#this feels so wrong. someone please stop the passage of time

[sergeantjessi]

today i've rediscovered the fact that spencer reid is 24 (in the first season of criminal minds) and i am NO okay

[goldengalore]

Intimacy

An anxious!reader fic.

Summary: Y/N hasn’t been intimate with someone in a long time, which makes her nervous about having sex with Harry for the first time.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: anxiety, smut (featuring soft dom!harry, fingering, thigh riding, oral - m receiving)

A/N: This is one last idea (for now) that I had for the anxious!reader universe. Lots of smut, but it’s very soft and sweet and full of love :)

***

His hands. Y/N can’t stop staring at his hands.

There are a lot of things she finds attractive about Harry. Too many. It’s actually maddening how one person can have so many attractive qualities. Lately, her brain has decided to fixate on his hands. They’re pretty and elegant, strong and masculine.

His long fingers are often decorated with an ornate collection of rings. Sometimes his nails are painted with vibrant colours; other times, they’re unpainted but still clean and neatly trimmed. She can often see the veins that travel up the backs of his hands into his toned arms. He moisturizes them well too, so they rarely look dry.

Y/N would be lying if she said her obsession with Harry’s hands is completely innocent and merely about aesthetics, that she hasn’t imagined how those fingers would feel in her mouth or between her legs and orgasmed to the thought of that while lying alone in bed at night.

It doesn’t help that he’s a highly affectionate person, finding any excuse to place his hands on her whenever she’s within reach. Even now, as they lounge on his couch, he pulls her legs into his lap and begins massaging them. She’s wearing a knee-length dress today, leaving her lower legs exposed. His hands don’t move up past her knees, but that doesn’t stop her imagination from running wild anyway.

“Y/N?” His smooth, commanding voice—another annoyingly attractive feature of his—pulls her from her thoughts.

“Hmm?” Her eyes flick up to his emerald ones staring back at her. She realizes with embarrassment that she hasn’t listened to a thing he’s said in the past minute or so.

“What were you staring at?” He glances down in his lap, where her gaze was just a few seconds ago.

“Oh, just your hands.”

His brows furrow slightly as he starts inspecting his hands, turning his palms up, then down. “Why? Something wrong with them?”

“No! No, they’re just… nice. Nice hands. That’s all. Sorry, what, um, what were you saying?”

A teasing smirk forms on his lips. “Nice hands, huh? Never heard that one before.”

She rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks. “Please. I’m sure you’ve heard that a million times.”

“Mmm, not really.”

She narrows her eyes at him, not believing him for a second. His smirk broadens.

“Anyway,” he says, resting his hands back on her legs, “I was just saying that I really missed you last week.”

Now she feels even worse about zoning out on him. He’s been out of town this past week for work. They reunited just this morning after his flight landed back in LA.

“I missed you too, H.”

“This week made me realize something.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What?”

“Made me realize how much I hate being away from you. I know our friendship started over Zoom meetings and phone calls and whatnot since I was on tour, but…” He shrugs. “After spending time with you in person these past couple months, I can’t imagine being away from you for weeks or months at a time. I think I’d go mad.”

His confession feels like being swaddled in a warm blanket. While he was away, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about him. His fluffy hair and dimpled smile, his kind eyes and boyish laugh, even his cute nose consumed her thoughts from the moment she woke up in the morning to the moment she fell asleep at night. She found herself cursing the slow passage of time frequently throughout the week. To hear that her feelings were reciprocated makes her giddy inside.

When she takes a while to respond, he says, “I hope that wasn’t too intense. It’s just been on my mind lately and I had to say it.”

“No, I feel the same way.” I think I’m in love with you, she says in her head but struggles to speak aloud. She has never been the first to say those words in a relationship.

He smiles, relieved. “Okay, good.” He holds her gaze for a few seconds, then shifts closer, her legs still strewn across his lap. His hand comes up to cradle her jaw as he leans in for a kiss, sucking her top lip into his mouth.

She scoots even closer, practically sitting in his lap now. The movement causes her dress to ride up. Harry rests his other hand on her bare thigh, squeezing it lightly. Her heart quickens. His hand inches along her inner thigh, hiking her dress up even further. Suddenly, her whole body tenses up and she shrinks away from his touch.

“Sorry, I—I can’t,” she stammers, quickly removing her legs from his lap and tugging her dress back down.

She sneaks a glance at his face and detects some hurt there. It lasts for a split second, but her brain registers it anyway. She feels awful. This is the second time he has tried to get intimate with her beyond just kissing. The first was the night before he was supposed to fly out of the city. They were cuddling in his bed. She was giving him all the signs that she wanted to take things further—letting her hands roam all over his body, grinding her hips against him—but as soon as he started returning her touches, she pulled away.

It’s frustrating because she fantasizes about it all the time, yet when it finally starts to happen, she freezes up. It’s like her mind and body are on completely different pages.

“I’m sorry, H,” she repeats.

“It’s all right.” He gives her a reassuring smile. “You’re not ready for that. I understand.”

“But I am ready. I just…” She looks up at the ceiling as if the answers to her puzzling emotions will be there. “Ugh! I don’t know.”

A long silence stretches between them, though it probably feels longer in her head than it is in reality.

“I should go,” she finally says, rising to her feet, but he grabs her hand before she can go anywhere.

“Already? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“But I made things awkward!”

“No, you didn’t. Stop that.”

She was trying to avoid his gaze, but he tugs on her hand to make her look at him.

“We’ve been apart for a whole week. You think I’m letting you run off that easily?” He frowns a bit. “Wait, that sounded creepier than I’d intended.”

She giggles, feeling somewhat lighter. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay.”

They order sushi for dinner and crack open a bottle of wine. The awkwardness she felt earlier fades as Harry starts telling her about a deep conversation he shared with the five-year-old girl sitting next to him on his flight. Y/N is glad she decided to stay because if she had gone home to spend the night by herself, her overthinking mind would have eaten her alive.

After dinner, they transfer back over to the couch with their wineglasses in hand. They sit cross-legged, facing each other. The wine has helped her loosen up some more, granting her the courage to explain why she’s been so reluctant to get intimate with him.

“I’m not a virgin,” she tells him. “I know it probably seems that way because of how I act every time we try to do anything sexual, but I’m not. Not that there’s anything wrong with being one, obviously. I just thought you should know.”

He nods. “Okay.”

Although he doesn’t press any further, his eyes are curious and attentive in a way that makes her want to spill everything, just lay out all her secrets and fears and insecurities in a big, messy pile in front of him.

“I’m not a virgin, but I haven’t had sex in years,” she explains. “And I’ve always had to have a few drinks before doing it. I tried doing it sober once, and it was a total disaster. I was on the verge of a panic attack the whole time, and the guy didn’t know what to do. I just told him to keep going, so he did until he finished and—”

“Lovie, that’s not okay,” he interjects, brows pinching together in concern. “He should’ve stopped when he realized you were having a panic attack.”

“Well, to be fair, I told him to keep going. It was totally consensual.”

“Still. He should’ve at least stopped to make sure you were all right. Seems like basic human decency to me.”

“I guess....” She shrugs, knowing that he’s right but not wanting to think about it much longer. “Anyway, after he finished, he told me that having sex with me was like fucking a scared baby deer.” She forces a laugh, though the memory still makes her cringe inside. “Needless to say, I was mortified and never saw him again. And that’s the only time I’ve had sex while sober.”

“And all the times you weren’t sober, did you at least enjoy it?”

She hesitates. “Um, define enjoy.”

He appears even more concerned now. “If you’re having to ask that question, I’m afraid the answer is no. If you enjoyed it, you would know.”

“Well, I just asked because if by ‘enjoy,’ you mean ‘did I orgasm during it,’ then it’s a no. But my anxiety was a lot more under control, so I guess that could be considered a form of enjoyment… Right?”

Rather than answering her question, he asks, “You’ve never orgasmed during sex?”

She shakes her head. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but her cheeks still feel like they’re on fire.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

“Oh, plenty. When I’m alone, that is.”

“I see.” He rubs his jaw and looks away, sinking deep into thought. She can’t read the expression on his face.

“So, now you know how bad I am at sex,” she jokes to fill the silence.

He looks at her with a raised brow. “I don’t know about that. If anything, it’s the guys you’ve been with who were bad at sex if they couldn’t even make you come once.”

“Oh no, they were all very experienced.” Y/N doesn’t know why she’s defending these men, as if they would do the same for her. Perhaps it’s because she’s spent her whole life thinking she was the problem and this is the first time someone has suggested a different perspective to the one she’s become so accustomed to.

“Experience doesn’t always equate to being good at something.”

“I guess not.” She bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I do want to try again… with you. I just don’t know how to stay calm without having a few drinks in my system.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to work on that.”

His use of the word “we” doesn’t go unnoticed by her. We, as in this is our problem, not just yours. We, as in we’ll figure this out together, you don’t have to do it alone. She feels a surge of something in her chest, and the only term she can think of to describe it is love.

“I’m calm right now,” she says with sudden realization, placing her wineglass on the table so quickly that it almost topples over. “So, technically, we could try again—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “We’re not having sex for the first time while you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk drunk though. Just a bit tipsy. I think we could still—”

“Y/N, it’s not happening,” he states firmly. “Other guys might have been okay with that sort of thing, but I’m not, okay?”

Her shoulders slump. She looks down in her lap. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just want you to know that I want it as much as you do.”

“I know. Hey”—he tilts up her chin—“we’ll get there. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

He has no idea how much of a relief it is to hear those words. Her biggest fear this whole time has been him losing interest in her because she can’t seem to get over her anxiety around sex. It’s happened before. Guys often expect her anxiety to disappear after the first time. When it doesn’t, they take it as a blow to their ego and react by making her feel like a freak for being anxious at all. The humiliation leads to even worse anxiety the next time she gets intimate with someone. It’s a vicious cycle.

She doesn’t want to get her hopes up or anything, but maybe that cycle finally ends with Harry.

***

When it comes to Y/N, Harry just doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. Even before they met in person, he would dream of the day he could finally have her in his arms, how perfectly their bodies would mold together, how electrifying that first contact would be. For months, he’s been dying to touch and feel and kiss every inch of her, but after hearing about her sexual history, it’s no surprise why she’s so hesitant to take that step with him.

Taking things slow is not a problem for Harry. If anything, he feels lucky to be the one who gets to show her how fun and exciting and stress-relieving sex can be when the people involved actually care about each other’s pleasure.

It’s been a few days since that initial conversation. They’ve had several more discussions about it since then, and he thinks they’re ready to try something now.

He stares at Y/N lying on his bed, looking cute and cozy in his forest green Pleasing crewneck. Her lips are swollen from all their making out, her neck and collarbone littered with red spots where he licked and sucked on her skin like an ice cream cone.

“Question for you,” he says, leaning his head on his palm. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

“Hmm… A couple days ago?”

“Would you feel comfortable doing that in front of me?”

Her eyes widen. “Y—you want to watch me touch myself?”

“Only if you’re okay with it.” Her reaction already indicates that she’s not.

“Oh, I… I don’t think I am,” she admits, confirming his thoughts. “I mean, I don’t even like being watched while I cross the street. It’s like I forget how to walk.”

“Okay, different question. How would you feel about getting in a bath with me?”

She thinks about it. “I’d be okay with that.”

He runs them a bath lightly scented with a lavender oil he bought recently, while Y/N leans against the doorway and watches. Once he begins to undress, she follows suit. Starting with his crewneck, she removes her clothes at an extremely slow pace, as if she’s on the verge of changing her mind at any moment. He finishes undressing before she does and pretends not to notice her eyes bulging at the sight of his dick. Instead, he leans over to the tub to test the temperature of the water.

“I’ll get in first,” he says. “Then you can sit between my legs. Sound good?”

She swallows. “Yup.”

He steps into the tub and submerges everything but his head and upper chest into the water. His back rests against one side, his long legs outstretched in front of him.

In the meantime, Y/N finishes undressing. He forces himself not to stare, knowing that it’ll only make her more nervous. She moves quickly now, striding over to the tub and climbing in on wobbly legs. He holds out his hand for support.

“Careful,” he says.

She sits down between his legs with her back facing him. There’s still a lot of space between them.

“Just lean back against me,” he tells her.

She hesitates for a moment, then leans back until she’s flush against his torso.

He smiles. “There you go.”

“Okay, what now?”

“Nothing. Let’s just sit for a minute.”

They enjoy the next few minutes in companionable silence. The warm water seems to dissolve all the tension in her body, which is exactly why he suggested this idea in the first place. Her shoulders relax. She sinks deeper into him.

After a while, he says, “I’m going to try something. If you don’t like what I’m doing or you want me to stop, I need you to tell me. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. My ego can handle it. Okay?”

