#he's looking a bit greener than usual

[obscuravoid]

I finally finished the sketch of Unperson Ranboo I started 4 months ago, except instead of actually finishing it, I just turned it into a fancier sketch. He's still suffering, but now it's in HD!

@mollish-art

[puckinghischier]

Surprise…?

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: luke gets hurt during a game

notes: y’all i think i struggle writing luke for some reason. i just never seem to really like what i write when i write for him. wtf am i doing wrong 😩

request: can you do a post on luke Hughes getting badly injured the game at umich and both older brothers are there and get worried over him and major fluff

i strayed away a bit from the michigan aspect because i don’t feel comfy writing about college hockey players, so i changed it up a bit. i hope you still enjoy!! 🫶🏼

[3.3k]

~

There weren’t many times you regretted moving to Jersey, but right now was one of them. The constant traffic within the city wasn’t something that usually got under your skin, but today it was the absolute bane of your existence. Of course, you were in a hurry. A big one. You had approximately thirty minutes until puck drop, and you needed to get there before that puck hit that ice. No exceptions. You hadn’t told Luke what you were doing, so he probably already expected you to be there, wondering why you’re not in your usual seat for warm-ups.

As if he could hear your thoughts, your phone buzzed with a message from Luke, not being able to read what it said while trying to weave in and out of traffic.

“Quinn, can you see what Luke just sent. And then tell him I’m on my way. I don’t want him worrying that I’m not showing tonight,” you ask the Hughes brother currently in your passenger seat.

Quinn grabbed your phone from the cupholder, listening to you rattle off your passcode so he can open Luke’s message.

“He asked where you were, and if you were already there. Wanted to know why you weren’t in your seat for warm ups,” Quinn confirms your thoughts, looking to you for an answer.

“Tell him I’m just running late. Be there before puck drop. And tell him I love him and good luck.”

You hear the sound of Quinn typing your reply as you increase your speed, cursing the people who want to drive below the speed limit in the fast lane. This is what you get for trying to be a good girlfriend and surprise your boyfriend and his brother. You get stuck on the road with New Jersey’s worst drivers.

In your defense, you were supposed to already be safely at the arena in your seats, but Quinn’s airline had different plans. His flight being delayed by three hours gave you barely enough time to run and grab him from the airport and make it back to the Rock before the hockey game started. The only thing saving your ass right now is the fact that if you can just get there, you can go through the player entrance and avoid the crowds trying to get in at the last minute.

“If you don’t calm down and drive like a sane person, we’re never going to get there. We’ll be squashed on the side of the road,” Quinn scolds you, grasping what your dad always called the ‘oh shit’ handles.

“If I can just get around these idiots in front of me we’ll be fine. We’re almost at our exit, then I just have to pull around back and we’re in,” you tell him, once again pressing the gas pedal a little harder.

Quinn stays silent the rest of the drive, closing his eyes once you start speeding around the other cars on the freeway, finally getting to the right exit and rushing to the underground parking that the players always park in. You pull your car into the spot next to Jack’s, barely even turning the car off before you’re jumping out and sprinting to the entrance.

“C’mon, Quinn! I know you can move faster than that! We only have a few minutes! Move it!” You yell over your shoulder, Quinn barely having gotten out of the car.

“Remind me to never let you drive ever again,” is all he says as he catches up to you, looking a little greener than before.

The two of you make it inside the arena with no issues, sprinting to your seats just as the national anthem finishes, both teams sending their starting lines out on the ice.

You had managed to snag Quinn a seat next to you, asking the team’s manager for a favor to help surprise their rookie defenseman. With no hesitation, he handed you a ticket and a locker room pass for Quinn, knowing how homesick Luke had been lately. You had thanked him a million times, asking him to keep it a secret from both Jack and Luke, not wanting either one of them to know until the day of. He gave you his word, and was also the reason you were given access to the player parking for the night, not wanting Quinn to be ambushed by fans going through the regular entrance.

You felt your heart rate start to slow once you were both situated in your seats, glad that you had made it in time. Neither Jack nor Luke had looked over and noticed you yet. You wondered if they were going to clock Quinn before they took their stances on the ice.

Your question was soon answered as Jack looked back and saw you, waving and turning to get Luke’s attention before he did a double take, noticing the brunette sitting to you left. Quinn gave a small wave, flashing his younger brother a smile as you watched Jack’s eyes widen, mouth curving into beaming smile. Luke had turned back, looking in your direction, a relieved smile on his face once he noticed you were finally in your spot, eyes too focused on your figure to notice Quinn’s next to you. It wasn’t until he looked over at Jack and followed his gaze that he finally noticed his oldest brother in the crowd, a Devil’s hat on his head.

Luke’s eyes flicked over to you once again, mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ to you, your only response a shrug of the shoulders and a smirk on your face.

The two brothers quickly focused their attention to the officials on the ice, lowered into their stances, waiting for the puck to drop onto the ice.

“You know they’re going to compete now, right?” Quinn says as he elbows you to get your attention.

“Why would they compete? They’re literally playing for the same team. It doesn’t matter who scores as long as the team wins,” you respond, confused at Quinn’s words.

“It matters now. They do the same thing when mom or dad come to watch them. They want the praise. They want to be able to out perform the other so they can brag about it to me after the game,” Quinn clarifies.

“I don’t know about that. Jack’s been good about trying to set Luke up for success all year, I think they’ll surprise you.”

Quinn gives you a skeptical look, not believing your words, but lets it go otherwise; his attention quickly stolen by the sound of the puck hitting the ice, followed by clashing sticks and skates scraping against the frozen floor.

Much to your surprise, Quinn proved to be right. All throughout the first period, the two brothers fought to get the puck, sometimes even fighting against one another. You noticed the odd looks from their teammates, Nico even skating over to Jack during a tv timeout to ask him what was up, not having seen the pair act like this before. You kept throwing glares at Luke, trying to tell him to knock it off, that they’re playing for the same team, but he wouldn’t look at you for more than a few seconds at a time.

As the second period started, the competition between Jack and Luke had nearly ceased to exist. You assumed they got their asses chewed in the locker room during the intermission, noting how their coach seemed to watch them like a hawk. Once the brothers started actually playing together instead of against one another, the Devil’s were scoring goals left and right, putting up four goals before the end of the second period, one Luke’s and two being Jack’s.

With only three minutes left in the second period, Luke was attempting to get possession of the puck from behind the net, fighting two of the opposing players for the black piece of rubber. He lost control of the puck, and in a moment of frustration, pushed one of the enemy players in the back, wanting out of the sandwich they had put him in. The player he pushed fell forward onto the ice, drawing a penalty on Luke. The official had blown the whistle, stopping gameplay, when Luke looked over at him, frustrated at the call.

What Luke didn’t see was the player who had gotten the puck come skating up behind him at full speed, pushing Luke so hard his skates came out from under him, causing him to land on the ice on his back. He was angled just enough, though, that his body slid at high speed straight into the bottom of the wall a few feet away, head bouncing off the boards along the ice.

You were on your feet immediately, hands flying to the glass in front of you, begging for him to get up. Quinn jumped to his feet next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, whether to comfort you or himself, you don’t know. Jack leaves his spot on the bench to skate over to his brother, falling to his knees on the ice, hovering above Luke.

Luke hadn’t moved yet. Not a foot twitch, a roll over in pain, or a thumbs up to let anyone know he’s okay. He’s laying lifeless on the ice, trainers calling his name, careful not to touch his head or neck. Your hand flies to cover your mouth, a sob making its way out of you when you noticed the stretcher being put on stand-by near the tunnel. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion, time stopped as Luke continues to lay, unmoving. Quinn tries to move you back from the glass, averting your attention from the scene in front of you, but your eyes are glued to Luke’s body.

You thought you imagined the twitch of his foot, thinking it was where the medics were tapping his leg, trying to coax him awake. When you finally see his body try to roll over, you let out the breath that you didn’t even know you were holding. Your relief was short-lived, however, when you hear the scream that makes its way out of Luke’s throat. You’re not sure which one hurt worse, him lying there not moving or the scream of agony that’s currently echoing through the arena.

Your knees start to give out, eyes blurring from the tears falling down your face. Quinn catches you as you slide down the glass, holding your sobbing figure in a crouched position.

“Quinn, gotta go. Gotta go, locker rooms,” you manage to say between sobs, trying to stand and make your way out of the stands.

“Okay, yeah, let’s go. Let’s get you out of here.”

The fans watch as Quinn guides you out of your seats and up the stairs. Most of them familiar with you, you and Luke not being super private with your relationship. A lot of them are still shouting obscenities at the player who went after Luke, demanding he be suspended. Some of them give you sad smiles as you pass, hoping your rookie is okay.

You finally reach the entrance to the training room, knowing this is where they’ll have taken him before they decide if he needs a hospital or not. You can hear them in there talking to him, unsure if you should enter yet or wait on someone to come out and get you. You stand at the doors, staring into space, when Quinn decides to speak up.

“He’s gonna be fine, Y/N. Probably a gnarly bruise, and likely a concussion, but it could’ve been worse. I know its scary, but I promise, he’s going to be okay. Might not even miss more than a game or two.”

All you can do is nod at the words, unable to do much else at the moment. You try to give a small smile, but you think it comes across as more of a grimace. You turn your head when you hear the door to the training room opens, revealing one of the team trainers.

“Oh, good, you’re already down here. He’s asking for you. Wants you to know he’s awake and okay. Nothing’s broken, just banged up and a mild concussion. Probably going to have him follow up with a doctor tomorrow, but for now he just needs rest. You can go ahead and go in. He won’t be playing the rest of the night,” the man in front of you finishes, stepping aside so you can walk through the open door.

You turn back to look at Quinn, seeing if he’s going to come with you.

“I’ll just give you two a minute first. Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you,” he tells you, wanting a minute to process his own emotions before seeing his baby brother.

You nod and turn to walk into the training room, following the trainer down a short hallway before turning the corner into a room with three different treatment tables, Luke’s long body taking up the farthest one. His head is laying back on a pillow, a large ice pack taped to his right shoulder. His gear is laying in a pile on the floor next to him, completely bare from the waist up. As you get closer, you can see the already purple skin forming in the exposed parts of his shoulder and upper arm. You gasp quietly at the bruised skin, causing Luke’s head to snap up at the sound.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he rasps out, voice raw from his screams earlier.

You stop on the side of the bed opposite to his injury, unable to say anything yet. Tears still streaming down your face, looking him over for any other signs of injury.

“Hey, no need to cry, angel. I’m okay, see. Just a little bruise. Nothing to be worried about. You should see the other guy,” he tries to joke, being told he left a dent in the wall where he hit.

You glare at him through your tears, unhappy with his weak attempt at joke.

“Okay, yeah, maybe not the time to joke just yet,” he brings the hand on his good arm up to rub the back of his neck, looking away from your tear-stained face.

“You were unconscious, Luke…you weren’t moving,” is all you managed, staring at his injured shoulder.

“I know, baby, I know. But I’m awake now, see?” he gestures towards his body with his good arm. “I’m just fine. Yapping ability unaffected,” he once again tries to bring a smile to your face, this time it almost works.

“God, Luke, if you could’ve heard the scream you let out,” you shudder at the memory. “It was the worst sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I thought my heart was going to rip in two right there on the spot. I don’t ever want to hear the sound again,” you finally look at his face, noting the small cut on his forehead, you assume from his helmet.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry you had to witness all of it. I can’t imagine how it must’ve looked,” his tone apologetic. “If the roles were reversed, I don’t think I would have been able to keep myself from trying to climb over the glass to get to you. But I promise, sweetheart, I’m fine. Told me as long as my head’s fine I should only have to miss two or three games to let the bruise run its course,” he grabs your hand, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“It was just so scary, Luke,” you sniffle, closing your eyes for a brief moment. You finally start to calm down now that his hand is in yours.

“I know. But now you get to play doctor and take care of me for a few days. Kiss all my boo boo’s better,” Luke wiggles his eyebrows at you, finally earning that laugh he’s been trying to get out of you since you walked in.

“That was probably one of the ickiest things you’ve ever said to me,” you laugh with Luke, fake gagging for dramatic effect.

Luke opens his mouth to say something else, but the the doors to the training room open, cutting him off. The familiar sound of skates against the floor making their way towards the two of you. Jack turns the corner, a frantic look in his eyes until he lands on Luke, awake and sitting up.

“I’m going to kill you for scaring me like that,” Jack points a finger, glaring at his younger brother. “I mean, why the fuck did you hit him, Luke! What were you thinking? You know how these guys are, they’re begging for any excuse to fight! They don’t care if you’re a 20 something rookie, they’re gonna hit back, dumbass!” Jack yells at Luke, throwing his arms around in frustration.

Luke winces at the volume of Jack’s voice, his ears sensitive to loud noises right now. Before you can get the words out to tell Jack to be quieter, Quinn enters the room and does it for you.

“Jack, be quiet for fuck’s sake. He has a concussion; you yelling at him is only going to make it worse. Yell at him later.”

“Well, it was stupid, Q. What he did was stupid,” Jack says in a normal tone of voice, still angry.  

“Don’t act like you’ve never done anything stupid on the ice before. Just because you never get caught when you hit people doesn’t mean you don’t do it,” Quinn walks over to stand beside Jack at the end of the table.

“You good, Moose? Looked pretty nasty out there from where I was sitting. Scared us, man,” Quinn asks Luke, tapping him on the foot. You note the redness of Quinn’s eyes, knowing how much he cares for both of his brothers. The whole situation shook him up, too, you were just too worried about Luke to notice at the time.

“Yeah, m’alright. Head hurts. Shoulder feels like it’s been run over by the ‘boni, but other than that I got off pretty clean. Nothing’s broken. Have to miss two games at least, more if my head ain’t right,” Luke answers Quinn, moving his hand so he can thread his fingers through yours.

“Your head’s never been right, Moose,” Jack says, causing Luke to roll his eyes.

Quinn leans over to bump his shoulder into Jack’s, shaking his head, unimpressed with his joke.

“Wait,” Luke starts, causing everyone to look up at him. “Are we just not going to address the fact that Quinn randomly showed up to the game tonight?”

“Yeah, how did you get here. Shouldn’t you be in Vancouver right now?” Jack adds, looking over at his older brother suspiciously.

Quinn looks over to you, causing the other two Hughes to shift their gaze your way.

“Surprise?” you say as a question, not knowing what to do with all the eyes in the room on you.

“You did this?” You look over at Luke, nearly eye level with him, even though he’s laying on the table beside you.

“Well, I know you’ve been struggling with adjusting to life here lately, and you were feeling pretty homesick, so I figured it would be nice for you to have both of your brothers in Jersey for a night or two,” you shrug your shoulders, not seeing the big deal with your actions.

“Tried to get your parents here, too, but they couldn’t leave work right now. They sent their love and apologies, though. Promised me they’d be at a game as soon as they could,” you added, wishing you could’ve had all the Hughes here tonight.

“I….I don’t know what to say,” Luke looks at you, so much affection in his eyes it makes you squirm.

“Well, a thank you would be a nice start,” you joke.

“Thank you. I love you. So much. If I could lean over to kiss you right now I would,” Luke brings your hand up to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back of your hand clasped in his.

“Please, for the love of god, don’t make me witness anything else painful tonight,” Jack interrupts the moment, earning a slap to the back of the head from Quinn.

“Don’t you have a game to go finish, jackass?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Jack jumps, forgetting about the last period that’s about to start. “See you at home, Moose, Q. You, too, Y/N. Assume you’re staying over to help take care of the patient, yeah?” He nods his head towards the injured one in the room.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Be safe, Jack. Good luck,” you wave as he turns to leave.

“I’ll go pull the car around, be back in a few to help you get this ole’ goon out of here,” Quinn announces before leaving you and Luke alone once more.

“So, you’re really going to stay over? Play nurse for me?” Luke asks, looking at you with puppy dog eyes, batting his eyelashes.

“Of course I’m staying over. I can’t trust Jack to make sure you’re not up and around doing something stupid when you’re supposed to be resting.”

“So, if you’re going to play nurse, does this mean we can stop on the way home and get you one of those sexy nurse outfits?” Luke asks, eyes hopeful.

“Maybe they should’ve just left you out there unconscious on the ice, you were less annoying that way,” you fire back, smiling at the laugh Luke let out, thanking your lucky stars your boy is okay.

[artbyblastweave]

So, Wildbow pretty famously retconned Browbeat to death because he got sick of fan jokes about every new character secretly being Browbeat under a new identity. I've got mixed thoughts on that.

Unfortunately for all, my de facto reaction to that kind of meta-level contrarian stunt is "Power Move TBH," even if it was broadly comorbid with a proximity to the fandom that kind of blew out Ward's kneecaps with a .50 cal. Overlooking the fact that I think it was really sincerely funny, there's an argument to be made that it trims the fat; adding an additional heroic casualty for a grand total of seven out of twenty two named heroes operating in Brockton Bay at the time of arc 8. Browbeat is also specifically an independent hero who was headhunted for the Wards relatively soon after his debut- a distinct dynamic from the other wards who get pulverized, from the superheroic family business of New Wave, or the adult professional superheroes who bite it. This is a very Taylor shaped guy, the same kind of just-starting-out teenaged cape with an uncertain future. Him getting unceremoniously pulverized for the bad luck of having a front-line power therefore presents a bit of a "there but for the grace of god" moment for Skitter, if you choose to look at it like that. This is the kind of thing an editor would probably make him do anyway, if he wasn't cut entirely. But the thing is that I am kind of attached to the original outcome for Browbeat, which is that he dips. I think it actually adds some subtle verisimilitude to the story. The number of heroes we actually see is significantly lower than the alluded-to headcount in the early arcs; more indie heroes are alluded to then ever actually appear, and a combination of Leviathan casualties and departure during the ensuing civilian exodus is usually how I've seen that discrepancy squared. But it hits better if a named character cuts and runs. In the story as currently written, every hero who lives, remains in Brockton Bay to try and hold the line. I kind of liked the version of the story where that wasn't the case, where you can infer that at least one of these teenagers went, you know what, I'm not so completely committed to heroic altruism at the age of 16 that I'm gonna hang around to do it in a town without running water, I'm going to pursue a less horrible gig elsewhere. That's not really a thing that happens too often in Big-two comics, and if it were to happen it would likely be painted as a notable departure from expectations. But one of Worm's major themes is that unlike in the comics, there's a gigantic spread of motivations and personality types amongst the officially designated heroes, and it's a nice reminder that all those different personality types are going to have different thresholds for throwing in the towel and moving on to greener pastures. Or it was, until he just died instead

[thestruidora]

How about this prompt with Dean Winchester x reader?

In my defense, the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.

Thanks!

Cry Wolf

Supernatural Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Werewolf Dean, Possessive Behavior, Some Angst, Fluff and Smut, Non-con Elements if you squint, Hurt/Comfort, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Blood Kink, Knotting, Alpha/Beta/Omega Undertones

Category: F/M

Pairings: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Summary: Dean gets bit by a werewolf during a hunt, forcing Sam on a quest to find the sire lycanthrope and cure his brother. Suffering the effects of the transformation, Dean is quarantined in the bunker all by himself. It really is bad timing when you come a-knocking, utterly oblivious, and with a bleeding gash on your upper thigh. Did I mention it was a full moon?

This is a one-shot. Here's the masterlist of my other fics: Masterlist

Chapter One

Bad Moon Rising

"Don't come around tonight, well it's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise."

You were limping, the cut on your leg sending a shooting pang through you every time you took a wobbly step forward. Getting in your car had been difficult, driving had been terrible, but leaving the vehicle and trudging down the asphalt road to the uneven terrain along the entrance of the bunker was the real bitch.

You banged on the side of the door, the metal continuing to vibrate long after your knock.

“Guys, it’s me.” You announced. A dark, heavy cloud loomed over your head, covering the big full moon that shone in the sky. Soon little beads of water were beginning to fall on top of you. “Come on, it’s starting to rain!” Still, there was no response.

You cursed under your breath and took your phone from your pocket, calling Sam one more time. As it had happened in your previous attempts, his voicemail was all you reached.

“Shit.” Your thumb hovered over Dean’s name, about to press the call button yet again, but a gearing sound stopped you in your tracks.

The bunker’s door was cracked open by an inch, wide hazel eyes meeting yours through the gap.

“Dean?” You could only see a sliver of his face, but his pupils were incredibly dilated, almost obscuring his irises entirely. His mouth was agape, and he panted for air as if he had just run for miles.

“Hey, kiddo.” You cringed, not only at the condescending nickname that he had forced on you years ago, but also at the rasp in his voice. It was gruffer than usual, deep, and full-bodied. “Whatcha doing here? Is Sam with you?” He looked over your shoulder, eyes darting around to inspect your surroundings.

“Uh, no. I’ve been trying to call you guys, is this a bad time?” You placed one of your hands on the side of your wound, wincing at the ache. With the other hand, you held onto the wall in front of you, uncomfortably shifting your weight.

Dean noticed the rip in your pants, a dark red spot tingeing the fabric of your jeans, and instantly his expression changed. The furrow in his brow disappeared and his face lit up, a glint you had never seen before flashed in his eyes, making them appear greener for a second.

The door of the bunker swung open, revealing the disheveled image of the older Winchester.

His hair was messy, as if he had tossed and turned in bed. His lips were split and swollen, as if he had bitten on them till the skin broke. And the navy blue shirt he wore was drenched in sweat, the light material stretching under his biceps and his heaving pectoral muscles. You didn’t remember him being that ripped.

“What happened?” He asked, focus unwavering from the gash on your thigh, tongue poking out to wet his parched lips.

“I had a run-in with some demons. Those sons of bitches did a number on my leg.” You explained, not liking the way he didn’t look up at you, appearing to be entranced by the seeping blood coming from your damaged skin.

Dean refused to say anything in return, or maybe he simply wasn’t capable of doing so. He just stared at your injury with a kind of sinister awe.

“I don’t wanna impose or anything, I was just kinda hoping Sam could patch me up.” You added at last, those words seeming to snap him out of his stupor.

“I can do it.” He blurted out, not giving you any time to think before he wrapped his hand around your wrist and tugged you inside.

You cried in pain when you stumbled into the bunker, not prepared to move your thigh so abruptly, his grip too tight where he held you without letting go.

“Sorry.” He murmured, noticing your discomfort but not loosening his clasp.

The wet sole of your boots squelched on the vinyl floor and you felt a rush of relief to be sheltered from the increasing rain, if only that feeling could’ve lasted for longer.

Dean slammed the door behind the two of you, the click that reverberated in your ears signaling that it locked as it closed.

“It’s fine.” You said, in regards to his apology, and offered him a weak smile while you pried his closed fist from your wrist with some difficulty. For some reason, he didn’t seem to want to let go.

You took a few shaky steps towards the foyer’s balcony, resting your arms on the railing of the staircase and looking down at the antechamber of the bunker, all the blinking lights from the old control panels catching your attention.

“Where is Sam, anyway? He’s not answering his phone.” You question, with your back to Dean, but no reply comes your way.

You shrug it off, assuming that he merely didn’t want to disclose his brother’s whereabouts. It was none of your business, after all. Like most things the Winchesters get involved in, it’s probably highly dangerous and way above your pay grade.

You can’t even begin to remember how many times you tried to participate in their world-saving crusades, be useful somehow, only to be flat-out prohibited by Dean. He’d say you weren’t ready, that it wasn’t safe, that you were too young, and so on until you stopped showing interest altogether.

Now, you hunt on your own, only seeing them from time to time. But you like it that way, you like having no one to bark orders at you, you like proving that you’re good at your job without anyone’s help. Unless, of course, you screw up and get hurt, in which case you do need someone’s help.

“Do you even know how to do it? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna need stitches.” You inquire about your wound, the abused tissue throbbing even as you stand still.

You sense movement behind you and Dean’s hand appears at your side on the railing, his torso touching your back and his nose tickling your nape. You hear him inhale deeply and then let out a sigh of pure satisfaction, the hot air landing on your neck and sending a tingle of goosebumps up your arms.

“What the hell was that?” You turn to face him, forcing some distance between the both of you, absolutely shocked at the quick turn of events. “Did you just sniff me?”

“No, of course not.” He shakes his head, almost as confused as you are. He scans you up and down, licking his lips again, and his eyes glaze over before he puffs out a breath and fights to recompose himself. “I mean, yeah, a little bit.”

“Why?” You elongate the syllable, thinking that maybe, if you really enunciate your words you might be able to get some sensible answers from him.

“It’s just that-” He advances on you and you back away from him, your ribs hitting the railing when you have nowhere else to go. He stops in front of you, invading your personal space and caging you with his big arms. “You smell so fucking good.”

He hunches over you, bending his spine till the tip of his nose touches your temple and his lips graze the high point of your cheek.

“Dean.” You call to him, but he fails to acknowledge you in any way. “What are you doing?” You try again, more forcefully this time, and he ignores you just the same. There’s a continuous vibration coming from his chest that sounds awfully similar to a purring animal, almost like he wants to soothe you into submission.

His left hand grabs the fat of your hip, bunching up the hem of your shirt and squeezing under the fabric, abnormally long nails nipping at your skin. His right hand, however, entangles itself on the hair at the base of your scalp, pulling unceremoniously so as to expose your neck to his exploration.

He mouthes on your pulse point, huffing as he pants and nuzzles against you. He doesn’t exactly kiss the sensitive skin as much as he runs the plump pillows of his lips up and down the span of your bared throat, drawing invisible shapes of his choosing.

He then finds a particular spot he likes best, right behind your ear, and fixates on it. Completely lost to the world when he lolls out his tongue, longer than what is humanly possible, and licks where the taste of your natural scent is the strongest.

The moment you feel the wetness of his saliva laving at your flesh, you jolt jarringly, pushing at his chest with all your will, and it’s like trying to move a mountain with the way he doesn’t even budge.

“Stop!” You yell, mustering as much assertiveness as you can into your tone before you give him a final shove, sending him three to four steps backwards.

Dean seems to awake from a daydream, eyes flashing to a fluorescent green and back to his normal hazel. He stares at you with a frown, unable to catch his breath, attempting to take a step in your direction but you raise a finger at him and he halts.

“Stop it.” You order and his frown deepens, looking wounded and unhappy, but he obliges.

You spear a glance at the stairs to the side of you, your only escape route since he was currently blocking the door from where you came in. You could race down the steps and lock yourself inside of the many rooms in the bunker, but with your leg the way it is, you wouldn’t make it past a single step before he caught up to you.

With your index finger still raised at him, you support your weight on the railing and move to make your descent down the stairs, planning on taking it one slow step at a time.

