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rynwritesreid · 6 months

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Sold my Soul | Spencer Reid

Summary: You’re out celebrating with your friends after a recent work accomplishment. Where you bump into Spencer Reid who is working on a case in your city. fem!reader. This is my first time writing smut outside of an overall story, so there is a plot. I hope you enjoy it:)

Content: Dom! Spencer . Sub! reader. Use of nicknames (good girl). Smut (with a plot). Overstimulation. Oral (M and F receiving) Fingering (F receiving) MDNI. 18+

words: 5.3k

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You like to have things under control, but I mean who doesn’t? You could be relaxed on the surface, all calm and collected, all your friends said you had a calming presence. But if one thing went wrong in your daily routine you would be stressed thinking your whole day had gone wrong.

But today was a big, you had an important meeting with your editor. You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself as you checked the time once again. You were running five minutes late, and now all you could think about is how unprofessional this would look and how unprepared you felt. You had spent countless hours working on your latest novel, and the idea of someone finding a fault in your writing was making you beyond anxious.

You rushed out of your apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. You reached the street just in time to see your uber pulling up to the curb. The driver gave you a nod and a smile as you climbed into the back seat. You smiled back politely but couldn’t find it in you to make small talk. Your mind was solely focused on your meeting ahead. You had been working on your latest novel for months, pouring your heart and soul into every word.

But as the meeting drew closer, you began to second-guess yourself. What if your editor hates your work? What if they find plot holes or inconsistencies that you have missed? The thoughts swirled around in your head like a tornado, and you couldn’t shake them off.

As the car pulled up to the publishing house, you took a deep breath and stepped out onto the street. You smoothed out your clothes and adjusted your bag, trying to regain some semblance of control. But as soon as you walked through the glass door, your anxiety escalated.

The meeting was difficult, but you felt it was successful. Your editor had a handful of constructive criticisms, but all in all, they loved your work. You let out a sigh of relief as you left the publishing house, feeling like a weight had been lifted of your shoulders.

You had decided to call your closest friends to go out and celebrate afterwards. They were always down to go drinking, for celebrations or to commiserate. As you walked towards the nearest bar in the city, your mind was still racing from the meeting. You couldn’t believe that your editor had loved your work, and you couldn’t wait to celebrate with your friends. You pushed open the door to the bar, the sound of laughter and music hitting you as you stepped inside.

Your friends were already there, waving to you from the corner of the room. You made your way over, taking a seat beside them. You could feel the nervous energy draining from your body as your ordered a round of drinks for the table.

As the night went on, the drinks kept coming. You let yourself relax completely, enjoying the company of your friends and the new sense of freedom that came with having your novel approved. The bar kept getting louder and more crowded as the night went on.

Your friends went to get some drinks, as you just wanted to sit and enjoy the atmosphere for a moment. As you were people watching, you saw a group of about five/six people all sitting together. Each one of them was more attractive than the next. But one specifically caught your eye. He was fairly tall, around 6-foot, mediumish brown curly hair, hazel brown eyes and a face sent straight from the Greek gods. You looked at him and you just couldn’t look away. As he caught you looking, he flashed you a smile that made your heart race. You quickly looked away, feeling embarrassed that you had been caught staring. But you couldn’t help but glance back, and you found that he was still looking at you, a playful smirk on his lips.

Suddenly, your friends were back at the table, loudly chatting and laughing as they set down their drinks. You tried to focus on their conversation, but you found yourself stealing glances at the handsome stranger across the room.

You turned back to your friends and as asked, “do you guys see that group of people? Do you think they are all like models or something?”

Both of your friends turned to look at the group of strangers, looking, more like judging, each one.

Lucy was the first to say something, “I think they are. Or whatever job they are in, requires them to look as beautiful as possible.”

Alice than spoke, “it almost feels like I’m dreaming. The two older guys are making me question myself.”

You chuckled at Alice’s comment. “What about the guy with the brown curly hair? He’s like the most attractive man I have ever seen.” You already knew their answers already, they would tell you how they agreed with you, but he wasn’t their type.

“He’s really hot, but the guy sitting next to him is my cup of tea.” Lucy said with a giggle.

Alice elbowed her and went “I thought you’d more go for the woman with the black hair. I’ve seen you flirt with women like her all the time.”

Lucy looked mildly offended, but in a jokey way.

You all laughed together, while still staring at the random group of strangers. You must have looked like a group of weirdos. You all returned to your drinks, and conversation about each of your days. But your attention kept drifting towards the beautiful stranger across the room, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was interested in you too.

After some time, you excused yourself from the table, making your way to the bar. You ordered a drink and leaned against the counter, trying to act cool and collected. But as you turned around, you found the handsome stranger was standing right beside you.

“Do you make it a habit of staring at strangers and then, obviously, talking about those strangers?” He jokingly asked.

“Not really. Only when they all look like models but stand around like they work for the FBI or something.” You replied with a smile, and the feeling of your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. You couldn’t help but think that he was more even more attractive up close.

“Well, you guessed one of them right. We aren’t all models, but we do work for the FBI. So, were you and your friends all comparing us, seeing which one is more attractive?” He asked in a teasing tone, with a small smirk plastered across his lips.

“Woah, you work for the FBI? That’s so cool, I’ve written books about you guys. And yeah, maybe we were seeing which one of you is more attractive. But we all have different tastes, so we weren’t necessarily comparing, more saying which one we find attractive.” You replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips. You couldn’t resist the charm of the handsome stranger.

“Well, I hope you found someone to your liking,” he said turning to look at you fully. “Because I think I might have found someone of mine.”

“You have? Who is it? Is it one of my friends, because if it is, I have disappointing news. Also, I’m Y/N. I don’t normally introduce myself to strangers, but I am kinda drunk right now.”

“It’s not one of your friends,” he said, with a chuckle. “And it’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Spencer. You’re smart for not giving out your last name, would be easy to track you down.”

“Is that a threat, Spencer? But don’t worry, I only give my last name out on like the second date with someone.” You say with some confidence.

“Not a threat, just a warning. You never know who you’ll meet in a bar,” he said, his eyes sparkling with humour. “So, Y/N, what brings you out tonight? Celebrating something?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to share the news of your novel being approved with a stranger. But something in the way Spencer was looking at you made you feel like you could trust him.

“Actually, I just got my novel approved by my editor. It’s been a long time coming, and I needed to celebrate with my friends,” you said, feeling a little proud of yourself. “What about you, Spencer? What brings you out tonight?”

“Oh, just blowing off some steam with my colleagues. We’ve been working on a tough case for a while. I think we are all missing home.” His voice seemed to have some hurt behind it.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry. But you’ve come to probably one of the worst bars in the city to do that.” You were trying to lighten the mood again.

“Maybe you’re right. But this bar led me to you.” He said with a little chuckle.

Spencer’s words sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, despite knowing almost nothing about him. His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched you, and you found yourself smiling in response.

“Am I really that interesting, Spencer?” You asked, unable to resist teasing him a little bit.

“Of course, you are, Y/N. You’re smart, beautiful, and you’ve just had a major accomplishment. What’s not to find interesting?” he replied, his voice low and smooth.

As the night wore on, you found yourself constantly drawn back to Spencer. Your conversations flowed easily, and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d known him for years.

As the bar closed, your friends began to leave, but Spencer was still standing beside you. You could tell he was hesitant to leave, but you couldn’t tell if that because of you or something else entirely.

“Hey, do you want to go for a walk? It’s a nice night out,” you suggested, hoping he would say yes.

Spencer’s eyes sparkled with interest as he replied, “Sure, I’d love to. But I just need to make a call first. I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes?”

You nodded, feeling your heart race with anticipation. As you walked outside, the cool night air hit you, and you shivered in response. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep warm as you waited for Spencer.

When he finally emerged from the bar, you felt your heart skip a beat. He looked even more striking in the moonlight, and you couldn’t resist the urge to stare.

Spencer caught your gaze and smirked before walking up to you. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, still feeling a little nervous and excited at the same time. As you walked, you talked about everything and anything, from your favourite book to your childhood memories. You found yourself sharing things with Spencer that you had never told anyone before, and you couldn’t deny the connection you felt with him.

Spencer was different from anyone you had ever met. He was smart, funny, and kind, but also mysterious in a way that made you want to know more. You couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated by him, but also drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Did I hear you correctly earlier, saying that you’ve written books about the FBI?”

“I have. But I’ve never gone to get them published. They are always murder mystery books. But that’s not really what I write.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with interest. “Really? What do you mean that’s not what you write?”

“I write typical romance novels. People tend to like them; I mean I’m not famous but I’m not unknown.”

Spencer looked at you with a newfound interest. “Romance novels, huh? That’s interesting. What inspired you make the switch from murder mysteries to romance?”

You shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed. “I guess it was just a personal preference. I wanted to write about love, and the idea of giving characters happy endings was really appealing to me.”

Spencer nodded, seeming to understand. “I can see why that would be appealing. It’s nice to have control over what happens in your own little world, even if it’s just in your writing.”

You smiled, feeling grateful for Spencer’s understanding. “Exactly. Plus, I love the idea of creating characters that people can fall in love with. It’s kind of like bring people together in a way, even if it’s just fiction.”

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. “I understand that you can’t control love or your own love story in real life. It takes a lot of skill to create characters that people can connect with on that level.”

“It takes a lot of skill to work for the FBI.” You say with a giggle.

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I suppose it does. But I’m just doing my job, like anyone else.”

You shook your head, feeling a sense of admiration for Spencer. “No, what you do is amazing. You and your colleague risk your lives every day to keep people safe. That’s something truly special.”

Spencer looked at you, his eyes softening. “Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot coming from you.”

As you continued to walk, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of closeness with Spencer that you had never felt with anyone before. It was as if he could see right through you, past all your insecurities and doubts, and still accept you for who you were.

As the night wore on, you found yourself slowing down, wanting to savour every moment with Spencer. You were afraid that once the night ended, you would never see him again.

“I’m guessing the case isn’t over yet, so you should probably get back to your hotel so you can get a rest.”

Spencer nodded, seeming to understand. “Yeah, we still have a lot of work to do tomorrow. But I don’t want this night to end just yet.”

You looked up at him, feeling a little shy. “Me neither.”

Spencer smiled, “Then let’s keep walking. I don’t want to say goodbye to you just yet, Y/N.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt towards his. As you continued to walk, you felt Spencer’s gaze on you, and you couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. “Is everything okay, Spencer?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “Yeah, I’m just trying to figure something out.”

You looked at him, feeling a little confused. “What do you mean?”

“My friends, the people you saw at the bar, said I should try and not talk about work, and find someone who doesn’t work with us. I thought it was going to be difficult. But then I met you.” Spencer’s voice was low and intense, and you could feel his hot breath on your cheek.

You blushed, feeling a little overwhelmed by his sudden confession. “What are you trying to figure out, Spencer?”

“What this means. I mean I know what it means, kind off. But how someone so perfect, could just be sitting in a bar that I just so happened to go into. I mean I know the chances, it’s just so strange.”

You looked at Spencer, feeling the same way he did. It was as if fate had brought the two of you together, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for it.

“I know what you mean,” you said softly. “It’s like we were meant to meet each other.”

Spencer nodded, looking at you with a mixture of awe and admiration. “I don’t want to let this chance slip away.”

You felt a surge of desire at his words, and without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him. Spencer responded immediately, his lips moving hungrily against yours.

You didn’t want to be cliché, you’re a writer, you’re good with words, but this kiss was magical. It was as though the world around you disappeared, leaving only you and Spencer in your own little bubble of passion and desire. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to you as he deepened the kiss.

As the kiss ended, you looked into Spencer’s eyes, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. You knew that this was just the beginning of something special, and you couldn’t wait to see where it would take you.

“I don’t want this night to end,” you said softly, feeling a little breathless.

Spencer smiled at you, his eyes shining with affection. “Me neither, Y/N. Let’s not end it just yet then. Also, did you know you actually share less germs with someone if you kiss them, rather than shaking their hands?”

You chuckled, feeling a sense of ease with Spencer. “I guess that makes sense. But I don’t think we need an excuse to kiss each other, do we?”

Spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “No, Y/N. We don’t need an excuse.”

“You know for been a member of the FBI and been in a place where you are having a practically rough case, you are pretty trusting.”

“Ahh. You see I work with the BAU, which is the behaviour analysis unit, so I read body language and such. I basically profile people, and you don’t seem like you’d murder or kidnap me. So, yes, I am pretty trusting when I can read someone so well.”

You smiled at Spencer, feeling a sense of jealousy and admiration for his skills. “That’s really cool. I wish I had your ability to read people like that.”

Spencer shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “It’s just something that comes with the job, I guess. But it can be a double-edged sword sometimes. You start to see the worst in people, and it can be hard to trust anyone.”

You looked at him, feeling a sense of sadness at his words. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”

Spencer smiled at you, his eyes softening. “It’s okay, Y/N. I have good people around me, like you, who remind me that there’s still good in the world.”

“You think I’m a good person? You’ve only known me for around 2 hours, and you think I’m a good person. Well, I’m glad I’ve made a good impression on you.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Y/N, it doesn’t take long to recognise a good person. And you, my dear, are definitely a good person. I can tell by the way you carry yourself, the way you treat others, and the way you make me feel.”

You blushed, feeling a sense of warmth spread throughout your body. “Thank you, Spencer. That means a lot to me.”

Spencer leaned in, his lips hovering over yours. “And I want to you feel even better.”

He kissed you deeply, his hands caressing your body as he pushed you up against the wall. Spencer’s lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of heat and arousal in their wake. You gasped, feeling a sense of pleasure as he nipped and sucked at your skin.

“I’m sure someone who works with the FBI cannot get public indecency on their record. Do you want to continue this somewhere else, like your hotel room or my apartment?”

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes shining with desire. “My hotel room.”

You nodded, realising that the hotel was only two blocks down. You could feel the lust burning between the two of you, and you couldn’t wait to feel his hands on your body.

You made it to the hotel in no time at all, your hands already exploring each other’s bodies. Spencer’s lips trailed a burning trail of fire down your neck, and you could yourself shudder in his arms.

You pulled open the door to Spencer’s hotel room, turning the lights on as you walked through the doorway. Spencer followed suit; he pulled you closer to him, your hands never leaving your body.

Spencer pulled off your clothes slowly, exploring your body with his eyes. You felt a wave of desire wash over you as he looked at your body, and you wanted nothing more than to feel his hands on you.

Spencer’s lips were basically attached to your neck, and you could feel desire coursing through your body. You could feel his heartbeat thumping against yours, echoing the same rhythm that was currently coursing through your body.

“Do you know people who want to control every aspect of their life, often seek ways to lose control, for other people to control them? A lot of CEOs and bosses will go to professional dominatrixes to help them.”

“What are you saying, Spencer? Are you saying you like to be dominated?” You said in a teasing tone.

He kind of laughed at your comment.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all here. I think you would like to lose control.”

“Is that right?”

Spencer nodded, looking at you with a devilish smirk. “I think you would like to lose control. To know that you are completely at my mercy.”

You gave a short laugh, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, right. Spencer, I don’t think you know me at all.”

“I’m good at reading people. You’re a writer, and I bet that you like to control every aspect of your life. You write the plots, you decide the endings, and you feel that you have complete control over your life.”

You laughed, “You’re right, that’s me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Y/N. And I’m not saying you are wrong for being that way. It’s just that I wonder what you would do if you were completely at the mercy of someone else. Seeing how you like to control everything, I bet you would love for someone to take that control.”

You smirked, biting your lip as you stared at him. “Hmmm, I think you might be on to something there.”

Spencer shook his head, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “I wonder what you would do if I took control of you.”

“Try me.”

“I would love to try you, Y/N.”

Spencer’s lips claimed yours, and he pushed you down on the bed, his hands roaming over your body greedily. You moaned into his mouth, your body responding to his touch.

You could feel him hardening against you, and you wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of you. He pulled of panties, his mouth trailing a line down your body.”

“I want you to know that I’m going to be in control of you, Y/N. And you’re going to like it.”

He paused, “Do you want me to control you?”

You looked at him, your eyes glinting with desire. “Yes.”

Spencer’s eyes were dark with lust, and you could feel yourself getting wetter just from his gaze.

“I want you to know I’m going to do whatever I want to you.” He bit you hard on the neck, and you could feel your body tense with desire.

“And you’re going to let me.”

You nodded, wanting nothing more than his hands on you. He kissed you hard, his hands gripping your hips tightly. You could feel him crawling up your body, his erection rubbing against your wetness.

“You’re going to let me, because you’re going to love it.”

“I will.”

“You’re going to do everything I tell you to.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to beg me to fuck you.”

“I am?”

“Uh huh. And I am going to make you cum over and over, until you’re begging me to stop.”

“Please, Spencer.”

You gasped as his fingers found your wetness. He pushed two of them inside of you, slowly pumping them in and out. You could feel yourself tightening around him, your hips bucking in sync with his fingers.

His lips trailing a burning trail down your body. He could tell how badly you wanted to cum, he was reading you like a book.

“Beg me.” Spencer’s eyes were dark with lust.

“Please, Spencer. I want to cum”.

“I know you can do better than that. Be a good girl, and tell me how badly you want to cum.”

“I want to come so fucking badly, please. Please, Spencer, let me cum.”

His pace fastened, you moaned at Spencer’s actions and his words. He moved his thumb towards your clit, he pressed down hard. He could feel you tightening even more around him.

You were so close to cuming, the anticipation of your orgasm was almost painful. Your pussy was dripping wet, and you could feel the juices flowing down your legs.

“I want you to cum for me.”

Your mouth dropped open, a loud and crude moan leaving your lips. Spencer’s name followed; you were almost singing it. Spencer couldn’t get enough of this. You looked so beautiful like this; this was all for him and he couldn’t believe he was so lucky to get to see you like this.

“That’s it, let it all go.”

Your orgasm hit hard. His kept nursing you through it, showering you with praises. His eyes kept looking over every inch of your body. The orgasm shook through you, your body shaking with desire. You felt him slide his fingers out of you, and you could feel your body shaking with desire.

He leaned over you, his lips brushing a kiss against your neck. He stood up, he was still fully clothed, and you felt exposed. You lay there, watching him take all his clothes off. It gave you the opportunity to look at his body, which you had already known was amazing, but you could appreciate it even more as you watched him in the dim light. He kicked his pants off and walked towards you.

“Spencer” You panted.

“I love the way you say my name.” He smirked. “Can you stand up for me?”

You gently nodded your head, even though your legs felt a little bit like jelly, you wanted to stand for him. You pushed yourself up off the bed, you stood there, looking at him, your eyebrows shot up when you saw the look on his face. He looked at you like he was going to eat you alive, and that sent a shiver down your spine.

“That was only one of many, but I feel like I deserve a reward. Don’t you?”

You nodded your head once again.

“Okay, I’m glad. Now I want you to be a good girl and get on your knees for me, is that okay?”

You nodded your head, your breath quickening.

“Good girl, now I want you to take my cock out, but don’t touch it.”

You slowly sank to your knees in front of him, watching as his eyes roamed over your body.

He felt himself get harder, the look in your eyes made him feel like the king of the world.

“Take it out.”

You heard him moan in appreciation. You slowly pulled down his boxers, watching as he carefully stepped out. You reached out your hand, wrapping your fingers around him.

“I didn’t say you could touch it just yet, did I?”

“No, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just tell me you won’t do it again.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Good girl.” He smirked. “Now I want you to put my dick into your mouth.”

You heard him hiss as you took him into your mouth. He kept looking down at you and you could see the lust in his eyes.

You could feel yourself getting wetter, just hearing him moan was enough to drive you wild. He fucked your mouth, and the way he moved in and out, would make anyone cum.

“That’s it baby,” he moaned. “I want you to suck my cock until I cum in your mouth.”

Your heart was racing. You could feel his dick twitching in your mouth.

You ran your tongue over the head and feeling him shudder under your touch.

“Oh yes, just like that.”

“You’re doing so good.” He panted. “I’m so fucking close.”

You tried to take him deeper into your mouth, but it was hard.

“I’m going to cum.” He moaned.

Your mouth filled with his sticky cum. He moaned out loudly, before he pulled himself out of your mouth. You looked up at him, and he smiled down at you.

“You look so beautiful like this. I’m so lucky that I will be able to relive this image over and over again.”

“I want you to lay on the bed. But do not touch yourself.”

You did as you were told. You can’t believe a man this hot was having sex with you, you could barely believe that he knew exactly what to do to you.

He climbed on the bed, his kissed you, his tongue fighting for dominance in your mouth. He started to kiss you all the way down your body, your body felt like it was on fire. His mouth finally landed on your clit, his fingers found their way back to your pussy.

“I love how wet you are.” He moaned. You could feel the vibrations from his mouth against your clit, making the pleasure even more intense.

You were moaning uncontrollably. Your hips were rocking against his face and fingers. You knew you were getting close.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum.” You moaned.

He kept working his mouth against your clit, and his fingers against your pussy. He knew exactly what you needed.

“Come for me baby.” He moaned.

Your back arched, you moaned out his name. He moaned against you, the vibrations adding more to your orgasm. He slowed down as your orgasm slowed down. He gently blew on your clit, causing you to squirm.

He pulled himself up, kissing you passionately on the lips, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands glided down your body. You were in total bliss, everything about this man was perfect.

As you thought you were actually in heaven, you heard a phone ringing and Spencer got off the bed. He grabbed his phone and walked into his bathroom. He was in there for a few minutes. He walked out with a sombre look on his face.

“I’m so sorry, there’s been a lead in the case, I have to go. You can stay here for the night if you want to, but if you don’t, please leave your number. This can’t be the last time I see you.”

You nodded; you felt a wave of sadness wash over your body.

“I’ll give you my number, I think I’ll head home. I don’t want this to be the last time I see you either.”

You read your number out to Spencer and started to get dressed. He gave you a quick kiss on your cheek and left. You felt hopeful you’d see Spencer again, but it still hurt that you wouldn’t be falling asleep in his arms today.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 months

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Thunder In Our Hearts: You're Losing Me

Summary: A few short weeks before their first holiday together, the reader finds Ben slipping into his old ways...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, angst, fluff

A/N: This takes place within Part 9 of Thunder In Our Hearts. Enjoy! 😉

_______

You hummed as you stirred the ingredients in the Dutch oven on the cold December day. Things with Ben had been good lately. It’d been about four months since you’d both stopped hunting down people, trying to hide him from the CIA. You simply…were.

For Ben, that meant a whole lot of learning still. He’d been out of the box for a little over six months now and had picked up a few things. He even had his own SUV now for getting around. He understood how to use the TV and get to streaming apps along with some basic use of the internet and a smart phone.

And he prided himself on how well he could cook a full breakfast for you both. You’d even got a smirk out of him when you called him your own Betty Crocker.

But there was still a lot to learn and it wore on him some days. Unfortunately, it seemed like today was going to be one of them.

“Jesus Christ,” groaned Ben, stepping into the house, shrugging out of his winter jacket. He kicked off his boots and left them in the middle of the floor, all while shaking his head. “Your generation is full of fucking pussies, baby. No wonder this country has gone to shit.”

You tore your eyes away from the soup on the stove, annoyance prickling your skin. Yeah, it was definitely one of those days.

“The fucking child working the counter at the auto store didn’t know two shits about the oil I was looking for. Literally the twats only fucking job,” he grumbled, walking into the kitchen and washing up his hands. You tried to let it go. He was allowed to get irritated as much as you were.

You set the spoon on the rest next to the stove and put the lid back on top, the stew having a few hours to go still.

“And then at dealership where I had to go to get the stupid shit, there was, I swear to God, some kid that had to be thirty fucking years old was buying a car with his dad. These little shits don’t know to wipe their own asses.”

You rolled your eyes behind his back and left the kitchen, Ben inhaling sharply, lifting the lid up. He licked his lips and set it back down, either ignoring or not picking up on your own growing annoyance. You sat down on the end of the couch, Ben leaning over the back, strong hands on your shoulders.

