#but he was never taught how to ask for it

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Dallas wrestles Curly to the ground 'n when the little shit doesn't stop fightin', he bites him.

"OW, you asshole!" Curly wriggles around fruitlessly beneath Dallas' bony knees and when he can't get out, he reaches up and grabs for a fistful of Dallas' hair. Dallas sees it comin' 'n dives backwards out of the way, jabbin' Curly in the ribs. Curly uses the opportunity to shove Dallas hard off of him. Dally stumbles back and jumps to his feet, ready for Curly to do somethin' cheap like go for his ankles.

And then Curly does somethin' he's never done. Ever. He stops fightin'.

Dallas hesitates, blinkin' down at Curly starin' holes in the carpet. "C'mon asshole, you're not fakin' me out. I only fall for that shit once."

Curly glares up and Dallas and his eyes are wet and Dallas thinks fuck, if I broke that kid's arm again Tim is going to kill me. For good this time. He's beginning to wonder idly whether he'll bury him under the shed or just leave his ass out in an alley when Curly shoots up.

"Why the fuck aren't you ever like this with Pony?" The shock hits Dallas so hard he drops his fists.

"What?" Curly stares at him hard, hands clenchin' 'n unclenchin' at his side, eyes still shinin' in the low livin' room light.

"You'd never kick the shit out of Pony like you do to me." Oh holy fuckin' hell.

"Yeah, I do." Dallas rolls his eyes, drops down into the Shepard's threadbare couch. It's busted as hell, whatever pattern it may have once had faded 'n ripped 'n stained over the years.

"No, you don't!" Curly's damn near yellin' now but only Dallas glances at the apartment door. Not that the other tenants aren't used to it by now. And it's definitely not like they'd complain.

"Yeah, the hell, I do. I nearly put the kid's head through the wall last week. And Darry damn near cracked my skull for it." Dallas rolls his eyes. He's exaggeratin' a bit but he was damned if he was gonna tell Curly that Darry had lectured him like a kid and made him do the fuckin' dishes.

"Oh, great." Curly tosses his hair out of his eyes in a way that reminds Dallas of the ponys down at Buck's. Or Soda. Same difference. "So you only beat the shit out of me because Tim won't kick your ass for it." Curly stomps his foot and whips around, makin' for the hall.

"Oh my God." Dallas slides off the couch 'n grabs Curly's wrist before he can go far. Curly twists as hard as he can but Dallas holds him tight and the only thing he gets for his troubles is rug burn. "Give me a second before you do the whole run to your room 'n slam the door thing. Tim might be takin' Darry's advice about privacy 'n space 'n all that bull but I'm sure not. 'N I will come after your ass."

Curly stops fightin' 'n opts for scowlin' at Dallas, leanin' so there's as much room between them as possible. "Fuckin' fine."

"Well, I'll tell you somethin' both you 'n Pony have in common." Curly blinks wide, dark eyes at him 'n Dallas rolls his eyes. "You're both fuckin' stupid."

Curly kicks at the carpet 'n Dallas drops his wrist. "Pony's not stupid." Dallas flicks his ear hard 'n Curly yelps 'n socks Dallas in the stomach.

"Yeah, the hell he is. 'N so are you." Curly throws his hands up, makes for the door again. Dallas shoots one foot out 'n Curly comes down hard on the wood floor.

"OW, man, I can't even go to my own room in my own fuckin' house in peace with you around."

"No, you can't 'cause I'm not done talkin', stupid." Dallas crouches down so they're both sprawled in the hall. "I don't beat the shit out of Pony because he's... I dunno. He's softer."

Curly narrows his eyes but doesn't interrupt so Dallas just plows on ahead.

"Curly, you wouldn't allow anyone to do half the shit that the Curtis boys do. Ain't nobody callin' you honey or baby or any of that shit." Curly wrinkles his nose up 'n Dallas raises his eyebrows like that much is obvious. "'N you don't fight like the Curtis'. Last time I broke Steve's arm before the Curtis parents, well whatever, Mr. C nearly put my ass out on the street for good. Last time you broke my ribs we went out for Dairy Queen."

Curly leans back on his hands, stops lookin' wary just long enough to laugh. "God, the one down near the end of The Ribbon? I'm still banned from there, y'know? 'Cause I slammed your head into the voice box thingy."

"Can you shut up for five seconds?" Curly kicks a foot out at him 'n Dallas half-heartedly bats it away. "Pony 'n you are just... different people. Don't mean I like him more or nothin'."

Curly studies him with big eyes 'n Dallas can't help but think they had that shit in common too. Sometimes Pony could make him feel like a pinned spider just bein' picked apart.

"Alright, fine." Curly clambers to his feet, offers his hand to haul Dallas up. Dally takes it, then promptly yanks the kid into a hug. It scares both of them a lil' how Curly melts straight into it.

But then Curly jabs Dallas in the stomach and makes a break for the door and Dallas cackles 'n dives after him.

"Hey, let's go to Dairy Queen." Curly snatches Tim's keys off the table and they both spit into wide, connivin' grins.

"Long as I get to put a dent in Tim's bumper." Curly tosses Dallas the ring and Dallas snatches them out of the air. He grabs a bandaid from the cabinet 'n presses it into Curly's hand as he makes for the door. "For the bite."

"You probably gave me fuckin' rabies or somethin'."

"Yeah, well, it's my way of sayin' love ya kid."

[hellishjoel]

taste you

514 words // joel miller x f!reader

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word: book

warnings/information: smut!!! pussy pronouns!!! joel being a book boyfriend!!! oral f!receiving!!! fingering!!! dirty talk!!!

a/n: joel miller, you will always be famous. my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

Joel slowly nudges your legs open with a gentle guide of his hand, his lusty eyes flicking between your sleep shorts and the flustered look on your face. 

“This how they do it in your books?”

Your mouth is watering. You’ve never felt more attracted to Joel, all broad with his chest puffed and looking to prove something.

He’s noted how enamored you’ve been with a particular book series. One book after the other, he swears he sees you clutching one with new cover art every night. But whenever he asks about it, you clam up. 

He thinks, it’s just a book, right?

But after leafing through the pages of your most recent obsession left on the nightstand, he’s intrigued. 

There’s a lot of fucking sex in here. A lot. 

No wonder you always wiggle around in bed when you read it. You’re turned on as hell. 

This book was clearly written for the female perspective, but thinking about doing these things with you was getting him a little riled up, too. 

Now, he’s here, quoting similar lines from your book while his mouth makes out with your cunt. His tongue works slow and precise movements up and down your seam, moaning at the taste of you as your fingers comb through his greying waves. 

You whimper his name as he gently suckles on your clit, his tongue and teeth flirting with your sensitive bundle of nerves while his thick fingers stretch your throbbing pussy. 

“Joel,” you pant breathlessly, digging your head into the pillow as your stomach only tightens with immense pleasure. 

“Know she likes this,” Joel mutters with a smirk against your folds, his lips lacquered in your arousal. “Know this pretty pussy likes bein’ taken care of. That’s all she needs, someone to take care of her.” He curls his fingers, the tips gently massaging that special spot only he can service.

“Oh— shit,” you gasp, your thighs beginning to shake as your impending orgasm sinks low in the base of your stomach. “Joel, fuck, your goddamn mouth,” you groan his name as he attaches his mouth to your pulsing clit, your thighs clamping against the sides of his head. 

Everything he spoke was pure filth. 

“She’s so damn pretty, baby. Wet just for me. You know how much this turns me on? You laid out on this bed, takin’ what I give you. Eatin’ this pussy so good, you can barely talk.” 

Joel’s taunts make you whine, your body writhing against his possessive hold as he reaches up your front, his fingers toying with your peaked nipples. It’s just enough to push you over the edge, every nerve in your body set alight simply by what your books have taught him. 

“Holy hell,” you pant as he licks his fingers clean, a smirk painted on his lips as he writes the letter J on your thigh in your sticky arousal. 

“You can have your book boyfriends, I don’t mind,” Joel mutters as he runs his fingers along his square jawline, “but you’re mine off the page. Okay, baby?” 

What do you say?

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[hemlock-dreams]

So, especially considering Peter's reaction in your recent post when Wade saves him à la murderous rampage...what are this Peter's feelings about killing people? Can you give a bit of insight into his morality? I'm sooo curious how he and Wade would mesh with their respective mentalities

It obviously wouldn't go as smooth as this with Wade, but H!Peter doesn't have crazy moral hang-ups about killing or guns (formative years in a violent prison will desensitize a man). In fact, he understands that sometimes, the only solution to a problem is someone's death.

However, he doesn't endorse it and has never (to his knowledge) actively crossed that line himself.

He enjoys violence, but only when it's justified (he's absolutely busted kneecaps and left people shattered for sexual assault/harming children, etc.) or when he can get as good as he gives (fights against villains).

Years in the suit have taught Spider-Man that people won't ask killers for help. And he wants to be someone that people can turn to in their time of need- the kind of person his uncle believed he could be.

When he's with Wade as Spider-Man, he usually keeps the merc from going off the rails, but doesn't particularly have any feelings about the man's regular work- as long as Wade keeps to jobs that target scum.

And Wade…has some very intense feelings about the fact that Spider-Man thinks he can be a hero too. It’s been a long time since anyone’s enjoyed partnering with him, much less having faith in him. But he’s just gonna leave that baggage at the bottom of the ocean kthx.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales III

Summary: Saving your mates may cost more than you bargain for, but how far are you willing to go to save them?

Content Warnings: Branding; Mentions of Slavery/Abuse; Vomiting

Pt 1 / Pt 2

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

Fables had largely been forbidden in the Empire, starting in the early reign of my Great Grandfather Hybern II. Fables and fairytales had no use in the practicality of his Empire. Stories and fables gave people ideas, it made them hope and dream of better worlds than this one. The Empire could not thrive on the backs of dreamers. And so books burned in the streets, and the oral traditions of many people died in the following years. Schools taught with books written by Imperial Scholars, all edited and fact checked by the Emperor himself. The world became what he saw fit to shape it as. 

To him, the fairytale idea of mates was a weakness. He declared all mated pairs cursed by the Mother. A bond was a manifestation of a weak will. If you could not thrive on your own without needing another to carry you, then you were not fit to be in the Empire. He removed all mated pairs from service, both within the palace walls and in military service. Mated pairs were not allowed to own land within the Empire, Temples were not legally allowed to recognize or perform a marriage ceremony. They were shunned as lepers and regarded as subpar beings. The bond made them loyal to each other first and foremost, and that was an allegiance torn in his mind. He made sure everyone else saw it that way too.

Father would not have such an obvious weakness. In his earlier years, he’d scoured the Empire, searching every village he ravaged and town he conquered for signs of that supposed weakness. He’d felt a pull, to a small ocean village in Elfhaven, and that pull had led him to a healer’s cottage, tucked into the ocean cliffs. He’d stood on the threshold of her doorway, cursing the Mother, cursing whatever weak will he had managed to leave unchecked, and then, he’d tossed her into the sea. His father had thrown a city wide celebration in his honor. Finally, a son who could master himself and his weaknesses. He used to tell me that story at bedtime, when my Mother tucked me in. Love was for children. Mates were for lesser beings. Mother had never argued with him about it either, this was simply a fact in their marriage. Theirs was of convenience, a mutually beneficial contract, and I often wondered if that story was also a means to remind her that she too could be disposed of if a weakness revealed itself. 

But, I had been a lonely, and curious child and would often sit with the Nymphs that lived in the bubbling brooks and streams around the River House, and would ask them all the questions I was afraid to ask my Father. They whispered their own tales of mates between the bubbling rocks and rolling waves and I’d latched onto their ideas of a bond so strong it could bridge a soul together. Perhaps it was my loneliness, my need for affection I couldn’t easily find at home, but I clung to that little piece of what everyone else swore was fiction like my life depended on it. It became my lifeline. I’d pray to the Goddess every night for something like that; for someone who could love me beyond reason.

A dream that slips through my fingers as I step into that cell.

Cassian, chained against the wall with a gorsian collar around his throat, spits at my feet as I enter. I’ve seen hatred enough in my lifetime to understand the fire that blazes in those hazel eyes.

All the air in my lungs leaves in a rush, as if he’d thrown a fist directly into my stomach. He hates me. Hates me for what I’ve done to him; hates me for what I allowed to happen in that arena. Hel, judging by the way he sizes me up next to Father, he hates me purely because I look like him in the eyes.

My chest aches like it just might crack open and spill my heart out onto the floor.

For the slight, one of the guards slams the butt of his spear directly into Cassian’s gut, knocking him to the floor.