She responds with a tiny nod.

“I need you to answer me verbally, lovie,” he says softly in her ear. “Just so I can be sure we’re on the same page.”

“Yes. Got it. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Don’t have to apologize.”

“Sorry,” she says again, automatically. “Fuck! Sorr— Shit! Why do I keep—” She starts to sit up, but he places a hand in the middle of her chest, gently pulling her back against him. He can feel her heart galloping like a racehorse.

“Y/N, relax. You’re okay. You’re doing great. Just breathe.”

She inhales a deep, shaky breath, then releases it.

“That’s good. Keep doing that.”

Her heartrate gradually decreases with each breath she takes. Once she appears to have calmed down, he moves his hand from the centre of her chest to one of her breasts, cupping it tenderly in his palm. His other hand comes to rest on her belly before making its descent between her legs. She squirms a little once the pads of his fingers make contact with her clit.

“Are we okay?” he asks.

“Y—yeah.” She takes another deliberate breath.

He rubs her clit in small, tight circles and kneads her breast at the same time. Her hands rest at her sides on top of his thighs. As he pinches her nipple, twisting and pulling it lightly, her fingers dig into his thighs and his cock twitches between their bodies. He wonders if she felt it. His middle finger prods around her slit now and slips inside without resistance. He pumps it in and out a few times before adding a second one, using his thumb to rub her clit.

Y/N is completely silent, but the slick substance coating her pussy and the subtle rocking of her hips is confirmation enough that she’s enjoying this. He peeks at her face to find her eyes closed and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth like she’s afraid of accidentally making a sound.

That is another thing they’ll need to work on. Harry likes being vocal during sex and equally enjoys when his lovers are vocal too. He doesn’t want Y/N to hold anything back around him. But they can work on that another day.

���Does this feel good?” he asks.

She nods, then remembers what he said earlier and answers out loud, “Feels good, yes. Really good.”

Satisfied by her response, he presses a third finger inside and pushes all three of them deep into her with every thrust, turning her into a squirming, quivering mess in his arms. Her back arches off his torso as she comes, the smallest whimper slipping through her self-restraint. He gradually lessens the stimulation on her clit, then removes his fingers completely. She lets her head roll back against his shoulder.

“Wow,” she sighs. “I’ve never… That’s never happened with someone before.”

“Wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No, it was great. Um… thank you?”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

Suddenly, she sits up and looks over her shoulder at him. “So… your turn now?”

He waves his hand, splashing some of the water with it. “Don’t worry about that.”

She frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs casually, trying to act cool as if he can’t feel his dick throbbing furiously under the water right now.

He could take her up on the offer, but he wants to focus on her today. Y/N is too nice to admit it, but he has deduced from their recent conversations that her previous partners were too greedy in the bedroom, exploiting her selfless nature for their own benefit. It’s quite unfortunate. Someone like her deserves to be spoiled, not exploited. At least now that she’s with him, he can make sure she gets the treatment she deserves.

After they’ve cleaned up and stepped out of the tub, he grabs one of the towels off the counter and starts handing it to her, then stops.

“Can I dry you off?” he asks.

She seems surprised but not opposed to the idea. “Sure.”

“Okay, just one moment.” He quickly pats himself dry, then grabs the other towel and walks over to her.

Timid eyes gaze up at him. They fall shut as he raises the towel to her face and dabs away all the little water droplets. Next, he moves down to her neck, shoulders, chest, and so on… After he’s done with her upper body, he sinks down to his knees on the mat and works on her lower half, taking his sweet time and humming softly to himself. He glances up to find her smiling at him.

Once her entire body is dry, he leans forward and plants a kiss to her belly before standing up with the towel thrown over his shoulder. Y/N’s eyes follow him as if in a trance.

“All good?”

She just blinks at him.

“Y/N?”

“I’m in love with you.” The words rush out of her like a whoosh of air that had been trapped in a sealed container. “God, it feels weird saying it out loud. It’s been in my head for so long and I didn’t want to say it because that makes it feel more… real.”

“Why’s that a bad thing?”

She doesn’t reply.

“Because you think I don’t feel the same way?”

“Do you?” She winces slightly as if she’s bracing herself for possible rejection, as if the answer to that question could be anything but “absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent yes.”

“Of course I do, Y/N. I thought I’d made that pretty obvious.”

“You should know by now that nothing is obvious with me.”

It’s true. Even when they were just friends and Harry began dropping hints that he wanted to be more than that, they pretty much all went over her head. Y/N is a smart woman; she just happens to be totally oblivious when it comes to love and romance, which he finds deeply endearing about her.

“Well, take this as your confirmation that I am, in fact, very much in love with you,” he states, taking her face in his hands and giving her a big, sloppy smooch on the lips, which she accepts with a laugh.

***

“That’s it, lovie. Keep going. You’re doing amazing.”

Y/N rocks back and forth on Harry’s thigh, her cunt positioned directly over his tiger tattoo. His thick, firm quads provide the perfect amount of friction against her needy clit.

A week ago, the idea of riding his thigh while he watched her would have made her extremely self-conscious. But since then, they’ve spent each night exploring each other’s bodies. He has given her several more orgasms with his fingers and mouth, while she has given him some with her hand. They’ve masturbated in front of each other. One night, he gave her a full-body massage that turned her on so much that he hardly even had to touch her clit to make her come.

She doesn’t mind being watched anymore. Not by Harry, at least. His gaze is never judgemental or critical. She doesn’t need to fret over saying or doing the wrong thing and ruining the moment. This has made her fall even more head over heels for him.

“Look so pretty getting yourself off on my thigh like this,” he says, toying with her breasts.

A moan starts to leave her mouth until she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to trap it in. Harry reaches up and drags her lip back down with his thumb.

“Let me hear you,” he says. “Wanna hear how good this makes you feel.” He grips her chin between his thumb and index finger, keeping her mouth open.

She’s close now, the heat of her orgasm building in her core. Her hips grind faster against him. He lifts up his thigh to heighten the pressure on her clit. The tight knot in her lower abdomen unravels, and she comes with a loud moan, soaking his thigh with her juices.

“You make the sweetest sounds when you come,” he says, releasing her chin.

She pecks him on the lips and, before she’s even recovered from her orgasm, gets on her knees between his legs.

He frowns. “What are you doing?”

She looks at him like it should be obvious. “Returning the favour?” As she begins to reach for his cock, he grabs her wrist.

“Nope,” he says. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you have to pay me back for every orgasm. Sex doesn’t have to be so transactional, you know?” The smirk on his face conveys that he’s joking, but that doesn’t stop Y/N from having the sudden, embarrassing realization that perhaps she does treat sex like it’s transactional and just wasn’t aware of it until now.

“I—I know that,” she fibs a little. “I just want to make you feel good.” That part, at least, is not a lie.

Harry has been spoiling her heavily this past week, which has been delightful. She can tell he’s making every effort to gain her trust in the fact that he doesn’t expect anything in return for how incredible he makes her feel. But Y/N likes making him feel good too. She likes the way he hisses and shudders when she finds his most sensitive spots. She likes watching his usual composure crumble simply from her touch. She lives for it.

“Please?” she adds to her request, giving him her best doe eyes.

“Okay,” he says. “If you really want to.”

“I do.”

He lets go of her wrist, allowing her to reach for his stiff cock again. Nerves make her hands tremble, as she remembers how long it’s been since she gave someone a blowjob. She wants it to be perfect, but realistically, she’ll probably be a bit rusty.

She strokes him in her hand and runs her tongue along the underside of his shaft until, finally, she feels ready to take him in her mouth. Her lips wrap around his tip and slowly move down his length, tongue gliding against him. She considers deep-throating, then decides against it because it’s been way too long since she’s done it and she needs time to work up to it again. Any insecurity she felt about that disappears the moment she glances up at Harry. His eyes are closed and jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

Emboldened by the look of absolute ecstasy on his face, she bobs her head up and down his shaft and massages his balls with her hand. She moans around him, and he releases a low groan at the sensation it produces. Then she lets his entire length slip from her mouth, teasing him by flicking her tongue over his tip and leaving little kisses along his shaft until his fingers are weaving through her hair in desperation.

“Didn’t know you could be such a tease,” he says with a breathy laugh.

She grins innocently, then takes him into her mouth again, determined to suck him to completion this time. His hand feels good in her hair. She imagines him holding her head in place while he fucks her mouth. She never thought she would be into that sort of thing until now.

“I’m gonna come soon, Y/N,” he warns her as he gets close.

She doesn’t pull away. He thinks she didn’t hear him, so he repeats himself. She makes eye contact to convey that she heard him, that she wants him to come in her mouth, which he does moments later. She relishes the taste of it, swallowing every last drop. As she draws back and wipes her mouth clean, he stares at her in amazement.

“You’re really fucking good at that,” he tells her.

“Thanks! I had this boyfriend in college who only wanted blowjobs all the time since that didn’t involve having to make me come, which was basically impossible for him. He was kind of demanding, but he taught me how to give a damn good blowjob.”

Harry grimaces. “You know, the more I learn about your previous partners, the more I want to hit them over the head with something.”

She laughs. “I think I make them seem meaner than they were.”

“No, I think you make them seem nicer than they were.” He pats his thigh. “Get up here.”

She stands up and sits on his thigh with her legs dangling between his this time. His arm wraps around her back.

Locking his eyes on hers, he says, “You are worth so much more than being some guy’s blowjob dispenser, all right?”

“I know, I know,” she says. “I was just young and naive back then, but I know better now.”

“Good. Don’t ever let any man or woman treat you that way. Okay?”

His eyes are so full of care and concern for her that she thinks she might just cry.

“Okay,” she replies.

***

Harry loves writing about the initial euphoria that comes with falling in love. It’s intoxicating and exhilarating and all-consuming. Many of his most successful songs were inspired by this peculiar feeling. It’s no wonder that he keeps heading into the studio lately to harness all this creative energy and inject it into his music.

Today, Tom, Tyler, and Mitch are all in the studio with him. Mitch is riffing on his guitar while Harry adlibs over it when Jeff pokes his head into the room.

“H, Y/N’s here to see you,” he says.

Harry raises his brows. “She is?” She didn’t tell him that she’d be visiting the studio today.

“Yeah, she’s waiting out front.”

“Is she all right? Did she say why she’s here?”

Jeff shrugs. “No clue. She seemed fine.”

Y/N always seems “fine.” She’s quite skilled at pretending everything is okay when it’s not, which can be rather concerning. Harry tells the guys he’ll be back, then heads to the front of the studio where he finds his girlfriend staring at a wall decorated from top to bottom with framed album covers of legendary musicians.

“Hi, darling,” he says as he approaches.

She turns to him, eyes illuminating as soon as they meet his. “Hi! Sorry, I told Jeff not to go get you, but he did anyway.” She gives him an apologetic smile. “I hope you weren’t in the middle of something. I swear if you were writing your next Grammy-winning single and I just ruined your flow, I’ll be so mad at myself.”

“Stop it. You haven’t ruined anything.” He steps closer, taking her hands. “Now tell me what brought you here. Are you okay?”

He studies her as she replies, “Yes, I’m fine. I’m not here for any particular reason. I just…” She hesitates. “I needed to see you.” As soon as she says it, her eyes squeeze shut. “Fuck, that sounds so needy.”

“That’s okay. We all get needy sometimes. Do you want to sit in the studio with me?”

She bites her lip, giving it some thought before shaking her head.

“Okay.” He brings her hands between their bodies, swinging them apart and together again. “Then tell me what you need.”

“I—I need…” She glances down in the general direction of his crotch.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “You need…?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”

He tilts his head to side, feigning innocence. “Say what?”

“Baby…”

He wanted to make her say it, but the pleading look in her eyes makes him cave. “You need my cock, is that it?”

“Shhh! Not so loud!” Her head spins around to make sure no one heard them.

He laughs. “There’s no one around, lovie.”

“Still!” She sighs and presses her hands against her flaming cheeks. “It’s not fair. You’ve been teasing me with it this whole week, and it’s all I can think about. Couldn’t even focus on my art today because I kept thinking about how…”—she drops her voice to a barely audible whisper—“how you would feel inside me.”

It’s been exactly a week since Y/N first hinted that she’s ready to go all the way with him. Harry was the one who wanted to put it off a little longer. He predicted that if he made her wait long enough, her hunger for it would overpower any anxiety that might crop up during the act.

Smiling, he brings his hand up to her cheek, her skin hot against his cool palm. “Aw, I know, sweetheart. You know the only reason I’ve been teasing is to make sure you’re ready for it.”

“I know. And I’m ready now. I really am.”

“Okay, but we can’t exactly do it here, you know that?”

