#and before you ask i was crossing the road when the green man said cross and there was lots of people crossing

[seagull-scribbles]

You'll never guess who nearly got hit by a car (me) UwU

[pathologicalreid]

kryptonite | s.r.

in which all roads lead to Spencer's apartment, at least they do for jareau!reader

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: fluff (some comfort (god knows spencer needs it)) content warnings: reader went to a bar, but she's not drunk, creepy guy follows her around, abandoned by her 'friends', takes place following 6x12 "corazon", spencer and reader's first tea date, spencer's migraine arc, jj is in the middle east, this fic definitely wasn't inspired by a 3 doors down song, ffofa!spencer, reader feels out of place in the BAU, sexual innuendo word count: 2.97k a/n: MY GIRL IS HOME i have been wanting to go back to jareau!reader since ffofa ended. i genuinely have their whole lives planned out.

Screwed. You were so totally completely screwed.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” The guy behind you asked once again, but he’d had more to drink than you. You wouldn’t trust yourself behind the wheel of a motor vehicle right now, much less a man who had leeched himself to you in a dive bar.

You laughed nervously, crossing your arms in front of your stomach protectively as you checked for passing cars before walking across the street. “Yeah, I’m sure,” you called over your shoulder, dreading the image of him following you around.

Slowly, you began recognizing your surroundings, the street name that you were turning onto ringing a bell—but which one? Somewhere you had seen the name, but as you glanced around, nothing triggered a memory. “I don’t want you to get left walking all around at night, could get dangerous,” he offered, slurring his speech.

It was the green canopy that finally jogged your memory, you picked up your pace as you recognized Spencer’s apartment complex. “I’m really fine,” you insisted, cursing your friends for the nth time for leaving you in the bar.

You faltered at the door, the blood draining from your face as you realized you’d need Spencer to buzz you in before you could finally lose the creep on your tail. “You’re supposed to push the button,” the guy—whose name you could not recall for the life of you—instructed you.

Smiling anxiously, you reached forward and pressed the button next to Spencer’s name, tapping your heeled boot on the sidewalk as you hoped he’d come let you in. For all you knew, he wasn’t even home.

“If your guy isn’t here, we could always head back to my place,” the drunk guy offered, looking around aimlessly, “it’s over… where are we?”

With wide eyes, you pushed the button two more times for prosperity’s sake, hoping that the world would take pity on you and get you away from him. “Don’t worry about it,” you mumbled, pushing the button again before resigning yourself to an evening with this guy. Turning around, you gave him your best attempt at a smile, “Look, I’m really sorry, but somewhere we got our wires—“

He nodded behind you, “Hey, is that your guy?”

You could’ve cried. Honestly, your eyes might’ve welled up at the sight of Spencer Reid, it looked like he had dragged himself out of bed to come get you. “Yeah,” you breathed, “That’s him.”

Spencer peered out the window, the frustrated look on his face softening when he saw you in the dim lamplight. He opened the door and stood, “Y/N, hey,” he greeted, brown eyes flickering from you to your unexpected guest.

“Hey, man,” the guy said from behind you, “I’m just droppin’ your girl home. I wanted to make sure she got home safe, there are a lot of weirdos out there.”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised in acute irritation, “Sure are,” he responded dryly. He took one look at your widened eyes and reached into his pajama pockets, holding his keys out for you to take, whispering his unit number to you as you swiped them.

“Thank you,” you breathed, squeezing through the doorway behind him and making your way up to apartment twenty-three. You unlocked the front door, faltering when you made your way inside.

You’d never seen Spencer’s apartment before, the entire space perfectly curated so that every nook and cranny was just so… Spencer. His bookshelves were crammed full of old texts, books that collectors would go to the mat for were piled up on the hardwood floor, waiting to be placed on a shelf.

The walls were painted a dark shade of green, and you wondered if Spencer had chosen the color himself or if the apartment had always been this color. You walked inside, placing your dead phone and Spencer’s keys on the coffee table before taking a seat on the supple leather. Tonight had been a nightmare, a story torn right out of the book about your college years.

You stood up as the doorknob turned, and Spencer walked inside, kicking his shoes off before locking the door behind him. “Spence, I am so sorry,” you insisted, walking around the couch and approaching him, “My phone died, and I didn’t know where else to go. I was going to take the metro, but then I remembered that you live near Van Ness, and I thought having somewhere to go would be better than potentially bringing that guy back to my place.”

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking you over quickly, checking the state you were in.

Nodding, you nervously ran a hand through your hair, “Yeah, that’s just… not how I wanted to spend my night.” Finally able to get a good look at him, you inspected his flannel pajama pants, a blue Madras pattern conflicting with the orange emblem of his CalTech shirt. You had never seen him so at ease, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

He shook his head dismissively, “You didn’t, I was still awake.”

You hummed, “Reading?”

Spencer faltered, “Oh, yeah,” his voice softened, looking over at the bookshelves as if he was missing something.

Part of you wanted to mention the odd behavior, but the two of you only ever interacted within the confines of the BAU. Maybe you don’t know him well enough to say that to him. “Do you have a phone charger that I can use? Once I get enough charge, I can just take the metro back to my place.”

Frowning, Spencer looked at you as if you had grown horns, “I’m not letting you take the metro, it’s the middle of the night.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you checked the time displayed on his microwave, if you plugged your phone in now, you’d be able to make it before the metro shut down for the night. “I only need to get on one line to get back to my place,” you informed him.

“That’s irrelevant, it’s past eleven and you’ve already been followed around by one creep tonight,” he reminded you, leaning against the column in his entryway and giving you a knowing look.

Your heart pounded in your chest, “Will you drive me home then?”

Running his hands through his hair, Spencer mumbled something unintelligible before he answered, “No, I shouldn’t drive right now. Just… I’ll go find you something to sleep in,” he told you, pushing off of the wall to go into what you assumed was his bedroom.

You sat back down on Spencer’s couch, skimming your palms over the knit blanket that had been thrown over the back of it while you waited for his return. Spencer Reid was something of an enigma to you, there were times when you thought he’d be your closest friend in the unit, and there were other times when he seemingly wanted nothing to do with you.

He came back out of his room, balancing a sweatshirt in his hands and presenting it to you, “Hey, this should fit.”

Checking the tag on the sweatshirt, you nodded in response as you inspected the rest of the crewneck. An old academy emblem was embroidered on the front of it, but the year didn’t match the timeline of when Spencer did his training at the Academy. You hummed, “Whose sweatshirt was this?” You tried to act nonchalant, thumbing the loose threads on the cuff.

“I’ll check my desk for a charger,” he swerved around your question, leaving you holding the sweatshirt in the middle of his living room.

You watched him walk away, “Uh, where should I change?”

He nodded his head in the direction of his room, “My room is fine. The bathroom is connected if you need it.”

Quickly, you slipped into his room and stripped off your dress, laying it on his bed while you pulled the crewneck over your head. At the very least, the fabric smelled like Spencer instead of smelling like another girl’s perfume. The navy blue sweater skimmed the top of your thighs, falling over you comfortably.

Rolling your dress into a ball in an attempt to hide your bra, you opened the door and jumped when you were met by Spencer. “Is that good?” He asked you, looking you up and down—not for the first time that night.

“What?” You asked, peering up at him with wide eyes. Obviously, you hadn’t expected him to be waiting for you outside of his bedroom. You would’ve mentally prepared yourself to be in your underwear in front of him—you’ve had dreams that started much like this.

He smiled softly at you, “The sweatshirt,” he whispered, “Does it fit alright?”

Mystery girl’s sweatshirt fit you just fine, and you nodded a confirmation up at him, looking at your iridescent reflection in his glasses.

“I live by a lot of nightlife, and that’s gotten out once or twice. So, there’s a small box of clothes that people have left behind here. For all I know that sweatshirt was Morgan’s,” he told you, holding a charger out for you to take.

Your face warmed with embarrassment, “You don’t owe me an explanation,” you murmured before taking the charger from his hand, letting your fingers linger a bit too long in his palm.

The soft smile that remained on his face was enough to make you weak at the knees, “I know, but you asked.”

Holding the charger to your chest, your head bobbed, “The sweatshirt’s great, Spence,” you told him meekly, stepping around him to plug the charger into the wall, and setting your phone next to his on the kitchen counter.

“Do you want to call your sister?” Spencer asked, loitering in the doorway between his room and the living room and sticking his hands in the pockets of his pajamas.

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “No, she’s probably busy. Still uh… adjusting to her new job.” You looked over at him, each of you staying on one side of the room. You weren’t sure what JJ’s new job entailed. She had been acting cagier than usual on most of your phone calls.

He finally kicked off his shoes, prompting you to take a seat on the couch and unstrap your heels. “Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?”

Leaning back into the cushions, you tugged the hem of your sweatshirt down on your hips, “There’s really not much to tell.” You watched intently as he turned the corner, sitting next to you on the couch, so close that you felt the heat emanating off of his body. To your surprise, Spencer was one of those people who was built like a furnace—the lanky stature was misleading.

“Did you go out alone?” He asked, matching your level of relaxation and leaning back on the couch. Grabbing one of the pillows from the end of the couch, you set it in your lap and wrapped your hands around it.

Shaking your head, you frowned at your phone, which still hadn’t powered on, “No, I went out with a group of friends for a birthday.”

Concern pinched his brows, “Your friends left you in the bar with that guy? Why would they do that?”

You shrugged in response, skimming your fingertips over the stitching on his pillow, “They think I need to get laid.”

“Do you?” He asked, likely before he was able to process what he was saying, based on the shocked look on his face.

Smiling softly at him, you teased, “Jeez, Spence, buy me dinner first.”

Spencer’s cheeks turned pink as a result of your jest, shaking his head quickly, “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure you have plenty— er… I’m sure you’re very successful in that area of your life.”

A soft giggle escaped your lips, the light feeling of laughter a stark difference from how you felt twenty minutes ago, “I’m just messing. I know what you meant.” At least, you thought you knew what he meant. You kept watching him, his body turned away from the lamp, neck slightly craned forward. “So,” you began, “If you weren’t sleeping, and you weren’t reading, what were you doing before I buzzed?”

His expression went tight, and you worried you had somehow stepped over an invisible line, “Can you keep a secret?”

Your heart jumped at the prospect of becoming Spencer’s confidante. You’ve spent your first few months in the BAU hoping someone would invite you in, but they all seemed too preoccupied with losing your sister to the State Department to even acknowledge the fact that you were floundering. Trying not to seem too eager, you nodded at him, “You can tell me anything.”

His eyebrows knit themselves together, “I’ve been getting these… headaches lately. Migraines really.”

Your expression softened, mouth going slack in surprise, “Have you been to a doctor?”

He nodded in response and leaned his head to the side, so close to you that you could feel his hair touching your shoulder, “They can’t find a physical cause.”

Your stomach flipped, eyes widening ever so slightly as you found yourself glad he wasn’t looking at you. If there wasn’t a physical cause for Spencer’s migraines, then you knew exactly what he was worried about, “I’m sorry, Spence.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment, not saying anything else for a moment. There was just the two of you on his couch, and you wondered if there was any way you could make this a normal occurrence. You’d give away every night out for the promise of nights like this.

Bits of the puzzle started to fall into place. The way he had acted on the case in Miami, all of the time off he had taken, and even his newfound aversion to coffee—he was drinking less caffeine. He hasn’t been sleeping, the bags under his eyes told you that much.

“I’m gonna make tea,” you announced, resting your hands on the tops of your thighs and pushing up. “What kind of tea does Spencer Reid drink on a Saturday night?”

With his head buried on a couch cushion, you hear an almost pained response, “Lavender.”

Your back was to him as you smiled, “I like a guy who drinks lavender tea,” you said, your voice too soft to carry into the living room. Turning on his electric kettle, you started going through his drawers, hoping to find a stash of tea bags somewhere.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Spencer called over from the couch. “I just… needed to share.”

You hummed as you found the tea, grabbing a lavender tea bag before lifting up a box of chamomile, checking the production date before tossing a bag on the counter. Your next challenge would be mugs. “You took me in like a stray cat in the middle of the night, making you tea while you have a migraine is the absolute least I can do.”

He didn’t respond, but you felt his eyes on you as you worked in the kitchen. Dropping the tea bags in the mugs—an air and space museum one for him and a Snoopy one for you—you picked up the kettle before it let off its high-pitched beep, pouring the hot water into the mugs.

Carefully carrying the mugs back to him on the couch, you set them on the coffee table and returned to your spot next to him, “Here we are,” you said, flattening out a napkin for the two of you to place your tea bags on.

“Thank you,” he responded timidly, reaching out for the mug. “Since I shared about myself, I think it’s only fair that you share something with me,” he told you, a ridiculously serious look on his face.

You raised your eyebrows, using your tea bag to stir the tea in your mug, “Oh, a quid pro quo?” A soft smile grew on your face when he nodded, “What do you want to know?”

He thought about it for a while, taking a sip of his tea while he considered his options. “Why does JJ call you Ducky?”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes in response, “Oh, Spence, if you wanted the answer to that question, you should’ve asked while I was drunk.”

“You were never drunk,” he responded easily. “Y/N—” he faltered, frowning before he had the chance to continue.

You incline your head toward him, “What is it? Is it your head?”

He shook his head carefully, “Would you mind if we watched something? On the TV?”

“It’s your apartment, you can do whatever you want,” you told him, your volume hovering just over a whisper.

Spencer reached forward and took the remote off of the coffee table, hitting the power button and bringing the television to life. To your surprise, the pictures that showed up were cartoons. Old reruns from when he would’ve been a kid, he must’ve noticed your surprise, because he whispered, “It gets too hard to focus on anything else.”

He must’ve changed the settings on the TV, bringing down the brightness in a way that was comfortable to his eyes. You thought of all the times Spencer had been in a bright or loud space for work in the past few months, and the sympathy made your chest ache. “Thanks for saving me,” you murmured, watching to catch him before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

Extending his mug to you, you gently clinked your mug to his before giving your undivided attention to Inspector Gadget.

As the night went on, you remained in your place on the couch, because when Spencer fell asleep on your shoulder, you didn’t have the heart to wake him up.  

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 2/?)

Do you know what the main problem with addiction is? It's that it always demands more. And unfortunately for you, Silco was an addicted man.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 5,2K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, orgasm edging, overstimulation, you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut), Silco being the little control freak that he is. Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1

Okay, I didn't expect the previous chapter to be so successful, so thank you to everyone who read it. Just a few warnings: Silco's actions can be quite controversial (you'll understand at the end), he's an antagonistic character and we have to recognize that he's not a saint. If you came here expecting something like "love at first sight", I'm sorry to tell you that there's going to be a long road to that. Remember, there's a fine line between love and obsession.

The month had flown by too quickly, and you barely noticed Silco's absence from the brothel. Since that night, he seemed to have vanished, and the days resumed their usual rhythm. With the generous bonus he had left, you managed to cut back on your workload, bringing a sliver of relief to your otherwise exhausting routine. Today was one of those calmer days. Your last session hadn't been physical; your regular client, Kate, a young woman with stunning green eyes, just wanted to talk.

You spent the time discussing her recent achievements. She had been clean from shimmer for three months and, with visible excitement, shared her plans to become a designer. She had even landed an internship at a boutique in Piltover. Despite being a paying client, your relationship with her felt closer to a friendship. You genuinely cared about her progress and rooted for her, even though you knew the harsh world of Piltover could extinguish the dreams of Zaunites as easily as a gust of wind snuffing out a candle.

The brothel had this misunderstood duality. It wasn't just a place of pleasure and debauchery, as many thought, but also a refuge for the lonely, even if those moments were as rare as fresh air in Zaun.

After the session, you sat at the vanity in the dressing room, touching up your makeup. It was a moment of pause, preparing to finally leave for the night. That's when hurried, hesitant footsteps reached your ears. Through the mirror, you saw Babette enter, her yordle face pale as if she'd seen a ghost.

"What's wrong, Babette?" you asked, frowning.

"He's back," she said in a hurried whisper, and you froze. There was no need to specify who. His name hung like a curse that no one dared to utter. "And he asked for you... in the same room."

A sigh escaped your lips as you nodded, trying to mask the storm brewing inside you. Your body moved automatically, brushing past a Babette who looked almost regretful on your behalf.

The conflicting sensations within you were hard to define—a mix of nerves and something akin to excitement. Part of you was eager to see him again, while another feared what this meeting might bring. It was a wave that swung between the warmth of reunion and the chill of apprehension. It was impossible to predict Silco's intentions with you.

Yet, despite the uncertainty, a part of you relished the idea of facing him again.

The curtains parted just as they had during your first meeting, and you stepped into the room with hesitant steps—but firm enough to mask the storm raging within you. There he was, Silco, seated on the sofa like he owned the world—or at least your little corner of chaos. This time, a cigar rested between his fingers, its smoke spiraling lazily toward the ceiling. A bottle of amber liquor and two glasses were set before him on the table.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you regarded him, trying to keep your expression impassive. "Miss me?" The provocation slipped out in an almost sweet tone, but the mockery woven into the edges of your words was there for anyone sharp enough to catch. And, of course, he did.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, and the smile that formed on his lips was... unsettling. A slow, predatory smile that made your entire body tense, unsure whether to prepare for a fight or flight. But running from Silco was never really an option, was it?

"Miss you?" he repeated, his voice low, almost a dangerous purr, as he brought the cigar to his lips and took a long drag. The smoke escaped in a deliberate exhale as he leaned back even further into the sofa. "I've been rather busy, dove. Running a city isn't exactly a part-time job."

His voice carried an intensity that seemed to cut through your skin and lodge itself directly in your nerves. His eyes were a weapon all their own, assessing you with clinical precision as though he could decode every emotion you tried to hide. Frustration? Undoubtedly. Curiosity? Perhaps. And something else... something you refused to name but which made your stomach churn and your breath quicken.

"Ah, of course... I forgot you rule Zaun. I thought it was just a hobby of yours." The words left your mouth dripping with sarcasm, a smirk tugging at your lips. You knew exactly how to provoke him, even if it meant walking a tightrope with Silco.

But he laughed. Not a short or biting laugh, but a rich, full chuckle that echoed through the cramped walls of the room. His reaction was almost disconcerting, as if he were genuinely amused by your defiance.

"I prefer to think of it as a calling. Someone has to keep these streets in line, after all," Silco retorted, bringing the cigar back to his lips and taking a deep drag. "Drink with me." He gestured casually toward the empty glass beside his with a flick of his hand, as if this were the most normal thing in the world—as if he hadn't disappeared for an entire month and was now acting as though nothing had happened.

You blinked once, twice, frowning at his offer. Surprised was an understatement. Even so, your feet carried you to the sofa, where you sat down beside Silco. Your gaze drifted to the glass placed in front of you, but you made no move to pick it up.

"Drink something from you? I thought I'd made it clear I'm not naive." Your voice was sharp, cutting, and you made no effort to hide what you thought. The accusation lingered in the air, but Silco seemed unfazed. On the contrary, the smile on his lips deepened, as though your suspicion was yet another point in his favor.

"Relax, dove." He set the cigar in the ashtray and leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on yours. "I may be many things, but I'm not the type to drug my... companions. I prefer them fully aware of what's happening."

Before you could respond, you felt his hand rest on your thigh, his fingers drawing lazy circles over the fabric of your skirt. The touch was too light to be casual but confident enough to show he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Besides," he continued, leaning in a little closer, "I don't need tricks. You came to me willingly last time, remember? And I'm certain you'll do the same again."

You held your breath for a moment—not out of fear but from the tension building in the air. It had been mere minutes, and already you were spiraling into this dangerous, sexual dance. When he reached for the bottle and poured two glasses, the sound of the amber liquid filling the glass seemed to fill the charged space between you. He slid one of the glasses in your direction, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, and that fleeting touch was like a surge of heat, reigniting memories you'd rather not dwell on now.

The cold glass against your fingers was solid, tangible, but the same couldn't be said for Silco's intentions. Swirling the liquid in the glass, you watched its viscosity under the light, searching for any sign of hidden betrayal. You brought the glass to your nose, inhaling deeply. Nothing unusual. No suspicious scent. Just the strong, familiar aroma of an expensive drink.

"Now, don't be rude. It's a rare vintage, and I insist," he said, his voice dropping a few tones, more of a command than an invitation. "Or are you afraid you can't handle me after a drink?"

He raised his own glass to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours, taking a long sip and savoring the warmth the liquor seemed to bring. He was testing you, and you knew it.

"Oh... I can handle more than you think." You let the double meaning linger in the air, noting how quickly Silco caught on from the faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Then, your gaze shifted back to the drink in your hands.

A sigh escaped internally. Damn it. Against all your instincts, you decided to trust him—at least this once. Bringing the glass to your lips, you took a small sip.

The flavor was unexpected, complex. First, a gentle warmth spread across your tongue and slid down your throat, followed by a hint of sweetness that balanced the burn. You licked your lips, savoring the woody notes mingling with a subtle touch of caramel. It was... different. Something you'd never tasted before.

You almost let out a surprised sigh but managed to hold it back. However, you knew your expression had betrayed you. Worse still, you were certain Silco had noticed. His sharp gaze seemed to miss nothing, and he'd been watching you the entire time. Quickly recovering, you masked your face with indifference, though the effort felt pointless. Pretending nothing affected you had always been one of your sharpest weapons for surviving life in Zaun, but it seemed to fail irritatingly often when it came to him.

"So, tell me..." Silco resumed the conversation, his tone adopting a casual air, as if you were merely chatting. "What have you been up to while I've been away? I hope you haven't been entertaining any other clients in my absence."

"Well," you began, leaning back on the sofa, mimicking his casual tone while swirling the glass in your fingers, watching the liquid sway with the motion. "As far as I know, we're not exclusive."

You let your words hang in the air for a moment before taking another sip of your drink. This time, you kept your eyes fixed on the glass, pretending Silco's presence was just a shadow at the edge of your awareness. "So yes, I've been with other clients."

When you finally lifted your gaze, you met his eyes. They glimmered with something between amusement and danger, and the smile you offered Silco was anything but innocent. You knew you were playing with fire by provoking him so openly without any idea how he might react, but as the damned gambler you were, you could never resist a risky game—even if it meant losing your winning hand.

"Why?" you asked, your voice dripping with audacity as you calmly placed your now-empty glass on the table. "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous? No, I wouldn't say that." He paused, taking a slow, deliberate sip from his drink. "More like... protective. You see, dove, once I set my sights on something, I have a hard time sharing."