“You’re hurt.” He states after you swallow a lament while on the second step, visibly itching to come closer. “Let me help you, I can carry you.”

“No. You’re gonna stay right there.” You command, doing your best to not let the pain show in your features as you drag yourself to the floor below.

His feet inch towards you while he eyes you like a disobedient puppy, knowing full well that there’s nothing you can really do to stop him.

“You’re gonna stay right where you are, and we’re gonna wait till your brother comes home, and then we’re gonna sort this out.” He’s at you before you finish your sentence.

You yelp when he snatches you suddenly, pulling you below your shoulder blades and lifting you up, your only option being to wrap your calves around his hips and brace yourself onto the back of his neck to keep from falling.

He carries you down the rest of the stairs, short-winded and with droplets of sweat rolling down his forehead. He burns you, not only with the heat of his unblinking gaze, but also with his unnaturally high body temperature. You had never felt someone’s skin this hot in your life. You didn’t understand how he could be standing, let alone holding you like you weigh nothing.

“Ok, you can put me down now.” You say when you get to the antechamber, but Dean’s grip tightens on you and he continues to walk into the war room.

“Everything’s gonna be fine.” He’s mumbling, and you’re not even sure he’s talking to you or to himself. “I just need to-” He drops you on top of the light-up map table in the middle of the room, with surprising care and delicateness. “I just need to scent you.”

“What?!” You exclaim in disbelief, trying to move away but he restrains you, sinking his claw-like fingernails into your nape as a clear display of dominance. You whimper at the sting and he leans over you, purring louder than before.

“Dean, listen to me.” You can’t shake the feeling that you’re attempting to reason with a crazy person, but you have to try. He’s much stronger than you, bigger and faster, even more so with one of your limbs impaired. Talking him out of this is your only chance of preventing whatever he has in store for you. “You’re sick, you must be delirious from a very high fever.”

“Love your taste.” He’s clinging to you, head tucked into the crook of your neck as he laps at you with his tongue. The moist, flexible muscle undulates across your collarbone when he goes further down, pouty lips closing in to suck at the juncture of your shoulder, right above your artery. “Wanna bite you so bad.”

“You’re not making any sense.” He’s completely disregarding your words, though he smiles at your breathy tone.

You press your mouth shut and close your eyes when he rakes the pointy edges of his teeth over your veins, not wanting him to hear or see how his ministrations are beginning to affect you. You hadn’t realized until that moment just how sharp his canines were, closer to fangs than anything else.

He tugs at the collar of your shirt, ripping the cloth with outstanding ease and exposing your bra. By that point, your own breathing was labored, the mounds of your breasts bouncing up and down in their tight confinement as you heaved.

Dean’s irises are radioactive green when he feasts his eyes at you and proceeds to stick his face in your cleavage. He groans like a madman and pulls at one of the cups of your brassiere, your right tit spilling out and being clutched by him almost immediately.

He traps your nipple between his index and middle fingers, teasing it to a stiff peak and you shake at the burst of pleasure. You grab at his forearms to steady yourself, swallowing down a moan that threatens to escape you.

“Let me hear you.” He yanks your head back from where he holds you by your scruff, as a dog would do to another, and you let out a whine at the bestial way he handles you. “That’s right, don’t hold back on me, give me everything.” He takes your puffy nipple into his mouth, suckling and biting, and a fire spreads through your lower abdomen at the sinful sensation.

Once he ceases his assault on your boob, the tumid bud is covered in his spit, the chilling air from the ventilation system making it that much more sensitive.

His hands fly to unbutton your pants, and you’re so dazed from his heady presence all around that you allow it for a minute, only moving to intercept him when he has both of his hands hooked at the waistband of your jeans and is already tugging them down.

“Dean, we gotta stop this.” You beg him, a considerable amount of your restraint lost as you fail to convince him, his hands too strong for you to swat away while he peels off your jeans. The material sticks to the dry blood around your cut, making you flinch, but he continues till the garment hits the ground, cooing an apology for your discomfort. “There’s something wrong with you, you’re not yourself.”

He pays you no mind, transfixed by the image of you laid in front of him only in your underwear. He looks even bigger than when you first arrived, thick neck bulging with raised veins and rippling muscles straining under his shirt.

“You smell ripe.” His voice is hoarse and booming, a feral edge emanating from him when he kneels before you. He brings his head close to the gash on your upper thigh, hypnotized by the blood that oozed from it, filling his lungs with the scent of your arousal mixed with your blood. “You’re good enough to eat.”

The ends of his white teeth sparkle in the artificial light coming from the lamp in the ceiling, appearing to be razor-sharp. It gives him an ominous aura that causes you to shiver under his unrelenting glare, and he smirks at you, wrapping his hand around your legs to prevent you from moving.

His lips graze the inflamed skin around your wound and you squirm at the contact, fearful of what he might do next. The talons at the ends of his fingers scratch at you as a warning to stay still, and you do, gasping when you feel the scrape of his tongue on your tore flesh.

“This can’t be happening.” You say to yourself as you watch him hunched over you, smacking his lips at the taste of your blood, as if you were a rare delicacy and he was hungry.

His first couple of licks stung, causing the muscles of your thigh to contract involuntarily, a torrent of purrs coming your way in an effort to alleviate your distress. But as his saliva coated your broken skin, the soreness subsided and the pain was numbed. All you could feel then was the strange but far from unpleasant sensation of his continuous lapping, a spark of neediness shooting up from where he was laving his tongue at you, making your middle throb and pulsate.

He grunted, looking up at you as if he could sense your craving, as if he could smell it. His left hand travels up your leg, stopping by the fabric of your panties, pushing it to the side, and uncovering your glistening cunny.

You feel his licking on your cut becoming sloppy as he salivates and his fingers move to caress the top of your pussy. He presses gently on the hood of your clit, revealing the swollen bundle of nerves to his eyes that shine with a desperate desire.

“Look at how wet you are.” He mutters, mouth colored with a slick shade of crimson. The pads of his fingers rub up and down your slit, gathering the moisture seeping from your clenching hole to massage your flushed bead of pleasure. “You’re so precious.”

The praise goes straight to your pulsing center, molten lava settling in the pit of your stomach, and you mewl shamefully when the back and forth of his fingers makes your pussy gush.

You never thought Dean would do something like this to you. He had always treated you like a baby sister, while he was the overbearing, overly protective older brother.

He’d comment on the length of your skirts and on the tightness of your blouses, going so far as to deny you rides to places if you didn’t change into something he thought of as appropriate.

He’d hang around you at bars, hovering too close, keeping any and all interested guys from interacting with you.

He had always seen you as a kid, and now there he is, sucking on the lacerated flesh of your thigh like it was his last meal and fingering the sopping place between your legs.

“Please!” You cry out, no longer sure if you’re pleading for him to stop or to keep going.

“You want more?” You answer your own internal question by nodding enthusiastically to his, and Dean groans and drools on your open cut as he inserts two of his long, thick fingers into your scorching hot cunt. “You need more to cum, princess?”

Your lips form a perfect o when he breaches your tight, gummy walls, stirring your insides until he finds the spongy, tender spot he was searching for and fucks it with come-hither motions, over and over, again and again.

“Oh, my God, Dean!” You wail, high-pitched and wanton, losing all your inhibitions and bucking your hips in time with the flicks of his wrist as he drills his callused digits inside you, roughly and repeatedly, without giving you time to adjust to his incursion.

“That’s right, squeeze my fingers.” His voice was low and heavy, laced with untamed ferociousness, akin to the rumbling of a snarling wolf. But even with his lips gleaming with the ruby substance from your wound that he insisted on licking, speaking between the obscene slurps, Dean managed to rein in his most primal instincts to encourage your free-fall into bliss. “You can let go whenever you want, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

You revel under his coaxing, under his reassuring words. You didn’t know how much his approval would affect you, embarrassingly loud wet noises coming from your soaking folds while he hits that place inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and your tongue loll out.

All your life you dreamed of having Dean’s validation, and now he was showering you in it, your cunny fluttering at his constant moans and grunts of elation, even though you haven't touched him once. His satisfaction came from giving you pleasure.

That burning euphoria mounts up and up till it snaps and you fall down the precipice. A rush of pure, untainted ecstasy overtakes you and you scream, the drive of his fingers scissoring your spasming walls prolonging your orgasm.

As you lay there, atop the light-up table, a panting and heaving mess, Dean slowly withdraws his fingers from you, making you squirm and whine at the absence.

There's some movement happening around you, the rustling sound of clothes hitting the floor along with the metallic clank of a buckle. You barely register the lack of his mouth on your injured leg, any ounce of pain that you once felt coming from it having been entirely erased.

You sense him grabbing the sides of your panties and ripping the fine cloth with quick, firm hands, and you still can't find it in yourself to react while the flimsy pieces of fabric are rendered into useless scraps that fall off of your body.

But the blunt end of his dick searing into you is what brings you back to reality, the feel of his girth stretching you in ways you didn't even know were possible being too much to ignore.

The whole thing was too much. The position that you were in, with your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips yet again just so they don't dangle off the table. The noises coming from both of you, broken sobs that begged for more of that violent jolt of adrenaline. And, of course, the incomparable sensation of being split open by the biggest cock you've ever taken.

“You're doing so good, kiddo.” You make grabby hands at him when you hear him call you that, whimpering pathetically, and he leans over you to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips.

Some sick part of your brain brings forth all the times he hugged you when you were still a teen. The way his huge hands would squeeze the small of your back and your tits would rub up on him as you stood on your tippy-toes to receive his embrace. The way he would linger a little too long and bend his neck to steal a whiff of your hair.

He pinches the side of your belly and you gasp, his tongue seizing the opportunity to force its entrance into the warm cavern of your mouth. You scratch the skin of his nape and pull on the short hairs on the back of his head, moaning at the slick, pornographic kiss.

His lips close around your tongue and he sucks on it, slurping noises filling the room as he pounds into you, his heavy balls hitting your dripping pussy and squelching over and over.

“Keep taking all of it.” He breaks the kiss to whisper in your ear, filthy words in that baritone voice littering you with goosebumps. “Be a big girl and take all of this dick.”

You let out a puff of hot air and nod at him, promising to do your best as he spears the fat head of his shaft in and out of you with abandon.

His sweat begins to blend in with yours and you tug at the hem of his shirt, wholeheartedly annoyed at the fact that he was still wearing it at all. Dean chuckles, all sharp and pointy teeth that could rip into you and take out a chunk of your flesh, but instead, he spoils you and removes the offending garment, putting his hands over his head and pulling the shirt from behind till it is off, tossing it aside without a second thought.

You grope the span of his torso, from his broad shoulders to his barrel chest, and then his defined abdomen. There was definitely something unusual going on below the surface, an unlimited potential he kept trying to contain. As if he could grow bigger, become somehow larger, change right before your eyes.

You feel your way through the taut muscles under his skin, running your palms down his powerful arms and back up to his wide neck. He gulps under your scrutiny, your hands catching the way his throat bobs and his pupils shrink then dilate again, seemingly as mesmerized by you as you are by him.

He takes your right hand and brings it to his face, mouthing the pulse point, scenting you as he fucks you, the hammering of his length into your cunny growing erratic. He licks and sucks and scrapes his fangs on your wrist, almost to the point of breaking the fragile skin, groaning as you whine desperately.

The more he rams into you, molding you to the shape of his absurdly hard member, the more you come to terms with the fact that he has ruined you to any other man. Because why would you seek someone else's touch when you know only Dean Winchester and his monster dick have the power to obliterate your pussy?

With his free hand, he applies pressure to your clit, swiping the rigid pearl up and down and side to side, ignoring your pleas for mercy as you find yourself on the verge of overstimulation.

“Come on, kiddo, give me another one.” He commands, tone silky and honeyed, but still imposing and domineering in a way that if he were to tell you to jump, all you could do would be to ask how high. “I know you can give me another one.” He keeps going, thumb relentlessly playing with your pleasure point. “Cum again for me.”

You yell, honest to God yell, unsure if you can survive the wave of heat that burns in your loins when your cunt compresses around him, all the nerve endings in your body vibrating simultaneously while you cum.

Because he fucked you so good, because he rubbed you just right, because he said so.

As the dam breaks, a sudden spurt of hot, slippery fluids pours forth from your slit. A copious outflow of liquid cascades from you and lands on Dean's pelvis and his lower stomach.

“Fuck!” You elongate the word, sobbing due to the unmatched delight you experience like you never experienced before. The feeling boarding on too much and not enough at the same time, Dean's fingers continuing to grind against your center even as you squirt all over him.

“What a messy girl.” He grins, iridescently green eyes sparkling atypically, fingers finally quitting their assault on your raw clit, your cunt contracting around his veiny cock from the aftershocks of your mind-blowing release. “Spraying your juices everywhere.” He tuts and pulls out from you, inch by inch, agonizingly slow.

You give out a pitiful lament at the loss and at his taunting words, the noise that comes from your throat utterly unbecoming of a grown woman, but you can't seem to care at this point.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know I-” Dean interrupts your expression of regret with the full weight of his dominant hand landing between your legs, slapping your puffy folds, and making you writhe on top of the table.

“Don't fucking apologize.” He snarls, leaning over to bury his nose in the crook of your neck and swipe his tongue on your feverish skin. “You did so good, I'm covered in your scent and everyone's gonna know.”

You mewl like a bitch in heat when he starts to jerk the span of his shaft on top of you, the mushroom head catching on your entrance from time to time while he strokes himself from base to glans. Precum weeps from the bulbous end and mixes with your own wetness.

“Gotta mark you now.” He tells you like it's the most normal thing in the world, like it's obvious. His hot breath tickles your neck, the tips of his sharp teeth almost piercing your soft flesh and you shiver at the idea that he still might just lose control and do it.

You crane your head down and do your best to steal a glance at the steady rhythm he's building, managing to stare in awe as he pumps the meat of his member.

The tender tissue is flushed and throbbing in his firm grasp, his balls tensing up, full of pent-up energy. You can't believe how big it is, beautifully cut and well groomed. Painfully hard and thick, so thick you don’t even understand how it had entered you.

He grunts and squeezes the round edge before picking up his pace, not knowing where to look as his eyes roam from your swollen lips to your pert nipples, and then your quivering pussy.

“Gonna make you smell like me.” He mumbles, muscles straining and veins bulging, steaming ropes of white bursting from his urethra and landing on your face, on your boobs, and on your belly.

Dean roars as he covers you in his spent, dense and sticky and endless shots of cum painting you. You whine in surprise, licking off some of the substance that got on your lips. He tastes rich and tangy, full of a power unknown to you but still palpable, making your tongue tingle and your throat burn when you swallow.

He's out of breath and so are you, but he doesn't allow you time to recompose yourself since he's already rubbing his release over your belly, taking a glob of it and smearing it on your slit. You thrash about because the feeling is too overwhelming, but he holds you in place and pushes his seed into your welcoming hole.

“You look gorgeous like this.” He says, reverence in his tone while he bites your earlobe and stuffs you with his essence. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

You don't know what to say, you don't know how to act. You hadn't expected to be categorically ravished by the man you had always seen as an older brother today.

In the back of your mind, you knew he wasn't that Dean, the Dean you knew your whole life, at least not fully.

Something inhuman drummed beneath his emerald eyes, the familiar hazel long gone by now. And any shadow of doubt that you might have had about his feral state is pulverized when you feel his length harden again against your inner thigh.

There’s no refractory period and you scream as he bullies that fat dick inside you once more, feeding it into you more carefully this time.

“Holy shit!” You're hoarse, sinking your nails into his shoulders and drawing blood.

How can he be hard? How is that even possible?

He hisses when he bottoms out, filling you to the brim. His rough hands find leverage on the meat of your hips, clasping each side firmly before he begins to pound into you. He uses you as a cock sleeve, lusciously scraping the ridges of his hard-on against your clammy walls.

You can't find your voice, the room spins around you, and your head bangs on the hard surface of the table in time with his thrusts.

You can feel everything. Every nook and cranny that he reaches in you. The twitch of his shaft every time he hits your cervix. The furniture that supports you creaking below.

“Mine.” He proclaims, the smacking of his sweaty skin on yours upping in tempo, the dirty noises the two of you make bordering on offensive. “Say it, say you're mine.” It's an order and you want to comply, but your brain has turned into a scrambled, useless thing so all that comes out of you is a prolonged whimper.

Dean isn't able to handle your unresponsiveness, growling loudly and inflicting another slap where you are most sensitive, a broken sob erupting from you at the contact.

“Tell me who the fuck you belong to, kiddo.” His voice is so velvety it makes your eyes roll.

He’s everywhere all at once, you can’t see or hear or smell anything else but him. Somehow he’s still growing inside you and your lungs burn because you keep forgetting to breathe. You forget your own name in favor of being the center of his world in this moment.

“I- I'm yours.” You croak out, tears getting caught by your lashes, convinced that the speed in which he pumps in and out of you should be criminal. “I'm yours, Dean."

He pulls violently on your hair and howls, guttural and wild, the base of his member expanding impossibly larger still and stretching your opening when he begins to cum inside you. You try to pull away, but you physically can’t, not with the way he pins you down and plugs your cunt with his knot.

How did that happen? How did you end up here?

“This isn’t real.” You think you say it out loud, but maybe you didn’t and there’s no way of knowing for sure.

You can still feel him pulsating and ejecting spurt after spurt of his milk into you, purring so loudly you can’t even hear your own thoughts.

He rests his head on your chest, the both of you stuck to each other until you don’t know when, but he seems content with that. His fingertips draw irregular shapes up and down the expanse of your arm as he regains his wind much quicker than you do.

You stay like this with him, and at some point, he senses something you don’t and tenses up, straightening his back to look to the right of him, careful not to tug where he’s joined to you.

“Dean!” You faintly catch Sam’s voice when he shouts, but it’s muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The younger Winchester is standing by the end of the staircase, features overtaken by shock, a syringe filled with blood in his hand as he stares bug-eyed at the scene before him.

His brother on top of you while you lay naked on the table in the middle of the bunker, covered in cum and trapped on his dick, eyes dazed and blissed out, panting through parted lips.

Dean looks at Sam, then at you, then back at Sam. The supernatural glow in his irises dies down and he seems like his true self for the first time since you got there, brows furrowing while he clicks his tongue and considers the situation.

“Listen.” He raises his index finger at the furious brunet, a sheepish grin on the corners of his mouth. “In my defense, the moon was full and I was left unsupervised.”

[jo-harrington]

Freaky Friday - A Stranger Things Story (Part 1)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Eddie and Steve (Enemies to Friends)

Summary: Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck.

Must be nice. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener.

Warnings/Themes: AU with no Upside Down. Body swapping, dark magic/alchemy, unrequited love--some crushes at least, Babysitter Steve, No Upside Down means slightly still King Steve, unresolved feelings, manipulation/deception, Reader gets a nickname (Honey), no Y/N if I can help it, no smut in Part 1 but liable to be in other chapters

Note: After a very hot and fast suggestion by @shiftingtherain, this mini-series was born. And instead of working on Store Manager Verse like I wanted to, here we are. This part is a little shorter...it's the intro, sue me. Next few parts will be a tad longer.

Credit for the header partially goes to me for the design and the logistics but I was tired, so I may have borrowed gifs from @emziess and Netflix itself as a jumping off point (with permission from Emzies and Netflix is a corporation so they can rot). I can only do so much guys, I also had to write this thing too.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

If Eddie never saw Steve Harrington again in his life, it would still be too soon.

He didn't always indulge in rentals from Family Video—if it was too cold and wet to have band practice in Gareth's garage, or if he was having an especially bad week at school, or if he needed something a little more realistic than the illustrations of Heavy Metal magazine to help him satisfy his needs—but today just had that special feel to it.

He'd gotten a B on his math test, Rick had been feeling a little under the weather and let Eddie make the rounds to his usuals for a sweet little cut, and he had found a dusty old book about alchemy and occultism at the library that was going to help him put the finishing touches on tomorrow night's Hellfire session.

For all of that, Eddie thought a little reward was in order.

A little Dark Crystal, a little pizza from Lou's, a little weed...he'd be having the best Thursday night.

Except...

For the past twenty minutes, he'd pretended to hem and haw over the selection of movies just so he could glare across the store at the counter, where Steve stood, flirting and making grandiose promises, with you.

He burned with jealousy, and God, it took almost everything in him not to gag as Steve reached across the counter to slyly hold your hand. And everything else for his heart not to break as you just let it happen.

Eddie didn't know how or when or why this started—when Harrington had gotten his claws into you and how he had managed to charm his way into your heart—when it should have been Eddie instead.

Eddie'd had a crush on you for years but had always been too nervous to do anything about it.

You were a year younger than him, and friends with his pal Mickey's younger sister, so he'd seen you around quite a bit. Smart and funny and pretty; maybe not as unpopular as Eddie was, but certainly not in the running for homecoming court or whatever other social hierarchies were in place at Hawkins High either. He figured...you know, maybe once he got to senior year he'd get the courage. Maybe take you to prom or something; who wouldn't want to go out with a senior?

But he'd gotten the notice from Higgins that he wouldn't be graduating with the rest of the Class of '84 and it really put a damper on his plans.

He had been hopeful again the following year, actually had a few classes with you and sat with you for partner work when no one else wanted to work with him, when they laughed at him. You weren't even afraid to go up to him in the cafeteria to ask a question, or walk with him in the hall if you had to go in the same direction for your next class. You'd talk about assignments mostly, but he savored every little fact he could learn about you. What books you'd been reading, the fact that you watched Svengoolie on Saturday nights—just like he did—or that you'd had some squabble with Mickey's sister over a scrunchie of all things and were no longer speaking.

But Eddie knew how bad his grades were—somehow even worse than the year before—and aside from the work you did with him, he knew it wasn't gonna be enough for him to graduate. So he wasn't gonna put himself in the position for you to laugh in his face—not that you would but...just in case you did—by asking you out.

He thought you would disappear from his life after you graduated. Get the hell out of Hawkins the way everyone else wanted to. But no. You took a few classes at the community college and worked the dinner shift at Benny's a few nights a week. You'd been there every Tuesday night, when he and the guys grabbed food after their gig at the Hideout. The usual booth reserved, drinks already poured by the time they sat down, and their usual orders already written in your little order pad.

You usually gave him extra whipped cream on his slice of cherry pie too.

The guys always urged him to ask for your number...but he never did. How could he? Even if you were stuck in this town the same way he was...he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

And now...here you were, listening to Harrington talk about some great surprise he had planned for your third date the next day.

Eddie wondered why you hadn't screamed in outrage when Steve mentioned how much Nancy Wheeler had liked it when he took her to this mystery place. He would have definitely expected you to at least flinch at the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name.

"It sounds really great," you said instead, smiling and nodding. "I get out of class at 3 on Fridays...should I be here around 4?"

"4 is perfect, honey," Steve grinned.

Eddie couldn't stand to hear whatever sickeningly sweet goodbye you both would come up with so he just grabbed whatever tape was in front of him and approached the counter. You and Steve both flinched when Eddie slammed his selections down on the counter to be checked out.

“Uh…I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bye Steve,” you muttered, eyeing Eddie with a half-smile that felt a bit sad. “Bye Eddie.”

"Bye honey."

“Bye honey,” Eddie mocked once you were out the door, then turned back to Steve. “You gonna try and make goo goo eyes at me next Harrington? I don’t have all day.”

“Jesus Munson. What’s up your ass?” Steve scoffed, grabbing the tapes.

“I’m just trying to get my videos and go.” Eddie rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Not really interested in the kind of customer service you're trying to provide."

Steve wondered what the likelihood of getting fired would be, if he just punched that smug look right off of Munson's face.

Keith hated the guy too, he always left the Adult section looking like a mess. Maybe Steve would get a promotion instead.

For years Eddie roamed around Hawkins being a general menace with his gaggle of friends. Causing trouble, shouting at people, making faces at old ladies. He’d gotten “taken in” to the police station one too many times but always seemed to make it out without actually being arrested. Which baffled Steve; Eddie was a drug dealer for crying out loud.

And yeah, Steve had even asked him to come and deal at a party or two but…people like that were bad. Simple as that.

Even after all of that, after you got past the “bad boy” persona….he was a fucking nerd. He wasn’t even cool like the bad boys in movies were. Steve felt like someone was tricking him the first time he had walked past the Hellfire Club’s table in the cafeteria. For all the leather and chains and band tees—all the talk of satanic rituals and blood sacrifices—there was sure a lot of talk about elves and…and bards and Star Wars.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise to Steve that the kids would flock to Eddie by the time they made it to Hawkins High.

But it had been. A huge shock.

His unexpected little gaggle of morons…weren’t really his anymore.

Steve had dropped Dustin off on the first day of school and said “don’t get into any trouble.” Even made Robin promise to keep an eye out for him. He expected the kid to…join the mathletes or something. Get roped in with the science nerds.

But by the end of the week, the kids were all clamoring about how they would need to reschedule movie nights with Steve so they could go to Hellfire club with Eddie.

Steve couldn’t understand it. Eddie was a freak, a punk, some good for nothing…and now the kids were suddenly following him like he was some sort of prophet. Spreading the word of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

See? Steve could do the nerd talk too when he wanted...thanks to Dustin.

Who, much to Steve's annoyance, was apparently Eddie's biggest fan. The guy could do no wrong in Dustin's eyes, and it really irked Steve.

Will and Lucas were spending Saturdays at the library—not for homework, but for research because apparently Eddie really liked incorporating mythology into his campaigns. (Whatever that meant.) Mike was growing his hair out because "Eddie's hair was cool.” What about Steve, whose literal nickname was The Hair? Shit, he'd even seen Eddie give Max a ride to school on a few occasions when he was late dropping Robin off. And he knew Max and her mom had been having a hard time since her step-dad skipped town and Billy...

Steve knew some of the town gossip about Eddie was just a bunch of bullshit...but if Max Mayfield was cool with him?

Yeah, he just couldn't help but be suspicious of the guy.

Regardless, the sooner Steve could get him out of the store, the better his night was gonna get.

...actually...

"That's gonna be $10." Steve announced dryly.

"Woah, $10?!" Eddie scoffed. "I have a membership."

"Since when?" Steve asked, hands immediately landing on his hips.

"I use one every time I'm in here."

"Yeah you use Reefer Rick's."

"So?"

"New policy," Steve lied, hoping it would get Eddie out of his hair for a good while. "No sharing memberships outside of your family. Last I checked, your last name isn't Lipton. So you either cough up the $25 for a new membership Munson, or the $10 for your rental. What's it gonna be?"

