despite his little gags, Caine is genuinely such a good AI to make something so cool!

You'll also notice that Ragatha is taking charge of talking with the princess! That would make sense for such fellow beautiful well-mannered women!

More on them later at the end! :3

Dream sequence theory

Also, we all agree that these ones are all part of a dream right? Pomni is panicked, the strange sort of "slow woozy wobbly" animation exactly like a dream... even the dolly zoom!

Then she is sent to the cellar with a an abstracted arm, but that shouldn't be the case since Caine could easily fix an abstracted arm with a snap of a finger.

And then she wakes up, freaked out!!

Wahaha! Shout out to the Showtime server for pointing this out while we were discussing!

This is either and "end of episode prize" from Caine, or he jumps in mid-episode to hand them a helpful item, ooorr he's telling them that that's their objective for the adventure :3

also!! people have pointed out that Zooble isn't with the carriage with the others! Either this means that Zooble was given a surprise roll in the adventure, or she's off to have a fun solo adventure with Caine! Ohh! How exciting!

Zooble is a favorite character of Goose's, so to learn more about him and why Goose loves them so much would be so exciting!!

Whats up with Jax?

hunched down, writing in the sand, hugging his knees, this topped with Goose's two-word description of the next episode to be "I"m nothing"... Oh Jax is gonna have a MOMENT...

We all know that no one likes the dude and he's going to get worse. I'm unsure if this will make me like the guy, but I'm optimistic!

I'm open to understanding and seeing another side of him that would make me like him! I already quite like how this scene is framed, how lonely he looks, the acting in these few seconds already tells me what kind of guy he is.

...despite one of the gummis being tied up in the corner

If i had to hypothesize, this probably stemmed with Jax acting out, you know, the usual "being a nuisance" to make everyone miserable,

Then It escalates

This gets on Ragatha's nerves, first starting out as a silly "haha cute interaction" between them and it escalates while the episode goes on where Ragatha genuinely gets mad at him and tells him to stay put while they do the work.

Speaking of Ragatha, She seems to be quite fond of the Princess! There is a part of me that wonders if she wants to sort of-- "prove" herself in a way, as a leader or otherwise. Ragatha does give me the "smart yet nice kid in class that everyone copies off of" energy... TwT This poor woman.

I don't know, just the way The Princess bends down and holds her hand, it's sort of sweetly mentorly or motherly in a way. I'm not saying this to infantilize Ragatha, I respect her so much as a mature 30-year-old adult, I say it as a testament to The Princesses' character. Princesses, Queens, and any sort of royalty have been characterized as the sort of "mother/father of all" sort of character type, which is sweet! And would be quite interesting!

I know that people are quick to do the shipping with these two, but I kind of like the idea of Ragatha wanting approval and validation.

BUT THATS JUST A THEORY!! A FILM THEORY!!! ANDDD CUT!!

[sansaorgana]

— SOMEPLACE BETTER (I)

PART TWO || PART THREE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!human!Reader

SUMMARY — Sauron takes over a body of a recently deceased commoner without realising that stealing this man's identity comes with a price to pay – enduring his annoying wife.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It was supposed to be a short fic and it turned out to be so long that there will be three parts... 🙊 I was writing it for a week – slowly, bit by bit each day after work. Sauron is a bit ooc here (and surely will be at the end of this fic), so be warned! 🤧 Also, I really wanted the Reader's character to be very common and low born, therefore I was reading how to change the speech to sound more like that and I hope I haven't overdone it... 😅 I hope she makes you laugh at least once while reading this! 💕

WORD COUNT — 3,850

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

SOMEPLACE BETTER (I)

Sauron was walking down the road slowly, still trying to adjust to his new form – finally a proper one after such a long time of being barely alive – and he still had no idea how to start the work on his plan that he had been crafting for the past centuries. Perhaps naturally occurring events would lead him to the right path, therefore he allowed them to happen and waited for an opportunity to arise.

And in order to help the interesting things to start happening, he was walking towards the smoke and the fire he could see from the distance far beyond the trees.

As he walked and walked, he spotted a group of people coming out of the woods. Common villagers like a man he should pretend now to be as well – the one he had found in the back of the carriage and whose body he stole.

The body had been dead already anyway – for a day or perhaps two. When Sauron had taken that man's form, it was like giving him a new life, a new chance. Not that he needed those excuses. He would have done that anyway, even if the man had been still alive. Judging his clothes and the wagon he had been travelling in, he was a commoner. Even the cause of his death was far from noble – alcohol.

The people Sauron encountered on the road looked exhausted and miserable. They were carrying some of their belongings and most likely leaving their ruined homes, which were probably the ones burning at the moment.

“That way lies death, friend,” an old man told him when they walked up to one another as they crossed each other's paths.

Sauron walked past him.

“Then that is my path,” he only said.

“An army of Orcs moves against Men,” the old man warned him and Sauron froze as he turned around to see him better. “We were the fortunate ones.”

“Perhaps the fortunate ones were the first to die,” Sauron answered, challenging him. And the words indeed had an effect on an old man as he approached him closer and looked deep into Sauron's eyes.

“I know you've suffered. I can see it in your eyes,” he said. “There's another life waiting for you. You just have to turn toward it.”

But Sauron was not listening to him anymore as his eyes sparkled at the sight of an item hanging by the old man's belt. It was a pendant of some sort and it did not look like something a villager or a commoner would wear. There was a symbol engraved on it that looked quite regal.

“That heraldry,” Sauron pointed out. “What is it?”

“A symbol of kings, long-dead,” the old man sighed as he took the pendant into his hands to show it off better.

“Your family?” Sauron asked, out of curiosity, although he doubted that the answer would be positive.

“No. My family served them,” the man answered.

“Then why wear it?” Sauron wondered and his wonder was genuine because he could not understand why one would want to wear a symbol of his oppressors.

“As a reminder that our fates are never certain, that fortunes can turn, for even the most powerful,” the man answered with the wisdom that was often attributed to people his age and Sauron nodded in silence as it reminded him of the downfall he had been through as well.

“A grim reminder,” Sauron pointed out with a smirk.

“Or a hopeful one,” the old man nodded. “A sure path may crumble, but there's always another. Often, it can lead us someplace better. Someplace good,” he added with a soft and genuine smile, to which Sauron could only answer with a matching one. “They say there's a place across the sea, a man can escape himself. Find another path. Perhaps another life,” he explained as more and more people walked past them.

Sauron furrowed his brows. He was sure the old man meant Númenor – a place that he surely wanted to visit himself and a place that was also on a list of things he needed to go to for his whole plan and scheme to succeed.

Just like he had been suspecting – the events would lead him where he needed to go on their own. He just had to let them unfold.

“Halbrand!” Some woman's scream made Sauron look around because he was curious to see what was happening.

There was a young woman amongst the walking people with her face dirty from the ashes and her hair ruffled. Her dress was linen and simple, patched in a few places. And in her hands she was carrying a basket but she dropped it the moment he turned around and with terror in his eyes, Sauron realised that she was running to him.

“Halbrand, ye son of a bitch!” She greeted him with words so awful and yet there were tears of joy and relief streaming down her cheeks as she opened her arms and pulled him close while sobbing. “I feared ye were lost to us! Sent yer sister to seek ye, but while she searched, the village was laid to ruin... attacked, it was, and...” The woman took a deep breath in and took a step back as she cupped his face and shook her head. “Ye filthy gambler, ye are... Missed all of it, ye did! Off drinkin' an' gamblin' like always, leavin' me here, alone as ever! I can't abide ye, ye wretched bastard!” She hit his chest with her fist as Sauron tried his best not to show the panic he was feeling on the inside.

A woman – especially like that – was not something he had planned to inherit alongside the body of the dead man he had found inside the carriage.

The woman he had killed must have been this man's sister and his name must have been Halbrand. A drunkard and a gambler. Most certainly not the best husband to this young woman either.

“Diarmid, this here's my husband – the one I've spoken of,” she sighed and looked at the old man who was smiling at them both. “That cursed bastard.”

“Now I see why he wanted to go back into that forest so badly. It was to find you, (Y/N),” the man whose name was apparently Diarmid told her and she rolled her eyes.

“Most like he wished me dead, so he might pry our last coins from my cold fingers an' be off to his taverns again,” she looked up at her husband with a scolding manner but despite her cruel joke and her words, Sauron could sense lots of affection in her, too.

“Don't be foolish, woman,” he tried to play along as he rolled his eyes and Diarmid chuckled.

“Ye're foolish, ye are! Best ye help me carry that basket, 'tis all I could salvage,” she dragged him behind her to the place where she had left her belongings. “An' where's yer sister, then?”

“She never made it,” Sauron quickly lied.

“Bless her soul, though it's no surprise. She was a drunkard, same as you. All yer kin are…”

“Don't start,” Sauron winced and lifted the basket to walk away from her.

If she was about to whine like that all the time, his patience would quickly run out. And as much as he would want to kill her even now to get rid of her, he knew that there were too many witnesses and he really wanted to go to Númenor with them, therefore he couldn't do anything suspicious. He had to wait for the right moment and then, he could kill this woman and be free of her annoying presence.

(Y/N)'s mouth was open constantly and she never failed to find a reason to complain about something. Sauron stopped paying attention to her words and only kept humming and nodding but the constant noise she was creating was slowly driving him insane.

In the evening men were busy with putting up small tents and women prepared the meal. It would take them a few days at least to get to the seaport, therefore they needed breaks.

When Sauron finished helping other men to put up one of the tents, he realised that most of them barely knew him. The people here were a mix of commoners from many villages around.

So, only his annoying wife was an obstacle to start a new life.

When he joined her side by the fire, she handed him a bowl full of soup that looked far from delicious but people around him were eating it eagerly either way, driven by hunger. 

Sauron himself did not need to eat and this sort of food surely was not something he would consume for his own pleasure. However, not to look suspicious, he ate half of the bowl and offered the rest to (Y/N). She had finished her portion some time ago and still kept staring at the empty bowl as if she prayed for more food to magically show up there.

“There, have it,” he took her empty bowl and handed her his.

“Are ye certain, Hal? Yer stomach's an endless pit, it is!” She was visibly surprised.

“Eat,” Sauron ordered, a bit harshly. At least when she was eating, she was not talking.

She nodded at him and began slurping on the soup eagerly and Sauron fixed her ruffled hair a little, so she would present herself less ragged.

That gesture made her look up at him with a soft smile and Sauron forced a smile back.

Gods, how he detested her.

Sauron did not mind the cold temperature but he could sense that the air was cold on that night, even inside the tent. (Y/N) was laying next to him, still wearing her dress under a thin, patched blanket. She was trembling slightly and he was staring at the ceiling out of boredom. He did not need sleep.

“Can't find yer rest, love?” The softness of her whisper surprised him as he looked down to meet her gaze and she cracked a smile as she reached her hand to caress his cheek. Her fingers were ice cold.

“And you?” He asked.

“'Tis bitter cold in here,” she whined and Sauron wrapped his arms tight around her trembling body to pull her close. She immediately nuzzled herself into him and lowered her hand to place it on his chest. Her fingers began to caress dark and curly hair growing there.

He felt awkward like that but what surprised him the most about this experience was how oddly good it felt to be able to sense someone's touch on his skin. After long centuries of not even being a person, it surely was an extraordinary sensation.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there,” he told her, suspecting she wanted to hear that from her husband.

“I'm just glad ye're here now,” she looked up to meet his gaze and kissed him on the throat before laying her head on his chest again.

Sauron sighed as he looked back on the ceiling once more. Despite everything – she must have loved that awful man named Halbrand.

“Why do you love me, remind me?” Sauron asked in a whisper out of curiosity. He disguised himself with a playful smile as she laid her eyes upon him again and furrowed her brows.

“Ye must be jestin', Hal!”

“No, truly, I mean it. I'd like to hear it one more time. Just pretend I've knocked me head and forgotten all,” he winked at her and caressed her hair.

“I think ye must have,” she mumbled and laid her head, “for ye're so much nicer all of a sudden,” she teased and Sauron chuckled.

“I got afeared I'd lost you,” he lied but she was happy with the answer. “So then? Why do you love good ol' Halbrand?”

“Ye're neither good nor old,” (Y/N) giggled. “But I'll gladly tell ye how I've doomed meself for life and fallen for ye, ye bastard,” she added jokingly.

“Well, I'm all ears, then,” Sauron smirked, trying to stop himself from bursting into laughter.

“I've known ye since we were naught but children. Always a troublemaker, ye were,” (Y/N) began her story with a sigh. After yer mother's passing, yer father turned to drink, and there ye were, wanderin' with no ambition, no purpose. That was, until me old man took ye in, when ye were 'round seventeen, was it? He taught ye all he knew of smithery,” she smiled and Sauron's heart skipped a beat at the mention.

Was Halbrand a smith, too? The coincidence seemed to be nearly impossible and yet… Nearly as if it was a sign of some sort.

“And what was I then? A silly little goose, not even fifteen, watchin' ye work, battin' me lashes, but to ye, I was naught but a child, wasn't I?” (Y/N) chuckled. “Then one day, when I was seventeen meself, ye finally saw me as a woman. I've known from the start ye were no good, but I loved ye still. Just like my old man, I've a heart that's too soft,” she finished her story with a smile and raised her hand to brush his hair strands out of his face.

Sauron knew that she expected some declaration from her husband as well in return and even though he could treat her coldly, he assumed that the nicer he would be, the less annoying she'd act on the next day. He just had to keep her happy until an opportunity to kill her off would show up. And he couldn't possibly know when he would be able to get rid of her, therefore he had to play it safe – he didn't want to risk her being constantly complaining and annoying.

“That soft heart of yours is what I love the most about you,” he cracked a smile at her and booped her nose. “And that big mouth of yours, too… sometimes,” he added with a smirk.

“Ye must've truly been afeared for me, Hal, 'cause ye're all of a sudden so much kinder,” (Y/N)'s lips twitched into a nervous smile as her eyes glistened.

Sauron was a little taken aback by her words. He was not trying very hard to show her affection and he had been quite rude to her earlier, too. And all of that was enough to make her think he was too kind.

“A new life awaits us across the sea. We can start anew there. I want to be better to you,” Sauron shrugged his arms and (Y/N) smiled before she nuzzled her face into his chest as she yawned softly.

After a short while, he felt her muscles relaxing as her breath steadied itself. She was asleep now and he was just laying there and staring at the ceiling again, waiting for the night hours to pass.

The woman's sleep, however, was not calm or peaceful. After an hour or two, she began trembling and shaking, experiencing some sort of a nightmare and judging by the things she was mumbling, she was dreaming of the night when the Orcs had come and destroyed her village.

Her face was twisted with pain and terror as she was trying to fight the shadows which only existed inside her head now. Sauron wondered, however, if his dark presence could somehow influence and worsen her dreams.

“(Y/N), love, you're safe now,” he woke her up and her eyes opened rapidly as she took a few deep breaths and kept looking around, still scared. Her body was trembling and she began to sob. “(Y/N), I'm here now, go back to sleep,” Sauron tried to calm her down but nothing seemed to work and it looked like she was not fully aware that she was awake already.

Therefore, he put his hand over her forehead and put her to sleep with his craft. Her limbs weakened in an instant and she drifted off to the land of much nicer dreams now. Sauron himself focused hard on putting beautiful images inside her head – green and sunny fields of Valinor that he still remembered and to which he was not welcome anymore.

Perhaps (Y/N) complained a little less truly than on the first day but it didn't mean her mouth would ever shut. Sauron was fighting himself not to lash out at her and tell her to shut up at least ten times a day. He wondered how she was not getting tired from all this talking but he also learnt a very useful skill that most husbands possessed the knowledge of sooner or later – the art of letting her words go in one ear and out the other as he only hummed and nodded.

And as he watched some human couples travelling alongside them with their whiny offspring, he only thanked fate for not cursing him with a child as well. (Y/N) was an annoying obstacle but it could have been… so much worse.

Only one day of the road was ahead of them now as they would spend their last night in the tents before getting onto the ship. Sauron was playing with the awfully looking food inside of his bowl as he waited for (Y/N) to finish her meal and when she did, he handed her his.

“No,” she shook her head and he furrowed his brow. “Hal, I see what ye're doin', an' I'm fair surprised to see how much ye care for me these days, but ye can't keep on like this, eatin' only half meals. Ye need to eat, too, love.”

“I'm just not hungry,” Sauron insisted with an irritated sigh but she didn't seem to be convinced.

“Ye're worryin' me, Halbrand. I can't smell a drop of drink on ye, an' ye've stopped eatin' too. What's ailin' ye these days?” She asked and the amount of worry in her eyes nearly made him feel bad for not being an actor good enough.

“I lost my sister, nearly lost my wife, my home is gone, and now we go into the unknown. Go on, guess,” he rolled his eyes and (Y/N) looked down.

“Sorry, love,” she mumbled and took the bowl from him. “Ye're certain ye won't be eatin' this?” She glanced up and he nodded at her, softly. That was what finally convinced her and she finished the meal hungrily. 

“I hope we won't be short of food in that place across the sea,” (Y/N) sighed and Sauron reached out to lift her chin up and force her to look into his eyes as she gave him a confused look.

“We won't. I'll see to it,” he gave her a false promise with her dead husband's lips and her whole face lit up at his words.

He let go of her chin and she moved slightly closer to him to put her head on his shoulder with a relieved sigh.

“We've lost all we had, an' yet… when I'm with ye, I feel safe,” she confessed. “I'm truly hopeful for our new life, Hal. Mayhaps we could start a family there,” she added shyly and Sauron froze at her words, although he pulled her closer and leaned in to kiss the top of her head.

“Yeah, mayhaps,” he mumbled.

As if he, Dark Lord Sauron, would ever even consider such a possibility. It was below him after all.

It was the middle of the night and they were finally on a ship to Númenor – all people together in one cabin but at least it was warmer this way. (Y/N) was sleeping next to Sauron, with her arm wrapped around his chest and her face nuzzled into his neck. Her breath and smile were peaceful because he made sure to put nice images inside her mind, so she would not have the awful nightmares again. He did not want to deal with them.

He was not asleep however and was not even trying to hide it on that night. He didn't expect anyone to notice.

A sudden and deep growl coming from the sea made him look around. He was able to hear and sense more than ordinary mortals, therefore he could feel that some sort of danger was coming.

“Nightmares again?” The old man named Diarmid asked as he was laying on a bed nearby. “What haunts you so?”

“I've done evil,” Sauron admitted but he did not look him in the eye and looked down instead at (Y/N)'s sleeping form.

That man seemed to be quite wise. Sauron did not mind sharing with him a little without revealing too much. It felt good to talk to someone who was not Halbrand's wife.

“Yeah, your wife told me. She tends to overshare,” the man chuckled softly but then his tone became serious. “All of us have done things that we care not to admit.”

“Not like I have. You don't know everything. She doesn't know everything,” Sauron shook his head.

“Find forgiveness,” Diarmid insisted as he leaned over to be closer to him.

“Forgiveness cannot be found. It should be earned,” Sauron pointed out.