“Why not? Isn’t there a bathroom in here somewhere?” She pushes up on her toes to look over his shoulder down the hallway where he came from.

“We’re not fucking in the studio bathroom, Y/N.”

She groans and lifts her hands up to his chest, scrunching his shirt between her fingers. “But I can’t wait any longer!”

“Yes, you can.” He wraps his hands around her wrists. “You’re going to be a good girl for me and wait until I pick you up from your flat tonight.”

She pouts and concedes, “Fine.”

He kisses her pout and gives her a hug that lasts for several minutes because she doesn’t want to let go and he never lets go until she does, so they’re in a standoff for who’s going to let go first until finally, Y/N releases him.

After that, the rest of the day moves at a snail-like pace. Harry can hardly focus; he’s too distracted by the thought of what’s to come tonight. Every lyric he comes up with sounds too raunchy to put in an actual song. Even his friends jokingly speculate about why he’s acting so strange—especially Tom, who just loves to make him squirm.

That evening, he has to make a conscious effort not to speed all the way to Y/N’s flat. The plan was to pick her up, take her back to his place, and maybe eat dinner before having their fun, but he thinks he’ll have to skip most of those steps.

Y/N buzzes him into her building. She’s on the second floor, so he doesn’t even bother with the elevator and takes the stairs two at a time. As soon as she lets him in, his mouth is on hers. She kisses him right back, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing up against him. They make their way to her bedroom and remove all their clothes, ending up on the bed with him on top of her.

“Naughty girl,” he says between kisses to her neck. “Came all the way to the studio because you were needy for my cock, hm?”

She covers her face with her hands. “H, don’t tease! I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

He gently pulls her hands away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed. Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you want me that badly? Got me all hot and bothered at the studio. Could barely keep myself together for the rest of the day.”

A mischievous little grin makes its way onto her face. “Really?”

“Yes, really. That’s the effect you have on me.” His hand drifts down between her legs to find that she’s already drenched, so he grabs his cock and runs the tip up and down her slit. When he looks back up at her face, there’s a hint of apprehension that wasn’t there before. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just remembered that I haven’t had something so, uh”—she swallows, glancing down at his cock—“big inside me in a while.”

“Do you want to be on top? That way, you can go at your own pace.”

“What if my pace is too slow and you can’t come?”

“What if I come two seconds after I’m inside you? Would you still love me?”

“Of course!”

“There’s your answer then.”

She squints at him, her lips curving up. “Well played.”

They switch positions so that she’s on top of him, straddling his hips while he leans back against the headboard. She carefully guides his cock up to her entrance, inserting the tip before lowering herself onto him. Her tight walls stretch and expand to accommodate him. She winces from the discomfort. He massages her hips, reminding her to take her time.

It takes her several attempts to get him all the way in, but once he’s there, the feeling is indescribable. He curses under his breath, closing his eyes briefly.

“Is that okay?” she asks.

“Perfect,” he responds in a strained voice. “It’s perfect.”

She seems reassured by his response and starts moving her hips in slow circles, getting used to having him inside her. Then she lifts up and sinks all the way down again. Soon enough, she’s riding him at a steady pace, her hands on his shoulders, her breasts swaying gorgeously in his face, beckoning him to place his hands over them. He has pictured this moment so many times, he can’t believe that it’s finally happening.

He starts thrusting up into her, meeting her halfway. As his thrusts become sharper, her jaw drops open.

“Harry—”

The sound of his name slipping out of her mouth like that, all salacious and full of yearning, is a drug he can see himself getting addicted to.

“Please,” she whines.

He slows down, worried that he might have been too rough. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just— Please don’t stop. It feels so good.”

“Feels good, huh? Someone finally fucking you like you deserve?”

She nods, her eyes rolling back as he resumes the movement of his hips.

“This is what it’s supposed to feel like,” he tells her. “Remember this.”

“Oh, I will.” She barely finishes her sentence before he pounds into her again.

He feels himself about to crest and reaches down to rub her clit. A final medley of moans and grunts leave their mouths as they come. Her pussy spasms around his pulsing length. As the waves of pleasure subside, her body goes completely slack in his arms, worn out from the intensity of the experience they just shared. She rests her head against his shoulder, basking in the afterglow while he brushes his fingers through her hair.

Her soft voice breaks through the silence. “I didn’t know it could feel this good. I’ve been missing out.”

“We’ve got plenty of time to catch you up. Don’t you worry.” He kisses the side of her head, earning a contented sigh from her.

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

[meowmeowriley]

Bunny!Ghost anon, you know who you are. I'd like to once again address you because this is your. Fault. I've now discovered this will be a much longer fic than I'd initially anticipated. Because of that, have a little snippet of a scene that's been eating away at my head, but won't come till later in the fic. Just to tide y'all over till I can get you a proper first chapter. 😘🐇

*** Watership Down-Bad, scene ???***

Johnny was sitting at his desk when Simon entered the Sergeants's shared office, his back to the door. He didn't look up when Simon knocked on the doorframe.

"Unless someone's dead or dying, give me a minute." Johnny grumbled without stopping. He was typing like a mad man.

Simon considered his options for a moment. He could make himself known, Johnny would ask what's wrong, they'd talk, distracting Simon from his overactive mind. He could walk away, letting his maybe partner? the Sergeant finish his work.

The poor man looked exhausted though. And disgruntled. Truly, he looked how Simon felt. Fuck it. Simon shifted.

He hopped quietly up to Johnny's desk. Took half a second to evaluate his target and plan his trajectory. Then launched himself.

"Bloody christ!"

Simon landed on the desk, the keyboard went flying. It came unplugged from the monitor as it flew, then crashed into the ground loudly, keys detaching and scattering who knows where about the room. Simon huffed, settled his chin onto his dewlap, and stretched his legs out and behind himself. He closed his eyes, but not before catching a glimpse of a stunned Johnny, arms up from jumping and pushing his chair back from the desk when he'd been startled, mouth agape.

Silence.

"Ghost?" What a stupid question. Who else? Not like he could answer, though.

If anyone were to ever ask, Ghost hated being pet, being touched. Ghost had bitten his fair share of people for getting their grubby hands on his plush fur. But... Simon craved connection. He hadn't realized how desperate he was for affection until it had ben offered, and he'd lashed out, like always. Outside of his warren, he always lashed out. But Soap was a stubborn bastard. Going so far as to continuously reach out towards him, even though he always nipped. So he flopped. And if the self proclaimed 'rabbit expert' didn't see this as the tentative olive branch that it was, well then Ghost was fucked, and Simon would be alone forev-

Simon was suddenly being pulled off the desk. His eyes flew open of their own accord and he made to bite the arms that were intent on restraining him, legs kicking spastically in protest.

"Oh go ahead then ye bastard, ye've bit me before, and ye will again a thousand times." Johnny pulled him off the desk and situated him in his lap. Simon, the large bunny that he was, sprawled with his back legs in soaps lap, near the edge of the desk, and his head resting on Johnny's shoulder. One of Johnny's hands cupped his rump, supporting him, not restraining.

They held their positions for a moment, both waiting for the other to decide this wasn't what they actually wanted. Eventually, ever so slowly he could feel himself aging, Johnny brought a hand up to stroke down Simon's back. Then again. And again. He brought his hand higher, pushing Simon's ears back to his body, and breathed what could've been a slight laugh when they bounced back up.

"Suppose we'll talk later then, aye?" Did he expect a response? Surely not. He wouldn't be getting one anyway. "Hang on," Johnny instructed as he started to shift himself lower in his seat, most likely to be more comfortable. Unfortunately he jostled Simon, who was not pleased.  "Don't bite me just because you're a touch uncomf- ach! Ye fucker!" He chuckled as he scolded Simon, who had buried his face in the other man's shirt to bite at his peck.

Simon was now on his side, curled a little, head tucked under Johnny's chin. Being pet. It'd been so long since he'd willingly been pet. It was pleasant.

He lost track of time, only noting its passage when the petting stopped, and he mourned the absence of it. Johnny's hand stilled on his back. His world shook as the human beneath him began to snore. Simon settled in deeper, snuggled closer to the kindness he didn't feel he deserved, and allowed himself to purr. No one would know.

***

"The fuck is all this?" Gaz said aloud as he entered his shared office with Soap and found the remains of a keyboard scattered all over the floor. Had the man finally lost it?

Thump.

He looked around. Soap was asleep, head thrown back, drooling and snoring in his desk chair.

"Wha-"

Thump.

Curled up against Soap's chest, evidently kicking the desk, was the biggest fucking rabbit Kyle had ever seen in his life.

"Ghost?"

Thump!

Louder and more incessant this time. Didn't that mean he was angry? He looked pretty pissed. Maybe Gaz didn't actually need to file the report on the rookies breaking each others noses again. He threw up his hands in surrender, and left as quietly as he could.

[mistys-x-reader-emporium]

Bruised violets (Sirius Black)

Pairing: Sirius Black x Potter! Reader (Jame's sibling)

Rating: T

Fandom: Harry potter/ the marauders

Warnings: implied/ referenced abuse, injuries

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know.

-------

You like to think that very few things can surprise you these days, between your friend group, prank wars, and an interest in healing- you've seen a lot.

And usually? You're right, most things don't surprise you.

But when you hear a knock on your bedroom door - well, you know something is wrong.

You look up from your book and put your notes aside. "What's up?"

James cracks your door and sticks his head in. He looks scared. "Mom needs you to come downstairs... It's Sirius."

"What?!"

You're on your feet before you can register the words.

"He's run away."

"Oh merlin." You manage with a frown.

James steps aside and you rush past him and down your stairs to the living room. Each step sounds far away and you can barley fathom the passage of time.

Sirius is here. Something is wrong. You're almost positive he's hurt.

(You almost think he's holding something, but that detail is lost to your emotions.)

Your mother kneels over a shaking human form that is slumped in the floor. And your heart shatters.

"Sirius?!" You call, skidding to a stop beside Ephie.

"He's- unconscious... It's a miracle he made it here." Ephie says gently, her eyes clouded as she works on healing him via old wandless magic taught in your family.

"Let me help." You say as you fall to your knees beside her.

You hold your hands out and focus everything you have- everything you have ever had- into healing.

You imagine an unseen hand mending every wrong Sirius has experience. How he will smile at you later.

And you don't feel the tears until you've shaking.

Monty sets a hand on your shoulder, "He's going to he okay. He's healed. He just needs rest, darling."

You look up at Monty, and you can't make words come out.

Ephie stands, and picks Sirius up. "I'll put him to bed."

You watch as your mother takes Sirius up the stairs and to a guest room- but you stay downstairs. You need a minute to breathe.

You are almost positive about what's happened. You know who did this. And you have go remind yourself that you should not go make sure that Walaburga pays.

But the wrath you feel at the knowledge that Sirius is hurt and his mother has caused it... well, it's certainly there.

-------

Sirius wakes up with an ache all over, and someone's arms holding him close. Their face is in his chest, and he can’t imagine who woukd be so close to him.

He blinks away the sleep and then looks down to find you.

Oh.

You're the one holding him - he vaugley remembers your panicked face over him last night.

Sirius readjusts so that he's holding you too.

"(Y/n)." He croaks out, voice only half working.

You stiffen at first. After a moment you look up, finding his face healed. "Sirius?"

"Thank you." He says softly.

"Of course- I'd do anything for you." You say, and the words are frighteningly true.

Sirius just presses a kiss to the crown of your head. Words aren't exactly coming easily to him.

But this feels right.

You just settle back down.

Both of you are happy just to hold eachother for now.

Later, Sirius will look for the violets he brought for you. But for now he's happy to be right here.

[inmyfxith]

Finding our way home

Pairing: Neteyam x reader

Summary: Neteyam and you, a skilled warrior and hunter, have been together for years and are deeply in love. However, your happiness is threatened when you are chosen to participate in a rite of passage that will take you far away from Neteyam for an extended period of time.

Words: 922

Neteyam and you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. From the moment you had laid eyes on each other, you had known that you were meant to be together.

Now, as you sat in your favorite spot by the river, watching the sun set over the majestic trees of Pandora, Neteyam couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

"What's wrong, my love?" you asked, sensing the turmoil in Neteyam's mind.

"I'm just worried about you," Neteyam admitted, taking your hand in his. "You leave for your rite of passage in a week, and I'm not sure I can bear the thought of being away from you for so long."

You smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder. "I know it will be hard, but we have been preparing for this moment for years. I will do my best to honor my ancestors and return to you as soon as I can."

Neteyam sighed. He knew that you were right. As the princess of your tribe, you had a duty to fulfill. But that didn't make the thought of being apart any easier to bear.

"I want to go with you," Neteyam blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "You can't be serious," you answered. "The rite of passage is a sacred tradition, reserved for members of my tribe."