Eddie grumbled and dug his wallet out of his pocket, slamming the money on the counter.

"Any candy?" Steve asked mockingly before grabbing the cash.

Eddie grabbed the tape and grumbled under his breath as he exited the store.

Yeah, Steve wasn't gonna be dealing with him any time soon.

For a second though, as he went to start processing returns, he wondered...

If Eddie was in some ritualistic cult...what kind of curse could he possibly put on me?

But that was a dumb thought to have.

Eddie's night just went down hill from the minute he left Family Video.

He didn't notice that they'd given him the wrong pizza at Lou's so now he was stuck with some specialty veggie pie with broccoli on it, the tape he had grabbed indiscriminately had been some artsy foreign romance crap, and just now he'd just spilled Dr. Pepper all over his Hellfire notebook.

"Fuck," he shouted as it spilled over the side of the coffee table and onto his sock-clad feet. He couldn't give a shit about the carpet, he could even ignore his wet socks, but his notebook. Weeks of work, planning and toiling over the most sadistic campaign.

He liked to keep all of the notes of Hellfire's completed campaigns, a sort of...record for future kids to look back on and reference. And now this specific masterpiece would be lost to memory.

He cleaned everything up as best he could before making a quick trip back to his room for an extra notebook or something he could use to salvage his plans for tomorrow's session. He had always been really bad at...keeping spare notebooks on hand. Even the ones he'd used for class always ended up covered in his drawings or notes, little bits and ideas of dialogue he could use for speeches or NPCs.

The best he could find was his math notebook from last year which, surprisingly, sat relatively untouched.

Eddie knew why: that was a class he shared with you. And as he opened to some random mostly-empty page, he saw his little scribbles in the margins surrounding half-faded, penciled-in algebraic equations. Daggers and hearts and his and your initials intertwined together.

It was the one class where he would never encounter partner work with you, so he felt compelled to fill the pages with his daydreams instead of fantasies and lore. You would never see it.

"Well," he huffed as he dropped back down onto the floor and slapped the notebook onto the coffee table. He grabbed his pen and scribbled over the drawings on the page. "Now that she's with Harrington, no use living in this fantasy. Fuck, I was stupid, so stupid to ever think she would want anything to do with me."

He grabbed the dusty old alchemical book from the library and found his place, staring at old sigils and runes and text indiscriminately until he came upon one that looked too perfect for the campaign. Concentric circles, arcane lettering, angular lines...

While Eddie would usually use a clean page for something like this—something he would hand off to his players—he drew a copy of the sigil onto the page and planned to rip the edges off, maybe singe them with his lighter to make it look more authentic.

He kept staring at the still-noticeable doodles beneath the pen scribbles and his heart ached a little in his chest.

Yeah, he would definitely want to burn those too.

By the time he was done copying the sigil, a wave of exhaustion overtook him and he glanced down at his watch.

It wasn't much later than he usually went to bed on a weeknight...

He stared at the half-ruined notes for tomorrow's session that he still needed to rewrite and sighed.

"Fuck it, I'll just redo them in the morning." He got up and stretched his arms over his head. "I can just sleep in tomorrow. Skip class. Show up for Hellfire. Who cares anymore.”

He put the rest of the pizza in the fridge for Wayne and then headed to bed, only to be plagued with dreams of scribbled out love hearts, movie theater candy, guitar solos, and big red gum.

When Eddie woke up the next morning, he felt...honestly felt like he was floating on a cloud. Every muscle in his body felt looser, yet somehow tighter at the same time. His skin felt tighter, like it wasn't right, like it didn't fit somehow, it was suffocating him.

He must have died but he wasn't quite sure if this was heaven or hell.

His eyes burned and blurred slightly as he opened them and what he saw was...unexpected.

Gone were the off-white walls, his posters, the piles of his crap, and that concerning patch of probably-mold in the corner of the ceiling. Instead there was a sturdy ceiling, plaid-papered walls, and matching curtains?

Eddie groaned and rolled over.

What the fuck was this place?

There was a slam of a door somewhere that practically shook the walls surrounding Eddie and as he sat up, he found himself only wearing...briefs? He didn't wear briefs.

This wasn’t his bed, wasn’t his room…wasn’t his… body?

He looked down at his chest, his arms, his hands…his fingers weren’t right, he didn’t have this many freckles and moles, he didn’t have…abs, if that’s what you could call the slight definition on his torso. Still it was more than his body had ever had. His skin…was itchy and mostly hairless.

Eddie reached up and touches his hair—shorter than he was used to, not curly…at all—then his face, as if that was any indicator to what he—

“A mirror!” He exclaimed. His voice…sounded familiar, but different. Fuck what kind of dream was this?

Because it had to be a dream right? It had to be. How else did he wake up in someone else’s body?

He pushed himself out of the bed, walking slightly off-cadence, which…yeah probably came with the territory of your brain needing to get used to a new body. Fuck…was his brain even his brain or did his mind just get transported what was happening?

Ugh it was too early to think about that.

Eddie slowly cracked the bedroom door open and peaked into the rest of the house. He spotted a bathroom just across the way, otherwise…shit, this place actually looked a little familiar. Where the fuck was he? Who the fuck was he?

He quickly crossed the landing into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He heaved a breath and leaned back against the door for a moment to calm himself; his hands were shaking and felt cold. Could he even feel his fingers? Nice to know the occasional nervousness that snuck up on him at his lowest moments hadn’t been left behind in his old body, that they’d followed him to this one.

His body…would it still be in his bed? What if he really had died and…had jumped into his new body? Was this reincarnation?

Fuck, if he was dead…Wayne would find him. Could he even…see his uncle again? How could he ever explain who he was?

Eddie felt the tears prick his eyes and his throat tighten and he slapped his face a few times.

“Come on man, come on,” he muttered. “It’s not that bad. It’s only…mildly awful. Fuck, ok. Just go, just look, just…rip it off like a bandaid.”

Eddie took a deep breath and nodded, then crossed the short distance to stand in front of the sink. He stared at his new feet, wiggled his new toes. You never…appreciated the toes you had until you have new ones.

That was awful and you’re an idiot. Just look.

Eddie closed his eyes again and turned his face up towards the mirror. He could do it. He would do it.

He opened his eyes.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

Steve woke up feeling like absolute shit. Everything ached—like he had pulled a muscle or something by sleeping crookedly—he had awful cottonmouth, and he had inhaled…some yarn or something because he woke up coughing and gagging until he got the intrusive strands out of his mouth.

“Gahh, shit, shit,” he said and scratched at his throat. He sounded hoarse. Ugh was he getting sick? He’d have to ask his mom to bring home some soup or something.

Could he call out of work? Shit he had to take Robin to school. She could walk today, he felt awful.

Steve blinked his eyes open and took in the unfamiliar popcorn ceiling with growing concern.

He looked around at the…piles of garbage and the cracks in the plaster walls partially covered by band posters...and felt the rise of panic grow within him. He tried to recall the night before.

He’d wrapped up his shift at Family Video, gone home and had a rare dinner with both of his parents, then…felt extremely tired and went to bed.

So how did he end up here…wherever here was?

This was a kidnapping; it had to be. He was…drugged—explained the cottonmouth—and kidnapped. And now someone was holding him for ransom or something to…blackmail his father? Thomas Harrington was kind of a dick sometimes, sure, but still…he was a pretty decent guy. Who would want to blackmail him?

“H-hello?” Steve called out. “Anyone there? C-can anyone hear me?”

There was some shuffling outside of the door of the room.

Thankfully Steve wasn’t tied up or anything. God, what kind of kidnappers were these? He quickly glanced around the room for a weapon of some sort and he immediately spotted...

A guitar? A few guitars actually. Man these kidnappers really liked music huh?

One was a weird shape--he'd seen some hair metal bands use guitars like that in magazines, but he'd never seen one in person--and was a mottled red color. One was just what you'd expect when someone said "electric guitar." And one was acoustic and looked like it could pack a real wallop.

Bingo.

Steve pushed himself out of the bed and immediately jumped because whatever had been in his mouth was on his shoulders now. He reached up to grab it: hair. Long, wavy, messy...knotty and frizzy. Like it hadn't been brushed for days, maybe weeks?

And his arm, sticking out from whatever t-shirt he'd been put in...was lithe and weak and there were tattoos. On both arms. A creepy claw hand and a bunch of bats.

What was this? How long had they held him hostage for? No wonder they didn't feel the need to tie him up! He'd been knocked out cold.

He needed to get out of here. Now. He needed to get home.

Steve crossed the room to grab the guitar when he noticed it. At first he thought it was another person. But no, it was just a mirror...and in the mirror...his reflection.

Only it wasn't...his reflection.

It had startled him and he had jumped. Then he moved his arms a little and watched the figure in the mirror mimic him. Over and over.

A wave, a turn, a funny face.

He couldn’t believe it. This had to be a joke. A dream. A nightmare.

Because it was him, his reflection. But it was not his—Steve Harrington’s—reflection.

It was Eddie Munson's.

[mcu-coworkers]

Complete

Summary: Life for you and Miguel was greener on the other side. 

Word count:2.5k+

Warnings: slight child birth complications, pregnancy. Other than that  nothing much.

A/n: This is pt.3 to “Where Do Broken Hearts Go?” I wanted to give you guys something to read while I work on Pt.3 to “You?” so I hope you guys enjoy the third and final bit of this story, see you guys soon!xx

Tag list:  @marcswife21 @greeknerd007​

Parts: I  II III^

CREDITS TO THE OWNER^

It had been months since you’re little get away with Miguel, 7 to be exact and six since you found out you were pregnant.

And 3 since you found out it was a boy.

You’ll never forget the day you found out.

Miguel had come home early from HQ to take you to a surprise dinner date, he’d been thinking about it all day.

He found it a little weird you didn't come to the entrance when he opened the door like you usually did.

“Amor, Ya llegue.” He yelled out walking into the house.

Still no response.

“Lyla checks for heat signatures.” he said as he began looking into the rooms.

You didn't mention going anywhere and last he checked you were home.

“Low heat signatures detected on the…the bathroom floor.” she said, realization hitting them both.

Miguel made record time running upstairs and into the bathroom where he found you on the floor.

“Ay mi amor. Lyla check her vitals.” he said, picking you up and laying you on the bed.

Lyla began doing a scan on your body when she found something strange halfway through.

“Um Miguel, there's uh..” she paused, not sure how to say it.

“A what Lyla what's wrong with my wife?” he asked, getting annoyed.

“A baby.” she blurted.

Miguel froze.

Suddenly you began to stir, eventually opening your eyes.

“Miguel? Honey- oh ow..” you said rubbing your head.

Sitting up in bed you start taking in your surroundings, a bunch of holograms that all look like a big blur.

You looked back at Miguel who had what probably is the biggest smile on his face that you could have ever seen.

“Mi hermosa luz, eres mi todo. (my beautiful light, you are my everything.)” he said, taking your face in his hands.

Confused but delighted by the compliment you rubbed his arm, “Gracias mi vida?”

“We're having a baby.” he said, finally deciding to fill you in.

Gasping in shock you looked at Lyla who confirmed that statement by showing you a sonogram of a little bean in your belly.

Miguel laughed at your reaction and pulled you in for a hug.

Finally, he thought.

His world was complete and all thanks to his beautiful wife.

“Thank you.” he said as he kissed all over your face.

“It takes two to tango O’hara don’t forget to thank your biggest asset.” you said giggling, you could feel him smiling as he continued to kiss down your neck.

Ever since that day Miguel made it a priority to have yours and the baby’s checked frequently.

Very frequently actually he just wanted to make sure all was well the Miguel O’Hara way.

At 4 months you began to feel cramping sensations so the doctor recommended indefinite bed rest and that devastated you because Miguel was finally taking you to the Spider Society to meet everyone but with this news there was no chance.

Two months later you feel yourself at your best and hoping the doctor sees that too.

“Are you ready mi amor?” Miguel said, peeking his head into the kitchen.

“Yep.  I   hope the bed rest order gets lifted or  I   actually think  I  ‘ll go insane Miguel.” you said slightly waddling over to him.

Your bump was getting bigger and walking like a normal person was getting harder.

Giving him a peck on the lips he followed you out the door smiling at your little walk.

-----

One more month.

He made you do one more month of bed rest before granting you freedom.

As soon as you heard those god sent words you were ready to get out of that hospital and go for a nice long walk.

….At the spider society.

Not to mention that throughout your entire pregnancy your attraction to Miguel only grew stronger.

Just the thought of feeling him inside you again would have made you cum on the spot.

The doctor said sex was normal but the closer to the due date the less like bunnies and more like turtles.

Whatever it was  you’d take it.

You wasted no time as soon as you got home.

“Amor?” you called out.

“Yes?” he said as he went into the kitchen to grab a drink.

“ I   need you.” you said bluntly, beginning to take off your maternity clothes.

“Is everything okay? ¿Te sientes mal? Que pa- oh.” he said as he stood in the entrance of the living room.

“ I   need you.” you said one more time walking over to him slowly, grabbing his hand and bringing it down to your hot core already dripping for him.

“Baby- fuck.” he said trying to refrain from going back to his rough ways.

Turtles, turtles, turtles he thought to himself as he laid you down and gave you everything you wanted.

After a night that was much needed you laid together on the couch as he rubbed on your belly.

“Miguel?” you said tracing patterns on his bicep.

“Hmm?” he hummed in response, eyes feeling droopy.

“Can we go to spider society?  I   wanna meet everyone, please?” you asked sweetness dripping from your voice hoping it would work.

“Whatever you want Princessa, it's yours.” he said pulling you in closer and dozing off into a deep sleep.

Smiling to yourself you fell asleep content, and impatient to get to HQ.

----

To be completely honest, Miguel was halfway to dreamland when you asked him about going to HQ.

So when you reminded him in the morning and asked what day he’d be taking you it practically caught him off guard.

“ I   said what?”

“Ay Miguel, aren't you the attentive one? You said you’d take me to HQ this week.” you said, serving him his breakfast with a bright smile.

Cursing himself for slipping up he looked up at you and smiled.

“Friday mi amor,  I   will take you on friday.” he said, earning an excited squeal from you and you waddling over to kiss him on the cheek and rant about all the things you wanted to see.

----

Friday couldn't have come any sooner for you but for Miguel it could have.

Once he told the team about your upcoming arrival they were just as over the moon as you were.

Jess and Peter B. were planning a surprise baby shower after hearing you elected to not have one given how tired you were and Miguel's persistence of you getting rest only solidified that decision even more.

The real kicker was that not even Miguel knew about the surprise so decorating and planning had to be swift and silent.

But at last, it was friday and you had picked your prettiest sundress and waited patiently for Miguel to come get you.

While you waited you thought about the weeks you had left with your little guy, the time was getting closer and you for one couldn't wait to have him in your arms.

Miguel walked through the portal just outside the living room and walked into a sight that made his heart skip a beat.

“Funny,  I   told Lyla to send me home but  I   think she ended up sending me to heaven.” he said as he leaned down to kiss you on the lips whilst rubbing on your belly, making you smile.

“Hi baby, let's get going, I don't wanna keep anyone waiting.” you said extending your arms so he’d help you up.

Nodding in silence he reopened the portal and let you go first.

Walking in he made sure to stay close to you and explain a couple of things.

“If you or the bay get too overwhelmed just tell me and we’ll go strai-” beore he could finish that a very excited Peter B. was coming down the hall.

“Is that who  I   think it is? My god she is Beautiful Miguel. Hi, I'm Peter B. this is May Day. I'm the only spiderman with a kid.” he said pulling you in for a hug.

“For now.” Miguel said, smiling down at you.

“It’s nice to finally meet one of my husband's best friends, not to mention this cute little thing. May  I  ?”you asked, reaching out.

“You do not have to ask,” he said, handing a smiley May Day over. “Do you wanna see the pictures  I   took of her? You are absolutely going to flip.” he said, pulling out his phone.

“Oh  I‘d love to.” you said taking her from him as Miguel tried to interject.

“Amor, maybe you shouldn't hold a baby-” he tried gently following you closely.

“Corazon it's fine! Look at her, she's a feather.” you said cuddling your face with hers.

“Wow, Never thought  I‘d see the day someone told my buddy Miguel no.” Peter B. said, mesmerized by your being.

“Keep walking Parker.” Miguel said, and there he was.

Eventually Peter B. was able to lead you to the room where the shower was and the surprise was overwhelming to say the least.

Miguel would have ripped out a couple of throats had the act upset you but you were over the moon especially after meeting Jess.

After making sure you were okay Miguel allowed himself to relax and enjoy watching everyone meet the love of his life and adore her almost as much as he did.

No one would ever love you as much as he did. Not even close.

After hours of talking and laughing Miguel decided it was finally time to go home.

“Alright this was fun but we should get going, you need to rest.” he said putting his hand on your lower back.

He was right you were a bit tired but there was still so much to learn, “Pero amor Im still getting to know everyone! Where is LEGO Peter, your best man?Is that plush spidey?” you asked looking around you could swear you just saw someone holding a plush spidey.

“ I   know  I   know but we can come back another time, Ya lets go.” he said urging you on.

“Okay fine,” you said, turning to say your goodbyes while he opened the portal.

“Oh oof hold on.” you said clutching your belly whilst holding on to Gwens arm.

“Everything okay momma?” she asked as Miguel ran over.

“Yeah it's just a braxton kick, give a second im alright.” you said taking deep breaths trying to reassure Miguel.

And just as you were about to stand straight your water broke.

“Oh my-” you heard Peter B. say while everyone else's eyes just widened.

“Shit. Alright come on we gotta go.” Miguel said, picking you up swiftly.

“Miguel you can’t take her in this state, It could hurt the baby we need to get her to the infirmary now.” Lyla said, appearing over his shoulder.

That statement only angered Miguel.

This isn't where he wanted to be when his son was born but now he had no choice.

Running you up to the infirmary he laid you down on the bed as Lyla plugged in your vitals.

“This is actually happening.” you said taking in the moment. You were about to give birth to your baby boy at the Spider HQ.

“It's okay baby, just take deep breaths.” he said as he kissed the top of your head.

You really thought you were hallucinating it when a spider doctor walked in the room to help you deliver your baby.

Nope this was entirely real, Miguel was holding your hand looking at the doctor with a look that could kill.

Which probably would if he risked anyone's health.

Two hours is what it took for you to fully dilate and thirty minutes is what it took for you to bring him to the world.

Lucca Gabriel O’Hara.

He was perfect.

Miguel didn't want to let him go at first but the nurses needed to check him and make sure everything was alright.

It was more than alright, it was perfect. Ten toes, ten fingers, and one cute little face that you already loved so much with all your being.

Your body felt overly exhausted but you wanted nothing more than to hold your baby.

While you did just that Miguel admired the scene before him. Nothing would ever top this moment.

“Mr.O’Hara a word?” the spider doctor asked to pull him out of the room.

“Everything alright?” he said, feeling a weight in his chest.

“Well yes and no, because your DNA was morphed to be 50% human and 50% spider the baby took a lot from your wife in its time in her stomach,” he paused hoping Miguel was catching on.

“We’d like to keep them here to ensure her body doesn't go into shock from his departure, and give you guys an idea of just how this baby will be growing all things considered.” he finished as Miguel looked back at you and Lucca.

“Alright, how long?” he asked hoping it wasn't long at all.

“Two weeks, one to analyze initial growth, and a second to compare data. Their health will come first of course.” he said reassuring Miguel.

“Fine but no guests until she allows it. And  I‘ll tell her.” Miguel ordered as he walked back into the room.

Giving you a soft smile he told you the news and you couldn't have been more excited, it probably would have shown more if you weren't so tired.

“Miguel, will you take him? I'm pretty tired.” you whispered, Miguel realized the heart monitor was starting to slow down.

Taking the baby he rang for the doctor through his watch.

“Hold on baby don't close your eyes okay? Stay awake for me.” he asked, panic began setting in the further away the beats got.

“I'm just so tired Miguel, just need to close my eyes and…” you said letting your head fall to the side.

“Baby? Y/n! Lyla!” Miguel tried but it was no use you were out cold.

Just like that, the doctor and Lyla were present and at your side.

“Just like   I   said, her body is in shock. After giving so much energy to the baby the sudden loss was too much to handle.” he said as he injected you with something that brought your heart rate back to normal.

“So what? She needs what she gave him back?” Miguel asked, if he were calm he’d understand and probably take care of it himself but you were his wife.

He needed you to operate properly and right now his mind was nowhere near capable.

“Yep. These next couple of weeks will be a bit hard on her but she's a tough one,  I  ‘m sure she’ll be just fine.” the spider doctor assured.

And eventually, he proved to be right.

In all instances actually.

You turned out to be just fine, Lucca was a spider baby growing astronomically but still at the rate of a human baby, and you could finally go home after two weeks.walking out of that infirmary felt like a relief to Miguel.

As you said your goodbyes to all the spiders who gave you company when Miguel had to step away Miguel opened the portal home.

Walking through together you smiled as you stepped in your home again.

Your smile grew when you realized your home had been decorated with all kinds of spider decorations to welcome baby Lucca home.

“Welcome home baby.” Miguel whispered, kissing your cheek.

“It's good to be home papi.” you said, turning to give him a peck on the lips.

“So good.” Miguel replied, kissing you some more.

He felt whole again after so long, the feeling he longed for was back and he was never letting it leave again.

[niichanism]

wanted to put this fic Somewhere lol it’s uhhhh that “what if ace got sold into slavery in Marie Geoise instead of being executed except long lost brother Sabo is (somehow) in deep cover as a CD there and impulsively pilfers money from the revolution funds to buy and protect his brother” logistically i run into problems w this concept but i do think like. childhood friends fake dating except it’s high stakes fake master/slave is like. 1. potential funny 2. hot 3. compelling in that acesabo are living in their own actual personal hells together shfhdd

tw: mob character/ace attempted SA, non-graphic maiming of dick, ace honorable suicide ideation ig, sabo…… just poor sabo lol, the cd slave brand thing soRRY ACE idk the usual “i don’t like spoilering much so if you’re sensitive don’t read this it’s borderline dead dove”

————-

In the span of a week, Ace had gone from being Blackbeard’s captive to the World Government's prize, and finally, unexpectedly, into the greasy hands of professional slavers. 

That was a twist he hadn't expected. He couldn’t quite get his head around it. 

Ace much preferred the rough touch of pirates or marines to this sickening cushiness, treated with care while strung up like meat. They bathed him in sea water. He was so nauseous he could barely twitch his limbs. His skin only recoiled wherever they washed away dirt or tended to wounds from the fight. He was scrubbed pink, patched, or soothed where every blemish would be. His ribs were still broken. Almost good as new, the lackey had reported to her overseers.

As confusing as it was infuriating. Then, somehow, reading the lusterless eyes of the other captives, he understood. They were gagged like Ace was. They had the faint, forlorn expressions of long-term prisoners. But how neat and tidy they were– their hair, skin, and even what little clothes they had were as well-kept as the circumstances allowed. Again, Ace’s body thrummed with a knock-out combo of adrenaline and disgust. He recalled Sabo saying that nobles don't care about anything but appearances. If it can’t improve their status, it's worthless to them. 

Ace would rather die than be some dolled up or dressed down status symbol for the rich. He'd rather jump and let the ocean take him. He’d rather have fallen in battle to a scumbag like Teach or even met his end on the navy’s chopping block, flipping Garp the bird one last time. 

Then, the silver lining— he’d see Sabo again, at least. There was always the chance that he’d find an opening once they hit landfall. If he could, he’d burn this place to a crisp and take all these poor folks to far greener pastures, one way or another. He just had to keep his wits together. No matter what, he wasn’t going to let anyone buy him. 

Or if they did get that far, he’d make sure they regretted it. For now, the issue was that all the adrenaline and disgust had nowhere to go. He kept his ears open for any hints as to when they’d finally reach this mystery destination, because the boredom was beginning to gnaw at him like rats. Eventually one of the trader lackeys came swaggering up to him. Ace had a really good fucking sense for when someone was looking to pick a fight. The guy had a bit of a beer belly and the seediest possible leer, two beady eyes on pallid sailor skin. 

“So this is really him…” he said, gruff and low. “Not bad at all.”

The man tipped his face up at the chin. Ace tossed it out of his hold, ignoring him otherwise. The man chuckled. The only other slaver in the room glanced over and growled. “Careful with the merchandise–”

“Relax,” said the first man, annoyed. “I’m not gonna do anything to damage him– if he behaves, that is. I’m just gonna feed him something.” Gag. It was worse because he was hungry. Ace set his jaw as best he could around the ball gag. If he thought of all the scumbags he’d dealt with up to now, he felt like he could crush anything between his teeth. 

The man wrenched a hand into his hair and jerked him forward. Manacles and chains trapped Ace’s knees on the floor of a cage. The man stood just outside the bars with a taunting look.  “Y’see, Fire Fist, I work hard, and so I’ve got this little game,” he explained, as if Ace gave a shit. “I get a kick out of testing the goods before we get to Marie Geoise. I get a little spin before even the Celestial Dragons get their hands on ‘em.” First, that the trader was already palming his crotch was disgusting, but secondly– Ace closed in on one particular detail. Marie Geoise? For a moment his mouth went slack, saliva pooling beneath the gag. The trader’s grip tightened in Ace’s bath-damp waves, threatening to rip hair from his scalp. His mind was still spinning: Marie Geoise. Celestial Dragons. The last puzzle pieces falling into place. If that was what they were doing, then… “Man, I could talk about it for years if Gold Roger’s son sucked my cock,” the slaver chuckled, letting go of Ace’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

Fuuuuuck. His bounty had always seemed a bit suspect, shooting up when he’d done nothing of note to earn it. In the back of his mind, he’d sometimes wonder if the marines knew. 

 There was a clinking and rustling as the man popped his fly open and lowered his trousers.

 It was so outrageous, so beyond what anyone would have fucking dared to do to him, that Ace only felt a numb sort of shock first. He didn’t want to look at the filthy thing, already hard and eager. Marie Geoise. Celestial Dragons. Gold Roger’s son. The man shuffled closer to the bars, then manhandled Ace’s head low so he could smear the tip on his cheek. Ace’s eyes went wide. The rage hit him right after. “Yeah, a pretty thing like you will need the practice,” the trader drawled. “If the dragons don’t tear you to shreds first. Nasty fucks, them.”  Everyone knew the Celestial Dragons were self-righteous, inhumane sacks of crap who treated anyone else like dirt. Everyone knew that their slaves had it worst of all, beaten and broken with a snowball’s chance in hell of escaping. And it seemed that soon, everyone would know that Ace was Gol D. Roger’s last remaining flesh and blood. “You’re shaking, sweetheart,” the slaver jeered. “A big, bad pirate–? Hilarious. Not so scary without your devil fruit power, are ya?”

