#my youngest brother and I have about the same age gap as them

[falcapsupremacy]

Y'all ever think about the fact Travis spent like twice as long grieving his baby brother than actually knowing him. Yeah me neither.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

older brother touya au, endeavor is still an asshole, shouto interacts w his siblings lol, bby shouto, hyper active kinda rough reader (you tackle shouto), shouto and touya have an unspecified age gap but i was thinkin like 10 years (so touya is 17 and shou is 7), just a liiiil bit angsty but mostly fluffy, lemme know if i missed sum else !

touya knows his little brother shouto is kinda weird.

he rarely ever sees him happy, or with any sort of emotion on his face for that matter. he has little habits that he hates not being able to follow and he's incredibly nit picky about them. he doesn't outwardly emote but that doesn't mean he couldn't be bratty when he wanted to be, cus he is but that's also about super specific weird stuff like what he wants to have for dinner (which always ends up being cold soba anyways).

he's also not much of a talker. he's a little shy, but he also just doesn't like talking. it's impossible to miss the huge red scar around his eye, he doesn't like to play outside and roughhouse like touya did when he was his age and he still doesn't have any friends at school. shouto never seemed to be bothered by it, though touya assumes that his peers might find him weird too.

except they better not, because touya's the only one who can call his brother weird. and deep down, he worries a little for him.

until he comes back home from school, his sweater is tucked out and there's a dirt stain on it. his hair is messy and his backpack is haphazardly closed, his little notebooks propped inside and his pencil case threatening to fall out.

natsuo, the one charged to pick him up that day, sheepishly scratches at his neck "he won't tell me what happened to him." he explains as touya practically charges towards shouto, he doesn't look hurt, so his older brother roughly turns him around to check his bag.

" but i told you what happened, natsu-nii."

"you don't have to lie, shouto--"

"what happened to you ?" touya cuts in, looking inside his brothers bag to check if nothing was missing, it looks intact from what he can tell.

"i played with my friend." shouto says simply, like that explains why he looked like he'd just walked through a hurricane. touya already knows he's gonna get an earful about this from his father. he inwardly groans.

"you sure your friend didn't just mug you ?" he flips his brother around and shouto's little arms flail as he does, unbothered by his brother's rough treatment. he tilts his head, touya sighs.

"bully you, i mean."

shouto's eyes widen, then he hurriedly shakes his head, denying him ever getting bullied and simply claiming he was playing. touya shares a look with natsuo, who looks just as unconvinced as him at his brothers words.

"who's this friend of yours, shou ?"

"yn."

"yn ?" both brothers say at the same time. shouto nods and touya catches a small little glint in his eyes as he looks back at him "she's really nice."

"this doesn't seem nice. you look like you got robbed." touya furrows his brows, sneering at his brothers dirty shirt. he starts dragging the youngest toward the bathroom. hopefully he'd be fully clean before their father got home and he wouldn't have to get in trouble. for god knows what reason. enji todoroki would probably find a way to place the blame on him, something about how he should've been the one to pick him up or gotten there earlier he guesses.

"yn likes to play games where you move around a lot." is what he offers as explanation. touya hums absentmindedly as he ushers his brother into the bathroom, deciding on how he should deal with his youngest brother's first ever bully. because of the age gap he doubts the kid is any smaller than his brother is, so he thinks he'll probably just try to scare off whoever this yn is.

"how 'bout i pick you up from school tomorrow and i can meet yn. that sound good ?" and shouto excitedly nods at the idea, gushing about how funny and nice you are and that you share your snacks with him. it's weird how fondly he talks about his bully, but touya knows his brother's always been a little weird, he probably has no idea what's happening to him. the thought makes him frown just a bit harder.

the next day after school, touya is already at the gates before they've even opened ready to scare the pants off of his brothers harasser. he sees shouto walking out of the gates with a few other kids, alone. the little boy perks up once he sees him and sends him a high wave, which touya returns with one of his own lazier one's.

"where's your friend ?" he tries his best not the spit the word too venomously, shouto doesn't seem to notice.

"yn is coming. her bag isn't closing well, so she told me to go ahead without her." he explains, reaching for his brother's hand absentmindedly.

touya is about to respond when he hears yelling. yelling that gets closer and closer to them until he notices too late that a little person is rushing towards his brother. before he can pull him out of the way the person has jumped onto shouto and knocked the both of them onto the ground. and touya watches flabbergasted as his younger brother does not look surprised at all, like shit like this just happened every tuesday. his mouth falls open when the little girl that had charged into his brother excitedly starts hopping slightly on top of him.

"shouto !"

"hi, yn."

touya is going to fucking lose his mind.

you get closer to shouto's face still sitting on him, touya assumes to make sure he could hear you even thought he doubts he couldn't before. " i thought ya left without me, i couldn't see you !"

shouto shakes his head, still on the floor "i said i would wait for you." he says seriously. and you practically beam, nudging your cheek to his and rubbing it against his affectionately. shouto doesn't seem fazed by it, but he definitely doesn't seem angry.

you don't seem like a bully, at least.

you finally realise you're not alone, looking up at touya strangely "who're you ?" you ask bluntly. shouto responds before he could. "touya- nii's my older brother, he's the one i wanted to show you."

you don't seem like a bully, especially not when you immediately turn to shouto the moment he opens his mouth, holding onto every word you hear. your eyes widen looking between touya and him, "that's your brother ?!" shouto nods proudly. you finally get off of him allowing shouto to get up too.

"coool !" you exclaim, but then you quickly turn towards shouto " but you're cooler, shouto !" shouto's eyes widen, before he almost bashfully looks away, claiming that his touya-nii is was way cooler than him. touya has never seen his brother this expressive before. it might not be much for others, and if he were anybody else he'd think so too. but even the fact his brows raise when you speak and he actually engages in conversation with you, as short as he keeps it, is surprising.

but from that small interaction, he can assume that you're not a bully. and he understands why his brother looked like he got jumped yesterday.

you're so much more different then him though, it's weird. you're hyper and giggly and chatty. you jump around and you can't seem to pull yourself away from shouto, who really doesn't seem unhappy although you're a bit rough about it. it’s like you’re glued to him.

shouto who barely even talks to his family talks to easily with you, even though you start the conversation all the time. shouto who only ever eats cold soba gleams at your promise to bring more snacks to share with him, like you apparently do every day. and shouto who touya barely ever sees emote, smiles when you tell him something funny. he can't tell wether his little brother smiles because he actually finds what you said funny or because you do. but whatever it is, it's making him happy.

touya is so shocked simply staring at his brother interact with another human being that he fails to use the little 'leave my brother alone if you know what's good for you.' speech he'd practiced the night before and suddenly you have to go. waving at him and shouto (not before hugging him with all your might first), who sadly waves back as he watches you leave. though he cheers up just a bit when with a last wave you tell him that you'll see him tomorrow.

touya, despite not having said a word feels incredibly tired, so he starts pulling his brother along home with him.

"so..that was your friend."

shouto nods "yn." he says.

"yn." touya parrots, eyes drifting from his brother to the road ahead of him. "she's kinda weird, huh ?"

at that, shouto's eyebrows furrow hard and he furiously shakes his head, tugging at his brother’s hand "no. she's nice." he corrects adamantly. touya stares at his brother, before looking away again "right.." he sighs "well, she seems to like you a lot."

his little brother nods again, a faint smile forms on his face "cus the people in class are mean to her. cus she's new and they say she's weird, but i don't think she is." he rambles, he actually rambles, touya blinks. he doesn't think he's ever been more surprised than he's been today. "yeah ?" is all he utters.

"yeah. people think i'm weird too, but yn says she thinks i'm cool." touya's eyes soften at his brothers words. he raises his arm up so his little brother is slightly lifted in the air. "course you're cool, you're my little brother." smiling softly to himself when shouto giggles.

touya knows that his little brother is weird, but he doesn't have to be worried anymore. cus it seems you like him, that you think he's cool and that you're weird too, in your own way. shouto keeps coming back home with dirty clothes and messy hair after that, but with happy and satisfied eyes and little candies he shares with his siblings that he made them promise to keep a secret. and he thinks his little brother will be fine, as weird as he is.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Alles zu seiner Zeit

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, mentions of death and loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Fifteen years after a plague struck Wisborg, the widower Harding continues to visit his wife and daughter at the cemetery where you work. His devotion spans across seasons but it might be more than those he lost drawing him back.

Characters: Friedrich Harding

Note: this is a new character for me so...

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Winter 

Bristles scrape on stone. Each push of the broom tugs in your arms, the layers against the chill inspiring a slake of sweat along your back. The trickle makes you itch as your efforts scratch across the ground, sending clouds of snow into heaps. 

Where once greenery blossomed and flowers smiled at sunlight remain only bristly sticks and frozen dirt 'neath the rug of January's malaise. The sombre grey skies form a thin curtain against the shadow of memories. The spectre of plague and whispers of a curse carry in the winds and swirl the flakes around your skirts. 

You were young the winter the sickness came. You'd known eight up until that blight and your brothers knew no other. They were of the forsaken, left in pine boxes to be buried when the frozen ground could be cracked with a spade. Your mother joined them soon after, though of a different malady; despair. 

Your father suffered the same disease but to a very different effect. At the bottom of a bottle. He lingers there in the depths of distraught distraction.  

You sweep the path clear to the doors of the mausoleum, then perpendicular around the perimeter. When the walkways are done, you will put your mind to the stones. And by the time those are revealed, a new sheet will litter the ground and your work will begin anew. 

Emmett, the youngest of the diggers, sits in wool and a leather cap, drinking hot barley from a cup. He shivers as you pass, mindful not to push the snow his way. He doffs the cup amiably. 

"How's it, fraulein?" He greets. 

"You would know so well as I, herr," you reply, moving the bristles anon. Your mittened hands cling tightly as the cold nips through to your knuckles. You keep your chin tucked into your scarf, 

"Frigid, ja," he cradles the cup and curls into its warmth. Adelaine, daughter of the sexton, must have offered the kindness. She does make certain to know all the diggers' names. "Would you do all this by your own?" He peers around the rolling expanse marked by headstones and monuments. 

"Someone must mind the spirits," you carry on without hamper.  

"For a pretty thaler or so, I'd pray," he remarks and clucks. 

You will not tell the truth. It is a thaler for the whole of a fortnight of sweeping and clearing the cobwebs; of breaking the frost from the keyholes and dusting away the musty leaves and stirred pebbles. 

"I pray you keep warm, herr. The almanac calls for a long winter." You bid as you progress away from him. 

"And you, Fraulein. Mind the ice," he girds. 

You keep careful steps as you press on. Emmett rises with his cup of barley and retreats to the shed with the shovels. A mean gale blows around you, nearly taking you off your feet. 

You steady yourself as you plant the broom and chatter against the deathly gust. There's a shrill whine from behind you. You turn as Adelaine clings to her fur-trimmed hood and hides behind a statue of the Holy Mother. 

"Fraulein," she trills in her creaky tones. "Have you seen Herr Emmett?" 

"Mm," you hum in hesitation. Her father, Wilhelm, warned you against encouraging her comingling. He is a pious man, minding the sacred grounds and all. "I'm not certain where he's strayed, Fraulein Adelaine." 

"Mercy," she huddles down against another violent draught. "The bishops says it's not been so cold since... well, he would not speak of it." 

She makes the sign of the cross and bows her head, clutching her hand where her golden necklace is hidden beneath her dress and cloak. Many would not wear holy icons so gregarious in their clothing. Simple wood or iron is more in line with the protestant pragmatism.  

The gate bell tolls and she cranes to see beyond you. Snow blows across her cheeks as the wind billows in her hood. Your own lets the bitter chill right through its weave.  

"There he is," she exclaims before your mind might follow her previous allusion. That corrupt wintertide. 

You turn to peer across the ivory swathes. Henrick and Emmett approach the gate and open it to the visitor. A figure on a horse rides through impatiently, nearly catching Henrick beneath the hooves. The gentleman wears simple black though the richness of its cut can be seen even from your purview. The breed of his coldblood steed attests to his fortune.  

Adelaine gasps and steps out close to you. You have seen the man before. As often you've seen the drape of his cloak, you would only know him by the emblem pinned upon the horse's harness.  

"It is the widower, Harding." She whispers.  

The man draws his horse around the stone crypt marked with his name. The one barren of any other decoration; no flowers in Fruhling, no ornament upon the door, nor even a cross carved into the lintel. You note the plainness each time you tend its grounds. 

He drops off his horse heavily. His boots send up a cloud and you grip the broom tighter. How quickly it's piled up all over again. Flecks fall along the folds of his cloak as he marches to the doors. You can hear the twist of the key as he lets himself within. The door slams sonorously and casts a pall over the grounds. 

"My father says he was young when his wife and daughters succumbed to the ague," Adelaine says. 

"Do not speak of it," you chide. "It is ill tidings to call upon the dead who wish to remain undisturbed." 

She tuts, "he comes every day. He disturbs them oft enough." 

"They are his to disturb," you sniff. "I should be certain it does not snow him in." 

She would not know what it is to have those beyond your grasp. To spend the nocturne longing for them to be there again. To hear them sing a lullaby or tuck you into sleep.

"Have you ever been inside? Even a glimpse? Father does not have a key." She grabs your sleeve before you can depart. "What do you presume he does within? I've heard him talking..." 

"It isn't of my concern," you tug away from her. "Nor yours." 

"Hmph, mind your lip," she sneers. "Or I'll have father find another broom sweep. Perhaps one more droll, ja?" 

"Apologies, fraulein, I only mean to do my work," you say. "The snow comes more and more. Perhaps you should go within, be warm." 

"Perhaps I might and perhaps I mightn't," she retorts and rubs together her gloved hands. "Very well, go about and do you work, little dormouse." 

You part before her temper can rise. Adelaine can be as prickly as she is pleasant. One moment a giggle, the next a growl. 

You retrace your steps along the path, uncovering the stone with the bristles as you do. You glance over at the yellow crypt as the wind wails as a wraith might. None are permitted within but the widower. It is a rule never broken. Never questioned. All know of the heartbroken Harding and his sorrow, even beyond those gates. Even as he hides within the walls of the house he once made a home of. 

Fruhling (Spring) 

As the annual thaw softens the earth, the frozen ground churns to mud, and the air bristles with the damp threat of rain. The early sprigs of green poke up from the flattened grasses and the cracks between the stonework fill with wet sludge. Your bristles clump with mud and you trade the broom for shovel to scrape it all away. 

Adelaine’s song carries with those of the songbirds, returned from their winter nests. She sits upon a bench and chimes as Emmett and Matthias dig into a new plot nearby. Her ploy is not subtle. 

Even as the season marks rebirth, death is to be expected. The hole is meant for the wife of a cobbler who did not survive her child. The infant, as you heard, is well. A reverence carries on the whispers as the old wives and grandmothers praise her noble sacrifice. It is as close as a woman might come to the bravery of man, though there isn’t much choice in the matter. 

Your mind wanders as the tedium of your work inspires preoccupation. Adelaine will be a wife one day. Will she end up in the ground upon her own sacrifice? Or will she sing then to her child instead of the diggers? 

What of yourself? You are no lady, your father is not rich but a drunkard feeding his demise off your tuppence. Should you have a husband when he succumbs to the rye’s dark tides? It would be practical. You father has no son, his house cannot pass to a daughter. 

With your days spent in the cemetery, you know that inevitability is closer than you should like. Your father should’ve died the night he was kicked in the skull by that old mule he slapped while in his cups. It is a miracle he lived to laugh so bawdily about the farce. 

You sigh and carry on, as you do many things in life. You will need to think on it more thoroughly before Winter comes again. It is a godsend your father did not catch the same ague as poor Frau Elke. You spent wakeless nights listening to his snores, searching for a cough or a choke. 

The day wears on and the burial happens in a bout of sunshine which beams down sardonically on the party’s grief. When the forsaken mother is buried, never to kiss the face of her child, they depart. Emmett and Matthias pat firm the earth as Sexton Wilhelm whistles for you. 

His daughter has been sent away. She cannot stomach the funerals. Ironic given her lot in life. Her family is not from Wisborn, they did not witness the plague, only heard of it. Her mother is well and alive, she never had any sibling, and her father is in fine enough health for a man his age. 

“These flowers are for the woman’s plot,” he gestures to a crate of marigolds. 

“Yes, Herr,” you reply diligently.  

“I will have one of the diggers assist,” he assures and struts off. 

You turn to face the plot. You heard the woman was younger than even you. A new bride. Not even twenty. You trace the cross over your chest and shoulders then pick up a basket of the marigolds 

Matthias comes with two hand spades. You take one and begin your work. You transplant the rooted flowers into the ground carefully. He grumbles as he kills more than he preserves. His hands are not delicate but calloused and well-worn. 

“Herr, I will finish,” you say. “You’ve done plenty today.” 

“Are you certain? There are still very many.” He glances over at the crate. 

“Too many. I will find them homes,” you promise. 

The gate bell rings as if supporting your suggestion. Matthias rises and dusts of his hands. Emmett and Henrick run down to open the doors to the visitor. Black velvet flaps over short bristles of reddish-brown. The widower canters in as the thick hooves clop over the stone. 

You pack down the earth around another stem. Harding dismounts as the diggers keep their distance. The lock grinds and the door drags on its hinges. It closes with a clunk as your shovel bites into the earth again and again. 

When you have lined the plot with the pleasant orange blooms, there is still a basket left. You peer around the fruhling blossom. Your eyes are drawn to the most bland swath among the sprawl. The yellow crypt and its vacant brick walls. Not even the ivy grows upon it. 

You are not so presumptuous as to disturb the soil. You cut the stems and bound them together with a headless one. Little bundles all snug together. You place them along the front of the crypt. They will die and blow away but it is a small blessing for the lost. 

You set above wiping clean the foot of the statue of the splattered mud. As you do, the crypt opens again. The cloak almost seems to float as its wearer remains hidden in its folds. He stops only two steps from the threshold. 

You scrape off dried muck with your fingernail as the clouds shift above. The sudden frantic scuffing and stomping draws your attention. Harding crushes the petals into the ground, decapitating the stems, twisting them into strands with his heels. His hood shifts you think for a moment he is looking at you. 

He kicks away what is left of the bouquets and approaches his dulcet steed. The beast is still as its rider mounts. It trods around the crypt then up the path to the gates. You frown and watch the widower’s departure. You did not mean to offend. You hope that Herr Wilhelm does not hear of this error. 

