#based off an ao3 story of mine

[the-real-loser-otaku-girl]

Ppl yearn for the ena x mizuki married life AU

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

prologue - Next chapter

Masterlist (coming soon)

Chapter one - A glimpse into the family secret

The knight of the night, the man with a thousand plans, Gotham's greatest detective, was holding his daughter, Serelith, with such tenderness and delicacy. She was crying in her arms, scared. And rightly so: Serelith had never lived through anything like this before. Her other siblings had some pity for her now, even Damian showed a hint of sympathy, probably because of the fear they all felt over what could’ve happened to her at the Joker’s hands.

Then there was the other daughter. Batman's illegitimate child, the youngest of the Waynes, no, the youngest of the Valfinsas, watching with tearful eyes from behind the bars as the family she grew up with held their blood daughter close. Leaving her alone.

The Joker just laughed, shoving the girl hard against the bars. -Hahaha! Looks like Batsy's got his favorites- he laughed louder. All the girl could do was stare through tearful eyes, praying, just once. for someone to turn around. To look at you.

-The Joker can wait. Priority is getting Serelith out of here- That’s what Dick said. The perfect big brother. Someone who, like her, had also been adopted. He handed Serelith a pill and a bottle of water. Carefully, they took Serelith away, leaving the building where the two of them had been held captive.Leaving you there. Not looking back. Not noticing you were missing.

The Joker let out a cold laugh, already getting ready to have fun with the new toy Bruce had left behind. -Don’t worry. I won’t take my eyes off you- he scoffed, looking right at you as you cried. How you wished you had gotten out of here, out of a place where no one ever looked at you.

You threw the comic across the bed, looking at it like it was the devil himself.

A few weeks ago, you'd decided to try reading comics to bond with your family. You'd once overheard Stephanie teasing Damian about reading and drawing manga, and maybe Tim might be into it too, right? After all, there are games based on comics. So, you spent your allowance on one, hoping it'd at least end with you arguing with Damian about the difference between manga and comics, or maybe Tim would recommend one based on one of his games.

You'd gone to a store after finishing your homeschooling session with Alfred, browsed a few comics, and then, suddenly, felt a strong bump against your side, right where your bag was hanging. When you looked down, you noticed three comics had fallen to the floor. You tried putting them back, but couldn’t figure out where they were supposed to go. With no other option, you looked for help from the clerk—who didn’t even bother to pay attention to you.

-Another kid trying to sneak in their hero stories? Listen, girl, you're not going to get famous just because someone randomly reads a comic drawn by a 12 years old-.

No matter how much you insisted they weren't yours, he didn't believe you. You got kicked out of the store. Great. But hey, at least you had three new comics to read for free! And not just any comics, they were about Gotham's great vigilante himself! Not exactly what you were going for, but maybe you'd get to connect with someone in your family by talking about the city's crime and its paper version.

You got back to Wayne Manor all excited, and started reading the three comics that had literally fallen from the sky.

And that's how you ended up here.

Batman: Bloodline. That was the name of the comic saga you just finished reading, the one that left a bitter taste in your mouth. At first, after reading the opening pages, you thought it was fake, a bad joke, some prankster who thought it would be hilarious to realistically draw the millionaire playboy dressed as a bat, acting as Gotham’s nocturnal hero. No wonder the shop clerk didn’t believe you. This probably wouldn’t help you get any closer to your brothers, but maybe if you showed it to Dick or Jason, they’d make fun of Bruce with you. So you kept reading.

But then all your siblings showed up, as the Robins and the Batgirls. And then you appeared. Not playing any role, not as a hero, just you. The daughter born from one of Bruce’s deepest loves, a model beautiful both inside and out, who had died just days after giving birth to you. A child who looked nothing like her mother, and even less like her father.

Everything was… eerily accurate. The mannerisms, the backstories, everyone’s personalities, they were spot on. Even the inside of the manor was a perfect match! You kept reading, uneasily, and that’s when she showed up: a girl with Bruce’s same stoic seriousness, and your mother’s same warmth. The drawing copied her features almost perfectly.

The comic was about her; Serelith. How she was found, as the original daughter. How she adapted to the family. And finally, how you and she were kidnapped by the Joker. How the family saved her. And left you behind.

You don’t want to believe it. Even if that girl crying behind the bars looked so much like you. Even if every detail lined up so perfectly. You didn’t want to believe that this family, the same one you beg and plead for even a crumb of love, forgot about you in such a horrible moment.

You hide the three comics under your pillow. You refuse to eat when Alfred calls for dinner, and you fake being asleep until the night falls.

You check the time on your phone, waiting for the right moment to come. You get up from bed and carefully make your way through the giant manor, until you’re standing in the same room where the old clock is. If it’s true, if they’re really Gotham’s vigilantes , they would notice immediately, and all of this will have been for nothing… or maybe they won’t even glance in your direction.

You didn’t see anyone for a few minutes from your hiding spot. You thought maybe they’d glanced in your direction, and were just waiting for you to leave.

Until you saw Tim, Zesti drink in hand, clear signs of sleeplessness under his eyes, dark circles, and wearing his Red Robin suit, walk up to the clock and set the time to 10:47. The same time as in the comic.

You felt your heart beating faster and faster. You wanted to cry just from seeing that time there, right in front of you. Mocking you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You ran off, tripping over a few things along the way.

You got to your room and threw yourself into bed. You could feel the comics crinkle beneath your pillow as you laid your head down, just like your heart crumbled when you realized… that part of the comic was real. Which meant not only that you weren’t the daughter of that woman, but that all these years, and all the ones still to come, meant nothing to your family.

You feel the tears slowly forming in your eyes. You want to do something, think of a plan to avoid the day you end up in the Joker’s hands, but your mind is clouded. You try to sit up, feeling the anxiety course through your body. You need to start planning how to escape the Joker, how to live away from the Waynes. You don’t have time for whatever’s happening to you. Your trembling hand goes to search for the comics under your pillow, but it freezes when you hear someone knock on the door and then open it without waiting for an answer.

You turn to look at the entrance, finding Tim there, clearly exhausted. Your hands shift to clutch the sheets, gripping them tightly as you see Tim in his Red Robin suit standing in front of you.

Tim’s had a rough few days. He hasn’t slept well due to a case, and there’s a small crisis at Wayne Enterprises. He almost went without a shower for more than a week, he was close to breaking his own record. The lack of sleep made his instincts and everything he’s learned as a Robin falter. Even so, he insisted on going out tonight to look for clues. He got dressed and ready to leave with the others, and with a brain half-asleep, he didn’t realize something, or someone, was watching him as he was about to leave. Until he heard a noise that alerted him. By reflex, he turned to look and saw your smaller figure collide with a couch, then get up and keep running.

The sleep vanished in an instant, and on instinct, he ran after you, thinking about how he would convince you not to tell Bruce you’d seen him.

He opened the door without asking, just knocking out of courtesy, expecting to find you excited, shouting with joy at the discovery that your older brother was one of Gotham’s heroes. But instead, he saw you, breathing heavily, clutching the sheets tightly, crying.

You’ve always been sensitive, crying over the loss of your mother or because Bruce didn’t give you attention. He’d always agreed with Steph and Jason that you might be overreacting. Everyone in the family had lost someone, and it’s hard for Bruce to give more attention with so many kids and the mantle of Batman weighing on him. Even if you didn’t know the latest, you should be more patient. Besides, didn’t you have Damian keeping you company? And he was sure that at least once, you’d gone to the library with Babs…

Even though part of him thought you were exaggerating, the way you cried now, the way you trembled and avoided looking at him like he was a traitor, told him this time was different. And it made him feel something pressing inside of him.

He slowly approached the bed and sat next to you, studying you more carefully. You seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. He tried calling your name to get your attention, but you didn’t respond.

Tim quickly thought about how to calm you down. You weren’t quite in the middle of an anxiety attack yet, so he might be able to stop it from escalating. He scanned your room, searching for something that might help him hold you steady.

…

Has your room always been this… empty? For being the daughter of a model and a millionaire, one would expect your room to be full of toys and luxuries. But it’s almost bare. There are a few things visible: misshapen cushions with exposed threads, a blanket of mismatched colors, and some decorations hanging from the shelves and walls, arranged from the ugliest to the most beautiful.

For your luck, he manages to spot a small blue plush dog on a shelf. He quickly grabs it and forces it into your smaller, more fragile hands.

– Squeeze – He orders. You obey. Your mind, at some point, kept replaying the comic's drawings, where they abandoned you, where the same person in front of you did nothing.

– Breathe with me, at least once, breathe – Tim's voice reaches your ears. By instinct, you follow, tightening the plush toy even more in your hands. The images slowly fade from your mind, what you felt could’ve been worse begins to vanish, and your tearful gaze meets a pair of blue eyes looking back at you with concern.

Tim feels a small relief inside him that you didn’t end up in a full-blown panic attack, but he's still worried about you. Why did finding out it was Red Robin cause that reaction? Why, all of a sudden, aren’t you looking at him with pleading eyes wanting attention, but instead, avoiding his gaze? The silence between you two forms slowly, becoming more noticeable, until you wipe away your tears. You summon strength to look at him and break the silence with a voice firm but trembling slightly.

–I won’t tell anyone you’re Red Robin… I promise… you can leave now – You didn’t feel like explaining to Tim that you found a comic from the future, you weren’t even sure he would believe you, or if he would listen.

He, on the other hand, was shocked. Were you kicking him out of your room? Was this your reaction to finding out he's Red Robin? Did you not care? What's wrong with you? He looked at you, still incredulous. Why were you acting like this all of a sudden? Or had you always been, and I just hadn’t paid enough attention to you? He replayed the events of the week in his mind, remembering that you once talked about going to buy comics, maybe like you tried to talk at dinner… dinner from… how long ago was that? He kept going over what he remembered, what could’ve triggered your near panic attack? Why weren’t you looking at him like before? And why, now that you did, was it with coldness and pain? Then it clicked. Maybe you heard his recent conversation with Jason? Both had mentioned what he talked about with Steph, how sometimes you cried too much and seemed exaggerated. Was that it? That was probably it, right? Maybe not the reason for your near anxiety crisis, but it was definitely why you wanted him out of your room. You didn’t want him to keep seeing you like this, did you? Well, he wasn’t the best at handling emotions, that was more Dick’s thing, but still, he couldn’t leave you emotionally constipated. They already had enough of that from Bruce, Jason, and Damian. So, he left your room, informed Bruce that he wouldn’t go out with them tonight, changed out of his suit into pajamas, and came back to your room. You looked at him confused. He didn’t blame you, he had never been close to you like this before, but now, he wanted to be. He wanted you to stop looking at him like that.

Thank God you took the opportunity when Tim left to move the comics. You couldn’t do much, just toss them under your bed. You were hoping he wouldn’t look there now that it seemed he wanted to sleep in your room. He lay next to you, and you gave him his space. You both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, until he finally decided to break it.

–Are you okay?–

It was a simple question, short and direct, yet you just stared at the ceiling. Thinking about his question and everything else.

Some comics, from who knows where, revealed to you that this isn’t your biological family, that they’re also Gotham’s vigilantes, and that for a girl they’d known for only a few months, they abandoned you; To the daughter who, even if not by blood, had been part of the family all its life

Should you have seen it coming? Yes. Ever since you can remember, no one in this family has really worried about you, paid attention to you, or even looked at you. No parent events, no movie nights, nothing. You don’t have memories of anyone except Alfred giving you ice cream for every good grade on your tests.

Why were they different with you? More than half of the family doesn’t share blood, yet they still love and care for each other. Couldn’t you get just a little bit of that affection? What was different?

Was it because you took the place of your mother’s true daughter? Maybe they always felt like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t what they expected.

Serelith was the original, the real one. That’s why she earned their affection. That’s why everyone else cares about her. Not even your brothers… No, not even Bruce’s adopted sons or his two biological children lied. Only you. You were the only one who entered the family through a lie you never even told.

They’re detectives. Even if they don’t say anything or investigate, their instincts probably tell them you’re not who you’re supposed to be…

And now that you’ve confirmed the comics are real, it means you’re destined to suffer at the hands of the Joker.

In the comics, he finds out about Bruce’s “beloved” daughters, the only ones in the family who aren’t vigilantes, and kidnaps both of you. The family quickly comes up with a plan to search for you… to search for her. Bruce and the others completely forget you exist, leaving you at the mercy of one of Gotham’s worst criminals.

Were you okay? …No, you weren’t. Not while you remained in this family that doesn’t really feel like yours. What you want most now is to get out of here, for the Joker to never see you as Batman’s daughter, for no one to see you at all, until you’re far from where you never belonged. Only then would you be okay. But for now…

– Yeah, I’m fine – you answered, sounding a little too calm for Tim’s liking. He just sighed beside you and turned to face the other way. He couldn’t bear to look at you. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to finish the case and the situation at Wayne Enterprises as fast as possible, so he could focus entirely on figuring out what was going on with you. – Good night – Tim said as he tried to fall asleep. – Good night – you answered, turning your back to him as well, already thinking about how you’d make a plan tomorrow to leave this place as soon as possible.

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had trouble concentrating and translating it into English. I’ll try to update this fic every Friday, or at least every two weeks if time allows. If for some reason I can’t stick to the two-week schedule (which probably means I have writer’s block and won’t be writing for a while), I’ll let you know. I’ll probably update on Ao3 first because the fanfic was originally written in my native language, and I’m posting everything there in its original form, in case anyone wants to check it out. On another note, I wonder if anyone will notice that the section dividers are different, one has Batfam and Philomel images in the background, and the other is empty…

Taglist

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[takes1]

newest drop was fire bro🙌🔥🔥🔥

oikawa crushing on quiet!reader

ts made me smile. much appreciated ❤️ no smut this time; i'm getting smut fatigue. needed a short palette cleanser. thinking about doing some short form stuff while i work through the pre-january requests.

warnings. none, sfw

details. fem!reader / fluffy, feel-good fic / quiet!reader / oikawa crushing / 'weird'!reader / nerd x popular trope / oikawa is obsessed with you / based off of the 'hi wayne/bye wayne' audio / whipped!oikawa / iwa being a good person / 800 words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3.

"Hi, Tohru," You said, just as you did every day, to turn in your homework to the teacher's desk.

Oikawa was leaning forward, engaged in finishing a hushed story with Iwazumi. But your light, airy tone -void of any old, tired motive- took precedence with no further thought.

"-And then he was-- Hi, (Y/n)."

He perked up in many ways, just in time for you to walk by his desk again. Eyes wider, an uncontrollable smile brightening his former, serious expression- his brow softer, as he twisted to watch you return to your seat.

It was unclear why you felt comfortable enough to be on a first-name basis. Oikawa didn't mind. It distinguished you, like many things did, from the girls who only spoke to him because they were after something.

"The fuck was that?" Iwa searched his expression, finding some kind of emotion, or thought pattern at the very least, that he had never seen on his friend before.

Oikawa turned back around, confused, but not defensive.

"What?"

"That," Iwa asserted, shortly before he was called to face forward. He muttered, under his breath, "-That look on your face."

Oikawa was left to figure it out, a hint of effort on his brow, for the remainder of class.

Lunch eventually came around. He was still feeling different, and wasn't sure if it was what Iwa pointed out, or not.

In the process of standing to grab his lunch from his bag, and go eat outside like he usually did with his friend, he caught a quick glimpse of you. You were folding another addition to the row of tiny, paper cranes on your desk.

"C'mon," Iwa shouldered his bag.

Oikawa took a step, but lingered a moment longer.

You were sitting alone, but you didn't look sad about it. The seat in front of you was empty.

He filled it, despite Iwa's quiet protests, and sat backwards to watch you. The bench they usually chose to sit at sucked, because it was regularly bombarded with people he didn't know, all trying to talk to him. He usually never got to eat his lunch.

"Hi Tohru," You smiled, choosing not to look at him, in order to focus on your craft.

His reply was a fond sigh, "Hi, (Y/n)."

From here, he had the privilege of finally getting a good look at your face.

There was a sort of mild, unbothered, pleasantness to you. You weren't worried about anything else. You didn't give a damn that he was here, much less that he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

Iwa flicked him, hard, in the back of the head. It was after he shot back upright, rubbing the sore spot, that he realized he had been leaning slowly forward.

"Don't be a dick," Iwa muttered.

The assumption was such a leap in logic that Oikawa had no idea what he meant. You added another crane, that tiny, permanent smile on your pretty face.

He ignored him. Instead, he opted to try talking to you for the first time, "Um- are you going to eat your lunch?"

Still not looking at him, you were tearing off another page-- "I forgot it."

Again, you didn't seem like you minded such a dismal thing. Without much further thought, he grabbed his and set it in your workspace.

This was the only time you would look up at him.

A shudder wracked down his spine, rendering his voice a bit weak, "Yo-u can have mine."

There was some consideration in your eyes, before you pushed it back towards him, and refocused on your paper, "No. You need to eat. Aren't you playing a big match, soon?"

The way you asked made it seem like you weren't looking for an answer.

"Uh-," He did you the liberty of freeing up your desk space again, lunch box in his clammy hands, "Yeah- yeah, we are."

Iwa was getting tired of standing- you heard him shift his weight and sigh. He was still under the assumption that Oikawa was trying to flirt for some useless, and cruel joke.

"You can sit there," You motioned to the desk next to Oikawa.

His inflection was stilted, and his cadence was slow as he, hesitantly, took a seat.

"Thanks..."

It was quiet for a while, aside from the other students chatting from further back in the classroom. Iwa watched his friend face forward and eat slowly, slouched at the shoulders. It was an unusual sight.

Gradually, it dawned on him that this superficial pretty boy -in a rare, natural phenomenon- held a deeply genuine and innocent crush.

When they got up at the ring of the next bell, you were about 20 cranes deep. Oikawa left you, with another wistful stare, to head back to his seat. Though he loved how you didn't need to fill the silence, he wished he could make more conversation with you.

The classroom began filling up again, getting louder, and crowded for the next subject.

He was flitting his pencil between his sluggish fingers, a frown deep and heavy against his knuckles, when you came into view once more.

Another precious moment of hopeful, heart-pounding glee.

You placed a crane on his desk, then straightened it up, "Bye, Tohru."

This time, you waited long enough for him to properly respond, dawning that uncontrollable grin again, "Bye, (Y/n)."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu

[27spoons]

Something to Try | Natalie Scatorccio

summary: A college party and some drinks with your best friend! What could possibly go wrong or irrevocably change your relationship?

pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

based on: pretty girls - reneé rapp

warnings: smut (afab!reader), internalized homophobia (nat), period typical homophobia (if you squint), alcohol consumption, ambiguously queer!reader, angst in my pants

a/n: i have not written smut in YEARS so this is... like... me getting back into it. i apologize in advance 😭🙏

wc: 5020

part two / ao3

Somewhere between Philadelphia and New York City sits a white two-story house in the middle of a nice suburban neighbourhood. Shitty speakers blast terrible dance music through the walls, and you're already wondering why the neighbours haven't called in noise complaints to the county. 