“And why the hell is everyone obsessed with these fucking frilly decorations for Chirstmas? It’s fucking stupid. If people want shit they should buy it. End of discussion. Lame ass holiday anyway.”

He squeezed your shoulders gently, leaning down so his lips brushed against your ear.

“You’re tense, baby. Let me help you relax.” Strong hands slid down over your shoulders, headed straight for your chest and you’d had enough. You faced him with a glare, Ben narrowing his eyes. “What’d I do?”

“You’re being an ass today. You’re acting like asshole Ben, the one I didn’t like, remember?” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “All you have done today is complain about other people, leave the house a mess, hell you even got something against Christmas. It’s fucking Christmas, Ben! No one in the world, even the most redneck backwoods hillbilly, has anything against a strand of fucking white lights. Frilly? Oh come on.”

“First off, they are fucking frilly,” he spat back as you headed for the foyer. “What’s wrong with not liking a stupid ass holiday?”

“Nothing! Hate Christmas for all I care! Plenty of people do. But don’t put it down because of lights or trees or presents. Hate it because your family sucks or whatever. Not because it’s not manly enough for you.”

“Oh fuck you,” he said, getting in your face, leering down at you with a certain visceral that reminded you of your first argument. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Don’t hate everything that’s not part of your toxic masculinity!” His eye twitched and you looked away, past him out the patio door. “For three weeks you’ve been acting more and more like an asshole. I know this is hard for you. I know learning is hard and learning to be accepting and even tolerant doesn’t happen overnight. But Benjamin, I told you once before. I will not live with a man that I’m afraid of. Do not become someone I am afraid of.”

“You have no idea how hard this is!” he shouted, so loud your body shook. You forced yourself to meet his angry gaze, fighting back wetness in your own. “I do everything for you! Every goddamn day I try for you! I’m sorry your worthless piece of shit boyfriend isn’t doing it fast enough for you!”

“I never called you that,” you said quietly, throat thick from fighting back the tears from falling. “Never. All I have ever asked of you is to try and you Ben, these past few weeks you aren’t trying. I am not giving up on you. All I’m asking is you to not give up on yourself. You’re worth it. But you have to want it too.”

“What I want is you to stop hounding me over every little thing every motherfucking day!” he shouted. You tore your gaze away and swallowed before heading for the door. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“For a drive,” you said, putting your boots on, taking your coat off the hook. “For the record, all I wanted to do today was make you homemade beef stew because you haven’t had it since you were a kid. Maybe, just maybe, decorate for Christmas because we both had shitty childhoods and maybe we could have made our own good traditions. But if you don’t want that, Ben, I won’t force that on you. I’m done. I’ll always love you but I don’t deserve to be screamed at for helping you, for still holding up my end of the deal.”

You ripped open the door and threw up your hood without looking back.

It was close to eleven when you got home. You were tired and your stomach felt off from your makeshift dinner of a greasy burger and fries. Least of all did you want another fight with Ben tonight. You just didn’t have the energy for it.

You sighed as you pushed open the door, catching sight of him out of the corner of your eye. Great. But you cut off your own thoughts as your eyes took in the room, darting through the family room and over to the kitchen and dining room.

Hundreds of small lights filled the house. Draped on the wall. Wrapped around the decorated tree in the corner. Over the mantle where two stockings hung.

You knew you were standing there with your mouth open, letting the cold air inside behind you. Ben walked around the couch and shut the door, all while staring at you. He flickered his own gaze down and you caught his shirt wasn’t his usual thermals or t-shirts.

He had on a fucking Grinch sweater. A fucking Grinch sweater.

Your eyes flirted back to his, worried green ones meeting them. His lips parted, words caught in his throat. He swallowed, taking both your hands in his.

“You deserve a better life than this.” He lowered his head. “Than me. But you won’t leave me alone unless I make you go which is what I’ve been doing. I don’t want you to have to teach me everything. You’re wasting away your life on me. I’m not good. No matter what I do, I’ll never be good. I’m always the villian. I want better for you than me.”

You stared at the Grinch on his sweater, at the comically large yellow eyes, the curl of green on top of his head.

“Y/N. Say something. Do something.” You lifted your gaze, his head turned cautiously up, waiting for a response. You stepped closer to him, Ben ripping his gaze away, like you’d burn him.

“Don’t you ignore me.” His head turned back, dropping your hands when you pulled them away. “Why did you do all this if you want me to go?”

“I never said I wanted you to go,” he whispered, cracking a sad smile. “I told you. I want you to want someone better than me.”

“Why did you do all of this?” you asked again, Ben closing his eyes, bottom lip trembling for a split second.

“Because…” he said, scrunching up his face, forcing himself to look you in the eye. “Because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Because you deserve better but I’m the bad guy and I can’t survive without you. Because you’re my girl. Because I like these fucking frilly lights even though I’m the Grinch. That guy was an asshole too until someone gave him a chance. Give me one more chance. Let me be selfish. Don’t let me lose you.”

“I…” you said, Ben nodding once and lowering his head. You ripped off your jacket and boots, Ben barely lifting his chin as you cupped his cheeks. “I’m so proud of you.”

Confusion crossed his face as you smiled, wiping away a single tear that slipped free. “Why? I fucked everything up.”

“We still have to work on that self-worth I see,” you said, gently stroking over his cheek. “Benjamin. I love you and I’ll never give up on you. If you want better for me then you become that man because I picked you. I see you becoming him more and more everyday. But this Ben? The one right in front of me? I don’t love him any less than that other man.”

“I was an ass on purpose. I scared you,” he said. “You should-”

“No, you didn’t. But you needed a wakeup call because baby, I know you. I know you want me to hate you some days because you hate yourself. I know you think you trapped me. But you saved me, Soldier Boy. I need you to remember I’m here because with you is exactly where I want to be.”

He closed his eyes, an argument on the tip of his tongue. But he surprised you.

“I just want you to be happy,” he whispered. You kissed his cheek and then his lips, wrapping you arms around him tightly.

“I am. You’re my happy place.”

“Oh god that’s sad,” he half-laughed, resting his head on your shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve earned that.”

“Tell that to the guy who decorated the whole house with the frilly little lights,” you said, Ben chuckling. “If you want to leave me Ben you can but never do that again.”

“I promise and that’s not happening,” he said. He hugged you gently, the room quiet for a beat and then another. “I saved your stew. Maybe we can have it for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” you said, enjoying the warmth of him around you. “Was today as bad as you said it was?”

“No. But I know how to make you think less of me,” he said, pulling back. “You should still be upset with me.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “We’re not doing that. I know what I want and that’s for you to feel like you can talk to me when you start feeling bad. Please.”

“I’ll try,” he offered and you nodded, knowing that was all he could promise right now. You rested your head against his chest and breathed slowly, his heart thudding away strong and steady. “No.”

You frowned and looked at him, Ben raising his chin, nodding to himself. “No?”

“I won’t try. I’ll do it. No more trying. I will be better. End of story. I’m going to give you what you deserve.”

“Someday I hope you can see how fucking far you’ve come,” you said, Ben shrugging. “Come on. Let’s head to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“Ben,” you said the next morning as you lay curled up in his side. He traced his fingers up and down your arm, offering you a sleepy smile. “Can I give you a Christmas present early?”

“Eh, after yesterday I think I’m on the naughty list,” he said, catching the frown on your face. “Sorry. Working on the self-worth thing. So uh, I guess sure?”

You took his hand and slid it under your shirt over your belly, his eyes narrowing. “Listen.”

He closed his eyes, sliding his hand down slightly. He swallowed once, eyes flashing open. He stared at your stomach for a solid ten seconds before finding your face, lips parting.

“There’s another heartbeat inside of you,” he whispered. “Two more.”

“I know,” you said softly, placing your hand over his. “I found out yesterday morning. I went to the doctor while I was out. I’m eight weeks.”

“Twins?” You smiled and nodded, Ben’s hand still on you. “And they’re mine?”

“Of course they’re yours,” you laughed, Ben swallowing thickly. “Ben. It’s going to be okay. I’m scared too but excited. We-”

“I-Is it a boy? Are they boys?” he asked. You smiled and touched your forehead to his. “Can you know that before?”

“Nowadays yeah, but it’s a little too early to find that out,” you said, his breath hitching. “Do you…want boys?”

“No. No, I don’t want boys,” he said, suddenly jumping out of bed, hands going to his thighs as he leaned over and made a wincing sound. “You have to leave.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, sitting upright. Ben turned around, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“I should not be anyone’s father. I-I’m going to fuck these kids up. I can’t…Jesus Y/N. I’m going to lose my temper and hurt them. Or I’ll be awful and raise them wrong. I can’t ruin their lives. I-I can’t be my father. I can’t-” You put his hand back on your stomach, Ben’s chest rising and falling quickly.

“You guys are going to have the best daddy in the world if he loves you this much already,” you said. Ben wanted to argue more but you shushed him. “Whatever they are, they’re going to be just fine.”

“How do you know that?” he whispered.

“Because we know everything not to do.” He thumbed over your skin, spreading his palm out wide. “I have to ask you to try for me one more time, Ben. Try to believe you’ll be good at this.”

He closed his eyes, a tiny smile crawling onto his lips. “If you’d asked me a year ago, I’d have told you I’d be a perfect father. Now…I know I would have destroyed them, made them awful little people like me.”

“Please stop saying things like that,” you whispered. He nodded, touching his forehead to yours.

“If you taught me, I guess these two will be alright. But I have to learn faster. I need to…shit I don’t know anything about babies. How much do they eat? What do they eat? And what the hell do babies wear nowadays? And-”

“Shush,” you murmured, smiling to yourself. “Calm down, super dad. We get to learn this together. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ben’s breathing slowed, his gaze flickering down between you, staring at his hand with a goofy little look. You almost teased him about looking happy for the first time but held back the comment. Whatever was going on in his head right now was healing him, even if it was ever so miniscule.

And that was the best gift he ever could have given you.

“Merry Christmas Ben.”

“Merry Christmas, baby…and babies,” he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “Thank you. All of you.”

_________

#soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #the boys fanfic #soldier boy reader insert #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x

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collapsedglasshouses · 2 months

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WOULD YOU SAY I'M WORTHY || ONE

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x OFC ; slight Nick Folio x OFC

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY: When Eden meets Noah, her life is anything but perfect. Her heart is far more broken than Noah can even guess at this point. Will he be able to mend the wounds he hadn’t caused?

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, eventually smut, mentions of grief/loss, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of mental health issues, mentions of illnesses

A/N: FIRST OF ALL, COVID DOESN'T EXIST IN THIS STORY! Second, hello! :) This is a new series. We will see where this goes. Thank you for everyone joining in before it was even a real idea haha. If you liked the first part, consider reblogging it! Thank you!

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @lma1986 @missduffsblog @cookiesupplier @thescarlettvvitch @bngurngheart @dream-machine-love @arkiliastuff @vinyardmauro @lacktoesandtoddlerants @princessmarshmallowx

If you wanna be added to the story's taglist or to my taglist in general, leave a comment or message me privately!

The rain was pouring down with no regrets. It had been like this for a few days. And still, the bar business was booming. It was a cold Friday evening in October and Eden was done. She had been on her feet since around six in the morning and she just wanted to cuddle herself into her blanket on her small couch at home.

It wasn’t like she despised her job at the bar, but she just couldn’t feel her feet anymore. She had been pouring beer into glasses for five hours straight and there was seemingly no end. Every time she thought she had a second to herself, the next person ordered something.

On the light side, she also really hadn’t had the time to think about anything outside of work, which was the exact reason why she went for the job. She had been living in Los Angeles for about three months now. Three months of none-stop working. Three months of keeping her mind of reality.

She was doing better than she had originally thought.

As she was giving a woman her change, she noticed how the door opened. She always noticed when the door opened and she surely always noticed him. A young man in his early twenties entered the bar and shook his head for a second to get rid of the excess water in his hair. Eden felt like she could breathe for a second.

When the man lifted his gaze again, he quickly was met with Eden’s exhausted but welcoming smile.

“Eden!” The man beamed. “Thank God, you are here. I thought, you weren’t working today.”

“I’m always working, Nick.” She answered the man, as he approached the bar and set down on one of the chairs. He leaned a bit towards her with a smug smile on his face. “The same as usual.” – “Everything for you, Nick.”

She poured another beer into the glass before turning back to him and setting the drink in front of him. She didn’t even have to tell him what it cost, the money already laying on the counter, “Keep the change.”

Eden smiled to herself. Her day just got better.

“How has your week been?” Nick asked her, before sipping on his beer. Eden sighed.

“Pretty good.” She said, as she always did. “Yours?”

“A lot of stuff with the band.” He answered.

Right, the band. She knew he was the drummer of this metal band. Sometimes she forgot Nick was somewhat popular.

Eden nodded, before being called to the other side of the counter to yet pour another beer. When she went back to Nick afterwards, he was quick to gift her a sweet smile.

“What are you doing tomorrow?" Nick asked her interested.

“The same as always. Cuddling on my couch and watching some movies.” She answered him and he looked shocked. “But it’s your birthday!” – “That is the reason why I’m doing nothing out of the usual.”

Nick shook his head. “It’s also Halloween, Sunshine.” Eden smiled a little at the nickname Nick had given her other the last couple of weeks. She knew it couldn't be further from the truth, but she enjoyed the image Nick seemed to have of her in his head.

“Don’t make it even worse than it already is.” Eden breathed out, not even sure if Nick heard it over the noise that filled the room.

Eden hated her birthday. It was a hard reminder of the time just slipping through her fingers. To her, it was even worse that she was also born on a national holiday. And if that wasn’t enough, she also had her name tied to said holiday. While her name was representing some kind of delight or place of pleasure, her parents had chosen that name for her, because they thought it sounded mysterious and spooky. Fitting for Halloween.

“Oh, come on.” Nick exclaimed, snapping her out of her thoughts. She blinked at him for a second, waiting for him to continue his sentence. “Enjoy yourself for once.”

Eden rolled her eyes. As much as Nick was a delight to her, she also hated his happy spirit in moments like this.

“Okay, hear me out.” Nick said, when he saw her facial expression. “A good friend of mine is celebrating his birthday tomorrow. You should come. This way, nobody will focus on you, you can enjoy my company outside of work for once and you’re out of your little hobbit-house for once.”

Eden tapped her fingers against the counter and started to think. It had been about the fifth time that Nick tried to get her to do something with him. Since now, she had always turned him down. Not, that she didn’t want to see him, she just was scared. She liked being alone. She liked being to herself. She didn’t even speak to anyone outside of work, except her sister and her parents, but even that contact was strongly limited by her. Nick was the only one she would call somewhat a friend.

Eden ran a hand through her hair and then over her face. She was going to regret this. She just knew it.

“Okay… Just once.” She gave in and Nick clapped his hands together in excitement.

“Fucking finally!” He exclaimed. “I was really starting to think, you hated me.”

“I do not, and you know that.” She reassured him before taking another order. When she was ready with the customer, Nick’s beer was empty. She allowed herself to look at the clock that was hanging over the entrance of the bar. Her shift would end in half an hour.

“So, where should I go tomorrow?" She asked Nick, who was still smiling to himself.

“Give me your phone number and I’ll text you the address.” He answered her and reached his hand out, waiting for her phone.

For a second, she simply looked at his hand. He was getting bold.

She sighed in defense and pulled her phone from her pants to hand it to him.

Right when he handed it back, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her boss Michael looked at her. “You can go. Anna will be here in a second.”

Eden nodded, before looking at Nick again, who stood to his feet, also ready to head out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She exclaimed, before Nick nodded at her with a smile and left.

“The guy is cute.” Michael said to her, and she smiled a little. “Yeah, he is also a total pain in the ass.”

Michael only shrug his shoulders, before wishing her a good night and soon Eden was in her car.

It didn’t take her long to reach her apartment. She had been lucky, getting a flat close to her work. When she reached her front door and opened it, she sighed at the familiar sight of her home. Things hadn’t been easy the last couple of months. After moving to the other side of the country, she was just happy to have some peace again. She liked not living in that old house anymore, back at her hometown. Everything reminded her of her pain back there.

Not even twenty minutes later, she fell onto her couch, a bowl of instant noodles in her hand and some sitcom playing in the background, when her phone vibrated. Three messages from an unknown number.

She opened them.

?: Hey, here is Nick.

?: The party starts at 8, you have to come in a custome

?: [adress attached]

That's when it hit her.

She agreed to go to a party with a man, she barely knew, even though he was the closest she had to a friend in LA.

She was definitely going to regret it.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x oc #noah sebastian x ofc #nick folio fanfic #nick folio x ofc #nick folio x oc #nick folio fic #noah sebastian smut #bad omens smut #collapsedglasshouseswrites

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fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat · 1 year

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Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 2

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: You have this amazing talent of knocking the wind right out of Steve's chest with words alone.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, mentions of being sick (among other scarier pregnancy symptoms), language

Word Count: 3614

Previous Chapter! - Next Chapter!

My Masterlist! - Series Masterlist!

Rain slammed against the window panes of the Harrington house like bullets. The cold seeped through the walls and ate straight through Steve’s pajamas, and the cup of coffee in his hands was doing little to remedy it. There was zero hint of sun in the sky, it seemed like there would be none all day, and Steve was really regretting coming out from under his covers.

Steve had only slept in his own house three times over the past two weeks; he’d made quite the home for himself on your couch, living out of a backpack of clothes he’d stuck in the corner of your living room. You had asked him not to leave you alone, and what kind of man would he be if he had said no to that? He probably wouldn’t even have been able to, anyway.

He didn’t know if he would be allowed to sleep in your bed with you, and he had been too afraid to ask.

While his father never really bothered to care where his son was, and his mother trusted him enough to let him do his own thing most of the time, he was still expected to show his face at home every once in a while. He’d been stuck with the closing shift last night (even though it was outside of his availability, so thanks for that, Keith), and he knew you’d be fast asleep by the time he made it back to your apartment. You’d called the store after you got home at the much more reasonable hour of six thirty. ‘I think I can live with being alone for tonight’ you’d told him. ‘I’ve got a paper to write, anyway.’

Fuck, Steve really needed a better job. Preferably one that paid him more and wasn’t open until eleven p.m. on a Thursday night.

You worked a big girl job at the Roane County Historical Society museum. You were just a secretary, but you had a salary, insurance, and all that other grown up stuff. Nine to five, four days a week, and they helped with your college tuition, too. Come May, you’d have a History degree and a teaching certification, and word on the street said Hawkins Middle was about to have a need for a new History teacher. Unlike him, you had the perfect five year plan laid out right in front of you.

Y’know, as long as Steve hadn’t ruined it for you.

By the time he woke up on Friday, his father was long gone. It was nearing one in the afternoon, and the big empty house felt extra big and extra empty today. Steve glanced out the window as he poured a second cup of coffee and saw the rain collecting in the bottom of the long-since drained pool in his backyard. A handful of stray leaves sat mixed with the rainwater, some stuck in a brown mass on the bottom, some floating lazily atop the puddle.

He was startled out of his trance by his mother’s voice and nearly dropped his full mug.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said as she walked into the kitchen, heels clicking along the tiles. “Or, good afternoon, rather.”

Meredith Harrington was the opposite of her husband in more ways than anyone could count. She actually enjoyed spending time with her child, for one, but there had never been an angry bone in her body. She wasn’t immune to frustration, or worry, but it was never unfounded. Yet still, for every wild flame of rage that shot from her husband's mouth, she counteracted with calmness. Or, more accurately, quiet, fearful resignation. Her husband never put his hands on her or their son, but Steve could always tell that she had spent her whole marriage walking on eggshells, waiting for the terrifying moment that he did, as if it was a simple inevitability.

Steve loved his mom, but fuck, he wished she would just stand up for herself for once.

“God, Mom, you scared me,” Steve responded, leaning against the counter.

“I do live here, too, y’know,” she poked back with a smile. “When did you get so jumpy?”

If she ever found out the real answer to that question, she would probably never let her son out of her sight ever again.

“Haven’t seen much of you these last couple weeks,” his mother observed. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he insisted. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. She put the pocketbook she was holding down on the marble countertop of the island and crossed the room to lean against it, opposite her son. “I can tell, there’s far too much going on in that big head of your’s.”

Steve snorted at the well meaning insult.

“It’s nothing mom, I promise.”

“Come on now, you know I don’t buy that,” his mother asked with arms crossed. “Talk to me, kid.”

“I-I don’t know.” Steve was absolutely, in no way, ready to talk about any of what was going through his head, especially to his mom. ‘You might be a grandma come September’ wasn’t really something he could just drop in the middle of casual conversation.

“Is it a girl, maybe?”

Steve’s quiet was proof enough that his mother was, at least partially, right. She gave her son a knowing smile.

“Tell me it’s not Nancy again, right?” she asked. Meredith was generally a pretty forgiving woman, but Nancy had really broken her son’s heart. So, while she would always show nothing but kindness to the eldest of the Wheeler children, she didn’t have to like her.

“Oh, no. Definitely not,” Steve assured. “That ship sailed a long, long time ago.”

“Good,” she replied. “Will I ever get to meet this mystery girl?”

Steve just shrugged, deciding it best to omit the fact that the “mystery girl” had lived across the street for eighteen years and swam in their pool every summer for a decade.

“You should invite her over for dinner some time,” his mother said. She leaned forward and pulled a piece of errant lint off of Steve’s shoulder with perfectly manicured nails. “I’ll roast a chicken. It’ll be nice.”

“She doesn’t eat chicken.”

“She doesn’t eat chicken?” she parroted back. “What kind of person doesn’t eat chicken?”

“She’s a vegetarian, mom,” he explained.

“Ah,” his mom accepted. “Then I’ll make that broccoli cheddar casserole you like. You know, the one I make during Lent every year? Think she’d like that?”

“Yeah, I think she would.” Steve was trying his best to hide his smile, though he wasn’t doing it all that well.

“Alrighty.” She patted her son’s shoulder as she walked past him and gathered her purse. “Well, I have to go run some errands. You’re more than welcome to join me if you’d like.”

“No, thanks.”

“Right. You’re much too cool to tag along with mom to the grocery store. How could I have forgotten?”

“No! No, it’s not that, I-”

“I’m joking, Steve,” she assured with a smile. “Make sure that cup ends up in the dishwasher, okay? Not just in the sink.”

“Dishwasher. Got it.”

“I love you! Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone!”

With that, the heavy front door shut and Steve was plunged into the silence of deserted suburbia.

You were at work, he had the day off with no plans, and the idea of being at all productive sounded absolutely exhausting. He finished his coffee in two big gulps and decided the best way to spend the day would be to crawl right back into bed and wallow in his feelings.

Steve had, very much on purpose, kept most of his thoughts about your current situation to himself. Partially because every time you two did start talking about it, you ended up a slushy pile of tears in his arms. The other reason, though, the bigger reason, was that he was terrified that you would put all of your own wants and wishes to the side and do whatever he wanted you to. The concept of you having a baby you didn’t want just to appease him made him sick to his stomach.

His parents only got married because his mom ended up pregnant at nineteen, and having a baby out of wedlock in 1967 was a social sin of the highest order. So they planned a wedding in two weeks time (a small family affair, exclusively to save face and avoid the questions that arise with courthouse ceremonies), and moved into a big, fancy house so that everyone knew the Harringtons were a normal, run-of-the-mill, perfect American family. His father loved to point out all of the things he didn’t get to do all because Steve came along and got in the way, and his mother. . .

She loved him. He knew that. He also knew that she had to pack up her life to play house with a man she was always a little bit afraid of, all because of him. His father always resented him for it, but his mom never did. At the very least, she never told him she did.

The thought of doing to you what his father did to his mom absolutely fucking terrified him, but ‘terrified’ had been his baseline state of being pretty much constantly over the past two weeks.

