#silver sleeps in the middle of his own conversation

[nervouslywaitingforlife]

Sebek what do you mean "as the kids say"?? YOURE A KID

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i saw you were taking requests and so i got inspired: aegon x sister!wife in which they have a complicated relationship (not as terrible as his and helaena’s) but she gets all protective over aegon when he’s burned because she saw what aemond did and because she’s with child but no one knows so she blurts it out while arguing with aemond after confronting him in aegon’s chambers so aegon wakes up to her being all wild for him and instead of him saying “mummy” he says “i’m sorry” or anything that’s going to make us tear up!

Request: Since you’re open to requests (I don’t know if you write for Aegon), would you consider doing an Aegon one where it’s hurt/comfort after the battle/burns with his recovery. Maybe with some angst? 👀

Request: Otto demands more babies from you but Aegon says no because he loves you in his own way and doesn’t want to love you. One of the pregnancies left you in bad shape and Aegon got scared

Warnings: mention of misscariage, incest, forced marriage, mention of attempted murder (Aegon), choking

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

At three and ten, you woke up to a red stain in your bed — you flowered. According to your Septa, it meant that you were a woman. According to your parents, it meant that you were ready to marry your brother, Aegon, and give him children. 

You always dreamed of marrying a Dornish prince. When you were little, your father had taken you with him to visit the Martells. You'll never forget the beauty of the water gardens and the feeling of the warm sun on your skin. 

Unfortunately, you were the eldest daughter of Queen Alicent. Your hand was promised to Aegon since you came out of your mother's cunt. 

There were no smiles on any of your faces when you married in the Great Sept of Baelor. Aegon kept sighing during the ceremony, disinterested and wishing for it to end, and you were picking at your fingers until drawing blood, terrified of the moment he would take you to bed.

You did your duty as husband and wife. You gave him a child — an heir. Your father was smiling wide at the beautiful silver haired babe in your arms, proud of his daughter, while your mother had tears in her eyes and called you her brave girl, having gone through the same thing when she was a girl. As for Aegon, he was in a brothel, getting drunk and wetting his cock. 

‘’Where is the babe?’’ he asked when he returned in the morning, the sun rising outside the Keep. 

You were exhausted from giving birth, and sore in places you didn’t think you would ever be. You were not in the mood for conversing with your unfaithful husband. 

‘’She is sleeping,’’ you replied. 

‘’She?’’ Aegon frowned. ‘’It’s a…girl?’’

The disappointment in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. ‘’I apologize for not giving you a boy.’’ 

After that moment, Aegon became kinder to you. 

He didn’t know how to be a father, but he knew that he didn’t want to be like his father; a man who pressured his first wife to give him a boy — an heir —, and drove her to her death from trying.  

A daughter was good, it was great. 

She quickly became his whole world. He took her on Sunfyre — against your approval —, read her stories at bedtime, and let her put flowers in his hair when they played outside. Your heart was fond every time you saw them together. 

‘’I want another,’’ Aegon said to you in the quiet of your bedchamber one night, his hand covering your flat stomach. ‘’Our daughter needs a brother…or a sister to play with.’’ 

You were seven and ten when you almost died during a miscarriage. Pregnancies were known to come with complications amongst the Targaryen women — miscarriages, stillborns, abnormalities —, and yours had been no different. 

Aegon had woken in the middle of the night to blood soaking the sheets. He shouted for the maester, dread filling his whole body at the thought of losing you. You were asleep for three days, which made the maester nervous. 

‘’No more,’’ he promised when you opened your eyes, refusing to put you through the risks of another pregnancy. He would not know what to do without you. 

When King Viserys fell and Aegon ascended the throne, a war ensued and Aegon ended up badly injured. Burns and broken bones. 

It was now your turn to stay by his side and pray the gods for his recovery. 

You had left shortly for the maesters to change his bandages, and found Aemond looming over the end of Aegon’s bed when you returned. 

‘’Was it worth the price?’’ 

Your brother’s head snapped in your direction in the doorway at the sound of your voice, but he ignored your question. 

You closed the door and stepped closer, eyes narrowing. ‘’You did this to him.’’ 

Aemond remained silent. 

‘’I saw you, Aemond. At Rook’s Rest.’’ Your gaze shifted to Aegon, lying motionless with half his face and body burned. ‘’I wasn’t going to let him go to battle alone and drunk. We didn’t choose this marriage, but I care enough to follow him on dragonback when he’s being reckless. I stayed behind, hidden through the forest. I could see all.’’ 

The room fell silent, the only sound Aegon’s labored breathing echoing.

‘’You burned him.’’ Your voice quivered with anger and disgust. ‘’You burned him and let him fall to his death! How could you?” you demanded, your voice trembling with rage. “You’re his brother! You were supposed to protect him, not burn him alive!”

Aemond observed you, his face cold and detached. ‘’Sacrifices must be made in order to ascend to our victory, sister. Aegon has the fire but lacks the wisdom and knowledge to rule.’’

‘’And you think you would make a better king?’’ you shot back with a huf. 

Aemond's eye darkened at your words. He stepped closer to you and grabbed your neck in a strong grip, but didn’t press. ‘’Watch your tongue, sister,’’ he warned in a low, menacing tone.

‘’Or what? You’re gonna burn me like you did Aegon?’’ you retorted, defiance in your violet eyes.

His grip on your neck tightened and the air was cut off instantly, your breath halting in your chest. Panic surged through you as you looked at him, your eyes wide with fear. His face was inches from yours, his grip unrelenting.

As if he had sensed your distress, Aegon spoke your name. It was more of a mumble, a weak wheeze, but you heard it. You both heard it. 

Aemond released his grip, shocked and stoic, and watched as you hurried to Aegon's bedside. He was half comatose, his eyes closed as he let out a soft moan.

You gently caressed his cheek. ‘’I’m here, my love,’’ you said, bringing your other hand to your neck where Aemond had grabbed you. 

He had always been gentle and kind compared to Aegon, especially toward you and Helaena. Never you would have imagined Aemond would put a hand on you. His behavior had changed since the death of your father. He became reckless and impulsive. Even your mother had been saying so. 

You heard footsteps, telling you Aemond was leaving, and without raising your head you said: ‘’I will pray you cut yourself on the throne and decay like our father did.’’

—

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[hunnylagoon]

Right Where You Left Me

Pt 3: Being So Normal

Ellie Williams x Reader

Horror pushes tears from my eyes as I uncover the corpses of your past relationships. Each of them dead and lifeless as the next. Because that is what you do, you ruin what is good and it makes me miss you less and less as everyday goes by.

Premise: You and Ellie were childhood friends until you drifted apart. Funny thing about soulmates is that they tend to find their way back to each other. On this night some questionable choices lead you to a vulnerable state where you run out of options.

Warnings: Angst / reader has religious issues / drinking / smoking / drugs

Part one here!

Part two here!

Part three here!

ELLIE

It wasn't as fun as I thought to watch you fall apart.

The morning after Christmas you left before I even woke, your makeshift bed made. You gathered all of the boxes of shit I collected off your dad's lawn and took off, leaving behind nothing more than a letter thanking my dad for his hospitality. 

When I came back to Northridge a week later it was like I was looking at a new person. 

Everything that had happened was swept under the rug, you lied and told the girls that you had a great Christmas. You started picking up overtime shifts, you were out more than you were at home.

I watch you stumble through the doors at five AM, makeup smeared, hair a mess and the fakest smile I have ever borne witness to, plastered across your face. You worked the closing shift almost every night and would go partying afterwards with your shitty co-workers who enabled this type of ruination.

I saw your stories too, shot after shot, In every single picture you nurse a drink in your hand or a cigarette wedged between your fingers. When did you even start smoking?

Abby and Cat didn't know just had bad you were but Dina was catching on. I remember how she would go out with you at the beginning, in her mind it had just been harmless fun until it was a nightly occurrence she started to get concerned.

It's like you've euthanized the person you used to be.

You can't even stand to be in a quiet room so you will it with nonsense conversation, hardly even words and laugh at your own jokes.

You used to glow. Back in middle school, you glowed like a candle that smelled of pumpkins and lattes, your love felt like sinking into a warm bath, comfort and security. In high school you glowed like the moon, no one could pry their wondering eyes away from your nerve-wracking beauty, gentle and empathetic.

Though now you do not glow, you burn. You burn like the end of a cigarette, the bud fluttering to the ground just to be crushed by the heel of muddy Converse. The spark of a lighter to ignite your stale menthol cigarette, slipped from bony fingers like clumsy matchsticks to the wilderness, to set what once was beautiful aflame.

Fire is only beautiful while it burns, I knew that soon you would smother yourself out to ashes.

I've been nourishing my withering body with 50-cent packets of ramen noodles. 

I know that I'm not well, in fact, I think I've fallen off the rails.

When was the last time I got a full night of sleep? I'm not sure.

My days and nights bleed together and I can hardly differentiate the two. I hate everyone but I'm so starved for love I am searching everywhere for it, I look for it in dingy clubs and roadkill off the side of a highway, the bottom of a solo cup and the arms of one-night stands, I have even learned to lick it off silver knives. They have taken the rosery from my hand and replaced it with hard liquor.

I went out last night to forget like I do every single night. I look to the moon and pretend it is its being with thoughts and feelings, I act like I talk to it and it has said that it shines just for me.

Tonight, I will go out again. I smear glitter over my eyelids and slip into a silver sequin dress that doesn't even fall past my fingertips. I force my scabbed and bleeding feet into white stilettos that are sure to damage them even further. When I look in the mirror I feel a new sense of bitterness, like nicotine on the tip of my tongue, my face is thinning and my eyes are sunken in, dark bags hanging below the dull irisis. I cover it in concealer and bronze my face to help me look some sort of alive.

"Where are you going?" Dina asks me as I walk from my room and towards the front door, she has a tote bag packed up, her car keys in hand.

"The Monarch," I answer, it was a club on the main street, it tended to be the busiest also infamous for sketchy activity. My eyebrows furrow as I look at the tote bag in hand "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to Jesse's for the night, " She says, tonight her hair is loose and falling over her shoulders "Are you sure you wanna go out tonight?"

I nod, suddenly feeling vulnerable in my choice of clothing "Yeah," Sensing her judgement, I'm already getting defensive "I'm in college, all I do and go to work and school-

"Who's fault is that?" Dina cuts me off and my words fail me, I don't know what to say. She looks at me with disappointment glinting in her dark eyes.

My phone dings and I check the notification "My ride is here."

"Don't stay out too late."

"I won't," We both know that I am lying.

I have been many things over the years, a pirate, a cowboy, a warrior; over the past five months alone I have been a lonely girl and a saint, now I am a drunk who drowns out her worries in vodka and overly sweet cocktails.

"To being young, dumb, and broke!" Kayla raises her shot, and the rest of the group does the same. The small glasses clink together, and some of the vodka spills before we all swallow them back and slam them back onto the bar.

The central focal point was the expansive dance floor, alive with bodies moving in rhythmic unison. Multicoloured strobe lights cut through the haze, creating an otherworldly atmosphere.

The bar, a gleaming expanse of polished metal, beckoned with the promise of libations. Bartenders, clad in stylish attire, skillfully craft cocktails. The mirrored backdrop reflected the kaleidoscope of lights and the animated conversations that unfolded in this hub of social convergence.

Overhead, suspended fixtures resembling metallic sculptures add to the overstimulation.

"Welcome back," The bartender, Mitch, smiles at me, I know him by name now that I've been bouncing around from club to club almost every night. "Long Island ice tea?" He asks, to which I respond with a nod. He's memorized my drink too.

Kayla is beside me while the others have dispersed to dance or converse, she sips a dirty martini. Her beautiful copper hair is styled into loose curls, she is clad in all black, a tube top, a mini skirt and tall boots as well as a slightly oversized leather jacket thrown overtop. She looks like the definition of a cool girl.

Everyone liked her. 

"So how are things with the roommates?" She asks me, her green eyes piercing mine, she has a slight smile on her perfect lips.

"It's fine," I lied, again. I knew Dina was getting tired of taking care of me when I was too drunk to make my own way home, all of the girls that Ellie brought over hated me. I haven't been seeing much of Abby but Cat and I were actually good.

I can tell that Kayla doubts my words but she carries on to another topic "Are you ready to get fucked up tonight?"

"Yes, ma'am," I giggle. Around the curved bar, I see a woman, she's in a red top and black jeans, her hair in a mousy brown shag cut. Obviously, she caught my eye. "Do you think she's gay?"

Kayla discreetly turns to look at the woman, she turns back to me grinning "No shit."

The woman catches me staring at her and smiles at me, of course, she has perfectly straight white teeth and a pretty smile. I sheepishly smile back "Hey, Mitch?" I wait for the bartender to give me his attention "Two shots of Everclear?"

That's how the majority of my night plays out; I dance for a minute, swaying to- not really swaying, I was dancing in a way that became a hazard to those around me then return to the bar to down more drinks.

"Hey," I hear a voice beside me, it isn't one I recognize, and when I face it, I feel my heartbeat pick up. It was the woman I had been eyeing, now that she's this close I can see the freckles scattered on her face. "Do you wanna dance?"

I can't help when my face splits into a smile, "For sure," I slip off the barstool and follow her onto the dancefloor, the lights are orange and hazy or maybe the haziness is caused by my drunken state. The woman says something to me but it's drowned out by the overwhelmingly loud music "What?" 

"I'm Karris," She repeats, smiling down at me.

"Cool!" I say. I followed Karris' lead with the dancing, she had a certain confidence in her. 

I swayed with each ungraceful movement. Karris, the opposite of me is attuned to the music, moved with a confident fluidity that balanced out my careless stumbles. She laughs at my dancing "Here, I'll help you out." She shouts, trying to be heard over the Rhianna song blasting in my ears.

She comes up behind me, snaking her hands down my torso until they find a resting spot on my hips. With a firm grip, she slows me down, and now I'm moving with her, as one.

My sequin dress shimmered with every twist and move, like a mirrorball, I too might hang. As the light shifts I could've sworn I saw Ellie in the face of Karris. 

I felt the liquor hit me all at once and my body became loose, melting into Karris, I'm almost limp against her touch. She's in front of me now and my arms are hooked around her neck while her slim hands lay on her midriff. 

Her eyebrows furrow as she says something to me but once again it it lost in all of the noise, I just laugh, pretending like I heard what she was saying and hoping that it wasn't something about her dog dying.

The pop song changes into some song in French, I can't make out the words. Wait, I aced every French test in high school, I step away from Karris, squinting my eyes as I stand still in the middle of the dancefloor trying to process the lyrics.

 Je veux te voir- I need you, no, that doesn't sound right. I want to see you, that's it. 

 je veux t'avoir- I want to hold you.

I want to hold you? Is that it? When did my French get so rough? I can't even think straight.

I swear on every god I was so drunk that I forgot I was in the middle of a dancefloor, it had slipped from my mind that I was dancing with someone, and all I could think about was my French classes from high school.

Age fifteen - Grade 10

The French lesson seemed to be even more boring than usual that day. Monsieur Cargin was babbling on and on about how there could be a room full of women but if there was one male rat you would refer to them using ils instead of elles. It was the same lesson I had learned every single year in French.

It took Monsieur Cargin thirty minutes to announce the project. "Pour ce devoir, vous écrirez une lettre à un camarade de classe sur vous-même, vous pourrez inclure des informations sur votre famille, vos passe-temps, vos sujets préférés et peut-être un bon souvenir. Si vous êtes ami avec votre partenaire, vous pouvez écrire avec lui sur quelque chose que vous attendez avec impatience. La lettre fera au minimum un paragraphe, je viserais plus haut si vous voulez une bonne note." Easy enough, a letter to a classmate about your self. "Avant de demander, vous pouvez choisir vos propres partenaires."

I look right over to Ellie from across the room after he mentions choosing our own partners, she doesn't meet my gaze though, she looks as lost as ever, rifling through some papers in her binder and I'm not even sure she understood a word of what the teacher said.

Monsieur Cargin lets us begin our project, everyone gets up from their seat to search for a partner; Ellie, seeing that everyone is standing up, gets up as well. I wave her down to my desk, she crouches beside it and asks "What the fuck are we supposed to be doing?"

I explain the project to her while she hangs off my desk and nods at everything I'm saying, giving me her full attention "Do you get it now?"

"Yes." 

The next day we finished writing the letters and had to give them to each other before we turned it in, I gave Ellie my letter first.

Ellie,

Je suis heureux que nous soyons amis, non seulement parce que nos parents nous ont forcés à l'être, mais parce que tu es mon âme sœur dans chaque vie. J'aimerais te parler de moi, mais tu me connais déjà mieux que moi-même, alors je vais juste dire certaines choses que je sais sur toi. Vous avez lu chaque couverture de la bande dessinée Savage Starlight, plus d'une fois. Je sais que vous aimez faire du shopping dans la section hommes des magasins parce que vous pensez que c'est plus confortable même si vous finissez par ressembler à Adam Sandler. Vous détestez les mathématiques même si vous êtes vraiment bon dans ce domaine et vous aimez l'anglais même si vous détestez les études romanesques. Vous parlez à toute vitesse parce que vous avez tellement de choses à dire et pas assez de temps pour le dire, vous chantez comme une église avec une chorale et chaque fois que je vous vois entrer dans une pièce, je ne peux m'empêcher de sourire. J'ai hâte d'entrer à l'université, nous pouvons être colocataires et décorer la maison exactement comme nous le voulons, merci de toujours me supporter.

(Translation)

Ellie,

I'm glad that we're friends, not just because our parents forced us to be but because you are my soulmate in every single life. I would like to tell you about me, but you already know me better than I know myself so instead I will just say some things I know about you. You have read every Savage Starlight comic cover to cover, more than once. I know that you like to shop in the men's section at stores because you think it's more comfortable even if you end up looking like Adam Sandler. You hate math even though you are really good at it and you love English even though you hate novel studies. You talk at a mile a minute because you have so much to say and not enough time to say it, you sing like a church with a choir in it and every time I see you walk into a room I can't help but smile. I can't wait for college, we can be roommates and decorate the house exactly how we want it, thank you for always putting up with me.

I bent the rubric a little bit, talking about Ellie rather than myself but we were really getting graded on our French comprehension, not the subject matter of the letter. Ellie read it through, over and over, nodding her head along and pretending that it made perfect sense but I can tell by the way she squints her eyes and furrows her eyebrows that it doesn't make sense. She hand hers to me next, pride clear across her face.

Ton père est toujours en colère et je pense que c'est pour ça que nous sommes mariés. J'apprécie quand tu dors dans ma chambre et que nous nous battons avec des pistolets à eau. Mon film préféré à regarder est Star Wars, mais j'apprécie aussi Hunger Games parce que vous en êtes témoin. J'attends avec impatience une soirée cinéma ce vendredi avec vous. Tu es très cool, merci d'être mon ami.

(Translation)

Your dad is always mad and I think that is why we are married. I enjoy when you sleep at my room and we fight with guns of water. My favourite movie to watch is Star Wars but I also enjoy Hunger games because you witness it. I look forward to night movie this Friday because with you. You are very cool, thank for being my friend.

I can't help but giggle when I read it over, this causes panic in Ellie "Why are you laughing, what's wrong with it?"

