#Mad Sweeney x Reader

[dw-writes]

The Invasion...Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Mad Sweeney could not recall the last true believer he had. Sure, he’d been brought over as one of the Fair Folk, but it was different. A sliver of the truth, a dim shadow of what he was really owed. The belief of someone who followed traditions, not him.

That changed when he arrived in Cairo.

That changed when he laid eyes on you and he found that one didn’t have to believe in the myth to believe in the man.

A/N: I am.... SO SORRY. this chapter really shouldn't have taken me [checks calendar] LOL ALMOST A YEAR TO WRITE HOLY SHIT IM SO SORRY. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think!!! And i'm sorry ahead of time for the pain :3 (not really yall were expecting it) also enjoy the latest crossover to happen in this series. i hope you enjoy!!! :D

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four  || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fourteen-ish || Chapter Fifteen || Chapter Sixteen || Chapter Seventeen || Chapter Eighteen || Chapter Nineteen || Chapter Twenty || Chapter Twenty-One || Chapter Twenty-Two Requests: Mad Sweeney and The Holidays || The Invasion and the Stressful Blows One Shots: The Invasion and That One Thankful Holiday || The Invasion and the Weight of Change || Eyes On You

The Invasion and the Big Easy

Beautiful Aphrodite had only ever felt rage twice in her long life - once, thousands of years prior, as she watched the carnage that unfolded to retrieve the prize that she had given young Paris, and second, when she saw you.

You, sitting in an empty room, eyes glassy from too much alcohol and manufactured self-doubt. She knew what it was from, had felt your heart chip throughout the night from across the country while you fitfully slept under the concerned gaze of a new friend. Whispers of a voice filled the corners of the quiet room.

She turned to them, her incorporeal form non-existent to your unfocused gaze and the man who sat on the floor near you. The face of a young woman filled the unplugged television. Rose didn’t recognize her – it was some different form of Media, a newer one, a viral one. The young woman stopped whispering and met the goddess’s furious gaze.

The television cracked, the image disappeared, and the room fell silent. She turned back to you and watched your exhausted eyes close. The man mumbled, lifting his head to check you, then settled back against the wall with a sigh.

She made a note to learn his name and remembered how love existed in so many forms.

Elsewhere, Rose slumped into the arms of her two loves. They exchanged worried glances above her head as she mumbled to herself, “My poor messenger.” She sighed. Her concerns traced the cracks in your heart through your long day to the point she remembered last speaking to you, when you were happy, and the events of your day played out against her eyelids.

You stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a large and bustling Athens of a different age. Your bare feet were cradled by plush, green grass while a cream-colored toga fluttered around your legs.

“We haven’t talked in a long time,” said fair Aphrodite as she stepped up next to you. You tried to look at her, but her face kept changing, as did the rest of her. She cycled through so many features like an ever-changing portrait, each paint stroke melting into the next, all trapped beneath a pale pink robe that brushed the ground.

“Have we ever really sat and talked?” you asked.

She smiled. It lit up the world. “You know what I mean.” She nodded at you. “Nice toga.”

“I’m liking the breeze,” you replied with a smile of your own.

“Yeah? It’s nice, isn’t it?” she teased. You laughed, and she watched you, her features melting and solidifying into a face that was familiar to you. You cleared your throat and looked up at her.

“Sweeney?” you asked.

She shrugged broad shoulders. “Yes and no,” Rose answered with a voice that wasn’t hers. “I’m the goddess of love, remember?” She lifted a hand into the air. “Funny, I never would have guessed this, though. Not in a million years.”

“Which part?” you whispered.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “All of it,” she replied, “None of it. You know, I thought I had a grip on these things, but you keep surprising me.” She smiled. You longed to see that smile on his real face. “Tell him soon, okay?”

“I will,” you promised.

You opened your eyes as easy as a blink, staring ahead into the purple black haze of the dark room. Sweeney snored behind you; a hot arm thrown over your shoulders. You gingerly wrapped both hands around his wrist and frowned.

Was it a warning? A piece of advice? It could’ve been anything – your friends weren’t always so forth-coming in their intentions.

You stared at the room, thinking over everything that had recently happened, watching the darkness become blue, then gray, and a watery white as the sun started to rise. Your phone buzzes with the alarm for your meds, and you squirmed out of Sweeney’s grasp to take them.

You washed your face in the attached bathroom, brushed your teeth, changed into different, cleaner clothes. You woke Sweeney and insisted he stay quiet to not wake anyone else in the house. As you two left, you wrote a thank you note for the parents, and folded up Mitchel’s number for the sisters.

“I hope they get in contact with each other,” you sighed as you followed Sweeney across the large yard. He grunted, yawning, and continued towards the water’s edge. His lit cigarette brunt orange in the faint morning daylight, glinting off a key in his hand. “Sweeney?”

His boots clomped over a rickety pier just out of sight of the house. A boat swayed at the end of it.

“You’re joking,” you called after him. He waved you off without a word. You groaned, looking back up at the house behind you, and followed him. “You’re stealing their boat.”

“Borrowing,” he grunted, placing the cigarette between his lips, “’m borrowing – we’re—” he corrected, looking up at you as he crouched, “We are borrowin’ their boat.”

You crossed your arms. “Do you intend to mosey on back up the river with it when we’re done in New Orleans?” you asked. He climbed into the boat. You looked back at the house again and scrambled after him, pinwheeling your arms to keep your balance in the small craft. “Put out your cigarette,” you wheezed, “Before you blow us up.”

“’m not gonna blow us up!” he argued.

“You have the shittiest luck on either side of the Mississippi, Sweeney, so I’m sorry if I don’t trust you saying that,” you snapped. He sat back, glaring at you, which you returned. When you didn’t budge, he slowly pulled the cigarette from between his lips and flicked it out into the water. You took a deep breath and sat down. “Someone’s gonna get back at you for that,” you mumbled.

“You were so nice yesterday,” Sweeney mused as he sat back, “What happened? Hm?”

“You decided to steal the boat of a family that wanted to help us,” you shot back with a shrug, “And it’s not even theirs! This isn’t even their house!”

Sweeney groaned loud enough to drown out your complaints, twisting around to start the motor. You braced against the sides of the boat as it started down the river, glaring all the while at his smug smirk. You settled in after a while, watching the trees pass along the riverside. “What was that about my luck?” he said as he carefully steered the craft.

“You have shit luck,” you repeated, “The only reason you’re not dying some wildly fiery death is because I’m here and I don’t have shit luck.”

He snorted, shifting on the seat, and absently twisted his warped coin charm around his neck. “Ya know, maybe you made me another lucky coin,” he muttered absently, “Ever think of that?”

You watched him before you spoke. His eyes were trained on the river behind you and he carefully steered down the gentle curves, keeping away from other boats and suspicious shallows. You didn’t answer him for a long time. You balled the sleeves of your denim shirt in your palms and pulled it closer to you, wishing it was just a bit thicker to keep out the cold air coming off the water.

“Maybe I did,” you finally said as the river became more crowded with boats. He hummed as he looked up at you, slowing the boat down and threading it through the crowd to the dock. “Maybe I did make you a lucky coin,” you repeated.

He snorted as he climbed out of the coat. He held out his hand to you. “Bein’ facetious, luv,” he grumbled.

You took it, swinging your bag onto your shoulder as you climbed out. “Big word,” you teased. He tugged you hard against his side. “But really,” you said with a small smile, “Always told you that it was about belief. And I really think those coins were pretty lucky if they stopped a bullet and saved your life.”

“We’ll see,” he mumbled. He squeezed your hand, then led the way out of the marina and into the crowded streets, keeping you close so that the two of you wouldn’t be separated. You eventually found your way to a less crowded area of shops. Sweeney slowed down. “Ya hungry?”

“A bit,” you sighed, “We didn’t really eat anything at the house since someone stole their boat.” You looked up at him.

He rolled his eyes and looked around, tugging you behind him to a food truck on the corner. He huffed, lip curling in a teasing sneer as you pulled out your wallet and paid. He took the food he’d ordered, and yours, and tucked a bottle of beer in the crook of his elbow as he started to walk. You followed him, taking your food with a sigh as you kept pace with him. He stopped at a statue of the Virgin Mary, then smacked the top of his beer against its stone pedestal to pop the metal top off, and chugged half of it.

You watched him, slowly eating your food, leaning against the pillar across from him. “Sweeney?” you asked once he finished his beer.

He buried his face in his elbow as he released an ugly burp. You whistled slowly. “Whut?” he grumbled, taking a large bite of his meal.

“Are you okay?” you asked. You set your food down, worry twisting at your gut, and moved closer to him. “You’ve been a little weird since we got here.”

“Just got here,” he grunted.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” you shot back. You crossed your arms, staring up into his face. He scratched his chin, then down his neck as he watched you in return. “I’ve known you too long for you to pull this shit and not expect me to ask you about it,” you gently said.

He continued to stare, his blunt fingernail scratching at the label on the bottle until it started to peel. He didn’t say anything, though. His eyes grew dark the longer they traced over your face, until, finally, they fell away. He sniffed and looked at the crowd shuffling past you, scratching the growing stubble on his chin again. “Just don’t wanna see ‘em,” he grumbled.

“Hey strangers,” came the call of a familiar voice. Sweeney groaned, dropping his head back with the sound, and turned away while you smiled and spun around.

“What a sight for—” the words shifted in your mouth as you took in Laura Moon’s new, fresh face and glowing skin, “Sore eyes, holy shit Laura.”

She smirked and twirled, holding out her arms. “Guess that old man doesn’t lie, huh?” she said.

Sweeney rolled a hand in the air, tossing the empty bottle behind him. “Then what, pray tell, are ya doin’ here, huh?” he sniped, “What, you figure that the quick ‘n easy don’t last?”

You looked up at him, struggling not to roll your eyes. “Really?” you whispered.

He shrugged. “Just pointin’ out the obvious,” he muttered.

“In a really asshole-ish way,” you replied.

He lowered himself against the pillar, leaning into your space. “Never heard ya complain before,” he murmured.

You narrowed your eyes, arms crossing over your stomach. “I call you an asshole a lot, actually. Pretty sure I use it more than your name,” you argued.

“It ain’t bad enough that it kept ya from kissin’ me though, ain’t it?” he asked with a smirk.

You snapped your mouth shut.

Laura’s voice was far too loud in the crowded street when she shouted, “You what?!” followed quickly by, “Holy fucking shit,” and, “It’s about time!”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, turning to her. “No?”

“Yes!” she countered.

“That’s not the argument here, the argument is how he’s an asshole for getting on your case,” you tried. Behind you, Sweeney started to snicker.

“Uh, no, fuck that, I’m over it,” Laura said with a wave of her hand. She closed the gap between you. “You kissed this sasquatch? Seriously? What, was it against your will, or did you actually want it?” She gasped, her face alight with joy at the first taste of gossip she’d had since she died. It really gave you a glimpse of who she had been before. “Did he tell you that he—”

“Ya here for the Loa, yeah?” Sweeney cut in, coughing on ill swallowed spit.

“That’s not important right now, is it?” she countered, glaring, “Is it really?”

“Course it is,” he replied, pushing away from the pillar. It was your turn to stare at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes as he walked past. “Second longer without my coin is a second too long, Dead Wife. Let’s get this over with.” You followed after him. He tossed the bottle into the nearest trash.

“What crawled up his ass?” Laura grumbled as she walked next to you.

You shrugged. “He’s been like this since we got here. I don’t think he wants to deal with the Loa at all.” You tilted your head, then leaned towards her. “Do you know anything about the Loa? I haven’t read anything, just know what he’s told me.”

“Not a fucking clue except that they can bring me back,” she said.

“Huh,” you sighed.

Sweeney led you both around a corner and stopped in front of a small building. Above the door was a sign that swung in the humid breeze, displaying the black rooster that had started to fade in the sun. He paused at the door, rubbing his neck, then he turned to you both. “Ain’t no backin’ out of this once we start,” he said. He stared at Laura, his face the epitome of sobriety. “You wanna do this?”

She rolled her eyes and yanked the door open. “Let’s just fucking hurry up, I don’t have all day,” she griped.

Sweeney held the door open for you, his arm brushing your shoulder as he leaned down to whisper, “Stay close.”

You nodded and stepped inside.

(Rose frowned as the scene against her eyes shifted, showing you through the eyes of a goddess she’d never met.)

Bridget – lovely and strong – felt her heart lodge in her throat the moment you walked into the Black Cock. She knew the man you walked in with, knew the emotion that made him hold open the door for you, dip his head towards yours, brush your back as you passed him.

Mad Sweeney was in love with you, and you him, if your subtle lean into him was a clue, and he didn’t explain a damn thing about the Baron’s specialty if you have followed him and the woman there.

He was about to break your heart.

She knew all too well that not everyone enjoyed their partner stepping out, but even the ones that didn’t mind it never came with them to ask the favor.

He hadn’t fucking told you.

In the ten seconds it took for your trio to enter the bar, Maman Bridget’s opinion of Sweeney soured. Something must have shifted in her, too, as her husband’s fingers lightly prodded her back in question. She smiled, mirthless, and stepped out from behind the bar.

What a fucking coward.

(And then, there you were)

You watched the red-haired woman move around the end of the bar. She passed Sweeney, sharing a look with him, before she moved through a door you hadn’t noticed before.

(Imaged passed through your mind – piles of stones upon marked graves of women, women standing beneath weeping willows that shielded them from mist and shadow, drums beating against ears; but also, there were doctors in damp fields and poets writing by candlelight and rough handed blacksmiths and farms all framed by an ever-burning flame.)

You sat heavily at the bar. The weight of recognizing a two-faced goddess rested heavily on your shoulders and the back of your neck. You stared absently at a bottle in front of you, barely listening to the sound of Sweeney’s voice as he traded barbs with the man behind the bar. Your vision swam when you finally looked at him.

The man himself was tall, even lounging back against the back bar, with a top hat that made him even taller. He had deep, dark skin with the cool undertone of a clear night radiating from beneath. His bright eyes, while filled with humor, were scanning over your trio with a knowledge you couldn’t place.

The wall behind him melted away when he met your gaze. There was a history behind him, spanning centuries and countries, filled with celebrations and swearing and death and spirits and all framed by a heady smoke that filled your lungs and spilled over your lips on a shaky exhale. When you breathed in, there was life and sex and booze, singing and loud music and a sharp tang of spiced rum on your tongue.

You couched and squeezed your eyes shut to the man’s grin, bracing against the bar as you struggled to regain your composure. Beneath it all, you recognized a gap in your knowledge that ached in your chest and made your heart race. The lack of information made you anxious and it hurt. You refocused on the bar, scooping up a bottle near your fingers, and struggled to listen to the conversation.

“And when she is not around,” purred the Baron, his voice floating through the air, “I fuck a lot of other women.”

You were joining an already complicated conversation, you knew it, and maybe it was nerves clawing at your throat that forced your mouth open to say, “Doesn’t Maman Bridget help women with unfaithful lovers?” The air chilled for a moment, but nothing rang untrue in your skull. You glanced up from the bottle of pepper-infused rum in your hand. “What?” you asked, “I’m not wrong.” You were defensive, yes, your voice sharper than you intended.

The woman, who you knew had left through a door before, was standing next to the Baron behind the bar. She arched an eyebrow and smiled. “I like this one,” she murmured. She released the man and rounded the bar again, almost materializing by your side with her smooth movements. No wonder you hadn’t noticed her return. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you around,” she said, leaning against the bar, “The Baron might even warm up to you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” you replied, “No offense.”

The Baron laughed – loud and full, a sound that echoed a little harshly in your ears – and leaned towards you. “She’s right,” he murmured, “I like you.”

You smiled. There was an air to him that was familiar, and you voice as much when you said, “You remind me of another friend who owns a bar a lot like this. I think you two would get along.”

He snorted as he leaned back, eyeing Bridget over your shoulder as she slipped behind you. “Maybe you could introduce us,” he replied.

Sweeney sat heavily on the stool next to you, grunting and leaning into your warmth. “How’s about we stop makin’ nice,” he grumbled, “I gotta favor.”

Bridget smiled. “From what I hear, it’s not like you to do favors, Sweeney,” she sighed and your smile grew tighter, “Hasn’t that been your friend’s job?”

You frowned at the way she said ‘friend’. Sweeney huffed, shifting in his seat and leaning away from you.

“The Dead Wife,” he sighed, waving a hand towards Laura on his other side, “Is dead.”

The Baron flicked the rim of his hat up and leaned close, spreading his hands along the bar. “Don’t look dead,” he said. He sniffed, long and loud. “Don’t smell dead, neither.”

“Smells Norse,” Bridget commented with a sigh. She leaned towards Laura and picked up her hair, sniffing it. “A bit Greek? A bit…” Her hand snapped out and slapped the side of Sweeney’s head. He started to protest when Bridget opened her mouth and let loose a violent rant of Gaeilge so fast it didn’t sound like words.

Laura leaned back to share a wide-eyed look with you.

The Baron laughed.

Sweeney hunched his shoulders around his ears as Bridget swore. Her voice dropped as she switched to English, “You lost the Sun’s treasure?!”

Your leprechaun swung a hand towards Laura. “It ain’t lost, it’s in there!”

“It’s not yours anymore, is it?!” Bridget snapped, “Not the Sun’s but some dead woman’s!”

“And she’ll only give it up if she ain’t dead!” Sweeney shouted.

The Baron stood straighter. Bridget’s mouth clicked shut and her eyes glanced past him to you.

“Why we’re here,” Sweeney finished.

“That’s powerful magic,” the Baron murmured, “With a steep cost.”

“We’ll pay,” Laura replied, unknowing.

Sweeney shoved his hands through his hair and leaned on the bar, ducking his head low.

It was quiet for a moment. The Baron and Bridget exchanged looks. Then, Bridget cleared her throat. “Come back at closing,” she answered, “We need time to prepare.”

