#headers sashay

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Sheriff!Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Summary: A terrifying close call catapults your festering guilt, your secrets slowly consuming you.

Rating/CW: slow burn romance, mild intoxication, brief violence and mentions of blood, smut, vaginal fingering, angst. MDNI!

WC: listen buddy..

Author notes: Hello! Apologies for the wait but here is part two! Only one more part to finish up the story. Thank you all so much for your patience, support, and kind words. It truly means the world. I used this part to focus more on emotion and simmering conflict that will finally shatter in part 3.

As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

Happy reading!

Header: myself (image from pinterest) | Divider: @anitalenia @saradika network tag: @pixelcafe-network

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Part Three

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The universe, it seems, has a cruel and unforgiving sense of humor. Since that night of the cattle drive, when you let yourself believe in the possibility of more, when you basked in the warm desire of Nanami’s gaze and the electricity of his touch—it was the beginning of the end.

Since that night, every step has been in error, every word a potential betrayal, every shared moment tainted by the secrets you keep—

“I’m not one to put my hands on a lady. But you’ve been slippin' past me for too long. This ends tonight.”

His words echo a haunting melody in your head as you sag against your bedroom door, sweaty and lungs burning with every desperate gasp for air. Your heart is beating so fast it feels as if it will burst from your chest, pounding at your sternum like a snare drum—

The deafening pop of your pistol. The bullet that was meant to be a distraction so you could escape the Phillips’ house had hit the wall and then flesh. Horror flooding your veins in an icy wave as Nanami grunted in pain, a hand flying to the now torn upper arm of his navy long sleeve—

You choke on a floundering breath, fingers trembling and wet with blood as they press against your throat. The coal on your skin feels suffocating, a physical manifestation of your sin—

His weight pinning you to the floor, the heat at the apex of his thighs forbidden and delicious against yours as you struggled beneath him, twisting your bandana-covered face from his prying fingers. Your desperate fingers acting on impulse—anything to get you away—pressing hard enough into his wound that he spat out a curse, giving you enough leverage to buck him off you and disappear into the night, your spoils from Mr. Phillips sashaying against your hip—

You snap back into focus, eyes stinging from a fresh wall of tears. You’ve crossed a line tonight, one you prayed and prayed to never even get close to. As you try to catch your breath, you acknowledge that, yes, this is the beginning of the end. The moment you realize that you can no longer keep up this double life. That you can no longer help in a way you find worthy.

You trudge across your bedroom to the dresser that holds your porcelain basin of cold water. You keep it full on nights like these, ready for you to wash the coal off your face before you collapse into bed. Panting, you dip a washcloth in the cold water, wiping the disguise and Nanami’s dried blood from your skin, pulling your fear from tonight along with it.

You look up into the mirror above your dresser, taking in your haggard form. Eyes no longer filled with determination, a tear in your shirt at the shoulder that exposes the faint scar from an injury sustained years ago, your braid frazzled and coming loose at the ends. You don’t look like the fearsome bandit that you’ve made of yourself.

You look tired. Afraid.

As your pulse begins to steady, a wave of exhaustion washes over you, taking the ordeal of tonight and carrying it into the abyss. You set your coal-soaked washcloth on the dresser, ready to shed your bandit persona and collapse into bed, when—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound makes you freeze, your heart seizing in your chest with halted breath as you leave your room and quietly tip-toe to the front door. The darkness of your living room gives you enough cover to peek through the curtains, but you know who it is. Of course, it’s Nanami. Heaving with high raised shoulders as he presses his forehead to your door.

You exhale a shaky breath as you stagger back, walking backward to your room as you think of what to do and—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You jump, your back bumping into your door frame as you gape at the open air.

“J-just a minute!” you call out, your voice higher than usual. With trembling hands, you begin to strip, fingers shaking as you unbutton your shirt and slip out of your leather pants. You toss your clothes under the bed.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“I’ll be right there!” you shout again, slipping into one of your long off-white nightgowns. Your hands fumble with your braid, snagging knots against your fingernails as you unfurl your curls to hang free. One glance in the mirror makes you curse, and you throw on a thick flannel to hide the view of your nipples from behind the near-transparent linen.

POUND! POUND! POUND!

“I said one second!” you yell, frustration and fear curling the edges of your words as you balance the nearly full porcelain basin in your hands. You quietly slide open your bedroom window, throwing the coal mixture out into the night and shucking the blackened washcloth into a dresser drawer.

You rush back to the front door, taking a deep breath as you smooth down your hair and pray he’s not as sharp as usual when he looks at your frazzled form. You pray he hasn’t figured it out. You hope and plead to whoever is listening that your fears about the world falling apart do not come to fruition right now.

You know the sight to expect, but seeing it is still a horrifying shock. He takes up your entire door frame, all muscle and authority, sweaty with pinched eyebrows as he clutches at his bleeding arm. Your stomach coils tight, nausea brewing like a bubbling pot. He’s panting heavily, no doubt from the adrenaline of mounting Flint and racing through town to get here, his Stetson resting on his back, blonde locks sweaty on his forehead.

He swallows, his throat bobbing beneath a sheen of sweat.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice strained and urgent. “I saw her—the bandit come this way.”

Nanami’s too kind, too caring, too willing to put himself on the line for someone else. Because the irony of his concern about you, the fact that he’s injured and came this way instead of getting first aid…it’s almost too much to bear.

You shake your head harshly, slipping into a regrettable mask and pushing away the festering guilt that bubbles to life along with the action.

“I’m fine, but you’re hurt! Why didn’t you go to Shoko?”

“I don’t want to wake her. Besides, there’s no time,” Nanami grunts as he squeezes his upper arm. As much as you internally beg your body not to look, your eyes flicker to the crimson blood that oozes between his fingers. Guilt, unbridled and disparaging guilt, threatens to undo you.

“I need to check the house,” he insists, stumbling past you without waiting for an invitation, his spurs clanging against your floorboards. He yanks his pistol from its holster, fingers shaking as he loads the bullets from his sling into the chamber with precision.

Your Nanami would wait to come in, removing his hat at your threshold with kind eyes. So the blood that trails behind him with every step, marking his path like breadcrumbs, the desperation in his gait, the quiver in every exhale from his chest as he fingers bullets from his gun sling and loads them into his pistol, it’s a glaring reminder of just how bad you’ve made things.

Any other moment, you would freely let him roam.

“Nanami, please,” you plead softly, following his aimless form as he wanders without a purpose, his gun raised at no one as he starts for your hallway. “You need to sit down. You’re hurt—”

“It’s just a graze,” he snaps, dismissive even as a fresh gush of blood seeps his darkened shirt and drips crimson onto the floor. “She could be here. Could’ve followed you, could be waiting.” His words tumble faster, more disjointed as he sweeps your kitchen with barely contained panic.

You fight to keep your voice steady. “Well, she’s not here. I would have heard somethin'.”

Nanami turns to face you, gun still raised, a flicker of it trained on you as the bandit just an hour ago making you flinch. Blood has soaked most of his sleeve now, dripping steadily onto your floor.

“You can’t possibly know that. She’s dangerous, clever—”

“I’m fine,” you insist, stepping closer, flinching as he opens and slams your cabinets. Blood smears on the wood from his hands. “Please, you’re bleeding. Let me help.”

Nanami scoffs, it’s a foreign sound from deep in his chest that echoes into the air. Even with a slight hunch from the pain, he towers over your home from his place in the kitchen, that imposing but welcoming frame casting shadows onto your floor as he takes a step back, regarding you as if you’ve grown a second head.

“Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

The accusation stings, even though you’re the source of it. The source of his frustration and the wound on his arm. If only he knew how seriously you took this.

“I am,” you press, desperately trying to quell his erratic movements now that he’s gone back to searching the pantry for a second time. “But you’re hurt, and I—”

“For God’s sake!” You jump from the boom of his voice, flinching as his gun clatters to the floor and crosses the space in two strides. His hands grip your shoulders with bruising strength, blood from his fingers seeping through your flannel. “You could be in danger!” he snaps, acidic anger spitting from split lips, his face inches from yours with breath hot on your skin. You’ve never seen him like this.

“Nana—” you try to speak through your shock, your whisper drowning in his desperation.

“Why can’t you understand?!” His grip on your shoulders tightens, your skin pinching beneath fingernails. But you can’t register the pain as you take in the fire in his eyes, burning bright and tinged with a vulnerability that makes you want to disappear entirely. “Do you even know what it’s like to lose someone that you—that—”

He struggles, words catching in his throat as his mouth fights silently with indecision.

You watch as he battles with himself, trying to force out words that seem too big in his throat, too consequential to voice as if he’s held them in from the moment they were lodged there. You pick up on the implication quickly. The weight of it, of his unspoken feelings and the pain of his past, somehow connected to that bullet-sized dent on his badge.

“I can’t—” Nanami tries again, voice hoarse. “If anything happened to you, I—”

“Okay,” you whisper, a hand laying softly on his heaving chest. His eyes search yours, frustration giving way to desperation and pleading. It’s rare with Nanami, but when you see the man behind the badge, that raw and exposed cowboy with a hidden past that he will never divulge, you cherish every second it’s presented to you.

He has never told you about that person who changed the course of his life, about the dark side of his work, the death and cruelty that he refuses to talk about. But you won’t ever ask for more, because every minute with him, even if you’re the cause of his misery, is precious and fleeting.

“If that’s what you need to feel safe—to know I’m safe—then check the house.”

The vice grip on your shoulders vanishes immediately, blood rushing back to fill in the gaps of his harsh fingers as he steps away and sweeps through your home with a practiced eye.

You watch, nerves frayed and heart pounding like a hummingbird in your chest as he moves from room to room. The back of your neck breaks into a sweat when he crosses the threshold of your bedroom, lungs seizing as he disappears from your view. But when he finally returns to the living room seemingly more relaxed, you hide the sag in your shoulders from relief.

Gone is the furious and demanding sheriff, duty-bound and crazed with the urge to protect. Now, regret fills his features, brown eyes sweeping over your form and furrowed brows taking in the sight of his bloody hand prints on your flannel. He’s ashamed, remorseful of his sharp words and fierce touch.

“Sit,” you demand as a means to distract him from his inner turmoil, pointing to your sofa. “Let me look at that arm.”

“Ma’am, you don’t need to do that. I should get on,” he tries to fit back into a professional shell, refusing as best he can even though he shuffles closer to you, lingering in front of your sofa with indecision in his eyes.

“Stop calling me that,” you can’t help but snap, glaring at him. “Sit down, Nanami,” you soften your tone, to show just how worried and unwilling you are to entertain his embarrassment. How sorry you are that you’ve caused all of this.

He hesitates, opening his mouth to argue with you, but the glare on your face must be enough. He unbuckles his gun sling and sets it carefully on your coffee table before plopping on your sofa, knees tucked together as if sitting on fine china, afraid to break anything.

You return to lay a medical kit, two basins—one empty to flush his wound, the other filled with water—and a bottle of whiskey on the small coffee table in front of you both, sinking onto the sofa and turning to him expectantly. He eyes the whiskey only for a second before he registers the meaning. You’re not an expert like Shoko, so alcohol may be the only cleaning and numbing agent that will help Nanami with whatever you need to do.

“You’ll need to take off your vest.”

“Right,” he sluggishly moves out of the leather garment, grimacing and biting his lip as he pulls his injured arm free. His upper arm is soaked red, the navy fabric sliced through where the bullet pierced its surface.

“And your…your shirt.”

“What?” he fumbles, eyes slightly wide as he looks down at you.

You clear your throat, blood boiling from his hesitant gaze. “I’ll need to see the entire wound. To clean it and—well…”

“Right, of course.”

Nanami pauses for a second too long, squeezing his fists against dirty denim pants as if to steel himself before his bloody fingers move to the buttons of his navy button-up. But the pain makes him clumsy, the adrenaline finally giving way to the present, and he can barely bend his injured arm. You can tell from the look on his face and swallowed groans that he’s struggling.

Without thinking, you reach out to help, your fingers brushing against his to knock them out of the way. The touch buzzes against your fingertips.

“Let me,” you offer, your voice barely above a whisper.

You take his silence as a cue to continue, and you work the buttons open, hyper-aware of Nanami’s steady breathing and the warmth that heats your fingertips from his skin. Slowly, the lapels of his long sleeve part to reveal sun-kissed skin.

It’s hard to look away from the planes of thick muscle that make up his torso, a firm chest, and chunky bands of abs that bunch together with his haggard breaths. There’s a dusting of honey-brown hair on his chest, littering the skin so faintly that you long to card your fingers through. Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight, scratching an itch deep in your mind that only rears its head in the middle of the night.

You help him guide the fabric off his shoulders, your fingertips kissing his skin in a forbidden dance as you slide his shirt out of the way. The billow of his clothes wafts his scent up your nose—leather, gunpowder, a hint of a cigarette. So uniquely Nanami that it makes your head spin and you have to take a second, swallowing against a thick ball of desire in your throat so that you can focus on the task at hand.

“It’s a graze,” you mutter as you bring the empty basin to rest under his elbow. “But it’s gonna need stitches.”

Nanami simply nods, tersely following your hand that snatches and uncorks the whiskey, body tensing as you pour the amber liquid over his wound.

“God damn—” he snarls, the curse cutting off into a harsh groan as his head falls back against the sofa. His free hand grips the armrest, knuckles turning white, the dried blood between his fingers more prominent with his squeeze. The whiskey runs dark down his arm, a muddy brown collecting in the basin.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, hoping he can taste the sincerity and double meaning. He answers with a noise in the back of his throat, snatching the bottle from your hands, pulling deeply from it as you wipe his wound dry and prepare your needle and thread.

By the time you’re ready to start stitching, he’s three gulps in, his eyes locked on your unlit fireplace, body heaving with pained and frustrated breaths.

You hesitate, hand hovering over his bulging bicep before you wrap your hands around his arm. He’s soft to the touch and so incredibly warm; you want to melt into him—curl against his chest and bury your face in his skin so you can forget about the world.

But the moment the needle pierces his skin, Nanami lets out a sharp bark of pain.

“Jesus, are you sure you know what you’re doing?!” he hisses, grimacing with discomfort as he tries to pull his arm away from you. You tighten your hand on his bicep, fingertips collecting the blood that leaks from his wound at the action. “Are you stitching me up or trying to kill me?”

“Oh, hush up, you big baby!” you snap, angry at his misplaced discomfort. It’s already daunting that you have to do this—that you’ve caused this. While you deserve to be barked at, you’re not one to go down without a fight. “I’ve seen children take stitches with less complaint!”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, your eyes locked with each other as you process what’s happened. His eyes are wide with shock, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks.

Then, suddenly, his lips twitch. A chuckle escapes him, eyes widening at the uncontrolled expression before he breaks into full-blown laughter.

It’s rich and guttural, a cacophony of deep rumbles that traverse across your sofa and caress your body, just like that night as you both rode back into town. It’s such a rare sound to hear from him, such a treasured piece that you and few others have. But your urge to laugh, to join in this rare glimpse of Nanami with his guard down isn’t deserved, so you swallow it down.

“I’m sorry. I was rude.” Nanami’s eyes are soft as he regards you, strands of honey wheat kissing his forehead and upper lids. “I shouldn’t have doubted your medical expertise. I’m more thin-skinned than I realize.”

You roll your eyes playfully as you press the needle to his skin again.

“Don’t bark at me this time,” you warn, absentmindedly rubbing his large bicep with your free hand to soothe him before you guide the needle through jagged skin.

He hisses, teeth bared like a dog, jaw clenching from biting down, the muscles of his stomach twitching as a grunt rumbles from within.

As you continue stitching, that tension he always carries in his shoulders fades away. With every pierce of the needle on his skin, he takes a generous swig of the whiskey, body relaxing inch by inch. It’s a shame how quickly he turns to whiskey, even if you both weren’t in this predicament now, you hate how much you’ve made him turn to something that is slowly killing him.

The motion of the needle is almost hypnotic, compelling your mind to wander to the danger of tonight, of your hand in all of this, of your desire for some sort of redemption without having to say anything.

“Nanami,” you start, ignoring the weight of his gaze that turns to you, “have you ever thought about…why the bandit does what she does?”

He grunts, tensing slightly under your hands, the next needle prick more difficult against taut skin. “Can’t say I’ve spent much time wonderin' about the motivations of someone who’s made my life hell.”

The revelation stings. Oh, does it sting.

You want to press on, to ask him if he would ever forgive the actions of someone like the bandit if it meant helping those less fortunate.

You want his opinion, his validation, his reassurance that if you were to show him your coal-soaked washcloth hidden in your dresser and the torn black shirt, he would still hold you close and say what you are doing is noble. That he doesn’t think any differently of you. Oh, how you long for that.

But there’s a large part of you that knows your definition of reality is faded and unobtainable. So you change the subject, asking him to talk about his frustrations of tonight even though it pains you to listen.

As you work, Nanami’s usually clipped cadence relaxes, the alcohol loosening his tongue. That Western drawl he usually keeps in check now flows without a barrier at the end of his words.

You listen, heart heavy with guilt, pounding thick regret through your veins as he describes the encounter from his perspective. Each word is more agonizing than the last.

“I was so close,” he mutters, chagrin coloring his voice before he takes another swig. “But lately, everythin’ has fallen from my grasp. No matter what I do, it feels like I’m fightin' against somethin' that should be left alone. And I hate it.”

You tie off the last stitch, fighting back the fuzziness at the corners of your eyes.

“There,” you whisper, throat tight. “All done.” You run your fingertips along the protruding edges of his stitches, admiring your work and the warmth of his muscled skin. It’s a piss-poor attempt to atone for your mistakes.

He looks down at your handy work, then back to you. There’s a fogginess in his gaze, a slightly unfocused demeanor in his irises from the alcohol, dark brown warm with gratitude.

“What would I do without you?”

It’s such a simple statement, something that would have made you smile so bright that it could brighten the room. But now…after everything, hearing the earnest trust in his voice—

You throw him a small smile, turning away quickly to shuffle through your medical kit so as to hide your trembling hands. Your curls create a curtain between your misery and his relaxed form on your sofa.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d manage just fine without me,” you offer truthfully. You know, deep down…if you weren’t in this town making his life miserable, he would be happier.

You turn back to him, not meeting his eyes as you procure a small container of salve.

“Calendula?” Nanami hums, watching as you glide a sticky finger along his wound.

“I got it from Shoko,” you lie, despising the taste of it in your mouth. You stole this salve from a doctor’s office years ago when you began this troublesome life. It’s yet another reminder of how unclean you really are.

“You’re a good sheriff,” you admit softly, tracing a particular spot of reddening skin while your mind clambers away from the darkness that is ever-present. “Stop bein' so hard on yourself.”

Each ridge of his stitches feels mocking—reflecting your deception and a physical manifestation of everything you’ve done. He is so good, the best protector a town could ever have, and you’ve made him miserable. Pushing him further into the bottle and deeper into a pit of self-loathing.

The urge to confess roils like bile up your throat, burning your esophagus and tinging the back of your tongue sour. Nanami’s eyes are on you, heavy and searching, his naked chest rising and falling slowly, veins no doubt pumping with the calming effects of whiskey.

You can feel the weight of his gaze, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to meet it. You’re afraid of what he might see—the pain and fear, the guilt and longing, the desperate need for forgiveness.

It’s too much—you can’t do it.

Those tears you’ve been fighting back all night—every month, week, hour, minute—well up, fogging your vision until the sight of his stitches is a sea of black and red. You blink rapidly, trying to clear them away before they make things worse, but it’s too late.

He’s already moving the second a tear drips from your lashes, reaching for you before you can turn away.

“Hey now,” Nanami murmurs, voice soft and comforting as you feel the warmth of thick fingers caress beneath your chin before tilting it up so you’re looking at him. “What have I done?”

A scoff bubbles wet from your lips, disbelief at his words that only make your lips quiver with an onslaught of more tears. He’s done nothing. He’s never done a thing to hurt you or steer you wrong or cause you pain. Nanami has only given you protection, a gentle gaze, and mannerisms laced with so much affection that you want to hope that it’s love.

You shake your head, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. How can you tell him that every injury whether mental, emotional, or physical, is one you’ve inflicted? That you want nothing more than to wish he was like every other sheriff you’ve come across in this life—willing to turn a blind eye to anything that is not serving themselves. He should be like them, not kind and determined to a degree that’s self-sacrificial.

“I just—” you manage to choke out, lips trembling until his thumb glides along your bottom lip to settle the quivering muscle.

‘I want you to tell me it’s okay. That I’m not a terrible person. That you’ll forgive me.’

“I hate seeing you hurt,” you sigh instead on a shaky exhale, blinking away a fresh wall of tears that leaks from your bottom lids. “I worry about you.”

His expression softens, and you hate the way his presence pulls at you, silently beckoning you to fall into him. He brushes away your tears with his thumb, the touch so gentle it nearly makes more fall.

“This is why I don’t like to trouble you with what I do,” he mutters, downtrodden in his admission. “I hate worryin' you.”

“No,” you grip the open lapels of his shirt, yanking at the fabric as a means to make him understand. “I want to know. I want to worry. We’ve been…friends for years, Nanami. I don’t care if it’ll make me sad, make me cry, or make me angry at you. When will you understand that?” You parrot his words back to him, laying the irony of it all at his feet.

His eyes search yours, a mix of surprise and something deeper, more intense, and overwhelming that makes the air between you both thin.

“You want to know everything?” he asks, a whisper that’s barely audible in your quiet living room.

“Everything,” you breathe, twisting your fingers more in the fabric of his open shirt.

It’s true. You want to know his fears, wants, and desires. You want to know what he thinks about in the morning and at night before he goes to sleep. You want everything, even though you are the last person who should wish for it.

His thumb slides across your cheekbone, his large hand cupping your face. You resist the urge to lean into the warmth of his touch.