"I love you but you are definitely failing."

I quickly helped her rewrite it before we turned it in, and she ended up getting a B with my revisions.

"Are you okay?" I hear Karris, she looks a little on edge, probably because I went nonverbal and froze for a solid minute or two.

"She's fine," Kayla puts her hands on either of my arms which are currently plastered to my side "I'm just gonna snag her for a minute if you don't mind." Kayla didn't wait for a response she was already dragging me away, guiding me through the sea of people and into the bathroom.

I always hated the bathroom here. The walls were black tile with white grout and there was graffiti all over the stalls and ceiling, apparently, it added to the effect, I just thought it was fugly; not to mention how dimly lit it was, there were red LED strips behind the mirrors but that was about the only light source. If you were trying to fix your eyeliner, you 

"What is going on with you?" Kayla leans against the counter with the sinks, I'm right in front of her with my arms crossed.

"Nothing-

"I just saw you glitch in real life," She raises her eyebrows "You literally froze, I thought you were having a stroke."

I wipe some sweat off my brow "My head hurts," I mutter, I've already had too much to drink and we really hadn't been there that long. My thoughts didn't seem to process. Now keep in mind that I was so insanely plastered that night that I don't remember everything verbatim, I had to take others' words for what happened.

"Do you want an aspirin?" Kayla asks to which I nod and she begins digging through her purse, she pulls out a little bottle and I hear the rattling of pills. It's so dark that I can only make out the vague shape of the bottle. She places a little pill into my hand and gives me a half-drunk bottle of Fiji water in my free hand.

I don't need the water though, I dry swallow it.

She tucks the bottle back into her purse and feels something, I see her eyes go wide and that alone begins to stress me out. "What?" I ask, with no answer. She dumps her purse onto the counter behind her and turns on her phone flash to look at each item, she snatches a bottle of Tylenol and takes the cap off just for her hand to fly over her mouth. "Is something wrong?"

"I didn't give you aspirin," She's fighting back laughter but her dainty features are etched with concern.

"So?" I say, "It's just Tylenol, it won't kill me," My speech is slurred from the alcohol in my system.

"Honey, it's not Tylenol," She lowers her hand from her mouth, pressing her lips together tight. "It's MDMA."

"What?"

"Ecstasy," She corrects herself, making it easier for me to understand.

"WHAT?" My eyes go wide and my jaw drops "WHAT?" I repeat, running over to one of the nasty graffiti-covered stalls and kneeling in front of it, sticking my fingers down my throat to try and throw up to get it out of my system before it sets in. "Say something gross to make me throw up!"

"Uhh," Kayla stood behind me "Think of your dad getting off with your grandma!"

"EW!" I shout, turning to look at her with disgust on my face. "Why would you say that?"

"You told me to say something gross!"

"Not that!" I cry, slouching against the stall. I wish I had a time machine, I wouldn't just go back four hours, I would go back four years and make sure I play everything right. Maybe then I wouldn't be drunk and high in the bathroom of a dingy nightclub and I would still have Ellie.

"It's okay, honey, It's clean," Kayla walks closer to me, the heels of her boots clacking on the tile "I promise," She offers me a little rub on the shoulder "I promise I'll take good care of you tonight and make sure you're safe."

She was lying through her teeth, and just an hour later I was face down on the bar, lulling in and out of consciousness. That is the exact moment I started to think it wasn't clean like Kayla had said. My high didn't feel like what I was told rolling was like.

At first, I felt fine and then everything started to feel off. You know when you spin around a bunch super fast and your world spins under your feet? It was like that. 

Before I retired to the bar, I tried to get back on the dancefloor just for my body to betray me and collapse onto the ground, people around me had stopped to watch me stagger back onto my feet and wordlessly stumble away.

After I lift my head off the spruce bartop and don't see Kayla anywhere in sight for the seventh time, I reach for my phone that I had stuffed into my bra and dial up Dina. 

I hear the hum of the tone before it clicks and I hear her static voice on the other end. "Hello?" Her voice crackles.

"Dina, I'm on drugs."

"What?" I hear some shuffling in the background then what sounds like the click of a door "What drugs? are you okay?"

"I don't know," My voice drags out "Kayla took it out of her purse, said it was MMA and I'm not-" I hiccup "I'm not doing well."

"What the hell is MMA? Isn't that mixed martial arts?"

"Dina, I'm not doing martial arts, I'm doing drugs."

She sighs and I can feel her disappointment through the phone "Are you still at Monarch?"

"Yes."

"Hang on," Something shifts in the background.

"I'm kind of scared."

"Please just stay where you are-

"I love you, Dina."

"I lo- CLICK

My phone dies, and the screen turns black. I click some buttons for a moment to ensure that it's dead before I tuck it back into my bra and let myself lull back onto the bar, I rest my head on my arms and look at the displays of liquor surrounding me.

I lose track of the time that passes, in my head I am just about the win the 72nd Hunger Games, it's down to me and another tribute. There's an intense fight, I wind up underneath her and she presses a blade to my throat, I get a good look at her face and see Ellie but her face doesn't stay the same. It morphs through every version of her I had ever known. When we were seven, her grunge phase, when she let me do her makeup. This is when I give up, I know I don't have it in me to kill her so I lay limp and await my fate-

"Hey," A man sits next to me, his presence stood out effortlessly. With a strong, chiselled jawline and well-defined features, his face carried an air of that old-money elegance. His hazel eyes were softened by something (alcohol, probably), drawing others into their captivating gaze. Dark, tousled hair framed his face, adding an intriguing touch of ruggedness. He is clad in a white button-up and dress pants, I can well he's a blue-collar man just from the way he sits.

"What?" I squint my eyes at him.

"You're really pretty, I thought I would introduce myself," He smiles "I'm Emmet."

"Okay," I answer turning my attention to look ahead at the liquor display, watching the way the lights shone through them. Right now I don't care to make conversation, even if he looks like Henry Cavell, I'm fighting to stay awake.

One of his bulky hands reaches for my necklace, four of his fingers are beneath the cross, pressed against it while his thumb rubs it "You're religious."

I look down where he cradles my cross and try to jerk away but my body feels too heavy "Not anymore," I mutter. I put one of my hands over his to move it off me, he takes this as an invitation to hold my hand.

Emmet brings his head next to mine to whisper in my ear "So does that mean you're a good girl or a bad girl-

"It means she's leaving, actually," Ellie pushes him away abruptly, he looks taken aback while she doesn't give a shit. She begins to gingerly help me off the stool "Do you have everything?"

"Why are you here?" I ask "I called Abby."

"You called Dina and she's on the other side of town with her boyfriend so she sent me." Ellie slings one arm around me and I sink into her immediately.

"I hate you so much," I murmur under my breath.

"Yeah, I bet you do," She is gentle with me, she's treating me like I'm made of porcelain and I'll shatter at the slightest bit of harm.

Emmet looks crazily offended, his hands up in defence "Hey, we were having a conversation-

"Borderline harassment doesn't constitute a conversation." Ellie looks like she rolled out of bed, she is in her grey sweatpants and field hockey hoodie, her hair in the low ponytail she always wore to sleep. "Are you okay?" She asks, her tone shifting from harsh to soft.

"Mhm," I ball my fist up and rub my eye, smearing my mascara when I do so, I look down at my hand and see the remnants of my telescopic mascara and silver glitter smudged on it. 

I am killing myself slowly and it is no crucifixion. 

As Ellie helps me into the back seat of her car I feel like mold is growing on my bones just to way me down to the concrete where I will surely rot. "I don't write enough," I mumble "And I'm so lonely I'm searching for god everywhere but I can't find him."

Ellie gives me a little hum of acknowledgment her eyes briefly shooting to me in the rearview mirror before looking back to the road. 

"Don't worry, I'm not in love with you anymore," I say nonchalantly as I'm sprawled out in her back seat, watching the light from neon signs pass us by.

"I didn't know you ever were." She says softly, hands on the steering wheel, she steals glances at me. The towering skyscrapers loomed like sentinels, their reflective glass surfaces capturing the myriad colours of neon signs that adorned the streets.

"I hate you," I add on. The mix of liquor and whatever drug Kayla gave me was doing me justice, I couldn't hold back any thought, they all fell from my lips in a jumbled mess. "I hope you die, I hope we both die." Ellie doesn't have anything to say to that. I think to myself that if I die in this moment, I would not be afraid, I would greet death like an old friend with a bright smile and warm hug. "I don't love anyone the way I love you," My head lulls against the window "And your girls, they all hate me."

"So which is it?" She asks, feeding into my tangent "Do you love me or do you hate me?"

"I-" I think about it for a brief moment "I hope if I killed myself everyone who was ever mean to me felt responsible." I look up slightly, using the car seats to help me steady myself "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you home," She says, biting the inside of her cheek "What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for god to call me back."

I ramble on and on, it's a miracle that she didn't stop at the side of the road and dump me onto a curb. The traffic lights painted the road in hues of red and green, and the city lights flickered like stars, helping us find our way home. 

"Ellie," I say, a building up ahead catches my eyes "Ellie, pull over!" She thinks I'm going to throw up so she pulls her gray sedan over, as swiftly as possible. I stumble out of the car, my stiletto heel catches the ground in a weird way, my ankle goes sideways and I fall with it.

"Shit," Ellie rushes from the driver's seat to help me sit up straight. I use her as support to pull myself off the concrete sidewalk completely and walk towards the church up ahead like a zombie "Where are you going?"

"To clean myself from sin," I approach the church and force the heavy doors open; I knew for a fact even in my state that this church had its chapel open twenty-four hours from all of the Google pins my mom sent me when I first moved here. 

The chapel's interior was bathed in a soft, ethereal moonlight that filtered through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours upon the polished wooden pews below. 

Smooth, cool stone formed the foundation of the chapel. The high, arched ceilings reached towards the heavens, adorned with wooden beams that seemed to cradle the sacred space below. The acoustics, shaped by the architecture, lent an echo to the moonlight whisper as if the very walls absorbed and magnified the prayers of the faithful.

Rows of meticulously arranged pews lined either side of a central aisle, leading towards the altar bathed in a soft glow. Carved with intricate detail, the altar served as the focal point, adorned with candles, floral arrangements, and sacred symbols. The air was scented with the subtle fragrance of incense, a sensory companion to the spiritual journey within.

Throughout the chapel, unlit candles are spread throughout. Above the altar, a crucifix hung solemnly, a symbol of sacrifice and redemption. Rays of moonlight seemed to converge upon it, imbuing the sacred symbol with a profound sense of grace. 

I try to compose myself the way you would a song or a speech and fall to my knees before the altar, clasping my hands together tightly. "My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. I wake young but feel as though my bones have resided on this earth for centuries."

I am at his altar but I don't feel him around me, where is his steady hand which used to guide me?

My hands grasp together even tighter "I am filthy, I'm disgusting," I choke out "I'm all used up and I need you to help me get better," I break my hands away from their position to wipe my eyes free of any oncoming tears before putting them right back "Fill me with your purity, I will be waterboarded by your sacred hand until holy water leaks from my pores."

Ellie hangs around by the entrance, sketched out by not only the creepy church but also my off-putting behaviour. She flinches at every shadow she sees, believing it to be a homeless person who was residing there for the night. I'm kneeling over in my sequin dress, one of the straps slips down my shoulder and my dress rides up, this is the most sinful I have ever been, synthetic sunshine coursing through my system.

"Make me love myself so I have room to love you," I feel so repulsive and dirty, soap and water won't make me feel clean so I'll try bleach and matches instead "I ask for Your mercy and grace to cleanse me from all unrighteousness. Create in me a clean heart, God, and renew a right spirit within me, return my family to my side."

I search for some sort of sign that he is watching over me.

Nothing.

No sign that he is here.

The priest at my old church in my hometown had said that without doubt there was no room for faith. It wasn't doubt, it was absolution, he is not here and so I unclasped my golden cross necklace and discarded it on the ground before the altar, never again will I be haunted by a man who has failed to ever show me mercy.

Ellie washes the grime off me with the detachable shower head. My hair is clipped up and I am hugging my knees, facing away from her in the bathtub. I feel a profound sense of shame and embarrassment all over again despite everything within me that is helping to take the edge off. 

She holds the shower head but looks away to give me some false sense of dignity, I cried the whole way home from the church about being filthy but with how many times I had fallen over, she didn't want me to hit my head in the shower so we settled on this.

"I'm done," I mutter and right away Ellie turns the shower off and grabs my house robe from one of the hooks on the door, she holds it up and waits for me to stand, still averting her eyes. I stand slowly, gripping onto the rim of the tub for dear life. When I slip into it, Ellie helps me move out of the bathtub and into my bedroom.

She lifts me onto the bed and tucks me in beneath my satin duvet cover. Ellie leaves for a moment but when she returns she has a bowl in case I need to vomit, a class of water, a sleeve of saltines and a bottle of actual aspirin.

"Goodnight," She begins to shut the door but I stop her.

"Ellie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you stay with me?" My voice breaks as I say it "Just for tonight, I don't want to be alone." Wordlessly, she shuts the door and comes around the right side of my bed; Ellie is careful keep her distance from me but unlike Christmas, we face each other. "I don't hate you." I tell her because that is all I could recall saying in the car ride.

"I know."

"Do you hate me?"

"Of course not."

I don’t think I’m a whole person anymore, I think I’m made up from a dozen different perceptions of me. This version of me, born that night was anything but pure.

I am unlovely, so please, hold me gently and do not wreck me any further.

A/N: The drinking age in Canada is nineteen! They go to school in the true north strong and free. Also one more part left to go 👀

Tag list!

@elliesaturnsoftdrink @elliesaesp @melanie-watermelon @yalaysbee @laundrybag29 @readbydayana @skylerwhitwyo @lmaoo-spiderman @joliettes @kittnii @taylorgracies @sameenatruther @mikellie @belles-hell

Sorry if I missed anyone!

[simpingsavant]

Late Night

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Summary: You are the person always working when Spencer stops by to get his fix of Mountain Dew Kickstart.

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, slow-burn. A gross man flirts w you for plot purposes. Promise it's very non-major but just in case.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: First time posting for smosh, but not the first time posting fanfic. I made a whole side blog for this lol I'm thinking I want to post more so feel free to send me smosh requests and give lots of love so I stay motivated to write more hehe <3

Working the graveyard shift at a 24-hour convenience store is generally not a good idea. Except this one is in a nice area of LA, you’re almost always working with someone, and it’s slow enough that you can get your grad school work done.

Four months ago, when you were first looking at the help wanted sign in the window, you decided you would give it a week to see if it was actually worth it. Now, you were contently typing away on your computer as a group of middle-aged people grabbed alcohol and snacks. They were fancily dressed but the expressions on their faces were reminiscent of college students who were partying through the night like they owned it. When they came up with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and enough snacks to last them weeks, you happily scanned the items.

The silver fox dressed in a deep, blue suit dropped a twenty in the tip jar.

“Thank you,” You said, handing him a receipt as his cohorts grabbed the food.

The bell jingled as they left. Your coworker was in the back taking inventory. You looked down at your laptop, rereading the last couple of sentences as you found your place in the research essay you’d been taking notes from.

You loved your job. You worked from 11 pm to 8 am and although it took you time to adjust to a new sleep schedule, it was worth it. You were paid slightly more since you were working such an atrocious shift and you never interacted with your boss. Occasionally, he would message you that he was coming in early to talk, but he often just texted about what he wanted you to get done.

Until 1 am, you were working with Michael, a young man who was in his senior year of college. At 4 am, Marie would come in, an older Latina woman who had been working this shift for over ten years now. She’d relieve you for your break and you’d come back just in time for the morning rush.

You liked the morning rush. Although you couldn’t get much homework done at the time, it was when you had your most regulars. You would see moms buying their children lunch before school, office workers buying cheap coffee, and students buying energy drinks.

Marie would man the register, and you would come to help if needed. During rests, you would be restocking shelves or cleaning.

From 1 am to 4 am, you would usually see only a few faces. You would see students who stay up extremely late or workers having to go in much too early. Since it was a nice neighborhood, they were all pleasant people and you never worried about your own safety or well-being. 

Only one regular came in consistently during these hours. He looked to be about your age with chocolate hair that curled at the nape of his neck. He came in just after 1 am and always sported dark eye circles. He purchased anywhere from 4 to 8 cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart and occasionally a bag of chips. 

Sometimes, you’d see him in the morning again before you were off. He’d buy a cheap coffee and some fruit.

For the first month, you were too concerned with doing your job well to start any conversations besides pleasantries. He was, however, the first customer you recognized as a regular. You couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would need so many energy drinks. In particular, why in God's name did he love Mountain Dew Kickstart?

Maybe you were so intrigued because he caught your eye from day one. He was dressed in combat boots and a worn jacket. You soon learned those two items were part of his daily attire. You liked the way his hair looked or the way his downturned eyes crinkled as he smiled.

In your second month of working there, you spent way too much time trying to think of a way to start a conversation.

So far, you only got:

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How’s your night going?”

“Good, and you?”

“Fine. Do you want a bag?”

“No, I have my backpack.”

“Okay. Your total is $12.53, go ahead and swipe, insert, or tap your card. Would you like your receipt?”

Sometimes he said yes, sometimes he said no. A few times, your hands would brush. He was always so warm, your cold hands lingering as he bashfully smiled and looked away.

“Have a good one.”

“You too.”

His hair was getting longer and you thought it suited him well. You wanted nothing more than a reason to hold a genuine conversation with him.

During your third month, that reason finally came.

He walked in, luscious locks replaced with a buzz cut and you couldn’t help but go “Oh wow.”

“Is it that bad?” He joked, rubbing the top of his head.

“No, no,” You immediately said, hands moving rapidly. “It just surprised me.” A beat of silence followed before you added, “You pull it off.” He really did, but you also took that as a sign you liked him a little too much. You felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thanks, it was for work,” He adds, voice monotone despite the little grin he sported at your compliment. He walks farther into the store, toward the opposite wall with the display of drinks.

“For work? Are you joining the army?” You question, stumbling over your words slightly as you realize that it’s finally happening—you are finally holding a conversation with him.

“No,” He laughs. “I work for this online entertainment company.” He fills his arms with five cans. “It was for a special.”

“Oh,” You reply, rolling on the balls of your feet as you try to think of ways to keep the conversation going. “Are you an actor?”

“More behind the scenes,” He replies, coming up to the counter and placing his drinks down. He grabs a bag of chips from the front display.

“That’s cool,” You say, picking up the first can as you begin scanning.

He shrugs, “I’m sure half the city does stuff online.”

“I doubt that,” You scoff. “Maybe half does entertainment, but definitely not exclusively online content.” Feeling a little bad for shutting him down, you look up at him for a moment, expecting to see disappointment or annoyance.

Instead, he’s smiling. It’s not a large smile, but it quells your anxiety.

“You’re probably right,” He answers, fishing out his card.

“I usually am,” You joke, giving him a quick look before clicking away on your screen. “Your total is $10.54.”

He lets out a short laugh that makes your insides flip with satisfaction. “I’m Spencer by the way,” He offers, putting away his card after the reader beeps.

“Y/N,” You say, tapping your name tag. “Do you want your receipt, Spencer?”