He set his glass down on the table with a faint but deliberate thud of glass against wood. You had pressed his buttons, that much was clear, but he didn't seem annoyed by your bratty attitude.

Silco settled back into the sofa, mirroring your posture, but with an air of authority that seemed to dominate the room. He leaned back slightly, his legs spreading just enough to make a point, the motion causing his coat to fall open. The glimpse of what looked like a holster at his hip seemed accidental—perhaps he didn't even remember carrying it. It was as natural to him as breathing.

He turned to you, his hand moving to your chin, tilting your face so your eyes would meet his. "But I'm a reasonable man," he continued, his tone soft, almost comforting, yet carrying an intensity that made your skin prickle. "I understand the nature of our... arrangement. You're a courtesan, and I'm merely a client. Nothing more, nothing less."

His thumb brushed against your lower lip, the touch as light as a feather, teasing. "Which is why I think it's time we renegotiate the terms, don't you?" His voice dropped a few tones lower. "I'm willing to pay for your exclusive services."

You couldn't deny the tension rippling through your body as Silco leaned in further, narrowing the space between you until his presence felt like the only thing that existed in your world. His touch on your chin was firm but not rough, a silent reminder of the absolute control he maintained over himself—and, in some ways, over you.

You allowed him to guide your face upward, a silent concession that you were willing to play along—at least within the rules that suited you.

His eyes were both an invitation and a threat, a contrast that should have been intimidating. But, to your surprise, you felt something else entirely.

It wasn't fear.

It was pride.

There was an unexpected, almost visceral pride within you, knowing that he wanted you—and made no effort to hide it. It was both unsettling and... perversely satisfying.

When Silco moved again toward you, the motion caused his coat to fall open further, fully revealing the holster strapped to his hip. The metallic gleam of the pistol's barrel caught the dim light, and your eyes lingered on it for a moment. The sight evoked a disconcerting mix of emotions: fear and excitement, battling for dominance within you.

You knew the gun wasn't there merely for protection. It was a silent statement, a symbol of power—and also of control. Silco didn't make empty threats, and the presence of that weapon made it abundantly clear. So classic, so predictable, you thought, though you couldn't deny there was something undeniably alluring about the image: danger so blatant yet so meticulously restrained.

That contrast was almost suffocating. The implicit threat of the weapon combined with the soft, almost intimate tone of his voice stirred something deep within you. It was a brutal reminder of the risks of being this close to him, but also irrefutable proof of the kind of power he wielded—not just physical but psychological.

This is not good, you told yourself, suppressing a shiver that could have been apprehension—or excitement. You knew how dangerous it would be to let Silco see you as his. The words you had spoken the last time you met applied to him perfectly, and to your misfortune, Silco was possessive by nature, his ambition only amplifying that trait.

But it was too late to turn back. You had already captured his attention once, and here he was again, returning to your arms like an addict seeking his next fix. And it was clear he wouldn't stop until he had you entirely.

"This negotiation..." you began, your voice lower, tinged with something that could have been scorn or desire, even you couldn't tell. "Isn't open."

The silence that followed was heavy, every word hanging in the air like a scale about to tip. There was refusal in your voice, but despite your efforts, there was also a trace of something else... something that could easily be mistaken for lust. And his gaze caught every nuance of it.

Slowly, your eyes drifted from his to his lips, but not before letting him see the small detour they took back to the pistol. As though you were weighing your options, calculating the risks, even though you knew all of them ended with him.

It was like walking a tightrope over an abyss, and both ends led directly to Silco. Two different fates, equally perilous.

"But," you continued, and your voice was almost a whisper now, deliberately laden with heat. Your mind screamed at you to stop, but the words had already taken shape. "You can try to convince me." It was a dangerous strategy, and Silco was toxic in every sense. But just like an addict depended on their drug, perhaps you could turn that dependence into an advantage for yourself.

Silco's eyes darkened, a fierce hunger burning within them as your defiant words left your lips. A low growl reverberated in his chest, heavy with intensity. He noticed the way your gaze roamed over him, like a flame consuming everything in its path. He also noticed—with dangerous satisfaction—the subtle quickening of your pulse, visible in the delicate line of your neck.

You were playing with fire, and Silco was more than willing to let you burn.

Before you could react, he moved with the swiftness of a serpent, pinning you against the couch. In one fluid motion, he seized control, trapping you beneath the weight of his body. His hands captured your wrists with firm precision, raising them above your head as he positioned himself between your thighs.

His hips pressed against yours, a slow and deliberate motion laden with intent. Your body acted before your mind could comprehend, arching to meet the contact.

"Oh, dove..." he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word caressing your skin like silk. His lips hovered near your throat, and you felt the warmth of his breath against the exposed skin. "I intend to convince you, and I think you'll find I'm quite... persuasive."

His lips found the curve of your neck, skimming over your skin with a dangerous blend of gentleness and possessiveness. When his teeth grazed your flesh, they didn't break the surface, but the implicit promise in every touch made your heart race. You knew he could, and you also knew you wouldn't fight him.

The control he exerted over you was intoxicating, but it wasn't just physical. There was something about the way he read you, how every sigh, every tremor of your body seemed to fuel him.

When his fingers released your wrists, you didn't move your hands from where he had placed them, as if the freedom he had given you was an illusion. Instead, you closed your eyes, feeling his hands glide down your body, his fingers tracing an almost lazy path that ignited every nerve in your skin.

His fingers reached the curve of your waist, pausing just long enough to apply a slight squeeze—a possessive touch that sent a shiver down your spine. He followed the contour of your hips, his movements as subtle as they were provocative. Then, with a deliberate motion, he tugged the hem of your skirt upward, revealing your skin inch by inch, as if each bit was a gift to be uncovered. The air grew heavier, each second stretching into eternity.

"You have no idea what you make me feel," he murmured, his voice a mix of confession and temptation, perhaps more to himself than to you. "The things I want to do to you..."

His breathing grew uneven, heavier, and before you realized it, your thighs tightened around his hips, as if to hold him there, in that exact place where the world seemed to have stopped.

"Then do them," you murmured, your voice hoarse, barely a whisper. This moment was his. And somehow, it didn't feel wrong, even though part of you knew you might regret it later.

But right now, in this instant, regret was the furthest thing from your mind.

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━━

"Careful what you wish for, dove..."

Silco's eyes darkened with lust as he watched her writhe beneath him, her body arching into his touch as if she were starving for it. He could feel the heat of her core pressing against his cock, even through the layers of clothing that separated them, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to rip them off and bury himself inside her right then and there. To feel that warm feeling that had been trapped in his mind for that damn month of being away from her. But he held himself back, it wasn't about him this time, as he would have other opportunities. He wanted to savor every moment of her surrender, to engrave the memory of it in his mind for years to come.

Slowly, teasingly, he trailed his lips down the column of her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin before sucking on her pulse point, leaving a mark. Relishing the way she gasped and writhed beneath him, her hands finally moved to tangle in his hair.

He leaned back, standing erect with his gaze fixed on that which he now coveted. He hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs, exposing her to his hungry gaze. This was something he had wanted to do since their first meeting.

Silco settled between her thighs, his breath ghosting over her slick folds. He looked up at her through his lashes, his eyes glittering with dark promise. "Look at you, dove. So wet for me already... Such a needy little thing." he murmured before dipping his head and pressing a kiss to her clit.

He started slowly, his tongue lapping at her slit, savoring the taste of her arousal. He traced the seam of her lips, teasing her entrance before flicking his tongue over her clit, again and again, until she was writhing beneath him, her hands fisting in his hair.

He slid a finger inside her, then two, pumping them in and out of her tight heat, at first slowly. He curled them just so, searching for that special spot that would make her see stars. Silco felt her inner walls contract and vibrate around his fingers. He could tell she was getting close to her peak. Leaning down, he sealed his lips around her throbbing clit and sucked hard, flicking the sensitive nub quickly with the tip of his tongue.

At the same time, he pumped his fingers faster, rubbing mercilessly against that specific spot. Her thighs trembled and tensed on either side of his head as he took her right to the edge... then pulled back a little, wanting to prolong her torment a little longer before finally pushing her over the edge of blissful oblivion. He heard her whimper his name, her voice sounding tearful and frustrated. Then her little fingers tried to pull his face back into place between her thighs: "Easy, dove." He let his fingertip slide over her clit, circular motions that drove her to the edge, but weren't enough to give her what she wanted. "Silco..." her voice escaped in a hoarse moan, filled with a mixture of need and desperation. Sounding like a melody for Silco. "Say 'please' and I might let you cum." Silco's voice left no room for reply and this only made her even more frustrated. Her back arched and she tried again to pull Silco towards her. Her attempts failed. Silco then sped up the movement of her finger, noticing how easy it was to bring her to the edge again... and just as easy to slow down.

The second denied orgasm drew a reaction from her. "Please! Fuck.. I beg you... please!

He smirked as she begged so sweetly, the word "please" falling from her lips like a prayer. Oh, how he adored when she got like this - pride and poise cast aside in favor of raw, aching need. Silco was more than happy to oblige her, diving back in with renewed fervor. He savored the taste, groaning low in his throat as he feasted on her like a starving man, his fingers pumped steadily, curling just to brush that spot inside her. He felt her thighs clamp down around his head, heard her screaming his name as she came undone, her release flooding his mouth.

But Silco didn't stop. He kept going, riding her through her orgasm and straight into another, his tongue lashing at her sensitive flesh, his fingers pumping in and out of her clenching heat. He could feel her fighting it, her body tensing, trying to pull away from the too-much sensation, but he held her in place, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from her.

He felt her come again, harder this time, her body convulsing beneath him, her hands fisting in his hair so tightly it bordered on pain. He swallowed every drop of her release, groaning at the taste of her, the feel of her coming apart for him.

Only when she went limp beneath him, her body spent and trembling, did Silco finally relent. He pulled back, licking his lips as he admired his handiwork - His sweet dove sprawled on the couch, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat. She looked utterly debauched, and fuck if it wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. A sight that had to be for his eyes only.

"Perfect." He whispered to the void as you seemed to be passed out. Nothing could take away his sense of pride in having reduced you to a limp body lying on the couch, although a part—the one deep inside him—was irritated by the mere idea that someone else could do the same to you. "We can't let that happen, don't you think?"

A rhetorical question to which he already had an answer.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━━ 

You blacked out for a second. You'd like to say you lasted longer after the first, but that would be a blatant lie. With Silco consuming you completely—in presence, touch, scent, and the rough sound of his voice—it was impossible to resist. He pushed you to the edge once more, and when you finally fell, the orgasm that crashed over you was even more devastating than the first.

You collapsed onto your side, utterly boneless, as though every bone in your body had dissolved. The exhaustion was so overwhelming that the line between consciousness and unconsciousness blurred with each passing moment. Every muscle in your body screamed in surrender, yet you still found enough energy to let out a soft whimper as you adjusted your legs, trying to ease the discomfort.

Your body was in a state of hyperawareness. You could feel every little detail: the slow but persistent throbbing between your legs, the sensitive, swollen ache of your clit, both painful and pleasurable as the pressure of your thighs shifted.

The heavy silence of the room was broken only by the sound of your ragged, uneven breathing. Each breath felt like an effort, but you began to relax, letting your muscles go slack against the couch. And then you felt it.

His gaze.

Even with your eyes closed, you knew Silco was watching. It was impossible to ignore. Those eyes had the power to strip you bare, as though he could see beyond flesh, directly into what you tried to hide—vulnerability, desire, surrender.

Opening your eyes slowly, you blinked a few times, dislodging the tears that clung stubbornly to your lashes. Your lips curled into a trembling, tired but genuine smile as your gaze found his face. Silco didn't look away. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—dangerous and tender all at once—that made you shift uncomfortably, even in your exhaustion.

"That was the first time..." you began, your voice breathless, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. "By Janna... twice in a row... How is that even possible?"

The words came out in an almost incredulous tone, with a hint of exhausted laughter. You didn't know how he did it, but it seemed Silco knew exactly what to do with your body. Where to touch, what to say, which buttons to press... absolutely everything.

"Give me a minute," you continued, your voice strained with fatigue. "I don't think I can do anything else right now. My body has officially shut down, and it's your fault."

Despite the exhaustion, there was a note of humor in your voice, something you knew he'd pick up on. But it was the truth. Every fiber of your being felt like it had been pushed to its limit, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you had no urge to fight it.

Silco leaned over you, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle, almost reverent gesture. The touch was a stark contrast to the roughness of his calloused fingers. "Don't worry about me, dove," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, like a whispered melody in the darkness. "I'm more than satisfied with how the night turned out."

He then pressed a light kiss to the corner of your mouth. The fleeting touch was almost contradictory, an unspoken promise hidden behind the faint, teasing smile that played on his lips. "Now, catch your breath. Compose yourself."

He moved away with his usual natural elegance. As he adjusted his clothes, straightening his suit with meticulous care, smoothing out his trousers; taking more careful care of this part for obvious reasons, and running his fingers through his slightly disheveled hair, you watched him silently. He seemed lost in his own world as he tidied himself.

Silco then turned his attention back to you, extending a steady hand to help you sit properly on the couch. With surprising care, he adjusted your skirt, a gesture that felt almost chivalrous coming from the same man who had undone it in the first place. But what truly caught your attention was the way he picked up the garment he had removed from you earlier—your underwear—and slipped it into his trouser pocket without even attempting to hide the act.

You opened your mouth, perhaps to protest, but before you could utter a word, he had already shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The weight of the expensive fabric pressed against your skin, warm from his body heat, carrying his unmistakable scent: lingering tobacco, worn leather, and a metallic note that reminded you of burnt gunpowder or rust. It wasn't necessary—you knew that—but he seemed to relish the idea of covering you, marking the moment with a gesture that was as possessive as it was protective.

"In any case," he said, his voice taking on a teasing tone as his hand rested firmly on your shoulder, the touch deliberate, "You can return the favor next time."

"So that's your excuse to come back to this brothel?" you replied, your tone laced with sarcasm as one eyebrow arched slightly. A sly smile curved your lips as you looked at him. "How predictable, Silco..."

"Oh, I assure you, dove," he murmured, his voice laden with a dangerous softness that made every word sound like a promise. "It's not the only reason I'll return. But, I must admit... it's a rather tempting incentive."

Yet, as he spoke those words, something shifted inside him. A dark and familiar shadow rose, staking its claim on his mind. Suddenly, Silco pulled back. His face, previously brimming with desire and mischief, turned into a mask of indifference.

"I need to go," he said abruptly, the tone of someone ending a conversation with no room for argument. "There's something I need to take care of."

And with that, without another word, he was gone.

Leaving you behind, confused, and his jacket.

[...]

The days following Silco's visit were a series of unsettling events. The changes came slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, but you had a knack for picking up on nuances. You were a survivor, and survival meant knowing when something was wrong before it became a bigger problem.

First, there were the furtive glances. Your colleagues at the brothel seemed to watch you with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. There were hushed whispers and abruptly interrupted conversations whenever you walked by. That wasn't new—gossip was as common as the smell of cheap perfume in that place. But this felt different now. Heavier. As if they knew something you didn't.

Then came the anonymous donation. A substantial amount of money, accompanied by a short and direct note, unsigned. Just three words: "For your comfort."

You found yourself staring at the note longer than you should have, the paper trembling slightly in your hands. The tone of the words seemed polite, even kind, but in context... there was no comfort in them. Only confirmation that someone was meddling in your life.

Finally—and perhaps most disturbingly—was the sudden drop in the number of clients. At first, you thought it was a coincidence, something seasonal. The brothel's clientele had its ups and downs, after all. But as the days went by, the reality became unmistakably clear.

The few men who still requested your company exhibited strange behaviors. Gone were the hungry gazes, the invasive touches. They were stiff, as if walking on eggshells, and most seemed incapable of relaxing in your presence. They didn't want closeness, avoided more intimate advances. Instead, they merely asked for your company, remained in an awkward silence while sitting far from you, and left far more money than necessary.

It was disconcerting. The break from routine, the absence of the predictable... it was almost worse than dealing with the unwanted touches you'd learned to ignore.

And then came the confirmation you didn't want. It arrived through a conversation you weren't invited to but overheard from the other side of a door: the men who had been appearing and specifically requesting you, were none other than subordinates of a certain chemical baron.

Silco. Part 3

[punkshort]

Seasons Change

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Miserable and lonely after Chucho drags him to the farmers' market in town, Javier's day turns around when he runs into you asking for his help.

Warnings: Javi being a little depressed/down on himself, fluff, meet-cute, tiny bit of possessiveness, flirting

WC: 3.2K

For @jolapeno & @goodwithcheese's fall challenge: I picked Javi P + Farmers' Market 🍂

thank you @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

-

Javier stared out the passenger window of his father's old truck, sulking in his seat with his arms crossed. The changing leaves blurred by on the side of the road: deep reds, bright yellows and oranges, and the occasional stubborn green. Fall was certainly in the air, so much so that he had to pull on his red checkered flannel before Chucho practically dragged him out the door, muttering to him in Spanish about how he never leaves the ranch and getting a change of scenery would be good for him.

But Javier didn't like to leave the ranch. He didn't like the looks he got, the whispers he heard, and especially hated when some stranger insisted on stopping him with a firm handshake to express how proud they were of him.

He always had to bite his tongue. He politely nodded and smiled, but inevitably the ride home was always filled with distressing images of innocents caught in the crossfire, or the shady deals he felt he had to make with the wrong sort of people just to get a lead. Every time he shook one of their hands, more blood transferred to his own palm, and now he felt like he could never get them clean.

But he couldn't explain all that to his father, although Chucho likely had some inkling. He must have noticed the change in him, the shift, when he returned home. When he asked his son why he didn't want to buy a place of his own, why he didn't want privacy, Javier replied it's easier, don't have to wake up so early and drive over to help.

But Chucho wasn't stupid. He knew Javier had nightmares, he saw the clouds in his eyes the following mornings, could practically see the weight pulling his son down around his neck.

Javier didn't want to be alone, but he was too proud to say it.

"Quit pouting. Maybe you'll meet someone," he offered from the driver's seat. Javi scoffed and shook his head.

"What? You're a catch, m'hijo."

"It's not that, Pop," Javi said, although a big part of him was beginning to wonder if he really did have anything to offer a woman anymore. "I know everyone in this town. There's no one here for me."

"You don't know that," his father replied sternly. "The farmers' market brings in customers from all over. You could meet the love of your life today."

Javi tilted his head and gave Chucho an incredulous look.

"You gettin' sick of me, Pop?"

His father laughed heartily and shook his head as he turned into the parking lot.

"You know I love having you around, Javi. Just wish you'd have a reason to smile more."

Chucho abandoned him ten minutes into arriving, claiming he wanted to check in with a couple friends from neighboring farms, and encouraged his son to wander around to see if anything interesting caught his eye.

Javi was beginning to think his presence at the ranch wasn't as necessary as he thought. When he left Colombia, he had expected to arrive home to a mess, but the ranch was in surprisingly good shape. Not only that, but his father was busy. He had to give his dad credit - he had a lot of friends and a hell of a lot more night and weekend plans than himself. Chucho was even casually seeing a woman he met at the pharmacy two months ago.

Javier was wallowing in self-pity when he heard a man and woman's voices a few feet away discussing which cheeses they should buy that would best complement the crackers they had waiting for them at home.

He glanced up and saw the man and woman holding hands and gazing at one another like they were madly in love. Something sharp twisted in his chest at the display, so he tore his eyes away to focus on a package of bread he held in his hands, doing his best to ignore that familiar twitch in his fingers, the one that wanted to lead his hand to his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there.

"Hey, buddy, excuse us," the man's voice said, cutting through Javier's fog. His eyes snapped up and after a moment of confusion, realized he was in the happy couple's way. He dropped the bread and stepped back with a tight smile, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned away.

It took all of thirty seconds to realize he was completely surrounded by happy couples picking out flowers, fresh produce, and unique trinkets sold by locals. He normally wouldn't care. His focus lately had been entirely fixed on his father and the ranch, surprising even himself that women were the furthest thing from his mind. But something Chucho said that morning must have gotten under his skin because on that particular day, he felt lonely. Out of place. Tainted.

He saw a few people doing a double take as they passed by, no doubt recognizing him and whispering to their partner about his exploits. And just like that, it all felt like too much. The sun was too bright, the scent of apples and cinnamon was too heavy, the laughter was too loud.

He didn't belong there.

Javier swiveled around on his heel, deciding in that moment he would rather wait by his father's truck for an hour than subject himself to... whatever was happening to him. He managed to take one step when a pair of arms wrapped around his bicep, surprising him when he looked down to find a pair of bright beautiful eyes staring back up at him.

"I need your help," you whispered, fingers digging urgently into his arm. Immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he scanned the crowd for danger. When you realized that you sounded a little alarmist, you quickly corrected yourself.

"Not like that. My ex is standing right behind you and I need you to play along because-"

You didn't get to finish your sentence and Javi hardly had a chance to process what you just said because the next thing he knew, your eyes flickered over his shoulder and you plastered a fake smile across your face.

"Charlie, hi!" you gushed, clinging to Javi's arm.

"Hey," a shorter man with light brown hair replied slowly, followed by your name. Javier repeated your name over and over in his head while Charlie's eyes bounced between the two of you, the gears churning. Even Javi could see the look of disappointment slide across his face.

"I've been thinking about you, wondering if you changed your number, but..." Charlie trailed off weakly. Then, for some reason, Javier stood up a little straighter when a flash of annoyance shot through him. Who the hell did this guy think he was? For all Charlie knew, you were in a loving and committed relationship with him. How dare he admit to trying to contact you with your boyfriend standing right there?

"Javier," he suddenly said, deepening his voice and stretching out an arm while simultaneously giving Charlie a stern look that said back off.

"Sorry!" you exclaimed from his side. "Charlie, this is my boyfriend, Javier."

Javi puffed up his chest and shook the man's hand a little harder than he usually would, secretly enjoying the look of discomfort on his face.

"Hey, man, nice to meet you," he replied, then Javi saw it. The flash in his eyes, the double take, the familiar look of someone trying to place who he was.

Javier cleared his throat and slid his arm out of your grasp, only to drape it protectively around your shoulders instead. Much to his delight, you leaned into his side and rested your hand on his chest, your touch making his heart unexpectedly flutter.

"Is there something wrong?" you asked Charlie innocently while batting your lashes. Slowly, your ex shook his head and forced an awkward smile.

