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ilovepedro · 6 months

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mistletoe kisses | joel miller x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: M - 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2.6k

Summary: You decorate the Christmas tree with some help from Joel and Ellie.

Warnings: established relationship, post-outbreak, Jackson era, canon divergent bc nothing bad ever happens to them ever 😁, sickening fluff, pet names (honey, darlin’, baby, babydoll, etc), allusions to smut, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: surprise!!! i know i said this would be up on the 22nd, but i’ve got something else that will be up on saturday 🤭 and i just couldn’t stop thinking about giving this man a happy ending, including healing and starting new traditions with his family 😔 i wish joel was real 💔 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @/saradika

Grumbling, he treks behind you, snow crunching beneath his work boots as he cautiously lugs the saw in his hands.

You’re rambling about finding the perfect tree in front of him, Ellie asking a million questions about the tradition.

He hadn’t expected, intended, to find a partner in Jackson. That is until he saw you, lugging a heavy crate of harvested crops across the town, your wagon having been broken. Tommy had told him about you, how you were single.

“She’s sweet as pie, brother. She might be good for you. Real pretty too.” Joel recalls the conversation he had with Tommy before he stormed off to the barn.

His Southern hospitality lay dormant until he saw you struggling. The urge to help creeped up on him. His typical quite observant demeanor tossed out the window as he approached you.

“Need some help?” He asks.

You wipe your brow, huffing before laying your eyes on the broad, handsomely rugged man in front of you - it’s Tommy’s brother. His name escaping you briefly.

You beam. “Oh. Sure. Thank you…” you trail off, slightly off guard by his kind gesture. His large gloved hand extends out towards you.

“Joel,” he finishes your sentence. “Thank you, Joel,” your hand shaking his, giving him your name. It rolls off his tongue with a certain sweetness, sending a flurry of butterflies to swirl in your belly. You knew of him, but knew he was also not a man of many words. You had yet to make acquaintances with him and who you assume is his daughter.

“You’re Tommy’s brother right?” You curiously ask, attempting to make small talk as Joel grunts while picking up the crate.

“Yes ma’am.”

Smiling at his Southern drawl, you run to help him carry one side of the heavy crate, feeling bad letting him do all the work.

“Uh uh, what do you think you’re doin’?” He asks, brow raised as you both stop in your tracks. “Helping you,” you state. He chuckles, shaking his head as he begins to walk.

“I asked if you needed help, darlin’. ‘Sides, what kinda man would I be letting a pretty girl like you carry all this shit by herself? My momma would have me by the head, ‘s for damn sure.”

You open your mouth to detest the notion that women need any assistance from men, but he stops you before you can.

“‘N I know ya don’t need any help from any man. You women are tough as shit, met a lota you over the years. Jus’ wanna help, ‘s all.” He kindly explains. You don’t understand why he wants to help, why he’s approached you specifically.

You’re aware that he’s typically very reserved, not leaving his house if he doesn’t have to. You’ve heard things about his past, and Tommy having confided in you at times, but the world has gone to shit. Who are you to judge? Everyone’s done some horrible stuff to stay alive.

He’s also painfully handsome. Opting to not object to his help and company, you sigh.

“Well, at least let me take some of the vegetables,” you protest, grabbing bunches of carrots. He chuckles quietly.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” he mutters. The nickname catching you both by surprise as a sort of tension falls over you two.

Flashing him a grateful toothy grin, you gather the vegetables in your arms. He gives you a small smirk in return.

“So how are you liking Jackson? I don’t see you ‘round much,” you ask as you begin the trek to the dining hall.

“‘S good. Big change, learnin’ the ropes of patrol. Makin’ sure Ellie’s settlin’ in,” he states. “And Ellie’s…”

“My family,” he says firmly. You nod, internally assuming she’s not his biological daughter.

“Well, I hope you both settle in nicely.” He feels his heart soften at your kindness.

He thought you’d have shied away from him, that you’d have listened to what people are saying about him around town.

But you didn’t. You took to him kindly, warmly.

He’ll be damned if he told Tommy he was right about you, He’d never hear the end of it… but shit, was he right. You were so kind and open-minded, and so beautiful.

The both of you making small talk as you trek to the dining hall, Joel lugging the crate into the kitchen for prep as you follow behind. He places the crate on the floor with a grunt. You drop the carrots in the box afterwards.

Rising to his feet, he sighs as he wipes his hands on his jeans, you copying his actions.

“Thank you again, Joel. I really appreciate it,” you tell him again. “Ain’t no problem, darlin’.”

Silence fills the air, save for the clanging and clattering of utensils in the kitchen.

“Would you… would you like to have a drink sometime? As a, uh, form of repayment for helping me today,” you timidly ask. A small smile breaks out onto Joel’s face.

“You ain’t gotta repay me, darlin’. But I’d love to grab a drink with ya,” he says.

Smiling from ear to ear, you nod happily. “It’s a date,” you say, before slapping a hand over your mouth as your eyes go wide. “I-I’m sorry. It’s not a date, it doesn't have to be. I mean, u-unless you want-,” you nervously ramble before Joel cuts you off.

“‘S a date,” he rasps. A soft smile on both your faces. The rest is history.

He wouldn’t trade that moment for the world, as he’s got you by his side now. He just didn’t expect that drink to lead him to trudging through the woods in the freezing early morning to cut down a tree.

He’d much rather be sleeping right now on his day off, but he can never say no to his girls.

Making your way through the woods, you and Ellie wind through the path while Joel stands and watches. There aren’t many trees, but just enough to scour from.

Not seeing any you like, you continue to walk down the path. “What about this one?” Ellie asks, standing next to a fir no taller than Joel.

Your eyes light up, a sparkly smile illuminating your face.

“It’s perfect. Great find, Ellie!” You yelp, high fiving the girl who’s equally excited.

“Hey, Joel!” Ellie shouts through her hands, her cheeks rosy and nose frosted. He clambers through the trees, saw in hand with his signature scowl. “Find one?”

“Mhmm,” Ellie says while beaming, you nodding in agreement. Joel sighs as he begins to saw down the tree. The trunk’s not very thick, the branches skinny, but still full enough to mimick the times before.

It falls to the snow covered ground, you and Ellie taking a few steps back. Joel stomps over to it, hoisting it up over his shoulder.

“Thank you, honey,” you whisper against his ear before placing a kiss on his patchy beard. His body flushing hot red from heat despite the cold air.

“Sure thing, baby,” he says bashfully, smiling a smile only reserved for you. Lacing his fingers with yours, you walk hand-in-hand back to the house with Ellie rambling ahead of you, vibrating with excitement.

“Joel, could you move it a little to the left?” You ask, hands clasped together over your lips. Joel grunts, red in the face as he shoves the fir to the left.

“A little more, please?”

Another grunt.

“A liiiitttllleee more.”

With a sigh, he shoves it once more.

“Perfect!” You clap. Joel rises to his full height, groaning as his bones crack and ache. You stride to him, leaning in for a kiss.

He could never stay annoyed at you.

“Thank you, honey,” you mutter with a dopey grin. Joel mirrors your expression, wrapping his hands around your waist and pressing his lips against yours. A saccharine kiss, your fingers curling in his grays.

His heart flutters as you sigh into him, your contentment radiating through your chest and into his soul.

When the fuck did his heart ever flutter?

“You guys gonna do that all fucking day or what?!” Ellie shouts, cutting ribbon and twine for the decorations.

You both startle at the sound of her voice, jumping in Joel’s arms. Joel glares at Ellie as laughter bubbles over your lips.

“Sorry, Ellie,” you call out. “Seriously, thank you, honey,” you tell Joel with a pat on his broad chest.

“No problem, darlin’,” he says softly with a swift kiss to your forehead before releasing you from his grasp. Joel strides into the kitchen to heat up some milk, with you rushing over to Ellie who sits at the dining table with an array of supplies.

You’re so good with Ellie, so patient with her while gently explaining how to string the dried oranges on the twine. She gets the hang of it pretty easily, holding it up and beaming with pride. Your giddiness mirroring hers, praising her as you waltz into the kitchen with Joel.

Placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, you flit around him as you pop some kernels in a hot pan. Transforming them into popcorn to make more garlands, and working in comfortable silence alongside each other.

You dump the popcorn into a bowl, you place a tender kiss on his shoulder before returning to Ellie.

Joel feels warm, and it’s not from the heat of the stove.

He preps mugs of hot chocolate for all of you, the chocolate powder stale but still good - the novelty of the gesture still there and just as sweet.

Padding into the living room, the sight of you two making decorations at the table and placing them on the tree tugs at Joel’s heart strings. Remembering how he’d help Sarah decorate their tree every year. Swallowing his grief, he allows himself to enjoy this moment while remembering his daughter.

That’s something you’re teaching him - not to take moments, things, people for granted.

Despite the pain, he knows he’ll confide in you later tonight about it when you’re alone. He sets the mugs on the table, making you pop your head up to flash him a dazzling smile.

“Thank you, honey.”

“‘Course, baby,” he says with a wink. Your smile grows wider, Ellie looking up and rolling her eyes. She playfully gags, Joel smacking his lips as his smile morphs into a scowl.

“Knock it off, kid,” he scolds.

“You knock it off, old man. We’re working here, and you keep distracting my partner,” she retorts. He scoffs, rolling his eyes. You can’t help, but laugh at their banter.

“Sorry, Ellie. I promise I’m listening,” your laughter dissolving into giggles. Joel rolls his eyes before getting a fire going in the fireplace.

Standing back and taking in the scene playing out in front of him. Hot chocolate, a tree, decorations being strung upon it - how is this possible? What did he do to deserve this?

He shakes the thought from his head, not questioning the good thing – the very good thing – in front of him. Instead, he enjoys watching his girls flit around the tree.

Ellie excitedly attempts to place the makeshift star on the tree that she crafted out of some stray branches and extra paper she had in her sketch pad.

She can’t reach, being significantly shorter than the tree. Huffing in defeat, she shoots you a look - both of you thinking the same thing. She whips around, paper star in hand.

“Joel, wanna do the honors?” She asks, holding out the star. Joel swallows thickly, never having thought he’d be doing this again.

“Sure,” he softly says, taking the star from Ellie and setting it atop the tree. The three of you stand back, admiring your hard work in silence, as you tightly wrap your arms around Joel’s middle. He holds you tighter.

“Looks good,” he mumbles. You nod, soft smile on your face.

“Hell yeah, it does!” Ellie giddily yells before cutting off her next thought. “No way, is that hot chocolate?!” She shouts, rushing to the table to grab a mug.

“Yeah, careful kid, it’s still hot,” Joel warns, still wound up in your arms. Ellie blows caution to the wind as she gulps it down.

“Ellie, slow down! You’re gonna get a stomachache,” you scold lightly. “It’s hot chocolate! When the hell am I ever gonna come across this again?!”

“I’ll find some more, jus’ slow down! Gonna be all fuckin’ hopped up on sugar,” Joel begrudgingly says. Rolling her eyes, she glances at the clock. Her eyes bug out of her head.

“Shit! I told Cat I’d meet her at 6!” She shouts before gulping down the rest of her hot chocolate, slamming the mug on the table.

“Be back later!” She says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Be back by 9!” Joel shouts. “Mhmm,” her tone dismissive. “I mean it, Ellie,” he warns.

“Sure thing, old man!” She says before reaching for the doorknob. “Ellie, 9 o’clock, okay?” You chime in, asking.

She turns around, taking in the both of you. “Okay,” she says with another roll of her eyes and an exasperated sigh before heading out the door. It slams shut, making you and Joel wince.

Joel rolls his eyes. “Girl don’t listen,” rubbing his face as he grumbles.

“She’s just excited, can you blame her? Besides, she’s safe here, Joel,” you say, comfortingly rubbing your hands up and down his broad flannel-covered chest.

“I know. Just still getting used to all this,” he rasps. The two of you still stand in the doorway, wrapped up in one another before a grin breaks out on your face.

“Oh, could you help me with one more thing?” You beam at him. His brow quirks up in confusion. “‘Course, baby. What do ya need?”

You unravel yourself from his embrace, padding into the kitchen. He hears you clambering, his curiosity peaking. You return with something behind your back, smiling wider now.

Whipping the sprig of mistletoe from behind your back, you hold it above your head. His features softening.

Joel immediately recognizes what you’re holding, beaming at your antics.

“Could you help me hang this up please?” You ask, drawing out the last syllable, batting your lashes at him with a sly smirk.

“Y’know, if ya wanted a kiss, all ya gotta do is ask, babydoll,” he rasps as he takes it from you, not missing the chance to place a teasing kiss on your cheek. Waves of heat run through you from head to toe.

Joel hangs the mistletoe with ease on a nail that’s been conveniently placed above the kitchen entryway, right where you’re both standing.

You must’ve put it up there when he was on patrol a few days ago.

The red ribbon you tied around the plant stands out against the dark framing, the fire crackles in the background and illuminates the house.

“Well would ya look at that,” his voice low and husky as he locks his gaze with yours. A goofy grin on your face. “Huh. Guess you gotta kiss me now.”

“Don’t need mistletoe for that, babydoll,” he whispers. The two of you connect your lips with each other’s. Sighing into him, you finally have a moment alone with him today. You card your fingers through his hair, a satisfied groan escapes him.

You pull away breathlessly, both yours and Joel’s eyes heavy and glazed over.

“Ya know… Ellie won’t be back til 9. We’ve got some time left,” you teasingly whisper in his ear while he places a kiss to your neck.

“Lead the way, darlin,” he rasps, the two of you rushing upstairs.

just felt like writing some tooth rotting fluff for my Joely, i love him sm 😔

i hope y’all enjoyed! 🫶🏼 thank you for reading 🩷

tag list: @gracieheartspedro @sapphic-gardn @undrthelights @javierpena-inatacvest @nostalxgic @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @persephone-girl @harriedandharassed @its-nebuleuse

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou

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mcflymemes · 1 year

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PRIDE & PREJUDICE PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the 2005 film

you must know... surely, you must know it was all for you.

are you out of your senses?

we've been nonsensical!

i have struggled in vain and i can bear it no longer.

are you rejecting me?

did i just agree to dance?

makes it all so much more enjoyable, don't you think?

you really do love him, don't you?

i appreciate the struggle you have been through, and i am very sorry to have caused you pain.

you're wasting your time with me.

count your blessings.

don't look at me like that!

only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony.

i'm very fond of walking.

no, i prefer to be unsociable and taciturn.

may i have the next dance?

these past few months have been a torment.

i wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?

my brother gave it to me.

i have never been thus treated in my entire life.

do you talk, as a rule, while dancing?

so this is your opinion of me.

i had to see you.

it's been many years since i had such an exemplary vegetable.

oh, believe me, no one would suspect your manners to be rehearsed.

i've been so blind.

i've come to tell you the news.

oh, very well then.

i must ask you to leave immediately.

you have insulted me in every possible way.

not all of us can afford to be romantic.

i could not have parted with you to anyone less worthy.

i will never see you again if you do.

he looks miserable, poor soul.

yes. a thousand times yes.

i will not and certainly never shall.

i thought that poetry was the food of love.

you are too generous to trifle with me.

all of these things i am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony.

there's a lot to be thankful for.

don't you dare judge me.

i don't understand.

thank you for explaining so fully.

now tell me once and for all: are you engaged to him?

if your feelings are still what they were last april, tell me so at once.

have you no objection other than your belief in my indifference?

believe me, it was unconsciously done.

what a shame, for i dearly love to laugh.

and those are the words of a gentleman.

my affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.

you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love... i love... i love you.

i love you.

i cannot tease you about that.

forgive me for taking up so much of your time.

how are you this evening, dear?

is this your reply?

they are far too easy to judge.

i do not have the talent of conversing easily with people i have never met before.

i thought you hated the man.

will that make you happy?

we're doing our best to find a fault in you.

i never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

i wish you would not call me "my dear."

perhaps you should take your aunt's advice and practice?

what endearments am i allowed?

please, do be seated.

one of these days, someone will catch your eye and then you'll have to watch your tongue.

people do not die of colds.

i was wrong. i was entirely wrong.

are you too proud? and would you consider pride a fault or a virtue?

this is a charming house.

i am well acquainted with you.

please do me the honor of accepting my hand.

what do you recommend to encourage affection?

what should i call you when i am cross?

are you... are you laughing at me?

i can admire you much better from here.

shall i call for some tea?

i cannot believe that anyone can deserve you.

i love you. most ardently.

good day. it's been a pleasure.

i have no idea.

did you walk here?

let us take a turn about the room.

it is a small kind of accomplishment, i suppose.

will you not join us?

i've never seen so many pretty girls in my life.

she is the most beautiful creature i have ever beheld.

why do you ask such a question?

what have you discovered?

we are all fools in love.

i have other reasons. you know i have.

i do not deny it.

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violetrainbow412-blog · 10 months

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Andy [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Word count: 2.7k

summary: you and Spencer have to learn to deal with grief without losing your marriage in the process.

warnings: grief, death, angst with unhappy ending, separation, divorce, alcoholism, minor details of a murder, two totally different points of view (don't hate Spencer or the reader)

The set of keys jangled in Spencer's hands, who was struggling to open the door without dropping the shopping bags in his other hand. He tried to do the shopping with only healthy and non-hazardous things and lately he had started bringing some of your favorite sweets, hoping this might cheer you up in some way.

When he entered, he assumed that you were asleep, as always, so he thought of going directly to the kitchen to place the food in the corresponding spaces, thinking that maybe after that he would clean up the place a bit. He never expected to find you sitting in the dining room and both of you were startled to see the opposite. There was half a bottle of wine in front of you, you were puffy-eyed and carefully holding a photo that Spencer recognized perfectly. He noticed that you had lost some weight and you noticed the same characteristic in him, coupled with the marked bags under his eyes that evidenced the lack of rest. But in fairness, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a while.

"What are you doing here?"

“I brought groceries,” he reported, though it was obvious. Spencer reached over to the fridge to rearrange things and he noticed that almost all of last week's food were there. The milk was out of date, some of the vegetables were blackened, and there were a couple of bottles of alcohol that he definitely hadn't bought for you but always turned up there. He brought the garbage can closer and began to get rid of the rotten food, replacing it with the contents of the bags. "You have to eat something, there are things in here that you didn't even touch."

“And that's why I insist that you don't bring so much. Don't waste your money”

“It's not about the money. It's about you” he said in a stern voice and when he turned to look at you, he noticed that you weren't even looking at him.

He continued to organize things in the fridge while out of the corner of his eye he watched you take occasional gulps straight from the bottle. Before, it was the task of both of you to put the purchases in the cupboards and it had become a habit, because he liked to make you suffer with the high spaces of the cupboard just to accommodate things himself and take the opportunity to steal a kiss, which you always complained about.

He was so lost in memories that he couldn't understand you when you muttered something and then he asked you to repeat it.

"We promised to take him to Disneyland," you said, your slurred words a clear sign of drunkenness. You were holding a picture of Andy's 6th birthday: he was blowing out the candles while you and Spencer held him on either side, grinning from ear to ear. You had bought some green party hats, Andy's favorite, for the three of you to wear and the cake was a dinosaur, your son's absolute obsession “Somehow he found out they were going to have a Cretaceous world attraction and he was dying to go. We told him that when we had vacations, we would take him and to comfort him we bought him an illustrated book."

He perfectly remembered what you were telling him and a lump formed in his throat. That book was kept carefully on the small shelf in his room, along with the figures that multiple people had given him and with which he loved to play, since neither of you had had the heart to move a single object that was there.

Spencer was silent because he simply didn't know how to respond to what you had just reminded him, but he couldn't help but his stomach turned at the thought of your little boy. Although two months had passed, he hadn't even allowed himself to talk about what happened, and very rarely did he think about your son. Not because he didn't want to do it, but because he felt that if he did, things were going to completely collapse and he wasn't in a position to let that happen, not when he had so many responsibilities to fulfill.

Receiving no response, you tried to drink again, but Spencer didn't take more than a second to cross over to you to take the wine from your hands.

"Stop"

"Give it to me," you defended, standing up to try to take your drink back, but he held it just far enough out of your reach.

"You cannot continue that way"

"That's none of your business"

“Of course it is. You are my wife and I care about you."

Spencer hated the way you looked at him since that night. He felt that you were looking at him with contempt, as if he wasn't even worth your eyes on him, as if you had stopped loving him completely. And now you were looking at him like that while he was holding the alcohol you'd been drowning in for the past few weeks.

"I don't need your pity" you practically spat, standing in front of him, but at a safe distance.

He didn't want to answer anything, for fear of hurting you in some way, so he just went to the sink to start emptying the contents of the bottle. Of course you squealed in offense at what he was doing and just headed for the fridge to get something else to drink, but before you could Spencer got in the way.

"You need help" he murmured, with a tone that reflected nothing more than the desperation he was going through. You looked at him, from below, with the same disdain that completely broke his heart "You are not okay"

"How do you expect me to be okay? I lost my son"

"He was our son," he said, suddenly sounding quite angry. It was so rare for him to get angry, much less when it came to you, but these two months had been too much to bear "Do you think I don't suffer the same as you?"

"No, I honestly don't think so. We never talked about this, Spencer, we just cried profusely at the funeral and then you carried on like nothing happened. All this time you have seemed so calm that I doubt very much that it will affect you”

“You are so wrong. You don't even know what you're talking about. Do you think it's easy for me? I have to go and work in a place where I see murderers and dead bodies all the time so that both of us can eat, pay the mortgage and basically keep our economy afloat because you decided to sink into depression and drink like a barrel without background"

“Oh, do you really want to talk about addiction problems? Because I don't think you're the best fit for that."

"Unlike you, I have not relapsed"

"Okay, then forgive me for being a weak dueling drunk."

