#cicada's last song | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astrcmoni · 9 days ago

Text

⭒✮⭒ good kisser ⭒✮⭒

MASTERLIST

synopsis: what starts as a simple trip to visit her family in georgia takes an unexpected turn when billie crosses paths with you—a mystery she can’t unravel, a pull she can’t ignore, and a connection that feels as inevitable as it is dangerous.

genre: angst, fluff, suggestive smut

pairing: cowgirl!fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 14.1k

warnings: cowgirl!au, cussing, brief mentions of death, various confrontations, mentions of a gun, annoying ass ex, unwanted attention from a man, making out. thats it i think.

authors note: pay close attention to figure out what’s going on. this was inspired by the movie holes as well as the song good kisser by usher. let me know if you guys want the lore behind this fic. also ignore the spacing i had to make the words fit somehow😭

the truck rumbles over the uneven dirt road, the hum of the tires blending with the cicadas’ song. the late afternoon heat seeps through the windows, thick and cloying, settling into the fabric of the seats. billie is slouched in the back, limbs heavy, exhaustion pressing into her bones. her earbuds do little to drown out the tangled sounds of her family—laughter, chatter, the occasional clang of something shifting in the trunk. she prays it’s not her luggage getting battered against the walls.

her uncle’s deep voice rises and falls, weaving through the warm drawls of her cousins as they catch her up on the latest gossip from a town she barely remembers. he grips the wheel with one hand, the other draped lazily over the doorframe, fingers tapping against the sun-warmed metal. wisps of blonde peek out from beneath a sweat-stained baseball cap, blue eyes sharp as he navigates the bumpy terrain with the ease of someone who’s done this drive a thousand times. the lines around his mouth deepen when he chuckles, the sound rolling and familiar, blending seamlessly with the drone of tires against gravel.

billie offers a polite nod or a faint smile when someone glances her way, but her mind is elsewhere.

her forehead rests against the window, the glass cool against her sun-heated skin. outside, the landscape unfurls in slow motion—rolling hills stretching into the distance, pastures bathed in gold beneath the weight of a fading sun. a lone bird cuts across the sky, wings outstretched, black against the light. it feels like another world entirely, so far from the tangled skyline and neon hum of los angeles.

her music sputters, the connection straining in the vastness of the countryside. the song plays smoothly for a moment, then stutters, catching on itself like a scratched record. the buffering icon spins, lazy and mocking.

she sighs, eyes flicking to the single, flickering signal bar. useless.

with a huff, she swipes out of the app, shutting her phone off and tugging her headphones down around her neck. now she has nothing to drown out the voices in the front seat, nothing to muffle the weight of this unfamiliar place pressing down on her.

her cousins are still talking, voices rising and falling in easy rhythm. she listens despite herself, catching pieces of a story about someone named tommy—how he roughed up some guy last week, something about money, something about a warning.

“you okay, hun?”

billie blinks, her head snapping up at the sound of her aunt’s voice. her gaze finds the rearview mirror, hazel eyes meeting hers in the reflection. there’s something knowing in her stare, something gentle.

“mhm,” billie hums, offering a small nod.

her aunt may doesn’t press, just shifts slightly in her seat, her red hair catching in the wind that filters through the open window. the sunlight turns it to fire, burning bright against the dust-speckled air. her feet are propped up on the dashboard, elbow resting against the frame of the truck, the picture of effortless comfort. her eyes flick to the mirror every so often, watching, checking.

beside her, the twins are deep in conversation. savannah, all strawberry-blonde waves and quick hands, gestures wildly as she speaks, her words tumbling out in a rush. carter, sprawled back against the seat, listens with a lazy smirk, his greenish-hazel eyes shifting between her and the passing scenery.

“so tommy beat the shit outta that guy last week,” carter says, stretching his legs out with an amused huff. “had him beggin’. ”

savannah scoffs. “well, he had it comin’. dumbass thought he could rip him off and just walk away.”

“language, you two,” their mother chides, voice light but firm.

“sorry,” they mutter in unison, sheepish but unbothered.

the truck finally rolls to a stop in front of the ranch, dust curling up around the tires, hanging thick in the heat. billie stretches her legs before the door even swings open, her body stiff from the long ride.

her uncle travis steps out first, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. he slams the door shut, then cups a hand around his mouth.

“dj! come help your cousin with her bags!”

the screen door creaks open, and out steps dj. auburn hair catching in the dying sunlight, hazel eyes sharp and steady as they scan the yard. she wipes her hands on a towel slung over her shoulder, moving down the steps with an easy kind of confidence, like she’s never known the feeling of being out of place. she’s only a year older than billie, but something about the way she carries herself makes the distance between them feel wider.

“you get shorter, billie?” dj teases, a smirk tugging at her lips.

billie rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she steps out onto the dirt. “you get uglier?”

dj barks out a laugh, tossing the towel over her shoulder. “nah, still the prettiest thing in town.”

billie snorts, and for the first time since she got in the truck, she feels something settle in her chest—something lighter, something almost like home.

dj rolls her eyes, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she steps forward, pulling billie into a quick, firm hug. her arms are strong, familiar, smelling of sun-warmed cotton and leather, the faintest trace of hay clinging to her shirt.

“what’s up, city girl?” dj teases, pulling back, one brow raised. “finally decided to come hang out with us country folk?”

billie huffs a tired laugh. “something like that.”

dj reaches for one of billie’s bags, hoisting it out of the truck bed with ease. the twins, still loitering nearby, exchange a look before savannah leans in toward her brother, voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. whatever she says makes carter snort, shaking his head.

“how was the flight?” dj asks, shifting the bag onto her shoulder.

billie groans. “long. i swear, if i had to sit next to that crying baby for one more hour—”

“oh, look,” carter interrupts from the porch, grinning as he leans lazily against the railing. “dj’s killer girlfriend is back in town.”

savannah snickers, blue eyes bright with mischief. “should we start planning the wedding?”

dj shoots them both a glare, her grip tightening on the strap of billie’s bag. “shut the hell up.”

carter only smirks wider. “what? it’s true. haven’t seen her around much lately, but people still talk.”

billie, now intrigued, raises a brow. “who?”

the twins glance at each other again before savannah jerks her chin toward the neighboring ranch, just across the dirt road.

“her.”

billie follows their gaze. standing in the middle of a sun-drenched field, a sleek black horse grazes lazily, its coat gleaming like oil beneath the fading light. beyond it, the ranch stretches out—fenced-in pastures, a weathered stable, a house tucked away behind it all, its porch wrapped in shadow.

carter crosses his arms. “she’s got the black horse. a real nice one. she takes good care of it, though.”

dj shifts uncomfortably, adjusting the strap of billie’s bag. “don’t listen to them.”

savannah ignores her. “people say she’s dangerous.”

carter nods. “no one really knows what she does when she’s not here, but when she is…” he trails off, letting the words settle like dust in the heat.

dj exhales sharply, her jaw tight. “you two sound like every old drunk at the bar.”

“just sayin’,” savannah mutters, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in her expression now.

dj’s patience snaps. “don’t just say. y’all steady talkin’ like you don’t know her yourselves. shut the hell up and take the rest of billie’s stuff inside.” her voice is edged, firm, and the look she gives them isn’t one to challenge.

the twins exchange one last glance before sighing, heads ducking slightly as they grab the rest of the luggage. their movements are slower now, quieter—like scolded puppies slinking away.

billie watches them disappear into the house before turning back to dj, curiosity curling tight in her chest.

“what’s your deal?” she asks, watching as dj slams the truck’s trunk shut, the sound ringing out into the still evening.

dj doesn’t answer at first, just exhales sharply through her nose. “she’s just not someone you should mess around with, that’s all.”

which, of course, only makes billie more interested.

she casts one last glance toward the neighboring ranch. the black horse stands motionless now, ears flicking, as if sensing her gaze.

instead of heading inside, she sets her bags down near the porch and starts across the road.

dj stiffens. “billie, i’m serious.”

billie lifts a hand in dismissal. “i’m just saying hi.”

dj curses under her breath but doesn’t follow.

as billie moves closer, the air shifts. the heat is heavier here, the cicadas louder, their buzzing tangled in the dry breeze. the fences are worn, but sturdy. the stable door hangs slightly ajar, dark inside, like a mouth left open mid-sentence. the house beyond it is quiet. too quiet.

she slows her steps, her shoes kicking up dust.

her curiosity hums beneath her skin, insistent.

something about this place feels like a held breath.

she keeps walking.

the black horse lifts its head when billie approaches, ears flicking forward, nostrils flaring slightly as it takes in her scent. the late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pasture, bathing the world in gold, turning the dust at her feet into something almost ethereal.

“hey there,” she murmurs, reaching out, fingers just grazing the stallion’s sleek coat, warm beneath her touch.

the moment barely settles before a voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and unwavering.

“who in the hell said you could touch my horse?”

billie startles, turning on instinct. you’re standing a few feet away, a bag of supplies slung carelessly in one hand, the other resting against your hip. dark jeans worn in all the right places, scuffed boots that have seen miles of dirt roads, rolled-up sleeves revealing the kind of forearms that come from real work, not gym hours.

the sun catches on the angles of your face—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, eyes that narrow just slightly, unreadable. your expression is the kind that makes people second-guess their presence. makes them wonder if they’ve overstayed a welcome that was never there in the first place.

billie swallows, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth is. “sorry,” she says quickly, pulling her hand back. “i just got here for the summer. wanted to introduce myself.”

your gaze flicks over her, slow and unimpressed. “that don’t explain why you’re over here on my property. hands all over my damn horse.”

billie scratches the back of her neck, trying for a smile. “didn’t think he’d mind.”

you step closer, the distance between you shrinking to something taut and charged. the air shifts, thickens. billie feels it settle against her skin, the weight of your stare pressing in.

“well, i do.”

a pause, then her voice, quieter now. “what’s his name?”

your fingers flex against the bag in your hand before your gaze flickers briefly toward the stallion.

“…storm. his name is storm.”

billie exhales through her nose, the corner of her mouth tugging up. “fitting.”

you don’t respond, just click your tongue, turning your attention back to the horse, adjusting the bridle with practiced ease. there’s a familiarity in the way your hands move, in the way storm settles beneath your touch. billie watches, her curiosity growing roots, tangling into something deeper.

then you glance past her, your expression shifting, flattening into something edged.

“tell your cousin to stop staring at me.”

billie frowns, following your gaze. sure enough, dj is leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the two of you with something unreadable simmering beneath her stare.

billie sighs, turning back to you. “just ignore her.” a beat, then, “what’s the history between you two anyway?”

your lips curl—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. something in between. something knowing.

“ask her.”

before billie can push further, dj is suddenly beside her, voice firm. “alright, let’s go.”

her grip on billie’s arm is tight, not quite rough, but close enough. an insistence, a warning. but billie doesn’t move, brows pulling together.

“we were talking.”

dj’s gaze flicks to you, then back. her voice drops, steady. “and now you’re not.”

you let out a quiet, amused breath, rolling your eyes. “good lord.”

dj exhales sharply, like she’s trying to rein something in. her voice is lower now, almost like she doesn’t want billie to hear. “i don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it’s not gonna work.”

your smirk deepens, arms crossing over your chest as you lean against the fence. “yeah? and what exactly do you think i’m doing?”

dj steps in closer, the air between you charged. “don’t play dumb. you always do this—pop back up like nothing happened, like you didn’t leave shit all messy the last time.”

billie shifts beside her, confused. “okay, am i the only one not following this conversation?”

you don’t acknowledge her. your eyes stay locked on dj, steady, unreadable.

“your cousin loves running her mouth, but she don’t ever say nothing real.”

dj lets out a dry laugh, tilting her chin up. “and you love pretending like shit don’t stick.”

you push off the fence, stepping into her space just enough. enough to force her to make a choice—stand her ground or back up. she doesn’t move.

“if you got something to say, i suggest you say it. or is your little audience making you nervous?”

dj’s jaw tightens, but her voice lowers, words meant only for you. “i know exactly what you are.”

a slow grin spreads across your lips, something lazy, something dangerous. “then you should know better than to step to me like this.”

the air crackles, thick with something unsaid, something old. something neither of you are willing to be the first to name.

then—

the screen door slams.

“dj!” may’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “you better leave that woman alone and come inside.”

your expression doesn’t shift, but you glance toward the porch, raising a hand in greeting.

“hi, ms. may.” your voice is softer now, almost polite, but there’s something else lurking beneath it. something unreadable.

your eyes cut back to dj’s.

“better get going, don’t wanna worry your dear mama, now do we?”

your tone is smooth, but the bitterness seeps through the cracks.

dj’s mouth presses into a thin line. “yeah, well, at least i have one. last time i checked, where’s yours?”

the words land heavy, sharper than they should be, and even dj looks like she wants to snatch them back.

your head jerks slightly, like the hit lands somewhere deep. for a second—just a second—your smirk falters, the cocky edge dulling into something raw. something open.

“what the fuck, dj?” billie’s voice cuts in, sharp with disbelief.

you lift a hand, almost like you’re about to touch dj’s chest, but it never lands. instead, your fingers curl into a loose fist before falling back to your side.

your voice is quiet now, nothing like before. “that’s enough. go home.”

but dj doesn’t move. doesn’t back down. instead, she steps in again, breath coming out a little harder. “not such a hard-ass now, are you? you—”

“enough.”

this time, your voice is quiet, but firm, final. your index and middle fingers press into her chest just enough to make space, to remind her where the line is.

“dallas, go home. both of you.”

dj exhales sharply, then steps back, her jaw tight. she doesn’t say another word, just shakes her head slightly before turning toward the house.

billie hesitates, eyes flicking back to you, like she wants to say something. like she’s still trying to figure out exactly what just happened.

but you don’t look at her. don’t acknowledge the weight of her stare. you just turn back to your horse, the whole thing slipping off your shoulders like it never happened.

except, it did.

the air is thick as billie follows dj toward the house, silence stretching between them. the only sound is the crunch of gravel beneath their boots, the hum of cicadas in the distance.

billie’s mind is still turning over the moment, replaying it, pulling it apart.

but the thought that lingers the longest, the one that sticks to her ribs—

what the fuck just happened?

the screen door creaks as dj reaches for the knob, shoving it open and disappearing down the hall. a door shuts with a muted slam—not loud enough to be defiant, but enough to make a point. billie watches her go, jaw tight, before exhaling through her nose. the weight in the air lingers even after she’s gone.

her eyes roam the house, scanning over the framed photos lining the walls, the worn wooden floors, the little marks of life scattered throughout the space. it’s been years since she was last here, yet everything still feels the same—like time doesn’t move the way it should in this house.

she slides her foot behind the other, toe hooking at her heel, before slipping off her shoes and setting them neatly by the door. the air is thick with the smell of something rich and homey simmering on the stove, a scent that settles deep in her chest, stirring something old and familiar.

outside, the sun sinks behind the georgia horizon, spilling liquid gold through the blinds, slicing the walls into slats of light and shadow. the sky is a mess of tangerine and violet, the last gasps of daylight stretching thin. the colors shift slowly, bleeding into one another, swallowing the land in a slow-burning glow.

the house hums with quiet movement. the soft clatter of a knife hitting the cutting board, the steady boil of water, the shuffle of feet against the floor. billie follows the sounds to the kitchen, fingers grazing the edges of picture frames as she passes, tracing over time itself. she pauses at one photo—her younger self, nine years old, hair a wild mess, chocolate smeared at the corners of her mouth. dj sits beside her, equally messy, their grins so wide they look like they ache. finneas stands behind them, hands resting on their shoulders, caught mid-laugh.

billie remembers that day. the summer of 2010. her parents had dragged her across the country for a family reunion, her first real introduction to this side of her roots. back when dj was just dj—back before things got messy.

she lets out a slow breath and moves on, fingers trailing along the faded growth chart scratched into the wall, numbers marking years of childhood in different colors of ink. her name is there too, though fainter, proof that she once belonged to this house, if only for a moment.

in the kitchen, may stands at the counter, slicing potatoes with practiced ease. she glances up briefly, eyes flicking over billie before turning back to her work.

“hey, do you mind cleanin’ up and helping me with dinner?” may asks, her voice light but expectant. “the twins are outside with travis, and dj’s, well… you know.”

billie nods, stepping forward to wash her hands. the warm water runs over her fingers, grounding her. she rolls up her sleeves, reaches for a potato, and makes the first incision, peeling the skin back in smooth ribbons. they fall into an easy rhythm—billie peeling, may chopping, the quiet stretching comfortably between them.

for a while, it’s just the sound of the knife against the board, the bubbling pot on the stove, the distant laughter of kids outside. then may breaks the silence.

“you know,” she starts, voice softer now, “it wasn’t always like that between them.”

billie stills, knife pausing mid-peel. she glances at her aunt, waiting.

“they been best friends since the beginning of time,” may continues, shaking her head slightly. “and they were together for a while. two years, almost.”

billie blinks. the words settle heavy in her chest. she knew there was history, but not like that.

may sighs, setting down the knife. she moves to the stove, sliding the potatoes into the pot before grabbing a bowl covered with a damp towel. she pushes it toward billie and retrieves a stick of butter from the fridge.

billie pulls back the towel, fingertips grazing the soft, risen dough. she watches as may butters a pan, waiting for her to continue.

“but things change,” may says simply. “people change. and their relationship went sour.” she kneads the dough with steady hands, her movements slow and deliberate. “one night, they had a big fight. a bad one. don’t nobody know what it was about, ’cause dj won’t talk and that girl sure as hell ain’t sayin’ a word.”

billie rolls the dough between her palms, watching how it folds over itself, how it yields to pressure but never loses its form.

