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dckweed · 8 months ago

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THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND, bob floyd

summary: In which bob floyd gets himself into a bit of a pickle and calls on his hot, recently single neighbor to help him out, the situation is mutually beneficial..in more ways than one.

warnings: fake dating, violence, domestic violence mentioned, nicknames, slowburn, eventual smut, reader has anxiety!

this is an x reader fic where reader is referred to as sunshine or sunny as a nickname, also i know the moodboard is a lil wonky no one say anything im gonna fix it! i made it on my phone half asleep lmao.

this took quite a bit to get out huh? lol anyway send in requests for bob and sunny if you have any my loves!

series masterlist here, series playlist here, comment on part one for the taglist!

PART THREE: bagman.

Purple and pink lights covered the dark stage, following your movements as you strode across it dressed in nothing but some white strappy heels with cute little cherries on them and a lacey red lingerie set. You had opted for a short wig that night, a blunt bob and in all honesty it made you feel like a whole new person as you stared out at the slightly crowded seating area next to the stage. Rowdy men were hollering already, slapping bills down onto the black top of the stage before you had even touched the pole yet, they were loving it.

Music starts and you block out the crowd, moving your body to the beat as you do a routine you’ve been practicing in the couple of weeks you’ve been off, wanting to change up your dances for your regulars a little bit. You dance for nearly five songs, your new routine a big hit amongst the crowd and as you stride off of it, stopping to shake your ass here and there in front of who you deemed as deserving gentlemen, picking up handfuls of bills every time you did. The stage was absolutely covered in them, and you couldn’t have been more thrilled. You were fairly certain that there was enough her for you to be able to call it a night if you wanted to, you knew your boss wouldn’t mind if you went home early, he was still iffy about you coming in with a bruise still showing anyway (even though you perfectly covered it with makeup). A stage hand passes you with a big bag as you make your way off stage, the lights off as they go to clear up the money that you couldn’t grab.

You were headed to the dressing room, needing a break after 5 songs but you’re stopped by your boss, Edwin. “You looked good out there Sunny,” He says an arm popping around your shoulder as the older gentlemen lead you away from the direction you were trying to go. You lean into him head on his shoulder. “Always a crowd pleaser, you are, you were missed during you time off.”

You smile at his words, despite his hard appearance Edwin was actually a really kind man and he had taken you under his wing when you first came to town, had given you your job illegally even though you had just barely turned 21 and because of it you had grown close. If Bob hadn’t come to your aid the night that your pice of shit ex boyfriend had gone to town on you, you know that Edwin would have (even though he was in the middle of running the club) and he almost did when you called him the next day to tell him what happened.

“I know it’s your first night back, and you wanted to take it easy,” He says, stopping you in the doorway just before the main floor of the club, where patrons were milling about as the stage hands finished clearing your set. “But you seemed to have caught the attention of one of those ship boys over there by the bar,” He points towards a group of them and you purse your lips, thanking god that none of them looked like Bobby from this angle. “Requested Ivy Wild for a private dance, told him you’re the boss when it comes to that..”

You sigh at the mention of being requested by name, looking back towards the dressing room. You weren’t sure how much you made from your stage appearance yet, not until you counted it, but you knew that if you did a half hour private dance that you’d walk away with three hundred at the least..you couldn’t say no to that kind of money.

“I’ll take him, put him in room four.” You say, before turning on your heel to head towards the dressing room. “I’m gonna go freshen up real quick before I head in there.”

The room is dark when you enter, nothing but a dim blue light around the ceiling to light up the room, casting shadows across the firm leather couches and the man lounging across them. You slink your way into the room, coy smile splaying across your lips.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing..” The man says, leaning back against the couch. He spreads his legs slightly as he does. He’s clad in dark jeans and a crisp white button up that is so tight you can practically see the outline of his abs through the fabric. You can’t see his face in the shadows but you can tell from his voice and the way he manspreads that he’s handsome, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you a little excited. “You gonna dance f’me?”

If you listened close enough he even sounded a little bit like Bobby and for some reason, that made your face flush. “You gonna follow the rules pretty boy?” You flirt, moving your hips to the music that was playing softly in the room, standing just barely in front of him. “You can look but you can’t touch, got it?”

“Whatever you say, hot stuff..” He seems to sigh almost dreamily as you start putting on a show for him.

You touch your body, letting your hands travel down it as you swing your hips to the beat, putting on a routine for him. Just as you’re about to give him a lap dance, ready to straddle your lean legs one either side of his thick thighs he reaches out for you, fingertips brushing the bare skin of your midriff. “Aht, Aht-” You say, pushing him back with your foot on his chest, your heel digging into the muscular expanse. “No touching, pretty boy..”

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me here..”

When you leave the room fifteen minutes later, it’s with a self righteous smirk across your lips. You had made the man cum in his pants with your lap dance and you hadn’t even let him touch you, it was a rarity but you loved when it happened, it was quite the ego boost if you were being honest with yourself. You could have done without the three hundred and fifty that he had left for you and just rode the high of a stroked ego for the rest of the night, but you took it anyway and shoved it in the bag that the stage hands had left by your locker. You would count it out when you got home, you were ready to leave and you were positive you already made over a grand tonight, there was no need to stay other than to see to the other girls but they all seemed okay with themselves tonight.

You poke your head into Edwin’s office and bid him goodbye on your way out, making your way to the employee parking lot afterwards where you parked your car, It’s a surprisingly short drive home given the time, and when you park your car on the side of the street outside of the building, you’re surprised to see Bob out, Cosie’s leash in hand.

“Hey, Bobby!” You say cheerfully, hopping out of the car with your duffle bag and bag of cash in hand. He turns at hearing your voice, as though he was startled.

“Sunny, you getting home early or late?” Yeah, the man earlier sounded almost exactly like him, you think and can’t help but smile. He holds the door open for you and lets you walk in ahead of him after you stop and stoop down to pet Cosie.

“Early, told Edwin I wanted to take it easy..” You say, walking through the lobby of the building to the elevator with him. He hits the button for you too. You notice the way he looks at you when you mention Edwin and you remember that you never told him much about the club. “Edwin is the owner of the club, my boss..and he’s kind of like my dad in a way though thats a little weird to say because he sees me in lingerie all night..” You weren’t sure where the sudden rambling came from, perhaps it was a reaction to him putting his hand against your lower back to usher you into the elevator before him, or maybe it was the smell of his cologne that lingered in your nostrils but damn it made you feel nervous and giddy all at the same time.

He hums as he punches the button for your guys’ floor, adjusting the leash to his other hand as Cosie rubs against your legs. You were still clad in your strappy heels, feeling too impatient to stop and take them off. He does the thing with his hand again to user you off of the elevator before him and you just about die on the spot, what is it with you? Was gentlemanly behavior really that big of a thing for you?

Within a few moments you’re at your door, his just a few steps farther than yours and he stops, holding your bag without a word as you shove your key into the lock and bully the door open. You open your mouth to say goodnight but find yourself saying something else entirely. “Do you wanna come in? Help me count all this maybe?” You hold up the bag of cash, and he glances down at it, soft smile on his handsome face.

“Sure.” He finds himself saying, even though he has work in a few hours. You’re just so sweet with your damn eyes and flushed little cheeks that he can’t say no.

The next few hours are filled with him sitting with you on your living room floor, sprawled out in front of the couch, piles of money in front of the both of you. You had gone and changed into a small pair of pajama shorts with little red hearts on them and a white tank top, but not before having him take photos of your heeled feet for you so you could post it on your instagram.

“It’s almost four..” You whisper, your head leaned against his shoulder. You guys had stayed on the floor and you found yourself leaning against him as our eyes drooped, tired from you first day back at work but not wanting to fall asleep just yet. You listened to him tell you stories about his job, and you fell in love with how much he loved his job, how happy it made him.

“You sleepy, Sunny?” He murmurs, that Montana accent thick. He turns his head to look down at you, almost wishing that he hadn’t because from this angle and in this lighting he could pretty much see through your shirt and it was all he could do not to pop a boner right here next to you at the sight of your pert nipples and supple tits.

You hum in response, already on the cusp of unconsciousness. The last thing you remember is him shifting, his warm arm coming to wrap against your shoulder as if pulling him farther against him.

By the time you wake the next morning, he’s long gone, though he’s left you in his hoodie that you don’t remember putting on and with Cosie. You can’t help but pout at his absence, having found yourself more comfortable with someone you were fake dating than anyone you had ever actually dated. You were surprised that you had fallen asleep, that you hadn’t woken when he left and when you check your phone, you’re even more surprised to find a text message with a photo of a sleeping you attached, your head against his chest, eyes closed and peaceful..

Navy Dude: thought i would take something for my own instagram..see you tonight..

You couldn’t help but giggle, breathing in his scent as you read the message and immediately going to check his instagram account before making yourself busy for the rest of the day by taking Cosie on a long walk and doing your pilates work out in the living room, practically counting down the hours until he would arrive to take you to meet his friends. Your first official date as a fake couple.

You’re just struggling into a cute little yellow dress sun dress when you hear your door open and Cosie give a happy yip, with your arms cocked behind you, you glance towards your bedroom door, hearing his footsteps fall down the hallway. “Bobby?” You call out, almost a whine. “I can’t get my dress zipped..”

He’s in your room in a matter of seconds, his long and lithe body taking up your doorway. He’s in his service uniform, the tan khaki’s littered with different colors of pins that you would have to ask him about later. You thought he looked handsome in his uniform, but he looked downright drool worthy when he wore his flight suit home, though you assumed they hadn’t done any flying today.

“Let me help,” He murmurs as you stand in front of him. He bats your hands away before gently moving your loose hair over one shoulder, out of the way of the zip. “Dress looks real pretty..” His fingertips trail down the exposed skin of your back and you suck in a breath, chills going down your spine as they go up, up, up, stopping just between your shoulder blades.

“Do I look okay?” You ask softly, smoothing out the flowy skirt that just barely went past your mid-thigh as you turned to face him, looking up at the taller man. You had put on enough makeup to cover up what was left of your bruises, but not nearly as much as you had worn at work last night. You were meeting friends, there was no need to paint your face like you would at work. You weren’t sure if you should put on more though, you wanted to look okay for him, you wanted him to have his friends’ approval.

“You look gorgeous,” He murmurs, corners of his lips turning up as he looks down at you. You were practically chest to chest by that point, you would call it an almost intimate moment. His hand comes up from his side, fingertips grazing against the skin of your cheek before brushing your hair behind your ear, you blush as you notice yourself leaning into his touch slightly. “Think you look real pretty in yellow, Sunnygirl..”

“Thank you..” You breathe, not realizing that you had somehow moved close enough to him that your noses were practically touching, him stopped down towards you. It wouldn’t take much for your lips to brush together now, just lean into him a little farther, and you would have too if Cosie hadn’t barked from your feet, scaring you so badly that you jump about a foot in the air, cheeks flushing as you realize that you had been about to kiss him and he hadn’t even tried to stop you.

“Right, so,” You clear your throat, turning to go back to your closet for a pair of matching sandals. “Why don’t I go walk Cosie while you change and then I’ll meet you by your truck?”

“Oh, um, yeah, yeah,” He says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck as he turns, his own cheeks flushing red. “You do that, i’ll be right down..”

Nearly forty-five minutes later, he’s pulling his silverado into a parking spot near an old Bronco, throwing the shifter into park. You take in a deep breath, looking over at him. “This is it.” You say, the whole scheme that you two had cooked up finally feeling real to you. The man next to you nods, taking his keys from the ignition and shoving them down into his pocket. “Alright Bobby, let’s do this.”

The parking lot isn’t overly crowded, but the patrons inside the bar are loud as you walk up to it. Your nerves get the better of you the closer you get to the front doors, your hands shaking with anxiety and you try to channel it into smoothing down your dress skirt but it does no good. Bob notices though, and suddenly he’s sliding his much larger hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay, Sunny.” He says, and you smile up at him feeling like a fool. You hadn’t realized that your anxiety was so noticeable, you thought you had been better at hiding it.

Before you cn respond to him, he’s pushed open the doors of the bar, stepping in first to hold it open for you, his hand not leaving yours once. Almost immediately there’s a call of his name traveling throught he air and the sounds of chairs scraping and before you know it you’re surrounded by a few big, buff dudes and a bubbly girl who looks the most excited to meet you.

You do your rounds of introductions, Phoenix gives you a big hug, ripping your hand from Bob’s in the process and practically lifting you off of the ground, and though you’re meeting her under the guise of being his girlfriend, you know that you’re going to be good friends.

Rooster gives you a firm handshake, his ginormous hand enveloping yours as he smiles down at you. You take in his features, he’s quite handsome despite the scarring on his face (that you desperately want to ask questions about, though you keep it to yourself) and you notice the lack of a ring on his hand or on the dog tags looped around his neck, peaking out of the top of the white undershirt he had put on under his loose hawaiian shirt. You think he’d be a good match for one of your friends and you make a mental note to ask Bob about it later.

Coyote is gentle, and quite sweet but he’s a bit of a flirt and you feel yourself leaning more into Bob while you’re talking with him briefly, wanting it to look like you weren’t available (because technically to them, you weren’t). He introduces you to who you realize is one of his best friends next, Hangman, or as you had heard Bob call him, Bagman. He’s still wearing his uniform, and when he shakes your hand he gives you a charmingly sweet smile that you just know makes the girls weak in the knees, but when he talks to you? Your stomach drops to your knees.”Hey there, pretty thing..” He must know it too, because he smirks at you, that accent heavy.

You swallow thickly, turning to Bob. “I’m gonna go get myself a drink, I’ll be right back, baby..” You say, giving him a kiss on the cheek for show before heading over to the bar. “Shot of tequila, please..” You say to the woman tending bar, leaning against it as you let out a breath.

Bob’s friend was the man you had given a private dance to last night..the man who you had made cum in his own pants. How fucking bad could this get, you wondered? You hadn’t exactly lied when you told Bob’s friends that you were a dancer, you just hadn’t exactly specified what kind of dancing you did for a living, not expecting that one of his friends would be one of your customers.

She sets the shot glass down in front of you just as you feel a presence behind you, directly behind you. His body was solid and warm as he put his arms on either side of yours, boxing you in.

“Does he know?” His voice his quiet in your ear, making your body go stiff. You were uncomfortable, but you knew that he wasn’t going to hurt you or touch you in anyway.

“That I made you cum in your pants?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow as you turn to face him. His head was right next to yours, eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “No, Bagman, I don’t think he does, and I don’t think he needs to either.” You knock back your shot, the liquid sliding down your throat with ease. “Just like I don’t think your group of friends needs to know that you spent your sunday night getting a lap dance from a stripper, now do they?”

You must win whatever stand off this is because after a moment his moves his arms, letting you brush past him. You hear him ask for a round of beers from the woman, and to put your shot on his tab as you make your way back to Bob who gives you a questioning look, you realize he must have seen the whole encounter. You lean up to kiss his cheek as you come back, his arm going around your waist firmly as you whisper to him that you needed to tell him something when you guys got home. You honestly thought it was funny, but you were sure that he was going to be freaked out.

taglist:

@mamachasesmayhem @hangmandruigandmav @shotgunhallelujah @shiara04 @3tabbiesandalab @tgmreader @flrboyd @goosterroose @mrspedropascal5683 @sugajar

@dory-98 @justherebecausesafarisucks @eloquentdreamer @sweetwhispersofchaos @pet1t3 @teacupsandtopgun @milkbummm @purplevortexx @silenterosion

#kara writes #top gun maverick #jake seresin #top gun #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd fic #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd smut #robert floyd #lewis pullman

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year ago

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From the Ashes Pt.1

Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, onesided Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 2181

Summary: A year has passed since (y/n) and her brother Jaime fled from King's Landing to the vast and foreign world of Essos.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54 Part 55 Part 56 Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60

Book Two of Heir of Ash and Fire

Book One of Heir of Ash and Fire

The warm heat that blazed from the sun above the city of Myr hit you hard as you ran through the streets, breathing heavily with burning lungs. Sweat collected at your hairline and ran down your face nearly blinding you.

You had to keep going though.

Around that corner and then another. Leaping over crates and barrels and trying your best not to run into people. They already looked at you as if you were crazy. Surely though they must have seen stranger things than a young lady running around the city with a sword.

One backstreet led you right to a dead end and you internally curse.

A scuffle of a boot behind you alerts you to the man you had been running from. Taking a deep breath you angle your sword.

He charges at you, swinging his sword. You block it but the impact pushes you back against the stone wall. Sword hand trembling, you use all the strength you had acquired to push him back.

“C’mon, little sister.” Jaime grins. He could’ve easily overpowered you. “Utilize what I taught you.”

You willed your sword to slide along his blade as you dodged him, pivoting here and there and blocking each of his attacks. Jaime grinned.

“Good girl.” He praised you and grew even more ferocious with his swings. His feet moving in a dizzying dance as you became his flustered partner. You kept your mind numb though and easily fell into place. That is until Jaime knocked the sword from your hand. You tumble to the ground, still fearful that he might accidentally cut you. Hot dirt and dust kicked up into your face as you panted, trying to catch your breath.

Jaime held out a hand to you. “You did very well this time (y/n). You’re getting better at holding your own. In a fight.”

“Do you think. . .” You suck in air despite it doing very little to relieve your lungs. “Do you think I’ll become as good as you?”

He shrugs and wipes away the dirt from his own face. “There’s always that possibility.”

Ever since making it to Essos the both of you had grown considerably tan from the unrelenting sun that was fixated above.

For you it hadn’t been an easy transition. You felt every bit of the word ‘fugitive’ as you and Jaime had fled to Essos. It was obvious that in Westeros you weren’t safe. Someone had tried to kill you twice and Jaime would be damned if there were to be a third time. The last attempt had unfortunately killed your hand maid Thalina; and as you would find out it was Thalina who instructed Jaime to take you to Volantis if anything were to happen to her. The exact answer of why was still a mystery as even Jaime didn’t know despite having spoken to her.

A year had passed since your time in Westeros. It had just been you and Jaime traveling along the coast of Essos, trying to avoid the land known as Chroyane where the infamous stone men now called their home.

You had learned many things while being in Essos. One of those being that it was difficult for a woman to travel without being harassed, especially one such as yourself who barely spoke Valyrian and looked every bit the part of foreigner.

That’s where the sword in your hand now came into play.

Jaime had been teaching you how to fight with a sword. You couldn’t have asked for a greater teacher than your older brother. In Westeros he was a god among men, even at such a young age. That didn’t change when you landed in Essos. From Braavos all the way to Myr, Jaime still hadn’t lost a fight. There were many men who would try to rob you, even though neither you or your brother possessed anything of wealth. You hadn’t had time to grab anything when Jaime rescued you from the burning Keep.

If anything, you had wished he had been able to rescue Thalina. Neither of you spoke of her much as now her very person seemed to be a mystery. When Rhaella had first brought Thalina into your service, she had seemed a ditzy and clumsy type of girl who had a short term memory of things. A very likeable girl nonetheless. When you were poisoned though, that’s when she seemed to show who she truly was. The story of Azor Ahai and the Long Night, her fluent knowledge of Valyrian. . . The Thalina you had come to know wasn’t actually the real Thalina but someone parading around as a maid. Every night you would think about her. Wonder who it was that killed her for it wasn’t the fire. Jaime had told you that from what he could see, the source that had killed her was a strike to her head. It was a grizzly fact that Jaime had refrained from telling you but you were insistent. You wanted to know what happened that night for you had no clue. You were out like a light thanks to the milk of the poppy you had taken before bed. It was too late for regrets, but you desperately wished that you hadn’t had milk of the poppy. Then maybe Thalina would still be alive.

