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goblin-jr · 14 hours ago

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And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you.

part 3 of 12

Synopsis: rafe apology, wheezie is the best cameron, rainy confessions

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

---

The afternoon was steady at the country club. Y/N’s shift had been busy enough to keep her distracted, and with her coworkers absorbed in their own tasks, she’d managed to slip away a few times to shake off the throbbing pain left over from the boat incident. The last thing she wanted was pity—or worse, anyone worrying about her.

But when she turned around to restock a pile of guest towels, she froze. Rafe Cameron had just walked in with his family. She could see them through the grand glass doors of the club’s dining room, his parents trailing behind him, polished and imposing as ever. He looked over and spotted her before she had a chance to slip away, and his eyes narrowed as if he had something to say.

Y/N tensed. She still couldn’t shake off the anger from that night. Her bruises had faded, but her loyalty to the Pogues hadn’t. Whatever Rafe thought he had to say, she wasn’t interested. She busied herself with folding the towels, pretending she hadn’t noticed him watching her.

It didn’t work.

“Y/N,” Rafe’s voice was quiet but firm as he approached, hands shoved in his pockets, his posture almost… unsure. She’d never seen him like this—reserved and even a bit hesitant.

She didn’t look up. “I’m working,” she said bluntly, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But Rafe didn’t budge.

“Just wanted to talk. About the other day.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “No need. You said enough then.”

He sighed. “Look, I know things got out of hand. I’m… sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to go like that. I didn’t know my friends were going to—”

“Yeah? And what did you think would happen?” She finally looked up, her expression steely. “You show up, insult us, throw a few things around, and expect everything to be fine?”

Just then, a younger girl joined them, glancing curiously between Y/N and Rafe. It was his sister, Wheezie, her wide eyes betraying the same curiosity and innocence that Rafe seemed to lack. The irritation in Y/N’s chest softened just a little as she watched the younger Cameron—a reminder that not everyone in Rafe’s family carried the same smugness or sense of entitlement he did.

“Rafe!” Wheezie chirped, tugging on his arm. “Did you get the book I asked about?”

Rafe’s face softened as he looked down at his sister. He ruffled her hair lightly, which made her wrinkle her nose but also grin up at him. “Yeah, yeah, I did. I had to go to three stores to find it, but it’s waiting for you in the car.”

Y/N watched the exchange in silence, surprised to see this side of Rafe. He spoke to Wheezie with a gentleness she didn’t associate with him. Gone was the antagonistic, arrogant guy who had pushed her friends’ buttons time and again. Here, he was just… a big brother.

“Really?” Wheezie’s eyes widened in excitement. “You didn’t have to do that!”

Rafe shrugged, as if it was nothing. “It’s not a big deal, Wheeze. You asked, so I figured why not.”

Watching him interact with Wheezie, Y/N felt her defenses waver, if only for a moment. There was something unguarded in his expression, a hint of someone who wasn’t just the entitled, reckless Kook she’d come to know.

Wheezie turned her gaze to Y/N, her brows knitting together. “Hi. Do you work here?”

Y/N managed a small, polite nod. “Yeah, just part-time.”

The younger girl’s face lit up with interest. “Oh, that’s so cool. Do you like it?”

Rafe ruffled Wheezie’s hair, his face easing into an unexpectedly gentle expression. “Not everyone loves work as much as you do, Wheeze.”

Rafe turned back to you and let out a resigned sigh and nodded, stepping back with his hands still tucked in his pockets. “I really am sorry, Y/N.” Rafe’s face softened, but he didn’t defend himself. “I get it. You don’t have to believe me. I just… wanted you to know.”

“Well, I’d better get back to setting up,” Y/N muttered, sidestepping Rafe and allowing the Camerons to reunite with Ward and Rose.

After Rafe walked away, Y/N kept herself busy around the dining room, making sure the place settings were perfect and double-checking that every glass sparkled. She glanced up as she heard Wheezie’s cheerful voice down the hallway, joking with one of the waitstaff. Rafe was still nearby, now talking with his younger sister.

Y/N watched from a distance as Rafe bent down slightly, giving Wheezie his full attention as she animatedly told him some story. He smiled at her, nodding and even laughing a little. It was such a simple, everyday thing, yet it felt oddly intimate—a glimpse of Rafe’s life that Y/N hadn’t expected to see.

Why was he… kind of sweet? She hated the thought as soon as it popped into her head, but she couldn’t shake it.

He looked up, and their eyes met for just a second. Flustered, Y/N busied herself with a table setting, heart pounding, wishing she hadn’t been caught watching him like that.

—

A few hours later, Y/N found herself in the storage room. /N made her way to the back, feeling the familiar ache in her ribs from the altercation on the boat. She needed to restock the shelves with glassware for the evening setup, but as she reached for the heavy box, a sharp pain shot through her side, forcing her to stop and catch her breath.

She steeled herself, attempting to lift the box again despite the discomfort. Just as she was bracing herself, a familiar voice interrupted her struggle.

“Need a hand with that?”

She turned, caught off guard to find Rafe leaning casually in the doorway, hands in his pockets as if he owned the place—which, she reminded herself, wasn’t far from the truth. The Camerons had invested heavily in the club, and Rafe’s family essentially had free rein over the entire building. Still, seeing him there felt strange.

“I didn’t ask for help,” Y/N replied, her voice edged with defiance as she let go of the box.

Rafe didn’t seem fazed by her tone. He walked over, looking her over as he reached for the box himself, easily lifting it and placing it on the upper shelf she’d struggled to reach.

“There. Now you don’t have to break a rib over it,” he said, a faint smirk crossing his face. But he softened, giving her an earnest look. “Look, about the boat… I really am sorry. Things got out of hand, and my friends—they can be idiots.”

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me.”

Rafe looked down for a second, his expression almost sheepish. “You have every right to hate me for that.”

She paused, watching him with guarded curiosity. “Why do you care, Rafe? I mean, it’s not like we’re friends. You’ve got your whole Kook thing going on with Topper and Kelce.”

He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. “Doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt. I don’t know… Wheezie always says I could be better about that kind of thing.” He scratched the back of his neck, as if realizing he’d said too much.

Y/N couldn’t hide her surprise at the mention of his little sister. “Wheezie? So she’s the voice of reason?”

Rafe chuckled softly. “Most days, yeah. She keeps me in check.” He leaned against the shelf, his gaze thoughtful. “She liked meeting you, you know. Thinks you’re cool for working here. She’s a weird kid, but she’s got good instincts.”

A faint smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. The last thing she’d expected was to see Rafe’s protective side, let alone hear him talk about Wheezie like this. She softened, just a little, feeling the defenses she’d thrown up after the incident on the boat begin to waver.

“Your sister’s pretty sweet,” she admitted reluctantly, shrugging. “I guess you got lucky there.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his tone almost wistful. “Guess I did.”

There was a beat of silence between them, the unspoken tension from their past encounters ebbing, if only for a moment. Rafe glanced at her again, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean for any of that stuff on the boat to happen. I get it if you still don’t trust me. But I really am sorry.”

Y/N studied him, the frustration and resentment from the boat incident lingering but softened by his sincerity. After a long pause, she exhaled, crossing her arms.

“Fine. Apology accepted,” she muttered, trying to sound casual. “But don’t think this changes anything.”

Rafe shrugged, a hint of that familiar smirk returning. “Didn’t expect it to. But maybe it’s a start.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N watched him go, her feelings unsettled. She couldn’t shake the impression that, for once, Rafe didn’t seem like an enemy, and the realization left her with more questions than answers.

—

Y/N’s shift ended later than usual, and by the time she left the country club, the sun was already dipping below the horizon. She started down the familiar path toward home, her footsteps echoing in the quiet of the evening. The air was cool, and as she walked, her thoughts drifted back to the strange encounter in the storage room.

Rafe Cameron. Of all people, he was the last person she’d expected to see there, let alone be willing to lend a hand. His apology, his quiet mention of Wheezie—none of it matched the person she thought she knew. He’d always been a Cameron, a Kook, someone she’d learned to keep her distance from. But today had left her feeling unsettled, like there was something more beneath the surface she hadn’t anticipated.

Despite herself, she couldn’t deny that she was a little curious. What Wheezie saw in him, maybe, or how the two of them interacted away from the glaring reputation he carried. For a moment, she even entertained the idea that Rafe wasn’t as bad as she thought.

But then her mind went back to the people who mattered most to her—JJ and the rest of the Pogues. They’d been her family through every up and down, no matter what. And there were things about JJ, memories she could never share with anyone else, that tied her to him in a way no one else would ever understand.

Her pace slowed as a particular memory of JJ surfaced. She could picture it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

---

They were twelve, maybe thirteen, and it had been one of those stormy nights on the island when the rain fell in heavy sheets, and thunder rattled the windows. Y/N had been curled up on the couch, reading, when a faint knock sounded at the door. She knew it was him before she even looked. JJ always came to her when things got too heavy at home.

That night, he’d been soaked through, his clothes clinging to him, hair plastered against his forehead. She’d let him in, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and led him to the old beanbag chair in her room. He was quiet, almost too quiet, and she knew better than to press him for details. His father, Luke, had always been a volatile presence in JJ’s life—a shadow that loomed over him, especially when things were bad.

They’d sat there together in silence, listening to the rain and the distant rumble of thunder. After a while, he’d finally spoken, his voice barely a whisper.

“I wish I didn’t have to go back,” he’d said, his tone full of something both broken and resigned.

Y/N had reached out, taking his hand in hers. She didn’t have to say anything. The promise was there in the silence: I’m here, and I’ll always be here.

It was moments like those, when JJ had shown her pieces of himself he’d never let anyone else see, that had woven an unbreakable thread between them. They weren’t just friends—they were each other’s safe places.

---

As Y/N walked, she was jolted out of her memories of JJ by a soft drizzle that quickly built into a steady downpour. She pulled her jacket tighter, hunching her shoulders against the chill as the rain soaked through.

She picked up her pace, hoping she could get home before she was completely drenched. Just as she turned a corner, headlights swept across the path in front of her, and a sleek, dark SUV slowed to a stop. She squinted, wiping rain from her eyes, as the passenger window rolled down.

Rafe leaned over from the driver’s seat, brow slightly raised as he took in her soaked figure. “Need a ride?” he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the rain.

Y/N stifled a sigh, a wry smirk pulling at her lips despite herself. “Thrice in one day, Cameron?” she called out. “Are you following me now?”

Rafe chuckled, leaning one arm over the wheel. “Guess I can’t shake you, huh? Or maybe you’re the one following me.” He glanced out at the rain. “C’mon, get in before you catch a cold. You’ll ruin the club’s good towels.”

She stood there for a moment, watching the rain hit the ground in heavy sheets, then glanced at him through the window again. “You know, I could be stubborn enough to walk home in this,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye.

“Then you’ll be stubborn and wet,” he shot back with a grin. “Get in. I’m not leaving you out here.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, feeling the warmth of the car surrounding her immediately. She closed the door with a soft click, the sound of the rain intensifying for a moment before the windshield wipers kicked into motion.

She looked at him as he shifted into drive, silently grateful for the warmth, but still skeptical of the conversation that was about to happen. “Thanks for the ride,” she muttered, brushing water from her hair as she settled in.

“No problem,” Rafe replied, glancing over at her with a faint smile. The tension in the car was subtle, but Y/N could sense it. The day had been strange, and she wasn’t quite sure where she stood with him—if she was just another face, another person he had to deal with, or if maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than he let on.

The car was quiet for a while, only the sound of the rain and the soft hum of the engine filling the space. Y/N didn’t mind it, though. There was something oddly comforting about being alone in the car with Rafe, despite all the history between their families and the awkwardness lingering between them.

Eventually, Rafe broke the silence. “You know, you’re pretty hard to get a read on.” His voice was low, almost like he was speaking to himself. “It’s like… you’re always in your head, trying to figure things out.”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the observation. She shifted in her seat, slightly uncomfortable with the truth in his words. “I’m not really the open book type,” she replied after a moment, her fingers absently tapping on the seatbelt.

Rafe chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension. “Yeah, I figured. But you’re not the only one who keeps things locked up. I get it.” He paused, looking out at the rain-slicked road. “But it’s exhausting sometimes, you know? Trying to keep everything together.”

Y/N turned her head to study him, her curiosity piqued despite herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Rafe exhaled slowly, keeping his eyes on the road. “I mean, we don’t always get to choose how things turn out. Like, with my family. Everyone expects me to be… I don’t know, something I’m not. They put all this pressure on me to be perfect. To do things a certain way.” He glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the road. “It’s like no one ever really sees me. Not for me. Just the image they want me to be.”

Y/N studied him carefully, noting the weariness in his voice. She didn’t respond immediately, unsure of how to react. Was he being genuine? Or was this just another side of Rafe Cameron who liked to keep people at arm's length?

Finally, she nodded, the words coming out more carefully than she expected. “Sounds like you don’t get a lot of room to breathe.”

He glanced over at her with a small smile. “That’s one way to put it.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment, and there was a brief pause in the air between them, charged with something unspoken.

Y/N shifted in her seat, her mind spinning with his words. “Well, I guess I get it,” she said softly. “We all have our own stuff. No one’s life is as easy as it seems.”

Rafe nodded, the faint smile still on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Exactly. Anyway, you’re almost home.”

The ride felt quieter after that, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Y/N looked out the window, her thoughts a mix of confusion, curiosity, and something else that she couldn’t quite name. She wasn’t sure what to make of the sudden vulnerability she’d seen in Rafe, but there was a part of her that was intrigued. Maybe he wasn’t just the entitled, spoiled Kook she’d always assumed.

The car slowed as they reached her house, and Rafe turned off the engine. Y/N hesitated, not immediately unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Thanks again, Cameron,” she said, looking over at him with a small but sincere smile.

“Don’t mention it,” Rafe replied, his tone easy. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you to the door?”

Y/N’s lips curled up slightly, though she shook her head. “I’m good. Don’t want to ruin your streak of being a decent person.” She opened the door and slid out, but before she closed it, she turned back. “Take care, Rafe.”

“You too,” he said, his voice steady.

As the car pulled away, Y/N stood there for a moment, watching the taillights fade into the rain. She couldn’t help but wonder—maybe there was more to Rafe than she’d originally thought.

#obx4 #obx #rafe obx #outer banks #outer banks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj outer banks

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seitmai · 22 hours ago

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Many thoughts...

Love at first sight, it was. But hell, love wasn’t enough, was it? What did he know about raising a little girl? What did he know of walking that tricky line between being overprotective and being too blasé, of giving you space but making you feel safe?

just that he is questions this, shows how much he cares about her 🫶🏻

Cecilia had stopped over a lot in the beginning, had soothed his fears. Had reassured him that love was enough, that he was doing a good job. He was kind and well-meaning, and you had been a smart kid who became a smart woman, and on the balance, he would have agreed with Cecilia and said he did alright.

Awesome job right there👏🏻

For the first time in his life, Rhett truly considers his future. What his life may look like in five, ten, twenty years. Will he always wake to grey mornings that sit on his chest like a stone? Will he become bitter and mean, the way his father has despite having a wife and sons and a granddaughter?

Uff he truly doesn't have the best role model..

Then, on top of the annoyance, another layer of shame. Of course you run. The death of your parents left you with that wound, the inability to handle hurt in a healthy way. You flee and tuck yourself in a corner, tend your wounds alone. It’s a flaw, but it’s understandable why you do it.

Very understandable reaction especiallywith that backstory..

Rhett had been your best friend, and for the briefest summer, he was your lover too. He should have been the one person to help you work through that fear. Instead, he only cemented it further.

💔💔💔

It’s easy to blame Rhett when Wyatt eats dinner alone each night. When he runs a vacuum over the floor of your bedroom, keeps it dust free like you may turn up any day and take your place back on the family ranch. When he studies the row of family photos on the mantle, sees his sister’s face and feels like he’s failed her in the care of her daughter.

He misses her so much 🥺

But Wyatt doesn’t confront Rhett at the Double Deuces. He doesn’t seek him out at all. Rhett comes to him.

👀

“You never fucking think, do you? Jesus fucking Christ, my sister…her husband…they were killed by a fucking drunk driver, and you have the fucking balls to…you asshole…you fucking piece of shit. You—” The kid seems to track Wyatt’s meaning. His bleary eyes clear a fraction and fix on where Wyatt’s fists wait, eager to offer some payback for his sins. Rhett nods, as if to himself, and he takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes, opens them. He struggles to stand, staggers a little, but eventually finds his feet.

Wyatts anger is very understandable and valid, but it seem to penetrate even Rhett’s drunken state

“Make it her.” It comes out one slurred word, makeither, and Wyatt’s anger cools by the barest degree. He unclenches his fists, holds them looser. “What the fuck you trying to say?” Rhett coughs, sways. Coughs again, then enunciates, clarifies. “Make it hurt. Make sh…sure. Make sure it hurts.” Wyatt’s fists uncurl more. “Now what are you—” “Am. Piece of shit. I am.” The kid sways more but takes a wide step, braces his legs wide to keep himself upright. “Y’right. Imma piece a’shit.” He wants to be hurt because it’s the only thing he knows, he thinks. Like I used to.

💔😭💔😭💔

Maybe Wyatt only fell into fatherhood because of a tragedy, but he gets more of it right than he will ever give himself credit for. He faces the kid, and when the kid comes swinging at him again, spoiling for a beat-down Wyatt will never deliver after all, Wyatt only opens his arms and lets Rhett step into them. The kid struggles for a beat but he’s drunk, and he seems tired down to his soul. It only takes a moment for the kid to stop struggling in Wyatt’s bear-hug, then sag against him in exhaustion, then weep in dry, barking sobs that feel like they’ve been building up for his entire life. And Wyatt knows exactly what sort of pain the kid is bleeding out because it was his pain, and his sister’s too, until they both fled their unhappy childhood home and made a happier one here on this ranch.

Wyatt gives Rhett the hug he himself needed years ago 😭🥺

Wyatt is never sure the right way to tell you that Rhett Abbott is currently crashing with him. A month passes and then another, and he starts to feel guilty that the kid who broke your heart has been living down the hall from your childhood bedroom, sitting at your kitchen table. That he parks his truck beside yours, and that he’s caught the kid—more than once—lingering by your bedroom door, lingering by your truck, like your ghost might manifest if he stands still enough.

That's a tough spot..

I can’t be mad about it, you write back. How many times did you look the other way when I brought a stray home?

I guess you deserve a stray of your own. Might want to take him in for his shots though. :-)

You got a heart of gold, kiddo, Wyatt texts you, and your response is immediate.