"I know that," Neteyam said. "But I can't stand the thought of being away from you for so long. I want to be there for you, to support you and help you through whatever challenges you may face."

You looked at him with a mixture of affection and concern. "Neteyam, I appreciate your devotion, but this journey is not for outsiders. It will be difficult enough for me to prove myself to my tribe. If you came with me, it would only make things harder for both of us."

Neteyam had always respected the traditions of your people and didn't want to cause any trouble. But the thought of being apart from you for so long was almost unbearable.

"Please, Y/N," he begged. "I'll do anything to stay by your side. I'll work hard and prove myself to your tribe. I'll show them that I am worthy of your love."

You looked at him with a sad smile. "I know you would do anything for me, Neteyam. And that's why I can't let you come with me. This journey is not about proving ourselves to others. It's about discovering who we are and what we are capable of. I need to do this on my own, without the distractions of someone I love."

Neteyam nodded, his heart heavy with sadness. He knew that you were right, but that didn't make the thought of being apart any easier to bear.

As the days passed, Neteyam did everything he could to prepare you for your journey. He helped you pack your supplies and sharpen your weapons. He listened as you talked about your fears and doubts, and he did his best to reassure you.

And when the day of your departure finally arrived, Neteyam stood by your side, holding your hand as you said goodbye to your family and friends.

"I'll miss you," Neteyam said, his voice choked with emotion.

"And I'll miss you," you answered, tears welling up in your eyes. "But I promise to come back to you as soon as I can. And when I do, I will be stronger and wiser than ever before."

Neteyam nodded, trying to hold back his own tears. "I believe in you," he said. "I know you will do great things."

You leaned your forehead against his, and then you were gone, disappearing into the dense jungle foliage with a group of your tribe's bravest warriors.

Neteyam watched you go, his heart heavy with sorrow. He knew that he had to be strong for both of you, to hold down the fort and keep things running smoothly in your absence. But it was hard to do that when he felt like a part of him was missing.

For the next few weeks, Neteyam threw himself into his work, focusing on the tasks at hand and trying not to think about your absence. He worked hard to prove himself to your tribe and to his, showing them that he was a valuable member of the community and worthy of your love.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. It wasn't until you returned, when you came running into his arms, that he realized what it was.

"I'm home," you said, your eyes shining with happiness and pride. "And I couldn't have done it without you, Neteyam. Your love and support gave me the strength to face my fears and overcome them."

Neteyam held you tight, feeling his own strength and determination return. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered. "And I'm so glad you're home."

As you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Neteyam knew that he had made the right decision. No matter how hard the journey had been, it had brought you closer together than ever before. And as you looked into each other's eyes, you knew that you would face whatever challenges came your way, as long as you had each other by your side.

[randomshyperson]

Pretty Witch - Milf!Wanda Maximoff + Reader [Kinktober]

Summary: Your wife has been feeling a little insecure after giving birth. You don't hesitate to reassure her.

Warnings: (+18), fingering (Wanda r), praising, semi-public, some brief teasing and dirty talk, fluff. | Words: 905

A/N-> Not me writing mainly fluff when I'm supposed to be writing KINKtober. I can't say I'm sorry, Wanda just needs love.

Kinktober Collection | General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

Wanda was taking some considerable time in the dressing room.

You and she were in the last booth of the costume store - For two technically retired Avengers, privacy was a hard thing to come by when in public, and you and she practically fled to the end of the store once the sweet saleswoman made sure no one was going to bother you. 

But now, your lovely wife, after taking two or three costumes inside, was taking too long.

You stood up from the waiting bench and leaned your ear against the curtain.

"Is everything all right, dear?" You asked only to hear a sigh in return.

"Can you come in here for a minute?" Wanda retorted back sounding a little upset. You obeyed her immediately, opening the curtain just enough to fit the small space, a worried look searching for what was wrong.

But there was nothing. Wanda was there, in her red suit, looking really nice. It would be all good if it weren't for her tearful eyes.

"Babe, what is it?" you asked almost in despair, reaching up to bring your hands to her cheeks. She sniffled lightly.

"I look awful." She complained and it was so absurd that you let out a confused laugh.

"What?" you questioned but Wanda grumbled, hiding her face in your collarbone. Stroking her back for a moment, you waited.

"The pants don't fit, and my legs look weird. I have stretch marks from the pregnancy, and I'll never wear bikinis again." She blurts out at once, and you sigh, running a hand around her waist as you pull away to look her in the face.

"If the pants don't fit, we'll take a bigger number." You begin, and Wanda opens her mouth to protest, but with your gaze, she doesn't retort. "Clothes are made to fit us, Wands, not the other way around. Your legs don't look strange, they are beautiful, just like all of you. Your stretch marks are you, your history, you have them because you carried our children, there is nothing to be ashamed of. And by god, don't stop wearing bikinis, I have the best time of my life when we go to the beach."

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, biting back a smile at your last sentence. You hug her again, and when she pulls away, you kiss her cheeks and then the tip of her nose, making her giggle.

"You're beautiful, miláčik." You compliment, and despite her rosy cheeks, Wanda twitches her nose.

"Your sokovian is getting better." She comments, and you shrug, smiling.

"I have a great teacher." You recall, leaning in to kiss her for real now.

Wanda smiles into your lips as she corresponds, sighing a little when you deepen, your tongue asking for passage across her lower lip. 

The kiss becomes a little needy, filled with small sighs until your hands come down and squeeze her ass hard, pressing your hips together.

Wanda chokes. "Someone might come in." She recalls affectedly, but you just deposit kisses on her jaw, moving down to her neck.

You give a particularly delicious hickey to the sensitive spot on her neck, and Wanda whimpers, her knees giving in.

Your hand slides to the middle of her legs, and she hides her head in your neck, hands gripping your shoulders tightly for support. 

"Shush now, sweetheart, no one can know what we're doing, or we'll get in trouble." You whisper meekly against her ear, your fingers moving up her inner thighs until they find her covered center. Wanda chokes, and you hum in satisfaction at the moisture forming on the fabric. "Fuck, you're already dripping and I merely kissed you."

"Detka, please..." Wanda whimpered, and you both gasped as you followed her request without delay - pushing the fabric aside, you slid one finger inside, letting her get used to it first before pulling out and sliding two fingers at once into her tight pussy. Wanda stifled a moan with a bite on your shoulder, and you grunted against her ear as you felt her throbbing in your fingers.

You couldn't establish a rhythm inside her, however, because the next minute, footsteps approached from outside, and you slid your fingers out. 

Wanda complained, but you raised your fingers to your own mouth and sucked them clean, taking away any ability for her to formulate a coherent sentence.

The female voice outside explained to her why your actions had been interrupted. "Is everything okay in there, darlings?" The curious saleswoman asked.

You raised your eyebrows at her, and Wanda cleared her throat, forcing herself to answer.

"Y-yeah, she's just helping me with the zipper." She lied, her voice trembling a little as you slid your fingers over the covering of her breasts.

"Oh, right, then. I'll get a bag for you two." Says the saleswoman, and you wait until her footsteps become distant again to bring your lips together again. But to Wanda's dissatisfaction, you give her no more than a quick peck.

"Pick something nice, baby. Easy to take off." You instruct against her lips, smiling mischievously when she shudders. "Or not, I can always rip it off you."

Wanda moans softly, closing her eyes at the image, and you pull away again before you lose control for good and end up being banned from your wife's favorite store for fucking her in the dressing room. Not that Wanda seems to mind.

[papercranesandpride]

Can we talk about The Giver by Lois Lowry from the perspective of a loveless person?

I'm going to start with a passage that runs through my head all the time when I think about my lovelessness, because it resonates with me in pretty much the exact opposite way that it's supposed to.

"Do you love me?" There was an awkward silence for a moment. Then Father gave a little chuckle. "Jonas. You, of all people. Precision of language, please!" "What do you mean?" Jonas asked. Amusement was not at all what he had anticipated. "Your father means that you used a very generalized word, so meaningless that it's become almost obsolete," his mother explained carefully. Jonas stared at them. Meaningless? He had never before felt anything as meaningful as the memory. "And of course our community can't function smoothly if people don't use precise language. You could ask, 'Do you enjoy me?' The answer is 'Yes,'" his mother said. "Or," his father suggested, "'Do you take pride in my accomplishments?' And the answer is wholeheartedly 'Yes.'" "Do you understand why it's inappropriate to use a word like 'love'?" Mother asked. Jonas nodded. "Yes, thank you, I do," he replied slowly. It was his first lie to his parents

I agree with Jonas' parents here. You aren't supposed to agree with them, because they're expression the views of the average person in this dystopian society where love has been eliminated. You're supposed to think "wow, this is a really fucked up society if parents don't love their children." More importantly, you're supposed to think "wow, this is a really fucked up society if no one feels love at all." But I agree with them. "I enjoy you" is a vastly more correct and useful thing for me to say. I do wish people used more precise language instead of the term that's been diluted to meaninglessness. I would love a world where we say things like "I'm happier when I talk to you" or "it's cool to be able to say I know someone so talented" instead of "I love you." That's exactly what I'd like.

I just... As someone who grew up to be loveless, it scares me how much I loved this book as a kid. I grew up to be the kind of person this book views as missing an essential part of the human experience. Lois Lowry thinks that being like me is dystopic. It's not fun to realize that about a book I read over and over, and then read again in school as the first book I really, properly analyzed for English class. Some fundamental part of me was formed when I wrote my first very angsty fanfiction about it for a school project. And this book looks at me with revulsion.

Lois Lowry is just wrong. I used to feel love and then stopped feeling it (and I need to post about that sometime, because all the loveless people I see talk about never having felt love and so I want to voice my own experience). I don't think I'm missing out. I have no desire to get it back. To be clear, I don't think I'm better off without it, either. It's a neutral thing. Some people feel it, some people don't feel it, and neither group is worse off. I wasn't any happier with it than I am without it.

I don't really have a point, except just that it sucks that the whole origin point of the teen dystopia craze that formed all of YA during my peak YA-reading years sees lovelessness as bad. But you know. Of course it does. So does the rest of the culture.

[livlivlivliv]

YOUR SOLDIER ೃ⁀➷

Imagine [ Knight!Keigo ; Princess!Reader ] Royalty!AU ¡Fluff!

Obviously this will have a sequel, a oneshot or a drabble perhaps. Damn in love with Knight!Keigo

¸ .　　★　° :.　 . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　☆

→ The embroidered shield on his cloak was an emblem that only the princess's Royal Knight was proud to wear, a pair of Red Wings. Acting like a guardian angel for her.

→ “I pledge my loyalty to you”

→ One of the most coveted knights in the kingdom, young, strong and handsome. Maidens called his name from the podium as he dueled. Too bad for them, the young man's heart was busy with someone else.

→ “My sword, my shield and my heart belong to you, princess”

→ "This handkerchief is for you, as a token of your bravery" With a curtsy he accepted the handkerchief from the maiden, fine silk with floral embroidery. He smiled.

→ On sleepless nights, when sleep was impossible to fall, she knew that behind the great oak door there was a young blond gentleman guarding her room. The desire to invite him in was always there, waiting for one day to happen. Perhaps his strong arms and thick-voiced whispers from him will help her sleep.

→ As much as she wanted it, she couldn't, it was wrong, for which it was replaced by simple talks, outside the comfort of her room.

→ “Another sleepless night?” "It's hard for me to do it knowing that you're alone out here" "He's too kind to me, her highness" "Stop calling me that" "I'm sorry, my queen"

→ Sitting in the Royal Garden, he told her about his battles, exploits and experiences, while she listened attentively, enraptured, seeking refuge in that opposite golden eyes.

→ “Princess, this is for you” he handed over a big red book “You can't have adventures outside the castle, but you can read them. I want you to tell me later."

→ On walks through the city, chivalrous, he offered her his arm with a smile. Halfway through the journey, between the white forests because of the snow, their hands slowly found each other and intertwined, making both hearts beat harder. The thirst for the forbidden grew with the passage of time.

→ When he was injured in a duel, knew that he would later be dragged into a corner of the palace.

"Princess, I'm fine" he sat waiting while the young women moistened a piece of cloth. He always said he was fine but he loved feeling the girl's hands working on his skin.

"Come here, let me clean up the blood."

→ Under Keigo's gloves were hidden strong hands, calloused from holding the sword and some scars that decorated his fingers.

"I have my hands like this for you, so that no scratch ruins yours"

→ Brand new dresses became her favorite activity, she felt the opposite eyes fixing on her like a hawk once she left her room. "You looks beautiful today, it fits you very well"

BONUS ¡!

Three blows were heard from across the room, reverberating through the thick wood. She was silent, reflecting that her attempt at silence might have failed.

