#you just know she’s absolutely clomping around in those things

[prxtzeldotexe]

Sorry I’m still not over Terpsichore Skullcleaver

She’s got those capezio dansneakers ON I just know it

[fictionsmooches]

PORCO X READER X PIECK

Plot: after a small fight with Porco, Pieck helps (y/n) get Porco jealous, while also having fun with her.

Contains: sweating, degradation, Praia, name calling ‘slut’ whore’ ect.ect., oral sex, unprotected sex, thigh riding, lesbian sex, 18+ MDNI

Word count; 3k-ish

Classes had already been out for the day, and with a long weekend around the corner, you were more than ready to get this ‘Porco issue” sorted out. Your whole life felt like it was spent between Pieck and Porco. You three had formed a bond unlike any other. You shared secrets, hopes, and protected each other on and off the battlefield.

“Look (y/n), a small fire lit under his ass wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, he’s been awfully rude to me lately. I wouldn’t mind making him a little jealous myself.” Pieck said.

All week he had been acting funny towards you. A little too funny for your comfort. It all started when you and Pieck decided to hang out without Porco. He had been taking extra lesions from Zeke as of lately, so he wouldn’t come home until late. The dorms were too quiet to be alone. Your thoughts had rang too loud to be left alone with quiet ticks of clocks to keep you company.

Pieck had no roommate since Annie left for Paradis, so you decided to have a sleepover. The two of you spent the night swapping stories of the week and laughing over nothing. It was a well needed pleasant night. However, In the morning when you arrived home you could see the hurt all over Porco’s face. He was sitting up on his bed. He faced the door. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, you knew for a fact he didn’t sleep at all last night.

“Where were you? You know you worried me to death!” he yelled standing up. His loud tone took over the whole room. It was as if nothing else existed apart from you two in this room.

“Oh I'm sorry Pock.. I don’t mean to worry you. I just got lonely waiting here for you to come back so I had a sleepover with Pieck.” you spoke softly as if to sooth him. You really didn't mean to make him worry, that was the last thing you wanted.

“Well the least you could have done was left a note.” he said brushing passed you as he walked through the still open door. His voice was cold and numb. You hated seeing this side of Porco, the cold side of him.

You could deal with his anger outbursts, you could manage the yelling or the cursing when he was upset. You could at least talk him down from that, but you can't help him when he was like this. How could you help somebody who didn't feel nothing? This was the first time he ever acted like this towards you, and it felt horrible.

Sure he yelled at Reiner and even got too snappy with Pieck every now and again- but not you. He made a habit of bragging to everyone that you’d be his wife one day and how beautiful you were whenever you weren’t around. You knew Porco was smitten for you but he never acted on it.

You waited all year for Porco to make the first move but feared he never would. Maybe it was because he wanted to live up to Marcel’s legacy. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you and Pieck. But it looked as though he’d never act on those feelings now.

“Pieck.. what if he never talks to me again?” you spoke as you slipped down onto Pieck’s lap. Her skirt was damp with the tears you’d been crying all day.

“I highly doubt that. You just have to show him that if he doesn’t act fast, he’ll lose you.”

You nodded and sat up. You wiped your last tear away and raised your fist.

“Ok. What’s the plan?”

Pieck slipped her arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Your thighs now touched one another as she closed in the gap between you two. She cupped her free hand over your ear, she whispered softly.

“You want me to do what?! Pieck, we aren’t little girls anymore! We can’t just ‘practice’ like we did when we were little!” you jumped slightly. She pulled you back into her grasp.

“And why not! Am I not your type?” Pieck teased.

“It’s not that” you looked away. “It’s just.. I don’t know.. Embarrassing?”

Pieck couldn’t help but giggle at your shyness. It is true that you two used to practice kissing each other when you were children. You needed to be sure that when the time came, and you married your future spouse, you’d be ready. But you were not children anymore. You couldn’t just kiss her and act like it meant nothing. After all, you had some morals left.

Sure Porco and Pieck fought about who would be the one to marry you- but you never thought anything of it. Why would you? Wasn't it natural to hold hands with your best friends? Your mind ticked and ticked until finally you could form a coherent thought. Was Pieck in love with you? And was Porco as well? How long had they been? Either way, the idea of kissing Pieck didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

You could hear Porcos boots clomping in the distance, he had always been so brash with his walking. You often felt bad for the poor wood floors he had walked on.

Just as the door knob turned, Pieck cupped your face and pressed her lips against yours. As soon you were connected, you could feel yourself pooling under your skirt. Pieck had begun rubbing on your thigh, and that definitely didn't help the dampness from collecting. The warmth of her mouth took over your whole body. You couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, your mouth opened slightly as Pieck shoved her tongue into yours.

You knew Porco could walk in at any moment, and the excitement of him catching you made you want to kiss Pieck even more. It felt so dirty to be like this. To have Pieck’s hand up your skirt, and to have Porco possibly see. you wouldn't dream of pulling away. It felt too good to stop now.

The moment the door actually opened, Porco just stood there- eyes wide as he watched Pieck absolutely degrade the mouth he wanted for himself. He had dreamed about parting those lips countless times. He tried to imagine if your mouth felt as good as it did in his wet dreams. His now half hard cock twitched as he watched Pieck pull away from you, a string of saliva still connecting you two.

“Good evening Pock.” she spoke with a smile as if nothing just happened.

He avoided his gaze from the two of you. “Yeah.. whatever” he said, nearly throwing his books on his desk. He took a seat as he covered his face- hoping it would make his blush less noticeable.

Pieck kissed your forehead. “I’ll see you later my sweet (y/n), i’ll be late to class.” she said walking out of your dorm with a wink. You sat breathless at what had just happened. Pieck had unlocked something so sinister in you, and you feared that simple kissing wouldn't be enough for you anymore.

As time went on you wouldnt understand how Pieck could just go along with you like nothing happened. You walked to class together as usual, ate lunch like you usually would- but in the back of your mind the only thing you could think about was Pieck. You craved her touch on your body. You longed for her hands and for her mouth, but you wanted Porco’s gaze upon you just as much.

“Uhh Earth to (y/n)?” Pieck said waving her hand in front of you. You had spaced out at the table you had been studying at. Porco sat at your left and Pieck across from you.

“I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought!” You rubbed the back of your head In embarrassment.

The stuffy room you sat in, had once been dedicated to strategizing wars and battles but the campus had now converted them into study halls for students. You weren’t sure if the weather made the room feel humid or if you had imagined it to distract yourself from forming tension between you three.

Large windows covered the walls of the room, the sunlight coming in gave you a clear view of everything in the room. The tables were old and worn, chairs wobbled ever so slightly, and the books on the shelf were slowly collecting dust as years went by.

“Is it hot in here?” You ask aloud, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I’m sure it is, and these uniforms don’t help out any.” Pieck smiled was she pulled her book away from her face.

Porco slid his hand on your thigh from under the table, he snickered as he turned the page of his book with his other hand.

You gulped quietly.

“Yeah I’m getting tired of all these layers, I wish I could peel off a few, don’t you Pieck?”  Porco said as his hand gilded under your skirt, calloused hands rubbed small circles on your inner thighs. You were being too obvious, you had always been too obvious.

Pieck caught on quickly to the soft movements Porco made under the table and your breath heaving. Her eyes made their way to your warm cheeks with a smirk.

“I understand completely, Porco.” Pieck looked directly in your eyes “It’s almost like I could undress entirely right now.” she began fiddling with the top buttons of her shirt.

You could feel it happening again. The wetness starting to build between your legs was unbearable.

You were practically gasping for air as Porco’s hand slowly started making its way closer and closer to your clothed cunt. Your clit ached with the thought of his touch. All sense of shame was gone at this point. Pieck’s shirt was half way opened at this point. The bits of her lace bra were exposed more and more with every bottom she slowly undid.

You couldn’t tell if your arousal came more from Piecks undressing or from Porcos touch, but at this point it didn't matter, you only knew you needed more. You wished to be laid against Pieck’s chest as Porco bent you over the wooden table, just imagining it made you bucked your hips in desperation for more friction. Porco slowly placed the pad of his middle and ring finger against your clit.

He withdrew his hand entirely as you let out a soft moan.

“It’s almost time for dinner, we gotta get going if we want to beat the crowd.” Porco said, looking at the clock on the wall.

“Right! Best if we leave now.” Pieck said with a devilish smile as she began buttoning up her shirt.

The two left you there panting for air, and longing for hands all over your body. The light of golden hour stained the room with warm hues. Your mind raced with what had just happened, and why you were left hot and bothered. Your legs spread open on the chair you had been sitting it, a small puddle laid under you.

The next day You woke to an empty dorm. Porco had been long gone at training. You knew you would have most of the day to yourself but today your mind raced with thought of Pieck and Porco. At times you shifted your weight to distract yourself from the overwhelming thoughts you craved.

It wasn’t long before a knock at the door sent a shiver up your spine that jolted you to sit up.

“(Y/N)?” Pieck called as she let herself in. “I assume Porcos is training?”

You nodded.

“Ooh so you’re all alone?” Pieck’s tone sounded sultry like she was alluding to something. You felt the heat rising in your face.

She made her way over to your bed. Her foot steps echoed in the room with every step she took. She took a seat on your bed. And leaned over to your ear.

“Have you been thinking of me?”

You avoided looking at her. “Maybe” you answered

“Or have you been thinking of Porco?” She asks nibbling at your ear lobe. Your breath couldn’t help but deepen.

“Maybe” you answer again

Pieck pulled away and repositioned herself. She was now sitting with her back fully against the wall, her legs laid out over the length of the bed.

“Come here (y/n). I want you to show me the way you want to grind on Porcos lap” she lifted her skirt to expose her thighs. She looked so soft from where you sat.

You don’t think twice about straddling her thigh. Your clothed cunt made contact with her soft skin sending a shiver down your spine. Piecks hand found their place on your ass with a squeeze.

“Such a desperate little whore you’ve become. You get one kiss from me and a half assed teasing from Porco, and you’re so eager to do as I say?” She squeezed your ass again only this time more rougher.

You could only moan in response.

Pieck had begun dragging you back and forth on her thigh, pleasure rippled through your body.

“Unbutton your shirt for me”

You hesitated. “What if Porco comes back early?” You whined

“Don’t act like you don’t want him to see you like this. Now unbutton your shirt”

She lifted her leg to make more friction between you and her thigh.

You did as you were told and undid every button to the best of your ability given the circumstances.

“No bra? You really are a whore (y/n)!”

You moaned at her words, your pussy was leaking all over her thigh as you rode her.

Pieck placed your nipple in her mouth and began to suck.

“Fuck-!” You say throwing your head back

She slapped your ass making you moan louder.

Her mouth felt amazing wrapped around the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

She looked up at you through her eyelashes. She looked as though she was smiling as she sucked on your nipple, she knew what she was doing.

The knot in your stomach had started to tighten.

“Pieck! You’re going to make me cum!”

She pulled away. Without saying anything, she pulled your panties to the side, giving your cunt direct contact with her.

“Cum for me then” she said looking in your eyes.

Your hips moved at a rapid pace as you released on her thigh with a scream.

You were so busy with Pieck that you didn’t even notice Porcos boots clomping down the hallway. By the time you noticed he was already opening the door.

He stepped into the most unexpected but beautiful sight. You say still straddling Piecks thigh, gasping with your tits out. Your cum and sweat covered your body and Piecked thigh, your skirt hiked up over your ass and piecks hands holding on the back of your thighs.

Pieck peered her head to the side “hi Pock!”

You couldn’t help but feel so embarrassed and exposed.

Porcos cock twitched with excitement.

“So this is what you do while I’m off working my ass off?” He says while slicking his hair back more.

You were speechless. When you decided to speak all you could manage to say was “I’m sorry- I couldn’t help myself! I just-“

“Just what? Decided to act like a slut and think I wouldn’t find out?” Porco says.

Your clit jumped with excitement.

Pieck shifted her weight so you lay elbows to the bed with your ass in the air. Pieck guided her hands to your panties and slid them off of you. She spread your ass cheeks and pussy lips for Porcos full view.

“Look Porco, she’s just begging to be filled” Pieck smiled up at you.

You could hear Porco’s zipper being undone behind you.

“She sure is. But I want to hear that from her” he grinned, stroking his cock. The tip was wet with precum already. He stroked as your hole fluttered with excitement.

“Please Porco! Please, I need it!” You said.

“Tell me princess, what do you need?”

Pieck reached her hand underneath to rub your clit.

You gasp nearly being able to talk, “I need you to fuck me Porco! Please fuck me!” You choke out.

“Good girl” he said as he slowly pushed the tip of his hard cock inside. “Mmm.. so fucking wet already” he shoved the enteier length inside you.

You moaned against piecks mouth as she kissed you. Her tongue once again shoving its way into your mouth.

While Porco took his time fucking your tight hole, you slid lower to make contact with Pieck’s lower half. She giggled at the sight of you being so eager to please her. “Here, ill help you.” She said lowering her panties.

You wasted no time lapping up every once of Piecks oozing pussy. She collapsed into the this matress as you attacked her clit.

Piecks moaning caught the attention of Porco. “L-Like what you see Pock? Her mouth feels amazing on my pussy.” Pieck said, smirking.

“I always knew (y/n) would be the perfect little slut.” Porco said speeding up his thrust into your sloppy tight cunt. You moaned against Piecks clit, squeezing down on Porco’s cock in response to his degrading words.

Slowly you added two fingers into Piecks slit.  “Better do a good job (y/n), or I wont let you cum” Porco said slowing his pace. You wasted no time proving at her g-spot. Pieck moaned in delight.

“Good girl.” Pieck said in between moans.

You couldn’t go on much long like this. You needed release and you needed it bad. Porco could tell you where close by the way you began clamping down on his cock.

Pieck was the first to cum as she held a fist full of your hair “(y/n)! You’re gunna make me cum” she exclaimed. She lay breathless on the bed for a moment as Porco kept thrusting into you.

Pieck seized the opportunity to reach under and rub your clit. Pieck’s soft fingertips where enough to send you over the edge. “Porco! I’m coming!” You screamed.

“I’m close (y/n).. where do you want me to finish?” He choked

“Don’t be shy now (y/n) Answer him” Pieck said.

“Inside!” You yelled feeling over stimulated.

“Fuck!” Porco said as he raised inside of you, your pussy drank up every drop of his cum.

You three laid squished against one another, sweat and cum covering your bodies

[nastybuckybarnes]

In a Heartbeat  -  Four

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Almost Smut

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: hello I hope you all enjoy this!! I’m loving this series and I hope to keep updating it and Of Kings and Beasts regularly. Idk though. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

~*~

“You’re sure I look good?”

Nat groans and climbs off your couch reluctantly, grabbing you by the shoulders and stopping you from pacing anymore.

“You look gorgeous.” You bite your bottom lip nervously, hands itching to come up to your mouth.

Your hair is pushed behind your ears, natural and beautiful, and your makeup is light. Adorning your body is a simple light blue dress that stops just above your knees, as well as a beige cardigan that hangs loosely off of your shoulders.

Nat grabs you a pair of beige heels and shoves them into your hands.

“Put your shoes on and stop worrying. He’s on his way up so even if you didn’t look good there’s no time to change now.” You nod, taking a few deep breaths before crouching down and putting your shoes on. Right as you’re doing up the clasp around your ankle there's a knock on your door.

You freeze in place, looking at Natasha in absolute terror, and she rolls her eyes.

“It’s open!” She calls. You shake your head, one shoe on and the other off as you run to your bedroom.

“I can’t,” you whisper as the door starts to open. Hiding away in your bedroom, you listen to Nat greet Bucky.

“She’s almost ready. Just needs to grow a pair,” The redhead says loudly, her footsteps clomping towards the bedroom door.

She whips it open, ready to give you an earful, but when she sees the genuine fear on your face she reconsiders.

“Beans, you’re gonna be okay. He’s a real gentleman and he won’t do anything that you don’t want to do, I promise.” You take a few deep breaths, trying to hold back tears.

“What if I get hurt again, Nat? I don’t think I could handle it.” The weak whimper that leaves you has her heart shattering in her chest.

“He won’t hurt you. If he does I’ll kill him, I swear I will.” You sniffle and chuckle softly, sliding your foot into your other shoe and doing the clasp up.

“Okay. I think I’m ready.” She nods, taking your hand and giving it a firm squeeze before stepping aside and motioning to the door.

You take a deep breath, lift your chin, then leave your bedroom.

Bucky stands in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in his grasp. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a black button-up, as well as a leather jacket.

“Wow,” he whispers, eyes wide as he takes you in.

“You look... wow.”

You smile shyly at him. “You clean up pretty nice yourself, James.” He chuckles, then, as if remembering he’s holding flowers, offers the bouquet to you.

“I uh... I didn’t know what kind of flowers you’d like... and Steve said to get red roses but Nat said that red roses are for love and I think it’s too early for that because this is our first date and all and I really didn’t wanna scare you away and now I’m definitely talking too much but I’ve been looking forward tot his for.. since we set our real first date and-” Nat interrupts his rambling, hating and loving seeing her usually so confident friend stumbling over his words.

“You’re doing great, Casanova. Keep this up and she won’t even leave.” You glare at Nat over your shoulder, not wanting her to be mean to Bucky.

“Thank you, I love them.”

He got you a bouquet of beautiful lavender roses, white lilies, and an assortment of small little leaves that tie the whole bouquet together.

“Nat, can you put these in a vase for me please?” You hand the bouquet to her after taking a long sniff, smiling eagerly at her. She nods, taking them from you and handing you your purse.

“Now go on. Have fun kids, use a condom and all that.” You groan, risking a glance at Bucky to see that his cheeks are bright pink.

Feeling better at the fact that you’re not the only nervous one, you take his outstretched arm and allow him to walk you out of your apartment.

“So where are you taking me?” You ask, smiling up at him.

“Well, I know this little café that makes these nice little sandwiches. I figured we could start there, grab a bite to eat and see where the day takes us.” You nod, taking a few deep breaths to calm your heart.

~*~

“I’m really glad you gave me a chance, I know things started really rocky but I... I’m glad I get a second chance.”

You smile at him, setting down your cup of tea and nodding.

“Of course. I don’t think I would have ever heard the end of it from Nat if I didn’t anyway.” The two of you share a laugh, him smiling brightly at you.

“I’ll make sure I thank her.” You nod, taking another sip of the decaf tea, heart thundering in your chest.

“I-I’m sorry, I just need to take something. I’m very nervous and my heart-” He reaches across the table and grabs your hand, squeezing gently.

“You don’t need to explain it to me if you don’t want to. Do whatever you need to do to keep yourself healthy, okay? Your health and happiness... those are my top priority.” You swear if it wasn’t beating unbearably fast against your ribs it would melt.

You take your pills as discreetly as you can, but Bucky, being ever the gentleman, excused himself to the bathroom to give you space to do whatever you need to do.

~*~

“I uh... I pushed Steve out of the way when we were in a really bad fire. I saw the beam coming down and it would’ve killed him. So I pushed him out of the way and... took the damage instead. Doctors told me if I had waited a second longer it would’ve been too high up and would’ve got me right in the chest. Instead... it took my arm.”

You sit idling in Bucky’s truck in front of your apartment, the two of you talking for the past two hours.

“Oh James... I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head, smiling at you. “If it hadn’t happened then Steve wouldn’t be alive and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing I could’ve done something. Besides, Tommy thinks it’s pretty cool.” You nod at that, fingers tracing small patterns on his metal hand.

“I uh... When I was younger my mom was really careful with me. She wouldn’t let me do gym class... I could never go out with friends... nothing. One day we got into a nasty fight before I went to school. We called each other names and said awful things...

“I stopped on my way to school and bought an energy drink.” He stiffens beside you, eyes wide.

“I’d never even had caffeinated tea before, but I was so... so angry. I thought that... ‘whatever happens will teach her’. And I drank it. The whole can. I started feeling it halfway through class and when I raised my hand to tell my teacher... I just passed out. Collapsed right there in the middle of math class. They rushed me to the hospital and... I’ll never forget the fear I saw on my mom’s face. They said I almost killed myself. My heart couldn't handle the caffeine and I almost died. So from then on I just kinda... listened to my mom. Lived my life in the safe lane.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, eyes on your pretty face as you continue tracing patterns on his prosthetic.

“I’m glad you took a chance with me,” he whispers.

You look up at him, a shy smile on your face.

“I am too.”

His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes, and you do the same, silently granting him permission.

He leans in, and before you have a moment to second-guess your decision, his warm lips are against yours.

You whimper, hand grabbing his wrist while the other finds his hair. He leans forward, lips moving against yours as if that is what they were made to do.

After a moment he pulls away, eyes wide.

“I-I’m sorry! I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have done that. I-is your heart okay?” You giggle, pushing him back into his seat and climbing over until you’re seated comfortably on his lap.

“It's gonna take a little more than some kissing to stop me,” you whisper, bringing your lips back down onto his.

He kisses you with newfound passion, hands gripping your waist and pulling you tight against him. His tongue explores your mouth, dancing with your own and making you feel things you haven’t felt in... ever.

When you pull away to breathe he doesn't stop. No, his lips, teeth, and tongue work their way down your neck until you’re quivering on top of him, body desperate for more.

“Come upstairs,” you whisper, panting against his mouth.

He lets out a weak chuckle then sighs, shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t.” You pull away, giving him a confused look. “Why not?” His hands find your thighs beneath your dress and he rubs his thumbs in circles on the soft skin.

“I... I wanna take my time with you. I wanna take you out again and I wanna wine and dine you real nice. If we just get right to it... It doesn’t feel right.” You go to climb off his lap but he stops you.

“This feels right. I didn’t mean that this,” he motions to where you are,” doesn’t feel right. I just... you already deserve so much more than I can give you, and I wanna do everything I can to prove that I’m gonna take care of you. Believe me, I wanna come upstairs and fuck you until you can’t remember your goddamn name.” You shiver at his words and he chuckles, pulling your hips forward a bit. You gasp as you feel his hard length through his pants, pressing up against you.

“I fucking want you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your neck. “You’ve got no idea how bad I want you. But you deserve to be taken out and treated like a queen.” He pulls away, flesh hand coming up and cupping your cheek.

“I like you, (Y/n). And I don’t wanna ruin things before they get good.” You rest your hands against his chest, fingers splayed on the warm skin beneath his shirt from where you’ve popped a few buttons open.

“I like you too, James. A lot more than I thought I would. And... if I’m being honest... that scares me.” He frowns, looking up at you and waiting for you to continue.

“I just... what if something happens to you?” His heart melts and he leans up, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and then another.

“Don’t you worry about me, pretty girl. I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as I’ve got you willing to wait for me.” You grin, nodding and leaning down to press a kiss to his chest. Your lips linger long enough to feel the steady pulsing beneath the skin.

“I’m gonna be waiting for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Good.”

He walks you up to your apartment, hand held tightly in yours and a goofy smile on his face.

When you reach your door you feel sad that the night is coming to an end. Slowly you turn to him, eyes filled with things you want to say but can’t explain.

He simply chuckles softly, metal hand cupping your jaw gently.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” You ask softly, eyelids fluttering closed as he leans down. His lips find yours and you never want them to leave.

They fit so perfectly against yours, you could spend all of eternity kissing him.

Unfortunately, he pulls away after another fantastic moment.

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes on his as he slowly stands up to his full height.

“You can still wine and dine me even if you stay the night,” you whisper, already knowing what his answer will be.

He laughs quietly, shaking his head while smile lines fan out around his eyes.

“You, (Y/n), are gonna be the death of me. But god, what a way to go.” He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek then a lingering kiss to your knuckles before pulling away slowly.

“I’ll see you soon, babydoll. And I promise to text when I get home.” You nod, watching as he walks down the hallway. He shoots a glance over his shoulder when he reaches the elevator, a smile spreading on his face and red coating his cheeks as he sees you watching him.

Only once the door is closed do you unlock your apartment.

You hardly have time to step a foot in when you hear the door behind you open up.

“Next time you put on a show like that let me know so I can make popcorn.” You giggle, turning to Gladys and shaking your head.

“If we had known you’d be peeping on us we wouldn’t have done anything.” She shrugs, smiling at you. “It’s hard not to watch with a man like that standing there.” You roll your eyes at her.

“Goodnight, Gladys.” She’s already back in her apartment.

“So I’m assuming it went well?”

You nearly scream.

“Nat?! What the fuck!” She laughs, throwing her head back and letting out a good belly-laugh.

“You should’ve seen your face!” You glare at her, throwing your purse at her.

“Not funny! Why are you still here?” You kick off your shoes and groan as your toes finally have time to relax after being in heels all day.

“After last time I wanted to make sure nothing went wrong. But from the sounds of it I almost caught something scarring, didn’t I?” You shake your head, sighing and plopping down on the couch with her.

“He’s a fucking gentleman. For better or for worse.” She nods, hand slapping your knee.

“I told you. He’s gonna treat you right, Beans. I promise.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

hey I loved what you wrote for sarahbucky! You are so talented. I was wondering if you are comfortable writing any NSFW content or smut related content for this pairing? If you are I would love you to write something, anything of the sort. If you're not comfortable that's absolutely fine!!

Chasing Water Pumps

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: E Word Count: 5288

Summary: After banishing Sam, Sarah gets Bucky's help reinstalling the boat's water pump.

The water pump sits there on the dock through the morning. It sits there at midday. In the late afternoon, Bucky laughs when Sam almost falls over it as he walks backwards, waving his hands to guide a reversing pickup truck into position. A neighbour bringing spare lumber so they can replace a few rotting boards on the Wilsons’ boat.

Bucky can see—has been able to see all day—that Sam’s itching to just fix the damn pump back into position. Sam’s conscientious, neat, completing one job before moving on to the next, replacing pliers in the toolbox after rewiring the radio, coiling up the cord of a borrowed drill so no one can trip over it. Leaving a hulking piece of machinery just sitting there is killing him. All because Sarah won’t let him touch it.

For Bucky, watching this claim-staking over an old water pump is hilarious. It’s also something he takes absolutely seriously, backing away from the thing the minute Sarah ordered the two of them to quit tinkering and just leave it alone. He’s got no issue ceding to her authority. Oh, he’ll argue with Sam about other parts of the project, but he’s not gonna push back against Sarah. He’s only here for a couple days and she already won his loyalty by letting him bunk on her couch last night. They might be repairing a boat, but Bucky’s not making any waves.

When the sun starts going down and the helpers from the community start heading home to their suppers, almost as many of them shake Bucky’s hand as Sam’s. Bucky feels really good about that. He likes that they’ve become comfortable with him—many of them slapping his Vibranium shoulder as they take his right hand, like it’s just an arm. He likes the lingering warmth of the day and how it’s dried the back of his shirt where he sweat through it. He likes squinting into the sun to watch the vehicles pull away and seeing Sarah standing there, smiling at him. Cupping a hand above his eyes, he smiles back.

“Alright,” Sam says, taking a big step to bring him from boat to land. “Let’s get this water pump back in place.”

Immediately, Sarah comes forward.

“Uh uh, no. That’s not your job.”

“This whole thing is my job,” her brother protests.

Bucky stands on the sidelines, content to witness Sam lose this argument. Getting to study the way the sinking, burning glow of the sun catches on Sarah’s earrings is the equivalent of being handed an ice cream. The breeze that blows her open button-down against her to show him the intimate dip of her waist is the cherry on top of that ice cream. His gaze trails unhurriedly back up to her face and he sees that she’s been watching him admire her. Normally, staring is his default expression, but now his heart hammers with giddy yearning as he holds her eye. She smiles fleetingly before looking back to Sam. Oh right, Sam’s talking. Bucky had kinda tuned him out.

“It won’t take long.”

“No it won’t,” Sarah agrees. “Not if I do it. You’ve messed around with that pump enough for one day.”

“Sarah, come on. Be practical,” Sam pleads. “You can’t do it by yourself.”

“I won’t do it by myself. Bucky here can do the heavy lifting.”

Ok, he’s surprised about that, but when she glances to him, he nods readily. He refuses to meet Sam’s side-eye. He’s sure the message is ‘You traitor.’ Ignoring him, Bucky beams at Sarah.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he tells her.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Sam demands. “Watch?”

“Since you asked,” Sarah informs him, “you’re supposed to go pick your nephews up from AJ’s friend Marco’s house. If they haven’t eaten yet, feed them.”

“But—”

Sam motions indignantly towards Bucky, but Sarah waves away his complaint.

“You asked what I need from you and I told you. Let us get on with what we’ve gotta do here. We’re losing daylight.”

“You heard her, Samuel,” Bucky says, striding to the pump.

The wrench he and Sam passed back and forth while unbolting it is in the top tray of the toolbox when he flips it open. Tucking the wrench into his back pocket, Bucky turns and heaves the pump off the ground. Sarah’s watching. He throws her a smile with a little upward jerk of his chin. She rolls her lips together like she’s hiding her own smile but stands firm until Sam gives up and stalks off across the boatyard.

“You think it’d be cruel to yell after him not to wait up?” Sarah asks Bucky nonchalantly, hand on her hip as the two of them observe her brother’s retreat.

Bucky almost drops the pump before hugging it to himself too tightly, stopping when he hears the metal creak. But he tries to be cool.

“Only if you mean it,” he says.

She spares him a glance that doesn’t tell him either way and walks past, stepping onto the boat.

“You got it?” she asks.

“Yep,” Bucky assures her, adjusting his grip and jumping down onto the deck. Coulda stepped. Wanted to show off. Story of his life since he met Sarah Wilson maybe 36 hours ago.

He follows her into the cabin and she digs through a box of supplies, grabbing a flashlight.

“Might need this soon.”

Her explanation’s unnecessary (the sky’s darkening above them) and Bucky can see the nervousness in it, how she self-consciously plays with the hem of her t-shirt and twists her earring now that they’re together in a semi-enclosed space.

“Unless that arm of yours glows in the dark,” she adds.

“Unfortunately not,” he says with a smile as they duck below deck. His feet clomp sturdily down the steps, but Sarah still looks up at him from the bottom like he might teeter. “You shoulda been there while they were deciding on the specs.”

Sarah laughs, navigating the protruding inner workings of the boat more smoothly than movie spies crossing rooms streaked with red lasers. (Stupidest fucking scenes Bucky’s ever seen.)

“That was in Wakanda, right?”

“Sam told you?”

“He did. I guess you’ve seen a lot. Been a lot of places,” Sarah amends.

For a minute, his throat’s thick. She corrected herself to make sure he knew she wasn’t being nosy about his past. He wouldn’t mind. It’d be fair of her to bring up any worries she had, what with the two of them being alone here. But then, maybe he doesn’t make her nervous in that way. She’s the one who asked him to stay. (Or just told him he was staying more than asked, really.)

“So has Sam,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, but Sam has to come back here to avoid getting an earful over the phone. Why would you wanna be here? Right here,” she adds, motioning to the spot where the water pump sat until early this morning. Bucky was one of the people who removed it, plus there’s a clear silhouette where the side rests against the boat, inside of which shape the wood’s less weathered, but he’ll be as clueless as Sarah wants if it results in more of this—her hand on his back as she trades places with him to guide him in ahead of her.

“It’s nice here,” he says simply. “Like a holiday.”

