#and 2. the kids Fully gave that to him. he didn’t give enough of a shit to name himself so he just let them call him whatever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mythicalmaven · 5 months ago

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Gotta Be You - Charles Leclerc (ONE)

Let's go for a new series! <3 I always love writing friends/enemies to lovers, so that's what this is, yet again lol😂❤️ For my inspiration I got to give lots of credit to @vroomvro0mferrari, because her series Vexing Vacation gave me lots of inspo for the shared vacation thingie!

masterlist | promptlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!gasly!reader ↳word count: 6,3K ↳warnings: not much yet honestly, arguing, tension maybe ↳side info: friends to enemies to lovers, semi slow burn? (not really slowburn, but it has build up until the actual lovers things unfold), the reader is Pierre's younger sister, reader is Arthur LeClerc's childhood best friend, Charles is her former crush, Charles is a jealous ass sometimes, age gap between reader and Charles (5 years, 22 and 27) ↳summary: In which you go on a shared holiday with both your and your brother's friend group, forced to be confronted with your former teenage crush Charles LeClerc yet again. The only problem is? You can't stand him nowadays, until you suddenly can.

Arthur’s apartment was as chaotic as ever, half-packed bags and discarded jackets strewn across the floor. You threw yourself onto the couch with a dramatic groan, your face buried in a pillow.

“I regret this already,” you whined, the words muffled against the soft fabric.

Arthur’s laugh carried from the doorway. “You’ve been here two minutes, and you’re already complaining? Impressive.”

Rolling onto your back, you shot him a glare. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. A whole month of dealing with your insufferable brother? I must’ve been out of my mind.”

Arthur leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like the Cheshire cat. “You’ll survive. There are enough people going to keep you distracted. Plus, you get to spend a whole month with me. What more could you possibly want?”

“Maybe a holiday without Charles,” you shot back, only half-joking.

Arthur smirked. “Come on, he’s not that bad. Okay, maybe he’s a bit… a lot.”

"Arthur... I can't think of one thing that's not annoying about your brother" You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to dig his own grave further.

The Monegasque chuckled and rolled his eyes "Nuh uh! I do remember very vividly how you were gushing about, and I quote 'astonishingly hot' my brother looked in that suit during christmas"

You huffed and coughed, throwing the pillow that was under your head towards Arthur "First of all that was 2 years ago" you said, rolling onto your back, staring up at the ceiling “Besides, the only thing worse than Charles, is Charles knowing he’s handsome. He’s insufferable, and he’s fully aware of it. That smirk of his? Pure evil.”

Arthur snorted. “Yeah, he definitely knows. But let’s be honest, you’re not wrong. The guy could probably charm his way out of murder if he tried.”

You groaned again, flopping back onto the couch. “Can't I just stay here, and watch the house? Doesn't your fake plant need a plant sitter, to fake water it?" you joked.

Arthur plopped down beside you, his grin softening slightly. “You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you. I’ll even create a no-Charles zone if it helps.”

You laughed despite yourself, shoving his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot you’re lucky to have,” he replied with a wink.

You smiled at him, rolling your eyes once again. He was true, you were lucky to have him, but you also weren't so lucky with who his brother was.

“But you have to admit,” Arthur continued, “you kind of love how much he gets under your skin. You wouldn’t have this much energy to complain if you didn’t care.”

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, and for a moment, your mind wandered back to where it all started. You and Arthur had been inseparable since you were kids.

The first time you met Arthur, you were eight years old, tagging along with Pierre to one of his karting races. Arthur, ten at the time, had been sitting on a crate, furiously tinkering with his kart while Charles shouted something from across the paddock. He looked up as you approached, his face smeared with grease, and grinned like he’d known you forever.

“Hi! I’m Arthur!” he announced, shoving his hand out for you to shake.

From that moment on, you were glued to his side. Arthur became your partner in crime, the one you told all your secrets to, and the brother you never asked for but somehow desperately needed.

Of course, being best friends with Arthur meant spending time around Charles, too.

You were fifteen when it happened—when you realized you had a crush on the unattainable Charles Leclerc. He was nineteen then, fully immersed in his F1 career and everything that came with it. He had this effortless charm, a confidence that made it impossible to look away.

You knew it was silly, that he’d never see you as anything more than Arthur’s kid best friend. But the crush lingered, stubborn and unrelenting.

By the time you were sixteen, you and Charles had started spending more time together, moments where the age gap didn’t feel so insurmountable. He’d joke with you, tease you about your karting attempts, and you couldn’t help but think… maybe. Maybe if you were older, it could be something.

“Maybe if you were older,” he’d said once, his voice light but his words heavy. “But you’re Pierre’s little sister, and Arthur would kill me. Besides, you’re like family.”

The words stung, but deep down, you understood. And then there was that night when you were eighteen—too many drinks, a shared laugh, and the moment you almost kissed. But it was over before it began, cut short by the sound of someone calling Charles’ name.

You never talked about it, burying the memory alongside the growing ache in your chest.

When you were eighteen, you finally let it go. You and Charles were just friends, so it seemed. You started dating other guys, convinced that the feelings you had for Charles were a thing of the past, which they seemed to be. But that was when Charles started to change.

He became distant, colder. His teasing shifted into something sharper, tinged with something you couldn’t quite understand. You started arguing more, getting annoyed by the weirdest little things. The playful insults and your arguments became the foundation of your relationship—barbed words masking unresolved tension.

Now, years later, it was all just… frustrating. You didn’t understand him, and you didn’t want to. Yet you both couldn't seem to let it each other be. Even though you were now respectively 21 and 26, you both had this childish need to keep pushing each others buttons.

The sound of the doorbell snapped you out of your thoughts. Arthur jumped up, grinning. “Showtime. Come on, let’s get this circus started.”

You followed him to the door, your heart sinking as soon as it swung open. There he was—Charles Leclerc, the devil himself, smirk firmly in place. Beside him stood Pierre and Kika, both smiling warmly.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. “Let the torture begin.”

Pierre and Kika made their way in, following Arthur to the living room, leaving you standing there alone with Charles.

Charles’s eyes flicked to you, his smirk widening. “Miss me already?”

You rolled your eyes at the Monegasque driver, scoffing "I’d miss you more if you came with a mute button."

Before Charles had the chance to reply to your comment, Dennis Hauger appeared behind Charles, greeting both of you with a smirk. Saved by the bell

"HAUG!" you exclaimed happily, making your way over to him, embracing him.

Dennis returned the hug immediately, settling his arms around your waist "Hi there, frenchie" he chuckled back at you, using of his standard nickname for you.

You tucked your head in the crook of his neck "You just saved me from the devil, thanks" you whispered jokingly to him, low enough for Charles to not hear.

What you didn't notice tho, was the way Charles clenched his jaw at the sight in front of him, or the way he immediately made his way out of the hallway, trying to get away from the interaction in front of him. It was jealousy, pure jealousy. Something he was trying to deny with all his willpower.

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The house had been buzzing with activity for the past hour as everyone settled into their rooms. Most of the group had scrambled to claim their ideal space as soon as they walked in, leaving you and Kika to handle the grocery run. You didn’t mind—there wasn’t a room you particularly wanted, and you figured Arthur would sort it out for you while you were gone.

When you returned and put everything away, you made your way to the living room, where Arthur was lounging on the couch next to Dennis. You perched on the armrest beside him, your hands on your hips.

Arthur didn’t even look at you before sighing dramatically. “I’m sorry in advance,” he muttered, sounding uncharacteristically guilty.

You raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t even said anything yet, and you’re already apologizing. That’s reassuring.”

Arthur finally glanced up, a smirk creeping onto his face. “You weren’t going to ask me about your room for the month?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, catching the teasing tone in his voice. “Okay, and if I was? I already told you I don’t care which room I get. I’m not picky.”

Dennis snorted from his seat. “Oh, you’ll care soon enough.”

Confused, you glanced between them, their smirks only growing. “What are you two on about? Just tell me where the room is, and I’ll figure it out myself.”

Arthur shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Upstairs. There are two bedrooms on that floor. Yours is the one on the right.”

“Thanks,” you said, pushing off the armrest. “Honestly, boys, it can’t be that bad.”

As you walked away, you heard Arthur mutter behind you, “Sweet, innocent girl.”

The comment made you roll your eyes, but you brushed it off. Surely they were just being dramatic. When you reached the room, you stepped inside and surveyed the space. It was far from bad—it was actually quite nice. The room was spacious, with large windows that let in plenty of light. You noticed a set of balcony doors and walked over to them, opening them to find a stunning view of the beach. The balcony extended to the next room, but that wasn’t anything that bothered you.

Everything about the room seemed perfect. What were they even talking about?

Feeling satisfied, you turned your attention to the rest of the space, spotting a door near the wardrobe. It must lead to the bathroom. Curious, you opened it, stepping inside—and froze in your tracks.

There, in the middle of the bathroom, stood Charles, unpacking his toiletries into the cabinet. His back was to you, but the sight of him was enough to make your stomach drop. You quickly scanned the room and spotted another door on the opposite wall, clearly leading to his bedroom.

Oh. That’s what they meant.

“No way. This is not happening,” you huffed, throwing your hands in the air.

Charles turned at the sound of your voice, his expression shifting from surprise to irritation. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.

"About to murder either you, or the idiot that came up with the clever idea to put me in a room next to most insufferable person on mother earth" you snapped back at him.

Charles felt slightly hurt at your insult, he knew he caused this himself, but he figured that trying to get over you was easier when you hated him than when you were your way too sweet self.

Charles rolled his eyes, going back to his unpacking. "Might as well consider killing Joris then, because up until you came barging in, I thought he would be staying in that room" he said, rolling his eyes, mindlessly continuing to unpack his stuff

You crossed your arms, glaring at his nonchalant attitude. “Well, congratulations on your little upgrade. This arrangement is absolutely not happening. I’m switching rooms.”

“Good luck with that,” Charles muttered. “But if you’re planning to kill Joris, I’d like to watch.”

You ignored his sarcasm, muttering curses under your breath as you stormed out of the bathroom and downstairs into the kitchen. Your frustration was boiling over as you barged in, startling the group gathered around the table. Pierre, Kika, Arthur, Dennis, and Joris all looked up at you in varying states of confusion.

“Joris,” you snapped, pointing a finger at him. “I will kill you.”

Joris blinked, holding his hands up in defense. “What did I do?”

“Apparently you figured it was a good idea to take the last decent room, and left me with the one upstairs,” you hissed. “Which, by the way, shares a bathroom with Charles.”

Arthur burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “You just figured that out? Oh, this is gold.”

Joris’ confused expression turned sheepish. “Okay, wait. I didn’t know that if I didn’t take the upstairs room, you’d end up with it. I thought the downstairs one was just the last one left.”

“And you didn’t think about who would be upstairs with Charles?” you snapped, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Joris shrugged, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “I mean... I thought you’d appreciate the proximity to him.”

You groaned, turning to Pierre, who was clearly trying to stifle his laughter. “Pierre, switch rooms with me. Please.”

Pierre leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yeah, no. That’s not happening. Kika and I have a nice setup downstairs, and I’m not about to share a bathroom with anyone. We need our privacy.”

“I need privacy too!” you argued, your voice rising in frustration.

“It’s different,” Pierre said, shooting you a pointed look. “Couples need privacy for... other things.”

“Ew. Stop. I don’t want to know,” you groaned, covering your ears dramatically.

You spun around to Arthur, narrowing your eyes. “You. Switch with me.”

Arthur raised his hands, laughing. “No can do. Charles would murder me. I snore too loud, and he’s all about his beauty sleep. He’d kick me out within a day.”

Your gaze shifted to Dennis, who immediately held up his hands. “Don’t even think about it. I’ve got the best room in the house—big bed, balcony, bubble bath. I’m not giving that up.”

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back. “You’re all useless.”

He leaned back smugly, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery. Then, as if to soften the blow, he added, “Well, I would’ve offered to let you stay in my room with me, but I think that would be the cause of my death.” His eyes flicked pointedly to your brother.

“Fair point,” Pierre said flatly, without missing a beat.

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “No, that’s off-limits. But sharing a bathroom—with connecting doors—with the one guy you’ve always said was ‘off-limits’ is somehow not an issue? You’re a hypocritical ass.”

Pierre shrugged, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “First of all, sleeping in someone’s bed is completely different than sharing a bathroom,” he countered, folding his arms.

“And second,” he added with a knowing look, “the only reason I ever said that was because you had a little teenage crush on my best friend. And let’s be honest, at the time, he was way too old for you. But...” He trailed off, chuckling to himself. “I guess sticking to that would make me a bit of a hypocrite, considering I’m dating one of your friends now, and our age gap is even bigger.”

You groaned loudly, knowing you couldn’t win this side of the argument. “Whatever,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “That doesn’t change the fact that you know he’s the one person I want to avoid the most. You know I hate him,” you complained. “I can’t even stand the idea of his existence, let alone sharing a goddamn bathroom with him.”

“Relax,” Pierre said with a smirk. “It’s just a bathroom. There’s a lock on the door. You’ll survive.”

“Exactly,” came Charles’ voice from behind you. You spun around to find him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and an infuriatingly smug look on his face. “It’s not like sharing a bathroom means we’re obligated to shower together.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” you snapped. “It might be worth it just to drown you.”

The group erupted in laughter, and Charles rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like a child. Just knock before you go in. Problem solved.”

You glared at him, furious “Why are you even meddling, you weren't even part of this conversation, are you just lurking around waiting to butt in on conversations?” you snapped.

Charles smirked, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Not my fault you’re loud enough to hear from every other room,” he replied, his tone light but with an edge of sarcasm.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you shot him a glare. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are,” he quipped, unfazed by your fury.

You sighed loudly "See, this is what I mean, this is what y'all are burdening me with" you complained, glaring at him once more, your frustration bubbling over. “You’re the last person I’d ever want to share a bathroom with.”

Charles smirked, stepping further into the kitchen, inching closer to you, until he was close enough to whisper in your ear. “Good thing it’s not up to you, then.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you shot him a glare, your voice sharp and dripping with annoyance. “Fuck you, Charles.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider as he tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Tempting,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, “but I don’t think you could handle it.”

Pierre clapped his hands together, interrupting the argument. “Alright, enough. Give it a try for a few days. If it’s really that bad, we’ll figure something out. But I doubt it’ll be the end of the world.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if I end up committing a murder, just know it’s on all of you.”

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After the heated argument downstairs, you stormed up the stairs to your designated bedroom, Arthur trailing behind you with his ever-present smug smirk. His long strides brought him into the room before you could even process your frustration fully. He flopped unceremoniously onto your bed, bouncing slightly as he sprawled out, his arms behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Meanwhile, you busied yourself with unpacking your suitcase, each item you placed in the wardrobe an outlet for your simmering annoyance. The rhythmic sound of hangers sliding against the bar was oddly soothing—until you caught Arthur watching you with that infuriating grin plastered across his face.

"What?" you snapped, not even turning to face him.

Arthur’s eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, nothing. Just waiting for you to protest again"

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. Before you could even begin to voice your frustration, Arthur sat up, one hand raised in mock surrender. "Nope! Let me stop you right there. This wasn’t just on me.”

Without thinking, you grabbed a pair of joggers from your suitcase and lobbed them at him. The fabric smacked him square in the face with a satisfying thwack.

“Merde!” he exclaimed, his laughter spilling out as he dramatically tossed the joggers aside. “Violence is not the answer, you know.”

“Neither is being useless,” you shot back, crossing your arms. "Arthur, you could have at least tried something! Anything would have been better than this.”

He leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms as if settling in for a long discussion. “Trust me, I did. But there wasn’t much to work with. Your brother doesn’t want to switch because—well, come on, you know why. He’s here with his girlfriend, and honestly, he made a fair point.”

You made a disgusted face, wrinkling your nose. “Fair point or not, it still sucks for me.”

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. “And then there’s Joris. He’s obviously got a thing for Gigi, and guess what? Gigi sleeps downstairs. Perfect excuse for him to ‘accidentally’ run into her more often.”

“Gross,” you muttered, shoving another shirt into the wardrobe.

Arthur grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. “And let’s be real: Inès and Gigi met Charles today. Can you imagine how awkward it’d be for either of them to share a bathroom with him? What if they walk in each other accidentally. That’s like… social torture. At least you’ve known him for years.”

You spun around, throwing your hands in the air. “I’M UNCOMFORTABLE TOO, ARTHUR!”

“Yeah, but that’s just you two being… you two,” he quipped, gesturing vaguely between you. “It’s a highly unlogical—”

“Illogical,” you corrected sharply.

“Whatever.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s an illogical issue between the two of you. At least you know him well enough to, I don’t know, coexist?”

You exhaled sharply, knowing he wasn’t entirely wrong but unwilling to admit it. “Fine. But Dennis? He’s my friend! He could have helped me out instead of hogging the nicest room in the house.”

Arthur snorted. “You know Dennis and Paul! I’m pretty sure they're just quietly rooting for some ‘enemies to lovers’ drama between you and Charles. Probably think it’s entertaining"

You stared at him in disbelief, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh my God. Why do you all think this is some slow-burn romance novel? I’m not in love with him anymore. That was just a stupid teenage crush!”

Arthur grinned wider, clearly delighted. “Sure, sure. But that doesn’t mean you two don’t have… something.”

“Ugh!” You grabbed a pillow and launched it at him, but he easily dodged, laughing as he slid off the bed to avoid further projectiles.

“Relax, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking,” he teased, leaning casually against the wall. “And for the record, I would have swapped with you. But Charles would kill me. You know how I snore, and—let’s be real—we’ve already lived together long enough. He’d probably prefer sharing a bathroom with you than enduring that again.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I just don’t get it. He hates me just as much as I hate him. Why would he rather share with me than you?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his knowing smirk returning. “Oh, I have my theories. But I’m staying out of it.”

“That’s not helpful,” you muttered, exasperated.

Arthur chuckled, pushing off the wall. “Look, you could always sleep on the couch. But if you do…” He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You’re letting him win.”

“Fair point,” you admitted begrudgingly.

Arthur patted your shoulder as he walked toward the door. “Good luck surviving the week. Don’t kill each other—well, at least not where anyone can see.”

Once he was gone, the silence of the room felt heavy. You sighed, glancing toward the adjoining bathroom door—the one that connected your room to Charles’.

As if on cue, the faint sound of running water reached your ears. You groaned inwardly, already dreading the inevitable awkward encounters. Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe this was all just some cosmic joke meant to test your patience.

But as you sank onto the edge of the bed, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something else—something unsettling that you didn’t want to name. Whatever it was, you shoved it aside, determined to prove that you could handle this without giving anyone the satisfaction of watching you squirm.

For now, you focused on unpacking the rest of your things, trying to ignore the quiet tension creeping in through the bathroom door.

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Later that day, the dinner table was alive with chatter, forks scraping plates, and glasses clinking as the group settled into an easy rhythm of conversation. The garden outside glowed under the string lights Pierre had painstakingly strung earlier, their warm light casting a soft glow over everyone seated at the table. Plates were piled high with food, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the gentle hum of evening crickets.

You sat between Dennis and Arthur, trying your best to ignore the magnetic pull of Charles, seated directly across from you. He was deep in conversation with Joris about the best overtaking strategies, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. You told yourself you weren’t paying attention, but your eyes betrayed you, flickering to him more often than you’d like.

Arthur leaned over, breaking your reverie. “You’ve barely touched your plate,” he teased, nodding toward your half-eaten dinner.

“Maybe I lost my appetite after sitting across from that,” you said pointedly, your fork gesturing vaguely in Charles’ direction.

Charles, sharp as ever, caught the jab immediately. His green eyes glinted with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, resting an arm lazily on the table. “Careful,” he drawled. “That attitude of yours might scare away any remaining appetite you have.”

Dennis snickered quietly beside you, earning a glare from you and a soft punch to his shoulder. “Don’t encourage him,” you muttered.

“Who, me?” Dennis asked innocently.

The banter escalated as the evening wore on. Drinks began to flow more freely—wine for most, a few beers for the others—and snacks were passed around as the group moved to the garden chairs scattered across the lawn. The stars above provided the perfect backdrop, but you were too caught up in the ebb and flow of conversation to appreciate them fully.

You and Charles kept up your usual sniping, each comment sharper than the last. It wasn’t long before Pierre, clearly exasperated, threw up his hands. “Enough, you two. I swear, if you keep this up, we’ll have to start taking bets on which one of you snaps first.”

“I’m not snapping,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

Charles smirked, taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “Neither am I. I’m having the time of my life.”

The group burst into laughter, easing the tension momentarily. But across the garden, Dennis leaned toward Arthur, his voice dropping low enough to stay out of earshot.

“Am I the only one seeing it?” Dennis asked, his gaze darting between you and Charles.

Arthur followed his line of sight, frowning slightly. “Seeing what?”

“Come on, Thur,” Dennis said, nudging him. “The tension. The way they bicker? That’s not just hate. That’s something else.”

Arthur hesitated, his brows furrowing. “I don’t know. With her? I can’t tell. She used to have a thing for him, sure. But now? One moment I think she’s over it, and the next…”

Dennis grinned knowingly. “She’s not over it. And Charles? He’s head over heels. Look at the way he watches her when she’s not looking. The guy’s smitten.”

Arthur laughed at him "I've had my suspicions about him for a while, but he's difficult to read"

“Just saying, the sexual tension is insane.” Dennis laughed.

Arthur groaned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re talking about my brother. Ew.”

"Hey, in all honesty. If he indeeds feels that way about her, I don't judge him.." Dennis laughed at the disgusted face that Arthur was pulling "Because, come on, you gotta admit it, she's hot"

Arthur shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Yeah, she’s hot. I'm aware of that, but I don’t see her that way. Never did, to be honest. We kissed a couple of times, but it was never like that" he said, a laugh present on his face as he thought back to the memories "I guess like once or twice during drinking games, and I remember one time when we were just young and hopeless, so we tried kissing like once, but it honestly was like… kissing my sister. Just weird.”

Dennis nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I know that, Thur. But your brother? He doesn’t seem to think it’s weird.”

Dennis was watching you and Charles with barely concealed amusement, his eyes flicking between the two of you like he was watching a slow-motion car crash. He leaned a little closer to Arthur, smirking. "I mean, come on," he said under his breath. "Do they think they’re fooling anyone?"

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "They’ve been like this for ages. It’s exhausting just being around it."

Gigi, sitting nearby and clearly picking up on their hushed tones, laughed softly and joined in. “It’s mildly funny, though. They’re trying so hard to keep up this weird act of hating each other. Like, come on—it’s obvious they don’t actually hate each other.”

Dennis grinned, nodding toward Charles. “Right? The guy looks like he’s about to break his neck just to glance at her without being obvious.”

Gigi shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “What I don’t get is what caused all this. They used to be great friends. Back when she was still in love with him” she explained “they were actually kind of inseparable. So, what changed?”

Dennis tilted his head, considering her words. “Do you think she's still in love with him?”

Gigi paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Honestly? I don’t think so. I mean, she still thinks he’s hot—because, let’s face it, he is hot—but she doesn’t act the way she used to. Back then, she was constantly hopeful. And let's face it, he was her first ever proper crush, so he might have a special place, but I don't think she's still in love with him. Now it's just different"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“She just seems... done. Like she gave up on him a while ago.” Gigi shrugged again, her tone thoughtful. “And honestly, I don’t blame her. If Charles does feel something now, he's probably too late. She’s waited long enough. Sure, when she was younger, the age gap made sense. She was too young. But by the time she was, like, 20, she was old enough. She still had feelings for him then, and he never even did anything about it.”

Dennis tapped his chin dramatically. “That’s rough. And if he does admit something now, what do you think? Should she go for it?”

Gigi frowned, her gaze shifting toward you briefly. “I don’t know. It would feel... weird. Like, if he didn’t see her that way before, why now? It might just feel like he’s choosing her because it’s convenient.”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. “Can we not psychoanalyze my brother’s love life, please?”

Gigi shifted her gaze to Dennis, a sly grin spreading across her face. “What about you? You and her seem close. Maybe something’s blossoming there?”

Dennis raised an eyebrow, a surprised chuckle escaping him. “Me and her? Nah, come on.”

Gigi tilted her head, still smirking. “What? I’m just saying, you two seem to have this... vibe.”

Dennis laughed, shaking his head. “Look, she’s hot. I’d hook up with her in a heartbeat if she wanted to, but something serious? Nah. We both know it’s not like that.”

Gigi rolled her eyes, clearly amused. “You’re an idiot.” she laughed.

Arthur leaned back, groaning dramatically. “Why are we even having this conversation? Can we not dissect every potential romantic possibility?”

Gigi laughed. “Oh, come on, Arthur. Admit it. It’s entertaining.”

Arthur shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You all need help.”

Both Gigi and Dennis laughed out loud at Arthur's comment, finding it funny how Arthur reacted.

Before anyone could say more, their conversation was cut short when Charles, who had clearly overheard snippets of their hushed tones, called out from across the garden. “What’s so funny over there?”

Arthur, Dennis, and Gigi exchanged a quick look before Arthur spoke, his tone far too casual. “Oh, nothing much. Just debating which one of us would survive the longest if we had to endure one of your lectures on strategy.”

Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “Sure,” he muttered, turning back to his conversation with Joris. But the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement, even as he pretended not to care.

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As the night wore on, the group began to disperse, some heading to bed while others lingered to enjoy the cool night air. You made your way up to your room, feeling restless. Grabbing the cigarette Inès had reluctantly given you earlier, you stepped onto the balcony, the cool breeze brushing against your skin.

The first drag burned your throat, a harsh reminder of why you’d quit. But tonight, the weight in your chest felt heavier than usual, and this seemed like the only way to breathe again.

The quiet was short-lived. The soft creak of the balcony door opening made you stiffen, and when you turned, you found Charles stepping out.

“If you’re planning to mock me for smoking, shut up,” you said, not even trying to hide your annoyance.

Charles raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t planning on anything.”

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the view rather than you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the tension ebbing into something softer.

“Are you going to keep standing there, or are you taking a seat?” you asked, nudging a chair toward him with your foot.

He sat without a word, the quiet between you stretching but not uncomfortable.

“I thought you quit,” he said finally, his voice soft.

You took another drag, exhaling slowly. “I did.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Figures.”

“But then my best friend decided it was a good idea to take me on a holiday and make me share a bathroom and connecting rooms with his brother" You smirked faintly "Don’t know if you’ve met him, but he’s got a massive ego and loves getting on his brother’s best friend’s nerves. Pathetic, really.”

Charles laughed, the sound low and warm. “Can’t say I’ve met him. But he probably has a good reason.”

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, a rare moment of peace between the insults. You held out your cigarette to him, a small gesture of truce.

Charles hesitated before taking it, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The touch was fleeting but electric, sending a jolt through him that he didn’t entirely wanted to administer. He took a drag, exhaling slowly, his eyes on the stars.

“For someone who claims to hate me this much, this seems pretty generous,” he said, handing it back.

“Maybe I’m trying to ruin your lungs so you screw up your next race,” you replied dryly, leaning back in your chair.

Charles hummed in mock agreement. “Hmm. If you say so.”

The silence lingered between you and Charles, stretching into something neither of you was used to—quiet, companionable, and strangely comfortable. You stared out at the darkened garden, the faint glow of the string lights from below casting soft shadows across the balcony. The cigarette burned low between your fingers, the occasional ember flaring as you took a slow drag.

Charles shifted slightly in his seat, his arms resting casually on the chair's arms, his eyes flicking to you when he thought you weren’t looking. The lines of his face were softened by the night, his usual sharpness replaced by a contemplative calm.

“You’ve gotten quieter,” you muttered, breaking the silence. “What? Run out of things to argue about already?”

He smirked, glancing at you. “Just pacing myself. Don’t want to exhaust all my good comebacks in one night.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Oh, please. I’ve heard them all before. You’re not that original.”

“Maybe I’m just giving you a chance to catch up,” he quipped, a faint grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and for a moment, it almost felt easy—like the walls you’d both carefully built were thinning, letting something more natural seep through.

The two of you lapsed back into silence, the occasional sound of the night filling the void. Charles tapped his fingers lightly against the chair, his rhythm steady, almost soothing. He tilted his head back slightly, staring up at the stars.

“What do you think they’re talking about down there?” he asked suddenly, nodding toward the garden where the others were still chatting.

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Knowing Arthur and Dennis? Something dumb. Probably debating the best flavor of chips or some other nonsense.”

Charles chuckled softly. “Sounds about right.”

Minutes passed, the quiet stretching comfortably between you. Occasionally, your gazes met, and though neither of you spoke, there was an unspoken exchange—something in the way his eyes softened just slightly when he looked at you.

Finally, you stood, brushing ash from your hands. “I’m going to freshen up in the bathroom and go to bed.”