Despite the obvious malice, I have to physically lock my knees to keep myself from moving towards him; have to bite the inside of my cheek to not tell them to leave him alone. Maybe it’s not his fault he hates me. Maybe I deserve it.

“Charming as ever, Cassian,” Father says.

Cassian glares through the locks of sweat slicked hair falling over his forehead, “Fuck you!”

The butt of the spear slams into his temple and it takes every ounce of training not to let the dark, obsidian power trying to unfurl from my clenched fists turn the guard to ash. It would be so easy, a mere flick of the wrist and the only evidence that he’d ever lived a bit of dust left to mingle in the dirt coating the floor. I want to. Damn me, I want to splatter all of them across the dingy walls; hear the last, sharp intake of breath gurgle out of their chests for putting their hands on my mate. There’s a possessive, ugly thing that rises in my chest, threatening to choke the life out of me if I don’t move, act, on this base instinct. The bond rattles against my rib cage, a beast in its own right. It demands action, swift and immediate. It demands blood.

“You sure you can handle this beast, daughter?” Father sneers.

Cassian regards me with the disdain of someone who stepped in shit while wearing new boots. 

“I’m sure,” I say with more confidence than I feel, but I’m too much of a coward to look him in the eyes when I say it. My gaze flicks to the others instead, hoping against reason that I will not see the same hatred on their features. 

Azriel remains tucked in the corner, where he can use his body to shelter his broken wings. There isn’t the same malice in his own hazel eyes, but there is a cold indifference that cracks me open just the same. His earlier appraisal must have told him enough, because there is no lingering curiosity, only apathy. I am not asking him to throw himself into my arms; hell, I don’t even need him to smile, I just need something, any hint that my name alone hasn’t ruined this before it even starts! But there is nothing.

I try to keep my shoulders back, try to stop my body from curling in on itself. I want to curl up on the floor and wait until the old stones absorb me.

“I am curious,” Rhysand says, the s slurred like he bit his tongue when he hit the wall. “Why keep us alive?”

“Why let you be a martyr?” Father counters.

Rhysand studies me, violet eyes--glassy from what’s certainly a head injury, especially with the blood still flowing freely from an inch wide gash across his temple--rove over me slowly, starting at my hairline and working down. His head tilts quizzically when his gaze reaches my cheek. He shouldn’t be able to see anything in this light, but I find myself shifting my stance just enough to block the view all the same.

He frowns as his study goes lower, to the singe across my skirts, and the dirt stains from my stumble down the stairs. 

“I’d rather be dead than dragged around like a dog!” Cassian spits.

Rhysand won’t stop looking me over, like he’s calculating something. Not exactly the acknowledgment I want, but I will take the intrigue of his study over apathy and hatred as if it is. Curiosity is better than nothing. 

“You will honor your word, and send aid to my people?” He asks.

“If anyone is stupid enough to bet on you,” Father counters. “And if it makes it past the highwaymen and looters that have been waylaying my caravans. Your people might have more food if they weren’t attacking supply lines.”

My stomach twists. So Rhysand hadn’t been lying then, things have truly become that bad? Or have they always been that bad, and the sheltered nature of my upbringing had kept me from truly seeing it?

“Do you have supply lines that run through Illyria?” Rhys counters, not rising to the bait. “I can’t recall.”

“You will be branded,” Father says, jaw ticking as he doesn’t get the results he wants. “You will remain in chains and fight when called to fight. Any attempts at escape, and I will drag your people into the arena in droves. They can’t all be as adept at fighting wargs and Giants as you.”

Azriel’s gaze darkens at the threat.

Cassian’s lips pull back in a sneer, teeth flashing.

But Rhysand nods, gaze still on me, like he’s deciding something. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what.

“Keep your end of the bargain, Highness, and we will keep ours.” He says.

“Rhys!” Cassian seethes. 

“Quiet,” Rhysand returns. Briefly, his gaze leaves me to go to Azriel, and the other male nods, just barely. 

“How noble,” Father sneers.

“We will do what we must to save our people.”

Father waves the guard at the door in. Another follows, holding a glowing hot branding iron in his gloved hands.

“On your knees!” The doorman barks.

The contents of my stomach rise in my throat. I can’t let this happen! I can’t let them do this to them!

Rhysand kneels first, well technically, Cassian’s still down from the blow to the stomach; Azriel follows, grimacing against the pressure it puts on his wings.

I cannot beg for them. I will give myself away. I will doom all of us.

I can’t let this happen either. I can’t stand here uselessly!

“You’ll do it,” Father says to me and my panicked train of thought slams to a screeching halt. What?!

The guard holding the iron snorts out a chuckle. “Doubt she can hold the damn thing.”

Father turns to fully look at me and I do my best to keep my chin up. I have to keep the mask up; I cannot let him see. 

“You wanted this. You’ll do it.” He doesn’t think I have it in me; that much is obvious. He thinks me weak and spineless and meek, unable to do what is necessary. I have always known it, but I have never felt it so clearly as I do now.

And maybe he is right. How can I do this, even for the sake of protecting them? How can I raise a hand to my mates?

I swallow the lump in my throat. If I reach out to take that iron, my hands will shake and give me away. If I stand here and refuse, I give myself away. There is no winning; how did I think I could play a game like this? He wins; he always wins.

Not today, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. My body moves without my consent, as if I’m a puppet on a set of strings, being moved by an invisible hand. When I reach out for the iron, my hand doesn’t shake, even though it feels like every part of my body is trembling. The iron is heavy and warm in my hands, I have to use both to lift it, and though I should struggle to keep a grip on it, the invisible grip on me holds it steady.

Two guards move to grip Rhysand by the shoulders, pinning him in place, even though he offers his right arm willingly. His right arm that’s shredded from elbow to wrist from the wargs, blood still trickling onto the floor. The wound is deepest on the outside of his forearm, with enough space above the inside of his wrist to mark. This is cruel enough as is, but to add further to the injury…

One of the guards grabs the torch to reheat the rapidly cooling metal and my stomach is once again back in my throat. I can’t do this to him!

Don’t let him win, the voice whispers again.

My body is still not my own, still moving despite my best efforts to not. It feels like I’m watching myself from outside my body as the iron is pressed to his skin. I can’t even gag against the horrible smell of burning flesh, like someone locked the ability to react behind a wall of adamant. 

Rhysand, to his credit, doesn’t even wince, just draws a sharp breath in through his nose. He holds eye contact with my Father the whole time in another silent challenge and I cannot decide if he is the bravest or stupidest male I’ve ever met. 

The guards reheat the iron as my body moves away from him, and I’m sure they make some sort of snide comment, but it sounds like I’m hearing it from underwater as I take in what I’ve done to him. The blistering skin forms a perfect circle, with the Imperial emblem stamped in the center. It will be a crude scar and hard to hide. My heart clenches painfully in my chest. What have I done? 

The guards move to hold Azriel next, and if I was unsettled before, I’m downright ready to throw myself on a blade now. The apathy has left his eyes, replaced now with barely concealed panic. He pinches his lips together, trying not to make a sound as I approach, but his chest rises and falls rapidly, scarred hands clenching and unclenching in front of him. Shit those are burns on his hands and I’ve got something on fire held out to him.

“What’s the matter?” One of the guards leans down to hiss in his ear. “Scared of a little fire?”

“You motherfucker!” Cassian shouts, trying to stand to get to Azriel. He’s quickly knocked back to the floor with the butt of a spear again. 

“Do it!” Azriel hisses at me.

My body is still not my own as it moves to comply. The whole cell reeks of burnt flesh and it is by the sheer force of whatever will moves my limbs that I haven’t heaved up the contents of my stomach on the floor. What kind of mate am I?

Gods I am as bad as my Father! Cassian knows it too; when it’s finally his turn, the look he gives me is one I’ve seen thrown at the Emperor a thousand times. There is nothing but venom and hatred there and the bond in my chest feels raw and thin, like it has been scraped and worn down to a single, solitary thread. And yet my legs still move and my hands still hold the iron steady.

He won’t ever forgive me for this. Even if I can get them out of the Empire, even if I can save them from dying in the arena, it will never be enough. I’ve ruined my chance before it even had a chance to start.

Cassian growls when the brand touches his skin, but he doesn’t scream. None of them did. This displeases my Father, who frowns, even when it’s done. At least he is not proud of me; that would be the final nail in the coffin. 

The invisible hand still won’t let go of me, I feel it holding me upright, like it knows, given the chance I’ll crumple to the floor and never get up again. How could I have done this?

Father turns to the guard closest to the door, “Go ahead of her to the River House, make sure the place is secure. Post extra guards.”

The elven male bows with an exaggerated flourish and disappears. I suppose I should feel relieved that we are almost out of this godsdamned arena, but dread settles in my stomach. It is not like my Father to make this quick, not for a convicted rebel, and not for anything I’ve shown an interest in. Taking them home now feels too good to be true and I am not inclined to believe luck or mercy have ever been on my side. 

“The arena will have to be fixed before we can proceed with the Games,” Father muses. “I expect you to bring your new toys with you to entertain our guests at Amarantha’s celebration tomorrow.”

They’re throwing her a whole parade for her exports over Illyria, of course she’d want them there to see it. I doubt they’ll be the only Illyrians in attendance.

Cassian growls at that. I’m inclined to share the sentiment. 

“As you wish,” I say instead. Hopefully, if I can manage to not let the guilt clawing its way up my insides to consume me, I can remain upright long enough to find us all passage out of here by the morning. This will all be a terrible dream. Even if we have to part--the bond roars in my ears at the thought--at least I will have saved them. It might be the only thing I have to give them.

Father leaves first. I don’t let myself look at my mates as I follow. The guards untether them from the wall and push them out after me, keeping a guard in between us, just in case they attempt to attack while my back is turned. I wouldn’t blame them if they tried; I’d attack me too.

I can’t get the smell of their burnt flesh out of my nose. Every time I blink I can see their blistered skin behind my eyelids. I branded my mates. 

The way out of the tunnels beneath the arena is a blur, it doesn’t even register that we’re out until the sudden flash of harsh summer light sears my eyes. 

There are horses waiting, and a wagon. At least he’s not forcing them to walk behind my horse, as some of the lords and councilmen make their sponsored champions do. 

I don’t remember swinging into the saddle. I don’t remember urging the horse forward, or when my caravan of guards split off from my Father’s. We rode together until we didn’t. Starlight, my childhood horse, does all the directing, taking me home on instinct. The house I grew up in, the house I sequestered myself in with the curtains drawn for months and months looks foreign. The staff coming out to greet us swim in and out of my vision. I must answer their questions, because they move things around for our new guests, instructing the guards to take the wagon around to the back of the house, where there’s a guest wing turned into a cell for them. All this sounds like it happens under water. 

I hear the wagon roll that direction, and even though I feel eyes on my back, I don’t allow myself to turn. I cannot bear what I will see.

Someone helps me to my rooms, holding me by the elbow, telling me I look pale and sick. I feel like I’ve stepped outside my skin. The tether in my chest feels raw. What have I done?

The sizzle of the iron on skin echoes in my ears. I can’t stop seeing the smoke. Can’t stop thinking about the panic in Azriel’s eyes. I hurt my mates.

I hurt my mates.

Whatever invisible force had been holding me together in the cell gradually releases me. Inch by inch I become aware of my body again. And I make it to the toilet just in time to hurl the contents of my stomach up. It’s the wine first. Then breakfast. And the acidic burn of bile out my throat and nose. 

After Mother’s execution I hadn’t been able to stop crying for days. I’d laid in my bed with the covers over me, hiding in the dark where no one could hear the ugly sounds of my wrenching sobs. I’d thought I’d never weep that hard again. I was wrong. This is far worse.

When I no longer have the strength to hold myself up over the edge of the toilet, I curl into a ball on the floor, the tile cool and smooth against my flushed cheeks. The tears won’t stop flowing and the thing in my chest coils and tightens until it feels like a rock. What have I done?

Eventually the tears run out. The thin slit of a window in the wall bathes the room in varying shades of orange, then pink, then purple as time passes by, uncaring to my turmoil. I still can’t bring myself to get up, even as the heat of the day turns to a cool, evening chill. No amount of cold could move me now, a little suffering is what I deserve. 

Someone knocks on the bedroom door. I don’t remember closing it behind me.

I shut my eyes against the noise. All this crying has given me a headache, the echo of the door against the tile makes my head throb. Good. I deserve that too.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

Why should I answer it? I should just lay here until the earth swallows me. 

Another knock, followed by a muffled, “Highness?” Anise, my maid. Anise had come with my Mother, a gift from her father as she travelled here for the wedding. Mother had freed her from her servitude and Anise had asked to stay as part of the staff. She loved my Mother like she was her own; I have always thought of her like an Aunt.