Off came the ball gag. The first thing Ace did was spit. A thick, leathery thumb pried into his mouth. Ace sputtered, fought, then bit down– fuck, he was hungry. The man’s glove prevented the drawing of blood, though he did make a small grunt of discomfort and tore his hand away.

 “Don’t need my devil fruit to fuck you up,” Ace hissed. He glared at the dick half a foot away from his face. Ace had sucked a lot of cock in his time. Bigger ones, smaller ones. Sometimes drunk, sometimes as a penalty for losing a bet– fair was fair– but this was something else. The man hunched over to indicate the heavy metal collar around Ace’s neck. Ace felt his spine chill. He missed a few hours ago when he was content to wonder things like when do we get there and where did my necklace go, aw. Marie Geoise meant that the game had changed somewhat.“You know about this? I’m sure someone explained it to you,” he said roughly. His hard, flinty eyes sparkled with glee. “Try to take it off, or even touch it a certain way, and it’ll explode. Splatters your fuckin’ brains on the wall. I’ve seen it before– gruesome stuff. Real shite way to go.” Ace ran his tongue over his teeth, glaring daggers. Not much to look at, though, so he checked around with some choice words in his throat. A few other gagged folks were either watching with bated breath or pointedly looking away. The only other free man in the room was halfway out the door, glancing back like this foul display was only worth an exasperated shake of the head. 

“I see,” Ace said, eyes flicking back. “Brains on the wall, huh.”

“There’s just me and you right now, Ace. Could always say it was an unfortunate accident,” the slaver said. “If you get what I’m saying, then open wide.” Ace resisted as best he could with that steel grip in his hair again. The power of the seastone cuffs had long seeped into his veins, making him sleepy. Gritting his teeth was the most force he could exert– eventually he locked his jaw and stopped struggling. “It’d be easy,” the slaver pressed. He touched anywhere he wanted, hair, lips, freckled cheeks.  Ace hadn’t felt clean to begin with, but now… now he wanted to vomit on this guy’s shoes. “Just one press of a button, one tug of that collar, and boom. World keeps spinning. I can’t imagine anyone would miss scum like you.”

A rough squeeze on either side of his jaw finally forced Ace’s mouth open. With one last grimace, he gave up. Let his tongue hang out. The man’s brutish face softened with satisfaction. Ace loathed allowing even that much.  “That’s more like it, baby,” the slaver crooned, grabbing his cock and jerking it. “Yeah. You play my little game nice, and we’ll keep your head on your shoulders. How’s that sound?” Ace scowled, but he was so visibly tired. This gave way to a slow, slow nod, a sigh– and then his stomach vaulting as he opened his mouth. Again, not the first time he’d had a dick in there. Though there was the chance it’d be his last. The trader moved with concentration, hot flesh sliding past Ace’s open lips. There was a groan, and both meaty hands pawed at Ace’s head. Ace didn’t wait a second. He didn’t suck for an instant. He moved his tongue out of the way and then bit down as hard as he possibly could. The scream was delightful. Nobody could look away after that. 

That beer belly wrenched away from his teeth as quickly as possible, whole body toppling back onto the dirty ship floor. The big idiot shrieked, holding his groin and rolling. 

 Ace had to laugh, then grin again with blood on his teeth. He raised his voice enough to be heard over those wails of pain. 

“Hey, go on and do it, you think I give a shit?” he said, then spat out the taste of iron. He tilted his head back, offering his own capital punishment with brazen ease. “I’ve got my pride. I’d rather die a man than a coward.” 

He got a lively string of expletives in response. Didn’t do the guy much good, since he seemed unable to get off the ground just yet. Ace’s head was still very much attached to his shoulders, for better or worse. 

The screaming was pretty entertaining, or at least Ace’s fellow would-be slaves seemed to think so– he searched for eye contact in the dim light and found a few sure smiles. And a few very worried looks. Well, Ace hadn’t really calculated his odds on this one. 

Morbidly curious, he leaned over to check the damage. From what glimpses he could see– yikes. “Damn, that thing’ll never work again!” he hollered in a pitying, cheerful voice. “Go on, waste me for it. Unless you don’t have the– the balls?” That seemed pretty funny to him at the moment, and he burst out laughing. 

“Should’ve bought me dinner first, asshole!��� 

“I’ll fucking kill you–”

“Do it,” Ace goaded. It was impossible to stop himself. Self-preservation had never been a strong point for him. At least, he thought, he’d go out with a good laugh, doing something he loved— picking a fight. With all that blood rushing in his ears, he wanted to believe that he was content with that. 

Better to go down as a free man, without troubling anyone, and before facing a whole world that would know exactly how and why to hate him. 

With a howl of rage, the dickless wonder tried to maneuver onto his knees, get closer to the bars of the cage. Fever-brained, Ace imagined that he’d only have to yank at the collar a certain way to spark whatever demonic mechanism ended in explosions. Truly a shite way to go– not because of the gore, but the injustice. It made him angry. Maybe he’d bite this asshole again. Light cascaded into the darkness from the door. Two other slavers arrived, no doubt summoned by the screaming. The man from before walked over, surveying that Ace was still chained down– he very much was– then he tsk’d at the mess. He nudged the fallen with his boot, cross with disgust and sympathy pain. “I told you this would happen someday,” he said. “Why stick your dick in the bitey part of the pirate?” Ace laughed, breathless. His mouth was so dry that it hurt. The blood hadn’t helped.  Predictably, there was another slew of vicious threats, and Ace was beginning to realize that he’d mentally prepared himself for nothing. Nobody was getting any closer to that kill switch on his collar. 

There wasn’t any relief in that. Just dread, doubled when one of the other slavers spoke again. “Moron, we’re on strict orders to deliver that one to the World Nobles. That’s a done deal– you should’ve known you couldn’t touch–”

Eugh. The stomach ache was back. Ace dipped his head, not wanting to look at any of that anymore. There was some struggling. Whether someone approached the kill switch or not, Ace couldn’t bring himself to care. “You can’t lay a hand on him!” He squeezed his eyes shut. He had been untouchable for a hundred different reasons before all this. And after this, probably, not so much. Marie Geoise. He remembered the rage welling up in him the one or two times he’d seen the deadened-red slave brand on a survivor. Sure, he reminded himself, there were survivors. 

Self-preservation had never been a strong point of his. “Fire Fist, no rations ‘til you’re on death’s fucking door,” came a harsh voice. Ace spat again.  The door slammed shut, leaving the ship’s human cargo in the sparse light of one hanging lamp. Ace breathed out. “Whew. Fuck.” A few good-humored huffs later, he noticed something:

In all the commotion, the slave traders failed to gag him again. Little blessings. Ace breathed– slightly– more easy. 

“Sorry for all the noise, everyone,” he said. In other cages, in other chains, they blinked back at him. He was winding down, but he laughed again, near croaking. “Damn, I hope they’re all stupid enough to try that.” 

Maybe he could take out a few World Nobles that way. Justice for Sabo. He’d probably think that was pretty funny. 

—

It was incredible what you could do by shouting increasingly high numbers.

That was the kind of senseless world the Celestial Dragons inhabited. From his despicable place in the audience and with dread heavy in his gut, Sabo watched the guards yank Ace to his feet and drag him away. Sabo didn’t sit down. The auctioneer’s voice rang in his head: We have a winning bid! Gold Roger’s son, Portgas D. Ace, to Saint Robspierre! Hearing that esteemed name was like a ripple in a pond, a jerk of a trigger. It always took that extra split second for Sabo to remember that that was him, and it had never haunted him quite as much as it did just then. Currents of relief and distress canceled each other out. Sabo felt numb, heart pounding in his ears, knees locked up where he stood. On either side of him, World Nobles lifted their heads to survey him with open disdain. “Congratulations, Saint Robspierre,” a beady-eyed woman simpered, accompanied by her nodding, useless husband. “How fun for you.” “Thank you,” Sabo replied with mechanical ease, a glass smile. He couldn’t be in this space a minute longer. “I think I’ll go look at him.” The perfect balance of civility and entitlement. It was a surprise that this quaint, simple rudeness was more the norm here than not, but he’d adjusted. He felt dozens and dozens of eyes on him as he reached the staircase aisles. He ignored them, shoulders rolled back and head held high. Guards fell into line behind him. Another irritating norm.

He didn’t want an entourage if he was going to meet his brother under circumstances like these. Still, he had to go. For a thousand reasons, he needed to see Ace as soon as possible. That wasn’t slave auction protocol, but he could do whatever he wanted here. Anything except the right thing. * Keeping his face neutral when faced with his long-lost brother was more difficult than he’d thought it would be. He always hated this iciness he had to let in. At the moment even his blood was frozen solid. Of course the World Nobles’ auction house had a room for branding people. Sabo knew this was coming, but his vision was blurring anyway. He didn’t think it would be so soon. He thought he’d have more time. 

Ace was still completely naked with his back to the room. Under grease-shiny dark waves of hair, there was the clear buckled leather of the gag pulled tight. Those seastone cuffs strung him up near spread-eagle. It looked torturous. The painful part hadn’t even started yet. 

Like so many times before, all of Sabo’s fury channeled into his fists. Now, it all felt like too much for mortal knuckles and palms, even with gloves dulling the sensation. It was like his bones creaked. He couldn’t focus on anything but the pain, the red in his vision, Whitebeard’s jolly roger splayed and trembling across his brother’s broad back. He could use Dragon Claw and kill everyone else there. He searched the room for the key to Ace’s cuffs. Maybe he could break them? Even in deep cover, it wasn’t like he’d forgotten how to use armament haki. Escape the auction hall with Ace, and then– Sabo squeezed his eyes shut. And then what? Get the godforsaken “holy” land shut down, with a thousand marines and admirals on their ass? Ace probably wasn’t in the best shape to be thrown into a mess like that. And it would be a mess. His starting plan was less reckless, sure, but there was an increasing chance that it was going to make him throw up, crack open, crack something. 

The branding irons were lined up on the wall. The fire was stoked. The three or so men in the room stiffened up at the sight of him, and lowered their heads in immediate deference. It made Sabo violently ill this time. “You’re going to brand him?” he asked. One of the men lifted his head in a rush. “Saint Robspierre, thank you for the honor of your business–” “Are you going to brand him?” Sabo asked again. It astounded him how out of control he sounded.  But it was nothing worth worrying about when the men ducked their heads again. “No, Sir– of course– he will be branded, but we understand our esteemed clientele like to participate– we were waiting– but of course we can begin at your leisure—”

Infuriating. Sabo glanced over at Ace just to watch the soft heave of his back, the rise and fall that felt like his last tether to sanity. “Quiet,” Sabo said. He needed to think. It often worked to his advantage that people weren’t used to questioning Celestial Dragons on anything. So far removed from humans, indeed. He walked closer to Ace with a knot in his throat, head pounding. His approaching footsteps made Ace struggle again anew, little grunts of protest slipping past the gag. Sabo paused at his side, looking for injuries, half-afraid to look at his face. One glimpse of freckles was enough. Any more and he wasn’t sure his act would hold up. He could question the need for a slave brand, play it like he wanted his new toy just the way it was. Marking Celestial Dragon property was a law, yet laws could be overturned at a whim. The issue was not the rules but the unspoken, sick, crazed rot of this place.

 Mercy was weakness. Empathy was below them. Any significant deviance from the status quo was unacceptable. Any sign of anything abnormal hit the rumor mill and rattled it for days, down a grapevine so tense and maddening that Sabo understood it’d bite him in the ass within hours. 

If he asked to skip the branding, that would only warrant enough unwanted attention to make everything else harder. It was already going to be a tough ask to lay low with the pirate king’s son on a leash– because that was how they’d advertised it, of course, making the Celestial Dragons froth at the mouth with interest. It’d been even worse when they saw him, too, because he was– the wanted posters didn’t do him justice. No, they wanted as little attention as possible.

Sabo turned around. “I’ll do it,” he said simply, carelessly.

“Of course, Sir– if it’s no trouble to you–” He crossed the room, gliding his gloved hand down the pole of black iron with that hateful symbol at the end. Was he really going to do this? It was no question that Ace could handle the pain, Sabo thought. And if it was up to him, he could at least ensure a light touch, a lack of unchecked sadism. It made sense. Unfortunately, it made sense. He’d make it up to Ace no matter what. Beg if he needed to. Ace would understand. Ace would understand, right? “If it pleases this Celestial Dragon,” one of the auction house men said, “you’ll want to hold it over the coals until it is bright red. Press evenly over the skin– just beneath the shoulder blades is customary, Sir.” Sabo searched for the smallest possible brand and took the iron off the wall. It was much lighter than a pipe, yet it felt a thousand times harder to hold. 

“This is your first purchased slave, is it not, Saint Robspierre?” Sabo looked up to tell one of these low-class bastards to fuck off with the small talk, only to freeze in his tense, neutral expression at the joyful look on Saint Martine’s face. Three Celestial Dragons stood in the doorway. Right, Sabo could do anything he wanted under this cover only because all of these soulless elites could do the same. Ace jostled his chains at every end. Sabo even couldn’t imagine how pissed off he was if Sabo was this pissed just breathing the same air as them. Why was this suddenly a party? It seemed much more likely in that moment that he really would kill someone rather than lay a fucking finger on Ace.

This smug-faced World Noble fancied himself on speaking terms with Sabo because of the time they’d spent together. Time that had turned into deals. Deals that had turned into laundering money back to the Revolutionary Army– how smug Sabo had felt when his targets were providing information and resources toward their own downfall. 

It couldn’t come soon enough. “Yes,” Sabo replied. It was like the muscles of his face had a mind of their own: he even managed to smile again. “I couldn’t pass up the chance.”

“I don’t blame you,” one of the nobles chuckled. 

“As long as you share,” sneered another. Her nose wrinkled. “That one deserves every punishment we can think of. I can’t believe they even allowed Roger’s devil spawn to live that long. What was the navy thinking?” 

“Incompetents. Naturally, it falls to us to rid the world of that criminal’s blood.”

“Just sharing air with it is vile, really,” said the old man. The ignorant, cold disgust on their faces made Sabo nearly tremble with rage. “Vermin like that need to pay for every breath it takes until it’s begging for death–” “It would be a waste to rip him to pieces just yet,” Sabo cut in, his voice like steel. He circled haki away from his hands and let his hatred for the Celestial Dragons color his voice. “I’ll be training him first. Trash like this must be made to understand their place.” Sorry, Ace, he thought vehemently. Just a little longer, then you’ll never have to see these fucking people again. In that regard, at least, Ace was the lucky one. The trio laughed. “Of course, Robspierre. With your tastes… I’m surprised you didn’t indulge sooner. But there are finer specimen with… less abhorrent blood.”

Sabo’s blood boiled. He turned. The sight of Ace suffering was tantamount to setting his eyes on fire, but he just focused on that rise and fall. That was what mattered. These rotten bastards could yap all they want, the coddled little dogs that they were, but they weren’t going to so much as touch his brother. 

“But I indulge plenty,” Sabo replied, offering one last tight-lipped smile. He was fairly certain he understood what he was being lobbied for. “When I get bored of him, I’ll keep you all in mind, of course. It’s hardly fair of me to have all of the fun.”   Their mouths curled up. Good. They’d scurry back to their equally rotten friends and maintain Sabo’s reputation. Stay out of his hair for a while until he could figure out how to best ship Ace out of his place.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was about to …” With a heavy exhale, Sabo wandered towards the fire, dull branding iron in hand. “Ooh!” shrilled the woman. “I want to do it.” “He’s mine,” Sabo said icily, stabbing the brand into the coals with a little too much strength. He watched scorching light engulf the metal and wildly lick at the sides of the pit. He imagined the whole of Marie Geoise inside that fire. “Now, now. Sometimes watching is just as rewarding as doing the work,” Saint Martine conversationally told his friends. “And it is Robspierre’s very first time, no?” At this point, it was better to ignore them. He didn’t want this moment to have an audience. He didn’t want it to happen at all. But according to his plan, this was the single big obstacle before he could shelter Ace deep in his assigned estate. Better to get it over with, even with those invasive, beady eyes on him. He was going to throw up if this went on any longer than it had to. He checked that Ace’s gag was still on, that he’d have something to bite into. He quickly surveyed the toned canvas of Ace’s back, taken up so wholly by that skull and bones. Sabo had a lot of curiosity about that– about his brothers in general. Just learning about them would be the privilege of his life if Ace ever opened up to him again. 

  Sabo hadn’t been so nauseated and dizzy in years. The brand was about the size of his fist. Deciding the placement for Ace’s sake was difficult. The chest would hurt. Limbs were too far removed from tradition; it’d be pointless. The jolly roger must’ve been important to Ace, so he had to leave it untarnished. On the shoulders, it’d be painful and harder to hide. 

The chains jangled. He was panting, horribly tense. Sabo winced. That was going to make it hurt worse. 

Get it over with. Sabo squeezed his eyes shut. Ace, I’m sorry. 

It lasted two seconds and felt like an eternity. He had a steady touch. The sound and smell of sizzling flesh repulsed him. His chest throbbed. Knowing that this was a brand meant to imprison the body and soul beyond help, that this was Ace being so crudely violated– it felt like the worst thing Sabo had ever done in his life. 

Ace didn’t scream. At most, there was a deep, clipped groan, almost like a throaty sigh. Sabo quickly removed the iron, frantic eyes scanning over his work. He’d at least succeeded in leaving a lighter touch– the geometric dragon’s claw was a marred light pink on the firm flesh just above his ass and below the small of his back. With any hope, it’d be barely noticeable once it healed.

 Sabo sighed, too. “You can’t be done already,” one of the World Nobles gasped behind him, dripping with sincere disbelief. Celestial Dragons were not just heartless; they were also so petty, having nothing but sick tradition to cling to. “You have to make him scream, Robspierre.” “While we’re at it, melt that filthy pirate insignia off his back–” “Delightful idea– we could also carve it up!” “Why, that mark’s far too light–” “As I said,” Sabo bit out, eyes blazing, “it would be a waste to maim his body before using it. And why darken the mark? Everyone ought to already know he’s a slave. He’s never leaving this place.” 

His throat was near painfully dry. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, shocked by the tension. He’d let his haki slip half on accident. It cramped the room, intimidating every other inhabitant who only had the barest subconscious awareness of it. “When I’m done with him, do as you please,” Sabo said. “But I’ll appreciate complete privacy to better inspect my—“ His voice went too tight; he started again. “You wouldn’t want to miss the rest of the auction, would you?” 

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 13: Memories to share

First chapter | Previous

Also go follow @lovelivingmydreams because she's awesome and her writing is amazing. And I have no idea how I convinced her to work on this story with just one drawing.

Enjoy reading:

And then he was in the middle of a little village. Nothing like any village he’d seen before though. The way the houses were built, the clothes the people wore… It was so different from what he was used to.

A little boy rushed past him.

“Virgil hold up!!!” a young boy’s voice shouted.

“Sorry Michael!” the little boy said. “I just want to show mom the flowers before they go bad,” the little boy said to the bigger kid that was catching up to, what Roman assumed to be, his little brother. The boy who would grow up to be the High Mage of the Night Flame.

“If you pick them, they usually last longer V. Now take my hand and lets walk home together. At least pretend I’m looking after you,” Michael insisted.

Roman studied them both. The little boy’s hair looked lighter and shorter than what he was used to seeing from Virgil. Other than that he could definitely see this as a past version of him.

He looked so happy and carefree. As only children can.

“Welcome to the village of my youth.” Roman looked beside him and saw Virgil standing next to him. “It doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing bad. People just left for greener pastures and the village got forgotten to time. I went back a while ago, it’s nothing but open fields now. I still remember it like it was yesterday though,” he continued.

“I… It looks lovely,” Roman said, not sure what to make of it.

“I figured we could combine our options. Get the most out of this dream. I’ll teach you along the way,” Virgil promised before turning his attention back to the memory and speaking the way he did whenever he taught them anything.

“It was named RiverFort,” Virgil stated. “Because of the nearby river and the fort that was built by the guild on the other side… The magic guild that is. Mages were a rarity and ascended mages even more so. Which is why I often find myself older than everyone in the room combined these days,” Virgil joked. “This is Axilla, long before we really named ourselves that. The guild aided the villages within this unclaimed territory and in exchange we all provided what we could…” Virgil nodded ahead and they saw a man and a woman greet Virgil and his brother. The woman was pregnant. Little Virgil kissed his mother’s belly and handed her the flowers.

Then little Virgil went to greet his father who ruffled his hair before continuing a conversation with a gentleman in robes.

“You really got us out of a pickle there Remy. Any idea why those wolves left their territory to snatch our sheep?” Virgil’s father wondered. He seemed like a kind man. And an animal lover with the way he gave the mage’s horse an apple and pats while talking to his rider.

“Not a clue Francis. But I’ll figure it out and make sure I won’t have to come back. If I may pick up a few blankets and a traveling cloak on the way back? Have it set aside if I don’t. Emile is in the north and he’s super capable but negotiations are always a bit iffy,” he shrugged carelessly.

“You be careful too alright. By the grace of the stars, we will see you soon,” Virgil’s father insisted.

“Bye mister magic man!” Virgil said cheerfully. The mage, Remy knelt and looked at him. “Hmmm. Getting bigger huh little man? I get a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other,” he stated, booping Virgil’s nose to which the little one mock complained. Then he got on his horse.

“Bless your days in the kingdom of the sun,” he bid, and rode off towards the woods.

The family headed inside to listen to Virgil’s story about his day with his big brother.

“Remy was right. He ended up being one of my teachers. And he’d been around the block a few times by then. You’d like him,” Virgil chuckled.

Things shifted. Very briefly Roman saw a little bigger Virgil accidentally levitating a pot that was falling from a stove, much to the amazement of his parents and now two siblings. The little sister he’d mentioned before was an adorable toddler in this one.

Then Remy was back, performing a magic aptitude test, looking not surprised in the least. And then Virgil was being picked up by a carriage his mother tying a no doubt handmade scarf around his neck, the family wishing him luck and praying for the stars to guide him.

Roman noticed that the young boy and his teacher both had applied colored shadows under their eyes.

He got in the carriage, and the family and the village disappeared. Instead they were riding down a long stone rode in a bustling city. Though it didn’t seem as big as the capitol Roman remembered. Little 11 or 12 year old Virgil was looking around nervously.

“It’ll be alright squirt,” Remy, who’d apparently been his escort, assured him. “You’ll make tons of friends and have loads to write to your family about. And just think of all the ways you’ll be able to help them out when you get back for the breaks?” Remy pointed out.

Virgil nodded, still withdrawn from nerves. A stark difference to what he was like when in a familiar environment.

Roman looked at the passing buildings trying to find the academy.

“The one you know won’t be built for a while,” Virgil reminded him. Right… Was this even the current capitol?

“This is what you know as Lumen. One of the bigger cities at the time,” Virgil explained as time sped up around them and they found themselves on the edge of the city up a winding path towards a large building, nestled against the forest.

Then Virgil got out and showed to the dormitories and his room.

“There were ten kids in my group, all of varying ages,” Virgil stated as they watched him put his things away, hug his scarf tight and going outside. “And in a strange moment of bravery, I left my room to go and meet them right away,” he chuckled as they reached a playground where a lot of kids were playing. Most were around Virgil’s age, though there were a few late bloomers there too.

Little Virgil looked around and found a kid sitting by himself, reading.

Roman squinted. Was that Gustav?

“Hi,” little Virgil greeted.

The kid looked up, and Roman was a bit surprised to realize it was indeed a younger Gustav.

He also had shading under his eyes. It must have been the style at the time. It was kind of cute that Virgil still did it though.

The young arch mage looked at Virgil's offered hand curiously.

"Um... I'm Virgil."

Gustav gave Virgil a careful smile and accepted his hand. "Gustav," he said. Virgil visibly relaxed at the successful introductions.

"Can I sit with you, please? I promised my mom I'd try and make friends," he said softly.

Gustav giggled. "Well. I didn't, but I guess I don't want you to break a promise to yours," he said, making room on the bench.

"I almost forgot about this part... looking at it from this angle... I guess I get why he didn't like J and Remus all that much," Virgil mused next to Roman as little Virgil sat down and asked about the book Gustav was reading. The conversation seemed to be going well when suddenly...

"CRACK!"

"Woah!"

"Hey!?"

"Hi there," another boy greeted them. Which would've been fine if he hadn't fallen from the sky accompanied by a broken off tree branch. Right on top of Virgil.

Both were now on the ground with the new boy looking down at Virgil.

"You wanna play tag?" he asked.

"Shouldn't you start with: Are you okay? Or: I'm sorry? Or something like that!?" Gustav scolded as he pushed the new boy off from Virgil and helped him get up and dust him off. "I'm fine. Just... caught me of guard," Virgil assured both.

Gustav was not satisfied, though.

"What were you doing up there anyway? Spying on us?!" he accused.

"Napping, until you two woke me up... after that, a bit of spying," the boy admitted.

"That's a weird napping spot," Little Virgil said. Amused.

"Those are the best kinds," the boy argued.

"I like you. I'm Remus," he decided. Holding out his hand. "Virgil, and this is my friend Gustav," Virgil introduced, making Gustav hold his head up a little higher at being called friend.

"What on earth is all this commotion about?" A new boy wondered as he joined the group.

"Mister bright idea climbed a tree. Took a nap, we heard a snap, and then he bruised a knee," Gustav huffed. The group stared. And Roman chuckled. "Was that on purpose?" Virgil asked. Gustav shrugged. "Not at first," he admitted.

"Impressive," Virgil said.

"Well. I am Janus. And you all are...?" The new boy wondered.

"Virgin, Gus and Remus!" Remus screeched.

Gustav made a face. "Gustav and Virgil..." he corrected.

"You talk fancy. Who's your daddy?" Remus wondered. Making Virgil hide his face to stiffen a laugh. Gustav just rolled his eyes. Glancing at Virgil nervously.

Owch. Yeah. Roman wouldn't have liked two random kids stealing the show right when he was making a proper friend. Especially if it ended in him and said friend never getting close.

"My uncle, is high Mage Remy. Eternal lover of the smoldering heart. so my talent was spotted rather quickly. How about you three?" Janus wondered.

"My parents have like, a ton of stores so they paid for an aptitude test so I’d be out of their hair," Remus shrugged. "Jokes on them. I'll be even more of a menace when I know magic,” he added with a grin. Roman noted that both Virgil and Gustav felt a bit self-conscious now. Virgil glanced to Gustav, realized he was not alone in his worry and found courage. "My parents are tailors, and um... I caught a pot without touching when it fell. So when mister Remy... your uncle, came by to check on our village, they told him. And he checked, and now I am here," he said. Making Gustav relax.