Sommer (Summer) 

Pollen floats in the air, tickling nostril and throat, mingling with the aromas of June. In the early morning dim, a cool breeze stirs the hem of your skirts and wafts around your clogs. You walk with a stick in hand, using it to traverse the cobbled roadway, chipped by the passing of carriage and hoof. 

Your trek to the cemetery is peaceful in the sommer. In the winter, it can grow quite eerie with the whistling winds like wailing wretches and the spindly branches like skeletons. In the summer, the trees are lush and rustling, waving like companions, and the grass ripples like water beneath the gentle flow. 

That morning, you hum to yourself as you peer ahead at the distant cemetery wall. There are houses along the old street but most still sleep in the dawn’s hue. You must be early to the graveyard so that you may ready the plots and paths. 

As you plod along, the posts of the cemetery gate come clearer over the rooftops. Your low melody is punctured by a sudden tempo. Slow and plodding. You move aside as you sense the nearing horse. The merchants rise as early as you; eager to deliver or claim their cargo at the dock. 

They do not hurry. They do not change measure. You traipse along and await their passing. As the shadow of the great steed nears, you do not count the creak of a wheel or axle. It is only a rider. 

Yet, they do not continue past you. The hooves keep a patient pace in tune with yours. You’ve never heard or seen a horse go so slow. Any beast you ever saw would tremble to be at full tilt amid the meadows. 

You peer over your shoulder curiously and follows the white fur around the wide hoof up the brown leg to the reddish sheen further up, the strands of a well-brushed main draping around the coldblood’s thick neck. Black velvet pleats around its rider but does not catch the wind. The fabric is too heavy for riding and for the season. 

The emblem on the horse’s chest gleams in your eye. It is him, the widower, in his mourning ebon. His hood shrouds his face as ever and he is silent as his horse walks beside you, as if an escort. 

You wait but he does not canter nor trot. He keeps the gait. You look ahead again then back to him. You wouldn’t want to be uncouth. 

“Guten morgen, Herr Harding.” 

As you’ve never heard him speak, you’re not certain you’ve ever heard any speak to him. Not the bold Adelaine or the stern Sexton Wilhelm. He only ever brought dire silence with him to the crypt. And then, as always, he remains quiet. 

You gulp and once more put your attention ahead of you. You are nearly at the gates, though you would not enter through the mainway. There is a smaller door round the east corner.

The gentleman and his horse bear down on you, their shadow rippling in the rising sunlight. Sweat trickles down your spine as a chill speckles across your skin. You feel as if he watches you but dare not look upon him in turn. You don’t believe you would see anything beneath his hood. You do wonder if the widower might indeed be a phantom himself. 

He steers to the gates and you pass them and head for the door behind the English oak. You pull the cord to lift the lever and glance over at Herr Harding. The widower’s hood shifts in your direction. You cannot see his eyes but you feel them. Like worms crawling over a corpse. You press inside and quickly swing the iron door shut. 

The gate bell pierces the early din of tweeting birds and skittering critters. Dandelion dust powders the air and bristles in your nose. You go to the shed to fetch your broom as the gates open at the widower’s behest. 

When you come out, he is gone. His horse is by the crypt and the doors are closed. You are deliberate in your work. Since that day with the marigolds, you’ve not gone near the yellow brick while Harding was as visitation. You always wait and say a silent prayer for his family as you clear the debris. 

There is much to do in the aged cemetery. There is no shortage of dead, forgotten or new. The stones must be cleaned or repaired. Wilhelm takes care to apply mortar to new cracks are to fix an eroded etching, so long as a thaler is offered for the effort.  

You brush the broom back and forth, pausing to watch a bee pollinate a flowerbed or a caterpillar make his slow progress over the stone. There is so much life here despite the purpose of the land. Where others come only to see death, you see what is still there. 

The sun ascends higher and higher. You leave your shawl in the shed and take a can to water the blooms. You marvel at how some petals seem to open and drink in the moisture. In the sommer, there is splendour. In sommer, you can hardly believe that winter could ever be. 

As you come around the path, the horse stands by the crypt, chewing the patchy grass. You pass by its swaying tail as you return the can to the shed. While there, you steal a handful of feed meant for the horses that draw the wagons of the lost. 

You cautiously near the large beast. It has been some hours since your arrival and it is a hot day. You open your palm, curving back your fingers to avoid the flat gnashing teeth. The horse smears spit on your hand as he eats the oats. 

The crypt door whines on the thick hinges and you wince and back away. You tuck yourself into an alcove as the door shuts heavily. You press into the brick as your heart races and you spot the littered trail of feed that leads to you. 

As Herr Harding comes around to mount his horse, he spies it too. He pauses as he bows beneath his hood, the edges of lifting slightly as he follows the seed and oat to you. You stare at him haplessly. You don’t know what to do or say. 

He turns and grabs the reins. He hauls himself onto the hours and clicks his teeth, driving his heels into its belly. The horse snorts and obeys, its hooves dusting along the stone toward the main gates. 

Herbst (Autumn) 

Summer wilts with the crisp bite of Herbst. One last breath of life before the grey winter. The leaves mellow to rustic tones of umber and gold, the pine cones litter the dirt, and the wet grass shine from the kiss of the morning fog. You sweep aside the wet leaves with your broom, skirts sodden along the hem. 

As you follow your usual progress across the grounds, the gate bell chimes. The echo rolls through the air and earth. The steady chafe of bristles guides you through the musty mist. It is a beautiful season but wet. 

You pause to brush leaves that have caught on plinths or statues, to wipe away the twigs across the stones embedded in the flats, and to tidy the plots of the leafy carpet. You can only count the blessing that it is not snow. 

Adelaine’s laughter flutters up to you. Her father helps her into a carriage. She has been entertaining a suitor as of late. She always spoke of a summer wedding but it seems a winter one may be on the horizon. She is off to see the bishop and her betrothed.  

Emmett and Matthias open the gates with little heed to their employer and his daughter. They must feel spurned after so long of her fawning over them. It is unfair of her to give them such false longings.  They shut the gates and stomp off back to their digging.

There was a family that perished in a fire. They will each need a hole among their designated plot. It is sombre and back-breaking work. You do not envy the diggers for more than their wage. Were you a man, you could take a shovel and make at least a thaler more than you do now. 

You shiver again. You’ve not been warm for days. You’ve not the money for fuel so the hearth remains dormant in favour of your father’s habit. The drink keeps him warm and you are left to wool and the friction of your palms. Thank the lord you have walls at the least. 

The voices of the men fade as they climb to the new plot and you come down the low incline toward the main row of the cemetery; the large mausoleum for the fallen soldiers and the next for the vaunted nobles.

As you near the yellow crypt, you are met with a most unlikely sight. The doors are open. You search around the desolate grounds.

The coldblood is not there awaiting his rider. The gate bell rang but you did not see the black hood enter. How can that be? Perhaps he did leave it unlocked the day prior. 

Looters are not uncommon. Henrick chases them off in the mornings as they sleep in an alcove or on a bench. Though, unless they have a chisel, they do not claim much. 

You rest your broom against the yellow brick. You stand before the open doors. Both are drawn wide. You look up at the arch as shadows plume within. As you stare inside, you swear you can see the darkness furling and unfurling. 

You make yourself move. Step by step you approach the doors. You grab the large iron ring on the left one and pull. It is much too heavy. Or you are much too weak. You grunt and try again, shifting it a few inches. 

A scratching noise stills your efforts. You squint as you try see through the thick gloom. 

“Allo?” You call through, “is someone within?” 

You wait for an answer. There is nothing, but then, a skittering noise. A rat, perhaps. 

A swirls of leaves blows around you and skid over the stone floor within. You look over your shoulder, hoping someone might pass and help you shut the place up. There is only you. 

You take your broom and enter cautiously. You hold your breath as you gather the leaves and push them back out. You might shove a door shut from within then use the broom to somehow leverage the other. 

You bat the last of the clutter out and turn to peer out at the red sky. Your feet leave the stone and your cry is smothered by a gloved palm. You kick out in fright as the broom clatters from your grasp.

You claw behind you blindly as you are spun to face the crypts black belly. You jolt back with your captor as he pushes the door closed with his weight, then the other. You writhe and flail, grabbing at the arm hooked around your waist.

He pants but does not speak. He carries you forward as your soles bounce off the floor. 

Your stomach meets something hard. A stone ledge engraved in tiers. You brace it as you’re crushed against it. Your arms shake as you try to shove yourself away, try to free yourself of this treacherous adversary. 

You whimper and wiggle your head helplessly, unable to free your mouth from behind his hand. You know by his strength, by his size that it is a man indeed. He shushes you and squeezes your jaw.

You quiver and splay your fingers on the stone shape before you. It is a sarcophagus. You shudder as your throat tightens. 

He presses flush to you. His warmth seeps through the damp layers of wool wrapped around you as his nose brushes up the brim of your ear. He exhales and his breath wraps around your neck. He sucks in air and nuzzles along your hair. He’s smelling you. 

He buries his nose in you locks and purrs. The deep gristle makes you quake. He continues to smell you, to feel you as his hand spreads on your stomach and grazes up your bodice. You tap your foot around in a frantic search for his, driving your heel down upon his toe. 

He grunts and brings his hand up to tap your cheek. He hums derisively. That noise alone freezes your blood. There’s something so base about it. 

He slips his hand down again and the other follows. He keeps you penned in with his arms and removes his gloves, letting them fall to the floor. His fingertips dance up your bodice and back down. He kneads and pokes and caresses. He fondles you until you’re a trembling mess. 

“Herr, please--” 

He nips your ear and snarls. You close your eyes but it cannot save you from this. You are only deeper into the darkness. He drags his nose down to your neck and nuzzles into you there. His hand curls around your hip, squeezing before climb up your back and down again. 

He draws his face from your neck and his hands descend further. He tugs and yanks at your skirts, bundling them up in his grasp. He pulls them up to your waist and leans into you until your middle is right against the stone, your body bent with his. 

He hooks his arm under the layers of your skirt as his other hand wanders beneath. His nails skim your skin, goosebumps rising with his touch, and traces down to thighs. He pokes beneath them meanly and forces his foot between yours. He kicks your boots wide and you whine again.  

“Herr, please--” 

“Ta ta,” he warns in a hiss. 

He pushes his hand between your legs, cupping it over your cunt. He inhales again as he takes in the scent of your scalp, his nose once more delving into your hair. He slips his middle finger between your lips and rubs you. Gently at first, then firmer, quaking as he pinpoints on your clit, rolling it beneath his fingertip. 

Your legs tingle and tremble. You dip your head down and he growls. He spreads the slickness that rises with his uninvited touch. Your lips form around a silent prayer as you beg the lord for forgiveness.  

He pushes his finger into you, his hand against your cunt as he rocks in and out. He does not heed your babbling pleas or the shattering of your body and soul. He takes what he covets without repentance. 

He continues to pet you, coaxing you until you are heavy, writhing in a maddened state. You do not welcome him and yet it is pleasureful. It is joy like you’ve never known. And it bursts within you like damn, coursing free as a river as it slakes down your thighs. 

You wail between your teeth as you bite down on your shame. Father, Mary, forgive me. I do not want this. I swear it. 

He groans and exhales into you. He pulls his hand back and leaves you hollow and squirming. He reaches between your bodies and fusses with his own clothing. You squeak and try to crawl over the sarcophagus. He keeps you trapped as he clutches the rumpled fabric of your skirt. 

He once more scoops his hand around your pelvis and along your cunt. He spreads you and guides his cock along your bottom. You whimper and reach to stop him. He ignores you as he delves down along your cunt. He stops at your entrance and wets himself with your sinful excess. 

He snakes his hand up to your hip and pushes you onto him. Just his swollen tip. You gasp and gulp as you twitch around him.

He lets go of your skirts and they fall down over the front of your legs, the back caught between your bodies. He tilts and slowly impales you.

His hand crawls up your bodice and he pushes beneath the taught fabric. He squeezes your breast, two fingers framing your nipple as he snarls and burrows into you with subtle and slow thrusts. 

You tense and tremour as he gets deeper, crying out as he breaks past the last thread of innocence. He huffs and bows his head down. His lips brush over the meat of your shoulder close to your neck and he bites into it. You sob again and he bucks his hips. 

He puts you on your toes as he repeats the motion. He pulls back then snaps against your rear. Each time he bites harder, he gropes you tighter. He pumps into you, faster, more furious, more frantic. 

His voice trickles out between his eager rutting. He teethes at you as he pinches your nipple. He bends you over the sarcophagus as his breath billows all around you.  

He pounds into you so that the stone cuts into your hips and stomach. You snivel as your tears soak your cheeks and your head thrums. You grip the lid beneath you and hide your face against your arm. 

He spasms and buckles, his legs seeming to give out, though he keeps his hips moving. He fucks you until he cannot any longer. Until he is weak and panting into your nape.  

He sniffs and reaches to cover your hand on the stone. He slips his palm away and feels the sarcophagus. He slowly eases out of you and leaves you to hang off the lid.

He chokes into the blackness, “forgive me, Anna.” 

Your legs give out and you sink onto the floor. You hang your head as you barely keep yourself from heaping into a puddle. Herr Harding weeps over his wife as you do the same for yourself. 

[trippinsorrows]

give me a reason + one

authors note: welp. here i am, once again. granted, i'm a bit excited about this one, as it's a unique storyline, at least not as cliched as maybe 'ltye' or 'with me'. trope is essentially age gap x best friends brother x second chance romance x something else that'll be revealed by the end of this chapter and my own creative flairs.

the age gap between mariella and joe is four years, and nothing romantic happened between them until she was in her twenties. just putting that out there now. ari don't do that grooming shit.

their story will be told in a mixture of flashbacks and present day. how they ended up where they are now will eventually be revealed, but until then, it's expected that ya'll are confused.

words: 9k

song inspo: just give me a reason by p!nk and nate ruess

warnings: angst and fluff

if i tag anyone and you don't want to be tagged, please let me know!

taglist: @annfg8 @whatdoeseverybodywant @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @prettybitxhnica @shayaaaaaaa

Summer, 2003

“Ladies, next week officially starts the beginning of the rest of our lives. No longer will we be lowly 8th graders. No, we will be official high schoolers! Next week is a new beginning, a new era, a new decade of wonderful, fabulous, life changing—”

“Baby girl, do you want a hot dog or a burger?”

Mariella releases the loudest, most exaggerated sigh known to mankind that is possible for a 14-year-old. She turns from where she was pacing across the stones that line around her family’s pool. Sure enough, her 6’3 father stands before her with his spatula in hand, wearing his apron gifted to him for Father’s Day a couple years back. He’s using his free hand to shield his face from the blaring sun. 

“Daddy! I was in the middle of a monologue!”

Byron Holmes looks as disinterested as the tone of his voice. “Ella, you always talking. How am I supposed to know the difference?”

This time, it’s a dramatic gasp that's evoked instead of the previous one born from irritation. “I resent you saying that, father!”

“I’m sure you do, now do you want a hot dog or burger?”

Mariella might quite possibly be the most dramatic person to walk the earth, but the promise of one of her dad’s famous grilled burgers is too good to turn down. She can turn her strong feelings at being interrupted into a song at a later date and time.

Defeated, unable to overpower the desire for good food, she murmurs, “burger, please.”

“Thank you.” Byron Sr. shakes his head. Getting an answer from the prisoners is easier than getting one from his youngest sometimes. He then sets his gaze on her audience. “What about you girls?”

Promise Rose is the first to answer, that usual nervous smile on her face as she adjusts her thick rimmed glasses. “A hot dog, please, Mr. Holmes.”

Byron nods, committing her request to memory. He then turns to the other, already knowing what he’s in for. “Iris?”

Her hazel eyes that are obscured by the heavy set of eyeliner land on him with icy indifference. “I refuse to participate in the travesty and continued slaughter of the innocent just for the selfish pleasure and satisfaction of the greedy carnivorous species that occupies this stolen land.”

Byron releases a heavy sigh. It’s always something with this one. “Is that a yes or no, Iris?”

Iris lifts her chin, answering just as coldly, “I’ll just take the bread.”

Relieved and eager to be away from the only fourteen-year-old who could unnerve him, even with his twenty plus years as a prison warden, he walks away, mumbling to himself, “I swear something is wrong with that child….”

Returned to the previous topic at hand, Mariella plops down on the pool chaise across from her two best friends since third grade. “Now where were we before I was so rudely interrupted?”

“The inevitable extinction of mankind.”

“Surviving high school.”

Mariella rolls her eyes. It can so difficult sometimes to get her two polar opposite besties on the same page.

“We just have to make sure we do everything perfect.”

Promise Rose chews nervously on the corner of her lip and criss crosses her legs over each other. She looks between the two of them, anxiety growing by the second. “Ella is right. With BJ and Joe graduating this year, we’ve gotta make sure we elevate our social status or else we’re dead meat.”

Confused, Mariella asks, “what do you mean?” She then adds, “our social status is fine.”

Promise Rose looks over at an uninterested Iris. “Help here?”

“I refuse to subscribe to the patriarchy of social hierarchies.”

“Oh geez.” She should have known better. Iris refuses to get hip with anything if it’s not sticking a finger to the man. “Ella, it’s only because of your brother and Joe that we haven’t been bullied out of school. We are literally only semi-popular because of association. Without the guys, we’re nerds.”

Mariella would have preferred an actual dirty, jagged edge dagger be shoved into her chest. “We are not nerds!”

“Ella, you’re weird. I’m scared of everything. And Iris contemplates murder every hour on the hour.”

Iris shrugs, pushing her Kaleidoscope colored hair over her tanned shoulder. “Only on exceptionally bad days.”

“I rest my case.”

Mariella isn’t beyond consideration of alternative perspectives. She takes Promise Rose words to heart, trying her best to see it objectively.

She’s also not above admitting that having her brother and Joe look out for her over the years has only been beneficial. Even with them being out of middle school for almost four years now, their popularity has existed since damn near elementary school. Them and her twins sisters, Everly and Olivia, really. But especially Byron and Joe, mostly because of their standing as football players, two of the best on every team they’ve been on. Because of that, there’s not a soul in town who doesn’t know her as BJ’s little sister and Joe’s adopted little sister.

She’s always seen that as protecting her from guys messing with her but never associated it with social status.

And just as she’s undergoing a life changing realization, the creak of the side gate snatches her attention, revealing the two people who can clear all this up for her.

“BJ!”

Mariella untangles her legs from off the pool chair and jogs over to her brother and Joe.

“Damn, not even home for five minutes, and you already sweating me.”