“Don’t make me kick the door in!” A grumpy Aunt, granted, but her temper is always warranted. 

Shakily, I manage to maneuver myself onto my knees. She really will kick the door in and her joints are old and worn, she’ll likely break an ankle, or a hip, trying. It’s for her health that I manage to get up and get to the door, not because I feel well enough to get up.

She pushes her way in as soon as I turn the handle. “You look awful!”

I feel awful. “Thanks.”

“What the hell is all of this?” She demands, waving a hand towards the hallway. She’s half Dryad, her skin like tree bark, her graying hair made of vines and leaves. Though she is old and weathered, her emerald eyes are still bright and shining. “And why are you so distraught over it?”

She paces as she speaks, not letting me get a word in as she wrings her gnarled hands together. “What’s with all the guards? And those… winged males? They are strange and gruff and I don’t like the looks of them. Which reminds me, why the Hels are they asking for you?”

My heart skips a beat in my chest. “What do you mean, Anise?”

She stops her pacing to come take one of my hands, a gesture for a Dryad that is closer to a hug. Her other hand pushes some hair off my cheek to see the yellow tint of a blooming bruise. “Did they hurt you?”

I’m going to be sick again. “No, Anise, they didn’t.”

“You promise?”

“Trust me, if anyone did any damage, it was me.” And I’ll never forgive myself for it. 

She nods. “Ok, then, I will tell you.” Dryads, like Ents, are known for their long winded conversations. They never know when to get to the point. I am used to her extra long pauses and rambling tangents. 

I am not, however, prepared for her to say, “Well they were brought food and a medic, as the guards ordered, but they refused it.”

Why the hell would they do that?! Was this some kind of hunger strike? By the Mother did they think I was trying to poison them?

“They said they wouldn’t touch it until they’d spoken to you.”

I think the heat has gotten to me. Did she just say they asked to speak to me?

“It’s very strange,” she continues. “Males in that bad of shape usually fight for a chance to see a medic, but they said they wouldn’t let anyone touch them until they’d talked to you alone.”

Alone? They wanted to talk to me alone?

“Are you sure that’s what they said, Anise?”

“They were very adamant about needing to see you. Rude if you ask me. Who demands to see the head of a household like that? They’re trouble, I’m telling you now.”

“They didn’t say why?” I ask.

“No. They wouldn’t say it around the guards either. I don’t like this, Highness. It’s a bad omen if you ask me. The winds have been whispering all day. Bad, very bad things will come of this, mark my words.”

Bad things had already come, couldn’t she see that? They were not the issue; I was the issue. This whole damn Empire was the issue. We ruin everything we touch. They knew that better than anyone, so why ask for me? What did they want? It certainly can't be the bond.

I absently rub my knuckle against my breast bone. The bond feels like a bruise. No, they can’t be asking about the bond. If they know it’s there, they’re not tugging on it. There is no curiosity, only pain. I’ve ruined the chance for anything more, of that I am certain. 

This has to be something else, but how can I face them? There is only so much I can bear.

“You’ll make them wait, won’t you?” Anise continues. “You certainly should. It’s improper for a host to be asked for this late into the evening.”

They need medical attention. Their wounds have to heal. And they need to eat. They have to be starving, I doubt they were given a last meal before being thrown into the arena. Raw and damaged as it is, the bond still prompts me to move, even if I’d rather hide from it for the rest of my life.

“No,” I might as well rip the bandaid off. Maybe they need to tell me to my face that they hate me and never want to see me again. It can be arranged for us not to interact, even with me sponsoring them. 

If that is their wish, I will honor it. Whatever it is they need, I’ll find a way to make it happen. I owe them that. “I’ll go see them.”

------

Taglist: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam

//

@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime

//

@hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd

[jomiddlemarch]

A handkerchief of her own sewing

Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me. Therefore the poet brings his poem; the shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a stone; the painter, his picture; the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing.-- Emerson

Year One

Anne hemmed a dozen handkerchiefs with her monogram and hand-tatted the lace to edge each square. She ruined the first one weeping, burned it instead of letters, as she had none from him.

Lady Russell did not comment on the fact that her dozen was short. She insisted Anne buy a new bonnet, one trimmed with pink ribbon.

Year Two

Anne hemmed a handkerchief while Elizabeth complained about the number of Naval officers at Lady Vincent’s ball. Anne counted stitches instead of Elizabeth’s complaints, knowing her sister would exceed the capacity of her thread.

Year Three

Anne embroidered the handkerchief for Mary to carry to her wedding. Charles had waited six months before proposing, long enough for a respectable courtship. He’d found Anne alone once and said You’re certain, Nan, it isn’t too late, but she’d known she wasn’t ruining anyone life when she said no.

Year Four

Anne kept an extra handkerchief in her reticule when she visited Uppercross. Mary fretted that there were draughts in every room and the fires all smoked, Cook used too much pepper and the yellow paper in the sitting room would make a blind man’s eyes water. 

Mrs. Musgrove patted Mary’s hand and smiled at Anne. They had all expected Mary’s first confinement to be a bit difficult.

Year Five

Anne sewed handkerchiefs for the housekeeper Mrs. Cadell to distribute to all the staff. It was a bad year for the grippe. Her father instructed her to economize and then ordered a case of the best Madeira.

Her own handkerchiefs had ceased to be used for tears.

Year Six

Anne gave her nephew Charles his first handkerchief, his name spelled out in bright red silk. He wore it as a hat more often than attending to his nose. Mary lay on a chaise with a handkerchief soaked in cologne laid across her eyes, vowing that she had never felt so ill in her life and insisting Anne hand her another comfit.

Francis Musgrove weighed ten pounds when he was born.

Year Seven

For her birthday, the vicar gave her a silver thimble in appreciation for all the girls she’d taught and all the handkerchiefs and shirts she’d sewn for the poor. When Anne put it on, she saw her hands had begun to look old.

She took the thimble off and touched the base of her finger where Frederick had promised to put a rose-cut diamond as bright as her eyes.

Year Eight

Captain Wentworth offered a handkerchief to Henrietta Musgrove after her sister’s injury. Anne saw the faded monogram in the corner, pale blue after many launderings, remembered how solemn he’d been when he’d asked her to give him a token of her esteem, how he’d grinned when she’d handed it to him, as carefully folded as a flag.

Anne swallowed her tears.

Year Nine

Anne hemmed a dozen handkerchiefs with her monogram and hand-tatted the lace to edge each square. From the bow of the ship, she waved the delicate article, the sails billowing behind her. Frederick’s hand was warm at her waist and he murmured I’ve got you, madam, make no mistake.

The tears in Anne’s eyes she blinked away.

Written and posted (a day late, hopefully not a dollar short!) for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month for prompt: handkerchief

[peachhcs]

a hughes sibling interview

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

the four hughes siblings are interviewed about their relationships with one another and growing up across toronto and michigan.

GUYS IM SO SORRY I HAVENT BEEN ACTIVE ITS BEEN SUCH A CRAZY WEEK AND A HALF. I PROMISE I SEE UR REQUESTS!! i was inspired to do this after seeing an old interview with jack and luke :) this is way more quinn, jack, luke + samy and not samy + will but i know you guys like reading about their sibling dynamic so i whipped this out

au masterlist

THE HUGHES SIBLINGS are fan favorites in the hockey and american soccer world. they spent their childhoods in toronto, ontario, canada before moving down to ann arbor, michigan to pursue more opportunities in the hockey world and eventually, american soccer for their youngest member. we sat down with the four to ask them what growing up together was like and how they're feeling about quinn's soon-to-be captaincy for the vancouver canucks.

Q: tell me about your dynamics growing up.

jack: oh god, well that's an easy one. quinn and i were the "leaders" i guess you could say. we were always put in charge of luke and samy even though luke always got mad because he felt like he didn't need to be looked after.

luke: you guys literally acted like you were five years older than us—

jack: in a way quinn was five years older than you. four at least.

luke: whatever.

samy: i think we all have a very unique relationship with one another because we all go to each other for different things. like i go to quinn when i need someone to tell me what i need to hear but don't want to hear. jack's who i got to when i need someone to hype me up. i got to luke for just about everything just because we're closer in age.

Q: do you think your age differences made it hard to get close to one another? for quinn, how did it feel to be six years older than samy growing up?

quinn: i mean when my parents told me they were having another baby and it was a girl i was pretty excited actually. growing up, i always wanted a little sister. i don't think our age difference ever really made it hard to get close? we've all been pretty close in general.

samy: i love having older brothers. maybe i can only say that because we get along, but growing up with them really taught me how to hold my own. they toughened me up for sure.

jack: i always feel like a two year age gap between everyone is perfect. it's not a crazy gap where we're all in drastically different stages of life, but we're never too far behind one another.

Q: i heard you three taught samy how to play hockey. what was that like?

jack: always so fun. she always wanted to do what we were doing so we started playing with her on our rink back in toronto and by the time she was ten she was literally pushing all of us into the boards.

quinn: we definitively taught her how to be more aggressive on the ice and all of what she knows is what we taught her.

Q: samy, was it ever hard to tell your brothers you were leaving hockey to play soccer?

samy: i mean i definitely worried they would be upset because it's what they love and i didn't want them to think i didn't love it anymore because i still do, but we've all been super supportive of each other and they were really glad i was doing what i loved.

luke: i think it was nice having a different sport our family could lean into because whenever we watch hockey together it gets really intense—and well i guess watching soccer got really intense for us, but we all quickly fell in love with the sport to watch samy play.

Q: did you guys ever have any sibling rivalry?

quinn: not really, no. of course we got competitive with one another at the house and in the walls, but outside of the house it's nothing but love for each other. we support each other a lot and i think that's something that's always been really important to us.

samy: we always got into it sometimes, but it wasn't ever serious. it was a lot of just cheering each other on from the sidelines.

jack: every sibling is gonna have some sort of rivalry, but it never went further than small poking and prodding at one another. we knew it was just in good fun.

luke: if anything samy and i were the most rivals because we went at it at everything we did. cards, board games, hockey, swimming, soccer—it was so funny.

Q: what was moving back to the states like?

samy: being 12 it was kind of hard for me because i lived my whole childhood in toronto, but i was excited for the new opportunities and being able to support my brothers closer. when quinn was in the states and we were still in toronto, it was really hard not having him around, so i was glad to be closer to him and jack.

quinn: i guess..not that hard? i'd already been in the states for usntdp so i guess it was just nice to have my family close again. when i first moved at 15 that was a bit hard because i was so far away from my siblings

jack: i mean it's something i thank my parents for a lot because a lot of what they did was for us. they always put us first and always made sure we had the best opportunities to push ourselves forward so i'm thankful for that and them.

luke: i think i was just glad i wouldn't be alone in michigan starting usntdp. kind of sad because quinn and jack basically got to live there by themselves, but it wasn't that hard.

Q: did you ever think your lives would be what they are right now?

samy: no, not at all. if you asked me that six years ago i would say no way and be shocked that i stopped playing hockey full time but i'm really grateful for everything that's happened. i love being at umich and playing on a team that i love so much.

luke: i mean does anyone really think they'll be where they are now? i am grateful for michigan and new jersey, it's been really great.

jack: i think i'd wanna give my younger self a pat on the back. my rookie year was pretty tough and i honestly didn't think i'd make it out, but i'm glad i kept my head up and proved everyone who thought i couldn't do well wrong.

quinn: never in a million years would i think i'd become captain to a pro hockey team, but i am super grateful. it's been a really amazing five years and i love the team, i love the guys. they're all really great.

Q: final question: what is one thing you wanna say to quinn before he becomes captain tomorrow night?

jack: i'm really proud of you man. you've worked really hard for this and i know you're gonna bring the canucks some really great seasons as captain. you're dedicated and no one deserves this more than you do.

luke: i've looked up to you my whole life and i don't think i'll ever stop. you did a really great job basically raising samy and i and you're gonna do a really great job being captain to the canucks. they're real lucky to have you.

samy: i'm super proud of you and you really helped me find my way so many times growing up. i couldn't have asked for a better big brother. i love you quinny and i can't wait to see you become captain tomorrow night.

[lets-try-some-writing]

On the topic of Jack's dad leaving and the bots reaction to it, what do they feel for June? Because I can imagine the thought of being left to deal with a sparkling all on your own because your Conjunx and fellow caretaker just straight up abandoned you and the sparkling, does NOT leave happy thoughts in their head. Like, having a Conjunx seems pretty rare as it is, especially in the tfp universe. So to know what is essentially the human version of one abandoned June?

I'm new to this. Straight up never sent an ask on Tumblr before, uh, hope this is all right?... 😶

(I'm projecting because my own dad abandoned me, wait whaaaat, who said that??)