Charles didn’t respond immediately, his eyes following your movements. Just as you reached the doorway, he called out softly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“You know,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “aside from all the arguments… you know I don’t actually hate you, right?”

You froze in the doorway, his words hanging in the air between you. Slowly, you turned, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You have a shit way of showing that,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

Charles gave you a small, almost rueful smile. “I’ll work on it.”

You stared at him for a moment longer before nodding. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as you disappeared inside.

In the bathroom, the scent of him lingered—subtle but unmistakable. It was maddening how easily it unsettled you, making your chest tighten with an unspoken weight. You closed the door behind you, locking both his and your side with care, as if the physical barrier could somehow keep your thoughts at bay.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the faint steam from the earlier shower still clinging to the edges of the glass. “Get over it,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible. “You hate him. Remember?”

But the words felt hollow, even to your own ears.

The shower’s warm spray hit your skin, washing away the tension that had settled in your shoulders, but it couldn’t quite cleanse your mind. Images of his face lingered—his small, almost shy smile when he’d said he didn’t hate you, the way his fingers had brushed against yours earlier when you passed him the cigarette.

You lingered longer than usual, hoping the heat of the water would somehow dissolve the confusion swirling inside you. When you finally stepped out and dried off, you felt no closer to clarity, only exhaustion.

Back in your room, the muffled sounds of movement from the adjoining space made you pause. You could hear him faintly—the soft creak of his bed, the shuffle of fabric as he adjusted his position. It was strangely intimate, knowing he was so close, separated only by a thin wall.

Sliding into bed, you stared at the ceiling, the room’s quiet amplifying the sounds next door. Your mind drifted despite your best efforts, and with a sigh, you reached for your phone.

You: Bathroom’s free

You'd typed it quickly, hesitating for a moment before pressing send. Before you could even process your message, the reply already came.

Charles: Thanks.

You put your phone on your nightstand, plugging it in the charger, before crawling deeper beneath the covers. You tried to fall asleep, but it felt impossible. Every movement he made, every creak of his bed, echoed faintly. It made you realize once more, in what close proximity you both were, keeping you awake longer than you’d like. Eventually though, sleep claimed you, surprisingly peaceful despite everything.

next part

#f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 imagine #smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 smut #friends to lovers #charles leclerc #arthur leclerc #cl16 #fluff #enemies to lovers #semi slowburn #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader

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callsigns-haze · 23 days ago

Text

Beat me for the crown 3

Part 3 of 3

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Years after the war, Xaden and YN are raising their two children, Liam and Kaia, in Tyrrendor’s royal residence. While YN is away on a girls' trip that for some reason includes Ridoc, Liam—small for his age despite being heir—is relentlessly bullied and hides his injuries until a brutal second attack drives him, bloody and broken, into Xaden’s arms late at night

⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains themes of bullying, physical violence, drinking, anger, emotional distress, and injury involving a child.

Liam’s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as his back scraped the rough stone of the perimeter wall. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. His body screamed at him to stay down, to protect his ribs, his face, his already-bruised pride.

But he didn’t.

He refused.

With a sudden surge of movement, Liam ducked under the next swing and threw himself forward, slamming his shoulder into the nearest boy’s chest. It wasn’t graceful—it wasn’t strong—but it was unexpected. The older boy stumbled back a step, caught off guard.

For a second, Liam felt it.

The flicker of power. Of fight.

“Get off me!” he shouted, voice cracking from the effort, raw with anger and something deeper—something tired and furious and done with being afraid.

He swung at the second boy, his fist connecting just under the taller kid’s jaw. It wasn’t a hard punch—it didn’t knock him down—but it made the boy stumble, blinking like he hadn’t expected the heir of Tyrrendor to strike back.

But that second passed too quickly.

Pain exploded through Liam’s cheek as a fist landed square against his face. He staggered, knees buckling. Another blow to his stomach. One to his ribs—the same ribs.

He cried out as something inside gave way, something that hadn’t fully healed.

Another kick to his side. Then his shoulder. Then someone grabbed the collar of his tunic and slammed him against the wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“You really thought you could fight us?” one of them sneered, nose to nose with him now. “You’re nothing, Liam Riorson. Just a weak little heir with a famous daddy. That’s it.”

Liam spit blood onto the ground. Tried to breathe. Tried to speak. But nothing came.

He tried to push forward again, but his body was too slow, too battered. The boys swarmed him—an elbow to his back, a knee to his thigh, a fist across the jaw that sent stars bursting across his vision.

He hit the ground with a thud, cheek pressed to the dirt. Somewhere nearby, his book lay half-open, pages crumpled beneath a muddy boot.

And still, they didn’t stop.

Boots struck his ribs again, over and over, until he couldn't tell whether the tears in his eyes were from pain or fury. He bit down on a sob, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

His ears rang. His head throbbed.

But he stayed down.

Because this time—he didn’t have a choice.

The last kick landed with a sickening thud against Liam’s already-bruised ribs, drawing a hoarse gasp from his throat. His arms instinctively curled inward, as if shielding what little he had left unbroken. The world around him blurred—trees swaying overhead like shadows, the sky a hazy gray as tears and dirt smeared his lashes.

One of the boys spat beside his head. “Pathetic.”

Another leaned down, close enough that Liam could smell the acrid tang of sweat and blood. “Next time, don’t swing first, prince.”

Their footsteps finally began to retreat—heavy, uncaring, boots crunching on gravel, their cruel laughter echoing as they vanished around the far side of the wall. The sound of them faded slowly, like a bad dream that still pulsed in his chest.

And then they were gone.

All that was left was the wind.

Liam didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He lay sprawled on his side, one arm tucked uselessly beneath him, the other pressed over his ribs in a feeble attempt to dull the sharp, stabbing pain that bloomed with every shallow breath. His lip was split, jaw aching, and blood trickled from his nose onto the dirt, pooling beneath his cheek.

The pages of his book fluttered a few feet away, torn and crumpled, edges stained with grime. His dad gave him that book. A gust of wind flipped a page and carried it farther, like even that had decided to leave him behind.

His throat ached with the effort of holding back tears.

He’d fought back. And it hadn’t mattered.

They still won.

He closed his eyes and swallowed the broken sound that clawed up from his chest. Every inch of him screamed. But he didn’t call out. Didn’t ask for help. That would’ve felt worse than the bruises—admitting he needed saving.

Instead, he lay there, curled in on himself like he was trying to disappear into the dirt.

Because for the moment, disappearing felt like the only option he had left.

The dining room felt too quiet without Liam.

The long table—typically chaotic with clattering cutlery, overlapping conversations, and Kaia’s rapid-fire storytelling—stood in a kind of hush that was noticeable even to Bodhi.

Kaia sat perched on the edge of her usual chair, small shoulders a little too tense, her curls pulled into a high bun that had started slipping loose. A soft plate of roasted vegetables and seasoned rice sat mostly untouched in front of her, though she poked at a piece of carrot half-heartedly with her fork.

Bodhi, seated across from her, had tried to fill the space with gentle chatter, the kind of nonsense that usually made her roll her eyes but secretly smile. Tonight, she didn’t even fake a grin.

“Did you know Garrick once mistook a goat for a dragon when he was half-asleep?” Bodhi offered, trying to earn a reaction. “He chased it three fields before realizing it was just someone’s livestock.”

Kaia blinked. “You’ve told that story three times.”

“Still funny,” he muttered, chewing on a piece of bread. “That goat was offended for weeks.”

Kaia didn’t answer. Her gaze flicked toward the door as footsteps echoed down the hall.

A moment later, Garrick entered first, pulling off his flight leathers and rubbing the back of his neck. He looked exhausted, his short braid unravelling at the ends. Behind him, Xaden stepped in, equally weary but sharper around the edges—like he’d carried the weight of the entire meeting and then some.

“You’re late,” Kaia said quietly, not accusing—just stating fact.

“We know,” Garrick sighed, dropping into the seat beside Bodhi and running a hand through his hair. “The war council meeting ran longer than expected. They’re restructuring supply runs.”

Xaden took the seat at the head of the table, opposite Kaia, but his eyes scanned the room before he even reached for his fork. “Where’s Liam?”

Kaia pushed a pea across her plate. “Didn’t come.”

“He’s not upstairs,” Bodhi added gently. “I checked. Guess he’s not hungry.”

Xaden’s jaw ticked.

“Do we…?” Garrick started, but Xaden shook his head once, firmly.

“No,” he said. “He’ll come when he’s ready.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sounds were the low clinks of silverware and the faint crackle of the fireplace against the far wall.

Kaia’s voice broke the silence. “He had a bad day.”

Xaden looked at her, sharp gaze softening just slightly. “I know.”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I just thought he might want pie.”

“We saved him some,” Bodhi said, nudging the plate of sweet tarts toward the center.

“Doesn’t matter,” Kaia murmured, sliding down in her chair. “He doesn’t want us right now.”

Xaden leaned back, folding his arms, expression unreadable. Garrick exchanged a quiet look with him, but neither said what they were all thinking.

That it wasn’t just about dinner. That Liam hadn’t missed a family meal in months. That something deeper was cracked, and they weren’t sure how to fix it yet.

Not without you.

The flicker of motion in the hallway was quick—barely there. But it was enough to snap all three sets of eyes toward the doorway at once.

The whisper of footfalls on polished stone. The slight gust of displaced air. And then the blur of Liam’s dark curls and smaller frame darting past the open arch of the dining room.

Fast.

Too fast.

It wasn’t his usual walk, the steady sort of shuffle he did when he was trying to go unnoticed or when Kaia had said something particularly annoying. No—this was different.

This was running.

Xaden’s back straightened immediately in his chair. Garrick dropped his fork with a clink, brows knitting in concern. Bodhi, already halfway up, paused with his palms on the edge of the table.

But it was Kaia who spoke first.

“That was Li.”

“I saw,” Xaden said, low and tight, as he pushed slowly to his feet—but made no move to follow yet.

The boy hadn’t even glanced in. No sharp little comment, no muttered greeting. Just a flash of limbs and the soft thud of feet hitting stairs two at a time, like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Like he didn’t want to be seen.

Garrick tilted his head, listening. Upstairs, a door closed—not quite slammed, but firm enough to echo faintly down the corridor. “You think he’s okay?” Bodhi asked, but the question hung between them, unanswered.

Because no one really thought he was.

But they also knew better than to corner him right now. Xaden exhaled, long and slow, his hands flexing once at his sides. “Let him be.”

“You sure?” Garrick asked, one brow lifting.

Xaden nodded tightly, his jaw clenched so hard the muscle twitched. “If we go up there now, he’ll bolt again.”

Kaia looked between them, something stormy stirring behind her deep-set eyes, but she stayed seated. Even she knew Liam sometimes needed space. Time to come back to them on his own terms.

“Maybe he’s just tired,” Bodhi said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

“Maybe,” Xaden murmured.

But as he sat back down, a deep, unsettled silence fell over the room—one that had nothing to do with unfinished dinner or forgotten pie.

Because they’d all seen it.

The way Liam’s arm had been curled tightly across his middle.

The way he’d favored one leg.

The way he ran like the shadows were chasing him.

They just didn’t know what he was running from.

Not yet.

Kaia slipped silently from her chair. Her plate was still mostly full, but she didn’t glance back at it. Her eyes—those piercing golden onyx that mirrors of her father’s—remained locked on the hallway where her brother had vanished just moments ago.

She moved with a quiet purpose, like a shadow slipping between torches. Soft-footed. Intent. Xaden caught the shift immediately, without even turning. “Kaia.”

She paused mid-step, lips tightening, her hands clenching into tiny fists at her sides. “I’m just going to see if he’s okay,” she said without looking back.

“No, you’re not,” Xaden replied, his voice low and edged with that rare blend of patience and iron that only he could deliver. The command was calm, but absolute.

Kaia took another step.

Xaden rose.

“I’m not stupid,” she snapped without turning around. “I’m not gonna bother him, I just—”

And before she could take another defiant stride, Xaden crossed the room in three long, swift steps. In a fluid, practiced motion, he swooped down and hauled her clean off the ground, spinning her up onto his shoulder like she weighed nothing more than a bundle of laundry.

“Hey!” she squealed, kicking once in the air as her loose curls bounced against her back. “This is not fair! You said no powers in the house—”

“No shadows involved,” Xaden said, utterly unbothered, adjusting her like a sack of flour as he began walking toward the corridor that led to her bedroom. “This is all upper-body strength and twenty years of carrying your mother away from trouble.”

“I am trouble,” Kaia declared proudly, pounding a tiny fist against his back.

“Exactly,” he said dryly.

Bodhi laughed under his breath, Garrick grinning around a mouthful of roasted potato as they watched Kaia flail half-heartedly.

“This is unlawful restraint,” she huffed, dangling upside-down as her voice bounced against his shoulder blades. “You’re infringing on my right to check on my comrade.”

“You’re infringing on my right to peace and quiet before bedtime,” Xaden replied.

She groaned like he was the worst father in all of Navarre. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m your father,” he said mildly. “You love me.”

“I tolerate you,” she shot back, muffled by the way her face was squished against his shoulder. But he felt her laugh—tiny and reluctant—and the tension in her muscles faded bit by bit as he carried her past the dining room and down the quiet hallway.

Her legs swung lazily with his steps now, no more kicks or twists. Just tired wiggles and muttered rebellion as they reached her door.

“You’re still a tyrant,” she said as he shifted her off his shoulder and into his arms like she was a much smaller child, even though she was eight and had started insisting on being called grown.

Xaden smirked, brushing her hair back from her forehead before leaning down to press a kiss there. “And you’re still mine.”

She leaned her head against his chest for a beat longer than she had to, then allowed him to set her on her bed without protest. He tucked the blanket around her like he always did, even when she pretended she was too old for it.

“Goodnight, little shadow.”

“Goodnight, old bat,” she murmured back, already blinking slower.

And though her eyes fluttered closed, her last whispered thought carried into the air between them: “Tell him I don’t care if he’s mad. I’m still coming back tomorrow.” Xaden stood there in the doorway for a long moment, the soft sound of Kaia’s breathing settling into sleep behind him.

Then he turned and walked back toward the still-burning hearthlight of the dining room, the weight of two children on his heart.

One safely tucked away.

The other… still bleeding where no one could see.

Liam gripped the edge of the porcelain sink so hard his knuckles bleached white. The cool marble pressed against his palms, grounding him—barely.

The mirror above the basin was fogged at the edges, not from a hot shower, but from his own ragged breathing and the heat of shame still clinging to his skin. His shirt was ripped at the collar, stained and sticking to the bruise blooming across his ribs like an oil spill under parchment skin.

He leaned forward, swallowing thickly, but the copper tang was back, burning his throat.

With a muffled curse, he turned his head and spat into the sink.

Blood.

Again.

It painted the porcelain in a vivid, accusing splash—thick and too red, catching the light from the flickering sconce like spilled ink.

His lip was split, swollen and aching. His right eye had already started to blacken, puffing at the edge with the kind of bruising he knew would have Kaia fuming if she saw it. His stomach clenched at the thought of her finding out. Of anyone finding out.

He turned on the tap, watching the water swirl the blood away in tight, disappearing spirals. He didn’t flinch when it stung the cuts on his knuckles—he welcomed it. It meant he was still in control of something, even if it was just the burn of cold water and open wounds.

His breath hitched. He braced both hands on either side of the sink, shoulders bowed, head hanging.

It wasn’t just the pain. He could take pain—he had taken pain. He’d taken fists and words and the sneering jeers of boys who towered over him, all muscle and easy confidence. He could take being shoved, take the blows. That didn’t break him.

But the helplessness?

The silence he was forced to keep?

That was the part that clawed into his chest the hardest. That made his throat ache more than any punch.

A tear slipped down his cheek before he could catch it, and he wiped it away angrily, blood smearing faintly with it.

He wasn’t supposed to cry.

He was the heir.

He was a Riorson.

He was the son of a warrior king and the fiercest woman in the wards.

And yet here he was—twelve years old, half his size, and spitting blood into a sink because he’d been cornered like an animal and left in a heap of bruises and silence.

Another drop of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He swiped it again, slower this time.

He turned off the water. The silence that followed was deafening.

Liam rested his forehead gently against the mirror, his breath fogging the glass once more.

No one could know.

Not Dad. Not Bodhi. Not Garrick. Not even Kaia again. He wouldn’t let them see how much it was getting to him.

Because if he let that crack show… it would break him wide open.

Liam stayed like that for another minute. Maybe two. Just breathing. Letting the chill of the mirror seep into his skin. Letting the ache settle deeper into his bones where he could bury it.

Then he straightened with a slow breath, catching his reflection.

His eye was a mess—purple bruising already deepening around the lid, and his lip was cracked in two places. There were faint bruises along his jaw, and his cheekbone throbbed. His ribs ached with every inhale, a dull, persistent pressure that made him wonder if something had cracked again.

He didn’t want to think about that.

He peeled off his shirt, hissing through his teeth as it caught against dried blood on his side, and tossed it into the laundry chute. Then he turned back to the sink, opened the drawer beside it, and quietly pulled out the small tin Kaia had brought him weeks ago. Arnica salve. She’d smuggled it from one of the healers when he'd stubbed his toe so bad he couldn't walk straight for two days. She said it was for "princes too proud to admit they’re hurt."

He opened it now, dipped two fingers into the smooth balm, and smeared it across his split lip.

It stung like hell.

He worked through the pain methodically, not making a sound.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom—hair still slightly damp from where he’d splashed his face, sleeves tugged low over his wrists—his expression was carefully neutral again. His usual scowl was in place. His limp barely noticeable.

He climbed into bed slowly, careful not to jostle his ribs.

Fern was already curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, her big eyes tracking his every movement with quiet understanding.

“Don’t look at me like that, you're the one who ran,” he muttered, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

She huffed softly and rested her head on her paws, keeping vigil.

Liam turned to face the wall, tucking his bruised hands beneath the pillow.

Tomorrow, he’d act normal again. Joke with Leia. Shrug off Kaia’s knowing looks. Pretend the other boys didn’t exist.

But tonight? He let the tears fall silently.

Only Fern saw.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting soft amber light across the stone floors and the edges of the wide-set lounge chairs. Shadows flickered across the walls of the study—this one tucked far enough from the main residence that it usually served as an unofficial escape for the men of the house when the weight of titles, patrols, and parenting got a little too heavy.

Xaden leaned back in one of the worn leather chairs, a glass of amber liquor cradled in his hand, the firelight catching on the rings at his fingers. His tunic was open at the collar, sleeves pushed to his forearms, and his hair was still slightly damp from the storm that had broken just as they returned from the council meeting.

His body ached. Not in the way it used to—after battle, after training—but in the quieter, more insidious way of long hours spent managing a kingdom and raising children who sometimes felt like puzzles he couldn’t solve.

He swirled the drink in his glass once before tipping it back. The liquor burned, sweet and sharp, sliding down like a sigh.

“Tell me why the Void it’s always calmer when she’s home,” Xaden muttered, not looking at anyone in particular.

Across from him, Bodhi chuckled from where he sat on the fur-lined rug, leaning back on one elbow with his own drink. “Because when she’s here, we all pretend to have our shit together.”

“I do have my shit together,” Garrick replied, sprawled out in the chair beside Xaden’s, one boot kicked off and forgotten under the table. “But yeah. It’s easier when she’s around.”

Xaden glanced sideways at the fire, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“She just… makes everything make sense,” he said finally. “Kaia listens better. Liam…” He stopped himself.

Garrick raised a brow. “Liam what?”

Xaden exhaled slowly through his nose. “He tries harder. Or maybe he just feels safer with her around.” He stared into the flames, voice quieter now. “She sees him. In a way I can’t always seem to reach.”

Bodhi set down his drink with a clink of glass on stone. “He’s twelve, Xaden. He’s going through the same shit we did—except with a crown looming over his head.”

“I know that,” Xaden said, the words biting even though they weren’t meant to. “But it doesn’t mean I like how distant he’s been. How guarded.”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “He locked himself in his room last night. Wouldn’t let me in. Screamed at me to leave him alone.”

That silenced them all.

The fire popped in the hearth, and Garrick finally leaned forward to pour another round. “You think he’s slipping again?”

Xaden shook his head, though uncertainty lingered at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know. I just know I didn’t see him at dinner, and the last time I did, he was walking like his whole body ached.”

“You think something happened?” Bodhi asked.

“I know something’s going on,” Xaden said darkly. “I just haven’t figured out what.”

He took the next sip slower. More deliberate. The warmth wasn’t reaching the hollow in his chest the way it used to.

“She’d know,” he murmured, almost to himself.

There was a beat of silence before Garrick leaned back again, tipping his glass toward the flames. “I get it, man. We all do. We’re doing the best we can.”

“Yeah.” Xaden exhaled. “But sometimes… the best doesn’t feel like enough.”

The door creaked open, and Brennan stepped inside, no knock, no announcement, just a slow swing of old hinges and a gust of cooler air brushing past him from the hallway.

“You’re brooding,” Brennan said, walking in like he owned the place, even though it had technically never been his.

Xaden didn’t glance up from his glass. “That’s rich, coming from the king of sulking himself.”

Bodhi snorted, tipping his drink in Brennan’s direction. “He’s been brooding for hours. And drinking.”

“I figured,” Brennan said, eyeing the half-empty bottle on the table before crossing the room to lean against the mantel beside the fire. His eyes flicked between the three men. “She’s only been gone a day, you know.”

Xaden grunted.

Brennan’s voice softened. “You’re miserable without her.”

“I’m fine,” Xaden said, way too fast.

“You’re not. And the only reason I’m not dragging your stubborn ass back upstairs to get some sleep is because I know what you’re really doing is waiting. Watching the clock. Hoping you’ll hear from her first.”

Xaden's jaw flexed. Silence thickened the air between them.

Brennan folded his arms. “You need her like a baby needs its mother.”

That earned him a groan from Garrick and a laugh from Bodhi.

Xaden finally looked up, his eyes glinting, amused and annoyed in equal measure. “Did you come down here just to insult me?”

“No,” Brennan said. “I came down here because I saw Kaia asleep on the stairs, halfway between your study and Liam’s room. And because you need to sleep. You’re no good to your son like this.”

“I’m no good to him, period,” Xaden muttered.

“Bullshit,” Brennan replied. “You’re just not her. And none of us are. But she’ll be back. And until then, maybe try being the father she knows you are instead of the one you think you're failing at being.”

Xaden stared into the fire, knuckles pale against the glass in his hand. Then, finally, he exhaled.

“You really think I’m that bad without her?”

Brennan smirked. “I think you’d let the entire kingdom burn if it meant five more minutes in her arms.”

Garrick raised his glass. “To being whipped.”

Bodhi lifted his own. “To being human.”

Xaden? He just closed his eyes for a second. And nodded.

“Wait,” he said slowly, brows pulling together. “Which stairway did you say Kaia was asleep on?”

Brennan tilted his head toward the hallway. “The narrow one off the east wing. Leads to your study and the family corridor. She was curled up halfway down, hugging that worn little stuffed dragon of hers. Looked like she was trying to decide whether to go check on Liam or come back downstairs.”

Garrick was already on his feet.

“That girl shouldn’t be sleeping on stone steps,” he muttered, the words halfway between a grumble and a fond sigh. “She’ll wake up with a stiff neck and tell everyone I’m the reason she’s sore for the next three days.”

Xaden looked up at that, a tired smile threatening the corner of his mouth. “She’s already convinced you’re the reason she can't have ice cream for dinner.”

“She asked for it for dinner,” Garrick shot back as he crossed the room toward the door. “Not dessert. Dinner. There are lines, Xaden. Even for her.”

Bodhi raised a brow. “And yet you’ll still carry her to bed like she’s made of glass.”

Garrick shrugged as he tugged open the heavy door. “Only because I like my kneecaps where they are. If Y/N found out we left her sleeping on the stairs...”

“No one would ever find your body,” Brennan finished helpfully.

Xaden didn’t respond, but as Garrick disappeared into the hall, he finally let the tired smirk stretch into a soft smile.

“She really does run this house,” Bodhi murmured into his drink.

“She is this house,” Xaden said quietly, gaze once more drifting toward the stairs, toward Kaia, and always, in some way, toward you.

The warmth of the fire crackled softly, flickering shadows against the stone walls as the bottle on the table inched closer to empty. Bodhi leaned back in his chair, boots crossed at the ankles, while Brennan kept his spot by the hearth, arms folded and expression calm.

Xaden exhaled slowly, long fingers drumming against the empty glass in his hand before he set it down with a muted thunk. His eyes lingered for a moment on the flicker of orange light in the hearth, but whatever peace the fire offered, it wasn’t enough to quiet the thoughts piling behind his eyes.

“I’m tapping out,” he muttered, rising with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who carried exhaustion like armour.

Bodhi glanced up. “Thought you said you were off duty tonight.”

“I was,” Xaden replied, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, muscles stiff from a day spent hunched over council papers and a night spent not saying the things gnawing at his chest. “But if I don’t finish that stack of reports, the next meeting’ll be nothing but me dodging accusations of favouritism and silence. Again.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Brennan offered dryly.

“Like drowning in ink and complaints,” Xaden muttered. “Tell Garrick thanks for Kaia.”

“She’ll probably thank him herself when she wakes up and finds out he tucked her in,” Bodhi said with a grin.

Xaden gave a faint nod and turned toward the door. His steps were slow, deliberate, the weight of the day—and the unspoken tension of what he didn’t know about Liam—pulling at his shoulders. His hand paused on the handle, and without turning around, he said quietly, “If she calls, come get me.”

Brennan’s voice was steady. “Always.”

With that, Xaden slipped into the dimly lit hallway, footsteps fading into silence as he made his way toward the study—toward duty, distraction, and the quiet ache that came when the house felt too empty without your voice echoing through it.

The candle flames had long since burned low in the study, flickering shadows across the high ceilings and casting golden light over the pages still scattered across Xaden’s desk. Outside the arched window, the night was velvet black, pinpricked with stars that shimmered like distant watchful eyes. The moon was a sharp crescent, half-draped in passing clouds.

The old clock on the far wall ticked with steady patience, its hands approaching the line between today and tomorrow. Half an hour until midnight.

And still, Xaden hadn’t moved from his chair.

He sat hunched slightly over the desk, one elbow resting beside a parchment layered in red-ink annotations. His other hand hovered over a half-filled glass of amber liquid, the weight of it long forgotten. His jaw was tight, eyes scanning the words before him, but his focus had drifted miles away.

He’d reread the same paragraph three times.

Your absence settled around the room like fog—felt more in the way the silence stretched too long, in how he caught himself glancing at the door every time the fire cracked. He missed your voice. Your laugh. Even your eye rolls when you caught him muttering at reports like they could argue back.

His fingers twitched at the thought.

And under it all, even as he kept telling himself to keep working, that the reports weren’t going to sign themselves—Liam hovered at the edge of every thought.

The boy hadn’t come down for dinner. Hadn’t said a word after the morning’s stilted truce. And Xaden hadn’t pushed. Not yet.

But the not knowing chewed at him. He felt it in his shoulders. In the way he hadn’t taken a full breath in hours.

A faint pop of the fire echoed from the corner hearth, drawing his gaze. The stack of parchment in front of him blurred for a second before he blinked hard and sat back, dragging both hands over his face with a low exhale.

Half an hour until midnight, he thought again.

And still—nothing.

He pushed the glass away, untouched.

The rustle of parchment filled the quiet of the study as Xaden flipped another page, the ink smudged slightly from where his fingers had pressed too firmly against the edge. He didn’t notice. His mind was locked in that quiet, determined zone where focus pushed emotion to the side—a skill honed through years of war, command, and fatherhood.

He scrawled a note in the margin with quick precision, eyes narrowed, jaw set. The candle’s flame quivered but held steady. The crackle of the fire behind him had become background noise, comforting in its familiarity.

He didn’t even glance at the clock anymore.

He was completely unfazed by the passing time, his expression unreadable, composed. Distant.

Until—

Knock knock.

It was soft. Barely a tap. Not urgent—but uncertain. Almost like someone had thought about turning back at the last second.

His head lifted.

The pen stilled.

Another heartbeat passed.

Then he heard it—a breath. A sniff. The unmistakable sound of someone standing just outside the door, trying to stay silent and failing.

He stood slowly, almost cautiously, and crossed the room in three long strides.

The moment the door creaked open, his heart plummeted.

Liam stood there—barefoot, his dark shirt torn at the sleeve, smeared with dirt and dried blood. His curls were tangled and damp from sweat, and his face was blotchy from crying. A fresh cut bloomed red above his brow, and his lower lip was split. One arm was clutched protectively around his ribs, the other hung limply at his side. But it was the limp—the way he tried so hard to hide the way his left leg dragged—that tore something inside Xaden clean apart.

“Liam—”

Before he could finish, Liam crumbled.