Glaring, she shoves on his chest, muttering, “you’re such a dick sometimes.”

“Aye, watch your math. You too young to be cussing.”

She ignores him. With his 18th birthday right around the corner, Byron Jr., BJ as everyone calls him, has been on some weird power, superiority trip. 

Mariella redirects her focus to Joe, accepting his side hug. “Whassup, Ri.”

Mariella has a variety of nicknames. Her parents bounce back and forth between Mariella and Ella, mostly everyone else calls her Ella, but with Joe, she’s just Ri.

It’s kind of an unspoken rule that only he can call her that.

Joseph Anoa’i. 

Mariella can’t think of a time Joe wasn’t in her life. Not only does he and his equally large family live just a few doors down, he’s played football with BJ since they were six-years-old, before she was old enough to know what football even was. An almost quiet, level headed balance to her sometimes hot headed biological brother, Joe is Mariella’s big brother from another mother. Hes has always looked out for her just as much as BJ, if not more. 

He’s essentially been informally adopted by her family as BJ’s brother for life. 

“Hey, Joe.” Separating from him, she turns back toward the two of them. “Okay, I have a question, and it’s imperative you provide me with the raw, honest truth.”

Joe seems at least somewhat interested, but BJ is the one to make the smart comment. “Make it quick. I’m hungry. Practice was brutal.”

A brief brow lift from Joe is confirmation BJ isn’t exaggerating, so in a moment of rarity, Mariella bypasses all of the theatrics and skips right to the point. “Am I a nerd?”

Mariella expects contemplation, some level of astonishment that she could even fix her mouth to ask such a thing. Instead, she’s met with her brother shrugging with a simple, “of course, you are.”

Mouth ajar, hand to her chest, she asks, “what?”

“Come on, Ella, you know you’re kinda weird. Be talking to yourself and stuff.”

“It’s a sign of genius, thank you very much.”

“It’s a sign of weirdness.” She crosses her arms over her chest as a sign of unspoken protest. “If you wasn’t my little sister, I’d probably bully your nerdy ass.”

Completely done with the young man she once considered brother, Mariella looks over at Joe to see he’s on his phone. Probably texting his latest girlfriend of the week. Latisha, or something like that. He seems to cycle through girls faster than BJ. “Joe?”

He lifts his gaze from his phone, and Mariella readies to remind him of the initial question when he answers. “You’re just you, Ri. That’s all that matters.”

She’s not sure why she expected more. Joe can be of so few words at times. She just wishes this wasn’t one of those times. 

“While I do not agree with the expressed opinions, I appreciate the candor.” Chin lifted, she bids them farewell. “I will leave you be now.” Mariella can briefly overhear Joe saying something about Latisha, but it’s pushed away, outweighed by this new shocking piece of information.

In walking back over to her best friends and future members of her team when she’s a world famous singer, Mariella is unsurprised to find Promise Rose sitting on the edge of her seat while Iris simply glares at nothing and no one. 

Promise Rose is the first to speak, asking with all of the anxiety she carries on a daily basis. “Well?”

Mariella would love to lie to them, but these are her best friends. She could never do such a thing, even if the truth sucks more than the rumors of a pending B2K breakup. “You’re right.” Shoulders slumped, she groans loudly and throws herself back on the pool chair. “We’re dead meat.”

—-------

Present

You, you love it how I move you 

You love it how I touch you 

My one, when all is said and done 

You'll believe God is a woman

Watching her perform has always been an experience, a treat, a vision in some ways. The way she moves across the stage, so demanding, so in the moment, the eye contact and engagement with the crowd creating such an all-encompassing experience. 

On the stage, performing, is her element. It’s always been where she shines the most, and tonight is no different.

She’s up for a couple Grammys, already snagging two, as expected. He knows the ones she’s really anxious about are the coveted Album and Record of the Year. It’s something she’s always dreamed of achieving, and while there have been whispers that she’s a shoe in, Joe has known Mariella long enough to know that’s not enough.

It’ll only mean something to her when they’re in her hands.

And he’s confident they will be. She’s had yet another stellar, groundbreaking year, her album somehow doing better than her last. No one’s seeing numbers and sales like her. Her pen game is unmatched, not to mention her album is almost entirely written and produced by her, something unheard of these days.

She truly is an icon in the making. 

And the way she ends her performance with a standing ovation from some of music’s best is just more proof of how much she’s killing it.

Joe watches her walk backstage after nervously basking in such a response from people she’s looked up to her whole life.

She doesn’t return to her seat next to him, as expected. The final two categories are about to be announced, and he realizes it would be easier for her to remain backstage when her name is called. 

And the minute it is, he finds himself nodding with a small smile. He knew she could do it, knew that there was no way she could release such accomplished work and not leave with acknowledgment of such.

There’s an almost awkward but appropriate pause as the attendees stand and applaud, Mari suddenly rushing out from the back while holding her dress up. For a brief second, he thinks she’s gonna fall flat on her face. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She's a talented dancer, but the textbook definition of a klutz.

Always has been. 

But, she doesn’t. Thank God. He knows that’s something she would never let herself live down.

Seconds later, she’s at the mic, panicking, “oh my god!” Her breathing is uneven, and he can bet it’s because she was in the back wearing a hole in the floor with her nervous pacing. “I’m sorry, I was in the back having a panic attack.” That might not be entirely untrue. “And also, my dress is not dressing for some reason, so I’m just gonna awkwardly hold this up to avoid flashing anyone and getting sued by the FCC.” He shakes his head. Even with all the fame, she’s remained the same. “Okay, but seriously, this is insane? Ummm, thank you! I don’t— have no idea what to say. God is so good. My mama would kill me if I didn’t say that. Ooh, I want to thank my parents, of course! My big brother and two older sisters for always putting up with me singing and dancing all over the house.” Always isn’t an exaggeration. Joe can’t recall a time where he walked into the Holmes adobe and wasn’t met with or overheard Mariella working on some aspect of her craft, whether that was writing, creating beats, learning a new dance. She’s always been so focused on getting exactly where she is now.

She continues to thank her team, rushing through the litany of individuals she attributes to helping her stand where she does with the awards that she’s been awarded this night. And when he doesn’t hear his name included, he knows right away she’s in a relatively good mood, willing to play up their Oscar worthy performance.

“And lastly, to my amazing husband,” her eyes search the room, finally landing on him. “Joe, you are my best friend and my biggest supporter. I love you so much. Thank you for always being in my corner and putting up with all of my crackhead energy.” Her eyes are teary, but he has no doubt she’s pulling from the emotion at crossing off yet another box from so long ago versus feeling so moved by her inauthentic words. 

But again, he follows along with this song and dance they’ve mastered at this point, mouthing once again that he loves her too.

The music begins to play indicating that she’s maxed out her time, and he hears her quickly throw out, “I’m not on crack, by the way!” before she walks off the stage, ushered by Pharrell and Diane Warren.

Theres’s something both treasured and uncomfortable about those words leaving her mouth. They’re so freely used these days. By both of them. But the meaning and impact behind them is long gone, some place in the past where demons and skeletons lie, often tampered with but never fully addressed.

It now just leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

—-------

“I have a show on the 13th you need to be at.”

Joe is sitting on the edge of the bed, undoing his tie, focused on the balcony doors across from him instead of to his right where she sits at her vanity, removing her jewelry. 

“What?” He doesn’t need to be looking at her to know she’s angled toward him, face turned up in disgust. “Of March?”

There’s no need for a wordy answer. “Yeah.”

“I can’t.” Mari has made it a goal of hers to stay on top of her calendar as she prepares to enter the next era of her career. With the Grammy’s now over, the end of this award season is upon her, and preparation for her next album is underway. It’s why she knows and communicates in the moment of the scheduling conflict. “I have a meeting with my label to start discussing my next album.”

Joe can’t deny the fact that he half-expected her to come up with some excuse, some reason as to why she yet again can’t do her part of this joint collab of theirs. “Can’t you move it?”

“Why should I have to move my stuff around for you?” Mari can count a variety of times where she’s done so before, but that was then. This is now. They’re miles away from where they once were, and she’s not willing to inconvenience herself for him.

Not anymore. 

Meanwhile, Joe doesn’t understand why everything that’s inherently so simple has to be made so fucking complex. It’s never a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ with her. “You can tell Jax if a date doesn’t work for you. I can’t do that shit with Paul.” And she knows that. Mariella is well aware of how the WWE works. Dates are set in stone months in advance, years in advance sometimes for PPV’s. She’s just being difficult for no damn reason.

As per usual. 

In a perfect world, Mariella would be celebrating right now, would be in attendance at the prestigious Grammy’s After-Party celebrating her major accomplishments. Instead, she sits in the room with a man who seems hellbent on stealing her joy in any way he can these days.

It makes her sick. 

She’s fully turned toward him, even as he refuses to look her way. Intentional, of course. He knows how big she is on eye contact. “I did that the last time I went to a taping, Joe. I’m not gonna keep doing it.”

He glances at her, and she instantly knows he’s not backing down, not willing to let this lie. She knows she’s in for another pow-wow. A signature finish for most outings these days. “But, I can show up for you?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like this isn’t as beneficial for you as it is for me.” One thing she won’t put up with is him acting like their arrangement isn’t just as great for his career as it is for hers. The press and fans of both of them eat up any type of public appearance, especially when he plays the role of the loving, supportive husband who wants to celebrate his wife’s big wins with her. “And you know how busy I am after award season.”

He knows that’s typically when she gets back in the kitchen to start cooking up her next album, where she locks herself in the studio for hours on end writing, producing, escaping.

“And WrestleMania season isn’t for me?”

Truth be told, she’d briefly forgotten about that, forgotten that the biggest night of his career is only two months away. A small part of her hates that. Hates how far they are from where they once were. There was once a time where she had every single event committed to memory, would bend over backwards to attend as many of his shows that she could.

Now, she couldn’t give two shits. 

The same way he feels about her.

“I don’t know why you care so much.” She turns back to the mirror to safely remove her diamonds. They’ll need to be returned tomorrow to the designer, and the last thing she wants is to drop or lose something because of his ass. “You got your little whores there anyway. What do you need me for?”

It’s a petty but truthful jab. Mariella knows good and well that her showing up to one of his tapings after he attended the Grammys with her will be ate up by their fans. It’s good press. Great, even. 

But the thought of sitting there, with the full, painful, embarrassing knowledge that the women behind the scenes, the women who are hidden behind NDA’s and WWE hush money, see her for the fraud she is. Know that Joe will end up fucking them when the night is over and returning home to her with the scent of their cheap perfume and not an ounce of regret.

It almost makes her stomach turn. 

He chuckles, and that’s what makes her gaze snap back onto him. She hates when he does this, when he makes it seem like shit is funny. There’s nothing comical about this tragedy. “Did I say something funny?”

“Forget it.” And now he’s dismissive, trying to shut down an argument that he started. “You don’t fucking listen anyway.”

“Are you serious right now?” Mari’s eyes go wide as she stands up, finally rid of six figure jewelry but basked in growing rage. “I don’t listen? Joe, you don’t listen! You never listen! You haven’t in years.”

Joe feeds off her energy, the quiet anger he’s usually well adept at concealing bubbling its way to the surface. No one’s ever been able to get him riled up like she does. “Naw, you not gon’ do that. Make it seem like this is on me. You do what you want and then expect me to just be okay with shit.”

“Wow. This is rich. Absolutely rich.” Mari can only laugh, because this part is funny. It’s hilarious. His lack of insight is astounding. “You are the most selfish bastard I have ever met.”

“Here it is.” He’s now standing as well, hulking body angled towards her, towering over her even with her designer heels. He motions with his hand for her to continue, to go on with the victim narrative she loves to clothe herself in. “Keep going. Tell me all this shit you already know about me, how awful I am—”

“Because you are!”

Something about the intensity in her voice sends him, makes him snap back easily. “And you’re a fucking saint?” His volume is also rising, which he hates. He never allows anyone to have access to that button, to know what to press and how to press it to get him this worked up. “You don’t never do shit wrong?”

Mariella feels her anger intensify as he turns to walk away from her. She’s hot on his heels, following him into the bathroom. “God, you always do this! You always put it back on me. It’s never your fault. Always mine!”

“And this is what I’m saying.” He has his big hands planted on the bathroom counter, looking at her through the large, mounted mirror. “You’re not even hearing what I’m saying. Always so fucking defensive. I’m not the one who don’t listen, Mari! You are!”

She can’t deny there have been a number of occasions where she’s jumped into defensive mode sooner than what’s necessary. Mariella isn’t above acknowledging that. But for him to make it seem like it’s not for a good reason, if not for his role is something she won’t stand for. “So what if I am defensive, huh? Who made me this way? You did, you bastard!”

“Just stop fucking’ talking, alright?” He’s pulling his suit jacket off, tone a mixture of defeat and exhaustion. Emotional or physical, she’s not sure. She knows she certainly feels both. “I don’t wanna hear this shit anymore.”

“And now here you go, always walking away, always taking the easy way out.” Because this is his MO. He loves to accuse and gaslight, and the minute she calls him out on his hypocrisy, he wants to shut everything down. It’s infuriating.

“Fine!” He slams his fists down on the same granite counter Mariella still remembers him once making out with her on, a starting point that ended with him carrying her to their once shared bed where he would make love to her throughout the night. Such a far away, almost unfamiliar time. “You want to sit here and continue yelling, be my fucking guest. I’m not saying shit though!”

“There you go again with more avoidance. God, you’re so predictable! Shit gets too hard, you shut down. You run away.”

“Don’t fucking act like you ever want to talk about shit with me—”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Joe. You don’t know what I want, okay? You don’t know anything about me anymore!”

“And whose fault is that, Mariella, huh? You don’t tell me shit! You never tell me shit!”

“Why should I? You don’t deserve to know shit about me anymore!” It’s more emotions than anything that fuels her to add on the accusatory, “It’s not like you care in the first damn place!” It also has to be the emotions that have her eyes watering, because it’s been forever and a day since an argument between them—and there have been plenty—has made her feel anything other than anger.

This is different.

This is sadness.

 Mariella watches as Joe punches the adjacent wall, the action taking her by surprise and making her jump back from said shock. “What do you want me to say, huh?” It’s been years since she’s seen him this upset. “No matter what I fucking say, what I fucking do, nothing’s ever right, so what’s the goddamn point!” With almost desperation, he shouts, “what the hell do you want from me!”

“I want you to love me again!” She snaps with a burst of visceral emotions. His anger simmers instantaneously. Joe knows that was the last thing she wanted to say, the deep down secret she’s worked hard to keep hidden and tucked away suddenly laid out in the open for all to see. The devastation on her face gives it away as she says more to herself than him in an equally devastated tone, “but that’s gone, isn't it? Everything we had…..everything we were…..is gone.”

An eerie silence settles over them. Joe closes his eyes and does his best to regulate his conflicting emotions. Everything is felt at once. So strong, so confusing, so pressing. That was the last thing he expected to hear from her, the same way the last thing he expected to feel at said words is longing. It’s so unfamiliar and confusing. She has so much power over him. To evoke such strong emotions with just a single sentence. To make him suddenly battle with the array of feelings he’s felt toward and about her at any given point in all of the many years they’ve known each other.

It’s just a fucking mess.

But then, the focus isn’t on his emotions anymore. It’s on the quiet sniffling he hears that makes him close his eyes. Joe instantly feels something different, something similar yet almost stronger than guilt.

She’s still standing at the doorway, but her hands are covering her face, failing to hide what is both visible and audible. 

Tears. 

She’s crying.

Something else unfamiliar settles over him, something almost nostalgic, that once upon a time uncomfortable plethora of emotions he’d find himself battling whenever he saw she was upset.

It never sat right with him to see her cry. 

His tone immediately shifts to something significantly calmer. “Mari….”

“I’m just tired, Joe. I’m so so…..tired.” And it’s with an almost whisper into the enclosed palm of her hands that she grabs the nail for the coffin. “And I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He’s dangerously still, rendered almost physically unable to move. The air around them is suddenly so much more noticeable, heavier, weightier, debilitating. 

She lifts her head, revealing a tear stained, distraught expression that makes him almost as equally distraught. “I don’t want to live like this anymore, Joe. I’m not happy. You’re not happy.” Each word leaving her mouth chips away his anger and replaces it with something unidentifiable. “It’s obvious you don’t love me anymore, and that’s—” Her throat catches as she forces herself to continue. “—that’s okay. Our careers are stable enough to where we don’t have to keep up this facade anymore.”

“Mariella—”

“I want a divorce.”

For some reason, there’s always been this belief system that any argument between them is just a part, a part that’s followed up with another one, then another, and then another. But, it never dawned on him that a single part could be the final part.

The final straw.

“Mariella, we—”

He’s stepping toward her, and she’s instantly stepping back, lifting her arms. She doesn’t want him near her, doesn’t want him touching her. It’s a sting, that’s for sure. 

“Don’t.” And he won’t. Won’t cross her boundaries even if everything in him is screaming to do so, to bypass her wishes that are being fueled by something temporary. Something that will fade by the time morning rolls around. “Just….don’t.”

She’s wiping at her eyes and mutters, “I need some air.”

He doesn’t like seeing her walk away in this manner, doesn’t like ending on this point. It’s one thing to leave off with the promise of another chapter, but it’s an entirely different thing to know that what could follow is the back cover without the anticipation for a sequel.

But, he says nothing. 

Does nothing.

He just lets her leave.

—-------

2007 

The phone ringing less than ten minutes after Joe plopped his big body in the bed was the last thing he expected and needed. Coach put them through hell today, and he’d completely forgotten about an assignment due the next day, so he’d forced himself to power through his physical exhaustion to get it submitted. 

Unlike a lot of his teammates, Joe does care about his academics as much as he cares about football. He recognizes it’s important to have something to fall back on. And as a senior, he’s really at the point where failure just isn’t an option.

He’s come too far now for that shit. 

When the phone rings a second time, he realizes it might be worth answering, even if everything in his body wants him to let it ring 18 times if that’s what it takes for the caller to get the message.

Not even bothering to check who it is, Joe grabs his cell and hits the green button. “Yeah?”

He’s met with soft sniffling followed up with a quiet, “it’s me.”

At that, Joe sits up in his bed, all attention on the person on the other end. “Ri?” He’s wide awake now. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to call so late—”

“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t care about that anymore, just wants to know what happened to make her phone him at such a time. To phone him crying, at that. That’s the part that makes him concerned.

He can’t remember the last time he’s seen or heard her do that.