That's so cute, they have such a beautiful relationship 🥰

Wyatt grins when he reads your email, then glances over at where Rhett is sitting on the couch, watching TV. The kid does act like a stray; he cringes the barest bit if Wyatt moves too suddenly or too close to him, but like a stray, he relishes the comfort of a warm home, food in his belly, and even the tamest praise.

He really is a stray 🤭

Got it from my uncle.

🥹🥹🥹

Wyatt won’t know it until years from now, when he’s an old man and Rhett has grey in his own hair, but this stretch of time—the two men working and living together—is when Rhett starts to learn how to be a man. That Wyatt is the gruff but kind, slightly awkward father-figure Rhett always needed.

I'm so glad Rhett gets the chance to experience this kind of relationship and space to grow 🥹

Heart of gold, indeed. It makes Wyatt tear up, first from so much pride it feels like his chest might burst, then from that knife edge of grief that his sister isn’t here to see what a force for good her daughter turned into.

🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

“Nah. I don’t know if hate is something she can even feel. Dislike, maybe. Disappointment. Not hate.” “She should hate me. I deserve it.”

He is so hard on himself 🥺

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, you know. Sounds fucking stupid, but at the time, I didn’t even realize what I was doing to her.” Rhett glances over at the man, fixes his eyes back on the floor. “Looking back, it felt like I was sleepwalking through that summer, and now I’m awake and see all the damage I did.” “Damned if I know. But take it from me, kid. I had a girl when I was your age, and I fucked it up completely. Even once I realized how badly I fucked up, I was too proud to try and set it right. Now it’s been years and it’s far too late. So you gotta try, so even if she never forgives you, it’ll set right in your chest that you did everything you could.”

I love their honest and open conversations 🥰

Your uncle glances over at Rhett, nods in his direction. “We’re doing okay for a couple of guys.”

They truly are 🫶🏻🥹

You laugh, and the sound makes Rhett smile – when was the last time he heard it? It draws another laugh, which makes Rhett laugh, which makes you stop and ask your uncle if Rhett is there too. “He is,” Wyatt admits. “We’re watching the football game.” There’s a beat of silence from you that seems to stretch out forever but is probably only a second or two. “Merry Christmas, Rhett,” you say, and Wyatt hesitates, then tilts the screen so Rhett can see you and you can see him. He almost doesn’t want to look but he can’t help himself.

🥹🥹🥹

“In that case, Uncle Wyatt, work him into the ground,” you joke back, and Wyatt turns his phone back to him this time, and Rhett is left with perhaps a bit more than a sliver of hope. He leans back on the couch and thinks that yes, maybe he can salvage this after all. Maybe trying his best will be enough.

I'm sure it will 🥹🫶🏻

I absolutely loved this story and the relationship Rhett and Wyatt built, truly beautiful 🥰

Kind of a Sh*thead

(Rhett Abbott x F!Reader)

CW: Angst; family-type healing; allusions to and threat of violence; bit of fluff at the end.

Word Count: 5256

AN: This was originally requested by @elegantmusicdragon from a long-ago Christmas prompt list: "trying to hide their sadness during the christmas celebration" from the sad christmas prompts? Definitely angst...maybe with a little hope at the end?"

AN: This is the next piece in the "Mending Fences" miniseries, found here.

It will shame Rhett in the future, how long it takes for him to realize what has happened.

That night at the bar, he sat waiting for you: nursing a beer, his eyes on the door, ready to get a little loose with you and maybe head out to the open range and fool around.

Then Maria appeared in front of him. Like magic. Like an angel spirited back to Wabang and right in front of him. It threw him off completely, his world tilting sideways He found himself dazzled by the fact that the girl he pined over for years was suddenly in front of him, smiling, laughing, touching his arm and squeezing his bicep while he subtly flexed it under her fingers.

It wasn’t until last call that Rhett surfaced for a moment, the spell lifting for long enough to remember he was supposed to meet you, yet you were nowhere to be found.

She must have been held over late at work, he reasoned, and even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie.

It will shame Rhett in the future, but it will take months before he really feels that shame. He’ll find out you left early for school, but by then, he will be entirely wrapped in the magic of Maria, dumb with lust and love that he thinks is finally reciprocated. He'll send you a handful of texts, bland little things that you read but don’t respond to.

Months later, when Wabang is sliding fast to a cold winter and Maria is gone again, disappeared as quickly as she appeared, Rhett will feel shame.

And you’ll be long gone.

*****

Wyatt wishes he knew what he was doing. Hell, he’d be happy for an inkling.

When his sister and brother-in-law died, he didn’t even hesitate to step up and take his niece in. No brainer. Blood is blood, but Wyatt loved his sister something fierce, and taking you in was like holding on to a part of her even if she was gone.

Didn’t hurt that Wyatt loved you for you. That he had loved you from the first time his sister set you in his arms, a bundle only a few days old. You’d set your wide eyes on him and blinked sleepily, then puked up a torrent of milk on him that reeked something fierce.

Love at first sight, it was.

But hell, love wasn’t enough, was it? What did he know about raising a little girl? What did he know of walking that tricky line between being overprotective and being too blasé, of giving you space but making you feel safe?

Nothing about this feels alright, though.

Wyatt always guessed it was Rhett Abbott who left you stranded at that hotel when you were a senior in high school. Little fucker skulked around that entire summer, scampered away like a cat with a lit tail when he saw Wyatt coming. Something had happened between the two of you.

When you came back to Wabang finally, you took up with the little fucker again, and Wyatt thought maybe he had been unkind. Ungenerous. He tried to be nicer to Rhett, but the kid barely ever mets his eyeline.

What the hell, Wyatt thought. The Abbotts can be a squirrelly bunch. As long as he doesn’t hurt her.

All those years ago at the hotel, Wyatt was never sure who it was that left you stranded and tear-streaked. This time, though?

You confirmed it that evening when you got home, eyes unseeing as you charged past him, thundered up the stairs, started packing. When he confronted you, you burst into tears and spilled the entire sorry affair.

You and Rhett, hanging out all summer. You in love, and Rhett…not. Not with you, anyway.

Wyatt wasn’t stupid. When you said hanging out, he could guess what you meant.

Seeing his niece hurt like that made him see red, but he has a modicum of maturity, which means he bides his time in most things.

*****

Maria’s been gone for months.

You’ve been gone for longer.

Winter in Wyoming is no joke. Wabang gets less snow than other parts, but the wind cuts marrow-deep, and the days are short, grey affairs. The holidays could be a break from the doldrums, but Royal has been on a tear lately, lighting into Rhett for every little thing, so Thanksgiving, then Christmas are tense and joyless.

He sends you texts. Little one-liners, asking how you are, saying he misses you. He tries to feel you out, but you leave him on read and never respond.

Once, he gets blisteringly drunk and tries to call. You don’t pick up, and he doesn’t leave a message.

By now, the shame has settled into him and made itself at home.

He can guess that you came by the bar that night. He can guess that you saw him and Maria, and that’s what caused you to flee. Layered on top of the shame is an annoyance with you and your knack for running. He may be an asshole but you’re a child to run and hide when shit gets tough.

Rhett had been your best friend, and for the briefest summer, he was your lover too. He should have been the one person to help you work through that fear. Instead, he only cemented it further.

*****

March. The leaden skies start to take on some blue, high up in the atmosphere. The sun burns a little warmer. The barnyard thaws into a swamp, and Wyatt has to handle the anxious animals, pawing and snorting and half-mad from a winter of cabin fever.

March is a tough month, though, because you call and tell him you aren’t coming back to Wabang for the summer. You got a coveted internship with a specialty vet hospital in the city, and while Wyatt knows it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, it’s far easier to blame that fucking asshole Abbott boy.

He’s not irrational about it. He knows he has to let you fly and trust you’ll return. Vet training is a long process—it’s not like you went off to Cheyenne for a handful of bookkeeping courses. He knows, deep-down, you would have always left for your schooling.

Still, that fucking Abbott boy has built up a tab, in Wyatt’s eyes. March is when that tab comes due.

-----

He knows the boy drinks at the Double Deuces. It’s common gossip how he overdoes it and either gets ornery with the Tillerson’s or pukes himself silly in the parking lot. There’s whispers of the fights between Royal and the boy, how the elder Abbott is tired of bailing out his youngest son, though no one would ever accuse Royal of having any patience, especially where Rhett is concerned.

If it were anyone else—any other dickhead young buck—Wyatt would chuckle in sympathy. He used to do the same when he was younger. He knows what the Wabang drunk tank looks like. Hell, maybe his name is still there—he scratched it into the pea-green paint of the wall decades back to commemorate his first overnight stay.

But Wyatt doesn’t confront Rhett at the Double Deuces. He doesn’t seek him out at all.

Rhett comes to him.

It’s a Saturday night, and Wyatt is lazing in front of the TV, watching the recaps of the week’s basketball games. He’s half-asleep when he hears the heavy, scuffing tread of boots on his porch, then a thumping fist at the door.

When he peeks out of the window to see who it is, it’s the fucking asshole. Rhett sways unsteady on his feet. Wyatt opens the door, and he can smell the reek of cheap beer and brown liquor. When he peers out farther, he can see where the fucking asshole parked his truck, half in the driveway and half in the yard, the tires sunk deep in the soft spring turf.

“You drive here like that?” Wyatt asks, though it’s obvious.

The kid nods.

Wyatt sighs, scrubs his hand over his jaw. “Tell me you came from next door. Tell me you were drinking at home and not out on the roads fucking loaded.”

Rhett stares at him, his eyes bleary and blood-shot, his blinks slow and deliberate. “Came from t’bar,” he slurs.

“Fucking prick.” Wyatt breathes it out.

His vision wavers for a moment, the rage that courses through him is so hot and sudden. He moves towards the kid just as Rhett sways towards him, and in a blink, Wyatt finds his hands on him, his sweat-dampened t-shirt twisted in his fists. This close, the beer fumes make his eyes water, and when Wyatt studies the kid’s face, he sees blank stupefaction.

“You fucking little prick.” He pivots, turns, hauls Rhett away from the front door, down off the porch. He half-drags, half-carries him, and once they are on the soft grass of the front yard, Wyatt shoves him away.

“Stupid, selfish. So fucking selfish.” The rage feels good, like a narcotic in his veins. “You could have killed someone, driving like this.”

“I didn’t…” Rhett sways on his feet, struggles to get his balance. “Didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t t-think—”

Wyatt is on him again, his hands firm on Rhett’s chest as he shoves him in earnest, sends the kid stumbling back on his ass. “You never fucking think, do you? Jesus fucking Christ, my sister…her husband…they were killed by a fucking drunk driver, and you have the fucking balls to…you asshole…you fucking piece of shit. You—”

But he can’t even finish. His sister and brother-in-law, your parents. Years ago now, but the pain is still fresh, a keen edge of a knife blade that takes his breath away. It was after a rodeo, a random Saturday. One stupid fucking decision and Wyatt lost his family, you lost your parents, and the rest of the world had the bad taste to keep on going.

There’s a roadside memorial on the road out of Wabang that marks the site of the crash. It makes that knife blade of grief twist in Wyatt’s gut every time he sees it.

Anger—rage—is such a close neighbor to grief. Grief is something one has to feel, but anger? That’s something to embrace, to lean into. To do.

Wyatt advances on Rhett, his big fists opening and closing as the kid struggles to get back on his feet. Wyatt wants to beat the shit out of him, wants to see him bruised and bloodied on the ground: for hurting you years ago, for hurting you more recently, and now this. For taking his life and the life of anyone else on the road into his own stupid, selfish hands.

Rhett manages to find his knees, and he kneels in the grass but can seem to get no further. Wyatt towers over him.

“Get up,” he orders. His voice is low, deadly, and his tone must penetrate the booze-fog because the kid tilts his head up and looks at him.

“Get up,” he repeats. “Get up and face it like a man.”

Rhett only manages a dumbfounded, “huh?”

“You wanna drive a big truck like a big man? Drink at the Double D’s like a big fucking man? You wanna fuck around with my niece and break her fucking heart like a big man? So stand up and take what’s coming to you like a man.”

The kid seems to track Wyatt’s meaning. His bleary eyes clear a fraction and fix on where Wyatt’s fists wait, eager to offer some payback for his sins. Rhett nods, as if to himself, and he takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes, opens them. He struggles to stand, staggers a little, but eventually finds his feet.

“Make it her.” It comes out one slurred word, makeither, and Wyatt’s anger cools by the barest degree. He unclenches his fists, holds them looser.

“What the fuck you trying to say?”

Rhett coughs, sways. Coughs again, then enunciates, clarifies.

“Make it hurt. Make sh…sure. Make sure it hurts.”

Wyatt’s fists uncurl more. “Now what are you—”

“Am. Piece of shit. I am.” The kid sways more but takes a wide step, braces his legs wide to keep himself upright. “Y’right. Imma piece a’shit.”

As quickly as Wyatt’s rage came on him, it flees him just as fast. He sees it just as clear as day, how Rhett Abbott ain’t a man. He’s just a boy playing at it, fucking up as he goes. Wyatt knows as well as anyone the sort of father the kid has, Royal Abbott is no model of what a man should be.

The kid standing in front of him is just a hurt animal: hurt by his own father, hurt by his own behavior because he has no idea how to not take out his hurt on others.

He waves his hand at the kid, a dismissive gesture, and he starts to turn away. He is halfway back to the house when he hears the kid coming for him, feels the weak glancing blow of the punch that has no aim or power because the kid is too drunk.

He wants to be punished, he thinks as he turns back around to face Rhett. He knows Royal is hard on his youngest son, can guess that the kid’s been knocked around plenty. His own father…well, he keeps that buried in the past, but sometimes it pops up like a bad penny. Like now.

He wants to be hurt because it’s the only thing he knows, he thinks. Like I used to.

It only takes a moment for the kid to stop struggling in Wyatt’s bear-hug, then sag against him in exhaustion, then weep in dry, barking sobs that feel like they’ve been building up for his entire life. And Wyatt knows exactly what sort of pain the kid is bleeding out because it was his pain, and his sister’s too, until they both fled their unhappy childhood home and made a happier one here on this ranch.

“Christ almighty,” Wyatt says after the kid calms. He doesn’t let him go—he only gets an arm around his shoulders, and he leads him inside.

No sense sending him home to his father. He’s here now, so he might as well sleep it off on the couch.

-----

It’s less than a month before Rhett returns. Maybe a handful of weeks later, the kid turns up on Wyatt’s step, sheepish. Looking small.

Wyatt will never be clear exactly why Rhett and Royal fall out so terrifically. Who can say? The Abbotts can be squirrelly fucking assholes, back to Royal’s father and probably even further back, but Rhett finds himself kicked out with nowhere to go.

He takes the couch for a night, but the next day, Wyatt thrusts some fresh sheets in the kid’s arms and directs him to the guest room down the hall. Past your bedroom.

“Might sleep better in an actual bed,” he tells the kid, his voice gruff.

“I’ll be out as soon as I can.” Rhett’s ears burn red in shame. “Just gotta line up a place.”

“No rush.”

“Seriously, I’ll—”

“I got plenty of room. You ain’t putting me out.”

-----

Every time you call. Each Facetime. Wyatt wants to say something and doesn’t.

Wyatt ends up taking the coward’s way out: he sends you an email. Keeps it short and sweet, apologizes for not saying anything sooner. He alludes to the situation between father and son, but clarifies that Rhett is in no way forgiven for how he treated you. It’s just that the kid needed a soft place to land, and he had the ability to help, so he felt it was his God-given duty to do so.

But I can ask him to leave, if you want, he writes. If it makes you uncomfortable. You’ll always be my first and top priority, kiddo.

It takes you two days to reply, but that means nothing. You have a brutal schedule and often go radio silent for stretches of time. When you do reply, it makes Wyatt smile.

I can’t be mad about it, you write back. How many times did you look the other way when I brought a stray home? I guess you deserve a stray of your own. Might want to take him in for his shots though. :-)

You got a heart of gold, kiddo, Wyatt texts you, and your response is immediate.

Got it from my uncle.

-----

Through the summer and autumn, the two men fall into a rhythm. It isn’t so bad living with the kid, once he starts to get his sea-legs under him. Once he starts to feel like the bottom won’t drop out. Rhett puts in an honest day’s work on the ranch, and Wyatt pays him. The first time he presses money on the kid, he tries to push it away, embarrassed at what he thinks is more charity on top of the charity of room and board…

“You work for me, you work for me,” Wyatt said, blunt. “Means you get paid by me. Take it or leave.”

There are lessons embedded in their days working the ranch. The lessons ease Rhett out of the fog of his life, the strange liminal space of being in his early twenties but still just a kid.

When Rhett royally fucks up a stretch of fencing, ruins a day of work. Wyatt only grunts, shakes his head, then claps Rhett on the back.

“You can either take the time to plan out a job, or plan on doing the job twice,” is all he says, and he guesses that Royal would have belted his son into the dirt for such an error.

When Wyatt tasks Rhett with a simple rewiring job in the barn, replacing some light fixtures, and the kid has no idea where to even start. He spends half the day sweating about it, a sick feeling churning in his stomach, until he decides to throw up the white flag and admit he has no experience working with electrical fixtures.

“Well, hell, kid. Why didn’t you say something?” Wyatt jerks his chin towards the barn. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

When at the rodeo, Rhett is tossed from the bull within seconds, a humiliating display. Afterwards, his body bruised but his ego far worse off, Wyatt only chuckles at him, says life will throw you off like that sometimes and it’s the getting back up that shows character.

“You got back up,” he tells Rhett. “That means something.”

“Means I didn’t want to get trampled,” he grumbles.

“Still means something.”

-----

Always, though, there’s the specter of you.

Wyatt catches the kid standing in the doorway of your bedroom sometimes still. Peering in at the time capsule of your stuff: the clothes you’ve left behind, the framed photos, the beat-to-shit stuffed bear on your bed.

Wyatt mentions you in passing, but he never brings up that long-ago night at the hotel or your sudden flight from Wabang the summer before. He guesses Rhett already feels terrible all the time, so why bother bringing it up and make it worse?

The kid eventually broaches the subject all on his own, just as winter descends on Wabang again. It’s been over a year since either of them have seen you in person, though Wyatt Facetimes you at least once a week.

Rhett makes himself scarce during those calls, but Wyatt’s always had the impression he’s not far off, maybe straining to make out your voice through the wall.

In early December, you break the news that you aren’t coming home for the holiday break. Wyatt would suspect that Rhett might be the reason, but your eyes practically glitter with excitement as you talk about a massive stray animal sweep you’ve helped plan, a Christmas-into-New Years take-to-the-streets movement to find and rescue as many street dogs and cats as you can. You’ve been working with local Girl Scouts to build feral cat cold-weather shelters, and you’ve been raising money and donations, and you’ve built a strong foster network, and local clinics are ready to spay and neuter and administer vaccines—

When Wyatt breaks the news to Rhett later, though, the kid sorta deflates, and that’s when he brings it up himself.