Steve was no stranger to fear. He’d had extensive experience with the feeling; that sharp heaviness that settled itself behind his ribs and sucked every drop of oxygen out of his lungs. When it came at him hard and fast, that was when he could handle it best. This was not that. This fear was slow and achy, all-encompassing. It sealed itself onto his bones, like some sort of emotional slime. Like a fungus.

And, honestly, most of that fear was for you, not him. The worst thing that could happen to him was that he could end up being a shitty father, and while he would hate that more than pretty much anything in the entire world, it did sort of pale in comparison to your worst case scenario. You could die.

Yeah, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic, but you still could. It wasn’t all that far outside of the realm of possibility. You were already horribly sick, you had been for the past few weeks, and while you had been taking the constant nausea and incessant dizzy spells like a fuckin’ champ, it wasn’t like a positive attitude would be able to save you if you started hemorrhaging.

Steve really hoped, for your sake, that you had yet to go down this train of thought, but he knew you most likely had. As terrified for you as he was, he understood that you were probably feeling all of it tenfold.

And yet, behind all of that, he was having a very difficult time squashing that tiny inkling of reckless hope that had been planted in the back of his head. He was still a 21 year old dick-head who had zero business taking care of a baby, and he definitely wasn’t allowed to be excited about it. For, like, a million different reasons.

Eventually, he fell back into a heavy-limbed sleep, but was woken up however many hours later by the shrill ring of the phone. A bleary eyed glance at the clock on his bedside table told him it was just passed six o’clock. His mother should be back by now, right? He let it ring.

A moment passed, and it rang once more. He debated for a moment if he even had the right to answer it anymore, but he begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed and picked it up anyway.

“Harrington Residence,” he grumbled, hoping whoever was on the other side could tell how frustrated he was to be awake.

“Steve?” Your voice came through the line. It was strained, and he heard you trying your best to disguise the sobs coming from your throat. “It’s me.”

“Hey, woah, what’s going on? What happened?” he questioned, any annoyance gone.

“Are you able to come pick me up?” you stuttered out between sniffles. “I’m at work. I-I have a flat tire.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course I can,” he said.

“Okay.”

“I’m on my way, alright? Five minutes, tops,” he told you. He had the earpiece of the phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder, and the cord was stretched as far as it could go to reach into his bedroom as he haphazardly swapped his flannel pajama bottoms for a pair of jeans.

“Thank you.” Another sob.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he insisted. “Hang tight, I’ll be right there.”

The rain had slowed back to a dismal drizzle that splashed into the puddles stretched across Steve’s driveway. The drive to the museum was usually short, but the evening rush (as if the barely-there Hawkins traffic could ever be called that) slowed him down just enough for it to be annoying. The museum had officially closed an hour ago, though stray patrons and evening administrative duties usually kept you back after hours.

Steve saw you shivering underneath the awning that hung over the front doors, comparable to a lost kitten stuck in a thunderstorm. The shoulders of your sweater were soaked through, and as Steve pulled into the parking lot and stopped his car, he could see the angry black rivers of runny mascara that dribbled down your face.

“What the hell are you doing waiting for me out here in the rain?” Steve asked as he jogged up to where you were standing. He removed his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Why aren’t you inside? It’s freezing.”

“That creepy research assistant is in there and I hate being in the same room as him when there’s nobody else around,” you choked out, syllables broken up by wracking sobs.

“Alec?” Steve asked, and you nodded. He pulled you tightly against him before adding, “I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”

“Please don’t do that,” you squeaked.

“Let’s change your tire, huh?” Steve said, though he made no move to let you go. “Do you have the spare?”

“That-” your words were cut off by a pitiful sniffle. “That is the spare.”

“Of course it is,” Steve sighed, though he most certainly should not have, because it just spurred on more crying from you. “Hey, it’s alright. I can take you home and we can get a new tire on it in the morning, okay?”

“I just had a really bad day,” you wept into his shoulder.

“I know, baby. It’s okay.”

“I spilled the hottest tea in the universe all over my legs,” you croaked. Steve winced at the image.

“I’m sorry,” he said into the top of your head.

“And since it was so hot, I accidentally said ‘motherfucker’ in front of a tour group that consisted exclusively of second graders!” you added. Steve would have laughed at that if you weren’t so wildly upset. “And Creepy Alec was being creepy all day long-”

“My offer still stands.”

“And then I came out here and my fucking tire was fucking flat!” you exclaimed, punctuated by another bout of wailing, the kind that made your whole body shake and your voice stutter. Steve took it the best he could, petting the back of your head and holding you tight, wishing he could go into your brain and dig all of the bad bits out.

“Let me get you home, and we can get you into some dry clothes and deal with your car in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimpered.

Steve let you go, but when he went to pull you along to his car so the pair of you could leave, you stayed planted right where you were. You lifted your watery eyes to meet his, and he gazed at you from where he stood.

“Steve?” you quietly asked him.

“Yeah?” Steve responded. A silence fell between the two of you, though the lazy rain and evening downtown traffic poked holes through it.

“I wanna keep the baby.”

You had this amazing talent of knocking the wind right out of his chest with only words alone.

“That-” came out of fucking nowhere, holy shit!, he didn’t add. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you muttered over a wobbly lip.

Steve was paralyzed. The soles of his shoes had been superglued to the pavement and his arms had been turned to stone. It was somehow both exactly what he did and did not want to hear all at the same time, because deep down in his gut he knew he wanted that too, but there was a laundry list of reasons why it was a bad idea, why it was irresponsible, why it was maybe everything he ever wanted, and-

“Steve, if you don’t want to do this, that's okay, but I need you to tell me. Now.” Your voice, shaky and full of fear and yet so, so determined, pulled him up and away from his thoughts once again.

“I do!” he exclaimed, maybe with a bit too much fervor. He regained his ability to move and closed the gap between the two of you in one wide step. “I do.”

You stood silent with your glassy eyes staring bullets into his.

“Look, I’m gonna start talking, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop, so if it gets to be too much, just shut me up, okay?” Steve said. He brought his hands up to grace your shoulders.

“What?” you questioned, confusion laced throughout your miserable expression.

Steve had spent the last three and a half years doing everything he could to drown out the sounds of his feelings for you, and Robin was right. It was destroying his brain.

“I’m really, really in love with you,” he said. “And I have been for a really, really long time. Since way before this, fuck, since before Starcourt, and I’m so fucking sorry for not having the guts to say it until now. I’m the universe’s biggest coward for that-”

“You are not a coward!”

“-And I know you deserve better, but for some reason that still eludes me, you’ve stuck with me through all the bullshit, anyway. You could’ve run away whenever you wanted to, you could’ve gone with your parents when they left, but you didn’t, and that has to mean something, right?”

“Steve,” you wept.

“I promise, there is nothing in this world that I want more than to do this with you, alright? Not a single fucking thing,” he assured you. “I meant what I said. Holding your hand the whole time.”

Steve took your trembling hand into his own, fingers fitting together like lock and key.

“If you’ll have me,” he added.

Your lips wobbled, you let out another shattered sob, and you kissed him like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Like you would drop dead right on the spot if not for his lips on yours. Steve kissed back, because he knew he would drop dead if he didn’t, and now he had tears to match your own.

“I’m really, really in love with you, too,” you blubbered after the pair of you pulled apart. You had a hand on either side of his face, fingers ghosting over the junction of his jawline and neck, and Steve had his wrapped delicately around each wrist.

“You really wanna do this?” Steve asked you. “You really mean it? You’re not just saying it?”

“I really mean it,” you said definitively. You were still very much crying, though you were infinitely less miserable than you had been five minutes ago. The pair of you stayed swaying in each other's arms, protecting each other from the cold.

“Good, because I really mean it, too,” he responded.

The thick, foggy haze of emotion was beginning to dwindle, and despite the warm bubble of affection the two of you had created, you were still standing out in the rain. And Steve was pretty sure he could see Creepy Alec spying on them through one of the second story windows.

“Let’s go home. I’ll make you dinner,” Steve murmured to you, and you nodded in agreement.

Steve drove you both back to your apartment and made a feast of plain scrambled eggs and buttered toast, because it was all your stomach could really handle right now. Turns out, he very much was allowed to sleep in your bed with you, and after he’d finished doing the dishes in the sink, he joined you under the pile of blankets that adorned your mattress. Your cat curled itself up at the end of the bed as you drew yourself into his side. He didn’t remember you being this cuddly, but it was a change he was more than happy to welcome.

After a few minutes, when he’d thought you had fallen asleep, your voice pierced through the quiet of your bedroom.

“You’re gonna be someone's dad,” you muttered into his pajamas. Fuck. He was, wasn’t he?

“You’re gonna be someone’s mom,” he shot back.

“Weird,” you responded. “I think you’ll be really good at it.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. Definitely.”

And of course Steve was still fucking terrified. Terrified of the monsters, and of his dad, and of all the different ways this could go south, but he had you tucked up against his chest, and he was gonna be someone’s dad, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care about any of the scary stuff. In this moment, for the first time in as long as Steve could really remember, the underlying current of fear that ran along his thoughts was finally overpowered by just how much he fucking adored you.

Tiny Little Taglist: @sheisjoeschateau @hazydespair @damon-loves-pie @pariahsparadise @anislabonis-love @e0509 @alexa4040 @starsforviolet @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @plk-18 @hoesbloated

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x you #joe keery #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x you #stranger things imagines #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x f!reader

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shujohajohaminnie · 7 months

Text

Sooner

Pairing: Seungmin x fem!reader

Genre:Smut, Kinda Fluffy (Maybe)

Content: 18+ Minors dni

Word Count: 2523

P.O.V: Both 1st and 2nd hope it’s not confusing

Summary: Seungmin has a big crush on you, You have a big crush on him. Both parties unknowing. Will he tell you after seeing you half-naked? Will you tell him?

A/N: I did re-read it but I probably missed something because I’m tired.

Afab!reader, Profanity, Slight pet name (2), Use of sir (1), Blowjob, Raw sex

“COME ON DON’T DO THIS TO ME” I whined banging the washer. It’s been three hours into my laundry day and I’ve washed zero loads. My washer would work like normal then spontaneously shut off after ten minutes. I’d unplug it from the wall hoping that it would fix the problem, only for it to run for just a couple minutes then shut off without warning. I’ve put off doing laundry for weeks solely for the reason that I knew I was going to struggle with my six-year-old washer and dryer. As much as I needed a new set they weren’t cheap and unfortunately, money didn’t fall from the sky. Fortunately for me, my second home / best friend's dorm has a perfectly good washer and dryer. I loaded my clothes into my car and made my way to Hyunjin's dorm hoping they weren’t using it.

“Y/n?” Seungmin looked at me confused as he opened the door, “Hyunjin’s not here” He opened the door wider letting me in. I took off my shoes leaving them by the door, grabbing my slippers from my designated cubby space. “Where is he… where is everyone?” I looked around noticing the silence. “They’re recording in the studio today” “You didn’t go?” “I finished early, Chan Hyung let me come home early 'cause I had a headache, so I came and took a little nap” “Did I wake you… I’m sorry…do you want me to make you a tea, do you want me to make you lunch” “It's fine my headache it passed” “Oh that's good… I didn’t come to see Hyunjin… I came to see your washer and dryer” “My washer and dryer?” “Mine officially gave out… do you think I can borrow yours” “Uh”

Seungmin hesitated he knew the process of you doing your laundry. You’d always ended up in only a towel as you threw the clothes you were wearing into your last load. You’d take clothes from your first load and take a shower. The reason being you wanted a clean body in clean clothes while also wanting to wash every piece of clothing you had. But what confused him every time was why didn’t you shower right after the first one came out while your other loads were going on, why did you wait until your last one? It didn’t bother Seungmin before, but lately, he’s seen you in a new light. To be completely honest he’s always had a crush on you, ever since Hyunjin introduced you as his best friend to the group he thought you were the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. But lately, his crush has only gotten worse since game night last week, when you were dared to kiss who you thought was the cutest boy in the room. Instead of going for who he thought were the more obvious choices you came straight for him placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Did you really think he was the cutest, did you feel the same way he felt for you? He couldn’t risk seeing you in just your towel and-

“Seungmin?” he was pulled away from his thoughts seeing you looking up at him with those eyes. God how he loved when you begged with your eyes, he’d make you beg for everything and anything just to see those eyes, knowing very well he’d give you whatever you wanted anyway. “You sure you’re good?” “What yeah I’m fine” “So can I use your washer and dryer or not” Say no say no “Yeah of course” Fuck. “Thanks” You smiled hurrying out the door to get your clothes before he could change his mind.

“Thank you again for letting me wash my clothes here min, means a lot” I smiled placing my hand on his arm as I looked at him. He looked so hot in his grey sweats and black T-shirt. Even the most basic of clothes looked great on him. Truth be told I’ve had a crush on Seungmin for a long time the only reason for my silence on the topic being that I didn’t know if he felt the same. He was so hard to read at times all the time. I often found myself questioning whether he liked me despite the boys telling me he did. They could easily be messing with me, getting my hopes up to make a fool out of myself, But they could also be right. I noticed the way a blush crept on his cheeks after I kissed him at game night last week. Was it because he liked me, or because he was embarrassed in the sense that I just kissed him in front of all his closest friends. “Yeah of course… you know you’re always welcome here…we should give you a key at this point” he laughed placing his hand over mine. What is going on?

What was he doing? He panicked and did what he thought was right, placing his hand over yours. You looked so perfect and made him so nervous he suddenly felt so bold in touching you right back. “I-I’m gonna go take a shower…I’ll leave the door unlocked… just in case you need me” “I’ll keep that in mind” You spoke softly, that perfect smile he loved so much making him feel weak in the knees. You pulled away first, walking toward the laundry room just a couple of doors down from the bathroom.

It was last load time, you carried your last load in your hands as you passed the bathroom door, the singing stopped, instead it was replaced by moans? You pressed your ear to the door hearing it clearly. Seungmin was moaning in the shower. “Fuck y/n” Were you hearing him correctly did he just moan your name? “Y/nnnnn” that was most definitely your name. You took the moment not wasting a second. You ran to the laundry room throwing the last pile of clothes in along with the one still on your body. You wrapped yourself around your towel heading straight towards him. You opened the door quietly, dropping the towel and slipping in the shower. You see him there stroking his hard cock eyes shut tight, your name still slipping past his lips. “Need help?” He jumped almost slipping on the water looking at your face… not daring to look further down. “Y-Y/n what are you doing here?” “You said to come in if I needed you… well, I need you min. I really need you” You whispered stepping closer to him with that same smile that was guaranteed to drive him insane. You could almost see it, the switch clicking in his head as he quickly grabbed your waist pinning you to the wall. “Is this what you wanted?” he whispered kissing your lips passionately.

“Yes” I breathed out as he kissed my neck moving down to my chest. He moved a hand from my waist groping my left breast. A moan slipped out of my mouth as the realization hit me like a bus. I was really about to have sex with the man I had a monster crush on. “Are you sure?” He whispered pulling away. “No” I whined as he backed away from me. “No?” “No! I didn’t mean it like that… I want you Seungmin” He groaned getting closer to me kissing my neck once more. “C-can I uh can I” I started not knowing how to phrase the question in my head. “You wanna suck me off?” we laughed at how dirty it sounded despite the both of us being naked in a steaming hot shower. “Can I?” “Y-yeah” “Only if it’s okay with you” “If I’m okay with it… I wouldn’t pass on a blow job from a pretty girl” “You think I’m pretty?” I smiled looking at him feeling my cheeks warm up at the compliment. “I think you're more than pretty, I think you're smart, I think you’re amazing, I- I I like you” “You do?” “Mhmmm” “You have some way of showing it” I laughed kissing his neck slowly, moving lower and lower until I was face to face with his hard cock. It was definitely a shock. Despite Seungmin’s lean frame, his cock was different. He was long and girthy enough that I knew he wasn’t going to have a problem filling me up. The sight made my mouth water. My hand trembled as I slowly wrapped my palm around him. I kissed the tip before I opened my mouth taking in as much as I could, jerking off what I couldn’t. I started with a steady pace looking up to see his face shift into one of pleasure. “You… you’re uh really good at that” He breathed out pulling my hair into a makeshift ponytail guiding me up and down his shaft. He groaned throwing his head back against the shower wall. I moaned sending vibrations through his dick. “F-f-fuck…that…I UGH I’m gonna cum” I shallowed my cheeks around him sending him over the edge. He groaned shutting his eyes violently as I felt his warm cum fill my mouth. I swallowed getting up to look at him “Y/n I-” “I like you Seungmin” “Y-You do?” “I do” I smiled stepping closer to kiss him on the lips. “Why do you think I walk around in a towel when I’m doing laundry?” “You don’t do it in front of the others?” “Only if you’re there, Only if I know you’re watching me”. He wrapped his hand around my waist turning us around so that I was against the cold wall. One of his hands let go of me trailing down my thigh and towards my throbbing core. “Seungmin, please… I need you” “I know baby… I know” he shushed me as his fingers drew small circles on my clit. “Oh, my-” My nails dug into his arm as I felt that familiar feeling drawing close. “I’m gonna” “Cum… cum for me” He kissed me hungrily his words alone causing me to go over the edge. I felt adrenaline coursing through my veins sparks flying between us and stars surrounding us.

He grabbed the back of my thigh guiding me to wrap my leg around his waist. “I’m gonna fuck you now” He breathed out shakily looking into my eyes. “M’kay” I nodded biting my lip in anticipation. “Use your words baby” “Yes sir”. He kissed me once more before he guided the tip of his dick at my entrance. My breath hitched as he slowly sank into me, and as expected I felt full of him as he bottomed out. I closed my eyes at the slight sting waiting patiently for it to turn into bliss. “Are you okay… do you want to stop” “N-no just give me a minute” “I should’ve stretched you out with my fingers first, I just didn’t expect for you to be this tight” he chuckled holding my hand his thumb drawing back and forth on the top of my hand in an attempt to comfort me, and it did. I slowly opened my eyes to look into his. It was always around Seungmin that I felt at ease, surrounded by peace and warmth. “You can move” I whispered letting go of his hand to bring him close hugging him. He thrusted in and out of me planting sweet kisses on my neck and chest. “Seungmin… I’m” He nodded kissing my lips, and he grabbed my other leg picking me up against the wall. Another shock from him, his strength. This new angle causing him to hit my G-spot even better than before. I placed my face in the crook of his neck moaning against his skin, my nails dragging across his back leaving behind red marks. He hissed at the feeling closing his eyes and throwing his head back.

“I’m gonna cum” he spoke through gritted teeth, and by the way you were clenching around him you were close too. “Cum inside me” “What” “I’m on the fucking pill just cum inside me” You yelled hugging him even tighter. The room was filled with steam and your unholy pornographic moans as you both came down from your high together. He pulled out putting you down and moving the both of you under the shower head. The water washed over the other of you as you stayed in his embrace the both of you catching your breath. You pulled away to look into his eyes. Feeling yourself blushing from his gaze. “What” “Nothing” you smiled hiding your face in his chest. “Did you mean when you said you liked me” “I did” “I like you too Minnie” you laughed hugging him once more. The both of you finished your shower and walked out of the restroom hand in hand with a smile resting on both of your faces. Only to be met with the rest of the members in the living faces mixed with disgust, shock, happiness, and in Han's case wiggling eyebrows and a sly smirk. “FUCKING FINALLY” Changbin yelled walking past us to his bedroom.

“Sooooo” Chan started his mouth forming a straight line as he looked at the both of us. “Are you guys a couple?” he asked awkwardly standing in the middle of the living room. The other members had already left to their respective rooms getting ready to go out to dinner for the night. Not without Hyunjin marching over to the both of you yelling at the top of his lungs about the fact that you used the ‘nice restroom’. Complaining how he’ll never be able to even look at that door without wanting to puke. Only to be disgusted once more when he saw a careless Changbin walk past the three of you into the restroom to shower as well. But then there was Chan confused as ever. He had to make sure that both his friend and brother/second youngest were thinking with their heads and not just their. “Yeah” Seungmin answered his previous question holding onto your hand and flashing you his beautiful braced smile that caused you to melt almost every time. “Right?” “I mean we're working a bit backwards… he’ll still take me on a first official date… right?” “YES… yes sorry I uh-” “Well as long as you two are happy and know what you’re doing” “We do thanks Chan” “Yeah thank you old man” Seungmin smiled walking us towards his bedroom.

Who would’ve known that your closed-off crush felt the same towards you, apparently all of your friend group. If only you would have listened sooner.

Like, comment, and repost if you liked it, The other two pieces I'm m working on should be out this week. Both being requests. Once again don't be afraid to request anything that comes to mind, and thank you to the ones that do.

Until next time. BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

#skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids texts #skz x you #stray kids x reader #seungmin #kim seungmim #seungmin smut

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octuscle · 11 months

Note

Hello? Does someone hera me? Support? Oh thanks god. I was toying around on my computer with the chronivac when my little brother came out of nowhere and threw a football at me. I managed to dodge it but it landed straight on my keyboard. After throwing him out of my room, I came back only to see a countdown on my screen and I can't stop it. I was playing around the "Usefull to yoru country" parameter. Wait, I feel my legs tingling, it feels like they are allwing out. What is happening? I don't feel good, I think i'm gonna faint...

The only thing I can see is that your webcam was turned on and the "Use webcam images" mode is enabled. But I can't for the life of me see what transformation was initiated by the countdown. My system just tells me "process successful". I'm pretty much at a loss.

Just sit down at your computer, get another bag of chips and play a round of WoW. But maybe let some fresh air in. Your room stinks!

Saturday morning. Your room is really a mess. And somehow you feel the need to clean it up. As you sort through your dirty laundry, you smell your running socks. They are still good for a run. So you put on your running clothes, bring down the rest of the dirty laundry. And you run for an hour. When you come home with fresh rolls, your parents are just waking up. And your little brother is still sleeping. You make breakfast and grab the sports section of the newspaper. Since when are you interested in soccer?

Your mother is shocked when she sees you sitting at your tidy desk. But you have homework to do. This afternoon you would like to go to the swimming pool. The weather is good, but homework comes first.

As you pack your bag for the pool, you grab the football from your little brother. The lazy kid has already been at the pool for hours. He certainly hasn't done his homework. It doesn't matter to you, the main thing is that you and he find some lads to kick around on the football pitch.

After helping your mom clean up the kitchen, you watch some sports with your dad. Your hero is Lautaro Martínez. In your opinion, the best striker in the world. Your father disagrees. But he pats you on the back and says that you are the expert.

Sunday morning. Tonight you go back to the boarding school. So after your morning run and breakfast, you iron your laundry and pack your bag. Then it's off to the sports field. Your old club is playing today. After all, they play in the National League. But that was too little for you at some point. You want to make it big. The boarding school is your big chance. Almost all the national players have trained out here. Sure, a lot of work. Requires a lot of discipline. But in the end, you could have a great career.

Monday morning. The school day begins with a warm-up game. Kicking in the park or the outdoor pool is okay. But soccer is not a game, it's sport. It's just more fun with the right team.

Your best buddy asks if you filled your belly with chips and junk food again over the weekend. You show off your six-pack and grin. It's clear, as if someone here would eat unhealthy. After all, the scouts from the U20 national team are coming tomorrow. It's time to give something back to your country!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac

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rocketnottheraccon · 1 year

Text

A ShinBaku one shot I wrote bc this random ass crack ship happens to give me life

Art by: Horikoshi

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let’s get one thing straight.

Hitoshi Shinsou was not.

But he also adored Mitsuki.

So, you can probably imagine his favorite song to listen to when his life went to shit.

“Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart~” He mindlessly sang, spinning around in Aizawa’s office chair at… say… 4:30 in the morning?

He was currently running on 16 cans of Monster energy, 17 now, 3 bowls of cereal, and this week's dose of testosterone. He could take on the world- better yet: end the world!