One thing you didn’t really believe when Jaime told you was that the fire didn’t affect you at all. In fact you were perfectly fine despite the flames roaring around your bed. Your clothes had been partially burned but not your skin. Your skin had remained untouched.

You thought it too weird. How many dreams had you had that involved fire? Never in those dreams had you felt danger from fire. It was instead comforting and soothed your soul, reassuring you that you weren’t alone.

Never telling him of your dreams you had jokingly told him that he was crazy and left it at that.

After your training, you and Jaime return the room you had been staying in for the past couple of nights. It was in a crowded, run down inn, as expected in the lower parts of Myr. Those kinds of places were all that you could afford. They were nothing compared to your home in Casterly Rock or even in King’s Landing. You would make do with what you could afford though. Even though it had been a while ago, Jaime still worried that you were weak from the poison you had ingested last year. He never liked pushing you too hard in your travels. Getting to Volantis quickly wasn’t his first priority; his first priority was your well being and safety. So Jaime would sell his swordsmanship to people who needed it or place bets on who would win in a fight. And of course Jaime always bet on himself and at a high price. You had asked him once what if he were to lose? How would he pay his part of the bet? Jaime would always ruffle your hair at that and with such utter confidence he claimed that he would never lose.

You washed up first while Jaime went out again to earn some more money. Despite being away from home you observed that both of you were rather happy with your new arrangements. There was absolutely no pressure from anyone. No one made you be who you didn’t want to be. Both of you were free to do what you wanted with your life.

The bath water was already becoming diluted with the dirt that had clung onto you. You didn’t care. You sigh and lean yourself against the tub, looking at your small hands. They had roughened and taken on calluses. Blistering and stinging, you never complained when you had first developed them while beginning your sword practice. You took immense pride in them. You had changed so much from the mouse you once were.

Noises from outside actually lulled and relaxed you. There were many times when your mind would become chaotic, loud and full of questions. Why did Thalina want you to go to Volantis? The outside noises helped to drown them out. You had learned to love Essos. It was crazy and wild, so unlike Westeros and you loved it. In Westeros there was so much pressure in being perfect and acting according to your station. Many times you felt like you were suffocating, drowning in your pearls and jewels.

The only other time you had felt such freedom was when you were with Rhaegar. He never made you feel like you had to try and be someone else. Never shamed you if you didn’t act like a regal lady and encouraged you to just be yourself.

A stab in your chest has you viciously shaking your head to rid yourself of thinking about him. Thoughts have him came every so often even though you desperately tried not to think about him. You lean forward, clamping your hands on either side of your skull.

Did he think about you? Was he worried about you?

“No, stop that (y/n). There’s no going back. At least. . . not now.” Jaime hadn’t specified whether or not you would be able to return to Westeros. He hadn’t even said why you needed to go to Volantis. Why not just pick a city in Essos and stay there? Maybe Jaime would want to return to Cersei eventually. You would catch him looking off into the distance with lonely eyes. He had left someone behind too. Even if you did think she was vile, Jaime loved her. Had always loved her since they were children. That and the twin thing that made them connected in a way you would never understand.

“Rhaegar. . .” You whisper, the sound of your wounded voice was crisp in the bathing room. You prayed he was doing okay and that he was safe. * The campaign wasn’t going quite as Rhaegar had imagined. Times like this he missed (y/n). Especially at night when he was too stressed to sleep. He missed waking up next to her, feeling her warmth fill his bed as she had sweet dreams.

Every so often he would feel a deep aching pain in his chest where he thought he would lose himself.

He couldn’t though. He was so close. So close to winning and securing Westeros. But he was tired. Extremely exhausted.

Years ago he had felt such exhaustion while visiting Dragonstone. A young (y/n) would’ve known just the thing to make him laugh and forget about all his worries. His sweet little mouse that loved him so much.

His sweet mouse that burned alive.

His hand clamps down over his mouth as he stifles his cry. He hated thinking about how (y/n) must have died and that he wasn’t there. That was another reason he found it hard to sleep. Nightmares plagued him, endless and constant.

“Your Grace.”

Rhaegar lifts his weary eyes up at an armored Griff. He looked uncertainly at his Silver Prince, knowing from the shadows under his lilac eyes that he was still unable to sleep. “They are ready for you. Aerys’ army awaits on the outskirts of Summerhall. Your troops wait for your command.”

It was then that Rhaegar noticed that his camp had grown deathly quiet. The calm before the storm.

He reaches for his helmet, black as the night with red scales. Red as the blood that would soon be spilt on the battlefield, an ugly red hue that tainted everything it touched. Rhaegar would’ve likened this war to the dance of dragons. But Aerys was no dragon. Maybe decades ago he might have been, but certainly not now. Not even Rhaegar would consider himself a dragon. There were no more Targaryen dragons. Their dynasty had been tarnished too much to think of themselves as so grand.

Staring at it for a moment, Rhaegar contemplates his life leading up to that moment. This isn’t what he would have chosen for himself. He never wanted the life of a king let alone a warrior. Many times when he slept next to (y/n) he would imagine a different life for them. A simple life where he’d be able to live peacefully with her, no concern of warm or political corruption. Only him and (y/n) and their baby. Both were now dead though and what he wanted wasn’t what was best for the kingdom. It wouldn’t be saved by him playing the harp. He had to take up a sword. The Long Night was coming. Maybe not soon, but one day darkness would cover all of Westeros and threaten to swallow it up. When that time came it would need a competent leader which was not his father.

He had to do what was right for Westeros. Even though the two most important people in his world were dead.

Rhaegar covers his wealth of silver hair with his helmet, prepared to shed blood for the good of the realm. Prepared to take down his own father. “Lets go.”

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom #A Song of Ice and Fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfic #A Song of Ice and Fire fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fic

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lexa-griffins · 7 months ago

Note

"I'm not yours anymore" for the fic title

Oh!!!!!!!!

This... this title right here works SO well for the type of fic i crave despite being angsty enough where i probably couldn't either write it or read it without getting mad.

Lexa and Clarke, college sweethearts. Long engagement. Lexa works long hours at the office since Clarle recently realized medicine wasn't her passion and decided to take a job that pays less but lets her have the chance to take a few random classes to see what she wants.

It comes crumbling down from there. They have put the wedding at the back burner for now as they try to remain afloat. Clarke, who spent her college years so focused on her studies now has the freedom to enjoy the little pieces of college life she missed on and she does. While Lexa works and worries, Clarke goes out to drink with kids nearly a decade younger than her. She goes out more and more often. She starts leaving her engagement ring at home.

Lexa tries to be understanding and supportive. That's all she ever is. In every aspect of their life. She gets it when Clarke is done after Lexa made her cum and doesn't feel like giving back. She gets it when she is tired from work and classes and neglects the housework allocated to her. She gets it when she prefers to spend more time on her phone than with her.

Lexa gets it... but she is reaching the end of her rope. They are grown adults. With jobs and rent to pay and a wedding to plan and a life to build together. But Clarke seems suddenly so desinterested in all of that. Drinking, going out and spend her days glued to her phone seem to be much more important to her and one day, when she comes home and Clarke is /still/ passed out in bed after coming home at 5 am, she finds her phone, just standing there.

Lexa wasn't suspicious of anything. She just wants to understand what these 21 yo state college kids could possibly have to say to her fiancee that make her forget Lexa exists.

Flirting. Heavy flirting.

Nothing indicates it has gone beyond that, but not only does Clarke flirt harder than she ever did with Lexa, there is never any mention of Lexa's existence at all.

She packs a bag and leaves. And it takes Clarke until the next day to even think to call her, asking where she is. No concern, no worry. Just a demand of knowing her whereabouts.

Did Lexa imagine the love between them? Did she make up every sweet gesture Clarke delivered to her up until she quit her job and regressed back to a drunk college girl?

The breakup is direct and somehow seems to take Clarke by surprise. But Lexa doesn't budge. And a month later, the apartment they shared is nearly empty from years spent together.

Or sucks it takes Lexa leaving for Clarke too realize what she lost. It takes Clarke a year to get back on her feet after realizing Lexa is not coming back. She fucked up, she realizes that now. She cuts contact and finishes her classes. She manages a stable, slightly better paying job. And then she moves, away from memories of a life she herself destroyed.

She regrets it only nearly 3 years later. A small girl, no older than 2. Bright eyes and a sweet smile, trying to reach a cereal box on the shelf. Clarke helps her with a smile and the little girl thanks her. And right then, she hears her voice again. Still tired but happy, so unlike the way her voice sounded during their last talk, when Clarke still begged her she would change and Lexa told her it was too late before driving away.

A grocery car filled with kid's snacks and veggies. Diapers and a few kids' books. She seems lighter. The darkness under her eyes is not as pronounced. Her cheeks are fuller and so is she. The last time they cuddle Clarke still remembers how she could feel her hip bone. She said nothing, too hangover to even think of words that didn't sound like she was telling her to gain weight.

She ignores the bump. The wedding ring. The hickey on her neck.

Lexa calls out the little girl's name again. The girl turns to her and smiles, telling her mom about the nice lady who helped her get her cereal.

Clarke stands awkwardly as Lexa's eyes move towards her and a swirl of emotions pass by her face.

Clarke wants to say something. Apologize once more. Beg her to come back to her. How miserable as her life been without Lexa's smile in the morning?

Instead, she remains silent once more. And Lexa nods, as if to thank her for it.

"Have you said thank you to the nice lady?"

The little girl turns, "Thank you!"

Her voice seems trapped in her throat but Clarke manages to speak up as kindly as she can manage, "You're welcome."

"C'mon, mama is waiting for us." Lexa speaks softly to her daughter and Clarke does nothing more than look at them leave, seeming so final this time around, as Lexa spares her one last glance before disappearing behind the shelves.

They never talked about kids. It had been nearly a year by the time they broke up since they talked about the wedding. She wonders if this would have been them now if Clarke hadn't decided having fun was more important than the life she was building. If during those three years she had called and explained herself and asked them to start again.

She didnt tho. And no matter how many what ifs, the last thing Lexa told her before she finally left her life three years ago echoes in her mind.

"Im not yours anymore, Clarke."

#letter opened #sorry this is angst no happy ending #but it also isnt very good so it balances it out 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣#in my mind that last part is a dream and Clarke wakes up in bed with Lexa realizing where her life is headed towards #and apologizes and they get married and have their babies together😌

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hahahax30 · 2 months ago

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Buckle up because this is super long, and I mean, way too long

Basically it starts with Roland Brisbane, aka Break Bones, the leader of the currently unnamed cult. He originally created the cult with his childhood sweetheart, Lorna McAllister, with whom he’d grown up with in the same Glasgow neighborhood. They’d had completely different upbringings. With Roland being the heir to the uber-rich and ancient (formerly noble) Brisbane family (and by rich, I mean old money, unlimited funds, almost billionaires) and Lorna the daughter of a local butcher, raised firmly in the lower middle class. But despite that, they’d had similar views on justice and magical politics, power, honesty, etc.

And so they began to create their cult with peaceful protests and activism, due process and going fully legal in every way they could in order to make the magical world a better place. This became extremely pertinent after the birth of their son, Barty, when they were 21

He became their guiding light, everything they did, they did for him and for the hope he would have a better life and grow up in a better world. They saw him as their hope for the future, he was going to come of age in their new nation, the one they created to keep magic safe

And everything was going well, until Barty turned four. The cult (not yet a cult) had gained a small following and the Brisbanes were happy. Then Lorna was murdered by humans who found out about her magic and killed her for it. All of the light went out from Roland’s heart the day she died in front of him. He lost Lorna and his following very quickly after, he’d lost nearly everything. He left Glasgow and moved himself and Barty to the Brisbane ancestral home in the Scottish Highlands

He became dedicated to raising his son and rising up his cult again. He became successful, eventually gaining a large following by the time Barty was a teenager. The cult was mainly young people, friends of Barty’s from school, clubs, everywhere really. Roland became drunk on the power, gaining more ambition as time went on

Barty, however, became more disillusioned with what his father did as he got older and started to pull away from the cult when he turned nineteen. He later died in an accident shortly after his nineteenth birthday, though despite many witnesses, nobody could say for sure what had happened to him

Barty’s death ruined Roland. It tore his heart from his chest. He was forever changed. He had lost his son and the love of his life, he had nothing left outside of his power. The only thing he had left of Barty was his four best friends-his band of brothers-, including Steel Grey and Ivan Saltykov; whom Barty had not told of his plans to leave the cult and Roland used his death to manipulate his friends into sticking with him after Barty’s death

He spends two years tracking down a key witness in Barty’s death, a young woman. After two years of stalking this woman, he finds out her biggest secret: she’s a selkie

Selkies are the key in a spell he had found, one that would bring back what once was lost. And so he captures her and steals her sealskin, forcing her to marry him under the guise that if she does what he wants, he’ll give her back her skin

Spoiler alert: he doesn’t

He gives her the name Cassandra and they eventually go on to have two of my MCs, the twins Oona and Viggo (temporary names), who are unaware of their selkie heritage, as well as many other children. All under the guise that eventually Roland would give Cassandra back her sealskin and allow her to go back to the sea

All four MCs: Oona and Viggo Brisbane, Rose Tully, and Zoya Amobi-Chapman (also known as Zoya Saltykova), were raised within the cult until they were preteens and the cult was forcibly disbanded with Roland’s death at the hands of the magical government after they found out that he planned to reveal magic to the humans

And basically after they did that, the MCs were sent to a magical detention center for years to determine if they were “evil” or not, before being sent to do house arrest at a Brisbane property in a small New England town called Romulus, where the WIP takes place

Omg that went on a lot longer than I planned for it to be, I’m sorry-

Okay, I finally managed to have time to get to this!

Is Barty's death going to be important for the plot???? What with it being mysterious

WAIT ROLAND DIES??? HE'S NOT THE BIG EVIL?????

#riley!#asks!

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sycamorre · 5 months ago

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4 and 21 for the prompts please!

Yessss more thank you! [micro-story prompt]

4. one chance

Everything was packed for Oriana's trip up to the Sun Soul Order. The cart was loaded, and Maia was occupied with giving her younger daughter a last minute talk before she left. Meanwhile, the other two siblings were giving them space, Asta standing a bit behind Maia while Hester stood next to Cassio.

While they waited, Cassio glanced over at Hester, a brow raised. "I know you're protective of her, too. How are you feeling about this?"

Hester thought for a moment, then shrugged. "If it's her chance at getting the training she needs, then I just hope she gets to make the most of it. And I want her happy, that's all."

"You're worried about her, too."

"Always have been."

Cassio hummed, thoughful. There was another pause as Maia continued to fuss over Oriana. But after a moment, the cleric thought of something else. "You know, Ori is not the only one who can possibly have a unique chance at something new here. Your mother was telling me how you had started working with some of the fisherman back home, but you were not enjoying it?"

It was now Hester's turn to look at Cassio with raised brows. "Yes... I thought I might want to follow in our father's footsteps but, well, it just is not the same out on the docks without him."

Cassio nodded, then smiled. "You know, if you wanted to try something different, I heard from the others in the capital that the paladins are looking for new members to train up. You have grown into a very capable young man, and you have a big heart for people. I think you might like an opportunity like this." Hester seemed to want to interject, but Cassio held up a hand. "I am not saying you have to make a choice right this second. Just think about it and let me know what you decide."

21. collapse

"Run. Run as far as you can, and let me handle the others."

Ledo's legs ached, but she kept running, fueled by the promise she made. She was not sure how long she had been going at this point, or how far away she was, but at the very least she wanted the lights of the port city to be out of sight behind her.

In one arm, she held the single bag with rations and supplies that they were able to gather before leaving the ship. Ledo clung to it and the loose coat she now wore as tightly as she could, despite the pain that lingered in her wrist. In her mechanical arm, Drache was being held firmly in place despite his protests. He tried again to wriggle out of her grip, and Ledo was thankful that the joints were able to lock in place in situations like this.

"Not now. Not yet. We need to keep—GAH!"

Something in the road caught Ledo's foot, and she immediately lost her balance, tumbling into the dirt and mud. Everything she held fell and scattered around her, and she found herself nearly frozen from the pain in the moment. She was incredibly aware that her body was in no condition to be doing anything like this, but she had no choice. Pushing herself up with her forearms, groaning, she reached for the bag again, trying to rake in anything that fell out.

Drache recovered quickly from where he fell, shaking off the dirt and stones before running over to Ledo. He nudged her arm gently, arcane engines whining as if trying to speak, like he often used to when she was working herself too long into the night. "I... I can't stop... Not yet." A sound akin to a growl came in response from the tiny mechanical dragon, and he bit at the sleeve of the coat and gave it a full tug. "Ok. Fine," she grumbled, now standing. "Help me find somewhere to rest."

The homunculus took to the air, flying a bit off the road and coming back to lead her a ways out of sight, where a cluster of trees and foliage created the closest thing she could find to shelter, at least to keep anyone on the road from seeing her. In the time it took to walk to it, she could feel the adrenaline wearing off, and the weakness of her own body was catching up to her again. As she made it to the trees, she felt her legs truly give way underneath her, and her vision blurred as she hit the ground. Drache, in a panic, tried to rouse her, but without success. Instead, he took up a watchful position, waiting for her to wake up.

"I'm coming back for you. I promise."