“It’s my fault,” he mumbles. “She’ll never come back if I’m here.”

“Not true.” Wyatt goes to the refrigerator and snags two bottles of beer, then hands one off to Rhett. He settles in his easy chair and studies the kid. “You know she loves animals. She’ll come back eventually.”

“She hates me.”

“Nah. I don’t know if hate is something she can even feel. Dislike, maybe. Disappointment. Not hate.”

“She should hate me. I deserve it.”

And then it spills out, one clipped sentence at a time. The entire history of you two, from best friends in childhood to passing acquaintances to an awkward moment in a hotel that Wyatt now knows was not actual sex but just some fooling around that ended in a cruel words. When Rhett gets to the part of the story about your summer together, Wyatt holds up a palm, says, “yeah, don’t want the details at all,” and Rhett slouches against the couch and sighs.

Wyatt chuckles sadly. He knows the feeling. He has his own hurt women in his past, experienced the same sort of heartless sleepwalking.

The kid shakes his head and continues. “Wasn’t worth it. Maria, I mean. I don’t even know what I saw in her.

“You were thinking with the wrong brain,” he tells Rhett. Wyatt may have no lost love for Maria Olivaries, but he’d admit she was a pretty gal. He could see why the boys went a little stupid around her.

“Wasn’t thinkin’ at all.” He says your name, a sigh in his mouth, then adds, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Look.” Wyatt sets his empty beer bottle aside, leans forward. “You gotta try to make it right with her. How you square it up is up to you. Maybe she’ll forgive you, maybe she won’t, but you gotta make an honest try at it.”

“How?”

“Damned if I know. But take it from me, kid. I had a girl when I was your age, and I fucked it up completely. Even once I realized how badly I fucked up, I was too proud to try and set it right. Now it’s been years and it’s far too late. So you gotta try, so even if she never forgives you, it’ll set right in your chest that you did everything you could.”

Rhett stares at him for a long beat, then nods. Then there’s a beat of glassiness in his eyes, near-tears, that Rhett blinks away almost angrily before he turns and clears his throat.

“I don’t mean to, you know. I don’t mean to be a piece of shit,” he says, his voice rough-edged.

“Aw hell, kid.” Wyatt heaves himself out of his chair and starts to make his way back to the kitchen for another beer. He stops in front of where Rhett sits, slouched over, and he lays a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit,” he tells him. “I just think you’re kind of a shithead.”

Rhett snorts. “What’s the difference?”

“First one is a lost cause,” Wyatt says. “Second one is just an idiot trying to do his best. Like most of us.”

*****

Christmas day at a bachelor’s ranch is not as sad as it might seem.

Wyatt brings in a tree but they only throw some lights on it to give it a bit of cheer. They build a fire in the fireplace, exchange no gifts, settle in and watch the football games.

Christmas dinner is a pot of Wyatt’s ulcer-inducing chili and a pan of cornbread. Cecelia drops by in the morning with a plate of cookies and a handful of gifts for Rhett, but it’s just the two guys for most of the day.

Until you call to Facetime your uncle.

You take Rhett unawares; you call off-schedule. You usually call in the evening but this is the afternoon, and Wyatt mutes the football game and take the call from the couch. Rhett starts to stand up, but the man waves him to sit back down. No need to hide out like he usually does.

So Rhett gets a full accounting of your life from you directly. He can hear your voice, and you sound like you have a sore throat. You tell your uncle about your big rescue mission, how it’s bitterly cold in the city but how you’ve saved so many dogs, so many cats, and how you can’t wait to head back out after you warm up a bit.

“I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas,” you tell Wyatt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

Your uncle glances over at Rhett, nods in his direction. “We’re doing okay for a couple of guys.”

“You decorate a tree?”

“Just string lights.”

“The prettiest part of a tree anyway. What about dinner?”

“Chili.”

You laugh, and the sound makes Rhett smile – when was the last time he heard it?

“Happy Birthday, Jesus. Here’s some indigestion,” you joke.

“Good thing the kid went to Costco and got a gallon bucket of Pepto,” Wyatt jokes back.

It draws another laugh, which makes Rhett laugh, which makes you stop and ask your uncle if Rhett is there too.

“He is,” Wyatt admits. “We’re watching the football game.”

There’s a beat of silence from you that seems to stretch out forever but is probably only a second or two.

“Merry Christmas, Rhett,” you say, and Wyatt hesitates, then tilts the screen so Rhett can see you and you can see him. He almost doesn’t want to look but he can’t help himself.

You’re smiling at him. Not as broadly as you usually smile when you’re delighted in something or someone, but it’s a medium-sized one that touches the corners of your eyes.

It’s genuine.

It’s a place to start. It’s a sliver of hope. It’s not a door slamming shut in his face but a door left ajar by a fraction, and maybe Rhett can toe it open if he can just find the right way to try and square things up with you. It’s confirmation that he’s not a piece of shit, just kind of a shithead, and if he tries his best, maybe that will be enough.

“Merry Christmas,” he replies, and if you notice the gruffness in his voice, you don’t react.

“Thanks.”

Wyatt holds his phone there a moment, starts to turn it back to him, but Rhett blurts out, “be careful out there, okay?” so Wyatt turns it back.

Your smile grows the barest bit. “Will do.” A pause. “Don’t let my uncle work you too hard.”

A toe in the door. A sliver of hope. The fire snaps in the fireplace and the string lights twinkle on the tree, and Rhett may be an idiot just trying his best, but maybe that’s enough.

“I barely work at all,” he jokes. “Gotta leave plenty of work for you when you come back.”

It makes you chuckle. It’s not a laugh, but it’s something.

Maybe trying his best will be enough.

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your-stranger-halfblood-things · 2 days ago

Text

Halloween time stuilly:

Billy wearing fake fangs and god, they turn Stu on so bad. He want those fangs on his lips, touching his tongue, biting into his neck- and Stu can't stop thinking about what it would feel like for Billy to blow him with the fangs. Would he bleed? He hoped he would bleed. Bleed just for Billy...

The thought made him squirm. He pressed his knees together and tried to keep his cool. At that moment, Billy looked back at him, a cup of red punch in his hand, and flashed his fangs out in a smile. It was like he knew what Stu was thinking, and holy fuck, Stu hoped Billy knew- he wanted Billy to know that all he thinks about is Billy and his fangs.

Billy sent him a wink before sipping from his drink. Punch dripped down his chin, adding to the fake blood, and Stu wanted, really wanted, to mess up that damn makeup with his own lips. So that's what he did.

He stood up from the couch and darted over to Billy, interrupting Sidney from leaning in to kiss him.

"Billy-" he gasped. "I- uh-" What was he doing? Now both of them were staring at him and all he could think about was fucking Billy in front of Sidney.

Billy lip twitched. "You're sick?" he said with fake urgency. "Let's get you to the bathroom." And he hooked his arm under Stu's, flashing an apologetic look to Sidney, before "helping" Stu up the stairs.

Billy shut the door to the bathroom and locked it. Luckily, there was no puke on the floor and it only smelled slightly of piss. But the closer Stu got to hovering over Billy, pushing him back into the door, if smelled more like the shorter man; acorn scented shampoo and fruit punch on his breath.

"Fucking want you so bad," Stu muttered, pressing his body against Billy.

Billy's lip twitched again and he tilted his head. "So fucking have me."

And Stu grabbed Billy's face and started eating at his lips, licking the now-dried punch, and smearing the fake blood all over. His hands cupped Billy's face, keeping him still, unable to run away, as Stu fucked the inside of his mouth with his tongue. God, the fangs were sharp and it felt so good as he ran his tongue under them. He didn't bleed though. Not yet.

Billy pushed Stu off him. "Jeez, you really have something wrong with you: being able to kiss for a minute without breathing," he said through gasps of air.

Stu smirked, "just takes practice."

And he connected their lips again. This time the fangs did make him bleed, and not only did Stu close his eyes and melt into the stinging pain, but Billy liked it too. He welcomed the blood into his mouth with a moan.

Billy flipped them around so now Stu was squirming against the door. "I'm going to make you wish you weren't dressed as Frankenstein's monster," Billy warned.

Not because Billy was into dead guys, no. Billy liked killing people, yes, but he didn't like fucking them after. He liked knowing Stu was his Adam-- that he was Stu's god. Just like in Frankenstein. He's a gothic lit nerd *shrugs*

#this whole thing just to tell you guys that stu dresses as frankensteins monster because ge treats billy like his god #billy is a gothic lit nerd and thats his favorite book #stu knows that so he dressed as the monster #oh and theres smut #stuilly #halloweeen #stu macher x billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x stu macher #billy loomis #billy x stu #stu x billy #scream movie #scream 1996 #scream #halloween party #its late i know #sidney prescott #frankenstein

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oumaheroes · 23 hours ago

Note

Talk dover to me <3

'How hot is it?'

'It's hot.'

'Is it hot enough for me.'

'Francis, get the fuck in.' Arthur sat up and back further in the tub to make room, 'Stop looking at me like that; get in and shut the bloody door. You're letting all the heat out.'

'Oh, I thought it was hot enough.'

Arthur raised his eyes to the heavens and sank back lower into the water.

Francis shut the door and turned back to glare at him, 'You're taking up all the room.'

'You took too long.'

'Move.'

'I will when you get in.'

'You're insufferable. This is supposed to be relaxing. I'm supposed to enjoy this.' In a swift movement, Francis shucked off his (overly) fluffy bathroom, ‘Get out of the way.’

‘I will when you get in.’

Francis stepped one foot fully into the water with a wince and Arthur grinned, ‘Too hot?’

‘Arthur, I swear to God I will sit on your legs.’

‘I took the tap side for you.’

‘I appreciate the weaponry to hand. Move.’

Before Arthur could retort, Francis stepped fully into the tub and Arthur had to swiftly moved his legs out of the way to avoid tendon damage.

‘Look, you’ve flooded us.’ Arthur said, eyeing up the overflow along the tub’s rim from the wave made by Francis’ entrance. ‘That better not go through the carpet to the floorboards, we can’t afford to redo them after the kitchen.’

‘I’m surprised you have enough heart and feeling in your stingy heart to allow us to have this much water.’ Francis sank as deep as he could go, knees sharp mountains in the water, and closed his eyes, ‘Ugh, it’s been too long since I’ve had a bath. I needed this.’

‘Hmm.’ Arthur pulled one of Francis’ feel forwards to massage his calf, firm circles with his thumbs, ‘It’s rarely cold enough to be worth it.’

‘That’s a terrible opinion.’ Francis cracked open an eye, looking just behind Arthur and to the right, ‘As is the need to have the window open.’

‘I like the contrast.’

Francis shook his heard and closed his eyes again, ‘I think I’m going to quit.’

‘Finally.’

‘Yes, well. I had hopes. Growth upwards, more than anything currently improving.’

‘Move on to another station?’

Francis shrugged, ‘The chance for more responsibility. Menu choices, ideally.’

Arthur snorted and moved onto Francis’ other leg, ‘As if David would ever let you do that.’

‘He does for Nikhil.’

‘Nikhil is an arselick.’

‘Nikhil is also the level above. But even then, to just move off vegetables and fish. I hate fish, or I hate cooking fish. The smell gets everywhere.’

‘I don’t mind you smelling like a whore.’

Francis hit him with a sudden splash of water, Arthur catching the grin of his teeth right before he closed his eyes.

‘Stop it. Let me moan; don’t make me laugh.’

‘I would do no such thing willingly.’ Arthur lay back as much as he could with the awkward and hard metal of the tap, lolling his head against the wall with his arm slung over the ceramic to keep him from sliding. ‘Your unhappiness is my entire aim.’

Francis snorted and cupped water in his hands to tip onto the crown of his head, fingers raking through the strands.

‘Are you actually?’ Arthur asked after a moment, his hand going back to the meat of Francis’ calf, then the cool skin of his knee, ‘Going to quit; go somewhere else.’

Francis shrugged. ‘No. Yes. Inside, mentally, I quit ages ago. But today was just...’ he waved a hand lazily, ‘I don’t know how much longer. Not because it’s hard or bad but, what’s the point. Of being stuck somewhere that won’t change, clinging to something that left a long time ago.’

‘True, I-‘

‘Like you with me.’

Arthur froze, a coldness blooming in his stomach to spread like ice through his veins. He pulled his hand away and Francis eyed him, eyes flicking up and down.

‘How many years has it been?’ He asked, ‘Five? Six?’

Arthur tried to speak but managed only a croak. Swallowed, tried again, ‘Seven.’

‘Ah yes, seven.’ Francis looked around the bathroom, at the cracks that Arthur now remembered as being on the ceiling, the damp mildew stains along the tiles to pillow black in the grouting that hadn’t been there a second ago. ‘Too long, my love.’

Arthur couldn’t speak. He reach forwards, through still, tepid water to where Francis still lay bright and whole against clean ceramic and the vibrant colours of years before. His hands met nothing but the smooth other side.

Francis watched him, silent. There was something of pity in his expression, almost readable as contempt. ‘Arthur.’

‘No.’

‘You have to let me go, Arthur.’

‘Francis.’ Arthur pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, keeping the sound of Francis’ voice safe and away from the reality that his eyes could now see, ‘Please.’

‘It’s funny that this is where you see me.’ A soft splash, the gentlest movement of water, ‘Is this the only place that you have left? The last place you can call me back?’

It was. There had been others, especially right at the start. Francis in the kitchen, Francis in bed. Francis draped across the lounge sofa, hair in Arthur’s fingers, his warmth against his side. But the rooms were too large and the truth too heavy, too much to filter with so much space to repaint. As the years fell away, it became harder through the years to recall Francis there for more than a flash, and Arthur always needed more.

The bathroom, small and cramped in their little old flat, was still enough. Arthur could pull their relationship out there and unfurl it like a canvas, run through imaginary tapes of old conversations and quiet little moments to fill the space and coat it completely.

It still felt so real.

‘Your brothers are worried about you.’ Another splash, coming closer, ‘You look at least ten years older than you should.’

‘Stop. Please, don’t.’

‘Keeping me here is taking too much.’ Another splash. Arthur heard something lift out of the water, heard the plink plink plink of droplets falling from something tangible there with him. ‘How much life do you have left to waste on trying to get back the one that you lost?’

Arthur felt Francis’ hand on his cheek, his fingers cold and hard as bone. Arthur’s breath caught and he squeezed his eyes so tightly that he could hear a roaring of blood in his ears.

‘Are you waiting for me to say that I forgive you? Do you keep bringing me back here, dragging me up, because you hope that maybe I’ll say you’re not to blame? And, since I won’t, you instead play happier memories again and again and again-’ Francis squeezed hard, fingers digging in sharp to Arthur’s skin, ‘to avoid that day?’

Arthur tried to shake his head but couldn't, found his whole body was rigid and stuck. He tried to jerk away, kick his legs at the thing holding him there but his legs couldn’t move. The tap pressed sharply into his back, limescale cutting his skin.

‘Oh.’ The thing that still sounded like Francis tutted, ‘If only you hadn’t been drinking.’

A crash, a car. Night time, Coldplay’s Yellow lifting into the darkness as behind him on the verge... Whiskey on Arthur’s breath, he’d been at the limit but still-

The grip tightened, harder against Arthur’s teeth to force the bitter reality past the lie and into his mouth. ‘Didn’t you have just. One. More.’

Finally, Arthur opened his eyes.

It does not take long for flesh to decompose. Especially in the summer, especially when it was already so ruined, so open.

Nothing hung from Francis’ bones, nothing was left of his softness. His beauty vanished when his soul did, leaving only the shell of a thing that sits before Arthur in chilling water: empty darkness between ribs and cheekbones, picked clean by the creatures of the earth that he was returned to.

‘I’m sorry.’ Arthur whispered to it through its fingers, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

‘I know.’ Francis’ voice is still in his head; the fused jaw did not move, ‘But that doesn't change anything, does it?’

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

AN:

... I... This just happened and did not go quite according to the plan that I had in mind but we're rolling with it

#fruk #aph england #aph france #hws #hws england #hws france #hws fruk #aph fruk #arthur kirkland #francis bonnefoy #aph #heroes writes #heroes answers #APH Dover #HWS Dover

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benispunk · 19 hours ago

Text

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 5: We Stay Silent

All jokes aside, Wade had too much stuff to deal with. Keeping up his mask was way too hard.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, panic attack, mental health issues.

A/N: chapter five is up!!! this one is directly connected to the previous chapter, it's basically the same chapter but from wade's pov, so please make sure you read Part 4 before reading this one!! Please don't be made at me I love wade so much😔✊

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part

Wade woke up later than usual, sunlight already creeping through the blinds. His phone buzzed on the nightstand with a few missed notifications, but he didn’t bother checking them right away. He stretched lazily, rubbing his face. The apartment was quiet, almost too quiet. Logan and Y/N had already left for work, probably hours ago. Good. He didn't think he was in the mood for any morning chit-chat for once.

After throwing on his running gear and grabbing a water bottle, Wade slipped out of the apartment and into the cool morning air. He’d hit his usual route— nothing too long today. He wasn’t up for pushing himself too hard.

He never liked running. He always wondered what part of running was actually satisfying for some people. It helped him clear his mind, gave him space to think, or better yet, not think at all. Maybe he had a toxic relationship with running. Maybe it worked like a drug on him. But he knew he would rather run until his legs give out rather than go down the same path he followed years ago. He knew better now.

The streets were familiar, and Wade let his feet carry him through the neighborhood without much thought. His mind wandered, as it often did, from jokes he was working on to what gig he had next to the weird thing Logan had said last night. Everything felt scattered, but that was normal. He was used to living with his thoughts bouncing around like a pinball machine. His mind felt like a computer with thousands of tabs opened.

But then, just as he rounded a corner near the park, Wade froze. Vanessa.

She was standing there, a few meters away, looking just like she used to—like a ghost from a past life. She hadn’t seen him yet, thank god. His heart slammed into his chest, panic rising as he quickly debated turning around and bolting. Too late.

“Wade?”

Her voice caught him mid-step. He turned, awkwardly waving like an idiot.

“Vanessa, hey!” Wade’s voice came out higher than he wanted, and the grin he plastered on his face felt all wrong.

Vanessa smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, looking genuinely happy to see him. “I knew that was you. How’ve you been?”

Wade’s brain scrambled for something, anything to say. How have I been? That was a fucking big question. How do you explain six years of missing someone without falling apart? He ran a hand through his hair, nervously glancing at his shoes.

“Oh, you know… same old, same old.” He tried to laugh it off, but his voice cracked.

She didn’t seem to notice his internal chaos. “It’s been so long, huh? We should catch up sometime, what do you think?”