He hears shuffling on the other end as she chokes out, “can you—can you come get me?”

It’s not even a question. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

—--

Joe nearly knocks down the damn mailbox in front of the frat house with how quickly he pulls up, his truck coming to an abrupt sudden stop. He’s barely got the truck shut off when he’s ripping the door open and jogging up the path to the house of entitled, elitist pricks who get off on the misery of others.

But, he’s more focused on Mariella who meets him halfway on the path of said house, arms wrapped around her body. 

He’s assessing her from head to toe, using the dim streetlight as a guide in the stark darkness of the night. “What happened?” Realizing she’s still hugging himself, Joe’s blood goes cold. “Did he touch you?” And when she doesn’t say anything right away, he’s trying to move past her, murder on his mind. “I’ll fucking kill him—”

“No.” Her hand is on his chest, restraining him as much as she can. The truth is that it would be nothing for him to carefully move her to the side and beat the living shit out of her asshole of a boyfriend who he’s never liked from day one. “He didn’t.”

Joe doesn’t put it past her to try to say what she thinks he wants to hear. “Ri, don’t lie to me.”

“I promise. He didn’t. We just—” and the emotion rises back up, making her pause as she pleads with him. “Can we just go? Please?”

Joe knows why she called him and not Byron. Because Joe nods and guides her to his truck without further protest. Byron would have beat Damien first and maybe or maybe not asked questions later for the mere fact that he made his baby sister cry. 

The ride back to his dorm is silent, and it’s not until they are sitting outside on the steps of Joe’s residence hall that he asks again, much calmer, still as curious, “what happened, Ri?”

It takes a few minutes for her to start talking, and while he does his best to be patient, it’s also really fucking hard to not just bypass the conversation and go straight back to the original plan of murder.

“We were—we were messing around.” Instantly, Joe’s anger suddenly shifts to disgust. While he recognizes his best friend’s little sister isn’t so little anymore, eighteen and a college freshman, she’ll always be that goofy, klutzy, theatrical kid who was always trying to hang out with him and Byron. So, hearing about her messing around is the last thing he wants, but he also doesn’t want to interrupt and allows her to continue. “He wanted to have sex, but I—I told him no.” And before the murder plan can be revived, she clarifies. “And he stopped, but then we started arguing, and he—he told me he was tired of waiting, but I said I’m not changing my mind and….and he broke up with me.”

In some strange sort of way, Joe is more relieved than anything, mostly at the fact that nothing physical happened. It sucks, and he hates seeing her upset, but it’s really a blessing in disguise. Even if she doesn’t see it yet.

Still, he’s sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Ri.”

She sniffles again, wiping at her eyes. “I really liked him and—and I thought he liked me.” 

Joe wants so badly to tell her that Damien never liked her. He liked that she was a virgin. 

Mariella had made the cardinal mistake of sharing with her ex that she was still a virgin, something the bastard, like Damien, thought he could change. When that didn’t happen and a breakup followed, that same asshole took it upon himself to share her virgin status with several friends, several teammates. And it’s become a bit of a contest almost among the basketball team, to see who can take it from her first.

It’s fucking disgusting and makes him sick, but it’s also the culture of college athletes. 

Some, at least. 

“He’s an idiot, Ri.” This is said both because it’s true but also because he just wants her to feel better, to not feel like she lost out on some prize. If anything, she dodged a bullet. 

“Maybe I’m the idiot.” She shakes her head and shrugs. “Cause I keep finding myself in the same situation.”

He’d like to call it an exaggeration, but Joe also knows that this has been an issue in almost all of her relationships for the past few years. Less an issue and more a deal breaker. Sex is something that’s deeply personal and important to her, and he’s happy she’s that way, that she isn’t just sleeping around with anyone. Especially since she seems to have a penchant for athletes. 

They can be the worst.

He would know.

“Athletes can be hoes, Ri. That has nothing to do with you.”

“You and B aren’t like that.” She then corrects with an ounce of her usual sense of humor. “I mean, you guys are hoes, but you’re nice hoes.”

He laughs. That’s a bit of the Mariella he’s used to. “True, but maybe we’re the exception.” He then takes a deep breath, speaking to her from the heart. “I’m not really sure, but what I do know is that Damien was an asshole who never deserved you in the first place. You’re better off without him.”

It’s the god’s honest truth. Ri is like his little sister, and it pained him to see her give someone like Damien the time of day, but he also respects that while he still sees her as a little kid, she isn’t. She’s a legal adult capable of making her own decisions, and he respects that.

“He had pretty eyes though.” Joe gives her a look, and for the first time, she actually, truly laughs. It’s music to his ears. “What? If I don’t laugh, I’ll just keep crying.” Her eyes light up with something other than sadness, and he watches her pull out her phone, suddenly typing away.

He doesn’t even need to ask. He’s seen this before. She’s inspired and is getting out the lyrics before they escape her. And a few minutes later, she reads to him what she’s come up with.

If I don't laugh, I'm gonna cry 

Don't wanna hear your name tonight 

I'm finally happy, not in the mood 

I don't wanna think about you

“I like it.” It’s the truth. He likes most of what she writes, outside of the shit that’s way too girly for his musical preference.

She offers him that brilliant smile, eyes twinkling with something similar to appreciation. Mariella grabs his bicep, laying her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Joe.”

He looks down at her. “I’ve always got your back, Mariella.” And that’s a promise. “Always.”

—-------

“Mariella, this is fucking ridiculous.” Joe pulls the phone away from his face to get a specific, accurate time. “It’s almost 3 o’clock in the damn morning. Get home now before something happens to your ass.”

He then quickly jabs the red end button. It’s an unkind voicemail message to leave, but also one of several he’s left over the past two hours. The first was a lot more understanding, almost apologetic. Now he’s just fucking annoyed, because she said she needed air. He figured she’d go sit outside, on the patio, maybe even sit poolside. 

Not for her to take off for a late night car ride without telling him anything. It’s something she used to do once upon a time, when they were both broke nobodies trying to keep the dream alive. 

Such a far off, distant memory. 

Joe wishes he didn’t care. Wishes he could head to bed and let her be in her feelings. He’s got an afternoon flight out to a taping and needs to be at the airport by 10am. At this rate, he’s not going to get any quality sleep, and that shit annoys him to no end because he likes to be well rested for work. Especially in his line of work. 

Sleep deprivation can make a wrestler more prone to unnecessary injuries. 

Still, he also knows that even if he were to try to get some sleep, he’d twist and turn the whole night. He’s never been able to sleep well until she was home and safe.

But, she’s not, and that shit just pisses him off all over again. He grabs his phone, ready for yet another call to go straight to voicemail when it lights up, generic ringtone filling the sizable kitchen. He doesn’t even bother checking the caller, just hits the green button and jumps right into questioning. 

“Where the hell are you?” At this point, he’ll go pick her up his damn self just to see her two feet planted in their LA mansion. “This isn’t—”

“I’m sorry—” Joe is the one who’s sorry because that certainly isn’t Mariella. Confused, he pulls the phone away from his ear again to see that it’s an unfamiliar local number. Bringing it back so he can ask who the hell this is, the caller beats him to it. “I’m looking for Joe Anoa’i.”

The woman’s voice is professional, but there’s also a hesitation there. A hint of emotionality almost. 

Frowning, he answers, gruffly, “This is Joe.” He’s quick with the follow up. “Who is this?”

“My name is Leslie Owens, and I’m an officer with the Los Angeles Police Department.” And just like that, Joe knows his entire world is about to be flipped upside down. “I’m sorry to inform you, but your wife has been involved in a car accident….”

—-------

2013 

“Just a couple more steps….”

“Ri, this is stupid. I’m gonna open my eyes.”

He can hear her dramatic gasp as she squeezes his hand. “Don’t you dare ruin this moment for us, sir!”

“The moment’s gonna be really ruined if your accident prone ass makes me fall down these damn steps.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m only accident prone when it comes to myself. Not others.” She sounds so proud of this fact too. “Thank you very much.”

She makes him smile, but that’s a given. There’s always an immense amount of joy and contentment when he’s around her. Her positivity, while excessive at times, is calming. Always has been. 

He’s happy when he’s at least done with the steps and on a leveled surface. Recovery from face planting on pavement has to be easier than a tumble down three flights of steps.

That reminds him. “This place doesn’t have an elevator?”

She’s quick with the answer followed by the jangling of keys. “Naw. That was the other place, but it was out of our budget.”

He says nothing. It seems like a lot is out of their budget these days.

Joe can hear her insert the key as well as the turn of the door knob and subsequent creaking of a door. She’s pulling him forward and he naturally steps over the mantle that she surely would have let him trip over because of her obliviousness in the moment. 

It’s when she drops his hand that he knows the end of this unnecessary dramatic introduction to seeing the apartment for the first time is nearing an end. 

“And…..open!”

Joe doesn’t need to be told twice.

The first thing he sees is her beautiful smile as she stands before him with her arms stretched up and in a ‘v.’ “Welcome to our first place together as husband and wife!”

Looking around, it’s clear as day that Mariella is probably the nicest thing in his line of vision. It’s not a bad looking apartment, at all, just plain and clearly in need of some modernizing updates/renovations. 

He can tell she’s tried to make it a little more homey with the rug and curtains, as well as family photos, but it’s still a far cry from the kind of place he’d love for them to call home.

“It’s….something.”

Mariella rolls her eyes. “I mean, it’s not the Hilton, but it’s ours, and that’s all that matters.” She moves over to him, reaching to wrap her arms around his neck. His hands plant on her hips, holding her to him. “Sure, the balcony is basically a ledge, and our view is of a park, so it gets loud sometimes, and I may or may not have witnessed a crime the other day……hope he’s alright.” Her brows cave together in brief confusion before she shrugs and back to smiling like they just won a million dollars. “But that’s besides the point because every couple has their struggle origin story. This is just ours for now.”

He’ll be happy when they’re out of this chapter of said story. This is one of those times he somewhat wishes he waited to marry her until they were both in better financial places. More him than her. She deserves so much better than this. She deserves the world, and he’s going to give it to her one day. 

He just prays that day is sooner rather than later.

“Hey.” He looks down and refocuses his attention on her. “As long as I have you….I’m good.” She moves to lay her head against his chest, murmuring, “I love you, and you love me. That’s all I’ll ever need.” And in true Ri fashion, she gasps and pulls away, looking up with almost childlike excitement. “I almost forgot!”

In many years of knowing Mariella, Joe has learned it’s always best to just let her do her thing and see what happens versus trying to navigate the eccentric workings of her chaotic mind.

So he watches silently as she rushes over to the counter to dig through her purse and pulls out her phone. She does that rapid tapping and sliding of her fingers that she does when in a self assigned rush. Less than a minute later, he’s hit with an all too familiar opening piano followed by even more familiar lyrics.

It's undeniable

That we should be together

It's unbelievable

How I used to say, that I'd fall never

Joe smiles as she moves her way back over to him, reaching for his hand. “Our wedding first dance song to christen our first place together. We have to dance. It’s literally in the marriage rule book.”

He chuckles. “Oh, really?” 

“Duh.” She gasps and bites down on her bottom lip when he quickly yanks her toward him. Joe’s hand is on the small of her back as hers move up his check, locking behind his neck. “See….not so bad after all?”

He dances with her, but his attention is focused less on the music, even the dancing and just her. “Anything’s better if you’re there.” She beams up at him and giggles as he spins her so that her back lands against his chin. His head dips into her neck, as she places her hands on his forearms.

He’s taking her in, enjoying this moment with her when she says leadingly, “you know there’s another first we haven’t done yet to christen our place…..”

Joe makes a sound and presses a kiss to the side of her neck. “Hmm. And what is that?”

He can only imagine the way her cheeks must be tinged red as she answers almost as if she doesn’t want anyone to overhear. “That thing you’re really good at.” He smiles against her skin and holds her tighter. “I especially like when you do that one thing with your tongue and—Joe!” Too much talk, not enough clothes being taken off. He doesn’t hesitate to lift her over his shoulder, eager to show her just how much he also likes to do that ‘one thing’ with his tongue.

—-------

Present 

Two weeks.

Two weeks since he’s seen her big, beautiful smile.

Two weeks since he’s heard that infectious laugh.

Two weeks since he’s heard her voice.

Two weeks since the night that changed everything, the night that some idiot decided to drive drunk and crashed into her vehicle head on. 

Two weeks since she was airlifted to a Level 1 trauma center where her injuries were so severe that they immediately took her into surgery that saved her life in one way but couldn’t in another.

Because she has yet to wake up from the initial accident. 

Because it’s been two weeks since Mariella slipped into a coma. 

It’s been two weeks of that cruel waiting game, that slight smudge of hope that rises where the doctor comes in with just as much desire it’ll be a different prognosis only for the same thing to leave his mouth every time with that same disappointed expression.

“We just have to continue to wait.”

Joe isn’t sure he’s ever hated a saying more than he now hates that one.

Just like her mom and other family members, he's been at the hospital every day, just sitting for hours at her bedside, holding her hand that’s much colder than he’s used to. Than it should be. 

The room is silent, a type of silence he’s unused to. There’s never silence when Mariella is around. She’s always talking, always smiling, always laughing.

But not anymore.

Now she just lays there, unconscious, Joe praying more than he ever has in his entire life that he gets to see her pretty eyes yet again, hear her beautiful voice scream at him, sing to him, laugh at him, anything.

He just needs her.

The love and support from her fans has been astounding yet expected. She’s America’s Sweetheart. Music’s new queen. Everyone loves her. She’s received an endless amount of support, kind words, prayers, and well wishes from both fellow artists and fans. Though the fans seemed to have done the most. Even holding several vigils outside the hospital. And though he’s still pissed that piece of information got leaked, he knows she would be so moved by the love. 

Joe wasn’t entirely in agreement with sharing Mariella’s coma status with the world, but it was the decision that was eventually settled on by Iris, her manager, and the rest of her team with the family’s eventual blessing.

The specifics regarding her injuries, however, have remained confidential, and for that, he’s grateful.

He’s sitting on the side of the bed yet again, taking over the shift from April, Mariella’s mom, whose devastated expression hasn’t changed from the minute he had to tell her and the rest of her family what happened to now, as they all wait with all of the hopes and prayers in the world for the prognosis to change.

“This is the longest I’ve ever gone without hearing your voice.” Just saying it aloud feels strange, wrong even. That he gets to sit here and talk while she lays there, plugged up to a million machines, deprived of even that basic right. “I never knew I could miss something so much until now.”

And it’s the truth. 

Realizing his NFL dreams weren’t going to become a reality was devastating, but this….this is another level of hell.

“You said…you said you want me to love you again, but….but I can’t do that, Ri.” His hand is over hers, thumb rubbing the skin that’s not covered by the IV and large bandage. “I can’t do it again because I never stopped loving you in the first place.”

It’s a disgusting, pathetic feeling. To know that the words he should have said to her when everything first started falling apart can only leave his mouth after something like this occurs. After he’s so brutally reminded of the fragility of life and the importance of telling people how you feel when they’re still around.

There’s so much he needs to tell her, so much he needs to clear up, so much he needs her to tell him.

She deserves clarification.

He deserves answers.

Joe just prays he gets the chance for that to happen. 

It’s nearly seconds after that thought crosses his mind that he feels movement under his hand. His eyes snap up to see the one thing he’s prayed for every day for the past two weeks, the one thing he deep down was scared he would never see.

Mari’s brown eyes. Glossed and confused as all the outdoors, he sees them darting all around the room and feels her trying to move her hand. 

He’s not sure he’s even breathing anymore. “Ri?” It’s as she continues to blink and try to move her head that he realizes this isn’t some cruel hallucination. She’s awake.

Mariella is awake.

When the shock wears off, he all but runs to the door, ripping it open as he calls for the doctor, the nurse, any medical professional available to tend to her. 

Joe is right on the doctor’s heels as he moves quickly to her bedside, digging for something out of his white coat pocket. Joe moves to the other side of her bed, closely observing any and all interactions of both. 

“Mariella, I’m Dr. Reynolds, and I’ve been overseeing your care here.” Joe then looks back at his wife who seems more awake by the second but still with her mouth turned downward, like she’s lost at what’s happening. 

Mariella squints when the doctor shines the light in her eyes, wincing almost, and Joe has to catch himself from telling the doctor to be careful. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Reynolds asks, and Joe watches closely as she looks at him with the same level of confusion. “Can you tell me what year it is?”

His stomach drops when she shakes her head no.

“You were in a car accident.” The doctor’s voice takes on a different tone, something not as optimistic, more….ominous. “Can you give me your full name?”

Again, a slow shake of the head to answer no.

Joe goes to ask the doctor what’s going on, if this is some side effect that people can have when waking up from a coma, but the man is pointing in Joe’s direction as he asks a final question. “Do you know who this is?”

And it’s then, as she shakes her head ‘no’ yet again that Joe realizes what’s happening. A new kind of ruination overcomes him, making his throat suddenly feel almost as heavy as his heart.

It’s a heartbreaking realization that he has to say aloud because it feels almost too unreal to be true. 

“Her memories are gone….”

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction. 

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door. 

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men. 

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son. 

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos. 

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him 

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June. 

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one. 

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle. 

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily. 

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass. 

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room. 

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at. 

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh. 

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.  

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself. 

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on. 

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans. 

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely. 

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people. 

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving. 

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean. 

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow. 

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway. 

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation. 

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him. 

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective. 

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant. 

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently. 

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly. 

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet. 

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter. 

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera. 

What a funny thing. 

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything. 

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction. 

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters. 

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted. 

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward. 

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants. 

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing. 

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire. 

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer. 

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand. 

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds. 

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over. 

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it. 

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie. 

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added. 

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth. 

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him. 

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie. 

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog. 

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth. 

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair. 

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap. 

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table. 

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor. 

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time. 

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss. 

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts. 

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.” 

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching. 

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name. 

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly. 

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned. 

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more. 

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head. 

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole. 

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely. 

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly.  “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. 

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes. 

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy. 

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths. 

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw. 

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.” 

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch. 

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly. 

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath. 

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit. 

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her. 

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt. 

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily. 

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his. 

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit. 

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him. 

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would. 

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure. 