I wish I could hug you through the screen, anon. Sounds like you could use it. That said, I can see the bots both being unsurprised and confused all at once.

On Cybertron it was completely normal for a single bot to take on a newbuild or sparkling to mentor. At the same time, it was generally seen as a good idea to have two or more mentors involved in the rearing of a sparkling in order to diversify their education and ensure their health and wellbeing. With this in mind, the bots were not initially all that concerned when it came to June raising Jack alone. Orion Pax was brought up by Alpha Trion and the Archivists. Ratchet was raised by an entire colony of mechs of similar origin, communal style. Arcee was taught by a school for newbuilds who were not taken in by single or paired guardians. Bulkhead had a teacher who took him in when he was young and got him through school before they parted ways. Bumblebee was the collective ward of Autobot High Command and referred to all of them as his Sires, albeit with slightly different tones. Smokescreen was raised by the Elite Guard pretty much the moment he signed on. Ultra Magnus and his brother raised themselves and Wheeljack grew up in a pack of other wild newbuilds.

Simply put, there was no real standard for a family on Cybertron outside of the higher castes. Your family was what you made it. So June's situation wasn't all that jarring... until it was.

Conjunxing was rare in the extreme back on Cybertron. It was to be bound intimately and permanently in a way that even scientists had to admit had some level of supernatural effect involved. To choose to Conjunx was a lifelong commitment, a true contract for the functionally immortal Cybertronians. It was even rarer for Conjunxed partners to break way from each other, often because both parties failed to survive for long afterwards more often than not. To hear that June had been Conjunxed by human standards and then been abandoned after having a sparkling as well?

Completely and utterly unheard of.

That was not to say it didn't happen back on Cybertron, but to leave ones partner AND a sparkling? That was social execution.

To hear that June had endured that level of abandonment shook the team. According to Cybertronian custom, to try and preserve the lives of guardian and sparkling it was widely accepted that the community was to step up in the other partner's absence. And so the moment the team registered the situation and translated it culturally, there was an instant shift in disposition around June in particular. There wasn't much they could do for the human women, but they could step up in place of Jack's Sire, just as tradition dictated.

June found herself being talked to by Optimus about the loss of loved ones, earning her the story of how the Prime lost Elita-1 in an attempt to connect. Ratchet started leaving either cash that he picked up for June to use as needed, a small gesture to make up for his lack of available time. Arcee took it upon herself to step up and teach Jack the lessons a Sire would have taught, walking him through mature topics and offering the wisdom of her long life. Bulkhead did the same, trying to give what wisdom he could in the absence of Jack's other creator and even going so far as to share a few stories of his guardian back before the war to connect to the boy. Bumblebee, not having much experience in the field of parenting, instead chose to be more of a friend. He and Jack weren't particularly close, but he kept near to keep an optic on the boy in case he was having a rough day.

Neither Jack or June understood why the team adjusted their behavior and they didn't need to know. Custom would be upheld, even amidst war.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Congrats on 100k!! Solomon + 72 would be interesting👀

Solomon + 72: "MONEY" - The Warning

Solomon wipes the poison from his mouth with his sleeve, giving the unconscious demon before him a nudge with his foot.

There's a shallow pool of blood beside him, coagulated purple, which Solomon is careful to avoid stepping in; at a guess, some shard must have cut the demon as he dropped. A matching one, smaller and redder, is smeared across the floor, equally littered with glass where the sorcerer had thudded to the ground a moment later.

Still, Berith doesn't move, deep under the effects of the first command Solomon had issued since their pact was made the previous day: "Sleep."

Good.

It's a cruel thing Solomon has learned to do. It's sad, and it's true, and it hurts that he has to do it this way.

Admittedly, though, it doesn't hurt as much lately — not considering what they've put him through in exchange.

"Being in a pact with a demon doesn't make them your friend. A pact is a pact, and nothing more. Each party has its own separate interests."

Barbatos had taught him that once, long ago.

Back then, Solomon hadn't made any pacts of his own yet. He'd hardly even considered it. He'd believed himself powerful enough, or at least thought that he could be, with enough training. He'd always had a talent for magic. Wasn't that good enough?

But that was before the other two realms had taken notice of just how talented he really was, back before he understood the lengths each side was willing to go to take him for their own ends. Consuming him, controlling him, containing him — whatever they wanted with him, really, and there had been nothing he could do to fend them off.

He was naive then, to think there was such thing as powerful enough. He knows better now.

His skin feels raw where his newest pact sigil sits, stinging at the left base of his neck, just beside where his throat meets his chest — likely near where Berith's poison had gotten trapped. A sick reminder of how the Demon Duke of Alchemy had tried to kill him immediately after forging their pact, and one he'll now carry for the rest of his immortal life.

It may be cruel, what Solomon did to him, and what he plans to do with him in the future. It's also necessary. These are demons he's dealing with. And he's human, after all.

With a short incantation, Solomon reshapes the broken glass into a small vial to hold the spilled remains of his poisoned drink. It had been strong enough to overpower Solomon's neutralizing agent within seconds. It'll be a potentially useful tool for the future.

Another stack of sins he'll be burying himself in.

"That's how it has always been with pacts between sorcerers and demons, and how it should be."

He'll never ask for forgiveness. This is just how these things work.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

el perdedor *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ shadow the hedgehog x latina reader

fic type *ೃ༄ one-shot / fluff

cw *ೃ༄ machismo (ew), nothing else !

summary *ೃ༄ shadow's infatuation with your culture.

note *ೃ༄ i kept it pretty low-key because theres so many different cultures within latam; from brazilians and haitians (yes theyre latinos too) to nicaraguans and cubans ー shadow would 100% adore your unique culture. ^^

masterlist *ೃ༄

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ There are many things Shadow finds interesting/endearing about your nature & culture. Speaking for us as a whole, we latinas are usually raised in machista households (and while that may not be a good thing), that means that the women in our culture are raised as caregivers/nurturers. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ For Shadow, this is uncharted territory since he’s only ever known hardship, pain and suffering. So when you opened up the doors of your home to him and allowed him into your life? He was more than nervous about it (though he didn’t show it). He did get used to it and gradually fell in love with the way you treated others and cared for them even if you didn’t know them. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ When you call him pet names in spanish or just code switch between english & spanish, you better believe he’s not listening to anything that’s coming out of your mouth (he’s too busy hearing the way you roll your r’s and stress certain syllables). Shadow (with his big brain) does end up learning Spanish phrases from you (the bad words too) & you better believe that he’s using it in his daily life. 

“Es que mira, vos no entendes que así no se..” It had been about fifteen minutes since you were on the phone with your mom. It was supposed to be a simple call to catch up but somehow it turned into you lecturing her — Not that he was complaining. Shadow looked at you pacing around the living room, listening to every word that came out of your mouth. Even the cuss words sounded pretty coming from your mouth. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Whether it be eating the classic latam struggle meal: huevo con salchicha/chorizo, or eating tamales on christmas, one of his favorite things about your culture is the food. If you give him Baho (nicaraguan girlies wya) or carne con papa (cubanas rise up), he’s eating it all up and asking for seconds. He admires the way that food is typically made to share with others in your culture. There is never a dull moment with him at the kitchen table, that’s for sure. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ When you’re so willing to pet through his quills and hug him close to you, even with others being present, he’s a little nervous about it since he’s not used to others seeing him so completely in love (& accepting of your affection). Sonic would be confused as hell when he witnesses Shadow and you exchanging words in spanish when y’all thought no one was listening. 

“When did you learn spanish??” Sonic asked while you were in the kitchen preparing cups of coffee for the four of you. Shadow only scoffed and crossed his arms. “Hmph. If you must know, I just picked it up.” Now it was Sonic who crossed his arms in disbelief. “Really?” Shadow nodded. “You should hear her on the phone.” 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ At family gatherings, everybody is all over him. I’m talking Tias, Tios, cousins (especially the younger ones), grandparents- hell, everyone wants to know what the hedgehog means to you. You have to usher him away from all of them before they begin interrogating and basically stealing him away from you. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ He both loves and hates when you pull him onto the dancefloor at parties. He loves it because it’s a rather intimate thing to dance salsa/bachata with you BUT he hates it because he feels like everyone's watching the two of you (which they are). He liked it when you taught him how to dance, frankly you thought he wouldn’t be able to due to his height, but surprisingly enough, when he takes the lead, it makes up for his height — or lack thereof. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ He loves watching La Rosa De Guadalupe reruns with you especially the ones with the emo teens. I’m not even going to lie, I can see him totally tearing up at emotional scenes and talking at the TV like he can actually talk to the characters. It’s an amazing thing when you see him absolutely distraught at the romance triangles and the drama in Rosario Tijeras or El Señor de Los Cielos. 

“She was absolutely right in killing that man, I would have done the same.” Shadow nodded in approval with his arms crossed as he watched Rosario off one of her enemies yet again. “Sometimes I think you get too invested in these..” you chuckled a little. “Amor, please.” Shadow only rolled his eyes. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ And of course, our holidays. If you celebrate Dia de Los Muertos, he finds it a sentimental thing to remember loved ones and put things that they liked onto their Ofrendas. When you suggested he put Maria on the Ofrenda, he was a little lost but after participating in it, he appreciated the gesture and the love and care that went into remembering loved ones in your culture. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ He absolutely adores spanish music. From reggaeton, to salsa, to bachata, to rancheras — He loves them all. Especially the duet bachata ones! (they’re the most dramatic ones + he gets to sing them with you so it’s a win win). While Shadow is definitely a closed off hedgehog, he warms up to you and holds your culture to your heart. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ It's because of that, that he’s also ready to defend you when he sees the machismo in your culture. He dismantles your way of thinking (when it comes to social expectations in your family/culture) and helps you gain confidence in who you are. He never wants to reduce you to an object to be owned or a prize to be won. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ If you’re expected to serve him plates of food at gatherings, he’s coming with you and sticking to you like glue. He loves it when you dote on him, but not when it's forced or expected of you to do so. Overall, he’d be the best lover & I wish he was real.

[grimestime27]

Marry Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Warnings: Mostly fluff

Set Pre Whisperers. 

I think I made Daryl a little OOC but he definitely is becoming more soft as seasons continue on. ❤️

Rick was missing, presumably dead. Michonne was broken. Daryl was a shell of himself. Everything was wrong. The group was split again. You and Daryl had decided to stay in Alexandria, but Ezekiel and Carol had offered you all a place at the Kingdom. Everyday, Daryl had went to look for any sign of Rick—living or dead. With no luck, he returned every night to let Michonne know nothing had changed.

Part of Michonne was relieved—knowing Daryl hadn’t found a body or a walker of her “husband”.  It was hard watching her everyday with Judith, knowing Rick wouldn’t come home to see her or his daughter again. Carol and Ezekiel had gotten married with a brief ceremony in the Kingdom, Father Gabriel officiating. It was bittersweet, Michonne leaving halfway through the ceremony. 

You knew why—it made her think of what she had lost. Carol had asked you and Daryl to be part of the ceremony. Daryl smiled at you from behind Ezekiel and you wondered for a moment if you all could ever have a future like this. It seemed very unlikely. Carol suggested you all stay the night in the Kingdom before returning to Alexandria. Somewhat reluctantly, you both agreed for the sake of she and Ezekiel. 

They gave you a private room. Daryl locked the door softly as you began stripping your clothes off and leaving you only in your bra and panties. 

“It was a nice ceremony.”, you began.

Daryl turned around quickly, eyeing you up and down.

You knew just how to get to the archer’s heart. 

“Yeah.”, he replied. “I never thought she’d fall in love with anyone.”

You smirked softly. “We all are full of surprises.”

Daryl smiled softly before coming over and taking you in his arms. He smelled of his own musk and wilderness, but you didn’t mind. It felt safe—it was home. He kissed the top of your head, taking in the embrace. There were times he wasn’t sure if he would ever get this again. Life was too short. And Daryl knew it.

“Yeah….”, Daryl began and it seemed like he had something else on his mind. 

You pulled back softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Just thinkin’.”

“About?”

“Us.”

Your face crinkled in confusion. “What about us?”

Daryl sighed. Words had never came easy to him. As a child, he wasn’t properly taught how to communicate and show his emotions. His dad highly discouraged it, beating him and Merle if they cried or showed any sliver of emotion. Their father had taught them that it wasn’t manly to show emotions. Men were meant to be strong and show no weakness. 

He was trying to break the cycle. You had taught him he could be vulnerable with you. You were his safe space.

“Daryl?”, you brought him out of his deep thought.

“Sorry,”, he sighed. “Just this whole thing with Carol and Ezekiel has me thinkin’…..”

You eyed him, encouraging him to continue. 

“Could we have somethin’ like that?”

“Like being married?”