He wanted to run. Run so fast he could break his legs and never even feel it. Catch up? What does that even mean? How do you catch up with someone you’ve been in love with since forever even after you both decided that being friends would be better, and bla bla bla, why was he thinking about this again?

He did his best at hiding his internal panic and forced himself to stay still, nodding like an idiot.

“Yeah, totally! That would be great.” He was still smiling like a maniac, but inside, every alarm bell was going off. Abort. Abort. Abort.

Vanessa seemed pleased with that answer, though. “Great! I’ll text you.”

“Yeah! See ya around, V,” Wade blurted before turning on his heel and jogging away as fast as he could without looking completely insane. He could feel her eyes on him as he sprinted, and he didn’t stop until he was several blocks away, breathing hard.

“Good job, Wade. You fuckin’ idiot,” he muttered to himself, wiping sweat from his forehead. His chest felt tight, but it wasn’t from the run. It was that familiar pressure building inside him, the one he tried so hard to ignore. The feeling of not being able to handle any of it.

———

Wade stood outside Blind Al’s door, debating whether to knock or not. He hadn’t seen her in a while, but she had been a constant in his life during the toughest times. Before Logan. Before everything fell apart.

He knocked, and her voice came through the door, as sharp as ever. “Took you long enough to visit, jackass.”

Wade smiled despite himself, pushing the door open. “Miss me, Al?”

“Not in the slightest,” she quipped. Wade knew she couldn’t see, but the way she was standing in front of him made it look like she was staring right through him, “Something’s going on with you. Spill it.”

Wade plopped down on her couch, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Ran into Vanessa.”

Blind Al didn’t react. She just sat back in her chair. “That so? And you didn’t completely lose your shit?”

Wade snorted. “Define ‘completely.’ I told her we’d catch up, and then I ran away like a coward. Does that count?”

“Yeah, that counts,” Al said, her voice gruff but understanding. “So what now?”

“I don’t know.” Wade rubbed his temples. “She seemed happy, like genuinely happy to see me, and I just… I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Al said bluntly. “She’s part of your past, and that’s fine. Doesn’t mean you have to dive back into that mess.”

“Yeah, but what if…” Wade trailed off, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking.

“Look, you’ve got your life now. You’ve got Logan, and now this new girl, Y/N, right? Stick to what’s real. Don’t go chasing ghosts.” Al’s voice softened slightly, and Wade felt a pang of gratitude for her, "Or go for it. Just, don’t think about it too much. Let things go their own way." she added.

Easier said than done, but duly noted.

Suddenly, she got up from her chair and walked towards her kitchen. Wade watched her come back with a cup of not-at-all full of alcohol coffee and settle back in her chair.

"So, you didn’t tell me about that new roommate…"

He stayed with her for lunch and then they talked all afternoon. He told her everything she had to know about Y/N, and how Logan was doing, too. But still, he couldn’t shake the thought of what had happened that morning. Vanessa. Al was always right, but the pressure in his chest still hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t just Vanessa. It was everything.

———

By the time Wade got back to the apartment building, the weight in his chest had doubled. He made a turn into an alleyway, the walls suddenly feeling too close. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his hands started to shake.

No no no no no, not now. Not here.

He pressed himself into the corner, knees pulling up to his chest as he tried to get control, but it wasn’t working. He felt like he was drowning, like the air was being sucked out of the alley. Everything was overwhelming.

Breathe, Wade. Just fucking breathe.

He fumbled for his phone and dialed his therapist’s number. He knew she had given him her personal phone number just for emergencies but maybe, maybe this time, it was an emergency. He needed it. Because breathing wasn’t working. After a few agonizing rings, she picked up.

“Wade? What’s going on?”

He could barely get the words out, his voice shaking. “I…I c—can’t »

“Okay, okay,” she said calmly. “You’re going to be fine. You know the drill. Slow your breathing.”

Wade tried, focusing on her voice. After what felt like hours, his breathing steadied, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked and Wade had no idea what to answer. Air was back in his lungs, yes. But that was it.

"I’m losing it. I don’t know what to do." He waited a few seconds for his therapist to answer. When she didn’t, he continued. "I’m lost. I can’t make a choice. I feel like a fuckin’ loser and I don’t know why people are still keeping up with me. And I called you, god, I’m so sorry, I know it’s supposed to be for emergencies only—"

She interrupted him, "Wade, this was an emergency."

Wade shook his head and he watched his free hand for a few seconds, it was shaking like crazy. He didn’t say anything for a while. "Can we have a session soon?"

“Of course, Wade. Can you get to someone, right now? A friend?”

“Logan,” Wade muttered. “I could go see Logan.”

“Good. Do that. You’ve got people, Wade. Lean on them.”

Wade nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll go see Logan.”

He hung up and dragged himself to his feet, wiping at his face. Get it together, Wade.

———

Logan’s classroom was quiet when Wade arrived, a rare moment of calm at the end of a long day. The coffee shop near the center was still open, so Wade grabbed a box of donuts and two coffees before heading over. Showing up unannounced wasn’t unusual for him—Logan never seemed to mind (he did– Wade chose to ignore it). Besides, the guy could use a donut break anyway.

But as Wade neared the door, that familiar tightness crept back into his chest. Logan’s gonna see right through me. He paused, forcing down the rising anxiety, plastering on his usual grin before pushing the door open.

“Hey, I come bearing gifts. You looked like you could use a sugar rush.”

Logan frowned as soon as he saw him. “You okay?”

I hate him so much.

Wade waved him off, doing his best to sound casual. “Me? Of course! I’m always okay. What’re you talking about?”

Logan didn’t press further, but Wade could feel his friend's eyes lingering on him, studying him like he could sense the tension beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Logan to ask again or not. Wade kept talking, cracking jokes, doing his usual routine, but something in Logan’s steady silence made it harder to maintain.

They sat together, sipping coffee and biting into donuts, the atmosphere light but heavy at the same time. He knew Logan saw through him. He always did. But Logan didn’t push, and for that, Wade was grateful.

As they left the center together, Wade kept the conversation rolling, letting his words spill out faster than usual, a habit he’d sharpened over the years. Keep talking, keep things light, and maybe Logan wouldn’t dig deeper.

“...and I swear, man, if this one guy hadn’t backed off, I would’ve–”

“You sure you’re okay?” Logan’s voice cut through Wade’s ramble, and oh my god, was he using a gentle tone on me?

The question sent a jolt of panic through Wade. He felt the familiar tightening in his chest again, the pressure pushing against the cracks. Not now. Not here.

He immediately forced a laugh, one that felt too loud in his ears, like he wasn’t the one laughing . “Of course! Stop worrying about me, peanut. You’ve got your own crap to deal with. Speaking of which,” Wade added quickly, redirecting the conversation towards something he knew Logan wouldn’t press on, “how’s it going with Y/N, huh? Been hanging out together without me, yet?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but Wade didn’t miss the shift in his expression. He knew Logan had caught the distraction, knew the guy could read him like an open book. But Logan didn’t push, not yet.

“She’s our roommate, Wade,” Logan said.

Wade threw him a wink, keeping up the act. “Sure, sure. Got it.”

Logan let it slide, like Wade knew he would. He always did. Pushing Wade for answers never worked. Logan had learned that a long time ago. He’ll ask again later, Wade thought, the weight of it settling somewhere deep inside him. But for now, at least, Logan let it go.

Wade kept talking, kept deflecting, but even as his voice filled the air, he could feel Logan’s gaze on him, steady, waiting. Logan would be there when the time came, ready to listen. Wade knew that. He always knew that.

But right now? Wade wasn’t ready. Not yet. So he smiled, cracked another joke, and pushed the feeling down a little further.

Maybe later.

XXX

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seungsuki · 1 day ago

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so there's this professor... - 03 tea with ghosts masterlist

“it wont fit!”

“it will stupid. just let me do it and stop moving!”

“it's too big alvin!”

“am i interrupting..?”

the room fell silent. what was going on? you and alvin had been assigned to clean the classroom, and things were already going a little haywire as you both struggled to refill the ink pens for your math professor. but this? this was a whole new level of awkward.

you glanced over to see a man standing in the doorway, looking a little lost. his charming green eyes sparkled as a small smile played at the corner of his lips- his presence almost reminding you of a main character in a romance manga. were you… seriously crushing on a total stranger?

“lord moriarty?? here at our university??” alvin rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

confused, you turned back to alvin just as he quickly stood up and gave a small bow. before you knew it, he grabbed your arm and tugged you to your feet, gently pushing your head down in an awkward bow of your own.

“no need for the formalities,” the man said, raising a hand in amusement. “i’m rather lost”

“what brings you to our university, lord moriarty?” alvin asked, already pushing you behind him like he was some sort of protective shield.

“i dropped off some snacks for my wife. she’s a professor here, and now i can’t find my way out,” albert flusteredly sighed.

“i can escort you out, let us first pack up or else professor moriarty will scold us about the mess”, alvin turned around and shooed you back to cleaning

“professor moriarty..?”, albert repeated

“professor william james morarity! he’s our mathematics professor! he’s so cool! you should see him teach some-”

“he knows idiot”, alvin cut you off with a flick on your forehead

albert turned to you with a raised brow. “and you two are...?”

“i’m [name] [last name], and this is my best friend, alvin leroy!” you quickly introduced

“more like my only friend,” alvin muttered under his breath, distracted by counting some papers.

“oh you both must be the students who gave william a set of chalks? it was very thoughtful of you both”, albert recalled. “he carries around the cloth everywhere”

“he does?”, you asked, bewildered. you hadn’t known that.

“great.. just great”, alvin groaned, rolling his eyes at your reaction.

“might just be his good luck charm”, albert continued.

your face shaded in red, looked away as silly imaginations ran into your head. your professor kept the gift? it made you feel special, almost like you were the only star in his eyes

“come on, let’s go,” alvin sighed, slinging your bag over his shoulder.

“i’d love to invite you both for some tea and simple talk,” albert said, his smile widening. “it would make your professor very happy”

“we have to study,” alvin replied, grabbing your hand as he headed for the door.

“oh, but he can help you study,” albert countered, stepping in front of alvin to block his way.

the two men stood there, sizing each other up in a moment of unexpected tension. what was going on? you could almost feel the chill in the air.

you shook off the unease, deciding to speak up. “we’d love to!”

“no, we’re not going-”

“great! after you?” albert said, waving you forward with a smile.

and that was how you ended up standing in front of the moriarty mansion, your jaw practically on the floor. it was massive. alvin, looking at you questionably, sighed heavily before placing his hand under your chin to close your mouth.

“this place… is huge!” you whispered loudly, eyes wide.

“i have eyes, genius,” alvin muttered. “now stop gawking at everything.”

“i didn’t think professor moriarty would be this rich,” you whispered again, feeling a little self-conscious. “my gift must’ve been pocket change for him.”

“that’s why i told you, it’s a waste of money. we could have gotten our usual rolls for snacks”, alvin grumbled

albert led the way, smiling warmly. “unfortunately, i can’t accompany you further. my wife needs me. let me introduce you to louis- he’ll show you around.”

he gestured toward a blonde man standing nearby. louis was strikingly similar to william, with ruby-red eyes that seemed to lock onto yours the moment they met. he offered a small smile, and you couldn’t help but feel your face flush. did… you just find yourself crushing… again?!

“why can’t you look at me the way you look at them…” alvin muttered under his breath as he pulled you a little closer.

“what did you say?” you asked, confused.

“nothing,” alvin grumbled, flicking your forehead to distract you.

louis cleared his throat. “brother william is upstairs in his office. this way”

as you walked through the house, you had to admit- it was simpler than you expected. maybe it was just your first impression, but it felt a little underwhelming after seeing the mansion’s grand exterior.

alvin, on the other hand, seemed even more pissed off. he just wanted to head home with you, to his mother’s flower shop. you both would have been eating snacks, talking and laughing over the silliest things you can find. then walk behind to the big field and guess the cloud shapes

but there was no turning back now. louis led you both to the door of william’s office, knocking before stepping inside.

you froze when you saw your professor. he was sitting at his desk, papers scattered around him as he meticulously marked assignments. he looked up with a warm smile, clearly surprised to see you both.

“leroy? [last name]? what a pleasant surprise,” william speaks. “please, come in”

“professor!” you exclaimed, skipping in eagerly.

“wait for me. i’m not your babysitter- carry your own bag!,” alvin groaned, trailing behind you.

you sat across from william, and alvin placed both of your bags beside him before sitting down on a nearby chair. william put aside some papers to give you both his full attention.

“what brings you here?” william asked.

“lord moriarty insisted we come,” alvin answered before you could. “trust me, i’d rather be doing something fun.”

william chuckled softly at that, clearly amused. you took the opportunity to recount the whole story, leaving out no detail. william listened attentively, nodding along as you spoke. his eyes were focused on you, and you couldn’t help but notice how intently he was looking at you. was he really listening to every word, or was he just being polite?

you suddenly grew self-conscious, your words stumbling as you realized how much attention he was giving you. you could feel your cheeks burning up. why did your professor have to be so charming? you almost let out a dreamy sigh just thinking of him

alvin, sitting quietly beside you, watched everything unfold. a strange feeling began to stir in his chest. on one hand, he was happy to see you interacting with someone you liked- someone who seemed to appreciate you.

on the other hand, he starts to feel a heavy tug in his heart. he didn't like how nauseous he was suddenly feeling. what was so special about professor moriarty? yeah he was rather good looking, knowledgeable, respectful- but isn’t he the same?

“you’re gonna drive him mad from all that talking”

alvin cuts you off, looking william in the eye. he moves his hand, allowing his fingers to brush the edge of your chair. then with light force, he pulls your chair closer to his. it wasn’t forceful, you could barely even feel the movement before you realized your chair was beside him.

you looked up at alvin, his hand resting lightly on your chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wood. his eyes were fixed on your professor, but the look had changed. it was no longer just curiosity. it was something more… almost threatening?

you shake off that thought, it sounded stupid. why would alvin want to threaten your professor? william watched the entire thing unfold, seemingly amused by the action. he tilts his head, his calculating ruby eyes figuring out what alvin really wanted

“anyway,” alvin continues. “since we’re already here, i’ll have some orange juice, and [name] can get some tea. oh! and some of those fancy cookies- the ones from lord moriarty’s collection you know?”

silence, before william lets out a small chuckle, nodding to his student. maybe you were over analysing the situation after all. it was rather funny, watching alvin list off the things he wanted to eat while william was hearing him out

“oh and the answers to our homework- thanks prof”

TAGLIST

@eliasorchard @ayaswrld @iris-arcadia @onna-musha-mari

© seungsuki 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images are from pinterest.

#so there's this professor - seungsuki #nini writes mtp🌿#william james moriarty #moriarty james william #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #mtp #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x you #series #x reader #seungsuki>ᴗ<

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crazylittlejester · 13 hours ago

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LU Links as Things I Did in the Month of October

except i completely forgot i had this in my drafts so its a week and a half Late

Time: Cried for an hour over a stomach ache that was completely avoidable (he’s lactose intolerant, he just doesn’t let this stop him)

Warriors: Forgot what it was like to feel like a person because he spent every waking moment writing, working, or doing research and towards the end of the month came to the horrific realization that he doesn’t remember what it feels like to not be absolutely exhausted. Spent a week touching grass and now he’s completely fine

Twilight: Laid sprawled out on his kitchen floor and started crying when his dog rested his chin on his shoulder

Sky: Had to explain to his doctor that he didn’t turn in his disability papers for the 9th year in a row because once again, he forgot. and when his doctor was like “how the fuck did you forget” he had to look them in the eyes and say it was because he put the papers in his hyperfixation book that sits on his shelf that is for Looking and not for Reading because he’s scared of ruining the pages somehow, and he’d thought last year that the papers would be safe in there and then simply forgot they existed by the next day

Hyrule: Left class early to go Wander and then ended up several miles from campus on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and got a bit confused about how to get back

Legend: Told himself for the third year in a row that this would be the year he carves a pumpkin. He failed

Wild: Bought gas One time the entire month and acts like thats so cool but the reason is because he stopped leaving his house

Four: Damn near got hit by a semi truck and just sighed because this is a common occurrence

Wind: Downloaded pokemon go and almost got hit by a car walking alongside a major road

#jes ask #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu incorrect quotes #sort of

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justevelynnnn · 3 days ago

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He’s better

Summary: After constant mistreatment from your boyfriend Logan, someone else starts to catch your attention…

Warnings: Smut near the end, cheating mentioned, cussing, logan gets kinda cucked in the end

A/N: I’m in my Scott summers era rn. I’m here to feed all 12 of the cyclops fans with this one💯

You really don’t know how or when this feeling started.

Logan hasn’t been treating you right in ages. The relationship you two started was passionate. But that was the issue. “Passionate” in this case just means sex. Lots of it. And it was cool and all at first, especially because Logan was very good in bed.

Veryyy good.

But that was it.

Valentine’s day came and he did nothing but offer to get you off for a few hours. Couple of lazily thrown rose petals on the bed. A chocolate bar. He never got you flowers or spent actual time with you.

Your final straw was your one year anniversary.

What did he do?

He forgot.

You hinted all day but he just looked at you sideways. Then he had to “leave” early in the day and said he wouldn’t be back for days. You said nothing. You just stared at him as he left with a bag full of clothes, cigars and booze. That was another pet peeve.

He was so bad at communicating. Not even a kiss goodbye nowadays.

You knew what most would ask at this point. What did you think you signed up for??? That was Logan Howlett for you. Cigars for breakfast, Booze for lunch and a combination of both for dinner. And the sex thing was just obvious. That man loved sex but did he reallyyy care for a serious relationship?

Obviously not.

Jean and Scott find you crying outside after Logan left on you guys anniversary and offered to take you out for drinks. You wanted to take your mind off things so you agreed and that night you three went to a nearby bar.

Scott decided to be the driver so he didn’t drink but you drank a few. You and Jean sat at the bar and Scott sat at a booth by the door, looking out the window but also occasionally looking over at you two. Jean also got drunk for some reason, but you later found out it was because her and Scott were also having relationship issues.

Jean was starting to become sloppy and just before you turned to tell Scott, Jean started crying and confessing random things to you. Guilty conscience you supposed. Wasn’t this night for you?

She tells you times she lied to Charles and things she said that she regrets. But one thing stuck out to you.

Apparently, she slept with logan a month ago.

You froze. What?

She claimed she did it to get him off her back and stop flirting but apparently that’s made him worse and now Scott is mad and is threatening to break up with her.

By now she’s crying hysterically and the bartender had told you guys to leave. Scott shakes his head in annoyance and disappointment as he rushed over and apologizes to you.

It was then you thought.

Maybe it’s cause you were tipsy but in the dim, soft light of the bar Scott looked kind of…..hm.

