#the red dirt and the rolling hills are so so pretty. i need to go here

[sennamaticart]

Another streetview Plein April! This one is a roadside somewhere in Brazil. I loved finding a horse to draw!

[chickenparm]

originally followed you for silco content. been hovering above the unfollow button for a good few weeks at this point but y'know

oh i know, that's why i'm giving more Childe content just for you. eat up.

Next Part AO3 LINK

Childe/f!Reader 3,459 Words - SFW Bamboozled into marriage, possible future parts will be NSFW

---

You’ve lost count of the amount of times you've shown up here, week after week when time and distance allows. Just as you’re unable to keep track of the amount of times you’ve firmly planted him in the dirt, long limbs sprawled across a gilded floor as he looks at you with some wildness in his eyes you can’t place. 

It’s only until Signora is gone after a hard-won battle that you realize what the wildness is - madness in its purest state.

A haze like that should’ve been a warning sign, but you’d fallen into complacency after so many meetings with strict rules. No form changes - it hurts, he’d whined one day after you inquired about it - and no one but the two of them. You’re used to having someone at your back, but a disarmingly easygoing smile has been your downfall every time.

Liyue Style, he’d called it. Honorable and strict in its ruleset of not fighting to the death - only incapacitation or inability to continue. Entirely unlike him, but perhaps the need to hold himself back is a challenge all on its own for him. Maybe he just doesn’t want to kill you. 

So when you lay him out again, foot on his chest and sword pointed into the hollow of his throat so precariously that a singular bead of red begins to form, Childe raises his hands and admits his defeat once again. In that same breath, he drops his head back into the floor and looks up at you with deceivingly friendly eyes as he suggests, “Let’s change the rules up a little, huh?”

“For next time?”

And any time you suggest the two of you go at this again, Childe’s face lights up as if you’ve offered something divine in exchange for nearly nothing at all. Perhaps an hour of your time, longer if he’s feeling particularly spry that day. Just like always, his eyebrows shoot up and his mouth turns into something of twisted delight as you agree to yet again humor him. 

“Have I upset you so badly that you want to get rid of the non-lethal rule?”

“Not yet!” And he callously sits up, swatting the sword away now that your fingers are just on the edge of letting it drop. It disappears in a flurry of sparks, ones that drift through the air and land in his hair. For a moment, you regard them and wonder what he’d look like against the backdrop of rolling green hills with the City of Freedom in the distance, fireflies landing on his skin and in his hair. 

Pretty, you think quietly. Childe would be pretty.

As you mull over thoughts of red hair and blue skies, Childe either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that you’re drifting off while staring over his shoulder. You’ll be back soon enough, he’s come to realize - your mind likes to take you places he can’t follow. But he wants to-

“Maybe we drop in some Snezhnayan rules, hm?” The metal articles of his clothing jingle in uncharacteristic merriment as he straightens and slaps his hands down his body to beat away invisible dirt. As if Ningguang would allow even a speck of dust here. 

His suggestion is unfamiliar, enough that it brings you back to the present and cues him to explain with a knife edge of a smile. “Winner gets a prize from the loser. No holds barred, anything they want.”

“Why do I feel like this is some ploy to get me to give up some secrets to the Fatui?”

Childe has the decency to look wounded, a gloved hand to his chest in a bold display of melodrama that’s entirely fitting for the man who’d attempted to distract you two weeks ago by using his Hydro vision improperly to feign tears. It was with great shame that you told him it almost worked.

“If that’s what you’re worried about, then we’ll agree to leave anything Fatui-related out of the deal. Deal? Deal?”

Later that night, after you’ve begrudgingly shaken his hand and silently marveled at the softness of it, you’ll wonder why he sounds so elated at the end. As if he’d already won and was only waiting to get what he wants from you. 

—

Zhongli is not pleased when you tell him of the situation over your tri-weekly dinner meetings. It’s not a date, you tell Paimon, even though she’s all but forced to stay home or find something else to do. The real reason is she’ll eat you out of house and home if you let her get away with it - and boy, you’ve let her get away with it far too many times. 

Pinching his chin as he considers the plate of bean curd in front of him, caramelized brown sauce wafting tendrils of steam into the air. I prefer the consistency when it’s cold, he’s told you once. His chopsticks lay untouched at the side until he’s good and ready. There’s a gentle vibration through the table as the toe of Zhongli’s shoe taps against one leg in a familiar habit. 

Zhongli is thinking.

“Well, technically an official contract was made. It would be… unwise to go back on your word after shaking on it.”

And therein lies the hiccup. You’d make the mistake of mentioning this to the god of contracts, and all but locked yourself into participating. Still, Zhongli is far from needlessly cruel, and that gives him enough good grace to bring his hand away from his chin in favor of crossing his arms, a signal of his decision. 

“I’ll accompany you there at your usual meeting time to ensure that nothing goes awry. The only stipulation was that nothing related to the Fatui would be brought up?”

“That was the agreement.” Your tone is one of utter defeat as you stir at your noodles, watching the oil separate from the broth before mixing it up all over again. It bubbles together, you stir them once more. Over and over until Zhongli lets out a long breath and picks up his own utensils to finally begin eating. 

“Allowing me to continue infringing on your good will constitutes that you’re entitled to my advice and input on these matters. Perhaps next time you use it? Preferably before agreeing.”

There’s a bit of a bite there, an admonition over your irresponsibility as you pointedly stare at a slice of water chestnut going ‘round and ‘round in your bowl. Refusing to look him in the eye is as good as agreeing with him, but you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. So you don’t.

The meeting is in three days, and you’re just now coming up with some semblance of a plan. A trip to Inazuma to resonate with the Statue of the Seven there in an attempt to glean the upper hand by taking on Electro affinity. A Shocking Essential Oil sitting on your bedside table at home for you to quickly down before entering the Golden House. Paimon once again being forced to stay home in order to not act as the distraction she consistently is. 

And Zhongli to act as insurance, to make sure Childe doesn’t back out nor attempt to step outside the boundaries of the rather loose deal. There’s a sort of bitterness that still lingers between Zhongli and Childe, and you’re certain that if anything were to happen, Zhongli would be able to wrangle things back on track. 

Hopefully. 

“Do you have an idea of what he’d ask for, in the unlikely event that he wins?”

A jab at Childe’s martial prowess. Zhongli might have been on the receiving end of your gossip as you relished in the way he seemed to preen at the thought of Childe getting his ass kicked week after week. It’s the little things, you suppose. 

“No. It’s not like he needs money, and I already nipped in the bud that he can’t get information that’s incriminating. I don’t have anything he’d want unless it’s to learn from me, for some reason.”

“Plausible. What better way to learn than to learn from the best?”

It’s not a compliment, coming from Zhongli. It’s just something he regards as a fact, whether for good or ill. It’s not an attempt to inflate your ego, rather an observation that he’s come to a conclusion over. Still, you can’t resist the urge to duck a smile into your noodles as you take a bite. Zhongli doesn’t tease you as any other would.

—

The Electro Oil feels foul. It tickles across your skin pleasantly, but leaves a smell that reminds you of Lisa. Due to its viscous nature, it takes a moment for you to spread it across your arms and chest, and another moment further for it to soak in and leave you feeling slightly sticky. 

The tackiness of your skin persists until you enter the Golden House and the chilled air finally takes care of the sensation. The scent of Lisa and ozone lingers as your eyes adjust to the flickering sconces of the treasury. Childe is there, back turned to the door as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and stares up at where the Exuvia once existed. 

It’s eerily quiet, and your quiet steps are heel-to-toe to avoid breaking it. Zhongli holds no such reservations, the loud click of his shoes echoed gratingly against the walls. Childe doesn’t turn yet - not until you’re in your usual position a few meters away, at least.

“The only change was the bet, not you bringing a second.”

“Zhongli is here to… observe.”

And instead of leaving it at that where it’s wisest to, Zhongli takes up a place equidistant between the two of you and clarifies, “She agreed with my insistence that I come along to oversee what amounts to a contract. I think we both agree that’s within my domain.”

With others, Zhongli may have been spry enough to lead Childe in circles over this. Instead he’s frank and to the point, unwilling to give any room for banter. The obviousness of his tension is palpable to everyone in the room, and it’s with a great struggle that Childe looks from Zhongli to you with raised eyebrows.

“You think I’d be uncouth? After all this time we’ve spent together?”

“Remember that time you used a Cryo delusion to turn your water frigid in an attempt to distract me?”

“That’s no different from you using Electro Oil. I can smell it on you.”

Childe’s point is made, and neither of you continue the line of accusations. Zhongli takes his leave out of the line of fire as Childe draws his bow. In a flurry of sparks, your sword hilt lands heavily in your palm, and the two of you nod in acquiescence. It begins again. 

Things go as usual. Your attacks are stronger, now that you’ve gained an advantage over Childe’s hydro effects. It’s a little dicier when he switches to Electro, but his fighting style is ingrained in your mind to the point of it becoming less of a fight and more of a dance. Swipe, turn, duck from an arrow, sidestep the one that follows in the first’s shadow. 

And as you continue to outmaneuver him, wearing the two of you down until you’re inches away from putting him on the floor again, the world explodes in sparks of blue and purple. It blinds you with its brilliance, like little galaxies forming and dying in the blink of your squinted eyes. 

All at once and with great force, you’re flat on your back with a hand around your throat - tight enough to be a warning, a show of force. A singular frigid-blue eye stares down at you, daring you to make a move that you’d come to regret. With great difficulty, you drop your head onto the floor and stare back with obvious defeat - Childe has won. 

Behind him flutters his cape, holding all those galaxies you’d watched implode on themselves. They flex and move with unseen wind, synchronized with his breathing as his shoulders rise and fall heavily from exertion. Not once has he used this form, and with no small amount of distress you realize it was all for this singular moment. 

To get your guard down. To trick you into thinking you’ve won, if only to get what he wants. What does he want, though? 

“Let her go. You’ve won, Childe.”

It takes far too long for him to heave a shuddering breath and unwrap his fingers from your throat. There may be bruising, but perhaps with some luck you might get off unmarred in your defeat. Watching the Foul Legacy form melt off of him is akin to the thawing of ice in the Dragonspine. Rather than a puddle of water, it’s a puddle of short-lived supernovas that wink out of existence. 

Childe’s knees thud painfully against the floor as he loses his strength. At least the pain hadn’t been another lie of his. 

Zhongli approaches, one step in front of the other until he’s within arm’s reach of you - a clear favorite despite your loss. It goes unsaid that Childe needs to make his request now, even as his eyes blink slowly and his chest shudders with each hard-won breath. Pity strikes you for a moment as you push yourself up into a sitting position, arms wobbling with the effort. 

Childe clears his throat twice, swallows, then tries to speak. It’s an utter failure as he wheezes, but instead of giving up he follows the same procedure until he can finally form syllables coherent enough to stake his claim on whatever it is he wants from you. 

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.”

“We established that last week.” Your own voice carries farther and holds more sway than his own, despite the phantom feeling of metal claws pressing into the tender sides of your neck. You’re acutely aware of your heart pounding in your jugular. Zhongli lowers to a knee, laying a hand on your shoulder as if to offer support that you don’t necessarily need right now. 

Childe’s eyes track the movement as if it personally offended him, a little line appearing between furrowed brows before they’re carefully smoothed out again. If Child could be praised for any skill, it would be his ability to feign an impassiveness to rival the Statues of the Seven. Even in his victory, he only displays an odd sort of stony expression that betrays nothing. 

“Nothing related to the Fatui.” Zhongli reminds, and if it’s unneeded, Childe doesn’t snap back at him for it. Instead, the redhead gathers his wits and shucks both gloves off and to the floor. It takes a bit of coaxing to work your hands into his own, cradled gently in his own that carry the calluses of varied weapon usage - they mirror your own. 

“Marry me.”

The world stops spinning. Zhongli’s hand falls away from your shoulder. The lights in the Golden House flicker. Your heart skips as you eloquently ask, “What?”

And the bastard smiles. One that cuts into his cheeks as his teeth show themselves, and you’d think it was unbridled joy if you didn’t acutely recognize what could be nothing other than victory. How long had he been planning this? Since last week? Since the first rematch? Your initial fight over the Exuvia?

Since he saved you from the millelith after Rex Lapis’ death?

Questions rattle in your head, ones that can’t be answered now considering Zhongli is blowing a sigh from his nose and asking ones of his own. “Is that your request from the deal?”

“Yes.” The answer could be left at that, but it’s not enough for him. The point needs to be driven home in Childe’s eyes, and that leaves him to turn to you and repeat his request all over again. “What I want in exchange for winning is for you to be my wife and to take you home to meet my family. And if you’re feeling generous, on our wedding night we can-”

“Enough.”

Zhongli cuts Childe off before he can say something at least two out of the three of you would regret. Your attention is grabbed as he leans into your space, leveling you with a look of stern admonition. “I told you, you should have consulted with me first. Have you learned a lesson?”

“I-... Are you serious? I’m being proposed to here, and you’re concerned if I’ve learned something?”

“Not 'proposed', you’ve technically already agreed.” Childe’s hands squeeze yours, and you realize he’s still holding you. The urge to yank away is strong, but you curb it in favor of keeping your hands limp to avoid any sort of reciprocation. This doesn’t seem to sway him as he blithely smiles. “It’s just a matter of choosing the date, is all.”

“Never.”

“That’s breaking the contract.”

Zhongli’s admission feels like a blow worse than any you suffered at Childe’s hands during your weekly fights. It’s like the descending of a guillotine, one you watch in slow motion as Zhongli examines his gloves rather than look either of you in the eye. 

Childe looks insufferably smug as Zhongli clarifies, “This is what he is asking for, and it’s well within the bounds of the agreement. I specifically came along to ensure that neither of you broke the terms. Not just Childe.”

“I’ll treat you well.” That’s not what you’re worried about, yet Childe continues as if it is. “I’ve got mora, homes in nearly every country, a saint of a mother-”

“I don’t care about any of that.” You work up the nerve to cut him off and tug your hands away. They fall into your lap, twisting at the hem of your shirt as you balk at him. “Marriage shouldn’t be just… like that. You don’t even love me.”

“What are you talking about?” Childe looks hurt - genuinely - for the first time since you’ve known him. It’s almost as unsettling as his admission of, “Of course I love you. That’s ridiculous.”

This whole situation is ridiculous, and you open your mouth to say so. It’s the sound of Zhongli laughing under his breath in disbelief and rising that cuts you off. His intent to leave is obvious, yet it doesn’t hit home until the door of the building shuts behind him, a call trailing behind him of, “I’ll be outside when you’re finished.” 

“So I’m thinking a Spring wedding in Inazuma. I’ve heard the Sakura trees blooming are perfect that time of year-”

“Back up. You love me? What?”

“Was… was it not obvious? Did you think I kept coming back here for fun? Though having you pin me down was-”

“You’re an idiot.”

The declaration cuts him off, even as his smile cuts into his cheeks again in a way that’s decidedly less malicious than before. It’s almost… serene in the way that it smooths out his angles and edges. 

“Say that again.”

What?

“You’re an idiot?”

“It’s like music to my ears.” Childe’s palms land on your cheeks as he leans closer. “Can I kiss you?”

“What? No!”

“Is it because I’m sweaty? I can meet you for dinner later after I clean up a bit.”

Exasperation replaces all the blood in your veins as you scowl up at where he looms over you in his kneeling position. Somehow, your voice carries less vitriol than before, “Are you serious about this?”

“As a heart attack. I wouldn’t have told my family about you in my weekly letters if I hadn’t.”

His family already knows you? You know your cheeks have to be warming under his grip, but he makes no mention of it except for his smile to turn even softer. You weren’t sure that was possible for someone like him. 

“And you’re not just saying you love me to get me to agree to this?”

“You already agreed, remember?”

Unfortunately, you do. He must feel you chewing on the inside of your cheek as you roll possible answers over on your tongue. Ones that vary from downright hostile to almost soft. Instead of the easiest choice of pushing him over and wrapping your hands around his neck until he reneges on the deal, you roll your eyes to the ceiling as if you were praying to the gods.

Too bad the one you need most is right outside and decidedly unhelpful.

“At least get me a ring.”

“Done. I’ve been holding onto this thing for weeks!”

The velvet box that lands in your lap is suspiciously heavy.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

An Assortment of Post-Series Lucy and Eddie Winter/Christmas Fluff

A/N: I’ve been too busy with work and life to finish a full fic in time for the holidays, but I can at least do this

I’m going to be very clear from the jump: Eddie loves Christmas

Yes, growing up he never did the big Christmas bash but Wayne would always make sure he had the day off and tried to make it nice if not special

Eddie got his first guitar on Christmas and it’s still one of the best memories he has

Meanwhile the Hendersons were always WAY into Christmas

We’re talking coco, we’re taking Christmas music on repeat for the entire month of December, cookies, ugly sweaters, the works

So when Lucy and Eddie spend their first Christmas together in their own apartment in Chicago, they don’t hold back

At first Lucy was a bit nervous, not entirely sure what Eddie’s feelings were on the subject, but then the second December 1st rolled around he started talking about how they were going to get a tree up three flights of stairs and Lucy knew it was going to be alright

Both go in for the stupidest Christmas nik naks they can fine

If it makes one of them laugh and is vaguely Christmas related, it’s going in the cart

Live trees only; Eddie packed it in the van and left a trail of pine needles up three flights of stairs but they got a real tree

Lucy’s mom also made sure to ship up a box full of ordainments they had collected over the years to Chicago to make sure Lucy and Eddie didn’t have a bare tree

It’s not a picturesque tree with matching bulbs and lights but a random assortment of ornaments bought on impulse and added to the pile along side rainbow lights

Honestly a perfect sun up of their type of Christmas

Go to Christmas movies

Lucy convinced Eddie to finally watch It’s a Wonderful Life all the way through the first year they met and now it’s a staple

Eddie and Wayne already watched 3 Godfathers (1948) as a rule growing up as well as Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas

Gremlins and A Christmas Story also became part of Eddie’s rotation

Lucy meanwhile adds Shop Around the Corner, Christmas In Connecticut, Miracle on 34th Street and Alistair Sim’s A Christmas Carol to the list

Side note, when A Muppet Christmas Carol came out in 92 it became Eddie’s favorite adaptation of A Christmas Carol and remains a point of contention between the two of them

Also I needs be said, Eddie cannot stand any of the Rankin/Bass films, especially Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer

Lucy meanwhile thinks they’re adorable causing a many an argument every time Christmas rolls around

Another Christmas movie argument they have is when Die Hard came out in 89

Eddie is team Die Hard is a Christmas movie while Lucy is against it

He made a power point presentation on the subject. It was more effort he put into an argument then any group assignment he had in high school

Lucy’s go too favorite Christmas drink is hot coco with a peppermint stick

Eddie has an eggnog recipe he got from Wayne and he still contends it’s the best he ever tasted (Lucy is inclined to agree)

When Eddie and Lucy host Christmas they have a strict dress code, namely ugly sweaters, if you don’t have one, one will be provided for you

Lucy has made sweaters for all of her friends at some point (Eddie now has several he’s worn into the dirt)

Needs also be said that Eddie hates the cold, which makes winters in Chicago particularly difficult

If he had his way he and Lucy would hibernate all through the winter

This makes getting up in the morning an up hill battle since Eddie makes it his mission to snuggle under the blankets with Lucy for as long as physically possible

Lucy is a ruthless snow ball fighter

She’s got great upper body strength and one hell of an aim making her deadly to have on one’s team

She also really gets into it and is ready with an evil villain monologue if provoked

Meanwhile Eddie as mentioned before hates the cold making his endurance level pretty low even if he’s gotten very good at not getting hit

He doesn’t join snowball fights in general unless peer pressured into it (namely Dustin and Steve)

That all being said he is invaluable in getting Lucy off the field

All he has to do is say something along the lines of “I’m packing it in early, I’m cold” 🥺 while flashing his big doe eyes at Lucy and she’s off to snuggle with her boyfriend much to her team’s distress

Nancy has given her more than one pep talk to try and counteract the effect, but it’s useless; pretty boys with big brown eyes for Lucy acting all types of stupid

Overall the month of December is chaotic and exhausting but always fun and full of love

[lilaceas]

tear

sky is dark & leopard coat fur in the hills are white sleepy little girl drown betwen fire & an illusion marry me & torture me & fold your wings in a carousel of real horses wild & i pretty if dare to disturb a king of thunderstorm grow up & lie & to nit collapse with open eyes see & what have we done when everyone is full of shit clowns & peaches through millions of buckets a daughter tattoed perfection in her forehead plays as a dead women smashing her own car with one husbands skull—babyblue with velvet eyes; to the singing of mother-bird protection are jesus locked in a jail & not, blaming sweet red tones of her lips & flowery skin on skin make & kill my hit on down & lullaby a magical morning & a terrible night when nightmare woke me two shoots & throat i lied but some secret empty cloud blooms— nest where whore's name same as mine her little one lies. yonder he asked for my number but losing games to watch ginger breads over the casket see a star,—with a twisted gloss rock & roll & robbots song; the soft dew under lingerie a owned hear it calling— & twinkling the night eyelid along. cities full of nails polishes strap your face & door open but nobody came through the window a lover & lancôme gift comes,—gold moon misty wings; all silently kept you out & get down the floor you'd cut this pussy no one will care why the green excepts flies away, it asks, is he sleeping is he moaning why i keep buying lies i'm so blind on the hotel with religion behind my ballerina feet hurting aching & addicted to a metaphor that said snowflakes are the worst & you didn't knew how nice trying is the best when you commit murder for— dreaming awake monsters in my head treasures treating while mother sings? from the north sea glass of floats the sobbing of the waves & valley of shadows the scariest story happens all the time with clocks off that are breaking upon the store & though flowers crown of pain defformity & doctors finally went hospital to come back as dirt & say forgive me they were groaning in anguish they are washing her clothes to see him again for an instant & moaning my name make me feel unreal & sad a tear never left a mark buy me candy & prostitutes i give you eternity & a kiss out your mouth you can tell who am i & why you'd smell so bad from laying with women that looks like me but talk so indifferent you say true she's mine & not you ugly as hell brunette not long hair not my type say no clues i wanted to be around— bemoaning death sentence trying to initiate her lufe you promised me it was destroyed that there's nothing of us in your idiot brain my name are in trash & romance didn't exists. that shall come no more. sleepy & fold your wings,— babyblue will never be babyblue you crazy bitch boy with mournful eyes cutten open & not moaning?—see, i love another man, swinging in nothing & calling me every time you enter in the room where i'm at—where my darling lies. the storm-king speeds up at são paulo from the north europe to-night, & leaves me lonely & not breathing nicotine exhaling money smell & my poetry is for him, god & jesus sing up & down but not sad or blaming some & head on & tornadoes a break is all mother wants in silently bedrooms we lived as we were one & two souls are too less for me pushing me & using me & try me & look me in the face close your eyes when your birthday cames wish my love & its so clear wishes are made to not be realised, i wonder why because you don't touch your cellphone therefore four months ago when i came from ontario eating cookies & drinking chocolate milk missing your warmness & tenderness please don't say you're sorry commiting suicide is a temple not one stays where am i going now i saw you in your car singing & may i just don't need you any more then its fear that make two of us apart this king wild went flight the crown my breasts in snowflakes a drink & i go & i sing too within you & i'm on platforms as ever & find me & cannot remind where am i at am i by your side in the bed sucking your cock with you anesthesy & incounscious better sex.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“I’m not telling you again.”

If you’re still doing the sentence prompts?

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, minor whumpee (OC is 17), captivity, referenced dehydration and starvation, forced turning, wishing for death, religion

1905, somewhere outside New York City

-

"Come here, little one."

The boy presses himself back against the cold stone wall behind him. There's a cuff around one ankle, dull iron, and a chain that scrapes the floor when he moves. He swallows, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. Dirty hair falls dull over eyes that sparkle vibrant green in the near-total darkness.

He can't see her.

But she can see him.

"No." His voice is a whimper, a nearly-animal whine, pure fear. "Please, please, please no, not, not, not tonight, not... not tonight, please."

She sighs, chuckling fondly, and pulls a match across her palm to light the lamp that hangs on a hook down here. The wick catches flame, and now he sees the pale, pale skin, the deep red lips. The predator's gleam in glinting dark eyes.

She crooks a long, sharpened fingernail . He can see the hem of her dress, lace-edged, the skirt that sweeps up to curve her hips, the narrowed waist, the high neck. He's stared at illustrations of the Gibson girl put up in shop windows in stores that sell to richer women than he's ever known. She's an echo right down to the soft, upswept hair.

Like a man with an expensive coat hiding a knife, he thinks, that he means to slaughter you with. She's a monster who looks like an angel.

"I'm not telling you again. I'm hungry," She says, and gives a little pout. "I want you to feed me."

He pulls his arms in close, shaking his head again. Tears already threaten. He's so tired, all the time. There is never time enough to heal from one bite before the next and the next and the next-

"Come now, little pet. It's just one last time." Her voice is gentle, but he knows they lie. They all lie to get their fangs in you.

"What, what, what d'you mean?" The boy has a thick country Irish accent, still. Fresh off the boat, they call him when he tries to speak to the boys his age in his tenement. Half of them have accents like his, or thicker.

Not that he'll see any of them ever again.

Not since his parents-

Not since-

He chokes on a sob he can't quite hold back, turning at the waist to rub his fingers over the rough, cool stone. It helps. The motion, the texture, it helps. It calms him down, a little.