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 || 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚c𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚

part one: is it a wonder i broke? || part two: here

summary_ despite everything your brother Geta did to have you, the mixed feelings you felt, you won’t marry him, because you only want to be with Marcus.

warnings_cringe AU bc I don’t know the movie’s plot, age gap!, semi incest (do not romanticize irl), implied smut 18+, drama, angst, Geta is an asshole, Marcus is a soft peepaw, fluff ending. MY PHONE KEEPS CHANGING ACACIUS FOR ACAIUS UGHHH (I’ll edit this later)

NOTES_ i need this film to be out already <3

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Ever since you were a kid, you despised feeling any pair of eyes on you. It was like being hunted like you were the prey. As you read, you can feel your brother’s eyes fixated on your presence.

“What do you want?” You ask furiously, slamming your book closed. He sighs, and it’s extremely weird to feel and see him being uncomfortable.

“Caracalla is arriving today,” he says and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Wonderful, more problems” your youngest brother was truly a mistake. If Geta was an asshole, Caracalla was worse, an immature egocentric man.

“I must admit our brother truly is an insufferable dull but we must welcome him until Father arrives” You nod, looking away from him, to the city. Rome looked happily calm that day.

“Well then… we’ll meet when Caracalla arrives” Geta hurries to get in your way before you can exit the garden. It was the first place he took you to when you first set foot in Rome.

“We need to talk about… what happened the other night,” Geta says trying to sound neutral, but his face shows that he has spent the night thinking about the kiss you gave him.

“There’s nothing to talk about, soror. It is what it is…” There’s a fake smile resting on your face.

Truth is you couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss too. Perhaps your heart was too resented after seeing Marcus Acaius in a place full of whores and alcohol.

“But-“

“But nothing, Geta. I just beg you to give me a lapse of time to put my thoughts in place” he huffs, incredulously.

“For what? To get in the sheets of Acacius?” your eyes land directly on his, anger quickly escalating again.

“He’s just like every man in this land. Only two things you men need; power to fill your ego and the body of a woman to satiate the urges of pleasure” you spit with disgust.

“I bet you also had your escapades, sister. You must be no stranger to that urge of pleasure you talk”

“Once you love someone, you don’t change the feeling of having the same soul attached to yours for anything else, Geta” he raises his brows surprised at your words. He often wondered if he ever felt love. And if he could possibly achieve it by marrying you.

“One of these days our engagement will become public. You’ll fuck me every day till I bare your children, you’ll command me at every dinner and meeting we have. In the eyes of society, you will disrespect me with honor each day. Until then, leave me alone…”

Your feet hurriedly drag you out of the garden. Desperately needing to be alone. To cry, to think, and to grieve.

…

The moment you stepped out of your room to greet your young brother, Caracalla, you were actually happy to see him. Geta and he immediately bonded like those days when they were kids, leaving you alone.

On your way back to solitude, your eyes are glued to your feet, you don’t have the strength to walk with your chin up and face society with an elevated ego.

You bump into someone, landing on a wide chest.

“carissima…” Marcus says, holding you still. He had a bright look and hopeful smile, which you definitely don’t reciprocate.

“I have splendid news…”

“I don’t want to hear them” Marcus was completely unprepared to hear your cold voice and meet your bitter gaze.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” you want to scream at him, you might even want to kill him.

“I will never comprehend the male necessity to magnify their honor and ego. By telling that they love a woman for then to tangle with a whore.” Marcus frowns confused, he is trying so hard to describe what you’re trying to imply.

“What? No, listen, y/n…” immediately you stop with him your palm raised between you two.

“I won’t ever lay in your sheets again, Acacius. Whatever we had going on, today seized. And from now on, I’m Lady y/n… future wife of Geta and Empress of Rome” You burst out with pride that sounds and looks too real, but deep inside you are just drowning with your swallowing stubbornness.

“You are not marrying that ludicrous boy”

“And yet… he will rule upon our heads one day” Marcus is boiling in anger, he can’t understand why you suddenly stopped neglecting the idea of marrying your brother.

“I won’t let you…”

“Watch me, General” And then he remembers your other brother is in Rome now. He wonders if Caracalla said something to change your mind. Marcus doubts it.

“I don’t understand what I did… I promised to find a way to be with you.”

“You should understand. You’re a man. You can’t resist your lust for a woman’s flesh”

“You think I cheated on you?” your face must’ve been red from anger, you can feel it being hot. You gulp, faking a smile.

“I know you did. Now make a reverence and leave to command your army of men.” He sighs, looking extremely miserable.

“You won’t leave? I will…” you brush past him and leave towards your privacy with the feeling of your own pain choking you. Because you look at Marcus and you just know he’s the love of your life.

For him, after you leave, it’s a moment to reminisce. Everything was peacefully following its course. Marcus never lied, he promised to find a way to be with you, and he found it. He had been impatient to wait for your father until the man set some time to talk with Marcus. With a straight face, rigid posture, and confident tone Marcus Acacius asked the Emperor to marry his daughter; you. To his surprise, the old man immediately agreed, claiming that Geta would not protect you like he wanted. At the same time, Marcus knew it was a bait of your father to keep him as his General. Either way, things fell like puzzle pieces. Marcus only needed to seal the deal with the counselors and priest. And unfortunately, the meeting was held in the worst place ever.

Marcus brushed away every dancer and prostitute that came trying to lure him. He was aware that many women wanted him, but after being so lonely for many years, Marcus was sure he had found the right woman.

But for some reason, you now seemed to hate him. Marcus had very present the phrases you repeated in his ear like a prayer. The smile you would gift him after he called you perfect, the vivid reincarnation of Psyche; the only woman Venus envied for her beauty and gracefulness. There were many actions that confirmed the love you two shared. And Marcus was not willing to simply let you go. Especially to let you go and marry your brother who seemed hungry for violence. Something happened, and Rome’s greatest General would describe everything to keep the girl.

…

Two days later, you convinced your father to let you go and visit one of the matron houses, where orphan children would be delivered often. You brought them presents and secretly left a donation with the finances.

It had been a great motive to stay away from your brother and stop thinking about Marcus. Even having dinner with Caracalla was better than expected. Only that it was on your way back when once again something ruined your day. You overheard the filthy men who advised Geta that he had to hurry to make your engagement with him public as soon as possible. That wasn’t a novelty, it was the fact that they also said how making you fight with a female gladiator only made your image stronger but that wasn’t Geta’s plan, he only wanted to put you in the arena to fulfill his sick and twisted desires.

You let the men pass by the hallway before you take a moment to breathe. Of course, Geta had always had to ruin everything you touched.

You were just one of his twisted obsessions.

If you bleed, he would throw the most acidic liquid on the wound. If you were dying he would do everything to find the quickest way to get rid of you.

But you refused to escape, that would only put you in danger. And you totally refused to live a life that would grow joyless. If marrying Geta would become the most viable negotiation, then you would comply.

When you open the golden doors, you encounter Geta and Caracalla on the giant bed that rests in the middle of the room. Each one of your siblings has at least two naked women kissing and worshiping them. The scene makes you nauseous, but at the sound of your entrance, they all look startled.

“Out…” you say, with such defiance that makes the women hurriedly bolt from the room. Caracalla laughs with no shame, accommodating his rings and robe before passing by your side, knowing you wanted to speak with Geta.

“Get used to sharing the bed with at least half of Rome, soror.” You ignore him, looking directly at the giant painting that covered the walls. And once Caracalla leaves, closing the door, you look down at Geta.

“What would’ve you done if Calista had killed me in the arena?” His face goes pale, probably not expecting you to know about his malicious plans.

“You will never love me, you will never give me what I always wished for. But I won’t drag treasons to our marriage.” You say, climbing to the bed, straddling him, feeling how shy he suddenly got. His pathetic behavior is your strength in that moment. You feel his erection and you hate to use passion as a getaway, but with a man like Geta… no, with any man of Rome, a woman could only use her body to survive the horrors. Unfortunely.

“You think you can command me, y/n?” The man asks, making you giggle.

“I think I already am” he moans the moment you grind against him.

“Say you’re sorry for arranging that encounter. Say you will be a good husband for me.” Your hand grabs his wrist, preventing him from sliding his fingers under your dress. He groans in annoyance, but apparently, your movements were bewitching him enough to drive him crazy.

“Say it…” he hears you whisper in his ear, only to then leave a trail of wet kisses across his jaw and neck.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I will be a good husband, gods…” You smile, satisfied, letting his fingers wander across your wet folds.

It’s disgustingly hot. The way he touches you, under your touch, you command him in disguise. You’ve been hunted by him, your father, many men… but you could also point your arrows towards them, and from the hidden.

“For the gods, you’re perfect, y/n” Geta flatters you, but you don’t take his words for granted. You fake some moans and others come out of your mouth from pure pleasure. And you know that’s enough.

You leave him made a mess.

…

The emperor was pleased when the doors opened. He liked the sight of his daughter. Perhaps he didn’t exactly raise her. But in the depth of his heart, he loved his daughter. So seeing her as a sophisticated woman, walking with her chin up, showing every guest that she was borderline perfect, was a great reason to make him smile.

You find Roman parties slightly boring compared to the ones back at home. But you spot certain General. He doesn’t notice you yet, which gives you time to calm yourself, because he’s sitting beside your father.

After the disappointing revelation of some nights ago, you forget about those precipitated good wishes you had about Marcus Acacius. You also ignore the thoughts at the back of your head, wondering what could they be talking about. You must greet your father before leaving to enjoy the celebration.

“My daughter is what I like to call quite an exotic jewel. Spending years overseas made her only more versatile. You may notice the Egyptian influence she carries” Marcus nods looking at you.

He can’t stop looking at the golden beads decorating your hair, delicate eyeliner along melted golden splotches around your temple. Your bright orange dress illuminated the room more than the hundreds of candles around the place.

Marcus could tell many of the women in the room were jealous of your appearance. Doesn’t matter, he already knows what will happen. He is more than ready when you arrive in front of him and The Emperor.

“My daughter…” your father greets you. You weren’t expecting to see the handsome general sitting alongside your father, which only made it more difficult given your last encounter with him wasn’t the most peaceful.

“Father… General Acacius.” you acknowledge both men.

“Tell our virtuous man here all of the splendid qualities you’ve perfected in Egypt, cara filia” Despite you finding yourself attracted to the older general, you weren’t pleased by the treatment. Your father was displaying you as a prize, one which the general seemed to be valuing. He was a man like everyone else, one with the disgusting urge to get his hands into every whore he came across, one that heavily ingested wine and cursed at every word.

And he made you believe he was different. He tricked you in so little time.

“I like to learn different dialects…”

“How many do you dominate?” the Emperor asks.

“Egyptian, Macedonian dialect, Syrian, Aramic, and standard Greek,” you say, feeling shy and little among those two males. But you remember what your mother said. The emperor’s daughter can’t be afraid. But you are scared, of the madness your brother is falling into, of Marcus offering you broken promises, of your father lying. You should have run past the meadows that day before you could have encountered Marcus. Nonetheless, your father is urging you to say more, which you hate, but you comply.

“I also enjoy playing the Greek Kithara, using my voice and body to sing and dance at parties and ceremonies. I find myself very attracted to learning about our political and military system, as well to writing…” you add, speaking with a bitter tone of voice. Your father exchanged looks with the general. Both smiled proudly, then turned back to give you a glance.

“I told you she was perfect, Acacius” Marcus already knew most of those things. He had you dancing for him one night at his chambers, he then made love to you and went to sleep tiredly and happy. He also heard you speak Syrian once. It was that and many more things that made you brilliant to his eye. Marcus considered you beyond smarter and more valuable than himself.

“She is…” Marcus confirms, smiling at you, which you completely ignore.

“Very well, this is wonderful. This is why I wanted you to be back at once, cara filia.” You frown, your hand making a fist with the fabric of your dress as an anxious reaction.

“General Marcus Acacius asked me your hand in marriage. The perfect suitor, even better than the one I had in mind” You can’t breathe for a second. You step backward.

“No…” you whisper, cautiously looking that anyone else in that party was looking at the scene. Only Geta, whose fists are crimson red from an unknown danger to you.

“My dear child… I’m an old emperor. I must secure the crown with my son and the empire with my daughter” Your silence is strong. Even the music appears low compared to the crescent tension you have built with your stoic face and trembling lower lip.

“That explains why you sent me away, to train Geta as a future emperor instead of me. Needless to say, What emperor wants a heiress when they have a heir?” You mumble, with a strong defying look that pierces sharply.

“You wanted me to marry Geta to keep half of my title. But the mighty General will keep me still better. Right?…” your feet drag you away, out of the festivities. You feel your half-brother's eyes on you, he must’ve been waiting for this moment since you arrived, and probably he would be shocked to hear you wouldn’t be marrying him anymore. Your eyes are full of tears that quickly start falling. The hallways covered in torches are empty. You can disguise your sobs as you walk away.

A week ago, knowing you would marry Marcus Acacius would’ve been the best surprise ever. But now you didn't even know how you felt. It was a mixture of confusion and bitterness. But at the bottom… you could feel hope.

Either way, none of your prayers were enough. Being who you were born to be, meant never experimenting with what means to feel true peace, true happiness, true love…

Marcus appears behind your back, grabbing your wrist so fast that it scares you.

“Get away from me!” You yell at the man, refusing to let him see you crying.

“I won’t, satis”

“You are just like every other man. I won’t take a husband who goes to pleasure houses, who leans into the touch of courtesans and instigates violence. You might be the greatest General in Rome, but you won’t break my dream of finding a lover who cherishes me” He sighs, listening to every word you just said. How clueless you were.

“You followed me that night?” He asks.

“No. I was looking around the city when I accidentally passed by the place.”

“Then you didn’t stay long enough to see the whole thing” you huff, trying to slip out of his grasp. He only tightens the hand around your wrist, pushing closer towards his chest.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in the meadows. Wouldn’t you?” He asks, forcing with you to keep you still.

“LIAR!” He smirks.

“For the gods that rule caelum, they know I’m not lying. I had encountered the living reincarnation of Psyche herself and I knew I was in love the moment I looked at you” A tough man like him could easily be lying, but you knew he had widowed once, everyone claiming he truly loved his wife and unborn descendant.

“That night, I had just asked your hand in marriage when I went to that pleasure house to seal the proposal” his hands have slowly snaked to your waist, but you keep pushing him away.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was splendid that your father immediately accepted. I would have told you sooner…” you stop squirming, finally looking directly at him. Despite the confusing feelings you were carrying for him, just by looking at his face, you could see the man that you loved.

“You must know… it was your brother who suggested the duel to put you in danger, it was him who gave the order to allow you to prowl around the city, it was also him who arranged the meeting in that filthy place…” he isn’t lying. You know it. Marcus Acacius never begged… and yet, he was literally pleading with you to forgive him for something he was not guilty of entirely.

“Swear it… for your power, for the empire…” you almost whispered, inches away from his lips.

“My oath to you is that I will be devoted, I’ll protect you and fight for you if needed just to ensure I will get to be yours every night for the rest of my life. Nobody could make me quit this enormous love I feel for you.…” He barely blinks, he is putting his heart into every word. Marcus would always be impressed by how fast and suddenly you made him fall all over you. He wasn’t a romantic, he rarely asked for guidance from the gods. But at that moment, he swore you had transformed his dusted heart made of coal, into a marvelous piece of gold.

The way you lean forward, hoping to touch his lips with your own, is your own way to let him know you believe him before actually saying it out loud.

“You have to believe me…” Marcus whispers.

“I do…”

And you finally kiss him. You hold onto him for dear life.

“Marcus… you have to know I was so blinded by fury and jealousy that… I let him touch me.” You reveal, feelings very promiscuous. But to your surprise, Marcus only sighs.

“You didn’t know the truth. You were hurt. I hate the mere thought but… I can’t be mad at you. That would only make Geta feel like he won. But he didn’t… because I belong to you.”

“And I’m yours. I just needed a reason to keep loving you, Marcus Acacius…” The air feels so pure and light. You can breathe knowing he still wanted you, that everything was a mistake. All the blurred patterns you used to see are clear now. You wanted to feel something for Geta, but you never couldn’t. Your heart desired to beat for Marcus.

He kisses you again, cradling your head. There’s an anxious feeling in the mouth of your stomach. Your legs almost shake at the way Marcus grabbed your waist to pull you closer. And when you open your eyes, through the corner of your eye you are able to see a familiar person. Geta is spying on you and Marcus.

But it’s over. There’s nothing to hide. Marcus has his eyes closed, so you take the moment to make visual contact with your brother. It’s a defining moment, where you let him know that despite everything, you got what you wanted. And that he would never have made you happy.

You are in the arms of the only man who deserves your love. The one that decided to stay.

“Let’s get out of here.” You say, giving him one last peck, accommodating his golden leaf crown, and taking his hand.

“To where?…”

“The meadows, where everything began…” he smiles, happy to feel everything back to normal.

Once in the wild meadows, both of you sit on a rock to see the sunset, where you realize you can stop praying for love, now you can just thank and pay tributes.

“See that hill?” Marcus points to the north of the city, one of the most beautiful places.

“Yes, I see it.” You answer, wrapping his lifted arm to hold it tightly against you.

“I’ll build you a house there. With a big space to prepare dinner, a large table for all the children we’ll have to feed. I’ll make you a garden that will be ready for when you decide to bring your mother. And we’ll have the softest bed in Rome, where I’ll always show you proof of how much I love you.”

You feel like you could cry at his words, but you don’t. You literally jump to hug the man, dying out of happiness.

“I love you! I love you! I love you!” He chuckles, kissing your forehead.

“You’re all I always wanted. I just wished I was younger, only to have more years to spear by your side”

“For me, it’s enough. I know I have more than enough time to be with you, Marcus”

The next morning, the whole city of Rome is celebrating the engagement. Marcus takes you to the hill to walk the property of your future home and you meet with a seamstress to choose the right bridal style.

Two moons later, you are married to Marcus Acacius, and life suddenly feels lighter, finally, you can savor it. Instead of praying to do so.

______________________________________

Taglist: @screaming-blue-bagel @targaryencxnt @unmagically @myheadspaceisuseless @1kyfv @slooooth

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The Farewell before the war

Aegon x aunt!reader

warning : targaryen incest, no use of Y/n, mentioning/implied war and death, kiss, mentioned sex, minor hurt/comfort, some fluff, age gap (Aegon 20s and reader early 40s)

Summary : The war was about to begin and the dance of the dragons would begin as soon as both sides mounted their dragons and both sides raised their swords. The farewell they knew was one that would last forever...a farewell that broke the queer custom of family.