“and i think that was her last straw,” may murmurs. “’cause ever since then, she done cut everybody off. comes and goes as she pleases, don’t ever talk to nobody unless she has to. she lives right next door, and i ain’t seen her step foot in this house in god knows how long.”

may shakes her head, rolling the dough a little rougher now. “so now i gotta make excuses. like this,” she gestures to the half-made dinner between them, “just to go see her.”

a silence settles between them, thick with something unspoken. billie turns may’s words over in her mind.

she hesitates, then asks, “so… do you think it’s true? you know, the killing stuff.”

may’s hands still, her sharp hazel eyes cutting over to billie. there’s something dark in her expression, something fiercely protective.

“hell no,” she says, voice low, firm. “uh-uh. no way. those rumors? started by a bunch of no-good folks who like to prey on somebody’s grief. they don’t know shit. they just like to talk, to stir up trouble.” she picks up the butter knife again, presses it against the dough with more force than necessary. “one day, they gon’ get what’s comin’ to ’em if they don’t shut the hell up with all that bullshit.”

billie swallows, nodding. her aunt’s words settle deep in her bones, but they don’t quite shake the feeling in her gut.

they work in silence after that, finishing up dinner as the sun outside finally disappears, leaving only the hum of cicadas and the distant rumble of an oncoming storm.

billie’s mind drifts back to you.

there’s something about you, but she still doesn’t know what.

the following days move in slow, hazy waves, each one bleeding into the next. billie spends most of her time trailing behind her uncle, helping around the ranch, or dodging dj’s moods. the tension from that night still clings to the air, stretching thin between them, unspoken but heavy.

but the one thing she notices—no matter where she is, no matter what she’s doing—is you.

you’re never in the same place for long. she catches glimpses of you moving through town, slipping into stores and out of sight before anyone can stop you. sometimes, she spots your truck kicking up dust down the dirt roads, music thumping faintly through the open windows. other times, she just hears your name in passing, hushed voices weaving together pieces of a story she still can’t make sense of.

and yet, despite all of that, you never come around. not to dj’s place, not to may’s kitchen, not even when the sun sinks low and the porch lights flicker on like an unspoken invitation.

the house is quiet when billie wakes, the kind of quiet that settles thick in the early hours of the morning. the sky outside is a deep shade of blue, the horizon barely kissed by the first traces of sunlight. she doesn’t know why she’s up—maybe the restless heat of summer, maybe just habit—but she swings her legs out of bed anyway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she heads downstairs.

the kitchen is dim, only a sliver of light cutting through the blinds. she grabs a glass from the counter, filling it with water from the sink, but just as she lifts it to her lips, movement outside catches her eye.

you.

you’re by the stables, moving with that same quiet, effortless ease she’s seen a handful of times before. the saddle rests in the crook of your arm, your other hand brushing over your horse’s side in a way that looks almost second nature, like you belong here, like the land and the creatures on it are an extension of yourself.

billie sets her glass down, her breath catching for just a second, like her body had been holding onto something it didn’t realize it had let go of. she can’t stop herself, and before she knows it, she’s pulling her clothes on and slipping outside, the cool morning air curling around her, brushing against her skin, mingling with the dust of the earth beneath her feet. each step toward the stables is light, calculated, like she’s stepping through a dream she doesn’t want to wake up from. but you don’t seem surprised when you glance up.

“what are you doin’?” billie asks, her voice still thick with sleep, raspy and half-formed.

you adjust the straps on your saddle, barely sparing her a glance. “what’s it look like?”

billie runs a hand through her hair, glancing at the familiar sway of your movements, the way you handle your horse with such ease. “do you always ride this early?”

“depends.”

“on what?”

finally, you look at her—really look at her, like you’re trying to read her all over again, your gaze lingering a moment too long before it moves past her, steady and unflinching.

“depends on whether or not i feel like answering questions at this hour.”

billie leans against the stable door, crossing her arms. “you always this grumpy?”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head but not offering a full smile. “do you always ask this many questions this early?”

billie tilts her head, a mischievous smile creeping onto her face. “maybe.” she watches you for a moment before she adds, with a teasing spark, “let me come with you.”

your brows lift just a fraction, an unreadable expression passing over your face. “why?”

billie shrugs, her fingers brushing against the rough wood of the stable. “why not? we could play twenty-one questions or something.”

you study her, your eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing her words, but the corners of your mouth twitch up into something of a smile.

“just how old are you?” you ask, half-smirking, like you’re daring her to keep this up.

“i’m twenty-three, you?” she retorts, a smug, challenging smile tugging at her lips as she expertly deflects the subtle jab.

there’s a beat of silence, and then, just as quickly, a small smirk pulls at the corner of your lips.

“alright,” you say, swinging yourself up onto the saddle with a practiced, fluid motion, as though you were born to move like this. “you can tag along, if you can keep up that is.”

billie doesn’t hesitate. she moves quickly, heading toward the nearest stall. she grabs the reins of her uncle’s horse, her fingers brushing over the worn leather, feeling the familiar tension in the saddle as she swings herself up with an ease that surprises even her. the muscle memory kicks in almost immediately, grounding her as her feet settle into the stirrups. you’re already moving, not waiting for her to catch up.

billie clicks her tongue, urging her horse forward as she takes off after you, the cool morning air rushing against her skin. the golden glow of the sunrise stretches across the open fields, the colors turning the horizon into an abstract painting—reds, purples, and soft oranges blending into one another. she focuses, forcing herself to concentrate on the rhythm of the ride, on the sound of hooves pounding the earth beneath her, the echo of your horse’s gallop ahead of her.

the silence stretches between you both for a while, just the sound of hooves against dirt and the steady rhythm of your horses moving in sync. but eventually, billie breaks the silence.

“so what, you just ride out here by yourself all the time?”

you keep your eyes ahead, barely glancing at her. “sometimes.”

“ever bring anyone else?”

you shoot her a look, sharp but playful, a glimmer of amusement flashing in your eyes. “you’re askin’ a lot of questions again.”

billie grins, leaning forward slightly, her body shifting with the rhythm of the horse beneath her. “that’s the point. just trying to get to know you.”

your lips twitch like you’re fighting back a smirk, but you remain silent, your eyes trained on the horizon. instead, you give your horse a quick nudge, urging him to pick up speed.

billie huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “oh, it’s like that, huh?”

you glance back over your shoulder, your expression half-masked by the wind whipping around you, but the amusement is unmistakable. “c’mon, i told you to keep up.”

and then, just like that, you’re gone. the sound of hooves grows distant, leaving billie to scramble, to push herself harder, faster, as the wind roars in her ears and the open field stretches wide before her. she’s not letting you win, not when it feels like she’s finally found a challenge worth chasing.

with a sharp exhale, she digs her heels into the sides of her horse, urging it faster. her heart beats in time with the gallop, her breath steady as she closes the distance between you. she catches sight of your silhouette again, outlined in the early morning light, and for a second, she swears she sees a flash of something—joy, maybe? or something deeper. but before she can catch her breath or dwell on it too long, she pushes herself harder, the space between you shrinking with every stride.

soon, she’s even with you. just enough to catch the smirk playing at your lips, the subtle shift in your posture that betrays the challenge you’ve put out there.

“not bad,” you call, voice carried by the wind.

billie exhales a sharp laugh, her grin widening. “what, you thought i couldn’t ride?”

“never said that.”

“yeah, but you were thinkin’ it.”

you just hum, your gaze flicking ahead again as you steer your horse toward a small clearing in the distance. the sun is rising higher now, and the light seems to stretch out across the land, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. the air smells faintly of wildflowers and earth, the scent of morning fresh in every breath.

you lead the way into a hidden meadow, one billie hadn’t seen before, nestled between trees whose branches weave together above, casting dappled shadows over the ground. the grasses sway gently in the breeze, and the air is thick with the scent of green life, of something untouched.

you dismount with ease, guiding your horse toward a stream that trickles softly through the meadow. the water glistens in the light, reflecting the vivid colors of the earth and sky. billie follows suit, her legs stiff as she slides off her horse with a soft grunt, feeling the weight of the ride in her muscles.

the quiet of the meadow wraps around them like a blanket. billie stands beside you, her gaze drifting over the peaceful scene before her eyes fall on you again. you’re crouched by your horse, fingers working carefully through its mane, each movement deliberate, practiced.

billie sits down beside you, the cool grass soft against her legs. for a moment, neither of you speaks. the quiet stretches, filling the space between you, and despite the tension of the last few days, it feels like a rare kind of peace.

“jesus,” billie mutters after a while, breaking the silence. “i think my ass is permanently bruised.”

you snort, a dry laugh escaping you as you continue working with the horse’s mane. “yeah, well, ridin’ ain’t for the weak.”

you snort, settling onto the grass as you untie a loose braid in your horse’s mane. “yeah, well, ridin’ ain’t for the weak.”

billie doesn’t say anything at first, just takes a seat next to you, mirroring your posture. the silence between you both is calm, stretching, like the stillness of the earth at dusk, with only the rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets filling the space.

she grumbles, rubbing her thigh before dropping down beside you. she leans back on her palms, exhaling slowly, as her eyes trace the fading light across the fields. “damn. this place is real pretty.”

“mhm,” you hum, eyes following the way the breeze moves through the trees, making the leaves shiver and whisper. you can almost hear the land breathe with you, like it’s been waiting for this moment to fall into a quiet that feels too rare.

billie tilts her head toward you, studying your face. there’s a certain way she looks at you—like she’s trying to understand something that might not be easy to explain. “you come out here often?”

“when i can,” you say, fingers still working through your horse’s mane. your hand moves with practiced ease, the bond between you and storm unspoken but undeniable. “it’s quiet. no one botherin’ me. just me and my horse.”

billie nods slowly, letting the silence stretch, letting it settle comfortably between you for a beat. then, with a small smirk, she nudges your arm, playful but thoughtful. “are you sure you’re not just avoiding people?”

you huff out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “there’s nothin’ wrong with wanting some peace and quiet.”

“yeah, but i don’t know,” billie says, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “feels like there’s more to it.”

you don’t say anything at first, just let her words sit in the space between you both, heavy like the air before a storm. your eyes drift over the land, taking in the scenery, the blanket of quiet that’s settled over everything. there’s a sort of ache in the stillness, but it’s familiar, comforting in its own way.

but billie, ever curious, finally breaks the silence.

“your farm,” she starts, her voice light but edged with something thoughtful. “it’s empty compared to the others around here.”

you don’t move for a long moment, eyes fixed on the flowing water. the question doesn’t surprise you—it’s the kind of thing people always ask, but hearing it from billie feels different. her words settle, a quiet weight on your chest.

“yeah,” you murmur, picking at a blade of grass between your fingers. “that’s ‘cause we had to sell most of it. my dad—” you pause, exhaling slowly, trying to push the words out without letting them get tangled in your throat. “he was a musician. not exactly the most stable job when you’re trying to keep a farm running. and my mom… she was in the rodeo. damn good at it too.”

billie leans in slightly, listening intently, her focus unwavering.

“she kept everything together,” you continue, your voice steady but distant, as if the memory is both close and miles away. “but when she passed, it all started falling apart. bills piled up, and daddy… well, he tried, y’know? did everything he could. but eventually, he had to start selling off the land, the animals, anything we didn’t absolutely need.”

your fingers brush against storm, his dark coat soft beneath your touch, grounding you in the present. you focus on the sensation, trying to keep it from spiraling back into that place you don’t like to go.

“now, it’s just me and what little we’ve got left.” you look at storm again, a quiet ache in your chest as you find comfort in his presence.

billie doesn’t speak right away. she watches you, taking in the way your posture has shifted, the way your voice has softened. the usual sharpness in your tone is dulled now, replaced by something heavier, something more fragile, like a quiet thread that could snap if you tugged on it too hard.

“that’s a lot,” she says after a moment, her voice quieter than usual, as though she’s treading carefully around your pain.

you nod once, sliding your hands off your coat and letting them curl into the blades of grass beneath you. you feel the earth there, steady, unmoving. maybe you wish you could be like that sometimes.

“yeah.”

the meadow falls silent again, but this time, it’s different. the weight of your words lingers, but it’s not uncomfortable. billie doesn’t press, doesn’t push for more than you’re willing to give. she just sits there, her presence steady next to you, breathing in the same air, sharing the same space, the same history, the same grief. it’s enough for now.

after a while, she breaks the silence with something lighter, like a pebble thrown into the still water.

“so, what you’re saying is… you could’ve been a rodeo star?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes with a playful glance at her. “hold on now—i ain’t say all that.”

“nah, i bet you were real good,” she teases, grinning, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “i can see it now. you riding in all dramatic, wavin’ to the crowd, all eyes on you.”

you shake your head, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with the smallest hint of a smile. “you talk too much.”

“part of my charm,” she says easily, her grin widening.

you huff out a breath, pushing yourself up. “c’mon, we should head back.”

billie groans dramatically, throwing her head back in exaggerated defeat. “damn. was kind of hoping to stay out here just a little while longer.”

“nope,” you say, clicking your tongue to get your horse’s attention. the sound breaks the silence like a familiar rhythm. “sun’s up, and i know mr. travis has probably got some work for you to do.”

billie sighs, shoulders slumping like the weight of the world is on them, but she stands anyway, dusting off her jeans before climbing back onto her horse.

the ride back to the ranch is slow, the sun now fully risen, casting golden light over the open fields. the air is warm, thick with the scent of sun-warmed grass and damp earth. billie rides a little closer this time, your horses moving in rhythm, the soft thud of hooves in sync with the quiet, steady pulse of the morning. she glances at you every so often, like she’s got something on her mind, the corners of her lips tugging in subtle hesitation.

“so, uh,” she starts, adjusting her reins, eyes flickering to the horizon. “random question, but how do you feel about—like, i don’t know—eating plants?”

you cut her a sideways glance, brow furrowing in confusion. “eating plants?”

“yeah, like—” billie presses her lips together, her words hesitant, “i mean, i’m vegan.”

you pull on your reins slightly, slowing your horse just to give yourself a second to process. “you’re what?”

“vegan,” she repeats, dragging the word out like she’s bracing for impact, her gaze shifting away, taking in the sprawling landscape.

you blink. then blink again. “you’re tellin’ me you came all the way out here, ridin’ horses, stayin’ on a farm, and you don’t even eat meat?”

billie shrugs, a small, almost defiant gesture. “technically, it’s not really a farm anymore.”

you shake your head, a soft chuckle slipping from you, amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “that’s wild.”

“not really,” she says, grinning, her voice a little lighter now. “i just don’t see the point in eatin’ something with a face.”

“couldn’t be me,” you mutter, shaking your head with a smile that feels warmer than you expect.

billie laughs, a low, genuine sound that carries in the still morning air. she doesn’t push the topic further. instead, she shifts in her saddle, rolling her shoulders before speaking again, her tone lighter now, like the tension has eased just a little.

“so,” she starts, her words casual, like she’s asking about the weather. “my cousins told me there’s this little town event tonight. are you going?”

you adjust your grip on the reins, eyes fixed on the dirt path ahead, your horse’s hooves kicking up a trail of dust in the warm breeze. “maybe.”

“maybe?” billie echoes, tilting her head toward you, the question lingering between you, playful yet genuine. “that’s not a yes.”

you shrug, eyes narrowing slightly as you continue to lead your horse down the familiar stretch of road. “ain’t a no, either.”

billie hums thoughtfully, considering your words. the rhythmic clopping of hooves fills the space between you, soft and steady. the town event was just another yearly gathering—music, food, and an excuse for folks to catch up. you’d been to plenty before, but with everything on your plate, it hadn’t exactly been a priority this time. still, the thought of it lingers in the back of your mind, shifting like the breeze that ruffles your hair.

“why you ask?” you glance over at billie, curiosity creeping into your tone.

she shrugs, but there’s a glint of something in her eyes now, something playful, something sly. “can’t blame me for wantin’ to see a pretty face in town, now can you?”

you pause mid-step, your horse shifting beneath you, the sudden shift in the air catching you off guard. you turn to look at her, her gaze steady, a playful smirk on her lips.

you huff, shaking your head. “are you always this bold?”

billie smirks, nudging her horse forward as the ranch comes into view. “why? is it workin’?”

you roll your eyes, but a small smile betrays you, tugging at the corners of your mouth, the warmth creeping up your neck. something about her makes it hard to stay completely composed. the two of you ride in silence for the last stretch, the ranch growing larger as you approach, the familiar smells of hay and dust filling the air.

by the time you reach the ranch, the sun is higher in the sky, bathing everything in golden light, casting long shadows that stretch across the land. your horse slows to a stop near the fence, and you swing off with practiced ease. billie follows, though she takes a second longer, muttering something about her legs not working right after the long ride.

she lingers for a moment, rocking back and forth on the heels of her boots, a smirk still playing at her lips. then, with a casual tilt of her head, she looks at you. “so, tonight… you comin’ or what?”

you look at her, considering. the words hover on your lips, but for a moment, you just let the silence stretch between you, the sun at your back, the ranch before you. “i’ll think about it.”

billie grins like she already knows what your answer will be, her eyes sparkling with something mischievous. “i’ll see you there, then.”

and with that, she gives you one last lingering look, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you before she turns on her heel, heading back toward the house. you stand there for a moment, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, a weird flutter in your chest, like the space between the two of you hasn’t quite closed yet.

you didn’t say yes.

but you sure as hell didn’t say no.

the rest of the afternoon billie spends helping her uncle with some work around the farm, though her mind keeps drifting back to your conversation. maybe. that’s all you gave her. no promise, no certainty—just maybe. and yet, it lingers in her thoughts, like an unfinished sentence hanging in the air. the farm feels quieter than usual, the distant hum of work beneath the weight of her uncertainty.

by the time the sun dips below the horizon, stretching shades of orange and purple across the sky, billie finds herself getting ready back at her uncle’s house. she pulls on a clean shirt, the fabric soft against her skin. she rolls up the sleeves just enough to keep cool, her movements deliberate, like she’s trying to prepare for something she’s not entirely sure of. she runs a hand through her hair in the small mirror by the door, the reflection staring back at her with an edge of doubt.

her aunt, may, passes by and raises an eyebrow. “you sure are fixin’ yourself up just to go to a town event.”

billie scoffs, shaking her head, but her voice softens a little, a flicker of defensiveness hidden under the surface. “there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look decent.”

may hums knowingly, the corners of her lips turning up in a knowing smile, but she doesn’t press. instead, she tosses billie a light jacket before nodding toward the front of the house. “dj’s out waitin’ on you. y’all don’t get into too much trouble, ya hear?”