"It's just my mother, and I. She helps one of the farmers who has no children to help him to get by. One day, I made a mess of her nice dress, and I wished it was clean, and then it was." He said, feeling more confident now that he and Virgil seemed to have more in common.

"Cool," Remus grinned.

Someone rang a bell. "Oh, class in session! Come on! You gotta sit with us!" Remus insisted dragging Virgil along, followed by a bemused Janus and a dejected Gustav. That must've stung.

"Your friends seem fun," Roman decided. It hadn't seemed like they were deliberately pushing Gustav away. But the young arch mage clearly hadn't felt comfortable around their big personalities.

"Yeah," Virgil smiled.

"Now. Your turn. Show me something about you," Virgil instructed, catching Roman of guard.

"Me?" He asked.

Virgil nodded. "Pick a memory. Focus on it. And share it like how you shared your emotions with me the past two days," he instructed.

Okay. Doable...

Roman took a breath. Focused and...

He was home. Just the sight of it nearly made him tear up. How had Virgil kept it together when showing his own. "I was prepared. You are doing great," Virgil assured him. Roman nodded gratefully and led Vigil to the play room where he and his friends were bowed over books on magic.

"And then he single handedly tamed the beast of Zimmer and sent it back into the woods!" Young Roman told his friends. Much to their amazement.

"I wish I could do something so amazing," Patton sighed.

"But we can. We just have to get into the academy," Logan stated wisely.

"Don't we have to pass an aptitude test for that?" Roman asked, more intrigued than skeptical. "Yes, but I found an old book in your parents' collection, one from before the plague, and in it, it says that magic is a skill you can learn. Like cooking and art. Talent helps, but it is not our only way to pass the test. It even has the instructions. Are you two with me? I am confident I can do it, of course, but I'd rather not be by myself," Logan said formally.

Young Roman grinned and threw an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Of course, big brains. Where do we start?" He stated. "Yay! We're going to change the world together!" Patton cheered, hugging his friends who chuckled.

"Admirable attitude. It is correct, of course. Even if you didn't have talent, which, for the record, you all do, you could learn to connect with your own mana 'the hard way' as they say."

Roman smiled at the reassurance. He had felt a bit insecure about that.

"Well, you didn't meet your friends at school so I’ll go again," Virgil offered showing a classroom with young Virgil flanked by his friends. Gustav a row behind them.

"Why are we seeing this from this perspective? The memory of the ball was like looking through your eyes," Roman suddenly realized.

"Because this talks easier. The details out of sight are filled in through reasoning. I remember Gustav was behind me and I now realize what first meeting Remus and J might've felt like for him. So I, subconsciously make assumptions based on that. We are watching an unreliable narrator. Especially when paying attention to what happens out of sight," he explained as the teacher paced in front of the room.

“So, who can tell me why we need herbs and minerals and animal parts for casting?” the teacher wondered. Looking over the crowd.

“Remus?” he pressed. Remus rolled his eyes. “So we don’t get tired when doing spells,” he said.

Janus snickered at his friend’s deadpan tone. “Care to elaborate Janus?” the teacher challenged.

Janus sat up straighter. “Spells cost energy like climbing a set of stairs would. Using the mana in outside sources when we can, keeps us from draining our own supply,” he stated.

The teacher nodded. "Why can’t we use whatever we want then? Why, by example, do we use Merick’s leaves and not aloe vera in pain relief spells and potions?" The teacher asked.

Virgil perked up a little, looked around to see if anyone else wanted to answer and carefully raised his hand.

"Yes." The teacher acknowledged.

"The mana in the plants is less flexible than the mana within ourselves. Pushing it beyond their natural form would cost us more energy than we would save. Pain is a symptom unrelated to actual damage. Aloe vera needs something to fix. Mericks leaves soothe and relax." Young Virgil stated. Roman cocked his head. Spotting a difference in their education.

"Indeed. You can learn the components needed for each individual spell or you can learn what those components actually want to accomplish with their mana. That will allow you to truly blossom as mages and push the boundaries of magic,” the teacher explained.

Gustav leaned over his desk and tapped Virgil on the shoulder. “Gotta be you, I’m starting to think you can look at a brand new plant and immediately tell what it’d be good for,” he whispered. So some time had passed. And Virgil had made an impression it seemed.

“Is that why you’re being such a suck up?” Remus teased. Gustav turned red and fell back into his chair. “Whatever, freak,” he huffed. Virgil was clearly uncomfortable caught in the middle of the argument.

“That’s enough of that,” Virgil decided.

Roman agreed and focused on a memory of his own to relive.

His own experience with his chosen field of study.

They stood in a different classroom. In a different building. Students were filing out and joking about. Logan and Patton hesitated by the door as a young Roman approached the teacher.

“Um… Sir?” he asked.

“What is it?” the teacher said, the enthusiasm for teaching Virgil’s teacher had nowhere to be found.

“Um… Well the dean said that we should talk to the teacher specializing in our chosen discipline about… Well specializing and I…”

The teacher perked up. “You want to specialize in herbology?” he asked. Surprised, skeptical, hopeful.

“Y-yes. I mean. Plants and their uses always interested me. And well… Being able to recognize them on sight seems like an important skill. So…” he explained awkwardly.

Now the teacher lit up. “Then I will do my best to teach you all I know,” he promised.

Roman turned to Virgil. “Herbology wasn’t very popular the past fifty years,” he shrugged.

“Well, they never taught you the cool parts so I’m not surprised,” Virgil shrugged.

The memory shifted to his teacher’s private office late in the evening. Young Roman was bowed over a few books, several pots of herbs set up before him.

“It is said, that in the time before the dark plague, there were herbologists who were so in tune with the mana of living beings, that they could sense the ingredients of anything they ate, even down to the exact amount of salt crystals.”

Virgil chuckled. “Slight exaggeration,” he assured him.

Roman wanted to ask him to elaborate, but he figured questions could wait for the road. Virgil might appreciate a distraction while they traveled.

“Sadly, the methods with which they achieved this ability have gotten lost after the plague,” teacher sighed wistfully.

“Sir… I don’t understand these instructions,” young Roman told his teacher.

“This healing spell calls for Mint root, but that feels wrong? In this one,” he pointed to another page, “the revitalization spell, mintroot is combined with Lilly pollen. And it just feels like the Lilly pollen would be far more effective for the healing spell?” young Roman pointed out.

Virgil looked to Roman with a bright, proud smile. “Good eye,” he praised.

Roman’s teacher looked at Roman’s notes and hummed. “I understand your concerns. But Lilly pollen is too potent to use on its own and any deterrent would render the benefit entirely useless. It is a level three after all. We can’t use catalysts in reckless abandon, that is what caused the plague,” he explained gravely. “But good eye Roman. You clearly have talent,” he praised. Young Roman smiled but didn’t look too convinced.

“Do my eyes spy a spark of rebellion?” Virgil gasped.

“I may have started using Lilly Pollen where I felt it was appropriate whenever I wasn’t supervised… I’d say don’t tell Logan but I think he’s thrown all caution to the wind since you made him great wizard mage,” Roman admitted.

“Following your own gut over a teacher’s instruction isn’t such a trivial matter though. That took courage,” Virgil complemented before taking charge of the memories again.

Leaving Roman no chance to react.

Virgil showed a few snippets of memories of him and his friends growing up at the academy. Laughing at Remus’ antics, debating ethics and technicalities with Janus. Going home and showing all that he had learned to his family and using it to help around the village.

And then they were inside a room with a familiar layout. It was round. The floor and ceiling decorated with mosaic representing the night sky, the magically glowing stars the only light source.

Virgil was sat in the middle of the room. Meditating.

Roman could hear the instructions echo in Virgil’s mind, the only sound in this silent room other than Virgil’s breathing.

“Focus on the flow of magic within you. Until it is all that is left. Let it show you your power. Do not waver. Do not turn away. Welcome it. It is part of you. Yet it also is a life all its own. Let it show you, who you are meant to be.”

Roman felt something stir inside him at those words. “That’s a better pep talk than I got,” he whispered to Virgil.

“Do I want to know?” Virgil wondered.

“Try not to die,” Roman surmised.

“… Roman, I never asked. How many Great mages has the academy produced since the plague?” Virgil asked.

“Um… Us?” Roman admitted.

“So… You outrank the council?” Virgil concluded. “Uh… I never thought about it like that… I guess?” Roman mused.

Virgil frowned but focused back on the memory. Also choosing to keep questions for the road.

The stars seemed to go out, and a purple glow appeared inside Virgil right at his heart.

Not a glow… A flame.

Virgil opened his eyes and stood up in the void. Looking for a light, an exit. Something.

He reached for his chest and touched the flame, held it in his hand, and set it free.

The magic spread into the room, creating new stars. Constellations Roman didn’t recognize, and was fairly certain Virgil didn’t know either. So it wasn’t just that he didn’t pay enough attention in astronomy class.

Young Virgil stared on in awe and stepped back in surprise as his magic fire returned to him and burst into an inferno, revealing a phoenix made of purple flames.

Virgil hesitated and bowed. The Phoenix let out a majestic cry and flew straight through Virgil, making his robes flare up and his hair blow back. It was much shorter at this time in his life, but long enough to be affected. Virgil looked behind him and he was back in the meditation room, the door glowing with his magic and opening.

His classmates streamed in.

“That was wicked cool!” Remus exclaimed as he threw an arm over Virgil’s shoulder.

“Uh… What was?” Virgil asked.

“Let’s just say for a moment I thought there’d be a phoenix permanently burned into the doors to the ascension chamber,” Janus smirked.

“Indeed. Congratulations. Virgilious, fate spinner, Mage of the dark phoenix,” their teacher allowed.

Roman looked at Virgil.

“My first nickname. Based on my ability to weave any sort of spell into fabric. Cleaning was my first one but I perfected it to a point where I could integrate three different spells into one fabric. After building a proper reputation as a high mage I got the name Night Flame,” Virgil explained.

Roman looked to the crowd and spotted Gustav standing by the edge. Observing with a closed expression.

Though past Virgil wasn’t looking directly at him so that wasn’t necessarily how he looked at the time.

Past Virgil was too busy feeling bashful about the attention and the title.

Roman felt a little bad for the young Arch mage. If things had gone just a little differently, he would’ve been part of the past few memories rather than a figure in the background.

“Gustav. I believe you were next?” The teacher stated. Now Virgil’s attention did go to him. Gustav hid some kind of expression and nodded formally.

“Watch him get a gnome,” someone whispered in the group, making a few others laugh and Gustav flush.

“What would be wrong with that? Gnomes are mischievous but creative and in tune with nature. There is no such thing as a bad guide. Only shortsighted, immature mages who probably shouldn’t be getting theirs yet,” Virgil scolded his classmates who looked sheepish at being called out like that.

“It’s alright Virgil,” Gustav said, finding his confidence. “Who knows? Maybe I will get a less popular guide. I’m not stupid, I know that is more in line with my standing,” he noted, strolling to the center of the room. “Then again,” he stated as he turned around. “Maybe I’ll be the dragon who will unite the lands under one crown. And you’ll all wish you’d tried a little harder to get my favor,” he smirked as he dropped himself into a cross legged position. “Well, most of you,” he finished.

The teacher guided the group out of the room. Virgil looked back briefly and found that Gustav had dropped the bravado and looked nervous. And then the door closed.

“We don’t need to see every ceremony. There was no dragon that year in any case. But I had learned that if I was going to ever become a high mage, I’d have to come to terms with the fact that I’d have to learn to fly. Remus tried pretty much the day after the ceremony to ascend. And Janus had started daily meditations in preparation for a serious attempt a month or two later.

I was nowhere near mentally ready to even think of that. So… I practiced.”

Roman looked up and they found themselves in a small clearing in a forest. Virgil was pacing the forest floor.

“A bird. Of course I had to be a freaking bird… That’s fine though. I can prepare. This time tomorrow I’m not going to be held back by something as silly as a fear of heights.”

Past Virgil stood still in the middle of the meadow and retrieved a feather from his satchel.

And then his form shrunk and changed. And before them stood a falcon, moving his body experimentally.

“Changing shape gets much easier once you ascend. As you might have noticed. When ascending you essentially abandon a physical form, and become magic yourself. And magic, can take any shape it needs to with ease. Before that… It feels a bit uncomfortable to shape your body in a form that is not its own,” Virgil explained.

“So, changing your looks wouldn’t be as uncomfortable as becoming an animal,” Roman concluded.

“Yeah. Depending on how much you change, but I suppose even changing yourself to an entirely different body type is more doable than becoming a different species,” Virgil agreed as his past self-made a few clumsy attempts to get up on a fallen tree to have a launch platform.

“What you see next stays between us alright?” Virgil asked.

Roman nodded. “I wasn’t going to share a second of this with anyone anyway,” Roman promised.

Virgil smiled at him and then focused on the memory again where the falcon took off. And fell out of the sky almost immediately. Roman blinked and the falcon was back on the tree.

Took of once more, and fell again.

A few more minutes went by. Though Roman never saw the impact. Just the moment that Virgil lost the fight with gravity and then he started over again.

“You fell a lot,” Roman observed.

“I was much too stubborn. Getting tired made it harder,” Virgil huffed.

The memory showed an exhausted falcon, falling asleep on the forest floor… That didn’t seem safe.

Indeed. The sky grew dark and something emerged from the bushes. A fox.

Luckily Virgil woke up just in time to doge it’s attack. He cawed in warning but the fox must’ve been very hungry or in need for some food for their cubs perhaps, because it tried to attack again. Virgil, rather than turning human, fueled by adrenaline, launched himself skyward, and this time, managed to remain there. Flying up above the treetops, elated at his success, and from the looks of it he soon found himself at home among the winds.

He flew past the forest edge and made his way into a familiar village. He returned to his human form on the pathway and was immediately greeted by his family who’d been worried since he hadn’t come home before sundown as he usually did. His father had been about to go look for him.

It was a sweet display.

Then the memory shifted to inside the home. The family was gathered and an older man and two young adults were measuring them. Much to the delight of Virgil’s little sister.

“We did well for ourselves after I figured out the self-cleaning fabric thing. So, when the time came for the introduction ball of the new great mages of that year, we decided to splurge on some new clothes. We didn’t usually do anything fancy so I had a tailor from the city come to make us all something fitting for the occasion.

And, I met the guy who taught me to… appreciate dressing up,” Virgil admitted. Fondly looking at the young man who was clearly trying not to be weird while taking a great mage’s measurements.

“What happened to the lyre player?” Roman asked curiously. Recalling what Virgil said about the first man he kissed while they were sitting at the loom.

“Oh, that was years before this. I was… Sixteen. He was part of a traveling band, but they ran into some bad luck and needed a lot of repairs, so they stayed the summer and did odd jobs to pay for their repairs and necessities and such. We… hit it off. But at the end I had duties in the city and he went back to the road,” Virgil recalled.

“How old are you at this point?” Roman wondered. Virgil had been around Roman’s age when he stopped aging. And he was a great mage in this one, so this couldn’t be too long before that.

Virgil hummed.

“Well, gosh, I haven’t thought about that for a while… But I was 18 when I became a wizard… 19 when I became a great wizard. And… Yeah about 25 when I became a mage.” Roman nodded. That wasn’t an unusual timeline.

“I think… I think I’m 27, almost 28 at this point,” he decided.

Roman observed past Virgil exchange a smile and a joke with the apprentice, making him laugh and relax. He looked cute.

They watched just a little longer. Seeing the young man start to gush animatedly about his passions and Virgil starting to get intrigued.

Then Virgil showed him his next memory.

They were in a large room, lit up with various types of magic lighting. Making for a festive atmosphere. There was music playing and there were people dancing in gorgeous suits and gowns in styles entirely unfamiliar to Roman.

So far he’d seen Virgil and the others wear robes and the casual fashion of commoners that didn’t change as much. He almost wished Virgil had shown him a local festival so he could’ve seen what they’d worn for such an occasion.

He spotted Virgil and his family. The ladies looking lovely in purple gowns with feather’s in their braids. His mother’s hair in an updo and his sisters and another woman Roman didn’t recognize in a lovely half up half down. Their gowns had high collars, tiny glass beads sewn in into the fabric to make them shimmer like the night sky. Their sleeves long and widening from the elbows down. Their skirts flowing delicately with every move. Virgil, his brother and father were all wearing a similar costume consisting of a dark purple shirt with black pants and ties. His father and brother wearing a decorative feather shoulder piece on opposite shoulders while Virgil wore one on both. All the men had the shadows under their eyes, most men at the party did. It really was a fashion trend.

They looked great, and excited to be there.

They greeted a few people at the door. Virgil was predictably dismissive of his teacher’s praises and his family’s pride. He introduced his brother Michael, his sister in law Penelope and his little sister Mariane alongside his parents, Francis and Evelyn. Once he felt there’d been enough introductions he took his sister to the dancefloor she’d been eyeing since the moment they got in.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her when he saw her look at the crowd. “It’s all in the lead. So I’ll be the one looking bad if something goes wrong.” His sister rolled her eyes and stepped on his foot on purpose, much to his amusement.

Then he took her in a spin around the room. Mariane looked like she was having the time of her life. Dressed up and dancing at a ball.

And then a handsome young man tapped Virgil on the shoulder, interrupting their dance.

The young man was a bit flushed as he took in Mariane before turning to Virgil.

“My apologies, mister Virgil. Would, either of you,” he glanced hopefully to Mariane, “Mind if I cut in?” he asked.

Virgil smirked and looked at his sister who was clearly taken aback by this turn of events.

“Mariane, this is one of Janus’ cousins, Vincent. Vincent, this is my beloved little sister Mariane. Do you mind keeping Vincent company while I look for his cousin and Remus?” Virgil asked.

Mariane shook her head. “Not at all,” she breathed. And so Virgil handed her over with care and left the floor to look for his friends.

He found them soon. Both dressed even more lavishly than Virgil was. Remus a collage of styles and suits that were all demanding attention. Janus seemed to have pieces of scaled leather incorporated in his suit. Probably showcasing their guide.

Roman noticed Gustav talking to a few noble looking men with a woman at his arm that must’ve been his mother. His suit was modest if not for the ornate pieces of jewelry added to it.

Remus and Janus praised Virgil for his suit and they talked about old times and their plans for the future. Virgil laughed with them but kept glancing at the dancefloor.

Suddenly something startled him and without a word he made his way back towards the center where Roman also spotted someone trying to cut between Vincent and Mariane. Something neither seemed interested in.

“Excuse me,” Virgil announced putting himself between the pair and the third wheel.

“… Great mage Virgil. Good evening. I merely wanted to honor your sister with a dance,” the man assured Virgil.

“The honor would be yours entirely, if she was interested, which she isn’t. Go find someone who is Philipe,” he warned.

“Ah, so you know who I am… Wouldn’t you agree that it would be in your family’s best interest to…”

“I would agree to no such thing,” Virgil interjected. And Roman could feel power build even in this memory. Clearly mister Philipe hadn’t expected that reaction.

“In fact, I think you’ll find it would be in you and your family’s best interest not to anger me any further. I would be very careful of angering the Dark Phoenix. For they are loyal and reliable and inspire such traits in those they meet. I have friends Philipe, and those friends might have more influence than you’d like,” Virgil warned.

“Virgil… You are…” Mariane said softly behind him.

“Is that a threat mage?” Philipe challenged.

“It is a promise that I am not afraid to put you in your place in front of this whole party,” Virgil growled. And around him people gathered, looking at Philipe like his judgement had already been passed. And it wasn’t favorable. Vincent had escorted Mariane to her parents and they all looked on while Virgil laid down the law.

Philipe seemed nervous now, looking around the room and seeing no support. He was about to say something else but then backed away in fear. Virgil’s building power was more obvious now, his clothes and hair flaring and moments later, it erupted with a protective fury from his being.

For a moment Virgil was completely gone. Only a shapeless mass of purple flames in his space.

“Virgil!” his family called, and as if in answer to his name, the flames took the shape of a bird, and then a man, and then Virgil reemerged from the flames. Reborn as a high mage.

[mazzystar24]

Addie do you think his (Ryan/Eddie's) ear is deliberately purple in the BTS video??? BC some people are saying it looks like an injury but idk if it's a shadow but also it shouldn't be a shadow there...

Oh wow I ignored you accidentally bae my notifications ate this

I don’t know it doesn’t look like a shadow at all it’s definitely discolouration

But a bruise would be more irregular I feel? Like bruises usually have more of a margin to them so you can usually see where they were impacted and then where they weren’t like if you look up bruised ears even you’ll see it’s like the top section would more likely be bruised then the rest would be more minor or untouched and even when the whole ear is bruised you can see the margins of the bruise and usually bruises have more than one color so like some bits would have more red some more blue some yellower and some greener but this looks like when you’re in the cold too long like he was in cold water or something which seeing as how he’s dripping wet and Angela Bassett was complaining when they shot the cruise ship episode the water was freezing I’d bet it’s probably that again

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

The Heart of Your Home pt 4

Summary: Arthur comes across a woman in need. What he thought was a simple good deed would take him down a much further path than anticipated.

Warnings: Cursing, there is mention of canon-typical violence, bodily injury, and brief smut in this chapter.

Word Count: 8,072

A/N: This chapter was a blast to write...things are coming along nicely!

It seemed to be warmer than usual today. The sun beamed down on the shawl on your back as you quietly trotted down the beaten path toward Valentine. It was beautiful out, and you decided not to waste the day inside. 

You’d told Frederick your plan; restocking simple ingredients in town. The reality was though you just wanted to enjoy being out and about for a little while. Another cold rainstorm swept through New Hanover over the previous days, once again drenching the land in dreary cold wetness. Mud was fresh and splattered against your mare’s hooves and the bottom of your boots, though you hardly minded. 

It was smart to stay inside while Frederick handled business, you knew that well enough. He’d arrived back home just yesterday. After a warm welcome and a desperately needed night spent together, you were itching to be free from the confines of your homestead. Funny, it almost seemed as if you were switching places.

The thought made you snort; you couldn't handle business like him, and you knew he couldn't cook or perform any sort of housekeeping to save his life. Switching places would surely doom the both of you to return to your original home. 

But as he kept assuring you, soon he wouldn't have to travel as much. Soon you would be wealthy enough to acquire household help. Soon, soon, soon. 

You sighed at the thought, reflecting the very same images that danced in your mind just days before. Bright-faced children running amuck in the yard, while you and Frederick watched on fondly from a spacious porch. When he was home, his optimism drove those dreams a bit closer to reality. He’d return from his trips with a few more stacks of money, as well as a gift to adorn you with. This time it was a ruby necklace that sat against your collarbone, the stone heavy against the hollow of your throat. You idly touched it on occasion, not used to having something that large and expensive. It may be worth more than your wedding ring. 

Thundering hooves nearby ripped you from your thoughts. You looked up, expecting to see someone ride past you in a hurry, only to spot a riderless horse. It appeared in the right side of your vision to cross your path just a few yards ahead. Its gray coat shone slick in the sunlight, stirrups flying free against its flank as the beast streaked by, head high in fright and ears forward. 

You blinked in surprise, and then gasped in surprise. It only took you a second to recognize which horse that was. 

Whose horse that was. 

The poor stallion seemed frightened, disappearing into the brush off to your left just as the crack of a gunshot fired somewhere nearby, followed by many more. You flinched, and your mare scooted beneath you in her own sheer anxiety. A shrill cry escaped your mouth as you clung on to the saddle, willing yourself not to slide off into the mud below. She quieted a moment later, although your body was still tense and your heart raced. Gunfire could mean anything... 

There hadn’t been any more commotion following, but sheer concern is what kept you rooted in the spot. Glancing toward where the stallion ran and back to where the gunshot originated, you quickly decided the next move. Whatever caused that gunshot signified danger, and you'd best avoid it for now, even when your growing anxiety for who might be involved gnawed at your insides. 

Steering your mare off the path, you dismounted just before the thicket of bushes and trees, standing on your toes to peer through the leaves and branches in hopes of spotting the runaway horse. Unfortunately it was too thick to see, and you sighed and forged ahead, pushing aside the greenery while half stumbling on roots. It wasn't long until the snowcapped Ambarino mountains loomed in the distance. A sheer cliff dropped into the ravine below. Movement caught your attention, and the stallion appeared in your view, pacing anxiously along the edge. You were thankful he was smart enough to stop before toppling over to certain death. 

“Hey,” you say, gentle but loud enough to catch the beast’s attention. His ears pricked and his head raised, a loud snort expelling from his nostrils. 

You reached toward him slowly. “It's okay, you know who I am,” you kept your voice low and soothing, as if he could understand you and knowing full well he didn't. But to your surprise and relief, the stallion visibly calmed. His head lowered as he approached you, sniffing your hand. You smiled and rubbed his nose before reaching for the reins, tugging him forward. “Let's get you away from here.” 

The way out was more of a struggle than it was going in, perhaps it was because you had trouble balancing while simultaneously guiding Arthur’s horse. You stumbled and stomped, yanking your skirt free of sharp twigs and thorns awkwardly with one hand, while ensuring you didn’t accidentally rip on the bit in the stallion’s mouth. Soon enough you emerged where your mare stood waiting, her blue eyes brightening at the sight of the two of you. She nickered, stepping forward to greet the stallion as soon as he stepped into the open. He reciprocated the gesture, the fear from earlier had all but vanished. 

But then your heart skipped a beat remembering the gunshots, your own anxiety blooming again. Arthur was proficient with a gun, that much you knew, and you hoped it was from his own weapon that discharged the fire. There was that chance it wasn't, and worry roiled in your guts at the mere thought of him laying lifeless on the ground... 

No, stop that right now, you mentally scolded yourself. Arthur would be just fine, he had to be, this was the man that killed a pack of wolves without hesitation and faced a Grizzly without so much as a scratch. You mounted your horse with determination, gripping the reins of the stallion in one hand as you steered them both in the direction of the gunfire. 

You kept moving at a quick trot, soon finding the stallion had a longer stride than your horse. He of course was larger than your compact mare, and any faster gait would guarantee you being left behind as he surged forward. He thankfully seemed to realize this and kept side by side with you, his head high as if just as anxious to find Arthur as much as you. 

The bridge up ahead signaled how close you were to Valentine, although the sight that soon loomed into view was what stopped you in your tracks. 