Sweeney was up and out the door before she finished. You stood to follow, stopped only by the woman’s hand on your arm. Laura lingered at the door.

“You shouldn’t come back,” she said, “It’s not magic involving you.”

You frowned, feeling a calm warmth seep into your skin, but pulled away. “We’ll see,” you replied.

You left.

Laura waited outside, talking about places to stay, and started towards the main road like she knew the area. Sweeney shuffled behind her, and you after him. He didn’t look at you, didn’t slow to walk next to you. He just walked, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets.

The three of you eventually made your way to a small hotel not far from the French Quarter. They had one room left, and the cost left you lightheaded, but you dug the cash out of your bag and paid regardless. Once you were given the keys, you turned to see what Laura and Sweeney wanted to do until it was time to go back, but found Sweeney gone.

Laura shrugged when you asked her where he’d gone. “Dunno,” she said, “Didn’t even see him leave.”

You frowned. “Okay,” you sighed, leaning to see if you spotted him anywhere. “What do you wanna do until he gets back?”

A smile lit up Laura’s face. She led you back outside, and down the street, stopping at every shop between the hotel and the bar. You found ink for Mr. Ibis, an antique set of mortician’s tools for Mr. Jacquel, and a new toy in the shape of a bat for Bas. Laura found a cute dress, which she showed you only after you had left the store, and she changed in an alley. There were other stores, other things purchased or stolen, other smiles shared and memories made.

It was dark soon enough, and the two of you stumbled back to the bar in each other’s arms, laughing like schoolgirls.

Sweeney was already there, waiting, face drawn as he pushed the door open. He didn’t say anything as you walked past him, didn’t even look at you.

Bridget looked away from the Baron with a smile that fell the moment she saw you.

(Coward. What a fucking coward.)

“I told you not to come,” she said, leaning on the bar, “This doesn’t involve you.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” you asked, confused, a bit incredulous, “They’re my friends.”

Even the Baron looked a bit lost as he watched Sweeney. “Sex magic only calls for two people,” he explained slowly, “That who requested, and that who benefits.” He tilted his head. “And those who cast it.”

“What?” His words rang in your ears. Laura’s hands disappeared from your arm as she said something, then the Baron, then silence. Three sets of eyes burned into your face as a fourth actively avoided looking at you. “What?” you asked again.

“It’s magic,” Bridget said at the confused look in your eye, “Just magic.” It was like she was trying to soothe a burn, but instead of aloe, it was lemon juice.

“Potent magic,” the Baron added. He slid his hand up over her ass. “Only kind that’ll work for this, too.”

Laura whispered your name.

You smiled. You had to – for her, who you’d come all that way for, and for Sweeney, who…

The smile hurt. You’d rather the platitudes from Bridget.

You nodded, glancing around the room. “Yeah, I know,” you said, voice cracking, “Why we’re here.” You cleared your throat. It burned. “I’ll be at the hotel then.” The door thumped against your back as you reached it. Laura had the grace to look away as you fumbled it open and left.

Once outside, the door slipped from your fingers and shut with a heavy thunk. The hot night warmed your clammy skin and sunk into your clothes until you started to sweat.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Just don’t wanna see ‘em.”

“You’re a liar!”

He knew.

(He really was a coward.)

You walked, shouldering through the thick evening crowd as your thoughts wandered away.

Why were you upset? He wasn’t yours, despite all your wants, and thoughts, and wishes. He never was, and, if you were honest, he never would be. You weren’t supposed to be there in the first place, weren’t supposed to be trailing after a man who worked for a god you shouldn’t have met. You were supposed to be home in Cairo. In your bed. Alone.

Fading.

Dying.

Dead.

Your feet shuffled to a stop. People milled past you, unseeing, like you were just something in their way and not a person on the brink of an abyss. You couldn’t tell what you were staring at – a swirl of blurring colors that spanned what must have been the road or the crowd or the buildings, it was all bright and it hurt. Heat spilled down your cheeks and your vision cleared.

A shoulder clipped yours. You stumbled, the rest of the tears rolling down your face, jolting back into your body when you weren’t even aware you’d left it.

“I’m sorry—oh,” a voice thick with a deep southern twang danced in your ears. Warm hands brushed your shoulders. “You alright, darlin’?” Your tears continued. They wouldn’t stop, even as you lifted your eyes from the ground, up past a white collar framed by metal filigree points, and met a warm, brown gaze set into a tanned and tired face. The Preacher’s brow furrowed as he muttered a soft, “Shit.”

You shrugged a shoulder away from him, mumbling something you knew was a lie, but that might’ve also been an apology.

He followed, standing close, staring past you, then turned you around towards a door. You barely heard his voice. You tried to take in more of his features, wondering why he bothered when no one else did – his hair was messy but stood in soft peaks around his head, while the sides were shaved close, and a splatter of dark freckles covered the bridge of his nose. He spoke again, meeting your gaze when he did.

The air trembled around you. Something traced his words out onto the air. You could’ve mistaken the anomaly for a heat wave if it hadn’t been at the end of your nose.

He guided you through the crowd and into a cold bar. You shivered at the sudden change, you sweat suddenly ice on your skin. His hands left you to remove his coat and drape it around you. You watched him roll up his sleeves. Hs pressed a hand between your shoulders and led you to a booth. Two other people were already sitting there, arm against arm.

“Padre?”

“Jesse?”

“Now,” the Preacher – Jesse – motioned you further into the booth, taking up the edge seat when you complied. “This here is Tulip, and Cassidy,” he quietly introduced.

You were pretty sure you gave them your name, but you couldn’t be sure.

“We ain’t here for—” Cassidy’s voice cut off with a yelp.

Tulip adjusted in her seat, shooting the man, Cassidy, next to her a glare. She smiled at you. She was lovely. “You alright, hun? You look down,” she asked. Jesse next to you suddenly jumped, swearing under his breath. “Why don’t you and Cass get us all some beers, yeah?” she politely demanded. She even moved for Cassidy to scramble out of the booth.

You took her in as she shuffled back across the booth seat – her tight brown coils kept the sunglasses sin her hair in place, and her brown eyes were bright as she stared at the men at the bar. She wore lip gloss, and her freckles were just a shade darker than her soft brown skin.

She flashed you another smile, this one not as awkward. “You okay?” she asked again. Her eyes darted over your face. “I mean, you don’t really look okay, but do you wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head. You mulled over her words, adjusting yourself in Jesse’s coat as you struggled to settle back into your skin, forcing yourself into the situation. Out of all the stupid things you could’ve done, you were led into a bar by a stranger, and stuck in the corner seat of a booth.

Though, there were worse things you’d done, too.

And it was a Priest that led you into the bar. Out of all the strangers, that was one that you could, maybe, trust more. And given the weird thing that happened when he spoke, it really reminded you of Anders, and you scrubbed your face with your hands with a groan. Fully covering your face, you dropped your elbows on the table and rambled out everything that had ever happened – from meeting Sweeny in Cairo, to sitting in the bar with her at that moment. Your voice cracked as you spoke, and you barely registered Cassidy or Jesse returning sometime towards the early middle of your tale.

Tulip took your hand and wrapped it around a beer, the polite look on her face replaced with a familiar frustration.

“Now, I ain’t one for religion,” she started, quickly rolling her eyes as Jesse cleared his throat. “Wasn’t,” she corrected, “But someone wanted us to meet because I think we are uniquely qualified to help you out right now.”

Cassidy slapped his bottle on the table, leaning in curiously. “Yer man really a leprechaun?” he asked, “Flighty fuckers, ain’t they?”

“I’m sorry?” you laughed, clearing your throat.

“Nah, I’m old, yeah, been everywhere in my hundred years, and I ain’t ever come across a shrewder or fucked fae than a fuckin’ leprechaun,” he answered.

You properly grabbed the beer and had a long drink. “And how—”

“Oh.” Tulip slapped his arm. “Cassidy here is a vampire,” she said casually, then waved a hand at Jesse next to you, “And Jesse has the literal word of God in his chest.”

“Tulip,” he sighed, as though it was a long-worn topic of contention.

The edges of your world became a little more defined the longer you sat with them. “A vampire, a priest, and a woman,” you mumbled, “I’ve been in weirder situations.”

“Yeah, alright,” Cassidy said, waving his hand in a circle over the table as he adjusted in his seat, “Circle back – how the fuck did ya land an invitation to the Oester party?”

“Oester?” Jesse whispered to you.

“Easter,” you clarified.

He nodded slowly and sat back, draining his beer in one long gulp.

“Everyone’s always clamberin’ for that, fuck, even the Oester in fuckin’ Qatar has a hard time gettin’ invited some years!” Cassidy continued.

“There’s more than one?” asked Tulip.

“You also said there were multiple Jessues?” butt in Jesse over her.

“Jesi,” Tulip corrected.

“I think it’s just Jesus, ya know, both plural and singular,” Cassidy mumbled.

“We’re lookin’ for God,” Jesse continued, sighing, “Big G, God. Was he—”

You shook your head. “Sorry, Father. Just Jesus.”

“Jesse,” he insisted.

The conversation continued in a similar vein, you giving them more details, them sharing their story. The table collected a large amount of beer bottles as the hours passed.

Sweeney drank just as much as Bridget danced. It was a dance she’d done numerous times, one that he partook in at least once, one she’d done in front of others who owed favors, who needed magic so desperately that they’d toe the line between death and sex just to taste it. She twisted in time to music that formed on the air. Sweeney’s eyes slipped past her, past the figures that appeared around her, to someone she had yet to see. She threw her head back as old words slipped past her lips, and spotted the figure, the one who clouded the Irishman’s mind as the world grew hazy and the magic grew hot. Bridget was grinning when she turned to him, traced her slim fingers up his thighs, which parted for her.

“And, for a moment, I thought you were hung up on the dead girl,” she crooned against his clothed stomach.

Sweeney snorted.

“But it’s someone else,” she teased. Her lips grazed the skin of his neck. He twisted his head away from her. His knee started to bounce. “Bet you’d be more into it if the Informant were here, kneeling between your knees.” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his ear. “Just as eager to take your cock as you are to give it.”

He shrugged her off with a growled, “Shut up.”

She arched an eyebrow as she stood, though that Cheshire stretched further across her face. “C’mon, let’s play pretend, hm?” The room filled with an eerie glow. Sweeney rose from his eat. “You be the burly Irishman.”

“Shuddup.”

“I’ll grant your favor,” she purred, voice lilting as Sweeney stepped closer.

“Shut. Up.”

It wasn’t her voice that said, “Make me,” but she squealed when Sweeney scooped her up and pinned her to the wall, anger and frustration brewing hot in his veins. It wasn’t her he saw when he hiked her skirt up and pulled her legs high around his waist, nor when he tilted her hips up and pushed his cock into her with no preamble.

In the haze, he heard the Baron and Maman Bridget laugh.

As the red settled over his eyes, he slid a hand up the back of the figure on his hips, swinging them around, pinning them to the column behind him. They were tighter than hell on his cock and warmer than the sun against his chest and he felt himself swallow his own name as he kissed a mouth he’d become familiar with.

The fingers in his hair were yours.

The thighs he gripped tight were yours.

The voice that mewled and moaned in his ear as he touched and bit groped the right places was yours.

And while part of him knew it wasn’t you – wasn’t really you taking his cock like you were built for it – the rest of him desperately wished it was, and convinced him to enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.

(Laura knew that Sweeney only touched her the way he did was because he imagined it was you, and she desperately wished her imagination was powerful enough to picture the man she kept telling herself she loved, rather than seeing the one she really did.)

Jesse fumbled with the lock to your hotel room for the third time, swearing beneath the din of a party going on down the hall. Cassidy stated that he was sober, that he could open the door, but Tulip hushed him and pointed out that he was carrying you on his back, so he was too occupied to do so. He didn’t argue with her, nor point out that she, too, was drunk.

You cheered when Jesse finally opened the door.

“’ey, I got it,” Cassidy said as he shuffled inside. You were vaguely aware of him ushering Tulip and Jesse away, of him telling them that they needed to get home, and to call a taxi or an Uber.

“You text me!” Tulip halfway shouted around him, waving at you as you were deposited onto the bed.

You flashed her a thumbs up before Jesse pulled the door shut.

Cassidy turned to you, rubbing his neck, and dug through the only bag in the room, mumbling something about getting you a change of clothes.

It gave you a chance to really look at him, really take in his features. He was tall, with hair long enough to stick out in difference directions, and soft brown eyes, and was freckled from his previous days in the sun. His voice was soft as he handed you the clothes and advised you to change. He steadied you, helped you tug off your stubborn shirt and put on your clean one, then sat you on the toilet and grabbed a washcloth.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, surprisingly sober, given how much you drank.

He knelt and started to wipe your face; his brow knitted together at your question. Then, he sat back on his heels, his arms draped on his knees.

“I’m a real right bastard, love—”

You swiftly corrected him with your name.

He lifted his hands, apologized, and continued, “But I ain’t gonna leave someone alone when they’re hurtin’.” He paused, then sighed. “Specially with somethin’ like this.” He gave you a small smile.

“I don’t deserve it,” you whispered, sniffling. You wiped your nose with your hand. Cassidy held out the damp cloth. You took it, chin trembling, “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“You don’t,” Cassidy agreed. “Fact, from what y’ said, that Sweeney’s a fuckin’ arsehole and deserves an asskickin’, but that’s from the outside.”

You waved your hands, rolling your eyes. “No, I—” You sniffled against and dabbed your nose with the cloth. “No, I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t deserve your company, I don’t…” Your voice cracked and dropped to a whisper as you continued, “I don’t deserve to be here. Someone else does. Someone stronger, someone kinder, someone smarter.” You hiccupped and covered your face with the cloth, leaning over your knees.

Cassidy sat on the floor at your feet, folding himself around your legs and the toilet as much as his long limbs would let him. He looped his arms around your back. “That’s the shitty booze talkin’, y’know…” he murmured, sighing gently, “An’ I dunno who you think is better. Yer plenty strong, from the sounds of yer story. Kind, too. Smart as a fuckin’ whip.” He frowned. “You deserve what ya put into the world, and y’ve put a lot of good out there.”

Your sob tore through his chest like a stake.

(Cassidy’s heart broke a bit and stitched back together with a bit of love he carried for you until the day he died.)

“Then why…” you trailed off.

He sighed. “Others just put shit out there, too, and that’s a bit bigger than the good sometimes.”

You scrubbed your eyes with the cloth until they burned, then sat up, wiping your cheeks. He took the washcloth, carefully wiping your nose with the corner.

“Know it ain’t much,” he whispered, “But ‘m glad someone like you’s here.”

“I wanna go home,” you whispered, and he felt it in his gut that you didn’t mean a place.

He sighed. “Me, too,” he said, and in that moment, you knew he didn’t mean a place either, and wondered if Tulip was right about the serendipitous meeting.

Your chin trembled. He helped you up, guided you to the bed, tucked you in, then sat next to you. He flipped the television on. You reached over and flipped it off.

“You’re a vampire,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder, “Tell me a story. Tell me your story. I’ll commit it to memory.”

He snorted. “Why you wanna do somethin’ so silly like that, huh?” he asked.

“Everyone deserves to be remembered,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “And everyone’s important enough to be remembered.”

Your phone buzzed on the blankets. Cassidy scooped it up. He tilted the screen towards you.

“He’s really enjoying fucking that dead flesh,” read a text from your sister, sent over one of the social media apps on your phone.

“That somethin’ she’d say?” Cassidy asked, glancing at the phone, “You said somethin’ about gods and the like, too, when y’ were tellin’ yer shit.”

“Never,” you whispered.

He turned the phone off. “None a that, then,” he mumbled, tossing it somewhere on the bed. He threw an arm around your back. “Get comfortable. It’s a long story.”

“Those are the best,” you yawned.

He spun you a tale of two kids playing at being Freedom Fighters in a land you’d grown familiar with, about how one died in battle, another in the streets.

You drifted off sometime during his re-telling of the 70’s.

Old stone homes crowded the darkness of your sleep, looming over you like specters of a past you didn’t know well. You padded barefoot down cobblestone roads and turned a corner to find your familiar library at the end of one.

“Hello, you,” you whispered as you made your way over, pulling open the clean doors. They creaked and slammed shut behind you. It was dark inside. Not dark enough that you couldn’t see, but the once warm candles were no longer lit, instead being scattered, and broken across the floor. You stepped over them with a frown as you walked in.

Thrown across the main room were books – the floor was covered in pages that were ripped and stained, and shelves were knocked against each other. You knelt to pick up a book and sighed. An ache bloomed behind your eye as sobriety quickly approached.

“Leave.” A voice in the sudden silence made you jump. You dropped the book, rising to your feet. A figure stood beside a tipped over shelf. Its eyes reflected what little light filled the room. You gulped, shifting back as it inched towards you. You scrambled for the door and the bright light beyond it, panic clawing at your throat as the thing ran after you. You pulled the door open.

Its hand smashed the door shut. “You don’t get to run away from this!” it snarled over your startled screech, “You don’t get to just decide it’s over!”

“Stop it!” you screamed. It roared against your back, then fell silent. Its heat surrounded you. You swallowed, turning to see whatever it was that haunted your library.

You stood toe to toe, its bright, knowing eyes watched you. Its chest heaved and its arms trembled. You shivered, backing up against the door. It stepped back.

“Who are you?” you whispered.

It opened its mouth and hundreds of names poured out. You covered your ears as the sound of them echoed in your head, pounding against your skull, everything building until it was undecipherable noise.

Fingers wrapped around yours, cold against your hot skin.

Rose opened her eyes, leaning away from her two lovers to pick up her phone. She’d sent a message hours ago, calling on an acquaintance she hadn’t met in decades, cashing in her one and only favor to him.

Her message was the address of the hotel and your room number, attached to the request, “Take them home. Cairo.”

He’d replied, “Done,” and dropped a pin showing that his phone was at the same location.

She sagged with relief and sat back against the couch.