“Sure, Y/N,” He answers, putting his drinks into his backpack.

You rip it from the printer and hold it out. The way he said your name makes you shiver. He takes the receipt and bids you farewell.

You see him in the morning and you’re eighty percent sure he times it to check out with you instead of Marie. Today he opted for an iced coffee with lots of cream and a plastic container of chopped mango.

“Good morning, Spencer. How’d you sleep?”

“Good, but not long enough. What about you?”

You see a flash of realization on his face as soon as he says it, but you’re speaking before he can correct himself.

“Haven’t slept yet, but I get off in ten minutes and will be able to sleep till five today so that’s nice.”

“What’s at five?”

“Class. They’re in the evening since so many grad students work day jobs.” You tap away on the screen. “Would you like your receipt?”

“Nah, just toss it.” He picks up the drink and fruit. “See ya later, Y/N.”

“See you,” You reply, crumpling the receipt and throwing it in the small trash bin under your register before waving to the next customer.

~~

Since then, Spencer has come in every night without fail and sparked a conversation with you. You learn that the company he works for is called Smosh and you think the name is vaguely familiar. He asks you what you’re studying and why you’re always on your laptop.

The next month and a half goes by quickly. You come to expect him, anticipating his nightly visits. He has recently started staying longer, leaning over the counter and smiling at you as he talks about something that happened the other day. If another person comes in, he usually takes that as his sign to leave, wishing you well and exiting before the new customer is ready to check out.

You’re unfortunately not getting as much homework done because of this, but you don’t mind one bit. You either work during your break or just take some time before class to do more. You wonder if he’s not getting as much sleep because of this, worried you’re burdening him. Despite this, you know that you’ll selfishly never be able to turn him away. Even if it is for his own benefit.

Once, he came in before Michael had left. Your conversation was curt and he left right after you gave him the receipt. Michael stared you down the whole time and Spencer was clearly thrown off by another person being there.

“Who was that?” Your coworker asked, moving toward you from his spot behind the hot food.

“Just a regular,” You answer, trying to keep your cool. You pull out a cloth and begin wiping down the counter, wanting to occupy your hands. “He usually comes later.”

“Ah,” Michael says, nodding slowly and giving you a look. “That’s it?”

“Yeah?”

“Interesting.”

The comment piques your interest and you can’t help but ask, “How so?”

Michael smirks at you, “Why do you care?”

“Bro, shut up,” You hiss, pushing him out of your face and walking over to your stash of food. Your face felt hot as you walked past, and you attempted to hide it in the collar of your shirt. It was never fun to be caught with a crush, but you wanted to know Michael’s thoughts. So far, you and Spencer always talked in privacy, with no onlookers to comment on if your feelings seemed mutual.

“Fine, fine,” He relents, holding his hands up. “It’s just that I saw him through the window before he came in and he was smiling way too big for someone coming in the pick up energy drinks.”

“You’d be surprised. He gets those every night,” You defensively argue, “He probably has a shrine at home.”

“Oh, come on,” Michael says, rolling his eyes as you pop a chip into your mouth. “That smile dropped as soon as he saw me. I bet he wishes it was just you.”

“Don’t say that stuff.”

“Why not? Don’t you like him? You definitely lit up when you saw him.”

You gawk at your coworker, absolutely astonished at how easy it was for him to notice. This was the first time anyone witnessed the two of you interact and now you were questioning every interaction. Did he like you? Or did he just like that you gave him a confidence boost because your infatuation was so obvious?

“W-what’s your major again? Investigation?” You accuse, stuttering out of pure frustration.

“Yes, actually—”

You roll your eyes, but the sound of the door brings your back to attention. You steel your expression but are grateful the conversation ended. It was a wake-up call for you and you spent the rest of your shift trying to understand your feelings more.

Could it still be called a crush? You felt like you knew so much and yet so little about him. When did you cross the line from strangers to acquaintances? How do you go from acquaintances to friends? Did you even want to be friends?

After that, Spencer always came in after Michael left, his disposition more friendly when it was just the two of you. You didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign, but it was hard to think about when only a counter separated the two of you and he was radiating warmth and cracking jokes.

~~

“Okay,” You hear Michael say and all of a sudden you are back to reality, no farther in your reading than you were 10 minutes ago.

The door to the back shuts and you look at your coworker with wide eyes.

“I finally finished with inventory.”

He looks down at his phone, prompting you to look at the time showing on your laptop.

12:56

“Sweet,” He says, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “Need anything from me before I go?” 

“No,” You answer. “Enjoy your night.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna go grab my stuff before I clock out.”

“For sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Later,” Michael says.

He opens the door to the back and you turn to your computer. The break room was through those doors as was the back entrance which almost all employees used when coming and going.

You focused on your computer, reading the most important parts of the study and taking down notes. In the back of your mind, you knew Spencer would be arriving soon. It makes you nervous, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you await his arrival.

You have been thinking lately about how to advance your relationship. Maybe get more personal with the information or invite him to hang out outside of your job. The idea makes you queasy because you worry about ruining everything by trying to get more.

You finished the reading and moved on to another class assignment. Spencer came in soon after, his lips quirked up and no jacket on. The weather was getting warmer and it was rather dry. You could absolutely walk around with only a T-shirt and jeans on despite the time.

This, however, drew your eyes to his arms immediately. They weren’t as hairy as you were expecting, his beard and how quickly his hair grew back making you think they would be. He wasn’t very muscley in any way, but your eyes shamelessly lingered on his biceps longer than you wanted.

His skin was littered with freckles and tattoos, black ink that started at his forearm and rose past his t-shirt. You could spend hours looking at them, a couple of them immediately garnering your interest.

“Hey,” You greeted, your eyes snapping up to his face. You were pretty sure he caught you, but he thankfully said nothing. Maybe he was used to his tattoos being looked at, an easy cover considering you weren’t just looking at his tattoos.

“Hey, how’s your night?” He makes his way across the store with ease, eyes staying on you.

“Fine, it’s extra slow tonight.”

“That’s nice,” He’s speaking loud enough that you can hear him from far away. “Are you getting a lot of homework done?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Finals are coming up and I’m working on all the trivial homework now so I can study and work on the final essays in the library.”

“Is this your final year?”

“Sort of. I’ll be getting my masters after this, but I’m on an automated track for my PhD.”

There’s silence as he grabs a final can and walks up to the front. It’s almost awkward, but you aren’t sure why. It seems like he wants to ask you something, but is struggling to say it.

You start scanning his items, letting him think instead of trying to fill the space with meaningless talk.

“Are you still working here over the summer?”

“I am,” You light up, realizing why he was nervous. It sent a spark through your body to think about him missing you.

God, you wanted him so bad.

“I’m also doing some research work for a professor though,” You add. “I’m honestly too busy to have a job and it will only get worse in the upcoming year, but I need the money and this is the best option for pay and the ability to do homework.”

“Damn,” Spencer sighs. “I’m sorry about that.”

His voice is soft and sincere. It throws you off for a moment, not used to this kind of sympathy. Your social circle consists of Michael, Marie, and other students who were also going through their own shit.

“Oh, it's nothing,” You shyly reply, eyes falling to the counter and lips forming a tight line as your mind races.

“No, seriously,” Spencer insists. “It must be so difficult and yet you never seem like you’re struggling.”

With a large breath, you finally accept his compliment. “Thank you, that’s very nice of you.” You look up to see that his gaze is already on you and you hold eye contact for an absurd amount of time. You’re sure any onlookers would consider the scene intense.

The pressure of the moment builds, compressing your lungs.

“Um, anyways, your total is $9.54,” You say, breaking the silence and eye contact.

“Oh, right.”

Spencer shoves his hand into his pocket to grab his wallet and you once again admire his arms as he’s busy.

“How was work today?” You ask, wanting to dissipate the intensity of the moment.

“Long.” He answers. “This week is a filming week so I’ve been busy as hell working behind the camera and being in a few videos too. Tomorrow is Friday though and I don’t have to be in till 11 am.”

You hum in acknowledgment, “That sucks.” 

Long ago, when curiosity finally got to you, you looked up Smosh. You realized quickly that the name was familiar because it was quite popular back in OG YouTube. You spent an hour exploring their channels before growing bored and looking up videos with Spencer specifically. It was weird and you could only watch in short increments of time before needing a break. You felt like you were violating his privacy, but struggled to stop when you realized just how funny he was, his humor translating perfectly on camera. He held your attention in so many videos, quick quips making you burst out laughing.

You also note the differences in how he talks to you and how he talks to the camera. Although quiet, he cracks jokes almost every time he speaks. His coworkers seem like friends and you’re sure that helps to comfort any nerves he would have on screen. However, they were obviously trained on-camera talent whereas he simply fell into it because of how much the audience liked him. Around you, he made jokes, but he also seemed to shed the demeanor he developed for videos. Not every sentence was about entertaining.

They were real. Real discussions with real problems no matter how mundane.

“Yeah, but at least we are getting it done. Next week is all at my computer or in meetings,” He adds, tucking away his card and putting his drinks into his backpack. “Anyways, so, when is your finals week?”

“In two weeks technically, but I have a couple of major things going on next week,” You answer, taking a seat on the stool next to you.

“Like what?” Spencer inquires, a light in his eyes that sends a shiver up your spine.

“Well, I’m taking four classes. Two of them have an exam and a final essay. One has a final essay and matching presentation, and then last is a group assignment that also has a presentation and essay.”

“Oh no, not a group assignment,” Spencer interjects, empathy on the tip of his tongue.

“I know,” You agree, nerves falling away as you ease into familiar territory. “People in masters programs are not as bad but they can still be pretty clueless and unhelpful.” You shake your head in frustration, “Like this one guy in my group, he thinks he is so edgy and smart. He takes no criticism but also doesn’t put in enough work. He’s basically made me his personal target and I literally have a group chat with two other members just to rant when he says the stupidest shit.”

“Damn, sounds like an ass.”

“He is,” You groan, closing your eyes. “But we are almost done. We have the essay due next week and then presentations during the finals period.” You grin in relief, “After that, I have two weeks of break before starting my internship with the professor.”

“Are you getting paid for that?” Spencer asks.

The conversation was flowing easily, his interest in your life more evident than ever. It isn’t lost on you that he’s exhibiting every sign of attentive listening and it makes your insides twist. He’s leaning forward, fingers tapping away on the counter as he nods periodically.

“Only in experience,” You sigh. “Money would be great, but I’d rather learn from this and not get paid than not do it at all. I only have to dedicate 12 hours a week to it anyway and that’s not much considering my usual schedule is jam-packed.”

“What’s the study about?” He asks, holding your gaze more often than usual. You find it hard to reciprocate, too nervous to engage in whatever he is doing. You aren’t sure if you could call it flirting because he definitely wasn’t complimenting you, but he was acting differently enough that it was noticeable.

Before you can answer, a customer walks in, the bell ringing in your ears as you look at the brunette in front of you. You expect him to leave like every time before, but he doesn’t move. Although thrown off slightly, you recover quickly and answer his question. When the customer is ready to check out, Spencer simply steps to the side but lingers near. As soon as the man leaves, Spencer is right back where he was and asking you another question that keeps you talking.

He leaves twenty minutes later, eyes half-lidded and tired. You don’t see him that morning, likely because he doesn’t have to go into the office as early as usual. Despite logic, you still miss him.

~~

When Spencer comes in that night, he’s later than usual. Not by much, it’s not even 2 am when he walks through the door. And yet, he’s apologetic.

“Hey, sorry,” He mumbles, coming right up to the counter.

Taken aback, your hands slip from your keyboard and you stand up straight. Fridays were always the busiest weekday and although you did wonder where Spencer was, you didn’t have much time to think about it.

“I was playing a game and totally lost track of time,” He continued, a touch more out of breath than usual. He runs a hand through his short, recently bleached hair.

“No worries,” You say, not quite sure why he’s apologizing. It’s not like you had a set time to hang out or do something together. “Need to come get a drink so you can keep going?” You ask, trying to dissipate the awkward feeling that was bubbling up. You didn’t want to let yourself assume more than was reality.

“No, no, I mean,” He stumbles, “I probably will go back to playing, I just—never mind.” He looks down, staring at the counter, specifically the display of scratchers in the built-in glass case.

God, this felt so weird. You shouldn’t have said that, maybe he actually wanted to see you but then you ruined it by making it about the drinks and not you.

“So, what game were you playing?” You ask, the air feeling stuffy.

After a relieved sigh, Spencer goes into the details. You listen intently because not only is he a good storyteller, but you also genuinely care about his interests.

As he rants about some game mechanic, your mind begins to wander. More precisely, you wonder if your affection for him is obvious. Even from the short interaction you had in front of Michael, he could tell there was something more going on. To a stranger would it be obvious? To your friends would it be obvious? Would they say you two would make a cute couple? Or would they not see the chemistry?

“Oh, that’s frustrating,” You say, picking up on the pause in his monologue.

“Eh,” He shrugs, “It’s life.” He leans over the counter, shoulders more relaxed than when he first entered. “I needed a break anyway. So, how’s your night been?”

“Well,” You begin. “I felt rather lost without you.” Sarcasm is dripping off your tongue and Spencer immediately smiles. “My internal clock is all screwed up.”

“You poor thing,” He says, playing along.

“You, sir, need to take your responsibility more seriously,” You laugh, sitting back down in your chair and leaning over to grab your water. “More than half an hour late, I’m sure your body is screaming for a Mountain Dew.”

“Not just a Mountain Dew,” He protests, “A Mountain Dew Kickstart.”

You giggle, just about to add something before the bell rings and your eyes immediately shift to the front door. The patron, dressed in black jeans, a blue hoodie, and a leather jacket, comes up to you immediately. In the fifteen-foot walk between you and the door, you notice he is at least twenty years older than you, skin wrinkling and sagging with age. His clothes are worn, fraying at the seams. When he pushes forward, Spencer immediately slinks away, stepping over to look at the opposite wall of food. The stranger places his hands on the counter and you see dirt under his nails.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Two packs of the Marlboro Red,” He commands, his eyes dragging up and down your body. Just as you turn to grab the cigarettes, you can see a smirk forming on his lips.

You sigh, taking a moment to harden your exterior before turning around to scan the packs. These kinds of customers were uncommon for the area, but still came in enough for you to pick them out of a crowd immediately. Usually, they leave easily enough.

“Anything else?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“Two of those beef taquitos, hun,” He says, a dirty finger pressing against the warm glass.

You feel a wave of cold at the name but move aside to grab the hot food without any fuss. The sooner he leaves the better. When you hand them over to him, he purposefully moves his hand far enough forward that it touches yours. You are vaguely aware of Spencer in the background, but force your eyes off him.

You can deal with this on your own just fine.

The stranger's eyes linger on your hand and you snatch it away, typing on the tablet to add the taquitos to his total.

“Anything else?” You echo, voice more curt than before.

“Hmm,” He hums contemplatively, putting his finger to his chin like he’s performing. “I suppose I’ll take your number too.”

You fake a laugh, looking into his eyes for only a moment before going back to your screen. “Although I’m flattered, I don’t give my number to strangers.” A few more taps to the device, “Your total is $22.37.”

“Well,” He leans forward and reads off your name from the tag. It sounds sickly coming from his lips. “My name is Mark. Give me your number and then we won’t be strangers.” He pulls out his card to pay, shoving the cigarettes into his pockets.

You give him a forced smile, resting your hand on your heart while you try to let him down gently. “Nice to meet you, Mark, but still. I am not interested.”

“Why?” He questions, “You got a boyfriend?”

You debate telling him you’re in a relationship. Maybe it will get him to leave, maybe he’ll just suggest you cheat. It’s always difficult to tell.

“Dude,” You hear a voice speak up. “You’re holding up the line.”

Mark turns around to see Spencer a few feet behind. You have to crane your neck to see him, the brunette lining up down an aisle. He’s holding some random items, clearly having wandered around the store, paying attention but trying to look like he was merely shopping.

Just before Mark can say anything, Spencer is pushing forward and shouldering past. “Just take the L and move on,” He deadpans, his voice low and foreboding. He stares down the stranger, putting his items onto the counter without even looking away. He’s half a head shorter than the guy, but his presence alone makes up for that tenfold.

“Here’s your receipt,” You quietly interject, holding it out. Half of you was thankful for the interruption, but the other half of you was annoyed. Despite that, you choose to use this opportunity to end the conversation.

With a huff, Mark snatches the receipt from your hand.

“Whatever,” He mumbles to himself, “Bitch.”

The bell dings as he exits, leaving you and Spencer in a loud silence. You let out a shaky breath.

“Oh my god,” Spencer begins. His words draw your gaze away from the door and to him. You can see the concern on his face and the disgust in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You have a moment to say before he’s talking again.

“What an ass. Do you not have a panic button?”

“I do,” You answer, “But that’s for robberies.”

“Or this!” He protests, gesturing at the door where the man had exited. “You need to stay safe.”

“I was staying safe,” You defend.

“I can’t believe they have you alone at this time of night,” Spencer continues, seemingly not registering your words. “Like, anyone can just come in here!”

“Spencer,” You say, trying to grab his attention.

“You should never have to deal with that kind of–”

“Spencer,” You repeat, finally getting him to shut up.

“What?”

“It’s fine, I can deal with this on my own. You didn’t need to help,” You explain, wishing the moment would simply pass so you could move on.

“Just because you can deal with it on your own doesn’t mean you have to,” He argues, his voice softer than before.

His words leave you at a loss, unsure how to respond. He breaks the silence before you can.

“How often does this happen?”

“Not often,” You say, struggling to make any eye contact. “This is a nice area and usually they just give up after a couple of tries.”

Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated expression. “Sorry,” He mumbles, the word being pulled from him. “I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.” You can see the regret in his eyes. “I got so heated and I should have just made sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” You say, “Thanks.” His apology was unexpected but very appreciated. “I am fine.”

Spencer nods, the moment feeling slightly awkward as the resolution comes. “When does the next person get here?” He asks.

“Four,” You answer, taking a chance to grab your phone and check the time.

2:21

“Damn, that’s a long time.”

“It’s whatever,” You shrug. “It goes pretty quickly since I’m basically just talking to you and then doing homework.”

When the words register for him, there’s a glint in his eyes and a small smile forming on his face. “That’s good,” He replies. There’s a pause before he speaks again, “But damn, that’s like an hour and a half away.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, resting back on your stool.

“Can I stay?” He asks, surprising you. “For peace of mine, I mean. I’m just thinking about me leaving and that guy coming right back in. I don’t know, it’s dumb, but I just can’t imagine leaving you right now.”

“Sure,” You reply, interrupting his word vomit once you’ve regained your barrings.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” You shrug, a closed-lip grin forming. “I would love for you to keep me company.”

“Cool,” He says, a smile forming for him.

The moment is awkward and foreign. From an outside perspective, you probably both look like grinning idiots.

“Well,” Spencer begins, breaking the silence, “I’m definitely going to need an energy drink to stay awake.” He looks down at the pile of snacks he brought up. “You keep working, I’m gonna put these away and come back up with stuff I actually want to buy.”

“Roger that,” You reply, giving him a look before turning back to your computer. You don’t get much work done as you wait for him to come back up. You can’t see him in the aisles, but as he moves between aisles, he always looks at you. The security camera screen is just to your right and you can’t help but watch him as he puts away the random collection of items.