The instant he says it, he wants to backtrack. None of this is a holiday for the Wilsons; in spite of the block party atmosphere of the community coming together to restore the boat, they’re doing all this to ensure their livelihood. A good future for Sarah and her boys. She shoots him a benevolent smile like she knows he knows he just put his foot in his mouth. He can only shake his head at himself and carry on.

Squatting, Bucky aligns the holes in the pump’s base with those in the plate it has to mount back onto. They’re a little rusty, but the old blue paint’s just flaking, no problems with the actual integrity of the metal.

“You always do volunteer manual labour on your holidays?” Sarah jokes, putting a hand on his shoulder as she maneuvers around him. She drops to a crouch at his side and directs the beam of the flashlight down onto the pump.

“I like to be busy. I sleep better that way.”

“Until your host’s kids wake you up.”

“Aw, that was no problem.”

“Wrench?” she asks.

“Back pocket.”

Bucky could pass it to her. He could take one hand off the pump, retrieve the wrench, and hold it out for Sarah to grab. Hell, he could take both hands off the pump. The thing’s just sitting here. But he’s selfish, trying to make it look like he has to keep the pump from shifting out of the position he’s put it in, because he wants to find out what Sarah wants. He hasn’t completely thought this through, but some part of him’s saying a good way to find out what Sarah wants is to see if she’ll take the wrench from his back pocket while he’s squatting, jeans hugging his ass.

She laughs softly, looking at the floor.

She slides the wrench out of his pocket.

Now, there’s no actual contact required there, but she has touched him a couple times, so when she asks, “Bolts?” he looks at her in the dim light—flashlight still tilted towards the floor—and tells her, “Front pocket.”

When Sarah elects to maintain the angle of the light by holding the end of the flashlight in her mouth, Bucky thinks she might be capable of cruelty after all; he feels his face go slack at the sight of her lips around a fucking plastic cylinder. The choice leaves her hands free though, which is perfect because she apparently needs to grasp his knee with one for balance while the other goes to his hip, feeling out the line of his pocket. Bucky tries to breathe deep and even. This has gotta be it, the scenario Sam was most worried about when he left them here together.

Mercifully, when Sarah gets her fingers hooked into Bucky’s front pocket, she removes her other hand from his knee and uses it to hold the flashlight. He shifts forward onto his knees so his pocket isn’t pulled so tight and she can get her hand in there. Clearly a bad, terrifying plan now that his dick’s started to stiffen from the lingering image of the flashlight in her mouth and the proximity of her fingers to his crotch. It’s dark. Maybe she won’t see.

“Bolts,” Sarah says, wiggling her fingers deeper. “Nuts too?”

Their eyes meet and she pulls her hand back. Not too fast. Not like she embarrassed herself, saying something she didn’t mean to. Just like she did her bit and now the plan is to see what he’ll do. All he’s really capable of doing for the moment is extracting the nuts and bolts himself, dropping one of each into the raised palm she offers. He takes over with the flashlight and purposely doesn’t touch the end. It’ll drive him crazy if the plastic’s still wet.

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

He spends three bolts being awkward, just pinching the head of each between his Vibranium fingers to hold them steady while Sarah tightens the nuts with the wrench from underneath the mounting plate. His other hand shines the light right where she needs it. They’re a different team than he and Sam are. Somehow, they can do two parts of the same job in the smallest scale, their hands practically on top of each other without either of them getting in the way. Bucky tries to think about that rather than her leg pressing against his or the fact that the gentle rock of the docked boat reminds him of rocking his hips forward when he… well. Does something he’s trying not to think about.

The wrench is old and though Sarah flicks the adjustment with her thumb to make it grip each nut in turn, it loosens and slips. It makes the task take longer and Sarah have to work harder. With two bolts to go, she sits back and pulls her button-down off, draping it over a pipe. Her t-shirt only catches Bucky’s eye because, even in here, the yellow’s so bright. It’s just the shirt. Absolutely not the shape of Sarah in it.

She leans back in, dropping the second last bolt through the hole. She feels beneath the plate to start the nut up the bolt’s threads with her fingers. With a soft noise of effort, Sarah simultaneously applies the wrench and reawakens Bucky’s erection.

“Sorry for keeping you from dinner,” she says, still tightening in the circle of light he provides. “You must be starving.”

“You have no idea.”

Bucky doesn’t mean for the words to sound the way they do, or maybe he does. Sarah falters, then finishes, but when she leans forward to fit the final bolt in place, the side of her breast presses his arm, and that’s the beginning of the end. Or possibly the end of the middle. Anyway, Bucky lets go of the flashlight and wraps his hand around Sarah’s waist instead. The flashlight must land on its button because the boat goes pitch-black. Why didn’t either of them think to turn the overhead light on? He hears the nut fall from her hand. It’s not one of the nuts he’s concerned with at the moment, so he tells himself they’ll look for it later and focuses on Sarah leaning in to find his lips in the dark.

Kissing her is… Hell, it’s something he’s been thinking about since they met yesterday. When she marched straight over to the boat and then changed her posture the second she spotted him. Bucky appreciates clear body language—it’s something he can do a quick read of and understand. If they’d had more time at that first meeting, of course he would’ve talked to her, flirted with more than a smile, but the smiles they swapped were an effective stopgap until they could end up right here. His mouth on hers. Being careful not to trap her braids under his fingers when he skims them up the back of her neck.

“Um,” Sarah says, breaking away with a shy laugh.

He keeps his hand on her lightly and feels her tilt her head forward like she’s avoiding his eye, even in the dark. Before he can worry that something is wrong, that he’s done something wrong, she lifts her head again and her braids flick, pattering across his forearm like rain.

“You should know,” she says, “since my husband passed, I haven’t really had a lot of time or inclination for this kinda thing, but...”

“That’s ok,” Bucky quickly assures her. “This doesn’t have to be anything. I didn’t mean to push.”

“And you didn’t.”

They sit in silence for a minute before he clears his throat.

“I’ve never… I’ve never had anybody special to me in that way, like your husband was to you, nobody to lose like that. But I do understand… uh, the sort of, um, momentousness… when it’s been a while.”

“You do?”

He can hear humour in her voice. This wasn’t supposed to be a funny conversation. Is he making it that weird?

“Sure. You know about me,” Bucky says quietly. He knows she must. She never asked who he was to Sam to be showing up here, being offered their couch for the night. Never asked about the arm, though he hasn’t tried to hide it. (He can’t remember the last time he just lived like this and the relief is enormous.)

“Tell me about the momentousness.”

He’d like to be able to see her better, but it’s also nice to know she has no idea the way he’s blushing over her request. It’s his own damn fault. Trying to be tactful and generous. Trying to say he knew how she felt, only for Sarah to call him on that. He’s gotta learn that this is not a woman who lets a man speak for her and, if he blunders into doing just that, she doesn’t let him off the hook. And she has a fish business. Who woulda thought.

“Well, it’s, uh…” Bucky rubs the back of his neck with the hand not cupping hers. “It feels like a big deal. Almost like being young all over again.”

“Hey,” she interjects, “some of us are still young.”

He laughs.

“Sorry. I just mean it’s… exciting. You know, thrilling. You wanna do everything at once but you’re also so scared to just…”

“Just…?”

“To just touch her,” he breathes out.

Sarah leans her head back so his hand’s not only touching her neck but holding it up. He laughs again as she straightens. He gets the point; he’s already touching her. So maybe it’s easier than even he thinks it is. Touch. Intimacy. Defiling the belly of a fishing boat with somebody who turned his head so fast he’s the one who needs something bolted back into place. Maybe one on either side of his neck, like Frankenstein’s monster. He sure does feel alive.

“I said I haven’t done this a lot lately,” Sarah says, loosely grasping his wrist. Bucky slips his hand off her neck to line it up with hers, lacing their fingers. “Not that it’s necessarily been that long since the last time I went on a date that ended with more than a kiss at the door.” Abruptly, she laughs. “I’m trying to tell you there’s a condom in the pocket of that shirt I threw over… wherever it got to. If you want this to keep going in a direction where you’d need to use it.”

“Yeah. Yes. I want that.”

“And not just to annoy Sam?”

“Not just.” Bucky smirks in the dark.

“Ok then.”

“I like you, Sarah,” he says as her fingers play with his. He shifts to face her better. “You don’t make things complicated.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of that.”

He can only make a noise of agreement as he comes close enough to feel out her mouth. He’s wishing he’d shaved his face smooth for this—obviously not as certain this encounter was going to happen today, or at all, as the woman who’s been carrying a condom in her pocket—but with a rough tilt of his head as he takes Sarah’s mouth harder, his cheek rubs against hers and she makes a sound into his mouth. A positive sound. An arousing sound. Bucky does something he never does and holds her face in both his hands, metal and skin. Sarah’s go to his hips, hooking into his beltloops, and they both rise up on their knees to press closer.

But she says, “Ouch, kneeled on the wrench,” and Bucky’s only being helpful when he moves his hands to the back of her thighs, running up over her ass as he urges her to her feet with him.

His hands behave themselves a little better when they’re both standing; he keeps them on the small of her back, scrunching her t-shirt in his fingers when she bows into him. He could kiss Sarah for a long time. It’s something he’s always enjoyed, got a lot of practice at when he was young, kissing in the back row of a theatre or savouring every moment until a girl’s curfew with some feverish necking in the alley around the corner from her family’s apartment. Nobody’s counting down the minutes on Bucky’s time with Sarah, so it’s looking like he might be able to just keep dragging his lips across hers for ages, stroking his tongue into her mouth. The geography decides otherwise.

He hears the speedboat’s motor approaching long before he really makes sense of the noise. That happens when the choppy wake hits Sarah’s docked boat, tossing her forward against him.

Alright, tossing him forward. He’s the one whose sea legs are for shit.

It’s evident that she feels his erection against her stomach. She’d have to be really unfamiliar with how this dance went not to notice with the way he’s swelling for her.

“Yeah?” Bucky checks when Sarah digs her fingers into his hips to hold him to her body.

“Yeah.”

He pulls out of her embrace to hunt down that shirt.

“You know, I’ve done this before.”

“I know. I’ve met your kids.” His voice says he’s joking even as his hands move desperately, caressing the boat’s innards in search of soft cotton.

“I mean specifically on this boat,” Sarah confesses, laughing.

Bucky hears a pair of thumps he determines to have been her shoes hitting the floor after the next sound he hears is her unzipping her pants. Wildly, he snatches her shirt from the pipe and dumps the condom out of the pocket and into his hand. He forces himself to calmly replace the shirt where he got it from so she can find it after—just the thought of there being an after has him hardening further.

“It’s startin’ to feel like I’m not so special,” he teases, lurching back to her when the speedboat seemingly swings around upriver and makes a second pass, causing the ground to slope once more.

“You might be,” she teases back. While his legs are tensed to keep his balance, Sarah has to be stretching up on her toes to brush her lips over his. “We’re gonna see about that.”

Her hands curl around the back of his neck as she presses up into the kiss. Bucky groans and gropes for her hips, condom caught between two fingers. His hands run over the sides of her underwear, but it’s mostly skin he touches. Warm and smooth. Kissing Sarah deeply, he traces the soft grooves of stretchmarks, signs of her body’s endurance. She’s given birth twice, lost her partner, come through the Blip and out the other side. This is a survivor’s body. Although she didn’t remove her shirt along with her pants, Bucky breaks the kiss to strip off his. With trembling fingers, he guides her hand from his neck to his shoulder, letting her feel the scars.

Sarah grazes her palm over him. It isn’t hesitant and it isn’t harsh. She touches the place where metal and skin converge the same way she’s touched his neck, his knee. Her other hand strokes over his chest, dawdling to outline his dog tags, then sliding lower. Her fingertips are so light on his abdomen that they almost tickle. The river flows around and against the boat in faint slaps. Sarah’s hand falls to fondle his erection and he gasps into the stillness.

He crowds into her and she presses back against the wall of the boat.

“Is it too cold?” he wonders.

“Cold?” she asks distractedly, popping open the button of his jeans. “No, I’m good.”

Smiling to himself, Bucky ducks his head until they’re almost kissing.

“Ok,” he says. “Well, you let me know.”

His hand wanders from her hip, down, then up her inner thigh. Sarah shivers but doesn’t say anything about being cold, so, breathing harder, Bucky touches his fingers to her underwear between her legs. He can tell she finds his tentativeness a little funny—she exhales a soft laugh—but he needs this short pause to stop him from getting too eager. Though he didn’t want to clarify, he’s figuring that Sarah probably had sex on this boat during her teenage years, and he really doesn’t want his touch to remind her of some adolescent boy’s horny fumblings. Not when the setting’s already bringing up memories for her.

“No heckling,” he jokingly protests.

“I’m not, I swear I’m not.”

He can hear the humour in her voice and he likes the way her words hitch into a panted breath when he relocates his hand to her stomach and nudges his fingers under the band of her underwear.

“Second thoughts?” Bucky asks before he touches her anywhere too interesting.

“Nope. Just a lotta thoughts about you lifting heavy loads off trucks and workin’ a wrench.”

“Yeah?” He pushes his face up under her jaw, kisses there while she tilts her chin to give him room. “You been thinkin’ I might be good with my hands, Sarah?”

He hears her shaky breath when he says her name and thinks there’s a chance he’s not too bad at this. Even now. Not with somebody he seemed to emotionally fall right into step with the instant they clapped eyes on each other.

“No might about it. I’ve been watching you for two days. I know you’re good with your hands.”

Pressing his mouth hard to hers, Bucky slides his fingers down towards warmth and, it turns out, wetness. He groans against her mouth and she jerks his zipper down with demanding fingers. Wedging her hands between his skin and his clothes, Sarah begins forcing his jeans and underwear off together. Even as he’s aching for her to get him naked, he’s gathering her body against his, arm wrapped securely around her back as his fingers slip through her arousal. He curls two fingers inside her and her hips jolt in an apparently automatic attempt to get him deeper. She tries to widen her legs for him, but his hand’s intrusion has stretched her underwear across her upper thighs, so he plucks at them hastily until they fall and she kicks them aside. His own bottom layers are hanging on around his knees. Bucky can’t be fucked to deal with that. He’s punched through a lot of walls rather than going through doors; he knows what is and isn’t a serious obstacle.

Sarah lifts her thigh to his hip and their mouths part with a ragged, shared breath. The Vibranium arm around her supports her—metal fingers clamped tight on the condom between them—as his other hand works her with more pressure when she asks for it in a moan.

“Can I get you off like this, or you want me some other way?” he pants.

It’s like Steve used to say about damn near everything—Bucky could do this all day. He withdraws his fingers from inside her to scrub his fingertips up and down over her clit.

“I’m sure you can,” Sarah says, chest heaving as her hips sway in response to his touch, “but…”

Her hands, which had climbed to his arms after undressing his bottom half, creep lower. The grip of one hand catches in his elbow, thumb to his pulse. The other wraps around his straining cock.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But.”

Insistent on putting on the condom himself, he does it with one arm still encircling Sarah. While he’s tearing it open, he drops his face to her neck again. She sighs as he kisses down her throat and goes mmm when he licks along her collarbone. She’s sweaty, like him.

Though Bucky’s just dying to sink into her, holding her this close is a whole other kind of satisfying. He flicks the condom wrapper away and dips his head, taking hold of the front of Sarah’s yellow t-shirt with his teeth.

“Bucky! What…?”

But her hand pats the back of his head in time with her laughter as he drags the material up until it stays put above her breasts. Tragically, the ghost of Sarah’s horny teenage encounter on this boat possesses him and he’s compelled to mash his face into her cleavage as soon as it’s exposed. He rubs his lips over her breast and she takes the condom from him, reaching between them to roll it down his cock. The feel of her fist makes him grunt into her chest.

“You ready?” Sarah asks him.

Bucky lifts his head and looks at her. It’s dark, but not too dark to judge by her expression that she’s not just asking casually. This isn’t a carefree, youthful hookup—a couple teenagers sneaking onto a parent’s boat or perfecting their hickey-making technique in an alley. Is he ready? He hasn’t been. Not for the occasional assessing stare of a stranger on the sidewalk, or for dating apps and the staggeringly forward pictures people send in response to a simple ‘hi,’ or even for the low-stakes combo of beers and Battleship. But now? For Sarah?

“Yeah,” Bucky states, loud and clear, angling his hips forward when she takes her hands away.

“Alright,” she says, “so am I.”

He kisses her. He believes her.

He grips the underside of her raised thigh with one hand and his dick with the other, bending his knees slightly before pressing up into her. Heat slinks up his chest and twines around his neck like a scarf. Despite the tripping hazard of his pants around his legs, Bucky shuffles forward, holding Sarah so close. She doesn’t make a sound as he fills her, but when he pulls out and thrusts again, an uuuh catches in her throat. God, it feels good to be back in business.

Fingers digging into her leg and her ass, Bucky rocks his hips steadily, huffing sharply through his nose. Sarah’s hands move all over him. They’re on his shoulders, then squeezing his arms; grabbing his hips to encourage him to drive into her harder, then seizing his ass to hold him deep. When he does something good, he feels her tighten on his cock, a quick clutch and release. When he does something really good, she moans so loud the back of his neck tingles and he has to summon every bit of discipline he has not to just let go now.

The feel of the muscles in Sarah’s leg and ass flexing to sync the rhythm of their hips when things get rougher makes Bucky’s eyes roll back. He lifts her off the ground, thighs in his hands as he slings his hips sharply forward. Sarah curls into him, nipping one shoulder as she cups her hand over the metal of the other one. Her breasts bounce against his chest. He pins her between his groin and the boat and feels (and hears) it the second the motion of his hips drags at her clit.

“Bucky!” she gasps. “Don’t—”

“Stop?” he guesses, grinning even as he pants, even as he shifts his feet to make sure they’re gonna stay under him until this is over and he can set her down gently.

Sarah nods rapidly and Bucky keeps the closeness but progresses to fast, shallow thrusts. They should hum, like a machine, like a piston, like a pump, because that’s what it feels like, fucking her and falling for her, doing their dance with just the right friction. How it really sounds is wet, filthy, oh, but her smile is beautiful as she strives, fingers tangled in his dog tags. She comes calling his name. He’s right here, right there with her. She’s clenching so firmly around him that the pleasure might not end and he’ll just have to stay here on this boat, with her, and be Bucky, and get used to the luxury of it making sense again, his name in the mouth of somebody who needs him and wants him and could know him, after a few more nights on her couch and mornings with her kids. He could stand the sound of her name leaving his mouth every single goddamn day, but he’s gonna start with one day, this day, right now.

He says, “Sarah,” and wraps his arms around her, and hopes those arms feel strong.

[tlcwrites]

Worth It

Summary:

Poe would never, ever forget how his mom had squeezed him ever so slightly tighter, dropped a kiss to his messy curls, and sighed, almost to herself, “This is what makes it all worth it.”

Now, on the other side of his own war, his own child snuggled securely on his lap, Poe gets it.

Word Count: 1226

Tags/Warnings: Dad!Poe; Poe Dameron/Fem Reader; pregnancy; Family Dameron adorableness out the wazoo; sooooo much fluff. 

Author’s Note: So this happened because my 3-year-old son’s favorite thing to do is ‘play’ Minecraft with his dad. He will snuggle with my husband, both of them staring at that stupid computer for hours, and my husband loves it just as much as our son. Today was no exception. They got ‘creepered’ and I’m telling you, there is nothing like the sound of a toddler belly laughing to make your day better. Of course, because #me, I couldn’t stop thinking about Poe sharing his favorite hobby with his own kid. So here you go. I apologize for the typos because I wrote this in about thirty minutes, but I make no apologies for the cavities that may or may not result from consuming this fluff.

*I know there’s something about Poe’s earliest memory of flying with Shara in the Flight Log, but my copy isn’t getting here until Sunday and I was too impatient to get this done to wait for the details, so any discrepancies with canon are my fault and tbh IDGAF.

Poe’s not entirely certain what his earliest memory of his mom is; he’s pretty sure it was the first time Shara took him past atmo into space, but it’s hard to trust a toddler’s memory. Regardless, he knows his favorite.

He was four, and Shara had taken him up in her beloved RZ-1 A-wing interceptor. It wasn’t anywhere near the first time he’d flown with her, perched on her lap, her helmet completely swallowing his head but loving every second of ‘piloting’ the fighter. They flew together most days. Just keeping an eye on the neighborhood, Shara would say, with a wink for her son and a laugh as she pressed a kiss to Kes’ cheek as they clomped back into the house, breathless and euphoric from being airborne.

But that time was special. That time, Shara had woken him up before the dawn and bundled him in her worn green flight jacket, whispering that she had a surprise for him. He remembers waving to his dad, silhouetted by the porch light as the A-wing took flight, rising into the pre-dawn sky.

That was the first morning Poe had ever watched the sun rise from the air. He remembers every detail; from the condensation on the canopy of the ship, to the way the sunlight had slowly filtered over the mountains surrounding the Dameron homestead. It was breathtaking. To a four-year-old, it was life altering. And Poe would never, ever forget how his mom had squeezed him ever so slightly tighter, dropped a kiss to his messy curls, and sighed, almost to herself, “This is what makes it all worth it.”

Now, on the other side of his own war, his own child snuggled securely on his lap, Poe gets it.

Beka Dameron squeals with delight as the X-Wing bursts through the cloud cover, those same mountains still steadfast guardians around her grandfather’s ranch. Poe can’t help his grin. His daughter’s glee is infectious.

“What do you think, babygirl?” he asks the two-year-old, leaning forward and blowing a raspberry on her cheek. She giggles and he beams. “Should we chase the sunrise and bring it home to Mama?”

“Woop, Daddy!” Beka smacks the flight stick with a chubby fist. “Go woop-woop!”

“Alright, princess, one loop-loop comin’ right up.” Poe flicks a switch and drops a kiss on Beka’s curly mop. “Beebee, you heard the lady!”

From the astromech socket, BB-8 chirps their approval of this plan. Granted, there’s very little the droid wouldn’t do for any of the Damerons, but Beka’s wishes are BB’s commands.

It’s a split second, as his daughter laughs and the sunrise hits the mountain ridge just right, in the stillness before he spins the fighter into motion, that Poe is struck by the strongest sense of deja vu. His throat is suddenly tight and he has to blink rapidly because his eyes are abruptly watery.

This is what makes it all worth it.

Yeah, he definitely gets it.

Tightening his arm around his daughter, Poe whoops. Beka echoes his joyful cry, and the fighter leaps towards the dawn.

__

On the ground, you watch the X-wing formerly known as Black One as it dips in and out of view through the clouds. You’re positive you can hear your daughter’s giggles from where you stand, as well as her father’s throaty laugh.

Behind you, the kitchen door opens.

“How long have they been up there?” Kes asks, joining you on the porch.

“Not long.” You smile at your father-in-law. “Poe wanted to see the sunrise.”

“He’s his mother’s son, that’s for sure,” he says with an affectionate chuckle, handing you a steaming cup of nysillim tea. “Always in a better mood after starting the day in the air.”

You accept the mug with murmured thanks, both of you watching contentedly as the fighter appears once more below the morning haze.

It’s barely a moment before Poe is expertly landing the fighter in the clearing behind the house. Kes takes your mug before he helps you off the porch, and you both stroll to the makeshift flight pad. The first streams of morning light start to break through the clouds as the ship powers down.

“Mama!” Beka hollers the second the canopy lifts. “Mama, Bee bwaught you sunshine!”

“Yeah, Mama,” Poe echos, carefully tossing the toddler down into Kes’ waiting arms. Beka’s joyful shriek makes everyone smile even bigger. “Had to chase some of those clouds off.”

You laugh as Beka flops backwards in Kes’ arms, her curls dangling as she hangs upside down. You bend to kiss her forehead. “You did great, honey. Did you fly Daddy’s ship for him?”

“Yeah!” Beka giggles. “We did woop-woops!”

You turn to your husband as he scrambles down the flight ladder. “Is that so?”

“Princess, we talked about this.” Poe tickles Beka with one hand, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders. “What happens in the cockpit stays in the cockpit.”

“Oh really?” you murmur quietly.

Poe winks at you. “All woop-woops were conducted under the strictest of safety procedures, Lieutenant. General’s honor.”

BB-8, now freed from the fighter, whistles knowingly.

You raise an eyebrow.

Poe glares at the droid. “Traitor.”

“How about some Iktotch toast for breakfast?” Kes asks Beka, smoothly changing the topic before you and Poe can get going. “Pop’s got zoochberry syrup!”

Beka nearly leaps out of her grandfather’s arms. “ZOOBURYS.”

Laughing, Kes leads the way back to the farmhouse, BB-8 trailing the pair of them like a puppy. As you go to follow, Poe tugs gently on your hand, holding you back.  

“You know I’d never put her in danger, right?” he asks quietly.

“Oh, Poe.” You bring a hand up to card your fingers through his hair, and he leans into your palm with a contented sigh. “Of course I know that.”

“Just making sure.” He smiles, that half smirk that is your absolute favorite. “How are you feeling?”

You take his hand and position it carefully on the swollen rise of your belly. “She’s been dancing this morning.”

“Yeah?” It only takes a moment before his eyes widen and he lets out a bark of laughter as a foot connects soundly with his palm. “She’s so strong!”

“I’m aware,” you intone wryly. “This one’s got your sass already.”

He laughs again, wisely not arguing (because it’s not like you’re wrong), instead pulling you into his arms and kissing you soundly. You stand as the sky glows from pink to blue, wrapped in each other in the early morning air, until something small hits your legs.

“DADDY. MAMA.” Beka makes the universal toddler sign for ‘up’. “Eye-tot toast! Papa says now!”

“Okay, okay, princess!” Releasing you with one last kiss to your temple, Poe scoops up your daughter, tossing her into the air before settling her on his shoulders. Grinning at you, he wraps his arm back around your shoulders, tugging you securely into his side. “Team Dameron is on the move.”

Beka’s giggles echo through the clearing as you make your way up the gentle rise towards the house. And with his wife and his daughter in his arms, and another kid on the way, Poe can’t help that tightness in his throat again. He’s not even aware of the smile on his face.

This is what makes it all worth it.

Boy, if that’s not the truth.

[quickspinner]

Lukanette petty 👀👀👀 you have so many ideas!! I'm so impressed!!

To be fair these have been accumulating for more than a year at this point. I do have a lot of random things pop into my head though so you can see why I have to set some aside (or infect others with them--nothing is sweeter to my eyes than someone in the discord going DAMMIT QUICK). 

Anyway, I think I wrote this one while I was working on Killer Combo and thinking about Luka’s ex in the band. I also take great joy in the HC that Luka is secretly petty. Not one to really get upset over things, but that doesn’t mean he forgets, and if he has an opportunity to take revenge in a small way, he absolutely will. 

Anyway, the idea is pretty fully encapsulated here, but I thought, if I wanted to publish it and get it to be something I was really happy with, I’d have to spend a lot more time on the buildup instead of just summarizing, so that we’re a bit more in the moment with the characters by the time we get to this place. I don’t really feel like it works all that well as it is, and I didn’t have enough motivation to go back and fix it with so many other things I was trying to work on, so I shelved it.

No one would ever accuse Marinette Dupain-Cheng of having good timing. She was always just a little bit off, and it had never stung more than in her relationship with Luka. The phrase ‘two ships passing in the night’ came to mind, except they were more like two drunken skippers doing erratic circles in a pond in the dark, and never quite managing to meet up. Just as she got over her crush, he found a new one, and broke up with her about a month after Marinette had started dating someone new. Somehow their friendship had survived it all, those buried feelings resurfacing for one or the other at all the wrong moments.

And now here they were, both single, and still not able to find the right time. Luka was coming off of a bad breakup with a girl who had left him for a bandmate—without bothering to tell him until she’d been sleeping with said bandmate for nearly a month. 

Luka had been hurt badly, though he was oddly philosophical about the whole thing. He told Marinette once that it wasn’t losing her as a person that hurt, because clearly the person he thought she was was just a fantasy, or she’d never have done something like that. It was having his trust broken by both a friend and a lover that really hurt him. 

Marinette, who’d been single for some time, after a string of boyfriends who weren’t bad but who just weren’t quite right either, had been quietly devastated when he said he was taking a break from dating for a while. A break which, he made subtly clear, included her. Despite knowing he was right, it took the added knowledge that Luka believed very strongly in honoring others’ choices to keep Marinete from throwing a very immature tantrum at her bad luck. She closed her mouth and smiled the best she could, doubting very much she was fooling him.��

Finally they were joking around one day, slightly buzzed on beer and hot wings, being egged on by his sister and her friends, and things were said, and somehow it ended in an agreement, only half-joking, that Luka would forgo his relationship hiatus and date her if she could convince him to kiss her in the next week. 

And despite the joking tone, Marinette had done her best.

Now the week was nearing its close, and Marinette found Luka sitting on the steps outside of a party, a nearly-full beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

“Hey,” she said, sitting next to him. 

“Hi,” Luka said, setting the bottle on the step next to him. 

“Sick of the party?” she asked sympathetically.

“Sick of a lot of things,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Marinette pulled his hands away and smoothed his locks down with her own. “Marinette,” he sighed, as she was distracted by the sight of something behind him—or rather someone walking up the sidewalk in a tight dress, no cheating band member friend in sight. “Look, you know I usually don’t mind this whole game but I’m really not in the mood tonight.” Marinette refocused on him, and realized her hands were on his face, her thumb caressing his cheek absently, and let them slide away as an idea formed in her mind. 

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “If it doesn’t work this time, I’ll stop trying.” She slid closer to him on the step and looked up at him tilting her head to let her hair fall just so and fluttering her lashes teasingly. He raised his eyebrows slightly, but couldn’t help a grin at her silliness.

“Okay,” he sighed, “Give it your best shot.” 

“Okay.” Marinette leaned up into his space. “Then I have just a couple things to say and if you still don’t want to kiss me, I’ll leave you alone.” 

“I’m listening,” he murmured, and the softness in his eyes was encouraging.  

“First, I really, really want to kiss you,” Marinette said, watching him swallow as his eyes drop to her mouth at the words. “And second,” she purred, leaning even closer to whisper, “Your ex is watching.”

His head twitched like he wanted to turn and look, but Marinette knew he wouldn’t. Luka was a chill, mature guy, but there was a lot about him that not many people knew. There was a lot about him that people seemed unwilling to believe because it didn’t fit into their idea of the person he was, no matter how much evidence they were presented with.

But Marinette had known Luka for a long time, had loved him for a long time, and this was something she knew with absolute certainty. 

Luka Couffaine was petty. 

Given her choice, Marinette wouldn’t have used that against him. She’d rather have had their first kiss untainted by any thought of that woman, but desperate times called for desperate measures and…let’s be honest, she was more than willing to dole out a little payback herself. 

So when Luka tilted his head and kissed her, she didn’t quibble, just put her arms around his neck and buried her hands in his hair, parting her lips and letting him take his revenge in whatever way he saw fit.

Marinette certainly wasn’t complaining. 

“Is she still there?” Luka panted against her lips. 

“Yep,” Marinette giggled, rubbing her nose against his. “And the look on her face is priceless.” 

Luka whined slightly. “God I wish I could see it.” 