Everything here is wrong.

He misses home. He misses the green hills that were never so full of dirt ground in as the city streets are. He misses the air that didn't smell like offal day and night. He misses a world where it was all less overwhelming. He misses a world where his parents were alive to help him understand it.

"Oh, you're sad tonight," The monster wearing a woman's face says, taking the lamp off the hook and carrying it closer. The shadows dance off her cheekbones, they seem to give her a sneer rather than her soft smile. "Let Malorie be of aid to you. Tell me what you need, sweet boy."

"Can, can, can I have a-a drink? Miss?" His voice is hoarse from thirst, and he's parched. It has rained for two weeks and he's drunk the rainwater that leaks in through the walls, plus the few sips they give him each day. Food is a bit of moldy bread, cheese, maybe a thin soup. It isn't enough.

They don't seem to notice, or care.

But then food or water is something they left behind, isn't it?

"Hm." She steps forward, closer to him. Her eyes flash in the dark, reflect the bit of light, and he cringes back from her fangs as she smiles down at him. She moves to crouch before him, and sets the lamp down on the floor beside her. "Is it thirst that drives you, little one?"

"Please." His lips are chapped and cracked. He tastes blood, sometimes, and spits pink-tinged spit to blend with the soil beneath him. He tries to look pitiful - it's not hard to succeed. "Please. I'm, I'm so so so so... so thirsty, ma'am, just a cup, please-"

She looks down, unfastening the line of tiny pearl buttons on one sleeve, then rolling back the fabric to expose her wrist. A stray curl of dark hair falls down to brush her perfect cheekbone.

"Ma'am?" He can't understand what she's doing - none of them had ever started to undress in front of him before. "A drink, ma'am? Please?"

She looks up, and her eyes gleam like a cat's in the dark. Her teeth are very very white. He can see the venom shimmering on her fangs.

"A drink you want, you beautiful boy," She says, and he stares with uncomprehending horror as she moves her wrist towards her own mouth. "And a drink you shall have."

She tears her own wrist open with her teeth.

He gasps and tries to get up to run, but he's weak and dizzy and when she yanks at the chain that binds his ankle to the wall he goes down hard and lands with a thump, the breath knocked out of him.

While he wheezes air into lungs that won't take it, she pushes him onto his back and forces her wrist against his mouth, her other hand pinching his nose shut.

He cries out in horrified disgust against her cold skin and the thick brackish fluid that flows over his tongue. She stares down at him, avid, with huge eyes.

"Drink, sweet boy," She murmurs. "Quench your thirst."

He must drink or suffocate, and his body chooses for him. He swallows even as he gags, and swallows again, and she lets go of his nose so he can frantically pull in air, tears streaming to pool in the shells of his ears and soak into his grimy, dirty hair.

She is a blur through his terror, but her smile is written in stone in the yard beside a church.

"My turn," She says, and when she buries her fangs into his neck, the boy screams again.

And then goes limp as the venom takes hold, and the vampire begins to purr, her fingers gripped like claws into his shoulders.

There is no pain.

Only the fear.

I'm going to die, he thinks, and stares up into the darkness that wipes out even the lamplight. It seems like it's growing, within him and without.

His mouth is full of blood. It tastes better than it did when first she made him drink. The heaving of his stomach stops. He starts to swallow willingly, even eagerly. Nothing has ever quenched his thirst quite like this. It doesn't taste at all like he'd thought.

I'm going to die.

He wants to go home.

He wants more to drink.

He's so hungry.

He wants more blood.

When she pulls her wrist away, he whines and tries to grab at it, to pull it back. She laughs, swatting playfully at him.

"Not yet," She chides, wagging a finger. She licks her open wound and it closes. She laps at the remaining blood and he tries to sit up, to get some too, only for her to push him down again.

Then... pain.

Agony hits, a bright stripe straight up his spine, and he arches away from the ground, throwing his head back and screaming loud enough to bounce off all the walls. It recedes, and then comes again, through his stomach this time. The throb moves to his hips, thighs, into his calves and all the way to his toes.

He curls into a ball on his side, but the pain keeps growing. It takes over. He can't feel the floor he lays on, only the constant spark of nerves blaring alarm. He feels like he is being crushed under a rock, burned by the hottest fire, stabbed with a hundred knives.

"Wh, what, what's happening-... t'me?!" He coughs, and then sobs as the action hurts more than anything else ever has in his life.

"You're dying." She picks at her fingernails, already bored.

He turns to look up at her as she stands, licking her chops like a cat. Tears run down his face, and every time he blinks the air seems pink-tinged. "What...?"

"That's your body shutting down. You know, you're very fortunate." She wipes a droplet of the boy's own blood from the corner of her mouth and then sucks her finger clean. "Very few people get to be born twice. I'll see you tomorrow night. I would prefer if you didn't call me your mother."

Before he can even begin to form a question, she turns to walk away, hanging the lamp up on its hook as she goes, blowing out the flame.

The pain ripples again, he is broken like a brittle shell against the shore. His very bones feel as though they're tearing apart inside him.

He's going to die here.

And he won't stay dead. His parents will wait in Heaven for a demon son who will never be allowed to step foot into Paradise.

He gulps in air, lungs burning, and tries to remember the prayer through his panic. "Our Father, wh-who art in Heaven, hallowed be be be Thy Name-"

His throat blisters even saying the words, and when he tries to cross himself, his hand shakes too much, his joints crack and shatter. He can feel it, he can hear it. They crack and reform, break and bend.

He screams.

He screams until his throat is raw, until it bleeds, until his heart stops beating and blood runs from eyes and ears and from under his nails.

He whispers every prayer he's ever known when he can. He begs for salvation, he begs to be spared eternal bloodlust, he pleads for something other than damnation. He prays he'll see his parents in death and not become a monster like this.

His prayers are swallowed whole by darkness.

He dies, but he does not die for long.

-

Tag list:  @mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[stuff-from-the-void-matron]

Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (2)

(c!Technoblade x fem!Reader)