The man saw the read notification beneath his pin, then slid his phone into his pocket. It was easy for him to pick the lock of your room – old doors, old locks, they were nothing for his deft fingers. Though, he swore when he dropped the lock pick, scooping it up into a wide palm as he checked the door. Satisfied, he swung the door open.

Cassidy looked up from gently prying your hands from your head.

The strange man looked around the room. The television had been unplugged at one point, as had the small clock radio. A cell phone sat on the blankets, turned off. And a vampire was tending to the one Rose had sent him for.

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Cassidy grunted, standing tall, making sure he was between you and the stranger. The man laughed harder.

The sound was finally enough to wake you. You pushed yourself up, rubbing your sore eyes, and squinted at the man standing in your room. He tilted his head back, somehow larger than Cassidy was before you. “Rose sent me,” he said, waving a hand, “Here to take you home. To Cairo. Let’s go.”

Cassidy glanced over his shoulder at you. You swung your feet off the bed, shrugging, still half asleep and not quite sober as you groggily responded, “Take me home.”

“Y’sure?” whispered Cassidy.

You looked up at him, smiled, and nodded. “I’m sure.” Then, you pointed at your bag. “Give me your number. I’ll update you. And stay here, at least until nighttime. The room’s paid for.”

He hesitated, and gave the man another wary look, but did as he was told with a shrug. He eventually turned back to the man again. “Wait, who’re you?”

The strange man grinned, his laughter finally subsiding. “Call me Iartaithe,” he answered with a wink, “It’s a name.”

“Okay, but why’re you laughin’?” Cassidy asked as he grabbed your bag. He fished for the pen you pointed towards, glancing over when you saw you rubbing your eyes again.

“Just absurd,” Iartaithe replied, “Whole thing. Absolutely fucking absurd.”

“Yeah,” you muttered as you stretched your arms above your head, “Tell me about it.” You waited as Cassidy scribbled down his number, then stretched to grab your phone and turn it back on. You looked up at him. “Can you tell Sweeney where I’m going?”

“I can tell ‘im to fuck right off,” Cassidy replied. You smiled. “Guess I can,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” you said, “He’ll worry.” Then, you frowned, wondering if he’d show back up at all, and remembered that, despite what you wanted from him, he really was still your friend. He’d show up. And he’d worry. But you also knew that you couldn’t stay there anymore, especially alone. You appreciated Cassidy’s company, but you knew he couldn’t stay. You needed to go home. You needed to see Bast again. “Thank you,” you repeated, looking up at Cassidy, “Really.”

He flopped onto the bed with a loud sigh, tapping your phone with his finger. “You better fuckin’ message, or I’m comin’ to find you instead,” he threatened, “Fuck God. He can wait another fuckin’ day.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, yawning, and stood, scooping your bag off the floor. “Promise,” you swore.

Iarlaithe leaned back against the door, and stepped out into the hall when you followed. You gave Cassidy one last glance, waved when he did, and shut the door on him and everything that New Orleans had brought you.

~*~Thanks for Reading~*~ ~*~Tag List~*~

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#the invasion series #american gods #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x reader #pablo schreiber

[aldcaldos]

i follow rivers

pairing: mad sweeney x reader

warnings: explicit. bathing and sex as forms of worship.

summary: It was as though your quiet exaltations, in tandem with the way your hands moved across his neck, shoulders, and back called to him, to his godhood, reaping the same effect as if you’d put out a plate of bread and cream. It told him, instinctively, that there was an offering to be had, and strength to be gained in its having.

read here or on ao3

Disgruntled banging against your door sometime in the afternoon had you shooting up like a bullet, tossing the book you’d been attempting or pretending to read carelessly onto the coffee table. 

You’d been up all night, all morning, nerves too spiked to have even tried to sleep, despite having made a valiant, though undeniably distracted effort. You’d done as asked, even if it had been one of the hardest tasks you’d ever endured. But you did it, because he asked. You’d half—more than half, really—expected him to show up in the middle of the night, and you’d been ready, first aid kit set out and a whole list of questions prepared, questions you ran through again as you all but sprinted to the door. They vanished from your mind in an instant, however, when you saw him. The damage the fight had done to his face was bad enough, but it was the look in his eyes that silenced you. 

He looked furious, that was for sure. But he also looked worried, and there was even a glint of defeat. He appeared almost vulnerable. It wasn’t an expression you were used to seeing, and not one you’d hoped to see again. It wasn’t as bad as it had been a few days ago, but that knowledge did little to lighten the weight that was settling into your chest. 

You didn’t say anything, despite having so much you wished to, and simply moved out of the way so he could enter. When he did he was careful, like he thought one wrong step might cause the entire building to come down on your heads. Every move he made appeared to be second-guessed or weighed, even the way he looked at you, when his gaze brushed you at all. Sweeney was skittish, and it scared you. 

He wasn’t bleeding anymore, you noticed, as he let himself fall onto your couch. Even if he had been, you knew you wouldn’t have said anything. Not this time. Having him here in the day at all was strange on its own, especially under this circumstance. 

Your body moved without thought until you were sitting across from him on the coffee table, too wary to do anything other than stare at him. 

He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and head in hands, but then he moved back, fists clenching and unclenching in his lap as he finally really looked at you, one hand reaching for yours and holding it tightly. He stayed that way for a moment, but then, before your brain had a chance to process the movement, he was tugging you forwards, pulling your body onto his lap. Your forehead smacked with an audible crack against his. Ouch. He shut his eyes and let out an angry breath through his nose, lips pinched together like this was just one more in a line of unhappy accidents.

Instead of leaning away to rub at the now sore spot, you left your forehead against his, noses almost touching and your hands coming to his neck. You wanted to bandage the cuts on his face, but Sweeney didn’t need you as a nurse right now. He needed you as a believer. He needed you as just a figure of care and calming physical contact. Calloused hands came to rest one on your waist and the other in the crook of one elbow. 

“I fuckin’ lost it.” His voice was rough like sandpaper when it broke the silence. 

“Lost what?” Thumbs mindlessly moved back and forth beneath his jaw, your own voice was quiet when you responded. 

“My lucky coin. I fuck-I gave that cunt my coin. I didn’t mean to. It was the wrong coin. It wasn’t meant to be that coin. Grimnir. He was too close to you, and I-“

You leaned back to look at him. “Did he know? I tried not to think about you. I sang a fucking song in my head the entire night to keep you out of my thoughts and I didn’t look at you, but then the fight started and I couldn’t not look. I’m sorry.” 

A pang of guilt shot through you and you closed your mouth. He was the one who was upset and in need of comfort. Not you. Your nerves could wait. 

“You did beautifully, lass. As best as I could ever have asked of ye. I just didn’t like him being so near you. It distracted me.” 

You opened your mouth to apologise, but he was quick to cut you off. “Not yer fault. It’s mine.”

You wanted to ask if he was okay, but that felt stupid, given the situation.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I have to find the bastards. Get my coin back, and my luck with it. Until then I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I could give you a ride-“ His grip tightened considerably and he shook his head once, and hard, cutting off any further offer you might have made. 

“No. No you fuckin’ can not. Last man who tried that didn’t make it two miles. You’ll stay here.”

“Sweeney.”

“Don’t argue, lass. Not this time. Please.”

Please. He never said please. He just made his demands and you willingly acquiesced. But the concern and almost fear in his voice, in his eyes, and in his touch had you nodding. 

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay here. But without your luck, how will you manage to find them without getting hurt?”

“Finding ‘em won’t be the issue. Can’t do much about the getting hurt. Not without my coin. Don’t have the power.”

You thought for a moment. Power. He needed power. Worship was power, he’d said. Worship, you could do. 

“Maybe I can help.” You tipped his head up to look him in the eye before rising, with as much grace as you could manage, and tugged at his hand. 

His tired eyes darkened in understanding, and the side of his mouth twitched upwards, just barely, as he let you pull him to his feet. 

He followed you slowly, feet not quite dragging as he allowed himself to be lead through the small apartment, turning at the door to your tiny bathroom, made only more ridiculous once he was standing in it. You smiled softly to yourself at the sight as you pivoted away from him to draw back the shower curtain and turn on the water. It would take a good minute or two to warm up, maybe longer. 

Returning to face him, you frowned faintly at the conflicted, confused, and cautious expression painted across his features. You raised one hand to brush a thumb over one of the cuts in the side of his face, and for a moment, his eyes closed. It was only just a moment though, and then they were back on you, waiting. Watching. 

Both hands were working now, smoothing down the fabric covered planes of his chest, and then underneath the soiled denim of his jacket, slowly pulling it back and off down his arms. When his arms came free, you folded the jacket over itself once, then twice, then set it down atop the lid of the closed toilet seat. The flannel shirt came next, unbuttoned just as slowly, patiently, before it came off and joined the jacket. Onto the suspenders, then the wife beater, slightly awkward as his arms raised and you had to stand on your toes to pull it up and off. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed, as you sank down to your knees to unlace his boots, the way his fingers twitched, but his hands weren’t shaking as much anymore. You meant only to glance up to ask him to lift his leg so you could pull off his shoes but the intensity of his gaze held yours and you felt a hum somewhere in the air. 

You stayed like that for longer than you meant to, looking up at him, before the feeling of steam gathering on your arms brought you back and, finishing with his boots, you stood up again to focus on the fastening of his jeans. When it came undone you slid the fabric down his legs until finally he was completely bare before you. The sight was enough to make your skin warm and your head light. How fierce your god was in his beauty, how wonderfully made and worthy of worship.

Reaching a hand back to the water, you determined it had reached an appropriate temperature and stepped back as much as you could and motioned for him to squeeze past you to stand in the tub. His head came up above the curtain rod. It might have been comical if the moment were open to comedy.

His head fell back as he stood under the stream, letting it run down his neck (he’d have to bend at the knees for it to reach his head) and again, the sight of him immobilized you temporarily. How long? How long since someone, anyone, had cared for him, tended to him like this? The hum in the air seemed to settle against your skin as you pulled off your own clothes and stepped in behind him. Your hands ran up, then down his arms, back up and over his shoulders before descending down again. Moving them around his waist left you in a mock embrace which turned true as you let your forehead rest against his back and held him there for a moment. 

One breath, two, and you pulled away, reaching towards the small hanging caddy of bath supplies, fingers closing around a half empty bottle of body wash and an exfoliating net. As you squeezed out some of the soap he was turning, carefully, moving his body so you stood face to face. Or, face to front, seeing as you were nowhere near tall enough to put you at his eye level. Still he said nothing, content to watch you and let you do what you would, hands at his side. This might have been the longest he’d ever gone without touching you, especially given your shared states of undress. Perhaps it was the trace of disbelief in his eyes, the minute way his brows knitted together, that kept them where they were. Or maybe it was just curiosity.

With the net lathered you brought it up to his chest, and from there you set to your task, slowly working the soap into every inch of his skin. Up his neck and across his torso, down each arm, against his palm and between his fingers. Another squeeze from the bottle and you descended to give the same treatment to his legs and feet. With one hand gripping to your arm he helped you stand again, and thankfully, mercifully, despite the slipperiness of the tub, the both of you remained steady on your feet. Pushing him to turn around again, you scrubbed at his back, following after the net with your other hand, pressing against the skin in a way you hoped passed as soothing. He didn’t complain.

You let him stand there under the water for a moment, rinsing off the bubbles that had gathered across his skin while you poured out a dime or two of shampoo and rubbed it between your hands, and when you reached for his head he leaned back against you to let you work it into his hair. You noticed then that his eyes had closed, when you did not know, but they remained shut even after he leaned away momentarily to rinse out the shampoo, and as he came back again so you could follow it with the same amount of conditioner.

You spent more time than was probably necessary on this particular step, but with  the way every breath left him in a slow, heavy sigh as your fingers massaged and your nails softly scratched at his scalp, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. When you eventually did, he moved again, first to rinse the conditioner from his hair, and then to bring water up to his face. 

You stepped out of the shower first, walking around to shut the water off and to grab a towel to dry him with. His clothes stayed on the toilet lid. You’d wash them later.

No words passed between you as he let you drag the soft fabric of the towel over him to dry his skin, and you only looked back up at his face when you took his hand to pull at him again, to lead him again, this time to your bedroom.

Standing there in front of your bed, you trailed your fingertips over his face, the touch just barely there and he stared at you the whole way. 

Pulling his chin down, your lips pressed against his gently. The kiss was chaste, one of Sweeney’s hands hovering over before settling at your waist, not quite pressing and not quite pulling. Yet. 

Finally, you spoke, low and quiet, staring up at him with your hand still cupping his cheek.

“I believe in you, Sweeney. You have my prayers. And my offerings. You have me.”

Now did he act, a groan leaving his lips before they closed over yours, and the way he hauled you into his body and held you close caused your breath to hitch. The grip on your hips tightened, as though he thought you might change your mind and walk away, even now.

Backwards he walked you until you felt the foot of the bed hit against the back of your legs, and down you tumbled, the full heft of his body knocking the air from your lungs as he settled there in the cradle of your thighs. With what breath you did have you continued to whisper praise and prayer into his ear, delighting in the visceral, physical reactions the words elicited as he buried his face in your neck and you your fingers in his still wet hair. 

It was as though your quiet exaltations, in tandem with the way your hands moved across his neck, shoulders, and back called to him, to his godhood, reaping the same effect as if you’d put out a plate of bread and cream. It told him, instinctively, that there was an offering to be had, and strength to be gained in its having. 

His mouth overtook your own again as his hips ground against you slightly, your lips parted in a moan and he took full advantage, tongue tangling with yours until you could taste the full warmth of him that was still always somehow so fresh, like lying in a field on a summer day. 

Each drag of him against you pulled a whine from your throat, which only seemed to spur him on more, to take him deeper and deeper into the sensations your pliant body offered up to him. Where before, when he’d first come in, he’d appeared scared to touch you, now his hands couldn’t get enough of your skin, trying to be everywhere at once. 

It almost pained you to push those hands away with how good they made you feel, but you’d had a plan when you came in here. He needed to be patient. 

His confusion at being pushed away was helpful in that it gave you the opportunity to roll him onto his back, legs settling one on either side of his hips, his hands coming back to run up and down the skin of your thighs. That you could allow. You leaned forward slowly, languidly, movement like molasses as you slid one hand up his broad chest, the heat of his skin sinking into your palm.

“Why the rush, Buile Suibhne?” You could feel him jerk up into you at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue in such a husked whisper, so close to his ear your lips brushed its shell. It was the first time you’d said it, having practiced rolling it over your tongue for days in a desperate hope you wouldn’t butcher it when the right moment finally came. Practice, it seemed, that had paid off. “I want to take my time with my worship.” 

You looked at him then, the look in his eyes burning straight through your mind as much as your body. With a smile you placed a kiss, simple and quick, on his lips, moving down to mouth at the thick column of his throat before he could pull you back for more.

You felt him moan more than you heard it, vibrating against your lips and your teeth and, while he was distracted, you moved lower, making your way down the sun-kissed skin like you were playing Connect the Dots with your lips against each of the freckles that dotted his chest. When you came across a scar you paid it special attention, but kept moving, further and further downward. Eyes flitting back to his face you found him staring you down. The connection of your gazes set something to trembling inside of you and you held him there, watching him watch you as you continued your descent, kissing along the trail of fine, fiery hair.

One hand moved to smooth up the length of his thigh. You could feel how the hard muscles roiled and rolled beneath your touch. Another kiss to the skin just above his pelvis and you looked back up again to admire for a moment the beautiful flush that had spread across his chest and up his neck as you took his hard length in your hand. 

Still you could feel him staring. The weight of his eyes felt like a physical blanket over your body. It was a shot of opium pouring straight into your veins. 

Your touch was gentle as you ran your fingers along him, pressing gentle kisses along his shaft. 

“We have all night. I want to take care of you. Will you let me?” The words weren’t as much a question as they were a plea. There was prayer on your tongue and his eyes shut as it washed over him. Rather than wait for a verbal response, you lowered your mouth over him, gathering the liquid at the tip of his already weeping head with slow kitten licks. The salt of him in your mouth and those bottom notes that brought to mind morning dew and the electrically-charged air that preceded a storm were heavy and intoxicating, perhaps even addictive. Closing your mouth over him you gave a long suck, wanting more of his taste, more of his pleasure, more of him. 

He hissed above you, one hand coming to rest on your head, not pressing or pushing but just touching running softly, almost affectionately, over your hair.

You sunk down further on him, taking in more and more with each pass of your lips. He was heavy against your tongue and you revelled in all of it. Your nerve endings were thrumming and you thought you just might be getting as much out of this as he was. Taking a man in your mouth had never been something you’d been particularly passionate about doing, but Sweeney was no ordinary man. He changed everything. 

His chest was heaving, every breath in and out full and hard. Still, you wanted more. You needed more. Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, you took him as deep as you could, feeling him slide against the back of your throat. 

“Fucking fuck, lass. That’s good.” His voice was rough and his fingers had tightened in your hair but the sharp pinpricks of pain were in no way unwelcome. 

You kept him where he was until oxygen became crucial, until you just started to heave, lights beginning to dance at the edges of your vision. When you pulled away with a gasping intake of breath, you glanced upwards to his eyes and the look he was giving you would have knocked you on your ass had you been standing. Flushed and drunk on sensation as a result of your actions, he was truly beautiful. But it was the look behind the mossy green of his eyes that pulled at you. The adoration, the disbelief, the ardent desire. Sweeney always made you feel wanted. But this look? This look made you feel worshipped. Was this what it was like for him? This electricity singing beneath your skin and setting your blood ablaze like you held a forest fire in your veins? It was a head rush of epic proportions and it was delicious.

You could see the way he restrained himself from bucking his hips and just fucking up into your mouth. You wanted him to finish like this. You wanted to taste him. Your nails dug into the curve and cut of his hips, the bite of them a sharp contrast to the soft, constricting heat of your mouth. Your movements sped up slightly, still on the slower side but the intensity of it all was pressing harder and harder. For a split second you wondered if it was a sin to pray to one’s god for said god to cum in their mouth, but by the low whine he gave, you didn’t think he minded.

