#and we will meet it when we too die and return to nothing and the world ends and begins anew in this pointless pointless cycle

[worshipthecrow]

"Meeting the parents"

Summary: You received a call from your mother while you were with Sylus, your parents want to meet your boyfriend.

Content: Sylusx Female! Reader, Reader is exaggerating the situation in her head, death threats.

A/n: I introduced Sylus to my parents with the tete-a-tete function and more or less the things that happened are portrayed here, some comments were made after explaining them the whole game and stuff. English is not my first language, if you find any mistakes, let me know so I can correct them.

One, two, three breaths you took before opening the door and stepping inside with your heart pounding in your chest and cold sweat on your back, Sylus was waiting for you to return from your phone call.

His shirt half open and his lips swollen from the long kissing session would be a hot and inviting sight if it weren’t for your mother’s voice booming in your brain.

We want to meet him, you’ve been with him for how long? A year? And you still haven’t brought him home, if that was a lie don’t worry honey, my friend’s son is still single and very handsome.

Your mother’s playful tone made you frown, you exchanged a few more words and hung up the phone.

He smiled sideways at you, waiting for you to sit back on his lap to continue.

“Hey…” you didn’t let him finish when the words came out of your mouth like a suppressed cough, fast and violent “

“My parents want to meet you”

You noticed the slight change in his gaze and posture, but then he relaxed again, held out his hand for you to take, which you did without thinking because of habit, and making you sit on his lap, tangling his finger in a lock of your hair.

“When?” a simple question, you expected more, maybe nervousness, maybe that he would refuse, but there was only one question.

Why don’t you bring him tonight? I’m making pork ribs, your favorite, it would be a good time to meet him.

It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order said sweetly with a little threat.

“Tonight” you whispered, he hummed caressing the skin on your arm, nervousness didn’t let you enjoy the sweet touch.

“All right, if that’s what you want, sweetie” you let out a heavy sigh you didn’t know you were holding in.

And for the rest of the afternoon, it was you, stressed to the bone that what would happen in this inevitable disaster, someone would die, and you hoped it would be you, just to get away from this situation.

Sylus took you to your parents’ house on his motorcycle, you would have preferred to go by car, taking advantage of the traffic to get ready or to fake an emergency, but no, the way was too short and fast and now that you were in front of the door you wanted to vomit your guts on the floor.

It was he who rang the doorbell, just long enough to be heard but not annoying, the door was opened by your mother, the image was endearing, the chubby little woman greeted the two of you with a sweet smile letting you in, she still had her apron on, wet and you guessed she was washing the utensils she used to cook.

Your father was in the living room, you noticed the tiny sauce stain on his shoe, and you knew that today, of all days, would be the worst day of your life, nothing good came out of it when your father was helping your mother cook.

Your mother called everyone to the dining room, your stomach was doing somersaults, you walked stiffly to your seat, Sylus, out of habit, opened the chair for you to sit down and then sat next to you.

Your mother served your plate first, as always, the smell of the ribs, that delicious smell that always made your mouth water made you feel the worst nausea you had ever experienced in your life.

You watched her prepare your father’s dish, and the familiar fight of “one more” “no, the doctor said to watch your cholesterol” took some of the tension out of the situation, but knowing that the next dish to be served would be Sylus’ only reminded you of the chaos that was about to unfold, you prayed to any god that was willing to listen to you even though you had never been devoted to any of them.

Your mother took the plate placed two ribs and you held your breath as your mom’s voice came through your ears like the scream of a banshee.

“So, Sylus, what do you do for a living?” the smack of the mashed potatoes against the plate almost made you squeal.

“I run a family-owned business that covers a range of services and offers various products. We deliver fruit and even sell state-of-the-art technology and I work with a lot of talented individuals. If you’reinterested, I’d be happy to discuss it in more detail another time.”

You buried your fingernails in your thigh, the way your father bit into the rib meat made your heart stop for a second and the look on your mother’s face didn’t make you feel any better either, you slowly chewed the tender juicy meat, feeling it like lead in your mouth.

“And what do you do in your spare time?” your father’s piercing gaze said he wanted to give him a shot between the eyebrows, too bad that wouldn’t work, you knew it too well.

“My hobbies are very simple. I collect vynil records, play the organ, and occasionally sing. According to your daughter, my singing isn’t too bad.” The sideways smile made you blush as you shoved mashed potatoes in your mouth and avoided the zucchini from the boiled vegetables. “Do you like to sing? If so. You’re always welcome to visit my private karaoke bar.”

“Do you live with anyone? Your family?”

You bit into the carrot so hard that your teeth hurt.

“I live alone and I have a relatively flexible schedule” you blushed and drank from your pomegranate juice as your mother looked sideways at you, you knew what was going through her head. “I stay at my base most of the time. Otherwise, I’m in a hotel for business meetings or go to my private ranch when I need to unwind.”

Sylus smiled softly, and you swallowed saliva admiring how his factions softened.

“I own several beautiful horses, and one of them has grown particularly fond of your daughter. The two of them offer frolic together at the ranch. I like seeing her be carefree and happy” you held back a surprised gasp at his words, you needed to scream, preferably at your best friend, as you melted into a puddle of mush, that was too sweet, ugh. “… if I might ask, are either of you interested in shooting or racing?”

Now you wanted to scream, but out of hysteria, even though you were a wanderer hunter it’s not like your parents were too happy about it when they expected you to be something else, like a doctor, a lawyer, even a teacher, gun handling was always a constant discussion when you lived with them and expressed your desire to be a hunter.

“I have licensed facilities filled with the necessary equipment. You’re welcome to enjoy them to your heart’s content, while it might not be obvious at first glance, I’m very good at taking care of people”

You decided to concentrate on your plate, while eating, you blinked for a couple of seconds noticing something strange but ignored it in favor of continuing eating your pork ribs.

“Because of our time together, I developed new interests. I enjoy taking her to auctions and fashion shows, I like seeing her shine, And her happiness is my happiness”

Your heart stopped at the softness of voice, you wanted to cry in his arms and tell him you loved him, but that would be too dramatic at a family dinner and you could do that when you got back to his house in the N109 Zone.

“What about the future, hmm?” everyone had finished as they spoke, you felt a lump in your throat hard to swallow, what about the future indeed, you squeezed your glass as you took a swig.

“I’ll always support her with whatever she wants to do. I’ll also stand by her side without question”

The Table was silent for a few seconds while your father picked up the dirty dishes and your mother took something out of the refrigerator, you recognized the pot immediately, you had seen it so many times during birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas and New Year.

You got up and opened a drawer and took out a plate and helped your mother unmold the flan, the color of the caramel reminded you of your childhood, when on your birthday your mother made a small mold just for you, of Christmas fighting with your older brother for the last slice, which in the end you shared sitting on the floor playing on the console.

It had been so long since you had eaten your mother’s flan, that seeing it now was just a balm for your stressed heart.

You left the plate with the flan on the table carefully, your mother took the knife out of a drawer and returned to the table to cut it.

“Everything you said was very nice Sylus” your mother’s voice gave you a shiver that went all the way down your spine to the back of your neck. “But alas for you where you hurt her, I don’t want to see her cry because of you, because I swear every time you go out you are going to have to watch your back, because if I have to, I will disappear you and no one will ever find you, was I clear enough?”

The sight was hilarious, your mother, the short woman, shorter than you in fact, was threatening the leader of Onychinus with a kitchen knife shiny from the caramel for having cut the flan, with a sweet smile as she offered him the plate with the dessert.

Sylus wasn’t expecting it at all from the look of utter surprise on his face, accepting the plate with a sideways smile.

“Like crystal” he replied softly and your mother smiled again as she handed out the plates, you breathed easy that she hadn’t stabbed him, your father poured the coffee, you put sugar and milk in yours.

The rest passed relatively quietly, lighter conversations and your father constantly telling you to take care of yourself on your missions and your mother reminding you that you could always come home if you decided to quit your job.

After finishing dessert and coffee your father took you to the garage, saying he had something to show you, you followed him thinking it would be some new car he was repairing, or a modified motorcycle, but no, he sat in his folding chair and you sat next to him, nervous about leaving Sylus and your mother alone for too long, you didn’t know if she would try to stab him in the back.

“Does he treat you well?” your father looked at you with his dark eyes, the ones you had inherited, and you nodded.

“He does”

“He seems nice, and he has money” you nodded, uncomfortable about that last “I was worried, when he said he stayed in hotels, that he worked with “individuals”, I thought he would cheat on you” your heart pounded in your chest, you once had that same thought but the fact that Sylus would always answer your calls, messages no matter the time or place removed those doubts a long time ago, “but then, he started eating the zucchini off your plate when you put them aside and the looks, he looked at you like you were the moon, like you put the sun in the sky, it gave me diabetes”

And you laughed, so hard that you threw your head back as you laughed at the top of your lungs, you laughed until your stomach hurt and your father looked at you like you were insane even though he was smiling subtly.

Sylus appeared a few moments later as you were catching your breath, your cheek half numb.

“Your mother wants you to help her dry the dishes”

You got up from your chair and walked towards the door, when Sylus turned to follow you your father called him to talk to him, you looked at him and nodded, you weren’t worried, if your mother didn’t try to kill him your father wouldn’t either, you went to the kitchen and your mother greeted you with a cloth to dry the dishes and you waited.

“I like him” she said “I like that he talked about you like that, he almost doesn’t seem real” you snorted under your breath, wondering what the two of them must have said while you were gone. “Better than your exes, definitely”

You groaned, remembering that your closest group of friends from high school still called your ex from that time “evil cockroach”, and still laughed at his love misfortunes when they got to hear something about him, you were fine staying out of it, but your mean side also felt satisfaction when it turned out that his last girlfriend had dumped him.

“He has everything you like as well, music lover, animal lover, and I am relieved to know he has gun licenses, that means he will always be able to take care of you and you will have good weapons for your missions” your mother dried the flan pot and put it back in its special drawer.

“The hunters association provides us with enough guns” although you weren’t going to deny that the Harrier 700’s were your favorite.

“He’s very much in love with you” your mother evaded the subject of your job, as always, you knew her stance on your safety and the many times you had been scolded over the phone when you were in the hospital was reminder enough “tie him up”

“Mom!” you shouted, shocked, you knew she meant ‘marry him’ but with Sylus it could be very literal that matter.

“What? You would have cute babies” you covered your face in embarrassment, leaving the plate you were drying on the counter so as not to throw it on the floor “and he has nice buttocks”

“MOM!” you shouted in a high pitched voice, definitely embarrassed and your mother laughed at you, you were aware of Sylus’ attributes, but you didn’t want to discuss them with your mother.

“He hides things doesn’t he?” you nodded, calmer at the change of subject, although it wasn’t something you wanted to discuss either, you continued drying the plates and glasses. “But you know what it is?” another nod from you “Well, as long as you know it’s okay, but I don’t want to get you out of prison”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, aware of the approval your parents were giving, your mother a little too enthusiastic, your mother and you finished drying the dishes just as Sylus and your father were coming back in.

The goodbye was better than the welcome and without the stress you felt tired all at once, you wanted to go back and sleep for the next week.

With a last hug to your mother and the mortification that she gave you a condom, you rode up behind Sylus on the bike and hugged him around the waist until you returned home.

You threw yourself on the bed, ready to accomplish your desires, Sylus pulled off your pants as you grunted and tucked you under the blanket, then lay down behind you, brushing your face with something, you opened your eyes and ripped the platinum package from his fingers and threw it on the nightstand, you cursed your mother.

“Don’t even think about laughing” you said through your teeth.

“You are kinda like your mom, she’s the one in charge isn’t she?” you sighed and laid on your back.

“Yeah, my dad has a bad temper, but my mom is the one in charge, if she says do it you do it” you saw his sideways grin.

“It runs in the family I guess, you’re bossy too, Kitten” he kissed your neck and even though you wanted to get mad you couldn’t, you were tired and wanted to sleep, until…

“What did you and my mom talk about?” The kissing stopped and Sylus lay back, towering over you resting his head in his palm and his elbow on the pillow.

“Your past relationships and veiled threats disguised as funny comments, who is ‘the evil cockroach’?”

“Ugh, my chronically unfaithful ex” you shrugged “that would be a better story to tell when you meet my friends, they make it funnier”

“Oh, so I’ll meet the group too?” the comment had come out of nowhere, but if you introduced him to your parents, who you were most worried about them meeting, your friends should be easier no?

“I guess so, although I’ll have to arrange the meeting when we’re all free” you were already getting a slight headache just thinking about squaring schedules so you could set up a meeting.

“I’ll be available whenever you want” you smiled softly at him, you were too grateful that he seconded you on all the things you wanted to do, whether they were ridiculously childish or not.

“I’ll talk to them tomorrow, now I want to sleep” you turned in bed and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down and put your face in the crook of his neck, Sylus wrapped his arms around your waist as he gently stroked your back.

You drifted off to sleep, as you thought about the best way to tell your friends that you wanted them to meet your mysterious boyfriend you talked about all the time. Maybe something like…

“Hey, do you guys want to meet my boyfriend?”

Yeah, that might be nice.

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ On the Shoulder of a Giant

Megatron x Reader - transformers prime

Your life was nothing compared to his, minuscule, short and insignificant, yet you were no fool when poor excuses were concerned. For all his speeches, infuriatingly wonderful poetry, and his oh-so-deep and pleasant voice, not even Megatron could fool you with the reason he gave for keeping you by his side.

Sat atop his shoulder, clinging tightly to a protruding spike, you side-eyed him as he smirked at you, far too pleased with himself for rendering you so fear-stricken. Well, fear-stricken in his optics, you for your part were both that and greatly annoyed. Within your glass cage you had at least been warm with enough time to think through your life and choices, whilst here, atop the tyrant’s shoulder, the world rumbled with each step he took, threatening to send you to an abrupt end. You did not fully believe he would let you fall and die; he’d surely catch you, but only for as long as he saw value in your life.

The human who had been seen close to Optimus Prime surely must be of great importance, and though you remained tight-lipped and uncooperative, the warlord had proved himself surprisingly patient. Within your glass cage, you’d been still as a statue, unwilling to even entertain anyone with anything. Atop Megatron’s shoulder pad? Well, constant fear had a way of chipping away at your mind, and you would eventually let something slip, whether it was out of frustration or anger.

Nothing was revealed to you. Every screen was filled with Cybertronian symbols, and although Ratchet had attempted to teach you some, you were, unfortunately, a slow learner. Megatron also ensured you understood nothing of what they spoke either, so here you were, clinging to the worst being to ever enter Earth’s atmosphere like a lifeline.

He seemed to take some sadistic pleasure in knowing that you knew your life was in his servos. If not for him, you’d be at the whims of his Decepticons, some of whom appeared more than eager to cause you suffering; Airachnid chief among them. You detested the way she looked at you, and you detested the fact that you hid against Megatron, squeezing in close to his neck to evade Airachnid’s searching optics.

The rumbling of his chuckling had made your cheeks flush with humiliation and anger.

“Take care in not frightening the human too much, Airachnid. We wouldn’t want their feeble little heart to give out too soon, would we?” he said, glancing down at you with those glowing red optics of his. You sent him a scorching glare in return, and he laughed. “Such fierce hate! You greatly amuse me, little one. Perhaps I ought to keep you as my pet once you’ve revealed the location of the Autobot base.”

“Eat dirt,” you said, wishing to curse him out but being too afraid to push the limits. The deep chuckle you received in return made you look away, eyes refusing to meet his optics as much as you were refusing to accept what you were feeling.

Was it a ploy to soften you up to him? Had they been watching you, gathering intel about your interests before kidnapping you? Surely it was no coincidence as to why Megatron spoke to you about poetry, art, and music whenever you were alone.

He’d threatened you at first, done his job quite well in frying your nerves, but as he’d noticed the way you’d listened closely when he gave a speech, and the way your eyes had followed the movements of his servos and arms, well… he’d begun to indulge himself.

The less paranoid part of you believed he didn’t get to speak to others about his interests often, at least the ones that didn’t involve the war, so perhaps your unhidden fascination had sparked an interest in him? Surely that was one of the reasons why he insisted you stay seated atop his shoulder, which was also why you tried your best to not meet his gaze; feigning disinterest so he may let you back into your cage.

Unfortunately for you, Megatron was attentive, and with you so near nothing was missed on his accord. You understood that far too easily once you dared to glance his way only to immediately find him smirking at you, those sharp denta glinting in amusement.

It would have been easy to hate him. You should hate him; despise him, wish him dead. Yet, you could not. Not when you’d been the one who caught him off-guard, only for a moment, and you’d seen a small window where he was not smirking, but smiling, genuinely, optics a gentle red as you’d been momentarily lost to the sound of his voice grazing your ears with the most beautiful poetry you’d ever heard.

Just as much as he’d taken in your expression of wonderment, you’d caught him with a smile that spoke of gratitude and… You dared not even think of what that second word could be, because if you did, then your heart may sway towards a sea of bloody red which appeared to calm its storm for you; only you.

[tiredandoptimistic]

I've seen the take floating around that Henry's death at the end of season three was unnecessary, so now I'm feeling the need to ramble a bit about why it had to happen that way.

We all know that the vibes of MASH gradually shift over the run of the show, and that the first three seasons are a lot more lighthearted overall than the later ones. More Requiem for a Lightweight, less Death Takes a Holiday. While the show is never exactly "hijinks at the front" and does have some early episodes that lean into darker themes (such as, famously, Sometimes You Hear the Bullet), it's still more comedic than dramatic in the early years.

Because of this tone, the audience is set up to expect things to be a little angsty here and there but still turn out alright overall. Sure, soldiers die all the time (even named ones like Tommy), but all the main characters were supposed to get out okay. From a Doylist perspective, they need to survive because they're leads on a show and they're getting paid to come back regularly. Not Henry though. McLean Stevenson chose to leave after season three, and the writers had to give Henry a proper sendoff.

I'm not feeling the need to go on a tangent right now about how great Henry is, but rest assured that I love his character. The show makes it clear that he's the one with the most waiting for him back home. Sure, Trapper and Frank have wives and kids too, but Henry gets multiple episodes about how much he loves Lorraine and even home videos of his happy domestic life. Plus, he's got a baby son born while he was overseas, someone he desperately wants to meet. Out of all the characters, he's got the most American dream and apple pie life waiting for him across the ocean.

All of that makes Henry a great person to send home, and it's why he could never make it there.

Once Stevenson decided to leave MASH, Henry was fated to leave as well. He got the discharge letter and the celebrations; everything all the characters had been dreaming off since their deployment. It would have been so easy to just let him return to his family. He's off the show either way, why couldn't the writers let him be happy? Because it's a fucking war, and even a plane home doesn't guarantee anyone's safety. The show needed to kill Henry off to remind the audience that they are watching a tragedy dragged across dozens of countries and millions of people. The closer they let him get to home, the more pointless his death was in the grand scheme of things; the more important it became.

Killing Henry is how MASH fully lived up to it's own expectations. The show is full of little tragedies and people with rich lives who never returned to live them, but we never really felt that loss as more than a concept. Sure, Tommy is instantly likeable and his death his deeply impactful, but we the audience only get the implication of Hawkeye's deep friendship with him. Henry is someone we've come to love on our own. All these deaths are pointless and cruel, none of them had to happen. Because we've spent three seasons getting to know and care for Henry (and are aware that the writers could have easily let him live), we finally feel that pointlessness.

Going forward after Henry's death, nothing is quite the same. Death is suddenly a true option, and no one is entirely safe from needless tragedy. When Trapper goes home and Hawkeye doesn't get to say goodbye it isn't just sad because he can't throw his friend a party or give him a hug, it's heartbreaking because he doesn't know that Trapper will even make it back to Boston.

Going home will always be the ultimate goal of all the characters, but it can never be a simple "get out of trauma free" card. The war will always follow them.

[necromancers-incorporated]

Unholy disinterest, the opposite of divine intervention

[roanofarcc]

GETTING EVEN

pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader

summary. after tyler owens saved your ass, you return the favor. (part 2 to this fic) 

warnings. descriptions of injuries and tornados. reader is the daughter of jo & bill harding (from the og movie!). hurt/comfort (tending to each other wounds? hot). tyler’s the number one loverboy and I stand by that.

a/n. fun fact, my sister's mother-in-law also survived a tornado by hugging a light pole!

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

You stabbed a piece of pancake on your plate, determined to ignore your mom as she spoke from the stove. “Would it be the worst thing in the world?” 

“Yes,” you and your dad answered at the same time, meeting each other's eyes with a small smile. 

Your mom, Jo, sighed deeply and spun around to face the two of you, one hand on her hip. “He’s nice! He’s handsome and-” 

You groaned, feeling a teenager again, mortified that your parents are bringing up any aspect of your love life. Ever since Tyler Owens had helped you to the hospital after a tornado took you and your friend by surprise during a chase, your mom wouldn’t let you go five minutes without bringing him up. 

You were back in town, staying at their farm as another slew of storms were forecast for the surrounding area. Your team was due in later that night, all crashing with your parents, which was their idea. They wouldn’t admit it outright, but that was one thing they missed the most about their storm-chasing days, the friendships formed within their team. Your mom brought out her aunt’s recipes and cooked a big dinner, and your dad was harassed into telling stories of their storm-chasing adventures- which he secretly loved. 

Since the storms were predicted to be pretty wicked, you knew Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers would be around. And while you would rather die than tell your mom, you were excited to see him again. The competition between the two of you for an arbitrary ‘best storm chaser’ title was left behind after you woke up in the hospital to see him still there with you. Instead, your relationship inched more toward friends; though, your mom seemed convinced it was something more. 

“Look, if our daughter isn’t interested in running away with some tornado-wrangling cowboy, I don’t think we should encourage her to,” your dad, Bill, said. 

“I don’t have time for a relationship, anyway,” you added. You were too engrossed in your research to think about a relationship, serious or not. You were content with your team. And your mom’s little fantasy would require Tyler to be interested in you, which you found unlikely.

Yet, your mom persisted. “We did it,” she said, pointing between herself and Bill. “We balanced both work and a relationship. It’s not impossible.” 

You snorted. “Yeah, and you two almost got divorced.” 

Your dad laughed into his coffee mug, hiding it as your mom huffed. 

The thrill of storm chasing, running down backroads as a twister roared beautifully across the ground, wasn’t the only reason you did it. That was only one part of the job. Then there was the research. But the hardest part was trying to help people. Tornados were wondrous but dangerous. They ruined lives, tearing through towns. And while warning systems and radars had advanced significantly since your parents' days, nothing was perfect. That’s why you were the first people to rush into a crowded town directly in the path of a storm and do what you could to ensure people’s safety. 

When a member of your team noticed one of the storm cells you were watching was heading towards a little downtown area not too far from your parents’ farm, you all decided that was where you needed to be, instead of chasing after the storm further west. 

You were close, beating the storm to town, and when you arrived you realized the Wranglers had the same idea. The second you stepped out of your truck, the harsh winds knocked into you. The sirens just started, warning the people of the quickly approaching storm. People were running down the sidewalks, hurrying into buildings to shelter. 

You jumped into action, hurrying some slightly dazed people to safety, along with your team. The storm inched closer, and you knew you only had a few more moments before you needed to take cover yourself to ensure you didn’t get whisked away. You’d lived through enough tornados to know what to do with little fear, but ever since your close call with your team member Frankie, earning you a couple stitches on the back of your head and a newfound appreciation for Tyler, your nerves were a little heighten; you become a little more cautious. 

You turned on your heel to hurry towards one of the buildings, but you caught sight of the tornado wrangler on the other side of a parking lot, searching for something. 

Pressing your lips in a hard line, ignoring the drum inside your chest that started to beat a little faster with the closeness of the storm, you took off after him. 

“Tyler!” you yelled above the howling wind that threatened to knock you off your feet. Rain beat down against your skin, soaking you to the bone. You called his name once more as you neared, finally earning his attention. 

“Harding? What the hell are you doing?” 

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Taking a mid-day stroll?” 

He shook his head, forced his wet hair out of his eyes. “Some kid’s dog got spooked, ran this way, but I can’t find her.” 

You glanced up at the sky, the dark clouds giving the allusion of nighttime. There was a little tremble in your hand, but you steeled your nerves. “Dogs are smart. She’ll find her way, but we’re goners if we don’t get a move on.” He frowned, clearly torn between helping a lost dog and saving himself. “My team and I will help you look after; I promise.” 

With a sigh lost to the wind, he nodded and pointed toward the building others had filed into. “There’s a basement in the library.” 

Together, you two took off in the direction of the library, but the storm rolled in much quicker than you anticipated. It came in with a vengeance, peeling objects off the ground, big and small, with ease and tossing them all around. You ducked, nearly missing a chair that once belonged to one of the downtown restaurants' patios. Your heart started to race uncomfortably, inching toward fearfully. 

Tyler grasped your hand, tugging you to the side as more debris whizzed past you. The rain made your grasp slippery, but you squeezed his hand tightly. There was too much distance to cover, and the tornado was determined to put every possible obstacle in your path. 