(a/n: a handful of people seemed to like this story so here’s part two! same as with the first chapter, if this one gets some interest then i’ll do part 3.)

~~~~~~~~~

Like every night of sleep here you woke up after what felt like no time at all. But at least you felt rested instead of tired still. Either way, it was time to get up and have some food before fixing up this village. Which was in dire need of it from what you saw the day before.

After eating some bread you got to work scoping out the village, jotting down in a book (with a damn QUILL) what problems needed to be fixed first and which could come later. Once that was done you started evening out the land so it wasn’t one hill after another with a ton of dark spots. 

Figuring out how to just make blocks and items disappear was weird. And seeing it happen in real life time was even weirder. You just put your hand on a block or anything not alive and with a twitch of your fingers the item just… ceased to be. All you got was a quick breaking sound followed by a particle effect that lasted a half a second, then nothing. 

You got used to it. You’d have to, that’s just what humans do. Adapt.

“Hmm.”

You’d been so focused on terraforming that you’d gotten a little spooked when you suddenly heard a voice behind you. After turning around you saw some villagers watching you. You blinked and after a couple seconds of silence you said,

“Hello.”

They just watched you and gave murmurs that didn’t sound like anything negative, and you didn’t wanna make things awkward so you just went back to doing what you were before. You chalked it up to them being curious about the new person in their village changing stuff. So you gave them a smile before getting back to work. 

They stayed and watched you for a bit longer before one by one leaving to do whatever it was they’d been doing before coming to scope out what you were up to.  You figured they were just checking to see if you were dangerous or not. Which was understandable so you paid them little mind.

You got lost in the zone after that, just working diligently to smooth out the land and fill in parts of the river so it wasn’t bisecting the village and making it hard to get from one side to the other. Hours passed without you realizing, you didn’t have a hunger bar so no growling stomach to snap you back into focus either.

In the back of your mind you noticed the sun had set because you had to pull out some torches to make seeing easier. But aside from that you were oblivious to the world around you. At least you had been until the sound of pained grunts made you look up from what you were doing for the first time in nearly 10 solid hours.

Your eyes widened when you saw a villager cornered between some hay bales and the side of a house, getting attacked by a zombie. Like in the game his whole body sorta flashed a red tint to show he was taking damage. You didn’t even really think before you reacted, you just saw someone getting hurt so you yelled loudly,

“HEY!”

To your surprise the zombie halted and turned to look at you. But then seemed to disregard you and started to turn back to its violent task, intent to ignore your call and you felt just enough outrage to start rushing over, yelling at the undead as you did. This caught both zombie and villager’s attention. 

The villager edged back as you came over and started smacking the zombie back, making him grunt and stumble slowly backwards. After you dealt him a couple hearts damage he turned and shuffled away from you both. With you hurling colorful commentary at him as he slowly feld. Once he was gone you turned to the blinking villager and put your hands on your hips and scolded him,

“What are you doing?? It’s night time! Get inside and go to bed!”

The villager looked alarmed as he rushed to hop up the short steps to the house he’d previously been wedged against, hurrying inside and slamming the door closed behind him. You sighed, a little annoyed with how hard your heart was beating from the adrenaline of having to essentially break up an attack. 

With one last huff you turned and headed back to your previous task. But half way there you stopped and glanced around the village before sighing again and deciding it wouldn’t hurt to check to make sure all the other villagers were safe inside right now. 

This would become a routine for you, making sure the villagers were safe indoors after sunset.

-0-

Days turned into weeks and before you knew it you’d terraformed the land the village was on into a much more manageable and easy to navigate space. You’d even started upgrading the villager’s houses and stuff. You did this mostly because all their houses were like 3x3 inside and looked beyond cramped. 

Also you disliked cobblestone when used in the construction of Minecraft houses. It just looked ugly in your opinion and stone looks way better. So you used that and different colored terracotta and pretty lamps instead of plain torches in some spots. It all gave the village a more cozy vibe you think. But either way your construction drew the villagers’ attention once more.

The villager whose house you started with hadn’t sounded happy when you built up and began to break the roof. He’d grunted and walked around watching you but stepped back when you called down and told him you were fixing the house and making it stronger and bigger for him. He hadn’t seemed fully convinced but he didn’t sound as upset so you continued.

It was when you were putting on the roof that you discovered that you didn’t take fall damage…

You’d stepped back to put the top point of the roof in place and miscalculated how much roof was left to stand on behind you and ended up slipping off. You barely had time to register what was happening, much less scream, before you were just… standing on the ground. You looked up and saw the unfinished underside of the roof’s edge…. a good 15 feet up in the air above you…

You looked down and mentally checked yourself over and you were fine? Not a scratch or ache anywhere in your legs. Which should be the bare minimum someone should have after falling off of a nearly 2 story roof. But you were perfectly okay, and honestly… sorta curious. And at this point you were more curious than cautious so you actually went back to the edge of the roof and just.. jumped off. You were incredibly lucky the first safe fall hadn’t been a fluke..

You landed nice and soft again this time. Only now you were able to watch what happened as you fell since you were looking down and not up (or having your brain lag in fear). You fell normally at first but once you got about 3 feet from the ground you slowed before landing about as hard as if you’d taken one step downward. The wind rushed past you and fluttered your clothes but aside from that you were unaffected by the high fall.

“Well…. I suppose that’s one less thing to worry about?” you sort of stated with a questioning tone because honestly you’re just trying to roll with the punches at this point.

-0-

You noticed there were only TWO profession blocks in the whole village, a farmer compositor and the weaponsmith’s grindstone. Which wasn’t great village wise you were sure. So you started to just… add professions to pre-existing houses. Like one house you converted into a two story with a balcony and added a library and lectern to it before bringing a villager over and showing them. 

Honestly you weren’t totally sure they would be interested but to your delight their clothes changed after they were surrounded by some green sparkles, signaling they’d taken up the role of ‘Librarian’! You clapped happily and said this was great, to which the villager responded with a happy sound. You left them to their studies and went to add more job site blocks!

-0-

You’re not sure how much time passed since you’d found this village. But you can say it definitely looked different these days, in a good way. You’d renovated (or outright remodeled) all the homes and now each villager had a job. Well, except for one who, for whatever reason, didn’t want any of the jobs. You’d tried showing him each option and he just gave unhappy grunts for each one. 

Finally you’d asked if he wanted a job and he gave a negative ‘hrm’. So you’d figured it was his choice at the end of the day so you shrugged and got rid of the career blocks and told him that was okay. You told him his job could be to Not have a job! And he seemed perfectly content with that so you just left his home a regular one and went about your day. So really, a happy ending for everyone.

And once the village was all set looking nice and prosperous you finally stopped and realized… you’d never made yourself a house? Though to be fair you’d sort of hyper focused on building up the village and all the villager’s professional skills so you’d not had much time to think about yourself. And now that you think about it.. you’re not sure when the last time you ate or slept was.. Like, at all! Which would be concerning if you were starving or about to pass out but you mostly felt normal? You could eat or go for a nap but you could also just.. not? And you’d be okay you think.

“This is all super weird.. I need to go to sleep I think…” you sort of mumbled to yourself.

You looked around and noted the time of day, which meant no sleep yet. Then you surveyed the large village and noticed a nice hill one of the four main crossroad paths in the village was leading towards. It was too far away for any more villager houses so you’d left it alone in your building spree. But now that you were walking around it you saw it would be a great spot for a place of your own! All you had to do was remove a couple trees, widen the top layer of dirt and move the path a little to the left and you’d be golden.

But you were pretty much sick of looking at oak logs, grey stone bricks, and terracotta so you decided to forgo using them in whatever design you settled on for your house. Instead you open your ‘expanded’ inventory of all the building blocks and began looking through them idly, searching for something nice looking that wasn’t too bland or contrary too flashy. Like sure a diamond block house SOUNDS cool and also very pretty but actually making a house out of diamond blocks seems like it’s just asking for trouble.

You couldn’t help the chuckle you let out at the thought of someone actually building a house of diamond then going mining or whatever and coming back to their whole house being gone save for their bed. But you pushed those silly thoughts away and finally ended up choosing some quartz stone for now. It was a good looking stone, nice and smooth. As you looked through the other blocks you thought about what your house should look like. You didn’t want to build any more of the standard villager houses at this point, you were sorta burnt out on that. 

Vaguely you recalled a handful of house and building tutorials you’d watched on youtube. But honestly it's been such a long time since you watched them that you really only remembered the final products. Although you reason that that shouldn’t stop you from trying anyways! Because what’s the worst that will happen? It’ll look ugly? Then you can just take it down and try try again! You’d start building slow and see what you liked and what looked cool. 

So with that decided you grabbed one of the quartz blocks and some stairs to match then got to work on your new house.

@salinesoot​ @lady-bee-fechin​ @kacchasu​ @putridjoy​ @lunawritesstories​ @galaxypankitty3030​ @paradigmax​ @zachariethememerie​ @killmewithafanfic​

[ickle-ronniekins]

black & white

request: from nonnie: ASDFGhjkl. Why are your fics so CUTE? 😭 Can I request a cute and cheesy George proposing to the fem!reader—and they’re wedding? 💜

desc: a love story unfolded via a timeline of events and colors. based on the song ‘black and white’ by niall horan

pairing: george x fem!reader

word count: 5.5k

warning(s): lil bit of angst, alcohol, some sexual content if you squint but it stops before things ~heat up~

A/N: this is just pure fluff. may or may not have cried at the cheesiness. idk. i’m a cheesy gal. can’t help it. i’m in love with a fictional character. sorry i went a tad overboard with this. also let’s pretend ~voldy~ doesn’t exist in this k? reminder that my requests are currently closed, i am merely working through the requests already in my inbox. i do not give permission for my work to be posted on any other platform.

Red

Red, hot fury swept through your bones as you watched him laugh hysterically alongside his brother. You balled your fists together, ready to throw a punch, but you knew your mum would lock you in your room until you were forty years of age if you even thought of throwing hands.

George Weasley was a pretentious little git. It was bad enough that he was your neighbour and you had to see him and his equally annoying twin in the village nearly every day, but what made it even worse was that for whatever reason, he’d chosen you to be on the receiving end of all of his pranks. His mother, Molly, was not for it -- she often gave her sons a solid tongue lashing, but it clearly never made an impact, for each and every day they were back to their normal mischief, seeking out ways to make you shake with anger.

“Weasley!” you squeaked as he and his brother ran back across the field toward their home. You loathed the idea of being in the same school as him in just two years time. At least here, at home, you could escape to your own house and your own room, far away from the boy who teasingly threw a red paint balloon all over you and your new dress. But at school, well -- the castle was only so big, wasn’t it? You weren’t sure how far away from him you’d be able to get.

You watched as he and Fred ran away, their giggles echoing through the air on top of the hill. You looked down at your ruined dress and screamed. You reckoned you’d never be able to love the colour red ever again -- not when it had ruined your beautiful purple dress, and especially when it was the colour of his annoying, messy hair.

Yellow

“I’m really sorry.”

He was standing across from you in the field. You thought about telling him that you needed to take four showers in order to get all of the red paint from your hair, and that your dress was permanently stained, but instead you folded your arms across your chest and huffed a bit. Not even magic could salvage it.

“I promise, I mean it,” he squeaked, as if he could read your mind. He seemed sincere, but he was always getting into all types of trouble, wasn’t he? Perhaps he was as good a liar as he was a pranker.

You kicked at the dirt, unsure of what to say. “You ruined my dress.”

“I know, I’m really sorry,” he said again, “it was all Freddie’s doing! I know he normally takes charge of pranks, but blimey, I told him it wasn’t a good idea.”

You arched your eyebrows up in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah,” George told you. The wind ruffled the leaves on the tree next to you both, and you watched him tentatively as a big smile split his face. He wandered over to the tree trunk and picked at the flowers that were growing at the base. Then he turned around, marched right over to you, and handed them to you.

Yellow dandelions. You peered down at them, and then looked up at him in surprise. This wouldn’t fix your dress, but he was trying, at least. You noticed the dimples that appeared on his cheeks when he smiled. “Pretty flowers for a pretty girl.”

You couldn’t help it; you blushed and looked toward the ground. You picked a bit at the flowers and met George’s gaze once again. “You still owe me, Weasley.”

You both heard Molly calling him for dinner. “Okay, mum!” he called back, his voice echoing against the wind. He turned back toward you. “Promise. I owe you. I also promise to kick Fred’s arse since it was his idea anyway.”

A squeak of a giggle emitted from your lips and you watched as George Weasley skipped all the way home.

Blue

All of Ravenclaw house erupted into cheers as the colours of the Great Hall changed to celebrate the momentous occasion of your house winning the Quidditch Cup. It had been a neck to neck match against Gryffindor, but had you not caught the snitch before Harry, they would have had it in the bag for the third year in a row.

“At the risk of sounding like I’m pro Ravenclaw, I’ve got to say, you guys put up a great match,” you whirled around in the crowd and saw George standing in front of you. He had his hands in his pockets and he shrugged, clearly upset at a Gryffindor loss, but at least they hadn’t lost to Slytherin, right? “You really are a wicked Seeker.”

“Thanks, Weasley,” you said triumphantly, both pleased with yourself for winning but also feeling a little bit guilty for beating Gryffindor.

“When did you get so good anyway?”

“Hmm,” you placed your hand to your chin and pretended to be deep in thought, “do you mean, how did I get to be so incredible? I don’t have an answer for you, truthfully, reckon I was just born with it.”

Students filtered around you both, and you watched him laugh as blue confetti fell around the both of you and the rest of the Great Hall. Personally you thought it was a little much, but the captain had insisted. You met George’s gaze again though, and rolled your eyes.

“Oi, mate,” you heard Fred call. He reached his twin and threw an arm around his shoulders, “what’re you doing over here, conversing with the enemy?” You rolled your eyes yet again, something you found yourself doing quite often with the two of them, and Fred just grinned obnoxiously at you. “Only joking, Y/N. I suppose if anyone had to beat us, we’re glad it’s Ravenclaw. But if you repeat that, we’ll deny it, I swear to Merlin.”

“My lips are sealed, Freddie.”

You bid them both adieu before turning back to your house, celebrating and clinking your goblets of pumpkin juice together, and through the yelps and the cheers, you missed George say to Fred that he actually quite liked the way the Great Hall looked, all decorated in blue.

Orange

“How about you get to work on the ground Unicorn horn, and I’ll try and get this water crystalized?” you offered.

Today’s lesson was to brew the Oculus Potion, in the event any of you ever needed to restore someone’s sight. In an attempt to separate them, Snape had paired George with you and Fred with another Ravenclaw who didn’t look happy at all at the prospect of having him as her partner. You peered over the cauldron at George and said, “No worries. We’ve only got thirteen steps. I reckon if we keep at this without any distractions, we’ll be finished before the rest of class.”

“Better get cracking, then,” George replied.

The two of you worked in comfortable silence; you tensed a few times when Snape meandered by your table, peering down into your cauldron and scoffing, for you were certain that an attempt at any type of potion would never live up to his unrealistic expectations of two sixteen-year-olds.

A little while later, you realized that the heat emitting from all of the cauldrons was making the entire classroom incredibly warm. “Blimey, could he open a bloody window, or something?” you asked, ignoring the fact that there were absolutely no windows in the dungeons. George laughed and continued to add the crystalized water into your cauldron as you pulled your sweater over your head, leaving you in your white button down and blue and grey tie. You pulled your hair back off of your neck and said, “Alright, be sure to only add the water until it turns indigo, George.”

The poor lad hadn’t been paying attention, because your potion was far past indigo at this point. In fact, it looked as though it had turned a deep, navy blue, bordering on black, as George peered at you with soft eyes and continued to pour in the crystalized water, not realizing that he was messing up your carefully brewed potion. A snapping noise pulled him from his thoughts, and a slight explosion erupted from your cauldron and caused black smoke to cover George’s face and hair.

Most of the class began to laugh, but Snape angrily shushed them and sauntered over to the two of you, clearly giddy beyond belief that he was able to deduct points from both of your houses for causing such a ruckus in his precious dungeons. George wiped a bit of the soot from his forehead as you poured in the antidote and giggled.

“Merlin, I’m sorry -- didn’t mean to get points taken from your house.”

“Eh, it was bound to happen sooner or later.. don’t worry about it. Look! Good as new,” you clapped your hands together as the potion turned to the desired shade of orange before the final two steps. You met George’s look through the orange haze over your cauldron and asked him, “What had you so distracted anyway, Weasley?”

“Oh, erm -- nothing,” he replied a bit quickly. It didn’t go unnoticed how he’d stumbled over his words and immediately went back to looking rather intently at the directions. You bit back a smile and looked back down at yours too, unable to rid yourself of the nerves bubbling up inside of you as George looked up once again, stealing glances at you through the orange mist as nerves overtook him, too.

Green

“You had no right to do that! What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

George was standing across from you on the empty dance floor; the Yule Ball had ended abruptly and each and every student had filtered from the Great Hall and back to their respective dormitories, per the teachers. The two of you had managed to stay somehow, now more than ten feet away; you looked at one another with envy as a dramatic scene unfurled between you both.

The entire night had been nothing but a dream, up until that one dance. You’d waltzed in, your light green dress swaying beautifully near your ankles, your hand wrapped around your date’s arm. You waved to your friends, who stood with their respective dates as well, and promised yourself you’d catch up with them at the end of the night when you’d undoubtedly have stories to tell them of the most magical evening of your life.

Except that wasn’t how it worked out, had it?

“He was all over you!” George called, and you noticed how prominent the veins in his hands were when he threw them up in the air. “You said no, didn’t you? He asked you to come back to his dorm and you’d said no. Did you expect me to stand there and do nothing when he grabbed your wrists and tried to pull you there?”

George was right. You had said no, and truthfully, the way your date had grabbed you and attempted to drag you back to his room had really frightened you. You reckoned it was the firewhisky he’d drunk earlier that evening -- he wasn’t violent or anything, but he seemed desperate to get you there. All George had done was step in and stand up for you, so why on earth should you be angry at him?

You didn’t want to give George the satisfaction of letting him know that he was right. You were mad at him for other reasons, anyway. It should’ve been you that he asked to the ball, not that other disturbingly annoying Beauxbatons girl. It’s like he’d picked her particularly because he knew her annoying, bubbly personality and thick French accent would get right under your skin.

You softened a bit as you took a deep breath. “I appreciate what you did, George, but it wasn’t your place. I can take care of myself. He nearly knocked you right out!”

George winced at your words and brought a hand to his black and blue eye. He hadn’t even had the time to grab some ice and place it to the injury, and it was now rather swollen. “I don’t care if he knocked me to the bloody ground, I wasn’t going to let him do that to you!”

You couldn’t help it; anger took you over and you were saying things you shouldn’t have before you could second guess yourself. “Well you know what, George? Perhaps he wouldn’t have had the chance to try anything with me if you’d just bloody asked me to the ball first instead of that stuffy Beauxbatons girl!”

You knew your words hurt him, but you didn’t care. He looked as though he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him; he stepped backward and faltered a bit. His breathing became heavy and irregular. “You already had your date when I asked her, Y/N -- don’t you dare try and pin this on me.”

He was right, yet again. You couldn’t help it. Big, fat tears were falling down your face now and you reckoned you wouldn’t be able to salvage the rest of the hideousness that was this evening. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and noticed the smears of black mascara and eyeliner on your skin. He inched forward now and opened his arms, but you backed away, still not ready to show him any affection.

You were being a git, but the truth was, you’d waited until the very last possible second for George to ask you to the ball. So when he didn’t, you begrudgingly agreed to the Hufflepuff who’d stepped forward and asked you himself. And as you walked swiftly passed George and up the steps to your common room, you realized that though you’d said yes, your heart had been with the Weasley boy you so adored the entire evening.

In truth, what he’d done was brave and full of love and passion. But you were still filled with hurt.

The green monster of jealousy that you’d felt when you’d watched him dance with his date was such a vice, but you just couldn’t help how you felt.

You left George alone in the desolate Great Hall as he let his head fall into his hands, pushing down his fury and tears.

Grey

You hadn’t gone back to him, that boy from the Yule Ball. You thought about it, but you figured you’d spare George more anger.

He’d approached you, your date, the day afterwards, apologizing profusely for his behaviour and how embarrassed he was at the whole ordeal. He’d asked you for lunch, only if you were okay, and you politely declined. “Friends,” you’d said, and he smiled pitifully, but gratefully, and took your hand in his to shake it.

It was so stupid, wasn’t it? Fighting with George over this. So he hadn’t asked you to the Yule Ball, so what? It wasn’t the end all, be all, was it? And he’d stood up for you, hadn’t he? When things had gotten a little out of control. He hadn’t been your date, but he had been your saviour.

It had only been a week since the dance and you two hadn’t said a word to one another. Fred had begged you too. “Come on, Y/N, you know he’s real sorry. Can’t you just forgive him? Blimey, it’s a right difficult thing to do, splitting my time between you both.”

You merely pressed your lips together and huffed. “He can come apologize to me himself, Fred. He doesn’t need you to do it for him.”

But later that afternoon, you figured, why wait? This whole thing was so dramatic and stupid. And so after rereading the same page eight times due to your lack of concentration, you jumped up from your chair in the Ravenclaw common room and made way toward the Great Hall, as fast as your legs could carry you. You were just going to tell him exactly that -- that this entire thing was dumb, and that you were thankful for him, and that bloody hell, you missed him. Perhaps it was a bit dramatic -- it had only been six days, right? You couldn’t help it. You missed him. You missed him a lot.

The thought of finally speaking to him after a very dramatic week apart made your heart flutter, and a very wide smile split your face just as you were about to round the last bend before the Great Hall.

And then you saw it. Them. Tucked away in a corner near a deserted classroom -- tangled together, George’s hands on her waist, hers in his long red hair. Her lips nearly on his. Smiling, giggling. Kissing him.

That bloody annoying Beauxbatons girl.

You stopped short and nearly tripped over your own two feet. You opened your mouth to speak but just let your mouth tremble in silence as you watched them snog one another. Her laugh was so painfully sugary sweet, you felt as though you’d like to rip your own hair out.

You were surprised how quickly the sight of them had sent your heart plummeting into your stomach. Somewhere in the few moments when you stood there in shock, your vision had become blurry and your face had become wet. You wiped at it with your sweater sleeve and sniffled quietly so they wouldn’t hear you. You spun on your heel and sped back toward your common room, wondering what the bloody hell had come over you when you thought of apologizing to him. You just wanted to get back to your dorm. Or perhaps back to your house in Ottery St. Catchpole. Stupid, silly girl you were.

If only you knew that George had spotted you before you’d left and froze solid in the spot he was standing, ignoring the forwardness of the Beauxbatons girl attached to his arm, his heart and mind chasing you all the way home.

Purple

The Ravenclaw common room was completely empty except for you. You always did this, though -- each and every year, you were always the last to finish packing. Not because you were a procrastinator, but because you hated admitting to yourself that another year was over, and you were another year closer to impending graduation.

Someone popped through the door and said your name softly. You turned and saw George standing there with a small smile on his face. “Hey,” he said, “train’s here. You almost ready to go?”

You groaned and looked back down at your trunk, now fully packed. “If I’ve got to be.” You felt like an absolute idiot that those few words brought tears to your eyes so easily. “Oi, here I go again.”

George laughed lightly and pulled you into a hug. “We’ll be back in no time, you’ll see again how quickly the summer holidays go.”

“But George, it’s our last year!” you cried. And then you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, because you didn’t fancy the idea of boarding the train with smudged makeup and a red nose. “Anyway, shall we?”

When you grabbed your trunk and headed toward the door, George gently took your hand in his and turned you around. “I’ve got something for you actually.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him and clapped your hands together. “A present? It’s not even my birthday.”

But then you wondered if it was actually a present he wanted to give you, because he took your other hand in his and squeezed them, a serious look on his face. Your features twisted into that of confusion, and you’d be lying if you said that your heartbeat didn’t increase at the sight of him looking at you so earnestly. “What is it?”

“I’ve been a real git this year. Specifically, the Yule Ball. And a little while after that.”

You laughed and playfully shoved him. Though you still felt the sting of those few weeks, you two had managed to patch things up. He hadn’t lasted that long with that Beauxbatons girl anyway. “George, we’ve been over this, c’mon -- you were only doing what you thought was right. I’ve forgiven you, you know.”

“I know,” he smiled, and you could tell that he was equally as glad as you were that you two had placed that argument behind you. But what you two hadn’t touched on since then was what you’d said to him in a fit of fury: Perhaps he wouldn’t have had the chance to try anything with me if you’d just bloody asked me to the ball first instead of that stuffy Beauxbatons girl!

Of course he’d wanted to ask you. He’d wanted to ask you more than anything in the entire world, but each and every time he’d opened his mouth to say something, he couldn’t. Bloody nerves, and all that. Then he went and acted like a prat, making you cry, and he vowed to himself that he’d never make you cry again, unless it were happy tears.

“I realized I’ve never properly made it up to you -- not asking you to the the Yule Ball in the first place, and that time when we were nine.”

You raised your eyebrows suspiciously. “When we were nine? What the bloody hell happened when we were nine?”

And then he pulled from his pocket the most beautiful lavender pendant you ever did see. The circular stone was outlined in the same silver as the chain, and the sun flooding in from the windows made it sparkle more than anything you’d ever seen in your life. Your breath caught in your throat and you looked back and forth from the necklace to George, and back again.

“I ruined your purple dress, remember?” he asked you. He laughed a bit, probably thinking about the ridiculous way you’d looked with red paint splattered all over you. You couldn’t believe he remembered that. “Now, it’s not a dress, but seeing as we’ve grown up a bit since then, I reckoned you’d prefer something a little nicer.” He swallowed over a lump in his throat before continuing. “I never fancied her, you know. That girl from Beauxbatons. I just...” he trailed off, searching for words he couldn’t seem to muster up. You wondered if he could hear the dramatic thump of your heart, beating loudly in the heavy silence. “It doesn’t matter. It was you I wanted to be with that night, and long after. I still do.”

Then he brushed aside your hair and placed the pendant around your neck. You peered at him through blurry vision, and surprised yourself that you were now crying due to the tenderness of his touch and the emotion in his gift and not that you two were about the board the train and leave school, no longer the same two people you were just a few moments ago.

You did the only thing you could think of and you threw your arms around his neck and kissed him. You felt his shock, but it took him only mere milliseconds before he was kissing you back. In truth, you’d been wondering what it would feel like to kiss him -- the taste of him, the feel of your limbs entangled together, exactly how high your heart would soar. It was exactly the way first kisses were meant to be -- slow, and easy, and warm, the way it’s supposed to feel after having swam all day long -- your body limp and muscles de-tensing. You moulded perfectly with him, and when gravity (or rather, the first signal of the train’s departure) pulled you from one another, he peered at you with such affection that you felt as though you might explode.

You grabbed the pendant and held in gently in between your fingers, already having memorized the outline of the silver and the different shades of purple within it. “I am so bloody happy you threw red paint at me that day, Weasley.”

He laughed haughtily, throwing his head back before swinging an arm around your waist and pulling your trunk toward the exit of the Ravenclaw common room. “Merlin, me too.”

White

You were sitting at your kitchen table, ignoring the massive amount of work in front of you to admire your other hard work. Your cozy little flat looked just as you always imagined it would, with the added bonus of your boyfriend in the corner of the front entrance, fixing a loose coat hanger on the wall.

Never in your life did you imagine that things could be as perfect as this.

You couldn’t help but wonder if it would be a flat you two would share one day.

You got up and brought with you his half empty glass of wine and handed it to him. Gratefully he took it and sipped before pressing a feather light kiss to your forehead. But then you gently traced his jawline with your finger, down his neck, across his collar bone until he followed your move and leaned in to kiss you. It was soft and chaste and everything like your first one had been. But as the alcohol worked its way through your veins, you found yourself pressing yourself harder against him.