"No, just... just happy to see you. Glad you're doing well."

"We're great," you replied. Javi's lips twitched and he had to look away. For just a moment, he wasn't the pathetic single guy at the Farmers' Market. For those few minutes, he was yours.

"Alright, well, I'll see you around I guess," Charlie said as he took a single step backwards. His eyes slid to Javi and he added, "Nice to meet you."

"Take care," he called after Charlie, his arm remaining around your shoulders until he slinked back into the crowd. You let out a huge sigh of relief and stepped out from under his hold, Javi's side instantly feeling cooler from the lack of contact.

"Thank you so much," you said, gazing up at him while you readjusted the bag over your shoulder. "You're, like, the only other person here without someone so I figured you were a safe bet, I hope you don't mind."

Javi smiled. So he wasn't the only one who noticed all the adoring couples. "Not at all. Is he bothering you? I know some guys down at the station-"

"No! Oh, god, no, nothing like that," you exclaimed with a giggle. "He's harmless, he just can't accept it's over, you know?"

"Yeah," he replied, but he didn't know. Not really. Not when he filled the past several years of his life with quick trysts.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, scanning his face for something, and then he felt that familiar churning in his stomach begin. You were about to connect the dots, about to recognize him for who he really was, so he dropped his gaze to the ground. But then your next question took him by surprise.

"How do you know people at the station? Are you a cop?"

He dragged his eyes up to meet yours again, searching for any sign that you were messing with him, but he found none. Just genuine curiosity.

"No," he replied, then awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "Well, I used to be, but not here. I work on a ranch now with my Pops."

"Oh, that sounds nice. How kind of you to help out your dad," you said with a sweet smile that held him in a trance for a moment.

"Uh, y-yeah," Javi stammered before tearing his gaze away. "Seems like he doesn't need me as much as I thought, though."

You laughed again, the sound like music to his ears.

"I'm sure that's not true. I bet you're very helpful. You helped me today, so, there's that," you reminded him, leaning forward a little bit and biting your lip playfully. Were you flirting with him?

"That was nothing," Javi replied sheepishly. His mind began to race, trying to desperately think of ideas to keep you around before it became clear his usefulness had come to an end. Then, to his delight, you came up with an answer all by yourself.

"Well, do you mind continuing to help me? Because I wanted to buy some pumpkins and a hay bale for my front porch -"

"Yes," he responded almost immediately. The eagerness in his voice made you both blush and you reached out for his hand.

"My hero."

He grinned and let his fingers lace together with yours, your warmth spreading to his palm as you walked hand in hand through the market. Javi couldn't stop smiling. He was still surrounded by couples, all the smiling and happy faces, but now he didn't feel so out of place. Now he blended right in with everyone else because he had you by his side, leading him around to different vendors to show him something you found interesting or strange. And in those ten short minutes, he realized he wanted to hear it all. He wanted to know why you wrinkled your nose when you passed by some eggplants, or smiled fondly when you saw some colorful homemade crafts.

You suggested getting some hot chocolate and finding a spot to sit down, something he felt foolish for not thinking of first, but at least he had the good sense to insist on buying while he waved you off to find an empty bench.

"So, Javier," you began, saying his name in a way that made warmth bloom in his chest. "You said you used to be a cop and now you work on a ranch. Is there a story there or were you just looking to shake things up?"

He squinted at you over his hot chocolate, like he was trying to figure out if it was possible you really didn't know who he was. But you just kept looking at him so sweetly, your fingers curled around the paper cup, your lips blowing air over the liquid to cool it down, giving absolutely no indication you were being dishonest.

"Do you really not know who I am?" he blurted out. Your eyebrows shot up and you cocked your head to the side.

"Should I?"

Javi smirked and leaned back on the bench in disbelief.

"No. Well, not necessarily. Guess I'm just used to it."

"Used to... people recognizing you?" you asked. He nodded and figured now he was in too deep, so he told you. He told you about Escobar and the Cali Cartel while leaving out a few of the sensitive details, details that still haunted him at night. He didn't tell you why he wasn't a hero, he didn't tell you about Los Pepes. He didn't tell you how all the pain and lives lost made hardly any difference.

He didn't tell you he felt like a complete failure every time he saw those damn boats cruise by the ranch.

"Oh," you finally murmured when he stopped talking. He chewed anxiously on his lower lip, waiting for your reaction. But after you took a moment to absorb what he said, you brightened up and shrugged.

"I'm so glad you're working on a ranch, now. It sounds much safer."

He slowly nodded in agreement.

"Except when the cows get hungry, they get a little pushy."

You giggled and a wide smile stretched across his face.

"Jav! There you are," Chucho's voice called from a few feet away, putting a quick end to both your laughter. His heart sank when he realized his time with you was about to end.

"Pops," Javi said in greeting. You both stood from the bench to face him, ignoring the mischievous look on his father's face when he introduced you. Javi pulled nervously at his hair when he ran his fingers through the thick locks, scrambling to figure out what to say after Chucho announced he was ready to leave.

"Wait, I promised I'd help carry the pumpkins and hay-" he began, grateful that he thought of something to prolong your time together. Your eyes dropped shyly to the ground and you lowered your voice.

"I didn't actually come here to buy that stuff, I was just looking for a reason to keep talking to you."

His father coughed into his fist and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll meet you at the truck, m'hijo."

Javi nodded and he may have said something but for the life of him, he couldn't remember. His heart was thudding too loudly in his chest at your confession. You liked him. You wanted to keep him around.

"Well, uh, it was great meeting you," he said, thumb and forefinger swiping over his mustache. You smiled up at him, murmuring your agreement and thanking him again for saving you from Charlie.

Do it. Do it, you coward.

But he couldn't. His nerves got the best of him and he took a couple steps backwards.

"Maybe I'll see you around," he said, cringing at how stupid he sounded. You tried to hide the disappointed look on your face when you gave him a little wave, then turned back to the bench to collect your bag and hot chocolate.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

He shook his head at himself as he began to slowly walk in the direction of the parking lot. His hands balled up into fists at his sides, his anger and disgust with himself growing with each heavy step. He thought he knew everyone in town, thought everyone knew him. Or, at least, of him and his reputation. If it wasn't his work in Colombia, then the rest of the town would have remembered how he left Lorraine. He thought he had to hide away on the ranch to avoid the attention and scrutiny, and he was content enough to do that. But now? The thought of going back home to his quiet little life, knowing he would spend countless days wondering about you made him suddenly stop dead in his tracks and spin around.

He spotted you walking in the opposite direction, your off-white tote back draped over your shoulder, about to disappear into the crowd. Panic clawed at his throat and he broke out into a jog, calling your name as he made his way closer and ignoring the looks he got from strangers as he went.

When you heard him, you immediately swiveled around and broke out into a smile, looking just as relieved as he felt.

"Hey," he said, slightly short of breath when he slowed his pace to a stop in front of you.

"Hi," you replied, gazing up at him with those beautiful eyes he would dream about later instead of the nightmares that usually plagued him.

"I meant to - can I get your number? I'd like to take you out sometime, if you-"

"Yes!" you cried out excitedly, making both of you laugh. He handed you his phone, then wiped his sweaty palms over the backs of his jeans and watched while you entered your number. You handed the device back to him with a dazzling smile and he felt his nerves start to settle.

"I'll call you," he promised, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

"You better, Javier," you teased with a poke to his shoulder.

It might have been the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him or the sweet way you said his name, but before he had a chance to overthink it, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against yours. He felt you melt into him once the shock wore off, and his lips curved into a smile before pulling away.

"You taste like chocolate," he said softly, mouth still hovering over yours, and you giggled when you swiped the pad of your thumb over his lower lip.

"So do you."

He grinned and forced his feet to move, walking backwards a few steps so he could continue to smile at you like a fool until he finally had to turn around before he ran into someone, but not before shooting you a quick wink just to hear you laugh one more time.

As he walked through the farmers' market, already dreading all the questions Chucho would be firing his way the entire ride home, he looked around at the happy couples in a completely different light. His stomach no longer churned and his chest no longer ached when he saw them kiss or laugh, because with any luck, he might just find himself in their shoes soon enough.

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[izvmimi]

ember - izuku x reader

cw: spoilers to the end of the manga. reader with vaguely described quirk. izuku and reader are married. short and sweet. a/n: establishing my own new canon, tyvm.

On an evening out in September, six months after you tie the knot with Izuku Midoriya and three years after Izuku returns to active Pro Hero duty, you find out three crucial things about him.

One, Izuku meant it when he said he loves you possibly more than life itself; two, Izuku might not have lost all of the embers of One for All, after all, and three, Izuku is a fucking idiot.

Your body feels unbelievably rigid as though you were in a car accident, and in a way, you were, and your guts should be strewn all over this sparsely populated street if not for the fact that you’re wrapped up, safe, cocooned in your lover’s protective hold, his back curved over yours, and the truck that should have crushed you both instead is partially crumpled itself at its front end, metal twisting around Izuku’s raised forearm. The two of you are panting heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the sensation of having just run a marathon, and he’s looking at you with frantic eyes, scanning you for safety. That long familiar green spark in the air surges around him like electricity, the glow in his green eyes, fading quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathlessly, not out of exertion but out of shock.

“I-Izuku, you’re not…”

He still hasn’t realized what has just happened, focusing on the fact that you’re alive and okay and didn’t turn into roadkill right in front of his very eyes. Unwedging his somehow intact forearm from the grille of the truck, he turns his body completely to you, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, and helps you rise to your feet. The static feeling emanating from him slips away second by second and your lips wobbles as you’re at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” he repeats again. He’s patting you over quickly, looking for broken bones, bruised skin, and your mind is still racing, computing what just happened and why you’re still alive.

He shouldn’t have been able to cross that distance so quickly - you were just waving to him from across the street, the road clear when you looked before crossing, and in seconds the vehicle had barreled at full speed out of nowhere; he couldn’t have moved before screaming your name fast enough, maybe years ago when you were both teenagers with impossible superpowers but not now, years later with superhuman gifts dwindled to nothing. 

He couldn’t have, but he did. 

“I-Izuku, the suit… you’re not wearing your suit,” your voice carries shakily, and as you see his eyebrows unscrunch and raise instead in surprise, he turns, and sees the stopped vehicle, the broken glass and distorted metal, a man hurriedly jumping out of the passenger seat and shakily apologizing, and finally his torn jacket sleeve and it occurs to him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not.”

—

You watch Mei type on her computer, not bothering to try to decipher her thoughts from her facial expressions, knowing full well that she’s never been readable before. Even years after high school you find that this continues to be true, but the blank but friendly and entranced look on her face is somehow pleasant the more you think about it, and you let yourself let out the breath you’ve been holding.

It’s been just a few weeks since the night Izuku’s Quirk - at least some of it - flickered back into life for the first time, and after you’d berated him for using his literal body to shield you from a danger that could have killed you both, you’d taken the time that evening to use your own Quirk to see if something about his body had gone haywire. To both of your surprises, you’d gotten a flicker of something similar to the old him, but unsure and unwilling to get either of your hopes up, you’d decided to consult with Mei and other experts who worked with Quirk pathophysiology and augmentation (a few of which you’d taken courses with yourself years ago), and now you were back in Mei’s laboratory, trying to see if you could get to the bottom of this.

Since then, the following strange things had happened:

You’d dropped a plate and Izuku had dove for it, the wisp of a Blackwhip tendril just brushing it before it ultimately crashed to the ground, the two of you too stunned to speak.

A group of Izuku’s students heckled him as he leaned in to accept your kiss outside UA, and all of you ended up in a purple haze before you knew it.

Izuku’s midday nap on the couch found him face to face with the ceiling when you finally discovered him, and

A sudden unintentional use of Fa Jin made things very interesting in bed.

“I guess my baby’s doing a better job than I thought it would!” Mei grins. You hunch over her screen, while Izuku’s too hooked up to a tangle of wires to get a good view of the screen himself, and she compares Quirk levels from the beginning of the suit’s conception to now, a previously long-standing flat graph with a steadily rising bump. 

“A miracle,” you whisper under your breath.

“I find that personally offensive.” Mei replies, her facial expression lacking the cheek to compare to her statement as she watches Izuku watch you from behind the glass. She presses a button on the intercom; Izuku grins at you while Mei gives him the instructions to try to activate Blackwhip one more time, and you can feel warmed all the way through. 

—

Slowly but surely, over time, the Quirk levels start to recover, and you, Izuku and Mei try your best to keep it under wraps.

Of course, Katsuki finds out with direct questioning, the purple haze event showing up on an anonymous internet forum propelling him to show up at your doorstep and demand personally that Izuku tell him if he got his quirks back or not.

“We’re not sure how permanent this is, Kacchan,” he offers. Katsuki might as well spit on the ground before him in protest but you’re seated in the living room, and even Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has enough decorum to not make a mess in someone else’s home.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Midoriya!”

“It’s not a lie!” Izuku insists, and he turns his gaze to you for backup which you swiftly provide.

“Listen, we’re not sure yet, and they’ll probably never get back to normal, but he’s doing his best.” Katsuki grimaces, which annoys you further.

“You’ll get your damn rematch, be patient.” you add, rolling your eyes. Katsuki leers, and his partner pats him on the shoulder.

“He’s just excited,” she translates for him, and Katsuki mumbles something about not needing her for translation every time which doesn’t waver her smile one bit.

“Excited to get his ass beat,” you murmur, reaching over to pour her some more tea. Izuku and Katsuki both stare at you, Izuku with nervous concern and Katsuki with irritation, and just like old days, you and Katsuki’s arguing match begins anew. 

—

As the two of you brush your teeth and prepare for bed, you do your nightly routine of checking how strong Izuku's reawakened Quirk is with your hand on his chest, and he presses his free hand over yours.

“You know, my favorite part of this is you’ll finally start to worry less.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand gently.

You let the water run and clear spittle from the sink, and gargle before you answer, your hand still captive by his, then look at him.

“To be honest, I’ll never stop worrying about you, Izuku. Even if you become God.”

But you understand what he means. You’ve had many a nightmare about suit malfunction, only a few of these you’ve shared with him, among other things that have to do with being a Pro Hero in the capacity he insists to be in. This is a small help. 

A small bit of providence.

He expected this answer, lips pulling into a smile as he takes your hand fully and pulls the fingertips to his lips to kiss them. 

“I’m glad that won’t change,” he replies.

Moments later, you’re laid in bed together, and as you both muse on the potentially altering future in quiet, love-flushed cheeks and hands intertwined, he turns to you suddenly.

“There’s one thing I’m still missing,” he says.

Your eyes refocus to him. He’s pensive now, not sad or upset, but thoughtful. You move closer to kiss him on the lips once before nodding for him to continue.

“What are you missing?”

“Danger Sense,” he says.

“But everything else is back,” you reply. He nods, letting his arm drape around your waist.

“Yeah, but I think I liked that one the most.”

You snort lightly. “Not being able to lift a train, or fly, but 'Super Anxiety' was your favorite?”

You’re making light of the issue to keep the mood from getting too heavy, but he frowns, and you frown back, apologetically. 

“Well, ‘Super Anxiety’ made it so that I knew when bad things were about to happen, and often these bad things could involve you.”

He has the tiniest scrunch to his eyebrows, one that in another situation would have compelled you to rub out with your fingertips, but now is not the time to be playful.

You twist your mouth to the side and a few more moments pass between you, before you add:

“I don’t think you need it, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“All this came back because you wanted to protect me,” you remind him. “You moved without thinking, for me, as always, like you knew I needed you. That's better than Danger Sense by far.”

His face softens as he cups yours in his hands. You're thankful that you've reached him.

“Always for you,” he says.

Even if this miracle is transient and despite your best efforts, his quirk levels fall back to normal instead of steadily growing, the love he has for you, and the love you have for him, will never, ever burn out.

[holdmytesseract]

🩷Salut mon amie🩷

I just can't let this perfect opportunity slip... What about a Daryl x f!reader post-outbreak song fic with “So High School“ by Taylor leading your wonderful mind??? 😊

Clandestine Meetings

Daryl Dixon x fem!Greene!Reader

Summary: You sneak out to meet Daryl in the watch tower - the first moment of privacy you share since months.

Warnings: 18+!!! Minors do not interact! veeery suggestive smut/'smut' (not very graphic, but it's there), fluff, we ignore the age, humour?

Set in Season 3!

Word Count: 1,4k

a/n: Thank you for requesting, my friend! I don't know if it fits 'So High School', but that's what my mind came up with. Hope you like it! 🤍

Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist °☆• Echoes of Hope Masterlist

The sun was about to set when you made your way out of the C-Block. Snuck was probably the more fitting word, though. You snuck your way out of the C-Block. To your luck was everybody else occupied with other things, so you had more or less free rein to get unnoticed to your destination... The watch tower. Once you reached the yard, you adjusted the rifle strapped around your shoulder; a victorious smile spreading on your lips.

You crowed too soon.

"Y/N?" A very familiar voice suddenly cut through the air and caused you to stop dead in your motion. "What are you doing out here? Where are you goin'? It's almost dark..." Maggie... Your sister.

"Damn..." You cursed under your breath; now seeing her approaching you, wearing some of the police gear. A bloody knife was in her hands.

You lifted your head to meet her eyes. "I could ask you the same, y'know," you retorted playfully; hoping that you'd somehow get out of this situation. Maggie frowned for a moment; stepping closer. "Been out with Glenn; fixing the fence and gettin' rid of some walkers." "Ah..." You nodded, "Ya sure do look like it." and giggled; still hoping to get away.

"Where are you goin'? We shouldn't walk 'round here alone. Especially at night. Even though the yard is cleared." "I'm not plannin' to walk around," you immediately said; lifting your hands in surrender. "Don't worry, sis." Your sister crossed her arms over her armoured chest; a stern expression on her face - and you knew immediately that she wasn't up for jokes anymore. She was being serious now. "Spit it out, Y/N - and it better be the truth." You sighed defeated; knowing that you had lost. Well, perhaps you were just really bad at lying and keeping a pokerface. "I wanted to go to the watch tower," you finally admitted; nodding towards the tall building at the foot of the prison. "The watch tower?" Maggie raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Since when are you on watch this late?" "I'm not." You shook your head. "But, uh, Daryl is."

Maggie looked at you surprised. "Daryl?" You nodded; biting your lip. "Uh.Huh. Thought I keep him company for a bit." "Keep him company?" "Mhm."

Your sister gave you a suspicious look, before crossing her arms over her chest. "Is there somethin' I should know about?" "No," you said, but the pink on your cheeks was betraying you. "Y/N..." Maggie pushed; your awkward behaviour rising only more suspicions. "Okay, fine!" You sighed once more. Yeah. you had lost. For real now. Maggie wouldn't let you go without telling her the whole truth. She took her sister role very seriously.

"I, uh, I really like Daryl. Have been since the farm and well, uh, we're kinda together?"

A big smile stretched over Maggie's face. "Honestly? I suspected that you two were a thing." You blinked; shocked and surprised. "W-Wha'? How?" Her smile widened as stepped closer; wrapping an arm around you. "The looks you give each other? Him always making sure you're safe? Especially when we were on the road? I noticed, sis. You two were being not quite subtle..." Your cheeks reddened even more at her words. "Hey, sweetie. No need to be embarrassed 'bout it. I'm happy for you, truly. Daryl is a good man - but if he hurts you, I'll still cut off his balls." You couldn't help but giggle; your nervosity finally melting away. "He won't, Maggie. He's a keeper." "I know. I'm just sayin'..." Your sister said and started to walk away. Halfway, though, she turned back to face you; a smug grin on her lips. "Hey, sis?" "Yeah?" "If you need some, Glenn and I can spare a few condoms," she hollered over; winking and causing you to blush once again. "Maggie!" "What?" She laughed. "Wrap it 'fore you tap it." You rolled your eyes and reached inside your pocket; fishing for something. Once you found the little foil package, you lifted it up for Maggie to see. "I know! I'm prepared!"

Your sister's smirk even widened, "See you in the morning then." and winked at you once more. Before she could walk away, you stopped her. "Maggie?" Again she faced you. "Don't tell daddy yet, okay?" Your sister nodded, "I won't. This is up to you." and truly walked away this time.

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment, before you made your way to the watch tower; silently closing the door behind you and walking up the steps to reach the top door. Cautiously, you stepped inside; finding Daryl gazing out of the window.

"Yer late," his deep, gruff voice urged to your ears as he turned with the tiniest smirk twitching on the corner of his lips. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I, uh, ran into my sister on the way." He shook his head, "'No need ta apologise, darlin'. Hell, 'm happy ya even came." and put his crossbow carefully down; leaning it against the wall beside you rifle.

You raised a playful eyebrow at him. "Why on earth shouldn't I? This is the first time we have some real privacy since the farm." Daryl shrugged his shoulders; chewing on his bottom lip. "Dunno. Coulda lost interest in me or somethin'." "Lose interest in you?" You asked almost in disbelief, "Daryl..." and stepped closer to the archer. You casually leaned against his broad body; hands playing with the buttons of his ruby coloured shirt. "I will never lose interest in you. I love you way too much for that - and the things you make me feel."

A small, smug smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "The things I make ya feel, huh? Tha' good?" You scoffed and playfully slapped his chest. "You know damn well it is."

The archer held your intense gaze for another moment, before he cupped your cheeks and without further ado connected your lips with his; dragging you into a fierce, passionate kiss. A kiss which was enough to light up the fire between you.

With his lips still hungrily moving against yours, Daryl's big hands went to grab your waist and swiftly turn you around in order to urge you forward. When the back of your thighs collided with the edge of a little desk, you knew what Daryl had in mind. Before you were even able to finish your thought, one of Daryl's strong arms engulfed your waist and effortlessly lifted you onto the desk. A soft squeak escaped your lips at his sudden movement, but it quickly faded into a moan as the archer started to latch on your neck; his arm still firmly wrapped around you.

"D..." You gasped and tried to somehow signal him that you were in desperate need of more; arms clinging to his broad upper body. But the man was so lost in you and your sweet scent, that he didn't notice. So, you had to take the steering wheel.

Wrapping your legs around his thighs, you urged him closer; hips colliding with yours. A deep, guttural grunt left Daryl's lips. He pulled back to look at you; pupils blown wide - swallowed by love and desire. Now he got the hint.

Wetting his lips, he made quick work to open your tech-wear pants. "Get rid of 'em, will ya?" He grunted with a nod; now undoing his own rugged jeans. You giggled at his sudden impatience; shedding your pants and underwear, before hopping back onto the desk.