It became harder to run but you felt so sure you and Tyler would make it; that was, until the tornado came around the block, tearing into a building and sending the debris in your direction. You didn’t even know what hit you until you felt Tyler’s hand slip from yours and your chin collided with the pavement. A cry of pain fell from your lips, but you rolled over quickly, in search of Tyler. He wasn’t far, just out of arms reach, on the ground. 

You half crawled over to him, tugging on his shoulder until you noticed the look of pain twisted on his face. Your gaze trailed down to his leg and found his foot stuck under a heavy beam plucked from the building the tornado tore through. 

“Shit,” you whispered, grasping the beam with your slippery hands and desperately trying to lift it off. It wouldn’t budge, crushing Tyler’s ankle. 

“You gotta go!” he yelled, trying to wave you off with his hand frantically. 

You stared at him in disbelief. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and the rain clouded your vision. There wasn’t a chance you were going to leave him. Your chest felt impossibly tight, pulling more and more with an indescribable fear you’d never experienced before. Using some kind of strength you didn’t know you had until that moment, you managed to lift the beam just enough for Tyler to pull his bloodied ankle out from under it. 

“Come on,” you cried, trying to help him to his feet. He grunted in pain, pale and breath labored. 

“We’re not gonna make it,” he wheezed out, talking about the library the tornado was already upon. You made a sharp turn, bee-lining toward the building you landed directly in front of. 

There wasn’t even time to get inside. Instead, you half helped half dragged Tyler to where there was a large light post cemented to the ground. It wasn’t much, but there were no other options. Tyler sat on the ground, pulling you down quickly beside him before he wrapped his arms around the pole. You hooked one arm too but kept your other pressed against Tyler’s head. You could take another hit, but you weren’t sure he could. 

You closed your eyes, sending a silent prayer that everyone would be okay. The storm roared, stinging your ears and tugging on you harshly. But, somehow, the both of you remained hugging the light post until the tornado dissipated after an excruciating amount of time. That was the thing about tornados, when you were chasing them, they never seemed to last long enough, but when you were in them, they never seemed to end. 

Shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, and cold you unwound your arm from the pole before you brushed your hands along Tyler’s shoulders, drawing his attention, and making sure he was still there. 

You two sat nearly nose to nose, droplets of rain decorating his face, falling his lashes as he tried to blink them away. “Are you okay?” you muttered, voice shaky. 

He let out a breath and tried to shift in his position, but his face twisted up in pain once more before he cursed under his breath. You glanced at his ankle, his jeans were stained with a smear of crimson, but the rest was hidden under the fabric. 

“I think it’s just a sprain,” he said, trying to shrug it off but you saw through him. You struggled to your feet and moved to help him, but he tried to stand on own. He leaned heavily on the light pole, trying to hide a wince. 

You heard his and your name being called in the distance. You hooked an arm around his torso, gazing at him for a moment. “Come on,” you said, gently guiding him back towards the road. As soon as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you spotted your team and a couple members of Tylers. 

“Holy shit!” Frankie gasped, running towards you. “What happened to you two? We thought you were right behind us?” 

Tyler tried not to lean on you, but you felt his grip tighten on your shoulders with each step. “I think we need to take him to the hospital,” you said, worry seeping into your voice. 

Kate and Javi snapped their gaze at Tyler, who shook his head. “No, really, I’m fine. I think it’s just a little sprain,” he repeated. 

Kate looked at you, half ignoring Tyler. “What happened?” 

“His ankle was crushed under some debris.” 

“I’m right here,” Tyler said. “And I said I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital. But we’ve gotta find that dog-” 

“You mean this lil’ guy?” Boone asked. He and Lily stood with who you assumed was the kid who lost the dog, but who was now cuddling it in his arms with a wide smile on his lips despite the destruction all around them. “He came runnin’ out just a minute ago. Smart dog.” 

You smiled softly, looking at Tyler who sighed in relief. “I told you.” 

“I think the nearest hospital is…” Javi trailed off, looking at his phone with furrowed brows. “Twenty minutes south, just off the interstate.” 

“I’m not goin’ to a hospital. I’m telling you guys, I’m fine-” 

You huffed loudly. “Are you always this stubborn?” 

At the same time, Kate, Javi, Boone, and Lily all replied, “Yes.” 

You realized you probably weren’t going to convince Tyler to get his ankle checked out at the hospital. “Fine,” you sighed. “But you’re not gonna patch yourself up in some grimy motel, got it? My parents don’t live too far from here. You all can crash there.” 

“Are you sure?” Kate asked. 

“Positive. My parents were thrilled to have my team staying. They won’t mind a couple more people.” 

“Wait,” Javi said. “Your parents. Like, your parents as in Jo and Bill Harding?” 

You chuckled. “Yes.” 

He and Kate exchanged a look that bordered on giddy. 

Tyler shifted at your side, pulling out his truck keys and you thought he was out of his mind if he thought he was going to try to drive with his clearly busted ankle. You reached over and snatched the keys quickly. “You’re riding with me, cowboy,” you said before tossing the keys at Kate. She caught with between her two hands, eyes slightly wide before a smile broke out across her lips. 

“I’m driving!” Kate said before she quickly turned on her heel before anyone could protest, Javi following close behind her. 

“You be careful with my truck Sapulpa!” Tyler shouted. 

You all arrived at your parents' place and helped a limping Tyler out of your truck. He tried once more to hide just how much pain he was in, but it didn’t work. As you walked up the driveway, he smirked, a little lopsidedly. “Already taking me home to meet the parents, huh?” You wanted to smack him but decided his sprained ankle was enough punishment already. 

Instead, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t you be talking like that in front of my mom. She’ll start planning the wedding.” You were only half joking. You knew the second she opened the front door and saw you standing side by side with Tyler’s arm slung around you, even though it was strictly to keep himself upright and pressure off his ankle, her imagination would run wild. 

He was quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “At least let me buy you dinner first.” 

You didn’t get a chance to respond before the front door was swung open and out stepped your mom. Her eyes flickered between the two storm-chasing teams all trailing behind you before they landed on you and Tyler. You saw the little twinkle in her eye, but it vanished when she noticed the state everyone was in, soaked clothes, a little in pain, and in a slight daze. 

She hurried down the step, grasping your face and gazing at the nasty cut on your chin from where you collided with the road. “Everyone okay?” she asked, eyes drifting over to Tyler. 

“Not exactly,” you replied. “Tyler’s got a busted ankle. I think everyone else is pretty okay. But cold and hungry.” 

Your mom clapped her hands together. “Well then, let’s get you all fed and cleaned up then. Come on,” she said, ushering everyone inside and exchanging greetings. 

You helped Tyler into the bathroom before you dug around for the first aid kit underneath the sink. 

“You know-” Tyler started but you glared at him. 

“If you tell me you’re fine one more time Owens…” He held up his hands in defense, pressing his lips together. Once you found the kit, you sat on the floor and carefully rolled up the leg of his jeans. Whatever damage his ankle took was hidden under his boot. “This is probably gonna hurt,” you said. 

You tried to be as careful as you could, tugging off his boot, and he tried to act like it didn’t hurt like a bitch, but the way his eyes screwed shut and hands clenched into fists in his lap told you otherwise. As soon as it was off, he let out a shaky breath and you assessed the damage. His ankle was swollen, bloodied, and overall in pretty bad shape but considering he could put a little bit of pressure on it told you it wasn’t broken. He was right about the sprain, but it was a fairly bad one. 

Working quickly but carefully, you cleaned up the dirt and blood before wrapping his ankle. “Feel any better?” you asked. He nodded as you stood to your feet. “Good. Are you hungry? I’m sure my mom’s made enough food to feed an army-” 

“Wait,” he said, grasping your hand, turning you back around to face him before you could reach the door. “You fixed me up, now it’s your turn.” 

You furrowed your brows. “What?” His eyes dropped down to your chin, where you’d smacked it against the road when you fell. “Oh. No, it’s just a little scratch-” he cut you off. 

“Are you always this stubborn?” he teased, using your own words against you. With a sigh, you slumped your shoulders in defeat. 

“All right, but at least sit down. Your ankle’s not gonna heal otherwise.” He listened, retaking his place on the toilet lid as you sat on the edge of the tub right beside it. He grabbed an alcohol swap from the kit and grasped your face with one hand. His fingers were cold from the rain but gentle as they tilted your head upwards just slightly so he could clean the cut on your chin. 

You couldn’t help but study him. The brightness of his eyes and how they narrowed when he concentrated, and how he pulled his bottom lip just barely between his teeth. Something twisted in your stomach, and you were suddenly very aware of just how close he was. You had been nearly nose to nose with him earlier, in the aftermath of the storm, but the calmness of your current setting made the closeness feel different. The way his hand softly held onto your face made your breath hitch, and it was impossible for him not to notice. His eyes flickered up from your chin, awkwardly covered with a band aid, and met yours. 

“Thanks for saving my ass out there,” he said, voice just above a whisper, like he too didn’t want to break the calmness that was steady in the room. 

You tried to ignore the patter of your heart that quickened as with his little smile. “I owed you for saving mine.” 

“Guess we’re even know, huh?” 

You nodded, words lost on your tongue. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but you dropped your gaze onto his lips for just a moment before you met his eyes, searching for something. But your wishful thinking died with a startling knock on the door that caused you both to flinch back and away from each other. 

“Everything all right in there?” your dad’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. 

You cleared your throat, quickly standing to your feet. “Y-Yeah. We’ll be out in a second!” A shaky laugh left your lips as your turned to Tyler, who stared back at you with cheeks slightly pink. “We should…” 

“Yeah, y-yeah.” 

After everyone showered and cleaned themselves up, your mom and dad handed out plates and everyone dug in. With full stomachs and dry clothes, the collection of storm chasers all crashed around the house. You lay in your childhood bed, squished alongside Frankie while two other members of your team were asleep on an air mattress on the floor. You tried to sleep, but all you could think about was Tyler, who was just downstairs in the living room. The rest of the evening consisted of you two tip toeing around each other, bordering on avoiding each other in the company of everyone else. 

With a quiet groan, you slipped out of bed and headed toward the kitchen, careful to be quiet. Your mom’s words followed you, gushing about Tyler. Would it be the worst thing in the world? You had said yes, but you didn’t really mean it, how could you? This was Tyler. Sure, he was a little reckless and you’d seen him get a little rowdy at a country bar, but he was also the kind of person that looked for lost dogs in the middle of a tornado and who stayed by your bedside at the hospital until you woke up. He was obnoxiously great. You didn’t know how to deal with it. 

In the bathroom, just hours ago, you wanted to kiss him. And a part of you thought he wanted to kiss you too, but the moment was broken too fast for you to know for certain. 

You poured yourself a glass of water before leaning against the counter, eyes focused out the window at the sliver of moon that poked out from behind the clouds. Somewhere behind you, the floorboards creaked, causing you to spin around with a start. 

Tyler paused, wincing at the noise he made before he whispered, “Sorry.” 

You didn’t do it on purpose, but it was like at the sight of him your lips automatically tugged upwards in a smile. You felt a little ridiculous about it but tried to play it off by clearing your throat. 

“I told you that couch was uncomfortable,” you said, voice low to not wake the snoring Wranglers in the next room. 

“It’s not,” he replied. 

“You should be elevating your ankle.” 

“I know, I know. Doctor’s orders, right?” He smiled too. “I was just grabbing some water.” 

You said nothing as you reached back into the cabinet and pulled out another glass before filling it at the sink. You handed it to him, your fingers brushing for just a second before he took the glass with a quiet ‘thanks’ and you pulled away. 

“I should…” You pointed behind you, ready to retreat back to your bedroom and let your Tyler-occupied mind slip away. But he caught your elbow and set down his glass of water. He didn’t say anything as his hand slid up your arm to your shoulder, then to your cheek in a similar way he held you earlier. You were back to being nearly nose-to-nose for the third time that day. Only this time, it was Tyler whose gaze flickered to your lips before he closed the short distance. 

Softly and quietly, you pressed your lips against his, pressing your hands against his chest. His hands were warm on the sides of your face as his lips moved against yours. You parted after a moment, breathing a little heavier, and your chest beat with something new. 

You leaned in once more, kissing him a little harder but pulling back quicker. “Good night, Tyler,” you breathed out. 

He beamed, cheeks rosy. “Good night, Harding.”

[fandoms-x-reader]

Wearing Their Clothes

Headcannons

Summary: The brothers' reactions to seeing you wear an article of their clothing.

Of all the things that surprised you in the Devildom, one of the biggest shocks was the fact that it had weather just like the Human Realm. Of course, there were many representations of what “Hell” looked like. You just never saw one that showed it raining or snowing there. So, when large snowflakes started falling, to say you were both shocked and confused would be an understatement.

You were still at RAD when it started snowing. There had been a mandatory student council meeting; and, afterwards, Lucifer had asked you to stay behind and help him with some paperwork.

Diavolo had asked Lucifer to have the exchange students fill out a survey on how their time in the Devildom had been so far; and, since you were already with him, he thought yours would be the easiest to fill out.

He was pleasantly surprised when you had nothing but praise to give Lucifer. He wore a proud smile as you talked about how much you’ve been enjoying your time in the Devildom. He loved hearing you talk about it - each commendation making him feel the all-too-familiar emotion that had been bestowed upon his demon form. 

He was having such a great time, in fact, that he didn’t realize how late it had gotten until he looked out the window and noticed how dark it was outside. 

“We must have lost track of time,” Lucifer told you before offering to walk with you back to the House of Lamentation. Not that you had a choice in the matter. After all, it was far too dangerous for you to walk back by yourself.

The second you stepped outside of RAD, you immediately regretted it. The cold air bit at your skin as the snow continued to fall. You cursed yourself for not bringing a jacket; but, how were you supposed to know that it was going to snow in the Devildom today.

You walked silently alongside Lucifer, doing your best to keep your teeth from chattering. Lucifer studied you as the two of you walked. You were usually more chatty. Was something wrong?

He looked at your appearance. Your complexion was flushed, your body slightly shivering. Lucifer raised an eyebrow as suddenly he understood what was happening - you were cold.

Lucifer was immediately taking off his large fur cape and offering it to you. The gesture warmed your heart, but you declined. He needed it or else he would be cold - you argued. Lucifer would make an argument about how much more fragile humans were than demons and then tell you, “Besides, I can’t have you die from the cold. It would be a bad look for Lord Diavolo.”

You chuckled at his words before agreeing, realizing Lucifer wasn’t going to back down. He helped place his cape over your shoulders, securing it in place. You were immediately thankful for the warmth the cape provided - the color almost instantly returning to your cheeks.

Lucifer couldn’t help but smile as he looked at you in his cape - the sheer size of it nearly enveloping your entire body. The snow fell on top of you, your hair and eyelashes being coated in white. You looked beautiful. 

Lucifer admired you the whole way home, hoping that it would snow more often in the Devildom so that he could see you in his cape more often.

Mammon liked to spend a lot of time in your room. After all, he was your “first” so why shouldn’t he be allowed in there whenever he liked. He would spend countless hours in there with you. It didn’t matter what the two of you were doing, as long as you were hanging out. Some nights, by the time you were done, it would be so late that he would just stay the night in there.

So, it was no surprise when he accidentally left one of his shirts in your room. It was just a plain, black t-shirt. Nothing truly identifiable about it. Because of that, you had accidentally mistaken it for one of your shirts. 

Mammon however knew the difference. He had been looking for that shirt, not knowing where he had misplaced it.

He came to check for it in your room, barging in without knocking. “Oi, Y/N,” he began but stopped realizing the room was empty. He heard the faint sound of water running coming from the bathroom and realized you were taking a shower. He sat down on your bed, deciding to wait for you.

He scrolled on his D.D.D. for a while until the water turned off. Then a few minutes later, you came out of the bathroom - wearing his shirt.

Mammon felt his heart stop as his eyes were glued to you, his D.D.D. long forgotten about. You were surprised to see Mammon sitting in your room and you were about to say something when you noticed the deep red blush that coated his cheeks as he sat there looking incredibly flustered. “Mammon, are you okay?”

He wouldn't answer your question. Instead, he asked, “I-Is that my shirt?!” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked down at the black shirt you were wearing, now recognizing it as his. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you told him.

Mammon was a mess. The shirt clung to your body in the best way possible, leading Mammon’s mind to wander to different images of you in that shirt…and out of it. Noticing his expression you said, “I can change.”

“N-No!” Mammon said, jumping off the bed now. That was the last thing he wanted. Realizing his slip-up, Mammon tried to quickly cover his tracks by saying, “Just be grateful that the great Mammon is letting ya wear his clothes!”

When he does get his shirt back, he immediately notices that it smells like you, something that makes him smile. He will never wear it again or wash it. 

Levi was never supposed to find out.

You were doing a cosplay outfit for one of your favorite animes. You had made several videos online and had gotten a decent amount of likes. You loved it and the amount of online support you got encouraged you to do more and more outfits.

Well, it just so happened that the character you were trying to portray had a specific blue and orange jacket. It was pertinent to the character; but, you had nothing similar. So, you began brainstorming ideas on what you could do to try and replicate the clothing item.

Then, it suddenly dawned on you. You had seen Levi wearing a jacket with the same colors. It wasn’t an exact match but it would be close enough. 

You took in a deep breath as you made your way to the coat closet in the House of Lamentation, praying it was there. 

To your luck, when you opened the door, amongst the miscellaneous other coats, it was hanging up in the closet. You let out a small breath of relief. You reached your hand out to take the jacket but hesitated. Levi would probably freak if he saw you wearing his jacket. But, you really needed it.

You debated the pros and cons of taking the jacket.. One on hand, if you went and asked Levi if you could borrow the jacket, he would most likely mumble something about normies before declining out of embarrassment. Then you would be out of luck. However, if you just borrowed the jacket for a few minutes - just to make the video. Then, you could put it back and he’d never know.

Deciding that was the best course of action, you quickly took the jacket and headed back up to your room. You put the jacket on as the finishing touch and looked in the mirror. Perfect.

You began recording the video, making sure to have the perfect lighting and angle. When you were done, you rewatched it, satisfied with the results. Alright, time to put Levi’s jacket back.

“Hey, Y/N, what-,” Levi suddenly came rushing into the room. Both of you froze in shock. Was that…his? “Levi!” you said, nervously looking at him. You had been caught.

“I can explain,” you told him as his eyes widened and a blush coated his cheeks. Not only were you wearing his clothes like some normie couple, but you looked good in it. 

“I was making a cosplay video and I needed to borrow it,” you admitted. “C-Cosplay?” Levi asked, stuttering out his words as he tried to comprehend the situation.

He let out a small scream as he recognized the character you were dressed up as. It was from one of the animes he recommended to you. His eyes then trailed to the video that was still playing on your D.D.D.

You slowly took off his jacket and handed it back to him, blushing slightly. “Sorry, for taking it without asking.”

Levi took the jacket, not sure what to say. So he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Y-You’re missing the sunglasses.”

What? Levi looked back at the video again and you understood. Of course! You were missing the sunglasses for the cosplay. You knew you were missing something!

“I-I have a pair that might match,” Levi said, offering you back his jacket. If you were going to make a cosplay video, he was going to be part of it.

“That would be great!” you replied. Levi quickly left to retrieve the sunglasses as you put his jacket back on. He returned within moments, handing you the sunglasses. You put them on the way the character would and Levi asked if he could help you record the video to which you were unbelievably grateful for. 

Levi was smiling the whole time he helped. He couldn’t believe how talented you were in your impression of the character. More importantly, he couldn’t believe you were wearing his clothes!

You were sitting in Satan’s room reading a book while you waited for him to return. The two of you had been spending the afternoon together. You were reading one of your favorites, and he had been doing the same until about a few minutes ago. He had just finished his book and told you he was going to go to the library to get another book. He promised he would return shortly but it had already been several minutes.

You were huddled up underneath a blanket, but you were still cold. It felt like Satan’s room had no heat whatsoever. You let out a small sigh as you tore your eyes from the page, glancing around the room for anything that could help you warm back up. 

You couldn’t see any blankets, but you noticed one of Satan’s sweaters sitting not too far from you. You let out a small sigh as you turned the idea over and over in your head. He wouldn’t be mad if you borrowed it, right? Not if you told him you were cold. 

You wanted to ask Satan’s permission, so you waited a few more minutes, but when you realized he wasn’t going to be coming back for a while - you decided to risk it. 

You quickly jumped out of the blanket and moved over to the sweater. You picked it up carefully, admiring the material before slipping it over your head. You noticed that it smelt like Satan, the scent making you feel like you were enveloped in his arms. 

You clutched the sweater a little closer to you before moving back to your spot and huddling underneath the blanket. You opened your book back up to the spot you were at and got lost in the fictional world once again.

You were so distracted by the words on the page that you didn’t notice when Satan entered the room. He was about to announce his presence when he noticed the familiar article of clothing that you were wearing. 

His cheeks turned pink as he looked at you wearing his sweater. You looked so adorable curled up under the blanket, reading a book, while wearing his clothes. It warmed his heart. Satan moved over to you, doing his best to hide his smile. 

He sat down next to you and you had completely forgotten that you were wearing his sweater. As if it was second nature to do so. “Did you find a book?” you asked him.

Satan nodded his head before telling you, “I’m really excited to see how this turns out.” You smiled in response, thinking he was talking about the book. He wasn’t so sure.

From now on, if you were in his presence and looked the slightest bit cold, he would immediately offer you his sweater, wanting to see you in his clothes more often.

Asmo was the resident fashion designer in the House of Lamentation. Whenever someone needed advice on an outfit, they immediately turned to him.; and, it was no secret why. His fashion advice was always on point. He could turn the dullest of outfits into a beautiful masterpiece. 

Tonight, Asmo had invited you to dinner at a new restaurant that had open. They asked him to attend with a plus one to bring more business. After all, he had tons of fans who would go to the restaurant just to see him.

Asmo had asked you to be his plus one, and you couldn’t have been more excited. Until he told you how many people would be looking at the two of you and taking pictures. Then, nerves set in as you began panicking about what to wear.

“Don’t worry! I’ll help you!” Asmo comforted, taking you by your hand to your room. He would have you put on a mini-fashion show for him, trying on multiple different outfits to try and find the right one. But, nothing you had quite fit the vibe of the restaurant. 

Asmo thought for a moment, until he came up with an idea. He had the perfect outfit for you! Asmo quickly brought you to his room, pulling out the outfit and handing it to you. He ushered you into his bathroom, telling you to try it on.

When you did, you were surprised at how well it fit - and how good it looked. You stepped out of the bathroom and at first, Asmo didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, a large smile spreading across his face.

“How do I look?” you asked after the silence began to grow awkward. Asmo tried to keep his composure as the thought of you wearing his clothes in public threatened to spark his sin. “That’s the one!” Asmo told you excitedly before helping you do your make-up. By the end of it all, the two of you looked like you had walked straight off the pages of a magazine. 

You made your way to the restaurant and when you got there, you were met with countless cameras. It seemed like everyone wanted to capture the restaurant’s grand opening.

Asmo grabbed your hand as the cameras started flashing, documenting yours and Asmo’s presence. He led you into the restaurant, his smile only growing larger as he thought about you wearing his outfit. The photos would forever document that you were wearing his clothes.

It was a complete accident. 

You had left the House of Lamentation while it was warm out, so you didn’t think to bring an umbrella. Who would?

Well, apparently, it was the biggest mistake you could have made because on your way home, you had found yourself in the middle of a rainstorm. You had no protection from it, the droplets soaking you from head to toe.

You began running to the House of Lamentation, letting out a sigh of relief as you made it to the front door. You quickly entered, thankful to be out of the storm. Then you heard someone behind you. “I see you forgot your umbrella.” You jumped as you turned around and saw Lucifer standing there.

A small blush coated your cheeks as you were embarrassed of the state you were currently in. Lucifer asked you to go to the laundry room so that you didn’t track water everywhere and you agreed, making a beeline towards the room.

When you got there, you quickly took off your wet clothes. You looked around the large room for your basket of laundry, confused when you couldn’t find it.

Then, you realized you had taken it to your room earlier to finish folding the clean clothes. Could this day get any worse.

So, here you were standing naked in the House of Lamentation's laundry room, contemplating how you ended up here. 

You had to come up with something quick before one of the brothers accidentally walked in on you. 

Looking to your right, you saw a large black t-shirt with a design on it. You quickly picked it up, examining it. You had seen Beel wearing it at some point. You held it up to you and noticed that it was so big compared to you. It would be enough to cover you until you could make it to your room. 

You quickly slipped Beel’s shirt on, double-checking that everything was covered before opening the door. All you had to do was make it to your room without being seen. Easy, right?

You turned out of the laundry room, immediately bumping into a large figure. The force caused you to stumble back as you felt two large arms steady you. You looked up to see Beel, looking at you like a confused puppy as he took in your appearance. 

You immediately began blushing as he asked, “Are you wearing my shirt?” Your mind tried to explain the situation, but your words merely came out as a series of stuttered words before you gave up. “It’s a long story,” you told him defeatedly.

Beel could see that you had a long day and he didn’t want to make it worse. So, he didn’t question you any further. Besides, he had to admit it made him feel flustered, seeing you in his clothes. He thought it was adorable how his shirt looked like it was going to swallow you up at any moment.