A moan of content escaped him as you bit down on his lip and slipped your hands underneath his shirt, hands pressed against his chest. Unashamedly, you pulled him toward your bedroom, and he placed his empty wine glass next to yours on the table as he kicked the door closed.

The two of you fell backwards onto the bed in an entanglement of limbs. He hovered above you, dropping down a bit to press light kisses to your neck, in between your collarbones, behind your ears, against your jawline. You so desperately wanted to feel his weight on top of you, and so you yanked him firmly against you and kissed him in a way that there was no aching way that he wouldn’t be able to tell exactly what you wanted.

He began to undo the buttons on your shirt, taking time to press kisses into your chest at the exposed places before he stopped himself and gently ran his hands across your hips, and then your cheek. His voice was merely a whisper in the deafening silence, “Are you sure?”

He gazed at you with such tenderness and love that you knew he’d stop, if you’d asked him to. He wouldn’t go another inch further if you weren’t ready. And for you, that was more than enough.

“I’m sure.”

He sucked in a breath and dipped down to press lips to yours gently before continuing to make light work of your clothes. He explored every inch of you, and the sensation of his lips gently grazing your skin caused you to arch your back in pleasure. You could feel him smiling against you, wildly in love, handling you with such care as if you were a tiny glass figure he was afraid of breaking. He held you so delicately and worked his way through each and every single one of your wants with slow and gentle hands.

You’d known it was love with him; maybe not consciously, but you’d known it long before now. Love, filled with intensity and desire and longing, in its most vulnerable and fragile form -- pure, and blinding white.

Pink

The summer air wafted in through the open window in the kitchen, and you listened to Mrs. Weasley hum some Muggle song as she set the table for dessert. You placed the finishing touches on the lemon meringue pie you baked, special because it was George’s favourite and Mrs. Weasley had insisted.

You had to admit, he’d always had the outside exterior of a tough guy, but owning a business did absolute wonders for his confidence. You noticed the way he stood up a little straighter, smiled a little bigger, and most of all, just how much he gushed about all the plans you two would be able to act on, now that you were both making income of your own.

“Merlin’s beard, Y/N, you’ve absolutely knocked it out of the park with this pie, if I do say so myself.” Arthur’s praise was nothing short of wonderful; you felt the tips of your ears turn pink at his compliments. By the way Ron slouched back in his chair, looking rather chuffed indeed, you could tell he felt the same exact way. Especially when he reached for the last piece, but Hermione slapped his hand away.

“Oh my!” Molly yelped suddenly. You jumped in surprise in your seat. “Oh, Georgie dear, would you mind wandering into the field before dark? I’d love some wildflowers for the table,”

“Sure thing, mum.” George replied before turning to you and squeezing your hand. “Want to tag along?”

You said, “Of course” at the exact same time Ron said “I’ll come along too, I could use a good walk” and if you hadn’t been so focused on George’s tender gaze, you almost would’ve missed Fred silently hissing at Ron and Hermione slapping his hand yet again. “On second thought,” Ron swallowed thickly, “I’d better stay here and help you clean up, mum.”

“Atta boy, Ronniekins,” Molly said. To you and George, she continued, “You two better get going -- not long now before it turns dark!”

George stood and pulled you to your feet. “You coming, love?”

“I go where you go.”

About twenty minutes later, as the setting sun had blended with the light purples and pinks of the sky, you’d found yourself with a rather beautiful bouquet of wildflowers for Molly. You turned to George, who was leaning against the tree and smiling at you, and asked, “Shall we get going darling? Don’t want to be too late. I reckon your mum will come out here searching for us if we spend an evening among the stars.”

“Doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea, actually.” His grin deepened, and then he said, “you’re lucky I don’t have any pranks up my sleeve right now.”

You look up at the tree and recognized the place where he’d infuriated you all those long years ago. You rolled your eyes and shook your head before twirling in your dress. “I am lucky. I was able to get a new dress after the one you so lovingly ruined. Though I will admit -- I wasn’t all that big of a fan of those puffy sleeves. This one’s much more adult.”

George arched his eyebrow in surprise before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. “Oh yes it is.”

You slapped him playfully and pointed your finger at him. “Alright you prat, calm yourself, you’ll have to wait until we get back to our flat for any funny business.”

But then you realized, as George’s features turned from mischievous to genuine within the matter of seconds, that there was definitely more pressing matters than funny business on his mind.

And then he was telling you how he’d only teased you back then because he’d found you so bloody cute, and how he should’ve asked you to the Yule Ball and regretted every single day that he didn’t, and how he’d never met anyone who could play Quidditch quite as well as you, and how bloody happy he’d been when you’d kissed him that day in the Ravenclaw common room. And then knelt down and he asked it, the words you’d imagined since you were a little girl, strung together with such fondness and emotion and tenderness that you weren’t quite sure how you were standing upright.

You’d already begun to nod quickly through your tears before he finished, but would he really be George Weasley if he didn’t tease you, just a little? “Say yes,” he laughed, “say yes and marry me and be my wife for as long as you’ll have me.”

He slid the ring onto your finger and kissed you and picked you up and whirled you around in the field and held you gently in his arms as though you were a precious glass figurine and he was doing everything in his power to hold you delicately.

“Yes. I say yes.”

Black & White

You asked, When did you first know?

And he answered, I always knew.

You both ran back up the aisle, your white dress fluttering around your ankles, his black suit hugging the curves of his arms, and into the field and away from the party, momentarily, to celebrate your first moments as husband and wife in the place where he’d figured it all out.

He’d known since that afternoon when he’d handed you those yellow dandelions that he would bring you back here one day, to ask you to be his wife. He’d known, in the Ravenclaw common room when he gave you that purple pendant, still dangling from your neck, that one day he’d also give you a ring. He’d known, all those long years ago, that he wanted to marry you, and that you would say yes, when he’d finally ask.

And now, in front of your friends and family, he’d vowed to love you -- love in it’s purest and simplest form, love -- with all it’s sentiment and emotion and vulnerability. He vowed to love you and only you for the rest of his life.

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[buoyantsaturn]

I’m all eyes (1/1)

summary: So, obviously, if Nico was wearing Jason’s sweatshirt, then they must be dating, right?

word count: 1,871

read on ao3

Will didn’t think he was the jealous type. Jealousy required some amount of anger, right? But he wasn’t angry - maybe just disappointed. And really, he didn’t even have all of the facts, so he shouldn’t let himself get worked up over it anyway. 

It’s just that, well. It sucked to always look over at the Big Three table to see Nico in that giant purple SPQR sweatshirt. Or, it didn’t suck - it was a good look, and purple was definitely Nico’s color, as much as Will would prefer to see him in camp orange. The part that sucked was that Jason was always sitting beside him, and that sweatshirt definitely looked like it was Jason’s size. 

So, obviously, if Nico was wearing Jason’s sweatshirt, then they must be dating, right? And on the one hand, it was exciting, because that meant Nico was into guys, which meant that Will might have a chance with him (and bonus points because he, too, was tall, blond, and blue-eyed). On the other hand, Nico was taken, and Will wasn’t a homewrecker (or whatever the fifteen year old version of a homewrecker was).

Anyway, Will had a lot of mixed feelings about seeing Nico in that sweatshirt. And he kept having those mixed feelings when he started to see more and more of Nico around camp. He would come by the archery range while Will was practicing with his shotgun (on his own target that he’d made specifically for shooting practice). He had started going to campfires (where he would pull the sweatshirt over his knees and turn himself into an adorable purple blob). He’d even started coming by the infirmary every few days so that Will could make sure he was keeping his fading in check (so, to be fair, Will had asked him to stop by occasionally, but that was for purely medical reasons).

On one particularly hot day in September, Nico entered the infirmary sans sweatshirt, and Will’s heart jumped in his chest. Sure, he’d seen Nico without that sweatshirt on a few times before, but he’d reacted the same way then, too. He tried to act normal, checking Nico’s solidity and making sure that his arms and legs still cast shadows, but the second Piper stepped into the infirmary, Will’s mind went blank.

She was wearing a giant purple SPQR sweatshirt, the one that looked just like Jason’s that Nico always wore. And hadn’t Jason and Piper been dating before they set off on the Argo II? 

“Is that Jason’s sweatshirt?” Will’s mouth asked before his brain could stop it.

Piper paused and glanced down, like she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “Oh, uh, yeah. Nyssa’s got the AC blasting in the bunker, so I snagged this from Jason’s cabin on the way here.”

“Oh.” Did that mean they were still dating? Or maybe they just had a really amicable breakup? Or...Nico, Jason, and Piper were all in some sort of polyamorous relationship? Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course, but the three of them together certainly made for an odd bunch. “Sorry, did you need help?” 

She shook her head. “Nah, just came to see what was holding Nico up. He’s been helping us try to track down Leo.” 

“Really?” Will asked, glancing at Nico in surprise. “That’s...nice of you.” 

Nico shrugged. “I’m just gonna make sure he stays dead this time.” 

Will grinned. “Ah. That’s more like it.” 

“So, am I good to go?” Nico asked. “I’d like to track Leo down before Thanatos does.” 

Will rolled his eyes fondly. “Yeah, go ahead. But as a bit of medical advice, murder might not be best for your mental health.” 

Nico scrunched up his nose. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” 

“Sure, Death Boy,” Will said, brushing off his reply. It was probably a joke anyway. Right? “Get out of here already. I’ll see you later.” 

As Nico started toward the door, Piper threw an arm around him, which Nico immediately tried to shove off, albeit unsuccessfully. Once he was sure they were gone, and once Kayla returned from her snack break, Will snuck out the back entrance.

He went to the cave under Half Blood Hill, announcing himself as he pushed the curtain aside and walked in. He found Rachel the way he usually did, one bare foot holding a paintbrush as she worked on her current project. “Hey,” she greeted, not lifting her eyes from the canvas.

“Hey,” Will replied moments before flopping down face-first onto a pile of overstuffed pillows. He was pretty sure it was the space that Rachel pretended was her bed whenever she stayed the night at camp so that Chiron wouldn’t realize that she snuck into the Apollo cabin every night to sleep on one of the spare bunks. He’d gotten close with Rachel since the end of the Titan war, seeing as he was usually the one to catch her when she collapsed after giving a prophecy. It had helped them bond. Now Rachel felt like something of a sister, except Will’s only experience with siblings were his godly siblings, who always just felt like close friends. So, anyway, Rachel was somewhere between Will’s newest vaguely-related sister and a close friend. Which meant that they had a good enough relationship that they could sit in silence without it being awkward, which was how the next few minutes passed.

Then, Will lifted his face off of a pillow and glanced to the side, spotting a familiar shade of purple. He picked it up - an oversized SPQR sweatshirt. “Whose is this?” 

“Huh?” Rachel barely glanced away for a second before turning back to her easel. “Oh. That’s Nico’s. He must’ve left it here last night.” 

Will’s head snapped up. “Nico was here? Wait, you hang out with Nico?” 

Rachel shrugged. She leaned forward and pulled the brush out from between her toes, apparently deciding that Will had become too much of a distraction for the time being. “Yeah, we go way back. We both helped Percy and Annabeth with the Labyrinth, remember? And then after that he would check in on me sometimes to, like, make sure nobody came after me. It was kinda creepy at first, you know, because he just sort of appears out of nowhere sometimes? But as soon as I started feeding him, he opened his mouth and never really shut up, so the creepiness kinda faded.” 

Will smoothed a hand across the fabric. It was soft, and big enough that it would fit him easily. And Rachel said it was Nico’s, not Jason’s - not that it could be, since he’d just seen Piper wearing Jason’s about ten minutes ago. And if Rachel and Nico were friends, then she would know-- “So Nico’s not dating Jason?” 

Rachel blinked, clearly taken aback by the question, and then laughed. “No, definitely not.”

Will’s brain was moving too fast for him to process anything. “He-- I--” He scrambled to his feet and gathered the sweatshirt in his hands. “I gotta go!” 

“Uh, bye?” Rachel called after him as Will took off out of the cave. Piper had said that she was with Nyssa at Bunker Nine, so Will took off toward the woods. He was grateful for his long legs that carried him across camp so quickly, leaping over fallen branches and thankfully not tripping up on any roots. He found himself outside Bunker Nine in no time, and it wasn’t long before his eyes landed on Nico. He sprinted up to the other boy, hunching over for half a second to catch his breath before he said, “Can I talk to you?” 

Nico nodded, his eyes wide in obvious surprise at having Will suddenly appear in front of him. (Served him right for doing the same to everyone else for the last few years.) Will led him out of the bunker and away from listening ears, and then handed over the sweatshirt.

“Oh,” Nico said, sounding almost disappointed. “Um. Thanks.” 

“Rachel told me it was yours, so I...brought it,” Will told him. “I always thought-- I mean, I assumed-- You and Jason are just so close, and I figured--” 

“I don’t like Jason,” Nico said quickly, defensively, and his cheeks began to color. “Not… Not like that, I mean. He just got this for me because he was sick of me stealing his all the time.” 

“No, right, of course,” Will replied as his heart sank. “I mean-- Oh gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume you liked guys-- I never should’ve--” 

“I do,” Nico cut in, and Will’s mouth snapped shut. “I, um. I’m...gay.” 

“Oh. Oh! Cool! I mean, I am too! Or, uh, I’m bi, but, uh. I like guys, too.”

If Will’s arms weren’t frozen at his side, he probably would’ve smacked himself for babbling like a total idiot. But maybe it was worth it to see the way Nico’s cheeks continued to grow red.

“Cool,” Nico said softly, dropping his gaze to his shoes before rapidly looking around at anything that wasn’t Will. “Would you, um. Would you maybe be interested in sitting with me at the campfire tonight?” 

Will was pretty sure his soul had left his body, but he still managed to ask, “Like, as a date?” 

Nico scuffed the toe of his shoe against the dirt. “If… If you want.” 

“Yeah!” Will said quickly, and then, “That would be, um. Cool.” 

“Cool,” Nico repeated. He started fidgeting with the sweatshirt in his hands before he suddenly held it out to Will. “You should take this. It’ll probably be cold tonight, so…” 

Will barely managed to stop himself from saying, it’s okay, I have my own. Instead, he forced his hands out to take the sweatshirt back. “Cool.” Did he know any other word in the English language besides cool? “I’ll, um. See you tonight then.” 

Nico smiled, and Will’s heart soared. “Yeah. See you tonight.” 

When Will arrived at the campfire later, happily yet nervously showing off the SPQR laurels on his chest, he made his way straight to Nico, relieved to see that the other boy had shown up in just a t-shirt. 

“Hey,” Will said, smiling brightly as he sat down in the open space beside Nico. “You know, it might get cold this far from the fire. Maybe you should borrow this.” Will held out his own neatly folded orange camp hoodie, one with a large 7 on the back and a red cross on one sleeve - a sweatshirt that was unmistakably Will’s. 

Nico smiled down at the sweatshirt, and then up at Will like this was exactly what he’d been hoping for. “Okay,” he said as he took the sweatshirt and pulled it on over his head. 

“It might be a little big on you,” Will warned, but Nico only smiled brighter when his head popped out of the neck hole. 

“That’s okay,” Nico replied. Just the very tips of his fingers stuck out the ends of the sleeves, and Will got the sudden urge to hold Nico’s hand. Maybe he would try later, when Nico didn’t have all of his focus directed at Will. “That’s how I like it.” 

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[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Curious Travels - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader

- reader is part of my Of Monsters and Men series

Summary: Yet again has your humble bard dragged you and Geralt to another kingdom for whatever reason, though as the snow falls outside, you know just how to keep warm.

Warning: fluff, SMUT, some actual plot

Masterlist

Jumping off of your own horse you’re immediately greeted with the soft crunch of snow under your boots. Your pack of three mighty adventures have traveled all this way to the wintery mountainside kingdom of Turga for, as Jaskier would say, “food, festivities, and fun times to be had”. Not being one to ever walk away from such intriguing tidings, you’ve made it a point to accompany Jaskier on his trek to the kingdom.

Geralt on the other hand could absolutely not be bothered in the slightest to come for such “fun times to be had” but he loves you and begrudgingly decided to follow the two of you anyways.

The whole ordeal of traveling had taken about a week, through forest and fields, streams to pass and bridges to cross, until finally at last your horses had reached snow. And more importantly the wooden post naming the direction of said mountain kingdom, causing your bard to become even more chipper and talkative then usual.

Much to your amusement and Geralt’s silent moody frustration, though he would have liked to smack the bard across his head or quite possibly snap that lute in two. Watching your face light up at Jaskier’s jokes and stories from before he met both you and Geralt, so far has kept the grumbly Witcher to himself, just being able to see your beaming face is enough to make this trip all the better.

Though he’s still doubtful anything fantastic will actually come out of this journey in any way, considering most travels with the two of you end rather poorly.

You’re eyes grew big once they spotted the snowy glowing city of Turga sitting comfortably atop a silver hill in all her beautiful glory. Jaskier wasn’t fooling, this place is absolutely magnificent, it’s like a true winter wonderland.

Great evergreens stand tall at the large wooden gates of the town, two guards dressed in silver armor and a red sash over their breast greet you three with generous smiles of welcome tidings that take you more off center then you’d ever expected. How strange it is not to be looked down upon, or scrutinized by people who always tend to think the worst.

Jaskier simply grins, clearly knowing something you and your grouchy Witcher do not, but what could that possibly be, then again it isn’t exactly abnormal. Following closely behind, you and Geralt lead your horses along the snow covered streets as Jaskier leads the way to the stables.

The whole time your eyes have been wide in awe at the beautiful surroundings of the town, lanterns held up by steel chains hang in a line above your heads. Dashing evergreens keep watch from their various positions in the square. Oddly enough the stables look cozy, decorative pines are hung at the front doors, and from the opened windows you can see on the inside that there are rafters kept along with ornamental little flags of a hundred colors.

Soon enough the face of a dirt smudge stable boy races out of the wooden door, a wreath on the back of it jostles at the quick unexpected movement. Although on further inspection you realize he is a sylvan once you notice the two hooves peaking out from under his oversized cloak, he smiles brightly at the three of you while his big shimmering eyes shine a soft pink as he shuffles through the snow to Jaskier’s steed.

“Vallo Vaskier! Hove yuv bveen!” Exclaims the boy in a peculiar accent with a smile that could light up a room.

“Oh you know..” Shrugs the bard, “A bit of this a bit of that. But here’s something....I have made some loyal companions on my travels, they’re a real time, it’s been great honestly...although a tad bit dangerous at times but eh I’m still breathing.” He laughs, “So anyways, when’s the grand feast at the lady of winters hall?”

The boys face turns into a thrilled grin, “Are you performing?”

Jaskier glances to you before turning back to the kid, “Of course I am. Didn’t just travel all the way up here for nothing. So uh, when’s the feast?”

“Oh, right the veast. You hev to be invited first. But I vouldn’t vorry to vuch, vord alveys spreads vhen you’re here Vaskier.” States the stable boy with a curt nod.

“Boy you got any taverns close?” He snaps his head up to you, curls bouncing in the process as he gives a shy smile before nodding.

“Of course mviss. Vaskier knows ver they are.”

A smirk plays at your lips as you find the bards gaze, “I should have know.” You mutter, turning your head to find Geralt, “Now to find that tavern.” You add suggestively with a quick wink. Causing your man to hand you the smallest of smiles in knowing acknowledgment. 

“Alright, Finn. Take this pretty lady to her home for the night. You’ve got two others who’ll need a stall.” States Jaskier as he nods to his horse, “And uh, the one with the scary face and white hair, be good to his mare. She’s very special to him, more then the half-vampire that rides with us and..Oh! Oww! Y/N don’t hit me woman!” Stammers the bard as you fold your arms across your chest.

A smirk upon your lips at his flustered reaction, “What was that about Roach being more special then me? You didn’t finish what you where going to say.”

“Well I would have if I wasn’t assaulted first.” Assures Jaskier, turning back to the kid, “Anyways, we’re ready to find our stead’s a place for the night. Well perhaps a couple nights, we may be here for a few days give or take.”

“A few days? He never said anything about that?” Grumbles Geralt in that familiar gravelly voice of his, “Y/N did he mention a few days?”

Grasping your horses leather reigns in one hand, you rest the other on Geralt’s broad cloaked shoulder, “Oh where’s your festive spirit? Come on love this is gonna be fun. I can feel it.”

Turning to follow Jaskier and the stable boy into the barn, Geralt tugs for Roach to start walking, rolling his golden eyes as he watches you swagger into the large pine rimmed entrance. Though a small tinge of excitement rushes throughout his body when remembering that subtle wink you shared with him only moments ago.

Your crimson irises light up at the colorful flags and cozy barn atmosphere, perfect for the tired horses that so desperately could use a good rest. You’re never this impressed by such festive decorations most times, but it’s been a long while since you’ve bared witness to such things. It feels rather nice, and anyways, another adventure with your boys is always welcomed.

The stable boy quickly takes Jaskier’s horse to get settled for the night, leaving yourself to find your own stable and Geralt to do the same. You turn, leading your own mare into a hay covered stall and doing what you can to help her feel more comfortable.

Taking off her saddle, you lay it off to the side, going now to brush her brown back, smoothing her fur down as you do. While so lost in your own little world you can’t help but begin rambling about your thoughts to the patient horse.

“Now since it’s come to mind...I think this place isn’t too bad, ya know? I haven’t really met any of the townsfolk so my true impression of the people here have yet to be determined. Although I’m not really getting a hostile feeling coming from this place so that’s good.” The mare snorts in reply, or at least you think she does, causing you to chuckle at the horses timely reaction, “Yes, my friend that’s exactly what I was thinking but you already new that and now I am talking to a horse.....and Geralt is standing right over there isn’t he.” You rush, whispering the last part to your horse.

Geralt leans his large frame against the wooden stalls door, a small amused smirk pulling at his lips as he watches you brush the mare. “Not strange at all. I think they understand, in their own way.”

“Maybe it’s because I travel with you too much, look at me, I’m talking to a horse.” You mutter with a small laugh, “Though I guess their company can be better then an actual persons. I have a feeling you know my meaning.”

He smiles again, looking around the barn until his golden eyes find yours once more, “Better then most.”

You gently tilt your head in a small nod, brushing the last of the mares ruffled hide before setting the brush down. Then reaching for your belongings that are hanging from a metal hook inches from Geralt.

He politely steps to the side as you take your cloak and sheathed silver dagger from off of the hook, bundling them under your arm you take a step forward past him, stopping for a moment to not-so-subtly trail your eyes up to his handsome face.

“See something interesting?” He muses, eyeing you up just the same causing a swarm of butterflies to make themselves know in your stomach. 

Biting your lip you refrain from pushing him against the wooden wall and kissing him like your life depends on it, deciding to instead hug your things tighter and give him a small fangy smile.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Is all you can whisper out as you swiftly turn on your heel to go and find Jaskier before you change your mind and pounce on your Witcher like a cat to her prey.

It doesn’t take long to find him, the bard is casually seated on some blocks of hay as he gently strums on his lute while the stable boy brushes his horse for him. Jaskier is so caught up in his own world of playing that he neglects to notice when you’re standing directly in front of him.

“Jask!” You vocalize loudly, causing the entranced bard to jump and just about drop his prized lute if not for the strap.

“My gods Y/N, warn a man would you.” He sputters, setting himself a bit straighter once again as he gathers his bearings, “I could have dropped my dear lady just now.”

Taking a couple steps backwards towards Geralt, you chuckle, “In that case, I’ll try harder next time.”

Jaskier sends you a silent dirty look, causing Geralt to slip a couple hushed snickers out from behind you. “Alright bard..” Starts your Witcher, “where’s the nearest tavern? Considering it’s late and we’re all hungry.”

Jumping to his feet, Jaskier nods, “Right. Right. Of course, a tavern would be nice. Well my friend...and Y/N...let’s go find one.”

“Yes let’s.” Mutters Geralt, annoyance lacing his voice as Jaskier practically swaggers past the two of you, lute tightly in hand.

You turn to follow, nudging Geralt’s shoulder as you step past him, “Come on my White Wolf, let’s find that tavern. I could use a good rest, how about you?” The wink you send him is all but enough to fill his mind with wondrous thoughts for how his evening may truly end.

His heart admittedly fills with warmth and excitement as he watches you trail Jaskier out of the barn and into the wintery night air. Soft cool snowflakes kiss your warm skin as you stand in the silver wonderland, waiting for your Witcher to catch up.

A pleased smirk shows itself upon your face as you turn your head up to the dark clouds, enjoying the feeling of the small ice crystals as they float all around you. The night is absolutely divine, as you enjoy the small white puffs of air leaving forth from out of your mouth and nostrils.

You feel no chill from the harsh winter air, though you’re surprised when a certain someone unexpectedly attempts to throw a snowball at your back. Hearing the ball of ice swishing in the crisp air, you step inhumanly quick to the side.

A burst of laughter falls forth from your lips when the snow crashes into the shoulder of Jaskier as he looks from house to house trying to remember where the tavern is. He jumps back, his blue eyes wide as he snaps his jostled attention over to you, and the snowy haired man smirking from behind you.

“That was—was....Y/N!” Grumbles the bard with an angry pout before he begins to smile and eventually shake with laughter as well.

Chuckling still, you turn a raised brow to Geralt as he simply shrugs, “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah okay, Sir. I-Didn’t-Even-Want-To-Come...” Suddenly your eyes narrow causing Geralt to loose his amusement, “You tried to hit me with a snowball, you fucker.”

Geralt takes a cautious step closer to you, a pleading look crossing his features, “And now I know how well your reflexes are.”

“You already know how well my reflexes are.”

“Yes. But...” He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to say next as you await an answer, finally he takes another step closer, bringing his hand to tilt your head up with the tips of his fingers. His face so close now you can feel his hot breath against your skin, “I’ll deal with your wrath all night long if that’s what you’d wish.”

Gently removing his hand away from your face, you lean in even closer, your lips practically brushing past his own, “I think that is a deliciously appealing proposition, my love.”

Geralt has no time to answer before you swiftly shift away from him, leaving the man with his thoughts and slightly tighter pants as he watches you walk over to Jaskier once again, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

It took about a good fifteen minutes to actually track down the tavern of Jaskier’s choice, an admittedly large and homey hall appropriately called The Silver Faun Inn. Quite the name for quite the tavern, as per usual when walking into anywhere on the continent in a place like this.

Your marry band of three was immediately greeted with a multitude of cautious glares and many other intrigued excited glances. Though to your relief, no one dares bother either of you while you make to find a quiet corner for the late hour of the darkening evening.

Soon fresh food and tasteful ale is to be had, filling the three of you up just enough to be satisfied for the night, but not too much, you’ve got plans for later. Plans that are so obviously unnoticed by the titular bard who’s now decided the tavern is in desperate need of entertainment.

Leaning into Geralt’s strong side, a lazy smirk upon your face, you watch in amusement as Jaskier joyously strums his favorite lute. “Don’t think I’ve heard that ballot before.” You whisper.

Your quiet Witcher hums in reply, earning him a light friendly squeeze to his forearm that rests on the table next to yours, “The enthusiasm radiating off of you is just, astounding.” You chuckle, burying your face into his shoulder.

Geralt smiles affectionately at your adorable reaction to his less then impressive one, his heart swells with more silent joy when you pull away once again. Only to stop yourself from speaking, your scarlet irises so caught up in your lovers humored face.

You remain quiet for a moment, your face stoic though your eyes crinkle with mischief before you finally break out into a large beaming grin. Without a second thought, Geralt leans in to gently press his plush inviting lips against yours for a beautiful moment of love and lust.

He feels so lovely, you can tell just how much he truly wants you, but all to soon does he pull away, “I think we should find that room, what do you say Y/N?”

Biting your lip, you stare longingly into his golden eyes, “Fantastic idea. I got the keys so let’s get outta here.”

In a heartbeat do the two of you slip from the taverns quiet corner to wander past your oblivious bard as he belts out another marvelous tune that sends the crowd into fits of song and laughter. Soon all is forgotten and left to the back of your minds as you lead your Witcher up the steps and down to the end of the hallway where your room just so happens to be.

Quickly going to unlock it, you’re bewildered when the little metal key won’t turn left, huffing in frustration you try and force it as gently as you can muster. Geralt leans an arm against the doorframe doing nothing to help you focus on your new task at hand.

“Y/N just turn it left.”

“I am turning it left.”

“More gently.”

“I am turning it gently.”

“How much did you drink?” He chuckles.

Snapping your head to him you playfully make a face, “Same as you idiot, now if only I could fucking get this bitch open then we could...” Errreck. Crack. “Oh fuck me.” You deadpan.

“I’m trying.” Muses Geralt.

Smacking Geralt against his arm you take a step away from the broken lock, “Dammit. I broke the fucking key....and I think the lock too.”

“Can you open it now?”

Sighing in annoyance you raise a brow at your man, “Well uh, guess we’ll find out.”

Turning towards the thick wooden mahogany door with its freshly broken lock, you nervously reach a hand up to turn the golden door handle, sucking in a breath you twist the knob only to be met with resistance.

Pursing your lips together you lean your head against the door, “Whoever made these shit locks I’ll fucking cut their hands off cause apparently they don’t need them anymore with whatever kinda fuckery this is.” You growl.

All you wanna do is get it on with Geralt, this is not helping.

“You could just force the door.” Suggests Geralt.

“I’m not forcing the door love, I really don’t need a bounty on me for breaking a knob.”

“Well, guess we’ll just have to sleep in Jaskier’s room tonight then.” Replies your Witcher with a shit eating grin, he knows just how much you want him right now. And so help you god if you don’t get what you want when it comes to a night with Geralt of Rivia.

“No! No! I can handle the fucking door!” You sass.

Taking a step back into the hallway, he folds his arms over his chest, “Alright then. Open the door Y/N.” Smirks Geralt, urging you to create some chaos.