Wait, did he always look this good? No, no, no…well?

Was his jaw always that defined? Wait a minute.

You watched as he carried an inconsolable Jean out the bar.

Those arms…those muscles…

Hm.

Scott broke up with Jean the next day.

Logan was still gone so you had your shared room to yourself but you supposed you’d break up with him too. Not that he’d care since he couldn’t take you seriously.

You were still very hurt as you sat in the kitchen at the island with a glass of wine. How’d you get hung over from a few drinks? Your head pounded while your heart hurt with sadness.

Scott came in a few minutes after you got settled.

“Hey, y/n…” He said as he walked to the fridge.

You mumbled a soft “hey.” as you looked up at him.

Why was he shirtless? Good lord.

Those abs…

Maybe you were still drunk because Scott was looking very sexy right now.

“Hey, sorry for last night again.. I don’t know what’s gotten into her..” Scott sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I’ve been nothing but loyal to her.”

“You and me both..” You said sadly. You didn’t even realize how you and Scott were in the same boat of being cheated on.

Scott smirked as he saw you still staring at his torso.

“Feeling all right over there?” He asked, playing innocent.

You jump. Shit, has he caught on already? You quickly replied, “Oh, yeah yeah, just.. bit hungover I guess.”

He nodded and moved to sit next to you still smiling.

“I got a few remedies for that yknow…”

You could also smell his breath now. Minty.

Hundred times better than beer or whiskey. Actually clean.

He was so close now as he leaned in a bit. He licked his lips too. Those lips..so many details about him you never noticed til now… You could feel his eyes on you as you shifted in your seat. Remedies? You hated where your mind was going.

His “remedy” was to eat food and not drink more.

You felt like a dumbass. You needed to get your mind out the fucking gutter.

And this stuff went on for a bit.

In the few days Logan was still gone you stole many glances at Scott. One day, you caught him in just gray sweatpants working out. You watched as his body moved, glistening with sweat. Listening to his grunting. Then looking away when he looked your way.

You didn’t know what got into you either but you just couldnt shake Scott off your mind.

You thought about him when you woke up, went to bed, worked out, watched tv…

He ran circles.

And he was so kind to you after Logan got back. You and him had an argument about Jean and how he forgot the anniversary thing a few days ago. He said some hurtful things to you. Really hurtful. Scott comforted you as you cried again, rubbing your shoulder and telling you everything it gonna be okay.

He brought you a few flowers with a ribbon tied around the stems.

“Just something to cheer you up.” He said smiling at you.

He cooked you dinner another day—your favorite foods too, how interesting, how’d he know?— and even offered to teach you after you ate it and complemented his cooking.

This went on for weeks. This “nice” thing quickly turned into flirting.

It horribly irritated Logan to see but he says nothing much.

Jean apologized to you again and again and you didn’t know if you ever really wanted to accept her apology. She stayed away from logan now, responding harshly to his attempts of flirting. It was his “fault” she lost Scott she’d tell him.

And she was so caught up with teaching she didn’t notice how close you and Scott were becoming either.

You were worried. Scott made you melt but you were worried if you were just some rebound or if you slept with him it would just be some stupid payback to logan. How would you know if he was just buttering you up just to get between your legs and then leave?

But maybe you were too swooned to care. You started to hang out with him more and more, like you teo were already dating. You thought, why not? He was sweet to you, caring, patient…

He even opened up to you. No offense to Logan but you were tired of prying for answers on true feelings.

One afternoon, after a month of heavy flirting and sneaky touches, you were in his bed. One thing led to another and now you two were sloppily making out, hastily removing clothes from each other. The door was left wide open. You were worried if anyone would hear and tried to tell Scott but he ignored you, pulling your panties off.

Maybe he wanted a certain someone to hear..

“You’re so beautiful, y/n.” Scott said taking your nude body in, probably saving a mental image.

Scott was in nothing but his boxers now. You could see the semi-hard on. You were no longer distracted by the open door. He was big alright. Not that Logan was too but with Scott it was more length than girth.

“Scott…this is…i still haven’t broken up with him yet…are you sure we should be doing this?” You breathed. You wanted this…so bad. But it wasn’t right.

“So? Mentally, you have. Plus..”, He kisses your neck and whispers in your ear, “He doesn’t know how to treat someone like you clearly.”

His soft voice sends shivers down your spine. He gently thrusts against you once more as you softly moan his name. He’s right. Logan didn’t know how to treat you. Not anymore at least. He was always rough and quick with you but Scott…so patient, calm. Soft.

Scott kisses you one more time then he gets up to grab a condom (be safe guys!) and pulled his boxers down.

“Fuck…” You say barely audible but Scott hears you and smirks.

“Like what you see?”

You just nod. He was beautiful. Head to toe. And where has he been hiding all of that dick?

Scott climbs on top of you once more, rubbing and kissing all over you. Practically worshiping your entire body. Savoring you like he will never fuck anyone ever again.

He rubs your clit once more, preparing you for when he enters and asks you if you’re ready. Again, all you could do is nod as he lines himself up with you. He tells you to take a deep breath and let him know if he needs to stop at any point. God, he was so so gentle with you.

It was definitely a stretch.

It’s been awhile honestly. Scott let you adjust as you heard your breath hitch. He rubs comforting circles on your clit once more and kissed your lips softly.

Once you were ready he started to move. He was nice and slow at first, giving you a few good deep thrusts. It didn’t take long for him to bottom you out. Then he changed to a pace that was quicker. Still deep, but faster. The headboard on his bed started to bang against the wall.

You were worried people would hear but what you didn’t know was Scott picked a perfect time to fuck you like this. The students were on a field trip and the other xmen were with them. It was just you and Scott today.

And Logan.

You sound like a broken record at this point, calling Scott’s name over and over. Moaning things that barely make any sense. The sheets below you are already damp. Scott barely made any noise as he thrusted into you. Listening to the wet slapping noises coming from you two. And for any other reaction…

You really forgot about the open door the second Scott was inside you. You begged him to go faster faster faster until you felt like the bed could soon break from how quick it was moving and how loud it was.

A few positions later and you were getting close. Scott had you on your hands and knees now though he had pushed your face into the bed. You were out of it, nearing an orgasm. He had you facing the door but face down. He could hear footsteps as you whine about how close you were. Knowing you was coming only got him closer too. As he saw a shadow appear he quickly told you to tell him, “Who’s making you feel like this? Tell me and then you can cum.”

“Y-you Scott! Fuck- You! Scott you!” A muffled voice in the sheets. You were so cockdrunk you couldn’t even hear someone approaching the door.

You finally came in one of your most intense orgasms yet, moaning Scott’s name loudly once more.

Scott soon followed but what you didn’t see what how he was staring right into Logan’s eyes as he came inside of you. Biting his lip, glaring at him as he sloppily gave you his final thrusts.

You plopped onto the bed when it was all over but your attention was soon caught again as you heard the familiar sharp snnnnkt sound and a growl right in front of you.

“You gonna tell me to stay away from your girl?” Scott said in a mocking tone. “Toooo late…”

#scott summers imagines #xmen scott #cyclops x men #cyclops #scott summer smut #scott summers #scott summers x reader #cyclops smut #xmen smut #cyclops x reader #scott summers xmen #cheating

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lila-lou · 5 hours ago

Text

✨His second exception - Pt. 24/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 7357

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 24 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙

As the night deepened, the soft hum of the waves filled the quiet air, creating a serene atmosphere around you and Ben. The private beach was quiet, the only sound the gentle lapping of the ocean against the shore. You found yourself sitting between Ben’s outstretched legs in the cool sand, both of your feet dipped in the water as it ebbed and flowed over them, the tide brushing softly against your skin.

Ben’s arms were wrapped loosely around you, his chest firm against your back as he held you close. His chin rested on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against you, the warmth of his body contrasting with the cool breeze coming off the water.

You leaned back into him, feeling completely at ease, the weight of the day’s emotions slowly dissolving into the peaceful night around you. The sky above was littered with stars, their light reflecting off the calm surface of the ocean, creating a shimmering, ethereal scene.

Ben’s hands rested on your belly, his fingers gently tracing circles as the two of you sat in comfortable silence. Every so often, he would press a soft kiss to your shoulder or the side of your neck, his presence grounding you in the moment.

“It’s perfect here”, you murmured, breaking the quiet as you looked out at the endless horizon. “I could stay like this forever”.

Ben hummed softly in agreement, his arms tightening around you slightly. “Yeah”, he whispered, his voice low and content. “No bullshit, no noise”.

You smiled, your fingers lacing with his over your belly, feeling his protective warmth. “It’s hard to believe that in just a few months, it won’t just be the two of us anymore”.

Ben let out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. “Yeah, everything’s gonna change. But I wouldn’t have it any other way”.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his as you looked back at him. “You’re ready for this, aren’t you?”.

Ben’s gaze softened, his usual smirk replaced with something deeper, more genuine. “I never thought I’d be ready for something like this”, he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But… Yeah, Guess I’m ready”.

Ben’s palm continued to brush softly over your belly, his touch gentle and soothing. The night was peaceful, and you felt yourself drifting deeper into a quiet contentment in his arms. But then, without warning, something changed—a sudden, hard kick against Ben’s hand.

You gasped, your body instinctively jumping slightly between his legs. Your heart raced as you felt the undeniable movement from within, your breath catching in your throat. For a moment, the world around you seemed to freeze, and the only thing that mattered was what had just happened—the first kick of your baby.

Ben stiffened behind you, his hand still resting on your belly, but now perfectly still. “Did you feel that?”, he asked, his voice low and rough with amazement.

You nodded, your hand instinctively flying to your belly, your emotions surging. “I… I did”, you whispered, your voice shaking with disbelief. Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart swelling with the realization of what had just happened. “That was… that was the baby”.

Ben’s breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t move. His hand remained firmly pressed against your belly, as though he was trying to feel it again, to confirm that it was real. Then, as if on cue, there was another strong kick—this time, you both felt it clearly, and the emotion of it hit you like a wave.

Ben let out a breathy chuckle, the sound filled with awe and something deeper, something you had never heard from him before. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

Tears were already falling down your cheeks, your bottom lip trembling slightly as the flood of emotions overwhelmed you. You placed your hand over Ben’s, both of you feeling the connection to the life growing inside you. It was a moment you’d waited so long for, and now that it was here, the reality of it seemed almost too much to handle.

Ben grinned, his eyes shining with the same mix of joy and awe that you were feeling. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and comforting against your skin. “Took him long enough”, he murmured with a soft chuckle, still riding the high of that first undeniable kick. His usual confident, tough exterior had melted away completely in this moment, revealing the softer side he reserved only for you.

You laughed through your tears, the sound a little shaky, still trying to process everything. “Yeah, well, I think he’s making up for lost time”, you said, your voice thick with emotion as Ben’s hand brushed softly over your belly again.

As if in response to Ben’s touch, another firm kick landed right against his palm, followed by several more in quick succession. Each one sent a ripple of happiness through you, your body responding to the life inside in a way that felt so powerful, so beautiful. Ben’s grin widened, and he let out a breathy laugh, clearly enjoying the feeling of his child moving beneath his hand.

“Strong little guy”, he whispered, his voice full of pride as he continued to gently caress your belly. His hand moved in slow, soothing motions, almost as if he were communicating with the baby through his touch, coaxing more movement out of him. And sure enough, each soft brush seemed to earn another enthusiastic response.

The two of you sat there for a long while, wrapped in the serenity of the moment, savoring every kick and flutter from your unborn child.

Eventually, the cool night air and the weight of the emotional day began to take their toll. You yawned, your body starting to feel the exhaustion. Ben noticed instantly, his hand still resting on your belly as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“Come on”, he murmured softly, shifting behind you and carefully standing up. Before you could protest, he effortlessly scooped you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His strength was as familiar as it was comforting, and you nestled into him, your head resting on his shoulder as he carried you back toward the house.

You let out another yawn, barely able to keep your eyes open. Ben chuckled, glancing down at you as he made his way inside. “So, no happy engagement fucking tonight, huh?”, he teased, his voice low but filled with warmth.

You laughed, the sound soft and muffled as you nuzzled your face into his neck. “Not unless you want me to fall asleep halfway through”, you mumbled, your words trailing off as the exhaustion hit you full force.

Ben just shook his head, his smirk still lingering as he reached the bedroom. “I’ll take a rain check”, he said, his tone playful yet understanding. “For now, let’s just get you to bed”.

He gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blankets over you as he brushed a hand through your hair. The tenderness in his actions was undeniable, and you felt safe, loved, and more content than you had in a long time.

Ben leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he stretched out beside you, wrapping an arm around you protectively. “Get some rest”, he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. “We’ve got forever to celebrate”.

You smiled sleepily, your hand resting on his chest as you closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of him surrounding you. “Forever sounds perfect”, you whispered back before drifting off into a peaceful sleep, your heart full and your future bright.

The next morning, you woke up suddenly, your body jolting awake from a fresh wave of nausea that hit you out of nowhere. It had become rare and the sudden onset caught you by surprise. The room was still dim, the early morning light just beginning to filter through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the bed where Ben lay sleeping, his arm draped protectively over the empty space where you had just been.

Not wanting to wake him, you carefully slipped out from under the covers and made your way to the bathroom as quickly as your body would allow. The nausea was strong, and you barely made it in time, gripping the sink for support as you fought to control the urge to vomit.

The coolness of the bathroom tile against your bare feet grounded you slightly, but the nausea didn’t subside. You found yourself hunched over the toilet, your breath shaky as you waited for the feeling to pass.

After a few minutes, the worst of it seemed to be over, but your body felt drained and weak. You sat down on the edge of the bathtub, closing your eyes and taking slow, steady breaths to calm yourself.

Just then you looked up to see Ben standing there, concern etched on his sleepy face. His hair was tousled, and he was still shirtless, the faint glow of the morning light making him look softer, more vulnerable than usual.

“What’s going on?”, he asked, his voice still thick with sleep but filled with worry. He moved toward you, kneeling down in front of you and gently placing a hand on your knee. “You okay?”.

You nodded, managing a small smile despite how awful you felt. “Yeah… just a little morning surprise”, you muttered, resting a hand on your stomach as you leaned back slightly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had one of these nausea waves”.

Ben frowned, his brow furrowed with concern as he gently brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. “You sure you’re alright? You look pale. Like a fucking corpse”.

“I’m fine”, you reassured him, though your voice wavered a little. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all”.

Ben stayed there on the bathroom floor with you for a moment longer, his hand still resting on your knee as if he didn’t want to let go until he was sure you were really okay. Finally, he stood up and reached for a glass of water from the sink, handing it to you.

“Drink this”, he said softly, his voice more serious now.

You took the glass of water from Ben's hand, but before you could even bring it to your lips, the nausea hit you again—hard and sudden, like a tidal wave. Your stomach twisted painfully, and without warning, you lurched forward, barely managing to push the glass back into Ben's hand as you leaned over the toilet once more.

Ben was instantly by your side, his hands steadying you, rubbing small circles on your back as you heaved, the sickness overwhelming you.

"Hey, hey", Ben muttered softly, his voice full of concern as he crouched beside you again, his hand still resting on your back. "Take it easy. Just breathe. I've got you".

You tried to focus on his voice, letting it calm you as you struggled to catch your breath. The sickness slowly began to subside once more, but the exhaustion that followed left you feeling weak and shaky. You collapsed back against the cool tiles, your head resting against the wall as you closed your eyes.

Ben wiped a few stray strands of hair from your face, his expression still filled with concern as he knelt beside you. "This doesn't seem normal", he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You took a deep breath, trying to settle the queasiness in your stomach. "It's normal", you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just… hasn't happened in a while".

Ben didn’t look convinced, his jaw tightening as he stared at you, his hand still resting protectively on your shoulder. “I think we should call the doctor, just to be safe”.

You opened your eyes, giving him a reassuring smile. "It's just one of those pregnancy things. I’ll be fine, really".

Ben sighed but nodded reluctantly. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Alright, but if it happens again, we’re calling. No arguments”.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his kiss calm you a bit.

After what felt like an eternity of sitting on the cold bathroom floor, Ben helped you to your feet with gentle care, his hand never leaving your waist as he guided you back towards the bed. You leaned into him, your body still weak and shaky from the nausea, but his presence made everything feel a little bit easier.

Once you reached the bed, Ben carefully pulled the covers back and helped you lie down, tucking the blankets around you with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

"You should sleep a bit more", Ben murmured, his voice low and soothing as he brushed a hand through your hair. “Rest. You need it".

You smiled weakly, your body already sinking into the softness of the mattress. "Only if you stay with me", you whispered, your hand reaching out to touch his.

Ben chuckled softly, shaking his head as he pulled the covers up a bit higher around you. “I’m not going anywhere”, he said, his hand squeezing yours before he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes, already feeling the exhaustion tugging at you. The warmth of Ben's presence, combined with the familiar comfort of the bed, made it easy to relax. You could hear him moving around the room softly, getting ready to lie down beside you.

Within moments, Ben was there, sliding in next to you under the covers. His arm wrapped around you protectively, pulling you close so that your head rested on his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing soothed you, and with each breath, you felt yourself drifting further into a peaceful sleep.

A few hours later, you were both still nestled together in the quiet of the morning. Ben had dozed off as well.

That is, until a sudden, hard kick jolted you awake. It was strong—stronger than anything you’d felt before—and it startled you out of your sleep. You gasped, quietly crying out as your eyes flew open. Ben stirred beside you, immediately alert, as his arm, resting across your belly, felt the powerful movement too.

The force of the baby’s kick had actually lifted Ben’s arm slightly, and for a brief second, you both froze in the shared realization of what had just happened. Another kick followed, just as hard, and this time it made your belly visibly shift under Ben’s arm.

“Whoa”, Ben muttered, still half-asleep but wide-eyed now, his hand instinctively moving back to your belly to feel more of the movement. “That’s… that’s strong”.

You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as you tried to breathe through the slight discomfort from the powerful kicks. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it had definitely taken you by surprise. You glanced down, seeing Ben’s large hand resting protectively on your belly, his fingers splayed as if trying to calm the movements within.

His voice, still rough with sleep but filled with concern, broke the silence. “You okay?”, he asked softly, his eyes searching your face for any sign of distress.

You nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah”, you whispered. “Just wasn’t expecting it to be so strong”.

He was watching you closely, his brow furrowed slightly as though still on edge. “You sure?”, he pressed, his voice soft but full of concern. “That was… a lot”.

“I’m fine”, you assured him, your smile growing a little wider. “It’s just… he´s definitely not shy about making his presence known”.

Though you reassured him with your words and smile, Ben didn’t seem entirely convinced. His hand lingered on your belly, still tracing slow, soothing circles, but you could feel the tension in his touch. He wasn’t as relaxed as you were about it, and even though he hadn’t said anything else, you could tell the intensity of the baby’s kicks had him more worried than he was letting on.