“YES!” He shouted to himself, still spinning aimlessly. He would take over the world! Reinstate quirk management laws, maybe just get rid of heroes all together! That way he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit-show known as the hero course.

On second thought, that seems like way too much work.

Yeah, way too much work.

“Queen!” He exclaimed as the next song came on. He jumped from his seat, sliding into the common room to sing. No one was watching him, and with the amount of caffeine in his veins right now, he wouldn’t care if there was.

Actually, he didn’t want to sing.

Yeah, no thank you.

He collapsed onto the couch, still holding a can of Monster. I’m definitely addicted. He thought.

Fuck it, he didn’t care.

He was healthy enough to be a hero. Degrading that ever so slightly wouldn’t hurt anything but his mental health, but come now.

Were any of them really ever good in that department?

No, he didn’t think so.

“I’d like you and I to romancing~” He mumbled, taking a sip. His brain was currently going 150 miles per hour, as well as three miles per hour.

Is this what it’s like to be high? He questioned, thinking about how Aizawa would act when he came back from the After-PTA-Parties. Now, his dad was no light weight. He’s seen the man chug an entire bottle of beer and merely walk out and go to school like it was his morning coffee, which was also usually spiked. Now, imagine how much Aizawa had to drink to end up slurring, throwing up, and almost blackout drunk.

Yeah, that's how Hitoshi felt right now.

Thank god today's Saturday.

“Harry!” He exclaimed, as Harry Styles was the next artist to start playing. “You're a wizard, Harry!”

Was he high? If he wasn’t, he had to be pretty goddamn close to it.

“Oi?” He hears very distantly.

Hitoshi looks up and around for the source, until he’s met with his blond Pomeranian. “My love!” He says, slinging himself over the others shoulders.

Katsuki raised a brow. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Who cares? Kiss me!” Hitoshi showered the others neck in kisses, and Katsuki shoved him off promptly after.

“Your fucking high,” He deadpanned.

“No I’m not!” Hitoshi said, “I’m underage, that’d be illegal!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, somehow managing to lift the other taller boy's body weight like he was a baby. “I’m taking you to bed, you fucking dumbass.”

“You’ll go with me?” Hitoshi asked with puppy dog eyes.

“Never do that again,” Commanded Katsuki, and Hitoshi's mouth was promptly shut.

“You need to stop doing this Toshi.” He started, making their way to the elevator, “I didn’t sign up for fucking baby sitting.”

“Love you too!” Hitoshi said, kissing the others neck.

“You're six foot!” Katsuki exclaimed, “I hate to admit it, but I should not be the one carrying you!”

“You admit I’m taller than you?”

“Fucking- How could I not?!? You’re like a fucking skyscraper, Hitoshi!”

“Aww.”

Katsuki scowls as they make it to their hallway. “You interrupted my morning workout routine.”

“Eww, you work out?” Hitoshi drawled, pursuing his lips.

“I’m in the hero course- and so are you for that matter! You cannot keep pulling caffeine induced all-nighters and expect to be a famous hero-“

“Who said I wanted to be famous?” Hitoshi interrupted.

“Right, right. Daddy’s boy,” Katsuki sighed, opening Hitoshis door with his foot.

“Goddamn!” Hitoshi exclaimed, “Hella flexibly!”

“Mhm,” Katsuki replied tiredly. He nudged open the door. “Stand up.”

“You were doing such a good job though!” Hitoshi whined.

“Hitoshi Shinsou, I will count to five-“

“Fine, fine,” Hitoshi rolled his eyes stepping down from around Katsuki, yet still being miles above him. “Hehe.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki said, “Good night. And I swear to God, Hitoshi, if I see you downstairs before 1:30-“

“I know!” Hitoshi said, rolling into bed. “I love you, Kat.”

“Fuck off!” He yelled, walking out, and slamming the door behind him.

Seconds later, Hitoshi received a text.

BoomBastic: Love you too dumbass

#my hero academia #mha fluff #shinbaku #rarepair #first post

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unholyverse · 7 months

Text

waterparks // kerrang january 2018 #1705

(full article text under the cut)

LIFE COMES AT YOU FAST

The past couple of years have been such a whirlwind for Waterparks that the trio have barely had time to breathe. Beyond all the bluster and bravado, it's taken a private toll on Awsten Knight. On the eve of new album Entertainment, though, the frontman is ready to go again…

Words: Jennyfer J. Walker // Photos: Andrew Upovsky

A few years ago, Awsten Knight dropped out of college to focus on his band, Waterparks. To gain the funds to do so, he spent his time teaching guitar and babysitting. Today, the Texas-based trio—completed by guitarist Geoff Wigington and drummer Otto Wood—are one of the most in-demand young bands on the planet. The name Waterparks first became synonymous with more than just being a fun place to hang out in your swimming trunks in 2016, with the release of their debut album, Double Dare. And the three-piece have only gotten bigger since. After forming in 2011, they picked up Good Charlotte's Benji and Joel Madden as managers (and Benji as a producer), toured the world with All Time Low, sold out Camden's Underworld (4,846 miles from their hometown) in under an hour, and recorded second album Entertainment, which is out next week.

There have been personal moments that made Awsten realise he and his band have 'made it', too, like when he was awarded Tweeter Of The Year in the Kerrang! Readers' Poll ("That's literally just all the dumb shit I said on Twitter," he says, baffled as to why anyone would care about his caps-lock musings). Then there was the time a Japanese fan flew to a U.S. show, and turned up to meet Awsten looking exactly like Awsten…

"He was dressed just like me!" the singer says in more disbelief. "He dyed his hair blue and he had my necklace [the rainbow foot one]. He was straight-up me! And I was like, 'Oh my God, some guy in fucking Japan, who doesn't even know my language, likes my shit that much that he's dressed up like me… that's fucking awesome.'"

Ask Awsten to reflect on his band's success, to properly look back and take it all in, and he'll get uncomfortable.

"I don't really look back at stuff as much as I should…" he admits. "I feel like if I stop to think about any of that too hard, it would freak me out. So I think the best thing, at least for now, is to keep my head down and keep working as fast as I can and as hard as I can to keep it going."

And how do you feel when you're forced to reflect?

Before replying, he thinks for a second and exhales, making his lips vibrate.

"It kinda doesn't feel like it happened…When we got back from Japan I was just tired and laying there, and a week later I talked about it in an interview, and they were like, 'You just got back from Japan with All Time Low,' and I was like, 'Oh yeah! We did do that, huh?'" It doesn't feel…"—he thumbs through the pages of his brain dictionary, looking for the right words—"…it doesn't feel real."

The only time Awsten really nods to his achievements is within the blue walls of his childhood bedroom, where he's rested his head for the past 20 years, and is currently doing so while the band take their first proper break in two years. In between shelves crammed with DVDs, books ("because reading's tight") and his bed there's a nightstand. On the top sit a pack of Twizzlers and a pot of vitamins, and in the cubby hole below rests a stack of six or seven magazines, all of which have Awsten's face on the cover. He'll only take them out to properly look at when new ones arrive in the mail- there have been two this week - but he likes having them there, when he's in the room. "Being able to see those things is small," he says. "But it's enough to be like, 'Okay, cool.'"

[Image of the band walking around with the caption, "The gangs of New York aren't quite what they used to be."]

Awsten's aware that few bands take off like Waterparks have. It's a fact people remind him about often, including his friends and mentors Benji and Joel.

"They tell us, 'Your band is extremely special,' and I'll be like, 'Thank you so much!' I'm thankful to hear it…'"

The Maddens' elder brother Josh, meanwhile, has taught the frontman that it's important to take time for yourself in order to survive in any successful band. "Josh told me, There's Waterparks Awsten and there's Awsten Awsten. They're both the same guy, but you need to make sure both of them have the same love and care. It's tough to do…"

He lets out a brief laugh at what he's about to say. It's something he often does.

"Girls have accused me of being a workaholic before. It's still hard for me to answer when people ask, 'What do you do when you're not doing music?' I don't have that much to say…Which isn't a good sign of progress on that front, because it's what I'm doing all the time. If it's not for Waterparks, I'm working on music for somebody." He has, though, taken steps to care for poor neglected Awsten Awsten while he's been off tour. He's learned the importance of getting the recommended eight hours sleep and not staying up all night working on band stuff. He's started going to therapy. And he's training at a small boxing gym in downtown Houston.

"It's definitely a dumb-guy chemical thing, but Otto and I will go through phases where we're like, 'I just wanna fucking fight someone!' Pretty much the entire last tour I was in that mode. I thought, 'I better actually prepare and be good at this shit if it does happen!'" Now, one of the goals on his bucket list for 2018 is to win a boxing match.

Such drive means the frontman's never struggled to keep his eyes on the prize when it comes to Waterparks. As soon as our morning chat ends, Awsten says he'll start working on more music.

His self-assuredness and stronger-than-graphene vision for the band mean he's never had to fight to stay true to himself, either. He's more likely to walk into the record label and tell them what's what.

"Dude, honestly, I'm so fucking good at marketing!" he says, not-at-all modestly. "I've got a vision for us, and I know what we are. I'm aware what works and what doesn't. I'm a control freak, which I guess is a thing I should work on, but it's definitely kept things very true to who we are."

New album Entertainment is saturated with that same confidence, and the frontman says he feels no pressure whatsoever putting it out.

"When it was getting made, nobody knew [since it was done in secret], so they couldn't get hyped or anything. Now, if anybody wants to have expectations, it's already done. There's nothing I can do."

Doesn't a little part of you worry about whether people will like it?

"Not really," he says, shrugging his shoulders, "because I know it's good. Not to be cocky about it…I just think it's a very good album. There were songs I thought would make the record that didn't, which means everything on there is the best of the best."

The most confident man in rock does have one Kryptonite, though: his feelings. That became apparent three weeks before the release of Entertainment, when Awsten tweeted a picture of two pages from a spiral-bound notebook. On those pages was a handwritten letter, in his trademark caps, explaining that he'd gone off Waterparks' second record. The words were fairly cryptic, stating, "the last couple months have [been] weird, difficult, and everything else that sits in the realm of 'bad'. I lost a lot mentally and physically. Certain things happened and to be overly honest with you, Entertainment was ruined for me. I stopped listening to it, and felt weird to hype it in interviews. However, the worst part was the pure dread I felt thinking, 'Fuck. I still have to tour on this and sing these words every night.'"

Yet fans knew the note related to Awsten's break-up with his TV actress girlfriend, Ciara Hanna, the subject of much of the album's lyrics.

"I was glorifying people and things that I really don't fucking like and that really sucked," he says.

How did you feel about the future when those songs were ruined for you?

"Very fucking bleak!" he says. "I was like, 'Fuck, I'm ready to make another album, let's do that instead!'"

Would you have scrapped Entertainment if that was an option?

"There was a time that I would have said yes. But it's a piece of fucking art, and it would be a shame to let certain people or things ruin that."

In order to feel excited about the album again, Awsten had to change the meanings of the songs in his mind.

"My love songs are not about anyone now," he says. "They're just about love. And the dark places I was put in because of certain people or events? Those are stories. Every album is going to be a snapshot of where I was at that time."

Which explains why he thanks Ciara "for filling me with too many feelings" in the CD's thank you notes.

Quiz Awsten about which songs on the album are the most personal to him, and he'll say "the ones that make me go, 'Agh fuck!'" are Lucky People, Rare, TANTRUM, Crybaby and We Need To Talk.

"I try to keep my shit together around other people," he says when asked if there were any breakdowns in the vocal booth, "but the day Crybaby was made, that was one of the worst days of my life…" What was happening that day?

"I don't wanna talk about that, if that's okay," Awsten says meekly. "I feel like I give a lot to people, and some of the stuff that is written about on this album, I haven't told anybody about, 'cause it's just very… low, dark, personal shit. There are certain things that people don't need to know."

One song he is comfortable delving deeper into is diss track TANTRUM. An album highlight, it sees Awsten rant his frustrations away.

"TANTRUM's blunt as fuck!" he offers. "A lot of the stuff's metaphorical, but that one's like, This married guy tried to fuck my girlfriend and I'm gonna kill him when I see him!' I was like, 'I'll put his name in it, fuck it! I don't care."

We point out that when the guy in the song hears it, Awsten might just get that boxing match he's after…

"I just might, but I'm prepared," he says seriously.

As we wrap up our interview, Awsten's pouring his second coffee of the day, ready to resume being a workaholic. We ask how he's feeling after what's been a frankly terrible couple of months, and at the start of what's set to be the year of his career.

"I mean…" he pauses. "If someone has empathy and is able to feel certain things, like a functioning emotional brain- or in my case, maybe it's more emotional than it should be, I don't know yet—everyone is a work in progress."

He lets out a particularly-Texan "GOD DAMN!" and laughs at how corny he sounds.

"But everybody is literally just doing their best. Everyone is working on it. I'm working on it…"

ENTERTAINMENT IS AVAILABLE VIA EASY LIFE RECORDS ON JANUARY 26. WATERPARKS TOUR THE UK IN MARCH — SEE THE GIG GUIDE

IT'S A FAMILY AFFAIR

THE MADDENS AREN'T JUST MANAGERS FOR WATERPARKS. AS AWSTEN REVEALS, THE TWINS ARE MORE LIKE FAMILY

"The Madden Brothers are the fuckin' best! They've taught me a lot. I knew about the idea of having role models and shit, had them and I've definitely h before, but actually seeing them at work, and the way they accomplish things and get shit done [is very cool].

"I wouldn't be who I am right now without them. What's cool is, I'd never in a billion years be like, "You guys are like me…'but we often have conversations about what we want to to accomplish. Last night I talked to Benji, and he said, 'Dude, everything that Joel and I did, see in you.' And I was just like, 'Fuuuuuuck!

"They're more like friends than mentors to me now. Half the shit we talk about is not even band related. We talk about life, how to be different and things I want to be involved in…I want to accomplish a lot. Some of it is musical and some isn't, but I want them to be my team for all of it."

#waterparks #awsten knight #otto wood #geoff wigington #i.zip

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likelyemily · 2 years

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TRANSPARENCY - Part Two

Pairing: Peter Ballard x Reader

Word Count: 1,694

Warnings: None

Summary: I can't stop watching Peter through the two-way mirror. Thank God he will never know the dirty thoughts running through my mind.

The next day, I felt the normal feelings that came with having sexual fantasies about your co-worker: Guilt, shame, and uncontainable paranoia. My chest would constrict like there was a vice grip around it every time Peter would turn his body close to my workspace.

This morning I passed him in the common area in the employee living wing. I kept my eyes trained on my destination, which came in the form of a metal door that locks from the outside. Pretending Peter didn't exist seemed like the best plan of action until these stressful feelings boiled down.

Except, God seemed to have entirely different plans for me on this day.

"Good morning, Y/N," Peter greeted from the lounge area, perched on one of the decorative chairs reading this week's copy of Scientific American. He looked at me in a friendly way, the smile on his face going all the way up to his eyes.

Peter was one of the most friendly people I have ever met. At first, it had been unsettling how collected and kind his demeanor was. Almost inhuman. He walked with a stride similar to that of a soldier, but the step of his foot was much lighter. There was an air to him that was sitting right on the line of uncomfortably friendly, similar to when a person stands just a little bit too close in a conversation. His ever-lingering faint smile added to this, I had never thought that a person in a laboratory could feel that happy.

These feelings quickly faded as the lustful ones began to rise. The calmness in his voice made it one of the most pleasurable things I could listen to. His graceful body motions made for an entrancing visual, and who was I to ignore such perfect posture?

Developing feelings for Peter Ballard was inevitable when I watched him for hours every day. I just sorely underestimated how embarrassing the manifestations could be.

Such as when I gape at peter right past the time it takes for a normal person to process a greeting. Much like I am doing right at this exact moment. Dear God.

"Hi," I say, just a little bit too eager. Or was it not enthusiastic enough? I was still a little bit tired, it was six o'clock in the morning for heaven's sake. Now that I think about it, I have no idea what my facial expression just was. A small bubble of panic lands in my stomach.

"How are you today?" He asks in a polite tone. Always the epitome of a polite gentleman. His feet plant on the carpet below as he stands up from the seat, his tall stature making this interaction all the more nerve wracking.

Everyone in Hawkins National Lab is always in a perfectly ironed, clean uniform. Part of the uniform itself was being as hygienic as physically possible. It would be an absurd lie to say someone has ever worked in this lab while looking anything below the high standard.

This immaculate and perfect uniform fit Peter like he had never worn anything else in his life. Every blond hair on his head flowed seamlessly together. When he smiled, his teeth were a straight line of white.

"I'm doing fine, and yourself?" I ask, collected behind the facade of a woman with a Ph.D. It seemed I had finally mustered the strength to stomp down the blushing school girl back down where she belonged.

God, he was standing close.

"I'm great. Would you care to walk with me to breakfast?" He motions to the door, waiting on my first step to the door to begin his own stride. His hand clutches the handle on the door, opening it for me before we set off down the long hallway.

It is a peaceful walk. The employees are always expected in the dining hall before the children for supervision purposes, so the halls were mostly empty at this time. There was only a long, fluorescently lit hallway ahead of us.

This isn't the first time that Peter and I had walked together when we had duties to attend to. Being the polite man he was, he would always offer to accompany me if I was alone. There was never any conversation during the walk. It wasn't an awkward silence by any means, it just felt like neither of us felt the need to speak. Oddly enough, it was a friendly silence.

"Are you liking your research position?" Peter asks, sounding like he genuinely wanted to know my thoughts.

"It can certainly be lonely," I begin, trying to come off in a casual sort of way. "But I feel like it is helping us spot changes in our research that we would have never known. Like, a camera couldn't tell when number thirteen was too discouraged to make any progress on her tasks." Hopefully I didn't make an egotist of myself. It was difficult to describe a job without sounding self important. Especially when you are the only person with that specific task.

"I can understand being lonely. I miss you joining me as an orderly." He remarked, the statement casual. But oh how it made my heart stutter. He missed me?

"I miss it too," I say in a near whisper. I quickly recover from the bout of nostalgia. "At least I don't have to mess with the entitled kids now." I joke.

Peter laughs at that, more a breath than anything. It makes a lot of sense for his laugh to have no abrasiveness, just like the owner of the sound. It is a defining trait of Peter's to have a soothing demeanor. He is ostensibly the crowd favorite among the super-humans, because despite the ethical commitments we all have to not interfere, he is so kind with the interactions he is permitted.

There is always a tone of his voice that signals he means what he is saying. Never has there been a time when we were speaking that I didn't feel heard by him, even when no one else was listening.

That specific trait was especially apparent when I had voiced my concern to Dr. Brenner about the bullies in the group. Where he had pushed me to forget about it and focus on other things, sweep it under the rug, Peter had told me that he would see what he could do. Even Alec had completely dismissed me, but Peter chose to hear me. I knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do. It was unrealistic to even attempt to find understanding in that specific case, but it felt so good for someone to consider my words for more than a second.

"Someone has to keep those big-heads in check," he jokes back with a small smile lingering on his lips. I must confess, my mind went straight to a hot make-out session up against the wall with those lips holding me hostage.

Once again, Peter holds the door open for me as we enter the dining hall. We made it earlier than almost everyone, only a couple nurses sat in the far side of the room with coffee mugs in hand. Even this early in the morning, it appeared as though they were already caught up in a serious conversation. There aren't many light hearted discussions in this place.

Breakfast goes quickly in the morning. The adults who are not ushering the children out of their rooms eat quickly in preparation for the day. In about 15 minutes, the first lot of kids come in, looking significantly more alert than a majority of the employees. That is surely the result of never knowing a different time schedule than the strict one implemented at the laboratory.

The tiniest of the super-humans flock to the table near Peter, insisting upon his presence near them. Their eyes still sparkle when they tell him of their newest achievements. There is an ache in my chest when I remember this part of their personalities will only last for a little bit longer.

Peter gives me a lighthearted smile when a tiny argument breaks out between two of the toddlers. I roll my eyes in response, but I can't fight the grin that falls on my face. This is the last time we interact that morning.

When the children leave the room for morning activities, I go into the primary research room. The walls of this room are covered by metal shelves full of records. There are several four-foot openings on each wall to allow for a comfortably sized desk. The lighting in this room is specifically designed to not damage the records, which made the room much less of a strain on the eyes than most other areas.

My task today is to begin the file on our newest superhuman. I don't allow myself to think about the subject my brain wants to drift off too.

The baby is only a few months old, setting her almost three years behind the next youngest child. This means that it will be a little while longer before verbal capabilities develop, although her motion skills are far superior than most children her age. Hours are spent computing the results of her D.N.A. tests and developing the file.

I peel myself away from the comfortable chair in the primary research room at half past eleven. The hallway is once again desolate as I make my way to the tiny room behind the mirror in the Rainbow Room. This work directly contrasts from the rest of my day, in which I spend my time doing logical reasoning of the notes that I gather in my time here. In all actuality, this time of my day is significantly more entertaining, given I get to see something that isn't in writing.

In a moment of downtime, Peter looks in the mirror and shoots a wink my way. From an outside perspective, it definitely looked like the sort of motion a conceited jock would do when passing any reflective surface. On my side of the glass, it somehow felt as though he was looking right at me.

A/N: sorry for the lack of sex, it will be back very shortly. also, this story is going to have many more parts to it!

#peter ballard x reader #peter ballard #stranger things #peter ballard oneshot #vecna stranger things #henry creel x reader #stranger things 4 #st4 #001 stranger things #001 x Reader #001

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your-greatest-queen · 5 months

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I know a lot of folks don't like ADHD meds, for a variety of reasons, but oh my god. Oh my motherfucking god. These are a godsend for me.

I've been on concerta for about a year now (lowest dosage) and it's helped improve my focus and has lowered my depression. I thought it was amazing. Recently, I got my dosage upped.

My bedroom was a high level depression pit. It was nasty. I haven't actually slept in my own bed in months because it was covered in stuff. But it was so overwhelming to look at that it triggered executive dysfunction with just a glance, and so I never could clean it. My room is now clean; reorganized, dusted, vacuumed, disinfected, redecorated- it's been YEARS since it looked this nice.

I'm in grade 12.5 because I was so dysfunctional in grade 11 that I dropped out halfway through. I spent grade 12 making up for it; but even then, on my first dosage and doing better, I wasn't doing great. I haven't taken notes in years. I have winged almost every test I've ever taken. I wrote every essay the night before it was due. Rough drafts who? I managed to pull decent grades, sometimes even pretty good ones. But it was never ending stress because of my habits and I was almost always behind.

I'm ahead in my classes now. I'm doing assignments the day they're assigned. I'm writing notes and brainstorming pages of ideas and breaking things down for myself. I'm getting straight 90s. I haven't felt this confident and secure in academics since middle school.

Our house was never totally clean. The basement (my charge) was always a disaster. Having people over was at best a little shameful and at worst downright humiliating. My mother cleans, but the messes she makes outweigh it. It was my job to handle the basics, at least, after school every day. I couldn't. I could do a few things, but I got burnt out or bored too fast to complete a day's work. Small projects were put off for months.

I come home from school now and within a couple of hours, I've vacuumed upstairs and downstairs, I've done the dishes, I've taken out the trash, I've brushed the cats, I've cleaned the living room and the kitchen, I've switched the laundry- yesterday I used the toilet and then just. Reorganized the entire bathroom. Today I came home and immediately untangled the huge knotted ball of my mother's necklaces that she asked me to fix for her weeks ago. On Saturday not only did I brush my cats, I also shampooed them, conditioned them, and clipped their claws.

I used to hoard clothing because going through them was the most tedious, boring task in existence. I've recently donated over six full garbage bags worth of stuff.

I used to have to write down every single task as soon as it was given, even if there were only two, because I'd always forget at least one thing. Now I can remember upwards of five things at once, even better than the person who assigned the task in the first place.