Huffing, you take a step back, readying yourself to charge the grand mahogany door. The smirk on your Witcher’s face is admittedly smackable or kissable, you just can’t bring it in you to focus on anything else but opening this door. He watches in anticipation as you charge, hands out and ready to force open the closed entrance as you make hasty steps for the tavern room.

Without warning the giant door swings opens, taking you off guard as you fly through the new opening and into the grand room before falling to the hard floor with a grunt. Your chin smacks the wooden floorboards with a thwack sound, your opened palms doing just the same when you land.

“Ouch.” You mutter, lifting yourself up from the ground, turning when your nose catches the scent of someone new.

Snapping to your right, you’re caught with big brown fearful eyes of a young maid, “Oh, uh....your room is ready miss.”

Not aware of the less then friendly grimace adorning your face, Geralt steps into the room before you decide to shove the girl out yourself, “Sorry. The lock wasn’t working, I think we may have broken it.”

Quickly snapping out of her frightened trance, the girl turns a nervous eye to your Witcher, “Um, that key you have there...it’s not the right one. I’ll just uh....leave then.” She whispers, her eyes never leaving yours as she hastily slips out of the room and down the hallway.

Geralt gently closes the door, shoving a chair under the handle to create a makeshift lock while you take a couple steps forward over to the large mattress, resting a hand on the bed. He turns to you, “Well that was...”

“Entertaining much?” You scoff, rubbing your split chin, “I think I’m bleeding....no yeah, I’m definitely bleeding.”

Geralt hums, nodding before walking over to find a small spare cloth on the nearby table, “Sit on the bed I’ll clean you up.”

Doing just as directed you sit, watching as your silver haired lover walks across the room to seat himself next to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Rolling your eyes you pout, “Funny is it? The things I do for you, and now my fucking chin hurts.”

Suddenly his eyes go soft, though there still remains a tinge of humor in them, “Y/N, you’ve already healed and the pain will die soon enough....here, let me just clean the blood away.” He mutters, reaching his arm up to press the pale cloth against your blood smudged skin.

Fine, ignore my pain you ass.

Though you’re still annoyed, the feeling of being tended to by Geralt is enough to dissipate away all your recent frustrations and brewing anger. Sending you into a blissful minute of staring lazily into your mans pretty golden eyes like a dazed lover.

Once he’s confident all the blood is gone, he sets the pink cloth in his lap, saying nothing as the two of you stare deeply into the eyes of one another, the sexual tension of the room rising by the second. You slip out a soft breath, the tiniest of smiles pulling at your lips.

“This is the part where you kiss my pain away. Right here.” You point at your chin, just below your lips. His golden eyes dart down, following your directions.

Ever so meticulously slowly does he lean in closer, the blood smudged cloth left and forgotten as it falls to the floor when his large hands go to touch your face. His lips press softly onto your chin, then cheek, then the other, and another two over your jawline. Earning a satisfied hum of approval from you, much to Geralt’s satisfaction.

Your own hands grasp onto his thick forearms, the rest of yourself feeling rather warm all over as Geralt kisses all over your face, slowly as ever.

“You know..” Kiss, “Geralt, mhmm....my lips are right here...” You mutter, just as he presses a heated one onto the preferred area you’ve asked. He tastes so sweet, like the ale he drank earlier in the evening, but this is admittedly much better then any ale you’ve ever drank.

Soon his hands fall to your waist and arm, then to many other places as he decides to explore your body with his calloused hands. Not being one to hold back, you do just the same, earning a low husky moan from deep within his throat when you palm him just to see what’s going on down there.

Fortunately he’s decently hard, the fabric of his dark pants are nicely stretched out from what pleasantries await you soon enough. Leaving him be for the moment, you gently break away from his sweet lips.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” You chuckle at the annoyed expression adorning his handsome features, “I’m just, rather wet down here and I’d like to get things rolling. Though don’t get me wrong I could kiss those lips of yours all fucking day.” You add, deliberately doing your best to give him your bedroom eyes.

He pauses for a second, his eyes trailing from your clothed nether regions all the way up to your shimmering lust filled gaze, “You’re already wet?”

Rolling your eyes you reach out to pull him further up the bed, “Oh fuck off, you’re already harder then a frozen ice cycle and that was before we even got into this room so shut uh uhh mhmm...” Is all you’re able to ramble out before he’s attacked your neck again with those beautifully plush lips of his, the rest of his body hovering just above you as he rests a knee between your parted thighs.

His lips leave a wet trail all the way down your throat until they reach the edge of your tops laced fabric, where a clear V is had that reaches down to the area between your breasts. He kisses once on the lace and exposed skin on your sternum, then another further down.

He’s just about driving you wild with the frustratingly grand lack of friction in certain areas that are so desperately craving such attention. Done with his teasing you lightly tug at his long white hair.

“Geralt just fuck me already.” You mumble, sucking in a quick breath when he gently squeezes your breast without warning.

Kissing your cheek, his face remains mere inches from your own as he stares mischievously into your crimson eyes, “We may need to take some clothes off first.” He chuckles, planting a quick kiss to your lips before sitting back on the bed.

Laying there, body hot and pulsing with pleasure unreleased, you hastily sit up and fumble as fast as you can to remove your grey top. Flinging it to the floor as your eyes find Geralt’s once again, though this time he’s completely shirtless.

Drinking up every last little piece of your muscular Witcher, you bite your lip as he smiles at you, “And that’s a sight I could look at everyday.” You just about swoon at his quick witted words, no doubt feeling a bit heated the longer he stares at you.

Winking at him, you swiftly shed the thin dark material calling itself an undershirt, a playful gleam in your eye as you watch Geralt quickly find your two exposed breasts. Beautiful and soft, your nibbles perked at the arousal coursing throughout your entire vessel.

Wanting to be bold, you wiggle a brow at him before confidently standing, your eyes never leaving his. He watches with an intrigued curious gaze before you begin unbuttoning your black trousers, earning another blissful smirk across the mans face.

Soon enough are all the buttons finally undone, with a spectacular dramatic bow do you then go to shimmy out of your pants, kicking them to the wooden floor in a rush as you’re now left in nothing but your small whole filled and slightly ripped underwear.

As to be expected, Geralt reaches a hand out to touch your exposed legs, getting nothing but a quick playful kick to his hands as you hum in disapproval. Instead you go to set a hand on your hip, nodding your head for him to remove his own concealing attire.

He hums in reply, standing to his full height as you unabashedly watch him fully undress himself, tossing his pants and undergarments to the floor ever so dramatically. He stares you down with those big beautiful golden eyes of his, you keep your sights locked onto them and painfully ignore his now exposed member that’s hard and dripping with pre-cum.

Biting your lip, you try your absolute best to keep from smiling, “Fuck me I love you so much.” You speak breathlessly, your eyes turning more serious again, “Now sit, please.”

Geralt hums, seating himself upon the soft billowy mattress just as directed, deciding to lean back on his arms and let his body lay open and ready for you. Blinking slowly you finally reveal a pleased smile down at him, just about mirroring the same one that he’s handing you so freely, just like his body.

Slowly you walk forward on the bed, your legs held firmly to either side of his lower waist as you kneel down, hovering your soaked womanhood right above his glistening member. You let out a breathy chuckle, resting your palms against his broad shoulders as he does the same action but with your bare hips.

“May I?” You politely ask, leaning your head against his as he gently squeezes the flesh of your hips in reply.

“Of course.” He mutters, low and gravelly in your ear as he patiently awaits your body, his very heart about to explode with how much he loves you right now.

Parting your legs wider, you remove one hand from his shoulder to quickly grasp his thick cock, “Alright let me just...” Bringing it to your dripping entrance you line it up perfectly, “I’m coming in..” You laugh, “literally.”

“Y/N you don’t have to say it...”

Digging your fingers into the side of his shoulder you quickly tilt your head to shut him up with a kiss, “Yes, but you laughed.” Pulling back to look at your face, Geralt’s mouth opens to reply, though his words are left on the wind when you slowly slide yourself onto him.

The new welcoming warmth of your core sending his mind swirling with nothing but a colorful bliss. Yours about the same, he’s big as he sinks deeper and deeper into your body until finally he’s completely filled you up.

Closing your eyes, your face scrunches up in slight discomfort at the new thrilling contact, this feeling isn’t anything new it’s just he’s quite large and you need a couple moments to adjust before the real fun begins. Sensing your slight displeasure, he keeps still inside you, trailing a comforting hand over your cheek as he watches your brows furrow together as you adjust.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t mean to hurt you.” Worries your beautiful Witcher as you open your glistening scarlet irises to find his concerned face.

Shaking your head you slowly roll your hips into his, “Never. Apologize for a big dick Geralt....you’re honestly about to work wonders so keep that pretty mouth shut and make me scream.”

Holding in his laughter, he decides to do just as you’ve asked, a second later do you gasp in surprise when both his hands dig into your hips. Pushing you down onto him even more as he pulls you with each roll of your hips against his. Creating a blissful synced rhythm that begins to bring a low pleasurable build into your soaked core.

He suddenly thrusts up into you as you bounce down on him over and over again, your chests rubbing against one another as you both attempt to hold each other’s gazes for as long as you can try. The room feels hot and sticky, the smells of sex, sweat, and Geralt filling into your sensitive nostrils that drives you mad with lust.

All that can be heard is the familiar slapping of skin on skin as you both move against one another in quick passionate motions. Without warning Geralt thrusts deeply into your sweet spot sending you into a flurry of moaned curses as he thrusts his strong hips into you over and over again.

Your body falls flush against his as you whimper and moan into his shoulder from the intense buildup of pure pleasure that he’s slowly filling you with by the second. He can tell you’re close and with that thought in mind you’re pleasantly surprised when he abruptly holds your back, keeping you against him as he quickly lays you onto the soft mattress.

You audibly moan at the new positioning, not being able to hold back any more whimpers of pleasure as he fucks you into the comfortable bedding like his life depends on it. You’re visibility sweaty now, the slickness of yourself and Geralt doing everything to increase your growing pleasure as he slides in and out of you like a crazed man gone years without a proper fucking.

Another moan escapes from your lips as Geralt bounds you into the mattress, hitting you with deep precise thrusts each and every time, leaving you with nothing to keep you steady but his bare back that no doubt is covered in fresh pink scratch marks.

He keeps flush against your body, his manhood buried deep within your parted thighs as he intertwines his fingers with yours, his lips so soft and inviting as they press against your neck and jaw. You can’t remember if you’re ever felt such pleasure from this man as he pulls you to the edge of oblivion.

He suddenly moans against your ear sending new waves of bliss deep into your core and just like that do you come, moaning his name over and over again as he relentlessly thrusts into you with all that he has left.

He grips your hands tight, his warm seed spilling into you a second later, causing you to squeeze your legs tighter against his, “Ugh fuck Geralt.” You moan, your lips brushing past his as he pumps into you for a few more blissful moments before he falls limp against your body.

Utterly spent with your heated love making session, you chuckle at his honestly adorable actions as he lays flush with you, his cock still buried deep inside. He may be a large heavy man, but you’re no common human woman who lays underneath this handsome Witcher.

It’s plain as anyone could see, though you’d cut the throats of anyone bold enough to take a peek at your secretive actions.

Humming in content, Geralt moves to lay at your side, bringing you along with him so that he can stay inside you for a bit longer. You smirk, holding him close as he does the same, “A little needy tonight are we?” You muse, placing a chaste kiss against his puffy red lips.

“Maybe I missed you in more ways then one.” He replies, his golden eyes finding your crimson ones, “It certainly doesn’t help that Jaskier is always with us when we set up camp. I never get a true moment to myself with you.”

Trailing a hand down his scar covered back, you smile once again, “Well you’re about to get a whole week with me if you’re lucky. And I’m looking forward to every single second of it.”

The way you make him feel cannot ever truly be expressed in Geralt’s mind, though you can tell he loves you deeply even when no words are said at all or perhaps when he gets flustered and stumbles on his tongue for the right ones. Though right now he seems to have you vexed, completely entranced and utterly opened and surrendered to him.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same, his eyelids close in content as you gently trail your fingers down his cheekbone, earning a low hum from deep within his throat that sends shivers down your spine even with something so innocent as this.

You break out into a grin, your fangs showing as you let out a couple chuckles once you realize he’s still inside you. His own lips curl into a tired smile, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “Y/N?” He mutters, wondering what on earth could be so funny right now.

Pushing a few stray hairs out of his face you blink, trying to contain yourself once more, “Oh nothing, you’re just being....dare I say, cute. And all things considered, you’re still inside me.”

Geralt shows you a lazy grin, “I like being inside you.”

“Yes and what if I have to relieve myself, or get a drink?”

“I see no problem when you’re lucky enough to be laying next to me.”

Fake scoffing you gently tug on his silver locks, “Geralt of Rivia you’re blessed enough I love you so much you ass.”

Finally he opens his eyes, the most adorable of smiles crossing his face, and only for you, “Well I guess someone has to.”

“Yes.” You smirk, “And I’ll make disappear the next confidant fucker who dare think to take you away from me.”

“So I’m assuming that last tavern wench we met a month ago went missing....not, under mysterious circumstances?” He wonders, a brow raised in humored accusation.

Rolling your scarlet irises, you give him a friendly pat over his bare shoulder, “I wasn’t appreciating that foxy look she was giving you, looked like a horny buck ready to pounce.” The look he gives you is enough to make you burst with laughter, “What? Don’t give me that face Geralt, I didn’t do anything adherently evil....all I did was leave her in the middle of the woods...near another town!” You protest, trying to make your little petty adventure sound less terrible.

 “Well, at least you were nice about it,” Muses Geralt, “though I’m not sure if that’s better.”

“Oh shut it, I couldn’t help myself if you’d like to know alri...” Knock. Knock. Knock. Three raps against the thick bedroom door immediately draws your attention away from Geralt. Propping his head up by his elbow, he turns a protective glare at the mystery person keeping themselves on the other side.

Wanting to snap at the hidden individual who dare break you away from your rather pleasant evening, you push away from the soft comfort of the mattress, quickly pulling out of Geralt, you maneuver yourself into a seated position. “I’ll see who it is, can’t be anyone with a personal vendetta against us, well.....at least I don’t think so.”

Pursing his lips together in slight apprehension, Geralt silently watches you slip from the bed with nothing but a thin white sheet to keep your nakedness from any prying eyes. Your steps to the barred door are swift and silent as an owl in flight, just the same when you remove the chair from the door knob.

With one hand on the golden knob and the other grasped tightly onto the bunched up bed sheet, you turn a curious glance to Geralt who’s now seated fully upright on the mattress, a thin sheet covering his previously exposed manhood.

Finding your sights upon the door once again, you turn the knob, swiftly opening the door where you’re both greeted with the nervous wide eyed face of a young elven boy, who looks only to be about fourteen, dressed in lord-like attire. A suspiciously high status pose about him that sends your brows furrowing in confusion for this strange unexpected intrusion.

Wearing a soft purple scarf over a pure white thick fur laced jacket, his green eyes shift warily from you to your shirtless Witcher then back to you again. His cheeks most certainly reddening the longer he stares, mouth slightly agape, clearly this kid was not expecting the sight before him.

Deciding to relieve the awkward atmosphere, you clear your throat, “Well you certainly don’t look like an assassin, nor do you appear to be ready with coin for a wanted killing. So, do relieve us of this suspense...I was kind of in the middle of something important.” You state, the tone of your voice appearing slightly annoyed even when you try and hide it.

His big emerald irises flicker as he blinks, swallowing his nerves, does the elven boy in the fancy coat and purple scarf stand a bit straighter, “Hello. I am Venemyr of Rorym, messenger to Queen Allira and her husband King Gabriel of this winter kingdom of Turga.” He stammers, eyes shifting nervously from Geralt to you, suddenly he pulls out a folded piece of white and gold craftsmanship in the form of a beautiful card.

His hand shakes slightly as he reaches out for you to take the concealed letter, finding no ill intent from the boy, you fearlessly accept. Once in your hand does he finally begin his explanation, “I come to ask the Princess Y/N of Alkatraz and the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, if they will accept this invitation to the King and Queen’s eldest son’s banquet as special guests of honor.”

Oh, now things have just gotten very intriguing.

Not positive on how to correctly respond to this large proposition, the young elven messenger nods, “My adversaries had been made aware of you two by a bard named Jaskier who is thought of warmly in this kingdom, then it appeared that the eldest prince became very interested in meeting a lady dhampir and a Witcher of Kaer Morhen.” 

Oh, Jaskier you motherfucker.

Smiling politely, Vesemyr watches with wide foresty eyes when he catches sight of your fangs, noticing his apparent change of demeanor, your face falls, “Uh, well, thank you for the message and this invitation? We’ll see to it soon, and without a doubt report back accordingly sometime tomorrow.”

“The banquet is in two days.”

“Is it now?” You reply in a knowing tone, your brows raising, “Good to know, now if you’ll excuse us...the hour is late and you’d better get to wherever you’ve come from before it gets any colder outside.” And with that said do you flash him a wink before slamming the door into his scared little face and high end attire without a second thought.

Looking down at the strange yet exquisite invitation placed in your hand, you turn it over and find the golden waxes seal of a house sigil. “Y/N come to bed, I think I’d like to have a look at whatever fuckery Jaskier has roped us into.”

Raising your attention back up to the naked man seated casually against the headboard, you smile, making swift steps to the mattress before launching yourself next to his side causing the bed to shift and creak at your jostling movement. Instead of finding his annoyed expression, you’re fortunately greeted with an arm pulling you flush against his side.

With the two of you wrapped up in the white bedsheets, leaning comfortably on one another does Geralt slowly take the parchment from out of your hand. He holds the letter up, studying it’s beauty in the side table’s candle light as you rest your head on his shoulder with one arm slung over his muscular waist.

His breaths are slow and calm, the rise and fall of his chest gently pushing you up and then back down again only ever so slightly while your Witcher carefully observes the golden wax of the houses sigil. “A stag, with a crown of leaves....should we open it?” Muses Geralt, fully aware of how much you want to see what’s inside.

Geralt I swear to god.

Gently giving his waist a loving squeeze, you nod, “If you’d be so kind.” Humming in reply, Geralt makes quick work of the letter, soon its cut open and pulled out for your eyes to witness its ink marked contents.

“Fuck.” Mutters Geralt dismally, “Guess that kid wasn’t fucking with us.”

“And I guess we’re going to a party.” You exclaim, much more excitement flowing through your voice then what Geralt could ever give.

He quickly turns his head down to you, “Y/N no. I don’t give a shit if this prince wants to speak with us, I have no interest in becoming involved in something like that.”

You lightly chuckle at his less then stellar mood before turning your face to press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, he sighs, meeting your crimson gaze once again, “Think of it, free drink and food, and this prince wants to see us....we’re practically the guests of honor and I cannot wait to see Jaskier tomorrow cause I’m gonna slap him for it...then I’ll thank him.”

“Ugh, fine.” Begrudgingly mutters Geralt as you press your lips to his.

-

Maybe a part 2 later on, idk we’ll see. Hope you enjoyed this :)

Tagged for series:  @seninjakitey​  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

[sweetsunflowerkisses]

rest.

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff (MCU) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU

Warnings: Mild language, cannon divergence, reader is kind of an oblivious shy dumb-ass who avoids her problems TvT

Summary: After everything life has put you through you just want to walk through life unnoticed and unbothered, but that seems to be out of the question when you're an enhanced working for the avengers and catch the eye of a certain speedster who just so happens to be your soulmate.

Word Count: 3.1k

a/n: this is very shitty and doesn’t make much sense im sorry i haven’t written something like this in so long :’) 

Sokovia. 2015.

“Glad you like the view, Romanoff. It's about to get better.” Fury said punching buttons on his data pad, “Nice, right? I pulled her out of mothballs with a couple of old friends. She's dusty, but she'll do.” Fury laughed, looking over at the small but capable team of Ex-SHIELD agents, smiling, as the old helicarrier pulled up beside the ever rising city.

You looked out of the window as the battle raged on in the city, you still weren’t sure why Fury had asked you to come with him. After all, you didn’t exactly have a useful skill set for this fight, you couldn’t operate the fancy systems that kept the helicarrier in the air, and despite being enhanced you definitely didn’t have the fighting set to help out the avengers, who were fighting in the city, saving the planet from total destruction once again.

You sighed, turning your back to the window and going to stand next to Fury, who rarely let you out of his sight.

“Sir, I’m grateful you trusted me enough to bring me along but if I could ask, why did you bring me?, My skills aren't exactly useful here.” you said with a frown.

Fury looked down at you grimly, “Just a feeling Mrs. [L/N].”

You nodded, turning your attention to your colleagues, who were diligently aiding in the rescue of the sokovian citizens, and the battle raging on outside. You watched in awe as Tony Stark- or rather Iron Man and War Machine began to destroy the bots that had begun to attack the helicarrier.

Suddenly Agent Hill’s voice rang out “INCOMING!”. You barely had time to jump out of the way as a robot crashed through the front window, Maria immediately emptying her clip into it as Fury finished it off with a piece of metal debris.

“And here I was thinking I wasn’t going to see any action”, you quipped, staring at the mess of metal and oil on the helicarrier floor.

You sighed, trying to even your breathing, absentmindedly running your fingers over the inky black words imprinted on the inside of your wrist. In this world everyone had a soulmate, all 7 billion people, and the first words they’ll say to you appear on the inside of your left wrist when your born, which turns red after you have your first kiss with your soulmate, however you don’t have any expectations to ever meet yours, and you don’t really want too, after all life moves pretty fast when your an Ex-HYDRA experiment and an Ex-SHIELD trainee, and these days you really just wanted to spend the rest of your days unnoticed and unbothered - aside from work of course.

You were broken out of your thoughts when a voice crackled over the comms, “Guys we have a problem!” It was Agent Barton, his voice was panicked and his breathing was ragged, “Pietro’s been hit, I can’t tell if he’s alive or not.”

Fury looked over at you, his face as stoic as ever, but you could see the slight bit of fear in his eyes “Showtime kid, let’s see what you can do.”

You nodded, taking off down the hall and jumping into a small craft, piloting it to the city where you could see Barton leaning over someone’s body. You landed, running over to them, it was one of the twins, a fellow enhanced experiment of HYDRA. You leaned down placing a hand on his bullet riddled chest, a small teal light eminitated from your hand as you closed your eyes and concentrated.

Suddenly your eyes snapped open, you looked up at Clint, “He’s alive,” Clint let out a sigh of relief. “but just barely, I  need to get him back to the medical bay immediately.” You finished. Clint nodded, helping you get the man loaded on the craft you arrived in, he gave you a small nod of thanks before running back to the rescue transports.

Back in your lab you had him hooked up to nearly every medical machine available, while your abilities had managed to stop the blood and heal the internal damage there was still the possibility of him not making it through the night, after all he had yet to regain consciousness and enhanced powers could only do so much, bringing back the dead wasn’t really one of those.

You sighed, leaning over his resting form, brushing a stray piece of his bleach blonde hair out of his face. You studied his face, he was quite possibly one of the most handsome people you’d ever seen, and that was even with the blood and dirt caked on him.

You turned gathering a cloth and a bowl of water, deciding it would be best to at least clean what grime you could off of him. You started with his face before moving to his chest, it was still caked in blood and dirt from where the bullets had ripped through him, though the wounds were closed and healed now. You took note of how well built he was but tried to focus on that as little as possible, after all he was your patient and you hadn’t ever even spoken to him.

As you ran the wet cloth over his body your mind began to wander, however you were broken out of your thoughts when a hand grabbed your arm. It was Pietro. You let out a squeak, mildly startled by his sudden consciousness, however it was clear that he was extremely disoriented and out of it. You moved, setting the washcloth and bowl back on the counter before gathering your clipboard to write that he had regained consciousness.

“Are you an angel?” He asked weakly, you turned looking at him, shocked. Those words, the ever familiar words that had been carried with you since birth, it was him. You inhaled, pushing all that aside, shaking your head as you approached his side.

“Rest.” Was all you said, before you walked out of the room, and for the rest of the night Pietro faded in and out of consciousness, only holding on to the fading sound of your voice.

Avengers Tower. One Month Later.

It had been a month since Sokovia. One month since Pietro Maximoff had almost died. He often found himself wondering what would have happened if he had died, would Wanda have been okay? Would anyone have cared? The other question that seemed to plague his mind day and night, the thought that had burrowed it’s way into his dreams and his absent minded musings, was the thought of seeing that girl that had saved him again.

He didn’t remember much about that day after he was shot, but everytime he closed his eyes he could see her, the girl with the (y/h/c) hair and the soothing voice, he couldn’t remember her fcae or if he had said anything to her but he could remember her touch and he craved to feel it again. The word “rest” also filled his mind, the way it sounded rolling off her tongue, it was the same word that had kept him grounded over the years, and the word that he so often traced on the inside of his wrist. He found himself feeling like the prince from that old animated mermaid movie Wanda made him watch as a kid, looking for the girl that saved him. Looking for his soulmate.

He broke himself out of his thoughts when he heard Maria Hill, one of the many people that had eagerly welcomed him to the Avengers and the remnants of SHIELD calling his name.

“Agent Hill, what can I do for you?” He asked, lifting himself off of the couch, turning to face her.

“Are you doing anything around 1:30 today? I’m supposed to be giving a tour to our newest Avenger today but I have a prior obligation around that time and was wondering if you would mind running it instead, normally I would ask someone else but I feel that you would be the best option in this case due to your…” Maria trailed off trying to come up with the word “Commonalities.”

Pietro’s ears perked up, a new member? Commonalities? Needless to say it was intriguing and would definitely provide a good distraction from his thoughts. “Okay.” He said, shrugging.

Maria smiled, handing him the manilla folder that was your file. “Her name is [Y/N] [L/N], she’s talented, all the necessary information should be in there.” Maria sighed inwardly as she clasped her hands behind her as she watched Pietro speed read through the folder.

To be honest, though she’d never tell Fury, she was hesitant to let you join the Avengers. You were talented no doubt, but she worried about you, maybe it was the fact that she had been the one to rescue you all those years ago, before the fall of SHIELD, before she ever worked for Stark, but still something told her maybe it was too soon, after all you had seemed pretty shaken after the Ultron ordeal.

“Well, you’ll need to meet her at the west elevator on floor 34 in an hour. Just take her through the itinerary there and get to know her, make her feel welcome.” Maria said with a smile before leaving back the way she came.

Pietro smiled as he waved goodbye, before looking down at the picture of you, of his soulmate, the girl that saved him.

Avengers Tower Floor 34. One Hour Later.

You rocked back and forth on your heels. It had been a month since Sokovia. One month since you had saved the man who was supposedly your soulmate. After that fateful day you went back into hiding with Fury, back to training with Fury, but now, according to Fury at least, it was time for you to join the Avengers as their medic.

You walked down the long glass hall, Agent Hill had told you that your guide would meet you outside the west elevator. She had also told you that your tour guide was one of the twins, due to your “commonalities” both in being enhanced and in being the newest members. You hoped it wasn’t going to be him, after all you still hadn’t really had time to process it all. Of course, life never really listened when you asked it for things.

The elevator dinged, signaling it’s arrival, you turned your attention from your wrist to the elevator,pulling down your sleeve to cover it as the doors slid open to reveal the gray clad speedster.

“They told me we were getting a new recruit, but they failed to tell me of your beauty.” Pietro smirked leaning against the elevator wall. You blushed, looking down at your shoes before sliding past him and stepping into the elevator. “Not talking huh? It’s okay I'll get you to crack eventually.” He smiled, winking at you only causing your face to flush even more.

As the tour went on Pietro did what he could to make you talk, though you usually only answered with one or two words. He was confused to say the least, did you not know? It was as the tour came to a close that he finally asked you the question that had been plaguing his mind the whole time, wondering if you would admit to him that you knew or if you were just clueless. “So, [Y/N], they tell me you are enhanced, like us, with healing abilities.” You nodded, “Were you there in Sokovia? Last month I mean, when Ultron attacked.”

You looked up sharply. “Um yeah, yeah I was.” You sighed, fidgeting with your sleeves.

“Then you're the one who saved me that day, thank you.” He smiled, bringing your hands into his, “I’m very happy you’re with us, and I hope that you will allow me to thank you properly? Maybe dinner?” His eyes were hopeful.

Did he know? You wondered, would he bring it up then, ease into it, charm you? Or had he been too out of it to even realise and was simply trying to be nice? Either way it was too much too fast.  “Um, I’ll think about it, I’m just kinda tired right now.”

“I understand, I’ll see you in the morning then beautiful, yes?” He smiled walking you down the hall to your room. You nodded, before looking down at the floor again. “Well if you need anything Wanda and I are both on this floor and if we’re not here we’re likely on the common floor.” He smiled watching you nod once again before retreating into your room.