You’re nervous, too distracted by his presence to focus on anything. You were somewhat excited to spend such a prolonged period of time with him. However, you were also absolutely terrified that you would make a fool of yourself or simply seem too boring.

“Okay,” You hear him say, already aware that he was making his way back to the front. “All done.” He is now holding three cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart and a chocolatey protein bar. “Can I also get a couple of taquitos?”

“What kind?” You ask, reaching forward to start scanning his items.

“Your pick, I guess."

You smile at him and see he’s already grinning at you. You can’t help it, everything he does seems to make you happy beyond logic. “I’ll give you one chicken and one fiesta. The beef is fine and the cheese is not good.”

“Sounds like a plan,” He laughs, pulling out his card to pay and then opening a can and taking a big swig.

“Did that guy getting some make you crave them?” You ask, a joking glint in your eyes as you look up at him.

“Am I a misogynist if I say yes?” He replies, making you let out a laugh that was just a little too loud.

When you hand him the taquitos, he leans back onto the counter, head turned so you can see his side profile. He has the drink in one hand and the paper bag of taquitos in another. He takes a bite, a comfortable silence falling over you both. You occupy your time by looking down at your computer and mindlessly clicking around while you try to think of things to talk about. 

“How was work?” You say, deciding on that as the least risky option.

“Good,” He shrugs. “We finished a little late and traffic meant I didn’t get home till almost 7 pm.”

“Oh jeez,” You groan. “My commute is pretty easy in the morning because I go opposite the traffic.”

“I’m jealous,” He replies, smiling at you. “Do you live far from here?”

A shock of electricity shoots through your body. “Somewhat. This isn’t my local convenience store, but I’m not that far.”

Spencer nods, “This isn’t mine either.”

“What?”

He turns to look at you, eyebrows perked up like he didn’t just say something ridiculous.

“This isn’t your nearest convenience store,” You repeat slowly. When he nods, you ask, “So why do you come here?”

Spencer laughs, realizing his mistake. “The one nearest me is literally down the street, but they don’t always have these,” He answers, holding up the pineapple orange mango-flavored drink. “This store is only a few more minutes away and it always has them.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s because you buy our stock,” You joke. “I’ve literally had my boss ask about why we are selling so many more.”

“Really?” He gasps, leaning in closer. “I used to only make the walk here if the closer one was out, but four months ago I just stopped bothering.”

The fact that four months is when you started working is not lost on you. Feeling confident, you add, “What about when you get coffee? I’m sure the other one has coffee.”

“True.” He looks slightly caught off guard, eyes scanning the store before speaking, “I only come to get coffee here if I’m too lazy to make it at home and running early enough to…” He pauses for a second, the sentence closing as if it wasn’t the planned ending. Finally, he adds, “To see you.”

You hum, looking down because your face is warm and you’re at a loss for words. Luckily, he’s too nervous to look at you either. You feel tingly, knowing full well that this is a special moment that you’ll look back on if you end up dating.

“Anyways,” Spencer breaks the silence. Before he can say anything else, he yawns, mouth opening wide.

“You know you can go home, right?” You laugh. When you look down at your computer, you see it’s about half an hour later. “No one has come in and I doubt anyone will before Marie gets here.”

“No, no,” He protests. “And anyway, aren’t I making time fly?”

“I suppose,” You grin. “You are quite great company.”

Spencer flashes you a smile that makes your insides twist. You wonder if he is picking up on all this. If he can tell that you’re interested in him.

“I’m honored.”

“You should be.” You sarcastically quip. “I have high standards for the company I keep close to me.”

“Is this close?” He contemplates aloud. “I’ve never even seen you without your black polo, black pants, and nonslip shoes.”

You laugh, looking down at your clothes. “Don’t you like this fit?”

“I mean, I love it,” Spencer starts, “But I don’t know how much you’re serving day to day.”

“I serve even when I’m only going to class,” You protest. “Maybe when I’m done with finals, I’ll grace you with my out-of-work personality.”

Spencer grins, “I’d be honored.”

You’re on high alert, knowing exactly what was happening.

“You should be,” You echo, unsure of what else to say. It doesn’t matter though. You could say anything and Spencer would find you charming.

“Maybe we can go to competing stores and graffiti them,” He suggests, long since turned around so he can look at you fully.

“Pft,” You laugh. “I don’t want to get arrested with you the first time we hang out.”

“You don’t? That’s usually my go-to!”

“Well, my go-to is food. Or the arcade.”

“The arcade?” He questions. “All this time I’ve been talking about games and you’ve never mentioned that you’re also a gamer?”

“I am not!” You protest. “Definitely not compared to you. You’re a savant and I’m the fool.”

“I doubt that,” He replies, a grin never leaving his face as he leans in closer. “I say arcade so I can check out your skills.”

“Deal,” You say, leaning onto the counter so you are only a few feet away. “The arcade it is.”

[shinsocest]

No. 001

Notes: first of many reuploads, fave of personal faves ♡ commission for @kailali from once upon a time ♡♡♡

7.7k

warnings: stepcest, marking, piercings, creampies, fem reader, reader is lifted, degradation & praise, oral (both), multiple orgasms, hard s*x soft feelings

It had been a long day. 

You sigh and let your bag fall to the entry floor as you toe off your shoes. As the only quirkless member of the Todoroki family you never had a shot at hero work, but that never meant you had no interest in the hero industry. You finally made it into your preferred field a few months ago, a new hire at your stepmother’s ex’s agency in their crisis management department. Whenever a hero or sidekick makes a mistake or a villain causes too much damage before they’re apprehended, you’re behind the scenes doing as much as you can to fix the lives of those affected. 

All in all… paperwork is a bitch.

An irritated puff expels through your nose as you nearly trip over an extra pair of shoes in the foyer, but your irritation dispels when you lay eyes on a worn pair of charcoal converse. You sigh.

“Touya?” you call out as you pad down the hall.

“Living room.” His voice is tired, a sleep laden rasp in his throat. 

You sweep through the open kitchen, drop your keys on the counter, and make your way to the living room. You lean in the doorway when you catch sight of him sprawled out on your couch, half under one of the softer throws your stepmom got you for Christmas a couple years ago. The light from the tv bathes him in a silver sheen, highlighting his jet-black hair and glinting off the triple helix on his ear, the gift you’d gotten him for his last birthday.

Touya shifts a little more upright as you come into his line of sight and reaches for the lamp on the side table. The soft yellow light helps, makes him look warmer. The picturesque tattoos of burning hemlock dancing up his forearms and disappearing under his shirt look more lively, and you can see the smile on his face as he looks at you.

But he still looks tired.

“Long day?”

You scoff and then laugh a little, your shoulders sagging as you slouch over to the couch. He opens the blanket in invitation and you crawl in beside him, sighing as he wraps an arm around you, your head dropping onto his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you mumble softly, sighing again as he kisses the top of your head. You return the kiss with one to the side of his neck, your lips pressing to the inky vines winding down his throat. “You?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. His voice is a comfortable rumble against your back. “Somethin’ like that.”

 Touya uses your apartment as a personal hideout, ever since you leased the place. At his age he's expected to be living on his own by now, but Rei has a soft spot for her eldest son and won't push him out of the nest. Since he promised you he wouldn't argue with your father, he ends up at your place more often than not. Your dad is the type to be optimistic, encouraging, and stern, and Touya doesn't have the best track record with nurturing authority types—or authority figures in general really—given how strict Endeavor was when it came to raising his children. 

He squints at the screen as if just noticing it was on. "Movie's comin' on. Wanna watch it with me?"

"Sure. I think I wanted to see this one, but let me change first."

A short trip to your room is enough to shed your office clothes and slip into a tank top and sleep shorts before you're back in his arms, wiggling until you're comfortable and he’s grumbling at you to settle the fuck down.

It may seem odd from the outside looking in to be this close, but it's always been this way with your step-siblings. Natuso and Fuyumi were the middle children, working hard on their futures when your parents hit it off, so it made sense that the eldest and youngest were the ones who latched onto you the hardest. 

Shoto was polite in the beginning—earnest, really—and before long he was looking to you for approval even after he graduated from Yuuei. Touya saw you as another little sibling to look after, in his own way. From the moment you’d moved in, it felt like he was doing his best to make sure there was a place in their family where you fit. You always got the sense it was because he felt like an outlier himself. You were just happy to be accepted, and you adored them both, all of them of course.

Barely halfway through the movie, Touya shifts and his hand slides around to your stomach to hold you more comfortably. It makes you warm, dangerously so.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t enjoy how touchy-feely Touya always is, and he always seems to be seeking physical comfort from you. He holds your hand when he walks you to the store, always needs a hug before he leaves, and if he doesn't get a kiss on his cheek before he’s out the door, he will pout at you (aka lots of snark and rolled eyes) until you give in. 

“You’re shifting a lot tonight, doll. You good?” Touya hums behind you, sounding distracted and you realize you’d been rubbing yourself back against his—

“Sorry!” you whisper, face flaming.

“Don’t worry about it.” After a minute he mutters under his breath about how warm you are. “Don’t tell me you’re my real sister after all, 's like you're on fire.”

“We can take the blanket off—”

“Nah, ‘m fuckin’ freezing, feels good. My hands are cold, can I?”

“You fucker!” you yelp as he pushes his palms under your shirt, his hands like ice on your skin. His smirk is almost tangible behind you as he reprimands you for squirming when he’s doing his best to battle the sudden chill. 

“Keep still, would ya?”

You try to kick his shins but he outmaneuvers you, pinning your legs under his own. He chuckles under his breath as the two of you scuffle for a couple moments, tugging you closer until you give up with an exaggerated huff.

“You good now? You’re missing the movie.”

You grumble as you settle, but your heart still races. 

During your half-hearted wrestling attempt it had been easy to miss, but now that you’re relaxed into him again you’re becoming aware of the way Touya is heating up behind you. His palm is nearly searing the skin on your navel now, but you’re too distracted by what’s unmistakably digging into your back at the moment.

You know you’re not supposed to get a flutter of anticipation, but it shudders up your spine anyways. Every now and then his hips rock forward like he can’t help himself, and every time they do, that telltale heat building hot and impatient beneath your skin grows.

His fingers are playing with your waistband like they have so many times before. You’re holding your breath as he dips a little lower than usual and you find yourself wondering, telling yourself you’re not hoping for it…but is this the night he’s finally going to cross the line he’s spent so much time dancing around?

You’ve always known. This dance has been happening for a while. You’ve noticed the way he looks at you, and holds you too close, and you feel guilty knowing just how much you enjoy the attention. He always seems to hold himself back though, neither one of you truly acknowledging the heightening desire that builds in the dark.

Your gasp feels loud when his hand firmly slides into your panties—long fingers toying with the apex of your mound, a breath away from the bundle of nerves that feels like a live current desperate for a trigger—but it’s barely more than a tense inhale.

Touya’s lips are almost on your ear, his breath hot as his words push both of you towards an uncharted precipice.

“This okay?”

You know that this is the moment to turn back. If you say something now, he’ll remove his hand and go back to watching the movie. 

Your heart pounds rapidly as you think, but something heated and needy coils tight in you. If you deny him now, would he ever have the courage to come after you again? Displeasure rises bitterly at the thought of him distancing himself from you. You want him. Maybe you’ve always wanted him.

“Mhm,” you manage, breathing just a little too hard to be casual, and you feel his grin against your neck.

“That’s my girl.”

Hot pleasure sparks beneath your skin at his words, but it’s nothing compared to the electric shock as his fingers slip between your embarrassingly wet folds.

“That’s my slut,” Touya groans sharply, his tone low and laced with thinly veiled desire. “Do you know how wet you are? I always knew you were a needy little thing.”

You whine as he parts your folds, tracing over your hole and up to your clit. It’s almost twitching with the desire to be touched, white hot and wanting. “Touya, please.”

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to hear that,” he mumbles, tongue pressing to your neck, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin there as he obliges you. You moan breathily and uncontrolled as he circles the bud delicately, again and again. “You sound so good sayin’ my name like that, doll.”

He’s rocking his hips into you steadily now, grinding against your back.

Heat and frustration is building steadily as your step-sibling continues to play with you, and you realize that he is quite literally playing with you—switching between the way he touches your clit, moving from circling it gently to tapping it, rolling it between his fingers. 

Touya knows to be thorough, to find out exactly what you like, to make this unforgettable. He’s listening and paying close attention to the way you react to his every touch. Every now and then slender fingers slide down and he presses a digit or two into your soaked cunt, now dripping obscenely, curling them lazily as he searches for what makes your body sing. 

Even with his lazy movements, you can feel something coiling tight inside you. Whatever this is between you, it's been too long coming, your hips jerking as pleasure threatens to undo you. But before you can be taken apart, Touya slips his fingers from your waistband.

You whine at the loss, whipping your head towards him only for him to grasp your chin and pull you closer, his tongue prying your lips apart and delving inside. His fingers are still slick from your juices, gripping your chin tighter as he shifts you under him, supporting his weight on one arm as he kisses you like this is his last chance to. 

You don’t have the coherency to tell him it’s not, dizzy with want by the time he pulls back. His sapphire eyes darken when you wrap a leg around his hips to instinctively keep him close, his lips glistening in the flickering light of the tv.  

“Tell me you want this.” He stares down at you intently, holding your gaze as he waits for your admission. 

There’s no point in denying it anymore. Of course you do.

“I want you.” 

Touya grabs at your thigh curled around him and pushes it off, smirking at your pout as he sits back on the couch. “‘S cute, but don’t make that face. Strip all that off, and c’mere.”

You all but scramble as he pats his lap, pulling your shirt over your head and bra following quickly, equal parts pleased and embarrassed when you see the way his gaze is locked on you, trailing down your exposed skin. As you slip the last of your clothing down your legs and step out of it you look at him, confused when he just sits there watching you.

“Aren’t you gonna…” you trail off, eyebrows furrowing.

Touya perks an eyebrow at you. “Didn’t I say c’mere? We were watchin’ a movie, weren’t we?”

His voice is too light, and you know that tone. He’s up to something, but big brother Touya is always up to something. And he always gets his way. So instead of questioning him again, you do what he wants and you settle into his lap, only making a small noise of complaint when he faces you away from him. 

He clicks his teeth. “Don’t be a brat now, you were being such a good girl earlier.”

“You’re not being fair,” you mumble, squirming. “Why’m I the only one naked?”

“Cause you’re prettier than me.” He’s teasing and you know it.

Your protest is cut off as he yanks you back against his chest and cups your breasts, slender fingers pulling at your nipples and rolling them. 

“Fuck!”

“My cute little whore has such a dirty mouth,” Touya purrs in your ear. “Just sit still. Lemme touch.”

You try, you really do. He kneads at your breasts, smoothes his hands down your body, exploring you languidly. It’s impossible.

“Touya—” you break off with a squeak as he bites your shoulder in reprimand. “Hey!”

Touya laves his tongue over the stinging mark and coos. “Aw did that hurt?”

“A little…”

“Want my cock to make it better?”

You suck in a breath. It comes out of his mouth like a sweet invitation, but there’s just enough insecurity in his cocky tone for you to hear (that only you could hear) that you know he’s uncertain of your answer. His heart is pounding against your back, further betraying his underlying anxiety.

Not one to torture your loved ones, you squirm back on him. “Make it better, Touya. Make me feel better.”

“Say it,” he demands, turning your head to look at him.

Blue eyes glare down at you desperately, searching for any hint that you’re playing him. You’re quick to douse the flames of doubt.

“Fuck me,” you whine. “I want your cock.”

“Shit,” Touya breathes, flopping back against the couch, hiking you further up his lap so he can reach the button of his jeans and pop it open. 

You moan at the feeling of something warm and hard sliding between your thighs as he shifts you back into place, before spreading your legs over his own. 

"Eyes on the movie, doll," Touya rasps, teasing your slit with the head of his cock. "You wanted to watch it, remember?"

You wanted the chance to see him, the disappointment welling in your chest evaporating as quickly as it appears at the feel of him pushing the head in and out of your soaking heat.

"What about you?" Your last word cuts off in a gasp as he pushes into you fully, his girth spreading you open.

"Was never watchin’ the movie," he breathes, a groan hitching in his throat as the walls of your cunt squeezes him in a vice grip.

It feels different, and not just taboo different. 

"Touya, what's that?" You moan as something—several cool to the touch somethings—rub against the front wall of your pussy, making your toes curl as pleasure bolts from nerve to nerve. 

“I’ll show you later,” he groans impatiently, his hands fumbling on your hips to hold you still. “J-just, fuck— Lay back, would you?”

You comply, and Touya sinks lower on the couch, his feet on the floor to give him the leverage to fuck into you, each stroke slow and languid. Pleasure courses through your veins, hot and sticky, your eyes pinching closed as you focus on the feel of him. 

He’s so long and wonderfully girthy—just enough to feel stretched, the fat head of his cock touching deep every time he sinks into you—but you can’t get over the scrape of those…god, what are those? 

You can’t think, your moans splitting the thick air of the living room, legs quivering under his touch as he smooths his palms along your spread thighs. You’re both lost in a loop of exhilaration and long awaited satisfaction, your hips jerking into his every time he sinks in deep and grinds. 

His teeth meet your shoulder again, digging into the same grooves he left behind before. Your thoughts are sluggish beyond the haze of pleasure but it feels like he’s marking you, leaving something of himself behind. The thought chases away the sharp sting, winds a sudden coil in your gut, and you suck in a breath as something white flashes behind your eyelids.

“Touya!”

“Yeah, I feel it,” Touya moans behind you—moans, and the sound of it has you clenching around him hard, forcing a choked groan from his lips. “Fuck yeah, doll. Keep squeezin’ my cock like that. Perfect little slut, touch yourself for me.”

With shaky hands you begin to circle your own clit, lightly, the added stimulation threatening to unravel you right now, but you don’t want this to end. Not yet. It feels so good; whines and broken iterations of his name are all you feel capable of.

“Tell me how it feels.” There’s a desperate edge in his voice now, tight with desire and something else, something that sets you alight from head to toe. 

“It feels so good! So warm, ‘m gonna—” It’s a borderline sob now, with you feeling as if you’re dangling on the edge of something dangerous. You’re almost scared of the blooming sparks in your belly, but you wretchedly race towards them anyways.

Touya’s thrusts grow a little frenzied, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you loud in your ears. He’s panting, his groans ragged, barely holding on himself.

“Tell me you love me.”

His voice is rough, but so impossibly tender—needy. Your mind short circuits at the sound, pleasure igniting in your belly and your hand reaches back to tangle in his hair as you fall apart.

Touya groans, one hand tight on your hip as you spasm around his cock, his other reaching around to replace yours, gently circling your clit to help you ride out your orgasm. 

“Touya! I love you, Touya—oh, god!”

Touya stiffens and shudders as pleasure melts the base of his spine, zipping up along it, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he spills inside you with a low whimper. “F-fuck—”

You both sag into the couch, chests heaving as you wind down from your respective highs. You squirm at the feeling of him softening in you before he grumbles something unintelligible and pulls you down onto your side with him.