My moods feel more regulated, I'm socializing more, I'm advocating for myself in situations where I'd previously let people walk over me, I'm making goals for the future, I have more real free time, I'm less stressed- it's a little sad that I've spent almost a decade not getting this, but I am BEYOND thrilled that I get to have this now :D

Anyway, lil happy rant because I'm very very excited!! Thanks for reading, byyyye~

#adhd #living with adhd #adhd meds #medicated #i am living my best life #so far #it will be even better when i get out of my toxic living environment #but for now #i'm taking the win #!!!

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whump-me · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 16: Flatline

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: lab whump, minor whump, minor death, emotional whump, reluctant whumper, sympathetic whumper

Words: 3500

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Elizabeth had been running telepathy tests for nine hours straight. Twenty different subjects. None of them improving. Her coffee had worn off hours ago. As she walked down the wide white-tiled hallway of PERI headquarters, her feet were heavy, her shoulders sagging. Even her hair was flatter than it had been this morning.

But as she approached the door that held Subject 1, her steps sped up, and a little life came back into her stride. She always saved Subject 1 for last, because he was her favorite part of the day.

She started talking as she pushed the door open. “Ready for more testing? I really think we can improve your range this time. I have some ideas for how—”

She stopped.

The room was empty.

The cot was neatly made, the sheets fresh and un-wrinkled. As if this were an empty room. As if the same subject hadn’t been sleeping here for the past three years.

She pulled out her tablet and loaded up the facility database. It would tell her easily enough where Subject 1 had been moved. Maybe he had been reassigned to another room, closer to her other subjects, so she wouldn’t have to walk as far. Maybe—

Her hands were cold. The tablet trembled in her grip.

Why was she pretending she didn’t already know what had happened?

She sank down onto the edge of the empty bed. Her tablet fell to the mattress beside her. She buried her head in her hands.

She knew. She knew.

* * *

If Elizabeth was going to have to evaluate one more weak telepath today, she would need a fresh cup of coffee.

She didn’t even have to walk into the room to know how this next test would play out. The ones who got sent down to her showed much promise. That was why they were sent to her instead of going into advanced training. The operations arm of PERI kept the strong abilities for themselves, as well as the unique ones that could be put to work on missions in interesting ways.

She and the other researchers got the rest. The weak abilities; the ordinary telepaths that operations already had more than enough of.

The labs could custom-design the genetics of their babies all they wanted. The abilities they developed were still a crapshoot. Sure, there was a slight chance they’d develop a similar ability to one of their genetic parents. And the strength of their ability had a slight correlation to their parents’ strength. But only slight.

Until the researchers a few floors down figured out how to change that, it was a numbers game. Grow as many babies as possible, and keep the good ones for operations and the interesting ones for the real cutting-edge experiments. The rest came here.

Elizabeth would evaluate them for a baseline, confirm that they weren’t useful for anything else, then send them all off to whatever experiment needed more subjects. Right now, it was Dr. Suresh’s latest attempt at a power-augmenting drug. None of the five previous versions had worked, and all had had side effects like seizures and bleeding from the eyeballs. Number six was the charm, Elizabeth supposed.

The boy looked up as she came in. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling over the side. He kicked his feet idly against the metal frame of the cot.

God. His legs didn’t even touch the ground.

She didn’t think it would still get to her, given just how many experimental subjects she saw every day. But sometimes it still caught her by surprise just how young they were. She was choosing the fate of children. That was her job. To confirm that they weren’t good enough, and then send them off for a short life as glorified lab rats.

She shook her head sharply to dismiss the thought. He wasn’t a child, she reminded herself. None of them were. They were subjects, and this was what they had been created for.

“Hi there,” she said, in the too-bright voice she had perfected for talking to the subjects. “I’m Miss Elizabeth. We’re going to do a few quick tests, okay?”

“What kind of tests?” he asked.

The question took her by surprise. Most of them didn’t bother asking questions. By this age, they had already been through two or three years of basic operative training. Most of them were either shivering things who had been cowed into following orders unquestioningly, or grim robots who didn’t care one way or the other. But this boy’s eyes—this subject’s eyes, she corrected herself—were bright and curious.

“We’re going to test your telepathy,” she said. “It’s not like training—there are no punishments if you don’t do well. In fact, there is no doing well or badly. All I need is to see what you can do.”

In other words, all she needed was to see that the verdict on his file was correct: too weak to be useful as an operative. He had no need to prove anything to her, because he had already been branded not good enough.

“Range or clarity?” he asked

She blinked. “Um… will be testing a little of both.”

“My clarity is better than my range,” he said. “But neither one is very good. I don’t know if they told you, but I’m the worst in my cohort.” He stared down at his kicking feet.

“You don’t need to worry about that here,” she said, keeping the smile pasted on her face. She wanted to give him a hug, or a big bowl of ice cream.

She was letting those thoughts in again. Hugs and ice cream were for children. The subjects were not children. They weren’t, because if they were, she wouldn’t be able to do this job.

He looked up at her. His eyes were a bright, startling blue. “They want you to test me to see if I’m good enough to stay in training, right?”

None of them had asked her that before. Not straight out. She opened her mouth, but no words came.

“Do you think you could maybe…” He twisted his hands together nervously. “Just… fake the numbers a little? Not by much. Just enough that I can stay.” His eyes turned wide and pleading. “I’m getting better. Soon I’ll be good enough to stay. I promise.”

Underneath the plea in his eyes, she saw fear. Real fear.

She opened her mouth to tell him she was sure he would do fine. But something stopped her. Maybe that sharp fear she saw in his eyes. He already knew the truth about his capabilities—he could tell.

And that fear told her he already knew what it meant.

She waited too long to answer. The pleading look left his eyes all at once. So did the fear. Even the color seemed to fade from his eyes, turning them from that startling blue to a dull gray. It was like a light had gone out inside him.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think you would.”

That quiet acceptance broke something in her. Something that lived in that same part of her that didn’t understand why experimental subjects couldn’t have hugs or ice cream.

It wasn’t the robotic indifference of some of the subjects, drilled into them by years of harsh training. Or the fearful obedience that came from harsh punishments meted out to squash an early spark of defiance. This was… it was wrong, was what it was. It was wrong in a whole new way. No child should accept their own doom with that kind of dull resignation.

He wasn’t a child, she reminded herself yet again. He was an experimental subject, and her job was to—

“I’ll find a way,” she found herself saying before she could finish the thought.

He looked up at her sharply. A tiny flicker of light returned to his eyes. “You’ll fake the numbers?”

“I’ll do more than that,” she said. An idea was already coming together in her mind.

Her boss kept asking when she was going to come up with her own idea for a study. She had been with PERI for five years—it was past time she started doing research of her own. Maybe this was just the time to start.

A program to strengthen weak telepathic powers. Intensive training, maybe combined with low-dose drugs—too low for the harmful side effects to kick in, she hoped, and maybe the sixth power-augmenting drug would be more effective than the last five. PERI had more weak telepaths than they knew what to do with. If this worked, it would be a game changer.

It wasn’t just about saving the scared-eyed boy. It wasn’t. PERI needed this.

A small voice in the back of her mind told her that if such a thing were possible, it would have been implemented long before now. This boy had already been through intensive training, and it hadn’t helped. That was why he was here.

She pushed the voice aside. She had a lot of practice at dismissing unwanted thoughts.

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised, and left the room, already drafting her research proposal in her mind.

She would put a note on this subject’s file. She wanted him set aside especially for her.

* * *

The ninth generation of the power-augmenting drug had more vicious side effects than the other seven combined. Multiple organ failure was the most common. Sometimes it hit five or six days after starting the drug. Sometimes it took less than a full day for the subject’s body to start its total collapse.

But when the side effects waited several days to kick in, Dr. Suresh swore he saw a small but noticeable improvement in the subjects’ abilities during those days. So he asked for another batch of subjects to confirm the findings. It would be useful when it came to developing the next iteration of the drug, he claimed.

She already knew what room the subjects were in. She had heard the nurses discussing it offhandedly, and she had remembered, because some part of her had already known she would need the information.

She raced down the hallway. A passing nurse gave her a startled look. She looked down at herself—sweating, out of breath, hair flying into her face. She didn’t slow down.

The subjects in this experimental pool didn’t get private rooms. The official explanation was that keeping them together made it easier for the nurses to take care of all of them at once. Elizabeth suspected the real reason was simpler. The subjects would all be dead soon anyway—why not free up those rooms a little early?

The cots were packed together with almost no room for the single nurse to pass back and forth between the beds. The air was hot, and thick with the scent of death. A couple of the cots held too-still bodies, their disconnected monitors dark and silent.

The other subjects weren’t quite dead, not yet. There monitors beeped radically. Their eyes blinked, disoriented and full of fear. The harried-looking nurse adjusted one subject’s IV on one subject, while across the room, another subject’s heart monitor beeped out an erratic rhythm.

She found Subject 1 at the far end of one row. His eyes were closed. Maybe he was unconscious—a small mercy. His skin was yellowed and bathed in sweat.

Three years older than when she had met him, and he still looked so young.

The nurse glanced her way. “If you’re looking for someone to cut open, you can’t have that one. He’s not dead yet. Give it another ten minutes.”

The nurse was the only staff member in here. Dr. Suresh had sent these children to die, and he couldn’t even be bothered to stick around and watch it happen.

They weren’t children, she reminded herself by rote. They were experimental subjects.

She had long since forgotten why that was supposed to make it any better.

* * *

Elizabeth knew trouble was brewing when Sunil Suresh sat down next to her at lunch.

“How’s that program of yours going?” He didn’t ask it with the sneer in his voice so many of her colleagues used. That would have been better. Instead, his voice was too gentle, his eyes too warm. He looked concerned for her.

She flashed him a smile. “It’s showing some promising results. I look forward to sharing them.”

“Really.” He leaned in, like he expected her to share more right then and there. “I’m glad to know this year is going better than your first two years. Maybe you made the right decision not scrapping this line of research after all.”

His tone told her he didn’t believe anything of the sort. Or, for that matter, that she was actually getting better results this year.

And for good reason.

She avoided his eyes, staring down at the wilted lettuce peeking out of her cafeteria sandwich. “I’m glad I didn’t listen to everyone who told me to give up.”

“I’m surprised they’re still funding this project of yours.”

“Yes, well, maybe they think my research is showing more promise than some of the projects happening on this floor. What version of your power-augmenting drug are you on to now? Eight? Nine?”

“I want to talk to you about something, Liz.” He lowered his voice into an intimate whisper. She wanted to smash her sandwich into his face.

“Elizabeth,” she corrected.

“It’s an open secret that you’ve developed an attachment to one of your experimental subjects,” he said. “In fact, some say it’s the reason you started down this research path in the first place.”

“Developing a rapport with the subjects helps with their training,” she said in a carefully neutral tone.

“Really? So your Subject 1 is showing better results than the others?”

“You’ll have to look at the results along with everyone else when I release them.”

“And you’ve tried developing a rapport with your other subjects?” he pressed. “Has it helped to improve their scores?”

She grasped the sandwich between her hands, but didn’t take a bite. Her fingers dug into the bread, leaving deep dents.

“I hope you don’t mind if I’m frank with you,” he said. “I think if you weren’t so attached, you would have moved onto more promising research after your first year on this failed project. You’re letting an experimental subject hold you back.”

Her fingers pierced the bread, making contact with the slimy mayonnaise underneath.

“I want to help you,” he said. “You have a lot of promise as a researcher. It would be a shame to waste it. Let me help. Give up your Subject 1—release him to the next drug trial, or cut him from the program entirely. Do it before you sink any more time and effort into this dead-end path.”

She knew what cut from the program meant. It meant a needle in the boy’s arm and a one-way trip to the morgue. “You concentrate on your research,” she said. “From what I’ve heard, it needs it. I’ll concentrate on mine.”

“I’ve seen what happens when researchers get too attached to their subjects,” he said. “Did you think you were the first? It’s happened before. It usually means a messy end to their careers—at the very least. Please let me help you.” His fingers brushed her arm.

She so fast he had to jump back to keep from toppling over. “I don’t think I’m hungry after all.”

* * *

The boy’s eyes fluttered open. He wasn’t unconscious at all. So much for that mercy.

Not a boy, she reminded herself. An experimental subject. But her inner voice was weak. She could barely hear it over the erratic beeping all over the room.

He had that dull look in his eyes again. Like the moment he had realized she wasn’t going to fake his scores for him. She hadn’t seen that look in three years. For three years, he’d had hope.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Tears blurred her vision until she couldn’t make out his features anymore. Until he wasn’t the boy she knew. Until he wasn’t a boy at all. Just a faceless experimental subject.

She wished that made it easier.

She heard footsteps behind her, but didn’t turn around. Not until Dr. Suresh said her name. “Liz.”

She spun around to face him. Her hands automatically balled into fists—she relaxed them with an effort of will. “Elizabeth,” she said through her teeth.

“I did it to help you.” His voice was too gentle. His eyes shone with pity. “You’ll thank me for it eventually.”

She didn’t realize her right hand was a fist again until it slammed into his nose.

The bone cracked under her fingers. He toppled like a felled tree. Blood spilled down his chin to speckle the white tile floor.

Even now, his face held more pity than anger. With one hand pressed to his broken nose, he slowly shook his head. “It’s too late,” he said, in a nasal voice. “You’re already too far gone. I’m going to have to report this, you know. I’m sorry. I should have stepped in earlier.”

“Shut up.” She barely recognized her own voice. “Shut up and let me say goodbye, or I’ll punch you again. Lower down, this time.”

It must have been an effective threat, because he shut his mouth. The nurse, wisely not getting involved, bent over the nearest subject’s bed and pretended she didn’t see.

Elizabeth took the boy’s hand in hers. His skin was cold and dry, like the life was already receding from him.

“I tried.” His voice was a rough, thready whisper, like the sound of paper rustling. “I tried so hard.”

“So did I.” Her own voice was thick with tears. She could hardly speak. But she managed to whisper a few more words in his ear.

His eyes fluttered shut. She didn’t know whether he had heard. She hoped he had. She hoped her words had given him peace.

His hand was limp in hers. His eyes didn’t open again. She knew he was no longer aware of her presence. But she still waited.

She waited until the beeping of his heart monitor grew erratic, then flattened into a droning siren, calling too late for help that would never come.

Then she gritted her teeth and turned around. She lowered her head and bit her lip, the picture of contrition.

“You were right,” she said to Dr. Suresh. “I got too attached. I wish I had realized it before I did so much damage. Do you… do you really think it’s too late to fix this?”

She offered him a hand up.

He kept one hand clasped over his broken nose. Blood spilled out from between his fingers. With the other hand, he took hers. He gave her a magnanimous smile, like a god forgiving his followers from on high.

“I understand,” he said. “Like I said, I’ve seen it happen before. And I really do think your research shows promise, if you would only focus on a more productive direction. I’ll tell you what—we can keep this between the two of us for now.” He glanced toward the nurse. “I can make sure no one says anything about what they might have seen here.”

“Thank you.” She still didn’t recognize her voice as her own, but this time, it was because the sound of her own docility made her want to throw up.

“It’s the least I can do for someone with so much potential,” he said, and smiled.

She wanted to follow through on that threat of a second punch. Instead, she smiled back.

She thought about the words she had whispered to Subject 1. I should have done more. Next time, I will.

Another subject like him would show up eventually. One who hadn’t let their early training beat the curiosity and the will to live out of them.

And why should she wait until then? Did the others not deserve to live because their minds had made the reasonable choice to shut down and give in? Did they not deserve hope?

She had bought Subject 1 three years. She had dangled a dubious prize in front of him—the chance to return to his harsh training, and then a life as a PERI operative. She had thought it was the best she could do.

It hadn’t been enough. Of course it hadn’t been. She didn’t know how she had ever imagined it would be.

Next time, she would do what she should have done all along.

Next time, she would find a way to get them out.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

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#whumptober2023 #no.16 #flatline #oc #fic #minor whump #death whump #minor death #lab whump #reluctant whumper #sympathetic whumper #my writing #my writing: whumptober 2023 #my writing: Mind Games

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phykios · 2 years

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If I Were A Blackbird, part 10 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

“Percy!” Across the cafeteria, he was not at all unhappy to spot one of his teammates, Rich Jenkins, sitting down to breakfast, and was more than happy to join him. Jason had declined to join him this morning, choosing instead to sleep in after his gold medal-winning sprint, but swearing up and down that he would be at the marina in time. He deserved it, though, so Percy didn’t begrudge him his rest. “How are you feeling about today?”

Kind of sick to his stomach. But he was sure that was nerves as much as anything else. It would be fine. He knew, more than anything else, that him, a boat, and the ocean would always work out. “Like I can’t wait to get on the water,” Percy said as he sat down, “How about you?”

“I would feel better if I had your times,” he said with a laugh, “but I’m good. Your family get in okay?”

“Oh yeah.” They’d flown in two days before, and Percy had been able to spend most of yesterday with them. They’d explored the city a little bit, and with a Mets hat pulled low, and a pair of giant sunglasses, no one had noticed him.

It had been a lot of fun. Estelle had been delighted by every color, sound, and smell, and was eager to practice her third grade Spanish. Which, honestly, wasn’t even half-bad, and clearly endeared her to many a shopkeeper about town, though nearly all of them also spoke English when it came time for an adult to pay. Hazel, having medaled and finished, was happy to relax the entire day, and Nico had even shown up with the new Mythomagic Switch game as a present for his youngest cousin.

No one asked him about Annabeth, though Percy was pretty sure Paul was dying to. He could see his stepdad physically swallowing down a cavalcade of questions every time he so much as looked his way, which was appreciated. The other day, he’d had a very short conversation with Nico and Hazel at dinner the night after the phone call, and an even shorter phone call with his mom, and between the three of them a general feeling of ‘don’t ask’ had been gently enforced over the last few days.

Instead they had talked a lot about his race. Which was much, much better.

Paul said he’d been praying to every god he could think of for Percy’s success, and his stepdad taught a world mythology unit to freshmen, so it was a lot of gods. Luke, who didn’t always have time for Paul’s supreme earnestness for reasons Percy liked to not think about, promised he was bypassing the bullshit, and sent all his requests straight to Nike.

All six of them planned to get front row seats for his race today, though front row on an open ocean sailing event was a bit of a misnomer.

And even with his nerves, he felt confident. Scared witless by his first Olympics, but confident that there was not one else on the water who had his skill with a boat.

How could they?

Still, he hoped Rich did well. He was a great guy, and they got on well. The other American was racing in the Men’s Finn medal event later today, and it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he knew what he was on about. “What about your family? They coming?”

“My brother, Ed, he’s taking a red eye from Chicago. Any luck, he should be here in an hour or so.”

They chatted aimlessly for a while after, about their families and the weather and even the food. They didn’t directly touch on the race, or anything else of substance. And then, with an unspoken agreement and a mutual nod of well-wishes and good luck, it was time for them to go out to the water.

And if on his way to the marina, Percy said his own little prayer to Nike and Poseidon, and maybe even Zeus, who the Olympics were supposed to be dedicated to, well, that was his own business.

***

Annabeth seriously considered pulling a Roman Holiday. Well, not a real Roman Holiday, but a fake one. She could tell everyone she was sick, so she couldn’t attend her events. She wouldn’t even go out and smash anyone’s head in with a guitar, even though she really, really kind of wanted to.

She could lay in bed, and do her best not to think about today's events. But then, that was why she had to go, wasn’t it.

Today was Percy’s medal race. But Sweden had their own people in it, so she had to be there anyway. She was expected, and if she didn’t put in an appearance, what might people say? What would they think of her? Probably that there was some problem with the two of them. Which there wasn’t. They’d made up.

They were going to be friends. More than that, they were going to date. Percy had promised her. After the Olympics was over, they would see each other again.

She very carefully did not think about the promise she’d made herself, about what else she’d do when the Olympics was over. And how well a new boyfriend might fit into such a plan.

How perfect Percy Jackson would look next to her at a state dinner.

She swallowed, and considered the outfit Helen had selected for her: a pale, almost colorless blue dress, long-sleeved (in this heat? How?) with a pair of delicate gold earrings, and Annabeth’s favorite charm bracelet, which luckily just so happened to match. Short, blocky, nude heels and a wide, chic, straw hat. Enough to evoke the idea of a flag, but not enough to confirm it outright.

Her blow out from the previous day would probably not withstand the seaside conditions, but it should be fine for at least the first few hours, which was more than enough time for the photographers to do their business. And her make-up needed only a little refreshing.

And then she was ready to go and see the sailing event.

Technically, there was more than one, a fact that she kept mentally repeating to herself as Hans drove them over to the harbor. Percy Jackson was just one man among the throng. She needed to remember that. There were other athletes at play, other people to consider.

She’d promised him until the end of the games, and she meant to fulfill that promise.

Mind racing a mile a minute, she only half-listened to Helen explain the day’s races and the relevant persons she had to greet as Hans drove them to the harbor. There were three medal events for sailing today, two men’s and one women’s, but she was only truly obligated to stay through the first two, Men’s Laser and Women’s 470, as Men’s Finn didn’t have a Swedish athlete participating this year. “You’ll have some time to speak to Mr. Holmgren, Ms. Cederström, and Ms. Söderlund before the start of Men’s Laser, as well as their coach. You are only obligated to wish them luck, on behalf of the royal family.”

Annabeth nodded, flexing her foot in her shoes. Was she getting a blister on her heel?

“Unless there is a massive upset, unfortunately, Ms. Cederström and Ms. Söderlund are unlikely to place in the Women’s 470. Mr. Holmgren, however, can earn at least bronze today, provided he finishes in the top five.”

“So can–” Percy, she nearly said, and then nearly smacked herself for it.

“The protocol is very simple,” Helen went on. “Should Mr. Holmgren medal, you are only obligated to shake his hand, and congratulate him on his victory. We will handle any and all details regarding the athletic reception later this week.” Then, she flicked her eyes to the front of the car, at the back of Hans’ head. “And… if you wished to congratulate any of the other winners as well…” she trailed off, meaningfully.

Annabeth frowned.

“For example… the American…” Helen shrugged, tapping away at her iPad. “Well, I suppose that wouldn’t be inappropriate.”

She could only stare, mouth open and speechless, as they pulled up to the marina. Helen never went back on her words. She never admitted she was wrong, or even partially incorrect. “I… thank you,” she said, stunned.

Her PA said nothing in reply, only slipping on her sunglasses and opening the car door into the bright sunshine.

***

The marina was a bustle of activity this morning, as a whole small city’s worth of athletes, spectators, and press descended on the little, curved harbor north of Mérida. Percy counted at least twenty different languages being shouted around him, all thirty-six participants in the Men’s Laser going through their good luck rituals or getting some last minute advice from their coaches, and it was only Percy’s quick reflexes that let him both hear, spot, and catch Estelle before she bowled him over. “Hey, squirt!” he laughed. “Good to see you!”

He picked her up and swung her around, Estelle squirming and giggling in his grip. “Percy!” she shrieked. “You’re racing today!”

“Sure am!” He set her down, holding onto her hands. “What do you think? Is it looking good for me out there?”

Twisting around to look over her shoulder, Estelle studied the calm, gentle waves, then squinted up at the clear, cornflower blue sky. “I dunno,” she said. “It looks like there’s a sea monster out there.”

He glanced back, scanning over the water, and then shot a look at Luke and Nico. Both of them shrugged.

So Percy turned back to his sister. “Monsters, huh? Are they gonna gobble up all the boats?” And then he poked her in the belly, watching as she fell into a pale of giggles. “And I suppose you’ll be there to save the day?”

“Yep!” she chirped. “With THIS!” And she waved her Switch case about.

“Hey, careful with that thing,” said Luke, ruffling her hair. “It cost good money, and you don’t want to break it.”

“You’d buy me a new one,” she said, and the look on Luke’s face made it clear he would.

“No he won’t.” Percy said. “We all know Luke would do it. But Mom already thinks he spoils you enough as it is. She’d tell you no, if you broke that one.” Though in truth, she wouldn’t if Estelle broke it doing something stupidly brave. Not that Estelle had much need for that kind of thing. And hopefully never would.