Pietro sighed, running a hand through his hair, you had to know by now, if he hadn’t spoken to you that day what he said on the elevator should have been the words on your wrist? Why were you so hesitant? Did you not like him, was he not everything you had ever hoped for in a soulmate? He let out a short breath as he pushed the button to call the elevator, fine, he was charming right? He’d do whatever it took to convince you that he was the perfect guy for you, after all you were an angel to him.

A Stark Party at Avenger Tower. Two Months Later.

It had been two months, two months since you had joined the Avengers and you were still just as shy around Pietro as you had been on your first day. He couldn’t understand it, while you were shy around most of the other members too, save for his own sister and Sam Wilson, yet you seemed to purposefully avoid him. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had done something to make you mad or uncomfortable, he couldn’t understand why but it hurt, it hurt more than getting shot in Sokovia had, it was raw and painful but he did his best to hide it and simply be as polite and nice to you as possible.

“Hey there speedy, you seem quieter than normal and I don’t think I’ve heard one smart remark out of you today, what’s going on?” Clint Barton said, placing his hand on Pietro’s shoulder. Despite Clint’s general teasing of the younger man he did genuinely care for him and that was something Pietro was grateful for.

“I’m just lost in thought, thank you though Clint.” Pietro sighed, taking his coffee and heading to his room, after all Stark was having one of his infamous parties tonight and even if he wasn’t there with you Pietro still wanted to look nice for you.

Nearly six hours later everyone was downstairs, the floor alive with people, and Pietro found himself seated at the bar, nursing a whiskey as he watched you converse with his twin. You looked amazing, your gorgeous body clad in a gray knee length cocktail dress with gorgeous lace sleeves and accents. Despite the fact that you rarely spoke to him somehow, some way every little thing you did imprinted itself in his brain and only made himself fall harder and harder for you.

His mood quickly changed however from adoration to jealousy as he watched a group of suit clad men isolate you from his sister and begin to speak to you. Under normal circumstances he would have simply let you be, never wanting to make you uncomfortable or angry, but you were picking at your nails, something he had noticed you only did when you were uncomfortable.

So he did what any love-sick gentlemen would do, and he went to rescue you. Within seconds Pietro was by your side, snaking a hand around your waist, secretly praying to god that he wasn’t making you more uncomfortable.You tensed at the contact but relaxed with a sigh of relief as you looked up to find Pietro.

“Hello my love,” Pietro smiled looking down at you before turning back to the group of men, “Hello gentlemen, I hope you don’t mind if I steal my soulmate for a minute, it’s important Avenger business, you know?” He smirked, giving them no room to respond as he turned and led you to the balcony.

When you arrived on the balcony you sighed as you let the cool air roll over you. “Thank you for that Pietro.” You said softly. “I’m really grateful.”

Pietro smiled softly, “Of course, what are friends for.” He turned heading for the door, but stopped when your voice rang out.

“I’m sorry Pietro.” He turned back to look at you, your eyes trained on the floor, “I’ve been cold and distant and all you’ve done is try and be nice and make me feel happy and safe and welcome here and I’m just so sorry.”

Pietro sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve known this whole time haven’t you. That we were soulmates.”

You looked up meeting his eyes, they were blue and piercing and oh so gorgeous but they were filled with pain.

“Yes, I’ve known since Sokovia. When you first regained consciousness you asked if I was an angel, I couldn’t focus on the fact that we were soulmates in that moment so I pushed it away, after that I just began to wonder, I mean I’m so different compared to you, you're so handsome and kind and talented and I’m just plain and boring, I figured that the universe probably made a mistake, and that you would be better of with someone else, but I never meant to hurt you,” You looked up at him, his face filled with a mix of shock and pain “I’m so so sorry.” You said, your voice breaking as you looked down, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You are the most oblivious girl I’ve ever met.” Pietro chuckled, your head snapping up to look at him, “For one I’ve been flirting with you since you got here, you’d think that that would be a sign that I find you attractive, No?” You chuckled, “Second, Not talented? You saved my life, I was nearly dead and would be without you. Not kind? You have made my sister feel so happy and so welcome, you’ve given her the best friend she’s always wanted. Not pretty? My Angel, you are the most beautiful girl at this party. I’ve loved you from the minute I saw you, your smile can light up a room, and your laughter can make any sadness fade away, you my darling are perfect.” He smiled softly at you, cupping your cheek as you stared up into his eyes. “I love you moy angel”  

You stared up in awe at the silver haired speedster, “I- You’re so perfect, you have been so understanding and-” Your voice broke as more tears rushed down your face, Pietro simply whispered sweet nothings as he wiped away your tears. “I love you too.” You whispered smiling softly.

“Could I kiss you?” Pietro asked with an airy chuckle, you smiled,nodding before pressing your lips to his, letting the world around you melt away, as both of you reveled in the warm feeling of your marks changing from black to red.

[when-they-write-stuff]

The thing about the Hale pack was that everyone in it was absolutely, one hundred percent, drop-dead gorgeous.

And the thing about Stiles Stilinski was… well, he was Stiles Stilinski.

The last time he’d really looked into his reflection and been insecure, had been the first time he’d tried asking Lydia Martin out, and it’d been like he wasn’t even there. Stiles might as well have been invisible for the way that sharp green eyes never lingered on him and sometimes, he thought it just might be better that way. The thing about hot people was that Stiles was not one of them and because of that, he was constantly confused.

Confused about why Derek kept him around the pack, anyway.

Sure, Stiles was a mad genius when it came to doing research. There wasn’t any lore he couldn’t dig up and there wasn’t any monster he couldn’t figure out how to kill. That might be why, he thought. Why Derek hadn’t quite given him the boot yet.

The thing about being the only plain human in a pack of drop-dead werewolves was that Stiles sometimes wondered if that’s why Derek had never offered him the bite.

It wasn’t like he was calling the big grumpy werewolf biased or anything. Scott had once accused Derek of only going after the losers at Beacon Hills High and the man had been pissed off about that for days. But then Stiles had watched his friends go from sticking in the shadows to owning the halls, and he sometimes wondered why he hadn’t been offered that chance too.

Stiles was pretty sure it didn’t bother him. He just… wondered sometimes.

It might bother him a little bit.

It was a cool autumn afternoon when Stiles sat on the porch of the Hale house watching Derek train the other betas. Erica was kicking ass, which wasn’t really surprising because the woman could be absolutely feral when she wanted to. Stiles thought if he ever got into a one-on-one with her, he wouldn’t be making it out alive.

The first time he’d come over to the newly built Hale house to watch them train, his first thought had been 'badass'. Honestly, his brain hadn’t been able to come up with much more but that might be because two out of the four werewolves had been shirtless and one of them had been Derek. Which… totally wasn’t a thing.

Over time though, Stiles was a little less amazed. He’d watch Erica kick Isaac’s butt and glance down at his own hands, wondering if he could ever do that. If he was given the chance, that is.

It didn’t bother him though, remember? Not even just a little bit. 

Or whatever.

The door behind him opened and closed as Lydia dropped down at his side with a glass of water in one hand. Red hair fell over her shoulder as she tilted her head, studying the betas and then smirking as Boyd knocked Jackson to the dirt. Chewing on his lower lip, Stiles glanced over at her.

“Hey, Lyds?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think Derek would have offered you the bite if you weren’t already… you know. A terrifying death screamer?”

The girl gave him a quizzical look and Stiles tried not to blush, ducking his head.

“Just wondering.”

He could feel green eyes still studying him, but Stiles pretended like he didn’t see. Once more, he focused on his hands, waiting for an answer. And an eternity seemed to pass before Lydia shrugged, turning her gaze back forward.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Eventually.”

Stiles swallowed. How long had it been since he’d officially started considering himself a part of the Hale pack? A handful of years, after multiple occasions of nearly dying at Derek and co's side. So how long counted as eventually? He didn’t think that long.

“Stiles?”

He glanced back over at her, forcing a grin onto his face. “I’m good.”

Lydia didn’t look convinced, but Stiles just turned his attention back toward the training. He did his best to keep his gaze off Derek and the man's unfairly well-formed everything. Because the last thing he needed was Erica to catch him staring and give him one of those knowing smirks that she was always so quick to wear. Or worse, for Derek to ever see.

Once more, Boyd knocked Jackson into the dirt and Stiles snorted, cheered up even if only for a quick moment.

He could hear the beta cursing from where he sat.

-

The rest of the Hale house was silent when Stiles sat on the couch hours later, his computer open on his lap and an empty bag of popcorn at his side. Isaac had done nothing but complain all afternoon that Derek had worked them way too hard earlier and when Erica had told him to can it, the beta had slunk into his room with a glum look.

But Stiles could hear snores now, so he was pretty sure Isaac had knocked right out.

The others had left an hour ago with all the cash Derek had on him, claiming they were going to pick up pizza. But they still weren’t back so Stiles had pretty much given up on that ever happening. For all he knew, they’d completely forgotten about coming back and were crashed at a pizza place somewhere enjoying the food that was meant to be for the entire pack.

He wasn’t sure where Derek had gone off too— the loft was silent other than Isaac. 

Except, suddenly one of the doors opened and closed down the hall and Stiles glanced over his shoulder to see a very wet and very half-naked Derek Hale step out of the bathroom. His heart rate instantly rose and he whipped back forward, focusing hard on his computer screen again.

Stiles could hear the man's footsteps moving toward his bedroom and he cursed internally, trying to take deep breaths. He’d been looking up… what had he been looking up again? Witches. No, fairies? 

Screw all the drop-dead gorgeous werewolves.

That’s what Stiles would like to say.

He found himself fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt instead of actually paying attention to whatever was on his screen. By the time the footsteps came down the hallway, he was pretty sure his heartbeat had quieted a little bit, but he still tried to focus even harder on his computer. 

Derek passed him with a raised eyebrow and Stiles did his best to ignore it. Grunting, the man moved into the kitchen, shuffled around a little, and came back out with a cup of coffee. Stiles raised an eyebrow of his own at that.

“And you say I have bad caffeine habits.”

“It’s decaf.”

“Oh, wow, Sourwolf. Now that’s just boring.”

Derek flat out ignored him this time, grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV. Whatever the betas had been watching earlier came on full blast and Stiles yelped, slamming his laptop shut in surprise. 

“Dude, I’m trying to do research here!”

That earned him a pair of rolled eyes and Stiles huffed, shoving himself up. Almost as quickly, Derek caught his sleeve and Stiles froze. 

“Er, what?”

“Where are you going?”

“Home, dude,” Stiles said, trying to pull away. But Derek’s grip was like iron. “So I can make sure we all live to fight another week, unless you want to go in blind to whatever the hell is terrorizing Beacon Hills this time?”

The man didn’t answer for a long moment, still not letting go. And Stiles didn’t like the way those grey-green eyes searched his face, as if Derek knew exactly what Stiles wasn’t saying. Which… wasn’t anything. It totally wasn’t anything.

But then the man’s brows furrowed. “You’ve been acting strange lately.”

Stiles stiffened. Derek didn’t seem to notice, though, looking lost in thought.

“And your scent has been off.”

“O-okay,” Stiles said, trying to pull away once more. It still didn't work. “So, that’s a total invasion of my privacy, you fluffy asshole. Do you often go around checking on my scent, or is this more of a one-time thing?”

Derek gave him a red-eyed glare at that and Stiles tried to pretend like his heart didn’t skip another beat. “Is something wrong?”

“Is something— what? No, Derek, nothing's wrong. Things are just fine and dandy.”

Stiles had always thought it was unfair that werewolves could hear heartbeats because one raised eyebrow from Derek told him the man didn’t believe a word he’d just said. Grunting, Stiles looked over at where Isaac’s snores were still coming from, and then over his shoulder toward the door. Just in case. 

Then, Derek finally letting go of his sleeve, Stiles crossed his arms.

“Why haven’t you ever offered me the bite?”

The alpha tensed, eyes turning guarded. And Stiles tried not to feel hurt at that, biting down on his lower lip.

“Am I not good enough, Derek?”

“Are you not… why would you even think that?”

Stiles scowled at the growled accusation in Derek’s voice. Because god, it wasn’t like he was asking this out of the blue. “You’ve never even asked, dude. Not once, not even a hint. I’ve been apart of this pack for years now and yeah, I know I’m just Stiles. Human, annoying, only-good-at-research Stiles, but I’d make a good werewolf, dammit!”

Derek’s eyes were wide now and he looked a bit taken aback. Carefully, the man stood, looking at Stiles as if he might spontaneously combust at any moment.

Which… he totally wouldn’t. No way.

It didn’t bother him.

“I’m just Stiles,” he said again, quieter this time. “I know that, but—”

“Stiles.”

Derek’s tone itself was enough to cut Stiles off midsentence. Which was a bit of a relief, because he didn’t really know where he was going with it anyway. But he still glared at the man, surprised that Derek’s expression was nothing but gentle as the man looked steadily back.

“Would you want the bite?”

And it didn’t seem like a real question. Not like Derek was offering, but maybe he was surprised. Surprised that Stiles would even bring it up, surprised that Stiles would even want to be a werewolf. Which wasn’t fair, right? It was just— he just— Stiles clenched his jaw. “Why haven’t you ever asked?”

A long moment passed before Derek answered. “You’re human, Stiles.”

“Well, no, duh.”

“You’re human,” Derek repeated. “But not as a weakness. Your mind, your soul… I’ve never offered the bite because I know you’ve never wanted it. Not because you’re annoying, not because you’re not pack—” The man hesitated, then looked at him carefully. “Because you’re Stiles and there’s nothing more beautiful than that.”

Stiles’s breaths caught in his throat. He stared at the werewolf, all words lost to him for a moment. Which was more than unusual and even Derek looked concerned for a moment. The man took a small step forward and Stiles uncrossed his arms just as quickly. “I… what?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could’ve sworn the tips of the man's ears were a little red. And he had heard everything right, hadn’t he?

“Hey, Derek, am I dreaming?”

“You’re an idiot, Stiles,” Derek said. “But you’re also the human one that holds the pack together.”

Stiles focused on Derek’s face. Then his hands, then the floor. His mind was still processing things rather slowly and when he’d asked, he’d kind of expected a gruff response. Something about Stiles sticking to what he did best— research— or maybe just dropping the topic altogether with a threat to his safety if he didn’t. He didn’t expect to glance back up and for Derek to be so close, Stiles choked on his breath.

“Do you want the bite, Stiles?”

“Well... no.”

The look Derek gave him was purely judgemental now. Stiles flushed. 

“I was just wondering.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t ‘hm’ me, asshole,” Stiles said, giving the man a shove. But Derek caught his hands and Stiles was frozen all over again, heart skipping yet another beat. Looking down at him, Derek smirked, and Stiles had no doubts the man knew exactly what was going through his mind at the moment.

“I don’t keep you around just to put on a show during beta training, you know.”

And yep, that was it. Stiles had officially died and been brought back to life again. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, but no words came out. And screw all the drop-dead gorgeous werewolves, remember? He hated them. All of them.

“You’re my favorite human, Stiles,” Derek said, softer this time. And okay, maybe Stiles hated one werewolf less.

He decided that was definitely true when Derek leaned down and kissed him.

-

It's been decided that when my brain decides to start working again, it decides to start working overtime, so here we are! I figured you guys deserve some fluff after that last fic, so I hope you all enjoyed!

[worksby-gabriella]

USO Girl?

Halloween!Steve x Halloween!female!reader

Summary: Steve and reader meet at a Stark Industries halloween party, but the reader is dressed up as a USO girl. 🇺🇸

Warnings: None really, just a terrible title.

Request from: @lighterthanstardust (technical difficulties with tagging at the moment)

Putting on the last few touches of your red lipstick, your phone dings.

Nat: Are you still coming? I wanna introduce you to some people :)

Y/N: On my way

Natasha had been begging you to come to Stark's Halloween party for the past month, you kept saying no because you're content with your little tradition of buying candy, curling up and watching horror movies every Halloween. But Natasha was persistent, and adamant about you going. She would come to your workplace at shield, whether you were training, taking a call, or welcoming a new recruit, and bother you until you gave in.

You were pretty sure the reason she wanted you at the party was so she could introduce you to her co-workers? Friends? Family? Whatever she called them, you've heard her refer to them as many different things over the years. And well, you guessed correct based off the text.

Shutting your door and walking out of your apartment complex, you could hear your silver kitten heels click clacking on the cement ground. Getting into your car and checking the adress off the piece of paper Natasha gave you, you turn on the ignition and speed off.

Pulling into the parking lot of a very tall building, that you assume is Stark Tower, you see a red headed figure standing out front.

As you park your car and get out, Natasha starts walking towards you. Pulling you in for a hug and letting go, she takes a good once over of your USO girl costume.

"Damn, 'might as well take you home tonight girl!" She says as she twirls you around.

"Thanks but look at you, Kim Possible!"

Natasha hooks her left arm with your right arm, as you both start walking towards the entrance.

"What are supposed to be anyway?"

"A USO girl, it was a last minute idea because I didn't have a costume. Had to rumage through my grandmother's closet." You answer.

"Hm, it's cute."

As you enter the building she leads you to an elevator, and punches the button that says: 17th floor. When the elevator stops, and opens you notice there's not as many people as you thought there would be. It seems to be more of a small get together for Halloween. To the right there's a group of five people, and Maria Hill whom you've talked to a good amount of times already, all sitting on white couches. There's about two handfuls of some other people scattered here and there, dress in different costumes.

"Tasha' where is everyone?" You whisper shouted as she led you to her friends, The Avengers.

"This is everyone, Y/N"

When Natasha and you reached the group she stopped in front of everyone and introduced you to them.

"Guys, this is Y/N, she works for shield."

"Hey!"

"Hello."

"Nice to finally meet you!"

"So you're the girl Nat keeps talking 'bout, eh?"

You knew who they all where so you didn't bother asking for names, instead you just said your "hi's" back and settled on the couch by Nat.

"Where's Steve?" Nat asked,

"The mans is old as dirt, he's probably just walking to slow. He'll be here eventually." As Sam says this he moves his eyes to you and asks,

"So what's up with the costume?"

"Sam reall-" Maria starts to say but you interrupt.

"Ha ha, it's okay Maria. I'm a USO girl, I didn't have a costume and it was a last minute idea, I had it on hand."

"Be careful, Y/N, gonna give Capsicle a stroke there."

They all chuckle at Tony's joke,

"Capsicle?"

"Just ignore Tony" Natasha says rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

After about an hour of conversation, and Halloween music playing in the background, you volunteer to get the second round of beer from Tony's bar. But Bruce stops you,

"Oh, you don't have to get them. Sit down I'll get it."

Not stopping and ignoring his offer you say,

"It's fine, I can get them."

He smiles warmly at you as you get up to go to the bar.

When you open the small refigerator door, you grab six beers including one for yourself. When you close the door and start to exist the bar you crash right into someone's hard chest.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, i wasn't lookin-"

You cut your self off looking up. Completely mesmerized by the man in front of you. Steve Rogers. You knew he was attractive, but you didn't know he was this attractive.

Chuckling Steve tells you, "It's okay."

He looks down at the beers in your arms,

"Let me grab one for myself, then I'll help you carry those over there."

Waiting for him to grab one, he walks back to you, takes three cans from you, and taps the small of your back to signal you to start walking, sending a shiver down your back.

"So, a USO girl, eh?" Steve asked.

"Oh, yup, didn't have a costume."

"So then what's that?"

"My grandmother's"

Realizing what you said you just said you look at him with wide eyes.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to call you old."

Steve lets put a louder laugh causing everyone to watch both of you as you and him make your over to them.

"So, I see you've already met Steve." Nat says with her eyebrows raised.

Knowing what she's suggesting you roll your eyes and say,

"Yes, I have."

"So, I guess I was right. You did give him a stroke."

Everyone starts chuckling at Tony's joke while Steve shakes his head with a goofy smile on his face, looking down at his shoes.

"Hm?" You ask after taking a sip of your beer.

"Well the loud crash?"

"Oh! No, that was me dropping all the beer."

Everyone is moving onto different conversations but you an Steve keep talking. Asking eachother question after question, inventively listening to one another.

Nat was watching both of you out of the corner of her eye.

"So where's the costume old man?!" Sam says, sorta struggling to keep his eyelids open.

"Didn't know we were dressing up." Steve answers with a shrug.

"What?!? No way. Absolutely not. Who doesn't dress up for Halloween?"

"Apparently, Capsicle."

Jerking his head toward Tony he points at him saying,

"Hey! Who're you to talk Stark, you're not dressed up either."

"When you're Tony Stark, Rogers, you don't need a costume to be cool" Tony argues in his defense, flicking off some imaginary dust from his suit.

Everyone keeps talking, drinking, occasionally dancing, and getting drunker and drunker. But Steve has the inconveniency of not being able to get drunk, and you're so caught up in his baby blues that you completely forget you were drinking.

You're definitely drunk, but not from alcohol. You're drunk off of his seafoam eyes, his charm, his kindess, his authority, his every detail.

When two a.m rolls around, and everyone is drunk of thier asses they start heading up to a couple of floors higher, most likely to whatever rooms were up there to get some sleep, already dreading the morning after.

Since you and Steve were sober, well you were more sober than the rest, You and him stayed behind to clean up empty bottles, empty beer cans, and fallen decorations.

You pickup some beer cans to go to the bar and throw them away but when you come back, Steve asks you,

"Would it be wierd if I asked you out?"

"No, no it would not be wierd"

You're both smiling at eachother, Steve is holding orange, black and purple streamers in one hand, while your holding a beer bottle.

Next thing you know he's dropping the streamers, and walking to you.

He kisses you. Lips on lips. Moving so perfectly in sync. It's igniting, it's new, it's exciting, and brilliant. So brilliant that you drop the beer bottle to lay your hands on the nape of his neck, but the bottle has other plans. It crashes to the floor and shatters, causing you and Steve to pull away from eachother and chuckle.

As you both bend down to pick up the shattered peices he grabs your hand, and tilts you head up to look at him.

"So, will you go on date with me?"

"It would be crazy of me to say no, Steve"

My first actual fic!! I hope you've all liked it, btw I THRIVE of off feedback so please tell me what you've thought.

If you've liked this fic please like and reblog. REBLOGS HELP WRITERS A CRAP TON!!!

🤍💙🖤

[criminalmindzjunkie]

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)

masterlist playlist

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Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years. 

A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”

Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”

“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”

“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”

Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”  

“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.

You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.

There goes my deposit.

You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.

The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.

You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”

Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?

He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.

“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”

You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.

“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”

Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”

You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.

“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”

Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.

“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.

By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.

“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”

Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.

“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”

Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.

“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.

The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.

“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”

Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”

All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”

You flash Damien a nervous smile.

“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Damien snorts and pushes open the door.

“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”

As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.

“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”

You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.

“Believe me, she tried.”

Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.

“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”

Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.

“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”

“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”

Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.

“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.

“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.

Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.

“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”

A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.

“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”

Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.

“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”

Salt, meet wound.

“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.

“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.

The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.

Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.

You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.

“I should probably take this – it might be work.”

Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”

You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”

An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”

Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”

You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.

You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.

“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”

“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”

You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”

“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”

You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.

“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”

“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.

“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.

           You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

           A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.

Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.

He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.

--

Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.

You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.

Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.

Spencer positively abhors the thought.

The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.  

The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.

“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

Fucking ouch.

Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?

He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.

Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.

The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.

“Hi.”

Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.

“Hi.”

More silence. Spencer gulps.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”

It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?

Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.

“It certainly has.”

“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?

Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.

“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.

Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”

It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.

“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.

You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.

Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.

Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.

You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.

“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.

Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”

He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.

The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”

All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.

“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”

The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.

“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –

Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.

Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”

You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.

The book feels heavy in his hands.

-

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taglist:  @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck​ @m0rce1ddd​ @bauhousewife​ @whxt-to-write​ @spencerwaltergubler​ @lovesicksofi​ @idgafayiowf​ @shadyladyperfection​ @mercy-burning​ @sapphic-prentiss​ @itsmytimetoodream​  @m0rce1ddd​ @bauhousewife​ @whxt-to-write​ @spencerwaltergubler​  @enchantedcruelsummer​ @no-honey-no​ @inkstainedwritergirl​ @tnoh13​ @xxconfettiitsaparade​ @calm-and-doctor​ @muffin-cup​ @fortheloveofcriminalminds​ @arcticrory​ @holl2712​@themanwiththreephds @blameitonthenight21​ @stellabelle​ @me-a-hopeless-romantic​ @musicxlover97 @anightflower​ @andiebeaword​ @annesauriol​ @haylaansmi​ 

[imaginefan]

I Promise

Derek Hale X Stilinski Reader 

Word Count: 2078

Requested: Anon

Request: Hey this is my first request but would you be able to make one with stiles younger sister and derek.She sees him in her house with stiles and Scott when she comes downstairs to go to school with stiles,And she like says “hey are you rea-“. Then stops when she sees derek, and blushes etc. And stiles and Scott are like asking her if she’s okay etc and she looks read and derek can sense what it is due to being a werewolf and he starts smirking and she says she’s fine etc and they go to school in stiles Jeep and derek comes with themAnd they keep on bumping into each other all the time and one time he saves her etc and they start to like each other a lot and then they secretly date but then get found out by stiles.Also derek gets super protective of her and no one knows why and he tries to brush it off etc and he keeps on getting jealous when other boys look at her.Thank you :)

A/N: I think I got a bit carried away with this one, I just kept writing I really enjoyed this one though and might write a part 2 for myself but let me know if your interested.

Stiles often thought that he was good at hiding things from you but it became very clear very quickly that he was terrible at you, you being his younger twin meant that you were often the one to see him doing weird hard to explain things when your ad was at work and you were the one that was covering things up for him before long you found out what it was that he was hiding and in some ways wished that you never had to deal with it but the truth of the matter was there was no way that you were getting away from it.