“Keep it as long as you need,” Beel told you with a small smile. You were thankful that Beel didn’t make things any more awkward as you pushed past him to go to your room.

Beel entered the laundry room to get the rest of his clothes and noticed your discarded clothes. His cheeks felt hot as realized that you were completely nude underneath his shirt. 

He did his best to push out intrusive thoughts as he made his way back to his room, his clean laundry in his arms.  

Revenge.

When it came to you and Belphie, you were sure that was the only reason you did anything anymore. 

Belphie liked to act like a brat and decided to do things he knew would frustrate you because he liked to see the way you would react.

So, he decided to start a prank war with you. But, you were not a pushover; and, you were going to make sure Belphie realized that once and for all. 

So, when he started pulling minor pranks. You let him think he was getting the best of you, until you had pulled a much larger prank on him. You had surprised Belphie with your creativity and your tenacity. But, he wasn’t ready to back down either.

Minor pranks turned into much more serious ones, the two of you so wrapped up in your war that you could hardly pay attention to anything else.

You had just pulled your latest prank of Belphie the day before. You were waiting anxiously for Belphie to pull his prank, constantly watching your back. 

He could strike from anywhere at any time. 

It was getting late, so you had decided Belphie wasn’t going to pull his prank today. You went to your bedroom to go to bed.

However, as soon as you opened the door to your room, you immediately regretted it as a large bucket off water poured on top of you. You let out a small gasp as your clothes were completely drenched. Really?!

You let out a small scoff as you immediately began thinking of retaliation pranks, making your way to your closet to change into a dry pair of clothes.

But, when you got there, you saw that the closet was completely empty. Belphie had taken all of your clothes.

You were fuming as you made your way to the Twin’s Room, bursting through the door to find Belphie in there by himself, lounging on his bed with a smile. 

“Where are my clothes?” you asked him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Belphie replied, smirking back at you.

“All of my clothes are gone,” you stated, knowing full well that he was the culprit. “It looks like you’ll just have to sleep in your wet clothes then,” Belphie replied, turning his attention to his D.D.D.

You glared at him, anger coursing through your veins. He was not winning this one. After realizing Belphie wasn’t going to give you your clothes back, you came up with a new idea.

“Fine,” you told him, marching over to his closet. Belphie tore his eyes away from D.D.D to look up at you. “What are you doing?” he asked, watching your every move.

“If I can’t wear my clothes, then I’ll just have to wear yours,” you replied, stripping your shirt off before putting his on. The rage you were feeling was clouding your mind to the point where you didn’t even realize you had just undressed in front of Belphie.

Belphie most definitely realized though, the image of your half-naked body being seared into his mind as he looked at you in shock.

You then changed into a pair of Belphie’s sweatpants and his cheeks were stained pink as he tried to comprehend what was happening. Luckily, the shirt had covered most of what he would have seen. But, his imagination was running wild. 

You turned to face him, wearing his clothes and his eyes traced every inch of you. You wore a satisfied smirk as you locked eyes. “Good night,” you stated, walking back out of the twins room, a blush on your cheeks at the way Belphie was looking at you. You won.

[kombuuuu]

Miles 42 headcanons?

no one asked but i’ll deliver !!

Miles!42 x Fem!Reader random headcanons

also a lot of snippets :)

You/Reader: Blue

Miles Morales: Purple

Mama Rio/Rio Morales: Pink

Uncle Aaron/Aaron Morales: Orange

Random/stranger: Black

—

gift giving love language duhhh

Will have you walk with him through malls and whatever you look at for a second too long he buys

You don’t catch on until you’re both eating at a nice restaurant, absentmindedly staring at some plant when a lull in conversation happens.

He purchases the plant.

“Fuck you mean I can’t buy it?”

“Sir, the plants aren’t for sale, this is a dining establishment.”

“Establish the fact I’m gettin’ that plant.”

“Sir—“

50 bucks down and a plant 🆙

He will damn right die if you refuse him. He’ll get all grumpy and pouty when you say he should save for a house, not for you.

convinced you just get shy when bought things (you do).

is even more motivated to buy things

“Miles, baby, you need to save up. Not spend on me!”

“This would look so good on you, Ma.”

“Are you listening??”

“Fuck, and this.”

“Oh my god.”

gets so jealous it’s unbelievable

but only when someone goes too far with you

it’s like 1–100 real quick

he’s not usually the prowling type (ha)

but when someone pushes the line he loses his shit

other than that he’s a supportive bbg all the way

“Wanna go home with me, butterface?”

“Fuck you just say?”

“Nothing homie just get outta here.”

“Say that shit again ‘homie’.”

“Chill the fuck out. Let the lady speak for herself.”

“I’ll fucking speak for my girl all I want, homeboy.”

maybe got a liiiiittle bit of an anger issue

guy went home with a broken nose and a missing tooth

better hope he can afford fill ins

he would never get mad at you though

he gets frustrated you don’t listen sometimes, but it’s never to the point of anger

feel like he has the patience of a fucking SAINT

calm and collected baby u know the deal

“Mami, we gonna have a problem?”

“”

“Didn’t think so.”

a SWEETHEART at times

stand by him being raised right

mama rio taught him to be a romantic

wanted him to take after his dad

so flowers and gifts and chocolates

followed by lovin of any kind

probably a baby for affection but doesn’t show it

so when you get all emotional about being gifted roses for the first time

and hug him and smother him

give him stupid little kisses all over

he’s fainting

poor boy doesn’t know love like u show him

“Baby, are these for me?”

“Yeah, Chiquita. They okay?”

“Wh… They’re perfect.”

“Are you cryin’? I can return ‘em.”

“No! No, no, don’t do that.

I love them, C’mere.”

when you guys get rlly comfortable, like a year and some dating, he ends up getting more chatty

willingly talking w you for hours

feels like you’re the only person he can rlly do that with

rambles so rarely that you kind of just sit in awe when it happens

doesn’t catch himself until he’s trying to name your future kids

“I’ll marry you one day, we’ll have like two, three kids. Get all nice an cozy.

You want a boy or girl? I kinda want both. Definitely not girl first, never having a girl without a brother to protect ‘er.

You’d be such a good Mami.

What’d you wan’ name ‘em? I have a few ideas—“

“..”

“But you could choose the girl cause I don’t know any pretty names. And i’ll choose—“

“..”

“..”

“You gon’ let me keep goin?”

“I love your voice.”

“Tranquila, mami.”

Takes you to every family event he ever has

sits you regularly with Rio and Aaron

they insist you call them uncle and ma

you do, obviously

miles doesn’t need to meet your family if you don’t want him to, but if he ever does he’s totally suave with them

like weirdly smooth

able to get on ur carers good side quick

when you meet his extended family they’re just as loving

his whole family is this bright dash of colour

and you fit right the fuck in

“¡Oh, hija estás preciosa!”

“Dice la estrella de la fiesta!”

“You flatter me, Hija.”

“Miles, come get your girl.”

“You look nice too, Uncle Aaron.”

“..Thanks, kid.”

“Hey Mami, havin’ fun?”

“Aight, I’m out.”

when you find out he’s the prowler you’re not really shocked

he’s hella nervous to tell you and kinda puts it off for a while

as long as you’re not in harms way, nothin matters, yeah?

no

the guilt eats him alive

he’s already lost so much, if he doesn’t do things right with you, then loses you too

he’d probably lose himself

so he tells you

“The Prowler?”

“Yeah.”

“The.. Panther guy I keep seeing on the news-?”

“Mm.”

“Miles are you—

..—Are you killing people?”

“Mami, it’s not like that—“

“oh my god.”

“These men— I kill,”

“Oh my god, oh my god.”

“,They’re bad, you understand.”

“Miles..”

“[Name]. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.. Yeah I understand.”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

“…”

“Are you mad.”

“I’m not happy.”

“Okay.”

you’re kind of devastated he’s killing people

but you eventually get it

like it takes a while

say a month or so

but you forgive quick

i mean, who knows what those men are doing, right?

(ur delulu but it’s ok)

he lets you have your space but talking with mama rio when she realises your absence knocks some sense into him

mans is going to GROVEL

he will fucking beg on his damn knees

knocks on your door and is already kneeling

will plead with you to come back to him

like i said a whole ass romantic

you know what’s romantic? a man who can get on his knees

he will suffocate you in gifts and affection

oh you like (insert sanrio esc character) ? look over there at that lifesize plushie woahhhh wonder who that’s forrrrrr

“Hello?”

“Mami, don’t close the door.”

“Miles, go home.”

“And please stop kneeling, the floor is dirty.”

“I’m not leaving ‘til you hear me out.”

looooong sigh

“Okay, fine— whatever, come inside. You have two minutes.”

“God, I missed you. You’re so beautiful Chiquita.”

“Three minutes.”

You talk it out easy, he’s a real smooth talker when he wants to be

“Okay Miles, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

“Yeah, Ma. See you soon.”

“Wh—.. What is that?”

“Ohhh…”

“Why the fuck is it so big?”

“It said “Life Size” on the site? I was thinking like two feet tall.”

“You bought that?”

“Yeah.. I was thinkin’ you wouldn’t let me in. Would have to bribe you.”

“…That’s really cute.”

Annnnnd that’s all i can come up with i’ll probably do more later :P

[moonlitstoriess]

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem!reader (mini-series) Part 1

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel’s secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

Next part

See masterlist

Warnings: none for now, I think.

A/n: Soo I believe that because Eris is the ultimate enemies to lovers boy, what other character would be best suited for this type of story if not him? 🤭

What was life if not a series of obligations and chains?

Eris swirled the wine in his goblet, the deep red liquid catching the firelight like blood. A fitting image, he thought grimly. Everything in the Autumn Court reeked of it—blood spilled for power, blood spilled for survival, and the invisible blood that stained every action taken under his father’s rule.

He stared into the wine, the rippling surface reflecting the gilded dining hall around him. The room was filled with laughter and chatter, the High Lord’s officials and their daughters basking in the false warmth of Beron’s presence. Eris wanted to set the entire place aflame, to reduce it all to ash.

“Are you listening, boy?”

Beron’s voice cut through his thoughts like a whip, and Eris blinked, his fingers tightening around the goblet. He didn’t bother hiding his irritation as he looked up, his sharp gaze meeting his father’s.

“You were saying?” Eris drawled, his tone laced with mockery.

Beron’s lip curled, his fiery eyes narrowing. “I said, it’s time you marry. The Autumn Court needs an heir.”

Ah, this tired song again. Eris leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance even as his jaw tightened. “I didn’t realize the court was on the brink of collapse without me married off. Or is it simply that the officials are tired of their daughters gathering dust?”

A few low chuckles rippled around the table, but Beron’s gaze burned like embers. He leaned in and whispered to his son, “I didn't order for all these females to be brought here like herds of sheep for nothing. Careful, Eris. Your insolence won’t serve you well when you’re High Lord."

Eris’s mouth curved into a cold smile. “And yet it serves me well enough now.”

Beron’s fingers flared with fire, but Eris didn’t flinch. He’d played this game with his father too many times to be cowed by his temper.

As the conversation shifted to other matters, Eris returned his attention to his goblet, though his mind was far from at ease.

Perhaps his father would die soon. That would certainly solve a number of problems.

The conversation at the table turned to the next ball Beron was hosting—a thinly veiled excuse for court officials to parade their daughters before Eris like prized cattle. He ground his teeth at the thought, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet until the fragile glass threatened to shatter.

“We’ve extended invitations to the most prominent families,” Beron announced with a self-satisfied smirk. “I trust you’ll make an effort to charm them this time, Eris. We can’t afford your... indifference.”

Eris forced his face into a neutral mask, though his thoughts burned like the fires of the court. Charm them? For what? So they could shove their scheming daughters into his arms, hoping to cement their families’ power at his side?

He knew these men. Knew how they whispered behind Beron’s back, how they lusted for a slice of the Autumn Court’s rule. And their daughters—pretty, vapid faces who smiled too sweetly and batted their lashes with calculated precision. None of them wanted him. They wanted the title, the crown, the prestige.

“I’ll do what’s expected,” Eris replied flatly, his voice betraying nothing.

Beron’s smirk widened, as though he’d won some unspoken battle. “Good. It’s time you understood your duty, boy. This is about the future of the court, not your personal whims.”

Personal whims. Eris resisted the urge to laugh. As if his father cared about anything beyond his own legacy.

Hours later, Eris stood alone in the dimly lit study, the flames in the hearth casting flickering shadows against the walls. He stared into the fire, imagining Beron’s face in the dancing embers.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door. He turned to see his mother stepping inside, her elegant frame draped in rich autumnal hues. She regarded him with a mix of weariness and concern, her sharp eyes softening only slightly as they met his.

“I see the evening went as expected,” she said quietly, closing the door behind her.

Eris let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, it was delightful. Another ball to look forward to, another round of power-hungry men throwing their daughters at me like bait.”

His mother sighed, moving to stand beside him. “You know he’s right, Eris. As much as I loathe him, you are the future of this court. It’s time you—”

“Don’t,” Eris snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned to face her, his amber eyes blazing. “Don’t tell me you’re siding with him now. You’ve always said to wait for my mate, that the bond is sacred—”

“And it is,” she interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “But Eris, you can’t live your life waiting for something that might never come. This court needs you to lead, and you can’t do that alone.”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “So what? I’m supposed to pick some scheming girl with a pretty smile and call her my wife? Let Beron manipulate her like he manipulates everyone else?”

“I hate it as much as you do,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “But this is the reality of our world. You can’t change it by standing still.”

He pulled away, stepping back as if her touch burned. “No. You’ve always told me to hold out for my mate, that she’s my true other half. And now you’re telling me to abandon that for... for duty?”

Her gaze faltered, and for a moment, Eris saw the sadness beneath her composed exterior. “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “duty must come first.”

Eris stared at her, his chest tightening with anger and something far more painful. He turned back to the fire, his voice low and cold. “Then maybe I don’t want this court. Maybe I don’t want any of it.”

His mother didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she lingered, her silhouette bathed in the warm glow of the firelight. She always had an air of quiet resilience about her, like a tree that had weathered too many storms but refused to break.

“You’re angry with me,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady.

Eris let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Angry doesn’t quite cover it.”

She sighed, her expression guarded. “You think I don’t understand how you feel? That I haven’t spent centuries trapped in the same gilded cage?”

Eris turned to her, his amber eyes blazing with frustration. “Then why are you saying this? Why are you pushing me toward the very thing you despise?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Because I know what it means to survive in this court. I know what it takes to hold onto even a sliver of power. And if you think Beron will let you ascend without a fight, without someone at your side to help you weather the storm, then you’re deluding yourself.”

“I don’t need a wife to survive his schemes,” Eris shot back. “I’ve been outmaneuvering him and his sycophants for years.”

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Outmaneuvering isn’t the same as leading. One day, you’ll be the High Lord, and when that day comes, you’ll need more than cunning to keep this court from tearing itself apart.”

“Don’t act like you care about this court,” Eris said sharply. “You’ve hated it for as long as I can remember. Hated him. Hated everything about this place.”

Her face hardened, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—pain, perhaps, or regret. “You’re right. I hate it. But I stayed for you, Eris. For you and your brothers. Do you think I endured this hell for my own sake?”

He flinched, her words cutting deeper than he cared to admit.

“I stayed,” she continued, her voice trembling ever so slightly, “because I wanted to give you a chance. A chance to be something better than him. To rise above his cruelty and show this court what true strength looks like. And now, after everything I’ve sacrificed, you want to throw it all away because you’re too stubborn to see the bigger picture?”

Eris’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. “This isn’t about me being stubborn. It’s about not letting him dictate my life. I refuse to let him win.”

“And you think refusing to marry will stop him?” she asked, her tone sharp. “He’s already won, Eris. As long as he holds the title of High Lord, he’ll keep manipulating you, keep twisting everything to suit his whims. The only way to beat him is to take his crown—and you can’t do that alone.”

He turned away from her, staring into the fire as if it held the answers he so desperately sought. “I’m not like him,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “I won’t let this court turn me into what he is.”

“And you won’t,” she said, her voice softening. “But you can’t change this court without wielding its power. You have to play the game, Eris. Even if it means making sacrifices.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Sacrifices. That’s all we ever do, isn’t it? Sacrifice our happiness, our freedom, our lives for this damned court.”

His mother stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said softly. “Stronger than him. Stronger than me. And one day, you’ll make this court something worth fighting for.”

Eris didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames. Her words stirred something in him—a deep, aching need to prove her right, to show her that her sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. But the weight of his father’s shadow loomed over him, suffocating and unrelenting.

After a long silence, his mother gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and stepped back. “You don’t have to like it, Eris,” she said quietly. “But you do have to face it.”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the ever-present firelight.

The endless parade of extravagant gatherings had become a well-known routine in the Autumn Court, each more suffocating than the last. Another evening, another dreary ball. Eris stood at the center of it all, draped in the formal attire his father insisted upon, an expression of mild annoyance barely hidden behind his regal facade. His father, Beron, had decreed that Eris must choose a suitable wife, one from the political elite, as the latest power struggle played out. For Beron, it was all part of a calculated game, a way to secure more influence for the Autumn Court—and a way to control Eris.

Males, their faces full of ambition, tried their hardest to charm Eris, while women, desperate to catch the Autumn Prince’s eye, all but draped themselves at his feet. It sickened him. Every glance, every touch, every word was a play for power. Eris knew they weren’t interested in him; they were interested in what his title could give them. His sharp gaze swept over the room, taking in the sycophantic expressions, the forced smiles, and the hunger for power in every corner.

Beron watched from his place at the head of the room, pleased with the spectacle, his eyes shining with the gleam of conquest. Beron had made it clear: these gatherings were not just for entertainment. They were strategic. He would not rest until Eris had chosen someone from this selection, a female who could help solidify the family’s dominance and advance the court’s agenda.

But Eris could feel the walls closing in, the pressure mounting. He could hear his father's voice in his mind, always there, like a shadow he could never shake: “It’s time, Eris. The court expects this. You must comply.”

There was a veiled threat beneath those words. Beron had already made it clear that if Eris didn’t choose, if he didn’t bend to his will, there were others—his younger brothers—who could take his place. It was a subtle threat, but one Eris understood all too well. His father’s cruelty and ambition knew no bounds.

The weight of the possibility hit Eris hard. His life had always been a game to Beron, but the stakes were growing higher.

The ball dragged on, but Eris had long since stopped paying attention to the endless parade of hopeful females. With a glass of wine in hand, he withdrew to the balcony. He stood in silence, staring at the empty expanse of the Autumn Court below. The festivities continued inside, a blur of noise and laughter, but all Eris could hear was the pounding of his own thoughts.

What is life?

The question lingered in his mind, an idle thought born from the monotony of his existence. What did it all mean? The power, the position, the endless battles for influence—none of it seemed to satisfy him. All his life, he had been surrounded by people who wanted something from him. All of them were vying for his favor, for his loyalty, for his title. His position had always been a means to an end, never something people cared about for Eris himself.

He was the Autumn Prince, yes. But who was he beneath that title? Was he just another pawn in Beron’s game? Or was there something more to him—something his father never saw? A part of Eris longed for something different, something real.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he stared into the swirling depths of his goblet, watching the liquid ripple and shift. I want a partner. Not a pawn. Not a game. He wanted someone who could see him for who he truly was, someone who wouldn’t be blinded by his position and the power that came with it. But that, he knew, was impossible.

Who would want me?

His fingers tightened around the goblet, and his thoughts turned bitter. He knew the truth: to everyone else, he was nothing more than a means to an end. His bloodline, his name, his legacy—it was all they cared about. Even his own brothers, some of whom had never hesitated to remind him of his place in the family, saw him only as the heir, the one who could secure the future of the Autumn Court.

But how much of a fool he was to believe that tonight he would once more go back to his bedchambers, sleep and this whole ball circus will repeat once again the following evening.

Because it did not.

Something worse happened.

Something Beron told him that very evening.

The day after his father’s ultimatum, Eris was still reeling. His mind raced with frustration, his usual calm demeanor cracking under the weight of Beron’s command. Beron had made it clear: Eris would go to Montesere.

A place far removed from the harsh, cold winds of the Autumn Court. Any of the courts, really. Montesere, with its tropical warmth, golden sands, and sun-drenched lands, was like another world—a place of exotic beauty that felt almost like a dream. Beron had decided that Montesere’s ruler's daughter would be a suitable match for Eris, a political pawn to further cement the Autumn Court’s power and control over the region. Trading, influence, military alliances—Beron wanted it all, and Eris was the one who would secure it.

Eris had argued, of course. He’d protested, pacing in the grand hall of the Autumn Court, his voice sharp and full of anger.

“I will not do this,” he had told his father, fury burning in his veins. “You cannot force me to marry her. I will not be part of your schemes any longer.”

Beron had smiled, cold and calculating, as always. “You have no choice, Eris. You will go, or I will find someone else to take your place.”

Eris’s fists clenched, but he knew his father would follow through. The threat hung in the air like a sword, ready to fall. So, despite every instinct screaming to fight back, Eris had been forced to relent. It was either obey, or lose everything.

The night before he left, Eris had gone to his chambers in a haze, too angry and too betrayed to think clearly. But as the first rays of sunlight broke through the curtains, he found himself boarding a ship bound for Montesere, the tropical city a distant blur on the horizon.

The journey had been long, but as his ship docked in the vibrant city, Eris couldn't help but feel a simmering sense of discomfort. Montesere was a tropical paradise, yes, but it felt foreign in every sense. The air was thick with the scent of spices and wildflowers. The sun was relentless, beating down on the city like an oppressive force, making everything feel hotter than it should have been.

The city sprawled before him—warm, vibrant, and alive with color. The sounds of bustling markets and street vendors filling his ears. It was so different from the cold, rigid courts of his homeland, where everything was ordered, controlled. Here, there was freedom in the chaos. The sun shone fiercely in a sky of brilliant blue, and the city sprawled with narrow streets and grand palaces, lush gardens overflowing with life.

The architecture was stunning—a mixture of Moorish arches and vibrant murals that covered every surface of the grand buildings. Despite its beauty, Montesere gave off an undercurrent of tension, like a simmering pot of water on the verge of boiling over. Everything was too lavish, too colorful, too alive for Eris’s taste. He was used to the cold, biting winds of Autumn Court, the grey sky, and the rigid control of his father's rule. Montesere was an unknown entity, and he found it deeply unsettling.

Eris and his men walked through the city’s bustling streets, his boots making a steady sound against the cobblestones, but his mind was far from the sights before him. He wasn’t interested in the markets with their endless rows of goods, the open-air gardens that teemed with exotic plants, or the vibrant street performers who drew crowds of curious onlookers. He wasn’t here to admire the landscape.

His father had insisted on this alliance with Montesere. Beron had been pushing for months, envisioning it as a strategic move to gain control over trade routes, secure valuable resources, and extend his influence into territories far outside of the Autumn Court’s domain. And the key to that power was the ruler’s daughter—a female named Leona, Beron believed would make the perfect bride for Eris, a political pawn to further his own ambitions.

Eris had argued, of course. He had told his father that he didn’t care for some marriage of convenience to a woman he didn’t even know. He had protested that he wasn’t some puppet to be controlled and that he had no interest in taking yet another step toward tightening his father’s suffocating grip on his life. But Beron’s threats were sharp, and the weight of them had forced Eris into submission. In the end, he had been left with no choice.

Now, here he was, standing at the grand gates of Montesere's ruler’s palace, feeling the weight of his father’s will settle on his shoulders.

He had been instructed to meet with the ruler first—no pretense of formality, no chance to wander the city or take in the sights. It was straight to business.

As he approached the palace, the doors were already swung wide, and he was ushered inside by two sharply dressed guards. The marble floors gleamed beneath his boots as he was led down vast corridors with vaulted ceilings, adorned with intricate patterns that glimmered in the sunlight filtering through open windows. The palace was grand, more so than Eris had imagined, but it felt suffocating in its excess. Every corner seemed to shout wealth, power, and decadence—a sharp contrast to the order and structure of his home.

The king of Montesere was waiting for him in a large, open courtyard. The man’s presence was commanding, his dark eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and controlled power. He stood tall with a regal air, his robes of gold and royal blue trailing behind him as he spoke.

“Prince Eris,” he greeted, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of authority. “Welcome to Montesere. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

Eris met his gaze, offering a tight, polite smile. “As uneventful as one could expect.”

The man studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Come, let us discuss the matters at hand. There’s much to be done.”

They moved together toward a long table set with fruit and goblets of drink, though Eris had no desire to indulge. His mind was already miles ahead, racing through the consequences of his father’s machinations.

It wasn’t long before the ruler finally turned to introduce his daughter.

As the doors of the grand hall swung open, Eris was met with the sight of a woman who could not have been less interested in him. She walked in with an air of quiet dominance, her posture regal, her gaze sharp and unyielding. Her skin was kissed by the sun, a deep golden hue that glimmered like the sands of Montesere’s beaches. Her black hair was coiled into intricate braids, and her eyes—dark and intelligent—flickered with a disinterest that sent a strange ripple through Eris’s chest.