His heart races against your back as he pushes a pillow into place—letting you use his arm as one yourself—and you wonder if he can feel the way yours is threatening to beat out of your chest. 

He’s still pressed stubbornly close to you, the rough edge of his jeans pressing into the back of your thighs as he tries to stay buried in your pussy for as long as he can, but he still remains silent behind you, his breath hot on your neck.

“I love you, Touya.” 

You say it again, softly this time. You want him to hear it when you’re not swimming in pleasure; you want him to hear just how much you mean it. 

Touya hums, a low contented sound. “Always knew ya did.” 

He sounds like he always does, snarky, but there’s a warmth in his voice that betrays his happiness.

“So what now?”

“Now we finish your damn movie, and then you need a shower. You’re kinda a mess right now,” he purrs devilishly in your ear, making you shiver even as a new bolt of heat strikes down your spine.

“And then?” You moan as he finally slips out of you, cheeks heating at the feel of his cum spilling out between your thighs. 

Touya reaches a hand between your legs, lazily sliding his fingers through the mess. “And then I fuck you the way I really wanted to. I need to see the face you make when I make you cum. Hope you know I’m not usually this sweet ‘nd gentle, right? Think you can take it?”

“So you were just being nice to me?” you tease gently, pushing your ass back towards him. “Do you think I’m that delicate?”

“You better not be.”

“Try me.”

A low groan pulls from his throat and Touya bundles you off the couch. You scramble to your feet before you can fall, and turn to look at him.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, sapphire eyes dark and blown, desire etched into the hard lines on his face. His jeans are low on his hips and he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the couch. 

Your eyes trace over the garden of ink on his torso, a swirling mass of flames and flowers that you’ve spent plenty of time admiring in the past. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, used to Touya lounging around the house in the warmer months in nothing but a pair of shorts, but with the darky, needy look in his eyes as he prowls towards you… It’s different now. He’s not stripping to get comfortable.

Anticipation thrills up your spine.

“Shower, now,” Touya rasps, herding you down the hallways towards your room. “And I better not catch you whinin’ cause I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til I’m through with you.”

Sunlight pours through the small gap of your bedroom blinds, but that’s not what wakes you. You’re far too used to it for that. You’re not sure what it is exactly that has you blinking awake.

Maybe it has something to do with the arm wrapped around your waist, or the thigh curled over your own. It could be the mild soreness between your legs, or possibly the stinging sensation of multiple bite marks across your body, courtesy of the perpetrator currently lightly snoring into your shoulder. 

You gently turn over, detangling yourself from his limbs as quietly as possible. Touya has always been a somewhat heavy sleeper, so it’s not like it’s hard; but he really isn't a good morning person, so the last thing you want to do is wake him.

He mumbles something and flips onto his stomach, not waking for a moment. 

You gaze at him for a moment, eyes soft. His hair is a mess, inky strands sprawled across the section of his face not buried in the pillow. After smoothing the wayward tresses covering his eyes, you sit up slowly, your gaze drawn to the ink twisting up his back. Your fingers trace the lines with quiet reverence.

It really is beautiful; you know it took Touya a long time to get it all done. The hemlock on his forearms drooping and smoking from the surrounding flame turn to vines as they spread out up his biceps, shoulders, and throat. You know on his front the vines swirl throughout a meadow of baby’s breath and gladioli down his collarbone and chest, but on his back they weave around a breathtaking lotus that’s shedding its petals one by one, the ones that fall gathering in a pile at the dip of his spine. 

“Ya done starin’?”

You jump as he rolls onto his side to smirk at you, eyes droopy and tired. Touya chuckles at your expression and tugs you to his chest, giving a low groan as he tries to get comfortable again.

“Touya, wait—”

“Just go back to sleep, alright? It’s still fuckin’ early,” he mumbles gruffly, closing his eyes.

But your eyes are wide open, filled with panic. “I said wait, Touya!” you hiss desperately, struggling in his hold to sit back up.

You can feel the heat of mortification storming across your body as you maintain eye contact with the youngest Todoroki, who’s standing silently in the doorway of your bedroom. 

His two-tone eyes are unreadable, but you know your younger brother well enough by now to know that the slight pull of his eyebrows means he’s shocked, that the miniscule purse of his lips means he’s upset.

Not that you can blame him. Walking in on your step-sister naked in bed with your older brother is not exactly prime model behavior. 

“S-shoto,” you whisper, pitched and panicked. “I, uh…”

Oh, god, there’s no good way to explain this. You’re frozen, too petrified to even shield your body from his hard stare. You’re covered in bites and bruises, hair a mess and you can almost feel your relationship with Shoto shattering to dust when Touya groans dramatically and shoves his face in the pillow.

“Seriously, Shoto, your timing is fuckin’ awful. It’s too goddamn early for this. Try again later.”

Shoto glares at his brother and you can only gape at him as he drops his bag in the doorway and sits on the edge of your bed, right by your side. “You’re too impatient, nii-san. We agreed that we were going to wait.”

“Plans change.” Touya’s words are still muffled into the pillow, resiliently clinging to the notion that sleep is not yet lost. “Snooze ‘nd you lose.”

“Wait, what?”

Shoto doesn’t answer your question, a pout forming on his lips as he traces the teeth marks on your shoulder with a gentle touch. He doesn’t miss the slight wince of your expression; Touya had marked that same spot several times over last night. 

“He was so rough with you,” Shoto says softly. “I would have been gentle.”

Touya snorts and raises his head. “Fuck off, I was gentle. …the first time.”

Shoto rolls his eyes. “Kinda hard to believe when she’s covered in teeth marks.”

You’re too busy reeling to take much notice of their bickering. 

It’s Shoto; straight-laced, kind, upstanding Shoto. The Todoroki family’s shining star. Why isn’t he telling you how sick this is, and demanding to know what you were thinking crossing the bounds of family in such a forbidden manner?

Shoto notices your rising agitation and murmurs something soothing, trying to catch your attention by cradling your face in his palms. His eyebrows furrow gently at the sight of your quickly welling tears. 

“We love you.” He says it simply, like that’s all there is to know.

Touya sits up swiftly since he obviously isn’t going to get to go back to sleep, and croons at you as he kisses the back of your neck, “Want us to prove it, doll?”

Shoto glares at his brother over your shoulder, unimpressed. “You already got to be with her.” 

“And I’m gonna have her again. If you want her at all you’re gonna learn how to fuckin’ share, little brother.”

Why didn’t you see it all before? 

Shoto has always clung to you. He was almost as desperate for your attention as Touya right from the start. He always insisted you help him study, even when you were certain he knew the material already; he would ask you to cook dinner with him on his nights. 

When he graduated he insisted you visit him every weekend so you wouldn’t drift apart; it was him who suggested his father’s agency for your internship, where he debuted as a hero a few years ago. He even wrote your recommendation letter. He would always swing by in the morning with your coffee order, and without fail walked you to your car every night.

His love just wasn’t as obvious, at least not to you. His hugs were quick, like he didn’t want to be touched; his kisses might as well have been ghostlike, like he couldn’t handle being that close. You always thought he was just copying his big brother, but out of obligation, not desire.

“You love me?” You whisper the words looking at Shoto, but the question is for both of them.

"Of course—"

“Don’t be stupid, doll,” Touya mumbles, cutting him off and sucking another bruise into a miraculously unmarked portion of your neck. “‘Course we do.”

Shoto quietly brushes a stray tear from the apple of your cheeks, his lips following soon after. They’re warm, soft against your skin. 

He smiles.

“You weren’t around when we were growing up, so it’s not obvious to you how much we’ve changed for the better since you joined our family. I can’t imagine the person I’d be right now if it weren’t for the way I feel about you.”

“Shoto…”

Shoto pulls back, his smile still warming his face, but smaller, calmer. “Especially Touya. I think if it weren’t for you, he would have left us a long time ago. Our father wasn’t…well, you brought him back.”

You stiffen in surprise, and Touya grumbles under his breath, trying to cover his embarrassment with coarseness. “Brat. Don’t go spoutin’ that shit now.”

Shoto makes a low huff of amusement before tugging you out of the eldest’s arms, ignoring Touya’s growl of protest. 

“Let me have you to myself for just a minute,” Shoto breathes.

And then he’s kissing you. His touch is so sweet and he’s so warm that you can’t help but melt into him. No part of him is shying away from you now as he pushes himself between your legs, strong arms guiding you back down to the bed. 

He’s unyielding as his tongue traces the seam of your lips, a heady desperation fueling him that you can’t help but get swept up in, parting your lips for him with a breathy moan. Shoto hums, his tongue meeting yours tentatively until your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt and tug him closer, and he crumbles. The kiss grows wet, fervent, your head swimming as he refuses to relent, content to taste you even as your legs curl around his waist, spelling your impatience. 

“Calm down,” he mumbles against your lips, giving you a small break as he nips gently at your neck, his tongue soothing the bite marks decorating your throat. “There’s no need to rush any of this.”

“I don’t want to wait.” You gasp as his lips move lower, sucking and kissing at your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, down your navel. Sparks follow the trail he’s making, down to where he stops, his eyes staring in disapproval of more bites scattered across the insides of your thighs.

His eyes are sharp as they look to you then Touya when your head falls back onto your pillows, covering your face in embarrassment. 

“Is there no part of her you left untouched?”

Shoto glares at him, but Touya stares back, both smug and aroused. 

“Nope.”

“You’re an animal.”

“She liked it.”

“Oh my god, stop talking!” you whine, forearms still covering your face. Excitement and arousal is making your body hot and you’re desperate for Shoto to keep going, but you know they could bicker forever. You’ve seen it plenty of times.

His mismatched eyes soften as they flash back to you, and he leans to pull your arms down. When he’s satisfied you’re watching him he continues, pressing his lips to the juncture where your thighs meet your mound. 

Your chest feels tight with anticipation as his fingers grope at your thighs, kneading the plush flesh before sliding around to cup your ass. You moan when he inhales the scent of your growing arousal before his tongue peeks out to part your folds, flattening and dragging up through your slit. As he reaches the bundle of nerves at the top, he retreats, blowing on the nub lightly. Shoto’s head swims at the sound of your whine, so he does it again, desperate to hear you make that sound again.

Shoto’s fingers dig into the swell of your ass as he groans and pulls you closer, his tongue delving into your dripping cunt and lapping at your juices. You’re propped on your forearms, watching him with hazy eyes as he tastes you, your chest heaving at the assault of sensations. 

He’s gentler than Touya, but that doesn’t make it any less intense. Your fingers grip the sheets tightly as he slurps at your cunt, his tongue blistering on your slit as he draws it up to flick over your swollen clit. You keen when he seals his lips around it and sucks, the touch hot and wet. 

The sloppy sounds of him savoring you make your body ignite, your arousal spilling onto the sheets even though you haven’t cum. You’re desperate to, but Shoto’s movements are slow and deliberate—you can tell he’s nowhere near finished. 

Teal and brown eyes are not quite closed but far-seeing, as if he’s lost in something—in you. The sight of it tightens something in you, has your shaking fingers reaching for him until they tangle in the crimson strands of his left side. Shoto’s groan devolves into a whine as you tug him closer, the vibrations of his noises making your eyes roll back. The younger Todoroki doesn’t resist your grasp, he leans into it, his tongue moving deeper, more desperate.

You make a noise of approval, your hips jumping when his fingers slip into you, prodding at your walls until your legs snap closed around his cheeks. He looks drunk cushioned between your thighs, the wet sounds and his moans melding together and making your mind melt.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Touya rasps beside you, on his knees now as his fingers form a tight ring around the head of his cock.

Your head turns to him, moaning when he shuffles towards you and presses the head of his cock against your lips. 

“Open up, doll. You’re killin’ me, sound so good like that.”

With a soft whimper, you part your lips and he feeds his cock into your mouth with a relieved sigh. As he pushes deeper you drag your tongue over each metal bar on the underside of his cock, gentle with the balled ends, counting five as they push deeper.

Last night in the shower Touya finally let you have a look, grinning at your wide eyed expression as you carefully brushed your fingers along his Jacob's ladder. He’d hissed under his breath as you nudged the last set, the lorum at the base of his shaft.

“Easy, that one’s new.”

That’s what you’re reaching for now as his fingers thread through your hair, his groans rough as he pulls you deeper onto his cock, your tongue swirling at the furthermost metal beads. You preen as he curses at the wet touch of your tongue ghosting the edge of his balls.

Touya pulls out slowly before thrusting back into your mouth; you’re trying your best not to gag, swallowing rapidly as his head touches the back of your throat.

“That’s a good slut,” Touya hisses, holding your head flush to his pelvis. His cock throbs at the feel of your throat closing around him, his head tossing back. “Pay attention to me.”

You whimper around Touya’s cock as Shoto gives a harsh suck on your clit, uncharacteristic of his attentions so far, and your watery gaze flicks downward to see Shoto leveling a heated stare at his brother again.

Touya takes notice, a lopsided grin spreading across his face as leers back at his little brother. “What, don’t like me calling it like it is? She really is a good little whore for me, you know. You should’ve heard the way she screamed for me last night.”

You moan around his length as one of Touya’s hands closes around your neglected breasts, his fingers pulling at the hardened nubs to hear the desperate sounds you make as he rocks in and out of your mouth.

“You shouldn’t call her that,” Shoto mumbles, his eyes glazed as he watches you writhe under his brother’s touch. His chin and cheeks are smeared with your arousal. The beginning beads of sweat have his hair sticking to his forehead. 

Touya shrugs. 

“She seems fine with it. Hasn’t complained.” He eases out of your throat and watches you inhale sharply, taking in the much needed oxygen. 

“Still.”

The younger one sits up and slides off the bed, a smile tugging at his lips at your whine of protest. Shoto pulls his shirt over his head, ruffling his hair and dropping it to your floor before popping the button of his jeans, hooking his thumbs in the waistband to push them off.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve only just started,” Shoto breathes, returning to the bed with a new fire in his eyes. 

You inhale shakily at the sight of him exposed, the rippling muscle a sharp contrast to Touya’s lean figure. The eldest is healthy, and in no way out of shape, but Shoto’s strict training regimen has his body in peak physical condition. 

There’s clean white and pink scars littering his chest from his escapades as a hero, but it does nothing to take away from his beauty. As he steps closer to you, your eyes trail downward to his pelvis where his cock bobs between his legs looking painfully hard, the pretty pink tip drooling. Your eyes widen; it looks heavy, thick, unable to bear its own weight and leaning to the left. At the base is a well-kept patch of hair that matches his split coloration just like the rest of his body hair. 

As if sensing your trepidation at his brother’s size, Touya narrows his eyes and rests back on his haunches so you can take a moment to get adjusted. Shoto pulls you to the edge of the bed, spreading your thighs and standing between them as his hungry stare roves over your glistening cunt before snapping up to meet your gaze. He slides his length between your dripping folds and takes in a harsh breath at the feel of you.

His voice is soft, a light tremble to it the only tell of his nerves. “Do you want me to use a—”

“No,” you mumble shyly, fighting the urge to cover your face as his cheeks pinken at your immediate denial. “I wanna feel you, Sho’.”

“Okay,” he returns, sounding dazed. “Okay.”

Shoto drags the thick head of his cock through your juices again, lubricating himself fully before pressing himself against your fluttering hole, completely focused on the way you respond as he eases himself into your warmth.

You moan loudly at the immediate stretch, head thrown back as he slowly enters you. His eyebrows furrow at your tight heat, and he groans lowly in his chest as he coaches himself internally not to just hilt himself in you. 

A strangled sound works its way up both your throats as he drags his hips back and pushes in again, trying to work himself deeper. 

“Sho,” you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets as he sinks another inch into you, your eyes screwing shut. He’s so thick you don’t understand it. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s overwhelming, fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back into your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” Shoto chokes out, gripping your thighs tightly to ground himself. “So tight, so perfect. Feels like you’re made for me.”

“Holy fuck.” The words come from Touya, and you barely register the slick sound as the eldest slowly works his fist over his cock. Sapphire eyes lock on to where your drooling cunt is struggling to accommodate even two thirds of his younger brother’s cock. 

You can feel yourself getting more desperate, wanting to ground yourself to something, but there’s nothing to hold onto. 

Touya eyes the way your chest heaves, goosebumps rising on his skin at the hiccuping mewls you keep making. With an amused huff, he drops his cock and shifts closer until he’s sitting at your side. Shoto glares at him as he gets closer gripping your thighs possessively, but the heat falls short, the feeling of your slick walls too much. 

“Just keep going,” Touya mutters gruffly, staring down at your trembling figure as opposed to making eye contact with his little brother. “You should be doin’ this yourself, but as much as I like watchin’ her squirm, she likes it when I touch her.”

His slender fingers trace over your mound before his thumb presses into your throbbing clit. 

“F-fuck!” you warble out as heat strikes low in your belly, and Shoto echoes you with a groan as your cunt flutters around him as if trying to suck him deeper.

“There’s that dirty mouth,” Touya coos, voice dripping with playful condescension. He rubs slow, soothing circles around your clit, his eyes almost predatory with hunger. “That feel better? Bet you’re soaking now. Want him to just shove it in you, hmm?”

“Y-yes, yes!” you whine, teary eyes flickering from Touya to Shoto, desperate, pleading. “Want more, Shoto, please. Deeper!”

Shoto shakes at the pure need in your tone, his thighs tensing as his cock throbs. “Shit, sweetheart. Are you sure?”

“Please!”

“You heard her.” Touya retracts his hand, sucking the traces of your arousal off his fingers as he retreats further onto the bed. 

Shoto barely hears him, adjusting his grip so that he’s holding your hips as he firmly fucks himself deeper. The gape of your lips, the tears clinging to your lashes: that’s all he can see as he’s finally seated in your pussy. It feels like the heat of you is going to melt him. He groans as you wrap your thighs around his waist and leans down to capture your lips. 

You’re taking him like it’s nothing now, your tits pressed against his chest as you arch into him, hips bucking into his as he fucks you slow. His kiss is hot, quick, desperate, but he has to fuck you slow or he’s going to lose it. His body tingles with pleasure as your moans spill into his throat, your nails raking down his back as you ground yourself.

Shoto’s mind swims as you mewl his name against his lips over and over. His head feels full of cotton as his thrusts begin to get a little sharper, jostling the bed. His grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you steadily back into each thrust, pupils blowing out at the way your cries get more desperate, your back arching as your walls clamp and spasm around him. There’s a gush of slick coating his pelvis and the tops of his thighs now, but Shoto doesn’t stop; his hands slip under your back, grasping you tightly as he pulls you up off the bed completely.

You sink deeper onto his cock with a high squeal, and Shoto cups your ass to hold you up a little, widening his stance so he can fuck into you steadily. You whimper at the overstimulation, your teeth finding his collarbone as Shoto mumbles breathlessly.

"A little more, sweetheart. Just a little more, you're doing so good."

Touya snorts. "Now who's an animal?"

Shoto whines and turns, sitting back onto the bed and laying back, raising your hips so he can watch his length pumping into you. Your release is shining between your thighs, everywhere really, sticking to his thighs and matting the red and white of his pubic hair. 

When your moans cut off, Shoto looks up to see your lips pressed to Touya's. The elder brother has his fingers between your legs again, rubbing on your clit as he curls your fist around his cock, guiding your hand to stroke it with his own. 