He’s always so warm. When it brushes against yours on your walks. When he hovers too close at the bar on Wednesday nights when you see Kilmer for moonshine. When you close your eyes at night, and dream of every line of him pressed against you, branding your skin in his touch so you’ll never know anyone else but him.

Nanami leans in closer, his breath hot against your face, the faint scent of whiskey and tobacco rushing up your nostrils to wrap around your brain.

“Even if I come to you in the dead of night, bloodied and beaten?” Your heart races at his words, at the implication. “Would you—”

“Patch you up,” you finish, not bothering to hide the shiver that runs down your spine with equal parts desire and dread. “Yes,” you whisper, “Especially then.”

It has to be the whiskey, because the feel of Nanami’s injured arm sliding behind your back, pulling you more into him, would be against everything he holds moral.

But there’s no chance in the world that you’ll pull away now. You soak in his touch while you have it, beneath a tipsy gaze and the heady scent of his breath on your skin.

“And if I tell you about my failures?” he’s rough, wrapped around a pearl of vulnerability that you want to cradle and store away like it’s precious. “The times I’m not the sheriff this town deserves?”

You can’t ever tell him that most of his failures are because of your very existence. But you still meet his gaze without flinching, hoping to convey how much you mean to him. How much you yearn for him even when he’s broken and disappointed in himself.

“I could never think less of you, Nanami. Never.”

He hums as he strokes your cheek, the sound crawling hot and molten down your body, seeping into the thick fabric of your flannel and the threadbare linen of your nearly translucent nightgown. It’s scalding and should make you turn away, but you pitch closer to him, inhaling a deep breath of alcohol that clings to his lips.

There’s a question in his eyes, something he wants to ask but can’t find the words for. You think you know what it is; you hope so because the air is thick again. Only now, it’s leaden with tension and desire, of promise and a line that’s been danced on without care for far too long.

Even as you inch to close that gap, the shame is persistent. You don’t deserve his curiosity and his want. You’ve twisted his kindness, his affection and laughter, and even his frustrations into a warped justification of your own actions. Your selfishness has cast him into a Hell of your own making, and that realization burns just as hot as your desire.

You should pull away and brush the hair from his forehead with a teasing smile. You should roll your eyes and usher him out of your home with the complaint of having to rise early in the morning to prepare for the kids.

But you’re both close—so so close—and the logic of what you should do dissolves into nothing with every breath you take.

The whiskey has left a slight flush on his cheeks, slightly sweaty from the pain of your stitching. You can’t help but flick your gaze to his lips, slightly parted and split down the middle from dryness, and so tempting.

When your eyes catch his, you swallow a gasp at the intensity, at an emotion you dare not name. You can’t. Every fiber of your being screams to close the distance between you, to finally see how his lips feel and taste—even as your mind equally screams with all the reasons you should turn away.

“Promise me you’ll be more careful,” you breathe, the words a prayer and a plea whispered into the dwindled space between you.

His response is wordless, visceral. The scalding hand on your back presses firmly, pulling you even closer with a strength that makes your stomach twist, your knees knocking against thick thighs.

Your fingers twist into the lapels of his open shirt, the fabric groaning in protest, buttons digging into your skin. You’re both tiptoeing on a thinning line of something profound, fighting against an invisible force that screams the implications of what this could mean—a warning for you to step back and not make this worse.

That rope unravels with the weight of you both, strands splintering open and threatening to snap. And oh, how you want to fall with him.

It feels like an eternity, but finally, his lips brush against yours. It’s a ghost of a kiss—feather light and achingly tender as chapped skin teases your lips. But it’s enough. For a second too long, you’re suspended in time, searching each other’s eyes for permission, for absolution. Then, as if pulled by that same inviting force, you come together again.

It’s deliberate this time, awakening and filled with intention. His lips move against yours, warm and insistent and heavy with whiskey and want, and you respond in kind, hoping the way you bite down on his bottom lip that he can taste the years of want.

One of your hands slips from a lapel, smacking onto his bare chest, palm flat against skin feathered with tawny hair. His heartbeat is rapid, matching the frantic pace of your own, and you gasp into his lips, pulling harder for him to fall into you.

In this kiss, you taste possibility. You see a future where you have no secrets, where the guilt in your insides is replaced with the butterflies he consistently makes you feel, where it’s you and Nanami happy in this dusty town. For one beautiful moment, you let yourself believe.

But reality comes crashing down like a bucket of cold water on your body. Nanami pulls away slightly, but enough for the air between you to grow stale, molten desire cooling rapidly.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. The alcohol on his breath is like a siren to you, pulling you further under with each whiff. His nose brushes against yours, gentle and exploratory, as he inhales the smell of your skin.

“We shouldn’t—I shouldn’t—” His lips trail down the side of your cheek as he speaks, each word a caress that contradicts his attempted withdrawal.

You shake your head to dispel the cloudiness in your mind and also to convey that he did nothing wrong and that it just might be better this way. That he’s right to regret touching you, kissing you, letting you into his life. It’s better for you both.

You can see the conflict slicing through the fogginess in his gaze, a mirror of the turmoil in your own heart. Your fingers are still twisted in his shirt, still pulling inch by inch, unwilling to be the first to let go.

“I should go,” is what escapes his mouth even as he makes no move to leave, his thumb still stroking your cheek. “It’s late, and I’ve forgotten my manners—I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

The words shouldn’t hurt, shouldn’t smack you with such force, but they do. What he hopes to sound humble, only reveals as insulting.

You offer a wobbly smile, fighting against a stinging sensation of tears that threaten to bubble from his rejection.

“Was it that bad, Sheriff? I know I’m not the best kisser in town but—”

“No. It was perfect,” he interrupts, the hand on your cheek caressing the skin, his thumb stroking in reverence as he offers a regretful chuckle. “You just deserve someone else. Not a man like myself.”

His words fall like heavy weights in your stomach, plummeting into acid that bubbles with guilt and fear. You pull yourself from his embrace before you can stop, his warmth evaporating into the cold air.

“And just what kind of a man are you?” you ask, incredulous, as you regard him with slightly widened eyes.

Nanami sighs heavily, his uninjured arm coming up to card a hand through his unruly strands.

“The kind that spends most of his time with outlaws and criminals instead of decent folk. The kind that smokes with no regard for his health. The kind that drinks far too much whiskey than what is good for him.” He shakes his head, frustration twisting around his fingers as he fumbles for the buttons of his open shirt. “I won’t subject a woman to my carelessness.”

Your mouth hangs ajar, fighting to form words to dispel his worries even as the opportunity to distance yourself presents like a meal on a silver platter.

“Why would you say that about yourself?” you whisper, incredulous as you watch his fingers slip on his buttons, the pain in his arm flaring from the angle with which his arm is bent.

“Because it’s true.”

You smack his hands away from his lapels with far too much force, your anger permeating from your fingertips as you snatch up the fabric in your hands and fasten each button.

“No. It’s not true. You’re a good man. You spend your days and nights convincin' yourself that you’re not good for what? For happiness?” Your fingers falter on the last button that hovers over his collarbone, the words at the tip of your tongue.

For love?

His hands draw themselves up to wrap around yours, cocooning in their warmth even as they burn with the reminder of what you can’t have. What you shouldn’t have.

“I’ve done a poor job of conductin' myself around you. I’m sorry…”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. At that moment, something snaps inside of you. It feels like a dam breaking, flooding you with a combination of sadness, frustration, and a desperate need to stop this torturous dance.

“Okay.”

It’s clipped and sharp, cutting through his apology like a knife. It leaves a lingering bitterness on your tongue. A single syllable but loaded with so much resignation and unspoken pain.

For a second, you wish you could take it back, to smile up at him, wrap your arms around his neck, pull him close, whisper in his ear that he deserves more than he gives himself credit for.

When you finally drag your eyes from his collarbone to meet his gaze, the regret in his eyes is so heavy you almost drown in them. It etches onto his features, pulls at the edges of his lips as he frowns, and pushes at the top of his nose to make his brows furrow. Your fingers twitch beneath his, an involuntary urge coming to life as you swallow the need to smooth the worry lines from his skin.

“Please understand that I never want to hurt you. You’re precious—I need you to understand how much you mean to me,” he presses; he sounds insistent, begging, wishing that you could understand his inner turmoil.

It’s ironic just how much you do. Every day you spend with him is another day that you have to live with feeling inadequate. He deserves a woman who is honest and forthcoming, who would never lie to him and hide a secret so heinous it might kill you before you’re half a century old.

So just like he yearns to put distance so that you can find someone more worthy, you do the same.

“You better get on,” you mutter, the words like sand in your mouth, eyes downcast to your floor as you stand and tuck your flannel around your body. It’s a poor substitute for his embrace, but it’s all you will have of him for the foreseeable future.

From your peripheral, you faintly see Nanami’s hands curl into tight fists on his denim-clad knees, knuckles pressed white like sun-bleached bone before he relaxes, blood filling the skin again.

As he stands to leave, you’re struck by the duality of the moment—the warmth of his touch that lingers on your skin, the silent admission from both sides of this conversation—of the kiss that was not enough, and the cold weight of much-needed denial settling in your stomach.

It’s enough to make you nauseous as you watch him shrug on his vest, the rustle of fabric unnaturally loud in the loaded silence of your home. Your eyes take him in a while his gaze is turned away, tracing every curve of muscle, every worry line from work and the harsh sunlight.

“Thank you,” he finally speaks, voice low as he clicks his gun sling in place. Your eyes finally meet, uncertainty and hesitant desire from both sides.

You dig your fingernails into your flannel, tightening its hug around you to desperately hide every inch of yourself and the emotions that are threatening to seep through your pores.

You nod at him softly, offering a gentle but dishonest smile that feels so brittle it could crack at any moment. The door creaks open, the late-night air rushing in cool and with memories of your haste to get home, guilt in your hand at the stitched bicep beneath his coat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he offers, hopeful. And oh does that nasty side of you, the one that Mama always chastised with a smack to your hands, coils like a rattlesnake—ready to strike.

You could slap him for even thinking you would entertain his presence after giving you so much for months, years, tonight—and stripping it away in a matter of seconds because of misplaced self-righteousness.

But that other side, the side that longs for every inch of him, understands that while your feelings are tumultuous, you know he wants you close, even if it means hurting you both.

“I’ll be working later than usual for the next few days,” you lie blatantly for the second time tonight, your stomach churning. “So maybe next week sometime.”

There’s a hitch in his breath, quick and staggered as it catches in his throat. He lingers, mouth opening as if to speak, shoulders hitching with stolen breath before he sags in defeat, exhaling whiskey-tinged breath across your face.

“Have a good night.”

You don’t offer anything else, not trusting your voice to speak, eyes stinging with more unshed tears as you watch him disappear from your view. You don’t watch to see him mount his stallion. You don’t strain your ears to pick up the rustle of leather as he mounts his saddle. You don’t even peek through your curtains to watch the dust kick from Flint’s hooves as they make their way home.

Instead you press your back to the door, bottom lip trembling before you let your body give in to the mess you’ve made of everything.

“Storm might be the worst one this year.”

Against the backdrop of a clap of thunder, Nanami hums noncommittally, calloused fingers idly twirling his badge, sliding it between each knuckle with practiced ease.

His office isn’t much, just a little room in the jailhouse. His walls hold no relics of his life and are littered with wanted posters and photographs of his form stock still next to outlaws and bandits he’s caught over the years.

But on his desk, there is one photo of him with the schoolchildren, Yuji perched on his shoulders, peach hair spilling beneath the brim of Nanami’s stolen Stetson. There’s a freshness that began to brew on Nanami’s face from that moment, still stone-faced and aloof, but with a soft look in his eyes because of the woman holding the camera.

You’d been new to town then, eager but uncertain, insisting on capturing the moment rather than being in it. Nanami was adamant you be in the frame, to commiserate your first day, but you’d stood firm, that familiar fire in your eyes that’s always drawn him in.

He likes to look at it every day, reminding him of why he protects the town and fights so hard to keep everyone safe. It makes him feel wanted and anchors him when doubt creeps in, and the weight of his duty threatens to overwhelm him.

But Nanami really should be paying attention.

Across from him sits the town’s new lawyer, Higuruma Hiromi, overworked but effervescent as he describes a case that he’s working on. He’s only been in town for almost a week, already capturing the hearts of the town’s citizens, who like to linger in the shiny new law office a few streets over.

While Nanami has never been one to work with others if they will only slow him down, the conviction that radiates from Higruma as he gestures wildly with lightly tanned hands, running them through dark brown hair that’s styled back over and over, Nanami can tell that they will get along. He’s strong-willed with a fierce belief in justice that this town needs.

But Nanami’s mind is, regrettably, miles away. Back to that night when he’s gotten the closest he’s ever come to the bandit with her thrashing underneath him, his arm pulsing with white-hot pain from her attempt at distraction.

She had gotten away again.

And when the bandit had jumped from the window at the Phillips’ house and disappeared into the night towards town, his sole thought was you.

Find you. Make sure you’re safe.

His mind shamefully recalls his raised voice and the shock on your face as he dug his hands into your shoulders. He replays the feel of his limbs loosening with every drag of whiskey, canting toward your body as if you’re a magnet that he spends every waking moment trying to pull away from so he doesn’t stick to you forever.

He can still feel the ghost of your lips, smooth and hot, passionate and tasting faintly of the love he wishes he could have from a woman. Your hands were soft even with the dryness from chalk. Your voice alluring even when tinged with frustration as you chastised him, reeling from his rejection.

“You’re a good man,” you had said, fiery and exasperated. “You spend your days and nights convincin' yourself that you’re not good for what? For happiness?”

He’d pushed you away, insistent in his belief that it was for your own good. But the memory haunts him—your always illuminating melanin-kissed skin twisted with hurt, that brittle smile, the small pearls of tears bubbling at the corners of your lids that you thought he couldn’t see. The consequences of his choice now cut deeper than ever.

He hasn’t seen you since that night—not properly. He finds himself at the saloon more often than usual and can no longer blame the bandit for seeking solace in whiskey.

In the past, his days had been measured by moments with you—walking you home, watching Yuji drag you to the general store as he trailed behind with a somber gait, treasuring that smile you’d shoot his way from over your shoulder.

It’s barely been a week, and to put it simply, Nanami is unbearably lonely.

Fleeting glimpses through saloon windows or watching you with the schoolchildren aren’t enough. Every night since that bullet grazed his arm, when he can’t sleep because all he can think about is you, fingers tracing idly along his healing stitches, he wonders what kind of man pushes away the one woman who only wants him.

A fool of a man, apparently.

His mother always told him that self-righteousness is more foolish than denying your own heart. She’d be clicking her tongue in disappointment at him right now.

His mind is so lost, so caught in its own web of self-destruction, that he doesn’t register Higuruma's question. “I’m sorry,” Nanami says, one hand still twirling his badge while he sits up in his chair. “Could you repeat that?”

The lawyer chuckles, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his suit as he fixes Nanami with keen brown eyes.

“I was just rambling about the town festival and asked if you’re taking a pretty lady? I’ve finally worked up the courage to ask a beautiful sweetheart to accompany me.”

Nanami’s expression never changes when faced with anything that a situation out of his control. Too many tells in the eyes of the enemy could cost him his life. He’s calm and collected, even with a gun pointed between his eyes.

So he exercises the most restraint he’s ever needed to keep his eyes from twitching, to keep from shifting in his seat under the painful squeeze in his chest.

“Anyone I know?” The question brims to life of its own volition.

Higuruma's tired eyes flash with warm admiration so genuine that it turns Nanami’s stomach. For the first time in many years, he finds himself comparing his adequacy to the lawyer. He looks too refined in his suit, aquiline features too handsome for the rustic surroundings of the sheriff’s office.

“I should think so. It’s the schoolteacher.” Nanami’s heart seizes in his chest, painful and lurching in a desperate act to beat again. “Surely you know her? Radiant as the sun, always wears the nicest skirts, beautiful curls, and smells like lavender—a man could lose himself.”

The physical description of you hits him like a physical blow, punching his gut hard enough to make his lunch gurgle up his throat. The memories of that cool night after the cattle drive flickering like a time reel in his mind.

“��pick someone else. I imagine you have a line of suitors with far more promise than Gojo hoping to escort you to the festival.”

You’ve taken his advice and chosen a man to accompany you. He should be happy that you’re doing the right thing. Shouldn’t he?

“She has the most beautiful smile,” Higuruma continues, seemingly unaware of the badge that’s stopped twirling between Nanami’s knuckles, to the subtle groan of tin as his fingers clench around it.

Nanami knows how to navigate most situations. He has a backup plan for every single unexpected situation in his life.

But not right now. Not while he’s trapped under the guise of propriety with a lawyer he suddenly can’t stand.

Now, Nanami imagines if he punches him in the face, he might smooth the curve in his nose. Now, Nanami hopes that every case Higuruma takes will keep him awake for days, never to know relaxation or peace. Now, he hopes he wakes up each day to more of those silky strands on his pillow until he’s bald for daring to breathe in your direction.

Now, now, now Nanami hates.

The badge protests in his grip, jagged edges breaking thin skin. Anger flares hot and sudden in his chest, irrational and consuming him to the point where he barely recognizes himself. Vitriol burns his mouth, bubbling past his teeth before he can stop it.

“You don’t know a thing about her.”

The words permeate in the air, sharp and accusatory. Higuruma blinks, taken aback by the sudden vehemence in Nanami’s tone. Surprised that the stern sheriff, who usually moves in silence, carries a bark that hangs in his belly, locked in a cage, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

The office is silent save for the storm that rages outside and the faint trickle of laughter from the schoolchildren across the street. No doubt you’ve let them out early so they can get home safe.

Another clap of thunder booms through the office, rattling the windows as if the storm is trying to force its way inside. The white-hot anger that boiled in Nanami’s gut is doused immediately with humiliation. It drips over him like a cold sweat, sliding down his leather vest and beneath his clothes.

“I apologize,” the lawyer starts, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

But he did offend. By coming into this town, by breathing your air, by having the mitigated gall to ask for your hand to an asinine town festival that Nanami should have stepped up for. That Nanami should have swallowed his pride and let his heart guide him for once. Not Higuruma. Not this lawyer who would probably treat you well.

He’s offended Nanami to the highest degree.

Yet, his humiliation runs rampant enough to quell his fury.

“No, I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

“If she’s spoken for, I’m not a man to make matters complicated. I can—”

“No,” Nanami insists, eyes flickering to the rain-stained window. Water droplets cascade as if racing against each other, the landscape a torrent of wild wind and dusty dirt turned muddy. “She’s not spoken for. I’m simply…protective of her.”

The words taste like ash in his mouth, but Nanami swallows down the acrid flavor. He has no right to be jealous, no right to lash out, no claim on your affections. If anything, the very thought him claiming any part of you under the guise of protection would have earned him a rightful scowl on your face.

He made his choice that night on your couch, his lips still tasting of you, his body singing for more. Duty over desire. Now, he has to live with the consequences.

“I’ll be sure to do right by her,” Higuruma insists, earnest and sincere. Nanami wishes at this very moment that his father had taught him to be a violent man. The kind of man that wouldn’t hesitate to reach across this desk and show men like Higuruma what happens when they speak about a woman that Nanami wants. Deeply, viscerally, from a jagged pit in his belly.

Because you’re his—not really. But you are, you are, you are—

Another clap of thunder, his office flashing white. The sound closing the door to his internal rambling.

“If that’s all,” Nanami presses as politely as an impatient man can manage, hand still a vice around his badge as he stands from his seat.

“Right,” Higuruma picks up on the moment turned sour, ready to leave the tense atmosphere, and Nanami wouldn’t mind shucking him out the window if the lawyer wanted a boost. He claps his hands on his suit-clad knees and rises from his chair. There’s a small seed of triumph that blooms in Nanami’s belly as he takes in the two inches he has over the lawyer.

“I’ll bring everything by tomorrow morning and we can discuss further.”

Nanami doesn’t offer any further words, simply extending his hand for the lawyer to shake, unconsciously squeezing a little tighter before they part. He watches in silence, narrowed eyes trained on his back, as the lawyer throws a hat on his head and ducks out into the rain.

The open door carries hot and humid air into his small office, the roar of the storm rising with every passing second before the door closes, and he’s cast back into silence and regret.

Nanami quickly strides across his office to the window that gives him a view of the schoolhouse. He watches as the last of the school children disappear down the street, his eyes catching Yuji as he stumbles in the thick expanse of mud in front of the schoolhouse door, smiling bashfully as he turns back to listen to whatever is being spoken to him.

He seems jovial and careless at his young age as he tries to trudge through the mud before his foot is caught, and he falls to his knees. He yanks at his ankle, tiny fingers slipping over wet skin as he fruitlessly tugs at his foot.

Nanami’s eyes catch the movement of you before he can think, fixating on the flash of dark green calico of your skirts as you race out of the schoolhouse and into the torrential downpour.

He admires the flash of your shins as you hike your skirts up, clambering heavy-footed across the schoolyard before you wrap your arms around little Yuji and heave with the strength of ten men, his feet shucking from nature’s grip.

You fall backward, your skirts fluttering to a thick smack onto the ground, soaked beyond comprehension. You pat Yuji's hair gently, your affection for him clear even from the distance before letting him scurry off, uncaring of the rain that drenches you as you remain firmly planted in the mud, a small smile on your face as you watch him go.

Nanami longs to run outside, to race across the street, pull you up into his arms, and get you to safety. He longs to draw you a hot bath, stoke the fireplace in his home that he built with his two hands, and allow you to curl on his prized fur that he keeps in front of it.

But he can’t have that now.

And as Higuruma comes into view, running across the street to your drenched and relaxed form, Nanami realizes that he’s not only a fool—he’s unequivocally, painfully stupid.

Your curls kiss your cheeks in wild abandon, unfurling along the break of your smile as Higuruma approaches. Something dark and possessive twists in Nanami’s gut as he watches the lawyer reach for you, seemingly uncaring that the downpour ruins his pristine suit.