"Well, at least it isn't a frat house this time." You mutter with a scowl, crossing your arms and looking at the scene from the sidewalk.

The girl standing next to you scoffs and shoves her hands in the pocket of her leather jacket, "Y'know, if you're gonna bitch the whole time, you could go back to your dorm…"

"I am not—" You huff and roll your eyes, "I am not going back to the dorms. Let me bitch every now and then."

"You bitch constantly." She returns your eye roll, "There is never a moment in time you are not bitching about something."

You uncross your arms and shove at her shoulder, "You're a prick. Now I'm gonna bitch about you, Natalie. Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes. Because that means you're talking about me, and that feeds my ego." Nat says with a firm nod of her head, unable to hide the dumb grin on her face as she walks with you up to the front door of the house. "So, to clarify, you can only bitch if you're bitching about me."

"One day, I worry your head will explode with how big it's getting." You open the door to the house, and the stench of cheap booze and stale cigarette smoke immediately assaults your senses. "Oh, I lied. This is basically a frat house."

Nat laughs as she steps in behind you, "Nah, this place looks like it has working toilets in all bathrooms. Can't be a frat house." She glances around, eyes searching through the clusters of people scattered around the house. Her face lights up when she apparently finds someone she wants to see, and she turns to face you. "Hey, I'm gonna chat with Kev for a little while, but I'll catch up to you later, yeah?"

You sigh and wave her off, "Yeah, yeah. Just try not to forget I'm here this time."

She gives you an overdramatic gasp, a hand flying over her heart, "How dare you. I would never forget you're here." She's already taking steps back to talk to Kevyn, "You're always my top priority; you should know that by now." She shoots an easy wink at you, then vanishes into the groups of people in the living room.

Well. You really don't know what you were expecting. Nat has a tendency to vanish off to smoke weed or do drugs with a few of her friends, and you don't know why you thought tonight would be any different.

Oh, well. Might as well go see how your friends are doing.

About an hour and three Zimas later, a familiar presence makes herself known by pressing right up against your side. "Told you I wouldn't forget about you." Nat grins to herself, "C'mon. Let's get a drink."

"I'm not done mine—" She's already got your arm in a firm grip and tugging you away from your group of friends. 

"Fine. Then I can get one, and we can go smoke after. Either way, you're coming with me."

"I was in the middle of a conversation…" A whine leaves your throat, but you do nothing to stop her from pulling you to the destination she has in mind. 

"We can start a new conversation with some alcohol. Away from all the people." For all the parties that Natalie attended, you always found it funny how she preferred to stick to the edge, watching from the sidelines. If it wasn't for the fact she was a starter on the soccer team, she'd probably be considered a wallflower. 

Natalie drags you into the kitchen, where the air smells faintly of spilled beer and lime. She lets go of your arm long enough to rummage through the countertop clutter, successfully locating a half-empty bottle of vodka. “Classy,” she mutters, grabbing a plastic cup and pouring herself a generous splash before topping it with soda.

Her eyes flick to you as she takes a sip, leaning casually against the counter. “You’re way too sober to be at a party like this.”

"Mm, trust me, I'm working on it." You raise up the half-empty can you've been nursing for the past fifteen minutes. "You, on the other hand, seem far too eager to get drunk." A sip of your drink, "Like, more eager than usual. And you're already pretty eager to get shitfaced." 

Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes, gesturing with her head for you to follow her. "Yeah, well, we played a good game today. Won by two goals. Maybe I'm celebrating." She quips as her shoulder pushes the backdoor open. 

But… something in her tone feels off. You can't quite place it, but the words sound slightly strained. Maybe it's because you've known her so long, or maybe she's just getting more obvious, but you swear you see a small crack in the mask she so often wears in public.

"Nah, you're being weird tonight." You murmur, eyes narrowing as you appraise her behaviour. "Why are you being weird tonight?"

"I'm not being weird tonight." She scoffs and grabs a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket, "Maybe you're hallucinating. Take any pills tonight?"

You frown, "Natalie."

She sighs and looks away like a child being chastised. "You're so pushy sometimes." She passes you a cigarette, "Jus' thinkin' about things."

"What things?" You lean against the wall beside her and take the smoke with a slight nod of thanks, letting her light the end for you once it's placed between your lips. "Anything I can help with?"

Nat hesitates momentarily as she lights her cigarette, clearly debating if she should actually speak about what's on her mind.

It takes her half of whatever she dumped into her cup, a handful of drags from her cigarette, and more than a few huffs of frustration on her part.

"You're… I mean… you're into chicks, right?"

You pause on the inhale of the smoke, then proceed to cough it out in surprise at the line of questioning. "Jesus—" A few more coughs, you waving the smoke away from your face. "That's what you wanted to ask me?" You shake your head and blink a few times, "Yeah, uh, I thought I told you that I was into chicks, like, ages ago."

"No, uh, you did." She waves her free hand dismissively, "I… sorry. I didn't—" She groans in frustration, "I think it's cool."

"Cool?" You parrot.

"Yeah." She says immediately, "I just… I think it's cool that you're open with yourself about that stuff." Nat brings her thumb to rub at one of her eyebrows, "Just… we don't talk about stuff like that." She shrugs, "Guess I just wanna check in now and then."

Confusion finds its way onto your face, and you shake your head as you try and put the pieces together of why is she asking this stuff right now? "You… you sure that's it?" 

Her facade seems to crumble further as she takes another drag from her cigarette, "Nah, I just…" She glances up at you, "I dunno. If I was gonna, I think you'd be the one I tried."

Your eyes fly open at that comment, because… what???

Your brain short-circuits for a second, trying to process her words. “Wait… what—” You blink and shake your head a few times, trying to pull yourself back together. 

"Don't worry about it." Nat interrupts quickly, "I didn't say anything." She snubs the cigarette out on the wall behind her, no longer meeting your gaze.

"No… no… don't do that." You shake your head and push off the wall, heart pounding so hard you can feel it, "You did say something. You can't just… throw that out there then pretend that you didn't say it."

She finishes the rest of her drink and drops the butt of the cigarette into the empty cup, "God, you're annoying sometimes. Just… forget I said anything, okay?"

"No… I'm not gonna forget you said that. 'cus I know you. You wouldn't just… say something like that." You take a step closer, "So if you're gonna say something, say it."

The blonde seems frustrated at the development in the conversation, and for a moment, you worry she's gonna completely shut things down and pull away, but instead, her expression softens. "I don't know." Looking down at her boots, she murmurs, "I don't know what I'm saying. I just… think about it sometimes. About you."

"Like… me? Specifically?" You shake your head, still in shock at this revelation.

A bitter laugh escapes Nat's mouth, "Don't make me spell it out." Her gaze finally meets yours again, and you swear your breath hitches at the sudden tension between the two of you.

"Natalie…" You start, but before you can say anything else, she's cutting you off and closing the difference between you.

"Shut up." She mutters, and then her lips are on yours—urgent, messy, and laced with the taste of vodka and cigarette smoke.

You freeze at the contact, eyes widening even further. This is not how you expected tonight to play out, and yet… you can't find it in you to pull away.

Despite yourself, you kiss her back, quickly matching her intensity. Her hands find their way to your hair as yours find their way to her waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens.

When she finally pulls back, her breathing is uneven, and her eyes are wide, like she can't believe what she just did. "Shit…" she whispers, running her fingers through your hair.

"What… what the hell was that?" You ask in disbelief, still trying to catch your breath.

"I told you," her trembling voice betraying the smirk tugging at her lips. "If I was gonna… you'd be the one I tried."

You swallow down the sudden lump that's appeared in your throat, "I don't… this…"  You don't even know what you're trying to say, but you're trying to form coherent phrases. "What?"

A beat of silence as her eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth again, "Do you wanna be the one I try?" She asks quietly, continuing to run her fingers through her hair, making you far weaker than you should be. 

"Natalie…" You manage, voice barely above a whisper. She's close now. Too close, really. Close enough that this could complicate everything and—

Her lips are back on yours.

That's enough to shut your thoughts up.

At some point during this exploratory makeout session, some obnoxious douchebag wolf whistles at the two of you making out, to which Nat promptly flips him off and starts pulling you inside the house.

"Come on." Natalie laughs as she tugs you into a spare bedroom, "I need you alone. Without assholes with a God complex interrupting us." She closes and locks the door to the bedroom. When she turns and looks at you, her lower lip is caught between her teeth, and her green eyes have a dangerous glint. 

The second the door is locked, the reality of the situation sets in. Are you really about to do this? Are you really about to… God, what are you even gonna do here? Natalie is looking at you like you're a tall glass of water and she's dying of thirst. Meanwhile, you're looking at her like a damn deer in the headlights. 

"For the record," She adds, "I'm not… this isn't…" She gestures between the two of you, "This is just some fun. Like… you know I'm not gay, right?" 

She doesn't give you a chance to answer that before her lips are on yours, and she's walking you back to the edge of the bed, pushing you down and straddling your waist. "Just to blow off some steam." She murmurs as her lips move to your neck, pressing wet kisses against the soft skin.

If you had half a mind right now, you'd probably say something like, "Straight chicks don't willingly do stuff like this with other chicks," or "I see multiple issues with that logic," but it's hard to form replies when her tongue is tracing along your pulse point, and her lips are oh so warm against your skin.

You vaguely think about all the times you've thought about this happening—but that's just it. They were just supposed to be thoughts. You never actually expected to end up in bed with Natalie—let alone her being the one to initiate it—but here you are, all the same.

"Nat—" You finally manage once you remember you need to breathe, "You—"

She pulls back briefly to tug her shirt over her head, and all rational thought vanishes out the window (along with the last shreds of the restraint you had—if you even had any, to begin with), and she moves her hands to tug off your shirt, which you eagerly help her remove.

"I'm so happy you came to the party." She whispers in awe as her hands trail up and down your torso in appreciation, "God…" Her hand stops to cup your breast, and you find yourself arching into her chest subconsciously. 

She looks down at you like you're an experiment—which you are, really—or something to decipher and explore. But, honestly? You're sorta willing to be her experiment right now, even if a part of you knows this will hurt the both of you come morning.

"I wasn't gonna come, you know?" You murmur back, letting her map out your body under her surprisingly careful fingers, "I just… didn't see the point."

"That's your issue, yeah?" Nat replies back just as quietly, "You always think too much rather than just doing. Life is so much more fun when you stop overthinking everything." She brushes her thumb over your clothed nipple, which causes you to let out a small gasp, "And sometimes you talk too much when you should be doing other things. Like this." Her hand leaves your chest and joins her other one behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall down her shoulders.

"Oh, fuck." It's your turn to be awestruck now. "God, you're so…" Your hands trail up her body, running up her sides, her head falling back and a sigh spilling from her lips. "Fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful." You stop to cup the underside of her breasts, earning a sound of approval from the girl on top of you as she begins to roll her hips against yours slowly.

"Yeah…" Nat breathes out, "Little higher…" She grabs your wrists and moves your hands on your behalf, placing them directly overtop her breasts, "Don't be afraid to touch me, not fragile…"

"Wasn't afraid," You reply as you squeeze gently, "was just trying to take my time. Not rush the good stuff."

She scoffs out a laugh, "Maybe I want you to rush to the good stuff; think of that?"

"Nah, that's no fun. Foreplay is half the excitement. Gotta build tension."

"Tension's been building all night." She rasps with a roll of her hips, "So don't give me that bullshit."

"Fine. Maybe I just want to take my time. Think of that?" You roll a nipple between your thumb and pointer, grinning to yourself at the way she gasps and her hips stutter at the sensation. "I like to play with my food before I eat it."

A low chuckle spills from deep in Nat's chest at your last comment, "Jesus, you're terrible. Has your dirty talk always been this bad?"

"Yep." You respond immediately, "Just another thing I'm skilled at, really."

"Really?" She looks down at you, an assumed smirk on her face. "What other things could you possibly be skilled at?"

You grin right back at her. That was exactly the reply you wanted. And she says your dirty talk is terrible. You're just always five steps ahead, really. 

"If you'd let me show you, I've been told my fingers and tongue are pretty talented." You grin wider when she blushes despite herself, "And, honestly? I kinda wanna show you."

Nat scoffs to hide how flustered she is at your teasing, "W-what? Is this the part where you tell me that I've been "missing out," too?"

"Oh, I wasn't gonna say anything. You were the one that did that."

A beat. 

You laugh.

"Oh my God. Shut up." And her lips are back on yours before you can protest—not that you would want to, anyways—and you're kissing her back in a heartbeat, her hands leaving your wrists to rest on your collarbones, thumbs tracing the lines of your bra strap.

Your hands find their way to Nat's hips, squeezing the soft flesh there and encouraging their movement as her tongue slides its way into your mouth.

Things move fast after that. You aren't quite sure when she manages to take your bra off, and she isn't quite sure when you managed to get her pants off, but before either of you can think about how fast things are moving, you're both making out in nothing but your underwear.

For one of the first times in your life, you're realising that you're the more experienced one when it comes to this sort of thing. Nat's never been with a girl before, giving you the upper hand. 

Something you fully plan on exploiting. 

You end up shifted so that she's laying flat on the bed under you while you're propped up on an elbow next to her, using your free arm to run your hand down her body as the two of you continue this heated makeout session you've been in for the past… however long you've been in this room.

When your fingers begin to tease the edge of her panties, Nat gasps and deepens the kiss further, with one of her hands curling around the nape of your neck as the other comes to rest on your shoulder. Which, well, seems like consent if you've ever been given any.

You let your fingers trail under the waistband and lower still, grinning into the kiss when you feel her push herself into your hand despite the fact you haven't even touched her yet. 

"Don't be a tease." Nat whines into the kiss, earning a low laugh from you.

"Not teasing. Just taking my time, is all." You properly brush your fingers against her, delving into the warmth but never quite going where she wants you to.

"No, you're being a fucking tease!" She whines again, more petulantly, her nails digging into your shoulder.

You click your tongue at that, "And you're a lot needier than I thought you'd be, Scatorccio. Can't spend five minutes doing some foreplay?"

"What I want to do is spend my time—" You cut her off when your fingers brush against her clit, a feral grin spreading across your features. 

"You were saying something, Nat?"

"Oh my God. Shut up." She repeats for the second time tonight, pulling you in for another kiss, using the hand on the nape of your neck to aid in her agenda. 

After you decide you've teased her clit for a suitable amount of time, you slide your middle and ring finger down the length of her wetness, then proceed to tease her entrance in slow circles. Nat bites on your lower lip in retaliation for what she still deems as "teasing," but is quick enough to soothe the bite with her tongue.

"You know," You murmur as you break the kiss, pulling back to watch her face, "I think you're gonna enjoy this."

She scoffs, "Yeah, that's sorta the point, dipshit."

"Mm, not what I meant." You sink those two fingers inside of her, enjoying the way her breath catches, and she arches into your touch. "I think you're gonna really enjoy this."

"You've got a big head." She starts rocking her hips against your hand, the motion causing the heel of your palm to rub against her, "You gonna… gonna… back that up?"

"I think I already am, honestly." You murmur back as you begin to move your fingers, "Did you even notice you were humping my hand?" Based on how her hips stutter for the slightest moment, the answer was probably no.

"Is all you do tease?"

You laugh at that, slowly figuring out what she likes based on her reactions to what you do, "Mhm. It's my favourite part of this." You pull your fingers back just as she seems to be really getting into it, which earns you a confused whine, but you don't give her long to worry about it.

You start at her lips, then slowly work your mouth down her body. Admittedly, you spend a little longer than needed lingering in the valley between her breasts, but who can really blame you? They're nice, and you've spent far too long wondering what it would be like to be between them.

You continue moving south once Natalie lets out a frustrated huff and pushes at your shoulders slightly, your lips pausing just under her belly button, glancing up at her for one last okay before you go this far.

She gives you her approval in the form of a slight nod, and you immediately hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties and tug them down once you have it.

You trail your mouth up her leg, starting from her ankle and moving upwards, only slowing down once you reach her thighs.

"Such a fucking tease…" Nat mumbles to herself when you slow down, so you nip her thigh in some form of retaliation at her impatience. 

"Good things come to those who wait." And you tease her longer, purposefully avoiding her aching center just to prove your point.

When she starts tugging at your hair in frustration, you finally relent, flattening your tongue and dragging it through her folds once, then twice, then pull back for a moment to look at her. 

"Goddamn." You murmur, "We're gonna have fun." You press a chaste kiss to her clit, then immediately dive in, nuzzling your nose against it as your tongue presses in. 

Truthfully, you've always liked it a little messy. You don't think Nat minds in the slightest. In fact, one might even say that she prefers it when it's sloppy.

Pornographic slurping sounds fill the small bedroom, coupled with the sharp inhales Nat takes every time you do something she really likes, and you decide you really like those sounds, making it your sole mission to have her make as many of them as possible.

When you move your mouth up to attach to her clit, you replace your tongue with two fingers, delving them back into the warm heat of her pussy. You hum in appreciation at the gasp she makes as you work your fingers in tandem with your mouth.

Nat, you've noticed, isn't very vocal. That's fine; she doesn't need to be. Not when her hips keep rocking against your face. Not when her eyes are shut, and her face is contorted in an expression of pleasure. Not when one of her hands is trembling atop her mouth in a poor attempt to stifle those small sounds. 

You pick up on what she likes really quickly, trying to keep your eyes trained on her face as long as possible. Knowing that you're the one making her look like that. You really didn't need the ego boost, but you'll take it anyway.

She lets you know she's about to come with her hand moving from your hair to smack your shoulder a few times, a shaky "F-fuck—" spilling from her lips and her back arching off the mattress. You double down on your actions to get her there, and when her thighs clamp down on either side of your head, you let yourself grin.

Natalie isn't one to give herself time to wind down, however.

Once she finishes riding out her climax, she's immediately tugging you up to mash her lips against yours, rolling you over so you're lying on your back instead of her.

"Mm, wait—" You push her shoulder back when one of her hands goes to trail down your body, "You don't have to… I don't need you to "repay the favour"—"

"I want to." Nat cuts you off, pressing her lips against your neck and working her way down your body. "And, for the record?" She pauses and looks up at you when she reaches your collarbone, "I'm a fast learner." She grins and continues moving her mouth lower, fingers hooking in the waistband of your underwear.

"Fast learner." You huff out as you lift your hips for her, allowing her to tug your panties down your legs and discard them somewhere off to the side. 