#dnd!hester #dnd!ledo #editoress

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iampikachuhearmeroar · 1 year ago

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so, a random high school memory just popped into my head, and also not so randomly popped into my head from going through my 'relationships I guess' tag.

anyway, I've probs talked before about how anal the catholic school that I went to for high school between 2008 and 2011 (years 7-10) was about the whole "duty of care" thing- especially when it came to formal/prom season in year 10 (2011 for me) and year 12 (2013 for me). so imagine you're one of the 'popular' or 'hot' girls in your year group, and you've got your hot boyfriend whose 21 (yikes in hindsight), that you want to bring to your year 10 formal. the school says no bc of "duty of care"- so then you have to pair up with one of the boys in your year that you don't like in that way- just for the sake of having a formal date/partner.

say you're now in year 12 and you're still one of the popular girls- albeit one of the ones that everyone hates. you want to take your boyfie who graduated the year prior (2012), who is from the same school. however, that also rules him out as a date to your year 12 formal, despite him being only a year older and a previous student of the school. so again, you must take one of your guy friends from your year group to the formal with you.

compare this to the public school that I transferred to for years 11 and 12 (2012-2013). one of my close friends took her 21 year old boyfriend to our year 12 formal. like obvs there's not much you can do, considering nearly all of us (bar people who were late November and December birthdays) were 18, so maybe the teachers at that school felt like they didn't have much of a say of who people brought as their dates to the formal. also two boys from the catholic school actually turned up to this school's formal too.

but it was the distinct form of freedom to me, that the school didn't seem to give a flying fuck about what you did or who your brought along to this event. whereas the catholic school enjoyed sticking their noses into EVERYONES business telling you who you can and can't take to your formals/proms- even if they were former students of the school the previous year- or even current students in the year below you. it's a date from your year or NOTHING- and woe is you if you have the sheer audacity to go alone to the event. what a shame.

but in the case of the girl who in year 10 in 2011 that kept campaigning for her 21 year old DJ (house party dj) boyfriend to not only be the DJ for our formal (he has better music than the DJ the school uses for our socials (school dances)), but also to be her date... like paula. that 21yo grown ass man does NOT love you. you are 15/16. what on earth does this 21yo scumbag douchebag dude have in common with you??? why is he pushing you to take him, as your date, to your HIGH SCHOOL formal??? please don't bring him and stop begging to have him as the DJ.... when it's not the music that he's really there for. it's the access to girls your age.... when he's fuckin 21 and should be nowhere near a teen girl's year 10 formal/junior prom (not counting family tagging along to the photos portion of the event).

because I can see now that the catholic school, to some extent, did care about safety when the 21yo boyfriend wanting to be a formal date thing came into play. because I remember when I turned 21 in 2016, when the 16-18yo year 10 to year 12 students from the nearby high schools would come to my home uni's campus for lunch and decent coffee during their free periods or lunch breaks. i remember thinking "christ they're so young" and stuff like that. whenever I heard them talking amongst each other about their HSCs (end of high school exams) and ATARs (uni entrance marks), I always thought to myself, "god. I remember when that shit actually mattered.... and it doesn't now lmao bc I'm here". and "they really are just kids."

then when I did a couple of first year electives the next year, 2017, and I talked to the 18yos in those classes..... I realised how much I'd grown and stuff in the 4 years since high school had finished for me. and it was esp stark when all those kids kept telling me to turn in my work from high school.... all because that's what they were doing to save time, and they were apparently "getting high distinctions" bc their work was just "so good and intelligently written" or whatever bullshit they told me. so when I told them that, "hey. uh I can't really do that because I've grown so much since late high school that my writing voice is quite different and matured... and I don't think I could make my work NOT sound like it was written by 16 to 18 year old me." to which they'd always respond to me with "well that just means you're NOT a talented enough writer like me. why are you even in an arts degree if you can't make your work sound as good and as smart as mine???" like good luck, dana and jack, when your high school bs work starts running out..... and you realise halfway through uni that you're not as talented as you think you are.... and that your professors were just being nice to you in your first semesters. your teenage hubris will come crashing down soon. trust me.

but my point is that my growth between my late teen years and my early 20s was pretty big. I remember thinking that even the 17/18yos I was with in those 2017 first year electives with were practically still kids. but obvs being 18 and having moved interstate (some of the first years) makes them, to themselves, more mature and worldly than me, who is just a lowly local student vs becca who moved 10 hours away from her family to attend my local uni.

but my point is, to my younger followers, if i have any.... is that your high school has a point with duty of care rules, to not let you take your partner, esp if they're in their early 20s and you're 16-18 for your junior or senior prom. like yes it may be an absolute pain that you have to take laikynn, who is a dumb rudeass jock or the weird kid teddy or yknow- shock, horror you dare to go alone- bc fuck "needing a date" to these things.

but your early 20s partner is at a different stage of life to you- and defs should not be cruising around a year 10 formal/junior prom venue trying to idek "keep an eye on you" or whatever the stupid excuse is about wanting to go with you- let alone date you in the first place. bc never once, in my early 20s, did I want to date a 16-18yo. even if yes, there was only 4 years of age difference between me and the new 18yo uni students in 2017. but that 4 years meant that I was almost graduating, meant that I'd been to business college (this was a rip-off to get me into uni tbh) and had significant other stuff going on that made me grow, instead of y'know, just stagnating and staying in a teenagers mindset.

it meant that I was contemplating my future a bit... where would I go with my english/philosophy degree??? while the new students were still riding the highs of getting their desired ATARs or getting into uni through early entry. probs still thinking nice fluffy thoughts that an arts degree will make them a millionaire and get them hired instantly. when in reality, no one wants to hire you and will instantly pigeon-hole you into a teaching role.... despite your complete disinterest in the job field... and you personally knowing that it's NOT a fit for you.... but i digress.

so yeah. I now realise that the catholic school actually had a point with being hella anal about duty of care when it came to my formals/proms. so to any younger users on here: if some early 20 something person wants to date you, and wants you to take them to your high school event, really question their motives and why on earth they'd really want to go to your year 10 formal/junior prom or even senior events, with you.

you're 15/16 for junior prom/Y10F. take jake from science class or carina from english class. or go alone with your friends, bc you won't die if you don't have a partner for these events.... despite what that society says. or whatever weird bs an older partner could spit out to try to go with you. same goes for senior prom. go with someone your own age, not your 23yo partner who shouldn't be dating a teenager - like bro (gender neutral) knows what rent is and how to pay it. bro knows how to pay interest on a car loan. dump their ass. hell go with a person in the year below you, like i could've done for my year 12 formal. just don't invite some 20 something year old to a high school event it's weird af.... and your school has a point in regards to safety.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #relationships i guess

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acrimoniousandrew · 9 months ago

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Long Vent

There is literally nothing worse than grieving a friendship that should have never happened in the first place. How did we even start becoming friends, like. I really don’t know. I remember we first started talking in 6th or 7th grade because of our shared interest of music. Being in band together and all that stuff. 7th grade flew by me: it was an awful year, one of the first ones that I experienced being completely friendless. At least by the end of the year. Once 8th grade hit, we were all friends again. Especially the two of us. Yeah, I started hanging out with other people, but it wasn’t like she was available all the time. She had responsibilities and was in other activities. Freshman year she decided to join the marching band with me (I had already been doing it for a number of years, and I had been involved when the marching band program at our high and middle school started). We did so much together. We laughed, cried, shared memories. Started hanging out together outside of school and band stuff– coffee runs, late night pool adventures, and then driving around for hours in the early hours of the morning. We were inseparable for a while.

High school came and went and we slowly drifted apart over time because she found newer, better friends than me. They drove together to away football games that the band was required to be at, they hung out together outside of school. I had friends other than her, but none of them were really involved in the marching band or anything. Junior year of high school my world collapsed again. Despite everything that happened that ripped most of our friend group apart (from me at least), she stuck by me. She– or so I thought– cared about me.

We ended up moving in together our freshman semester. I was well into my relationship with my current boyfriend (who was going to a community college for a semester) and she was well into her relationship with her underage boyfriend (she was 21 and he was 17). Things were mostly okay. She would ask me questions about her relationship and I would answer honestly. That was my downfall, I think.

Second semester freshman year, my boyfriend would come from his room upstairs into the room that me and her shared, just to be able to sleep together for a night. When the morning came, he would be out of there– not bothering her, me, or anyone else on our floor. Eventually she breaks down with two of our other friends, saying that she can’t live with me anymore because my boyfriend keeps coming into our room. She leaves. I still don’t know exactly what was said or how or exactly to who. All I know is that this moment damaged our relationship forever. Because of this, I moved upstairs, living with my boyfriend in his private room. I do not speak to her much, but I do write her a note and apologize for everything, realizing my mistakes in this friendship, too.

Next semester, fall again. She is not at school. She is taking a gap semester because her boyfriend cheated on her, just like I said he probably would. Not much happened. I became closer and closer with two of the people that she told her problems with me to. I really respect them and look up to them; they seem to care.

Christmas break, I talk on the phone nearly every day with one of the girls that my old friend had talked to. We were really close friends at this point. I was even living with her partner since the start of the fall semester, who had also become one of my close friends.

Spring semester: Old friend comes back to college and is greeted with smiles, laughter, and she wants to retry with me. Perfect and great news for me. I never wanted to lose her in the first place.

Then things really start sinking into place. The other people that I’d grown close to stop talking as much to me and more to her. I figure that this is probably because she was gone for a semester. We all hang out a lot. We all smoke and drink together. Things are going fantastic.

The summer was an interesting time. I worked with my old friend at a pretzel place in the mall closest to where we went to high school. She got the job during the spring semester after talking on the phone with my boss. She seems to enjoy it. I enjoy it. We hang out together a pretty good bit: at work, outside of work, going to dinners with other coworkers, carpooling, late nights, etc. It was amazing.

Next semester, fall yet again. I am working full time in Charlotte at the mall there, doing the same things I have done over the summer. I come back late most nights. Upon my arrival, the friend group that was once there dissipates– my friends go upstairs, my boyfriend to bed, and me, alone. My old friend rarely talks to me upon reuniting with the friend that I had grown close to. They start working together since the one I got close to over Christmas break is taking a gap semester because of financial reasons. This is all fine and well, and I only question it a little bit. But it does start to eat away at me, furiously.

I end up quitting my job because I cannot take the long days, the (seemingly) longer drive to get there, the no social life, the drinking every single night, etc. The list could go on and on for eternity. I needed out. I spend the rest of the small semester smoking weed every night, hoping to not run into anyone, honestly. Over the course of the fall semester, the amount of times a week/day I saw any of the people I consider my friends drops to about once a week if that.

Over break, I helped my mom and my dad and my brother. My dad works at a job he hates, my mother is out of work because she snapped a tendon in her foot and had to have surgery. My brother does not do anything except lay in bed. I cry every night. I am a loser with no friends and I am literally 21. How does this happen to someone who had such a nice group of friends in high school until that all fell apart, too?

Next semester, spring of 2024. It’s only really just started, I guess (we're like 2 or 3 weeks away from midterms and then spring break). I’ve talked to more people this semester than I have out of any of them since freshman year, except they’re all people I know, I guess– at least for the most part. I haven’t really done anything until this past week, the week before Valentine’s Day. I showed my old friend and her sister to my apartment (the old friend had already seen it, but I thought it would be neat for her sister to see). After that, all three of us went up to the other friends’ apartment, and we saw everyone. Everyone that I once considered a friend was in that room, but I knew I had to get going after just a little bit. The air of the living room was oppressive. I knew I wasn't wanted in there. I knew I had plans that night too, so I felt silly for even being up there when I should’ve been getting ready to see my other friends. I ended up seeing them. We don’t really hang out or talk much, and I am so scared that I made a horrible impression on them and they won’t ever want to talk or hang out with me again, even though it made me feel so much better. It was the first time we all really hung out late at night and drank together.

Every time I see one of her (the old friend's) reposts I get so sad. She reposts so much “my best friend” material on TikTok that it makes me feel nauseous, it makes my heart ache, it makes me angry. Because I know they're not about me. I should be the best friend that she’s posting about. I feel ridiculous but like??? Why would I not feel angry? We were so close. So close. But not now. I don’t know if I’ll ever really have friends. I won’t know why either. I assume it's just a character flaw in me. Maybe I was never meant to have friends and everyone I’ve ever been friends with just simply pitied me like a nearly dead dog on the side of the road. Maybe that’s all I am anyway. A nearly dead dog. I hate this life.

Is it stupid to grieve over a friendship? Certainly not. Is it stupid to grieve over a friendship where you thought you were loved and valued to some extent but actually weren’t? Yes. But also at the same time, why wouldn’t it hurt? It hurts me, it makes me angry– fuck, everything does a little bit. I don’t know.

Everyone I’ve ever loved has looked at me and felt disgust.

#venting

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hanyousi · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 1: Felix Harp

July 1992, London.

In a tall building in the busy West End, people were working hard, chatting and typing away. In a small meeting room, an important conversation was happening.

"Felix, are you sure about this? You've only been here for a year, but everyone recognizes your talent. If you stay, you'll achieve great things!" said a middle-aged British man in a fancy suit, his hair perfectly styled.

Felix, a young man with a handsome face and striking blue eyes, smiled and replied, "Boss, I've made up my mind."

The boss looked at Felix for a moment, seeing his determination, and sighed. "Alright, you win."

Felix smiled gently, stood up, and grabbed his suit from the chair. He shook hands with the boss, who also stood up. The boss leaned in, hugged Felix tightly, and whispered, "Everyone has their own dreams. We're losing a talented newcomer."

Felix blinked and said, "I believe better opportunities will come."

Thirty minutes later, Felix packed his things and left the building. As he walked towards the exit, he looked at the busy street with excitement in his heart.

Carrying a small suitcase, Felix walked down the street, dodging passing cars. He enjoyed looking at the different car brands and styles.

"Vintage cars, cool!"

He walked with light steps, not feeling tired despite the long journey. Instead, he felt excited.

After nearly an hour, Felix finally reached his temporary home in the city.

The street became more familiar, and he greeted a few familiar faces. "Hi, Mrs. Murphy."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Harp."

After exchanging pleasantries, Felix stood in front of his own house.

He took out the keys and opened the door.

Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him.

"Ah!"

Felix exclaimed with joy, closing his eyes and stretching his arms wide. Suddenly, his ordinary house came to life.

His suitcase slipped from his hand, floating and flying towards the cabinet. The cabinet doors opened automatically, making room for the suitcase to settle among the clothes hanging on the rack.

Felix's suit and shirt undressed themselves, and his tie hopped off his neck, hanging neatly on the wardrobe bar. There were three other colorful ties beside it.

His belt loosened, and his trousers separated as he took a step forward. A blue silk dressing gown flew out and draped over him, fastening itself with buttons.

Felix snapped his fingers, and soft music began playing. He conducted with his hands like a maestro while the kitchen filled with clinking sounds. Soon, a cup of hot coffee floated in front of him.

He lifted the cup, taking a sip, and smiled with great satisfaction.

Felix Harp was not only a recent job quitter but also a grown-up wizard.

He graduated from Hogwarts, the finest magical school in Britain.

Ten years had passed since Felix received the letter with the ornate crest from the orphanage. In those ten years, he graduated from Hogwarts and grew from a young boy into a 21-year-old man.

"Time flies. It's been three years since I graduated," Felix reflected as he sat on the sofa, feeling nostalgic.

Then, in a slightly solemn tone, he murmured, "And it's been 21 years since the time travel."

Indeed, apart from being a freelance professional and a hidden wizard, Felix had the deepest secret of all—he was a time traveler.

When he received the invitation from the magical world, he couldn't believe his luck. The world of Harry Potter, the magical adventures of the trio!

But sadly, they were not from the same era. Felix realized he was nine years older than Harry Potter. He wouldn't even have a chance to see him during his entire school life.

Felix admitted he wasn't a die-hard "Potterhead," and his knowledge of the plot was only partial.

Partial knowledge.

After all, he couldn't foresee his journey into the real magical world. If he had known in advance, he would have memorized every detail!

To grasp some understanding of the plot, he relied on short videos and tried to piece together the storyline.

But remembering all the details? That was wishful thinking.

Fortunately, what truly captivated Felix was the captivating magic of the tangible, living magical world. And he had gained access to it all.

As evening approached, Felix sat at his desk, quietly flipping through a magical book. The ticking clock made him feel a bit restless, disrupting his usual calmness.

He was waiting for an important letter.

And finally, he heard it—a tapping sound on the window. A silent owl perched on the windowsill, gently tapping the glass.

"At last!" Felix's heart raced, and he quickly grabbed his wand, waving it lightly. The window opened by itself, allowing the owl to fly inside.

The owl circled overhead twice before dropping an envelope on the desk. It casually settled down, pecking at its feathers.

Felix eagerly picked up the envelope. On the back, there was a wax seal—an emblem with a shield and a big "H" surrounded by an eagle, lion, badger, and serpent.

He opened the envelope and read the letter:

Dear Mr. Felix Harp,

We are happy to inform you that your application for employment (Muggle Studies) has been accepted. The interview will be held on July 21st at 10 o'clock in the morning. Please prepare accordingly.

Note: Please use Floo Powder to enter the school (location: Deputy Headmistress's office at Hogwarts). If you prefer another method, kindly let us know in advance.

Deputy Headmistress (Female) Minerva McGonagall

Felix couldn't contain his excitement. He pumped his fist and finished his cup of tea in one gulp!

#fanfic #fantasy #A Certain Hogwarts Rune Professor

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

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Anakin and the Jedi Babies: Where There’s a Whill, There’s a Windu

Context: original post, chrono

(Summary of the AU: Disaster lineage got tossed back in time. Anakin stayed 21-ish, but Obi-Wan and Ahsoka got deaged, took new names for time-travel reasons (Ylliben and Sokanth, or Ben and Soka) and have been officially adopted by Anakin.)

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

“You’re attached.”

“You’re just now noticing?”

Master Windu eyes him for a few long moments, and then joins him on the ground. Anakin can’t help but smirk. There’s something gratifying about having respect from the man, in this life.

“The other members of the council are concerned.”

“And you aren’t?”

“I am, but for other reasons,” Windu says.

Anakin doesn’t meet his eyes, doesn’t even respond for a long minute. He just looks out over the Room of a Thousand Fountains, spread out below them like hundreds of jungles pieced together in a jigsaw of flora. It’s been his favorite room in the Temple since he was a child, and it’s always overwhelming.

“Most of them have accepted that you adopted them because of Mandalorian customs, and that you stayed where you were due to the will of the Force,” Windu continues. “But they are… uncomfortable with how blatantly your attachments show.”

“Mandalorians are loud and refuse shame. It rubbed off.”

“You said you would kill for these children.”

“I’m their father. That’s kind of expected.”

Windu’s expression is tired. A little tired of stress, but mostly tired of Anakin’s shit. “You know what I’m trying to get at.”

“Do I?”

“Skywalker.”

“No, I’m serious. I need you to spell this out. I’ve had a million slightly-contradicting lectures on this topic, and I’ve been told pretty clearly that I misinterpreted a solid half of them. If you want a constructive conversation, you can’t be vague. I’m thirty-three years old and a father of two, Master Windu, so yes, I’m attached. What you mean by that word is going to change where this conversation goes.”

It’s gratifying to see the Master actually think it over.

“Ylliben’s tattoos have been causing the most recent stir,” Windu finally says. “They nearly all relate to family, whether new or old, and the symbolism is concerning to those who are already upset about the Mandalorian upbringing. They worry that he’ll remain too tied to people he grew up with, and unable to maintain neutrality in future diplomatic ventures, or at risk of a fall if one of the people he’s seen fit to memorialize is injured or killed. The assume a similar state of mind may be applicable to your daughter and yourself, especially given the off-color jokes about how possessive your children are about each other.”

“They’re worried about emotional immaturity,” Anakin summarizes. He offers a wan, unimpressed grin. “They do realize he’s fourteen, right? Nobody’s emotionally stable at fourteen. The hormones are out of whack.”

“I’m aware,” Windu grinds out. “And I’m aware that your histories, of war and all such things, make your ties much stronger, but you can see why the Council worries, especially those who are wary of the memories your children carry but won’t explain. I’m the only one you’ve told, Skywalker.”

“Plo and Depa know.”

“Plo and Depa aren’t on the council.”

“Yet.”

“Skywalker.”

He relents. “It’s not about Mandalore, Master Windu. It’s about Tatooine.”

Windu lets that sit for a few moments, and then sighs. “I don’t know enough about Tatooine to parse that.”

“Shmi and I are former slaves,” Anakin says, as bluntly as he can. “I was freed at nine, she at eleven, and for all that we are free, we’re not freeborn. We were born slaves, and raised slaves, and we were freed too late to forget that life. The way we think is always going to be affected by the way we grew up. That applies to all sentients, more or less, but it’s… the slave mentality is completely at odds with Jedi teachings, because Jedi teachings can only be taught in a safe environment.”

Windu nods slowly, and says, “That does make sense, but it’s… forgive me, but that’s why we don’t normally take children older than four.”