She abandoned the furs that covered the bed and smoothed her dress down a bit to make herself look presentable. "Go ahead please" she said with an idea of ​​who could be as she wiped away the tears that fell down her cheeks.

"Princess?" She saw a blonde haired peeking out of the doorway, they made eye contact for a few seconds and then he closed the door behind him.

He was worried to see the lady in such a state, as he approached where she lay, observed how her eyelids and her cheeks were red. Her tear-dampened lashes looked to the ground, a little embarrassed to be found by her knight.

Cautiously sat next to her and removed a canvas handkerchief from his pocket. "Here," he offered. The gesture was accepted.

"You've heard me, right?" She brushed the cloth over her cheekbones.

"You don't have to hide with me" He smiled "Do you want to talk about it?"

She licked her lips and looked at him, shook his head silently.

"Princess, I'm here to protect you, don't shed tears!" he exclaimed dramatic. He managed to make the girl smile slightly.

Keigo's shoulder will always be there for her, he would be willing to do anything, after all it's her job.

Although he no longer sees it as a duty but as a necessity.

[cozzzynook]

The Lost Light responds to Rodimus emotions. If Rodimus is ever missing the ship can always find him. If Rodimus doesn't want to see someone the ship will block them.

It starts off with Rodimus not wanting to see anyone.

Its when he wants to be alone because he’s overwhelmed and his spark is aching.

The ship leads First aid to him but no one else.

Neither of them even knew the ship had a series of corridors like this, they weren’t in the ships schematics and so Rodimus saved that for later knowledge but when he came back to search for it it was gone.

The next time he wants to be alone is to speak with his carrier Perceptor and show him the image of his grand sparkling. Little bucket helm with red optics and kicking pedes that are aimless. Small spoiler bouncing against their sires servo that holds them. Rodimus hated when his conjunx did that but he couldn’t deny it was cute as much as it worried him. He mentioned in that moment wanting a safer way to bring him to his sparkling so they could see each other in person again and before they knew it the hidden door to his sparklings room was revealed.

It was then he figured the ship was alive, sentient in a way. He vaguely mentioned to Drift if he thought the ship to be sentient. When Drift said it wasn’t possible Rodimus nodded along but waited until he was alone in his sparklings room with his conjunx to say, “thank you.”

His conjunx raised an optic ridge but when the rook got warmer before cooling down again his conjunx didn’t look so confused. In fact he looked shocked. He felt a little smug but then he had a moment of seriousness.

“Whatever happens, even if you have to let me die, protect my sparkling. Get them to safety. Please. You can do whatever else you want. Just keep them safe and alive.”

For a long time after that the ship didn’t show any signs of life to Rodimus, Megatron or let its subtle presence be felt throughout the ship. It no longer created mildly elaborate passages that once made the crew believe it was ever changing.

Rodimus didn’t want to hurt the ship with his request but he did mean it.

His sparkling was the most important to him along with his conjunx and carrier. But they could defend themselves, his sparkling couldn’t.

He waited to be alone with his sparkling, bouncing them as they fell asleep drinking from his nozzle. To look up and apologize.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, but I do mean it. My sparkling..my bitty, I can’t..I couldn’t live if they didn’t. I don’t mean to hurt you but I need them to be okay.,” he muttered the last part, digit brushing along his sparklings forehelm, “ i hope you understand.”

He felt guilt but he still felt conviction.

He wasn’t changing his decision but he didn’t want to hurt another bots feelings.

The ship was warm not long after and everything seemed to go back to normal.

Everything was fine until they set foot on what they believed to be a deserted planet.

Rodimus was nervous the moment they landed which made him suspicious and decide to exceed with caution. The crew noticed and Rodimus kept the exploration crew small with himself, Drift, Magnus and Brainstorm.

His conjunx wanted to be the one to go but he told him it was fine. His conjunx was a gentlemech at spark even when Rodimus hated it. His spark went on the last dangerous mission they didn’t need to go on this one too.

His small team began a basic cover and search of an area when he felt something was wrong half way through.

He alerted his crew to be on guard and that something felt off.

He remembers transforming and looking around seeing nothing and feeling more unease. He commed his team saying they would head back. He was mid transformation when he felt electricity shock him into recharge.

He onlined in a damp, dark cave covered in a sticky substance that kept him trapped. He felt disgust all over before the panic set in and he was fighting to get out of the gross prison.

It was until he heard a heavy clank did he stop moving and pretended to be offline only to have his helm yanked up meeting crazed optics.

He didn’t know who the bot was but he hated the way he looked at him.

He tried comming the others and when that didn’t work he sent a spark signal to his conjunx who immediately responded.

He felt dread filling his energon lines when the mech inhaled his scent at his neck cables moving down to sniff at his chassis before settling dilated optics on his tanks.

He shook as hard as he could in the confines but it wasn’t enough to break free.

He could do no more than move his helm slightly away from the mech that tried to nuzzle into his scent releasers.

He took a deep vent, thinking of his sparkling, he used them as a grounding tool. Igniting his fingers just right until they were hot enough to burn the gooey substance. He slowly began setting his frame to the same heightened temperature as fingers, processor trying to reach his team but still getting no luck—most likely the cave and substance trapping him or the mech in front of him— he felt his outlier singing to him and he waited until the mech was sniffing his neck cables again.

The moment the mech buried his olfactory sensor in and set his servos on the sides of his chassis he burst into flames greater than necessary.

The goo melted to nothing and the mech caught fire, screaming as he held onto his melting optics while Rodimus made a dash for the exit.

He transformed speeding as far away as he could only to come to a harsh stop when he sped up a ramp and skidded to a stop in his own ship.

He transformed into root mode venting heavy where Ratchet immediately began working on him and performing scans.

A few hours later, after removing the goo and assuring Drift and the crew he was fine right after, he darted off towards the corridor that led to his actual hab that was connected to his sparklings room.

His conjunx was holding their sparkling out for him to hold and he held his bitty close in his arms as his conjunx lifted him into a strong tight embrace that made him wiggle a little to vent better.

He inhaled the scent of his sparkling that was cooing at him and patting his face plates completely oblivious much to his happiness.

He heard his hab door open and smiled knowing it was his carrier.

Perceptor gripped him in a tight hug and explained how the ship locked onto his signature a nano click after his conjunx was able to.

“Thank you,” he sobbed, finally reveling in the danger he was in and what the mech may have wanted from him.

“Thank you.”

He stayed in his hab with his conjunx, sparkling and carrier.

He didn’t want to see anyone else right now and he didn’t want anyone seeing him crying or the existence of his sparkling or to know who his conjunx was. Mechs and femmes aboard had an idea that Perceptor was his carrier but neither confirmed it. Only Brainstorm knew and the mech refused to share such information always ready to respect Perceptors wishes.

“Scent me again?”

He was met with large servos rubbing at the sides of his exposed waist, dipping digits into chub that was so hard to get rid of.

“Beautiful,” his conjunx whispered into the flesh of his belly kissing it.

“I said scent me, Megs, not get me sparked again.”

His frown was half serious and half playful. The larger mech on top of him smirked and nipped at his belly making it jiggle. He felt insecure about it, still not used to his post sparkling frame but his mech loved it.

“And if I were to do both?”

“You’d be crazy,” Rodimus laughed, carefully shifting their sparkling so they could fuel easier.

Megatron lifted himself to place a kiss on their son’s helm and gazed at him fondly.

“Would it be so bad to have another?”

He understood the weight behind his question and he wanted to say no, it wouldn’t. He wanted to agree and give this mech and himself another but he knew it was too risky.

“Not until we find the knights and go home,” Rodimus smoothed his servo against his conjunx helm. “Then we can have another sparkling,” he smiled.

“But I’m losing the weight first,” Rodimus poked him.

“Thats up for debate.”

“Its my frame!”

“Our frame, darling. Conjunx ritus,” Megatron smirked holding up the helm jewelry Rodimus only wore in their hab. It was the physical symbol of their union that many mechs and femmes would wear to show them claimed in certain cultures. Nyonians would wear helm dress and miners would wear the shedded frame pieces of their mates as neck wear.

Currently Megatrom was wearing his and now Rodimus was wearing his helm dress as well.

“I can’t wait to go home so we can fashion silks for him,” Rodimus smiled tickling their sparklings belly.

Fuzzy red optics looked to them with a smile and Megatron couldn’t resist lightly nipping chubby protoform thighs.

“And neither can I,” the proud sire chuckled.

The room grew warm again and Rodimus looked up at the ships ceiling and smiled, “thank you for finding me. I hope you get whatever it is you desire,” Rodimus smiled.

The entire crew felt a warmth buzz within them and around them, it boosted not only morale but every bots mood for the evening and later as it reached the dead shift, Rodimus saw holo glow of a ship mech standing beside the mountains of Crystal city. He recognized that place.

It was a spot where ship and large mechs and femmes built to house cybertronians on missions or to live in would meet to rejoin their families.

He committed the sight to file and smiled up at the ship while holding his sleeping bitty.

“I’ll take you there when we finish,” he promised, feeling a ghost of a hand rub his helm affectionately, “I promise.”

[steviesbicrisis]

A lot of things start to make sense since Eddie Munson enters his life.

It goes from the simple things: Eddie patiently explaining the mechanics of D&D so that Dustin would stop using the references against him; Eddie teaching him a few music facts and history, “did you know that Tony Iommi once blew up Richard Branson’s prize carp? Fucking Metal if you ask me”; Eddie helping him fix the drain in his new apartment “with all of your hair you never had to unclog it? You’re such a princess”.

But it’s more than that. Eddie also helps him figure out things about himself.

Like, he can be friends with someone without having that much in common, he’s that type of person who would drop everything he’s doing if someone he cared about would ask it, and also that, apparently, he has a type.

«You clearly have a thing for nerds,» Eddie tells him one day, teasingly.

«What? I definitely don’t!» Steve is outraged that he would even suggest that «I tolerate nerds because for some reason I’m surrounded by them.»

«Oh please! You just told me about your embarrassing crush on Robin, a huge nerd, smart, was in band, and knows like- ten languages. Then there’s Wheeler, also smart, also one of the biggest nerds that Hawkins has ever seen. Don’t let me even touch on the fact that you’re surrounded by baby nerds all the time» Eddie blinds him with a victorious grin «this is why all your other dates go to shit, Harrington. Trust me, date a nerd for a change.»

Steve wants to bite back and prove him wrong but, after Eddie says it, he can’t help think back to his dating history and everything makes sense.

Once again, Eddie helps him figure things out about himself.

But the biggest revelation Eddie helps him out with, comes only after.

Steve finds himself thinking more about this “nerd thing”, and his mind can’t help but go to Eddie himself. He’s a huge nerd, and he has become a big part of his life.

He finds himself noticing small things about him, like what rings he wears on which finger, how he styles his hair depending on his mood, how he smiles when the kids are close to figuring out the plot twists of his campaign, and especially how he always manages to have some sort of physical contact with him, whether by putting an arm on his shoulder, leaning closer to listen to what he’s talking about or grabbing his wrist to get his attention.

He has never been more aware of Eddie’s presence than now, it makes him jumpy but also, he notices, he waits for it, he wants any type of physical contact with him, and even a quick brush on his arm is enough to make his stomach flutter.

And Steve is not stupid. He might be a little oblivious, he might’ve been taught the wrong things -how queer people are the menace of society and how there’s nothing worse than being called “fag” for a man- but he’s been Robin’s best friend for so long that he knows better now.

And he also knows how he feels when he has a crush on someone.

The only option for him is to talk to Robin about it, both of them are surprised at how well Steve is taking it.

Well, he does cry a little bit, he tells Robin that he’s scared, he even tells her that he doesn’t want it, this new part of him that people would not accept him for. She understands, and she’s there every step of Steve’s sexual crisis until he just accepts it.

As if going through a bisexual crisis wasn’t enough, Steve finds himself going through another rite of passage for queer people: falling for a straight person.

Steve and Robin are working their shift at Family Video when a very excited Eddie Munson comes in «Harrington, give me your best romantic crap movie!»

«Eddie Munson, renting a romantic movie? Did aliens abduct you and brainwash you this morning?»

«Ah-ha, very funny! But I can’t do Star Wars on a first date, doesn’t set the right mood. You should know that better than me, lover boy.»

Steve wishes he had prepared himself more for the time Eddie would’ve talked about dating, but he didn’t and now he’s standing there at the counter, completely frozen, doing his best to not let his face fall right in front of his first boy crush. At least, the first one he’s aware of.

«Woah, really? I’m sorry for whoever the unlucky date is» Robin intercepts, and Steve could really kiss her for always knowing how to help him.