His resolve was breaking. You felt it in the minute motion of his hips. You felt it in how he began moving your head back and forth in small, faint pulls. You felt it in the way he twitched against your tongue. God but you wanted it. It was as though the continued beating of your jackhammer heart relied entirely on watching him come apart beneath your ministrations.

When he finally let go, he did so with a quiet shout of your name, and it was beautiful in a way nothing else in the world could hope to match. He filled your mouth and you drank from him greedily, savouring every drop and reluctant to let even one go to waste. To do so, you thought, might feel like sacrilege.

Pressing a kiss to the side of his hip, it was with a pleased expression that you slowly crawled back up his body to bring your lips back to his. His tongue was reaching for yours before your mouths had even fully connected. When you pulled away he made to follow, but with a hand on his chest, you pushed him down again. 

“Bad luck to interrupt a ritual before it’s finished.” 

Sweeney sighed beneath you. “You’re too good for the likes of me, little bird.”

You knew it wasn’t just a compliment. He really believed it, and it grated on you, tugging at your heartstrings. 

“You deserve so much more.” He wouldn’t believe you, but you’d say it anyways, on the off chance that one day he might. 

He wanted to argue. Ever the fighter. So you distracted him. Bringing your arms together, your hands sat side by side on his chest. Pushing your breasts together to win a not-quite-argument was probably playing dirty but it was effective. Your chest immediately had his attention and you nearly laughed. A shift of your hips over his had you both inhaling sharply. He was still hard. Or was he hard again.

As his hands travelled from your thighs to your waist and back again, you snuck one hand behind you, lifting to line him up beneath you and slowly—agonisingly, painfully slowly—lowered yourself down, feeling every inch of him as he filled you to the brim and then some. Sweeney’s head was thrown back and his hands, which had moved up your breasts, gave a hard squeeze. It was hardly the first time you’d taken him like this, but that feeling when your bodies fully connected, that pressure as you adjusted to him never got old.

The rhythmic roll of your hips started slow, remained that way for a time, but as the air seemed to swell and swirl around you as he moved with you, the dizzying feel of him lead you to speed up, wringing mewls and whimpers out of you that you might have been ashamed of any other time.

The slide of him inside you felt better than could possibly be healthy, and already you could feel the coil begin to tighten low in the pit of your stomach. But he was holding back, waiting for you. Such a gentleman. That wouldn’t do. You pulled at him until he sat up, carded your fingers through his damp hair and trailed your lips up his neck to suck at the spot just below his ear. 

“My god. I am yours. I am for you. Everything I have, everything I am, everything I will ever be.” The words just seemed to pour from your lips and you knew as they did how truly you meant them. They were a bone-deep truth, making their home in the marrow of you. “My worship and my warmth. My bread, my belief, and my body. Every breath I take, I breathe in your name. You have my pleasure as you have my promise. I am yours, always, to do with what you will.”

His choked cry was muffled as he buried his face into the skin between your breasts, pressing hungry kisses to your sternum.

“Let go. Please. I want you to.” You wanted him to finish first, wanted to watch him break one more time, but if he didn’t hurry up you’d beat him to the punch and that just couldn’t happen. Hands moving to his face, you forced him to look at you.

“Suibhne.” His name on your lips was drawn out into a long whimper, a moan, a plea, low and breathy and it seemed to do the trick. His hips were jerking, thrusts erratic until they stilled, and you pressed down, wanting to feel every inch and when you did it was heaven. The sight of him, the feel of him erupting inside you, it was everything you needed to push you that final step over the edge and you came with a cry, arching your back in a sharp angle and holding him as close as he held you, as though the tight press of his skin against yours was still an unbearable amount of distance. Sweeney’s arms, locked around your waist, muscles like tectonic plates and nearly as strong, reminded you even now of the divine nature of the being beneath you, and of the ease with which he could crush you. The danger in the knowledge was more thrilling than it should have been, but there was also some semblance of comfort in it. In such strong arms as his, how could you be anything but safe?

When he laid back onto the rumpled sheets you followed, collapsing on top of him, head resting on his heaving chest and with your ear pressed against his skin you could hear his heartbeat. Above your head, Sweeney was muttering something in some old tongue, the words lost on you, but you could feel his voice, his full, usually booming voice, vibrating against your cheek.

He was stroking your hair away from where it stuck to your face, skin slick with sweat, and the kiss he placed on the crown of your head had your heart doing a funny sort of flip, as though despite everything, it was still the most intimate thing either one of you had done tonight. Coupled with the overwhelming feeling of safety and security you felt as he held you, and you knew you were in trouble. 

Rather than ruminate on that, however, you simply lay there with him in silence, letting the slow rise and fall of his chest lull you to sleep.

#american gods #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x reader #me chanting to myself: i like this enough to share it i like this enough to share it i like this enough to share it i like th- #no idea when i'll ever get around to actually finishing writing this fic so i'm just gonna throw this out into the water #i've had the first chapter and a half written since 2019 but the rest is still just sitting in the waiting room of my brain

[bearwriting]

Gather

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Summary: Bruised and bloodied, you end up with the last person you thought you'd turn to, and he wants answers.

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: alcohol use, drinking

“Who was he?” you asked as he pulled back onto the freeway.

“Someone very powerful. And, like I said, someone you don’t want to fuck with. He gave up your keys too easily, I don’t like it.”

You shrugged. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’m gonna try to get some sleep, but wake me up when we get to a motel.”

You balled up your sweatshirt between your head and the car window and fell asleep almost immediately.

Sweeney took that opportunity to scan your sleeping face, the fear from earlier a stone in his stomach. Why was Fear Doirich looking for you? He had said he wanted whatever it was that you had been sent to retrieve for Wednesday, but that was a lie. At least, it was a partial one. The Dark Man was plotting something, Sweeney just knew it, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Sweeney knew he couldn’t do anything about it now, but he could at the very least do his damnedest to make sure that you were protected.

A few hours later, Sweeney shook you awake. You peered up at him groggily and groaned. “Five more minutes,” you mumbled, turning away from him and pulling your sweatshirt-pillow closer.

He rolled his eyes. “We’re here so you can keep sleepin’. Besides, I already paid for the room so you are not sleeping in this car.”

You made a muffled sound that Sweeney was fairly confident was an impressive string of profanity.

He huffed. “We don’t have time for this. Up you get, let’s go.” He leaned down and pulled you from the car, slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Now you were wide awake.

“Put me down!” you snarled, pounding on his back with your fists. “I’m not a child!”

He snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You growled and aimed a kick at his stomach, feeling your foot sink into the soft flesh there. He doubled over, loosening his grip and nearly dropping you, but you managed to land neatly on your feet.

“You are a fuckin’ piece’a work, you know that?” he snapped.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back. “Don’t manhandle me.”

“Then get your fuckin’ ass in gear next time!” He stood to his full height, massaging his stomach and sucking in a breath. “Every day you get on my nerves a little more.”

You glared at him. “No one’s forcing you to be here.”

He shot you a look as he unlocked the door of the motel room. You stepped in, wrinkling your nose at the faint odor.

“Would it kill us to get a halfway decent room every once in a while?” you muttered.

He pretended not to hear you and made his way into the bathroom, gesturing for you to follow.

“Up there,” he said, pointing to the counter. “Shirt off.”

You smirked at him. “If you wanted to get me naked you could’ve just said.”

He snorted. “Needta change your bandages.”

You moved to strip down but paused.

“You all right?” he asked. “I can get the scissors again, but at the rate you’ve been goin’ through clothes ‘m not sure—“

You cut him off. “It’s not that it hurts,” you murmured, twisting gently to your left and then to your right. “It’s that it…doesn’t?”

His red eyebrows shot up. “What?” You hurried to correct yourself. “No, I mean it still hurts, obviously it still hurts, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it feels like it should.”

His brow furrowed. “Lemme take a look.”

You pulled your shirt over your shoulders and presented your back to him. Sweeney carefully peeled back the layers of bandages. He sucked in a startled breath and you could see his surprise in the mirror on the wall.

“What is it?” you demanded.

“This is…it shouldn’t look like this,” he said slowly. “I mean, it still doesn’t look good, but considering your flesh was ribbons two days ago?” His eyes met yours in the mirror. “It shouldn’t look like this.”

You twisted to see your back in the mirror and an uneasy feeling settled over you. Sweeney was right, it still didn’t look great, but the deep lacerations across your back looked as though they were at least a few weeks healed, not just a few days.

You turned to Sweeney with wide eyes and were met with an equally surprised stare. He reached out, bracing a hand against your cheek, and gently pulled away the bandage on your face. It was the same. Far more along in healing than it had any right to be.

“What the hell is this?” you demanded.

He held up his hands. “How in the fuck am I s’posed to know?”

“I don’t know! You’re the leprechaun that’s supposedly thousands of years old, I figured if one of us was gonna know what the fuck is going on, it would be you!” You were fairly shouting now, but Sweeney could see the fear that was beginning to creep into your expression.

He shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of things, love, but nothing like this. You’re healing miles faster than you should be.”

You chewed on your lower lip. “There’s gotta be someone we can ask.”

Sweeney shrugged. “First person I can think of is Circe.”

You shook your head. “I dunno, I don’t know that she would be able to help us with this. I don’t know how much she can help with things that aren’t a direct result of magic.”

He looked at you incredulously. “Look at yer back an’ tell me magic isn’t involved somehow.”

Now it was your turn to shrug. “I don’t know, but honestly? As long as I’m not dying from blood loss or infection, this is not at the top of my list of priorities.”

“So what is?” Sweeney demanded.

You blinked. “Are you serious? The weird bitch that had my car? The one that had you about to shit your britches?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Who was he?”

Sweeney squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose like he could will your questions away.

“Sweeney,” you demanded.

“He’s someone you don’t want to fuck with,” was his only response.

You stared at him in disbelief. “That cannot be your actual answer. Everyone we interact with is someone we don’t want to fuck with but none of them have ever had you acting like this.”

The ginger giant refused to meet your eyes. You sandwiched his face between your hands and made him look at you. “Sweeney. Who was he?”

His grass-green eyes looked at you pleadingly.

“Don’t make me smack you,” you threatened.

He sighed and pulled his face from your grasp. “You know how you won’t refer to Gr — to the old man by name? This is the same. Names have power, and that…that thing doesn’t need any more than he already has, just like the old man. We’ll call him the Dark Man. S’what his name translates to anyway.”

You looked at him expectantly and he took a deep breath.

Sweeney spoke haltingly. “F—the Dark Man, he…he’s fear itself, as it were. Or one of its iterations at least. He used to…take people. He was a servant of the Faerie Queen and he has…an ability, we’ll call it, to strip people of their will.”

“To make them do what he wants,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

Sweeney nodded. “Many have followed him, but few, if any, have ever come back. The Dark Man, the Black Druid, he’s gone by many different names. He feeds on fear and doubt.”

You scratched your chin thoughtfully. “So what could he want from us? Like…I’ve never actually heard of this guy, not in the way we’ve heard of the old man or Czernobog or anyone else. He can’t actually be that powerful, can he? There’s not that many stories about him, there’s no way—“

“Drop it,” Sweeney said sharply.

You blinked, startled at his tone. Usually, you would immediately be inclined to argue with him or to keep poking the bear, but something in his eyes, something that looked an awful lot like real fear, held you back.

“Fine. Whatever.” You turned your back to him. “I’m going to get food. Come with me or don’t.”

He put a warm hand on your shoulder. “You need rest. I’ll go get us some burgers.”

You looked up at him. “Can we get chicken?”

He chuckled. “Can those eyes get any bigger?”

You stuck out your lower lip for added effect and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “All right, we passed a KFC not too far from here. I’ll go, you rest. Don’t leave this room and don’t open the door for anyone but me.”

You saluted sarcastically. “Yessir.”

He rolled his eyes and left the room, grabbing your keys. The door shut behind him, the lock sliding into place, and you were alone in the dank room. You flipped through the channels on the grainy television until you landed on something that seemed even vaguely interesting.

Shucking off your grimy jeans, you dug through the duffel until you came up with a pair of relatively clean sweatpants and what looked like one of Sweeney’s shirts. You pulled on the sweats and tugged the shirt over your head, rolling up the sleeves until your hands were visible.

You flopped onto the bed, wincing when the wounds on your back twinged in protest, and sighed heavily. The bed wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was the best you’d had in a bit. At the very least, it was significantly better than being stuck in whatever shithole the Jotnar had you in. Sitting up, you pulled the pillows and blankets from their positions, building a nest around yourself, but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. Then, you spied the phone on the nightstand.

You dialed the front desk. “Hi!” you said brightly. “Yes, everything is fine. I was just wondering if it would be possible to have some extra pillows brought to room fifteen? Two or three, if you wouldn’t mind, and an extra blanket if you can. Great, thank you!”

A few minutes later, you had the extra pillows and blanket. You arranged everything into a nest on your bed, propping yourself up with a pillow so you could see the episode of Kitchen Nightmares that was playing on the old, staticky television. You were determined to stay awake until the Irishman returned with your chicken tenders in tow, but as the minutes ticked by you found it more and more difficult to keep your eyes open. You didn’t even notice yourself fall asleep.

Sweeney shouldered the door open, balancing the boxes in one hand. “Here’s yer damn chicken, you—“

He stopped short when he saw you curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows, fast asleep and breathing softly. Your hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions, and the circles under your eyes were dark as bruises, but you were asleep. Properly asleep, not passed out from pain or crammed into a car. He knew he should wake you and make you eat something, but you looked so small and fragile that he couldn’t bring himself to disturb you.

Sweeney turned off the TV and slid into the empty bed. Staring up at the blank ceiling, his mind ran a mile a minute. He still couldn’t wrap his head around why Fear Doirich would have taken an interest in you, and it made his skin crawl. The Dark Man had said that he’d wanted whatever it was that you had been sent to retrieve for Grimnir, but that wasn’t the truth. Or at least, it wasn’t the whole truth. He didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel in his gut that there was more to what the Dark Man wanted.

And then there was the matter of your wounds. How were you healing the way you were? There was no way this was occurring naturally, but Sweeney could think of no time between when you’d shown up at his door on the verge of death and now where you would have been able to see a healer. He’d been by your side the entire time and there was nothing and no one that could have done this, but there had to be some sort of external force. He wracked his brain, trying to recall anything that you might have said or done that would indicate that something about you was more than human, but he came up empty.

The leprechaun slept, although fitfully. He found himself waking almost every hour, sitting upright and sweating, eyes darting frantically around the room until they landed on you and he was sure that there was no immediate danger and you were still asleep. That you were still safe.

The next morning, you busied yourself with the coffeepot in the motel room’s dinky kitchenette. The events from the previous day swirled through your mind and you were so preoccupied that you hadn’t noticed Sweeney had woken and was watching you from the counter.

You started when you turned and saw him, almost dropping the coffeepot, and scowled. “You look like shit,” you told him, taking in his bloodshot eyes.

He snorted. “You should look in a mirror, fuck.”

“Did you sleep at all?” you asked.

He made a noncommittal sound. “Here and there.”

You hummed and pointed to a roadmap that you had laid out on the table. “Okay, so the old man’s trinket is in Kansas City, about two and a half hours away from where we are now in Joplin. If we hit the road in the next hour, we can get it and then we’ll be in Kentucky by late tomorrow morning or early afternoon at the latest.”

You set a mug of watery instant coffee down in front of him and he lifted it to his lips, taking a sip and wincing before sliding a flask from his pocket and emptying the contents into the mug. You rolled your eyes.

“I think we should give it a bit before we go get whatever it is that he sent you for,” Sweeney said, eyeing you like he knew you weren’t going to take to that idea at all.

Sure enough, you looked at him incredulously. “Absolutely not. I want to get this shit out of my hands and I want to get paid.”

He glared at you. “You have the Dark Man after you because supposedly he wants whatever it is that you have and the Jotnar are after you for the same reason and because you stole from them. It might be a good idea to lay low for a little.”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to get rid of it?” you asked. “If it gets returned to the old man, it’s not my problem anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes and grunted. “And if you get killed along the way?”

You set your jaw. “I won’t.”

“You’re so sure?”

“I’ve been pretty lucky the last couple of days,” you pointed out. “I’m willing to bet it’ll hold.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in something that really just amounts to chance,” he muttered.

You grinned. “That’s what I’ve got you for, isn’t it? Don’t you do that every day?”

He chuckled darkly. “That’s not how it works.”

You shrugged. “Either way, I think between the two of us we’ve got enough luck to get us to the other side in one piece.”

He sighed heavily. “Fine, but if you get me killed, I’m haunting you.”

You smiled. “Seems like a fair trade.”

Within the next half hour, you were fed and on the road.

The drive, surprisingly, was relatively peaceful. You bickered about radio stations and music choices, argued about directions, and tried to play road games, which then devolved into a shouting match in which you almost swung on him over his interpretation of the rules for the alphabet game. But nothing came after you. You sighed and patted the dashboard of the car.

“Thanks, darlin’,” you murmured.

Sweeney looked at you. “Talking to the car? And they say I’m the one that’s lost it.”

“You’re just jealous,” you shot back.

“Of who? You or the car?”

“Open to interpretation.”

He swatted at you with a meaty paw and you leaned your seat back as far as it would go, laughing.

He mimicked your laugh in a high tone. “You’re not gonna be laughing when I run us off the road,” he sang.

You sat back up and pouted at him. “You wouldn’t do that to me, you’d be lost without me.”

His eyes flicked to you for a moment before his attention was back on the road. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I would.”