She didn’t even glance in his direction at first, her focus solely on her father. The king gave a small wave of his hand, signaling her approach.

“Eris, this is my daughter, Leona” the king said smoothly. “I trust you’ll find her quite the capable match for your endeavors.”

Eris was about to offer the usual pleasantries when he noticed her subtle shift in stance. She glanced at him, and there was nothing warm in her expression—nothing even remotely welcoming. It was clear from the beginning that this was going to be a difficult conversation, and Eris could already feel the simmering tension between them.

She stepped forward, her chin slightly tilted upward, and looked at him with a cold assessment.

“Prince Eris,” she greeted, her voice clipped and filled with restrained disdain. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Eris didn’t know what to say at first. He was used to being the one in control of a room, used to women falling over themselves for his attention, but here? This female, wasn’t even pretending to be polite. She didn’t care about his title, his name, or what he had to offer.

“I’m sure your father has already told you why I’m here,” Eris said, keeping his tone neutral. “But I’d rather not waste either of our time.”

Her gaze narrowed as she tilted her head, clearly unamused by his bluntness.

“Oh, I’m well aware of why you’re here,” she replied coolly. “You’re here to do as your father orders—arrange some sort of political union. How quaint.”

Eris’s eyes sharpened, intrigued by her lack of filter. “And you don’t seem at all interested in that.”

She gave a wry smile, almost a smirk but before she could reply, her father gave her a nudge and pushed her away while sighing and leading Eris away, talking about anything and everything.

He hadn’t wanted to come here. But Beron’s orders had been clear: Don’t return until they agree to the marriage. But what marriage?

Their first meeting was brief. Eris had been led into a sitting room, where Leona sat, her posture rigid and uninviting. Her dark eyes—unwavering and cold—studied him for a moment before she even acknowledged his presence.

“Prince Eris,” she said with a slight nod, her voice carrying an edge of indifference. “A pleasure.”

The words were a formality, one Eris had heard countless times before, but there was no warmth, no attempt to make him feel welcome. She didn’t even stand to greet him, as if he wasn’t worth the effort.

Eris had forced a polite smile, but his patience was already wearing thin.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, his tone smooth, though he felt no warmth toward her. “I trust we can begin discussing the matters of the courts?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze flicking briefly to the ornate tapestries hanging on the walls. “The matters of the courts, yes,” she said, her words deliberate. “I have no interest in them, but I will endure.”

Eris had been taken aback by the bluntness of her words. No pretense, no sugar-coating. She had no interest in politics, in alliances, in him. And, frankly, he didn’t blame her. This whole arrangement reeked of manipulation and control, something he knew all too well.

Over the next few days, they met daily, as was expected. Eris stayed in the lavish guest quarters, while Leona continued with her duties, often walking the gardens or attending to the administrative needs of the palace. The first few conversations were business—exchange of trade information, a few discussions about potential negotiations—but it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t interested in any of it.

Every conversation felt more like a challenge. Leona constantly looked down on him, her words laced with sarcasm and condescension. She would laugh when he mentioned the complexities of the Autumn Court, or the intricacies of their alliances with other courts.

“What does any of your courts know about real power?” she’d sneer, her lips curling slightly with amusement. “You’ve been wrapped in your little bubble, thinking you control everything, and yet, here you are, in our world, where things work differently.”

Eris found himself both frustrated and intrigued. Still, he continued the charade, as his father had ordered. He met her every day in the grand gardens of the palace, a sprawling, lush oasis that contrasted sharply with the cold stone of the Autumn Court. They walked together, discussing politics in shallow, often biting terms, neither of them giving an inch.

And then, on their third meeting, something shifted.

Leona led him through the sprawling gardens once more, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. As they passed through an ornate archway into a more secluded part of the palace grounds, Eris couldn’t help but notice the subtle tension in her shoulders. She stopped suddenly, and he almost collided with her back.

“Enough of this,” she muttered under her breath, though Eris could still hear the frustration in her voice. “I can’t do this anymore. You need to leave.”

Eris blinked, taken off-guard. “What do you mean? Leave?” His heart skipped a beat, not in fear but in genuine confusion. “I can’t leave until—”

“I know,” she cut him off, her voice like ice. She turned to face him, her expression hard. “Until you marry me, is that what you were going to say?

Eris’s confusion deepened. “Why? Why the hell would I leave?”

Leona’s eyes flashed with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You really don’t get it, do you?” she sneered. “I’m not interested in this marriage. Not in you, not in anything this ridiculous alliance is supposed to bring. I like females, not males!”

Eris stood there, stunned, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t seen that coming. Lesbian?

Her face was flushed with irritation now, her jaw clenched as she continued. “This whole thing, this marriage—it would never work. Not because you’re not… well, you, but because I don’t find males appealing. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone.”

Eris struggled to process what she was saying. His mind was still racing. “But… why the hell didn’t you tell your father that? Why not just tell him the truth?”

Leona’s eyes narrowed, her frustration turning into something sharp, almost dangerous. “Because it’s not that simple,” she snapped. “He doesn’t care about me. He wants the alliance. He wants the trade routes, the power. I’m just a pawn in his game, just like you are.”

Eris’s anger flared. This wasn’t just about the marriage anymore—it was about the game his father had been playing with his life. He had been dragged all the way here, only to find out that the princess had no interest in males to begin with. That she had been trapped in this entire situation for a reason that had nothing to do with him, or his father’s plans.

He took a step closer to her, frustration dripping from his words. “So, I’m supposed to just pack up and go because you’ve been lying to everyone about this? Because you’re too afraid to tell your father the truth? And what, I’m just supposed to walk away after being dragged halfway across the world to sit here in this tropical hellhole?”

Leona’s eyes flashed with irritation. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation. But I do owe it to myself to not get forced into something I don’t want. This marriage would be a nightmare for both of us.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you just tell your father from the start?!” Eris’s voice was rising now, his frustration spilling over. “Why drag me all the way here for nothing, when you knew the entire time that this was never going to work?”

Leona crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze unwavering. “Because it wasn’t just my choice, Eris. You were chosen because of your father’s power. And I was chosen because my father wants to strengthen our position in the courts. So don’t stand there, pretending like I’m the only one who’s playing a game.”

Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly, as she sighed in frustration. “I’m not afraid to tell him the truth. I’m just trying to avoid the inevitable fallout, alright? I’m trying to keep the peace in my kingdom, at least for now. But you? You need to leave. You’re making this worse.”

Eris stood there, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his mind swirling. For the first time, he actually saw the weight of the situation—saw it for what it was. It wasn’t just about the marriage. It was about her life, her choices, her struggles that had nothing to do with him.

Still, his frustration simmered under the surface. He had been dragged all this way under false pretenses, and now he was being told to leave because the princess was attracted to women, not men. It was absurd. His father’s games had never felt more pointless than they did in this moment.

“What happens now?” he asked, his voice tight, his anger barely contained. “You expect me to just turn around and walk away?”

Leona’s eyes softened for a moment, but only briefly. She uncrossed her arms and stepped toward him. “I don’t want to be trapped in this world anymore, Eris. You need to understand that. The longer you stay, the more complicated everything gets. For both of us. So yes, I’m asking you to leave. For both our sakes. I will tell father that I rejected you."

Eris stared at her, the weight of her words settling deep into his chest. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this—this was a far cry from what he had been imagining.

For the first time since he’d arrived in Montesere, he wondered if he might have misunderstood everything.

The heat of the Montesere sun beat down on Eris as he walked through the bustling market square, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Leona’s words had taken root in him, stirring up a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with. He was pissed—hell, he was furious—but he wasn’t about to act on that fury just yet. The last thing he wanted was to reveal how off-balance he felt, especially to the small entourage of his father’s men who had accompanied him. No, he’d keep his irritation hidden, at least for now.

As he moved through the crowded market, his boots clicked against the cobblestones, the chatter of vendors and merchants filling the air. The scents of exotic spices, fresh fruit, and roasted meats mingled in the humid air, making it both overwhelming and suffocating. The faces of Montesere’s people were a mix of curiosity and indifference as he passed, his dark cloak drawing the occasional wary glance.

His hand rested casually on the hilt of his blade, a habit born of the tense nature of his travels, though right now, he didn’t think it would do him much good. Still, the constant pull of the surrounding chaos was a reminder that he was far from home, far from control. But as he wandered deeper into the market, looking for anything to distract him from his thoughts, his gaze caught something unusual.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye. A figure—small, quick—darted between two stalls. Instinct kicked in before he could process the scene. Eris’s eyes narrowed, and his steps quickened as he moved in pursuit of the mysterious figure. The market was loud, chaotic, with people shouting at one another over prices, but he was focused, following the figure as it weaved through the crowd, dodging market-goers effortlessly.

He was close now, almost within reach, when the figure suddenly took a sharp turn down a narrow alleyway, disappearing from his view. Without missing a beat, Eris veered off course, following the alley. The shadows were deep here, the walls of the buildings rising high on either side, creating a tunnel of coolness that contrasted with the heat of the sun. He pushed forward, his muscles tense, every sense alert.

As he rounded the corner, he collided with something solid—someone solid. He cursed as his hand flew out instinctively to steady himself, grabbing the nearest source of balance. And then, in a flash, his fingers tightened around a wrist.

“Let go of me!” a voice hissed sharply, a blend of anger and surprise.

Eris looked down to see a female—small (atleast shorter than him) with sharp eyes that gleamed with an intensity that matched his own. She was dressed in simple yet sturdy clothing, something that didn’t stand out in the crowded market but suggested she was no stranger to movement or danger. Her hair was messed up after all that running, poking out from different angles, and there was something wild about her, a certain fierceness that intrigued him even as he held her wrist firmly.

“What are you running from?” Eris demanded, his voice low but commanding. He didn’t release her, not yet, his eyes studying her with growing curiosity.

The female yanked her wrist free from his grasp with surprising strength, her eyes narrowing in irritation. “None of your business,” she snapped, taking a step back, her hand instinctively reaching for something at her waist.

Eris’s brow arched, impressed despite himself. “You seem awfully keen to keep your distance,” he said coolly, studying her carefully. “What’s the rush? Or are you just trying to avoid a charming conversation?”

She shot him a look that could’ve cut through steel. “You want to talk? Fine. But first—” She paused, her gaze flicking to the alley behind him.

Eris turned just in time to see a pair of thugs, rough-looking men, appear at the end of the alley, eyeing them with clear hostility. Their eyes immediately locked onto the woman in front of him, and a heavy silence fell over the space.

“I’m not going back,” the female muttered under her breath, and her voice—barely a whisper—carried a weight of finality. But before Eris could respond, she had already moved.

She darted forward with the speed of a striking serpent, her elbow crashing into his chest, forcing him back just enough to clear the space. “Get out of the way,” she hissed, and there was no time to argue.

The two men lunged, and instinct kicked in. Eris reacted without thinking. With a swift, fluid movement, he drew his blade from its sheath, his movements sharp, precise. The first thug tried to grab for him, but Eris’s blade met his wrist with a crack, sending the man staggering back in pain, clutching at the wound. He barely had time to focus on the second man, who had already launched himself at the female.

But before the man could land a blow, the female was on him—her hands quick and efficient, her movements graceful yet deadly. She had a dagger in her hand that gleamed silver in the dim light, and with a quick twist, she disarmed him and sent him sprawling to the ground with a frustrated grunt.

Eris stood there, momentarily stunned by how easily she had handled the thugs. His grip on his sword loosened, and he stepped back as the last thug, now unconscious, crumpled to the cobblestones.

The stranger turned to face him, breathing heavily but not with any fear. If anything, she looked… amused. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you to deal with them,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eris’s chest rose and fell with a mix of adrenaline and surprise, but his tone was steady. “And you’re lucky I didn’t leave you to deal with them alone.”

She gave him a look, still incredulous. “I was perfectly fine. Just didn’t want to waste my time. And you,” she added with a smirk, “seem like you could use some lessons in the art of survival.”

Eris’s lips curled into a half-smile. “I’m not the one running from a fight.”

Her eyes sparkled with a challenge, but she didn’t respond, merely tucking her dagger back into her belt. “Name’s Y/N,” she said, offering him a glance that seemed to measure him up. “I don’t have time for pleasantries, but thanks for the assist.”

Eris hesitated, then gave a slight nod, acknowledging her presence, though still not entirely trusting her. There was something about this female—her calm under pressure, her lethal precision—that intrigued him. Perhaps it was more than just a shared moment of chaos.

He straightened, his voice colder now, but still with an edge of curiosity. “Eris. I don’t make a habit of getting involved in other people’s problems.”

Y/N smirked again, and for a moment, their eyes locked. “Maybe you should start,” she replied coolly, then turned on her heel and began walking away without a second glance, her movements as fluid and confident as ever.

Eris stood in the alley, watching her disappear into the crowd, a sense of intrigue buzzing at the back of his mind.

The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling marketplace of Montesere. Y/N moved through the stalls, her fingers brushing against the fabrics, jars, and herbs that made up her trade. She had a small corner booth where she sold trinkets—jewelry made from wood and bone, simple but beautiful things—and herbs her mother harvested from the nearby woods. Life here was quiet, mostly peaceful, though nothing spectacular. Middle class at best, but comfortable enough for someone who had learned how to blend in.

She wasn't anyone important, nor did she ever wish to be. Her mother, a simple merchant who had once caught the eye of a powerful Illyrian male-her father-had raised her in this small, thriving town, far from the war camps of the Illyrian mountains. She never knew her father.

The only thing she knew of him were the whispers her mother had shared, tales of a fleeting romance that ended with Y/N's birth. Her father had never returned to them after that night.

Azriel, her half-brother, would never know she existed. They had the same father, but different mothers. He was born into the cold, rigid world of their father's estate in the Illyrian mountains, a place where power and cruelty thrived.

Yet he had risen above them, had become a legend among the world. He was everything Y/N was not.

She didn’t hate him. How could she, when she didn’t even know him? What she hated was the man who tied them together. Their father, who had left her mother to struggle in silence. Their father, who had chosen to raise Azriel in his home, while Y/N was cast aside entirely. She was nothing more than a secret, a mistake. A child of a fleeting affair, abandoned and forgotten.

Y/N had spent her life trying to avoid the idea that her bloodline tied her to such a man. She never went near the Illyrian war camps, never even thought of them. Montesere, far from the courts and the suffocating politics that ruled them, was where she belonged.

Her mother had kept them hidden, not wanting her daughter to be drawn into a world where she wasn’t wanted. And so, Y/N had grown up far from the Illyrians, living simply as a merchant, living simply as herself. She had learned to make peace with her life—or at least, she tried.

A customer approached, snapping Y/N back into the present moment. She offered the bundle of rosemary with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, her thoughts still tangled in the web of her past. She quickly took the coins and returned to her stall, arranging the trinkets with practiced hands. She had to keep going, keep moving forward. She had her life here, in the town that had accepted her. A life without the burden of court politics, without the weight of her bloodline, without the shadow of her half-brother lingering over her.

The sun had already set when Y/N was summoned to the palace. She had no intention of attending any royal feast—she wasn’t a noble, after all—but the request came from the kitchen, where she had worked for the past year as a second job. The head chef had insisted that her skills were needed to prepare some delicacies for the evening’s banquet, and Y/N didn’t dare argue. She needed the work, even if it meant entering the heart of the opulent palace she avoided whenever possible.

She quietly slipped in through the small side door meant for staff, her worn shoes clicking softly on the stone floors of the servants’ quarters.

“Y/N, get upstairs,” called the kitchen head, a short, no-nonsense woman whose gray hair was tied back in a tight bun. “One of the servers called out. I need you to take the platters to the royal table.”

Y/N’s gut clenched. She had no interest in serving the highborn—especially not after the way they looked down on people like her. She’d rather stay in the back with the heat and the smells of roasted meats than parade in front of royalty and their guests.

“I’m not meant for the royal table,” she protested, wiping her hands on her apron and glancing at the mess of ingredients that still needed attention. “I’m fine down here, really.”

“You’re going, and that’s final. We need someone who isn’t afraid to move quickly. You’ll be fine.”

She opened her mouth to argue further, but the look on the head’s face told her it wasn’t worth it. Reluctantly, Y/N grabbed a tray, carefully stacking the food, and made her way up through the servants’ stairs. Her feet were heavy as she ascended, the grand sounds of music and laughter becoming louder the higher she climbed.

When she finally reached the top floor, she barely spared a glance at the grand banquet hall that stretched before her. The sight of the highborn nobles lounging at tables, laughing and drinking, only reminded her of how little she belonged in such a place.

She found the corridor leading to the royal table and, with a sigh, took a deep breath before entering.

It was just her luck that, as she approached the table, she nearly collided with someone.

A deep voice rumbled above her as she froze in place. “Careful.”

She glanced up, heart thumping, and saw none other than Eris--the stranger from the day before.

For a split second, their gazes locked. He stood tall, an imposing figure even amidst the other nobles, his sharp features sculpted into a casual but commanding expression. His lips curled into a smirk when he saw her.

“You again?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

Y/N’s chest tightened, but she managed to keep her composure. “What are you doing here?” she shot back, her tone colder than she intended. “Shouldn’t you be off enjoying yourself?”

Eris chuckled lightly, unbothered by her cool response. “I’m here on business, just like everyone else.”

The words were quiet, but their meaning was clear—Eris wasn’t here just to socialize. There was something more behind his presence, something sharp and calculating that she couldn’t quite place. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she wouldn’t show weakness.

“Right,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the platters in her hands. She had no time to exchange pleasantries with the likes of him. “Excuse me, Your Highness.”

But as she tried to move past him, one of the servers bumped into her from behind, sending the platters nearly toppling. She had barely enough time to steady herself before one of the dishes slid right off the tray, splashing onto the floor in a mess of sauce and roasted meat.

The noise echoed across the hall, drawing the attention of several nearby guests, including Eris, who watched her with an unreadable expression.

“Lovely,” she muttered under her breath, already kneeling to clean up the mess. She had no interest in making a spectacle of herself, but the eyes of the nobles burned into her skin. The last thing she needed was more attention.

Eris, however, stepped forward, his gaze flicking between her and the mess she was attempting to clean up. After a long beat, he knelt beside her, offering a hand. “Let me help.”

Y/N didn’t expect the gesture, and her hand froze mid-air. She glanced up at him, surprise written across her face. “I can handle it,” she replied sharply, brushing the dirt off her hands. She wasn’t about to accept help from someone like him, especially not someone who looked at her with disdain.

But instead of backing away, Eris’ gaze softened, just a fraction, and he smirked. “I can’t let you ruin your evening, can I?”

Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing as he helped her clean up the mess. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but notice how carefully he handled the delicate porcelain of the dish, as though he didn’t want to make a bigger mess.

Once the platter was back in her hands, Y/N stood, brushing the dust from her skirt. “I don’t need your charity,” she said curtly.

Eris stood too, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You don’t seem to want much of anything, do you?” he said, his voice almost teasing.

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “What is it you want, then? To mock me in front of your friends?”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that wry smile. “You misunderstand, Y/N. I’m not here to mock you.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them crackled in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Y/N wanted to snap at him, to demand that he leave her be, but instead, she took a deep breath and turned away.

“I have a job to do,” she muttered, not looking back.

As she left the room, her heart still racing from the close encounter, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. Something she couldn’t quite explain.

The morning light filtered in through the window, gently coaxing Y/N out of her sleep. She stretched lazily, dreading the day ahead. The rhythm of her life had been predictable lately—work, more work, and quiet nights alone or with her mom. She had almost grown accustomed to the solitude. Almost.

As she brushed her hair and pulled on her outfit, a sudden, sharp knock on her door sent her heart into a rapid flutter. Who could that be at this hour?

Reluctantly, she moved toward the door, her stomach knotting. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, especially not this early. With one hand resting on the doorknob, she muttered to herself, “Great. Another surprise.”

She swung open the door, only to freeze at the sight of the last fae she expected.

Eris Vanserra.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she quickly masked it with a glare. “What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, crossing her arms. “How did you find me? How did you even know where I live, you psycho?”

Eris smirked, as usual, unfazed by her harsh words. “A prince has his ways,” he said with a wink, stepping closer to the door. “Wouldn’t want you to think you’re living in complete obscurity.”

She stepped back, disbelief crossing her face as she exhaled sharply. “You’re insane. I don’t know you. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“Let me in. I’m not here to waste your time,” he said, his voice more serious now, though still laced with a hint of amusement.

Y/N hesitated, a thousand questions racing through her mind, but she sighed and stepped aside, allowing him in. “Fine. Whatever. But this better be good.”

Eris walked into the modest home, his sharp eyes scanning the room with an almost calculating gaze. It was humble, far from what he was used to in the luxurious halls of the Autumn Court. Yet there was something about the quiet simplicity of the place that intrigued him.

He turned to Y/N, who stood in the doorway, her arms still crossed. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” she asked, her tone sharp, distrust obvious in her eyes.

He walked over to the small table, setting himself down with the confidence of someone who had always been in control. “I need you to marry me.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her brows furrowing. “What? Are you out of your mind?”

He leaned back, unfazed by her reaction. “Not quite. You see, I have a little problem. My father is—” he paused, his face hardening for a moment, “—insisting that I marry. He is Beron, high lord of Autumn. But there’s a catch. There’s always a catch. I can’t marry just anyone. I need someone specific.”

She blinked, confusion and suspicion creeping into her voice. “What do you mean ‘someone specific’? What does that even have to do with me?”

He shrugged, his smirk never wavering. “You, Y/N. You’re the perfect candidate. A marriage of convenience, one that benefits both of us. You see, my father insists that I marry someone with noble blood, someone who can stand by me and help me secure my place as heir. That's exactly why he sent me here as a last resort after I refused every female he threw at me. He wanted me to marry princess Leone."

Y/N looked at him like he’d just grown another head. “You’re insane. Why would I ever agree to something like that? What would I get out of this?”

Eris’s smile deepened. “Well, a lot more than you think. For one, I can offer you stability—security. I know you’re taking care of your mother, and I have resources at my disposal. I can help her.”

Y/N froze. The mention of her mother sent a shiver down her spine. Her mother’s health had been deteriorating slowly, a sickness that she couldn’t seem to shake, and it weighed heavily on her. “How do you know about my mother?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

Eris didn’t flinch. “I’ve been doing my research. I can help her get the care she needs, the treatment you can’t afford on your own. If you agree to this marriage, we can keep her healthy, and I can make sure she has everything she needs.”

Y/N’s heart beat faster, but she shook her head, not wanting to show how much the offer affected her. “I’m not a noble. I’m not a princess. Your father won’t accept me. He sent you here to marry our princess, not some nobody.”

Eris’s gaze turned thoughtful, and then, with a small, calculating smile, he said, “My father doesn’t know that. He’s never seen the princess from Montesere. He’s never seen the world beyond the seven courts. But you? You could pass as the princess’s sister. Or, we could say half sister. Perhaps a cousin or a distant relative would be acceptable as well.”

That struck a nerve. Y/N stared at him in disbelief. “You’re insane if you think this will work.”

Eris leaned forward slightly. “Not really. Even if he tries his best not to show it, the king of Montesere is in failing health. His daughter, Leona, has been taking control of the kingdom. She and I had a... disagreement, and she’s made it clear she’s not interested in marriage. But she can help us. Trust me, she has her own motive. She can make it look convincing that you’re the princess’s relative. What kind? you can choose that yourself."

Y/N felt the weight of his words, the possibility starting to form in her mind. But she shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. “But why me specifically? Why would you choose me over someone else?”

He took a breath, his eyes steady on her. “You have a certain... resilience. You’re not easily manipulated. And unlike the other female's I’ve met, you don’t fawn over me. That’s rare, you know.” He let out a soft laugh. “Plus, I'm pretty sure you’re smarter than most think.”

Y/N turned her gaze to the floor, trying to process everything. The situation felt so complex, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, not sure if she should jump or step back. She needed time to think.

“I don’t know,” she said, rubbing her temple, her mind a whirlwind. “I can’t just do this. You’re asking me to lie—to pretend to be someone I’m not. And-and marriage?!”

Eris stood and walked over to her, his expression softening just a fraction. “Trust me, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend. Just a little... adjustment, and we can both get what we want. You’ll have your mother’s care, and I’ll have the alliance I need. My father’s not going to let me out of this marriage arrangement. I need someone, and you’re the one who makes the most sense.”

Y/N looked up at him, her decision weighing heavily in her chest. She could almost feel the pull, the necessity of this arrangement, especially with her mother’s condition.

“If you don’t agree, nothing will change. But if you do... you’ll have the power to change everything,” he added, his tone insistent but strangely soft.

She took a deep breath, the weight of it all crashing down on her. "Fine," she said, reluctantly. "But this doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.”

Eris grinned. “I didn’t expect you to. But we’ll make it work.”

Later that evening, Eris leaned back in the plush chair of his room, a glass of amber liquid swirling lazily in his hand. The flickering firelight danced across his sharp features, his expression one of triumph.