“I think you have earned it already,” Diarmid looked down at (Y/N) and a soft smile appeared on his lips. “Despite her nature, she has never spoken of you with anything but love. You are alive because you have chosen good.”

“But what of tomorrow?” Sauron finally looked up and turned his head around to look at the old man's face.

“You have to choose it again,” Diarmid shook his head as he chuckled. “And the next day. And the next. Until it becomes a part of our nature.”

The sound of rumbling and a low wailing coming from underneath the ship interrupted them as they furrowed their brows. (Y/N) woke up as well as she sat up and rubbed her sleepy eyes with her fists.

“What is it, Hal? D'ye hear that, love?” She mumbled and he looked down as his heart skipped a beat at the realisation that a sea serpent was swimming underneath the ship.

“Grab hold of something,” he warned Diarmid and (Y/N) got scared of his words, so she clinged to his arm.

But that very moment they were attacked.

The ship got wrecked in an instant and the water was getting inside through the creaks in the wood. There was chaos on board as people screamed in panic and tried to evacuate themselves but the waves kept rocking their ship, therefore they were falling down or getting carried away by the tides.

By the force of such wave, (Y/N) let go of Halbrand's arm and he could hear her calling out to him but he did not even look back. It was a perfect opportunity to get rid of her.

And there was a sting of guilt in his heart, which surprised him dearly, but he simply ignored it as he grabbed Diarmid's pendant with the noble family's heraldry and left the old man there to die.

He was free now and with a brand new plan.

MASTERLIST

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hi! I was thinking a Rex or Cody x Gen!Reader(maybe they’re a bounty hunter or just a Mandalorian) where they’re working together and they get accidentally married in mandoa and don’t find out right away? 💕

This is probably not what you requested but hope you like it either way.

“One Too Many”

Commander Cody x GN!Mandalorian Reader

The campaign on Desix had been long, bloody, and miserable. So when word came that the Separatist holdouts had finally surrendered, Obi-Wan Kenobi declared the night a rare “official respite.”

The planet was a dustball at the edge of nowhere — the kind of place smugglers, bounty hunters, and desperate soldiers all stumbled through sooner or later.

You were there for work. Quick job, quick pay, quick drink.

You hadn’t expected to find half the Grand Army of the Republic crowded into the cantina. You especially hadn’t expected to find him — broad-shouldered, scarred, handsome in a way that was dangerous when someone was three shots deep.

Cody.

You didn’t know his name at first. Just another trooper, you thought — until you saw the way the others deferred to him. Until you saw the way he held himself, even off-duty.

Like a man carrying an entire war on his back.

You liked him immediately.

You were reckless like that.

The 212th’s celebration had started simple: a little victory, a little breathing room, a little dust-choked cantina at the edge of nowhere.

Then the liquor came out.

One drink turned into three. Three turned into seven.

You barely remembered how it started — one minute you were slumped over the bar next to a broad-shouldered, grim-faced trooper who was nursing a drink like it was going to run away, and the next you were both howling drunk, arms thrown around each other, laughing at something Waxer said about when Cody bought you a drink.

Mando’a started slipping from your mouth when you got drunk — curses, jokes, old wedding songs you half-remembered from your clan.

Boil dared Cody to kiss you.

You dared Cody to marry you.

And for some kriffing reason, Waxer got it into their heads that you should actually do it.

There was a chapel down the street.

A real one.

Old Outer Rim-style — rustic, rickety, still covered in someone’s half-hearted attempt at decorations from a wedding months ago.

“You won’t,” Boil slurred, clinging to Waxer.

“I kriffing will,” Cody said, jabbing a finger at you.

You were grinning so hard your face hurt. “You won’t.”

He grabbed your wrist and started marching, half-dragging you through the dusty street. Waxer and Boil stumbled after you, cackling like a pair of devils.

Behind you, Master Kenobi — General Kenobi, The Negotiator, Jedi Master, paragon of wisdom and serenity — trailed along with a wine bottle in one hand, sipping casually like he was watching a street performance.

“Should we… stop them?” Waxer hiccupped.

Kenobi just raised an eyebrow. “Why? It’s quite entertaining.”

Inside the chapel, some sleepy old droid still programmed for ceremonies blinked itself awake when you all stumbled through the door.

“Are you here to be joined in union?” it asked mechanically.

“Yeah!” Cody barked, waving his hand. “Get on with it!”

You were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. Waxer was sobbing into Boil’s shoulder from laughter. Boil was recording it on his datapad.

You were pretty sure you threatened to punch Cody halfway through the vows, and he threatened to throw you over his shoulder and “get this over with,” and Waxer tried to officiate at one point but got distracted by the ceiling lights.

The droid somehow got the basic requirements out of you: names, yes, consent, yes, promise to stick together, sure why not, insert your clan name here, slurred into nothing.

“By the rites of union under the local customs of Desix,” the droid droned, “you are now spouses.”

There was a long, stunned pause.

Cody blinked at you, bleary and still holding your wrist.

You blinked at him, grinning like an idiot.

Waxer whooped.

Boil flung rice he stole from the droid’s ceremonial basket.

Obi-Wan gave a golf clap, smiling into his wine bottle.

Cody tugged you in by the front of your shirt and kissed you square on the mouth.

It was clumsy and a little sloppy and completely perfect.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, chuckling low in his chest.

“Remind me to actually take you on a date next time,” he muttered.

You snorted, dizzy and stupidly happy.

“You’re such a cheap date,” you teased.

“You’re the one who married a clone after six drinks,” he shot back.

Obi-Wan’s voice floated lazily from somewhere behind you.

“This isn’t the first Mandalorian shotgun wedding I’ve attended.”

You flipped Kenobi off over Cody’s shoulder without looking.

⸻

Your head was killing you.

It was the kind of hangover that felt like someone had stuffed a live thermal detonator into your skull and set it to “gently simmer.”

You woke up sprawled across the pilot’s chair of your battered little freighter, helmet on the floor, boots still on, jacket half-off.

You groaned, clutching your head, trying to piece together what the kriff happened last night.

You remembered… the cantina.

Maybe some clones?

Drinks?

A lot of drinks.

And then — nothing. A void.

Total blackout.

You muttered a curse under your breath, shaking off the cobwebs.

“Not my problem anymore,” you said hoarsely, slamming the hatch controls.

The ship lifted off with a coughing rumble, engines flaring as you tore away from that cursed dustball of a planet without a single look back.

Freedom.

Peace.

Hangover and all, at least you—

—CLANG.

You jumped, hand flying to your blaster as something banged inside the ship.

You spun around, heart hammering, expecting a bounty hunter or a drunken mistake you forgot to ditch.

Instead, a half-dressed clone trooper stumbled out of your refresher.

You stared.

He stared.

Both of you looked equally horrified.

“What the kriff are you doing on my ship?!” you barked, blaster half-raised.

The clone — broad, buzzcut, golden armor pieces still strapped to one shoulder — squinted blearily at you.

“…Am I still drunk?” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “Or are you yelling?”

You pressed the blaster harder into your hand to resist the urge to shoot the ceiling out of pure frustration.

“Who the hell are you?” you demanded.

“Uh.” He looked down at himself, like maybe his armor would have answers. “Waxer.”

“Waxer,” you repeated flatly.

There was an awkward beat.

He looked around, frowning harder. “This… this isn’t the barracks.”

“No shit, genius,” you snapped. “It’s my ship.”

Waxer scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“I… think I followed you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I dunno, vod. You seemed… fun?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose so hard you saw stars.

This was a nightmare.

You had to focus. Okay. One problem at a time.

“Do you remember anything about last night?” you ground out.

Waxer leaned heavily against the wall, thinking so hard it looked painful.

“Uh… bar… drinks… Boil dared Cody to…” He trailed off, brow furrowing. “Somethin’ about a chapel?”

You stared at him, ice sinking into your stomach.

“…A chapel?”

“Yeah,” Waxer said, rubbing his temple. “Pretty sure there was a wedding? Someone got married?”

You nearly dropped your blaster.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, pacing in a tight circle. “Not me. Not a chance.”

Waxer gave you a once-over, squinting.

“You do look like you got married,” he said, way too cheerfully for a man half-hungover in your ship’s corridor. “You got that, uh, post-wedding… glow.”

You shot him a look so poisonous he actually flinched.

“You’re lucky you’re not spaced already,” you growled. “Sit down, stay quiet. I need to figure out what the hell happened.”

You turned back toward the cockpit.

Waxer called weakly after you:

“Hey, uh… if you find out if I got married, let me know too, yeah?”

You groaned so loud it shook the bulkheads.

���

Cody woke up face-down on a crate in a supply room.

His mouth tasted like regret and sawdust.

His armor was half-missing.

His head felt like it had been used for target practice.

He groaned, dragging himself upright, squinting around.

Where the kriff—?

The door slid open with a hiss, and Boil stumbled in, looking just as rough.

“Commander,” Boil rasped, voice like gravel, “we’re…uh…we’re shipping out soon.”

Cody pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Where’s Waxer?” he croaked.

Boil blinked. Looked around like maybe Waxer would appear out of thin air.

“…I thought he was with you?”

Cody cursed under his breath. “We leave in an hour. Find him.”

Boil nodded, clutching the wall for balance, and staggered out.

Cody scrubbed a hand down his face.

Bits of last night floated in his brain — flashes of a bar, too many drinks, laughing until his ribs hurt — and then… nothing.

Total blackout.

He remembered someone — warm hands, a sharp smile — but it was blurry. Faded like a dream.

Before he could piece anything together, General Kenobi appeared, hands tucked casually behind his back, sipping calmly from a steaming cup of tea.

“Cody,” Kenobi greeted pleasantly. “Sleep well?”

Cody groaned. “Respectfully, sir, I feel like I’ve been run over by a LAAT.”

Kenobi smiled, maddeningly unbothered.

“Well, that’s what happens when you elope with Mandalorians,” the Jedi said casually, taking a sip.

Cody froze.

“…Sir?”

Kenobi gave him a sideways glance, the barest twitch of amusement on his mouth.

“Marrying someone you just met. Very uncharacteristic of you,” he mused aloud. “But then again, everyone needs a little excitement now and then.”

Cody’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“I… I what?” he managed.

Kenobi smiled wider.

“As your commanding officer and friend, let me be the first to congratulate you on your marriage.”

Cody stared at him, stomach dropping through the floor.

Kenobi clapped him on the shoulder once, almost kindly, and strolled off down the corridor, humming to himself.

Cody just stood there.

Brain utterly blank.

Marriage!?

Bits of the night started stitching themselves together in his pounding skull — the cantina, the drinks, the bet, the chapel,— a Mandalorian — a ring of laughter and shouting — a kiss that tasted like liquor and adrenaline—

His hands flew to his body, patting himself down.

There, on a thin chain tucked under his blacks, was a cheap metal band — hastily engraved, scuffed to hell — but there.

He was married.

To someone.

He didn’t even know their name.

“Kriff!” he swore, yanking the band out to stare at it.

Boil popped his head back around the corner.

“Commander, uh, bad news — Waxer’s missing.”

Cody’s eye twitched.

“Find him,” he growled. “Now.”

Because if anyone knew where the kriffing Mandalorian was — the Mandalorian he apparently married last night — it would be Waxer.

And Cody was going to kill them both.

⸻

Cody was stalking through the camp like a man possessed.

Clones scrambled out of his way — even Boil looked like he was about to duck and cover — but Cody barely noticed.

He jabbed at his comm unit again, teeth grinding.

“Come on, Waxer, where the hell are you—”

The comm crackled — and finally, mercifully, connected.

Except… it wasn’t Waxer’s voice that answered.

It was a dry, raspy groan, like someone dying a slow death.

“…Who the kriff is this?” a voice slurred over the line.

Cody stiffened.

That voice—

Mandalorian accent. Rough from a hangover.

Unmistakable.

“This is Commander Cody of the Grand Army of the Republic,” he snapped. “Where’s Waxer?”

A heavy sigh crackled through the speaker.

Then some muffled shuffling.

Finally, a different voice — Waxer’s — came on the line, painfully sheepish.

“Uh… hey, Commander.”

“Waxer,” Cody growled, “you have two minutes to explain why you’re not on the ground getting ready for departure.”

“Okay, so, uh…” Waxer sounded like he was desperately trying to piece his dignity back together. “Funny story, sir…”

“Waxer.”

“I’m on a ship. Not, uh, our ship. The Mandalorian’s ship.”

Cody’s eye twitched violently.

“You’re with them?” he hissed.

Waxer coughed, clearly embarrassed.

“Yeah. Turns out, I kinda… passed out in their refresher.”

In the background, you — the Mandalorian — muttered “Stop telling people that,” which Cody was definitely going to circle back to later.

Waxer hurried on. “They could drop me off at Nal Hutta — You know, least disruption, stay outta the battalion’s way…”

“Nal Hutta is a three-day detour,” Cody barked.

“Yeah, I said that too,” Waxer admitted. “They’re heading to Coruscant next, but it’s gonna take a few days.”

Cody paced like a caged rancor, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re telling me I have to leave you in the hands of a hungover Mandalorian,” he said through gritted teeth, “who I may or may not have married last night, and just hope you both make it to Coruscant alive?”

“…I mean, if you put it like that, sir,” Waxer said carefully, “it sounds worse than it is.”

There was a long pause.

Cody closed his eyes.

He could feel Kenobi’s amused stare from across the camp.

The General was lounging under a shade tarp, nursing another drink like he was personally invested in Cody’s suffering.

Cody opened his eyes.

Fine.

No choice.

“Copy that,” he ground out. “Transmit your vector when you make planetfall. We’ll regroup on Coruscant.”

“Yes, sir,” Waxer said, voice obviously relieved.

The comm clicked off.

Cody lowered the device slowly, breathing through his nose.

“Married,” he muttered to himself, in utter disbelief. “Married to a Mandalorian I don’t even remember meeting.”

Kenobi drifted casually closer, hands clasped behind his back, wearing the smuggest expression Cody had ever seen on his otherwise dignified face.

“Don’t worry, Cody,” the Jedi said lightly, voice positively dripping with humor. “Statistically speaking, most impulsive marriages have a fifty percent survival rate.”

Cody stared at him, hollow-eyed.

“That’s not comforting, sir.”

Kenobi took a sip of his drink, beaming. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

⸻

The ship’s hyperdrive thrummed softly as it hurtled through deep space.

You slouched in the pilot’s chair, wearing the hangover like a full set of armor.

Every noise was too loud.

Every light was too bright.

From behind you, Waxer was perched awkwardly on a crate, looking like he had a lot of questions he desperately wanted to ask — and not enough survival instincts to stop himself.

You groaned, slumping forward to rest your forehead against the control panel.

“Don’t say it,” you warned him, voice hoarse.

Waxer scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly.

“…Sooo,” he drawled, dragging the word out, “you and my commander, huh?”

You made a wounded sound into the console.

“I’m never drinking with clones again,” you mumbled.

Waxer chuckled under his breath, clearly finding way too much joy in your suffering.

“Hey, could be worse,” he said lightly. “At least it’s Cody. Solid guy. Good rank. Stable.”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him, one eye peeking out from under your hair.

“I don’t even remember meeting him,” you hissed. “I woke up in my ship, there was a half-dead clone in my refresher, and now apparently I’m married to your kriffing commander.”

Waxer winced sympathetically, but he was absolutely biting back a laugh.

“Details, details,” he said. “You seemed real happy about it last night.”

“I was drunk!” you snapped.

Waxer shrugged, grinning. “Still. Smiled a lot.”

You buried your face back into your arms.

Maker.

You tried to scrape together anything useful from last night — but it was all a messy blur of shouting, music, the burning taste of spotchka, and — somewhere — a deep, rumbling laugh you could almost remember.

You groaned again.

Waxer leaned back against the wall, settling in comfortably like he was ready to spill all the juicy gossip.

“So…what’s the plan?” he asked, way too casually.

You lifted your head just enough to glare again.

“Plan?”

“Yeah, you know. Marriage stuff. Matching armor. Co-signing a ship mortgage.”

You pointed a finger at him.

“You’re lucky I don’t space you,” you muttered.

Waxer just smiled wider.

“Look, could be worse,” he said again, like he was helping. “General Kenobi didn’t even seem mad. He was kinda proud, honestly.”

You groaned and flopped back into your chair, draping an arm over your face.

“You clones are a menace.”

Waxer chuckled.

“Yeah, but you married one, so what’s that make you?”

You made a strangled sound.

The ship sailed on through the stars — heading straight for Coruscant and the world’s most awkward conversation with Commander Cody.

You didn’t know how that conversation was going to go.

But you were pretty sure you were going to need a drink for it.

⸻

The ship touched down at the GAR base on Coruscant with a smooth hiss of repulsors.

You barely waited for the ramp to finish lowering before you were all but shoving Waxer out.

“Go,” you said, practically herding him down the ramp. “Fly, be free.”

Waxer grinned, shouldering his kit bag.

“Thanks for the lift, mesh’la. Good luck with the husband.”

You shot him a murderous glare as he disappeared into the bustling crowds of clones and officers.

And then — standing at the base of the ramp — was him.

Commander Cody.

Still in full armor, helmet tucked under one arm, looking… somehow even more handsome sober.

His hair was tousled, his dark eyes sharp but… cautious.

You felt the smallest flicker of Oh no he’s hot panic spark in your gut.

Cody stepped forward, clearing his throat.

You squared your shoulders, already bracing for it.

“So,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “About… the marriage.”

You gave him a flat look.

“What marriage?” you said, a little too brightly. “I don’t remember a marriage.”

Cody cracked the faintest, tired smile.

“Right. Well. I’m sure there’s a way to… annul it. Or nullify it. Whatever the proper term is.”

You cocked your head, pretending to think.

“Could just say it wasn’t consummated,” you said casually. “Makes it non-binding in some traditions.”

For a half-second, Cody actually looked relieved.

You smirked.

Right up until a very distinct voice behind you both cleared his throat politely.

Both you and Cody turned at the same time.

There stood General Kenobi, sipping from a flask he definitely wasn’t supposed to have on base, looking immensely entertained.

“I’m afraid,” Kenobi said, with that Jedi-trying-to-sound-diplomatic tone, “that would not be accurate.”

You and Cody blinked at him.

Kenobi smiled a little wider, like he was delivering a death sentence.

“From what I recall — and from what half the battalion will never be able to forget — the marriage was…” He paused delicately. “…enthusiastically consummated. On multiple occasions. That night.”

Silence.

Absolute, crippling silence.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Cody’s face turned a shade of red you hadn’t thought possible for a battle-hardened clone.

You slowly turned your head back toward Cody, your expression completely numb.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

“Right,” he said finally, voice strangled. “Good to know.”

You choked on a sound that was half a laugh, half a groan.

Kenobi clapped Cody lightly on the shoulder as he strolled past.

“Congratulations again, by the way,” he added over his shoulder, absolutely relishing your suffering.

You and Cody just stood there on the landing pad, mutual trauma radiating off you in waves.

Finally, you blew out a breath.

“So,” you said hoarsely, “drinks?”

Cody stared at you.