Taken aback by the change in his energy, your eyes darted around for something to change the subject. In the signs whipping past, you saw that you were about half an hour outside of Kansas City, where you had utilized a bus station locker as your storage. You’d lost the key when the Jotnar had caught up to you, throwing it as hard as you could into the Arkansas River, but you were confident that even though your knowledge of spells was limited, you had one to unlock things. And even if you didn’t, you knew how to pick a lock.

You turned to Sweeney. “If we don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to do something to end up on national news,” you threatened.

“You’re the one that’s having us make this detour, you can wait a couple hours,” he replied.

You grumbled something under your breath about stupid rat bastards and he pretended not to hear.

When you arrived at the station in Kansas City, you shifted your body so you were facing Sweeney. “Can you please, for the love of all things sacred and holy, wait here?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance. I’m not letting you go in there by yourself.”

You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose. “I can get in and out without anyone seeing me. Please, Sweeney. In and out, I promise.”

He shook his head again. “No. What if it’s a trap? What if they’re waiting for you?”

“Then I’ll scream.”

“I won’t be able to hear you from out here,” he countered.

You huffed. “If I’m not back in this seat in fifteen minutes, you can barge in and rescue me, okay?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Ten minutes.”

“Oh my god, fine. Ten minutes.”

He seemed slightly more satisfied with this, but still unhappy. “At least take this with you,” he said, taking a pendant from his neck and placing it over your head. His fingers brushed your collarbones and seemed to linger for a fraction of a second longer than they needed to, making your cheeks flush. You inspected it and found that it was a small clay pendant with knotwork molded into its face.

You looked at him questioningly but he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“It’s the Dara knot,” he said quietly. “The shield knot. We…we used to use it for protection.”

You wanted to say something, but your tongue was leaden in your mouth. You were overwhelmed with a surge of affection or the giant idiot in the passenger seat of your car and, unable to speak, you settled for patting him on the knee. “I’ll be back soon,” you promised.

He looked at you with a look in his eyes that made your chest tighten. “Be safe,” he murmured.

You climbed out of the car and pulled up the hood of your sweatshirt as you made your way inside the station. Your eyes scanned the rows of steel storage lockers until the landed on the one you were looking for. You made a lap around the station before approaching, eyes bouncing from face to face and scanning every nook and cranny, every corner where someone might hide. Satisfied that it was safe, you approached the locker as casually as you could.

The initial aura that hung around it seemed undamaged and you breathed a sigh of relief. Running your fingers around the edges of the door, you felt for the wards you had set. These, too, remained unbroken.

You whispered a few words and the door popped open. The contents within remained undisturbed and your legs jellied with relief. The canvas backpack was crammed into the back, same as you had left it, and you snatched it from the locker, rummaging around and doing a mental inventory. All of your charms and amulets seemed to be present and accounted for, but you kept digging until your fingers closed around what you were looking for. The rough wooden rod was there at the bottom, its warmth seeping into your hand and the carved runes pressing against your skin. You released a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Gungnir was safe. You wrapped it in a silk cloth that had been tucked into one of the outer compartments of the bag and placed it back inside alongside a small number of vials and herbs before quickly making your way back out to the parking lot, conscious of the fact that your ten minutes was almost up.

Sweeney saw you coming and unlocked the doors. Tossing the bag into the footwell, you slid into the passenger seat and he immediately reached for the bag to begin rummaging through until he produced the cloth bundle. He unwrapped it and his jaw fell open.

“Are you serious? The trinket you were talking about was Gungnir?”

You nodded and he scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Christ, no wonder they were after you! You had Gungnir.”

You looked at him reproachfully. “Don’t take that tone with me.”

“Tone? You had one of the most powerful weapons on the planet in a bus locker and you’re worried about my tone? There’s no way we make it to Jack’s without dying, this might as well be a beacon for everything within a hundred miles!”

You flashed him a grin. “Ah, but therein lies the beauty of this old girl!” you crowed, smacking the dashboard. “She’s warded! Nigh impossible to find.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure about this? Even with something this powerful?”

You chewed your lip. “Like 87% sure.”

His eyes bulged and he made a disbelieving sound. You glared at him. “I’ll say it again, no one’s forcing you to stick around,” you snapped. “If you don’t like it, no one’s making you put your ass on the line. I can get there just fine by myself.”

Sweeney didn’t say a word, but tightened his grip on the wheel and stared straight ahead.

“That’s what I thought,” you muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he shot back.

“No, but it does mean you have to stop bitching. If I was forcing you to come with me I’d let you complain all you wanted, but let me remind you that you were the one that attached himself to me. So let me do what I need to do and shut the hell and fuck up about it.” You were beginning to get angry.

He didn’t answer but sulked in the driver’s seat. You rolled your eyes and flipped through the radio stations, settling on one that was blaring Alanis Morissette.

Sweeney groaned. “For chrissakes, can’t we listen to something else?”

“No. I’m not listening to your bullshit for the next ten hours.”

He made a face. “So I have to listen to yours?”

“It’s my car!”

“What happened to your rule about the driver picking the music?” he whined.

“When I’m driving,” you said, jabbing a finger at your chest for emphasis. “Otherwise it’s passenger DJ rules.”

“That feels rigged,” he grumbled. He opened his mouth to make what you could only assume was another smartass comment, but his eyes locked on something in the rearview mirror and his face paled. His hand shot out and gripped your thigh.

The sudden shift in his energy made you nervous. “What? What is it?”

He didn’t answer, but pressed his foot against the gas and the car leapt forward. You twisted in your seat to get a glimpse of what might’ve been after you. Three massive goat-headed figures were charging up the road after you, and they were closing the gap.

“Sweeney, what the fuck are those?” you demanded, unable to keep the tremor from your voice.

He swore. “Bocánaigh. He must’ve sent them, but I don’t know how—“

His words were drowned out by an earsplitting wail that turned your blood to ice. Something landed on the roof of the car with a thud and Sweeney jerked the steering wheel in an effort to throw it off, spewing profanities.

“Bran, the last time I saw one of these was…fuck it was millennia ago. Where did he find them?” Sweeney was talking more to himself than to you, but you still shook your head.

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen—“

Before you could finish your thought, there was a tremendous bang as one of the front tires exploded. The car swerved dangerously, but Sweeney managed to wrestle it to the shoulder of the road, narrowly avoiding colliding with a telephone pole.

Your eyes were squeezed shut and you white-knuckled your seat as you chanted every protection spell you could remember, sifting through the recesses of your mind for even the smallest thing that Circe had taught you that might help. You didn’t know what else to do.

“Is there any iron in here?” Sweeney demanded.

Your chanting stuttered. “Do I have any what?”

“Iron!” he bellowed. “Iron, do you have iron anywhere in this car?”

You blinked. “Horseshoe in the glovebox. Everything that was in the trunk is gone.”

He clenched his jaw. “It’ll have to do. Stay here, stay in this car, and pray to whoever the fuck might be listening that the enchantments Circe put on this thing hold.” He yanked the horseshoe from the glovebox, gripping it like makeshift brass knuckles in his fist, and launched himself from the car with a howl.

You returned to your incantations, doing your best to block the awful sounds. Every time one of Sweeney’s blows landed and the iron made contact with the flesh of the goat-headed men, you could hear their flesh sizzle and their screams of rage. You heard a nasty thwack followed by Sweeney grunting in pain as they head-butted him and did their damnedest to gore him with the curved and cruelly pointed horns that arced out of their heads.

You wracked your brain for something, anything, that you could do aside from sitting on your ass and muttering spells that may or may not have been working.

Sweeney’s head hit the ground with a sickening thud and you swallowed. Fuck it, you thought. If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging. You kicked open the car door, armed only with Sweeney’s pocketknife and a snarl.

You howled at the top of your lungs, slinging every word of Greek protection that Circe had taught you. The beasts turned to you, yellow eyes narrowing. Your heart picked up in your chest but you held fast, reciting the verses over and over, but they had no effect.

You opened your mouth to try again, but what came out was not Greek. It wasn’t any language that you knew and it certainly was not part of the meager arsenal Circe had armed you with, but the words flowed from your lips as though you had known them for years.

"Ceathrar a leag an tsúil, fear agus bean, buachaill agus cailín, triúr gortach, an tAthair, an Mac, agus an Spiorad Naomh!”*

The Bocánaigh hissed and cringed at your words and you moved towards them, more of that familiar-yet-unfamiliar language rolling off your tongue like you had never known another.

You picked up the horseshoe and began smashing your way through the three of them, your words never faltering, never slowing, until eventually the beasts fled.

After a moment, when you were sure the danger had gone, you hauled yourself to Sweeney’s slumped form against the side of the car.

“Hey dummy,” you said, crouching in front of him. “You okay?”

He groaned and rose to his feet, swaying slightly before sitting back down heavily. “I might be concussed.”

You nodded. “Yeah, you took a few slams to the noggin there. You hit the ground pretty hard, too. Other’n that though it doesn’t look like they did too much damage. Looks like your luck is holding.” You flashed him a grin, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Instead, his eyes skated over your face, suspicion knitting his brow.

“Yeah, those things might as well just be specters that pack a punch, can’t do much damage to someone like me.” His voice was distant, he was distracted. “You, though…there’s barely a scratch on ya. And what the hell was that? Where’d you learn Gaeilge like that?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t even know that that’s what that was. I was trying to recite a Greek incantation, but that came out instead. I guess I got lucky.” You paused as you realized what you said. “Hey now, see? I told you you had enough luck for the both of us.”

Sweeney shook his head. “No, that wasn’t luck, love. That was…that was something else. I think we need to have words with Wednesday.”

You hummed. “Fine, but we need to get him his thing first. Get in the passenger seat, princess, I’m driving the rest of the way.”

He made a face but did as you said.

“C’mon, up you get,” you grunted, pulling one of his arms over your shoulders. He groaned as you pulled him to his feet and led him around the car, gingerly lowering him into the passenger seat. “Big baby,” you teased.

He glowered at you, but there was no heat behind it. “I did just get the living daylights beat out of me.”

You laughed. “My knight in shining armor. We’ll stop and get you some Advil on the way, yeah?”

“An’ a bottle of whiskey.”

You gave him a mock salute. “Yessir, a bottle of Jamo should get you right as rain.”

You managed to make it the rest of the way to Knott County without incident, the ride passing much smoother once Sweeney got his Jameson and his painkillers. You sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever it was that seemed to be looking out for you. Helping the ginger giant out of the car, the two of you made your way into the bar.

Instantly, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as you were assaulted with the sounds and smells of Jack’s Crocodile Bar. You hated this place. As often as it had been the site of many rowdy nights and raucous fun, it was also the place where you had functionally sold your soul to the Devil. A devil with one eye and no care for anyone but himself.

You had hoped that you would have some time before the old man saw you, desperately needing a pint before whatever was about to happen, but it seemed that your luck did not extend that far. A familiar voice called your name, and it made your skin crawl.

The old man beckoned you to where he sat with a wide grin. Sweeney took the seat on his left and you took the one on his right. Wednesday had already ordered for you, a pint of lager sitting beside his glass of what you could only assume was Jack Daniels. The man had few vices, but apparently Tennessee whiskey was one of them. You eyed the pint glass suspiciously, not trusting anything he put in front of you.

“I see we have one more joining us,” he said jovially, clapping Sweeney on the shoulder. “Mad Sweeney! I wasn’t expecting you for another two days. Oh, this is delightful.” The Irishman grunted and flagged down the bartender and a few moments later a rum and coke was on the bar in front of him. You could see a muscle in his jaw feather as he grit his teeth.

“I’m not particularly in the mood for pleasantries,” you said coldly, reaching into your pack and producing the cloth bundle that held Gungnir. Wednesday’s cold eyes brightened and he reached for it, but you snatched it from his reach. “Payment first.”

He sighed. “Always business, never pleasure. When was the last time you sat and enjoyed a drink with an old friend?”

“We are not friends,” you sneered. “You are my employer and I am your employee. This is a business relationship.”

He pouted and then gave you a knowing look that made you want to poke out his other eye. “We know you’re more than that now, don’t we?”

“They were held by the Jotnar for almost a week,” Sweeney cut in. “Where were you?”

The old man looked at him coldly before producing a fat envelope from inside his jacket. “Payment, as agreed.” He turned to Sweeney. “And you! Let me buy you another round. Consider it thanks for bringing my favorite employee back to me in one piece.” His words oozed sarcasm. It made you itch.

“Weren’t for lack of trying on their part,” Sweeney muttered.

You cocked your head. “Yeah, about that. Some guy’s after your stick.”

Wednesday chuckled. “You’ll have to be more specific than that. There’s plenty of people that would love to get their hands on this.”

“Tall, dark, radiates fear? Ring any bells?” You were losing what little patience you had.

He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“The Dark Man,” Sweeney snapped, clearly no more in the mood for games than you were.

Wednesday’s face remained impassive, but his eyes widened. Just a fraction, but it was enough. It wasn’t fear, but at the very least he was unsettled hearing the name.

“The Black Druid?” His voice was careful, measured. He knew something that he wasn’t telling you.

Something new and different, you thought bitterly, but you nodded. “He stole my car and seemed pretty keen on finding this.”

Wednesday’s face pinched and he sighed. “The Dark Man isn’t after this, I’m afraid. He’s after you.”

Your face paled and Sweeney gripped the glass he was holding so tightly that it shattered.

“What? What in the hell could he want with me?” you asked.

He sipped at his whiskey. “I believe you have something that he wants.”

You stared at him, mouth agape. “What could I possibly, possibly fucking have that he would want? I didn’t even know who he was two days ago!”

The old man didn’t answer, merely gazed at you with an indecipherable expression. “I’d be very careful if I were you,” he said simply, before downing the rest of his drink and taking his leave before you could so much as blink.

The two of you stared after him, dumbfounded. “Great, we’ve got more questions than we had when he got here and he left us with the tab,” you said, scowling at your untouched pint.

Sweeney knocked back a shot. “Wish I could say I was surprised.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder and pulled you from your seat. “C’mon, let’s do what we do best.”

You looked up at him. “Get shithoused?”

He knocked back another shot and slammed the glass against the wooden surface of the bar. “Get shithoused,” he grinned.

That was how, several hours later, you ended up standing on top of the bar, belting “Mr. Brightside” at the top of your lungs. Sweeney watched you with a smile on his face as you led the entire bar through the chorus.

The song finished and you swept your arms wide, a huge grin plastered on your face. You moved to take a bow and pitched too far forward almost immediately. The world fell out from under you as you toppled from the bar, but you never hit the concrete floor. Warm arms encircled you and you found yourself gazing into a familiar pair of green eyes.

“I think it might be time for us to go, love,” Sweeney said.

You looked up at him and giggled. “Awh, we can’t stop now! The party’s just getting started!”

He chuckled and set you on your feet, steadying you as you swayed. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we need to bow out. Before you split your skull.”

He pulled you out the door and you pouted. “Can’t believe my king is telling me the party’s over. Y’know, if you’d acted like this before Mag Rath we might not’ve lost.”

At your words, Sweeney’s blood turned to ice. “Wh-what did you just say?”

Something in your eyes had shifted. There was a wild and determined look in them now as you held up your hands. “Look, don’t get pissy with me. All’s I’m saying is if we’d been more careful, Donall wouldn’t’ve—“

“No. What do you mean ‘before Mag Rath’? How would you know anything about that battle?”

You flicked his nose. “I was there, dummy. I led your battalion like you aaaaasked and you still booked it. Not that I blame you, honestly. That shit was horrific.”

Sweeney stared at you like he had never seen you before. A memory flickered at the back of his mind.

“Go!” you bellowed. “Go, I’ll hold them off!” You raised your arms wide and a gust of wind ripped across the field, forcing Donall’s men back.

He blinked, his mind reeling. His lieutenant…

No. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been. That was almost two thousand years ago. That wasn’t you.

And yet…and yet. He couldn’t deny the magic that ran through you. The way the Irish incantations had pulled themselves from you like you had always known them. The way you were healing faster than you had any right to.

He grabbed you by the shoulders.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you?”

That wild look in your eyes cleared and you stared at him in confusion. “I’m me? Sweeney, what? You’ve known me for years, you know—“

“Who are you?” he bellowed. “How do you know about Mag Rath?”

You flinched and backed away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice shaking. “I don’t know what Mag Rath is. Sweeney, please, you’re scaring me.”

He stared at you, his expression frantic. “What about what you just said? About us losing and Donall…” he trailed off. You were looking at him with so much fear written on your face it made his chest ache. “Do you remember what you just said to me?” he asked slowly.

“I…I don’t…I fell off the bar and you caught me and then we were outside and then you were yelling at me.” You sounded like you were on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gripped his hair in his fists. You didn’t remember. You didn’t remember what you had just said to him, you didn’t remember fighting at his side. And he didn’t remember you. Why didn’t he remember you?

“What did you do before you worked for Wednesday?” he barked.

“I-I dunno. I don’t remember what I did, I don’t remember what my life was.” You were crying now. “Before Wednesday, everything is blank.”

He knew this. You had told him this before, that Wednesday had found you wandering through northern Minnesota, half-frozen and with no memory to speak of. But now…he had to wonder. Did Wednesday happen upon you by chance? Or had he lied? Knowing the old man, the latter was far from impossible or even unlikely.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I think we need to get some answers,” he murmured against your hair. “But first, let’s get you to bed.”

*"Four who set the eye, man and woman, boy and girl, three sick, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!"

tagged: @imaginethatneathuhpartdos @kind-wolf

#mad sweeney imagine #mad sweeney x reader #mad sweeney reader insert #american gods imagine #american gods x reader #american gods reader insert #bear writes

[hoedamn-eron]

mad sweeney - overstimulation

Kinktober Day 1 - Overstimulation

Warnings: 18+, minors, DNI. Overstimulation. Sweeney refers to reader as 'lass'. Some swearing. Word count: 950 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Series Masterlist ● Day 2

“No, no, no, Sweeney, please…”

“Just one more, love, that’s all I need, just one more…”

It’s nothing new. When Mad Sweeney reappears into your life, he always wants a hot shower, a drink (a stiff one usually, but you always make him tea), and a comfortable bed.