The first time that you met Derek you had been the last one to get ready for school, you were headed down the stairs "Hey are you guys rea-" You stopped when you saw Derek in the kitchen, Stiles and Scott looked back in time to see you blush. "Are you okay?" Stiles asked, "you look a little red." "She's fine," Derek said a smirk on his face and Stiles looked between the both of you before his eyes widened. "No!" He said as he pointed at you. "Can we just go to school?" You asked. "Yeah about school." Stiles scratched the back of his head. "Look I don't care how many classes you skip, I'm not skipping any and you're the one that got the Jeep so you're dropping me to school." You ordered and you nodded. "How about we all drop you to school," Derek suggested. "It's quicker." "Whatever just hurry up or I'll drive it myself." You threatened as you grabbed the keys on the way out.

"You are blissfully unaware for being the sheriff's daughter," Derek said as he walked up next to you. "I'm not unaware of anything." You mumbled. "What are you doing out here anyway?" He asked. "Walking home." You answered. "Where's your hyperattentive brother?" He asked. "Probably off chasing supernatural with Scott." You shrugged as you looked through your bag for your keys and coming up empty, when you looked up Derek was holding them up in his hand. "You were talking about my keys earlier." You said in realisation and he smiled before handing them over. "Be careful, I'm not always going to be around to find your keys for you." He said before he was gone, you rolled your eyes before walking up to your front door and walking into the house.

From that night onwards it seemed like you bumped into Derek everywhere even when you were with your brother and it was becoming increasingly common for him to be overprotective when it came to you being involved in anything and that was why you probably shouldn't have been but you were out late one night, Stiles and Scott were at Lydia's party and it was a full moon but  then you saw Lydia, you knew that she was supposed to be at her party but she looked completely zoned out as she dragged Derek to her car, you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep up with her so you tried to call Stiles but when he didn't answer the phone "Useless." You muttered as you did your best to follow her which was definitely easier when she hit the dirt road of the preserve because you could follow her tyre tracks. When you got there, you saw Peter coming out of the house, your eyes widened as you hid behind a tree hoping that he hadn't seen you, you moved when you heard Lydia's car leave. You ran into the house and saw Derek on the floor, you fell to your knees ignoring the fact that in any other situation you would have taken a second to admire him and shaking his shoulders "Derek!" You called. "You can not be dead, I'm sure you've been through worse." "You might need something a little louder," Deaton suggested making you just as you looked around to see him, he was holding something in his hand and you were out of options so you nodded. You didn't hear anything but Derek did. He was awake within seconds, he looked over at you for a second before looking at the floorboards. "That sound, what was it?" Derek asked as he looked back at Deaton who held up the whistle in his hands, he rolled his eyes before touching his arm. "Don't worry. You're still an Alpha, not a particularly competent one." Deaton said "Where is he?" He asked. "I don't know," Deaton answered. "Then why don't you tell me why you're helping me?" He asked as he stood up. "Helping your family used to be pretty important to me." Deaton answered "Helping you was a promise I made to your mother." "You're the one my sister told me about a... Kind of adviser." Derek said. "She was right. And I have some advice that you need to listen to very closely right now. What Peter managed to do doesn't come without a price. He'll be physically weak, so he'll rely on the strength of his intelligence, his cunning. He's gonna come at you, Derek. He'll try to twist his way inside your head, preying on your insecurities. He'll tell you that he's the only way you can stop Gerard. Do not trust him." Deaton warned. "I don't trust anyone," Derek said and you rolled your eyes. "Edgy much?" You muttered to yourself which he of course heard. "I know. If you did, you might be the Alpha you like to think you are. And unfortunately, the one person you should trust doesn't trust you at all." Deaton explained. "Scott." Derek sighed. "He's with Stilinski right now. You need to find him, you need to find him as fast as you can. I've known Gerard for a long time. He always has a plan. Something tells me - it's going exactly the way he wants it to." Deaton answered.

You had been with Scott and Matt when the Argents started shooting, you had hidden under one of the tables, hands pressed against your eyes as you tried to stay hidden, the smoke helped and all the noise stopped the Kanima from coming back to find you, you don't actually know how long you were there for before someone crouched in front of you, they grabbed your wrist and you pushed away from them, your eyes opening for a second and catching that it was Derek, he gestured for you to come out "What are you doing back here, they'll kill you if they find you." You scolded him and he rolled his eyes before picking up. "Well, I'm not leaving you here." He muttered as he pressed your face to his shoulder "Keep your head down." It only took a couple of minutes for Derek to get you out  "Are you okay?" "I think so." You answered as he put you on the ground. "Wait here until everything is over." He said and you looked at him and nodded. When you finally got home that night, you didn't know what to do with yourself, you paced for a second before you were sitting on your bed, hands ran through your hair before you pressed the heel of your palm to your eyes in an attempt to stop yourself from crying. You looked up at your window when you heard it open but a second later Derek was in your room. "What are you doing here?" You asked wiping at your eyes but he just walked over and sat next to you pulling you into his side. "I wasn't going to come in but I think you need someone." He said softly and that was all it took for you to cry wrapping your arms around him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Everything was fine for a couple of days Derek came to see you and make sure that you were okay but then everything changed after he tried to kill Jackson, you stopped talking to him, you started locking your window and made an effort to be with Scott and Stiles and never being out late, that is until everything started up again and a pack of Alphas made their way into Beacon Hills and you knew that you were going to have to see him again "so are you going to tell me what happened between you and Derek?" Stiles asked as he walked into your room and walked over to your laptop. "What are you doing?" You asked. "I ran out of ink. I need your printer." He answered, "now answer my question." "Nothing happened between us." You shrugged. "So he didn't sneak into your room almost every night?" He asked you opened your mouth to lie but instead decided against it "How did you know?" You asked. "Scott could smell him on you." He answered. "Right." You nodded "well don't worry we haven't spoken since he tried to kill Jackson." "Maybe you should talk to him," Stiles suggested. The truth was that Stiles had been to see Derek with Scott to ask about the tattoo and he realised that for a few seconds he watched the door waiting for something, he was waiting for you. "What are you doing anyway?" You asked. "We found out where Boyd and Erika were being held." He answered. "So you're going to get them?" You asked. "Yeah." He nodded. "You don't need help?" You asked. "You wanna help?" He asked. "Well, I can't just sit around and do nothing." You shrugged.

The truth was the reason that you had never gone to see him was because you knew the moment that you looked at him you were going to forgive him and you had been right, you could feel him looking at you as Stiles talked "concentrate, we'll talk later." You said lowly knowing that he would hear you from your place on the sofa. "I'm thinking a diamond bit," Stiles said and you rolled your eyes. "Stiles you don't need a drill." You informed him and he looked back at you. "Sorry what?" He asked. "I'm sure the Alpha werewolf can punch through a wall." You said. "She's right." Derek agreed. "You're gonna punch through the wall?" Stiles asked. "Okay, okay, big guy. Let's see it. Let's see that fist. Big, old fist. Make it, come on. Get it out there. Don't be scared. Big, bad wolf. Yeah, look at that. Okay, see this? That's maybe 3 inches of room to gather enough force to punch through solid co..." Derek punched him and he doubled over in pain "he can do it." Stiles fell away from Derek and Scott and towards you. "Walk it off, big brother." You muttered as you clapped his shoulder and directed him back to the desk where the plans were. "try to remember that two of them combine bodies to form one giant Alpha. I'm sure Erica and Boyd were sweet kids. They're gonna be missed." You heard Peter say. "Can someone kill him again please?" Stiles asked. "What about you?" Derek asked as he looked at Scott. "If you want me to come-" "You're not going!" and "Not you!" Said at the same time yours and Derek's voices overlapping and cutting off your brother as he realised the question was directed at Scott.

When Derek came back the next morning his heart warmed at what he found, you were still on the sofa where he'd left you before, he walked over and crouched in front of you, he gently shook you away and it took a moment but you shot up eyes widening "what happened?" You asked. "Nothing, I'm fine don't worry." He said softly. "What are you still doing here?" You're going to be late for school." He said. "I promised we would talk." You reminded him and he nodded. "I'm sorry for avoiding you and basically cutting you out of my life, I just didn't know what to do after everything that happened I was scared that you... didn't need me anymore or that you didn't want me anymore and-" He cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips. "I will always need you and I will never stop wanting you." He promised. "I'm sorry about everything with Jackson and I know that's not enough but I promise nothing like that will ever happen again."

*Part 2*

Requests and general question!

[harringrovetrashrat]

The Gobbler II: The Witching Hour

Harringrove Big Bang 2021 is here!!! A huge thanks to @harringrovebigbang for organizing this!  Also a huge thanks to my team, @monsdasarah and @catharrington, who did the art and moodboard, respectively.

But without further ado, here we go.  The Gobbler II.  Time to get cracky.

Steve wasn’t counting the days until the full moon. He wasn’t.

Fine, he was. He was thinking about Billy at pretty much every chance he got. Because, while the blow job had been fucking mind blowing, Billy was… Billy had insisted on them hanging out some, going over rules and such, as well as sharing emergency information should anything happen while Billy wasn’t in control. And Billy was funny. He was smart. He was an asshole.

Check, check, check. Each box for Steve’s Horny/Falling Deeply in Love list had been checked and Steve was struggling. He could deal with Billy being hot, a lot of people were hot, and Steve could get over that. Hell, he’d thought Robin was hot until she very kindly turned him down. But the problem was that Billy wasn’t just hot. Steve liked him. Liked him, liked him. Third grade schoolyard liked him. Because while Billy was snarky and rude and a total dick when he wanted to be, Steve could tell he had a good heart. He saw it in the care Billy took with him regarding everything with The Gobbler. Saw it when Billy mentioned his sister and his eyes softened, even if he called her a shitbird. Hell, Steve watched Billy step over an ant hill instead of on it and his knees went weak.

He was fucked and he knew it.

“I still don’t know,” Robin said, brow furrowed with worry. Steve was finishing up the garlands she needed, weaving together the hay and wheat so flowers could be intertwined safely without fear of them falling out. He sighed and set down the garland before stretching out his fingers.

“Robin--”

“I know, I know,” she said, cutting him off with a sigh as she paced back and forth in the living room while he worked. “But I don’t fucking trust him! And while I’m glad you won’t be traversing the woods--” She cut herself off, eyes narrowing. “You’re both staying inside, yeah? You’re not planning on going looking for it are you?” Steve rolled his eyes.

“We aren’t going to look for The Gobbler in the woods. We won’t even look at the woods.” Steve felt bad, just a bit, when Robin visibly calmed from the reaffirmation, though she did continue to pace. He knew she was just worried about him, but still. He did know what he was doing. Mostly. Enough. Steve stood and wiped off his hands before halting her movements by pulling her into a hug. “I know you’re worried,” he mumbled into her hair. He pulled back, giving her a smile. “But seriously. It’s gonna be okay. I know you don’t trust him, but do you trust me?” Robin scoffed, rolling her eyes a little with a small, fond smile. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“I was gonna say,” she replied with a smirk. “You don’t exactly have the best track record.” She let out a sigh, enough nervous energy finally leaving her body for her to plop onto the couch. “But I get it. I know you won’t let him do anything you don’t like, but I just… Something is… off.” She shook her head as Steve looked away, choosing to go back to finishing the garland instead of responding. Robin was right, and while Steve wasn’t a bad liar by any means, she knew him too well. Robin looked. She listened. She saw his nervous tics and heard the words he didn’t say. So instead, he said nothing and finished the garland as she checked through her notebook and made sure everything was accounted for.

By the time Steve finished, Robin was done packing up the rest of her things.

“Hope tonight goes well,” Steve said, giving her another quick, firm hug as they stood in the doorway. He pulled back, grinning wide. “Say hi to Heather for me,” he said sweetly, getting a shove from Robin as her face turned red.

“Oh my god,” she groaned. “Shut up!” Still, she smiled, and gave Steve a softer, more playful shove. “Have a good night. Don’t stink up the house with your boy fumes.” Steve snorted and shook his head.

“Billy and I both smell great, thank you.” Robin rolled her eyes and headed out, hopping onto her bike and waving one last time as she rode off. Steve waved until he could no longer see her, sighing happily as he went back in the house. It was only a moment however before he kicked it into overdrive. Steve ran to the living room, shoving everything away. He wanted things to be clean and ready, anything breakable moved out of the way. He had no idea how the night was going to pan out, no idea if Billy would even go for him again. How did the curse even work? Would he need a different dick every month? Would their plan even work?

Steve decided that he didn’t care. That they would figure it out. That he would figure this out, no matter what. Billy acted cool and unbothered, but it was obvious that this curse made him… Unhappy wasn’t the right word, but neither was disgusted. Uncomfortable, maybe? Steve could work it out later; right now, he needed to focus on getting the house Gobbler proofed.

Steve was up and out of his seat in record time when he heard the doorbell ring. He had to stop himself in the entryway and take a few deep breaths. It was probably weird how excited he was. How much he wanted this. But, Steve had a crush, a big one, and he was known to have poor judgement when he was into someone. Steve ran his hand through his hair before finally opening the door.

“I was wondering if you were gonna stand there forever or let me in,” Billy joked as he stepped into the house and brushed Steve’s shoulder with his. Steve flushed as he remembered the stained glass window in the front door, where Billy probably saw him run up and stop. He swallowed his embarrassment and followed Billy to the living room. While he had been over a few times, they usually had met up at Billy’s place. Robin’s distrust of Billy made him nervous, put him on edge, so he didn’t like coming to Steve’s often. Which sucked. But today Billy was here. He was here and he was standing in Steve’s living room, looking around with a small smile. “You and Buckley decorate like fucking grandmas,” he said, turning to give Steve a teasing smile, tongue caught between his teeth. It made Steve’s heart stutter.

Yeah, he was royally fucked. This was probably the worst idea he’d ever had.

He was still gonna do it.

“You should do an open mic, really, with all those zingers,” Steve replied. Billy cackled and Steve smirked back. “C’mon. We can come back down here to order pizza and put on something, but I, uh,” he faltered, turning a little red. “I figure you can put your bag in my room?” His nerves made it sound like a question, but he wasn’t the only one feeling a little funny about it, since Billy also went red. He blushed down his neck and Steve wondered how far down it went. To his collarbone? His nips? Steve cleared his throat and gestured to the stairs, leading Billy up silently.

“It’s a nice house,” Billy said quietly, breaking through the tension. “Grandma accents aside.” Steve snorted and opened the door to his room, suddenly anxious for Billy to like it. He had plants on plants, pots on every shelf, every nook, every cranny. Herbs lined his window sill, along with a few succulents. Steve loved plants. Loved the energy they brought. His parents had hated how he had loved to be in the dirt, to feel the magic of earth and nurse it, keep it thriving and strong. They were white magic users, full of spectacle and grace. Steve, well, wasn’t.

The rest of his room was somewhat bland, lots of greens and blues, the wood of his bed frame and desk a nice light brown. Billy looked around, eyes a little wide, setting his bag on Steve’s made bed. His room was cluttered, but organized, and Billy seemed amused at all the little knick knacks Steve had.

“Wow,” Billy breathed. “I don’t know why but I expected more plaid.”

“I don’t know whether to take offense to that or not,” Steve replied with a grin. Billy shrugged, his smile easy going.

“Your choice.” Billy went to the window, looking out at the garden in the backyard. “I’m gonna assume you’re the one who did the garden too?” Steve joined him by the window, looking down.

“Kind of. I do a lot of the gardening, but Robin helps a lot. We like to have native species of plants, and I hate nettles, so she’s the one who deals with them.” It was nice, talking to Billy. He seemed genuinely curious to know Steve and he hadn’t had anyone this interested in him since school, when he still reaped the benefits that came from his last name.

“Native species?” Billy asked, turning to Steve.

“Oh, I could go on for hours, you don’t want--” Steve began, face flushing.

“Dude,” Billy said, huffing slightly as he turned to face Steve more. “I like hearing what you have to say, okay? You don’t gotta censor yourself for me.” And there it was. The soft nougaty bit of Billy Hargrove that made Steve feel soft and squishy and seen.

“Well, why don’t we order the pizza and then we can talk?” Steve asked. He wanted to get out of his room before he shoved Billy onto the bed here and now. Steve had an inkling that Billy felt the same, but he was incredibly nervous that he was just reading too much into the situation. So instead of facing his feelings like an adult, Steve turned and headed downstairs, hearing Billy’s heavier footsteps behind him. He grabbed the phone out of the cradle, punching in the phone number for the best pizza place in town. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“Pineapple and onion. I can do ham or no ham.” Billy said it casually, like he hadn’t just spouted out the most disgusting combo Steve had ever heard.

“Oh, dude, I dunno. That’s crossing a damn line--” Steve began, aghast at the idea of pineapple on pizza, much less paired with onion.

“It’s good!” Billy protested with a pout. “Listen, order a medium one and then whatever your dainty tastebuds want. You’re gonna try it and I know you’re gonna like it.” Steve gave him a blank look, unimpressed and unconvinced. Billy just crossed his arms and raised a brow, tilting his head. Steve sighed and when Benny picked up the phone, he ordered.

When the pizzas arrived (pineapple and onion for Billy, while Steve got the olives and green peppers), Billy sat Steve down on the couch, handed him a slice, and sat on the coffee table, staring intently. Steve eyed the pizza, then Billy, then the pizza again.

“Trust me,” Billy said. “It’s good.” Steve sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically before daintily going in for a bite. “That’s a fucking nibble, get some of all of it, asshole.” Steve shot Billy an exasperated look, but he did take a real bite. And… Fuck. That smug asshole was right. The acidity and tart sweetness of the pineapple paired well with the sweet onion and the acidity of the tomato sauce. It was savory and sweet, with some good crunch, and Steve couldn’t help his surprised groan, staring at the pizza in shock. Billy made a choked noise and Steve looked at him, eyes wide.

“It is good,” Steve replied, taking another bite. Billy’s face was flushed, but Steve didn’t pay much attention, snarfing up his slice quickly.

“Told you,” Billy said, grin wide and proud. “It’s good shit. I know my food, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said through his mouthful of pizza. “You win this one, Blue.” At that, Billy paused, giving Steve a confused but curious look.

“Blue?” Steve blushed and realized he’d never actually said that nickname out loud before. Not in real life, at least.

“Yeah, uh, like your uh, your eyes,” Steve stammered out. Billy looked at him, silent, looking torn about something. Finally, his face settled and he snorted, shaking his head.

“Should I call you Brown?” Billy asked, snatching up a slice for himself. Steve fake gagged.

“Oh god no, please don’t.”

“Sure thing, Brown Eyes.”

“Billy, I literally said--”

“You said not to call you Brown. This is different.” Steve groaned while Billy smirked around the string of cheese connecting his lips to the pizza. They continued to joke around while they ate, Billy flinging the olives off his slices, like they had personally offended him. Eventually though, it was starting to get dark. Steve could see the tension and stress building inside Billy as the night went forward, inching closer and closer to the peak of the moon.

“Do you know when it’ll happen?” Steve asked. The pizza boxes had been broken down and put into the compost bin, all the leftovers wrapped in foil and put away. The sun had set and the only light in the house was from the multiple lamps Steve had. Billy had been subdued for the last hour, getting lost in his head. Steve knew because he did the same thing. “Just, like, is it a set time or does it depend on the season?”

“9 PM,” Billy replied softly, his earlier mirth replaced with concern and anxiety. “You don’t have to do this. You really don’t.” They’d had this talk multiple times, but Steve could see the weight on Billy’s shoulders. He knew how it felt to feel like a burden, so he reached out and took Billy’s hand.

“Maybe we met in some weird ways, but you’re my friend.” Billy looked at him, eyes shining a bit. “I wanna help you with this, and if we have a way to keep you inside and distracted all night? Why wouldn’t we?”

“But--”

“You aren’t forcing me into anything, Billy. This is a choice I am making. Clear headed and sure.” Billy visibly relaxed, sagging a little. Steve kept hold of Billy’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You wanna go up to my room?” Billy went red at that, flushing down his neck again.

“Yeah.” They walked up in relative silence, tension creeping again, but this time it was different. Steve felt electricity on his skin, felt heat curl in his belly. Billy sat on the edge of Steve’s bed, already looking out of it. “You can strip and leave your clothes on the dresser if you want,” Steve suggested. Billy just nodded, standing up. He stripped slowly, turning his back to Steve like they weren’t about to have sex. Still, Steve let Billy have his privacy. He did catch a glimpse of Billy’s ass, toned and tight, and he licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry and sticky.

“Thank you,” Billy whispered, and if it hadn’t been so quiet in the room, Steve wasn’t sure he would have heard him. Steve nodded, reaching behind him to find Billy’s hand and squeeze. There was a sharp intake of breath and a squeeze back. Looking back at the clock on his nightstand it said 8:59. Steve very suddenly was hit with the vivid memory of his torn jeans last time, and he scrambled to get out of his clothes.

“Shit!” Steve hissed. “God damn it!” He was nearly tripping out of his pants when he heard a low growl start from behind him. He paused, hairs standing on end in anticipation. He knew it was Billy but there was something so different about the timber of the noise. Steve turned to look behind him and Billy was standing there, head hung, hair gone limp, staring at Steve from under his brow. It sent a shiver through Steve, right to his dick. “Hey there,” he said, voice shaky. The Gobbler staggered forward, looking out of depth in these surroundings.

“Schm...eat…?” Steve let out a puff of breath, nervous laughter bubbling in his throat.

“Schmeat,” Steve replied with a nod. It was like flipping a switch. One moment, he was Billy, nervous and and ansty, the next, he was The Gobbler. It showed in the way he seemed to have a singular drive, a singular purpose. The way he heard Steve’s confirmation and everything else seemed to leave The Gobbler’s mind except getting Steve laid out. Strong arms hoisted him up and Steve let out a small squeak of air. “The bed! Put me on the bed!” He said, since The Gobbler was eyeing the window. He landed on the mattress with an oof, looking up as The Gobbler crawled on top of him. It was quick, a blink and he was above Steve.

“Schmeat. Hole.” Steve’s brows shot up.

“Hole? I thought you just sucked?” Did Billy-- The Gobbler wanna fuck him? Like, he definitely wasn’t against that, but he thought Billy had mentioned it was more an oral craving that anything else. The Gobbler growled again, moving down to nose at Steve’s balls. “Oh, shit,” Steve gasped. That was fast. He could feel drool dripping onto his groin and, while he was already getting hard, the process went a little quicker at the feeling.

“Hole,” The Gobbler repeated, more insistent this time.

“Okay?” Steve replied, because he really didn’t--

And then he was suddenly flipped over, face down, ass up, with his cheeks spread, saliva dripping down his crack.

“Oh,” Steve gasped. That’s what he meant. The warm spit cooled in the air of the room, sending a shudder up Steve’s spine. He grunted, arching his back a little. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed out. It ended in a choked off stutter when he felt a wet, hot tongue drag itself over his hole. He could feel the rumble as The Gobbler growled once again, this one less aggressive and more lustful. “That all big guy?” Steve teased, honestly a little desperate to feel more. “C’mon, go at--” Steve cried out when he felt lips against his hole, sucking the skin. “Ohmygodohmygod,” Steve chanted, suddenly painfully erect. He hadn’t been expecting that at all and holy shit did it feel good.

Steve’s reactions were paid no mind as The Gobbler pressed his face into Steve’s ass, a low moan rumbling from his chest. He was salivating, spit already dribbling down Steve’s taint to his balls. He sucked at Steve’s hole, leaving a hickey just to the right of it. Steve keened, dick already starting to leak. Apparently, they weren’t wasting any time today. The Gobbler slurped up his drool, lapping at Steve’s hole, which was already starting to look red and puffy. Steve gripped the sheets, holding on for the ride as The Gobbler’s tongue started making long broad strokes up his crack. Each lick was hot and wet and left Steve shaking. He could feel sweat beading at his temples and on his back. There was a grunt and Steve’s hips were shifted, ass tilted up more. The sting of the burn from the mustache grazing across his skin paired so perfectly with the soft velvet of the tongue soothing over it. Steve’s mind was already fogging over, eyes going a little hazy.

“Shit,” he murmured into his pillow, each stroke of the tongue pulling tiny gasps and moans from him. The sounds alone drove him wild and Steve wished he could grab his dick and stroke, but honestly he had no idea if he would be allowed. Wondered too if he could cum just from this. It was looking quite likely. Especially as The Gobbler started wiggling his tongue inside him, licking into his hole desperately. Steve was loosening up, but apparently it wasn’t enough, seeing as there was a whine from behind him and a nose pushing even harder into his crack. The wiggling was teasing and light, a steady pressure that was driving Steve a little mad. He pushed back, a whimper escaping his lips and fuck, there. He could feel the tongue wiggle in just a little farther as he pushed back, getting another moan from behind him. “Yeah, yeah, fuck,” Steve moaned, starting to steadily roll his hips back against The Gobbler’s face. The hands on his cheeks gripped a little tighter, maybe even enough to bruise. Steve selfishly hoped so.

The Gobbler began to fuck Steve with his tongue, each thrust opening Steve up more and more. He could feel spit dribbling down his crack, down his balls, dripping onto the sheets. His dick was hard, so fucking hard, and Steve tilted his head to look down. There were tiny globs and strings of pre coming from his cock, leaving a small growing stain on the sheets as well. Steve was definitely gonna have to do some laundry after this.

With harsh, heavy breaths, The Gobbler finally pulled back. Already Steve had a poor sense of time, and with his brain steadily melting into a pile of warm, blissed out goo, he had no idea how long The Gobbler had been eating his ass. Like it was his last meal and he was a starving man. Steve couldn’t help the desperate whine that escaped his throat, or the way his ass pushed back, seeking that hot tongue. He jerked when there was cool air blown onto his hole. The Gobbler switched between blowing on the cooling spit dripping down Steve’s taint and his now red and loose asshole. It made Steve shake, made his thighs tremble as sounds were pulled out from deep inside his chest ah, ah, ah. It had him gritting his teeth and clutching the sheets so tightly his knuckles were white. Teeth grazed along the meat of his ass, gently nipping at the skin and making Steve jerk forward with each light sting of teeth. The Gobbler started to suck, marking up Steve’s ass with his mouth like he didn’t know any other way to do it.

Not that Steve was complaining. Like, at all. His ass was probably gonna give him plenty of trouble tomorrow, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. Not when this felt so good. He gasped, sweat dripping down his face and onto the pillow below him as The Gobbler dove in again. Steve’s hands twisted in the sheets, moans practically leaking from his throat at the tongue wiggling it’s way into his asshole again. He was so loose, and just from his tongue. Even the thought made him shudder as more precome leaked from his dick, adding to the stain already spreading on the sheets. When The Gobbler pulled away for air, Steve could feel his asshole flutter, desperate for something to fill it again. He actually yelled when suddenly there was a finger pushing into him. It paused, hesitant, and Steve pushed back against it, hips moving as he fucked himself. A glob of spit slid down his crack and the finger pushed it inside him.

“Oh god,” Steve cried out, feeling his balls start to tighten. “Oh god, oh god, oh god--” And suddenly a hand clamped around the base of his dick, keeping him from cumming. Steve whined, loud and long, starting to turn over and push himself up.

“Mine!” The Gobbler snarled and pressed against his back, pushing him down into the mattress. Steve inhaled sharply as his finger shoved in farther, curling it up as he pulled it out.

“Fuck!” Steve screamed, unable to cum but feeling so fucking desperate. “B-Billy! Please!” He didn’t even really register that he’d called him Billy. Didn’t feel the desperation in the way the second finger pushed in, a little early. But Steve just made a low sound of pleasure, relishing in the burn of the stretch. It was the perfect amount to accentuate the pleasure without overpowering it.

The Gobbler panted into Steve’s ear and he could feel the drool dripping down onto the junction of his neck and shoulder. It shouldn’t have been so hot. Steve shuddered, feeling The Gobbler’s erection grazing against his ass cheek. He wanted it at least between his cheeks if it wasn’t gonna go inside. But The Gobbler didn’t even seem concerned with his own erection, just with touching Steve. He mouthed at Steve’s neck and between his shoulder blades, fingering Steve slowly. The tenderness of the kisses and the changed pace altered the feeling completely, and suddenly it was intimate. The pads of The Gobbler’s fingers massaged his prostate and Steve’s back arched. His hair was nearly wet with sweat, the whole room reeking of musk and sex. Goosebumps pebbled his skin as a shock went through him, the world focused to the sheets below him and Billy, The Gobbler, pressed up close behind him. The Gobbler took his fingers out slowly, pulling back. Steve whined, arm reaching out behind him. But instead, hands grabbed his hips and helped turn him over.

Hair splayed out around him, sheets mussed and wrinkled from being twisted and wrenched tight in his fists, Steve lay there, gazing up at The Gobbler. He hovered above him, hair draping down and shadowing his face. Still, his eyes shone bright, staring into Steve’s so intensely it made his dick leak. It was angry and red, throbbing as it bobbed, nothing giving him enough satisfaction to come. The Gobbler grinned, ducking down to suck one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth. Steve arched into it, hand gripping the back of his head. The Gobbler groaned, low and rumbling, hips rolling and his hard cock smeared pre along the vee of Steve’s hips. Steve was mush. Utter mush. His face was flushed and his eyes were glazed as The Gobbler went down, down, down and finally took Steve’s aching dick into his mouth. With one hard, wet suck, The Gobbler’s head bobbing only one time, Steve came with a shout that stuttered into silence. He came so hard his vision went white for a second. The Gobbler swallowed around him, drool mixed with jizz leaking from the corners of his mouth as he humped the sheets, fast and ruthless. Steve’s toes curled and his legs spasmed, knees tightening around The Gobbler’s ribs.