Then — in the most defeated, exhausted voice you had ever heard — he muttered

“Please.”

[misshoneyimhome]

What’s up, buttercups! 💕

The saga continues with another chapter—chapter eight 😉 As I think I’ve mentioned before, I’m not completely satisfied with how the timeline has played out… as I didn’t want to rush anything, but here we are. Hopefully, it still makes sense and is enjoyable nonetheless 😊💕

For this chapter, I had quite a bit of fun writing certain parts of this one, so without further ado, let’s get to it! Happy reading 💕

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, language, smut 18+: oral sex (both m & f receiving), cum swallowing

Word count: 7k Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three ; Chapter four ; Chapter five ; Chapter six ; Chapter seven ;

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter Eight: Unmasked & Unravelled*

::

“Dearest Toronto readers,

Game day in Toronto always carries a certain energy—a steady thrum of anticipation that stretches from the heart of Scotiabank Arena to the farthest corners of the city. But tonight, that hum has risen to a fever pitch.

Yes, the Leafs are set to battle their age-old foes, the Bruins—a rivalry that has left its mark on history in scars and scoreboards alike. But that is not the only duel taking place under tonight’s lights. No, there is another game unfolding, one just as captivating, though far more delicate.

Rumour has it that tonight, our Queen will attend tonight's game, though not with the court. There will be no stolen photos, no grainy glimpses caught through the glass of a private suite. No—tonight, she steps fully into the light, into the stands, among the people. A bold move, some might say. But one must wonder… is she simply fulfilling a duty, or is she testing her influence?

And what of the Ice King?

Auston Matthews has just returned from an uncharacteristically miserable road trip—two games, two losses, and a noticeable dip in the magic that has long made him the centrepiece of Toronto’s crown jewel. His usual brilliance on the ice has been blunted, his leadership questioned. Was it fatigue? Poor chemistry? Or—dare we say it—has the weight of his off-ice affairs begun to seep into his game?

And as always, let’s not forget the rest of the court. Nylander, slicing through defences with the confidence of a man who knows his worth. Marner, the magician, whose hands weave plays so intricate they leave even the opposition momentarily entranced. Rielly, the steady anchor, unshaken in the storm. And behind them all, Anthony Stolarz, the last line of defence, proving with every stop that he is more than just an understudy.

This is not just a game, Toronto. It is a performance. A statement. And by the time the final buzzer sounds, we will know: Is the Ice King still untouchable? Or has his Queen become his most formidable opponent yet?

Stay close. The story is unfolding before our very eyes.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer.”

_

Tuesday –

The unmistakable hum of game night in Toronto was electric, a steady undercurrent of anticipation that pulsed through the city long before the puck even hit the ice. The streets surrounding Scotiabank Arena were a sea of blue and white, jerseys layered over thick jackets as fans funnelled into the building, their voices carrying that familiar mix of excitement and nervous energy.

You adjusted the beanie on your head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you trailed behind Jess and Maya, who were practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” Maya grinned, adjusting her Leafs scarf as she glanced around. “This is way better than watching from the couch.”

“I still can’t believe you agreed to sit in the stands instead of the VIP section,” Jess teased, bumping your shoulder as she led the way to your seats.

You sighed, knowing exactly what she meant. Sitting in the cushioned comfort of the suites, away from the rowdy masses, might’ve been the safer option. The smarter option. But it would’ve also meant hiding, staying on the fringes while the Benchwarmer and every sports outlet in the city continued to speculate about you.

Maybe it was time to stop tiptoeing around it.

“Being in the stands makes it feel more real,” you said, settling into your seat just two rows from the glass as the opening warm-ups wrapped up. “Besides, you two wanted the full experience, and I wanted to share it with you.”

Maya wiggled her brows. “Oh, we wanted the experience, but let’s not pretend you weren’t dying to come see your man in action.”

You shot her a look, but before you could retaliate, the lights dimmed, and the arena erupted into cheers as the Leafs skated out for the national anthems. The crowd was electric, a tangible energy crackling in the air, amplified by the long-standing tension between the Leafs and the Bruins.

You caught sight of Auston almost immediately. It wasn’t hard—his presence demanded attention even among twenty something other players on the ice. Dressed in the Leafs’ signature blue, his movements were fluid, confident, the easy grace of someone who knew the game inside out. As he skated past the boards, he stole a glance toward your section, subtle, fleeting—but you caught it.

And so did Maya.

“Oh my God,” she whisper-shouted, gripping your arm. “Did you see that? He looked at you.”

“It’s not that serious,” you muttered, but you could already feel the heat creeping up your neck.

Jess smirked. “Girl, if he scores a hat trick tonight, I’m telling everyone it was because of you.”

Before you could argue, the puck dropped, and the game began.

From the get-go, the Leafs set the tone. It was a fast-paced, high-intensity matchup, the kind where every shift mattered, and no inch of ice was given up easily. The Bruins, ever the physical team, threw their weight around, but the Leafs met them hit for hit, keeping control of the play.

Auston was a force—fierce on the forecheck, deadly with the puck on his stick. Every time he touched it, the energy in the arena shifted, the collective inhale of tens of thousands waiting to see what he’d do next. And he delivered.

The first goal came late in the first period—a clean snipe, Auston finding the top corner with the precision of a surgeon. You barely had time to process it before Maya and Jess were screaming, shaking your shoulders like crazed fans.

“That’s your man!” Jess shouted, pointing wildly as Auston was mobbed by his teammates in celebration.

“He really said, ‘let me impress my girl real quick,’” Maya added, grinning.

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. Fake. It’s fake. Remember that.

By the time the second period rolled around, the Leafs had extended their lead to 3-0. Nylander had netted a beauty off a no-look pass from Marner, and Matthews had assisted Tavares on a textbook power-play goal. The crowd was alive, the energy reaching a fever pitch as Toronto completely controlled the game.

You were caught up in it, swept along with the chants, the cheers, the pure adrenaline of it all. You felt like just another fan in the stands—no press, no scrutiny, just the joy of watching good hockey.

And then, in the dying minutes of the third period, Auston struck again.

The Bruins had pulled their goalie in a desperate bid to get on the board, but it left them vulnerable. And when Marner stripped a defender of the puck, he sent it ahead to Auston, who made no mistake, burying it into the empty net with a flick of his wrist.

The building erupted.

Maya grabbed your arm, shaking you as Jess screamed beside you. “FOUR TO ZERO!”

“He did it for you!” Jess insisted, laughing as she pointed at Auston, who was being swarmed by his teammates.

The final buzzer sounded moments later, confirming the Leafs’ 4-0 shutout victory. The arena vibrated with cheers, the players exchanging handshakes and stick taps before heading toward the bench. Auston, however, did something different.

Instead of skating off immediately, he turned—just slightly—and looked up into the stands.

Right at you.

Your stomach flipped.

It was quick, barely a second, but your body felt it. The connection. The way his eyes found yours in the sea of people, as if this moment wasn’t just about the game, but about something else.

Maya and Jess, of course, lost their minds.

“Are you seeing this?!” Maya gaped.

“Lucky charm, confirmed,” Jess smirked. “You better make sure he gets you season tickets, babe. Matthews just played one of his best games of the year with you watching.”

You tried to brush it off, but the giddy feeling in your chest wasn’t so easily ignored.

Because for all the pretending, for all the rehearsed public displays and strategic outings, that glance—that tiny, seemingly insignificant moment—felt real.

The atmosphere in the halls of Scotiabank Arena was still electric, the lingering pulse of victory echoing in every corridor. The hum of reporters, staff, and celebrating fans created a lively backdrop as you followed the familiar path to where Auston had asked you to meet him.

Jess and Maya were practically bouncing on their toes with excitement, their voices bubbling over with post-game adrenaline.

“I swear to God, if he doesn’t say something about you being his good luck charm, he’s a liar,” Jess announced, looping her arm through yours.

“Exactly,” Maya agreed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “He played out of his mind tonight. That wasn’t just skill. That was inspiration.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, both of you need to relax. He’s not going to—”

Before you could finish, the sound of approaching footsteps made your stomach twist.

Auston.

“Hey.”

Still fresh from the locker room, dressed in his usual post-game gear—a snug Leafs quarter-zip and grey sweatpants that sat low on his hips—he radiated confidence. His hair was damp, pushed back in a way that made him look effortlessly put together, and his grin was wide, still riding the high of the shutout win.

You barely had time to react before he was in front of you, one hand cupping your jaw with that frustrating, self-assured ease of his. His thumb grazed your cheek, a fleeting, intimate gesture, and then—he kissed you.

It was quick. Light. Barely more than a press of lips.

And yet, it sent a jolt straight through your body.

Your heart did an unnecessary, entirely inconvenient flip as he pulled back, his expression smug, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Damn him.

You willed yourself to stay composed, to ignore the way your stomach was now doing something deeply embarrassing, but then you heard Maya whisper-shouting, “OH. MY. GOD.”

Jess clutched her chest dramatically. “He greets you with kisses now? Okay, we get it. You’re main character energy.”

Auston let out a low chuckle, turning to your friends as he swept his hand to the small of your back with that effortlessly charming smirk of his. “Ah, so you’re the troublemakers she warned me about.”

Maya scoffed, crossing her arms as she tilted her head. “Troublemakers? That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Cocky McGoal-Scorer.”

Jess smirked, nodding along. “Yeah, we are the ones making sure she doesn’t get played by some hotshot hockey player.”

Auston, unfazed, just let his smirk widen. “That’s fair,” he admitted, his voice warm with amusement. “So, what’s the verdict? Do I pass, or am I getting benched?”

Jess eyed him critically, pretending to size him up like a scout at the draft. “Hmm. You do have decent stats…”

Maya pursed her lips, tapping her chin. “And you’ve got the whole smug, charming athlete thing going for you.”

Jess nodded sagely. “But let’s be real, Matthews, this isn’t about you. This is about her. You making sure our girl’s happy?”

At this, Auston’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, the warmth of his palm pressing into your lower back. His voice dropped just enough that you felt the answer as much as you heard it.

“I take good care of her,” he confirmed.

You felt heat creep up your neck. Maya and Jess, meanwhile, were eating this all up.

Jess let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, he’s good.”

Maya smirked, elbowing Jess. “Really good.”

You shot them a look. “Can you not?”

Auston chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. His thumb brushed lightly against your back, almost like a silent reminder that he wasn’t done toying with you yet.

Jess wasn’t done either. “Alright, one final test, Matthews. Important question.”

Auston raised a brow, playing along. “Hit me.”

Maya leaned in slightly, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “What’s her coffee order?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my God—”

But Auston didn’t hesitate. “Medium cappuccino, extra foam, no sugar, cinnamon sprinkled on top if the barista actually listens.”

Your stomach dropped. Because he was right.

Jess and Maya exchanged a look. Then, simultaneously:

“Ohhh, we like him.”

You groaned, covering your face as Auston laughed, his grip on you firm and steady. Jess patted his shoulder approvingly. “Congrats, Matthews. You have our blessing.”

Maya nodded, grinning. “Yeah, don’t screw it up, big guy.”

Auston smirked, squeezing your waist one last time before letting his hand fall. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Maya clutched her chest dramatically. “Ugh, he’s got the lines.”

Jess sighed. “We’ll leave you two alone before we start gagging.”

And with that, your traitorous best friends winked at you before disappearing down the hall, leaving you standing there with Auston, still very aware of the weight of his hand on your waist just moments ago.

You turned, glaring at him. “You love this, don’t you?”

Auston’s smirk was devastatingly smug. “A little bit, yeah.”

You huffed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he drawled, taking a step closer, voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine, “you like it.”

Your breath hitched.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

“Come on. The team wants to say hi.”

The car ride home was quiet, but it wasn’t exactly peaceful. Not with the way Auston kept glancing over at you, the smirk never quite leaving his face. The air was thick with something unspoken, something that buzzed between you like a live wire, but he was content to let you squirm in it.

You turned toward him with narrowed eyes. “Okay. What?”

Auston barely suppressed a chuckle, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting lazily on his thigh. “What?” he echoed, feigning innocence.

You shot him a flat look. “You’re grinning like you just scored a game-winner in overtime. What’s got you so smug?”

He did let out a chuckle this time, shaking his head. “I mean… I did score two tonight,” he pointed out. “Shutout win. Big night.”

You rolled your eyes. “Mhm. Right. That’s why you’re grinning.”

Auston exhaled through his nose, the smirk deepening. “Fine,” he admitted, stealing another glance at you. “Maybe I am still thinking about your friends.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “Jess and Maya?”

“Yep.”

“…Why?”

Auston grinned. “Because they gave me their blessing.”

You let out an exasperated laugh. “Oh my God—”

“I mean, I can’t blame them,” he went on, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m charming. I’m good-looking. I buy their best friend cappuccinos.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “Your ego is unreal.”

“My ego is thriving,” he corrected, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Did you see Jess? She was ready to draft me into the friend group.”

You sighed. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugged, wholly unbothered. “And yet, here you are, still in my car.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to roll your eyes again, huff and say something witty. But the truth was, his confidence, his cockiness, was annoyingly attractive. It always had been. And then, as if on cue, Auston’s voice dipped into something lower, something more dangerous.

“Besides,” he murmured, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “I’ve got better things to be smug about.”

Your breath hitched. Because you knew. You knew exactly what he was about to bring up. Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck before you could even pretend to play dumb. Still, you tried. “Oh?” you said, keeping your voice even. “Like what?”

Auston didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch just long enough for anticipation to curl in your stomach. Then—his voice dropped into something thick, something filthy. “Like last night,” he murmured.

Your cheeks burned. You swallowed, suddenly feeling way too warm in the enclosed space of the car. “Oh my God, shut up.”

Auston laughed, low and amused. “What? You don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No,” you said way too fast.

His smirk only widened. “That’s a shame,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “Because I really enjoyed myself.”

Your stomach flipped. His voice—that voice—was doing things to you, sending a pulse of heat straight to your core, and you hated it.

Okay. Hate was a strong word. You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him. “You’re the worst.”

“Am I?” he countered. “Because I remember you being very into it, boss.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. Auston heard it. And he loved it.

“I can still hear you,” he continued, his voice turning into a lazy drawl, like he was savouring the memory. “Those little sounds you made when you got close.”

Your thighs clenched. His grip on the wheel tightened.

“And the way you came for me?” he exhaled, his voice a little rougher now. “Fuck. That was hot.”

You wanted to die. Because your body reacted to his words. Your pulse jumped. Your core throbbed. And he knew it. You could feel his smirk, could see the satisfaction in the way his fingers flexed slightly against the wheel.

You swallowed again, forcing yourself to sound unaffected. “You love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

Auston chuckled, but there was an edge to it, something darker. “I love hearing you.”

Fuck.

You felt weak. Mercifully, he pulled up to your building before you could completely combust. The car idled as you unbuckled your seatbelt, ready to make a hasty exit, but before you could reach for the door handle, Auston caught your wrist.

The touch was gentle, his fingers curling loosely around your hand before bringing it to his lips. The kiss was light, barely there, but God, it sent heat rushing through you. And then, he chuckled, dark and knowing.

“You have no idea how sexy you are.”

Your breath hitched. 

His lips were still hovering over your knuckles, his grip still warm around your wrist, and your entire body tensed. Auston felt it. And he thrived on it. His gaze flicked up to yours, heavy-lidded and teasing. “You really don’t handle praise well, huh?”

You scowled, yanking your hand back. “Goodnight, Auston.”

But he wasn’t done. Not yet. Because just as you reached for the door handle again, his voice dropped into something gravelly, something that poured through you like molten heat. “I’d love to fuck you again soon.”

You froze. Your fingers stilled on the handle. “What… did you just say?”

Auston leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’d love to teach you more,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise. “You have no idea how many thoughts I’ve been having about you.”

Your body betrayed you, a small, sharp gasp escaping before you could stop it.

Auston smirked. Satisfied. You hated him. You hated how easy it was for him to ruin you. Your throat was dry. Your legs felt weak.

And worst of all? You wanted it. Again. And again.

You shoved open the door without another word, stepping out before you did something insanely stupid—like climb into his lap and beg him to show you exactly what he’d been thinking about. But even as you climbed the steps to your building, your body still hummed from his words, from his voice, from the idea of what could happen next time.

And when you curled into bed later that night, your hands found their way beneath the sheets.

Because fuck—Everything he said? Everything he promised? It only made you want him more.

_

“If you weren’t watching tonight’s game, you must have been living under a rock—or avoiding the inevitable spectacle that unfolded. Because, dear readers, it wasn’t just the Maple Leafs who showed up tonight. No, the Ice King had something—or someone—to play for.

Auston Matthews put on a royal performance—two goals, effortless control, and a presence so commanding it left even the Bruins scrambling. Was it the rivalry? The hunger to silence his critics?

Or was it something far more intriguing?

Our Queen made her grand debut in the stands—no private box, no whispers, just her in the heart of the crowd, watching. And if Matthews’ game was any indication, he was playing for an audience of one. Because when the final buzzer rang, his first instinct wasn’t celebration. It was to find her. A look. A moment. One that said more than any goal ever could. – The Benchwarmer”

_

Wednesday –

By now, it almost felt like you and Auston were actually… friends.

A strange thought, considering how this all started—an arrangement, a performance for the public eye, a mutually beneficial deception. But somewhere between the teasing banter, the stolen glances, and the way he softened when no one else was watching, something had shifted.

Whenever Auston had a good game, he became this impossibly cocky, insufferable, overly confident version of himself—smug, charming, and frustratingly attractive. He strutted around like he owned the world, and honestly? You kind of loved it. Mostly because, beneath all that bravado, you knew the truth.

Behind closed doors, away from the cameras, Auston was different. There was a quiet gentleness in him, a thoughtfulness he didn’t let many people see. He was softer with you, almost instinctively so. It was both exhilarating and exhausting—watching him constantly mask himself, always playing the role of the untouchable superstar. And yet, it made you feel special, knowing he let his guard down with you.

It was thrilling. Daunting. Dangerous.

Because this wasn’t supposed to feel real.

Still, as well as things were going with Auston, work was an entirely different nightmare.

The office was in chaos, papers flying, emails flooding in, and your phone buzzing with what felt like a never-ending crisis. It wasn’t your fault, but as always, you were the one left to clean it up. Mr. Manion expected nothing less. You were the problem solver, the fixer, the one who made sure everything didn’t fall apart at the seams.

And just when you thought the day couldn’t get any worse—he showed up. Chase.

Golden boy. Mr. Perfect-on-paper. The kind of guy who had a talent for swooping in at the last second, taking credit for solving problems he hadn’t lifted a single damn finger to fix.

His presence was the last thing you needed, but there he was, standing by your desk with that infuriatingly easy smile, like he wasn’t about to make your day even worse.

“Tough day?” he mused, stepping a little closer like he owned the place.

You didn’t even look up from your computer. “No, actually, I’m having a fantastic time.”

Chase chuckled, unbothered. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m just here to help.”

You scoffed. “Oh, really? Are you here to actually help, or just to show up after the mess is handled and make sure everyone knows you were around when it got fixed?”