“Whatever makes you happy,” Marinette grinned, sliding into his lap and tugging his face to hers for a soft kiss. When she released him, he was looking right at his ex beyond her ear. Marinette tilted her head invitingly and Luka lowered his mouth to her neck, muffling his laugh against her skin.

“I think she’s turning purple,” he murmured, and then nipped her skin. “You don’t play fair, Marinette, but I can’t even be mad about it. How about dinner tomorrow?” 

“Deal,” Marinette said breathlessly, gasping as he began to suck at her pulse. “It’s a date.” 

“She’s coming,” Luka murmured, and nearly ruined everything by laughing as Marinette let out a loud, indecent moan while a pair of heels clomped loudly up the step next to them. “You’re the best,” Luka managed, lifting his face to kiss her on the mouth again. 

“She’s gone,” Marinette reminded him.

“Does that mean I have to stop?” Luka asked, nibbling on her lower lip.

“Do you...want to stop?” Marinette asked, pulling back to look at him.

“No, not really,” he sighed. “I still don’t think this is the healthiest start for a relationship, but...I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, I really don’t want to stop.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, a grin spreading across her face. “Then you don’t have to stop, as long as I don’t have to stop either.” 

“Deal,” Luka agreed, and their mouths crashed together.

Scratchpad WIPs request list

[magalidragon]

Tiny Dancer | a drabble set in the “It Is What It Is” universe

a/n: For @stilesssolo I said I would do a drabble of smol!Jon in ballet tights. 🤣 Here it is! Also I just threw his moodboard together in like ten min which is why it is trash.  But then again, so am I, just absolute Jonerys trash, lol.

————————

Dany grunted, separating back the heel of her ballet shoe from the fabric, reaching down with her knife and gouging out the shank of the shoe, releasing a triumphant cry when she yanked it out, holding it into the air like a prize. She dropped it to the floor with the rest of the detritus that accumulated when she prepped her shoes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her boyfriend frowning at her, over top of his book, his glasses glinting in the light coming off the fireplace in front of them both. “What?” she asked, chuckling, not stopping her destruction of the shoes.

“Aren’t those things rather expensive?”

“About 200 dragons a pair, yes.”

“And you just…destroy them?”

She folded the shoe backwards and forwards, easily moldable now that the shank was out. Once she had it the way she wanted, she picked up her darning needle and threaded it, beginning to work on the ribbons. She shrugged. “It’s a disposable product at the end of the day, these need to fit me perfectly.” She wiggled her toes out, so he could see the broken nails, bruises, and calluses that covered her small, yet strong, feet. It used to upset her, how she couldn’t wear sandals or get cute pedicures the way all her friends could, but she was proud of her feet. They showed how good at her profession she was, how athletic and strong. They were what kept her going. “Because they protect these, ultimately.”

“I guess I won’t understand.” He set his book aside, crawling onto the floor to sit with her. One of her cats, Drogon, was fussing with an end of her ribbons, batting it back and forth in his paws. Ghost eyed them all and she kept watch on him out of the corner of her other eye, lest he run off with one of her shoes again. He’d taken a liking to them.

Although she’d discovered one day that his chewing on one of the shoes had actually softened the toe box a little. It wasn’t a habit she wanted him to get into though. “You didn’t see your mom doing this?”

Jon laughed. “Yeah, I did, sometimes helped her. She would give me the shoes and have me bang them on the floor with her.”

“That’s actually genius.” Little boys were all about that loud noise and screaming. Lyanna getting a small tiny Jon to beat the shit out of her pointe shoes was actually a nice sight. She pursed her lips up, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “Baby Jon.”

His palm came over, pressing to the very tiny bump on her waist, his face soft and goofy. “Baby Dany.”

Her hand covered his, squeezing lightly. “Baby You and Me,” she said, accepting his kiss. He patted her belly gently and moved, getting to his feet. She glanced down at her bump, which had not deterred her from dancing; if anything she wanted to keep it up, to stay in shape throughout the pregnancy. It had been quite a shock, discovering that after only a year they were expecting, but it was only a matter of time.

The bell at the front of the house, a small cottage they’d located on the outskirts of Winterfell, rang—more like gonged—Ghost released his high-pitched whine, closest thing he could do as a mute. He jumped up and bounded after Jon to the door, while she remained on the floor, stretching out her legs to either side into a semi-splitz and forward bend, figuring maybe she’d prep for a workout later and get some stretching in.

At the front door there was a happy laugh, the sound of bags rustling, and a moment later Jon entered, smiling wide. “Mom came to visit.”

“I actually come bearing gifts.” Lyanna, who wasn’t quite as petite as her, nimbly stepped around the various objects on the floor, and held aloft two gift bags. She glanced at the shoes piled up that Dany had been working on, and chuckled. “Oh, I remember those days. Shoe prep. You know I used to get Jon to…”

“He told me,” she laughed, coming up and reaching for Lyanna. It was still amazing to her that this woman would be her mother-in-law one day, when she idolized her as a small girl. She poked at one of the bags, nudging into the tissue paper. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

Lyanna patted her belly, which Dany pushed out a bit obnoxiously, since at five months she wasn’t quite as big as she’d expected to be. Doctor said itw as because she was an athlete, she might not pop until the end. “I did so have to bring something for my future grandchild. Also…” A devlish look crossed her face, her gray eyes twinkling. “I found something while cleaning out the house.”

Whatever it was, Jon was wary, his matching gray eyes narrowing. “Oh?”

“Hmm. Be a dear and get me some tea.”

“You don’t need tea, what is it?”

“Jon, get your mother some tea,” Dany chastised. He huffed, storming out of the room, throwing a censuring look over his shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at him. Once he was out of earshot, she whipped around to Lyanna. “Oh gods, what is it? What did you find?”

Lyanna grinned, hand diving into the other bag. She removed a DVD case, smirking. “Had to get this transferred from the recorded copy but it is so worth it.”

One of the things that Dany had wanted desperately to see when she’d begun dating Jon and after learning that his mother had forced him into ballet shoes when he was little, were ballet photos of him. Except, to Lyanna’s enduring disappointment in her son, when he was a teenager, Jon had gone through the house and purged it of any photo of him in ballet clothes, lest his friends or Robb might locate them and humiliate him. Lyanna was still pissed off at him for it.

“Didn’t leave me with one photo!” she raged, when Dany had asked her about it at their first dinner together. Jon hadn’t cared and calmly continued eating, saying it was for the best.

Lyanna hurried to the TV and plugged in what she needed. A moment later, the screen flickered and Dany was greeted with the greatest thing she ahd ever seen in her entire life. Except maybe the sonogram of her child. This was an exceptionally close second.

The footage was homemade, from someone’s old-fashioned camcorder, and from the front row of what she recognized was the main auditorium at the ballet academy. The curtain pulled open, the audience applauded, and then a line of little girls in pale pink leotards, tights, and tutus walked onto the stage, eagerly waving at their parents. They couldn’t be more than five. And then….teh greatest thing ever….Dany yelped, covering her mouth with her hands, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

In both adoration, love, and because she thought she might start laughing nonstop.

A little Jon Snow, dark curls tangled on his head, in a white shirt and gray leotard tights, bringing up the rear of the line. He looked down at the camera and to her amusement, he scowled. Then he reluctantly lifted up his little hand and waved, before focusing his attention on the instructor, who Dany couldn’t see. He snapped to attention immediately and began to follow the program, little feet moving as they ran across the stage, prancing and doing plies and jumping here and there.

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, a hand on her belly and the over stilly over her mouth, watching the tiny Jon on the stage. She kept repeating it, while Lyanna giggled nonstop beside her.

“He’s so adorable! Oh, I forgot how tiny his frown was. Such a grumpy little boy I had.”

”What the bloody seven hells are you watching?!”

Lyanna paused the video, turning to glare at her son. “Your dance recital when you were five. It’s all I have of my only child doing ballet. Give your mother this much, you burned all the other pictures.”

Jon was flushed so red, Dany worried he’d stopped breathing. He closed his eyes. “Where did you find that?”

“The studio actually. I’m sure there’s more I can locate soon enough.” She picked upt he other bag, handing it to Dany, beaming. “And here’s your other gift.”

Dany giggled, almost jumping in place, so full of love and giddiness. She grabbed something soft from inside the bag and tugged it out, bursting into tears. “Fucking hormones,” she complained, wiping her eyes and holding up the little cotton onesie. She sniffed. “Oh Lyanna! It’s so sweet!”

Lyanna wiped at her own tears, hugging her tightly. “Well you’re having a little dancer.”

“A tiny dancer,” Jon read from the onesie, as Dany held it up, placing it over her belly. He chuckled. “Thanks Mom.” He pointed to the television, his image mid-leap in gray tights, intense focus on his small features frozen on the screen. “But not for that.”

“Oh hush and give your mother a kiss. I need to get back to the school.”

Dany couldn’t stop, wiping at her tears and saying thank you to Lyanna, for so many things. The onesie, the video, for producing Jon, even. They managed to get her out of the house, even with the tea Jon had made for her and put into a travel mug, like he knew she wouldn’t be long. He probably was hoping she wouldn’t stay long. He hugged her, wiping at her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “It’s just a silly little gift.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s everything. I just love yo so much.”

He softened, touching his forehead to hers. “I love you too.”

A few days later, at the studio, Dany finished with her workout and went over to the stereo to turn off her music, when the door opened. She glanced over to tell whomever it was she was almost done, when she saw Jon slip in. “Jon!” she exclaimed. He held two cups of coffee in his hand. She grinned, flicking off the music and rushed to him, shoes clomping on the hardwood. “You brought me tea!”

“Herbal, no caffeine.”

She flicked down the coffee collar, his writing scribbled out. <i>Baby might need this more than you.</i> She patted her belly, kissing him. “Yes, baby did need it. Thank you.”

“I have something else.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope, passing it over to her. “My mom isn’t always right. Contrary to her belief.”

Dany took the envelope, curious. She set the tea on the top of the piano and flicked opent he envelope, pulling out a few old photos, the glossy images spilling forth into her hands. She stared, mouth falling open, at the treasures she now held. “You didn’t destroy them!”

They were of little Jon, just like the video from the recital, only in these ones he was in a studio, very small and holding his mother’s hand, while she wore her ballet leotard and skirt, his little chubby feet and legs in tights. Another holding onto the barre. She beamed, flicking through them. They were bloody adorable. She looked up, pressing them to her heart. He smiled, sheepish. “I guess I subconsciously held onto those because I was going to fall in love with a dancer.”

She giggled. “Maybe you did.” She looked down at them again, shaking her head, still smiling. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” The photos returned to the envelope, she put them carefully into her bag, and bounced back up. “Come on, dance with me.”

Jon smirked. “I don’t dance.”

“You’re having a baby with a dancer. Guess what Jon? You dance.” She giggled. “I’ll hsow you my baby pictures of me in a tutu. I think my mother ingrained me young, just like yours.”

“Funny how that works,” he laughed. He spun her around, tugging her up to his chest, and kissed her softly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” She took her coffee and together they clinked the lids together, before he spun her back around, dancing lazily around the studio, both of them laughing goofily.

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 7: Sweet Dreams.

(Lyn + Michael)

Lyn.

Push. Hold. Lower. Hold. Repeat.

I mechanically went through the motions of my push-ups. They always say exercises are supposed to release those happy feelings, yet it wasn’t helping me all that much right now. I lowered myself all the way down and rolled onto my back, staring up at the morning sky.

It was a chilly morning, which wasn’t all that surprising since it was October. The grass was wet enough that I could feel my back getting soaked from just lying here. I forced myself up into a crunch, holding for 5 seconds before lowering myself down again.

My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the scene of Jackie just lying there. Every time I closed my eyes it was just there. It was really fucking with me. I haven’t really spoken to anyone about it. I didn’t really want to. I know what was holding me back from getting the help I needed, but I couldn’t fight through it. It was like this whole thing has royally screwed with my hold on myself, and now things were spiraling out of my control.

Then there was what Ally and her friend Michael explained to me the other day. It was so utterly ridiculous, but it was something. It made zero sense to me, but so did fucking blood showers and random attacks in the locker room, so in some way it made more sense than anything else. I mean, I thought I did see a shadow in the tree after Ally told me she didn’t like being there, and I know there was writing on the wall. And Jackie’s wound…those were claw marks, not knife wounds.

My stomach lurched when I thought about the wound and I rolled onto my side, steadying my breathing. I screwed my eyes shut and forced my brain to think about anything besides that. For whatever reason, it settled on Nailed It. I started giggling like a madwoman as I fought off my nausea. Man, I must look like a strange site right now.

I forced myself to my feet and sluggishly walked back to my res. When I opened my door, Nura looked over and frowned.

“Lyn, are you okay?”

“Hmm,” I hummed. I picked through my drawer to find a clean shirt to wear.

“You just seem…different. Do you want to talk about it?” I could hear the concern in her voice, and it made me sick to my stomach. I hated when someone worried about me. With my back still to her, I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face before turning around.

“I’m good, thanks! Just a little tired, that’s all,” I said. Ugh, my voice sounded so bloody fake.

Nura nodded slowly but she definitely didn’t believe me in the slightest. I turned away and grabbed a few more things before heading to the showers.

I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but the icky feeling that was worming around inside my body wouldn’t go away. I was shaking as I washed my hair, trying to calm myself down. There was no need to get so worked up over nothing. Something. Worked up over something. Something out of my control.

I need to get my head on straight. Maybe once I ate something I’d feel better. It felt like a false hope, but it was something. I carefully cleaned under my nails, paranoid that Jackie’s blood was still under them. I cleaned them religiously 3 times a day, but the feeling was still lingering. Finally, feeling extremely raw from all the scrubbing, I stepped out of the shower and dressed quickly.

Not wanting to talk to Nura again, I dumped my stuff off quickly and made a beeline for food hall. I zipped my parka up and pulled up the hood. It was threatening to rain already, and I didn’t want to get cold after just getting out of the shower.

The smell of food didn’t really entice me like I figured, but I still grabbed a plate of eggs and toast. I sat down at a mostly empty table and slowly worked my way through the food. My stomach was still squirming around, and the food wasn’t making it feel any better.

I heard the footsteps before I even saw who they belonged to. Those stomping steps could only belong to her. “Lyn, Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker,” snarled Loryn as she sat down across from me. “Why are you avoiding me? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days now!”

I cringed and looked away, shame colouring my cheeks. “Oh…hey Loryn.”

“Oh, do not ‘hey Loryn’ me, Lyn!” She slammed her hand on the table. “You show up for practice looking like an absolute wreck and speed out of there so fast I didn’t get a chance to even say hi! What the hell is going on?!”

“Loryn please, not here,” I muttered, very aware of some of the people listening in.

“Not here?” Loryn seethed, “Then where? Because like I said, you’ve been dodging me since the hospital.”

I rubbed at my face awkwardly, not sure how to answer. I settled for a shrug and a small shake of my head, which only annoyed Loryn more.

“Okay, fuck this.” She got up and walked around, grabbing me by the wrist and forcing me to my feet. “We’re walking. Let’s go.”

I meekly followed her out of the food hall, knowing there was no way I was going to get away from her this time. The rain had started to fall lightly as we stepped outside. Loryn’s angry stomps simmered down to heavy clomps as we walked towards the little pond.

“You better start speaking now, Lyn” said Loryn sternly. I knew she wasn’t going to stay mad at me for long, but the concern I saw in her eyes didn’t make me feel much better.

“If I told you I wasn’t really sure, how mad would you be?” I asked lightly, trying to joke a little.

Loryn’s mouth twitched slightly as she crossed her arms. “I have two older sisters, Lyn, and a little one. I can literally stand here all day if I have to.”

I sighed, shoulders dropping heavily. “I just…I dunno. I’m processing a lot of things right now…” I shoved my hands in my pockets sullenly.

“I get that,” said Loryn as she threw a hand up angrily, “but Lyn, you can’t just push everyone out when you are going through things. We’ve been over this before!”

My mind flashed back to first year, when I got into a huge fight with my parents over Thanksgiving break. That was when I spiralled the first time, indulging in a lot of self-destructive behaviours. Like my extremely unhealthy dating speed run, or my run in with Adderall. Loryn was the first one to notice that something was going on, and I eventually broke down and told her what happened.

My relationship with them was complicated. Being the youngest daughter in a family of three, I had a lot of expectations to live up to. They expected absolute perfection at all times, which is where my need for perfect grades comes from, as well as all the extra training I did on my own. I was getting better, but I still tended to retreat into myself when dealing with an extreme number of emotions. I didn’t want other people to be bothered with me, most likely caused by my upbringing. Asking for help meant you were falling behind the bar, and well…yeah, lots of fighting.

I sighed again, looking at Loryn’s shoulder instead of her face. “I can’t sleep.”

“How long?”

“Since…” my voice got caught in my throat. “…the whole locker room thing. It started a little before, I think. But when I saw…I just can’t sleep right now.”

“Lyn…” Loryn’s voice softened. “It’s totally normal, okay? What you saw…I can’t even imagine that. But it’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up.”

“I know that!” I snapped, before dropping my head in shame. “Sorry. I know that,” I repeated, less annoyed, “but they’re in my head. You know she called me?”

“She did?”

“Yeah.” I kicked a pebble away, watching it fly. “She must have gotten word of the whole incident or something. Anyway, they wanted to check in on me, but I didn’t answer at first. Then I made the stupid fucking mistake of answering the second time.”

Loryn frowned in displeasure. “Yeah? And what?”

I shook my head. “Just the whole ‘well I’m glad to hear that you’re okay,’ which would have been fine if it wasn’t followed up with ‘I just hope this doesn’t affect your grades.’”

Loryn’s face went red with anger, similar to how she looked at me earlier. “Are you serious? One of your friends got hurt and that’s what she says to you?”

“Yup,” I said flatly. “So, on top of my fucking night terrors, I’ve got my mum on my mind. Mix it all together and you get one miserable Lyn,” I finished with a pathetic laugh.

“Lyn, c’mere,” Loryn said with her arms opened wide. I walked into her hug and let her squeeze me tightly. “What you’re going through is allowed, but you gotta open up. I can’t help you if you avoid me like the plague.”

I dropped my chin on the top of her head. “I know, I’m a dumbass.”

“That much is obvious,” Loryn muttered into my shoulder. “Did they give you anything at the hospital?” I shook my head. “Okay, then we need to get something to help you. Because I don’t know how to say this nicely, so I won’t, but you look like shit.”

I chuckled weakly. “Do you say that to all your boyfriends?”

“Only when they look like shit,” she said curtly. “Come on, let’s go do something fun to help you relax a little, then we are totally figuring out who we can call about this.”

“Fine,” I mumbled. “But I have plans today, so can this not take long?”

“What? What kind of plans do you have?”

“I’m…” Shoot, I don’t know how to explain I was going to look into the history of the school because I was going ghost hunting. My brain scrambled to make up something intelligent to say but it couldn’t. Loryn was looking at me questioningly, no doubt thinking I was making it up so I could get out of talking to someone. I finally settled on a half-truth.

“I’m meeting up with Ally later,” I said lamely. I totally never planned on bringing her. Sifting through the archives could take a ton of time and I wouldn’t want to make her help with that.

Loryn made a thoughtful face before breaking out in a playful grin. I was confused and asked, “What’s that face for?”

“Nah, not telling,” she said teasingly.

“What the heck? What about being open and shit?”

“Oh, that’s only for you! I don’t keep locking away my feelings.”

I groaned, “Loryn, just tell me pleaseeeeee.”

“’The cute brunette,’” she said, doing a poor imitation of me.

My ears heated up. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

Loryn giggled. “Oh, nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“She’s cute, yeah. And I like hanging out with her,” I said throwing my hands in the air, “so what?”

“This is like your second date already,” Loryn pointed out.

Okay, now my face was heating up. “I-I- no, I mean, it’s not like that,” I spluttered as Loryn laughed at me. “I mean, yeah, she’s cute and really fun to hang around with, but that’s all that’s going on, you know?”

“Whatever you say, Lyn. I don’t get in the way of you dating.” Loryn nodded approvingly. “She’s a better pick than Derek at least. No wait, scratch that, the dirt on my shoe is a better choice than him.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” she stuck her tongue out.

I grabbed her tongue with a small smirk on my face. “Ally is just a friend, that’s all. Who knows, maybe it will become something more but right now it’s nothing. I don’t know her all that well. She just asked for my help on a history thing. I gotta put this big brain of mine to good use, you know?”

Loryn pulled her tongue away and smiled cheekily at me. “Okidoki. Alrighty, let’s go.”

“Do we have to?”

“Lyn!”

I held my hands up defensively. “Kidding, only kidding.”

Maybe this whole talking to someone thing might be good for me. I already felt a little bit better, even if I was running on very little sleep. I would never admit to Loryn that she was right about this though, because she would never let me live it down. Sometimes it would have been nice to have a friend like her growing up. I probably would have been a little better adjusted, but it is what it is. That’s what growing up is, right? Learning how to be your own person and discovering things you never knew before.

XXX

Michael

If someone told me that I would be swiping some of my lab equipment so I could do a test on a sample from in the locker room from a supposed ghost attack at the beginning of the school year, I would have laughed politely and nodded along without believing a word they said.

But here I was, doing just that.

If my lab partner Travis noticed, he didn’t say anything. We were looking at blood samples today and he kept smushing the lens containing the blood by accident, and I think he just wanted to leave.

Time in lab always seemed to drag on forever. It might have to do with the 3hr slot that was dedicated to it, but I felt like my energy was slowly being drained away. Finally, the TA looked over and told everyone to start cleaning up. I quickly put everything away and wiped down my station, ready to get the heck out of here.

“Hey, Michael?”

I held back from gritting my teeth and looked over at the TA. “Yea’?”

She smiled at me and handed me my assignment back. “You almost forget this.”

I chuckled with a sheepish grin as I took it. “Oh, thanks Jas.”

“No problem.”

After that nearly embarrassed display on my part, I was out of here. I slipped off my lab shoes and tossed them into my backpack with my lab coat. I slipped my sneakers on and pulled my coat from the hook as I sped to the door, ready to get out of here.

It was raining when I came out, which was a bit of a mood killer. Then a thought popped in my head.

Wait, why was I in lab? They’re cancelled for the week.

All of a sudden, the sky rumbled as if it was annoyed that I came to this realization. I looked around, seeing if there was anyone around. The whole campus was empty, except one person sitting on the steps leading into the Harper building. I madly ran over, my feet slipping on the wet pavement with something that definitely not rain.

“Hey! HEY!” I hollered, trying to get their attention. They wouldn’t look up. Maybe they couldn’t hear me? I yelled louder, waving my arms around. Finally, they looked over.

Half her face was rotting off. Skin was hanging by threads as her face oozed with pus. Her left eye was leaking something cloudy, and her smile was disturbing. I forced myself to stop running towards her, backpedalling to now get away. But she lifted a hand and crooked her finger, and I was pulled over against my will, like there was a giant hand tugging at me.

“W-what do you w-want?” I stuttered nervously.

She tilted her head, and a chuck of skin plopped to the ground. I nearly threw up right there, but I managed to hold it in. Barely. She stood up and I could see that other parts of her body were equally as rotten. She opened her mouth and shrieked in my face, spittle and pus and blood all splashing against me.

Oh my God oh my God ohmygod.

Her finger dug into my cheek as her good eye examined me. “You are the perfect specimen,” she said, her voice sounding like echoes in my ears. Before I could ask what she meant by that, she stabbed her hand through my chest.

I woke up with a jolt.

I quickly patted my hands over my chest but there was no bleeding. I sighed in relief before grabbing my phone to check the time. It was just around 11, I must have turned my alarm off by accident. I used the hem of my shirt to wipe the sweat off my face before texting Ally.

M: Ally, I just had a super weird dream.

It didn’t take long for her to reply.

                                                                                  A: Huh? What do you mean?

M: I was in lab when suddenly I realized that we have no classes and there was this woman sitting on the steps of Harper. I went over to ask her something and she was a rotting corpse!!!

                                                                                  A: are you serious?

M: yeah!! Then she fricking stabbed me!!!

                                                                                  A: D:

                                                                                  A: OMG

                                                                                  A: That sounds so freaky

M: yea for realz! She said something really weird to me to

M: *too

M: she said you are the perfect specimen

                                                                                 A: oh spicy, ghost has the hots for you

                                                                                 A: plz invite me to the wedding

M: Ally I was murdered in my dreams and you think we should get married?

                                                                                 A: was it your worst date ever then?

M: … I would say yes

M: though my date with Kiki Gillmore was pretty bad too

                                                                                 A: :P

I put my phone down and chewed on my nail, feeling a little better about the whole thing. It was just really freaky to feel something going though my body like that. I don’t even know who she was, but she looked pretty pissed off. And that voice, man. That was freaky crap. It wasn’t the first time I had a strange dream like that, but they were never that violent.

What did my dad always say about strange dreams? Michael, all dreams have some basis in reality. If something happens in a dream, there must be a reason for it.

Whelp, I really really really hope that wasn’t the case here. I’m not sure about other people, but I wasn’t a big fan of dying. Especially dying by hand stabbing. If I was going to die, I wanted it to be at least peaceful or heroic.

Deciding I needed to get rid of the heebie jeebies, I rolled out of bed and put on some clean clothes. There as a small shop that sold neato things like crystals and stuff. The lady who owned the store even did tarot readings. If there was some place I could buy ghostly protection from, it would be her place.

I suspiciously glanced at the rain-soaked pavement as I walked down towards the main street. At least it was just rain this time.

It didn’t take me too long to make it to The Dreaming Mythic. As usual, it looked pretty dead on the inside. I popped in, making sure the door closed behind me so the rain didn’t get in. Instantly I got hit with the smell of sage and…lavender? I think it was lavender. I poked around for a little bit before I approached the counter after getting freaked out by the petrified doll heads.

Being stabbed by a rotting corpse ghost was preferable to death by dolls.

Talia, the owner of the shop, smiled when she saw me approached. Probably because I’m the first customer she’s had today. Or in the last few days. Regardless, she leaned forward and asked, “Well, what can I do for you today, Mr. Yamamoto?”

I smiled at her pleasantly. “Hey, Talia. This probably won’t sound too strange to you, but I’m in the market for some magical protection,” I said, wiggling my fingers at her for dramatic effect.

“What kind of protection exactly?”

I pointed up. “Protection from them.”

She looked bemused. “Angels?”

Oh, she was playing with me today. I laughed and shook my head. “Nah, I wish. What I’m looking for is something to protect me and a few friends against ghosts.”

“Ghosts, is it?” She frowned and rubbed her nose. “What kind of ghosts?”

“I think they’re angry, maybe even vengeful.”

“Ah,” she said softly. She turned around to open up a small cupboard above her head. “How did you get mixed up with an angry spirit, Mr. Yamamoto?”

I crossed my arms behind my head, stretching my back out. “Uh, it’s not me exactly. Well, it kinda is. My friend, Ally, she’s the one getting into it. Her friend, Lyn, and some of the other girls on the swim team are being haunted, we think.”

“Oh, I heard about that poor kid getting attacked,” she commented. “It sounded a little too convenient to just be a knife attack. And right after they had such an ominous warning sign?” She shook her head in mild disappointment as she continued to gather things in her arms.

I poked at the amulets dangling from the display as I waited for her to finish up. Talia was nearly done, as she put down her armful of items before disappearing into the back room for a few minutes. I looked down, not sure exactly what gems she had pulled out. I recognized the amethyst, but that was about it. I wasn’t exactly a rock guy. Finally, she came back with a large dusty book and dropped it on the counter.

“I don’t know the personalities of the people you’re helping,” she said carefully, “but anyone who is willing to get entangled with the departed is someone who has done this before. I think for your friend Ally, this is what she needs.”

She handed me a necklace with an amethyst stone in the middle and some bracelet with a black stone in the center. “Amethyst is for soothing the user, and the onyx will help protect the wearer from dark spirits. For you, son, I recommend a peridot. It is associated with protection, purity, and emotional balance.” She frowned, muttering under her breath. She grabbed a ring off the counter and placed it gently in my hand. “Give this to the tall one. She’s going to need the quartz if she plans on helping you. All of you should be wearing some form of onyx, if I’m being truthful.”

I looked down at the various jewelry in my hands. “Um…how much do I owe you?”

She stared at me very intensely. I never really noticed it before, but the green in her eyes looked a little yellow in this light. She gave me a small smile. “$15.”

That seemed extremely underpriced. I raised my brow in question, but she only shook her head. “Mr. Yamamoto, how would you feel if you charged someone an insane price to help protect themselves from something that might kill them?”

“Super crappy, I guess,” I said quietly. The thought of the ghosts killing us was something that never once crossed my mind. I tapped my debit card against the machine and thanked her before heading out, my backpack now filled with various forms of protection.

Well, at least I felt a little productive today. Later tonight Lyn was planning on doing some research, I think. And I know Ally hasn’t said anything about joining her, but I had a sneaky feeling in my gut that she was going to. I wasn’t like, 100% sure, but the eyes she was giving Lyn during our chat had been p r e t t y intense. I chuckled to myself, because I was pretty sure Ally wasn’t completely aware of it just yet.

Nothing like a little romance to spice up a good old ghost hunt, amiright?

[slippinmickeys]

Currahee

Her bathroom smells of verbena and linen with a very slight hint of mildew underlying all, about which she cannot bring herself to care. She used to light candles and listen to music when she bathed, but those days are past. The tub thunders to full behind her, adding a tidal brine to the air.

Mulder’s bathroom smells like toothpaste and Pert, and has a red rubber duckie with devil horns perched on the back of the toilet. She looks at it whenever she is in there, wonders if it ever floats with him in the tub. She has considered getting him an angelic duckie to balance the space, to tip the scales of his life a bit more towards the light.  

Earlier in the day, she had stumbled while writing the word “success” in a report. No matter how many times spell check ran clean, the word did not look right on the screen. She’s reminded of that off-putting moment as she stares at her own reflection, dark smudges under her eyes and her fingers bare, loneliness writ large.

The temperature of the water in the tub behind her is almost volcanic, a light steam rising from it in the cool air of the bathroom. She gives herself one more look in the mirror before she steps into it.  

She knows she is pretty, she isn’t so humble that she won’t admit it. But she is also short, dissentient—a redheaded iconoclast in a world populated by leggy brunettes easily impressed by Mulder’s handsome nous. She’s been making a fool of herself over him for years and she isn’t even his type.

She sinks her head under the water of the bath in fit of petulant ennui.

She wonders if she appears as spinsterish as she feels, if the checkout clerk views her meager dinner-for-one groceries and thinks how sad. Mulder may be ever present in every other stratum of her life, but her cupboards are all Dana Scully; slight, a little wanting, there but for her.

She shaves her legs with precision and care--as she approaches all things--but wonders what for, exactly. It is March, the month after her birth, and still pretty cold--she will likely not be wearing skirts. She supposes she shaves for herself.

After 30 minutes, the water begins to cool, the wind outside the bathroom window pushing branches into it, a dull clawing sound in the humid air. There is a spot of shaving foam drifting dreamily along the surface of the water and it finally glides into the top of her knee, clinging there.

Sometimes she thinks of her heart as a Christmas tree. At one point it had been bright, cheerful, full of hope and spirit. But time had worn it down, turned it brittle. She was afraid if she were to let someone touch it, it would fall to pieces in their hands.