He pulled out a crisp sheet of parchment, the Autumn Court insignia emblazoned at the top. Dipping his quill into the ink, he scrawled out a short, deliberate message:

Father, Your incessant nagging has finally borne fruit. The marriage is set. Expect us soon. -E.V.

A smirk curled his lips as he folded the letter, sealing it with wax. He held it up to the firelight for a brief moment, admiring his handiwork, before handing it to the waiting messenger at the door.

As the messenger disappeared into the night, Eris leaned back once more, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. “Got what you wanted, Father,” he muttered to the empty room. “Let’s see if you choke on it.”

The flames crackled louder, as if in agreement, while Eris’s mind began spinning the next steps of his plan. The game was far from over—it had only just begun.

And Eris….Eris would make sure his plan unfolded perfectly.

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

Taglist open!

[the-odd-shu]

No one is coming to save me (Silco x Reader)

Part 1 -> Next Part

Masterlist:

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Word Count: 8k

Summary: In Zaun, it’s kill or be killed. Take or be taken from. Get up or stay down and expect to die. But for some reason, the brothers working The Last Drop aren’t like the rest of the city, and you don’t understand why.

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

The bones of your knuckles jerked painfully when they collided hard with the Enforcer’s jaw. You heard and felt the hinge of his jaw joint crack and pop as the blow dislocated it. The man howled, hands dropping his gun to fly up to cradle his limply hanging mouth. 

He left his side open, so you took the opportunity and drove your knee up and into it. The breath punched from his lungs. His lower jaw swung up from the force of the blow and slammed his teeth deep into his tongue. Blood sprayed across the alley wall. 

He dropped to his knees, wheezing and groaning, beside his companions. Two more Enforcers, bleeding out from stab wounds, one with your knife still driven deep into his belly. Leaving it embedded there would give him more time to be saved. But your own world was also spinning too fast for you to stoop and tug it free. 

Across from you, Sevika finished up with her own Enforcer, and annoyingly looked to be in much better shape than you. That was probably because she did the whole fighting thing as a job, whilst you merely stumbled through poorly memorised moves in a desperate attempt to keep on breathing.

“You good over there, Runt?” She called, before spitting out a glob of red phlegm. 

You wrinkled your nose at her. “Fine.” You returned simply, refusing to admit that your stomach was killing you. The moment the last Enforcer had gone down, you’d wrapped your arm tightly across it, feeling the familiar burn of a stab wound shift under the pressure. The blade hadn’t been very long, so you were fairly certain you’d be fine anyway.

“Good.” Sevika continued, “I don’t want to waste time dragging you to a healer.” She glanced up and down the alley for effect. “This was fun, same time next week?” “Only if we meet somewhere warm where Enforcers won’t decide to take a swing at us.” You argued, to which she huffed a humourless laugh out of her nose.

Where Sevika revelled in violence, you preferred to avoid it where you could. Medical supplies were expensive, even on this side of the river after all; crappy as they were. 

“Noted. See you around, Runt.” She saluted you, before she turned sharply on her heel and began striding away. “Don’t linger.” She added over her shoulder, “when they don’t return home on time, more will come.” “I know!” You snapped back, but she was already gone.

Huffing out a tired breath, you turned to take the opposite exit out of the alleyway. Every step was agony, but you were of the stubborn sort. And dying here wasn’t an option. 

The streets passed by in a blur of green lights and quiet chatter once you slipped out of the alley. It was late enough that all but the red light district were beginning to close their storefronts for the night. 

You tried to straighten up once you entered your neighbourhood. Aware of the thugs that lurked around these parts. Any signs of injury or weakness, was a sure fire way to end up backed into a second alley to be shaken down of anything valuable. 

You were planning to return to your place, tucked above the sushi bar. To the quiet, one room apartment that housed your mattress on the floor and a small box of personal items. But then you caught a whiff of something delicious smelling wafting out of the ajar door of The Last Drop, and all thoughts of sleep and patching yourself up swiftly took a backseat. There was nothing more miserable than laying in bed, injured and hungry after all.

The establishment was quiet at this time of night, but no less welcoming. Vander just had that effect on people though. He was an oddity in Zaun. Kind, where most were brittle and suspicious. Warm, where he should be defensive and distant.

Despite hardly knowing you outside of a strict bartender and client relationship, he always welcomed you into his establishment regardless of the hour or the state you were in. It was almost guaranteed that he would offer up a warm bowl of leftovers from the kitchen, regardless of if you had coin on you or not. 

So yeah, Vander was an oddity down here on this side of the river, but he was also a god sent. 

Shouldering open the heavy door, the warmth of the quiet bar washed over you, like a tender hand pushing your hair back from your face. For one blissful moment, the pain of your stomach and throbbing knuckles ebbed away to make room for the quiet lul of ‘Our Love’ playing softly on the jukebox in the back, and the smell of something hearty and homey drifting through the air, with only a slight undertone of stale alcohol. 

Vander’s soothing voice called your name from behind the bar, a hand raised in greeting as if you wouldn’t see him amongst the empty tables and chairs and only two other people in the building. Backlit by the yellow overhead light, he looked genuinely happy to see you, which was also odd.

“About time you showed up,” Vander continued to speak in a cheerful tone, “I was beginning to think you’d finally curled up in an alley somewhere to die.” You snorted, the sound obnoxious and loud against the soft melody of the music. Oh how close he was to being right. 

“You wish.” You returned good naturedly. Arm still wrapped tightly over your bleeding stomach, you strode towards the bar.

Silco had his back to you as he scribbled in one of his notebooks, a sweating glass spreading condensation on the countertop before him. Whilst Felicia turned on her elbow to grin at you over her shoulder, her purple braid sliding off of her shoulder to hang down her back.

The sparkle in her eye had your hackles raising as they often did around her. She was a playful spirit, eager to poke and prod the bear to see how far she could push it before it snapped. It was unfortunate that more often than not you were the bear in almost every scenario. 

“Oh great, your stray cat decided to wander home for dinner, Vander.” She mused, tone light and jolly despite her choice of words. “I hope you’ve got something left over.”

You felt your expression tighten ever so subtly at the light jab.  “Fuck you, Felicia.” You ground out with no real bite. A reflexive greeting at this point.

Her grin only grew, eyes practically lighting up with mirth. 

“But you are kind of like a cat, aren’t you? Mangy little thing like you. Always getting into fights and hiding in dark corners. Sweet on one person in particular, or the guy offering you food.” 

Okay, ouch, that was slightly sharper than usual. 

And to top it off, Vander was merely watching the pair of you interact instead of playing referee like he usually would. Whereas Silco hadn’t even looked up from his notebook, his pencil still scratching away at whatever he was working on.

You fixed Felicia with an unimpressed glare, “you’re in a pleasant mood this evening? Something unpleasant crawl up your ass by any chance?” 

With great care, you pulled the stool beside her out from under the counter, and clambered up onto it. The movement pulled at the split skin of your stomach and made the wound ooze, but you’d wandered around with worse in the past. This wasn’t the kind of injury that would knock you out any time soon, it was bleeding too sluggishly, and so long as you didn’t do anything stupid like running, it would keep until you trundled home with a full belly. 

Felicia wrinkled her nose as you sat, eyes tracking your careful movements, but she did not comment. Stood behind her own stool, twirling the straw of a cup of orange juice, she suddenly broke eye contact. 

Her previous bravado spluttered out as she absently muttered under her breath, “oh nothing. I just found out I’m pregnant is all.”

Your eyes promptly bugged out of your head at the casual admission. Any thoughts of wounds, and food promptly took a backseat, as you spun your stool to study your friend, and only then did you see the slant of her shoulders, the bravado that was just a touch too strong to be real. “Oh shit-!” you blurted out, before the words promptly failed you. Scrambling for support, your eyes jumped across the bar, only to find that Vander had suddenly vanished into the back, and then to Silco at the other end of the counter, who was calmly sipping at his drink, expression carefully blank. Something about his calmness struck a nerve in you. 

“You knew!?” You accused sharply, and his eyes widened in shock at suddenly being addressed.

He recovered quickly. “Oh don’t play up the wounded party, she told us just moments before you stumbled in the door.” He dropped his gaze, and began to stare at his notebook again. He didn’t pick up his pencil again, nor did he really begin reading over his notes. His eyes were stuck at one point on the page, instead of tracking along the lines of messy handwriting. Guilty. The actions read, and you felt yourself frown.

Felicia was back to grinning when you snapped your head back to her. “How far along are you?” You blurted. You didn’t know anything about kids, and had never been around a pregnant person before. Didn’t she need to sit down? Were pregnant people allowed to drink juice? Why wasn’t anyone freaking out?

Felicia snorted outright at your expression then, the sound helping to ground you. 

“A couple of weeks, I think.” She said simply, “I was late this month, and low and behold, this is why.” “Okay.” You said, and then blurted, like an idiot. “Are we keeping it?”

Felicia’s grin morphed into something gleeful and predatory. “We?” She parrotted back. 

You backtracked like your life depended on it. “You!” You corrected, desperately schooling your expression into something smooth and calm - you knew you were failing. “Are you planning to keep it?” Felicia’s smile did not change. “Don’t just dart away from that misstep,” she teased, “you do consider yourself our friend after all!”

It was an old argument. One where you stubbornly refused to admit that the trio had grown on you during your evenings spent here in their presence, and one that Felicia reveled in trying to prove you wrong with your own actions.

Like the time Vander cut his arm open on a broken bottle, and you’d stupidly turned up to the bar an hour later with a freshly stolen bottle of disinfectant from across the bridge. The good kind. The one that would’ve cost anyone their month’s salary to obtain.

Or the time, Felicia had fallen ill for several days, and you’d turned up to her door to ensure she hadn’t keeled over and died. To which she had mocked you viciously, between bouts of coughing under her partner’s exasperated gaze. 

She was grinning even now as you disregarded her claim, and scrambled for an excuse. “I’m asking because I linger around this place too. And if I’m going to continue to exist in this place nine months from now, I have the right to know if little goblins are going to begin popping out of the woodwork.”

Silco huffed into his drink, but neither of you acknowledged him. Felicia only met your gaze with open fondness in her expression.

“Yes, I think I am keeping her.” She said absently, “though I haven’t told Connol yet.” “Ah.” “Yeah.” The silence that momentarily sizzled between you was heavy. “Do you need some to go with you when you tell him?” You offered, like a dumbass. Stupidly showing your hand to her for the second time in one night.

To your surprise, the offer wasn’t met with amusement or ribbing. Felicia’s smile was suddenly small and genuine. “No, I’ll be okay.” She said simply. 

And you nodded, because she would be. She had chosen a good man after all. Connol wouldn’t blow up about something like this. He was the quiet kind. And you knew he genuinely loved Felicia, simply from observing how the pair existed in each other's presence. No, she would be absolutely fine, you knew.

“Okay,” you relented easily, before adding, “but if you need someone to smack him upside the head, you know where to find me.” She shook her head at that. “Uh, no, I don’t actually, because no one can ever pin you down, unless you’re here. And even then, your visits are too infrequent and far between, for me to predict when you’ll actually show up.” It was your turn to grin then. “How else do you think I’ve survived this long?” Vander chose then to duck out of the kitchen, a bowl of something steaming in one hand and a spoon in the other. “I’d like to think my hospitality and good cooking has helped you a little.” He joked, setting the bowl down before you with little flourish.

He must have seen the hunger in your gaze, because he didn’t even make you ask for it or to use your manners tonight. With little fanfare, he pushed the bowl towards you, set the spoon down, and then slid a napkin over.

You thanked him regardless, and eagerly dove in. The soup was warm as it went down, thick and flavourful, with carrot chunks breaking up the thick texture every now and again. The soothed the gnawing of your gut, and the warmth eased some of the pain of your muscles. 

You were still bleeding sluggishly, but it didn’t hurt as bad as it had. 

Vaguely, you could hear the other three falling back into easy conversation. They’d spent enough time in one another's company for it to be familiar. Between working elbow to elbow in the mines, and wasting their evenings away in the bar, you couldn’t exactly blame them. 

Even Silco spoke up every now and again. Chipping in when the conversation lulled to jab playfully at Vander, or correct one of Felicia’s teasing remarks to make it land even a touch more effectively. They had a weird dynamic from an outside perspective, but after being slowly but gradually absorbed into their bubble over the past few months, you could see now how beautifully they worked together.

It kind of made you wonder where you fit into the jigsaw puzzle sometimes. You certainly weren’t around enough to be a reliable friend, which definitely played into Felicia’s stray cat analogy. But when you did turn up, sometimes after days or a week of no contact, they welcomed you back as if you’d never left. As if you just fit. 

They were strange people really. And perhaps that was what had initially intrigued you enough to stick around in the beginning. 

Your spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, and you realised with a start that you had already eaten all of it. Gods did Vander make a mean soup, you would’ve gladly eaten another two bowls of it without complaint.

Setting your spoon down in the bowl, you quietly pushed both away, before dabbing at your mouth with the napkin. That too was deposited into the waiting bowl. 

The warmth of the food and the calm of the atmosphere was definitely getting to you now. The soothing melody of ‘Our Love’ had trailed off somewhere during your conversation with Felicia, and had morphed into another slow, jazzy number. The combination of the music, the warmth, and the safety of having people you trusted only an arms breadth away, had your eyes dropping and your head slowly but surely dipping lower and lower towards the counter.

The other three were too engrossed in their conversation to pay much mind to you, which worked in your favour. Resting your arm on the counter, you allowed yourself to slowly slump forward, pressing your forehead down into your forearm as a makeshift pillow. Eyes slipping closed, you spared half a thought to tighten your other arm around your belly in a futile attempt to keep more of your blood inside. The pressure from your curled up position should stem the bleeding long enough for you to have a quick power nap, and then you could slip out to patch yourself up and have a proper, long sleep. 

It was just too nice of an atmosphere to leave now. 

Your eyelids slipped closed. You heard your bowl being taken away, heard glasses clink and the trio lower their voices even more. How considerate.

“Silco, give me your jacket.” “Why my jacket? Use your jacket?” A beat of silence.

“Do you see my jacket lying around anywhere?”

Quiet grumbling.

Soft footsteps, the rustling of fabric. 

The sound of a boot stepping into a puddle. 

The quiet conversation in the background abruptly cut off. 

“Did someone spill their beer there earlier?” Vander’s voice filtered in amongst the fuzz of sleep. More rustling, the whisper of a washcloth being picked up.

The sound of boots squelching once more as their owner’s weight shifted. A voice close to your side. “Vander, you didn’t have any orders for cranberry juice tonight, did you?” “Course not. You know we’re waiting for the next shipment.” Movement. Skin-warmed leather being placed carefully over your shoulders. Someone crouching down by the foot of your stool.

“It’s blood.” Silco’s voice was weirdly blank. 

“Shouldn’t be. There were no fights tonight.” Felicia spoke up. 

More silence. And it was so quiet, that you actually heard the sound of a heavy bead of liquid dripping into an existing puddle. 

The arm cinched around your waist was numb from the pressure of having your torso curled tightly over it. 

“Shit.” Silco swore, voice weirdly weak and breathless. And then hands were on your shoulders, trying to rouse you. You groaned as the movement jolted your stomach, and threatened to pull you out of your pleasant drifting state.

“-fuck off…” you tiredly grumbled, shoving your face further into the warmth and pleasant darkness of your forearm.

“Silco.” Vander began to reprimand, “don’t wake them, I’ll clean it up later-”

“It’s their blood, Vander. They’re bleeding.” Silco sharply returned, and then his shaking became more insistent. You grumbled louder. He didn’t let up. And then there was a larger hand gently tapping your fingers splayed on the counter. A presence right in front of you. Boxing you in.

Awareness slammed back into you, and you shot upright, hands shooting out to scramble at the bar counter, when you almost launched yourself completely off of your stool. Vander, who had been standing across from you, startled backwards, whilst Silco suddenly appeared at your elbow to steady you. The latter’s hands were slim but firm on your bicep, his jacket sliding off of your shoulders and thudding heavily to the floor.

Felicia hovered on the verge of your vision. Horror painted plainly on her expression as she stared at the counter. Blinking awareness back into your vision, you followed her gaze to find bruising knuckles, and your bloodied hand leaving smears across the freshly cleaned wood. Your sleeve was entirely soaked through with scarlet, <i>so much</i> scarlet, that it had dripped downwards with gravity to drip off your fingertips. 

“Shit. Fuck.” You blurted, yanking the hand off the wood to try and stem the mess it was making, only for the evidence of its presence to be plainly left behind. “Sorry, I didn’t think I was bleeding that bad.” You sheepishly chuckled, voice strained and stomach throbbing.

Silco’s hand was still wrapped around your bicep, and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to let go as you glanced down to the floor to see a small puddle of blood at the foot of your stool too. Shit, that was embarrassing. What a mess.

The adrenaline of such an abrupt wake up had completely banished all thoughts of rest and sleep from your face, as you turned back to Vander and very evenly asked for the mop. He stared back at you as if you were an enigma, instead of a patron willingly asking for the tools to clean up their own mess. Honestly, what kind of establishment was he even running here? If you had bled all over the counter at the pub down the road, the owner would be using your face to clean up the spill. 

“You’re still fucking bleeding, you idiot!” Felicia barked, promptly shattering whatever weird tension had kept everyone rooted to the spot. 

Her sharp tone had your hackles rising like usual. Your eyebrows drew tightly together, as you snapped your attention to her, as she pushed off of the counter and hurriedly rounded the end to stoop for the cupboard Vander kept the first aid kit in - when had you hung around so often that you seemed to just know that anyway?

“Well, I’m sorry.” You snapped back, “if I had known it was this much, I would’ve left right after finishing the food instead of nodding off.” Reeling back in the bite in your tone, you very seriously turned back to Vander, who was staring at you in disbelief. “Sorry again about all this,” you motioned to the blood everywhere with your less bloody hand, “I’ll clean it up before I go, I swear.”

Your words finally snapped Vander out of his stupor. “I’m not mad about the mess.” He said evenly. 

Your brows furrowed. “You’re-, not?”

“No.” He said evenly. “But I am royally pissed that you didn’t mention you were injured beforehand.” Your expression shuttered at that. “Because it’s none of your business.” Silco sucked in a breath at that. As if you’d said something wrong. 

Vander’s expression mirrored your assumption. His brows drawing together, and his arms beginning to cross, as if he was standing firm. “Under my roof,” he began, tone reminiscent of a dad lecturing his unruly child, “your welfare is my business.”

You squinted back at him. “You’re so fucking strange sometimes.” You mumbled.

Vander just shook his head and motioned to Silco. And like clockwork, the pair worked in unison to hoist you off of your bar stool and onto the counter. You yelped at the change of position, at the ease in which Vander lifted you, and the careful way Silco offered back up support. 

“I could’ve done it!” You protested, feeling like a reprimanded child now that you were sat on the lip of the counter, legs hanging over the edge.

“Best not to move you too much.” Vander replied evenly, “don’t want anything tearing because you can’t swallow your pride.” You glared down at him, as Felicia returned with the first aid kit, her own expression stern as she came to stand on the side of the bar Vander was on.

Behind you, you heard Silco redirecting his attention to his fallen jacket, whilst the duo before you levelled you with a look that had every instinct within you wanting to shrivel up and hide.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Felicia snapped, her expression screaming ‘I’m mad at you’.

“Like what?” You bit back.

“Like you’re going to bolt.” 

You raised your eyebrows challengingly, but Vander set his heavy hand on your knee before you could so much as shift. “Ignore her, she’s just worried.” He soothed, his deep voice level and stern. “Now, show me where you’re bleeding.”

It wasn’t a request. 

Expression set into a scowl, you carefully pulled your jacket open, to display the blood stain gradually spreading across the front of your threadbare shirt. Huh, that was a lot more blood than you’d been expecting. Earlier, it had only been a line of red, and now most of your stomach was sticky from the shirt clinging to your wet skin. 

Felicia sucked in a sharp breath. Vander’s expression didn’t change. 

Shrugging off the jacket entirely, you pulled the shirt up next, and let that flop down with a wet splat on the counter beside you. It was just warm enough in the bar for your skin to not break out in goosebumps from the cold. Although you did feel very uncomfortable, being examined by the bartender and a mouthy woman you might decide to call your friend one day, with a third potential friend lingering behind you somewhere.

Behind you, you could hear Silco puttering around the place. Could hear him stride up to the front door of the establishment and flick the lock, before tugging down the blinds. 

Your attention was wrestled back to the present when Felicia promptly took the reins. It quickly became apparent that she had more medical knowledge between her and Vander as she began examining and then cleaning your stab wound. Leaning back on your hands to give her more space, you glared up at the ceiling as she worked and Vander assisted her.

The ghost of fingertips on your skin was an odd sensation. It wasn’t violent, or predatory, or unkind, but nor was it soothing or nice. It just felt odd. Unless you were in a fight or stuck in the middle of a crowd, you weren’t touched a lot and certainly not like you were something worth being careful with.

“What happened?” Vander spoke up suddenly, snapping you back to the moment at hand. And unfortunately, drawing your attention to the feeling of a needle dipping into and out of your skin. Your teeth ground together at the pinching sensation, but it was by no means the worse pain you've dealt with tonight. 

Resolutely glaring at the ceiling, you kept your response short. “Ran into some blue bellies.” “Oh.” Vander prompted, encouraging you to elaborate.

“I was with Sevika. They wrongly thought we were the right people to fuck with.” The words came out easily, but felt weird being spoken in the setting of the bar. You didn’t talk about yourself here. You rarely mentioned friends or colleagues to these people. Hardly spoke about yourself at all really, besides the fact that you liked Vander’s cooking and loved to have verbal spars with Felicia regardless of how tired you were.

Vander sighed. “You know this will have repercussions right-?” “What did you want me to do?” You snapped back, fixing him with a venomous glare. “Let them threaten me with my own knife, whilst I sat still and looked pretty?” “Of course not-” Vander tried to soothe, only for Silco to reappear out of seemingly nowhere.

He had his jacket back on now, as he strode in from the door that led to the apartment at the back of the establishment. He had a pile of clothes in hand, which he carefully set down on a part of the counter not covered in blood.

“Did you kill them all?” He asked seriously, something sharp entering his voice. If you were delusional, or had lost a little more blood, you might have mistaken the hatred in his tone for protectiveness or concern. But of course you didn’t, because why would anyone feel protective of you? 

You tried to imagine it. Someone like Silco, who was lean and easily snappable, going up against armed and trained enforcers in your defence. It was a comical image.

Instead of dwelling on the thought, you allowed your expression to split into a dangerous grin. “None of them will be leaving that alley in a hurry if they did survive.” Silco nodded once. “Good.” He said, sounding like he meant it. With a final tug of the medical thread and a smooth snip of scissors, Felicia took a step back to examine your neatly stitched up wound. “That should hold if you’re careful.” “Thank you.” You returned easily, “just give me a few days, and I can replace the thread-” “No need.” Vander was quick to reassure. “That’s what it’s there for.” You frowned. “I don’t recall reading on the door, that stitching up patrons is one of your house policies?” “Maybe not, but it’s <i>my</i> policy.” Vander said reasonably, “just like I’m going to insist you change into these,” he pushed the clothes towards you, “and stay the night.” You outright snorted then. “Yeah, no, that’s how people end up dead.”

Vander, like the good man he was, did not take offence to what you were implying. “Somehow, I feel like you’ll be safer staying here for the night, than going back out there like this.” He reasoned sensibly. “You’ll have access to food, and pain medication, and I’ll even upgrade you to the bedroom with the lockable door.” “Oh how generous.” You drooled back. 

“He’s not joking, you know.” Silco spoke up once more from behind you. You glanced back to find he had picked up his notebook and pencil, with the latter now tucked behind his ear. “Until that wound scabs over, you’re not going anywhere.” You scoffed. “You can’t keep me here.” “No.” Silco agreed, “but he’s the kind of man to send people out to keep tabs on you if you do disappear.” You turned back to Vander, expression searching. Unapologetically, he shrugged. “Can’t help that I care about my friends.” He said by way of explanation. 

You liked to pretend it was against your will that you did in fact stay the night. You liked to think that you bargained and bitched enough to almost make them relent, but in reality, you were exhausted. The clothes you changed into were a little big on you, but they were warm and clean. And it turned out that the room you were shown to did in fact have a lock on the back, and a comfortable bed.

It had to be one of their rooms, but you were too tired to pick out any personal effects. If anything, you were more amazed that the little room had a window with <i>closable</i> blinds, rather than who it belonged to. 

>_<

You knew there was a good reason why you never told Vander who you spent your days with when you weren’t free loading off of his business. You knew it was smarter not to mention anyone outside of the bar. It was a shame you hadn’t stuck to your gut whilst bleeding out that one night.

Sevika’s name had slipped out by accident. And had been such a fleeting moment, you’d assumed he hadn’t really clocked it. Let alone recognise it. But no, you just had to fall in with the nosy sort. And even better, the nosy sort with connections.

Otherwise you wouldn’t be in this situation, having just finished a job with Sevika, knuckles freshly bloodied, and your breath sawing in and out of you, only for your comrade to abruptly turn to you and ask how you knew Vander.

Your heart had just about dropped out of your ass.