“It's not about that, it's about the fact that you don't want anyone to help you. I hired a therapist that you decided not to go to, I have bought you everything you need in recent weeks, I have even stopped sleeping in my own house, all so that you feel calm”

"I never asked you for that, don't justify with it the fact that you wanted to leave"

"Well, maybe I left because every time I come here to check on you, you ignore me and look at me as if it was all my fault"

"Maybe it was"

"What did you say?"

"I said maybe it was" you exclaimed, now a little louder to make sure he heard you. You didn't mean any of that, you really didn't, it was just all the alcohol speaking for you “It was yours and it was my fault that man took our son from us. We should have done more"

“How, Y/N? Please explain to me how you want that, because I honestly don't understand you."

"Well maybe I should have been a better mother, because if I had been I should be dead instead of him" at this point it was useless to try to stop your crying. You were tired, dizzy, and hurt. You just wanted the whole nightmare to end “Spencer that man killed Andy just because you provoked him and you know it perfectly. He wanted revenge on you and decided that the best way to do it was to kidnap an innocent child and then kill him and then simply throw him on the side of the road. He could have hidden the body, but he wanted you to find it. He wanted us both to know that we couldn't question him like that without suffering the consequences."

"And that's why you see me as the cause of all your suffering?" tears had also started to roll down the man's cheeks, who was just as bad at holding them back as you were “Y/N I had to go identify Andy's body. I had to see him in a morgue, bruised and…” suddenly his voice broke completely. He had never told you things because he didn't want to stress you out anymore, but he felt that after everything that was happening there was no point in continuing to protect you “I barely knew it was him. He was completely deformed, I only recognized him by that scar he got on his knee when he fell from the swings and as soon as my fingers passed through it and felt the frozen skin I was completely destroyed. I had… I had to see my little boy in that state just so we both would have peace and yet you dare to say that I don't care."

“If you didn't have that job none of this would have happened to begin with! That has always been the problem, that as a family we had to compete with your work as a profiler”

"So you expected me to give up my life's work overnight?"

"I did. I quit my job to be able to raise our son.”

"And I had to stay in mine to be able to give him everything he needed"

“And look at us now. What of that did we do well? We weren't good parents and now I don't even think we're a good couple”

You two knew that this conversation was useless. You always knew Spencer went to superhuman lengths to spend time with your family, and you couldn't blame him for anything. He knew everything you had given up to take care of the housework and raise Andy. And when there were bad days, you were there for each other, but at that very moment you weren’t thinking straight. Your judgment was clouded by the pressing pain that was building up.

“Y/N, why are you doing this to me?” his voice sounded so sincere and wounded, that even with the unconsciousness caused by the alcohol you felt a pull in your heart. Spencer was silent for a moment, a lump in his throat, and when he finally got up the courage he spoke again, “When Andy died I thought… I was devastated. I am devastated. But even with everything I thought that… I thought that I still had you. I thought together we could get through this and now you're telling me you're not even sure this is working. I try to take care of you, but you refuse to eat, you refuse to go to a therapist, you drink and sleep all day and I don't know what else to do."

"I just want you to be here, Spencer."

"I am"

"No, it's not true"

“I am supporting you, I do everything in my power to make sure you are well”

“But I don't want you to take care of me like someone sick, I just want you to be my husband! I just want you to stop pretending nothing is happening, just sit here and cry with me... I don't want you to support me, I want you to love me”

Both of you looked at each other for a second, your vision blurred by accumulated tears.

“Every day I wake up and I am strong just because I love you. You are the one who seems to no longer love me"

How could things work when the two of you offered such different things and needed such different things? Spencer thought you didn't love him anymore, you thought he didn't love you anymore, and neither of you knew what to do about it. You wanted him to be there but not the way he did and that's why you pushed him away. He walked away because he thought you didn't want him with you anymore.

But those were things none of you understood, and probably no one could. Mourning was a complicated, heartbreaking, but above all confusing process.

And, as much as he evaded reality, Spencer knew that it was a matter of time before you two broke up permanently. He knew the statistics; he knew that a large number of couples divorced after the death of a child and the numbers were more decisive than his hopes of maintaining the marriage with you. So, if these were the conversations you guys were having at one of the few times you saw each other, perhaps the threat of disbandment was closer than he imagined.

Suddenly the ringing of your husband's phone rang and you could tell by the look on his face what kind of text it was.

"A case" you guessed bitterly "It's always a case, right?"

A part of you desperately hoped that he would ignore the message, come up to you with an apology, and tell you that he would stay right there with you. But the utopian version your mind created didn't look like the real situation at all, where he just gave you a pained look from behind those teary eyes.

"I promise I'll be back. I'll come and… we can talk about all this when we're calmer. We can try to fix it, things don't have to be that way."

“But that's how they are,” you muttered, shrugging, as another message rang on Spencer's phone.

You wanted to tell him that if he really wanted to make things right with you he'd send the FBI to hell and stay there to talk, but you held back because you simply thought it was useless to do that. You were tired, so you were just going to let it go; you told him to come back whenever he wanted, without much interest in when that would be, and new dizziness hit your head from the decision you had just made.

You didn't push him away when he approached to hold your face, with a softness that surprised you, and he left you a kiss on the forehead, one of those you'd received thousands of but now it felt so strange to share.

The case dragged on into the next day, and the entire time Spencer pondered your words. Maybe he was right about some things, but you are right about others too. Perhaps if you tried to understand each other things could improve and if both of you reached an agreement little by little you would return to being a married couple and not just two people going through the loss of a child. It was worth stopping avoiding the problem and facing it to be able to be not only with you, but also for you.

When he got home, the silence made him think that you were resting, and he still wanted to be able to lie next to you to simply hug you without saying anything. In a matter of a few seconds, so many nights passed through his mind in which he had loved you, in which you had feared and he had protected you, and those in which you had been immensely happy talking for hours until the sun bathed your face. You hadn't shared a decent kiss since Andy's funeral and suddenly the need to taste your lips became urgent, not to satisfy itself but to tell you how much he loved you. He had been an idiot these months, too busy not to break down to realize what was falling around him.

But upon reaching the room and turning on the light, all his hopes were shattered by a half-empty closet, a bed without you and a letter resting on the nightstand.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #heartbreaking angst

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drafthorsemath · 8 months

Text

Antidote (TBB Tech x afab Reader)

Tech x AFAB Reader (use of she/her pronouns), but all of the Batch included

Word Count: Five words over 3.3k

Warnings: Sex pollen but not the usual trope (no sex and an alternative is found), suggestive sexual language and situations but nothing acted upon, restraining for safety, some strong language, frank description of biological processes, creative use of a tampon, some feelings of shame but they are addressed, NSFW, younglings begone

A/N: I can’t read sex pollen fics. I tried. It wasn’t my thing, but then I got an idea and @staycalmandhugaclone encouraged me so here we are. This is not a call out or meant to be negative toward any sex pollen fics. This is just a different take.

Also on AO3.

You met the Batch on Pabu and in the months since, found yourself spending more and more time with them. This was especially true of Tech. You found his thirst for knowledge and direct nature easy to understand and get along with. Though, you were doing more than getting along. You weren’t sure how to tell him, but you had fallen for him. His brothers all noticed, but he seemed not to. What you didn’t know was that he simply didn’t know how to bring up his feelings just yet.

The boys had decided to visit a nearby planet and since there didn’t seem to be any danger, no one had any objections to you coming along. You hadn’t been on a ship since you first traveled to Pabu and you loved watching as you flew through hyperspace. Tech landed just outside of a city and you all headed toward the market. Hunter and Echo went in search of supplies while Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair all helped buy food to bring back to Pabu. You were particularly interested in the local fruits and vegetables that didn’t grow on the island you called home.

“I think this is enough,” you said, putting down the last crate next to the pile.

“Is it,” Wrecker asked. “I could eat all this in a couple days.”

“Yes, but we’re just getting what we can,” Crosshair responded. He didn’t want to make more than one trip back to the ship.

“Well, we can carry more,” Wrecker retorted. “At least I can.”

Crosshair gave him a half-hearted glare but helped purchase a few more crates. Wrecker easily carried most of the load.

You turned around to look for Tech. He was busy scanning some kind of contraption that caught his eye one booth over.

“Ready to go, Tech?”

“In just a moment,” he replied.

Wrecker and Crosshair walked ahead, catching up with Hunter and Echo who were waiting near the edge of town with some ship parts. You knew a moment for Tech could mean anything from a few seconds to much longer than that but wanted to stay with him.

He put the item down and walked with you. “The wiring on this new style datapad results in faster computations. I want to see if I can rewire my own and achieve similar results.”

“That didn’t look like any datapad I’ve ever seen,” you replied.

“Ah, the outside is only meant to grab your attention. It is a new model. The inside is what interests me.”

You smiled at that. Tech offered to carry the crate you still had, and you kindly accepted.

Once back at the ship, Wrecker took the crate from Tech. It was decided you all would spend the night on the ship and head back the next day. Tech cleared his bunk so you would have a place to sleep, insisting he could sleep in a chair. While you felt it was incredibly nice of him, you also couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to share a bunk with him. The thought left your mind as he asked if you wanted to come with him to document some of the local flora. After dinner, the others stayed around the campfire while you and Tech walked over a few hills and to the edge of a forest. He excitedly took pictures and samples, telling you about each plant and its properties.

“This one has several medicinal uses,” he said, handing you a pink flower. You smiled at it and then back at Tech. You gathered several and put them in their own storage bag for transport. Multiple species of flowers were packed before you looked a little further into the woods.

“Tech! Come see!”

He walked over and immediately noticed the large teal blooms that opened as you walked by.

“Fascinating,” he said. He took a picture and noticed that as he got closer to you, the flowers seemed to open even further. He scanned them, looking for any known properties. His face dropped as soon as the results showed up.

“We need to go, mesh’la!”

“What? Why?” You sneezed.

“It may be too late.” He took your hand and briskly walked you out of the woods. Your face suddenly felt hot and your throat burned.

“Tech, I don’t feel well.”

“We must get back to the ship,” he said nearly panicking. “I believe those flowers create an aphrodisiac that specifically affects females of several species.”

No sooner had he said that, and your limbs felt like jelly and you fell against him. Something wasn’t right. You could swear you felt all your blood rushing to your groin and let out a moan. You tried to run, but felt a great weight on your ankles. Tech lifted you like you weighed nothing and ran toward the Marauder. Hunter stood as he saw his brother carrying your body. Preparing for the worst, the boys all stood up asking what was wrong and following Tech on to the ship.

“A large flower opened, spreading pollen,” Tech stated. “I believe it is an aphrodisiac and it has already started to work.”

He sat you down, scanned you, and confirmed your symptoms. The others stood behind him, looking rather helpless. He sighed and gave you a rundown of what to expect. Very brief fever followed by extremely high libido and high energy until satisfied.

Crosshair looked from you to Tech and asked, “Isn’t there a way she can take care of this on her own? You know? Manually?”

“Negative,” replied Tech. “Based on the information available, orgasm does not help in mitigating the symptoms. It appears this particular pollen only effects females and it does not wear off until either sexual intercourse with a male is completed or her hormones shift with her next menstrual cycle.”

“Next period?!” You really started panicking. “I can’t feel that way for that long!” You wanted to cry and yet you could feel that you had to fight to remain yourself even now. You knew it would only get worse. “Look I… Tech I…” You searched for words, feeling overwhelmed. This was not how you wanted to have this conversation, but it seemed like you had better get it over with. “Tech, I have feelings for you. I really like you, but I don’t want to have sex with you or anyone right now, for that matter and I’m afraid of what I might say or do in the next however long.”

Tech quickly processed the information and couldn’t help but smile. “I believe the feeling is mutual,” he said, still kneeling in front of you. “I promise no one will do anything you would not want done in your healthy state of mind. You have my word.”

“That’s great,” chimed Echo, “And I’m really glad for you two, but how are we going to fix this without waiting?”

“I have an idea,” Tech replied.

No sooner had he said that and the fever hit. You felt like you were on fire and cold as ice at the same time. Wrecker stepped toward you to hold your hand. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said. “If anyone can solve this, it’s Tech.”

You tried to nod. Your whole body shook with fever, but within a few minutes the fever was gone. You knew that you weren’t yourself, but there was no way to stop it. You looked at all five men greedily and started to take your shirt off.

“I want Tech first,” you said with a smirk.

“Now now,” Wrecker said, still next to you and taking your hand away from your shirt. “None of that.”

You tried to stand up and looked at each member of the squad. You giggled to yourself that you just thought about the word “member.” They would do nicely, but you would give anything for Tech to throw you onto his bunk and fuck you through the bottom of the ship. You walked closer to him and he adjusted his googles.

“I know this is not you,” he said.

It quickly became clear that you were going to be quite a handful. Tech did research as fast as possible, finding flowers that reacted similarly. Wrecker held you in his lap with his arms wrapped around you after you tried to jump on Hunter as he walked past to assist Tech. He was also trying to keep you from acting out your latest threat of walking up to Tech and sitting in his lap naked. You made several comments about each of the men, but would not stop talking about how much you wanted Tech.

“We know,” Crosshair said, sitting next to Wrecker.

You turned your head toward Crosshair and smiled like an idiot. “Jealous,” you asked him.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied in annoyance.

“It’s okay if you are,” you countered in a sing-song voice.

Your body then decided that since you were sitting on a man’s lap, you might as well start thrusting your hips.

“Nope,” Wrecker said, lifting you off his lap. He was strong, but you were giving him a run for his money with how much you were squirming.

“We’ll sit with her awhile,” Hunter offered, dragging Echo with him. “Crosshair too.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because you’ve only sat next to Wrecker. I think we’ll all have to take some limbs or something.” Wrecker sat you down on the bunk and Hunter held you back before you could lunge at Tech. You nearly yoinked him halfway across the Marauder. Hunter managed to sit you back down with Echo holding one arm, Hunter the other, and Crosshair sitting on the floor hugging your legs.

“This is ridiculous,” you giggled. “Just let me fuck your brother. Just once.”

Hunter sighed. He knew you were going to be upset later. Tech had already discovered that there is no lapse in memory for this particular drug, so you would remember every moment of this. He hoped you would find solace in the fact that they all knew this wasn’t really you.

They were all getting tired and while Wrecker wanted to help Tech, he knew there was little he could do, so he tried sleeping until it was his turn to hold you again. Tech worked furiously through the night. He grimaced when you hit the next stage and complained you felt throbbing. You had gone from flirty to begging for someone to put your out of your misery “with as much cock as possible.” When that didn’t work you cried. He knew it must be painful by this point. He couldn’t stand to hear you cry. Your body was simply reacting to a drug. He felt guilty for not knowing this plant was in the vicinity, but it had never been documented on this side of the planet before. How could he have known?

In the middle of the night, Wrecker woke to stay with you while Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair tried to get some sleep. You made a lot of noise, but they tried. Wrecker had to admit that he didn’t do any more than doze. They were all worried for you, but being in war and under stress, they had learned to sleep when they can and then get up and do their part when it was time. They got what sleep they could.

You wailed when Wrecker held you, trying to scramble away to get to one of the men. He just kept apologizing and telling you he was keeping you safe. You managed to turn in his lap and wrap your legs around his waist.

He sighed. “I know you don’t want that. Not really.” You started crying again and all you could seem to feel was your pulse between your legs and a chemical drive that would not go away.

At the front of the ship, Tech started to make some progress. He smiled to himself when he found a research article on this species of plant. He needed one of the pink flowers you’d collected earlier along with two drugs from the med kit.

Hunter hadn’t done much more than close his eyes, but he sensed the med kit being opened and went to try to help his brother.

“Will you restart the campfire,” Tech asked.

“Sure. What progress have you made?”

“We are not able to create or obtain the hormones needed to trigger her menstrual cycle and end this using that method. However, it is theorized that the reason sexual intercourse causes the pollen to cease its effect is because of the presence of semen in the vagina. Specifically, one protein found in seminal fluid. Now, obviously that is not an option for us, but it appears a similar form of this protein can be synthesized using the pollen of some flowers we collected. While not ideal, there are some items in the med kit that can help this chemical process.”

“Great, but how do we get it in her,” Hunter asked.

“We don’t,” answered Crosshair, now standing behind them. “Put whatever you make on a tampon and ask her to do it herself.”

“Would that work,” Echo asked, joining them.

“I believe it is the least invasive option,” Tech replied.

They all nodded. Hunter went outside to start the campfire. Tech sterilized some equipment and joined him. It seemed simple enough. He only needed part of the flower and then the heated wound disinfectant along with bacta gel would cause the protein to be isolated. Hunter dug a tampon out of the emergency supplies.

Echo and Crosshair helped Wrecker who held your legs, while the other two sat on either side of you. You were tired, but still acting ravenous. Your method had gone even further in the direction of complaining about how you were hurting, and you just wanted all this to be over.

“It doesn’t have to be Tech,” you declared. “I’ll take any of you. Please!” You then melted in Echo’s arm and looked at him with stars in your eyes. “Changed your mind yet? Any of you?”

He simply shook his head, trying to show he cared, and held on so you couldn’t pounce on anyone. You turned to Crosshair on your other side. He held your arm and tried to help keep you still as best he could. You quickly moved to try to bite his neck and he pulled away. “No thank you,” he said. “I’m saving that for someone special.”

You were trying so hard to fight the drug coursing through your system, but it was a losing battle. After what felt like ages, Tech seemed satisfied with the concoction. There wasn’t much of it, but once it was cool enough he dipped the end of the tampon in the gel and walked back onto the ship. The boys let go enough for you to walk toward him. Your flirty symptoms appeared again, and you wanted Tech so badly. You looked up and down his body with no shame. He really took your breath away.

Tech found your glances made him nervous, but simply cleared his throat. Just as he was about to explain why he was holding a tampon, you started sniffing the air.

“That smell,” you said.

The men all looked at each other. “Can you smell it,” Hunter asked. “The protein?”

“Whatever it is, I want to sit on it,” you replied with a grin. You homed in on the tampon.

Tech cleared his throat again and explained, “I have created what we hope will reverse the effect of the drug, but you need to insert this yourself.”

Crosshair and Echo were still each holding your arms, but not too tightly. You seemed to calm and they let go. You took the tampon and went to take your pants off, but everyone stopped you. Tech opened the refresher door and you walked in. He closed it and everyone sighed.

“I hope this works,” said Echo. “All I smell is floral bacta gel.”

In the ‘fresher you regarded the tampon with a little suspicion, but your body seemed to be on autopilot. You placed the tampon and immediately the ache started going away. You took slower breaths. You washed your hands and realized your nerves had been on fire for hours. You looked at yourself in the mirror and felt the heat in your face start to drain. Instead, you realized all that you had said and done, or tried to do. All kinds of emotions flooded your system. You were sure that Hunter could sense the change in you from the other side of the door, so you made no effort to report what was going on. You weren’t sure you wanted to see or talk to any of them yet. You were covered in sweat from all your activity and wanted a shower. You stripped off your clothes and briefly stood under the water. Just enough to clear away the feeling on your skin. When you got out, you noticed someone had left you the spare clothes you’d brought, and you slowly put them on. After a few more minutes of staring blankly into the mirror and letting the antidote work, you finally reappeared.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I didn’t mean all that.”

“We know,” Wrecker said, pulling you into a hug.

“Glad you feel better,” Hunter said.

“Been thinking we might all get some shut eye before we leave,” Echo suggested. Crosshair nodded with a little smile on his face. For the first time all night, he popped a toothpick in his mouth.

You nodded, thanking them for helping you.

“Especially you, Tech.”

He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he hug you? Hold you? Keep his distance?

“Here,” he said. “If you find you need more to counter the drug, I will put this in a safe place.” He showed you a container with the small puddle of gel he had made using the flowers. You smiled at him.

“How did you figure it out?”

He walked you to the cockpit after closing up the ship as the sun rose. He sat you down, noticing how physically weak you looked. Sitting across from you, he told you about his research and how he found a way to mimic the protein structure that seemed to shut down the drug. You smiled. Of course Tech would figure it out.

“I’m sorry again,” you said.

“Cyar’ika, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, reaching for your hand. He gave it a soft squeeze and smiled at you. “None of this was your fault.”

You returned the smile and sat back, looking like you might fall asleep.

“Let me help you to bed,” he offered. You took his arm, needing it to steady yourself. Your legs felt like jelly for a whole different reason this time.

You got into bed. In his bunk. The others were already sleeping. Tech sat on the end of the bed, but looked conflicted. When he originally offered to sleep in the pilot’s seat, he didn’t know all of this would happen.

“Tech? Can you stay? Is that okay?”

He nodded, but suddenly seemed a bit nervous. He had never shared a bed with anyone like this. What he said earlier was true. He had feelings for you and knew you had feelings for him. He wanted you to feel safe, so if you wanted him close, he felt it would be alright now, although he wasn’t sure what he was doing as he laid down.

“How would you like me to, uh…”

“Like this,” you replied, taking his hand and laying it across your middle. Not too close or tight, but just there. “But however feels right. I trust you.”

He softly smiled and relaxed. “Goodnight mesh’la.”

#tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x fem reader #tbb tech x afab reader #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb tech fanfiction #can you believe I'm out here posting on main #sex pollen #without the sex #reverse sex pollen #i don't know what else to call this #reader insert #period #menstruation

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ozarkthedog · 2 years

Text

summary— you play truth or dare with the super soldiers and things get out of hand. (it’s a foursome fic, people!)

warnings— the super soldiers x afab!reader. smut. alcohol. sex act on a vegetable. rough oral sex (male receiving). deep throating. voyeurism. cum play. degradation. aftercare. my silly sense of humor. no beta.

word count— 3.5k

author’s note— the gif above inspired this filth. i’m a slut, okay? gif: @spideyjlaw

☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☾

“What are we 15 years old?” You rub your eyes and groan wondering when the conversation took such a turn.