The casual way his hands find your waist, pulling you easily onto your feet, makes Nanami’s fingers tighten around the badge in his hand until the metal bites into his now raw flesh. The lawyer guides you up the steps to the schoolhouse, work-worn eyes bright with affection that he wants to strangle out of him.

Then, as if to twist the knife further that Nanami has willingly lodged in his own chest, Higuruma takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a chaste kiss. The gesture is kind, nothing untoward, especially for a man who’s trying to court a woman.

But for Nanami, it may as well be the most scandalous sight because his blood boils, the sight of another man’s mouth anywhere near your skin makes him so angry it nearly blinds him.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Nanami slams his badge on the windowsill, cursing beneath his breath as he storms from his office. He barely registers the rain that soaks him as soon as he steps outside to stride across the street. His eyes are locked on Higuruma's retreating form as he runs away from the schoolhouse and to his home, hardly paying Nanami any mind.

The red-hot and foreign jealousy whispers like a cat in his ears, beckoning for Nanami to follow the lawyer home and give him a piece of his mind. But he won’t, not this time, his sight only on the fluttering schoolhouse door.

The familiar scent of chalk dust envelops him when he steps into the schoolhouse, lingering with the lavender that always radiates from your skin. His hot fury splinters from the sight of you, your back to him, wringing water from your curls.

Each strand wraps around your wrist like a tendril, water droplets scattering across the floorboards. Nanami watches, transfixed, as rivulets trace thick lines down the rich brown column of your neck. He wants to trace those trails of water with his tongue, to feel the warmth of sun-blessed skin in stark contrast with the coolness of the rain. He wants to gather your curls in his hands, to know how silky they would feel in his calloused palms, to turn you around and—

“Did you need something, Sheriff?”

Your voice, coolly formal, cuts through the silence. You don’t turn to face him, continuing to wring out your hair as if his presence means nothing at all. Even though it means everything. The scent of him—leather and tobacco wrapped around rain—fills the schoolhouse, permeating the air so quickly that you’re dizzy with it.

You hear the shuffle of his boots against the wood behind you and feel the weight of his gaze on your back like a physical caress. Your spine shouldn’t itch to shudder under those invisible hands.

“I hear you’re going to the festival with the lawyer,” he blurts out, the words rough against your wet back, piercing through the drenched calico of your dress like a pin needle pushing through the thickest of fabric.

Your scoff is bitter as you turn to face him, so unlike your usual melodious laugh that he flinches.

“Is that what you stormed in here to say? After almost a week of silence that you asked for?” Your voice trembles—with festering rage or the slow trickle of hurt in the hollow of your chest, you’re not sure anymore.

“You didn’t speak to me either,” he counters weakly, trying to sound firm even though the words paint him like an idiot. As if he’s a young boy again, trading blows with a classmate that means nothing but is more destructive than the last.

Immediately, you’re angry as you soak in his words, wide-eyed and seething. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, shaking against your skirts as you drip wet onto the floor.

“Do you take me for a fool, Nanami Kento?”

It’s the first time in months that you’ve said his full name. You brandish it like a weapon, deliberately sharp. He has that look on his face again—a mischievous schoolboy caught in mischief, all that stern authority crumbling under your gaze with no Stetson to anchor him.

“No ma’am, of course not—”

“Then let me spell it out for you,” you begin, your voice trembling slightly with barely suppressed emotion. “I like you. You like me. A few days ago, we shared somethin'…” your voice cracks traitorously. “Somethin'…intimate. After so many years of dancin' around each other. And then you decided to pull away, to make decisions about how I should live my life, to tell me what I deserve, as if I’m incapable of takin' care of myself!”

Thunder rumbles like a hovering figure, matching the storm brewing in your chest. Lightning flashes through the windows, catching in the water that falls from his locks, illuminating the conflict in his brown eyes.

“Hiromi is a nice man. He asked me on a friendly date, and I said yes. That’s all there is to it.”

“You said yes to a man who’s only been in town for a few days,” Nanami growls, jealousy coloring his words that strike your chest like a dagger. “Already calling him by his first name?”

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as your gaze turns icy. You’ve never known Nanami to have a scornful bone in his body. So while you know his actions now stem from some deep-rooted insecurity in his choices, the words still sting.

You stalk towards him slowly, purposefully, your leather boots squelching as they leave wet prints with each step.

“What exactly are you tryin' to imply, Sheriff?”

“A few pretty, albeit stuffy, words from a stranger in his pressed suit, and you forget yourself entirely,” he hisses, the words so painful as they stab at your cheeks that you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes.

It’s hurtful because these words come from someone who knows you so well, how carefully you’ve built your reputation, and how hard you’ve worked to earn a place in this town. It’s a feeling you never thought would be directed at you.

“How dare you,” you snarl, raising your hand to smack, punch, do anything to hurt him like he’s hurting you.

But Nanami is faster, catching your wrist mid-swing and yanking you against him. The impact against his chest steals your breath—or maybe it’s the feel of him, towering and burning hot despite the rain-soaked clothes between you. Your free hand flies up to twist in his shirt, fingers catching on the fabric in a dance of pushing him away and pulling him closer.

You struggle against his grip, grunting with futile effort that meets iron strength. His fingers don’t dig enough to hurt you, but to remind you of his brutal strength, of all the times you’ve dreamt of how that strength would feel when channeled into his hands on your body. The thought only fuels your anger.

You wrench your hand from his grip with a sound that croaks from your chest like a raging dragon, turning to storm to your desk. Papers scatter in your wake like startled birds, floating to the slick floor beneath your sodden boots.

You have no right,” you spit, fingers trembling as you bend down to gather the papers. “No right to act like I belong to you when you pushed me away!”

You need to push him away. God the hypocrisy is overwhelming, but not enough to grasp the logic you need right now.

“You don’t know Higuruma—” Nanami starts, and you whirl to face him, wet skirts slapping against your legs, eyes flashing with a storm of your own that claps with the next ring of thunder and lightning outside.

“And you do? He’s a good man, a respected lawyer—”

“He’s not good enough,” Nanami cuts in, voice rough like gravel. You watch his jaw clench, the muscles jumping beneath sun-weathered skin moist from the rain that slides down his throat.

“Oh?” You bare your teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Let’s play this game then, Nanami. Put the shoe on the other foot. I guess Thomas from the general store won’t do it for you?!”

“The man can’t keep his hands to himself even in the saloon,” he growls, the corner of his lip twisting into a snarl.

Something in his tone makes your skin prickle with heat despite your anger. You’ve never seen him this furious, not with you, and it shouldn’t make your stomach churn with arousal, shouldn’t make your stomach twist with want, shouldn’t make heat bloom between your thighs.

“Mr. Foster.”

“Unfaithful to every woman who’s given him the time of day!” Nanami’s words crack through the air like a whip, furious at your suggestion.

“Deputy Gojo then,” you challenge, lifting your chin in defiance.

It’s a low blow, a harmful punch to the intimacy of the conversation and closeness that brewed from Gojo's presence that night after the cattle drive. But you don’t care. Your heart pounds against your ribs like a war drum, each beat echoing the pain and anger that pushes through your veins and thrums in your ears.

His warm brown eyes widen with fury, menacing as they liquefy into a glare so dangerous that your core pulses with a need you should be ashamed of.

“Don’t,” he says simply, low and deep, unwilling to entertain it any longer. The very thought of Gojo's name in association with you is enough to make him crazed.

Something inside you snaps, fraying like an old rope, finally giving way to the push and pull of you both. You slam your hands on the desk, the sharp smack of your palm echoing through the schoolhouse.

“Well, then, enlighten me, Sheriff!” Your voice rises with each word. “Since apparently no man in this town meets your precious standards, what exactly do you want from me?!”

He’s silent. So dreadfully silent, broad shoulders heaving with each ragged breath, eyes locked on yours, conflicted but unwilling to back down.

You storm up to him until you can smell the tobacco on his clothes, and you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. Dark blonde eyebrows are pitched down in barely contained rage, sharp cheekbones beckoning your hand to slap him. You’re so unfortunately attracted to this cowboy, but so angry that your head spins.

You jab a finger into his chest. His shirt clings to every muscle like a second skin, reminding you of how his chest felt under your fingers that night, how his skin burned against yours as you stitched him up.

“You don’t get to push me away and then dictate who I spend my time with,” you whisper with deadly intent. “You don’t get to act like some—some jealous husband when you made it clear that I wasn’t—that we weren’t—”

The words stick in your throat like thorns, choking you from speaking any further. Nanami’s eyes darken, black nearly eclipsing brown, something dangerous and wild flickering in their depths. The air between you crackles with electricity, every breath shared between you charged with the energy that seeps through the walls from the storm.

But despite the quiver of want in your bones, the close proximity, you can’t do this anymore—you can’t stand here in this now suffocating schoolhouse and lay your emotions at your feet that need to be locked away.

You have to leave.

Without thinking, you shoulder past him, flinging open the school door and stepping out into the rain. The harsh pellets are a jolt on your feverish skin, quickly soaking through your barely dry clothes.

The thud of Nanami’s boots and the jingle of his spurs behind you spur you on, your legs trudging through the mud to Buttercup’s stable and away from him. You only make it halfway through the schoolyard before a large hand catches your wrist, firm and calloused but somehow still gentle as he spins you to face him.

“I’m done talkin' Nanami!” you yell over the storm, glaring at his handsome face soaked in rain. You yank free from his grip, gait heavy and sticky as you stagger away until you’re several feet from each other. “I’m done arguing with a man who doesn’t know what he wants!”

Through the veil of rain, you see his eyes widen in disbelief before they narrow into heinous slits. “You think I don’t want you?” Thunder punctuates his words, your heart fluttering against its cocoon of rage. “That I don’t think about you every waking moment?!”

“Then why—” you holler, throwing your hands up to the sky in exasperation before he interrupts.

“Because I can’t have you!” The confession rips through him like tearing open a wound, his words cracking along the next lightning strike in the mountains. “I’m supposed to be dedicated to this town. To my citizens. To my career. If you weren’t so—” he stops short, growling beneath the howl of the wind. “If you hadn’t shown up that day all those years ago, if you didn’t bake me those pies, if you weren’t so goddamn beautiful and—”

“This is my fault!” you screech, taking a step towards him only for your leather boots to sink into a particularly deep patch of mud. The wet soil seeps into the spaces, coating your socks and toes. The rain continues its onslaught, your curls heavy as they sway and stick to your face. You wipe them from your cheeks in a fury, sputtering through dirt and water.

“You’re blamin' me because you’re too much of a coward—”

“Yes!” he shouts, shoulders shaking in a wave of vulnerable anger as he glares at you. “Because every time I see you smile, every time Yuji comes to me happy that you taught him something new, every time you look at me like I’m worth something—” His voice catches Adam’s apple bobbing and lips gaping for words. “I forget why I need to stay away.”

You flop your hands against your thighs in defeat, huffing a humorless laugh. “Just tell me what you want,” you whisper, half challenge, half plea. You should run, turn around, and make your way home before you fall deeper into a web of lies you’ve spun. “For once in your goddamn life, Nanami, just tell me.”

“I want you to tell him no,” Nanami growls. “I want you to turn down every. damn. man. in this town who thinks they deserve you.”

The whiplash of his want and need is enough to make your neck hurt. That simmering rage boils to the surface, churning like melted butter in your limps as you yank your feet from the mud to storm toward him.

“You stubborn—” you start, boot immediately sinking in mud. You yank it free with a wet squelch. “Just wait until I get my hands on you, you self-righteous—” another step, another struggle against the soaked earth. Your deep green skirts are heavy with water and mud, tangling around your legs as you fight tooth and nail to get closer. “Insufferable—” Yank. Step. “Maddenin' excuse for a man—”

Your last step is interrupted by him, stomping and angry and biting as he navigates the schoolyard like it’s nothing, his hands digging into your wet waist before he yanks you to him, crashing his mouth to yours. The kiss is so brutal, so possessive, and everything you’ve been fighting and craving all at once that your eyes roll into the back of your skull from the force.

Your boots slip against the ground as his mouth claims yours, teetering backward to fall, but his hands are there instantly—one tangling in your soppy curls while the other digs further into your waist, steadying you as he angles your mouth without having to ask.

How can you be so hypocritical right now? Why have you made such a mess of things? The wall that you need to erect between you is crumbling beneath weak weight, freely giving up any resistance as his lips slide against yours. You chastise yourself even as you twist your fingers into his transparent shirt, pulling him closer as thunder cracks overhead.

“They don’t know you,” Nanami hisses into your mouth when you break for air, rain streaming between the gaps of where you don’t touch. His grip at the base of your neck tightens, arousing licking to life as your core tingles in betrayal at the twinge of pain. You bite into his bottom lip, swallowing his groan that vibrates down your throat and into the muscles of your pelvis.

Nanami spins you—you stumble in the mud, flailing even though his strong arms reach under your thighs to yank you up. Your skirts stretch uncomfortably, legs begging for more room so you can wrap your thighs around his waist. But he has other plans, swallowing another whine as his lips take yours, the sound of his spurs rattling the jumbled space in your mind as he climbs the schoolhouse steps.

Your back crashes into your desk, more papers scattering and floating to the water-slicked floor. You’re both dripping everywhere—creating puddles beneath your feet, water running from his shirt to collect on the wood between you. His hands squeeze your waist, the strength permeating a thick pulse between your thighs as he lifts you onto your desk.

“Those men could learn about me,” you gasp, involuntarily bunching your skirts around your waist as Nanami crowds into the space between your legs.

His fingers reacquaint themselves with their hair at your nape, twisting and yanking your head back to expose your throat.

“He doesn’t get to learn a thing about you,” Nanami growls into your pulse point, dragging sharp teeth along the skin. You can’t help the whimper that breaks free, leaking past your lips. “Not how you sound.” A tongue to your neck that makes you arch, eyes shut tight as your cunt thrums in your panties. “Not how you taste.”

Your hands fly up to find purchase on the wet fabric of his shoulders, grabbing the muscles of his trapezius as he growls into your neck.

You have to stop, you have to. But when his hips press forward, the metal of his belt buckle grinding against you through sodden layers of fabric, all coherent thought vanishes.

You gasp at the feel of his hot hand trailing along your leg, up the canvas of your thighs, that part even more for him without thought. Calloused fingertips tease the edge of your panties, the touch electric enough to make your hips buck for more, a whine dying in your throat as you nod to his silent ask for permission.

“Tell me,” he demands, a seductively low timber against your mouth as he pulls your panties to the side, the cool air yanking a wanton moan from your throat. The touch of two fingers to your clit is enough to make you faint, your fingers digging into his shoulders to keep yourself from screaming. The hand in your hair squeezes, rewarding you for your sounds. “Tell me you don’t think about this.”

You do. You do. God, you do. You think about him exactly like this, skin to skin, reverent words of desire in your ear as he takes you higher and higher.

You bite his lip instead of answering, and the fingers on your clit begin to move in torturous circles that make you moan into the cool air. You were wet the minute he raised his voice, the minute you could taste his jealousy, the minute you smelled that leather and gunpowder from his skin. So your essence pools to the bottom of your panties now, embarrassingly wet and dripping as he circles your clit with a precision that makes you wary.

His fingers slide down your wet folds, teasing your entrance that clenches around nothing. The callous of one fingertip press inside, barely enough to do anything, and you pull against his resistant shoulders, whining desperately for more. A broken sound creaks from your lungs as he sinks in one finger and then the next inside of your pussy.

“Oh god,” you cry out in what feels like relief, your boots hitching on his hips, mud streaking the denim.

“No one else,” Nanami demands, setting a pace just shy of too slow within you. Water drips from his hair and catches on your collarbone before sliding down between the hint of cleavage of your bodice. His eyes are dark, mahogany depths gone as they take in every flicker of pleasure on your face. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

“I—” you gasp, swallowing around a dry throat parched from your guilt and building pleasure that tingles in your cunt against his fingers. You’re still shivering from the rain, but his touch burns, each stroke of his fingers devastating. Your head falls back as his fingers curl inside of you perfectly, brushing against the spongy wall of your pussy like he’s studied you for centuries and knows just how to pull you apart.

“Look at me,” he demands again, his grip tightening in your hair. When your eyes meet him, you flinch at the intensity of his gaze. There’s an unspoken danger there, a hint of untethered lust that barely overshadows the flickers of guilt he’s trying to keep at bay.

It’s the perfect opportunity for you to take charge of the situation, to pull away and agree that this needs to end now. To grab his wrist and tell him that you don’t need anymore. But—

“Tell me he’s not worthy of this.” His thumb finds your clit, stroking with fervor, fingers sinking deeper inside of you. “Tell me.”

“He’s not—” you choke, your orgasm rounding the corner sharp and fast. “He’s not worthy—oh please, please.”

You have no idea where the words are coming from—surely some deep cavern in your chest where you keep all your desires for him in the dark. But they rise freely now with every curl of his fingers and every desperate sound.

But even as ecstasy threatens to consume you, anguish claws at your heart. The reality of what you’ve done crashes over you in waves, each crest of pleasure tinged with the bitterness of your dishonesty. Nanami worships you with abandon, hypocritical in his touch, his lips whispering possession against yours while you hold back the very essence of who you are.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the room, a rivulet of water sliding down your lower back, a reminder of the storm that drove you to this moment.

“That’s it,” he growls against your mouth, watching as your orgasm begins to shake your body on your desk. “Show me what no one else gets to see.”

You’re so close—so, so close, tumbling on the edge of something that feels like falling and flying. The furrow of concentration between his brows, the raw hunger in his gaze as he watches you come undone—it’s too much. Tears prick at your eyes, blurring your vision as your orgasm builds to a devastating crescendo.

“Let go for me, Dove,” he whispers against your mouth, and that endearment, that tenderness when you’ve been so aggressive with each other—it’s what you finally need to vault over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you, blissful pleasure obliterating everything in its path. You cry out his name, whimpering into his mouth that he takes for a kiss, your body arching into him as release crashes over you in burning waves of fire.

As you slowly come down, you’re left gasping, trembling, utterly wrecked with your gaze locked on his. The magnitude of what’s transpired settles over you like a murky shroud, beautiful and terrible. You’ve never raised your voice at Nanami, just like he never has with you, but these fading moments were overwhelming, with hidden desires being shoved to the front without a barrier to guide them.

You use the feel of his wet shirt as a beacon to keep you rooted in the moment, doing whatever you can to push those guilty thoughts away that waste no time teasing you wickedly. Even now, dripping wet and breathing deeply against you, he’s devastating to look at.

You want to touch him, to make him feel what you just felt, to have the memory of the weight of him in your hands one time before you leave this town forever.

So you slide one hand from his shoulder to reach for his belt, but his fingers catch yours, impossibly gentle, as he stops you from going further. The softness of his touch hurts more than if he had smacked your hand away. It hurts because you see it clearly, so clearly that it makes your chest ache.

Even if you didn’t have another persona, even if you were just the schoolteacher in this town who bakes him pies and makes him smile, his want for you palpable in the air, he would never let himself have this. He would never let himself be completely yours.

The realization smacks you in the face, the flames of your rage that had been put out with his touch now roaring back to life. You’ve been handed yet another opportunity to right your wrongs, and this time you don’t hesitate to snatch it up.

You push him away, sliding off the desk on shaky legs as you yank your hand from his grip.

“This is never going to change, is it?” you ask, voice steady even as your heart stutters out of rhythm. “You’ll always push me away in the name of duty or nobility or whatever excuse helps you sleep at night.”

“I—“ he starts, reaching for you, but you push him away further, savoring the muscles of his chest one last time.

“Save it.” You swallow, squaring your shoulders for what feels like an impossible task. “After today…nothin' needs to happen between us. No more walks home, no more pies or acting like we know somethin' the other doesn’t.” You wrap your arms around yourself, cold and wet now that the heat of his skin is gone. “Because we both know we can’t be friends without wantin' more….and I won’t let you string me along any longer.”

He stands there, dripping, with hands hanging at his sides in defeat. He can’t argue with you, he has no right. And you use his dejection as fuel.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” your words cut like glass in your throat. “I don’t want to see you. You had every opportunity to take me as yours…splayed me on this desk until I had nothing left, and still you…I’ll find someone who isn’t afraid to want me completely. Like you said, it’s what I deserve.”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, but he stays silent. You hate how well you know him—how he’s retreating behind duty been now. That this pain is noble somehow. And you couldn’t agree more.

“I should go,” you whisper, deliberately formal, deliberately final.

The silence stretches between you like a chasm, punctuated only by the sound of rain and thunder outside and the water dripping from your clothes. You wait a moment longer—some foolish part of you hoping that he will fight for this, for you. But Nanami remains silent, his leather vest striking on his wet frame as he stands with rigid shoulders.

“Goodbye, Sheriff,” you mutter, turning away first and gathering what’s left of your dignity.

Your skirts are still heavy, clinging on cold legs that still tremble slightly from your orgasm. Each step feels like you’re traversing through the mud in front of your schoolhouse all over again.

Let him keep his duty. Let him wrap himself in nobility and righteousness while you finish up what’s left of your path in this dusty town.

The storm greets you again when you step outside, immediately soaking you as you make your way to Buttercup’s makeshift stable. The physical discomfort you feel as you gather her reins is nothing compared to the ache in your chest, the knowledge that even without your secrets, the outcome would have been the same.

He doesn’t come out of the schoolhouse. He doesn’t chase after you and drop to his knees for forgiveness. And the reality of it all makes your eyes blur with a fresh wave of tears.

As you race home on Buttercup’s saddle, the rain is harsh on your skin, and the clarity cuts through your emotional haze.

You know what you have to do.

The treasure.

You’ll gather it up, just as you’ve planned all along. But now, it’s not just about helping the town. That thought of freedom no longer seems wary. You’ll get the treasure, yes. You’ll distribute it to the town, giving them the help they need. One final good for the people you’ve grown fond of. And then… then you’ll leave. You’ll disappear, never to return to this place that’s become both heaven and hell to you.