“me? trouble?” billie grins as she shrugs on the jacket, the weight of her aunt’s words lingering longer than she expects. “never.”

may chuckles, shaking her head, and billie steps out onto the porch, the cool evening air brushing against her skin.

dj is already leaning against the fence, arms crossed, a bored expression on her face, as if she’s been waiting for ages. “took you long enough,” she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “you tryin’ to impress somebody or somethin’?”

billie rolls her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the motion automatic, like a shield she’s used to. “let’s just go.”

they set off down the dirt road, the warm night air wrapping around them like a soft blanket. the path into town is well-worn, the grass flattened from years of footsteps, an imprint of countless journeys. crickets hum in the distance, their song like a steady pulse in the background, and the occasional firefly flickers in and out of sight, like tiny stars caught in the evening breeze. it’s a short walk, barely fifteen minutes, but it gives billie time to get lost in her own thoughts.

dj notices.

“you’re thinkin’ ‘bout her, aren’t you?”

billie doesn’t answer right away, just kicks at a loose rock on the path, her boots sending it skidding off into the darkness. “you always gotta run your mouth?”

dj laughs, a low, amused sound that cuts through the quiet. “when i’m right? yeah.”

billie exhales sharply, shaking her head, the air leaving her lungs in a huff. “she said maybe.”

“and you’re holdin’ onto it like it’s a damn promise.” dj shoots her a knowing look, her voice steady, almost too knowing for comfort. “look, i know her better than you do. and if she said maybe, it means no.”

billie doesn’t argue, but she also doesn’t agree. the words hang between them, but there’s something she’s not ready to let go of. instead, she just keeps walking, her thoughts swallowed by the rhythm of her footsteps, the sound of her boots against the dirt path. the tavern’s glow finally comes into view up ahead, warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the night air. it flickers like a promise, even though she knows better than to expect one.

the closer they get, the louder the night becomes—music drifting through the air, the steady hum of voices rising and falling like a pulse. billie can already see the crowd through the open doorway, bodies swaying on the dance floor, others gathered near the bar, laughter spilling into the warm evening air like a melody of its own.

as they step inside, the scent of whiskey and something fried clings to the air, filling her lungs with a sharp, familiar bite. billie takes it all in—the packed dance floor, the row of worn wooden stools lined up against the bar, the occasional clatter of pool balls from the back of the room. the atmosphere is thick, buzzing with energy, but billie’s mind is elsewhere, pulled in a direction she can’t quite shake.

she barely hesitates before scanning the crowd, her gaze flickering across the sea of faces, as though she’s searching for something—or someone.

dj notices that, too.

“she’s not comin’,” dj says, her voice cutting through billie’s quiet search. “i suggest you don’t get your hopes up.”

billie smirks, slipping her hands into her pockets as she leans against the bar. “or maybe,” she muses, tilting her head, “she is.”

dj exhales sharply, shaking her head as she orders a drink, her voice tinged with disbelief. “you’re impossible.”

billie doesn’t respond, just taps her fingers rhythmically against the counter, her gaze flickering back toward the door every so often, like the rhythm of the night is tied to the beat of her waiting.

and then—

the door swings open. and there you are.

standing just inside the threshold, framed by the dim, amber glow of the tavern lights. the room seems to shift around you, as though the space itself is adjusting to your presence. you scan the crowd, your expression unreadable, the quiet control you exude almost tangible.

dj notices first. she huffs out a quiet laugh. “well, i’ll be damned.”

billie grins, pushing off the bar slightly, her posture shifting as if she knew it all along. “told you. maybe ain’t a no.”

you’re dressed head-to-toe in all black. your long-sleeve shirt is tucked neatly into your jeans, the edges of your collar sharp against your throat, and a black belt cinches your waist, defining your silhouette. a cowboy hat sits low on your brow, casting a shadow over your sharp, unreadable expression. your chaps, draped over black denim, hug your legs in all the right places, the subtle swish of the fabric whispering as you move. the faint golden gleam of your belt buckle catches the light, but it’s the deep, sultry burgundy lipstick that steals the show, bold against the subtle darkness of your outfit.

billie swallows hard, her mouth suddenly dry, her breath caught on the edge of something unspoken.

the tavern shifts as you step inside, the energy crackling like a storm rolling in. people pause mid-conversation, eyes dragging over you, the hushed whispers slicing through the noise. it’s not just your presence—it’s the way you carry yourself, the effortless confidence, the unbothered aura that makes them stop, even for just a moment. you don’t need to try; they can’t help but look.

your eyes scan over the room until they land on billie, and when they do, your lips curl into the smallest, knowing smile—subtle, but impossible to miss.

billie, still leaning against the bar, watches you with something close to amusement, but there’s something else there, too—a hunger, a quiet longing that she doesn’t bother to hide.

you make your way over, your boots clicking against the wooden floor, each step cutting through the tension in the air, your presence undeniable. but as you draw closer, you feel another pair of eyes on you, heavy and knowing. your gaze flits over to your left, and there she is—dj, already looking at you, her gaze sharp as steel. the tension between you and her is thick, palpable, and it almost seems to snuff out your smile, just like that—flickering out like a candle’s flame in the wind.

you don’t stop walking, but there’s something stiff now in your posture, a tension that settles in your shoulders, your gaze hardening as it locks with hers.

“dj,” you greet, your voice even, but missing the warmth it had just moments ago, the friendliness gone, replaced by something cooler, more guarded.

dj dips her head in acknowledgment, shifting her weight slightly, her eyes flicking to billie and then back to you. “what’s up?” she says before taking her glass and knocking back her drink in one smooth motion.

there’s a beat of silence, thick and uncomfortable. then dj clears her throat, glancing toward the back of the tavern, the movement casual but deliberate. “i’m gonna go talk to amari.”

you just nod, your chin tilting in the slightest acknowledgment, though you know her announcement was meant for billie and not you. you don’t stop her, and neither does billie.

the air between you and billie is still, charged but unspoken, as dj walks off into the crowd, leaving both of you standing in the flickering light, surrounded by the hum of the tavern’s life.

once she’s gone, you and billie exchange a glance, one that carries the weight of unspoken understanding. the tension that hung in the air moments ago lingers, but it’s quickly brushed aside, buried beneath something lighter.

billie’s lips curl up, playful and easy. “you look nice.”

you tilt your head, smirking, a flicker of something in your eyes. “just nice?” you ask, your voice low, teasing. you do a slow, deliberate spin, letting the fabric of your clothes ripple as your hips sway with the motion, letting the room drink in your confidence. “you like it?”

billie exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head in mock disbelief. “yeah. you look real pretty,” her gaze drags over you, warm and appreciative, and she leans in slightly, her eyes lingering as she adds, “but i guess that’d be an understatement.”

“damn right it would.”

billie chuckles, tilting her head, a small smile curling on her lips. “you fishin’ for compliments?”

“if i was, would you give ‘em to me?”

billie doesn’t miss a beat, her response immediate, sure. “yeah.”

your smirk deepens, satisfaction humming through you. “figured. you don’t look too bad yourself.” your eyes trace the outline of her outfit, noticing the easy confidence she wears like a second skin. her blue plaid flannel looks soft, faded from time, its edges curling slightly at the sleeves, the worn fabric complimented by a white tank peeking through, the silver chain resting just above it, catching the low light.

the shift in the air between you both is palpable, a playful current that sparks and hums with unspoken words. you slide into the seat next to her, claiming the space once occupied by her cousin. your elbow rests on the worn wood of the bar, fingers drumming a slow, absent rhythm, as if the movement is just another part of the atmosphere now.

the bartender slides a basket of potato wedges across the counter, a quiet gesture that speaks volumes about the casual comfort of the place. he asks if you want anything to drink, and you don’t hesitate.

“sweet tea,” you say with a slight smile, watching him disappear behind the bar, the cool clink of ice filling the silence.

billie looks at you, curiosity in her gaze. “you don’t drink?”

“nah, that shit’s disgusting,” you reply, your nose scrunching up at the thought of anything stronger than tea. the word lingers between you, casual yet definitive.

billie watches you, her amusement flickering in her eyes. “so, no alcohol at all?”

“not my thing,” you mutter, sipping your drink once it arrives, the amber liquid cool against your lips, the black straw making soft sounds as it shifts in the glass. you swirl the ice, and the clink rings in the silence.

“what about special occasions?” billie presses, leaning in slightly, her eyes narrowing with playful intrigue.

you shake your head with a slow, deliberate motion. “nope.”

billie hums thoughtfully, tilting her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “so if i showed up at your birthday with a nice bottle, you wouldn’t take a sip?”

you raise a brow, the challenge clear in your eyes. “you plannin’ on showin’ up to my birthday?”

“maybe,” billie says, her grin widening, knowing the game she’s playing.

you huff a laugh, swirling the straw in your glass. “i’d take the bottle. give it to someone else, though.”

billie laughs at that, a warm, easy sound that fills the space between you. she grabs a potato wedge, dragging it through a small cup of ranch before popping it in her mouth. “so what do you like?”

“besides sweet tea?”

“yeah.”

you tap your fingers against the table, pretending to think. “long rides, warm nights, good music.”

billie’s lips curl into a smirk. “you sound like a country song.”

“and you sound like you don’t know what good music is.”

billie gasps, hand dramatically pressed to her heart. “wow. you wound me.”

“you’ll live.”

before billie can come up with a retort, the speakers crackle, and then the smooth, rich tones of a blues song fill the room. the bass hums, slow and steady, and the vocals pull at something deep within you, a familiar ache.

billie’s face lights up, her eyes shining with recognition. “oh, hell, i love this song.”

you pause, letting the sound wash over you. something flickers in your chest, a memory rising unbidden, soft but sure. “really?” you murmur, almost to yourself. “my daddy used to play this all the time when i was younger.”

billie leans in, drawn in by the quiet depth in your words. “yeah?”

you nod, your fingers lightly tapping the rim of your glass. “on this smooth black bass guitar. i used to sit by his feet, just listenin’ while he played. never got tired of it.”

billie smiles at you, her gaze warm, unguarded. “what’s your favorite part?”

you hum softly, considering. “probably the way the bass carries the whole thing. i mean, it’s just so damn sexy. you take that out, and the song wouldn’t hit the same.”

billie nods in agreement, her expression thoughtful. “yeah, you’re right. that deep groove just makes it.”

“exactly.”

you both fall into easy conversation, dissecting the song, the way it moves beneath the surface. it’s effortless, like finding a rhythm in the chaos, like something that’s always been there, waiting to be heard.

and then, just like that—

“you’re cute when you’re like this.”

the words are soft, easy, but they hit you with the force of a slow burn.

you blink, caught off guard. “huh?”

billie leans in, elbows on the table, chin resting in her hand as she regards you with an easy smile. “when you’re all into something. i dunno. it’s cute.”

your mouth opens slightly, but before you can even find your voice, your gaze flickers past billie’s shoulder.

dj.

she’s staring.

the easy warmth between you and billie evaporates, replaced by something colder, something sharper. the air shifts, and you find yourself straightening, your posture stiffening, your smile faltering. you clear your throat, the moment slipping through your fingers.

“uh—i’ll be right back,” you mutter, already standing.

billie watches you go, curiosity lingering in her gaze. but she doesn’t stop you.

you slip through the crowd, the steady beat of the music vibrating through the floor beneath you, boots heavy against the worn wood, the sound almost swallowed by the chatter and clinking glasses. the air smells of sweat, spilled liquor, and something faintly sweet, an odd cocktail of scents that make your skin feel sticky, like the night is wrapping itself around you.

dj is already moving before you even reach the hallway, her presence a shadow in the dim light. she falls into step behind you, her pace matching yours as you push through the bathroom door, the sound of it creaking on its hinges before slamming shut behind you.

you lean over the sink, the cool porcelain beneath your fingertips grounding you, the dim lighting casting a soft, golden hue across your reflection. the deep burgundy on your lips is striking, bold—a statement you didn’t even mean to make. but now, under the harsh light, it feels too loud, too much, like you’re wearing someone else’s face. something about it doesn’t sit right.

you grab a paper towel, wet it, and press it to your lips, gently wiping away the color, the faint scent of soap mingling with the metallic tang of the bathroom air. a quiet sigh escapes you as you take your time, removing the boldness until only a faint stain remains, something softer, quieter. reaching into your pocket, you pull out a sleek black tube, twisting it open, the motion smooth and practiced, like you’ve done this a thousand times. the new shade is just a tad bit lighter than the one you had on moments before, the deeper shade now tucked away in its golden case in your other pocket. you apply it with a practiced ease, rubbing your lips together, you flick your gaze back up to the mirror.

the door swings open with a crash, slamming against the wall, and you freeze, eyes narrowing before you turn.

dj.

she moves fast, crossing the bathroom in only a few steps, the space between you both closing like a predator closing in on prey.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she demands, her voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

you frown, tucking the lipstick back into your pocket and folding your arms across your chest. “excuse me?”

“you know exactly what i’m talking about,” dj hisses, her eyes flashing with something between anger and fear. she crosses her arms tightly, like she’s trying to keep herself together. “you need to stay away from billie.”

your confusion twists into irritation, the edges of it sharp, dangerous. “what? why the hell would i do that?”

“because,” dj says sharply, her voice low and dangerous, “you’re playing with fire, and you don’t even realize it.”

you scoff, leaning back against the sink, the cold touch of it pressing into your back. “look, i don’t know what your damn problem is, but i’m not bothering you. so how about you return the favor?”

“you’re not bothering me?” dj laughs, but it’s hollow, empty, and you know the words aren’t meant to be funny. “you’re out there, batting your lashes at billie like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. what you’ve been doing.”

you narrow your eyes, taking a small step forward, your pulse quickening, the heat rising in your chest. “and what exactly do you think i’m doing?”

dj steps closer, her shoes scraping against the floor as she closes the distance. “don’t play dumb.”

you hold her gaze, unwavering. “i’m not playin’ anything. i’m minding my business. just like you should be doing.”

dj’s jaw tightens, her whole body coiled like a spring, ready to snap. “billie isn’t some random girl you can mess around with. she’s not—” she stops herself, exhaling sharply, biting back something heavy, something that’s been weighing on her for too long. “you just need to back off.”

your patience wears thin, the tension in the room curling around you like smoke.

“oh, back off?” your voice drops, low and sharp, every word a knife. you push off the sink, your fingers curling into fists by your sides. “and what exactly gives you the right to tell me what to do? last time i checked, i make my own damn choices.”

“and you’re making a mistake,” dj snaps, her voice tight with something she can’t hide.

“you don’t know shit about what you’re talking about.” you snap back, the words bitter and cold.

dj shakes her head, her eyes wide with frustration. “i know enough. i swear to god, if you hurt her—”

you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head, exhaling through your nose. the sound is empty, but something dangerous lingers in it.

then, your voice drops to a low growl, steady and calm, “and i swear to god, dallas joelle, if you don’t back the fuck up out of my face—”

the use of her full name cuts through the air like a slap. dj freezes, her posture going rigid, her breath hitching in her chest. you watch as the words land, the shift in her body language like a brick wall slamming into place.

but you don’t wait for her to respond, turning on your heel and pushing past her, the tension still hanging thick in the air. you can feel her eyes on your back, but you don’t turn around. not now. not yet.

the bar is thick with cigarette smoke and the sticky scent of cheap whiskey, the air pulsing with music too loud for the space. you move through the crowd, heat buzzing beneath your skin, but it’s not from the alcohol or the night’s tension. it’s from the sight of billie at the bar, her posture stiff, her gaze set forward, ignoring the man leaning into her space like he belongs there.

reggie.

his breath reeks of liquor and bad decisions, his voice dripping with the kind of charm that curdles in your stomach.

“hey, sweetheart,” he drawls, grinning wide enough to flash the gold in his mouth. “you know, a girl like you shouldn’t be out here alone. i got plenty of time. could use a drink, maybe some company.”

billie doesn’t even blink. doesn’t turn her head. “i’m good.”

reggie chuckles, like this is a game and she’s just playing hard to get. “you sure? ‘cause you look like you could use some company.”

his fingers ghost too close to her arm, and you see it—the way her jaw clenches, the way her shoulders go taut beneath her leather jacket.

your stomach tightens.

billie rolls her eyes, shifts to stand, but reggie steps in her way, tilting his head, all confidence and no sense.

“c’mon now, don’t be like that,” he presses, voice syrupy. “i got plenty to offer—check this out.” he lifts his wrist, flashing a thick gold watch, letting the dim light catch on the metal.

billie doesn’t spare it a glance. “i said, i’m good.”

but reggie just grins wider, because he’s the type who never takes no for an answer.