“I think you’re just playin’ scared,” Sam chortles, zeroing his eyes at you as he leans over the kitchen island in Steve’s apartment. “Why else would you not want to play?”

You look to Steve and Bucky for help but they do a terrible job at hiding their smirks.

You knew you shouldn’t have come over for drinks with the boys but you needed to let off some steam and it wasn’t bad being surrounded by 3 of the most handsome men you’d ever laid eyes on.

“Come on, it won’t be that bad.” Bucky says, breaking the tension. He smooths a warm hand over your shoulder and it makes your skin prickle.

Raising your hands in defeat you walk over to the living room and plant yourself on the couch. “Fine. Shoot.”

“Truth or Dare.” Sam asks, disregarding your weak death stare as he settles down next to you. Steve and Bucky mirror your bodies on the opposite couch.

You mull the options for a beat and consider the group you’re playing with. Either way, you’re screwed.

“Truth.”

Sam’s face beams as he holds back a snicker. “I heard a rumor you have, ah, how shall I put this…” he strokes his goatee in contemplation, “A skillful tongue.”

“What’re you getting at, Sam?” Steve pesters with Bucky echoing his question.

Sam hushes them with a wave, anxious to hear your answer.

Your body burns with embarrassment, yet you feel a tinge of arousal beginning to stir. “How do you know that?”

“So, it’s true.” Sam gloats, knowing he’s got you right where he wanted you.

You bite your lip, mentally cursing that tech from one of the lower levels. Never again were you having a one-night stand with a random coworker.

Licking your lips you put on a confident guise. “Yes.”

Sam claps his hands together and bellows out a laugh. Steve turns a slight shade of red and Bucky shoots you a sly grin.

“Ha-ha. You had your fun, Sam. Who’s next?” You ask hurriedly, wanting someone else to be the center of attention.

Steve gave you a soft, yet curious smile as he offered himself up. “I’ll go.”

You sent him a wink and asked the three-word question to which he replied, “Dare.”

Bucky rolled his eyes knowing he would choose the latter.

You hum to yourself, “I dare you to…” your gaze flitted around the room unsure of what to say until you spied the bowl of fruit sitting on the kitchen island. “Eat a banana without your hands.”

Amongst the laughter of Sam and Bucky, you skip to the island, pick up a banana, and drop it into Steve’s waiting lap.

He stared at the fruit like it was a math problem until he stuck it between his knees and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Holy shit, he’s actually doing it!” You exclaim as he bites into the sour flesh of the banana.

As impressed as you were, the display of Steve swallowing down the phallic-like object made your mind go numb. You pictured him laying back and fisting his length as his hips drove forward with desperation. Teeth pulling at his plump bottom lip as he calls out for you-

“Is it safe to eat that?” Sam ponders aloud as Steve takes another bite totally unphased.

You nervously chuckle and shift your position to look at the carpet hoping no one could tell your hormones had spiked.

Bucky smacks Steve’s back, “Ok, Punk. We get it. You’re invincible.”

Steve spits out the remaining peel and chucks it into the sink from across the room with ease.

You get up to clear your head, needing a glass of cold water to temper your searing nerves, when you hear soft mumbles coming from the living room.

“Staying on the topic of food…” You feel Sam’s eyes boring into you as you chug the glass, “Bring a cucumber when you come back, Sweetheart.” Sam says with a grin.

You swallow thickly at the endearing pet name. “Sure thing, Sam.” You pray he leaves you out of whatever he was planning.

You toss him the vegetable and sit back onto the couch keeping your eyes everywhere but on the three men.

“Earth to Y/N?” Sam waves his hand to catch your attention.

“Yes, Wilson? What is it?” Your face pinches with unease.

“Truth or Dare.”

“You already did me.”

“That’s what she said.” Bucky chimes in with a snicker.

The four of you all laugh until Sam holds the cucumber up for all of them to see, “I dare you to showcase your talents.”

Your heart drops into your belly. “Sam, no.”

“Why not? There’s no harm. We’re amongst friends.” He waves an arm at Bucky who looks at him out of the corner of his eye with playful disdain.

You hold your head in your hands knowing he wouldn’t shut up about it for the rest of the night so you vow to put him in his place.

You snatch the vegetable from his hands and then sharply point at them. “Fine. But this doesn’t leave the room.”

Taking a deep breath, you look at the lengthy cucumber and then at the 3 sets of eyes before you. Steve looks aloof, Bucky was unreadable as usual and Sam… well he had a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

You gather a dollop of spit on your tongue and in a flash deep throat the green veggie. Staring at the ceiling you hear the shocked gasps of the men as they watch the column of your throat bulge.

“God Damn.” Steve mutters under his breath. Bucky hoots in amazement and smacks his hands while Sam’s jaw drops to the floor.

After a few seconds, you pull the green veggie from your windpipe and set it on the coffee table. You smugly sit back down, happy with their reactions and dab your teary eyes.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks, his voice full of concern as he gets up from his spot to sit next to you, his body heat adding to your already sweltering temperature.

You shrink into yourself when you notice how close he was. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It comes with the territory.” You say, demurely.

Steve holds your watery gaze with a passionate stare until Sam claps his hands in applause, “I’ll be damned. You’ve outdone yourself, Sweetheart.”

The nickname sends tingles up your spine and makes you softly purr. All 3 men’s eyes light up causing you to hide your face in your hands with embarrassment.

“Don’t hide on us.” Steve confesses and gently takes your hands in his, “I never knew someone could do that.”

Bucky shifts on the couch trying to hide his growing excitement. “It certainly was impressive, Doll.”

His features are hungry when your eyes land on the crotch of his jeans and he deftly rubs the hidden bulge.

Your breath catches in your chest, the room suddenly feeling a million degrees. “Uh, thank you.”

The sudden change in atmosphere has your mind spinning. Sam scoots closer on your right while Steve soothes a large hand over your thigh.

“You should be proud, Sweetheart. Not many men ever get to feel the touch of a woman’s throat.” Sam said, his breath tickling the nape of your neck as he leans in, “I’d love to know how tight it could feel.”

You gasp at his statement and turn to look at him when his lips capture yours in a shocking embrace. His tongue licks at your bottom lip asking for permission before you moan wantonly into his mouth.

Steve’s hand travels up your thigh and under your skirt, edging ever closer to your throbbing core. Soft fingers tease around the elastic of your underwear making your hips involuntarily thrust to relieve the tremendous ache.

“I’ve got you, Darlin’.” Steve murmurs into your shoulder as his lithe fingers easily glide over the damp gusset of your panties. Both Steve and you groan as he circles your covered mound with casual ease escalating your arousal.

A buckle sounds from across the room and when you finally tear away from Sam’s soft lips you find Bucky palming his cock. The length of him has your mouth watering.

“He’s got a magnificent cock, doesn’t he?” Steve whispers, tempting your hunger. “Why don’t you go have a taste.”

Your eyes flutter shut with a whimper, succumbing to the dirty talk and the searing body heat of the two men. Sam and Steve exchange a knowing glance before silently conversing with Bucky.

“C’mere, Doll.”

Bucky drags you awake with a soft command. His hands reach out for yours and your body moves on its own accord.

Settling between his jean clad thighs, his cock rests against his taut belly, swollen and pulsing, and waiting for the right amount of friction.

You meet his eyes asking for permission and he responds with a smirk. “It’s all yours.”

Your lips wet his bulbous crown giving kitten licks before slowly plunging down the thick shaft. Your core clenches hard when you feel him at the back of your throat, a hair's breadth from stretching your gullet.

Bucky’s hold on your tresses keeps you from going any further, “Not so fast, Doll. I wanna feel you gag around me.”

His hips surprise you with a powerful punch. You sputter around his immense girth as he hits the back of your throat with punishing shoves. Spittle drips down the length of him easing access to your already swollen lips.

“Making such a mess already… what’re we gonna do with you?”

The devious threat should’ve made you run but all you could do was vibrate his cock with a wrecked moan.

“Fuck, that’s right.” Bucky grunts before angling your head just right and sliding down your windpipe. “You gonna be a good little hole for us, huh?”

You black out for a moment at the horrid term before coming too with a thick heave and his cock still buried in your throat.

“We’ll take that as a yes.” Sam muses as he unbuckles his belt. You catch the glare of the shiny buckle in your peripheral and it lights you aflame.

A gentle yet strong hand tugs you off of Bucky’s cock. A shiny strand of spit connects your lips to the throbbing girth until Sam angles your head to the left.

Your watery eyes make it hard to see just how big Steve really is but once you feel the enormous, pre-cum soaked head tracing your lips you know he’ll be a challenge.

“Open wide for me, Doll.” he says, tapping his solid flesh on your glossy, spit stained lips.

Your eyes flutter, casting away the salty tears as you slide the warm, bulbous tip into your mouth.

Steve hisses and grits his teeth as he nudges the top of your throat open little by little. “Just gotta go slow.” He muses, almost as if he’s done this before. “Soon I’ll be balls deep and coming down that filthy throat of yours.”

Steve cradles your head so gently as he literally fucks your throat like it was your cunt. “Love seeing you on your knees like this, Doll. It makes me so fuckin’ hard.” The contrast from soft to hard made your insides melt.

You grab his jeans to steady your shaking frame when you feel heat on your back and your name whispered in your ear.

It’s Sam.

“Never thought I’d get to see you like this.” He confesses against the shell of your ear. His large frame smothers yours as he splays himself along your spine. “But I’ll be damned if this isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You gag under Steve’s rough treatment as he fucks unabashedly into your gullet. Never did you think the soft spoken boy from Brooklyn would be such a sex fiend.

His hands wrap around your head and keep you still as Bucky makes a fist with your smaller hand around his length. He glides your hand up and down, twisting around the head just how he likes.

You feel your panties slide down your thighs and leave a sticky trail of arousal in their wake. Sam flips your dress over your hips and whistles at the lewd sight of your shiny, slick covered mound.

The rhythm of your hand on Bucky’s cock falters when Sam touches your pussy for the first time.

“You’re fuckin’ drippin’. You like lettin’ us have our way with you. Don’t you.” Sam says it more like a statement than a question.

He slides two fingers up and down the slice of you before pushing into your soddened channel. You whimper in delight around Steve’s length and try to push back on Sam’s fingers but Bucky’s hold on your wrist and Steve’s grip on your jaw keep you stock still.

“Well guys, I’d say she’s absolutely loving this.” Sam muses as he withdraws from your core and showcases his glistening, drenched fingers to the men.

Steve and Bucky groan in unison and simultaneously tighten their grasp on your limbs. “Who knew you’d be such a slut for us, Sugar.” Bucky grits as he shoves his hips and fucks your fist like it was your cunt.

Your belly tumbles from the onslaught of wicked praise.

On a powerful drive forward, Steve nestles his cock deep in your throat and stills. Your brows anxiously pinch together at the minor discomfort of not being able to breathe but it’s instantly forgotten once you feel Sam’s cock prodding your cunt.

Sam slides his lengthy cock into your searing, velvet channel stretching your folds as wide as they’ll go. You feel every veiny inch as he pushes in as deep as he can go before bottoming out. Air would punch from your chest if Steve’s cock wasn’t blocking its escape.

Your abdomen heaves and your lungs burn a fiery blaze desperate for air until Steve pulls your head off his girthy cock. Your cough is sticky with spittle as you suck in generous gulps of oxygen until your head is yanked to the right and your airway is blocked again, only this time by Bucky’s length.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun, Punk.” Bucky playfully punches Steve’s arm making the blonde’s jaw clench with animalistic possession. Bucky grunts as your tight throat convulses around him.

Sam’s hips pummel your ass with every thrust, pushing and shoving your body with hard drives forcing you to take Bucky’s length even deeper than before.

“Take his cock, sweet girl. All the way, as deep as it can go.” Sam orders with a hiss.

He palms your round globes before laying a hard spank on your right cheek, marking his territory.

Your vision starts to blur from lack of air and your brain goes numb at the sight of Steve stroking himself from base to weeping tip. “You look so fucking good being used like this.”

Steve’s eyes never leave yours as he talks to Sam. “You gonna come in her? Make a mess of her pretty little cunt?”

You sputter around Bucky’s cock at the filthy thought of Sam filling you up. Your cunt tightens around the fat length earning a deep groan from the man behind you.

He cants his hips, brushing past the spongy spot that always made you see stars, and nestles his cock into the deepest part of you as he leans his sweat slicked chest against your spine.

Sam’s hand encases your throat making you involuntarily swallow around Bucky. The brunette hisses at the vice like grip your gullet has on him as Sam huskily whispers in your ear.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Sam begins, loud enough for the other two men to hear. “You’re gonna be a girl good and take both their loads in that wicked mouth and hold it.” Sam eases his hips back, dragging his length through your glistening folds before ever so slowly pushing his way back into your warmth. “And then I’m gonna fill your cunt to the brim.”

You feel like you’d died and gone to heaven wanting nothing more than to be covered in the spend of the three super soldiers.

“She’ll look so pretty with her holes full and dripping, won’t she boys?” Sam says with a grin as Bucky and Steve reply with their own devious smirks.

Sam sits back on his heels and grasps the back of your neck for leverage as he picks up speed. His hips thwack against your ass on every punishing drive, sending your mouth further and further down Bucky’s cock until he was writhing himself.

“Shit- open up, baby. Let me see that tongue.” Bucky commands. He’s on his feet in a flash, ripping his cock from your lips and fisting his spit soaked length over your face.

“Filler up, guys.” Sam holds your head in place with a strong grasp on the back of your neck making sure you won’t miss a drop as Bucky teeters on the edge.

Your cunt spasms as Sam drives his cock directly into your g-spot making your groan as the first rope of Bucky’s come hits your lips.

The brunette grunts with every glide of his fist as he milks his cock into your awaiting mouth. Thick, pungent ropes of white stain your lips and tongue as he reaches his end, gritting his teeth from the overstimulation.

He taps his red, leaky crown on your tongue for added measure. “Gotta get every last drop.”

You force yourself not to swallow even though every nerve in your body wants to.

“Let’s see how much you can take, Doll.” Steve lines his cock up over your pearly stained lips and thrusts his cock steadily into his fist.

Your head bobs forward with every drive from Sam’s cock as he plows into your slick folds chasing his own peak. He keeps your head secure as Steve’s cock starts to swell.

Steve’s brows pinch together as he comes with a ragged grunt. His heavy balls spill freely into your open mouth and obscenely coat your gums white.

He doesn’t stop pouring load after load into your mouth until you feel the thick, salty liquid reach the edge of your lips. You close your lips before any has a chance to slip out.

Your cheeks distend lewdly as they stretch from the insane amount of come you’re stowing away.

“God damn. What a sight.” Bucky praises as he and Steve loom over you.

They caress your bulging cheeks, tickling the taut skin. “Lookin’ like you want to blow, Kitten.” Steve teases as he traces your glossy lips. “Bet it’s getting really hard to hold it, huh?”

Your heart races as the urge to swallow gets heavier and heavier. A deep mewl rumbles from your chest as you anxiously stare up at the inseparable pair.

“Doin’ so good. Just a little bit longer. Want you to come drenched in us.” Sam grunts from behind, slotting his cock between your folds with powerful shoves until his own pleasure starts to take over.

He surprises you by hooking a finger into the side of your mouth and pulling.

You try to cover your mouth but Bucky and Steve trap your hands leaving you no choice but to let the gluey liquid spill down your body.

The warm, sticky spend gushes from your lips like a waterfall. Your chest is stained white as the viscid fluid drips profusely and descends your curves marking every inch.

Your body burns with embarrassment as the come drips down your folds and Sam fucks it up into your core. Wet squelching echoes off the walls as the copious amounts of come splatter onto the floor as it falls from your used body and cunt.

You whimper around Sam’s finger as the need to come gets more intense by the second.

“Come on, you filthy little girl. Come with our jizz all over you.” Bucky commands as he kneels down and circles your swollen clit.

He flicks and slaps your tiny bud, forcing you to dive off the cliff with a trembling shout. Your nerves spark and your cunt clamps around Sam forcing him to the edge with you.

Sam growls into your shoulder as he comes deep inside you adding to the sopping mess. His cock pulses as he marks your cunt from the inside, drenching you with hot, thick ropes of white.

He eases from your channel with a hiss as globs of come drip down your thighs and adds to the filth that’s already staining them. You collapse backward into his arms with a sigh ready to fall asleep.

“Let’s get you into the tub. How’s that sound?” Sam offers as you groan and snuggle into the crook of his neck.

He carries you into the next room and holds you until the water is hot enough to soothe your aching muscles. Your bleary eyes eventually open to find all three men crowding around the tub and carefully washing your body.

“How’re you doin’, Darlin’?” Sam murmurs while he rubs your shoulders.

You give the men a dumb, giddy smile. “Now, I’m gonna start a rumor that Steve comes like a firehose.”

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 @ozzieslibrary! 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 𝐎𝐍 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭!

#sam wilson x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Chris Evans #anthony mackie #sebastian stan

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brayneworms · 10 months

Text

fearful, wonderful | scaramouche

general tags. kabukimono!scaramouche, trans!scaramouche, yokai!reader, gender-neutral reader, slowburn, yokai lore/imagery, very slowburn, food consumption/eating, tatarasuna.

content warnings. gender dysphoria, allusions to war and death.

word count. 4.9k

notes. this is an 18+ blog. minors and ageless accounts do not interact, you will be blocked.

synopsis. agreeing to house the puppet has taken its toll. you take him to niwa, and he comes to several realisations about himself.

masterlist | prev | next | ao3

II. MOUTH OPEN, SILENT AND BLUE.

There are spirits in your eyes, and a ghost in your home.

‘Ghost’ is the most apt thing you can conjure to describe the puppet that has taken up residence there. He wanders from one room to the next with childlike curiosity, seeming to take interest in the most mundane of things. An object that remains of seemingly perpetual fascination to him, much to your dismay, is your collection of seto teaware.

Most times, when the house goes quiet for too long, you’ll wander out into the parlour and find him sitting cross-legged in front of your dresser. He doesn’t touch—not since that first night, when you snapped at him and snatched the cup from his hand. He just looks, those glimmering ice-blue eyes tracing every pattern and crack. You think it’s the gold paint sealing it all together that fascinates him. Possibly he’s unused to the concept of someone wanting to repair something broken.

Possibly he’s unused to the concept someone could love something enough for that.

After that first night, you’d woken up with the dawn, sat up—only to find the puppet already awake. He was sitting straight up, sort of just… staring at you. It had unsettled you so badly that you’d flinched backwards, slamming your head into the wall.

“What are you doing?” you spluttered, rubbing at the inflamed crown of your head. You were sure a bruise was flowering as you spoke; by breakfast, the skin beneath your hand would probably feel like a rotten vegetable.

The puppet blinked. “I was waiting for you to move.”

“I was asleep.”

He seemed to consider this. “I don’t think I need to do that, then. Is it normal to be asleep for so long?”

You glared at him, despite the needling knowledge at the back of your head that it wasn’t really his fault. Considering how tired you are, you doubted you’d slept for more than five hours. “It’s usually longer,” you snapped, and then your grouchiness began to ebb, and you sighed. “So you don’t sleep. You don’t seem to breathe, or feel cold. Do you need to eat?”

The puppet shook his head. “I watched other things eat in the Pavilion. I supposed they must have been doing it… for some reason, but I knew I’d never experienced it.”

“Most things need to eat to live.”

The puppet’s expression had become shuttered, then. “What does that make me?”

You didn’t reply. You got up and made breakfast instead. Eggs into a pan and rolled with vegetables and slivers of cured meat. It spat and sizzled over the fire. The puppet crept out of your bedroom to watch like a sulking child, like a dog whose tail you’d just stepped on by accident. He watches you eat like he’d watched you sleep—like you were a curiosity, something fascinating.

The rain had stopped in the night, the last rolls of water making their way slowly out of the valleys. When you crack the window open the stifling petrichor slides over your nose, warm and thick and damp. The earth studded with lavenders beside your house is looking very dark and swollen, but it’s not totally aflood as you’d feared. You have a tendency for underestimating things more resilient than yourself.

The puppet stares at your food as you eat. You hold out a mouthful on two chopsticks. “Do you want to try?”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “O-okay.” His lips close over the morsel. You watch his jaw move unnaturally, too stiffly for standard chewing. It’s like he has to remind himself how his teeth work. His pale throat flexes when he swallows.

“It tastes good,” he says, surprised.

“Well. Thank you.” You stir your food around your plate, embarrassed. “I make it every morning.”

“Some hilichurls had a campfire once in the Pavilion,” the puppet says thoughtfully. “They were roasting some fruit. After I defeated them I tried a little of it, but I hated the taste. My body rejected it. I thought that meant I couldn’t eat human food.”

“What sort of fruit was it?”

“Um… small. Purple.”

“Sounds like a lavender melon. Like on the tree outside. I don’t like them either, they’re very sweet. It might be you just don’t like sweet things.”

“You don’t like sweet things either?” The puppet presses closer to you, a new eagerness gleaming to life in his eyes. You fight the urge to edge backwards. “That makes us similar, doesn’t it?”

You glower at your plate. “Only superficially. Not in any way that matters.” And you’re too cruel, maybe, to feel guilty as you watch the hope falter from the puppet’s face, as you watch his shoulders droop and he shrinks back under his curtain of hair. Still, your appetite abruptly vanishes. You push your plate towards him and stand up. “Finish that off, if you want it, then get dressed. I left some clothes out for you on your bed.”

The puppet glances from the plate to you, his rosebud mouth a little ‘O’ of surprise. “Why do I need to get dressed?”

“We’re going to see Niwa. He’s a friend of Katsuragi’s,” you say crisply. “He’ll be able to teach you to read and write.”

“Niwa.” He repeats the name slowly, with an expression of concentration. “Niwa. Katsuragi. Your name is Y/n.”