“Why are you asking?”

“Because he was asking around for you.” She said simply, as if two worlds had not just collided. As if you hadn’t just had the sickening realisation that somehow Sevika and Vander KNEW each other. Or at least orbited similar enough social circles for their paths to cross.

You had to work very hard to keep your expression neutral as your mind raced and tripped over itself, trying to figure out why Vander would be looking for you of all people. 

You hadn’t done anything different. You hadn’t stepped on toes in his area of the neighbourhood. Not to mention, your injury had been weeks ago, the wound neatly scarring. He and Felicia had stopped asking after it a week or so ago. There was no reason for him to be asking after you. 

“Did he mention why he was looking for me?” You asked super calmly. 

Sevika shook her head. “No, just asked for me to send you his way if I came across you.”

“Okay, that’s weird.” You said, more to yourself than Sevika, who hummed in agreement.

“Very.” Sevika agreed, and then she turned serious “But a word to the wise, don’t keep him waiting if you know what’s good for you. Vander may act like a docile little teddy bear, but he’s still got claws.”

And just like that, you were presented with a glimpse of how the rest of the Undercity viewed Vander. Of his reputation of being that dangerous, over protective kind of guy. The kind of guy that had the Enforcers steering clear of his bar and the streets that coiled around it. It matched up well with the image you’d had of him before you’d gotten to know him.

“Well then, we done here?” You prompted, suddenly anxious to get to the bar and tell Vander to stop spreading your name around. That’s how people get noticed. That’s how people end up with targets on their back.

Sevika made a show of counting out the bills in her hand stolen from some Enforcer’s pocket. It had been a quiet day out in the furthest reaches of the Lanes, fucking with Enforcer patrols to make money and occupy yourselves. 

“Yeah, just about.” She agreed, before cleanly splitting the money in two and shoving half of the wad towards you.

“What? Not going to deal me out of a few notes? Take a personal bonus again?” You ribbed before smartly taking the offered cash and promptly tucking it into one of the inner pockets of your jacket. 

She snorted. “No. You did good today, Runt.” Was all she said, before pocketing her own cash, and leaving with a quick ruffle of your hair. 

You watched her go with a fond wrinkle of your nose. What a strange woman. Yet another oddity living amongst the Lanes of Zaun, but could you really be surprised at this point? It almost felt like you were becoming a magnet for the kinder folks of the city. Odd.

Money safely tucked out of sight, you stuffed your hand into your pockets and headed for the heart of the city, towards the glowing, green sign of The Last Drop. It was perhaps an hour or two before the establishment opened for the night in preparation for the miners who would be crawling out of their work sites, and the more criminal side of the city beginning to awaken.

The door was unlocked when you pushed on it, so you let yourself in.

As it often was at this time of afternoon, the bar within was practically deserted. The tables neatly wiped down, condiments lined up in uniform formation, chairs tucked under tables, the carpet recently cleaned. 

A lone figure stood behind the bar, polishing glasses, his back to the door and you, but you knew he’d heard the door open regardless.

“I heard you’re looking for me.” You called, as you strode confidently up to the counter.

Vander turned smoothly on his heel, a grin already tugging at his lip. His five o’clock shadow was beginning to darken his jawline already, which was strange, considering he openly hated the feeling of the tiny bristles beginning to poke through. “Ah good, you’re here.” “That I am.” You agreed, before pulling out a stool and smoothly dropping into it. It was the same one you usually took, thankfully without the blood splatter today. “Although, I wasn’t expecting to be called to heel like some common dog, want to tell me what that was about?”

At the very least, he had the decency to look guilty. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t know how else to get ahold of you.”

Okay, fair enough. You could give him that. You were a difficult individual to pin down after all. “It’s fine, just don’t make it a habit.” You warned. “But it must have been serious, if you felt the need to invite me in instead of allowing me to make my way over on my own time.”

He shook his head at your theatrics. Then seemed to collect himself. Turning fully towards you, he set down his cleaned glass, tossed his rag over his shoulder, and fixed you with a very serious look that had you instinctively straining in your chair. “Look, you know I love our little social calls, but today I need a favour.”

Oh. 

You weren’t entirely sure why that struck a chord in you, but you made sure to cover it up regardless. So today wasn’t going to be fun, that was fine. If Vander finally wanted to make your presence in his establishment useful, who were you to push back.

“I see,” you said evenly, sitting back against the small backrest of the stool before crossing your arms. You tucked the sour feeling in your chest behind an amused smirk. “Oh, please do tell. What exactly could the Hound of the Underground, the Beastly Bartender of The Last Drop, need from little old me.”

Vander huffed quietly and shook his head at you. He stood on his own two feet behind the bar, and yet he still seemed to tower over you. “You’ve done your research.” He commented evenly.

You tipped your head to the side and shrugged noncommittally. “Eh, it’s hard to ignore whispers when they’re directly hissed into your ear.” You dismissed easily, before purposefully catching his gaze. “But seriously, what is it?” Vander huffed again, this time more heavily. More tiredly. He seemed to gather himself. “It’s about Silco.”

Your breath stuttered on its way into your nose. You felt yourself freeze up as your mind violently thrust you into horrifying scenarios of all the ways said man could have horrendously died in the short time since you’d last seen him.

“Is he okay?” You asked carefully, not entirely sure if you managed to keep all of the panic out of your voice. 

Vander’s own expression blanched as he no doubt understood how his phrase had come across. “Yes. Yes! He’s fine! More or less.” He was quick to reassure, almost with a frantic urgency. You found your breath came a little easier with the admission. “A little roughed up from a mine collapsing on us, but he’s okay. I just need someone to watch him.”

You blinked at him.

Vander winced back at you.

You unfolded your arms so that you could rub harshly at the bridge of your nose with a forefinger and thumb. “Vander. Did you cause ripples across town, to get me to come here and babysit your brother?”

Vander smiled shakily. “Uh, friend actually. We’re not blood related.”

“You’re practically family. Even a blind man could see it.” You deadpanned, “now answer my fucking question.” “Yes, okay? Yes. And look, I <i>know</i> he can be a handful, but that’s why I need your help. I need to work the bar tonight, so I can’t be out back to make sure he’s okay. I’ve already tried to bring in Felicia, but she’s given up on him. He’s mean when he’s in pain, and with her pregnancy symptoms she has no patience to spare for him.”

It’s almost laughable how in character that sounded for Silco. 

“Just for tonight?” You checked, and Vander nodded. The crease between his eyebrows had already begun to loosen, as if he already knew your answer. But he didn’t know you that well. Did he?

You pretended to weigh the pros and cons for a few seconds more. Pulling a contemplating and then thoughtful face at random intervals to make Vander snort. To help ease some of the tension out of his shoulders.

Finally, you leant back on your stool once more, and in a very business-like tone you said, “fine, but on one condition.”

Vander played along. With a look of equal intrigue, he leaned on his elbows on the other side of the counter, his head tilting. “I’m listening,” he purred, before adding as an afterthought, “so long as it’s within reason of course.”

You tapped your chin. Once, twice, and then blurted, “I want unmonitored access to the kitchen. Any delicacy you’ve cooked up, I deserve to taste-test it. Understood?”

He almost looked surprised by your ask. As if he had been expecting you to demand something more valuable or difficult to part with. Then a sadder note entered his eyes, and you felt pinned in place. His voice was gentle when he quietly said, “you know you don’t need an excuse for me to feed you right? If you’re hungry, you don’t have to bargain for food, it’s the least I can do.” “Maybe,” you countered, trying to smoothly wipe that expression off his face. Vander’s soft concern should not be aimed at you at all. Not only do you not need it, but you don’t feel like you really deserve it. “But food willingly given, doesn’t taste as good as when it’s stolen.” He sighed tiredly. And straightened up, until he was looking down at you once again. His expression clearly said, ‘I don’t understand you, even though I’m trying to’ but he smartly kept any thoughts like that to himself. 

“This way then, little thief.” He mused, before turning on his heel to emerge from behind the counter and lead you to one of the side doors that would give you access to the private part of the building.

The little nickname sent a pang through you. Not only was it a little too close to your actual job, but it sounded weirdly fond when Vander said it like that. Shoving all those confusing feelings promptly into a mental box, you pushed back your stool and followed. 

Vander led you through the doorway and down a staircase to a set of doors on the level below. One you immediately recognised as the door to the bedroom you’d spent the night in. Whereas the others were unfamiliar. 

With confidence, Vander led the way down the hall to one of the end rooms, which opened out into a living room that sat at the foot of a second set of stairs.

The room was on the smaller side, with enough space for a couple of couches, a coffee table and a chest of drawers. A ratty brown rug covered up the cold flagstones under the foot of the coffee table and stretched out towards both couches. 

A small fire burned low in the grate at the far end of the room, whilst a figure shrouded in a red blanket sat curled up on the couch closest to the flames. Silco sat back against the arm of the chair with his notebook spread out over his knees, and his left hand was strapped up against his chest. His long, black hair was loose around his shoulders, casting his face in shadows, and yet making his blue eyes glow in the low light.

“Ah Vander, it seems you’ve tracked down a fresh nurse for me to torture.” “You’re in a better mood than when I walked Felicia out.” Vander countered.

The blanketed man on the couch merely grinned in response, and motioned with his pencil at the glass of water and non-descript pill bottle on the coffee table by his feet. “They finally decided to kick in.” “Good.” Vander said, and with a searching look over his younger brother, he turned to you, and began listing rapid fire care instruction. “He needs another round of those pills in two hours. You can get water from behind the bar, and I’ll have dinner ready at eight.” “Noted.” You easily agreed.

“Oh, and if he starts giving you a hard time, just ignore him. He’s a glut for attention.” With that last parting nugget of wisdom, Vander patted your shoulder in camaraderie before turning for the stairs.

Silco glared at his back. “Don’t be giving away all my secrets now.” He drawled like a drama queen, to which Vander took his own advice and ignored him. The click of the door closing behind him settled a stiff tension on the little living room.

You shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, suddenly unsure of yourself. You were used to existing on the edge of social groups, and had only ever been alone with Vander, and in pairs with the others of the trio. To suddenly be all alone with Silco, was embarrassingly daunting. 

The man in question, chose then to sigh obnoxiously, and look up from the notebook he was scribbling in. “Are you just going to stand there all evening?” He demanded.

You made a show of looking around at the empty couches, then threw your hands up as you scrambled for a response. “Do you need anything?” You asked, like an idiot. Of course he didn’t need anything. His medication had just kicked in. Silco did not look impressed. “No.” He said flatly. You nodded, “fine,” before turning and perching your ass on the very edge of the opposite sofa, as far from the fire and Silco as physically possible without sitting on the floor or crawling back up the stairs. You had come down here expecting a mouthy, feverish asshole, not a quiet, bitchy Silco. 

Gradually, the sound of pencil scraping across paper and the occasional pop and fizz of the fire allowed your muscles to relax. You found yourself sitting more comfortably on the couch, and taking out one of your knives to sharpen. It was a pretty little thing, with a wickedly sharp blade the length of your forefinger, and a smooth wooden handle, wrapped in medical tape for a stronger grip.

The grinding of the welt stone down the blade didn’t seem to upset Silco, so you kept at it. Sharpening both sides of the blade, before tucking it away in the sheath tucked in the back of your boot, and pulling out its twin to repeat the process. Then when that was done to a satisfying degree, you sat back and pulled your spare out of your overcoat’s inner pocket. 

That finally seemed to get a reaction out of your companion.

“How many of those could one person possibly need?” “More than I have.” You replied without looking up from your task. “There’s nothing worse than being elbow deep in a fight, ready to deal the finishing blow, only to realise you left one knife in the first fucker you stabbed, lost the next down a storm drain, and the last got smacked into the shadows.” Silco scoffed quietly. “True story by any chance.” “Embarrassingly true.” You agreed gravely, chancing a glance up at him through your lashes.

He sat more comfortably on his cushion on the opposite couch. Body lounging in a loose sprawl, rather than the uptight posture from before. His notebook had vacated to one knee instead of resting on both, whilst his pencil had been tucked behind his ear again. Had he been watching you?

Feeling caught, you flicked your gaze back down to your hands and finished sharpening your last knife. You could feel his eyes on you now, studying the way you held both knife hilt and whetstone.  

The silence had somehow morphed into something comfortable now. 

Enough for you to notice another sound entering the atmosphere. Silco’s quiet grumbling as he pushed at his loosely, sprawling hair. It was longer than you were expecting. Coming down to mid-bicep from what you could tell. 

“Need a hair tie?”

Silco paused in his irritated fussing, to glare at you. Then he pointedly glanced down to his strapped up arm. “Why yes, I would love for you to find amusement as I struggle to fix my hair one-handed! What a doll you are? Thank you for suggesting such torture!” He bitched.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay okay, you big baby.” You mused, allowing the barb to fall short. 

Sliding your knife and whetstone away, you rose from your seat with a groan.

Silco watched you with blatant mistrust in his expression, his body subconsciously leaning back into the couch backrest, away from you. 

Ignoring how he shrunk away, you exuded confidence as you strode towards the fireplace and rounded the back of his couch.

“Hairband?” “What are you doing?” He demanded, turning in place to glare up at you. His hair falling across his shoulders like a sweeping black cloak. 

“I’m going to braid it back for you.” You said simply. “Then it’ll be out of your way, and you won’t have to keep redoing it.” Silco’s scepticism seemed to lose its steam. The knot between his brows began to loosen as he relaxed at the explanation. “Oh.” He said lamely. 

You brushed him off by making a grabbing motion. “Hairband?” 

Jerkily, he held up his good hand to you, where his sleeve slid back up his arm to reveal two worn leather hair bands. You slid one off his wrist and slid it over your own hand.

“Great. Now just sit still and do whatever you usually do.”

At first, he was stubbornly still under your touch. Barely breathing. Barely moving. As if he was expecting a knife to the back and had to be prepared to to deflect a blow at any movement. 

When you proceeded not to try and kill him, or cut off his hair out of spite, he slowly began to unwind. 

His long fringe was lengthy enough for you to scrape it back from his face with the rest of his hair, where you neatly separated everything into three even strands, before beginning the braid low on the back of his head. You kept the loops slack so as not to give him a headache, and allow him to sleep on it later.

Silco visibly relaxed under the attention. His head tipped down towards his notebook, his pencil back in hand even though he wasn’t writing anything.

You got so lost in the task at hand, that you didn’t even register the heavenly smell of Vander’s cooking, until the man in question appeared on the other side of the coffee table, carrying two plates of steaming food. Your hands momentarily stalled in their weaving at the sight of beautifully seared meat, what looked like potatoes and some other root vegetable. Just the smell alone was enough to make your mouth begin to water. 

Vander set both plates on the table, before straightening up with his hands planted on his hips. “Well, that was fast.” He commented cheerfully, a shit-eating grin splitting his face.

Silco huffed. “What was fast?” Silco parroted, attempting to turn his head, only for you to pause braiding to firmly steer his attention forward once more.

“You’re going to fuck it up by moving.” You complained under your breath, to which he sighed again but stayed put. 

Vander’s grin somehow grew even wider. “Well for starters, this morning, you were snapping and spitting at Felicia, and now I walk in on you getting your hair braided.” “It was being inconvenient,” Silco eloquently corrected. 

Vander just shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this happening.” He lamented to himself. 

Silco bristled. “What? What are you on about?” 

“Come on-” You cut in before Vander could get him any more riled up. “Can you tease him after I’m done?” 

Silco seemed to preen, whilst Vander obediently shut his mouth on his bubbling comment. 

Taking it in stride, you confidently added, “you’re just jealous that your hair is too short for braids, Vander.” “Yes, that is exactly it.” The older man agreed sarcastically. Before he fixed Silco with a knowing look, which he promptly glared down. You pretended not to notice as you finally ran out of hair and began to neatly tie the braid off at the tail.

>_<

You stopped by the bar the following day to check up on the brothers, and was pleasantly surprised to find Silco in the main room, with his hair still braided up, whilst Felicia stood beside him and merrily declared them hair twins. 

You tried not to grin too obviously as you strode forward to join in on the conversation.

Part 1 -> Next Part

Masterlist:

[illwilledomen]

I recently became VERY interested in your Minecraft stuff, and I'd like to ask a question... In one of drawings, an illager tells Steve that "We can cheat death too," does this imply that the players CAN actually respawn just like how we can in Minecraft and if they can respawn how does it work?? And how do the villagers react to Steve just respawning?

Yes, they can!

Since you’ve been looking through my stuff you probably already know that players in Abiogenesis are constructs. While I sometimes call them robots, they are technically more like golems and whatnot, which are powered by magic, except far more advanced. The little metal port above a player’s heart is their soul core, and that is, you guessed it, where their soul lives, and what gives them life and sapience. Players can regenerate flesh on their body that has been lost or sustained damage in an injury. If the damage is so severe (or done to a specific vulnerable area like the neck or stomach, aka something that would be fatal) the player “dies” temporarily so it’s body can devote all it’s energy into repairing itself.

How does this work?

Well, their soul core sends the soul into stasis. It is temporarily phased out of the corporeal realm. In the Abiogenesis/Minecraft world, when anything living dies, its soul phases into a non-corporeal dimension called the Otherside and releases magical energy in the form of Experience. This occurs with players, however, what allows them to return is the fact the soul does not travel onward. It is tethered to the port, and only temporarily stays in the O.S. Eventually, once the body is fit to return to, the soul makes its way back into the port, and the player is alive again. These periods of “death” usually last 24 hours, though severe structural damage can render them dead for up to a week. They will not respawn in their last place of rest like in-game, wherever their body lies will be where they awaken.

Players lose a small amount of Experience when they die, and will wake up delirious and faint, with minor memory loss. Sort of a “death hangover”. They will also be ravenously hungry, as their bodies need to regenerate the calories lost from fixing their body. They also may experience trauma symptoms from the cause of death (e.g, death by fire makes them frightened of a campfire or a fireplace) though these will eventually subside.

Players can be killed permanently. Netherite is strong enough to destroy the soul core, as is extreme heat (im talking instantly vaporized levels of heat) and the Void. The Void obliterates all corporeal matter that is not voidborn upon contact, so a player falling into it will straight up cease to exist. There would be no afterlife in the Otherside, just Nothing — complete oblivion.

Villagers would be freaked the hell out for starters. Steve isn’t fully aware he isn’t a biological person (he suspects it, but he’s sort of in denial), all he would know is that he feels sick and there’s a huge chunk of time missing. Since the village steve lives in knows Steve and trusts him, they would not necessarily take it as a bad omen. They would likely hold a village meeting about it and try to make sense of the whole shabang. Reinard had a religious vision regarding the Hosts shortly before he adopted Steve, so he already believes deep down that Steve is, in some way, blessed by the hosts. This, alongside Steve’s other player-y quirks, would solidify that in his mind.

[magicaldestinyharmony]

In Life and In Death Pt. 3

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 3

CW: mentions of death, whipping, drugs, human trafficking, gambling, human hunting and murder.

WC: around 2k words

A/N: I have finally finished potion number 3 in this series!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 4]

Your eyes flutter open. Once you glimpse the sight of your all-too-familiar ceiling, you deadpan.

What do you have to do to stop this? You sigh and cover your eyes from the onslaught of the sunlight. 

You're so sick and tired of it at this point. Waking up, working and spending so much effort to survive, only to fail and end up dead in the end.

You groan and turn on your side once you remember the date. You're starting to hate this number. No matter what you do, you pick up the calendar to see it there, in its black, bold glory.

Aida should be coming in anytime soon. You sigh when you hear the well-timed knock on your door.

“My lady?” Aida opens the door carefully, scared of waking you up. “Are you up? It's time for breakfast.”

A puff of air escapes you again. “I'm up, Aida.” You invite the maid inside your room.

“Oh, good. Let's get you ready for breakfast.”

“Do I have to, Aida? Can't I just have it in bed?” you plead.

Aida’s brows furrow in confusion. “ Well, I guess you could, miss. However, may I ask, is there a particular reason?”

“I'm just tired.” of life, of death. Of everything really.

Aida nods in understanding and leaves to fetch your breakfast.

Aida pins the last decoration in your hair and steps back. “Ta-da! What do you think, my lady?”

You glance at yourself in the mirror, uninterested. You've been through this so many times that the glamour of dressing up has lost its allure.

You hesitantly walk down the stairs, reluctant to see your father. If you didn't already hate him, you downright loathe him now.

Everything plays exactly as you recall. Yet when your eyes meet Lucca's, you're hit with an idea.

Why didn't you think of this before? Instead of taking care of Lucca now and letting him die later. Why not make him indebted to you? Thwart your father's plans so Lucca can keep his life and you can keep yours.

With this new drive fueling you, you approach him. “Hello. Are you alright?”

Lucca watches you in silence. You reach out to him. “Are you alr-”

Lucca smacks your hand away. The sound echoes throughout the entrance hall and you cringe in pain.

The noise turns the count's attention towards you. He smirks at the scene in front of him. You pale under his scrutiny and cold gaze. 

“Well, well, well, I see that you dared to injure a Balcom, boy.” The man takes sick pleasure in watching both children cower before him.

“For injuring my precious daughter's hand, you will receive 15 whips.” A sinister grin creeps onto your father's face.

Little tremors shake your body. Lucca did nothing wrong. He doesn't deserve this. “W-wait! It-it wasn't his fault!”

“I see.” Your father nods in consideration. “You have a compassionate heart, daughter of mine.”

Your father pats you. “But,” his voice turns cold. “Compassion gets you nowhere in life. Do you still want to stop his punishment?”

Your father's pats turn into an iron grip on your head. He tilts his head, prompting your response, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-its's the Balcom way, right?” The automated response rolls off your tongue while you shake in fear.

Your father smiles. “Good job.” He gives you one final pat and turns to a maid. “Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.”

With that, your father departs, leaving deadly silence in his wake.

◇◇◇

Who knew that standing in front of an office could be so nerve-wracking? After taking another deep breath, you hesitantly knock on your father's office.

The door cracks open to reveal your father’s loyal aide. “My lady? What do you need?”

“Can I see Father?” you mutter out.

“Let me ask the count.” The aide turns around, leaving you in front of the door.

He returns shortly and ushers you in. “So, what do you want?” your father asks without looking up.

Gathering your courage, you say, “I want that boy.”

Only then does your father look up. “That boy?”

“Yes. The boy you brought in this morning.”

Your father scratches his chin in thought. “And what will you give me in return?”

You gulp. You expected him to say that. Your father is known for not giving without taking. “I'll give you information about House Devoy. Pivotal information.”

“Oho, and is this information credible?”

You nod. “Very well. When will I receive this information?”

“I will have it ready in two days,” you confirm.

“Alright.” Your father's gaze turns into a glare. “But if your information turns out to be wrong, you won't escape punishment.”

“Understood.” You bow and leave.

Once the door to your room closes behind you, you collapse in relief. Let's hope that the information you remember from your past lives is enough to save your neck.

You bring double the amount of bandages and ointment on your nightly trip to the dungeons. With the extra abuse Lucca went through today, courtesy of yours truly, you certainly needed more.

After bribing the guard and gaining access to Lucca's cell, you get to work on treating his wounds.

As soon as Lucca feels the cold, stinging sensation of the ointment, he opens his eyes. You make eye contact. He glares at you. You shake your head, ignoring him and continue working.

Once Lucca's last wound has been patched up, you leave the bread you got him and stand up to leave.

You feel his gaze on you the whole time, trying to size you up. “Why do you care?” You barely hear him whisper.

“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care,” you firmly say.

Lucca scoffs but makes no further comments. You shrug, used to his apathy. This time you were able to leave without any incidents.

◇◇◇

The next morning, you hand a list of everything you remember about Count Devoy to your father. You pray that the information is good enough to keep you and Lucca alive.

You were informed by your father's aide that processing and proving the intel you gave will take some time. Three days to be precise. But you weren't allowed to have Lucca till after. Bastard. You were sure your father took pleasure in tormenting his kids.

Whatever. It was nothing new. It was well-known that your father was a repulsive man. At least to people with a strong sense of justice.

Your father sickened you. He doesn't hesitate to dabble in the illegal. Unlicensed auction houses, drug selling and human trafficking are just some of the things that your father does.

The problem is that he likes doing these things. His hobbies are no less disgusting. He enjoys gambling, the company of many women and hunting.

Not your typical animal hunting. He hunts slaves. Buys them then releases them into a forest on the territory to be hunted.

Yet, his reputation is still intact. Your father spends lots of money to keep his activities under the rug. In fact, he's so well regarded that if someone speaks up, they'll be immediately ignored and silenced. Voluntarily or forcefully.

You shake your head in loathing. Dwelling further on this will only cause a bad mood.

Instead, you opt to go for a walk in the hope that the wind blowing through your hair will calm your turbulent thoughts.

At dinner, you were surprised to find yourself seated to the right of your father. You can practically feel the hatred rolling off your half-siblings.

According to noble etiquette, during a meal, the household's head sits at the head of the table, dubbed as the seat of honour.

The next most important person is seated to the right of the seat of honour. Then the third most important to their left, then the fourth on the right and so on.