He leaned back slightly, his brow still furrowed, his eyes darting from your face to your belly, as if expecting another strong movement any second. The protective side of him, always so present, was in full force now, and it was clear he was trying to process what had just happened.

Ben stayed quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing over your skin absentmindedly. His silence said more than words could; you could feel the undercurrent of concern rolling off him. He was thinking about something, probably a hundred different things at once.

Finally, you broke the silence, placing your hand gently over his, grounding him. “Ben, really, it’s okay. The doctor said this would happen as the baby gets bigger. It’s normal”.

Ben sighed heavily, his gaze dropping from your face to your belly once again. His thumb continued to stroke gently, but his brow remained furrowed, deep in thought. “It’s not just a normal baby”, he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s half me”.

You frowned slightly, trying to understand where he was coming from, though you could sense the weight of what he wasn’t saying. There was fear behind his eyes—fear that went beyond the usual worry of a first-time father. It wasn’t just about the strength of the baby’s kicks or the intensity of the pregnancy. Ben was afraid of something deeper, something only he would understand.

“What if…”. He paused, the words seeming to catch in his throat. “What if he’s too strong? What if he—”.

“Ben, listen to me”, you said softly but firmly, making sure he was focused on your words. “We’ve talked to the doctors, and they’ve reassured us. Everything’s fine. Our baby is fine”.

His eyes met yours, filled with that deep, protective instinct you’d grown to know so well. “But what if he hurts you?”, Ben’s voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear that he rarely let anyone see. “He’s got my blood. My strength. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. Because of him”.

You squeezed Ben’s hand a little tighter, your voice soft but steady as you met his worried gaze. “That’s why there’s the V medication, Ben”, you whispered, your tone gentle but firm. “If the baby starts getting too strong, if anything feels off, we’ll start the medication. We have options”.

Ben’s eyes searched yours, his jaw clenched in frustration and worry. You could tell he wasn’t fully convinced, that the thought of his child—his blood—possibly causing harm was something he was struggling to accept. But he didn’t say anything, letting your words sink in as you continued to speak, your voice calm and soothing.

“We’ve planned for this”, you reminded him. “We talked to the doctors, we have everything in place. If there’s any sign of trouble, we’ll do whatever we need to keep both me and the baby safe”.

Ben exhaled slowly, the tension in his body gradually loosening. He nodded, though you could still see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I just… I don’t want to put you at risk".

You leaned forward and pressed your lips gently against his, cutting off his words before he could continue. The kiss was soft but firm, a way of grounding him, of reminding him that you were here, that you were safe. For a moment, Ben hesitated, his body tense beneath your touch, but slowly, you felt him relax. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, his kiss deepening as he gave in to the moment.

When you finally pulled back, you kept your forehead pressed against his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “Stop thinking the worst. I’m here, and so is our baby. We’re okay, Ben”.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his grip on you tightening slightly as if he needed that reassurance, needed to feel your presence more than ever.

With that, Ben shifted, gently pulling you on top of him as he laid back against the pillows. His arms wrapped around you protectively, holding you close as if he could shield you from the world. But as he moved, the sudden shift made you feel slightly dizzy. You blinked, your head spinning for a moment, and Ben immediately noticed, his concern returning in an instant.

“You good?”, he asked as his hands steadied you, making sure you weren’t going to faint. He tilted his head to get a better look at your face, his brow furrowed with concern.

You smiled softly, placing a hand on his chest to steady yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded, probably from everything this morning”. You took a deep breath, willing the dizziness to pass. “I just need a second”.

Ben’s hand brushed gently over your back as he watched you closely. “You sure? You need to lie back down?”.

You shook your head, the dizziness slowly fading. “No, I’m okay now”, you assured him, leaning down to press another soft kiss to his lips. “Just need to take it slow”.

Just as you finished speaking, you felt another slight wobble, your body tipping ever so slightly to the side. Ben’s hands tightened around your waist instinctively, steadying you once more. His brow furrowed even deeper, concern etched in every line of his face. “You definitely need to eat something, baby”, he murmured.

He slowly shifted, helping you sit up against the pillows without making you feel rushed. You knew he was right; the nausea from earlier had thrown you off, and you hadn’t eaten since.

You let out a small sigh, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ve just been feeling off all morning”.

Ben sat up beside you, already making plans. “You stay right here”, he said, brushing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll go grab something quick for you. Something light, so it doesn’t upset your stomach again”.

You tried to protest. “Ben, I can—”.

But he cut you off, raising a brow. “No arguments”, he said firmly. “You’re not moving until you get some food in you. I’ll be right back”.

With that, he gently tucked the blankets around you and made his way out of the room.

As Ben left the room, you leaned back against the pillows, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself. The dizziness still lingered slightly, and you couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that had been hanging over you all morning. You pressed a hand to your forehead, taking slow, deep breaths to calm yourself, but nothing seemed to fully ease the discomfort.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, you heard Ben’s footsteps approaching again. When you opened your eyes, you saw him standing in the doorway, holding a small tray with some crackers, fruit, and your vitamins. His expression was tense, his brow furrowed as he watched you carefully.

“You alright?”, he asked softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table before sitting next to you on the bed. There was a protective edge to his voice, a mix of concern and frustration at the situation—at not being able to immediately fix whatever was making you feel so off.

You tried to smile, but it felt weak. “I don’t know. I just… feel weird. Off”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he nodded, clearly worried. He reached for the crackers, gently handing you one. “Start with this".

You took the cracker, nibbling at it slowly as Ben’s watchful eyes remained on you, monitoring every little movement. You could feel the weight of his concern, and it made you want to put him at ease, even though you didn’t feel like yourself.

After a few moments of silence, Ben sighed heavily. “I don’t like this”, he muttered, his voice quiet but filled with tension. “You shouldn’t be feeling this bad”.

You didn’t say anything in response to Ben’s words because, deep down, you couldn’t deny that you were feeling off—more than you’d care to admit. The nausea had been unsettling enough, but now, with the dizziness and the strange, persistent sense of unease, it was harder to brush off.

Taking another small bite of the cracker, you chewed slowly, trying to focus on anything but the way your body felt out of sync. Ben stayed quiet next to you, his hand resting on your thigh, offering silent support. The weight of his presence grounded you, but you knew he was on edge, waiting for you to feel better.

After a few bites and a sip of water, you swallowed hard and leaned back against the pillows, closing your eyes again. “I just need to give it a minute”, you mumbled, more to yourself than to Ben, though you knew he was listening intently.

He nodded, his hand moving up to gently stroke your arm. “Yeah, take your time. Don’t rush it”, he murmured, his voice softer now, though the tension hadn’t fully left him. He was trying to stay calm for you, but you could feel his worry radiating from him. His hand rested on your belly again, a familiar gesture that had become second nature to him, as if he could somehow protect both you and the baby with his touch.

Minutes passed, and you focused on breathing, willing the dizziness to subside. The fruit on the tray caught your eye, and you slowly reached for a piece, hoping that the light, fresh food might help settle your stomach. Ben watched you closely, his brow furrowed, and you could tell he was holding back the urge to ask again if you were okay.

After taking a few more bites, you managed a small smile in Ben’s direction. “I think… I’m starting to feel a little better”, you said, though the unease still lingered at the back of your mind.

Ben’s eyes softened, but he didn’t let up. “Good. But we’re not doing anything until you feel completely back to normal. And if this keeps up…”. He trailed off, his jaw tightening again, the unspoken suggestion of calling the doctor hanging between you.

You nodded, understanding that he was just looking out for you, even though you didn’t want to admit that something might be wrong. “I know. Let’s just see how I feel in a bit”, you said softly, leaning into his touch for comfort.

After a few more minutes of quietly sitting beside you, watching you fight off the lingering dizziness, Ben finally coaxed you to lay back down. It wasn’t long before you drifted off into another fitful sleep, your body clearly needing the rest. Ben stayed close the entire time, his protective instincts taking over. He didn’t leave your side, not even to grab a bite for himself. Every now and then, his hand would rest gently on your belly, feeling for any signs that the baby was okay, and his eyes never strayed far from your face, watching your chest rise and fall with each slow breath.

The hours ticked by slowly, the day passing into late noon as the sun hung lazily in the sky outside the window.

It wasn’t until the familiar pressure in your bladder stirred you awake that you finally opened your eyes again. You blinked groggily, the world around you slowly coming back into focus. The discomfort was undeniable, and you shifted slightly in bed, realizing you needed to get to the bathroom—quickly.

Ben noticed immediately that you were waking up. He leaned forward, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. "Hey, you’re up. How’re you feeling?".

You managed a small smile, though the pressure in your bladder made you wince slightly. "I’m okay, just… need to pee", you said, your voice still a little rough from sleep.

Ben immediately moved to help you sit up, his hands gentle but firm. "Easy there", he murmured, his arm around your waist as he guided you up carefully. "You want me to help you?".

You shook your head softly, though you appreciated the offer. "No, I can manage. Just need to get up".

Ben watched you closely as you stood, making sure you were steady on your feet. "Alright, but call me if you need anything", he said, not taking his eyes off you as you made your way toward the bathroom.

Once inside, you sighed in relief as you finally addressed the pressure in your bladder, though the lingering dizziness from earlier had subsided. You still felt a bit off, but nothing as bad as it had been that morning.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Ben was still standing near the bed, watching you closely. "You want to try eating something?".

You nodded, feeling like your body might finally be ready for some food. "Yeah, I think so", you said softly, making your way back to the bed. "I’m sorry I’ve been such a mess today".

Ben just rolled his eyes, before he reached for the tray of fruit and crackers, still waiting from earlier, and handed it to you. As you started nibbling on the food again, you could feel Ben’s gaze on you, his worry not fading completely but softening now that you were starting to look more like yourself again.

After a while, the food was gone, and though you felt better, there was still a slight hunger gnawing at you. You wiped your hands on a napkin and glanced over at Ben, who had been sitting close to you the entire time, watching you carefully.

You looked up at him, smiling softly. “So… what did you eat while I slept?”, you asked, your tone light but curious. “Any leftovers for me?”.

“Didn’t eat anything”, he muttered, shrugging a little. “I wasn’t about to leave you alone when you were feeling like that”.

You blinked, your heart giving a little tug at the thought of him staying by your side the whole time without even grabbing a bite for himself. “Ben…”, you started, feeling a bit guilty now that you knew he hadn’t eaten either.

He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. I’ll grab something later”.

You shook your head, determined. “No, we’re both eating. Now”, you said firmly, sitting up straighter. “I can still eat, and you definitely need to”.

Ben chuckled softly at your insistence, his eyes softening as he watched you sit up a bit straighter, clearly not taking no for an answer. “Alright, alright”, he muttered with a smirk, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. “I’ll order something”.

The next day, you felt a world of difference from how you had the previous morning. You woke up with an unusual amount of energy, and Ben could see the shift in your mood right away. There was a lightness in the air between the two of you as you strolled through the small, charming town, browsing the various little shops at your request.

Ben kept a protective but relaxed arm around you as you moved from store to store, enjoying the simple pleasures of the day. The town was quiet and picturesque, and the combination of fresh air and sunshine was doing wonders for your spirit. But more than that, something had changed in your appetite too.

You couldn't seem to get enough food. By now, it was barely 1 pm, and you’d already devoured a fruit salad, two buttery croissants, a smoothie, and an ice cream cone. Every time you passed another café or shop, your stomach growled with interest.

Ben raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden shift in cravings. “You’re really making up for yesterday, huh?”, he teased, watching as you eyed a bakery display with longing.

You laughed, shrugging playfully. “I can’t help it! The baby’s hungry, I guess”.

He smirked, shaking his head as you pulled him towards another café. “Baby’s hungry, huh? And you just happen to be along for the damn ride?”.

You grinned up at him, playfully nudging his side. “Hey, growing a supe takes a lot of energy. We need snacks, Ben. Lots of them”.

Ben chuckled, but his eyes softened as he watched you. He loved seeing you this way—happy, healthy, and full of life. “Alright”, he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Let’s get you whatever you want”.

You practically pulled Ben inside the next shop, your eyes lighting up as you immediately spotted a display of fresh pastries. The warm, sweet aroma hit you the moment you walked in, and you felt your stomach rumble in anticipation. Ben followed closely behind, his hand resting on your lower back as he watched you with a mixture of amusement and affection.

The shop was cozy and inviting, with shelves lined with freshly baked bread, delicate pastries, and all kinds of sweet treats. You didn’t hesitate, making a beeline for the counter and eyeing the selection with a gleam in your eye.

“Okay, I’m definitely getting one of those”, you said, pointing to a golden, flaky pastry filled with cream. “And maybe one of those chocolate croissants”.

Ben chuckled behind you, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “You’re really not holding back today”.

You turned to him with a playful grin, your eyes twinkling. “Nope! I told you, the baby wants snacks. And so do I”.

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face betrayed how much he was enjoying seeing you so happy and full of energy. “Alright, sweetheart. Whatever you and the baby need”.

The cashier came over, and you placed your order with enthusiasm. Ben stood beside you, watching as you happily picked out your pastries and a drink to go with them. You caught his smirk and nudged him gently. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this”, you teased.

Ben shook his head, laughing softly. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Yesterday, I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it through without another fucking scare”.

You smiled softly at his words, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m fine now, Ben. Promise. Just hungry”.

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah, I can see that”, he teased. “Good thing we’re on vacation, huh? Plenty of time to stuff you with food”.

As the cashier handed you your bag of pastries, you gave Ben a quick kiss on the cheek. “See? It’s not so bad. You get to enjoy all the food with me”.

Ben chuckled again, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I think you might out-eat me at this rate”.

You grinned as you took a bite of the first pastry, savoring the sweet, creamy filling.

Ben just laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the two of you strolled out of the shop, ready to take on the rest of the day—filled with more food, more laughter, and more memories.

It didn’t even take an hour before you stopped again, this time in front of a burger restaurant. The smell of grilled meat and fried onions wafted through the air, instantly drawing you in. Ben eyed you suspiciously, his brow furrowing in confusion. To his knowledge, you weren’t usually a huge burger fan, but today? It seemed like all bets were off.

You gave him a mischievous smile as you approached the door, pulling him along with you. “I know what you’re thinking”, you teased, casting a quick glance over your shoulder. “But don’t even say it”.

Ben followed you inside, his arms crossed and his brow still raised in mock skepticism. “You usually avoid burgers like the fucking plague”, he said with a playful groan. “But now you’re dragging me in here like you’ve been dreaming about it for weeks”.

You groaned softly, shaking your head as you sat down at the table, still feeling that lingering craving for all things savory and greasy. “Ugh, I know”, you mumbled, looking over the menu with wide eyes. “But today, everything smells so good, so intense. I can’t help it”.

Ben chuckled, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched you. “It’s like you’ve got super-smell now”, he teased, clearly amused by how out of character your appetite was today. “First pastries, then fruit, now burgers? What’s next?”.

Just as Ben said it, teasing you about your super-smell, both of you froze. There was a beat of silence, and then your eyes met his, widening slightly as the realization hit you at the same time. You could feel the air shift between you, an unspoken thought passing through both of your minds.

Ben sat up straighter, his playful expression shifting to something more serious.

You swallowed, your hand instinctively moving to rest on your belly. The baby. Could it be? You both knew that with Ben’s genetics, the baby might inherit some of his abilities, and now, with the heightened senses and cravings, it was hard not to wonder.

"Do you think…?", you started, trailing off as you struggled to put your thoughts into words.

Ben’s eyes narrowed slightly, the concern creeping back in. “I don’t know”, he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s possible, right? It’s in my blood. Maybe it’s starting to affect you”.

You took a deep breath, your mind racing. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now that Ben mentioned it, it made sense. “The doctors said something like this could happen, right?”, you said, your voice quiet but steady. “That some of your abilities might show through me during the pregnancy?”.

Ben nodded, though his expression remained tense. “Yeah, but I didn’t think it’d be this early”, he admitted, glancing down at your belly. “I thought we’d have more time before… you know, anything started happening”.

You bit your lip, unsure of what to make of it. It was strange, the idea of feeling something like this. “I mean, it’s not like I can suddenly lift cars or anything”, you joked softly, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s just stronger senses. That’s manageable”.

Ben didn’t laugh this time, though his expression softened slightly. “I know, but it’s still something we need to watch. You’ve gotta let me know if anything else feels… off, alright?”.

You nodded, trying to reassure him. “I will. But for now, I think it’s just me having some really intense cravings”.

Ben sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly trying to push away the concern. “Alright”, he muttered, “but we’re keeping an eye on it. And we’ll talk to the doctor”.

You gave him a small smile, your hand resting on top of his. “I know”.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the beach, you and Ben sat on a blanket with three takeaway pizza boxes spread out in front of you. The sound of the waves gently crashing against the shore provided a peaceful soundtrack to the moment, and the warm, salty air felt perfect against your skin. Both of you were dressed in beachwear, with Ben in his swim shorts and you in a bikini that showcased your now prominent belly.

Your hands cradled a slice of pizza as you leaned back against Ben, who sat comfortably behind you, his legs on either side of you, providing the perfect support. His arms were draped casually around your shoulders, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your skin. Despite the calm of the evening, there was a lightness to the moment, a shared contentment between you two as you enjoyed the simplicity of just being together.

“Three pizzas, huh? You sure the baby’s not half me and half pizza?”, Ben teased as he watched you eyeing the pizza boxes, your appetite still seemingly endless.

You laughed, leaning your head back against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “Hey, don’t judge. I’m eating for two, remember?”, you replied, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “And besides, it’s your kid in there—so, really, this craving for pizza is your fault”.

Ben chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through your back as he tightened his arms around you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the blame”, he said, his tone full of affection.

As you took another bite of pizza, your belly moved slightly, and you felt a soft kick against your side. You smiled, placing a hand on your belly and nudging Ben with your elbow. “Guess the baby approves of the pizza too”, you said, feeling another light flutter beneath your hand.

Ben's eyes lit up, his hand moving to rest on top of yours as he felt the gentle movement. His face softened as he leaned down to kiss your shoulder. “Of course he does”.

The two of you sat there, watching the sun dip lower, the sky turning shades of pink and orange. The evening was warm, peaceful, and filled with the quiet joy of these moments together—moments where the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, the baby, and the pizza.

“You know”, Ben said after a moment, his voice soft as he gazed out at the ocean, “I didn’t think I could feel this… normal. Sitting here with you, eating pizza..”.

“It is perfect”, you whispered, resting your head back against his chest, savoring every second of this quiet, beautiful evening together.

With a soft smile, you grabbed a slice of Ben’s pizza, holding it up toward. “Here, you deserve some more”, you teased, glancing up at him with playful eyes. “Can’t have you just sitting here and watching me eat all of it”.