You nod, feeling stuck all of a sudden. The puppet’s lips work themselves into a frown.

“Why can’t I have a name?”

Your mouth works soundlessly for a few moments before you press your lips together hard and appraise him. He looks up at you with that frustrating, wide-eyed earnest, the same look that communicates that there is no way he is trying to push your buttons on purpose.

“It’s not that you can’t. Most people are given them when they’re born.” Your eyes linger on the sleeves of his jinbei, the swathes of bone-white cotton that hide the strange markings on his joints, the ones you hadn’t wanted to look too closely at. The mark of something inhuman, like a branding. Puppets were made, not born—and you supposed their facilities for being named depended much more on the sort of person who had created them. You think of that slim golden feather, tucked into his belt. You’d stashed it away in one of your cupboards, but you knew what it was. The mark of nobility—and here in Inazuma, that could only mean one person. The Shogun. He looked like a younger, shorter, more androgynous version of her, from the flawless pale skin to the big moonstone eyes and curtain of purple-black hair.

You change tactics as his expression starts to tremble. Do puppets cry?, you wonder, then abruptly realise you don’t want to find out. “You can always give yourself a name.”

He cocks his head. “What sort of name?”

“Anything you like.”

A shy dart of his eyes. “I like your name.”

Your skin prickles. “Well, you can’t have that one. Pick something else. Or… just stick around this village for long enough. People will undoubtedly give you one, whether you ask for it or not.”

“Everyone has a name,” the puppet says sulkily. You’re beginning to pick up on that—that childish, bitter streak that seems to be slashed right through him. “Every human. My mother didn’t even give me one before casting me out. I didn’t realise things had names, not really, until a group of adventurers wandered into the Pavilion one day. I heard them talking, laughing with each other.”

“Your mother…” You were echoing his sentiment before you could even help it. Wasn’t it strange, to think of your creator as your parent? But then, how would you know? You supposed he was entitled to think of her in any way he chose. The gold feather burned guiltily from behind the wood of your cupboard.

You’re jerked sharply back to reality when you realise the puppet has sidled closer. He has an intense sort of look on his face. “Can’t you give me a name?”

I’m not the one to raise him, Katsuragi.

You wouldn’t be a parent. You’d be a friend.

“No.” You lean away. “It’s not my responsibility. Get dressed, okay?”

The puppet slinks off to the bedroom, dejected. There is a pang of pain in your stomach that you quickly ignore, like the hard swallowing of bitter medicine.

Your whole life you have been swallowing bitter medicine. You’re hoping it will take effect, someday soon.

Niwa always smells of the furnace.

Hot metal and oil and smoke. It clings to him even after a bath, like if you sliced him open at the skin, showers of sparks and the smell of burning steel would leak out of him. It’s not a smell you find particularly pleasant—you find that it reminds you of the smell of your armour, minus the blood that tended to cloak it—but that’s not to say you find Niwa unpleasant.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Niwa is soft-spoken and affable, coasting through the village like a warm spring breeze. You find him and his small family tolerable—they’re a quiet but kind presence, keeping mostly to themselves until someone shows up to bother them for assistance. It’s comprised of Niwa’s older sister, Honoka, her two children, and Niwa’s grandfather, a frail and elderly man who rarely steps outside their house to see the sunlight. You think briefly that they will be good company for the puppet, then wonder why you care.

He trails behind you on the walk, kicking up wet earth from the wobbly paths; his eyes rove helplessly over the whole village with awe, taking in every shack and cabin, the modest redwood temple and shrines, the trees spilling sakura petals over the sidewalks. He pauses at a field of golden corn, running his fingers down the thick stalks, the slumping ears of the vegetables nestled in their leafy cocoons. In winter the cut stalks freeze over near the path—they can be just as deadly as a blade if you fall into them. Most parents don’t let their children take this path for that very reason—the lake is structurally unsound and prone to flooding, and this path often soaks itself. On winter nights it ices over; one slip and those cut stalks will scrape up your skin to ribbons.

You don’t relay any of this to the puppet. For one, it’s not winter. For another, he has no skin.

Niwa’s family lives someway up the hill. Their house is modest, as the ones in Tatarasuna go, but it has to be for five people living there—a traditional noka house with enough rooms for all of them. The only thing distinguishing it from the others nestling in the crook of the mountain below is the miniature blacksmith forge attached to the left side. Scraps of jewel steel pile up against the anvil, ready to be softened and reformed into blades. Bags of soft-pine charcoal and ironsand slump against the clay tatara, ready for that long process of turning iron to metal; the coal fire sputters on endlessly, spurting out plumes of thin black smoke. The puppet watches, fascinated.

“What is that?” he breathes, tucking himself closer to you.

“It’s a forge. Niwa is a bladesmith.” You catch his look of confusion. “He makes steel into swords and weaponry.”

A soft gasp rings out over the hillside. “Tsukumo! Tsukumogami!”

Your head snaps up; two children gape down at you, wide-eyed and flush-cheeked. Honoka’s kids, a boy and a girl, both with flat shiny black hair adorned with those characteristic scarlet streaks. The boy, the taller of the two, races down the path to you.

“When you didn’t come for ages Rie thought I made you up!” he gabbed, panting hard from exertion. “But you’re real! See?” He yells the last part up spitefully to his sister—Rie—who looks away and picks at her shirt moodily. The blossom blush on her cheeks darkens steadily.

Honoka hurries around the side of the house, lugging a basket of white linens. It’s half-full; she must have been in the middle of hanging out her laundry when she heard the exclamations. Honoka is older than Niwa, pushing thirty you think, with the exact same messy auburn hair as her brother. She peers down at you, surprised.

“Y/n,” she says tremulously, using your real name rather than the moniker her son addressed you with. “Shinsuke, come back up here, now!”

The little boy sighs, full of the sort of petulance only young human children can carry, and makes his way back up the hill. Sweat shines on the back of his neck as he goes. You begin to follow him up, gesturing for the puppet to keep up with you. It’s only as you get to the top, where the real path to the Hisehide house begins that you realise he’s taken hold of the fabric of your shirt. It’s so baggy you barely notice, but it still makes you stiffen.

Honoka regards you with a cautious mistrust that you cannot begrudge her for. Her son, Shinsuke, said it best—you are tsukumogami. More fool her to trust you completely.

“Are you here to see Niwa?” she asks, swapping arms for her laundry basket. “Katsuragi said we should—” She cuts herself off, scratching at her arm. “He said we should expect a visitor. Is everything alright?”

Her greyish eyes slide unsubtly to the puppet behind you. You can feel him shrink in on himself, hunching up into his newly-washed karaginu.

“I need to talk to Niwa,” you answer carefully. “It’s, um… sort of hard to explain.”

Honoka nods. She is cautious, but not prejudiced. Fair, in a way you’ve learned a lot of humans are not. “I’ll go get him for you. He’s just in the garden.” She taps her children on the shoulder once. “Shinsuke, Rie, go play around the back.”

Rie and Shinsuke spare you one lingering curious look before shuffling off to their back garden. Honoka trails after them, and you feel the lack of invitation into their home like a sting. Again—this is not something you begrudge the Hisehides for.

Maybe they can smell the blood on you. Maybe they can sense the inhumanity, both of you and your companion.

“Why did they call you that?” the puppet wonders as if on cue. He’s still holding your shirt. “I thought your name was Y/n.”

“It is.” You take shallow breaths, wishing your lungs were bigger. “Tsukumogami… is what I am.”

The puppet’s eyes are huge and pale. “Y-you mean… you’re not human either?”

“No.” Your brow furrows, just slightly. “I’m yōkai. I thought Katsuragi would have told you.”

The puppet’s eyes are huge and luminous. He opens his mouth to answer, but—

“Y/n, as I live and breathe. What can I do for you?”

Niwa’s voice rings out cheerily. He strolls around the house, pulling off thick gardening gloves; soil streaks his billowing trousers. His tawny hair is pulled back into a ponytail, curling around his boyish face.

“Niwa,” you greet with about as much respect that any human can pull from you. “I’ve come at a bad time, I see.”

“Not at all,” Niwa says mildly. “Just tending to the trees. I like to help out when Honoka’s busy—it makes her think twice when she next threatens to kick me out.”

His voice prods for a laugh that neither you nor the puppet provides. He remains undeterred.

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is…” You fight back a wince as your conversation about his name returns to you. You can practically feel his reproachful eyes boring into your back. “Katsuragi found him wandering the beach last night. I’ve taken him in.”

“Is that so?” Niwa’s eyes gleam with interest. He cocks his head at the puppet. “Hi there. I’m Niwa Hisehide.”

“Hello,” the puppet returns quietly. “I don’t have a name.”

That embittered streak is back and stinging. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Niwa’s gingery lashes flicker in surprise.

“Really, now?” he says, still neutrally. “Well, don’t sweat it. You can give yourself any name you like. In the meantime, was there something I can do for you?”

“He needs to learn to read and write,” you say; your tone is still businesslike but you allow an edge of beseeching to soften the edges. You’re aware you’re asking for a large favour, even if it had been Katsuragi’s idea. “Katsuragi mentioned that you tutored his niece. He thought…”

“I see.” His hazel eyes linger on you for a minute, asking the question his mouth wouldn’t dare to—why can’t you do it, again? “Well… as it happens, I am teaching Honoka’s youngest at the moment. Her name is Rie.”

You incline your head. “I just met her.”

“You’d be very welcome to join,” Niwa says, speaking directly to the puppet. His body stiffens at the attention. It occurs to you that you and Katsuragi did a lot of talking around him rather than to his face. Niwa puts your meagre efforts to shame simply by existing and being decent.

You really shouldn’t be taking care of this puppet.

“Thank you,” is all you say. “I appreciate it.”

Niwa gives you a crooked smile. “Really, it’s nothing. Could I ask you for a little something in return?”

“…Sure.”

“Come by the house every once in a while. My nephew adores you. Honoka likes you too, you know.”

“She doesn’t trust me.”

“Not the same thing. Just… come by and get your friend after his lessons are done, that’s all.”

… It is fair. Niwa is fair, too, just like his sister. It must run in the Hisehide blood, same as those red streaks of hair. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Niwa says like you’re doing him some big favour. The part that makes you feel cold and sick is that maybe you really are. “You’re always welcome here, you know.”

On the walk back—quiet, as the watery sun makes a slow arc overhead—the puppet speaks again. “Niwa had short hair.”

Your eyes snap automatically to his dark waterfall of hair. “Well. Yes.”

“So did Katsuragi. And that little boy.”

“Shinsuke.”

“Shinsuke, right. Do all men have short hair?”

“No, not all of them.” This is the most neutral conversation you’ve had with the puppet so far. “In fact, many warriors keep their hair long. In some cultures, they add a braid to their hair for every battle won, and when they are defeated they cut it all off in shame.”

The puppet fiddles idly with a lock of hair that swings by his soft cheekbone. “I was created with this hair. As long as it is now. It never grew.”

“You were created in the image of your mother,” you say, though you’re only guessing this to be the case. “It’s not surprising you inherited some of her features.”

“My mother—the Shogun,” he says, voice growing quieter with each word. “She’s a woman.”

“Yes, she is.”

“If I am created in her image… am I a woman?”

Your lashes flutter in surprise, and you pause. You’re outside the cornfield, the one he stopped to admire earlier with such intensity, but now he doesn’t even glance at the crops. He looks straight at you with a burning need for his question to be answered.

Except you’re not totally sure how to answer it. You lick your lips. “Do you… feel as though you’re a woman?”

The puppet considers this. Finally he says, “I feel as though… I was intended to be one. But not… that I am.”

You consider this. “All humans are crafted in their parents’ image. That doesn’t mean they are a replica of them. I think the same can be assumed for you.” And your voice dips lower, gentler. “You should be whatever you feel. It doesn’t matter how you were made. All that matters is what’s inside.”

“You mean my heart?” the puppet scoffs. “I have been informed I don’t have one.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel,” you say. Your eyes trace over him—his clothes are that of a noblewoman, from the delicate veil to the karaginu, cut to accommodate a high chest and flaring hips. His face, sharp as carved marble, with his round lips and big sparkly eyes and long curling lashes. The fountain-arch of hair spilling from his scalp, running straight down his back to his waist. Intended to be one, indeed. But it doesn’t mean he is.

The puppet looks more confused than ever—there’s something small and helpless in his expression, something that makes you take pity.

“You don’t have to decide today,” you chide. “Think about it. Alright?”

The puppet nods, slowly. “Alright.” There’s a pause as you keep walking, and then the puppet says, quieter, “Thank you.”

Your jaw clenches briefly. “In the winter,” you find yourself saying, “be careful on this path. It ices over, and the cut corn stalks are dangerous. Okay?”

The puppet blinks. “Okay.”

“Good.” A sharp nod. “Let’s get back.”

The puppet comes to you a few days later. He’s had one session of tutoring with Niwa.

“It went well,” the swordsmith had confided in you when you went to retrieve the puppet in the afternoon. “He has a very natural grasp of it. It’s… not like teaching a child to learn from scratch. It’s as though the mechanisms of how it all works are already present in his head, it just has to be explained to him. Like someone who once knew how to read but forgot.”

“Another thing he inherited from his creator, no doubt,” you say. Your eyes linger on the Hisehide’s front door whilst you speak. There’s a wreath nailed into the wood there, a cluster of red camellias. They make your whole body prickle with electricity the longer you keep them in your line of sight.

In any case—two days after this, the puppet approaches you. You’re sitting outside, staring over the lavender field, thinking about your dead friends. You’d think after thousands of years you’d begin to forget it, but if that is the case you’re still waiting for it to happen. As it is, they’re all you think of. All you dream of.

“Y/n?” you hear, timidly. The puppet looks at you with caution as he lingers at the door threshold.

“What is it?”

“I’d… I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he says. “And… I’d like to cut my hair.”

You blink in surprise. “Oh. Well, alright.”

Shocking you further is when the puppet flushes. You hadn’t known he could do that—and he fidgets with his clothes in an awkward tic. “Could… would you… help me? Please?”

You think it’s the please that catches you, like the nick of an arrow, like a fishhook behind your heart. You stand up, feeling your pulse move slow and sickly through your body. “Take this chair,” you dredge up. “I’ll be right back.”

The way the puppet’s face lights up makes you feel sicker than ever. I’m no jellyfish, you think nonsensically. I have a brain, all right. Why can’t I use it?

Maybe because you also had another thing jellyfish didn’t. A heart.

For all the fucking good it does you.

The puppet scrambles past you to sit, tucking his knees up under his chin, as you brush past him into the house. You head for the spare room, open up one of the closets. Your shorter knives and blades are slung up in soft leather holsters, dull and lusterless from not being tended to as they used to. You select one, a tanto knife on the thinner, longer side, spanning just about the length of your forearm.

You haven’t held a real knife since…

Just to experiment, you give it a twirl. Muscle memory kicks in at the speed of light, and it flies through your fingers as though caught on a breeze. You stop it short, disgusted with yourself.

The puppet is craning his neck to look for you when you wander back outside. “I thought you may have changed your mind,” he says softly.

You hold up the blade. “Just had to sharpen the steel. I couldn’t find my whetstone. Are you sure about this?”

The puppet nods sagely. “I’m sure.”

“You said your hair doesn’t grow. If you cut it now, you’ll never be able to get it long again. Do you understand that?”

An expression of petulance steals over his face. “I told you I thought about it, didn’t I? I thought about all of this.” He looks down at his lap. “It’s what I want. Please.”

You weaken again, helplessly, foolishly, like butter left out in the sun. “Alright. Alright.”

You stand behind the chair and draw his hair back over the wooden back. You comb your fingers through it to search for tangles, and the puppet shudders. Your hands fly back as though burned.

Cool sweat lacquers your palms no matter how many times you wipe them against your shirt. Holding your knife is starting to make you feel feverish, and you almost let out a screamy laugh to the sky. This puppet trusts you with a blade near his neck. Doesn’t he realise…?

No, you suppose dully. He doesn’t.

You gather his hair into a band. It’s so soft, pin-straight and silky, running through your fingers like warm water. You can’t help but ask again. “You’re certain?”

“I am. I’m certain.” The puppet mirrors your language. You’ve noticed that, too. His appetite for learning seems to yawn, gape, and it frightens you a little. There is nothing good to be learned from you.

“How… how short?”

“Like Niwa’s. Or Shinsuke’s. Around here.” He gestures vaguely to his jaw and chin.

“Alright. Alright. Ready?”

His chin juts up defiantly. “Ready.”

Your hand tightens over the clump of air. The other, the one with the knife, worms its way beneath. It brushes over the nape of his neck, and the puppet shudders again. Your knife, so close to such a vital part of the body. If you cut him, would he bleed? Would he die?

Your blade slices upwards, towards your own head, cutting through the makeshift ponytail like butter.

A good twenty inches of hair droops to the ground like a fluttering of raven feathers, making a melancholy wreath at your feet. The puppet gasps, hands flying to the newly naked back of his neck, his shoulders, feeling the blunt edges of his new hair. He flings his head around to look at you, and for a moment you can’t decipher his expression. His eyes are wide as coins, lips parted, neat brows knitted up.

A sudden sick, cold terror seizes you. Is that sorrow? Regret? I’ve ruined it, you think blindly. I’ve ruined him—

“Thank you.”

It’s whispered fervently, with the sort of reverence one might reserve for worshipping a deity. The puppet looks up at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky. “It’s so much better. I—I love it. Thank you.”

Your expression cracks. The fear falls away as quickly as it came. “You—it’s nothing. I mean,” you catch yourself. It’s not nothing. “You’re… welcome.”

And tears glimmer in his eyes, making them brighter and more luminous than ever. For a moment it’s like looking into the moon. And then his smile slips. “You… you’re bleeding!”

You look down at your hands, surprised; the pain only springs up now that the puppet had called attention to it, but he’s right. The tips of two of your fingers, the ones holding the hair whilst the other cut, are stinging horribly. The uppermost part of your nails are hacked clean away, the skin at the precipice of the digit cut up.

The puppet takes your hand in both of his, cupping it like it’s a dying animal, a bird with a broken wing. Something gets stuck in your throat; the urge to yank away hits you like a ton of bricks, but in the wake of his cool skin against yours you feel rooted to the spot.

He strokes the pad of his thumb over what remains of the nail on your index fingers. It pools on his own skin, and he looks at it with the same fascination he would a new species of flower or a fruit he had never tried before. Considers it, almost.

“Are you alright?” he asks almost frantically. “You’re hurt! I—did I hurt you? I’m sorry!”

Finally, your throat unsticks. All of you does, and you take your hand back, folding your fingers into fists. “No. What? No, you didn’t do anything. I wasn’t paying attention.” The look of panic on his face unsettles you. “I’m fine.”

He springs up. “I’ll go get a bandage,” he blurts out, and turns on his heel towards the house. You turn to watch him go, and you feel your heart jump at what you see. The back of his neck, before cloaked with that thick fall of hair, stares straight back at you, startlingly pale and stamped. The Electro mark. You’d recognise it anywhere. That jagged three-legged spiral, another tattoo of his creator. A brand, or a goodbye kiss?

Your answer depends on what you are—yōkai or jellyfish. Brain or no brain.

As much as it embitters you, you’re leaning towards yourself. This puppet was made with love. The golden feather is enough proof of that. She wanted him to have a good life. But then why is he here with you, and not with her?

You rub at your eyes, suddenly exhausted.

You really should give the puppet a name.

#🫀.scribes #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer oneshot #kabukimono x reader #kabukimono oneshot #kabukimono x you #wanderer x you #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gn reader #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x gn reader

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scaredysap · 1 year

Text

"Oh my god, is this really a situation worthy of the moping-hoodie?"

"Yes! Yes, it is," Wu Xie plopped down at the kitchen table and dramatically crossed his arms. "I'm tired of people telling me I should date Xiaoge, it gets awkward every time!"

"I don't know, Tianzhen, I think they might have a point." Wu Xie glared at Pangzi's back but the man kept on peacefully chopping vegetables. "You've got that whole bond thing going on, and you spend a lot of time staring at his abs whenever his shirt is off."

"Everyone stares at his abs, they're objectively perfect."

"Fair enough," Pangzi conceded with a shrug. "What about your important bond though? That sounds pretty intense every time you bring it up."

Wu Xie sank into his chair and pulled up his hood. Then he lowered it again, realizing that the instinctual gesture was very much like the one Xiaoge did when he was uncomfortable. Pangzi hadn't seen it but he sure would have commented on it if he had, Wu Xie was sure about that.

"It is intense. But it's not dating, it's just… different," he said, twirling one of the strings of his hoodie around a finger. "I don't really want to dress fancy and go to dinner with him, I don't want to send him a good morning text every day, I don't want to kiss him. Sure, getting him to hug more would be nice but-"

"But that's why you've got me! I’m always ready to hug my poor, misunderstood Tianzhen," Pangzi intervened. He left his spot at the counter for a moment to give Wu Xie a one-armed hug, putting a brief smile back on his face.

"Yeah, exactly. The thing is… we're fine as we are. We’re there for each other when it counts. Nothing else is needed, we've figured out where we stand."

"Alright then, that's good," Pangzi said, picking the next vegetable from the basket he'd brought from the market. "I was just making sure."

It was quiet for a few moments, the rhythmic tac tac tac of the knife against the cutting board a soothing sound that filled the evening.

"But seriously, you don't wanna kiss him even a little bit?"

"PANGZI!"

"I'm just saying-!"

Wu Xie huffed, throwing his hands up in the air and almost sliding off the chair in disappointment.

"You're unbelievable. If you keep bringing this up, I’m going to start believing you're the one who wants to kiss Xiaoge!"

The chopping stopped. The kitchen became dead quiet. Wu Xie rewinded his words in his mind and then slowly but surely turned to stare at Pangzi's back.