With a hiccupping sob, he limped forward, the tears he’d clearly tried to hold back spilling freely now, fast and hot. His shoulders shook as he collapsed against Xaden’s chest, face pressed into the dark fabric of his father’s shirt.

“I-I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to go—I thought they were gone—” Liam choked, voice barely coherent between gasps and hiccups. “I—I thought if I just stayed quiet they’d—stop—but they didn’t stop—”

“Shhh,” Xaden murmured, arms closing tightly around his son, lowering them both slowly to the floor as Liam’s legs gave out. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Liam clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. He was shaking so hard Xaden could feel the tremors through his arms. His chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked breaths, and he couldn’t stop crying.

“I didn’t cry the first time,” Liam sobbed against him, voice muffled. “I didn’t. But I can’t—I can’t—”

“You don’t have to,” Xaden whispered, pressing a hand to the back of his head, cradling him tighter. “You don’t have to be strong right now. I’m here.”

The boy sobbed harder, fists clenching against his father’s tunic as though anchoring himself there.

Xaden held him, heart breaking in silence, rage simmering low and hot beneath his skin—but right now, there was only one priority.

Liam.

Liam shuddered in Xaden’s arms, breath hitching and uneven, and then a sudden jolt ran through his small frame. He coughed—once, twice—sharp and chest-deep. The sound echoed through the study like a crack across stone.

Xaden’s entire body tensed.

Another cough ripped from Liam’s throat, wet and ragged. Then another. His shoulders curled inward as he choked, his hand clutching at his ribs with a wince.

“Li.” Xaden shifted, adjusting the boy carefully in his arms. “Breathe. Just breathe for me, alright?”

But Liam shook his head, mouth open like he couldn’t get enough air in. A smear of red stained the edge of his lips.

That broke something in Xaden.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tightening with urgency. He angled Liam slightly forward, one arm braced around his middle while his hand gently supported the back of his head.

Liam coughed again, gagging on the taste of blood he tried to swallow. “It—it hurts—” he whispered hoarsely, as tears slid silently down his cheeks.

“I know,” Xaden said, voice low and steady, though a storm churned just beneath it. “I know, squirt. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He pressed his palm lightly against Liam’s side. The boy flinched with a sharp breath, and Xaden closed his eyes.

Broken ribs. Again.

Those bastards had done it again.

His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached, but still, his hands were gentle. He wiped the corner of Liam’s mouth with his sleeve, catching the blood before it could drip onto the boy’s shirt.

“We need Brennan,” he said softly. “I need to get you patched up.”

Liam’s small fingers clung to the front of Xaden’s shirt with desperate strength. “Please don’t tell them. Please don’t tell Kaia. Or—anyone.”

“Hey.” Xaden leaned back enough to look into his son’s face, brushing sweaty curls back from his temple. “We’ll talk about it. But right now, you need help. You’re bleeding and you’re in pain. I’m not going to let you sit in it alone.”

Liam’s lip trembled, and he dropped his head against Xaden’s shoulder again, utterly exhausted. His body shook with the aftershocks of fear and pain, and another weak cough escaped him—less harsh this time, but still full of misery.

And all Xaden could do was hold him, murmuring soft words into his son’s hair, while fury coiled tighter in his chest.

Because no matter what it took, this ended tonight.

Xaden didn’t waste a second.

One glance at the blood streaked down Liam’s chin, the way his small frame trembled with pain and exhaustion, was all it took. He rose to his feet with his son still cradled in his arms, moving quickly to the study door and yanking it open with a force that made the hinges groan.

The hallway beyond was dim and quiet, the sconces casting flickering golden light across the stone floors.

“Guard!” he barked, his voice sharper than steel.

A soldier who had been stationed halfway down the corridor snapped to attention instantly, heels clicking together, eyes wide at the sight of the king with his bleeding child in his arms.

“Sire?”

“I need you to run—now. Find Brennan. Garrick too if you can. Tell them Liam is hurt, worse this time.” His voice didn’t waver, but there was something beneath it—something primal, protective, and close to snapping.

The guard’s eyes dipped briefly to the boy in Xaden’s arms, taking in the limpness of Liam’s limbs and the smear of blood near his temple.

“Yes, sir,” the guard said, already moving.

“And don’t tell anyone else,” Xaden added as the man turned. “No one. Just Brennan and Garrick. You find them and you bring them here.”

The soldier didn’t pause to nod. He just ran, boots thudding against the floor, the sound fading into the depths of the castle.

Xaden stepped back into the study, nudging the door shut with his heel. He sank back onto the velvet armchair by the fireplace and adjusted Liam in his arms again, gently, carefully, as if his son might break further at the slightest wrong move.

The boy let out a soft, involuntary whimper, curling instinctively toward the warmth of his father’s chest.

“I’ve got you, squirt,” Xaden murmured, his voice low and fierce. “They’re coming. We’ll fix this.”

He just didn’t know yet if he meant the ribs—or everything else.

It didn’t take long. Less than ten minutes later, the sound of hurried boots echoed through the hallway beyond the study, growing louder with every second. Xaden didn’t move. He sat still with Liam curled into him like a child half his age, one of his large hands gently resting on the back of his son’s head, holding him close.

The knock on the study door came sharp and quick, and then it was swinging open before Xaden could even respond.

Brennan entered first, his brow furrowed, the front of his shirt rumpled as if he’d thrown it on mid-sleep. Garrick was right behind him, still in his uniform from earlier, his expression drawn and immediately alert.

“Where is he?” Brennan asked, scanning the room.

Xaden didn’t answer with words. He simply shifted to the side slightly, letting the firelight fall more fully on Liam’s face—his bruised, bloodied, tearstreaked face.

Garrick swore under his breath.

Brennan strode forward, already lifting his hands, his powers humming quietly to life in the air between them. “What happened?” he demanded, kneeling beside the chair and reaching out to hover his hand over Liam’s ribs.

“He came in about fifteen minutes ago,” Xaden said quietly, voice hoarse. “New wounds. Coughing blood. Limping. Barely made it to the desk before he broke down.” His jaw clenched hard. “He came to me this time.”

Brennan’s hands glowed faint blue now as he pressed them gently to Liam’s side, drawing a quiet gasp from the boy.

“You’ve got a cracked rib again,” Brennan muttered. “It might’ve been worse, but it looks like it didn’t puncture anything this time.” He looked up, face tight with concern. “He’s going to be okay, but this keeps happening—”

“I know,” Xaden snapped, then immediately softened, shaking his head. “I know.”

Liam let out a weak cough and shifted slightly in Xaden’s lap, voice muffled by his father's shirt.

“Don’t make it worse,” he mumbled.

“You already scared the shit out of me,” Xaden whispered down to him. “Let us help.”

Garrick stepped forward, his gaze full of fury not directed at Liam, but at whatever group of little bastards kept laying hands on the heir to the throne.

“We find out who did it,” he said. “And then we make sure they can’t lift a sword for the next year.”

“No,” Liam said quickly, sitting up a little, his small hand clutching the front of Xaden’s shirt. “You can’t. If you make it worse… if you come down on them, they’ll just—”

“They’ll what?” Xaden asked quietly, dangerously. “Break more ribs next time?”

Liam blinked up at him, tear-filled eyes rimmed red. “Yes.”

There was silence in the room for a long moment. The fire cracked, a log shifting and sparking as if the world itself couldn’t bear the tension.

Then Brennan leaned in again and placed his glowing hand over Liam’s chest. “Let me fix what I can.”

Xaden held his son tighter, brushing a strand of dark hair from his face. “You don’t have to be strong alone, Liam,” he murmured. “Not with me. Not anymore.”

Liam flinched slightly at Brennan’s touch, but he didn’t pull away. Not this time. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe the soft, unrelenting pressure of Xaden’s arms around him—the warmth and security of being held instead of questioned—that finally made him stop fighting the comfort.

The glow from Brennan’s healing magic flickered gently, painting the study walls in faint hues of blue and silver. Liam’s breaths hitched every so often, little tremors running through his body as the pain ebbed from sharp and searing to dull and tired.

He leaned more of his weight into his father’s chest, cheek pressed to Xaden’s collarbone, whispering just barely loud enough for them to hear, “Sorry I didn’t come sooner…”

Xaden’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. His voice was deep, a near-growl threaded with too many emotions. “You came when you could, squirt. That’s all that matters.”

“I was scared,” Liam admitted. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

That broke something inside Xaden.

“I will never be disappointed in you for getting hurt. I’ll only be disappointed if you think I wouldn’t protect you.”

Garrick had turned away by then, pacing silently in front of the bookshelves with his fists clenched at his sides. He muttered something under his breath, too quiet to catch, but the way his jaw ticked said enough.

Brennan pulled back slowly, the glow fading from his hands. “There. You’ll still be sore, but you’ll be able to breathe again.” He stood and met Xaden’s eyes. “You’ll need to talk to him soon about the next steps. This isn’t going to stop on its own.”

Xaden nodded, eyes never leaving Liam’s small, sleep-heavy face.

“You can stay,” he said softly to Liam. “Right here, just like this. As long as you need.”

Liam mumbled something unintelligible and curled in closer, and within minutes, he was fast asleep—breath evening out, hands no longer clenched in fear or pain. Just a boy in his father’s arms, trusting, finally, that someone had him.

Xaden let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes, one hand still rubbing small, slow circles over his son’s back.

For a long time, none of them moved.

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the study for a long stretch, aside from the occasional sigh Liam let out in his sleep—each one like a whispered apology that broke Xaden all over again.

Garrick remained by the window, arms crossed, watching the darkness outside the keep. His jaw was still tight, his body wound like a bowstring ready to snap.

Xaden shifted slightly in the chair, careful not to jostle the boy asleep in his arms. He ran a hand through Liam’s hair, smoothing down curls matted from sweat and tears, his voice quiet but certain when he finally spoke.

“I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice,” Xaden began, eyes fixed on the firelight. “You know I wouldn’t.”

Garrick didn’t turn around. “I know.”

“But I need her.” The words left him rough, like gravel and truth, scraping their way out of a chest too full. “Not because I can’t handle this. Not because I can’t fix it. But because he needs her too. Because she—”

His voice caught, just for a breath.

“She’s the only one who can cut through the fear in his head. The only one who makes him believe he's enough—even like this. And I’m trying, fuck, I am. But I think I’m just… not enough this time.”

Garrick turned then, slowly, his eyes softening as they landed on Liam tucked against Xaden’s chest like he’d grown roots there.

“I can do it,” Garrick said simply. “You’ve never asked me to use distance wielding like this before… which means it is necessary.”

Xaden finally looked up at him, guilt and gratitude tangled behind his eyes.

“I’ll bring her back,” Garrick promised, already stepping toward the door, already reaching for the threads of his second signet—one he rarely used unless it mattered. “And if she has to fly through a fucking storm to get here, I’ll make damn sure she knows why.”

Xaden nodded, his hand tightening protectively around Liam as the boy stirred faintly.

“Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell her… tell her it’s time to come home.”

Garrick disappeared down the hallway in a flicker of shadows and wind.

And Xaden stayed rooted there in the firelight, holding his son as the flames danced low and steady—his only constant until you returned.

The wind tore through the coastal cliffs where the villa sat, far away from the weight of war rooms and pressure of courts. You were sitting beside Violet on the terrace, a mug of tea cooling between your hands, laughter still echoing faintly from where Mira and Rhiannon were bickering over cards inside.

And then the world shifted.

It didn’t crack or explode—it simply… bent. A sudden current of magic rippled across the patio like a disturbance in still water, invisible but unmistakable to anyone who’d ever felt the tremor of power.

You turned sharply just as a shadow formed at the edge of the terrace. Garrick stepped through the air, emerging from the ripple like he’d sliced a hole in the world and walked through it.

Every instinct in your body locked into place.

“Garrick?” you breathed, standing up so fast your chair screeched back. The mug shattered at your feet.

Everyone else froze.

He didn’t even waste time greeting you.

“It’s Liam,” Garrick said, his voice low and urgent. “Xaden didn’t want to ask—but he needs you. Liam needs you.”

Your heart punched against your ribs. “What happened?”

“He was beaten again. Badly this time. He limped into Xaden’s study just before midnight—covered in fresh wounds and blood. He didn’t even tell anyone until it was too much to hide.”

You swore you couldn’t breathe.

Violet was already on her feet beside you, eyes wide, lips pressed tight.

You didn’t wait. You crossed the space to Garrick like fire—like fury—grabbing your cloak from the arm of the chair.

“Get me there,” you ordered, and Garrick nodded once.

You looked back at Violet, at Mira, at Ridoc whose teasing smile was long gone.

“Tell them I’ll explain everything later,” you said tightly. “Right now—I have to get to my son.”

And with a gust of wind and the shimmer of second signet power, Garrick pulled you through the world.

You were gone before the wind even settled.

The second you landed inside the residence, the world righted itself with a snap of chilled air and Garrick’s cloak trailing in the wake of the jump. You didn’t wait. You tore down the corridor, your boots echoing hard against the stone floors, the sound chasing you like your own heartbeat.

The castle was quiet. Unnaturally so.

The halls were lit with golden sconces, warm and soft against the cool dark, but all you could feel was the roaring panic in your chest. You turned the last corner, already knowing where to go, and nearly crashed into him.

Xaden was standing outside his study—arms folded tight, back against the wall. His head snapped up the second he saw you, eyes locking onto yours. His face was unreadable, jaw clenched so hard the muscles feathered in his cheeks, but the moment he saw you—truly saw you—something inside him cracked.

He looked exhausted. Haunted. His dark shirt was stained with something—blood, you realized. Liam’s blood. His hands hung at his sides, shaking slightly.

“Where is he?” you demanded, breathless.

“In there,” he said, voice hoarse. “Brennan’s healing him now. He won’t let me go back in yet.”

You pushed forward, but Xaden reached out, grabbing your wrist gently—not to stop you, just to feel you.

“I didn’t know,” he rasped. “He didn’t tell me—he came in bleeding and sobbing and—”

You didn’t let him finish. You dropped your forehead to his, a silent, grounding touch. “I know. I know, Xa. Let me see him.”

He stepped back, letting go, and turned toward the door.

“He’s… he’s shaking,” he murmured, voice breaking. “He kept apologizing like he did something wrong.”

Your chest fractured. “He didn’t.”

“I know,” Xaden whispered, as though he didn’t fully believe it. “But I think he does.”

You gave his hand a squeeze and pushed the door open quietly, heart in your throat.

The sight inside nearly brought you to your knees.

Brennan knelt beside Liam on the couch, magic glowing softly at his fingertips, and your baby—your sweet, quiet boy—lay curled on his side, shirt discarded, bruises flowering across his ribs, fresh ones layered over scars that hadn’t even finished fading. His arm was scraped. His lip bloodied. His eye swelling already.

And his little hand—was clutched around the sleeve of Brennan’s tunic like a lifeline.

“Liam,” you whispered, stepping in.

His head lifted slightly, eyes glassy, and the second he saw you, a sob tore free from his throat.

“Mama—”

You dropped to your knees beside him, brushing his hair back, holding your hand to his cheek.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.”

He didn’t let go of Brennan’s sleeve—but his other hand reached for yours. Desperately. As if he thought you might disappear if he blinked.

You looked at Brennan over Liam’s head.

His voice was low. “It’s worse than last time we talked.”

And this time—you didn’t swallow the rage building behind your tears.

Xaden stepped into the room like a shadow breaking through the low firelight.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long second, he didn’t move. Just stood there, eyes locked on his son. You could feel him—could feel the storm he kept barely leashed behind his chest. And now… it was starting to fray.

Liam was tucked into your side, still trembling. He kept his face hidden in your shoulder, but you felt the shudder run through him as he heard his father approach. Not from fear—but from something far heavier. Shame.

“I didn’t mean to,” Liam mumbled brokenly. “I didn’t mean to let them—”

“Stop,” Xaden said quietly, but the force of the word made even Brennan still.

Liam flinched anyway, and you tightened your grip around his shoulder.

“Don’t do that,” Xaden murmured as he dropped to a crouch. His hand hovered in the air for a second—hesitant, unsure—before it settled gently on Liam’s shin, careful of the bruises. “Don’t ever take the blame for what someone else chose to do to you.”

Liam’s lip trembled.

“But I didn’t fight back until the end,” he whispered.

Xaden exhaled through his nose, a soft, sharp sound of pain.

“You’re twelve, Liam,” he said gently. “Twelve. And they broke your ribs.”

Liam’s voice cracked. “Twice.”

You looked at Brennan, who just nodded grimly. Confirming it. Your heart clenched so tightly it hurt.

“They’re older,” Liam continued. “Bigger. Everyone knows I’m the smallest. Even Leia said so, and she’s the same age.”

Xaden’s hand flexed on Liam’s shin.

“I don’t care if you’re smaller,” he said softly but fiercely. “I care that you’re alive. I care that you’re safe. And if I have to tear down every building in this kingdom to make sure no one ever lays a hand on you again, I will.”

Liam’s lip wobbled again.

“And I know I’m not supposed to cry,” he choked out, “but it really hurts, and I can’t stop—”

Xaden moved before the words even finished.

He reached out, pulled Liam from your arms slowly but firmly, and Liam melted into his father’s chest like he’d been waiting for permission to fall apart.

And Xaden—Xaden just wrapped both arms around him, pressing a hand protectively to the back of his head, and said quietly, “You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to break. But don’t ever hide from me again.”

Liam sobbed against his chest, and Xaden held him tighter, breathing through his own storm as your son trembled in his arms.

You reached up and laid your hand on both of them, anchoring the broken pieces together.

And in the silence that followed, Xaden whispered, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

And for the first time in a long time, Liam whispered, “I know.”

Liam stayed curled into Xaden’s chest for a long time, the tremors in his small frame slowly easing with every pass of his father’s hand down his back.

Eventually, Brennan moved away with a nod, wiping his hands clean and murmuring that the worst of the internal damage had been mended. You caught his eye as he glanced your way—he didn’t need to speak. You saw the guilt in his expression, the silent promise that he’d make damn sure this never happened again.

You gave him a small, grateful nod as he slipped quietly from the room, leaving the three of you behind.

Xaden shifted back against the wall, still holding Liam tightly, one knee bent beneath him. You remained seated on the floor beside them, a hand still on Liam’s back, grounding him. The fire in the corner cast a low, soft glow across the study, flickering shadows playing on Xaden’s face—shadows that did nothing to hide the quiet storm in his eyes as he looked down at your son.

Liam sniffed and whispered, “Are you mad at me?”

Xaden leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of Liam’s curls. “Not at you. Never at you.”

“Even though I didn’t tell you?”

Xaden exhaled. “Even then. But I wish you had. So I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t want to be weak.”

“That’s not weakness,” Xaden said firmly. “Telling the truth? Asking for help? That’s strength, Liam. The kind most people never learn.”

Liam was quiet for a long beat, then said softly, “It’s easier now. With you here.”

You felt it like a physical blow, the weight of what he’d been carrying alone.

“I’m here,” Xaden said, voice low and certain. “We’re both here. And you don’t ever have to handle it alone again.”

Liam nodded against his chest.

Then, after a while, his breathing evened out—he wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t crying anymore either. Just quiet. Settled. The closest to peace he’d probably felt in days.

Xaden looked over at you, his eyes meeting yours in the flickering light. Raw. Wrecked. But steady.

You gave a small nod, whispering, “He’s going to be okay.”

And Xaden, voice rough, said, “Not if I don’t figure out how to fix this. I won’t let this happen again.”

The fire crackled softly between you. You reached over and rested your hand on his knee.

“We’ll fix it together.”

He looked at you for a long time before finally nodding. Then adjusted his grip on Liam and murmured, “Let’s get him to bed.”

A/N: Everything works out in the end. Let me know if to keep tagging you in my works. I take requests but they probably wont be posted until the summer!

Comments, thoughts and reblogs would be really appreciated

Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame x reader #xaden x reader #fourth wing xaden #xaden rirorson x you #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x y/n #xaden riorson fanfic

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jar0fhoney · 9 months ago

Text

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 -

PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

Odd things started happening.

You unlocked the door to your shop, and you could hear a pin drop. And that’s just it. It was quiet. Something so small, so simple. But you noticed it immediately. The hinges of the door had been oiled. You opened and closed the door so many times… you probably looked quite mad to onlookers. You gasped when inside the shop you noticed another repair. The window. The one you had boarded up, fixed good as new. Instead of relief, a wave of worry was beginning to wash over you. Was this a joke? Was Milo doing this just to let winter take it all away? Or giving you a taste of what you could have if you surrendered to his advances.

The thought began to cross your mind recently. The days were beginning to grow longer, and the sun grew more stifling. Spring was melting into summer. You and your mother were beginning to find proof of pests and varmints making a feast out of the fields. When you had your sisters and your mother was stronger, winter wasn’t such a frightening thought.

tap tap tap. You looked around the shop. A mouse? Tap tap tap.

You looked to the window, and there he was.

”We keep meeting each other like this.” His voice muffled through the glass. “You’re a lot more bold without your friends around.” You retorted. His smile faltered, “I’m a coward.”

You laughed. This orc hunter? Cowardly?

”Here.” He held something up into the window. A lumpy burlap rucksack. “It’s Turmeric. But… for growing. In the dirt.”

You walked over and opened the window. “Why?” You were cautious, you didn’t trust “gifts” from men anymore. He tossed the bag on your counter, “Those golden eggs you gave me, the boys said they were just like home… thank you.” His gaze was so piercing, you felt your face grow hot. “How much for these?” You tore your eyes away from him towards the burlap bag.

“Nothing. Just keep making them, and I’ll tell everyone to come here and keep buying them!” He seemed absolutely giddy. “This orc must really love pickled eggs.” you thought to yourself.

“I see Milo around here pretty often.”

”You’ve been watching?” His face got very red at your reply. “Well regardless,” He didn’t deny your accusation, “He seems real sweet on you.”

”He can go fuck himself.” You hissed. Khargaad’s eyes widened. “I refuse to give him what he wants and I think it’s nearly driven him mad.” He looked at you expectantly, like he was hanging onto your every word. You paused before you went on with your rant, “How do you know him?” You realized you should know if the two were chummy before cursing Milo’s name.

“When you hunt big game, you end up meeting the people with enough money to pay you to hunt said game. But we are not friends, if that’s what you’re getting at.” You sighed in relief. “Hey,” you said changing the subject, “come in here and pick something out. On the house. I really appreciate these.” You patted the burlap sack. He grinned and shimmied his way through the doorway. You hadn’t had the chance to fully appreciate his size. He had to crouch to fit beneath the low ceiling, but you guessed he must be 7 feet tall standing fully upright. And his arms, oh his arms. Big and thick like two tree branches. You were staring. You didn’t realize it before you caught his eye and yanked yourself back behind the counter, counting your coins.

He quietly pondered over all of the jars of pickled vegetables. “What’s in this?” You heard him ask. You didn’t bother looking up from your coins, “It’s written on the label.”

”Are you kidding?” His voice lacked any light-hearted tone. You glanced up from your counting. He looked at you, then at the label, then back at you again. “Don’t you remember? What those two said when you mentioned the recipe?”

“That you were illiterate?”

”No, they said I couldn’t read, y/n.” Was he yanking your chain right now? That’s what you just- “OH… oh. I thought… they were kidding.” The words eked past your lips. The poor orc had a pained look of embarrassment on his face. Before he could even conjure up of an answer, the words tumbled out your mouth like a turned over bushel of apples.

“I’ll teach you!”

He peered over at you, his cheeks were very flushed. “No one has ever tried to teach me before.” You smiled very sweetly at him, “And I have never grown turmeric in my garden before. But here you are. And here I am.” It only took him one and a half strides to meet you at the counter across the room. “What can I give you in return?” It almost sounded like he was pleading.

You chuckled, “It’s a gift, Khargaad.” He was so close now that you could smell the smokey leather scent coming off of him. You probably should have been embarrassed to take such a noticeably large inhale of it. But it was too lovely for you to care. You couldn’t have known his own sensitive scent receptors were going haywire this close to you.

“I should go now. Thank you. I’ll be back.” He said shortly. He left so quickly he forgot his jar of pickled vegetables.

He had to leave. Had to. You smelled so sweet. He felt awful. Thinking like that. About you.

He found himself in the forest, back pressed up against a tree. So much blood had rushed to the orc’s cock it was becoming painful. He winced, palming himself over the strained trousers. He frantically pulled at the strings of his waistband, the fabric pooling down around his thighs. “Ah!” Gods, the noises that were coming out of his mouth were sinful.

He ran a hand down the trail of hair leading to his cock. “O- oh. F-fuck.” He wrap one hand around the base, already fucking himself in and out of his fist. He won’t last long. Not with the memory of your scent still fresh in his mind. He would bet his right hand that you taste just as sweet.

It felt so wrong, but Gods when you walked into that town square wearing that dress. He knew you had used the spice he gave you. And on that day, it was wrapped so pretty against your body. Around your waist. Around your breasts. The briskness of the spring morning making your nipples poke through the gauzy fabric.

He didn’t last long, his hot milky cum dribbled over his fingers. He couldn’t do this again. It was an insult to you. It was filthy. You were kind. You were generous.

From this day forward, he was determined to court you. Properly.

The sky was purple and orange in twilight. The street was uncharacteristically vacant that evening, but you didn’t think much of it. You didn’t think to watch the front door. And you certainly didn’t hear the person who had quite silently slipped through the entrance.

You screamed. You really screamed, when you felt an arm snake around your waist. But there wasn’t anybody around to hear you. “You’re going to die, y/n.” It was Milo and he was very drunk. The scent on his breath stung your nose. “You and your mother are going to die come winter. You can’t work fast enough to protect the rats from your fields. Not with two women. You’re mother can hardly walk anymore can she?”

His grip was digging into your waist, “And when winter comes, I won’t let anybody in this entire fucking town help you. I swear it, y/n.”

Milo was not an honorable man, but you knew this was one oath he intended on keeping. “Don’t do something stupid, Milo. Let’s be reasonable,” You seethed through your biting teeth, “There’s so many girls in this town, Milo. So many girls who are more rich, more beautiful, better family names-“ He brought his other hand to your neck and squeezed just a little bit.

”Do you know what people say? About a rich man who can’t even get the hand of a simple farm girl?”

“I can’t help your bruised ego-“ He squeezed your air pipes even tighter, making you choke on your words. “The Gods have blessed me, y/n. This morning I woke up, and I-“

”Hey.” A very gruff voice came from behind the two of you. Milo released you immediately, leaving a red ring around your neck. You knew that voice.

”You should go from here Milo.” Khargaad didn’t brandish a weapon. To kill a man he only needed his bare hands, after all. Milo trembled, hells even you trembled too. Milo threw his hands in the air light heartedly, “Lover’s quarrel-“

”Wrong. Leave. Don’t come back here.” Khargaad uncrossed his massive arms, taking a step to the side. Milo, the coward he was, stormed out the open door. Not before spitting on Khargaad’s boots. The orc didn’t stop him, stepping between you and the doorway. His eyes stayed trained on Milo as he stormed down the street.

You massaged your aching neck, the orc had a troubled look on his face, “Are you okay?” You weren’t. Of course you weren’t. You brushed him off, “I thought you were going to kill him.” He crossed his arms again, “I considered it. Trust me, I did. But what would you do after that? The son of the richest man in town. Killed by an orc. In your presence, in your shop after hours.” He was right. But there was a part of you who would’ve risked it all just to see Milo snuffed out.

Khargaad cleared his throat, “What was he talking about? With you and your mother? And the Farm?”

Shit.

Me: I’m gonna write something beautiful and meaningful :)

Also Me: Orc man experiences post-nut clarity in the forest >:)

As always: Hugs and smooches to everyone who asked for part 3 ❤️

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123

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xeeljii · 10 months ago

Text

DOGTOOTH

She could ride my face, I don't want nothin' in return Except for some her time and all her love, that's my concern

WARNING! Explicit RPF!

EDIT! Pt.2 here, but can also be read as stand alone.

Summary: Basically Dogtooth by Tyler the Creator. It is my belief Joost is a munch and I am so sad more people don’t write about it so I was forced to intervene.

Word count: 5.2k

CW: 18+, f! reader, no body descriptions, established relationship, alcohol consumption, cursing, ???, English is not my first language and only proof read by me.

It was a game really, from the moment you get out of the shower wet feet smacking lightly against the floor of your shared flat, you can feel his gaze trained on you. You of course, well acquainted with this test of wills decide to ignore it and walk straight towards the dresser, the towel wrapped around your torso barely covering below your ass and you make a show of stepping on your tip toes to reach for something at the top, more to give him a show than anything else, you are rewarded as you hear a delighted exhale behind you. You and Joost had already gotten used to the push and pull thrill to see who would crack first, who would end up a desperate whimpering mess, begging for it by the end of the night, it was all part of the foreplay. You smile to yourself as you continue getting ready, behind you he sits on the bed watching like a big cat ready to pounce at any second, doing nothing to hide his staring as he plays absentmindedly with his phone changing songs as your personal DJ.