His smirk faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly. “Now, that’s unfair,” he said, hands sliding into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit. “I just wanted to check in on you. Especially since you’ve been so… distracted lately.”

Your fingers stilled over your keyboard. You knew exactly what he was getting at.

The Benchwarmer had been relentless with their latest coverage of you and Auston. The whole city was obsessed with your relationship—or what they thought was your relationship. Every gossip blog, every sports podcast, every social media thread dissecting your every move. Toronto’s Mystery Queen.

For a while, you had managed to keep your identity secure, just enough to maintain the intrigue. A part of you even enjoyed the secrecy, the way people speculated, the way your presence was becoming almost as talked about as Auston’s.

But Chase wasn’t stupid. And he had a habit of knowing just the right buttons to push.

“Quite the love story you’re in,” he said casually, picking up a random document from your desk and flipping through it like he had any right to. “I mean, I never knew you had a thing for hockey players, and Matthews? Gotta say, I didn’t see that coming.”

Your jaw clenched. You didn’t take the bait. You wouldn’t.

“I don’t have time for this, Chase.”

He grinned. “No? Too busy making sure Matthews stays out of trouble?”

Your patience snapped. “What do you want?”

He set the document down, tilting his head slightly. “Just wanted to see how long you were planning on keeping up the act.”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression blank.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said coolly.

Chase let out a low chuckle, like he found your defiance amusing. “Sure you don’t.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “But here’s the thing—you’ve managed to keep your little mystery going for a while now. People love the guessing game. But secrets?” He smirked. “Secrets don’t stay hidden forever.”

You stared at him, your pulse thrumming.

You had a very bad feeling about this.

Chase took a step back, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Anyway,” he said, all casual ease once more. “I’m sure you’ve got things under control. Wouldn’t want all that hard work to go to waste, would you?”

Work had been crazy, and the clock told 6.37 pm. You stared at your phone, your frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. The headlines were everywhere—your name plastered across every gossip blog, your once-protected identity finally out in the open. A part of you had always known this day would come, but you had hoped it would’ve been later. Much later.

You weren’t naive. You understood the game, the way the media worked, the way curiosity fed speculation. You had managed to keep your anonymity intact for so long, playing the part of Toronto’s elusive mystery girl, the Queen in the shadows. But now? Now the entire city knew your name.

And Chase—of course, it had to be Chase. You couldn’t prove it, not definitively, but you knew him. Knew how he operated, how he always found a way to weasel himself into the narrative. You could practically hear the smugness in his voice, the satisfaction in his knowing glances, as if exposing you had been nothing more than an amusing little game to him.

Your fingers tightened around your phone, scrolling through the endless stream of articles, tweets, and comments dissecting your relationship with Auston. Some praised you. Some envied you. Some tore you apart.

And just when the weight of it all began to settle heavily on your chest, your phone vibrated again.

Auston: Come over tonight? Just had dinner. Could use some dessert.

You exhaled sharply, the text pulling you out of your spiralling thoughts.

God, he was so predictable.

And yet… Your first instinct was to roll your eyes. Of course, he’d send something like that. No mention of the media storm. No checking in to see if you were okay. Just straight to the point—sex. It was almost laughable.

Almost.

Because if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t sure what you wanted more—to be alone with your thoughts, drowning in frustration and unanswered questions, or to let Auston take control, pull you into something far more physical, something that would make you forget everything for a while.

You bit your lip, staring at the message.

You knew what this was. It wasn’t romance. It wasn’t some grand love story. It was an arrangement, a mutually beneficial trade-off. You got experience. He got exclusivity.

You were nothing more than a convenient option for him right now—someone he could touch, tease, claim without any of the messy complications of feelings. And yet, even knowing that, even with the reality of it glaring you in the face, you couldn’t deny the truth creeping beneath your skin.

You wanted him.

You wanted the arrogance, the cockiness, the insufferable confidence. You wanted the way he pushed your buttons, the way he tested your limits, the way he made your body sing with just a look, just a touch.

You wanted the way he made you feel—desirable. Powerful. Like you weren’t just her, the girl behind the headlines, but someone Auston Matthews wanted. And after the absolute disaster of a day you’d had, maybe you needed that. Maybe you needed him.

You sighed, fingers hovering over your phone.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you typed out a response.

You: Be there soon

And just like that, you knew—you were already in too deep.

When Auston had mentioned dessert, you hadn’t given it much thought—but he clearly had.

As soon as you stepped into his place, the atmosphere was charged, electric, thrumming with unspoken tension. Auston leaned against the counter, arms crossed, that knowing smirk tugging at his lips. The kind that said he already had a plan.

“Rough day?” His voice was low, teasing, effortlessly smooth.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Something like that.”

He pushed off the counter in one fluid motion, closing the space between you with ease. His fingers skimmed over your hip, the touch featherlight, teasing, sending a ripple of anticipation down your spine. He dipped his head, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his breath warm as he murmured, “Good thing I’m an excellent distraction, then.”

Your stomach fluttered.

The promise in his voice was undeniable, and just like that, you let him take the lead to the bedroom.

Auston always exuded confidence, but tonight, just like last time, something about the way he touched you felt more gentle, more intentional, like he was savouring every second. His hands moved with aching slowness as he undressed you, fingertips mapping your skin. His gaze was locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, pulling you deeper into whatever this was between you.

“Lie down,” he murmured, his voice gentle but firm.

You obeyed, settling against the mattress as his eyes roamed your body, studying, appreciating, taking his time before he moved. And then, with that signature smirk, he leaned in, and everything else faded away.

He hovered over you, eyes flickering with something unreadable—something deeper than just desire. His fingertips traced idle patterns along your bare skin, skimming over your collarbone, your peaky nipples, down the curve of your waist. Slow. Thoughtful. As if he had all the time in the world.

“Relax,” Auston murmured, voice like honey, thick and sweet. His hand splayed against your hip, grounding you. “Let me take care of you.”

Your breath hitched as his lips followed the path of his fingers, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, trailing lower, lower still. Every inch of his touch sent heat rolling through you, pooling low in your stomach. His movements were calculated, unhurried, savouring your reactions as if he was learning your body, memorising what made you shiver.

He kissed along the curve of your stomach, his scruff leaving a faint, delicious burn against your skin. His hands, warm and steady, slid down your thighs, coaxing them apart with an ease that sent a fresh wave of anticipation rippling through you.

“Auston…” Your voice was barely a whisper. “I—I’ve never… I mean, no one’s ever really…”

His brow lifted slightly, but his smirk remained, teasing and utterly self-assured.

“No one’s ever kissed you… down here?” His voice was husky, the heat in his words sending a ripple through you.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head.

Auston’s expression shifted—something dark and intrigued flashing behind his eyes. But that teasing smirk? It didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened, slow and knowing, like he had just been handed a challenge he was more than ready to take on.

“Oh, boss.” His lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his breath warm, teasing, sending a shiver straight through you. “You have no idea what you’ve been missing.”

You barely had time to process his words before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss just above your core. It was wet—so wet—and the promise behind it sent heat surging through you. His hands tightened on your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

Then, his mouth finally met you.

The first touch of his tongue sent a sharp gasp from your lips, your body tensing, arching slightly off the mattress. Auston groaned, low and approving, before flattening his tongue and dragging it through your folds, slow and meticulous.

“Oh—” Your fingers fisted in the sheets, overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of sensation. You closed your eyes, your head falling back into the pillow.

Auston chuckled against you, the vibration making your stomach flip. “Relax,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your clit before flicking his tongue against it, drawing another sharp inhale from you. “Just feel.”

And that was all you could do.

He worked you open with a patience that bordered on torturous, dragging pleasure from you in slow, calculated waves. His tongue alternated between soft, languid strokes and teasing flicks, exploring, savouring, testing what made you shudder. Occasionally, he’d switch to gentle sucking, lips sealing around your most sensitive spot and pulling a desperate moan from you.

Your legs tried to close instinctively, the pleasure too much, too intense, but his arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open, keeping you vulnerable to him.

“You’re so sensitive,” he mused, his voice rough with desire. His fingers dug into your hips as he kissed the inside of your thigh, his lips wet and glistening from your juices. “So fucking responsive. I could do this all night.”

Your breath hitched as he went back in, his tongue swirling, flicking, sucking in a way that had you trembling beneath him. Your hand found his hair, tugging slightly, and Auston groaned, his grip tightening as he pushed deeper, his pace quickening just enough to send sparks racing through your veins.

He was enjoying this—more than he should have. The way he devoured you, the way he savoured every reaction, the way his own body was tense with restraint, his cock pressing hard against the mattress—he was completely in his element.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he slid a finger inside you.

You gasped, your body tightening as he moved slowly, teasing, curling it just right. “A-Auston—oh my God—”

“Mmm yes,” he murmured, his breath hot against you. “Come for me.”

His tongue, his thick finger, the way he held you—it was all too much, and yet not enough. The tension coiled tight in your stomach; your body desperate for release. His pace quickened, his mouth relentless, finger stroking exactly where you needed them.

Your thighs trembled, your breath hitched, and then—you shattered.

Auston didn’t stop. He worked you through it, drawing out every last tremor, every last breathless moan, until you were left gasping, weak and pliant beneath him.

Only then did he pull back, causing you to flutter your eyes open. And when you dared to look at him, his lips were slick, his beard damp, his eyes dark and unreadable. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before smirking, looking devastatingly proud of himself.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Told you you’ve been missing out.”

You could only manage to offer a very satisfied smile.

Though, after the way he had completely unravelled you, left you breathless and boneless against the sheets, Auston was far from finished. Tonight’s lesson wasn’t just about taking—tonight, it was also about giving.

Auston remained slow and deliberate in the way he moved, his presence commanding yet patient as he shifted on the bed, resting on his back. He exhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, though you could tell by the way his fingers twitched against your skin that his composure was hanging by a thread.

Still, he didn’t rush you.

Instead, he simply took your hand and guided you between his legs, his touch warm, grounding. His thighs were firm beneath your palms, his body radiating heat, and when you looked up, his gaze was already fixed on you—dark, heavy-lidded, brimming with raw need.

“I want to know what those sweet lips can do,” he murmured, voice rough, edged with hunger.

Your breath hitched, your eyes blinking a few times. His cock was thick, hard, stiff against his lower stomach, the tip flushed, desperate for relief. Your fingers hovered just above him, unsure, but Auston’s hand remained steady over yours, not pushing, just waiting.

You had tried this before. Once, maybe twice. But it had never felt like this.

Your ex had been impatient, careless, never making you feel like it was something you could enjoy. Like it was something that could feel good for you, too. You’d always hesitated, second-guessed yourself, worried you weren’t doing it right.

But with Auston, it was different.

He wanted you to take your time. To learn. To enjoy it.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a silent encouragement. “Start slow,” he murmured. “And remember to breathe.”

You swallowed, nodding slightly before wrapping your fingers around his shaft, feeling the sheer weight of him in your hand. He was hot beneath your touch, pulsing with every small shift of your fingers. And when you gave the first slow stroke, Auston groaned low in his throat, his head tipping back against the pillows.

That sound alone sent a thrill straight through you.

Emboldened, you leaned in, pressing an experimental kiss to the tip before parting your lips, slowly taking him in inch by inch. You felt the stretch, the unfamiliarity of it, the sense of him in your mouth and throat. You gagged slightly, but then Auston’s fingers tangled in your hair, his grip gentle, grounding, as he steadied you.

“Fuck—yeah, just like that,” he rasped, his voice thick with restraint. “Use your spit. And hand.”

You inhaled through your nose, then allowed a bit of spit to fall from your lips, as instructed, before you moved lower, adjusting to the sensation, letting yourself settle into a rhythm. Auston’s hips shifted slightly, his breath unsteady as your tongue traced along the underside of his cock, your hand working in sync with your mouth.

You tasted his pre-cum, a surprisingly sweet and salty taste as he became completely at your mercy. And that gave you an entirely new sense of confidence.

With every motion you moved your mouth up and down his shaft, his restraint was slipping, his thighs tensing beneath you, muscles coiling as if he was fighting every instinct to thrust deeper. You could feel the way his fingers clenched, his breath hitching every time you sucked a little harder, took him a little deeper.

You flicked your gaze up, meeting his eyes—and God, the way he was looking at you.

Like he wanted to devour you.

“Mmm shit,” he exhaled, his voice nothing more than a breathy groan. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

Your lips curled around him, and you hummed in response, letting the vibrations ripple through him. Auston let out a ragged curse, his control unravelling fast.

And you didn’t stop.

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper as you allowed your saliva to coat his shaft. You listened to every sound he made, every shift of his body, adjusting your pace until he was cursing, his grip tightening just enough to keep you in place.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” His voice was breaking now, strained, his body trembling beneath your touch.

You could feel it coming, the way his stomach tensed, his breathing turning uneven. And then, with a deep, wrecked groan, he came.

His release hit your tongue, warm and unexpected, but you didn’t pull away. You took it, let it settle on your tongue, tasting the salty liquid, before swallowing, surprising even yourself.

Auston’s entire body tensed—then melted.

His grip loosened, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants as he stared down at you, completely wrecked. His lips were parted, his pupils blown, and then, slowly, his expression shifted into something almost incredulous.

He let out a rough chuckle, running a hand over his face. “Fuck. I was not expecting that.”

You wiped the corner of your mouth with a finger, looking up at him with a slow, satisfied smile. “Me neither. I… I kinda really liked that…” you admitted with a light blush.

Auston blinked, then grinned—wide, lazy, completely enamoured. “Well fuck me,” he muttered, pulling you up, his arms wrapping around you. “I think I just created a monster.”

You only smirked, curling against him as he let out another deep, exhausted breath.

And you?

You felt powerful. Unstoppable. Confident in a way you never had before.

You had made Auston – the Auston Matthew come undone.

And you had a feeling Auston was more than happy to help you learn even more.

That night, you left Auston’s place with a satisfied ache in your limbs and a smug smile tugging at your lips. The city air was crisp against your heated skin, but nothing could cool the warmth still pulsing through you.

You felt different—lighter, freer.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t overthinking. You weren’t second-guessing yourself or analysing every moment. You were just… enjoying it.

And Auston? He was loving every second of it.

When he finally collapsed onto his bed, his body still humming from the night’s events, he exhaled deeply, stretching out against the sheets with a self-satisfied smirk. His head was filled with you—your sounds, your touch, the way you had looked at him with that newfound confidence.

It was going so well.

Better than he ever could’ve imagined.

_

“Dearest Toronto readers,

It would appear the Queen has officially stepped out of the shadows.

For months, we speculated. We pieced together whispers, glimpses, and stolen moments, weaving them into a story that had yet to be fully told. But now? There is no more mystery. No more guessing. The woman who has held the attention of the Ice King—who has captivated this city just as much as the man himself—has been unmasked.

And yet, the revelation has only ignited more intrigue.

Because, dear readers, while the name is now known, the story remains unfinished. The question lingers—was this all part of the grand game? A carefully curated move in the playbook of deception? Or is there something far more dangerous simmering beneath the surface?

One thing is certain: Auston Matthews has never played better, never looked more untouchable, more in control. But if we’ve learned anything from history, it’s that even the greatest Kings fall when their Queens become too powerful.

Stay close, Toronto. The game is only getting started.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer.”

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Needs Must — Rhysand x Reader

While I put the finishing touches to the next part of Bluebird, enjoy this Rhys x Reader that I got a sudden burst of inspiration to finish this morning!

Summary: War changes everything, and the human-fae war changed the trajectory of your life completely — most pointedly decimating the relations between you and those closest to you. It’s been a long while since you’ve seen your brother, Cassian, and your friends. But that’s all about to change.

Warnings: Suggestions of solicitation/sex work/brothels. Nothing else, really!

Word Count: 1.5k

Enjoy! 💕

It’s all pointless, you think — the red velvet drapes, the burning candles, the sandalwood-scented smoke that clouds the air and creates a thick layer of fog that hovers just above the shag carpet. Pointless, because no amount of pretty décor will change Salt’s Pleasure Hall from the vacuous and miserable place it is.

Not miserable for you, no. There is no misery in the hefty sum of gold you’ll take home on a night. You are a master of pretty smiles and hooded gazes and saying all the right things that desperate, lonely males wish to hear. There is so much coin to be had in feigning interest and attraction. Bringing their fantasy to life for a night. There is talent in making them feel as though you’ve bared yourself to them, without having removed a single item of clothing.

And to think you once begged your older brother to train you, make you like him. Turn me into a weapon like you are, Cassian. We cannot change what filth sired us. But we can stamp it out from our blood and be better, be more.

And oh, he’d trained you, alright. Turned you into a weapon. Into something he was so fucking proud of. You knew the pride it had once brought him to strut around Illyrian lands with you at his side, clad in leathers just as he was, armed to the teeth just as he was. His way of showing off that he had done something good, something useful.

Oh, how things have changed. How the mighty have fallen.

For all you are confident, comfortable, used to the job you have now worked for some time, you are nervous tonight.

Tonight is different. Tonight is territory that has so far been untouched. Tonight, this room of velvet and silk and sensuality is your domain.

The Juniper Suite is part of the most expensive package that Salt’s Pleasure Hall has to offer. The package is similar to your usual night’s work in that you will smile prettily and pour drinks and ply whichever lonely male arrives with mindless conversation.

The difference is that in Juniper, those things lead to sex. And this is the first time since becoming one of Salt’s girls that you’re crossing that boundary.

So, yeah, you’re a little bit nervous. But — needs must, and all that.

With a soft sigh and butterflies dancing around in your belly, you slowly pace the circumference of the room, stopping every now and then to study the weird little trinkets that Salt has picked up over the years. A strange mishmash of things that you suppose he thinks creates a certain ambience. But tiny metal lions and old, fraying maps will be the furthest thing from your client’s thoughts when the two of you sink into the feathered sheets.

They will be here any minute, and for the first time since you started your work here, you allow yourself to wonder what they might be like. You never usually bother, because the other girls warned you on day one what to expect — that this place attracts a certain clientele, and that never wavers.

So, your guest will likely be far older than you. He will likely have dark smudges beneath his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. There will likely be the faint mark of a removed wedding band on his left ring finger. He will likely want to talk to you about why he is a victim of life itself.

And you will coo sympathetically and pour him drinks, drag your hand down his arm and hold his hand. You will let him know how sorry you feel that life is so cruel to him. You will offer him the bliss of touch and feel, and make him think, for a short while, that you genuinely care about his shortcomings.

And then when he hands you the heavy pouch of coins you so desperately covet, you’ll switch it all off.

You swallow down another sigh and cross the room to the small, compact bar in the corner. You need a stiff drink yourself, something to settle your nerves—

But a knock lands on the door, and there’s no time.

For a split second, you doubt whether you can go through with this. Playing hostess for a few hours is one thing, but giving your body to a client is something you’ve never had the courage to do, despite the extra coin it would bring. But — needs must. You repeat it to yourself as you stride to the door. Needs must, needs must, needs must. You can do this.