The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through you, but you embrace it. Pain means you’re alive and that what you’ve experienced here matters. You’ll carry it with you, a bittersweet reminder of the life you’re choosing to leave behind.

As your house comes into view and you take it all in, soaked to the skin and shivering, the distant sound of Buttercup whinnying beneath you, you make a vow to yourself.

No more hesitation. No more torn loyalties.

The storm rages on when you finally close your front door, but inside your heart, a strange calm settles over you. You have a plan now. And soon, you’ll have your freedom. Even if it comes at the cost of everything – and everyone – you’ve grown to love.

Thanks for reading! Finale coming soon!

[heroes-of-lemuria]

CUNTY PORK AND BEANS IN UR HEADER ARE SO SCARY 😭😭😭😭SASHAY AWAY BOYS

[mybeautifulbeautifuleternal]

“The closest thing to love at first sight I've ever experienced happened when I first laid eyes on you,” Tony had motioned to JARVIS to cut the music when he first caught sight of you climbing down the stairs to his workshop. Now it was only the ambient sounds of his lab that surrounded you, a pleasant background noise you’d long been used to.

“Tony you say that every time I bring you coffee,” you let the amusement you felt warm your voice, handing Tony the cup of coffee you’d brought down to the lab for him, reaching it out to him from across his desk.

“Ok well that must mean it’s true. You know the fact that it’s true because I said it.”

You shook your head but followed Tony’s unspoken directions and moved closer to his seated form, allowing him to gently pull you down onto his lap. “So I’m just supposed to believe everything you say now?”

“Well I am a genius, you know,” Tony’s hand was calloused and warm on your thigh, a finger slowly sliding back and forth across the material of your pants. He had a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, hidden behind the smile of his mug.

You reached out and smoothed down an errant curl behind his ear. “I seem to remember his supposed genius running into the bathroom door because he forgot the sensors weren’t working…”

“Hmmmm no that doesn’t sound like me. Someone else maybe,” he slid his hand around your waist and used it to pull you even closer, your legs widening to allow him to pull you right up against him.

“Oh? So now I have two geniuses sleeping in my bed?” The teasing tone you used took the bite right out of your words.

“Absolutely not. Only one genius is allowed there,” Tony finally finished gulping down his coffee, leaning forward against you to place the mug down on the desk behind you before he planted his hands down on your hips.

A smug smile grew on your lips and you reached out to pull his face closer to yours, your lips a whisper of a thought against his.

“Oh I agree,” you settled your hands over his before removing them from your body, standing up from his lap. “So then where are you going to sleep now? Because I’m all the genius my bed needs apparently.”

You turned and sashayed out of the lab, a final look over your shoulder letting you see the absolutely shocked look on Tony’s face as you left. When you were completely out of sight, you sprinted away to hide, sure that Tony would attempt to follow you to argue your point, a laugh bubbling up from within you.

A/N — any blank blogs that follow me are going to be reported then blocked. Pick a different profile pic and get a witty header or something.

[crimechannels]

By • Olalekan Fagbade Victor Osimhen's hat-trick powers Nigeria to thumping win in Cup of Nation qualifiers Victor Osimhen grabbed a hat-trick as Nigeria signed off their 2023 Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) qualifying campaign with a thumping 6-0 win over Sao Tome on Sunday. The Ballon d’Or nominee has now taken his goal tally to 10 in the 2023 AFCON qualifying campaign, and also ensured Nigeria finished as group winners in the race to Cote d’Ivoire. The Super Eagles had drubbed their opponents 10-0 in both teams’ first encounter in the Moroccan city of Agadir in June 2022. It meant the hosts had already qualified for the finals no matter the scoreline and were in no danger on the lush turf of Godswill Akpabio Stadium in Uyo They expectedly started on the front foot, in front of a capacity crowd of 30,000 spectators. But Semi Ajayi’s firm header off a corner kick by Kelechi Iheanacho in the second minute was punched away by goalkeeper Ronaldo Silva. Silva was by far the busiest of the two goalies on the night, and had to be alert and active four minutes later as England-based forward Taiwo Awoniyi turned and struck a fierce one inside the box. He would however, have no answer when Osimhen, with seven goals in five previous qualifying matches, rose above the defence to head in from close range off a corner kick by Ademola Lookman in the 13th minute. Awoniyi’s header missed narrowly three minutes later, but the visiting goal-tender again had to pick the ball from his net in the 27th minute. This was when Lookman received a pass from on-field captain Wilfred Ndidi and sashayed past two defenders before tucking it past the goalie for Nigeria’s second of the evening. Seven minutes into the second half, Awoniyi had the crowd on their feet when he chested a flick by Iheanacho and blasted past Silva from close range. Everything was on a roll and Osimhen scored his ninth goal of the qualifying campaign in the 70th minute to put the result beyond doubt. This was when he won and converted a penalty kick with Silva sent the wrong way. With 10 minutes left, the goal king did his Ballon d’Or nomination no harm with a third goal after a flowing move that had substitute Samuel Chukwueze and Awoniyi contributing. There was still time for Chukwueze to score a sixth, with five minutes left, after he was picked out by fellow substitute Victor Boniface on the left side of the visitors’ defence. Osimhen deservedly won MTN’s Most Valuable Player of the Match award and pocketed the sum of N1 million naira. While Lookman was selected as the Man-of-the-Match and picked up a cheque for N1 million from Nigerian Breweries PLC. The Super Eagles will now hope to make an impressive showing at next year’s finals in Cote d’Ivoire. With talents like Osimhen leading the charge, Nigeria will head into the tournament as one of the favourites. Next up for the Super Eagles is a 2026 FIFA World Cup qualifying match against Lesotho’s Crocodiles also in Uyo on Nov. 17.(NAN) (www.nannews.ng) VO/JPE #OsimhenscirsehattrickasNigeriabeatSaoTome

[maximumslap]

@sashayed, please, for humanity 🙏

[Begin ID for OP’s post: screenshot of the beginning of a Telegraph article by James Crisp, published 23 May 2023 at 7:27pm. Header illustration is a photo of an orca from the side, breaching a boat’s foamy wake facing left. Photo’s taken through chrome railings of a yacht, with the edge of the white deck along the bottom and ropes stung around a shiny chrome bollard and over the railings. The text reads: [Begin quote.] “Killer whales learn to sink yachts off Gibraltar. Hell-bent on revenge after being hit by boat, an orca named Gladis is now teaching others to attack, researchers believe. A vengeful killer whale called Gladis is teaching gangs of orcas to attack yachts around Gibraltar, and has already struck three boats - sinking two of them.” End ID.]

Good for Gladis.

[liarswhtpsd]

sashay on twitter

like or reblog;

[pietersesunshine]

icons

[kimageddon]

Sins of the Father - 2:1

-|- Page header by space-b33 -|- Masterlist -|- Prince of Dathomir Masterlist -|- Sins of the Father Masterlist -|- Art Masterlist -|- Check out my : Ko-fi / AO3 -|- Prompt Challenges -|- Art Attack Weekly Challenge -|- Join my tag list -|-

Maul x Nightsister OC (Zaiya Valessa) - Modern/Crime AU - Sins of the Father Masterlist

Word count: Approx 1800 Contains/Warnings: none Chapter Summary: Zaiya meets with Fives and one of his contacts. Notes: Oof, it's late… sorry about that, but! Sins is back! Chapter 2 BABEYYYYY.

Chapter 2 - Best Served Cold

The Devil sits on throne of gold

You'll take it all and leave him cold

Vicious, feral and unbound

You’ll burn his kingdom to the ground

Webs spun  of a thousand lies

You know the truth behind those eyes

The spider of your nightmares waits

He wears the crown that tempts your fate

The fire burns and blazes bright

The sparks glow red against the night

You stand before the falling ashes

They settle on your eyelashes

Laugh as you stand to watch it burn

With sadistic grin,  you turn

Rising smoke from toxic breath

There she stands, Angel of Death

══════════════════

Reluctant Allies

It had been a few days since she’d sent out messages, and the little snippets of information were coming in hot. Fives had been able to let her know about a suspected embezzlement scheme when it came to a few of the initiatives Palpatine had enacted over the last few years. She had also been put in touch with one of Five’s contacts. A very irritable cousin, so she was told. 

He was apparently a detective, though not privately so. Zaiya hoped he would be able to have some information on her quarry, though she couldn’t just assume he wasn’t on Palpatine’s payroll just because Fives said so. She would just have to assess this ‘Detective Fox’ herself. 

Saxon still occasionally was seen outside the bookshop while she worked, though she had noticed a second tail occasionally, the red haired woman was less friendly and more evasive. It was the same woman she had noticed in the bar the night she’d visited. This woman kept her distance though. And she was harder to lose as she too was on a bike and could weave through traffic with relative ease. There were certain things she would rather not share with Maul, and she was sure that the crimson Zabrak would call for her soon. 

Well, she was relatively certain, though she knew it was better to be as boring as possible so he might lose interest… she could not say she didn’t partially hope he might call for her. At least for the sake of eye candy.

She was on her way to a coffee shop to meet with Fox and Fives, as the latter had insisted Fox would be able to help them in their endeavours. Zaiya hadn’t had the chance to beat them there this time, so as she walked into the shop itself, they were already waiting for her. She never liked to walk into a situation blind, and this felt like an ambush. Luckily she’d been told about Fox a little while ago. So she’d had time to dig up a little on him. 

She ordered her drink and sashayed her way over, a smile on her black lips, she didn’t want to indicate to the two men that she had any form of apprehension. As Adaji had told her: 

Don’t let anyone see all your cards, kid. 

He was right, as usual, and so Fives and the stone-faced and very similar-looking man beside him whom she assumes was Fox were greeted with an unphased grin. Both of them were definitely handsome, and while Fives had a boyish charm and a goatee, Fox had a more authoritarian look and was greying in the temples. Silver Fox, perhaps?

“Waiting long?” she asked with a smile as she sank into the seat opposite the two men. Fives returned her smile and he seemed far less suspicious of her this time, whereas Fox seemed very unimpressed. He gave her a once over then turned to Fives. 

“Are you serious?” he asked bluntly, then looked back at her with a frown, “What is this, some kind of dress up party?” He gestured to her dark outfit and makeup.

“I was raised very religious,” she replied, resting her chin on her hand.

“Come on, Fox, I wouldn’t mess around with something like this, would I?” Fives interjected with a nudge to the detective’s arm.

“How do we even know she is any sort of decent investigator?” Zaiya pulled up her phone. 

“Fox, Kamino Apartments, Soldier for four years in the Republic Army, then a Detective with the Coruscant Police force…” she scrolled down the page, “began as beat cop, onto traffic, robberies and oh look homicide until a sudden demotion to archives… Ooh you must have really rubbed someone the wrong way,” she looked up with a closed smile. “You have a brother, currently overseas and you are looking after his cat… is that right?” 

Fives’ grin had become so wide and his shoulders trembled with silent laughter, while Fox stared, his mouth open slightly, a second later his head whipped to Fives.

“You told her--?!” Fives held up his hands, in surrender.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Give me more than 48 hours notice and I could have had your favourite brand of toothpaste,” Zaiya replied, then her smile faded, “so are we going to talk business or what?” It was that moment the barista stepped over with her order and Zaiya’s face changed again to a bright smile as she looked up at the woman and thanked her. 

“You see it now, yeah?” Fives asked. 

“Where did you even find her?” Fox shook his head. 

“She found me, like an Angel falling from heaven,” Fives waved a hand in a flourish, a silly lovestruck look on his face. Zaiya rolled her eyes. Apparently their back and forth emails had warmed him up to her more than she’d thought, though she couldn’t say she minded, by all accounts Fives seemed like a good man, and she’d not spotted any red flags yet. 

“So what do you get out of all this, the new information, taking him down… then what?” Fox’s eyes narrowed, as though trying to see through her. He was right to be suspicious, but still this was always the most tedious part. 

“Would you believe; a sense of prevailing justice and victory over the corruption of this fine city?” she asked, meeting his eye and taking a sip. 

“Not in the slightest,” Fox replied.

“You are very cynical for someone who is meant to be in the pursuit of justice,” Zaiya mused. 

“You read my file… how did you even get that anyway…?” 

“The odd favour to an underpaid clerk never goes astray,” she smiled, that same closed mouth smile again and Fox shook his head. 

“I suppose that is a benefit of working independently,” Fox ran a hand over his cropped curls. 

“So is this a blind date or have you got more to give me?” Zaiya looked at Fives who grinned.

“Oh I could give you plenty,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her and Fox let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Sure… files?” she held out her hand. Fives reluctantly reached into his bag for a disappointingly thin manilla folder. 

“This is it?” she frowned.

“Maybe if you come to dinner with me I can be motivated to find more?” Zaiya looked at him, then back to Fox.

“Is he always like this?” 

“Usually only to the pretty ones,” Fox smirked and took a sip of his own drink. 

“Woooow…” she shook her head. Working with these two was definitely going to be… interesting. “Fives mentioned you were looking into some of these gangs, were they your suspects for the murder case you were on?” Fox regarded her for a moment and leaned in. 

“Yeah, it was some office girl. I found out she’d last been seen near that biker bar by the docks,” Zaiya said nothing but sipped her drink. 

Interesting. 

Fox continued; “something about it didn’t sit right with me, but I barely got the chance to ask many questions, someone higher up, and I don’t know who, wanted me out of their hair…” 

“You knew what would  happen after you outed another cop for corruption… once you’re labelled as a rat…” Fives shook his head.

“That bastard was shaking down store owners and covering up crimes and intimidating witnesses!” Fox hissed, “he was an insult to the badge!” Zaiya hadn’t been able to uncover that part, she wasn’t even surprised. If she could just get enough evidence to trace it back to the Mayor… 

“What can you share about the case?”

“Only what I remember, the case files are classified and I am not allowed anywhere near them,” Fox sighed and leaned back in his seat. The amount of digging she would have to do was increasing. 

“You have some friends in the force I assume?” she tilted her head. 

“A couple,” he replied warily. 

“Call in favours, I need copies of those files, suspicious deaths, especially unsolved ones or ones where the conviction doesn’t make much sense, Fives has the business dealings, I have my own angle, we need to get as much as we can,” she mused, glancing at the files, there were mentions of various initiatives, building projects and some underprivileged kids program that immediately rubbed her the wrong way. 

“I had my eye on the owner of that bar, you may wanna look into him,” Fox muttered, “there’s something sinister about him.” Zaiya raised a brow as she looked over the rim of her cup.

“The zabrak?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah, I never had a good feeling about him,” Fox shook his head. Zaiya made a little ‘hm’ sound and his dark eyes snapped to hers. “You’ve spoken to him already?” 

“Might’ve,” she shrugged, though even she knew it was unconvincing. 

“Listen kid--”

“I am not a kid,” she snapped. 

“Whatever, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is you need to be careful, this guy, these people-- they’re dangerous.” One thick finger tapped the table between them to emphasise his point, “You need to watch your back, don’t go looking for trouble. This whole world you’re looking into is no playground, you could wind up hurt or dead…” Fox looked at her in full seriousness and Zaiya met his gaze with a level one of her own. 

“I assure you, Detective Fox. I am fully aware of what these people are capable of. I know what they can do and I have no illusions about it,” she told him and his frown only grew. 

“I guess you really aren’t a kid,” he mused as he took in her serious demeanour. Fives eyes looked between the two of them.

“Are you gonna break into a dark and moody monologue…?” he asked, looking at Zaiya. Her blue eyes slid back to him then rolled dramatically. 

“You just don’t understand me daaaaad,” she drawled. 

“I don’t know about dad, but you can call me daddy,” he grinned and both Fox and Zaiya groaned. She knew enough to know Fives was harmless, but she still ran her hand over her face in exasperation. 

“I walked into that one, didn’t I?” she asked with a sigh. Fives’ laughter seemed to confirm it, and she shook her head. Once again she was left with the thought of how interesting it would be to work with them going forward.

Notes: I would love to know your thoughts and your feedback, I am always keen for it. Comments always keep me going! This week we see a familiar face and delve further into the plot to get back and Palpy. Next week, Maul oversteps a boundary and Zaiya must confront him!

I hope you liked it, and if you are able. Please leave a comment, they really help!

----

The List of Tags: (If your name is crossed out then check your settings! Tumblr is not letting me tag you!) @two-black-leviathans @fallenrepublick @eyecandyeoz @ashotofspotchka @littlepossss @octupus-on-the-moon @justalittletomato @mach-opress @mustluvecho @nahoney22 @leotatombs @eloquentmoon @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @maulslittlemeowmeow @misogirl828 @alwayssnivellus @stardustbee @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @bacarasbabe @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius

Wanna be notified when I post my next work? Join my tag list

[sashayicons]

like if you save, please

[blackvelvetwriteson]

Hey dear, it's me again, I wanted to say that I LOVED Holiday blues, it was so cute and I wonder if you could write a nsfw sequel, please? (only if you feel comfortable with it, otherwise feel free to ignore it).

Hi again! I love seeing your requests in my ask box it makes me feel amazing! I’m so glad you liked my writing, it means more to me than I can even express! I’ve got that request for you in; it was supposed to be done yesterday, but my tics were kicking in and I couldn’t concentrate- I hope this didn’t disappoint, and again thank you so much!

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

                                  (  ~ Kakashi Hatake x Black Female                                                                   Reader Insert ~ )

GENRE: Smut and Fluffy Fluff!                                                                  

FANDOM: Naruto Shippuden

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SMUTTY! Kakashi’s not too kinky, but for today we have a breeding kink at play and light choking. It’s not too hardcore, but it’s still worth mentioning!

SUMMARY: This is a continuation of PART ONE and this time, Reader-Chan and Kakashi spend some time together after decorating the house for the holiday season.

Find Part 1 Here

WORD COUNT: 7572

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

      You relished in seeing your boyfriend’s sleeping face before you walked back into the kitchen. In truth, you’d already started dinner since hotpots were generally dishes that took too long to make. You sashayed into the kitchen and turned the heat up a little before skipping to a small closet you had where you’d hidden some holiday decorations; candles, tinsel, wreaths, and statues of little angels in a small box, your eyes gleaming as you bit your lip excitedly. You kneeled beside the box still in your boyfriend’s getup, happy that he wasn’t pissed at you for wearing his clothes, smiling because you figured out that he was in his funk because he hadn’t been sleeping well. You moved quickly to make sure everything got done so that you could go pumpkin hunting, or maybe you’d ask Sasuke or Naruto to go see if there were any that even grew in this region, I mean “Village Hidden in the Leaves,” should have plenty of different plants and such right? You giggled softly to yourself as you took out a string of lights that you’d never gotten to use and you plugged them in and stretched them out completely, watching all of the purples and blues, magenta, orange, reds and yellows glow and illuminate your living room, though they couldn’t compete with how your bright smile beamed around the room. “Woah,” you whispered softly as you gently touched the dull tips of the lights, watching the reflection on your hand.

“I forgot how much I loved these things,” you laughed softly looking in the box, seeing how many more lights you had than everything else. “…. Apparently,” you say quietly as you bite your lip. You move immediately to playing holiday music quietly as to not disturb your sleeping boyfriend, and then you get to work after checking the hotpot which was still simmering quite nicely under its cover giving the house scents of sweetened soy sauce, garlic, meats and other ingredients. You danced around happily to “Mary Did You Know,” even though you weren’t necessarily religious, the holiday music of the time really brought out your festive interior designing skills. You skip over to your open window as the skyline turns purple and blue with the seafood greens fading a little more prominently now. You kneeled down and waved at the kids who loved to observe you- mostly because you were so nice to them and actually interacted with them- and they giggled and grinned, waving back in return, deciding to stay a little longer just to watch. They could smell your dinner and one of them even approached as you climbed on your window sill, weaving the first strand of lights through the curtain rod deciding that you’d add more later if needed. You swayed your hips to the music startled by one of the small voices and you looked down with a closed eye grin. 

“Hey there! What can I do for ya today sweetheart,” you chime out happily as you look at the little girl and she smiles back up at you. 

“U-Um oh yeah! Mrs. Hatake- Sensei,” she said softly and your eyes widened a little as you shook your head.

“Oh, u-uh honey that’s not necessary. We ai… We’re not married- yet,” you say softly. She nodded and corrected herself.

“R-Right… I-I’m sorry,” she said softly as she tilted her head. “How’s Ms. Hatake- Chan?” She looked up at you cautiously before proceeding. You gently pet her head and smiled a little, wiping a little bit of glitter off of her cheek with your thumb. 

“That’s just fine sweetheart. What’s up?” You say softly as you sit down on the window sill with your feet hanging out of the window. “Just remember to keep it down y’all,” you say softly as you slowly moved one finger over your lips. “Kakashi -Sensei is sleeping right now,” you said cheerily while the other kids approached and surrounded you. 

“O-Oh I just wanted to say that y-your dinner smells really good,” she said softly starting to scratch behind her ear under her pigtails. “A-And I was also wondering what’s that?” She pointed inside at the tinsel. 

“Oh that?” You looked over your shoulder and smiled a little. “I’m just working on decorating the house… I mean… For the h-holidays. Where I’m from this is what we do and Kakashi- Sensei is letting me do it after a talk we had,” you say with a sweet smile as she nuzzles your lap. You gently pet her head while looking at the other kids. “Don’t worry your pretty little heads about a thing I’m gonna have something for all of y’all here soon. Actually,” you say with a soft grin, leaning forward as they gathered around. “Y’all can help me out right now. Y’all ever heard of a pumpkin,” you ask as you tilt your head. Only about 3 of them nod, the rest of them stared at you blankly ready to help you however you needed. “Y’all go with these three, they’ll show you, I promise. I’mma need about 4 or 5 of them, so if y’all work together and get some, I’ll have special treats for y’all by tomorrow night,” you say with a soft grin. Instantly they grouped up and set off in search of the pumpkins you needed all shouting “ARIGATO MS. HATAKE- CHAN,” at you over their shoulders once they were far enough away they thought they wouldn’t disturb Kakashi’s sleep. You watched until they were out of eyeshot, sliding back in your home and skipping over to the tinsel pile. You looked it all over and took a white tinsel string in your fingers, gently massaging the soft materiel through your fingers before hopping back up on the window sill, gently weaving the strand through the lights so none was obstructing the other. 