Steve can only estrange himself from the conversation, as Eddie is describing this “super hot girl” who is “way out of my league”. Robin ends up being the one helping him with the movie and Steve pretends to be busy with inventory in the back.

Robin comes to find him once Eddie is gone «I gave him the worst romantic movie I could think of.»

Steve chuckles and hugs her tight «thank you.»

Out of all the things Eddie has helped him out with, Steve wishes he would also teach him how to fall out of love with him.

[TBD: I'm fixing it I promise!! Sorry for the straight Eddie content guys lmao]

Part 2 | Part 3

[burins]

happy Sunday a couple people (@feyburner and @try-set-me-on-fire and maybe someone else? if so I forget and I'm sorry) have tagged me in snippet stuff! I still can't write atm and I'm not rly sure when I'll be able to (June?? maybe?? please god let this PT round work) but I have been reading old drafts and I found 6k of ancient catws Sam & Bucky road trip fic that for having been written eight years ago still makes me go oogh. maybe it will also make you go oogh!(don't worry I am not posting all 6k.)

“Steve’s probably told you all about the 30s, right?” Bucky says. He’s sitting in the backseat, right in the middle of Sam’s view out the back. They’re somewhere in Nowheresville, North Carolina, so it’s not as annoying as it was when he pulled this shit in Jersey.  

“Not really,” Sam says. He can see Bucky’s silent scoff without even looking, but it’s true. Steve hasn’t told anyone shit about anything. It seems to be his MO. Sam wishes someone would explain to him that the element of surprise doesn’t apply to interpersonal relationships, but probably everyone is assuming that job falls to Sam.

“Really?” Bucky asks. “Nothing? Why the hell am I in your car, then?”

“I mean, he gave me the basics, the two poor little matchboys, y’all had approximately half a penny to rub together, you kept him alive with nothing more than the flame of your undying devotion to warm your little breast, but he didn’t really flesh the story out.”

“Huh,” says Bucky.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sam says, feeling like he might have made a wrong turn somewhere about five conversational miles back, “he cares about you. We all know he cares about you. And when he does talk, it’s nice stuff, you know, ‘Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,’ that kind of shit.”

“Your Steve voice needs work.” Bucky’s picking at the upholstery in the backseat. He hasn’t made a hole yet, which Sam thinks is either a major point in favor of Japanese engineering, or Bucky Barnes is reining himself in for the first time in his life. 

“Always open to suggestions,” Sam says. The hills roll out before them. Someone else might call them wide and welcoming. His skin prickles. They pass another billboard for another peach farm. It’s faded from who knows how many years of Southern sun, the oranges and reds gone ghostly.

“In 1937, he almost died,” Bucky says.

“I kind of got the sense that he did that a lot.”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, he did. This was different, though. We called the priest, and the priest came in and stood over him and said a lot of things about absolution, which was funny because Steve never went to confession after his ma stopped making him go.”

“Really?” Sam can’t help himself. “Sorry, I guess I always thought he would’ve been the altar boy type. What with all the guilt and all.”

They passed a lot of quarries going through Virginia, and Bucky’s smile looks familiar, like it’s been blasted into his face. “No, that was always me,” he says. “Steve was always trying to pick fights with anybody stronger’n him, and that included God.”

“Do you still?” Sam asks. It’s a few moments before Bucky replies.

“I go to Mass,” he says. “I don’t go up, though.”

“Oh.” Sam doesn’t know a lot about being Catholic, but he’s pretty sure the wafer part is a big deal.

“Yeah.”

They pass a field, a strip mall, a large block of concrete that’s either a factory or a prison. Bucky’s plant is slightly too small for the cupholder, and it rattles every time the road gets a little rough. It rattles a lot out here.

“The priest tried to put the oil on him, you know, like you’re supposed to at the very end, but Steve was sweating so much it just slid off him. Father said some stuff about easing his passage into the light everlasting, and he left, and it was just me in there, looking down at this little shit, this little bastard who was half my life. He couldn’t breathe, really, just kept making these scared, choked gurgling noises. It was fucking horrible. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop making that noise, and I wanted him to die so bad.”

There’s a hawk circling above them. Sam stares blindly out the windshield.

“I reached out and I put my hand on his throat and I wanted to press down. I wanted to make it easy for him. He always tried so damn hard at things. He kept choking and I just pushed down, just the littlest bit, and it stopped, and god, I’ve never loved a silence so much in my life.” 

Bucky’s wrapped his metal hand around the little pot, holding it still. The rattling stops. 

“I let go, obviously. I let go, and he finally fell asleep. I guess maybe I jolted something loose, because he wasn’t making that noise the next day.” He laughs. “Or maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, huh? Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better.” 

Sam pulls left to pass an ancient Honda.

“HYDRA didn’t do shit to me that wasn’t already there.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “It does, though. Because here’s the really fucked up thing, okay. More fucked up than me trying to kill my ‘best friend since childhood, inseparable in schoolyard and battleground,’ even. You wanna hear it?”

Sam doesn’t wanna hear it. He doesn’t. But Bucky needs to say it, and so he breaks yet another of his own rules, and he says, “Whatever you need to tell me, I’m listening.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure, Wilson, sure. I can’t remember, is the thing. I don’t know if I did that then, or if it was another scared kid I killed thirty years later. That sound got pretty fucking familiar after a while. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing. I don’t know. I sure as hell can’t ask Steve, can I?”

[faithfromanewperspective]

I feel like there are two almost opposite takes on the sermon on the mount in Christian influenced progressive spaces: one in which it’s used as proof of the hypocrisy of their oppressors, and another where it’s used as a form of oppression to police thoughts and perpetrate a purity culture that leaves no aspect of your life alone.

and to that I have to say: if you’re using the sermon on the mount as anything but a ‘hey stop being so self righteous that you think you’re above other people morally and you get to judge them and base your social standing on it’ you’re being extremely unrealistic about the capability of any human to live a life of kindness and respect for others. if you had someone imply that following all the principles of the sermon on the mount is possible, achievable and something to aim for, I’m sorry. Do yourself a favour and don’t listen to anything that person says; in fact turn the sermon on the mount back on them to see their hypocrisy, and realise, none of this has any power over you.

the sermon on the mount was given early in the gospels before Jesus spends 10+ chapters telling the religious leaders of the time not to be so up themselves and think they’ve got it right and have the right to exclude others from a closeness to God because of it. and constantly showing them up by displaying the love people they thought of as sinners and outcasts could have for God. it was given to the Jews in AD 30, at which point if you were listening to it you were likely in one of two camps*: 1) someone who knew you’d fucked up and was constantly reminded of that in society and oh it was liberating to hear that you’re no worse than those people who think they’re better than everyone else or 2) someone who based their entire identity around Not Fucking Up and Being Godly and would probably built their rules around what is possible for me is good and I do random extreme things to please God like washing my hands 10000 times but I bend the rules about helping the poor to the bare minimum because I can’t deal with the idea that I might not be The Best and is in power so everyone else has to be judged against their rules—who Jesus is trying to be like ‘actually your rules are dumb look at all the stuff you missed, you don’t actually care about the heart of what pleasing God is about’

*there would be people there who felt shame for other things like being childless was a big one for women and unfortunately this is hard to neatly put in a category as this would be likely perceived as ‘I fucked up and God is punishing me’ but these people actually did nothing wrong explicitly and we really do need to talk about how the things we consider ‘sin’ don’t really apply to oppressed people groups at least not in the same way

and so if we take it into our lives today with any other message than ‘destigmatise sin and don’t ever expect yourself to do everything perfectly and so as a result you can be kind to someone you see sinning as you are to yourself’ (which when applied with the rest of the gospels is actually you don’t have to worry about fucking up and not being perfect Right Now or Ever because God knows how you work and Jesus took care of it in case you need any more proof he wants you to forgive yourself for whatever you feel ashamed for, instead focus on to the best of your ability showing this same attitude to the people around you especially if they don’t believe they’re worthy of that), if you do anything else with this passage than use it to call out those who think they are morally superior and comfort those who feel shamed and outcast, you are going to hurt people. It’s a powerful passage! And unfortunately it’s been used to isolate people with intrusive thoughts or anyone who gets horny or people with trauma backgrounds who can’t just ‘forgive’ and maybe don’t think they’ll be free while their abuser is alive. Unfortunately people it’s meant to call out have not been called out by it and people it’s meant to comfort have been called out instead.

and I know yeah, we all have our own takes on it. but I’m sorry, if you truly think it’s possible to follow all its rules to the EXTREME way it paints it you take it literally you are so naive and please go check your privilege and stfu. and idk how else there is to take it?? symbolically? even if you do that you know it’s calling out the oppressors right? because of their religious hypocrisy?? I hope that’s obvious because we have a lot of religious hypocrites going around trying to shame people for their intrusive thoughts and trauma and mental illnesses and sexuality while trying to pretend ??? they aren’t in the same boat I guess?? and there’s no sweeter and also often more effective thing to do sometimes than turn their own standards against them. you are allowed to do that if someone is hurting someone else btw!!! and if you don’t think people are getting hurt by it. also please check your privilege

[out-of-the-loupe]

Dans Le Bleu, Chapter 1

Summary: Renee Jones has finally arrived in the Boston Commonwealth after spending the last few years in the Capital Wasteland. Eager to leave her past behind her, she starts a search for a job…and becomes a lab assistant to one Dr. Curie Collins. While the job offers a good way to explore this new land, it also lands her in the middle of a war between the Institute, the Minutemen, and the Brotherhood. Wherever Renee goes, trouble follows, and she just can't catch a break. Between war, her past coming back to haunt her, and her growing feelings for her boss, it's only a matter of time before she crumbles under the pressure.

You want Curie fanfic, have some Curie fanfic.

As one person described this fic, it's an "Angsty love story between a chaotic 0 luck dumbass and oblivious doctor 👍👍👍 would recommend".

Please reblog! Here's a link for chapter 1 if you'd rather read on AO3.

“I crossed the river and… Did I pass that building…?” Renee stopped and looked up the Ruins before looking at the crude map again. “Maybe I took a wrong turn…” She scratched her temple.

Once she arrived in Bunker Hill, she was told by Kessler—who seemed to be the mayor, she supposed—to wait around for the caravans for a job. In doing this, she burned through her caps…and found out no one was hiring. Kessler at least had the decency to feel bad enough to buy her a drink and draw up a map to Diamond City. Left with little choice, Renee headed out to Diamond City.

At least, that was the idea. Renee had to admit she thought she was lost. Kessler told her to look for an old baseball stadium. Unfortunately, that assumed Renee knew what such a thing looked like. The most she knew was old race tracks and fields. Sure, she was aware of what baseball had been, but unless the “stadium” looked like a race track, she wasn’t entirely sure what to look for. “Big building” was as far as she got.

Renee kept moving. Surely if she didn’t get to Diamond City, she’d come across another settlement or someone that could point her in the right direction. She kept her rifle in her hands just in case another Raider crossed her path. They weren’t bad on the trip up through the wilderness, but damn if they weren’t a dime a dozen in the Ruins.

The afternoon sun stretched her shadow far before her. She let her mind wander as she went along, thinking back on Rivet City in the Capital Wasteland. There was no nostalgia in her heart, and she wouldn’t miss it at all. Nor did she miss her short-lived job as a waitress (before they fired her for being rude to the asshole customers). And she definitely, definitely didn’t miss her ex. The bastard.

She thought vaguely of home and wondered what her family was getting up to. She considered trying to buy passage back to the Midwest, but she only had the caps to move forward, not back. Even then, not a lot of caravans went West, so she most likely would have had to take the trip herself. That was a sure-fire way to die.

“Hearin’ shit.”

Renee dove behind a car. She watched a group of Raiders walk by, mumbling to themselves. She gazed at them over her sunglasses and only stood once she felt the danger passed.

“Gotcha, bitch!”

A bullet hit the ground at her feet. The Raiders were turned and aiming at her. She shouldered her rifle and took off in a run, weaving between cars and piles of debris. More bullets pinged off buildings and cars as she sprinted, with the Raiders taunting her all the while.

Just as she turned a corner, she felt one bullet land its mark in her thigh. She skidded, rolled on the ground with a curse. Blood dribbled from the hole and she scrambled to push herself against the wall. The Raiders ran past her.

“Sh-shit…” She took a deep breath. She looked at the outside of her thigh, where blood stained her jeans. Without even looking she knew she didn’t have enough supplies for field medicine. She reached back to the three (empty) slots sewn into her belt. Not even a Stimpak left.

“Stupid HUMANS!” “Protect the Wall!”

Renee’s ears pricked to hear the voices. She staggered to her feet and crept around the corner. No more Raiders, but the sound of gunfire grew louder. She heard the loud blasts of laser fire. Kessler said something about a Wall around Diamond City; and if someone was screaming to protect it, perhaps she was closer than she thought.