“c’mon now, don’t be like that. you’re new ‘round here, ain’t you? you oughta let someone show you a good time.” he

billie exhales sharply through her nose, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “yeah? you know someone?”

his smile falters just a bit, but before he can respond, a voice cuts through the tension.

“reggie.”

he turns, his smug expression shifting the second he sees you. dj lingers behind you, but this isn’t her fight. it’s yours.

reggie’s lips curl into something too familiar, too easy. “well, look who it is. where’s that southern hospitality, huh?”

“you can take it and shove it up your ass,” you say, voice cool, steady.

he lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “damn, girl, now is that how you greet an old friend?”

“we ain’t friends.”

his grin doesn’t waver. “aw, don’t be like that. used to be real sweet to me, remember?” he tuts, shaking his head. “what happened?”

“my daddy realized you ain’t shit.”

dj shifts, ready to step in, but you’re quicker—you put your hand out to stop her, letting her know that you don’t need her.

reggie hums, rubbing his jaw like he’s considering something. “you always had a smart mouth on you. i like that.”

you don’t flinch. “leave her alone.”

he tilts his head toward billie, barely sparing you a glance. “just bein’ friendly.”

“ain’t nobody want your friendliness,” you bite out. “why don’t you go home to your wife and kids?”

his smile tightens. “my family is none of your damn business.”

you fold your arms, tilting your head. “you sure about that? ‘cause you make it my business, steady lurkin’ around bars, tryin’ to holler at women who don’t want you.”

his nostrils flare, irritation creeping into his expression, but then his eyes flick to your hip, catching the glint of your gun.

his lips part, just slightly.

he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “now what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ with a piece like that?” he tuts, his bravado inching toward something meaner. “you don’t need them kinda toys, baby. what you need is a real man to—”

your laughter cuts him off, sharp and sudden.

“real man?” you mock, glancing around like you’re looking for one. “where?”

a few men at a nearby table stifle their laughs, and reggie’s jaw flexes.

“watch your mouth,” he warns.

you take a step closer, voice dropping, steady as stone.

“get on before i use it on you.”

reggie’s nostrils flare. “ the fuck you just say to me?”

you don’t blink. “i said get. the fuck. on.” your voice is calm, steady, but there’s a razor-sharp edge to it, something unshakable.

the way you say it—the certainty, the weight behind the words—makes something flicker in his eyes. a hesitation. a calculation.

his fingers curl into fists at his sides, but after a long, simmering moment, he scoffs, clicking his tongue. “ain’t worth my damn time.”

he turns on his heel and stalks off.

you don’t bother watching him go. instead, you turn to billie.

“you good?”

billie exhales, like she’s just now remembering how to breathe. then she nods, her lips parting, something unreadable in her eyes.

and then—

“that was sexy, as hell.”

you blink, caught off guard, before raising an eyebrow. “really?”

billie laughs softly, her voice a little breathless. “yeah,” she says, eyes gleaming. “you just… told him off.”

you shrug, trying to play it off. “wasn’t much.”

billie smirks, and it’s the kind of smirk that makes your stomach do something stupid. “it was kinda impressive.”

the air shifts, the static between you lingering just a second too long.

you glance toward the door. “wanna get outta here? i need some fresh air”

billie nods, too quick, too eager, and it makes you smile. “yeah. let’s go.”

as you head for the door, billie hesitates, then glances at you.

“you want me to walk you home?”

you don’t miss the way her voice dips, just slightly.

you glance at her, amusement curling at your lips. “yeah,” you say. “i think that’d be nice.”

the walk back to your house is slow, both of you dragging your feet just a little, neither wanting the night to end too soon. the cool air hums with the distant sounds of crickets and rustling trees, the scent of the earth richer out here under the open sky.

the town has settled into its quiet, the rowdiness of the tavern now just a distant murmur. porch lights flicker lazily, moths circling the glow, casting long, restless shadows across the dirt road. overhead, the stars sprawl endlessly, silver and cold, sharp enough to cut through the darkness.

billie kicks a stray pebble, hands shoved deep into her pockets, her gaze flickering to you every now and then, unreadable. you can feel her eyes on you, the weight of them, like she’s turning something over in her mind.

“so,” she drawls, breaking the comfortable silence, “you always that quick to pull a gun on a man, or was tonight special?”

you smirk, side-eyeing her. “depends on the man.”

“right, right.” billie nods, her lips twitching around the edges of a smirk. “he deserved it, though. you put the fear of god in him.”

“good.” you stretch your arms over your head, rolling out your shoulders, the tension from earlier still humming beneath your skin. “he needs to learn when to shut the hell up.”

billie huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “you’re somethin’ else.”

“what? you ain’t ever seen a woman put a man in his place?”

“oh, i have.” billie grins, slow and knowing, tilting her head at you. “just not one that looks as good as you do doin’ it.”

you scoff, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “real smooth, billie.”

“i try.” billie glances at you, playful, eyes gleaming under the moonlight. “it seems to be working though.”

you roll your eyes but don’t deny it.

by the time you both reach your house, the moon hangs high, silver light spilling across the porch, pooling in the spaces between the wooden planks. you stop at the steps, turning to her, your hands settling at your belt, fingers hooking loosely around the buckle.

“i really appreciate you walkin’ me home,” you say, voice softer now, like the night has finally wrapped its arms around you, settling into something quieter. “i had a good time tonight, billie. y’know before all the bullshit happened.”

billie nods, rocking back on her heels, her gaze lingering on you. “yeah. me too.”

the quiet stretches between you both, thick with something unspoken. the cicadas hum. a breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the faint scent of pine and the lingering smoke from the tavern.

billie tilts her head slightly, her lips curving into something half-smirk, half-thoughtful. “so… what now?”

you hum, tilting your head, eyes glinting under the porch light, the warmth of the evening still clinging to your skin. “i reckon you want a kiss?”

billie exhales a small laugh, the sound caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “yeah,” she admits, nodding once. “a kiss would be nice. really nice, actually.”

you just hum again, waiting.

billie steps closer, closing the space between you. her lips brush against yours, soft and brief—too brief. when she pulls back, you don’t move, just raise an unimpressed brow.

“hold on now,” you murmur, fingers curling into the loops of her jeans, tugging her back in with a slow, deliberate pull. “come and do it right. wasn’t given them pretty lips for nothin’. kiss me like you mean it.”

billie exhales another quiet laugh, but there’s something else beneath it now—something heavier, more certain. this time, when she kisses you, it’s slow, unhurried, her hands sliding to your waist, fingertips pressing into the fabric of your shirt like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

she kisses like she don’t want to forget. like she needs to know how you taste, how you feel under her hands, how your breath hitches just slightly when she deepens it.

when she finally pulls away, your lipstick stains her lips, a deep smudge of color against her own. you smirk, brushing your thumb across her lower lip, your touch lingering.

“well, now you’re just wearin’ my lipstick.”

billie licks her lips, smirking. “i don’t mind it.”

her hands are still on you, grip loose but firm, like she don’t wanna let go just yet. she steps forward, backing you against the door, her breath warm against your skin.

you don’t hesitate, don’t fumble. just reach behind you, unlocking the door with practiced ease, pushing it open, the wood groaning softly under your touch.

billie glances past you, taking in the inside of your house, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“huh,” she mutters.

“what?” you ask, raising a brow.

billie shakes her head, smirking. “nothin’. just—figured you’d have somethin’ a little messier goin’ on.”

you roll your eyes, stepping back just enough to let her in. “you really thought i lived like a damn outlaw?”

“maybe.” billie grins, stepping closer, her presence filling the space between you. “you’ve got the attitude for it.”

you huff, shaking your head, but before you can say anything else, billie moves again, her hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you into another kiss—deeper this time, more sure, more wanting.

you don’t stop her. hell, you don’t even think about stopping her.

you just kiss her back, letting her press you further into the house, her hands gripping you like she’s scared you’ll disappear. and maybe she’s right to—because if she keeps kissing you like this, you just might.

you take a slow step backward, leading her toward your room, your fingers threading through the soft waves of her hair. there’s an ease in the way you move, something effortless yet deliberate, a quiet kind of confidence that has billie watching your every motion like she’s committing it to memory, like she’s afraid it might slip through her fingers if she blinks too long.

she exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “you always this smooth?”

you smirk, tilting your head just enough to make her breath catch. “you always this easy to pull in?”

billie bites her lip, her eyes flicking to your mouth for just a second too long. “for you? always.”

and you don’t waste another second.

you kiss her again, slow and deliberate, letting her feel exactly what she’s gotten herself into. it’s the kind of kiss that lingers, that pulls her under like a deep tide she has no intention of fighting. your lips move with a teasing slowness, a subtle push and pull that has her chasing after your mouth every time you threaten to pull away.

her breath stutters as your hands slip beneath her shirt, fingers tracing along the dip of her spine, feeling the way her body responds to your touch. billie exhales against your lips, the sound soft, a little unsteady.

you smirk. “somethin’ wrong?”

she shakes her head, lips parted. “just—never been kissed like this before.”

you hum, tilting your head as you trail your lips down her jaw. “like what?”

her hands tighten at your waist. “like i might not recover from it.”

your smirk deepens, your voice dropping lower. “good.”

you pull her shirt over her head, your lips never leaving her skin as you press kisses along her collarbone, down the curve of her neck, leaving faint smudges of lipstick in your wake. your fingers move to the buttons of her jeans, slow, deliberate.

billie’s breath hitches as you toy with the waistband, teasing, testing. her grip tightens against your sides, grounding herself.

“you sure?” you murmur, looking up at her beneath your lashes.

her answer comes without hesitation. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.”

your smirk lingers as you press another kiss to her lips, slow and intoxicating, before finally undoing her jeans and tugging them down. her fingers slip beneath your shirt in turn, skimming over warm skin, tracing along the edges of your ribs like she’s learning you by touch alone.

when her jeans finally hit the floor, you step back slightly, gaze dragging over her, taking in the sight of her—flushed, breathless, her pupils dark with something heady.

you lift your cowboy hat off your head and place it onto hers, tilting it just right.

“relax,” you murmur, voice thick with promise. “i got you.”

billie blinks up at you, dazed, lips slightly parted. “i think you want to kill me.” she mutters, voice thick with something dangerously close to reverence.

you grin, leaning down to brush your lips over hers, teasing. “nah,” you whisper, your breath fanning over her mouth. “just tryna make you feel real good.”

her hands slide up your back, nails scraping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “already do,” she breathes.

you hum in satisfaction before moving lower, undoing her jeans completely and letting them pool at her ankles. she lifts her hips to help you, breath catching when your nails lightly scrape down her thighs.

you sit back for a moment, just looking at her—how undone she is beneath you, your lipstick still smudged across her throat, your hat perched slightly crooked on her head.

“damn,” you mutter, shaking your head slightly. “prettiest thing i ever did see.”

billie laughs, breathless, her hands reaching for you. “please, have you seen you?”

she pulls you back in, fingers tracing down the line of your spine, undoing the buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric from your shoulders. her touch sends heat skimming along your skin, a slow, simmering burn.

there’s a careful give and take—the slow unwrapping of each other, the soft murmurs exchanged between kisses. her hands are gentle yet eager, memorizing every inch of you as you do the same to her.

when her fingers trace over the clasp of your bra, she hesitates for the briefest moment, gaze flicking to yours as if waiting for permission.

you smirk, reaching behind you to unhook it yourself, letting the straps slide down your arms. “don’t get shy on me now.”

billie exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “not shy. just—” she swallows, gaze dark. “don’t wanna rush.”

your smirk softens just a little, and you brush your fingers along her jaw, tilting her chin up. “baby, we’ve got all night.”

her lips curve into something small, almost reverent. “yeah. we do.”

the moment stretches between you, heavy with something unspoken, something deeper than just the press of skin against skin.

you kiss her again, slower now, like you’re savoring every second, every inch of space between you disappearing as her hands roam, her breath mingling with yours.

time feels like it’s slipping away, dissolving into the heat of your skin, the rhythm of your heartbeats in sync. the world outside ceases to exist—no past, no future, just this. just her. just the warmth of her hands, the press of her lips, the weight of her body against yours.

the night stretches on, lost to whispered gasps, tangled limbs, and the quiet hum of something that feels dangerously close to forever.

billie wakes up to the quiet hum of morning, the kind that stretches slow across the land, warm and drowsy. the weight of sleep clings to her limbs, thick and slow, like honey refusing to drip from a spoon. the soft light of the morning filters in through the curtains, painting the room in muted golds and sleepy shadows. the sheets are tangled around her legs, clinging to the heat left behind, but the space beside her is empty.

she shifts, blinking against the haze, her body aching in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. instinctively, her fingers reach for her neck, grazing over the remnants of last night—your lipstick, deep burgundy, smeared like a brand against her skin. the memory of your mouth, your hands, your weight pressing her into the mattress, lingers like an echo.

but you’re not here.

the realization settles in slow, an unease curling at the base of her spine. she sits up, raking a hand through her hair, her eyes scanning the room. nothing’s out of place, yet something feels off, like the air has been disturbed, like the warmth of you has been stripped away too soon. your hat rests on the chair by the window, untouched, but there’s no note, no message, nothing to tell her where you’ve gone. just an absence that gnaws at the edges of her mind.

her heart drums against her ribs.

last night—she remembers last night. the way you looked at her, the way your lips had parted like you wanted to say something but never did. the way your fingers had trembled, just for a second, before tightening in her hair.

so why does it feel like something slipped through her fingers while she was sleeping?

she swings her legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor grounding her, but it does nothing to settle the unease curling in her stomach. pulling her clothes back on feels mechanical, the fabric stiff from sweat and the lingering scent of you as her fingers moving on autopilot. she doesn’t know why she feels like this, like she’s standing at the edge of something unseen, something she doesn’t have the words for yet.

outside, the sun is already high, too bright, too warm against the cold twisting in her chest. she starts walking, boots kicking up dust as she heads toward her family’s ranch. the land stretches out before her, familiar yet suddenly foreign, like she’s seeing it through a different lens. her thoughts run circles around themselves.

then—

a scream. it’s sound, sharp. splintering.

billie stops cold, her breath catching.

then she’s running.

the sound draws her forward like a thread pulled too tight, unraveling her step by step. when she reaches the clearing, there’s a small crowd gathered, faces stricken, whispers curling in the air like smoke.

and then she sees him.

reggie.

lying still, his body slack, emptied.

his skin is pale, his body still. lifeless. but there’s no blood, no clear wound. just the eerie stillness of him, like something vital has been stolen right from under his skin.

but it’s not just his stillness that makes billie’s stomach drop. it’s the details.

his wrist—bare where his gold watch used to be.

his mouth—slightly open, missing the glint of a gold tooth.

his cheek—marked with a kiss, deep burgundy, the similar shade billie felt against her own skin hours ago.

billie stares. her pulse is a roar in her ears, her breath turning shallow.

her gaze lifts, flickering wildly through the gathered faces until she finds dj already watching her.

dj’s eyes are steady, dark, knowing.

billie can’t move.

dj tilts her head just slightly, and then, almost too soft to hear, she says,

“told you.”

billie sways where she stands, the earth beneath her suddenly unsteady.

the night unravels in her mind, thread by thread, until she’s left with nothing but a sinking realization.

the lipstick. the missing watch. the missing gold tooth.

the empty bed.

the ghost of your touch still warm on her skin.

billie swallows hard, stepping back, her skin cold despite the heat of the sun.

she doesn’t know what’s worse—the sick certainty curling in her gut or the fact that, deep down, some part of her already knew.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog @hopingforgoodblogs @thefeverburningalive @st0nerlesb0 ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish gf #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x black girl #billie eilish x black reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x

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elliewithcellie · 4 months ago

Text

Lean On Me

summary: Steve needs someone to lean on, too

wc: 1.2k

cw: ANGST, Steve yells at you, curse words, you comfort Steve, gn!reader, let me know if I'm missing anything

a/n: first fic in a minute, and it's barely more than a blurb. I was inspired by a tiktok that said "if i don't see steve cry in season 5 i will riot" and i was like dude yes. I thought I would explore that a little but it turned more into just a hugfest. Either way, here it is.

It wasn’t until Steve dropped off the last of the kids that you noticed a slight change in his demeanor. You supposed he was quieter than usual, but the gang was so rowdy that it was hard for any of you to get a word in edge-wise. Otherwise, it was a meetup like any other. But now, with only the two of you left, Steve’s silence was astounding. Cicadas took silence’s place, chirping the last of their summer song. The streetlamp above flickered in rhythm, serving as the only light illuminating Steve’s solemn face. You dared to unstick your legs from the warm leather of the passenger seat, the sound disrupting his thoughts.

His eyes met yours and smiled, a strained effort in the lines of his face. His eyes were wide, searching for something, and you could tell he couldn’t find it in you.

“You all set?” he asked.

“I’m ready if you are.”

He nodded and pulled out into the road.

“I’m really glad we did this,” you said. “It’s always so good to see everyone again. It feels like home.”

He only hummed in response.

The tires treading over the road filled the voided conversation. Shadowed trees and homes remained your view from the window. You were scared that something happened, that something you did might have bothered him. You ventured to look at him again. His posture stayed upright and rigid, both hands on the wheel. His grip was tight, the tendons taking shape in his hold. His left foot bounced sporadically, and his chest rose and fell in deliberate breaths. And his eyes. His eyes raced frantically like he was reading, his eyebrows pinching together. He bit his bottom lip as if fighting something from getting through. There was something he was holding back. Something was wrong.

The car pulled up to your apartment complex. You opened the car door and paused to look back at Steve. His head was down, his eyebrows still furrowed.

“Steve?”