The tension in Shoto's gut stretches thin when he picks up Touya's low rasp, biting out between the gaps of his rough kisses.

"C'mon doll, squeeze him for me— You want a break, you gotta make him cum. You wanna make him cum, don't'cha?"

"Yeah, wanna feel him cum," you whimper, tearing your lips from Touya's to stare down at Shoto with pleading eyes. "Want your cum Sho', please."

"S-shit, sweetheart."

Shoto half sits up in his aim to reach for you, his finger’s curling around the back of your neck and pulling you back down with him as he licks into your mouth. His other arm wraps around your hips, holding you down onto him as he grinds his cock into you, moaning shamelessly down your throat at the way your walls are milking him. 

“Oh fuck, oh shit—” Shoto breaks from your lips with a low cry, clutching you to his chest; white dots his vision as he gives in, his cock jerking as he unravels, several spurts of hot cum shooting deep into your pussy. “Oh god, you feel so good. You did so good.”

A jolt runs up his spine when Shoto realizes your hips are moving, grinding down on his slowly softening cock.

“So close,” you slur into his chest. “‘M so close, Sho’. ‘M right there.”

“Keep going, sweetheart,” Shoto breathes, trying not to moan at the jolt of overstimulation on his spent cock.

It’s sensitive, but it’s bearable, especially when it’s rewarded as your fluttering walls clamp down hard, your thighs quaking around his own. Your whine is loud even as it muffles into his shoulder, your nails digging into his chest as ride out your orgasm with little jerks of your hips. Shoto can barely comprehend the feeling swelling up inside him as you babble about how good his cock feels, how good he’s making you feel; amazement, pride, and no short amount of giddiness sits warm in his chest. 

Shoto rubs a soothing palm up and down your back, mumbling sweet nothings as you relax into his chest, only to groan softly as your hips raise enough for his cock to slip out with a wet sound. His head pops up at the feel of something brushing between his legs, only to see Touya standing above you both, his hands on your hips. 

Goosebumps rise on Shoto’s skin as he feels Touya’s hand brush over the tops of his thighs as his elder brother angles his cock towards your quivering, spent pussy.

You moan weakly, but don’t shy away from his touch.

“She looks so worn out, poor thing,” Touya coos, his voice filled with a sympathy that doesn’t match the wicked gleam in his eyes. “But this slutty pussy should be able to take more than this. Don't worry, doll. You'll get used to it soon."

[ashe-smash]

Baby Talk | Chapter 1: Conception Ao3

Piccolo x Reader

Tags/ CW: Infertility, Themes of Infertility Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alien/Human Relationships, Namekian Biology, Piccolo has a Diccolo (Later Chapters) Oviposition, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Alien Pregnancy.

Word Count: ~2.4K

Summary: You’ve known Piccolo and you reproduce differently since the beginning of your relationship- before you were ever really dating. You thought it was fine until it’s not. Piccolo and Reader have to navigate their reproductive incompatibility. (Aka Writer takes some significant liberties with Namekian biology)

Big thanks to @ginrastandsby for beta-ing and the DB reader discord for support with my fics ! 🫶

FYI, this it technically in canon with another wip. I consider them the same Reader Character- for context 1) Reader is a childhood friend of Videl, shes Pan’s godmother. 2) Piccolo and Reader can have sex. He had an “appendage” that’s sheathes thats similar to a penis. It produces lubrication, but no genetic material/ sperm.

Piccolo stares at your sleeping form. He knows you don’t like it, but he’s feeling things he’s not quite sure how to process. It’s not like he needs sleep like you, so maybe if the Namekian stares long enough the puzzle will piece itself together. 

Eventually you rouse from it, mumbling a reminder and beckoning him to join you under the warmth of your comforter. Ready to drift back asleep. He usually lies with you, meditating until you wake but he doesn’t feel like joining you right this moment. 

“You want a baby.” Piccolo says flatly. It’s not a question, because he knows it’s true. He hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop on you or anything, he simply has very good hearing. Chatting with an old friend who’d just had a baby during a chance encounter earlier that day. Something about you wanting one of your own if the cards were ever right for you. 

You’re much more awake now. “This isn’t a middle of the night conversation Piccolo.” 

Piccolo knows that, he thinks. Navigating a relationship is new for the Namekian, while he’s been friends or allies with earthlings for two decades- most of his life- this is his first romantic and physical one. 

But he knows he loves you. It feels a little foreign, unlike his love for Gohan or Videl and Pan and maybe that’s why this bothers him. He can’t even place the feelings he is having now: he’s not angry, he knows anger, he’s not scared- this seems a little silly to be scared over? Worried. He thinks he’s worried. 

Piccolo touches his throat, it’s almost absentminded. “I can't … do that.” 

“I know.” You sigh. Not disappointedly, he thinks. You’re just tired. “Lo I don’t know why we’re having this conversation.” He’s not quite sure why either. It’s just bugging him and he’s not used to that.  

You huff, a little grumpy at being woken up. He acquiesces and crawls into the blankets with you, attempting to appease his slight of having woken you up. You curl up at his side, body warm with sleep. Piccolo always runs on the cooler side, not warm blooded like humans. You change that tucked into his side. “Can we talk about this in the morning?” 

When you do fall asleep, it’s restless. Even in the deepest parts of meditation he can tell you aren’t sleeping well. You can’t seem to get comfortable, nor does it seem you ever fully fall asleep.Eventually when the morning is still silver blue, you give up and wake yourself up. “You know, there are human men that couldn’t give me a baby right?” 

“I don’t … want you to do… that.” 

“I don’t want that either. I mean, even if we can’t have a baby together it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Even if I want a baby, I still love you.” 

He turns his head and kisses the palm you tucked against the side of his face. You love him regardless, even if he can’t give you it. 

You eventually roll onto your stomach to look at him.“Is it even something you want.” 

For him, it feels very complicated. Very few Namekians ever reproduce. He thinks it sounds horrific. Not to mention his own relationship with his own father- or lack there of adds another layer of complexity. 

You having your own child through whatever alternative ways would just mean there would be another human in his life that he would eventually outlive. However, he doesn’t want to take that away from you. 

The two of you are reproductively incompatible. Technically, you’re both the egg bearers. Sex is only possible because Namekians still have vestigial appendages that are similar to penises. 

“I don’t know.” 

If he slept maybe he’d dream of it. Silence hangs in the air between you two. If his hearing wasn’t so good, he might think you were sleeping again. 

“Are you sad?” 

You take a deep breath before answering, which almost is an answer in itself. “A little bit, yeah. I knew you couldn’t- we couldn’t … do that since we first slept together. But I guess it feels different when we actually talk about it.” 

You curl yourself back up to his side. “Do you want to go back to sleep?” 

You nod. “You can go meditate outside if you want.” 

He usually does around this time in the morning while you sleep in. Piccolo shakes his head. He thinks he’d rather stay here with you. 

He has a feeling this topic is only shelved for later.  It’s not like you’re going to stop wanting it, even if you also love him. He wishes it was simpler, at least for your sake. 

At least you sleep a little more peacefully after that. 

… 

It’s a few days later when Pan is over that it comes back up again. The two of them are training and you’re sitting under the big tree outside your home. Usually you’d sit in your office to work, but it seems there’s been a bit of unspoken clinginess between the two of you. Luckily you already work from home and can work from almost anywhere as long as you have your laptop. 

“Pico, why is Auntie crying?” 

Piccolo turns his head to see you slip back into your shared home. He doesn’t see your face though. 

Piccolo ruffles a hand through Pan’s hair. “Go take a lap, I’ll make sure Auntie is okay.” 

You’re in the kitchen and you duck your head so he can’t see your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. I just-“ Your voice cracks, betraying your words. “Just need a minute.” 

“Why are you crying?” He steps up behind you, but he’s not sure if he should touch. 

You shrug. “It’s fine. Go- Go train with Pan.” 

“She’s worried about you.” Maybe it’s a little cruel to play that card but if it will get you to tell him what’s wrong. When a fresh wave of tears starts, Piccolo can’t stand it anymore and tucks you against his chest. Wraps an arm around your crossed arms. 

“It’s awful and I feel guilty for feeling it.” You sob. 

This is the worst part- when he doesn’t know what to do. Usually you’re there to help guide him through it, but that’s wildly inappropriate at this moment. 

“Deep breath, please.” It’s shaky but you manage it. He lets you take another one too. “I’ve heard some pretty awful stuff, I doubt you could say anything as bad.” He strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers. 

“It feels mean to say to you, Lo.” 

“Do you intend to hurt me with it?” You shake your head. “Then please tell me so I can understand?” 

“Pan’s an only child…” He’s aware of that fact. You take another deep breath. “T-that’s fine, I just… I always figured it’d be okay cause she’d have a cousin or two eventually.” 

Goten’s still pretty young- by the time he might have kids, Pan will probably be a teenager… Oh. “Because you thought you’d have kids?” 

He’d never thought about it. He’s technically an only child, Gohan and Goten are far apart in age- at least Goten has Trunks to play around with. Bulla and Pan are close enough in age but that hardly means anything. 

You want to give her a playmate. 

It makes sense. The two of you love Pan more than anything, probably more than each other. 

“I'm sorry.” You say wetly. “I’m not trying to guilt you or anything…  I’m just sad about it.” 

“What can I do for you?” 

“I really just needed a minute, Big Guy.” You squeeze at an arm that’s wrapped around you. “I think I might go lie down for a little bit?” 

He holds you for another minute then lets you go upstairs. He waits until he hears you get into the bed before he leaves

When Piccolo comes back outside, Pan is sitting in the grass poking at a bug. She’s more like her dad than one would first believe by looking at her. “Why was Auntie crying, Piccolo?” 

“She’s sad, bud.” 

“Are you getting a divorce?” 

“What? No, where did you even hear that?” Technically, the two of you aren’t even married. Can he even legally get married? 

“One of my friends at school’s mom and dad are getting a divorce. Her mom is very sad when I see her.” 

Oh, that makes sense. 

“We had a grownup conversation recently and it made Auntie sad.” It’s hard because Piccolo can’t exactly talk to her about the truth. 

“When Daddy makes Mom upset, he buys her chocolates and flowers! You should do that Picco!”

“Yeah? Auntie’s laying down right now, think we should go get her something to cheer her up?” 

Pan nods enthusiastically. She hops up to take off to fly towards the nearest store. Piccolo glances back at your home before he takes off to join her. Hopefully you’ll be alright for a little bit by yourself. 

…

It seems fine at first. Piccolo has an armful of treats (all picked out by Pan). She’s not worried anymore, eager to help Piccolo “fix” your sour mood. 

Until they walk straight in front of the baby section. Rows and rows of pastel baby clothes. Bottles and pacifiers line the adjacent walls of the section. 

Something curdles in Piccolo’s stomach. He’s assumed he’s been feeling this way because you’re feeling sad and upset about this. Maybe he does want a baby? As bad as you do. Especially with the realization that yours and his baby would grow up with Pan. 

Pan tugs on his gi. “What’s wrong, Piccolo?” 

He blinks. “Just thinking that Auntie’s up by now.” He shrugs the arm holding all of the snacks Pan picked out. “Do you think this is enough?” 

It’s a bit early for him to be dropping off Pan but he feels it’s necessary.  Videl seems a little concerned but mostly just surprised. He assures her that something just came up. He’ll make it up to Pan another day. Maybe you and him can take her out for a fun outing when you’re in better spirits. 

He takes the plastic baggie of snacks and heads home. 

You’re still lying down when he returns. Laying on your stomach, face practically smothered in the pillow- he really hates when you sleep like this. Based on your breathing, you’re not quite sleeping but not quite awake. 

He crawls on top of you being careful to not put all his weight on you, but enough. You once told him about weighted blankets- that it’s comforting to have the extra pressure sometimes.

“I wish I could give you a baby.” 

“We could.” You mumble. Your voice is scratchy from sleep and crying, probably. 

The Dragon Balls? So you two could have a baby together? It feels ironic that Piccolo hadn’t thought of that. It’d be relatively easy- Bulma keeps them constantly collected and protected to be used if needed. 

He lets you turn over but he doesn’t get off of you, his head resting on your belly. “Do you really want to do that?” 

You shrug. “What if they were needed for something… more important?” ‘Something more important’ goes unsaid. Piccolo nods. That would be an awful thing for your baby to have over their head their whole lives. 

“If you really wanted… what’s it called when another man fathers a child for someone who can’t?” 

“Donor?” 

“If you really wanted it… you could do that.” Piccolo really doesn’t like that. He’d love your child because they’re part of you but he’d still struggle. 

“I… I want your baby, Lo.” You pout. “It’s selfish but I want you to get me pregnant and I want to have your baby. I know it’s unrealistic to want that but I do.” 

“But we can’t do that and we can’t… make it happen other ways… So?” 

You turn your face away. “I guess we just …don’t.” 

He rubs your hip, he hates that you’re sad and he can’t really do anything about it. “You’re still sad about it though, right?” 

“I might always be sad about it, Piccolo.” You sigh. “But we have Pan.” 

He nods. “We have Pan.” 

“And I love you. You know that right?” 

Of course he does. It’d be awkward because the two of you are so interconnected in your lives but if you didn’t want to be with him anymore- he’d understand if you left him. Being with a man who looks like an alien has been quite the adjustment. 

“Please don’t cry again.”  He points to the bag of acquired goodies. It’s set on the edge of the bed, but he doesn’t move away from you to actually retrieve it. “Pan picked you out snacks.” 

“Yeah? That’s where you went?” You giggle, a little forced but it lifts the mood. “Can I eat them in bed?” 

Piccolo grimaces. He takes the sanctity of your bed very seriously, you sleep there after all. “... If you really want to.” That makes you laugh a little more genuinely. 

Ultimately you decide to go eat your snacks downstairs during a movie. Snacks for dinner, though Piccolo will insist you eat something more substantial. You think maybe you’ll entice him into a warm bath later. 

Your phone buzzes: 

>> (Del) Pan said you were upset earlier? Everything alright?? 

You expected this. Pan’s still little and likely can’t keep a “secret” especially from her mother. 

Truth be told, Videl and Gohan have been far too involved in your relationship with Piccolo. Sure, they are your respective best friends- Videl is the reason you’re together. 

The first time you two had a serious argument, the married couple seriously meddled into getting you to talk to Piccolo again- even though you both really just needed some time to cool off. You know they were just trying to help but you don’t need that now. 

You sneakily snap a pic of your partner. He’s sitting with your feet in his lap, holding a plate of your treats so they don’t spill while you’re texting. 

>> (You) Just having a hard day. Nothing >> Sorry Piccolo brought Pan home early. 

Maybe someday they’ll be told. Perhaps you’ll sob to Videl after one too many glasses of wine on your rare Girls Nights or Piccolo will confide in Gohan about it. 

But for now it can just be between you and him. You’ll have to get used to that now, after all.

[notfast-onlyfurious]

her kit bag. | j.riki

jordan riki x fem!reader

in which you play for the broncos NRLW team, you’re dating jordan privately, and your kit bag is found in his house.

wc; ~1.8k

a/n: this is my first time writing for him, and this is not thoroughly proofread, please be nice. also, if you enjoy this, please do reblog, writers do appreciate it🫶

warnings: 18+, swearing, use of pet names “baby”, “love”, “babe”, “good girl”, & “pretty girl”, suggestive conversation, smut, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do that), praise kink, creampie, slight degradation, one ‘spank’.

it was a wednesday night and the broncos NRL and NRLW teams had just finished combined training. you were walking to your car when your phone went off, quickly throwing your kit bag into the backseat of your car, you check the message.

pretty boy riki: "are you coming over tonight gorgeous?"

you: "yeah, can i shower at yours?"

pretty boy riki: "sounds good, see you soon❤️"

you and jordan have been together for a few months now but nobody knows, not even your best friends. now, the reason for this isn't anything other than keeping it private, as neither of you want it plastered on every headline.

arriving at jordan's house, parking in his garage to avoid prying eyes. you grab your bag from the backseat and let yourself in, taking off your birkenstocks at the door and leaving your bag on the bench in the hallway.

walking into the kitchen, no sign of his 6'2 figure but you can subtly hear the shower running upstairs and see his boots and bag by the kitchen counter. assuming he's in the shower, you make your way to your bag and grab some shorts and a tank top and head upstairs, popping your head through the ajar bathroom door to announce your presence.

you: "hi love"

jordan: "hey pretty, i'll be out soon"

whilst you wait for jordan to finish, you lay yourself on his bedroom floor because we don't do outside clothes on the bed around here.

soon enough, you hear the water turn off and your man walks out with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair wet with water droplets running down his chest. lord the man that you are. nonetheless, you give him a quick kiss before making your way into his bathroom. the only thing on your mind right now is jordan, but what's new. the hair, the smile, the thighs, the arms, the laugh, the love he has for you, everything about that man has you weak at the knees.

getting out of the shower, you grab your towel off the rack, wrapping it around your body as you do your skincare and moisturise your body. you put your navy pyjama shorts on with a grey tank top, not clocking how cold it really was just yet, until you step out of the bathroom, feeling the air hit your skin. in these conditions, you walk yourself to jordan's wardrobe and pick out his grey nike hoodie, throwing it over your head and making your way downstairs, just to be met with your man in a pair of black shorts hanging low on his hips. this man could get it every day. oh wait, he does.

you: "did you need any help babe?"

jordan: "no love, almost done here"

not even 5 minutes later, jordan had served you seafood pasta with a glass of red wine.

"almost taste as good as you" in a tone that caused your pussy to clench around nothing.

almost choking on your dinner, nothing could have prepared you for that, to come out of jordan riki's mouth in the middle of dinner.

"i could say the exact same to you riki"

now you both sat at the counter, flabbergasted.

later in the night, after dinner, a few movies and talk about training, you and jordan moved upstairs into his bed, one you dreaded leaving. now, despite sleep wanting to takeover, you couldn't help but focus on the hand that was moving up from your waist to your boob, and it certainly wasn't your own hand. it was the hand of a 6'2 man that happened to have a silver fern tattooed on it.

the hand on your boob made you shiver, reaching for his hand on instinct and in that moment, you knew whatever hope you had for sleep, just went out the window because he may have started it but you couldn't deny him. then, before you could even blink, you were straddling the hips of the finest man you had ever laid eyes on, with his arm reaching up to pull you into the sloppiest kiss, tongue on tongue, fighting for dominance.

"are you gonna be a good girl for me?"

you were so entranced by the man below you, you didn't even respond. his neck, his lips, the way he looked at you. that was until you were pulled out of thought by the hand around your neck.

"use your words baby, don't eye fuck me"

you could feel him under you. the way it was throbbing on your clothed pussy.

"please daddy, i'll be good, i promise" as your hips came down on him.

trailing your kissing down his torso, making your way to the waistband of his boxers. leaving kisses over his cock through his boxers.

"don't tease pretty girl, show me how much you crave my cock"

that's all it took, his thick cock was in your hand and your tongue was on the tip, finally obeying and taking him deeper, bobbing your head as his hips bucked, causing you to gag. before either of yous knew it, your clothes were on the floor, his boxers were at the foot of the bed and he was on top, holding his weight above you with one hand next to your head.