Soon enough she came upon the scene of half a dozen strangely-armored men trying desperately to fight off some Super Mutants. One of them saw her. “You gonna just stand there or help, lady?!” He shouted, reloading his rifle behind some plywood leaned up against an old police barrier.

“Oh, uh, sure!” She readied her gun again.

The Mutants were firing down at them from what looked like a ruined apartment building. Renee joined two others in a blasted-out diner and tried to take aim as well as she could. Her hands shook too much to be terribly effective, but she did manage to hit one Mutant in the stomach.

She tried to kneel to steady her aim but the wound in her thigh wouldn’t let her. Renee pushed past the pain to ease closer to one of the open walls. “Almost…” The sights in her scope wouldn’t stop shifting around.

A Mutant suddenly fell from the railing with a yell and the men pushed forward. “Almost got ‘em, boys!” One shouted.

“Ugh, fuck it,” Renee hissed. She leapt out of hiding and shot at the Mutant’s head that way. Her two bullets hit the wall behind it.

Just as she reloaded, she felt another bullet rip through her shoulder. God damn it, not another one…!

She collapsed to one knee, her thigh burning to keep her steady and she pressed a hand against the new wound. The ground shook as a Mutant ran toward her, arms raised with a wooden board. “We are Super—”

She shot it in the chest just as it swung down. The board clipped her in the side of the head and she hit the ground next, her vision slipping in and out.

The sounds of the fight faded, though whether that meant they were winning or because she was nearly unconscious she didn’t know. Her wounds burned and she struggled to push herself up. It was no use.

Well. What a way to go, she figured. She made it all the way from the Midwest Commonwealth to Boston, just to be taken out by a Raider and a Mutant. Everything she’d been through in her life culminated in this. Bleeding out on the asphalt because of her own dumb luck.

She felt someone grip her under her arms and drag her back to lean against the building. “Hey, you okay? Say something!”

Renee forced her eyes open but things were too blurred to see properly. “I’m…” She trailed in a weak moan.

“Someone go get a doc! She’s hurt!”

She felt someone place a hand on her uninjured shoulder. “Just hold on, kid. You’ll be fine.”

Kid? She opened her mouth to retort but all that came out was a pained squeak.

Someone put pressure down on her thigh and she weakly grabbed for them. It hurt.

“I know it hurts kid, just hold on.”

“Damn, welcome to the Great Green Jewel, huh?”

“No kidding.”

The two mens’ voices grew distant. She let her chin droop to her chest. Tired. So tired.

“Madame? Can you ‘ear me?”

A new voice rang in her ears. This one sounded gentle, feminine. Renee barely managed to crack her eyes open again. “…Hm?” Her brow furrowed and she squinted.

“It is fortunate you sent for me. She is not doing well at all.” The woman dug around in the pockets of her coat and produced a Stimpak. “Zhis will ‘elp.”

“D-don’t…” But it was too late. Renee felt a rush of cool relief through her body and her vision cleared enough to properly see who was helping her.

The woman had cropped brunette hair and hazel blue eyes. She smiled gently. “Do not what?” She asked, tilting her head.

“Don’t waste one of those on me,” Renee finished. She felt her cheeks take on a pink hue.

The woman blinked. “It is not a waste if you are injured. And, you are.” She eased off Renee’s jacket and felt around her shoulder. “Hm.”

“H-hey, ow.” Renee tried to bat her away. “Quit it, I’m fine.”

“You are not fine, Madame.” The woman huffed and began inspecting her thigh. “I will ‘ave to tend to you further in my lab. Unfortunately I do not ‘ave zhe tools I will need with me.” She dug around in her lab coat again and produced another Stim.

Renee shifted with a wince. “I just said…”

“If you do not like needles, zhen look away. But I will not allow you to refuse zhis.”

She felt the woman inject it into her arm again. Her thoughts grew clearer and she felt she could breathe easier. But with it came drowsiness. She gazed up at the woman, brows furrowed. “Who…are you?”

“My name is Curie.” Curie shifted to help her up. “Go slowly.”

Renee managed to get to her feet and a wave of dizziness overcame her. She stumbled into Curie. “S-sorry…”

“Do you think you can walk?” Curie held her elbows to steady her.

“Maybe. I…” Renee shook her head to clear it. Things were still a bit fuzzy but at least she didn’t feel like she was drowning.

Curie pulled her good arm across her shoulders. “Lean on me, zhen.”

Renee allowed herself to be led away, limping next to the strange woman. Curie.

~:o:~:o:~:o:~

“Zhere. You will be sore for a few days, but zhere is no lasting damage.” Curie finished wrapping a bandage around her shoulder with a firm tug to keep it in place. “Zhis should help with any residual bleeding.”

Renee held her t-shirt in her hands, her face blazing. At least it wasn’t as bad as when Curie insisted—no, ordered—her to remove her jeans so she could get at the bullet wound in her thigh. She was quick to put her pants back on after that one. “Thanks again. I’m sorry I’m taking up so much of your time…”

“It is no trouble.” Curie stuck another Stimpak near the wound.

Renee wriggled back into her shirt and tugged it down. “So, um… I can’t… I can’t actually pay you.” She stood up from the examination table.

Though Curie had her back turned, Renee saw the woman flinch. “I see. Do not concern yourself with zhat. My job is to assist.” She turned on a faucet at the sink and washed her hands.

“I mean, I can’t pay you in caps, but maybe I can do something else for you? I’m good at finding things. Like scrap and stuff. Maybe you need something like that?” Renee looked around the room again, seeing plenty of lab equipment and two chemistry stations. “Maybe I could get you some material for…whatever you’re doing?”

Curie turned off the faucet and dried her hands on a nearby towel. “Well… I am sure zhat Monsieur Howard is probably tired of me asking him for beakers and test tubes by now…” She went over to her lab table and picked up a vial of cloudy liquid. “Hm…”

Renee poked at a flask of green ooze and backed away at Curie’s look. “Anything you want, I can try to find it.”

“I think zhis is a good arrangement. Bon. I won’t make you go too far for now, but if you could find some samples of Hubflower for me, I would very much appreciate it.” Curie raised an eyebrow. “But please do be careful. You should rest for a few days before going out into the Ruins…”

“Pfft, I’ll be all right. I’ve had worse.” Renee waved her hand dismissively. She limped over to her bag and her rifle and started to slide them over her shoulders, when she winced. “Ouch…”

Curie cleared her throat. “You were saying?”

“It’ll be fine!” She shifted her bag to her other shoulder and shoved on her boots. “Hubflower, right?”

Curie nodded. “Just return ‘ere and I’m sure I’ll ‘ave somezhing else for you to fetch.” She tilted her head. “Apologies. I just realized… What is your name?”

“Renee. Renee Jones.” Renee flashed a grin.

Curie returned it and chuckled. “It’s good to meet you, Renee. Though per’aps zhe circumstances were not ideal, I’m glad we met.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t exactly been the warmest welcome to Diamond City, or the Commonwealth, but you’ve made a bit better.” Renee rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. I promise.”

“I believe you.” Curie turned to her lab, signaling she was done. “I look forward to seeing you again, hm?”

Renee opened the door leading to the market. “You can count on me!”

(Originally published Aug. 21, 2021)

[hehearse]

ARE WE TALKING ABOUT ORV SONGS.... this is my time to shine i have an entire playlist dedicated to this

the first one that comes to mind is the right wrong by dear hunter. the yjh song of all time.... i don't think i need to provide lyrics for this one because it's? the entire song? there isn't a single lyric that doesn't capture his character so wholly. also it's just. really good. i would recommend listening to the entire album because this is not the only song that fits. in particular all is as all should be makes me so ... i don't know if it fits secretive plotter or 51% kdj more. i lean towards the latter but my friend prefers the former. it's the way it feels like such an uplifting song sung by someone who is miserable.

another one i like a lot is icarus & apollo by ripto for yoohankim. all of the lyrics fit for this one as well but in particular i'm reminded of the start of the story/dkos arc for the first verse, 1863 for the second, and oldest dream/49/51 for the third. and that's without mentioning the implications of apollo as hsy and icarus as hsy. something about apollo being a creative god but also one of healing who presides over the passage of children into adulthood. something about icarus being protected by his father, who created the labyrinth they were trapped in, but still choosing a fate that would inevitably doom him in spite of his father's warnings, just for that small chance of getting the one thing he wanted.

this one is unfortunately not in english... but mephisto by queen bee. good lord. i'll hold back on reccing any other yjh songs since this is already the second but i can't go without bringing this one up. even just the chorus is. I’ll risk my life, I’ll give my life to you / After all, you gave me time, didn’t you? / Once I fulfill all my desires, ah, once I achieve them / I want to see you / So I wish upon a star .... it makes me so insane. i wish i could provide more coherent thoughts but i feel like i'm transcending to another realm whenever i listen to any of these songs

divine loser by clem turner. oh kim dokja... this one is about his relationship with both wos/kimcom and himself. just. I don't know how I am / I'll pay you handsomely / If I should drift away / Please don't revive me ... My god, you break the skin / But may I be thy heaven? / Will you take my sickness / While I deprive you of your health? ... My habits wouldn't heal / I had to have killed god / And my body remains / But the person is gone - all of these lyrics make me so insane. just. Agh. ow.

ok i don't want to completely overwhelm you so i will stop there ^^' i hope you enjoy these songs as much as i have!!

I'M SO SORRY MY PERSONAL ORV BABYSITTER ADVISED ME TO CLOSE MY EYES i have not finished the novel yet so i'm guessing i won't be able to enjoy the songs to the fullest yet :""D (or rather i will listen and reverse engineer all the themes which might spoil the fun)

so i'm keeping this for the future and also posting for those looking for music

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUGGESTION THOUGH <3 keeping them as a future treat to enjoy when i will probably be half dead due to Feelings

[maddstermind]

OC In 15

Thank you for the tag @the-down-upside-finch!!! This is so fun!!!!

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

I uh. Did all of the POV Quartet. So I will tag people up top and put it all below a readmore LMAO. Tagging @saintedseraph, @k-v-briarwood, @sentfromwolves, @veneritia, and @scribe-scott!!

Rosamund:

"It's not true. I'm not- I'm not bad. It was-wasn't my idea. I ju-just want to be wi-with the people I lo-love. Please."

"Roland. Teach me how to fight. [...] For me. For my peace of mind. For the worst case scenario."

"You're doing this to ensure I don't put an end to the war you're so desperately trying to start, and I won't stand for it."

"Magic isn't a sickness, mother. I'm proud to have it."

"I thought we were in no danger here?" ["Well, I certainly hope so, but there's no harm in being prepared."] "So the knights should be at the dinner."

["I will not let you ruin your future."] "You are ruining my future. I've seen it."

"Have you ever gotten the feeling you're seeing someone for the last time?"

"I'd rather have died in that fire than continue to be tied to a nation of small-minded slaughterers."

"You all fear magic. My mother did, too. But keep this in mind for if we ever meet again. You are no longer negotiating with a like-minded Sivonese noble. You are dealing with a mage."

"I want to be nothing like [my mother]. Lucky for me, that means being a decent person."

"I won't let it happen. I will not fall to this."

"That's very interesting, but I'm not giving up until I make some progress."

"Run. Before I stop being a coward and kill you."

"I didn't mean to hide my position from you, I simply... didn't want you to be intimidated."

["You can't trust me already."] "But I'd like to."

Christie:

"Genes don't dictate guilds. Anyone can do anything."

"I'm not quitting. I may be young, but I'm not quitting. I'm just... frustrated."

"I don't care if she doesn't like me. I'm not going to stay away from you just because she wants me too."

"Val Thorne! He's an investigator, hunting down criminals all around Exosto. He's from Crown's Ridge, and I've been to some of the places he goes to in his books. Sometimes he gets details wrong, though, but that's okay. It's a fictional version of Exosto. He doesn't have to worry about things like diplomatic passage to get into Rasduk."

[debating if someone is flirting] "I think it's too early to throw it out as a theory, though. You may come across more evidence to support it. But I'd consult the opinion of an expert."

["Secret passage? Where to?"] "I don't know. I'm about to find out."

"I'm not afraid of anything. But I know it's important to be safe, and even more important to be calm, so you can handle if things go badly or if you find something gross, like a skeleton."

"I will be a great mage. Just you wait."

"I don't care if they don't want me. They never came and found me, so I don't know if they loved me that much. But I at least want to know who they are. If they look weird, like me. That kind of thing."

"I have to tell her. I don't— Don't want her to think less of me. I have to tell her."

"I don't want [Maurelle] to fall behind. I'm fine. Goodbye."