“From the perspective of teaching cultural values, that makes sense,” Anakin allows. “Teaching a Jedi child that’s cared for with communal resources that they do not need material things to be happy is fine; trying to convince a slave child of the same, someone who grew up being told they do not deserve material things, and that their owner can take anything at any time, including family? I lived that life, trying to adjust to ascetic Jedi values that coincided poorly with slave rules. I know exactly how poorly that transition can go when the person caring for the child doesn’t know how to handle the points of conflict.”

“Do you regret joining the Jedi?” Windu asks.

Anakin shakes his head. “My Jedi master, bless him, cared, and tried very hard, but he wasn’t ready to handle a kid like me and in hindsight, I know that. He needed grief counseling, and I needed therapy, and neither of us was getting it. I don’t… I don’t believe anyone in the Temple would have known how to handle a kid like me.”

“But you don’t regret it.”

“I was meant to be a Jedi,” Anakin says, as firmly as he can without getting unnecessarily bitchy about it. “My struggles with the Code aside, I was meant to be here. But the Temple doesn’t have any resources for children who come older, and I think… I think you do need that.”

“You just outlined why a child can’t follow the Code if they come from a different enough background,” Windu says.

Anakin shakes his head. “No, that’s not—I think a kid like me can learn to be a Jedi, if a little unconventional, if they’re taught correctly. The desperation to cling to anyone and anything you have can be unlearned. It takes time and effort, but it’s possible. Soka and Ben are good at balancing Tatooine care with Jedi control. If you talk to Ben, you get an entire philosophical breakdown about it, but I’m more concerned with the child psychology, because that’s what could have broken me.”

Windu frowns. “You’re building up to something.”

“I think the Jedi need programs for children found older who can’t become full Jedi,” Anakin asserts. “Even those who cannot reconcile what they absorbed growing up with the Code and Jedi tradition… they, we, need guidance. The Council tried to reject me for being too old, and now that I’m grown I understand why, but… Master Windu, what do you think would have happened to me if I hadn’t had my Master to fight for me, and had been turned away?”

“We’d have looked into placing you back with your mother and, upon finding out that she was still enslaved, secured her freedom,” Master Windu says. “Qui-Gon Jinn had taken responsibility for you, and thus you were a ward of the Temple until such a time as you were safe again. It would have been cruel to keep you from your mother if we were not to raise you a Jedi, and crueler still to allow you to return to slavery.”

“And you think I’d have been safe with her?” Anakin asks. He needs Master Windu to understand this. “You think that would have ended well?”

“You don’t?”

“Ventress,” Anakin says. “Maul. Aurra Sing, even.”

Windu considers that. He looks across the grand, green room of the garden, and finally speaks. “You think you’d have been found and corrupted by a Sith.”

“I’d already helped Naboo win a battle. I was a powerful child with no support system in this respect, eager to please,” Anakin says. “Ventress and Maul both got twisted into Sith Apprentices. Aurra Sing was just a bounty hunter, but… even if the Jedi had never found me, and the Sith remained unaware, do you think I’d have ended up better than Sing? Or would the pressures of slavery have led to my Fall anyway, eventually slaughtering my owner, the Hutts, the entire system of Tatooine’s hells?”

Windu rubs a hand over his forehead. “I understand what you’re getting at.”

“It’s not just me,” Anakin says, as carefully as he can. “Even without the Sith, there are plenty of Force-Sensitive children in terrible situations that are liable to Fall just because of how power is wielded by those at the bottom. Refusing to take on students who are already at risk… the Jedi are meant to monitor Force users to prevent Sith and other dark-aligned people from harming the galaxy. It’s one of our primary duties. If the Jedi are allowing darksiders to rise just because of an age limit…”

“I get it,” Windu says, just a little aggressive. “I understand. Give me a minute.”

Anakin tries to wait. He’s older now, he can do that. He can be patient.

He tries to convince himself that it’s true.

“You have a point,” Master Windu finally allows. “And with the knowledge that the Sith are out there, still, it’s a more salient point than most would think. The EduCorps already has a subdivision for teaching meditative techniques to low-level force users who need to learn shielding but aren’t sensitive enough to be Jedi, or are just too old, but I see your point about encouraging a program for powerful Force-Sensitives that aren’t discovered early enough to integrate into the community in full.”

“And a more comprehensive Search pattern for the Outer Rim?” Anakin suggests. He shrugs at the look he gets. “What? You’ve seen my midicount. I was on Tatooine for almost a decade, and the only reason anyone found me was that Qui-Gon had to crash a ship in the middle of nowhere. I’m sure the Force led him to me, given all the coincidences, but that’s still a solid nine years that nobody did, despite how I apparently ‘shine like the sun’ or whatever.”

“Humble.”

“The last time I took a midichlorian test on a portable counter, it literally broke the device. That’s not arrogance, that’s just absurd.”

Windu looks exhausted by the comment. Anakin can’t bring himself to feel too bad about it.

“What about Jedha?” Anakin suggests instead. “Jedi find the kids, but if they’re too old to be Jedi, we could coordinate with one of the temples at Jedha to see about having them raised in the traditions of the Whills? They’re a little less orthodox, aren’t they?”

“In some respects,” Master Windu says. “More constrained in others, but… it’s a possibility. Most of the overlooked children, yourself included, are from parts of the Outer Rim that aren’t part of the Republic, Skywalker.”

Anakin shrugs. “And many of them would have been happy to be found and collected by a Jedi, even if they couldn’t become Jedi. Not the Dathomiri, since they’ve got their own thing going on, but… from what I know about Ventress, she actually did have a Jedi Master before the situation on Rattatak became… what’s the word… untenable? He died and she was left alone, and she’d been a slave already and it just… did not end well for her. But that was a planet overrun by pirates and warlords, and would have been approved as a planet the Jedi could help without it being a weird colonialism thing… if the Senate weren’t made up of cheapskates, at least.”

“Skywalker.”

“My name isn’t actually a reprimand, you know.”

“You’re not supposed to just say that,” Windu groans, running a hand over his face. “The Senate’s choice in funding is not optimal, but insulting them in that way, even in private—”

“They’re assholes,” Anakin says, and doesn’t let his humor show. “Except my late wife, but she’s not part of the Senate in this time, so I feel no shame in accusing the entire shitshow of being cheapskates.”

Windu looks about ready to push him off the ledge.

“You’re never allowed to go on diplomatic missions, are you?” Windu mutters.

“Unless it’s to Mandalore,” Anakin clarifies. “Also, never send me to Tatooine. Ever. Please. I kriffing hate that planet.”

“I’m going to assume you have plans to kill a Hutt if we ever send you to—”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Windu sighs. “I’ll discuss this with the Council, see how they feel about reaching out to Jedha for your suggestion regarding the Whills.”

“And you’ll tell them not to worry about my kids?”

“Skywalker, they are never going to stop worrying about your family,” Windu tells him.

“That’s fair.”

#Anakin Skywalker #Mace Windu #Obi Wan Kenobi #time travel #de aging #Jedha #Jedi #Phoenix Posts #Anakin and the Jedi Babies

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lorezhaze · 2 years ago

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Searching for a partner for a Medieval RP.

21 NB (he/they), looking for 18+ literate writers interested in a Medieval Fantasy rp, mxm OCs (my OC Lucien).

I have two plots that I’m interested in exploring: 1. The King allowed his son (Lucien) to be abused by his painting instructor growing up, all this rage builds up and explodes when Lucien tries to convict his instructor, but the King instead pardons the boy’s abuser during a set of public trials outside the castle. Lucien, a teenager and young Prince at the time, kills his father in front of everyone, unintentionally becoming King himself from then on. Despite exiling his abuser after the bloody trial, the then Prince, now King is seen as cruel and scary, not to be crossed even nearly ten years later. Meanwhile, a citizen with a sick sister is caught stealing medicine. Being on trial with King Lucien is scary enough, but medicine thieves in particular are known to be punished heavily, since the Princess, who is one of the only people thats kind to the prince-now-king, makes a majority of the medicine available. During a public trial, the thieve’s mother pleads for his life and Lucien realizes that the thief is someone he knew, that he had recognized those fearful eyes from somewhere else. He was amongst the crowd when he killed his own father. He spares the thief, and allows the best doctors to treat his ill sister. As long as he works directly for him in the castle until his debt is repaid.

2. It is tradition for the royal family to keep their children within the gates of the castle and away from the public eye until they are grown enough to handle it. The Princess was introduced to society at the age of 13, but every year the reveal of their younger and troubled son (Lucien) his delayed for various vague reasons. Everyone is both eager and suspicious, which doesn’t help matters. This is when the royal parents essentially give up when the boy turns 21, allowing him out with no announcement to the public. While practically frolicking through the flowery fields, enjoying the feeling of the grass and the new sights, he has a love-at-first-sight moment with another boy (your character). This is just an ordinary boy from a hard working family, and since the Prince was never revealed, he has no idea the boy he’s immediately smitten with is the Prince everyone is eagerly awaiting to meet. That is until he finds out, obviously.

Let me know if you’d like me to send you Lucien’s bio. I’m finishing it up so eventually I'm going to post it separately and have it linked to this post.

About Me:

- Lo, 21 NB (he/they)

- I’m taking a break from college and have a part time job with varying hours, but I should be able to get in a few responses a day at least. I prefer partners that can at least give a response a day, but if you communicate with me about your schedule and/or pace we can make things work!

- I love really anything; Smut, fluff, slowburn, angst, wholesome/lighthearted, dark. I don’t have many triggers or limits, but I’d still like us to discuss any we have before we start. Please always talk to me before throwing a sudden dark twist. Communication is key!

What I’m Looking For:

- I prefer a minimum of a paragraph for a response, but preferably a few (3rd person, unless I agree otherwise).

- I would love to get to know you outside of rping! I don’t have many friends, and I enjoy getting even the most random of texts. Go ahead and send me fanart, fanfic recs, playlists, edits, and other random thoughts, feelings or things! Pet pictures too pls.

- No ghosting please! We’re both adults, if we don’t like something we can talk it out or say that we no longer are interested.

- I’m willing to dabble both with fandoms and OCs. I love world building and AUs.

- I don’t feel comfortable with rping with minors in general, but most of my rps have at least NSFW undertones/themes at some point. I do like smut, especially paired with angst and certain dynamics, but if that isn’t your thing we can always keep it limited or fade to black.

Feel free to like this post or dm me if interested, we can add each other on discord!

#rp #rp partner search #medieval rp #roleplay #medieval roleplay #rp partner wanted #rp search #rp promo #roleplay finder #open RP #royal rp #royal roleplay #prince rp #oc #oc rp

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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years ago

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I Am Alive (chapter 30/?)

Chapter 30: Where the Skies End

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20 • 21 • 22 • 23 • 24 • 25 • 26 • 27 • 28 • 29 • 30 • more coming soon

[ You can also read on AO3 ]

Unsurprisingly, and much to your frustration, Connor had finished the move without you. There might not have been much left to move at that point; but, it was your stuff at a house that you rented, and not Connor's responsibility in the slightest.

But, there was no telling the android that, and you knew that he would have been well equipped with plenty of reasons as to why he could handle the rest of the move alone: you needed rest, he didn't require sleep, etc, etc.

When you stepped off the elevator into the android's - and now your - apartment, Connor had a look on his face, as if you had come home for the first time in years. You had only spent a week at Hank's place, and only a day and some odd hours at the hospital prior to that, and Connor had been nearly inseparable from you the entire time; yet, it felt like ages since you had been here.

It was only then that the weight of your near death experience became apparent. Before, your life, or the loss of it, wouldn't have impacted anyone else. It was just you in that little house, trying to make a living, picking up the pieces of a war and watching humanity change astronomically.

Now, there was a life that would be changed if you were gone. You let yourself imagine how Connor would cope, what would become of him, and struggled to keep the sorrow to yourself.

Perhaps, for the first time in your life, you knew what it was like to be needed.

Your wound healed remarkably in the weeks that followed. The scar left behind was star shaped and your skin was darkened around the sunken surface. But, you didn't find yourself hating it as much as you thought you would.

It wasn't something you looked at with pain or regret, but rather something prideful. Maybe there was something masochistic about it, not that you found yourself bothered by that realization.

Your coworkers thought it looked 'pretty cool' and declared that it made you 'quite the badass'. Now, you could wear the badge of 'I've been shot', with a bizarre story to tell. You didn't care if people thought it was strange, letting yourself get shot for an android.

Connor was much more than 'just' an android. He was the man you loved, who carried an astronomical burden you could barely understand. Sure, you could judge the weight, the pressure; but, you, an ordinary human, couldn't possibly understand what he felt as the target of a revolution that would change humanity forever.

The thoughts became clearer as you and Connor stepped into Haven for the last time, and you took in the emptiness, the quiet, and the cold.

"One moment," Connor advised you, stepping away and into the open space in the center of the room.

RK800, like all androids, had no true sense of temperature. Connor couldn't feel cold the way humans did. His artificial skin wasn't going to prickle with goosebumps and his muscles wouldn't shiver from the discomfort.

His HUD could report the weather if he enabled it and he had various feedback modules to inform him of how the temperature would affect a human, with the rightful assumption one would be in his presence.

Yet, despite this very well known limitation of his being, Connor couldn't explain how he managed to feel so cold as he stood there in the very abandoned Haven.

He was aware that warmth could be metaphorical, symbolic of belonging and comfort. His sense of cold was both literal and figurative in this sense. Without any machines running, all the lights turned off, Haven had become very cold. The halls, once busy with androids, were now empty, and the building was silent if not for the creaking walls.

-until someone walked through the distant corridor, their quiet footsteps rattling in Connor's acute hearing module.

There was an apology on the tip of Connor's tongue when he caught the sight of Markus. However, the RK200's stare wasn't cold or untrusting. There was something undeniably regretful on his face, conveying sympathy to the fellow android.

Markus' mismatched eyes caught the sight of you over Connor's shoulder, and spared a sad expression.

The two androids had agreed to meet here, for the last time in circumstances like this, hopefully. Once the final bill was passed, and androids would be proper citizens, there would be no need for this.

However, Connor had yet to obtain a definitive lead on Reaves' accomplices. This, at the very least, could provide some security for the androids that came before him.

"I know you didn't want me to," Markus began. "But, I will tell them it's from you. They should know."

"It's... your choice," Connor replied quietly, hoping to mask the uncertainty in his tone.

The two androids took each other's wrists, pushing the fabric of their jackets out of the way to touch skin to skin. Connor knew that Markus trusted him. He took the file without even bothering to scan it first. Only once it was already saved on his local system did he bother to analyze it.

The detective android had worked on that during your recovery week, while he laid beside you in low power mode. He reviewed the log files on his internal firewall over a thousand times, and crafted additional security protocols, specifically designed around write protection. Factory defaults, if he could help it, would be near impossible.

Markus could share this new code with other androids. If Connor failed to stop it in time, at the very least, their memory modules would be protected from brute force attacks, cyberlife certified or otherwise.

As their hands parted, Connor seemed to understand why he felt so cold. He had grown accustomed to how your skin felt - how human skin felt. Even when you weren't acutely aware of it, you were always warm.

"You're one of us," Markus declared, his hand dropping to his side. "We couldn't have done this without you. Your sacrifices need to be known."

"Sacrifices," Connor parroted quietly, doubtful.

He thought about Reaves' disbelief, at how he prioritized saving your life over securing the future of his kind. He could have killed you, carried on the mission, secured all of the chips and brought the android protestors to absolute surrender.

But, he didn't.

Before you, what had he gambled, if not his own life? A life that, by the very words of his creators, didn't exist, was meaningless, just programs executed in succession. He had questioned the very existence of his own life, but so had every android before him.

Still, the determined look on Markus' face didn't falter.

"Until we meet again," he offered, nodding at his fellow android. His eyes landed on yours before he turned away, and you offered him a sad, small wave.

As Connor passed, he took his hand in yours and guided you out of the building with careful steps. It was unnecessary to bring you here, but he understood the importance of goodbyes, and didn't want you to believe your efforts here had been in vain.

You expected to be driven home after that; however, as you climbed into the car, Connor asked, "would it be alright if we went to the park for some fresh air?"

"-'course," you replied softly, shifting your gaze from the android's face to look out the window.

Connor was uncharacteristically quiet during the drive, his hands gripping the steering wheel in a death lock. You didn't pay much mind to it, figuring he was stressed after everything that had happened. You had been the one on death's door; yet, Connor was the one seemingly always on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

It was worrying; but, you knew he needed to work through it in his own way.

At the park, Connor had hoped you would head straight for the bridge, to a place you had cherished so much. If his research was accurate, this needed to be done at a special place. As he followed you slowly up the curve, feet tapping against the boards, a wave of doubt washed over him.

You looked stunning, standing upright for the first time in weeks, with pep in your step, the sun soaking up your hair. Could he really have this? Could he even think himself allowed for such a thing? Could an android truly understand the needs of a human?

"You alright?" you called out to him, pausing before you reached the apex of the bridge.

It snapped him out of his stupor, and Connor replied softly, "I'm fine."

You continued and he followed, counting the steps despite how unnecessary it was. The android knew he had never been this scared in his life. This type of sensation was really, really unpleasant. His processors were giving him ridiculous warnings that didn't pertain at all to the situation.

He shut off the alerts and met you at the top of the bridge. His hand slid over the railing, analyzed the material as a strong timber, coated with a lacquer color called 'cedar brown', manufactured by-

Connor quickly closed the analyzed results, realizing how pointless that was. He was distracting himself, busying his processor with his manufactured purpose to avoid something he was definitely not made for.

At the top of the bridge, you turned to the man standing beside you, just in time to see him deactivate his human skin. His gaze met yours, and you smiled at the sight of RK800, as he was made, without the imitation of human-likeness.

For a moment, he stood there and let the heat of the sunlight catch on his sensor processors. The human tone of his factory issued skin flickered back on briefly before shutting back off, as Connor mentally questioned if he should do it like this.

The sudden nervous expression on his face, and his flickering pallet, had you concerned. In the sunlight, you could catch the subtle flaws in the design of his optics: the faint glimmer of a camera lens hidden beneath the almost perfect human appearance.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you asked, suddenly reaching for him. Your hand fell into the curve of his elbow.

"There's-" Connor began, stopping himself when a jogger passed the bridge. He was silent until they were gone.

"There's something important I need to ask you," Connor explained, his voice quiet and hoarse. "I'm sorry for not being more forthcoming. I was afraid."

Despite the obvious implications of what that question was, your head swarmed with the worst possibilities. The detective android, who had stormed a building of armed men to rescue you, who never hesitated to take a bullet for anyone, was afraid of something?

"Connor," you murmured, his name falling from your lips without purpose. The concern, however, was heavy in your tone.

"Before I ask, you need to know that you can refuse. There is no obligation, despite what we have been through. I won't hold any negative feelings towards you. From my research, this is premature, and I apologize for that," Connor babbled.

"What?" you blurted. "Connor, what are you - what's wrong?" you insisted, pitch rising as you started to panic.

"Nothing is wrong," he replied sharply.

He stepped back, just enough to create a few inches between you. You watched him reach into his coat pocket and pull out a small box. Mind hazy with the aftermath of Reaves' attack, you feared Connor was going to present you with evidence, that the case had taken a dangerous turn, or even inform you with the worst possible news.

But, then, Connor, cupping the small box in his palm, knelt down onto one knee. He looked up at you, brown eyes bright in the sunlight, android skin white as freshly fallen slow, failing to conceal the crease in his brow as worry sank in. The box opened, but you were too focused on his face to bother looking inside.