You brace yourself, feeling suddenly too hot and sticky in the scant clothing that covers you — a pink lingerie set, barely covered by the sheer robe that sits open and threatens to slip down your arms. You are beautiful — and strong and sexy and confident. This is your body to do with whatever you want. And if this is the course you are taking, that is fine. This will be fine.

You lay your palm on the handle and yank the door open before you have to give yourself another pep talk.

But at the sight of who stands on the other side, you freeze. Your lips part in surprise.

A pep talk is not what you need — but rather a huge hole to open in the floor and swallow you down.

“What the fuck?”

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve uttered those three words at the exact same moment your client did — Rhysand did.

He’s just like when you last saw him, but…older, now. Even though you were adults back then, too, he seems…more mature, somehow. He’s regal and stunning and night itself.

And fuck, he’s High Lord of the Night Court now.

And yet he’s ruffled, as he takes you in, gapes at you. Neither of you know what to do.

His eyes dip down to what you’re wearing, before travelling back up to your face. And he blurts, “Pixie?”

Pixie. You haven’t heard that name in years. The fond nickname that both Rhys and Azriel had coined for you, because you were so much like Cassian and yet so much smaller, a little pixie buzzing around.

But you are not her anymore. You haven’t been her since before the human-fae war. You had changed, just like the others had changed.

And the new you doesn’t need to explain to an old friend what has brought you to a pleasure hall in Sangravah. Nor does that old friend need to explain what’s brought him here, either. You owe him nothing. He owes you nothing.

But the situation is so bizarre that your mind freezes. You don’t know what to do. All you know is that you do not want to be in front of him, almost naked. You do not want to look him in the eye. The mere thought is humiliating.

So you move fast and try to slam the door shut in his face. You don’t care what kind of reprimand Salt will give you because of it.

But, of course, he is Rhysand, and may you never forget that. He’s quick as lightning, something about him always having been wildly feline. He always bested you when you sparred, always had the upper hand.

He has the upper hand now as he wedges his foot in the door and stops it from closing.

You grit your teeth, feeling just like when you used to bicker with him in Illyria as you bite out, “Move your fucking foot.”

“No,” Rhys snaps, shoving it in further. “Open the fucking—” he growls as he shoulders himself forward. “Pixie.”

“Don’t call me that. Go away—”

You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Either he loses his footing, or you do, or perhaps you both do. All you know is that the door is swinging fully open, and your balance is suddenly off, and Rhysand’s hand is gripping onto you as you fall backwards. Your attempts to right yourself are far too late and seem to make it worse. Down you go to that musty shag carpet, and down Rhysand goes with you,

Air whooshes from your lungs as he lands on top of you, far too close than is comfortable when you’re wearing so little clothing. You attempt to sit up, shove him off you.

But he holds you firm and stares at you with wide eyes. His face is inches from yours. He gives what seems to be a baffled shake of his head.

“Pix, what the fuck?” he blurts.

[1d1195]

Protection

She hates her security detail and everything it stands for. So if she’s going to be miserable she’s going to take everyone responsible for her safety down with her.

But then she meets the newest agent in charge of her protection: Harry. Harry has one job and that’s to protect her; it should be easy enough. How much trouble can a 24-year old student get up to?

Fan art by @tiredinwinter inspired by Part IV 🥹💕

Miss Wildflower and Harry’s ideal home

@harrysonlylover sent me this quote from Miss Wildflower

Head Above Water by Avril Lavigne (esp during Extra I)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

Extra I

Extra II

Extra III

Extra IV

[madhels-enby-boyfriend]

Desire, Devotion and Desperation

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Robyn (the roommate) x reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, use of strong language, insecurities, use of mommy

Tags: smut with a bit of angst, established relationship, insecure!reader, massages, sub!top Robyn, reader being called mommy, Robyn being called a good boy, reader riding R strap, both boyfriend and girlfriend Robyn cause gendered terms are fun to play with, begging.

Summary: Reader has a bad day, which triggers some of their insecurities, luckily Robyn is here to help.

Notes: Way later and far more worked out then initially intended, but it’s finally here! To be honest, this was incredibly self indulgent and mostly a way for me to work on my fear of writing smut. I hope y’all enjoy reading it though 🙂‍↕️🫶🏻

Thank you to the best beta reader out there, @imorynn, who is responsible for me not just throwing this in the trash and who always gives me the motivation to continue writing 🫂💕.

Words: ~5.1K

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Your day had been absolutely miserable, everything that could have possibly gone wrong, went wrong. You had had to deal with the most horrible people you had encountered in a long time, and everything that had gone wrong was blamed on you, despite you having no control over any of it. All of this had left you in a foul mood and had fed the negative voice that already plagued your mind far too often. On top of that, old insecurities and feelings of unworthiness reared their ugly heads once more. These feelings, which you thought you had conquered a long while ago, crawling their way back up from the depths of your soul, had been the final straw.

You slammed the door shut as you entered the home you shared with your girlfriend, your mind overwhelming you with its self deprecating thoughts. The harsh sound of the door being thrown shut had caused Robyn to welcome you with a worried frown on her face. You quickly apologized and could feel those negative thoughts become even louder, blaming you for making her worry over something as simple as a bad day. You could see her frown deepen as she asked you what was wrong, while you took off your coat and shoes.

You briefly thought about telling her you were fine, to not worry about it, but you knew she would be able to see right through you and wouldn’t stop prodding till you told her, besides you could really use a listening ear. You saw how she looked at you with such care and worry, and before you even realised it, you were talking, the words quickly spilling out of your mouth.

You told her all about your shitty day as she led you to the couch, though you elected to leave out the return of the annoying, nagging voice, not wanting to be even more of a burden than your mind had already convinced you you were. Robyn listened attentively as you both sat down on the couch, her hand finding its place on your thigh, her thumb rubbing circles in a gentle, comforting way.

Once you had stopped talking, Robyn placed a gentle kiss on your lips, before telling you how proud she was of you for soldering through the day. She was about to say something else when you noticed her eyes landing on your strained shoulders.

“My poor angel, you look so tense… how about you let me help you relax? Let me give you a massage. To help work out some of that tension in your muscles.”

Usually you would have eagerly accepted the offer, her voice was soft and inviting, and Robyn’s hands could perform miracles, she knew exactly how to get your muscles to relax with a couple simple movements. But now you weren’t sure, you desperately wanted her hands on you, taking care of your aching muscles, but you didn’t feel very confident, so undressing in front of your stunning boyfriend didn’t feel like a great idea. On top of that you already felt bad for unloading your bad day on her, you didn’t want to bother her even more.

“You don’t have to… I mean you’ve already done so much by just listening..”

Your voice sounded smaller than you would have liked it to, it wavered as you tried to take a deep breath. You knew Robyn could probably see right through you, she knew you better than anyone.

“I know I don’t have to, baby, I want to. I hate seeing you so wound up.”

She looked at you with such determination and devotion in her eyes that, even for just a moment, your mind stilled its negativity and before you could stop yourself, you accepted her offer.

As you made your way upstairs, your insecurities began to creep in again and by the time you had made your way to the bedroom, your mind had nitpicked everything about your appearance and reminded you just how undeserving of Robyn’s attention you were. You swallowed thickly when she looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to take off your clothes. Suddenly undressing under her intense gaze felt impossible. Robyn, ever the perceptive woman, of course noticed something was wrong instantly and in a matter of seconds had come up with her own solution.

“Why don’t you get ready, while I go grab the massage oil?”

She gently and lovingly kissed your lips before heading out of the room and you silently thanked her for always knowing just what you needed. You pushed down the thought that she really was too kind and good for you as you quickly took off your clothes and made your way over to the bed, laying on it face down in nothing but your… well more accurately Robyn’s… boxers. You calmed yourself with the thought that most of your body was hidden by the mattress and that Robyn would be mostly focused on your back, which seemed to give you some solace.

You watched Robyn walk back in with the massage oil and didn’t miss the way her eyes raked over the skin that was available to her, before your mind could begin to start racing, Robyn’s voice anchored you to the present.

“My beautiful baby, what did I do to deserve you?”

Her voice left no room for arguing, it was filled with clear adoration and genuine awe, you looked away to hide the blush that creeped its way up your cheeks. That blush only deepened when you felt her press a featherlight kiss in between your shoulder blades.

Your thoughts silenced for just a moment as Robyn’s hands made light work of the stress that had left your body an aching and tense mess. You sighed happily as she started to work on the muscles in your shoulders, you let the content moans spill out of you as you felt her hands work their magic.

It was as if Robyn could read your mind, any time a nasty thought about you or your appearance threatened to make its way to the forefront of your mind, she whispered praises in your ear, telling you how stunning you looked, how lucky she was to have you, how she loved getting to help you unwind like this. Every word she uttered pushed the negative thoughts further away, her words of devotion filling your brain instead, making you feel loved and worshipped. The way she spoke them so fervently left no room for doubt or accusations of ingenuity.

This hadn’t been the first time Robyn had helped you deal with your insecurities, earlier in your relationship they plagued you more frequently and even more harshly. Yet never once had she gotten annoyed with you for them, no, instead she had helped you fight them every single day, reassuring you, making you feel loved, wanted, desired. With her help you had overcome them.. or so you thought…you hadn’t felt truly, deeply insecure in a long while, so suddenly falling back into old patterns had hit you harder than you liked to admit.

The insecurity you struggled with the most was feeling undesirable, most other insecurities could be driven away by Robyn’s words of devotion.. but feeling like you weren’t someone to be really, truly, desired.. that one tended to linger, even when the others slowly disappeared back to the depths they’d crawled out of.

Robyn’s hands made their way down to your back, working out any knot they came across as she continued to lavish you with compliments and praises. The combination of Robyn’s bare hands on your skin, feeling the cold metal of her rings as she worked on your muscles, and the way she spoke about you as if you were the most precious thing on this earth, was making a mess of your underwear.

You inwardly groaned at the confusing mixture of feelings that had taken ahold of you and hoped Robyn wouldn’t notice the effects she was having on your boxers. Your boyfriend was just trying to make you feel better, and here you were thinking about her hands slipping lower and helping you unwind in a different way.

By the time her hands had reached your lower back, your moans had turned from moans of relief into moans of need, you silently wished for Robyn to remain oblivious but with how well she knew you… it was unlikely that she was unaware of how she was making you feel right now… still one can hope. You bit your lip and tried your best to think of anything but the way her fingers would feel rubbing your clit instead of your lower back, but failed miserably.

As Robyn’s hands continued their journey downwards and began to squeeze and massage your ass over your boxers, you started to suspect that she might have had some ulterior motives of her own… or maybe she had become aware of the wet spot in your underwear and had decided to help you find a different kind of release.

And then, out of nowhere, it all became too much, the insecurities you had been pushing back and fighting against the entire time flooded and overwhelmed you, once more, any progress you thought you had made, being thrown out the window. Your fear of not being attractive enough led the charge as you felt your girlfriend's hands make their way to your center.

That little voice in the back of your mind began nagging at you again, nibbling at the fragile and unstable peace Robyn had managed to build with her kind words and talented hands. It told you she was only doing this because she had heard your needy moans and felt obligated to, sprinkling in some reminders of how Robyn deserved better and how she could never truly desire you, and did this only to humor you. You tried to push down the thoughts and enjoy her touch.

“Robyn, please.”

You breathed out her name like a prayer, you were unsure what you were asking of her, you needed her desperately, but your thoughts were drowning you, your body and mind sending you both very different and mixed signals. The tension Robyn had spent the last half hour getting rid of, had made its way back into your muscles.

“Do you want me to take care of this mess, baby?”

Her voice was sultry and seductive yet held an unmistakable seriousness and a tinge of confusion, undoubtedly picking up on the tension returning to your body. Her tone made it clear that she wasn’t just teasing, she was asking to make sure, so she could give you exactly what you wanted, her hands stilling their descent as she waited for you to answer.

Your thoughts became even more overbearing, you wanted her, needed her, but you wanted her to want it just as much as you did. You didn’t want her to push herself to do something she didn’t want to do, just to please you.

When you didn’t answer, Robyn’s hands moved away from your soaked underwear and you were sure this was a sign that she did not want you, that your fears had been justified and that she didn’t actually want to fuck you. You groaned, frustrated at your own inability to turn off your mind for just one moment.

You turned around and sat up, not wanting to have this conversation with your back turned to her, and suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable in this position. You grabbed the duvet and covered yourself, as you became very aware of how naked you were when your eyes landed on Robyn’s fully clothed body.

You focused on anything but her face, your own thoughts growing louder by the second. You weren’t sure how to put this into words, part of you just wanted to not respond and ignore she had ever asked the question in the first place.

“I don’t … want you to feel like you have to.. just cause I’m turned on. I want you to want it cause you want me.”

Your voice was small and your body and mind were both sending you very mixed signals. Rationally you knew this was stupid, Robyn had spent the last half hour telling you how gorgeous she thought you were, but gorgeous and attractive or desirable were not the same thing, something your mind had been telling you ever since you felt Robyn’s hand travel to where you needed her most.

Robyn gently took your chin in between her pointer finger and thumb and made you look at her. She always wore her emotions openly, especially around you, and in there it was, in those beautiful brown hues, nearly fully absorbed by her pupils, desire, love and devotion. The intensity of the emotions so clearly displayed not only in her eyes but also on her face, left you breathless.

She didn’t stop looking into your eyes as she began to talk reverently, her voice sterner this time, her honesty and genuity clear in the way she spoke.

“Sweetheart, you don’t understand how badly I need you.. you don’t know the effect watching you come undone by my hands has on me…”

You took in her words, they quietened your negative thoughts ever so slightly, but you needed more to shut up your mind. Taking charge during your more intimate moments had always helped with that, feeling in control tended to silence some of those nasty thoughts, that were brought on by a feeling of helplessness.

Robyn’s statement and previous praises, your desire to get rid of these self deprecating feelings, and the lust and devotion in your girlfriend’s eyes gave you the courage you needed to drop the duvet.

“Show me.”

It was somewhere between a plea and a command, your voice steading a little, but your confidence had clearly not yet returned. You didn’t miss how Robyn’s eyes drifted to your now mostly naked form, taking you in entirely while the hunger in her eyes grew.

Robyn’s hands dropped to her side as you watched her realise what you were doing, a small smirk playing on her lips as she looked up at you with those big brown eyes. She leaned closer to you and began to kiss your neck, some kisses softer, while others were accompanied by her tongue and teeth. In between each kiss she whispered how desperately she needed you, how she couldn’t wait to hear you make those beautiful sounds, and how she had waited the entire day for the privilege of getting to see your beautiful body. Each word fervently hacked away at the insecurities and doubt that had filled your mind.

Soon her mouth travelled south to your shoulders and collarbones, once again each kiss was accompanied by Robyn worshipping you. She breathily told you how wet she was for you and how no one had ever made her feel this needy or horny before, how she couldn’t believe she got to call you hers, and how she would happily spend hours worshipping every inch of you.

Soft moans spilled out of your lips and your hands settled into Robyn’s hair, you listened to every word your boyfriend passionately spoke, trying to fight the blush that threatened to creep its way up your cheeks. As her mouth began its descent down to your boobs, you pulled her back, slightly tugging at her hair, which earned you a whiny moan.

Before she could ask you why or protest, you spoke, your voice steadier than before as your insecurities slowly but surely began to take their leave, being replaced by a bit of confidence.

“Kiss me.”

The pleading tone from earlier had almost completely disappeared, but it wasn’t exactly a proper command yet. Robyn didn’t need to be told twice, her lips were on yours the second the words had reached her ears. She put no effort in trying to hide her desperation as she kissed you, love mixed with lust and need as you took control of the kiss, slipping your tongue into her mouth with ease. You pulled her in deeper, while exploring her mouth with your tongue.

When you pulled away, in need of air, Robyn tried to pick up where she had left off but you stopped her once again, which caused her to whine.

“This isn’t exactly fair, is it?”

A little more certainty filled your voice as you tugged at her t-shirt to get your point across. Robyn took in your near naked form and then her own fully clothed one, realisation dawning upon her. She quickly got rid of her t-shirt and then shot you a questioning look. You motioned to her pants and without hesitation she got up from the bed and took those off as well.

You looked her up and down, your eyes shamelessly roaming her body, taking in the way her simple black bra held her voluptuous breasts, the way her soft belly was still littered with marks you had previously left there, and how she was wearing one of her favourite pair of boxers, that you would most definitely steal later.

Once you looked back up at her face you noticed the slightest hint of a blush, which boosted your confidence even more. Before she could sit back down on the bed, you spoke up again, your voice was now steady and commanding and your back had straightened, as your confidence was starting to fully return.

“Go put on your harness, my good boy.”

You watched as Robyn’s eyes lit up at the use of her favourite term, she didn’t hesitate and did as she was told, her movements hurried, betraying her eagerness. Your eyes followed every movement, biting your lip as you watched her put on the harness, she looked absolutely divine in it. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting up and walking over to her, she just looked too good.

You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her back against your front. You kissed her neck, biting and sucking, leaving a mark, which made her whimper. Pleased with your work you kissed your way up to her ear, before placing your mouth very close to it, whispering ever so softly.

“Go grab my favourite dildo and get on the bed.”

You reluctantly released Robyn from your embrace and watched her do exactly what you had asked of her. Now that little voice was finally gone, you had a plan to make sure it stayed gone, and Robyn played an integral part in it.

When you focused on your girlfriend once again, she was sitting on the bed, her back rested against the headboard, as she had positioned herself so you could ride her easily. A wicked smirk appeared on your face as you made your way to the bed, stopping in front of it but not actually getting on.

“Tell me how badly you want it. Show me how much you need me to ride you.”

This time it was a proper command, it left no room for argument, you were not pleading, and judging by the way Robyn repositioned herself a little and clenched her thighs together, you were not the only one enjoying this plan to banish your insecurities for good.

She looked up at you with her pleading eyes, not even attempting to hide the desperation in them. Her voice was coated in a thick layer of desire as she tried to get the words out.

“There is nothing on this earth as mesmerising as watching you ride me. I need to watch you cum on my cock, I need it like I need air. I long to hear your beautiful sounds and watch your incredible body shake with pleasure that only I can give you.”

You didn’t hide the small blush that appeared on your cheeks as you listened to her talk so unashamedly about wanting you. You didn’t miss the possessiveness in her voice as she spoke the last sentence, which made a bigger mess of your boxers. You weren’t done yet though, you wanted to see just how far you could push her.

“You can do better than that. Where’s my good boy who knows how to beg?”

Robyn bit her lip when you called her your good boy, the words seemed to have their intended effect as you noticed her clench her thighs once more. Her eyes filled with determination as she spoke again, she almost whined the words as she made it clear just how badly she craved this.

“Please, please ride my strap, mommy-”

Robyn stopped herself mid sentence, her face turning bright red as the title slipped past her lips, she clearly hadn’t intended to say it out loud. You smirked when you heard it, it was a first, she had never called you that before. You didn’t mind it one bit though, because the word had left your underwear completely ruined, and it wanted to make you ride her till she couldn’t take it anymore. It also did wonders for your confidence and shut up any negative thoughts that still lingered.