She finally drains the bath and steps out, feeling slippery and oversaturated. Her bones feel like they weigh twice what they did when she got in.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He thinks of the gold-plated records on Voyager, afield in the endless vacuum of space, a blueprint of life on earth. It passed beyond the orbit of Pluto in 1990. It will be 40,000 years before it even approaches another planetary system. It is the culmination of humanity, and no bigger than a small car.

If you packed everything that mattered from his life into a vessel, it would be five feet and two inches of clomping skepticism, with a face that could send men to war and a sheath of carrot hair.

She wielded knives that sliced flesh from bone and dipped her head when she received a compliment. He’d long ago memorized the way her lips looked when she said his name.

As if the universe were listening to his thoughts, came, “Mulder.”

He shook his head from where he stood in the doorway of the morgue, and looked to her.

She pulled her mask down off her face and removed her protective goggles. She looked tired, worn out. She shook her head at him.

“Nothing,” she said, “absolutely no trace evidence whatsoever.”

He believed her. If there had been anything there, she would have found it.

He moved into the room and stood next to her, looking at the body, neatly sewn back up; her sutures straight and tidy--one last act of respect she could pay the dead.

He sighed, leaned on the cold examination table and then thought better of it, absently wiping his hands on the outside of his coat. She made a move to go around him.

“Excuse me,” she said, not impatiently, and he tried to get out of the way but bumped into her when she passed.

Mulder felt like a giant next to her, with his clomping feet and hulking frame. He was all elbows and knees and felt like he was taking up all the oxygen in the room.

A clutch of something like guilt squeezed his heart. Like sorrow.

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your partner. She was out of bounds, forbidden fruit, impermissible. She wasn’t supposed to become so big a part of your life that you needed her like air.

Scully was scrupulous, a rule-follower—not like Mulder, the rebel in the basement. She always went the speed limit and picked up litter. She’d pulled his ass out of the fire more times than he could count. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your partner, and Scully always followed the rules.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, and she nodded, snapped off the latex.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Something compelled her out into the world that evening after she’d gotten home and showered the morgue off of her.

Once out of her front door, she was hit with the sweet smell of spring--daffodils coming to life in window boxes, chattering squirrels peeking out of trees. She felt a call to the river.

Georgetown didn’t have a Metro stop, so she got in her car, let it pull her toward the Potomac. Once across, she was in Virginia, and it was enough to know that he was there, too.

Past National Airport, she pulled into a parking lot filled with trucks and SUVs attached to empty boat trailers. There were sailboats bobbing in the inlet, people jogging, pushing strollers, rollerblading down the Mount Vernon trail. She joined them and walked and walked.

She found herself in Alexandria and let the pull of him carry her into the city. She stopped for dinner and a glass of wine on Duke Street, and she allowed herself to relax, sink into the chair, watch the people walking past just to see them--something she had not done in years. She saw a woman who looked like Melissa and remembered why.

She thought of her sister; of this world, but not in it, living on only in memory, in the hint of perfume on an old sweater, in the auburn curls of a stranger walking by.

After dinner, she went looking for quiet and found it in a cemetery nearby, some of the graves there older than the country itself. She sat on a bench as the sun went down. Despite the dusk, all around her, the city was coming to life. DC was shaking off its torpor and she felt like she was coming out of hibernation, herself. There was a moment where she thought of all the people who have ever lived—and died—were ever underfoot. The space above the ground is for the living, and she needed to start doing more of it.

She turned toward Hegal Place.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He was thinking about her, as he laid on his couch, unable to sleep. He was usually thinking about her.

A quick one-two knock came at his door, and when he opened it,  she was there, as if thought could call a person across space and time.

“Scully,” he said with surprise, and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

“It’s late,” she said, as if she wasn’t the one that walked all the way to his apartment at 11:00pm.

“Come in,” he said, again.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She ducked under his arm, into the dark enclave of his apartment. It smelled like leather and fish tank and him.

She plopped on the couch, kicked off her shoes. The leather was still warm from his body heat.

“Everything all right?” he asked, lowering himself onto the other end of the couch.

She gave him a long look, considering.

“I don’t know,” she said, “is it?”

He stayed quiet, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Mulder, are you happy?” she asked him.

He raised a shoulder. “Sure,” he said.

“I believe you’re content,” she said, “but are you happy?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

He sighed, leaned back. She knew he took it as a personal affront.

“You want out,” he said.

“No,” she said, “that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“What are you saying?”

She closed her eyes. She wasn’t even sure if she knew.

“I want… “ she started, looked at him, “I want more than a career. I want to live.”

She looked to his hands in his lap, at the finger the terrorists broke, his left pinkie, noticed how the knuckles in it were bigger and knobbier with calcified healing. Right next to his ring finger, she thought.

“Is that… do you…” he struggled, but at least he was trying to understand, she thought. “Does that mean you want to go skydiving or something?”

Her head fell back against the back of the couch. Why were they like this?

“I want a life, Mulder,” she said, “I want someone to come home to.”

“I understand,” he said, and she saw something pass over his face. “I want that for you, too.”

To hell with it.

“For God’s sake, Mulder, I want you.”

Contrary to her every expectation, Mulder stood from the couch and walked out of the room without a word.

Oddly, it didn’t bother or scare her. She wondered if he were trying to compose himself so he could let her down gently? Either way, she was no longer afraid.

After about a minute, she stood and went to look for him. He was not in the kitchen, nor his bedroom.

“Scully,” her name from behind her, close behind her, startled her, awoke something low in her belly. His whisper sounded like the night.

“Mulder,” she said, sharp and quick, and she was about to turn toward him when he stopped her--stepped right into her, his chest into her back. She could feel his breath puffing into her hair.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He tumbled into his bathroom and drew a deep breath. He tried to think of a way to give her an out. Deep down, he knew that a part of him was convinced that his love was a weapon that could only hurt people, but he is selfish and so far he has always been able to save her.

If she wanted him--wanted this, he was powerless to deny her.

She was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, doubtless looking for where he’d disappeared to. He approached her on silent feet. Whispered her name.

He startled her, he could tell, so he stepped up close, could feel her sharp intake of breath. After a moment, she turned to him, but didn’t step back. She looked up, a question in her eyes.

“Do you know the story of the 101st Airborne?” his voice was less than a whisper.

She quirked a grin. He knew she would.

He reached out and grabbed her face with both hands, ran his lips over hers, softer than butterfly wings. Rested his forehead against hers.

“Geronimo,” he said.

She gave a small laugh and he thought he could hear the shadow of relief in it.

Her hair shone like an old penny in the dusky glow of the street lamps outside his window.

She nodded at him, he nodded back.

Slowly, so slowly, he lowered his face until his lips met hers and pressed into them. She pressed back. Give, take. Everything they had ever been to each other and everything they ever would.

Geronimo.

[moprocrastinates]

and sung me moon-struck; kissed me quite insane (I think I made you up inside my head)

Pairing: Jude x Cardan

Words: 2,080

Summary: It’s not like she intended to lose them. That would be cruel, and as much as Jude regarded as a ruthless, cunning, royal bitch, she wasn’t cruel. No, no, that title belonged solely to her beloved husband, who, if she couldn’t find her gift in the next day, wouldn’t be getting much of anything for their first anniversary.

Jude wrote Cardan letters during her time in exile.

Warnings/Rating: T. Some kissing, and some angst.

Notes: I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING AFTER, LIKE, FOUR YEARS AND SO MANY OTHER FANDOMS. (Please take pity on me if it’s not good. I’m tired, and I promise I’ll get better.)

AO3

Jude would like it somewhere on the record that she tried. 

Really. She did. 

It’s not like she intended to lose them. That would be cruel, and as much as Jude regarded herself as a ruthless, cunning, royal bitch, she wasn’t cruel. 

No, no, that title belonged solely to her beloved husband, who, if she couldn’t find her gift in the next day, wouldn’t be getting much of anything for their first anniversary. 

Not that it mattered, really. Cardan had said he didn’t want anything, in the same stupid way he had confessed, “Of course it was a trick!” when she returned to Elfhame to save Taryn’s ass. 

“Sure, Cardan,” Jude huffed, blowing a tress of curly hair out of her face with a heavy breath. All heart and steel, she moved with a ferocious grace as she tore through the castle. Windows bright with moonlight cast ghostly shadows across the floor, and a soft breeze, warm as the summer outside, did nothing to ease Jude’s anxiety. Thankfully the hallway was empty; she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t explode in an odd faerie’s face should they bump into her. 

“I don't want anything, dear Jude, because why would I desire possibly anything when I have you?” Her tongue tripped over the delicacy of Cardan’s tone, and she sighed. A year later, and still her mockery of Cardan wasn’t nearly as good as it should be, but she figured she could blame that on her nerves. 

Once she found the damn letters, she’d do a better impression. In front of him, no less. Her husband caused her so much grief. (She wouldn’t have it any other way.)

“Focus, Jude,” she told herself, deep brown eyes moving straight in front of her, brows beginning to furrow. “Don’t let Cardan distract you.” 

Over the year since her successful return to Elfhame, Jude found herself utterly besotted (Cardan loved the word, and so she’d begun using it-- damn him) with her husband. Not that she hadn’t been before, but living beside Cardan and experiencing all that he is in a brand new light was something entirely new. Every day, it seemed, brought something new from Cardan to Jude: cups of tea with milk and teaspoons of hot honey right as she woke up, hot baths, sprinkled with lavender and mint, drawn when she came in from sword practice, and gentle kisses and massages whenever her ire felt strong enough to control all the roots buried deep within their land and force them to ruin Elfhame itself. Cardan’s words, always soft, sometimes sharp, remained her constant. HE remained her constant, and it was now, marching through the hallway, that Jude reminded herself that she needed to show him the same feeling he gave her. 

She needed her letters. But they were nowhere to be found. 

The mortal world, and Vivi, had been absolutely no help. “What kind of place do you think I’m living in?” Vivi had asked her as Jude flipped up cushions, emptied cupboards, and pried up ceiling tiles in their formerly-shared apartment. “I’m not a vault! I’m not just storing stuff for you for a rainy day! You live in a castle, Jude! You have over a hundred rooms!”

“I had hoped you would at least keep some things of mine!” Jude jerked her old mattress away from the wall and peered behind it. Nothing. Fuck. “You know, sister sentimentality and all that!”

She didn’t have to turn around to see the half-smirk on Vivi’s face. “That’s exactly why I’ve kept as little as I have.”

Ugh. Sisters could be the worst.

Now, her steps were loud in the empty, elegant hallway, slim, glittery boots clomping down onto the marble floor as she strode to her rooms. Her-- their-- rooms, right. She still wasn’t used to that.

If she was honest, she still wasn’t used to this life. Or love. 

She tried. Really, she did. Jude gave him kisses and hugs and curled her body around his in the evenings, strategy plans in hand. But she wasn’t as good at words as Cardan. Now, even a year later, despite having said them before, those three words escaped her, forced her mouth dry, and floated off with the wind. Madoc had taught her to keep her feelings close as a method of control, of power, never letting an enemy know one’s weaknesses. She’d done that her entire life, and even with Cardan, it was difficult. So she showed it differently than he did. Was that her problem? Her love shaped itself physically, her hand crawling into his, her face buried into his shoulder.

Did he know how much she cared if she didn’t use the words?

“I know you love me, my villainous girl,” Cardan had told her just last week when she’d shyly asked about their upcoming celebration, and the look on her face -- frustration, probably-- made him smirk. “I don’t need anything, I promise you.”

“Sure, Cardan,” she snorted again. His voice had become somewhat of a nuisance in her mind, a conscious that, if she ever let it slip, he would lord over her until they vanished into dust. 

They had to be in their rooms. Right. It was the only logical place.

Cocking her head, Jude looked around her half of the room. Everything seemed to be where it was when she left this morning, so maybe Cardan hadn’t been poking around, the way he often did when she was this scatterbrained. He probably knew something was up, and if he had any brains (which he did-- she wasn’t fooling herself), Cardan would absolutely know, and then he would win. 

Damn him if he knew something she didn’t want him to know just yet. Damn him if he won the game of feelings. 

“Stupid, Jude!” She cried out, brows furrowed as her fingers reached for the most coveted of her hiding spots under the nearest floorboard to her bedside table. “He’s going to know, and you’re going to get caught, and he’s going to outdo you on this.”

“Outdo you on what?” 

Jude immediately dropped the floorboard, and tried not to look like she’d been caught with her hand in a sweets jar. At the entryway stood Cardan, her beloved, beautiful husband, a thick eyebrow arched in her direction. His black eyes shone with something akin to sunlight. “Uh, nothing. Nothing.” She stood up, brushing her hands against her dress’s skirt. “I’m just looking for something. It doesn’t concern you.” 

“Ahh,” Cardan said, and stepped toward her slowly, black eyes glinting as he traced the black dress she wore. He licked his lips, and oh, mercy, he was going to kill her, and he’d still win. “You’re such a terrible liar, Jude.”

“No, I’m not!” She snapped, but even before she said the words, she knew she was caught. 

Cardan merely laughed, a soft sound. “Defensive to the end, are we?”

Jude raised her chin. “As always, my king.”

She refused to break eye contact, which was probably why she didn’t feel his hands until they touched hers, circled them like they were telling hers a secret. “Not with me, Jude,” Cardan whispered, eyes leaving hers to watch his own fingers trace a pattern on her palm, “Never with me.” 

Well, shit. Swallowing a breath, she whispered, “I can’t find your gift.” 

Black eyes flashed back to hers. “What gift?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Cardan.”

“I know nothing, darling,” he purred, and Jude felt his tail curl around her right ankle as he stepped close. Pale hands came to clutch at her upper arms. “I promise.”

“Uh huh,” she eyed him skeptically. Cardan merely blinked slowly and sweetly back at her, and damn if he didn’t know how to play her like a faerie fiddle. 

She hated that she loved him so much. 

“Care to share, Jude?” He said, and stepped away, choosing to sit on the bed although his eyes never left hers. 

Letting out a sigh, Jude plopped herself down beside him. Her sigh was a long one. “I lost your letters, Cardan.” 

Cardan raised a brow, looking confused. “My letters? I thought you never received them. I thought my mother burnt them before they reached you.”

“Yeah, I never got those.” Jude sighed again, this time tucking her hands under her thighs. She shifted, looking down at them, and knew Cardan tracked the motion. It was a nervous habit of hers. “I’m talking about my letters to you. I wrote them when I was in exile, and they contain some, uh, of my feelings.” She gulped. “My feelings then, about you. The things I can’t say. Even now. I was going to give them to you tomorrow as an anniversary present.” She swallowed, and felt that it was suddenly thick and harder to do than before. Be vulnerable, Jude thought. “I wasn’t sure you knew how I felt about you, so I decided I’d give them over, because I know I don’t always say how I feel. And it’s been a year, and you’ve been so loving and beautiful and sarcastic and verbose about your love for me. I wanted to repay that kindness to you. But I can’t find them.”

When Cardan didn’t respond, she looked up. Her husband had frozen, eyes locked on her hands in her lap. “Cardan?” 

“You wrote me letters?” His voice was soft. “You cared enough to write letters?”

“Cared probably isn’t the right word. Felt strongly, maybe.” Jude tried, wincing as her words stumbled through the air. “I just didn’t want to admit what I felt, even to myself. So I wrote letters. I read somewhere that it was a way to let someone go.” Cardan lifted his head to look at her. 

“You loved me then,” he murmured, and Jude saw in his eyes that he knew he was right. “You loved me even when I exiled you.” Cardan’s tail lashed once, twice, and she saw that the monster she had once thought he was had awoken under the surface. “I thought this was one-sided, that you didn’t love me back despite all we’d been through together. I thought that was why you didn’t come back right away. I thought I’d finally scared you away.” 

She swallowed. “Of course I did,” Jude said quietly. “I’ve never been as good with words as you, but I wrote letters because I didn’t know how else to tell you I felt so much for you, not when I thought you were happy you had finally gotten rid of me, tricked me, humiliated me, that you were celebrating over how you’d finally triumphed over your stupid mortal seneschal.” Softly, she reached out and curled her hand around his. Immediately, his thumb found the ruby ring on her finger and twisted it around gently. “I just didn’t know you felt the same. I didn’t know that you longed for me the same way I pined for you. I thought I would burn the letters and let you go.”

Cardan’s eyes found hers, soft and smoldering and stoked embers all at once. “I love you, Jude. If I had the choice, I’d find you in every life-- so we’d never have to let each other go.”

Jude blinked, light tears falling down her face. “I’m so sorry, Cardan,” she murmured, and huffed a small laugh as a fresh wave of tears streaked down her face. “You deserve to know, and I can’t-- I can’t-- I love--”

“Jude, my darling, my goddess,” Cardan’s hands were all over her body, pressing into her cheeks as she cried. She felt his fingers stroke her there, and it was a new sensation, having him know everything and still clinging to him. “I know, dear Jude, I know.” Before she knew it, she was being pulled into him, gentle hands pressing her face into his shoulder. “You don’t need to say it. I know how much you love me.” 

She didn’t know how, but she found his lips, pushing hers into his as desperately as she could. Jude wove her fingers through his hair and pulled, sharp and sweet, and his answering groan was loud enough that she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly. “Please, please, please know.” She whispered, breaking the kiss. “Please, Cardan. Please hear me.”

“I do, Jude.” He said, nudging his forehead into hers, eyes closed. “I do. I love you.”

And so she kissed him, breathing him in, and he whispered it again.

[rvnclwrites]

Romania 1999 Pt 5 (Charlie Weasley x Female MC)

Summary: AU where MC is an American who attended the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry instead of Hogwarts. Set eight years post graduation (1999) when she finally gets the nerve to travel abroad and follow her dream to be a Dragonologist in Romania. Check out my master list for parts 1 - 4.  

Notes: I’m so sorry this took me a million years to post. Life got crazy, and proof reading this long of a fic took me years, but I hope you enjoy :) part 6 will be the last part in this series, so stay tuned!

Word Count: A lot. I’m talking ~11,500. Whoops.

(Y/N) brought her steaming mug of tea to her lips as Charlie sat down beside her on the couch. It had been a couple days since the pair returned from their time off, and the Sanctuary was busier than ever. They had to split up the past two mornings since Hank and Scott were the ones up to date on how the dragons were doing, and (Y/N) was grateful for the space. Between all the time they'd spent together and Charlie's Christmas present, she needed to distance herself from her feelings, which was a lot easier to do when the redhead wasn't around.

"Did Norberta do that?" (Y/N) asked when Charlie began applying a thin layer of burn-healing paste to his wrist. 

"No, she did great. Aro on the other hand…" He flinched as the orange potion began to work its magic on the small patch of raw skin. "He wasn't as pleased to see me."

(Y/N) set her mug down on the wooden end table to her right and screwed the cap back onto the potion for him. That was the sixth burn she'd heard of in one week, and though it wasn't unheard of for the breed, it wasn't exactly normal either. "Does Hank have any idea what might be going on with him?"

"Not a clue. They did a physical evaluation yesterday and found nothing."

"Huh. Well, we can check on him again on Monday after Gertie and see if he's getting any better," (Y/N) suggested, placing the potion onto the coffee table in front of them.

Charlie smiled. "Sounds like a plan. How was Ventus?" 

"He did great after about ten minutes or so. I'm pretty sure he was giving me the cold shoulder at first for being gone."

The redhead chuckled. "Guess I'm not the only one to notice when you're not around." 

That caught (Y/N)'s attention. She tried to steady her heartbeat by forcing a laugh, ignoring Charlie's eyes on her. Was he saying he missed her? "I'm surprised you aren't sick of me after being stuck with me for a full week."

Charlie leaned back into the couch, propping his arm up on a pillow in his lap. "You're joking, right? That was one of the best holidays I've taken in years."

Not sure what to say, (Y/N) took a quick drink of her tea again to occupy herself, feeling her cheeks, and now her throat, burn.

"Did you mean what you said to my mum? About it being the best Christmas you've ever had?"

(Y/N) looked down at her lap, surprised Charlie remembered that. "Well yeah, but don't go getting a big head on me because that's not saying much." She bumped her shoulder against his, but Charlie frowned.

"You don't have to do that with me you know."

"Do what?" 

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Use jokes to cover up your feelings."

(Y/N) swallowed, realizing it sounded like she was bitter over her family when in reality she just didn't want Charlie to know how much she enjoyed spending the past week with him and his family. "Uh, sorry. It's a bit of a habit."

"Don't get me wrong, I like how tough you are, but you can talk to me about anything."

(Y/N) stared at him, blood pounding in her ears. I like how tough you are. She tugged at her sweater sleeves awkwardly. "Okay, then I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous of your incredible family."

A smile grew Charlie's face. "I don't mind sharing. In case you didn't notice, my parents are pretty accustomed to taking in strays at this point."

Every nerve ending in (Y/N)'s body sparked, making it hard to think properly. Despite the fact that Charlie was talking about his siblings' significant others, (Y/N) reminded herself that Harry and Hermione had been Ron's friends at the start. Friends. Just like she and Charlie were.

She forced another smile, praying the dragon lover couldn't see the effect his words had on her. "Thanks. I'd like that."

"The only condition," Charlie added, narrowing his eyes at her, "is that you can't repeat any of the stories you hear to Hank or Scott."

The knot in (Y/N)'s stomach released and she burst out laughing. "Aw, come on. Can't I at least tell them you used to have a hippy ponytail like Bill does now?"

Charlie groaned, shaking his head adamantly. "Absolutely not. And I'm going to tell Bill you said that."

"I don't know why you're embarrassed by it. That picture of you was adorable." She glanced up at his orangey-red hair, which was still parted to the left like it had been in his Quidditch picture at Hogwarts but was now much shorter in the back. The thick layers up top fell past his ears and always seemed to droop in front of his face in the most adorable way. "You never did tell me why you lopped it all off."

Charlie ran a hand through the spiky strands up front, pushing them back like he always did even though they rarely stayed put. "I stopped wearing the ponytail once I left Hogwarts, but it actually wasn't until Bill's wedding that my mum had a go at it. I figured she had enough going on at the time, the least I could let her do was cut my hair."

"I take it you liked it short then?"

"No, she cut it really short. I used a spell on it a few days later but compromised by not letting it reach my shoulders."

The corners of (Y/N)'s mouth twitched as she pictured his trademark red hair as long as Bill's. "Well, if you ever grow it back out, I call dibs on braiding it. I love your hair." 

The look in Charlie's eyes made her heartbeat stutter. 

"You do?"

"Of course I do," (Y/N) said coolly, hoping her confession wasn't too intimate or weird. "Who wouldn't? It's the most distinguishable thing about you."

His gaze dropped back down to the orange paste on his arm. "In my experience, red hair and freckles have always been considered negative traits."

"Who the hell told you that?" (Y/N) asked, the sudden protectiveness making her body tense. "If anything, those are two of the most attractive things about you." 

Charlie's eyes trailed over to meet hers, and the blood drained from (Y/N)’s face when she registered what she had said. It didn't have to be embarrassing, right? It's not like she admitted she frequently thought about touching his hair and kissing every last one of those freckles.

"Oh, come on," she added to be safe, smacking his shoulder with a pillow. "You don't get to be self conscious. The most sought after woman here was interested in you for crying out loud. That's gotta be an ego boost."

Charlie sighed, giving (Y/N) a look he usually reserved for Hank. "I take it you're referring to Sydney?"

"Of course. Who else would I be referring to?" (Y/N) considered the other women in their age range at the Sanctuary. Jessica was the only other one their coworkers obsessed over, but they would never admit it. She was Dave's younger sister and common sense told everyone she was off limits.

"Now look who's selling themselves short."

(Y/N) stared wide-eyed at the redhead before barking a laugh. "You're kidding, right?" The serious look in his eyes, however, said otherwise, and her amusement faded. "I can assure you literally no one here has hit on me. Sydney probably made it abundantly clear where I stand with them."

Charlie pursed his lips together, looking as though he had something to add to the conversation.

"What?"

"I don't think it's because of Sydney," he said hesitantly.

(Y/N) stiffened. She knew the teams gossiped, she had just always hoped it wasn't about her. "What do you mean?"

"The only reason they haven't chatted you up is because…" He trailed off, looking as though he was hoping she could somehow magically connect the remaining dots.

"Because…?" (Y/N) urged. She genuinely had no clue where he was going with this.

Charlie kept his eyes on her, but (Y/N) could tell he was embarrassed. "Well, based off of comments they've made in the past, I think they're assuming there's something going on between us."

"Oh." The word came out like a high pitched croak due to (Y/N)'s sudden dry throat. While she had always worried about Hank and Scott assuming she was pining over the redhead, she hadn't given a second thought about what the other teams likely presumed about their relationship.

"I've tried to tell them otherwise," Charlie added, "but they listen just about as well as Aro does."

The expression on his face made it seem as though Charlie had been teased about their friendship at one point or another, and (Y/N) tried to ignore the nervous pitter-patter of her heart at the thought. "Shit, I'm sorry. Did you want me to talk to them? I can tell them to piss off."

Charlie smiled a little. "No, I don't care what they think, I just- I thought you should know. You know, in case you wanted any of them to ask you out."

"What? No," (Y/N) said automatically, unable to stop the distaste from showing on her face at the idea of anyone at the Sanctuary asking her out. Anyone except… She swallowed, forcing herself back to the present moment. "If anything, I should say thanks. That's spared me a lot of trouble. But… doesn't it bother you?"

Charlie's brows drew together. "Why would it? You're the most amazing woman I've ever met."

Just like that, it suddenly felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Did he… did he really just say that? 

An indistinguishable shift in tension settled over them as they stared at one another, and (Y/N) realized how easy it would be to make a move. She could practically feel the words pleading to leave her mouth- Charlie, is there something going on between us?

But Charlie continued speaking, extinguishing the opportunity and snapping her back to reality.

"Besides, they-"

Boots clomping on (Y/N)'s front porch followed by an abrupt knock on the screen door made both Dragonologists jolt in their seats and turn around towards (Y/N)'s front door.

"Sorry to interrupt," Hank said, pushing open the squeaky screen door, "but some woman's here to see ya, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) froze, and a heavy lead weight started to creep its way up her legs, settling itself neatly inside her stomach. "Did she say her name?"

"Nah. She said it's a surprise? Adorable little thing with blonde hair. Looks to be about your age."

"Oh my God!" (Y/N) squealed, jumping to her feet. "Charlie, hold that thought- I promise I'll be right back!"

She flew past Hank, not even bothering to grab a jacket despite the chilly temperatures. Dashing down the porch steps, she yelped again when she spotted the one and only Penny Haywood near the entrance gates.

"What are you doing here?" (Y/N) cried, colliding into her friend with the best bear hug she could manage. 

Penny giggled, hugging (Y/N) back just as enthusiastically and refusing to let go even for a second. "My family decided to visit relatives in Britain over Christmas break, so I thought I'd surprise you for New Year's." 

(Y/N) felt a tightness creep into her throat. She couldn't believe Penny was really here, she had missed her so much. "You scared the hell out of me, you know," (Y/N) whispered into the blonde's ear.

She could hear the dorky grin in Penny's voice. "Just making sure you're staying alert. You seemed to be getting quite cozy here in your letters."

"Alright, alright," came an unexpected masculine voice behind Penny, and (Y/N)'s mouth dropped open when she glanced up. "I gave you the first two minutes like I promised, but I want my hug now."

"Barnaby!" (Y/N) gasped, her heart swelling so much she could hardly breathe. 

Penny conceded and released (Y/N) from her death grip long enough for (Y/N) to lunge at the Thunderbird. The six foot tall Magizoologist lifted her off the ground with ease, spinning her around in a full circle and squeezing her as tight as he could without crushing her. "You didn't think I'd miss out on this epic trip, did you?"

(Y/N) felt her eyes burn from the elation while Barnaby set her gently back on her feet. "I've missed you guys so much. How is everyone?"

"We'll catch you up on everything," Penny promised before a mischievous glint reflected in her blue eyes. "But first, you have to tell me who's waiting on your front porch for you."

(Y/N) turned to see Charlie leaning against the porch railing. He smiled at her, which only worsened (Y/N)'s over-stimulation and brought his earlier statement rushing back into her mind. You're the most amazing woman I've ever met. Shit, what had he been about to say to her?

"Merlin's beard, is (Y/N) (L/N) blushing?" Penny gushed, playfully shoving (Y/N)'s shoulder. 

Barnaby howled with laughter. "Awh, come on, don't tell me this place has made you a softie."

"Would you two shut up, we're just friends," (Y/N) hissed even though neither of them had been remotely loud enough for anyone to hear. "I'll only introduce you if you guys promise to behave."

"Fiine," Penny huffed, and Barnaby drew an "X" over his chest. 

"Cross my heart."

(Y/N) bit her lip, secretly excited for Charlie to meet her friends. She hoped he liked them as much as she liked his family. 

An unpleasant thought struck her, however, as she swiveled around and saw Dave and Russell gawking from the researcher's picnic table. For a ridiculous moment, (Y/N) didn't want to introduce Penny to Charlie until common sense caught up with her. In fact, as they approached the porch, (Y/N) noticed his eyes weren't even on the blonde at all, but rather on Barnaby.

"Charlie, this is Barnaby and Penny, two of my best friends from America."

"It's great to meet you," Charlie said, extending a hand to Barnaby, but (Y/N) noticed a change in his demeanor since they had been talking. Was he mad at her for running out on their conversation? She sure hoped not.

The redhead turned to do the same for Penny, but (Y/N) was mortified when the blonde flung herself forward instead, hugging Charlie without warning. 

"Thank you for looking out for her," she said, unapologetically squeezing him once before releasing him. (Y/N) was going to kill her later.

Charlie chuckled, his posture rigid as usual from the unexpected physical contact. "This one hardly needs taking care of."

(Y/N) smiled at that. Charlie needed to start being more careful or her head was going to be the size of a hot air balloon by the end of the night.

"Isn't that the truth," Penny muttered, shooting (Y/N) a pointed look. "So what now? We don't want to butt in if you're busy."

(Y/N) shrugged. "No, we were just hanging out. We're always done a few hours before nightfall. What do you guys want to do?"

"Can we tour the place at all?" Barnaby asked, the childlike excitement evident in his voice. 

Unsure of the rules, (Y/N) glanced to Charlie, who checked the watch on his wrist. 

"As long as (Y/N)'s with you and you stay far enough away from each dragon, then sure. Just stick to the paths and be back by dusk."

Penny beamed, instantly dragging Barnaby towards the winding pathway past Charlie's house. "C'mon then, what are we waiting for?"

(Y/N) moved to follow them, but when Charlie stayed put, she turned back. "Aren't you coming?"

His eyebrows raised. "Oh no, it's cool. Go catch up with your friends."

She shot him a funny look. Did he really think she was going to ditch him because her old friends showed up? Without questioning the urge, (Y/N) grasped his hand the way Penny had Barnaby's and tugged his arm once. "Then you have to come too."

His gaze trailed down to where their hands were connected before settling back on (Y/N). Refusing to feel self conscious, she squeezed his hand and urged him forward again, earning herself another half smile as he conceded and followed her down the porch steps.

And the best part? Charlie squeezed her hand right back.