Carnage. Pure, raw carnage. Bodies littered haphazardly throughout the bridge and on both sides, pools of blood staining the earth. A disheveled wagon was off to the side, indicating whatever animal pulled it was now long gone. A lump in your throat formed and your stomach churned. You’ve only seen a dead body once in your life; a dead grandparent, but in a coffin and appeared as if they were sleeping. Not this trauma... 

You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat as a myriad of thoughts rushed through your head. What happened to these people? Why did they die like this? Who murdered them? And worst of all, was Arthur among them? 

A sound off to the side was enough to rip your attention away. Just beyond the bridge, someone stumbled wildly into the road. A survivor, you hoped, or a killer... 

Whoever it was seemed to have spotted you, as they made a beeline hurriedly across the bridge, skirting around the victims as if they were nothing but rocks in their wake. A spike of fear coursed through you, but the stallion nickered. 

And then your name was shouted through the still air. Relief flooded through you instantly with the recognition, your breath rushing out in a swoosh when you realized you’d been holding it. As Arthur drew closer, you could see he wasn’t unscathed. His hat was off, exposing bloody and bruised streaks across his cheeks. His crimson shirt was stained with mud and what appeared to be a darker red substance, blood. He had a slight limp to his gait, though that didn’t stop him in his haste. 

He stopped just before you, his face full of surprise. 

“What happened?” You demanded, observing him before flicking your eyes back to the battlefield behind him. “Who are these people?” 

“O’Driscolls,” he growled, hands clenching into fists. “They…they ain’t the friendliest of folk.” 

You nodded in understanding. While you thankfully hadn’t had a personal experience of the O’Driscoll gang, you've heard they liked to peruse Valentine and the surrounding areas for unsuspecting victims. You'd once arrived in town to witness a hanging of one of the nefarious members, but you steered away, too squeamish to follow the event through. “Did they kill all these people?” You asked, although you weren't sure if you wanted to hear the answer. 

“No,” Arthur answered. “All them bodies ARE the damn bastards,” he spat on the ground, saliva tinted red with fresh blood. 

You hadn’t expected that answer at all. Your gaze snapped to the carnage again, and the sickly feeling in your stomach returned. It occurred to you now that the lifeless bodies were that of men, their revolvers either in their still hands or resting on the ground next to them, glistening silver and red in the sunlight. It was a bloody battle, but truly, how many of them were victims? How many of them were there in total? At least a dozen, maybe more. Surely they couldn’t all be part of that gang? Taking a shaky breath, you looked to Arthur again. “How...?”  

Arthur didn't answer. He instead approached his horse, reaching to tug the reins from your hand. You let go and watched as he patted the stallion with a smile, as if he weren’t covered head to toe in injuries. He mounted the horse with ease, but you caught the wince as he settled into the saddle. “Thank you for bringin’ him back to me,” he said finally, giving you a quick glance before rubbing the horse’s neck. 

You gave him a weak smile in return, though it vanished when you got a better view of his wounds. The cuts on his face were deep and the skin around them was bruised a dark purple. Streaks of blood meshed with the stubble along his jawline. He looked as if he fought ten people at once. Your heart sank, the concern for him growing. It troubled you to see him in such a state. 

“You should head back home,” he said. “No tellin’ how many more of them are around.” 

You nodded as he began to urge his horse forward, and you couldn’t help but to ask, “Are you going to get looked at?” 

He paused, and then shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be fine.” 

This didn’t sit right with you at all. No one in their right mind would even say that when there was more blood than skin showing. You worried he was worse than he appeared and wouldn’t realize until it was too late. A pit formed in your stomach at the thought. As he tapped his horse into a walk again, your mouth spoke faster than your mind could comprehend. “Wait.” 

He stopped again, looking back at you curiously. 

You should suggest that he at least have himself looked at by the doctor in Valentine, but the following words set a different intention. “Come back home with me,” you offered. When he opened his mouth to answer, you added, “You're a mess, and you need to be patched up.” 

The curious look turned to bewilderment. “It ain’t that bad,” he said dismissively with a shake of his head. 

“You can’t see yourself,” you pointed out. “But you look pretty rough.” 

He mumbled something under his breath. You weren’t quite sure what he said, but it sounded like, “I’ve had worse.” 

“Arthur,” you said sternly. “You just said you weren’t sure if there were more out here...you’re in no shape if they are, they’d be all over you. So if you please, follow me back, and I will tend to your wounds.” You were neither doctor nor a surgeon, only proficient at handling minor injuries. But it would make you feel better to ensure he wouldn’t die from his wounds later. And if they were worse than you could handle, maybe your intervention would persuade him to seek a professional.  

Arthur studied you, as if trying to find a way to deny you. A long moment passed before he finally sighed and relented. “Alright.” 

You flashed him a genuine and grateful smile this time, your uneasiness settling just a bit. Without another glance toward the bridge, you turned and pushed your mare into a lope, leaving the scene behind. Arthur was close behind. 

It didn't take long for you to reach your home; the travel time being cut in half in the urgency to leave the sight of death, as well as your growing concern over Arthur. After depositing the two horses into the barn, you ushered Arthur inside, setting him down at the table. As you bustled about grabbing clean cloth, a bowl of fresh water, and plucking from the meager medicine store you had, you’d only vaguely realized Frederick was not in the house. 

You didn’t take time to ponder this, as you placed everything on the table and turned to assess Arthur. The man sat before you in a slouched position, arms resting on his thighs, eyes turned toward the floor. He almost looked ashamed. 

“Look at me,” 

He did, slowly straightening to meet your gaze. The wounded side of his face seemed to become more swollen in the short time it took you to get back here. Your heart fell at the mere sight, wondering who was wicked enough to even attempt to mar his face. You dipped the cloth in the water and bent down, carefully pressing it to his bruised skin. He flinched slightly, his eyes narrowing in pain. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, slowly erasing the now dried blood from his skin. As you worked, your gaze slowly shifted from the wounds to meet his. You were faintly surprised that he was staring, but you were so close to him, you figured it was hard not to, especially when working in such a delicate area. This was the closest you'd been since the day he rescued you from the wolves, and you never noticed how beautiful his eyes were. Pools of light blue with hints of jade green, like the depths of the clearest pools of water you'd ever seen. Your heart stuttered slightly, and you shifted quickly back to caring for his marred cheek, slightly embarrassed having stared that long. 

He let out a slow breath, the tension slightly releasing from his body. “You a doctor?” he asked quietly. 

You smiled and shook your head, grateful that he didn't question your prolonged stare. “No, but my mother taught me a thing or two,” you explained. As the remaining blood cleared from his face, you were able to properly assess how deep those wounds are. Thankfully, they looked superficial; no stitches needed. Thank goodness, that would’ve been a terrible spot to work on. 

What would work was a salve. Swapping the cloth for a tin, you popped the lid open and ran your finger through the greasy substance before dabbing it along his skin with just as little pressure as you did while wiping. Arthur offered a slightly sharp intake of breath, but otherwise made no other noise or movement. 

“I know it stings,” you say soothingly. “But it helps.” 

He nodded once with the slightest of movement to not mess up your handiwork. Once the angry exposed flesh had a layer of salve, you stepped back to look for any other wounds. It didn’t take long for you to spot the clean rip of his shirt along his bicep, the frayed edges stained dark with blood. 

There were other stains too, although no other rips or tears in the fabric. You just hoped most of the blood wasn’t his. “You’ll, uh, have to remove your shirt,” you pointed out, slightly sheepishly. “That gash on your arm doesn’t look good.” 

Arthur seemed to hesitate for a split second, then did so without question, unbuttoning the shirt to reveal a union suit beneath. The second set of buttons followed, exposing his torso. A glimpse of his paler skin allowed you to realize how clean he was, and as he shifted to gingerly remove his arm from the sleeves, it seemed as if he'd gotten away with much less than it appeared. 

You scooted the chair closer to his side with the cloth in your hand, your other hand braced against the uninjured part of his arm to keep steady. His skin felt warm beneath your palm, and the muscles were taut as you drew the rag across. As more of the wound was revealed, it was plain that this was deeper than you'd like. 

A sigh escaped your lips, and you stood up to retrieve the suture kit. 

“That don’t sound good,” you heard Arthur comment. 

You rounded to face him, a needle and thread in your hands. To emphasize, you held them up to eye level. “Not quite.” 

Arthur grimaced a little but said nothing. Instead, he reached around to the satchel he’d draped across the back of the chair and dug out a bottle of an amber substance. You couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles flexed when he uncorked it, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a swig. Strong and resilient, you thought, as a flush of heat crowded your cheeks. 

He set the bottle onto the table, and you took your place again, banishing that thought from your mind. Carefully, you threaded the suture material through the needle, your unoccupied hand once again returning to its spot on his arm. Before piercing his skin, you paused, thinking back to the day your mother taught you. How long had it been since you were just a teenager, in the kitchen of your parents’ home? A young stable boy had gotten dragged by a neighbor's energetic stallion and sliced his leg on a broken piece of wood. You watched in awe as your mother made quick work of the nasty gash, closing the skin up expertly. She then passed it on to you with a smaller wound, which even with her guidance, did not look as neat and tidy as hers. 

“You ever do this before?” Arthur’s question snapped you from your thoughts. 

You blinked and took a breath. “Once,” you admitted. “But I remember how.” 

Arthur said nothing, giving you a lingering stare before taking another swig of his drink. The earthy, bitter smell of whiskey hit your nose, and you contemplated taking a drink for yourself to ease the sudden anxiety that welled in your chest. Instead, you sat up straight and delicately pinched the skin between your fingers and made the first pierce. 

He made a small noise at the back of his throat as your slightly trembling fingers made the first knot, though sat as still as a statue as you continued. You were slow, ensuring no mistakes were made. His skin bled slightly from your ministrations, and you were careful to wipe away without disturbing or unraveling your work. 

You took a momentary break halfway through, flexing your fingers for a moment while your other hand simply rested on his arm. Even as Arthur seemed to relax, most likely from the alcohol, you could still feel the hard muscle beneath. Your eyes swept over his arm, noting the defined curves and planes. He was built with the thickness of a tree, a sense of strength and power radiating through his person. It was a result of hard labor, his torso decorated with tan lines and old scars. Your gaze then shifted down slowly to his hands, now resting in his lap. His fingers were dotted with blood, trailing up to the leather of his fingerless gloves. 

The obvious signs of a fight. 

“Arthur?” you spoke his name quietly, wondering if you should be even asking this at all. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you...kill those men?” you breathed out, though your heart started to race with anticipation. The question had been lingering for a little while. 

He looked at you then, his beautiful eyes searching yours for what seemed like an endless second, the corners of his mouth downturned in a slight frown. Finally, he sighed and looked away, “Yes,” he answered gruffly. 

You knew it. Hell, you had the feeling when you found him back there. You couldn’t exactly count how many of them laid slain in the road. You remember that day with the wolves. A whole pack it seemed, and Arthur took them out effortlessly. Humans were different, but still...one man against many... 

He must’ve taken your silence wrong, because he then said, “It was either me or them. And the world’s better off without them in it.” 

“How?” you asked. “I mean...you took all of them on at once?” you amended when he gave you a look of concern. 

Arthur took a deep breath, taking another swig of his whiskey before looking at you again. “I was ambushed at the bridge. One o’ them snuck up behind me and yanked me off my horse. It weren’t an easy fight, but I managed,” he shrugged as if it were a daily occurrence for him. 

Your stomach twisted. “You’re lucky you’re not dead,” you murmur, turning your attention back to the sutures. 

Arthur didn’t wince when you pierced through his skin again. Instead, he shrugged a second time. “I ain’t that easy to kill,” he answered a-matter-of-factly. 

“You speak from experience?” you countered, peering at him again. 

He hesitated for a second before sighing heavily, “More than I’d like,” he mumbled, his helping of whiskey lasting a beat longer than before. 

You wanted to ask more, your mind sifting through the stories he’s shared with you. The states he’d traveled between, the jobs he’d gone on, the people he’d met. It only made sense that the downsides of those jobs meant...facing potential death. You felt as if you were only scratching the surface of this familiar, yet mysterious man. 

Silence fell. Arthur continued to sit still while you finished the sutures, your thoughts spinning like a tornado. The deeper you went the more the curiosity and a strange sense of admiration welled within you, and while you hated to admit it, there was a small twinge of fear. This was a man that faced dangerous predators and spoke of it so nonchalantly, and now learning he was perfectly capable of taking down a dozen men without any fatal wounds? 

You finished the last suture, and you wiped the last of the excess blood away to admire your handiwork. Fingers traced over the unaffected skin, feeling for any residual issues. Nothing felt taut or uneven. “Anything feel off?” You asked quietly, your fingers lingering, and you realized you'd been tracing the dip of his muscle, where it connected to the swell of his shoulder. So well built... 

You stopped abruptly, hoping he hadn't noticed. 

What you hadn't realized is that he did notice, his eyes first on your hand, then he met your gaze. You froze, heat striking through your cheeks. 

“No,” he answered. “Feels okay.” 

You nodded, promptly standing up to clear the supplies, but to also hide your flushed face. Just as you placed the suture kit back to its home, the opening of the door startled you. 

Whirling around, you were half surprised and half relieved to find Frederick strolling in. The thumping of your heart slowed just a fraction, until you saw your husband’s eyes land on Arthur, who was already half out the chair. Arthur froze immediately. 

Frederick’s gaze snapped to yours, confusion and alarm clear on his face. 

“Frederick!” you exclaimed after the uncomfortably long moment of silence. “Uh...where were you?” 

“l heard those gunshots, and knowing you were out there, I got worried and went to find you,” he explained, his eyes constantly shifting back to Arthur. “Who might this be?” 

You looked to Arthur who met your gaze. The man looked quite uncomfortable and sheepish, as if he was caught doing something he shouldn't have. You took a breath and looked back to your husband. “This is Arthur,” you started. “He...well, he got caught up in that fight. I came across him and offered to bring him back here to fix him up.” 

You watched as the two men now stared at one another, Frederick’s scrutinizing gaze studying. Arthur hadn't adjusted his clothes, and his half-bare torso and newly stitched arm was out, solidifying your story. 

“They were O’Driscolls, the ones who caused those gunshots,” you added in the tense air, purposely keeping out the detail about Arthur killing them all. “Arthur was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

Frederick frowned, and his body seemed to relax a touch. “O’Driscolls,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I've heard they're nasty work. You're quite lucky you escaped with just a few wounds, even luckier that my wife came across you.” 

“Yeah,” Arthur mumbled in agreement, adjusting his clothes to cover himself back up. He flinched ever so slightly when the fabric grazed over his angry skin. With his shirt back in place, he began to stand up. “She's quite somethin’ with them stitches.” 

The two men standing side by side caught your full attention, and your gaze flicked between them in curiosity. Frederick was not petite by any means, but Arthur had a few inches on him, and harnessed a thicker build. Broad shoulders and toned arms, clothes that were generous in outlining his strength. Your husband’s clothes, while kept neat and tidy, sagged in a few places. He’d also put on a few pounds since moving out here, indicated by the slight strain in the buttons of his shirt. Complete opposites. 

“Say, you look quite familiar,” Frederick said thoughtfully, peering at Arthur. 

You could have sworn you saw Arthur tense, but you said, “He’s the one who fixed our roof.” 

“Ah!” Frederick’s face lit up with a smile. “Well, no complaints here. You did some fine work!” He clapped his hand on Arthur’s better shoulder. “Why don't you stay for dinner? My wife’s cooking is simply divine!” 

You hadn't expected Frederick to invite what was, to him, a complete stranger. Regardless, his offer was a pleasant surprise. You hid a smile, knowing Arthur was very aware of your cooking skills. When you glanced over, you observed a slight frown on Arthur‘s lips. 

“I wouldn't wanna intrude any more than I have been,” Arthur awkwardly explained. 

“You're not,” you said quickly, and when Arthur turned to look at you, you added, “You went through a lot today, at least rest up for a bit before heading back out.” 

Arthur stared at you for a moment, and then offered a half shrug. “Sure.” 

You set to work after that, immediately diving into dinner prep while Frederick and Arthur spoke to another at the table. Your husband was chattier and more enthusiastic, countering Arthur’s quiet responses. He wasn't uncomfortable, you could tell, but it was evident the previous fight took much more out of him than he was letting on. As you bustled around the kitchen, Arthur’s tired frame would linger in the corner of your eye. He didn't seem to be uncomfortable, which you were thankful for. 

A pot of stew was simmering on the stove, the aroma slowly filling the air of your home. You stirred, occasionally adding a pinch of the last of your herb stash, realizing you'd completely forgotten about your shopping trip to Valentine in favor of coming to Arthur’s aid. How ironic was it that you came to his rescue like he did that day when you met? You even brought his horse back to him. The roles had been reversed, you realized, and you giggled quietly to yourself. Although you hoped it wouldn’t become a common occurrence between the two of you. 

A few more moments passed before you retrieved three bowls from the cabinet, ladling generous portions in each. You carried them carefully to the table and set them down before sitting at your usual spot. Arthur went to move, obviously thinking he was in the wrong spot, but Frederick grabbed the chair you were in earlier to sit on one end. It left Arthur sitting across from you just like every other visit, even though it was Frederick’s normal spot. 

“Eat up, now! You won't find anything better for a hundred miles!” Frederick encouraged as he began to help himself. 

Arthur briefly met your gaze, a small smile touching his lips as he spooned in a mouthful. It was the same stew you'd served him the first time he visited your home, and you hoped he recognized that. 

As he swallowed, Arthur sat up straight with a grin on his face. “You're right, this ain't half bad!” He exclaimed. 

His enthusiasm made you smile, and it was obvious he was putting on a show to appease you in front of your otherwise unknowing husband. Frederick then added, “As I said, you will find nothing else like it!” 

The remainder of the meal was quiet after that, save for the spoons scraping the tin bowls. Arthur was the slowest to finish his meal, which you couldn't help noticing. Normally he would scarf it down in a heartbeat, but his eyes were heavily lidded, and often times he’d pause to yawn. You could hardly blame him after today. 

He sat back from his now empty bowl, stifling another yawn. “Thank you,” he groaned, stretching and rolling his bad shoulder with a slight wince. “That hit the spot.” 

You inclined your head in response, your eyes flicking to the window next. It had significantly darkened since you'd arrived back home, and you wondered exactly how much time had passed since. Something twinged in the back of your mind, almost like a silent warning. You weren't sure exactly why, but the thought of Arthur venturing out there so fresh after his injuries didn't sit right with you, even though you were well aware he had every capability to take care of himself. 

“Arthur, why don't you spend the night?” You offered. “Rest a bit more.” 

Arthur stared at you, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “I—” 

“We do have a guest bedroom,” Frederick interrupted, gesturing to the closed door next to your bedroom. “You ought to, I can see you're in need of a good rest.” 

Arthur was shaking his head. “It ain't necessary.” 

“I insist,” you said gently. “Please, you're practically dead on your feet.” 

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but whatever argument he had was interrupted with a deep yawn. He rubbed his palm along his face and sighed heavily. You knew he couldn't deny that, from the look of plain exhaustion and reluctance to debate even further. He didn't even have to say anything, just nodded. 

You smiled inwardly in relief, and then bustled toward the guest room. Upon opening the door, you were greeted with a slightly musty smell from the disuse, but not overpowering enough for the need to open the windows. You stepped in further and reached for the silhouette of the oil lamp on the nearby nightstand. A few seconds passed before the darkened room was bathed in amber light. The wash basin was full of water and had a clean rag next to it. The bed was neatly made with sheets that were hardly used. As you were finishing your brief survey to ensure everything was in order, you felt a presence hover in the doorway. 

You turned to see Arthur standing there, waiting patiently as he leaned slightly on the frame. His entire body sagged despite what you guessed to be his best efforts at hiding it. Your heart lurched at the thought of him denying your offer instead, heading out in the darkness like this. 

“The bed’s ready for you,” you gestured. “And the basin...” you nodded toward the porcelain piece. “Please make yourself comfortable.” 

Arthur nodded again, silently. He stepped in further, closing the already small distance between the two of you. He stopped, staring down at you with an expression of mild concern. “Y’ really don't have to do this,” he muttered. “You've already done so much.” 

You peered up at him, staring into those gorgeous, steady eyes. They were almost hypnotizing. “I don't have to, I want to,” you said with a warm smile. “I don't mind.” 

Arthur let out a small, humorless chuckle. “You're too sweet for your own good.” 

Sweet. You were thankful for the dim light, because your face flushed. You broke his gaze, eyes drifting to the bed again. “Sometimes people forget to be kind,” you explained. “It never hurts to remind the world.” 

He hummed shortly in response, and your eyes locked to him again. His face displayed thoughtfulness. 

You wondered what he was thinking, but your curiosity was staunched by the greater need for his recovery. Instead, you took a breath and said, “Goodnight, Arthur. Frederick and I will be just next door if you need anything.” 

As you turned, you caught his nod in your peripheral. You headed out of the room and closed the door behind you, although you could feel his lingering stare just before the knob clicked into place. 

—- 

Arthur awoke as something shifted around him, a gentle movement that didn’t rouse him until there was a sudden weight upon him. His eyes fluttered open, facing the room swathed in a dim glow of the oil lamp on the nightstand. Something on his thighs felt heavy, and his gaze fell upon a pair of legs straddling his. Panic struck him as his eyes blinked rapidly in the desperate attempt to see who was trapping him. 

His vision adjusted, and your name slid from his mouth in surprise. “What’re you doin’?” He gasped; voice still rough with sleep. His brain seemed sluggish as he scrambled to comprehend what was going on. 

You smiled down at him, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “You seemed kind of lonely, Arthur. I thought I might give you some company,” you explained softly. 

He opened his mouth to reply, confusion only growing. Instead, he seemed to focus on what you were wearing. The thin white material of your nightgown was bunched around your waist, exposing your thighs. Your figure was silhouetted in the light, accentuating your shape. 

You knew he ought to look away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. 

You might have taken his silence for acceptance, because you leaned down until your face was only inches from his with a whisper of his name on your lips, a hand rested on his shoulder slowly descended to his chest, where his still hammering heart thudded against your soft palm. Your mouth hovered over his neck, dangerously close to his pulse point. The sweet scent of perfume surrounded him like a silk scarf. He inhaled quietly, breathing in the delicious aroma— 

His hands at his sides balled into fists. What were you doing? What was he doing?! You are a married woman, and him? How was he allowing this? His mind screamed at him to stop, to push you off, to rush out of that house and never darken your doorstep again. 

But he couldn’t find it in himself. “Wh-what about your husband?” He managed to say, hoping his last saving grace would be for you to realize your infidelity. 

Your body straightened up, and your smile turned impish. “What about him?” You asked in an innocent voice, your finger tracing the opening of his union suit. Even with just a few inches of exposed skin, your touch felt like fire, just as much as it had before when stitching him up. 

Something pooled deep in his belly. An old, yet familiar rush of excitement and arousal. He gritted his teeth, guilt seeping into his mind. 

“Don’t think he’d appreciate this,” Arthur pointed out, his eyes immediately falling to your hand. Why couldn’t he just reach up and grab your wrist? 

You giggled softly, your hand dragging along his abdomen. “What he doesn’t know,” you began, stopping where the blankets covered him, just above his navel, to peel them away. Arthur tensed, realizing now there wasn’t much else between the two of you. Your palm continued its journey down his body until resting on his now obvious, traitorous, erection. “Won’t hurt him.” 

The weight of your hand against him, even when only blocked by the fabric of his union suit, felt wonderful. He couldn’t help the groan that rumbled from his throat, his thoughts melting away. 

It didn’t stop there. Your other hand began to unbutton the line down his suit, slowly exposing more and more before his length sprung free from the constriction, upright and ready. His body pulsed with want, the burning need to feel your skin against his. 

You granted his unspoken wish, wrapping your fingers at the base. You pumped once, experimentally, before picking up a smooth rhythm. Another moan bubbled from his mouth, quiet, desperate. Your touch felt like pure heaven, soft and warm and just right. 

“Fuck,” he sighed out, tilting his head back. Any lingering resistance faded with his resolve. 

“I’ve wanted you, Arthur…” you murmured breathlessly, your hand still working him from root to tip. “I know you want me too.” 

His breath came in a shudder. “I…” he trailed off, unable to muster up even a denial. His better senses told him to refuse, to stop you, to leave. But how could he with you here, exploring him so freely, so intimately? 

His thought became clouded with the slow build of his pleasure. A carnal urge awakened within him, a desire to claim you in a way he hadn’t done with anyone in so long. Another groan escaped, low and quiet. His hand reached for you, resting on the warm skin of your thigh. It took every inch of restraint to not flip you over and bury himself within you at that second. 

“I told you,” you cooed, the smile remaining on your face. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.” 

Any following words failed to leave his tongue. All he could think about was your soft touch, your warm body, how good it felt to be… 

His eyes snapped open. What faced him was the same room, although your absence was more than obvious. The oil lamp was off, and the room was almost pitch black, save from the beginning rays of dawn turning the sky a cobalt tinge before the sunrise. 

It was a dream. A silly, stupid dream, he thought to himself. Though the ghost of your body on his seemed to linger, too tangible for it to be just a figment of his imagination. The uncomfortable strain in his pants brought him further into reality, as he shifted and winced from the acute onset of pain that reminded him why he was here in the first place. 

His entire body ached, his muscles stiff. He groaned and slowly sat up, trying his best to ignore his hard length and the simultaneous pain plaguing his limbs. His head was swimming, both from the recent dream and the memories of yesterday flooding in. It'd been such a busy day, Arthur had been hunting when those damned O’Driscolls ambushed him at the bridge west of Valentine. He’d fought multiple men before, but not without a toll on himself. The pain was familiar, the scars baring more stories than any normal man could holster. Health cures usually took the edge off, along with a bottle of whiskey and a good night’s rest. 

He wouldn't have even given his injuries a second thought if you hadn't shown up. 

He rubbed his sore face with his hand, groaning deeply again. Shame welled in his chest for even having that dream, the way it felt so real, the way his body responded to you... 

Arthur had to get out of there. 

He jumped up at an instant, ignoring the protests in his body as he grabbed his hat and gun belt which were resting on the bedposts. He adjusted himself, although he doubted anyone would be awake at this hour to even notice. The floorboards creaked and the hinges moaned as he moved to open the door, slowly pulling it open to face the kitchen. 

To his surprise, a soft glow painted the room, just barely illuminating the furniture. It emanated from the fireplace, he realized, and saw a figure sitting in front of it. He blinked as his vision adjusted, and his heart skipped a beat. It was you. 

Your figure bathed in the glow of the dying fire, swathed in a nightgown. Upon his entry, you turned to look at him. 