“Besides,” Nico said, “You only just unlocked Hestia in Mythomagic. And she’s one of the most important characters, if you can figure out how to play her right.” He shifted, lowering Estelle’s hand, and Percy noticed that there was some gauze wrapped around his left bicep that had not been there the night before. Percy caught his cousin’s eye, and nodded towards it. Asking a silent question.

He got an affirmative nod.

His follow up questions, just being formed in a way as to not freak out Estelle, were interrupted by his mother’s arrival.

She’d been pointing something out to Hazel, but now she wrapped him in a big hug of her own, squeezing him to her chest. “Hey, ma,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. I’m feeling really good today.” He pulled back. “Where’s Paul?”

“Securing our seats,” said Hazel. “He’ll be over in a minute.”

“Big day, cuz!” Luke lightly punched him in the arm. Was he favoring his right side? “Feeling good?”

“Definitely.”

“You should,” Luke said. “You’re just a few hours away from your gold medal!”

He kicked at a stray pebble on the concrete. “You know, I might not even win gold.”

Luke raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Percy saw it reflected in Nico and even Hazel.

“I’m serious!” he said. “My head’s in the game today. I’m going to put my full body into it. And so I might not win gold.”

A beat, and then Hazel chuckled. “That’s the spirit,” she said, slapping him on the back.

“It's silly,” Nico grumbled. “You could win gold and set records without breaking a sweat.”

“Yeah,” Percy agreed. “But if I wanted to do that, I might as well have stuck with swimming.”

“Hey, swimming’s loss is sailing’s gain,” said Paul, appearing from his side. “Good to see you, kiddo!” he said, drawing Percy into another hug.

“You, too.” It had been so long since he’d been surrounded by whole family. Hazel’s presence had kept him grounded, daily texts with Luke and calls with his mom had just barely managed to stave off the worst of the loneliness, but to have them all here with him, a mere hour and a half before his first Olympic race… Well, he was just glad that he was good at stopping himself from crying.

Estelle grabbed her dad’s hand when he was done squeezing his stepson. “I’m gonna fight a sea monster!” she said, with all the same enthusiasm she had previously shown for her brother’s race.

“Uh huh?” But Paul wasn’t looking at her. He was looking past Percy, over his shoulder. “Sounds like fun.”

Luke scooped her up, then, easily transferring her into a piggy-back. He was just a little bit taller than Paul, and quite a bit stronger thanks to all those genetic advantages Paul lacked, and Estelle was maybe getting a little bit too big for her English-teacher father to carry without too much effort. “No monster-hunting without your favorite brother, though.”

“Nico?” she asked.

“Very funny,” he grumbled. “He’s only an in-law.”

Paul was no longer listening, staring slack-jawed at something behind Percy, who sighed. He was pretty sure he could guess what–or who–Paul was looking at. “Wow,” he managed. “She is so much more gorgeous in person… uh…” He glanced at Percy. “I mean… never mind.”

Her presence confirmed, he swore he could feel it, like he suddenly had a magic compass, pointing directly to the most beautiful girl in the world. “It’s okay,” he said. Because it wasn’t like she wasn’t.

Taking his shoulders, his mom filled his vision, drawing his attention back from somewhere behind him. “This is your moment,” she said, soft, serene, and spellbinding. “You don’t have to think about anything else but this moment. And no matter what, remember, we are all so proud of you.”

And then she drew him into one final hug, before being swiftly joined in by his siblings, cousins, and stepdad. Enveloped in the knot of his family, Percy let his shoulders relax, and for the first time in days, felt his thoughts slow down.

He was ready. He could do this. And do this the right way, not the easy way.

He was meant to be on the ocean, on a boat. He had known that since he was eight, and Luke had stolen that sail boat in the Westport Marina for them to take a joyride. And now he was meant to be an Olympian.

He gave a little snort to himself at the thought.

And then there was some organizer there, ushering people to the viewing area, and athletes to the staging area.

Percy got a round of back slaps and quick hugs, and then he and his family were separated. He looked out at the ocean, breathed in the scent, felt it in his veins.

And tried not to catch a glimpse of the princess of Sweden as he headed to his boat.

Paul was right. In her pale blue dress and with her golden hair, she was beautiful.

***

“It’s an honor to have you here, your highness,” Sweden’s sailing coach was saying, shaking her hand a touch too vigorously.

“The honor is all mine,” she responded, smoothly. “On behalf of my family, we wish you all the very best of luck today.”

The greetings went by quick enough, Annabeth shaking hands with the coach, the two assistants, the handful of support and admin staff whose jobs Annabeth was not quite sure she understood, or even knew, and then, finally, the athletes themselves: Adele, Marie-Sofie, and Loke. The women were perfectly gracious, and pretty obviously eager to get out of there and get organized, even though their race wasn’t until much later that day. She could appreciate the pre-event anxiety, though.

Loke’s grip was strong, yet gentle, and he dipped his head. “Your highness, it is very good to see you again.”

“And you,” she replied. “I understand you are likely to medal today?”

“Aiming to bring home at least a bronze,” he said, proudly.

“I look forward to it.” She shook his hand again. “Best of luck to you.”

But as she made to leave, he kept a hold of her. “My deepest pardons, princess,” he rushed out, “but… if you would like, I can pass on your well-wishes to Mr. Jackson.”

Sharply, she inhaled, momentarily speechless. And as he stared at her, and she continued to not graciously demure, his smirk only grew.

“Your highness?” He prompted.

She swallowed, turning off the part of her brain which told her what a colossal mistake she was making. “If… if you happen to see him,” she said, “please feel free to wish him luck. On my behalf.”

“Is that all?”

A million thoughts raced through her head, some highly inappropriate, and at least one about how she was always happy to see a Yalie loose, the context of which would probably go straight over Loke’s head.

She forced her most polite smile. “Of course,” she said. “I look forward to seeing you both race. But I am hopeful to see you on the podium.”

He stared at her just a little longer, clearly wanting her to say more. She didn’t. And then Helen and another facilitator were there, and she was being brushed away towards the viewing area where she could sit and sort of watch the race, even though sailing wasn’t exactly ideal for in-person spectators.

Aggressively, she kept her eyes forward, her field of vision narrow, her gaze straight ahead, as she martialed all of her faculties into not looking for anyone in particular. She was so distracted, she nearly jumped out of her skin when something bumped into her, and looked up at Hans in alarm. He was way too well trained for this. But then again, so was she.

Hans only winked at her, and then tilted his head at ten o'clock.

She turned, and there was Percy Jackson, in a sinfully skin tight wetsuit, speaking to the American coach, Larry Peterson, whose name she had looked up on wikipedia. Because she was not the only person who had a page. Though Percy’s was much shorter, and mostly just had his stats on it.

The two men wandered out of the staging area, and again Hans nodded, this time to a group of people walking about twenty meters in front of them. A little girl was sitting on a man’s shoulders.

“I can do that if you’d like, princess,” Hans offered. “Give you the best seat in the house.”

“I am armed, Hans, and I will not hesitate to use force if necessary.”

He chuckled as they kept walking to the dignitaries’ box. And she tried not to look back at Percy Jackson.

***

He was close to the water, now, close enough to really know what kind of day it was going to be. And the answer was a very good one for sailing.

It should have calmed him down. In some ways it did. But it also hyped him up, the anticipation of a coming race. Once weeks and months and days away, not mere minutes.

He kind of couldn’t believe it.

On the one hand, he knew without a doubt he was really, really good at sailing. He was meant to be in control of a boat. He was meant to sail across the ocean. And he’d been proving that since he was a kid.

But on the other hand, sailing, as a sort, still sometimes felt like an old boys’ club he couldn’t believe he’d been allowed to join. And the Olympics had felt so far off and distant. Like they might as well have been resigned to ancient Greece, not as accessible as modern Mexico.

He might have been shaking a little. He kind of wanted to jump in the ocean to chill himself out.

He figured Coach wouldn’t appreciate that much.

Percy was mostly listening to his last minute instructions and advice. Some of it, like the tactics of the other sailors, was helpful. But he knew the conditions of the ocean perfectly well.

“Just make sure you watch out for those accidental jibes,” Peterson reminded him, and then laughed at his own joke. That had never happened as long as Percy had been working with Peterson.

That had never happened to Percy, ever.

Even thinking that made him feel like the fates were laughing at him, suddenly. But he shook it off.

Nerves were normal, and once he got on his boat, in the water, it would be fine.

“Good luck,” Peterson said, clapping his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Percy replied, proud of how his voice didn’t shake.

And then it was time to really get ready.

He ran into Loke as they were towing their boats out to the water. “Good luck out there,” he told him.

“Thank you, my friend,” Loke responded. And then paused, and said, “You know, I just spoke to Princess Annabeth.”

“Oh? I mean,” he coughed, “cool. That makes sense.” For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought maybe she might… But, then he reminded himself that she likely would not mention him as part of her official duties as a representative of Sweden. Or would be allowed to see him. Besides, they had agreed to wait until after the Olympics.

Two weeks never seemed so long.

But then Loke turned his world upside down. “She asked me to give you a message.”

Percy nearly tripped over nothing. “She did?” He meant to keep the shocked awe out of his voice. And he failed.

“She did,” Loke said. He laid a hand on Percy’s shoulder, and leaned in. About three inches out, Percy realized he was puckering his lips.

“Dude,” he ducked, stepping back. “Come on. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“Hey, got to get my pranks in now before you end up as my Prince Consort!”

Percy rolled his eyes, and didn’t let the thought make its way fully from his brain to his heart.

Loke just laughed. “She said to tell you good luck. And though she said the same to me, I didn’t see her offering such wishes to Wilson, or anyone else. Interesting, no?”

It was interesting. But Percy could not let his thoughts go there right now. So instead he looked past Loke, towards Wilson, who had a pinched, constipated scowl on his face, and let that vague animosity clear his mind.

He wanted to win. He wanted to beat Wilson. He wanted to out-sail him, to control his boat with his body, to harness the winds and show he had all the skills needed.

And was going to do just that.

Percy Jackson was about to race in the Olympics. He was going for the gold.

And he was going to get it.

And then he’d worry about getting the girl, too.

***

She could spot Percy at a hundred paces. Or however far away they were. And however far a hundred paces were. In the box, Helen by her side but Hans waiting in the back, surrounded by people, she could see Percy Jackson.

Sadly, Annabeth wasn’t close enough to pick out details. She couldn’t make out the lines of his nose or the set of his brow or that jaw that could cut glass, and was delightful to suck on. But she could see his bronzed skin, and his black hair. And she could imagine his sea green eyes, not so dissimilar to the color of the water on which he was about to race.

The black wetsuit did not show off all the definition in his arms and chest and legs. It did not give a detailed look of all the ridges and veins that Annabeth had rubbed and scratched and licked and kissed up and down. But you could see the shape of him. Broad, strong shoulders. Trim waist. Powerful arms. And thighs she couldn’t wait to be between again.

Gods, those thighs. She’d watched some of his races online. And they were so, so strong in action. She’d seen them up close into a very different action, and could attest to their majesty.

But despite the muscle, and the strength, they were an absolutely wonderful place to sit. So soft and comfortable. So close and…

She swore under her breath, though not as quiet as she’d have liked. Helen didn’t know the word, but the minister from Greece, who was two empty seats away from her, did a double take when he realized it came from her.

She wondered what he’d look like if he knew what she was thinking about.

She wondered what Helen would think. She was pretty sure Helen was married. Though she spent so much time ruining Annabeth’s life, she couldn’t imagine she had time for her husband, as well, let alone vivid sex fantasies in broad daylight, brought on by the outline of a handsome man a very long ways away.

Oh, how she wished she could have pulled an Audrey Hepburn today.

She tried to look away, to watch Loke, or any of the roughly forty other sailors stepping out for this event. There were so many of them. A bunch of men of all roughly the same shape and size. She’d read an article about that once. Or maybe Piper had mentioned it? Swimmers didn’t get their body from swimming; they were good at swimming because of their body types. Sailors were cut from a similar cloth.

And yet even among them, Percy stood out. Annabeth couldn’t help but watch him as he climbed on his boat, pulling at ropes and settling in, before pulling out from the harbor.

It wasn’t even the race yet, but there was something gently enticing about watching him weave under his sail, pull and shift and sway. He was getting further and farther away from shore, but she could still imagine every inch of his body as he got out there.

There was a piercing horn blast from out on the water, which meant that there were five minutes left for the sailors to get in formation at the start line. Percy Jackson was shrinking from her sight. And yet, the heat in her cheeks, and beneath her skirt, was going nowhere.

It might have been getting worse.

From this far away, she could see that he was jockeying with the sailor from Australia. He was an old hat, apparently, and having almost as good an Olympics as Percy.

She glanced around for Loke, hoping for some national pride to distract her, thankful that the Swedish flag was so distinct from the Red, White, and Blue of both the Americans and the Australians, but alas, Loke was making his way to the starting line at a much lazier pace.

The anticipation was killing her.

Why couldn’t Percy have done something more mainstream, like swimming? She could be closer, then, and not have all this horrible anxiety building up in her chest. Waiting, waiting, waiting for it to start.

Maybe her mother was right, with the whole hating the ocean thing. This was so horribly stressful. A dozen folk songs about wives waiting on shore for sailors suddenly made a lot more sense.

And all the stress wasn’t doing a damn thing about her horniness.

Fuck.

***

His heart was thumping in his chest. His fingers would have been raw from the grip he had on the rope if he weren’t wearing gloves. He was sweating, not that you could see it beneath the sea spray.

It was here. It was time.

Oh gods.

Mentally, he ran down his list of people to watch out for, one final time. Xanthopoulos had a habit of stealing swells. Takeuchi had some of the tightest turns Percy had ever seen. Wilson was–well, he was Wilson. The guy already hated him.

If Percy placed second today, he would win gold. And he had every intention of placing first. He could feel it in his grasp, and he gripped his rope even tighter.

The boats floated together, bobbing gently in a line. Percy closed his eyes, and sent up a final prayer, breathing in the salty sea air.

He frowned. Something was off.

Beneath the smell of salt, of sunshine, of the remnants of his morning coffee and the damp wetsuit, there was… something very wrong. The stench of rotten fish, wet garbage, and old blood. A dull, but heavy scent, skimming just beneath the surface of normal. Nearly undetectable.

But still there.

His eyes snapped open, and he whipped his head around, attempting to locate the source of that awful smell. But the seas were just as calm as they had been all morning. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The fleet of boats bobbed calmly on the surface, each of Percy’s competitors completely, blissfully unaware that something was deeply, deeply wrong.

But then the start horn blasted, a short, sharp warning.

Cursing, Percy turned his sail. While he’d been distracted by that horrific smell, he had drifted out of position.

Whatever it was, it was probably nothing. Stress maybe. A random act of biology.

And if it was something, it could very well wait until after his race.

The horn blast sounded again, and they were off. Percy snapped his ropes, wind catching his sail instantly, drawing him quickly out of the crush of sailors, sending him into an early lead.

Yes. This was what he lived for. The wind in his face, salt spray in his hair, and the thrill of the competition: it was almost all he needed.

***

Annabeth had spent the last week reading up on the history of Olympic sailing. She had studied videos of games past, made glossaries of terminology, even tried her hand at calculating the statistics herself before giving up and letting the professionals run the numbers for her.

In the abstract, it had all been very exciting.

But now, she was fucking bored. Her binoculars could only tell her so much. The small flags got lost in the sea of white sails.

And somehow, she was still horny.

“I need to run to the bathroom,” Annabeth muttered to Helen after fifteen minutes.

“Now?” she hissed.

“Yes, now.” She glanced around. The race was lightly attended by both press and dignitaries. She wouldn’t be missed. She was sure of it.

And if she was, well… that was a risk she was willing to take.

If Percy was bothered later, she’d just tell him the truth: that the mere thought of him out on the water made her too horny to concentrate.

And if anyone else asked, well, she was just a lady who needed to relieve herself.

She stood up, picking up her large bag with her, and slipped past the glaring Helen. Hans met her at the back. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Just need to run to the bathroom.” He stared at her, and she got the distinct impression he was taking in her extremely flushed cheeks. And maybe the beads of sweat that were starting to form at her hairline. But he just motioned for her to lead the way.

The dignitaries had their own bathroom: a nice, expensive one, large, with gleaming white sinks and stalls with doors that reached the floor. And no one else was around. Which was great. She could hear race commentary being piped down the halls, as someone in rapid Spanish and then someone in rapid English detailed all the thrilling action of Olympic sailing. Jackson wasn’t technically in the lead at the moment, but he’d caught a good wind, and was looking to be speeding up.

She took a deep breath, and sighed when she found the ladies’ room silent. And empty. Just her, white tiles, and the sound of the air conditioner kicking on.

Walking to one of the sinks, she rested her hands on either side, looking in the mirror, and tried to regulate her breathing. To make the redness in her cheeks dissipate. She took a deep breath, in and out, and then another. Half a dozen fighting masters over the years, and with the exception of the Berserker, all of them had preached a little something about meditation–not that she was any good at it. A curse of ADHD, the world was a constant stream of stimuli around her.

Here, though–here she could be alone. And she could be calm. She turned on the water and splashed some on her face. And only tensed up a little when she heard the door open. Other people could use a semi-public bathroom at a crowded Olympic event, of course.

She bent her head, hoping that whoever it was would be so preoccupied with doing their business wouldn’t notice her.

But then the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. There was a smell like wet earth and old blood.

She grabbed her ax before she was fully conscious of it, a grounding presence in her hands, as she turned to face the intruder.

***

Nothing was wrong with the water. And the winds were easy as could be, and almost irrelevant.

But the antsy feeling hadn’t gone away. Which he did not like twenty minutes out and a couple laps into the race.

Selden from Australia was next to him, clearly trying to steal some wind. Joke was on him. No one could play dirtier than Percy, when he got down to it.

But he wasn’t going to do that. He was going to lean back, and get his boat under control.

Percy was leaning off the starboard side, his back an inch from the ocean’s water, pulling on his lines and spreading as fast as he could towards the first turn, the farthest part out into the sea. It smelled like salt, the wind blew through his hair. It was perfect.

It should have been perfect.

But something was still wrong.

He swung under the sail, adjusting his grip on his rope, and re-situated himself as he prepared for his turn.

And then he saw the tentacle.

***

For a split second, Annabeth was worried she made a mistake.

Then the blade of her ax hit the monster, and she had a whole new set of things to worry about.

She landed a hit on the monster's arm, and immediately realized her mistake from the way the woman hissed, her snake-hair wriggling in mild irritation, instead of crying out in pain. “What in Tartarus was that?” she growled, her ugly voice scratching against Annabeth’s eardrums.

Annabeth didn’t answer the question, eyeing the blood, and asking one of her own. “Who are you?”

The monster grinned, showing off her boar tusks. “Stheno, of course!” Her long, painted claws clicked together, ready to rip her to shreds, like the world’s most demonic administrative assistant. “And you must be the one who killed my sister!”

Annabeth swore in ancient Greek. Which was fitting for the moment. She just wished she’d figured it out a few moments earlier. Her ax was made of bone steel–great against trolls, huldra, and all the other monsters that ran up and down Yggdrasill.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” she said, knowing it would do nothing to deter her. “You’ve got the wrong woman.”

Stheno only laughed, her claws outstretched, and leapt.

***

Long, black, and graceful, the tentacle twisted out of the water, curling elegantly before it wrapped itself around the edge of his boat, and pulled, hard, toppling Percy’s perfect balance.

Letting out a curse, Percy and his boat went sideways, dropping him into the water. He let go of the boat as he splashed in, willing it not to move very far, and turned to face the monster.

He didn’t recognize it off hand, but the ocean was full of sea monsters, ever since his dad had sent those first few to eat Andromeda and Troy.

Stupid Poseidon. And stupid Greek mythology.

Right now? During his gold medal race? And how the hell did an ancient Greek monster even get this far south in the first place?

The tentacles numbered a dozen, and one of them whipped towards him, landing on his arm.

He hissed in pain, though luckily the ocean water began healing him as soon as the tentacle was gone, and vowed to worry about the issue later.

So it was a venomous monster. Which was probably the second worst thing. The worst was fire breathing. But luckily, there weren’t a lot of fire breathing sea monsters.

He took control of the currents, pushing himself back out of range while he felt against his clothes, aiming to grab Riptide. Damn these tight wetsuits.

From the dark water, a tentacle shot forth through an opposing current, just slow enough for Percy to dodge. He felt, rather than heard, it snarl, a low, menacing hum which vibrated around him.

He definitely saw it lunge towards him, though.

Percy ducked once more, finally managing to get the zipper on his wetsuit undone, and he had his sword out in a flash, the bronze blade gleaming in the gloomy water, turning to face the monster.

And… it was gone.

“The fuck…?” He muttered, letting out a spray of bubbles.

He swam up towards the sun, sword in hand, breaking the surface next to his boat. The waves were just as calm as they had been earlier, enough that Percy thought for a split second he had hallucinated the whole thing after getting smacked in the head by his sail–until he saw a dark shape, spines breaking through the foamy crests, headed straight for the far-off knot of Percy’s competitors.

Towards Wilson, languishing at the back of the pack.

Percy groaned, and pulled himself up onto his boat, banishing the water from the deck. Before he had even grabbed the ropes, he was already tearing off in the direction of the monster.

It wasn’t sixty seconds before something burst forth from the waves beside him: a hippocampus and rider. “BROTHER!” the rider called. “Hello, brother!”

Percy nearly toppled over. “Tyson?”

The cyclops beamed, the skin around his single eye crinkling. “It is good to see you!”

“You, too, big guy, but–” he ducked under the jibe, tacking back into the wind, “I’m a little busy right now!”

“Need your help!” he went right on. “Monster!”

Percy figured. On cue, the creature surfaced for a moment, its swell nearly knocking over Egypt’s sailor Fadel. Percy gritted his teeth, willing just a few more knots out of his Laser. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Father sent me,” said Tyson. “I am here to help!”

How kind of him. If he really wanted to help, Poseidon could have reined in the damn thing himself. “Okay, big guy–help me lead it away from the course!”

“I will!” The hippocampus descended, taking Tyson with him.

Percy was never any good at throwing knives or spears, but as he hurled Riptide at the monster, it sang through the air, hitting its target and sinking through the skin. The monster groaned, writhing, sending little waves out, hitting the boats and causing them to wobble, their sailors shouting in confusion. There was a perfect gap between Holmgren and Armenia’s Hovakimian; if Percy stayed the course, he could slip between them both, and retake his lead.

Instead, cursing a certain ocean related deity under his breath, he took a hard turn right, following the dark shape which headed further out to sea.

So much for his gold.

***

Somehow, Stheno had managed to clock the fact that Annabeth was currently without her better weapon, and was able to keep her attention forward so she wasn’t able to turn back and grab her purse. Which would be impressive, and a rare stroke of intelligence on a monster’s part, if it weren’t so fucking annoying right now.

Stheno was a Gorgon. Greek. Bone steel would hurt her, clearly, but it wouldn’t be able to manage a kill unless she got her in just the right spot. And maybe not even then.

Magic was weird, particularly across pantheons.

With celestial bronze, she’d have more leeway to kill. And she did have celestial bronze. She wasn’t stupid; she might spend half her time in Sweden, from where the vikings had set out to raid Europe, returning with spoils in Odin’s name, but she spent the other half in New York, where her mother and that side of the family dwelled these days. And even a drakon or god could make its way to Stockholm if it really tried hard enough.

Her ax made itself useful as a little charm that hung on her watch. Always in easy reach. Her bronze knife wasn’t that far behind, in general.

But it was in her purse. Which was sitting on the sink, a meter away.

“Stand still!” Stheno screeched, swiping at her.

Annabeth swiped back, hissing as a stray claw caught on her sleeve, tearing the fabric.