The night outside is warm, barely starting, you really have all the time in the world to get ready and he is not one to rush you. Truth be told he enjoys the ritual of seeing you apply on your make up and try on different outfits until you are satisfied, he finds it endlessly amusing to just stare at you to a point you could call it an obsession. Today your choice is a shiny top and a short skirt, obscenely short perhaps, but just what you like and he is grateful for every inch of skin his eyes can trace on you. As you drop the towel to get dressed you give him a good eyeful of the delicate curves of your body, you can feel the tension in the room rise instantly and playfully wonder if you will even make it outside today. You have been together long enough to were seeing each other naked is common occurrence but it never gets less exhilarating, he has an honest and open face, when you catch his gaze in the mirror you are met with his dilated pupils and his full attention on you like it is natural it makes heat rise to your cheeks and you avert his eyes trying to compose yourself. You walk up to him nonchalant and wordlessly he understands you, pulls the zipper of your skirt up.

“Thanks” you say in a whisper he doesn’t answer but instead pulls your hand towards him delicately and kisses right on the pulse of your wrist, then looks up at you smiling.

“Ready?”

Tonight you had been invited to a club opening, private area reserved, a few friends invited and free booze, just for your presence, well Joost’s really, but you enjoyed every bit of it as if it was yours. He made sure you knew that, what was his his was yours. He didn’t say it as much but he liked taking care of you in every way he could. Though he didn’t really need to explain himself, his absences hurt you deeply and you missed him in ways that felt too vulnerable to express fully, you felt like a kid waiting with your face pressed against the window just for him to come back to you every time, it never got easier but he made sure to make it up to you when he got back. When he was by your side he pampered you almost to a point of asphyxiation but your thrived on it glowing more beautiful under very one of his attentions, a side of him only you knew, it gave you a strange high to have him like that only for you, only ever you.

As you make your way to the club your mind can’t help but wonder off to the first time he took you back to his place, after a night of meeting at a different club where he truly didn't wanna be at he quickly became enchanted by your presence, your easy laughs and entrancing conversations. He didn’t have any bad intentions or any intentions at all really, drunk on the beauty of your face, on the softness of your voice, the smell of your perfume, he had only wanted to drag the night on as much as you would allow him. He had just wanted to have you to himself for a little bit, wondering if you would disappear like an illusion in the morning. Yet you had bloomed more stunning in the middle of his living room as he kept trying to steal laughs from you, absolutely enamored with the sound of your laughter. You had kissed him first, you deny it to this day and say you don’t remember since you were drunk but he knows it and you know it too. Deep in the night as you sat on his lap, on his bed, chests pressed together and hearts beating wildly nothing but heavy air between both of you he gently spoke against your lips words that at the time made you incredibly irritated but now you look back on fondly “I won’t fuck you when you are drunk.” Fuck! What a man! Even painfully hard under you as he was, it made you laugh in disbelief throwing your head back holding onto his shoulders as you felt him kiss sweetly against the expanses of your neck. Such reservations are long gone from your relationship but still you remember how sweet he had made you feel. He had let you hump him to your climax, so well behaved under you, let you use him as you pleased, a moaning mess on top of him, anyone else really would have taken advantage but not him, never him, not to you. It gave you a rush like no other to have a man like that under your thumb, knowing he could but he wouldn’t, already too sweet for you. “You are so strange” You had said between giggles as he laid you to rest on his bed, he just smiled and kissed your forehead. That should have given you a clue to his nature.

You giggle to yourself and he looks down on you amused.

“What?” He asks pulling you closer as you walk through the door, the noise of the music already filling you with energy.

“Nothing” you reply smiling up at him and pulling him closer into a quick kiss.

The club is filled with people, he commands attention when he walks in even if he doesn’t want to, it is the nature of the job he would say, but with you by his side he feels more at ease. The music is good, probably not entirely Joost’s taste but it is yours, so he doesn’t complain at all. You quickly make your way up to the private section and share greetings with everybody already there. You know his friends now, like to think they are yours too and they have always welcomed you so warmly. They never miss a chance tell you how happy you make Joost, you hope it is true. Soon both of you get lost on conversation and jokes with everyone around. He lets you do your thing, just happy to see you enjoy yourself, dancing wildly and downing on sweet liquor like it is water, without a care in the world you look the most beautiful but he honestly has no eyes for anyone else. He likes this more than anything, just seeing you happy it could give him the energy for 100 tours for 1000 performances if he only remembers your smiling face then it is all worth it, if you are at the end of the line then anything is worth it. He drinks as much as you but you are not nearly as good as he is at holding your liquor. He notices your half lidded eyes and unfocused pupils and starts feeding you water.

“Joost~” you want to complain in a sing song tone but he just kisses your hairline and pulls you closer.

“Just slow down, liefde” Taking care of you comes so easy so naturally, he doesn’t even make an effort it is just in his blood it seems.

You continue to dance against him and he moves behind you happy to have you in his arms inhaling your soft scent. He is already 10 steps ahead thinking about when he would get to take you home, to have you on his bed, to undress you and… any more imagining would be troublesome so he just downs his drink and keeps dancing to your rhythm.

The hours pass by quickly when you have fun you feel the boom of the bass deep in your body, the music guides you and you follow shamelessly grinding your ass against Joost’s crotch, his big hands holding tight at your hips letting you move as you please but keeping you close to his chest like his life depends on it. You can feel his warm breath on your neck, deep and slow, he seems so calm, if only you could see inside his brain the thoughts of you already glowing on his unmade bed, bouncing on his lap, his mouth on your heat, your image all over his brain. The warmth of his body is comforting against your back, like this it feels like you are only one person, even in the sea of people with the music loud it is just the two of you in this world. You crane your neck to the side to catch a glimpse of him, he looks beautiful, hair slightly tussled sweaty against his forehead, his face impossibly handsome illuminated by the sparse light, he catches your eye and a smile blooms from his lips all the way to his eyes, you feel your chest constrict he is all yours it feels too much and not nearly enough at all.

“Joost” the single word escapes your lips breathy and worked up already, his eyes darken, he knows you too well, you can feel his heart instantly start to race on the back of your ribcage, yours joins too, a beautiful chaotic symphony.

“Wanna go home?” You can only weakly nod as he takes your hand and pulls you towards the back door, barely bothering to say goodbye to everyone else.

As you wait for the car outside he keeps you tucked under his arm, without needing words he knows you are cold. The clothes look gorgeous on you as always but not good for this time of the night, however that is what he is here for. He caresses your arms up and down to warm you up, the car pulls up and he lets you in, closes the door behind then climbs inside from the other side. The drive is painfully slow, you want him now, you just need him on you, to feel the weight of his body, the rhythm of his thrusts, to breath on his air, nothing but him. You are drunk on Joost, you reach over and place a hand on his thigh feeling the muscle beneath it, desperate for some contact you try to move higher but he stops you gentle hand on yours, he looks at you and smiles pleased.

“Be patient” He chastises without bite, as if he is any better, as if he hasn’t been painfully hard since you started dancing on him, as if the way your mouth turns into a pout doesn’t excite him to a scary degree.

He is deeply obsessed with you and never bothers pretending he isn't, not even from the moment you met. Joost thinks you have to know even if he doesn't say it, his eyes constantly glued on you, his hands finding you in the middle of the night to pull you closer, always attached at the hip when you are at home, he can’t help it and it is not like he wants to either. He thinks back on all the nights he has had and you have had him and he can go eternally like this and live a happy man, just you and nothing else. It is perhaps an unhealthy thought, not entirely rational but with your body pressed so close to him it is hard to really think clearly or at all. His hand caresses at the small of your back soothing circles that just do more to get you worked up, you push closer to him, tits pressed against his chest, still so stubborn to keep playing the game but he doesn’t feel like letting you win tonight. He pulls you closer easily with a single hand your legs almost straddling his lap, he caresses your face with his tattooed hand and pushes the hair from your beautiful face before going to whisper in your ear.

“Be good, I’ll give you everything you want” He says and you almost purr at him, the alcohol you kept downing through the night working its magic, your competitive spirit all but melts away as you nod, lip bitten red between your teeth. You don’t know it yet but he won this time, already, actually ever since you left home earlier, all part of his calculated plan.

As the ride comes to a halt he jumps out the door, thanks the driver and pulls you to your wobbly feet, you feel like floating almost, on his arms impossibly light, and delicate like he can break you but he won’t. You want to get up to your place as fast as possible, yet he seems set on riling you up, he keeps stringing you along, getting you more and more impatient, you try to race the stairs as he keeps pulling you by the hips and pressing kisses to your mouth all the way up, making the process slower than it ever has to be. When you finally reach the door you desperately go for his pockets looking for the key, he doesn't help you and just looks delighted as you try to navigate the lock in your inebriated state.

When you finally get him inside you try to pull him to the bedroom ready ride him like it is the last time you will have him under you but he surprises you again when he pushes you gently against the entrance door. You whine into his mouth impatient as ever, but in ways it is his own fault since he has always been the one to spoil you rotten. You are so desperate for his touch, so intoxicated on your lust you let him roam his hands over your body, barely able to kiss back. He traces the curves he knows so well by heart, the delicious arch of your back into your ass kneading at the fat there that all but melts under his greedy fingers, pulling you closer to his hips, you can feel him hard against your thigh, his fingertips softly lingering under the hem of your skirt, deliciously close to your core, then he pulls his hands up your sides grabbing at your hips as he parts your legs softly with his foot, making room for himself. Instantly you are pushing your core against his thigh, he smiles an almost predatory glint on his eyes that you could have noticed had you not been so desperate to get off on his clothed leg, worse than a dog you think, almost embarrassed but the you right now couldn’t care about such things.

His strong but gentle grip on your hips guides you to apply more pressure, his mouth keeps you occupied drowning any protest you might have about taking it to the bedroom. You are too drunk on him to question anything and just let him suck on your tongue and kiss your lips sore as he pleases, you wonder if he can feel how wet you are, the thong you are wearing barely doing you any favors. The rough texture of his jeans against the tender skin of your cunt is too much you can almost cum at the sensation alone. He lets you grind yourself into a frenzy on his thigh fondly remembering that first night he had you on his bed. He feels your stuttering hips, he has you where he wants you, so he stops.

He grabs your wrists and pushes them against the wall right above your head, you look up at him through glossy eyes, bewildered, almost enraged that he has the nerve to stop. He pulls away his thigh leaving your heat, cold biting at the wet skin between your legs, hanging by a thread almost at your peak but denying you.

“What…” you trail off as he pecks your lips and smiles sweetly at you, you jostle in his grip a little but easily give up against his strength. He is never forceful, never meaning to intimidate or hurt you but you could see he had a plan, now that you had already walked right into the wolf’s mouth no point in struggling.

He kisses along your jaw and slowly starts working on your neck feeling the wild rhythm of your pulse under his lips, you moan and your hips buck upwards trying to find anything to grind on. It is now or never he thinks dramatically. “Baby…” he groans against the sensitive skin under your ear, you whimper in acknowledgment, the only way you can communicate in your current state.

“Baby, I want you to ride my face”. He says as he kisses sloppily along your collarbones, at your sternum then licks a line up your neck. You are breathless, you feel like you died, your brain struggling to process his words, working hard to make sense of what he is asking.

“Yes baby?” He sounds almost pleading you look at him now, eyes wide open, a deer caught in the headlights. His request feel so unexpected and at the same time not at all, he had asked before and in truth he had been wanting you like that completely wild on his mouth since he had first seen you, but you felt reservation somehow, shy even after all the filth you had done with him, to him and had let him do to you, somehow this one got you. Not that you didn’t want it but you felt somehow selfish. He was already so good, so sweet and gentle, pampering you all the time, he just wanted to give and give and you felt bad taking so much it felt like something only for your sake and it somehow gave you a pause. He never wants to push you but now, so lost in pleasure, he just has to ask again, fight for his side.

“Joost… you…” You can barely form a sentence, he truly kisses you stupid not a single coherent thought in that pretty little head of yours.

“I really need you to ride my face princess, please” His big blue eyes beaming back at you, pleading. It is really impossible for you to say no to him on every day life and even harder now.

“O-okay, yeah, whatever you want” He is back on you in a second, your brain is completely fried there are no real thoughts, it is just his smell , his taste, the weight of his hands on your body, the warmth of his skin the softness of his lips, you have never wanted anyone this bad.

He grabs your hand and guides you to the bedroom makes quick work of his clothes only staying on his black boxers with his name, you used to tease him for it now it feels so deeply him it just feels endearing. Then he goes for your clothes, you have been together so long it seems he knows better than you how to undress you, deft hands so unlike his clumsy nature. You stand in the middle of the room on slightly wobbly feet as he kneels pulling your underwear down with uncharacteristic delicacy considering his earlier pleads, you wanna laugh at him, how whipped he is, how badly he wants you, how his biggest fantasy is your pleasure but you can’t, everything feels so real, so serious you can barely stand on your own two feet. As if reading your mind he grabs hold of your thighs to help you balance yourself, still on his knees in front of you he looks up kisses reverently at the skin of your thigh kneading his hands upwards. He is so tall even on his knees his face only a few inches from your heat, you feel his breath to your core, it ignites you, you feel yourself dripping and he hasn’t even started.

“Ready princess?” You nod not trusting your mouth that feels too heavy for words, he nods back and kisses sweetly at the heat between your legs before standing up to his full height again.

Towering over you but never feeling intimidating, however the hunger in his eyes makes you shiver in anticipation, a look you have never seen from him, not like this. He grabs hold of your hands and leads you to the bed pulling you down with him. You stumble without any grace on his embrace, tangled limbs and little giggles escape both of you before he moves upwards in the bed resting his head against the pillows. He looks divine, the light of the moon making him even more handsome it makes your chest hurt.

You are straddling your legs right at his chest, his hands in the back of your thighs pulling you closer to where he wants you, he needs you. “Come here schatje” you look at him but there is still a knot in your stomach, still shy, still scared of being selfish, but he wants you so badly he needs you so much, it feels unfair to deny him, to deny yourself the sweet pleasure of his warm tongue that you are so familiar with. You move upwards slowly on weak knees taking a last look at his face his hands on your ass now kneading softly.

“Relax, I won’t bite, promise” You snort releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Yes I would hope so, you know better than that” He kisses the tender skin at the inside of your knee.

“I’m a well trained dog” He makes a show of winking at you, you erupt in laughter it calms your nerves instantly.

“What… what do you want me to… what should I do?” You ask not knowing where to put your hands.

“Use me to get off” He can feel the hesitation on your entire body all muscles tense like expecting the fall. He helps you and lifts his head up closer to your core, licks his lips in anticipation, you can feel his breath against your dripping heat, he can smell your scent addicting in a way he knows you would find mortifying if he ever told you, so he keeps it to himself.

He licks a long strip up your pussy, still holding your legs in place by the sides of his head like you will run away, he pulls an easy moan out of you, already knows your body so well, he licks insistently against your clit, feels you relax put more of your delicious weight on him. With the reward of his efforts he gets encouraged wrapping his lips around your hard bud suckling softly, he hears you mewl on top of him already turning to putty under his attention. He pulls away as little as possible just to spur you on, he can still feel your reservations.

“Get out of your head, I won’t break”. His voice is commanding but still gentle you want give him everything he wants, do everything he says.

You nod and try moving against his face slowly, gently as much as you can even when you start feeling yourself losing your mind. You look below wanting to make sure he is okay and then you see it, his eyes closed and eyebrows knit, the face of pleasure you know so well. He is getting off on this as much as you are, you test your theory as you push yourself closer to him and he moans back deliciously against your folds feeling the reverberation from his groans against your core emboldens you. He uses his strong grip on your ass and hips to start moving you back and forth against his face, the pretty tip of his nose catching on your clit making you mewl in pleasure until you get used to it, now without any shame left you start grinding yourself back and forth on his tongue as it goes deep into your cunt the wetness so addicting he keeps licking like he wants to stay between your legs forever and maybe he wants exactly that. Too soon you feel waves of pleasure building.

“Joost” you are chanting his name over and over without a care in the world who hears, your throat will be sore tomorrow. Your hands find your perked nipples adding to the stimulation and pull slightly like he would, his own hands occupied helping you move to reach your orgasm. “Ah fuck” you whimper again you can almost feel him smile against your cunt, he can die right now right here between your legs happily, a life well lived and all that. He keeps moving your hips greedily as if he was chasing his own orgasm perhaps you are so connected your pleasure is his pleasure and truly in this position with the heat and wetness connecting you, you don’t know where you end and he begins.

“I’m close” your hands reach to the locks of his beautiful golden hair between your legs.

“Come baby, come on my face” he barely manages to mumble against you core.

With those words he pushes you over the edge, you lose yourself to pleasure just as he wanted, you ride his face vigorously forgetting he has to breath and at that moment he forgets it too, only preoccupied with making your orgasm last as long as possible, insatiably licking at your clit. Your grip on his locks keeps him in place as your finish all over his face he feels your pussy clench around nothing once again pushing his tongue deep into you not wanting this moment to end while your clit grinds heavily against his nose. You are screaming at the top of your lungs your orgasm making your thighs shake but his strong arms keep you in place. He keeps sucking on your clit possessively even when you try to pull away, he is doing this for his own pleasure at this point, you let him and hold onto the bed frame as a lifeline, when he has collected every drop of your release he licks another long stripe up your pussy more soothing than anything making your shiver in delight. Finally satisfied he pulls away slightly to catch his breath, peppering kisses on the inside of your thighs, hands still holding onto you. His face is so red, he is so pretty like this he looks fucked out, so blissful like he was on the receiving end. His face is wet and shinny a mixture of your arousal and his spit you look down and stay there locked eyes, you wanna remember this forever.

“I love you so much” He says beaming up at you, you could almost feel guilty if he didn’t look so damn proud of himself, the same face he has on after a good show.

“I love you too.” You start trying to move but your legs are jelly and you hold back onto the bed frame. “Fuck, that was too good” You laugh looking at him, he laughs heartily always happy to get his ego stroked.

“Let me” He maneuvers you easily and flips you over, now you are resting on the pillows as he cuddles to your side rubbing against your neck, leaving small bites and kisses, he is so wet and sticky it could be gross, it should be gross, only if it wasn't the hottest thing that has ever happened to you.

You turn to kiss him lock his lips with yours, taste yourself on his tongue, he deepens the kiss, the dog, that is exactly what he wanted, you smile against his lips. He leaves you breathless kissed stupid again, you feel him jostle a little and see him throw his boxers somewhere on the floor, then he pulls you closer to his chest. You feel his heart beat under your ear, you are so tired, you feel boneless could fall asleep any second heavy lidded eyes and yet you still want him, you always do.

“Do you wanna-” he stops you, kissing at the top of your head.

“No need” He pulls the comforter over both of you.

You look up at him, eyebrow crooked and he just has an easy smile on his lips as he reaches for the nightstand drawer where he keeps some cigarettes exactly for times like this. He looks down at you as he lights the one between his lips, you look at him amazed, you can't belive it, he came, he came because of you, completely untouched, fully at your mercy. A shot of adrenaline makes you raise from his chest hold yourself on your elbows to look at him properly, trying to come up with something to say opening and closing your mouth not quite processing what just happened. Unable to come up with anything coherent enough you give up and just come closer to him once again pulling the cigarette off his lip and letting him blow his smoke into your mouth, you take it, like everything he gives you. You kiss him again, hungry, possessive and proud, like you could bite him raw and it still wouldn’t be enough. You realize something Joost has know for a while now, you can never be close enough it is terrifying and horribly exciting at the same time. He pulls your face closer deepens the kiss tangles his fingers in your hair and then rests his forehead against yours, just breathing you in. You are in an indescribable ecstasy all you can do is throw your head back and laugh, he follows as he smokes, laughs with you then chases your lips, kisses your smile.

“You taste really fucking good.” He says against your hair as he pulls you back to his chest still chuckling, sleep starts dragging you soon enough as he finishes his cigarette.

Obsession as a description for what he feels for you might be coming short these day, maybe devotion could be closer…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚ AN: It is my first time posting anything like this again sorry for any mistakes idk what im doing I just really needed to get this out of my system <3

#joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost #joost smut #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction #joost klein

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eat-limes-bitches · 1 year ago

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Nowhere else I'd Rather Be

PAIRING: Female Reader x Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: Soft blues and sunsets make for the perfect wedding.

SONGS: Entrance (0:42 if you want the specific time), Y/n's vows, Bucky's vows

WARNINGS: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

Word Count:

A/N: So here it is! The last installment of this, mini-series I guess! I had such a blast writing this and between you and me, I had fully intended on waiting to post this until I was back from my horse show next week, but I couldn't wait. No way in hell, so I hope you enjoy it! If you have any ideas for future writings, my ask box is looking a little empty and sad! Send some ideas my way!

Italics are memories, bold italics are song lyrics

Part 1 | Part 2

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

(3 YEARS LATER)

To say he was nervous would be an understatement. Bucky frantically fiddled with his tie, looking at the color, which caused him to smile for a moment. It was blue, but not bright, soft. Like worn denim. The same blue that matched the upholstery on the deep oak chairs that lined the dried flower petal pathway to where he was standing. The soft fall breeze caused a few of the petals to swirl around at his feet, reminding him of why he was here in the first place.

Bucky heard her humming from the other room when he got home from his morning run. Kicking off his shoes, he followed the sound of the humming to find Y/n plucking the drying petals off of the most recent bouquet, carefully depositing each petal into a glass jar.

“What’cha doing doll?” He called out, startling Y/n causing her to drop the flower she was currently working on.

“Jesus Buck! You scared me!” The pout that appeared on her face caused a chuckle to rumble in his chest. He swept her up in his arms, placing a kiss on her temple.

“Sorry darlin’. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Y/n hummed in delight as Bucky tightened his embrace.

“Well, if you must know-” She teased, spinning in his arms to face him, “I'm saving the flower petals from the bouquets you give me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Can I ask why?”

Y/n just smiled. “Someday, when we get married, I want to use the flower petals from all of the flowers you have given me to decorate the aisle I walk down towards you.”

A hand on his shoulder snapped Bucky back to the present.

“Hey man, you good? You looked a little lost there for a moment.” Sam said, brushing off Bucky’s suit. Bucky let out a shaky breath and smiled.

“Yeah, jus’ thinkin’ bout how we got here.”

Sam nodded his head and gave Bucky another pat on the shoulder before resuming his spot as best man. As he stood there, Bucky looked around at everyone who was there. Y/n’s immediate family was there of course, along with a couple of dear friends in her bridal party. On Bucky’s side, he had Sam and Torres as his groomsmen, and sitting in the crowd, he saw Suri sitting up front with both of Sam’s nephews, to help with the rings, Sarah was sitting nearby with a gentle smile on her face as she visited with the other folks. The kid who worked the counter at Joe’s on Saturdays, Howie, was there too smiling up at Bucky. Most of Sam’s family, who had accepted Bucky as one of their own were in the crow as well, mingling with Y/n’s family. Sam was gracious enough to let the couple use the backyard of the house for the small wedding.

The pair were a few weeks into wedding planning when the talk of location and size came up.

“How big is this whole thing gonna be, doll?” Bucky asked as he looked at the different swatches of blue fabric sitting on their coffee table.

Y/n sighed, “Would it be bad if I said I didn’t want a lot of people there? 50 at most?” Bucky looked up from the fabrics to meet Y/n’s gaze.

“Not at all.” He said with a smile, reaching for her hand across the table. “I think a small wedding is just our style if we are being completely honest.” Y/n smiled sweetly at him before resuming her mission to find the flowers she wanted.

“I think you are right. Do you think Sam would let us use the backyard of the house in Louisiana? It's so quiet, and in the fall when those big trees in the backyard are changing color? Underneath that willow tree? Oh, Bucky I think it’d be perfect!”

Y/n was gushing at the idea, and with the way her eyes sparkled as she described the scene, Bucky was willing to do just about anything to make that dream a reality for her, and of course, as soon as he asked Sam, he said yes.

Bucky blinked back into the present. The fairy lights were starting to show their glow hanging from the branches of the willow tree, swaying gently in the breeze. The sun was just starting to set, the inky purples and blues of the evening starting to slip into the sky, just letting the stars peak out through all of the colors dancing above them. The colors of the leaves danced in the golden light, reflecting off the water nearby, creating a beautiful mosaic of color all around the crowd of people. Suddenly the music changed. The filler music that had been playing for how long now, Bucky didn’t know, but he did know the song that was playing, it was the song that they danced to that night in the living room when Bucky decided that she was the one for him.

The pair had been cooking dinner, but when the next song on Y/n’s playlist came on, her eyes lit up, matching the smile that found its way onto her face.

“Oh Bucky I love this song! I know it’s not really slow dancing music but will you dance with me?”

Bucky chuckled as he swept her into the middle of their kitchen. He spun her just as the chorus started and what happened next sealed his fate forever. As she spun, she laughed, one of the most beautiful sounds Bucky had ever heard. The golden rays of the sun danced off of her hair casting a golden glow in the room around them. When she was back in his arms, he pulled her close and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Marry me?” He asked softly. Y/n’s breath froze, perpetually stuck in her lungs.

“What?” She whispered, staring up at him wide-eyed.

Bucky looked at her. “Y/F/N Y/L/N, will you marry me? I swear I’ll do this again, proper with a ring and everythin’ but I gotta know darling, will you marry me?”

Right as the same chorus started, Y/n appeared at the end of the aisle from Bucky. Sometime during his reminiscing, everyone had stood up and watched her appear, and now were now watching him as he took in the love of his life, standing there in white, bouquet of sunflowers, spray roses, and chamomile in her hands as she started walking towards him. Bucky couldn’t think of a single thing he had done right in his incredibly long life to deserve to be standing where he was right now, but he was forever grateful.

Time flew by and before he knew it it was time for their vows. Y/n went first.

“Bucky, ever since I’ve met you we’ve had a lot of learning and growing we have done over our three years together, one of the most noticeable things I have learned is when you go quiet, and won't let your guard down, I hear through the silence that you're trying to figure it out. You're trying to make me proud, believe me now, Baby, to the Moon and back

I still love you more than that. When your skies are grey, and your whole world is shaking

To the Moon and back, I love you more than that.”

Bucky’s Adam's apple bobbed furiously up and down as the tears streamed down his face. He pulled the pocket square out of his suit pocket and tried to stop the tears flowing down his cheeks but to no avail, they had started flowing the moment Y/n had appeared at the end of the aisle. Steadying himself with a breath, Bucky began his vows.

I remember when I saw you at the movies, and to me, you were a stranger in the room.

But to my surprise, I met your eyes and that was when I knew. Yeah without a doubt, I took you out for coffee. We sat for hours at a table made for two. I love the flowers in your footprints and the sparkle in your eyes. It doesn't matter if it rains or shines cuz I'll be by your side. For the record, you're my treasure, I love you more and more, and after all that we've been through, I can say it, you're my favorite and you'll always be my muse and I hope that in your heart you know it's true.”

Sam’s nephews brought up the rings, and with a little help from Suri, Bucky had a ring on his finger, identical to the one decorating Y/n’s hand. After the preacher said ‘You may now kiss the bride’ The rest of the evening was a blur for the couple. But once the party was in full swing and they took a rest from dancing, Bucky pulled Y/n into his arms, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered in her ear, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, than here with you.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x you

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silens-oro · 18 days ago

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You're My Borealis 1/2

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. MasterlistThe Last of Us Playlist

Joel Miller x f!OC Camille Daniels (no physical descriptors) Part 2 General Synopsis: When Joel and Sarah’s neighbor passes, her daughter Cam comes back home to Austin to settle her affairs. Sarah, in good conscience -and against her father’s wishes- could not leave this stranger to suffer alone and made it her mission to weasel her way into Cam's heart. Word Count: 5.3k Content Warning: Parent death; Mourning; Sarah the Schemer A/N: Title credit goes to Borealis by The Huntress and Holder of Hands. That song is so hauntingly heartbreaking and full of emotion. Go give it a listen! I started writing this back in November of 2023, posted it on here and it didn't get very much traction, so I've since removed it and made some edits. I love Sarah so much and I loved being able to explore the dynamic built between her and Cam. This will be a two part series that is already written, so I will be posting the second part at some point this weekend. We're going full Sour Patch Kid with this one, folks. The first part will be sweet, the second...is gonna kick you in the shin. Thank you for reading!

please comment & reblog :)

October 2001 Austin, Texas Suburbs

Funeral arrangements weren’t easy to put together. Moving across the country after a parent passes wasn’t easy. Continuing on with your life without them wasn’t easy. None of it was easy.

The last three weeks of Cam's life was a blur. From getting the call about her mother, to the funeral, handling her mother’s will and dealing with her mother’s remaining affairs…the last thing she wanted to do was coax her late mother’s senior dog to eat when she couldn’t stomach the sight of food herself.