Penny and Barnaby stayed at the Sanctuary for the weekend, celebrating the new millennium with (Y/N)'s team and catching up on everything they had missed in each others' lives. (Y/N) tried her best not to babble too much about the Sanctuary but could hardly help it as story after story came rushing to her head. She got to hear all about Penny's teaching position and Barnaby's new pets back home. They told her how Rowan and Jae were doing, and at night (Y/N) was able to confide in Penny about her confusing feelings for the redhead. It was so amazing to have them there that it went by in a blur and, as (Y/N) anticipated, saying goodbye became one of the hardest tasks in the world. 

But the one thing that made the inevitable easier to stomach was Charlie, who was waiting for her with two brooms in hand as soon Penny and Barnaby left on Sunday morning.

"Figured you could use a ride right now," he said, extending one of the Nimbus 2008s to her. 

She beamed at him, refusing to acknowledge the lump in her throat while she mounted the broom. What would she do without him? 

He lead the way to the Thestrals, surprising (Y/N) again with just how well he knew her. The comfort of the creatures combined with Charlie's company meant more to her than she could put into words. 

"So how you doing?" he asked, keeping his eyes on her as they sat next to each other on a large rock near the pond. The concern in his voice brought (Y/N) back to that bench at the Burrow and Charlie admitting he was worried she'd want to go back to the States.

"I'm okay. I still have the dragons and you, don't I?" She nudged him playfully, wanting him to know she would be alright. Even in America, (Y/N) jumped around so much she became accustomed to not seeing her friends for months at a time. Her sadness from today would dissolve soon enough and the redhead was undoubtedly expediting that process.

He smiled at her, his freckled face pink in the afternoon sunlight. "Definitely."

"So my crazy friends didn't scare you away then?"

Charlie laughed, shaking his head. "No, they were cool. I'm glad I got to meet them."

"Me too. Even if they are humiliating sometimes..." She shuddered, remembering Penny revealed that (Y/N) spent most of their third year in the library reading about dragons.

"Just consider the playing field a little bit more even now," Charlie said. "More incentive for you to not tell Hank or Scott any of my stories."

"Yeah, yeah." She studied the resting Thestral in front of her and replayed the weekend events in her head a few times. "I would say it went pretty well though."

"Aside from Logan hitting on both of them. He's ridiculous."

(Y/N) laughed. The thirty year old research team member was the most flirtatious wizard she had ever met. "Oh, I considered it a win that he was the only one. Those two always get hit on, especially Penny." 

Charlie didn't say anything in response, so she added, "It's okay, you know. You can admit she's hot, it's no secret."

Their gazes met and the guileless look in his eyes told (Y/N) he wasn't hiding anything. "Yeah, I mean she's pretty I guess."

(Y/N) stared at him, stupefied by his disinterest. In the fifteen years she had known the Pukwudgie, nearly everyone was a little stunned by her beauty. "Okay, was your girlfriend at Hogwarts some sort of rare godless-like creature or am I missing something?"

Charlie looked back toward the Thestral and (Y/N) had the sudden fear she made the dragon lover uncomfortable. Just as she was about to apologize and tell him to forget it, he said, "She was nice."

(Y/N) held her breath, waiting- or at least hoping- for him to continue. That couldn't have been the only quality he liked about her. Sydney may have walked a tight line on that one, but Penny and Fleur were nice too.

"And we were friends." The redhead sighed, rubbing the stubble across his jawline. "I don't expect you to understand because no one seems to, but I'm only ever attracted to someone after I know them. After we're friends." 

(Y/N) prayed he couldn't hear the nervous hammering of her heart. They were friends. Did that mean that she could actually have a chance with him?

She shook her mind of the thought, scolding herself for being so selfish. Scooting closer to the dragon lover, (Y/N) allowed her shoulder to press against his as she placed a hand on his forearm. "Hey, what's wrong with that?"

He glanced down at her, his brown eyes searching hers for something. "I don't know. People have given me grief about it since I was a teenager. They just don't get it." 

She frowned, not sure if she was more upset for Charlie or angry with those people. "I would've never made that comment if I'd known. I'd never make fun of or judge you for anything like that. Those people are assholes."

A grateful smile tugged at the redhead's lips. "Thanks."

Their eyes met again, and for a ridiculous, utterly delusional moment, (Y/N) thought she felt another shift in tension between them. Did he just lean in closer?

She was clearly losing her wits because Charlie merely turned to face the Thestrals again, saying, "So what about you?"

(Y/N) blinked, attempting to calm her rampant pulse. "Huh?" No wonder they called it lovesick. The way this man fried her brain cells was sickening.

"You've heard all about my lack-luster love life, and yet I've heard nothing about yours. Surely you left some bloke heartbroken back across the pond?"

Less than pleasant memories resurfaced in (Y/N)'s mind, causing an angst-riddled scoff to escape her lips. "Hardly," she muttered, the flashbacks leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Charlie waited patiently, clearly expecting further explanation, and (Y/N)'s gut twisted as she was forced to confront one of the many aspects about her past that she would prefer to forget.

She couldn't blame her ex's. (Y/N) had more baggage than most their age- baggage that had to be kept under wraps and constantly required her to move from place to place. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt when people you cared for called you selfish and a liar. Or when they betrayed you.

"My first relationship was great," she began, wanting him to know not all of her experiences had been shitty. "He was insanely sweet and was in the same Ilvermorny house as me, so we had a lot in common. But after my brother died, I needed space and he understood." She tried not to fidget, grateful the cool air kept her hands from sweating. "We never could rekindle what we once had, so I moved on to a new state and new career."

"And after that?" Charlie asked. He wasn't stupid. He knew she was stalling.

(Y/N) sighed, drawing her knees against her chest. "Let's just say I learned early on that it's better not to get involved with people until you're ready to settle down." 

Charlie seemed to consider this. "I take it someone didn't like it when you switched jobs again?"

She shook her head. "I asked him to come with me, but he didn't want to." She shuddered, still able to feel the slap of rejection after all this time. "I'd never had someone be so angry with me before and it's not really something I ever want to experience again." (Y/N)'s head began to ache because the memories were only an earth-shattering reminder of why she and Charlie would never work. Of why she should never trust anyone but her four Ilvermorny friends with her secrets ever again.

Charlie tensed beside her, his jaw muscles flexing. "I'd ask if he hurt you, but I have no doubt the damage you've done if he tried." 

A welcomed grin took over (Y/N)'s face. She and Charlie had dueled each other loads of times, most of which ended with Charlie on the ground first. "You betcha."

"Sorry for bringing it up if you didn't want to talk about it."

"No, it's okay," (Y/N) assured, feeling that it was only fair considering what he told her. "It's probably healthier to talk about it."

"Have you dated anyone since?" Charlie asked.

She shook her head. "A couple flings here and there, but he stabbed me in the back pretty good. Haven't really been able to trust anyone enough." 

"No one at all?" 

(Y/N) held her breath and glanced up at the redhead. Was he asking if she trusted him?

As her heart rate increased, Charlie added hesitantly, "What about Barnaby?"

A mixture of disappointment and bewilderment bubbled in (Y/N)'s stomach. "What?" Her shoulders shook with laughter, and she cringed at the mere thought. "No. Merlin no." She continued laughing until she saw unexpected tension release from Charlie's shoulders and remembered his expression when he met the Thunderbird.

Wait, was he…

"I just thought you two seemed close," he said with a shrug.

(Y/N) studied him closely. "I trust that guy with my life, but not like that. He's like my brother." 

Charlie remained quiet, and a realization struck (Y/N). While she may have had several intimate bonds with a handful of friends, Charlie really only seemed to have his brother, who was now married, and her. Jealousy could exist in platonic forms, not just romantic.

"Charles Weasley," (Y/N) began, an arrogant grin spreading across her face. "Are you jealous of my friendship with Barnaby?"

Color flooded the redhead's cheeks faster than (Y/N) could say gotcha, and he jerked his head back towards the Thestrals. "What? No, of course not." 

"Merlin's beard, you so are!" (Y/N) couldn't stop herself from poking his side, and he swatted her hand away. 

"Sod off," he said, standing up to avoid her teasing, and she hurried after him towards their brooms.

"Oh, come on. There's no need to fight over me. I can have more than one best guy friend, you know."

Charlie turned back around unexpectedly, making (Y/N) reel back to stop herself from colliding into his chest. He stared down at her, his mesmerizing eyes piercing right through her, but a roar in the distance caught their attention before he could speak.

(Y/N)'s face lit up at the familiar sound. "Wanna go check on Aro?"

Charlie paused, the teasing seemingly forgotten as his eyebrows raised. "You want to go check on him? ...On our day off?"

"Sure, why not?" She was surprised he was even questioning her. Charlie was always down to visit the dragons.

Amusement reflected in those brown eyes and he stared at her so long, (Y/N) wanted to look away, but she didn't. 

"Sure," he said finally, a grin growing on his pale face. "Race you."

-

To say Aro was more irritable than usual was an understatement. The Hungarian Horntail would barely let them stand a hundred feet away, let alone the standard fifty. The pair had to use the surrounding trees and boulders to sneak closer, keeping their motions limited and voices low.

"When exactly did he burn you?" (Y/N) asked, crouching behind a thick, leafless oak tree.

Charlie thought for a moment. "Actually, it was after I fed him, which I found odd. He's usually one of the easiest to manipulate with food, but he almost seemed worse right after he ate."

She considered this. While a physical exam wouldn't diagnose gastrointestinal issues, there was no way the food would have made it to the digestive tract that quickly. "No vomiting?"

"Nope. Felix thinks they're going to have to take a blood sample tomorrow unless they find out what's wrong."

(Y/N)'s heart sank. Withdrawing dragon's blood was no easy task. Their thick skin was hard to penetrate even with the use of magic, and it was usually a painful, traumatic experience for the creature. "No. We'll figure out what's wrong with him."

One of Charlie's heart stopping smiles made an appearance, releasing a hoard of butterflies in (Y/N)'s chest. 

"What's the plan then?"

She peered around the tree, glancing at the dragon perched on the solid ground. His posture was tense and tail rigid, indicating he was either alert or in constant pain. Since there were no alarming sounds or threats nearby, (Y/N) assumed it had to be the ladder, but what could be hurting him that wouldn't show up in a physical?

"Charlie, do you think you could get him to open his mouth?" she asked suddenly.

The redhead chuckled. "I don't think that will be a problem."

She smiled apologetically. "Preferably without it being followed by fire though."

"Alright, that might be a tad bit more difficult." He reached for a Snitch-sized rock on the ground before standing and moving behind the next tree in line. "Mind telling me what we're looking for first?"

"The mouth is the only external part not checked in a physical."

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. "You think he's being this mean over a toothache?"

"He could've cut his tongue or have an infection," she whispered, hurrying past Charlie to duck behind a nearby boulder. (Y/N) was no longer thankful for the surprisingly warm January day; snow would have been a welcomed distraction for what she was about to do. "I'm gonna get as close as I can to see while you try to distract him."

Charlie nodded hesitantly. "You sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow? I'd say the probability of getting burned is pretty high."

Despite knowing the odds were likely not in her favor, they could keep looking for answers if they were wrong today. If they were wrong tomorrow, Felix would probably move forward with the blood withdrawal. "I'm willing to get a little banged up for Aro's sake."

The redhead still didn't seem as convinced. "Why don't you let me get close to him while you distract him?"

"Because you don't know what different injuries to look out for. How many dragons here have had gum infections or tongue abrasions?"

Charlie pursed his lips together. "Fair point."

She smiled at him, hating the way her heart warmed at his obvious concern. "I'll be fine as long as you promise to apply the burn-healing paste for me."

The worry instantly left Charlie's face, replaced by an amused smile. "Deal."

(Y/N) ignored the butterflies in her stomach, along with the thought that maybe the burn that was likely to follow wouldn't be so bad. "Now throw the rock while I try to get a good view of his mouth."

Charlie obliged while she army crawled forward, staying low to the ground and wiggling her body as little as possible. When the rock hit the ground, Aro's head lifted in response, body seemingly frozen as those intense eyes darted around the clearing. (Y/N) froze, hoping she was far enough to the dragon's right that he would miss her. Thankfully, Charlie sent another rock past Aro this time, causing the dragon's head to jerk in the opposite direction. He growled at the pebble, displaying the right side of his mouth to (Y/N). No black teeth, purple gums, or bleeding there. 

She glanced back at Charlie, motioning for him to toss the next rock up into the air. He did one better by withdrawing his wand and using the levitation spell on the rock. Aro's head followed the rock as it climbed through the air, giving (Y/N) the perfect opportunity to center herself with the dragon. His growl was a low grumble, clearly more intrigued by the rock than threatened, but his mouth was just wide enough for her to spot the blood oozing from his top left canine. It was no wonder the team didn't notice it- most would assume the blood was from the raw meat he was being fed.

Realizing Aro was losing interest in the rock, she scrambled to her feet, retreating to the nearest tree. He howled in anger when she made a break for it, but the Hungarian Horntail surprised her. Instead of letting out an angry burst of flames like she was anticipating to dodge, Aro whipped his tail from out behind him, nailing (Y/N) right between the shoulder blades.

She stumbled forward from the blow, letting out a gasp as the spikes punctured her skin. She caught herself from face planting on the rock solid ground and instinctively tried to push herself up until agonizing pain unfurled inside her, forcing her arms to give out. She tried to crawl forward, just barely registering Charlie distracting Aro in the background. Thank God for that.

Once (Y/N) reached a large enough rock, she used her abs instead of her arms to pull herself up and leaned against the chilled stone for support as she made her way back to her feet.

"What hurts?" Charlie asked once he reached her, his voice gentle as always. He had always been the best at staying calm under pressure.

"Upper back," she gritted, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand. She couldn't stop herself from slumping against the redhead when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her away from the rock, carefully trying to avoid the injury.

"Madam Rosetta's is at least a ten minute walk from here. Can you make it?"

(Y/N) shook her head, but not for the reason Charlie was thinking of. Despite the stinging pain, she could force herself to make it just about anywhere, but thankfully she was cognizant enough to know better.

"Do you want me to carry you there?"

Burying her face into that forest green shirt he was wearing seemed like one of the most appealing options in the world, but she willed herself to shake her head again while her body and subconscious called her a traitor. "Just help me get the nearest emergency shed first."

Even though the pain was isolated to her back, each step felt worse than the last as (Y/N)'s adrenaline wore off. Once they reached one of the dozens of sheds scattered throughout the Sanctuary, (Y/N) rested a palm against the dark wood for support while Charlie held the door open for her.

Blinking through the black and white dots clouding her vision, (Y/N) eased her way into the cramped shed, stumbling toward the familiar oak table against the left wall and letting out a hiss of pain while she leaned back against it. "Son of a bitch."

As the shed door banged shut behind Charlie, she squeezed her eyes shut and eased herself up onto the wooden table, gripping the ledge on either side of her. She was probably going to bruise her palms from how tightly she was holding on, but she didn't care. She'd do anything to find relief from the searing pain emanating from the space between her shoulder blades.

Two creaks of the floorboards and a sudden nearby warmth told her her Charlie was now beside her, undoubtedly surveying the damage.

"We've got to get you to Madam Rosetta."

His voice seemed to be about the only thing that could bring (Y/N) any relief. Smooth as honey and concern for her threaded into each syllable. But there was no way she could do that. The Sanctuary had rules when it came to serious injuries. Rules that required documentation and professional review- more written proof of her being here.

(Y/N) shook her head once, releasing a slow, calming breath before she blinked her eyes open. She was wrong- her best friend’s freckled face brought her an ounce of relief too.

"I just your need help," she insisted as calmly as she could while brushing hair away from the nape of her neck. A light smear against her fingertips indicated just how deep the wound was and Charlie let out a hiss of breath.

"Bloody hell."

She attempted a pathetic smile while she wiped away the faint trace of blood smudged across her fingers with the sleeve of her sweater. "Quite a literal choice of words there, don't you think?"

Charlie didn't laugh. His intense brown eyes were laser focused on her back, and embarrassment settled over her when (Y/N) realized she needed to take her shirt off.

"What are you doing?" he asked, more alarmed than (Y/N) had ever heard him before as she fumbled behind herself to grip the back of the sweater. 

With a wince and a frustrated sigh, (Y/N) lowered her hands back to her sides. "Can you help me lift the back of my shirt over my head?"

Considering this was the man who flinched at hugs and flushed at cheek kisses, (Y/N) waited for him to protest, but it never came. To her surprise, Charlie moved without being told twice, carefully sliding the hem of her gray sweater up and stretching out the collar to guide it seamlessly over her head. 

(Y/N)’s shirt now rested in front of her, giving her a view of the slashed and blood soaked material. Despite how off putting the sight of her own blood was, she kept her arms in the sleeves, thankful the bunched up fabric managed to cover up most of her cleavage. Why couldn't she have worn a sports bra today?

“It’s over a centimeter deep,” Charlie said, averting his eyes from the wound. The raspy falter in his voice made (Y/N) wonder if it was the severity of the injury or the fact that she was practically shirtless that left him so unnerved. They were best friends right? This was no different than him seeing her in a bikini top.

(Y/N) slowly straightened her slumped shoulders, forcing away all visible signs of insecurity for Charlie’s sake. Anything to make him feel less uncomfortable. “Can you speak American for two seconds? My brain is a little too overwhelmed to handle the metric system right now.”

Charlie smiled for the first time since they had stepped foot inside the shed and held his thumb and index finger up to show her.

“Okay, about half an inch. Thank you.” She attempted to pull her hair free from the neckline of the sweater but stopped abruptly as the abrasion moved with her shoulder blade. She let out a second grunt of irritation and pain, hating nothing more than the temporary loss of her independence. Just as she was about to try again, her breath caught as Charlie’s fingertips brushed against her neck, freeing the trapped strands and brushing them over one shoulder.

“What do I do?” The look in his eyes was urgent, and (Y/N)’s heart squeezed in response. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t tell her she was an idiot for not going to the nurse. He just wanted to help her.

She smiled gratefully and pointed to the top shelf on the back wall. “Grab one of the purple bottles on the right.” Staring down at her sweater, her head pounded argumentatively while she racked her brain for the blood cleaning spell. It started with a T and was right on the tip of her tongue. “Ugh.” She roughly rubbed a hand over her face, wanting the throbbing sensation in her back to stop for just one second.

“What?” Charlie asked, instantly stepping back in front of her and setting the potion bottle onto the table beside her thigh.

She turned away from him as a frustrated flush reached her cheeks. Two of the traits she prided herself most on were her intelligence and independence, both of which were failing her right now. “I can’t remember the stupid spell to clear all this blood up. I was a Healer for an entire year and I can’t remember the damn spell.”

“Hey.” Charlie’s cold fingers rested beneath (Y/N)’s chin, gently forcing her to look at him. The touch was quick, but the striking contrast to her scorched skin made (Y/N)’s head spin. “Your body is beat up enough. We don’t need you taking swings at it too, okay?”

(Y/N) nodded, still slightly dazed from the feeling of his hand against her skin. “Okay.”

Charlie grabbed a stack of towels from the shelf and set them beside the potion bottle. “This may hurt,” he warned, tugging on a fresh pair of work gloves, “but I’ll try to put as little pressure as possible.”

(Y/N) nodded, squeezing her eyes shut again as Charlie picked up one of the towels and began blotting away the excess blood from around the wound. She calmed herself by breathing in through her nose and exhaling through her mouth while counting to ten, the technique she used to encourage her former patients to use.

“What now?” Charlie asked, setting the blood stained towel off to the side.

(Y/N) twisted the cap off of the potion and poured a generous amount of the purple liquid onto a fresh towel before handing it to Charlie. Leaning forward so her back was more accessible, she said, “This will clean it and prevent infection. Just dab it until it starts to smoke.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie muttered when she sucked in a sharp breath as the wet towel touched her skin.

She knew the potion stung and had anticipated the pain, but it was even worse than the burn-healing paste. She bit her lip hard and was relieved when the antiseptic started to settle into the wound, alleviating some of the discomfort. 

Charlie’s forehead creased with concern after he set aside second towel and gloves. “It’s smoking, but it’s still bleeding a little.”

“It’s okay. Do you remember the third healing spell I taught you?"

Nodding, Charlie withdrew his wand but hesitated. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather Madam Rosetta do it? We've only practiced that one a handful of times.”

“Now who’s beating themselves up? You also mended Gertie’s broken claw last month on your first try and bandaged Scott’s leg two weeks ago like a pro.” 

“But none of those were this severe.” He glanced down at the infliction for a minute before their eyes met again, and his voice was barely audible when he spoke. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile at him. “You won’t, you’ll help me. We’re best friends, right? I trust you.” 

Something sparked in Charlie’s eyes at those words, and after a minute, he nodded. “Vulnera Sanentur, right?” The melodic phrase fell from his lips with the perfect inflection on each syllable.

She grinned and leaned forward again. “Just like that, three times.”

He did exactly as he was taught, tracing his wand back and forth and performing the spell with so much elegance, (Y/N) was too distracted to notice the poking of his wand or the feeling of her broken skin knitting back together. When the words stopped, it felt as though someone had used a Time Turner, reverting back before Aro had ever scratched her.

“Merlin’s beard,” Charlie breathed, his voice full of wonder and pride while (Y/N) exhaled in relief. She knew what he was feeling- Vulnera Sanentur was one of those spells that had the ability to take your breath away when you saw it work. Without warning, he set his wand down and traced his fingers across her upper back, making (Y/N)'s head and heart go haywire. She sucked in a shaky breath and Charlie paused, looking alarmed. “Does it still hurt?” 

Mortified, (Y/N) shook her head and hopped off the table. “Are you kidding? You did it perfectly!” She wanted to hug him but stopped herself once she registered her current sweater situation, which only led to a second wave of embarrassment. He probably wouldn’t appreciate (Y/N) pressing her blood covered shirt or her bra-clad chest against him. Studying the material, she realized she still couldn’t recall the blood cleaning charm and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. 

Her attention returned to the redhead when she heard rustling, only to find Charlie now in a white undershirt, extending his long sleeve shirt toward her. For a moment, (Y/N) just stared at the green fabric in his hand while her heart continued to have a mind of its own. He was offering her his shirt. It took a moment for that realization to sink in, and (Y/N) wasn't sure which outcome was worse- having to put her mangled, bloody sweater back on or Charlie continuing to stand there in his nearly see-thru t-shirt that clung to his body like static. Neither were great options. 

“You don’t have to,” she began, but he pushed the cotton material into her hand.

“Take it. I don’t want you to start freaking out about that spell again.”

(Y/N) smiled softly, deciding she was hardly about to put up a fight after what he had just done for her. As soon as she began to slip her arms free from her sweater, Charlie rotated around towards the table, turning (Y/N)'s insides to mush. He was so sweet she couldn't take it.

All the nerves in (Y/N)’s body jolted to attention when she pulled the fresh material over her head and a wave of Charlie's scent hit her. It took all of her self control to not bunch the material up against her nose and breath in that overwhelmingly pleasant honeysuckle and grass smell. "Thanks," she muttered, letting him know it was safe to look once the hem of the shirt fell past her hips. Charlie was only four or five inches taller than (Y/N), but the shirt was easily two sizes too big because of his broad chest and defined arms.

She tossed her sweater onto the table and was surprised to find Charlie staring at her. His eyes held an intensity (Y/N) had never seen before and she started to feel claustrophobic in the tiny shed. Why was he looking at her like that? She attempted to take a step back, but the heel of her boot clacked against the wood panel wall behind her. His gaze somehow managed to feel more invasive now than when she was standing beside him in her bra just moments ago.

(Y/N) was about to ask what he was staring at, but she didn't have a chance to speak. Without warning, Charlie closed the distance between them, his hand suddenly cupping her cheek, his body pushing her back against the wall, and before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her. 

Butterflies erupted in (Y/N)'s stomach and her brain short circuited as Charlie's mouth met hers. Her palms landed on his chest while Charlie's free hand gripped her waist, and she was frozen in place. The only move her instincts allowed her to make was to close her eyes and kiss him back.

She may have imagined kissing the redhead more times than she'd ever admit, but this was nothing like those fantasies. She had always assumed he would be sweet and gentle, maybe even shy. Boy was she wrong. 

(Y/N)'s heartbeat pounded like a Bludger trapped inside her chest as Charlie's body pressed against her own. His calloused fingers dug into her hip, keeping her firmly in place, and (Y/N) sucked in a breath as their tongues swirled against one another, sending a wave of pleasure over her. She involuntarily curled her fingers into his shirt to tug him closer, unable to believe how good this man's mouth felt on hers. Every inch of her body felt like it was on fire. She never wanted him to stop. She wanted to do this all the time.

But unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end. (Y/N) wasn't sure if it had been a few seconds, minutes or hours when Charlie finally jerked back. Both of them just stared at one another for a minute, wide eyed and breathless. Charlie's heavily freckled cheeks burned a shade of red (Y/N) had never seen on him before.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, and (Y/N) could tell by the panicked look growing in his brown eyes that he was about to freak out. He took a step back and closed his eyes, roughly rubbing one of his palms over his forehead.

(Y/N) just blinked at him, her chest still heaving up and down as she tried to circulate more oxygen to her brain. Anything to help the gears in her head start moving again. In that moment, she wanted to be bold. (Y/N) wanted to pull Charlie back against her and tell him to do it again. She wished more than ever that she hadn't accepted his shirt so there would have been something more substantial to clutch onto, forcing him to stay close for as long as she wanted. But instead, there she stood, dumbfounded, confused and unable to form a single damn sentence. Her chin still tingled where his stubble had scratched her, which somehow managed to be both the best and worst feeling all at the same time. 

"Chaarlie," a muffled voice called from outside, breaking their staring contest. 

Hank. Of bloody course.

The redhead looked tormented as his gaze alternated between (Y/N) and the shed door. His brain seemed to be just as rattled as her own.

"Go see what he wants," (Y/N) encouraged with a weak smile, reaching for her sweater on the table. "I'm good." She was referring to her back but hoped it passed for both the injury and the... the word kiss lit up in neon inside (Y/N)'s head. Holy shit. Charlie Weasley had seriously just kissed her.

He hesitated, frowning slightly. "You sure?" 

(Y/N) wasn't sure what to make of his expression and still couldn't think properly, so she nodded. The last thing she needed was to have a mental breakdown in front of him while overthinking what the hell just happened. "Yeah, of course. Let's go see what he wants." 

-

"There you are," Hank said, jogging down the path as soon as Charlie emerged from the shack. "Everything okay?" His greying eyebrows ratcheted up as (Y/N) leaned against the door frame, and her face flamed once she realized all the scenarios undoubtedly running through the forty-three year old's mind. She was wearing Charlie's shirt for heaven's sake.

"All good," she said, quickly folding her sweater over her arm so the deep red patch faced Hank.

His cocky smile vanished immediately. "Merlin's beard, you sure? What the hell happened?"

Charlie and (Y/N)'s gaze met briefly before they both looked away. 

"We found out what's wrong with Aro," (Y/N) answered, hoping to lead the conversation to the safest territory she knew- dragons.

Hank sighed, shaking his head. "Seriously? You guys can't even take the weekend off?" When neither Charlie nor (Y/N) responded, Hank's forehead creased. "Is that all? You two look like you've seen a dementor."

The anxious look in Charlie's eyes made (Y/N)'s chest ache. Did he really think she was going to tell Hank right then and there that he had kissed her?

"Just shaken up," (Y/N) explained, feeling a lump bob in her throat. "I was expecting fire, not his tail. Charlie was great though and healed it for me. It hurt too much for me to make it down to Madam Rosetta." Her stomach twisted at the lie. Why did her life have to be this way?

Hank nudged Charlie in the shoulder with his knuckles as the trio turned back toward the village. "Good on ya, Weasley. Why don't we go grab a Butterbeer? To two look like you could use a good drink right about now while ya tell me about Aro. I'm sure Felix will be thrilled."

Food and drinks were the last thing on (Y/N)'s mind, but she went along with it. They told Hank about the Horntail's infected tooth, and (Y/N) managed to stomach half of a Butterbeer before the tension in the room was too much for her to handle.

"Where ya goin'?" Hank asked when she stood up from their picnic table.

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up and fix my sweater," she said, taking a step back and jabbing her thumb towards her place. To (Y/N)'s surprise, Charlie looked more startled than relieved.

"Do you want any help?" 

(Y/N)'s head started spinning again as she tried to decipher what that meant. Was that code for let's sneak off and kiss again? Or for wanting to tell her to never mention what happened ever again? 

"Nope, I've got it," she reassured a bit too forcefully.

The concern in his eyes made it seem like that wasn't the answer he was hoping for, and that just made everything that much more confusing. She needed a moment alone to think. Her brain was about ready to explode.

"Just let us know if you need anything," Hank said, raising his glass to her.

Backing up towards her front porch, she forced one last smile and waved. "Yep. I'll catch up with you guys later."

She felt Charlie's eyes on her until the door closed behind her. Letting her back rest against the wood, she slid down to the floor and began racking her brain, finally letting panic sink in.

Why had he kissed her? Was it some sort of response to her being hurt? Was it something she had said? Most importantly, why did he look so regretful after he had done it? 

Maybe he hadn't enjoyed it. Maybe he thought he might feel something and didn't, and now he didn't know what to say. 

The kick to her gut was quickly remedied by the inappropriate reminder that at least one part of him had enjoyed the kiss. Goosebumps broke out across (Y/N)'s skin, and while she forced away thoughts of Charlie's body against hers, a lightbulb flicked on inside her head. The look in his eyes and the unanticipated hunger behind the kiss. He was only ever attracted to someone after they were friends, and she had been practically shirtless while they were crammed in a small space together. How could she be so oblivious? It was probably a purely hormonal response and now he was mortified. But (Y/N) couldn't blame him… eight years was a long time. She just wished that realization didn't make her heart feel so heavy.

Forcing herself to breathe, (Y/N) told herself she was being ridiculous. Whatever the reason, it wasn't a big deal. It was just a kiss. Sure, it may have been a mind-numbing explosion of one for her, but she could put it behind her. A relationship was the last thing she needed to worry about anyway. It was too dangerous. (Y/N) barely could afford to make friends, let alone date someone. She didn't want anyone to get hurt or into trouble because of her.

-

Charlie continued sitting across from Hank, barely able to take his eyes off (Y/N)'s door as the minutes ticked past. He was completely conflicted between staying glued to the picnic table all night and pounding on her door until she opened it.

"You two have been acting weird ever since you got back," Hank said, setting his Butterbeer down onto the table. "Everything okay?"

Charlie shook his head, drumming his fingers nervously on the table. "No, I'm an idiot."

"Oh, Lord. What'd ya do now?"

"I kissed her."

Hank straightened so abruptly he knocked his Butterbeer over, but the man hardly seemed to care. "You what?"

The redhead dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his temples and sighing. "I bloody kissed her."

"What the hell are you groaning about?" Hank boomed, slapping a hand against the table. "This is the best news I've heard all month!"

"No it's not. The walk back here was awkward as hell because we were interrupted before we had the chance to talk." Charlie shot his buddy a look, but Hank hardly looked apologetic.

"You could have told me to piss off."