He looked up at you, a haze falling across his features, his eyes glassy, but the pained smile persisting.

“Would you like to come up? It’s still early, and I’ve been dying to make some cookies. I could use some help eating them all in one sitting.”

Steve chuckled to your surprise. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Sure.”

You both made your way up to your place, your heart racing with every bound up the stairs. You headed straight for the kitchen, and Steve followed you, opting for the stool by the counter.

You tried not to let Steve distract you. It was just premade dough, after all. But his energy filled the confines of your home, swallowing up your serenity and spitting out sorrow. It shook you. This wasn’t like him. This wasn’t him. You were desperate to help him, and it seemed cookies weren’t going to be enough.

“Steve?” you tried. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

You bit your lip. “It—it’s just that you’ve been really quiet today, and I’m just wondering if something happened or—”

“I told you. It’s nothing.” Steve’s breaths shortened, refusing to look at you.

“Are you sure? You know you can—”

“ENOUGH!” Steve jolted up from his chair. “If I wanted to talk, don’t you think I would have fucking talked by now? Jesus Christ!”

You flinched at his words. You were privy to his sarcastic, snide one-liners, but this was new.

Steve took a step back. His hands rattled at his sides, and his breaths shook with each exhale. His voice trembled as he spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking another step back. “I shouldn’t—I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just tired. I—I should go.”

A million thoughts scrambled in your head. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to comfort him, but he scared you. He already snapped at you once. Continuing to pry when he may need to cool off could be detrimental. But you needed him to know that he could trust you with whatever was bothering him. You decided to tread carefully.

“If you want to go,” you spoke softly, “you can go. But whatever it is you’re dealing with, whatever it is you’re holding onto, you don’t have to deal with it alone. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. But tell me. I know you, Steve. I know when something’s wrong. So please don’t lie to me.”

Steve stood still. Every muscle in his body tensed, his eyes frantic, his breathing short and shallow. He bit the inside of his cheek as if in a last-ditch effort to fight his consuming thoughts. Then his posture changed. His shoulders sank, his lip trembled, and he looked away.

“I…I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

And he cried. He wept in the entryway of your home, something you had never seen in your life. You rounded the kitchen counter and pulled Steve into your arms. He held you tight, his whole body shaking you. Tears soaked your shirt, but you didn’t care. Your hand found itself in his hair in an effort to soothe him.

Steve pushed out of your arms and wiped his now rouged face. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your job. I can handle this.”

“What? Not my job? Steve—”

“I gotta go.”

He turned to leave. You grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Bullshit, it’s not my job.” Your voice remained calm and kind. “You think that since you’re the self-proclaimed ‘babysitter,’ that no one’s supposed to have your back?”

“I’m supposed to be the tough one,” he said. “These kids have been through hell. They’re all counting on me to take care of them!”

“You’ve gone through hell, too! I know you have. Bottling it up is going to kill you.” You held his hands in yours and pulled him closer. “I know you’re tough. You’re the strongest person I know. But bearing the load of anything alone will weigh you down. So, please. Let me help you. What can I do to help?”

A tear fell past his cheek as his lip began to tremble. He pulled you in for a hug this time, shivering against your touch.

“I really don’t want to talk,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

“That’s ok. I’m sorry I pushed. I just hate seeing you like this.”

He squeezed you tighter in a wordless reply.

You pulled away, now, and wiped some tears from his face. “How about this. I’ll finish making the cookies while you find what channel is playing Full House.”

Steve’s face shifted from sadness to disdain. “Full House?”

You chuckled. “What? It’s a feel-good show!”

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile at the Steve you knew slowly returning.

The two of you completed your roles, and before you knew it, Steve and you found comfort in your couch, his head in your lap, and your hand on his heart.

Steve’s silence stayed steadfast, the background noise of the Tanner’s taking its place. But this time, you didn’t mind. His breaths were relaxed, rising and falling to a steady beat. His hand found itself resting on your shin, playing mindlessly with the elastic of sweatpants. And his eyes. His eyes were calm for the first time this evening. You knew the war wasn’t over, but you were thankful you at least won this battle.

#steve harrington #steve x you #steve x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve stranger things #stranger things

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loudclan-clangen · 2 months ago

Note

cicada days by will wood is a pretty rosehipttee coded song i think :)

Jaggedpelt's mom was a rogue named Polly. He was born in the valley along with his three siblings, whom died of sickness early on in his kithood. Jagged cared for his mother through most of his life, but when Owlstar announced that he was looking for cats to join the newly formed Loudclan, they couldn't come to an agreement, and so she told Jagged to go do what he thought was best, and that she would be fine. While Jaggedpaw was joining and growing up in Loudclan, Polly was having a whirlwind romance with Mudfang, (Siltsplash's brother), and now lives in Shadedclan as his mate.

Peak and Bitter don't have much history from before the clan, as they were only small kittens who were orphaned during the long winter, and sent off with the first Loudclan cats to lessen the burden on the cats that had been caring for them.

The leader's mate is only in line for the position of deputy if the leader has no other relations in the clan. So as the last possible option, there is no retiring. It's them or it's no one. Leader's who don't take mates would have a sibling, aunt/uncle, or cousin serve as deputy depending on who was technically next in line.

She's channeling all of the bad vibes yall are sending him into one concentrated beam.

These combined with all of the little Fierce rebirths appearing in everybody's games makes me fear that Loudclan is slowly breaching containment and leeching its way into other people's saves.

💀💀💀Rereading it I can totally see how it could be misread that way. The sentence is "Rosehiptree was his sister Sockeyepelt's friend", as in she is the friend of his sister, who is Sockeyepelt.

#loudclanasks #loudclan #clangen

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stylesispunk · 10 days ago

Text

The soldier in the armour | part iv

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: Acacius put his plan on march, starting by sending you away with a sealing promise of returning back to you, but you cannot bear the thought of him fighting alone, and some plans are destroyed.

wc: 7k (lazy)

warnings: angst, age gap, mentions of miscarriage, blood, violence against women, power imbalance, kissing without consent, mentions of death. The events of this chapter happen on the same night.

a/n: Sorry for being so lazy about writing and updating lately. I'm just a teacher on her summer break. This one will be intense. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"Hold my hand," Acacius said, extending his arm toward you. You were sitting by the fountain, feeding the fish. The last couple of days had been torture for you, and he wanted nothing more than to shower you with acts of love from the deepest part of his heart.

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. There was a softness in his gaze, a quiet determination that melted the tension in your chest. The cool breeze rustled the leaves above, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into your skin. He gave a gentle squeeze, as if trying to transfer some unspoken strength to you.

"Come," he whispered, his voice a balm against the chaos of your thoughts. "Let me take you somewhere…”

You hesitated, glancing back at the rippling water, watching the fish dart beneath the surface. But the pull of his presence was stronger. You stood, your fingers still entwined with his, and allowed him to lead you away from the weight of the past few days.

He led you through a narrow corridor you didn’t recognize, its walls lined with ivy that crept in through tiny cracks. At the very end, hidden behind a heavy wooden door, Acacius paused. He glanced back at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No one else knows about this place,” he murmured, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “It’s just for us.”

He pushed the door open with a soft creak, revealing a hidden courtyard tucked away from the rest of the villa. It was small, intimate, overgrown with wildflowers and shaded by an ancient olive tree whose twisted branches reached out like protective arms. The air smelled of lavender and sun-warmed stone, and the only sounds were the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant song of cicadas at dawn.

Acacius turned to you, his expression softening. “I come here when I need to feel... whole again.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering. “And I thought maybe, just maybe, it could help you too.”

There was a strange tone on his voice, as if he was lingering to your presence before slipping away from you, but you decided to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"I know you're worried” you whispered, looking up at him to meet his gaze, smiling softly “but I’m gonna be fine. I’ll recover from this someday.”

“Can I confess you something?” He asked almost ashamed of the question

You nodded, inviting him to speak his truth.

"This is embarrassing for a general but I'm really scared."He confessed, “I…I have someone to lose this time"

Your breath hitched and sudden wave of anxiety crept into your bones.

"You won't lose me" you reassured, caressing his checks with your fingertips.

"From all the battles I fought. Falling in love with you came easily to me...I thought it was going to be difficult for a man like me to be deserving of someone like you.

"This sounds like a goodbye and I don't like that tone in your voice." You said, voice breaking at the thought.

“You know things could go wrong-“

“They will not.” You interrupted, reassuring him once again.

“Allowing myself to know you and love you has been the bravest thing I've ever done," he whispered, his voice trembling just enough for you to hear the depth of his fear, and his love.

Before you could respond, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you gently but urgently toward him. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender, as if he were pouring every feeling inside on it, every hidden feeling into that single, breath-stealing moment. The world around you seemed to dissolve, the rustling leaves, the distant cicadas, all fading into the background as the warmth of his mouth ignited something deep within you.

Your heart raced, the anxiety still humming in the edges of your mind, but his touch grounded you, as always. You let your fingers trail through his hair, pulling him closer, as if anchoring him to this promise you both silently made.

You won't lose me. We won’t lose each other.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, hearts pounding in the same rhythm, at the same time. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to memorize this moment, to etch it into his soul.

Then, without warning, he kissed you again, this time with a raw urgency that stole the air left from your lungs. His hands slid from your jaw down to your waist, gripping you as though he could mold your bodies into one. His fingertips dug into your skin, tracing every curve, every inch he could reach, as if committing the feel of you to memory.

You responded in kind, your hands roaming over his shoulders, his back, clutching at the fabric of his tunic like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. The heat between you was electric, a fire burning bright against the looming shadow of what was to come.

When he finally pulled back again, his breath was ragged, his lips lingering against yours for a fleeting second longer. His hands framed your face now, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks in contrast to the urgency of moments before. His gaze was heavy, filled with a thousand words he couldn’t seem to say.

He leaned in, pressing one lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

"My heart, my body and my soul belong to you in every lifetime." He whispered, nosing your neck, savoring the taste of your skin.

"My heart, my body and my soul belong to you in every lifetime. Since the day you saved me from the bathtub and sword you would love me." You whispered the same words back because you meant them.

He smiled against your neck, feeling his eyes watering already. For a man of a thousand battles these shows of affection tended to seen as a sign of weakness. But by your side he learnt about the vulnerability that it came when you loved someone.

You smelled like calm lavender, and your souls interviewed in an unbreakable thread destined to meet in every single lifetime.

You were his person; the best Rome had ever given him back for all the duty and sacrifice. It broke his heart to send you away.

He didn’t fear death anymore, but not seeing you again broke him.

Acacius helped you up, his strong arm supporting you, your heart still ached with the lingering sensation of his words, his love, his devotion. You walked together, the world outside the villa seeming quieter. His hand remained gently wrapped around yours.

When you reached back to the villa, the air felt heavy, as if something was waiting for you there. The grand doors opened to reveal Lucilla standing near the font, her hands trembling slightly as she stood motionless, her gaze distant. Her expression was clouded with worry, yet there was an undeniable sorrow in her eyes that you couldn’t ignore.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” you asked, stepping forward, concern flooding your chest as you glanced between her and Acacius.

Lucilla turned her head slowly, her eyes brimming with tears.

"They are here" she said, painfully ignoring your questions as she looked at Acacius.

"It's time" he said, painfully, avoiding looking at you for a moment, then he glanced at you "Look. They are some of my men. They are here to take you out-“

"I don't want to leave" you protested, coming to Lucilla, "Mother, please don't do this again. Come with me"

You stepped back, your heart twisting painfully as you listened to Acacius, walking to your mother.

"I don't want to leave," you protested again, your voice trembling. You reached for her, the distance between you growing wider with every passing second. "Mother, please don't do this again. Come with me."

Lucilla’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looked as though she might give in. But the sorrow on her face deepened, and she shook her head gently. "I cannot, my dear. I failed Lucius once." Her voice cracked as she spoke his name, a deep, haunting sadness settling over her. "I won’t fail you too. Not again."

You felt the sting of her words like a dagger in your chest. She was leaving you, just like she had left him. The memories of her absence in the darkest moments of your life, when you were fighting for survival, flashed before your eyes, and the thought of repeating that same pain was unbearable.

"So, you're failing me now?" you asked, the sharpness in your tone betraying the hurt you felt. Your breath was ragged as you held back tears, frustration and confusion bubbling up inside you.

Lucilla stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached for you, but she stopped just short of touching you. "Oh no," she whispered, shaking her head. "I cannot bear the thought of losing you to this. If you're away, Geta won’t be able to use you as a tool against Acacius or me. I can't risk you being taken from me as he was."

The words stung, but in them, you realized the depth of her fear. She wasn’t abandoning you, she was trying to protect you, to keep you safe in a world where everything felt uncertain and dangerous.

"But I don’t want to be safe without you," you said softly, your voice breaking. "I can't go alone.”

Lucilla looked at you, her gaze softening for a brief moment, but the fear in her eyes remained. "I love you too much," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And I can't watch you suffer here.”

Acacius stood behind you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. His presence was a steady anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. He knew how hard this was for you, but his silence spoke volumes. He understood what it meant to love and lose, and now, he was offering you something that felt like the only way forward.

Lucilla’s voice quivered as she took a step back, her hands clenched at her sides. "I cannot go with you... but I will wait for you here. And I will pray that one day you come back to me. That we both do."

You felt as though your heart was being torn in two—torn between the woman who had given you life and the man who had become your lifeline. The conflict swirled in your chest, but all you could do was nod, unable to find the right words.

"I love you," you whispered softly to her, your voice breaking as the tears finally fell.

Lucilla gave you a sad, bittersweet smile. "I love you too, my darling. Always."

You turned to Acacius, your heart sinking at the pained expression that crossed his face as his gaze shifted from you to the three men who had appeared in the distance. His posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing as they approached with purposeful strides.

The moment felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath. His soldiers had arrived. The plan was set in motion. The urgency of the situation weighed down on both of you, but there was something else, something unspoken in the way Acacius held himself. His pain, too, was palpable. As much as he had sworn to protect you, he knew what this moment meant. The time for goodbyes was closing in, and there was no turning back.

"Acacius..." you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached for his hand. But he stepped back slightly, his jaw tightening as his men neared.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, his eyes full of regret and determination. "You need to go. Now."

The men stopped in front of him, their faces unreadable but their posture betraying the tension of the moment. Acacius addressed them with a tone that brooked no argument, his voice firm but clipped.

"Prepare the horses," he commanded, and one of them nodded before heading off to carry out his orders.

You looked at Acacius, pain flickering in your chest as you realized that the next few moments would change everything. The world you had known was slipping away, and there was no going back to the life you had before.

"You’re leaving me, aren’t you?" you asked, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

Acacius looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but his gaze softened when he saw the hurt in your eyes. "No. I’m not leaving you." His voice was low and full of certainty, though there was a storm of emotions raging behind those words. "I’ll never leave you. But I need you to trust me now."

You nodded, though the uncertainty in your chest remained. His men were getting ready, and you knew that there was no time left to hesitate.

"Promise me you’ll come to get me back," you said quietly, the words more of a plea than a command.

Acacius stepped closer, his hand brushing the side of your face, his thumb tenderly tracing over your skin. "I swear," he said, his voice raw and filled with emotion. "I’ll come back for you. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure we’re together again."

The words were like a lifeline, but the storm of emotions raging in your chest made it hard to hold on to them. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but the world was so unpredictable, and you knew better than to expect anything in these dark times.

As Acacius turned to give orders to his men, you felt the weight of the world crashing down on you, the finality of this moment settling into your bones. You wanted to run to him, to beg him to let you stay, but you couldn’t, because deep down, you knew what he was doing was necessary.

This was bigger than the two of you.

Acacius cupped your face once more, his eyes soft but heavy with the weight of what was to come. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss, one that spoke of promises and unspoken fears. His touch was tender, like it was the last thing he could give you before everything changed.

"Be safe," he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and full of urgency. "No matter what happens, remember that I will always love you."

Your heart ached as his words sank in, the depth of his devotion resonating through every fiber of your being. You nodded, though your throat tightened, unable to find the words to express what you felt. His love, his promise, were everything you had left to hold on to in this fleeting moment.

He stepped back slightly, his hand still resting on your cheek, and without another word, he helped you onto the horse. His movements were swift and precise, his touch strong but careful as he steadied you in the saddle. His gaze never left yours, filled with a quiet desperation, as though he could somehow will the situation to change with just his stare.

As he stood next to the horse, his hand resting on the reins, he gave a final, lingering look, as though imprinting you into his memory. Then, with a slow exhale, he spoke again, his voice filled with finality.

"Trust in me," he said, his eyes intense. "No matter what happens, trust that I will find a way back to you."

His men began to move in the background, preparing to take you away. Acacius placed one last kiss on your forehead, a soft, lingering touch that felt like it was marking the end of a chapter. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his presence, remained with you, even as he pulled away and nodded to his soldiers.

With a final glance, he stepped back, his face a mixture of sorrow and determination. His hand reached out toward you one last time, as if he wanted to pull you into his arms, to hold you just a moment longer. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

"Go," he said quietly, the word almost a command, but it carried so much emotion that it cut deep.

As the men took the reins of your horse and started moving you away, you cast one last look over your shoulder. Acacius stood there, still watching you, his face a mask of stoic resolve but his eyes betraying the pain that he had hidden behind his duty.

And then, as you were carried further away, the world around you began to blur. The sound of horses’ hooves pounding against the earth, the rustling of the wind, it all faded as you focused on the one thing that remained clear.