“Ooh this is so pretty,” you whisper softly as you finished braiding the tinsel and the lights with the curtain rod, hopping down and dancing around a little more as the song changed to one you haven’t heard since you were little about chestnuts roasting on an open fire. You giggled again and gently twirled around the living room with a red string of tinsel and sashayed over to your fireplace, setting it up so that you could place candles on the counter inside of the tinsel. You also decided, while you were at it, to spark up your  fireplace and turn your music up just a little. Your house already started to look more festive and you decided that, for the moment, you were done with the lights and tinsel so you didn’t overdo it. You gathered up some candles and some of the angel statues and you smiled as you hopped back over to your fireplace, setting the candles up in such a way that there was a fall one after a winter one surrounding the three angel statues you put up. You stroked their porcelain cheeks with your nail and hummed softly as you smiled a little. You sighed quietly as you hummed sweetly to the song, sparking up a couple of the fall oriented candles, not noticing that Kakashi had walked out of the room and closed the curtains and was now leaning against the wall staring at you with his arms crossed. You still swayed your hips slowly, deciding that there was a strip that could benefit from an extra string of lights, and because of said thought you made your way over to the box again, gently unrolling it and plugging it in. This time they were more neutral cream colored, your eyes glistening at the soft glow. “Woah,” you whispered softly as you wrapped the lights around your body and looked for something that you could stand on and a couple of sticky anchors that wouldn’t be too hard to take down after the fact. You licked over your bottom lip and hummed softly trying to look around for a chair. 

Meanwhile, Kakashi had followed you closely and quietly, smirking a little, gently kissing your neck, taking you by the lights and pulling you back into him. You jump a little before you hear his voice and you smiled a little.

“K-Kashi,” you whined softly as you tried to fight your way out of the lights but you were tangled and you didn’t want to mess anything up. “Y-You’re s’posed to be sleeping,” you say as you look over your shoulder and peer at his vague smirk. “What’s that look for? So help me, I’ll force your ass back into bed,” you say with a slight pout.

“Shhh, baby,” he hushed softly as he kissed your neck again, gently allowing his teeth to graze your neck. Then he started to speak again, kisses punctuating every other word. “You know… I did get some sleep though… Right,” he said as his hands made his way to your hips and he pulled you in more. “You’re… Still wearing my clothes,” he said softly as he nipped at your ear.

“Y-Yea so? What about i-it,” you said shakily trying to stifle your soft whimpers. “Why aint you asleep again? Wet dream or something,” you tease before he nodded.

“Actually, yes. It started as nightmares… Then I eased myself back to sleep after reading a book… Then I started thinking about you and I woke up grinding against a pillow,” he said bluntly causing your skin to burn with a practically scalding invisible blush. 

“I-IT WAS A JOKE,” you said as you turned your face away from him to hide as if he could see your blush even if he wanted to. 

“Was it? Oh… Well, I wasn’t joking,” he said softly as he pressed his bulge against you and your legs started to shake a little. “Can you feel it? This is what you wanted.. Right,” he asked as he turned your head to look at him and his vague smirk grew a little less vague. 

“K-Kakashi! B-Behave yourself,” you tried to command as you bit on the inside of your cheek. “D-Dinner should b-be done soon and I have kids that should be back soon… I asked them to pumpkin hunt for me,” you say as you fight your way out of his arms. “Can you please untangle me so I can go check our hotpot,” you ask as you spin on your heel and look at him. He just stands there with a challengingly teasing stare and then he walks over to the couch, tilting his head some. 

“I’m sleepy, baby,” he said in that deep raspy voice he took on when he was both tired and turned on. You were practically dripping just hearing him talk, and as much as you would have loved to hop on him right there, you had to behave yourself. He stared at the fireplace and ran his fingers through his fluffy icy white hair and turned the TV on but had it on mute so you could listen to your music. “Everything looks good though.”

“…. Fine if you wanna be like that,” you grumble before looking around for something and you spot a small cup on the counter. “Substitution Jutsu,” you mumble under your breath, making the hand sign needed just barely before you took the place of the cup and the cup was in the tangle of lights. “You aint gotta be like that,” you say softly as you move to untangle the lights, extremely relieved that the cup was empty. You sighed softly and looked over at where your future husband sat on the couch, just waiting a moment to stare at him. 

He had a pillow in his lap and his breaths were shaky and labored. You should’ve known that he’d take care of it himself, as he wasn’t much of a fighter when it came to things like this. He was too dense to realize when you wanted him and when you didn’t in actuality, and as a result, he never pushed because he never wanted you to be uncomfortable. He was only halfway paying attention to the TV, his eyes fluttering as he bit his lip and rutted his hips up into the pillow. His eyes glistened as he let out a sort of loud moan, his fingers digging into the cushion, his legs trembling a little as he moaned out your name sort of forgetting you were there in the same room as him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he tried to edge himself. You just sat there with butterflies erupting in your stomach, feeling your nipples get a little hard and press against your bra, and without even checking you knew that you were already completely soaked just hearing his smoky tone as he called out for you and only you. 

You pulled yourself out of your trance before going to check on your dinner, catching an earful of Kakashi orgasming on the couch, his breathing stalled as he broke out in a fit of small moans that were a bit whinier than usual and you noticed that they were also a little louder. You bit your lip before looking down at all of the boiled ingredients and sniffed it causing your eyes to water a little. “Goddamn,” you whispered softly as there were excited knocks on the door. “Perfect timing because dinner just finished,” you mumbled to yourself, shaking all of the perverse thoughts out of your head before hopping to the door. “Hey babes,” you say to all of the kids as you kneel down to their height. Each one of the kids carried a big pumpkin and a little one. “Oh my goodness! Look at all of these pumpkins,” you say with teary excited eyes. You thought for a moment before looking over your shoulder at Kakashi who was standing over you with a sort of aloof grin on his face. “You guys can come in for a moment if you want, just to put the pumpkins inside and say hello to Kakashi- Sensei,” you say as the kids start to shovel in your house looking at the pristine festive wonderland in awe.

“Right there in the pantry will be fine,” you say with a soft giggle as you watch them neatly stack the pumpkins. They all give a bow to Kakashi who, in turn, bows back. The other kids bounded outside with giggles of goodbye to play a little bit longer on their way home while two kids lingered back in the house hearing Carol of the Bells playing in your home.

“W-What’s this?” The little girl says softly as she looks over her shoulder at you. 

“Oh this? This is music… I hear you and your friends singing and chanting all the time… But this is a holiday song, actually it’s one of my favorites,” you say with a sheepish grin as you take the girl and her brother by the hand. Here, you guys can take a look around if you’d like,” you say softly as you look over at Kakashi. He just watched with that formal and withdrawn expression he usually carried, pulling his mask up once more around others. You led them into the living room and smiled a little at everything as the two kids looked around the room with dropped jaws.

You twirled the girl and she giggled as she stumbled into you and she looked up at you. You twirled the boy and he laughed softly as he looked around and then you started to sing, his eyes locked on you as you started to dance around with them in the living room.

“Hark how the bells sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away,” you sing quietly as you dance with the children who were giggling and swaying and with you. Kakashi had heard you singing before but only in soft mumbles, but as he heard you now singing and teaching the song to the children in the room, he felt a pang in his chest, his breath drawn from him, his eyes widening a little as he watched you dancing with the kids in your house. 

“Merry merry merry Christmas, merry merry merry Christmas,” you giggle softly as you sing and the kids mimic you laughing and spinning around the room as you smile wide at the kids and your eyes fall to Kakashi to see if he was irritated or if he wanted you to wrap your little encounter up but you just saw his starstruck eyes absolutely adoring you as you started to dance around with a soft twinkle in his eye, an opaque smile on his face. You grin at him and lift the little girl onto your shoulders, her legs draped over your shoulders as she looked down at you dancing with her brother. Kakashi took the sight in and he sucked in a sharp breath trying to keep himself calm, wishing that these village kids were his own with you as his wife. He looked down at his feet and he listened to the chiming giggles and your soothing singing voice.

“Yeah! It’s just like that sweetheart,” you giggle as you teach the boy some basic footwork that went along with the song, and as most of the shinobi kids did, he caught on rather quickly and he started to sing having caught onto the song quickly. “Hark how the bells sweet silver bells,” you broke out into a fit of giggles before you could even finish the line. You picked the little boy up in the middle of his spin and twirled with them in the middle of the room letting him rest on your bicep. “Say, have you little ones had dinner yet? I think we have more than enough to share,” you say softly as you kiss the side of the little boy’s head and he looked away.

“N-Not yet… B-But we won’t intrude! We’ll get dinner on our o-“

“Nonsense,” you giggle softly as you dance your way into the kitchen with the both of the kids and grab a couple of bowls out of the cupboard. “We’ll feed you… I know you two don’t take too kindly to sleeping in other people’s homes, but just know that if you guys need a place to stay at least through some rain or through the winter or something, our door is always open to you,” you breathed out quietly as you kissed the side of the girl’s head and the little boy’s cheek, spooning a bit of the hotpot into the bowls for the both of them, leaving the heat on simmer. “When’s the last time y’all had a MEAL to eat,” you questioned as you grabbed out two pairs of chopsticks and took them over to the table and set them down in their chairs, their eyes sparkling as they accepted your chopsticks. You gently run your fingers through their hair before looking up at Kakashi. You walk over and lead him over to the table as well, pulling a chair out for him and gently pushing him to sit into it. You walk back to the kitchen, the center of his attention as the kids started to poke around their bowls with salivating mouths. “Well… I m-mean I guess it’s been awhile,” they both whispered before taking small bites. 

Meanwhile, Kakashi’s eyes were locked on you, his eyes sparkling as he watched you make his bowl, his mind running. It raced with how natural you looked with kids, how when you walked he could tell that you could do everything on your own. He adored everything about you, how you don’t look at him like he needs to save you, with how you seem to always have a level head about anything and everything, how selfless and compassionate you were; especially when it came to the kids of the village. He let out a dreamy sigh as you walked back over to him with his bowl and a pair of chopsticks in hand. You giggled softly as you caught onto the gaze realizing this was one of the first times you were able to show him how good you were with kids. You set the bowl in front of him, handed him the chopsticks, hugged him from behind and gently kissed his cheek. “Let me know how everything tastes, alright? I’m not used to making Japanese foods, but I think I’m gettin’ a little bit of the hang of it,” you giggled softly as Kakashi leaned forward. 

“That’s false. She’s an amazing chef,” he ‘whispered’ to the kids and they both giggled and nodded in agreement. Your heart swelled as you squeezed his shoulders gently and made your way back to the kitchen to prepare your own bowl. Like with everything you do, you did it with tact, your eyes glistening as you did so, quickly skipping to the table to meet with everybody else. Like usual, you took your seat next to Kakashi, one of your legs in your lap as you bow a little.

“Itadakimasu,” you whisper softly before stirring everything up, gently scooping up some food and nibbling on it with glistening eyes. “Oh wow… I don’t know how it should taste, but I think this is pretty good,” you say softly as you look at everyone with your friendly grin. Kakashi nodded a little and kissed your cheek gently. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said in that seductive tone of his. “This is VERY well done… And in this very… Comfortable home… I could get used to this,” he said with a soft grin, kissing your cheek gently, his hand resting on your inner thigh causing your toes to curl a little and your breath to waver. 

“W-Well… I’m glad you like it, baby,” you say sweetly, kissing his forehead before pushing his head away so he could eat. The kids giggle as they quickly continue to shovel their food in their mouths, mumbling softly with mouthfuls of food in their mouths. “Hark how the bells sweet silver bells,” they managed to mumble before giggling softly. “I’m never gonna stop saying that,” the girl said quietly. You tilted your head a little and bit your lip a little before speaking up, brushing your curly hair out of your face. The glow cast through the home gave your skin a sort of golden aura and Kakashi couldn’t take his eyes off of it. He bit his lip and continued to eat, that same distant expression on his face upon first glance. You looked at the kids and your heart melted at how they teased each other, how they were so close because they didn’t necessarily have anywhere else to go. 

“You both are precious,” you say under your breath as you noticed they were close to finished eating. “Did y’all want some more or are you both good to go?” You stood up and grabbed their bowls and took them over to your sink, grabbing down 2 thermos jars and 4 large mason jars, filling every container to the brim with the remainder of the hotpot.

“I think we’re okay Ms. Hatake-Chan,” the boy said softly as he hopped down and he helped his sister out of the chair. They made their way to the door and you stopped them with frowning faces, kneeling in front of them with the armful of containers you prepared for them. “H-Huh?”

“Do you little ones have names,” you asked softly as you looked at each of them in the eye. They both shook their head and you sighed softly. “Alright… How about you,” you point to the girl. “We call you Lily-Chan because you’re as pretty as water lilies,” you say and that causes her to giggle and play with her fingers. “And you,” you pointed to the boy. “How ‘bout we call you… Sora- Chan, because Sora means universe in Japanese if I’m remembering correctly… And there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, in this universe that’s greater than you,” you say softly as you kiss their foreheads gently and slide the thermoses and the mason jars in their bags. “I hear it’s supposed to be cold tonight, so you guys take care of yourselves,” she said as they both fought back tears. Lily and Sora stood side by side and bowed holding their hands and sniffing quietly.

“Arigato gozaimasu Ms. Hatake- Chan,” they said softly and you picked their heads up to make them look at you. 

“You’re very welcome darlings,” you said quietly as you fluffed their hair and opened the door for them and smiled watching them walk out of your home. You made sure to wait until they were out of eyeshot and then you closed the door and looked over your shoulder at Kakashi who’s arms were crossed as he stared at you. 

“You’re… So… Amazing,” he said slowly as he pulled his mask down and moved his icy white hair out of his face so that you could see him completely. 

“W-Well… I mean… It’s just being a decent h-human being and caring for them kids.. I always do anyways… And it looked like they hadn’t been eating. I didn’t invade space d-did I? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own home either. 

“No no no,” he said softly as he took you by the waist and pulled you closer. “If anything it made me realize that much more how bad I want to have a family with you,” he said before pressing a soft kiss into your plush lips, his tongue wasting no time, swiping over your bottom lip, soft groans escaping his lips. You whimpered softly, gently pushing your hands against his chest, allowing him to have the lead. He pushed you into the door and he bit your lip more rough than he had before. You whined as you ran your hand down his side and his back on down to his thigh, trying to force his leg in between yours. He smirked against your lips, his breathing slow and labored, soft growls threatening to spill out, his eyes halfway opened staring at you. His leg slipped in between yours and you immediately started to grind against his leg, his breathing only picking up a little, his free hand now running up your shirt, unclipping your bra in one slick move, his hand gently groping your chest as he let out low moans. His enthusiastic hand worked at teasing your nipples, his teeth bore at you a little as he watched you grinding needily against his stocky thigh. “You like that? Hm? G-Grinding on Sir’s thigh like that,” he said as he jolted his leg up into your cunnie causing your back to arch as you let out a soft cry. 

“Answer me, baby,” he said softly as he bit his lip, one of his hands moving to grip your neck, his finger squeezing a little as he growled near your ear. “And tell me how much you want me inside of you,” he growled before he bit the shell of your ear causing you to gasp, your core hot as you felt you became even more soaked, your lip quivering to the point that you could barely even answer.

“I-It feels so good, f-fuck~ K-Kakashi,” you whined softly, gripping to his shirt. “Baby!~ F-Fuck- P-Please keep teasing my nipples like that, sir,” you whispered softly looking up at his keen gaze staring into you. “I-I want t-to feel you inside of me,” you whined softly before reaching to kiss him again wanting to feel his satiny smooth tongue in your mouth again. You felt extremely needy, your legs damn near giving out under you. “Baby!” You threw your head back and leaned into him, your hips jolting into him, his eyes glistening as he looked you over. He picked you up and took you over to the couch, tossing you on the couch before crawling on top of you, gripping your neck again and pushing you into the couch as he peered down at you. He started to grind into you wanting your legs to pull him closer, trying to fight through his sensitivity just to please you. He couldn’t wait too much longer, however, lifting the shirt you stole from him, his lips locked around your nipple as he lazily pushed his pants down and he pulled yours down too, one hand kneading your breast as his fingers pushed themselves in between your legs, his slender fingers plunging into your tight dripping hole. Your back arches a little and you let out a loud whine as your legs’s hold on his hips firm a little and he smirked a little, the tips of his fingers stroking against your special spot without any effort from him, and every single time his fingers curled up, your toes curled too, and so did your back. Within minutes, the accuracy of his fingers; the pressure, the stroke of his fingers, the way it swiped right against your sweet spot; had you a babbling drooling mess underneath him and the only thing that you could mumble out was “Sir please,” and “More!” He felt how you clenched around him, slowly and surely losing control of your babbles, whines, and loud moans, already practically crying because of how overstimulated that g-spot of yours it. Your legs were trembling and already you were teetering on the edge of cumming for him, but you wanted to hold out for him. He saw how much you were struggling with just his fingers and with one swift movement you were sitting on his face, one leg hanging off of the couch. 

OH, it’d been awhile since THIS had happened. 

You couldn’t even ask a question or catch your breath before you felt his slick slippery tongue enter you, probing your insides to find that spot you loved to have stimulated so much. Your thick thighs suffocated him practically, but you didn’t care, his shaky breath against your drenched throbbing pussy only added to the feeling. Your back arched with each time his tongue fell flat against your slit and lapped up every single las drop of your juices, pushing hard against your clit before diving deep inside of you once again, sucking you down before cleaning you up again, repeating the process all over again. Each time, your leg jolted, your abs tightened, your nails dug into his thighs- making his cock twitch in his pants just for you- and you threw your head back trying to keep your moans quiet but failing. “K-KAKASHI! P-Please I ca-can’t take a-anymore o-or I’ll go c-crazy,” you whined out loudly as you started to bounce a little on his face, your whole body tremoring as you came over his face and his tongue. He decided that a soft laugh and his teeth gently nipping and tugging at your clit would be perfect for the moment and all you could do was orgasm, your eyes widening before clamping shut, your breaths drawn out, your hips grinding into his face, your hand squeezing and stroking at his bulge causing him to push his airy soft moans into your pussy as his tongue continued to circle and plow at your insides. He loved how it felt to have you clenched around his tongue, and he loved especially how it felt to have your throbbing clit grinding into him, your hand pleasing him as he tongue fucked you. All of his lewd noises made it back to you, his slurping, his moans, and the faint drunken mumbles of your name he managed in between bites and sucks, the way his tongue stirred you up making you practically fall apart on the same couch he pleased you on. At this point, you were still cumming, and you couldn’t stop, but the fact that he wouldn’t let up either was new so you weren’t quite sure how to handle it. Your body tried to jerk away from him, your hips jolting up and away from him, your tears streaming down your face as you mumbled please over and over and over again wanting him to stop but wanting more at the same time. He only responded with a harsh slap to your ass before locking his arms around your waist and holding you down on him while he finished basking in your flavor. You figured the only way to get him to stop was to return the favor, so while he was busy eating you out, you took his cock in your hands, sucking on the plush tip that was dripping with precum already. He let out a soft moan into your cunnie and you felt his back arch under you, his cock twitching in your hands as you swirled your flat tongue around his tip to collect any of the escaping precum, your fingers steady stroking the rest of his length, your fingers feeling out every single vein and detail as you continued to try and jerk your hips away from Kakashi’s face. You couldn’t help but to let your moans and harsh breaths dance on his cock as you pleased him and he pleased you. You completely ate his flavor up, your eyes glistening before they shut and you continued to ride his tongue. You sucked hard, your cheeks hollowing out causing his back to arch even more, his dull nails trying to work into your thighs as you teased him by the inch, your tongue pressing him into the roof of your mouth which drove him absolutely insane. He whined out as his legs jerked a little, his arms not budging with letting you go. 

“Please,” you whine softly. “I-Inside,” you slurred out as you took him all the way down your throat, gagging around him, making sure your throat choked his cock out. His eyes glistened as he looked down at you, gagging and choking on his dick, his hips jolting trying to get in deeper but he couldn’t. It got to the point where you felt you were going to pass out so you stopped and came up for air, your soft whines barely audible to him. You tried your best to hold your noises but you couldn’t, squeaking as he pushed you forward a little. He hugged onto you as he slid himself inside, his lips pushing out his soft shuddery moan into your ear as you arched your back and slowly started to push yourself back on him. He already felt like he was going to pass out just from how well your throat choked his cock out and you couldn’t help but to bury your face into the couch as Kakashi gyrated his strong hips, grinding you into the palatial cushion. You couldn’t help but to push yourself back against him, even the slow pace he was known for about to make you cum again. He reached deep inside of you, and you forced him to go even deeper as you grinded your hips against him. He reached under your hair and grabbed your neck from behind, squeezing gently as he leaned forward again to nibble at your ear, whispering sweetly to you, your eyes barely even able to stay open. You clenching around him made him see stars, practically drooling over you, but while you couldn’t keep it together, he had to in order to drive you all the way to home base with pleasure. 

“Do you l-like it like this,” he whispered quietly in your ear, his labored breaths and soft moans melted into your ear again as he slowed down even more, his hips still strong as he reached inside of you. “H-Hm? A-Answer me, Blossom,” he commanded as he pulled your hips against him and held you in place feeling your slick riding all the way down his cock, his back arching a little. 