"Yeah," She agrees as she sits back on her knees, "Real fast learner, actually. And I doubt it's that much different than going down on a guy." A beat, "Who knows? Maybe I'll learn something that could be useful in my… future endeavours." 

You bristle slightly at the comment, an uneasy feeling gripping the back of your neck for a reason you can't quite place. "Nat—" And, much like you were doing to her, she cuts you off by attaching her lips straight to your clit, causing you to gasp in shock at the sudden sensation. "F-fuck!" You hiss out. While it's not a bad sensation—far from it— it is unexpected and bypassing any and all forms of teasing. 

Nat seems to delight in the sounds you're making and continues her exploration of your pussy. She pays eager attention to your clit at the beginning before realising that she should probably attend to other areas as well, and promptly doing just that.

And, hey, she was right. She is a fast learner. And an eager one, at that.

Her fingers dig into the meat of your thighs with bruising strength, forcing them open and refusing to let you budge from her hold even slightly. And, in true Natalie fashion, she's just as messy about it as you were, never one to be outdone. 

However, unlike you, she doesn't seem content to spend the whole time going down on you. She pulls back and pushes her hair out of her face, "God, I wanna try something—" She moves to straddle one of your thighs and presses her own up against your center, hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

"Shit," You murmur as your hands find purchase on her hips, "You sure you haven't been with a chick before? You sure seem to know what you're doing…"

"What can I say? I've done some research here and there." She lets out a low laugh that turns into a breathless sort of moan as her hips roll against your thigh, pushing her thigh further against you in turn. 

"Holy fuck, you're so fucking wet," Nat says in astonishment, her head falling forward as you begin rocking against her thigh. "Goddamn…"

"Yeah, you're not any better." You reply breathlessly, "Gonna fuckin' make a mess on my thigh…"

She rakes her nails down your chest and lets out a noise you're pretty sure is supposed to be a growl, "That's the idea. Already made a mess of your face, might as well ruin another part of you." And her lips are back on yours before you can come up with some sort of retort.

You two move against each other with urgency, breaking the kiss to rest your foreheads together as you breathe heavily. 

Natalie digs her nails into your waist, lips attaching to your neck again as she continues to rock her hips against your thigh. 

It's a mess of animalistic grunts and X-rated gasps that fill your ears. The noises, combined with her lips on your neck and the way she's oh so desperately moving against your thigh? You can't help yourself. It might be one of the hottest things you've ever witnessed. 

The woman on top of you comes first with a sharp gasp followed by a low groan. Then, upon realising you still haven't, her fingers replace her thigh, moving with intention.

"Fuck—" You arch up into her hand, "Shit, you don't have to—"

"Shut up." She whispers against your skin, "Let me make you feel good."

And, well, who are you to say no to the girl with her hand between your thighs?

By the end of the evening, you're more relaxed than you've been in a long time. Nat is lying loosely on the bed beside you, her hand playing with your fingers. 

"Weren't lying." She murmurs after a long silence between you two, seemingly lost in thought.

"Not lying about what?" You prop yourself up on an elbow, looking down at her as she sighs quietly.

"Really enjoying this." Her voice comes out soft, and it almost appears that even she seems surprised at the words. "I just… I don't know. It was fun."

You smile to yourself at that and squeeze her hand, "Yeah." Despite the haze of lust and alcohol that clouds your mind, at least, that is something you can agree to.

Morning.

The first thing you notice? You have a killer headache.

The second thing? This isn't your bed.

The third thing? You're alone in this bed.

Last night crashes over you in waves. Images of Natalies flushed face underneath you. The way she seemed almost eager to be with you in that way.

The sheets still smell faintly of her—a mix of smoke and something warm, something hers. You reach out instinctively, fingers brushing the cool, empty space beside you. She’s gone. Of course, she’s gone. You should’ve known better.

Last night replays in your mind: the way her hands gripped your shoulders, her voice a low whisper against your skin. You could’ve sworn, for just a moment, she wanted you. Needed you. But maybe that was just the vodka.

Maybe it was just the vodka.

a/n: this is so much longer than I thought it would be and yet not long enough

tragic

[thimbleandakiss]

How about a story about cowboy Sevika x y/n. Super soft one about Sevika finding the reader in their horse stables after a long day. >:3

Sorry this is kinda short, the motivation came and went so fast 😭

Pretty Little Lady

Cowgirl!Sevika x Rancher's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Sevika finds you in the stable, brushing your horse an hour before schedule.

Content: fluff, banter, could possibly be interpreted as a suggestive ending, possibly

Cross-posted on Ao3

Playlist used to write

Much to your parents’ frustration, you’ve always loved to spend time in the stables. 

The sweet smell of hay, the musk of horses, is strangely comforting. And that’s not even beginning on the beasts themselves. 

With large, kind, intelligent eyes, silky hides, and personalities more interesting than most members of high society, horses are by far your favorite thing about the ranch. 

Well, second favorite. 

While you’ve been preoccupied with brushing down your favorite painted mare, murmuring sweetly to her, Sevika, the head ranch hand, has been leaning against the entrance to the stables, just… watching you. Enjoying the sight of you in your pristine, pastel-colored dress, stockings, and straw hat tied beneath your chin with a delicate ribbon. 

“Well, now I’ve seen everythin’,” She drawls, pushing herself off the doorframe, boots crunching on the hay strewn about the floor. 

You whirl, breath catching in your chest, you hand gripped tight on the horse brush. After a moment, you clear your throat, smoothing out your skirts, trying to grasp at that air of superiority your mother seemed so skilled in. 

She tips her hat in greeting, but there’s a mocking gleam in her eyes, dark lips pulled into a smirk. The late afternoon sun cast her outline in an almost golden glow, making the sweat of the day on her skin gleam almost ethereally. 

“What’s daddy’s little girl doin’ in the stables all by her pretty little self?” She coos, coming within arm’s reach of you. 

“I am not ‘daddy’s little girl’,” You retort, crossing your arms in a very unladylike gesture. 

You look at each other for a heartbeat longer before breaking out into wide grins, and she barely opens her arms to you before you’re in them. 

“That’s right,” Sevika hums, lifting you up for a little spin, giving you a kiss on your forehead after setting you back on your feet, “‘Cause you’re mine, aren’t ya, doll?”

You smile up at her, eyes sparkling, and nod. 

“Whatcha doin’ here, anyway?” She asks, gently readjusting your hat. “Riding lessons aren’t for another hour.” 

“I know,” You sigh, taking a step back to admire her, “I just thought I’d get a head start, I suppose…”

You trail off, a little too lost in the sight of her. Sevika’s naturally darker complexion is tanned to a medium-dark brown from long days in the field, smudges of dirt on her hands and cheeks. Her leather hat sits low on her head, shielding her face from the glare of the sun, her short, silky brown hair tied back into a small ponytail at the base of her neck. 

Her clothes are… ragged, to put it kindly. The sleeves of her shirt are torn off to reveal the bulky muscles of her arms–not that you’re complaining–but with how much your father pays her, you’d think she’d be able to buy better clothes. 

You’d asked her about it, once, on one of your long trail rides. “Rich clothes, poor clothes, I’ll rip ‘em the same,” She’d said, “no point wastin’ my money on ‘em.”

Sevika gently flicks your nose with one of her large fingers, bringing you back to the present. 

“Starin’ pretty girl?” She teases, and you huff indignantly, ducking your head to hide your grin. 

“Well,” Sevika begins with a sigh, “Since we’re both here early, why don’t I saddle us up, and you can have an extra hour, hm?”

Your entire demeanor immediately brightens, biting your lip excitedly. That’s exactly what you’d been hoping for. You had a sneaking suspicion that Sevika knew that already. 

“Yes, please!” You exclaim, polite as ever. 

Sevika scoffs and shakes her head affectionately, moving over to the saddle stand, effortlessly lifting the hunk of leather off the stand and onto your mare. You watch her as subtly as you can manage, which isn’t much better than openly drooling at the way her muscles flex. 

“I know of a real nice spot by the river,” She grunts, leather groaning as she tightens the straps, “Covered in that soft, spongy kind of moss.” 

She turns to find you already leading her own roan mare forward with a hand on the horse’s strong neck. Sevika smirks appreciatively, haltering the animal and tying her next to yours. 

“If we ride at a reasonable pace, we can spend that whole extra hour there, how’s that sound?” Sevika suggests, eyes sparkling beneath the brim of her hat when she glances at you. 

You smile, lifting onto your toes to plant a kiss on her cheek. “That sounds lovely."

[cheerysmores]

Yours. Mine. Ours

Pairing: Lucanis x Female Shadow Dragon Rook x Spite

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: The defeat of the Evanuris weighs heavily in Treviso's summer air. Phyrra Mercar finds some comfort in both her lover and his demon.

Some Gratuitous Rook x Lucanis x Spite

AO3 link

***

Treviso was a city that never slept. Midnight had long since come and gone and sounds of life were still wafting through the bedroom window. Phyrra concentrated, trying to pick apart each thread of the noise: the spirited hum of a party, two people yelling in antivan about something she couldn’t quite catch, a heady mix of tipsy gasps and laughter– life carrying on, happy and oblivious. She was almost jealous.  

How many knew how close they’d come to death, to blight, to prostrating themselves until they were mindless for Gods she’d let escape? The dragon that attacked and ran was months old news, the city that was freshly devastated too far away to care about. 

A clock ticked somewhere. Every second stabbed into her half open eyelids. Phyrra had considered hunting it down and smashing it more than once, anything if it meant she might actually sleep. The heat wasn’t helping. Summer had bloomed to its full nauseating peak. Sweat clung to her like an unwanted caress, the kind that made her want to tear off her skin and disappear into the air. She still wasn’t sure how Lucanis could stand it.

He’d been dozing soundly for hours with his head pressed between her shoulders. She tried to ground herself in the rise and fall of his bare chest, the weight of his arm slung lazily over her hip. Lucanis had said she deserved a break from it all. At the time she’d believed it. It hadn’t stopped her thoughts crawling and scratching like insects when she looked away from him. 

It was over. All of it. The Gods were dead, she was in love, and the Veil was an intact tapestry twined to Solas. If this were a story, the book would have closed and she’d forever be caught in that bright euphoric ending. But everything just… kept going. Minrathous, the city she’d spent her life trying to help, was still a crumbling mess. After she’d downed her last cup of wine at their victory gathering, she’d watched people curl in the street corners and run around searching for loved ones lost to the fight. She’d nose dived off the edge of their story and straight into the black abyss of ‘after’. 

She turned into her pillow. It was damp with sweat, a perfect mirror of her head soaked into the rich material. 

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be on an estate with a personal guard in a room larger than her first apartment when her city needed fixing. She was a Shadow Dragon and still made the choice to help Treviso instead of Minrathous against Ghilan'nain’s pet. She had a list of reasons longer than the width of the Dellamorte’s Manor and none of them were good enough. She almost welcomed the Dragons’ scorn. They needed someone to blame, as if she alone was the one person capable of taking down a monster the size of building. 

Every time she closed her eyes her mistakes stared back: Shadow Dragons hanging in the street like crude garlands, Neve’s blighted face, the clouds of the Fade parting in front of her and leaving Lucanis sprawled there– 

Phyrra grabbed his hand, exhaling shakily.

She’d let enough people slip through her fingers. She had no idea how to hold on tight enough so it never happened again.

There was movement behind her. A hand dragged down her arm and captured her wrist in a soft grip. The other caressed over her side, then her shoulder, pausing at the swell of her bottom lip.

She blinked hazily. “Lucanis?”

The grip around her wrist tightened a little. His other hand moved from her mouth and gently wrapped around the base of her neck. She shivered as he traced the delicate skin. 

“Rook.”

A familiar violet glow cut through the darkness. When she turned, the demon’s shimmering eyes were set in Lucanis’s face. She tilted her head. “Spite? What is it?”

Ever since they’d left Minrathous, their midnight conversations had become somewhat of a regular occurrence. Sometimes he’d shake her awake and ask staccatoed questions about her life. Other times, he’d just sit and watch while her insomnia burned until morning. There was something different flickering across the shadows of his expression tonight– his lips were wet and parted, body tense as he curled over her. He dragged his tongue across her neck before she realised what it was. 

Hunger.

He repeated the motion with his teeth until she threw her head back. He mouthed at the base of her throat, words softly biting into her skin. “Tonight. I want to. Taste.”  He dipped his finger into her chemise and dragged it over the fullest part of her breast. “Feel.”

She let him do it again, then again, tracing old patterns she’d felt him follow before. Where Spite fit into her and Lucanis’s relationship had been an interesting situation to navigate. The first time they’d made love, the demon had been there. In the heat of the moment she’d caught the brief flash of his eyes, the way Lucanis’s careful touch melted into something more frantic. 

After, they’d talked about it. Confusion and embarrassment set aside; they'd privately agreed that as long as she wanted it, he’d be fine. 

‘Spite is a part of you. This doesn’t scare me,’ she’d mumbled into his shoulder. She remembered rubbing the blush stained on his cheeks, then trying to coax Lucanis’s eyes away from the fish tank in her room. 

‘Sometimes I wonder how big a part of me he truly is,’ Lucanis had eventually answered. ‘Like he’s slowly changing from an angry passenger to an extra limb.’ He hadn’t said more than that. As much as she’d wanted to, she hadn’t pressed him. 

Spite grabbed her chin, forcing their eyes to meet again. “Want you. Here.” He pulled her back to his chest and rubbed his hand down her torso. His fingers brushed the inside of her thigh and she felt her mind scatter.

“Spite–”

The demon’s hands suddenly stilled. “Rook?”

He didn’t move, perhaps waiting for her assent. Phyrra tried to catch her spinning thoughts. Before, his presence had been quick flashes and words, this would be new territory for both of them. 

She grabbed his face and pressed it back into her neck. 

“Yes.”

She felt his smile against her skin. “Good.”

He bit down before she could say anything else, her answering whine a shameless thing in the darkness. She arched her back as he pulled down her chemise and tasted the skin between her breasts. She needed to feel it all, every movement, every bite, every lighting bolt of pleasure bursting like sparks over her skin.

She opened her legs, inviting him closer. He made a home between them, running his hands over every piece of naked skin he could find. She couldn’t fight the little whimper as he wrapped his hand around her throat again. His thumb caressed her pulse, brushing back and forth in time with the soft rhythm. 

It wasn’t a threat. It was curiosity, one she was willing to let him explore until they were both satisfied. 

He turned her throat, replacing his hand with his lips. She traced the edge of his face, Lucanis’s face. Handsome. Strong. Perfect.

Breakable.

Her previous thoughts flooded back, cold and unbidden.

She grabbed Spite’s chin, pulling his mouth away from her neck. She touched the curve of his smile, his dark hair, the strong muscles of his shoulders, parts of him she'd grown to love so dearly now burning like temptation incarnate under her fingers.

“I can’t always be here,” she said in a raw whisper. “No matter what, promise me you’ll keep him safe.”

His hands dug into her thighs. “Lucanis. Is. Mine.”

“He’s mine too. So you’re going to promise me right now.” She jerked up, her voice blunt against his face. “Promise me, Spite.”

His wings burst forth at the words, shimmering like vivid cuts of crystal. It was almost strange how much of a comfort they’d become to her. On the battlefield, in their bed– the essence of the demon wrapping around her lover to protect him. Both of them. She ran her fingers through the feathers, picturing the sight of the two of them coupled like this. He was the furthest thing from an angel but the closest taste to heaven she’ll ever have. 

Spite’s head moved slowly as he surveyed her under his glow. “Promise.”

She smiled and let herself fall back against the pillow. “Good. Now, come here.”

A soft growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed against her. He dragged his teeth over her neck, sucking her pulse like he was trying to sip the red of her heartbeat. He palmed her breasts, then lightly sucked her nipple through the thin material. She cried out as he bit down. It was the knife’s edge of pain, something warm and unfamiliar, hypnotising as a summer storm.

Her eyes fluttered as he pulled up her chemise and cupped between her legs. He dragged his lips over her stomach, her hip, softly mouthing the flesh before tearing the wet lace of her smallclothes from her body. Dimly, she knew she should be angry at that. The thought flickered a thousand miles away, buried under the feeling of his breath caressing her most sensitive skin. 

Something between a curse and a plea rolled on her tongue as he stroked her flushed clit.

He fixed his gaze to her face and pressed harder. She watched his brows flatten, shoulders tense, his body drawn tight as a bow string as if bringing her pleasure was his sole purpose this night. Something softer unfurled in her stomach. It's a familiar feeling, foolish, but one she cannot quite bring herself to let go of.

In moments like this, how could she not believe that Spite might bloom back into determination again?

He removed his hand and flipped her onto her stomach. The heat of his skin brushed against hers as he caged her there, wings spread over them like a luminous cocoon. The sound of ripping fabric filled the air as he grabbed two fistfuls of the chemise and tugged hard. Hot breath brushed her back. She shivered when the demon’s tongue quickly followed.

“Leather. And Plum.” His words kissed between her shoulder blades. She threw her head back while he tasted her, first the ridges of her spine, then the pattern of scars twisting over it. 

His touch halted at her hips. 

Phyrra jerked her head over her shoulder. “What– don’t stop.” 

Spite’s lip was pressed to the darkest patch of scarring, one that tore the neck of her dragon tattoo clean in half. It was an ugly reminder of an early skirmish in the Crossroads. Venatori? Antaam? She couldn’t quite remember. Ink was smudged over the memory, the only clear image the bright sky and blood staining her gloves. She hadn’t realised it was her own before stumbling into someone’s arms.

The point of his gaze softened slightly. “Rook.” 

She could see the words curling on his tongue. Ones he couldn’t say, ones he perhaps didn’t have the language to say. Another night she’d let him try. Tonight, it was the last thing she needed.

She felt the chill of her previous thoughts press at her mind with thin, needle-like fingers.

“Rook,” he said again, quieter this time. 

She turned and grabbed a handful of his feathers. He hissed at the contact, his wings spreading wide and dissolving into the darkness.

Slower breaths brushed against her nape.

“Phyrra?”

She recognised the softer rumble of Lucanis’s voice immediately. She watched the demon’s light fade from his half open eyes. They were almost black in the half light, still swimming with sleep as he took her in. “I thought I was dreaming,” he murmured while tugging at the ruined edge of her chemise. 

She brushed his hair over his bare shoulders. “Was it a good dream?”

“I think I would have been nicer to your clothes.” He touched the bruise forming under her collarbone, eyebrows drawn together. “Are you alright?”

His knee gently grazed her inner thigh and she felt her thoughts fragment into a thousand sharp pieces. She wasn’t alright. She wasn’t sure if she even knew what alright even meant anymore– some long forgotten feeling when the weight of the continent didn’t press down like iron slabs on her chest.