As the path beyond you seemed to haunt you, you tightened the cloak around your shoulders, its coarse fabric doing little to shield you from the chill that seeped into your bones. Every step away from the villa felt heavier and suffocating, each one pulling you farther from Acacius, your mother, and Lucius. The road stretched ahead, but your mind remained trapped in the past, tangled in memories and regrets.

You couldn’t shake the image of Acacius’s eyes, the way they softened when he looked at you, or the feel of his lips pressed against your forehead. The smell of lavender on his neck that seemed to lullaby you into sleep every time he wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart ached thinking about your mother, her face etched with sorrow and strength as she pushed you to safety. And Lucius, your brother, the rightful emperor of Rome, forced to live as a slave under a name that was never his.

As Acacius's men guided you through the winding paths, the weight of your separation grew unbearable. You were being secured by Acacius’s army, hidden away from the dangers that loomed, but it felt more like a prison than protection. You were trapped in the middle of something larger than yourself, and the distance only amplified the helplessness curling in your chest.

Meanwhile, back at the villa, Acacius stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the direction you had disappeared. His heart clenched painfully, the hollow ache of your absence settling deep within him. A single tear escaped down his cheek, betraying the stoic facade he tried to maintain. The emptiness in his chest felt insurmountable, as if a piece of him had been torn away.

You were the Achilles heel on his life, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being away from his protection.

Lucilla, seeing the turmoil etched across his face, stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong, like her father” she whispered, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her own eyes. “And you will find your way back to her.”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his hand coming to rest over Lucilla’s in silent acknowledgment. The touch sent shivers down his spine; it wasn’t love but understanding. The both of you letting go your heart away.

His eyes never wavered from the path you had taken, his heart silently vowing that no matter what, he would find you again.

Beneath the cloak, you knew you hadn’t far away from the villa. Just one bold movement and you could go back.

There was a weight that became heavier to bear. Acacius would risk his life to free an empire from its tyranny, and perhaps the power would go back to your family while your mother would get stuck in the middle and Lucius real identity would display.

Suddenly, the weight of it all became unbearable. Without thinking, you yanked on the reins, bringing the horse to a skidding halt. The men guarding you shouted in alarm, but their voices were distant echoes compared to the roaring in your ears. You leapt off the horse, your feet hitting the ground hard, and before they could react, you were running, running back towards the villa, towards the people you couldn’t abandon.

"Stop! Come back!" Acacius's men called after you, their voices laced with desperation. But you didn’t listen. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t let them risk their lives while you hid away, blind to whatever horrors might unfold.

you couldn’t turn your back on them. Not now. Now after all.

You were stronger than that. You were the daughter of Maximus Decimus, a man of honor.

You wouldn’t let them risk their lives while you hid away, blind to whatever horrors might unfold. The wind tore at your cloak, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your feet pounded the dirt path. Every step closer to the villa felt like shedding a layer of fear, replaced by a fierce, unyielding resolve.

The villa loomed in the distance; it brought a strange comfort to your heart. Your mind raced faster than your legs, what if you were too late? What if Acacius or your mother were already in danger? The thought spurred you on, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the aching in your legs.

Behind you, the shouts of Acacius’s men grew fainter, their figures shrinking against the horizon. But your heart was set, you belonged there, in the thick of it, facing whatever fate awaited alongside those you loved. As the gates of the villa came into view, your heart pounded not from exhaustion, but from the sheer force of your determination.

You were almost there.

"Acacius!" you shouted, breathless as you reached the entrance. As soon as he came into view, you crashed into him, and he caught you effortlessly, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace that felt like home.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was hushed, desperate, his hands moving to cradle your face, as if he needed to be sure you were real.

"I can't-" you gasped out, struggling to steady your breath. "Don't ask me to run away while you stay here. Please, don’t."

His fingers traced your jaw, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhaled shakily. "I can’t put you in danger," he whispered. "I won’t."

You closed your eyes, your breath mingling with his. His warmth surrounded you, grounding you, but the ache in your chest only grew stronger.

"How?" you whispered, searching his eyes. "How can I leave when you will be here fighting?

Acacius’s jaw clenched. "You know what will happen if you stay—"

"And you know what will happen if I go!" You pulled back slightly, forcing him to see the determination burning in your eyes. "I grew up in a world where privilege was handed to me until it wasn’t. My heart was humble until it wasn’t. I never realized how greedy I could be until I met you, until my heart started beating for you. I want everything that comes from you—your words, your breath, your smile, your heart, you. And if there is a chance, they take you from me, then I’d rather meet the spirits myself than live in a world where you don’t exist."

His breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw something break in him. A vulnerability so raw it threatened to consume you both. His hands trembled against your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t make this harder for me."

Your heart twisted painfully. "Then don’t make it harder for me, either. You already know how voiceless women are here. Let me make my choice for once."

His eyes darkened with conflict, with love, with fear. And then, without another word, he crushed his lips against yours. it was a desperate, aching plea. A promise. A surrender.

When he pulled away, his breath was ragged, his hands still cupping your face as though afraid you’d disappear.

"Then stay," he whispered. "And if the gods are kind, we will survive this together."

But you were afraid the gods had never been kind to lovers like you.

Lucilla watched the exchange in silence before stepping forward. "My child," she said gently, "I know you are willing to risk your life for those you love. But this is not a fight you can win with your heart.”

You turned to her, desperation burning in your eyes. "I know this villa better than anyone. I grew up here. I know every passage, every hidden corridor. If I can get to Lucius, I can free him. We can hide. We can escape and Acacius and his army will free Rome."

"No," Acacius said immediately, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

"He’s my brother!" you argued.

"And what happens when you get caught?" Lucilla’s voice was softer, but no less firm. "You think Geta or Caracalla will show mercy to you? He’ll use you against us, just as he always intended."

Acacius tightened his grip on you. "You are the only thing keeping me from turning this entire city to dust. If something happens to you, I won’t stop. I won’t care about the cost."

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. "Then let me help you. Let me help Lucius."

"The best way to help is to stay safe," Lucilla insisted. "We will find a way, Acacius-“

“Lucius will refuse Acaciu’s help.” You interrupted, “He took the city he was in, but I’m his sister.”

Acacius's jaw tightened, his eyes dark with frustration and the fear it came when danger seemed to follow you. He shook his head. "That’s exactly why you can’t go. You think he’ll just follow you? Lucius is stubborn. He won’t leave. He won’t abandon his pride, even for you."

"He will if I make him see reason," you pressed, your voice trembling with conviction you wanted to believe. "If I remind him who he is, what he stands for. He’ll listen to me."

Lucilla exhaled sharply, stepping between you and Acacius, her presence like a steady force in the eye of the storm. "And if he doesn’t? If he refuses, what then?”

You flinched at her words. The weight of this pressed down on you, but you refused to let it break you. "Then at least I’ll have tried," you whispered. "At least I won’t sit in hiding while the people I love fight for their lives."

Acacius turned away from you abruptly, running a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath before spinning back toward you. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you’re asking me to do?" His voice cracked, raw and unguarded. "You’re asking me to send you straight into the lion’s den. To just…juts let you walk into danger while I stand back and watch."

"I’m asking you to trust me," you said, your voice fierce despite the tears burning your throat. "I have spent my whole life being protected, shielded from the ugliness of this world. But I am not some delicate thing to be tucked away. If we are to have any future at all, we must take risks."

Acacius closed his eyes, as if trying to drown out your words, to quiet the war inside him. Lucilla placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "She is her father's daughter," she murmured, her gaze heavy with understanding. "You cannot change her mind when it is already set."

He let out a shaky breath, his hands curling into fists before he finally looked at you again. "If you go, you do not go alone."

Your breath hitched. "Acacius-"

"You do not go alone," he repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I will not let you face this without protection."

Lucilla nodded. "I know someone who can get you into the cells unnoticed. But you must understand-this is your one chance. If something goes wrong, there will be no second attempt. No coming back for you."

Your heart pounded as the full weight of the decision settled in. There was no turning back now.

"Then I will not fail," you promised, meeting Acacius’s gaze.

But even as you said the words, you knew that fate was a cruel, unpredictable thing.

“I will wait for you at the end of the dungeon” He explained, “Once you free Lucius, both of you, especially you will come and going to go away. Then when tomorrow came, I’ll get everything settle for what’s coming.”

Lucilla’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes something like resignation. "We don't have time to argue anymore," she said finally. "If you're going to do this, you must go now."

Acacius stepped closer, his hands gripping your arms as if he could anchor you to him. His touch burned, searing into your skin, branding you with the weight of his worry. "Promise me," he murmured. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t hesitate. The moment Lucius is free, you run."

You swallowed hard, nodding, though you weren’t sure if you could keep that promise.

Lucilla moved toward the entrance, glancing over her shoulder. "I will send word to the one who will take you inside. Wait for him by the servants' passage near the western wall. And keep your head down."

Acacius leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "Be careful," he whispered. "I need you to come back to me."

You lingered there for a moment, memorizing the feeling of his hands on you, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he looked at you as if you were something worth fighting for.

"Mia vita" he called out, stopping you on your tracks to kiss you softly, the pulled back slightly “Please don't let this to be our last kiss"

"We still have a life to live together" you smiled against his lips, peeking his lips once more "at peace this time"

"I will find you" he promised, peeking your lips once again, savoring every single second of this. "I'll be waiting for you at the end of the dungeon."

You nodded, feeling shivers down your spine. He kissed your lips again as if couldn’t let go because of the fear, tasting the sweet flavor of fruits on them, lingering to the feeling that in a few hours he would free Rome from the tyranny and escape with you to a happy ending, a happy life.

"Be careful, love" he whispered as you walked from his grasp.

Then, with one final look, you turned and disappeared into the shadows.

And as you did, Acacius stood still, watching you leave, his fists clenched at his sides.

He had never felt so powerless.

The night stretched long and cold as you moved through the villa’s outer corridors, keeping close to the stone walls. Every shadow felt like a threat waiting to cut you in half, every sound a warning. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself forward. Your mother’s contact was waiting near the western wall as promised, a hooded figure who barely looked at you before motioning for you to follow.

"This way," he whispered, leading you through a narrow passage. "The guards are fewer tonight, but that won’t last long."

You nodded, pressing yourself deeper into the cloak wrapped around your shoulders. The passage led downward into the lower levels of the coliseum, where the scent of damp stone and burning torches thickened the air. With each step, the reality of what you were about to do settled heavier in your chest.

Finally, the man halted near a rusted iron gate, peering around the corner before motioning for you to stop. "Beyond here, you’re on your own. You already know where the cells, be fast my lady.”

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself before slipping through the gate. The corridor was dimly lit, flickering torchlight casting shadows along the stone walls. You kept low, moving carefully. Every instinct screamed at you to hurry, but you couldn’t afford mistakes.

Then you saw him.

Lucius sat in the farthest cell, his head down, his hands bound in front of him. His tunic was dirtied and torn; his face shadowed with exhaustion. But he was still alive.

"Lucius," you whispered urgently, pressing yourself against the bars. His head snapped up, eyes widening at the sight of you.

"By the gods," he breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"Freeing you," you said, already fumbling with the lock. "We don’t have much time, Acacius has a plan, but we need to go now."

Lucius let out a short, breathless laugh. "Acacius? And here I thought you had come to your senses and abandoned him.”

You shot him a glare, your fingers working as quickly as possible. "Do you want to fight about this, or do you want to walk out of here alive?"

Before he could respond, footsteps echoed down the hall. Your breath caught.

The guards were coming.

You barely had time to think. With trembling fingers, you worked at the lock, gritting your teeth as the iron refused to give. Lucius shifted impatiently behind the bars, his gaze darting toward the approaching footsteps.

"Hurry," he muttered.

"I know," you hissed, forcing yourself to focus. The crude metal bit into your skin, but finally, with a sharp click, the lock gave way. You got the door open, and Lucius stepped out, shaking the stiffness from his limbs.

"We need to go," you whispered.

Together, you slipped into the shadows, pressing yourselves against the cold stone walls. The guards were close now, their voices carrying down the corridor. You gripped Lucius’s wrist, pulling him forward as you sprinted through the winding path of the dungeon.

Your breaths came fast and shallow, your heart hammering with every turn. The torches flickered wildly in the drafty halls, casting distorted shapes that sent chills up your spine.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached the end of the dungeon, the meeting place Acacius had promised.

But he wasn’t there.

You came to a sudden stop, chest heaving as your eyes darted around the empty space.

"Where is he?" Lucius whispered harshly.

You didn’t answer. He should be here.

He said he would be here. You thought.

A cold feeling crept up your spine. Something was wrong.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. Think. Think faster. Acacius wasn’t here. That meant something had gone wrong. That meant-

“We have to move,” you whispered, gripping Lucius’s arm.

He gave you a sharp look, but didn’t argue. You took the lead, slipping through the dimly lit corridor, your body tense, ears straining for any sound. The dungeon air was thick with dampness, every breath heavy in your chest.

Acacius had told you to wait. But waiting was a death sentence now.

He could be in trouble. He could be dead.

No. You forced the thought away. Acacius was strong. He was waiting for you somewhere else. He had to be.

Lucius kept pace beside you, his voice low and urgent. “Where are we going?”

“Out,” you said, scanning the hallway. “I know another way.”

A narrow servant’s passage was carved into the farthest wall, one you had used as a child to sneak out when the world inside these walls had felt too suffocating. You yanked open the hidden door, pushing Lucius through before slipping inside yourself. The stone closed behind you, sealing you both in darkness.

The passage was narrow, forcing you to move single file. Your fingers trailed the rough stone as you navigated through the twisting tunnel, the air cool and stale. You could hear Lucius’s uneven breathing behind you, but neither of you spoke.

You reached the end and pressed against the wooden panel that led to the outside. For a long moment, you hesitated.

If Acacius wasn’t here, it meant something had shifted in the plan. But you had no time to figure out what.

You had to keep moving.

Bracing yourself, you pushed the door open and stepped into the night.

The night air was a fleeting whisper of freedom before it was ripped away.

The moment you and Lucius stepped beyond the hidden passage, torches flared to life, illuminating the ring of imperial guards waiting for you. The glint of their drawn swords was the only warning you had before rough hands seized you.

Lucius struggled, his fury a silent storm beside you, but he was outnumbered. A soldier slammed the hilt of his sword into his stomach, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

“Lucius!” you shouted, lunging toward him, but another set of hands wrenched you back.

A grizzled guard stepped forward; his expression smug beneath his bronze helmet. “Did you really think you could slip away unnoticed?” he sneered.

You twisted against their grip, but they held you firm. “Where is Acacius?” you demanded. “What have you done to him?”

The guard chuckled darkly. “Worry for yourself, little dove.” He leaned in, his breath rank against your cheek. “Emperor Geta will not be fond of you after this treason.”

Your stomach twisted. Geta. He knew.

The guards yanked you and Lucius apart, dragging him in the opposite direction. He thrashed violently, eyes burning with desperation as they pulled him away from you.

“Stay strong,” he shouted. “Don’t give them what they want!”

Then he was gone.

You fought harder, but it was useless. The last thing you saw before they forced you forward was the blood-red banners of the empire swaying in the cold night air.

The throne room was suffocating with tension, the air thick with the scent of oil and burning torches. Acacius and Lucilla stood before the imperial dais, their bodies rigid as Emperor Geta lounged with lazy arrogance in his gilded chair. Caracalla stood beside him, his fingers curling and uncurling as if barely restraining his temper.

The moment Acacius learned you had been captured, something inside him had snapped. His presence alone carried a storm, his jaw clenched, fists curled at his sides, the veins in his neck straining with suppressed fury.

“Where is she?” Acacius demanded, his voice like thunder cracking through the hall.

Geta smirked, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Who?” he mused, feigning innocence. “Oh, you mean your wife.” He sighed dramatically. “A shame, really. I expected more from you, Acacius. But in the end, even the great general is brought to his knees for a woman.”

Acacius took a menacing step forward, only for Lucilla to press a warning hand against his arm. “You do not want to do this,” she whispered, though even her voice carried the edge of a threat.

Caracalla’s lip curled; his rage barely restrained. “You made a mistake, Acacius. You should have fled with her when you had the chance.”

“I will get her back,” Acacius growled. His eyes snapped to Geta, cold and unrelenting. “Emperor Geta, torture me if you want, but don't dare to lay a finger on my wife.”

Geta’s expression darkened at that word.

His knuckles went white around the goblet before he set it down with deliberate slowness. “But I will,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. He walked towards Acacius, stepping closer, his grin cruel. “Now, I’m going to see her.”

Acacius lunged, but the guards were already between them, forcing him back as Geta strode from the room. The moment the doors slammed shut behind him, Acacius let out a roar of frustration. He whirled, striking one of the marble pillars with his fist hard enough to crack the stone.

Acacius’s chest heaved with each ragged breath, but when he turned to face Lucilla next to him, his eyes were filled with something worse than fury.

Desperation.

His hands clenched into fists again. “I will kill him. I swear it.”

The cell was damp and smelled of rust and decay. You hit the ground hard as the guards shoved you inside, the impact jolting through your knees and elbows. The cold stone bit into your skin, but you barely felt it, your mind was reeling, heart hammering in your chest.

"You should have stayed where you belonged," one of the guards sneered from the other side of the iron bars. "Emperor Geta will not be fond of you after this treason."

You lifted your head, eyes burning with defiance. "I still have you to make him beg for mercy."

The guard scoffed but did not reply. He only smirked, slamming the barred door shut with a loud clang before disappearing down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the darkness.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to sit upright. Every part of you ached, but pain was the least of your concerns.

You exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to your face as tears threatened to spill. But you wouldn’t cry.

Instead, you allowed yourself a moment to gather your strength. Tomorrow was coming, and with it, the arena and whatever fate awaited Acacius. Whatever happened, you wouldn’t let Geta break you.