“Stop that!”

“Make me,” she shot back, running her mouth a little to give herself some time to think.

Stheno seemed to take that as a challenge, charging directly at Annabeth with a ragged roar. Dodging left, slashing out with her ax, Annabeth swallowed a frustrated growl as it bounced off again with barely a scratch. Without a bronze weapon, she was toast.

Okay. Time for a new strategy.

Gods, this would be so much easier if she had her hat. But Hans hated it when she disappeared on him. And she hadn’t thought she would be fighting a monster today.

She just needed a distraction.

Annabeth was just considering the merits of flinging her shoe at the monster, when there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Princess?” came Hans’ voice. “Are you alright?”

Stheno whipped her head around, a vicious snarl pouring from her lips.

Gods bless Hans Gunderson!

Quick as a flash, Annabeth turned behind her, snapping up her purse. “Hans!” she yelled, smacking Stheno upside the head with it, who fell to the floor in a heap. “Code kleos!”

Hans barreled through the bathroom door, cursing under his breath. Not in ancient Greek though, because he was a viking, and beyond that Byzantium thing, vikings weren’t really tied up with ancient Greece.

He drew his sword–bone steel, same as her ax. He couldn’t land a killing blow any better than Annabeth could. But he could engage the monster for her while she managed to dig the knife out of the bottomless pit of her purse.

Her uncle often lamented how small the inner circle had gotten, how few of the king’s court worshiped the old gods and respected the ancient ways. She, in many ways, was proof of that. Her father had a child out of wedlock. But it was with a goddess. And after many years of the nine worlds becoming seemingly further and further away, even a Hellenic demigod was enough to be celebrated.

Though, when Aunt Natalie had romanced Frey and then given him a son less than two years later, the whole family probably had some regrets. And she knew that there were those in the wider circle who hated her father for his re-marriage almost as much as she did.

Now three of Frederick’s little princelings stood in the way of Magnus. And another son of Frey on the throne.

She tried to concentrate on that when she brought out her bronze knife as Hans dodged. He really was wasted as a bodyguard. He should have been helping her pillage Palm Beach all along.

Anger and frustration were natural emotions for her. And so, she thought of it all. Of her place in succession, of her father’s marriage, of her mother making her and then abandoning her, of her overbearing boss’ snide comments about princesses, the racist minister from the Teams call from hell, Teams calls from hell in general, and of course, the fact that she was here, in this stupid bathroom, fighting a stupid Greek monster, and not lounging on a boat with Percy in the Florida sunshine, surrounded by their piles of loot.

And she drove the knife into Stheno’s back. Right here her heart was.

***

“Tyson!” Percy yelled across the waves, turning his Laser around. “You still with me, buddy?” They were a solid ways away from the course now, far enough that none of the mortals were in any real danger anymore. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the Mist was doing to the spectators. For all he knew, the crowds were still watching some kind of Percy-Jackson-specter as he raced for the gold.

He resurfaced, waving his favorite club, dotted with sharp-looking barnacles. “Here!”

“How’s it looking down there?”

“We’re ready!”

A quick, panicked consultation with a local school of fish had led them to the waterlogged remains of one of those big, industrial fishing nets, caught on the rocks. The fish confirmed that it was glued on good, one end of it stuck there after years of algae growth growing over the plastic. Horrible for the local environment, yeah, but with any luck, the monster wouldn’t like it either. “Good. I’ll lead it to the rocks and then we’ll–”

A roar cut him off.

“Time to move!” Sticking his pen between his teeth, Percy dived off his boat, plunging deep into the Gulf of Mexico. Tyson whooped, following right on his heels.

The waters were dark here, a deep, inky blue, like the night sky without any stars, only briefly punctuated with muted wafts of murky light. He could sense, though not really see, the line of ocean floor as it sloped up and down, the tall, sharp rocks, whittled down by centuries of currents into knifelike points, the gentle swaying of the plants, disturbed only by the movement of the odd fish. It was peaceful down here.

Well, Percy thought as he uncapped his sword. Emphasis on was.

The creature shot towards him, as unerringly and unswervingly as a torpedo, mouth open wide. With his heightened senses, Percy could see every single gleaming, serrated tooth.

Oh good. He didn’t need to get its attention.

“Hey, ugly!” he shouted anyway. “Come and get it!”

The monster screeched, the shockwave chasing Percy as he swam for his life towards the gap in the rocks. Tyson would be there, with the free end of the net, ready to catch the creature, and hold it. He just had to be fast enough.

But Percy hadn’t been a six-time swim team champion for nothing.

He shot through the gap in the rocks, helped along by a rerouted current, and grabbed one corner of the net. Seconds later, the creature slammed into it, and Percy nearly lost his grip–but it held. The monster screeched, extending the tentacles snagged in the plastic, trying its damndest to grab him.

Percy pulled back his sword arm, ready to strike.

The monster thrashed, and the other end of the net was ripped clean off the rock. It swam right through the opening–pulling Percy and Tyson along with it. Percy lost his grip on his sword, Riptide floating away into the deep as the monster hurtled towards a large, spiky-looking outcropping.

With a groan, Percy managed to pull hard enough that they avoided the rock altogether. They had it for now, but he could tell, he wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer. “Tyson!” he growled through gritted teeth. “Can you call Rainbow?”

Tyson brought his hand to his mouth, whistling as best he could. Percy couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it as the vibrations carried through the water.

He could feel his grip weakening with every passing second. “Can you–woah!” Bringing his feet up, he just barely missed smacking them against the dunes. “Can you and Rainbow bring this thing to the surface and hold it there?”

Whatever answer Tyson may have given, Percy didn’t get a chance to hear it. The monster shook him off, sending him careening into the depths.

But when he finally managed to right himself, he saw Tyson and the hippocampus, wrangling the creature in an upwards direction. And he had to be ready to meet them.

Summoning a current, he shot towards the surface, aiming for his Laser, bobbing calmly on top of the waves. He could feel Riptide reappear in his pocket as he climbed onto the boat. Percy took off, speeding towards the dark shape of the creature as it rose higher and higher.

Percy was about a hundred meters away when Tyson and Rainbow surfaced, the monster pulled tight between them.

Gods bless his brother.

Sword in hand, Percy leaned over the side of his boat, his hips pumping as he sped towards them. Like some kind of weird, aquatic knight in a weird, aquatic joust, Percy struck, using the wind and the speed and his frustration over being interrupted during his gold medal race to plunge Riptide deep into the creature’s… well, he didn’t know if it was a chest area or not. But it seemed to do the trick; the monster screeched, a high-pitched, agonizing sound, like nails directly against his eardrum, then went limp, its limbs dissolving into sea foam.

Percy slowed, turning around, and pulled up alongside the cyclops. “You okay, big guy?”

Tyson nodded, flashing him a grin and a thumbs-up. “We are all good!”

Rainbow made a noise, disagreeing much to the contrary.

Still, Percy couldn’t help but chuckle. “Glad to hear it. Make sure dad gives Rainbow here a big treat, okay?”

That made him perk up, giving a watery whinny.

But Tyson frowned. “You are not coming with me? I know Father would like to see you.”

Percy gripped the edge of the hull. “I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”

His brother pouted, single eye drooping.

Playfully, he sent a water jet into Tyson’s face. “I’ll stop by soon, I promise! I just gotta finish this race–”

“Yes! Your race!” Tyson interrupted, his eye shining. “Father told me to tell you: he has blessed the winds today in your honor!”

That… He…

Swallowing, Percy twisted the rope around his hand. “I’m sorry, big guy, but I really gotta go.”

Mounting Rainbow, Tyson waved at him. “Of course! And good luck, brother!”

Then they disappeared beneath the water. All was calm.

Including the wind.

Percy took a second to breathe. In, out, in, out, in–and on the third out, the wind picked up once more, filling his sail almost to bursting, and sending him speeding back to the course.

***

The world between her and Hans erupted into golden dust. And she had to duck again, to avoid Hans’s own swing with a blade.

She stood back up as he apologized profusely. “It’s fine, Hans.” It wouldn’t do for a viking warrior to kill his princess anymore than a normal bodyguard.

She shook it off, and then frowned down at the dust. Using glamor to hide monster messes wasn’t really either of their strong points. And though Helen would never guess they were covered in monster dust, she’d probably rip Annabeth a new one for getting dirt on herself. Like Annabeth was a four year old at the park, and Helen was her put-upon mother.

Not that Annabeth had ever had a mother care if she had dirt or monster dust on her.

Then she noticed the cut on her arm. “Helen is going to kill me,” Annabeth groaned. It was a small thing, barely even bleeding, but the slice in her sleeve was unmistakable.

“Allow me, your highness.” Hans reached into one of his secret spy pockets and pulled out a little plastic pack, opening it and pulling out a single-use disinfecting sheet and a band aid. He was careful as he cleaned out her wound. She knew gorgon blood could be poisonous, but the wound seemed to be just the physical mark. Which was good. She had a small bit of Greek nectar and ambrosia at her hotel, but she didn’t travel with it. And Magnus and his Frey healing magic was way too far away.

It stung as he wiped at the tiny bit of blood, but not anymore than a normal, human wound might sting. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her shoulders relaxing.

Hans chuckled. “A fair bit more exciting than the race, hm?”

“I’ll say.”

“Speaking of,” he said, “it looks like your Jackson had a bit of an accident out on the water.”

She gasped. “No!”

His face twitched. “Nothing so serious. The commentators said there was an… accidental jibe?”

“Is he okay?” An accidental jibe was serious. Last night, Annabeth had spent a good eighty minutes watching some of the most frightening videos she could imagine, of boats nearly capsizing and sails going haywire, but the scariest one might have been the boom swinging wildly and knocking its sailor clean off the boat.

“He’s fine,” he said. “He managed to right himself pretty quickly, but he lost a substantial lead.”

Something on her face must still be registering her concern, because he dug around in his secret pockets again, before pulling out a small, blue, plastic box, placing it in her hand. She opened it, automatically, not quite registering what she was seeing at first.

“For your sleeve, ma’am,” he murmured.

She blinked, then pulled out the little spool of white thread.

“There’s about fifteen or so minutes of race left,” said Hans as she sewed up her sleeve. “More than enough time for him to make up–”

“And Holmgren?” She cut him off, frowning at her stitches. Not some of her best work.

“Holding the line, last I heard.” Sleeve repaired, dust (mostly) brushed off, he went over to the bathroom door, and held it open for her. “Shall we?”

By some miracle–Greek or Norse or maybe some other hitherto unknown pantheon–Helen didn’t comment on how long Annabeth had been gone when she and Hans made it back to their seats. She was leaning forward, her hands folded in front of her face, focusing intently on the little figures on the water.

After a few minutes, Annabeth could see why.

It was exciting, far more than she had expected. Ironically, thanks to Percy’s misfortune, the race was much tighter than it would have been originally. But he was gaining ground, and quickly. Annabeth tracked him through her binoculars, quietly stunned at how quickly he was moving. Where other sailors struggled to change direction against the wind, he was fluid, practically soaring through the course. Even moving with the wind, it seemed to fill his sail more fully, seemed to push him along that much more efficiently.

But as the minutes ticked on, it was clear that the real race was somewhere else. Percy–and Loke, she reminded herself–only had to finish in the top five to medal. But the contest everyone was watching was between Australia’s Selden and Mexico’s Treviño.

If Selden finished first, he could take the silver. But if Treviño finished first, he could take the whole thing.

And Annabeth found herself on her feet for the final lap, swept up in the energy of the crowd as Treviño pulled ahead by mere meters, and Greece’s Xanthopoulos slipped in right behind him as they crossed the finish line.

Treviño, Xanthopoulos, then Selden, and then there was Percy, cruising through the end. She could see the broad grin on his face as he finished, winning the silver. She smiled when he let go of his ropes, pumping his fists in the air, and she allowed herself a little jump for joy. Though the excited squeal escaping her mouth without her permission was unintended.

Loke Holmgren finished fifth, winning the bronze. Annabeth applauded politely, but traded in her professional smile for a wide, happy one.

In short order, the podium was assembled, the medals were handed out, and the flags were raised. After a rousing rendition of the Mexican national anthem, the crowd singing along with Treviño, who had tears in his eyes, the winners descended, going off to mingle with their teams and families.

Annabeth managed to keep her footing as Hans led her down to where the Swedish team was congregating. She shook Loke’s hand, and his mother’s, who was weeping openly.

And then, as she stood back to let them celebrate properly, she saw him.

His hair was dripping wet, curling around his ears, and he had his arms full of a little girl, who was giving him a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Annabeth could sympathize.

It was only when she watched him put the little girl down that she realized, somehow, she had walked the forty feet which separated them over to him without her even knowing it. He was matching her, stride for stride, until they met in the middle.

“Annabeth,” he breathed. “Hi.”

“Hey.” From the corner of her eyes, she could see his family watching them from afar. She was sure they weren’t the only ones.

“You’re here,” he said.

Annabeth tried not to frown. “Should I not be?”

He started, shaking his head. “No, of course–I mean–of course you should be here. For, uh, Loke, right?”

She resisted the urge to look behind her. “Yeah. He did good.”

“He did.”

“You did, too.”

His mouth twitched. “Oh, yeah?”

“You were amazing,” she said. “The way you managed to make up that lead, it was–that was incredible.”

Percy went pink, looking down at his shoes. “You… saw that, huh.”

Gods, he was so cute. Literally what the hell. “It happens. And you got the silver.” Without thinking, she reached out to the medal around his neck, taking it in her hand. It was surprisingly cool to the touch against her skin. “You should be proud.”

He shrugged. “Well, there’s always next time.”

“So, I’ll see you in Athens in four years, then?”

“Gods willing,” he smiled at her, shyly.

She swallowed. Then she realized she was still holding his medal, and she dropped it. “Um, anyway,” she cleared her throat. “I–I just wanted to congratulate you.”

Percy moved forward, and Annabeth, in an unacknowledged panic, stuck out her hand. For a handshake. From Percy Jackson. The guy who was more intimately familiar with her privates than anyone else in the last five years. The man who had occupied a not insignificant percentage of her waking and unconscious thoughts. The guy that she had named her vib–

Bemused, he took her hand, shaking it.

That was probably a mistake.

His touch electrified her, sending licks of fire through her skin, which was a bad sign for her future. She couldn’t even shake his hand without feeling like he was kissing her neck.

It was horrible.

It was amazing.

And from the way his pupils dilated, the way his flush deepened, and the way his eyes couldn’t help but drop to her mouth… it seemed like he might have been thinking the same thing.

“Listen, Percy…”

His eyes snapped up to hers.

“I…” Maybe unconsciously, she rubbed her thumb against his. “I know I said I’d give you until the end of the Olympics, but…” But he was so handsome. And so close.

An Olympian. A real one. Not related to the old Olympians by birth, but a modern hero, made through grit and hard work.

“Yeah?” He asked, and he was so so close.

“I want to kiss you. I really, really want to kiss you right now,” she said.

She watched him take a breath, watched the rise and fall of his chest, and he… he squeezed her hand. “I’d like that.”

“Are you sure? It’s not exactly private out here.” She didn’t have to look around to confirm what she already knew, that everyone’s eyes were glued to them right now, the hottest source of gossip in a long, long time. She didn’t have to tell him that he was standing at the threshold of a whole new world of harassment, scrutiny, and hate. “This world I live in, it can be scary, and hard, and sometimes even dangerous.” And that was before you got the two different pantheons of gods that sometimes tried to kill her.

But he smiled that beautiful smile of his, wide and crooked with just a dash of trouble laced through it. “You know, I really don’t think I mind. I think you’re more than worth some danger.”

Later, she would discover that there were, in fact, cameras everywhere. And her fears of their wonderful moment ending up on some royal watcher blog somewhere were entirely founded. But when he pulled her to him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his, there wasn’t much else that she could think about–not the flash of cameras, not the reporters calling their names, not the fact that Helen had almost certainly fainted at this blatant, unapproved display of public affection. Nothing but Percy, his wet hair, his salty lips, and his arms around her.

Though she at least had the presence of mind to track down Treviño and congratulate him on his win before the start of the next race.

#princess sailor au #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #frenchswissborder #patatayo #my fic #pjo fic #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #this one's a long boi!

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pinkprimrose05 · 10 months

Text

ARC-V Month Day 26: Action Magic - Crossover

Oho? What's this? Our cast has been given an entirely new script!! Such curious mixes can create infinite possibilities, each more intriguing than the last. Show us how you're crossing over ARC-V with other media, and let's dive into a whole new world today!

Crossover day, woohoo! This one's been a fun time to work on, firstly because I'm six feet deep into a newfound hyperfixation on Honkai: Star Rail, and secondly because the concept gave me enough inspiration to actually write something new, for the first time in... *checks notes* ... one year and a half!

(Oh God)

In any case, Iter Exitium: On Harbingers and Pathstriders is up on ArchiveofOurOwn, but also available to view right below the cut. With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy the read!

______________________________________

Listen:

You are in a daze right now.

___________

The day is Monday, the 26th of the month. A short, cheerful chime resounds through your room, and the lock screen of your phone shows the time to be 4:01 A.M.

You pick up the phone from its spot on the ground beside yourself, squinting against the bright light of the screen as it buzzes a second time, signifying an incoming message. Curious, you decide to take a look and see who it is that has enough free time to message you at such an hour.

The contact name that appears before you is... ah. Not quite a surprise, but not someone you expected to be up at this time, either.

"The Simulated Universe has been updated once again."

"Meet me in the office for testing when you return to the Space Station."

The messages are short and straight to the point, in typical Akaba Reiji fashion. You let out a cross between a sigh and a yawn, mark the contact as unread for good measure, and shut the phone before settling back down in your small cot.

Little luminescent stars of various colors fill your vision as you gaze up at the ceiling -your first choice of decoration in what was once a plain, empty room- and slowly but surely, as the hum of your thoughts begins to quiet down, and the Stellaron's pulse settles into a steady rhythm, the gentle tug of sleep pulls you down, down, down.

___________

You do not know who you are, why you're here, or what you're going to do next.

___________

The day is Monday, the 26th of the month. When Yuzu -the other amnesiac two doors down the hall, who proclaimed herself your friend after knowing you for exactly five minutes- barges into your room to wake you up with a paper fan to the head, she says it's already 9:30 A.M.

You scramble out of the room immediately after, plastering an easygoing smile as you jog down to the parlor car, saluting Conductor Classikuriboh as you pass by them. Navigator Youko greets you at the breakfast table with a wave and a plate of honey-drizzled pancakes, and it takes everything in you to not hug her on the spot.

(Sometimes you catch yourself thinking that the Navigator and her husband would make good parents in the future. You have no idea where this specific thought comes from -you don't know the first thing about parents, after all- but the statement rings true to you all the same.

Yuzu joins shortly after, all sweet words and innocent smiles, as if she hadn't just smacked you out of bed a short while ago. Conversations start up and veer off, delving into topics of cooking, music, the IPC's newsletter and many others besides, and when breakfast is finished, you look at the empty plates and an idea springs to life in your mind.

"Hey, wanna bet if I can balance these on one finger all the way to the kitchen?"

The suggestion is immediately shut down by an even stronger swing of Yuzu's fan, and you could swear it leaves a little bump on the side of your head this time. You let out a dramatic sniff when no one offers their sympathy and condolences; Yuzu just stares at you like she's judging an idiot (that's probably exactly what she's thinking), while Youko shrugs neutrally and disappears down the hallway.

"Traitors, the lot of you." You huff, voice cracking under the pretense of mock hurt. "And here I thought the Astral Express was a kind and welcoming family..."

"We are kind and welcoming, you're just not using the one braincell you have." Yuzu fires in retort, moving to pick up Classikuriboh and shoving them in his face. "Seriously, Yuuya? You want the Conductor picking up all those glass shards after you?"

Oh, she did not just pull the Conductor card.

As if on cue, Classikuriboh lets out a series of loud squeaks, wiggling out of Yuzu's grip and shooting the pinkette their nastiest glare. They pull up a small tablet and type in an impassioned message, then place it on the table for everyone to see.

"Hey!" The message reads, as indignant as the little furball who wrote it. "Classikuriboh can handle broken glass and stupid passengers just fine, but Classikuriboh refuses to be manhandled like this! Put some respect on Classikuriboh's name and let me clean the couch in peace!"

Yuzu blinks in disbelief, head swivelling slowly between you and the Conductor. You barely manage to suppress a smug grin as she gives Classikuriboh an apologetic bow of her head-

... Hey, wait a minute.

"Did you just call me stupid?!" You yell after the Conductor, who goes right back to cleaning the couch like nothing happened at all. "Rude!"

Truly, you had no one to support you in this cruel world. Hmph, so be it! You'll just leave them and stay at the Station for the day- see how they'll manage without your entertaining antics.

You whip out the phone and check the messages, then send a "Sure, I'll see you there!" to the young Genius's invitation-

"You're going to the Space Station?"

-and were it not for the fact that you're still seated in a chair, Yuzu's intrusion would have surely sent you jumping five feet in the air. As it stands, all you do is flinch and turn to her with your best face of utter betrayal, to which the pinkette just rolls her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, it's not my fault you're so easy to distract." She turns over her own chair to face yours and moves from behind you to sit down. "Anyway, what's this about seeing Akaba? Does he want your help again? Is he pestering you to test his little game? You know you can just block him, right?"

"Sheesh, Yuzu, slow down! It's no problem, really. I don't mind helping him out with the Simulated Universe- I mean, it's actually pretty fun, and I get to contribute to a cool scientific endeavor while I'm at it. Seems like a pretty good deal to me!"

"Well, if you say so..."

"I do!" You grin at her, hoping it comes off as reassuring. "Besides, there's nothing entertaining on the Express when we're restocking supplies, and I really don't want to just lounge around and do nothing all day."

"You could always help Yuuto with sorting the archives-" Yuzu begins, only to be immediately cut off by the frantic waving of your hands.

"Oh nononononono- nope, nuh-uh, no way. I don't know how he's fine with staring at books and words for hours on end, but I would spotaneously combust if I so much as give it a try!"

Yuzu stares at you. You stare right back in desperate defiance.

She rolls her eyes again. "Fine, fine, go out and touch grass or whatever it is you do for fun. Just don't stay out for too long, okay?"

"Yes, mom!" You salute with a sunshine smile, and dash off not a moment later for fear of a third encounter with the paper fan of death. The last thing you hear before exiting the parlor car is "we're not bailing you out if you do anything stupid!"

Fair enough, fair enough.

___________

None of that matters.

___________

The day is Monday, the 26th of the month. The clock at Akaba Reiji's office reads 11:13 P.M the moment you enter the Simulated Universe.

Just like the last few times, the simulation begins with a fizzle of purple, and then the world around you begins to take shape. The plain walls of the Leo Space Station appear before you, and in a matter of minutes, you find yourself standing in the supply zone, just a couple meters away from a small Antibaryon.

"All systems are stable and fully functional." Akaba's voice drones from his post. "You may start the test run now, Trailblazer."

Nodding, you will your trusty bat into existence and approach the spherical machine, resolved to swiftly put the little thing out of its misery. This run is supposed to be for testing a new feature called Blessings, where you acquire one each time you defeat one of the enemies scattered around the map- an easy enough task, considering the many times you've gone up against said enemies by now.

The Antibaryon retreats into the void after a single strike to its core, and the four Baryons you encounter right after are defeated just as easily, though they take a little longer due to their number and the way they keep bouncing out of range. And so, a few minor battles won, occurences and events gone through, and a bunch of random Blessings obtained later, you reach the first stage of Elite enemies, featuring a centaur-like Voidranger... uh, was that the Trampler or the Reaver, again?

Well, it doesn't really matter, anyway. A hit to the ranger's back takes it by surprise, and from there on it's a game of dodging energy beams and distracting the enemy with Imaginary summons of various shapes, until you manage to charge up a strong enough strike to its weakest point, ending the battle in one fell swoop.