And a warm pussy to bury himself in. It was usually yours.

He comes stumbling into your house, filthy and slurring his words. You never ask any questions; where he’s been or what he’s been doing, or who he’s been doing it with. All you know is that he wants, needs, your help, even if it’s just for a few hours. So, you lead him to your shower, where he barely fits, and you make him the cup of tea. You wash his clothes and He’s usually sobered up enough after the shower to drink the tea then pass out in your bed with you.

This time round was no different. However, this morning, he decided to wake you up with his head between your legs and an orgasm or two.

Or five.

Maybe six.

You lost count a while ago.

Your fingers are buried in his red hair and you’re pushing him further into your pussy, like you weren’t just begging him to stop his onslaught on you. It’s gotta be illegal, the way he was making you feel, his tongue and his fingers working you up to another orgasm, as he promised.

“Sweeney,” you gasped, your back arching. “Please, please, please, please…”

He didn’t deem to give you an answer, just look up at you with the dirtiest look possible, from those hazel eyes of his, and that was all it took for another orgasm to glide down your spine. After a few more flicks of his tongue against your abused clit, you came with a loud cry. You felt more than heard Sweeney groan into you, his fingers thrusting into you, helping you ride out your orgasm.

You were shaking your head as the pleasure subsided, but Sweeney was already working at you again, feeling like a warm buzz throughout your body. “One more.”

“That’s what…what you said three orgasms ago,” you breathe, giving a small laugh as your eyes closed. You knew you weren’t getting out of this anytime soon.

You felt him give a breathy chuckle against your pussy before he leaned back in. Your nerves were on fire, and you couldn’t stop shaking. You could feel your fingers tightening in Sweeney’s hair, trying to anchor yourself as he licked and sucked at your clit. You felt as if you would float away if you didn’t.

“Ye’re being so good for me, sweetheart,” Sweeney muttered. “Just takin’ all I’m givin’ you.”

You give a high pitched, weak whine from deep in your throat as you feel yourself about to cum again, seeing stars behind your eyes as your orgasm builds quickly and suddenly. You shook and screamed his name as you thrash on the bed, as if trying to get away, another wave of ecstasy crashing over you as another climax hit you just as powerful as the others. You felt Sweeney hold you down by your hips, keeping you still as he continued his assault on your cunt. You sobbed loudly, and you hadn’t even realised you had started crying. Everything hurt, but it all felt so good.

“Love?” Sweeney asked in a low tone, his fingers stilling in you as he looked up at you again with those Goddamn eyes. “You got one more fer me?”

“No, no,” you say, panting, finally looking down at him. “Fuck, Sweeney, I can’t.”

“Ye can,” he muttered against you, not breaking eye contact as he kissed your abused clit.

Tears were falling down your cheeks as you stared at him, and eventually you nodded, barely able to form any words.

“Good lass,” he muttered as his fingers pumped into you again, slowly this time. You let out a low moan, your head tilting back again as your eyes closed, visions of luscious green forests and the metallic taste of gold suddenly overtaking your senses. “That’s it. Have to thank ye for all those times ye’ve taken me in, eh?”

You don’t tell him that you would have taken him in anyway, sex aside. You know he isn’t a man to be tired down, that he wasn’t the man you would take home to meet the parents, but you liked knowing that he was alive…that he’d come to your door okay (as ‘okay’ as he could be anyway).

You feel his tongue on you again, and now you don’t even fight it. Even as you came down orgasm after orgasm, he doesn’t stop, making your whole body tremble with each sweep of his tongue. You were a wreck, drenched in sweat, your own mess, and trembling helplessly. Sweeney finally pulled away, only for him to kneel up high over you, smirking as he fisted himself slowly before wordlessly entering you easily, meeting no resistance with how much he’d been working at you.

You were a goner.

You’re not sure how long you’re actually in bed for, but by the time he’s finished absolutely devouring you and fucked himself into you (with a few extra orgasms for ‘good luck’), your legs can barely support you as you stagger to your bathroom to clean yourself up. You send him a glare over shoulder, leaning on your dresser for support as you feel his cum start to drip out of you.

He merely smirked at you before chuckling. “Need a hand there, love?”

“No, thanks,” you say, stumbling your way into your bathroom. “I’ve had enough of your hands for one day.”

#mad sweeney #american gods #pablo schreiber #mad sweeney x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[zenithheifer]

Who did I have to kiss to get some fics around here?

#chef luca x reader #mad sweeney x reader #clark kent x female reader #lloyd hansen x reader #laying roses for my quiet tags

[sunshine-gumdrop]

Mad sweeney & Ellie

#mad sweeney x reader #mad sweeney #american gods #my oc #ellie #my oc art #inspired by invasion series #horde #luck #bad luck #leprechaun

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Touch Starved Lugh

He throws his spear at your feet. Except it is not his. It is Gungnir. It is the spear that has now chosen him, after having abandoned Grimnir.

"My love." He rasps. You nod, but keep your tongue. "Yes, Lamphada." You whisper after a silence. "No, my true name. I have not heard it in so long." He says.

"Lugh." You breathe.

He grabs you by the hip and draws your body against his own. You can't help a little gasp. Lugh peers down on you, all his muscles tense and taut as bowstrings. You reach up to cup his cheek. "My love." You whisper. He nods slowly. "I have missed you." You draw him closer.

The kiss you share is bruising and almost painful with how needy Lugh is. He crushes your body against his own and your feet come free from the damp forest floor. You curl your fingers into his ginger hair. He groans against your lips and grasps your ass and hips as though you might otherwise lee from him.

Only once your lungs burn, he slowly lets you back down.

"I have missed you, too." He rumbles. He leans his forehead against yours. He is not letting you go. He keeps his hands on your hips and your body flush against his own. He closes his eyes and just breathes you in. Silent minutes pass you by. Lugh's breathing becomes silent sobs. He is slowly falling apart. And there is nothing you can do for him. You can only hold him, make soothing sounds and stroke whatever part of him you can reach.

"Hush, you are here now, with me, that is all that matters." You murmur. "With you." Lugh agrees.

#Lugh #Lugh x Reader #Pablo Schreiber #American Gods #Mad Sweeney

[bestshipsmackdown]

Ships 100% Going into the Bracket:

[I will be checking spellings at a later point, as well as ages and familial relations. So as long as everyone followed directions, these will be going into the bracket.]

With Nine Submissions:

Kim Dokja x Yoo Joonghuyk from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint

With Eight Submissions:

Percy Jackson x Annabeth Chase from The Percy Jackson Series

Gideon Nav x Harrowhark Nonagesimus from The Locked Tomb Series

Yang Xiao Long x Blake Belladonna from RWBY

With Seven Submissions:

Adora x Catra from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

@bracket-bracket x @thecompetitionshowdowntournament x @ultimate-poll-tournament from tumblr.com

Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz from 911

With Six Submissions:

Fred Jones x Daphne Blake x Velma Dinkley x Norville “Shaggy” Rogers from Scooby-Doo

Luz Noceda x Amity Blight from The Owl House

Lance x Keith from Voltron: Legendary Defender

With Five Submissions

Marinette Dupain-Cheng[Ladybug] x Adrien Agreste[Chat Noir] from Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir [Miraculous Ladybug]

Kazuki Kurusu x Rei Suwa from Buddy Daddies

With Four Submissions

Jack Harkness x Rose Tyler x The Ninth Doctor from Doctor Who

Link x Zelda from The Legend of Zelda

Eda Clawthorne x Raine Whispers from The Owl House

Phoenix Wright x Miles Edgeworth from Ace Attorney

Hiyori Suzumi x Yujiro Someya x Aizo Shibasaki from Honeyworks

Naruto Uzumaki x Sasuke Uchiha from Naruto

Nomi Marks x Amanita Caplan from Sense8

Mike Wheeler x Will Byers from Stranger Things

Nancy Wheeler x Robin Buckley from Stranger Things

With Three Submissions

Laura Moon x Mad Sweeney from American Gods

Caitlyn Kiramann x Vi from Arcane

Troy Barnes x Abed Nadir from Community

Imogen Temult x Laudna from Critical Role

Edward Nygma x Oswald Cobblepot from Gotham

Will Solace x Nico Di Angelo from Heroes of Olympus

Hikaru Indou x Yoshiki Tsukajinaka from Hikaru ga Shinda Natsu

Will Parry x Lyra Silvertongue from His Dark Materials

Rose Lalonde x Kanaya Maryam from Homestuck

Gon Freecss x Killua Zoldyck from Hunter x Hunter

Dustfinger x Resa from Inkheart

Gimli x Legolas from Lord of the Rings

Merlin x Arthur Pendragon from Merlin

Bakugou Katsuki x Todoroki Shouto from Boku No Hero Academia[My Hero Academia]

Todoroki Touya[Dabi] x Takami Keigo[Hawks] from Boku No Hero Academia[My Hero Academia]

KJ Brandman x Mac Coyle from Paper Girls

Perfuma x Scorpia from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

Reki Kyan x Langa Hasegawa from Sk8 the Infinity

Korra x Asami from The Legend of Korra

Dream x Hob from The Sandman

Enid Sinclair x Wednesday Addams from Wednesday

Buffy Summers x Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Caleb Widowgast x Essek Thelyss from Critical Role

Eddie Kaspbrak x Richie Tozier from It

Bugs Bunny x Daffy Duck from Looney Tunes

Magnus Chase x Alex Fierro from Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard

Bakugou Katsuki x Kirishima Eijirou from Boku No Hero Academia[My Hero Academia]

Dean Winchester x Castiel from Supernatural

Thats 49 ships guaranteed for entry into the bracket.

That leaves 15 ships to be added. It’s currently Sunday, so I will leave submissions open until Tuesday, April 4th at 11:59pm EST. With the likelihood of needing more ships to qualify, a few preliminary rounds will take place using ships that only have 2 submissions each. Those will commence after submissions have closed.

The ships listed above do not need any more submissions to qualify, so send in propaganda for ships you don’t see!

#so many ships y’all #this took me like 2 hours (I was eating in the middle) to compile and probably organize in my sheets #properly not probably lmao

[dw-writes]

Eyes On You - Mad Sweeney x Reader

Summary: Sweeney couldn't sleep, and desperately had something to say while he finally had a chance to say it. Genre: Gen. Fic; Angst?; Prompt Request A/N: This is the answer to the poll prompt that I gave you all forever ago, with the prompt being "I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you". Now, this IS part of The Invasion canon, somewhere before the Rock when you're traveling. I'll put up the links to The Invasion later, but for now, please enjoy :) Let me know what you think

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four  || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fourteen-ish || Chapter Fifteen || Chapter Sixteen || Chapter Seventeen || Chapter Eighteen || Chapter Nineteen || Chapter Twenty || Chapter Twenty-One || Chapter Twenty-Two Requests: Mad Sweeney and The Holidays || The Invasion and the Stressful Blows One Shots: The Invasion and That One Thankful Holiday || The Invasion and the Weight of Change || Eyes On You

It was late. Sweeney knew he should’ve been asleep, especially when he looked at the bright red numbers on the digital clock that read 3:45 AM. He looked away from them, at your form on the other side of the tiny motel bed, curled up with clean sheets and the slightly dingy comforter thrown over your form.

He’d been having trouble sleeping for the past few days, chalking it up initially to the travel you and him had been doing – back to back motels, back to back gods with back to back errands, back to back buses. He knew that his time with you was coming to end, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn’t want to admit it. With the date of the Rock getting closer and closer, your job with Wednesday was getting closer to ending.

He rolled onto his shoulder, watching your back as it rose and fell with your deep breaths.

“Yer gonna be leavin’ soon,” he whispered into the dark night of the room. He held his breath as soon as the words left his mouth, waiting for you to wake up. The traveling must have been too much for you, too, however, as you didn’t even stir. Sweeney licked his lips. He was too tired to think about what he was saying, too tired to stop himself as he yawned and let the words tumble out of his exhausted mouth.

“Yer gonna be leavin’, and yer gonna be leavin’ me,” he continued, “Goin’ who knows where.” He snorted faintly, sniffed, shifted on his squashed and folded pillow. “Without me,” he muttered. He eyed your back as you curled up tighter under the blankets.

“Dunno what ‘m gonna do,” he sighed, “Shit luck without you, ‘s what I’d probably say to yer face. Can’t say the rest of it.” Sweeney wanted to stop talking, needed to, but the words burned as they clawed their way up his throat from his chest. “Fuck, I need you t’ stay,” he rasped, blinking hard, shoving his face into the scratchy pillowcase.

“Loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he mumbled into the pillow, turning his head to watch you again, “Pretty sure of it now. Can’t imagine what this bullshit’s gonna be like when y’ wise up and fuckin’ leave this shit behind.” The confession felt wrong, but it wasn’t a lie – he couldn’t even lie to himself, no matter how much he wanted to.

“First moment,” he muttered, like he couldn’t believe it, “Fuck, that’s it. Saw you on the fuckin’ couch and just knew everything was different.” He sighed, scratched his jaw, and settled back into the thin sheet you shared. “Fuckin’ Rose would say it was some stupid romantic shit, but we both know it wasn’t. Almost called the cops on me that day, you did, but I think I woulda let you, because I just couldn’t…” His thought trailed off as you rolled onto your back, shifting under the blanket towards the warmth in the bed. He swallowed the rest of the words, panic lancing through his chest, and waited until you were settled again.

“Couldn’t say no to yer face,” he whispered.

He sat up carefully, making sure you were neatly tucked into the bed, and grabbed his clothes from where he’d thrown them onto the chair. Everything he said choked him, settled back into his throat and made it hard to breathe.

He carefully opened the door and stepped out into the cold, humid air outside, then shut it behind him.

You found him sitting on the curb outside in the morning when you opened the door, still dressed in your pajamas and half asleep. “The fuck are you doin’ out here?’ you mumbled.

Sweeney blew out a thin string of smoke into the early morning air. “Waitin’ fer you,” he grunted. He stood. “You hungry? ‘m starvin’.”

You squinted at him and struggled to rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Sitting out here like a weirdo,” he heard you grumble as you turned around, “Thought someone had kidnapped you or something.”

He snorted, watching the door shut behind you as you shuffled in to get ready, then sighed to himself.

~*~ Thanks for Reading~*~ ~*~Tag List~*~ @hannon-say @divadinag @fear-less-write-more (i cant tag you) @superflannel @selenaofthemoon (i cant tag you) @jinxy-toast @teller258316 @guiltgoldglory @the-bluest-hour @irishgodfucker (i cant tag you) @karmabites2313 @hiddlebatchedloki (i cant tag you) @siedrkona1991 @hstott @lakeli @nemophilistvampyr @massivecolorspygiant @leximus98​ @weirdo125 (i cant tag you) @fleeingdawn-blog1​ @madamecoyote​ @postgradandstupid​ @hopplessdreamer​ @omnisexualvampire​ @hannon-say​ @ceyruh​ @animatenebrae​ @ultrablackwidower​ @callmemaeverick​ @loisbaggings​ @fictional-hooman (i cant tag you) @babypink224221​ @quietwitchsworld

#american gods #the invasion series #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x reader #pablo schreiber

[themoonsbride]

hi hi, just a cute idea if you want to write it love 🥰 reader has nightmares and she can't fall asleep so peter hugs and kisses her, stroking her hair gently and tells her that there's nothing to be afraid of and that he's with her<3

hello love!!! thank you so so much for the request! this is so adorable, and I had a lot of fun writing it for you ! I hope you enjoy it :) <3

You're Safe With Me .

pairing; Peter Ballard x Fem!Reader

summary; (in the request!) Reader has been having nightmares lately, and has been on edge during the working hours of her life, Peter has noticed this and ends up figuring out the issues and makes the reader spend the night with him. <3

warnings; Nightmares, loss of sleep, crying, Aftermath of nightmares, rest is all fluff <3 (please lmk if I missed anything!)

a/n; this is my first new request in awhile and I'm so happy about it!!! also, I've decided that I'll also be taking requests for Anthony from Sweeney Todd !! (another characterJamie plays for those who may not know) :) <3

--×♥︎×--

It was a quiet night through out Hawkins National Labrotoris. The lights had gone out, and everyone was sleeping, peacefully wouldn't be the correct word choice per say because nothing inside of the dreadful building was ever peacefully that any stable mind would say.

But it was at least quiet, there was that much, sure it was usually always quiet, but during the night feeling of it being so quiet was different, some would've said relieving, others would have said extremely skin crawling chilling.

Though, the gaurds and the nurses and the children had all been finally sleeping at the exhausted muscles in their bodies slowly went through the process of fully relaxing, just for them to be overworked again within the next few hours, yours were tense.

You were sleeping, yes, but, it was quiet the opposite from relaxing you, infact it seemed as though it were killing you in a way. Your limps twitched, and your head turned from side to side harshly.

And suddenly your breath decides to join in part of the sensory madness and turn itself into fast pants, and your body coated itself in a cold, thick sweat.

Thats when your brain suddenly turned off its movie of horror that made your heart nervous and your nerves a mental breakdown, your eyes snapped open like a light switch being flickered on.

You sat up quickly, blinking profusely, looking at your surroundings.

You were in your room, and it was nearly 3:25 a.m., you still had about 3 more hours of sleep left.

You took some time to get your nerves back into shape and running again, but you laid, staring at your ceiling, you went to rub your tired eyes and when doing so, they felt damp.

You sighed to yourself and began to wonder how you'd even ended up in here in the first place.

--×♥︎×--

You don't remember what time it was when you fell asleep, but your alarm did its job as it had done everyday for the last year and 5 months now.

You forced your legs to keep you on the cold tiled floor you were standing on, your vision going from a blur to black within seconds from standing too quickly.

This wasn't the first time working in this sort of hell house had given you dreadful images that played in your mind through the night.