Info : So with season 2 coming up my own sanity and the trauma we all will be getting I have written this as a little something. Have fun reading ;)

ps : He looks so good in the gif

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Screams were the last to echo through the castle as the mood was still as exuberant as it could be. Aegon, crowned king after the death of his father, was the man the young king could say he was glad the Targaryen king had died...finally died.

The only thing he got from his father besides looks was ungratefulness, disgust and hopelessness. His father had never believed in him, never liked him, maybe there was a moment in his life when Aegon was still a helpless little baby that his father was proud of, proud to finally have a son, but that was almost two decades ago and it didn't matter anymore.

Not only did he now have the crown of Maegor on his head. The light-coloured hair that he really hated, which he had kept short a few years ago and was slowly beginning to see as a weapon.

Slowly beginning to see himself as a weapon. His people adored him, his mother was happy, Heleana his beloved sister wife for the first time did not flee reality but enjoyed her role as Queen with their children.

A fact that took guilt from his heart...even if he never wanted to marry her, at least there was this sense of responsibility towards himself, her and their soon to be three children.

His younger brother Aemond no longer simply saw him as that, he recognised him as the rightful dragon he could command and it seemed the respect between them was slowly building as he sat on the throne.

Wearing the colour green of his mother, the green he learned to love the green of his family and the gold of his father, the gold of his other side the gold of his aunt the youngest and only sister of the former king Viserys. The black one created among the golden dragons a firewyrm a dragon born without wings.

Her actual twin, Prince Aegon, died less than a year later. Daemon and Viserys have always secretly blamed her for the death of their mother because she caused the complications. Of course, only a woman could do this. But it was his aunt that the new and young king had adored for years.

She never saw him for what he was. A mistake a challenge for anyone. No, he was ,,My perfect dragon" as she had always called him ever since he could remember. Whether it was accompanying him to his chamber and looking after him when he was drunk on wine or milk of the poppy.

She was always there for him with open arms, encouraging him when it came to important adventures, taking care of his injuries at the hands of the king, the queen or his own grandfather. She was also the one who gave him something he had wanted from her for a long time.

Something he knew he would eventually have to share with his wife, but the mere thought of his own sister... no, it disgusted him, which is why the then prince came to his aunt in the chambers. Perhaps it was the wine, her evening dress that lay so light and airy on her body, the colour gold that caught his eye.

She never wore red or black, preferring gold instead. It was a few years ago that he could finally have her, he didn't care that she was older than his own mother. It didn't matter that they had the same blood, it didn't matter that they were princess and prince.

It didn't matter that when he kissed her, tasting the sweet fruit, he was almost trembling with rejection. Her gentle hands laid on his as she tried to push him away for a moment but he wouldn't let her. He deserved love and appreciation too, his teary grey blue eyes looking up at her violet ones.

It was those eyes they both couldn't get away from as she let her own nephew touch her again. He remembered his insecurity but was always reassured by her voice.

The wine that influenced his senses was taken away by her. The pain from the last blow faded as she kissed his cheek. Her warm, soft body beneath his, his hands touching hers came together and they held each other.

He felt safe, he was worth loving and she could give her love to someone. His lips on her body, kissing every part of her, watching her move beneath him. Surprised by his own almost clumsy noises when she soothed him with kisses.

He wasn't used to being treated so…gently and lovingly. She really showed him what it meant to be loved and not just a fuck with a whore. It was the night that not only he learnt what it meant to be a dragon it was the night he promised her that one day she would no longer be a firewyrm.

,,You will become a dragon one day, Princess...I promise," he had said to her as he lay beside her, but there was a determination in his gaze that seemed to burn like fire between them then. When he took her hand in a tender, almost gentle gesture, her fingers kissed his while she stroked his light-coloured, tousled hair.

His eyes met hers again, ,,You are so beautiful " he had murmured, almost amused at how easily he could make his aunt blush. ,,Aegon...you perfect naive dragon," she had replied and pulled him close, but he had sensed that she was trembling.

At the time he had thought it was from the act, but now he knew she had been crying silently. She had cried for him because she knew that the gods would punish him more severely than her. But now it had been years and had anything changed?

He had children with his own sisters, more princes and a princess, his three little dragons, his own flesh and blood that he guarded. His mother, the Queen Dowager, seemed to be suffering even more than usual after the aftermath that had taken over the entire court.

Aemond, his own brother, had killed their common nephew Lucerys Velaryon. ,,Our sister's second bastard is dead," he had muttered as he withdrew from the small council, a smile trying to steal onto his lips but unable to do so.

He couldn't not in the knowledge that the fire inside him was telling him it wasn't over yet. Oh how right he was to be as the banners were lowered to their respective sides and the weapons were forged. So it was his duty to go into battle, not on the throne but on his dragon Sunfyre.

But it was during this time when he was training with his brother and sworn sword Criston Cole that her golden dress became less and less visible. A sadness emanated from her when he saw her, his own naive anticipation only seemed to fuel her fear.

But no matter what he tried, no smile would appear on her lips until the day he stood alone in the dragon pit and the golden sun had not yet fully risen. His eyes were fixed with fascination on his dragon, the most beautiful dragon that ever existed, a pride he was only too happy to show.

He heard someone, footsteps come to him as Sunfyre gave an almost cheerful hiss and moved his head in the direction of the entrance. ,,A golden morning for two beautiful naive perfect dragons" he heard her voice after days if not weeks and stopped in front of his dragon as he just watched her.

She no longer wore the gold, on the contrary it was his own colour reflected in his eyes. A dress with armour elements in green and gold that Targaryen had turned green.

A warrior, a dragon rider without a dragon, a diplomat who would be dispatched with a sword if she had to. ,,Naive? The fire on the war we will win," he said faster than he thought and heard her cagey laugh, which was underlined by a roar from Sunfyre. Perhaps there was once a possibility of a connection between the two of them, but these were years away.

His princess aunt approached him and placed her hand on the dragon's muzzle, the warmth seeming to soothe them both before she placed her hand on her king's cheek. ,,You know the distribution of troops, the numbers...the dragons and yet Aegon you maintain the notion of victory...a future of fire" she began, looking back at the dragon who also watched her, the beast though as old as its rider seemed to know what it would mean once they flew away from Kingslanding.

It would mean a war in which the green were outnumbered, a war of force and violence, a war in which once again she could do nothing without a dragon of her own.

A thought that Aegon slowly seemed to understand as he placed his hand on hers, his armour rattling slightly but still maintaining his slight, almost cheeky grin. ,,A war yes, but I promised you a dragon...a dragon of iron you shall have" he said, seeing with pleasure her confusion as he took her hand and led her lightly to the entrance of the dragon pit.

Despite everything, he held her tightly, held her firmly, held her as a king should, held the woman he loved, held the thing that had given him what he had always needed. Love.

She could feel the gold of the morning sun shining on them both as his hand gently wrapped around her hip, a grin on his face as he pointed to the castle, directly to the site of the throne room. ,,A dragon of iron that you will rule in my absence... and my death if it comes," he said so lightly that she thought for a moment he had lost his mind, but no, when she turned to him she saw that he meant it.

That for a moment he didn't seem naive was not beside him. He truly seemed like a king who kept promises, like someone who also recognised and believed in her. ,,You promised," she whispered, feeling a weight lift from her, the tension, the fear, the lies that were in the face of her own brothers' hatred.

She was something, she was a dragon of iron...the true king had promised her and kept his promise. ,,Oh my dear Aegon," she said and only seconds later felt his lips on hers again, his hands holding her close then as now.

His scent of leather, metal and fire met her sweet smell of smoke. ,,A farewell to the true queen who will be now," he replied, pulling her a little tighter against him.

A kiss goodbye, a kiss with a promise of a goodbye as the sun rose over the city and Aegon with Sunfyre, Aemond set upon Vhagar and the troops.

A farewell they knew would be one of the last as she sat on the throne that was gold and green and the princess received her promise in the midst of a war of fire and blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[thealtoduck]

My Jolly Sailor Bold

Sam Winchester x Male Reader

Content: Old Timey Sailor AU? (Idk what to call it)

Warnings: Smut, Bottom!Reader, Top!Sam, age gap reader is 18 and Sam is 25, loss of virginity, anal sex, unprotected sex, fingering, spit as lube, missionary position…

Summary: During a walk you meet eyes with a handsome sailor and there is an instant connection…

(A/n: Honestly i’ve only seen like 6 episodes of Supernatural… like 2 years ago, so Sam might be very out of character… just so you know)

——

Your father was a merchant, a merchant who traveled and transported all sorts of goods across the sea to sell and bring home the money to his family. He had taken three of his sons to act as part of the crew of his ship only leaving the 2nd oldest and the youngest sons behind in their hometown.

He left Remus, the second oldest, in charge to take care of business and to care for his wife/Remus mother and the youngest son. And the youngest son is you Y/n L/n…

One summers morning you were walking through the shipping port, you had just seen off your father and your older brothers, they were going on another voyage on the dangerous ocean. Your mother had been crying seeing them leave again, as soon as they boarded she had gotten down on her knees praying for their safe return.

Your older brother Remus decided to escort her home, so he could comfort her over a cup of tea and some biscuits. But you wanted to see the ship leave port and decided to stay a bit longer.

As you walked you watched the different people, some were saying goodbye to loved ones as they were about board the ships, others were unloading the wares from far off places and even some kids just looking for a good spot to fish.

Then your eyes fell on a man, presumably a sailor, he had a very handsome face, he was looking out to the sea. The sailor’s attention had drifted from the sea… and on to you. Your eyes met his as you walked past and it felt as if your heart was pierced by cupid himself when he looked at you. You felt you would get odd glances by the crowds if you continued looking at each other for too long, so you broke eye contact and kept walking.

Once you reached the edge of the pier you sat down on the edge, legs hanging over the water. A while later you saw your father’s ship drift out of port slowly. But you noticed something, the sailor you had seen before was standing portside gazing longingly back at the dock.

Back at you…

You smiled at him, he smiled back.

You waved at him, he waved back.

Then another crew member seemed to call him over, he gave you one last smile and wave and then he turned around and left. And you watched as the ship traveled in to the distance before you left and went home.

A month later…

Your father’s ship should be returning today, so you, Remus and your mother once again traveled down to the port to greet your father and three brothers.

Though you weren’t only there for your father and brothers, their return would mean the unknown sailor would be returning along with them. Which meant you could finally meet him. The smile of the sailor had lingered in your head through the month there was something special about him.

Once you were at the pier you could see the merchant’s ship was approaching. As soon it had docked the gangway was lowered and the crew rushed off the ship to reunite with their loved ones.

Your father and three brothers stepped over the gangway together and greeted you, Remus and your mother lovingly. Your brothers immediately started telling you stories about the journey. But it was hard to keep up because all 3 of them were telling different stories at the same time.

Your father interrupted them saying ”Boys, boys, calm down there’s plenty of time for stories later”. He then turned to you, your mother and Remus and said ”First things first, we’ll have a guest for a couple of days, one of the sailors, he has no family or wife to go home to and i felt bad for the man, so i thought he could stay with us for a couple of days for some company”.

”See now where is he?” your father questioned looking around. ”Oh, there he is. Sam! Over here!” he called over the man. When you saw the sailor coming over it felt as if your breath was knocked out of your body.

It was the handsome sailor you had waved to when they left. He stopped in front of your family with a shy smile. ”This is Sam Winchester”. Your father introduced him first to your mother, then to Remus and lastly you.

”And this Sam, is my youngest son, Y/n” he introduced. You and Sam shook hands and you said ”It’s nice to meet you Mr Winchester”. ”Please, just Sam” he said with a nice smile. The eight of you then traveled back to your family home.

You spent the whole day listening to the never ending stories of your brothers adventures on the voyage. And it became a blessing when it was finally bedtime and you could finally escape them.

Though you couldn’t fall asleep that evening, it was just impossible. Your bed was either too warm or too cold, too soft or too hard, there was just no way to feel comfortable. You decided to get up and get a cup of tea and maybe read a bit.

Though when you walked down stairs in to the sitting room you were suprised to see Sam was up reading a book in candlelight. Sam looked towards you and said ”Oh sorry Y/n, did i wake you?”.

”No, don’t worry about it, i just couldn’t sleep” you explained and then questioned ”How about you?”. ”Couldn’t sleep either” he answered simply with a small smile. ”Would you like some tea?” you asked. ”I’d love some” Sam said.

You went in to the kitchen and lit some more candles for light and then started making some tea. You went back in the sitting room with a tea tray and sat down on the couch beside him.

You tried to think of conversation topics but Sam spoke up first saying ”You know, i remember you from the day the ship left, you were the only one who really saw me off and i wanted to thank you, it meant a lot, it kept me going on the raging sea as if i had someone to come back too”.

You smiled brightly at him. ”That means a lot to hear, i actually thought a lot about you, you seemed so mysterious… so i wondered who you were, what your name was and if i’d ever see you again” you told him, a warm look forming on his face.

”What were you reading?” you then asked looking at the book Sam had been reading. Sam looked at the book and said ”It’s an old tale about a sailor and what he sees during his travels, and at one point he believes he sees people of the sea, mermaids and mermen, he describes them as beautiful and graceful, pure of the sins of man and who’s echoing voices sounds like touching the softest silk”.

”In fact everytime i pictured them all i saw was you waving from that dock, from the way they’re described all i could see was your face” Sam revealed looking deeply in to your eyes. You were at a loss of words. Sam then caught himself saying ”Sorry, got a little-” he tried but you cut him off saying curiously ”Read me a passage, about the sea people”.

Sam smiled picking up the book, flipping a couple pages and read to you ”While passing the foreign lands, sitting on a rock close to the shore sat a young man of otherworldly beauty, the man was bare, his wet skin glistening in the sun. There was an ethereal esscense to him as he waved politely towards me”.

Sam moved closer to you as he countinued reading ”The man looked carefree and untouched by the sins of men, he was glowing as if he was untainted, sent from heaven. It made me want to get closer and touch him, to feel if his skin felt the same as mine, to feel his body pressed to mine to see if he remains as immaculate as when i first saw him”.

Sam finished and looked up from the book at you, meeting your gaze. He had put the book aside and put his hand on the side of your face, stroking it softly. ”That was beautiful” you said in an amazed whisper. ”I know, I was the one who wrote it… I wrote it about you” Sam said and pushed his lips to yours.

You had never been kissed before but Sam’s soft lips guided you. He took your hand in his squeezing it lightly. He then pulled away from the kiss saying ”Come with me” and he started leading you towards the guest room. He lead you inside and closed the door behind the two of you.

He then pulled you back in to a kiss, his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him, your clothed bodies pressed together. Sam led you to the bed making you sit down on it. ”Have you ever done something like this?” he asked in a kind tone.

You shook your head shyly. ”Do you want me to show you?” he asked, his hand lifting you chin ever so slightly. ”Yes” you told him. He then made you stand up again and started slowly undressing you.

You felt aroused as Sam lastly pulled off your night shirt leaving you naked in front of him. He looked you up and down as he stroked your hip trailing his fingers over your soft skin. ”You’re heavenly” he said feeling your body in his hands.

He then started undressing himself until he was fully unclothed too. ”Touch me” Sam instructed and guided your hand to his chiseled chest. You stroked his chest down to his to his belly button. He then took you hand and led it even lower, putting your hand on his manhood.

He squeezed his hand around yours making you stroke his manhood. ”Feel that, that’s what you do to me” he told you. He then led you back to the bed and made you lay down softly on your back and then layed down next to you and once kissing you.

He pulled back from you’re lips. ”You’re so pure, it makes me want to shelter you from all the evils of the world… but it also makes me want to be the one to stain your innocence and make you mine” he said letting his hands drift down to your crotch. His fingers grazing against your length making you let out soft excited moans.

”Make me yours” you told him as you took his hand and pressed it against your crotch. Sam gave you a light smile and moved from your side to towards the foot of the bed, he grabbed your ankles and parted them, speading your legs.

He then moved himself inbetween them, he leaned towards you and said ”Open your mouth”. You did as told and Sam put his middle and index finger in your mouth making you suck on them.

He then pulled them out and brought them to your untouched enterance trailing over it lightly. He then asked ”Ready?”, you nodded. Then you felt the strange feeling as his wet index finger started pushing in to you.

You gasped at the new feeling as he used his finger to pentrate you. It hurt a bit at first as he pushed in but then you started adjusting to him. Soon enough Sam pushed in his middle finger, streching you out even more, as that pain soon turned to pleasure Sam pulled out his fingers.

He then spit in his hand rubbed it over his manhood. Sam once more held your legs spread as he lined himself up with your enterance. He whispered gently ”Ready sweetheart?”. ”Yes” you answered and Sam slowly started pushing himself in to your tight virgin hole.

You threw your head back as you felt his thick length enter you, Sam covered your mouth as to not wake up your parents and have them find him deflowering their youngest son. ”Fuck” Sam swore as he felt your hole clench around his cock as it slowly sunk in to you.

Sam continued pushing all the way until his manhood was planted in you. ”You’re doing so well” Sam praised as he watched you breath deeply as you slowly adjusted to his size. Soon he noticed your pain was turning in to bliss. ”Sam” you moaned deeply.

Once your pained features had turned to ones pleasure Sam slowly started rolling his hips carefully, pushing his length in and out of you as gently as he could. Your arms were wrapped Sam’s back as the foreign sensation of his cock made you uncontrollably moan.

Sam placed kisses along your collarbone as his cock was kneaded by your warmth. ”You’re so beautiful” Sam told the virgin boy beneath him as he watched him be defiled by his manhood, it was a once in a lifetime sight.

Sweat started forming between the two of you and to Sam you looked just like described in his book, your damp skin really was glistening from the moonlight that entered the room. Sam started rolling his hips faster making you wrap your legs around his body.

The two of you had become a wet tangeled mess as Sam thrusted gently in to your ass giving you a sense of euphoria as he hit your prostate, giving you a feeling you could only ever dream off.

”Sam” you moaned as you felt a sudden new feeling as if you were about to erupt. Then your hard cock started shooting cum all over yours and Sam’s abdomens. This made Sam go feral and he shoved his face in the crook of your neck, planting deep kisses as he moaned.

His thrusts became rougher as he searched for his own release while saying animalistically ”I’m gonna fill you with my cum”. And with a last roll of his hip, his cock pushed deep inside you, he burst, filling you up with his seed. He then slowly pulled out of you, sitting on his kness between your legs.

He looked down on the beautiful young man he had deflowered, leaving him leaking with his load. Sam felt proud of himself. He laid down next to you with a gentle smile and said ”You were amazing” and planted a kiss on your lips.