"If they're worried about time… n-no offense, but why would they hire an Investigator who is magic-averse?"

"Don't say stuff like that. That's for movies when people are about to die."

"Do you ever wish you could do magic?"

"I told you I'll stay safe. I'm not leaving."

Addison:

"My Lady. Would you like to crash this party? And this whole engagement, as it were?"

["You're the witch house guy?"] "Glad to see that's become my reputation."

["Rulers should always be honest. That's what Miss Fairchild always says."] "And she's right, but guess what? Most rulers aren't. And I'm not a ruler yet."

[to a bird] "You're a cute little thing, you know. Strange, but cute."

["What did you say about stabbing?"] "I gave them plenty of warning. And no one got hurt."

"I promise you'll be safe. I'll set you down just as soon as you'll be able to move by yourself."

"Luxurious or not, [the castle is] still a prison."

"I'm sorry? Just like them? You can just say magic-averse, Miss Fairchild, it's not a dirty word. And for your information, yes! I do plan on being just like them! Is it such a terrible thing to be? I suppose you'd think so, having magic all your life. You've never known what it's like to be without it! I'd pity you if the truth wasn't that it's terrible and limiting."

"Up for an adventure? I'm looking for a witch."

"Katamar, Dimitio, Vunwra. Guide me to what I'm seeking. Do not let me go home empty handed. I was put on this path for a reason, you put me here, did you not?"

"Funny story. I did almost die."

"I believe in all of you. I think you should at least try for what you want. It's better to try and fail than to not try at all."

["That's an antique, not a weapon."] "I think it'll do."

"I didn't meant to kill him - oh, Silpa. Oh, Silpa, I killed someone."

"I'm sorry for all that. Tha-Thank you for helping me. I promise it won't happen again."

Ashton:

"I can't have it happen again, Sutton. I want to help you, but I can't lose another town."

"Stay here. Stay hidden. I'll try and get them away from here. Keep away from the windows, and do not go outside until I come back alone. Understand?"

[lying] "I've never met a mage. I wouldn't know if I saw one."

"I'm coming with you. If… you don't mind the company."

"I'll be back. As soon as I'm able, I'll be back."

"This is a mountain, Sutton, the last thing you're going to see up here is fish."

["Anything [alcoholic] I can get you?"] "Something lighter, please."

"I can't imagine anyone being afraid of your magic."

"Hey, you're hurting yourself. You're not going to get out that way."

"If I'd known you'd react like this, I would've tried to find something else. You don't have to apologize for a reaction like this."

"How am I supposed to help you if I don't know what to avoid? If I don't know why we're doing this in the first place?"

"You were a kid asking for help. That does not put you at fault for their disappearance, you did the right thing. Anyone would have done the same."

"Twenty years, and I've been playing the victim this whole time. I'm scared of fire, a-and of rosey-armored knights, and I shouldn't be! I brought it on myself. I have no right to act this way, but I do."

[about magic] "I never thought it would feel like this."

["I've come this far."] "We've come this far."

[chryzuree]

stitch me up

ALT TITLE: (send me back out to dance)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: impulse fic or w/e. ummm, there’s going to be more parts than this, since i’m not immune to elaborating on ideas 🫶🏻

Next ->

———

At the funeral, the only thing he could think was that he was responsible for Chrysi’s death. 

Jacks had no illusions otherwise. But even if he did, a simple look into her casket would drive the point home. 

Again, and again, and again,

and 

again. 

She looked so deceptively prim, in her neat little dress that he’d never once seen her wear—dark, collar buttoned up to her throat, all lines strong and crisp from the ironing board. Her pink hair curled away from her pale, pale face, waxy with embalming fluids and corrective makeup. The expression on her face was set as something too serious for her, like a Victorian portrait.

She looked like a stranger, but for none of those reasons. 

Whoever had prepared her hadn’t remembered to put a ribbon around her neck. 

Jacks wanted to grab one of the funeral home employees and beg them to get a ribbon. Hell, even a choker necklace from the Hot Topic at the mall down Main. Anything to prove that the girl in the casket was his best friend and not some nightmarish physical form of his failures.

But then he would get cold and itchy whenever he thought about whoever prepared her and he wouldn’t do anything but stare at her still body in the casket. 

He didn’t want to think of someone taking her battered body from the car crash. Didn’t want to think about someone clinically taking her internal organs from her before sewing her back up and shoving her in a dress she never wore. If he got too far down that line of thinking, his stomach would drop and he forgot how to breathe. 

Somebody came up to his side and said something. When Jacks didn’t reply, he heard them mutter, step aside. Something about him being rude, maybe. Maybe something about their condolences. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. He’d stopped caring the moment he woke up to the fifty-three notifications on his phone and a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

There was a line, he knew. Murmurs in the room behind him, stuffy with too many bodies and the heater cranked up too high to combat a relatively mild chilly day outside. People that would step up beside him and crane their necks to get a look at the head cheerleader, set so perfectly in repose that it no longer looked like her. Words mumbled to him—some kind, some annoyed, some worried. 

Jacks merely stood closer to the head of the casket to give them space. 

He hoped they would take the hint and stop talking to him. Let his intent studying of a dead girl be response enough. 

I’m sorry, he thought—transmitted, really, and desperately too. I’m sorry, Chrysi. Is that enough? I’m sorry. Please come back.

He’d not been able to stop it, this silent prayer: I’m sorry, I was wrong, come back, come back, come back. 

Sometimes, his apologies made sense. Other times, they didn’t. He didn’t care. If admitting that he’d wished he could’ve given Chrysi mono too made her eyes flutter open and her mouth twist in that self-satisfied smirk, then he would’ve screamed it aloud to the entire room.

I’m sorry. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve ignored Castor. I should’ve kept kissing you. I’m sorry. 

It all seemed stupid now. What did he care if Castor Valor had a crush on the same girl as Jacks? Castor had never made blood pacts in the summer, or accidentally swallowed one of her baby teeth, or crawled into her window for an illicit sleepover (which, coincidentally, meant more blood pacts). Jacks would’ve been fine ruining that friendship forever, if it meant he got to be with Chrysi.

Staring into her still, dead face, Jacks couldn’t believe it was only two and half weeks ago that she’d confessed to him, that they’d fallen into her trunk, legs tangled and lips locked, that he’d ruined any future relationships with her. Not that he’d been counting. Not that he’d tried to ignore the passage of time and their fight, and instead replayed their kiss over and over again in his mind, clipped to be without any of the unhappy missteps afterward.

I was wrong, he repeated, for the thousandth time during that awful viewing. Can’t you come back now? I was wrong about anything you’d like me to be wrong about. I’ll let you make fun of me forever. I won’t complain when you bring up that stupid kissing booth. 

“Just stop being dead,” he finished, begging aloud, under his breath. 

A familiar hand touched his elbow, like many other hands had clasped him there. He’d shaken off all the others. But this time, Jacks pulled away from the casket to peer into his sister’s sorrowful face. 

“The service is about to start,” she said. Her eyes darted to Chrysi. Her face crumpled and she dragged her attention back to Jacks forcefully. 

Jacks remembered once Chrysi said she never would go up to the casket during a viewing. 

I don’t want that to be my last memory of the person I care about, she’d said with a tiny shrug, so alive as she wasn’t now. I already know they’re dead—I’d rather remember them as they were than as the mortician’s vision of them.

He didn’t know if his sister was of the same opinion as Chrysi, but he knew that his lingering at Chrysi’s side was enough to make it the same opinion. But knowing that didn’t mean that Jacks was willing to step away. 

Muse’s face dropped a bit. She bit her lower lip, like she might cry too. 

“Jacks?” she whispered. 

It was so rare she wasn’t trying to kill him. He almost wished she’d hidden some electric shock buzzer in her hand, just to make this situation feel normal. But he still waded through it like a waking nightmare. 

He dipped his head. “Yeah. Sorry.” His mouth felt wrong, and his vocal chords rebelled against making any noise that wasn’t the scream he could feel building up. “I’m coming.”

He cast one more look at Chrysi's corpse and, when Muse turned to join the rest of the funeral-goers, he tucked a sprig of wisteria under her folded hands. 

—

Jacks didn’t go to school that week, to the concern of… everybody, if he tallied it all up. He barely even got out of bed, and that was only to drag himself, zombie-like, to his door to take whatever food his parents handed him. His limbs moved slowly, heavy, like he had a fever. He didn’t even sleep—not really. 

He just curled up in his bed and ignored his phone buzzing with text after text after text. After the third day, they started getting repetitive—Lyric, asking if Jacks wanted to get out and hang out, even if they were one short of their trio; Missy, with her box of Chrysi’s things that she said she somehow knew Jacks would want, even when he didn’t think he wanted the reminders of her at all; Aurora, desperate like always, begging him to spend time at the Valor household, never knowing when to stop. 

Most days, Jacks tried to remember every tiny thing Chrysi had done. Her Chrysi-isms. The catlike smirks, the feeling of her metal rings grinding against his fingers whenever they held hands, the wicked sense of humor that sent them to detention more frequently than not. The list unspooled more and more and more. Jacks didn’t think he’d reach the bottom before some of the details grew hazy, and the thought terrified him.

Others, he practiced not breathing. 

He’d gotten better. It was a good distraction, he thought. But thoughts of Chrysi always broke through. 

He felt bad, not grieving Castor as much—but then he’d remember the panicked gleam in Chrysi’s eye from across the parking lot and Castor’s tiny shake of his head, and Jacks stopped feeling as bad. 

He replayed the night as what ifs, maybes, as if he’d manage to get a time machine and step into that night to change everything.

Maybe he’d have been willing to reluctantly step into the gulf that had sprung up between them after their failed make out session. Maybe he would’ve gotten Chrysi home. Maybe Castor would still be dead—but when Jacks weighed the options, he knew he’d take Chrysi over Castor any day. 

Jacks burrowed into his bed. He knew it smelled musty, probably. Thick with sweat and sleep and greasy hair and grief. He knew it was nice enough in the middle of the day to open the window and air out his room, when none of his family was home to hear him move around and rush upstairs to ask if he was finally feeling better, and more importantly, was he willing to go back to school now? 

No, and no. No, no, no, no, no. Jacks couldn’t go back to school and look at the F-wing wall and remember Chrysi’s squirrel-like climb to the top. He couldn’t go back to school and peer into Mr. Nielsen’s room and remember how he’d wedged himself at the end of the table Chrysi, Castor, and Aurora were seated at, even though he wasn’t in AP Literature. He couldn’t go back to school and see their lockers, next to each other, and know that hers had been emptied out and that he’d never be able to slip notes into the angled slats again.

Just thinking about it made him feel like drowning all over again.

He pulled his blanket over his head, buried his nose into the oppressive softness of his pillow.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

With a start, Jacks jerked up to a seat. His blankets spilled to the ground in a waterfall. 

He peered oddly at the window, his heart pumping in his chest. That was knocking, right? 

His heart surged, then fell to nothingness with an anvil-heavy thunk. 

“Lyric,” Jacks said, warningly, with the threat of tears in his voice. 

Rat-a-tat-tat.

“Lyric,” Jacks repeated, aggravated. 

Don’t use her knock, he wanted to warn, but he knew if he said that aloud, he’d burst into the tears he’d been holding back since Chrysi and Castor’s deaths. 

As if he could sense Jacks’s distress, he withheld. 

Trembling, Jacks curled his hands into fists. He made no move to open the window. Instead, he held his breath. One, two—he’d gotten good with his practice, up to a minute and a half now, even though he knew Chrysi could hold hers for two and a half minutes, and—God, God, God, it wasn’t like she needed to breathe anymore. 

The world began to swim. He’d forgotten—none of his breath-holding practice had been done while standing. His bed was far more comfortable, and it was safer. Cradled him when he wanted to forget, held him together when he realized he’d never feel Chrysi’s warm breath against his ear whenever she whispered to him in class. 

Jacks turned back to his bed. Lyric could fuck off—Jacks hadn’t answered any of his texts for a goddamn reason. 

RAT-A-TAT-TAT.

The ground beneath his feet slid. The world tilted at a sharp angle, swung around wildly.

It wasn’t until Jacks was tearing back the curtain at his window that he realized he’d been the one to pivot and run—not merely the floor beneath him. Fury roared in the blood in his ears—a shitty patch slapped over the cracking thing in his chest that had once been a heart. 

“Lyric,” he cried, “fucking stop!”

Then he looked through the window and all the air went out of him. 

On the other side, a girl in a neat black dress smiled through a face covered in dirt. She clutched the tree branch as she leaned from tree to window—squirrel-like and raining more dirt to the ground below.

Muffled by the glass, Chrysi Solstice said, “So when are you going to let me in?”