“P-Please, Sir,” you whine out quietly barely even able to speak that’s just how braindead you were from how much pleasure you were receiving. “M-More! N-Need… More,” you gasped out and he smirked with a soft hum of approval, his hands gripping the arm of the couch now as his legs became a little more stable and solid, his lips still touching your ear, his teeth nibbling away at the outer shell, his eyes glistening as he edged himself at your expense. You looked over your shoulder at him and he truly looked like a divine icon; the way he started to rock into you, a small bulge forming in your stomach because of it, the way every single one of his muscles flexed with even the smallest move, the way that the candles, fireplace, and the faint light from the TV cast a glow on him that was unmatched, carving his features out more, his body blanketed by a body of sweat, his expression quirked with how well you clenched around him. 

“I want you,” he mumbled softly in your ear, his speech and breathing short and choppy as he pounded into you a bit quicker, not meaning to be as rough as he was. “I w-want to e-expand our family,” he breathed out as his moans became more needy, his hips slapping against yours sloppily. Honestly, this was the fastest he’d ever fucked you, and at this point you were stuck seeing stars with your tongue lolled out of your mouth, your golden glow cast by the lights around you only making Kakashi more aroused. It was obvious that he was way more vulnerable, you could hear it in his moans, feel it in every single movement that he made, you saw it in the way that one of his hands moved from death gripping at the arm of the couch to tenderly slap, tug, and caress your beautiful brown skin. Tendrils of his hair fell just before his eyes, his eyes halfway closed, his body encompassing your own as you both fell into a quick rhythm. Your body was on fire with his next words, your eyes widening and glistening with tears that fell down your cheeks from how good he was making you feel; “I-I want to ma-marry you,” he groaned out in a choked moan before he slowed to an almost stop and he turned your head towards him, gently pressing his lips against yours again, his hand riding your side as he tried to catch his breath, his fingers feeling over your soft stomach, all the way up to grope at your chest so gently, even as your back still arched up into him. You both were a mess of moans, drooling over each other as you tangled your tongues, your teeth nipping at one another gently, your hand on one of his, your eyes now completely closed as he pushed you into the couch more, your clammy bodies trembling against one another before pulling away just to stare at each other.

“Please,” he said softly as he started to pound into you again. “I’m g-going to cum… D-Don’t look away from me,” he said softly, his glazed eyes holding back tears as he gritted his teeth a little. “I want t-to look in your eyes as w-we watch each other… F-Fall apart,” he choked out quietly, towering over you, tilting your head up so that you were staring at him. He fed you sloppy kisses as he pushed against your special spot, and it took another hard clench from you to send him orgasming again, his teeth clamping down on your lip before he pulled away, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his body quaking and vibrating the whole couch as he allowed his body to tense up, his hips to slam into you one final time, sharply chasing after air that didn’t want to come down, choked moans leaving him, his lips barely brushing against yours as he reached his climax, painting your insides white as they overflowed with his cum. Your own body gave out as you came, pressing your body up against his, your nails digging into his hand, your eyes crossing as you drooled out, screaming out his name, your trembling body falling against the couch as you allowed Kakashi to gently and slowly ride out his high, every single stroke hitting you at a different angle making your body twitch and tingle before you felt him pull out. He watched his cum mix with yours as it spilled out of you and he smiled at the bulge he could feel with his tender fingers as he caressed your body. He laid down behind you, his muscular body now completely relaxed as he just tried to catch his breath. He looked up at the movie playing on TV, spooning you from behind, covering the both of you with the throw that you decorated the couch with earlier. His strong arms made you feel protected, and when you were like this, both of your guards were let down and you let the love that you had for one another protect you both. His fingers danced over your skin and he moved your hair as he gently fed you kisses to your neck, your shoulder, and the top of your back as you absentmindedly played with his fingers and watched the movie that was on TV; which by the way was Home Alone. 

“I meant what I said,” Kakashi chimed sweetly in your ear and suddenly those butterflies were back in your stomach. “I want to marry you, Blossom,” he whispered softly. “I want you to be the mother of my kids… I want to spend the entire rest of my life with you,” he said softly, sounding like he was about to cry. You heard his breath shake and you could tell his sincerity and that made your heart absolutely melt for your man. 

“I would absolutely love to be Mrs. Kakashi Hatake,” you say softly, leaning your head back into his body, your eyes peering at him from below. He looks down at you, a blush nipping at his cheeks as you giggle softly, your hand reaching up to caress his tensed jaw. “And I would love to mother your children… I want you,” you echoed back to him softly, a small smile showing itself as he held your hand against his face. He couldn’t do anything but allow himself to truly fall apart, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he let himself cry quietly, still kissing your shoulder and neck whenever he could. “Aww… My beautiful boyfriend,” you whispered softly, gently playing in his hair as he wept into you, clinging to you, trembling, completely emotional, raw, and vulnerable. You adored that he trusted you enough to show this other side of himself to you, and you also relished in his confessions to you, having never been told such sweet things before. “Is that what you were thinking about when I was taking care of Lily and Sora,” you ask sweetly, smiling at him over your shoulder. He looks up at you with puffy red eyes, smiling just a hint as he nodded at you. 

“It’s just… How you… Always look after people, especially kids I just… I admire it a great deal Blossom,” he said softly as you giggled. “You invited them into your home, and danced around with them… And fed them and gave them food… And opened your home up to them…. I can’t just… Ignore that. Especially because you’re the life of this village,” he chimed softly. “I have never seen these people so hopeful or lively… I have never seen the kids so open to playing outside… I have never seen people support each other here like they do now until you got here and spread a little bit of your magic around… And yet nobody takes care of the village kids… Ever. You love them, I can see that, and they love you too. Every day I have people coming to me; ‘hey can you tell Ms. Hatake-Chan thanks for’ this that or whatever,” he said softly, his eyes peering deep into yours and you tried to fight back your own tears. You didn’t realize how much of a role you played in the village because it didn’t even feel like a chore. It was what came natural to you, and you loved that you could create such a difference in just a couple of years. 

“I’m just doing what I love to do,” you whispered softly as you kissed along his jawline. “I love you so much, Kakashi Hatake,” you say as you lull him to sleep again, not wanting to until he was at ease. You sat up a little and allowed him to use your chest as a pillow, his arms still holding you tight, keeping you close, and you never felt more safe. “You’re my king… And I’m your queen… You’re all mine, nothing’s gonna change that,” you whispered softly as you watched his eyes close. 

“I love you too,” he mumbled sleepily, a small half smile creeping on his face as he slipped off into dreamland and you divided your attention between the movie and your sleeping boyfriend wanting to watch both of them over until you allowed your drowsiness to take over completely.

[bakuwrites]

Hehe he hehe I request the class finding bakuhoe's notebook and they look inside it to try and copy his notes but they find cutely bad doodles of him and his crush or s/o

OOOOOOOOOOOO I LOOOOVE ITTTT

blood tw

“There is no possible way I’m passing this test.” Kirishima put his head in his hands and groaned, lip tucked into his sharp teeth as he gnawed ferociously on it. A metallic taste coated his tongue, but he kept going, intent to worry out his frustrations on his own skin.

Jiro, who’d previously been twirling her ear lobe around her finger, suddenly turned her attention to Kirishima, who at that point would likely have a permanently scarred lower lip. “W-we have a test?” She turned to her desk and opened her textbook, “What chapters are they even on?”

The class president’s head popped up from behind his notes, “Chapters fifteen through twenty. I’m quite surprised you haven’t studied for it, Jiro. I’d expect that kind of behavior from Kirishima-” another groan came from Kirishima’s hunched-over figure, “but you’re usually on top of studying.”

She merely looked down at her textbook again and a deep red blush crawled up her neck, “I just got so busy studying for the math exam. I guess I forgot.”

The conversation was interrupted by a loud “excusez-moi!” that came from the corner of the room. All three students turned their heads toward Aoyama, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest and an egotistical smile plastered on his face. 

“I, for one, will pass with shining colors- much like my personality-” he gave a wink and flourished his hands, “for you see, I know the most dazzling way to make an A, mes petites.” 

The moment ‘A’ was mentioned, Kirishima’s head popped up and he leaned back in his seat, a bit of blood spotted the bottom of his lip. “Whatcha mean? How ya gunna make an A?”

Aoyama chuckled and sashayed towards the desk that Bakugou sat in where a single notebook lay closed. “For I am going to borrow Monsieur Katsuki’s notes, that’s how.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” the panic set in for Iida. He hopped up from his chair and dashed over to the desk snatching the notebook before Aoyama could even put a finger on it to greedily flip through the pages. “That’s cheating and morally wrong, Aoyama. You can face grave consequences by the school disciplinary board for even attempting to steal another student’s hard work.” Aoyama listened with a blank expression on his face as Iida droned on, lecturing about moral responsibility. 

“Oh, come on,” Kirishima also left his seat and headed to join the two, “It’s not like he’s gunna know. Plus, they’re just notes. We’re not cheating, just helping each other out.”

Iida pondered this new information for a moment, “I suppose you’re right, Kirishima. This could be considered an effective studying technique and we share notes often anyway with study groups.”

The idea of stealing someone’s notes didn’t exactly sit well with Jiro, but if it meant she would pass the exam with even a C, she was willing to face a little bit of Bakugou’s wrath if it came to that.

“Let’s do it.” She bounded over to them and stood with her back to the class entrance, hoping to conceal their deed in case Bakugou unexpectantly came back early.

Iida flipped open the notebook to the section he guessed would be the notes on the chapters they were looking for. The header stated the right date and next to it was the chapter number but below, were drawings of what they could only assume was Bakugou holding what was obviously Y/N.

Kirishima snatched the book from Iida and laughed loudly, “I can’t believe big bad Bakugou got bitten by the love bug.”

Jiro snickered, “I didn’t know he could feel love in that angry little heart of his.”

“Love is nothing to laugh at! It is the most powerful emotion in existence and drives the world to be romantic.” Aoyama fawned over the images, moved by their sincerity.

Iida reached over and slapped the cover closed, “Perhaps we should have a study group instead.”

[magicalsalamander]

Soleil Chaser

✶ Pairing▹ BTS Hoseok ⇆ Reader

✶ Genre▹ Game of Thrones Univ | Dragon Rider | Fantasy | Fluff | Angst | 

✶ Words▹ 10.7K

✶ Warning▹ rated mature; Depictions of traumatic events, death of a minor character, blood, witchcraft inaccuracies, explicit language, and explicit themes.

✶ Summary▹ Heavily breathing wasn’t enough to get air into your lungs fast enough. You vowed to never let this happen again. You swung an ax breaking the chain holding the jaw of your Dragon. You promised to never let this happen again, but you found yourself on stage at Barter’s Beach on Talon for the Pirates taking. However, a man even the pirates feared, the Sun King of the Jade Sea, proposed a deal to you, join him or die trying? What will you choose?

✶ A/N: Header image Anan 2019/ This originally was supposed to be a one-shot, but I decided to divide it into three parts. The story takes place centuries before the show, and know no canon characters show up. Light editing, will fix soon. Thank you for reading!

✸ | Masterlist | Next

The black night sky was lit by the high red flames and spangles of embers that decorated the starless night. From the coastline to the bordering lush jungle that surrounded the city, everything—everything was engulfed in carnivorous heat.

Trembling pupils, hands and legs, you grasped onto the edge of your stone window. From your room at the near tip of the stone pyramid, you helplessly watched your city be consumed. Your eyes reflecting those red flames that licked at every part of the city. The colossal dragon ridden by a man with white hair slithered through the sky as it roared, spewing fire and destruction.

You couldn’t look away.

“Y/N! We have to leave!” Your mother tugged and yanked you away from the window as a haunting roar rung over the city. Tears rolled down your face as you took a last look over your shoulder at what was once your city, your home, Gorosh.  

Your mother pulled you through the dark halls telling you to look away from it all. But how could you avoid the bodies of people that once served you as they laid bloody on the floor? The blood of your people, the ones who protected the Ghis empire…were gone.

Your mother picked you up after stumbling one too many times and tucked you deep into her neck. “Shhh, my little Harpy, it’s going to be alright.”

Your mother, she held you tight, she truly did, but that wasn’t enough. The eight-council, your father being the eighth, were brought to their knees and heads rolled on the floor, including your mothers, by the dragon rider…the people with white hair.

You were forced to watch it all.

The pyramid, Gorosh and the Old Ghis Empire fell that night. Gorosh became a colony under the new Valyrian Freehold.

There was no way to remove the blood of your ancestors from the embroidery or the leather of your sandals. The tokar you had to abandon and exchanged for a Valerian slaves robe was never going to fit you right.

You had known nothing but freedom, but you won’t ever forget the fifth Ghiscari war and what it forever did to you.

There was no freedom under the Freehold.

You stood next to your Mistress’s throne, lightly bouncing the white-haired child to keep the newborn quiet. The throne room was balmy as a thousand candles burned; despite the temperatures still being high in this summer’s evening. The child felt heavy in your small arms; you were a child holding a child.

The great Harpy statue that used to stand tall behind your father's throne was turned into your Mistress’s throne. They had the body of the women melted and molded into a throne, only her wings remained. Your Master, the Lord, took over your father’s. The smooth, stone walls were decorated with Valyrian history, carving the conquering of Old Ghis into the pyramid’s walls.

Two guards marched onto the platform and placed a wooden, gold-crested chest down on the podium. Their metal armor clanked as they stood upright and took a few paces behind the podium. The mysterious guest delicately with their purple fingertips caressed the chest with a smirk as he turned with an extended hand. “I present to you my Lord, a gift to your newborn son. A dragon’s egg.”

Your Master raised a brow looking over to his wife, who had an equally skeptical raise to her brow. He pressed both hands on his throne and pushed off approaching the sorcerer. As he approached the sorcerer folded his hands proudly into his red robes. "Please, open the gift, my Lord."

The Lord was a relative of the main Targaryen family in Valyria. He had decided to stay in Valyria when the fifth war began while the rest of his family left. After the fifth war had ended, he had been punished for attempting to escape when he realized the weight of his decision to stay and refusing to participate in the war. So, they gave him the escape from Valyria that he wanted: to hold the captured city, Gorosh, while the Rise of Valyria happened across the sea. He was stripped of his honor, his dragon, and banished as punishment.    

Brushing his long white hair from his shoulder, he haughtily opened the chest with two hands. Sitting center on velvet was the promised gradient black to red dragon egg. Like a child who just got sweets, he laughed jollily as he stared at the sorcerer who confirmed its authenticity with a nod. The Lord picked it up and it was small enough to fit in one hand. He rotated it around under the light of the torches, admiring it with the same childlike smile.

Subconsciously you tucked their newborn closer to you as he raised the egg up. You had seen what a dragon could do. What the rider had done. What it had done to your city. How they brought the beast into this city to bring it to its knees. You held the sound of anger and disgust back, trained now of what a sound out of line could do to you. However, that didn’t stop you from taking a subtle step back.

Your Mistress, who sat at the edge of her seat, gasped in delight.

As he shifted it around, it became prevalent that on the other side of the egg it had cracks and scales were chipped. His brow began to furrow in anger, “You present me, a gift to my son, a broken dragon egg!”

With a squirmy sashay, the sorcerer took the egg from your Lord. He caressed it gently like it was a child, “Oh no, no, no, my lord. I would never bring you such a curse. I present you an egg from the nest of the original dragon from the mountains of Valyria. It was tucked and protected for years, salvaged from the first war.”

The Lord perked up eager once again, anger simmering, “Yes, well then, but what if it isn’t a male dragon? Our family only births sons. Strong male beast must support strong men.”

The sorcerer placed the egg back into the hands of the Lord. “You are wise my lord, but there is no true gender to dragons’. This egg will be a strong one.”

The Lord held it up higher to the candlelight’s watching the scales of the egg twinkle a rose gold across the scared portions. He sighed in wonder, “Ah, I see it, I see gold. I have a good feeling about this egg.”

The mistress slithered from her throne and caressed her hand up her husband’s back and over to his shoulders. She squeezed as she remained behind him, whispering into his ear, “My love, we can become dragon lords. With this we can return to Valyria, but as dragon lords. Let’s take back what was ours.”

His pupils dilated as he turned around in the arms of his wife. This brought a twisted smile to the Lord's face. He leaned down and kissed her longingly. He could have power. “You’re right, we can take what our cousins took from us and abandoned us in Valyria. We’ll take Valyria one day; it’s going to be ours.”

He set the egg back in the chest, speaking to the sorcerer, “I will hatch the egg for my son. Thank you for your gift, Sorcerer. You have my word that this House will protect you on your journey to King’s Landing.”

The sorcerer bowed deeply and thanked the Lord.

The baby began crying and spitting up, you wiped at his face cooing him to shush. Your Mistress turned to you her sweet face contorted for a split second, irked by her son’s noises. “Harpy, leave.”

You bowed and began walking away, but not without looking over your shoulder at the egg. Goosebumps waved up your arms and spine. Something within you was deeply unsettled.

The child had fallen asleep and been asleep for a while. In a moment of silence, you waited for him to stir. The sudden sound of short pacing outside the room had your ear perking up. You crept, occasionally looking back to check on the sleeping baby, as you tiptoed towards the door. You placed your ear on the door listening in to the sound. The sound died out as you listened in. With a tight hand on the door handle and a hand against the door to counter the creak you knew it’d produce, you pressed it open an inch. You peeked outside of the room with the sliver of light letting out to the hall. The echoing sounds of the footsteps bounced off the walls, but the hall was empty.

With a final look behind you, you slipped out of the room. Your curiosity getting the better of you. The unsettling feeling from earlier was something you weren’t able to gargle down. As much as you tried to rest, your body felt jittery. You knew the pyramid like the back of your hand, every nook and crannies.  You crept along the wall and gazed down the connecting corridor finding a cloaked figure just turning the corner. Against your instincts, your feet moved before your brain had registered.  With hurried stepped you kept just behind the figure through many different halls.

You waited behind a pillar as they exited out the courtyard, rounding the broken harpy statue, to the monastery. The heavy stone door opened and allowed light to pour out over the dying grass before it instantly cut off.

You crept out across the yard and gazed around the courtyard once more before you sinked into the shadows behind the wings of the Harpy. You peeked through the metal-laced window catching dark figures standing around in a circle all softly lit by the moonlight pouring in. The figure you had been following handed off a jug to a sorceress who then held it up to the moonlight. Six, red-cloaked figured tipped their heads back and began approaching the pit of sand. The red, sacred sand from Old Ghis was like a talisman to your family. She raised it high and began pouring the liquid into the shallow pit as she walked around it clockwise. Anger simmered in your veins, feeling yourself being tainted as the precious sand was made heathen.

Dragged forward from the corner of the room by two guards was a young woman on her knees. You recognize the Goroshian girl, a kitchen maid that had recently been taken in. You watched the panicked look in her eye as she fought against rope restraints. The chest you had seen earlier was presented by two more cloaked figures. Your eyes filtered around the room and the closer you looked, in the shadows, near the guard handling the slave was the sorcerer, Lord, and Mistress. They smiled pleasantly as if they were watching a play.

The sorceress had passed the jug off and stepped forth grabbing the egg. You could see her lips moving rapidly as she picked up the egg and walked towards the pit. She held it in the moonlight chanting louder as you could hear what sounded like gibberish through the window.

The guard dragged the maid to the pit holding the back of her head with one hand. With his other hand, he unsheathed his sword holding a stoic face. After the sorceress was done with her chant, hands still in the air it all happened so fast. The guard raised his blade and ran it over her throat and sheathed his sword. Your eyes nearly bulged from your skull, but you couldn’t look away. You watched as her blood sprayed over the pits, causing a small spark that erupted into flames. The guard dragged the dead maid away and the sorceress tossed the egg into the fire. The prominent crack on the egg began to illuminate like molten lava. The sorcerous turned towards the Lord and Mistress and bowed.

The blood magic had been completed.

You held a hand over your mouth. How could such a terrible thing happen and the people around so content. That maiden was dead. The soil was tainted. Your parents, your people, were murdered. How could they be so content?

How could they do all this…and for a dragon?

You had to leave. You slipped from the window holding onto the wings of the Harpy as you slid from your hiding spot. You hurried back feeling nauseous and sick. Your vision was getting spotty as you ran back into the pyramid. You clutched onto the wall breathing heavily. Tears fell and you began sobbing in a deep corner of an empty hallway.

There was nothing you could do.

You shouldn’t have seen that.

After three years in the burning fire, the egg began to rumble. The Mistress over the years had grown impatient. She dismissed even the authenticity of the egg, but the sorceress had promised that there indeed was life. With her eyes rolling back she prophesized, “It will be a beast that will guide. The rider has leather arms like the beast.” The Mistresses needed no more provocation, in fact, she kept the room of the monastery secretive and protected to ensure the prophecy’s actualization. She even got her son to wear leather armory at any opportunity.

You pruning hands scrubbed at the stain in a cotton nightdress that wouldn't come out.  Your hand was snatched from the water causing you to drop the dress with a splash as you were yanked to a stand. The Mistress dragged you along, incautious of the puddles of water or baskets of clothes. You nearly severed your head as she pulled you through the strung about clothing lines. The other slaves doing laundry as well looked at you with fear in their eyes before they averted them away quickly.

"Mistress, what—what's going on?” She didn’t answer you, she continued to drag you about the halls until you came to the royal chambers. As you arrived at her chambers another maid shoved her toddler into your arms. Naturally you took him in your arms, coddling him to you as he latched on. You were grabbed by the elbow by the Mistress and taken away without further addressing. You held her son tight to you, careful of not dropping him as she dragged you. You were taken far across the pyramid to the monastery she had been guarding so carefully. Not even you, her personal slave, were allowed in there. You looked over to the Mistress shaking slightly, you saw what happened last time to the slave girl. You didn’t want to die today. “Mistress, please, tell me what’s going on?”

She turned to you with a stoic look on her face, “Harpy, your lucky I didn’t send you to the mines.”

Your mouth was sealed shut, but your eyes were wide open in shock. The stone doors opened, and the Mistress shoved you inside. You looked over your shoulder watching the doors close as you stared at the intense smirking face of the Mistress.

She was throwing you into the deep end.

Her son cried from the sudden motion, but you hushed him to quiet, but it was really more for yourself.