You were close to falling asleep as you were all tuckered out from the experinence. Sam went and got up and got a rag to clean you up with, once he finished he helped you back in to your sleep wear. Then he carried you to your room putting you in bed saying ”Goodnight, beautiful” kissing your cheek one last time before you fell asleep.

Sam went back down to the sitting room and got his book, taking it back to the guest room placing it on the writing table, the next day he would write another chapter in it.

[distressedjellyfish]

Things I think about with frequency

Amy March

How we deserved to see Amy and Laurie's wedding, and them falling in love, and just more of them

How Amy March is hated by many because LMA based the characters off her own sisters, and Amy was obviously written with some bias (as were all the sisters), which shines through and makes us feel similarly about Amy that "Jo" felt about her younger sister.

That line where Amy says "I've been second to Jo my whole life" hits A LOT harder when you realize that Louisa's (Jo) middle name is May, and her younger sister, who she based Amy off, is named May, after LMA's middle name.

I think that people see Amy as this vapid little bitch because she always knew she wanted to be a wife, and she knew she wanted to be rich. But what people fail to consider is that a lot of the time the youngest is the one that sees all the flaws in their family’s lives and feels responsible for taking care of them, even if its not expressly stated. Jo was a wild card. She was free to do as she wanted and nothing could stop her and God love Marmee for never trying. Meg was docile and almost polar opposite of Jo, and as the eldest sister she felt the same burden but lessened because yes she had typical Eldest Sister Syndrome where she had the need to take care of the family, but she also was the first, and therefore had no pre-set markers and expectations that she needed to meet or surpass. She wanted to marry and all that, but it didn't super matter about finances to her. Beth was unable to do "better" than her sisters "mistakes" flat out. And its not through any fault of her own, its just the way it was.

Speaking from experience, its always been clear to me that as the youngest of 3, I would have to do better. My half brother got a girl pregnant on his gap year when he was 18, so I was never allowed to take one, even though it would have probably helped in the long run. My half sister has always been mean to my parents, and won't let my dad see his only biological grandkid, which rips my dad apart, so of course I feel the pressure to have a child to give my dad a bio grandkid to dote on like he does with his non-bio grandkids, even though he's never outwardly expressed to anyone ever that he feels any disconnect from my niece because they aren't related, or that he wants me to have kids for any reason other than he wants them.

Anyways, my point is that Amy felt that pressure from a young age, hence always saying this or that about marrying rich. Add onto that when Aunt March tells her she's her family’s only hope of not being in the lower class/lower middle class for the rest of their lives. And just because that's the only time we see it, but that doesn't mean that there weren't other similar conversations had. Do you really think Aunt March never made her snide comments about the family and their status in front of Amy?

Amy's entire character revolves around this point, she's focused on being a proper lady, being delicate and pretty, in hopes of one day being able to bag someone rich, for her family.

Obviously, she falls into infatuation with Laurie when she meets him at the ripe age of 12??? She idolizes Jo, and Laurie is basically just the boy version (with some exceptions). He's also rich, young, handsome, and charming, and adores the family for who they are, including all their flaws. He's exactly what Amy had been saying she would marry, with the added bonus of him loving Jo the way she is, the exact opposite of Amy, proving that there are rich lovely men out there who will love you even if you aren't perfect, even if you falter. He's proof she can have the life she knows she needs to have for her family, and also still enjoy it and not be stressed all the time about being perfect.

Of course Laurie loves Jo first, for very similar reasons that Amy is infatuated with him. At 15, his whole life has been spent at dinner parties with girls the exact opposite of Jo, all proper and lovely and so so similar to one another, being told he'll marry one of them, everyone expecting him to be polished and well spoken and everything that no 15 year old boy wants to be. So then in comes this whirlwind girl who is completely different, a breath of fresh air that never wants to marry and can't ballroom dance for shit and laughs too loud, and shows him that life can be the Something Different he so desperately craves.

And of course, he ends up with Amy. He was Jo's best friend, so for 6 years all he knew of her was the way she was presented through Jo's eyes. A bratty little girl, who was the same as the other vapid girls he knew, that wasn't worth a thought. And he never paid her any mind because he spent 6 years thinking Jo loved him back, so why would he think of other girls? Then, at 21, he is essentially dumped by the love of his life, and travels abroad to find who he is without her. He meets Amy again, the girl who was always happy to see him. Of course he's going to spend time with her, she's familiar enough to feel like home, but different enough from Jo that it doesn't hurt. And there's the added validation of her liking him, which sometimes you need after your heart has been ripped apart. Plus, she's the only one he really knows in Paris. So they spend time together, and in that time he learns that she's not at all the way he's seen her over the last 6 years. Where he always saw someone not very bright, with a dim personality, that didn't stand up for anything or really rock the boat unless seriously provoked, who would do anything for him, he now finds a strong, funny, kind, beautiful girl, who is very intelligent and has a deep understanding of how cruel the world is (maybe ((definitely)) moreso than her sister) and knows how to manipulate said world in such a way that she can come out close to on top, who cares about her family enough to put everything else aside in order to become the person they need her to be in order to support them, who would still do anything for him but will absolutely call him on his shit and put him in his place when necessary. And how could he not love that?

She's not all that much like Jo, sure, but she is so much more. And she deserves so much more than people calling her his second choice.

Also I think that its criminal that most people don't see that obviously Jo loved her family but she loved herself more. Her sense of duty was to herself, and finding the place that would make her happy. She was also kind of a brat? Things didn't go her way? Editor is a dick? Boy critisizes her writing? Tantrum.

Whereas Amy loved her family more than herself. She was willing to put aside her dreams in order to support her family, and growing up was very rarely bitter about it. She decided, on her own, that her family was her number one priority, and that regardless of the fact that she could be happier doing other things, she wanted to do what she could to provide for her family. She knew how the world treated women, and she learned how to take that, and general criticism, on the chin.

Personally, I think that Amy is a way better character, and I'll die on this hill

Amy March

[woso-dreamzzz]

also, as the youngest child who grew up with 3 older brothers with about the same age gap and mcdreamy, i can totally see her being spoiled but also bullied by her brothers. yes i never have to lift a finger when my brothers are around, but i will also be suplexed and in a WWE wrestling match in the same hour.

Okay so we all know Mcdreamy's brothers were nearing the end of their teenage years when she was born and we also know that it was just three boys in the house for years

So sometimes they wrestled each other and fought but they adored little baby Mcdreamy

Their parents used baby Mcdreamy to 'train' their sons to be less rough. Like the boys used to wrestle and fight and then their dad would plop little baby Mcdreamy in the middle of them and the fight was over instantly as they all settled down to play with their baby sister

[melozy]

✩ would anyone be interested in a BORUTO REWRITE ? (follow this link to read the fic)

here are the major things i'm changing from the series to fit into a more realistic storyline ↴

first, and this is very based, but i dislike boruto's name in general. i know it's an homage to neji's name (which translates to "screw"), and don't get me wrong 'bolt' as a nickname that references both neji and minato's legacy (since the latter was known as the 'yellow flash of konoha') is awesome. but in my story, i've given the main character the name akihiro (ironically known as hiro by his peers) meaning "bright" or "shining" with this kanji variation 明弘 [in which the first one literally translates to "dawn".]

also, it'll help if you read THIS first (a post made by me and my cousin two years ago! and it's only now coming to fruition :>)

other key points where this story diverges from boruto, both in terms of plot, themes, and character dynamics:

akihiro's personality and role

akihiro is much more charismatic and endearing, resembling a "sweet-talker" type who bonds deeply with others rather than boruto’s initial rebellious and aloof nature. he embraces being naruto’s son but struggles with living up to the expectations, rather than rejecting them outright.

this adds complexity to his growth as a leader and makes him more relatable and likable to a wider range of characters.

akihiro is an only child

unlike boruto, akihiro doesn’t have a younger sibling like himawari. this shifts the family dynamic to focus more closely on his relationship with naruto and hinata, highlighting their efforts to guide him without distractions.

it makes akihiro’s journey more introspective and personal, with fewer family members diluting his arc. but this will tie into another plotpoint with sakura and sasuke's kid(s) looking up to him as an older brother figure, so he fulfills that role just as well. the reason i chose not to give him a sibling is because i'm still on the fence about giving akihiro the byakugan since it might be too cliché (but admit it, boruto's and himawari's designs would've looked pretty cool with the eerie edge of the hyuugas' pupil-less eyes). but i have no intention of making naruto pass on kurama to his kids, especially not to akihiro. so, the point of him having a sibling in the timeline where conflict arises pretty early (just after the events of akihiro's birth) is unlikely.

generation gap in konoha 9's children

the children of the original konoha 9 aren’t all the same age.

they were born across a realistic timeline based on their parents’ relationships (e.g., temari and shikamaru’s child is older than sakura and sasuke’s).

the reason for this was pretty much at face value, it just is highly unlikely that all the couples got together and fell pregnant at the same time. maybe some kids are same age but mostly spanning a five year range at minimum. this adds more diverse interactions across generations and avoids the forced "classmates" dynamic that boruto had.

right now i do have the konoha 9's kids figured out. from oldest to youngest, they are [this is during when my story starts, when akihiro is 15]:

shikadai nara (18) > chocho akimichi (17) > akihiro uzumaki (16) > inojin yamanaka (16) > shizumi nara (13) > sarada and souta uchiha (11)

stronger, more varied teammates

akihiro’s teammates are more specialized and powerful compared to boruto’s. yume kazemura, an immigrant from the land of mist with her water style and weapon specialty, and daichi hiiragi, a fire-style ninja with a less prominent earth style. akihiro himself would have wind and lightning style + hyuuga taijutsu — mostly because i wanted to divide each team in a way that balances each other out.

this team is a frontline squad, so their chakra amount and specialty is prominent. it also gives me a reason to make sasuke mentor akihiro later in the story since lightning style seems almost a precursor to space-time jutsu and no other konoha 9 member has an affinity for it.

in any case, their abilities are distinctive and critical in battles, unlike boruto’s team, which felt derivative of naruto’s team 7 and very replicated, in my opinion.

otsutsuki threat introduced as a mystery

a plot point taken from this post (which was actually made by my cousin, who is beta-reading this as we speak!), the otsutsuki threat is revealed gradually through mysterious portals, strange creatures, and sinister chakra bombs, rather than immediately presenting godlike enemies like momoshiki. the slow-burn introduction makes the otsutsuki more terrifying and allows the story to maintain a grounded tone while building tension.

the chakra bomb thing is introduced right after the events of "the last", a few months after naruto and hinata's wedding. a few konoha shinobi en route to kumo for their chunin exams (konohamaru's team being of them), come across a border villager in the land of fire who is on the brink of fever-induced delirium, somehow mid-speech just gives out an insane level of raw chakra pulsing out of his body before collapsing, dead.

the genin team leaders decide to investigate and find that an entire small village on the border was wiped out without a trace of struggle or attack. naturally, fingers are raised towards kumo who really have no clue what's going on. just when it was about to written off as an invasion by the rogue factions, another similar incident takes place in iwagakure. the land of fire and wind being the closest to it are now under fire.

then i plan on introducing a cult who are old regime supremacists (led by disciples of kaguya who were indoctrinated by black zetsu). they believe in the eradication of the non-shinobi factions, a play on the "survival of the fittest" morality. maybe i will integrate the bioengineering and technical development aspect. but it won't be nearly as advanced as the stuff introduced in the boruto universe.

by the time akihiro is 16, strange portals carrying behemoths (think chitauri from avengers, endbringers from worm or even kaiju from pacific rim) into the world open up all across the globe. each nation basically brings a standstill on managing the political uprising to secure their borders, working together to configure who is behind these attacks and where these alien creatures are coming from.

meanwhile, a kaguya cult member reveals the location of a portal leading to the moon base where a fee otsutsuki relics and shrines are found by hiro and his team. while the powerhouses are deployed to deal with the monsters, the village heads are swarmed with cases of riots, fights breaking out between borders and all in all, hostility brewing between the elemental nations.

eventually the behemoth attacks get so frequent and so far apart in distance from one another that it becomes impossible to manage them all — leading to the affected areas being vacated after entire cities are demolished.

this eventually leads to a showdown in the ruins of uzushio where the biggest behemoth shows up, alongside two otsutsuki clan members and most of the alliance is posted there for a drawn out battle.

eventually, after practically wiping the floor with the alliance, the otsutsukis leave but not without the promise of return to plant a chakra tree on earth and to clear it out of tainted blood so the trueborns can thrive in their new paradise. (since humanity right now is a mix of kaguya's blood which gives them control over chakra and human dna — basically, the otsutsuki want to cleanse the world of them and take over the chakra fountain that is earth).

political turmoil between nations

the story will include realistic international tensions among the five great nations. rogue factions, misunderstandings, and betrayals play a critical role in the otsutsuki conflict. everyone with be pointing fingers but due to an established alliance among the kages, no shinobi can act on their convictions without breaking the treaty and being ousted as a stray ninja.

this adds stakes beyond just physical battles, emphasizing the fragile peace post-shinobi war. it also involves side characters from other villages, making the world feel larger and more dynamic.

power scaling is even

the power scaling is balanced, with the konohamaru generation being significantly stronger than akihiro’s due to the chakra bomb conflict arising during their peak as chunin/jounin. while akihiro is talented, he isn’t overpowered like boruto.

battles require teamwork, strategy, and sacrifice. it will also make the older generations more battle-hardened, experienced and will give them knowledge to impart on their charges as sensei. this avoids sidelining older characters and makes fights more engaging. even lower-tier ninjas have meaningful roles (which will be even more prominent during the final battle arc).

akihiro's love interest

now, this is a topic i'm very conflicted on.

on one hand i have this incredible character planned (sayuri ayakami) with seishinkan, a kekkei genkai aligned with the spiritual power of chakra maneuvering. it affects perceptions, health and even can cause/absorb physical blows to an extent for redistribution later. it works on the basis of the very existence of the otsutsuki clan, how they manipulate space-time, dimensional and planetary jutsu.

[she's basically the non-overpowered and very much human version of eida]

akihiro has a unique romantic subplot with sayuri, a character tied to an ancient clan and her own burdens. their bond develops naturally through shared hardships and mutual growth. this romance feels organic and adds emotional stakes. while i have nothing against boruto’s dynamic with sarada, the uchiha-uzumaki thing feels a little overdone.

but this above all is a shounen series that i'm making with emphasis on action and politics in the ninja world. so, i'm not sure how romance will fly in this universe. (what do you all think?)

greater role for older characters

characters like naruto, sasuke, sakura, gaara, shikamaru, the other kages and the previous generation have pivotal roles throughout the story. they don’t fade into the background but instead serve as mentors, fighters, and emotional anchors.

especially during the stand against the monsters and managing the political uproar caused by the kaguya cult. this respects their legacy while highlighting the generational transition, something boruto struggles with.

a new way to beat the otsutsuki

like i said, many characters will play different yet very important role in building up to and even during the final stand against the all-powerful otsutsuki.

minor characters and even less power shinobi from the alliances collectively will help in taking down the enemies bit by bit. humanity’s triumph over the otsutsuki wouldn't rely solely on godlike powers or specific individuals like boruto and kawaki. instead, it will involve strategies and unique abilities from many characters, such as sayuri’s seishinkan severing dimensional ties.

this makes the victory feel earned by everyone, not just a chosen few, and emphasizes teamwork and innovation over brute strength.

sasuke's absence from konoha has a real reason

sasuke’s absence is explained by his investigation of the chakra bomb incidents as he is made to be the prime coordinator of the anbu of konoha and usually the first to respond to impacted locations on short notice due to his rinnegan prowess. it's not just due vague wanderings that's he's not with his family. his return then carries significant weight.

it gives sasuke a clear purpose and enhances his arc while tying into the main story. it also builds on how sarada and souta's dynamics are, and how each twin copes with their dad not being present and mom being busy with her obligations.

this is one of the reasons why they look up to akihiro that much more because akihiro with his natural charm, abilities and ties to the hokage is somewhat popular amount his peers. despite this, he is welcoming towards the uchiha twins and takes them under his wing, sticking up for them and not letting them be turned into social pariahs.

sayuri's seishinkan and her clan

sayuri's seishinkan is a unique spiritual kekkei genkai, not a derivative of the byakugan or sharingan. her clan’s history ties into the otsutsuki invasion and ancient conflicts. this avoids redundancy in bloodline abilities while adding depth to the lore.

villains across all tiers

the otsutsuki threat isn’t limited to godlike figures. generals, zetsu-like soldiers, and mutated creatures provide challenges for all levels of ninja. this ensures that even lower-ranked ninjas and civilians play meaningful roles, unlike in boruto where only top-tier fighters matter.

the pacing of the story

the story spans akihiro’s growth from age 16 to 19, with major arcs that focus on mystery, politics, and personal relationships. the pacing is deliberate, allowing for more character development and emotional moments. this approach feels more cohesive and satisfying compared to boruto’s often disjointed plotlines.

this rewrite creates a more balanced, grounded, and emotionally resonant narrative compared to boruto. it respects the legacy of naruto’s generation, develops a new generation with their own unique abilities and struggles, and introduces the otsutsuki as a nuanced, terrifying threat that can’t simply be punched away.

— NOTES. again, this is simply my take on the poorly faring sequel to naruto, a franchise that deserves to be hailed for it's dynamic worldbuilding and major contribution into shaping what shounen has become today.

if you want me to go in-depth about any of the plot points, feel free to ask in my askbox or comments. i want to start writing this as soon as possible and the more input i get from fellow fans of this universe, the better the end result will be.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Ok if i'm gonna write an actual fanfic i need to take the timeline seriously. Especially with the three Plantar siblings' ages.

So in canon Anne is 13, Sprig is 10 and Polly is 5. If I want Anne to arrive to Amphibia at 3, Sprig must be a newborn and Polly wouldn't have been born yet. Which means the Plantar parents must still be alive for some 2 more years, and die when Anne is 5, Sprig is 2 and Polly is a newborn AT LEAST.