Daryl sighed softly. “Yeah. I mean if you think ’s not for us—”

You interrupted him. “I think we could.”

Daryl’s eyes softly looked into yours. “Would ya…want to marry me? Become Mrs. Dixon?”

“Are you officially asking me to marry you?”

Daryl smiled softly before letting you go of you and digging in his pocket, pulling out a ring. “Yeah, Carol helped me find this.”

“Daryl…..”

“Will ya marry me and be Mrs. Dixon?”

He got down on one knee, something he never thought he would ever do. But things change.

“Yes, Daryl. A thousand times, yes.”, you began smiling so hard your cheeks, happy tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Daryl slid the ring on your finger nervously, getting off his knee and taking you in a tight embrace before you both shared a kiss. You both pulled away, looking into each other’s eyes before kissing again. 

“Well, I guess we need to talk to Father Gabriel to officiate another wedding.”, you smirked as you both broke the kiss.

“Guess so. How about we celebrate Mrs. Dixon?”, he smirked as he swooped you up in his arms, causing you to giggle as he carried you to the bed.

[fatkish]

hashiras x child reader 12 year old girl who is a soldier with impressive combat skills, she knows a lot about firearms, she is a good strategist, for hand-to-hand combat, and she has too much strength for a 12 year old girl, her personality is somewhat proud and arrogant and enthusiastic like gabi braun from snk You may have met her during a mission in a military camp preparing and training. I really can't think of any other way they could have met her.

(I hope you don’t mind, I saw that you had sent @petitelepus the same request so I wanted to change it up just a little bit to it’s not exactly the same. Instead of being like Gabi Braun, I’m going to make her similar to Killua Zoldyck from HxH)

Hashiras x Child Soldier Reader

Your family has long since known about the existence of demons. One of your ancestors had learned about breathing styles and was previously a shinobi. After facing against demons and accessing their strength and abilities, he realized that humans needed lots of training in order to fight demons and survive . As soon as he had children he began training each to resist extreme pain by torture of all sorts, training them to be resistant to poison, he taught them how to kill. Generations went by and steadily, your family became increasingly stronger.

From the moment you were born, you were trained. You’re parents would often capture weaker demons and bring them back for you and your siblings to fight. Each child fought alone against a demon. Often times your parents would target demons that used poisons and particularly troubling blood demon arts. As you grew older, the demons you fought would be stronger and stronger. When you were nine, your parents managed to capture a lower moon and they made you face it. It took you hours but eventually you fought and killed it. After that, your parents captured 20 demons and locked them up, starving them before sending you in against them.

Your family’s main house is located on an island off of Japan. Your family makes sure that they are well hidden from demons so that Muzan doesn’t find them. Your family takes on assassinations, escorting people, espionage, etc. and receives money from it. Your family often steals the swords of fallen demon slayers and brings them back to your family’s blacksmith to reforge. When you were 12 you left your family and Kagaya’s crows caught sight of you and lead him to you. You had never been treated lovingly or kindly, and you were stunned by how kind Kagaya was.

Kagaya understood that your lifestyle didn’t give you the ability to understand morals and ethics. He saw how skilled you were and decided to ask you to join the corps. You felt so at peace with him and told him everything you’ve been through. Despite knowing that you’ve killed people, he happily welcomed you into the corps. He made you a Hashira and introduced you to the others. The other Hashira were skeptical about you at first. But as they got to know you better they realized that you weren’t such a bad person and that you were a victim of your family. Their thoughts on you are as follows:

Sanemi Shinazugawa:

If I ever see that kid’s parents I’m going run my fist right through their faces. Who the hell puts their kids through torture and forces them to fight demons? The kid is pretty strong and has decent talent, I won’t lie, but that’s no excuse for what those bastards put their kids through. (He deeply respects you and often checks in on you to see how you’re doing but he never admits that he does it out of concern, he’s always got some kind of excuse)

Kyojuro Rengoku:

I’ll admit, while I’m not thrilled about the fact that the kid has killed people, I cannot blame them for not understanding how precious life is when they were never taught it. However, I am proud that they have chosen to leave their past behind and fight to protect lives instead of taking them. They are very strong and it disgusts me what their parents put them through but nevertheless, I am happy to take them under my wing and teach them.

Obanai Iguro:

Despite our similarities we are incredibly different. Both of our families have too much blood on their hands but unlike me, the kid doesn’t believe that they are tainted by their blood. While it sickens me that they can kill people so easily, I do understand that they can’t be blamed for taking life when they were never truly taught right from wrong. The kid’s morals are severely skewed but they are trying to change which is what matters.

Tengen Uzui:

The kid and I often talk about life experiences and how different things are now that we’re both not living under our family’s thumbs. We both went through similar training as children and while they might not have had to kill their siblings, they did lose some to the training the went through. My wives love the kid and often dote on them. Whenever the kid doesn’t understand something they often come to me to explain things, and of course, as the god of festivals, I’ve taken them to plenty of festivals and showed them how to enjoy them.

Giyuu Tomioka:

They talk to me which is nice. They enjoy sparring with me and we often have tea and sit in silence together which is also nice. I didn’t know how to feel about the kid at first, but after talking to them and spending time with them, I learned that they aren’t a bad person. They’re strong and they want to use that strength to protect people instead of harming them. I enjoy their company.

Muichiro Tokito:

Oh, them? Why does it matter that they’re close to my age? They do make for a decent sparring partner though. I can’t remember but something tells me that they did bad things in their past. Whatever, I can’t remember so I guess it doesn’t matter.

Shinobu Kocho:

They kind of remind me of Kanao in a way. While it is a shame that they were raised the way they were, there isn’t anything that can be done about the past. Although it is concerning how often they come to me covered in wounds from battle that they didn’t notice. Sometimes I wonder if they truly didn’t notice their many wounds or if they just put up with the wounds until they became too numerous and troublesome. I often have to scold them for their reckless disregard for their health, but otherwise they’re a good kid.

Mitsuri Kanroji:

It just breaks my heart to hear what all they suffered through. I can’t imagine a parent doing such things to their own children. I have made it my personal goal to make sure that they know what it is to love and be loved. They’re so cute I often forget how strong they are. They’re so sweet to me and they don’t even think it’s weird how much I eat or how strong I am.

Gyomei Himejima:

It truly saddens me to know that they have taken the lives of their fellow humans. Even though they were taught to kill and nothing else, they still wish to do good with what they know. I pray the gods have mercy on this child’s soul when they die, though they have slain others, they did not know any better. Despite their wrong doings, they are actively trying to repent for their deeds by doing good which is admirable. They often come to me to seek guidance in regards to the moral and ethical dilemmas they face. I will do my utmost best to guide them.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Makar Sankranti ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Summary: Y/N never learned how to fly a kite. Lando changes that.

-‘๑’- ln x desi!reader ✧.*

-‘๑’- fluff ✧.*

you were staring at your phone with a frown, and lando felt the urge to smooth that little crease between your eyebrows and kiss the little pout. so he did.

“what’s on your mind?” he asked, as he settled beside you on the couch, peeking into your phone.

you were looking at pictures of kites and people flying them. people, lando recognised, were your cousins and your mom.

“it’s makar sankranti in a week,” you mumbled.

“what’s that?”

“it’s a kite flying festival. we get a bunch of kites, and we fly them, and we have competition with other people on who can cut who’s kite’s thread,” you explained.

“do you wanna celebrate it here with me? i can get your kites. you need those paper kinds, right?” his arm tightened around you, pulling you into his chest.

“that’s not the problem. the problem is that i never learned to fly a kite properly,”

lando made a confused noise, waiting for you to continue.

“when i was young, my cousin brother was always excited to fly kites, and my mom was one of the youngest in her generation, so she enjoyed it too. they teamed up and they did all the kite flying, and all i did was launch the kite in the air and then stand aside,”

“wait, so, you never learned how to fly a kite?”

“i’ve always wanted to, but y’know, by the time i was at the age where i could do it myself or it was finally my turn, everyone just expected me to know,”

“but no one ever taught you,”

“exactly,” you leaned your head against his chest, cuddling him.

lando’s arms tightened around you, and a plan formed in his head.

the next day, he gathered all his friends on this important mission. ria, aarav, steve, ethan, niran, and max. good thing lando and you were spending a part of the break in england, huh?

lando explained the situation to them, and quickly distributed tasks based on his research. he’d hoped that aarav would have some knowledge about the festival and the kite flying techniques, but the britishers had completely wiped away his indian cultures. how disappointing.

ria and niran were in charge of finding and understanding the different threads that were available, and which would be the strongest. it was surprising just how many different types were in the market.

ethan and steve had the responsibility to find the different types of kites that were sold. just like the threads, it was surprising that there wasn’t just the paper kind. plastics, and different thickness of papers, and different thickness of wood used on hold them, everything.

the last three, aarav, lando, and max, used the week to learn different techniques. they asked aarav’s parents to help who jumped at the opportunity. lando had even called your mum, but the conversation hadn’t been the most pleasant.

“i need you to teach me basics of kite flying and stuff,” he had requested.

“oh, now she has an interest in kite flying?” your mom had scoffed.

“she just didn’t have the opportunity to learn before, so i thought i’d surprise her,” his hand was fisted and away from the camera’s view because he really did not like the tone your mom was speaking in.

“she had plenty of opportunities, she just never had any interest,” but your mum then explained the basics to him, using all the hindi words that he practiced saying to get the pronunciations right.

the group spent hours and hours over at aarav’s terrace, where his parents taught them all they needed to know. everything from chadhana to lapet to cut gayi.

lando hadn’t realised just how fun kite flying was. and he didn’t realise how much he would have to invest in bandaids. thankfully, he got the skin colour kinds, and managed to avoid you playing with his hands.

it also made his heart hurt a little. that you hadn’t had the opportunity to properly learn. that the age you could learn was taken away by your cousin, and while you loved your cousin, lando knew you did, you deserved to have someone teach you too.

on the day off, lando had woken up early, quietly slipping out of bed. he texted in his group to make sure their plan was set. quickly making some breakfast for you, he set it all on a tray and took it to your room. entering, he saw that you were already out of bed, and in the washroom.

making the bed, and setting the tray of food on it, he waited for you. once you came out of the washroom, with your hair tied and your face moisturised, a smile lit up your face at the scene in front of you.

“what’s this?” you asked.

“happy makar sankranti, baby,” lando wished with a smile.

“you remembered?”

“of course i did,” you were standing in his between his legs now, his arms around the back of your thighs, your around his neck.

"well, we've got plans today, so eat your breakfast, get ready, and then we'll get going!"

"what plans?"

he leaned up and pressed a kiss against your lips, "it's a surprise,"

you pleaded with him to tell you, but every time you opened your mouth, lando either fed you a bite of the waffles with nutella or pressing kisses.

later, the two of you got ready for the day. and just before the two of you left, lando pulled out a tie from behind his back.

"what do you plan to do with that?" you asked, sceptical.

"well, it's a surprise," lando said, as if it explained everything.

you rolled your eyes, but turned around, and lando jumped slightly before he put the tie across your eyes, and tied it.

taking your hand, he led you slowly to the car, only because you had screamed at him when he tried, and got you settled in the passenger, putting your seatbelt as well, before he jogged over to the other side and got in.

"y'know, we could be doing something else with the blindfold. or even with the tie, actually," you commented innocently, knowing exactly how lando would react to it.

"babe," lando whined, "you can't stay stuff like that while i'm driving!"

"all i'm saying is that i'm blindfolded and you could literally do whatever you want. well, you could whatever you wanted even if you'd used it to tie my ha-"

"okay, okay, shut up! we're going home!"

you laughed, "no! you said you have a surprise for me! i wanna see that!"

"you can't do that to me!"

you laughed.

the rest of the way, the two of you joked and laughed and talked about everything and anything. for instance, "where are we going?" you asked.

"aarav, niran, and ria's place,"

"if we take their initials, it makes ran. like, ria, aarav, niran. r - a - n. ran. so we're going to ran's place," you joked.

lando didn't laugh.

"you're supposed to laugh!" you smacked his arm.

"it was a terrible joke!" lando exclaimed.

"i laugh at your jokes! do the same for me!"

"i don't have bad jokes!"

"you have so many bad jokes, lan! now, laugh at mine!" you insisted.

"oh, i'm sorry, let me just-" lando started before he let out a loud, obnoxious, very fake laugh, which only made you laugh harder.

eventually, when lando parked in the garage, you asked, "can i remove this yet?"

"nope! we're not there yet,"

lando stepped out of the car, and then helped you out. he insisted on picking you up again because there were going to be stairs. you refused, and he laughed at you. in turn, you yelled (laughed) at him for laughing at you struggling.

once the two of you were at the terrace, lando made sure everyone and everything was set, before he removed the tie from over your eyes.

adjusting to the light, you saw niran, aarav, ria, ethan, and steve standing with kites and firkis in their hands. realisation dawned on you.