“Mommy? How long has that been waiting to slip out? How long have you been holding out on me?”

The smugness dripped from your voice, your smirk only growing when she got even more flustered. She was now having trouble holding eye contact with you, as she tried to come up with a response but failed.

You crawled onto the bed, kneeling down next to Robyn, studying her features as she looked anywhere but at you.

“Awww don’t go all shy on me now.”

You teased and cupped her cheek, before making her look at you. You wanted to show her just how much you had enjoyed being called mommy by her, so you took her hand in your free one and guided it to your ruined underwear while you whispered in her ear.

“Feel how wet that made me, my love, there is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Your voice was filled with desire and reassurance as you guided her hand into your boxers, moaning against her ear when her fingers collected the wetness that had gathered between your folds.

You heard her gasp when she felt just how wet you were, you leaned back a little, wanting to see her expression as she realised just how much of a mess she had made. You watched as the embarrassment was replaced by pure hunger and a carnal need.

Robyn pulled her hand back out and gasped at the sight of her fingers covered in your wetness. She didn’t waste any time and took her fingers into her mouth, sucking and licking them clean while looking at you, moaning at your taste.

You watched, completely mesmerised by her movements, a groan leaving your mouth as she released her fingers with a pop. Before you could say anything her other hand tugged at your boxers, while looking up at you.

“Take these off, come ride my cock, mommy, please. I need it so badly. Please let me be inside you, please.”

Robyn whined the words, her eyes pleading as she continued to tug at the waistband of your underwear. You didn’t have it in you to deny her or yourself any longer, so you quickly got rid of your soaked underwear. You could feel her eyes on you the entire time, roaming every inch of your body hungrily.

Once you were fully naked you made your way over to your girlfriend and straddled her lap, hovering your soaked cunt over the strap. You were wet enough to not need any lube, Robyn’s begging, the use of the new title, and the massage from earlier had made sure of that.

Robyn’s hands landed on your hips, you moaned at feeling the cold metal of her rings against your heated skin. You aligned the strap with your center and slowly descended down onto it, your moans growing louder with each inch you felt go inside you. Robyn held your hips tightly, helping you steadily descend onto her cock, her nails digging into your hips when your moans grew louder.

Once you had taken the full length of her strap, you grabbed her shoulders as you tried to even out your breathing, letting yourself get used to the sensation of having Robyn inside you, your walls slowly adjusting around the strap.

You looked down into those hungry brown eyes and felt a blush creep up your cheeks when you saw the devotion and admiration that accompanied the lust and need you had seen earlier.

Once your breathing evened out you slowly began to move your hips, soft moans escaping your lips as your eyes never left Robyn’s.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?”

You husked out in between moans and laughed hoarsely when you noticed Robyn’s eyes lower to your chest. She couldn’t get out any words and instead just nodded eagerly, her eyes transfixed to your boobs.

“Go on then, you’ve been waiting so long.”

You chuckled lowly and within seconds her mouth was on your chest, licking, sucking, biting, as if she had been waiting all her life to have her mouth on you. Your hands tangled into her hair once again and you began to move your hips faster, moans tumbling from your lips as you felt the strap move deep inside you.

“My good boy, you make mommy feel so good.”

You breathed out as you continued to fuck yourself on her strap. You felt Robyn moan against your chest at your words, the sound spurring you on and making your movements more erratic. She pulled back from your chest and looked up at you with such adoration, that it knocked the wind out of you.

You rested your forehead against hers, nuzzling her nose with your own, your breath hitting her lips as you moaned out her name again and again. Her hands began to guide your hips, helping you keep a steady rhythm, making it so the strap stroked the right spot every time.

One of her hands let go of your hip and instead moved to your clit, her fingers slowly circling it, making you moan even louder. Your nails dug into her shoulders, leaving marks, which in turn made Robyn moan.

“You look breathtaking like this.”

She whispered reverently, her eyes never leaving you, her breath fanning your flushed cheeks, as your own breathing became more ragged and shallow. Robyn’s presence, her words, the coldness of her rings, and the grip on your hip, were the only things grounding you in the present as you got closer and closer to reaching your climax.

“Cum for me, mommy.”

Robyn almost pleaded, as if seeing you cum on her strap was the only thing that mattered. The use of the new title, her fingers continuing their movements, and the way she studied every single detail on your face, as if it was detrimental to remember every detail of what you looked like when you were on the brink of coming, sent you over the edge.

Your eyebrows knitted together and your mouth hung open as you let your orgasm wash over you, your hips slowing down but not stopping completely as you fucked yourselves through your orgasm with Robyn’s help, as she slowly and gently circled your clit.

You collapsed into her as the aftershock of your orgasm turned your body into a boneless puddle. Robyn held you closely to her, her arms wrapping around your frame as she pulled you as close to her as she possibly could. It was as if she was trying to shield you from the world, fighting off every bad thing that happened today as she enveloped you in her embrace.

You nuzzled your face into her neck as you tried to catch your breath, letting her hide you from the world for just a moment. You could stay like this forever, being completely surrounded by Robyn, as she took over your senses. The only thing you could smell was her scent, mixed with sweat and the aftermath of sex, the only thing you could feel was her skin on yours, her arms wrapped around you, and her inside of you, and all you could hear was the soft praise she whispered in your ear, as your breathing evened out.

Once you were fully back down on earth again, you placed the gentlest of kisses on the side of her neck, before reluctantly pulling away from her, meeting her eyes with your own. Robyn looked at you with so much love that it completely squashed any negative thought that might have tried to burrow itself into your mind. The only things you could think about was the bliss you currently felt, how much you loved Robyn, and how loved and desired you felt by her. The hand that had previously been on your hip, came up to your face and carefully wiped your hair out of your face and you instinctively leaned into her touch.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, my love.”

Her voice was soft and gentle, as she carefully helped you get up from her lap. You instantly missed the feeling of having her inside you, whining at the loss of the sensation. She helped you lay down on the bed before leaning down to lovingly kiss you, you smiled into the kiss as you kissed her back, pouring all the love you held for her into it. When she pulled back you had a lovesick smile on your face, the bad day you had just had completely forgotten as you watched Robyn get up and step out of the harness, you were completely mesmerized by her beauty.

“You’re so handsome.”

You breathed out, your voice filled with awe and love, as you watched her make her way back to the bed with a towel. You didn’t miss the pink tinting her cheeks, as she whispered a quiet ‘thank you’. She gently spread your legs before carefully cleaning up the mess between them, quietly apologising every time you whimpered because of how sensitive you were.

Once she was done, Robyn pressed the gentlest of kisses against your center, now it was your turn to blush, she did it every time she cleaned you up, and yet you still got flustered each time she did it. She looked up at you with a smirk, her love for you clearly displayed on her face, the last embers of lust still visible in her eyes.

She got rid of the towel before crawling into bed next to you, pulling you into her arms once more, before placing a kiss on your forehead. You would make a teasing comment about how you were supposed to be in charge, but you were too lost in how safe you felt in her warm embrace to form a coherent sentence. There was only one thing on your mind, no matter how bad your day was or how cruel your mind could be, as long as Robyn was by your side, you’d be okay.

[halsteadlover]

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞

*Gif and pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Connor Rhodes x Fem!Reader.

• Requested: yes by anon.

• Summary: Connor shows his possessive and jealous side and you love every bit of it.

• Warnings: jealousy, few curse words and I don’t know what else, please let me know if I missed any lol.

• Word count: 1930.

• A/N: I’m not sure about this one but here it is anyway since I was too lazy to write it all over again 😭 I hope you’ll like it, looking forward for your opinion. Comment, like and reblog, it’d would mean the world 💕 I love you all xx

Connor's first case since coming back to Med’s was fairly simple.

He thought that day would go uneventful. He thought.

An elementary school girl was taken to the ER after her teacher called 911 because of an intense abdominal pain and after an ultrasound it turned out to be a case of acute appendicitis.

“She’ll need surgery, where are the parents? We need their consent,” Connor had asked Natalie while they examined the little patient who was still writhing in pain. She was given a small dose of morphine to calm some of her excruciating pain.

At that same moment Maggie entered the room and Connor glanced at her as he tried to calm the little girl, whose name turned out to be Daisy. “Her teacher is here and asked about a doctor.”

“I'll talk to her,” Connor said and Natalie nodded.

Connor and Maggie exited the patient's room and his gaze fell on a figure near the nurses' station who was filling out some forms.

He tried to keep an expression as serious and impassive as possible even though internally a flock of butterflies had just exploded in his stomach.

There was no need to even take a double take, he would’ve recognized that figure even in a crowd of thousands of people. After all, how could he not recognize his own girlfriend?

You were a teacher and taught science in an elementary school but what were the chances that you would’ve been the little girl’s teacher?

You and Connor had been together for about few months them so none of his colleagues knew you existed yet. He had to act like he didn’t know you, like he didn’t want to breathtakingly kiss you right then and there.

He couldn't help but let his eyes wander over your body suppressing the innate desire to approach you and grab your ass like he always did.

He approached the nurses' station, hands shoved in his uniform pocket. “Ma’am.”

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard not a voice but his voice. You immediately tried to suppress the smile that threatened to appear on your face as well as the urge to giggle since he knew how much it annoyed you when he’d call you ‘ma’am’.

“It’s ‘miss’, actually.”

You said when you turned to him, pen still in your fingers as you gave him a polite smile and chuckling to yourself when you saw Connor press his lips together in an attempt not to burst out laughing.

“Nice to meet you miss, I’m doctor Rhodes. I’m treating Daisy.”

Your eyes quickly scanned his body, trying to maintain composure and not blush like a fourteen year old when thoughts about you and him in his bed that morning crept into your mind.

“How is she, doctor?” You asked, failing miserably at not giving him a little mischievou smile.

“Unfortunately I cannot discuss my patient's health status with people outside of her family. I wanted to ask you if you have by any chance notified her parents? We need to talk to them,” he replied in a professional tone although the way his eyes shone as they spoke to you and the way he couldn't help but check you out gave him away.

Maggie and April, who were there at the time and witnessing your conversation, couldn't help but exchange a knowing look.

They had both thought the exact same thing.

There was no way you and Connor didn't know each other.

It was so obvious and even funny how you both tried to maintain a professional and unemotional facade. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes had never left yours, the way his body was totally turned towards you and in which he seemed to be imperceptibly drawn continuously towards yours had revealed there was no way in hell that he didn't know you.

But it was also how your head was tilted slightly as you spoke to him, how you kept touching your hair, how you batted your eyelashes and the shadow of a smile that never left your lips that had given definitive confirmation that you two knew each other very well.

And not talking about the fact you two were blatantly flirting.

“I came here in a hurry so I didn't have time to call them, but I'll do it right away,” you had said and Connor had nodded, trying to keep himself from following you with his eyes as you walked away to make the call but failing miserably.

“Connor oh my god! What was that?!” April screamed/whispered, approaching Connor with Maggie, a look of pure surprise and amazement on both their faces. “You know her?!”.

Connor shrugged nonchalantly. “N-no of course not.”

“Oh come on we saw the way you looked at each other, you clearly know her and there is definitely something going on!” Maggie retorted.

“She's just a good looking woman, that's all,” Connor remarked even if ‘good looking’ didn’t even come close to how gorgeous you were.

All his attention though had shifted from Maggie and April for a moment, his eyes falling on the two doctors that were talking as they looked through some patients' medical records.

He saw the direction of their gaze, hearing the comments about the object – or rather the person – that had attracted their attention.

“Man if she was a stripper I would’ve spent my whole salary on her, did you see that ass?”. One of them had confessed to one of them while he was pretending to fill out the medical records even though he was watching you like a hawk while you were talking on the phone.

“I would’ve never skipped a class if I had a teacher as hot as her,” the other continued laughing.

“You think she has someone?”.

“Oh I hope not, but if it is he is a damn lucky bastard.”

Connor clenched his hands into two fists, almost having a brain aneurysm.

A wave of jealousy washed over him, every cell of his body exploding with anger at hearing the words directed towards you who unawarely continued to talk on the phone.

His jaw clenched as he struggled to stay calm, but God how much he wanted to beat the shit out of those two sons of bitches. He hated the way they looked at you, the way they made those disgusting comments about your body.

He hated it so much because that was the way he looked at you.

He was the only one who could make those comments about you, the only one who could have those sinful thoughts about you, the only one who could touch and admire you.

Your ass, your legs, your smile, your laugh, that twinkle in your eyes when you looked at him, that body, all of this were his.

It was as if his mind had gone into blackout, as if all his reasoning, judgment and common sense had just flown away because now all he could do was imagine the bastards' heads banging against the wall over and over again.

Drastic? Perhaps. Excessive? Probably. But Connor didn't give a fuck.

And it was in fact at that precise moment that he did something he’d never have thought of doing for anyone.

“Daisy's parents are…-” you announced as you ended the call and walked back to the nurses' station but stopped on your tracks when Connor came towards you, and a confused expression appeared on your face.

Your eyes widened and you almost had a heart attack when he grabbed your face and crushed his lips on yours.

He didn't give a shit.

Neither that you both were keeping your relationship a secret anymore, nor that you were in the middle of the ER, nor that everyone at that moment had stopped to witness that scene.

He wasn’t thinking clearly and in that moment it was that part of him with which he had never come face to face before that controlled him, that primitive and caveman part he was hating so much.

Even though that gesture had taken you completely by surprise, your body reacted before your mind could even understand what was happening, so you kissed him back, feeling your breath stopping in your lungs. Your hands slid up his chest and fisted his uniform as he wrapped his arms around your hips, sliding his hands down to your ass.

He didn't care he’d receive an endless scolding for what he was doing, he didn't care about the voices that commented the scene, he didn't care that everyone saw his hands squeezing your ass.

He didn't care because he wanted them to see, he wanted everyone to know you belonged to him, that he was the only one who could kiss you, fuck you, squeeze that stripper ass, that loved you.

You broke away from the kiss before the situation could escalate, your heart pounding and your legs shaking like jelly. “Babe oh my god…-”.

“You’re mine, you know that right?” He whispered. “Only mine.” His hands moved up from your ass back to your face and his thumbs caressed your cheekbones before placing a small kiss on his lips. “And I love you.”

Woah hold on.

Did he fucking say ‘I love you’? In an ER?

Wait. Connor loves me?

You looked at him in shock but you didn't have time to process and figure out what the hell was going on because he grabbed your hand and led you back towards the nurses' station, where Maggie and April's jaws were now on the floor.

“Meet my girlfriend, Y/n,” he announced, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close as you were about to faint. Your heart was beating so fast you feared you’d need a defibrillator to revive you sooner or later.

You were so shocked you couldn’t elaborate a word, fuck you couldn’t even think about one.

Connor's eyes focused on the two doctors that had been talking about you until recently but who at that moment were looking around embarrassed.

“You wanted to know if she was taken? Yes, she is. I’m the lucky bastard who gets to have her and now let me hear one more thing about my girlfriend, I fucking dare you.”

You looked with confusion at your boyfriend, then at the doctors he was glaring at, and then back at him. You had no idea what he was talking about and you were so dazed and confused that your mind didn't know what to process first.

From the way Connor’s hand was gripping your hip, the way he held you so close to him, and the way he glared at the two doctors, you imagined it was somehow about you. And although the embarrassment of being the center of attention made you want to be swallowed by the floor, you couldn't help but feel… Flattered.

Was this the right word?

You didn’t know.

You couldn't even describe it, but that jealous, protective side of him lit a fire inside you that burned every single fucking cell of your body.

You knew Connor always had this protective instinct towards you but knowing he had ‘marked his territory’ so blatantly, just to stop whatever they were saying, made you giggle to yourself like a teenage girl.

It was so damn hot and sexy, more than you would’ve ever expected.

And instead of thinking about how out of place or inappropriate that gesture was, the only thing you could think about as you looked at Connor was how good he was going to get it that night.

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[corroded-hellfire]

Jitters - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Collaboration with my darling @munson-blurbs

Summary: It's the first day of school for the Munson children--ever for Eliza, but their dad is being the biggest baby of them all.

Note: With all the back-to-school excitement going on I thought, "What would Eddie be like when Eliza first starts school?" So, voila. As always, I am so thankful for all of you who read and have the loveliest things to say 💕

Words: 3.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

If someone were to take bets on which Munson is the most miserable on the first day of school, they might pick Ryan. Sixteen years old, starting his junior year, and seemingly irritated by every move someone makes. 

They might pick fourteen-year-old Luke, the Tasmanian Devil himself, constantly lamenting about how boring his teachers are. 

Or they might pick Eliza, no longer getting to be the big fish in the daycare’s small pond, but now a full-fledged preschooler—one who is not happy about getting up early. 

Any of these would be fine guesses. But they would also be dead wrong. 

“My babies are all grown up!” Eddie bemoans, watching Eliza slide a comically oversized Little Mermaid backpack over her tiny shoulders. He stares at his sons as they shove their feet into their new sneakers, conveniently ignoring the repeated warnings not to break their shoes. 

Ryan catches his dad looking at them and rolls his eyes. “Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” he quips, groaning when Eddie dashes into the bedroom to grab his camera. “Crap, I didn’t mean literally.”

“Swear jar!” Luke chirps, all-too excited to catch his big brother slipping up. 

“‘Crap’ isn’t a swear word, dumbass.”

“Another dollar in the swear jar!” Luke roars, nearly colliding with the wall as he darts away from Ryan before the elder boy can get his hands on him. 

You give the two boys a biting glare from across the room. If you can't keep them from using bad language all the time, they at least need to adhere to the rule when their little sister is in the room. Luckily, Eliza is currently admiring her new black Mary Jane shoes and was paying no mind to what was happening around her. 

Before Ryan and Luke can start bickering again, you herd them over to the side of the living room where the lighting is the best for pictures. 

“Come on, come on,” you say as you practically push them across the space. “Dad’s getting the camera, let’s get this show on the road.” 

Ryan groans and drops his head back in irritation. “Can’t you just take some of Eliza? You have enough of us.”

“We never have enough of you,” you tell him, moving towards him on instinct to press a kiss to the top of his head—only to come face to face with the reminder that he’s taller than you now. “Eliza, come on over here, baby girl.”

Eliza looks up from where she’s now inspecting the pink overall dress she’s wearing. Her two curly little pigtails bounce with every motion. She hikes up her green sparkly princess backpack as she skips towards you. She becomes derailed, however, when Eddie walks back into the room. Eliza diverts her attention and makes a not-quite-a-surprise attack on his legs.

“Rawr! Gotchu Daddy!”

“Oh no!” Eddie feigns, clasping the camera to his chest. “I guess I can’t take you to preschool then, huh? Such a shame.”

“Nice try,” you tell him. “She’s still going.” 

Eddie’s brows furrow together in another one of the little pouts he’s been giving you for the past few days. He thinks his baby girl is growing up too fast—does he think you don’t feel the same way? You just don’t show your emotions as expressively as your husband does. 

“She’s only three,” Eddie says about your daughter. “Shouldn’t we wait until she’s at least four?”