Daryl stepped between your open legs; calloused fingers dancing over your bare thighs, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

In a swift motion, he hooked his palms underneath the back of your knees and pulled you forwards; lips crashing against yours once again. Before your hazy brain was able to catch up, were Daryl's hips moving against yours. All you could do was moan into his kiss and hold onto the archer for dear life.

"D-Daryl..." You breathed; fingers clawing into his angel-winged vest. You could feel him shaking his head against your shoulder. "I-I know, s-sunshine," he grunted; biceps bulging at how tightly he grasped the edge of the wooden desk. You moaned; burying one hand in his hair, which had grown quite a lot in the past months.

Moments later, you fell into the sweet abyss of pleasure together.

The archer was panting hard against your neck; palms now resting on your thighs. "I love ya, too." You giggled and turned your head to press a lingering kiss against his scruff cheek.

Tags: @fictive-sl0th @loz-3 @celtic-crossbow @erebus-et-eigengrau @sweetz1919 @fuseburner @in-this-minute @stitchintimefan @suniloli @mandywholock1980 @mischief-dream @km-ffluv @crimson25 @buttercupcookies-blog @salvinaa @javagirl328 @marvelcasey05

[creepswrites]

DIRT ROADS | Lester x Reader

rereading some of my old writing renewed my love for writing this scruffy man <3 this is also slightly self indulgent oops

LESTER SINCLAIR X GN!READER

SUMMARY: The coat he wore was rough and the necklace he wore dug slightly into your skin. But he felt warm and alive and you felt his laugh more then you actually heard it. It felt strangely magical and the mere thought of that baffled you. What about this situation was remotely magical?

The sound of the sputtering of your car engine made you groan, your forehead bumping against the steering wheel in quite frustration. Overhead, raindrops pattered harshly against the top of your car like small marbles and you heard the way your wheels dug into the muddy roads. This was not the place you wanted to get stuck in.

"I told you we'd get stuck out here!" Your friend Sadie huffed in exasperation, throwing her hands up in defeat. "If we had just turned back and asked for directions," She trailed off, shooting a pointed glare at the two guys in the backseat, "We wouldn't be in this mess!"

Robbie - Sadie's long-term boyfriend, though you weren't exactly sure why, seeing as they argued more often then not - just scoffed at his girlfriend's frustrations. "Look, let's just get out of the car and fuckin' push, alright?"

"Can't," You sighed as you lifted your head up. "The front wheels are trapped in the mud. Pushin' will just get us more stuck."

"Well what the fuck else are we supposed to do?" Robbie shouted before swinging the door open and stomping out into the pouring rain, uncaring of how his hair and clothes quickly became soaked.

When he did, his friend who sat beside him - Leon, you think was his name - quickly shuffled out to join him. Leon was nicer than Robbie but was a bit of a pushover. This camping trip the four of you planned was mostly Sadie's attempts to pair you up with Leon despite both of your resistances on the matter.

"Honestly," Sadie sighed, "That guy just can't take no for an answer."

You hummed, disinterested in her latest "Robbie Rant" as you'd taken to calling them. "I still think this whole camping thing is a bad idea. Even if we'll be in a cabin." You weren't exactly enthusiastic at the idea of listening to Sadie argue with her boyfriend for a long weekend while you sat awkwardly next to Leon.

"Don't be such a downer," Sadie said as she poked your cheek with a pointy, baby blue nail. "The rain'll pass, babe. It always does."

When you heard the sound of your car door open, a blast of cold air hitting your body, you turned your head and were met with a worried look on Robbie's face. "Hey, uh, there's... some dude over here." He gestured with a thumb, arms crossed over his chest to try and protect himself from the chilled rain. "He's, uh, offerin' to tow us to the nearest town."

You perked your head up. "Oh! Sure, okay, yeah." Frankly you were just relieved the four of you weren't going to have to camp out in the car or, god forbid, walk through the rain and dark foresty area in hopes of finding civilization.

"Yeah, I wouldn't get too excited." Robbie mumbled as you poked your head out to look behind your car. "Dude's kinda weird."

A scrawny looking man stood slumped against a silver truck chatting to Leon, seemingly unbothered by the rain. When he caught your eye, he tilted his green cap in greeting and gave you a wide gap toothed smile as he made his way towards you. Outwardly, you didn't see anything wrong with him. Maybe a little scruffy but nothing outwardly strange. "Hey there," He said with such a heavy southern drawl it made your eyes feel droopy, "Saw y'all got stuck. I might be able 't tow ya back to town. It ain't far, but you folks'll probably wanna ride with me. 'Case stuff gets too bumpy."

You considered his offer for a moment. The idea of shelter was too tempting to ignore, however... "That's awfully kind of you," You said slowly, watching his smile soften into something more genuine, "What's the catch?"

"Ain't no catch, honest." He said as he slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Robbie gave him a weird look but you ignored it, keeping your focus on the stranger. "Jus' happened to be in the neighborhood on my way back home. Saw y'all broke down 'n figured I'd lend a hand."

Your shoulders dropped slightly. As in most situations, you had to trust your gut. And your gut said that you could trust him. So you held out your hand to shake his, introducing yourself. "How close is this town?"

"Jus' a few miles back down this road here 'n a few left turns." The stranger offered a hand to help you out of your car and you flinched at the sight of thick mud below you. "'m Lester, by the way. Lester Sinclair." He said, noticing your apprehension at the dirt. "Ain't one for mud?" He gave a light laugh.

"Not if I can help it," You sighed. It wouldn't normally bother you but you hadn't worn shoes you could afford to get dirty. The storm had caught you all by surprise.

Before you could step out, Lester gave you a nudge. "Here, put'cher arms 'round me."

You flushed and stared at him with wide, confused eyes. He just gave you a grin as he hooked your knees in the crook of his elbow. "I- You don't have to- I can-" You stammered out nervously. Sure, you didn't really want to get your shoes dirty, but Lester didn't have to carry you!

"Up we go!" Lester said with a dramatic flair, causing you to shriek in terror as you were lifted out up of your seat. You clung to him tight to avoid falling into the mud and he gave you a little spin, making you bury your face into his shoulder as you begged him not to drop you.

The coat he wore was rough and the necklace he wore dug slightly into your skin. But he felt warm and alive and you felt his laugh more then you actually heard it. It felt strangely magical and the mere thought of that baffled you. What about this situation was remotely magical?

"Hey, put 'em the fuck down!" Robbie said. You'd honestly forgot he was there for a moment. But he stepped towards you two like he intended to yank you from the other man's arms like a toddler wanting its toy back.

Lester shot him a look before glancing down at you, as though silently asking if Robbie was bothering you. Like Lester himself wasn't the stranger in the situation. "Alrighty then. Why don't you grab the girl so we can get on outta here?" He said before carrying you back towards his truck without looking back.

When you saw the truck, you understood why Robbie and Leon looked so anxious about going inside. You could see what looked to be small animal bones dangling like strings of beads woven together with feathers and rough strings. They all looked very homemade but pretty in their own way. At least to you they were.

What really caught your attention was the deer skull sitting on the dashboard as the pride of place. "You hunt?" You asked Lester as he walked around to the passenger side door.

He noticed you eyeing the deer skull and shrugged. "That depends."

"Depends?"

"Well I gotta impress you, don't I? Ain't every day I get to carry some pretty thing to my truck. Can't letcha think 'm a bad guy if I do hunt." He said casually before gesturing to the door handle. "Can you grab that?"

You opened the door and let him set you on the seat, his words not quite registering as you focused on the skull, fingers grazing it but not quite touching. "I think it's cool," You said with a quiet awe. "I like taxidermy, so bones don't put me off."

Lester seemed surprised by that. You could hear the sounds of Robbie and Sadie arguing again - likely because he wasn't offering to carry her like Lester had done for you - but you hardly cared with him looking at you like that. Like he was swooning.

"So y'ain't gonna be bothered by the roadkill I got in the back?" He asked, leaning against the car door as you admired the bones hung around the interior.

"Nope. Not even a little. Do you make these yourself?" You asked, fingers dancing lightly down a particularly pretty string of feathers and bones.

Lester swallowed and nodded, a little breathless when he spoke. "Yeah. Yeah. Make 'em myself, yeah." He sounded a little nervous, trying to hide his excitement at your genuine interest. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna get yer car set up for towin' 'n whatnot. You alright if I borrow your boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend." You shrugged before focusing back on him. "Much less Robbie. He's kind of a douchebag."

"You don't have a boyfriend?" Lester looked genuinely shocked.

You laughed a little. "You sound like my parents." Your tone was light, teasing, and a sharp contrast to the sudden hurricane that was Sadie climbing into the backseat of the truck, arguing loudly with Robbie. As suspected, he had not want to carry her and she had to walk.

You and Lester shared an exhausted look before he stepped away to get the cables to tow your car. Meanwhile, you tucked into the front seat, admiring every knickknack and oddity you could see. It felt almost cozy. Lester likely spent a lot of time in here to warrant such a comfortable, familiar space. He'd mentioned roadkill in the back of the truck so you figured he drove around for long hours picking it up.

He was utterly fascinating. You'd never met anyone like him.

"Dude, this guy is a freak," Sadie whisper-yelled to be heard over the rain as she slammed her door. You left the your own door open to enjoy the cool air a bit longer after being stuck in a stuffy car for the past four hours. "His car's full of dead things!" She hissed at you.

"Doesn't bother me." You said absently, far too focused on the skull again. It was in beautiful condition, clearly well taken care of. If Lester did really hunt, you hoped it was humane. But you reassured yourself that he didn't seem like someone who hated animals.

Sadie scoffed as she slumped in the backseat. The anger from her argument with Robbie was starting to leak into your conversation with her and it pissed you off. But you held your tongue, knowing better than to push her. "Yeah, I'm sure you don't mind your new weirdo boyfriend and his freaky shit." She laughed with a mocking tone. "Must be nice to meet some random fucking guy on the side of the road and he's soooo perfect and thoughtful and carries you to his car. Definitely matches your freak."

You ignored her.

It didn't take long for the guys to finish attaching your car to the truck and everyone piled in the truck, Lester closing his door with a dramatic flair and giving you a smile. "Alrighty, lets head on back. Town's just a couple minutes away." He said, making sure to take wide turns to avoid scratching up the car too much.

"Is there a hotel in town there?" Sadie asked, fidgeting with a strand of her wet hair.

"Yeah, should be. The inn ain't get much business this far out here so there oughta be rooms." Lester said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Where ya folks headed?"

When the three in the back said nothing, you spoke up after an awkward beat of silence. Just because your friends didn't like the dead things didn't mean Lester was a bad guy. "Headin' towards Arkansas. We've got a little cabin there that we want to stay at for a few days."

"Special occasion?" Lester asked curiously.

"Just a double date weekend." Sadie chimed in, smirking a bit in Leon and Robbie's direction. "We've been meaning to take a break together.

You flinched at the implication you were dating Leon. Lester seemed to notice that and gave you a reassuring smile. "Sounds fun." He said aloud, though you could see the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Robbie, was it?"

"Yeah?"

"How long've you been dating 'em?" He tilted his head towards you, smiling at Robbie in the rearview mirror. "Hope I didn't give ya the wrong impression when I carried 'em over. I know you got defensive 'bout it 'n all."

The backseat erupted into absolute chaos. You turned to level Lester with an unimpressed look and the man had the audacity to give you an innocent little smile.

Jerk. You snorted, rolled your eyes, and turned your head to look out the window, watching the raindrops fall on the slightly fogged glass and the brush of the forest passing by in blurs of murky greens and browns.

Ambrose wasn't far, true to Lester's word. The town was small, only a few dozen houses and no major chain stores, much to Sadie's disappointment. Just little mom and pop type places. Lester towed your car to the nearby gas station outside the auto shop and you became suddenly aware of how empty the town felt. No one was outside but you didn't think it was because of the rain.

Your friends got out of the truck, eager to get away from the bones and the smell of rot, but you stayed in with Lester for a minute. "Where is everyone?"

"Hm?" Lester asked, looking innocently curious. "Whaddya mean?"

When he didn't say anything else, you just sighed. "Nevermind," you mumbled as you reached for the door.

"Wait." He said, his voice low. You turned to look at him and he seemed... guilty? He chewed nervously on his bottom lip before making a gesture to the glove box. "Open it."

So you did. Laying atop some piles of paper was a simple, silver pocketknife. "What the-?"

"In case." Lester said, pulling it out and handing it to you expectantly.

"In case of what?" You frowned as alarm bells began to ring in your head. "What do you mean?

Lester's eyes darted quickly over your shoulder before he looked back at you. You didn't get the chance to look over your shoulder when he reached up, cupping your face with one hand to keep your eyes on him. "I ain't- I ain't s'pposed to do this. Y'can't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?" Your fear must have been obvious at this point, seeing as Lester flinched.

"Look," he sighed, taking your hand and squeezing it in his own. "I can't- I wanna tell ya, believe me. But I ain't s'pposed to 'n it kills me." He looked genuinely sorry for whatever it was he was doing, which only scared you more. "But if ya take it, you'll be-"

A loud knock on the window made you scream, scooting away from the door with a look of terror, not even care that you practically slammed into Lester's chest as you threw yourself across the center console. Staring at you from the window was a man dressed in a mechanic jumpsuit with a baseball cap on. He opened the door without prompting and gave you a smile that made you feel greasy just looking at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." The stranger said with a warm tone. "'m name's Bo. I work at the autoshop here."

You introduced yourself cautiously, glancing out the windshield and noticing the way Sadie practically swooned over Bo while Robbie and Leon looked ready to punch the daylights out of this guy.

You didn't trust him. Not one bit.

"Pretty sure that's my brother you're sittin' on." Bo said with another acidic smile.

"Oh." You said, still pressed against Lester's side with no real interest in moving. The pocketknife was still clenched tightly in your fist and you still didn't feel safe.

Lester just laughed. "Aw, it ain't no problem Bo. We were chattin' 'bout their car actually. Might need ya to check it out, just in case."

Bo hazarded a glance at your car. "Yeah, alright, I'll take a look. Wanna come with me?" He asked, offering you his hand.

Everything in your body screamed at you to stay away from this guy.

"Actually Bo," Lester spoke up, your saving grace, "I was plannin' on chattin' 'bout taxidermy with 'em. If ya don't mind."

Bo did, in fact, seem to mind. His perfect facade seemed to flicker, an annoyed look passing his over his face as quick as it came. "Lester, ain't it a better idea for them to be here with their car?"

"I trust you!" You nearly yelled, grabbing your car keys and stuffing them into Bo's extended hand. "You seem like you know what you're doing! Any questions and you can ask Robbie, he's better with cars than me anyways."

You felt Lester relax when Bo just sighed loudly. "Alright, if you insist," He clutched the keys in his fist and the look he gave you made chills run down your spine. "Enjoy your date, lil' bro."

"Thanks man!" Lester said as Bo slammed the door shut, rattling the whole car. "You alright?" He asked softly once his older brother had stormed off in the direction of your friends.

You scooted back slightly to give him some space, sliding back into your actual seat. "I know he's your brother but... he's so..."

He laughed. "Aggressive? Yeah, he can be. Ain't his fault but it does make bringin' people here tricky." Lester said before gesturing out the window towards your friends, watching Sadie hang off Bo's every word. "Seems to work on your friends jus' fine."

"Not me." You hummed, watching the four of them go inside the auto shop. "I usually have a good read on people. And he's, uh, not good."

"Is that so?" Lester said softly. "Well, y'sure as hell got a good radar then. Figured him out real quick."

You gave Lester a glance, noting the somber look on his face. "What do you mean by it being safer to bring the knife?"

The man chewed on his bottom lip, seeming to mull his options over in his head. "I can't tell ya," He said slowly, "Because then I'd have to kill ya." When you laughed nervously, he just gave you a serious look. "'m serious. I ain't s'pposed to tell strangers what's goin' on."

Cold dread seemed to drench you instantly. "What?" You whispered in horror.

"I can tell ya if you promise not to do anythin' though." He soothed, taking your hand in his. He kept glancing over your shoulder as though expecting Bo to reappear at any moment. "If ya wanna know, you can't get involved."

"Just tell me!" You pleaded, the pocketknife still tight in your fist.

Lester sighed, letting go of your hand and staring out the window, letting the muffled sounds of rain pass through you two as though trying to literally clean the air. When he looked up at you, his eyes once again darting over your shoulder. He let out a soft gasp of surprise and fumbled to turn his car back on, letting it spur to life as you turned to look.

Robbie stumbled out of the auto shop, covered in blood and screaming. He was beelining for you, his screams drowned out by the car engine and the storm. You went to unlock the door but you watched the locks engage. Robbie yanked on the door handle frantically, screaming something about Bo having killed Leon.

But you didn't even have time to react as Lester threw the car in reverse and took off, leaving you horrified and confused. You rounded on him immediately. "We need to help!"

"I can't get involved!" Lester said, looking as panicky as you. "I- I ain't a fan of what they do either but I-" He stammered, torn between focusing on the road and trying to placate you.

"Did Bo kill Leon?!" You gasped in horror.

Lester gave you a helpless look. "I- Maybe? I- I dunno, he's killed a lotta people at this point." He squinted, trying to navigate the rain that began to streak across the windshield with how fast he was driving, obscuring a lot of the vision outside. "He 'n Vinny've been doin' this for ages now!"

"Doing- Doing what?!" You felt frantic, yanking on the car door with no real luck. What would you even do if it opened? Where could you go?

"Killin' people!" Lester said, slamming his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. "They've been killin' people and I don't get involved. 'n if you value your life, you shouldn't either."

He slammed hard on the breaks just before the front of the car slammed into a tree. The two of you let out a shared sigh and slumped over.

"'m sorry sweetpea." Lester said quietly, leaning against his steering wheel as exhaustion seemed to set in. "Was followin' y'all. 's how I found ya. Was gonna ship ya off to Bo 'n Vince but you were so..." He lifted his head to look at you with soft, glassy eyes. "'m so sorry."

You trembled, still breathing heavy. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"No." Lester's answer was immediate. "I ain't a killer. Not like my brothers are." He looked like he wanted to reach for you again, remorse clear on his face. "'m really sorry. Honest. I-"

"Are my friends going to die?" You asked, your voice warbling slightly. "Did- Did you just drive away from my dying friends?" He turned his head to look at you and gave you a slow nod. You let out a quiet gasp, scooting away from him until your back was up against the door. "Let me out! I need to go help them!"

Lester shook his head helplessly. "I can't. Bo's already seen ya 'n if you go after him, he'll kill ya too."

"Then why give me a knife?!"

"I just-" Lester sighed. "I just didn't want you to go down easy. Ain't no one ever escape my brothers. They're brutal 'n dedicated. I... I didn't want you to get hurt."

A lapse of silence passed between you two, the only sound coming from the rain. Lester buried his face back into his arms while you tried to come to terms with what you'd learnt. Lester's brothers abducted and killed people. And Lester had just served your friends up to Bo on a silver platter, but not you.

You had a knife, still clenched in your fist, and you could probably get the jump on Lester if you had to. You could steal his car and go rescue them or, at the very least, escape.

But you didn't want to hurt Lester...

"Why didn't you let me go with them?" You finally asked with a resigned sigh.

Lester looked up with tired, sad eyes. "Didn't want em to have ya. 'Cus you're a good, kind person 'n you trusted me. Felt like I was betraying ya. So I saw an openin' and I took it."

You nodded slowly. "So what now?"

"Well, ya got a few choices actually." Lester said as he straightened up. "You could go back. Try your luck against my brothers, try 'n save your friends. Or," He said with a shy glance your way, "You could come with me."

"Where would we go?"

Lester motioned out the windshield. "I got a lil' house in the woods nearby. We could hold down till the storm passes." Big brown eyes focused on you as he nervously wrung his hands. "I'd, uh, have to introduce you to my brothers in the morning. But I'd protect ya. Let 'em know you're with me now."

You felt your face heat up and you hated yourself for it. Your friends were being killed and the guy who led them to their deaths was making you blush like a schoolchild with a crush. You couldn't help it though. Lester was sweet, in the short time you'd met him. He didn't want to see you hurt and did what he could to protect you.

"With you?" You teased him with a wet chuckle. And your smile grew when you saw the way the tips of Lester's ears burned with how hard he blushed.

He gave you a shy nod. "Y-yeah. If you're with me, then- then they won't bother ya. Not killable anymore." You reached over and took his hands gently, uncaring of the dirt and roughness there. "You couldn't leave though."

A sigh left your lips. "I either stay or die?"

Lester looked close to tears when he nodded. "'m really sorry, sweetpea, I really am. Should'a never gone after ya." He freed one of his hands to cup your face gently, his touch soft despite the roughness of his hands and the guilt in his eyes.

You two sat there for awhile before you nodded, swallowing back a sob of your own. "Okay," You sighed, "Okay, I'll go with you."

He gave you a look of utter relief, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll keep ya safe, sweetpea. I promise."

When you pulled him in for a hug, your face buried in his shoulder, you let your shoulders relax. And you let yourself believe him.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Kids Of The Future

FastForward!Turtles x reader

A/N: Been having this idea for a while now, so decided it was time to write it down💙❤️💜🧡

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

Arriving in the future and meeting Cody Jones, the great-grandson of Casey Jones and April O’Neil isn’t the only family surprise you and your turtle boyfriend stumble upon.

Warnings: I’m not sure what warnings apply to you meeting your own future great-grandchildren.

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

Leonardo:

After the whole ordeal of finding Mikey somewhere in futuristic New York City in the year 2105, it was a relief to be back in Cody’s penthouse. Watching Raph and Mikey fight over the TV remote was oddly familiar and comforting. Master Splinter was right; adjusting wouldn’t be a problem.

“Well”, Leo said, turning to you with a small smile. “I guess date nights are going to be quite different for the time being”.

You snorted at his comment, wrapping your arms around his torso. “You think so?”

Leo nodded before placing a peck on your lips, causing his brothers to let out noises of disgust. But then someone came through the front door of Cody Jones’ penthouse.

“Hey, Cody!”, a voice sounded in the hallway, causing the turtles to stiffen, looking in the direction of the noise. Even Cody stiffened a bit, his eyes widening as if he had forgotten something.