"Will you marry me?"

You could have laughed, at yourself, really, for thinking he was going to talk to you about Reaves, about factory-resetting computer chips, and the potential downfall of androids.

Instead, you let out a choked gasp. It was pathetically wet and embarrassingly loud. It all came pouring out before you could even think to stop it. Connor's nervous expression melted into panic when you started crying hysterically.

He was shifting to stand up, an apology hot on his tongue. He could feel his processors heating up, threatening to lock up at the sight of your tear-soaked face. It had his internal processes soaring, questioning if he had misinterpreted your relationship, your feelings for him.

You flung yourself into him before he could stand up, knocking the jewelry box right out of his hand. It clattered noisily on the bridge. If Connor was human, he would have followed; but, he was sturdy and, even unprepared, managed to stay upright as you crashed into him. His knees hit the bridge and his hands cautiously cupped your back.

"Yes!" you cried out, pressing your cheek into his coat, some odd centimeters from his thirium pump.

Your arms squeezed at his back, hands clawing into the thick fabric of his coat. Connor was unmoving, stiff where you clung to him. The artificial movements he made to appear more human had ceased, and you briefly feared he had powered down.

"Yes," you declared again, softer this time, squeezing him even tighter.

Finally, his systems relented and he properly relayed to his processor what you had just said. His arms wound around your back and, for the first time in weeks, Connor hugged you tightly, as if he wasn't afraid that he might hurt you. You could feel the tightening of his fingers tugging at your blouse, the thirium pump in perfect beats inside his chassis.

"Yes," you said again.

His cheek fell against your hairline and he closed his eyes. He wanted to dig his fingers past the fabric of your clothes, to feel your skin in a hopeless attempt to interface. Even if he could only reach your body, even if your mind was out of reach, that was good enough.

"Yes," again.

For now, the ring laid forgotten in its case, the jewelry box sitting some odd feet away, flipped on its side.

#rk800 x reader #connor x reader #deviant connor x reader

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godidontevenknowwhat · 2 years ago

Note

Genuine question here, what do you consider as anti Billy?

I wouldn't consider myself an anti but I don't excuse Billy's action like many pro Billy blogs do. Like when we discuss Billy's behavior and bring up Billy's abuse of Max and racism towards Lucas I was being called an anti even though I was pointing out Billy's canon behavior.

I get why he does act the way he does and recognize his abuse from Neil but it doesn't give him a free pass to be abusive to other people. Does this really make me an anti? Pro Billy people usually babify him to a point where he does feel like a completely different person than what is portrayed in the show and I feel like if you have to alter a character to a point where he isn't recognizable anymore you're more of an anti than people who don't try to excuse everything that makes the character the character.

First of all thank you for not being a shithead and presenting this question in a regular mature way, I appreciate you coming to me with this

Short answer: I consider someone a Billy anti when the blow his actions out of proportion and turn a complex character with a heart wrenching abuse story into what the duffers originally wrote him as: a racist antagonist and jerkwad bully. Note that I'm not saying his actions were excusable because of the abuse or that how he behaves isn't written with the intentions of him being racist towards Lucas.

Okay long answer now:

I'm definitely guilty of 'babyfying' Billy, mostly as a joke to annoy Billy antis, but I'm aware that I do it to the point that it's probably hard to gauge how I truly feel about Billy and his actions.

Billy is not a nice person. Billy is an asshole. But Billy isn't an irredeemable villain who is completely evil and everything he does is out of pure evil like a lot of Antis like to present him.

However I think being Pro Billy Vs Anti Billy is understanding that no one is truly evil.

I don't think Billy treating Max the way he did is excusable nor will I try to pretend that he was good to her. But I will say that he most certainly is NOT treating Max like that because he's a nasty bully wah wah wah.

Also despite how it might seem, when Billy was first introduced I actually didn't like him. Then the scene with Neil happened and it broke me.

The reason I'm pro Billy is because I see myself in him. I'm currently 21, I'll be 22 in March, so I'm by no means far off what age Billy was in season 2 where a lot of his actions inspire antis.

4 years ago I was angry, I was mean, I would say nasty shit to people and I would do things that 4 years later I'm not proud of in the slightest and it was all because of the aggressive physical abuse I received from my mother and the emotional abuse I received from my sister. The physical abuse was so bad that at points my mum would hit me so hard my ears would ring and she would literally take out chunks of my hair from pulling on it. Seeing Billy pinned against that bookshelf by Neil and finally being able to see my abuse from a third party perspective I actually cried and nearly had a panic attack. So I began to see Billy differently, I can recognise a lot of his actions as the anger of an abused person trying to get control over an aspect of their life outside of the home because that's the only place he has control. I think a lot of Antis fall trap to hating Billy because he's angry and mean and they don't think for a second that it's a reaction to the abuse and they dub him irredeemable and say he deserved to die.

So.. I deserved to die then? Every abuse victim who reacts with anger and mirrored behaviour and violent outbursts deserves to die?

No, no fucking way.

We deserve the chance to grow and become our own people independent of the abuse. In 4 years I've become a different person, I've grown and started shedding the anger and resent that has built up in me. I still see signs of it for sure, I get angry incredibly quickly to the point it's scary and it disgusts me every time it happens because I hate that part of myself but I'm working on it.

I'm pro Billy because I think he deserved a chance to work on it.

Also sorry if this seems like a brain fart ramble, It's 6am and I woke up and saw this and needed to respond asap while it was fresh

#anon #pro billy hargrove #thank you for being respectful and presenting your views maturely #much appreciated #tw abuse #abuse mention #personal I guess? I mean I have no problem airing my issues and past so read it if you want

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elizabeethan · 3 years ago

Text

Rising Tide

An Overboard Addition

The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

A/N: I wrote this because I felt like I was being too mean to Mary Margaret and decided to spread the wealth.

For @the-darkdragonfly for keeping my enthusiasm for this series alive, and for being the best beta around.

Rated M

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~~~~

There are too many people on this bloody boat.

Killian’s fishing vessel has comfortably held himself, his wife, and his two crew members on countless occasions, but something has shifted with the addition of a fifth person.

Or, perhaps, it’s the fact that his crew members have been traded for Emma’s entire family. Plus, there’s their dog.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

Leo has just turned 21, and is, according to his sister, soul searching. Emma claims that he isn’t sure what he’s doing with his life, what with his decision not to attend college and his struggles to find a steady job. She thought that maybe helping Killian this season would also help Leo, perhaps exposing some passion for fishing he never knew he had. But of course, Leo has never fished before, so his father is tagging along to make matters easier and safer. And why not throw Mary Margaret into the mix too… the more the merrier.

At least that’s what Killian thought until they all got onto his bloody boat and shoved off.

It really isn’t meant for five people. Plus a dog the size of a miniature horse.

Emma enjoys sunning herself on the bow, even in the winter, and Killian enjoys watching her. What he doesn’t enjoy is the quick and judging looks he gets from her father and the snickering and giggling from her mother each time he’s caught. He doesn’t enjoy the groaning and eye rolling he gets from Leo each time he kisses his wife, seen because of the painful lack of privacy on this bloody boat.

The whole journey down was near torture. Emma and Killian have grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy, as well as a certain amount of pleasure for each of them. Everyone says the honeymoon phase will fade, and yet it hasn’t for them. Everyone also says that he will soon struggle to keep up with the energy of his much younger wife, and yet he has not experienced such a thing.

Killian’s always been a private person, preferring to love his wife in seclusion. At least when it’s Will and Robin on the boat, he can tell them to shove off if they’re caught in some unsavory position. But when her father does, Killian nearly jumps overboard.

It takes them about a day to sail into Wanchese, the harbor almost as accommodating as the one back home. They’re friendly here, but he can’t help but get a sense of competition burning between himself and the southern fishermen. Killian’s never been much for competition, but David is.

He says something cheeky and mildly ominous to the others in the fleet, something about catching the most tonnage this season despite not being from down here, and Killian stiffens beneath Emma’s hand on his back. She leaves warmth between his shoulder blades where he always seems to be stiff.

“It’s alright,” she says as she kisses his shoulder over his sweater, pressing up onto her toes. “It’ll be fun.”

“The season down here is short,” he explains, though she already knows. “But I have a feeling it’ll feel quite long.”

She hums and laughs, kissing him once more and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him as he pulls away from the docks. When he hears her mother’s voice cooing at Ripple, “look at your mommy and daddy over there,” he stiffens again.

It’ll be a long season.

~~~~

He’s only glad for the hotel room that her parents have rented.

Leo’s still on the boat, of course, acting as Killian’s first mate, but he can handle that for the evenings. Leo does well preparing the lines and fishing for bait, and he tries to see the upside as Emma serves him spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and he realizes that they once again won’t have any privacy.

“Thank you, love,” he says softly to her as she hands him the floppy paper plate. “Smells delicious.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she takes a seat beside him on the bow. It’s become a favorite spot for them; a place where they can unwind together, make love to each other, console each other’s demons. “Don’t lie,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m a shitty cook anyway, never mind on the water.”

“You’re a brilliant cook.”

“Yes,” she laughs, nodding and twirling her fork in the flaccid pasta. “My recipe for peanut butter and jelly is award winning.”

“Aye, well, I do like when you sprinkle the potato chips in them.”

“That’s because we’re both eight-years-old.”

He leans towards her, securing his plate in his lap so that he can press a lingering kiss against her temple. “I should hope not,” he jokes.

They sit quietly for a while, enjoying the dinner she made for them despite her complaints that it’s mushy and watching the sunset. It’s beautiful here, he has to admit, and he can’t help but appreciate the way the pink sky bounces off of the sea and into his wife’s hair.

“It’ll be fine, you know,” she says softly, her lips pressing to his neck. “It’s only a few weeks, and I don’t even think they’ll come out most weeks.”

“Aye, love,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “You know I’m not upset about this, right?”

“Yeah, but I can tell you’re not completely comfortable either. I mean, my parents--”

“Emma,” he interrupts, although he doesn’t like to. He takes her face in his hands and gives her a smile. “I love your parents because I love you. I can handle a few weeks with them.”

“You promise you won’t gaff them if they mess up your boat?”

He laughs, if only to remove the image of such a violent proposition from his mind, and nods. “I promise, my love.”

~~~~

Things start turning south after a few weeks on the water, her parents, just as Emma had predicted, only making a few appearances. David was helpful enough teaching Leo the ropes, and he’s become an invaluable member of Killian’s crew. Now that he’s trained quite thoroughly, David and Mary Margaret have taken the opportunity to explore the Outer Banks.

Only today, they’re out on the boat, along for the ride since Killian suggested a shorter trip just past the sound. It was hard enough crossing the bar with Emma’s father’s watchful eye on him, and now that they've made it to deep enough waters, his anxiety is at an all time high.

Killian is a talented sailor. He knows this, and he also knows that he’s a talented fisherman. He’s earned himself a rather suitable fortune in his years catching tuna, and he maintains that he knows what he’s doing. And yet, having an audience-- especially one that seems to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop-- is making him entirely doubt himself. They’re waiting for their daughter to get hurt, either by him or because of him. He’s waiting for the doubt he has in himself to fade, and yet it never seems to unless Emma forces it away.

He would never hurt her. He would die if anything ever happened to her, especially if it was at his hands. If he were ever involved in any pain delivered to her, he isn’t sure how he would survive the guilt and anguish that would result.

Which is why he’s been so careful the entire trip, and each time she’s on his boat with him. He failed at his attempts to make her wear a lifejacket-- So what, you think I can’t swim? I’m a better swimmer than you, probably-- but he tries to take every other precaution. He’s even trained Ripple to bark when she sees a large wave incoming so that they can take cover. He keeps knives stashed around the boat so that he can cut any rogue line or rope, should anyone get tangled. He keeps lifepreservers as well, one on each corner despite the boat being small enough to reach one easily. Every sharp object has a home, a designated place to avoid accidents. He captains a very safe vessel any day, but when Emma and their Ripple are on board, it’s like his senses are heightened.

Which is why he watches her like a hawk each day, but especially now that her parents are on board. He just knows that one misstep will have them staring him down, judging his ability to care for their daughter, silently gaining confirmation that their marriage won’t make it. He knows it’s dramatic, and not entirely true, but he can’t help but fear that they think of him as too old for her. He’s not energetic enough; he can’t keep up with her needs. He can’t provide her with the life that she deserves.

They’ve talked about this, of course. But the reminders keep coming with her parents’ looks towards him, so his self-doubt flourishes.

They’ve only just hooked up when it happens. Leo is reeling-- he’s doing phenomenally as he works with the waves in an effort to drag the beast to them-- and Killian is driving. David stands at the helm with Leo, telling Killian when to go into reverse and when to go into neutral, when to turn left and when to turn right. They’ve almost brought the thing to the port of the vessel, and Emma stands diligently with a gaff ready to assist however she can. Killian can’t stop staring. Not only because she looks beautiful and strong, but because he worries for her too much.

He notices the rope on the ground quickly after it falls, calling to David to move it despite his distraction with the strained line. He kicks it away, a loop forming easily as he does so. He shouts once more, desperately as he watches Emma take a step to her left, and panics when he isn’t heard.

“Emma!” he calls from the wheel, turning towards her but unable to abandon steering the craft for fear of disaster. “Love, your--”

She starts to trip as David throws the harpoon, the line tightening around her ankle and pulling at her leg until she has to drop to the deck. Killian abandons his post easily, rushing towards her and shoving against David with too much force so that he can grab for a blade and cut her free.

She falls forward into his arms, her gasp coming out forcefully as she seems to piece together what’s almost happened as the adrenaline wears off.

“Woah,” she breathes, squeezing his hand in hers as he helps her to straighten.

“Are you--”

“The line!” David calls. “It’s-- Emma?” He hurries towards them both, finally abandoning the tool as Leo cuts the beast free and does the same and crouches by her side. “What happened?”

A sudden wave of disgust washes over him as an equally powerful wave from the sea crashes into his beloved boat. With the force of it, with his wife safe in his arms, he realizes he couldn’t possibly care less what happens to his fishing vessel as long as she’s alright.

“She nearly went overboard,” he spits. “Did you not hear me? Or were you too busy with the bloody harpoon?”

“Obviously I didn’t hear you,” he argues. “But I don’t need you blaming me when your equipment doesn’t work. This harpoon line is way too long.”

He breathes out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head and staring up at David. “Oh, so this is my fault? You aren’t watching your lines and nearly get your daughter killed and somehow it’s my fault?”

“Babe,” she starts, putting her hand on his, but he’s too angry and worked up and terrified.

“No, I'm sick of this,” he says. He hears Ripple finally bursting out of the cabin after far too many attempts to break free, and she hurries towards Emma, towards her mother, to lick her cheek. Emma giggles and cuddles with the pup, seeming to allow her breath to finally even. “Every chance you get, it’s a dig at my ability to keep my wife safe. And when I-- when your Captain orders you to move a bloody line away from her damn foot--”

“Killian!”

He can’t even respond, can’t do anything but take a heaving breath in hopes that it will calm him. He knows what she’s thinking-- that she wishes he would stop yelling at her bloody father-- but he can’t shake the feelings of rage coursing through him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, finally able to turn his head and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

She takes his hand and squeezes once more, nearly forcing him to maintain eye contact, and says, “I’m fine, babe. I’m okay.” he tries to ignore the discomfort written across her father’s entire being. “Let’s just go below deck and you can check my ankle, okay?”

“Is it hurting you?”

She blinks once and says, “It’s a little sore. Come on.”

They aren’t even able to shut themselves in before she tugs on his arm, dragging him close to her and wrapping him in a squeeze that he swears could kill him if it wasn’t exactly what he needs. It’s not as if she was dragged over the bow-- it’s not as if the rope truly cinched around her ankle and dragged her overboard, beneath the surface of the deadly crashing waves-- but she came pretty damn close. And now, as he comes down from the high of adrenaline of nearly losing his wife, his best friend, the most important thing in his life, he cracks.

He can barely breathe as his palms reach to cup her cheeks, if only to ensure that they’re still warm and pink and alive. He chokes when he has her in his grasp, his brows pinching together almost painfully and his teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, likely drawing blood. “Love,” he stutters, his voice weak and small, and he nearly loses his balance as another wave crashes into them. She keeps him steady. “I almost--”

“No,” she insists. “I know, baby, but you didn’t. I’m right here, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”

When his eyes meet hers, he says desperately, “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” she tells him with such certainty that he has no choice but to believe her. “Killian, I'm right here. I’m here with you, and I’m okay. You’re not gonna lose me.”

He shakes his head, and when he does, she creeps closer to him on the small captain's bed until her hips can straddle his thighs. His hands find her waist, unable to do anything but hold her and try to convince himself that she’s here and she’s fine. He didn’t lose her, although he almost did. The sea has given so much to him, but it’s also taken. It took his brother, or so he must only assume, and it almost took the love of his life. He knows now, now that it’s been proven to him, that he would gladly give himself to the sea if she took his wife. “Emma, my love…”

She hardly gives him a chance to answer, although part of him thinks she knows that he had nothing to say. Her lips cut him off, pressing to his and destroying any thoughts of negativity or anger or fear. They fuse themselves to his mouth and take from him every ounce of distress he could possibly imagine feeling. They give him every ounce of strength he could possibly possess. Her tongue slinks out over his own and sends small tingles down his back to the base of his spine until his grip on her tightens. Until his grip is tight enough to convince himself that she isn’t going anywhere.

“I love you,” she presses against his skin, her mouth somehow never leaving his.

“Emma,” he breathes again. With a gasp, he says once more, “Emma.”

“I'm okay,” she says. Then, with her hips pressing to his, she says, “Let me show you.”

In a move that he can barely perceive, one consumed with disorientation and a need to still feel her in his arms, she’s off of his lap and shedding her clothes. Her shorts were wet and difficult to peel from her legs, her-- his-- sweater, too, but her tight tank top, the one doubling as a bra, comes off of her easily. He reaches for her breasts, his lips finding her tightened nipple, and the moan that leaves her has him shaking.

She takes his clothes off, too, leaving hot trails of fire with her mouth each time she removes something from his skin. Her tongue follows a line between two freckles on his upper thigh and he throws his head back against the thin pillow that they share most nights. When her lips purse against the angry red tip of his cock, he grabs for her, fingers lacing through her hair and holding onto her if only so that he never has to fear letting her go. If he never lets go of her, he’ll never lose her.

She hollows her cheeks expertly, quickly working him to nearly his breaking point until he has to force himself to stop her. He wants her more than almost anything, second only to the feeling of finishing with the feeling of her walls reaching the same precipice around him. He thinks-- he hopes-- that the look he gives her conveys this, and when she releases him and licks her lips, smirking at him, he knows he’s succeeded.

Her fingers find her clit, although he’s quick to replace them with his own as she settles herself just above him. When she throws her head back with a gasp, her breasts swell and her long hair nearly tickles his kneecaps. When his fingers slide down from her clit to her entrance, smoothly spreading her arousal until he can tuck them inside, she lets out a moan that’s far too loud for their close quarters, so he sits up and fuses his mouth to hers. Her fingers grip the back of his head, holding him to her and tugging at his hair in a way that he knows means she’s mad with want.

His tongue traces her bottom lip in filthy need before he bites down on it, making her moan. “I want you,” she breathes as his mouth finds her earlobe. “Killian, please.”