Ben chuckled, his arms tightening around your waist as he reached for the slice, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “I’ll take it”, he said with a smirk before taking a big bite, chewing thoughtfully as his gaze drifted back to the ocean.

“Now you’re even feeding me?”.

You grinned, shrugging as you leaned further into his warmth. “Maybe I’m just practicing for when the baby gets here”, you replied, a bit of humor in your tone. “Gotta keep both my boys well-fed, right?”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, his signature smirk growing wider as he leaned in closer to you. “Oh, so now you’re thinking it’s a boy too, huh?”, he teased, his tone playful but with that familiar edge of cockiness. “I thought you were convinced we were having a girl”.

You laughed softly, nudging him with your elbow as you handed him the rest of the slice. “I’m still not sure”, you said, shaking your head. “But you’ve been so confident, it’s starting to rub off on me”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think. 🥰

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3 @fallout-girl219

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #the boys #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys soldier boy #his second exception #ben x you #ben x reader #ben

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hestzhyen · 23 hours ago

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Chapter 57 Cope Posting

Not like this, dear void... not like this. The blessing/curse of Kagurabachi chapters ending in 7 being absolute banger cliffhangers continues and there is not enough copium in the world to get me through to next week. This entry is an absolute mess...

Let's start with practicing on the editor's comments again. Sorry if the colours are hard to read on brighter backgrounds, I live in Dark Mode as much as possible.

First page: ハクリが飛宗の転送に成功! そして- [Hakuri ga Tobimune no tensou ni seikou! Soshite-, Hakuri successfully transfers Tobimune! And then-] Last page: 座村, 漆羽… 事態は混沌へ… [Samura, Uruha... jitai ha konton he..., Samura, Uruha... the situation turns chaotic...] noting that the word used for "situation", jitai (事態), specifically has negative connotations (as opposed to 状況 [joukyou], which is neutral).

These comments are rarely more than fluff just to give the editors some presence in the work itself, so I don't take them as definite indicators of anything going on in the plot. But man. Man. "Bad situation" seems to be putting it lightly. I was ready to take you off the list of possible traitors, Samura! I was seriously going to do it! Whyyyyyyyyyyy

Chihiro and the Pink Menace

Fine, first up... school?

How does our cast stack up to the average student after getting home schooled in murder and cool action poses?

It was obvious to everyone that this arc would involve Chihiro learning about the unpleasant sides of his dad's legacy. So this is just a "hey don't forget" moment for us that also highlights how far removed Hiruhiko and Chihiro are from regular society. Those two (and Hakuri) should be in their last year of high school, complaining about homework or stressing about their future college/job plans right now instead of fighting to the death. Poor guys.

I don't want to presume too much about Hokazono-sensei's views, but I really like directly acknowledging that winners write history and so their wartime cruelty is often downplayed or re-framed as heroism. These kids and even Chihiro only know the revised version of what happened, not the truth of the matter.

Home schooled Chihiro confirmed! Kinda!

Anyway, some more John Plan Reveal. He wants Chihiro to learn the truth about his father's legacy and the impact it's had- that's why he hasn't been "harvested" yet. This implies that there's some terrible thing that could upend Chihiro's entire worldview to be learned. But we kind of already knew that based on everything I just said.

I hope this isn't a flag for John trying to convince Chihiro to join him. There are awful secrets that are going to be unearthed about Kunishige and the Kamunabi this arc for sure, but it's kind of a waste of our time to do the "oooh it was worse than you thought why don't you join us to set things right" rigamarole.

Obviously the Hishaku have some compelling reasons to do all this if they can get someone as loath to kill as Samura on their side to murk his war buddies. It's just never gonna convince Chihiro so I hope we don't get a moralizing yapfest to accompany John's outstretched hand. I trust the writing though! So far it's been almost nothing but excellence so... chill, me. Just wait and see.

I think that no matter what happens Chihiro will continue to forge his own path with allies who care for him at his side. He won't choose the government's path, or the Hishaku's, or even his dad's- he'll create something new. Standard stuff for a shounen series but I never get tired of seeing it!

Before moving on to the coping session, there's something neat in this scene that I want to ramble about:

Local yapper yaps while the guy listening to him literally overthinks

I'll use the JP version if I have to, but I like how Chihiro's inner monologue deliberately overruns Hiruhiko's speech bubble to show that he's not paying full attention while his thoughts are in overdrive. He's still partially listening but he's not quite as composed as he appears to be on the outside, which is confirmed by the close-up zoom into his stressed look with the sweat drops. Yet when we zoom out, he seems a bit more put-together like usual. He's still exhausted from yesterday, man! Really should have rested up... at least the author acknowledges it. (Forced bed rest soon? Hopefully?)

This is how Hiruhiko was able to get the drop on Chihiro. Chihiro's got a lot on his mind and he has trouble focusing, just like Uruha chided him for on the train. His resolve is unshaken but he's still prone to wavering in the moment as he tries to process things. He even misses the fist time Samura's name was mentioned! Clearly Chihiro needs Hakuri or Uruha or someone there to yell encouragement at the right time to stop him from getting lost in his own head. But he's got a lot to think about and work through right now, so it's understandable why he's so stressed out.

Poor Chihiro. He's coming to the conclusions that we, the readers privileged with having weeks IRL to ponder new information, came to long ago. The Master is not treated like a hero but a prisoner, and probably for very, very good reasons. Ones good enough to convince Samura to make a deal with the devil.

What Actually Happened?!

Not all the blades have themes from nature, it seems. Geisha offered many different types of entertainment to guests, from performing music to conversation to serving sake. So now we have the idea behind the name [Swaying Sake]!

First up to delay just a little longer: Kumeyuri power reveal! Seems to be based in some kind of performing arts aesthetic with the geisha that were conjured. Fitting for the guy who wears kabuki eye make-up right? ...And for the next bearer, who interrupted a kabuki performance to pick it up in a theater... I see you and your foreshadowing, Hokazono-sensei.

Fine. I'll admit it. The ending of the chapter makes it crystal clear that Hiruhiko is the new bearer contracted to Kumeyuri by having his origami butterflies come undone as he grasps the hilt in his teeth. Can't even hope it's another case of someone "borrowing" power like Kyora did with the Shinuchi of the bunch.

Magatsumi's the only blade that can be used by someone not contracted to it, hence the extra protections it needed.

So that means... yeah. Uruha's gone. Just like that.

There will be thousands of theories about what exactly happened to Uruha, why Samura made a deal with John, what the details of that deal were- we'll get the truth soon. I'm most interested in the reasoning that ties into Samura's sincere beliefs of killing being an evil act.

The burden of death weighs so heavily on him that he blinded himself in penance. But he's willing to let his own apprentice die -probably even kill him himself!- because of... what? What was so horrible about fighting with the Master and Kunishige's weapons for the good of the nation? What compelled him to help the Hishaku kill the remaining bearers and upend the peace they earned?!

Hey, Samura. Is it really so bad to be called a war hero while being treated like a prisoner in a comfortable government-provided jail facility? Is it so horrible that "alternative facts" pass for real history to bury whatever horrors you witnessed and possibly perpetrated? Is it truly awful to have people willing to die for you despite all the grave sins you've committed? That they're likely completely unaware of thanks to government propaganda and being too young to have witnessed the truth?

...I need those Seitei War flashbacks pronto.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

Wait a minute. Jail? Even the friggin' onsen?

Yup! The Master's the only one being treated like a dangerous criminal outright, but the 慚箱 [sanso] are just dressed up prisons for the Bearers. The Kamunabi ain't even subtle about it.

慚 [san] - to feel shame 箱 [sou] - box

The government put these guys in specially-constructed (or repurposed) buildings officially referred to as "shame boxes" and told them they couldn't leave. Even the name given to one of them is a bit much! 国獄温泉 [Kokugoku Onsen] translates to:

国 [koku]- country/state/national government 獄 [goku]- jail/prison 温泉 [onsen] - hot spring

Gee, I wonder if Uruha was having a good time at State Prison Hot Springs?

That said, while there may well be some bitterness between the Bearers and the Kamunabi, it's not the main motivating factor for Samura. His is definitely rooted in how they all acted during the war and how guilty he feels now that they're promoted as heroes.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

It looks like Chihiro's being summoned by Hakuri in the very last panel so we might get some perspective on Samura's reasoning next week. Probably no clear answers right away, but at least enough to see if he really was the one who killed Uruha and a bit of insight into why. And to see if Uruha's dead at all... I mean, if we don't see a body... let me be delusional, okay?!

I'm just not able to go all-in on believing Uruha's dead. But it's not because I don't think he actually is... it just doesn't feel real after spending weeks preparing to let go of Samura. Not to mention the tried-and-true tactic of baiting out strong emotions with implied character deaths.

Normally I don't take death foreshadowing like this too seriously in shounen series. I just wait to see if the author is faking me out or not before getting stressed (unless it's Hakuri, in which case I stress responsibly). But Kagurabachi is a series that lured the MC with a child's severed leg and showed two suicide attempts on-screen, one of which was horrifically successful- right in front of someone who was already traumatized too. Hell we lost most of the anti-Kuregumo squad without much fanfare back in the Sojo arc! Only actually showing a child being tortured on-screen is too much, apparently. This series is dark as hell when the author wants it to be and Uruha's death is probably another one of those times.

There's hope in me that Uruha can still come out of this alive just because I like him so much, but I want the author to follow through on his death when it's presented as such an ominously real scenario. All signs point to Uruha being a goner, so don't make it look iron-clad then say "nah" the next chapter with some technicality that we couldn't have known about until the reveal. I would rather lose Uruha in an unexpectedly painful way than be faked out just to get the reaction out of me, y'know? Don't toy with me. Commit to crushing my heart, dammit.

But, God... oh man. I fell for the bait and got stupidly attached to a Bearer in the arc named after killing them. I even knew bad times were coming because of all the levity at the start of the arc but still went on hoping nothing would happen so soon. Laugh at me, I deserve it. I probably helped this manifest by mentioning how awful it would be if Chihiro found out a Bearer died because Hiruhiko was able to contract with one of the blades. Saying "I crave the angst that will come from this situation with every fiber of my being" in a post tag was overkill. It's just:

Author: names the arc after assassinating the bearers

Reader: gets attached anyway

Author: assassinates a bearer

Reader: ╚(•⌂•)╝

Coping Theory

May as well put my two cents in on how it could have gone down while I'm here...

I wonder if he planned to die in the raid instead so it looked like an unavoidable accident, sparing everyone else from the carnage.

This exact sequence- the Makizumi talking about honor in death for saving Samura, and Uruha's words that the Bearer's lives need to be valued above others'- is what solidifies Samura's resolve. This man is filled to the brim with guilt and self-loathing (much like another swordsman we know). He cannot save himself, but... perhaps he can take some equally bad sinners down with him for the greater good. He's not only a mirror for Hakuri, but Chihiro as well- one's resolve to save no matter the cost to one's self, and one's resolve to go to hell for what they believe is right. That's how I'm reading this until we get his own insight on the matter, at least.

It's not a stretch to infer that Samura thinks the Bearers are better off dead in large part due to the powers they command and things that were done during the war. That's still a huge mystery to be unraveled but I mean:

Seeing the bare minimum of Magatsumi in action really drives home how horrific these "heroes" could seem out on the battle field doesn't it? No wonder the clone sorcerer described the Seitei war as "hell on earth". But the public has no knowledge of this. They only got the sanitized version fit for PR purposes and feel-good stories.

The Hishaku seem to be intent on dismantling this image. Perhaps that's how they got Samura on their side? Not sure how the current Bearers dying and giving the Hishaku access to that dreadful power is better than the status quo, but that's something that will become clear with more reveals about the ideology driving the group. Maybe Samura doesn't care so much about the rest of the world and just wants to do what's best for the truth that's been buried under nearly two decade's worth of secrecy.

As to what happened with Uruha... two things come to mind. One I think is more likely, and one I want to cling to until it's ripped away as I sob and beg for just one little bit of comfort.

Most likely, I think Samura and Uruha had an exchange about ideals and the value of their lives. Samura overpowered Uruha per the plan as the "trump card" and that was that.

In delulu land, I want Samura to have been double-crossed. As in he made a deal on the condition that the lives of the people he cared about would be spared, but of course Uruha couldn't be allowed to live. So the Hishaku ensured that he'd die there no matter what. It's a bunk theory since Mr. Hatshaku left once the situation turned against him... maybe incorporate some of the datenseki mind control stuff in there somehow? I don't know. Just let me have this until canon proves otherwise.

Hakuri and Chihiro, Though?! And Miscellaneous Questions

(Ch. 46) I'm not going to be okay for a while and neither are they.

Best boys are really gonna go through it no matter what Chihiro is summoned back to. They'll be in a rough way... not only did they lose Uruha and hand Kumeyuri to Hiruhiko, but Samura betrayed them all... oof. So much for proving themselves to the Kamunabi. They're going to get an earful and be set back in the "negotiations" big time.

No doubt Chihiro will put this burden on his shoulders too, even if no one could have predicted Samura's defection to the enemy. It's his dad's legacy that's causing all this strife right now. He'll be more motivated than ever to unravel the war's true history and I'll be right there with him hoping he doesn't push himself too hard or harshly. The son shouldn't be responsible for the sins his father committed before he was even born. But that's just like, my opinion, man.

Meanwhile...

"I'm still good for it," wheezes the guy with blood gushing out of his nose at an alarming rate.

Hakuri will probably blame himself too. Depending on how things shake out, it could be for anything from accidentally arming a traitor to seeing someone die in front of him again. There's a good chance he'll (temporarily) lose the thing that makes him useful too, so that'll be an extra layer of angst for him to deal with. What value does a broken tool that couldn't fulfill it's one purpose have?

I also wonder what prompted Hakuri to summon Chihiro away from Hiruhiko. He's kind of in rough shape to do it just 'cause he misses his (boy)friend. They have cell phones to communicate with so it seems a bit abrupt to summon him back without checking first. Hakuri's also not the type to impose on someone to protect him. Nor is he the type to drop Chihiro into the middle of a life-or-death situation without a sense of mutual understanding first. So there had to be some kind of pressing need. The timeline of events means he's summoning Chihiro right after Uruha was killed, so... more soulmate stuff maybe? Their souls call out to each other and resonate when they're in distress, after all (it's canon baybeeeeee). They're in perfect harmony and all that. Sorry for the shipping nonsense I just need any bit of fluff I can get right now.

So many questions that might not get answered...

What about the Makizumi? Will they defect to serve Samura? Or will they try to help get Hakuri to safety with the Kamunabi? Samura doesn't want to kill them at all so no matter what happens they'll live at least. Hooray an elite squad that didn't bite the dust... (I think they will choose Samura because of everything he did for them).

How did Hiruhiko know when Kumeyuri was usable anyway?! Was it some signal from his mystery supporter that was lurking outside the window? And who was that- did Worst Jeanist show up?

Samura's loath to kill innocents, but does Hakuri count as one? Would losing his sorcery be enough to count him as neutralized for the Hishaku's purposes? Was exhausting Hakuri the main reason why Hiruhiko sent all the forces to the temple in the first place?

Hiruhiko wasn't surprised to see Tobimune disappear, so the Hishaku probably know about Hakuri's power. Their mole within the Kamunabi should get a bonus for the turnaround time on learning that bit of info and sending it on. Unless John's playing 5D chess and knew about Hakuri's awakening and team-up with Chihiro before they even met the Kamunabi anyway... perhaps even orchestrated it too... that would definitely need a very good explanation.

Alright. Okay. Let's wait on tenterhooks together, dear void. No waterworks until they show the body, got it?

[sob]

#kagurabachi #long post #More convinced than ever that the Seitei War was a civil war #Saving the Hakuri Development Arc prospects yap for another chapter or two to see exactly how all this plays out #But I think he'll be finding his own path between Samura Uruha and his family's just like Chihiro #Uruha... not like this...

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pardonmymannerssir · 2 days ago

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(I’ll just leave this here. No plot, mostly fluff, and I would argue spoiler free but exercise care.)

Rook x Lucanis

—————

Veraline stepped out onto the balcony, the humid breeze of Treviso cooling the lingering sweat on her skin. She could taste the sea and roses from the gardens below. The lights of villa Dellamorte and the city beyond were warm and comforting, the stars above a brilliant echo.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said, inhaling deeply.

Lucanis reclined on the balcony facing her, shirtless with his pants slung low on his hips. He hadn’t bothered to lace them and she tried valiantly not to stare. He had no such reservations.

“Hmm, a beautiful view certainly.” His eyes traced her body languidly and once they reached her eyes a hot blush splashed across her face and down her neck. Time had in no way made her immune to his charms.

Lucanis bit his lower lip and his brows drew down. “Mierda, when you blush like that… it spreads across your chest and I…” there was a flash of purple that receded quickly.

She reached out to place a hand on the smooth heat of his chest. Felt the heart beating there and wet her lips. “We are becoming rather… insatiable,” she teased.

He grinned and lifted her hand to press a hot kiss to the center of her palm. His beard was wonderfully rough against her skin and she raked her nails along his jaw. She wondered absently what he might look like without it.

When he released her his smile had turned almost foolish; free and full of what she could only describe as….love. No one had ever looked at her that way. She could only stand the weight of it for a moment before she turned her attention back to the city beyond him.

“I suspect not having the looming threat of gods and blighted dragons hanging over our heads might have something to do with it,” he said, sliding closer along the bannister to loop an arm around her waist. He pressed another kiss to the hollow of her shoulder, making her shiver.

She chuckled, not at all embarrassed at how breathless she sounded.

“Mmmm this night dress… where did you get it and why have I never seen it before?” His hand smoothed down her hip and over her backside, gripping firmly enough to make her breath catch.

“It’s new…” she managed as he traced his lips across her collar bone to linger at her leaping pulse. She tilted her head back in encouragement. “I bought it with a certain person in mind. I think he likes it.”

“The way it slides against your skin is quite… intriguing.” He illustrated this by using both hands to trace down the backs of her thighs to the backs of her knees and up again. Said knees nearly gave out.

It was becoming very hard to think clearly. How likely was it they were being observed out here? Considering where they were and who her… lover was probably pretty damn high.

Lucanis was now slowly hiking up the silk of her night gown -which had not been cheap- and the kisses along her jaw were becoming much more insistent. Hot and urgent with just a hint of teeth.

“D-didn’t you say you were hungry?” She asked as her body trembled and quivered like a tightly strung bow, ready to snap.

“Oh, I am,” he said in such a perfect growl that she couldn’t help but giggle, the sound high and honest enough that he drew back to smile up at her. She framed his face with her hands, some of the building tension between them tempering into something sweet and soft. He was so beautiful and kind and unexpected that tears pricked at her eyes.