You held on to Leo’s arm, watching as a young man walked in. His skin was green, and on his back he carried what looked like a small shell. His four fingers on his right hand, carried something that reminded you of a phone, reading from a hologram projected by the said phone. “Have you heard the news? Absolute chaos downtown. Undocumented aliens causing chaos with the peacekeepers and destroying a gravity level 3 road. It’s a mess! They even have pictures, and they kind of look like…”

Once he saw you and the turtles, he halted, before quickly pulling for the blaster on his left side. Cody told him no, as Leo moved a hand over to protect you, he and his brothers ready to jump at a moment’s notice.

“No, Kai!”, Cody yelled. “It is okay! They are with me!”

The so-called Kai looked from the fight ready turtles to Cody at his side. He hesitated for a moment, before he left his blaster alone in his belt with an audible sigh.

“We have talked about this Cody”, he said, looking like a tired older brother. You fought a chuckle. He kind of reminded you of Leo. “You have to tell me when you have people visiting. Remember last time? Where I almost shot up your and Darius’ business meeting, thinking those investors were there to kidnap you?”

“I’m sorry Kai, but it was kind of a spontaneous visit”, Cody said, rubbing his neck.

“Cody”, Leo said, drawing the young Jones' attention back to the turtle, rat and human, still ready for any attack. “Who is this?”

“I could ask the same thing”, Kai said. You were surprised at how well he matched Leo’s tone.

Cody started scratching his cheek, seeming a bit nervous, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. “Uhm… Kai, this is Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael, Master Splinter and…” You saw Kai’s eyes widen, as if he was realizing something. His gaze moved straight to you and Leo. “This is Leonardo and (Y/N). Leonardo and (Y/N), this is Kai. My personal bodyguard and uhm… your great-grandson”.

Silence fell in the room. The stare down that happened between you and Leonardo and the shocked Kai had taken up every sound.

Great-grandson. You and Leo had a great-grandson. That meant you and Leo would have children. You and Leo would have children! The thought rocked your head, and from the expression on Leo’s face, he was just as shocked as you were.

“Personal bodyguard?”, Raph asked, crossing his arms with a disapproving look. “What kind of personal bodyguard isn’t home when their boss brings strangers home?”

“It’s my day off, okay!”, Kai exclaimed.

“Bad excuse”, Mikey teased, bringing a hand up, causing Kai to scowl at him.

“Bad excuse or not”, Donnie said, staring at Kai. “There’s no doubt that he’s a lot like Leo”.

“Would it surprise you to hear that my grandpa used to say the same thing?”, Kai asked.

The conversation that unfolded between Kai and Leonardo’s brothers was wild to say the least. You and Leo stood staring at them, not truly sure what to say or do with your future great-grandson in the room. Yet you still turned to Leo, not being able to hold your thoughts back.

“Whatever date nights you got planned while we’re here, I think it’s fair to say they’ll be successful”.

Leo nodded in agreement.

Raphael:

Still shaken by the incident on the road, you, your boyfriend Raph, Donnie, Leo and Splinter followed the “walking pile of scrap metal” - as Raph had called the robot - into the big penthouse apartment. Your boyfriend was still fuming, angry at the fact that all of you were in a nice penthouse while Mikey was out on the street somewhere.

Leo thanked the robot for his help, and mentioned how they needed to find their missing brother, but the robot continued talking about how his Master had ordered him to bring them there as fast as possible. You could feel the anger radiate off of Raphael whenever this Master was mentioned.

But then you met this so-called Master, and your world got turned upside down. A 15 year old boy named Cody. Cody Jones. The great-grandson of Casey Jones and April O’Neil. To say you were shocked was an understatement. But you were soon about to learn some more shocking news.

As Cody was explaining where he had gotten his collection from - his ninja turtles collection that is - Raphael noticed something that almost made him smile. His beloved sais, being on display just as proudly as his mask had been. Oh how he had missed them!

So as Cody, and his ginormous robot named Serling, continued to explain, Raph went over to the display, his fingers tingling as he got closer to the weapons.

He chuckled as he reached out for them. “I have missed ya!”, he said, a smile growing on his face. “Come to papa- Ow!”

Before Raph had been able to grab his sai, someone had slapped him over the fingers, causing him to retract his hand in pain. He turned to that someone, expecting it to be that Serling robot, only to be met by a turtle like humanoid, with flesh toned skin and an anger burning in her eyes.

She pushed Raph away, stepping between him and his sais.

“Hey!”, Raph yelled, immediately bouncing back. “I was in the middle of something, spoil sport!”

“Do not touch them!”, she yelled, blocking Raphael’s way.

“You don’t tell me what to do!”, Raphael yelled. “Now move! I want my sai!”

“You’re sai!? They are not you’re sai, you thick shell head! They are the sai of my great-grandfather! He used them to fight the Shredder, and used them while saving the world, several times! So if you think you’re worthy enough to call them yours, you’re not just mistaken! You’re dumb!”, she yelled in Raph’s face, the two of them locked in a growling match.

“Rogue”, Cody said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That is your great-grandfather, Raphael”.

You saw as the realization hit both Raphael and Rogue the same time with the same exact expression. You blinked, taking in the scene in front of you, feeling as if a rock sank to the bottom of your stomach. It was like watching twins, except one was green and the other and a human skin like complexion.

“No way”, you heard Donatello whisper right behind you.

“You’re kidding, right?”, Rogue finally asked Cody, side eyeing Raphael harder than Raph had ever side eyed any one. Even you could tell they were related, and it was almost frightening.

“I am not kidding”, Cody answered, stepping between the two of them. “Rogue, this is Raphael, and as you know, your great-grandfather. And that-”. He gestured towards you. “-Is (Y/N), your great-grandmother”.

Rogue stared at you for a moment, before turning her gaze back towards Raphael. “Really, grandma? You look that good and you chose this”, she said, gesturing towards Raph.

“Yup”, Leo mumbled. “That’s Raph junior, alright”. You couldn’t help but agree.

“(Y/N)”, Raph called out, arms crossed and gaze firmly fixed on Rogue in a new staring contest. “Remind me to teach our children some manners, ‘coz this one obviously has none!”

“Great”, you breathed out, rolling your eyes. “This is going to be fun”.

Donatello:

“So, let me get this straight”, you said, standing from the spinning chair and walked closer to your boyfriend, Donatello, and Cody as they continued working on the Time Window. You haven’t even been here for a full two days, and the two of them were already looking for a way to get you back. You didn’t blame them for wanting to work fast. You and the turtles’ presents in 2105 could prove dangerous in more ways than one, and could only get worse the longer you stayed there. “You live in this big cool penthouse all alone, just you and Serling?”

“Yeah, mostly”, Cody said, helping your boyfriend connect two wires too small for his own three fingered hands.

“What do you mean by mostly?”, you asked, your brows frowning.

“Well, I have a family that comes and visits every once in a while”.

“Family?”, Donnie asked with a pleasant smile, watching as the wires got connected. “Does that mean there are more Jones’ out there?”

“No, not really”, Cody said, chewing his cheeks with a thoughtful look in his eyes. “They’re not really family, but I see them as such”.

“I know what you mean”, you smiled, before mindlessly letting one of your fingers trace the edge of Donnie’s shell. “I have the same feeling about a group of people I know”. Donnie smiled at that comment, taking your hand to give it a small kiss.

“They have been friends of my family for quite some time”, Cody said, just as thoughtful as before. “I’ve pretty much grown up with them”.

“Will we ever meet them?”, Donnie asked.

“Yeah, maybe”, Cody said, getting slightly nervous. “They usually show up uninvited - not that anything is wrong with it!”, he quickly added, seeming almost panicked. “It’s just the norm. Their parents are busy, you know. With all that quality control at O'Neil tech and paperwork and…”

“Quality control?”, you asked. “Do their parents work for you?”

“No”, Cody smiled a little sheepishly. “Their parents own part of the company, just like their parents did and… their parents…”

“Their parents?...”, Donnie repeated, confused.

You and Donnie wanted to ask what he was talking about, when a pair of young sounding laughters erupted from just outside the lab. Cody sat up, panic in his eyes as he looked towards the door. Suddenly two green young humanoids came into the lab, laughing at something one of them had said. You were shocked to see the small shell-like outlines on their backs, and their shortened number of digits on each hand and foot.

They saw you and Donnie and stopped dead in their tracks. “No way”, they mumbled as they enthusiastically poked you and Donatello, eyes wide and smiles big on their faces.

“Nova, Orion, be nice”, Cody sighed, sounding like an exhausted parent.

“But Cody, it is them!”, Nova exclaimed before jumping on you, her arms wrapping around you in a hug.

“This is amazing!”, Orion said, jumping up and down in front of Donatello. “I have so many questions! Mom and dad literally have a picture framed of you and grandma in their office! There’s so much I want to know, grandpa!”

“Grandpa?”, Donnie asked in confusion. “I’m sorry, but I think you got the wrong person. I’m only 18, and very much childless”.

“Yeah, obviously”, Nova said, still hugging you tightly. “You and grandma don’t have your first kid before 29”.

“Okay, that’s enough”, Cody said, pulling the two young terrapin-like creatures off of you. “Great-grandchildren, what can you do?”, Cody smiled, hoping to relieve you and Donnie from your shocked expressions, as he started pulling the young hyperactive twins out of the lab.

You and Donnie sat and stared after them for some time, before finally turning to one another.

“They have that from you”, he said, before turning back towards the wires.

“With the way you and your brothers act, I’ll have to disagree. That’s definitely from your side”, you said, leaning on his shoulder and watched as he worked.

Michelangelo:

In the short time you had been in the year 2105, you had actually liked it way more than you thought you would. The food was good and the air was fresher than you had expected. But even better was the entertainment. The movies were amazing, especially on Cody’s brand new TV, that would allow the viewer to enter the movie, watching it while standing and moving around the scene as it pleased them. You and your fun loving boyfriend, Mikey, had already made great use of that feature, often bringing junk food along with you, snacking loudly during even the quietest scenes. Never had you thought that you would be able to wave your fries in the face of the villain of a horror movie.

But if there was one thing better than the food and movies of the future, it was the video games. Both you and Mikey agreed; the video games of 2105 was absolutely amazing! The storylines, the dialog, the graphics! Oh! How you wished you could get to see something like that in your own lifetime! Especially something like Helix.

As soon as you and Mikey learned about the existence of Helix, no one could get you or him to stop playing it. It took merely a few days before you had finished and played it through half a dozen times. So when the two of you learned about the upcoming sale of Helix 2, you and Mikey were over the Moon Station, begging Cody to take you to the mall to get it. And much to your happiness, he did, although with a sigh as you can Mikey started running circles around him.

Once at the mall, your enthusiasm didn’t diminish in the least. With big eyes you took in your surroundings. Aliens of all sorts mingled among each other, talking and buying everything from clothes and normal day to day articles, to high end luxuries from big name brands, that you had not yet heard of.

As you walked through the mall in search of the game store, hand in hand with Mikey, followed by his brothers and Cody, you came by the open space that went several floors up and several floors down. A viewing spot, where you could see people on escalators and elevators, along with the restaurants down on the ground floor. That was when you noticed the advertisement on the big screens that hung around on the floors. It was for the new Helix 2 game along with a strangely familiar guy, who stood with his arms crossed and a smirk on his lips, posing over the neon green title of Helix 2.

Mikey noticed how your attention was drawn off to the side, and followed your gaze to the advertisement. He stopped dead in his tracks, causing the rest to stop in confusion.

“Who the shell is that?”, Mikey asked, pointing to the terrapin-like person on the holographic poster, where the title shone and the guy winked at the people watching him. “Awfully handsome fellow though”.

“Oh, I feared this day would come”, Cody sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Michelangelo, that is Dash. Dash Hamato. Five times winner of the Intergalactic Gaming Championships, and a pretty good friend of mine”.

“Wait, Hamato?”, Leo asked, hands in the air. “As in, Hamato Yoshi?”

“Yup”, Cody said with a nod. “Hamato as in Michelangelo and (Y/N) Hamato. The great-grandfather and great-grandmother of Dash Hamato”.

Your mouth fell open. You looked from Cody to the advertisement of Dash, who once again winked to the people walking through the mall. That was your great-grandson?!

“Oh no”, Raph mumbled, facepalming as he realized what was coming.

“Hell yeah sonnie!”, Mikey yelled, fist in the air as he turned back towards the poster of Dash as Raph growled in frustration. “Champion, just like his great-grandpa! I can see that the Battle Nexus Champion gene is running strong in the family!”

“Not this again!”, Raph said, shaking his head in his hands, causing Leo to put a supporting hand on his shoulder.

“He made a deal with Helix after his third win, and is now their official spokesperson”, Cody explained, watching as Mikey jumped in happiness.

“I have to meet this guy!”, Mikey said, before turning to you. “(Y/N)! Our great-grandson is Helix spokesperson! We have to meet him!”

“I don’t know, Mikey”, Cody said, scratching his neck. “Dash is a busy guy. He takes his gaming very seriously and is often hard to get a hold of. He lives on the Moon Base because the darker atmosphere makes it easier for him to practice his gaming”.

“That sounds like a descendant of Mikey”, Donnie chuckled.

“No great-grandson of mine can leave his great-grandparents hanging like that!”, Mikey said, wrapping an arm around you. “First we get Helix 2, and then we get a hold of Dash! Time to teach him some family gaming tricks!”, he said and started marching the two of you towards the gaming store.

[syrupfog]

Sanji who just wants a job as a sous chef but has yet to be hired, but has somehow managed to enter the world of being a private chef for extremely wealthy families. 

He hates them they remind him of childhood but he needs the cash. 

He starts working for Mihawk.

Mihawk who only eats odd, simple foods. Things that Sanji feels insulted to make. A LOT of toast with cream cheese and jam, honestly. 

Sanji’s bored out of his mind (he starts canning the fruit from Mihawk’s garden to pass the time)

Then one day, bursting through the front door come two people his own age, a woman with pink hair and a man with green, DEMANDING to know why Mihawk moved without TELLING THEM, HIS OWN CHILDREN

Sanji immediately pegs them for stuck up assholes. He’s grown to respect Mihawk, at least (he’s better than the Charlottes were). Spoiled rich adult kids who expect their lifestyles to be funded. Ugh. 

Mihawk blinks and says that he DID tell them.

There’s a lot more shouting as Sanji quietly pickles beets in the background. They come to some sort of truce around the idea that Zoro (the green haired one) lost his phone, and Perona (pink hair) blocked his number after Mihawk called at 2am about his yams.

They’re good yams, Sanji thinks. 

He also learns that they were on a “road trip of self discovery”. He’s not sure what that means. It sounds like rich kid speak for “spending spree”.

They integrate into the household though and, after being introduced to Sanji, Perona demands pink. Anything strawberry. 

Zoro says he’ll eat anything. Sanji doubts that. 

He tests it. 

He makes extravagant dishes. 

Zoro doesn’t seem to even notice, eating without complaint.

Honestly it’s good practice. He uses it as an excuse to get back into the hang of the fanciest things Zeff taught. 

But he still doesn’t like them. Rich assholes. Mihawk’s simple toasts get him a pass.

One thing about Zoro though is that he seems to spend all his time working out, so he comes looking for food at the ODDEST times. And SOMETIMES Sanji is ASLEEP. He’s got a room in the old servants’ quarters and Zoro will appear at any hour.

After the third time being awoken at 2am, Sanji snaps. 

“I’m preparing you a fucking shelf full of onigiri,” he says, pointing with a judgmental finger at Zoro’s chest. “That’s going to be your midnight snack from now on! Some of us need our beauty rest!”

Zoro blinks down at the finger. “Okay,” he says. “I mean. You clearly need it.” 

Sanji scoffs in outrage. He’s still half asleep. He aims a kick at Zoro’s head before he can process his one rule (“don’t hurt clients”). 

Zoro dodges. 

His face breaks out into a grin.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Curls,” he says. 

Sanji stumbles. He regains his footing and stomps down the hall, face aflame. 

He makes thirty onigiri. 

Zoro eats seven. 

“There, that’ll last you three more nights,” Sanji says.

Zoro nods. “So what time do I wake you up to get you to fight me again?” 

Sanji splutters. “No!!” He shrieks. “It’s three in the morning! I know you’re a rich fuck with nothing to do but some of us have jobs! I’m on call 24/7 here!” 

…he regrets it as soon as he says it.

Expects to be fired on the spot. 

Zoro frowns. He crosses his arms. “Fine,” he says, tersely. “Go to bed.” 

Sanji… does. He avoids turning his back on Zoro as he leaves the room, a bad feeling churning in his gut.

When he makes breakfast the next morning, he’s expecting to be fired as soon as Mihawk arrives, but Mihawk mentions nothing. 

Neither do Perona or Zoro when they appear, hours later. 

Sanji feels like he’s walking on eggshells until Zoro appears in his kitchen in early afternoon.

“Hey,” says Zoro. “I talked to my dad.” 

Sanji hangs his head. “So I’m fired?” He asks, dread pooling in his stomach. 

“Fucking what? No, Jesus. I just said you should have a regular work shift. Only like, ten hours on call.” 

“So you docked my pay,” Sanji says flatly.

“Now you’re being an ass,” Zoro growls. “NO, you’re being paid the same, you’re just going to have time off when I can’t bug you. That cool?” 

Sanji frowns, suspicious. “What do you get out of it?” He asks. 

Crossing his arms, Zoro scoffs. “Not getting yelled at at 2am, mostly.”

“You could’ve just not woken me up,” Sanji says. 

“You make it real hard to be nice to you, Cook,” Zoro says, running a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t like me, but I was just trying to do something nice.” 

Sanji melts a little, but he’s not willing to give in entirely. “Well thanks,” he says. “For not firing me, too.” 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “We’ve all had shitty jobs where we want to yell at customers,” He says. 

“Now I KNOW you’re lying,” Sanji argues. “I know how rich you are. I know what Mihawk pays me.”

Zoro looks… funny at him. “Did he ever happen to mention that we’re adopted?” 

Sanji blinks. Thinks of Zeff. “Uh, no?” 

“Yeah,” Zoro says. “Fucking Daddy Warbucks situation. I was seventeen. Trust me, I know customer service. Had to work to eat.”

“Well that’s not fair,” Sanji says. “Now I feel like a fucking ass.” 

“You ARE a fucking ass,” Zoro says. “Want to fight when you’re off work? Officially your shift ends at 6 now.” 

“Dinner is for seven so that won’t work.” Sanji says. “Shut up I have a chef’s integrity.”

“You’re not turning down fighting me?” Zoro asks, sounding oddly hopeful. 

“You spend all day working out so it’ll be unfair,” Sanji says. “But sure, I’ll kick your ass. Winner chooses what filling goes in your onigiri.” 

“Spicy salmon,” Zoro says. 

“Pickled plums,” muses Sanji.

They do end up fighting after dinner, out in Mihawk’s fancy topiary garden (he maintains it himself). 

Bruised and panting, they end up making out behind the large rabbit-shaped tree. 

It becomes A Thing.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

For the Good of the Hive

This story is very long so I've put it under the cut!

Another day, another beating. Hero willed themselves to go outside and face the day. A day full of fighting criminals and getting ripped apart by the news for it. Only, when they got outside, there were no criminals in sight. It was as if one of the most crime-ridden cities in the world just decided to take a break for the day.

Hero stared in confusion. They were in the most dangerous parts of town. What was going on?

“Hello Hero!” someone waved cheerfully.

“Henchman!?” Hero asked in shock.

“It’s Jerry actually,” Henchman said, “lovely morning for a walk, don’t you think?”

“Uh… yeah,” Hero said, “yeah it is.”

“Well, I’m off to visit my grandma. Toodles!”

Henchmen, Jerry, went whistling down the road. They stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the little green figure to light up before crossing. They weren’t even jaywalking!?

“Hero! Finally, we caught you!”

Hero turned, so there was a criminal still about! Hero readied an ice shard but paused when a microphone was shoved in their face.

“The mayor is in talks to give you the keys to the city,” Reporter said, “how do you feel about that?”

“That’s really- wait what?”

“Mayor is also gifting you a generous donation through the brand-new Hero fund,” Reporter said cheerfully.

“That- wow- uh- are you sure?”

Reporter laughed heartily.

“Oh of course, your reward from this city is long overdue.”

Hero blinked. There was something off about Reporter. Then it hit them, their eyes were tinted a honey-gold. In fact, so was their camera man.

“Did you… did you get new contacts?” Hero asked.

Reporter just laughed again, that same, cheery laugh that seemed way too animated to be genuine.

“That’s our Hero for you folks,” Reporter smiled, “we’ll be back at seven!”

Reporter and the cameraman left just as soon as they had shown up. Hero blinked in confusion. What the heck was going on?

…

“Hello Hero!”

“Hello, Hero!”

“Good to see you, Hero!”

Hero waved awkwardly at the pedestrians that they passed. All of them had honey-gold eyes. That’s it. They were getting to the bottom of this. They went inside a nearby ice cream shop and approached the cashier.

“Hero! Hello! What can I do for you?”

“Hi,” Hero said, “um, listen, did you feel… different waking up this morning?”

“I don’t know what you mean Hero,” the cashier said, “but since you’re here, can I interest you in today’s special flavor? It’s mint chocolate chip!”

My favorite, Hero thought.

“Are you sure? Nothing weird?”

The cashier handed Hero a cone with three scoops of ice cream.

“Nope,” they said with a cheerful smile.

Hero went to get the small bit of cash in their suit pocket.

“Ah ah, that’s on the house!” the cashier said, “have a good day, Hero! Thanks for the visit!”

…

Hero went straight to the belly of the beast.

“Commissioner!” Hero shouted, “got a question for you! You in here?”

The head of police came up to Hero, smiling broadly.

“What can I do for you, Hero?”

“Look, we both know how you feel about me, and I’m surprised you haven’t arrested me, but-”

“Arrest you?” Commissioner laughed, “oh that’s a good one, Hero.”

“…Yeah,” Hero said, “…do you know of anything strange happening last night or this morning?”

“Other than my favorite donuts being free today? Can’t say I do.”

“No major crimes? Nothing?”

“Nope. And it’s all thanks to you,” Commissioner said, beaming.

…

Hero sighed, leaving the police precinct. There was only one place left that could possibly provide an explanation…

…

“Supervillain!” Hero shouted, “get your butt in here!”

Supervillain came around the corner.

“Ah, Hero, my dear little crime-fighter, how are you today?”

“Everyone is being nice to me!” Hero huffed.

Supervillain chuckled.

“That doesn’t sound like a problem,” Supervillain said, sitting down in a plush armchair, “why come to me about it?”

Supervillain gestured to the armchair opposite them. Hero hesitantly sat down. A servant came by and offered them a cup of tea and a honey bun. Hero took it and started nibbling on the honey bun.