“I need you,” he murmurs without meaning to, suckling on her ear in hopes to silence anymore foolish confessions.

“Take me. Take what you need, please.”

Her core is just above him, his cock throbbing with a need to be within the heat of her walls, to be squeezed by her until he can spill all of the love he has for her inside. When she drops onto him, her clit running along the length of him and warming him from the inside out, he grips her hips once again and helps to guide her. When she whimpers desperately, a moan escaping the back of her throat making him twitch, his mouth finds hers once again. With another move along his length, her fingers reach between them and guide him into her, making her hiss and whine and bite and hug him tighter.

“I love you so fucking much,” she says as she grinds down against him.

He can do nothing but consume her, taking her mouth against his again and moving into her until she lets out a breathless sound of need and desire. It drives him mad, his whole body shivering as he thrusts up once again, and when she props herself on her knees and moves herself up and down along his length, he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

The fact is, he nearly lost her. She’s fine, she wasn’t injured, nothing happened, but it could have been so much worse than it was. He praises himself for being quick enough to cut her free, but fears what could have happened if he hadn’t. But when she takes his face into her palms again and presses their foreheads together, when she whispers that she’s here and that she loves him, he knows that he can believe her. He knows that he can allow himself to move on from the absolute terror that comes with nearly losing the one thing he can’t live without.

“Emma, fuck.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Her grip on his hair tightens again and she commands, “Harder.”

So he flips them over, Emma landing on her back and gasping when he slams back into her, her ankles hooking around his back and pulling him deeper into her. She moans in his ear when he tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and sucks what he knows will become a far-too-obvious mark there. She’ll likely have to keep wearing his sweaters to cover it, not that he minds.

She squeezes, and she pushes against him, and she cries out against the lobe of his ear, and before he knows it, his hands are finding the back of her shoulders and pulling her up towards him so that he can hold her as close to himself as he can possibly manage. When she’s seated upon his thighs, his hips thrusting so that his cock can slide into her and hit every perfect part of her, she bites her bottom lip and screws her brows so tightly that he wonders if she’ll have a headache.

He can’t speak, can’t put into words the love he has for her, so he kisses her again and she kisses back. And though it’s quick and dirty, it’s just what the two of them need. She’s alright-- she’s just fine-- but they need each other now. He needs her to show him that she’s alright. She needs him to show her that he believes her. So when they come together, Emma squeezing him forcefully and desperately, he spills himself into her with just as much neediness so that they’re falling together, holding each other, losing themselves in one another.

Eventually, he falls forwards, Emma barely catching him before rolling the both of them over so that they're on their sides and facing one another. Once they’re comfortable, both of them panting heavily, she lifts her hand and rests it on his cheek, a soft smile gracing her lips and brightening her eyes, and he knows now that she’s alright. She’s fine, just like she said.

“You’re okay?” he asks in clarification.

“I’m perfect, as long as you’re here.”

“I’m always here.”

“Then I’m always okay.”

He didn’t expect to be here with her, now, with her family above deck, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When his palm lands softly on her cheek, the warmth of it heating his entire being, he smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too, idiot. You’re my husband; it’s kind of a given.”

With a laugh, he answers, “You’re very rude.”

“Only because I love you very, very much.”

“I’m not sure how those two things are equivalent, but…”

She shushes him then, scooting closer to him so that she can press her lips to his. “Don’t overthink it, baby. You could hurt yourself.”

“You’re quite something.”

“Yes, I love it when they say that to me after a night of passionate lovemaking.”

“It’s only four thirty.”

She laughs softly, a warm breath pushing itself from her lungs and onto his face, his lips tingling in response to the heat of her presence beside him. He laughs, too, his hand brushing a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. “Emma,” he whispers.

“Killian,” she whispers back, “I’m okay.”

He nods, because with her in his arms now, he knows. “I know.”

She kisses him one more time, then asks, “Now, what was it you always say to me? You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards?”

He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her own before it finds her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she tells him, her exasperation clear in her voice. “I’m not mad, Killian. I just want you to know that it’s alright to feel angry about stuff that scares you.”

“When did you get so deep?”

“The ocean is pretty deep, right? And I almost got yeeted right into it.”

He wants to laugh, truly. He wants to make a joke about her idiotic, immature reference. But he can’t, for his fear of her actually going overboard takes over. And he doesn’t exactly know what the bloody hell that phrase even means. So he squeezes her tighter and shakes his head. “Hush,” he says, because he can say nothing else.

She whispers, “Killian,” and when he looks up at her, her eyes are deep and serious. “It’s no one’s fault. And nothing happened.”

He shakes his head. “Something very bad could have happened, love. If I ever lost you…”

“I know, I know,” she says, cutting him off with one more kiss. “And I know you’re mad at my dad, too, but it’s no one’s fault. That rope was there, and you cut it away.”

Truthfully, he’s almost surprised by her mention of her father. It’s true that he became too angry, too blameful of the man who could have prevented a disaster from taking place had he only listened. But Emma is okay, she’s fine, and David is probably just as worried as Killian was.

“I know,” he concedes.

“And I know you’re a little upset about him… I guess he’s been kind of doubting you, huh?”

He shrugs. She’s right, of course, but far be it for him to admit that he’s feeling this way. Why he can’t, he doesn’t know.

“It must get pretty tiring to have him always questioning you, especially since you're the captain. Your word goes, and all that.”

There’s no response, not without admitting that this is exactly the way he’s feeling, so he kisses her nose. She makes it easy, of course, and she’s completely right. He gave a command that wasn’t followed, and it could have cost him his life in the loss of her. “It’s just…” he starts, unsure if he’ll be able to finish.

“They’ve been doubting you all this time?”

With a sigh, he nods. How she manages to read his every thought, his every emotion, is lost on him. “We’ve been married quite a while.”

“Three years,” she confirms happily. “And we’re pretty content, aren't we?”

“Aye,” he laughs, pulling her close to him so that he can tuck her beneath his chin and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“They have this need, Killian,” she starts to explain. “They gave me up, and now they have me back. They have this need to protect me and take care of me so they don’t risk losing me again.”

“I know, I just--”

“And I’m sure it’s impossible to rectify how they could somehow not see you as the one thing that’s protected me more than anything. But they need to be the ones, I think.”

He shakes his head, unable to move past the point she’s trying to make as he asks, “So what, I can’t be the one to protect my wife?”

With a soft sigh, she suggests, “Maybe their doubts are rubbing off on you? Making you doubt yourself?”

“It’s not exactly difficult,” he says in spite before again trying to force away his irritation. Shaking his head, he says more softly, “I know that we’re perfect for one another, and that I can and will keep you safe above all else, but the constant distrust makes it difficult to believe that.”

Her fingers find the gray along his temple, scratching through it lightly in such loving gentleness. He’ll never tire of how much she loves his grays, his old age somehow feeling more manageable as her appreciation for it grows each day. She stays quiet, and he knows it’s because she knows he’s right. He’s said what he wants to say, and she agrees with him.

“You know,” she says, “you’ve known me as long as they have.”

“Aye, I know.”

“And you love me more.”

He clears his throat. “That can’t be true, love.”

“And yet, it is,” she laughs. “It’s okay, I like it. I’ve spent more time with you than I have them. I have more of a connection with you than I do with them, in a few ways,” she says with a chuckle, smirking and kissing him softly.

“Emma--”

“I spent my whole life craving a certain type of love from a certain type of person. I always thought it would be from the people who gave me up, but it turns out I was wrong. The person I was looking for was the person who would love me over everything. The one who would put me above everything. My parents did the right thing when they gave me away, but they still gave me away. You’ve never given up on me, Killian. All my life, I’ve been searching for this person, and I found you.”

All he can do is hope that the look in his eyes as he stares at her conveys the depth of what he’s feeling for her. She tells him things like this quite frequently, her comfort with him evident as she continues to open up. When they met, she was an open book, although the stories were written in another language. Now, nearly four years later, he’s fluent.

Finally, after much silence passes between them-- too much, considering her family is still just above them-- he sighs and fiddles with her hair once more. He’s said his piece now, able to get off his chest the anger and fear that he felt, but with Emma’s heartfelt confession, he feels a need to clarify some things.

“Your life as a child who was, well--”

“An orphan,” she tells him firmly.

“An orphan. It seems rather impossible. I just can’t imagine how hard that must have been, and how much strength it must have taken just to grow up.”

With a soft, sad smile, she nods. “Why do you think I don’t want kids?” she asks with a shrug.

His fingers dance along the soft skin of her temple, drawing trails down the side of her face and to the back of her neck before he pulls them together and kisses her lips gently. “It’s… It’s alright for that to be the reason, love,” he starts, hopeful that he can actually get his point across successfully. “But I just want you to know… I mean… you have a reason, but you certainly don’t need one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean not wanting a child is enough of a reason for you not to have one. I know you struggled growing up, and you fear you could subject a child to a similar fate, but you would also have the right to make this decision even if that wasn’t the case.”

She leans in close to him, their foreheads touching and her nose bumping his, and she whispers, “I know. And I know that if we had one, we would love it and everything but… we’re enough,” she shrugs.

“We are.”

“Are you sure?”

With a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, he whispers, “What we have is perfect. You and Ripple are all that I need. A baby would add to what we are together, but it’s not something that I need to feel fulfilled. It wouldn’t complete us because we’re already complete.”

She sighs softly and nods, kissing him again. “Okay, good. I agree.”

“I’m glad.” His hands cup her cheeks as gently as they can, all of the love he has for his wife washing through his palms and into her skin. “I love you more than anything,” he promises her.

“I love you more than everything.”

“Cheeky scoundrel, you are.”

“For you, babe.”

“When did you start calling me babe?”

She silences him with one more kiss, deep and passionate as their lips meld together and their tongues tangle briefly, before she pulls away from him with a salacious grin and stands up. “Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand. “My family is probably wondering what we’re up to down here.

He catches the small, genuine smile that graces her whole face, brightening her eyes as she says family.

~~~~

Dinner that evening is awkward. Despite having an unsuccessful day as far as fishing is concerned, they decided to call it a day and turn in early. The tension on the boat was too high, a conversation desperately necessary but not conducive to their environment. He needs to apologize to her father, he realizes, but he struggled to find the ability to do so while trying to captain his vessel.

When they got into the harbor and docked, they decided to go for dinner out rather than finding something to cook either on the boat or in her parents’ hotel room. The small local restaurant they came across just beside the harbor is quiet enough, the atmosphere relaxed and quaint, but it still feels too awkward to bring up his outburst of anger, no matter how justified it was.

Finally, after they'd each finished a glass of wine and gotten refills, he clears his throat. “Dave,” he says with little conviction. He scratches behind his ear, noting the way Emma’s left brow raises expectantly, and takes a swig from his glass. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss earlier.”

Her father clears his throat just the same as he had, pressing his lips together and earning a startlingly familiar look from his own wife. “So would I.”

Without making eye contact, he nods, trying to find the right words. “It’s come to my attention that I may have gotten a bit angry.”

David raises a brow, purses his lips as he stares down at the fish that KIllian can’t believe he has the ability to eat, and nods. “Me too.”

The silence that consumes their table is deafening, the restaurant suddenly seeming far too noisy against the stiffness between himself and David. Perhaps this will be enough, he thinks. Although, he’s proven wrong easily. Dropping her fork dramatically and rolling her eyes, Emma exclaims, “Are you both serious?”

“My thoughts exactly,” her mother agrees. “Do men not talk about their feelings, ever?”

“No,” Leo laughs.

Her mouth is agape as she stares between them, each of them looking to her as if hoping for guidance in how she wants them to move forward. “You’re both being idiots,” she accuses, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head. “Just tell each other that you’re sorry, Jesus Christ. What are you, toddlers?”

“Sorry?!” her father exclaims in outrage. “What do I have to be sorry for? Your husband screamed at me!”

“Because you didn’t listen to an order and almost got her killed!”

“I think you’re forgetting that I know what I'm doing when I’m out there, Jones. You don’t need to have a power trip with me.”

“I think you’re forgetting, I’m the bloody captain.” He’s seething, leaning forward into the table and resting his elbows on the hard surface.

“Shut up!” Her voice is too loud for the quiet space, but truthfully, her words are necessary. “Dad, I know you were scared, and maybe you took that fear out on Killian. But he was scared, too, and he did the same thing. And Killian, I know you gave an order, but he didn’t hear you. So if both of you could chill out and stop blaming each other for something that didn’t even happen, that would be great.”

Killian stays quiet, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding together with too much force. She’s right, of course, they’re being childish. She had already tried to tell him that there’s no one to blame, and here he is blaming her father. It’s unnecessary, an excuse for him to ignore his fears a bit more. So he clears his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was afraid I was going to lose her and I took it out on you.”

David takes in a deep breath and leans away from the table, the tension loosening slightly, and says, “I’m sorry, too. I did the same thing.”

In a moment of boldness, he says, “Although, it does feel like you’ve been doubting my ability to provide for her since we met, and it honestly feels like you aren’t in support of our marriage.”

He sees Emma squeeze her eyes shut, her hand cupping her forehead, but she makes no attempt to stop the exchange from taking place. Mary Margaret stiffens, so does Leo, and David takes a moment before even considering an answer.

“Killian,” her mother starts, placing her hand over his in an attempt at being comforting. It works, a bit. “Emma, are you feeling that way, too?

Though she’s clearly on the spot, Emma looks up from the table’s surface and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I know you guys love us and support us, but he’s right. Sometimes it feels like you doubt we’ll make it.”

David sighs and shakes his head. “That’s never been our intention.”

“We both believe in each other, in our marriage, but to always have you in our ears about how Killian’s older, and his job is dangerous, and how I need stability… It feels like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves or each other. And now Killian’s doubting himself and blaming himself for something that he shouldn’t be.”

She’s honest, almost too honest, and the tension is back.

David’s eyes seek the ceiling, his jaw tight before he says again, “It’s not our intention. I’m sorry that we’re making you both feel that way.”

Wiping at her eyes, Mary Margaret says, “Emma, honey, we just… we worry about you. We want to make sure that you’re getting everything you need and that you’re well taken care of, and we put pressure on Killian. I’m sorry.”

“I know that,” she answers in exhaustion, shaking her head. “I know you guys are putting pressure on yourselves, too, to make sure that I have a good life now that I'm here with you. But I do have a good life. I need you to trust that Killian and I have the best life I could possibly imagine.”

“We know,” Mary Margaret says softly, her head casting down.

“We don’t need different jobs, or a bigger house, or… or kids. We’re perfect just like this.”

There’s quiet across the table now, each of them seeming to settle and relax a bit with the truth out between them. It’s not like this isn’t something he and Emma have discussed-- they’ve talked at length several times about how her parents have a need to care for her. But having the words spoken aloud, having Emma ask them to tone it down, feels freeing.

“We’re sorry,” David finally says after a few moments of peace. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hard on you, Killian. I worry about my little girl too much, and it’s not fair for me to put that on you.”

It’s a big step. Truthfully, it almost takes Killian by surprise, considering the two of them couldn’t even look at each other a few moments ago. But now, David has acknowledged why he’s so upset, and he’s apologized for it. Her mother, too. Honestly, just them recognizing that this is the way they’ve been feeling is enough, even if they continue to doubt him.

“I don’t intend to let her down,” he finally says, earning a soft smile from her. “I-- Emma’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe. Always.”

She squeezes his hand and she bites her bottom lip, releasing it so that she can smile once more. “I love you,” she says softly for only him to hear. To her mother, she says, “I love him, okay? I’m fine; we’re fine. I promise.”

~~~~

The trip home has been a long one, her father constantly making jokes about how he’s driving that make him absolutely mad, although he knows them to be in jest. He taught Leo how to captain, showing him the ropes now that he’s used to the controls, so with only a few hours before they make port in Storybrooke, he’s able to meet his stunning, sundrenched wife on the deck of his beloved vessel. She tries to sunbathe, although it’s becoming colder and colder the further north they travel, so she’s wrapped in her blanket rather than lying atop it.

“Hey babe,” she smiles, tipping her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose.

“Hi babe.”

The face she makes is priceless, her nose scrunching in disgust as she shakes her head. “No, don’t call me that. It’s all wrong.”

“And what shall I call you, if you can call me babe and I can’t?” he asks as he sits beside her and presses a kiss to her temple.

“You can call me… Darling, or my love, or the best thing that’s ever happened to me…”

“Those are my options?”

“Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

His arms wrap around her easily, pulling her against him until she wriggles herself on top of him. They lie down, Killian on his back and his love resting across his chest, and he sighs happily. “Well, my love,” he starts, his fingers scratching against her scalp until she sighs and melts into him. “It seems to have been a successful season after all.”

“Just like I told you.”

“Aye.”

“You should listen to your wife, Jones.”

“I suppose you’re right, Swan.”

“It’s Jones, Jones,” she says softly, kissing his neck just above the hem of his sweater.

“My mistake, darling,” he almost whispers.

They’re quiet, so relaxed as they lie together, the swell of the ocean rocking them into a sense of serenity. Her breath is warm as it washes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as they travel north, back into the northeast winter. He pulls the blanket they share higher so that it covers her shoulders, and she hugs herself closer to him.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly after a while, her voice barely audible over the waves.

“Aye, are you? Are you cold?”

“No,” she shakes her head against his chest, “You're nice and toasty. But that’s not what I meant. I meant are you... okay?”

With a soft and understanding sigh, he nods. “Overall a successful season, my love, just like you’d predicted.”

“And you didn’t even gaff anyone,” she says with a grin he can hear through her voice.

“Well, no one messed up my boat.”

She laughs softly and squeezes her arms around him once more. “And you beat out those southern assholes.”

He chuckles and lets his fingers trail up her spine over his sweatshirt. He caught more than anyone else, earning more money and respect, along with a target on his back for next year. If he comes back, he’ll have to be careful to ensure that he succeeds once again.

“I’m glad we… I mean, we got a lot out in the open. Things feel simpler now.”

She nods and kisses the small patch of hair that peeks out from beneath his sweater. “I know, I feel it too. It’s like things have finally settled down, ya know?”

“Aye. Like we don’t have anything to worry about now.”

“Yeah.”

More time passes and the gentle hum of the motor lulls them as they skip over wave after wave.

“I love you,” he says softly, cutting through the comfortable silence lying between them. If he could whisper and she’d hear him, he would.

“I love you, too, babe. More than anything.”

He moves his hand from her back to the side of her face, the side that’s exposed to the chilled air rather than tucked against his chest. He lets his fingers trace gentle patterns along her temple until she presses up to look at him, her eyes fluttering shut as he cups her cheek. “God, how I love you, best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers.

She giggles and leans in, fusing her lips to his, their kiss pure and longing as she deepens it. She lets her hands cradle his head and hold him to her, her tongue sliding out of her own mouth and along the line of his bottom lip before she nips at it. With his hands beneath the blanket that conceals them from the wind and the sea spray, he squeezes her ass and pulls her hips down onto his, drawing a needy moan from the back of her throat.

She breaks away from him for just a second, taking in a deep breath without opening her eyes before she leans in again and meets him once more. With a whimper as he bucks his hips up into hers, he lets his hand begin to wander beneath the thick fabric covering her curves.

Her family is here, far too close for comfort, but even so, he thinks he would risk terminal embarrassment in favor of being with her if not for the rude interruption. They hear their angel, their Ripple, barking loudly from the rear deck, Leo unable to console her as she argues with the dolphins that greet her from beneath the water. Eventually, he calls for his sister for support, hopeful that Emma’s presence will calm the beast so that she doesn’t leap overboard.