"oh my god," you whispered. "what's happening?"

lando's hands held your waist, as he bit his lips and watched your reaction.

"do you like it? are you excited?"

"are we going to fly kites?" you asked.

lando nodded, "yeah!"

you frowned then, turning to him, "but i don't know how to fly a kite,"

"that's why, all of us learned to do it, and now we're going to teach you,"

your eyes filled with tears, before you turned around and hugged your boyfriend. "thank you," you whispered.

lando pressed a kiss on your cheek, before you turned around and jumped towards the group, where ria jumped with you as well.

the next four hours were spent with the group teaching you how to fly a kite. lando, max and aarav taught you how to properly fly the kites, and the rest of them taught you how to tie the string and wrap the strings on the spin wheel, and when to hold it lose and everything that you had seen your family had done when you were younger but never had the opportunity to do so yourself.

you laughed and screamed and jumped, and so did they. everyone took pictures, and there was music playing in the background, and you and ria danced with beer bottles in your hands.

and when you cut your fingers from the string, you excitedly showed them to lando, who tried to match your energy, really he did, but your fingers were bleeding a little. he did wrap your fingers in bandaids and pressed kisses.

later, when the group had torn some and flew most, all of you sat on the terrace together, showing pictures, and recalling stories from the day and the week that they had spent learning how to do it properly.

you leaned against lando while the others laughed. "thank you for doing this,"

"did you have fun?"

you nodded.

"i'm glad. now you know how to fly kites! you can go back home and show off to your family just how talented your kite flying skills are,"

you laughed, but you kissed him, thanking him again.

"i love you, lando norris," you whispered against his lips.

"hmm, i love you too," he kissed you one last time, before the two of you joined the group's discussion again.

✩♬₊˚.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

happy makar sankranti! fun fact: i learned how to fly a kite today! i hope you like it! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry

[scp035sdiscordkitten]

In the SCP sedition tapes, 049 talks about an ex-apprentice Jolanda. I never really thought about her until a couple months ago, and now I'm OBSESSED WITH HER. I've written so much lore about her in my AU of the sedition tapes when all I've had to go off her was 3 minutes of 049 speaking about her. And now, since I am attached to her, I ask of you to please take 049 being a Father lore. This post specifically is about her childhood and centers around her relationship with 049. Her adulthood will have it's own separate post, and is also more heavily influenced by 035. 0-6 Years: The only child to an immigrant couple in Europe. Her childhood is fuzzy, but fine. Sickly, impoverished, and dirty, but fine. The town she lived in was large, so it was a prime target when war broke out. Her village was attacked. Everyone but her died, whether it was by murder, burning to death in the fires, or smoke inhalation, they were dead. 049 had been following closely behind the attacking armies to ensure 035 wouldn't track him down, as 035 was stalking 049 through Europe at this time, and after every raid there would also be fresh bodies to experiment on. 049 found Jolanda in the remnants of her families home. She was uninjured, but absolutely distraught mentally. 049, out of pity, took her under his wing as his apprentice 6-12 Years: Jolanda bonded to him like a duckling. She was always at his side and looked up to him. 049 was hesitant at first, only caring for her out of necessity. But the more he taught her, the more genuine love he felt for her. She was a child prodigy, and took to the craft of medicine and the pestilence as if it was in her nature. His mentor role soon turned fatherly, even though he never wanted to and never knew how to be one. For the sake of Jolanda, he learned. They travelled side by side, 049 teaching her how to spot and cure the pestilence, but also how to go about life. She considered him her father, and she his daughter, though it was always unspoken. They referred to each other by name, they didn't have to say it to know. In these years, 049 also warned her about 035, showing her drawings and telling her tales about the shit he's caused. He knew 035 would be back at any moment, and Jolanda would be his first target if he found her.

12-16 Years: Around this time, Jolanda began to develop survivors guilt for the attack on her home. She couldn't remember her family as vividly as she used to and she felt horrible, especially with how quickly she got over her fathers death and clung to 049. She confided in 049 about this, and he'd comfort her, but also feel bad. Like there was something more he could have done to save her father or that he shouldn't have stepped into that role in the first place. This put distance between them for a bit, having shame on both sides, but they were able to recover after so many talks and time away from the medical table spent together. 16-18 Years: Smooth sailing, best father daughter duo you've ever seen!! 18-21 Years: Jolanda had begun to expand her circle. Making friends, falling in love, all that fun stuff. 049 however believed she had grown uninterested in curing the Pestilence. That she would, as all his other apprentices had, go on to cure broken bones and sore throats. He told her about his growing disappointment that she wasn't spending more time studying the pestilence, which caused her to sneak out and be more curt with him. She felt unwanted and disheartened. She still believed in the pestilence and wanted to cure it, but 049 didn't seem to see that, did he. 049s old delusions were coming back to him, even though 035 had lost his track long ago. He would see 035 in the corner of his eye, or hear those whispers when he was totally alone. He and Jolanda had to keep travelling, but she didn't want to, she had now formed a community. Resentment built and built between the two of them, even though 049 tried to fix it, and it all came crashing down when 049 kidnapped the pestilence infested boyfriend of Jolanda's lady crush, tied him up, and pressured Jolanda into curing him. Jolanda jumped in to defend the guy, putting herself between 049 and him. 049s delusions came back harder than ever, and it was a blur after that, but when he came to his senses, Jolanda was half dead. He had cured her, basically killing her in the process. Out of shock, horror, and shame, he cast her into the snow and left her for dead, immediately returning to his endless run through Europe to cure the pestilence. Nothing could wash off the guilt he now bore, and it drove him even further into insanity. After being cast into the snow and abandoned, Jolanda should've died. But she didn't. Her conscious was still intact, even after having the cure inflicted on her. Half of her body was beginning to rot, and she had intense urges to find and kill anything that moved, like every other carcass 049 cured felt. But Jolanda kept it within, and she turned that urge into the need for revenge. Ty for reading I hope my yapping was enjoyed 🫶🫶🫶like I said, her adulthood will get its own post, but lord knows when that'll be.

[rafes-juno]

My Brother's Best Friends; Slim Pickins

Pairing: Brother's Best Friend! Rafe x Brat! Female Oc

Summary: What happens when Rafe returns from college and turns Isla's life upside down? Will Isla be able to handle her brother's best friends? Are Rafe and Isla overcoming their rivalry this summer, or are their feelings brewing ready to explode? Secrets will come out testing Isla and her brother's relationship.

Contains: Enemies to Lovers, Brother's Best Friend, Harsh Language, Sexual Content, Drinking, Harassment, Mentions Of Blood. (18+ ,minors do not interact!)

WC: 3.905

Previous Chapter: 1

“So… you never kissed?” Rosie asks as she sips her drink, her eyes drifting between me and our best friend, Sunny.

I shake my head, just as disappointed as them. “No. Rafe came in and ruined it all, too. He talked about how I needed to stay away from Alex and said he was just looking out for me. " My eyes roll as I sip on my straw, watching the girls share a knowing glance.

Rosie and Sunny have been my best friends since elementary school. I don’t think there’s been a full day in my life where I haven’t seen at least one of them. We’re inseparable.

“Maybe we need to ask the cards?” Rosie suggests as Sunny digs through her bag to find her tarot deck.

When she drops the deck onto the table, I slump back. “Guys, I don’t want to do it if the cards are going to tell me something I don’t want to know.”

Truthfully, I think I’ve started to develop a crush on Alex. He’s been here a day, and I already can’t stop thinking about him like I’m a teenager again. Rafe’s words keep swirling around in my head, though. I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes and ruin any friendships– but at the same time, Theo and Alex don’t seem that close.

“Maybe they’ll confirm that he wants you–”

I laugh, reaching for my drink. “I don’t need the cards to confirm that.”

Sunny starts to shuffle the deck, and I sit up straight, watching how quickly her hands move. Cards fly out of the deck and land on the table; some even land on the ground, but Rosie quickly picks them up and hands them back to the witch. Sunny hums and turns over the cards, her eyes full of mischief.

I notice the time on my phone and sigh, “I only have five minutes before Rafe is coming to pick me up–”

“Oh, Rafe, again?” Rosie teases, her eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Rafe again,” I mumble. “We’re shopping to pick up some stuff for Theo’s birthday party tonight. Only me and him seem to give a shit. I don’t see you two offering–”

Sunny cuts me off, “Okay, so you have the fool card first. New beginnings– a new chapter in your life.”

I smirk, “Does the new chapter begin with an ‘A’ and end in ‘lex’?”

Sunny ignores my words and stares back down at the cards. “Death card. Is Alex a Scorpio?”

I shrug, “No. I don’t think so. I don’t know. I don’t think I know any Scorpio’s either.”

Sunny hums as she taps her long nails against the card. “Okay, so, a transformation of some kind. It could be during Scorpio season… or maybe he is a Scorpio.”

I open my mouth to reply, but she cuts me off and moves on to the next card. “The lovers. Self-explanatory.”

When we were fourteen, we entered a new store on the island. They sold all kinds of things, one of them being tarot cards. Sunny bought them and taught herself how to read them. Ever since we’ve relied on the cards for advice and guidance. Only recently has she started reading astrology, too. I rely on her to tell me when to invest in something new is a bad time. I swear, it feels like there's always something in retrograde or whatever.

“These are good cards,” Rosie comments. “Sounds like things could happen between you and Alex.”

Sunny pulls back her bottom lip, her head tilted. “Well– yeah. Maybe. I have a feeling it isn’t Alex, though.”

I laugh, lifting my drink to my mouth. “Well, who else could it be?”

Sunny shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll see, I guess.”

She taps her finger against the next card. “Two of cups. Partnerships, relationships. Someone is coming in. I don’t know who, though. We need to find out Alex’s star sign.”

“I’ll ask at the party,” I say, sliding my chair out from the table and grabbing my phone. My screen lights up, and I see Rafe's missed texts telling me to hurry up and that I’m late. When I glance over my shoulder, I can see his car in the parking lot and his pissed-off face glaring through the open window.

We all watch as he opens his car door and climbs out. He rounds the car and crosses his arms, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Wow, has he been working out?” Rosie asks, her straw hanging loose in her mouth as she leans back in her seat.

I shrug, taking my time to grab all of my stuff as I keep my eyes on his. “I think so.”

It’s evident that he has been because of his black shirt. The material is clinging to his arms, chest, and toned stomach, and with the sweat dotted across his forehead, it looks as though he’s just got back from the gym.

“Hurry up, Isla! I don’t have all fucking day!” he yells over at me as I sling my bag over my shoulder.

“Calm down, Rafe. It’s not that serious.” I roll my eyes and turn to the girls, “I’ve never seen someone so eager to pick up a birthday cake.”

“I can hear you,” he says, opening the passenger side door as I wave goodbye to the girls and hop down the steps to the parking lot. I walk over to him with a cheesy grin.

I climb into his car, watching him slam my door shut with a low grunt. He walks around to the driver's side and clambers in, slamming his door as loud as he did mine. He merely glances in my direction as I pull the seatbelt over my body and click it into place.

He pulls out of the parking lot quickly, making me fall forward before falling back into my seat harshly. “Shit, Rafe. What’s the rush?”

“I have shit to do. Not that you’d give a fuck anyway, you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

I scoff, my eyes widening as I stare over at him. “What’s your problem?”

“It’s too hot, and I don’t want to go to the store and–”

“Maybe you wouldn’t feel so hot if you weren’t wearing all black. It’s like a million degrees outside.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Isla.”

“Don’t be a dick, Rafe,” I bite back with a smile on my lips. “Let’s just go to the store, and then you can drop me off at home.”

“Home?” he asks. “I thought you were helping me put up all the party stuff on the druthers?”

I sigh, throwing my arms down to my sides in defeat. “Fine! If you want to hang out with me that bad, all you have to do is ask, Rafe.”

He doesn’t say a word; he keeps his eyes on the road, and his jaw clenches. I settle into my seat with a satisfied smile, knowing I won this time.

He never used to be so mean and hostile toward me. I’ll never understand what changed.

He used to be kind. He would talk to me with respect.

I don’t think he’ll ever tell me what changed. I don’t think I want to know, either. If he hates me, then so be it. I’m not here to have a friendship with him, and I certainly don’t want any validation from him.

If he’s happy for us to act like this, fine.

I couldn't care less.

“Oh my god, Rafe! Look!” I exclaimed, pulling a string of fairy lights with plastic strawberries from the self. “Strawberry lights!”