“Something is fishy,” Hero said, “no one is ever nice to me!”

“Well, they should be, considering all you do for them.”

Hero blinked, watching the servant hand Supervillain their own cup of tea and honey bun. They seemed so cheerful for no reason, and their eyes were honey-gold. They looked at Supervillain’s, which were noticeably blue-green.

“You did this,” Hero realized.

“Oh my little honey bee,” Supervillain chuckled, “it took you so long to find the queen, didn’t it?”

Supervillain took another sip of their tea, then stood. They crossed the room to the enormous penthouse window and gazed down at the city below.

“You have gone unappreciated for so long, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Now you finally have a colony that loves you.”

Supervillain turned to Hero.

“And a queen that’s ready to promote you,” they said.

Hero suddenly felt all the alarm bells going off in their head. They immediately stood, ice at the ready.

“You mind controlled an entire city to pretend to be nice to me!?” Hero shouted, “you do see how messed up that is, right!?”

“Oh, Hero, don’t get so upset,” Supervillain said, “they aren’t pretending. They love you! I’m just helping them show it.”

“I’m going to stop you, you know that right!?” Hero said, “I can’t let you get away with this!”

Supervillain sighed.

“I had hoped you’d accept the change gladly, but then, free will is so fickle…”

Supervillain nodded to the space behind Hero. Hero whipped around and saw two henchmen coming up right behind them. They gripped them on either side and held them fast. Supervillain came up to Hero.

“Now now, this won’t hurt,” Supervillain said, “I just need to add you to the hive.”

Supervillain snapped their fingers, and their true power emerged, swirling around Hero. Their blue eyes swirled, turning a bright honey-gold.

…

“Hello Hero!”

“Hello Jerry!” Hero waved eagerly, their arm linked with Supervillain’s.

The city was abuzz with preparations for Hero to receive the key to the city. Everyone was as busy as a bee. And Supervillain was the busiest of them all, making sure their city stayed happy and sweet as honey.

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Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006

[nonbinary-potatoes]

Prompt: house 12/10/24 @rosekillermicrofic

(Long one today lol, so read below the cut)

Word count: 945

It had been a long night, Evan had made the retrospectively idiotic decision to walk home from his night shift at the cemetery. It wasn't a horrible job, he just sat in the security office for most the night and did the occasional sweep to make sure no cocky teens had tried to break in and vandalise a grave or hold a seance (yes that really happened once), sometimes some nitty would have found their way past the fence while on the piss and Evan would have to shoo them away.

Evan kept trudging down the dark side street lost in thought. It was very early morning and miserable weather but more drizzly than anything, but the rain dimmed the already barely visible orange glow of the street In the summer, it was easier walking home because the sun would be creeping its way into the sky by this time, but now that winter had begun, it stayed dark long after Evan made it home.

Crossing the road without looking wasn't a wise idea, especially when you ended up crumpled on the bonnet of a car that was crawling along beside you without headlights on.

"What the fuck?" Evan shouted at the driver, flipping off the shadowed figure sat behind the wheel as he pushed himself away from the car. It wasn't going fast enough to do any damage but the dickhead behind the wheel didn't have his headlights on despite how dark it was. Evan kept on walking, notice the car kept following him slowly up the road, matching his pace almost. Evan wasn't sure if he was being paranoid but it felt an awful lot like he was being followed.

He picked up his pace and so did the car, he went around a corner he normally wouldn't and so did the car.

He stopped, facing the car and rapping his knuckles on the window. The driver rolled it down a crack. He was a bit off-putting. Dark hair streaked with green, too many peircings and stretched earlobes, he smiled showing off yet another body modification - sharpened teeth. Trust Evan to get followed by the most stereotypical creep of the century.

"Can I help you?" Evan asked, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his tone. He wanted to go home and sleep without being followed by this weirdo.

"Sure thing," the man drawled out, rolling the window down all the way and leaning out to get a better look at Evan. "You're the graveyard guy?" He asked, running his tongue over his teeth.

Evan nodded reluctantly, taking a cautious step away from the cars owner. His gaze was unsettling, sort of hungry like a prey animal that had been left without a meal for too long. Evan didn't fear much, but he didn't exactly enjoy being looked at like an ingredient.

The man behind the wheel nodded to himself and smiled wider. "I'm Barty," he held out a hand to be shaken, but Evan just stared at it warily. He knew better than to grab at the hand of a stranger... who was stalking him at that.

"Okay...?" Evan cocked his head curiously. "And you're following me because?" He let the question hang in the air, the rain picked up, but there was no way he was going to be walking home just yet.

"So I know where your house is." He spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world, completely normal to stalk people.

Evan took another step back, freaked out by the idea of being followed for his home address. "Why the fuck do you want to know where I live?" He asked angrily, running a hand through his damp hair and squinting against the droplets in his eyelashes.

Barty just shrugged mindlessly. "You're my type," he said plainly, leaning a little more out the window. "I like to get a good feel for people before I take them," he drawled out the words mockingly, and Evan wanted even more to turn and leave, but simultaneously, he couldn't make his legs move. Rooted in place half curious, half terrified.

"Take them..?" Evan whispered, was this him being kidnapped? If so, he wasn't doing a good job at preventing it.

"Yeh, you know... see a hot guy or gal, follow them about a bit, see if they're any good and then I don't know find them on a night out and take em to my place" he explained with a grin on his face and an odd glint in his eyes. Evan swallowed and stumbled a bit further back from the car.

"Do you fucking kill them or something?" Evan spat the words out defensively, his heart racing in fear. Barty looked like he might enjoy maiming and torturing someone. He shrugged, fucking shrugged like Evan had figured it out. Evan felt dizzy. Was this how he was going to die?

"A couple of them, they just couldn't handle it, ya know... think I'm a freak or something, " he explained. He opened the door and stepped out of the car. Evan couldn't quite bring himself to move. "But I think you're different... you work the graveyard shift at the graveyard, you taxidermy in your spare time and on top of all that... you're fucking hot" he said the last words like they were offensive, like Evan had no right to look the way he did and that tiny self doubting part of him clung to those words.

Hot. Someone thought he was hot, liked his hobbies, and didn't mind his job.

Maybe dating a creepy, stalking alleged murderer wouldn't be too far-fetched.

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 - 𝟏

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: After moving to Hawkings for a fresh start, you meet a boy with kind, brown eyes who will quickly become a friend and maybe something more. The only problem is: you took something that belongs to him by accident and now you don't know what to do.

A/N: Yes, there will be more parts. No, i don't know when. I hope this start doesn't suck.

You kind of hated how you had thought moving there was a good idea. Of course, your aunt had told you that she would welcome you with open arms if you ever decided to go and live with her but she had never told you that the people there seemed to look all the same and that everyone would have stared at you in a weird way, being the only crazy person who moved there after years of no new arrivals.

Hawkins was a small midwestern town located in Roane County in the state of Indiana and it wasn't hard to tell that it wasn't a very busy or interesting place even though you were driving down the main street for the first time, heading towards the house where you were supposed to live for quite some time, if everything would have gone as it should and your aunt hadn't decided to get rid of you after a few days, like you had basically done with your parents.

You looked first on the left and then the right side of the road, while the music was still playing loudly in the vehicle, trying to figure out which way you were supposed to go, then you remembered that you had a map of the city somewhere in your pickup.

You glanced at the back seats, where there were several suitcases and a few bags full of things that you would probably never need and which were just taking up a lot of space in your car already always full of various junk.

You noticed a lamp peeking out from a bag and wondered for the second time that morning what the hell was going on in your mind.

"C'mon, where are you?" You talked to yourself, searching through the sea of ​​objects scattered on the dashboard: a concert ticket, some polaroids containing memories of a life you were leaving behind (which had fallen from the ceiling of the car where you kept at least fifty of them fixed with tacks), a horror book by an unknown writer (the school library had crossed it out because it was considered inappropriate for kids), a shoe whose match had been lost while you were packing your bags, a half-empty green spray can and no trace of the city map.

The car behind you honked: you had not moved for at least two minutes.

"I'm trying to figure out where I need to go! I'm sorry!" You shouted through the rolled down window before the car passed you and a man gave you the middle finger.

"Rude." You commented, sighing and thinking about what to do.

Did continuing to wander around the city until you found the right path make sense?

You were about to restart the pickup when you saw a boy who couldn't have been older than fourteen and a taller, blond boy wearing a green and white jacket talking to each other as they walked along the sidewalk.

You grabbed your leather jacket and got out of the car, hoping no one would complain about the inappropriate place you were leaving it. Your driving teacher was probably right when she told you you sucked at parking.

"I'll be right back Casper." You said to the thing in the passenger seat. Nobody responded.

You reached the two boys just as the blond guy took the hat off the younger one, laughing.

You didn't immediately understand what was happening.

"Sorry, do you know where I can find-"

"Hey! Give it back!" The younger one tried to grab the hat while the other laughed, raising his arm straight up so he couldn't reach it.

"Give what back?" The blond laughed.

You cleared your throat. The two turned to you suddenly.

"What do you want?" The older one asked in an annoyed tone, looking you up and down.

"I wanted to know where Piney Wood Lane was but now I don't wanna talk with you anymore. Give the hat back."

He snorted as if I had come to ruin the party. "You can never have fun with you weirdos around."

You caught it before it landed in a puddle as the blonde dropped it to the ground.

He pointed to the kid saying something like "I'm not fucking done with you" before walking away.

"What a nice guy!" You yelled after him as he turned the corner.

"As always." The younger commented.

"Is everyone like this around here? I just moved but people like him make me want to go back to where I came from." You handed the hat back to him with a half smile.

You hated people like that guy, you had never understood how anyone could take pleasure in making someone else suffer.

"Not all. Most but not all, some of my friends are really cool. Thanks for that." He put the hat back on his head, covering his short curls, on his face a grateful expression even if you didn't do much.

You found yourself wondering what these "cool friends" of his were like.

"Good to know." You sighed ironically.

“I'm Dustin, by the way.” Dustin smiled at you.

You said your name and shook his hand, you thought that you had known that kid for about five minutes and you would already do anything to protect him.

Dustin looked at the car parked behind you. “Your car is so cool!” He commented in amazement, pointing with his finger at the drawings standing out against the black background, on the side of it.

"Thanks, it's a mess but it represents me, I think."

“Wait, what is that thing sitting in the passenger seat?”

"Oh, that's Casper!"

"It's a-"

"A skeleton, yes. My biology teacher let me borrow it from his class."

Dustin looked at you questioningly.

"Okay, I stole it. But he's a great travel companion, and never complains about the music I choose."

Dustin laughed. "I swear, you would love my friends."

"And I really would like to get to know them but now, could you help me find Piney Wood Lane? I lost the map in the middle of all the shit in my car."

"Sure I can, I know that street!" The boy nodded, hoping that you could become one of his "cool friends".

That afternoon, what had become your room was already full of stuff scattered around and suitcases that you didn't feel like unpacking everywhere. The posters you would soon hang were on the desk but you had decided to leave Casper in the car for a while longer. You had put most of your clothes in the closet and packed a bag full of spray cans with the intention of going out and finding a nice wall to do your first mural in the new town.

That time you didn't have any of your friends to make sure the cops didn't come but you figured that for your first few days there, you could manage on your own.

You grabbed a book in case you found a quiet place to read: you felt safer when you went out taking a book with you, even if you weren't sure you'd find a place or time to read.

“Are you going to explore the town?” Your aunt asked with a smile as you came out of your room with your bag over your shoulder.

You couldn't help but be grateful to her, she had said she would treat you like a daughter and give you a room of your own and that was exactly what she had done. You hadn't seen her in years and you didn't know each other very well but for the moment you seemed to get along well and your relationship seemed more peaceful than the one you'd had with many people in your old hometown.

Maybe this was really a new beginning for you.

"Yeah, something like that." You tried to sound convincing.

"Okay, don't get in trouble on your first day here."

You smiled.

"Oh, I would never do that."

You jumped off the trash can you were standing on, in the alley you had chosen for your mural.

You turned the spray can in your paint-stained hands, observing the work on the wall in front of you: you liked dragons in fantasy stories, you thought it might be nice to experiment with something like that.

"Yeah, you don’t look that bad." You said to the creature painted on the wall, before noticing that the sun was starting to set and it was probably time to go home.

You put the spray cans back in your bag and threw the empty ones into the bins you climbed onto.

Then, you heard a noise.

"Please don't be a cop." You muttered to yourself, placing your bag over your shoulder and walking out of the alley.

The footsteps got closer.

"Please don't be a cop." You repeated, keeping your gaze down as you rounded the corner, hoping to escape, that way, from whoever was coming in your direction.

Of course, luck wasn't on your side, as always: you collided with the person who was coming in your direction and if they hadn't grabbed you by the arm you would have surely ended up on the ground like the rest of your stuff.

Your book, your bag, and several spray cans scattered across the ground, some rolling away from you.

"Shit." You said through your teeth, looking up to look into the eyes of the person you had collided with.

A gentle and slightly worried gaze met yours, his chocolate brown eyes watching you as if to make sure you were okay. His expression was completely different from the way the boy who was bothering Dustin had looked at you that morning.

His messy, curly hair was brown like his eyes and his slight smile was reassuring.

"Are you good?" He asked, letting go of your arm after making sure you wouldn't fall.

"Oh, thank god you're not a cop!"

“And neither are you, good for both of us.” He chuckled before helping you pick up what you had dropped. You did the same, so quickly that you didn't even realize you had put something in the bag that didn't belong to you.

"I'm fine." You grabbed the spray can he was holding out to you, your fingers grazed his, adorned with chunky silver rings, and the action made you feel a weird sensation that you couldn't identify and that only lasted a few seconds in your stomach, “thank you.”

"It's a pleasure. It's always nice to help pretty girls break the law." He chuckled.

"I wasn't breaking any laws." You rolled your eyes, aware that you both knew you were lying, almost without realizing that he had called you pretty.

"Then why did you hope I wasn't a cop?"

"Maybe I just think they're not nice."

"Well, believe me, I've been arrested several times and I can guarantee you that most of them aren't."

You raised your eyebrows. "You've been arrested several times? What the hell did you do?"

"You really don't wanna know."

“Okay mystery man,” You rolled your eyes, the boy laughed at the nickname and you immediately liked the sound of it, then you held out your hand, introducing yourself.

He shook it and you felt that feeling in your stomach again but decided to ignore it, “Eddie.”

"Okay Eddie, are you good at giving an unbiased opinion on a mural done in an alley while standing on garbage bins?" You asked and without even waiting for an answer you started pushing him towards the dragon on the wall.

Usually you didn't need random strangers' opinions on your street art but this time you felt like you wanted to spend more time with that metal singer looking guy with the sweetest eyes you'd ever seen. And also, he wasn't a stranger anymore, he was Eddie.

“Oh sure, I was born for that.” He stated confidently.

Your laughter echoed down the alley as you reached the mural.

"There we go. Now you are an accessory to the crime."

"Well, in reality.... I didn't do anything. I'm just an innocent witness."

"You have paint on your hands."

"I don't-" He looked at his palms and realized you had stained one of his hands with green paint when you held it. "Oh, fuck you."

You laughed. "So? What do you think?"

“I think it's worthy of being on the cover of a metal album, it's amazing, really.”

"Well, thanks. For now it will stay on the wall of a dark alley."

"Really, that's so fucking cool. You should do this as a job or something like that."

"Well, I'm still in high school and I'm looking for someone who needs a babysitter to earn some money so... not yet, I guess."

"Well then I guess we'll meet there."

“Are you still in high school?”

Eddie sighed, as if expecting a joke on that.

"Hey, we don't judge people here. What do you expect from a girl who's spending her Sunday afternoon with a stranger chatting in front of some garbage cans?"

"I expect her to be cool as hell. And well-" He paused, as if thinking about it carefully, "I think she is."

You couldn't help but laugh again.

When you got home you still had a stupid smile on your face. You liked Eddie, you liked the way he made you feel like you didn't have to pretend to be someone else around him, you liked the way he called you "pretty" five more times that afternoon, you liked the way his eyes lit up when he talked about music, you liked the way he kindly asked you if he could walk you home since the sky was getting dark and he didn't want anything bad to happen to you, you liked the sound of his laughter and the way he tried to hide the blush on his cheeks when you told him that your opinion on Hawkings had become better after you met him.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Your aunt asked you when you entered the house.

"I met a boy."

She smirked.

"Don't look at me with that face, I just met him. He was just being nice."

"Mh-mh sure." She laughed as you rolled your eyes and walked into your room, leaving your bag on the bed.

When you unzipped it, something inside caught your attention: a small, brown leather-covered notebook you'd never seen before.

Your first thought was how the hell did he end up in there, then you remembered your clash with Eddie a few hours earlier. Was it possible that you had taken it without realizing it?

You got under the covers with the notebook in your hands. It was small but the pages were so many and so thin that someone could have started writing in it years before and still not filled it all.

You knew you shouldn't have done it, it might have contained private things, but you couldn't resist.

You opened it.

As soon as you did, a black and white photo of a girl with dark hair and a sun dress fell off the first page.

She was smiling and she was really pretty, you wondered who she could be. In the background you could see a garden and the sun shining in the sky.

It was wrinkled as if someone had held it in their hands for a long time.

Then, you read the first lines of the first page of the notebook. The writing was messy but legible, some words had been crossed out and rewritten probably due to some grammatical error or unclear thoughts.

"I realized that I almost don't remember her anymore and that's the thing that scares me the most. I don't want to forget her."

You couldn't help but wonder how you could feel the pain in those words simply by reading them in an old, crumpled notebook.

Tags: @jacklesbrainworms @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon @flawiette @needylilgal022 @bubsonnobx @yujyujj @findmeincorneliastreet @kennedy-brooke @witchwolflea

[special-agent-sass]

Running Back To You

Smut

Y/N revved the engine of her blue 1969 Dodge Challenger and floored the gas pedal, speeding down the open Montana highway. The powerful V8 Hemi roared as the landscape blurred past in a mix of browns, greens, and blues. This was her happy place, just her and the road.

It had been a year since she left DC, since she left him. After their blowout fight, she just couldn't stay there anymore, not with Gibbs. The tension between them had been building for months, both at work and in their secret relationship. She was too wild, too reckless for the stoic Marine. He wanted to tame her, and she refused to be caged.

So she came back home, back to Big Sky country where the wide open spaces matched the freedom in her soul. She started over, opened her own shop just like she always dreamed. Her days were filled with the sound of wrenches turning and classic engines rumbling back to life.

But some nights, when she lay alone in bed, she missed the warmth of Gibbs’ strong arms around her. She missed the feeling of his calloused hands gripping her hips as he took her hard against the basement wall. The way he commanded her with a simple “Y/N” in that gravelly voice.

She thought she could forget him, but a year later her heart still raced for Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

As she crossed into the town limits, Y/N sighed and slowed the Challenger to a more reasonable speed. She had a stop to make before heading home.

The familiar neon sign of the local dive bar glowed in the approaching dusk. She killed the engine and pocketed the keys before heading inside, the scent of stale beer and cigarettes welcoming her back.

She nodded at the bartender as she approached an empty stool at the end of the bar. Within minutes, a cold longneck was waiting for her. Y/N took a long pull and tried not to stare at the handsome cowboy chatting up the redhead a few stools down.

“Now what’s a pretty little lady like you doing in a place like this all alone?”

The cowboy slid onto the stool next to her, giving her a smile that was probably meant to be charming but just came across as sleazy.

“Just looking to enjoy my beer in peace,” Y/N said evenly, not giving him much attention.

But the cowboy wasn’t deterred that easily. He leaned in closer. “A woman like you oughta have a man to keep her company. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink and show you a good time?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, reigning in her temper. “No thanks,” she said sharply.

The man was persistent, though, reaching out to touch her arm. “Oh come on sugar, don’t be like tha—”

“The lady said no.”

A rough, familiar voice interrupted the cowboy’s slurred words. Y/N’s heart leaped as she looked up to see Gibbs standing behind the man, ice blue eyes flashing. The cowboy scowled but seemed to think better of arguing with the intimidating older man and tipped his hat to Y/N before departing.

“Didn’t need your help, I had it handled,” Y/N muttered, trying to ignore the way her body was already reacting to Gibbs’ close presence.

“I know you did,” Gibbs said, his eyes softening as he looked at her. “Just didn’t want to watch that ass paw at my woman any longer.”

Y/N swallowed hard at his words. They stared at each other for a long moment, the air electric between them.

“Wanna get out of here?” Gibbs asked gruffly.

Y/N nodded, tossing some bills on the bar before following him outside into the cool night air. They got into his truck, the old Ford rumbling to life and kicking up dust as they headed for her house on the edge of town.

As soon as they were inside, Gibbs pressed her up against the door, kissing her fiercely. Y/N moaned into his mouth, feeling like she could finally breathe again after so long without him.

“Missed you, Y/N,” Gibbs growled against her neck as he sucked a mark into her skin. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you, about this.”

He squeezed her ass to emphasize his point and Y/N gasped. “Jethro,” she whimpered, already so wet for him.

Gibbs smirked, manhandling her toward the bedroom. “Gonna remind you who you belong to, baby girl. I need my Y/N back.”

They tumbled into bed together, relearning each other’s bodies with eager mouths and roving hands. He kissed every inch of inked skin, paying special attention to the secret spots that made her moan his name. When Gibbs finally sank into her tight heat, Y/N cried out his name, overwhelmed by how right it felt to be in his arms again. There was no slow build this time - the need to claim her was primal, urgent.

“So perfect for me, baby,” he praised, setting a relentless pace. She clasped him tight, meeting every thrust and urging him on. The bite of her nails and the sinful roll of her hips pushed him right to the edge. He wanted to watch her fall first.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me,” he commanded, driving into her sweet spot until she shattered with a sharp cry. The pulses of her release triggered his own and he followed her over, burying his face in her neck as ecstasy crashed through him.

Later, nestled against Gibbs’ strong chest, Y/N traced random shapes on his chest.

“Missed you too, Jet,” she whispered. “As wild as I am, I’m still yours. Only ever wanted to be yours.”

Gibbs pressed a kiss to her hair, holding her close. “I know, baby. We’ll figure this out, together. I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too.” Y/N tilted her head up for a soft kiss, heart full and racing, always racing, for Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley: How You Met

Warnings: /

A/N: Ghost is back to popular demand!! More to come <3 Also, I find this fic incredibly cute, that's all I'm saying.