Emma groans, breaking away from him and dropping her forehead against his in frustration. “Dammit,” she whispers. “I totally would have fucked you, too.”

He snorts, shaking his head and kissing her once more, and says, “I’m sure that’s true. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we get home.”

She smiles softly as she presses another kiss to his mouth and says, “Know what’s funny?” When he hums in question, she continues, “We’ve been married for three years, but it still feels like we’re in our newlywed phase.”

He smirks, slapping her ass one more time as she moves to get off of him, and says, “I think we should stay in it.”

“Agreed.”

Apparently, their agreement is binding. He never does lose the absolutely need-driven desire to make love to his wife any chance he gets, no matter what they should be doing instead. No matter the things that could come between them, he loves her, and he’ll never tire of showing her any chance he gets. It’s enough, they’ve both realized. They're perfect.

The End

Tagging:

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza @captainswan21 @hookedmom @lostintheskyfaraway @undercaffinatednightmare @strangestarlighttree

#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #overboard #rising tide #overboard ff #cs ff #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #cs modern au #cs smut #cs angst

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mooniefics · 4 years ago

Text

— in the grand scheme of things [ 1 ]

pairings : zeke jaeger / reader, referenced eren jaeger / reader

word count : 8.4k

tags : unhealthy relationships, relationship discussions, implied cheating, drinking, break ups, eventual smut, praise kink, mutual infidelity, dubious morality, love triangles

warnings : contains nsfw, sexual coercion, intoxicated reader, rlly toxic behavior

summary : you and eren hadn't been doing the best these past few months, and no one that you knew seemed to have any answers for you, or pointers in the right direction. who better to offer you some sound, insightful relationship advice than his older brother. or so you thought.

note : i apologize if the text convoformatting is a little yucky, i pinky promise it looked wayy better on ao3 (//▽//)

— originally posted 1 / 20 / 21 on ao3 —

you would reluctantly admit that you and eren had been experiencing a few issues as of recently.

it was the run-of-the-mill turbulence: ignored texts and phone calls, unexplained hostility, hanging around with your shared group of friends—more his than yours—without you. you'd been able to ignore it around midterms, being so busy with studying and getting all your family affairs in order for the end of the year that you didn't have much time to worry about how he hadn't bothered to respond to your "happy new year, baby!!!" message you'd sent days ago.

but winter break came and went with no reply from him, you spent christmas and new years in the company of your parents, who couldn't seem to keep quiet about asking about "that jaeger boy". you couldn't really blame them for their questions, you'd been friends for nearly four years now, in a relationship since the night of senior prom, even followed each other to the same university with a few other high school friends just to stay close. the summer that preceded your first year of college was so full of love and life, celebrating your newfound freedom that you had always thought would come with adulthood. but you supposed that it was just the hopeless romantic in you talking, it was called the honeymoon phase for a reason.

consulting his best friends about his sudden detachedness yielded nothing—mikasa had never held much besides poorly hidden disdain for you, and all armin had to offer was nervous glances over to the uninterested girl as he assured you that he was probably stressed about his classes, or had another disagreement with his mother about his choice of major, just excuse after excuse for his friend's behavior. you were feeling desperate. you had little desire to break things off, to throw away nine months of commitment despite how your relationship had soured. you were in love with him, and he hadn't explicitly expressed that he wanted to end things, just left you out of the loop for a bit, nothing that couldn't be fixed with a nice long conversation over dinner, right?

but how could you reach him if he wouldn't answer your calls, if his friends only seemed to want to placate you rather than actively help, you felt like there was nobody to turn to—except him.

zeke, the ever-elusive older brother. you'd met him upon one of your first visits to eren's house, a brief, somewhat awkward exchange when you'd ventured into the kitchen by yourself to grab a few things for your friends in the living room. he'd startled you when you turned out of the pantry to find him standing by the fridge, eyeing you and your armful of chip bags curiously, only wearing a pair of thin-framed glasses and grey sweatpants, revealing the sculpted expanse of his muscular arms and torso, an unopened can of beer in his hand.

"you one of eren's friends?" he'd asked, cracking open the tab and taking a generous gulp.

you replied with a quick nod, adding a sheepish "yup..! everyone else is in the living room, i'm on snack duty" with a shaky smile.

he chuckled, shaking his head and running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. "typical eren. 'm zeke, good to meet you."

he didn't bother to ask your name before he disappeared into the adjacent hallway, the distant sound of a shutting door finally letting you release the breath you didn't know you'd been holding. that was how a majority of your exchanges went over the last few years, the longest conversations you'd had was when he'd offered to help you on your physics homework more than a couple times, his number was only in your phone because of the one time you'd worn the teeshirt of a band he happened to like and he wanted to send you a playlist. there were plenty of things you didn't know about him, but he was eren's older brother—half-brother, if you wanted to get technical—and after seeing the deflective nature of his closest friends, zeke seemed to be your next best option.

so now you were here, nervously standing at the door to his new apartment, dressed nicely so you didn't risk making a bad impression after not having seen him all these months. he seemed sympathetic over the phone when you'd called him last night, not minding how you'd contacted him out of the blue or that it was only for the sake of asking something of him, inviting you to discuss things more thoroughly over dinner. you didn't know whether he'd extended a helping hand for his brother's sake or your own, but you would be grateful no matter what if he gave some sound advice and a few words of reassurance.

you were startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the lock unlatching, the door swinging open to reveal zeke, smartly dressed in a pair of dark jeans and dress shirt, the top few buttons left undone. "sorry if i kept you waiting," he said, stepping aside to allow you in, "dinner's just about ready."

"no worries." you replied quickly as you slipped off your heels, hoping the heat warming your face wasn't flushing visibly on your cheeks.

he had always been a good-looking guy, an effortless sort of attractiveness that was only magnified by the relaxed yet perceptive air he carried. but he'd changed since that day you first met—his shaggy hair had been trimmed back into a shorter, more manageable style, the usual scruff of facial hair had grown out into a well-maintained beard, frames that similarly complimented his handsome features perched on the bridge of his nose. flashing a polite smile, you stepped into the apartment, trying not to let your anxiety get the better of you as the door was shut and locked behind you.

"nice place." you mused, peering about at the spacious, well-decorated interior as you followed beside him.

"thanks, honestly i'm glad i could find someone that was willing to split the rent," you felt nerves stir in the pit of your stomach, the thought of having to meet the other tenant leaving you feeling a bit uneasy. he turned down to glance at you, grey eyes glinting as he offered you an easy grin, "you don't have to worry about my roommate, i kicked him out for the night so you didn't feel uncomfortable."

you were sure the blush on your face was evident now, biting at the inside of your cheek as you both entered into the kitchen. "oh.. thank you. sorry if i caused any trouble, i know this was kind of last minute."

"no worries." he echoed your earlier sentiment, motioning you to the table just beside the kitchen before he returned to the skillet on the stove. the warm scent of coriander and turmeric filled the air as he lifted the lid and set it aside on the counter, stirring the simmering contents within. "hope you like curry," he said over his shoulder, turning down the gas on the stove and opening up the cabinet beside him to pull out the plates, "i didn't make it too spicy, just in case."

"i don't really eat it too often, but it smells amazing."

you felt yourself starting to relax into the chair, shedding your jacket and hanging your purse on the side of the chair as you watched him scoop a generous portion of white rice onto each plate. it was just you two here, he was willing to help, and you were incredibly grateful for his hospitality.

you pulled your phone out of your pocket to fiddle with while he was still plating the food, aimlessly tapping through your apps to kill some time. your text to eren from a few days ago still read "delivered", and you felt a slight twinge prick in your chest as you closed out of your messages, opting to scroll through your feed on one of the few social medias your friends had convinced you to download. it was relatively safe to look there, seeing as eren didn't post all that often, if at all, but seeing everyone your age, people that you knew from your classes posing with their boyfriends and girlfriends and going out on excursions with their peers made you feel jealous. you couldn't have imagined what you had done to deserve such a shitty situation.

your thoughts were interrupted by the dull clink of the plate being set before you, the clatter of silverware following as he rounded over to the opposite side of the table to place his things down. you switched your phone on silent just in case, tucking it back into your purse and sitting up a bit straighter in your chair. but instead of sitting down, he wandered back over to the kitchen, reaching up into a different cabinet to fetch two glasses.

"i'm assuming talking about your relationship troubles isn't the easiest, so pick your poison. i've got gin, tequila, beer—" he listed off the myriad of drinks he had at his disposal, pausing to throw you a glance. "but i honestly pegged you as a vodka kind of girl."

you felt a nervous giggle bubble up in your chest, fingers twisting in your lap, feeling more than juvenile as you replied. "i'm still under twenty-one, so i'm not really much of a drinker.."

"come on, you're in college now," he said, pulling a bottle of vodka from one of the lower cabinets and stepping over to the fridge, "most of the people hosting parties don't give much of a shit whether you're of legal drinking age or not, and i've got a feeling that you really don't either. i know i got shit-faced plenty of times during my freshman year."

you mentally debated the principles of accepting, he was right in saying that you had attended plenty of parties where you drank with your friends, suppressing a grimace at the memories of you throwing up in a stranger's bathroom while an equally drunk historia or sasha held your hair back. but those times you'd been looking to get wasted, drinking in this context would just be for the sake of loosening up, easing the sting of ripping off the metaphorical bandaid that was the thought of your relationship slowly crumbling right before your eyes.

"you're right," you relented, much to his delight, "and, yes, i guess i am a vodka kind of girl."

you didn't appreciate how charming the grin your words garnered was, fixing your eyes on the steaming plate of chicken curry in front of you before you could embarrass yourself. you were here to figure out how to smooth things over with your boyfriend, not oogle at his unnecessarily attractive older brother.

"here, something simple to start you off." he set down the glass on your place mat, finally taking his seat across the table, "there's plenty of ginger beer and limes in the fridge, and plenty of vodka still left."

you stole a glance at his drink. "whiskey, on the rocks.. how refined."

he gave a low chuckle at your sarcasm, taking a slow sip. "it's an acquired taste, i wouldn't expect someone your age to appreciate it." that was right, he was older than you, significantly older than you. just because you were legally an adult didn't mean your life experience could crop up to zeke's.

"old man." you murmured, a small smile perking up at both of your lips as you spooned some of the curry and rice into your mouth, "wow, thi' i' really gu'!" you managed to speak around the mouthful of food, grey eyes watching you intently with an obvious bemusement from across the table.

"i'm glad you like it. guess those years working at a couple restaurants around town weren't a complete waste." he said, tasting his own bite of the food, "cumin's a little off, hope you can forgive me for that."

"are you kidding me? this exceeds restaurant quality. i can barely put eggs in a pan without burning the kitchen down."

you were nearly a quarter through your plate already, setting your utensil down to take a sip of the drink he'd made for you. it was simple, bubbly, a nice mix of ginger, vodka, and lime to cool off your tongue. you could barely taste the alcohol, which somewhat eased your worries of becoming a drunken mess that required him to babysit you for the rest of the night.

you were both silent for a moment, the air occupied with the scrape of spoons and quiet sips from your respective glasses, and you were beginning to dread ruining such an easy mood with the topic of your emotional turmoil. but zeke beat you to the punch, clearing his throat as he settled his gaze onto you.

"so, you and my brother. you wanted to talk about that, right?"

you allowed yourself to frown a bit, taking a generous sip of your drink before you answered. "yeah. i don't really know where to start.."

"when did you first start noticing problems?"

you felt somewhat eased by his calm tone, bright grey eyes that were entirely focused on you, wordlessly reassuring you that you could trust him with this. you'd come this far, there was no point in trying to back out now.

"well, i guess it was around november." you began, scraping all of the food left onto one side of your plate to keep your hands occupied, "we'd all met up for halloween, me and eren and mikasa and armin—" you prattled off the other names of your friends, even some that you weren't sure he knew from your high school days, but he nodded along all the same. "and we all had an amazing time. got all dressed up, wandered around campus and crashed in on the frat parties, drank ourselves stupid, like you said. and at one point i just completely lost track of eren, and i didn't see him or anyone else besides sasha, connie, and mina for the rest of the night. after that, he kind of dropped off the face of the earth, wouldn't pick up my calls or answer my texts, always told me he was busy when we ran into each other on campus, and he wasn't at his dorm most of the time i came to try and check on him."

by the end, you'd finished off your drink, zeke wordlessly getting up to grab everything to pour you a new one without you asking. you were more flustered at his attentiveness, forcing yourself to chalk it up to him being an excellent host as he returned with a freshly opened can of ginger beer, pouring it over the ice in your glass and adding at least two shots of vodka, finishing it off with half a lime before returning to his seat. had he put that much alcohol the last time?

the thought slipped your mind as he swallowed a few spoonfuls of curry and spoke. "hmm.. so everything was going just fine, and then all of a sudden radio silence?"

you nodded, working on your remainder of rice, watching his face take on a pensive expression.

"if i'm being honest, eren has always been a little shithead." you suppressed a giggle at that. "he's rude, he's immature, and most of all, he's a terrible liar."

"mhm, the ears are a dead giveaway." you added, earning a grin over the rim of his glass.

"exactly. my stepmom— his mom always called him on his shit with that." you shared a moment of laughter at that, the memory of how defensive he would get over in when you'd first pointed it out making you feel a distant nostalgia creeping in the back of your mind.

you remembered how easy the days where all you had to worry about was catching up on all your late work and forcing yourself to learn about nintendo games for the sake of impressing your crush. now on top of school, you had bills and parties and shitty professors and an even shittier situation with your first long-term relationship that had started off so well yet devolved into feeling like you were a million miles away despite living on the same campus.

"so, eren is a shithead. and a terrible liar. go on." you took a long sip of your drink, unable to distinguish the warmth of the alcohol from the warmth of the curry in your stomach.

"well, he's just— how do i say this..." zeke murmured the last bit more to himself than you, pushing up his glasses on his nose and scratching the back of his neck, "he doesn't know a good thing when he sees it." you felt your heart skip at that. "like that mikasa girl, her and eren have been friends since grade school, and never once in all those years has eren ever acknowledged the way she's fuckin' head over heels for him." the mention of mikasa made you feel a sharp pang echo through your chest, suddenly feeling much more disheartened than before, especially at the mention of her perpetual affinity for him.

"but, i do have to give the kid some props," he continued, taking a sip of his whiskey, "at least he had enough of a brain to realize that you're a real catch. if i'm being honest, you're out of his league, and when you first started dating, he knew that."

you couldn't tell if your face was feeling hot because of his words or the fact that you'd just finished off your second drink in one long gulp, already reaching for the unopened ginger beer and vodka. blinking away the glassiness starting to settle over your vision, you met his gaze, suddenly feeling much smaller before him. he waited until you'd finished refilling your drink before he began again, not saying anything about how you'd accidentally poured much more vodka than you meant to.

"i think eren's problem is that he's getting too cocky," your appetite was starting to disappear as you focused on his words, still trying to finish what was left on the plate, "doesn't know his ass from his elbow, but he still thinks he's got everything figured out. you know what i mean, right?"

you nodded with an affirmative hum, a series of incidents that made you want to rip the boy's head off flashing through your mind only added credence to his claim. your tongue was starting heavy in your mouth, movements sluggish as you washed away what was left of dinner with more of your drink. you hadn't been truly drunk in months, not since that halloween party, only indulging in the occasional mimosa over breakfast with your family and your celebratory champagne for new years.

you hoped the heaviness weighing at your lids didn't show on your face, or that your words didn't string together when you replied. "i know exactly what you mean, can't imagine how hard that was to deal with for the last nineteen years."

he chuckled, finishing off his whiskey. "i've saved that kid's ass more time than i could ever care to count. being the older brother is a thankless fuckin' job if i've ever seen one. you done with dinner?"

"yeah. thank you again, it was amazing."

he grinned at your praise, rising from his seat as he spoke. "here, table's kind of crowded, we can move to the couch. i'll take care of dishes later. you want a refill?"

"sure." you responded before you could really think about your answer, trying to subtly steady yourself on the table as you got to your feet, head already starting to spin.

blinking away the blurriness fuzzing at the edges of your vision, you wandered past him through the kitchen and into the adjacent living room, falling into the cushions of the couch before you could trip up over your own feet. you felt embarrassed by your lack of tolerance, but felt some of that tension ebb away when he made his way over to sit next to you, fresh glass of ginger beer and vodka in hand. you didn't expect to feel the warmth of his thigh pressing into yours when he settled down, placing your drink on the coffee table before he turned down to speak to you.

"alright, i haven't said much in the way of advice, so here's what i think."

you grimaced internally, reaching over with an unsteady hand to grab your glass and take a long sip to brace yourself for his thoughts. you weren't expecting that it would be an easy pill to swallow, he'd probably be realistic about things and tell you to just suck it up and break things off while you could still maintain a shred of dignity.

"i know this is probably not what you want to hear, but i really think you should break up with him."

your lips pressed into a thin line, partly from his assertion but mostly because of the burn of alcohol sliding down your throat. there was definitely much more vodka in this than there should be, but you didn't want to seem weak before him, trying not to shudder as you continued to take small, fast sips.

you nearly spat it up on yourself when his hand settled on the skin of your thigh exposed by your skirt, wide eyes raising to meet his intent gaze. "don't tell me you think a guy that ditches you for just about three months now is worth your time, even without everything else considered."

"everythin' else?" your words were starting to slur together, but you still tried to drown out the dread tangling in your gut with the bubbling contents of the glass.

"you haven't figured it out yet, have you.." he faltered, a slight frown drawing across his lips when you gave a hesitant shake of your head, sighing as he pulled his glasses off of his nose and folded them neatly to place on the coffee table. "think about it; he disappears on you while he was drunk at a party, most likely with hanging around alone with the female friend that's clung onto him for a majority of his life, and then after that night he just completely gives you the cold shoulder, avoids you every time you try and come talk to him, like he's running away from you." he paused, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "like he's hiding something."

you felt your heart sink, biting firmly down on your bottom lip, a thick lump forming in your throat, eyes stinging. "s-so, you're saying th-that—"

you couldn't blink away the first tears as they dribbled down your cheeks, choking back a small sob. he carefully took the nearly empty glass from your hands and replaced it on the coffee table, you could make out the expression of pity drawn across his handsome features through your watery gaze. you didn't protest when the arm closest to you moved to wrap around your waist, the other curling around your shoulder and drawing you against him. restrained sniffles gave way to hiccuped sobs, your own hands linking around his neck and squeezing him tighter against you as you wept out into the empty air behind him.

normally you would've put on a brave face, maybe excused yourself to the bathroom to let out a few silent tears before you returned to thank him and stammer out some excuse to leave and spend the rest of the night wallowing on your own. but the alcohol had melted away any barriers you would've put up against zeke's compassion, made you crave the security his warmth provided as he pressed his face into your shoulder, a large, gentle hand rising to stroke over the crown of your head. he let you cry on your own for a while, not minding how your fingers clutched tightly at his shirt or how your snot and tears wet the pale fabric, petting your hair and rubbing soothingly over your shuddering back.

your adjacent thighs were nearly overlapping each other, but all you could think of was how your hammering heart felt like it was one beat away from bursting at the seams, the dim glow of the lamp in the corner that blurred into a shapeless ball of light, his steady breath fanning across the skin of your neck.