"And say what? We're busy in here, come back later? I'm sure your reaction to that would have been real appropriate."

Hank rubbed his stubble to hide is grin, not even attempting to correct the redhead. "Well, did she kiss you back?"

Charlie averted his eyes, hating how easy it was to recall (Y/N)'s mouth on his- the way her hands gripped his t-shirt, the muffled gasp she had made into his mouth. He had never been kissed like that before, and he wanted to do it over and over again. He blew out a breath, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He had more self control as a bloody teenager. "That's not the point."

Hank grinned the biggest toothy smile that Charlie had ever seen from him. "That's one hundred and ten percent the point. I know she's into you- even if you are a total wanker." 

"She didn't say anything after." Or try to do it again, his subconscious added unhelpfully. "For all I know, she could've felt cornered."

Hank barked a laugh. "You're kidding, right? That wild thing could'a kicked your ass if she wanted to."

Deep down Charlie knew that was true, but he also knew that (Y/N) had a soft spot and just might not have wanted to hurt his feelings. Her quick dismissal of him offering to help reverberated in his head. "What if I've screwed everything up?"

"Here's a crazy idea- if you're so damn worried about it, why don't you try talking to her instead of me?"

Charlie narrowed his eyes at Hank despite knowing the forty-three year old was right. With a sigh, Charlie forced himself off the bench, slowly making his way to (Y/N)'s porch and praying he didn't mess up their friendship.

-

A knock on (Y/N)'s door made her freeze at the kitchen sink. After scouring through her books for that stupid spell, she managed to fix her sweater and was now rinsing out her tea mug. Her heart thumped nervously and she cleared her throat. "Come in." 

She fumbled with the mug as the door creaked open behind her and wondered what the odds of it being Hank or Scott were. Or Felix or Dave. Hell, she'd probably even take Sydney right now. Setting the cup in the sink, she turned around and her stomach plummeted. They apparently weren't good enough.

"Hey," Charlie said, shutting the door quietly. He could hardly look at her. His eyes flicked around the room, just barely jumping up to meet hers, and he hadn't moved past the first chair at the dining room table. He looked more uncomfortable than (Y/N) had ever seen and her heart cracked open in response. She didn't want him to feel that way. 

"Hey, what's up?" she asked with a smile, picking up a dish towel to dry off her hands. She could ignore the elephant in the room.

Charlie hesitated for a moment, but her tone must have resonated with him on some level because his stiff posture eased and he stepped a fraction closer. "Uh, are we- I mean are you… okay?"

She could see the concern in his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat in response. Even though he was clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed, he was asking if she was okay. How could she not be head over heels for him? 

"Yeah, of course," she answered, taking the time to fold the towel and set it neatly on the counter before turning back to face him. She hoped her casual tone said, Why wouldn't I be?

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the soft red strands away from his face, and a horrible thought entered (Y/N)'s brain before she could stop it: Why hadn't she done that? 

The thought of touching Charlie's hair as they kissed left (Y/N)'s face flaming with embarrassment. Averting her eyes only made the situation worse, however, because she realized she was still wearing his shirt. She had changed into leggings in place of her jeans but didn't take off his damn shirt. He was going to think she was mental. 

Charlie took another step forward, now leaving only two dining chairs left between them. "Look, about earlier…" 

"You don't have to do this," she interrupted, glancing at him again. "It really isn't a big deal. We can pretend it never happened if that's what you want." 

Charlie stared at her for a long moment, and (Y/N) watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "What if I don't want that?"

Chills scattered down (Y/N)'s entire body and she gripped the chair in front of her for support. She couldn't have heard him right. This was the off-limits dragon lover that had been single for years. She must've misheard him. "What?" Her voice was as unstable as her legs were. 

"Look, I know I'm not good at this," he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "In fact, I'm probably just about as rubbish as you can get. But I fancy you, (Y/N). A lot."

(Y/N)'s lips parted and the wild pulse in her throat was nearly all she could concentrate on. She tried to speak, but his words made her head dizzy and mouth dry. Ginny was right? He… he liked her too?

Charlie's face was beat red now as he took one final step forward. "And I was wondering if… if we could be more than just friends."

(Y/N) tried to calm her rampant heartbeat, and it wasn't until Charlie cleared his throat that she realized how long she had merely been staring at him, jaw dropped and eyes wide.

Charlie looked down at the floorboards beneath his feet, his expression turning stony. "But I completely understand if you don't think of me in that way. Or if my… lack of dating experience is-"

(Y/N) surged forward before he had a chance to finish that ridiculous sentence, wrapping her hands behind his neck and crashing her mouth against his. Charlie stumbled a little to catch his balance, letting out a raspy breath before his arm slid around her waist and he kissed her back, sending (Y/N)'s heart into overdrive. He pulled her closer and she tangled her fingers into his hair like she wanted to earlier, feeling like her whole world was complete. 

Their fevered kisses faded down to delicate and when they slowly pulled back for air, (Y/N) could feel Charlie's warm, ragged breath on her lips. "Is that a yes?"

Reality struck (Y/N) like an earthquake as her promise to Ginny echoed inside her head. Easing down from her tiptoes, she rubbed her face, feeling the overwhelming bliss diminishing inside her. "Shit. I- I don't know." 

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked, his brown eyes searching hers. "Is it the team? I'll make sure Hank keeps his comments to himself if that's what you're worried about."

(Y/N) shook her head. "It's not that. I just- I don't think it would be fair to you." The words cut her to the core. Life had never been this cruel to her.

Charlie didn't look angry or annoyed- he looked concerned. "Why not?"

She turned away from his gorgeous face, ashamed, heartbroken, and angry. "Charlie… There are things you don't know about me. Things you can't know."

He seemed to consider this. "Does this have to do with why you've moved around so much?"

She nodded, biting down on her lower lip.

"Why can't you tell me?"

Despite her trust issues, a part of her knew that wasn't it. As much as (Y/N) tried to fight it, as much as her past experiences told her not to, she really did trust the redhead every bit as much as Penny, Barnaby, Rowan and Jae. "It's too dangerous."

The corner of his mouth twitched the slightest bit. "More dangerous than being a Dragonologist?"

She nodded, trying to convince herself more so than the redhead. She knew him too well to think danger would scare him away.

He was now in front of her, the tips of their boots nearly touching. "What if I care about you more than my safety?"

Her nerve endings crackled like static, and it took every ounce of her self control not to touch him. "I- I refuse to put you or your family at risk. I just can't." Her lip trembled at the mere thought. She couldn't handle being responsible for anyone getting in trouble because of her. Charlie's dad worked for the Ministry for Merlin's sake. He could lose his job.

"Did you do something bad?" Charlie asked.

(Y/N)'s heart weighed down with heaviness as she considered how to answer. "People think I did," she finally whispered.

"But did you?"

She shook her head, blinking away the tears gathering in her eyes. She hoped to Merlin that he believed her. She didn't know what she would do if he didn't.

“Ah." He nodded slowly. "I think I’m starting to piece together the whole Sirius Black obsession.”

That made (Y/N) laugh- a pathetic, hollow laugh that caught in the back of her throat. “Pretty stupid, right? It’s not like that story has even a remotely happy ending.” She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to suppress all the conflicting emotions she felt. “Don’t you get it? There’s no happy ending for me. There’s no case for my innocence, I’m just a fugitive to catch. They may come after me again, and if you know what happened, they’ll say you were involved in it. I can’t have that on my conscious.”

"There’s one thing you’re not accounting for," he said, leaning his face closer to hers.

(Y/N) glanced up at him, but her voice was still overruled by defeat. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

Charlie smiled, clearly accepting the challenge. “You probably picked the only career where we could care less what the Ministry thinks.”

“They’re our government, Charlie. You really expect me to believe wizards here don’t care about the Ministry of Magic?” 

He looked genuinely surprised by her response, as if he expected her to know better. “Do you know why reserves like this even exist?” 

She waited for him to answer, sensing the question was rhetorical, and the frown forming on Charlie’s face told (Y/N) the subject made him upset.

“It’s because wizards like Newt Scamander stuck up for the safety and preservation of all creatures, even the XXXXX category. In the Ministry’s eyes, dragon’s are probably the largest nuisance in the wizarding world. They’re massive, loud, and lethal. Bloody terrible to conceal from muggles and untamable. If they had it their way, most of these creatures would likely be killed and sold for parts.” 

An unpleasant knot yanked on (Y/N)’s heartstrings at the thought of losing any of these dragons. “No… they wouldn’t do that. I mean sure, maybe decades ago when we didn’t know as much, but they have to feel differently now, right?”

“Some of them do, sure,” Charlie conceded. “But we still get hassled about our work when they visit. Some badger us about our numbers, demanding if we really need this many. Some suggest expediting mother nature when one falls ill or grows old. Like I said- to them, dragons are a headache. They make up a large portion of what makes their lives miserable when an accident happens and they have to repair the damage.” He leaned his forehead against hers and brought a hand up to stroke her cheek. "So would you stop worrying about protecting me? Because I don't really give a damn what the Ministry thinks and I'd really like to kiss you again."

And just like that, (Y/N)'s entire resolve crumpled, and she kissed Charlie Weasley like her life depended on it.

[five-rivers]

Run

@keelzbawesome Here is your prize!  I hope you enjoy!  :)

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Run

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If his football career wasn't at stake, Dash would never have even dreamed of going to Freaky Fenton's house. If Dash had known that Fenton was going to the one tutoring him, not his admittedly-hot older sister, he would have thrown football to the winds of chance. Yeah, getting an academic suspension from sports would suck and wreck havoc on his social status, but being caught at the Fentons? Social suicide, that's what it was. He'd rather die.

And yet, here he was.

He leveled a glare at Fentonail, who shrunk down in his seat.

"Why are you even doing this?" he growled.

"I need the community service," said Danny, nervously twirling his pencil between his fingers. "So, could you please, maybe, take out your book so I can teach you basic algebra? Maybe?"

Dash scowled at the way Fentonio said basic. It sounded like an insult. No matter how many times Dash wailed on Fenton, he always seemed to bounce back to this.

The silence of the house grew around them.

"Hey, where are your parents, freak?"

"Out," said Fenton, shortly.

"Oh, yeah?" said Dash, getting an idea. He grinned, as Fentoad's face fell. Clearly, even the freak could realize when he'd made a mistake, and made a mistake he had.

After all, it was one thing to visit the weirdo's house. It was another thing entirely to brave his crackpot parents' mad scientists' lab. He could brag about that forever. As a bonus, it would probably get Fentina in trouble, too.

He pushed out from the table, the wimpy chair falling over behind him. That door with the hazard symbol looked promising.

"Dash, wait, where are you going?" asked Fentoerag in his pathetic voice, which hadn't even started to properly crack yet. "You can't go in there!" he exclaimed as Dash put his hand on the doorknob. "That's the lab."

"Yeah, so?" asked Dash, peering down the mostly-dark stairs. He found the light switch, which bathed the basement in harsh white fluorescent light.

"So, there's a lot of dangerous stuff down there!"

Dash scoffed. "Please, as if your parents could make anything that worked well enough to be dangerous." He started to clomp down the stairs, his footsteps echoing slightly off of the metal walls. Near the bottom, though, he realized he was missing something he had suspected. He half-turned. Fentinkerbell was still hovering at the door. "What, are you scared?"

"What? No!"

"You are! Wait 'til I tell everyone that Fender-Bender is scared of his own basement!"

"I'm not scared!"

"So scared he started crying! Are you afraid of the dark, too?"

"I'm not! You shouldn't be down there, some of the things explode."

"Then come stop me, Fentertainment," said Dash, hopping off the stairs and waving over his shoulder as he examined the lab benches. This place really did look like something out of a science-fiction movie, complete with shiny circuits and bubbling green liquids.

He stopped in front of a large, circular hole in the wall. Dash was tall, but even as he approached to stand in the mouth of the hole, the ceiling was almost a meter above him. It kind of looked like something you'd see on a spaceship. Definitely high-budget sci-fi. He stepped over the threshold, then paused as finally heard Fenton coming down the stairs.

"Decided to show up, twinkletoes?"

"Yeah, yeah, ha-ha. You're hilarious, Dash, now can we please get out before you get us both killed? Being in there is really dangerous."

"You're just scared of your parents."

"Why would I be scared of my parents? Let's go, Dash."

Dash didn't like that tone. He walked farther into the hole. "What even is this piece of junk, anyway?"

"It's the Fenton Ghost Portal, and it's not a piece of junk."

"Oh, yeah? Does it work?"

Silence.

"I didn't think so," said Dash, triumphantly.

"Come on, Dash, we're both going to get in trouble."

Dash hummed, as if considering it, and spotted a sort of outcropping near the ceiling. That would be a great place to hang a wedgied Fenton from. "I'll come out... If you prove you're not a scaredy cat."

"Dash..."

"Come on in. What're you afraid of? It doesn't work, anyway."

He turned back to the tunnel mouth. Fenton was standing there, eerily back-lit. Dash couldn't see his expression. This was another reason Dash beat him up. Somehow, no matter what, he always found a way to be creepy.

"Fine," said Fentolio, turning away.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Crap. If he actually just walked away, what would Dash do? He couldn't go without Fenton coming in, he'd lose too much face.

"Unlike some people," called Fenton, "I wear proper lab safety gear, because I don't want to wind up with a third arm, or my brain melting out my nose."

When he came back into view, Dash lost it, laughing. "You look just like your freak parents, Freak-ton. You gonna start going on about the wonders of spandex."

Fenton looked down at his black and white spandex. "It isn't spandex, it's hazmat." He pulled a mask down over his face.

Dash covered up his sudden unease by laughing harder. "You keep telling yourself that. Is that your dad's face on that onesie?"

For a moment, Dash thought he'd actually made Fenton mad, mad enough to really react, but all the scrawny freak did was tear off the sticker and stride into the tunnel mouth. Unlike Dash's shoes, Fenton's boots were almost completely silent against the hard metal floor. Dash had to wonder what they were made of.

"I'm in here. Are you happy now? Can we go?"

"Let's see," said Dash, pretending to think. "No." He grabbed Fenton by the front of his suit, and lifted him up off the floor. He frowned. How did this come off? He couldn't very well give him a wedgie if he couldn't get to his underwear.

He did not expect Fenton to kick him.

He did not expect to fall back into the wall, dropping Fenton.

He did not expect Fenton to use the wall to pick himself up.

He did not expect Fenton's groping hand to find a bright green button on the wall.

He did not expect the click and the flash of light that followed.

He did not expect the pain.

They all happened anyway.

.

The rest of the A-list probably thought Dash's behavior strange, but Dash didn't care. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with Fenton. He didn't want to be in the same room as him. Every minute they were breathing the same air was another chance for that to happen. So far, it had only happened when they touched, a mistake Dash wasn't going to make again any time soon, even if his fists itched to punch the little punk, but Dash didn't want to take the risk that it might happen just out of proximity.

If Dash had his way, he'd be transferring out of district, and soon.

He glowered across the room at the freak and his freak friends. Probably the freak was spilling everything. Dash had told him not to, but Dash couldn't really back up his threats anymore.

.

As it so happened, Danny was not spilling everything to his friends, even if they were trying to figure out why he'd been so jumpy for the last month in-between arguing with each other over the latest menu change.

"Danny, I just don't get why you've been so jumpy lately," said Sam, biting into her vegan sandwich with gusto. "I mean, Dash quit the tutoring program, right? You don't have to worry about him anymore."

That was so untrue that it took all of Danny's willpower not to start laughing hysterically.

"Maybe," said Tucker, aggressively poking a bit of lettuce with his fork, "it's all this junk you're making us eat. You can't get a good night's sleep with a stomach full of this stuff! Seriously! Look at the circles under his eyes."

Danny ducked his head and pulled back. He had felt like he was half-dead lately, and, god, he shouldn't joke about that, not even in his own head, not after what had happened to him and Dash in that portal.

Although, it did seem like Danny was more effected than Dash was. Dash looked the picture of health, as far as Danny could tell. On the other hand, maybe the strain on Danny and his inability to sleep at night were more because he was trying to sleep a hallway down from his ghost-hunting parents, and, well...

Danny was pretty sure he wasn't human anymore, at least.

As if that thought summoned bad luck, Danny felt the air in his lungs turn to ice. He doubled over, pained. No. Not here. Not now. He covered up his mouth, trying not to let the damning mist leak from between his lips. If Sam and Tucker knew, what would they think?

"Danny?"

"Man, are you okay?"

Danny shook his head, and, when a hand came down on his shoulder, he jumped up from the table and ran out, letting instinct guide his feet. He had to find it. He'd been able to get rid of those octopuses, right? He hadn't even needed... that.

He slid into the kitchen. The ghost, an elderly, green-skinned lunch lady, floated in front of the stove. Danny tensed. She didn't seem like too much of a threat, but he wasn't sure that meant anything to ghosts. The octopuses had beaten him up a lot, after all. He still had bruises all up and down his side, and his parents were wondering whether or not he had a death wish of some kind. He'd gotten a lecture about fighting ghosts.

Of course, Sam and Tucker were right behind him.

"Danny, what are you doing? We can't be in here!"

"I know I usually encourage rebellion, but-"

The ghost turned. Danny could hear stunned gasps from both Sam and Tucker.

"Hello, children, can you help me? Today's lunch is meatloaf, but I don't see the meatloaf. Did somebody change the menu?"

"Y-yeah," said Tucker. "She did." He hooked a thumb at Sam, who looked at him incredulously.

The ghost suddenly swelled in size. "YOU CHANGED THE MENU? THE MENU HAS BEEN THE SAME FOR FIFTY YEARS!" Her hair burst into fire. Her eyes started to strobe.

"Run," squeaks Danny, because that's all he can think of right now. There's no way he can fight this.

Plates and silverware rose out of the sink and shot at Sam. Danny just barely tackled her out of the way. This did not please the lunch lady, who roared. The stoves roared, too, shooting flames from their burners and doors, even though Danny had been sure they were electric, not gas.

"Run!" shouted Danny again, louder, hauling Sam to her feet.

They made for the cafeteria doors.

Sam didn't make it. The ghost grabbed her, and flew away, meat products trailing in her wake.

Tucker gaped. "Oh my god," he said. "That was a ghost. A ghost has Sam. Your parents aren't crazy. What do we do? What do we do? Do we call the police? Your parents?"

"No," said Danny. He loved his parents, but he couldn't imagine them making this situation better. "Just..." He shook himself. He knew what he needed to do. He remembered the power available to them in that form. "Look, do you think you can get me a distraction in the cafeteria? Something that would clear the room?"

"What?"

"Please, trust me. I can do something about this."

Tucker's whole face wavered. His skin was bloodless. "You're sure? You won't get yourself kidnapped?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," asserted Danny with a confidence he didn't feel. "I'll be fine, and Sam will be, too, and- and- I'll explain everything later, I promise. It's just- It's too much right now. You understand?"

"Sure," said Tucker. "Sure. Well, one food fight coming up." He cautiously pushed open the doors to the cafeteria and slipped inside.

Danny turned, and exited into the hallway. Based on where the A-Listers usually sat, he'd come out... Yes, over here. Then he'd go to his locker, possibly pull out a spare set of clothes...

Perhaps Danny should be disturbed that he knew so much about his bully's habits, but the knowledge had kept him from getting beaten up in the past.

He waited, hiding in the janitor's closet, feeling like trash for wasting time while Sam was in danger.

At the end of the hall, the cafeteria doors burst open and students covered in various vegan-and-vegetarian-friendly meal choices swarmed out, complaining and attempting to avoid eye-contact with incensed teachers.

Sure enough, Dash came stomping down the hallway, looking fit to punch something. Or someone. Usually, Danny would have been that someone.

If they circumstances were different, Danny might be marveling at how the tables had turned.

As soon as Dash passed by, Danny grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the closet, the element of surprise overcoming muscle, if only for a moment. Dash pulled back his hand, making as if to punch Danny, but stopped, blood draining from his face, as he recognized who had grabbed him. At once, he pressed himself against the other side of the tiny room, as far from Danny as he could get.

"What do you want, Fentwerp?" he demanded, as Danny shut the door.

Danny regarded him, head cocked to one side. Should he try to explain first, or jump right in? No, if he tried to explain, Dash would find a way to get past him, and every minute he wasted dealing with Dash was a minute Sam spent in the hands of that ghost.

He leaped at Dash, arms outstretched. Dash instinctively raised his hands to block him.

There was a flash as Danny's body sizzled into energy and was absorbed by Dash's. Danny's mind whirled as it was set loose from most physical concerns and was suddenly beset by signals and instincts that it had only encountered twice before, power a constant headache inducing thrum.

Almost at once, Danny was absorbed by the complex task of making sure all that power didn't just explode out. The outside world seemed to dim and gray, sounds and tactile sensations moving to a similar distance. His focus was the constant puzzle of making sure things worked, that they stayed together.

But he couldn't immerse himself in that just yet.

Dash. A ghost attacked us and took Sam. We have to get her back! He sent Dash pictures of the encounter, even as Dash started to freak out about the changes in his appearance.

"Nuh-uh! No way!" Dash replied, unnecessarily loudly. "I'm not getting into your ghost business."

Rich for a guy floating a foot off the floor. Save Sam.

"Get out of my head!"

No. Not until you save Sam.

"Get your freak parents to do it!"

Danny pushed the strongest disapproval he could along their mental connection. They aren't freaks and they can't handle this. Trust me. We have to do it. I can keep us like this all night. Danny wasn't sure he could, but it was a good threat.

"No you can't! I'll miss practice!"

Save Sam. Danny's mental voice was weaker, as more of his attention and energy was demanded by the powers that jumped at their heightened emotions.

Dash crossed his arms and fell silent.

Your grades already suck. Think you can afford to skip?

Dash growled. "Fine. Where is she? Where's this ghost? Do you even know?"

Danny didn't, and his uncertainty must have shown through, because Dash started laughing.

"This is all some sort of stupid revenge prank you losers cooked up, isn't it?"

We can find her, said Danny, anxiously. The ghost couldn't have just disappeared- Except it could have. It was a ghost. But it had been trailing meat behind it, and... Tucker can find her. The ghost had meat with her, and Tucker can smell meat a mile off.

"Your friends are freaks, Freak-tonio."

Danny spared Dash a mental hiss, then fell silent, monitoring a process that he thought might have something to do with intangibility.

"Fenton?"

He nudged it slightly as it threatened to spin off and activate on its own.

"Fenton?"

Everything here was so finicky, and he didn't have a system yet.

"Fenton!"

Shut up, I'm trying to keep us from falling through the floor. Save Sam.

.

Dash floated cautiously through the halls, turning invisible now and again. Keeping them from falling through the floor. Yeah, right. He had perfect control over these 'ghost powers' even without Fenton's help. Fenton was just a lazy nerd.

He focused on being invisible again as a junior went by. It wasn't like Dash was afraid of being seen. He didn't have that whole 'oh, no, I'm a ghost, my parents are going to kill me' paranoia that Fenton did. He just didn't want to be mistaken for a weirdo cosplayer. Because that's what he looked like, between the green eyes, white hair, and weird clothes. Weird clothes being Fenton's color-swapped jumpsuit stretched thin over Dash's muscles, and, on top of that, a black-and-white version of his letterman jacket, except with all the letters being replaced with weird symbols. It was so weird. Weird enough to make Dash wish he knew more adjectives.

Several minutes of sneaking around went by before Dash realized he had no idea where freak friend number two was.

"Fenton," he hissed. "Fenton!"

All he got in return was a bleary sense of annoyance. Was he sleeping? And expecting Dash to do all the work and get beaten up by a ghost? Oh, if Dash could get his hands on him...

"Where's Foley?"

Detention, probably, said Fenton, shortly, words faded at their ends.

Great. Wonderful. Perfect. Lancer would probably be there. Usually, Lancer would be more than accommodating to Dash, on account of donations made by sports-loving parents being the only thing keeping the school solvent, but Dash was barred from playing until he got his grades up. He'd lost his bargaining power.

Also, even Lancer wouldn't take him seriously in this getup.

Still, he turned to the detention room, and stealthily made his way forward, pretending he was stealing bases, like in baseball.

He peaked through the latticed detention room door window, and saw Foley but no Lancer. Okay. Maybe this wouldn't suck as much as he'd thought. Actually, this might be kind of fun. He grinned. What better to scare the nerd than a ghost?

With a thought, he phased through the door, making sure to stay out of Foley's line of sight. God, this was just too easy. The nerd was oblivious.

He grabbed Foley by the shirt and shook him. The resulting squeak was incredibly satisfying.

It did not make up for the shriek of rage that cut through Dash's mind. Foley slipped through Dash's suddenly intangible fingers as Fenton's mind went back to doing whatever the hell it had been doing before.

Dash, of course covered his surprise and consternation by looming over Foley.

"Who are you?" asked Foley, eyes wide.

Dash almost told him, but suddenly realized it would be better for his dignity if he didn't. "It doesn't matter," he said. "A... little birdie told me you're good at tracking meat?"

Foley's already bug-like eyes got even wider. "You're what Danny was talking about when he said he had a way to save Sam? But you're a ghost!"

Dash rolled his eyes, and ignored Fenton's incensed hiss. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Foley. Less talking more sniffing." He shoved Foley towards the door.

And Foley actually did sniff. Like a dog.

What a freak.

He led the way down oddly dark hallways with flickering lights and down stairs to the frigid basement where, lo and behold, Manson was held prisoner in a mound of meat.

Served her right, for forcing that gross vegan crap on all of them.

Fenton mentally smacked him. Fight her. Save Sam.

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Dash under his breath, "you're not the one doing anything." Even so, fighting was something Dash could get behind.

"What?" whispered Foley.

"Shut up, nerd."

Then the lunch lady ghost caught on fire again, and everything went to hell. Fast.

Fighting with superpowers was harder than comic books made it looked. Most of the time, Dash kept getting thrown around into the floor, into the walls, into boxes of frozen meat.

He was going to be a giant bruise tomorrow. Hell, he was already a giant bruise.

One of the ghost's attacks hit Manson and Foley, making Fenton suddenly jump to attention.

"Fine! Fine, I get it!" snarled Dash, flying at the two smaller children. He grabbed them, and flew through a wall and the ground, up into the open sky.

God, it was late. School was letting out. His parents were going to kill him for skipping the second half of the school day.

Also, he was exhausted. He started to drift lower, and lower, until, a few feet from the ground, the transformation gave out, and four teenagers tumbled to the ground.

Dash bounced to his feet, feeling refreshed. Fenton was asleep on the ground. Typical lazy loser.

Manson and Foley were staring at him, their eyes round and their mouths open. "Dash Baxter?" said Manson, incredulously.

It suddenly occurred to Dash how bad this could get. After all, comic book superheroes had reasons for having secret identities.

"Yeah," said Dash, sneering. "And if you tell anyone about this, well, you'd wish I'd just pummeled you."

He turned on his heel and walked off, trying and failing to make it seem like he wasn't running.

He was never doing that again.

.

When Danny woke up he felt like he had taken fifteen math finals and then been hit with a car. He moaned and rolled over.

"Hey, Danny? Are you okay?"

"Sam?" he said, wondering why she was in the hospital with him. Because he had to be in the hospital if he was feeling this bad.

Then he remembered.

He sat up straight in his bed. "Sam!" he said, joyfully. "You aren't kidnapped anymore!"

"Y-yeah," said Tucker, who was also in his room. "About that."

.

"What will you do if she comes back?" asked Tucker as he walked to school with Danny and Sam.

Danny shrugged. In an act that Danny would be eternally grateful for, his two friends had put aside their food-related rivalry in favor of an existential crisis. "Blackmail Dash into helping again, I guess."

"Do you think that'd work?" asked Sam. "I mean, he can't kick you out, can he?"

"Not if I hold on, I think," said Danny, gripping the straps of his backpack. "At least, he couldn't yesterday." He really hoped the ghost didn't come back. "We haven't exactly experimented."

"You probably should," said Tucker.

"Even if it's Dash?"

"Especially if it's Dash. If I know my comic books, and I do, this is probably your life, now."

"This isn't a comic book, Tucker," said Sam.

They reached the school just in time to see a giant truck with the word MEAT emblazoned across it pull into the driveway.

Cold stabbed through Danny's chest, and a wisp of blue forced its way out from between his lips.

"Oh, this is going to suck, isn't it?"

.

Dash wasn't about to admit it, but he was hiding, and not from the giant meat monster. He was hiding from Fenton. There was no way in hell he was going to fight that. Fenton would just have to get the attention of his freaky parents. Or the police. Or the military. Yeah, that sounded good.

He crouched lower behind the dumpster as something crunched out in the school's front lawn. He didn't want to think about what could have caused that noise.

Breathe, Dash, breathe, he told himself. He turned away.

Fenton was there, standing right in front of him, his eyes strangely reflective.

"Found you," he said.

.

So, Dash was once again fighting a ghost while Fenton slept in the back of his head. This was harder to do than it sounded, even for the great Dash Baxter, because the goth freak kept riling up the ghost with her vegan nonsense.

Although, honestly, Dash didn't get it either. It was a meat ghost. Shouldn't it be happy it wasn't going to be eaten?

Then the meat monster split itself into one big meat monster and a bunch of little meat monsters. The little monsters were puny, no match for Dash, but there were a lot of them.

A whole lot of them.

A whole lot of them who hauled Dash up into the sky, turned around, and then started hurtling towards the ground.

Dash did not scream like a little girl. No matter what Fenton might insinuate later.

(Danny did not insinuate anything later. He was too busy maintaining the fusion to notice.)

Halfway down, Dash 1) remembered he could fly, and 2) was hit in the face by something cylindrical and shiny.

Also, hey, were those Fenton's parents? What were they doing over there? Why weren't they fighting the meat monster.

Fenton thermos, whispered Fenton. One sec. Dash's hands started glowing blue, then faded.

"What the hell?"

Traps ghosts. Use it.

"How?"

Fenton showed him a series of images.

"You're lucky I'm better coordinated than you are," grumbled Dash, turning back to the meat monster. "Here goes nothing."

He pointed the 'Fenton thermos' at the ghost, hit the button on the side, and blue light, the same color that his hands had glowed, poured from the mouth, surrounding the ghost and sucking it it. Almost automatically, Dash capped the thermos.

"Huh," he said, surprised the thing had actually worked. Maybe the Fentons weren't as crazy as he had thought.

No, scratch that. They were the reason he was in this mess to begin with. Screw them.

It was then that Dash noticed the cheering. Dash was used to being cheered, it came with being a genius sports star, but this felt... different, somehow. He looked down, and gave a half-hearted wave to the people below. Being cheered or not, he didn't exactly want anyone to see him like this.

He flew away.

.

They separated behind the school, and Danny leaned against the wall, panting. Keeping the fusion together, managing all that power, it was tiring, and, even if it technically wasn't his body doing the fighting, Danny still felt every blow. It took a couple minutes for Danny to get his breathing under control, and while he did that, he had time to think.

What they had done, up there, fighting that lunch lady ghost, protecting people... It had felt good, it had felt right, as if something he had been missing his whole life had been revealed and filled in. If he could help people like that again, he'd even work with Dash.

Too bad Dash probably didn't feel the same way.

Speaking of Dash... He looked up. Surprisingly, Dash was still there, looking down at him.