"Pangzi," he said quietly, watching the big man's shoulders go tense. "Do you want to kiss Xiaoge?"

The silence was damning.

"HAH!" Wu Xie's chortling filled the kitchen as Pangzi turned towards him, his face as red as the chili peppers that were going into their food.

"Shut up, Tianzhen! What do you even know about these things?"

"Not a lot, but you sure aren’t an expert either! Thinking that I wanted to date Xiaoge when all this time you…!"

Wu Xie started laughing again, clutching his belly as it ached with cramps.

"Tianzhen!" Pangzi hissed, half crawling all over Wu Xie to try and put a hand over his mouth. "You quit yapping right now, Xiaoge could hear you!"

"You wanna kiss him soooo bad! Ow!" Wu Xie yelped, clutching his shoulder. "You idiot, you poked me with the knife!"

"Serves you ri- OUCH! Tianzhen, did you just bite me?"

"So what if I did, huh?"

"You rabid beast, I'll show you!"

As bickering and sounds of a brawl filled the kitchen, quiet footsteps went unheard in the hallway just outside. Xiaoge put his boots back on with expert ease and soon he was out into the night, headed towards the trio's favourite take-away restaurant. From the sounds of it, dinner wouldn't be ready any time soon.

He walked with a single objective in mind but still, he couldn't help but raise a hand to his own lips and wonder what it would feel like to be kissed.

#wu xie #wang pangzi #zhang qiling #dmbj #the lost tomb #fic #my fic #aromantic wu xie

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 2 months

Text

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 15)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.8 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - suggestive dialogue, mild angst, flirting, ship's first real kiss, smoking

Summary: The mission is over, and Price and Rory have time alone together at camp

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

*This is the chapter where the ship finally really and truly kicks off. It does have a fade to black ending as the next chapter is entirely smut and not really necessary for story purposes so if you want to skip the next chapter it's an option*

November 2, 2017 21:18 - Al-Hasakah, Syria

With the outpost removed and the intel in Laswell’s hands, a makeshift campsite had been set up on the outskirts overlooking the desert. A small fire burning for warmth while the stars shone above in the midnight blue sky – tranquil, despite there being a warzone still raging miles away. Sitting in the sand, Rory ate her ration pack of lamb stew as she watched Price pace back and forth several feet away, confirming plans on his phone for the next steps now that the mission was coming to a close, zoning out to the sway of his hips as he walked.

Slipping his phone into the pocket of his tac pants, he moved back to sit near the fire and start in on his own dinner. Her eyes fell away from him and instead turned to the flames that flickered in front of her as he settled in the sand beside her.

“Nik'll be here in the mornin’, has to refuel and tune up before he can head out.”

She hummed, poking her spork around in the gray plastic pouch of her ORP. “I'm sure that wasn't a suggestion from the good Captain at all, was it?” Her eyes flicked up to look at him, a teasing little smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth, the flames of the fire of their camp illuminating the amber flecks in her eyes.

“You think it's my intent to keep you all to myself, Sergeant? Just what are you trying to imply?” The predatory edge to his eyes and tone were near explicit.

“Do you think I'm daft, John?”

He shook his head and laughed, tearing open the heated packet of steak and vegetables. “Oh no, quite the opposite. I think you're too smart for your own good. I think if you had enough time, you could read me like a book.”

He wasn’t far off in his estimate, with the training she had as an interrogator she likely could. However, she would also be having to combat a hardened veteran with sixteen years of experience under his belt and who was trained to resist interrogation methods of all kinds. He had already proven to have a look in his eyes that was impenetrable at most times. For all she knew, it would be a stalemate.

“Given enough practice I probably could.”

“No probably about it, sweetheart. I also get the feeling that if it came down to it you could beat me in any argument – as long as I don't pull rank.” He looked up from the contents of his packet and she was once again met by that stare she had caught in her scope - that hungry, feral one.

“That's a given. I'm a barrister's daughter, after all. If I hadn't gone the military route my father was sure I'd make a good one and follow in his footsteps.”

“Why didn't you?”

She scoffed. “Life.”

“Meaning?”

There was a side to John that she had been given just a taste of, the one who used whatever tools he could get his hands on to reach his objective, and in this case, the little alarm bell in the back of her head went off. How much of that was her own trust issues she couldn’t be sure, but giving him too much knowledge about her did put her a little on edge even if he only intended to keep her safe – everything was a weapon to Captain Price.

“What? You want my life story?” Her eyes narrowed, challenging him just enough. “Is this our first date?” she asked, lifting the MRE packet. “Really splurged on dinner.”

He chuckled at her sarcastic comment and lit a cigar. “Go on,” he said softly, his voice a hoarse murmur on the wind.

“You really want to know?”

“I do.”

She rolled her eyes and put the MRE packet down grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoke into the night with a long stream of breath. “It's rather convoluted, but – in short form – after my mother’s death, I had to leave Canada, leave the life I'd known behind and move to England to live with my father. I was fourteen – angry, grieving – and I was plunked in the house of a man who I only really knew through conversations over the phone and the few summer trips I had across the pond. He wasn't exactly ready for the challenge of raising a hormonal teenage girl… we were both thrown in the deep end of the pool together, quite frankly.” She shook her head at the insanity of the situation she had lived through. “Poor sod getting lumped with me.” She laughed and took another drag of her cigarette, leaving a pregnant pause in her story. “Needless to say, I acted out, rebelled. Skipped school, let my grades fail – I barely graduated. Didn't leave me with many options, so I chose the military.”

“Didn’t do too bad f’ yourself though, did ya?”

“I suppose, other than hefty amounts of trauma,” she snickered at her own comment.

“Can’t be all bad.”

“No, no I suppose not. Joining the army did have its perks, this is true.”

“Got to meet me twice because of it.”

A loud burst of laughter came out of her. “Ah, yes, the highlight of my ten-year career. Not receiving the King’s Medal for Bravery as a corporal – spending time with John Price.”

He smiled around the cigar in his mouth, the lines around his eyes creasing softly. “You were awarded a medal as a corporal ?”

“Yeah…”

His brows lifted, giving a little nod, clearly impressed by her history. “Not too many people receive one of those.”

“No, not too many at all,” she said with a quiet sort of pride.

Humming appreciatively, smoke blew from his nostrils. “You still owe me that number of confirmed kills, darlin’.”

“I did promise you that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Thirty three high profile targets. Other soldiers and snipers?” She paused to hum and haw over the numbers. “Lost count around the mid seventies, and that was two years ago.”

“ Jesus ,” he breathed, giving a low groan. “Fucking hell, Rory.” Taking another drag of his cigar as if it were post coitus.

She giggled at his reaction, the obvious tone of arousal at her competency not lost on her. “Careful, John. Don't want to be popping a stiffy.”

His piercing gaze flicked up to settle on her and her teasing grin, a wolfish curl to the side of his mouth slowly growing. “Can't have that, can we? Wouldn't be proper of an officer.”

“Certainly not. Especially not while we're out here, alone , in the dark, with nothing but a pup tent to share.”

Brow lifted, a cocky self-assured smirk grew on his face. “Who knows what might happen.”

Rory licked her lips and tutted her tongue, still pretending as though she wasn't interested, or rather, playing hard to get. She had to admit she had been enjoying this chase of theirs and Price had certainly been persistent as had been promised – ever the hunter, and her the beast waiting for that right moment to strike. “How ever will we fill the time?”

“I can think of a few things,” he purred.

“I bet you can.”

“Mission’s nearly over, darlin’. Don’t need to worry about being a distraction for me anymore, yeah?”

Leaning towards him, she lowered her voice until it was smooth and sultry. “And you think I’m just going to give in like that?”

“Still want me to try and persuade you, eh?”

“I’m still trying to figure out just what it is about me you actually want?” Her warm hazel eyes lifted to take in those unreadable gray-blue ones that looked back at her. Pushing the challenge just a little bit further, prodding him towards showing her just a little of his own vulnerability.

“I want you for all sorts of reasons.” He gave nothing away.

Her brow cocked, wanting more detail. “Is that so?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever been so interested in another woman before.” His voice grew huskier the longer the discussion went on, body leaning closer to her.

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

“And what makes me so different?”

“ Everything ,” he said in a deep growl. “You’re a bloody challenge, first and foremost – and you were certainly right about me liking that.”

She paused, letting the closeness between them settle before pushing further, deeper into dangerous territory. Her eyes narrowed, lingering on his features, reading him. “ If I were to let you have me as your girl, would I be just another accolade to your name, John?”

Smirking, he pulled back slightly, understanding where the game was heading between them. “There’s no denyin’ the fact that any man would consider havin’ you as their girl an honor. However , if you’re askin’ if I’d see you as just another notch in the belt, then you’ve got me all wrong, darlin’.”

“So you see me as someone worth going for the long haul with?”

“You bet your arse.”

Chuckling quietly at his expected response, she kept digging. “And you really do just want to take care of me?”

“Always.” His face became serious. All playful, flirtatious intent wiped clean from it. On this he was absolute. The final decision was made up in his mind and he would not be dissuaded. That point was no game for him.

Her smile faded as reality hit once more. Nothing could be that simple, not for them, not with the rules and regulations of the military. “I wish it was that easy.”

“It doesn't have to be as bloody hard as you’re makin’ it.”

“It does.” She scoffed, “We can’t just bury our heads in the sand over this, pretend that we aren’t breaking rules here – because we are. You have so much more to lose over this than I do.” Sighing, her voice was barely an audible whisper above the night wind. “I don’t want to be something you live to regret.”

His brow furrowed, mouth flinching as he clenched his jaw. “Never gonna happen, love. Never . Fell f’you like a goddamn idiot.”

Rory giggled, covering her mouth as jovial bursts of laughter coming in fits and starts carried across the desert at night.

“It’s not funny,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling at her reaction to his confession.

Dragging her hand down her face, she tried to hide the embarrassment they both seemed to be feeling and gazed at him. “I’m sorry,” saying it as genuinely as she could between the little bubbles of laughter that still crept up out of her.

“You’re a filthy liar.” Shaking his head, his smirk was still plastered to his face.

Looking at one another, the firelight flickered across from them, warming their skin as much as the laughter and their close proximity was. Silence fell. Their eyes locked. Heart racing in her chest, Rory’s lips seemed to part instinctively as her breath caught in her throat, not realizing she was even holding it.

John’s gaze roamed down to her mouth, freezing there as she watched his tongue drag across his lips. Throat bobbing with a heavy swallow, his pupils dilated making his steely eyes darker than the night sky above. Biting the inside of his lower lip, he stared at her hungrily. It was clear he was debating his next move. Jaw tensing, the tendons flexing, his hand lifted to scratch at the underside of it as his brow furrowed.

Nocturnal animals squawked, screamed and chattered out in the darkness that surrounded them. They were completely alone out here. No witnesses, no mission. Just them .

Moving closer, he leaned a little further towards her, the distance between them disappearing quickly until she was moments away from being wrapped around him. The tips of their noses brushed against the other’s, his breath fanning on her lips, the cigar smoke heavy on her nostrils. The heady, bitter scent of tobacco made her bite her lip. Her eyes firmly locked on his, she tried to perceive what his next move was before he did.

Brushing the hair back that the wind blew into her face, his fingers traveled through her waves as his hand came to rest on the curve of her jaw, thumb stroking at her cheekbone thoughtfully. No words needed to be spoken, enough already had. Just like in a fight, they seemed to know what the next move needed to be before it was even said. Synchronicity .

Mouth meeting hers, his grip firm, the kiss was passionate and deep. Weeks’ worth of need boiled down into one moment. All that arguing, the bickering, the back and forth, it all had to have been for something and he seemed to be making damn sure that it did as his lips claimed hers. Pulling her in tighter towards him, his hand shifted to lock up into a fistful of her hair at the back of her head. His other arm wrapped around her back, pulling her right up against him as his fingers found themselves sliding underneath the hem of her shirt, caressing the small of her back. Rough, calloused skin on his warm palm rubbed against her, fighting off the chill in the breeze as the temperature decreased the deeper the night became.

Breaking the kiss for air, John pressed his forehead to hers, his breath short and heavy. “I want this, Ror. Want you. Us ,” his voice thick with a deep need. “This feels right. You know it does.”

“John –” she said his name breathlessly.

“No, sweetheart. No more reasons not to, yeah?”

She still wasn’t entirely convinced. In the moment it was easy to forget the real world, to stop herself from seeing sense, but her mind continued to race through every scenario, every possible fantasy and nightmare that could come out of this decision.

“John…” She brought her hand to his temple stroking her fingers through his hair ruffled by the wind with his boonie hat removed. “I’m really not the easiest person to love, I wasn’t lying about that. Had to learn not to let people in. My job’s been about lying and secrets for years.”

And from the fear of being hurt, of being left behind once more.

“Yeah, so’s mine. You know that.” His hand came to rest under her chin, keeping her eyes on his. “Don’t you think that’s what makes us right for each other, my girl? No lies, no bullshit, no pretendin’ to be somethin’ we aren’t. Good, bad, or ugly. Just me and you.”

“You could have a woman who could give you a normal life,” she said quietly.

“Normal’s boring, love.”

“You’re going to have a retort for everything I say, aren’t you?” Her brow lifted as her mouth curled into a half grin.

“Maybe. Yeah.” His smirk fading to become serious once more. “But I mean it, I wouldn’t know how to handle some bloody white picket fence life. And even then I’d be havin’ to lie to whoever she was f’ the rest of my life ‘bout the things I’ve done. Don’t have to do that with you. Might be nice to get to be honest f’ once.”

Rory shook her head and huffed out a laugh. “Just as smooth as you were five years ago,” she teased.

“I can be charmin’ when I choose to be.”

She hummed, “That’s becoming very apparent.”

“You’re too perfect to let slip through my fingers, Rory,” he purred.

“I’m anything but perfect,” she whispered softly.

His thumb drifted across her lower lip, pulling at her pout and staring straight into her eyes. “You, my darlin’ girl, are exactly what I need.”

There was no denying the magnetic pull that had always been there between them, and with their mouths so close together it was only getting stronger. She could tell herself to pull away, to repel him, to push him back and carry on, focusing on her career as she always had, leaving her to a lonely world she had come to know so well. Saving herself the pain of loss and distance by never allowing anything good to come from letting anyone in. She found herself unable to do that anymore – not with him. He had been nothing but honest when he said being with him just felt right.

She wondered if her mother and father ever felt this way, living a life of apparent joy before they too parted and became another statistic.

Shaking her head clear of those thoughts, she closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss him once more, her lips pressed to his, soft and slow. Tongue sweeping against her pout, he prodded at the part of her lips until she rewarded him with access to her mouth. Climbing into his lap, she grabbed at the shoulder straps of his tac vest, deepening the kiss as her legs came to straddle his muscular thighs. Wrapping her body around his broad expanse, she was protected by him, held in his arms – the way it had always been.

Exactly the way she wanted him.

#call of duty #fan fiction #john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #fic: all along the watchtower #chapter 15

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meraki24601 · 8 months

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Dawn

Whumptober day 11! I made it farther than I expected lol. I ended up using both the song lyrics and the object: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” and animal trap.

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Whumpee’s fangs cut their lower lip as they snarled and bit at the hunter approaching through the trees. The bear trap clamped down on their ankle clenched tighter as they lunged, a warning not to come any closer. White hot pain shot from the cold iron trap around their ankle and up their spine, twisting their powerful growl into a howl of agony.

“I set that trap out in hopes of catching one of the giant wild boar destroying my garden.” The hunter rolled their shoulders, their gun shining in the moonlight. “I never would have dreamed it was a disgusting vampire stealing my crops. What were you doing with them? Your kind doesn’t eat vegetables.”

This hunter seemed to be a reasonable one, if angry at Whumpee’s presence. They stopped to talk calmly instead of wasting bullets likely not made for killing their kind. Taking an unnecessary breath to block out the pain, Whumpee lowered their head, “My sincere apologies. My actions were uncouth, tainted with ignorance and fear. I am not the one stealing your crops. My purpose here is only to pass through. I did not know this land had been claimed. If you will release me, I will gladly help you hunt the boar you seek as payment for further safe passage.”

“You must think I am a fool.” The hunter’s voice was colder than the steel chaining Whumpee to the earth. “I know what you are. I know what your kind do. Should I release you from the trap, you would kill me, my family, and the entire surrounding village.”

“I swear, I would not. I swear to you, if you release me, I will not drink a single drop of blood until I have passed on from here. One hundred leagues to the east, if I must. You have my word. Should you not know, a vampire’s word-”

“Is meaningless. I know how your promises bind your kind. It means nothing. You promise to spare that which is mine with the same mouth you swear to kill that which is another’s. The blood you spill will not be on my hands.” With the finality of a king condemning a criminal, the hunter turned and began to walk away.

“Please! Listen for just one moment more. I am not a murderer as you think I am. Surely, you have heard rumors of the vampires of the East? Those who drink the blood of animals instead of man? That is where I am heading. To join my brothers and sisters there. We wish to end the death and fighting so this Earth can thrive.”

The hunter was silent for a moment, frozen on the edge of the clearing. “Vampire, what is your name? How long have you existed in this world as a vampire?”

“Whumpee, my friend. I am nearing eight hundred years.”

“Tales of the vampires who feast on animals have only begun within the past fifty years. It is not only the potential of future lives lost that condemns you, but the mourning of those who have already passed.” The hunter resumed their walk into the trees, disappearing until all that was left was the solemn sound of their voice echoing in the clearing, “I leave you with this: if there is an afterlife for your kind, may you rest in peace.”

Nature’s version of silence has always been loud. Bugs, and birds, and beasts of the night called to the sky, reminding the world they were still alive. With the hunter’s lantern gone and Whumpee’s torch extinguished on the ground, the only light in the clearing came from the Moon, stars, and the ten fireflies dancing close by.

Whumpee knew others were traveling East that night. Some whose path may bring them near enough to hear Whumpee’s call. Accepting one last hope, Whumpee settled against the tree, counting the small flashing bugs to pass the time.

Twenty minutes passed. One of the lights stopped appearing.

An hour. Two more lights were smothered by the night. Whumpee’s leg was numb. At least they didn’t have to worry about bleeding out before help could arrive.

When merely four flashing lights remained in the clearing, Whumpee began to cry.

Three lights left. Whumpee’s voice broke as they screamed, “Help me, please! Is there anyone out there?”

Two tiny lights. The clearing was silent. Even the animals had gone to bed.

One light left.

Dawn.

Part 2

#whumptober 2023 #no.11 #All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.#animal trap #oc #whump fic #trapped #hunter #whumpee #left for dead #vampire #vampire whumpee

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crazyk-imagine · 1 year

Text

Don’t Fear the Beast or Inanimate Talking Objects

Pairing: Beast!Nick “Goose” Bradshaw x Belle!Reader Characters: Beast!Nick “Goose” Bradshaw. Belle!Reader, Tom “Iceman” Kazansky (brother), Rick “Hollywood” Neven (brother), Charlotte “Charlie” Blackwood (sister), Penny Benjamin (Sister), Mike Viper” Metcalf (Dad), Pete “Maverick” Mitchell (Lumiere), Marcus “Sundown” Williams (Cogsworth), Sam “Merlin” Wells (The enchantress), Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe (Henry “Wolfman” Ruth) (Coatrack), Peppermint (the horse [a true icon]) Adam, Gaston, Le Fou, Carole Bradshaw (briefly mentioned), Sydney (Belle’s mother) (briefly mentioned) Warnings: Angst, fluff, mix of two versions of this movie, I have no regrets, sad times, mentions of death, Bradley adopting reader as his mother, Hollywood and Iceman are big brothers, Charlie and Penny are big sisters, chaotic family energy, this has consumed my thoughts for this entire week, Nick being depressed over losing his lovey Carole, the castle has terrible weather, this took a minute for me to write Word Count: 13,897

Top Gun: Disney AU

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You had a feeling something was wrong all day, your stomach constantly in knots your anxiety causing your heart rate to skyrocket.

It was unusual for your papa, Mike, to not return the day he is supposed to. And if he knows he won’t, he sends word, so you and your siblings won’t worry… especially with the story of the lonely beast who roams the abandoned castle somewhere in the woods.

The story has always been your brothers’ favorite and the very reason they continue to join the hunting parties the people in town have been because they “want to protect the family.”

And there’s no way Mike would ever return during the night since his eyesight isn’t the same as it used to be (no matter how much he tries to deny it).

Another thing he would never do is let your most prized possession, your family horse, Peppermint, loose.

Your siblings know never to let anything happen to her; she was the last thing ever given to any of you by your mother, even if your family say she’s yours.

You can’t reminisce long as the sound of her neighs gets you to push yourself off your knees and quickly exit your small vegetable garden.

You’re quick to grab her reins and slowly place your hand on her head in the space between where her eyes meet (her favorite spot to be pet and the only place that can calm her down). You gently shush her, never removing your hand. “It’s all right, Peppermint. You’re safe now.”

You swear she understands you because it looks like she shakes her head, deep breaths huffing out of her nose as if she disagrees. “Where is papa?”

She takes a gentle step forward, trying to burrow her head into your hand. “Oh, no.”

The sound of your name diverts your attention away from your beloved horse.

“Rick.”

He closes the front door behind him. “What happened? Where is father?”

“I- I,” you struggle to respond, not having an answer yourself. “I don’t know.”

“What are we going to do?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know but I will find out, okay?”

“What do you mean? What does that mean, Belle?”

You purse your lips at the nickname your family hasn’t used since you were a child. You grab his arms, looking him in the eye. “I will be back. But, if I’m not. I need you to-”

“I’m not going to think of that because it’s not going to happen. I know you and I know you will bring our father home... just give me-”

You shake your head, “no. You are not coming.”

“I am your brother-”

“You are the youngest-”

“I’m older than you.”