Also: What is Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley actually like in a relationship (according to me)

* * *

You were waiting in line to get your coffee order. There were so many people waiting because it was rush hour right when people had lunch breaks. You fidgeted impatiently as you looked around the sun-lit café. Spring forced in through the big white windows, mingling with the scent of coffee and pastry.

"Thank you, have a good day," said the cashier, "Next."

You stepped forward after giving way to an absolute tree of a man. He even wore a mask over his mouth which you did find unusual although perhaps he was just a bit of a germophobe.

You paid for your coffee and grabbed a lid when you saw a small leather wallet sitting on the counter.

"Someone forgot their wallet," you said to the cashier but the lady was too busy turning in orders to hear you. Your gaze flickered between the wallet and the street before you grabbed the forgotten item and rushed outside. There were people crowding the street up and down but surely you could spot such a tall man; and wearing a mask at that.

Just as you began to despair, you caught sight of him about to cross the road. You ran up the street, nearly spilling your coffee everywhere and on everyone, but you did manage to catch the green light before the traffic could move on and cut you from the stranger.

"Excuse me!" you called out of breath when you caught up to the man. But the man already seemed to hear you before the words even left your lips; as if he sensed you following him. He stopped on his tracks out of the sudden, nearly making you bump into him.

"You... You forgot your wallet," you breathed, thinking to yourself it was high time you started working out again.

The man stared at you puzzled, his gaze flickering between you and the wallet. He took it with some hesitation.

"Thank you," he spoke as you struggled not to lean against your knees to catch your breath.

"Of course," you nodded instead. You both stared at each other for a while longer, neither of you saying a word.

"Well, I... I should go now," you broke the silence, "Have a good day."

"Wait," asked the man, "Will you let me buy you a drink at least?" he suggested as you turned around. "Another coffee perhaps?" he asked, glancing at the iced latte that you mainly spilled all down the street and your hand.

You laughed to yourself and nodded. "Sure, why not?"

* *

Weeks later, when you were more than familiar with each other after half a dozen coffee dates and a couple of dinners, Simon had a confession to make over lunch one afternoon.

"I need to tell you something," said Simon with a glint of a smile in his eyes.

"Okay?" you asked slowly and took a sip of your drink.

"That wasn't my wallet," he confessed.

"What?" you blurted.

"I wasn't the one who forgot the wallet the other day," explained Simon, "I took it back to the coffee shop after you left."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to take you out," said Simon as his eyes found yours. Blush crept to your cheeks. "You were just... the most beautiful girl I've ever seen..." he spoke quietly, a part of him returning to his shell.

"Thank you," you whispered shyly and reached out for his hand. Simon's cheeks were bright pink behind his mask as he looked up into your eyes, his pupils wide and black. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek and despite the mask, you could feel the softness of his lips against your skin as his fingers propped up your chin.

[apomaro-mellow]

Runaway Royalty 5

Part 4

They got to the town just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. Some were closing up shop while it looked like others were just waking up. Rick led them to a tavern and they took a table towards the back, squeezed into a corner. Rick sat down first, letting out a sigh as he got off his feet. Steve sat across from him and Eddie hesitated before sitting next to him.

He reasoned that he didn’t really know Rick’s contact and Steve was so green. He couldn’t let just anyone sit next to him.

“So this guy of your’s….”, Eddie started. “You think he’s got the info that’ll help us? The royals juuuuust went missing.”

“That’s true”, Steve said. He hadn’t told anyone his plans to run, never let on, even on his last day in the castle. He was sure Robin was just as secretive about her figuring out and following him. He couldn’t speak for the other prince, but the idea that some random man in some random town had any idea was laughable.

“Trust me”, Rick said, grinning. “This guy knows.”

Eddie looked to Steve and Steve didn’t even realize they were sharing a look until another man came and sat down next to Rick.

“Evening, gentlemen”, a balding beta got comfortable in his seat. 

“And what a lovely evening it is!”, Rick exclaimed. “Murray, I assume my associates need no introduction.”

“They most certainly do. I’m a good informant, I’m not omniscient.” Then Murray looked at Eddie, then at Steve, then a very long look at Eddie. 

“This is Eddie, he’s taken after his father, you know, Aldis and um, sorry kid, what was your name again?”, Rick asked Steve.

“Wait, his father is Aldis?”, Murray questioned. Then he whispered, “As in the Bandit King Aldis?”

Eddie nodded. “That’s my old man.”

“Interesting…”, Murray rubbed his chin. “And you are?”, he pointed the question to Steve.

“I’m…just Steve. I’m new.”

Murray nodded. “So it would seem…Well, you all came for what I know, so here it is. The first thing I know, Prince Edwin has been missing.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Yes, we know that.”

“I thought you said you were good”, Eddie said.

“Well did you know that he hasn’t been seen in months?”, Murray asked, leaning in a little. “And it seems, he may have had an accomplice.”

Now that got Steve interested. “An accomplice?”

“Word on the street is, the prince’s valet has also not been seen in quite some time. Now, there’s some rumors that before the prince disappeared he had gone to visit home, and then got sick. But now?” Murray made a gesture that said it was anyone’s guess but most people would guess the same thing.

That this valet had something to do with Prince Edwin’s absence. But something else was now on Steve’s mind. His betrothed had been missing for months? He could understand keeping subjects in the dark, but why was he not told? 

“How do you know all this?”, Eddie asked. “How can we trust this guy, Rick?”

“How dare you!?”, Murray shouted. 

“Now calm down, ‘Ray”, Rick held his hands up. “Eddsy here is a young buck. You know how alphas are at that age.”

Murray hmphed. “I keep my ear to the ground”, he explained. “Nobles are pretty loose with their lips in taverns, brothels, any time they’re around lower folk.”

“So we should be looking for a prince and their royal servant”, Rick rubbed his chin. “What’re the odds that the two princes eloped and the princess and valet went along as their witnesses?”

Steve’s nose scrunched and Eddie winced a little but only Murray seemed to notice as he replied. “That’s one theory. One of many right now. One thing’s for sure, neither prince is at his own castle.”

Rick traded the information for some money and then Murray was gone. Night had fallen and it wouldn’t have been smart to try and take the roads back until morning. So they decided to take up rooms at an inn. The innkeeper was a woman behind the counter, a sling around her front.

Steve realized it held a pup when he caught a glance at their little foot peeking out from the swaddling.

“Ohhh”, Steve cooed quietly while Rick negotiated rooms for them. “Look at their little toesies. They’re so tiny!”

Eddie saw what he saw and smiled. “You like pups, huh?”

“How can you not?” Steve’s eyes were filled with adoration just at the small glimpse of a pup.

His eyes missed the way that Eddie’s own gaze was melting at the sight of him. They were both so focused on other things, they didn’t notice that Rick had only acquired two keys until they were already up the stairs. 

“I’ll go ahead and take this room”, Rick said. “And you two can take the other, eh?”, he nudged Eddie with a smirk.

“What?”, Steve and Eddie said in unison. Steve looked confused while Eddie looked like he knew all too well what his cohort was insinuating. 

“You know-”

“Nope, no, absolutely not”, Eddie took one of the keys and handed it to Steve. “Rick and I will share a room. Anything else would be improper. Indecent, even.” Before the other man could really protest, Eddie pushed him into the room, and then bid Steve good night, closing the door behind him.

“...Good night”, Steve said, going into his own room. He was glad to be in a real bed. It wasn’t that long ago that he had set out from his royal life and yet he already missed the luxurious bedding he’d been brought up with.

When morning came, they ate breakfast and then set off to return to the camp. Robin was the first to notice them, having been watching the road. She ran up to Steve and grabbed his hands.

“Are you alright? You were gone all night. Is your virtue intact?”

Steve blushed at how bold his sister was, but knew he should be used to it by now. “I’m fine, I promise. I haven’t been ruined for marriage”, he said with a roll of his eyes. Then he watched as Eddie reunited with his friends. “....He was the perfect gentleman.”

“Him?”, Robin jabbed a thumb in Eddie’s direction.

Steve nodded, hearing how his sister groaned. She knew the look in her brother’s eyes all too well.

Part 6

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way it Is

Chapter Four: Green Eyes and Snake Oil Chapter Three Chapter Two Chapter One Summary: While Arthur is off helping Hosea, you and Leopold Strauss head into Valentine, where you learn how you have been helping the gang make money. Will you be willing to resume it, or have you changed? Warnings: angst, lots of emotional stuff going on here Word Count: ~7,900 words

You remain relatively silent as you sit beside Leopold Strauss as he drives the wagon. The last time you were in a wagon was when you sat beside Jeremy, and this fails in comparison. 

You miss him. His smile. His kindness, the subtle hints that he was sweet on you makes it all the more terrible. It’s your fault he’s dead. If you had only reacted sooner and saved him, he may still be alive, maybe a little battered and bruised, but alive. 

“…Of course, I can’t expect you to do your regular performance, but if I am to make good business, you will need to do something.”

You realize you’ve hardly been listening to him this entire trip and your face flushes with embarrassment. “Mr. Strauss, I still need you to explain to me why I have to do this.”

He scowls at you. “Were you even listening?”

You feel yourself bristle. “Forgive me for being confused, what was your name again?”

He clearly doesn’t appreciate your bite, and grumbles. “As I was saying, since your disapproval of loaning money a couple of years ago, you and I have gone into the business of selling cures. I handle the money, you handle the people. It’s rather simple.”

Cures? Does he mean…medicine?

“But…” you stammer. “I am not a doctor…am I?” That would be oddly convenient, given your need of one for the past month.

But Strauss laughs, one that quickly dissipates any theories you had. “No, no, but your knowledge in herbal remedies can help you pass for one when we need it. We have fifteen bottles left from the last batch you made.” And he nods contemplatively. “Do you think you’ll remember how to make them by then?”

Your headache begins to ebb its way back, and you find yourself having a memory. 

Your hands are hard at work, grinding dry leaves in a bowl. You have a plethora of tonic bottles before you, with labels glued on them, and tall bottles of vodka. A small copper contraption, with tubes spiraling out of it, bubbles a liquid over a small fire. 

You remember reading about something in Blackwater. A wanted poster, for a man who was selling fake remedies to dying people. They called it…

“Snake oil?” you ask, your body tensing. “We’ve been selling snake oil?”

He shakes his head as the wagon continues to rock once you cross some railroad tracks and meet the dirt road. “Not exactly. We may exaggerate a bit, but it still helps people! Enough for them to think it’s working, anyway.” His German accent seems to get stronger when he wants to be convincing.

You scrunch your nose in distaste. “That’s still dishonest.”

“You want to cast judgment? This was all your idea. You said it was better to give hope than to rob it through lending, and added some proverb from your old country.” He flicks the reins to urge the horses on. “I don’t speak Czech.”

And neither do you, at least for now. You’re remembering bits and pieces, but you aren’t fluent anymore. You hope to be, for when you speak it and hear it in your dreams, it almost feels natural, like home. A little more each day and you’ll be that much closer to who you were. 

“Just English, German, and greed, hm?”

He looks at you with a shrew-like gaze, a smile curling in his mouth. “Not greed, fraulein, money.”

We just need this money from the boat, Dutch, and we will be set for life…! Just think about it!

The voice in your mind catches you off guard, its voice sounding too much like Micah. You think about what Mary Beth had said, how you were uneasy about something before the events in Blackwater. 

“Strauss,” you begin. “Did they get the money from that ferry?”

He looks at you, his eyes studying you closely. “Why do you want to know?”

You feel offended at this. You were there, weren’t you? Mary Beth and the girls are more than willing to answer your questions to help get your memories back, but now Strauss is just being petty. You have to convince him to tell you what he knows. “Because I heard people talking. They think they know what happened to it.” It is a lie, but you have to try something. 

Strauss’ eyebrows lift. “You think they know where Dutch had hidden it?”

So they did get the money. How much was it, though? “Yes, some also argue as to how much it all was.” You shrug. “Ten thousand dollars, they say.”

And Strauss, ever proud of his knowledge of numbers, straightens as you near Valentine. “Oh, but it was much more than that, I assure you.”

More. And you thought ten grand was a large number. But before you can ask any other questions, Strauss leans close to you and speaks in a hushed tone. “Only Dutch and Hosea know where it is, and they are pretty tight-lipped about it.”

Oh. You guess that is about as far as you can go with it. 

He drives the wagon past the railroad station and carefully maneuvers around the town until you reach the general store. 

Your heart flutters in your stomach. You were just here two days ago. Amos saw you, knows you. No doubt he will ask about Jeremy. 

What will you tell him?

You motion to get down from the wagon. “I will go in by myself.”

But Strauss quickly rises. “Oh, no! I have business of my own to discuss with the owner. I need to order some ink for my ledger.”

Great. The last thing you need is your real name being tossed around town like yesterday’s paper. You step down from the wagon, feeling the squish of the mud beneath your boots. Strauss follows, his footsteps a bit more hesitant as he adjusts his spectacles, glancing around the quiet street before making his way toward the store. The sun is high and harsh, casting long shadows that seem to stretch endlessly across the muddy street.

As you approach the entrance of the general store, you hesitate for a moment, steeling yourself for whatever questions or looks may come your way. The bell above the door jingles alertly as you push it open, announcing your presence. Inside, the aroma of leather, tobacco, and dry goods fills your nostrils—a familiar smell that sends you back to when you perused the store while Jeremy talked with Amos.

Your heart aches.

“Well, I’ll be…!” You look ahead and see Amos at the counter, smiling at you. “Ms. Doe! I didn’t expect you back so soon!”

You force a smile, and make your way over to the counter. “Hello, sir, how are you?”

“Fine! Fine! Glad to see you are alright, but I didn’t expect Jeremy to start sending you back here by yourself.”

You feel yourself tense, bracing yourself for the questions. “Well, I didn’t think I’d be back here so soon, either.”

Amos nods at that. “Well, do tell him I said hello when you get back to Blackwater.”

You swallow. “I will do that.”

“Good, good. How are your headaches?”

Relieved to be changing the subject, you shrug your shoulders. “They are doing better, now that—”

You’re cut off by Strauss as he brushes beside you, inserting himself into the conversation. Before speaking, he pulls out a dark-colored bottle and sets it on the counter. “Now that she has a cure for it!”

You blink. What? Is he seriously doing this now?

Amos blinks, nearly stammering. “W-what? Cure?”

Strauss nods, his beady eyes making him look more squirrel-like than ever. “Of course! Did you know that she is a regular miracle worker?”

Amos looks clearly confused and points to you. “Ms. Doe?”

Strauss goes along with it almost flawlessly, you begin to question who really did work with the people in this scheme. “Of course, Ms. Doe came across the cure only recently, after her memories were restored!”

Your cheeks heat up, a mix of embarrassment and annoyance bubbling inside you as Strauss continues spinning his tale. You glance briefly at Amos, trying to gauge if he buys into Strauss’s absurd fabrications. Amos’s face is filled with genuine concern but undercut by a glimmer of skepticism. “Really? That quickly? By the way, Jeremy described it, it seemed like she was never going to get her memories back.”

"Well, it wasn't exactly overnight," you interject, hoping to steer the conversation onto a more truthful path. "It's been bits and pieces, feelings more than clear memories." You trail your fingers along an edge of the counter, the wood smooth under your touch.

Strauss gives a small, almost imperceptible smirk before turning his gaze back to Amos. "But what matters is that she's getting better, isn't that right? And this tonic here," he taps the dark bottle, "is part of why."

Amos picks up the bottle, examining it with a mix of curiosity and caution. "And what exactly is in this tonic?" His voice is tinged with a note of suspicion now, his eyes squinting slightly as he scrutinizes the label.

"Oh, just a secret blend of herbal extracts and essential oils," Strauss quickly replies, his voice a tad too cheerful. "All natural and completely safe, I assure you."

You try to think back on the flash of memory you had on your way here. Bottles scattered, herbs being crushed. It sounds about right, aside from the lack of mentioning the vodka. You are sure that would be in it.

You watch as Amos turns the bottle over in his hand. “And you make these?”

You nod. “Yes, that's part of what I remembered,” you say softly, your voice threading through the lingering skepticism in the air. “Making tonics… it was something from my past, or so I believe.” Your words hang between the three of you, tinged with a delicate hope that they might weave a believable narrative.

Amos’ eyes appear to sparkle. “I suppose you want me to sell these.” His expression shifts, a blend of business acumen and personal interest molding his features. "It could do well, considering the doctor in this town is more shady than most," he adds, a distrustful note flirting at the edge of his voice.

You smile tentatively, appreciative of Amos's approach. "Perhaps," you begin, cautious of speaking ill of any physician. You aren’t about to create a rivalry with someone who actually carries a license to practice medicine. “But it hasn’t failed us, yet.”

And now that the conversation is shifting in a business direction, Strauss is attuned to his third language. “Of course, we are open to discussing percentages, where both parties should obtain a profit.”

Amos nods thoughtfully, carefully mulling it over in his mind.

"Let me think on it," he concludes, sliding the bottle back across the counter towards Strauss. "I'll need to sample this, see if it's got any merit beyond just being an herbal concoct."

You feel a flicker of anxiety. The approval of your tonic could mean a new beginning, a steady income, and perhaps even a way to reconnect with parts of yourself still lost in the fog of amnesia. The weight of potential rejection sits heavily on your shoulders, but you manage to nod, maintaining a composed exterior.

“We’d be more than happy to let you keep it as a sample,” Strauss suggests. “On the condition that you spread the word. We will be selling it ourselves with or without you, though we’d appreciate the partnership.” His words are firm, yet there’s a hint of diplomacy that invites a favorable response.

Amos picks up the bottle again, turning it over, inspecting the liquid inside as if he could discern its secrets just by looking. “Alright, I'll give it a try," he finally says, tucking the bottle into his vest pocket. "We'll see what the folks around here think. If it catches on, we might just have ourselves a deal."

You exhale softly, relieved yet still entangled in a web of uncertainty. And Strauss, already prepared, pulls out a small notepad from his portfolio. “Perfect. If you’ll allow me to purchase some ink, I can draft up an informal contract. A little security for both of us, you understand…”

Amos nods. “Oh! Yes, yes, of course…!”

Amos scurries off towards the back of the store, presumably to fetch the necessary ink and paper. In his absence, an uneasy silence settles between you and Strauss. The air feels thick, pregnant with unsaid words and unasked questions.

Strauss clears his throat softly, breaking the stillness. "You're going to need to put on your best performance in selling the cure to these people.” He pushes his glasses back against his face. “They may be just ranchers and sheep people, but they do have some knowledge on good business.”

You’ve had enough for now and you decide to do what you came here to do. Not saying anything more, you take the catalogue that is on the counter and begin to peruse through it for women’s attire. 

Strauss notices what you’re doing and he leans over to look at the catalogue. “Ah, yes. A good wardrobe would help improve sales.”

You scowl at him, always thinking about money. Why are you even surprised? “As if having clothes to wear wasn’t enough?” you hiss, turning the page. “Leave me to my business and you tend to yours.”

With a harrumph, Strauss steps away from you and resumes writing in his notebook. Now having some space, you look at the new page and see a selection of trousers. 

Trousers? Hm. Have you ever worn them before? You try to close your eyes and picture it, but when you think of pants you only think of a specific pair of legs in tight work pants, attached to a body, a man’s body, with a very attractive backside…

You feel your face flush as your mind puts a face to the body and you open your eyes wide and look straight ahead, gripping the catalogue tightly. 

Just then, Amos comes back into the front of the store, with a ream of paper and an inkwell. “Thank you for your patience, Mr…?”

“Kilgore,” Mr. Strauss answers plainly. 

Amos nods, setting the items in his hands down. “Of course, Mr. Kilgore. Here is your ink and paper.”

“Thank you. I shall get to work immediately.” And turning to you, Strauss points in your direction. “I believe Ms. Doe has some things she’d like to order from the catalogue.”

Amos blinks. “Yes, of course!” And he moves in front of you. “See anything of interest?”

You waste no time, pointing to a chosen item on the page. “I want these trousers, for starters.”

***

You step in front of the mirror, wearing dark trousers and a forest green blouse with flower embroidery at the collar. Adding a brown wide-brimmed hat with oriole featherwork for good measure, you will blend in better than that torn skirt of yours did. Thankfully, Amos had some items in stock, you’ll have to wait on the remainder of your order, which was a skirt and a jacket. 

Not bad, for five dollars, but you can’t help but wonder if Amos was also doing you a favor. 

You try to study your face, almost like how Molly did while you and the girls were doing the wash. But this is still different. You actually don’t know yourself. 

You look at your long, black hair that is wavy and wild. Your eyes, hazel, but mostly green. Your skin looks sun-beaten where it has been exposed, and your face and neck are lightly speckled with freckles. You have a round face and soft lips. Not too full, but not thin, either. You have a small waist and wide hips and strong legs that are accentuated by your trousers.  You do have a smaller bust, but the shirt you wear isn’t unflattering at all, at least you don’t think so. 

You look more real than the times you looked at yourself in the hotel mirror back in Blackwater. You look more natural. Less refined like the heiress you thought you were. 

You readjust the hat on your head, and listen to the sound of your boots on the wooden floor as you step out. Strauss and Amos are still going over the contract, but they stop and turn to see you coming back in. 

“Oh, I almost didn’t recognize you, Ms. Doe!” Amos exclaims. “Sure could have fooled me if you were to point a gun and rob me!”

Strauss laughs, almost too loudly. “I do like the American sense of humor.”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, I suppose it is a good thing I am not the robbing type.”

Amos nods, thankfully joining in on the joke. “Yes, it is!”

You walk towards them, feeling the weight of the boots grounding you more firmly than before. It's an unfamiliar but comforting sensation.

Strauss resumes his task and turns the filled-out contract around for Amos to see. “If you will just sign here…”

Amos takes the pen, and signs his name. “There you are.”

The air is thick with the tang of fresh ink and sawdust, a strange yet comforting mixture that seems to tether you to this moment. As Amos hands back the document to Strauss, your eyes catch a glimpse of the door as it swings open, letting in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight that dances across the wooden floor.

And a woman, thin and tired, steps inside, letting the door close softly behind her.

Amos looks up and sees her and nods a polite greeting. “Hello, Mrs. Downes.”

She doesn’t smile, the dark circles under her eyes show evident fatigue.

Strauss feels that it is becoming too crowded and takes back the paperwork and secures it in his portfolio. “We will be back with a crate full of cures for you to sell.”

Amos grins. “Sounds perfect. Thank you, Mr. Kilgore.”