.

Dash wasn't sure why he was still there, watching Fenton struggle to breathe. It really was pathetic. Fenton was such a wimp. But.

But.

Maybe Fenton really was doing something while they were stuck together, after all. Maybe it really did take something out of him. He did have a bruise forming on his lip, just like Dash... If he was getting hurt, too, doing this probably took him more courage than Dash had given him credit for.

"What?" asked Fenton, harshly, looking up at him.

Dash tried to pull his lips into a smirk, but they weren't cooperating.

"Guess you're not as much of a wimp as I thought you were," said Dash. "But you're still a wimp."

"Great. Wonderful to hear."

The freak couldn't take a compliment, could he? "So, if you run into more ghosts, you'd better come to somebody who can actually take care of them." He pointed both his thumbs at himself. "Me."

Fenton's jaw went up and down. "Are you serious?"

Dash snorted. "I'm not gonna repeat myself, Fen-dork." He tossed the 'thermos' at Fenton. "You take care of that."

"Right," said Fenton, almost fumbling the thing. He took a couple steps backwards, then sprinted away.

What a loser.

[jenny-kirk]

Story Time with Jenny: Nightmare

(Micah x Jenny- Fluff/Angst. TW: Pregnancy, Nightmares, Panic Attack)

Much like that time a tired Jenny sought to convince Micah to sleep, the roles were at first reversed. Not long before the Blackwater Job, Jenny wonders if maybe, Micah is willing to amend some of his ways...poor naive thing.

The crackling of the dying campfire was barely audible over the snores and shuffles of those sleeping close by it. Swanson, Javier and Lenny nearby, fast asleep. Jenny sat alone by the dying embers having placed an extra log on it to no avail. A steaming cup of coffee doing a better job of warming her, too tired to fix the fire properly.

It was the nightmares again. The ones since her suspicions of a suspected pregnancy was confirmed by the small bump, since the plans for the blackwater job became so real and looming.

Jenny was rarely one to show fear in battle, usually enjoying the chase and adrenaline a job created. Saving someone’s life and mocking them for it the whole day. But for some reason, things felt different about the ferry job, foreboding almost.

Hiding a pregnancy was one thing even though Miss Kirk was damn near positive a few in camp already harboured suspicion. Wearing her shawl all day no matter the weather, a blanket her constant companion, clothes noticeably becoming tighter, it wasn't exactly subtle.

Javier was more attentive than ever, most likely recognising something to be the matter when she declined her favourite pastime; swimming.

 Lenny always offering help when her morning sickness struck. “I just ate a bad berry,” was the excuse she had ready but Mr Summers would only shake his head, “like shit you did.”

And of course her regard towards Mr Bell was noticeable enough, sitting on his lap by the fire, reciprocating his attention, the two disappearing without warning, sometimes for days at a time.

It would be pathetic to admit her fear now. Not after how excited she’d been. But what if the nightmares were a warning, the job wasn’t safe, something went wrong with the pregnancy, someone gets injured, caught, or worse...

No that wouldn't do. It was just paranoia! She’d treat it like every other job. Exciting and fun. What’s the worst that could happen?...

The dark liquid trembled, rippling in her hands as Jenny’s breathing searched for regularity, a cold sweat tearing at her forehead.

“It’s a good plan Dutch, you know it. The money-we gotta try.”

“I-I know just, make sure it’s worth the risk. I'm trusting you on this Micah”

The two moustached men spoke quietly as they emerged from Dutch’s tent, the seeming hotspot for blackwater discussions. Up until now, Jenny had been regularly listening in on such conversations, hearing the plan, the take, making her heart race ever faster.

Thankfully as the pair kept their voices low, their contrasting eyes failed to spot Jenny sitting on the dusty ground, leaning tiredly against the log specifically put there to be sat on. Excited as Jenny was for the job, she couldn’t help the dreadful feeling that something was wrong. 

At their presence Jenny did her upmost to wipe the sweat from her forehead, taking deeper breaths to calm herself. So focused on this process the girl hardly heard the clomping footsteps so uneven from her side until out the corner of her eyes a mass joined her on the floor with a sigh.

“Y’ain’t tired Missy?”

Shaking her head Jenny managed a small smile Micah’s direction, a witty response to yet again commence a back and forth of banter lost among her thoughts.

“You ain't been givin’ me much reason to be,” her hazel cut eyes shot to pieces, reddened by past tears despite her pathetic attempt to tease.

The blonde’s brows creased, squinting his eyes to observe her. ‘Damn pregnant women always so sensitive’. Something was the matter but that wasn't any of his business, nor did Micah wish it to be. 

Contemplating leaving to sharpen his knife or rob a homestead, Micah then devised a cunning plan. This woman was carrying his child after all and if he wished to get any kind of action, it was probably best to keep her happy

“Then you gonna tell ol’ Micah Bell the matter?”

“Ain’t nothing the matter Micah, just needed some air is all”

The blonde pulled a knowing, mockingly agreed face with a nod before sniffing looking about the silent camp.

“That why you’re shakin’ like a leaf is it?”

Noticing he stared directly into the cup within her hand, Jenny quickly placed it to one side. Micah was defiantly the observant type, Jenny was clearly frightened by something, unusual, not only this but that headstrong spark had disappeared into the night, leaving her reserved and quiet, unable to make a move or joke.

With a sigh an arm wrapped around Jenny’s waist drawing her closer to the man, her head resting against his shoulder, suddenly grateful the rest of camp slept, allowing Micah to show such a side he always fought against. A weak side that did nothing but get those you cared about killed.

Remaining silent for a short while, Micah could feel Jenny’s breathing hot and hurried against him, a sniff that turned into a choke prompting his question.

“Y’need a cry?” 

Jenny looked up at the man, expecting such a comment to be sarcastic and mocking yet his soft gaze harboured no trace of that. Surprise and hope made the woman’s heart heavy. Was Micah really allowing this? In the middle of camp with no mocking? Maybe this baby really was going to change things...

Feeling her eyes tear up in almost an instant Micah allowed her to sob into his shirt, making it a darker shade of red with her tears, her long brown hair getting tangled in his hand which combed through it, the other keeping her close.

Repositioning herself so as to hide her face away from the world, she knew what a mess she was leaving. Saliva, snot and tears all plastering itself to Micah’s already destroyed red shirt, which, by the way, absolutely stank of all things nasty. 

But that didn't matter right now.

Jenny near scrambled to face Micah, clinging to his shirt as if it would somehow make everything better. All her worries cured. About the baby, about the gang, the job and even them.

God how he’d surely mock her for such an emotional moment...A weak moment, as he might say. 

But for now, she sat clinging as Micah’s larger hands held her steady, one dropping from her hair to rub and pat circles across her back with a hush.

It went without saying that Micah was not one for comfort or care, leaving him very much at a loss within the predicament.

“It’s alright...I don’t sleep much neither.”

Telling folk sleep was overrated was only half the story. Growing up Micah’s father didn’t leave him or his brother Amos much time to do so. Drilling into their heads that letting your guard down would spell disaster, making him and his brother keep guard so as he might sleep in their place.

And so to this day, sleeping was too dangerous a task even for Micah, the amount of enemy’s he had it was too much a risk. That and sleeping reminded Micah too much of his past, dreams could be nasty things.

Miss Kirk’s small bump rested close against Micah’s own potbelly, the warmth of his embrace and uncharacteristic softness calming, already finding her heart-rate slowing in the comfort of his embrace as she coughed and spluttered helplessly into his shirt.

Eyes burning a yawn breaking her from the sobs Jenny began to calm down, remaining buried in Micah’s shirt, his hand grazing through her dark hair, patiently waiting for her to regain herself. It wasn’t like this happened often.

“It’s pathetic,” Jenny admitted with a shake of her head, voice muffled.

Waiting for a ‘Yes, it is. Pull yourself together woman or our kid’s gonna be just as useless.’ Jenny looked up to Micah who merely waited, listened, such attentiveness was lingering on concern.

“Nightmares. Never used to have ‘em...but now...” Some shuffling behind the pair made them look only to see it as Uncle shifting in his sleep against a tree. 

“They feel so real. I-I don’t want ‘em to be real Micah.”

With a sigh, not comfortable nor used to comforting another, Micah perpetuated the question, “What kinda nightmares?”

“Oh awful, awful things. That job, somethin’ goes wrong, people get hurt, bad.” Not telling Micah the full extent of her fears while answering his question posed, staring into his cold eyes.

Holding her tight Micah continued. If Miss Kirk was not ordinarily so full of life, so fun and optimistic (or if she was not carrying his child) Micah would have mocked and berated the woman for days over such news.

‘Carin’ for people, that's how you get hurt.’ But no, he was already contradicting his father’s teachings as he himself had learned to care (to an extent) for someone himself.

“Ain’t nothing going wrong. We go there, get the money, n’ we’re far away before the law even find out.” 

Jenny merely nodded. It wasn't like Micah would actively put them all in dangers way, right? Having caught her breath, reduced now only to a few odd snivels, Jenny leaned back a little, seeing the state she’d left the older man’s shirt in. 

A sheepish look over her as Micah tutted, placing his wide brimmed hat on Jenny’s head lopsidedly making her huff a chuckle as she wiped her eyes with her own sleeve.

“You go on ‘n sleep now, y’hear sugar?”

Unhappy reluctance had Jenny look to her tent.

Placing a kiss on the sniffing woman’s forehead, his moustache which would soon be roaming somewhere very different, prickling lightly against her cold skin, Micah offered a rare gentle smile. Already working on undoing his dampened shirt.

“Come. Reckon I know what helps~”

[damienthepious]

hey, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday Crew. we’re finally back on real, actual Second Citadel content, huh? But. here’s the thing. not even that can put me off my bullshit. How do y’all feel about a chapter two?

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 2)

[Ch 1] [ao3] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery,  Hurt/Comfort,  (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: The monster should be on the mend. There are, however, one or two complications.

Chapter Notes: This chapter deals with a lot of medical talk, there's some mention of blood and more specific descriptions of injury, and description of something close to surgery. There is also some talk in this that hints at some mild suicidal ideation, so if you’re sensitive to that tread with caution. Also if anyone with any knowledge of actual real life medical stuff reads this i am desperately sorry, i know virtually nothing. Forgive me for my nonsense.

~

It’s difficult to really stabilize the monster. And of course it is- Rilla is essentially paddling with her hands over here, she’s reduced to guesswork (she hates guesswork) and trial and error (which is slightly less irritating, but it’s certainly too goddamn risky when it comes to trying to save a life) and his body is already so strange that it’s hard to figure out what’s actually damage and what’s just inherent to him.

One of his four (four) wrists is broken, but she notices that late because his wrists turn so strangely in the first place (there must be a purpose to that; maybe he’s partially arboreal? That sort of range of motion would be useful for- no, focus, focus, Rilla-) and she doesn’t catch the jagged slackness of one among the four until he winces through trying to move it during one of his rare moments of consciousness.

That, too, is hit and miss, how aware he is at any given moment. It’s difficult to find a sedative that works- she doesn’t know much about lizard sedation, let alone pseudo-lizard-snake-bug-dragon (potentially ashdragon, specifically) sedation, and he wakes at unexpected moments. Unexpected, and he is often still near-delirious when he rouses, still snapping ineffectually with his eyes rolling in instinctive panic and/or pain. Very, very occasionally he comes around to lucid, or close to lucid, and then he always fixes her with that frightened, suspicious violet gaze.

She tries to use those opportunities when they arise. If he can answer questions about his pain, she can at least get a better idea of what still needs mending. Or- she would get a better idea, if the stubborn ass would answer any of her questions without complaining or deflecting or, yet again, complaining.

“Your attention is both unwanted and unneeded, little human, and the very instant that I- ha,” he bursts into a whine, his throat whirring sharply as he pants, lifting a clawed hand to press weakly at his midsection.

“That one still hurts, then?”

“All of it h-hurts, you idiot.”

“But the pain there is sharper? More acute?”

He hisses, then snaps his teeth ineffectually in her direction. “I- I will not be patronized,” he says in a snarl, and Rilla rolls her eyes and gently finishes re-wrapping his wrist.

“Okay, okay,” she agrees gently. “Now, don’t move that any more than you have to, understood?”

Terrible patient. Just- abysmally bad.

Though, oddly, he hasn’t made any move to actually hurt her.

She had been expecting things to get fairly bad on that front, if she’s being honest. Right at the start, when he was barely, barely conscious, like absolutely tongue-lolling out of it, she obviously wasn’t worried about attack beyond just accidentally catching herself on his limp claws.

But even as he comes more aware, even as he complains bitterly and tries, with unpredictable frequency and an utter lack of success or self-preservation, to slip from his bed and towards either the door or the window, he hasn’t tried to hurt her. He hasn’t tried to bite, though he snaps his teeth at her pretty much every time he’s awake. He hasn’t tried to claw her, though he pushes her hands away with a scowl when he’s lucid enough to do so.

It’s just odd, honestly. Not that she’s complaining. She’d rather not have to don falconer’s gloves just to redress his broken wrist or to check his pulse.

“I do not need to be mmf-”

He cuts off as she presses the cup against his mouth, burying her smile in a stubborn frown.

“You can barely lift your arms, let alone a glass. Drink. I don’t care if you’re embarrassed, you need to hydrate. Losing blood is no joke.”

“And certainly you care about my hydration,” he says with a sneer, his teeth clinking against the clay. “You expect me to believe-”

“I expect you to believe that I’ve barely gotten any sleep in the last two days trying to keep you from dying, and I believe that you’re going to drink from this damned cup right now, yeah, actually.” She blows her frown out like a candle and smiles bright and dangerous instead. “Drink. Now. And shut up.”

He sneers, but she presses the cup against his mouth again and his tongue flicks out and he blinks, and she sees the moment the big stubborn idiot realizes how thirsty he is, and then with very, very bad grace he lets her tip the cup until he can take a few long, slow swallows, his entire frame sagging in relief. He sighs when the cup is drained, and she can tell that he’s drained, too. More tired than she expects, at this point, but honestly it’s hard to tell with a monster. He’s half-dozing again before she’s lowered the cup.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s cold. That one is infuriating, actually. Might have something to do with the excessive fatigue, which she has to fold into her theories and speculations. She should have guessed, too, from the way he always unconsciously seems to lean into her touch. He gets furious when he notices himself doing so, and she’d been distracted from the actual possible causes of that by the way his snout wrinkles when he’s embarrassed. It’s- almost cute, in a weird sort of way.

Or it would be, if his frill didn’t try to flare when he’s embarrassed, too. It’s still torn, and it’s a very difficult part of the lizard to bandage, so every time he moves it without meaning to (partially conscious motion, or at least partially conscious control- he can move it at will, she thinks, but it also moves reactively, maybe in a similar way to blinking when startled), he exacerbates the edges of the tears, delays the progress of his recovery at least in that one small way for that much longer.

The cold, though: she notes his subconscious leaning towards her own skin, at first thinks that’s just some natural, biological response, and of course she’s warmer than him and she assumes that warmth would be soothing for a lizard-type creature. She notes the way he tenses when the sheets of the cot are pulled away from him for the purpose of checking his injuries and redressing, and she assumes mostly that it’s just more of the embarrassment that he seems so prone to, more than anything. She puts the pieces together when he sighs in a rather dramatically satisfied way as she’s pulling the sheets back over him, though, and she blinks down as he eyes her suspiciously.

“Wait- hang on. Have you been cold this whole time?”

He frowns, ducking his head and burying his chin in the thin cloth. “Does it matter?”

Her mouth hangs open, too shocked by the stupidity of the question to even answer for a long moment. A really, really long moment, actually. She stands up, and she leaves the room before the words find her again, because obviously, obviously-

She comes back with an armful of covers and quilts and he eyes her in alarm as she clomps back to the bedside and dumps the entire pile onto the cot, onto his legs, where her point will be made without the added gentle weight potentially pressing on his injuries.

“There,” she says, frowning. “Saints, I could have warmed you up ages ago if you only told me, you idiot.” She reaches into the pile and starts rearranging, layering the covers over him with systematic attention, the softer sheets lower and closer to him, the warmer heat-trapping layers on top.

“You- little doctor do you really believe this necessary?”

“If you’re cold it could be exacerbating your lethargy, which could interfere with your recovery,” she says with sharp look. “Or, for all I know, it could be masking other symptoms. Next time, if something hurts or if there’s a way I can make you more comfortable, tell me.”

She pokes him in the tip of his snout lightly to emphasize her words, and he snarls automatically though his expression is more sheer surprise than anything, and he looks like he’s already settling into the heat, drifting sleepily down.

“I- I-”

“Don’t get embarrassed, don’t get all haughty, just ask. That’s what I’m here for. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“Could have fooled me,” he mutters, and she flicks him in the snout again. He- laughs, then, a breathy and stunned sort of nose, before he lifts a clumsy hand to rub the offended point. “You are absurd,” he says, and he sounds a little impressed.

“And you,” she says smugly, “aren’t cold anymore.”

Eventually, after every injury she’s certain of is at least somewhat accounted for, wrapped, disinfected, dealt with, she starts to feel like it’s just a game of waiting for his body to start to fix itself-

But days later, he doesn’t seem to be improving. Even when he comes out of the sedation, his fatigue and his pain are still severe, and it almost seems like he’s more confused than before just after waking. His breathing continues to grow more shallow, more labored, and his arms have taken to wracking spasms. It was just rare, at first, but the frequency is increasing. Muscle spasms, difficulty breathing, lethargy and confusion-

Most troubling: his scales are developing patches of sickly purplish red. Subtle, at first, and difficult to notice among the rest of his dark green and black mottling, but once she notices the first one slowly discoloring his upper left pectoral, she notices the rest fairly soon.

Symptoms suggest a likely cause of infection. Possibly septicemia. Potentially lethal, when he should, by rights, be on the mend.

Complication regarding that potential diagnosis: Rilla has already started the monster on antibiotics specifically to combat a burgeoning infection in one of the scrapes on his arm, one that was pretty wretched before she got her hands on it. So, if any of his other injuries managed to get infected before she had the chance to clean and wrap them, her treatments should already be mitigating it. This, however, is progressing instead of healing.

Which means that Rilla must have missed something.

Obviously that prospect is infuriating, but Rilla’s not going to deny facts just because they’re inconvenient. Somewhere, somehow, she made a mistake. She’ll have to fix that mistake if she’s going to make any of this better.

She is systematic. She redresses his wounds, carefully noting the progression of his recovery with each (to a one: slow), looking for evidence of discoloration, of odd smells or discharge, looking for anything at all more amiss than just the injuries themselves, anything that might prove to be the cause of the lizard’s lack of progress.

(He hasn’t given up. She knows that, at least. Knows that isn’t a possible cause. For all his complaints and sarcastic pleas for her to just end his humiliation, he is struggling towards life with a fervor, she can see it. There’s something in his eyes- some fire, maybe, and Rilla knows that he hasn’t given up. He hasn’t- and she won’t either.)

One of the injuries on his midsection, a sloppy claw wound or possibly a bite from a strange angle, catches her attention. His progress is slow all around, but this one- it almost looks worse that it did when she dressed it. The edges haven’t even begun to knit back together, and it hasn’t quite stopped bleeding in a slow, sullen sort of way.

While he’s out cold, she examines the area more closely, pressing incredibly careful fingers around the wound, taking samples of the blood to compare to others she’s taken in the last few days, trying to decide if she can actually distinguish necrotic scales from just damaged ones with her current base of knowledge, but when she’s probing with her fingers she feels-

Something. She doesn’t want to press any harder than it takes just to feel the shape, but there is definitely something very wrong in this particular injury. Something hard, and out of place. A piece of broken rib, maybe? No- no she doesn’t think it’s that. Maybe something more malicious- her brain leaps to arrowhead but it’s not that kind of wound, of course. Speculation is rarely helpful, though, and she knows that if she wants this injury (and hopefully the rest) to actually begin to improve, she’s going to have to-

Well. It’s essentially going to be surgery.

The next time he wakes, he’s even weaker. She can tell by the way the nictitating membranes stay flipped over his eyes defensively, fogging his bright violet back to a soft, concerning lavender. By the way the hand he lifts to bat at her misses her wrist entirely. By the way he doesn’t even manage to pretend not to lean his cheek into her palm when she cups his face to make him look at her.

“Wh… human, what are you…”

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened to you,” she says, voice firm but gentle, and after a moment he tenses. “I’m not going to ask, don’t worry, but I do need to ask-”

“Not going to- to tell you anything-”

“Is there any chance that whatever attacked you could have left something behind in one of your wounds? The tip of a claw, or a tooth, or horn? Anything like that?”

His brow furrows, and he finally seems to focus on her fully, his foggy eyes flicking between her own. “It… it is possible, human, why-”

“Is there any chance that there might be a poison or toxin involved as well?”

The membranes slide away from his eyes, finally, and he stares at her with narrowed violet diamonds as he pulls his face away from her hand. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, that is possible.” He inhales deeply, and the breath shakes out of him. “This protracted weakness. You believe-”

“It appears that there’s some foreign object stuck in one of your wounds, and you’re showing signs of infection or something worse,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I suspect it’s the cause of why you’ve been improving so slowly, and why it’s seemed like you’re about to start a backslide.”

“A foreign… object,” he repeats in a hiss. “Excellent. My injuries were… obviously not extensive enough already.”

“The point is,” Rilla says, sighing, “that I think you’re going to continue to deteriorate, unless the object is removed.”

He stares at her, blinks slowly, then raises one ridged eyebrow.

“Then it seems… your path is clear, does it not?” He pauses. “Unless, perhaps, this is precisely the excuse you were searching for, to allow the monster to die with as little effort-”

“Don’t be an ass,” she says, quiet but sharp. “I’ve been treating you, and that started when you were barely alive, let alone conscious. Obviously I didn’t ask permission for any of that. I couldn’t. But this- this is gonna be surgery. I’ll have to sedate you, and anything like that- there’s always a risk of something going wrong. And it- it’s different, now. You’re awake. You know what’s going on. You know that I’m not trying to hurt you.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I can ask, this time. If I don’t try to remove it, you’ll probably get worse, but there’s also a chance that trying to remove it could… could go wrong. So,” she straightens her spine, curls her lip into a wry half-smile, and meets the monster’s eye. “Do you want me to try? If you decide not to, I can- I can try more aggressive pharmaceutical methods, but to be entirely honest I’m not optimistic that there’s anything I can change on that front that will make a difference, and-”

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Rilla blinks, watching the suspicious twisting of his face. “What do you mean?”

“Asking, human, what are you asking for? Why pretend as if you care about the input of a monster?”

“Be… because I do?”

He scoffs again. “Ridiculous. Don’t be absurd, if you think you can manipulate me into-”

“Hey, hey-” she reaches out, her fingers just barely, barely brushing the scales of his shoulder and startling him into a wordless hiss. “Don’t work yourself up. You’re already exhausted, you don’t want to make yourself even more tired.”

“I am tired, human, of you pretending as if-”

“I have a name, you know.”

He flinches, lips pressing together as he glares at her sulkily. “I do not care. And I do not care what you do with me, either. I will likely die either way, so I may as well leave it in the hands of the universe, even if the universe is acting through such absurd means.”

Rilla frowns, her heart pulling a little. “I’m not going to let you die. Not if I can do anything about it. Please, just- tell me what you want me to do.”

He clenches his jaw tight, still frowning and not quite looking at her. “I told you. Do as you like.”

“No. No, that's not how this is going to work.” She frowns, brow furrowing stubbornly, and she meets his sharp eyes until he quails, glancing away. “What do you want?”

He swallows, ducks his head, and she can see the turning of the gears in his head for a long moment.

“I… I would rather die quick than slow, little human. If you believe there is some poison in me, and the attempt to remove it may destroy me, I would rather be destroyed in the attempt than in some painful, protracted helplessness.” He pauses, then aims his sharp, tired eyes up at her again. “There. You have your answer. Act as you will.”

“Okay,” Rilla says, and then she sighs. “Okay. That- honestly I’m glad you feel that way. And- and it’ll be better if we do this sooner rather than later. I’ll have to prepare a little bit, but- is that okay?”

“I would rather not waste time putting it off, yes,” he agrees in a drawl, looking away again.

“I’ve-” Rilla pauses. “I’ve been meaning to ask. It- I’ve been feeling pretty damn rude, actually, just- what’s your name?”

He blinks, eyes wide with something like panic. “What?”

“Your name. I’m not just going to call you monster if there’s something else I should be calling you. And-”

And this might be the last chance she has, to ask. If things go wrong.

She can see the moment he realizes her thoughts, the morbidity of them, and something like resignation slips into his expression. Not exactly the desired effect. She wishes he didn’t seem so agreeable to the concept of dying, but-

“Fine. Fine, if you care so very much. I am Lord Arum, he who rules the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms. If you must call me anything, you may call me that.”

“Lord, huh?”

“Indeed,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

“Seems pretty formal, considering.”

“Indeed,” he repeats, more snarl in his tone, and she laughs.

“Okay, okay, formal, then. You may call me Amaryllis of Exile, oh Lord of the Swamp. Pleasure to formally meet you.”

His frown deepens. “Pleasure,” he hisses under his breath with a scoff. “Now. May we get this done? If you are so very concerned with my well-being as you claim, certainly you should not delay.”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh, and then she stands. “Yeah, I know. If you’re ready, I can put you under.”

“As ready as I expect I will be,” he mutters as he watches her cross the room to fetch the sedative.

It’s a little unsettling, actually, how close he watches her as she draws the proper dose into the syringe, as she returns to the side of his cot.

“Okay,” she says, quiet with his eyes on her. “Ready, Arum?”

He scowls at his name in her voice, at the distinct lack of his title, maybe. He still nods, though, after a moment. “Do as you will, human.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Rilla says, and he closes his eyes even before she injects him with the sedative. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

“As if I have a choice,” Arum says, and he must have already been only hanging on to the waking world with the tips of his claws, because he barely makes it through the sentence before his head slumps to the side, his breaths evening out.

Rilla takes a deep breath, stares down at the monster in her care, and then she turns to prepare what she’ll need to get this job done.

~

Rilla is so utterly focused on the monster beneath her hands that she does not register the noise in her front room. She hears it: the familiar creak of her door, the noises of footsteps approaching, but her eyes are fixed on the injury that is her current dilemma, fixed on the instrument she is using so very, very delicately to try to pull what her revised estimate assumes must be a broken piece of talon from between this monster’s ribs.

She does not register the noise. She doesn’t even register the much closer noises, the familiar voice, until there is a light knocking at the door to her exam room.

Even then she barely understands, through the buzz of her exhausted focus. She’s so close, she can feel the edges of the curved piece of sharpness that’s pierced him, and if she can only get the angle of her tool just right, if she can only get a little bit of grip, she’ll be able to pull it out. This is the source of the infection; Rilla is sure of that. Poisoned talons or envenomed fang, a tip left behind, bleeding more and more tired pain through his body. If she can just get it out, her other treatments will finally have the chance to make an impact, will finally be afforded the foothold they need to really help him.

The knock comes again, and Rilla mutters something wordless under her breath and she absolutely can’t pull her eyes away. She almost has it. Almost. The blood is making everything slippery but she can see a darker shade among it too and she needs to get this out of him, she just needs to, and she’s almost there-

The door opens. It was not locked.

“Rilla, my heart, you failed to answer and I-”

Rilla feels a very distant twinge of worry, but she’s still so damned close and she can swear she feels her tool catch a grip, just barely. She can’t afford to lose her focus, not now-

“A monster.” Damien’s voice is… utterly devoid of inflection. “Rilla- my Amaryllis- remove yourself from that creature and I shall resolve the situation in an instant-”

“’n the middle of something, Damien,” she mutters, and there is sweat on her forehead and she can’t pull her eyes away, not for him and not for anything. “Outta my exam room now.”

“That is a monster,” Damien repeats, and now there is a tone in his words. Dark, terrified, furious. With her? She can’t tell. Doesn’t really care at the moment, if she’s being honest. “Move away from it and I shall slay it for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rilla growls, and her hair must have come loose from her braid because wisps are falling in front of her face and she really, really doesn’t have time for this right now. The tool in her hand catches against an edge, pulls, and she feels the curve of the foreign object between Arum's ribs move, just slightly. “Almost- almost got it, c’mon c’mon c’mon-”

“Rilla before it wakes, before it sets upon you-”

“Don’t be stupid,” she manages. “Knocked him out for this. Obviously. Otherwise the pain’d be- too much. He’s not gonna wake up. Probably not for hours. Shut up and let me focus.”

“Rilla that is a monster-”

“Damien,” Rilla snaps, sharp and harsh and unquestionable, and when her eyes finally jerk towards him Damien’s spine stiffens, his eyes going wide. “I heard you the first time. You think I don’t know this is a monster?” She scoffs, and her throat hurts with the effort of not absolutely screaming at him. “What I am doing, Damien, right at this moment, is incredibly delicate. You are going to leave this room- no, don’t you dare interrupt me, I am talking right now. You are going to leave this room and wait outside. When I am done, and not a moment sooner, I am going to come and join you, and then we are going to have a conversation about him. About this.”

“Rilla-”

“I said that all as nicely as I am physically able, right now. If you make me repeat myself, Damien, I’m not going to get any nicer. Get out. Now.”

He opens his mouth, but she turns away, refocusing back on the task at hand. The task literally, literally in her hands right now. Her grip on the talon is miraculously maintained. Somehow it hasn’t slipped away entirely, or slipped deeper. She delicately, delicately starts to maneuver the object, and if she angles it just right she should be able to slip it right out without scraping the business end of the thing against anything else inside him- without doing any further damage. Removal of something like this is dangerous and delicate and-

And Rilla barely hears it, when the door clicks shut behind Damien again.

She almost has it. Almost.

She twists her wrist. She bites her lip hard enough that it might bleed. She holds her breath and twists and pulls so, so gently-

The small black curve of a broken talon (or, possibly, fang) slips out from between his ribs with not an ounce of fanfare. It barely looks big enough to worry if stuck in the sole of a decent boot. It doesn’t even have the courtesy to dramatically drip black poison. But-

It’s the source of so much of Arum’s pain, and now Rilla has pulled it from him.

Now she can really, really start to help him.

… if she can convince Damien not to kill him, first.

[->]

[slutforalistairtheirin]

The Proud and the Prejudiced. (Logince)

Inspired by: https://mayflowers07.tumblr.com/post/186222058356/yall-wanna-hear-an-angsty-prompt-i-just-came-up

Roman

It feels good to be able to push my parents out of my head for today. A lot of people my age hate school.  For me, it’s probably the only place I can be myself. People accept and love me for who I am. Hell, this school even has an annual pride fest. We hold it on the football field. We get to carry flags and paint our faces. It’s really awesome, honestly.

Every year, my friend Grace drags me around to each event. I preferred to spend my time eyeballing the football players, but that raging lesbian does not understand. Her exact words are always: “Jocks aren’t even your type, Roman. You’re into the nerds.” I always shake my head and pout in response.  She doesn’t have to be so right all the time. 