You click your tongue, “still the youngest, but I will return. I promise. I just,” you glance over at the garden. “I need to find someone to tend the garden.”

“The garden.” His eyes widen as he thinks about what you’ve said. “The garden!?”

You nod, “yes, the garden. Don’t- I’ll be back.” You run to town knowing who you need to talk to will be there.

You stop, taking a deep breath before entering the town; you look around to see if anyone (who could tolerate you was nearby), you’re in luck. “Oh! Oh! Yes!”

You run over to Sam, typically known Merlin by those who don’t like him.

“Sam! Sam, dear!” You take a deep breath as you run to him. “Sa- am.”

He smiles upon your arrival until he sees your hunched over, out of breath position. “Deep breaths. In… and out. Again.”

“I know how to breathe but,” you take a deep breath, “thank you nonetheless.”

“Of course.”

“Now, the reason I rushed over is to ask you for a small favor?”

“And what favor is it this time?” He asks, with a raised brow.

You tend to ask him favors a lot, most of which consist of borrowing sugar or if he could help you find a screw so your papa can fix your clock, the one gifted to you by your mama before she passed since your siblings never want to help you with these things.

You shake your head. “I need you to watch over the garden… papa has not returned, and I fear for his safety. You know of the stories.”

“Which stories? Everyone in town is fearful of the woods for many reasons,” he points out, but the expression on his face doesn’t match his words which you ignore due to your worry of your papa’s safety.

“You know,” you lean forward as if you’re sharing a secret. “The stories of the beast.” You forgo the unnecessary details of the abandoned castle seeing as he was the one who told you about it, even though hardly anyone knew this minor detail... something you don’t find to be weird.

“You think he has wandered into the castle?”

You sigh. “I would most certainly hope not but he had asked me if I wanted anything when he decided to come back from his trip. Of course, I told him no seeing as he had too many items to get from the lists my sisters left, but he wouldn’t accept that answer. I fear he had stopped somewhere dangerous to get me such the thing I asked for, when he knew we could go on a trip to the nearby town and get it there. Oh.”

The man shushes you. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll turn up before you can even exit the town line.”

You squeal, hugging him. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Sam. I will not forget this. The youngest of my brothers will be home but you know how none of them appreciate the love of the garden.”

He nods, “I do. Now, go home and pack a bag.” He pulls the blanket off his basket and hands you a few rolls he bought from the baker earlier along with a medical herb mix he makes for anyone who gets injured.

You shake your head, “oh, I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will. It will help you on your journey.”

“Okay. Thank you again, Sam.”

He smiles.

You run back to your home, grabbing your coat and bag with necessary items for any scenario you could think of on the spot; the book that you never take out lays at the bottom followed by some medical wrap, ointment, Sam’s “magical” herb mix as well as the rolls and a small handful of food suitable for humans and animals.

You want to pack more but there’s hardly any room for other things. “These are necessary items,” you tell yourself. “That’s all I can bring with me. It's okay. You’re okay,” you tighten the grip on the strap of your bag. “He’s okay.”

After getting Peppermint ready and grabbing the spare key for Sam, you return to where you last saw him.

Rick stands in the doorway. “I don’t like the thought of you leaving on your own.”

You nod, “yes well. If I don’t do it, we may not have a father anymore. Now move, Rick.”

He doesn’t.

“I said move.”

He gives in and takes a step back. “At least let me come with you.”

“No,” you shake your head. “I need you to stay here. Tom is working out of town so that he can have enough money to leave home while Charlotte and Penelope are out trying to find new fabric so that they can have new dresses made for them. One of us must be here.”

A heavy sigh slips past his lips. “Fine but, I’m not happy about this.”

“I know,” you smile before pulling him in for a hug. “I will be back before you know it.” You prepare Peppermint for the journey and take off back to your dearest (and only friend).

He turns to the sound of Peppermint’s hooves clopping against the dirt floor.

You reach into your bag for the key, holding it out for him to take. “I’ll be leaving now. If papa and I do not return before tomorrow…” You gulp.

He nods, pocketing the key before patting your shoulder in a comforting manner. “I will make sure you both return, if that is the case, you have my word.”

You resist the urge to smile, knowing full well that he and Rick would be the first ones to lead your search party. “I know I’ve said this before but... thank you.”

And you’re off.

You hoist yourself up on Peppermint's saddle and crack the reins, putting your faith into her to guide you to your papa’s last location.

She slows down once the two of you reach the blocked entrance of the forest where the beast has been rumored to reside.

“Is this where you came from?” You ask out loud, voice low, close to a whisper. “How did you two get in?”

As soon as those words are said, the splintered branches and thorny vines begin to retract themselves, creating a walkway for you to ride through.

Peppermint takes a step back; your hand instantly reaches her “special spot.”

“We’ve got this.” You pat her head before clutching the reins, “we can do this.”

There’s no turning back now, it’s now or never and you have your mother’s genes.

You crack the reins once more and run through, glancing over your shoulder to see the entrance return to its original state. You shake your head; you can’t focus on that and return your focus onto your current mission.

The wind continues to get harsher and colder; you lower your head to protect yourself, putting your full trust into your precious horse.

She slows her pace, but you can’t bring yourself to raise your head until she comes to a full stop.

It's even worse than you realized, the castle from all the stories is… beautiful.

The gray clouds that disturb the clear skies near the village and the fog on the lower levels may be enough for other people to turn around and leave but not you.

It fills you with a sense of nostalgia, reminding you of your older sister during childhood when Charlotte asked to hear a short story about your mother.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell you kids a lot, but he went into more detail about your mother’s hobby, painting and how her work wasn’t for everyone.

Later that night, your papa would tell you how he always admires you for finding the beauty in dark and twisted things because he couldn’t always do that himself which is why your mama’s paintings are covered and collecting dust.

It’s obvious how much it still pains him to talk about her.

You were about the age of ten when you found out what happened to her and your oldest brother, Tom, was the one to tell you. You don’t think it’s a moment you’ll ever forget and only because you found out the truth.

He tucks you in while your papa was working downstairs.

“What happened to her?”

“To whom?”

You ignore his gaze. “To mama.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t respond for a few minutes. “Do you remember when I told you of the plague that started to invade our first home?”

You nod. “As much as she tried and prevented us from getting it, she wound up getting the plague herself.”

“She did?”

He nods. “But she was never alone even in the end, she was still surrounded by those she loved... now it’s time for bed.”

You realized that night how much your father has truly done for you and your family even as he was dealing with heartache; he had whisked you all away from your first home to make you all stay healthy and safe.

And, after twenty-two years, he still loves her even as his life has changed and become darker; you still do your best to cheer him up, even if it’s only temporary... Which is why you can’t give up.

She stops a few feet away from the front steps of the castle.

You dismount from Peppermint and slowly walk towards the building, wary of where you step because of the icy grass and cracks in the ground. You hope your papa didn’t fall; you swear you hear the ground cracking as you hopped off her.

Her neighs pull you out of your thoughts, Peppermint nods towards the side of the building. You turn and walk in that direction only to find a few fallen petals, putting you on high alert.

You follow the trail and find a rose smashed into the ground due to large animal like footprint. You hold the dead rose in your hands. “Oh no.” Your head snaps up after a shingle falls, cracking on the ground, your eyes shift towards one of the many roofs to find a shadow staring.

A gasp escapes you; you push yourself up and move away from the area. Glass crunches under your foot, breaking into a million little pieces; you to look down.

You bend down, wiping away the small pile of snow (which is only on this side of the castle) that covers the item and find your father’s pocket watch. You quickly put it in your pocket before looking up, finding nothing there. “It must have been my imagination.”

You tighten your grip on your beloved Peppermint’s reins and walk back around towards the, now, open entrance of the castle. “I’ll be right back.”

Her defiant neighs and stomping of her hoof stop you.

You pet her, assuring the horse that you’ll be fine and won’t be long. You furrow your brows at the sight of the slightly ajar door, but your sense of worry overtakes your common sense. Your fingertips barely brush against the creaky door as it opens further. You take careful steps inside, not wanting to fall with the poor lighting hiding the dark floor.

The door slams shut, you jump and turn at the echoing boom!

You take a second to think about what just happened. “Don’t worry. You’re inside, you’re safe.” Your mantra doesn’t ease your anxiety or heart as you continue through the castle.

A faint echoing thump piques your interest.

‘Papa?’ You run up the stairs, searching for the noise and eventually you find yourself in a dungeon.

The thumping becomes louder and clearer than it had been before the closer you get to the staircase; you rush down the spiraling staircase, keeping one hand on the wall so you don’t fall. You pause when you notice how narrow and long the walkway is.

Even with how dark it is, you can still see the cracks wherever you step, concerning you for yours and your papa’s safety.

You carefully step forward, slow enough to apply a little pressure needing to see if it's safe enough for you to walk and once you do, you grab the source of light to your right off the shelf and continue.

The gasp escapes you before you can stop it. “Papa!”

He looks so defeated and scared.

Mike calls out your name, his hands wrapping around the cell door bars, keeping him steady. “You must leave. The- the stories-”

Your eyes bounce around all over, in search of something. “Where is the key?”

“You have to leave before he finds you.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not going to leave you here to suffer. You’re needed back home, and I will make sure that happens.”

He’s shocked. “But- but you have to.”

You shake your head, “I can’t. I will not lose another one of my parents. You have much more to teach the others, things I cannot.”

He softly says your name.

You don’t respond and ignore him until he says your nickname. “Belle. Belle. Stop.” He grabs your hand, holding it tight to get you to stop.

You stare at him with sad, tearful eyes and he only smiles in return. “It’s okay.” You lower your head.

A heavy thud against the last step gets you to flinch and snap your head over in that direction.

‘The shadow from outside.’ Your heart beats faster, filling you with worry and dread until it disappears.

The cell door opens, both of you are hesitant to move before you rush to pull him out.

“We are leaving,” you throw his arm over your shoulders. “We’re leaving and we’re not turning back.”

Your papa doesn’t fight you nor does he say anything as you two exit the castle.

“How do we get out?”

“I have to go back,” he mumbles.

“No,” you argue. “You are not going back to that dreaded place. It- the beast let you go. Why else would the door open?”

“He didn’t,” he shakes his head. “The beast told me if I leave, I will only have twenty-four hours to see my family again before I have to return.”

“Twen- twenty-four hours?! That’s not enough time to say goodbye.”

The conversation dwindles from there.

You two manage to make it back to your home before it gets dark.

“Rick!” You call out for your brother, “Rick!”

He runs out of the house, the tension leaving his shoulders at the sight of the two of you. He calls out for the two of you as he rushes over to help your father off Peppermint.

“Have the others returned yet?” As soon as you uttered those words, your other siblings rush out the door, calling out for your papa.

Once Rick, Charlotte, and Penny take your father inside, Tom turns to you. “What happened?”

You explain that he was out to get the things from the list you all had given him, and Peppermint was the one to return, leading you to an abandoned castle.

He raises a brow at the mention of the castle. “An abandoned castle?”

You nod, “yes. Why do you sound as if you don’t believe me?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

He clears his throat, “let’s go inside and enjoy the fact that father is home.” He stops, “one more thing. Stop giving your key to that man.”

“Sam? He’s harmless.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Yeah, well. I do. He’s nicer to me than everyone else in the village other than the librarian Adam or that buffoon Gaston when he’s trying to make Penny jealous.”

“Stop talking to him.” He walks ahead of you, leaving you to look back at the village.

Your shoulders sag, you know what you need to do.

You prepared dinner as you planned and enjoyed what you knew to be your last night at home.

Once everyone cleaned up and went to their rooms, you sneak downstairs, grabbing your coat and bag before mounting Peppermint’s saddle.

“This is the last time you’re going there. I promise.”

And you’re off.

She stops at the entrance once again.

“We need a way in.” You stop for a minute and think.

“I am... trading my papa’s place with me?” You tilt your head when the entrance opens again. You shake your head, knowing you can’t focus on it any longer.

You grip the reins as tight as you can before cracking them.

You hop off Peppermint and pet her one last time before trying to let her go. “Run home, Pep. It’s not safe for you to be here.”

She nudges her head in your hands.

You sigh, “you can’t fight with me on this.”

You can’t resist those eyes, “fine but you stay here until I can find a safe place for you.”

You slowly enter the castle, not expecting to see candles lit or there to be less cracks in the floor, maybe you should have paid more attention to your surroundings before you ran in search of your papa.

The door slams shut behind you, you jump turning around to look at who it was only to find a rocking coat rack. “Odd.”

“You returned?” The low, deep voice says as it echoes throughout the first floor. Your poor heart can only take so much more.

“Uh- yes,” you slowly respond, searching for him.

“You returned in place of your father?”

“I did. He needs to be in a place where he can be properly taken care of and continue to look after my family.” Your hand rests on the pillar, adjacent from the stairs, as you peek around the corner only to find nothing.

“The thief has a family.”

You furrow your brows, taking offense to his comment.

“He is not a thief!”

The beast jumps down a few feet behind you and shakes the ground, your arms circle the air as you try to keep your balance before turning around.

“He stole the one thing that is precious to me. He is a thief,” his voice lower and more menacing than it was earlier.

“He is not a thief! He was trying to get the one thing his youngest child asked for because he knew it would make her happy!” You shout at him, chest heaving, eyes full of fire, something he hasn’t seen in a very long time.

The beast scoffs, ignoring the nostalgia that tries to worm its way into his cold heart. “You are to have dinner with me every day.”

Your head jerks back. “What if I don’t want to?”

“You’ll have dinner with me, or you will starve.”

You furrow your brows not understanding where he thinks he has the right to control you and what you do. “I will do whatever I want to do. You are not the boss of me!”

“Fine!” He whirls around, “see if I care whether you live or die!”

And he runs up into one of the wings, no longer wanting to see you.

You can’t believe the nerve of the- the- your eyes widen. You gave attitude and talked back to the beast from the stories you’ve been told about for as long as you can remember (since you moved to the village). “I just- oh my,” you take a deep breath and try to calm yourself.

“You held yourself together. Better than I ever could,” a male voice says.

You whirl around, finding no one there. “Who said that?”

“I did.”

You look down and find a candelabra there. Your eyes widen and you fall back into the nearest chair. “I’ve lost my mind. I’ve lost it and it’s never coming back.”

“Don’t say that mademoiselle.”

“I’m saying it.”

An awkward silence fills the air.

“Maybe having dinner will take your mind off things?” He weakly offers.

“I think I need to sleep right now. I can’t- I still don’t believe everything I’ve seen today.”

“Follow me.”

You lay in bed, dressed in the night gown that was laid across the bed (after a long fight with your inner conflict about if you should or shouldn’t wear it).

It takes a long time until you can go to sleep and when you do, you dream of strange things such as a man dancing around with a woman in a ballroom.

The pillars look the same as the ones you saw in one of the main rooms earlier.

You don’t know who they are or why you’re dreaming about them or even how you remember them when you wake up. Sitting up in bed, looking around the room, you realize how stuffy it is.

You need to get out of this room and learn more about your new… place of residency.

You barely make it down the stairs to the main room you were in the night before when the candelabra interrupts your thoughts.

“Good morning, mademoiselle.”

You slowly turn, staring at the object. “Good morning,” you slowly say.

“Oh, forgive me. I never told you, my name. I am,” he spins around, “Pete, Maverick to others.”

A smile stretches across your lips, “it’s nice to meet you, Pete. I was going to do some exploring since this is where I’ll be... from now on.”

“Ah, you can visit any place here you’d like but- uh- don’t go to the west wing.”

“What’s in the west wing?”

“Nothing-”

“Lots of damage. It’s dangerous for you to explore.”

You furrow your brows at the sight of the clock. “And who are you?”

He stutters, not entirely sure if he should tell you or not.

“This is Marcus, also known as Sundown,” Pete says, introducing his friend.

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus. Are there any more of you or is it just you two here?”

“Oh, no,” the candelabra shakes his head. “There are more of us, very few though. Most of them got away before they could be touched by the spell.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Too many to count.”

You fall back into the nearest chair when the tea cart bumps into your side.

“Oh, sorry dear. The young prince isn’t so good with directions,” the tea pot tells you as she offers you a kind and welcoming smile.

“Yes, yes. Sorry, miss,” the second teacup apologizes.

“It’s alright,” you smile back at him.

“You must need something to warm you right up and I know just the thing.” A cup of tea comes towards you.

“Be careful, Chip.”

“Yes, mother.” He turns back to you, “hello there.”

“He- hello. I take it you’re Chip?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Should I be drinking from him?” You turn to the tea pot. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s alright,” she assures you. “It won’t hurt him if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Okay,” you take a sip and pull back when a bubble pops.

“Chip! How many times have I told you not to do that?”

“Sorry, mother.”

“Oh no. It’s okay, he’s having fun.”

“Don’t encourage the two. They’re handfuls already,” she jokes.

A coatrack hops closer to your small group.

“And that,” Pete begins. “Is our favorite of us all, the ever so silent, Leonard also known as Wolfman.”

“I take it he talked a lot?” You ask.

“Yep, you could never get him to shut up.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Leonard.”

He waves a wooden post in return.

“Sorry about them dear. Oh, I almost forgot, I’m Mrs. Potts and the boy blowing bubbles is my son Chip and this one behind me is the young prince, Bradley.”

“It’s very nice to meet you all.”

“You’re pretty,” Bradley gushes before hiding behind Mrs. Potts.

“Thank you, Bradley,” you offer a gentle smile. “And you are a handsome young boy.”

“You don’t know what I look like.”

“You have a kind personality, that makes you extra handsome,” you whisper as if it’s a secret the others shouldn’t be hearing.

He giggles and spins around the other boy.

None of you knew but the beast formerly known as King Nick (Nicholas Bradshaw the II) was in his secret passageway, listening and watching over his boy as he had begun to do after the passing of Queen Carole but more so when the curse was placed on the kingdom.

Part of him wonders if you’ll be the one to break the spell while the other part wants nothing to do with you to spare him from any future heartache.

Maybe tonight he’ll eat dinner with you, apologize for his behavior.

He shakes his head, “no, no. She is not the one. She-”

An earthquake shakes the building, small debris falls from the ceiling.

He runs through the walls, not caring if he makes any noise.

He takes careful, steady steps into the room not wanting his heavy footsteps to cause another petal to fall. He sighs at the small, broken rose.

Once the shaking stops, you glance around the room.

“What was that?” The older woman sighs.

“Another petal has fallen,” Marcus chimes in.

“What- what does that mean?”

“If the last petal falls, the curse takes place and we all become objects while my father remains a beast,” Bradley answers you.

“You’re all cursed?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“Sadly, yes,” the tea pot informs you.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, dear.”

“How did-” You glance back at the two boys and decide not to ask now, you don’t want to bring up any bad memories. “When did it happen?”

“We’ve lost count over the years that have passed,” Pete tells you.

“Oh.”

“That’s enough of that,” the clock interrupts. “I think it’s time for lunch.”

“Okay. Am I going to get another dance number with all the utensils and plates?”

“You never know, mademoiselle.”

You narrow your eyes at Pete.

A few days later…

The others have things to do, and you’re left alone so you take this opportunity to venture around the castle. Nothing fun or very interesting in, what you assume, and hope is the north wing. Same thing with what you do know as the east wing (the sign was helpful).

You take careful steps as you walk into this wing since it’s more run down than any others you’ve seen so far. Your head snaps to the left, eyebrows knit together when you see nothing there.

Maybe it was nothing.

You continue and slowly open the creaky door, silently groaning to yourself as the creak echoes.

Once the door is open wide enough you walk further into the room, eyes catching the sight of the not dead rose trapped in a glass confinement.

You tilt your head trying to figure out why because the rose should be dead along with the fallen petals.

Nick’s shoulders sag as he walks up the steps, so much for taking a nap.

This time though, he woke with less heartache than the night before.

He knows he’ll never be able to forget her, his beloved wife, Carole.

She was his everything and always up for an adventure, which coincidentally is how the two found each other in the first place.

If only they had taken precautions and checked to make sure there were no bees.

They knew her family had a history of being allergic to bees, but she was lucky enough to have never come across any… until the search for the most majestic deer anyone could see came about.

Sometimes he wishes he never wanted to try and hunt the creature but then he comes to the realization that there was nothing he could do.

He shakes his head to forget his cries for her and how Bradley would never see her again.

His large body walks through the door without noticing the door was already open, not until he lifts his head to see you staring at the glass with a confused expression, he can’t focus on that for long as his nerves and heartbreak take over.

“No! Don’t touch it!” Nick rushes over towards it. “You were told to stay away from the west wing!” He growls at you, spit leaving his mouth landing on your cheeks and forehead. He takes a step closer, “you could have ruined everything! Ruined my chance to save my son!”

You step back. “I’m- I’m sorry- I-”

He stops moving and lets out everything he was feeling in that moment, what he felt when he lost Carole, when he was turned into this- damned thing, and what (he thinks) it would feel like to lose his boy.

A deep growl comes from the back of his throat. The vibration of the powerful noise is more than enough to cause the room to shake, the slashed painting on the wall rattles behind you, terrifying you to your core.

You don’t wait until he’s finished before running out of the room, down the stairs, and out the doors.

None of the cursed servants and prince can stop you even as they call out for you... not even the youngest of them all.

You hope you're close to the end of this hellish nightmare as you begin to slow your pace, unable to sprint anymore.

You’ve exerted too much of your energy to keep going and force yourself to slow down taking deep breaths as you stand hunched over with your hands on your knees.

Growling comes from your left; your head snaps up.

Your eyes widen at the wolf, and you begin to think. ‘I could outrun a wolf… can’t I? How fast are they?’

Until four more stand beside it.

You blink away your tears, taking slow steps backwards.

Maybe if you moved slowly and cautiously away from them, they wouldn’t see you as a threat, although you know better; the illogical part of you can’t help but take over during this time.