Arthur froze under your gaze, suddenly feeling guilty. The memory of the dream still too fresh, he looked away. “Uh, I’m headin’ out,” he announced quietly. 

“Oh, alright,” 

Your voice caught his attention. It sounded thick and raspy. He looked at you again, this time noticing the glazed appearance in your eyes. Your cheeks shone wet. You’d been crying. His stomach churned at the sight, although he couldn’t exactly place why. “You okay?” he asked against his better judgment. 

You took a deep, shuddering sigh, looking down at your lap. In your hands was a small piece of paper. “No, not really,” you mumbled with a sniff. 

Arthur frowned. He wanted to inquire more, but his other thoughts urged him to just leave. However, he stayed rooted in the spot. “I’m...sorry to hear that,” he awkwardly replied, unsure what else to even say. 

You wiped your palm across your face, a pained smile crossing your lips. “It’s my husband. He left for another business venture.” 

Of course, that was usually the story. It was so often that Arthur sometimes forgot you were even married. Regardless, you seemed to be so cheery even without Frederick’s presence. Why was now any different? 

“You’d think I’d be used to this by now,” you continued. “But it doesn’t get any easier. I just...miss him,” your voice broke slightly. “Seems like he spends more time out there than he does with me.” 

A swell of sympathy gathered in his chest, along with annoyance. Your husband left you alone too frequently, without protection, and the run-in with the O’Driscolls solidified your potential danger. If you’d arrived just a few minutes earlier at the bridge yesterday, then you would have been unknowingly caught in a massacre that you wouldn’t have survived. Hell, it was a miracle you’d been out here this long and only had that one encounter with the wolves, as far as he knew. How long would that dumb luck last? 

A lump formed in the back of Arthur’s throat. He swallowed it silently, pondering where this spike of anxiety came from. He cared about you, he realized, a little too much. “How long ‘til he’s back?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” you answered sadly. “After you went to bed, a colleague of his stopped by. They were speaking amongst themselves, I didn’t really listen. He told me not to worry about it but then I woke up to this...” you held up the piece of paper. 

Arthur reached for it and plucked it from your fingers, leaning in to read in the fire light. 

My dearest, 

I deeply apologize for having to inform you like this. I will be traveling to New York this morning for an opportunity that I could not refuse. If all goes well, this may be the biggest financial success I’ve achieved since first arriving here. We will be one step closer to the life we are destined to live. 

I’m not sure how long this will take, but I promise to write frequently with updates if this lasts longer than a week. 

With all my love, 

Frederick 

A pit of frustration grew in his stomach. The persuasion of money was an all too familiar tale he'd acquainted himself with many times, often with another price to pay. That being said, Arthur was careful when it came to plotting heists, whether it was by himself or with others. 

You and Frederick were far from the outlaw life, but leaving you here on the promise of money for the unforeseen future, in the wake of a large O’Driscoll attack so close to your home, was beyond reckless. 

A curse bubbled in the back of his throat, but he kept it down. As much as he’d like to curse the bastard out, he knew it’d make you more upset. Instead, he said, “At least he let you know where he was goin’, but I know it ain't easy for you right now.” 

You nodded slightly in agreement. “I'm sorry you found me like this,” you laughed humorlessly, wiping your face again. Your other hand settled on your neck, which he realized held a ruby necklace, your fingers toying with the pendant that seemed to almost harness its own fire within the facets. He hadn’t noticed it before. 

Was that the kind of man Frederick was? Adorn you with gifts in the wake of his absence? Arthur bit back a sigh, the sympathy only growing beneath his ribs. “No need,” he said quietly. “I get it.” 

You met his gaze again, the silence other than the faint crackle of the fire encompassing the room. It held for a beat too long, and you stood up and closed the distance, wrapping your arms around his torso in a tight embrace. Arthur tensed from the unexpected contact and readied the automatic response to back away. 

But...he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He allowed strangers to hug him for reasons beyond his understanding, and he could barely reciprocate when they were too lost in their own emotions. This however, was different. The tension eased from his body, but keeping himself neutral he didn’t return the hug, instead raised his hand and placed it on your upper back. 

The warmth of your body seeped to his. Your scent wafted to him, still smelling like the floral perfume he detected earlier when you were tending to your wounds. A flood of memories suddenly came rushing back, from those quiet moments in the same room, to the damning dream he had. 

Suddenly, you stepped back, eyes snapping to the ground as you tucked your hair behind your ear sheepishly. “I’m sorry, how silly of me,” you spoke with a flustered tone.  

Arthur couldn’t find a response, finding himself empty when devoid of your touch. He breathed out, fingers flexing at his sides. “It ain’t silly,” he murmured finally. 

You offered a watery smile to him, the sadness etched deep in your face. “I appreciate it, but I’ve held you up long enough,” you admitted. “Don’t linger on account of me.” 

He’d almost forgotten that he was in a hurry to leave, a hurry to get nowhere other than to avoid his own embarrassment. In the past five minutes, the energy shifted so drastically it was almost surreal. That rush to leave stretched further and further away, and the urge to stay for your comfort was beginning to overwhelm him. 

But he knew he couldn’t. What else could he do than to just sit and watch you cry? He had no advice to offer, no other words of encouragement. It wasn’t his responsibility. 

Arthur finally nodded. “’M sorry,” he simply said, reaching out once again to place his hand on your shoulder. Another sentence hung heavy in the back of his throat, but he kept it to himself. You deserve better than him. 

Your face turned to glance at his hand, and then back to him, a flicker reflecting in your eyes. No more words were exchanged before his hand slid away, and he turned to leave. 

Maybe he should stake the immediate area out for the next day or two, just in case. 

[calmlyerratic]

“Prongs, are you stoned?”

James’ brow knit further in confusion, only affirming this speculation.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered. “Look at his eyes."

Remus' eyesight was impeccable, but Sirius had to squint through the dim lighting. James' eyes looked a little bloodshot and much greener than usual.

“Well, just look at him Moony—he’s high as a bloody kite!" Sirius barked in half-laughter. "That stuff from greenhouse seven does a number on you, eh mate?” He winked at the tall red head, who gulped.

James and the red head exchanged a bizarre look and Sirius burst out laughing.

“Oh this is brilliant! Do you have any more? And why in Godric’s name wasn’t I invited?” Sirius tucked a strand of dark hair elegantly behind his ear, eyeing the red head. “Who are you, anyway?”

The red head was very white. He clutched his wand in one hand and his half-eaten brownie in the other.

“What the bloody hell is going on!”

Sirius snorted. “Blimey, must be good stuff?"

Remus' lips pursed slightly as he bit the inside of his cheek. “Who are you?”

“I'm Harry Potter.” James answered, in a way that quite convinced Sirius he was.

────────────────⋆────

from my fic, Encounters of the Future Sort by CalmlyErratic, read it here on Ao3 :)

────────────────⋆────

[jungle-angel]

Ray of Sunshine (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Your littlest one is the brightest ray of sun 

Notes: Part of “Tiny Angel”, some details have been added in but not included in the original

Tagging: @rhettabbotts​ Shelby, you mad genius, after that last fic I owe you this plus some smut later (lol). 

Rhett couldn’t stop watching you leading the little ones through the grass and into the fields, the boys climbing and perching themselves on the fence to watch the cows and the horses grazing. The grass seemed greener than usual, but perhaps it was due to the warm, high noon sun hanging in the perfectly blue skies above. 

Hannah, Tatum and Tanner, Kaya, Harvey and Franklin......Rhett didn’t want to imagine a single day without any of them, let alone you. Each one of them and you made your lives like a bright summer day that never ended. 

When he looked down at the tiny form cradled against the bare skin of his chest, the tiny little head resting over his sternum and tucked away under the blue, white and pale bronze knit blanket, Rhett laughed a little bit. It wouldn’t be long before Dallas woke up and all too soon, fell back asleep. Rhett stood on the porch, never once tearing his gaze from you or the older kids as he held onto Dallas’s tiny little form, looking right down at him as his squeaks alerted his father to his awakening. 

“You’re awake aren’t you?” he chuckled. 

Dallas turned his tiny head in, drawing another laugh from Rhett. “You’re a troublemaker through and through buddy,” he said. 

He heard the porch door closing behind him a minute later and out came Royal with his field bag slung over one shoulder and the keys to the truck in his hand. “Goin somewhere Dad?” 

“Gotta head over to Nona and Russ’s for a couple of hours,” Royal answered. “Cow’s got a calf comin’ and Wes, Nora and the kids are elsewhere.” 

Rhett bade his father farewell and watched as the truck pulled away, heading on the road that snaked over the hill to the home of their friends. A squeaky cry suddenly startled Rhett as he felt Dallas’s head turning in again.

“Shhhhh, buddy,” he cooed. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

There was no doubt Rhett would’ve done anything to protect the precious little baby in his arms. Of course he would’ve done the same for the older ones, yet Dallas had been different. Poor baby had been born frighteningly early, abandoned in a box outside the Amelia County Police Precinct and totally abandoned at the hospital where he had been brought by a patrol officer who turned out to be a grade school buddy of Rhett’s. The real shit-kicker had been when said buddy had arrested the horrible parents outside one of the mobile home parks where Royal’s sister lived with her family. 

“You’ve been through alot huh?” Rhett murmured. “I know. Daddy’s been through alot too.” 

He felt Dallas’s tiny little fingers curling against his skin, his little face scrunching up as he yawned. There was only one thing that could get him to go back to sleep at a time like this. 

Rhett switched on the little speaker on the porch table next to the rocker before he lowered himself into the seat, pressing play on his phone and letting the music play as he calmly rocked the little one back to sleep. 

“ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You'll never know dear, how much I love you Please don't take my sunshine away “

Rhett felt the tears beginning to well in his eyes as the song played from the speaker. Royal’s father, his Grandpa River, sounded almost exactly like Johnny Cash when he sang and even when he spoke. He had taught Rhett every song he knew and could pick a guitar like nobody’s business. Yet those days spent in the jungles during Vietnam had taken a terrible toll on Grandpa River. Rhett had wished now more than ever, that he was here to see his great grandkids. 

He was broken from his trance when he heard your feet plodding up the steps, the skirts of your summer dress swaying with the breeze. “How’s he doing?” you asked, kissing your husband’s cheek. 

“He’s tired,” Rhett croaked, wiping away a tear from his eye. 

“You’ve been listening to that song again haven’t you?” 

Rhett nodded and suddenly busted out laughing. 

“Rhett Abbott, you are the biggest softie when you’re not riding those ornery bulls,” you chuckled. 

You took a seat beside him, watching the kids as they played in the grass, chasing after a butterfly or a rabbit that happened to cross their path. You never saw such a look of pure love on his face as you did now. 

And it was all because of the little rays of sunshine that had found their way into your lives. 

[flockofcrowsinatornadoofcreation]

Headcanons/theories

• Lloyd's has "traffic light" eyes, starting out reddish brown until he gains his Golden Power, when they turn a golden brown color. After he is possessed by Morro, his eyes turn hazel green, slowly turning greener during the year Wu is gone (due to increased training with/using his Power). By the time the Sons of Garmadon show up, Lloyd's eyes are jade green.

• When Lloyd loses his Elemental Power after fighting Garmadon in S9, his eyes turn a dull brown color until he regains his Power.

• Lloyd's eyes are slitted like a cat's eyes and are highly reflective. When Lloyd gets really excited about something, his pupils expand (like a cat on the hunt)

• Lloyd's eyes actually glow a bit. When he uses his Elemental Power, his eyes glow brighter. If he uses his Power for too long or too much, his vision starts to "go green".

• When Lloyd gets super angry, his eyes take on a red tint.

• Lloyd has fangs! They're not as impressive as Garmadon's and are rather small, but they're sharp!

• When Lloyd gets really upset or angry, the lights start flickering due to his Power reacting to his emotions.

• One time, he got so upset that he he accidentally blew up half the power lines on the block + all the lightbulbs in the building.

• Garmadon's blood is dark purple. Similarly, Lloyd's blood is darker and slightly more purple than human blood.

• Morro cut Lloyd's wrists to keep him weak, which made him easier to control.

• Morro did this so much that it became a habit for Lloyd, even after Morro left.

• Kai found out about this habit one night when he went to the kitchen for a glass of water and found Lloyd trying to bandage himself with one hand. Kai -- freaked out by the sight of Lloyd's blood -- had frantically tried to find Lloyd's attacker before Lloyd stopped him. When Kai asked what had happened, Lloyd began to explain but got emotional. Kai helped Lloyd bandage his arm and clean up, then offered to talk about it.

• Kai told Nya (naturally), and now every time they find Lloyd even hinting at having cut/thinking about cutting, the siblings drop everything and immediately initiate a cuddle session.

• The cutting got worse after the Harumi Incident and The March of the Oni. One especially bad night, Lloyd accidentally cut too deep and just barely managed to wake up Kai before he collapsed from blood loss. Kai had called for help, waking up the entire team. Once Lloyd woke up, Kai and Nya made him tell the rest of the team what had happened.

• Now, the whole team helps support Lloyd on his bad days. Zane bakes cookies, Cole and Jay play harmless pranks to make Lloyd laugh, Nya makes sure Lloyd has taken care of himself, and Kai puts on Lloyd's favorite movies; even Pixal helps by keeping Lloyd distracted building mechs!

• Kai, Lloyd, and Nya are the RGB Siblings and nothing can change that.

• Lloyd loves it when they play with his hair. It's very soothing for him, and he sometimes falls asleep while they do this. Kai and Nya know how much Lloyd loves it, and they play with his hair whenever they can.

• Cuddle sessions with the RGB Siblings are the best. Kai and Nya put Lloyd in the middle, with them curled around him on the sides. The siblings talk about their day, playing with each other’s hair. They usually fall asleep like that, with Kai falling asleep last. Kai likes to make sure his little brother and sister are asleep and warm before letting himself fall asleep.

• Kai and Nya are fashion icons. They have taught Lloyd their ways. No one is safe.

• Cole actually looks more like his mom than his dad, but it comes across in a masculine way. Cole's dad is a tiny Italian man, so Cole must have gotten his frame and coloring from his mom.

• Cole is colorblind!

• Cole is Black/Italian, Jay is White, Zane is either very pale White or Black in his "human mode" (he's normally White, but for his Snake Jaguar disguise, he was Black), Kai and Nya are Hispanic/Filipino, and Lloyd's human side is of European descent.

• Jay and Lloyd are the Meme Team

• Cole had no idea that his mom was the previous Elemental Master of Earth until Master of the Mountain

• Zane secretly remembers his time as the Ice Emperor. He fights to keep up his cheery, innocent front, but he worries that he might slip. He fears that he could hurt someone if the Ice Emperor returned.

• After thinking long and hard, Zane gave Pixal and Lloyd a copy of his shutdown code. He told them it was "just in case", with no further explanation given.

• Nya relies more on her strength than her powers, so she's thicker and stronger. Lloyd is younger and relies more on his powers than his strength, so he's skinnier and smaller.

• Sleeping

• Lloyd: Almost always sleeps flat on his back in what Kai calls "soldier mode". This is due to his strict training at Darkley's. He stays that way until morning, even when having nightmares. As he gets older, though, he sleeps in a more relaxed position, and grows to be a more restless sleeper. Lloyd is the fastest waker, being on his feet even before Zane (also due to Darkley's training + pranks).

• Zane: Zane "sleeps" either on his side or on his stomach. He doesn't sleep like a human would, instead slowing most of his systems to conserve energy. He takes exactly 10 seconds to wake up, without fail. He likes to "sleep" near Pixal. He also "sleeps" less than a human would.

• Kai: Typically the last to fall asleep, Kai is a fairly heavy sleeper. He likes to cuddle with Lloyd and Nya. Kai sleeps however feels most comfortable at the time.

• Nya: The most restless sleeper. She wakes up at weird times and can't get back to sleep. She cuddles with Lloyd and Kai.

• Cole: Cole is the heaviest sleeper, and it often takes several tries to wake him up. Typically sleeps star-fished or on his side, and sleeps the longest.

• Jay: Always sleeps hugging a pillow, without fail. Fairly restless, sometimes sleeptalks or sleepwalks.

• Pixal: Likes to "sleep" hugging Zane. Her wake up time is slower than Zane's at 15 seconds, and she typically "sleeps" longer than Zane.

• Wu: Who knows if he sleeps, tbh

• Garmadon: He snores, and typically sleeps with his eyes open(?) Even as Sensei G, he sleeps the least compared to everyone else on the team.

• Echo is still out there, waiting for someone to find him

• Lloyd died when that part of the Monastery fell on him after the Oni attacked, but FSM let him choose to go back

• Zane is the tallest, then Cole, Kai and Nya (they're the same height), Jay, and Lloyd is the shortest.

• Aging is different for Elemental Masters, and each Master ages differently than the others. This is why Wu looks really old, Garmadon looks old but not as old as Wu (even though he's older), and Maya and Ray look the same age as they did in the memories (Maya perhaps looks younger than she used to!) This may also explain why Lloyd appears to be 13-18 years old, but Misako is like 60 with a full head of grey hair. He just ages slower (?)

• Speaking of ages, Lloyd isn't really sure when his birthday is or how old he is. It's not his fault, he just wasn't told.

• His first birthday party was a huge surprise for him (and for everyone else). It all started mid-September, when Lloyd was sent on a week-long solo mission by Wu and Misako. Once he had left, Misako asked the others what they were getting for his birthday. Everyone was so confused, having had no idea that his birthday even existed. Misako explained that Lloyd's birthday was on September 22nd, then asked if Lloyd hadn't told them. Kai said that Lloyd didn't know. Everyone rushed to buy presents, hoping to make it the best first birthday ever. When Lloyd got back, the team threw him a surprise birthday party.

• Kai made him a pocketknife -- a Smith family tradition!

• When Zane gets too emotional, he can short-circuit. One time Jay scared him and he freaked out then dropped like a stone.

• The Ninja's favorite activity to do together is laser tag. They all have equal skill at laser tag, and they can't break anything. They try to go as much as they can.

• Wu has a pic of the Ninja passed out on each other on the couch of the Bounty after the Final Battle (before Rebooted). It's a really cute picture, and Wu plans on framing it and giving it to Lloyd when he officially becomes a Master Sensei, to remind him of how far he and his team has come.

• Lloyd just really likes space. Some nights, if he can't get to sleep, he sneaks out and stargazes from the tallest thing he can climb. Others may or may not join him to talk about life.

• Zane and Cole are the "parents", Kai is the "big brother"

• Lloyd (still) calls dragons "dregons"

• Kai sometimes thinks of Lloyd as his kid. He always denies it.

• Lloyd's favorite food in any universe is dumplings!

• Lloyd purrs in his sleep sometimes. It fascinates his siblings. His purring sounds like a tiny motorbike.

• Lloyd knows how to sew. He stitched the lettering on the S8 gis himself.

• No one really knows how or when he learned how to sew. Some say he learned it at Darkley's, but he ties his knots like Zane.

• He actually taught himself by watching others for functionality, then learned how to use it for art from Cole.

• Zane is secretly a fashion icon, but he still dresses like an old man half the time. He doesn't want to overshadow the iconic RGB Siblings.

• Example of Icon Zane: "You don't need a rebreather." "Yes, I know, but I like how it completes my outfit😁"

• "Zane, you're a nindroid. You have infrared sensors. You have night vision. Why are you wearing glasses?" "I enjoy the aesthetic."

• Pixane stuff!

• They absolutely adore each other

• When Zane got back from the Never Realm, it was hard for Pixal to let Zane out of her sight for a while

• They love to go on dates, especially to cafés during rain/snow storms. They enjoy the aesthetic.

• Since Zane gave Pixal half of his heart, they sort of feel what the other is feeling. This is usually limited to extremes, and doesn't usually cross realms. This link persists even after the two get new bodies after defeating the Overlord and getting scrapped.

• Lloyd was extremely touch-starved from Darkley's. During the first few seasons, Lloyd had to learn how to react to physical affection without breaking down into a clingy mess of tears

• Remember the Uncanny Valley Effect? Yeah, people get that about Lloyd. There's just something about him that feels off. People can instinctively tell that he's not completely human, even if they don't realize that. The same goes for Wu and Garmadon.

• Fav tea flavors (cus I want to)

• Cole: Something about the man screams orange spice tea.

• Lloyd: I think the whole fandom can agree that his favorite tea is peppermint tea. Adds an excessive amount of sugar.

• Kai: Whatever that smoke-flavored one is. Jinsung? I think? He really only drinks it rarely (re: more of a coffee person).

• Nya: Black tea, if any. She drinks it without anything added, no ifs ands or buts.

• Jay: Lemon or ginger tea.

• Zane: Honestly, he feels like a chamomile tea type of guy.

• Wu: Team chamomile as well. Definitely an herbal type.

• Garmadon: Black tea with tons of sugar. Doesn't even make it into a drink, just swallows the tea bag whole and dumps a few tablespoons of sugar down his throat for good measure. Mostly does it to get a reaction out of Kai others and to make Lloyd laugh.

• Pixal: Tea? What is this tea? She only knows the bitter truth of cold black coffee.

[generatia]

* . °•★|•°∵[A Rainy Sotenbori Night]∵°•|☆•° . *

Just a little Majima x Reader Fanfic I made, y/n is a doctor and she forgot her umbrella after work [Read More] * . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

It was a rainy night in Sotenbori, the smell of petrichor perforating through the city streets. Rain drops descended onto pavement in heavy blobs rather than subtle rain making all of the usual denizens who roamed the streets at this time fall away into the multitude of bars and clubs that littered the streets to escape the rain's wrath. Occasional lightning split the night sky giving a brief look into the dense clouds that loomed above the mesmerising neon signs illuminating the streets, a roaring sound of thunder often followed sending even the bravest souls indoors in fear of its rage, afterall no man was stronger than nature. 

In front of a convenience store underneath the awning stood you, impatient and very wet. 

“Crap, I can’t believe I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

Your uniform has been absolutely soaked through. The shirt you wore was heavily damp and sticking to your body in a cold, uncomfortable way pressing itself tightly against the remaining warmth of your skin, luckily you chose to wear a bra today although that didn’t take away from the shame you felt when others passed by and could almost see it. In the end you folded your arms tightly around your chest still holding your bag of groceries which were experiencing their own miniature flood inside the bag. Your black pencil skirt was now clinging to your figure firmly and the heels you chose to wear specifically today were completely ruined by the rain with each step creating a small squelching sound from the amount of rainwater in them. Nonetheless, you weren’t deterred. With one hand you took your phone out of your bag and flipped it open to try and call a cab so that you could at least try and get home before you caught some sort of illness or, before the flood waters of Sotenbori washed you away. You pressed the dial button and put it close to your ear and within seconds…

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your phone had run out of battery. Technology, reliable as always. You shoved the phone back in your bag almost flinging it off of your shoulder and leaned against the window of the convenience store with your hands folded around your chest silently pleading and begging the heavens to stop just for a moment so that you could at least walk the short distance back to your apartment but the rain was unrelenting, a beast which couldn’t be tamed. It seemed jealousy was consuming you as you watched some of the people who remained outside carrying an umbrella, a shield against the cold water falling from above. Not only that, they were bundled up in coats and jackets, something that you seemed to be lacking as you missed the weather forecast this morning, opting to instead stay in bed a little while longer. Seems you regretted it now as you watched each person pass on the street growing greener with envy each passing minute. 

There was an old man with an umbrella who was walking his dog. Why does he need one and why is he walking his dog in the rain at this hour? There was a man who was clearly stumbling home drunk barely holding onto his umbrella, maybe if he passed out you could take it from him… no that was an evil idea too heinous even for you.

“[Y/N]-chan, what are you doing here?” And then there was him.

He practically materialised in front of you. How could you have not noticed him sooner, were you so deep in your own thoughts that you let him practically stand in front of you. You quickly snapped out of your trance and looked up at the voice, it was Majima. He stood just a little bit outside of the awning allowing for droplets of water to fall onto his snakeskin jacket and lathering his hair in water making it stick to the sides of his face, its fullness dampened by the rain. The drops that fell slid down his chest and onto his abs, it’s rude to stare but you couldn’t help it the man was built like a statue you’d find in a museum. His trousers also stuck to him like glue revealing his lean figure, yet despite that you couldn’t help but think he looked handsome and mysterious that way, a little badass even but you could never tell him that or it’d go straight to his head.

Majima wasn’t any better either, he couldn’t help but stare at what you were trying to conceal. He could see your full figure now that the rain had kindly clung itself to your clothes making sure each centimetre was accounted for, he felt as though he was being exposed to you in a way he shouldn’t be able to see and it made him blush a little. To him you had seemed so vulnerable and so beautiful at a time like this with the neon lights of the street signs illuminating your features and reflecting inside your eyes like a kaleidoscope. It was a mesmerising site for any man to behold, yet he was the lucky one. His eyes greedily assessed your body hoping for a moment that no one was around so that he was the only one who could gaze at your allure. 

After a few seconds the moment of silent and longing gazes was broken. 

“Majima-san, it’s good to see you. I just finished work and stopped by the store when the storm hit. I may have forgotten my umbrella…” At that last part your voice trailed off a bit as if you were ashamed that you had forgotten it, growing slightly quieter hoping he wouldn’t hear it but as always, he did. You shuffled your feet a bit, a telling sign you felt as though he was going to reprimand you for it. You did promise him that you would try and take better care of yourself but here you were soaked to the bone and feeling miserable about the whole ordeal. 

“Eh, is that so,” he walked up closer to you now so that both of you were beneath the awning. He positioned himself next to you brushing his arm close to yours, the smooth, wet snakeskin rubbing against the nylon of your blouse. The sudden contact made your skin prickle with goosebumps and a feeling of heat washed over you from head to toe warming your insides for a quick second, butterflies in your stomach alerting all your other senses to high alert. “Then I guess I’m gonna have to wait with ya ‘till the storm dies down, ain’t I?” He leaned back against the window with you, flashing you a half smile as he took out a cigarette from his pack and slid it between his lips. 

You got a better look at his face now that his features were slightly more illuminated by the signs, he looked exasperated and worn out. His posture and tiresome features betrayed the confidence he tried to upkeep while attempting to light his cigarette and doing so poorly. He kept fiddling with the lighter opening and closing it but no flame erupted from its tip. 

“Damn thing won’t light.” He muttered under his breath, looking disgruntled at his lighter.