“She’ll be four next month, Eddie,” you remind him. “This is when she’s supposed to start preschool.” 

The sullen father has nothing to say in response to that, so he just looks down at the camera and fiddles with it, making sure there’s enough film and that it’s on the right settings. You take the opportunity to walk over towards Ryan.

“Was he this bad when Luke started school?” you ask in a hushed voice. 

Ryan considers it for a moment before shrugging. “In my childhood mind, no. But I also used to believe it when Dad told me I’d look like Popeye if I ate my spinach, so who knows?”

“I can only imagine how he was with you.” With a small smirk, you grab Ryan’s arms and give him a small shake from side to side. “His first born,” you coo in a sickeningly sweet tone. Ryan shoos you away from him, but you can see the smile on his face that he’s trying his damndest to hide. 

In the meantime, Luke grabs a Kleenex box from the kitchen counter, lowering onto bended knee and presenting it to Eddie. 

“A gift for thou, Sir Sobs-a-Lot,” he says, adopting an exaggerated British accent. 

Eddie thumps him on the back of the head, but takes a tissue regardless. 

“Wayne always said I’d be screwed if my kids were as weird as me,” he muses. 

“Dad,” Luke fake-whines, “don’t say that about Eliza!”

Eliza furrows her little eyebrows and makes a run for her brother, charging towards him like a provoked rhinoceros. 

Luke is quicker, though, and holds her prisoner against his chest with a menacing cackle.  

“Mean brother,” Eliza mumbles, face smushed against him. 

He grins triumphantly. “That’s why you love me so much.” He presses a big smacking kiss to her cheek and lets her go, gasping in feigned offense when she wipes it away and wanders back to Eddie.

“Time for school! Let’s gooooooo, Daddy!” She takes his hand and tugs him towards the door, equal parts eager and exasperated. 

Eddie obliges, but you can tell that this isn’t easy for him. “Why is she so eager to leave?” he asks you under his breath. “Ryan and Luke were practically wrapped around my ankles begging me to let them stay home.”

“I think she’s just excited to meet new friends and learn new things!” you say with a smile, trying to hold back your own tears. “Isn’t that right, Liza Bean?”

Eliza nods vigorously. “Luke says I get Play-Doh!”

“Remember,” Luke crouches down to tell her, “it’s important that you taste the Play-Doh before you use it.”

The comment earns him another thump to the head from Eddie. 

“Please don’t eat Play-Doh,” you beg your daughter. Or listen to anything Luke says, you silently add. 

“Yeah, just stick to your lunch,” Ryan offers, always the voice of reason. 

“Lots of fruits and veggies,” Luke jumps in. “Remember why?”

“SCURVY!” Eliza proudly shouts, beaming from ear to ear. 

Eddie exhales and rubs the bridge of his nose, at a total loss for words. “Can you crazy children just take the pictures so we can go?” he finally manages, patience sufficiently worn thin. 

“Sir, yes, sir!” the boys salute in unison. 

“Yes, sir!” Eliza chimes in, happy to emulate her big brothers. 

You take the camera from Eddie when you see his jaw clench. You’d been afraid of your daughter having a meltdown today, but you obviously should have been worrying about her dad. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding for them to arrange themselves in front of the wall for a picture, “all three of you, first.” 

Begrudgingly on the part of the teenagers, and happily on the part of the little girl exiting toddlerhood, they come together and manage to stand still while you grab a few shots of them.

“Now just Ryan, then Luke, then Liza,” you instruct. Ryan rolls his eyes as his two younger siblings step away from him.

“This is never going to end,” he mumbles. 

Figuring it’s just easier to ignore him, you get your pictures of Ryan before moving on to solo Luke and then Eliza. “Now get in there, Dad,” you tell Eddie, gesturing him over to join the kids.

The moment Eddie is within reaching distance of her, Eliza raises her tiny arms to her father and insists that he holds her in the picture. Eddie, unable to deny her anything as always, complies. 

“Just me and Daddy!” Eliza says.

“Eliza’s will be done,” you say before snapping one of just the pair of them.

“All right, all right,” Luke says, motioning for you to give him the camera. “You get in there, too. We’ve got a monumental day here. Another Munson in the school system.”

As you pose next to your daughter and husband, you see Ryan out of the corner of your eye. He leans in behind you and holds up two fingers as bunny ears behind Eliza’s head. His little sister didn’t see him, but she was going to get a kick out of that once you got the pictures developed. Luke also noticed the photobomber, so he takes another nicer picture. 

“We ready to go now?” Luke asks. “Big day for me too, ya know. Starting high school and all. No one’s all fussy over me and I bet it’s because I don’t have pigtails. Damn.”

Eddie claps Luke on the shoulder as you take the camera from your son. “Didn’t wanna make ya nervous, kid,” Eddie says. “Also, dollar in the swear jar.”

Luke scoffs and presses a hand to his chest. “Have I ever been nervous a day in my life?” 

“Well,” Ryan starts with a smug smile, “that depends if you count the time that you got paired up with Missy Collins for that science project.”

Luke’s face turns pink and his nostrils flare. You’re almost taken aback because you think this is the most flustered you’ve ever seen the usually cool and mischievous boy. Luke goes from standing perfectly still to lunging toward his older brother in milliseconds. 

Ryan just lets out a whooping laugh and dodges him by heading outside. Luke is hot on his tail.

Eliza looks up at you and shakes her head, little brown pigtails swaying with the motion. 

“Boys,” she says, an air of sophistication older than her three years in her tone. 

“Boys,” you agree, offering her your hand. Her little fingers slide into your own and you head out the front door behind the two teenagers. Eddie grabs his keys and follows his family out. 

The keys jingle in your husband’s hand, a nervous tic as he walks over to the car and unlocks it. The three kids pile into the back and Eliza and Luke bicker over buckling her car seat as you slip into the passenger’s side.

“Everyone have everything?” Eddie asks as soon as the arguing stops. “Backpacks? Lunches? Or lunch money?”

A chorus of “yes” comes from the backseat so Eddie starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, instantly wishing he could turn around and take everyone back home.

You, Eddie, and Eliza somehow arrive at the preschool on time, but not before your daughter had thoroughly embarrassed her brothers on the high school drop-off line. She’d begged Eddie to roll down her window so she could yell to them as they joined their friends. 

“Bye, Ryan! Bye, Lukie!” she’d shouted. “I love you!” 

You and Eddie thought it was hilarious. Luke and Ryan? Not so much. 

But now, your husband is a total wreck as Eliza marches full steam ahead towards the school’s doors. Truthfully, you’re almost as bad as he is, but you’re trying to keep it together—for Eliza’s sake and for Eddie’s. 

“You ready, Eliza?” You crouch down and place your hands on her shoulders. 

“Yep!” She nods, baby teeth on full display when she grins excitedly.  

Eddie narrows his eyes in disbelief. “Are you sure?” he asks, making you roll your eyes. 

“Yep!” Eliza repeats; thankfully, she’s oblivious to his inner turmoil. 

“You’re going to have a great time and make lots of new friends,” you tell her. 

“And I’ll be right here, ready to pick you up when it’s over,” Eddie adds as he crouches down next to you.

It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes again or elbow Eddie in the ribs.  

Eliza nods her head, little pigtails bouncing with the movement. She hikes her backpack up higher and gives you both another wide smile. 

“Ready to go in?” you ask. 

“Uh huh.”

You take her hand and she leads you into her new classroom, Eddie following along behind you. He’s quite literally dragging his feet, a human version of Eeyore the donkey. 

A teacher, not too much younger than you, comes up to greet you all. “Hi, everyone!” she chirps in a tone that signals over-caffeination. “Welcome to preschool! I’m Miss Riley, your teacher.”

For the first time this morning, Eliza seems hesitant. She looks up at you for approval and you nod your head at her. 

“I’m Eliza Marie Munson,” she announces, and you bite back a laugh at her formality. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Eliza,” Miss Riley says. “You’ve got both Mommy and Daddy with you here today, huh?”

“Yep! Was just gonna be Daddy but then Mommy said she didn’t think he’d really take me here.” 

You squeeze your lips together as your daughter calls out your husband’s behavior; Eddie closes his eyes, a small smile appearing on his face. Both of you know (partially due to your experiences with Luke and Ryan when they were younger) that anything that went on in your house that Eliza knew about would be fair game to be shared with her whole class. 

“Well, I’m very glad you’re here,” Miss Riley replies, holding a hand out for a high-five that your daughter eagerly returns. “Would you like me to show you where your cubby is?”

“Okay!” Eliza turns around and waves to you and Eddie.  “Bye Mommy! Bye Daddy!”

“No hugs?” Eddie asks, a pout forming on his plush lips.

Eliza rolls her eyes as if this is the most unreasonable request she’s ever heard, but obliges. 

You give her a tight squeeze, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re gonna have an amazing day, baby girl,” you remind her. 

“I know, Mommy.”

Eddie’s hug can only be described as bone-crushing, with Eliza letting out a dramatic grunt as he holds her. 

“Eliza Munson, you are the smartest, bravest little girl I know,” he says, voice catching in his throat. “I want you to go out there and kick some a—butt,” he hurriedly amends, but not before earning a glare from you. 

“Most importantly, be nice,” you emphasize, hoping your advice trumps Eddie’s little half-time pep talk. 

“I will!” Eliza happily declares before following Miss Riley over to the cubbies.

Eddie looks back and forth from her to you. “That’s it?” he asks. “That’s all we get?”

“What did you want?” you ask as you slip your hand into your husband’s. “Want her to cry and beg you to take her back home?”

“Well, no.” At your disbelieving eyebrow raise Eddie shrugs and amends his statement. “Not entirely.”

“We got hugs and goodbyes,” you point out. “Ryan barely acknowledged us, and Luke gave you a Wet Willy. I think we should cut our losses.”

“I know,” Eddie says, letting out a defeated sigh.

You gently tug him in the direction of the door to exit. “She’ll be fine,” you reassure him with a whisper. “And she’ll be so excited to tell you all about it later.”

Eddie nods, and just as the two of you are about to walk out the door, something rams into Eddie’s legs. He looks down to see Eliza grinning up at him, little arms wrapped around his knees.  

“What’s up, Sweet Pea?” he asks, suddenly worried that something’s wrong. Was someone mean to her? Did she forget her lunch at home?

She jumps like a little jumping bean until she’s right in front of the two of you. 

“I love you!”

Your heart swells and the pressure of tears is heavy behind your eyes. There’s no way you can look at Eddie because clocking his emotion will absolutely send you over the edge. 

Eddie’s already tearing up though and has a bright smile on his face. “We love you too, Liza Bean,” he tells her. “So much.”

She giggles and you scoop her up in your arms. “We love you more than anything.”

You and Eddie press kisses to her cheeks at the same time, and Eddie blows a raspberry with his, making her giggle. 

Once you set her down, Eliza blows you both a kiss before skipping over to a table where a few kids are drawing, already settling in. 

Eddie wipes at his eyes as the two of you step out of the classroom and into the hall. “That’s what I wanted,” he admits with a tearful chuckle. 

You wrap your arms around one of Eddie’s and lay your head on his shoulder. “You okay?” you ask him.

“No.” He sighs when you press a reassuring kiss against his shoulder. “I’m just trying to keep it together for your sake,” he says.

At his words, you pull away to look at him, eyebrows raised. “This was you holding it together?” you ask. 

“Oh, this could’ve been way worse, babe.”

You chuckle as he slips his hand into yours, knowing that he’s likely telling the truth. 

The two of you take one last look inside the classroom and see Eliza talking and laughing with a little girl and boy at her table. 

“Come on,” you say, patting the back of Eddie’s hand with your free one. 

With a reluctant sigh, Eddie starts to walk with you towards the exit. 

“And I know Miss Riley is younger than me but don’t get any ideas.” You smirk and nudge his shoulder with your own, trying to joke around and cheer him up a bit.

Eddie puts his hands up in defense. “Hey, she’s a teacher. I only go for babysitters.”

The late summer morning is hot as you make the journey back to your car. Still the gentleman as always, Eddie opens your door for you. 

“Man,” he shakes his head as you slip into the passenger’s seat. “I can’t believe my baby is in preschool.” 

He closes your door and walks around to his side, giving you time to open your purse and pull out a small object, hiding it beneath your hands in your lap. He starts the car, though you’re fairly certain your heartbeat is louder than the engine. 

“Well,” you start before clearing your throat. Eddie looks over at you and there’s suddenly a million butterflies not only in your stomach, but throughout your whole body. “She’s not going to be the baby for long…”

You hand Eddie the test, watching as his expression shifts from sadness to confusion to awe as he stares at the two pink lines. 

“You’re pregnant?” The excitement in his voice rivals that of a kid on Christmas morning.

“I’m pregnant,” you confirm, grinning with your own excitement. The emotions that you've been trying to corral all day finally come out, relief and giddiness flowing through you as you tell your husband what you've been dying to amongst all the other chaos of the day.  

Eddie lunges across the center console to wrap you up in his arms, letting the positive test drop into his lap. “Holy shit, princess.”

“I know,” you say with a giggle.

Eddie’s still in shock, grinning from ear to ear and rubs his hands over his face. “We’re gonna have another baby,” he says, just to hear it aloud. 

“And just think,” you say, “you get to do this first day of preschool thing again.”

His nose wrinkles at that prospect. “Maybe I’ll just homeschool this one.”

[dirty-bosmer]

TES Crushes

Which NPCs in TES (all games included!) do you crush on, and why? They don't have to be marriage candidates (in vanilla), just people you find yourself blushing around. Hell, it could be a Deadric Prince if that's what you're into. Name them and say what about them you find appealing! Then feel free to tag a friend or two!

Tagged by @babyblueetbaemonster @theoneandonlysemla Thank you <3

Tagging: @ladytanithia @unironicallytes @gilgamish @kookaburra1701 @saltymaplesyrup @rustyram035 @darcxaosit @moriche @pocket-vvardvark @heavy-metal-dick @alma-amentet @pyre-of-pages @guardianlizard

Borrowing some of Julia's number scheme cause it's nice organization :)

#1: Characters I crushed on during my first ever playthrough as a wee lass:

Methredhel: 10 year old me spent countless hours watching her sleep in that huntsman vest/bralett outfit XD

M'raaj-Dar: Young me was so predictable. Some character is mean to me? Gotta make sure I fall in love with them and do everything in my power to get them to like me. Then he apologized to me right before the purification and I knew I was done for. After the purification, I hoisted his body onto a bed in the living quarters and surrounded him with flowers lol

Enilroth: That one stable boy in Anvil who places the last of Mathieu Bellamont's fake dead-drops out for you. I thought he was so normal looking in a game where everyone looked like they were melting.

Cutter: I just thought she was pretty.

Relmyna Verenim: Being a crazy mad scientist devoted to your passions is hawt.

#2: Characters I crush on now:

The Ordinators in Morrowind. It's the ten packs a day ash-choked voice.

Dagoth Ur. He invaded my dreams with a wedding ceremony. I'm pretty sure we've moved past the prosaic love confession. We are now bounded in our blood.

Nazir: He will always be Skyrim's Sexyman to me <3

Astrid: I'm a simple gal. I see a woman who does fucked up things being torn to shreds by the fandom, I 👀

Arquen: Same as above. She’s a baddie to me and I don’t care about the rumor where she ate Lucien’s entrails, that just makes her weirder and sexier 💕

Raminus Polus: He's smart and gives you a fancy necklace and tells you that you're doing a good job, like what else do I need really?

Mathieu Bellamont: the only man I will ever call baby girl. Love a revenge arc. Love a twisted obsession. I genuinely dgaf that he single-handedly wrecked the Dark Brotherhood, maybe the Black Hand should not have been so trigger happy and eager for self-destruction!

Lucien Lachance: Despite the hundreds of thousands of words I've written about him, my feelings for Lucien are kind of complicated 😅 I don’t dislike him, but at some point while writing my fic I realized I gaslit myself into believing he was hotter than he is lol Upon replay, I was like 'man this dude is such a scrub I have to write him to be as creepy and dripless as possible,' which like... I'm still into lol I just feel like a fake fan for it.

Ondolemar: Unique, kissable lips, him degrading me in public only to whip out that, 'there are so few pleasures in life as fine as your company' once he realized he wanted me, oooooh girl

Razum-Dar: I wanted him SO BADLY during the Aldmeri Dominion quests.

#3 Characters I actually married in game:

Nels Llendo: Had a mod to make it possible for my Morrowind playthrough. He killed all the cliff racer for me :)

Jenassa: She might be the only character I ever married on my main LDB's save, and it was actually so devastating because all she would do was stand in the foyer of Proudspire Manor with no clothes on, asking about kids we never had. Look how the glitches massacred my girl :(

Derkeethus: I married him on my Arch-mage save but only on PC because he too was glitched and every time I told him to go home he would run away!!!

#4: Characters I’m only crushing on because of Fics I read

@theoneandonlysemla's Ancano and Faralda I'm so weak for horribly, toxic elves. Yes, abuse your power! Make everyone around you miserable!

@sylvienerevarine's Roggi Knot-Beard. Had no idea who this man was until Sophrine rolled into his life, and from then on I was smitten. Wholesome, sexy, husband of the year <3

@skyrim-forever's Aicantar. Scholarly, bashful mage nerd <3 I actually always thought Aicantar was a cutie and had considered marrying him on one playthrough because even with cheat codes, a lot of the Altmer characters don't have voice lines for marriage. Aicantar's voice made him a suitable candidate.

#5 Characters that have made me 👀 but in an way that makes me embarrassed

The Spider Daedra from Oblivion. I was obsessed with her rack LMAO

Dremora: something about unintelligible, guttural screams and fiery eyes, I think...