Then, a sound.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

A chill ran down your spine.

You knew who it was before you even saw him.

The door creaked open, and there he stood.

Emperor Geta.

The first thing he did as he took glance of you was grabbing your face forcefully with his hand, forcing you to spare him a glance. He wouldn't even dream of seeing you like this, is disbelief, with your hair a mess, and bloody. You weren't made for a life like this, but now under these conditions, this was the closest he had come to have you.

"Escaping with that slave, my dear lady? You marrying Acacius felt less insulting than this." He said, looking dead into your shining orbits.

"Marrying you would an insult to myself. I would rather eat shit than be tied to you." You spatted.

Geta's smile widened as a cruel laugh escaped his lips as his studied your features. Your before soft skin seemed dirty by drops of blood and dirt. You were a delicate doll, but now smashed and crumbled.

Geta’s expression twisted, his smugness evaporating in an instant. His jaw clenched, and his eyes burned with rage. Before you could react, his hand lashed out, the sharp crack of the slap ringing through the chamber.

The force of the blow snapped your head to the side, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the floor. Your cheek stung, the pain radiating hot and angry, but it was nothing compared to the cold fury swelling in your chest.

Geta loomed over you, his breath heavy, his hand still trembling from the strike. “You will not speak to me that way,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “You forget who holds your life in his hands. You forget who I am. I'm the emperor and you're just a prisoner granted privileges because of your mother and Acacius" his face got close to you, "but now you're a mere slave accused of treason."

You spit on his face. The anger and loathing consuming like a fire burning your body.

Geta took his hand to his face, cleaning your spit with disgust written on his face. You had ended with his patience and he couldn't bear it anymore.

Just a few hours ago you had been secured on Acacius big arms, surrounded by the faint scene of laurel and lavender that seemed to calmed you down.

Now the stink of dirt and humidity rusted your nostrils. You wanted to close your eyes and feel the lavender on your nose, Acacius lips on your temple. You wanted him to save you, you were pleading the gods.

"Please stop this...let me see him" you begged, your voice broken. "Don't hurt him."

Lifting your gaze to see if by chance there would be a tiny bit of sympathy dancing on his eyes, you face the coldest gaze you had ever seen.

"Acacius' life is on my will, your mother's...even that beloved gladiator of yours." He got closer once again, looking directly to your eyes, you felt his wine breath on your face, "Test my patience once again, my lady and I will snap my finger like this" he snapped his fingers in front of you, getting closer to your lips you can almost feel his on your and it felt repulsive "and all of them will be dead. All of them!"

You gritted in protest, the repulsion of his touch filling you with an instinctual fear that made your skin crawl. The air between you felt suffocating, and the words he spoke echoed in your mind like a distant nightmare, gnawing at the edges of your sanity.

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, forcing you to remain still as his lips lingered too close to yours. The stench of wine and bitterness clung to him, every part of him an invasion to your thoughts, to your soul.

"Don’t you dare," you hissed, your voice trembling but filled with defiance. You refused to let him have the satisfaction of breaking you.

“You have no idea what I could give you,” Geta began, his voice low and smooth, carrying the weight of his authority. “Power, wealth, freedom to rule by my side as my wife. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of could be yours if only you’d open your eyes and choose me.”

You hold your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips pressed forcefully against yours. The taste of wine and greed made your stomach churn, and every inch of your body screamed in protest. This was not love. This was a sick obsession, an attempt to break your will and twist your bones. You clenched your fists, refusing to let him see the fear creeping at the edges of your resolve.

"I would rather die than choose you," you spat, your voice full of venom.

“I don’t care what you want” he said, pulling away just to stand up, smiling cruelly down at you on the ground. "Chain her to the wall." He ordered the guards

Your despair filled the dirty dungeons "No, please. Don't" you squirmed under the men's hold "Let me go!"

The cold stone wall bit into your skin as the guards’ iron chains wrapped around your wrists, pulling you taut against the damp, dark dungeon. The echo of your cries was swallowed by the silence of the place, but inside, your fury burned with an intensity you had never known. You clenched your teeth, fighting the tears that threatened to fall, determined to stay strong.

"Goodnight, my princess," Geta’s mocking voice lingered in the air long after he was gone, a cruel reminder of his power over you.

Your screams followed geta's steps as he walked away from you. You were left there to drown in your own tears as you curse and whatever plan his Machiavellian mind has.

Your fingers tightened into fists, nails digging into your palms as you whispered a curse under your breath, a spell woven from the ancient words passed down through history. Soon the future of Rome would be defined and you were going to take charge of it.

Tags 💌: (if you want to be removed feel free to tell me. I'm super shy when it comes to tags. By the way I couldn't tag everyone)

@greenwitchfromthewoods @joeldjarin @picketniffler @sptbear @heartpatch @immyowndefender @nobodyssfool @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @idkwhylou @jasminedragoon @ro-nahime-things @hduuc56 @mamustreads @itsafullmoon @tuquoquebrute @ccmoonshine @fvispunk @here-briefly @elisha-chloe @geekandbooknerd @guelyury @dlwrish @legoemma @scrappyskin @orcasoul @kluvspedro @onlythehobi @stormseyer @spideybv28 @spacelatinos4life @hduuc56 @foledean @negrita2345 @capswife @missadangel @spencercmlover @leahwwinchester @areyoutheretoru @nosebeers @discowitchyy

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #marcus acacius smut #general acacius x you #general acacius

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bug-decal-kissing · 1 year ago

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Hey friends!

Repairing pieces of a broken past., by Mrcafe, was updated today, with 2/3 Chapters released! It is Not Rated and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "Wings, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Healing"

You can read it here:

Seraphyllic, by DrakianDH, was updated today, with 18/20 Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and Graphic Depictions Of Violence, and Major Character Death, with additional tags "scarab the god auditor - Freeform, prismo the wishmaster - Freeform, Priscrab, ProhibitedWish, Scrabby, no beta we get turned to legos like the lich, Adventure & Romance, Story within a Story, Eventual Happy Ending, Maybe - Freeform, Author Is Sleep Deprived, The Author Regrets Nothing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, You gotta work for the comfort, begining poem importanteach chapter a word, prepare, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Needs A Hug, Sad with a Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Made Myself Cry, What Was I Thinking?, I Don't Even Know, Love"

You can read it here:

NSFW works are below the cut :].

Cicada's Last Song, by othersin, was updated today, with 2/3 Chapters released! It has a rating of Explicit and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "reverse, Role Swap, scarab is a version of the wishmaster, prismo is a version of the god auditor, Rough Sex, Accidental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, is is weird to watch your alt selves doing the nasty, probably, ProhibitedWish, Relationship(s), Romance"

You can read it here:

#i'm not putting my own work in here i feel cringe/hj #i had to fight my computer to type and publish on it and now it's take revenge #by continuously eating up what i write on tumblr #prayers for me in the chat please/j #prohibitedwish #prohibitedwish fics #cicada's last song #reparing pieces of a broken past #seraphyllic

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enteragoodnamehere · 4 months ago

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can’t sleep, so gay people wip time. who up dancing to they masochism tango

#cicadas creations #wips #judenikola #been wanting to make a masochism tango inspired piece for them for a while. it’s a very judenikola song imo #like last time I’ll finish this up in the morning. too tired rn 👍

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 11 months ago

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DEAR SPRING, STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO, SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your lovers, in the wake of a new spring.

word count; 3.8k

contents; sashisu/reader (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, all of u are whipped, lots of petnames, literally just breakfast fluff, it ended up kinda sugucentric on accident (not my fault btw he just really loves making breakfast for u that’s on him), also ended up kinda sappy at the end (that’s on me), implied no curses au, they’re in their twenties but it isn’t specified, everyone is eepy and in love <33

a/n; a little breakfast fic bc i love mornings and i love them :33 (tagging my beloved sashisu soldiers @catchuuu @staryukis i am making breakfast for both of u btw ☕️🥞) pls listen to spring thief by yorushika it’s the most sashisu song ever

as always, suguru is the first of you to make it into the kitchen.

he’s humming. it’s soft, a low lull of his voice, beckoning you closer like the call of a siren. sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, fiddling with a pan, sizzling and simmering and breathing in the scent of pancakes; it pairs well with the espresso steam from the coffee pot to his right, the vase of hydrangeas by the windowsill.

it’s a sunny morning. the perfect setting for the start of your day, an atmosphere you can savour, like the gradual sipping of your soon-to-be morning cup of coffee. somewhere outside your vision comes a morning symphony, chirps and songs by cicadas and robins. splotches of sunlight splatter against the windows, the kitchen table, the floorboards — illuminating the man in front of the stove.

something in your chest constricts, when you look at him. a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

you should be used to it, by now. suguru has always been an early bird, always the first to rouse from his slumber, only ever contended by shoko and her occasional bouts of sleep-deprivation. he’s always waiting for the three of you, just like this — in front of a sizzling pan, adjusting his glasses by the kitchen table, cooking or reading or simply reminiscing. content to stir in the peace and quiet of the morning hours, before the world wakes up.

and he’s always taken to preparing breakfast for the four of you, always ready to greet you with a smile and a cup of freshly made cappuccino. he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

(it wasn’t any different back when you were kids. suguru was always the first one in the dormitory’s kitchen, messing with the rusty french press or making a grossly bitter smoothie for himself. he was snarkier, more roundabout — but no less thoughtful. grumpy little shoko would always get the last bitter pumps of espresso, and sleepy little satoru would get a french toast if he asked nicely enough. and you?

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough. the steaming cup of cappuccino left on the kitchen counter — a little too tailored to your taste to be a mere coincidence — was always nothing more than an added bonus.)

the soft humming falters, for no more than a beat or two. suguru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and suddenly you can’t resist the temptation.

with clumsy steps, heavy feet weighed down by a sleepy sense of numbness, you stumble towards your target. it’s a familiar waltz, five steps to reach him, a warmth that spreads throughout your body in tandem with the curl of your arms around his waist. slumped against him, cheek squished against his upper back, you hold your breath.

silently, you wait. one, two, until you hear the familiar roll of his breath; a delighted little sigh that slips from his parted lips.

when suguru cranes his head to get a glimpse of you, his amber eyes are leaking adoration. a sense of liveliness, a joyous spark — like a firefly, the flicker of a rusty lighter. he looks well-rested, dark circles long faded, only the dimmest remnant of them still visible beneath his eyes.

he holds your gaze, steady and kind, and then he’s leaning forward; eager to press his lips against your waiting forehead. glasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. even the metal of his piercing feels warm on your skin.

you melt into his spine, fingers searching for a pair of hands that find yours first — his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions. he lingers against your skin, breathing in satoru’s favorite strawberry shampoo. you’ve been stealing it for weeks now.

suguru’s lips curl up into something amused, still not quite willing to part from you.

but then he does. turning towards the stove, reaching for the coffee pot with one hand, the other securing your own and lacing your fingers together. he gives them an affectionate squeeze, still resting on his lower stomach. a silent greeting that he always ends up voicing anyway.

”g’morning, love,” he croons, a little raspy, but sweet and nice. honeyed and deep, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. you hear him pour something into a cup. ”how did you sleep?”

all you can give him is a tired grunt, stretching your limbs out, blinking sluggishly to shoo away the drowsiness. suguru knows what to expect; he simply smiles, endeared, pouring steamed milk into your favorite cup. with a clink of his spoon against the ceramic, he adds the foam, stirring it carefully.

then he’s shifting his weight, angling his face towards yours, and pressing the rim of the cup against your lips — not before blowing on it gently. he watches as your eyelids flutter, waiting for the hum of contentment he’ll hear once you have your first sip. and he gets it. the rich aroma stirs you into a more awakened state, and a single taste of the creamy foam has you standing up a little straighter, humming in sleepy delight. suguru smiles, crow’s feet hidden behind his glasses.

you accept the cup with a grateful squeeze of his palm, and he makes sure it’s steady in your hold before he faces forward again. another sip, and your throat feels a little less dry, your mind a lot less sluggish. so you answer his previous question.

”… slept well,” another tiny sip. it’s hot, warming you up from the inside. ”i would’ve preferred waking up to you, though...”

a low chuckle bubbles up in your boyfriend’s throat. it makes you want to pout, but you smile instead. traitorous lips.

he’s looking at you again, unable to help himself, reaching over to brush some loose strands of hair away from your face. ”aw, ’m sorry,” he coos, teasingly, sickeningly sweet. ”but then you wouldn’t have woken up to a fresh cup of coffee, hm?”

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure. he must be in a good mood.

he usually is, at this time of year. when the air starts smelling of honeydew and snowdrops, and he’s awoken by barking dogs, luscious sunbeams splattered on soft bedsheets, the pitter patter of sudden spring rain. when the apricot trees outside your apartment complex begin to bloom; a flurry of sickly-white kisses pressed against your windows, sticking to the locks of your hair. it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog.

they make suguru sigh and sigh, exasperated, but there’s always a smile waiting somewhere out of view. he’s not very good at hiding it.

(he likes the apricot trees. likes watching them change shape, colour, likes waiting for them to wither and blossom and turn into fruit.

once they’re ripe enough to pick, i’ll make marmalade for us.)

the morning waltz continues. while suguru continues to flip his pancakes, you sleepily decide to set the table. fondness erupts behind his eyelids at the gesture, small as it is. you stand on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, just to grab satoru’s favorite mug; one you all got him for his 19th birthday, a heartfelt message of world’s okayest boyfriend etched into the front. it was meant to make him pout and whine, but you’ve never seen him drink out of anything else at home.

you place the cup on the table with a soft thunk, along with plates and cutlery. suguru has already brought down a cup for shoko, seated on the kitchen counter next to him, soon to be filled with the same rich espresso he always drinks. he’s waiting until she joins you both, so it doesn’t end up going lukewarm. there’s nothing shoko hates more. you can practically hear that grumpy scoff, see her cute little frown.

your sleep schedules differ from day to day. suguru is always up early, satoru always sleeps in. shoko fluctuates between the two. you usually end up rousing from your slumber whenever the bed starts feeling a little too empty — a fact you doubt they’ll ever quit teasing you about.

that differs from day to day, too. sometimes you sleep with suguru, sometimes the other two, sometimes all three. you have your separate rooms, but always end up with your limbs intertwined one way or another; even if one of you comes home late or falls asleep on the couch watching tv. satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket. as for you…

you’ve gotten way too used to their touch to ever go without it. last night, you ended up in suguru’s room, tucked underneath his chin, while satoru snuck into shoko’s bed to convince her not to pull another all-nighter. you’re assuming it worked.

”mm, smells good. you makin’ pancakes?”

a bubbly, groggy voice spills into the air, just as a light breeze flits in through the window. soothing, refreshing. you turn your gaze towards its source.

and there they are. sleepy satoru, and grumpy shoko, the former clinging to the latter like an overgrown koala. satoru seems to be in high spirits, calling out to you with a smile, blue eyes glimmering like a sunny sky; but you can tell he’s tired by the way he’s stretching out his limbs, only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away.

suguru gazes at them with a smile, in tandem with you, nothing but fond. loving, in the way the amber of his eyes gleams and swirls with promises of something everlasting. he’s a little intense, honestly. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

and, admittedly, your sleepy little partners are a sight for sore eyes.

shoko meets your gaze, and finally decides to shake off the man with an arm over her shoulder. said man huffs, but makes no move to follow her when she stumbles into your arms.

her limbs find their way around your midriff, her chin to the curve of your shoulder. her hair is loose, almost as long as suguru’s, messy and brushing against your cheek. your hand goes to smooth down her back, the fabric of her oversized shirt, soft and laced with the scent of laundry detergent. she yawns, right by your ear, lips jutted out into a small pout, and something in your chest returns. a hungry plant, drinking up her raspy voice, the glimpse you get of that mole beneath her eye. her stretch marks, when she pulls away and her shirt rides up enough to expose her thighs. little lightning bolts.

”morning,” you chirp. she presses a tiny kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your lips; sometimes you think she does it just to tease you.

”hey, how come i didn’t get a morning kiss?”

shoko turns her head, finding satoru’s accusing stare. he’s pouting, tilting his head, already making his way over to suguru. but she only rolls her eyes.

”you’re such a baby.”

”you know you love me!”

suguru stifles a puff of laughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. watching his partners with barely contained delight. satoru notices, grinning softly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

satoru’s kisses are always sloppy. you hear that drawn out mwah! even without looking at the pair, even without seeing his lips against suguru’s jaw. a phantom warmth sprouts on your skin.

”good morning, handsome,” he purrs, low and rumbling through his chest, pressed flush against suguru’s — their heartbeats mingling together. soft skin against smooth fabric. there’s mischief in those aquamarine eyes, something teasing, and it makes suguru want to return the favour.

”good morning, baby,” he presses his lips against satoru’s cheek. voice muffled against his soft skin, silky and deep. ”you kinda smell.”

a moment passes. the calm before the storm.

satoru blinks, barely registering shoko’s dry chuckle from behind him — and then furrows his eyebrows together like an irritated cat. a scandalized noise builds up at the base of his throat, and he glares at the man in front of him, frustration only growing when he notices that suguru isn’t returning the favour. his gaze is still fond, like an artist admiring a marble statue, drinking in his pouty boyfriend’s fluffy hair and droopy eyes and rosy lips. flattering, but the damage has been done.

”oh, i see how it is,” he withdraws his arms and takes a step back, crossing them with a hmph. ”bullying your sweet boyfriend first thing in the morning, huh? have you no shame?”