"beg for it baby, tell me how bad you want my cock in that tight little pussy" as he ran his fingers through your wet folds. his lips on your neck, leaving those purple marks that let everyone know someone was taking care of you.

"please jordan, i want you so bad, let me feel you" you were really begging him for his cock whilst he was curling his thick fingers in and out of your pussy, the gushing as he pounded.

"nothings ever enough for you is it pretty girl, always want my cock" he mocked as he pulled his fingers from between your legs, lifting them to his lips. pulling himself up to his knees, pumping his thick veiny cock with one hand and rubbing your clit with the other. no matter how many times you took him, nothing could ever prepare you for the stretch. slowly, he teased your pussy with the head, rubbing it, putting the tip in just to pull it out again. then, in one thrust, he bottomed out and you could feel him in your stomach, the bump on your lower belly noticeable. he groaned at the tightness as he felt you clench around him, he could have filled you up right then.

"mm fuck baby, you're so fucking tight, feels so good"

you loved the praise, you loved making him feel good and that made you clench around him again.

"fuck- oh my god jordan, harder"

"baby if you keep doing that i'll fill you up right now"

but to your request, he lifted one of your legs to his hip and started pounding you just as hard as you wanted.

then he pulled out.

"no no no no fuck daddy, please"

and suddenly, you were on your stomach, being pulled up to an ass up head down position by your hips, leaving a bruise tomorrow for sure and then he was right back inside, slamming his cock in and out, the only thing heard was his groaning, your moaning, and the sound of your thighs slapping together.

no matter how hard or fast he was going, you were always pleading for more, you could never get enough of him.

"fuck jordan, fuck- i'm gonna-"

then you felt something in your stomach break as you feel yourself coming all over jordan's thick thighs and cock.

"you're such a slut for my cock aren't you pretty girl" as he continued to pound into you from behind, chasing his high. you could feel his pace falter and his cock twitch, gasping as his head falls back.

then you felt it, the warm feeling of him filling you up, giving you everything he had. as his high washed over, you instantly missed the feeling as he pulled his cock out, his cum trailing down your pussy and thighs making him push it back in with his fingers followed by a slap on your ass.

for a moment, jordan lays by your side, legs intertwined, with your arm over his chest. then, he gets up and walks to the bathroom and you hear the bath running and subconsciously you feel yourself smile. shortly after, he returns, lifts you up and walks you both to the bathroom. both of you get in, your back against his chest in the warm relaxing water.

the night ended with both you and jordan wrapped in each others arms in bed. the high was still buzzing in the air and you couldn't ask for a better man

*the next morning*

you slowly opens your eyes, squinting as the sunlight filters through the curtains with the familiar feeling of two arms wrapped around you, covered in sheets that aren't yours. you could feel jordan's chest pressed against your back, his breath on your neck. rolling over and grabbing your phone to check the time, 11:46am.

suddenly, the doorbell rings.

"are you expecting someone?"

"shit no? stay here love"

jordan quickly grabbed a pair of sweats from his wardrobe, running down the stairs as he pulls them on. he's met with the one and only walshy and staggs as he swings the front door open.

jordan: "mate, what're yous doing here"

walshy: "mate i called you four times and you didn't answer, i thought you died"

jordan: "shit"

as he remembers back to last night before he went upstairs with you, he left his phone in the kitchen. before he could catch himself up mentally, both walshy and staggs were walking through his front door and through the hallway. the same hallway your kit bag was in. jordan hoped they would be oblivious to the bag that did NOT say 262 on it but those hopes came crashing down when walshy stopped in his tracks.

walshy: "that's funny, i don't recall your number being 92" in the most sarcastic tone as he looked at jordan, drawing staggs’ attention to the situation.

staggs: "ain't that the women's second row"

there was nothing jordan could even say to defend this. the three of them looked at each other in silence.

jordan: "babe come downstairs"

walking yourself downstairs after finding your shorts and jordan's nike hoodie again, you're met with three men looking at you from the hallway.

walshy: "mate what's this, what's going on"

staggs: "bro you said she was pretty you ain't mention having her in your house too"

you: “guys we’ve been together for a few months now, we’ve been avoiding the public eye that’s all”

knowing that jordan was calling you pretty to his friends and teammates made your heart explode, and with the way he was looking at you right now, you might have to kick walshy and staggs out and go back upstairs.

—————————————————————————————

© notfast-onlyfurious 2024

[the-kr8tor]

Where the River Flows

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 7.4k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW Blood and violence, TW death, CW injury, CW guns, CW alcohol. Old west AU, cowboy AU

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 4 >>> CHAPTER 5

You haven't slept this well in years, the last time you had was back when you've last slept next to him on the same lumpy mattress of his flat that you've once called home. Your eyes blink awake, cheek pressed against a pillow, it's soft, so soft that for a second you thought it was Hobie's arm. You stare at the ceiling, a carved magnolia tree stares back. Its branches are full of blossoms, perfectly carved just like the illustrations in your books. It's so vivid that you could practically see its pinkish hue. It's weird, you think, the carving, when the rest of the room is sparsely decorated; filled with drab oak, and cheap lamps. The room smells old, lived in by hundreds of travelers before you.

A creak echoes out at the far end of the bed, prompting you to look upon Hobie's bareback. Healed bullet wounds litter all over his flesh that you once held on. Raised scars dotted along his lower back like stars, stars that were once drenched in ruby. You wonder if it still hurts, the stars, like how the hole he left in your heart five years ago. You hope it doesn't hurt as much for him, you'll never wish agony upon him; even if a part of you thinks he deserves it.

Maybe you should tell him, tell him what agony has befallen you since he left. The pile of letters sewn into your skirt remains to be read by his viridescent eyes; its wax seal remains closed, the words of longing and hate are still scribbled upon the yellowed paper.

Your eyes dart along the expanse of his skin, frown getting deeper and deeper with every new scar you find. Hobie puts on his shirt, buttoning each one, the cloth hiding his own misfortune from your weary eyes.

“You talk in your sleep.” He finally breaks his silence. Looking over his shoulder, he regrets it immediately. The simple sight of your bed head and puffy eyes brings back memories of when you'd wake up next to him.

“I know,” I've been told. You grunt as you lift yourself off the pillow, elbow propping you whilst you watch him put on his cowboy boots and clinking spurs.

He blinks, hand pausing along the buckles. “It's new, you've never done that before.”

“Just like you said, a lot of things can change in five years.” Sitting up, you place your chin atop your knees, legs tucked under the covers, arms holding your legs in place. “What was I saying? In my sleep, I mean.”

“You were mumbling…” my name, he sighs at the thought of telling you the truth. “Someone's name I think, and egg soup for some reason.”

“I'm hungry.” You ignore whose name you might've been saying in your sleep. And you think it's not his.

“We need new clothes first, people must've gotten our descriptions by now. So we need to change.” Hobie puts on his leather vest, the metals of it clinking against one another. Then the hat comes after, he stands up, walking towards his gun belt.

“Okay, breakfast after?” You fight a yawn, palms rubbing harshly on your eyelids.

“Yes, breakfast after.” He secures his belt on his hip, silver guns shining in the early morning sun. “I don't think they have egg soup though.”

You crack a small smile. “It doesn't matter, anything will do.”

“The saloon has pumpkin soup I think, does that sound good?” Hobie has no idea why he's prolonging the conversation about soup out of all the things he could discuss with you.

You nod, staring at him through fond eyes. “Mm-hmm, sounds good.”

“Good, we need something warm to eat.” He realizes that he's been standing awkwardly at the doorway. Clearing his throat, you fight a smile. “Get dressed.” With the door shutting close behind him, he slaps his cheeks to wake himself. He needs coffee, or something stronger for that matter.

Meanwhile, you watch the space he just left with hope in your heart.

—

The dress shop smells nicer than the inn, it's elegant, looking like it doesn't belong in the middle of the dingy town. Every pile of clothing is neatly folded over the other, different outfits are displayed over the windows and display cases. Both leather and cotton are the most prominent ones, but there are a few chiffon dresses, lace and silks placed alongside the rougher fabrics. They're all wonderfully made, each having their own brand of beauty in every stitch.

You watch yourself in the floor length mirror. Dark trousers instead of a skirt hangs around your waist. A nice crisp white dress shirt on your torso fits perfectly on you thanks to the friendly tailor.

“You need a vest, or you'll get cold during your travels.” She taps your shoulder, genuinely smiling at you through the mirror. “Are you sure you don't want to wear a corset and skirt? You'd look just as marvellous.” Her eyes shine just like the dainty rings around her fingers.

“I'm sure, skirts and corsets are an inconvenience.”

“Well, you've given me a proper challenge then. But is it a challenge if everything looks good on you?” Her long dark hair sways behind her as she peruses her own shop, dozens of embroidered cloth folded neatly on tables.

“You're good,” you watch her sashay along her shop, colourful vests piled on her arm. “Just as good as the tailors back at home.”

Yuri, you learned her name just a few minutes ago, returns to you with her arm full of vests. “‘Just as good?’ oh sweetheart, I'm better.” She grins mischievously at you, red lips curled into a smug smile. Yuri would be friends with Hobie, you think, maybe in another life. “Arms up, my darling.” She holds up numerous different vests upon your body until she settles for a royal blue leather vest that has hydrangeas embroidered on it. “This is it!” Gasping excitedly, you let her help put the vest on. “Fucking beautiful! If I was your husband I'd be jumping your bones.” Grasping your shoulders, she places her chin atop it, smiling at you.

Your heart thumps loudly at the word ‘husband.’ “Thank you, Yuri.” You fiddle with the empty gun belt around your hips.

“Now for a coat or a jacket befitting a glorious woman like yourself.” She winks, twisting around in search of another dozen or so outerwear in her stock.

“Oh I think this is enough.” You don't want to use up all of Hobie's money, especially when he's still in the dressing room, none the wiser.

Yuri turns towards you abruptly, hand on her chest, feigning hurt. “Enough? Do you like prancing around town in your birthday suit?”

“No—”

“Then you shall have a jacket. The best one I've got.”

You bite your lip, a nervous tick of yours that Hobie once pointed out after kissing it off you. “I just don't want to spend too much.”

“You mean you don't want him to spend too much?” Yuri saunters over to you, boots clacking on the worn out floorboards. “What are husbands good for if not for spending their money for your own gain, hmm?” There it is again, your heart thundering loudly inside your chest. “Besides, you'd look marvelous in this coat. I'll give you a discount because you're the nicest customer I've had in years.” She leans closer to you, draping the leather coat on your shoulders for you to see. You beam at her, thankful. “It's similar to the one I gave to him, you'd be matching. Well, except this one is in a lighter shade.”

The coat reaches down to your knees, cream coloured with little fringes up front right where the front pockets are. It's beautiful with its white threads weaving around its seams. If you look closer at the bottom, you see that it gets darker as it gets closer to the hem. An almost brown shade that reminds you of the oak tree back home.

You inhale, staring at your reflection that you barely recognize in the new clothes. “Do you think it suits me?” Your voice is small, Yuri watches your expression, understanding what you truly meant.

Her playful voice lowers to a softer one, hands rubbing along your arms comfortably. “Of course, sweetheart. You're more than ready for the badlands.” You smile at her, nodding along to her encouraging words.

She twirls you around to face her, you chuckle at the sudden good hearted movement. “Now, my favourite part, the boots!”

—

You pick lint off the armchair while you wait for him to exit out of the dressing room. You're comfortable in your new clothes, it snuggles you cozily, you've never felt like this in any clothing at all; whether it be silk or velvet, all the dresses back home don't compare to what you have on. You look at your dark cowboy boots once again with a faint smile, its gorgeous spider web-like design has your heart bouncing in glee. It's a stark contrast to the threadbare shoes you had on. You make the shiny spurs clink on the floor, chuckling to yourself.

“Careful, don't scruff my floors.” Yuri appears next to you, handing you a small messenger bag.

“What's this?”

“A bag, every woman needs one to store her belongings.” She gestures towards the worn out skirt on your lap. “Especially the important ones.”

“I—”

“It's on the house, just this one though.” She chuckles before handing it to you.

“Thank you, Yuri. That's awfully kind of you.” The leather is rough against your bare hands.

“No worries, darling.” She shrugs, “after all the things you've bought it's only normal that I'd give you a little freebie.”

A door suddenly creaks open, and out comes Hobie in his new outfit. A light airy dress shirt fits perfectly on his torso, the same black bandana still hangs around his neck, hiding the large scar. He fixes the fit of his dark blue vest even though it clearly doesn't need fixing. It has a typical western embroidery on it, saved for the almost invisible peonies dotted along the buttons. His gloves are the same, lighter around the palms where friction is usually present. You flick your eyes over to his coat, Yuri's right, it's almost the same as yours. The length is shorter to accommodate for the warmer weather coming in. The shade is in this mahogany brown, warm in the eyes, a hue lighter around the hem, almost as light as your own coat. Frills are lined around the arms, the silver spikes placed atop the shoulders makes it more unique. His belt buckle this time is different, a spider trapped in amber in place of the deadly scorpion. It's cradled in silver, laurels weaving around the corpse of the spider like an elegant coffin.

Your eyes shine at his handsome appearance. “My, don't you look dapper.” You drink him up, every new thing satisfying your need. Roaming your eyes downward, you tilt your head at the odd material on his legs. His boots are the same, even the spurs, but you can't quite place the new fangled blue thing around his legs. “What's that?”

Both Yuri and Hobie follow your gaze. But Yuri seems to be the only one who could form a coherent sentence. “They're blue jeans, or work pants. Much more comfortable than the old pants. Looks nicer on the behind, eh?” She nudges you, winking at your flustered expression. “Or enhances what's lacking.” Her last comment trails off as you unabashedly ogle him.

“Fuckin' hell.” Hobie finally speaks, his eyes avoid your form. Especially the vest that cinches you right where it matters. “Why do you have a bag?”

You stand up, slinging the bag over your shoulder. Yuri watches the whole thing with amused eyes. “For my things.”

He furrows his brows, “you don't have things, Y/N.”

Eyeing the riding gloves on the table, you cross the small distance, taking it, but before you place it inside the bag, you spot a pretty pink lace ribbon next to it. You also take it for good measure and to annoy him further. Putting it inside your bag, you teasingly smile at him. “Now I've got things.”

Yuri gives you a nod and a thumbs up whilst Hobie takes out bills to pay for everything.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” She victoriously smiles, counting the money.

“Not a pleasure on my part.” Hobie grumbles, you clamp your mouth shut to prevent a laugh from coming out.

—

The saloon is bustling with people even though it's still early in the morning. Some drink their fill next to you at the bar, some are just like you, looking for something warm to fill their bellies with to survive the rest of the day. The whole place smells of hard liquor and broken dreams. You have no idea which smells worse, the sticky floors or the lavatory at the far end of the place. The wide windows help brighten up the place at least, sunlight streaming into the carved establishment. Animal heads stare down at you, an elk’s and a buffalo's empty beady eyes look over yonder the drunkard's solace.

A piano sits just behind you, its stool is currently empty, maybe you should put all the lessons drilled into you to good use. It's better to wait for your meal there than sit right next to a stranger who looks like he's about to expel his breakfast onto your new clothes. Besides, some good music could tamp down all the drunken mumbling and the annoying scrapping of plates.

Hobie notices your heavy look, abandoning his coffee, he taps your shoulder and you almost jump in your skin.

“You still play?” He asks, eyes flicking between you and the old piano.

“I dabble, but I'm a bit rusty. I prefer gardening nowadays.” You lock eyes with him, “and shooting.”

Hobie chuckles in his seat, eyes avoiding your own smile. “You should play, I'll call you when our food is ‘ere.”

“Are you sure?” A soft smile spreads across your lips.

“I’ll watch your back, don't worry.”

Hope weighs you down again. You leave the bar stool, walking the distance towards the familiar black and white keys. Sitting down, you wrack your brain for the notes you've made a long time ago. A song that you've written yourself for the man who watches your back.

Hobie watches you intently, ears perking up at the unfamiliar music. Your hands move precisely, fingers pressing quickly as the song quickens. He smiles, glass now lay forgotten on the bar to watch you play your music. The rest of the bar quiets down a smidge, even the drunkards pause their lips at the mouth of their glass to listen to you play. The song crescendos, from a fast happy beat to a tone that is slower, a forlorn one. All in all, you play it with grace, and weaved with so much emotion.

Hobie scoffs, yet the fond smile stays. “Rusty my arse.”

The bartender appears behind him, plates in hand. “Your girl plays well.” The man places your meals on the bar, pumpkin soup sloshing on the sides of the bowl. Hobie turns towards him, not fully so he could still see you in his peripheral vision. “Is she for hire? Our player retired a few weeks ago, the saloon has never been this drab.”

“No, we're just passin’ by.”

The bartender leaves with a nod. “Too bad.”

Hobie takes his sandwich, twisting around to continue watching you. His eyes zeroes in on the sudden presence next to you. The brim of the stranger's hat hides his face, yet, Hobie knows exactly who he is based on his confident stance. Or who he was before Hobie single handedly destroyed his gang.

You finish the song with a flair, chest heaving, grinning from ear to ear.

“Bravo!” The man leaning towards the piano claps, then a chorus of scattered applause follows right after. “Amazing, sweetheart! Where'd ya learn how to play?”

“A tutor.” You smile shyly.

“Ah, what's the song called? I don't think I've heard of it before.” His long beard moves while he makes casual conversation.

“I-I made it actually.”

“Oh? I didn't know we had a composer in our humble establishment.” He taps the old piano with his gloved hand, his other hand rests on his gun belt, golden pistol shining in the sun. “What's the story behind it, eh? My ears picked up some sad depressing story through the notes.”

“I'm not a composer, a-and yeah, I made it for somebody.”

“Well, I—”

“Culver!” Hobie's booming voice echoes out in the entire saloon, everyone stops what they're doing. “You want to talk to me? Come over ‘ere instead of pestering her.” He has had enough of the conversation, and the danger that you've unknowingly put yourself into.

“Mr. Brown.” Culver says through gritted teeth, standing up straight, flicking the brim of his hat to reveal his face. “Fancy seein’ you here. You're in my territory, spider.”

You notice every single patrons’ faces turning into something akin to a person seeing a ghost, or the reaper itself. Slyly, you move your eyes over to the man, Culver, his name is familiar, you're sure you've heard of it before. Inhaling, you look back at Hobie, whose hand is placed on his gun belt, ready to whip it out if needed. He silently communicates with you, run, his eyes says, but you're paralyzed by fear when you finally remember where you heard the name Culver. It was what that old man Arthur said back then, he's the man whose men were killed by Hobie in a single night.

Heaviness hangs in the air, tension so thick that you can't even poke a hole right through it with a bullet.

“Is she someone precious to ya?” Culver says, suddenly gripping you by the scruff of your blouse, your back hitting the piano keys harshly. You yelp, and Hobie abruptly stands up, eyes aflame. The bearded man smiles, blackened teeth in full display. “She is, isn't she?” He wiggles your head in his hand. You sit there frozen, unable to even breathe. “What if I do the exact thing you did to my men, eh?” You hear chairs scraping against hardwood floors and boots frantically running towards the back exit. It's just you three in the saloon. He taps his finger in between your eyes, flaking leather on your soft skin. “A bullet in between her eyes would look lovely on her, don't you agree?”