He snatches the box from me and stares at the picture on the front. “I don’t get it.”

I snatch them back and throw them into the shopping cart, “They’re just cute.”

“They’re a waste of money. That’s what they are.”

I grab another three and throw them into the cart with a thud. “Fine, I’ll buy them with my money.”

He pushes the cart slowly up the aisle with his veiny forearms resting on the handlebars. His shoulders are slumped, and I can tell he’s bored out of his mind, so I plan to spend as much time here as possible.

“Do you think we need party hats?” I ask, picking up a plastic box full of them. “I think we do.” he looks at me from the side, his eyes rolling.

“No, we don’t. There are just a couple of us on the boat. All we need is cake, balloons, and two banners,” he says, taking the box from my hands and throwing it back onto the shelf.

I cross my arms in defiance before reaching for the same box and throwing it into the cart. “You aren’t the only one using your daddy’s money today, Rafe. He paid me a hundred dollars just for tutoring your sister for an hour yesterday. We’re getting the hats.”

I spot a pack of party whistles and pick them up with a grin, “Oh, and these. We definitely need these.”

He sighs, standing up straight as he rolls his broad shoulders back. “Whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

I throw the whistles in and eye the fully stocked shelves for something that would really piss him off. I thought the whistles would send him over the edge, but apparently not. Although, I can’t imagine him using the whistle at the party.

His attitude is starting to piss me off. I understand he doesn’t want to be here; he only told me that four times on the way here. I knew I should’ve asked Alex to tag along. At least then, I’d have someone fun to talk to.

I watch him pull his phone out from his black shorts, and his fingers scroll on the screen for a few seconds before he clears his throat. “Okay, so we need–”

“Can we get these feather boas?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Rafe!” I sing, pulling the hot pink boa from the rack. “It’s fluffy.” I step toward him and drape it around his neck.

He tries to pull it off, but I hold my hand, keeping the material in place. “Wow, pink is your color. It brings out your eyes.”

“Oh, yeah?” he steps closer to me, pulling a yellow-colored boa from the rack. He drapes it around my neck and flicks up the side so it’s danging over my eyes, obscuring my vision. “This compliments your outfit.” For the first time today, there’s a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he reaches onto the shelf and hands me a pair of oversized sunflower glasses. “These will complete the ensemble.”

I hum, pushing the glasses onto my face. “Wow, is that a smile I can see, Rafe? Are you finally having fun?”

He scoffs, throwing his feather boa into the cart as his faint smile fades. “No.”

“Liar,” I sing, using the end of my feather boa to tickle his sun-kissed face. “You’re having so much fun with me.” He swats my hand and the feather away with a low growl.

I notice the pink pinata on the top shelf, shaped like a unicorn, and my eyes light up like a kid at a candy store. “Okay, we have to get that.” I tap Rafe’s shoulder and motion to the thing I need most. “Pick me up, I wanna grab it,”

“Pick you up?” his eyebrows are furrowed, and his forehead creased.

I nod, “You won’t be able to reach the one at the very back that’s probably in the best condition. Pick me up so I can grab it.”

He sighs, moving the cart out of the way as I stand before him. He hesitates briefly before grasping the curve of my waist with his big hands, causing my already-cropped t-shirt to rise. I feel the warmth of his touch bleed through my skin as he lifts me effortlessly.

He really has been working out.

“I can’t see,” I complain. “I need to get up higher!”

He groans in annoyance and hoists me onto his broad shoulder, holding me up there as I peer over the shelf to the pinata at the back, the most perfect unicorn calling my name. I feel one of his hands settle onto my thigh while the other grips my waist tighter, being sure I don’t fall as I reach across to grab my newest prized possession– which will be smashed to pieces by the end of the night.

“Got it,” I tell him as he pulls me back. I look at him with a smile as he carefully lowers me back to the ground, his hands still on my waist. “You're so helpful,” I coo, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek.

Just as I pull my lips back with a smile plastered on my face, an elderly lady passes by us, her head tilted as she smiles at us. “Oh, aren’t you two just so sweet.”

The look on Rafe’s face says it all as he steps away from me, his head shaking. Before he can say anything, I slip my arm through his and smile at the lady. “Oh, thank you so much,” I look up at Rafe and drape the end of my feathered boa around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

“We’re just buying party supplies for our… son.”

The lady’s eyes widen, “Son? You two look awfully young–”

I grip my fingers around his upper arm, feeling his muscles tense under the fabric of his shirt as I rest my head on his chest. “I know, but age doesn’t matter when you’re in love. Isn’t that right, Rafey?” I look up at him, flashing a knowing look as he glimpses down at me.

He eventually lifts his gaze back to the lady and forces a smile. “That’s right.”

The lady presses her hand to her heart and pouts. “How sweet. You remind me of my husband and I when we were kids.” she takes a moment, releasing a deep sigh before facing us again, her smile gentle. “I hope your son–”

“Tiger,” I tell her the name of our imaginary son with a sheepish grin. “Well, his name is Prince Tiger, but we usually just call him Tiger.”

Rafe nods, pulling me closer to his side as he lifts his arm and wraps it around me, pulling me into him. I try to ignore the fact that I can feel his strong arms tightening around me and the fact that his cologne is intoxicating.

“Oh, that’s a… lovely name,” the lady says, clearly uncomfortable now.

Rafe’s lips curve into a half-smile. “Thanks. It’s just a shame that I recently found out I'm not his biological father,” he looks at me with a challenge in his eyes. “Turns out my girlfriend likes to fuck other guys behind my back.”

The lady is pale now, her eyebrows raised and her mouth open. I’m mirroring her expression as I turn to face her once more. I clear my throat as I rush to find something to say to make Rafe seem like the bad guy.

I know it's over when my mind goes blank, and the lady scurries off down the aisle with her cart full of supplies, her feet moving faster than the cart.

I untangle myself from Rafe’s arm and shake my head. “You’re evil! You scared that woman away!”

He shrugs, grabbing the cart again, “I think you scared her away when you told her our imaginary son was named Prince Tiger.”

“Would you have rathered him be named after his daddy?”

Rafe turns the corner and the wheels of the cart screech against the hard ground. “I’m not his Dad, remember.”

“I hope you’re happy with yourself, Rafe.”

He smiles at me, the first genuine smile I’ve seen in months. “I’m happy, thank you.”

I follow him around the store for the rest of the shopping trip before we go to the register to pay. Even when I try to pull out my phone to pay for the items, Rafe beats me to it and puts it all on his card. I scoff, “I thought all this was a waste of money.”

He ignores me and hands me the heaviest bag with a smile. “This is all the stuff you picked up. I hope it isn’t too heavy for you,” he flashes the cashier a smile before picking up the cake and a few lighter bags. “Come on, we gotta start decorating.”

I sigh, feeling the bag's weight pull me down as I follow behind him, my fingers aching and my arms falling weak. It’s too hot outside to be carrying a bag as heavy as this.

“It’s heavy,” I complain as we walk through the parking lot toward his car.

“Not my problem,” he replies, walking faster.

I groan, my head falling back as I pick up my pace to catch up with him. When I reach him and the car, my arms feel like jello. I drop the bag to the ground and let out a heavy sigh as I watch Rafe load the bags into the car.

I reach down, searching the top of the bag for the water bottle Rafe so generously bought me. As I bend over, I hear a car honk behind me, startling me to stand straight again. I turn around, watching a guy I don’t recognize wolf-whistle at me. There’s a cigarette hanging from his lips. He laughs, “Give me a twirl, sweetheart.” There’s a sleazy smile on his lips when he says, “Want me to give you a ride?”

I ignore him, turning my back to him and his truck as Rafe lifts his head from the trunk of the car, his eyes darting between me and the truck.

“Fucking bitch,” the guy calls from the truck, throwing the remainder of his cigarette in my direction.

I turn to face the truck again, ready to tell him what I think, but as I do, I see Rafe storming with his fists at his sides. I watch wide eyes as Rafe grabs the guy from inside the car by his collar, pulling him from his seat. “What did you call her?”

I release a breath, my stomach churning from anticipation. “Jesus, Rafe–”

“Say it to me. Say it to my fucking face,” Rafe urges the guy, who’s now a sickly pale color. His mouth moves, but no words come out when Rafe aggressively throws him back into his seat. “Call me a bitch, do it.”

“I didn’t realize she was your girl, man. I’m sorry–”

Rafe takes a step back from the guy's truck, and I think it’s all over when he walks back to me. “Rafe–” he cuts me off by reaching into his vehicle and grabbing one of his golf clubs. My eyes are bulging at this point, and there isn’t a thing I can do to stop him because before I can fathom what’s happening, he’s knocking the guy’s brake lights out with the club.

“What the fuck!” the guy yells as Rafe rounds the front of the car, knocking off the side mirrors. There’s glass everywhere, and I notice how shards hit Rafe’s bare legs, grazing his skin.

People are watching with wide eyes, and the elderly lady from early is on the verge of a heart attack as she watches Rafe wreck the guy’s car.

Rafe walks around to the guy’s open window and points the club at him with his head tilted. “If you fucking look at her again, I’ll do a lot worse, alright.”

The guy nods profusely as Rafe pulls the club out and gives the car door one harsh hit, denting the metal with the club. Rafe walks away, his hands white around the club as he approaches me. “Get in the car.”

I do as I’m told and climb into my seat, my hands shaking as he throws the club into the trunk and climbs in after me, barely giving me a chance to put my seatbelt on as he vaults out of the parking lot.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, his crazed eyes darting between me and the road ahead of us as he picks up the speed.

“I’m fine,” my voice is shaky as I buckle into my seat and lean back, resting my head on the headrest. “Are you okay?” I ask him, noticing the blood dripping from his knee. “You’re bleeding.”

He nods, but his fingers are pale white, and he grips the steering wheel. “I’m fine. We just need to get to the druthers and set up. That’s all. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“Are we going to get arrested?” I ask, gulping harshly. “My dad will kill me–”

Rafe faces me, his hands shaking as sweat builds on his forehead. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“But–”

“Nothing will happen. It’s fine. I’ll figure this out. That guy–” he points to the store that’s probably miles behind us now, “All of that was his fault. He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

I exhale a shaky breath, nodding in agreement. “I agree, but that was extreme, Rafe.”

He laughs manically, his head falling back against his seat. “It could have been worse.”

“Could it?!” I exclaim. “You nearly blinded him with the glass shards!”

Rafe glances over to me, a smile on his face as he laughs harder. “Okay, well, at least our son– Tiger, wasn’t in the car. The therapy would be crazy expensive.”

“Are you serious right now?” I hide my laugh by facing the half-opened window, feeling the cool airflow through the car.

I feel the sudden warmth of his hand meet my exposed thigh, and it’s like a bolt of electricity runs through me. I turn to face him, and the feeling runs straight to my heart, suffocating me as it takes all the air from my lungs. His eyes are on mine when I feel his fingers tighten on my skin, “It’ll be okay.”

There’s a quiet moment between us where nothing needs to be said. His palm is still on my leg, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was warming up to me again. Of course, when I think about it, his phone rings, and Theo’s name pops up on the car screen. It’s a searing reminder of what we’re actually doing here and why we’re working together. We’re not here to be friends. We’re here to set up for my brother’s birthday. His best friend’s birthday.

Rafe pulls away from me quickly and hits the answer button as Theo’s booming voice sounds through the car’s speakers. “Hey, man. Where are you?”

“Uh, I’m just– out.”

“Out? Where? Are you with Sofia?”

Ah.

Rafe shakes his head as if Theo can see him before replying, “Uh, no,” he clears his throat and shifts in his seat as I sink into mine, wishing for this car journey to be over so I can go home and get ready for the night. To see Alex.

Rafe changes the subject, “Are you still coming tonight? On the boat?”

“Yeah. Can I invite some people?” I know my brother well enough to know ‘some people’ actually means a dozen.

Rafe nods, “Sure. Just not too many, alright?”

I can hear the smirk in Theo’s voice when he answers, “Alright.”

🪽 Chapter Two of Brother's Best Friends as promised! Like, Comment & Reblogs are highly appreciated !!

🪽 Author: Matilda , Theme: Evelyn

🪽 Credits for dividers ( here & here )

[yinemw]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞

context: asking sebastian what exactly the two of you are, leading to detention and answers to your question (gender neutral reader)

warnings: none

character: Sebastian Sallow from Hogwarts Legacy

m.list

Sneaking around Hogwarts wasn’t new to you, often did you wander around the halls and plenty of secret rooms the school held. It had almost become a talent of yours, and your dear friend Sebastian’s. Not getting caught by teachers or prefects as the two of you were out of bed late at night. You didn’t always have a purpose for it, not like you needed to visit the library at 1am, it was the adrenaline, and of course the very boy who had influenced you to be so rebellious in the first place.