“Wait, let me.” You took a lighter out of your bag and turned towards him, one hand flicking your lighter open and the other cupping around the flame so that the breeze couldn’t extinguish it. It was a small moment, yet an intimate one. He watched you as the flame lit the tip of his cigarette, his hazel eye focusing on your features. “Well ain’t ya a doll.” He took a long drag of his cigarette and puffed out a dense cloud of smoke into the air, it twisted and turned with the shape of the wind creating hypnotic swirls. You took out a cigarette of your own from your bag and lit it, taking a puff. The rain pattered on the awning furiously.

“Tough day at work?” You broke the silence between you. He smirked and took a drag. “Thas one way of putin’ it.” He sighed heavily, looking out towards the street keeping his gaze focused on the few people that passed by. “What about you missy, didn’t I tell ya to keep better care of yourself?” His tone was inquisitive and playful, he was teasing you for your forgetfullness but this time you could fire back.  

“Says the man who looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days.” You chuckled while taking another drag of your cigarette. You had made him swear to you that if he ever had a sleepless night again he could come over and the two of you could lay in bed together until he felt tired enough to sleep. Yet he has yet to ring true on his promise and you could tell his insomnia was beginning to wear him out. 

“Yer got me there.” He lifted one hand in defeat, surrendering to your remark. “Guess both of us got things to work out huh?” His look was almost somber, there was something bothering him and you knew but he seemed very reluctant to give up any information, was it worth pressing about? He wasn’t the usual outgoing, exaggerated and overwhelming Majima you were used to, it seems like you were getting a glimpse of the true man behind the mask, here in the storm he was no longer the Mad Dog of Shimano but Goro Majima. Before you could further pry into Majima’s personal life however, he asked his question first, “How’s yer work goin’, boss still working ya to the bone?”

You exhaled softly, “As always. I haven’t seen you around the clinic recently though, I kinda miss your surprise visits.” There it was, your chance to finally ask where he’d been for the past few days and you took it. He’d been very silent for the past couple of days which was very much unlike him, knowing your relationship with him was still in its early stages you tried to make it seem as though you weren’t overly concerned and wanted to give him the space. Yet deep down inside it ate away at you, of course he would still call you when he had the time but those were very brief calls just to check in on you. It made you worry a lot.

Hearing those words made Majima stand a bit taller, his ears perked up at the sound of your words ringing an alarm bell in his head. “Is that so [Y/N]-chan?” He grinned as his eye moved in your direction. Your cheeks immediately turned a shade of pink realising what you had said, you gently nudged his shoulder with your elbow. He snickered at your faint attempt to fight back the embarrassment, he thought you were cute when you got so worked up. Despite his mocking tone you leaned your head against his shoulder which took him by surprise. There was a moment of silence between the two of you as you watched the smoke from Majima’s cigarette floating up towards the roof of the awning, the pitter patter of the raindrops above only getting louder. “You always made my day a little brighter. Even when it rains on days like this, just being near you makes me feel better.” You said looking down towards the floor averting making eye contact as you spoke. “I wish that I could make you feel better too.” Majima’s body tensed a little bit, he knew he wasn’t exactly his usual self but he didn’t realise it was so bad that even you could notice. “Eh don’t worry your pretty head about me, it’s nothin’ to be concerned about. Just that bastard Shimano breathin’ down my neck is all.” He flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the ground where it went out almost immediately. He moved his shoulder slightly from underneath your head and put his arm around you bringing you closer to him, you stumbled slightly and regained your balance by his side, one hand pressing against him. “Yer a sweetheart for worryin’ though.” “Promise me that’s everything?” Your words sounded almost like a plea. They sounded weak, but that's all you felt like when you were around him. He was the only man who could ever make you let your guard down, he tore the walls that you had built up around you and let himself in. 

He looked down at you, despite being soaked to the bone all Majima saw in front him was beauty. He loved just how open you were when you were around him and hoped that one day he could pour his heart out to you on another rainy night in Sotenbori just like this one, but maybe in the comfort of your home. There were so many things he wanted to tell you about himself that were always at the tip of his tongue, on the cusp of being said and yet he had always held back in fear of losing himself in you completely. He was guarded and unable to let go just yet. He lifted his gloved hand to your chin and held it up ever so slightly then pressed his lips against yours, his goatee prickling your chin. A sudden rush of euphoria coursed through you, a heat swelled inside your chest and the butterflies in your stomach felt like they were about to burst. “I promise ya, that’s all that's botherin’ me.” You knew it was a lie, a sugar coated lie, a white lie. It still seemed like he needed time and you were willing to give it to him, after all he was a member of the Yakuza and had many secrets held within himself and the scars on his body. They told a tale you were yet to uncover, one piece at a time you’d patiently chip away at his defenses. You wordlessly nodded in acknowledgement, giving him a peck on the cheek feeling his warmth.

“Seems the rain isn’t going away any time soon…” You proclaimed, the rain had only fallen harder the longer you were standing outside the convenience store. The awning above you began to fill with water creating a dip above you. “Seems like it, ain’t your place nearby though?” Majima wondered if he remembered the address correctly, even second guessing himself. 

“Yeah but, I don’t wanna get more soaked than I already am.” You pouted, your body began to shiver from the cold breeze that penetrated the city streets. Your skin felt as if there were daggers slowly stabbing at the softness beneath the wet nylon. An idea sparked in Majima’s head, an idea that might have to take a little convincing to spark into fruition but an idea nonetheless. He grinned a toothy grin as he looked down at you. “If ya don’t wanna walk home how bout I carry ya instead, ay?” Your eyes widened a little at the idea, but before you had the chance to respond Majima took off his jacket and put it over you revealing his bare form. He looked as if the gods themselves had sculpted him and your eyes were immediately drawn to the hanya mask on his back, it was an immaculate work of art and told his story with its many colours and perfect lines. You wondered if one day you could uncover the story of the hanya mask, if he would lay in bed next to you and tell you how he became who he was today, the man so many feared and yet you loved. “So, I’m gonna carry ya and you’re gonna put the jacket over us both how’s that sound?” You smiled as you cocked one eyebrow up in disbelief at his suggestion, the Majima you knew was slowly creeping his way back to you. 

“I don’t think I get much of a choice here.” “Yer right ya don’t.” Before you could say any more he lifted you up off of the ground and hoisted you up on his back. You squealed momentarily as one of your arms locked itself around Majima’s neck and the other lifted the jacket over your already soaked hair. “Majima! You could’ve at least given me a warning.” Despite your reprimand you giggled as you pulled yourself closer to him, feeling his body warmth despite the cold temperatures outside. Did the man ever even feel the cold with the way he only walked around in the snakeskin jacket, you pondered. “Sorry darlin’ but I’d rather be warm in yer bed than stand out here all night.” He began to cackle as he started walking out of the awning into the cold and stormy night making his way up the street to a nearby apartment complex that was just a couple minutes away. You clung onto him for dear life, face pressed against one of his shoulders, this close you were able to fully take in more than the smell of the rain, his cologne. It was a strong odour from this close, he smelt like frankincense and honey with a mix of saffron. The scent was simply intoxicating to you as you closed your eyes and imagined yourself laying next to him in the comfort of your bed away from all of the blinding neon lights of the city and away from the uncomfortable sensation of rain soaked clothing growing more apparent on your body.

Weaving in and out of the alleyways and streets, you and Majima had finally reached your apartment complex. What surprised you was that Majima had enough strength to even lift you up the stairs to the second floor and only let you get off once the two of you were right by your door. He let go of you gently so that you wouldn’t fall or stumble making sure you were ok afterwards. You quickly unlocked the door to your apartment and the two of you went inside finally escaping the stormy Sotenbori night. You placed the soaked groceries onto the table and breathed a sigh of relief finally being able to take off your soaked shoes in the hallway. Majima beat you to it, already being half undressed and laying on the couch trying to catch his breath while inadvertently staining your couch with rain water. You did tell him not to run too fast but he simply didn’t want to listen, opting to instead run as fast as he could so he could get you home. You dry off whatever groceries were saveable from your bag and sort them out in the kitchen while listening to your boyfriend panting on the couch like a dog gasping for air. 

You go to grab a couple of towels from the bathroom so the two of you can dry off from the rain and walk back into the room sitting on the couch next to where his tiresome body lay, his arm covering his eye. You watch his chest rise and fall for a minute soaking up his good looks, despite him being exhausted and out of breath you still felt an attraction to him that no one could explain. Your heart ached with longing for him no matter how close or how far he was, you loved him, perhaps too much. 

Eventually when he caught his breath, he let out a maniacal cackle as he rose up ever so slightly to prop his head up against your thigh.

“I ain’t doin’ that again that's for sure.” He said between desperate breaths. You caressed his cheek with your hand feeling how warm he was, his sweat now mixing in with the rainwater that was dripping from his hair. You took a towel and put it under his soaked hair, wrapping it around and gently ruffling it to try and dry off the excess rain. He closed his eye again and smirked, “Ya know I could get used to this kinda treatment.” 

“Could you now.” You said with a snarky tone, your half smile betraying the sarcasm in your voice. Majima looked up slightly and smiled, “Who wouldn’t want a pretty lady like you pampering them, aye?” His words turned your cheeks red and although they weren’t visible in the dimly lit room illuminated only by a neon yellow sign outside he could tell that his words made you blush. He knew exactly what to say to elicit a reaction from you, you were putty in his hands that he could mold however he wanted.

“Oh shush.” You nudged his head playfully, letting out a small giggle at his compliment. “Thank you for getting me home.” Your words were sincere, they rang deep in Majima’s ears and he opened his one eye and looked up at you, his hand instinctively reaching to your face despite it being in an awkward position. 

“Don’t mention it, doll.” You pressed his hand closer to your cheek holding it there for what felt like an eternity. You could still hear the downpour outside and see the raindrops falling against your window, the scenery was serene. A moment to remember when you encounter inevitable sleepless nights.

“We should get out of these soaked clothes before we catch a cold.” Your voice was almost a whisper. 

“Would that be so bad? I’d give anything to have ya nurse me back to health.” He grinned, pulling his hand away from your cheek so that he could make use of the towel you threw at him earlier.

“Not if we’re both ill.” You chuckled, beginning to unbutton the blouse, it was so soaked you were sure you’d have to wring it out before throwing it in the laundry basket. Stray droplets of rain could still be felt on your body. Majima sat up with the towel still around his hair, leaning back as he watched you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, even now you could feel his stare penetrating straight through you almost as if he could see the soul of your being. You stopped unbuttoning midway through and glanced at him.

“Can I help you?” You said mockingly, one eyebrow cocked up. 

“No, no, no please, carry on. I was enjoying the show.” “Pervert.” You smirked, throwing another towel at him hitting him square in the face.

“I getcha home in one piece and this is the thanks I get?” He scoffed playfully, upping the dramatics to make himself appear hurt by your words. Feeling a bit confident you got up off the couch and sat on his lap straddling him, he was shocked by the sudden action so much so that he didn’t even let out a breath. You lifted his chin with your finger and looked him directly in the eye. “If you’re enjoying it so much why don’t you do it.” His expression quickly changed from awe to mischief, it didn’t take much for him to get going. He liked the controlling side of you, the bold and brave woman beneath that was shrouded in a shy facade. It excited him. Wordlessly he took off his gloves and tossed them aside obeying your order and undoing each remaining button of your blouse slowly so that he could savour the moment. When he was done you let the blouse slip off of your skin and fall to the floor, his hands now resting on each hip feeling the heat of your body as he looked up at you. “Still enjoying the show?” You caressed his cheek, feeling the stubble of his goatee. “I’d enjoy it more if this weren’t in the way.” His finger hooked around the middle of your bra and pulled you in closer inches away from his face. Did his lips always look so enticing? They were like a forbidden fruit.“That's something you have to earn, Lord of the Night.” You jested, pressing your lips onto his. 

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

[seosejun]

Soloist SEO SEJUN debuted at the beginning of last year with the critically acclaimed mini-album, NEW GAME, which achieved immediate success. The album sold nearly half a million copies, and his debut song, MELODY, took home seven music show wins. He followed this up a few months later with another EP, to much of the same success. His meteoric rise to fame and fortune is an obvious by-product of the little over a year he spent in 1V1, a fan-formed group from survival show Last Act. By the end of their fifteen-month temporary contract, 1V1 was on even ground with the show’s winners, ENCORE, having sold over a million copies with their first and last full-length album.

The ten months since his last music release have come as a surprise. While it was obvious he wouldn’t maintain the breakneck pace of 1V1’s releases, the quick turnaround between his first two albums seemed like a promising sign. Now, it looks like those signs were misplaced.

That isn’t to say Sejun has spent the last ten months in radio silence. He’s active as a model and an influencer, gracing the covers of Vogue and Elle Korea to name some examples. He also co-wrote the debut album of former group member KIM CHAN late last year. When it comes to his own music career, he seems to have become completely inept.

With each passing day, it becomes increasingly evident he’s moved on to greener pastures: his streaming career. Sejun’s Twitch and personal YouTube channels 세유화 (SEYUHWA)—a portmanteau of his name and Kim Sowol’s poem “산유화”—made their debuts last summer. Since then, he’s streamed almost every day, sometimes for ten to twelve hours at a time. He spends most of that time playing video games—namely Overwatch 2—and occasionally engaging in the usual parasocial conversations with fans. Given that his appearance on Last Act and 1V1’s entire concept both revolved around video games, it was only a matter of time before his solo career did the same. Inheriting the group concept is not enough, Sejun needs to wholly embody it.

From an outside perspective, C Entertainment appears to support his new ventures. His streams sometimes features his manager, KWON INSOO, as a gaming partner rather than a supervisor. Sejun has yet to speak out or complain about his new management. Knowing his propensity for talking shit, his complaints would be known if he had complaints to make. Viewers were also quick to notice that he seems to be happier and more animated streaming than in either of his solo promotional periods, leading fans to wonder if he still wants to be an idol.

Not everyone is as enthusiastic as he is for his new career. He gained notoriety during Last Act after a recording of him flaming his League of Legends teammates in voice chat surfaced. Although tame by gaming standards, it was not the best look for an idol hopeful. Similar controversies would continue to plague him throughout his time in 1V1, though they did nothing to hinder the group’s success. With his freedom to apparently do whatever he chooses, Sejun has once again found himself the target of those who dislike his disregard for an idol image. Some of his streams also feature former 1V1 member ALEX KANG, who retired from the entertainment industry after the group’s disbandment. Though these collaborations were once celebrated by casual kpop fans and die-hard Supports—1V1’s fandom name—alike, Alex’s insistence on distancing himself from the kpop industry and his tendency to ban people in his Twitch chat who ask too many questions about his idol experience have furthered soured some netizens’ opinion of Sejun.

When asked about the state of his music career or if he’s preparing for a comeback, Sejun is uncharacteristically vague. In responses to comments on his Instagram posts of his latest brand deals, he's “working on it” and hopes fans will “wait a little longer.” He elaborated a bit further on streams, assuring fans it isn’t the fault of his management like many of them assume, but rather his own choices. He doesn’t say much more on the topic.

For now, there's nothing for fans to do but wait as he's asked.

[kaicheri]

lights, camera, action…?

sub camboy!beomgyu x afab reader

warnings: streamer au, mommy kink, handjob, dirty talk, edging, ruined orgasm

wc: 2.2k

a/n: repost #???

>>>>

“ughh this is sooo boring just fuck alreadyyyy”

Oh, God. Beomgyu didn't see that comment too...right?

This isn't the first one that you've seen. In fact, it was one of the thousands pestering you two to fuck each other. The sexual tension that you and Beomgyu have been trying to sweep under the rug? Couldn't be worse than now.

Well, you can’t say for sure the feeling’s mutual, but on your side of the grass, things haven’t exactly been greener since he’s moved in with you two weeks ago.

Why?

Because…never mind, it’s nothing—he’s still your roommate, don’t think. Just don't.

“Oh, you stream?" he gasped hopefully and shook your hand fast, "Holy shit, me too!”

He might've come off a bit strong, but at least he was enthusiastic enough to introduce himself raw.

“Oh, really?” You asked, “What do you stream?”

You, for example, are an influencer who regularly reacts, and indulges in video games here and there—but apparently, your new friend decided to skip past the talking stage and fly right into it, feeling more than comfortable to admit that he was part of a much…ahem-

…naughtier community.

“You—you do porn?” you tried to hide the heat in your cheeks, and the surprise in your voice. or excitement, rather. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. or turned on.

You’d expected a gamer at the most… but a camboy? No way in hell.

It's just...he doesn’t really...look the part? Well, they’re usually always old, bald, or just plain unattractive (in which they’d opt for faceless camming). But maybe you were just exposed to the wrong ones.

“Uh, sorta?” scratching his head, Beomgyu frowned like he, too, was questioning himself—as if it was that hard to explain. “Not exactly, I…I haven’t actually fucked anyone on camera.”

…Or ever, actually, he wanted to confess. He's still a virgin dipping his feet fresh into the welcoming, warm waters of porn, and touching toes with his sexuality. Of course, he thought it’d be fun!

Plus, who doesn't like sex?

And as a young guy who claims to be “pretty on cameras and sexy on the main,” he’d decided, why not?

“Guys, it’s not what you think. We are not fucking,” you awkwardly chuckle, hands up matter-of-factly.

Well, you could…and it’s not like you haven’t ever thought about it—but still!

Point is, you still have a bit of respect for your roommate, so these intrusive thoughts gotta stay low.

…which is getting harder and harder to do, especially when there's always some extremely descriptive commenter fantasizing on the screen every five seconds.

You might as well just fuck him now in front of everybody so that they’d finally shut up about it. After all this isn’t even your audience—it’s his.

“never thought i’d see urdaddyy/n69 here lmfao”

“whats she doing with a camboy lol”

“nah they dating fs”

Sighing, you ignore the comments flooding onto the screen, continuing to interview the boy beside you—just about the system and how it works—in the event that your own streaming career does a one-eighty and flops all of a sudden.

“So...you just sit here and…touch yourself?”

“N-nah,” Beomgyu laughs, face bashful, “Well, I mean—yeah…but there’s more to it than that...”

“Like what?”

“Like, um, interacting with the fans!” He spreads his hands out towards the monitor to address said audience, “And asking how their day has been going, if they’ve eaten yet…you know, s-stuff like that.”

“Uh-huh…” you raise a brow, but he understands why you might question it.

“I-I know it seems like that’s the last thing they come on here for, but…they’re actually pretty nice,” he tries to explain softly.

“And you mentioned that you record…voice memos or something like that?”

“Oh, yeah. Sometimes, I record the audio only and post it onto Baetreon—which they also support! So I’m grateful for that,” he gives a thumbs up to the viewers and a precious smile.

“Y’know,” his voice softens, “as a pretty small streamer, I can't help but be thankful. The viewers…they mean the world to me.”

As you would’ve guessed, with his ability to be irresistible at all times, and the whole boyfriend-this-and-that image, it’s no surprise his marketing strat is so effective. The boy is smart, and knows exactly how to play the game.

That’s impressive, and you’ll admit kinda hot. Maybe you could, um…help him gain the recognition he deserves.

“Well, I have an idea. How about we give them a show?” you suddenly offer.

“What—what do you mean?”

“I’ll help you get off.”

“Wait, w-what??”

The chat goes wild.

“I said I’ll help you-“

But he has to hear that again to make sure, so he tugs on your sleeve and brings you into a whispering exchange behind his hand, hoping that the viewers can’t hear what’s next.

“Y-y/n, that’s,” he gulps, “that’s too risky!”

Well, yeah. A pretty well-rounded, medium-seized creator such as yourself would get into a load of shit because of this—but to be fair, what streamer hasn’t gotten into a scandal?

“Wouldn’t that ruin your career??” he whispers, obviously concerned.

“If it does, I’ll just quit streaming and join you instead.”

The last bit shocks him and he’s unsure of what it means.

“It means you won’t have to do solo shows anymore,” you chuckle, shrugging nonchalantly, “Plus, streaming sex does sound pretty fun. And… I get to fuck you as much as I want, right?”

Beomgyu’s jaw drops, surprised by how calm you are after so casually letting that slip.

“What?” you breathe out, almost laughing, “So…is that a no?”

“N-no, I mean—“

He takes a moment to calm himself, inhaling and then, exhaling sort of dramatically.

“W-what I meant to say was…I’m not opposed to the idea,” he admits quietly and lowers his gaze, scratching his neck. You didn’t think his blush could deepen.

“But are you sure you wanna…do this? Like, you’re being serious, serious right now?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, impatiently pulling his chair closer to yours, and Beomgyu completely freezes when he feels your arm snake around his precious, little waist.

“I mean, you’re always pleasuring yourself alone,” you whisper saccharinely, so dangerously close to his ear, “Why don’t I pleasure you this time?”

—————

“What do you think about when you touch yourself, pretty boy?”

He gulps, “I…I just read, a-ah, c-comments—“

“Pfft, the comments?” you scoff, “How pitiful.”

The poor boy hisses when you slightly tighten your grip on his cock, continuing to slowly—painfully—drag a mixture of his precum and your own sly spit all over him.

“Why read the comments when…I could be right here, next to you?” you lean in closer to his ear, “touching you just like this…”

Your hand swallows up his swollen, too-abnormally-fat-of-a-tip, and makes him whine out loud, all pathetic for everyone watching to hear.

“Aw, is it too much?” you pout and coo, clearly enjoying yourself as you put him through a different kind of torture.

“N-no-” Beomgyu shakes his head, brows knit and eyes shut tight like a stupid anime character.

“No, who?”

His whimpers and gasps are so, so fucking cute that you can’t help but grind a little on your chair, just watching him try to push words beyond his tight throat.

“N-no, mommy,” he swallows hard, “keep going, p-please…”

“Good boy.”

He deserves a little bit more, doesn’t he?

“God, you’re so…” you hiss in through your teeth as you loosen your grip to focus on increasing your speed, “so fucking good for me…”

Beomgyu’s mouth drops wide open and his back delicately arches against his gamer chair, giving you the perfect opportunity to pull his side up against your torso.

Face fucked out and parallel with the ceiling, he squeezes your thigh as to hold onto something—something close and comforting to level himself.

But at the rate of which you’re going on his pretty, little cock? There’s no way he can come down from the clouds now.

And especially when Beomgyu’s the master of edging himself, having the ability to control his pleasure levels and think about grandmas in time to prolong his pleasure is completely useless now that you have him in the palm of your sadistic hand.

“Too…too fast, mommy—“

You find him trying to hold back his moans and whimpers all silly. Oh, you’re gonna milk this boy until he’s gone.

“Aw, scared of cumming too soon?” you chuckle, “how embarrassing.”

You peek at the monitors, only to see all of them egging you on. Like yourself, the viewers want to see this poor boy become a cum-spurting mess—crying and squirting his children-carrying juice everywhere—all over your hand, keyboard, monitors, himself.

“No, you’re gonna hold it in for mommy, okay? No cumming until I say so.”

How could you put him through such…torture? It’s delicious—the way he looks, sounds, and smells like flowers. There’s nothing wrong with weeding out the bad in his cock.

But unfortunately, that would mean you’d have to pull at his precious, little petals, and tease up his leaves a bit. His lovely viewers deserve to see him suffer just as much as you do, facing his ultimate demise, the beginning of the beautiful end—an orgasm denial.

One that would leave him shaking and crying all pretty for the world to see.

The boy’s so stupid and desperate—so gullible and easily controlled—he has nothing else, but the various sensations of his cock driving him. He’ll do anything to cum at this point.

“I-I…I’ll hold it in, mommy, promise!” he blurts out, realizing that you slowing down might be worse for him, “Just…don’t s-stop, pleeease…”

He’s trying so hard to keep himself at bay with the kind of pace you’re using on him—and fuck, it’s so cute—obviously showing his efforts in the form of prominent neck veins, a deeply reddened face, and tears beginning to seep out from under tightly closed eyes.

“Baby, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” He knows you’re fucking with his mind, even more so by leaning in close to press soft kisses on his neck where the veins are out.

“Poor, poor baby…“

“M-mommy, I- nng, can’t!” he cries out, feeling a fever kick in and his cock becoming numb from it all, “Please, I can’t…h-hold it anymore—“

He grabs onto you and his armrest tight, chest heaving and breathing so dramatically. It’d be a miracle if he doesn’t end up fainting by the end of this.

“Not yet,” you breathe out, speeding your strokes up, “just a little more for mommy—“

“Oh, mommy, please- let me cum, p-please!!” he squirms frantically in his chair, throbbing heavily in your wet hand.

Without saying a word back, you quicken your pace, putting him to the test—

Fine. If he can’t take simple orders like a good boy…

Beomgyu gasps and cries out loudly, hips beginning to thrust off the chair and into helpless sobs.

It’s only a matter of time before he finds out he’s fucking nothing but air.

Because bad boys don’t get rewards.

“Mommy, n-no!”

It’s too late.

You had already loosened your fingers around his crying cock, and now, the poor thing is pathetically swinging around in the air along with his needy hips, dripping of the tinniest essences that have failed to be milked completely.

He could’ve used his own hands to finish it off, but both were quickly held back by yours.

You have yet to release his dainty wrists from your tight hold, letting him whine in absolute tears. It wasn’t easy, but you were able to pull his shaking body back down into his chair again before he could fuck something random—anything in sight—but considering his position, he desperately tried to rub his thighs against his cock.

But there wasn't any use. Now, he’s left with tears staining his cheeks and a pitiful gaze down at his own swollen cock. Nothing but a few droplets on his trembling thighs.

It’s obvious he’d never had a ruined orgasm in his life, even when his audience has paid thousands in request. Poor Beomgyu just needed a push. So admittedly, the satisfaction was at least shared among you and his loyal fans.

“that was so fucking hot holy shit”

“couldn’t even last five mins”

“can u be my mommy too”

The reactions are all too good to your ego. And you’re glad to see that for the most part, everyone seems to have enjoyed it. You should definitely do this more.

Was he that much of a brat that the donations popping up screen have now doubled—no, tripled in size?!

There’s one comment that really catches your eye, though:

“i’ve seen every one of his streams and holy fuck…glad u put him in his place lmfao”

And here, you thought he was a good boy. Tsk, tsk.

Beomgyu’s not exactly…happy about the situation, but he knows this was a very deserved humiliation. And on the bright side, from what you've seen from his streams (secretly), he loves being humiliated, regardless.

“I should join your streams more often,” you tease, face pulling a grin that could devour him. “Mommy’s gonna play with your pretty, little cock for a very long time..."

Just then, the door swings open and presents yet another tall, young male you’ve never seen before, frozen in place with Starbucks cup in his hand and his mouth covered with the other.

"O-oh, I’m sorry," You turn to the frightened boy next to you, "Uh, Gyu, who is this-"

“Yeon-yeonjunnie hyung?”