Lucanis slipped his arm under her shoulders, lifting her closer. “Phyrra?” 

She traced the slice of moonlight over his cheek, desperate to find the words. She wanted to forget, to be torn open and laid bare, drown in the heat of his pleasure until everything outside this bed melted away. 

She threaded her hands into his hair and arched up to meet his lips. “Please don’t stop.”

She felt his exhale, then a softer gasp as he pressed her into the bedding. She revelled in his weight atop her, the pink on her throat spilling down her chest. He chased the colour with a gentler touch, his other hand spreading over the small of her back. She tried to concentrate on each finger. It’s a familiar anchor, the wordless reassurance that they were both really here. Together.

She whined when he pulled away. His eyes flit to the side, zoned in as they always did when Spite spoke to him. 

“Just wait a moment,” he said to the wall before turning back to her. “Are you sure you want this?”

Phyrra wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing the concern creased by his eyes. 

“I promise,” she whispered.

Lucanis was quiet for a moment. He stroked the soft angle of her jaw, eyes searching her face before sitting up and pulling her into his lap. He touched his forehead to hers, running his palms over and over the curves of her torso until her breathing fell into a steadier rhythm. 

“I’ll be right here. I swear,” he said against her cheek, then softly covered her mouth with his.

Spite’s glowing eyes met hers as she pulled away. He touched her lips, her chin, then quickly ripped the tie from her hair so it fell in a bright mess around them. She stroked his chest, her hands caught between them as he buried his nose in her curls. 

She groaned, shifting in his lap. “Spite.”

He paused at the sound. She heard his breathing quicken, then a low growl as he roughly grabbed both of her wrists and pushed her into the bedding.  

She let him move her as he wished, her flesh warmed candle wax under his hands. Pillows and bedside trinkets hit the floor with the remnants of her chemise. She closed her eyes, falling into the sensation as his lips found her pulse again. Her heart thrummed wildly, desperate– but not afraid. A few months ago this would have horrified her. She was a mage pinned under an abomination, the one thing she’d been taught to fear ever since magic first crackled between her fingers. She’d let him dig his teeth into her body and wrap his hands around her throat… and all she wanted was to be closer until she didn’t have to think about getting ripped away from Lucanis’s embrace again.

“Mine.” Spite whispered. He roughly spread her legs with his knee, leaving her open and aching to the stifling heat of the room. He lowered his face and carefully traced the point of her ear. “Ours.”

A smile tugged at her lips. It’s a sliver of sweetness, like getting lost in the deep eyes of a predator before it opens its maw. She was more than ready to be devoured whole.

She grabbed his hand and guided it back between her legs. “Yes. I am.”

There’s no hesitation as he stroked the growing wetness there. He mouthed over her neck, feeling and stroking before biting down again. She felt the bruises bloom, then the soft caress of his tongue as he slowly licked each indentation. They were too high to be hidden by a collar. She didn’t care. The people of this city had seen her march through the streets bloody and battered to save them– she’ll be damned if she’s supposed to hide the marks from touches she actually wanted.

Colour burst behind her eyelids when he pressed his finger inside her. It’s a rough caress, but she could almost feel the ghost of Lucanis moving him, touching the spots he’d already learned made her beg.

He grabbed her hand before she could muffle her cry, curling a second finger inside.

“We want to. Hear you.”

It was a request with the weight of a command, not something she was used to listening to. Phyrra answered by kissing the sharp corner of his mouth. “Alright then. Make me loud.” 

The challenge ignited something hotter in his gaze. Her neck arched, whole body trembling as he twisted his fingers with devastating accuracy inside her.

It was a while before coherent thoughts returned.

The sounds of her pleasure ran off the walls like the sweat on her body. His mouth raked over her pulse, her collarbone, her breasts, searching everywhere like he was trying to learn her by taste alone. Hours could have passed before he removed his hand from between her legs. 

The demon slid down, pushing her thighs further apart. He stared, eyes arrow-sharp and his breaths a too-heated caress against her core. She closed her eyes, twisting the sheets between her fingers as he brushed his nose through the full, dark hair there. He was so close to where she needed him. The urge was merciless, her body burning with a want so violent it felt like a sin. 

The sound that left her was barely coherent as he finally pressed his mouth to her cunt.

He firmly tasted the length of her, then again. She cupped the sides of his face, letting him explore before guiding him upward. He pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit and she saw stars. 

“Venhedis. Maker. Yes.” She grabbed a fistful of his hair, anchoring him to the spot.

He refused to relent. He ran his tongue over the bud, sucking and licking until she was writhing against his mouth. She fought the impulse to push him away. She needed to feel it, all of it, right until her last thoughts burned to nothing.

She thrust her hips against the mattress, echoing the pattern of his tongue. She could still feel the precision of Lucanis there, something deliberate, dextrous, the care of a perfect kill now focussed on a little death instead. Spite’s wilder movements continued to burst through, the two feelings twining together until the lines where the demon ended and her lover began bled into a passionate mess.

Spite twisted upward. He took in her wrecked face one last time before nipping at her clit with his teeth.

She finished so intensely she was certain lightning could burst from her hands. Surely fire was radiating from her skin, ready to consume this estate and the city until only the two of them remained. She rode out her pleasure with ash-dry breaths. Her eyes rolled, lips raw with her cries before she lay quivering and exhausted before him.

Spite did not take this as a sign to stop. His eyes were closed, hands a vice grip on her waist as his tongue continued its merciless assault. 

Phyrra hissed, pulling at his hair. The ache was too much, her nerves burned and screaming for release. She tugged harder, tears stinging in her eyes. “Please– enough.”

A thread snapped somewhere. The violet glow between her legs vanished, his mouth finally motionless. 

She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. Each breath pushed out of her like broken pieces of glass. She was still falling over that edge, spinning out into the great expanse of nothing beyond.

Warm lips carefully kissed up her body, pausing at the dip of her throat. She stilled. She knew that pattern, that softness. 

“Phyrra,” came Lucanis’s steady voice. He shifted over her, gently assessing as he brushed the damp curls tangled over her mouth. 

“I’m– I’m here,” she breathed. Her eyes darted around, looking for something, anything, to ground her back in the moment.

Lucanis cupped her cheek, drawing her gaze back to his. “You are.” He kissed her forehead, her chest, the tender skin over her heart, repeating the words until they drowned out the white noise crackling in her mind. “You’re right here.”

She watched him trace the petals of red and purple pressed into her by his own fingers. They were the hands of a mage killer, ones that had been stained with plenty of blood just like hers. In another life, perhaps she’d have found herself choking out her last breath in his grip.

He rubbed the sore spot on her shoulders until she melted against his chest.

In this life, his touch was the tether that slowly guided her back to earth. 

She pulled him atop her and lightly ran her hands through his sweat-damp hair. “Just then, I could feel both of you,” she whispered. “What is it like when you’re together like that?”

“Like steering the world’s most impatient mount with one hand tied behind my back.” 

“Oh.”

Lucanis hummed against her. “Before, it was like being dragged behind him, so I think we’re getting somewhere.” He looked up from her chest. “How did it feel?”

She scratched the nape of his neck. “Like a hurricane.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Phyrra chuckled. “It’s what I wanted.”

Lucanis’s eyes flicked to the edge of the room. “No. Not right now,” he said in a slightly annoyed whisper. “You can tell her later.”

Phyrra stared at the spot where she assumed the demon was standing. “What is Spite saying?”

“That you taste like fire and salt.”

The words hung in the air. Phyrra felt her cheeks darken. “Really?” 

The corner of Lucanis’s mouth quirked up in a smile. His beard still shone with the evidence of her pleasure. “You know, I could have told him that.”

Their joint laugh shifted their bodies. Phyrra felt his hardness brush her leg and he slammed his eyes closed. She hooked her fingers into the edge of his smallclothes. “Here, let me,” she said, tugging them off. The night wasn’t over yet. Neither was she.

Lucanis watched her hand as it followed the hair trailing down his stomach. His breath caught, words barely a whisper. “Are you sure you want this?”

She paused. “I want– Lucanis…” Her screams of pleasure gone, the quiet of the room pressed with a humid weight on her skin. She saw the edges of those nightmares shift in the corner of her eye, the smog of the fade, his face falling from her hands broken and blighted. 

She pressed her lips to his and stroked the length of him. He groaned into her mouth. 

“Maker.”

She found a gentle rhythm and locked her free arm around his torso. She focussed on the warmth of his chest, the moisture from each breath against her face as she messily took him apart. He rolled between Phyrra’s thighs and pressed himself against her heat. 

“Please. I need you,” she murmured. There’s more she wanted to say, thoughts caught somewhere between the ice growing in her chest and the bruises on her throat. She rubbed the small of his back, urging him on. If she couldn’t say it with words then she’d damn sure do it with her body, loving him to the edge of sanity and back until any doubt about how she felt about him faded completely.

He cursed softly as he entered her. She slid her legs over his waist, cradling him while he found his rhythm. She clung to his lips, sipping every gasp as he slowly fucked her into the mattress. Sleep, red wine, expensive coffee– the taste of him ghosted over her tongue. 

Spite was hidden away somewhere, every touch now completely Lucanis. There was nothing destructive about these movements. He knew the map of her and was already running through the caresses she’d shown him on those first tentative nights. His kisses meandered across her ear, her chin, the taut peak of her nipple. Her eyes rolled as he pushed her leg higher, hitting the spot inside her that shot sparks through her body.

She wanted to be closer, to push herself inside until she was tangled up in the spiderweb of his soul and his demon. She knew it was almost wrong to feel like this, to have a heart so full it was almost overripe with love when everything between them was still so new. She could count on one hand the nights they had spent together without worrying if the world would still be there when they awoke. The picture of what their future might look like was still barely an outline on the canvas. Ignoring it hurt, thinking about all the ways it could tear apart hurt so much more.

Phyrra came again with his name on her lips and his fingers against her clit. The sensation rolled like a breaking wave right down to her toes until she was boneless under him. She dug her heels into the small of his back as he finished with a warm shiver. 

She held him tighter when he tried to pull away. “Please don’t. Not yet,” she breathed. She was slick, bruised, floating on bliss and her mind still wouldn’t quieten. 

She didn’t understand. Lucanis had killed the Gods she’d asked him to. The dead were at rest. The Lighthouse was fading into a memory. All that remained were the roles that had been waiting for them. First Talon and a Tevinter mercenary, two people with priorities so far apart they might as well have been from different universes.

Lucanis rubbed his hands down her back and shifted them until they were both kneeling. He touched the corner of her mouth. “Talk to me.”

Phyrra could barely look at the naked concern on his face. She bowed her head, hiding in the bright curtain of her hair. 

“You don’t know how much I want to draw a line under everything that happened,” she started. “I’ve, we’ve, bled so much already and I- I don’t want to hurt anymore. I want to stay here. I want to tell the world to fix its own messes for once and just leave me just be. But I can’t.” She swallowed a shakier breath, the words curdling on her tongue. “I know the Dragons still blame me, but I can’t hide from them. I need to go home. I need to fix Minrathous.”

Lucanis didn’t try to lift her head. “I know,” he said quietly.

“And you– you’re First Talon of the Crows now.”

“I know.”

“So you have to stay here.”

He spread his hands over her thighs, his voice a little stronger. “I know, Phyrra.”

Her vision blurred with tears. “You know,” she repeated more to her hands than to him. “Why does this feel so impossible?” She wants it to work, to stay by his side for as long as she still draws breath without being eaten alive by the guilt of her shattered city.

Carefully, Lucanis brushed the protective shroud of hair over her shoulders. “I saw you do about ten impossible things in the span of a week. Look me in the eye and tell me that being together would be harder than pulling you out of the Fade.”

She refused to look up. “Breaking out of a prison that was entirely made of metaphors seems easier now.”

His answering sigh brushed over her forehead. “You’re the only impossible thing here.” He shuffled forward, trying to catch her eye through the strands still hiding her face. “Tell me, do you want this?”

“Of course.” The word left her before she could even think. “But that’s not the problem–”

“Phyrra, I was trapped in a Venatori cage for a year.” The quiet weight of his words cut her off. “A year stripped of emotion, of hope, of want– nothing left save for what was needed to survive and a demon screaming vengeance into my skin. Even when you broke me out and I saw the lights of my city again it took some time to remember those feelings, to understand what living fully meant to me.” He took her wrist and turned it between his hands. “Now, I know. I spent far too long being afraid to want you, of what loving you could even be like with Spite under my skin. I know what it’s like to lose you–” his voice caught slightly. “–never again. Even Gods can bleed and I’d kill anything else that tried to take you, take this, from me.” 

She felt the determination of his words settle between her ribs. When she finally met his eyes something hot caught in her throat.

“Lucanis–”

“I’m not going to let go, not unless you tell me to.”  

The idea of saying such a thing tasted like poison on her tongue. She squeezed his fingers, leaning forward until her answer kissed over his mouth. “I hope I’ve made it clear that I’m never going to do that.”

He moved her hand over his heart. It thrummed gently as he pressed their lips together again. “It still only beats for you.”

They kissed for what felt like hours. Phyrra ran her hands over every bare piece of skin she could reach, drowning in the smell of sweat and sex until the pain of her thoughts was muffled under all of it. They had no plan, but a promise– in this moment, the sweetness of those words was enough.

“This is going to take a lot of prep work,” she said as they pulled apart.

“The best plans are made over coffee after a full night’s sleep.” He laid them both down, pressing her back to his chest. 

“We might have to stick to the second best ones then.”

“I can work with that.”

She laughed quietly as she settled against him. Throughout her life she’d broken and pieced herself back together more times than she could count. She felt the fractures that ran over her body, how they still hurt even with the Gods finally dead. His love wasn’t the only binding that held her together, but she hoped one day to discover how to repay someone that made her feel more than whole.

“I love you,” Lucanis whispered into the side of her neck.

She stared forward, relaxing into his arms as she started to drift. 

“I know.”

***

Phyrra woke to a pleasant ache between her thighs and a firm touch at her back. Dawn was already illuminating the room but the purple glow behind her was brighter.

“Spite, I need to sleep,” she whispered roughly.

The demon slipped his hand under her arm and touched a bite mark above her right breast. “Does it. Hurt?”

There was a curiosity to his words that made her heart melt. She cupped his hand. “I’m a lot tougher than that.”

“Stay.”

“Spite–”

“He lied.” She felt his lips moving, pressing his irritation between her shoulder blades. “He wants you. Here. Always.”

“Just him?” Phyrra squeezed his hand a little harder. The rumble in his throat almost sounded like a purr. It was something new, endearing, and decidedly undemonic. Sometimes she thought about the true depth of his feelings, about how much as a mage she could ever understand. An existence tethered so closely to Lucanis’s passion, she wondered how far beyond the recesses of determination and spite the demon could go– how much he could truly want to remain around her. 

She had time to discover that. Hopefully, a lifetime of it.

A bird chittered somewhere beyond the curtains. The city was waking. She could already smell it: damp grass, cool water, honeysuckle and roses so sweet on the air, a far cry from the drizzle and smoke that permeated her old apartment. 

Treviso could be a beautiful home. Just not for her. Not quite yet. 

Phyrra stroked Spite’s hand again. “Keep him safe, remember? Just until I return.” 

“You want to leave?” There was no bite to his question. She almost wished there was. Incurring his anger might have made it easier.

“No. But I need to.”

Another purr vibrated against her back, then a flutter as his wings draped over her in a shimmering blanket. She turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest. The morning was for planning, for carving out a future and navigating the world as it slowly healed. She’d kiss him goodbye, tend to Minrathous’s scars and see if she still had a family within the Shadow Dragons.

But for now she lay in his arms and everything could stay beyond those windows. 

***

This maaaaay become an intro for a longer fic as I have a lot of thoughts about shadow dragon x Lucanis pairing and what that might look like. By the end of the game Minrathous is completely fucked and I think there’d be a lot to navigate there- let me know if it’s something you want to see!

[it-happened-one-fic]

Twisted Weddings: - Introduction

Author Notes: This is the first part of my 800 Followers celebration event for the Twisted Wonderland fandom. This is just going to be the introduction section for the story itself (which is going to be 9 sections in total). I chose the wedding theme on a whim based on a fic I read a long time ago on AO3 that has long sense gone missing, but no one is actually going to be getting married. Reader is going to be female for the sake of my own ease for this series. I hope everyone enjoys!

Type: Female reader/ sfw/ 800 Followers Event/ Series/ fluff/ featuring Crewel (Note for sake of avoiding confusion: This is not x Crewel)

Twisted Weddings Series Masterlist

Word count: 775

I frowned slightly at Crewel as he sat down across from me, a stack of papers in his hands that he slowly laid out. One sheet at a time.

“I’ve recently finished designing a line of wedding dresses and suits,” He spoke as he fanned the sheets out across the table. Each page had a sketched-out design of a wedding gown that had me blinking slightly in surprise.

Of course I’d known that Crewel was a designer. As if his fashionable nature wasn’t enough to tip me off, then Vil talking about his clothing line would have been. I hadn’t realized that he designed bridal clothes, though. And I certainly didn’t know what these clothes had to do with me or why he’d called me in to look at them.

I slowly glanced back up at my instructor as he continued, utterly calm despite my wary confusion, “I’m wanting to market each of these dresses differently than I usually would though. You see, this is my first line of bridal designs.”

I nodded, shifting slightly in my seat as Crewel eyed me, “I’ve decided that, along with the runaway models, I would do an advertising campaign where I have just one woman model all the gowns with varying different grooms.”

I blinked, already seeing where this was heading but not quite able to keep myself from staring at him in surprise in a way that had him smiling at me, “Of course I’ll pay you for modeling all eight gowns.”

I glanced down at the page in front of me, a picture of a classic wedding dress. Pristine white with a veil and looking like it was directly out of a fairytale. But as I glanced back up at Crewel, I shook my head slightly in blatant disbelief, “But I’m not a model…..”

“That’s what will make these ads more unique. You aren’t a model of any sort, and yet you will be the bride for this marketing campaign and will be far more relatable to prospective brides looking for a dress.”

I had to hand it to him; he’d come prepared. And I couldn’t deny that earning some money was attractive when I considered the state Ramshackle dorm was in.

There was no telling how many repairs I’d be able to manage with whatever Crewel was willing to pay me.

“The campaign will consist of seven pictures for magazines and billboards and one video for television advertising. For each dress, you will be paired with a different groom,” He continued calmly. Clearly explaining his plan for the marketing campaign even as I weigh my options.

“Are the models of the groom’s suits going to be professional?” I tilted my head when I spoke, and he hummed in response before shaking his head. 