”sorry. you just look really bulliable today.”

another offended little noise. he turns on his heel, messy strands of hair swaying with the movement, glaring at shoko instead. ”unbelievable. i feel neglected in this household.”

you huff out a breathy laugh, taking a seat by the kitchen table while your lovers bicker. sipping from your cappuccino in silence, soaking up the mellow morning mood. until you feel satoru staring at you; eyes like marbles, big and bright, rich with mirth. his pout fades away, and he closes in on you with a smile. troubles forgotten.

before you can greet him, he’s leaning down to leave a fat kiss on your forehead — messy, uncoordinated, but loving. a coo on the tip of his tongue. when he’s this close you can see his dimples, those tiny freckles that only come out in the light of the sun.

you feel him smile against your skin, pulling back to speak. parting his pretty, glossy lips. ”and good morning to you, my dearest.”

he’s silly.

your lips bloom into a sweet grin, honeyed nectar on your teeth. he’s illuminated by the light streaming in through the window, a little disheveled, with his cute bedhead and bare chest exposed. a giggle slips from your lips, and your voice carries a melodic lilt, coming out as a soft croon. ”good morning, sunshine.”

satoru blinks. just once, before the telltale signs of his excitement start to show; his face brightening, breaking out into a cheshire grin, something sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. like folded origami, like messily cut fruit. citrusy and smooth.

before you can protest, those strong arms are reaching around your waist — hoisting you up into his arms with a coo of c’mere. he spins you around, just once or twice, and chuckles at the way you let out a sleepy yelp. even after stilling, he doesn’t put you down, only guiding your legs to wrap around his middle; his naked chest and muscles pressed flush against you. he’s warm, one large palm on your back and the other on your thigh. he touches you like it’s muscle memory, every ridge and dip, every part of you he’s already long mapped out. honestly, you don’t understand how he can get so excited this early in the morning.

but who are you to complain, when it means getting smothered like this?

”oh, and i smell great, by the way,” he suddenly huffs, directed at the partners behind him. he’s quick to smile down at you, tilting his head and searching for approval. ”don’t i, baby?”

for a second, you’re tempted to join in on the teasing. some part of you wants to. unfortunately, it loses against the parts of you still mesmerized by the splotches of white inside his pretty eyes, those cute little freckles. so you nod.

”yeah,” you breathe. inhaling, taking him in, sunlight and strawberries and laundry detergent. ”you smell like spring.”

his smile continues to blossom, turning sweeter by the minute. brighter than the sun. he throws a victorious glance behind him, delighting in the simultaneous roll of their eyes — before finally putting you back down. he wastes no time in plopping down on the seat to your right, dragging your chair closer to his, until they’re pressed against each other. curling a leg around yours. so clingy in the morning.

suguru and shoko are quick to join you. they blink slowly, sipping on their cups of espresso, a rich aroma spreading throughout the kitchen. it blends well with the plates of pancakes suguru scoots towards you, drizzled with the syrup satoru likes. he’s attentive, making sure you’re all comfortable, rising to his feet when shoko asks for a single cube of sugar. she’s started to mellow out a bit, no longer as grumpy, soothed by the bitter taste on her tongue. and satoru keeps your leg locked in place beneath the table.

it’s hard not to feel nostalgic, like this. when spring is blooming just outside your window, when all three of them are just the same as you remember. some things have changed, sure, but they’re still so unapologetically them. loud voices, rude eye-rolls, teasing comments and all.

they munch on their pancakes, sip on their coffee, and you chat about what to do when you all get home. what movie to watch, what food to order, what food to make because suguru doesn’t think you’ve been eating enough homemade meals lately. bickering and bantering. smiling.

(it feels like high school every day.)

shoko is the first to leave. she glances at the clock on the wall and stutters out a string of curse words, a mutter about being late. suguru plays dumb when she accuses him of not reminding her on purpose. she kisses you again, right under your jaw, and lets her clingy boyfriends give her one kiss each on the lips — despite her protests that they’ll mess up her lipstick. then she’s heading out.

”goodbye, doctor!” satoru calls, cheery even as your girlfriend rolls her pretty eyes.

”don’t call me that yet,” she snorts, adjusting her scarf. ”there’s still a good chance i’ll drop out. or cheat my way to a doctorate.”

so she says, but you all know her. you catch that glimmer of amusement in her eyes, something smug in the way she straightens her back. a little embarrassed, maybe. but the faith you have in her makes her glow.

then it’s satoru’s turn. he’s whinier, about it, ignoring the alarms on his phone on purpose. suguru has to bribe him, promising him kikufuku and take-out and an extra tight hug when he gets home. only then does he get up from his seat, untangling his leg with yours.

”do i have to?”

”yes, you do,” suguru tuts. ”the kids have an exam today. be responsible.”

another pout. but he listens, slipping on his sunglasses, putting on a coat and stealing a sip of your coffee that only makes him grimace. he has you both kiss the taste away, and you indulge him, because he’s silly and stupid and yours.

and then it’s just you and suguru. he has a day off, and you don’t have to leave until later. the kitchen falls silent, back to a mellow morning rhythm, that quiet waltz of motions and sunshine. suguru pours you more coffee, gazing at you from across the table, and you thank him with a smile. he adjusts his glasses and flips through the morning newspaper; absently, you wonder if shoko and satoru would’ve teased him for it.

what the four of you have is an odd arrangement. but that’s what all of you are, anyway; a little odd.

and as you sit there, serenaded by cicadas and morning birds, senses caressed by cappuccino foam and apricot blossoms and a hand holding yours over the table… you think to yourself that even if everything shattered around you — if the earth stopped spinning or the stars crashed through the roof of your apartment — you’d probably still keep on living. you’d do it, if only to continue chewing on these memories, these mornings, like savouring the faded flavour of an old piece of gum. over and over again, until you can’t tell where your teeth end and where the gum begins, so that you’ll always be able to taste it on your tongue. for the rest of your life.

it’s melodramatic, yes, but they are too. you’re sure suguru is pondering a sentiment even more dramatic, right now, even heavier with devotion. something so sappy you’d have to hide your face in your hands and beg him to stop talking.

and, lo and behold, he suddenly speaks up.

“are you happy?”

the question breaks you out of your silent stupor. you look up from your plate, his amber eyes already taking you in, drowning you in fondness. he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified. the silver of his lip piercing catches the light of the sun. a couple apricot petals are stuck in his hair, woven between his raven locks.

you blink. inside your chest, something unfurls, twists and turns, grows and withers all at once. a whole garden of love, just for them.

you lean forward, elbows on the table, and brush through his bangs. petal caught between your fingertips. when you lean back, you’re smiling.

“yeah,” you answer, truthfully. inhaling the scent of spring. “i’m always happy when i’m with you.”

a breeze caresses your cheek, your hands, and the whole apartment smells of apricots. suguru seems pleased, returning to his cup of lukewarm coffee, a little clink of ceramic against porcelain that strikes you as distinctly heavenly.

soon, you’ll have to leave. you’ll have to manage without their jokes and banter and touches, without them, for a grueling number of hours, one tortuous lecture after another. but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come.

and you’re sure they feel the same.

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again — a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins.

and you smile.

(it’s springtime, now. a little warmer.

here’s to another year together.)

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #geto x you #geto x y/n #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x y/n #shoko ieiri x you #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #sashisu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader

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mikashisus · 1 month ago

Note

ray idk anything about hsr or genshin so i can’t req for those unfortunately 💔 BUT you summoned me by including bllk in your list HEHEHE can i request smth for nagi?? i don’t really have any specific ideas though…maybe childhood friends 🤔 or anything you want really!!

sorry this is so unspecific i’ve never requested before 😔 but ilyyyy and congrats on 200 that’s amazing!!

— definitely not mira 👹

STITCH ME UP

synopsis: you didn’t consider nagi seishiro a friend at first. but now, you couldn’t imagine your days without him latched to your side.

taglist. @pneumosia @pixelcafe-network @gl4di0lus ( join the taglist here! )

word count. 2.1k ( contents : semi angst, injuries, mc has a short temper )

notes. this has been sitting in my inbox since JULY IM SO SORRY MIRA 😭 but it's finally here!! there'll def be a part 2 bc this is so dogshit and i need to redeem myself with a second part. mira i look up to ur writing sm so u only deserve peak, and i promise u'll get it in part 2 queen 🙏 anyw um the title is in reference to the song “stitch me up” by set it off :))

header art by: @/Liiiiiiimsao ( twt )

The first time you met Nagi Seishiro, you were about to go into your first year of middle school, curled up on the side of the street struggling to wrap a bandage around your left arm.

It was sunset then, and the world was quiet aside from the loud buzzing of cicadas and the occasional car passing by.

Nagi had just left a tiny convenience store located on the edge of the street, his phone in his hands as he tapped away at the game he was currently fixated on. Knowing the way back home by heart, he began to walk in that direction, unaware of his surroundings.

It was only when he tripped over something rather sturdy did he finally forcefully take his eyes off the device in his hand. His grip on his phone tightened. He was determined not to drop it and risk the screen cracking again.

Not paying any mind to what he just tripped over, he sighed in relief that he did not drop his phone, and patted down his pants.

“HEY!”

A loud yell drew him from his stupor. He slowly turned, coming face to face with a scowl. He blinked at you for a few seconds, before he faced you properly and raised a brow.

“Yes?”

“Look where you’re going, asshole! You tripped over me!” You snapped, patience wearing thin.

His shoulders slumped. Now that you stood in front of him, you realized just how tall he actually was. He kind of looked like a third year. It made you all the more aggravated. You hated anyone that could look down on you like he was.

“Oh. Sorry, I guess.” He shrugged, acting as if what just happened was not a big deal. “You have a bad mouth.”

That was the last straw. Your fists clenched tightly, your nails digging into your skin as your eye twitched. You ignored the pain in your palms and challenged his stoic stare.

“So what?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Is that a problem?”

He shrugged again and looked down at his phone. “I don’t really care.”

He got ready to leave, when he cast one last glance at you, and his eyes landed on the now bloody bandage that came undone from your arm. The longer he stared, the more he realized he'd seen you before.

He racked his brain for answers, sifting through each memory to try and remember where he’d seen you. Meanwhile, you were silent, fidgety. You did not enjoy people staring at you. It made you anxious, like they were trying to challenge you in some way.

This weird boy who you did not understand and you deemed an asshole for not watching where he walked made you feel quite nervous. You knew him from school. He was the boy who was exceptionally good at volleyball.

You could remember how fascinated you were watching him play during gym class. He had all the talent you could only hope for, and the envy had bubbled up inside you, growing exponentially. Despite your envy, you quickly forgot about him after you no longer had to be in the same proximity as him, and you went about your life without thinking of him again.

Until now.

Nagi finally remembered where he had seen you. It was as if a lightbulb had suddenly appeared above his head, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. You were that one kid that liked to pick a fight with anyone taller than you.

He first caught a glimpse of you in the nurse’s office when he had tripped outside during gym class and cut open his knee. As he was waiting for the nurse to return with gauze, he heard a commotion outside the office and saw your rather short form tackle a boy twice your size.

With the strength of a lion tucked inside that small body of yours, you refused to give up the fight until the nurse came back and rushed out into the hall to separate the two of you.

Nagi remembered watching your face fall in defeat when the nurse said to go to the principal’s office and that your parents would need to be called.

“You’re that kid.” The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. “You like to pick fights with people.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he watched you deflate like a balloon right in front of him. Your face fell, and your arms dropped to your sides. He wondered what it was that made you so upset. Was it the reputation you had around the school?

Just then, he saw the loose bandage on your arm completely come undone. It fell to the ground and pooled around your feet. Time stopped, and he stared in absolute horror at the mess of stitches on your arm. You did nothing to pick up the bandages. In fact, you barely moved.

He would’ve thought you to be a statue if not for the slight twitching of your fingers. You tapped idly against your thigh, your eyes blank as you stared at the ground. He watched closely as your fingers danced in a certain rhythmic movement, and he soon realized you were tapping in morse code.

S.O.S.

He barely had time to register that it was morse code. His focus went back to the ghastly stitches on your arm. They looked as if they were done by someone with no experience whatsoever, but there was clearly an attempt.

The wound itself did not look any better, and he wondered if you had even cleaned it all. He noticed a few other scars littered on your arm. They were smaller and less noticeable, but his intense stare had caught sight of them easily.

“How’d you hurt yourself?” He questioned softly, unaware he had asked that out loud instead of inside his head.

You did not answer. Not right away at least. With a heavy sigh, you collapsed back against the fence you were previously leaning on before he had tripped over you.

“I didn’t do anything,” you muttered with a tinge of venom in your voice. “It was someone else… But no one ever believes me, so as far as anyone is concerned, I did this to myself.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he picked up the bandages you dropped, careful not to touch the parts covered in blood, and told you to wait here.

Where would I even go? You thought. It’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.

Within a few minutes, he was rushing out of the convenience store and across the street again, a pack of gauze and a water bottle in his hands. His phone was now tucked into his pants pocket. He kneeled down next to you and gently reached for your arm.

“Did you try to stitch this up yourself?”

He did not need an answer. He already knew it, though he felt the need to ask anyway. You nodded, so slight he almost missed it. He pulled a pair of scissors from the second plastic bag wrapped around his arm and carefully cut the string.

With gentle hands, he removed the stitches to the best of his ability and dropped them onto the bandages from earlier. You tried your best not to move the whole time, but he could tell from your scrunched expression that you were in more than a bit of pain.

He unscrewed the cap of the water bottle. “This might hurt.” He poured water over your wound, causing you to bite back a scream.

“I don’t know how to do stitches, so…” He trailed off. “So I just got this.” He held up the gauze he bought and carefully wrapped up your arm.

As soon as he was finished, he threw the gross bandages into the now empty plastic bag and glanced at you. Your brows were still furrowed and your lip was still tugged between your teeth.

He stood up, taking a look at the sky. The sun was almost fully over the horizon by now, and he was likely late for dinner. He needed to leave now and get back home. As he turned to do just that, he almost missed the slight crack of your voice.

“Thank you.”

Were it not for the temporary silence of the cicadas, he would have missed your words entirely, and it would not have paved the way for your future with Nagi Seishiro.

The next time you saw Nagi was in your second year of middle school.

A white volleyball came flying out of the gym one day after school, narrowly missing his nose. It fell to the ground with a plop a foot away from him. Rushed footsteps sounded from behind him as he picked it up, and he could hear the yells of the volleyball team from the open doors of the gym.

A familiar voice entered his ears. “I got it!”

Moments later, you were rushing out of the gym doors, sweat lining your temple and your collarbone. An exhausted expression rested on your face, and fresh bandages were wrapped around the same arm he tended to a year prior.

You stopped as you looked up at him, your eyes flashing with recognition as you took in the tall boy standing before you with your volleyball in his hands. You swallowed thickly, fiddling with the hem of your black t-shirt.

He handed you the volleyball. “Here you go.”

“…Thanks.” You hesitantly took it from his hands and hugged it to your stomach. You stared at him warily for a moment before turning around to head back into the gym.

“You play volleyball?” He asked suddenly, shocking you as you were not expecting him to make small talk.

You turned to face him again and nodded. “Yeah… My dad is a fan, so as soon as I was old enough to play, he signed me up for lessons,” You said.

There was a pause, and he could tell by the awkward look in your eyes that you were debating on if you should share more or not. In the end, you caved.

“I’m not that good. So I mainly just play because it’s fun.” You shrugged. "...I should get back to practice.”

You left before he could get another word out. Later that day, when you were walking home from practice, you saw Nagi again— this time walking out of his house. His eyes met yours, and you both stared at one another in surprise. You lived in the same neighborhood.

You never went as far as to consider that you and Nagi were friends. Not at first, at least. You never had friends— not after your reputation of being a short-tempered, fight-starter circulated around the school. Even your volleyball team was not a fan of you, despite the fact that you were surprisingly good when it came to teamwork.

Everyone was inclined to stay away from you. Either out of fear or hatred, you weren’t sure. But as time passed, you came to accept being the loner who always ended up in the principal’s office.

That was until Nagi offered you a can of soda after your failed attempt of getting the faulty vending machine to work. It was late in the afternoon on a Friday in Spring of your first year of high school. Up until that point, the two of you only interacted at odd times when you just so happened to come across each other in the halls or walking out of your houses.

No words were ever shared between you, only slight nods of the head and small waves in greeting. Now, though, Nagi was taking a seat next to you on the staircase, placing a can of soda next to your foot. He pulled out his phone, loaded up a game, and handed it to you.

“Wanna play?”

You blinked at him in surprise, before nodding. You got past four levels in the game before dying, letting out a groan of frustration. He leaned over your shoulder, watching the screen intently. Occasionally, he’d chime in with a word of advice, or ask if you wanted him to do that level for you. You two sat there on that staircase for what felt like hours, before a staff member came and told you to leave.

After that day, you would meet on the stairs everyday after your volleyball practices, playing that very same game together and attempting to outdo each other’s high scores. This routine continued, until one day you invited him to the park with you to play there.

You didn’t consider Nagi Seishiro a friend at first. But now, you couldn’t imagine your days without him latched to your side.

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi bllk #nagi blue lock #nagi x reader #nagi x you #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro x you #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #— ( 🥂 200 event. mikashisus. )#—mikashisus works .ᐟ

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comfortless · 1 year ago

Text

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #konig fanfiction #i have been mulling over this for an eternity sorry it needed to be extracted from my brain #he is absolutely more lycanthrope coded to me but whoosh whatever nix König be upon ye #also apologies to everyone for not writing much lately and the fact this is hardly a real fic #cursed by the sleepy i just need a 10yr long nap #<- in my ‘in denial about burnout’ era

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