You allow yourself a moment to breathe as the Voidranger disintegrates into particles of data, and your own band of cartoonish animals vanishes in a shower of sparks soon after. One last sweep of the stage confirms it as fully cleared, and so, with a confident smile, you step into the portal leading to the next stage...

... and promptly freeze when your feet touch nothing on the other end.

Hold on, what?

Thousands of small lights twinkle as far as your eyes can see, a few opaque orbs and a smattering of dark rocks dotting the horizon alongside them. Stars, planets and asteroids, you notice after a beat- it seems that the new domain is themed after outer space.

... Wait.

No.

That can't be right.

The only time you were abruptly thrown into space was the very first testing session, the one where you came into contact with... an Aeon...

The realization hits you alongside a sudden wave of heat and wind, forcing you to shield your face against the burning sensation. What the hell was that?

Try as you might, you can't even begin to look for an answer. A buzz of static starts in your ears, mingling with the acute rush of scorching air, the harsh crack of rocks breaking, the discordant boom of stars dying-

It is a symphony of ruin all around you; a glimpse into pure and utter annihilation, brought by a force unknown and unseen-

Except, you know exactly who's behind this.

You've drawn their gaze before, after all.

A blinding flash, a literal supernova, heralds the arrival of death incarnate themself. Eyes of molten gold lock onto stunned red, bearing down on you with the weight of a thousand suns-

It is burning.

You are burning.

You cannot look away.

This is Destruction, you find yourself thinking, as the fabric of reality fractures into numerous shards. Your gaze holds the Aeon's against your will, even when the edges of your vision fade into the dark.

This is Destruction, a voice that is not yours whispers, low yet clear above the din of everything, as the universe itself collapses before your eyes, as the Aeon turns their back on you with a sigh.

This is your destiny, in each and every life.

The light around you dims down like a candle, and all sound tapers off into a low hum. You tip your head back and close your eyes...

Then everything goes white, and all is quiet

___________

....However, what you do know is this.

___________

The day is Monday, the 26th of the month. When you come to once again...

... you do not know what time it is.

"Hm, you've regained consciousness. Can you hear me?"

You blink your eyes open at the voice, and sure enough, the pristine space that is the 83rd Genius's office greets you in all its plain glory, its owner leaning on the wall beside your sitting form. Right; you were at the Station to test out Akaba's newest update to the Simulated Universe, and then-

"Something... something went wrong back there." You mutter, pushing yourself up. "You said nothing about an Aeon showing up, so what happened, exactly?"

"I'm afraid the answer to that is still inconclusive." Akaba says, smooth and level, if not for the minute tremble that tails the end of each word, outing his otherwise well-hidden shock. "Nanook's appearance was not expected at all in such an early stage, and even stranger is that their behavior does not quite line up with the expected parameters, which is a curious anomaly in and of itself."

You shake off the ensuing flash of recollection -ruin, death, destruction- and blink, confused. "Eh? How so?"

"A fact you may be unaware of is that, while some Aeons are willing to communicate with others, some are actively averse to any form of contact, and may react negatively to being seeked out. The Destruction falls under the latter category, according to all past records, and forcing you out of the simulation corresponds with that trait... but the issue at hand is the fact that they weren't seeked out- it was the opposite that happened."

Akaba's gaze slips past yours, downwards, and you place a hand over your chest in response. The Stellaron pulses within your form where a human's heart should be- quiet and dormant, yet a constant reminder of what you are, of the danger your mere existence poses, and the reason you stand here to begin with.

"You think it has something to do with all of this." It is not a question, because it needs not be such. You both know the answer very well.

Akaba nods in lieu of saying yes, anyway. "A relatively likely possibility, but one that must be studied in further detail and from several angles before being taken for granted."

"Huh, so you'll need me for more tests soon? Should I expect another message from you, then? Or maybe a phone call?"

"Only if you're still interested in carrying on with our agreement. Remember: you help me gather data to refine the Simulated Universe, and I will help you answer all questions about yourself to the best of my ability."

You smile. It comes out a little sharper than you'd have liked. "I guess there's only one choice to be made, in this case. Well, I'll see you in the next patch update then- for now, good sir, I bid you adieu!"

Not bothering to wait for a reply that wouldn't come, you push yourself off the wall and towards the office door. Just before you pass through, you glance at the little clock lodged at the far corner of the room, and per the message the ornate arrows read, it is now 2:08 P.M.

As the door closes behind you, you allow yourself one more moment to reflect on all you've seen and heard.

This is Destruction. This is your destiny, in each and every life.

The words puzzle you, and perhaps they'd be alarming to someone else, but right now, pondering them gives you no such worries.

Who's to say anything about your fate, anyway? It is a fickle thing; a tapestry woven through one's choices and actions at each turn of life, unpredicatble and impossible to determine...

And as far as you're concerned, yours is only just starting. After all, the one voice that managed to pierce past the fog of your memories had left you with two things to know:

___________

One: Your name is Yuuya.

Two: Your destiny is yours alone to write.

#arcvmonth2023 #arcvmonth #yugioh #yugioh arc v #yuya sakaki #sakaki yuya #fanfic #fanfic prompt #pink's silly aus #pink's fanfics

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pollyna · 2 years

Text

I'm really sorry okay :)

During the summer of his sixteenth birthday, Ice teaches him how to drive a car. During the first lesson, Mav and Slider sit in the backseat, but three miles down the road, Ice kicks them out and leaves them in the middle of nowhere because kids have better behavior than you two.

It's the same summer Mav and him fix the Bronco, and Slider finds the perfect blue to repaint it.

In September, Bradley drives them to the airport, his driver's license proudly displayed in his wallet and tissues strewn about because seeing his father and uncle deployed still makes him cry a little, even after all these years.

Ice hugs him against his chest and Bradley wants to never let him go because summer was too short and he promised to let Bradley take them to his favourite spot after he passed his test. We're going to get there, okay baby goose? he asks, before kissing him on the forehead once I'm back, whether it's winter or summer. Okay, dad, okay he answers, already half engulfed in his uncle's arms.

By the time Ice and Slider are back, a year and a half has almost gone by, Bradley is studying to pass with a straight A to go to Annapolis, and then he's out of the door and out of their lives because of a promise Maverick won't talk about.

It takes time. Fifteen years and most mornings, Bradley wakes up in his bed and his first thought is he betrayed me. He's working on all that anger with his therapist, but sometimes, less and less every day, it is still difficult and leaves him without energy. When he walks out, his car is particularly blue, that's all thanks to Uncle Ron, his secret supplier, and four hours of work. Bradley can feel in his bones that today is a good day to go back. Not alone. Not this time.

He texts Mav first; he doesn't know if he could have the strength to ask over the phone, and his un-his pops answers He would have loved that. I have a hop in 20 minutes, so take your time.

The road is almost deserted, and the parking lot is occupied by a single lonely yellow car that Bradley vaguely recalls being there the last time they passed by. He was fourteen and eager to show off his new swim truck to every pretty girl and boy around the shore. All his uncles were around that day, with too much food, too many things to say, and not enough sunscreen to spare everybody from sunburn. Bradley can see all of them moving around clear as day, half of them without a swim truck because Good god Mav, you could have told us it was for swimming! Half of his uncles are no longer alive, and the other half are out of reach. That's something else that leaves him on the verge of panic.

When he sits down, his dad is to his left, the sun is already high in the sky, and the wind crisps the water. See, dad? We made it. It took us maybe a little too much, but I finally drove us here. He could see his dad, just like he could see his uncles moving around, young and healthy as he was the last time he saw him on a carrier, six years prior, when he had run away because who gives a fuck about Admiral Kazansky and his fucking speech? He can see him smiling and patting his head like he used to do after Bradley told him he was too grown up for kisses on his cheeks and ruffling his hair. He can see him talking and he can hear him telling him all the ways Mav tells him how they found that place, almost thirty and drunk as hell after their second mission together. He can feel it too, against his back, his dad's arm hugging him and murmuring I'm so proud of you, kid.

(That's what he wrote to him, after he was called a Top Gun for the first time.)

But for how much Bradley can see and feel and hear, sitting on that shore, it's just him, an urn, and all the things he's never got the time to say. Ah, dad, he murmurs, I'm so fucking sorry, I don't even know where to start, but the start is a good place, right? Yeah, yeah, okay.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #ron slider kerner #flyboy uncles (mentioned)#implied icemav #tom iceman kazansky & bradley rooster bradshaw #mcd #angst #hurt no comfort #top gun: maverick

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 6 months

Text

False Sun - a Malevolent fic

It's time for Faroe's yearly birthday hike, when she and Dis spend the night away from Carcosa to avoid the Rite.

But Faroe isn't the same this year. Horrible things happened, and she doesn't know what to do. Dis, however, might… and Faroe is willing to risk her plans getting out in order to get her trainer's help.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

----------

This wouldn’t be the normal overnight trip.

Dis still didn’t know what the actual hell had happened out there. Rumors had begun to filter in, spooky ones, nonsense ones, and Faroe was overtraining with a scar on her neck, and the King was going to die in six years.

It was a lot. Dis didn’t like dealing with a lot.

Or, no, that wasn’t accurate. She didn’t like dealing with a lot when a lot of it was unknown.

She didn’t know enough to plan things out, or properly defend herself. She didn’t know why Faroe’s throat was slit, why rumors were flying that Hastur had offed one of his kids, why Ishara suddenly belonged to Carcosa, or why some kind of folk hero thing was following new-guy Parker through the lower servant halls.

What in hells was going on? Would finding out draw the attention of the Outer God? (Because she had absolutely no doubt that was real. Hastur wouldn’t have humbled himself otherwise.)

Dis was a great believer in paring things down. When life was overwhelming, it was time to rip off all the frippery and unnecessary parts until the bones came clear.

Today’s bones had a shape: a nine-year-old girl with some problems. That much, Dis decided, was not a lot. That, she’d handle—whatever shape these bones turned out to be.

“Carcosa’s in a good spot this year,” Dis said, adding mountain climbing gear to their bag of holding. “I finally get to teach you how to properly scale a cliff.”

“With and without gear?” Faroe was focusing on packing her own bag, and she was going light: socks, underwear, a few shirts. Some knives. That borrowed bow and quiver.

“Both. You’ve been working on hand-strength; we’ve been working on you pulling your own weight up and down. It’s time to apply it practically.” Casually, she added, “Do you want to have a little birthday celebration out there for just us warrior women?”

“No, thank you.” This wasn’t the first time Faroe had said ‘no’ to celebrating her birthday out in the woods. When she’d turned seven, she’d said in a very sedate and adult manner that she was a proper princess and didn’t need to do frivolous things like celebrate birthdays (in spite of the veritable circus her father threw every year).

Dis still asked. It felt right. Faroe’s answer, though, was not right. Faroe kept her eyes on her pack, scowling as she pressed down a pair of socks.

Well. When the kid wanted to talk, she’d talk. Dis didn’t believe forcing her would turn out well.

They took their mounts and headed off into the wilderness.

Carcosa really had landed in a beautiful place. The cliffs were insane, almost straight down, stunning in beauty. Lake Hali seemed to merge with some strange fresh-water sea down that cliff, though still in the mountains—a rarified dream fed with underground springs.

The air was sharp and invigorating. They rode for a few hours, Vemmaera trotting along, Nibbles absolutely silent as shadow. Dis pointed at the water. “We got a false sun tonight. Fucking fantastic.”

“A what?” said Faroe, as if coming out of a trance.

A blaze of red light sat above the water like a giant, red firebrand. It wasn’t the sun; the light didn’t spread like the sun, and the Dreamlands were fully ensconced in night. Stars spattered the sky; two full moons hid them at the other end of the horizon. The false sun burned, turning the far ocean red, coloring the sky in a semicircle of illogical brightness before night took hold again.

Dis pointed again. “Sun’s set. That is something else. They don’t happen often. It’s a Dreamer thing. I haven’t seen one in two hundred years.”

Faroe stared. Nibbles stared. “Two hundred years?” said Faroe.

“Yep,” said Dis. “I always like a false sun. They’re just neat.”

“How old are you?” said Faroe.

Nibbles snorted.

“It’s not rude,” said Faroe. “Not on my birthday hike.”

Dis laughed. “Yeah, no holds barred. Not on the birthday hike. So, yeah. I’m about three hundred and fifty-ish.”

Faroe considered this.

Dis let her. She picked a spot for camp—wide-open field, easy to see in all directions—and started preparing their sleeping area.

“You’ve had time to make mistakes,” said Faroe out of nowhere, standing to the side, uncharacteristically not helping with setup.

“Fuck yeah, I have,” said Dis without hesitation.

Faroe stared at her, wide-eyed, vulnerable. Nibbles nuzzled her, making a soft and somehow awful sound—so naked, so sad.

Dis wasn’t stupid. That wound on Faroe’s neck would never have happened if Nibbles had her way. Whatever had happened had been worse than what one of the Dark Young could handle.

Faroe sniffled once. “Like what?”

Dis threw her head back, falling onto the bedroll, arms under her head, smiling toward the darkening sky. “Fuck. So many. Uh… military. Personal. Group mistakes, should’ve-been mistakes, and the sucky sisters, know-better mistakes and didn’t-know-enough mistakes.”

“Why know-better and didn’t-know-enough mistakes?” said Faroe.

Oh, they were getting into the weeds now. “Those are unfortunately really similar because in both cases, you think you know how it’s going to work. Also, in both cases, you have a nagging feeling you’re really fucking it up.”

Faroe swallowed. “But what if you have that feeling all the time?”

“That’s a rough one.” Dis watched the stars. Constellations changed in this place; Dreamers made it so, though nobody knew exactly how. “Experience is honestly the only way I know around that one.”

Faroe twisted her hands, looking away, seeing nothing. “What if…” Nibbles nuzzled her, and she leaned in. “What if you knew better, but you made the mistakes, and everybody got hurt?”

“Then you make up for it.” Dis didn’t hesitate because she believed this with all her soul. “There’s no such thing as a mistake that you can’t work to make better.”

Faroe clearly did not believe that. She also clearly thought that keeping her face turned away from the false sun would hide her tears.

Maybe a human’s eyes would be fooled, but Dis was not human.

“But what if the mistake meant someone is dead?” Faroe whispered.

“Then you live for the living.” Dis wasn’t being harsh; she’d knew. “Someone always lives after. It’s not on the survivors to make up for the dead because you can’t. But you can live for the living.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

Nibbles made a similarly puzzled noise.

“I’ve gotten people killed,” said Dis, still watching the false sun’s light play wild with shadows on distant waves. “It’s one of the reasons I don’t like being in charge of groups, platoons, armies, whatever. I can do it. I’m actually really good at commanding; but I fucking hate getting people killed, and it’s inevitable when you’re in charge. Just the thought of it makes me feel like shit.”

“You’re not shit,” said Faroe quietly, and finally sat down.

Dis’ smile was brief. “I got people killed. Went through anger, revenge. All of that. Finally figured out there wasn’t much point. You live for the living. That makes you feel better in time.”

“You’ve really done everything, haven’t you?” said Faroe with a sweet sort of naivety as she lit their small fire.

“Not yet.” Dis grinned. “Happily, I don’t think I ever will.”

Moments passed while distant Carcosa glowed golden (normal on this night), and the sky grew blacker between stars, and the false sun sat there, stuck to the horizon as if glued.

“I got my brother killed,” said Faroe, which both confirmed and confused a lot of Dis’ guesses.

“Fuck,” said Dis. “That’s a heavy one, kiddo.”

“Yeah.” Faroe hugged her knees to her chest; she wiped her eyes.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” said Dis.

“No.”

“Then we don’t have to. You wanna know how to get past.”

“I… I need to.”

“All right. Lemme think on this a bit. Willing to answer questions?”

“Yes,” Faroe whispered, and Nibbles flopped beside her, pressing in. Faroe draped over her, arms around her neck.

“Good enough.” Dis fell silent. Some things took time to soak before they were worth anything.

The false sun remained. How—if it was actually on the sea, or perfectly matching the planet’s rotation, or who knew what—was unclear. It didn’t matter. It was like a lit window, a glimpse of some far-off home in the wilderness; not bright enough to interfere with the feel of these lovely evenings out, but striking, and beautiful. Whoever dreamed it must have quite the imagination.

They had eaten, climbed down the cliff, swam a little, climbed back up, sparred. They had torn down and rebuilt their fire for practice, worked on spells to hide themselves and one another, and played heartily with their beasts of burden. Nibbles’ frisbee game was on point tonight. Now, under the light of two full moons, their faces slightly warmed in color by the false sun, they lay by the fire and stared at the stars and thought their secret thoughts.

Dis felt that maybe, she was ready to peek under this bandage and see how bad the damage was. “Think you’re up for some questions, kiddo?”

Faroe didn’t answer immediately, but when she did, she sounded quietly sure. “Yes.”

“Did you mean to kill him?”

Faroe made a tiny, hurt sound. “No.”

“Okay. That’s important because it changes things. Did your dad do it?”

“Yes.” Faroe swallowed.

“Was he threatening you?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “It was my fault.”

“Okay. But I’m not talking fault. I’m talking facts.”

“Yes, he was threatening me,” whispered Faroe.

“So who survived?”

She shifted. “Me. Dad. Arthur and John. Nibbles.”

“Then living for them and for yourself is what matters.”

Faroe frowned. “For them?”

“For your people. For you. For those who survive. You can’t make anything better for the one who died—but you can make it better for everyone else while you still have them.” Fuck; that phrasing wasn’t great. Dis bit her tongue.

Fortunately, Faroe missed it. “I… might know something,” she whispered.

“Something?”

“To make things better. But I’d need help.”

Dis and Nibbles shared a questioning look, then both turned to the princess. “I’m listening,” said Dis. “Not promising yet until I hear what it is.”

Faroe’s smile was new. It was knowing; it was, Dis felt with a little shiver, a shadow of the smile she might have as an adult. “My brother had spies somewhere in the palace. I don’t know if they were spells or people, but he knew things he shouldn’t have. He knew the exact layout of even my father’s war-room, including his most recent maps. And he knew things about Arthur that… just… he shouldn’t have known.”

Dis stared. “Fuck. That’s serious.”

“Very serious. But dad is… right now, he’s working so hard to prepare things for when I come of age,” she said. “I don’t want to interrupt that. You know how he is when he has a plan.”

Dis snorted. “Everybody knows how he is when he has a plan.”

Nibbles snorted, too, a distinctly amused huff.

“So what I want to do for him is find and punish those spies myself,” said Faroe.

Dis whistled, low. “This is above your paygrade, kiddo. I’ve taught you to know your limits. You’ve got to know that.”

“I do,” she said slowly. “But I hate the… things they knew. Not just about my dad, and the palace, but about Arthur. I don’t like that someone we can’t see, an enemy, has that much access to my… to him. I want to make this right.” And she looked Dis right in the eye, her own blue-gray ones somehow piercing through the dancing flames. “Help me, Dis. Please help me make this right for the living.”

Nibbles bleated, then added her own pleading look, all eight billion of her eyes wide and innocent.

Holy fuck. “Hm,” said Dis. Holy fuck.

“Please,” whispered Faroe.

“I haven’t said yes or no yet,” said Dis, sitting up, fighting to keep her tone even. “This is something you want to keep from your father.”

“Yes.”

Holy motherloving fuck. “And how do you think he’s going to feel when he finds out?”

Faroe stiffened, hugging her knees more tightly. “I hope he’ll be proud of me. Maybe even grateful. Though… I know he’ll probably be upset at first.”

At first!

Here he was, going absolutely bat-shit insane to ensure she’d be safe when he fucking died at the end of six years, and now here she was, trying to make up for gods fucking around (which had nothing to do with Faroe and was not her fault) and refusing to tell him she was putting her life on the line!

Dis exhaled slowly. “LIke father, like daughter,” she murmured.

“What?” said Faroe.

“Can you give me a minute, kiddo? This is a bigger ask than you realize. I’m not saying no. I need to chew on it.”

“Okay,” said Faroe, eyes huge, and stared after her as Dis stalked to the edge of the cliff and paced.

She could walk. There’d been nothing in her contract with Hastur that said she wasn’t allowed to quit. Hell, he wanted her to return her money/weapons/toys, she could, with gusto.

She could just say no. Do the letter of the law, stick to training, take on no further responsibilities until this all just played itself out in tears and ashes (because it sure as fuck would not go well).

Or she could help this poor kid, like Dis herself had never been helped.

Fuck.

She wasn’t a hero. That wasn’t what she did, was in fact a path she’d chosen to fucking avoid, even knowing her heritage and what it all meant. She didn’t have to help this kid. She could walk away and survive and not help this kid.

But the thought of letting Faroe plunge into something so much bigger than she was, watching her get killed… it just…

It didn’t sit right.

Dis had seen plenty of kids hurt. She’d hurt some kids, too (fortunately rarely, and one of many reasons she would never again work as a soldier for anyone). This wasn’t her problem. A hundred years, she’d hardly remember Faroe’s name.

And of course, because her brain was her enemy, it conjured a bunch of memories.

Faroe, tiny, her yellow sparkly dress absurd, crying because she hadn’t instantly mastered the bow and arrow. Faroe, still tiny, squealing with joy as she learned to ride Vemmaera. Faroe, slightly bigger, mimicking Dis’ expressions and eye-squint when she took aim, following footsteps with an adorable determination. Faroe, proud, climbing rope and throwing knives as if she’d been born to do it all her life. Faroe, shy, smiling and offering tiny cakes she’d learned to conjure as survival rations.

Faroe, showing Dis the new songs she’d written for Arthur (and had not yet garnered courage to show him). Faroe, prattling on about how great her dad was, which was demonstrably absurd, but she was a kid, and she was well-loved, and loved well in return.

Faroe, disappearing, and leaving Dis (and everyone) feeling physically sick.

Faroe, returning, with a scar on her neck that could not heal because a god had done it, and a burden no one had asked her to carry… but one she would, regardless, even if Dis did do the shitty thing and tattled on her to her dad.

Faroe needed this. Faroe was going to do this. Whether or not Dis helped her, she’d find a way to hurl herself into the path of stampeding elephants.

And it didn’t feel… good.

Dis sighed. She’d made a reputation for being a damned good tutor, which is why Hastur hired her in the first place, but she’d always kept her heart’s distance before. Something about this kid broke through.

When had that happened? When had she gotten attached? She never got attached! Attached meant stupid!

Like here and now, considering taking on Hastur’s fucking enemies for the sake of one little girl.

“I am out of my mind,” she groaned, staring out at the sea, at the false sun that mocked her—at the impossible star, landed gently on the water, that made as much sense as Dis right now.

She thought about walking away, and knew she’d hate herself if she did. Finally, she sighed. “You were right,” she muttered at past voices she’d defied in her arrogance, and made her way back to the fire.

Faroe’s eyes were still huge. Nibbles was as still as the trees she so resembled.

“I will do it on one condition,” said Dis, and already knew she had her by the way Faroe sat up and her face lit up and her clever fingers clenched her knees. “I am in charge. No secret missions. No heading off on your own. No disobeying. If we do this, kiddo, we are entering territory more dangerous than almost any I’ve ever bothered to throw myself into. You will not fuck it up by going your own way. If we do this, you follow my lead.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” said Faroe, quickly, and even in the twilight, her eyes were shiny. “Step where you step. Speak when you speak.” Then a puff of princess came through: “I can follow orders, you know,” she said, chin raised.

Dis snorted. “I know, or we wouldn’t be talking. All right. You’re going to have to fill me in, honey. I know it’ll be hard, but you can’t just go, ‘There are bad guys,’ and expect me to find them. Who, what, when, where, why. Everything you know.”

Faroe nodded, wiping her eyes one more time. “When I went to Ishara, looking for answers, they told me to go to the Oracle,” she said, and at the name, Nibbles growled, and did not stop until the horrible recitation was through.

#malevolent au #malevolent podcast #malevolent fic #surrogate series #faroe lester

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