How he avoided sending any of his black hair into the white half of his head or vice versa was beyond me, but I didn’t question it as he responded, “Only one. As I said, there’s going to be a different model for the grooms in each image. I thought it would be more interesting to use other fresh faces for this campaign for the grooms.”

I felt my eyebrows arch, “But wouldn't it make more sense to just use one model for the suits since you’re just going to be using one for the gowns?”

Crewel frowned, a flicker of annoyance going through his gaze as his eyes met mine, and I tilted my head slightly, “That was the plan, but the candidates for modeling being how they were made things difficult.”

“And who are the candidates?” I couldn’t help the wariness that slipped into my tone, and Crewel sighed slightly before handing me a stack of pictures that was filled with familiar faces.

“They ended up being the winners. Whether they entered themselves or were entered by someone else,” As he spoke, I sifted through the pictures.

Trey, Ruggie, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Sebek, and Leona.

“Winners?” I echoed him amusedly, and Crewel shook his head. 

There was a perfectly annoyed expression on his face as he frowned down at the pictures in my hands, “Suffice to say they all turned it into a competition.”

I almost wanted to ask exactly how this supposed ‘competition’ went down, but thought better of it as I took a secondary glance at Crewel’s expression.

I shrugged lightly, laying the pictures down on top of the wedding sketches, “Well, I can’t really think of any reason to say no to modeling for you…”

I trailed off and Crewel nodded, back to business as usual as he collected all the papers, “Then we’ll start tomorrow.”

If you would like to read more

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[victoria-writes]

Elvish For Dummies

Pairing: Legolas x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Set after the events of LoTR. You live with Legolas in Mirkwood and he teaches you Elvish. Pure fluff.

Word Count: 1039

Notes: Established relationship, reader is human, tried to make the sindarin elvish as accurate as possible so apologies for any mistakes, I’m multilingual so I based this off of my own experience with learning languages 

Read it on AO3 here

Story:

Despite the fellowship having disbanded, each day with Legolas seemed like another adventure. During your perilous journey together, the two of you had grown closer than either of you thought possible. The mere thought of being apart from you pulled at his heartstrings. He could not bear the thought of being separated from his new love. After the one ring was destroyed, the elf invited you to come with him to Mirkwood. Hastily, you agreed, for you too could not wait to start a new life with the elven prince. 

Since reaching Mirkwood, many seasons have passed and you two grow closer by the day. Under his guidance, your archery skills and ability to speak Elvish have improved. He took it upon himself to privately tutor you in the tongue of his people. Legolas still giggles when you fumble certain words on your tongue, but is quick to apologize, never wanting to discourage you. He says you have made remarkable progress and that you possess great linguistic potential. Whether that is true or he is exaggerating with sugar coated words, you cannot tell but it feels good to hear his encouragement either way. 

Most of your days together included walks through the woods and riding horseback, but today was a gloomy rainy day. A day that, Legolas decided, would be a wonderful excuse to help you get back to your studies. It’s not that you did not enjoy Elvish. Oh no! You quite liked hearing him whisper loving words to you as he held your gaze. 

“Meleth nîn, Im tur feel cín emel dring dan sab - My love, I can feel your heartbeat against mine”, he would say as he held you in his arms, his breath dancing upon your skin with each syllable. 

Saying you enjoyed that would be the understatement of the century. Everything in Sindarin sounded like poetry. Even the most mundane sentences were said with purpose and flowered language. Unfortunately for you, that also meant the most basic phrases you had to learn weren’t your typical ones. Instead of “I went to the store”, you had to say “I depart to look for food - Im gwann- na thír an aes”. It seems that most Elvish children learn how to say things like “I can feel it in the earth - Im tur- feel ha in i coe” before they learn “please” and “thank you”. No wonder they all sound prophetic when they speak common. Creepy oracle sounding sentence structure as your first language combined with being thousands of years old will do that. 

“Meleth nîn, you’re drifting off. Shall we return to our lesson or is a break needed?”, Legolas' words break you out of your trance. You look up from your desk, covered in notes, to see him towering above you, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. 

“Apologies, I was merely pondering the linguistic differences between Sindarin and Quenya Elvish”, you quickly come up with the excuse to hide the fact that you were simply not paying attention. 

“Is that so?”, 

“Yes, yes, the distinction between Elvish languages is very interesting to me”.

“This is the third time this lesson you’ve been distracted by those differences”.

“Ah, well…”, you trail off, caught red-handed. 

“Y/N, I will not force you to learn Sindarin if you do not wish it”.

“No, no, no, I want to learn. I promise. It’s all just new to me and takes a moment to sink in. Please, repeat what you said. I’m paying attention”.

Legolas smiles but does not repeat himself. Instead, he moves on to an exercise he is sure will get your attention. 

“We shall review what I have taught you thus far.” 

…

“ Very good, Y/N. Now how would you say ‘the stars shine white’?”

“ I elena mír thilivern” 

“The grass is green?”

“I thár na- calen”        

“Very good pronunciation. You have done well. I believe it is time to learn some new vocabulary”.

You take out a new sheet of paper from your stack, ready to write. 

“You need not write for this portion. Repeat after me.” 

“Okay”. You put your quill down. 

“Meleth nîn.”

“Meleth nîn. I know what that means already. You say it all the time”.

“And what does it mean?”

“My love”, your lips turn upward in a shy smile.  

“Very good. Let us move on then”, he smiles brightly, as if pleasantly surprised despite knowingly fully well that you knew its meaning. 

“I’m ready. Hit me.” 

He suddenly sits down next to you and takes your hands into his own.

“Im mel cin”  

“Im mel cin”  

“Do you know its meaning?”   

“No, should I? I’m sorry.”, your eyes widen as you try to recall whether he had said it before in a previous lesson. 

Legolas throws his head back with laughter. This may be the hardest you’ve ever seen him laugh before… and it’s at you. Great. 

“Apologies. Apologies.”, he manages to get out between giggles, “The look on your face was priceless.” Your face sours at this and Legolas manages to resist a second burst of laughter from it. He thinks you equal parts hilarious and adorable. 

“You would not have known this phrase as I have never spoken it to you before. I do think it is high time for you to learn it”.

“Okay, so what does it mean?”, you scrunch your eyebrows together, ego still a little hurt from being laughed at. 

His grip on your hands tighten but his touch stays gentle as ever. He has always been gentle with you. His gaze holds the same softness. No, even deeper.  The blue of his eyes seem more vibrant and invite you in to look deeper within him. His eyes tell of a love that can never be truly explained in any language. Legolas has always had a staring problem when it comes to you, but this is something different entirely. Your cheeks redden at his seriousness.

“I love you”.

Your eyes widen once more and before you can react, he kisses you. Deeply. Passionately. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” he repeats again and again into your lips. 

…

Maybe learning a new language isn’t so bad, if you have the right teacher.

[lilacxquartz]

an imp in fae’s clothing;

yandere m!fae x f!reader

plot: while you were minding your own business, you catch the undivided attention of a fae who you can't seem to shake off — themes: this will get dark, magic, mortal reader, manipulative character, yandere, original story, original character • on ao3 • next chapter >

a/n: new oc of mine, haha. this is like a personal project based on an oc i have, just putting the work out there so it’s actually somewhere type thing! art by me(c) — tw: violence (not against the reader)

Chapter 1. Unexpected Company

Once again, just like every other night, you were tucked away all alone in your bedroom with your blinds flipped shut, sealing away the rest of the world from view. The night was still young, but you were tired—though, not physically, mentally, perhaps, with the idea of being outside just being… simply unappealing.

You were content like this though; with your nose either tucked deep into a book that channeled into your escapism habits or mindlessly scrolling through every sort of social you had installed on your phone, until you grew bored. Hours had passed by that point, too, and it wasn’t that you were tired in the slightest, but you let your eyes drift to meet with the ceiling—the stark white surface seeming fuzzier than before, like lacing static.

However, just as you settled your gaze back onto the foot of the bed, that’s right about when you noticed someone else right there with you, sitting cross-legged, staring right at you, as if they belonged.

At first, when your eyes landed upon the person, you couldn’t quite comprehend it. You were alone, weren’t you? There was no possible way that a whole being could have just materialised in front of you within a matter of minutes and yet, here they were.

With glittering freckles that bordered on pearlescent adorning reddish skin made up the complexion of the person—or perhaps something else entirely, sitting right in front of you—one eye blushing plum hues while the other looked completely blank, matching your stunned expression. Your eyes drifted to catch a scar taking up one half of their face, long aged and settled deep. Their hair, like their freckles, was almost shell-like, boasting silvery whites, pinks and blues, blending into a pale amethyst.

Tattered dragonfly-esque wings speared from their shoulder blades, limply sitting over the bed as they leaned forward to study you with a chilling intensity, despite their expression being warm otherwise. Their clothing, or lack thereof from the waist up, was made up of a worn down gauze wrapped around their left shoulder, their bottom half wearing baggy brown patchwork trousers.

As you studied them, they seemed to do the very same in return; tilting their head off to the side and slightly twitching their pointed ears.

“You can see me, can’t you?” they asked, a male voice filling out your ears. The being’s voice was pleasant; not too deep and full of melody that felt almost playful.

You blinked at him, watching as his eyes slowly widened along with his smile. If you were being entirely honest, you weren’t too sure how you should be reacting. Your first impression of seeing some unknown person, let alone a man, was to scream—but for whatever reason—you couldn’t.

In fact, you couldn’t utter a single noise at all.

You pinched the skin on hand before you entertained the thought at all, the sharp sensation of pain coursing through your body confirming to you that this was all real.

(But how?)

“What…?” was all you managed after a moment, practically choking the word out.

Without thinking, you shot out your hand to try and wave through him, to try and disperse the image of what you thought was, one hundred percent a hallucination, only to strike him physically instead. The creature let out a breathless laugh, as if amused by your attempt to will him away, while you in turn, flinched at the connection.

You recoiled so hard, that you pulled away, letting out a sharp gasp before throwing the blanket across the bed, letting it momentarily drape over his head. Within a matter of seconds, you retreated as far as you could, pressing your back right up against the headboard of your bed, snapping your knees to your chest with such haste, that it nearly knocked him back.

“Now, now,” he teased, steadying himself, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You gulped hard. “W-who—what—who are you?”

The being smiled, settling his elbows over his knees so that he could rest his chin on his palms. His eyebrows raised slightly as his one visible pupil zeroed in on you, intensifying his voice as though excited, “I’m Eloyrn,” he whispered, tilting his head before levelling it once more, “you can just call me Elo, though.”

You couldn’t help but simply stare at this strangely friendly creature who spoke casually to you, as if they were an old friend of yours. Nothing about their tone was serious in the slightest, even when you in return, displayed clear signs of distress and just as you were about to ask what he was—or what he wanted—he leaned forward again, parting his lips.

This time, he whispered your name, causing you to flinch again. “That’s yours, right? I love human names. So much variety, so much potential,” he spoke as though struck with awe, repeating your name over and over again in a near-worshipping chant.

“I’m sorry,” you continued when you were able to, interrupting him, “but what exactly are you?” you asked, pointing your eyes at his ears, his eyes, and his overall look. He couldn’t have been human.

Eloryn promptly ceased his mantra, sagging his shoulders into a relaxed posture. He tilted his head back to stretch out his neck, revealing a glimpse of his sharp jaw before meeting with your gaze once more. Keeping his tone light and playful, he tried to answer you, “I believe that you humans call my kind a fae.”

You blurted out your response, unable to stifle it, “Like a fairy?”

He laughed lightly but shook his head, “Not quite, but I suppose these pesky wings aren’t too convincing to counter my words,” he shrugged before leaning in, “I’m closer to a woodland spirit.”

“A woodland spirit…?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes, “but this is a city,” you added in a straightforward tone, still refusing to believe what you were seeing.

“Ah, but this whole area used to be part of a forest at one point,” Eloryn corrected you, “you can call me a city spirit though, if that makes more sense to you given the modern times – I’m quite… adaptable, you’ll come to find.”

For a moment, your mind was reeling with much too many unanswered questions that kept on piling up. Fae? Spirits? You must have either fallen asleep or have hit your head somewhere because this very exchange couldn’t have been real, and yet…

(He felt so real?)

“Okay…” you trailed off, trying to keep a handle on your barely contained panic, “and what do you want with me, exactly?”

Eloryn laughed at your question, finding your guarded mannerisms to be more endearing than something to be concerned about. “What don’t I want with you?” he asked as if it was obvious, “I have been around you for a while, you know, hovering over you, just… being near you,” he murmured, softening his voice that time in a way that was more threatening than it was gentle, “watching over you, memorising your habits—memorising you,” he then paused, pulling back ever so slightly, “curious that you can see me now, though, I wonder why.”

You creased your brows at his words, still not fully processing the full extent of the obsession he had just confessed to you, your mind stuck on a different detail instead. “Hang on, you’ve been watching me?”

Eloryn’s lighthearted demeanour returned within an instant at your question, adopting a loud, bursting tone, “Of course!” he exclaimed proudly, before smoothing it down into a softer tone once more. “Always. I’ve been keeping you safe, keeping others away from you, all so that I can watch you day to day, every day—every minute—every second—”

At his crazed whispered worship, you tried to retreat further away once more only to be met with the wooden surface of your headboard kissing your back. You shook your head at the prospect, rejecting his worship, not liking this a single bit. Something about being watched—let alone perceived by an invisible entity filled you with a great deal of dread.

The fae, however, moved closer to you, kneeling over you, planting both of his hands parallel over your body so that his palms flattened near your hips. Hovering over you, his icy breath ghosted over your face, leaving you frozen solid into place and unable to move beneath his looming form.

“You can see me,” he repeated, “you can feel me,” he emphasised, retaining that uneasy tone, “which means you can’t get rid of me by just moving on with your life,” he added, almost crazed, “god,” he spoke, uttering your name once again, “you’re stuck with me forever – how exciting!”

Just as you wanted to push him back, however, to shove him as far away from you as possible, your mind went blank. Suddenly, an anchoring, compressing feeling enveloped you, plunging you into darkness. Your mind went elsewhere and your body turned rigid, forcing you into a deep slumber.