“Come on, Mitch.” Cam pushed the dish of soft food over to him, but he ignored it and laid still on his tiny bed.

Cam's mother got Mitch when she was only sixteen. Now at thirty she couldn’t imagine how distraught he truly was. The fourteen year old long haired chihuahua looked back at Cam with a sadness that no animal should harbor.

Cam remembered when her mother brought Mitch home, and now looking at the white and gray hairs that peppered his once fully black face made her heart ache. With many of his teeth gone, his tongue stuck out the side of his mouth just the littlest bit, but it just added to his character.

“I’m gonna leave this here. When you’re ready,” Cam motioned to the dish. “We’re gonna get through this together, bud.” She gave behind his ear a light scratch before standing up. At that moment the doorbell rang. Mitch cocked an ear in the direction of the door but otherwise didn’t move.

A teenage girl, if she was even a teen yet, stood on the other side of the door holding a casserole dish. She had a timid smile once Cam opened the door.

“Hi,” Cam greeted.

“Hi, I’m Sarah.” She made a face to herself then clarified. “Miller. I live next door with my dad, Joel.” She motioned to the house on the right. “And sometimes my uncle Tommy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sarah. I’m Cam,” She offered with a gentle smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Cam remembered how often her mother spoke about the girl in front of her when they had their calls throughout the week. Putting a face to the name was refreshing.

“I know, Mrs. Daniels used to tell me all about you.” Sarah said sweetly. “We didn’t want to bombard you. I know you’re dealing with a lot of complicated things right now, and my dad told me not to bug you, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m really sorry about your mom. We went to the funeral and the service was…really nice. She left a good impact on a lot of people, us included. I loved spending time with her.” Cam felt the tears she thought were pushed down far enough trying to claw their way to the surface as her bottom lip trembled.

“Thank you, Sarah.” Cam's voice wobbled and Sarah’s eyes widened in panic.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry! It wasn’t my intention to upset you or make you cry.” Cam sniffled and tried to turn her face, but Sarah had already seen the damage. “Oh, god -my dad is gonna kill me.” This made a laugh bubble out through her tears.

“Give me a second to grab a tissue,” She left the door open. “Feel free to come inside.”

“I uh…I brought you a pasta bake.” Sarah held the dish in front of her. “It’s nothing crazy. I’m not like…a chef or anything, but I figured you'd like a home cooked meal that you can just heat and eat.” Walking back into the entrance way with a tissue in her hand, Cam smiled at the girl. “It’s my favorite thing to eat when I’m sad because really, who can be sad while they’re eating pasta?” She explained with a shrug and it really made all the sense in the world.

“That is incredibly thoughtful of you, Sarah. Thank you.” Taking the offered casserole dish from Sarah’s extended hands, she placed it on one of the various decorative tables that lined the entryway. “I truly appreciate this. Can’t tell you the last time Mitch and I had a real meal.” Her stomach clenched at the thought.

“It’s no problem, really. Like I said, she was really nice. Most days she’d let me run around the yard with Mitch until he got too tired otherwise he’d just lay in his bed all day. How is he?” Cam motioned to the dog who still hadn’t moved.

“He’s taken her passing really hard. I can’t blame him.”

“He’s not eating?” Sarah asked when she saw his full food dish. Cam shook her head.

“A little bit here and there, but not anywhere near what he should be.” Sarah stared at the dog for a moment before she turned back to Cam.

“Have you tried ham?” Cam blinked at the girl’s question.

“Ham?”

“You know, like the thin sliced stuff you get at the grocery store deli? He loves it. It has to be low sodium though. That’s what Mrs. Daniels used to give him as a treat. Do you have any?” Cam knew there wasn’t a single thing in the fridge other than some condiments that belonged to her mother that had been sitting in there for god knows how long.

“Unfortunately I am fresh out of low sodium ham.” Sarah thought for a second then smiled, holding up her index finger.

“Give me a minute and I’ll be right back!” She got to her feet and ran out of the house. Mitch grunted and curled in on himself to go back to sleep. Minutes passed and Sarah came whirling back into the house with a deli bag in her hands.

“Ta-da! It’s not low sodium, but it is thin sliced. We have to make due with what we have. I’m sure Mrs. Daniels wouldn’t be too upset about it.” Sarah shook the bag. “Mitchy, look what I have.” She spoke sweetly to the dog. Cam saw his nose start to wiggle and that was encouragement enough. She stepped out of the way to let Sarah get close enough to sit on the floor next to Mitch’s bed. As soon as Cam opened the bag, his little head popped up.

Cam could not believe her eyes when she saw him weakly get up and walk the few steps to Sarah who had already torn a piece small enough for him to eat. After sniffing it for a few seconds, he took the piece of meat from her fingers delicately and ate it. He wagged his little corkscrew tail and waited patiently for her to give him another piece.

Cam stood there crying like an idiot while Sarah continued to feed Mitch until his little belly was full.

“You uh…you’re welcome to see him whenever you want. Play in the yard or take him for walks. Anything you used to do with him, you’re still welcome to it.”

“Really?” Sarah perked up. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Poor Mitch is probably sick of seeing me mope around the house. Seems like you know him well enough.”

“We’ve been friends since my dad and I moved in a few years ago. He’s such a good boy, aren’t you, Mitch?” Sarah rubbed under his chin and his tongue flopped out, making her giggle.

“I pretty much work from home, so feel free to stop by.” Sarah smiled brightly. “You’ll be good for him.”

Sarah’s presence had become a constant in Cam’s day to day life after that initial visit. After the first couple of times Sarah stopped by, she just let herself in as if she had known Cam her whole life. Joel would be mortified if he knew where Sarah was, and just how comfortable she allowed herself to be in a stranger's home, but Cam wasn’t a stranger -not to Sarah.

Cam felt like an extension of Ms. Daniels and that made her even less of a stranger. Sarah thought he’d be more horrified by the fact that Cam didn’t lock her door during the day so Sarah could let herself in. Sarah was constantly getting lectured by him for doing the same at home.

Having Sarah over made Cam force herself to get out of her depressive slump. She started getting out of bed earlier than noon. Showering on a normal schedule. She started running the errands she had been neglecting -an extensive grocery haul being the first thing on the list. Sarah was insistent that Mitch have his ham in the fridge at all times and who was Cam to tell the girl no?

He’s 98 in dog years, Cam. A little lunch meat isn’t gonna do much damage at this point. Touche, Cam thought.

Cam’s mental strength started to build and she was able to truly start packing away her mother’s things. For now they’d sit in boxes in the garage, collecting dust until she had the bandwidth to genuinely go through everything, but that was better than living with it presently in front of her.

The pain it caused her to look at all of the knickknacks and things her mother had collected her whole life was too difficult to deal with daily, so in the end she decided packing it was the best option so she could finally breathe again.

Every day that Sarah walked into the house it felt less and less familiar to her; not in a bad way, but in a way that let her know Cam was truly healing and it made Sarah smile with each new art piece that hung on the walls that wasn’t there the day before.

The house started to match Cam on the inside and soon enough, she dedicated the screened-in patio at the back of the house to use as her studio. The fresh air and natural light was a godsend after spending over a month indoors.

Sarah made it a habit to bring whatever was left over from the night before to have a late lunch with Cam before she had to go home. Before it was to keep her neighbor alive, but now it was something that Sarah liked to do. Sometimes she’d bake something for Cam too. They’d have a little picnic on the back patio and Sarah would look at all of the unfinished pieces Cam had brought with her from Boston and the new ones she had started since she decided to paint again.

The bond they formed with each other was something Sarah didn’t know she was missing. She was perfectly happy with her dad, but she knew he was lonely…even if he’d never admit it. She couldn’t remember the last time he went on a date, and even then it was obviously unsuccessful.

When Sarah looked at Cam, she saw someone she got along with seamlessly. Cam was kind and articulate. She was gentle and loving. She was everything her dad needed in his life and thus the wheels in her mind began to turn.

“Not that it’s my place to complain or anything, but where have all your leftovers been going? Because they usually go to me,” Tommy stood up straight after he was bent over looking for something to eat in his brother’s fridge. “And this fridge has been wiped out.”

“They don’t go to you, you just take them.” Joel said matter-of-factly as he chewed on his piece of toast.

“Very funny,” Tommy said sarcastically as he shut the fridge after coming up empty handed.

“But I also want to know where the leftovers have been going.” Joel pointed the accusation at his daughter. Both men looked over to Sarah, who seemed very interested in the bowl of soggy cereal in front of her. “Sarah?” She sighed and picked at her nails.

“I’ve been taking them to the neighbor’s house.” She mumbled, letting her spoon clink against the side of her bowl.

“The neighbor? The Adlers?” Joel asked with confusion lacing his tone.

“No, Cam.” Sarah clarified without actually clarifying anything.

“Cam?” Joel asked once more.

“Camille Daniels, but she prefers Cam. The Cam that now lives in the house next door. Cam that now takes care of Mitch. Mrs. Daniels’ daughter. That Cam.”

“Jesus, Sarah. I told you not to go over there bugging that poor girl. She’s going through hell right now after losing her mama.” Joel admonished his daughter. She brought up going over there to him once before the funeral and he put the kibosh on that right away. Clearly Sarah didn’t listen to him.

“You’ve been giving my food to the neighbor?” Tommy looked appalled.

“At least she gives back our Tupperware. She washes it too.” Sarah glared at her uncle who wore a shit eating grin. She turned back to her dad with pleading eyes.

“I saw her come out once on my walk to the Adler’s from my bus stop and I had to do something, dad. It was awful.” Sarah pleaded her case to him.

“How long have you been bugging her?” Joel interrogated, eyes narrowing.

“About a month.” She admitted with a shrug.

“A month?!�� Joel’s already stressed eyeballs looked like they were about to pop out of his skull before he brought his fingers up to apply pressure to them.

“I brought her some pasta about a month ago and thank god I did; she looked like a walking corpse! I’ve never seen someone so sad and Mitch wasn’t eating! Cam didn’t know about the ham!”

“What about the ham?” Sarah rolled her eyes at her uncle, getting frustrated.

“Mitch eats deli ham and Cam didn’t know that.”

“Is that where all my lunch meat keeps going?” Joel was beside himself as he looked at his daughter with furrowed brows.

“She was locked up in that house for over a month before I started stopping by, dad. Now she leaves that house on her own! Daily! That’s progress! She’s starting to go back to kinda normal -and she’s looking less dead which I think is great. Cam also lets me play with Mitch and walk him whenever I want.”

“When are you doing all of this? When you’re supposed to be at the Adler’s after school?” Joel looked between his daughter and Tommy, who just shrugged and let his eyeballs go back and forth between his brother and his niece.

“That’s beside the point, dad!” Sarah groaned.

“Not when my daughter is in a stranger’s house and I don’t even know it.” Joel’s voice raised ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry! I should’ve told you, but I felt like she really needed a friend. I still go to the Adler’s, I didn’t like about that -I just don’t stay over as long.” Joel’s heart broke at his daughter’s admission. “And I was right to approach her, dad. I haven’t seen anyone aside from one or two people go over to her house other than the neighbors who knew her mom.”

“Have you been casing the place?” Tommy seemed very interested in what was happening. He pulled up a chair and sat at the table, stealing Joel’s remaining triangle of toast.

“No…yes. I wanted to get to know her.” Sarah said with a shrug. “It’s nice having a neighbor who wasn’t around for World War Two, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Sarah!” Joel tried not to laugh, but a surprised chuckle broke through.

“I love the Adler’s, but I am twelve, dad! I’ll take someone who is closer to uncle Tommy’s age if I can get ‘em.”

“And what did you find out?” Tommy asked, that scheming glint in his eye twinkled at this new information. Joel rolled his own eyes but listened nonetheless.

“Cam is thirty and is actually really cool. I think you’ll like her, dad.” Joel didn’t like the look she gave him when she said it. “She’s an artist and her paintings are really, really good. Like crazy good. Good enough to sell for a living. She went to art school in Massachusetts and everything! She was talking to me yesterday about an art show she’s gonna have some of her paintings in next month at a gallery downtown. Said I could come down and see it if it was alright with you.” Sarah thought for a moment then continued.

“Cam’s quiet, which I know you definitely like.” Sarah smiled innocently at Joel. He, however, was not buying the act. “She has an insane record collection. I saw some of the same things you listen to, by the way, and her house is filled with really cool art from a bunch of her artist friends from around the world, and a million different types of plants that she’s had for years. Did you know people kept houseplants alive for more than a week? Because I didn’t know it was possible until I saw it with my own eyes. Those plants are huge, dad! She has these long vine things that wrap around her living room and this big plant with leaves bigger than uncle Tommy’s massive head.”

“Watch it!” Tommy’s jaw dropped at the friendly fire.

“I’ve never seen houseplants grow like that. You’ve never kept any alive in my entire life -not even a cactus. Maybe she could show you how to do it. She said she got the vine thing from the grocery store. The grocery store! Can you believe that? Oh! and she told me a word that I can’t remember but if she snips the vine in the right spot, she can put the part she cut in a jar of water and it’ll make a whole new plant! It’s crazy! She just has an endless supply of plants in her house because she can just magically make more and more. Science!” Joel couldn’t help but take in the wonder his daughter had in her eyes as she spoke about the new neighbor…well, old neighbor. Semantics. If this conversation was anything to go by, he’d have to stop by at some point to apologize on his daughter’s behalf. Sarah’s probably talked her ear off for the better part of a month and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone -god love his kid. “She also lived in Boston before she came back here after her mom died. She said she misses it.”

“Why doesn’t she go back?” Tommy asked.

“That’s what I asked her. I’ve never been to Boston but even I know it’s…way better than Austin. She said that this was a new chapter in her life. She also didn’t want to sell her mom’s house. She grew up there, ya know?” Sarah stood from her chair and brought her bowl over to the sink.

“She single?” Tommy asked with a megawatt smile and a wiggle of his dark brows.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah couldn’t help but giggle at how silly he was being.

“You’re a dog, you know that?” Joel said with a grin of his own.

“What? No harm in asking.” Tommy said with a shrug as he sat back in his chair.

“Anyway,” Sarah deliberately locked eyes with her father. “Cam invited us over for dinner tomorrow night and I told her we’d be happy to come over and that you’d bring wine.” She threw him an excessive smile that told him not to be mad at her even though she was putting him on the spot.

“You what?” Joel sputtered.

“I don’t get an invite?” Tommy complained.

“Cam also said you were invited too, but I’ve already warned her about you so don’t try anything.” Sarah said pointedly to her uncle with narrowed eyes. Joel snorted at Tommy’s slack-jawed expression.

“So we’re going, right?” Sarah pressured her dad. “I already told her yes,” Sarah reminded. “but she insisted that I ask you…” Sarah rolled her eyes playfully. Joel looked at her unimpressed, but sighed when she didn’t relent. Sarah’s smile grew and she shouldered the strap to her backpack. “You’re really gonna like her. I’ll meet you both in the truck. Hurry up or we’re gonna be late!”

The door shut behind Sarah and Tommy looked over to his brother with a grin building on his lips.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was trying to set you up.” He snagged Joel’s untouched cup of coffee and downed it before standing up and following after his niece.

Joel felt dread settle in the pit of his stomach.

Joel would be damned if he used a word like smitten to describe what he was feeling, but as he watched Camille speak to Tommy with a flurry of motions from across the dining room table, that was the only word that came to mind.

Cam’s house was everything Sarah described it as. It was warm and welcoming, and Cam’s entire vibe was comfortable.

As the woman across from him spoke, he saw and heard exactly what Sarah did -what drew her to the woman who came back to Austin to pick up the pieces of her life. Joel’s nerves ate away at him when he was standing outside of the house, his palm sweating so much he thought he was going to drop the bottle of wine Sarah insisted he bring, but the second he stepped through the threshold it was like every nerve had melted away.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Joel reprimanded when Sarah reached for the handle to the front door to let herself in as she had done a hundred times prior.

“What? It’s open.” She said with a shrug.

“How do you know that?” Joel questioned.

“Jess leaves it unlocked…sometimes…most times, but only in the daytime so I can let myself in! Except right now because it is dark, but she is expecting us so those cancel each other out.” Sarah rambled, digging herself a deeper hole with each word that passed her lips. “Sometimes she can’t hear me because she’s in her studio so it makes sense to leave the door open, but I get that it’s a safety thing and I’ve told her how much of a freak you are about locked doors and…I’ll shut up now.” She shut her mouth when Joel’s eyes begged her to stop giving him things to worry about. Sarah rang the doorbell pointedly and Mitch’s high pitched howl could be heard on the other side.

“Coming!” Sarah perked up when she heard Cam on the other side. When the door opened, Joel felt his heart nearly bursting free from his chest. “Hi, come on in.” Cam ushered the trio in as she introduced herself and Sarah spared a glance back at her dad who stood at the door with a very dumb look on his face.

Tommy introduced himself with a flirty smile and Sarah had to stop herself from outwardly rolling her eyes.

“You must be Joel,” Jess held her hand out to him and he stared at it, almost confused, before handing over the bottle of wine. Not what she meant, but Cam took it in stride with a kind smile. “Dinner will be ready in a few. The dining room is this way,” She started walking towards the back end of the house, knowing Sarah would herd the men where they needed to go. Jess heard muffled voices, but couldn’t decipher what was being said until she heard Sarah clearly.

“Shoes off.” Sarah whispered to her father and uncle, who immediately complied.

“They really don’t have to, Sarah!” Cam called from the kitchen.

“They really do!” Sarah called back, shooting looks to her relatives. “They are civilized, I promise!” Joel shoved her off balance when he heard Cam’s laugh echo down the hall. “Take ‘em off!” Sarah hissed as she yanked off her sneaker. They were going to make a good first impression, if it killed her.

The dinner flew by at the speed of light and the next thing Joel knew, Sarah was ushering them back to the front door to collect their things.

“Thank you for coming by. I’m really happy to finally meet you both.” Cam smiled at Tommy and Joel.

“That was delicious, Cam. Thank you.” Tommy brought the charm back out as Sarah began to pull him out of the house.

“Thank you, Cam! As always, you’re incredible! Come on, uncle Tommy!” She yanked on the sleeve of his shirt. “I need your help with something and only you can help me with the thing I need help with. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cam! Bye, Mitch!” Cam’s brows furrowed at the weird behavior from Sarah, but chalked it up to her being a pre-teen. Joel cleared his throat and faced Cam.

“Thank you for having us over. Dinner was…fantastic. I’ve had many steaks in my life, but that was incredible.”

“Ah stop it,” Jess said humbly, a blush filling her cheeks as she smiled meekly.

“No, really. It was great. I’m uh, I’m glad to see you’re doing alright.” Joel’s hands were stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans. His feet shuffled from side to side the tiniest bit, anxiety shooting through him.

“That’s really the reason why I invited you over here. Sarah helped me get back to reality. If she wasn’t so persistent, I’d probably be rotting in this house still. She helped me when no one else could, and I’ll always be grateful to her for it.” Cam looked up into Joel’s dark eyes as he looked back at her with pure earnestness shining back at her.

“She’s a really good kid, Joel, with a heart of gold. I don’t know your situation, and it isn’t my business, but you’ve done a great job with her. I can’t imagine how hard it is to raise a kid in the best of circumstances, much less in the worst. All I know is that she’s gonna do something good in this world. She’s as sweet as honey and as sharp as a whip. You’ve got nothin’ to worry about with her. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.” Joel rubbed the back of his neck nervously from the praise.

“Seems like your mama did the same.” His voice was soft, but the impact of his words made the earth shift off kilter for Cam. “Sarah really got on with her like a house on fire. She treated Sarah as if she were family and she’s deeply missed.”

“My mom adored Sarah and now I see why. She has that effect on people. You should be proud.”

“Every day.”

“Good, and I really like her too -for what it’s worth. She keeps me and Mitch on our toes.” Joel chuckled, stuffing his hands back into the front pockets of his jeans.

“If at any point you need to put a boundary up-” Cam held a hand up to stop him in his tracks. She knew exactly what he was implying -should she ever get sick of having Sarah hanging around…

“Joel, she could be out doing god knows what. I know I was when I was her age and it took years off my poor mother’s life. If Sarah is choosing to spend her time with me and the old man-,” Jess nodded over to Mitch’s sleeping form. “-then I’ll gladly take her, with your blessing of course. She’s always welcome in this house, Joel, and so are you. Tommy on the other hand…”

“He’ll eat you out of house and home. Don’t leave that invitation open.” Cam laughed gently at Joel’s dig at his brother, but it was a genuine laugh all the same. “I still regret inviting him inside the first time. He’s like a stray that you have to keep feeding.”

“Duly noted.” The smile never left Cam’s face.

“I should uh…I should get going. I’m sure that whatever those two are up to isn’t good for me so the sooner I break it up, the better.” Joel stepped through the threshold and into the autumn air. “Thanks again for having us over.”

“It was nice to have…more than just me in the house. Mitch loves the attention, too. Sarah spoils him.”

“You don’t know it, but you are the last line of defense that is keeping Sarah from continuously asking for a dog of her own.”

“I shall bravely continue to hold the line, then. For your sake.” She chuckled. “Thank you for the wine.”

“Sarah’s idea.” Joel admitted.

“So are we crediting her for this whole night?”

“I think we’re gonna have to.”

“Then I was wrong.” Cam corrected herself with a smirk growing on her mouth.

“About?”

“You definitely have something to worry about with her; she’s a schemer.” Joel blew raspberries as he exhaled. He caught movement from his living room window and his eyes narrowed.

“You don’t even know the half of it.” He gave his attention back to Cam. “There are always good intentions with her, but she’s like a bull in a China shop when it comes to tact.”

“Sounds about right.” Cam hummed, a pleasant grin sitting upon her features.

“Better call it a night.” Joel began to step backwards down the walkway.

“You have a good night, Joel.”

“You too, Cam.” With that he turned to go to the sidewalk so he didn’t walk on her lawn, but stopped himself midway as if he forgot something.

“Hey, Cam!” Cam stopped the door from closing and nodded at Joel. “Can you do me a favor?” Cam's head tilted in question. “Can you lock your door, please?” She dropped her head with a guilty smile, but nodded all the same.

“For you, Joel?” She looked back up at him. “Consider it done.” He sent Cam a sweet smile and a soft ‘thank you’ before shyly telling her good night once more.

January 2002 Austin, Texas Suburbs

Three months had passed since Cam invited the Millers over for dinner. It had been three months of skirting around each other and Joel still hadn’t made his move. Every day that passed pushed Sarah further and further to the brink of insanity.

“Can you please talk to him, uncle Tommy?”

“About what, sweetpea?” Sarah had been yapping over the movie that they put on while Tommy was trying to pay attention to it. He’d nod and shake his head appropriately, but the kid talked a mile a minute, so he would’ve been lost either way. His niece sighed, falling back into the cushions of the sofa with a groan.

“About Cam. Have you not been listening?” Tommy chuckled. “I swear, no matter what I do, dad won’t budge and every time I try to talk to him about it, he gives me the look and tells me to leave it.” Sarah crossed her arms as she sat next to her uncle on the sofa. Joel was currently stuck at the jobsite and asked Tommy to grab a pizza and hang with Sarah until he got home. It wasn’t unusual and Tommy didn’t have anything else to do for the night, so here he was, getting his ear talked off by a twelve year old. “We’ve had her over for dinner, I’ve invited her to my soccer games, we’ve had barbecues and movie nights. I’ve tried to even sit on the other sofa,” She motioned with both arms animatedly, “when we watch movies so they’d have to sit together, but he leaves like…so much space between them, uncle Tommy. Like, they might as well be in separate rooms. I’m doing my best to get them to just see that they’re perfect for each other, but he’s hopeless. I know he likes Cam. He gets that dumb look on his face when I talk about her.” Tommy laughed, loving the dirt he was getting on his brother.

“Sometimes you gotta let things happen naturally, kid. If it happens, it happens.” Tommy shrugged, munching on a slice of pizza. “Or…” Sarah sat up in interest when Tommy gave her conspiratorial grin, thick brow raised and all. “...you get Cam to make the first move.” Sarah blinked up at her uncle, the cogs in her brain started to slowly crank until a matching grin made its way onto her face. “Now we’re cookin, kid.”

Part 2 (final) please comment & reblog :)

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x ofc #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou #pedro pascal

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patchofgrey · 10 months ago

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Nejiten Family Head cannons

Read the material: Nejiten headcannons | Tenten head cannons | Neji head cannons

Here we go:

As parents:

1. Neji and Tenten were the first to get married. I’m going based off of the “promise” Neji made Tenten during the war. He probably promised to always be by her side, and probably insisted they get married. Hiashi was aware of Neji’s intentions, and since he was already familiar with Tenten, he gave Neji his blessing even if the elders did not.

2. Tenten was apprehensive about having children. Childbirth scared her, and she didn’t want her children to be branded with the curse seal. Luckily, by the time Naruto and Hinata were married and established, the act of using the curse seal was disbanded, and she did not have to worry about her children.

3. Neji and Tenten were the first of their group to have children; twins boys. In some divine act to mirror the situation of Hiashi and Hizashi, Tenten popped out twin boys; The eldest twin was named Nozomi and the younger twin was named after Neji’s father, Hizashi. Because Tenten does have some interest in spirituality, she wanted to honor the possibility that Hizashi’s soul could be within her child and give him a “chance at a new life of freedom”. Neji was a bit shocked at her decision, however touched that she would think of him in such a way.

4. Three years after the twins were born, Tenten gave birth to a girl, the same year as Metal Lee and the gang. With the twins already toddlers, Neji wanted as many kids as possible with Tenten. Tenten, convinced him to stop after their daughter; fully closing the factory and insisting that three was more than enough. Neji named her Meiten, after Tenten. He wanted her to share some commonality with Tenten and thought that Meiten had a nice ring to it when he called both of their names out loud.

5. All three children have the Byakugan. In my Hyuga head cannons, the Byakugan is a dominate gene with the BB coding. With Neji and Tenten’s genetics, all three children have the Bb genetic coding due to Tenten obviously not being a Hyuga with the Byakugan.

6. Neji is a girl dad. He loves his sons, and yet there’s something about his little girl that he’s just attached to. He tends to struggle with keeping himself in check in terms of smothering her with affection. The same struggle that he has to keep in self in check around Tenten to some degree. He could come off cold to his children at times, especially Meiten, but he is trying to not spoil his children, his daughter primarily.

7. Tenten insisted on training all children weaponry. Even if only one child inherited her perfect aim (Nozomi did in fact show talent for it), she wanted her children to be well rounded and not just focus on the Gentle Fist style of fighting. In fact, she focused on one weapon specialty per child; Nozomi with twin swords, Hizashi with a staff, and Meiten with Nunchucks.

8. Neji refused to go on missions while Tenten was pregnant and the kids were at least one years old. It was explained that one of Neji’s love languages are Acts of Service. He felt the need to stay by Tenten’s side and assist her in anyway possible; he would handle the kids while she got rest, take them to appointments, set up the nursery with the help of Lee and Hinata. Gai would give him props for completely devoting himself to Tenten in this way; very much so that Neji would get embarrassed by the constant praise.

9. Tenten was the proctor for her twin boy’s second round of the chunnin exams. It was quite the spectacle for her to watch her sons show off their genius to the crowd.

10. Neji and Tenten show subtle affection while around the kids. Because Neji is awkward himself when it comes to it, the most they do is hold each other and Neji will lightly kiss Tenten if they are around the children. Tenten will still hang on her husband, however will keep her hands respectably where they can be seen *wink wink*.

11. Neji and Tenten are very open and honest with their children. They encourage curiosity and critical thinking. They want their kids to be comfortable enough to approach them, while coming to conclusions based in their own problem solving skills. Neji encourages them to hang around Shikadai, who inherited Shikamaru’s high IQ.

12. Neji and Tenten instilled the “stronger than yesterday” mindset onto their kids. In an attempt at encouragement as well as motivation, Team Gai’s ideals were passed on between Nozomi, Hizashi, Meiten, and Metal Lee.

13. Lee has attempted to keep the green spandex tradition going. You can check out the mini comic page here to see how that turned out. Neji and Tenten kept the green spandex suits hidden from the kids; that hideous thing needed to be burned tbh…

14. Neji tries to be there for Boruto when Naruto is busy. He does try to make Boruto understand that his father is in a very important position and tried to support him as much as he can. Hinata appreciates Neji’s efforts, though Boruto is stubborn, just like his father. Neji doesn’t take any offense when Boruto calls him out for acting as if he was his dad, though the kid also acknowledged that Neji was in fact more present than his own dad and immediately felt like crap for snapping on his Uncle.