In a highly competitive family like yours, getting the seat on the right of the head’s seat essentially means the favour of the count. Not a position you necessarily want.

The meal proceeds in suffocating silence. The only sounds are the clinking of plates and spoons echoing in the room.

At the end of the meal, your father makes a comment that you wish he never uttered, “I'm very pleased with you.”

As soon as he leaves, your half-siblings look at you with obvious murderous intent. Bastard. You were certain that your father thrives on the discord between his children.

As the fifth daughter, your chance at succession is practically non-existent. Sitting at the right of the seat of honour and getting a compliment from the head suggests that you're participating in the fight for succession.

So all in all, your father raised the risk of your death. Not a good thing.

◇◇◇

You were incredibly relieved when your father finally handed Lucca over to you. You hope that avoiding your father from now on will reduce the attention on yourself.

While Aida and the family doctor give Lucca a checkup, you give orders to other maids to set up the room beside yours for him.

You make sure the room is immaculate. The last thing you need is Lucca feeling compelled to kill you over an improper room. With instructions in place, you meet up with Aida in front of the infirmary. 

“How is he?” you ask, once you reach her.

“The doctor said he's severely malnourished and suffering from multitudes of wounds,” your maid dutifully replies.

You grimace. “Is it serious?”

“Some of them are,” Aida says, sullen.

You frown. “Let me see him.”

Aida nods and opens the door to let you in.

You blink your eyes against the sunlight streaming in through the window across the room. Shielding your eyes, you notice that the whole room is made from walnut wood. The desk and chair to your right are cluttered with paper and books. The left side of the room houses a table and a modest library. The table has what you assume to be a mix of herbal plants and medicine concoctions on it. A small table and seats are tucked at the back of the room. Overall, it has a warm vibe to it.

You turn to the bed situated in the corner beside the window. Lucca sits on it, white sheets tucked around him, staring out the open window. The white sheer curtains flutter around him. The wind flows through the window, taking his silver strands for a ride. He looks dwarfed in the bedding, his arms look scrawny and pale against the white of the sheet. His body is littered with bandages. 

Your heart lurches at the sight. While nothing justifies him killing you over and over again, you realize that he was just a kid. Is a kid. He lost his family overnight, endured abuse from the count and fought an evil dragon as the Divine Warrior. It was no wonder how the kid ended up the way he did.

“Are you done staring?” Lucca speaks without turning around.

You answer his question with a question, “How are you feeling?”

Lucca shrugs and you sigh, exasperated at his non-answer.

Pulling up a stool beside the bed, you stare at his small frame again. A child should never have to undergo such hardship.

Another breeze streams through the open glass panes, ruffling your hair and blocking your vision for a moment. Moving the strands away, you notice that Lucca has finally faced you. You grin, loving the feeling of the air in your hair and pleased that he’s finally looking at you.

It feels somehow freeing to feel the flutter of the wind caressing you. You hold Lucca’s gaze, smiling, hoping that he shares (or at least) feels your joy.

When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to face the lush green visible through the window. Lucca doesn’t turn away, keeping his eyes on you. The silence feels liberating. Now, at this moment, you aren’t a murderer and his victim. You are just two children enjoying the wind. 

So you don’t break the silence, content to watch the birds drift from branch to branch while Lucca watches you.

[deathbxnny]

Anything for Natlan. Everything for Natlan. (Mavuika x GN!Reader)

A/N: As promised, here is the one-shot I spoke about! My health is unfortunately still very bad, but I'm desperate to write something and therefore hope you'll like this guys!<33

Content: Heavy angst, spoilers for the Natlan quest!, vague death of reader, hurt/no comfort, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

"So this is it? That's all you have to say?!" You stand on the steps to your once shared home, body trembling from the anger that coursed through you. The moon was high in the stary night sky, which reflected in your tearful eyes Mavuika had to turn away from. She was at a loss for words, unsure if there was even anything more to say. Because there truthfully wasn't. She had made up her mind whether you liked it or not.

"All these years we've spent together, all the promises we've made, this ring-" You held your hand out towards her, and you knew she could imagine it glinting in the moonlight beautifully as it always did. "-did it mean nothing to you? Nothing at all?" She didn't necessarily ever expect you to understand. If anything, she was glad that you were so angry, so enraged. It made things easier.

It made the reality of your situation easier.

She was leaving, planning to reincarnate in about 500 years to save your home from its demise. It was a hard feat, and it didn't mean that it could work out in the end. The world could still end, and the Abyss could still take over Natlan. Everything could have just been for nothing. But she needed to proceed with the plan anyway. It was a risk she was more than ready to take.

But you both knew that by the time she returned, you would be dead. Just like the rest of her family and friends here.

Mortality was beyond her now. She had found a way to cheat death and bring back hope to everyone. Except for you. It would be selfish of her to ask for you to understand, right? You wouldn't, and you couldn't, bare to let her go. You didn't care about tomorrow or the day after it if she wasn't there with you. And what would you do in her absence?

She imagined you slowly withering away as the years went by, sitting on the steps leading to your house whilst you wait for her return. Once you die, you'll search for her in the afterlife, only to realise that she had never even entered it. Would you feel betrayed then, too? You didn't know the extent of her plans. You were no warrior. You were a fleeting simplicity she deeply yearned for but knew she could never have as Natlan's Archon. You were her ultimate sacrifice. The one thing that tethered her to what she once was, to who she once was. To the mortal you married.

When did things go wrong? Why did she have to be the one to take on the burden of an unstoppable war? Why did she have to give up everything so that her friends could continue living their life's with their families? Why couldn't she do the same?

Hanging her head in shame, she heard her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, her breath short and unsteady as the doubts crept in. "I'm sorry. I don't expect you to understand." She finally said, and silence followed. It wasn't good enough. Nothing she told you now would be good enough. "You... mean the world to me." She still didn't turn around. Her heart couldn't let her do so. She'd never leave if she did. "And for that reason, I need to make this sacrifice. Natlan will never be free otherwise... and I'm sure we will meet again one day. Under the stary night, just like the first day we met."

"Many hardships await us from here. But I know you'll make it. You're strong, far stronger than I." She straightened up again, a deep, shaky breath leaving her lips. It was time. "Mavuika! Don't you dare leave me, I can't - " The woman began walking away calmly, her face devoid of any emotion but determination as she relished in the last remnants of your voice. "-I can't live in this world without you, I beg of you to stay damnit! Please don't leave me! Mavuika!" And yet, for some reason, you didn't chase her down. You didn't stop her from leaving. Deep down, you ultimately understood what she was doing. You were always so intelligent, so smart. You were the only one to truly get her. But even that wasn't enough. Your heart belonged to her, and she was willing to toss it in the flames, too.

Mavuika never turned around to face you that night, and you never stopped her either. You were the last person she said her goodbye's too before proceeding with her plans. Her heart wavered for a split moment, but she knew that this was fate calling out to her. This is life. Complex and ruthless as ever. Her emotions and past didn't matter, only what she was willing to sacrifice did.

Centuries later, she found herself beginning to hate hearing that word.

"Oh! We get it... so who is that?" Paimon's voice rang out, cutting through her mind as they stared at a picture of you and her family together, smiles bright and happy, unaware of the doom that would follow you soon. She chuckled at the question, eyes trailing over your face for what felt like the millionth time, and yet she could never get bored of it. If only she could remember what you sounded like...

"That... was my lover. I don't really know what happened to them after I left... but I believe they became a writer." Or at least, that's what she could gather from the small records that were left of you from 500 years ago. You had left your tribe and traveled all over Natlan. Your records and stories were still used by historians and tribesmen alike for retellings. But the only book she was able to get her hands on that proved all of this was the final book you wrote after having returned to your old home.

Paimon and the traveler glanced at each other with a solemn look, not knowing what else to say. The Archon's way to glory was tragic and painful. It was beyond them how someone could give up everything so willingly. And yet they had no time to ponder, as the next part of their to save Kichina plans came up.

Mavuika stayed behind, her hand carefully brushing against the worn-out book, which rested next to picture frame, not needing to open it to read it. She had memorized every sentence, every word, every letter. Sighing to herself, she knew that she'd have to sacrifice the last of you with it. This was all she had left.

But even you, once you reached your late 70s and settled down once more after years of travel, understood the meaning of her sacrifice at last. Walking away from the book and the picture frame, she recited the last paragraph in you ever wrote, deciding to leave her past at that. Guided through your own final words.

"And if Natlan one day can bathe in the scorching sun undisturbed and free from the hate of the Abyss, then I'd say my pain was worth something after all at last. I wasted decades looking for an answer to why you did it, Mavuika, and even now, my heart struggles to understand its loss. But one thing is clear now. One thing that we both knew from the start:

Anything for Natlan.

Everything for Natlan.

And may that never change until the last flickers of the sacred flames burn your heart and warm your face, just like I once did."

[authortelevision]

arthur frederick and the new producer: chapter 6₊˚⊹♡

words: 6,170✦ .ᐟ

♯┆arthurtv slow burn, bach and arthur podcast

after lara leaves bach and arthur’s podcast, you become her replacement. after discovering that arthur hates change, it takes a lot for him to warm up to you and become friends. it also takes a lot for him to admit how he truly feels about you.

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Chapter Five

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Chapter Six ₊˚⊹♡

After a while, you realised it was getting late. You stood up, brushing your hands against your thighs. “I should probably get going,” you said, glancing at Arthur.

Arthur stood too, his hands in his pockets. “Yeah… uh, thanks for coming over.”

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks for letting me in. I’m glad we talked.”

He nodded, his gaze briefly flicking to the floor before meeting yours again. “Me too.”

Outside, the cool night air hit you, and you began the walk home, the conversation from earlier still swirling in your mind. But one thought kept returning, the photo.

Once you were a few streets away, you pulled out your phone and opened your chat with Isaac.

You: Hey, did you send that photo of me and Arthur to him?

The reply came quickly.

Isaac: Why?

You frowned, typing back.

You: It’s his phone background.

There was a pause before Isaac replied.

Isaac: Oh. Well, I just wanted to make fun of how stupid he looked.

You rolled your eyes, knowing there was more to it than that.

You: I know you’re lying. Just tell me the truth.

Another pause. Then, finally:

Isaac: Fine. He asked for it. He asks for all the photos of you.

You stopped walking, rereading the text.

You: He asked for it? Why?

Isaac: I didn’t ask. I figured he had his reasons.

You bit your lip, staring at the screen. Arthur’s reserved attitude opening up, the photo, his hesitation earlier, all of it started piecing together in ways you hadn’t fully considered before.

You: Okay. Thanks for telling me.

Isaac didn’t reply immediately, but you didn’t need him to. You slipped your phone into your pocket and kept walking, your thoughts were all Arthur. Nothing but Arthur. That had been lately, everything that you saw reminded you of his face. His beautiful face.

When you got back to your flat, Emma was in the kitchen, scrolling on her phone with a cup of tea. She looked up when you walked in and set her phone down. “Well, how did it go with Arthur? Did he spill his mysterious secrets?”

You sighed, kicking off your shoes and dropping onto the couch. “It was… a lot.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “A lot as in, it went well, or a lot as in, it was a disaster?”

You looked at her, debating how much to share, but then the memory of Arthur’s phone screen popped back into your head. “Okay, it went mostly fine. We talked about some stuff, but then I noticed something, and now I’m confused.”

Emma leaned forward, clearly interested. “Oh no, what did he do?”

You hesitated, trying to downplay it. “His phone background is this photo of me and him. The one I sent to Isaac that time.”

Her eyes widened, and she immediately slapped her hands down on the table. “What the fuck?”

You winced. “Yeah, exactly.”

Emma stared at you, her mouth open, waiting for you to explain more. When you didn’t, she finally said, “Do you think he likes you?”

You groaned, throwing your head back dramatically. “I don’t know! Maybe? It’s weird, right? Like, why would someone do that if they didn’t?”

“Exactly!” Emma was grinning now, clearly enjoying the situation more than you were. “That’s such a ‘likes you’ thing to do. Why else would you make someone your background? It’s like, classic lover boy behavior.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Stop it. Don’t call him a lover boy.”

She laughed, leaning over the back of the sofa. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing! What am I supposed to do? Ask him? I’d die of embarrassment if he said no.”

Emma shook her head, still grinning. “This is so juicy. You’re so into him. You’re in denial, though.”

You glared at her, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. “I’m not in denial. And I don’t know what to think yet.”

Emma shrugged. “Alright, but when he confesses his undying love for you, I want a front-row seat.”

“Emma,” you groaned, though you couldn’t help the tiny smile pulling at your lips.

She raised her tea in mock cheers. “I’m just saying. This is far from over.”

You arrived at the studio earlier than usual, determined to get everything set up perfectly for today’s episode. It wasn’t just another recording day, Arthur had invited one of his close friends, Arthur Hill, to guest on the podcast. You hadn’t met him yet, but from what you’d seen online, he seemed great, funny, and also not entirely in sync with Arthur’s humor.

You busied yourself arranging the microphones, checking the camera, and tidying the small table off to the side, occasionally glancing at the clock. It was still quiet, the building’s usual hum of activity muted this early in the day.

By the time the door finally swung open, it was close to the recording time, and Arthur, Isaac, and Arthur Hill walked in together, laughing at something you hadn’t heard. Their voices carried easily in the small studio space, filling it with a comfortable energy.

“Morning,” you said, glancing up from your laptop as the trio entered.

Arthur—your Arthur—acknowledged you with a small nod, the usual awkwardness back in place. “Morning,” he muttered, his voice low.

Isaac was cheerier. “Hey! You’re early as always. I keep telling Arthur to get here earlier, but you know him.”

Arthur Hill grinned, his energy easy and magnetic, much like Isaac’s. “You must be the one keeping these two from chatting utter shit,” he said, his voice warm.

“I try,” you said with a small smile, standing up and extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, by the way.”

“Arthur Hill,” he said, shaking your hand firmly. “This guy’s been hyping you up.” He jerked his thumb at Arthur, who was already busy unpacking his bag, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, really?”

Arthur didn’t look up. “He’s exaggerating,” he said flatly, though there was a slight pink tint creeping up his neck.

Isaac smirked. “He’s not, though.”

Arthur Hill chuckled and leaned back against the wall. “I’m glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard the podcast is doing really well lately, thanks to your ideas.”

“Thanks,” you said, your face warming. “But it’s a team effort.”

Arthur finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to downplay it,” he said, his tone neutral, but his words catching you off guard.

Isaac raised his eyebrows but said nothing, a smirk on his lips. Arthur Hill shot his friend a glance, but if there was a silent exchange between them, you missed it.

“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together lightly to break the tension, “everything’s ready to go whenever you are. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Arthur Hill gave you an approving nod. “Appreciate it. Let’s make this a good one.”

As everyone settled in, you found yourself observing the dynamics. Arthur was louder than usual, though not in a way that seemed unusual for him around his friends. Still, you couldn’t shake the slight jealousy that had crept back into your mind of how you wished Arthur would laugh as hard with you.

Isaac noticed it too, leaning over at one point while you adjusted a mic. “You good?” he asked quietly, his tone light but his eyes curious.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing it off. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Isaac shrugged, his gaze drifting toward Arthur. “No reason.”

You didn’t pry, but the knot of uncertainty in your chest tightened slightly. It wasn’t the first time lately that Isaac had hinted at something you weren’t fully grasping.

The recording started smoothly. Arthur Hill was a natural, effortlessly carrying the conversation and bouncing off Isaac and Arthur with ease. You stayed behind the scenes, as usual, monitoring levels and jotting down notes for the edit.

Occasionally, you caught Arthur glancing in your direction, his expression unreadable. But as soon as your eyes met, he’d turn his attention back to the discussion. It left you wondering, again, what exactly was going through his mind.

By the time the episode wrapped, you were mentally exhausted from the overthinking. As the others chatted casually and began packing up, you excused yourself to grab a quick drink of water. When you came back, Isaac and Arthur Hill were discussing where to grab lunch, but Arthur was already by the door, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Arthur, you’re not coming?” Isaac asked.

Arthur shook his head. “Got something to do,” he said shortly, avoiding your gaze.

You frowned but didn’t say anything, watching as he left without another word.

Arthur Hill turned to you, his brow furrowed slightly. “He’s… like that sometimes. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’ve learnt not to,” you said, forcing a smile, though the sting of missing him was hard to ignore.

After Arthur left, the room felt quieter, though Isaac and Arthur Hill seemed unbothered. Isaac was scrolling on his phone while Arthur Hill leaned back in his chair, stretching with a satisfied sigh.

“That went pretty well,” Arthur Hill said, nodding toward the setup. “You’re good at this. Way better than when these two were winging it on their own.”

You chuckled, trying to push past the lingering awkwardness left by Arthur’s sudden departure. “Thanks. But they weren’t winging it, Lara was amazing, I just try to keep things organised, you know?”

Isaac looked up from his phone, grinning. “Organised is an understatement. If it weren’t for you, Lara would probably killed Arthur by now and I’d still be trying to figure out how to use half this equipment.”

Arthur Hill laughed, but then his expression shifted slightly, becoming more thoughtful. “You know, it’s funny,” he began, glancing at Isaac, who was now fully paying attention. “Arthur talks about you all the time.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Arthur Hill leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I’m serious. Like, way more than he talks about Isaac here or anyone else. He’s always mentioning you—how good you are at this, how you keep everything running smoothly, how you’re basically saving his ass outside the podcast too.”

You glanced at Isaac, who raised his eyebrows but didn’t deny it.

Arthur Hill continued, a small smile on his face. “It’s nice, actually. I haven’t seen him this happy or invested in something in a while. I mean, I’ve known the guy for years, and he’s not usually so… loving when he talks about people.”

You felt a rush of warmth, but also confusion. Arthur? Happy? He’d only just talked about his feelings with you.

Isaac chimed in, a sly grin on his face. “It’s true. He’ll never admit it, though. Typical Arthur.”

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to process this new information. “I don’t know,” you said slowly. “It doesn’t seem like he even likes me half the time. He’s so—” You paused, searching for the right word. “Distant.”

Arthur Hill shook his head. “That’s just him being weird. Trust me, if Arthur didn’t like you, he wouldn’t put in half the effort he does. He’s bad at showing it, but he’s got a lot of love for you.”

You looked down at your hands, your mind racing. The Arthur they were describing didn’t line up with the Arthur you interacted with. But then again, there were moments,when he seemed like he did have love for you, a lot of love for just a friend.

“Maybe,” you said quietly, over thinking such a simple word like ‘love’.

Arthur Hill stood, stretching again. “Anyway, I’d cut him some slack. He’s not great at this kind of thing, but he’s trying in his own awkward way.”

Isaac nodded in agreement, adding, “Yeah, he’s like a grumpy old man on the outside, but deep down, he’s all mushy. Probably hates how much he likes you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, though the thought made your heart ache a little. “Thanks, I guess. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As they gathered their things to leave, you stayed behind for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head. Arthur might be distant sometimes, but if what they were saying was true, maybe there was more to his behavior than you realised.

Arthur Hill’s words stuck with you long after the conversation had shifted. As he and Isaac talked about some podcast Arthur had been excited about recently, you found yourself distracted, running his earlier statement through your mind on repeat.

“Arthur talks about you all the time.”

What exactly did he mean by that? Was it just about your work on the podcast? Your organisation? Or was there something more?

You leaned back in your chair, pretending to listen to Isaac, but your thoughts wandered further. Arthur wasn’t exactly the easiest person to read. One moment, he was closed off, distant, and brimming with criticism, the next, he’d surprise you with an unguarded compliment or a thoughtful gesture, like bringing you coffee, or walking you home, or even…

Your thoughts trailed to the background on Arthur’s phone, the image you’d spotted earlier when you were at his flat. That photo.

You hadn’t meant to notice it, but now you couldn’t stop thinking about it. It wasn’t just that Arthur had it saved, it was that he’d made it his background.

Why would he do that.

Was it some inside joke with Isaac? Or did it actually mean something to him? The idea that Arthur might have chosen that image, out of all the pictures he could have used, sent your thoughts spiraling.

Had Arthur Hill meant that Arthur liked you… liked you? Or was it just his awkward way of praising the working relationship you’d built?

You shook your head, trying to ground yourself. I’m overthinking this. There’s no way.

But the more you tried to brush it off, the more your mind replayed every strange, unexplainable moment you’d shared with Arthur. The way he’d stared at you and quickly looked away. The times he’d gone out of his way to do something nice, only to act indifferent about it afterward. And now, this background.

Arthur Hill’s earlier words came back to you again: “It’s nice to see him so happy. He’s always mentioning you.”

“Hello?” Isaac’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was waving a hand in front of your face.

“Huh? Sorry,” you mumbled, flushing slightly.

Isaac smirked. “Thinking about Arthur, are we?”

Arthur Hill laughed, and you rolled your eyes, quickly changing the subject. But even as they moved on to other topics, your thoughts lingered.

What if Arthur’s distance wasn’t just him being grumpy or upset? What if it was something more complicated? What if he really did like you more than he wanted to let on?

And more importantly, did you want him to?

The walk home felt longer than usual, though the crisp evening air and faint sounds of the city tried to pull you out of your thoughts. They didn’t stand a chance, though, not with Arthur Hill’s words ringing loudly in your head.

“He’s always talking about you… It’s nice to see him so happy.

What had he meant by that? You replayed the conversation a dozen times, dissecting every word, every subtle inflection. Was it just platonic? Professional? Love? No definitely not the last one.

The moment you got through your front door, you dropped your bag and leaned against the wall, pulling your phone out of your pocket. If anyone could clear this up, it was Isaac.

You hesitated for a second, staring at the empty message bar, before typing:

You: Does Arthur like me?

The dots indicating Isaac was typing appeared almost immediately, and you tensed.

But his response was frustratingly stupid.

Isaac: Is he being cold again?

You groaned aloud and quickly shot back:

You: No, I don’t mean as a friend. I mean, does he like me like me?

And then—silence.

The dots didn’t appear this time. No witty comeback, no playful teasing. Nothing.

You stared at the screen, willing Isaac to respond, but it stayed stubbornly blank.

Now, as you walked the familiar route back to your flat, it was all you could think about. Arthur’s phone background flashed in your mind. Arthur Hill’s words echoed over and over. Even Isaac’s lack of a response felt like a confirmation of something, though you weren’t sure what.

By the time you reached your building, you felt overwhelmed by it all. Why couldn’t Arthur just say what he was thinking? Why did every interaction with him feel like solving a puzzle you didn’t have all the pieces for?

You let out a long sigh as you unlocked the door, resigned to the fact that the answers wouldn’t come tonight. But even as you kicked off your shoes and tried to distract yourself with a movie, your mind kept wandering back to Arthur.

And the thought you couldn’t quite shake was this: If he does like me… then what do I want?

You sat on the edge of your bed, trying to calm your mind. The more you thought about Arthur and what had happened, the more your thoughts spun in circles. But you didn’t want to overthink it. You were friends now, no expectations, no pressure. It was nice just spending time together.

You took a deep breath and decided to send him a message. Maybe you were reading into things too much. You typed it out quickly:

“Hey, do you want to hang out soon?”

It didn’t take long for your phone to buzz with a reply:

“Yeah, just let me change real quick.”

You blinked at the message, surprised at how quickly he responded. A smile crept onto your face. But then you realised, you didn’t really mean today.

“Oh, no, I meant another day, like tomorrow maybe?”

There was a brief pause before he responded again.

“I’m not free tomorrow.”

Your stomach dropped a little. You’d really hoped for tomorrow, but you understood. You didn’t want to push him. But just as you were about to put your phone down, another message from Arthur popped up.

“How about today, though? Can I see you today?”

You blinked at your screen, not expecting that at all. Was he serious? Did he really want to hang out today?

You tried to contain your excitement, but the truth was, you hadn’t expected this, not after all the uncertainty. You quickly typed:

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

Then, you added:

“Do you want to meet up somewhere?”

There was a brief pause, and when his reply came, you felt your heart race a little.

“It’s pretty cold out. Would it be okay if I just came over to yours?”

You stared at your screen, trying to process it. Was he asking to come over right now? The casualness of it threw you off a bit, but you tried to keep it cool.

You quickly typed back:

“Sure, that works. Come over whenever.”

You set your phone down, your heart pounding a little faster now. Whatever was happening, it was moving quickly, and you couldn’t help but feel a little excited about what the evening might hold.

About 20 minutes later, your phone buzzed. You looked at the screen to see a message from Arthur:

“I’m here, outside.”

You quickly rushed to the window, expecting to see him standing there, but when you saw him, you stopped in your tracks. Arthur was standing outside, wrapped up in a thick scarf and coat, his breath visible in the cool night air. He looked a little out of place, yet strangely cute, like he’d come straight out of one of those romantic winter movies.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t realised how much the sight of him would affect you. You stood there for a second, just staring, before you snapped out of it. You quickly rushed to the door and opened it.

Arthur looked up at you, his hands nervously adjusting the scarf around his neck. “Have I got something on my clothes? Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”

You blinked, surprised at how flustered he seemed. You’d never seen him like this before, and it made you feel oddly warm inside.