Though, right as you felt yourself slip away, you felt a slight weight settle beside you, as if someone was pressing their body right against your back—completely unseen to you—pulling you into the deepest sleep you’ve ever had.

~~~

When you next awoke in the morning, you thought that this odd event might as well have been a dream or at the very least, a realistic nightmare. As you came around, however, artefacts of the night before had remained. Things like the sudden absence of warmth from someone lying closely next to you or the creeping sensation of not being entirely alone.

You tried to get through the course of the upcoming day regardless, and other than feeling that something—or someone—was potentially lurking in the shadows, nothing out of the ordinary occurred, until you had to go back home.

Your usual time for leaving your job was in the evening, but before it got dark, so around six. Your boss was, however, who was not unknown for demanding overtime, often making anyone he could get away with pressuring to do just that, talked you into something along those lines. Needing the money, you begrudgingly accepted it, even if it meant getting off work when the skies were growing darker.

By the time your bus had dropped you off at the usual spot, too, the neighbourhood was utterly empty save for the many lampposts dotting around the road, warmly illuminating the pavement. It was about a five or seven minute walk from the bus stop to your apartment, so you weren’t too worried, but your city was also not exactly known for being the safest either.

You didn’t fuss about it too much, though, thinking more about what to eat when you got back home, and definitely not about the approaching figure that was quickly closing in on you. Not who you’d expect, however, because you couldn’t have—that was just all just a dream, right?

It was quick as it all happened, giving you no hint or warning of what was about to come. Large calloused hands wrapped around the long sleeves of your arms, causing you to shrink back in alarm. Instinctively, you tore forward, stamping your heel over the stranger’s foot, causing him to hiss in pain, stumbling back a step. You swung your heavy bag to meet at his side, whacking him hard and prompting the assailant to finally let go.

Your eyes fluttered, thinking back to last night.

It couldn’t have been Elo—what’s his name—Elowyn, Eloryn? No, because he didn’t exist and even if he did, he wouldn’t have been that easy to fight off, given what he was, surely.

Shooting forward, you made a break out of the attacker’s grasp, hearing his footsteps trail right behind you—pushing forward, forcing yourself to bridge as far away a distance from him as much as possible and yet—falling to your hands and knees as your breath tore out of your lungs. Gasping sharply, you tried to recollect your bearings before pressing onwards, only for the same rough hands to meet at your shoulder again. You jolted as you felt them tightly clamp around your back, yanking you back before letting go within an instant.

You paused, trying to process the events, your chest still heaving in and out.

At first you couldn’t understand what you were hearing, but then—

A strangled cry came from the man behind you, followed by a sickening crack and snap; a sharp scream passed through your ears only to be then rapidly stifled. This sort of sound continued to slowly pass through the man, filling your ears with something you couldn’t quite comprehend.

You shuddered as you turned around, unsure of what to expect, only to be met with the sight of your attacker desperately darting his eyes around, unable to understand where this sudden assault could have been coming from. While on the other hand, you saw the creature from the night before, standing there calmly—slowly, excruciatingly moving his fingers up his arm—dusting the bone into shattered rubble beneath the skin. With wide eyes, you watched as he then moved onto the other arm, and then to his legs, before turning the once confident aggressor into a blathering, broken stupor.

Crawling back on your feet, perhaps a minute too late, you tried to escape in a hurry but then you felt a cold presence sweep by you, only to be met with Eloryn standing over you, extending his hand to you with a cold smile on his face.

“I’m always going to be with you,” he said, pulling you up to sink into his chest, “you can’t get rid of me, remember?” he reminded you again, wrapping his arms right around you. “In fact, I won’t even let you try.”

Feeling scared, bewildered, but also just mostly confused, you froze up at the unreal situation you found yourself in once more, reluctantly leaning into his form—but not out of comfort—out of fear.

Because what on earth did you do exactly, to have attracted the attention of someone like this?

(And was he more of a friend? Or was he a foe?)

(If you were being honest, you were almost too scared to find out.)

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura fic recs: civilian discrimination/clan politics

Another personal favorite type of read when it comes to Sakura Haruno fanfiction! I think it's reasonable to assume considering the treatment of the branch families in the Hyuga clan that if the series was a little darker/serious, then Sakura, TenTen, and Lee would have definitely been looked down upon for not being from a clan. They don't have the same connections and support that the clan kids do and so I love when fics bring this up and take it further.

Ok, so I've kinda decided to just make this a list for fics with some political focus to them...

Also, check out my list on third war continued/Sakura sent to war prematurely as all of those fics bring up this hierarchy.

Started: 2024.07.23

Last Updated: 2024.12.28

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

edit: I am currently reevaluating this list as I feel I can do better!

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A Drop of Poison by Androgyninja || ao3 || gen || M || canon divergent || complete

After being humiliated during a sparring match, Sakura realizes that she no longer wants to base her future on a boy who doesn't even like her. With a newfound sense of determination, she sets off to become a truly terrifying kunoichi, making her fair share of friends and enemies along the way.In other words, Sakura discovers who she really wants to be and fucks shit up along the way. And if she poisons a few important people? Well, that's just collateral damage.Begins during Sakura's final year at the academy and ends right before the canon time skip.

Where the hierarchy of the clans and clanless is more prominent than ever, Sakura comes to the stark realization of her true purpose on team 7. A Drop of Poison is probably the first fic that comes to mind when I think of discrimination and clan politics in Konoha and it's for a good reason. Constant hurdles are thrown Sakura's way because of her lineage and the actions she chooses to take bring ramifications which she'll have to face head first. Also, poison-user! Sakura is such a great idea (I wish this was canon)!

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bite me and see, said the fly to the spider - MirrorImage003 || ao3 || itasaku || T || canon AU || ongoing

In which Sakura is not initially a part of Team 7. In which she wears her failures like armor and brandishes her fears like her most trusted weapons. In which I do what hundreds of other authors have done before me, and rewrite Sakura's story. Non-massacre AU. Canon Divergent. Slow-burn.

Sakura's first team is made up of the "expendables." Placed with a fresh and inexperienced jonin as their sensei, it results in the quick demise of the team. Now slotted into team 7, Sakura has to face the harsh remarks regarding her first major failure as a shinobi and persevere to prove her worth to the village.

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Expedient - SwiftKick || ffn || T || canon AU || complete

Konoha and Iwa sign a truce and agree to an Exchange Program between recently promoted genin to "bolster village relations." Fortunately, if anything were to go wrong, Haruno Sakura was just average enough to risk losing.

From what I remember, Expedient is not very heavy on this dynamic, however, it is a major contributor as to why Sakura was the one sent on the exchange. She was deemed as so average, so unremarkable, that the village could risk her. Even so, Sakura does face a lot of criticism from Iwa shinobi and civilians, marking her as an outsider. I don't really want to spoil anything, but just know that the sensitivity of her position makes it difficult for her both in Konoha and Iwa. This one is an all time favorite of mine and I didn't have high expectations going into it, but this fic is truly great. Deidara is such a fun character and I really enjoyed Sakura's growth.

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The Small Postures - Celenier || ao3 || T || kakasaku || canon divergence || incomplete

Sakura acts as a spy for Tsunade when Danzo takes an interest in her. While earning her place in ANBU Root, she discovers her own path to greatness. She learns grim secrets about how her village operates, makes terrible enemies, and begins to appreciate the extent of her fractured personality.

It's Sakura's more expendable status that results in her being used to infiltrate ROOT. I found this fic kinda a hard read since it's such an ominous story. Anyway, Kakashi, her former sensei, in now her contact and only confident on the matter, but how does this change their relationship? I haven't read far enough for there to be any romance, so no comment, but I imagine it's built off of Sakura's isolation. Great story though.

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Daughter of Fire - justjstuff || ao3 || kakasaku || E || canon divergence || incomplete (maybe ongoing)

Sakura got up and didn’t bother brushing the dirt from her dress. She had a feeling she was about to get even dirtier. She looked at the memorial stone one last time, memorizing the characters without even realizing she was doing it. It would serve from that moment on as a reminder of her determination. She wouldn’t let Naruto and Sasuke join the names carved on that stone. That was her nindo.

Sakura faces discrimination from the council as they are not pleased that she, a civilian born, is to be the one to carry on Tsunade's legacy. I also really appreciate how Sakura's parents were handled in Daughter of Fire as it felt very logical rather than some of the other fics I have read. Her growth throughout this story is great and realistic all while pointing out aspects from the original series which were flawed and dare I say misogynistic.

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Terror feeds the Soul - Pleasedial123 || ao3 || gen || not rated || canon AU || one-shot complete

Sakura is not an idiot. She was praised for her intelligence, reached Top Kunoichi at the Academy for her brains. So it doesn't take her long after being placed on the powder keg that is Team Seven to realize she is going to die. Kakashi, career shinobi since age-six, has no idea what the hell is going on with his little pink-haired student or why there is such fear in her eyes. So he gives her head-pats. That's what you do for scared puppies isn't it?

My poor girl Sakura was STRESSING in Terror Feeds the Soul, but it's for good reason. She has made the stark realization that with no clan ties and no apparent importance to the village, she would be that last on team 7 to be saved. Anyway, there is some pretty cute Kakashi and Sakura bonding here (platonic) that I love.

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The Sixth Shadow - thinknicht || ao3 || kakasaku || M || canon AU - eventual time travel AU || ongoing

No one seemed to find it odd when little Haruno Sakura threw herself smack dab in front of a Chidori and Rasengan. Not even Kakashi stopped to wonder.(He really should have.)

The story of how Sakura came to be the sixth hokage despite all of the challenges thrown her way. Many of the characters are super OOC, but in The Sixth Shadow she faces the ultimate discrimination based off her being civilian born. Through trials of attempted sabotage, classism, and other conflicts Sakura's drive is unwavering. Such an interesting take on how the events of the series could have unfolded and the political aspects are super interesting. However, be warned that Kakashi is an absolute HATER (in the beginning), but he gets better! Also, the fic is super long....

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Got Nothing to Prove (but I'ma show you how I do) - GuardianMars || ao3 || gen || T || mission gone wrong || incomplete

Civilians and orphans are always used as cannon fodder. Sakura’s not sure where she first came by this phrase. Whether she heard it or read it, she can’t quite remember, but it stuck in her head and it stays in the back of her mind whenever Team 7 takes a mission. When Sakura and Tenten get placed on a temporary team looking into a series of kidnappings of local village girls, Sakura is naturally worried. She doesn't want to be cannon fodder. When the mission goes to pot, Sakura and Tenten find themselves far away from home and with only each other to rely on. As it turns out being cannon fodder is the least of their worries.

Sakura and TenTen are chosen specifically for a mission due to their lack of clan affiliation. Things end up taking longer than anticipated and Kakashi and Gai, being the only voices for the girls, decide that it's time to step in. This fic is super interesting because it's actually kind of a mystery. One where we don't truly know what happened on the mission but through multiple different perspectives we slowly find out. Unfortunately, this is incomplete though.

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Loyalty - TrueRadicalDreamer || ffn/ao3 || M || AU || complete

A ten-year-old Haruno Sakura is put in the worst situation of her young life - being forced into working as a spy for an enemy village. As she navigates the mores of her new world, Sakura begins to realize that she is changing as a person and that she may not recognize who it is she is becoming.A story about personal responsibility, about the duties of a ninja to their village, and about the true meaning of loyalty.(Pre-Skip, Unapologetically Sakura-centric, 13 years in the writing)

Ok, a little note here is that this fic is actually being rewritten. I read the old version and loved it (the one I linked), but there is a new one coming out on ao3 although I think it might incomplete. Nonetheless, I HIGHLY recommend this one as I think it's great and pleasantly dark!

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Obito-Sensei - Ser Serendipity || ffn || gen || M || Obito lives AU || ongoing

During the fateful mission to the Kannabi Bridge, Obito is too slow, and Kakashi ends up paying the price with his life. Years later, Elite Jonin Mangekyou no Obito is placed in charge of a very familiar genin team, determined to keep them safe in a world at peace. Or: Obito surviving wrecks everything, in twenty steps or less.

I don't want to say too much to avoid spoiling anything, but there is definitely a gap between Sakura and her other teammates at the beginning. I really love the worldbuilding and Obito is honestly such a good sensei (even though I had to warm up to the idea). Some interesting politics as well!

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Satori (Between the Lines) - Jaylene || ffn || gen || T || academy AU || complete

While attending the Academy, Sakura's field experience assignment with the Konohagakure Intelligence Division ends up being more valuable than she'd ever guess.

Sakura lands herself working in Torture & Intelligence??? From the very beginning Sakura has been pegged as a "paper ninja" where she is constantly praised for her intelligence, so Satori (Between the Lines) is academy Sakura putting these skills to use. Super good read and includes characters we don't normally get to see in fics!

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Hoshigaki - writer168 || ao3 || M || gen || sakura is kisame's daughter AU || complete

When Sakura was three, her father told her he was a criminal. When she was seven, the last thing she saw of him was the sword on his back. When she was eight, she had a friend named Kiba. When they were twelve, they met Shino.And when they were genin, they began to fight for the truth because they could no longer fight for the sake of Konoha.

Perhaps one of the more interesting AUs out there as Sakura is actually the daughter of Kisame! Definitely shines a different light on the village and is such a great story (even has a sequel).

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Snakes are Venomous, Flowers are Poisonous - Omnivorous_Reader || ao3 || M || gen || Orochimaru is good AU || incomplete

It has been years since Orochimaru has taken on a proper apprentice, but when the Fourth Hokage asks him to chose one from the Rookie 12, it’s not surprising he’s the one to find the diamond in the rough

Pretty odd AU, but I guess this is kinda just Orochimaru in Boruto. Anyway, essentially, he's a good guy and loyal to village and Sasuke's a complete dick. He decides to take in another apprentice, which ends up being Sakura. A lot of discrimination towards Sakura in here due to her background and some village politics.

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Rise - wenwen || ao3 || T || gen || missing-nin AU || complete

Seven years after the Kyuubi attack, the Sandaime Hokage’s sudden assassination threw Konoha into chaos, and at the end of the night, two factions arose in its shinobi forces: those who stayed and those who ran. Of those who ran, many were shinobi that the new administration denounced as traitors, deserters, and murderers. Two years later, a ragged group of children who vanished the night of the Sandaime's assassination, who would have been raised in relative peace but instead grew up running, were recruited to fight a war for the homes they barely remembered. In which Kakashi is forced to the forefront of yet another war, Itachi is given to maudlin internal monologues, Shisui alternates between coping and dissociating, and Zabuza wonders why he couldn’t have left the honor to the fucking samurai.

Fair warning, not a Sakura-centric, but she is a main character! Really well written and super interesting story.

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Hokage By Necessity - Evil Is A Relative Term || ffn || T || canon divergence || incomplete

Hokage-it was Naruto's dream, just as Sasuke was his promise. And for a short, glorious time, he had them both. But when tragedy strikes, it is Sakura who must continue to bear the reality of the dream: endless paperwork, bickering Kage, and political factions.

Wow wow wow, so good! Shows the less-than-glamorous reality of what it truly means to be Hokage. Super interesting read that sheds light on the fact that the strongest person isn't always the best leader. Definitely has a heavy focus on politics (and the author clearly thought about said politics).

---

Once again, please send me recs of this genre since I'm obsessed!

[crazylittlejester]

Hey Jes!

Hope you’re feeling better today.

I’ve been wondering if you’ve thought up surnames for the crew in the ModernAU? I’ve just been trawling your tag and I don’t think it’s ever come up either here or in your stories on ao3.

Also, wanted to (if it’s ok) know any diagnoses/disabilities any of them have, ie Wild’s hip, Sky’s epilepsy? I’m just asking cos I know about Time’s facial paralysis for example, but one of your recent(ish) posts mentioned both he and Wild have canes (I did laugh at the idea of him brandishing a shotgun at monsters for that matter!!) and I was just curious as it will help me visualise them all better when I’m reading your stuff.

I love the AU, looking forward to when you next get to post something! :)

HI!!

i do have surnames for them all, and i keep forgetting i have not shared them- so thanks for asking me to 😭

Time’s last name is Forrester, as is Malon’s since she is his wife alskmdmdk, and Twilight’s is Ramírez-Forrester, because his parents hyphenated their last names when they married. (This has been useful because Twi and Time have the same legal first name, ‘Lincoln’, so Twi having ‘Ramírez’ as part of his last name has helped them keep their meds and packages straight)

War’s last name is Moraes da Silva, which is his mother’s last name. His parents weren’t married, which is why Linkle has a different last name than he does (which is Tailor) since they’re half siblings in this au (and she IS older than him by a little less than a year but that’s not stopping her from referring to him as her baby brother once they connected and got close. this Does piss War off)

Sky’s is Mehta, which is his biological parents’ last name. He did not change it when he was adopted by Groose’s family, and they didn’t try to force him to

Legend’s is Hawthorne, and he got that from his uncle. Since he’s trans and legally changed his name so it was no longer his deadname, he took his uncle’s last name while he was at it because that’s who raised him

Almost all of these last names i chose for specific reasons but I will admit i just chose Dubois for Hyrule because i read somewhere it was a last name that meant the person lived or worked in the woods and he is ALWAYS in the damn woods

Wild’s is Kołakowski and he argued to hell and back to keep that. His parents died when he was very young and the people who adopted him struggled to pronounce his name and the compromise was that he could keep his birth name but they called him by the middle name they gave him, which was Link (nickname for Lincoln)

And then Four and Wind are both Hernández because they’re cousins

*breaks knuckles* and now all the diagnoses/disabilities/what’s up with who/little details and whatever:

Time: As you mentioned part of his face is paralyzed. He can move that eyebrow a bit and the corner of his mouth, but his whole eye/eyelid/cheek area on HIS right side is paralyzed and he was just born like that. He’d also been blind in that right eye since birth but it had a benign tumor behind it and that’s how he ended up losing it. He uses a cane at times because he has hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and pots and sometimes he really needs the extra support. He got diagnosed with autism when Twi did. This guy is also lactose intolerant but that won’t stop him and he faces the consequences of his actions (and then lays on the floor groaning about it)

War: The real problem with him is that his only on record current diagnoses are depression and anxiety, because he has so much else going on and is COMPLETELY oblivious. He had to go through school with undiagnosed ADHD and undiagnosed autism and that absolutely ruined his perception of his own intelligence. He’s been struggling with undiagnosed celiac disease, and his blood sugar issues will remain undiagnosed for now because they’re based on mine and I don’t have a diagnosis lmao. He had some issues with malnutrition as a child, which required him to need a feeding tube at two different points in his life, though he only remembers the second time around since he was under the age of three the first time. And he has a scar from the second one because it was a g tube. He also fell and tore his meniscus the summer after he retired from skating and that had him on his ass for a bit but he’s healed up now. That left knee is just a little weaker and sometimes gives him shit so he wears a brace for extra support sometimes. Also? Absolutely ASS vision, he’s had glasses since age four and contacts since 11

Twi: Diagnosed autism and ADHD, major depressive disorder, OCD. His anxiety was so awful as a child he would not speak outside his house, like to the point teachers and other kids thought he physically could not make sound. (First thing he ever said out loud in a public, school setting was to War and War nearly fell off his chair in shock) Physically he’s doing perfectly healthy for an almost 22 yo. He has quite a lot of scars on his left arm/thigh under his tattoos, one particularly jagged one on his right arm out in the open, and one scar on the left side of his forehead from when he tripped and fell off a horse at age nine and cracked his head open, traumatizing poor Time for LIFE.