Today, she immediately dragged me to the face painting booth. She goes first, so I have time to really soak in the event. As I look around, I notice Logan- the guy I’ve had a crush on since seventh grade- who also happens to be the yearbook’s event photographer- taking pictures.  He looks absolutely breathtaking today. The fancy camera hanging around his neck, his slender hands adjusting his glasses, the gentle breeze blowing through those soft, brown locks of hair- OH SHIT HE’S COMING OVER HERE.

My thoughts were immediately interrupted when he walked over to ask if he could take a picture of Grace’s face paint.  She happily accepts. 

“My only condition is that Roman is in the picture too.” She shoots a subtle wink at me, seeing my face turn pink. 

“Oh- um- okay-” I don’t really have time to consider it. Logan smiles and nods, Grace grabs my arm and yanks me over to her, and Logan snaps the picture. 

Throughout the rest of the festival, I can only think about Logan’s smile. 

-

I get home after school and quickly run to the bathroom.  My parents aren’t home yet, so I have time to wash off all the glitter and face paint. I splash cold water on my face and rub until my skin turns red. After, I go to my room and tuck my rainbow flag, socks, and sunglasses under my bed. Just in time, too. 

I hear the front door slam and my dad’s work boots stomp in.  He’s yelling about something. My mom’s heels click softly on the hardwood floor, barely audible over his shouts. 

“They have NO BUSINESS subjecting our Lord and Savior to displays of perverse “affection” to the same sex! It’s blasphemous! It’s wrong! Those parents have failed. Entertaining the idea that it’s okay? Those kids need to be taken away from them and given a proper beating.” 

I bite my lip.  I should be used to this by now.  I hear his boots clomping down the hall towards my room, so I quickly shut off the lights and pretend to be asleep. There’s no way in hell I can deal with this today. He swings the door open and I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut and facing away from him. 

“Oh.” He mutters. “Long day I suppose.  I’ll wake you up for dinner.” He shuts the door behind him. 

It really was a long day. After a few minutes, I drift off into a light sleep. 

‘You disgust me, do you hear? You disgrace our family and you’re breaking your mother’s heart! GET OUT!’ 

My body shakes and tears spill down my face.

‘You’re my dad! You’re supposed to love me no matter what!’ I shout back at him. 

‘I don’t have a son anymore.’ He says, an ice cold tone lacing his voice. He raises his hand and-

“Roman, sweetie! Time for dinner!” My mom knocks on the door.  I sit straight up and bed and try to level my breathing.  I wipe the tears from my face and send Virgil a text.  Besides Grace, Virgil is my best friend.  He knows how to calm me down because he suffers from severe anxiety, too.  The only difference is that his dad is accepting.  

Emoxx: Hey princey, what’s up?

Royal Pain: Bad dream. You know the one. 

Emoxx: Oh baby I’m sorry, do you need to call?

Royal Pain: Can’t, dinner. I just need to calm down. 

Emoxx: Okay, what do you need from me?

Royal Pain: Can you come over tonight? It’s a Friday, my parents won’t care. 

Emoxx: Sure thing, love.  I’ll be there in an hour.  We can eat junk food and talk about boys. <3

I smile and shut my phone off.  Virgil always knows how to make things better. I get off my bed and go to my kitchen, where my  parents are waiting. My mom smiles when she sees me and my dad barely acknowledges me. Sometimes I wonder if my dad weren’t in the picture, if my mom would be accepting.  Maybe she’s just scared of him.  I guess I’ll never know. 

“Hey mijo, how was school? You seemed real tuckered out.  Long day?” Mom asks. She could do so much better than my dad. I mean, my mom looks like she came straight out of a fairytale. Smooth olive skin, perfectly wavy, chestnut colored hair, gorgeous brown eyes.  I don’t know how he won her over. 

“Yeah, mama. Lots of tests.” My memory flicks back to Logan taking the picture of Gracie and I. Lots of tests indeed. My dad doesn’t like when my mom and I speak Spanish, so we stopped trying to avoid his daunting stare. Sometimes, she manages to sneak little words in there and blames it on habit. I still don’t understand why she married him. “Oh, Virgil is coming over tonight.  I hope that’s okay.” 

“Virgil! Oh save him some chicken, amor, he’s so skinny.” My mom says, already standing up to put some in the microwave for him. 

“Virgil, huh.  Is that the little emo kid? Are you sure he’s not a homo? He seems a little fruity to me.” He always finds the best ways to ruin my mood.  “Dad, that’s kind of rude.” I say, before I can stop myself. Thankfully, I find a way to save it before I get yelled at. “I mean. it’s rude to insinuate that I would be friends with someone.. of that orientation.” The words sting to say, the feel like poison in my throat. 

My dad nods. “Good.” 

I don’t really have an appetite, so I nibble on a few things and then I put my plate in the microwave with the one my mom made for Virgil.  

“I’m gonna... go clean up my room a bit before Virgil gets here.” My room is actually perfectly tidy, but I don’t want to be in the same room as the devil himself anymore. 

As soon as I get back to my room, I lay down and think about the good memories of today. I think about Logan.  I think about how cute he looks with that camera. I think about all the good pictures from today.  I think about how they’ll be posted on the school instagram. 

Wait a second. 

They’ll be posted on the school instagram. 

The one that my parents follow.

The one that my dad follows. 

There’s no way they can see the pictures of me.  Dad might actually kill me. Like, he will tear me limb from limb and put my head on a fence post outside. I start to panic. I can’t breath, I can’t think, I barely even notice when Virgil opens my bedroom door. 

“Woah, Roman, breath.” Virgil kneels beside the bed, forcing me to look at him. He takes my hands and breathes with me. “Everything is okay, everything will be okay.  You just have to breath.” Once my breathing slows down, he sits on the bed beside me, still holding one of my hands. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

I tell him everything.  I tell him all about today, about Logan, about the pictures, about the instagram, about my dad, and about my dream. He nods and listens the whole time. He also cracks a smile when I tell him what my dad said about him. 

“What if we just message the school’s instagram? I’m sure they won’t post them if we explain why.” Virgil offers a suggestion. 

“If they haven’t posted them already, that might work.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and open instagram. I start typing out a message to the school’s account. 

RomanPrincexo: Hi, sorry to bother, but I was at the pride fest today and I just thought that there might have been some pictures taken of me.  I was hoping to ask that you don’t post them. My parents are raging homophobes and I could be in very big trouble if they saw. 

LincolnHighOfficialInsta: Hey Roman! Thank you for voicing your concerns.  Any pictures that might have you in them will not be posted.  Your safety is of utmost importance.

RomanPrincexo: Thank you <3.  You have no idea how much that means to me. 

LincolnHighOfficialInsta: It’s no problem.  I’m sorry about your parents, that really sucks. 

RomanPrincexo: Oh, I’m used to it. 

LincolnHighOfficialInsta: You shouldn’t have to be.  You’re a great person, you don’t deserve the way that.

RomanPrincexo: Thank you, but if it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. 

LincolnHighOfficialInsta: No one deserves that.  Just know that you’re loved. 

“Hey Virge?” 

“Yeah?”

“Who runs the school instagram?” 

Virgil wrinkles his nose. “I’m not sure.  It’s rumored that it could be Mr. Sanders, the drama teacher.  Or Logan. Or possibly Valerie.  No one is for sure, though. Why?” 

I show Virgil the messages and a look appears on his face.  I can’t quite place my finger on it before he takes out his phone and starts typing.  His poker face is terrible, so when he grins that mischievous little grin of his, I know immediately that he’s up to something.  I try to look at what he’s doing but he sits on his phone. 

“Nope! No peeking!” He giggles.  “Just keep messaging.” There’s something in his eyes that I can’t read. I shake my head and turn back to my phone. 

RomanPrincexo: I appreciate it. I was wondering, who runs this account? 

LincolnHighOfficialInsta: I’m not supposed to tell. 

RomanPrincexo: Oh, okay. 

LincolnHighOfficialInsta: Maybe I’ll break some rules for you later, though. ;) 

RomanPrincexo: It’s okay, I don’t want you to get into any trouble. 

LincolnHighOfficialInsta: I won’t, trust me.  I have the whole school board in my back pocket.  They adore me. Do you still need to talk about anything?

Something in me makes me trust this mystery person.  It could be Mr. Sanders, or Logan, or Valerie.  Either way, what’s the harm in venting a little? I trust all of them. 

RomanPrincexo: Actually, kind of.

LincolnHighOfficialInsta: I’m all ears. 

I end up spilling all of it to them, maybe skipping over the part about Logan, just in case.  I do mention him, but not with the same wording I used for Virgil. After that, I shut my phone off and give them time to really read it and turn back to Virgil. 

“I’m safe.” I tell him. 

He smiles. “Good.  My dad says you can come home with me tomorrow, by the way. So you can have a break from your parents.” 

I love Virgil’s dad. He’s super sweet and kind of young. He has light brown hair and large, round glasses.  He has freckles all across his face.  Honestly, I wish I could just move in with them. 

“Awesome, I will.”

“Hey, are we going to the debate tournament tomorrow? Logan’s in it.” Virgil smirks. 

Obviously Logan’s in it.  He’s the smartest guy in our school.

“Do I have to watch Dee and Remus flirt with him the whole time again?”

Virgil chuckles. “More like flirt at him. He always ignores them, remember?” 

“Okay, fine. We can go.”

---

Logan

The message from Roman is heartbreaking. I’m honestly considering telling him that it’s me, just so I can offer more comfort.  I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to express my feelings for him.  Every time I see him, the words bubble up in my mouth like boiling water, ready to spill over.  When I finally go to say them, they stop boiling. 

If the best I can do for him is be anonymous, then so be it. I type out a supportive message and a quick goodnight, and then I shut my phone off and go to bed.  I have a debate tournament tomorrow and an unbeaten streak to keep up.

---

Roman

“Virge hurry up!” 

“Roman, these boots take time to lace up! You just want to see your true love!” 

“It’s not my fault you dress like a 2000s MySpace emo.”

“As if you don’t dress like a wannabe Broadway star?” 

“I am a wannabe Broadway star, thank you very much.”

“Yeah whatever. Let’s go.” 

We started walking to the school, where the debate tournament was conveniently being held. We arrived just in time to see Logan getting out of his car.  He spots us and waves. 

My heart does somersaults, but on the outside I just smile and wave back. To our surprise, instead of going inside, he walks over to us.  Well, to my surprise, at least.  Virgil seemed to be expecting it.  In fact, he just kept walking, leaving me alone with Logan. He shoots me a wink before going inside. 

“Hey Roman, can I talk to you?” 

I can feel my heart threatening to break through my ribs. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?” I manage to get out, even though I can feel my lungs struggling to hold oxygen. 

He smiles that damn smile. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed pretty worried yesterday.” He must have seen the confused look on my face, because he continued after a moment. “Oh, I guess I should clarify.  I run the school’s instagram account.” 

“You- you do?” He nods. “Yeah. I’m alright.  Just a bit of a scare, I suppose. I appreciated your help, though.” I’m very upset with the sun for making my blushing face perfectly visible. 

“It was no problem.  I care about you.” There’s something different in his smile now.  Something I can’t name. 

“I- uh- I care about you too.” Why must I be so nervous around him?

“I don’t think you understand what I meant.” He steps closer to me and I lock eyes with him. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. 

“What did you mean?” I can’t prevent my eyes from wandering around his face and eventually falling on his lips. He’s close enough that I can feel his breathing now.

“I meant-” He pauses, I can almost hear the gears turning in his brain.  It seems like he’s trying to find the right words. He shakes his head. “Is this okay?” He cups my face with one of his hands and all I can manage to do is nod. “I meant that I love you, Roman.” He finally forces the words out.  

My jaw falls open and I take a deep breath. “You... do? I mean- I mean I love you too! You’re serious right? This isn’t a joke?” 

“No, it’s not a joke.  Can I prove it to you?” 

I’m not sure what he means by that, but I nod anyway. 

He leans down and kisses my gently, his free hand finding its way to my hips.  My eyes flutter shut and I kiss him back.  It’s a little bit awkward at first, since I’ve never kissed anyone.  We figure it out after a moment or so, though. His lips are soft and they feel perfect against my own. He smells like cinnamon and vanilla, and something herbal. His hand softly caresses my face and he pulls away.  He gently leans his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily. 

“So, do you believe me?” He whispers, amused. 

“I do.”

---

Gosh. this was longer than I intended.  Honestly, I’m really proud of it.  It’s making me feel things in my heart. I also kind of made Logan suaver than I meant to, but I think it’s fine. 

@mayflowers07

[smurphyse]

Hi! If you're still accepting Good Omens prompts, what about something with Ineffable Wives where Az's self-conscious about her body and Crowley's there to show her how much she loves it (sfw or nsfw up to you). Or the other way around, Az being abs fine with her body and Crowley being like "damn, she's pretty!" I love your fic on AO3 you write so beautifully!

Soft & Beautiful by dustylangdon on my AO3 (it would mean a lot if people could kudos and comment there too!)

Trigger Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Body Issues

Tags: Smut, NSFW, body worship? Kinda, Mirror Sex? Kinda

Hope you like it, Nonnie!!

It’s going to be a good night. Date night! It was Crowley’s favorite night of the week. Surely, they could make date night every night of the week, though according to Aziraphale it would be “overly indulgent and gluttonous.” A bit ironic, coming from her, but whatever, Crowley could pack a week of dates into one single Thursday. She loved the opportunity to dream up all those things for them to do anyways.

As per usual, Crowley had a box of chocolates in her right hand, and a bouquet of lilies in her left, both done up with red and black bows. Crowley knew Aziraphale wouldn’t mind if the sweets and flowers were absent each week, but she loved to see her wife’s face lit up as she unwrapped the bows; it sent her heart into absolute overdrive.

She had a delicious night planned; some sushi at Az’s favorite place, then the Botanical Gardens (a bit of hanky panky on the roof under the stars), then some cheesecake for dessert (which they’d saved from a lunch date yesterday), and Aziraphale for second dessert. A Perfect Night. She was practically skipping as she made her way to the bookshop, weaving in and out of the busy SoHo foot traffic, ignoring the many men and women staring at her.

If you asked Crowley how she thought she looked tonight, she would smile devilishly and tell you, “Absolutely ravishing, darling,” and she would be correct. Her long black skirt clung to her hips and fanned out fabulously as she rounded corners, burnt-orange crop top clinging in the places Aziraphale liked best. The way her Creepers sounded clomping along the sidewalk made her feel powerful and larger than life. It was a bit chilly for October, but she could always miracle up a cardigan if she got cold. She’d probably snuggle closer to Aziraphale instead of doing that, though, it seemed much more fun.

She pushed open the door to the shop with her hip, watching the flowers in her hand closely, willing them to stay perfect or Aziraphale. Your reward is seeing that smile on her face… and maybe I won’t toss you down the garbage disposal.

“Angel!” she called, looking through the stacks for Az. She rounded three or four bookcases before deciding she wasn’t down in the shop, “I brought chocolates!”

Receiving no response, Crowley made her way up the spiral staircase, wincing with anxiety each time it groaned under her weight. She supposed Aziraphale kept it together with pure will as well, the same way Crowley did gas in the Bentley.

She poked her head through the bathroom door, no Aziraphale. She looked through the library Aziraphale had upstairs (obnoxious, she knows, but where else would she keep her personal books?), no Aziraphale. She was about to bypass the bedroom completely and go back downstairs when she heard a groan coming from inside.

She rounded the corner quickly, thinking her angel could be injured, or worse, only to find Aziraphale inside. She stood in front of her dressing mirror, her soft curves clad only in underwear. The light blue lace wrapped itself softly around her hips and over her breasts, the delicate stitching standing brightly against her pale skin. Her usual light makeup was already applied, her white curls hung over her shoulders, the top half done up in a small bun (just as Crowley taught her how to do).

“Angel,” Crowley swallowed thickly, giving Az a megawatt smile when she turned to face her. She did not return Crowley’s smile, wringing her hands looking dejected.

“Hello, dear.” She turned back to the mirror, her eyes running down the length of her body critically, teeth buried deep in her bottom lip, worry etched across her soft and delicate features.

“I brought chocolates,” Crowley sing-songed, shaking the box for emphasis. Aziraphale just looked at her through her mirrored reflection, that same upset look flashed over her face once more. “You’re not ready yet, not that I mind. I love the underwear.” She gestured at Aziraphale’s breasts in the reflection, wiggling her fingers gaily. She dropped her hands when Aziraphale still didn’t smile, “What’s wrong, angel?”

Crowley set the box and flowers down on a nearby table, then walked up behind Aziraphale, wrapping her hands around her waist and placing a sweet kiss on her neck. Their eyes met in the mirror again, and Az gave her a small smile.

Crowley kissed her shoulder, trailing damp kisses up the side of her neck until she reached the back of her ear. “You don’t like chocolate anymore?” Crowley gave her hips a squeeze, expecting Aziraphale to giggle and lean further into her like she usually did, but she wriggled out of Crowley’s grasp instead.

“I hate it when you do that,” she groaned, her face flush with new anger as she pushed her wife away. Her lip trembled slightly, and she turned back to face the mirror again, hands coming to rest against her stomach. She trailed them slowly over her waist and then over her love handles, coming to a stop above her thigh. She sighed as she looked at herself, the angry blush across her cheeks turning dark red as Crowley’s heart broke apart in her chest.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, hurt. She had been excited for tonight, and figured Aziraphale would be too, not upset about something like this, something that didn’t matter. “Talk to me.”

She wanted to reach out and grab Aziraphale, to hold her close and brush her fingers through her hair as she listened to her, but she kept her distance, waiting for her angel to come to her. She watched her face in the mirror, waiting for Aziraphale to smile at her like usual, but she rounded on her instead, hands on her hips as she faced her wife.

“Do you think I’m fat?”

Crowley’s eyes widened in shock, “What’s it matter that you’re fat?”

“So you do think I am fat?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think, angel, matters what you think. I like how you look no matter what. What’s it matter that you’re a big girl?”

She looked at Crowley, guilt flushing over her features over her outburst. She tucked a stray curl behind her hair, eyes moving to the floor. “Gabriel says I’m soft.”

“Well, fuck Gabriel.” Pause to backtrack, “Don’t, actually, fuck me instead,” Crowley shouts, shaking her head, “Who gives a shit about him or his opinions?”

“Well, you both agree that I’m fat.” Her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes wide as she looked at Crowley. God, she could be so dramatic.

“Fat, skinny, you’re my angel. I love you the way you are,” Crowley countered, crossing her own arms, daring defiance.

“You mean you love me in spite of how I look.”

“Mmm, not what I said. Stop being stupid.” Aziraphale’s mouth flew open in outrage, but Crowley cut her off with a wave of her hand, “You’re soft, so what? You’re fat, so what? Angel, I

love soft Aziraphale. I love fat Aziraphale. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I love Aziraphale. I love you, I love your hair, I love your books, I love you.” Crowley stepped forward until she was just in front of Aziraphale. “Plus, you’re so soft to touch, angel.”

Crowley reaches out a hand, lightly trailing a finger up her thigh, smiling softly as Aziraphale shivers. Az’s arms uncross, falling to her sides as she leaned into Crowley’s welcoming touch. Her wife’s fingers began rubbing light circles into her thigh as she breathed in her ear.

“Like a pillow, and the sounds you make when I touch you are so lovely.” Aziraphale felt Crowley’s smile against her cheek as she gasped at Crowley’s words. Crowley’s long, slender fingers smoothed a path up Aziraphale’s chest and neck, followed by Crowley’s warm kisses.

“Th-that’s not my poi-point, Crowley,” she stuttered, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to keep her head straight. Her mind was getting hazy the more Crowley’s hands wandered around her waist and into the band of her underwear.

“What is your point, then?” Crowley murmured against Az’s neck as she sucked dark marks along the hollow of her throat. One of her hands reached down to rub Aziraphale through her lace -originally a surprise for her wife before she started looking too long in the mirror.

“I don’t like the way I look sometimes,” she groaned in frustration, her mind flashing once more the the way her love handles hung over her hips, the stretch marks along her belly and breasts clawing through her desire-fueled haze.

Aziraphale turned away from Crowley again to look in the mirror, and Crowley laced her hands around Az’s waist again anyway, looking at her body with love and reverie.

Crowley frowned as she saw Aziraphale’s look of shame, resting her head on her wife’s shoulder. Suddenly, she flashes Aziraphale a damnable smile full of lust and excitement, “Can I show you my favorite look on you?”

Aziraphale glowers at her, knowing her scheming face all too well. Crowley moves her head from her shoulder and kisses it. Her hands begin to wander once more, squeezing and grazing sensitive spots, one of them coming to a rest underneath her bra clasp, the other resting once more in her waistband.

“I, uh, I suppose,” Aziraphale breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as Crowley’s hand dips under her panties, middle finger stroking her lightly as she feels wetness growing. Crowley smiles against her shoulder as she applies more pressure, only slightly, just enough to dampen her fingertip as Aziraphale leans into her embrace.

Crowley kisses her shoulder again, nipping marks along her neck. Her tongue swiped after each bruise, easing some of the pain as Aziraphale began to squirm beneath Crowley’s touch. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together, to get some friction, but her standing position made it nearly impossible.

Without warning, Crowley’s other hand snaps the clasp of Az’s bra open, and she gasped loudly in shock, her eyes flying open to meet Crowley’s yellow ones. Crowley winked at her, chuckling against her wife’s shoulder as she slid the bra off and dropped it to the floor.

“I thought you were showing me your favorite outfit,” she growls, her brain upsettingly clear, the wonderful haze she had been in shattered, in a single instant.

“Oh, no, darling.” Crowley bites her shoulder softly, then kisses it away, “I’m going to show you my favorite look on you… my favorite face you make, my favorite view…” She looks back to the mirror lecherously, smiling as she hooks a finger around Az’s waistband, pulling her underwear down as she begins to protest.

“Oh, no no no, the bed is right over there! Less than five feet!” Az cries, stuttering protests as Crowley kneels to pull her underwear the rest of the way off.

“Do you trust me?” Crowley asks, nudging the panties over still complying Aziraphale’s feet. She kisses the inside of her knee, nuzzles her thigh as she looks up at the angel. Her big yellow eyes pleading with Aziraphale with unabashed love and faith, asking for the same in return.

“Of course I do,” she relents, watching nervously as Crowley moves to lean the dressing mirror down, so that it’s focus is Crowley on her knees.

Crowley moves back between Aziraphale’s legs, still on her knees, and kisses her way up her thighs, alternating little nips and licks along each of them as she nudges them apart with her hands. She looks up at Aziraphale before she continues, looking for permission. Aziraphale, teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip, nods, earning a hungry smile from the demon.

Aziraphale gasps loudly as Crowley leans forward and greedily delves her tongue into her, her hands flying to the ginger’s poofy curls. Crowley groans deeply as she tugs on her hair, the feeling of it vibrating through Az as she uses Crowley to hold herself up.

The warmth building in her blossoms white hot as Crowley’s tongue flicks and soothes along her clit, and a sob of content escapes her as Crowley begins to push two fingers in her, giving her no time to adjust to their pressure before she starts to pump them quickly.

“C-Crowley,” she whined. Her knees were beginning to tremble beneath her, and she was grateful that Crowley didn’t seem to mind her fisting her hair so tightly. It was the only thing holding her up as she shook and rocked against her fingers and tongue.

Crowley watched her hungrily as she consumed her, tongue hot and wet and pushing against her so quick and pointedly she felt tears begin to spring in her eyes as she neared her climax.

“Cro-,” Her wife’s fingers scissored and bent inside Aziraphale, brushing her and filling her with such pressure and ecstasy that she couldn’t even warn Crowley as she came, shaking and trembling as she cried out, clenching and squeezing her thighs as Crowley worked her over.

When she finished, Crowley used her free hand to ease Aziraphale’s fingers from her hair, wincing as her wedding ring snagged a stray hair. She sat back on the floor, leaning against the bedframe and spreading her legs apart, patting the insides of her thighs as she beckoned Aziraphale.

“Sit,” she commands, smiling and taking Aziraphale’s hand to help her down, legs still trembling. Crowley kissed her temple as she settled between her legs, pulling her close against her chest and smiling. The moment Aziraphale settled into her, Crowley’s hands began to wander again, one moving to cup her below, still shaking with sensitivity, the other brushing circles along her stomach.

“Now,” she whispers, her voice dripping like honey with lust and desire, “look at yourself. This is the view I get to see every time I go down on you. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Aziraphale followed her gaze to the mirror. From this angle, they both could see everything, and her heart skipped in her chest, fighting to break it’s way out and run down the stairs, out the bookshop, and away from her forever.

“I- I don’t know, Crowley,” she whispered. The light from the street poured through the half-shuttered blinds, blanketing the two of them in dusted lamplight. Their tangled bodies -Crowley’s still upsettingly clothed- pink and heaving as Crowley smiled at her, all of her.  She saw the way it highlighted every curve, every drop, every place that rolled together when she sat or stretched. She saw every pink line and dimple, every inch of cellulite put on full display and still Crowley looked. She didn’t look past, or ignore, she saw every roll, lump, dimple, and she smiled at all of it.

“It is.” she dips her fingers in, brushing the clit on her way out. Az gasps quietly at the touch. Crowley begins kissing behind her ear, her other hand reaching up to lightly rub her nipple. Az leans into her touch now as Crowley works her over, fingers setting another steady pace of rocking, slipping around her with ease, her love welcome and warm against the cool floor.

“You’re soft like velvet, and I can’t get enough of you. I love feeling your skin, love feeling you pressed against me. It’s intoxicating, the smell of vanilla and musk… I could spend all day underneath you, breathing in that smell, whether it be you riding my face… or napping, I’ll do it over and over again.”

Az’s eyes shut tightly as she comes, Crowley telling her how beautiful she is until she finishes, shuddering and moaning softly as Crowley only slows her torturous rubbing on Az’s clit slightly. The heat in her cheeks was unbearable, and she could feel Crowley sweating behind her, her shoulder damp as Aziraphale rolled her head back onto it.

“Look how cute you are,” Crowley whispers, her finger moving so slightly, Az’s legs twitching in sensitivity. Crowley kisses her again, and Az shivers as Crowley’s pace begins to quicken again. “Especially like this… cheeks red, eyes blown with lust, legs apart just for me. An absolute moaning mess as you quiver under my touch. It’s breathtaking.”

Crowley moves one of her hands to hold Az’s hips down, squeezing one of her love handle softly. Az cringes, but Crowley holds her still, her fingers unrelenting as Aziraphale tries to hold onto any piece of sanity still bouncing around in her brain.

“You know how I feel about that…”

“You’re soft and beautiful, angel.” her hand squeezes again, moving across Az’s stomach and thighs, putting pressure, Crowley’s other hand slowing on her clit slow in antagonization. “Trust me and look at how soft and beautiful you are.”

“Crowley, please…” Aziraphale panted, squeezing her legs together tightly, groaning at the loss of pace. She ached for friction, for another release, just one more.

“You want something, darling?”

“Please make me come again,” she begged, on of her hands snaking up behind her to grip Crowley’s hair tightly, a shock rolling through her as Crowley groaned in her ear, “Please!”

“You have to say it, and I will. I might even make you come a fourth time.” The thought made her head swim, and she moaned in frustration as she tried to form words.

Az nuzzles her face into Crowley’s neck, her legs tightening again around Crowley’s softly moving hand, a pathetic, carnal attempt to finish what had been started. “Say it, darling. ‘I’m soft and I’m beautiful,’ say it and I’ll make you come.”

When Az doesn’t answer, she lightly grabs her chin and makes her look toward the mirror. “I love looking at you like this, darling. You’re absolutely divine. The way you bite your lip is so god damned sexy it makes me want to come just from giving you pleasure.” Az moans loudly at the thought, feeling Crowley grind against her back, wetness pooling underneath her skirts. “Please let me hear you.”

Unsure, her voice a bit quiet, “I’m sssoft,” she whispers mouth agape as Crowley picks up her pace, “and beautiful.”

A smile spreads across her face as Crowley’s hand adds more pressure, her stomach turning in anticipation. Crowley groaned in her ear as she wriggled in her grasp, hooking her ankles around Aziraphale’s to stop her moving as much.

“I’m soft and beautiful,” she groaned, louder this time, living for the attention and joy she felt as she watched herself writhe and be held open by her wife, Crowley’s look of pure bliss shook her to her core. She believed it, she knew.

“Again,”

“I’m soft and beautiful,” she moaned as Crowley’s eyes caught hers in the mirror. She smiled wolfishly at her, a curl stuck to her forehead with sweat as she whispered ‘again, again, again,’ in Aziraphale’s ear. Then, she caught her own eyes in the mirror and smiled as she declared loudly, “I’m soft and beautiful,”

“Good girl, angel, again,” Crowley grinds against Az’s back for any friction or relief, her knees tightening around Aziraphale as she moans into her ear, her orgasm shuddering through her in waves as she listens to Aziraphale praise herself.

“I’m, I’m soft an-” her orgasm over takes her. Crowley rides her through it, hands roaming and rubbing as she goes, the hot dampness coating her hands as she shakes against Aziraphale, holding her tight as they both ride out their climaxes on the floor of the bedroom, the mirror forgotten as they clung to one another.

“And beautiful,” Crowley finishes, her arms clamped vice-like around Az’s body, her ankles still holding her down against the floor.

After a while, breathing through their fatigue, she loosened her grip, unhooking her ankles from Aziraphale’s, placing a kiss to her temple. Aziraphale collapses in her arms, head lolled over Crowley’s shoulder, panting heavily. Slowly, she turns to face Crowley on her stomach, groaning as she brushed against her sensitivity, “How’s this view?”

Crowley looks over her shoulder to look at her ass, and Az gave it a small wiggle. Smiling ear to ear, Crowley whispered, “Breathtaking, angel, an absolute godsend.” Her forehead shone with sweat, yellow eyes heavy with exhaustion as she held Aziraphale.

Grinning, Az runs a hand up Crowley’s skirts, pushing them above her knees. Crowley’s brow furrows in confusion, “What are you doing?”

“You told me to fuck you. Earlier, remember? It’s payback.”

Crowley rolled her head back and let out a heavy laugh, “I love you, angel.”

“I love you, my dear.”

***I really hope you guys like this. I had a really good time fantasizing about this and then writing it. Idk where the mirror part came from, but it really struck home with me? I’m by no means a big person (I’m actually underweight due to a debilitating illness, whoo, and it bothers me how my body looks sometimes, so undernourished and sick looking), I used to have really bad body issues (anorexia and bulimia) and though now I am 100% confident with how I look I know not everyone is and I still have fleeting moments of doubt with my sexual attractiveness. I actually laid down in front of my floor length mirror and tried to imagine this scene/sexual situation with another person. By myself, it would be unbelievably daunting to do anything like masturbate and do it. It terrified me to think about!! But then I imagined someone like Crowley, who would love me unconditionally and wholly and never judge me, goading me to accept and love my body and self, to see myself as sexy and attractive as my partner would, and the end part of the scene (“I’m soft and beautiful”) just exploded into my mind at breakneck speed.

I really hope you liked it, Nonnie. I hope it was okay, and that I didn’t accidentally offend any big girls by it? I was trying to write it like if I my partner was chubby or big, and I tried to worship her through Aziraphale. Please comment and kudos if you liked it, it would mean a lot to me.

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Send me more prompts!!!!!! <3 I also do art! (badly, but still!!)