There was a loud slurp and a smack as The Gobbler pulled off Steve’s dick, letting it flop onto his groin, wet, shiny and softening. He swallowed audibly, letting out a moan as he came into the sheets, damp with sweat and drool. Steve watched him through half lidded eyes, watching as Billy blinked away the remains of The Gobbler. Steve smiled as his favorite pair of blue eyes turned to him, staring at him in awe. He wasn’t sure what other emotions he was seeing; he was too tired to discern much.

“You have got one hell of a tongue,” Steve slurred out. Billy continued to stare at him, eyes wide.

“You… You said my name,” he stammered out. Steve blinked at him, honestly drained and finding it hard to figure out just what Billy meant. And then, as sleep overtook him, it clicked. Fuck.

Steve woke up with a jolt and a sharp inhale. He blinked, looking out his window where the sky was still dark. He sat up, already starting to feel how sore his ass was. Billy must have gone ham on the biting and stubble rubbing, because he felt kinda raw. A good raw though, something that made him smile a bit at each tiny twing.

Then Steve remembered that he had actually shown his whole ass by moaning Billy’s name and a chill went down his spine. Billy wasn’t in the room, wasn’t on the bed, but Steve saw that his jeans were still on the floor, and it made him relax a bit. He got up, tossing on an old shirt and some sweats, before making his way downstairs quietly. The clock read 4:45, so Steve had definitely conked out deeply after he came. Billy wasn’t in the kitchen, but when Steve went into the living room, he saw Billy sitting by the window in the large armchair. He was resting his chin on his fist, just staring at the forest behind the house, lost in his thoughts. He had a glass of water on the table next to him, and didn’t look upset, so Steve took that as a good sign to start. He was quiet as he walked closer, pausing when Billy sighed heavily.

“I can hear you thinking from there, Steve,” Billy said quietly, without any heat.

“Sorry,” Steve replied on reflex. He sat down on the couch, watching as Billy continued to gaze out the window. “I--”

“Why did you say my name,” Billy asked, voice quiet and unsure. Steve looked down at his hands, pulling and tugging at each other as he wrung them together. He didn’t know quite what to say. It would have been weird to call out Gobbler, but he knew what Billy meant. In fact, was kinda shocked he even remembered.

“I… I mean, it won’t change my answer either way, and I don’t mean it as like-- Fuck,” Steve grumbled, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “How do you remember that? I thought--”

“I get… Bits. Not everything. I’m able to remember small things and feelings and small clips, but mostly it’s hazy. I can’t piece it all together. But,” Billy took a breath, deep and bracing. “I didn’t imagine that part, did I?” His voice was calm and unannoyed, but Steve still felt his stomach wriggling around inside him.

“No. You didn’t. I… Billy, I’m selfish,” Steve began, words coming out on a shaky breath. But this needed to be said. And he needed to apologize. “The first time this happened I mean… I hadn’t gotten laid in ages and you were hot and so it worked out. But this… time I--”

“Steve--” Billy said, voice laced with hurt and curiosity.

“Please,” Steve got out, cutting Billy off. “Let me. Let me say it all and then we can. We can talk.” Steve sniffed, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs. “This past month getting to know you has been so incredible. You’re a smart guy, just enough of an asshole, and you… You listen to me. And you care. The first thing you were concerned about last month was me, even though you’re under a spell forced to do a bunch of weird shit! Me! You were concerned about me!” Steve could feel Billy watching him, but eye contact would make his throat close up and maybe make him vomit, so he kept them at the table. “I know we don’t know each other super well -- I mean, it’s only been a month -- but I… You’re an interesting person and I fucking like you. I like you so much, Billy. All of you. Seriously.” Steve let out a long breath, closing his eyes to focus on getting the lump in his throat small enough that he could talk. “You need someone to help you and I… I’m too selfish to say no, even though I should because you--”

“Fucking christ, Steve,” Billy said, voice closer than it should be. Steve’s head snapped up and Billy was across the coffee table, leaning forward and bracing himself as he gazed at Steve. He didn’t look mad, didn’t look annoyed. Looked more fond than anything else and Steve felt his stomach do flips that were more along the neutral vein than flips that felt like he was about to start weeping. “You gotta let me get a word in.” Steve looked away again, apology ready to tumble from his lips, but Billy’s hand came and tilted his chin up, making him lose all ability to form thoughts, much less words. “Just to, yanno, condense all that, you said my name because you… you wanted it to be me?” Steve nodded, feeling his cheeks heat up. But when Billy smiled, relieved and excited and hopeful… It was so bright and overwhelming, Steve’s heart started fluttering, all of his insides squirming in joy and delight. “I’ve been so fucking worried. Because I really thought you were just… Humoring me. That this was you feeling like you maybe had to, or just to get some dick while you could--”

“I would never--” Steve began, horrified at the idea of using this against Billy.

“I know,” Billy replied gently, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. “I know. It’s happened enough before I was worried I was being swayed into some false sense of security, but,” Billy let out a huffy laugh, smile going soft, “But this is just you. You’re just like this.”

“Like what?” Steve asked, unable to raise his voice above a whisper as he looked at Billy. Took in everything about him in the soft light of the moon. There was a shift in the air, something beautiful and new coming into fruition. Magic fluttered around them, Steve could feel it, bright and eager. It made the house feel warmer, feel fuller, and Steve’s breaths started coming in a little heavier. It took more energy to pull it in, but it was filling and exciting, making his skin tingle and thrum. His fingers itched to run over Billy’s skin. Which, come to think of it, he could do.

“Kind. Good. Silly.” Billy listed, pupils dilating as he moved around the coffee table, hand never leaving Steve’s face. Steve was grateful, unsure he could handle the feeling of loss if Billy had stopped touching him. As Billy sat, Steve’s hand came to settle at the small of Billy’s back, fire sparking in his gut and heart as their skin touched. Billy’s breath came in shaky, stuttering, and Steve leaned closer, their foreheads touching. “When you’re as hot as I am,” and some of the tensions eased at that, a snort escaping Steve before he could stop it, the magic shifting from something waiting for a spark to something more grounded. The feeling of hearth and home. “Yeah yeah,” Billy replied with a grin, “I know, I know. But really. People… Don’t see the person behind the abs.” It was silly, but Steve understood what he meant. Understood the struggle of people not just being blind to the person inside the body, but refusing to look beyond what they saw. “So thank you. For not being like everyone else.” Billy kissed him then and--

Steve was a witch, had been born into magic and felt it thrumming inside him. He’d been open to magic all his life, had felt the shift in magic during the change of the seasons, had done spells that had filled the room with power. Steve had seen amazing feats and more, but this kiss sent something through him. Something strong and vibrant and like nothing he’d ever felt. A crashing wave of signals and comments from the Earth and the magic within. He was overwhelmed with everything that coursed through him from the chaste kiss, hand pressing Billy closer as he tilted his head, mouth opening slowly. The kiss wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t hot and heavy. But it made Steve’s skin prickle with goosebumps, made his heart race and his lungs squeeze. He pressed closer, feeling Billy’s hand drop from his cheek to his shoulder, thumb brushing over his collar bone. It was a languid kiss, drawn out between a drag of the tongue, a light bite, the shared breaths between them.

When Billy finally pulled back, Steve knew his cheeks were flushed and he was panting just a little. It would have been embarrassing if Billy wasn’t also blushing, all the way down to his chest.

“I think,” Steve said, trying to catch his breath. “I think that we should go on a real date.” Billy’s laugh was bright in response, his head falling to rest at the junction of Steve’s neck and shoulder.

“Of course,” he breathed out. “Of course that’s what you’d say first.” Before Steve could even pretend to be offended, Billy kissed his neck, soft and sweet, his mustache dragging along Steve’s skin just a bit. “I’d love that. I’d love that a lot. But maybe we should get some sleep first, Brown Eyes.” Steve could feel the energy draining out of Billy now that the air had been cleared, and sleep started to tug at him as well. Even as he rolled his eyes at Billy’s simple nickname. However, he would have been lying had he said it didn’t thrill him and make his insides flutter.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Steve said in agreement. They moved together, hands still grabbing gently at each other, both of them unable to separate for long, if at all. It was like the truth had magnetized them and they just couldn’t fight the need to connect. They fell into the bed, smiling and warm and excited, ready for what this change would do for them.

As much as Steve wanted a languid morning filled with slow kisses and gentle touches in the lazy morning sun, Billy had places to be. Specifically, helping his sister Max.

“She’s moving in with her boyfriend, finally,” Billy replied when Steve asked, mouth full of egg and toast. It should have been gross, but Steve only found it endearing. “I won’t say I think it’s their best idea, but they’re at least keeping separate rooms. I know Max needs her own space.” Steve nodded, using the corner of his toast to burst the yolk of his fried egg.

“It’s good of you to help out,” Steve said, dipping his toast into the yolk as he cut through the egg with the edge of his fork.

“More like it’s required because I missed helping her move into her last place. Not like I was fucking sick or anything.” He set down his fork, plate already clean, before downing the coffee in the mug before him. “Sorry to eat and go, I would really rather stay here and--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Steve said with a chuckle. He was also eager to talk more about them, but promises made were promises kept. “We have plenty of time, yeah? I mean, you can always come back here later,” Steve purred, thrilling a bit when Billy’s cheeks flushed.

“Don’t tempt me or I won’t leave,” Billy said, standing and leaning down to cup Steve’s cheek, kissing him lightly.

“That a promise?” They were distracted by the door opening, separating slowly. Robin came in as Billy was leaving the kitchen, both of them awkwardly giving the other space while pretending they weren’t doing just that. “How’d it go?”

“We’ll see this winter,” Robin replied, snatching the last bit of his egg between her fingers and quickly shoving it into her mouth.

“Hey!”

“Snooze you lose, dingus,” she said with a grin. “Last night go...okay? Anything happen?” She searched his eyes for any hint of deception and, for once, Steve wasn’t really worried about what she’d find.

“Kind of?” Steve said, mouth tugging into a smile. Robin furrowed her brow. “Nothing bad, seriously, all good things.”

“Steve?” Billy asked, knocking on the door frame. Steve stood and went over, leaning in close. “I gotta head out, but I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Sounds good, Blue,” Steve replied. Billy just smiled, eyes darting to Robin for a moment before he ducked in for a kiss.

“Catch ya later, Brown Eyes,” Billy replied as he headed out the door. Steve rolle dhis eyes, but really couldn’t help the smile on his face. Billy left with a wave and wink, disappearing into his car, and leaving Steve feeling smitten on the doorstep. He watched Billy’s car go, jumping when Robin’s voice came from right behind him.

“So that’s what happened, huh?” She asked, voice lightly amused. Steve blushed and shut the door, turning to give her a sheepish look.

“I did say it wasn’t bad.” When Robin didn’t reply with a quip, Steve paused, smile freezing on his face. “Rob?”

“I’m happy for you, Steve, really, I am,” she said, and Steve could hear the ‘but…’ coming from a mile away. “But I still think you need to be careful.”

“Robin, please--”

“It’s not about me trusting him this time.” Steve looked up at that, curious. “It’s because… Steve. I’ve only seen you this smitten with one other person in my life, and that was Nancy.” That. That made Steve freeze. He’d loved Nancy fiercely, too fiercely, and had been utterly smashed when she’d broken it off. Had been depressed for months. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh.” Steve wasn’t sure how to respond. Because he didn’t think he was that attached yet. Even if the idea of never talking to Billy again made it hard to breathe and made his lungs tighten and made his eyes water--

Oh fuck, Steve thought.

[keilemlucent]

steaming

(r18+)

pro hero! todoroki shouto / reader

ao3

word count: ~3.8k

You and Shouto have been busy as hell and haven't seen each other much, but a 'relaxing' (read: horny) trip to an onsen is sure to remedy any and all lost time

warnings: pro hero shouto, onsen sex (please do not fuck in onsens im begging u please learn etiquette for onsens too), temperature play, a little bit of insecure reader well

this is a piece for the fanfic event yagami yato server i’m apart of! the theme for this month was an onsen getaway so here u go! hope y’all enjoy ;^)

The onsen trip was one that Shouto had been particularly excited about. It was a small place in Akita, far away from the drone of the city that the two of you were both accustomed to. 

Both you and Shouto had been working ridiculously hard the past several months, stretching to your physical and mental limits. It had taken a toll in many areas of your shared lives, but a lot of it was on that quality time the two of you were able to spend together. 

Shouto wasn’t particularly clingy, but he was definitely starting ache for you. It had been far too long since you’d been able to relax as a couple. A weekend onsen getaway seemed like the perfect opportunity for both of you to unwind and spend some quality time together. 

Shouto tended to go... overboard. Mostly due to the fact that though he was perceptive, he was also somewhat dense. You’d gotten fairly flustered when Shouto dropped that he reserved the entire resort for the two of you. It was small and family-run to begin with, but still. It felt a little excessive, but part of you was relieved that no public, prying eyes would disturb the two of you.

When the two of you arrived, the resort was surrounded by pretty autumn leaves, all orange and yellow hues that stretched through the rolling hills. 

It was overly relaxing, almost. 

By the time the two of you were able to check-in and settle down, the sun had already begun to set low in the sky. 

You dropped down on the futon in your somewhat small room. The day of traveling had worn you down, leaving a bit of sleepy haze clouding your mind.

“Baby?” Shouto flopped down beside you, pulling you close and burying his nose in your hair. “Are you feeling alright?”

You hummed, nodding, “Yeah, just a bit tired. Do you want to try out the hot springs tonight or wait until tomorrow and get some rest now?”

Based on the way Shouto let out a rolling, deep chuckle, getting ‘rest’ was unlikely, “Let’s try them tonight, hm? Get some of that stress out of your shoulders.”

As if to emphasize the point, Shouto’s lithe hands went to rub at the stiff muscles. You could only press into his touch, practically purring.

One of the cheekier parts of this trip was that the onsen Shouto specifically rented allowed didn’t have any separation of sex. It was more than acceptable for you and Shouto to share the same pool at the same time. Most of the other exceptions that you and Shouto were sure to need had been... ‘ prepaid for’ (read: Shouto bribed the very nice owners who were sure to be kept up long into the night for several days in a row).

Shouto and you did have to separate for the different lockers room to rinse, but that was hardly an issue. If anything, it was incredibly therapeutic to have a few minutes to yourself before the so-called ‘main event’ of the (long) evening.

Shouto had been remarkably busy with hero work. Being one of the top heroes in Japan had been taking a deep toll on him, even if he was amazing at hiding it. You had been busy as well, far busier than usual. Part of you, a larger part than you wanted to admit, was terrified that you and Shouto’s relationship would fall apart due to sheer lack of contact.

The fact that Shouto had somehow arranged an entire vacation behind your back mostly smoothed that fear over, but one still wondered and worried.

As you rinsed yourself down in the locker room spray, scrubbing your body of any bit of scum and dirt that you could. Perhaps you were taking too long— perhaps it was purposeful.

Because you and Shouto had not done anything sexual in what was, in your book, a considerable length of time. 

It wasn’t intentional, the two of you had clarified before leaving, but it still was the cause of a somewhat unbridled wave of anxiety that you couldn’t escape. 

Old insecurities gnawed at you, fear, its swirling relative. 

This was all magnified by the fact that you’d be very naked with your very attractive partner for the first time in a while.

You gulped, shutting off the spigot and toweling off somewhat. With unsteady legs and a half-covered body, you made your way out to the onsen itself.

As you pulled open the door to the outdoor area, you felt the bite of the wind chill the water droplets still clinging to you.

The unpleasant feeling was washed away rather quickly as you took in the scenery. The area was rocky and mossy, leading to a smaller hot spring, bubbling away with steam rising lazily from its depths. Trees ringed the onsen’s outcrop, obscuring any potential wandering glances. It was all lit by soft, warm, modern-looking stringed-bulbs, wound high above.

The best part, of course, was Shouto looking very smitten with you, as he was already submerged.

“I was wondering where you were,” He laughed so easily, beckoning you by tapping the water. 

You could only muster up a half-assed smile, “Would you believe me if I told you I got cold feet?”

You didn’t see his expression as you turned around to walk into the hot spring, incredibly quickly, after removing your towel. 

(If you had been looking, you would’ve seen Shouto’s eyes widen with your words, water losing steam as his ice side fired subconsciously.)

  Admittedly, the water did feel amazing against your skin. The heat of it curled around your body, seeping in your wound up muscles. You audibly moaned as you fell next to Shouto in the water, leaning your head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around your waist, squeezing under the rolling water. 

A moment of calmness passed, the sounds of flora and fauna echoing off the natural stones and tall trees. 

“What do you mean by cold feet?” Shouto asked, eyes flickering down to meet your own. “

“Nothing bad, dear. It’s just...” Your voice trailed off with the anxiety in your chest spinning. You buried your nose in the muscle of his shoulder, a bit embarrassed. “It’s just been a minute, you know?”

Shouto raised an eyebrow, turning to move directly regard you, “I’m not sure I do.”

“Uh,” You stumbled, giving him a wobbly smile. “It’s just been a minute since we’ve, you know—”

“Had sex?” Shouto finished your sentence with his own teasing smile. 

Your face erupted in red, very obviously not from the hot water you both were submerged in. 

You physically lowered in the water, up to your shoulders, “Yes, had sex, Shouto.”

“Why would that make you anxious?” Shouto asked, mirroring your motion, not to give you guff, but rather comfort. 

“You know—” You paused before answering, eyes watching the light churn of the water as opposed to the Shouto’s incredibly focused gaze, “Just like, dumb insecurity stuff. You don’t need to worry about it, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

That made Shouto frown, rough hands grabbing your hips under the water, “I’m glad you’re here with, very glad, but I’d like to help if I can.”

You bit your lip, focusing on the way Shouto’s thumbs pressed and rubbed idle circles on the meat of your hips, “It’s just been a while, and I get scared that you... you know, will feel differently about me than before. In a bad way.”

Shouto was silent, unspeaking, and thumbs stilled on your skin. You knew him well enough to understand that he wasn’t upset, but rather in thought.

Suddenly, you were being dragged through the water onto Shouto’s lap. You yelped, grabbing his shoulders for stability as you ass settled on his strong thighs. With this arrangement, it was difficult to turn away from him as you had been. It was made even more difficult when Shouto gently grabbed your jaw, holding your face level with his own.

You gulped.

“Though I understand your anxiety,” His free hand massaged the bulk of your thigh. “I can thoroughly tell you its unfounded.”

The next moment, his lips pressed into yours. They were petal-soft, but there was force behind it as he moved against you. You couldn’t moaning against his mouth, hands falling against his chest as you moved ever closer.

Shouto seemed to have similar needs in terms of proximity, hand going to palm you ass beneath the water and pull you nearly chest to chest with him.

You broke away with a sharp breath, wetting your lip. Your eyes darted up to meet Shouto’s own, all blown wide in adoration and lust. He chuckled at you sheepishness, pressing kiss after kiss to your face. He dropped them onto the sweat-slicked skin of your cheeks, nose, chin, forehead, and eventually trailed them to your jaw and neck.

“(Y/N), you’ve given me quite the job to do,” Shouto murmured against the soft skin under your ear. 

You sucked in a harsh breath, nails digging into his shoulders, “Yeah? And what job is that?”

He hummed, suddenly licking a quick strip from your throat to the shell of your ear, leaving you with a sharp bite as he whispered, “I guess I just have to show you how I feel about you, with our time apart.”

The hand that had been cupping your ass moving slowly towards your sex, teasingly. Your hips shifted and the prospect, your need already dialed up with lost time. 

“I do feel differently about you, but it’s only positive, I promise,” Shouto assured you, going back to kissing your neck, going to bite and suck at your collar bones. “I just want you more than before.”

It had been so long since he’d been able to mark you up in the way both of you so enjoyed. One of your hands twisted in his two-toned tresses, crying out as he left a particularly dark mark.

“I missed you so much,” Shouto kissed the words into you, using both hands to half-lift and half-force you higher above the water, still straddling him but lifted up on your knees. Your chest was out of the water, nipples hardening in the autumns chill.

“S-Shouto!” You bit out as he palmed at one of your breasts. “Someone could see us!”

All he did was raise a sly eyebrow at you, blowing frosty breath onto one of your nipples, hardening it, and the droplets of water that clung to your chest. You hissed but quickly were soothed as it melted with the steam of the water below, leaving a tingly numbness dabbled across your chest.

You shuddered as Shouto took in his discovery. 

Temperature play was one of your mutual old favorites.

“I’m not too worried about that,” Shouto peppered your chest with kisses as he spoke, leaving a few dark marks on your breasts. They were sure to ache later, and the thought made you wet.

(Could you be wet? You were underwater—)

Any controversial thoughts you had were quickly seized as Shouto’s hand began to massage the inside of your thigh. You keened in the back of your throat, shuddering as his hand was so fucking cold, despite being surrounded by steaming water.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this, baby?” Shouto kissed the words into your chest. He hummed with what could only be satisfied as you trembled in his lap, nodding. 

“I do,” You sank lower in the water, recovering your chest in the process. It was an easy sacrifice as you could now, far easier, reach between your two bodies and gently grab Shouto’s cock. You rubbed your thumb of its head, loving the way Shouto’s stunning eyes closed in what was near rapture. 

You grinned to yourself, giving your own smattering of kisses to Shouto. Lovebites trailed down his neck, sparing not one of his more sensitive spots. Shaking exhaled breaths and soft grunts fell from his lips so beautifully as his hands trailed up and down your back, fisting in your hair when you found a particularly tender spot.

All the while, you pumped his cock at a somewhat tortuous pace. If he was going to get make you twitch for him every few seconds with his frigid hand, you were only going to give him a bit of satisfaction.

Though, that plan quickly went down the drain when his hand drifted closer to your sex, teasing at the apex of your thighs.

You fizzled out a whine, pressing your slick forehead to Shouto’s, watching the way his eyes opened, dilated pupils regarding you in the same way a man starved would.

“Some options,” Shouto breathed again your lips, dulling the numbing use of his quirk, much to your chagrin. “I can fuck your pretty cunt in this hot spring, or I could fuck you over the side, or I could lay you out on that moss—”

You cut him off with a kiss, loving the small noise that came when his words stuck in his mouth. You drew away with the sweetest smile on your face, “Can I ride you like this?”

Shouto’s matched your grin with his own, kissing the side of your mouth sweetly, “Of course. Once I feel you’re properly prepared. It’s been acknowledged that it has been a while, and I’d hate to hurt you at all.”

“Well, at least on night one,” You smirked, reminding him that you still had several more days to go at one and other. 

Shouto rolled his eyes, all affection, before rolling his thumb over your swollen clit. You gasped out a clipped breath as he repeated the motion. You couldn’t help the way your hips rolled in his hands and the way your own tangled in his hair.

The lapse in your sex life truly hadn’t taken away Shouto’s ability to read your physicality. He knew just the right rhythm and speed to take things, having long since committed every inch of your body to his memory.

Like any length of time apart from intimacy would take that away from him. He coveted his knowledge of your body like a god cherishes its domain. 

Truly, he worshiped you in all aways and it was a crime that it had been so long that he had been able to show in. 

Shouto sank two elegant, long fingers into you, a pretty cry falling from lips. You pressed yourself into his neck, already starting to move your hips against his fingers.

“Eager, are we, baby?” Shouto teased, cursing as your hand was once again around his cock, giving it a rough pump or two.

You snickered against his neck between moans, dropping a few kisses on his pulse point, “Like you aren’t.”

His fingers curled just right, alternating between rubbing against the spongy spot in your cunt and stretching his fingers to ease you to open for him. 

You were all lovely, breathy moans for him, idly stroking his cock and dabbling him with slick kisses. You couldn’t do much else, truthfully. The feeling of Shouto’s fingers buried in your heat while being surrounded by heat was something heaven-sent, you were sure of it. It felt especially true as Shouto’s thumb moved back to circle your clit while his other fingers kept at work.

You could feel a rising heat in your gut and all you wanted was more of it. 

But not yet.

“S-Shouto, wait,” You cupped his face, eyes pleading. “I want to come with you, while you’re fucking me, please.”

Oh, what an easy request to oblige. 

Ravenously, he kissed, drinking you down like you were divine ambrosia. All you could do was fall against him, writhing as he gripped his cock on the surface, lining himself up.

Your nails bit into his shoulder as you bore down on the head of his cock, a little whimper sounding from the back of your throat.

It had been awhile. 

Shouto quickly hushed you, thumb going back to your clit as you sank down. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Shouto breathed, resting his head against your shoulder as he bottomed out.

You could only imagine how it felt for him, cock filling you up so well. For you, it felt like your brain was short-circuiting, the way his cock pressing up against your insides was turning you to mush. It had been far too long for both you, your breath matching in the way it shook.

“Fuck,” You managed to curse, readjusting your knees for more leverage. You truly did want to ride Shouto’s cock with every inch of your life, but based on the bruising grip he had on your hips, he wouldn’t stand for you doing much of the work. 

Slowly, you slide up Shouto’s cock, relishing the way how his normally controlled speech devolved into strings of muttered curses. The hand on his ice side kept firing cold on your hip, the odd but pleasant sensation making it all the more difficult to keep your thighs from trembling.

You nearly pulled off him, watching the way Shouto wetted his lips with blown pupils and half-lidded eyes. 

You let the tension of your legs go, slamming back down on his cock. Shouto cried out, hands tensing on your hips and you harshly bottomed out. 

You raised yourself up again, repeating the motion as sounds left your lips, unrestrained. A smug smirk came to your face as you watched Shouto’s blushing face come undone so beautifully.

You sank down on his cock a few more times, grinding whenever he was fully sheathed inside you. The way how his cock head bruised your cervix with each thrust made your insides feel gooey and warm. 

Shouto’s self-control was unmatched, fucking or otherwise. But, you could feel his hands start to twitch around your hips. 

“Baby?” He gritted out as you slide down on his cock once more. 

Your thighs shook from exertion as you wiped your damp hair from your face, “Yes, dear?”

“May I please fuck you proper? As much as I love watching you fuck yourself on my cock, I’m getting a bit—” He ground up into your cunt, angling his hips just right to hit your g-spot. “Impatient.”

You cried out, letting your forehead fall against him, still holding onto a bit of yourself, “So polite, Shouto.”

He thrust up into you again, drawing another sharp moan from you as your thighs shook around his own, “That’s not an answer, baby.”

“Please,” Your words came out half-broken as Shouto damn near smashed his lips into yours.

Without missing a moment, Shouto’s hands fire both heat and nearly unbearable cold. You jolt, hardly able to move due to the nature and strength of the grip he has on your hips. He fucks up into your cunt, adjusting your hips perfectly to smash in your most sensitive parts with familiar accuracy.

Your cunt clenched down around him, the heat of Shouto’s body combined with the hot spring making your head spin. All you could do was press yourself into Shouto’s neck, muffling your sounds and sucking at his salt-slick skin.

“I missed this,” Shouto groaned, bringing your hips down to grind deep on his cock. You pressed your face into his neck, not used to Shouto speaking so much during sex. “I missed your pussy so much, baby. Can you tell?”

When you didn’t immediately respond, mind approaching a fucked out stupor, Shouto took it out himself to pull out, rapidly repositioning the two of you.

You yelped as Shouto put you on your knees where he had just been sitting in the onsen, guiding your arms to rest out of the pool against the rocks and moss. He pressed down on the small of your back, forcing you into a deep arch. Shouto stood behind you, mostly out of the water, panting. 

He pushed into a moment later, hissing the new tightness of your cunt, somehow managing to speak, “Can you tell?”

“Yes!”  You sobbed out, voice shattering as Shouto slammed into you. 

Shouto (somewhat gently) tangled a hand in your hair, the other stabilizing your hips before fucking you with what could only be called reckless fucking abandon. If your sex hadn’t been submerged, the lewd, wet noises would’ve surely echoed over the nearby trees and rocks. 

Not that was really on your mind, nothing really could be except for the overwhelming sensation of Shouto fucking you with every he had.

Your arms scrapped against the rocks below you, but you could hardly care or notice. Your back ached as it was forced into its arch, Shouto slamming you even  better the deeper you curved it. 

your mind truly turned to mush as Shouto leaned over your form, his chest to your back, reaching a hand around to roll over your clit as he continued to pound into you.

“You’re going to come with me, right, baby?” Shouto gritted out, just next to your ear. You nodded with everything you had, pleasure and sensation making your toes numb. 

Shouto’s thrusts became more frantic, panting and grunts joining your whimpers and soft cries. Your entire body felt so fucking hot. Mixing that with your arousal was making your vision black-ringed. 

“I-I’m close, please," You begged Shouto, surrendering to your senses as you laid your head on your arms. “Please!”

“Since you asked so nicely—” You could hear the smirk in Shouto’s voice as he bit at your ear, stroking harder at your clit, and somehow fucking you deeper.

You damn near screamed as you came, vision leaving you as you finally were given release.

Shouto gave his own cry as he fucked you through his own orgasm, filling you with stringy cum with each thrust. 

Shouto panted as he slowed, staying inside you as he pressed a few gentle kisses to your shoulders.

“Baby? You alright?” Shouto asked way too sweetly for the how filthily he had been plowing into you moments before.

“Very alright, just like...” You nodded, body shaking and sweating, turning to face him.

You had to stop speaking, seeing the way Shouto was just beaming at you, two-toned eyes shining in the low light. He noticed, stifling a pure laugh, “Like?”

“I’m mush right now. Mush for you in general,” You gave your own laugh, cutting yourself off with a gasp as Shouto pulled out, leaving you feeling incredibly empty. You almost whined.

Shouto carefully guided you from the hot spring, mindful of the various aches and abrasions. As you exited, you wrapped yourself in your discarded towel, giggling to yourself.

“Something funny?” Shouto asked, raising an eyebrow as he similarly covered up. 

“Nah, not really,” You pulled him with an arm around his neck, planting a wet kiss on his hot, flushed face, just under his scar. “Just thinking about how I have all weekend to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

Shouto just chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and smiling, “I can’t wait to find out.”