Sky: Epilepsy, as well as diagnosed ADHD and depression. He deals with chronic pain and ESPECIALLY chronic fatigue. His meds make him so incredibly tired, he sleeps a lot because he needs to since lack of sleep is a seizure trigger but also because he’s just absolutely drained at the end of the day. His nose is a little crooked after it got broken when he was in high school during a fight but he can breathe fine so he doesn’t care at this point

Hyrule: Diagnosed ADHD, undiagnosed autism. Other than that? Nothing. He’s got a lot of scars on his knees because this dude has fallen on pavement or out of trees enough times for all of us

Legend: Diagnosed ADHD, depression, anxiety, undiagnosed autism. He deals with a lot of chronic pain in his knees and lower back

Wild: Another diagnosed ADHD undiagnosed autism. He absolutely destroyed his hip when he fell while skating in a competition, and that’s why he retired because initially they told him he’d never walk again, but he got himself back up. He CAN walk unaided, he can also get back out on the ice, but he’s gotta be careful and not do crazy jumps because triples or god forbid quads put too much strain on his body. He uses a cane on bad pain days. He and War are NOT allowed to play Just Dance together because they go too hard and they hurt themselves

Four: Diagnosed ADHD. He’s lactose intolerant and smarter than Time. Blind as shit, and like War he too wears contacts

Wind: Diagnosed ADHD and depression, he also has a severe nut allergy and a lot of anxiety surrounding that

I’m so glad you like the au!! It’s my silly little brain project :3 (i say as if i did not draft a heavier fic for it today) thanks for the ask!!

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch.25

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

A/N: This is the last chapter of the story. There's gonna be a trivia section/chapter, maybe a bonus chapter if enough people want.

First - Prev - Bonus Chapter - Trivia

CH.25

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, The Author of the Journals; my brother!”

“...Stanley, you don’t have to do that every time I come upstairs.”

“Sure I do! The Journals are The Mystery Shacks most popular exhibit!”

“Woah, there’s another Mr. Mystery?”

“Nah, I’m the only Mr. Mystery. That’s Dr. Mystery.”

“Oooh!”

“Can you take a break from your tour, Stanley? I need to talk to you about this trip I’m about to take.”

“Yeah yeah, just lemme pull the red ropes on the mirror maze room.”

(...)

“You swear your portal gun is stable this time?”

“So far it’s restricted to the continental United States, but soon enough I should be able to tweak it to include the western hemisphere, and then the planet, and then-.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself now, poindexter. You had to hitchhike your way back home last month. From Albuquerque.”

“It is not going to be like that, I will be back tomorrow. Promise.”

“Mhmm. Take your emergency travel bag with you just in case.”

“That isn’t-.”

“Ford.”

“Alright, dear brother of mine. If it’ll quell your irrational concerns.”

“You’re getting a little better at sarcasm, sixer. Can you tell me where you’re going?”

“Just a quick, overnight trip to Washington. Mothman tipped me off about a Batsquatch there. It’d make a great addition to Journal Four.”

“I can’t believe you still hang out with that thing.”

“I don’t need to hear that from Mr.‘But the Multi-Bear has good taste in music, Ford’.”

“Ya got me there. Hey, could ya project into my dreamscape tonight?”

“You said you didn’t need help traversing it anymore.”

“I don’t. But I wanna show ya something. Can’t while we’re awake.”

“Is this you trying to trick me into going to sleep at a reasonable time?”

“...It’s not a zero percent chance. But, really, I wanna show ya something.”

“Alright. Did Fiddleford call today?”

“Yeah. He’s got a conference this week though, so we can’t bug him about anything. Something about linking personal computers together.”

“Shame, I wanted to consult him about… Well, that doesn’t matter right now.”

“You could always come with us to that Jazzfest thing in a couple months.”

“Absolutely not. Last time I went to a concert with you two, you invited the Flesh Curtains ‘for old times sake’, then Fiddleford got drunk and almost evaporated the entire venue with a death ray because Sanchez put an arm around you.”

“Yeah, we really need to work on his jealousy. I really thought he’d stop after they built that giant death robot together…” 

(...)

“You’re sure Time Baby won’t know about this?”

“I made sure to schedule this during that dumb babies ‘tummy time’. We’re golden, Fordsy. Well, I’m golden at least. You’re more carbon-based than that.”

“Right. Normally, I’d take Stanley’s word for it when it comes to matters like this… But I need confirmation before I move forward with the next step.”

“Sure thing, sixer. Say what you need, specifically, so there’s absolutely no doubt what your intentions are.”

“Project us into the mindscape of Agent Powers, I need to confirm if he truly intended to kill Stanley.”

SNAP

(...)

“Get the hell away from my car, Powers! We talked about this, it’s paid off dammit!”

*Powers turns away from Stanley’s El Diablo, holding something in his hands behind his back*

“It’s a garbage car and it is still too good for a dredge on society like you, Pines.”

“Actually, it’s ‘Alcatraz’.”

“It doesn’t matter what fake name you’re using this time - we both know who you really are. Stanley Pines.”

“I’m afraid I dunno who that is. Now get away from my car before this turns into another fight.”

“Hmph. Another one you can’t finish?”

“Fuck off, pig.”

*Powers walks away, but slips a strap cutter, hose cutter, and screwdriver into his pockets*

“I see… this wasn’t a misunderstanding nor a crime of passion. He methodically planned on killing him and making it look like a tragic car accident.”

“So, IQ,  you’re saying he fucked up?”

“He fucked up big time, my muse.” 

(...)

Crackle

Crackle

Crunch

“Who’s there?”

“Agent Powers, lovely campsite you have here.”

“What-... Stanley Pines?”

“Close, but no cigar.”

“...You’re the other one. You’re that twin he had a picture of.”

“In the sun visor of his car? The one that you sabotaged?”

“I did no such thing.”

“Hm. Strange. You haven’t taken a leave of absence in six years; and yet, you started an extended leave months ago, suspiciously around the same time that Stanley Pines reported himself to the authorities as alive?”

“It was close to the holiday season.”

“And yet… Here you still are.”

“I- what is that thing you’re pointing at me?”

“Your full name is Nickolas Powers isn’t it?”

Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap

Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap

“What are you doing with that thing?”

“No, no, don’t try to back off, now. I’ve already set up a perimeter around your campsite, and if you try to run you’ll have quite the experience with pitfalls and barbed wire.”

“...Are you here to kill me?”

“I want to. Believe me, I want to. You tried to take my brother away from me. And for what? Because he was slippery? Because he was infuriating? Because he spared you during that shoot out with The Snakes Biker Gang?”

“...He was never going to improve, he was always going to be a nuisance and a leech on society. I don’t know how his entire criminal record managed to disappear without a trace overnight, but I know what he really is.”

“You knew he wasn't a killer. He’s far more forgiving than I am, he knows you killed him and revenge didn’t cross his mind. In a way, he’s more disappointed than angry. You were one of the few constants in his life, an antagonistic version of a ‘friend’, almost. And you killed him because you were angry that some teenager beat you but didn’t finish you off over a decade ago.”

“Clearly, I did not kill him if he could report himself as alive.”

“He did die, Powers. He died, but he came back and he lost himself, even when someone else saved him. He had no memories of who he really was… Didn’t know who I was when I met him again a year later.

But I brought him back. It took a lot of work, it took pain and effort, but I brought him back. But that doesn';'t change that you tried to take him away from me in the first place, and for a while you succeeded.

But to answer your earlier inquiry, no, I’m not here to kill you. At least, not physically.”

“Excuse me?”

“This gun can target specific memories based on the prompt that is typed in. And that includes the victims own name. I’m going to erase everything you are.”

“You-!”

*Powers attempts to get up and run, but trips over a shallow pit a few yards away, landing on his front*

“Don’t look away from me. Face me directly, Agent Powers. You think you’re such a cunning strategist, but you made one fatal mistake - you harmed my family.

Stanley Pines came back to himself because he had people who cared enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone, that it was safe to be himself again. I sincerely hope, for your sake, that you have people who love you enough to do the same for you.”

FWOOSHBZZZZT!

(...)

“I can see your mindscape is still shifting its presentation.”

“Yeah, it’s mostly boardwalk and beaches again… there’s still a lot of slot machines and snooker tables. Ms. Ramirez told me I shouldn’t try to separate my amnesiac self from… ya know, myself.”

“You did say early on that you were never anybody but yourself.”

“Heh, I did say that didn’t I?”

“What’d you want to show me, Stanley?”

“I remembered something from Glass Shard Beach - do you remember when we were trying to fix up the mast of the Stan O’War, but we only had loose rope and none of it was long enough?”

“Vaguely…”

“We found two ropes that would be long enough if we put ‘em together. We used a specific sailors knot to do it, the one that Horrible Eyesight Hawkins taught us when we were kids?”

“Yes, it was the Flemish Bend I believe.”

“Ya know, sixer, it’s been so many years I forgot some of steps.”

*Stanley manifests his half of the twin bond and offers the broken end to Stanford*

“Ya think if we worked together we could do one again?”

“I think… I think that is a brilliant idea.”

*Stanford manifests his half of the twin bond and offers the broken end to Stanley*

“I remember ya supposed to start with a figure eight on one rope.”

“Yes, and then you retrace it the opposite way with the other rope.”

“Then ya pull both standing ends of the rope in opposite directions.”

“And check that the knot is tied correctly.”

“By seein’ if there's three sets of parallel rope in it?”

“Indeed.”

“I think we got it, Stanford.”

“We certainly did, Stanley.”

The End… Go Home.

[midnight-mourning]

HI MIDNIGHT :D how are you doing? i have to catch up on everything you've written since. Literally november! do you have any personal favorites you think i should start with :D

HI HAZEL!!!! Good to hear from you, i'm doing pretty well actually :) I hope you are too <333

as for my recent writings, oof that's a toughy, really depends on what you're interested in atm!

If you're looking for something long-form, He's a Little Confused but He's Got the Holiday Spirit would be a good start! It's a holiday au piece for Confused Spirit that's half-done currently (working on finishing it up soon oof) but i really enjoy it because it's basically getting to write a quicker version of Confused Spirit (to an extent, personalities are the same but many goals & such for characters are not)

I also updated Confused Spirit (one chapter, i don't wanna talk about it >_<) and it was a lovely Moon chapter I'm very proud as i was deathly ill while writing it (yay sinus infection!!!)

In terms of oneshots, if you want something angsty I'd recommend 'Restart' which is a continuation of day 29 of promptober (if you've not read that yet i'd do that first ^^) I very much had fun with that addition and would love to write more for it sometime

December was alllll fluffy stuff, but if I had to pick one (or two) requests out of the ones I did to start with (they were all lovely and fun though) I would choose either Mistletoe Mishaps (OFF! au piece) or All Aboard (fae! au piece) as both fed into some fav aus of mine ^^

Coming up I'll have some Valetine's requests that'll be posted soon (mix of fluff and angst and so on), along with some more prompt pieces based on @/divinit3a's cafe prompts! I've been having a lot of fun with both so far so can't necessarily recommend anything in specific :)

So tl,dr;

Angst, horror, hurt no comfort, etc:

Promptober

Restart One-Shot

Long-form content:

Ch. 35 of He's a Little Confused but He's Got the Spirit

He's a Little Confused but He's Got the Holiday Spirit

Fluffy Cute Stuff:

DCA December

DCA Valentine's (start Feb 1st)

Cafe Prompt Responses:

#cafeprompts2025

Secret Valentine's:

I have three events i'm participating in this year and will be doing writing for all three I believe :) Will post them all on Feb 14th!

Everything save for the cafe prompt stories are also on my ao3! I just did the tumblr links for some because they were quicker hehe, hope you have fun with whatever you decide to get into first!!

[cod-thoughts]

Day 8 of 31 days of COD

Word count: 2k

Relationships: ghost/price

Tags: possessive ghost, jealous ghost, possessive price, suggestive, fade to black (kind of)

“Captain,” Ghost’s voice was a snarl, slicing through the room like a blade. Taylor’s laughter died on his lips as he turned to face Ghost’s cold, dark gaze. “Focus on the mission,” Ghost growled, stepping forward until Taylor had no choice but to retreat a step. “Not Price.” OR Ghost doesn't know how to share and Price likes it a bit too much ft a bonus possessive Price at the end. Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

It was meant to be a quiet night for Ghost and Price, a rare escape from the unrelenting grind of missions and briefings. Price had picked a small pub on the outskirts — far from the eyes of soldiers and command. They’d even gone as a couple, though Ghost was never entirely comfortable in public, especially like this.

Ghost sat across from Price, mask still in place except for where he’d tugged it down to sip his beer. Price watched him, his blue eyes sharp but glinting with amusement at Ghost’s eternal wariness.

Price’s fingers lazily traced the back of Ghost’s hand, barely restrained tension simmering beneath his touch.

“Relax,” Price muttered, his thumb pressing into the worn fabric of Ghost’s glove, grounding him. “Just us tonight.”

Ghost let out a grunt, eyes scanning the pub again. Price’s touch always calmed him, though he’d never admit it aloud.

The peace was shattered when a local, piss-drunk and reeking of cheap ale, stumbled toward their table. Ghost's gaze sharpened, muscles tensing as his hand twitched near his side.

“Captain, yeah?” the man slurred, eyeing Price in a way that immediately set Ghost’s teeth on edge. “Bet you’ve got stories. Care to share?”

Price’s lips twitched, ready to dismiss him, but Ghost wasn’t having it. His chair scraped back with a harsh grind against the floor, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over the table as he loomed beside Price.

“He’s not sharing anything with you,” Ghost growled, voice deep and gravelly, each word like a threat. The drunk froze, taking a stumbling step back, realising far too late that he’d made a mistake. Ghost’s presence radiated danger. Price wasn’t just his Captain. Price was his.

The man’s hands shot up, placating, as he stumbled away without another word, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Ghost’s eyes lingered on the retreating figure, his protective aura palpable. When he finally sat back down, his shoulders were still tense, jaw clenched beneath the mask.

Price smirked, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Territorial tonight, aren’t we?”

Ghost met his gaze, eyes hard as steel. He reached for Price’s hand again, squeezing just a little too tight, possessive. “No one touches what’s mine.”

Price’s lips twitched into a wry grin, heat sparking between them. “Damn right.”

---

Back on base, Price was always swamped with briefings, meetings, and the endless chatter of younger officers vying for his attention. Ghost knew how much Price was respected — but sometimes, the way others looked at him made Ghost’s blood boil. Lieutenant Daniels was the worst offender, always hanging around Price’s office, trying to get closer than any soldier had a right to.

One afternoon, Ghost caught Daniels leaning in too close, his voice all eager smiles as he offered to help Price with some unnecessary report. Price, always patient, stood with his arms crossed, though the slight tension in his jaw told Ghost everything.

Ghost’s footsteps were heavy as he approached, and Daniels’ head snapped up, the smile on his face faltering as Ghost’s imposing shadow fell over them.

“Lieutenant,” Ghost’s voice was cold, clipped. “Haven’t you got something else to do?”

Daniels stammered, his confidence evaporating under Ghost’s glare. “I—uh—just checking in, sir—”

“You’ve checked in,” Ghost cut him off, eyes dark beneath the mask. “Now get out.”

Daniels gave a flustered salute and practically fled down the hall, leaving Ghost and Price alone.

Price chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped closer to Ghost. “Bloody hell, Simon. You’ll scare the lads off the base.”

“They’re wasting your time,” Ghost muttered, though there was an undercurrent of something raw, something possessive.

“Or maybe,” Price teased, leaning in until their shoulders brushed, “you’re just jealous.”

Ghost’s fingers brushed against Price’s wrist, tugging him closer with a low growl. “Maybe.” His voice was rough, feral, like the admission cost him something.

The captain chuckled, his lips ghosting over the shell of Ghost’s ear. “Good. I like it when you get jealous.” Price sauntered away with a nip to Ghost’s earlobe that left shivers running down his spine.

---

Joint operations always put Ghost on edge, especially when Price was in the spotlight. Price’s command presence drew attention, and Ghost could feel it—eyes lingering too long, hands reaching too far. During the latest mission briefing, Captain Taylor, from another squad, kept inching too close to Price, his hand brushing against Price’s arm like they were familiar.

Ghost stood just behind Price, arms crossed, the tension radiating from him like a warning. His eyes followed every subtle movement Taylor made, the way his fingers drifted too close, the way he smiled at Price like he was the only man in the room.

It was when Taylor leaned in with another joke that Ghost snapped.

“Captain,” Ghost’s voice was a snarl, slicing through the room like a blade. Taylor’s laughter died on his lips as he turned to face Ghost’s cold, dark gaze.

“Focus on the mission,” Ghost growled, stepping forward until Taylor had no choice but to retreat a step. “Not Price.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, all eyes darting between the two men. Taylor swallowed, nodding stiffly. “Uh, right. The mission.”

Ghost’s eyes didn’t leave him until he backed away, the threat lingering in the air long after Taylor had returned to his seat.

Price didn’t bother hiding his amusement this time, turning just enough to flash Ghost a knowing grin. Once the briefing was over, and the others filtered out, Price leaned closer, his voice low.

“You know I can handle myself, right?”

Ghost’s jaw was still tight, his possessiveness a barely leashed thing. “Don’t like anyone thinking they can get close.”

Price’s lips twitched into a smirk, his hand brushing over Ghost’s chest. “You don’t need to remind me. I’m only yours, Simon.”

Ghost’s grip on Price’s arm tightened, his thumb brushing over the fabric of Price’s sleeve, claiming. “Good.”

---

The day had been brutal, the mission leaving both Price and Ghost on edge. It had been a gruelling, high-stakes operation, and they were still riding the adrenaline even as they retreated to their quarters for the night. Ghost's mask was off now, discarded onto the small table beside the bed. His face, shadowed and grim, still carried the weight of the mission.

Price watched him from across the room, his gaze dark and focused. Ghost had always been the one to act first, always the one to step in and stake his claim with rough touches and low, possessive growls. But tonight, Price had a different idea.

Keyed up with adrenaline and the need to remind himself that Ghost is here, that he made it back to Price.

Ghost sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, staring at the floor, deep in thought. His mind, always working, was replaying every move, every mistake, every success from the mission.

Price knows how Ghost gets after these missions and he needed to get him out of his head. If Price got to remind him of what he was coming back to then that was just a bonus.

Without a word, Price crossed the room, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. Ghost didn’t react at first, only flicking his gaze upwards when Price stood directly in front of him.

Exactly what Price predicted, Ghost was so lost in thought he was ignoring his captain. Now that just won’t do.

“You good?” Price asked, his voice calm, but there was something in his eyes—something simmering just beneath the surface.

Ghost grunted, not quite answering, his hands resting on his knees, fingers flexing slightly as if ready to act. “Fine.”

Price didn’t take the grunt for what it was. Instead, he reached down and grabbed the front of Ghost’s shirt, yanking him up to his feet.

The move was rough, sudden, but Ghost’s response was instant. His muscles tensed, his eyes narrowing as if preparing for a fight, but Price wasn’t backing down.

Before Ghost could get a word out, Price’s lips crashed into his, fierce and unyielding.

The kiss was claiming, raw and possessive, with none of the soft, gentle touches they shared in quieter moments.

This was a different kind of hunger, one that spoke of ownership, of staking a claim. Ghost responded immediately, growling low in his throat as he grabbed the back of Price’s neck, pulling him closer, teeth scraping against Price’s bottom lip.

When Price finally pulled back, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. Ghost’s eyes, usually hard and guarded, were blown wide, dark with lust and surprise.

“What was that for?” Ghost asked breathing heavily.

“Needed to get you out of your head, love. Wanted your attention on me.” Price growled, his voice rough and deep, his hand gripping Ghost’s jaw, thumb brushing over his stubble. “You’re mine aren’t you Simon?”

Ghost’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his heart pounding in his ears as he stared down at Price. He was used to being the one in control, the one who dictated the pace, who took what he wanted when he wanted it. But now, Price's grip on him was unrelenting, a possessive force Ghost hadn’t expected, yet found himself craving.

Price’s blue eyes were sharp, burning with intensity as he tilted Ghost’s head up, his thumb digging into the angle of Ghost’s jaw with a controlled force.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, his voice dripping with authority and conviction.

Ghost’s lips parted, but no words came. His instincts were torn between the need to dominate and the unexpected, fierce satisfaction of being claimed like this. The weight of Price’s hand, his closeness, the raw intensity in his gaze—Ghost couldn’t deny it. Price wasn’t just playing along; he was making his own mark, ensuring Ghost knew the feeling of being wanted and possessed in return.

“Yes” He managed to gasp out.

“Good. Don’t forget that.”

Price’s hand moved lower, tracing the outline of the old, jagged scar across Ghost’s neck, his fingers almost reverent. There was something primal in the way he touched him, the possessiveness threaded into every brush of his finger.