For the kids;

1. The twins caused some controversy within the clan. They were the first branch members to not be branded by the main branch. There were times that Neji had to put some of his relatives in their place while protecting his boys. The curse mark can only be removed through death as stated in cannon, it’s safe to say Hiashi had to control his nephew’s threats to his relatives if they even looked at his kids the wrong way.

2. The twins showed more aspects of Tenten’s outward appearance and personality than Neji’s. Nozomi and Hizashi are bubbly, outspoken, and clever in a mischievous way. However, they do share Neji’s ability to remain calm in certain situations and have inherited his determination. They also inherited Neji’s intimidation vibes and high patience levels.

3. Nozomi and Hizashi find their Uncle Lee to be quite the drama king. Much like their parents, Uncle Lee can be a lot sometimes, and the twins try to keep a straight face around him. It’s not that they don’t find him amusing or wise, it’s just that he tends to let the tears of youth flow a little bit too freely.

4. The twins are protective of their little sister. Metal Lee gets a pass for being friendly with Meiten because that is their Uncle Lee’s son. Meiten and Metal practically grew up together. Everyone else though, the twins can be quite intimidating depending on what’s going on.

5. Meiten inherited Neji’s calm persona and yet she can be quite the hot-head if pushed. When around Metal and Uncle Lee and Uncle Gai, Meiten will be the opposite of their energy in order to maintain some sanity. She has also picked up on Neji’s mannerisms such as pursing her lips together when annoyed, rolling her eyes, and over all having some kind of opinion that tends to be the opposing opinion.

6.Meiten finds her cousin Boruto to be a bit of a brat, but she does understand why. She knows that Uncle Naruto is always busy with being Hokage, and Boruto had even called Meiten “lucky” that her father was always around for her.

7. Nozomi and Hizashi are on separate teams. Nozomi’s sensei is Rock Lee, who gladly took the responsibility of training one or both of the Hyuga twins. Hizashi’s sensei is Kiba Inuzuka. Kiba was surprised to have Hizashi grouped with him, however Neji supported the decision on separating the twins. Tenten also wanted the twins to make their own friends, and be independent of each other.

8. Nozomi and Hizashi faced off during the chunnin exams while Tenten was their proctor. Oh boy, oh boy! Tenten could barely contain herself as she watched her boys fight to become chunnin. It ended in a draw with both boys fighting until they were completely drained of chakra. Neji and Tenten were pleased with the draw, both becoming chunnin anyway due to their skills.

9. Meiten didn’t get past the preliminary round of the chunnin exam fights. She was clocked by a foreign gennin. She was very upset with herself and refused to look her parents in the face after wards. Tenten had to tell her own experience of the first time taking the her and Neji took the chunnin exams; Tenten was also clapped by a foreign ninja, and Neji was beat by Meiten’s Uncle Naruto.

10. All three children are considered heirs to the Hua family business even with the last name Hyuga. Lady Chao-Xing Hua was very pleased that Tenten married into the Hyuga family, she hopes that one day, one of them will take over the family business. Tenten refused to take over, however her brother Shinten decided to and made Konoha a second head quarters for the business. Tenten does help from time to time, however she does not fully get involved.

If you want to see some of the kids designings, I got them for you right hereeee: Full Nejiten Kids designs

#naruto #neji hyuga #nejiten #tenten #fanfiction #neji x tenten #nejiten fanfiction #headcannons #nejiten headcannons #Meiten Hyuga #Tenten Hyuga #Nozomi Hyuga #hizashi hyuga

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crochetedblorbos · 10 months ago

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"I am not now, nor have I ever been, adorable."

Character Name: Jonathan Sims, a/k/a The Archivist, a/k/a The Ceaseless Watcher’s Special Little Boy, a/k/a Snoop God’s Favorite Kid

Fandom: The Magnus Archives [Podcast]

Voiced/Written By: Jonathan Sims

Yarn Used: Shoes: CraftSmart Value - Dark Almond Trousers: CraftSmart Value - Taupe Cardigan: CraftSmart Value - Olive Shirt: CraftSmart Value - White Skin: CraftSmart Value - Coffee Hair: CraftSmart Value - Dark Chocolate, CraftSmart value - Grey Glasses: Ashland Decorative Wire - Black, 12 gauge

Basic pattern here.

Look. How can you NOT love this pathetic wet cat of a man. (And like most cats, he is also a bastard at times.) He really went through the wringer over the course of the podcast, both physically and emotionally. Thank God he had Martin there for him.

Jon differs from the base pattern as follows:

Shoes: I actually remembered to do the soles in a different color this time! Other than the color, they were done the same way as Joseph’s.

Trousers: I accidentally shortened them. I did not mean to shorten them, but frankly, I miscounted on the first leg and only realized it halfway up the second, so I stopped them at R27 instead of R29, so he’s just a tad bit shorter than normal. (Which is fine, and fits my headcanon for Jon.) I also…well, I’ve finally thrown my lot in on the Great Archival Ass Debate on the side of the Assless, so in R32 (what would normally be R34, but again, everything is two rows lower than normal), I put the decrease in the very back, rather than on either side of R41 as usual. Other than that, they’re the same as Joseph’s.

Cardigan and Shirt: I more or less used the same technique I used for Hux, except that I started a round lower (I think) to make the V deeper. I switched fully to the white for R50 (R52 in the base pattern), then did three stitches on either side of the center stitch of R51 in back loops only to give myself something to hook onto. I then went back later and stitched a collar by making a simple triangle in the front loops of those stitches. I also skipped what would have been R54 in the base pattern and, when I switched to the skin color, I went straight for the decrease to 12 sc around. I was hoping this would make his head less floppy.

Head: I used the loop method again. It’s just easier at this point, especially since Jon canonically has enough grey in his hair that he looks older than thirty. I gave him long hair and left it loose, but at least I got it the right length this time (sorry again, Hux). I was going to give him ears, but honestly, I made his glasses small enough that I didn’t need to. I didn't necessarily plan on giving him buck teeth, but I was in the middle of a D&D session while I was working on his face and white yarn was the only thing I had to hand, so rather than run back to my room for black or dark brown I just went with it.

Arms: When you’re crocheting a character who canonically has a very nasty burn scar on one hand, you have three choices. You can ignore it, you can attempt to replicate it in variegated yarn, or you can crochet a hand and set it on fire. And, well...

...I have a lighter and very poor impulse control. [Side note: I mentioned this to an IRL friend who also listens to TMA, and they said brightly, “Just like the Archivist!] (For the record, burning acrylic yarn doesn’t actually smell as terrible as you might think.) I also decided to cut out the final increase in his hands to make them long and thin. This also means I didn’t decrease for his wrists, which was fine, because I gave him shirt cuffs folded over the end of his cardigan as follows: R9: Join shirt yarn, ch 2, dc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first dc (10 dc). R10: Ch 1, sc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first sc (10 sc). R11: Join cardigan yarn, ch 2, hdc in back loop of each stitch in R9 around, sl st in first hdc (10 hdc). Continue rest of arm as normal.

Glasses: These definitely did not turn out like I expected, but eh, they work. I bent the wire into square spectacles and stuck them on. As mentioned, I did them tight enough (accidentally) that I didn’t even need the ears.

Bonus: I deliberately did Jon’s hands so he can hold hands with Martin, or tried to anyway. I realized only after he was complete that I matched the magnet in Jon’s right hand to the one in Martin’s right hand, and there’s not really room to turn them around. I might try pulling Martin’s arms off later and switching them around, but for now…well, at least they can hold hands the other way around.

#blorbo from my shows #crocheting #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin

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sourpatchys · 1 year ago

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Tea Prompts, Tomura Shigaraki

You can find the original prompt post here!

Let me know if there are any other characters you’d like to see any of these prompts for! This was really fun!

Warning: some adult themes are thrown in here! This isn’t a NSFW piece but I did include some references to sexual activity, please read with caution if that’s not your cup of tea <3 (most of these are completely SFW)

A/n: these were written with a F!Reader in mind, most of them can be read either way! Though occasionally she/her pronouns are used<3

Masterlist Guidelines

Lemon Tea; What are Mornings like with them?

Tomura isn’t much of a sleeper— so mornings together tend to be rare and far between— but when he actually manages to sleep a full eight hours, the mornings you have together are very peaceful.

He isn’t a morning person by any means. He’s groggy, grumpy and completely nonverbal for the first hour or more. With you he can loosen up a bit, sliding his cold hands and feet into your general space, switching fingers every few minutes just to make sure they’re all warming up properly.

Some mornings he’ll wrap you in a bear hug that your absolutely positive could crack a few ribs— though you love it all the same.

This is the time you two have just to yourselves— no league, no missions, no plans for world domination— just two people laying in bed waiting for the sun to fully rise.

—

Peppermint tea; What do they get excited about?

A pretty obvious answer would be video games, but in all honesty, Tomura loves to talk.

To speak and be heard, to engage in conversation and bounce ideas back and forth— that’s what really gets him going. He loves to plot, to scheme and gossip about anything and everything.

Outwardly it’ll be nearly impossible to tell, he really isn’t the kind of guy who would let anyone know something this personal (so vulnerable), though everyone notices the spark in his eyes when he really gets going on a topic he’s passionate about.

If you were to ask follow up questions, to engage yourself fully in his monologues and spiels, it’s just like giving a kid a candy bar.

And if you were to get angry for him?? To enrage yourself over anything he may say, to become furious at the same situation or person he hates so much— it’s almost enough to fully break his cover.

It’s one thing for him to be elated over the prospect of another person feeling his rage, but it’s another entirely if he starts to feel yours. Stupid highschool bully stories, that one girl in band class that broke your flute— it doesn’t matter— he’ll start eating it up as if he hasn’t had a meal in years.

—

Chamomile tea; What is their sleep schedule like? Does it change around their s/o?

To put it bluntly, Tomura doesn’t have a sleep schedule— he sleeps when his body gives out.

Even before his memories had re-emerged, blotchy nightmares plagued him. Every morning he’d wake up sick to his stomach, the itch under his skin growing by the millisecond. So— he learned to adapt.

2-3 hour power naps kept the nightmares at bay and gave him enough stamina for whatever was to come. His lack of sleep was a large driving force in his erratic behavior early on, grumpy and irritable.

With you though, he finds the nightmares to be less oppressive. He still doesn’t sleep enough, but he finds that taking a couple days out of the week to rest fully isn’t so bad.

If he has a nightmare, the cycle will break back to its bare bones and it’ll take awhile to resurface. As long as you’re patient and as long as he’s willing, he’ll be back to sleeping properly.

Though as a whole, it could take years before he’s ready to sleep regularly again.

—

Earl grey tea; How did they court their s/o?

He didn’t. He isn’t a romantic— he honestly hated you when he started to feel more than just average companionship towards you.

Not a single bushel of roses were bought, no dates were had— hell— you didn’t even know you were together until about a month in when he got pissed at you for getting injured!

“If you ever do that again we’re breaking up.”

Any confusion would only piss him off more— giving you the silent treatment for a few days before he’d finally cave in with some very dead and very wilted wild flowers in hand.

“What is this??”

“Shut the fuck up and take them.”

He honestly just decides that you’re the one he wants— it doesn’t really matter to him how you feel about it.

—

Milk tea; What are their kisses like?

At first, Tomura’s kisses are gentle, childlike and timid— like he isn’t sure what exactly he’s supposed to be doing.

Then— they become untamed— sloppy and harsh. He bites and slobbers, prods and maims, anything to get as close to you as possible.

He won’t kiss you unless you’re completely alone, far away from any prying eyes and peaked interests. He’s not going to show that part of himself to anyone but you.

Teeth and tongue, cracked lips that— if chapped enough— can cut into your own. Kissing is a frenzy, very rarely will you ever get a soft peck or a loving press of his lips onto yours.

—

Coffee; Do they get jealous easily? How do they show it?

Absolutely. Tomura— even as a rising symbol of fear— is extremely self conscious.

He’d never let you leave— as stated above— he didn’t even really give you a choice when it came to being together in the first place.

But even so, the insecurity of you looking away from him, finding someone better or more handsome— it makes his blood run cold.

If there’s someone who touches you and lingers a little too long, if there’s someone you smile at a little too brightly, he’s not above taking their life. Of course it always starts with a threat, either to them or to you.

He wants you to tell him you’ll never leave, he wants you to crumble and cry and tell him everything is exactly as it should be. He is not a kind man, and in times like these it becomes ever apparent that he never will be.

Tomura protects what’s his, and even with free will, you belong to him whether you like it or not.

—

Rosehip tea; How romantic are they? How do they show affection?

Tomura isn’t romantic. At least not in the traditional sense. You can tell he cares by the look in his eyes or his apprehensive nature towards your roll in whatever the league may be doing next.

He keeps you away from danger, even though he, himself, is the biggest danger to you.

If you were to ask for something— anything— he would get it for you. He’s very straight forward, and he wants the people he cares about to able to do, and have whatever they want.

His love language is physical touch, and even though he keeps all the affection he has for you behind closed doors— as soon as those doors are closed, he’s all over you.

Running his hands up and down your stomach, gripping at the squish on your thighs, shoving his head into the crook of your neck, palming your breasts just to remember the feel of them.

He treats you like a fragile porcelain doll.

—

Black tea; What do they look for in a person?

Honestly he wasn’t looking. The concept of romance was completely uninteresting to him— he didn’t want anyone and he didn’t need anyone— he was completely fine on his own.

Though, he wouldn’t date a fellow villain— at least not one notable enough to be a threat. Tomura doesn’t do well with competition, he loathes the thought of racing to the top, he just wants to be there.

Finding a person who he can corrupt, who he can make his own— is something he’d enjoy greatly. That’s not to say he couldn’t fall for a league member, but it wouldn’t be someone worth his time— at least not in the beginning.

He wants a person he can talk to, touch, and unload upon. Someone who will remain consistent and stick by his side no matter what the cost may be.

Although romance isn’t his forte, and finding someone to love wasn’t something he had ever envisioned, he wants someone he can be with for life.

—

Pomegranate tea; At what point did they know they loved their s/o?

Truth be told Tomura was wrapped around your finger from the moment he decided he wanted you— though it didn’t fully kick in until a few months into your relationship.

You were in a fight— it was over something stupid that any other couple could’ve resolved within the day— looking back neither of you could even remember what it was about.

He was pissed, stomping around, seething and destroying anything he could get his hands on. He wanted to yell at you, to scream in your face and make sure you know this was your fault. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Gradually, as the days passed and he became less and less bothered by whatever the two of you had disagreed on— he realized he wasn’t itchy.

He still had those rising tingles under his skin and he still had to rub away his discomfort from day to day life— but this argument, the infuriating way you had made him feel— it did nothing to his sensitive skin.

Slowly it became apparent that he hadn’t needed to dig into his skin at all. He was angry, he was upset and borderline furious with you— but he was comfortable.

For the first time in his life he was able to feel negativity without the pull of fire ants under his skin. That’s when he realized for sure— that he was absolutely, without a doubt, in love with you.

—

Matcha tea; How and when do they propose to their s/o?

The villain life has no room for any sort of eloping or marriage— so he doesn’t ever really propose.

Sooner or later you just start to feel like a married couple.

You bicker and fight, you sleep together and sneak away to have alone time. The love he has for you starts seeping out more, he becomes a new version of himself just for you.

Then, once the Paranormal Liberation Front is active, Re-Destro asks about your partnership. It’s a simple question, curious and wide eyed.

“Who is this girl to you?”

It makes sense given the environment— you were not nominated as a lieutenant, though you stood by Tomura’s side like a shadow, waiting and watching— clearly in the ranks but with no flashy title to show for it.

And then, as if it were as simple as breathing, Tomura calls you his wife. Telling anyone who was around that he was the King, and by default you were the Queen.

—

Chai Tea; How do they spice up their relationship?

All in all, Tomura is a pretty boring guy. He drinks straight black coffee, plays video games and broods in silence 90% of the time.

Though, when it comes to you, he does try to make an effort. He’ll try out the games you like or your hobbies, and he’ll introduce you to his own in return.

He’ll teach you how to play chess, and that will inevitably turn into tradition. Once a week (if time will allow) you’ll sit down together, play a few games and just talk.

In the underworld, romance never will be easy to manage, and even though you make his days a little brighter, you’ll never be his top priority. World destruction won’t happen on its own, and nothing in his life will override his goals.

But these special little moments between the two of you are by far the best part of anything he’s ever going to accomplish.

—

Hibiscus tea; What’s their favorite place to take their s/o?

The bedroom. As stated, Tomura isn’t a very outgoing person— he won’t take you out on dates or walks in the park.

But he will sit with you in a dark room, watch movies and eat junk. (Bonus points if there’s a blow job thrown in)

His favorite place to be with you, is when you’re alone and secluded. He wants to touch you freely, to run his lips down your throat and hold you close to his chest.

He wants to grab you, to hold and be held. To feel the warmth of your body completely engulfing his own.

Truly, his favorite place to be, is wherever you’ll allow.

—

Green tea; How do they comfort their s/o?

He really doesn’t. Tomura has absolutely no idea how to deal with you when you’re upset.

If you’re angry he’ll get angry with you! He’ll wind you up and let you take it all out on whatever you so please. (as long as it isn’t him)

Expect absolutely nothing in regard to his comforting abilities. He might take you to the side and ask you what’s wrong, he may even give you an awkward hug! But that’s really all he’ll be able to do.

If you ask for space he’ll give it to you, if you ask for cuddles he’ll do his best! But overall, you’re the one who has to call the shots, and depending on what’s going on, he may just leave you to deal with it yourself. Because as stated above— regardless of how wonderful you are— you are not his top priority.

—

Russian caravan tea; How experienced are they with relationships?

NOT AT ALL. You are his first (and final) attempt at love. You’re going to get all of his fuck ups, all of his learning curves and all of his shitty disposition.

He has no idea what he’s doing, and even years down the line he still won’t fully understand. Caring for another person isn’t the most insane thing in the world— he cares for the league and it works out fine!

But loving someone?? It’s just too overwhelming at times. Taking your needs into consideration without being asked, figuring out what you enjoy and how he can add that into his already insane schedule— it’s maddening.

You’re his first everything, and you’re just going to have to be okay with that— because you’re stuck with him whether you like it or not!

—

English breakfast tea; Would they want a family?

Tomura wasn’t even looking for love when he found it— let alone a family.

I really doubt he ever thinks about it at all, he’s never been someone who cared much about what the future would bring.

That isn’t to say if you wanted a family he wouldn’t cave. He wants the people he cares about to have and do whatever they want— if for you that means starting a family with him— he’s not opposed to it.

It wouldn’t be cut and dry though, and if you never pipe up with the interest he isn’t going to either.

If you do bring it up, he’d ask a lot of follow up questions. Such as,

“Why?”

“What’s the point?”

He really wouldn’t know what to do if that situation occurred, but he wouldn’t say no— he may just need to think on it for a while.

If you were to become pregnant, be it a broken condom or failed birth control— he wouldn’t ask you to terminate. You belong to him— yes— but part of being in his grasp is being able to live your life any way you want. Aside from hero work or leaving him there aren’t many restrictions.

If push comes to shove he’d enjoy having a little family of his own! Seeing himself mixed with you in a smaller, separate, body— creating something after destroying so much. It would be one of the steepest learning curves he’s ever experienced, and he wouldn’t be the most present father in the early days of vomit and diapers— but he’d be there all the same.

—

Rooibos tea; What’s their favorite thing to do with their s/o?

Cuddling. He loves to touch and be touched. He doesn’t care if you play games with him, he doesn’t care if you kill and destroy— all he cares about is the fact that you’re there with him.

He loves when you run your fingers through his tangled hair, slowly separating any knots you find. He loves the feel of his hands rubbing against your soft skin. He craves your presence and he craved the feel of you.

It’s not always sexual— but those times when he can claim you, to mark you inside and out, he truly feels like he’s the most powerful man in the world.

He’s terrified of feeling vulnerable, so he pushes you away any chance he gets, refusing to do anything with you if there’s even a chance of someone else seeing. (And sometimes that person is you)

#tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tomura shigiraki x reader #tomura headcanons #tomura x reader #tomura imagine #tomura shiragaki #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki headcanon #shigaraki imagine #my hero academia shigaraki #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki

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say-hwaet · 5 months ago

Text

That's the Way it Is

Chapter Seven: To Dance With Danger, Part 2 Previous Chapters: VI V IV III II I Next Chapter: VIII Summary: You, John, and Bill continue your onslaught on the O'Driscolls. It is rather successful, and dangerous. Word Count: ~8,000 Warnings: Violence, Mature themes, language

The last gunshot rings through the trees and the surrounding air is cast in a fog, not from rain or bad weather, but from gun smoke. You finally lower the shotgun, its weight now becoming too heavy as the adrenaline wears off.

You’re surrounded. Surrounded by piling bodies of dead O’Driscolls.

“Well, Hell…!” Bill cackles, clearly too happy for the fight. “I was itchin’ to get that out of my system…!” And he looks over at you, giving you a respectful nod. “Sure started to wonder when you was gonna be back.”

You furrow your brow. “I am back.”

He shakes his head, you must not be getting it. “Naw, I mean the real you. The real Kitka Petrova!”

John walks over a body after looting it, tucking some found riches in his pocket. “Yeah, that was really somethin’, like old times!”

You feel a jittering in your heart and you place a hand over it. “You mean to say I’ve always been like that?”

John nods. “Sure am. Hosea would be proud.”

You find yourself smiling. If this is the real you, and they approve, then you must be doing something right. Maybe taking the risk in doing this mission was just the thing you needed to get in the right direction.

But then a cracked voice shouts behind you. “You think you can defeat us…?!” You turn around, and see the young O’Driscoll. Blood from the beating you gave him caked on the side of his head and his gun pointed at you. “I knew you was trouble…!”

You freeze, too shocked to move.

And just as Bill and John retaliate, drawing their weapons, another shot echoes.

The boy’s eyes widen and without another word, he falls to the ground with a soft thud. The shot did not come from behind you, but ahead of you.

You see movement to your left and as you turn your head slowly, you are stunned by what you see.

It’s Kieran, with your rifle, smoke still coming from the barrel. He just saved your life.

You are all silent for a moment, perhaps waiting to see if another O’Driscoll will come out of nowhere, but after a minute or two, there are none.

You find yourself opening your mouth, speaking humorously. “I suppose I didn’t tie the knots tight enough.”

“No kidding,” John breathes.

You look at Kieran, who finally lowers the rifle. “I guess we’re even, now,” you exhale.

He nods, looking at you suspiciously, not fully believing you. “If you say so.”

“No, no, no,” John says, waving his hand. “While it’s always a pleasure to kill some O’Driscolls, we’re still short one.”

Bill growls, nodding his head, and storms over to Kieran. “You said Colm was gonna be here!!”

Kieran instantly cowers, dropping your rifle without hesitation. “I weren’t lyin…! He-he-might come back!”

“Not after all that, you idiot!” John snarls, eager to lay a punch on him.

But you step in between them, holding out your hand like you’re trying to tame an angry wolf.

And that’s when you feel a sharp pain in your side.

“Ack…!” You bend over, your left hand going to the spot that stings and burns.

“Kit?!” John goes to you, his brows pinched in deep concern. “What’s wrong, sis?”

You look down and you lift your hand. Your blouse has a dark spot and a long tear in it. You’re surprised you didn’t feel it or see it, but your blouse is a dark brown and you were caught up in the moment of the fight.

But the pain is coming in waves now. “I’ve been shot…” You try to inspect the wound, still retaining some decency as you turn away and lift your shirt.

John places a hand on your back, coaxing you to move. “We gotta get you back—“

There aren’t any holes in your flesh. It looks like a terrible scrape, or like someone took a chisel and marked a chunk out of your skin. “I'm fine,” you interrupt, moving away from him. “It’s just a grazing.”

You hear John sigh. “Still, you need to get back soon.” And he returns to look at Kieran, his eyes narrowing. “After we figure out where that bastard Colm is.”

Still looking at your wound, you say what you were going to say before your injured interruption. “I overheard them saying there was a stagecoach robbery. Colm was on his way here from another hideout.” You grimace, bunching your shirt in your hand and putting pressure on your wound.

John looks at Kieran, his gaze steely and intense. “You know where it is?”

Kieran shakes his head. “O-only this-s-s one…!”

You look up and study Kieran’s face, you can tell that he is petrified, but there’s no hint of deception. You lower your head as the pain in your side increases and try to speak calmly. “He’s telling the truth.”

Kieran’s eyes shift between you three. “I can make it up to you!” He points to the cabin as it continues to burn. “There’s gotta be money in the chimney! Colm always keeps a stash hidden every place he goes!”

John’s raspy voice rings out in irritation. “If it ain’t burned up first! Ever think about that?”

But only the front of the cabin is in flames, it still has to reach the back. Maybe there’s still a chance to find out. Feeling emboldened by your survival, you begin to walk toward it. “I’ll go see.”

But a hand grabs your shoulder, pulling you back. “Oh no, you don’t!” And John whips you back around. “Hosea would have Arthur kill me if I brought you back not only as you are, but burnin’ besides.” And with a hint of a smirk, he points his revolver at Kieran. “You go get it. And you better make sure you come back out with some cash.”

Kieran nods hesitantly, his eyes darting from the smoking cabin to John's grim expression and back again. You watch him approach the cabin, each step tentative as if the ground might give way beneath him. The tension in the air is palatable, like the low rumble of thunder before a storm.

“Hurry up!” John roars, pointing his gun skyward and shooting once. Kieran nearly jumps in the air, and hurries toward what’s left of the door as the flames eat it away.

Your breathing becomes shallow, the sting from your side rising with each pulse of your heart. You lean against a nearby tree, the rough bark pressing into your back, providing a strange comfort amidst the chaos. From this vantage point, you watch as Kieran disappears into the smoky maw of the cabin, his form swallowed by the thick, billowing smoke. Your heart continues to pound in your chest, an erratic drumbeat in the quiet of the dying fire’s hiss and crackle.

“You think he’ll find it?” Bill’s voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone laced with skepticism.

You glance at John who just watches for the opening. “No loss, either way.”

You scowl. “And we aren’t like the O’Driscolls at all,” you say with agitated sarcasm. “I wonder what Hosea would say seeing us now, acting like vultures around a carcass.”

John frowns, the lines on his scarred face deepening. "Hosea ain't here, Kit. We gotta do what we gotta do to survive. Besides, he’s an O’Driscoll, you know that."

Your gaze shifts back to the cabin and just when you are about to give in and go in there after him, Kieran rushes back out, clutching a small, metal box.

“He’s got somethin! He’s got somethin’!” Bill cheers and practically leaps over bodies to get to the young man. Kieran, half-choked by smoke, stumbles toward you all, the box clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

As he nears, his coughing subsides enough for him to wheeze out, "Found it in the chimney—nearly missed it with all the smoke…!”

He offers it to you, not John or Bill, and you take it from him. You try to open it, but it’s locked.

“Hey, what the—?”

And before you can finish, John snatches it from you, and with his hunting knife in hand, he slips it under the lid and pries it open. You all gather close and look inside the box.

And there, perfectly wadded, is a roll of cash. A thick roll.

John manages a smile. “I guess it weren’t all for nothin’.” And discarding the box, he holds the wad of cash and begins to divide it amongst you, leaving a large portion of it for the gang’s collection.

You get a nice take out of it. One. Hundred. Dollars.

There was six hundred dollars just sitting in that tin.

You tuck your share into your bosom, feeling the weight of the bills pressed against your flesh. Aside from the thirty dollars you had woken up with after Blackwater, this is the most amount of money you have ever seen. You don’t feel guilty for having it. After all, it was Colm you stole from, not an innocent family or lonely traveler.

“We should get goin’,” John says calmly and sheaths his knife. He turns to leave and after sharing a glance with Bill, you both follow.

After walking a few paces, John quickly stops, turns around, and looks behind you. “Except you.”

You then realize he is talking about Kieran.

“What?” Kieran asks, his voice trembling. “Y-y-you’re just gonna leave me here?”

“It’s better than killin ya, get lost!” John waves him off with a large sweep of his arm.

Kieran shakes in his boots, his voice trembling. “I’m just as good as dead if you leave me! Colm ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

“And how is that our problem?” Bill roars.

“So, I’m one of you now…!” He says it with more courage than what he usually gives, and this causes John and Bill to pause for a moment.

You’ve been watching this exchange and you aren’t sure if this is a regular occurrence or not. It doesn’t make sense to leave him, after helping you by revealing this hideout and finding you some cash.

But most importantly…

“He saved my life, John,” you remind him. “You’re just going to let that go?”

You see his eyes shift to you and soften. You know now that he looks up to you, in a way, in a sisterly way, and after what Abigail said, he clearly missed you more than what he was willing to let on.

John’s lips press into a thin line, a visible struggle playing across his features as he weighs your words against his instincts. His gaze flickers back to Kieran, who stands shivering slightly, his eyes wide with a mingled fear and hope.