But I don't want that. I want Hop Pop to find Anne the exact same day the herons killed his child. Make it poetic. That would make Sprig a newborn and Polly an... egg?? Thinking about eggs could help delay some things but I doubt frogs in Amphibia have gestation periods longer than 1 year, so even if they laid Polly's egg like one day before dying, you still need to keep the Plantar parents around for one year. That, or delay Anne's arrival by one year and have her land in Amphibia at age 4, but I also want to push it back as much as possible, to bring her to Amphibia as young as possible. Is 4 really the youngest I can go? The other option is to mess with the ages a little and make Polly a bit older. Or just not think about it this much. I can just say Anne spawned there at age 3 when Sprig was a newborn and Polly an egg. Let's say Polly hatches one year later at the latest. Now Sprig is 1, Anne is 4 and Polly is a newborn. Nope, no no no, Polly needs to be younger. Okay so if I want her to be a recently laid egg when her parents die, Sprig needs to be around 4 at least. And Anne needs to be at least 7.

I hate this. Ugh. But I don't want Anne to meet the Plantar parents! The whole point is that she never had actual parent figures! That Sprig and Polly's bond with their dead parents is something she can't share! Something that sets her apart! Something that will lead her to seek out her birth parents 20 years later when she finds out Hop Pop lied to her and hid the Calamity Box, coincidently at the same time that her marriage with Marcy and Sasha is falling apart! Or should I just kill my darlings and accept Anne will be adopted by the Plantar parents? I don't wannaaaaa 😭 I want them to remain a mystery! I want them to haunt the narrative without ever being present! Having Anne meet them ruins the poetic aspect!

The other option is reducing Anne and Sprig's age gap maybe?? Sprig is 4 when his parents die and Anne could be 5??? Noooo, the big sister - little brother dynamic is ruined if they're so close in age!

If anyone has suggestions pls send them i'm STUCK

[olderthannetfic]

The fandom's gonna be pretty obvious, but let's keep it vague for funsies.

My previous fandom has a huge issue with antis and pedophilia accusations. It's why I left, and why so many others did. Based on their accusations, you'd think that people are shipping adult characters well into their 50's with prepubescent kids, but nope. The fandom is angry about ships between 16 year olds and their 19 year old friends. Calling them the pinnacle of pedo proship ships that only freaks ship, and a large amount of people witch hunt others for even mentioning anything romantic between them.

For reference, the source material is about a friend group where the biggest age gap is three years. Part of canon takes place when they're 12 to 15 years old, another part when they're 16 to 19 years old. Most ships happen between the main characters of the same age, and the older characters are in the single canon ship that's sacred to the fandom, but sometimes, people ship the younger teens with the older teens. One of the older friends died in a tragic manslaughter framed as a suicide, and it's very interesting to see how the older survivor would handle any sort of romance with her murderers. There's also so much lesbian angst to be had with the victim and the girl who looked up to her. But nope, fandom said it's evil pedophilia and ousts anyone who even looks at those ships.

But since the oldest survivor is the only boy his age and the youngest girl is the only girl in her age group, people are desperate to grab for gay ships and ignore the obvious ones because they get upset by the three year age gap. So they get shipped with either minor characters they never interacted with or characters that barely have any presence in canon just to have a gay ship. And they're kinda boring and have little substance. My brother in bear, there are several perfectly viable gay ships right there if you can get over the fear of being judged by your peers for shipping characters who could be in the same class together.

There's also a ship between the 16 year old main character and his 12 year old dream self. It's not my cup of tea, but I can see why people ship it as it's a profound character study and pretty sad altogether. But the funny part? The antis don't hate the age gap of four years, but the fact that it's selfcest. That's literally not possible IRL, how is selfcest considered comship these days?

This fandom sucked and I'm glad I left it. The canon was good, but the fandom is beyond saving.

--

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Since I'm a huge sucker for qpp emduo (i see bits of my own qpr in them) but also wanna incorporate youngest!techno: platonic soulmates phil and techno, (possibly modern day au?) With techno's homelife being... Weird? Bad? Non-existent? Who knows. All we know is he's not in contact with his family but phil is. His parents love him and his siblings. Phil's the oldest and though their age gap isn't that big, somehow techno's still younger than all of phil's siblings. Phil brings him to meet his parents when they've talked out the terms of their relationship and they love him instantly. Phil sees the immediate glint in his parents' eyes, the same glint that's three when they look at him and his siblings, and they bring techno into the fold, wether he wants it or not, and he becomes the honorary baby sibling and their parents shower so much love and care and attention on him and phil would be jealous of his bestie stealing his parents if he didn't see how shocked techno is at receiving basic parental love :')

OUGH, anon, now you've put the idea of modern AU teenaged emduo qpp in my head.

I want to say they meet at some kind of LARP-type after-school thing. Techno signed up despite being an introvert because he wanted to get out of the home for the weekend and away from his shitty foster family and Phil is there because his brother Grian (one year younger than him) is one of the helpers at the event (Grian would be in the DnD club at school too lol).

Phil spots Techno, recognizing him as a sophomore from their school (Phil is a senior probably) and notices Techno is kinda like, anxious and awkward at interacting with people, but also scarily good with the foam weapons. He approaches, they make eye contact, they discover they're platonic soulmates which is a surprise to both of them but not necessarily an unpleasant one. They click instantly.

Phil and Techno spend the entire event being an absolutely terrifying duo, the angel of death and the blood god, and their fictional empire has taken over the world by the time the weekend is through. Grian is kinda peeved (/lh) that Phil completely dominated his event lol.

Back at school, Phil ofc now starts to hang out with Techno constantly and the two quickly become even closer than they were. They're besties, they're soulmates, they're more than that. It takes a bit for them to both settle into what they want from the relationship because it's a little atypical but it's perfect for them and it fits and they're both so much happier.

Except Techno never mentions his parents, and seems to reel at the very thought of inviting Phil at his house. Phil doesn't understand at first. Not until he overhears two teachers talking under their breath at a school event where parents are invited and Techno's didn't show up - neither his biological OR his foster parents.

Enter Phil getting like, almost aggressively insistent about having Techno over at his house constantly. Whenever they're not at school, Techno is welcome at Phil's place. Because he doesn't want Techno to be at his fosters alone. He starts helping Techno get emancipated so he can live on his own (or live with Phil's family, Phil hopes. But he's working his way up to mentioning that).

[yuri-is-online]

A while ago you said in a post that Ace’s isolation seems to come from how he values Yuu and Deuce’s friendship more and I think you perfectly worded how I feel. I would like to hear more about it if you have more to say!

Like yeah he’s a very friendly and outgoing guy. He can easily make friends/acquaintances but there’s also a clear line between those friends and where Deuce Yuu and Grim stands.

He gets along really well with his seniors as seen by his relationships with the basketball club, Playful Land and hell I bet this new event will prove that too. But it gives me more of a vibe of a younger kid endearingly annoying his older classmates than friendship.

Among the first years, he doesn’t seem to be as close to them as Deuce is. Like Deuce and Epel have this whole bond going on because of Chapter 5, Deuce and Jack are in the same club etc. Ace is kind to his fellow first years and helps them out like in Fairy Gala If with Ortho but again there’s this divide. Everyone knows it’s Ace, Deuce, Yuu and Grim as the group.

Multiple people have mentioned how those 4 are constantly together and how it’s rare to see one without the other and I think that’s really important when you take into consideration on how Ace literally ditched his last girlfriend because they were too different in terms of taste (well there’s more to unpack with that but that’s not what I’m here to talk about). Quality time is hugely important with Ace in my opinion, he wouldn’t hang out with people he hates and seeing the amount of time he spends time with those three and how the game makes an active effort to make us pay attention to it tells us that yeah Ace definitely values his friendship with Deuce, Yuu and Grim more than the others and why Ace feels so separated from the other first years at times.

He also tends to keep people at arms length because of his inability to really express affection towards his friends so it just comes across as him being snarky and mean when that’s really not the case. This also does show with Deuce Yuu and Grim yet goes to help them whenever he gets the chance, buys gifts for them, spends time with them etc. Like bro his actions tell otherwise it’s so funny he’s like a tsundere.

I think his exterior kind of makes it hard to people to really get close to him and I think he purposely does that, so to see him have obvious bias towards a group of people is really important.

Gotta admire his loyalty, once you’ve proven yourself he’s sticking with you for the rest of his life. Sorry for rambling but uh yeah your response gave me thoughts.

I would like to thank the aceyuu community for their continued dedication to putting deeply insightful character analysis in my inbox. I love you all so very much. I also love your icon very much, Gen 5 best pokemon (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

it gives me more of a vibe of a younger kid endearingly annoying his older classmates than friendship.

Yes very much this. Ace is the baby of his family, and there seems to be a decent age gap between him and his brother. He repeatedly talks about wanting to be like his seniors, and Jamil mentions at least once he is generally respectful towards them. His level up lines imply he wants to try challenging Riddle again, but it seems less because he disrespects him and wants to be dorm leader and more because he wants to prove he's gotten stronger.

Friend groups

So I have been thinking since the first and second time we talked about this trying to pick out who exactly Ace's friend group even is outside of Yuu and Deuce and ??? Deuce knew who Epel was before you properly met and he and Jack do seem to get along pretty well but Ace? I feel like maybe the intention might be to have him be closer to Ortho and Sebek, which sort of makes sense. They're all the youngest in their families and look up to their seniors to varying degrees but still. Ace specifically, like you said, is literally always around either Yuu or Deuce. In Idia's lab wear vignette Ace literally stays over alone with Yuu to watch horror movies and sends Grim to get the drinks alone 💀 like sir? Hello? And he implies he's done this more than once??? I like the idea of quality time being important to Ace, he says the most important thing for him in a partner is someone you have fun with and like being around so yeah. That makes sense for him.

I think back on how Ace initially interacted with Yuu and Deuce and, while at first I was a bit hesitant to say Ace keeps people at arms length, but you can literally see him doing that in the prologue. He's a brat towards people his own age, and while I imagine he has always been super popular to a degree I don't know if I can see him ever having had as deep of a friendship with anyone as he has Yuu and Deuce. I'm not sure if I would say he does it on purpose 100% of the time, but his Suitor Suit vignette does seem to imply he does it when he feels particularly embarrassed by something. He isn't just like a tsundere, he is one and honestly I was not expecting to like him as much as I do because tsundere isn't really one of my favorite tropes.

Gotta admire his loyalty, once you’ve proven yourself he’s sticking with you for the rest of his life. Sorry for rambling but uh yeah your response gave me thoughts.

Never apologize for rambling, it is the last thing I will ever take issue with and that goes for anyone in my inbox.

I hard agree. Ace's loyalty to Deuce, Yuu, and Grim should scare anyone trying to mess with them. I am waiting with baited breath for Grim overblot he is just going to pop off I JUST KNOW IT PLEASE YANA PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE

[whitegownsandflowercrowns]

Do you have any thoughts about Aemond calling Alicent by her name and the way the Green Siblings kind of think of her as an older sister 😭

Many many thoughts. (Below the cut because this turned out longer than I was expecting).

First off I think the age differences between Alicent and her children play a large role in this. These age differences range from 16-20 years, with Daeron being the only child she didn’t have as a teenager (and of course he’s the only one we haven’t seen so far). And then you take that small age gap and add on the fact that whatever age gap each green sibling has with their mom, that’s the exact same age gap they have with their actual older sister Rhaenyra, so it’s no wonder that they might see Alicent as more of an older sister. Putting aside ages, though, I think the way that Alicent has raised her kids and the way that she behaves definitely contribute to this perception.

First you have Aegon, who she treats like a younger brother from pretty much his first non-toddler appearance on screen. He’s the only child she’s (almost) never attempted to comfort, and (almost) every time he could need it, he either gets shot down (“you imbecile”) or she turns away (post Blood & Cheese). In fact, the only time she does actively comfort him is after he gets burned, when he can't respond to her and is probably barely conscious of what's happening. I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say that he’s the child she has the most complicated relationship with: she was the youngest when she had him, he was her firstborn, he’s the physical representation of everything she’s sacrificed over the past twenty years (I do wonder how her relationship with Helaena would change if she had been born first) he’s a (likely serial) rapist, he’s the reason that there’s a succession conflict. I do think she loves him - I mean, she wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at the thought of giving him up - but I get the sense that she feels like she should love him a lot more than she does. And I don’t think she likes him all that much.

I think one of the first ways in which we can see this sort of older/younger sibling perception is in the fact that she is physically abusive towards him. I can’t imagine her dreaming of laying a hand on Helaena, and the only time she’s remotely rough with Aemond is to get his hands off Helaena. But she is violent towards Aegon in Season 1, slapping him twice and grabbing his face very aggressively in 1x06. If I had to guess, I’d guess those aren’t the only times in his life that she’s hit him (though I don’t think it was especially regular either). I think one of the main reasons behind this separation between “acceptable child to hit” and “unacceptable children to hit” is because Aegon is the child that she mostly sees as not her child, the one she most sees as a younger sibling, for all the reasons I listed above. And anyone who has siblings knows that you can get pretty physically rough with them, but if a parent hits their child, that’s abuse. So, not an excuse, but because I think she has this sort of subconscious mental block of “that’s my brother, not my son,” hitting Aegon isn’t hitting a child to her. Or, at least, it’s not on the same tier of badness as hitting Helaena or Aemond.

And then another part of that I think is the way she speaks to Aegon most of the time. It’s pretty demeaning. The one that stands out the most to me is in 2x04, when she says “What thoughts would you have?” It’s not the words themselves that stand out so much as the fact that Alicent is visibly repressing a giggle as she says it (and she does actually chuckle later in the scene). It’s not just that she’s calling him an idiot ten different ways in that scene, it’s the fact that she seems to be actively mocking him for being an idiot, in a way that seems less like a mother and more like an older sister picking on her younger brother. If the Green/Targaryen as a whole family dynamics weren’t what they are, those lines would feel more at home from Rhaenyra. I know that parents can be bullies, but there's something so juvenile about the way that she does it, as if she's not really aware that what she's saying could actually impact Aegon.

I definitely think Aegon has internalized this attitude of "that's not my mom, that's my older sister," and I feel like both he and Alicent are waiting for his "actual" mom to show up. As if she's a teenage babysitter, but a babysitter who's had to step in for his entire life and was nowhere near prepared. And yet, Aegon still desperately wants her approval, because he wants the approval of every adult in his life, and he can't get any of it. That would also explain what we saw of his approach to raising Jaehaerys: you don't really do the raising yourself, you're not the actual parent, you (the child) and the maids figure it out. This is pure subjective opinion on my part, but I think if the children had lived to adulthood, he would have 100% been a "Disneyland Dad": super fun, nice to them, but does absolutely 0% of the actual child raising and is more of an uncle than anything. I also think it's interesting that when the twins were born, he was the same age that Alicent was when she had him - I can't say "we don't talk about that enough" because I haven't talked about it, but I think it warrants further exploration.

Now on to Helaena. Out of all of the siblings, she's probably the one that has this attitude the least, and I do think her own motherhood informs this. I just mentioned Aegon's age when the twins were born: she was fourteen when she had them, thirteen when she married Aegon. Alicent was fifteen getting married and sixteen having her first child. Both ages are ridiculously young, but fourteen is especially egregious, considering that she wasn't even an adult by Westerosi standards, let alone 2024 standards. I understand that Viserys was decaying and all, but I would really like to know, in both book and show canons, why it was considered so essential by the Greens that this marriage happen so early, and why there were absolutely no protections in place to guarantee that Helaena wouldn't be having kids at fourteen years old.

For obvious reasons, we don't see a whole lot of Helaena's motherhood, so we do have to infer a lot about how she feels about having kids so young. Going purely off of show canon here, it would seem that her feelings are loving but complex - like Alicent, but also complex in a different way. Helaena has known for probably years that Jaehaerys was essentially born to die, and she probably also knows that Jaehaera's life will be short and tragic. I can imagine that that would mess your relationships with your children up at least a little (I mentioned in this post that her words about trying not to be sad about Jaehaerys are almost certainly inspired by her visions). But I can guess that having been so young when she had these children, possibly seeing them more like siblings or a niece and a nephew, would also complicate this relationship.

Ultimately, I think that's why she has this relationship the least with Alicent: because she understands that motherhood is complicated, and that these dynamics can be weird when the gap between you and your children is so small. Overall, their dynamic seems to be the most typical parent/child dynamic of the three: Alicent is concerned for her above all else (reaction to B&C, immediately going to see if she's alright when Vaemond is beheaded, the entire Season 2 finale), and Helaena seems to think of her as a mom. I also suspect that being the only daughter plays into this dynamic, since she doesn't pose any inherent threat to Rhaenyra and therefore Alicent doesn't have to worry about what Rhaenyra might do to her to secure her claim. Basically, she didn't have to grow up as fast (in that sense, she definitely did in other ways).

Finally, Aemond. The one you asked about, who just straight up called her Alicent and spends a lot of Season 2 treating her like his subordinate (every time I remember "domestic pursuits" I feel violent). This one's interesting because, unlike Aegon, I don't think this one is on Alicent as much. That's not to say none of it is on her, I do think the general emotional unavailability contributed to his issues (Exhibit A: everything with Sylvi). But there are other sources, the most obvious of which I think is Driftmark.

Losing his eye was unpleasant, no doubt, but I think the truly scarring part of that night for him was Viserys' reaction. Because, in that moment, he learns that it doesn't matter if he's nine years old with a giant scar where his left eye used to be, not even two hours after it was taken out: because he said the wrong thing, his father will choose Rhaenyra every single time. Since he's the one in the chair, I think this revelation hit him the hardest. Personally, I think this is the moment where the Dance and not just a succession conflict became completely inevitable, and I think the same is true of Aemond. Or, at least, he realized that if Rhaenyra decides that she needs to end all opposition to her throne he's done for. So I think that moment for him is a horrible sort of growing up moment, where he realizes the realities of the adult world around him and has to become an adult to survive it.

I think that's primarily where his "Alicent holds love for our enemy" attitude comes from. He's known since he was nine that when it comes to Rhaenyra it's kill or be killed, and his childhood has been destroyed as a result. So he sees Alicent pursuing peace even after he's killed Luke, and I think it frustrates him to no end because he's thinking I've known how this is going to end for years, why can't you accept that? I'd wager he probably sees himself as the adult in this situation, and Alicent as the idealistic teenager who refuses to accept that sometimes bad things have to happen. So if you take the general Hightower A+++ Parenting and combine it with everything I've just said, you'll get Aemond seeing her as an older sister (who would be a teenager/very young adult) and not his mother (full adult). There's also probably a bit of "I need to be the best and the smartest and the most mature" attitude on Aemond's part that could be delved into.

So those are my thoughts. In conclusion, the Targaryens and Hightowers are messed up, child marriage and neglectful parenting are responsible for pretty much everything wrong, and they would all heavily heavily benefit from getting far, far away from King's Landing and Westeros as a whole.