Strauss looks at you, gesturing to the door with a tilt of his head. You nod politely to Amos and follow Strauss as you both head out the door.

The woman, Mrs. Downes, brushes past you and goes to the counter.

Amos, his tone shifting to gentle and stern, shifts his attention to his new customer. “Now, Mrs. Downes, if you don’t have any money, I won’t be able to assist you. You no longer have any store credit…”

You don’t hear her response as you step outside, the ring of the bell drowning out Mrs. Downes pleading cries to give her more credit. You can’t help but let your heart sink a little. Even with all of your misfortunes, you realize that there are other people who have it worse than you.

Stepping into the golden haze of late afternoon, you feel the sharp sting of reality in your bones, a somber reminder of the harshness lurking beneath the surface of every day in this town. The sunlight casts long shadows across the muddy street, mirroring the darkness that tugs at your soul.

As you walk alongside Strauss, you see how he clutches his portfolio, a grin on his face. “You really think this will work?” you find yourself asking.

Strauss nearly scoffs. “It’s worked for the past few years, fraulein.” And he stops in front of the wagon. “Why would it fail now?” He hops back into the wagon and doesn’t offer to help you at all. You feel a little miffed, not that you really need his help, and you get yourself in the wagon, anyway.

“It could fail because I don’t remember.” You are getting more frustrated by the minute. “And if I don’t manage to figure out how to make this cure of yours, we will only have a short while before we are hung to dry.”

Strauss's lips press together in a thin line as he looks over at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You worry too much," he says, though the edge in his voice betrays his own concern. "Your memory has been returning, slowly but surely. We just need to keep pushing forward."

You sigh, watching pedestrians go by as he picks up the reins, backs up the team, and drives off down the street. “Easier said than done.”

He begins to look pensive, ideas of his own stirring in your head. “How have you managed it so far?” And seeing the confusion on your face, he explains. “How have your memories returned to you when you do remember?”

You look out into the town, blinking quickly as you try to explain it the best way you can. “It all depends. Oftentimes it is when someone says something, or shows me something.” You look down. “I remember things in my dreams, but they are more chaotic.” Then you remember the bandits on your way to Blackwater, and your heart beats quickly at the realization. “When I am in intense moments, things come more natural to me. Skills, that I didn’t know I had, reveal themselves when I am…what’s the word…stressed? But not?”

Strauss nods. “We could probably use that to our advantage…” And he returns his eyes to the road. “Let me think on it some more.”

As the wagon rattles along the uneven road, you find a moment of quiet introspection. The world around you sways gently with the motion of the journey, and your thoughts drift back to those intense moments that peel back the veil on your past. Each memory—a flickering image, a ghostly whisper—feels like a piece of a puzzle slowly fitting back into its rightful place, though the overall picture remains elusive. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows that dance across the path in front of you, mirroring the fluttering uncertainty in your heart.

You wonder about Arthur, what he’s doing, or whether he’s thinking of you as much as you are him. He left you so quickly to go help Hosea, and he said he’d be gone for a few days.

It seems that the person who would know about you the most, would be him.

And the troubling part is, is that you’d like to know why. Why does he seem to know you more than anyone else? Why is it his face you think of? Why do you feel drawn to him the most?

You suppose you’ll have to figure that out, because he isn’t telling you.

***

You and Strauss make it back to camp and you don’t wait for him to make a complete stop before you get down. Taking your old shirt and skirt in your arms, you make your way over to the lean-to where you are sleeping.

There, sitting nearby on a log, is Mary Beth.

You feel happy to see her, and you wave. “Hello, Mary Beth.”

She lifts her eyes and waves at you. “Dobrý den, příteli!”

You halt in your steps, hearing Czech come out of her lips is near surprising. “Did I…? Did I teach you that?”

She nods, joy radiating from her being. “Yes! It means: hello, my friend! Does it sound familiar?”

You feel your ears ache a little, and a small memory brings itself forward in your mind. A paper tablet in your hand, sitting next to Mary Beth, and you are writing down words and phrases as you teach them to her.

You nod, smiling. “I think so…did I give you words written down?”

She nods again. “You’re remembering!” Mary Beth's excitement is contagious, and her smile broadens as she shifts on the log to make room for you. "Yes, Kitka, you gave me a whole list! We were trying to learn so we could gossip privately. It made the evenings pass more cheerfully." She reaches into the pocket of her skirt and pulls out a crinkled piece of paper. “I’ve kept it with me to practice, but when you were gone…” Her smile falls. “I still wanted to, to honor you.”

You motion to sit next to her, tossing your pile of clothes on your bed roll. “Thank you, Mary Beth. I’m glad to have you as a friend.”

She nods, her frown turning into a bittersweet smile. “It wasn’t the same when you were gone.”

You try to imagine what it must have been like, though it is hard to. You can only compare it to your recent loss. Jeremy. The name evokes a pang in your chest, and you find yourself struggling to breathe for a moment. "Jeremy," you repeat softly, as if testing the weight of his name on your tongue. “He was someone I met in Blackwater. He treated me with kindness and…was killed just before Arthur found me.”

Mary Beth notices your discomfort and places a gentle hand over yours. "You two were becomin’ close, weren't you?”

You nod. “I only knew him for a month, but he was one of the good ones.” And you feel a question bubbling up inside you, and you hope that she can answer. “Were…were there others who missed me when I was gone?”

She nods her head softly. “Of course, there were. Us girls cried for weeks. Being in Colter didn’t help things much, but it was an excuse to huddle together and cry for a while.” She plays with one of her honeyed ringlets, looking down into her lap. “Charles kept to himself, Ms. Grimshaw was more bitter. Most of us were quiet. Hosea was…the saddest I’ve ever seen him.”

Hosea. You haven’t met him yet. Arthur has a lot of respect for him, describing him as the closest to a father that he’s ever had.

Then Mary Beth speaks again. “You weren’t the only one we had lost, though.”

You blink at this. “No?”

She shakes her head. “No. Jenny and Davey. Jenny was new, and we all liked her. Davey was rough around the edges, but fought well. They…both died as we were trying to flee Blackwater.” She looks over where Lenny is, as he is talking to Dutch about literature. “Lenny was sweet on Jenny, it hit him the worst.”

Your heart aches at this. It seems that loss had been a constant companion to everyone here, not just you.

“You all had to bear so much,” you murmur, feeling the weight of their collective grief mingling with your own. It’s a strange sort of bond, forged through shared pain and loss. “I wish that I could do something to ease that pain…” You chuckle bitterly. “It’s not like the cures I make can fix that…”

Mary Beth nods again, her eyes misty. Her hand squeezes yours a little tighter, offering a silent understanding that words couldn't quite fulfill. "You've endured so much, too, Kit," she murmurs, her voice soft as the breeze that rustles through the nearby trees. "But you're strong, stronger than most could ever hope to be."

You hardly feel strong. It seems that everyone sees you as a person that you wouldn’t ever dream of being. Clever, creative, resilient. You’ve hardly proven yourself to be such things.

But one thing that you will accept is that you’re curious, and your curiosity begins to bubble in your throat, threatening to form into one single question. “What about…Arthur?” You swallow. “How was he when I was gone?”

She looks at you, studies you, her eyes twinkling at the question. “He…he was gone a lot. After headin’ out with Charles, he would go hunting on his own, even when the snowstorm was at its worst. It was like he…” She looks away, as though picturing those dark days in her mind. “It was like he became a ghost.” Mary Beth's voice drops to a whisper, "Nobody could reach him, Kit. It was as if he was chasing your shadow out there in the blizzard.” She pauses, her expression pained. “I think he felt responsible…for not being able to save you.”

You feel a knot tighten in your stomach. You remember the way he looked at you when you first saw him in Valentine. He looked rough, and not just from the fight he had just been through. His eyes had a haunting depth to them, like a well that had run dry from drawing too much water. When he realized it was you standing before him, the shock that crossed his face was almost like seeing a ghost—his ghost, the one he had been chasing in those snow-filled woods.

“But it wasn’t his fault,” you insist. “He wasn’t anywhere near that boat.”

“Oh, I know,” she agrees. “But Arthur has always been one to take things hard. He can be his own worst enemy sometimes.”

You somehow find that to be true, even with the little interaction you’ve had with him. Mary Beth is very observant, no doubt that comes from being a writer. You have a feeling that she sees what others don’t or won’t admit. “Was…was there something between me and Arthur?”

You see a smile curl on her lips. “I’ve had my suspicions…but I never could tell.” She plays with her hair again. “No doubt you two flirted at times, and I did see you two walk off together from time to time.”

You frown. “Like Micah said.”

She quickly looks at you, and takes your hand again. “Don’t listen to him. He was just trying to cause a rift between you and Dutch, especially since you expressed doubts about that ferry job.” Mary Beth's grip on your hand tightens as she leans closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "But between us, Kit, it was clear to anyone with eyes that Arthur cared deeply for you. More than just comrades-in-arms, there was something tender there.”

You gently pull your hand out of hers. “Well, I think that might be gone now.” You look down into your lap. “I think it doesn’t help that I can’t remember anything about it.”

She is quiet for a moment. “Maybe we can help you.”

“What?”

“Sure! Us girls, we've got to stick together, don't we? I’ve seen you struggle, trying to piece things back together. Maybe it’s time we started filling in some of those blanks for you. We can tell you about the heists, the camps...about Arthur.” Mary Beth’s eyes are warm but serious, a light shimmer of hope. “Maybe even help restore what was forming between you two.”

You feel a heat in your cheek. “I don’t know. That almost sounds like forcing it, doesn’t it?”

Mary Beth shrugs. “It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know, Mary Beth. I think that we might be making something out of nothing.” You rise to your feet, brushing the dirt off of your pants. “That’s the way it is, I guess.”

Her smile disappears as she looks at you forlorn. “Are you sure? Ain’t you the least bit curious?”

You take a few steps away. “I need my memories restored, but I have to be prepared in case they never come back fully.” You look up into the sky and find nature that is surrounding you pulling you in, away from camp. “I think I'm going to take a walk," you say, turning to walk away.

“Don’t wander too far!” Mary Beth calls after you, resigned to your decision. “You might not find your way back!”

You start to walk towards the trail that goes down toward the river, stopping as you hear a soft whinny. You turn to see Odliv, eyeing you.

You smile. Maybe a ride, not a walk, would do you some good.

Walking over to her, she pounds the ground with her hoof. She’s eagerly anticipating what you might do.

You lift a hand and let it graze her back, her coat shiny and smooth. You remember riding bareback, holding your hands out like the wings of a bird. You can do this, surely you can ride a horse.

You take hold of her mane and grip it tightly. She lifts her head and remains still, clearly you’ve done this before. Stepping back while keeping your hold, you swing yourself up and over, with an agility that surprises you.

You sit atop her back and realize that you are high up. Your legs dangle at her sides and she shakes her head, letting the braids go flying.

You won’t ride far, just to the river. That should be practice enough.

You mimic what Arthur did, making a clicking sound with your mouth, and she moves forward. “Oh!” you gasp delightfully, your heart beating faster with the anticipation of this little adventure.

And as you are about to leave camp, something white catches your eye.

It is a woman, in her mid-twenties, leaning against a tree. She’s wearing a white blouse and a dark skirt. Her golden hair in a single braid and a scowl on her face.

You try to remember her name. There were so many faces…

You remember now. Sadie. Sadie Adler.

The girls told you her story. Recently widowed, Micah set her house on fire, everything she knew was taken from her.

Yes. Many have it way worse than you.

You pull Odliv’s mane and she stops. You just sit there quietly for a moment before clearing your throat.

The widow, after a moment, turns her head slowly to look at you.

You nod. “Hello, Mrs. Adler.”

She doesn’t smile, but she isn’t cold in her reply. “Hello.”

You don’t know what to say to her. You can only imagine that words are futile in a situation like this. “I’m going to go down to see the river. It seems peaceful down there.”

Sadie only nods.

You swallow. “Do you want to come?”

She looks at you for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing your intentions. Then, with a slight nod, she answers, "Might as well. Not much else to do 'round here."

You reach behind you and pat the remaining space on Odliv’s back. “Plenty of room up here if you want a ride.”

She considers it and without saying a word, approaches your horse. You offer a hand, but she refuses by getting up on Odliv by herself. Both of her legs hang over Odliv’s left side and she keeps herself balanced without holding onto you. “You can go on. I’m ready now.”

You click your tongue and Odliv continues on her way.

The gentle trot of Odliv's hooves against the dirt path creates a rhythmic melody that blends with the whisper of the wind through the trees. The river isn't far, just a few minutes' ride from camp, but the journey there feels isolated from the rest of the world—a narrow escape into a quieter, more serene place.

“I am not really good with things like this,” you start to say. “I only know that words aren’t enough when you’ve lost someone.”

She snorts. “You’re right about that.”

“But for what it is worth, I really am sorry. I can’t imagine what it must have been like…what you went through.” Sadie goes quiet for a moment and you only hope that you didn’t make things worse. “I’m sorry…” And then you speak to yourself, “ Nehas, co tě nepálí.”

Sadie snorts again, nearly chuckling. “What?”

You blink, realizing you just spoke in your native tongue. How do you keep doing that? But the thrilling thing is, is that you know what it means. “It’s Czech. Basically, it means that I should mind my own business…” You look down, embarrassed. “Sorry, I can’t seem to control when it slips out.”

Sadie gives you a curious look. “Sounds like something my late husband would say…in his own way.” Her tone softens a bit, a distant sort of fondness threading through her words as she looks at the scenery around you. “I just wish that he heeded his own advice.”

And as usual, your curiosity bangs on the door of your mouth. “What was his name?”

Her reply comes out soft, lamented, as she speaks her husband’s name. “Jake.”

You repeat it. “Jake. He must have had a kind heart.”

“Yes, he did. Too kind.”

You debate whether or not you should ask what happened. But you decide that you know enough. If she wants to talk about it, it should be on her own terms. Instead, you think to talk about something else. “Have you been around here before?”

Sadie shrugs. “A couple of times. Where me and my husband lived, there wasn’t a place close by to get supplies unless we grew and hunted it ourselves. We had to stop in Strawberry.”

You nod. “I’ve been there only once. Jeremy and I had to pick up lumber near there.”

Sadie furrows her brow. “Jeremy? Who’s Jeremy?”

Right. She wouldn’t know him and you have only mentioned him to Arthur, Mary Beth, and inadvertently Strauss by way of Amos. “He…was a friend I met in Blackwater. He was killed a couple of days ago.”

You hear a growl in her voice. “O’Driscolls?”

“No, bandits. They wanted our goods. He was shot and beaten to death.” You look down. “I couldn’t save him.”

Sadie snarls. “They’re all the same. Doesn’t matter what they’re called.”

“You mentioned O’Driscolls. Was Kieran one of the men that did it?”

She scoffs. “Does it matter?” Looking over your shoulder, you can see the storm gathering in Sadie's eyes, the kind that gushes through like a runaway train, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

You shrug. “I just didn’t think that Kieran was the type of person to murder someone’s husband. He doesn’t have the look.”

Sadie looks away from you, out towards the river as you approach it. The water glistens under the faint sun, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Sadie's heart. “It weren’t him.”

You find relief in that, as you had just shown him kindness earlier.

You stop Odliv just before the river and dismount. You walk near the river bed, picking up a smooth stone. You think to try and skip it, something you aren’t sure you’ve ever tried before, and with a fling of your arm, you throw the rock. Miraculously, it skips twice before plunking beneath the water.

“Didn’t know I could do that…!” you say and Sadie walks beside you.

She laughs, a sound like the crack of a whip in the quiet morning air, surprising and full of life. “Well, you’re full of surprises, ain’t you?”

You aren’t sure how to take her remark, so you just smile at her, feeling a lightness you hadn't felt since waking up in Blackwater with gaps in your memory like missing pages from a book. “I guess I am.”

She looks out at the water, arms crossed. “By the way folks were talkin’, you were like the queen of Sheba. Never knew people could take to missin’ a person that bad.”

Your brow furrows. “And you don’t miss Jake terribly?”

She must realize the bite of her words, for her eyes soften as she looks down. “Every day, Kit. Every single day.” Sadie's voice cracks slightly, revealing a chink in her otherwise ironclad demeanor. “I guess I’m just bitter, jealous that you had so many people thinkin’ of you. Jake only has me.”

You nod, understanding more than you wish you did. Your brother only has you, and you can’t even remember much about him, other than his name.

You place a comforting hand on Sadie's shoulder, feeling the tremor of her concealed sorrows under your touch. "I suppose we are both a bit lost in our own ways, aren’t we?" you say softly.

Sadie nods, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Reckon so," she replies, her voice husky from the emotion. You both stand by the river for a moment longer, neither of you are eager to break the silence that has wrapped around you like a comforting shawl.

Finally, you turn to her, squaring your shoulders against the cool wind that cuts across the water. "What do we say we head back? Or do you want to be alone out here?”

She considers it for a moment. “I’ll go back with you.”

You nod. “Let’s walk back, I think Odliv will follow us.”

Sadie looks at the palomino. “She yours?”

“Yes, I guess I have had her for a while. Arthur was taking care of her.”

“Arthur. He ain’t like the rest of them, is he?”

You shrug. “I can’t say. I know him, and yet, I don’t.”

She nods. “Must be hard, not remembering them.”

Your lips part slightly, as if to confide, but the words linger in your throat. Instead, you turn, leading Sadie back towards the path that stretches back to camp. The rhythmic crunch of gravel and dirt underfoot provides a kind of solace, a reminder of the forward motion life demands.

As Odliv trots behind you both, you watch the area around you. Since being attacked by bandits, you can’t help but feel like two women walking alone are like sitting ducks out on the open road. And yet, you have a feeling that anyone who tries anything might be in for a big surprise.

“Do you know what you used to do?” Sadie asks. “I mean, it seems like everyone around here pitches in, or does something for the gang. And since you’re one of the older members—”

“I’m not that old.”

“—I mean, old as in been here the longest.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I just was curious.”

You blink as you try to remember. Your head starts to ache again, and it begins at the base of your skull. You reach a hand back there, and suddenly, a flash of memory comes to you.

You are standing in front of a bank. Looking up, you see the sign.

The Bank of Lee and Hoyt.

You are dressed in a beautiful dress, a knife hidden in your bust, as there is plenty of room to conceal it without making it too obvious. You are busy. Distracting two employees from the bank, as you have lured them outside.

While the three of your band are working inside...

You’re dancing, literally bending over backward in flips and turns. You have bare feet and bracelets on your ankles.

Then you hear the back side door to the bank open. It is time to go.

And before the men even know what is happening, you reach into your cleavage, pull out two small orbs, and throw them to the ground.

A plume of violet and blue bursts forth, the men shouting in awe at the sudden burst of colors, not having a clue that you just slipped away.

You reach Boadicea, hold out your arm, and Arthur swoops you up, your body expertly swinging itself onto Boadicea’s back.

You eye the bags of gold bars and money. A man, with blonde hair and brown eyes, nods at you. “Good work, Kit. If you hadn’t done that, there would have been more to deal with in there.”

“It was a lot more difficult for the one clerk in there to say no,” Dutch, younger and livelier, chortles. “Ah, the persuasiveness of true patriots.”

But you find yourself more tuned into the praise you want to hear. The deep voice vibrates as you rest your cheek against his back. “Kit, where were we before we found you?”

The flash fades, and you find yourself on your knees, Sadie coming to your side. “Hell, girl, what’s wrong?” You rub the back of your head, grimacing as you try to rise to your feet. “No, don’t move, let me go get some help—”

“No, Sadie! It’s fine. I just…” Then you remember something. “I need to speak to Strauss.”

***

After helping you onto Odliv’s back, you and Sadie ride the rest of the way back to camp. The sun is starting to set, another day is nearly gone.

But you’re not done.

You dismount, leaving Sadie, and look about the camp for the shrew in human clothing.

And then you find him, sitting at a table by the medicine tent, looking through a ledger of some kind. He sees your shadow cast down on him and he lifts his head.

“Ah! I hope you’re here to tell me you’ve remembered how to make the cures, hm?”

“No.” And seeing the crate of cures underneath the table, you reach down and grab one. “I just want this.”

His eyes widen and he quickly rises to his feet. “No, Ms. Petrova! We only have fourteen of those left!”

You pull the cork and you can smell an earthiness waft out of the bottle. “If it is as good as you say…” You begin to bring the bottle to your lips. “Maybe it can help me.”

Strauss shakes his head. “No, no, Kitka. That is not for—” But before he can finish, the liquid has already passed your lips, a bitter taste coating your tongue as you swallow. You grimace. Strauss watches you carefully, his expression a mix of horror and curiosity. “You should not have done that,” he mutters. “It will be a waste on you. It doesn’t work like people want it to, do you understand?!”

His words hang in the air, heavy with implication, but you barely register them as a warmth begins to spread through your chest. The concoction swirls in your stomach, its potency nothing like the wine you’ve sampled at the restaurant in Blackwater. You focus on Strauss's face as it contorts with concern.

"I had to try…” you sigh, your voice teeming with desperation. “I’m tired of not remembering anything, Strauss! You have no idea what it is like…!”

Strauss's frown deepens, his hand hovering over the table, as if ready to snatch the bottle away. But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer, peering into your eyes as though searching for signs of adverse effects. “What you seek isn’t found at the bottom of a bottle, fraulein.” He shakes his head. “Especially not this kind.”

You feel foolish. You should have known that your own snake oil wasn’t going to cure you, or even help you. It could probably help with a cold or maybe sleepiness, but memory loss? That is too far-fetched.

You suddenly feel the sting in your eyes, the glossiness blurring your beautiful hazel-green irises.

The silence stretches between you, broken only by the low hum of activity inside the camp. Strauss continues to study you, concern etching deeper lines into his already wrinkled face. "You are desperate," he finally says, tone softening. "I understand that, but there are safer methods... perhaps we could—"

"No! I already did safe!” You feel your body tense up, an anger building inside you as other members at camp take notice. You clench your fists, unable to wipe away your tears. “I’m tired of just sitting by and doing nothing! I need something to trigger it all, every last bit of it!”

You whip around and make your steps purposeful as you walk in between Uncle and Bill as you go.

Walking a couple of yards, you turn around a large tent, finding Dutch sitting there on his cot with Molly.

He looks up at you, almost surprised. “Why, Ms. Petrova…!”

“Dutch,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion, but with also a great sincerity. “I want to work again.”

Thank you for reading!

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