A flash tosses one of the wolves away.

You shout out, “behind you!”

As a wolf lunges at the beast, you were so terrified of before you ran out here and grab a stick, doing your best to quickly shove it off him.

All the wolves leave before the beast could harm another.

You don’t know if you should try and help him not… even if he is technically the reason you left.

“Are you going to help me?” He grumbles under his breath, and you just- you want to smack him.

A heavy sigh comes through your nose before you can stop it.

“Oh, and now she’s mad.”

You scoff through your nose.

“A thank you would be nice.”

“I wouldn’t have been out here or almost died if it wasn’t for you.”

“Ungrateful.”

“Ungrate-” You stand in front of him, one hand resting on his chest while the other latches onto his arm. “You are in no condition to walk back on your own.”

“Oh, am I not?”

You narrow your eyes to him. “And what do you suppose we do? I don’t think either of us have much of an option, right now.”

A familiar neigh stops you before you could answer him. “Perfect timing as always, Pep.” You turn back to the slumping lump of a beast.

“Now, get on.”

“I’ll crush it.”

“You won’t. She can handle it. It’s either this or you die in a blizzard... which won’t happen.”

“Why not?” He asks, lying on the back of your beloved horse with his chest on the saddle.

“I won’t be the one to tell your son his father died because of his pride.”

No other words were exchanged between the two of you that night or the following two nights as he rested.

While you comfort the young prince, your second oldest sister, Penny asks your brothers and father if she could ask Gaston for help, to which they denied her.

None of them wanted to deal with the man whose ego is so big, he can’t walk straight (they make jokes about how he always manages to walk into a mirror, even though that happened one time when he still ate three dozen eggs).

She clicks her tongue in disappointment, stopping her foot for extra flair.

“Penny,” Tom starts. “We don’t need to involve that idiot; he’s done nothing but try to ruin us. Why would we start to give into him and his demands now?”

“He is good. He will help is. He told me so himself.”

“And you truly believe him? Even after he told people of rumors about you.”

“That wasn’t him.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t the old man that did it,” he looks off into the direction of Sam.

She stomps her foot and walks away, slamming the door to her shared room.

“Nice,” Rick comments with sarcasm.

“I didn’t see you jumping in there to help me.”

“I thought you had it handled.”

“If I had it handled our sister wouldn’t be out there with that- that beast!”

Rick takes a step back, looking at Tom, trying to get a read on him and it’s clear that he feels like it’s his fault even though none of them had control over this situation. “None of us could have ever known that this is what fathers' trip would lead to.”

“I should have known. I’m the oldest, I look out for us. I told him he didn’t need to take this trip.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.” He shakes his head, “but he was sure he did, and it made sense why he thought so.”

“Why?”

“Penny and Charlotte were out of dresses.”

Rick smacks his brother's arm, understanding that his only way to deal with this is through humor, even if it's only temporary. “What do you plan to do?”

“I’m not involving that imbecile, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, but haven’t you heard his story about how he ate three dozen eggs to help him get large and after started to go for four dozen once he was large.”

Tom narrows his eye at his younger brother, “you know I do and that’s exactly why.”

You gently wipe away the blood. “You can go to sleep you know. No one is going to hurt you.”

“I know no one would hurt me.”

“Someone’s cocky,” you mumble.

“What was that?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

He hisses and tries to pull his hand away.

“Hold still. I’m almost done and then you can rest some more.”

The others watch as you take care of him, wondering what’s changed for the cold-hearted king to be so… kind to you after everything that’s happened.

You place the wet rag back into the bowl, placing it on the table beside his bed. “I’m going to put this on your wounds.” You lift the bottle Sam gave you a few days earlier.

“What is it?”

“A gift from a friend.”

“And how do I know you’re not actually trying to poison me?”

“If I was, you would know and why would my friend try to poison me?”

“I don’t know.”

“That wasn’t a very good question to ask.”

He doesn’t say anything and grumbles under his breath, low enough for you to not hear what he says.

“You’re not going to complain or anything as long as you want someone to take care of yo-our wounds.” You cringe at the thought of saying “take care of you”.

You barely know him and already find yourself enamored with him.

Oh no.

He doesn’t say much else and moves when you tell him to.

“Now, that your wounds are taken care of. I’ll see myself out. Get more rest.” You rush out before he can try and argue with you.

The others follow in your footsteps, leaving their king and prince alone.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Bradley?”

“Do you think she will be the one to break the spell?”

Nick doesn’t turn to look at his son. How can he answer a question like that when he doesn’t know himself? How can he move on from Carole?

She was the love of his life.

Maybe that’s why he can’t.

He feels that if he does then he and Bradley will forget her and he could never bring himself to do that, even if he does struggle to talk about her.

“She’s a very nice person.”

Nick hums, faintly listening to his boy as he goes on about her family and the sacrifices they’ve made. He furrows his brows, “what do you mean?”

“About what?”

“The sacrifices her family has made. What do you mean by that?”

“Oh. She told me when she was a baby, her mama got sick, and her family had to leave making her papa sad. And her big brother has been working hard to make sure they can all buy things they need while her sisters search for husbands and her other brother stays to help her papa with his creations.”

“And what of her?”

“She can’t leave her family alone. They need someone to look after them.”

“Who takes care of her?”

The boy furrows his painted brows. “I don’t know.”

That’s why you chose to trade your life for his.

Nick holds back a groan thinking back to the number of times he called your father a thief. “When did you find this out?”

“Not long ago.” Nick imagines, if his boy was human again, he would have shrugged.

The boy yawns for the third time today.

It’s as though time is running out faster than he would have hoped for.

The two Bradshaw’s fall asleep, one dreaming of a time when he could have fun without worrying about breaking into pieces; the other, he dreams of dancing with the one he is to call his wife.

You, more or less, have the same dream although this one turns into a nightmare with two women dying.

You push yourself up, no longer feeling the need to sleep. You couldn’t tell who either of the women were at first.

But the more you think about it, you slowly begin to see who it is.

As you sit in bed, analyzing all that you dreamed of, you knew one was your darling mother while the other was Bradley’s mother, the beast’s first love. You still cannot wrap your mind around the fact that you keep dreaming of her.

Maybe sitting in front of the fire would help you fall back asleep.

You take the blanket off your bed and wrap it around your shoulders as you tiptoe out of your room and down the stairs until you make it to the main room.

The fireplace is already going by the time you sit in the chair.

You let your mind wander, curious as to what your family is doing.

Hardly anyone sleeps soundly in your family’s home anymore as they continue to work on a plan to bring you home.

“Why can’t we leave and try to find it?” Charlotte asks.

“Because, as I’ve said before, Char. We don’t know where it is. How many times do I have to tell you that,” Tom tells her.

“I don’t know, I didn’t hear you. Tell me again.”

Mike does his best to clear the tension between your siblings.

“Enough.”

They don’t stop, it’s like they don’t even hear him and continue to bicker at one another.

“Enough!”

They turn towards him, giving him their full attention.

“You two are adults and will act like it because you are not the only ones scared for the safety of your sister.”

They lower their heads, muttering apologies.

“We need to focus on figuring out where that damned castle is so we can bring Belle, home.”

Rick doesn’t want to ask but knows if he doesn’t, no one will. “Do you remember where it is? You said it was surrounded by the forest; how did you manage to make it through?”

“I,” your papa pauses, thinking back. “I just- there was an opening.”

“Where?”

“There was- there was just an opening.”

“We need to know where she went, we need to know how to find our sister.”

“I understand that. I know better than anyone how it is to miss someone but there wasn’t anything significant that could help us.”

“What if we talk to Gaston?”

The three men turn towards Penny.

“He might be able to help.”

“We’re not going the idiot so he can flex his muscles,” Tom explains to her.

She rolls her eyes, “he wouldn’t do that.”

“He does it all the time and it’s annoying because you get distracted and that’s not gonna help us.”

She huffs, “do you want to find her or not?”

“Of course, we do but we’re going to do it without him.”

“Have any of you told anyone anything about Belle’s current... predicament?” Rick asks. He remembers the weird looks the people in town were giving him earlier that day.

“Why do you ask?” Charlotte chimes in.

“You don’t want her to talk to Gaston about this but, I felt eyes on me as I walked through town earlier.”

“But you always have eyes on you. We all do,” Tom argues.

“I know, I know.” Rick starts, “it just- it felt like there were more eyes on me today and I feel like people are noticing that she isn’t home. I think they’re starting to talk about it.”

“Ignore anything they say. We’re bringing her home no matter what it takes, you got it?” Tom gives his siblings a stern look.

They nod, not giving him a verbal response.

Sometimes it’s better to go along with what Tom tells em rather than try and argue with him. “It’s too late for us to go out tonight but first thing when we wake up, we’re searching for her.”

Your papa and younger brother nod.

“We’ll stay here in case she comes back,” Charlotte adds.

It was agreed that this was the plan and if they couldn’t find you tomorrow- they’re not thinking about that because they won’t stop.

They’ll keep going until they can’t any longer.

You wake up to find yourself in the bed that’s been deemed as yours. You furrow your brows, knowing for a fact that you did leave this room at some point.

Part of you wonders if it was a dream or if the beast carried you back here.

You find a book on the nightstand and fight the urge to smile before dismissing the thought, not being able to imagine him doing something so kind… even if you did recently help him with his wounds.

You get dressed and don’t plan on asking him if he did or not, it’d be easier to forget your crazy thought than try and dig for information.

You don’t find anyone in the hallway or near the stairs, other than the echoing putter patter of what you assume to be the hunting dogs, remembering the brief description of how Bradley’s mother passed.

You feel for the boy, knowing how he feels especially since it happened when he was so young and why… Nick acts the way he does.

You consider yourself lucky since your papa never lashed out at any of you. You know what you’re going to do today.

You walk along the lower hallways, stopping when you spot a familiar tall figure speaking to his son.

You find yourself standing beside the doorway, unsure if you should leave or not, knowing that the floorboards would creak underneath you.

“She is a nice person.”

“So, I’ve heard,” his father mutters before setting his son down onto the table so he can search for another book. “You should smile at her.”

“Why would I do that, Brad?”

“She doesn’t have many friends and I know you would like her.”

“I don’t think anyone could befriend a beast,” he mutters under his breath. “That sounds like an interesting idea.”

“She likes to read.”

“Does she now?” He asks as if he doesn’t already know.

If the boy was human, he’d be nodding. “Yep! And she’s read a lot of the books we have here.”

“Oh.”

“I think she’d like to visit our library.”

“Interesting.”

“Her favorite is also yours.”

“Really?”

“I think she’s a good person to talk to… she would understand why you’re angry if you told her more about mama.”

Nick spins around, “what do you mean? Did you tell her of your mother?”

“Only after she told me how her mama died a few months after she was born. Her papa doesn’t talk about her.”

He sighs. “I don’t want to burden anyone else with knowing about your mother.”

“She would be happy to listen. She smiles every time I talk about her.”

“And how many times has that been?”

The boy doesn’t respond for a few seconds, trying to figure something out. “Twice.”

“And she was nice enough to take the time to listen to your ramblings?”

The teacup jumps up in happiness. “She did. She only got sad when she told me how no one from her family can speak of her without getting sad or not wanting to speak of her at all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Tell her.”

“I’m with him.” Pete pops up out of nowhere.

Nick purses his lips, not liking when the two agree (ever, it never turns out well). “I can’t just tell her. She won’t understand and I- I wouldn’t be able to explain it to her.”

“Then take the time to explain it to her,” Pete adds with a “duh” tone.

“I’m not doing that. She doesn’t like me and I’ve- I’ve grown to accept that.”

“But-”

“Enough Bradley, it’s time for your lessons with Miss Potts and Chip.”

“He’s not wrong, you know.”

“Can it, Mav. It’s not happening.”

“But she still has it.”

“No. No one else has that loving feeling but-”

“You know it’s okay to open up your heart. She would want you to be happy, that’s all she ever wanted.”

“How can I be happy when it feels like I’m betraying her?”

“That just proves you loved her with all that you could.”

“So, that means I have nothing left to give?”

“N- No, I meant that you loved Carole with all that you could. Now, you have a chance to prove to yourself that you’re not the grumpy old man you pretend to be.”

“I’m not a grumpy old man,” Nick mumbles.

“Oh, you’re right. You’re an angry old man who pretends his heart is ice-cold and black, like he’s not worthy of finding someone new to love.”

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“Only because you know I’m right.”

Nick walks out of the room before he grabs his friend and throws him out a window (again). He huffs, debating on walking through the walls today.

‘Maybe I should try and show her kindness? Perhaps the book isn’t enough.’

He walks down the hallway, his ears twitching when Miss Potts' voice echoes through the hallway.

He steps closer, hiding behind the door, watching as the older woman talks to the kids and you.

“I wish I could help more around here. I feel like I’m not doing much.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that deary,” Miss Potts assures her.

“I can’t. At home… at my family’s home we would always be doing some kind of chore especially since our papa is getting older and can’t do a lot without getting hurt and prefers to be working on clocks as well as any other item that need to be fixed,” you smile, thinking about it.

“I hope they’re all okay.”

“I’m sure they are,” Miss Potts tries her best to reassure you.

You shrug, “perhaps.” You push yourself out of the chair. “Excuse me, you two have lessons you should be doing.”

You exit the room in search of something else to do.

The tall beast managed to scurry away before you could get closer.

Nick watches from a distance, realizing how sad you must be... away from your family. He knows what he needs to do.

You stand in the very same ballroom that continues to haunt your dreams. You hadn’t the faintest idea who the woman is in your dreams, and it makes you sad when you think about it because after learning about how Bradley’s mother passed, you believe it’s her.

You just- you don’t know why she’s haunting you in your dreams. You take a second and close your eyes, thinking back to when you would dance with your brothers and sisters.

It was a happy time; none of you had nearly as many responsibilities as you do now.

“What are you doing?”

You flinch, not expecting anyone else to be here. “Uh,” you spin around, staring at him. “Nothing?”

Nick raises a brow, “it didn’t look like nothing.”

“I was- uh- just- uh-”

He continues to stare at you, waiting for your response.

“I was… just remembering when my siblings taught me how to dance.”

“Oh.”

“We always dreamed of being grownups and dancing in such a magnificent ballroom, you know, like yours.”

“Would you…” His words become quieter making it harder for you to hear. “I was wondering if you- if you wanted to dance?”

He hasn’t been this nervous to ask someone to dance in a long time.

Maybe it was a good thing.

Your lips form into an “O” shape. “Or not, I get it-” “I would love to.”

With the way you two stare at one another, it’s clear to see how surprised both of you are.

“Tonight?” “After dinner?” You two ask at the same time, chuckling at one another’s response.

“After dinner,” you nod.

“I’ll see you then.”

You run in the direction of your room, needing to change into something more suitable for dancing.

Dinner was wonderful as always but this one seemed to be more special than any previous meals.

You slowly walk down the staircase, seeing Nick across the way. A small smile gracing your lips, your heart races at the thought of dancing with him.

It scares you, how excited you are to dance with someone who wreaked havoc into your life.

He holds his hand out, waiting for you to come down the last few steps.

You slowly place your hand into his much larger paw, guiding you down the final staircase.

He carefully steps forward, not wanting to overstep his boundaries or startle you.

You step forward, leaving the proper amount of distance between you two.

He leads, taking a step forward, you take one backwards, continuing this until he changes things and spins you around.

You’re free as you continue dancing with him, not thinking of anything else other than the fact that you’re enjoying yourself at this moment, more than you have in a long time.

Once it’s over he invites you to his library, the one place Pete and Bradley were nice enough to show you the other day.

Part of you wished you could have read something with him…

‘Maybe another time.’

“I have something I want to show you.”

You follow him without saying another word, curiosity overpowering any other thought you have.

“The one who cursed me gave me this, along with a few other things as you know.”

You reach out to touch the book but pull away before you could. “What does it do?”

“It’s a cruel joke.”

“Why?”

“It was designed to take me anywhere in the world, show the world of the beast that I am.”

“And you chose to show me, why?”

“I think it’s time I- I show you I can be the person they tell you I am.”

“And who is that?”

“Someone who can brighten someone’s mood when they’re upset.”

You smile to yourself, maybe you haven’t given him the benefit of the doubt.

Yet again, all you’ve ever come to know with him is his anger, you haven’t been given much of an opportunity to see any other side of him.

“Where to?”

You whisper, your family’s old home. Where you lived when you were only a few months old.

You look around, a sad expression on your face as you see the unfinished work, unmade bed, and the closed trunk off to the side.

“Oh, Paris? Interesting choice,” Nick comments, not paying all that much attention to you. “Should we go see the Ei-” He turns around. “What’s wrong?”

You wipe your cheek. “It’s- I- this was my home when I was- uh- when I was younger. This was the last place I ever saw my mama.”

“Why is that?”

You can’t find it in you to answer him as you find a special rose pen that you know belonged to her.

“This is a doctors mask.”

You nod, gulping down whatever spit had built up in your mouth, although you know what happened to her that doesn’t stop you from answering any questions he may have. “She was sick, and we had to leave. We- we couldn’t stay here.”

You wipe the corner of your eye. “I never knew what our first home looked like. I wanted to see the last place she was in before she passed. But I-” You take a deep breath.

“I understand. We can return, if you’d like.”

You nod, “please.”

You two return to the castle.

“I need to- I need-”

“You need to what?”

You spin around, looking at him. “I need to- to- to see my family.”

“What?” He whispers.

“I need to see my family. I- I need to see if they’re alright. I haven’t been able to see them in a long time. I’m worried about them. Please, if… if there is any compassion left in you, let me go see my family just- just this once and I will never ask you for anything again.”

He doesn’t respond nor does he make any movement.

“I- no- forget it, forget I said anything.”

He opens a drawer and pulls out a mirror. “Use this.”

“What?”

“If you wish it, you may see your family.”

“I- how does this work?”

“Another gift.”

You lift the mirror, “I wish to see my family,” you whisper.

An image of your family arguing with Gaston concerns you, more so when it pans on the man forcing your family in the back of a familiar wagon.

“No. No. No,” you mutter. “What is it?”

Nick comes to stand beside you, seeing the traumatizing scene. He knows what needs to happen, deep down, he would do the same if the tables were turned. “You need to go.”

“What?”

“You need to go help your family.”

“But I-”

He shakes his head, “it’s okay. I understand.”

“I will-”

“Don’t- don’t say anything. Your horse is going to get waiting outside.”

“I- I can’t thank you enough.” You bunch up the skirt of your dress in your hands, keeping hold of the mirror.

“Go.”

Your eyes fill with tears because of your family’s current predicament and the fact that you have to leave him.

“Thank you.” You don’t look back as you run down the hallway or down the stairs or out the doors, only when Peppermint is close to the broken forest entrance do you and it breaks your heart to watch the sad beast man hang off one of the roofs.

It reminds you of the first time you saw him.

“Faster, Peppermint,” you crack the reins.

“I was the one who had it all,” he mumbles when your figure gets further away from the castle.

He slumps down, mindlessly wandering through the castle.

“Father?”

He turns, placing one paw on the staircase railing. “Bradley?”

“Where is she going?”

“To her family.” He returns to his previous task and continues up the stairs.

“You let her go?” Pete asks, unsure if he could believe it.

“He loves her too much to keep her when she’s clearly needed elsewhere,” Miss Potts adds.

“Oh.”

“Are we ever going to become human?” Chip asks.

“I don’t know, Chip,” she responds.

You keep your attention focused in front of you.

You don't know how much further you have to go but you know that you're close, you can sense your family is near as Peppermint gallops closer towards the entrance of the village.

As soon as she makes it through the entrance of the village, you immediately hear the cries for help from your family members and the angry comments coming from the villagers (who never liked you or your family ever since you arrived).

When Peppermint swerves around the wagon you immediately hop off with no sense of the possibility of accidentally injuring yourself.

Your only concern is your family’s safety.

You swirl around to face Gaston with an expression of rage clear on your face.

He immediately ignores it, of course.

“I command that you let my family go,” you say angrily as you stare into his cold eyes.

“They've done nothing wrong. Why must you do this to us we've done nothing wrong to you or anyone else. My sister has cared for you for all this time, and you treat her like this? Have you no compassion?”

He lets out an airy chuckle, one that makes you uncomfortable. Of course, he does; he's never taken a woman seriously a day in his life and why would he start now.

His uncaring attitude earns chuckles from a few of the villagers behind you, but you don't pay attention to them. “Why would I listen to a woman like you or your sister?” He grins at you, it’s the kind to send a shiver down your spine, dare you say it appears to be a sinister smirk.

The more he talks the more it annoys you and feeds into your anger, but you stop and think, realizing you can't let this anger get the best of you because if you do, you may lose your family forever, and you will not let it happen.

“Why is it that you’ve locked up my family?” You ask him, thinking it’d be best to ask him straightforwardly instead of waiting for when he’ll throw you into the wagon, leaving you to rot with your family.

You can’t let this happen; you have to return to the one… you hold dear to you. Your heart aches, you have much more to lose than just your family here. Again, he chuckles, now it’s not nearly as evil as the first one and yet it still sends a shiver down your spine.

“You know,” he starts off, “your father- he- uh- he seems to have lost his mind. Why you ask? Well,” he pauses clearly trying to come up with a lie for the villagers to believe.

As much as you hate to admit it, the villagers would probably believe anything he says because he's a war hero, meaning they respect him too much to disagree.

Or maybe because they fear for their safety and their lives since they know what he’s capable of.

“You see,” he begins again. “Mike has begun to say some strange things which raises alarm about his mind.” He fakes sympathy when he says, “we fear for the safety of you and your family.”

You know he's lying, but how can you prove it when none of the villagers have ever liked you?

Is that why he’s saying these things because he knows none of them will believe you if you try to tell the truth?