Sebastian Sallow, although you called him Seb. He taught you various things, a few spells he found interesting, how to sneak around the school, how to get better with potions, how to kiss. It wasn’t like it was planned, your confusing relationship with the boy, it kind of just happened.

Not sure if the feelings were real or caused by the adrenaline, it had all happened so fast that one day when the two of you snuck to the astronomy tower. Sebastian pulling you close and kissing you as the cold breeze of the night chilled your burning bodies. The rest was a blur, but that wasn’t the last time an incident like that had happened. Though you did wonder why Sebastian only touched and kissed you whenever the two of you snuck around during late at night.

Tonight was no different. Sebastian’s hand held yours as he pulled you behind a bookshelf in the restricted section of the library. The disillusionment charm fading away, you could see just how close Sebastian was now. His body pressing against yours, chest to chest, pushing you against the bookshelf. “Seb” you breathe, looking up into his eyes, his damn eyes. “I was actually meaning to ask you something—” the words die in your throat, his lips on your neck catching you off guard. It always went like this, you never got any answers from the boy, too addicted to his lips, his body, his scent, to him. “Seb please, let me just…ask you something, we need to talk”

He groaned, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. “Talk? Is that really how you want to be spending your time here?” He sounded almost offended, one of his hands had already snuck underneath your shirt, and you could feel the way he squeezed your waist.

“Well, no—”

“Great” he wasted no time, grabbing your chin with his other hand and kissing your lips. You couldn’t resist, like usual, kissing him back. Feeling his soft lips against your own as his tongue quickly entered your mouth, the kiss turning into something much more passionate in seconds.

It took much willpower, but you end up pulling away from the kiss, hands on his shoulders to prevent him from catching you off guard once again. “Dude, seriously”

He smirked at that, finding your way of addressing him amusing. “Dude? Alright darling, what is it you want to tell me?”

“Well, it’s more of a question” you swallow hard, suddenly nervous now that he was actually listening and paying attention. And with his stupid smirk it only made it harder to concentrate. “You started this, the kissing, hooking up and sneaking around. I guess I just…want a label on us”

His smirk fell, a more serious expression replaced on his face. “A label? That is what’s so great about us, about this, we have no label. Do we need one?”

“We don’t need one, but I want one” you explain, hands moving from his shoulders to his neck. Your fingers tangling into the hair by the nape of his neck, pulling him a little closer when you see the change in his demeanor. “Is this just casual hooking up? Friends with benefits? Or do you want something more with me? Because as much as I absolutely love sneaking around with you and doing this, I can’t continue it without knowing what we are”

“…Y/n”

Judging by the tone of his voice, you knew you wouldn’t get the answer you wanted. It was ridiculous, thinking Sebastian Sallow would date you, he didn’t date. Everyone knew this, so why would you be an exception. “Right…gotcha”

A slight panic crosses his face when he feels you start to pull away, tightening his embrace around you to prevent you from leaving. “This doesn’t have to end”

“And what exactly is ‘this’?”

Sebastian stayed quiet, looking between your eyes to try and come up with an excuse, to say anything to please you. But his mouth remained shut and his arms loosened around you. “So this is it? No more hooking up? No more sneaking around? We go back to friends?” Question after question left his lips, he started to realize just what he was losing.

“Were we ever even friends, Sallow?”

Sallow. Hearing you call him by his last name was like a slap to the face. How did he manage to mess up so bad so fast, only a few minutes ago he had you pinned against the bookshelf, kissing you, touching you.

Sebastian doesn’t answer, swallowing hard as he thinks over everything. But his train of thought was quickly interrupted when you hear the all too familiar voice of Peeves.

“Students! In the restricted section!!”

☆

That’s how you and Sebastian ended up in detention the next day, it wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but safe to say it was the most uncomfortable one by far.

The two of you were tasked to reorganize jars and the countless of ingredients in the potions classroom. No magic allowed, everything had to be done by hand.

Sebastian groans loudly, stretching his arms in the air, feeling the ache in his back after having been hunched over for so long. “Is this how the muggles clean?” He mumbles to himself, though steals a glance your way. You hadn’t talked to him the whole day, sitting with Poppy during class instead of him. You even talked with Ominis, but not him. And he missed it, your presence, your jokes, just hearing your voice.

“I think I’m gonna throw up”

An amused smile appears on his lips, he hadn’t expected that to be the first thing you said to him today, but he’ll take it. “What?” And then it hit him, the smell. He made his way to you, looking over your shoulder to see the open jar on the table in front of you. It smelled like death itself, and looked like a slimy black substance.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Sebastian gags, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist and pulling you away from the table. Taking several steps backwards until his back hits one of the potion tables.

You cough a few times, covering your nose and mouth with your hand. “I don’t even know how to pronounce it, but we’re supposed transfer into a bigger jar” you explain, handing him the note that Professor Sharp had given you, explaining in detail what you and Sebastian had to do for your detention.

“Why?! It looks completely fine in that jar” he gags again, burying his face into your neck. “Mmm you smell nice, much better”

“Seb!” You can’t help but laugh, pushing him off. “If I have to suffer, so do you!”

Seb. That was a name he was used to, always sounded so sweet and perfect when you spoke it. For a second he completely forgot about your little ‘disagreement’ yesterday. It was as if things went back to normal.

“You’re transferring it”

“Me?! I will actually throw up”

“You’re so dramatic” rolling your eyes and lifting your shirt over your nose, you walk back over to the table. Placing the bigger jar beside the one with the slime in it. “At least help me”

He follows you, dragging his shirt over his nose as well as he reluctantly walks over to you. The shirt doing little to cover up the bad smell.

“Now pour the slime into the bigger jar”

“You need help with that?! You can do it alone!”

“I’ll hold the jar, you pour!”

“Hold the jar?! It’s already on the table why do you need to hold it?!”

“Sebastian Sallow, do as you’re told!”

He groans loudly, wanting you to see just how upset he was, yet he still listened to you. Whatever it took to get the smell away as fast as possible. Sebastian lifts the smaller jar and starts to pour the slimy substance into the bigger one, gagging as he watches the thick consistency drip over the rim.

“Ew why is it bubbling” you take a step back, watching how small bubbles start to pop from the surface of the slime when moved, as if it was expanding when moved to the bigger space.

“Bubbling?!”

As the last of the slime was in the new jar, you quickly shut it and place it at the back of the shelf. Sebastian was gagging again, and you could see the beads of sweat trailing down his forehead. “You are so extra”

He glares, lifting his finger at you to say something, but his expression quickly turns into disgust. “It’s on my hand!” He yells, shaking his in panic. “It’s on my hand!! Help!”

Laughing first, you quickly find paper and grab his wrist, cleaning his fingers. “You’re a toddler, I swear. It amazes me how you’re two completely different people sometimes”

He lets out a relived breath when his hands were clean of the substance, but he can’t help but think over your words. “What do you mean, two different people?”

“Oh uhm” suddenly you were back to the awkwardness between the two of you, no more laughing or joking around. “Doesn’t matter” you say quickly, picking up the notes from Professor Sharp and starting to sort out the other things he had written down.

Sebastian followed after you, placing his hands on the table as he stood behind you. Trapping you between the table and him. “You know I won’t let it go”

You did know, perhaps you knew him too well. Having spent so much time with him outside of class. It wasn’t only hooking up you and Sebastian did when you snuck out, you often just talked about everything and anything. At this point you might know Sebastian even better than Ominis. “It doesn’t matter anymore since, well, we stopped our arrangement or whatever…but I just always found it interesting how you could be so funny and dramatic one minute, and then so intense and intimate the next moment… but that doesn’t matter now. It’s nothing really, just, something I found…funny” you close your eyes, mentally cursing yourself for the way you babble. Not knowing Sebastian found it adoring.

“Turn around”

“No…” you mumble, clutching the notes in your hand. Sebastian’s chest was now pressed against your back, but not in a sensual way, rather in a softer and vulnerable way. His forehead resting at the back of your head, breathing in your shampoo.

“Please”

Who were you to say no to him when he sounded so pleading and soft, it was Sebastian Sallow after all, the boy who had you wrapped around his finger without even knowing it. As you turn around to face him, you regret it immediately. His puppy eyes looking into yours, face so close.

“I’m sorry, for yesterday” his voice was gentle, almost a whisper, a sign that he was being genuine. “I was up all night, thinking about it over and over again. I should have spoken up, should have said how I really feel instead of staying quiet and making you think I don’t want something more”

You stay silent, listening intently to his words, letting him speak his mind. Heart racing in your chest, was this finally the confession you had been waiting for?

“You’ve been a distraction in my life- a good one. I needed someone who I could just, ‘be’ with. To just exist with you. It took my mind off of Anne…and just everything going on in my life. It was so easy, to just be with you. When you asked me what we are, to label it, I panicked”

Your gaze softens, hand going up to cup his soft freckles cheek. Realizing that behind all those walls Sebastian had built, was still just a boy trying to save his sister. “I didn’t realize you felt like that…why did you panic?”

He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours. “Because if we start dating, and I mess it up, I would lose you. Turns out I messed up anyways…” he mumbles into your palm, placing a tender kiss to it.

“Seb” a soft giggle passes your lips and you lean forwards. Pressing your forehead to his and pulling him closer. His arms instinctively wrapping around your frame and squeezing you into his embrace. “You didn’t mess up Sebby, it was just a…let’s call it a bump, okay? And we can start fresh now, especially since I know now that you feel the same”

He hums, breathing in your scent. The feeling of your warm body pressed against his felt so right to him. Like two puzzle pieces fitting together. Unfortunately the moment didn’t last long, you both hear the door to the classroom open, knowing it was Professor Sharp coming to check how far you’ve come with the tasks.

You quickly pull away from one another, finding the closest jar or box and pretending to sort it somewhere else.

Thankfully the professor only did a quick scan of the shelves before going into his office, leaving you and Sebastian alone once again.

“Merlins beard, is there nowhere at this school we can have a moment alone?” Sebastian whispers annoyed, though he couldn’t suppress his smile when he heard you laugh.

“Keep working Seb, the faster we get done with the tasks, the faster we can go and have dinner”

“Okay babe”

“Babe?” You ask wide eyed, looking down at Sebastian crouching by the bottom shelf. He looked back up at you with his damn puppy eyes, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, are we not dating now?”

“I uhm, yeah, whatever, I guess. Shut up!”

“You’re blushing!”

“Am not!”

“You so are!”

“Shut up before I open the jar with black slime again!”

“Anything but that!”

[sillycowboys]

Tech’s Happy Ending

Tech deserved to be more than just a soldier. He could’ve been so much more. He had so much potential for a good life, all that was taken from him—and far too early. He probably would’ve ended up settling down on Pabu….with his brothers, sister, and Phee. Maybe they’d have a child and Omega would get to be an aunt. Tech would’ve been scared about being a dad, afraid that he’d have too much trouble with emotional aspect of parenting. But Omega would comfort him, reminding him of their conversation in the cave all those years ago. He’d be a great father, just as he was a great brother to Omega. He’d probably get a job somewhere where his talents could reach their full potential. He could use his intelligence for something other than war or survival. Over time he would learn to let go, floating in the sea and lying on the sand. He would teach the kids on the island all about algorithms, flying starships, and speaking other languages. Maybe he’d even open up a school on Pabu, dedicating his days to raising a generation smart enough to survive on their own and use their knowledge for good. He’d spend his nights sipping wine with Phee and reminiscing on their old days as cadets with his brothers. One day Omega, or maybe his child, would ask him about the war. He’d tighten up at first, telling them about the old strategies they used. But eventually, he’d think back to the cave and he’d breathe a bit. He’d tell them how hard it was to feel like you’re always on the edge of death, especially while his brain was constantly calculating the odds of their survival. When things got tough he’d look to his brothers, thinking that nothing else really mattered as long as they were together. Somehow, they always got through it—but never alone. He remembered when Omega first joined them he couldn’t really understand why. What were the logistical advantages to bringing along a child as they run from the empire? But he soon realized that Omega was special, different like them. And protecting her was worth all the negative odds he could calculate. He was thankful for her presence when they lost Crosshair, but he always wished they could all be together again. He wanted to see Crosshair teach her how to shoot, like he himself taught her how to pilot. He didn’t agree with Crosshair when he stayed with the empire, but he just couldn’t rack his brain for any logistical advantage to making him his enemy. He knew, without a doubt in the world, that the Bad Batch worked best all together. He thought Echo was the final piece to complete their little puzzle, but once Omega came along he realized it was her that made them complete. When they finally got Crosshair back, he felt like he could rest. He loved having all his family in one place. The odds were much better that way.