Finally, John lets out a long sigh and nods curtly. "Alright, but if you get yourself in trouble, don’t go cryin’ to me.” He points to you. “Cry to her, God knows she’s the softest one in the bunch.” You can hear the light teasing in his voice, clearly trying to hide it behind the gruff tone he’s taken. He turns back around and continues to head toward the hill, where your horses wait on the other side.

You feel a mixture of relief and responsibility settle on your shoulders, realizing that you may have just made a decision that will impact the gang forever. After Bill and John are a few paces away, you turn and look back at the new member. “Come on, Kieran,” you say softly, gesturing to him to follow. He nods quickly, almost disbelievingly, and meets the pace of your stride.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely carrying over the rustling leaves around you.

You nod, feeling the weight of his life now partially in your hands. "Stick close, keep your head down, and please, don’t make me look stupid.”

***

You ride carefully back to camp with the boys. You also make a point not to wince or groan, though you are in a great deal of pain. You keep your hand on your side, hoping that the bleeding has stopped by now, but you don’t want to stop and look. You just need to make it back to camp, and prepare yourself for what may happen.

You already know that Dutch is going to question where you have been. Micah may even be well enough to hiss words into his ear, no doubt making you sound more of an enemy than you would ever intend to be. It seems that is what Micah does best.

The crisp evening air snaps against your cheeks as you guide Odliv along the familiar path, the rhythmic hoofbeats a comforting, yet somber tune. John and Bill are quiet for the ride back, and you aren’t too upset by that. You don’t mind peace and quiet, the time to gather your thoughts.

You wonder if Arthur is back. If he managed to find something about Sean, like he mentioned. You are eager to know, Sean is another person that knows you, someone who has a piece of a puzzle that you are trying to put back together.

After a little bit longer, you see the trail that leads to camp, and you feel your heart beating just a little bit faster. It is darker now, and just as the sun sets, you can spot the glow of the camp’s fire.

“Hey! State your business!” It’s Karen.

“Guess who?” John asks, speaking enough to identify yourselves.

“Well, well, well…!” Karen says, a lilt in her voice. “Was wonderin’ if you’d come back at all!”

“Shut up,” John barks back and you can’t help but wonder if there is a hidden meaning there.

You can feel the eyes of the other gang members on you as you ride into camp, their curious glances like prickles on the back of your neck. You dismount with a quick swing of your leg and once your feet hit the ground, you feel a sudden twinge in your side and wince. “Ack…!”

“Hosea…!” John calls out. “Kit’s hurt!”

That was not what you wanted. The last thing you need is to have everyone flocking over to you, worrying over just a bullet graze.

The girls, aside from Karen who remains guarding the camp, are the first to reach you. Concern is clearly etched into their faces, as their gentle hands take you and escort you to the nearby table.

“What happened?” Mary Beth looks you over.

“Are you hurt?” Tilly wipes some dirt from your brow.

“What did John do?” Abigail asks.

You aren’t able to answer any of their questions, as they all come at you all at once. You shake your head lightly, trying to assure them without using too many words. "It's nothing," you manage, though the throbbing in your side argues otherwise. Mary Beth looks skeptical, her eyes narrowing as she inspects the wound more closely.

"Just a scrape," you repeat, hoping to dissuade further inquiry.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Susan, with a lantern in her hand, pushes her way to the table and pulls up a chair beside you. “Move aside, girls…” And seeing where your hand is placed, she quickly grabs it and pulls it away from your side.

The movement is enough for the pain to sharply course through you and you bend into your side. “Ow…!”

She holds the lantern up close and squints to focus her vision. “You got shot, alright.”

You then hear Hosea’s voice as he approaches. “Shot?”

His tone is a mix of worry and disbelief. Hosea, always the peacekeeper, never likes hearing about injuries, especially when it comes to someone he considers family. You see the concern in his eyes as he kneels beside you, his weathered face etched with years of hardship but always maintaining that gentle kindness.

"Yes,” you answer. “I didn’t realize it until after we took them all out.”

Hosea’s brow furrows. “Took who all out?”

“O’Driscolls!” Bill growls, with an edge of excitement in his voice. “It was like old times, Hosea. You shoulda seen her!”

Hosea turns to look back at you. “Can’t seem to recall the old times including Kit getting shot.”

You frown. “I guess I am not as nimble as I used to be,” you manage a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood despite the throbbing pain that suggests the bullet did more than just graze you.

“What’s this about O’Driscolls?”

Those gathered around you turn to see Dutch and Micah, walking up to you with narrowed glances.

John steps forward, standing right behind you as you sit in your chair. “Kit got Kieran to talk, and we attacked one of their hideouts. Got a good payout, too.”

Dutch looks at you, arching a brow. “Did she, now?”

You swallow and nod your head confidently. “Yes, I did.”

“Well, ain’t she just a go-getter?” Micah says condescendingly. “For someone who can’t remember a lick, she seems pretty eager to get back into the saddle…get us in trouble.”

Hosea furrows his brow. “I hardly see a bunch of dead O’Driscolls and a handful of cash trouble, Micah.”

And Micah doesn’t have an answer for that, only lifting his chin and snickering, like he’s got a winning hand and terrible poker face.

Dutch looks at you. “You got Kieran to talk?”

You nod. “All it takes is a gentle hand.”

He almost laughs at that. “You always did have a way with people, Kit,” Dutch says warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Even when they’re as stubborn as mules.” He glances at Hosea before turning to walk away. “You make sure she gets treated for that wound,” he calls over his shoulder. Micah only leers at you before going in the opposite direction. Good. You hate seeing him try to be Dutch’s shadow, even after the sun has gone down.

Hosea nods, giving you a concerned look. “He’s right, you know,” Hosea says softly, his voice low as he takes your hand. “You’ve got a knack for this, but don’t push yourself too hard.”

You smile, feeling a sense of pride. “I just want to be myself again.”

Hosea shakes his head, his expression softening. “We need to get this cleaned up before it gets infected.”

Susan nods, and gestures for Mary Beth to bring some clean cloths and whiskey. "Mary Beth, if you could also prepare some of that poultice we have in the medicine wagon and meet me by the lean-to. It’ll help with the inflammation."

Mary Beth nods firmly, bustling away to fetch the items while others clear a space around you on the table. Hosea pats your shoulder and you look up at him. You can see the relief in his eyes and you can’t help but feel a little guilty for worrying him. You watch as he walks away and gestures for the onlookers to carry on as they were.

“Come this way, Kitka,” Susan beckons, helping you stand up and walk you back to your tent. “Tilly, come with me.” She helps you sit down and without a second thought, helps you unbutton your shirt. “Let’s see how bad it is…”

As Susan carefully peels back the fabric, her hands are steady but her brow is furrowed in concentration. The cool evening air brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine from the sudden rush of cold.

“Cut through your chemise, too,” she says regretfully.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say and she gently moves the fabric around to get a better look at your wound.

Leaning back, she rolls up her sleeves, preparing to treat your wound with the practiced care of someone who's seen too many injuries in her lifetime. “Tilly, get me some water.”

Tilly nods, and turns to leave the tent just as Mary Beth returns with a bottle of whiskey, cloth, and a mortar filled with crushed herbs. Sitting down, she sets everything down beside you, and Susan takes the bottle of whiskey. You can already sense what is about to happen.

Tilly quickly returns, and stands by with a basin of warm water and the clean cloths, ready to assist.

“Ouch!” You grimace as Susan begins to clean the wound. The sharp sting of whiskey follows, making you suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

"All right, Kit," Susan sighs. “You’re going to have to hold still for just a little longer. Mary Beth, please finish mixin’ the poultice while I finish cleanin’ this up.”

Mary Beth nods, her hands deftly working the mortar, grinding the herbs with a pestle. The scent of yarrow and chamomile fills the tent, a gentle earthy aroma that contrasts the gunpowder and woodsmoke on your skin.

You’ve been treated by a doctor only recently, but somehow, nothing seems to compare to the gentle care of these three women, who have been by your side through thick and thin. Each touch and motion is infused with a kinship that no formal medical training could provide. They move around you with a seamless choreography, one born of many nights spent huddled in dimly lit tents, tending to one another's bruises and breaks.

If you had any doubts as to where you were, you don’t anymore.

You are home.

***

“Ah…! It is sooo good to be back with you all again…!” An unfamiliar voice bellows loudly into the night, causing you to rise from your rest. After being bandaged and given one of Mary Beth’s shirts to wear, you are cleaned up and ready to recover. You managed to close your eyes for just a few minutes, before the sound of hoofbeats and the loud Irish accent came storming through camp.

And, of course, you’re too curious for your own good.

Easing yourself out of your bedroll carefully, you step outside the tent, steadying yourself against the wooden pole. The camp is alive with energy, a stark contrast to the quietude that enveloped it just moments ago. Lanterns are lit, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your companions gathered around a figure near the campfire.

You see faces who weren’t there before. Charles. Javier. They are back.

And there, standing on a crate with a lopsided grin, is a red headed young man in a gray shirt. “…Uncle Sean is back! And don’t you worry, Ms. Grimshaw, old crone. I’ll keep dem girls in line, if I have to whip’em, I will…!”

Tilly, standing nearby, yells back at him. “I’d like to see you try…!”

Sean. This is Sean Macguire. But if he’s back, then…

Where’s Arthur?

You look over at Charles and he meets your gaze and smiles politely. You haven’t really talked to him much, but he seems the type to be friendly when it calls for it.

Carefully holding your side, you walk over to him. “Hello, Charles.”

“Hi, Kit.” He notices your hand. “You okay?”

You shrug it off. “It’s just a grazing. I’ll manage. But…” your voice trails off as you glance around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one face you want to see more than any other. “Arthur—is he…?”

Charles's expression softens, understanding immediately who you're asking about. “Ah,” he says, a hint of sympathy in his voice. “He hung back for a bit. Lookin’ to see if the bounty hunters had left anything valuable.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Bounty hunters?”

Charles nods. “Mmhm. That’s how we got Sean back.” You both look back at the already inebriated Irishman, who can barely keep his balance on the crate as he raves on about how much he loves everyone and to have fun tonight. “Now I’m having second thoughts.”

You chuckle, but that causes your side to hurt more. “Ouch.”

“Hey, you should take it easy.”

“Oh, I intend to, I just wanted to see what the fuss was about before I try to get back to sleep.”

Charles shakes his head. “If you say so.”

You hear music begin to play and look to see Javier with his guitar and those gathered begin to sing. “You sing, Charles?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Oh.” You pause, and think to ask him a question. “Do I?”

Charles raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You? Sing?" He chuckles softly, leaning back against the wagon. "Can't say I've ever heard you, but I figure if you wanted to, you'd have a voice worth listening to."

You smile tentatively, appreciative of his compliment. “I like you, Charles.”

He smiles back warmly, chuckling. "You’ve always spoken your mind, Kit. I learned that quickly when I met you six months ago.”

You tilt your head, and your smile fades. “Did I? Does that offend you?”

He looks at you funny, then shakes his head. “Of course, not. I appreciate it. You've always got a way about you that's...calming. Even in times like these."

Appreciation shadows your face as you look around at the ragged band of outlaws, finding comfort in the familiar albeit battered faces. The fire casts dancing shadows and for a brief moment, the flickering light seems to illuminate a path directly to Arthur as he strides back into the camp. Relief floods through you so powerfully that your knees nearly buckle.

Arthur's eyes search the crowd until they land on you. His stride quickens, his face a mix of concern and something deeper, softer.

But Dutch catches him, calling his name. “Arthur…!”

Arthur stops in his tracks, changing directions and walks toward the charismatic leader. “You seem to be in a good mood…”

Charles must see the dissatisfied look on your face, for he chuckles softly. “Everyone’s always fighting for his attention. But you needn't worry. He's always made time for you."

You watch as Arthur laughs at something Dutch says, throwing his head back in a display of genuine amusement that you've seldom seen recently. His laughter is a warm sound in the cool night, inviting yet somber when laced with the undercurrents of the looming dangers that shadow your gang. It's a rare sight that softens the edges of your worry for just a moment.

As the music grows louder and the singing more fervent, you feel an unfamiliar ache to join in, to let go of the burden of secrets and fears for just a little while, but you want to talk to Arthur. You have questions you want answered.

Leaving Charles, you make your way over to the rugged outlaw as he continues to converse with Dutch.

Dutch is smiling, with a newly lit cigar in his hand. “…We’re havin’ a party! We’re celebratin’!” Then just as he sees you coming, his smile dissappears. “Do you mind, Kit? Arthur’s just got back, and—”

Arthur holds out a hand, clearly trying to calm Dutch down. “No, Dutch, it’s alright.” And not waiting for a response, he turns to look at you, his eyes soft. “How’ve you been? Gettin’ along fine?”

You nod, trying to get into the conversation, despite Dutch’s intense gaze. “Yes, I have.”

“She’s been gettin’ along, alright,” Dutch quips as he begins to walk away. “Gettin’ herself shot.”

Arthur quickly looks at you, his eyes narrowing with worry. "What?" His voice rises slightly, an edge of panic threading through the gruffness.

You quickly shake your head, trying to dismiss his concern. "Arthur, it’s—it's nothing, really." You place your hand on your side, indicating where the bullet touched you.

But he’s still catching up. “You got shot?!” Arthur’s voice booms, louder than you intended, and a few heads turn in your direction. You wince, not wanting to make a spectacle, but his concern is palpable, radiating from him like the heat from the distant campfire.

“It’s just a graze,” you try to reassure him, your voice softer now.

And thankfully, he mirrors your tone, lowering his voice slightly. “When?”

“Today…”

“What happened?”

You look around, avoiding his gaze. “Erm…Well…Arthur, erm…” You tuck some loose hair behind your ear. “John, Bill, and I, we—we…We raided an O’Driscoll hideout.”

“An O’Driscoll hideout?” He steps closer to you, and you quickly pick up the familiar scent of tobacco and leather. “How did you figure out where they were?”

“Erm…Kieran told us.” You punctuate your answer as though it were a question, your heart racing at the close proximity to Arthur.

Arthur nods his head, almost approvingly. “Dutch got him to talk, huh?”

That’s when you hear John’s voice behind you. “No! She did.”

Arthur turns to look at John, his brow pinched in confusion. “What?”

“Is that all you’re here to say? ‘What?’” John chortles. “Kit’s back, Arthur! You didn’t think she was just gonna sit around and do nothin’, did you?”

Arthur looks confused, letting his head tilt backward as he eyes the two of you. “Back?” Then he looks at you, his eyes widening a little. “Y-you remember everythin’…?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Well…no…I remember a little of where I came from…and I learned what I can do with explosives and, uh, incendiary buckshot…” You look up at him and grin as you proudly list off the things that you’ve learned. “I can do all those things…!”

Arthur looks at you, almost with skepticism. “Really?”

John nods. “Yeah! She set their cabin on fire and we managed to get some money.” He holds up his beer as though to drink a toast to you. “It was a good day.” And he brings the bottle to his lips, takes a long sip, hands it to Arthur, and walks away from you to go relieve himself in the bushes outside of camp.

You look back at Arthur and he’s quiet. His gaze is piercing, as if trying to convey what he wants to say but isn’t choosing to. But you don’t like being kept in suspense. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you crazy, woman…?”

You nearly scoff, not affected by his reaction. “No…” But you still punctuate your reply as though it were a question.

He almost begins to pace, but stops to look back into your eyes as he gestures to the trees beyond the camp. “You—you just got back, still tryin’ to figure things out, and you go runnin’ off shootin’ O’Driscolls?”

You shrug. “Well…It’s better to shoot O’Driscolls than at innocent people, Arthur…!” And you think of another reason. “It helps the gang, doesn’t it?” He doesn’t answer and you can see his muscles tensing. You want to be calm and reason with this overprotective behavior he’s exhibiting. You step closer to him, but not too close. “Look, I figured that…The last time that I was able to…” You flippantly pantomime with your hands, like you are crafting something. “…whip up stuff, when I figured out any kind of skill that I had, I was in danger—”

“So you did this just to put yourself at risk, is that—is that it?”

“Yes! That is what I did…!”

Arthur throws his head back to look at the sky, chortling in a frustrated way and throws up his hands. “You’re so stubborn…!”

You rest a hand on your hip. “And you’re not?” You lean toward him, tilting your head to look at him with your right eye. “You’re not stubborn at all?” You laugh. “Arthur Morgan…! You’re one to talk!” And you laugh too hard, hurting your side. You bend into it, placing your hand on the wound. “Ow…!”

He crosses his arms, looking at you as though you kind of deserved that. “Where’d you get shot?”

And you answer pathetically. “My side.” And you try to recover with making it not so big of a deal. “It’s just a graze, the bullet barely touched my skin, I’m fine.”

Arthur begs to differ.

“You’re fine?” His voice carries a mix of anger and concern, a tone you’ve come to understand all too well. “You call bendin’ over and clutchin’ your side ‘fine’?”

You straighten up, still feeling the sting but ignoring it best you can. “Susan took care of me.” And you gesture to the campfire where Hosea sits with the others. “Hosea even said she did a good job. I’m fine.” Arthur just stares at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You feel that you need to be honest with him, maybe he can be convinced that you weren’t so crazy to risk your life. You begin to speak softly, almost pleading for his good nature to listen to you. “Arthur, it felt really good to do that.”

He swallows. “It did?”

“Of course, it did! I feel more at home now than I have in a while. I mean…Kieran is now one of us!”

He raises a brow. “Is he?”

“Well, he still has some earning to do, but I think people will start trusting him now.”

“You want him to stay?”

“He’s a gentle soul, Arthur.” Arthur goes quiet for a while, and you begin to question if there’s something more going on. You can't shake the feeling that something is troubling him deeply, something he isn't voicing. "Are you alright?

He looks away, then back at you, his eyes searching yours as if debating how much to reveal. Then he nods. “Yeah…We got Sean back.”

You look over to where the Irishman sits, with Karen on his lap. “Yeah, I see that,” you chuckle. “Some people seem to be happy.”

He laughs at your joke. “But not all?”

“Maybe not.”

“You remember him?”

You shake your head. “No, but I have a feeling I will regret it when I do.”

Arthur laughs and tucks his chin, saying something under his breath. “…funny…”

“What’s that?”

“I said you’ve always been funny.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow and tilt your head, teasingly asking, “Funny looking?”

His cheeks almost burn pink and he ducks his head again, shaking it. “No.” And as though wanting to change the subject, he quickly asks you a question. “So, how’d you handle it?”

“Handle what?”

“The O’Driscolls?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I don’t know, it just…came natural to me.” He looks at you and you figure he’s asking for more of an explanation as he begins to take a drink of the beer in his hand. “I just saw they had three women with them…and figured if you can’t beat them, join them.”

At your words, Arthur instantly spits out his beer away from you, coughing as he tries to regain his composure. "You what?" he splutters, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

You can't help but laugh at his reaction. "Arthur, I said if you can’t beat them—"

“I heard what you said! What do you mean by that?”

The corners of your mouth twitch in amusement as you try to explain it to the concerned outlaw. “I mean, that I pretended to…be one of them!” He looks at you with great skepticism. “I’m serious! I walked up there…” And you begin to reenact the way you walked, your hips exaggeratedly swaying. “Just…like this…” And you twinge your side. “Ow…! And…and they believed it.”

He still looks at you, like you just grew another arm. “They believed it?”

“Yes! Well enough to get one to…walk into the cabin with me.” The way he looks at you is utter shock, his eyes as wide as the plains, his skin almost pale. “Why, Arthur! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

He swallows thickly, his voice a low rumble when he finally speaks. “Just…never thought you’d do somethin’ like that…”

Oh…he thinks you did it. You shake your head. “John…John said that is something that I’ve done before. Entertain and distract.”

“Well that part’s right, but, not about bringin’ men in cabins wit’chu…”

You look at him nonplussed. “Arthur, I didn’t do anything. It’s fairly simple, I knocked him out, tied him up, and threw him out the window.”

He almost looks relieved, a light chuckle breaking through his disbelief. "You threw him out the window?" he asks, sounding more amused now than anything.

"Yes, and not gently either," you admit with a shrug, feeling a flutter of pride at your own resourcefulness under pressure. Arthur shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. You remember that boy you tied up, and what happened afterward. “I want you to know…Kieran saved my life.”

Arthur's eyebrows lift, surprise momentarily displacing the earlier tension. "Kieran?" he echoes, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. His stance shifts as he grips the neck of the beer bottle, the dim light from the campfire casting shadows across his face. "How'd that happen?"

You nod as you explain. “The man I tied up? Well, I guess I didn’t tie him well enough…He could have shot me, but Kieran got to him with my own rifle.”

Arthur looks at you, surprised. “Your own gun?”

You almost roll your eyes. “Yes, my own.” You pause, remembering the weight of the rifle in your hands, how it felt like an extension of your own body. “I bought two guns, figured I should if I am going to be helping—”

He shakes his head. “No. No, you’re not gonna be doin’ that.”

“What? I just—”

“I know what you just did, but if anyone had a brain they wouldn’t have let you step near an O’Driscoll hideout.” He shakes his head. “Marston and his half-eaten…”

“I’m trying to get my memories back!”

“Risking your life? That really worth it?”

You fold your arms, not willing to relinquish your decision. “I feel like my headaches are mild in comparison to that…Arthur, it felt good to not feel like a delicate little flower. I…I don’t want to be delicate.”

Then he says something under his breath, but you catch it this time. “That’s a fact…”

“What?”

His eyes widen and he pauses, clearly trying to come up with something else. “I said…there’s a rat…!” And he points by your tent, looking at you to see if you’ve bought it.

You cross your arms. “That isn’t what you said.”

Not denying it, he lifts his brow. “Will you take it then?”

Indignant, you lift your chin. “I don’t know if I want to. You seem to do that when you don’t want to answer questions you don’t want to answer. Like a couple days ago.”

He sighs, clearly understanding what you’re talking about. “I had to go.”

“Oh, you did? You couldn’t just stay for a few minutes to talk to me?” He avoids your gaze for a minute. He’s doing it again. “Arthur Morgan, if we grew up together, that might as well make us friends, right?” You pause, but he doesn’t answer. “Right?”

He sighs, relenting, and he closes his eyes as he tucks his chin. “Right.”

You grin, satisfied that he agrees with you instead of making up an excuse. “Okay, then. So if I ask a question, you just say that you don’t want to talk about it instead of slopping off on me like that. Fair?”

“Fair.” And after a moment, his eyes soften and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re talkin’ different.”

“What?” Your brow pinches and after thinking about it, you begin to wonder if it’s true. “Have I always talked…different?”

“No, you’re just…soundin’ more like yourself.”

You smile and you can’t help but feel something. Relief? Flattered? You aren’t sure, but you’ll take it. “I guess that’s a compliment?”

He blinks softly, his blue-green eyes never leaving you. “Yeah. It is.”

A silence falls between you, letting the sounds of the singing and partying waft over to you. As the sound of raucous laughter and the strum of a guitar drift closer, you feel a strange mix of comfort and unease; it's like stepping back into a life that both is and isn't yours. Arthur watches you, his gaze fixed as if trying to read your thoughts from across the small space between you.

“Arthur…?”

He nods at you, speaking more calmly than before. “Yeah?”

You swallow, nervous about asking the question that is begging to force its way out. You’ve asked a similar question to the girls but you feel more anxious this time, for whatever reason. “Were we close?”

His intense gaze flickers back and forth between you and the dense forest behind you. The dancing flames of the fire can break bye to cast shadows across his face, adding depth to the already visible lines of worry etched into his skin. You can feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts hanging in the air between you. "What do you mean?" he finally asks.

"I mean...were we close? Did we have deep conversations? Share secrets?" Your impatience seeps through your words as you lean against the table, watching him closely. He falls silent, causing your impatience to grow even more. "Arthur?" you prompt him.

Finally, he answers with a flippant tone. "We grew up together."

But that response isn't enough for you. "That's what you always say. I want to know if there are things that I told you that I didn't tell anyone else." Your voice betrays a hint of desperation as you search his face for any signs of recognition or understanding.

“Maybe.” There is a heaviness in his answer, a sort of resignation, but it still maintains a vagueness that bothers you.

You’re eager to know and so you reply quickly. “Like what?”

Then he stammers, his words coming out in a jumbled mess. “I-I-I don’t know! I don’t know what you may have told anyone else.”

Your eagerness deflates and your brow furrows in frustration. “That’s not helpful at all.”

He responds with agitation, as if nothing ever pleases you. “Well, I’m sorry.” But then his expression softens and he lets out a remorseful sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Arthur, I just want to be normal.”

He lets out a rough chuckle. “We ain’t normal, Kit.”

“You—Well, I hoped you knew what I meant…!” You roll your eyes and let out a self-deprecating laugh, fully aware of the fact that you are both wanted outlaws. “I want to be myself again. I feel like I’ve been getting closer and closer…” The weight of your words hangs in the air, the unspoken truth of the necessity of your memories constantly weighing down on you.

He clears his throat, encouraging you to talk with a gesture of his hand. “Well, what parts do you remember? What parts of you spurred on besides relearnin’ your skill set?”

“Well, for one thing, I grew up in a circus.”

He nods, his brows lifted in a soft surprise. “That’s true.”

You’re almost astonished, glad that your mind wasn’t actually playing tricks on you. “Really? That’s true?”

He smiles softly. “Yeah.”

And then, suddenly, you begin to hear a gramophone playing, a light waltz music sweeping through the night air. Dutch steps out of his tent, finding Molly and asks her to dance.

You look back at the tired cowboy sitting next to you. “Do you dance, Arthur?”

He leans back, caught off guard by your question. “Me?” He looks away bashfully. “Hardly much of a dancer.”

You look on and watch the two dancers, smiling as a memory brings itself to the forefront of your thoughts. “I remember dancing.”

“Do you?” After thinking about it, he nods. “Oh, that’s right, you told me.”

“Yes, I think it was my family. The circus? I think we were all dancing in a circle. I was little then.” You laugh at the thought. “I practically danced around today, doing backflips for the O’Driscolls.”

He gazes off into the distance, his expression wistful as he reminisces. “Yeah, you were pretty good at those.”

You turn to him with a quizzical look. “Was I?”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Mhm. You tended to use it a lot when you were tryin’ to get people to look the other way.” He sits down at the nearby table, finally relaxing after a long day of dealing with bounty hunters and Sean Macguire. “We could always count on you to do that.”

You sit next to him and you let out a sigh. “People don’t seem to want to count on me now.” You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment and uncertainty in your abilities, even with what you were able to accomplish today.

Arthur looks at you softly, with empathy. “That ain’t true.”

His words offer a semblance of comfort, but the skepticism lingers in your heart, like a stubborn stain. “Is it though?” You go quiet for a moment and glance over at the dancing couple again, Dutch and Molly’s movements fluid and synchronous under the ethereal moonlight. “I just want people to trust me.”

He sets the beer bottle on the table, his attention seeming to have drifted elsewhere. His eyes scan the camp, taking in everything with a sense of unease. “Seems like people should be wantin’ that from you.”

You look at him, raising an eyebrow and speak with a hint of skepticism in your voice. “Really? You mean who should I trust?”

His gaze meets yours, a flicker of earnestness softening the rugged lines of his face, his sincerity surprising you. “Exactly.”

A small laugh escapes your lips as you look away. “Even within the gang?” you ask, half-jokingly.

But his response is serious and unwavering. “Shoah. You never know what things’ll do to people.” The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, reminding you of the constant danger and unpredictability that comes with this type of life.

“I see…” Your voice falls to a hush as you process his words. You can feel his gaze on you, waiting for a response. After a moment, you decide to lighten the mood, going back to something you were talking about. “Anyway, so, you don’t dance.”

He lifts a hand in response, as though it will sway you from the topic. “I never said I don’t dance.”

You lift your chin and look at him through half-lidded eyes. “So you do dance?”

He chortles. “I’m just not a good dancer.” The twinkle in his eyes tells you there may be more to it than he’s letting on.

“Can I be the judge of that?” Easing yourself off the chair without too much protest from your sore body, you turn around and offer a hand to him, his marine eyes staring into yours. “Will you dance with me?”

He hesitates, offering an excuse as his gaze flickers down to your side. “With your injury?”

You pout, a soft plea in your voice as you drop your arm. “Arthur, please.”

He scoffs, clearly torn between concern for your well-being and his own inner feelings. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

But you’re determined, knowing that this moment may never come again. “I don’t want to be delicate.” He is quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that you can’t quite place, but you feel something in your stomach, something warm and cold, heavy and light at the same time. “I’m not going to snap in two, I can bend backwards whenever I want.”

He chortles, tucking his head almost bashfully. “Yeah. Shoah.”

You offer your hand again. “Arthur…Will you dance with me?”

His reluctance begins to melt away at the desperation in your voice and he finally gives in, taking your outstretched hand and leading you away from the table and to a better spot. The music swells and envelops you as you guide his hand to your waist, the uninjured side, of course, and you take his other hand in yours.