“No,” you said, shaking your head as you tried to compose yourself. “You just look quite cute like that… Like you’re traveling somewhere.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, and for a split second, you could see him fighting a small grin. “I am,” he said with a quiet laugh, his voice soft but serious. “To you.”

You froze for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Your heart started racing, and you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by the way he was standing there, so close, in the dark, in the cold. You tried not to let your thoughts spiral.

“Come on in,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “It’s freezing out there.”

Arthur nodded, his eyes still holding a hint of that shy grin. He walked inside, and you closed the door behind him. The sudden warmth inside your flat felt like a relief, but the tension between the two of you lingered in the air. Neither of you said anything immediately, but the silence was different now. Something was lingering.

You both walked into your room, Arthur was taking off his jacket and scarf, looking around a bit. He seemed a little unsure, like he was trying to figure out what to do next. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke.

“Thanks for letting me come over so late,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I just wanted to hang out.”

You nodded, smiling at him, trying to make him feel more at ease. “Maybe we should watch a film,” you suggested, glancing over at him. “One of the ones you were talking about on the podcast?”

Arthur’s eyes lit up a little. “Oh, that would be really good.”

With that, you both settled on the bed, and you moved to your TV to get everything ready. As you were picking out the movie, you caught Arthur looking at you from the corner of your eye.

“What’s up?” you asked, turning to face him.

He quickly looked away, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Oh, nothing. Just… It’s nice being with you.”

You didn’t look back at him, instead focusing on getting the movie set up. You tried to brush off the sudden rush of warmth you felt from his words. “You’re the one who traveled all the way here,” you said, trying to make light of it.

Arthur’s voice was quieter when he responded. “I know, but you didn’t say no. I was worried I freaked you out for a moment.”

You paused for a moment, the room filled with a sudden silence that felt too heavy. You turned toward him and smiled softly. “No, Arthur, you don’t freak me out,” you said, your voice steady but full of honesty. “I really like hanging out with you, it’s like my favorite thing right now.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Arthur was completely silent. You couldn’t help but feel your heart race a little as you glanced back at him, noticing the way he was looking at you. He was still, watching you closely, as though trying to process what you had just said.

You waited for a response, but there was nothing. So you turned back to the movie setup, trying to focus on it and not overthink. But then, finally, Arthur spoke. His voice was a little unsure, almost as if he was testing the waters.

“Do you actually mean that?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

For a moment, you were taken aback by the vulnerability in his voice. You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, I do.”

You both sat close on the bed, the movie playing softly in the background. The room felt cozy, and for the first time in a while, you felt completely at ease. Every now and then, you caught glimpses of Arthur out of the corner of your eye, but it wasn’t until you noticed him holding his phone in his hand, tapping on the screen, that something caught your attention.

Curiosity got the better of you, and without really thinking, you asked, “Why am I your lock screen?”

Arthur froze for a second, his fingers stilling on the screen. You could see the sudden flustered look on his face, his cheeks turning a soft pink as he quickly glanced at you, then back down at his phone.

“I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “I just thought it was a nice memory I have.”

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if you were imagining it, but you couldn’t help but ask, “With me?”

Arthur looked almost embarrassed now, clearly caught off guard by your question. He shifted a little, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess… it’s my favorite thing to do right now as well.”

The words hung in the air for a second, and you blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. You felt a sudden rush of warmth spread across your cheeks, unsure of how to respond. His phone, the lock screen with your photo on it, felt like a quiet confession, and you couldn’t help but feel a little stunned.

Before you could stop it, a nervous laugh escaped your lips. You quickly turned your head toward the screen of the movie, hoping the sudden embarrassment didn’t show too much. Your heart was racing, but you tried to focus on the film, trying to push aside the feeling of being flattered, and maybe just a little bit more than flattered, by his words.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, and you could feel his gaze still on you, but you didn’t dare look up. You were both so close, and the air between you felt thicker now, like something unspoken had passed between you. It was a quiet, simple moment, but everything felt charged.

As the movie played on, you slowly became aware of the gentle rise and fall of Arthur’s breathing beside you. The room felt peaceful, the quiet hum of the film acting as a soft backdrop to the comforting stillness between you. After a while, you could feel his head shift slightly, and before you knew it, Arthur had drifted off, his forehead gently resting on your shoulder. His breathing was steady, relaxed, and it felt like time had slowed.

You sat there for a moment, frozen in place, your heart skipping a beat as you processed what had just happened. He’d come all this way to see you, even though you knew he must have been exhausted from the day. It was such a small thing, yet it felt so meaningful, the fact that he’d chosen to spend his time with you like this, on a whim, late at night.

You smiled softly, feeling content in the quiet warmth of the moment. Your heart felt light, as though everything had somehow clicked into place. Right now, in this moment, you were so happy. So, so happy.

But just as you were getting lost in the moment, the door to your room creaked open slightly, and Emma stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room before landing on the scene in front of her.

Her gaze immediately widened, her mouth falling open in disbelief as she took in the sight of Arthur, sound asleep, nestled up to you. You could see the shock on her face as she froze for a moment, eyes flicking from you to Arthur and back again.

“What the fuck?” she whispered under her breath, unable to hide the teasing tone creeping into her voice. Her eyes sparkled mischievously, and you could hear the smirk in her voice, despite her quiet words.

You couldn’t help the embarrassment that rushed to your cheeks as you tried to adjust your position, trying not to disturb Arthur, but Emma was already too caught up in the moment.

“Seriously?” she teased, a playful laugh slipping past her lips. “This is after all the times you’ve said he’s been ‘distant’ or ‘acting weird?’”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress your grin. “Emma, don’t,” you muttered, feeling your face heat up even more. You had no idea how to explain this, or what to even say to her. It was all too much, too fast, Arthur had just fallen asleep, and now your flatmate was witnessing it firsthand.

Emma’s teasing gaze softened a little as she took in the sight of you two, Arthur all curled up against you, the peacefulness in the room.

“I mean, hey,” she said, still grinning, but with a more relaxed tone now. “I’m not mad about it. But damn, you two are like a walking rom-com.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, glancing down at Arthur, who was still sleeping soundly, oblivious to the conversation happening around him. “I didn’t expect this either,” you replied, feeling a little sheepish.

Emma leaned against the doorframe, her teasing smirk softening as she studied the two of you. “Well, whatever’s going on here, I hope you two figure it out,” she said quietly, her voice much more sincere now. She shot you one last glance before walking out, leaving you and Arthur in the soft stillness of the room, as the weight of the evening settled around you.

You woke up slowly, feeling the soft warmth of the morning light filtering through the window. At first, everything seemed peaceful, your mind still hazy with the remnants of sleep. You shifted a little, and then realized with a small start that Arthur had moved in the night. He was now lying down on your bed, still curled towards you, his head resting just slightly closer, his breathing deep and steady.

For a moment, you just stared at him, taking in the quiet scene, how peaceful he looked, how natural this felt. It was such an ordinary moment, but it made your heart race. You tried to shake off the odd feeling stirring in your chest, but before you could get too lost in it, you reached over for your phone, which had been placed on the bedside table the night before.

As soon as you unlocked it, the screen flooded with notifications. Your eyes quickly scanned the messages, the urgency from Isaac immediately catching your attention.

“Where are you? We need to get started for filming.”

“Hey, do you know where Arthur is? We’re supposed to be filming for the podcast today.”

A small knot of worry twisted in your stomach. You hadn’t realized how late it was. You’d been so caught up in the comfort of the night before, and now it seemed you were behind on everything. You quickly began typing out a response to Isaac, trying to get everything sorted, when something else caught your eye. A photo message from Emma. You opened it, still feeling a bit disoriented, and froze as you saw the image.

It was a picture of you and Arthur from the night before. You were both asleep, Arthur’s head gently resting on your shoulder, his arms tucked under his body. Your head was tilted slightly towards his, and in the peaceful moment, it seemed as though you had unconsciously moved closer to him while you slept.

You stared at the photo, the image frozen in time, your heart fluttering at the intimacy of it all. You could tell it was taken quietly, probably while Emma was teasing you earlier, and now here it was, capturing a memory that felt strangely vulnerable and sweet. You hadn’t even realized how close you’d gotten in the night, how much of a part of him you’d become.

Suddenly, everything felt a little surreal. The night, the calm closeness, and now, the photo. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself despite the rush of emotions swirling within you.

You looked back at Arthur, still peacefully curled up against you. It was hard to believe just how much had changed between you two in such a short amount of time. You had gone from awkward interactions and confusion to… this.

You quickly shook off the lingering thoughts and turned back to your phone to deal with Isaac’s messages, but your mind kept drifting back to the photo and what it might mean.

Arthur stirred beside you, his brow furrowing slightly as he blinked his eyes open. It took him a second to fully register where he was, and when he did, he sat up quickly, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with sleep. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Oh my god, what time is it? Fuck, we should be at the studio already.”

He scrambled to sit up fully, glancing around in a bit of a panic as if the world was suddenly pressing down on him. You watched him with a little amusement, still half-leaning against the bed, your phone now forgotten in your hand.

“Woah, chill, Arthur,” you said, trying to calm him down with a gentle laugh. “It’s okay, we’ll just go later. It’s not a big deal.”

Arthur paused, looking back at you with a slightly embarrassed expression. “I just feel bad,” he admitted quietly, rubbing his hand over his face. “I wasn’t planning to crash like that.”

You shook your head, giving him a reassuring smile. “Honestly, it’s fine. We’ve got time, and no one’s going to be mad if we’re a little late. I think we both needed the rest anyway.”

He let out a deep breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he took in what you’d said. “Thanks,” he murmured, and for a moment, there was an odd sort of silence between you two. He seemed like he was about to say something else, but then his eyes met yours for just a second, and he looked away quickly, his face flushing a little.

You tried not to make it weird, but it was hard to ignore the small shift in the air between you. The calmness of the moment, the way he’d been so comfortable lying next to you. You liked it. you liked him next to you. You liked everything about him. But still, you knew he didn’t like you, does he?

“Alright,” Arthur said with a nervous laugh, trying to change the subject. “So, what should we do? Film later?”

You shrugged, feeling a bit of the awkwardness lift. “Yeah, that sounds good,” you said, trying to keep it casual, even though part of you couldn’t help but wonder where this… thing between the two of you was headed.

Arthur stood up from your bed, stretching as he yawned, clearly still half-asleep but more awake than before. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and glanced at you, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I should probably head back to mine,” he said, his voice quieter now, still tinged with that sleepiness. “I need to shower and change before we head to the studio.”

You nodded, understanding. “Yeah, no problem. Take your time. I’ve told Isaac we can meet at 2, you’ve got a bit before we need to be there anyway.”

Arthur smiled at that, though there was a hint of hesitation in his eyes, like he was considering something. “You sure you’re okay? I don’t want to leave things awkward.”

You shook your head, offering him a reassuring smile. “Everything’s fine, really. Go get ready. I’ll be here.”

He nodded, though you noticed he seemed a little unsure. There was a brief moment of silence before he grabbed his jacket off the back of your chair and made his way to the door.

“Alright, I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, still sounding a little off-kilter. But before he left, he turned to you with a small smile. “Thanks for letting me crash here, by the way.”

You grinned back at him, trying to keep it light. “No problem, anytime.”

With that, Arthur stepped out the door, leaving you with a sense of loneliness in the room. You let out a quiet breath, trying to shake the slightly awkward vibe that had lingered in the air after his sudden departure. Part of you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when he came back, whether things would feel the same or if the relationship between the two of you would have changed in some way.

As the door closed behind him, you grabbed your phone again, checking the time, getting ready for your own day. You’d already gone through a whirlwind of emotions this morning, and you weren’t sure what would come next, but for some reason, you just miss Arthur already. Really miss him.

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Chapter Seven

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author note: guys we are over half way through !! AHHHH 6/10

my lovely taglist:

@rubyskies @rkaya @pookietv @rougetv @arthurhillmastermind @fatneek444 @pretendyoucantseeme @neivivenaj @mmilllll @asmoothoperator

[wheelie-sick]

CW: ableist violence resulting in death

every time there's a natural disaster I think about the story I heard about a wildfire in California. the wildfire started quickly just outside of town, people only had a few hours to evacuate. there was an elderly man in the town, the story was told by his granddaughter who lived across the country. the fire swept through town and when they returned the house he lived in was burnt. outside in the yard they found the scalded metal remains of a wheelchair and a garden hose. he couldn't evacuate himself so he did all that he could to survive a natural disaster no one wanted to help him run from.

disabled people are always second thoughts when it comes time to leave. under the guise of being too time consuming and difficult to transport we have our avoidable deaths justified. to an abled society our lives are not valuable enough to be worth saving. in a natural disaster we are downright not viewed as human beings. we are left to die horrific deaths drowning and burning alive, watching as our inevitable ends come to meet us, being left with little to fight off what's coming.

I cannot even begin to imagine the terror that man must have felt watching a fire creep towards him with nothing but a garden hose to defend himself. I cannot comprehend the pain he felt. I cannot bear to think about how alone and unwanted he must have felt sitting on that lawn knowing that nobody was coming- that he had been left behind. he is not the only person who has experienced this. how many other disabled people unable to leave have watched as death crept towards them?

as hurricane Helene prepares to hit Florida I think about all the people who could not get out, all the people who are being left behind. I think about their final moments, how they must feel so uncared for, so scared. I think about how people in my community are going to die entirely preventable deaths because abled society does not consider them worth saving. I think about how the world will not mourn them, how the world will forget about them, how the world will mock them as "too stupid to leave" how no one cares now and no one will care in the future. I think about how this will happen again, how there will be a next time.

I think about how disabled people are so incredibly invisible to the people around us.

[haveihitanerve]

Oliver Queen was quite certain he was going to die. He had been holding in a laugh for the past ten minutes, which was dangerous under any circumstances, and downright fatal if it was an explosive, loud and hearty laugh, which this one was. Especially considering that no one else seemed to be as tickled as he was, and if he did laugh, he would be laughing at the Batman. The thing was, that Batman had brought his own coffee mug and thermos to the Watchtower (because apparently their coffee wasn't good enough, or something, as batman hadn't exactly offered an explanation) and both had phrases on them that would be amusing belonging to anyone, and were downright hilarious due to the fact that they belonged to Batman. The thermos said “I’m not saying I’m Batman, I’m just saying you’ll never see me and Batman in the same room together” which, sadly, no one else seemed to have even looked twice at, and his mug, which had a large black bat on it, which said “We’re a Batty little family”. Both items were very much not helping Oliver to win his fight with his mirth, when Batman caught his eye. “Oh shit.” he muttered when the Bat began to move towards him. Well, he was bound to die anyway. “Nice mug.” Oliver greeted the second Batman got close. To his surprise, Batmans lips twitched upward. “Thank you. My children got it for me. I’m surprised you're the first to mention it.” Oliver looked at him in surprise. “Oh my freaking gods.” Batman, the Batman, wanted people to comment on his mug. He was proud of it. Oliver finally released his cackle, and Batmans smile grew marginally in delight. “Oh man that is priceless.” Oliver chuckled when he had finally gotten himself under control. “But hey, kids are like that. I mean, mine got me a shirt with two arrows pointing up, with a bow that was sideways beneath it to make a simile face.” Oliver sketched on his own shirt with his finger to display the image. Batman chuckled lightly. “Thats… quite funny.” “Yeah.” Oliver agreed, thinking back with a smile how often he wore it, and Roy’s delight every time. “My kids,” Batman added, drawing Oliver out of his thoughts. “Got me a tie that says, uh, “Worlds Best Dad In Gotham. Which… o-k i guess..” Oliver stared at him agape before absolutely losing it at the tone with which Batman had quoted his tie. “That is… brilliant.” Oliver wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Wow. Wow wow wow wow wow.” Oliver smiled with relish. “I love that.” Batman smiled back. “I do too.” “Uh, green arrow? Whats so funny?” Green Lantern called over. “Oh nothing, nothing.” Oliver called back. “Just some uh.. Dad jokes.” Hal made a noise of confusion, but Batman chuckled lightly. “Dad jokes?” Green Lantern asked, utterly befuddled. Batman and Green Arrow grinned at each other.  

Oliver Queen was quite certain he was going to die. He had a meeting in Gotham today, which was always long and boring, especially since he usually only dealt with the lower members of Wayne Enterprises. Not that he had anything against status, not really, it was only that they were always such a drag, and it was clear they wanted a higher lifestyle. But, to his surprise, when Oliver walked into the meeting room, the CEO of WE was actually present, sitting at the head of the table in deep discussion with a man Oliver vaguely remembered was named something Fox. Lucy? “Ah, Ollie, so good of you to meet with us!” Boomed a voice and Oliver turned in surprise to see Bruce Wayne. “Bruce? Hey man! I didn't know you’d be here!” Oliver grinned in surprised delight, offering the other man a quick hug. Bruce shrugged, sipping some coffee. “I’m just here as a chauffeur. I’m taking Timmy out after this, but I’ll be a part of the meeting if you want some decent conversation.” He winked and Oliver laughed. “Not that my son isn't a good conversationalist.” He added. Oliver waved a hand, moving to his seat and offering the kid a quick smile. Tim glanced over, offering a wave before returning to his heated debate. “Naw I know he is. Wasn't expecting you guys to be here. Glad you are though.” Oliver sighed in relief. Bruce hummed in acknowledgement, taking a seat next to him. “Well I’m glad to see you too Ollie, theres, actually something I want to tell you.” At that, his son finally looked over for more than a second, something gleaming in his eyes. “Oh?” Oliver asked intrigued, leaning forward. That was when he saw it. Tucked just barely beneath the lapel of Bruces suit jacket…. A tie. A tie that said “Worlds Best Dad in Gotham. Which… O-k I guess..” Oliver sat back like electrocuted. Bruce and Tim watched him carefully, and Fox gave a very good impression of looking out the window. “You- uh- you're.” Oliver cleared his throat and Bruce leaned in intently. “Yes?” “Your tie.” Oliver blurted. “Its… nice. My friend has one too.” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Does he?” He lifted his mug, which had a large black bat on it, and sipped. Oliver swallowed. “W-why me? Why now?” Bruce shrugged, glancing over at his son who was now also doing a very good job of admiring the ceiling tiles. “Because I trust you. And because I need a good friend.” Oliver smiled weakly. “Well, you already had that in Brucie.” Bruce smiled softly. “I know. But friendship requires trust. And Batman needs all the friends he can get.” Oliver chuckle lightly. “So… Dad jokes was the way to go huh?” Bruce smiled, pleased, leaning back. “Yep. Dad jokes.” Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen grinned at each other. 

[depresssant]

'it's an american wedding. they don't mean too much. we were so in love.'

yandere!gojo x reader

synopsis : a simple senior year predicament landed you in a cage you were sure was bound to drive you insane.

it was always survival over luxury for you

amongst the rich kids, you were like a penny in a pile of a hundred dollar bills. seeing people with expensive cars and brand clothes that probably cost thousands of dollars never really mattered to you. you came from a very poor background and it never really mattered to you because there was nothing wrong with being poor. you really couldn't care less since some people were just unlucky. like you.

however, you didn't know what you were doing in a place like this.

everybody deserved the chance to climb out of poverty to live a good life. that was a belief you held onto firmly because it was the only thing that you kept you going, but you did not belong in an estate like this.

but now here you were, and you couldn't regret it more than you did right now.

"what the hell, satoru?"

the bane of your existence tilted his head and furrowed his brows in that manner that captured the hearts of everyone. if only they saw. if only they knew. if only they realized who this wolf in sheep's clothing truly was⏤that this persona of a kind, cheerful, and loving guy everybody knew and loved wasn't who he truly was. he was the devil walking amongst humans, and he was fooling them all.

"what?" he asked all innocently with his teasing grin and flirty eyes that finally weren't hidden behind those sunglasses that he wore everywhere.

"dinner with my mom? what the hell is wrong with you?"

"she invited me over, babe. what was i supposed to do? reject her offer?"

gosh, he was insufferable. he knew exactly what he was doing, but didn't want to admit it. the idea of his new, profound actions had made that pit of unease which settled in your stomach grow with each little skin-crawling thing he did.

this wolf sauntered around helpless sheep, picking them out one by one until he reached his prey. you. the thing was, you didn't know why he was so fixated on you.

that was the worse part.

he was out to get you, and you couldn't do anything but wait.

and satoru had now picked out your mother.

"leave her alone! she's got nothing to do with this!" you hissed out like a feral cat, but you were good at controlling your emotions. this rolling stone just managed to bring out the worst in you⏤the ugly you didn't know existed.

satoru laughed and wrapped his arms around you in a suffocating hug as he smothered himself into the crook of your neck. "relax." his arms tightened the second you tried to move around. it was a warning. "is it wrong for me to meet my wife's mom? besides, your mom is an amazing cook. i can see where you got your skills from."

your mom.

the three days since you hadn't seen her felt like an eternity. was she worried? was she lonely? was she concerned about this “friend” you were having a sleepover with? considering your history, you wouldn't be surprised if she tore up the entire neighborhood looking for you before you were finally allowed to message her.

satoru's attention on you was like working a full time job in which you only clocked out when you fell asleep. even then, he found ways to ruin it for you, either with his helicopter behavior or die hard need to be touching you every second of the day.

your silence was something he didn't like, so he squeezed your body under his hold. that was enough of a threat. holding back a sigh, you reluctantly returned to running your fingers through his silky, pure snow-colored hair that surrounded his beautiful face like a halo. how could a person this beautiful be so vile?

if only you could save your mother from his poisonous claws.

"you know, your mother told me a few things about you."

"... what did she say?"

his sapphire blue eyes flicked up to stare into your eyes, and time came to a standstill when he smiled. he smiled like an angel but loved like the devil. if the devil could even love. you didn't want to admit that every time you looked into his eyes, your breath halted like the world around you. it went against your deep-rooted hate for him, but you'd be damned if you didn't crumble like ash when he set you on fire with his mere gaze.

satoru explained how your mother gushed and ranted on about how hard-working you were, how you were kind and caring, and how you needed a partner who would support you when times got difficult. he teased you about baby pictures of you, and you questioned whether this really was the same scrawny guy you saved from a bunch of bullies.

back then, he looked completely different from how he did right now. he wasn't some hot jock with a body that girls fan-girled over, no. he was a tall and scrawny kid with broken glasses, a busted lip, and bruises that told you he was clearly being bullied by his peers.

that fateful summer day, you were just taking a stroll through the neighborhood when he came tumbling towards you with four kids you knew all too well. ordering satoru to get behind you, you had beaten the crap out of everyone of those guys and patched him up at your home before walking him all the way back to his house.

he had vowed to meet you again, and well, he had done it.

that kid was so much more different than the guy you knew now, and you would be lying if you said you didn't feel a little solemn about it. he had changed for the worse. you should've know that when he made another appearance in your life. those four guys had disappeared.

satoru just followed you around like a bubbly guy trying to rope a grumpy and moody girl into a friendship, but you could do nothing but regret it now. he tailed you around to get evidence of you and your illegal “activities”. to threaten you.

you wished you never even saved him from those bullies that day. the thing was that you got into tussle with the police quite a lot. you got into fights a lot and had landed up in jail for the fifth time before getting released on probation. the deal was three strikes and you would land up in the slammer permanently. you were two strikes in when satoru got a video of you in a fight...

he used it to threaten you.

that was three months into school, and he had wound up with you in an abandoned warehouse near the place holding a party where the two of you were. he proposed his deal leading to you nearly going ballistic, but those three digits dialing the police were enough to make you settle down. 

satoru's deal was simple. if you became his girlfriend, then he wouldn't show the video to the police.

typical rich kid shit.

of course, he would use any means to get what he wanted. you were no exception.

reluctantly so, you accepted, and the seven month of agony begun. the smothering touches, the constant need to be near you, the controlling and obsessive behavior, the tracker in your phone? he was batshit insane!

you were a very patient person, though. rumors and history stated that most of his girlfriends lasted a maximum of a month before he got bored, so you waited. you waited, waited, waited, and waited! that was your fatal mistake.

how stupid of you.

one evening before prom changed it all.

the cool autumn breeze of the california evening blew at your loose strands of hair, the large palm trees casted shadows that fell down the lukewarm sand of the beach as clear and sparkly waves running along the orange and pink horizon crashed upon the shores, singing a faint tale of time.

"marry me."

staring at that blue diamond encased in a gold ring decorated with silver, you couldn't have helped but feel like chains had begun to wrap around you like boa snakes... slowly beginning to squeeze the life out of you.

satoru's eyes were bright and glowing like the colors of the diamond, and they looked up at you sinisterly with that grin that seemed to make the entire world fall apart around you. 

"we'll go to the courthouse tomorrow. who gives a damn about the elders?" his voice was pleading, but there it was. that tone. he spoke like he was stating. not pleading. "we'll have an american wedding."

and an american funeral.

for when he put the ring on your finger, you died.

...

the sun set, and you looked at the snake wrapped around your ring finger. it glimmered under the dim light of the bedroom like the glowing eyes of a predator staring from the shadows. 'you two were so in love with each other that it had driven the both of you insane!' satoru had claimed, but maybe...

maybe it was just you who had gone insane.