They'd been happening to you for about 2 weeks now and it wasnt the first time you had struggled with these types of dreams either.

but they felt more torturous than the shocking collar did. Thankfully you've never came into contact with that God forsaken thing. But you knew someone who has.

His name was Peter, Peter Ballard, and he's the sweetest man you'd ever met inside of this prison, He always smiled even if you could sense he truly didn't want to at times.

And he was always caring of you, others? not so much. He didn't seem to notice any of the other workers or nurses or even most of the children, but you seemed to have caught his eye.

And it made you curious and wonder what it could've possibly been about you that made him attract to you as if you were a magnet.

--×♥︎×--

It was finally your break, your legs quickly exited you from the rainbow room, sure it was the only room with color but sometimes it was nauseating to look at.

You tried not to ponder much about it as you pushed through the double doors of the breakroom and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

The coffee was poor quality and looked mucky inside of the mugs they were meant for. It didn't even fully look like it was coffee inside of a mug, someone who lived beyond the walls of Hawkins Labrotory would've identified it as a mug full of swamp water.

Your eyes felt heavy along with your head, but you did your best to fight off your powerful tiredness and exhaustion. If Brenner had suspected anything of the sorts, you'd never be hearing the end of it.

You had even realized your eyes were resting until the sound of the double doors creaked opened again.

It was that angelic blond man who you dearly adored. His hair was curled perfectly as it were everyday, and his eyes seemed dull, though they still shined through the poor lights in bedded into the ceiling. He also seemed more awake than you were the last week.

"Didn't rest much last night?" He asked, his voice was as soft as a pillow as always. Though it took you a few seconds for your brain to actually register what he said.

"hm? oh, no I slept fine." Your voice croaked, it sounded like you just woke up and your cheeks started to flush pink from embarressment.

"Does that explain those black circles underneath your eyes?" He said, a smirk etched onto his face, you rolled your eyes at him smiling back a tiny bit.

"Whatever Blondie." He hated that name.

"Stop calling me that!" He laughed a little. You sat up a bit more and placed your hand over your heart, pretending to be hurt.

"My word, I thought you found the name to be music to your ears." Sarcasm was booming in your words.

"Your voice in general is."

You thought you'd heard him say something but, he was whispering and your mind felt hazy from how tired you were.

"Hmm?" you hummed to him, but it wouldn't have mattered if he answered you, your mind wouldn't take the time to process it anyway.

You loved being able to joke with him in such a way, it seemed as though you could be sarcastic with him and not get scolded for doing so, infact he found it to be funny.

It only took a few weeks for you and Peter to get along, and before you knew it the both of you were best friends, as a small child would call it. And you seemed to enjoy calling it that too, but it felt somewhat silly to you whenever you did.

He never seemed to have minded though, and it made you not feel as stupid for it.

It also didn't take long for the two of you to realize the love you held for eachother. And you would've never assumed that he would've became your secret boyfriend a day in your life either.

--×♥︎×--

Your shift had recently ended, and you were feeling quite anxious and your mind thought of how horrible this night were going to be.

How you didn't want to have to suffer through another night of vivid nightmares that would leave you shaking for 15 minutes straight.

As you lay on your mattress, staring at your ceiling, each time you'd attempt to close your eyes, they'd only re-open themselves.

Like your own body was refusing itself from falling asleep.

This cycle continued for what felt like hours, but in reality had only been 10 minutes. And at this rate you'd given up on the idea of sleep.

But you knew you had to get some type of sleep if you wanted to be able to wake up on time for work in the morning, so you kicked off your covers and sighed to yourself.

You sighed as you stood at your bed, closing your eyes, and then tears began to fall. You just wanted it to stop, for the nightmares to end, for you to be able to sleep without your entire body having a nervous breakdown.

You looked up at the ceiling and took a breath, quietly exiting your bedroom to go see your true love as guilty as you felt about the idea of awakening him.

Your knuckles quietly tapped against the metal door. Your sniffles surely couldve been heard from the next hall, and through the door.

Your body tensed when you heard the sound of footsteps.

Suddenly the door opened and Peter quickly pulled you inside for you to have not gotten caught, he took a few moments to examine your face before pulling you into his warm embrace.

"What happened baby?" He whispered into your hair, his voice was deep and filled with haziness.

"nothing I just uhm. I haven't been able to sleep and I w-wanted to know if it was okay if.. If I slept here? with you..?" Your voice was trembling and muffled from your face nuzzled into his chest.

His hand start rubbing your back as he comforted you, and you felt your shoulders start to loosen as you melted from his touch.

"Of course.." He mumbled before gently pulling away from you and grabbing your hands, taking you to his bed with him, You'd never seen him in anything but his working clothes, so seeing him wearing a plain t-shirt and shorts was some what of a big deal to you.

He looked really good though, but you cleared your thoughts and focused back on sleeping as he pulled your body towards his under the covers, his sheets smelled like him and his comforter was warm like him. You felt so safe around him that it felt like not even Brenner could harm you.

He continued to sooth your body and kiss your forehead, "Why weren't you able to sleep?" He asked lowly

"..I've been having nightmares." You replied, you felt so embarrassed to have to admit that to your boyfriend as an adult.

"I guess that's why I haven't slept much, they've been.. scaring me too much." You didn't really process that you were telling him this because you just wanted to sleep.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise.. Not for as long as im with you dear." He murmurs to you as all your muscles finally relax and loosen from the overwhelmingly relief of you finally drifting into sleep.

#peter ballard #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard x you #peter ballard fluff #henry creel fanfiction #henry creel x y/n #henry creel x reader #henry creel #001 #001 fluff #001 x reader #vecna/henry/001 #stranger things 001

[bearwriting]

Dart

Start Here Previous Chapter

Summary: Bruised and bloodied, you end up with the last person you thought you'd turn to, and you've just made a new friend.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: After this, chapters are gonna start being a little longer! The People Have Spoken.

Next Chapter

“Fine. If the old man tries to string me up for it, I’m throwing you under the bus,” he said.

You cocked your head to the side and looked at him for a moment. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were on the road, but the tips of his ears had the barest hint of a blush.

“No, you’re not,” you said finally. “You won’t do that.”

His eyes stayed on the road. “Are you so sure of that?”

You turned your gaze to the road in front of you. “Your ears go pink when you lie.”

Neither of you spoke much on the drive to where your car supposedly was. You were too busy willing your car to be where the spell said it was and Sweeney was a million miles away. What exactly he was thinking about, you could never be sure.

After about an hour, you drove past the eighth Circle K you’d seen.

“Wait, go back!” you shrieked, slapping your hands down on the dashboard. “That was it!”

The car jolted as Sweeney slammed on the brakes. “What did I say about yelling like that when I’m driving? Anyway, how d’ye know it’s the right one?”

You pointed at the odometer. It was thirty miles higher than it had been forty-five minutes ago.

“Again,” he said in a tone that indicated he was really starting to get fed up with you, “how do you know it’s the right one?”

“Does it fucking matter? It’s a Circle K that’s thirty miles from where we were, we won’t die if we check it out and it’s not there.”

“Famous last words,” the Irishman muttered, but still he pulled a u-turn and guided the little Corolla towards the parking lot.

“Worst case scenario, she’s not here. We can still get snacks and stuff,” you said.

“Worst case scenario is that this is a trap somehow and we’re about to get killed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Always a pessimist.”

As Sweeney pulled the car up next to one of the gas pumps, you saw it. You knew that paint job and you knew that slight ding in the front bumper (if Sweeney had just listened to you, you wouldn’t have had to hit him with your car). The spell was right and the vision had been correct.

You let out a whoop and made to lunge out of the car, but Sweeney wrapped a hand around your bicep, arresting your movement.

“What the fuck?” you snapped. “Can we just—“

Something in his face made you fall short.

“What’s wrong?” you asked quietly, following his line of vision.

The guy that was in possession of your car was leaning against the side of it, a lit cigarette in his mouth and a wide brimmed hat was sitting at an angle on his head. He wore a long dark trench coat and he looked like he was waiting for someone.

“Why is he here?” Sweeney asked lowly, more to himself than you.

“Who is he?” you asked.

Sweeney shook his head. “Someone you don’t want to fuck with.”

You snorted. “Unless you can give me something more concrete to work with, I’m going to get my car back.”

Sweeney said nothing, but you felt his eyes on your back as you walked towards the man leaning against your car.

“Hey!” you said brightly as you approached him. “I think you might have my car? It got stolen a few days ago.”

The man looked up at you and you felt your stomach twist uncomfortably. His eyes were black pools that reflected no light and his lips twisted into an unpleasant smile. You instinctively took a step back as the cold fingers of fear began to wind their way through your chest.

“Yes, I believe I do. You’re one of Mr. Wednesday’s little errand boys aren’t you?” His accent was similar to Sweeney’s, except he formed his vowels a little differently.

You immediately played dumb. “I don’t know any Mr. Wednesday, man. I’ll pay you, but can I please have my car? It’s sentimental.”

“Interesting. You say you do not know any Mr. Wednesday, but I bought this car from the frost giants. What would they be doing with a ride like this?” His voice felt oily, like you could feel it dripping down your spine, and it made your shoulders tense. Your heart began to pick up as though you were a rabbit poised to run.

You feigned ignorance. “Frost giants?”

He nodded. “Nasty lot. Heard they cut you up something fierce,” he said, eyeing the bandage on your forehead and your blackened eye.

You edged backward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He shrugged and you tried not to let your growing uneasiness show. You didn’t like this guy’s energy and you were starting to wish that you’d listened to Sweeney.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The weird man in possession of your car took a step towards you and you took another step back, but this time you bumped into the massive, solid form of Mad Sweeney. You instantly felt the nervous tension in your chest lessen.

“I think you’d better hand over those keys,” he said coolly.

The stranger’s lip twitched. “Ah, Mad Sweeney,” he said calmly, his eyes never leaving yours. You couldn’t seem to look away. You were rooted to the spot as terror squeezed your lungs. “You know, your story really isn’t holding water. Especially now that…this has shown up with you. Not to mention that bandage on your face. How’d that happen?”

You said nothing and Sweeney twitched slightly so that his body was now halfway in front of you. It wasn’t a direct threat, but it was clear that he was putting himself between you and the man.

“I said, hand over the keys.” His voice was tight with something you’d never heard in him before. Fear? No, but it was close.

The man pouted. “This one never wants to have any fun.” He turned to you. “Listen taibhseach.* You may have your car, but I want something in return.”

You looked at him warily. You had no idea who this man was, but you’d been in this game long enough to know not to make deals if you didn’t have to.

He took your silence as a cue to continue. “I will return your keys in exchange for the item you were sent to fetch for Grimnir.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Sweeney cut you off. “Counteroffer,” he said, “you give us the keys and we don’t give you shit. This was their car to begin with. Give us the keys and I won’t make a scene.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Again, no fun. Here,” he produced your keychain from thin air. He dropped it into your outstretched hand and leaned in to whisper into your ear. “You will be hearing from me soon. And your attack dog won’t be around to protect you.”

You blinked and he was gone.

You slid into the driver’s seat of your car and inhaled as you ran your hands over the steering wheel. You wanted to revel in the feeling of having her back, but the feeling of uneasiness and fear that that man had left in his wake was weighing on you.

You turned to Sweeney, an obvious question on the tip of your tongue, but he held up a hand.

“Just drive. We should’ve left as soon as we saw him.” His voice was tight and the rattled look on his face wasn’t doing anything to assuage your fear.

After about an hour or two, your eyes began to get heavy and you started looking for motel signs.

“Pull over, switch with me,” Sweeney said. His voice sounded almost unbearably loud after riding in silence.

“Sweeney, can we please just find a motel? I’m exhausted, I have to sleep.”

His heart twinged at the tiredness in your voice. He knew that you needed rest, and badly, but he wanted to put that Circle K as far in the rearview as possible.

“I know you’re tired darlin’, but we have to keep going at least for another few hours.”

You sighed, but didn’t fight him on it. He chewed his bottom lip. You always complained or argued with him over this sort of thing, so the fact that you gave in so quickly gave away how spent you really were.

You pulled over onto the shoulder and swapped with Sweeney. As you settled into your seats, he looked around the interior of the car.

“You said this was warded?”

You nodded. “Against basically everything.”

He blew a puff of air out of his nose. “Good. It’ll make it harder for that cunt to find us.”

“Who was he?” you asked as he pulled back onto the freeway.

“Someone very powerful. And, like I said, someone you don’t want to fuck with. He gave up your keys too easily, I don’t like it.”

You shrugged. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’m gonna try to get some sleep, but wake me up when we get to a motel.”

You balled up your sweatshirt between your head and the car window and fell asleep almost immediately.

Sweeney took that opportunity to scan your sleeping face, the fear from earlier a stone in his stomach. Why was Fear Doirich looking for you? He had said he wanted whatever it was that you had been sent to retrieve for Wednesday, but that was a lie. At least, it was a partial one. The Dark Man was plotting something, Sweeney just knew it, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Sweeney knew he couldn’t do anything about it now, but he could at the very least do his damndest to make sure that you were protected.

*taibhseach: Gorgeous

tagged: @imaginethatneathuhpartdos @kind-wolf

#mad sweeney imagine #mad sweeney x reader #mad sweeney reader insert #american gods imagine #american gods x reader #american gods reader insert #bear writes

[hoedamn-eron]

misc masterlist

📚 = series. ❤️ = fluff. 🥀 = angst. 😉 = a little spicy. 🔥 = smut.

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson

The Rogue Elf - You want to join Hellfire Club. It’s a good job you’re in with the leader. (1.2k words) ❤️

American Gods

Mad Sweeney

Overstimulation - Kinktober prompt. (950 words) 🔥

The Card Counter

William Tell

Mrs Tillich's Hot Grandson - Your elderly neighbour, Mrs Tillich, is so lovely...as is her grandson. (1.7k words) ❤️

Drabbles

Oscar Isaac Characters with an S/O who Subtly Paints the Furniture ❤️

Poe goes away on a dangerous mission ❤️🔥

Oscar Isaac characters as dads ❤️

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #american gods #mad sweeney #mad sweeney x reader #william tell #william tell x reader #the card counter

[ink-and-blood-goddess]

List of Characters Fanfic Requests III

ATTENTION ALL FANFIC READERS! I REPEAT, ATTENTION ALL FANFIC READERS!!!

My third list of character fanfic requests and request inbox is now opened. My other two fanfic lists are still open for requests, so please send them in.

List of Characters I

List of Characters II

I take my time into writing requests, since I’m busy with my job most of the time and writing my stories, so the request box will be opened and closed from time to time so that I can catch up.

And as a side note here, I DO NOT write for Character x OC fanfic requests AT ALL. I write Character x Reader fanfics ONLY...

List of Characters III

Marcus Corvinus-Underworld Evolution 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Michael Corvin-Underworld 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Lucian-Underworld 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Albert Shaw/The Grabber-The Black Phone 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Legolas-Lord of the Rings Trilogy 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Thranduil-The Hobbit Trilogy 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Aziraphale and Crowley-Good Omens 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Albert Wesker-Resident Evil 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Shadow Moon-American Gods 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Mad Sweeney-American Gods 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Technical Boy-American Gods 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Mr. World-American Gods 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Michael Kenmore-Stargate Atlantis 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Todd the Wraith-Stargate Atlantis 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪����🔞

Lestat de Lioncourt-The Vampire Chronicles 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Warlock-Warlock and Warlock the Armageddon (With Julian Sands) 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Bo, Vincent, and Lester Sinclair-House of Wax (2005) 🌸❤️‍🔥👐🏻💐💘🖤🔪🩸🔞

Symbols:

🌸-Fluff 

❤️‍🔥-Smut 

👐🏻-General 

 💐-Dating 

 💘-Romance 

🖤-Angst 

🔪🩸-Violence 

 🔞-NSFW

Citrus Scale:

🍑 (Peach)-No Sexual Interactions 

🍎 (Citrus)-Romantic hug/or kiss 

🍊 (Orange)-Romantic hug/or kiss with a hint of sexual interaction 

 🍈 (Lime)-Heavy making out with light groping 

 🍋 (Lemon) Actual Sexual Intercourse

#Marcus Corvinus #Michael Corvin #Lucian #Albert Shaw #The Grabber #Albert Shaw/The Grabber #Legolas #Thranduil #Aziraphale #Aziraphale and Crowley #Albert Wesker #Shadow Moon #Mad Sweeney #Technical Boy #Mr. World #Michael Kenmore #Todd the Wraith #Lestat de Lioncourt #Warlock #Bo Sinclair #Vincent Sinclair #Lester Sinclair #Underworld #Underworld Evolution #The Black Phone #Lord of the Rings #The Hobbit #Good Omens #Resident Evil #American Gods

[random-imagines-blog]

TV Show Masterlist

In an attempt to organize the blog and keep everything in order, masterlists are being made to join together into a masterlist of masterlists to make it easier for those on mobile. Thanks for being patient!

⭐contains smut

American Gods

Oneshots:

Disarm (Shadow Moon Sibling!Reader)

Still a Stranger (Shadow Moon)

A Visit to the World (Mr World)

All is Fair (Mr World)

Understand (Mr Wednesday)

King of the Wasteland (Tech-Boy)

They Speak the Language (Tech-Boy)

Stunner (Bilquis) ⭐

Imagines

Imagine Shadow Moon finding out that you are his true soulmate.

Imagine Shadow Moon threatening Mr Wednesday over you.

Imagine telling Shadow Moon you’re pregnant with his child.

Imagine being Shadow Moon’s sister, and him taking care of you while you’re sick.

Imagine being Demeter’s daughter, and Shadow Moon falling in love with you.

Imagine making fun of Shadow’s new look.

Imagine getting married to Shadow Moon.

Imagine making fun of Shadow Moon for his crush on Ostara.

Imagine Shadow Moon having a crush on you.

Imagine telling Shadow about your own big projects.