Why would they believe you when you say it is Gaston who has lost his mind and not your papa?

You gulp down whatever saliva has built up in your mouth, your hands are sweaty, leaving marks on the mirror as you tighten your grip. “Why- why do you think my father has lost his mind?” You weakly ask, having a feeling about what he's going to say.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Gaston starts with a knowing tone and a supercilious stance.

You hate it.

He slaps his hand on the wagon door, alarming your family.

They all look up through the tiny window to see you there with no wounds and not looking as if death is waiting for you (as few have thought a few times since you’ve been gone).

Their concerning expressions slowly diminish at the site of you and soon their brows furrow, you know it's because of the way you're dressed and the fact that you're not dead because of some beast that your father had seen.

They slowly begin to believe him more now.

You immediately rushed towards the wagon; your hands touched the wood door as if you were trying to touch your family members themselves.

You wonder if it would be wise to try and break the lock now but know that if you do then something bad will happen. And you don’t know if the villagers will try to remove you from them or if Gaston will order something else to occur; the thought of any of it happening scares you.

‘Maybe,’ you think. ‘Maybe it would be wise to “listen” to what he has to say and play along with his games until it’s over.’

You lean in whispering, “I will get you out of here, you will be free, and we will be together, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Tom and Rick glance at one another, they have some idea as to what you may ask of them, but it still raises alarms in their heads.

Maybe it would have been best for you to not ask them for help but what else can you do in this dire situation?

You turned to see your sister’s nod knowing that they’ll follow orders to get out and regain their freedom.

Poor Penny is crying along with Charlotte but the second oldest of the two is more heartbroken than any of you... which, of course, makes sense since she believed that she was in love with Gaston, and he returned those feelings. It pains her to think that he used her.

As much as she wishes to weep, she knows she cannot at this time.

She pushes all her thoughts about him aside, knowing that she needs to be focused so she can listen to what you have to say and help the rest of them get out.

For once, neither of your brothers nor your Papa say anything as you whisper to them a foolproof plan.

The man who can eat far too many eggs (for your comfort), pulls you back and away from your family, you jerk your arm within his grasp trying to get away from him.

As you struggle to remove yourself from him, he manages to grab the one thing that you brought with you from the castle.

When you see what he has in his hands, you gasp.

He’s going to figure out how to use it and show everyone the beast Nick.

You can’t let it happen, they can’t see him; if they do, they’re only going to want to hurt him, and you won’t- you don’t know if you’d survive that. You reach for it only for the irksome man to raise his arm, keeping it away from being within your reach.

“Give it back to me, Gaston. It’s not yours.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s yours either.”

“It is- give it back.”

“No.” He lowers his hand, inspecting it himself. “How do you use it?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“It’ll save you and your family.”

“No.”

“You don’t care about their safety? Some daughter slash sister, you are.”

You groan, reaching for it again. “I need it. Give it to me.”

The same smirk he gave you hasn’t left his face once since you arrived, it only became worse as time went on, just like now. “Show me the beast.”

An image of the sad beast pops up.

“Look,” he spins it around, showing the others.

“Look at his fangs. Those horns. His claws. He will kill us all if we don’t do something about it first.”

“NO!” You cry out.

“Kill the beast!”

“Stop it!”

Gaston grabs your arm. “Le Fou, open the door.”

He does as the larger man tells him to.

“Stop- don’t listen- please,” you struggle to fight his grasp. “Let me go! You’re making a mistake. He is kind and- and he has a family. He wouldn’t harm any of you unless provoked.”

The man scoffs, “you’ve fallen for such a hideous beast. Have you no shame.” He snickers, glancing over at your sisters. “Good thing I didn’t bring myself down to your level and marry one of your sisters. I would die if I was intertwined with such nonsense.”

As soon as you're tossed inside, the door closes, you slam your hands onto the door, not caring about getting a splinter. “Let me out! Let me out! He’s not the beast you think he is!”

“Belle.” “Belle.” Your family calls out for you, pulling you away from the door.

“I think there are a few other things we need to worry about.” Mike holds you in his arms. “Breath, sweetheart. I need you to take deep breaths so we can help you. We can’t understand you, if all you do is scream and plead.”

“He is not who you think he is. He is a kind man who had been upset for a long time and if I don’t get back, they’ll- they’ll-” You wipe away your tears and reach into the corset of your dress, pulling out a small rod. “Use this to pick the lock.”

He gives you an impressive look. “I knew I taught you well.”

“Hurry up,” your brothers say to him.

He shrugs them off and continues to pick at the lock.

Once it clicks open, it falls to the ground.

He pushes the door open, purposefully bumping into the man that Gaston assigned to stand guard.

Your brothers push themselves out and grab the man, forcing him inside.

“Grab the lock,” Tom tells Charlotte.

She grabs it and quickly clicks it into place.

“Not all of us are going to be able to get to the castle on your horse,” says Rick.

“Not all of us have to go.”

“But-”

Numerous neighs disrupt your minor argument.

“Looks like we won’t need to worry,” Penny comments. “Come on.”

“No,” Mike pushes you towards your horse. “You go. We’ll be right behind you.”

“What?”

“I can see it, you know.”

“See what?”

“Your eyes, she had those eyes from the moment we meant up until the very end. You’ve found love within him. You can save him, but you must be quick.”

You crack the reins and take off.

“Please take care of him,” you hear as you pass through the entrance.

You know its late wife calling out to you.

There’s no other reason for her to be doing this, if she didn’t want her family to be happy and the least you could do is respect her wishes.

“I promise,” you whisper.

You arrive at the sound of angry shouts and echoing gunshots.

You look up and find it’s the beast Nick to be the target. “No,” you mumble and run up the stairs.

The cries of a young boy follow behind you, you turn to find the young prince flying, catching him before anything bad could happen to him. “Bradley. What were you doing?”

“I’m defending my home.”

“You can’t be doing things as dangerous as that. What would-”

Another echo.

Your head snaps in the direction of the forbidden west wing. You tighten your grip on the boy and run. “Gaston! Stop this!”

Nick’s head snaps in your direction, he whispers your name before pushing himself back to jump in your direction.

He grabs one of your hands, being careful not to do anything too fast to harm his son. “You returned,” he mumbles, face full of shock and awe.

You nod. “I did.”

He grunts, falling to his knees.

Your head turns to see the smug smirk hanging from his lips.

“Stop,” You place Bradley on the ground before putting yourself between the hunter and Nick.

“What are you doing?”

“I will not let you die at the hands of this man.”

Gaston throws his head back and lets out a hearty, belly aching laugh. “You’re protecting this- this beast but not those of your kind?”

“He has been kinder than you ever have!”

“I doubt that. Now, move out of the way and let me kill my latest prey so I can-” the bridge beneath him begins to crack but he pays no attention to it. “Finish him off and hang his head on my wall.”

Just as his finger touches the trigger, the bridge gives out beneath him; he couldn’t run away if he tried to.

Your eyes widen, not looking down too frightened to see him lay dead on the ground.

Although his personality was brutish and vile, it is still a human being that died today.

You spin around, checking on him.

“You're bleeding too much. We must get you medical attention.”

“I don’t- it’s time.”

“No,” you shake your head, in denial. “We can get you help and-”

He grabs your hand. “I don’t have much time now. I can feel myself slipping away.”

“N- no, you don’t- you don’t feel it. Don’t say that. What about- oh, Bradley,” you lift the teacup carefully before placing him on Nick’s abdomen.

“Bradley.”

“What about the curse?”

“It’s too,” he closes his eyes, letting out a deep and slow exhale. “We’re out of time.”

“But she can-”

“No.”

Sam walks up the stairs, not giving anyone a second glance.

He knows exactly where to go and what’s happened between the two of you, but his curse is in place and it’s up to you now to break it.

The ground shakes violently as the last petal falls.

More than half the staff have become a stiffened furniture version of who they used to be, Pete, Marcus, and Leonard were the last ones.

Leonard waves one last time before rocking side to side as he takes his final form.

Pete turns to Marcus, prepared to make a final speech but can’t find it in him to do so.

“Until we meet again,” he whispers, to the antique clock.

Nick and you begin sobbing as Bradley’s face is wiped away and he looks like a real, non-living teacup.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper, holding his cheek, wiping away his tears.

“Could you- could you ever find it in you to love a beast like me?”

You sniffle, “I can’t.”

“I... see.”

The life drains from his eyes after hearing those words.

You gasp, covering your mouth.

The last words he will ever hear from you are a lie.

“I already do,” you whisper as tears trickle down your cheeks, landing on one of the few blood stains of his shirt.

You continue to weep onto him until your family arrives and pulls you away. You lean onto your father and wet his shoulder with your love and grief-stricken tears.

You can’t help but think, had Gaston moved his arm a few inches to the left, he would have killed Nick instantly, forbidding you from having those last few seconds with him.

A gasp is all that enters your ears before your sisters tug on the sleeves of your dress.

“Stop tugging on-” Tom stops talking at the interesting sight.

“Tom, what- holy sh-” Rick stops when he sees what his siblings see.

“Belle,” it whispers.

“No,” you shake your head.

“The curse is fooling me,” you mutter.

“Darling, you need to look up.”

You open your eyes, glancing at your father.

He gestures for you to turn towards where the love of your life lays, dead.

You do as everyone wants you to and your jaw drops. “No.”

“It’s me.”

“No.” He whispers your name. “You’re not real.” He takes a step forward, his hand cupping your cheek.

“You saved me.”

“No- I- I didn’t.”

“You did. You saved us.”

A light tug on the skirt of your dress alerts you. You look down and find a young boy standing there. Your eyes water as you bend down, standing on your knees. “Bradley?”

He nods, a nervous smile gracing his lips. “Oh my- you- your both-” He can’t hold himself back and launches himself into your arms.

You gasp and let out an airy chuckle as you squeeze the boy.

The king kneels on one knee beside you two, petting the back of his son's head. His eyes focused on nothing but the two of you.

You lean over and let yourself fall into his embrace with Bradley since he won’t let go. “You’re here.”

“I am,” he mumbles into your hair. “We need to get up though. I need to see if everyone is all right.”

Tom and Rick help you get up, giving Bradley the ability to maneuver himself tighter onto you.

You all walk downstairs to see everyone hugging. “What happened?”

“The warlock who cursed us, erased us from the villagers' minds.”

“Oh.”

“Shouldn’t he be clinging to you instead of me?”

The man only grins in return. “He likes you.”

You narrow your eyes to him. “Don’t make him sound like a dog.”

A fake beast-like growl comes from his chest. “I’m not. I’d never do that to my boy.”

“Okay.”

He searches for someone in the crowd in front of the castle.

“Goose!”

“Mav!”

The two men run towards one another, hugging each other tightly.

Rick leans down to whisper, “shouldn’t he be embracing you like that?”

“I have Bradley to make up for it.”

“But-”

“Quiet, Rick.”

Your brother raises his arms, backing away.

They release one another and Pete walks closer towards you two. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“I knew it would be you who would break the curse and get the scary beast to become a fluff ball again.”

“Ah.”

“No more talking.” Nick pushes himself between you two. “We have a celebration to plan.”

“We do?” You ask.

“Yep.”

“Like what?”

“The reunion of our people, a potential courtship, and the celebration of Bradley’s birthday.”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“What you just said there, you know the thing about a potential courtship?”

“Oh,” he lets out a soft chuckle, “you mean that thing? That’s a- that’s nothing,” he quickly adds trying to brush it off.

“It’s not nothing if you felt the need to mention it,” you point out.

The surprised look on his face lets you know he's been caught.

The snickers from your brothers, Pete and Leonard around you don’t help him either.

“I liked it better when you didn’t talk,” Nick tells him.

“We all know you’re lying. And you’ve missed my voice,” Leonard teases him.

Marcus shakes his head.

Part of him feels as though he shouldn’t have mentioned it now, like maybe Nick should have waited but the other part of him was just too excited to hold it in any longer.

He hasn’t felt this way in a long time and he’s going to bask in every moment for as long as he can which is probably why he quickly added the word, potential.

He glances down at you once more and the look on your face tells him otherwise.

Dare he say, you’re happy at the thought of being in a courtship with him? If not that, then he’s putting too much thought into it but, he knows you.

He can’t hold back any longer and takes a step forward, cupping your cheek before leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your lips, slowly deepening until he pulls away for air.

For you, it was more than enough in that moment… until your siblings let out fake gagging noises behind you.

Everyone takes their time returning to the village, wanting to use every moment to rekindle and rebuild relationships that have… been on hold.

The last few to take their leave is your family, only after giving you long hugs, muttering kind remarks while your second oldest brother makes jokes.

You turn to the side and find familiar faces.

Sam and Carole watch all of you with happy smiles on their faces.

The warlock guides the woman closer to the forest before they disappear.

To this day, you still don’t know if what you saw was real or not.

A few months later you and Nick are engaged, the weddings coming up faster than you realize.

Bradley runs around the hallways with Chip, their laughter bringing a sense of peace for you and your fiancé.

“Hello,” he says, reaching for your hand as he kisses your knuckles.

“It’s never going away, is it?”

He chuckles. “I happen to find that to be very rude you know. I’ve been working on this for a long time,” he pets his mustache.

“I know,” you nod. “It was there the same time I was here, maybe longer.”

“And it's here to stay.” He pauses, his lips tugging upwards into a playful smirk. “How would you feel about Bradley having one when he’s older?”

“Did that curse take away your brain too?”

He scoffs, “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You sigh, “I don’t think he’ll follow in your footsteps.”

The boys come rushing up the stairs, coming to a halt before they could run into either of you.

“Mama, look.”

Your left eye twitches. “Oh, how fun. Please make sure your mustaches are off before dinner.”

They nod and take off.

You turn to him, narrowing your eyes at his pathetic excuse of hiding his amusement. “You are evil.”

“I am not. He got that idea all on his own.”

“He is your son.” You turn and walk away, feeling that enough was said and he would understand.

“I thought he was ours?”

“Until that mustache is off, you’re claiming him.”

He grumbles under his breath, whispering his sons name. “Bradley. Bradley.”

A few months later you and Nick are officially married and during the big dance, Pete and Penny announce their courtship (which was no surprise) before the night was over.

Tom found himself a nice young woman, Sarah, who is his current business partners sister.

They settle down in town so they’re close to family and for him to be able to continue with his business.

Rick met a nice young woman, Antoinette while he went to the neighboring village to get a new saddle for his horse, Wood (gifted to him by your husband).

Charlotte wants to go off and live the life your mother couldn’t, travel and share her art skills with the world, not quite ready to settle down yet… until a year later when she returned home engaged to a man named Adam.

By that time, you had your first daughter, Sydney-Carole (named after your mother and Bradley’s). He was so happy to hold his little sister, always careful and sitting somewhere since he was still a small child.

Pete and Penny married shortly after your second daughter; Aline was born.

Tom and Sarah moved a few towns away when she became pregnant with their second child.

Right around that time, Rick and Antoinette decided it was time to go to back to her hometown when she got word of her sick father.

Charlotte and Adam stay in the same house as your father, helping him and selling her art until he passes.

By the time Bradley and Chip were thirteen, Sydney-Carole becoming an energetic eight-year-old, and Aline barely turning five; it was a big surprise when you found out you were pregnant again, this time birthing a boy, Phillipe.

Nick was happy to hear that there was finally gonna be another Bradshaw boy in family.

Bradley was happy that he would be able to have someone he could pass off his “wisdom” too (a thought he got from his father).

As you watch the kids run around in the garden, you can’t help but wonder how different things could have been had you not asked for that rose and realize, you wouldn’t trade anything in the world to not be where you are now.

Nick exits the back and stands beside you, enjoying the sight of all the children playing together while you bask in the peace of knowing that this is what your papa would have wanted.

All his grown children still having monthly dinners so that parents could bond and chat while the children play.

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nuadox · 7 months

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Buzzing insights: Tracking bees with robotic flowers and hive sensors

- By Anthony King , Horizon -

Think of wildlife tracking and what probably comes to mind are documentaries following the majestic movements of elephants through the savannah, the graceful migrations of sea turtles in the deep blue and the prowling of big cats in dense jungles.

Yet, in the grand tapestry of nature, one creature that’s vital to the ecosystem but less in the spotlight can be found gently toiling away: the humble bee. Researchers are keeping a watchful eye on these buzzing wonders in a unique effort to understand their behaviour and ensure their survival.

Big buzz

Bees pollinate 80% of all flowering plants, including more than 130 types of fruits and vegetables. Unsung heroes of the natural world, bees and other pollinators are responsible for up to €‎550 billion a year in global food production.

‘We need to understand better how bees move and pollinate plants,’ said Dr Mathieu Lihoreau, a behavioural ecologist at the University of Toulouse.

Cut to a farm outside Toulouse, the southern French city better known as the location of bigger winged objects: Airbus planes.

But this is no ordinary farm. It’s an experimental site with, for example, no real flowers. Bumblebees and honeybees will be released into the fields – spread over 25 hectares – and tracked while flying to robotic flowers to taste a sugary reward.

The experiment is part of a research project that received EU funding to improve understanding of how bees forage and interact. Lihoreau leads the project, which is called BEE-MOVE and runs for five years until the end of September 2026.

He will trace dozens of bees simultaneously with a radar as they navigate around hundreds of robo-flowers set out in the fields. Knowing why bees buzz off in a certain direction can help improve crop pollination, conserve wild bee populations and save some rare plant species.

Captivating creatures

While Lihoreau has always been fascinated by animal behaviour, as a student he pictured himself observing whales in the Pacific Ocean or primates in African jungles. But then as a young scientist he became captivated by much smaller creatures after joining a laboratory that studied ants.

His attention now is on how bees navigate and make decisions as they seek nectar and pollen, orienting themselves using the sun, landscape features and even other bees. Because they collect food for themselves and harvest nectar and pollen for their colony, bees memorise the landscape.

Research suggests bees can even have emotions and doubts, detect electric fields and count.

‘I’m fascinated by them,’ Lihoreau said.

In total, there are around 20 000 bee species and wild bees are critical for a healthy ecosystem. They’re vital assistants in the reproduction of plants by carrying pollen from one flower to another.

Previously, researchers used large and expensive harmonic radars to track an antenna placed on the back of an individual bee. This allowed scientists to follow the bee as it weaved its way around a meadow, searching for flowers before returning home.

But following just one bee gives merely a sliver of insight into what’s going on. Honeybees live in hives of thousands of worker bees and bumblebees reside in nests with dozens or hundreds.

How bees act as a team or make efficient foraging decisions in the company of other pollinators are open questions.

Radar tracking

The BEE-MOVE radar will do its tracking without any of the bees having antennas. It uses the same technology as reversing sensors on cars, sending out energy waves to detect objects by bouncing off them.

Lihoreau said that, to his knowledge, this is the first time such a radar has been used in ecology.

‘I want to show bees do not move randomly in the environment and to understand the rules that guide their sophisticated foraging,’ he said.

The radar will track honeybees and bumblebees separately as they fly to the robo-flowers and then together. The planned robotic plants are small metal containers that recognise individual tagged bees as they alight on a platform and allow them in to sup sugar water.

Eventually, Lihoreau wants to investigate the effect on bee behaviour of adding contaminants like pesticides to the sugar water.

Pesticide threats

Pesticides, including insecticides, used against pests like aphids are often neurotoxins.

‘Bees are in danger because they forage on plants that we treat with pesticides and then they feed on neurotoxins,’ said Lihoreau.

The European Food Safety Authority said in 2018 that neonicotinoid insecticides pose a threat to wild bees and honeybees. Neonicotinoids are suspected of scrambling the bees’ navigation systems.

Everything that bees learn when navigating a meadow, garden or cityscape is retained. This may ultimately leave them particularly vulnerable to neurotoxins.

‘Because they have this tiny brain, probably every neuron is important,’ said Lihoreau.

In agriculture, healthy bees are crucial for good yields in crops such as strawberries and almonds.

‘Orchards hire beekeepers to bring in hives, but they need numerous healthy bees,’ said Dr Joao Encarnacao, a sensor expert at Irideon, a technology company in the Spanish city of Barcelona.

Hive sensors

If a hive is unhealthy, it can’t pollinate enough flowers and the fruit crop is reduced. But a farmer will become aware of a shortfall in pollinators only when it’s too late.

Encarnacao leads an EU-funded project – iPollinate – positioning sensors on hives to report real-time foraging of honeybees. The tracking technique relies on artificial intelligence and multiple coin-sized sensors placed on the hive.

The information can be used by an orchard owner to spotlight the healthiest bee colonies or to learn the best locations for hives.

‘You get metrics that show you how productive the beehives are for pollination,’ said Encarnacao. ‘So far, nobody has enough information to know how to optimise things like the placement or the orientation of beehives, yet this might be the difference between having good pollination and bad.’

The project, which is due to end in December 2023 after three years, aims by then to have built a prototype of the sensor system. The plan is for the service to be available to commercial partners of the project in 2024.

The sensors have been tested in onion seeds in France and Israel, in berry fruit in countries including France, Spain and Portugal and in almonds and sunflowers in the US state of California.

Californian almonds are a key target for iPollinate because about 2.5 million beehives are routinely set out across more than 500 000 hectares of almond groves – a big commercial opportunity for anybody who can improve pollination and, by extension, the harvest.

Both iPollinate and BEE-MOVE highlight the crucial links between bees and the ecosystem as a whole, reinforcing the need to tackle biodiversity loss driven by human influences including pollution.

‘Bees are on the frontline of an ecological crisis,’ said Lihoreau of BEE-MOVE.

Research in this article was funded by the EU via the European Research Council (ERC). The views of the interviewees don’t necessarily reflect those of the European Commission.

This post Buzzing insights: tracking bees with robotic flowers and hive sensors was originally published on Horizon: the EU Research & Innovation magazine | European Commission.