You turned around when you heard shuffling and was confronted with the sorceress. She was a young, beautiful woman, she wore a red cloak and her accessories were red as well, especially her steel necklace. You clutched him close to you as more cloaked figures appeared walking in line then began forming a circle around the pit. The sorceress stood at the top of the pit facing you.

You finally took notice that the dragon egg was rattling in the center of the fire. The red sacred sand had turned charcoal black. The sorceress commanded you, “When the egg hatches you will allow the dragon to greet its master, girl.”

Your hands were shaky, but you obliged by nodding. What other choice did you have?

You didn’t have time to prepare yourself as the egg began to violently rattle. The flame began to grow, expand, like it was breathing. Your rag of a dress flowed about you as a sudden wind in the room picked up and intensified. Loud, humming chants filled the room and it was all you could hear besides the toddlers crying. The black sand was carried in the wind and pelted your skin. You placed the toddler’s face in your neck and protected him and yourself as the flames licked the ceiling in ribbons of light.

Suddenly the flame extinguished, the wind stopped and the sand rained down. It was completely still then the sound of cracking filled the silence. You slowly opened your eyes and eased up your hold on the hiccupping toddler. It was hard to distinguish anything as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. The torches along the wall lit up, unveiling a small black and red dragon. It looked like it was carved by a blacksmith with its lacquered scales. It was no bigger than the size of a raven. It crawled from its broken shell. The forearms were attached to its red, leathery wings as it crawled forward. It had two small horns on its head and its black eyes were the nearly larger than its skull. Soft murmurs came from the creature as it stumbled through the soot. As it reached the stone rise it hopped up and it looked directly at you and kept its eyes locked on you.

Your hands were trembling as you held onto the toddler. The beast, the destroyer, came to life! Your worst fear came to life. You took a step back on instinct, but a booming command to halt stopped you. You watched the small creature move closer and closer towards you. It reached your foot sniffing then it nuzzled you once before it began climbing your dress. Its sharp nails punched holes into the weak fabric, and you remained still as a statue, whining in your throat. You were unsure of what to do. It crawled up you, twisting up your leg to your hips, up your back before it perched itself on your shoulder. It paid little mind to the boy in your arms but passed the toddler a glance. It stood on its two back feet and flapped its wings as it stood proudly on your shoulder, tail twirling around your neck like an anchor.

The sorceress looked between you and the dragon, then smiled. The stone doors opened as the Mistress stepped into the room. You slowly turned around to face her. The sorceress came to stand next to you, “The boy, son of Valyrian blood, with dragon blood within him, has been chosen, Mistress.” The dragon shifted on your shoulder crouching in a protective manner towards the sorceress.

The Mistress smile bloomed like Spring. She proudly proclaimed, “My son will reign Valyria one day, our dragonlord.”

Your heartbeat loudly in your chest and the dragon tightened its grip around your neck. You side glanced over to it as it looked at you before it blinked slowly then back to the Mistress.

You turned back to the Mistress who had already begun walking away leaving you standing there with the next dragon lord in your arms and the dragon on your shoulders.

Raising the Lord’s son naturally brought you in contact with the dragon. However, the child had no interest in the dragon, not even a glimpse as he paid no mind to it. He was sweet, always kind, but when his mother began taking care of him his personality changed. The child was often interested in other toys or entertainment the other slaves provided.

You had not much interest in it to begin with either. Every time you’d look at it the image of the dragon you saw flying over the city all those years ago crossed your mind. Your palms were sweaty and a solid feeling in your gut to say no. However, the dragon always remained by you. It clung to you like a pup. The small creature would wag it’s tail like a canine as well. You overcame the initial fear of it, when it proved itself time after time to be gentle, but most shockingly, only towards you. It never allowed anyone else to touch it, even the Lord and Mistress weren’t able to approach it without it hissing.

The Mistress relinquishing responsibility to you, putting you in charge of taking care of it altogether. That is until her son will be old enough to take over. You decided that if it was yours to take care of you were going to try, with everything in your power, to keep it from that destiny. You weren’t going to try your best. You didn’t want any other city to end up like yours.

Change doesn’t come overnight, but hands aren’t supposed to be bend metal either. A mold takes times to case, hands take on calluses and yours grew thicker. It takes gentle hands even to manipulate clay, and an even more sensitive touch to break into the heart.

You weren’t going to change it, but you were sure to mold its heart, and you had nothing but time.

-years later-

At night, after your duties, you carried a torch with you to visit the dungeons below the pyramid. You passed the other empty cells until you reached the large iron gate. You unlatched the five locks and slipped inside. You docked the torch and turned around to an elephant-sized-dragon that had one of its eyes open, but it was still comfortably laying down. You giggled slowly approaching, “Oh look at that pout. Did you miss me, big baby?”

You received a huff in response. The dark scales, sharp horns, sharp jaw, and teeth didn't match his current behavior. You giggled, cooing at him scratching at his chin, “You know I have chores to do before I come see you. May I lay down with you?” The dragon opened up, its tail swinging out and you naturally found your spot as you leaned up against its belly careful of his wings. You enjoyed the heat; it eased your tired muscles. Oddly, you held up a conversation asking about his day and did he like his meal. In his way, he would respond to you with little huffs and nudges here and there. You had learned early on that he was intelligent.

Through an exhausted giggle you sighed, spurting out something that had weighed heavy on your mind. “I don’t like that they call you ‘dragon’. I don’t like calling you ‘dragon’ either.” Although you kept a lingering laugh in your tone, the truth of it pained you inside. You had grown overtly fond of the dragon; he wasn’t anything like you had expected. You never felt threatened, afraid, or that you had to be cautious around him. He had been nothing but accepting of you.

“I don’t like that they call me ‘Harpy’, my name is Y/n.” You had somewhere along the line picked up his tail and began stroking the scales. “Can I give you a name?”

The dragon turned his head around and tapped you on the shoulder with his chin as he used to when he was no bigger than a raven.

You perked up, scooting yourself up, thinking of all the names possible. Purposefully you teased, “Hmm, how about…Greg?”

Somehow you could tell he disapproved as he thwapped his tail in your hand. You laughed, “Easy now, easy now, or I may start calling you Greg for real.” He huffed, behaving himself as he calmed again.

You stared at the wall aimlessly, the flickering light catching your eyes. “Sun, you remind me of the sun.” Something I always wish was to spend more time in the sun. “When I was a little girl, and my family was still with me—my mother would tell me stories of when she lived in Meereen. She would tell me stories of the great harpy that would have the sun glowing behind it on the great pyramid. The morning sun behind it was a site to see according to her. She used to call me Harpy, after the statue, and I liked it, but then these…murderers took it. They took my name from me.”

You turned around to him, pausing for a moment, serious this time, ”But I won’t let them take that from you. You’re not their slave. Your name is…,” you sat for a moment, “Soleil.” You sat up seriously, “Your name will be Soleil.” You received a tap on your shoulder, and you knew that he approved. You laid back down and curled up next to him. Suddenly you felt tears brim up in your eyes, “Thank you Soleil.”

After giving Soleil his proper name, you never addressed him as such in front of your Masters. It felt important to keep it between you both, just like how your name had never been spoken in front of your Masters. You didn’t want them to have that.

That was your mold.

Things change over thirteen years. Their son was no longer a newborn, you were no longer a young girl and Soleil…Soleil wasn't what they had expected.

Upon routine you approached the chambers of the Lord and Mistress, closing off your duties for the night. As you raised your hand to knock on the door you heard shouting from inside. You stood still, with your hand raised afraid to move.

The Mistresses muffled shout rung in your ears, “We should kill it.”

The Lord sighed, “We can’t just kill it, it’s our ticket back.”

The Mistress screamed, “Don’t you get it? We’re never going back! That stupid thing, it’s not a dragon, it doesn’t shot out flames, or do anything!”

“What about our son, it’s his dragon.” The lord passed by the door and you held your breath.

The Mistress sighed, voice hoarse, “He could care less about it, he never has. We’ll just get him another dragon, maybe he’ll care about that one. I’m sure we can find one from a merchant or something.”

You lowered your fist and clutched onto your skirt tight. The murmuring continued back and forth but you had blocked out their voices. They were talking about Soleil. Your blood ran cold

No.

No.

No!

You slowly backed away crashing into the wall knocking over a Valyrian flag. Your ears were ringing as your feet took off and when you were far enough you ran for it. You ran hard, thighs burning and towards the warehouse without a second thought. You went through the back gate, traveling along the stairs. You ran through the near-empty streets, carelessly running until you twisted and turned through the streets that lead to the abandoned part of the city near the coastline. It had been too destroyed in the war to repair. You traveled through the rubble, but you knew it by heart at this point. You took more stairs towards the docks. In familiar darkness, you found the old storage warehouse for warships and barges that your father once used to have. Remains and partial pieces of ships still were there, but It had become Soleil’s new home as he quickly outgrew his old cell under the pyramid.

You unlatched the large iron bar and pushed the gate across with all your might. Running into the darkness your shoes pounded against the moist ground. “SOLEIL! SOLEIL!” You heard his chain dragging against the cement and followed your instincts towards it. You slammed into his thick neck, arms not being able to wrap around his neck anymore, but you still gripped onto him. You held him tight for a moment, hearting beating like crazy, breathing erratically. You eased up and with your shaky fingers you began moving up towards his skull, “Stay still Soleil.” You were going to break the chain they forced on him. You began searching for the pin, “Don’t move.” He obeyed and you twisted the metal pin out of the lock and the choker fell to the floor in a loud metallic crash echoing in the empty warehouse.

You ran towards the dim light pouring in from the cracks of the main barge door. You grabbed onto that light, grabbing onto the handle and struggling to push it open. Your adrenaline was running on high that you didn’t hear the thuds coming from behind you. Soleil stuck his head in between the slight gap you’ve been able to budge and pushed the gate open. You both kept going until it was completely open.

The warehouse had a ramp that led into the water, but it also had a cement dock that led to the beach. You bent your neck backward as Soleil stood upright, towering fifteen feet tall. He leaned down to nudge you cutely in a greeting, but you couldn’t manage to greet him properly. You grabbed onto a horn as he dipped towards your level, walking backward, your voice was tight, "Come on, Soleil. Stay low.” His tail wagged behind him as he followed you out to the beach in a crouched position.  

The cascading sound of waves welcomed you both on the empty beach. Soleil whined at you, his large body fumbled awkwardly as you let go of him, trusting him to follow. You stood at the edge of the water gazing towards the pyramid, which seemed small from this point. You turned and gazed at the vast horizon, a full moon in the sky. This was the edge.

You turned and urged Soleil with a small command for him to lower his head again. “Soleil, my good boy, “clearing your throat of building tension, “listen to me, listen to me good.” Your eyes were glassing up, voice unrecognizable. “You’re going to fly, fly far away!”

You hear in the distance the sound of the hounds echoing from the pyramid. The Lord must’ve given the orders out.

“Go! Soleil! Go!” You let go of him stepping away from him, getting wet as the waves crash around your ankles. He quirked his head to the side, for the first time not responding to you.

“Go! Don’t come back! GO!”

He shook his head and sat on his two hind legs. Tears were running down your face, “Idiot, you’re going to die! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL YOU!”

He refused to move just stared at you.

The sound of barking intensified; they were near the warehouse. You charged at him and fruitlessly began pushing at Soleil, but he wouldn’t budge. Your feet buried in the sand with each push. Pathetically you begged, “Please, please, Soleil. Just go.”

The barking was just around the corner, you could tell they were at the stairs.

He swooped his neck down and you couldn’t understand until he nudged you, remaining at your level. You looked at his eyes who were locked on yours. It was like he spoke your name to you calmly. The look in his eyes spoke greater to you than you had anticipated. You heard his message loud and clear.

You had nothing here. You weren’t even human to them here. This wasn’t your home and it hadn’t been for a long time. He leveled his head down completely, closing his eyes. You looked over your shoulder back at the pyramid. What were you staying for?

You grabbed on and climbed onto his back between his winged arms like you had seen that man ride that dragon. You held on tight to his spines as he shifted about. You were facing the sky vertically, then he squatted and lunging into the air. The sudden motion made your stomach sink, you were so terrified you were unable to breathe as you felt weightless. The cold wind was intense as Soleil soared up and up into the night sky. You kept your eyes closed until he evened out, body arching and falling as he graciously flew. You opened one eye at a time and looked over to his wings that expanded at least thirty feet. You dared to look at the sea below then behind and you could see the shoreline of Gorosh in the distance. The shore was lit up by torches and barking hounds. The pyramid was smaller as you barely saw the lights of the town.

Somehow, you didn’t feel a sense of emptiness. Freedom. You faced forward, with a big grin on your face. You’re never looking back. “Faster Soleil! Get us out of here.”

He flapped harder than before and you arched forward holding on tight.

You traveled for hours, sticking alongside the shore as you had no idea where you were heading. You had only known of Gorosh your whole life, all other cities mentioned were just that. Mentions. You didn’t stop for hours in fear of being found. When you felt you were far enough, and Soleil slowed down significantly, you spotted a small lagoon separated from the Summer sea and decided to stop there.

Slowly you slid yourself off his back, holding onto his spines still for dear life. Tumbling off him Soleil turned around instantly and helped prop you up with his stout. You laughed as you stood, thanking him none the less you had made it to the ground in one piece. You sought out a small dry patch of land and took camp there. Soleil was like a child, he rushed for the lagoon, enjoying the cool water after his body heated up from flying for hours. You had managed to create a small fire, a trick you had learned after working in the kitchen. Soleil hunted for fish in the lake, eating his fill then came out with a few extra he dropped for you. You thanked him, although, they were slightly mutilated from his teeth, giving him a good pet. You ate and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. You leaned up against a tree with a heavy sigh, and like a lap pet Soleil twirled around and found himself a spot next to you. Although he couldn’t fit his head in your lap anymore, he closely leaned up against you.

You breathed a heavy sigh, you stared up at the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen the stars. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this relaxed. Although, the adrenaline was wearing off and your body was feeling heavy with exhaustion. You ran your hand over his head gently and he lightly purred in content. Your eyes were falling and you let them feeling your body succumb to the exhaustion.

Your body stiffened automatically when the purring turned into a deep growl. It vibrated you awake as he lifted his head facing towards the tree line. You knew beast, creatures and other beings lived in the jungle of Sothoryos. As a child in Gorosh, you were never allowed out in the jungle for that reason.  You didn’t have time to interpret before you heard movement in the foliage and breakage amongst the trees. You attempting to mount Soleil discreetly. You needed to get out of here quick. Arrows sliced through the air, striking the tree you were leaning on. You ducked down avoiding another attempting to hurry and mount. “Soleil, let’s get out of here!” As soon as you had a good grip on his spines you felt him stiffen. An arrow struck Soleil on the leg. The reaction was quick as his eyes rolled and his body fell to the floor in a thud. You rolled away from his with the momentum of being flung. You screamed, “Soleil!”

As you turned around you were surrounded by men with mask covering their face. Blocking out the full moon one raised a bat and swung it a hard striking your head and all went black.

Stirring within, you felt the echoing vibrations of a muffled roar drum through you. It rung and rung through the darkness of your mind until the prickling, cold, unshaven stone digging into your arm brought you to consciousness. Your eyes shot open, ears buzzing, and every inch of your body tingled with a different degree of pain. The sound of chains rattling amplified the sharp pain in your head. You clutched at your temple, bringing both hands up unexpectedly. They were bound by handmade, silver chains. You inspected your hands, unregistering what you saw until your eyes widened once again.

When did this happen? What happened? Where were you?

The familiar sound of growling and screeching rung in your ears. It all came back to you. You weren’t dreaming, that wasn’t a nightmare. You were kidnapped.

You blinked away the dizziness, the sound of Soleil screeching resonated in your ears again. His pain ticked off yours sending a painful burn down your spine. You forced yourself off the wall into a sitting position only to be weighed down by the chains around your wrist. You tried again but felt a tug realizing you weren’t alone in your attachment. Ten other women dressed similarly to you in slave robes were connected to you, all huddled around one another in a cluster. Fear was evident in their eyes as they scurried away from you.

You scanned the room itself, noticing it was a large holding room with a single entrance or exit and no windows. The stone infrastructure was crumbling, and the planked ceiling had a hole in it allowing sunlight to pour in.  This room at some point must’ve been a storage room.

You heard a howling cry from Soleil that sent goosebumps all over you, and like a mother bear driven to protect her child, a fire sparked within you. You were going to escape.

You stood up swaying slight, body still lucid, head throbbing in pain but all those were secondary at the moment. Slowly you dragged your heavy body over to the makeshift door made of rotting planks. Squinting one eye closed you peered through a thick crack. Guards were posted around the door and as soon as they moved slightly you were able to see where you were. Various makeshift buildings were posted like a marketplace. The market seemed to be placed between two mountains. In the distance, you could see fog covered green and slate rocky mountains. Through the scattered palm trees in the plaza, you noticed across the busy plaza was a high, stone stage. It was surrounded by an audience of men, but as you looked closer at everyone you realized they weren’t ordinary men.

They were pirates.

You recognized the black attire of men, their barbaric shouts, and the black flag with a skull. On the stage your black and red dragon was center stage, his mouth muzzled by heavy chains and limbs chained by even thicker chains suppressing any movement.

The image of Soleil coming towards you for the first time, the time he first let you rest on him, flew, and when he lowering his head to you at the beach when you told him to leave crossed your mind. He wasn’t like them. Soleil never gave up on you…and you weren’t about to give up on him. Anger boiled within you, how dare they! How dare they treat him that way. He wasn’t a slave and he will never be!

You gazed around, the women murmuring and gasping as you moved about yanking on the chain occasionally. In your frantic stupor, you stumbled over a rock. You hissed when you hit the ground scrapping your palms and knees on the dry stone. On your knees you shakily wiped your wounded hands on your robe, then it hit you. Stone.

Without hesitation you grabbed the stone, disregarding the pain and blood, and began slamming it on your linkage to the next person. The sound was loud in your ears, but the roaring cheers outside were enough to cover what you were doing. A thick sheen of sweat was building up on your skin as you used all your strength.

You had to break the chain.

The janky metal bent with each strike and eventually it broke into pieces. Although you still had cuffs on, you were no longer bound to the gang. You tipped your head back towards the ceiling heaving as you tried catching your breath. You squinted as the heavy clouds passed and let warm sunlight pour into the room. It felt so nice for a second before the clouds came back. You stared at it, blinking hard before you were moving again.

There was no stopping there, you pushed discarded wooden crates under the hole in the ceiling. You stacked smaller empty ones on top until you were sure you could reach the top. You climbed the crates, thighs protesting as you pushed yourself up, hands burning, but you kept pushing up. You reached the hole in the ceiling and grabbed onto the splintering, water damaged wood ceiling. It cut into your hand as you pulled and yanked and broke it to pieces to create a big enough gap for yourself. You weren’t sure the wood was strong enough to support you, but you had no choice. This was your only way out.

You turned back to the women staring up at you with a harsh whisper, “It’s your choice if you leave or not.”

You gathering all the strength left in your arms and extended your hands as far as the cuffs would allow you. You held on tight as you pulled your body up with a groan. You pushed and pushed until you were sitting on the roof. You blinked against the harsh light but as soon as you looked back to the plaza you saw pirates gather closer around the stage and the crowd cheered. Soleil growled thrashing his head around and that was enough to get you scooching faster but still carefully to the back edge of the building. The alleyway behind was empty and below you was hay in a cart next to more crates. You weren’t sure if it was clean, but it was your best bet. Holding your breath, seeing Soleil behind your closed eyes you let yourself fall over the edge. Your stomach turned but it was over quick as you plopped onto the soft hay. A puff of hay floated about as you stared up at the grey sky. Tickling your peripheral, tattered curtains blew as the breeze picked. You huffed and groaned as you got out of the cart and walked over to it and yanked it from its abandoned home. It was large enough to wrap around you and over your head around you like a cloak. You made sure your face was covered.

Under disguise, your bare feet trod the cobblestone with a false sense of direction. You weaseled through the crumbling white buildings and as you rounded the corner you filtered into the crowd like a beggar.

You heard a loud growl surge from Soleil's through the crowd and pirates jolly hooting in a recall. The sound eventually was drowned out by the loud calls of shop owners with their sales pitch. An announcer on stage spoke over the hooting, “This beast was caught last night, and the first bid is going to be starting at 10,000 Gold.”

The crowd erupted into furry as shouts of different prices rang out. The number disgusted you as it kept increasing and increasing. The auctioneer shouted the numbers he heard them. You moved towards that voice. You groaned as you accidentally bumped into someone hard. You bowed in silent apology not bothering to look up and kept moving towards the stage.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t have a plan, but you knew you needed to stop this somehow.

You stopped near the edge of the stage; you were the stillness amongst chaos. You peered up for that somehow…that something. You had gotten this far, but now what?

You looked around you and focused on the arms that clearly hung from the waist of the pirates. Pirates were brutal men; they were men that collected skulls as an offering to their god. They pillaged and raped at will and were more than happy to leave you for dead. Your eyes caught a sharp reflection of light as it nearly prophesied itself. You weren’t sure where this courage kept coming from, but your legs were light and arms heavy. You peered at the blacksmith shop near the stage, an ax was sticking out of a log. You briskly walked over to it and with cuff and dangling chain clinking lightly. You pulled it from the wood with a hint of struggle before you turned around without detection. The ax was heavy in your hands, the wood was unpolished and it bit into your raw hand.

Your throat was dry as you readjusted the weight of the ax in your cuffed hands. You weren't sure with what you were about to do would do anything. You weren't sure you were going to live after. You looked at Soleil, the look in his eyes wasn't the confident one you saw last night. The need to change that is raw. As your hearing dies out and the sound of your panting fills that void you stride forward eyeing the stairs the lead up to the stage. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, you could feel the veins in your neck throbbing. You lunged up the short staircase then broke into a run as your makeshift cloak fluttered off you. You had your eyes set on a chain. You pushed past the auctioneer; his face full of surprise as you pushed him out of the way. You swung the ax around until it was twelve, men rushed onto the stage and went to lunge at you. When the ax was high in the sky you used that same momentum to slam it down with a guttural scream on the chain that was attached to his muzzle.