Imagine being Shadow Moon’s younger sibling, and he’s terribly overprotective.

Imagine being the reason Shadow Moon is brave throughout all the madness.

Imagine only joining the war for the chance to get close to Shadow.

Imagine impressing Mr. World

Imagine Mr Wednesday finding out you have feelings for him. 

Imagine flirting with Mr. Wednesday.

Imagine Mr Wednesday holding you during a panic attack.

Imagine being Mr. Wednesday’s child and him singing you a lullaby.

Imagine Odin finding you injured on the battlefield.

Imagine reuniting with your father, Mr Wednesday, in Lakeside.

Imagine Mr Wednesday being intrigued by you at House on the Rock.

Imagine being Wednesday’s favorite daughter.

Imagine Mr. Wednesday making you feel better after being rejected by Shadow.

Imagine Wednesday comforting you after a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day.

Imagine Wednesday trying to seduce you into the war.

Imagine Mr. Wednesday appreciating that you are on his side.

Imagine Mr Wednesday sensing a quiet strength in you.

Imagine Mr Wednesday realizing how attached to you, a human, he is after an argument.

Imagine  Mr. Wednesday trying to charm you into being on his side.  

Imagine Anansi making you a suit.

Imagine Anansi coming to you in times of trouble.

Imagine being a Muse and catching Anansi’s eye.

Imagine sharing a home and bed with Laura Moon.

Imagine dating one of Shadow’s friends and Laura being jealous.

Imagine being a cook in the prison and you start feeling attraction to Low-Key.

Imagine being Low-Key Lyesmith’s wife but people just don’t understand it.

Imagine listening to Low-Key Lyesmith’s stories to help you sleep.

Imagine making a deal with Mad Sweeney where he cures your loved one and in return, you must marry him.

Imagine Mad Sweeney collecting on your debt.

Imagine breaking Tech-Boy out of New Gods’ Headquarters. 

Imagine Tech-Boy trying to protect you from his world.

Imagine Tech-Boy using your hugs as stress relief.

Imagine bear-hugging Tech-Boy, after thinking he might have been replaced.

Imagine forcing Tech-Boy to look at the real world once in a while.

Imagine punching Tech-Boy in the face when he makes too make snide comments.

Imagine Mr Ibis only listening to your songs while he works.

Imagine being Mr. Ibis’s wife and intimidating the other Gods.

Imagine becoming Mr. Ibis’s assistant.

Imagine hugging Bilquis after not seeing her for a long time.

Imagine Bilquis getting tired of waiting for you to make a move.

Imagine New Media trying to get you to trust her.

Imagine comforting Media when she starts to feel old.

Sherlock

Oneshots

British Blood, American Heart (Sherlock Half-Sister)

Non-business Meeting (Mycroft Holmes Daughter oneshot)

You Will See Me (Mycroft Holmes Oneshot)

Bullet with Vampire Wings {Sherlock x GN!Reader Oneshot}

Imagines

Imagine Sherlock passing over a case - just for your birthday.

Imagine seeing Sherlock Holmes for the first time since you two had broken up, and realizing it still hurts.

Imagine picking up a drunk Sherlock Holmes at a bar, and letting him sleep off the hangover at your place.

Imagine pretending to be Sherlock’s wife for a case and continuing to pretend after it’s over.

Imagine going for a walk with John Watson.

Imagine John Watson trying to tell you his feelings for you, but it’s too complicated for him to express properly.

Imagine wanting to help with a case, so John Watson uses his puppy dog eyes to convince you to stay safe.

Imagine Mycroft Holmes catching you hack his computer.

Imagine taking Mycroft camping because ‘he needs away from the office.’

 Imagine Mycroft knowing about your hideaway.

Imagine surprising Mycroft Holmes by wearing something sexy to his office.

Imagine volunteering to work a case with Sherlock, and Mycroft fears for you endlessly.

Imagine saving Mycroft Holmes’s life.

Imagine Mycroft Holmes waiting for you.

Imagine Moriarty helping to plan your wedding.

Imagine Jim Moriarty being your blind date, and he had it all planned out.

Imagine being a part of the wedding party at John and Mary’s wedding, and  Jim Moriarty crashes it only to kidnap you.

Imagine working with Sherlock, and tricking Moriarty into opening up to you, but feeling guilty for it after.

 Elementary

Oneshots

No shit, Sherlock (Sherlock Holmes)

Changeling (General)

Valentines Day without the Hearts (General)

Coffee with a Criminal (Jamie Moriarty)

Patch-Up (Jamie Moriarty)

Imagines

Imagine getting hurt on a case with Sherlock.

Imagine Sherlock genuinely caring about upsetting you.

Imagine taking Sherlock to Starbucks

Imagine having a simple pizza date with Joan Watson.

Imagine Joan being confused by people who still use homophobic terms.

Imagine telling Joan Watson you’ve admired her from the moment you met her.

Imagine being a new detective and Joan Watson taking you under her wing.

Imagine Mycroft Holmes personally bringing you flowers at his restaurant.

Imagine Mycroft helping you unpack.

Imagine being kidnapped by Jamie Moriarty because she finds you fascinating.

Imagine working with Sherlock and Joan, but also being Jamie’s girlfriend.

Once Upon a Time

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine having feelings for your therapist, Archie Hopper.

Misfits

Oneshots

Deserted Halls (Nathan Young)

Painted Dreams (Simon Bellamy)

Home Alone? (Simon Bellamy)

New Apartments and Horrible Beds (Rudy Wade)

Not a Happy Ending (Rudy Wade)

Alonetime isn’t a Good Time (Rudy Wade)

Imagines

Imagine Nathan tricking you into showing up in costume - but he really likes it.

Imagine Nathan Young making you the leader of his fan club.

Imagine Nathan Young giving up flirting with everyone for you.

Imagine stealing with Nathan Young.

Imagine living with Nathan Young in the Community Center.

Imagine being the newest person on Community Service and Nathan immediately staking a claim on you.

Imagine Nathan Young seducing you in front of your boyfriend.

Imagine partying with Nathan Young.

Imagine Simon trying to impress you at your house party.

Imagine your power being over weather and not being able to control it when fighting with Simon.

Imagine pulling an all-nighter with Simon.

Imagine Simon awkwardly dancing with your family on your wedding day.

Imagine being the only one to notice Simon’s birthday, and giving him a homemade cupcake.

Imagine falling asleep on Simon’s lap during community service hours.

Imagine reading comic books with Simon.

Imagine being able to see Simon Bellamy when he’s invisible.

Imagine going to a carnival with Curtis Donovan.

Imagine the first time Curtis comes over to your flat.

Imagine getting caught with Curtis.

Imagine trying new sexual kinks with Curtis, but he isn’t into it.

Imagine going in for community service and seeing Curtis, who you used to be good friends with.

Imagine meeting Rudy 2.

Imagine Rudy’s reaction to your parents thinking he’s a bad guy.

Imagine always surprising Rudy with your ‘fireworks’ power.

Imagine your powers are getting out of control and Rudy tries to make you laugh to get you to calm down.

Imagine Alex from the Bar being too shy to admit his power.  

Prison Break          

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine spending the day on a beach with Lincoln Burrows.

Imagine being Lincoln’s girl, and road-tripping with the brothers.

Imagine Lincoln Burrows following your harasser home.

Imagine being Lincoln’s wife and attending the police celebration undercover.

Imagine being Lincoln Burrows fiance and him being overprotective.

Imagine Lincoln Burrows proposing to you because he doesn’t want to lose you.

Imagine finding out about Lincoln’s prison break and telling him that you’ll never be scared of him.

Imagine trying to help Michael Scofield with his illness.

Imagine getting separated from Michael while on the run.

Imagine Michael Scofield seeing you naked for the first time.

Imagine Fernando Sucre coming home to you after breaking out of prison.

Imagine discovering Paul Kellerman is alive.

Imagine being Michael and Lincoln’s sister and Whip falling for you.   

Imagine T-Bag interrupting your breakfast.

Imagine T-Bag being impressed by you and your sassy remarks.

Imagine T-Bag thinking you’re tastier than any pastry he’s had.

Riverdale  

Oneshots

Holding (Cheryl Blossom)

Someone Dangerous (Chapter 1) (Toni Topaz)

Someone Dangerous (Chapter 2) (Toni Topaz)

Someone Dangerous (Chapter 3) (Toni Topaz)

Someone Dangerous (Chapter 4) (Toni Topaz)

Someone Dangerous (Chapter 5) (Toni Topaz) ⭐

Someone Dangerous (Final Chapter) (Toni Topaz)

Infinity (Toni Topaz)

Lightbringer (Toni Topaz)

Metamorphosis (Toni Topaz)

Promise Me (Chapter 1) (Reggie Mantle)

Promise Me (Chapter 2) (Reggie Mantle)

House of Cards (Hermione Lodge) ⭐

Beacon (Hermione Lodge) ⭐

Love Peas (Hiram Lodge)

Wide Awake (Hiram Lodge)

Imagines

Imagine Archie Andrews wanting to step up to be the boyfriend you deserve.

Imagine Archie trying to figure out the right words to win you over.

Imagine camping with Archie Andrews.

Imagine playing small pranks on Betty to cheer her up.

Imagine revealing to Betty that she’s made you feel insecure.

Imagine exploring an abandoned building with Betty Cooper.

Imagine going UFO sighting with Jughead.

Imagine drawing Jughead while he sleeps.

Imagine Veronica taking care of you when you’re sick.

Imagine Veronica Lodge inviting you for a private trip on Hiram’s yacht.

Imagine Veronica Lodge moving in with you.

Imagine the first time you tell Cheryl Blossom you love her.

Imagine surprising Cheryl for her birthday.

Imagine telling Cheryl Blossom and Toni Topaz about your abusive partner.  

Imagine Toni Topaz taking you on a night swim.

Imagine taking Toni Topaz on a date in the woods.

Imagine going on a ride with FP Jones. 

Imagine FP’s reaction to you getting fiesty with enemies of the Serpents.

Imagine being Archie Andrews’s older sister and dating FP Jones

Imagine going over your wedding plans with Fred Andrews.

Imagine Fred Andrews taking on extra hours so he can take you on a vacation.

Imagine inviting Josie McCoy to try out your new hot tub with you.

Imagine Josie getting annoyed when Reggie flirts with you.

Imagine Josie McCoy writing a duet for the two of you.

Imagine getting ready with Josie and the Pussycats.

Imagine the Ghoulies kidnapping you in front of Sweet Pea.

Imagine being the first person to hug Sweet Pea.

Imagine being in a poly relationship with Reggie Mantle and Sweet Pea.

Imagine making Hermione a home-cooked meal.

Imagine Hermione Lodge being your dominatrix.

Imagine getting into a very heated argument with Hiram Lodge.

Imagine distracting Hiram Lodge while he’s working by appearing in your underwear.

Imagine being Hiram Lodge’s young lover, and him adjusting to the changes.

Imagine Hiram Lodge introducing you to the family as his ‘Baby Girl’.

Imagine charming Hiram Lodge into a game of strip poker.

Imagine almost getting caught with Hiram Lodge, by his daughter Veronica.

Imagine cuddling with Hiram Lodge after a long day.

Imagine being Archie Andrews brother and casually admitting to Hiram Lodge that you like watching him work out at the gym.

Imagine Hiram Lodge inviting you to his private gym.

Imagine being Archie’s brother, and being intimate with Hiram Lodge for the first time.

Hannibal

Oneshots

Breach (Hannibal Lector, Will Graham, Poly)

Imagines

Imagine Hannibal vowing to keep you safe.

Imagine your honeymoon with your new husband, Hannibal Lecter.

Imagine Hannibal coming over for Christmas.

Imagine inviting Hannibal into your home for dinner.

Imagine being one of Hannibal’s patients, and causing him stress when he realizes you know his secret.

Imagine being Will Graham’s much taller significant other.

Imagine Will always coming to you after a case for comfort.

Imagine being the only person Will Graham can’t see darkness in.

Imagine renting a cabin with Will Graham.

Imagine Will Graham meeting your dogs for the first time.

Imagine being the only one to understand Will Graham’s love of dogs, and support him in it.

Imagine running away to Europe with Matthew Brown.

Imagine Matthew Brown helping you to escape.

Imagine surprising Matthew with a new victim.

Imagine Matthew Brown being impressed by how well your daughter is carving a pumpkin.   

Imagine Matthew Brown attempting to help you destress.  

Imagine being the only one in the room who does not stare at Francis’s disfigurement.

Preacher

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Jesse Custer leaving you because he doesn’t want you to worry.

Imagine Jesse Custer using his powers to help you live your dream.

Imagine spending Christmas with Jesse Custer.

Imagine forcing Jesse Custer out of bed to get breakfast with you.

Imagine going on a walk with Jesse Custer and him confessing about his powers.

Imagine Tulip O’Hare saving you from the ‘whore-house’

Imagine Tulip thinking you’re a breath of fresh air.

Imagine being just as skeptical about the misadventure as Tulip is.

Imagine Tulip going up against anyone who called you names.

Imagine Tulip watching over you as you try to get clean and sober. 

Imagine going to an art museum with Tulip, but getting bored and causing more mischief than learning.

Imagine Cassidy trying to help you through depression.

Imagine being the first person to hold Cassidy’s touch-starved hand in a long time.

Imagine Cassidy trying to corrupt you.

Imagine working for the Grail but secretly helping Cassidy. Imagine staying with Cassidy after you find out his secret.

Imagine switching out Cassidy’s wardrobe.

Imagine telling Cassidy that you don’t just want to be FWB anymore.

Imagine Cassidy hearing you talk bad about yourself.

American Horror Story

Oneshots

Horror Show (Tate Langdon)

Imagines

Imagine Tate Langdon appreciating your dark side.

Imagine Tate Langdon’s expression when you tell him you’re moving from the Murder House.

Imagine Tate Langdon being upset that he can’t go out with you on your birthday since it’s not on Halloween.

Imagine Tate Langdon wanting to show you off to the other spirits on Halloween.

Imagine being a Christian girl, and having Tate try to change your faith.

Imagine Kit dreaming of the day you walked into his shop.

Imagine being in the asylum and having a secret pet with Kit Walker.

Imagine sharing a room with Kit Walker, and he loves to smoke since it annoys you so much.

Imagine visiting the circus everyday to see Jimmy Darling.

Imagine Jimmy Darling buying you a new dress and seeing you in it for the first time.

Imagine Jimmy Darling flirting with you despite your disfigurement.

Imagine Dandy Mott insisting you share a bed with him.

Imagine Dandy Mott finding out that you are a normal person, and not one of the ‘Freaks’.

Imagine Dandy Mott finding you more interesting than the Freak Show.

Imagine controlling Kevin Spencer and having him do ‘fun’ things to you.

Imagine being a ghost and confusing Ben Harmon by walking past his office naked.

Imagine teasing Ben Harmon by luring him into the shower, only to disappear when he gets in.

Imagine toying with Ben Harmon one night, and kissing him when he begins doubting your existence.

House

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine your boyfriend Dr. House coming up with some creative ways to help your insomnia.

Imagine Gregory House entering your house for the first time.

Imagine lying to Dr. House but he understands it completely.

Imagine working under House and hearing him  complain about his problems.

The IT Crowd

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine bringing Roy a salad for lunch.

Imagine looking after Maurice Moss when he’s slightly concussed.

Friends

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine spending your birthday with Phoebe Buffay.

Z Nation

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being Addy Carver being all cute with you.

Imagine Addison Carver having to leave you behind.

Imagine seeing George again after being separated by the apocalypse.

Chicago Fire

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Matt Casey missing you.

His Dark Materials

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Asriel always seeing you as the one that got away.

Imagine Lord Asriel not wanting to admit to you that he was wrong.

Victorious

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being caught skipping class with Beck Oliver.

Squid Game

Oneshots

Fear of Disappointment (Chapter 1) (Seong Gi-Hun)

Fear of Disappointment (Chapter 2) (Seong Gi-Hun)

Fear of Disappointment (Final Chapter) (Seong Gi-Hun)

Imagines

Imagine  Seong Gi-Hun meeting your family.

Criminal Minds

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine figuring out who the killer is before the rest of your team, including Spencer Reid.

The Walking Dead

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being a Dixon and entering into a relationship with Rick Grimes.

The Umbrella Academy

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine falling in love with Five when you were kids.

Interview with the Vampire

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Lestat falling for you, despite you being the opposite of him.

Imagine being Lestat’s soulmate, but almost total opposite.

Imagine having an at-home spa day with Lestat.

Imagine being Louis’s child, and him comforting you after turning you.

Imagine being more of a sleeper, while Lestat is an ‘up and at em’ kind of fellow.

Imagine catching Lestat singing to your (stolen) daughter.

Imagine watching Lestat teaching your daughter French.

Imagine rejecting Lestat’s advances.

The Mighty Boosh

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine getting a minor injury while working with Vince Noir.

Imagine being Howard’s very supportive partner.

Lucifer

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Lucifer nearly dying, and you clinging onto him.

Mayfair Witches

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being Lasher’s favorite witch, and him trying everything to get a body to be with you.

[alina-dixon]

Fandoms I write For: (Part 2)

(I only write for x male readers!)

(smut is allowed!)

The Witcher 3:

- Geralt

- Avallac’h

- Jaskier

Actors:

- Jamie Campbell Bower

- Joseph Quinn

- Mads Mikkelsen

-

The Mortal Instruments (City of Bones):

- Jace Wayland

Sweeney Todd:

- Anthony Hope

Green Day:

- Billie Joe Armstrong

Ghost:

- Cardinal Copia/Tobias Forge

- Terzo/Papa III

- Mountain

#gay #lgbtq #wild hunt #the witcher #male reader #male x male #male x male reader #x male reader #x male y/n #the witcher 3 #the mortal instruments #ghost #ghost band #the ghost band #rock bands #city of bones #sweeny todd #green day #the santa clause #santa clause