The music, a soft, haunting melody that seems to drift on the evening breeze, wraps around you both like a whisper. Arthur's hand is steady on your waist, surprisingly gentle for a man of his stature and reputation. His other hand grips yours, fingers interlaced with a firmness that speaks of protectiveness rather than possessiveness.

You look up into his eyes, intending on being light and humorous, but you can’t find it in you. And you see it in his eyes, too.

Something about the way the moonlight catches his gaze, lends a vulnerability to his rugged features that tugs at your heart. He’s a mystery, and unlike your memories, it isn’t something you can throw danger at to get it to confess.

So, at least for now, you will let it go and let him hold you.

Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests:

@photo1030 @eternalsams

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #arthur morgan #fanfiction #ao3 writer #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan x you #john marston #kieran duffy #bill williamson #hosea is the father of the year #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde is totally sus #fluff and stuff #angst is my medium

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kyluxtrashpit · 7 months ago

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For day 2 of @aptenodykes' renben week, I went with stake out. So here's a ficlet about a stake out featuring strip poker sabacc

[Also available on AO3]

A stake out sounded exciting right up until one was actually on it, Ben had learned. It was his second time doing one and he knew that there was little but boredom awaiting him. At least it was with Ren, he thought. As much as the man made him nervous in a very particular way, Ben was enthralled with him, taking every opportunity he could to be around him. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be with him or be like him, but he definitely wanted.

Ren seemed to know it, too, and liked to tease. It still made Ben go red in the face even though Ren had taken his virginity and then some early on into his time with the Knights of Ren. It appeared Ren liked flustering him, though, as he always gave that far too charming smirk when it happened.

And tonight was going to be no different, given that Ren had suggested a game of sabacc to pass the time – with the added stipulation that the loser of each hand should also lose a piece of clothing.

Ben had protested at first, pointing out that they were on a stake out, after all – what if the mark came out while they were busy playing? Or, worse, what if they were naked? Ren pointed out that they were both strong in the Shadow, Ben especially, so they’d know the mark was coming before they arrived. It would be fine, surely.

“I’m also wearing much more than you are,” Ben added, in the outfit the Knights had picked out for him when he’d first arrived at that bar weeks ago. “It’s not really fair.”

Ren smiled like a shark. “Don’t worry about me, kid.”

And Ren had been right. The only piece of clothing he’d lost was his glove on the third hand, which Ben later realized was probably an intentional loss to keep Ben from losing hope immediately. Ren was an expert at this and Ben really should’ve known better, given that he’d always been told he had a terrible sabacc face. He’d been taught by a near master as a child, yet it wasn’t doing him any favours right now.

Soon enough, Ben was completely naked, blushing as per usual. He really hoped the mark didn’t come anytime soon, as he had no hope of getting dressed quickly enough to act – he really didn’t want to have to fight naked. Ren didn’t seem worried, though, just grinning at him like a cat with a suspicious feather sticking out of its mouth.

“Seems you’re out of clothes, kid,” Ren said, as if this was his plan all along – and Ben was now sure it was. “Don’t worry, we can keep playing. You’ll just have to give me something else with each hand you lose.”

The next hand had Ben’s hand on Ren’s cock, pulling him to full hardness. Then another hand had it down Ben’s throat until his eyes started to water. And the next had Ben in Ren’s lap, riding him like they weren’t here for any other reason at all. One last loss had Ren coming inside Ben, fully aware of how uncomfortable the next few hours of waiting would be for Ben with come dripping out of his ass.

Fortunately, the mark hadn’t arrived until long after their game and they got the job done without difficulty. The game they’d played while waiting had given Ben ideas, though, ideas far more filthy than a good Jedi boy should have, but the kind that Ren would definitely encourage. A sabacc table had room for all the Knights, after all, and how much more fun would it be if Ren wasn’t the only one he had to service if he lost?

#renben #kylo ren #ben solo #ren prime #original ren #renbenweek2024 #fic #my fic #lemon #long post

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wwinddragon · 8 days ago

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My Version of Flynn's Backstory

I've been brainstorming ideas on this for weeks, and I separated the stories based on his age and important events. Sections 4, 5 and 6 are when things get interesting!!

My backstory explains why and how Flynn became the way he is, his struggles with freedom, deep connections and self expression, and how he became a pilot despite all odds going against it. Plus, I gave almost all the quirks he has a good reason for existing, like his BOOMs and his endless bravado. Not just because he’s the funny one!

I hope someone finds this interesting enough and reads through all of my nonsense, or even just a little bit. I'll be grateful either way. :)

Preface: Why I Wrote The Backstory

Since Swap Force 3DS sucked BUTT at giving Flynn a good backstory, (while also flanderizing him to a degree, RUDE.) I decided to write his backstory myself; how Flynn became the self absorbed but kind hearted pilot we all know and love.

It all started when he was a wee young lad.

THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG ONE, so buckle up.

Section 1: Home Life and Family

Flynn was born around the early 1980s (gen Xers RISE.) and lived in a humble, quiet urban neighborhood. Flynn’s an only child, and had his mom and grandfather as his main caregivers. Kid Flynn was an imaginative and hyperactive troublemaker. Since he didn’t have any siblings/cool family members, he had to make do with his own chaos at home and school.

Flynn’s mom was the type to spoil Flynn rotten with basically everything; toys, food, and constant praise. She was also the sassy type, and would make sarcastic comments on Flynn if he’s ever gone too far with troublemaking, definitely where Flynn got his good sense of humor. She loved Flynn a lot and treasured every moment with him, so much she’s stored loads of photo albums of him and “art” he’s done as a child. (probably just piles of cool rocks and stick swords he’s found in the backyard).

Flynn’s grandfather, on the other hand, was the typical no nonsense strict type, a high rank commander in the Mabu Air Force. For most of his life, Flynn had to dodge responsibilities and punishments from his overbearing grandparent with humor, lies and of course a good smirk. This instilled rebellion yet good morals in Flynn from his grandparent, and overconfidence and sociability from his mom.

—

Section 2: Adolescence

In middle and high school, he was the typical class clown, always up for some trouble and stupid stunts, just loud enough to distract everyone from the fact he’s a complete dumbass. He had a ton of friends, especially the dude bros and rocker guys. Despite that, most of his “friends” would bail if he’s ever gotten into trouble or is going through a rough phase. This enforced the belief that Flynn must always perform and push his own needs away just so he can be liked by others, making him even more rebellious and cocky than as a kid, (imagine teen Flynn blasting AC/DC in his room whenever his grandpa isn’t home) but also crave a deeper, more emotional bond that he was missing from his relationships. (Mom’s absolutely not enough for him anymore!) For Flynn, he thought he can get that bond by getting a girlfriend. His strategy? Flirt with any girl that took the time to glance or laugh at him. Wonder if he’ll ever change.

At some point in his life, he’s become obsessed with boy bands. The idea of wooing girls through dance and song, no flirting required, especially as a 15 year old? SOLD. “That takes absolutely no effort!” is what Flynn thought enthusiastically. The guys thought this phase was… too gay. (the horror.) but that didn’t stop him from randomly and awkwardly busting moves in front of girls at school. When he got a middle part haircut and fully committed to the boy band look, one day, his grandfather went ballistic. “YOU’VE GONE TOO SOFT!” and bam, gave him a buzzcut on the spot. Flynn never looked back at the boy band dream since, deepening his need to please others first.

— Section 3: College and Hugo

When Flynn graduated high school, he had many dreams he wanted to pursue. Rockstar, singer, comedian, actor, and maybe a womanizer, too. Of course, none of which are real jobs to his grandfather. He passionately voted against them many times, but with Flynn’s mom’s unwavering support and coddling, Flynn had enrolled at a theater/arts college, fully confident that acting was his calling. He’s pretty much done it his whole life, and it’s the ultimate, pettiest “I’ll show you!” to his grandfather.

Flynn thought college was the prime of his life. Constant partying, barely any studying, and was the constant talk of the college. “Heh, I’m basically settin’ myself up early for the industry!”

His roommate, unfortunately for him, was the exact opposite. Hugo, a Magic major, was the studious strict guy that was always afraid to try any suggestion that came out of Flynn’s mouth. Flynn’s careless and reckless attitude naturally drove Hugo insane, igniting a deep hatred for Flynn during the first few weeks of college.

“Studying magic with no magic powers? I LOVE your confidence, man!” was the first genuine comment from Flynn that convinced Hugo he had a good heart in there somewhere… despite him not putting it so eloquently. Small gestures of kindness from both, like Flynn standing up for Hugo, or Hugo explaining how he prefers Flynn when he’s actually himself, strengthened their bond. It was Flynn’s first ever genuine friendship, and from someone who reminds him of his grandfather a lot… it was definitely conflicting. From then, for the first time in a while,

Flynn misses his grandfather.

Despite Flynn being just a tad more serious about things in his life, he kept drowning it away with being reckless and irresponsible. Eventually, his mom and grandpa caught on. No more handing college tuition money. It was Flynn’s grandpa’s final straw. After a few embarrassing lectures, and an already signed application for the Air Force from a year ago, Flynn had to begrudgingly join the Mabu Air Force.

—

Section 4: The Mabu Air Force

All of Flynn's dreams were crushed in one single day. No attention, no frat parties, and most devastatingly, no Hugo. His grandfather usually accompanied him in drills and piloting sessions. Most people in the military never humored Flynn. He had to live a real nightmare for the first time in his life.

That didn’t stop Flynn from trying to lift up his and others’ spirits, despite him failing almost every piloting exam and constantly being pushed around by other cadets. Once Flynn started to lose weight and notice he’s in the best possible shape ever, he started to take piloting more seriously. Still in his Flynn element, he thought this was an amazing opportunity to get a lot of girls once he’s out of this place. And after years of finally taking training seriously (at least, as seriously as he physically could)… it was time. The final piloting exam.

—

Section 5: The Exam

Flynn started the day absolutely terrified. What if he fails and has to continue training another dreadful year or two? What if he just gives up? What if he never gets to be himself?

Pushing those thoughts away with a mock confident strut to the exam, in the open field, there are endless rows of skyships, jets, helicopters, all kinds of aircraft you can think of. Waiting nervously for his turn… the examiner, his grandfather, guides and assigns him… a hot air balloon.

Flynn burst out laughing.

“I didn’t know you had humor in you, gramps!”

Though the deadpan expression on his grandpa’s face made Flynn freeze immediately. Quietly and confidently, his grandpa gestures him to enter the air balloon,

“You really think I can trust you with real aircraft?”

“I don’t want you killing yourself, kid.”

Flynn snaps inside, the words hitting him harder than any cruel shove from the cadets. Not moving a single muscle on his face, and ignoring the slightly regretful expression on his grandfather, he stubbornly enters the air balloon like he’s been flying it for years, then awkwardly but successfully lights the fire. Within moments, he’s flying with a confident glint in his eyes.

“I got this.” he thought, almost as a prayer.

The hot air balloon is harder to control than it looks. Flynn tries to not to scramble frantically as he tries his best to stay on course. He notices the communicator strapped to the side of the air balloon, gritting his teeth slightly, not wanting to ever talk to his grandfather. At least not before he’s aced the exam. Flynn glances at the other skyships and jets soaring through the sky, trying his absolute best not to lose his temper. After a while, he eventually does go off course, drifting slowly towards endless skies. His grandfather is now guiding him on what to do with the hot air balloon over the communicator. Flynn however forcefully covers the speakers with a hand, now absolutely seething.

He pulls at the ropes, swings the balloon, screams in absolute frustration as soon as his grandfather was far enough. Silence.

Just before he considers giving in to his grandfather, he notices something in the distance. A sky island with faint terrified screaming. He squints and tries his best to assess what he’s seeing, filtering out his grandfather’s worried and angered instructions. As he flies closer, he finds that the island is raided by hundreds of chompies. His goodhearted instincts guide him, and then very ungracefully lands on the island with a huge crash and thud.

“now that was a BOOM, alright!”

he yells at the top of his lungs with a hop of pure victory, overwhelmed by the feeling of being finally freed from the air force, and ironically the skies, even for a moment.

And with that, the legendary catchphrase was born.

— Section 6: The Aftermath (you need to read at least section 5 to understand what's going on)

There’s no time to celebrate. In the sky island, ironically, he notices a big celebration going on, with a few Skylanders already battling the enemies as much as they could, albeit pretty sloppily. Flynn glances over the skyships that flew right past the danger under them.

“Chumps.”

“Some air force you are.”

He very reluctantly scrambles towards the battlefield, dodging the enemies, hiding behind a woman or two, totally unintentionally, not relishing it in, and definitely no smirking. In the distance, he sees Master Eon, the leader of Skylands, battling it out with the bigger stronger enemies, along with a familiar, stubby figure right next to him.

Hugo!

That about erases his entire anxiety away. A huge surge of adrenaline rushes through him as he kicks chompy butt, cheering and letting out exaggerated goofy battle cries like a dumbass man child.

“OH YEAH! I AM PUMPED!!!”

The voice crack doesn’t even bother him. He rushes through endless herds of chompies, even kicking a few with the rookie skylanders.

“TAKE THAT, AND THAT! AND THAT!!!”

Hugo’s now within earshot of Flynn, now taking a very close look at Flynn, doing a double take and rubbing his eyes very forcefully. The flabby bellied Flynn from years ago is now tanned and HUNK-ulous. (Hugo’s gay thoughts, not mine. and btw, this is a joke, I don't ship them lol)

“I-IT’S YOU! FLYNN!!!”

Flynn flashes the most legendary smirk, iconic half lidded eyes and all. With a buttery smooth voice, he utters,

“You know it.”

… before getting chomped by a chompy on his arm, letting out a squeaky shriek. Hugo immediately instructs Master Eon to shoot a blast of magic on the chompy. Master Eon obliges, a calm and stoic expression on his face as he sears the lil green gremlin. Once the village has calmed down, enemies all cleared, the villagers break into a huge victory cheer.

Flynn, his dumbass thinking they’re cheering for him, turns around, fists up, breathes and yells in the most Flynnian way possible,

“OH YEAH!!! YOU’RE WELCOME!!”

and dramatically bows before turning to Master Eon and Hugo.

Hugo is now teary eyed, composing himself not to burst with a shaky smile.

“Flynn… I THOUGHT YOU WERE A GONER!”

“HAHA!! Legends NEVER die, baby.” wink.

Master Eon calmly steps down with his hands behind his back, glancing down at Flynn with a mixture of amusement and admiration, then gently looks up at the one remaining air force skyship heading towards the sky island. He doesn’t mind the skyship for now, and speaks to Flynn.

“Where’s the rest of your crew, brave cadet?”

“Oh, THEM? Pssht,” he throws his hands mockingly, like Eon’s been his best friend since childhood, “chumps cared more about their final exam than savin’ a village. Y’know, what they need to do AFTER they pass?”

An amused chuckle escapes Master Eon’s lips, exchanging glances with Hugo, who’s still trying not to ruin the moment.

“A brave and honest deed from you, cadet. You clearly care about others.” he closes his eyes fondly for a moment, then glances over at the frantic and frightened old Mabu rushing towards Flynn, barely breathing.

“FLYNN! FOR THE LOVE OF THE ANCIENTS… IF YOU DISOBEY ME ONE MORE TIME…” he wheezes as he catches his breath, “you FAILED and you FAILED ME AGAIN.”

Flynn dramatically turns around with a huge smirk, arms crossed, head high, and waggling his eyebrows at Master Eon, fully expecting him to give the grandest declaration of Flynn’s entire life. And he will.

“Commander Arthur.”

“Your grandson has proven himself today, not by flight, but by courage and his heart.” Flynn at this moment is trying his best not to burst alongside Hugo, giving him a playful shove and straightening himself right after catching a lady’s stare. Flynn’s grandpa is frozen in place, still not believing any of this is true.

“He risked his license, and himself, to save these villagers. Despite the other cadets.” Now with a louder announcement, “From this day forth, I name Flynn as my chosen pilot, entrusted with the skies and the missions ahead.”

The crowd is now booming (heh) once more, and Flynn almost feels himself ascending to another dimensional plane, fully soaking in the glory, enough to fuel his ego for the next 3 decades.

Flynn’s grandpa kneels down with an arm resting on his knee. “Then I entrust him to your command, Master Eon. May the skies judge him worthy, as you have.” he gives a prideful and warm look at Flynn, a look Flynn has never even dreamed of catching before.

And with that… a legend took flight. Women were swooning. Friendships were rekindled. And Skylands became something worth protecting. … y'know. Minus the crash landings in the future. But he doesn't know that yet.

And that celebration and chompies at that sky island? It was all a test from Master Eon to see how the cadets would've reacted, so he can appoint an actually good hearted pilot this time.

Flynn doesn't know that to this day, and probably never will. Skylands needs his ego tamed.

No Mabus were harmed. Except for Flynn, but he's okay.

THE END

If you've read this far... thank you. You're seriously amazing, and I'm so happy and deeply appreciative that you liked it enough to read it all. <3 I love Flynn so much, and I'm happy to share how amazing he is to you all.

I really enjoyed writing this story and tried my best to make it as believable as possible. Hope I didn't disappoint!!

#flynn skylanders #skylanders flynn #skylanders #writing #fanfiction #headcanon #hugo skylanders

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nintendogirl106734-blog · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 3: Two Captives and a Walk

Start

Chapter 2

“Fi, you are right on time as always. Go put your things in your room and get changed into your uniform. It is time to conquer the human race once and for all.” Cue the cliche maniacal laughter. Father may have the best intentions at heart, but I swear, he is the most theater kid person I know. I bow to hide the slight smile that slipped onto my lips and calmly walked away.

My room was down a side hallway, through a door that would be impossible to see if you didn’t know where it was. Father once said it was perfect for the spy I was made to be. Just like everything else in the training wing. Even my bedroom was… utilitarian in design. It had a simple sturdy bed, a matching bedside table, a plain black bookshelf with various strategy, survival, and combat books, a punching bag in a corner, and a dresser filled with black body suits and dark blue gi uniforms. The only thing that wasn’t military standard was the cherry blossom blanket the goyals got me years ago. I touched the fluffy fabric before focusing on my orders.

It only took a few minutes for me to change and I quietly walked back to the main room, tucking my face mask into the belt. By the time I arrived, father had lost his excited ‘cartoon villain’ mood and had shifted to a darker and more serious temper. He is muttering to himself but his voice is too low and muffled for me to hear a single word.

“Father?” He barely gave me a glance as he continued to pace with a clip clop at every step. I remain silent and slip on the mask, covering everything except my eyes. Something was about to happen and he was probably going to instruct me to do so anyway. He eventually paused long enough to pull out his communication crystal and continued his stride as a voice drifted through the gem.

“The trail has gone cold in the Hidden City. We’ll return to the last known location of the agent and continue our search at the nearest surface portal.” “Be quick. I have plans for the vile the agent stole and I need it back before the crystals go dark.”

“Understood.” He is interrupted by the sound of dogs barking and the shout of a second figure in the background. “The dogs have caught a scent. We’ll call when we have the agent in hand.” The crystal goes dark and swiftly vanishes into father’s pocket.

Everything went still for a moment before father’s hands slammed on the counsel in front of him. “Blast the Titan’s tit’s!” He gives a sigh and bows his head. “Why does this have to happen on the eve of my success? AGAIN!” The last word was accompanied by him throwing his hand in the air and returning to his pacing. “At least I got lucky with competent henchmen.”

“Of course boss! Your ideas are always amazing,” Huggin cheered from father’s shoulder.

“Yeah. This is just a minor hiccup. No problem that you can’t overcome.” Muggin added his encouragement from the other side.

The goyals have always been father’s greatest (and most vocal) cheerleaders. I don’t think I have ever heard them say a bad word about the man and every word is said with absolute honesty. It would honestly be impressive if I hadn’t heard it practically every day for nine years.

“I suppose you’re right.” He takes a breath and turns to the room’s central column. “The hard part is already done. All I need is that vial.” He goes silent once again and focuses on the bugs trapped behind the glass. “They should have it soon but how…” His eyes drifted towards me and a smile crept to his lips. “That could work,” he whispered for a moment before he fully turned to me. “Fi, I have a mission for you. You heard that call, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. I want you to go to the gate and escort the mercenaries when they arrive. I want the agent and the vial he stole from me. You need to make sure they both do.”

“Understood father.” I paused for a moment before fading into the shadows and slinking towards the exit. It wasn’t needed, father would know where I was if he looked, but he always smiled when he saw my stealth skills so I might as well get some practice whenever I can.

The path to our portal gateway is a simple stone walkway raised high above a molten sea of magma. Some people call it the ‘Devil’s Backbone’ like it is something dangerous, but nothing has happened to give it such a silly name. Well… it hasn’t as long as I’ve been around at least. It didn’t matter anyway. I just needed to keep my eyes on the stone under my feet and focus on getting to the gate. If I take my eyes off my feet, I will either focus on the lava fish gliding in the melted stone below or they will drift to the glittering Helios Mutatio stones glittering above. Father always told me that they were ‘inefficient and insulting imitations of the dazzling glorious sun the surface dwellers take for granted.’ I don’t know if that is true. I have never really seen the sun myself, but I always thought they were pretty. They give off a calming aura whenever I get the rare chance to see them.

All of the sudden, I am suddenly wrenched from my thoughts as my foot collides with one of the decorative stones around the gate. I didn’t even notice that my eyes were on the ceiling rather than the path. The gems are breath-taking but now is not the time to lose focus. Father needs the vile to reach his goals and he has trusted me with the job of delivering it. He expects success and I refuse to fail him. That thought barely drifted past my mind when right as the stone I kicked burst into a wall of swirling blue magic. They have arrived.

Within a second, two large men walked out of the portal with two equally intimidating Black Shuck Dogs at their heels. They were much taller than I was and their black armor bore spikes at every joint. Their movements were near identical as they walked, the only differences being their eye color and what they carried with them.

Garm, the one with pinkish red eyes, focused on me the moment the portal finally shut. He gave me a little smile and said “Hey little one! Miss us?” with a chuckle. I barely restrained a laugh as he tossed a pink confinement ball to himself and nodded at his question. Neither mother or father have needed them in months, so I haven’t seen them in a while. Freki, the one with green eyes, looked over at our conversation, but something on his other side pulled him away as he whispered to it… or them in frustration. It was nice to see them again, but as much as I would have enjoyed a brisk conversation, we all needed to focus on the business at hand.

I was getting ready to speak, trying to figure out the best way to bring up the topic when Freki’s communication gem began to ring. He shook the thing he was holding and whispered a threat to silence it before he picked up. “Freki here.”

“What is taking so long?” Father’s voice was getting increasingly frustrated, but there was a hint of worry hidden behind the anger. It always is when I am away from him or mother for longer than he likes.

“We have successfully passed through the gate and have the agent in hand.”

“Any troubles we would know about?” We…? This was his plan, but I’m glad that he thought highly enough of me to include me. Well… assuming he wasn’t using the royal we.

“Eh, nothing past the usual tracking troubles in a city,” Garm butted in as he leaned on my shoulder. I paused for a moment before leaving him there. I can shake him off when he gets annoying. “Aside from these kids that thought they could be heroes.”

“What?! Explain, now.” OH! Father’s voice has turned into a growl. If a satisfactory answer doesn’t come now, it would be better for them to give me the captives and forget the paycheck.

Freki gave Garm an elbow to the stomach before focusing on father. “When we cornered the agent in an abandoned construction area, a group of five teenagers blocked our way. One human and four kapa yokai. I believe they were surface raised as they did not know who or what we were. One human also fell into the portal before it closed. We have him in custody as well but weren’t sure what you wanted us to do with him.”

A rather ugly face popped out from behind Freki. “Custody? Man, did I get snatched by the porkers? I didn’t do nothing man! Just ask my boss.” His blazing red anger shifted into cooled fear. “Damn it, man. The big cheese is gonna be pissed at another late delivery.” He then looked around before turning back to Freki. “Do you got a phone I can use man… uh, I mean sir? I might still have a job if he knows I got got by the cops.” Freki looked at the human with an ice cold expression and pulled him back to his other side.

“Hm.” Father was silent for a moment before his lips pulled into a faint grin. “Bring him here. I have a place for him while we discuss what comes next.” The return of the theater kid. Seriously, could he phrase that in a scarier way?

“Yes sir.”

“And keep that thing as far away from… my apprentice. They are there to escort, not to entertain.”

“Of course sir. We should arrive within fifteen minutes.” “I will have cells prepared for your arrival.” At that, father disconnected the call and there was silence for a moment.

“That’s a cool phone dude. Where did you get it? Verizon?” This is a very chatty specimen. Father will not appreciate that. He will either become an immediate test or father will do something to keep the lab quiet. The guy will probably end up in a soundproof cell if he keeps going like this.

“Silence. Captain Draxum will deal with you once we arrive.”

“Oh, he the chief or something? Cool, man. Cool. So, if you guys are cops, then who are they?” The human pointed at me and Garm moved to block me from the human’s sight. Thank Titan.

“They are not your concern. Stay silent and walk. If I hear anything else from you, you won’t remember the rest of the trip.” The human shut up at that point and the rest of us walked with a little more ease.

Grem, presumably thinking that I needed a distraction, walked up and passed over the orb he had been holding since they arrived. “Take a look at him. Bugger was a tough one, but we got em’ in the end.” He tossed the sphere to me and gave a chuckle. “Not even the best agent the council has can stay out of our hands, huh?” I gave a soft huff at his actions before focusing on the ball he threw at me.

There was a small feline yokai skittering around within. It looked about the size of a house cat with overly large ears, but the translucent pink orb obscured the fur color and it was moving too fast for me to determine any specific details aside from the fact that it wore a glowing green vial around its neck. That must be the vial father wanted. It… was that empyrean??!! What is father doing with that? It… Whatever father is doing, it has to be for yokai good. It always is. I sucked a breath into my frozen lungs and handed the orb back to Grem as carefully as I could. If that vial breaks, the agent could be… indescribably… dispatched from life. Grem, however, did not have as much consideration as me. He gave the orb a little shake before tucking it under his arm.

“Plus, we caught the guinea pig back there. Look at em’. Not model material, huh?” I actually looked at the human that was barely visible at Freki’s side. They were… rather unsightly in my opinion, but that could just be because I was looking at a filthy piece of human scum. If every human had the face of an orangutan with tires shoved in their earlobes, then I would prefer to never see them again, just like father. Plus, the smell coming off them was horrendous. I could smell week old sweat practically dripping off the ratty green sweatshirt and month old fish radiated off the figure in general. I could tell that Freki was doing his best to breathe through his mouth, but every breath came with a concealed gag. Grem and I winced in sympathy and walked faster, ignoring the human’s complaint of being dragged along.

We walked for twelve minutes, ignoring the complaints that continued until Freki got annoyed enough to smack the human. Grem continued his one sided conversation and laughed at my nearly silent reactions. The most he heard was a huff or giggle but he was used to that by now and was able to continue on his own. Apparently, they recently targeted a pair of highly supervised politicians that were informed that there was a hit on them. They had an early alert system in place so the targets could leave and two escape routes to use. Grem said that they spent days figuring out a plan to realize they just had to sabotage the helicopter and a couple of parachutes. “The idiots didn’t even think to check their shoots. They just suited up and jumped. Easiest cash we made all month.”

“Then I’m glad my job was a little more stimulating for you.” Father stood at the open door with his arms crossed and a small smirk.

“Happy to have something to do.”

“Grem.” Freki elbowed past him, slightly pushing me as well in the process, and walked up to father. “What do you want us to do with this?”

“I have a cell prepared for him at the central console. A smaller one is ready for the agent. One made for his specific abilities.” Father moved out of the way, his nose wrinkling as the human was pushed past, and turned to me. “Did the journey go well?”

I nodded and motioned to the door. Father gave a sigh and shifted so the door was completely clear. “I may need you when the tests start, so stay within earshot of the lab.” I gave him a bow and walked away as father led the hitmen to his library. They were muttering something about payment and bonuses, but I really didn’t care at that point. I walked to the nearest shadow and blended in like I was trained to. I didn’t want that human to interact with me, but there was no reason to leave if I was going to be called back. Might as well guard the captives. Father spent so much time getting them that I doubt he would be very happy if they were lost.

The human kept making sounds even though there was no one there (that they could see). He called for a lawyer and demanded his release. Neither of those would help him. Father wouldn’t let the secret of the Hidden City get out to the humans. This human will either pass here or join the Hidden City community by force. As much as I wanted to let him go, this was the best choice for him. I just looked away and focused on the normal grunts and snarls of the lab creatures. They were all better where they were as well.

Thinking of them, I might as well tend to their needs instead of just waiting around being useless.

Chapter 4

#rise of the tmnt #tmnt au #rottmnt #rotttmnt seperation au #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt

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