As soon as the ax slammed down the chain cracked and broke, the long chain attached to the muzzle and the muzzle itself loosened around Soleil and feel in a metallic crash. Soleil acted immediately and roared breaking the chains lingering on his mouth as the links rained down. The man who grabbed you knocked the ax out of your hands as he tackled you to the ground. Seconds later he was pulled off you by Soleil’s jaw and the horrid crunch was heard and rung through the crowd. He jerked his head sending the body sliding at the front of the crowd. The pirates backed away creating a gap from the dead body. Soleil with his chin he tugged you closer to him and under his chest protectively. You clutched onto him whispering his name in relief.

The stunned crowd was paralyzed, even though they were men notoriously perilous. A dragon could bring men to their knees.

A booming voice cut through the silence, “I’ll take the wyvern…and it’s rider.”

The heavy crowd parted down the center, splitting evenly as a man confidently walked towards the stage. He stepped over the body to stand just near the front of the stage. His white blouse was tucked into his black pants, with a black long coat. He was decorated in gold accessories, most notably his golden broach on his breast of a sun.

He stood confidently, unbothered by Soleil, “I’ll give you a few options girl.” His eyes gazed up to Soleil, Soleil arched his neck back further ready to strike.

In a clear voice, he drawled it out simply for you, “Join me, or die.”

The sweet smile he seemed to offered had suddenly translated as cynical. “I take you, girl, and the wyvern with me.”

You felt sick to your stomach. Another person wanting to hold you captive, a pirate at that. However, you were under the chest of a chained beast. You had no other way out, no plans. If you did, Soleil was still chained and you had no weapon, you didn’t even know how to fight. The pirates that seemed to be a part of his crew around him all looked ready to strike.

In a low voice, you gave your condition, “No one will touch my dragon, even you.”

Surprisingly, the man smiled and bowed. The man turned towards the auctioneer, who was shaking in his boots at the edge of the stage. In fact, the population that was once around the stage had disappeared except for the men following the pirate in the center. The man whose smile reminded you of the sun pointed with a single hand, "Release the wyvern.”

With trembling hands, each of the thick chains was undone. You were holding onto Soleil's neck, prepared for the next move of the pirate.

With a gesture of honor, he placed his hand over the sun brooch, “Wyvern rider, welcome aboard my ship.”

You clutched onto the horns of Soleil as he dipped low, soothing him and yourself as you started at the man who smiled so gently, but underneath if you weren't sure to trust it.

The auctioneer still stood near you cautiously watching Soleil for a sudden attack. You asked, “Who is he? The man who just—bought me?”

The man scoffed to keep his ego, yet still cautious. “Ignorant girl, you choose a death worse with that man.”

Your eyes shifted, as you tried to suppress your internal panic. You had grown up in a household of many tragic men and women, guest who’ve done horrible things, and served those who caused horror. You’ve seen a lot, but based on the contortion on this man’s face you had another thing coming. A small huff came from Soleil at the man. Almost to himself, he whispered, “I don’t know why he’s in the Summer’s sea. He never travels west. Something must be wrong.”

The man began retreating and down the stairs. He spoke as he retreated, a sick smile forming on his lips as he laughed through it, “No one knows who he is, or where he’s come from but everyone knows what he’s done. He’s a hope collector, light collector, and life collector. Anyone who was slain by his black sword suddenly became skeletons. The only man who sailed to Leng and survived the Old Ones. Some call him Jay the Sun Chaser, but he’s the Sun King of the Jade Sea.”

You had heard of that name before, amongst the maids and guards before. It was near impossible to be of Sothoryos and not know of the Sun Chaser. But what he’s done, or why he was king was a hushed conversation, never truly knowing who or where he came from.

As he stepped on the ground, “He's killed plenty, girl, and I'm sure you're next. His skull collection on Skull island blocks the Sun, quite fitting for the Sun King don’t you think? You’ll be the next offering along with your dragon too.”

Up until this point, you hadn’t felt fear. You did what you had to do yet, your blood ran cold.

The auctioneer vanished into an alley and you were alone in the center.

Your hands shook as you held onto Soleil. Just what did you do.

You hugged your knees close to your chest preserving any heat possible. The cell was cold as a breeze crept along the floor. Each time the boat rocked the wood protested in a haunting creek. Waves tirelessly hit the side of the boat. The only light was a lantern that hung in the hall outside your cell, but you knew it was out there.

You could hear footsteps from above going back and forth all day long. You were in the bowels of the ship, but you weren’t discarded. In fact, you always had visitors, two specifically. Because of that, you had been told vicariously that Soleil was still following.

The wooden stairs creaked one at a time as a heavy boots stride towards you. He was later than usual. You leaned up and kept your eyes straight on the bars, awaiting your visitor. The steps grew louder before they stopped in front of your cell, blocking the light. Slowly you tipped your head up and met the shadowed eyes of a man as he tilted his head down to look stoically down at you. The man was thin but slightly muscular; his feline-like demeanor and features were always hard to read. He was the one who picked you up from the stage that day. He took hold of your chain and escorted you, uncaring of Soleil. As you were about to board a small rowboat you turned towards Soleil and for the first time spoke up to your escort, "I had a condition. I won't go if he won't follow."

That was the first time you had seen the feline smile, “He will follow. I don’t doubt that.” You were picked up and placed into the smallest rowboat.

You turned around to Soleil, “Stay close. I promise it’s going to be alright.”

The feline man began rowing and you watched Soleil pace the shoreline whining, at that point you had to turn away. You didn’t doubt that man’s words either.

Soon, by slippage, you had found out his name was Yoongi, second hand to the omnipresent figure that ruled this ship. You had yet to see him, the Sun King, only having direct interaction with Yoongi or Taehyung, a mischievous crew member who pulled the short stick in having to take care of you.

Yoongi brought out a ring of keys and unlocked the cell. “He’s requested your audience.”  

You slowly got up, your legs prickling as they’ve gone numb from sitting too long. Your hands were still cuffed, and your wrist was raw and blistering. The moist air didn't make it any better egging on the sweaty friction.

Taehyung came trotting down the stairs in a bit of shambles, “I’m here, I’m here!” You kept a straight face, attempting to conceal a giggle at his clumsy behavior. He was a bit of happiness on this rig. Taehyung was the complete opposite of Yoongi, they always bickered, but you could still tell they were close. He would come down on his downtime and talk to you. It kept you sane. You had expressed to him your fear of his King. Ironically, he laughed, “I can’t confirm or deny what you heard, but just…be prepared. I recommend to just…be yourself when you see him. He doesn’t respond well to pretense.” His words didn’t ease your mind, but you figured if he accepted someone like Taehyung maybe you had a chance.

They escorted you up countless floors. You felt burning eyes on the back of your head, yet you didn’t pay them any mind. You already knew their eyes were staring at you intently and judgingly. In passing you heard them whisper, “A woman on board is going to get us all killed.” You chuckled a bit, finding them fearful of your gender but not your dragon. Then the laughter died down in your throat…they weren’t fearful of a dragon. They all looked clean kept, except the look in their eye was dirty, tainted and toughened up. You swallowed the thick saliva in your mouth and averted your eyes. Taehyung leaned in close to you, “Miss, don’t mind them. They’re not going to harm you. Especially not with me around.” You looked over your shoulder with a raised brow, his statements were questionable. You didn’t let Taehyung see you chuckle, but you were sure he knew.

You reached the top staircase ascending to the deck. The night sky was completely dark as you looked up. You stepped up to the deck and on first instinct, you took a breath of fresh air. The air was cold your dress that was paper thin, ripped in different places couldn’t protect you from the cold. The wind whipped your hair around, but it was refreshing.

You kept your eye to the sky, eyes focused on the big, billowing mast. You caught a glimpse of Soleil soaring instantly putting a smile on your face. He was fine. He followed you.

Yoongi pushed at your back slightly, “Keep going.” You had forgotten how large the ship you were on as the edge of the boat seemed far. Taehyung leads the way as you followed with Yoongi at your back. Surprisingly the deck was full of people working and doing things despite lanterns being the only thing lighting up the ship. The ship was made of light brown wood that was still bright even in the night; the mast were giant white sheets. When the wind slowed down enough you were able to pick up the big sun on the main mast. In all honesty, you didn’t want to meet the Sun Chaser. The auctioneer’s words still rung in your mind. Did he really want you dead? Were you just another offering to their God?

You were shoved from behind when you were gazing too long.

It took a while before you reached the back of the ship to the captain’s quarters. Yoongi approached double doors and knocked before stepping back. He must’ve received a response you couldn’t hear as he pushed open the door and allowed you in. Yoongi held a hand over his chest, a similar gesture you had seen their King do, as he held the door open. Your heart was in your throat, feet stiff and frozen, but you had no choice. You took a step forward then another into the lion’s den.

The feeling in the air changed as you walked in, a burst of hot air overcame you like a blanket. The wooden room had a golden glow about lighting up the bookcase and furniture around. Every instinct was on high alert and was warning you against settling into it. You jumped when the heavy door clicked behind you as you turned watching your only exit close.

“Spoked wyvern rider?” A gruff voice awakened your senses.

You whipped around finding him sitting behind his wide desk, feet crossed resting a top as he leaned back in his black stone throne. Across the back of the chair over his head, the rising sun in different stages was depicted in gold. He loosely twirled his sun brooch between his fingers as he observed you with a bored expression. The various stages of burnt candles that must’ve been on its mantle for ages at the edge of his desk flickered. The shadowing light lit up one half of his face. His strong features, sharp jaw naturally jutted in icy confidence. His hair was slicked back. It was darker than the light blonde you had seen him with a week prior.

He silently stood up rounding his desk like a predator holding the sun between his fingers. You noticed he was wearing intricate armory; it was unlike the casual wear you had seen him initially in. The deep emerald textile was underneath a thick metal armor. Plated mail graduated large to small plates from his shoulders down to his breast. Gold fabric cinched his small waist addressing below his tight black pants that were tucked into brown leather boots.

You cleared your throat to catch yourself from staring longer than necessary. He was gorgeous, that was something you’d admit. But that still didn’t change the fact that you still feared him. He must’ve caught you on though as he chuckled and stood tall before you. You caught a whiff of his rich citrus scent as he towered over you. His dangling long, golden earing caught your eye dragging your attention away from his intense stare.

He creased his eyes in a challenging taunt, “Must be difficult not riding your wyvern.”

You squinted, creasing your brows dragging your eyes back to his cheeky expression. You asked honestly, “Why do you call Soleil that? He’s a dragon not a…?”

You could see the a-ha moment cross his eyes as he repeated the name on his tongue. “Wyvern. Your wyvern, Soleil, isn’t a dragon. I would know, I’ve seen many in my days venturing near Valyria. I’ve seen Basilisk, but your beast is defiantly different. Wyvern different.”

You squinted still a bit confused, “Your beast’s wings are attached to his arms,“ he looked over you quizzically, “…and he doesn’t breathe fire.”

It hadn’t dawned on you. Yes, Soleil didn’t, or hadn’t ever, breathed fire.

He pulled out your hands taking in the cuffs on your hands. He tsked then pulled out his sword from its sheath. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the cuffs. You pulled your hands back to your chest backing up and bumping into a cabinet. You heard of that sword, the black stone sword that turned people into skeletons. In a moment the trust you had slightly built up was torn away. "Please, please don't kill me." Your heart was beating erratically out of your chest.  

“What?” His eyes widened taken back your sudden jump. He attempted to center you but you just thumped against the cabinet again.

“Please, please don’t turn me into a skeleton.” The chains rattled loudly as you trembled.

He stared at you for a moment in complete disbelief. His domineering aura died down as his eyes softened as a subtle laugh started before it turned into a roar as he hunched over laughing.

You stood there gazing at him awkwardly holding your hands to your chest, “You’re…you’re not going to turn me into a skeleton?”

He spoke through a laugh, “No, where did you hear that from?”

You looked away, a hot embarrassed flush filling you. You whispered, “At Barter Beach.”

“Their mouth’s run dry if it's not full of lies.” He gently took your hands back in his, eyeing you cautiously, asking you to trust him for a moment. You held your cuffed hands out, all-be-it shaking. He lifted his sword and easily cut through the cuffs like butter. They fell to the floor pilling at your feet.  

You thanked him lightly as he sheathed his sword back again. He eyed your blistering wrist, “Don’t thank me.”

He watched your mind work a million miles per hour. He brought a hand over his chest placing his brooch back in place, “Excuse me wyvern rider, I hope you know I have no intentions to hurt you. I apologize for keeping you in the cell, but you must understand my crew’s safety comes first. I merely did such to protect you and myself.”

You scoffed, “Protect me?”

A large shadow passed engulfing you both in darkness as Soleil covering the moonlighting pouring in from the wall to wall window. When the bright light returned you were both boldly staring at one another.

Instantly and evenly he responded, “I don’t believe in harming women…especially women with children, wyvern rider.”

“Y/n.” He paused for a moment taking in what you said. You don’t know why you gave him that. You’ve never given your name to anyone. You wanted him to know though, for some reason, you felt he would keep it.

“Y/n.” He sighed, “You are not my prisoner, but I will hold you on my ship until we are in safe waters. It isn’t safe here right now, so think of me as your escort.”

You raised a brow. It isn’t safe? And he’s going to be your…escort? You didn’t suppress the laugh this time, everything up until now felt so ridiculous. “Jay the Sun Chaser, the pirate king with the highest skull collection, my escort?”

He smirked, correcting you, “Please, call me Hoseok. You are not a pirate, nor crew, call me by my name.”

Rubbing your sore wrist, you started again, “Hoseok, I’m aware of the Pirate code. No debt or act goes unpaid, what do you want from me?”

He hummed twirling the sun brooch again as he stepped towards the window to observe Soleil. You cautiously approached the window to stand next to him.

“Nothing.”

You quirked a brow, “Nothing sounds like a heavy debt.”

Genuine laughter escaped his lungs, you even joined it a bit. He turned to you, “So it is.”

Copyright 2019 © by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved.

[twihybridxz]

like or credits to givestelena ☮

[wearemystic]

The Photos

Prompt:  host finds eddies saucy myspace pics Prompt giver: @ollies-outies

“So… Eddie. Edster. Light of my life. Ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. I was going through MySpace the other day…” You lean over the back of the couch of your living room, holding your phone up between your thumb and forefinger. Eddie doesn’t even look up from his laptop; he’s in the writing zone. “Eddie. Eddie Brock, pay attention to me. I’ve found very important photographic evidence of your sordid past.”

“Mmhm…” He clickety-clacks away on the keyboard. You huff in genuine annoyance.

Rude.

we could scare him.

… How do you propose we do that?

… haven’t thought that far ahead.

Damn. Might’ve been a good way to get his attention, honestly.

we could also tempt him with… things.

Oooh, like that leftover cake from the bridal shower!

was thinking more along the lines of sex.

What-? You’re insatiable. We just fucked this morning.

no such thing as too much sex.

Technically, there actually is. Psychologically.

… fine. use the cake.

I’ll make it up to you, doll, promise!

You skip to the kitchen, tripping on the hem of your loose flannel pajama bottoms. Mystic catches you before you faceplant into the countertop.

careful, lamb.

“Thanks, baby,” you whisper, kissing your hand where she’s wrapped over your skin. She vibrates in response, a pleased little thrill that travels up your spine. The pressure on your hand increases briefly, like she’s pressing a kiss of her own against your knuckles.

you are welcome.

Giddy, you hum happily under your breath, half-mouthing, half-mumbling nonsense words to a nonsense tune as you dig through the boxes upon boxes of leftover takeout in your refrigerator. The cake is on a little Dixie plate and covered with saran wrap. A box of Chinese food — that you probably should have thrown out a while ago — squished half of it flat, but that doesn’t really matter in the long run. Chocolate is chocolate, right?

You’re a bit worried that it might taste a bit like old ginger noodles, and scoop a bit onto your finger to taste. Nope. Still very chocolate-y. Mystic whines in your head.

i want some, too.

Nope, this is now a bribe cake. We don’t eat bribe cakes. I’ll bake you your own cake on the weekend, okay? I’ll even make that buttercream frosting that you were drooling over last time.

fine.

You sashay back into the living room, sniffing exaggeratedly at the dessert. “Oh, man, this cake smells delicious. So, so good,” you hum, flopping down next to Eddie. Venom rumbles beneath his shirt, a decidedly Not-Eddie sound.

Eddie’s nose twitches. You cheer internally. Come on, come on, look away from the laptop for one goddamn minute.

Venom sprouts from Eddie’s shoulder like a weed. “Chocolate?”

“Yes, Vee, chocolate. I was going to give it to you and Eddie if he’d just pay attention to me for two minutes.” You level a steely look at Eddie. Venom’s waspish eyes widen slightly, then narrow in amusement.

“I can help with that.” He licks a long, wet line up the side of Eddie’s face. The reporter grimaces, pausing in his writing to scrub at the drool with his sleeve.

“Eugh. Gross, man. Don’t - don’t do that.”

“The young ones have something for us, if you pay attention to them.” The expression on your face when Eddie turns to face you is distinctly unimpressed. His attention is immediately drawn to the cake in your hand.

“‘S that for me — us?”

“It is… if you can give me some juicy details about these.”

Eddie blinks as you wave your phone in his face. “That’s… your phone.”

If your eyes roll any harder than they already are, they can and will fall out of your skull. “Yeah, I know that, silly. Look at the — oh, damn, one sec.” You set the plate down on the coffee table so that you can unlock your phone. The screen turns on again, illuminating your face. “Augh, that’s bright. Okay, here.”

You hand Eddie your cell phone, bouncing on the balls of your feet. A mosaic of selfies takes up most of the webpage, with the MySpace header at the very top. Eddie lets out a whistle.

“How long did it take you to find this, Sunshine?” He looks impressed.

“Not long, actually.” The impressed expression drops. Now he just looks like he ate a whole lemon. “Come on, don’t give me that face! It’s not that hard to find people online nowadays, old man.”

“tell us about the pictures, eddie.”

He raises an eyebrow at Mystic. “What, no magic word?”

“no.” Eddie sighs. Venom chuckles, a rumbly sound that you can physically feel through the couch.

“Alright, alright. Gather ‘round, children, et cetera.” You wriggle closer to Eddie, sliding beneath his arm as you sit criss-cross-applesauce (it feels like you’re back in grade school again; you’re not sure how to feel about that, honestly). “So this one,” he tilts the phone screen so that you and Mystic can see better, “was from my eighteenth birthday. I, uh. Got a hold of some of my old man’s whiskey, and, well… you can see how that turned out.”

Humming in response, you nod. You can indeed see how it turned out. In the blurry photo, Eddie has a sort of dazed expression on his face, dopey grin and all. His shirt is on backwards. He doesn’t have either of his sleeve tattoos in this one. You frown at the image. There’s… a bruise on his right cheekbone in the photo. Eddie doesn’t notice your change in expression (or just doesn’t acknowledge it). You resolve not to bring it up, the thought of where that conversation might lead making your guts twist unpleasantly.

“This one,” he says, flicking to the next photo, “is from my old boss’s son’s twenty… second?… birthday.”

You whistle long and low. The picture is… well. Eddie cleans up real nice — or, he used to. You’re not sure if he even owns one nice article of clothing any longer. The sleeves of the black jacket he had on are rolled up, baring his forearms.

“You look… really, really good in this. Not that you don’t usually, but, um…” you trail off, unsure of where you were planning to go with the sentence.

“smooth,” Mystic mutters next to your ear.

“Shut up.”

Eddie laughs, shoulders bouncing. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? This next one… ah. Well. I was young. And dumb.”

“And naked,” Venom helpfully supplies.

“... yes. And naked.”

A small smirk curves your lips as you look at the image on your phone screen. Venom isn’t lying — Eddie is very naked in the picture. He looks extremely content. You trace his form with your eyes, starting at his outstretched fingers before moving down his arms to his unmarked shoulders and down his spine. Following the line of his back, your gaze then moves further down to… you snort. “Heh. Bubble butt.”

Eddie elbows you as you cackle. “Shut up. You like my bubble butt.”

“we do,” Mystic agrees.

“Wait, who took this picture? There’s no way someone else isn’t holding the camera to get this angle.” Eddie flushes prettily under your questioning look, avoiding your eyes.

“It, uh. It was taken by a one night stand I had in college. He taught me how flexible I can really be.”

“A ‘he’, hm? Was he any good?”

“For my first time taking dick? Yeah, he was. Real gentle about it, too. Made my toes curl.” A nostalgic smile curves his mouth.

“I’m glad your first experience was so good for you,” you say sincerely, nudging Eddie with your elbow. He squeezes your shoulders in a one-armed hug.

The next (and final) photo is one that has you coughing into your hand, unsuccessfully trying to hide your amusement. In it, Eddie is holding the camera in one hand above his head while the other is down his pants. He’s making the duck face, of all things.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, slapping at your chest. “Oh my god. Eddie, why the duck face, Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because I thought it looked good at the time? I don’t know. I was, what, twenty five? Maybe?” Sighing, he shakes his head. “Like I said earlier, in a lot of these I was young and dumb.”

“It’s just…” you raise your eyebrows as you give Eddie some serious side eye. “It just looks so extra, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“What’s ‘extra’ mean, Eddie?” Venom lazily curls around Eddie’s bicep, blinking inquisitively.

“Oh, um… it’s like, if something or someone is extra, they’re being over the top, I guess? Dramatic.”

“so, like venom’s reaction to pepsi?” You choke on your own spit. Eddie stifles a grin.

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

[liarswhtpsd]

packs sashay

©heavetuan

[pietersesunshine]

old