He saw them, of course, and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “You are beautiful.”

Compliments. Ugh. “So are you,” she said lamely, it was true of course but as a deflection tactic it was rather pathetic.

He snorted. “First time I saw you, down in that hell, I thought I was hallucinating.”

She pressed her forehead to his as his arms enclosed her. “Because I was so suave and charming and talented?”

“Of course, and incredibly humble and accommodating.”

She grinned. “I believe I complained that you were awfully needy for a damsel in distress.”

He pulled back to look her in the eye. Expression playful and open. “And then you helped me kill half an army of Venatori and I was lost.”

“Taash says I do look very hot when I murder assholes.”

“They are very correct.”

“I just assumed they were referring to all the fireballs but, alas.”

He sighed in amused exaggeration. “You are also rather ridiculous.”

“I heard a rumor that it’s what you love most about me.”

“Well that and a few other things that come immediately to mind,” his gaze dipped pointedly down to the swell of her breasts.

“I presume you mean my unmatched wit and excellent taste in wine.”

“Of course,” he said with the smirk that always made her thighs clench.

She bent down and kissed him, lingering long enough for both their breathing to grow just a tad labored.

She pulled back as his hands began to wander. “How many Crows are watching us at this exact moment?”

“At least four,” he said with a touch of shame.

“Thought so,” she said and stepped back. “Come on, you promised me food and I think we’ve given our audience enough of a show.”

Lucanis gave her another winning smirk and drew her back toward the doors to his rooms beyond.

“Goodnight you two!” Called a mischievous voice from the shadows of the parapets beyond and Veraline waved a set of middle fingers joyfully into the night.

#rook x lucanis #dragon age veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #drabble #fanfic #plot what plot #fluff #established relationship

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juniper-sunny · 2 days ago

Text

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 5

You and Silco bond over your shared dreams for the Undercity. He's a man of many words, but he still has to prove himself a man of action...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst || SFW | WC: 3.6k

beta reader: @silcoitus <3!

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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You feel drained after you let go of Silco’s hand, as if all the strength leaves your body when the point of contact is broken. When you feel the urge to yawn again, you don’t suppress it. Silco doesn’t notice, already turned away from you to examine the photos again.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask him, belatedly realizing you haven’t offered him anything to drink yet. He shakes his head as you walk over to a cabinet to grab a cup. You shuffle some of the photos around to make room for it before setting it down on the table. “If you need water, there’s a pitcher in the refrigerator.”

“Thank you,” he says mechanically, too lost in thought to give you his full attention.

If this were any other guest, you’d be worried about being a proper host to them, but the late hour and the heist has worn you down. It makes you grateful that Silco has something to occupy himself with.

The walk over to your wardrobe is difficult, fatigue dragging you down like quicksand. You grab some pajamas at random and toss them onto your bed, not caring if they match.

You reach around your back to unzip your dress. The puller does its best to elude your grasp, as if it can sense your eagerness to go to bed. When you finally grab and try to pull it down, it only unzips a small way before getting stuck, refusing to go any further.

You take a deep breath and hold it, exhaling slowly through your mouth to keep from cursing out loud. “Hey, Silco?”

He doesn’t respond. You turn around to see him sitting on a stool, legs outstretched as he holds up a photo to his face, studying it intently. He strokes his chin in deep thought.

“Silco?” you say again, walking towards him with your arm still behind you, pulling uselessly at the zipper. “Could you help me out, please?”

He finally looks up when you stand next to him. “My apologies. Did you need something?”

“Can you get this zipper for me?” you ask. You tug at it. You feel another notch open before the puller stops again, as if to taunt you.

“Sure.”

You turn around to present your back to him, lowering your arm to your side. The stool scrapes against the ground as he swivels to face you. His first attempt with the zipper is as fruitless as your own.

Silco tsks in annoyance. “You would think that Topsiders of all people, with all of their wealth and resources, would know how to engineer a fully functional zipper.”

“Yeah,” you say absentmindedly. The dress moves up and down against your skin as Silco yanks repeatedly, using more strength with each try. Gradually, you feel the zipper yield more and more, and then—

ZZZZIP!! Goosebumps ripple from your shoulders all the way down to the small of your back at the sudden exposure to the cool air.

“Woah!” You step forwards in alarm, spinning around to prevent Silco from seeing even more of your body as the dress slips down your shoulders.

“I’m sorry!” Silco throws an arm in front of his eyes, blocking his view. “I swear it was an accident, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, too tired to be embarrassed. “Just keep your eyes closed.”

“I didn’t see anything,” he says apologetically, squashing his face deep into the crook of his elbow. “The zipper was being stubborn and I was trying not to break it—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “Are your eyes closed?”

He nods furiously. You take the opportunity to step out of your dress entirely. When you turn it over in your hands, you see that the fabric is still intact. However, the puller is about to fall off, a small piece of it broken away from your and Silco’s combined efforts. It detaches entirely when you try to pull the zipper up.

Hopefully you’ll remember to repair it later when you put the dress away. It’s a small price to pay to finally be able to undress after a long night. You hang it up and put the puller in a wardrobe drawer before taking off your underwear, burying them deep in a hamper.

“If there’s anything I can do to earn your forgiveness, just say the word,” he says worriedly, his arm still over his eyes. “I can never be sorry enough—”

“It’s not a big deal, don’t beat yourself up about it.” You grab your pajamas again and head for the bathroom, pulling the door almost fully closed. Through the crack in the door, you call out to him, “Do you need anything before I shower?”

“Would you like me to leave? I understand if—”

“I forgive you, Silco,” you say with a chuckle. “Just don’t touch my dress again.”

“I can assure you, it will never happen again,” he promises earnestly.

When you shut the door, you fight the urge to laugh out loud. His boyish embarrassment is a different side of him that you haven’t seen before. It’s refreshing to see when compared to his usual noble and dignified bearing of a revolutionary, his unyielding conviction so bright that it beams out of him like sunrays.

You let out a relieved sigh when you turn on the shower, setting the temperature to a comforting warmth. The water soothes you as you stand with your eyes closed, the heat warming through your skin into your bones.

Your thoughts drift back to Silco’s earlier request as you begin washing yourself. How serious was he about wanting your help on “future ventures”? Are the Children of Zaun in such dire need of people that they’ll recruit anyone and everyone?

In another life, you could see yourself joining their ranks, maybe even fighting alongside Silco. After all, you love the Undercity just as much as he does. Despite your lack of battle prowess, you could make yourself useful to them in other ways.

But yours and Silco’s reactions to tonight’s events were so different. He wasn’t afraid of getting caught, even when the councilor almost walked in on him during the burglary. Meanwhile, your own nerves were so fried past the point of anxiety, it’s a wonder you were able to make it through the rest of the night at all.

And now, even after the mission is over, he’s still up and about, ready for a full debrief while you just want to collapse into bed.

It goes without saying, you prefer your current job anyways. It’s much less hazardous and you don’t have to get into fights with Enforcers. Probably the most dangerous thing you’ve encountered in your line of work was a poorly trained pet Poro; its owners were a wealthy Topside couple who wanted you to paint a portrait of it. It wouldn’t sit still during your painting sessions, expressing its deep distrust of strangers with angry headbutts and hostile growls. You spent more of your time trying to befriend it instead of painting it, and you were handsomely rewarded when you finally completed its portrait. The couple also tipped you generously every time it bit you, which was a nice perk you hadn’t asked for.

You don’t have to risk arrest, bodily injury, or death whenever you sit down with a client. And you certainly don’t feel the same sense of accomplishment after a mission that Silco does.

The rebel life isn’t for you.

As you shut off the water and begin toweling yourself dry, you speculate if you’re being presumptuous. Silco had only asked for your assistance; he hadn’t asked you to join the Children. There’s no need to overextend yourself.

But it makes you wonder: would Silco still seek out your company if he doesn’t need your help anymore? You’ve been useful to him so far, but there’s no telling if you can still be valuable to him in the future. That thought makes you a little sad, but that’s quickly overturned by confusion. Why should you be sad if Silco doesn’t want to see you again? You’re not even friends. Even before tonight, he was practically a stranger to you.

In fact, you’re not sure why you’re so worked up about Silco and the other Children potentially dying during their next heist. Of course, you hate the idea of anyone—especially your fellow Zaunites—getting hurt, but people die in the Undercity every day. Sometimes it’s not even at the hands of Enforcers, but just plain bad luck.

But then you remember Silco’s easy confidence and his bright smiles. His genuine passion for the Undercity that burns hotter in him than in anyone else you’ve ever met. He doesn’t just hope that Zaun will become free and independent—he knows it, as if it’s an inevitable future that no one else can see but him. It’s easy to picture him leading a charge against Piltover, or in a suit and tie at the Council’s table, ordering the other politicians around with an iron fist.

For your whole life, you’ve wanted the same things as him.

But some instinct tells you that the spark—the one that could bring about real change—is in Silco.

He has his own methods of working towards that dream, and you have yours. But someday, you want to see the same future that he does, with your own eyes.

After finishing up the rest of your bedtime routine, you grab a new toothbrush and exit the bathroom. You find Silco lying on the ground next to your bed, using his backpack as a makeshift pillow. The photos are stacked neatly on the kitchen table and the cup is in the sink.

You crouch down next to him and tap his shoulder with the toothbrush. “Here. Go brush your teeth.”

He looks at the toothbrush, then back up at you. “You’ve already given me too much tonight—”

“It’s fine. Go brush your teeth. You didn’t use mine already, did you?” you ask jokingly.

“I would never,” he says, aghast. “Are you sure?”

You nod. He smiles again and takes the toothbrush from you. “Thank you so much.”

Both of you stand up at the same time. He heads towards the bathroom while you walk over to the washer, pulling Silco’s clothes out to stuff them in the dryer. Then, you head to your closet, pulling out a sleeping bag and a pillow. You set these down on the floor next to the bed just as Silco comes out again.

“You’ve shown me a tremendous amount of generosity tonight,” he says gratefully. “I hope you’ll allow me to repay you in the future.”

“Mmm,” you hum at him, too sleepy for words. You shuffle towards the light switch.

Before you can flick them off, Silco unzips the sleeping bag.

“Get in the bed, Silco,” you say firmly.

“I won’t take your bed from you,” he protests. “The ground is more than good enough for me.”

“Get in the damn bed, Silco. And go to sleep,” you say as firmly as you can, considering that you’re ready to flop onto the floor yourself.

He looks at you in silence for a moment, then climbs into your bed and tucks himself in.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“Don’t mention it,” you grunt.

You turn off the lights. The blankets rustle as he settles in, and you flop onto the sleeping bag, not bothering to slide into it.

Silco calls out your name into the dark. “Good night.”

“Good night, Silco,” you mumble.

All too soon, the beeping of your alarm clock announces the start of a new day, its loud ringing jerking you into wakefulness. You hastily scramble up off the floor and smack it off.

In yesterday’s craziness, it’s understandable that you forgot to silence it. Luckily, Silco is still slumbering peacefully when you look over at him, the blanket rising and falling slowly with his deep breaths.

You get ready for the day as quietly as possible before making breakfast. Even though you move as carefully and as slowly as possible, every tiny movement seems to reverberate and echo throughout your small apartment. Soon enough, Silco yawns loudly behind you, stretching his long arms when you turn around to greet him.

“Good morning,” you say with a smile, your patience fully restored after a full night’s rest. “Hope you’re hungry.”

He rolls over to face you. He looks so comfortable and vulnerable with tousled hair and heavy-lidded eyes, you feel a little bad for disturbing his sleep. Something about his smile today makes your heart skip a beat, a nervous flare tickling the edges of your nerves.

“Good morning,” he says drowsily. “Did you make breakfast?”

“Yeah, it’s almost ready.”

“You didn’t have to,” he says, astonished. “I’ve abused your hospitality for far too long already.”

“Well, you’re not going anywhere,” you say, pointing out your window. The skies are still steel-gray and wet, rain drumming harshly on the glass. “Do you want to keep sleeping?”

He shakes his head, sitting up slowly and stretching again. “It would be a poor repayment of your kindness to let the food grow cold. May I use your restroom?”

“Sure,” you say as you grab plates and utensils. “Your clothes should be ready now, they’re in the dryer.”

Silco grabs his clothes before heading to the bathroom. He returns wearing his outfit from last night, dumping the borrowed garments in your washer. He helps you set the table and pour tea.

You plate a full spread for both your guest and yourself: bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, and fresh fruit.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I made a little bit of everything,” you say. “I hope you like it.”

“This looks delicious, thank you,” he says enthusiastically, pulling a stool out for you. He takes a seat and starts on the meat, cutting up the sausage. “Would you mind me asking what you were doing at the councilor’s last night?”

“Salo wanted a status update on the mural,” you say, after swallowing a mouthful of fruit.

“Was that the full extent of his intentions?” Silco asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure,” you shrug. “What else could he want?”

He pushes his eggs around with his fork, as if he might find the right words to say on his plate.

In a diplomatic tone, he says, “You were dressed quite… well. And you were upstairs.”

“So?”

“His sleeping quarters are upstairs.”

You look up from your meal, skeptical.

“Perhaps you weren’t wrong about Salo wanting a Zaunite mistress,” he wonders aloud.

“No way,” you snort. “As if a gentleman of his caliber would ever deign to consort with the fissure folk.”

“You were invited to dinner at his home, were you not?” he smirks.

“I’m just his employee, that’s all,” you say.

“You’d be surprised at how many men have an appetite for that,” he says.

“Salo’s not just any Piltie, he’s one of the ‘elites.’ A Zaunite would never be good enough for him,” you say matter-of-factly, rolling your eyes.

“I must admit I don’t know many from the Undercity who work in such close proximity to the Council,” he says, piercing a piece of sausage with his fork. “You’re the only one I know, actually,” he adds thoughtfully.

“We’re all just… dirty little animals, in their eyes,” you say bitterly. “And they’ll throw us a bone every now and then if we’re ‘one of the good ones’ that ‘earned’ it.”

You spoon more food into your mouth to cut yourself off from rambling. It doesn’t seem fair to complain about your clientele; they pay and treat you well enough, and there are plenty of other poor and unemployed Zaunites who would kill to have a job like yours.

But surprisingly, Silco nods his head in agreement. “It’s about esteem and opportunity. Everything they’ve denied us.”

He puts his fork down and stares out your window. His profile is handsome, and his proud manner is accentuated when he lifts his chin high, as if to address an imaginary crowd.

“We’ll earn their respect once we show them we have the power,” he says quietly. ”A united underground will be an entity they cannot ignore, a force they must reckon with… the Nation of Zaun.”

“Wow… ‘the Nation of Zaun’…” you say in awe. “I like the sound of that.”

It’s a commonly held sentiment in the Undercity, but you’ve never heard that phrase before. You almost regret expressing your admiration, though, when Silco turns to you, no doubt ready to spring into another monologue about Zaun.

“I’ve spoken enough about the Undercity, haven’t I,” he says, frowning. “I hope I haven’t been a tedious houseguest.”

“No, you’re fine. It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone in your line of work,” you reassure him, surprised by his thoughtfulness. “It’s good to know that there are still people out there fighting the good fight.”

“We’ll fight for as long as it takes,” he says grimly. His jaw shifts as he bites his tongue, as if he’s physically forcing himself to change the subject. “Will you be painting the mural today?”

“Probably not; it’s going to rain again tomorrow,” you say. You smile at him, glad for the change in topic. There’s only so many ways you can tell Silco you agree with him without repeating yourself verbatim.

He proves himself to be a good conversationalist, asking you about yourself and showing genuine interest in your answers. Considering the rocky start to your relationship, you have a decent amount in common with Silco: you were both born and raised in the Fissures, survivors of lean and tumultuous childhoods that every Sumpsnipe endures. Your initial guess at his age was right; he’s only a few months older than you.

The similarities end there. He only has vague memories of living with his parents before they left him in an orphanage among the Sumps; he was told it was an act of compassion, as they had passed away shortly afterwards, succumbing to the Zaun gray like so many others. On the other hand, you’ve never known any family besides the staff at the orphanage you lived in. Your own career as a painter pulled you up and out of Zaun, while Silco worked as a miner for many years. He and his companions managed to carve out the Lanes, founding the Children of Zaun when they rallied enough like-minded people to pose a significant fighting force.

Slowly, slowly, the rain passes during your meal. Just as you’re both finishing up, the sun peeks through silvery clouds. Silco insists on helping you with the dishes but you shoo him away. He relegates himself to double-checking that all the photos you took are in his backpack.

“Wait up,” you call out to him as he puts on his boots. You walk over to your supplies and pull out the tube of blueprints for the scissor lift. It feels like a lifetime ago that he asked to borrow them in that alleyway, even if it’s only been a few weeks. “Do you still need these?”

He looks surprised, then nods. “You are truly a fountain of generosity.”

When he kneels and opens his backpack again, you hesitate.

“You… you better give these back when you’re done with them,” you say slowly. You hold the blueprints close to your chest, reluctant to hand them over. Some illogical voice in your head tells you that he won’t go to the heist if he doesn’t have the schematics, and that withholding them will somehow guarantee his safety.

“I will,” he says with conviction. His eyes are bright and full of promise. “I hope it’s alright to hold onto them for a while. We have much work to do first.” He extends a hand out to you.

“You’ll come find me after the raid, right?” you ask. You try to swallow your fear, clenching a fist tight around the tube to keep from trembling.

“Of course,” he says gently. “But I would be remiss not to warn you. If the worst should come to pass—”

“But it won’t, right?” you cut him off. “You promised.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Silco smiles softly at you, eyes crinkling with warmth.

You stare at him. He has that certainty on his face, his unwavering belief that can’t be shaken despite your own fears.

Just as much as he believes in the Undercity, he believes in himself, too.

Finally, you step forward, placing the container in his hand. His smile widens as he takes it, placing it carefully in his backpack.

You open the door for him as he slings his backpack over his shoulders. When he stands up again, you step back to give him room to leave.

But he walks up to you first, placing a hand on your shoulder. You freeze as you look up at him, your skin flushing underneath his touch.

“I am in your debt,” he says solemnly, clear turquoise eyes gazing into you. “I will do all that I can to repay it.”

“It’s fine, Silco,” you say in a low voice. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

He walks backwards away from you, waving goodbye energetically. You wave back at him, lowering your hand only when he turns the corner and disappears.

You stand in the doorway, turning to look in the direction of Piltover. You can’t see the city from here, but you squint past the many buildings and the bridge towards the Councilor’s tower.

Maybe granting independence to the Undercity is too much to ask of Topside, but if Silco comes back to you safe and unharmed, that’ll be good enough for now.

The rest can come another day.

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#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco x Reader #Silco #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH

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