"that asshole doesn't deserve you." he murmured, voice low as his lips ghosted over your shoulder, strong arms fastening their hold around you.

you couldn't help but shudder at the feeling as you sniffed, swallowing down the tension balling in your throat before you managed a shaky reply. "h-he's your brother, i thought you'd b-be on his side.."

"what makes you think i'd be on his side after hearing how he treated you?" his fingers worked their way deeper into your hair, palm cradling the back of your head. you forced yourself not to squirm when his face nestled further into the crook of your neck. "you deserve someone mature, someone who can treat you right.. someone who can make you feel good..."

you let out an alarmed breath at the feeling of a soft kiss over your skin, then another, posture stiffening as your grasp around his neck slackened. "wait, i c-can't," you started, the sudden sensation of his fingers sinking into your waist and drawing you closer against him making you lose your words for a moment, "i haven' officially broken up with eren, just because he might've ch-cheated on me doesn't mean-"

"there's no use trying to deny what he did.. what's done is done, you need to do what's best for you—right here, right now." his voice lowered even further, barely a whisper as he implored, "what do you want to do?"

you bit back a weak sound when his tongue drew a slow lick over the sensitive skin, the involuntary heat stirring between your legs making your thighs clench. this was wrong, you shouldn't be here, you shouldn't be letting this happen, an endless stream of muddled thoughts flashed through your mind as you desperately searched for some sort of excuse to buy yourself a few more moments to think. a distant memory popped into your head, the blurry mental image of zeke with his arm draped around a dark-haired woman when you'd dropped by to visit eren just before you'd both moved in on campus.

"g-girlfriend!! don't you have a girlfriend?!" you blurted desperately, a small whimper slipping out of you as he gave a brief suck over your pulse.

"girlfriend?" he paused his motions, chuckling lowly and giving a small shake of his head when he realized who you were thinking of, "oh, pieck? i'd hardly call her a girlfriend, just an old buddy. honestly, it's no wonder you got stuck in this sort of situation, you manage to find an excuse for everything."

you couldn't ruminate on his patronizing tone for longer than a moment before he returned to kissing at the sensitive skin of your neck, testing the waters of your resilience. you were afraid of your responsiveness to his touch, your body's unabashed honesty, afraid of how your protests had devolved into uncertain whimpers and shifts in your seat.

"good girl," he murmured, sending a jolt of heat racing up your spine, "see how easy that was? this is what you want, isn't it?"

you allowed the fingers in your hair to gently tug your head back, exposing more skin to his eager mouth as he teased a bite just under your jaw, drawing a soft whine and an even deeper flush of heat over your cheeks from you. your movements were sluggish, limbs leadened with inebriation falling down easily when he urged you down onto your back. in one slow blink he'd settled on top of you, warm lips melded easily against your own as his fingers began to work at unbuttoning your blouse.

maybe he was right, maybe you just needed to accept that you and eren's time had come to pass and indulge in what you really wanted—and now that he'd made it an option, what you really wanted right now was to feel the warmth of his bare flesh on yours, taste more of the whiskey on his breath as his tongue slid between your teeth, replace every hint of eren that still resided on your skin with his scent of expensive cologne. you could already feel the ache of a forming bruise at the base of your neck, fingers messily tangling in his hair and back arching up to his hands when they began to smooth across your chest, snaking under your body to undo the clasp of your bra.

"you never told me what exactly you wanted, baby.." he murmured over your lips, low-lidded eyes meeting yours, "do you want us to just kiss, or do you want me to touch you?"

"touch me, please.." you mumbled restlessly, quickly becoming impatient with the fact that his hands had halted after slipping the straps of your bra free from your arms and tossing it somewhere behind him to be forgotten.

but even after you answered, he didn't continue, a smug smirk tugging at his lips as he gazed down at you. "and then what after that? do you want me to touch you here? his fingers ghosted over the swell of your breasts. "or here?" one hand trailed down the length of your abdomen, forefinger just barely hooking onto the waistline of your skirt and giving it a teasing tug.

"zeke." you whined in frustration, mind foggy with lust and alcohol, uncoordinated hands wrestling with his shirt despite not having undone the buttons first, "you're being mean.."

"sorry," he said without a hint of remorse in his voice, only pride as he returned his hands to your chest, "you're just too easy to tease, so responsive, i'd never get bored of playing with you."

you took it as a compliment, as praise, rather than what it really was. it was easier to think of it like flattery in the moment, to push the obvious reminder that his brother had gotten bored of you out of your mind. despite the implication of such a statement, you couldn't help the odd sense of safety you found in such an equivocal intimacy, hazy, not sound of mind, not entirely yourself as you offered him your body, his to kiss and grab and bruise if only for the night.

you hummed with approval when his lips trailed down to the valley of your chest, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your breasts, but making a point to avoid your nipples, only further denying you the stimulation that you thought he'd finally assured you with that last arrogant taunt. you could feel his smile on your skin, nearly huffing at the realization that you couldn't squeeze your thighs together to give yourself some friction with him positioned between them like he was, buzzing with warmth yet entirely unfulfilled.

"patience is a virtue.." he murmured sagely, unfazed by your second sound of annoyance.

"what about trying to fuck your brother's girlfriend is virtuous." you bit back, momentary anger leaving you in a surprised pant as he gave a gentle tug to one of your nipples.

"ex-girlfriend." he corrected after a quiet chuckle at your forthrightness, mouth closing around the pert bud not being rolled between his slender fingers.

you moaned out a soft curse, hand threading back into his thick hair and pressing him further against you. the fog that had been momentarily sobered clouding your senses once more, hips rutting up into nothing as he worshipped your skin with his lips, teeth, and tongue. you felt the spark fully reignite when one hand moved back down your stomach to wrestle with the button of your skirt, the zipper sliding down easily after it was undone, fingers delving under the loosened waistline to palm at you through your underwear. he pulled away from your nipple with one last gentle bite over the tender skin, low voice at a husky mutter.

"have you ever had sex before?"

you quickly nodded down at him, seeing your own dazed stare reflected in his darkened eyes, pupils almost entirely overtaking the cool grey.

"was it with him?"

you swallowed thickly, suddenly finding yourself unable to meet his gaze, turning away to focus on your long finished drink on the coffee table, ice already half melted in the sweating glass. "yes." you barely whispered.

"was it good?"

you bit the inside of your cheek, blinking fast, trying to dispel the blanket of unease that was quickly settling over you, suffocating you. you only answered with a non-committal shrug, feeling your face burn with a humiliation that he couldn't have thought such a line of questioning would have not inspired.

he maintained a steady gaze with you for a moment longer, lowering his head back to rest at your shoulder without another word and picking a place on your neck to bite and lick at, fingers rubbing slow circles over the drenched fabric beneath them. a small moan bubbled up in your chest, squirming at just the easy attention over your clit, lids falling shut as your head sank back into the cushioned arm of the sofa.

you sighed out a small whimper of relief when he finally tugged your underwear to the side, fingers instantly slicking with your arousal when they met your bare skin, sliding in with little resistance. he'd started out with just two, but the incessant desire to be filled was quelled for the moment with them, drawing a pathetic mewl out of you when they curled just right within you.

"are you always this excited?"

another question you didn't know the honest answer to, but you shook your head anyways, accompanying it with a weak "n-no" to stroke his ego like you knew he wanted you to. you went stiff with a sudden tension when felt a third finger prodding at your pussy, eyes flying back open as you made a disconcerted sound of protest.

"relax.." he murmured into your shoulder, biting softly over one of the fresher marks, "if you can't handle this, how can you take me?"

you took a shaky breath, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you let your thighs fall open a bit more, doing your best to not clench your muscles. and you could feel how he let out a low groan over your skin when he finally slipped in all three, burying them knuckle-deep, rewarding you with a smattering of open-mouthed kisses across your bruised flesh.

"good girl. good girl." he nipped at your jaw, adjusting the speed of his wrist to match how your hips rolled up to meet his hand, the pad of his thumb rolling firmly over your clit.

you could feel that warm knot in your stomach tangling further, the tantalizing thought of release ebbing every bit of trepidation out of you as you allowed your moans and whines to spill out into the open air, heels digging into the felt of the couch around him. but just moments before you could find your high, his touch gone, and he was rising off of you to sit back on his calves, absentmindedly wiping the wetness from his fingers away on his pants, making quick work of his shirt, standing briefly to kick off his pants and help you out of your displaced bottoms before he settled back over you.

your skin was hot with need against his own, arm linking around his sturdy back and pressing his lips back over yours, letting him guide one leg up against his side as he lined himself up with you. you squeaked when you felt the tip of his cock press into you, hands bracing themselves on his shoulders, wide, unfocused eyes gazing up at him for some sort of reassurance. and that sense of security filled your heaving chest, that knowing look he focused solely on you, only made for you in this moment, forehead pressed to yours, breath fanning over your lips.

a strained, shuddering whine broke from your throat as he eased himself inside of you, inch by inch, barely able to hold your eyes open enough to maintain his fixed stare, mouth falling open in a feeble attempt to gasp back in all the air he'd pushed out of you.

"fuck." he growled lowly, fingers sinking almost painfully into the thigh in his grasp, trying to fit his body as close as it could possibly be to your own.

another sound rumbled out of him from deep in his chest when your nails dug into the firm muscle beneath them, hungry, greedy lips capturing yours. his pace was mercifully slow, given that he was probably just as eager for his own release as you were for yours, but the overwhelming fullness that you felt each time his hips met yours drove whatever tiny breath you'd been able to catch between his kisses.

you spread your legs as far as the narrow space of the couch allowed it, whimpering, feeling how you were already making a dripping mess of your thighs and the fabric beneath you. your heart was practically beating out of your chest, so loud in your ears that you wouldn't be surprised if he could hear it too, his mouth catching every pant and moan he drew from you, the steady pace of his movements falling away into an ardent, frenzied rhythm. his mouth strayed back to your neck, grunting and biting into the abused flesh, and without the barrier to muffle your sounds you were whining out into the open space of the apartment, gasping in the air humid with your shared arousal, nails scratching down his back without care for whether they'd leave a mark, only dragging them back across his hot skin over and over again just to hear him groan out your name once more.

you could feel yourself climbing back up towards that delightful precipice, legs wrapping around his body and forcing him deeper into you so he could reach that spot that made white stars burst across the darkness of your close-lidded eyes. you tried to force your mouth to form coherent words, to warn him about how dangerously close you were, but all that spilled from your lips was more breathless sounds, body arching up to press against his as heat scalded over every inch of your bare skin, limbs shuddering and clinging desperately to him as he continued to roughly thrust into you.

tears were pricking at your eyes by the time he moaned a jumbled string of curses into your neck, arms nearly giving out beneath him as he spilled himself inside of you, your chests heaving in an unmatched, ragged unity against each other. he stayed there for a few moments, still inside you, struggling to catch his breath but still pressing the occasional kiss over your neck and shoulders. your fingers released their grasp on him, not realizing how hard you'd been clenching your hands until you felt the stiff ache resonating through your joints.

you tried to murmur something to him, but all that escaped was a weak whimper, legs slipping back down to lay on the couch, arms resting heavy on his back. you hadn't meant to fall asleep so fast, but your head had already been spinning from warm shocks still echoing through every fiber of your body, let alone the alcohol and the sheer physical exertion. you let your eyes fall shut, lids far too heavy to keep open, and slipped away easily into a dreamless slumber.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

zeke blindly reached about for the towel he'd set aside near the sink, finally grabbing it and pressing it to his dripping face, patting his skin and beard dry before tossing it into the hamper by the door. replacing his glasses onto his face, he blinked away the grogginess in his eyes, running his fingers through his hair to flatten it into a somewhat presentable style. he turned to the open door, catching a glimpse of you nestled under the comforter of his bed, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

he'd carried you to his room last night, but didn't get the chance to clean you up until this morning. by then, the bruises that had been an angry shade of red over your neck and chest had settled into your skin and darkened significantly, some bordered by deeper teethmarks that still had yet to fade. you hadn't stirred when he'd pulled the covers away from you for just a few moments, peeling off your underwear that he'd haphazardly replaced on your body to keep the mess to a minimum and gently wiping his cum away from your skin with a wet washcloth. he'd really tired you out, and something about seeing you so exhausted after just one night with him made a flicker of pride swell in his chest.

flicking off the light in the bathroom, he didn't bother to add a shirt over his relaxed attire of just a pair of sweatpants as he left his bedroom, making sure to quietly shut the door behind him.

"rise and shine." his back was still to the kitchen when he heard reiner's voice, turning to face his roommate who was looking at him with a mix of disapproval and curiosity, most likely having gotten a good look at the scratches you left down his skin last night.

"how was your time at bertholdt's?" zeke asked, ignoring reiner's frown as he glossed over his intrigue, wandering over to the fridge to grab some water for himself.

"not great." he grunted, reaching into the cabinet below the stove and fetching a pan, "he decided to invite annie over when he heard i was coming. you can imagine how boring it was to watch those two make eyes at each other the entire night."

zeke chuckled at that, cracking the top off of the cool bottle in his hands and taking a refreshing gulp, glancing at the table and noticing its lack of plates and the leftovers of night-old curry. "oh, you did the dishes. thanks."

"yeah, yeah, just glad you had your fun last night without me having to hear it." he stepped aside to let reiner put a carton of eggs and the butter out of the fridge. "but seriously man? the couch? you're gonna have to get that dry-cleaned or something, and i'm not helping you pay for it either."

"don't worry about it, i'll take care of it." he replied with a lazy smile, quickly adding on to his smooth response, "and be nice, alright? it's someone we know."

"who?" he asked, not at all looking it but obviously interested in his answer, flicking on the gas under the pan and dumping a spoonful of butter into it.

"one of eren's friends." reiner's eyes shot briefly over to him at that, prompting him to give a brief description of you, "remember? you saw her that time we all met up to watch that horror marathon while i still lived with my parents."

"wait.. you told me about her. isn't she dating your brother??"

"was dating my brother." he corrected, rolling his eyes at the disgruntled bewilderment etched across his friends face, "what? i had to show her that this generation of jaegers wasn't a complete disappointment.."

"whatever, man. your business." he finished off his water bottle in silence, watching reiner crack a few eggs in a bowl and whisk them together with a fork, finally breaking the silence with a generous offer. "you want me to make something for her?"

a slight grin broke out across zeke's face, dumping the empty plastic into the recycling bin, slapping reiner's back affectionately. "thought you'd never ask. thanks again, man."

"at your service." was his grumbled, monotone reply, the shadows weighing under his eyes clearly showing how late he'd arrived home last night and how little sleep he'd gotten. zeke was sure that once he'd got some coffee in him he'd cheer up a bit.

he was sure reiner wouldn't be done for another few minutes, so he wandered back into his room, wondering if you'd woken up yet so he could direct you to the shower if you wanted one. in the time that he'd been in the kitchen, you shifted around in bed, having rolled onto your back and knocked the covers away to reveal your bruised chest, hair covering half of your face but still identifiable. perfect.

zeke fished his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants, unlocking it and tapping into the camera app, taking a few steps closer to the bed and zooming in a bit before he snapped a picture of you.

10:39 am you you sent an image to eren

eren 10:40 am uhhh did you send that to the wrong person

eren 10:41 am wait hold on who is that zeke who the fuck is that

eren 10:42 am is that my fuckingngirlfrined

you missed a call from eren

eren 10:43 am why the fuck aren't you fuckign picking up

you missed a call from eren (2)

eren 10:45 am holy shit what the fuck this can't be fucking happening zeke what the fuck is wrong wjth you you piece of fucking shit

zeke tapped out of his messages with his brother, sliding over his notifications setting to "do not disturb" before dropping his phone back into his pocket. he couldn't help the low chuckle he let out at his frantic replies. maybe if he'd held the same enthusiasm with you then he wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. moving over to your side of the bed, he took a seat on the mattress beside you, perking up at the sound of your small groan, eyes sleepily fluttering open to gaze up at him.

"g'morning." you murmured, letting out a quiet yawn as you sat up in bed, holding the sheets up to cover your bare chest despite him having already seen you naked.

"how'd you sleep?"

"like a fucking rock." he laughed softly at your bluntness. "my head kinda hurts.. sorry i fell asleep on you last night."

you looked positively adorable right now, and he was glad you weren't panicking or having any second thoughts about him, that you had fully digested the reality of your situation and come to peace with it. well, at least the situation before he'd sent that picture to eren.

"don't worry about it," he assured you, keeping the thought of his brother probably blowing up his phone and leaving the usual voicemails of him screaming at him when he was angry in his inbox, "i'll get you some breakfast soon. need any ibuprofen?"

"yes please." you smiled gratefully up at him, his heart twinged. "and could you grab me my purse? i left it in the kitchen, my roommates probably wondering why i didn't come back last night."

he began to say yes, but thought of how you were probably receiving a similar slew of alarmed messages by this point made him stop. "how about a shower first? you'd probably feel a lot better after that."

you hummed thoughtfully for a few moments, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand. "a shower sounds nice.. if you don't mind."

"wouldn't have offered if i did, babe." he grinned at the way your cheeks flushed, waving a hand over to his bathroom door, "shower's in there, plenty of towels on the rack by the tub."

he stood, turning to begin making his way to the door to give you some privacy, but felt your fingers gingerly wrapped around your wrist. "zeke.. thank you. for everything. i've been in a really tough spot for the last few months, and now everything seems... it all seems a lot clearer to me, like i just took the hardest step and it'll be a breeze after this."

your smile was genuinely, infectious, eyes full of gratitude, and had it not been for the heavy news that you would most likely be finding out about within the hour, he probably would've responded with one of equal radiance. but he managed to perk up the corners of his lips for you, tracing back to press a quick kiss over the top of your head.

"at your service."

he was pleased to see that his copied, more charmingly delivered words garnered such a positive response from you. and so he made his way back out into the kitchen, pulling out his phone to briefly check the amount of notifications that had racked up on his lock screen. thirty-six messages and sixteen missed phone calls. damn was that little brat persistent.

despite having essentially thrown you under the bus, he didn't feel any semblance of guilt for the action of having sent that incriminating photograph. the only remorse he felt was for leaving you as the sole recipient to his brother's rage, and the fact that he was starting to feel a strange sort of affinity for you, something lighter and more innocuous than the lust that he had shown you the previous evening. so he slipped over to the dinner table, acknowledging reiner's announcement that your eggs were ready with a short hum, finding your purse exactly where you said it had been.

he could hear the sound of the shower being turned on, and he felt safe unzipping the small bag and rummaging around to fish your phone out from beneath your other belongings. as he'd expected, there were a few missed calls from a "sasha", who he assumed to be your roommate, the messages from "eren <3" quickly beginning to pile up on your home screen. and as the "incoming call" text showed on the screen and the phone began to vibrate, zeke held down on the power button, completely shutting it off before he pocketed the device.

he just had to keep you busy, get you to focus on anything besides your desire to get to your purse and check your phone, or figure out a polite way to quickly shoo you out of the door and get home before you realized that you didn't have it in your bag. he hadn't really planned for this outcome, he usually didn't have this sort of compassion for others when he set his mind to getting something done, but he had a feeling that the extra work would be worth it in the grand scheme of things.

⥼ next chapter

#zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager x you #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager smut #zeke jaeger smut #snk zeke #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x reader smut #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x reader smut #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction

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