Molag Bal. I also blame this one on @theoneandonlysemla

[wulvercazz]

🐎Rescue in Centaur City🐎 - part 3

Previous~ 💕 Finally another update~! And getting into the good stuff :>cc (don't take it too seriously thoo,, remember this is all for smut's sake 🤭) Check out the written update beloww~

“You should worry about yourself more,” Chromo intercepts on the fish-mouth-gape Thirteen’s doing in pure shock. “They’ll most likely dismember you for trespassing– it’s not a crime taken lightly here.” Thirteen freezes altogether, now very aware of their own situation and the clear warning ahead they got from Zaphkiel too about centaurs and their love for popping limbs out of sockets. It’s… it’s happening if they don’t come up with something soon. Chromo looks just about ready to accept his fate, Blueberry is locked up who-knows-where, and they… don’t even have the miserable little dagger they brought in the first place. And centaurs are strong as fuck; not that Thirteen’s ever considered themself strong enough to fight off anyone, really. Not five minutes pass of anxious (and failed) planning, that a taur dressed like a guard comes to retrieve them, with a pointy lance in their hand and Blueberry on a lead in the other; ties their hands together behind their back, and nudges them with the sharp tip right on their back to get them moving. Two more guards are waiting down the line of empty cells. It’s not looking good. They walk back up and away from the darkened streets outside the cells and up into what appears to be a plaza— or perhaps the perfect place where a public trial and execution might take place. Centaurs in more casual wear have started to come together around the open area, but none coming too close to be in the way; Thirteen and their rot-hound companion are walked through the empty area and up to where several older taurs stand in a podium, naked save for a sash draped over the forebodies and over their horse flanks. “The council will decide your fate.” The guard guiding them announces before she cuts their ties and nudges them one last time to stand before the jury. It’s all things they’ve heard already, what a younger taur reads off their list of charges. They knew it was ill advised to come, but what choice did they have? They couldn’t leave Chromo here to his ‘fate’, law or not. Well… the council didn’t like that as a defence, if they had nothing to tie them to Chromo, then their presence here didn’t really matter in his trial, did it? And so Thirteen was still found trespassing, and so condemned to lose all their limbs. “Dismemberment!” The old taur on the right announced their fate without much of a discussion. It all happened fast and haphazardly next, Thirteen took a few steps to try and bolt out of there, but… what can a human do against a full city of centaurs? They’re caught and carried to a table to be strapped to in seconds, and their wrists and ankles tied tight on every direction; then the centaurs started walking. Didn’t rush, didn’t run and pull. They intended to pull steadily until their weak human body gave out… Thirteen may be starting to understand what’s so scary about the centaurs, albeit too late. They’re sadistic and unmovable, for once. “AAH!” Thirteen screams once the ropes start really pulling on their joints, twisting here and there to try and relieve the tension building, “Nonononono– Lets calm down for a sec– D-Don’t pULL!” Thirteen squeezes their eyes shut, feeling still the increasing strain and hoping it won’t be too bad as they imagine it’ll be… that they’ll at least spare Blueberry this fate– and then one of their arms snaps back a little and drops like dead weight. Then the other and a leg and the other, and Thirteen barely catches the last couple of arrows hitting the table and snapping the ropes cut. Thirteen is quick to try and work off the knots of their wrists with their new freedom, not particularly worried to ask why, just thankful to be off the death hook. “That human is under the protection of the Einhorn Nation and the Royal Family,” a proud voice states from above, and wouldn’t they recognize him anywhere. Thirteen tries their best to look up with the sun shining on everyone’s eyes, there he is, riding Lila like a knight in shining armour, a King, they often forget. “Release them at once.”

Lila drops clear in the middle of the plaza, with taurs moving away from the heavy winds that the nycto moth’s powerful wings make and readying their weapons once they’re a more advantageous distance away. “Zaph!” Thirteen exclaims in eager relief, a few taurs point their weapons at them and they stay put again, all the frozen attention turns back to the royal. Heavy steps clack against the cobbled ground, the head of the council approaches with a mean look and an authoritative stance. “A dead Nation holds no weight here, leave at once, or face the consequences.” “Forgotten.” Zaph corrects, “not dead. I am still King by blood, and rule as is my duty. The human comes with me, and so does the pegasus, Chromo.” That has a few heads turning, the old taur’s brow rises in curiosity. “And who are you to him? Are you aware of his charges?” Zaphkiel hesitates for a moment, unaware of the full context. He searches Thirteen’s face for answers, but all he gets are confusing expressions and odd gestures he can’t make anything out of. “Both are recognized upon the courageous aid in liberating the Einhorn Nation from an extinguishing curse,” a few uneasy breaths and stomps are heard upon those words, something of tales and nightmares even on this side of the map. “Laid upon us a thousand years ago. The royal family, I, am forever indebted; I can at least request an opportunity to talk to him before his trial.” Zaphkiel doesn’t sound too sure when he says this, Thirteen can tell; but there’s chatter and scoffs and some curious whispering, and the council rushes to discuss amongst themselves. The head council comes to a decision on his own, a reluctant frown deep on the brow, “very well.” Things are moving forward.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Who in the Gotei 13 abuses emojis and how

The Groupchat Crimes of the Gotei-13:

Yamamoto: responds everything with an inscrutable "😎 👍". Announcing your engagement? 😎 👍 Telling him there is a scheduling conflict? 😎 👍 The seireitei is being invaded? 😎 👍 Tonkatasu Tuesday at 6:30 tonight? 😎 👍

Sasakibe: Endlessly persnickety about grammar. Despite having the fact that grammar is fluid and changes with context and what many of the new conventions mean explained to him, a total lack of punctuation to create an informal tone will make him literally foam at the mouth like a rabid boar.

Soi Fon: refuses to relegate fun facts about hornets to the #bugs channel, including unspoilered images of what assorted stings will do to human flesh.

Yoruichi: nudes in the SFW channels

Rose: 🌹❤️🌹 brackets his messages with emoji chains like quotation marks 🌹❤️🌹

Kira: vent posting/generally being a miserable little shit in the general channel

Retsu: consistently forgets to spoiler medical gore, keeps sharing medical "Fun" facts that give people nightmares.

Isane: "Hey guys, I need some advice on how to deal with *insane situation literally nobody that ever experienced before*"

Hanataro: unironically posting scorpions and venomous snakes to the cute animals channel

Shinji: ti xif ton lliw/tonnac dna segassem sih lla desrever wohemoS

Momo: crying for real about how cute the animals in the cute animals chat are

Hiyori: destroying things in rage about how cute the animals in the cute animals chat are.

Byakuya: Signs all his messages, as this is is official Gotei-13 correspondence. -from the desk of Captain Kuchiki Byakuya

Renji: no caps no punctuation no worries

Komamura: spent three *months* pretending to be friends with a pair of rural veterinarians and getting people emotionally involved in the saga of them trying to cure a mystery chicken affliction before finally ending his shaggy dog story with an ATROCIOUS pun.

Iba: unappealing thirst traps.

Shunsui: keeps falling for and linking obviously false clickbait articles.

Nanao: digging up literally decades-old drama

Tousen: setting his text color to match the background color to fuck with people.

Shuuhei: normal messages sent from bizarre locations "-sent from the secret downstairs microwave" "-sent from the captain general's iPhone" "-sent from Massachusetts"

Matsumoto: 💕 Putting ❤️ emoji 💋 between ❤️ every 😘 word ❤️ for 💋 the ❤️ aesthetic 💕

Hitsugaya: 2AM post @ing everyone of a single inscrutable emoji such as "🦆". Claims to have no memory of making this

Kenpachi: ALL CAPS LOCK ALL THE TIME NO PUNCTUATION ALSO FIGURED OUT HOW TO MAKE THE YELLING BUTTON LOUDER

Ikkaku: figured out how to use image-editing software specifically to make bespoke image macros at astonishing speed so he always has a meme on hand, including the infamous Zaraki Caused Another Bisexual Awakening Counter aka "GOT ANOTHER ONE LADS!!" meme.

Yumichika: ✨ 🦚 ✨ Worst 💙 possible 🪩 combination 💙 of 🪩 Rose 💙 and 🪩 Matsumoto 💙 quirks ✨🦚✨

Yachiru: Pink Text

Mayuri: immediately silenced all notifications from the Groupchat, forgot it exists

Nemu: Tracks Groupchat statistics and presentation them quarterly like a thesis defense and/or stockholders meeting.

Urahara: keeps finding obviously false clickbait articles to send to Shunsui

Ukitake: you can directly track how much Percocet he's on by how colorful, emoji 🤣 filled and ✨ WhImSiClE 🐟 🐟 hIs 💻 TeXtInG 💻 sTyLe 🐟 🐟 GeTS ✨

Rukia: signs her texts like Byakuya, but "-sent from Lieutenant Rukia 🐰 Kuchiki "

Harmless, until somehow her medical records appear under "Rukia Usagi Kuchiki" like she has a middle name.

[steviewashere]

Soothed

Rating: General CW: Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Minor Discussion of Bullying Tags: Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Hurt Eddie Munson, Injured Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Protective Steve Harrington, Worried Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, And Gets One

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is a warm hug."

💕—————💕

There was a knock at Steve’s front door.

Which is unusual to him. If somebody from the group—teenagers, adults, and preteens alike—then they’d use the spare key in the potted flower on the porch. Just barge right in, announce themself in the foyer, and let Steve find them first. They were told to be respectful, so that’s the least thing they can do.

But a knock? Unheard of. Steve pauses the movie he’s watching in the living room, stands from the couch, pops his back, and shuffles over to the front door. He turns the lock, twists the knob, and pulls the door from its jamb. On his porch: sopping wet, shivering, and down right miserable…is Eddie.

It’s late May, which means spring is in full swing. Which also means that there’s been forecasted rain. And, for some odd reason, Eddie hasn’t taken note of that. At least, that’s what Steve can gather.

Eddie’s hunched into himself. Hands gripping to his elbows. Dressed in a plain grey t-shirt and dark blue Levis, the same Reeboks he always wears. His hair, which was shaved back in March for surgery, is flat to his skull, frizzy from the rain. But, what scares Steve the most, is the dark purple bruise cupping a terribly swollen left eye. The eyeball itself is glazed over and bloodshot. His bottom lip is slightly puffy, sluggishly bleeding down his chin. And his nose, well Steve doesn’t think it’s broken, but it definitely is bloody, too. If the oddball patch below his right nostril has anything to say about it.

Steve moves to drag Eddie inside, but drops his hands when Eddie flinches away, nearly stumbling down to the concrete. He lets go of his elbows, which are now decorated with fine small crescents, and shields himself. There’s a couple smaller, red bruises decorating his wrists. As if somebody grabbed him. Steve fumes at the sight.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, “why don’t you come inside?” He steps away from the door, letting it sit open and waiting. On shuffled, hesitant feet, Eddie comes in. His eyes dart around the room before they land back on Steve. Immediately, some of the tension and fear in his big brown eyes falls away. Instead, a layer of relief and gratitude seems to fill him. Enough that his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, Eds,” Steve can only coo.

Sniffling, mumbling, “They hurt me so bad,” Eddie says. He’s shivering. Whether that be from the cold or anxiety that’s surely swimming in Eddie’s stomach, Steve can’t tell. He inhales a wet gasp. Almost choking with it. “I just—I was trying to help this girl—And then they screamed at me and they—They hurt me,” he sobs. One of his hands flies up to his face, roughly wiping away the tears that try to travel down his cheeks. He presses too hard on his bruise and hisses.

“Okay, Eddie,” Steve mutters, “you’re safe here. It’s okay. They can’t get you here.” He doesn’t know who They is. But whoever they are, Steve knows he can rely on old reliable to do a good job. (Old reliable sits at the back of his closet, still crusted with blood, more nails than wood at this point). He hesitantly steps closer, palm out, ushering for Eddie to follow him to the downstairs master bathroom. There’s a part of him that hates treating Eddie like he’s a spooked little animal, defenseless and wrecked on the side of the road, one that’s been hit by a car, one that’s too afraid to realize they’ll live. But, what else is he supposed to do? Getting too close in his space seems to make Eddie freak, which is the last thing Steve wants.

Without any other words, just some wet sobs and aching cries that crumble Steve’s heart, Eddie follows on his heels. Head down to the floor, arms loose at his sides, his fingers flexing as if to press into the soft flesh of his palm. He settles over the closed toilet seat while Steve rummages through the cabinets, coming out successful with a red first aid bag in his hands. It’s heavy between his palms, overstocked and readily loaded for any and all emergencies. This feels like something detrimental, Steve hates how he’s shaking, too.

He grabs necessary first aid. Just a little bit of rubbing alcohol to get the dried blood off of Eddie’s skin, a half used tube of Neosporin, and a wad of toilet paper to hold to the wound. His nose seems to have stopped bleeding many minutes ago, so Steve’s not worried about that needing to be plugged up. But he still stands in front of Eddie—Well, actually, he crouches down onto the tiled flooring. Hard on his knees, but that puts him at eye level with the poor guy. He sets out his supplies on the lip of the bathtub, just to his right. And sets his palms softly on Eddie’s knees. He’s shaking there, too.

“Alright, Eds, tell me where it hurts. I gotta make sure you don’t have anything broken or anything that requires stitches, that’s all,” he coaxes.

Instead of speaking, Eddie displays his wrists. Turning them slowly so that Steve can see every dark splotching of bruises. He points to his eye, which was all too obvious to Steve. At his lip. The bridge of his nose. And then, he splays his left hand over his heart. Bunching the fabric of his t-shirt there. His eyes are mournful, still at the floor, not exactly looking at Steve. More like he’s looking through the floor. There are tears cascading down his face. His skin a blotchy, red and white mess, puffy from injuries and emotion.

Steve sets his own right hand over Eddie’s left. “Your heart hurts?” He asks, thumb swiping over his soft cotton shirt. “What did they do to your chest, Eds?”

Eddie shrugs and shakes his head. “They didn’t—Nothing physical.”

“Oh.” Oh. “Eddie,” Steve breathes. His own eyes are burning.

Eddie’s shoulders shake with the onslaught of new sobs and tears. But he reigns himself in quickly. His eyes finding Steve’s in a dizzyingly fast twitch. “Please help me, Steve,” he quietly pleads. “I’ll tell you, but I—I can’t—“

Steve hushes him. He grabs for the wad of toilet paper and guides it gently to Eddie’s lip. The bleeding has started anew, faster and steadier. With the press, Steve whispers, “I’ve got you. Never have to beg for my help, Eddie. Never, ever.” He holds it there for a few silent minutes. And when he takes it away, the bleeding has soothed. “I’m gonna put some Neosporin on your lip, okay? It might sting.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie lowly whispers. Still though, he winces with the small swipe of cream to his lip. Hissing minutely behind his teeth. Steve runs his other palm down Eddie’s right arm.

Once his lip is taken care of, the other areas follow easy. Wiping carefully at the tacky areas of drying blood on his skin. Underneath his lower lip, dipping a little into his right nostril, the underside of his chin. And when the first aid is done, Steve settles back on the bathroom floor, hands pressed warmly to Eddie’s knees. “Let’s get you a change of warm clothes,” he starts, “and some ice for that bruise. Do you need any ice for the ones on your wrist?” Eddie just shakes his head. “Okay,” Steve mutters, nodding. “The good news is that nothing’s broken. Just some gnarly coloring and swelling that needs remedied. How about you follow me upstairs and we can hang out in my room?”

They don’t speak as they ascend the stairs. Or as Steve hands over a small stack of clothes: green sweatpants, white long sleeve undershirt, thick grey socks. Neither of them speak as Eddie changes in the ensuite bathroom or when he slithers back into the bedroom, still hunched, still small. As they clamber into Steve’s bed, sitting up at the headboard, legs stretched in front of them, hands to themselves.

The silence is almost suffocating. Hates the small sniffles coming from his left. Hates how one of his closest friends has been reduced to the skeleton of a boy, surely somebody that Wayne met many years ago. Hates it all. Hates it.

“Do you want to know what happened?” Eddie finally croaks.

“Only if you want me to know,” Steve easily replies. Because, sure, he loves his gossip. Loves the drama that swirls around Hawkins. But Eddie’s business is his own, and if he’s embarrassed by what happened, Steve won’t force. Fuck, he knows what it’s like to get your ass beat and then want to remain silent in the aftermath.

Eddie nods slow, eyes at his folded hands, searching for the words. His tongue rolls over his top teeth. And he sighs through his nose. His voice is raspy and small when he speaks. Steve instinctually leans closer. They’re both warm, or at least, Eddie’s nearing that. “I was eating lunch in the cafeteria today,” he begins. “I ate alone because I didn’t—It’s not worth dragging attention to the rest of Hellfire. Not anymore. Didn’t even want to do one of my stupid speeches, y’know?” Steve hums.

He continues, “This girl—probably a sophomore, I don’t know—had walked behind my table. But she tripped over something and fell straight to the ground, her lunch was spilled all over the place, down the front of her shirt. She was crying. And I—“ He huffs, closes his eyes, and roams his teeth again. His head falls back, hitting the headboard with a soft Thud. Opening his eyes up at the ceiling, it’s all too obvious that they’re filling with tears again. “All I did was stand up from my seat and offer my hand to her. That’s all I did. But…Fuck,” he softly swears. His hand coming up and swiping at his eyes. “Jason’s stupid buddies saw me. Shoved me down to the ground. Scared off that girl. That poor girl. And they just beat me,” he rushes out, unwavering, though congested. “Beat me in front of all my fucking peers. So I just ran, Steve. Ran away like I always do. Back to my car and then I—I didn’t really know where I was going. Ended up here, I guess.”

Steve rests the side of his head on the board of his bed. Just looking over at Eddie. “I’m sorry, Eds,” he states sincerely. “For what they did.” He wishes there was more he could say. Could do. Eddie definitely won’t allow him to go on a rampage in his honor. But, Steve weighs the consequences in his head.

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie whispers after a moment. Sighing with the sentiment.

“I can still be sorry on your behalf,” Steve shoots right back. “I’m glad you came here, though. I’d probably worry otherwise.” He rests his left hand over Eddie’s right. Squeezes. “Is there anything else that I can do for you right now?”

For a moment, Eddie hesitates. Seemingly mulling over whatever it is he wants. Until, his head drops down and his eyes are set on Steve. Big and wet. They dart between Steve’s, searching. With whatever he found, he softly requests, “Can you hug me?”

Without another thought, Steve scoots as close as he possibly can. Their thighs hot on each other. And he scoops Eddie up between his arms. One over his shoulder blades, the other resting on his lower back. His hands splay over Eddie’s warm body. Head tucked to the side of Eddie’s. 

And Eddie, he wraps back enthusiastically. A hand going to Steve’s head, the other to his right side. Fingers simply toying with the ends of Steve’s hair. He goes boneless in the embrace, sighing into it. Shoving his forehead into Steve’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Steve shakes his head. “No need.” And it’s true. Because, gosh, Steve would do anything for Eddie. If it means ridding him of all the hurt he’ll ever experience, taking it on as his own, he’d do it. In a heartbeat. “Does your chest still hurt?”

“No,” Eddie whispers, his own head knocking into Steve’s neck. “Think you fixed me. Think this fixed me.” He squeezes Steve’s torso. And then he goes quiet again. His breaths heavy, relaxed, deep into Steve’s soul. The frizzy bits to his hair tickle against Steve’s jaw with every small shuffle, like he’s trying to burrow deep between them. Steve almost wants to open up his ribcage and let him in. Then, Eddie sighs completely sated. He whispers, “Reminds me of my mom.”

“That a good thing?”

“It’s the best, Stevie,” Eddie swears. “Her hugs were like sunshine. Like just one touch and suddenly my day would just—“ And he makes a soft “Poof” noise near Steve’s ear. It warms his chest, the way Eddie animates things. “—No clouds.”

Steve nuzzles closer. “You can always come to me,” he promises. “I’ll hug you even if you don’t have the words to ask.”

I’d find you in the dark, anywhere, anytime, he almost wants to say. I’d find you by touch alone.

Eddie’s content sigh is enough of a response. It’s enough for Steve to remain pressed to him. It’s enough to make his heart beat molasses slow and comfortable.

It’s enough to make him say, “I’ve got you.” What he truly means: “I love you."

💕—————💕 Okay, I am so sorry for how long it took to get to the hug. But I literally couldn't think of a hugging interaction without a lot of information leading into it. Hope this is good, though!

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was requested by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

I

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

II

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.