In one swift motion, Price spun Ghost around and shoved him against the wall, pinning him there with his body weight. His hand slid up to the back of Ghost’s neck, squeezing lightly, just enough to keep him still.

Ghost growled low in his throat, his body tense, unused to being so vulnerable Price’s lips ghosted over Ghost’s ear, his breath hot against his skin. “You think I don’t notice the way you protect me? The way you stake your claim in front of everyone?”

Ghost didn’t answer, his breathing heavier, jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the wall. Price chuckled, low and rough, pressing his body closer, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin behind Ghost’s ear. “It’s my turn now.”

Price’s teeth bit down just enough to leave a mark, the pressure sharp, sending a jolt through Ghost’s entire body. Ghost let out a breathless sound, a mix of surprise and approval. When Price pulled back, he admired the fresh red mark blooming on Ghost’s skin—a mark for everyone to see, one Ghost couldn’t cover up when he lifts his mask.

Ghost turned his head slightly, catching Price’s eye, his lips twitching into a dangerous smirk. “That all you got, Captain?”

Price’s hand tightened on the back of Ghost’s neck, his other hand sliding possessively over Ghost’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Not even close,” Price rasped, voice thick with challenge.

For a moment, the air between them was charged, thick with unspoken words, heated gazes locking as they stared each other down. Ghost’s eyes flickered with a wild intensity, but Price held his ground, letting the silence stretch out as his claim solidified in the space between them.

Finally, Ghost’s tension seemed to ease, his body relaxing slightly against the wall, as if silently acknowledging Price’s control in this moment.

Price’s lips curled into a smirk, pressing a kiss to the spot where he’d left his mark.

They stood like that for a long moment, the possessiveness between them no longer one-sided. It was raw, mutual, and undeniable. Ghost may have been the one to growl, to threaten, to stake his claims on Price—but now Price had carved his own place in Ghost’s life, his own mark left behind.

And Ghost, for once, wasn’t about to fight it.

[yoursweetheartsrevenge]

Disease - Chapter Seven - Old Ways - Amelia

Summary: Ettore finds himself face to face with a new inmate, his ex. Will their tragic circumstances bring them closer together or be the end of them?

Read on Ao3

Masterlist

Warnings: smut (oral - f receiving), talks of fertility treatment, mentions of noncon, MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 3.8K+

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story! It has been a pleasure writing an indepth look into Ettore. Amelia has been a favorite of mine to write as well. All this saying, we aren’t quite done yet. But we might be at a climax point with these two. Fertility treatment is discussed in this chapter. Having not personally gone through the experience, discussions in this chapter are based on research. Apologies if anything is incorrect. 

Chapter 7 - Old Ways - Amelia

She did not mind the solitary. 

It only lasted 24 hours as Dibs felt Monte was just as much in the wrong as her. 

Well . . . maybe a little less in the wrong. 

Monte certainly didn’t beat the shit out of her. 

Amelia was left with her memory of the fantastic encounter her and Ettore had. Despite not coming from the greedy fumble in the closet, Ettore had managed to send her into a place of euphoria she had barely remembered existed by eating her pussy so very good. She bit her lip thinking about it. 

When she and Ettore had first gotten together he didn’t know a thing about eating pussy. It was to be expected as the young man just took and took and took not caring about pleasuring the other person, only himself. 

He was a greedy little thing. 

She remembered the first time she had suggested the act to him. 

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” 

Her blonde house guest wasn’t exactly tactful in stating his opinion. He was on top of her on her couch, tv off and their bodies dry humping frantically. It left little to making her ready for his cock. Animalistic rutting started to lose her interest after the first five or six times they had done it. 

“Because it’ll make me wet. Because it will make me feel good.” She brushed her hand against his cheek. He flinched, still not used to her touch. 

“I can make you wet. Give me a minute.” Ettore forced his tongue down her throat. 

She whimpered, pushing against his throat with a squeeze. He looked a bit surprised by the gesture, lips still puckered and cock surprisingly getting harder by the pressure on his Adam’s apple. 

“Don’t you want to make me feel good, Ettore?” She was learning too. 

His name. 

On her lips. 

It made his cock twitch. 

It made him obey and relax. 

He merely nodded. 

Amelia released him from the tight squeeze. He breathed out rubbing his neck. Ettore looked into her eyes as if awaiting further instruction. She spread her legs making room for him. He looked down between her thighs. She was just in grey lacey panties, absent of any wet stain. 

“Go on then. It isn’t gonna eat itself.” 

When he didn’t move, just stared at her clothed pussy wide eyed she sighed. Amelia gently pushed his willing head to rest at her crotch. His hot needy breath fanned out against her covered core. He wrapped his hands around her thighs, spreading her further. 

“You, see? You are a natural.” Her fingers scratched in his head. Ettore gave an approving sound that made her pussy twitch a bit. “By your reaction I am guessing I’ll have to show you a thing or two about how to -”

“I’ve seen porn. I ain’t stupid. I can figure it out.” She felt his fingers start to roll her panties over her thighs. She lifted her legs to assist. 

“You know there is a difference between eating pussy and eating my pussy, right?” Those words gave him pause as he considered it. 

Fuck. 

His eyes were nearly black as he looked up from her little soft belly. 

“You can show me then. I do . . . “ He paused, brows furrowed. “I do want to make you feel good. Make you wet. Make you cum.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself. 

“Good, just be slow. Don’t dive in just yet.” Amelia danced her fingers over her plush thighs. “Kisses along the inner thighs, like a journey. Build it up, that’s it. Just like that.” 

Ettore had begun as she talked, giving slow licking kisses along her right inner thigh. As a gasp crested her lips he would switch to the other thigh. He began to suckle. She knew it would leave her pleasant little hickeys but he was doing so well. He even nibbled a bit at her skin. 

“You are doing so well. See.” She moved his hand from her one thigh to pet her wetting slit. 

His nose twitched as if an animal catching the scent of his prey for the first time. He followed his nose to her cunt sniffing a bit. His nose teased along her slit making her whimper and say his name. Her body arched in pleasure as he gave her a licking kiss. 

“Fuckin hell!” He said, nudging his nose into her. “You taste so fuckin’ good!” His lips began to loudly suckle at her core. “Holy shit! You are leaking.” He lapped up her juices making her squirm. “Shit, it’s getting me so fuckin hard! God, you taste good.” His fingers spread her open. His tongue went to journey inside her. 

“Thought you’d like it.” 

She didn’t have time to say much else. The next sounds that left her lips were not audible in the slightest. Ettore began eating her out like a predator that finally caught its prey. Her thighs were on his shoulders as he concentrated on getting as much arousal out of her as humanly possible. Her hands pushed him down further screaming his name as her eyes rolled back. 

“Suck my clit, baby!” Amelia shouted, riding his face. 

He struggled to get his mouth from her. 

She let him go for a moment. 

“Show me where it is!” He said almost in a panic. “I need to make you cum!” 

It was almost a demand. This man had gone from ‘what’s in it for me?’ to ‘I’ll die if I can’t make you feel good’ as soon as his lips tasted her pussy juices. She noticed one of his hands was in his tight black boxers stroking himself hard with desire. 

“You can just fuck me. You don’t -”

“How can I make you cum in my mouth, Amelia?!” He was nearly furious, nearly feral. 

Amelia moved her fingers forward finding the small bud where he neglected to touch her. A man like Ettore could not be bothered with pleasuring a woman by worshipping her most sensitive bud. Yet as soon as he laid eyes on it, she knew. He’d be attached to it for the rest of his life.

He paid too much attention to the engorged pearl. His lips sucked it. The tip of his tongue swirled around it. He focused every ounce of his energy on it. She lost herself completely. It felt like the best out of body experience in the world. 

“I’m gonna cum!” She screamed out gripping the cushion and the back of the couch. 

She surged forward crying out his name. A wave of wet, hot pleasure sprang from her into Ettore’s mouth. He did not hesitate to catch it. He lapped up every bit of her, hungrily and thankful for the gift she gave him. Even as she came down from her fuckin’ fantastic orgasm he was still drinking in her pussy. He was still holding her twitching thigh with one hand and stroking his softening cock with his other. Her pussy lips were a little sore and reddened but he still lazily licked her. 

“You are too good at that.” Amelia said with a hoarse laugh. 

“Yeah?” He gave her soft inviting kisses on her slit. “I could do this all day. Fuckin’ eat you out. God you are perfect. So fuckin beautiful.” He ran his hands up her thighs to the side of her hips.

“You never thought about going down on a -”

“Never had the chance. Besides, thought it might taste bad.” She smacked his head lightly after he said this. Ettore gave a little grin, chin on her belly. “But I don’t think I have ever tasted something so good in my life. It’s so good. You are so good.” 

She ruffled his hair. He cooed appreciatively. 

“You want to stay the night again?” He nodded at her suggestion. She could see he felt warm and safe here, between her legs, with her. “Or . . .” He looked up at her, curious. She ran her thumb over the bridge of his nose to his lower lip. She thought he might bite it, but instead he kissed it. “You can stay . . . for good?” 

“Yeah?” He looked so happy. If she ever thought about rejecting him that look told her she would never be able to let him go. “I can?” 

“On the couch. Just on the couch. But yes, Ettore, stay with me.” Amelia lifted his chin. 

She pulled him into an embrace. It was different. They fucked. They kissed. They had their fun, but this embrace .  .  .  this was not the embrace of a hungry mad man looking for sex no matter the cost. This embrace was a man who finally found acceptance in the best place possible. 

She felt from that hug he would never let her go. 

He had. 

But she didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts. 

She had him back now, no matter how odd or dire the circumstances. 

Amelia was grateful to leave solitary. She was also sure Dr. Dibs released her early because of an appointment she had. Usually the procedure seemed rather meaningless, but now that she had been with Ettore her nerves settle in her belly. 

“We’ll begin preparing you for your egg retrieval at the start of your next cycle.” Dr. Dibs stated as she pulled a tool from her vaginal cavity. Amelia winced at the sentence and at the tool dragging inside her. 

“What does that entail?” She tried to sound as uninterested as possible. 

“Medications and hormone injections. You’ll be visiting me more often in the next month or so.” Dibs wheeled her chair over to the desktop typing something in. “We’ll have to negate some sedatives as they’ll interfere with the process. Once we have enough eggs we’ll inject the sperm to create a batch of healthy embryos.” 

She swallowed at the thought. 

Everything was becoming so real. It made her head spin. 

“And if I refuse?” She shifted in the stirrups. 

“You can’t and you won’t.” Dr. Dibs didn’t even look at her when she said this. “In a few months you’ll have a child growing inside you. Perhaps you will survive the birth.” 

It seemed unlikely. 

It seemed unlikely the baby would either. 

“Doesn’t it seem cruel to bring a child into the world with murderers for parents?” She wondered, trying to speak to an ethical side to the doctor. Though Amelia suspected there was not an ounce of ethics inside her. 

“Not everyone is a murderer on board.” She typed in a note, reading a label off a bottle. “Ettore, for example, was not convicted of murder.” 

The young woman blinked. 

She had been told Ettore was a rapist, which she had already known, but she had convinced herself he had upgraded in their time apart. 

“If not a murderer then . . .” 

“Twenty seven counts of rape or attempted rape.” Dibs said matter of factly. 

Sloppy Ettore. 

“Besides, it will be a good case study in nature versus nurture if the child survives.” She finished the last of her notes before turning to Amelia. “You may go now.” 

 Amelia spent the rest of her day doing chores. She was on kitchen duty for the first time, which she thought was a load of shit. 

Right, give the serial killer a knife . She thought with a sigh. 

“Heard you are the next on the chopping block.” Nansen said, smashing a butcher knife hard into a head of lettuce. Amelia was peeling carrots. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her brows furrowed in confusion, but also anger. Mostly anger. 

“Sorry,” The pale blonde’s voice grew soft. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just the rumor is Dibs wants to put a baby in you.” 

“Yeah, so?” Her fingers picked at the carrots shredded skin. 

“Well, all the women who have gotten pregnant have died.” Nansen said soft again. 

“I got a little over a year to enjoy myself. I was never getting out on Earth so why does it matter if I die giving birth to some little squirmer I’ll never see.” She said it as if trying to convince herself she didn’t care if she died. 

She did care. 

She cared because she had something to live for. 

Ettore. 

Her Ettore. 

“Who’d you pick? Not as if Dibs gives you a choice.” Nansen was moving her lithe fingers to chop at the lettuce. “But if you did, which of the men would you pick to father your baby?” 

She didn’t give Nansen an answer. 

Instead she said nothing. 

Instead she remembered when pregnancy had almost been at her fingertips. 

The soft background music of the grocer played on as she stared up. 

Amelia had been looking up at the box for what felt like forever. She plucked at the hair tie on her wrist, snapping it, once, twice, then three times in succession. It was a blue box, very well labeled that it was for early detection pregnancy. 

She was a week late. 

Normally Amelia wouldn’t worry. Her cycles were irregular. The birth control pill she was on made them that way. This felt different though. Her breasts had been a bit tender. Though Ettore had bitten them a bit last night. It had caused her to slap him a little too hard. He had apologized profusely which had led him making up to her by going to the store witth her. Usually he stayed in the flat, but she needed to get loads of groceries, having not gone out in some time, so she had asked for his help. 

He was off somewhere with the cart and her list, while she stared up at the variety of tests. Early detection would probably be the best option. Her throat grew a bit dry as she reached up for it. She felt the sharp edges of the box in her hand turning it about. Her manicured clear nails trailed over the lettering. 

Pregnancy. 

“What you have there?” 

She looked over to see Ettore with a half full cart. Bless him for putting in the effort. He even picked out a good rotisserie chicken, nice and crispy. His eyes glazed over leaning forward in a red tank top and jean shorts. The small chain she had given him for Christmas that year was tucked inside. His nose leaned out to catch sight of the box. 

She showed it to him. 

His face looked over it indifferent then to her face. 

“You late?” He merely wondered. 

“Just a week.” She told him, a bit relieved by the reaction. 

“That’s not that long.” He told her. “But can’t hurt to check yourself over. Put it in the cart.” 

She did. Tossed it in as if it were an essential item or a bag of crisps. They didn’t talk about the test sitting in the cart as they retrieved the last items. She merely mused over how she was surprised he got all the right brands and products. Ettore merely shrugged stating they were dating and living together long enough for him to know her habits. 

She gave him a sweet kiss before they rolled up to check out. 

Once they arrived at the flat, Ettore grabbed a cart from inside to take the groceries upstairs. He watched her. They steadied in the elevator, groceries squeezed in between them, as she plucked her hair tie. 

“I’ll put the groceries away. You go take the test. I can see it’s weighing on you.” He had leaned over putting a comforting arm around her kissing her temple. “It’ll be alright, love.” 

This Ettore was far different then the stalker she had found in the club years before. 

This Ettore would be a good father if things went that way. 

She went right to the bathroom, locking herself inside with the box making indents in her hands as she crushed it slightly. Amelia heard Ettore wheel the cart inside, beginning to put away the groceries. She fumbled with the box. 

Fuck. 

Why was she breathing so hard? 

She had never had a pregnancy scare before. Not with Ettore or anyone before him. It was okay though. She just had to take the test. Then she could start worrying or relaxing. 

Amelia pulled open the wrapper releasing the thick white stick. She turned over the box reading the instructions, once, twice, then a third time. She heard Ettore was shifting some things in the refrigerator. She had to focus on this. This was her job at the moment. 

See if she was carrying his baby. 

She put a soft hand to the flesh of her belly before continuing. 

She peed on the stick. 

She waited. 

Three minutes, it said.  

Amelia decided she wasn’t going to leave the bathroom until she knew the results. She heard Ettore bring the cart out of the apartment. She settled on the toilet pulling at her hair tie again. 

Once.

Twice.

Three times in succession. 

Her mind wandered over the possibility that she was in fact pregnant.

Would he be happy?

Would she be happy?

What could two people, two monsters, like them have to offer a little innocent life?

How could she bring life into this world when she had taken so many lives before? Not that they didn’t deserve to meet their end, but . . . even thinking that way. How could she raise a fully realized person with thoughts like that sweeping her mind? 

He cared though. He cared about her so much. Amelia could see that in the way he had reacted to her reaching for the test. There was a version of him that would have screamed. Told her it wasn’t his. 

Left. 

But she could hear him shuffling about the flat. She could hear him turn on the telly and put the oven to be preheated for dinner. She could hear him beginning to chop up the broccoli they had picked out together. 

Domestic. 

Their lives had grown to be so domestic now that they had each other. 

If there were two lines, they could do it. 

Together, they could raise their baby. 

Her phone vibrated as the three minutes were up. 

Amelia popped the cap off to look. 

She felt a pit of disappointment settle in her empty belly. 

She stepped out of their bathroom.

“It’s negative.” She held up the stick, only one line and a stark white naked space beside it. 

He was putting a timer on turning his head to see her. The stick held now at her side was barely visible. Ettore smiled soundly, nodding his head. 

“See? Nothing to worry about.” He then really looked at her. The way she held herself was clear, something was held up in her mind. “Hey, come here.” He stepped in front of the counter in the kitchen making his way to her as she stood uncertain and motionless. 

Amelia took him in. She held him tight to her, unsure if she felt like she was going to cry or throw up. She just held onto him. The young woman squeezed onto her boyfriend not sure what she needed from him. 

“You wanted it?” He asked, rubbing the back of her head. She nuzzled her nose into his red tank top. 

“No.” She wasn’t even certain if that was the right answer. “I don’t know. Maybe. A little. I spent three minutes getting used to the idea and then it was .  . . gone.” She hadn’t lost a baby. There was no baby to begin with. No pregnancy to speak of. 

“I’d make a shit dad. Probably better off -” 

“No, you wouldn’t.” She looked up at him. He gave her a weary look. 

“Yeah you’re just -” 

“The Ettore I first met, yeah, I wouldn’t trust him with a hamster, but you, now,” She reached for his face. She held his cheeks, his strong jawline set uncertain by her soft touch. “You’d make a great dad. You know why? Because you care about me. You care about me more than yourself sometimes and that . . . that makes a good father. The baby would be a part of me, by default you’d care about it.” 

He looked at her as if he had never thought about it like that. 

“I’d be a good dad?” He questioned himself and more just let the statement fall into place in the world. 

“You would, Ettore. The best.” 

Amelia could not sleep that night. 

Her mind was plagued with thoughts of dying. Horrible visions of dying in childbirth became her daydreams. It did not help that her sedatives were taken from her. She really did try to sleep, but her mind then went back to what she really wanted. 

What she really needed. 

Ettore. 

She saw him in the hallway. He was sitting against the wall he stood at when he would look at her and jerk himself stupid. Instead he was cross legged like she always was. He opened and closed his hands, mesmerized by the motion. 

“You drugged or something?” She settled hard beside him. 

“Nah, just thinking about pretending you were across from me and having a wank.” He grinned at her letting his eyes rake over her body. “Didn’t think you’d come.” 

“Don’t I always cum for you, baby?” She teased letting her flesh meet his, arm to arm. 

His mouth hung open slightly. Ettore glanced down at her hand. She noticed he was looking at that beauty mark. She placed her hand on his bare thigh. He put his hand on the other side so his thumb could gently circle that little spot. Her head slowly lulled to his shoulder reminding her of lazy days on her couch. 

His couch. 

Their couch. 

“Dibs is gonna put a baby in my belly.” She said it so softly she hoped Ettore didn’t hear. 

“The fuck?” He didn’t stop his motion, but his eyes shot up at her. 

“Teeming with eggs. Perfect womb. It’s what got me here so I only have about a ye-” 

“No, don’t say that. Never fuckin’ say that!” She moved her other hand as he nearly shouted at her. 

Her hand covered his mouth. 

She could see the rage fester in his eyes. 

“We are living on borrowed time, Ettore. Can’t you see that?” She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want him to leave her again. 

Amelia supposed this time she’d be doing the leaving. 

Permanently. 

She slowly moved her hand away from his mouth. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to accept it.” He growled in a low whisper. 

“I came here for you. You know that right?” Amelia touched the side of his face stroking his cheek. “Despite everything I came for you.” 

“You always cum for me.” He said cheekily. “But you ain’t dying. I’m not gonna let you die.” 

She was glad for that. 

She was glad he was willing to fight. 

“If you want me to live then I will. I’d do anything for you.” 

The beach. 

The blood. 

The screams. 

A kiss. 

His hand . . . gone in the wind. 

They were memories she supposed he was making up for. 

They were memories that were coming to fester at the surface.