“Your quarrel is with me. Let's take this outside, shall we?” Like a strike of lightning, Hobie cracks his bullwhip towards Culver. Dust in your eyes, the high pitched sound ringing in your ears. You then see Culver getting dragged away from you by his arm. The whip wraps around his flesh, threatening to skin him from the force Hobie pulls him towards the swinging doors of the saloon.

You inhale the gunpowder like scent it left, standing up, you quickly follow Hobie out into the sun. As the light hits your eyes, you watch Hobie cracks his bullwhip again. Culver yells in pain as Hobie releases him in the whip's clutches before placing it neatly back on his belt. He stands ways away from him, just across the screaming Culver.

“Painful, innit? This is what you did to two of my mates.” You walk to Hobie's side, he spares you a glance, roaming his jade eyes over you to check for injuries. Satisfied, he then returns his attention towards his target. “Remember that fuckin' pain, because my bullet hitting your heart would hurt much more than this.”

Culver holds his aching arm, kneeling on the muddy ground, hat fallen next to him, revealing a shiny head. “You lettin’ me go?” He cackles, you don't hide behind Hobie. “Just like that? Oh that woman has softened you up, Mr. Brown.”

“D’you want to keep talking or do you want to fuckin' start?”

You knit your eyebrows, fear encompasses you. “W-what’s about to start?” Your hand finds his bicep, holding on to him tightly like he's about to leave you. Again.

“A showdown, go to the side, love, I don't want you ‘ere when the bullets start flyin’” He watches Culver slowly stand up in the corner of his eyes.

“A fucking duel? Are you crazy?” You grip tighter.

Hobie gives you a smile, the same smile he lets you see every night before you head home. It's a boyish smile, innocence hidden behind it. “Go, I'll be fine.”

“And if not? He looks like he's a gunslinger. What if he wins and you die?”

“Then I can't burden you anymore.” He whispers, green eyes glimmering in the sunlight.

“Burden—? What are you talking about?”

“Go, I'll win, don't worry about it.”

“Hobie—!”

“Go, Y/N!”

You move without question after he yells at you. Your hands trembles, knees going weak, tears brimming in your eyes, and he can't even look at you.

As the two men move further away without turning their backs towards each other, you hold onto the saloon's pillar lest you crumble from fear of losing him. Again.

Bystanders look on, watching the spectacle unfold right in front of their eyes. Some hide behind windows, children hide behind their mother's skirts. While you have nowhere to hide. Your nails dig into the wood, Hobie squares his shoulders, fingers brushing along his holster. You spare a look towards his target, his hand already resting next to his yellow-gold gun.

Silence hangs in the air. Death waits for the loser.

Hobie squints his eyes, attention fully on the man before him. He leans back slightly, right foot stepped forward, silver gun shining in the sun; you can even see your reflection on it.

With a single breath, it's all over.

Culver was too slow to quickdraw, probably from his still aching arm. He drops his gun before he could fully draw it out. Hobie's bullet has left a sizable hole in his dominant palm, a gaping, bleeding wound that you can see through if you stare long enough.

Culver screams, a gutteral shriek that worms into your mind. He drops to his knees, eyes wide in panic and shock, trousers drenched in his own blood. Gunpowder still lingers in the air when you run towards Hobie's side. Your hands grip his shoulders, breath stuck in your throat, as you check for any bullet wounds.

“Are you hurt?!” You scream, ears ringing from the loud shot.

“‘m fine,” your wandering hands find reprieve on his jaw. “Love, ‘m fine.”

He sees fear in your eyes like never before, not even when you get punished, cheeks stained with tears from whatever they've thrown at you. You've never looked like this terrified. Scared like a starving doe caught in a bear trap.

“Remember what I told you?” You can't speak or even think. “Breathe, Y/N.” Hobie takes your hand off his skin, there's a reluctance that you're not privy to. “Just breathe, inhale and exhale.” He holds your hand, squeezing once before leaving your side. “I need to finish the job.”

You exhale and he's gone, the golden gun kicked far away, aiming the still warm barrel against Culver's head. “No…” Running after Hobie, you refuse to see another dead man. “Stop! Please.” Gripping his gun once again, you plead with him. “Don't kill him.”

“Step aside, Y/N. If I don't—” he can't fathom what Culver would do to him, to *you if he doesn't end it right there and then. The cycle must stop, he can't accomplish it if you're standing in between his gun and Culver's soft head. “Don't get involved.”

“Please.” You breathe out, warm hands placed around his shooting hand. “Take him to the sheriff, let justice take its course. He's backing down, I don't want to see you kill another one.”

“The sheriff won't do shit. Just like now,” he nudges his head towards the man amidst the crowd. “Let me do this, or he'll follow us and hunt us down.”

“I won't!” Culver suddenly yells, even louder than his painful screams. “I won't follow! I'm tired, Mr. Brown. I don't want to do this no more.” He looks up at the two of you, remourse evident on his face. “I'm sorry about your friends, I really am! But we're already even, you've taken mine too. Every single one I've got.”

“Promise to never exact revenge,” you tell the groveling man as you watch his salty tears mix in with the warm crimson.

“I promise,” Culver cries. “I promise, miss.”

You look back at Hobie, your eyes meet his own. Anger subsides in those emerald eyes, face turning soft. “He promises, Hobie.”

“An outlaw's promise doesn't mean shit—”

“You’ll have to shoot through me to get to him.” You point the barrel right on top of your chest, its warmth seeps through you.

“He wanted to hurt you.” Hobie softly says, fingers wrapping around your own.

“I’m not hurt. It takes more than threats to hurt me, Hobs.” You both stare at each other, hearts beating together. “Can you holster your gun please?”

Together, you help him lower his gun. Together, you let Culver go.

—

You need to leave town immediately. Strawberry's sheriff might've been easily placated with a good duel, but other lawmen pursuing Hobie might not be. Bucky neighs loudly at the sight of you, moreso when he sees your intertwined hands.

“Hi, Bucky.” You start to place your foot on the stirrups but Hobie stops you halfway.

“You need a horse. Might as well put your new gloves to good use, hmm?” You smile as Hobie whistles for the stable hand for help. A teenage boy with worn out blue jeans appears. “She needs a horse. Anythin' fast, or hell, anythin' you have available. What do you have?”

Their conversation drifts into the background. Your attention and breath is taken away by the gorgeous mare that stands behind a stable door. Her shining blue eyes watch you as you approach, hair as white as snow, the same hue as her body, she glimmers in the sunlight that filters through the wooden cracks. She huffs, head leaning away when you hold out your hand. You could only wait for her to make the move, watching you with peculiar eyes like she's sizing you up.

The stable boy does a double take, “wait, ma'am, that's not—!” When he says it, the white mare leanes closer to your touch. “Well I'll be. She never lets anyone touch her except my boss. She's as fine as cream gravy that one is.”

“I think she likes me.” You tilt your head as she sniffs your hand.

“That's a fuckin' arabian, love.” Hobie says breathlessly, watching you and the hot tempered horse interact like you've been her rider for years. “Can't you pick another horse that doesn't cost three horses combined?”

You laugh, feeding the mare hay. “I could, but I really think she's the one for me.” Hobie scratches the back of his neck. “I can choose another one, Hobie.” As if understanding your words, the mare nudges your shoulder. Hobie feels like he's being robbed in broad daylight. But he'll spend a million for you if you ask.

The stable boy pipes up from the side. “You can't actually, ma'am, I was just tellin’ your husband here that we only have her available. The rest already have owners you see. She was abandoned six months ago.”

“How could anyone abandon you?” You whisper towards the horse, petting her head as she welcomes your touch.

“I think her last owner died, and no one has since picked her up, or bought her. My boss is more than willing to get rid of her now to make space.”

“We'll take her, on a discounted fee of course, since she's second hand. And a saddle too.” You grin at Hobie's words.

The stable hand sighs. “At half price too I bet?”

“Now you're speakin’ my language.” Hobie pats the boy's shoulder as he negotiates prices. The mare huffs again, asking for more hay while you are distracted by Hobie's wink thrown your way.

—

“She still doesn't have a name.” Hobie finally breaks his silence, he rides alongside your horse, making sure that your ill tempered mare doesn't buck you off. His hands guide Buckeye, but his eyes are completely on your form.

The road is long and empty, save for a herd of bison roaming just below the mountain you're both trudging. There are small graves littered around the road, worn out crosses, wood eaten by termites. Etched names forgotten, lives scattered in the wind amidst the dirt and blazing sun. You wonder how they died without getting to their final destination. The sun has completely risen, humidity making your lips dry, heat stuck in between your skin and the leather of your gloves. The canopy shields you from the rays, luscious greenery everywhere, trees and grass littered all over the mountain side. You can hear wild horses neighing far away from where you are, their hooves thumping freely on the soil.

You pause from braiding your horse's hair, securing the braid with the pink lace ribbon. Your eyes meet with familiar emerald eyes. “I've been thinking about it actually.”

“Well? What are your options?”

Your lips curl into a mischievous smile. “‘Blue jeans’”

“Oh fuck off.” He rides ahead to hide his growing smile.

You quickly follow, pulling the reins, clicking your tongue to make your horse trot alongside Hobie. “Why not? I like it, I think it fits her.”

“No it does not. You're fucking with me, lovie, and my blue jeans.”

You like him like this, bathed in the sun, in warmth as he smiles back at you; just like the days when you were still just friends, friends with lingering feelings that you're both too afraid to confess. If he doesn't love you back just as before, you'd settle for this, just friends who laugh and talk, and tease each other. It's better this way because friendship means that he still cares for you, that there's still a space for you in his heart no matter how small it is, that you're not forgotten.

“Oh you and your precious blue jeans!” Your laughter echoes around.

“Will you be like this the entire time?” You both turn a corner, where no trees shield you from the sun. He notices you narrow your eyes, palm above your eyes to see him better. “‘ere.”

“W-what?” There's suddenly a hat atop your head, his hat. “Oh!” You run your fingers along the brim that shields you from the light. The leather is soft, a few bumps here and there but you can feel that it's been taken care of. Hobie clears his throat, and your cheeks run warmer than the summer sun. “T-thank you.” You're not an idiot, you've been here for weeks so of course you've heard of the ‘hat rule’ in passing. But you don't know what to do, or what he wants to do when it's in reverse.

“No problem, you've already taken my money, might as well hand you my hat, eh?” Hobie inhales, the mere sight of you wearing his beloved hat sends his heart into overdrive. Maybe he shouldn't have given it to you.

“You make it sound like I'm robbing you blind. I was alright with my old clothes.”

Hobie has the opportunity to say either of the two things that popped up in his mind. One, tell you that you've only robbed him of his heart. And two, make a joke about how much Bucky disdained carrying you with your musty clothes. So he does neither.

“We had to, or we'll be recognized faster than a mother recognizes her child.” You both finally reach the foot of the mountain, successfully surviving without anyone shooting at you, kidnapping you; or hell, getting eaten by a bear. With both of your luck, it's possible.

“Weird analogy but okay.” Your stomach grumbles when you two come to a stop at a fork in the road. One goes to the right, the other on the left. There's nothing else distinguishable on either one of them. The signage is long gone, taken by strong winds, or just time itself. You wince, hoping that he didn't hear the sound your stomach made.

He raises a brow, chuckling deeply at the sight of you hiding your face with the brim of his hat. “I forgot we didn't get to eat. That sandwich smelt really fuckin' good.”

“I really want that pumpkin soup now.” You groan, leaning forward to rest your head on top of your horse who barely notices your movement.

“C’mon, I know a place.” He taps your boot with his own.

“Where?”

“On the left, it's not that far but it'll delay us on our journey.” It's not a bad deal, he thinks to himself.

You suddenly perk up, this is what you were asking for back in that cave, the road less traveled, the road where you get to just spend more time with him. And postpone your homecoming.

“What are we waiting for then, cowboy?” With a kick, and a laugh in your throat, you bolt over to the direction he pointed out.

“‘Cowboy?’ bloody hell.” He really regrets giving you his hat because now he doesn't have anything to hide his flustered face anymore.

—

“You said it was a restaurant,” you huff at the wide river before you, hands on your hips, stomach growling. “Not that we have to catch our own meal!”

Hobie can't help but laugh, a hearty, genuine one that also has you smiling. This suits him, just happy and without a gun in his hand. You like him in every conceivable way possible, even if you're still getting used to his new self. “I just said, ‘I know a place.’ I ain't no liar. Did you expect a café in the middle of nowhere?”

“Yes! And no— I'm hungry now, Hobs!” Your horse agrees, hoof digging into the dirt. Buckeye stands hitched next to her, eyes glued on her white mane. Weird, you thought. “Look, even blue jeans agree!”

“Instant gratification,” Hobie pulls his jacket off and places it on the saddle; he then takes out a folding fishing rod from Bucky's saddle bag. “You should work on that because it's not gonna work well ‘ere, love.” He walks towards the river bank, toeing off his boots, folding up the same trousers you love to see him in. And also folding the sleeves of his shirt to reveal his toned arms. “And her name can't be ‘blue jeans!’” Yelling back, he trudges the rushing cool water that goes up to just below his knees.

“Okay, fine!” You start to strip, taking off your coat and his hat— folding your trousers and sleeves, you follow him to the rocky river bank. “How about ‘trout’ then.”

He hears your voice closer, he laughs at you when you almost slip on a rock. “Careful, it's slippery. You can't name her ‘trout,’ she's too pretty for that.”

“Now you tell me,” you roll your eyes at him as he casts the line. The bait and hook plops in the deeper water, now the waiting game begins. “‘Too pretty?’ you once nicknamed me beetle just because it bit me once!” Warmth spreads across your chest at his laugh. You feel at home in that cold river.

“And? You callin' yourself pretty?” His smirk takes you back at that oak tree.

You have an urge to kiss it off him. You don't, it's not the time yet, or you may ruin everything. “Yeah, you did, I remember you calling me pretty…” you lean closer, face dangerously close to his own. Breaths mixing in together, but you still give him enough space to move away. He doesn't. You don't mention it. He thinks about your lips upon his. “And gorgeous, and then absolutely stunnin’!” You copy his drawl, but before he could even laugh at your teasing, the fishing rod starts to move, yanking him forward.

“Oh fuck!” Hobie reels it in, and you gasp in disbelief at the sheer strength the fish has. “Help me or we'll starve!”

“You don't have to tell me twice!” You embrace him from the back, arms squeezing him, face smothered by his shoulder. He feels warm, he still feels the same. You dig your heels in while he fights with lunch. “Come on, cowboy!”

He almost let go of the rod. “Shit!” You laugh into his shirt and he almost falters once again. “Come on you little—!” With one hard yank, he finally sees the fish fly up, the sun hits its scales, body frantically flopping around. But he pulled too hard, and down he goes on the river bank, with you catching him. “Fuck—!” With a splash, you get a face full of river water.

Hobie immediately jumps to the side to not squash you and drown you in two feet of water. His eyes are full of worry when you emerge coughing. He almost lets go of the rod to tend to you, but your smile and guffaw has relief flowing through him.

“How big is it?!” You ask, entirely drenched.

He gently wipes your face, calloused palms over your soft skin, fingers carefully wiping away a piece of grass stuck on your cheek. You close your eyes, letting him hold you.

Hobie inhales and drinks you in— he still loves you. It's always been there, his love for you, but he refuses to acknowledge it with what he knows just before he left, with what *he said before he took a slice at his neck. Hobie still dreams of you, still dreams of saying those three words again, he's a fool to bury the feeling, especially when you're in front of him again— close to him again, loving him again.

He has no idea what to do now, other than to stand up and give you a helping hand.

—

Hobie's been silent and you have no idea why. You warm yourself on the fire he built, the fish you both caught is now cooking wonderfully on the open fire. The river's currents are a lot stronger now, so it's a lot harder to catch anything without getting carried by it. Your clothes are slowly drying as you wring your sleeves free of water.

“Cherry.” You suddenly break the silence. “I think I'll name her cherry.”

Hobie sits across you again, gazing at you through warmer eyes. “Why cherry?”

“Because horses love fruit, and cherry is a fruit.”

“Brilliant thinkin’ love, horses definitely eat cherries.” He says in a sarcastic tone.

You furrow your brows, “wait, they don't?”

He blinks, “Huh, ‘m actually not sure. Maybe if you take out the pits and cut it in half?”

“That’s…that's plausible, they contain cyanide though.”

“Maybe we should ask them?”

“What?” You chortle, and Hobie cups his hands to yell at the horses.

“Oi! D’you lot eat cherries?” They only stare at him. “Guess not.” You laugh, he finds it infectious so he also does.

“Horses can't talk, Hobs.” You say in between giggles.

“You never know, I might be a horse whisperer.” His smile falters, and you frown at the sudden shift. “‘m sorry for yellin’ at you.” His voice is soft under the cackle of the fire. “I shouldn't have yelled.”

“Apology accepted.” Your nerves calm down, beaming at him, scooching closer to him until your knees grazes his own. He doesn't move away, even nudging your shoulder with a faint smile. “I'm sorry for making you spend so much. But thank you for the nice clothes, and being— just…kind.”

Hobie reaches for your hand slowly, your breath is in your throat, freezing you un place. His pinky brushes along your palm when a twig snaps Hobie quickdraws his gun.

“Who's there?! Show yourself or I'll fuckin' shoot.” Standing up, he hides you with his own body.

You also stand up, hand wrapping around the barrel of the rifle that was leaning next to you. Both yours and Hobie's hearts thump loudly with trepidation. The bush moves and out comes two men brandishing their own weapons. They dress like gentlemen, but their sneers say they are not.

“We came out to piss and we find the spider of the west, guess we're just lucky.” The one with a scar across his nose says, voice scratchy, nudging his companion. “And would you look at that?”

“You’ve found yourself a pretty companion, Hobart, one that has a very high bounty on her head.” The other finishes his partner's sentence. His mustache is all twirly at the end, golden tooth shining in the sun. “Y’know, sweetheart, the whole country's after ya.” You don't falter in your stance.

“With both of your bounties combined, we're aimin’ at ten thousand dollars right now.” The scarred man chuckles.

“Ten thousand?” Hobie whistles, “Can we bring ourselves in instead?” You snort, still aiming at the man's head.

“If only that was possible, Hobart.” The man gives you a twisted smile.

“Are you lawmen?” You ask, “Or pinkertons? You two don't look like either of them.”

“What do we look like then, sweetheart?” The mustachioed man taunts with a toothy smile. “A couple of handsome cowboys?”

“A bunch of dead men.” You push Hobie away, kicking hot coals in their faces, embers flying, smoke filling their lungs. While they're both distracted and yelling at the searing heat— Hobie fans the hammer of his gun, shooting all six bullets into each man's bodies until their lifeless corpses fall atop each other.

“I've seen better.” You stand next to Hobie as he checks for something in their pockets. Their blood slowly spread to the tips of his boots. “What are you doing?”

Hobie rubs a hand across his face, “Lawmen,” he raises the identification papers he found. “We need to go. Pack the fish.”

“But they're dead?” You ask but you still do what you're told.

“Lawmen are like rats, if there's two ‘ere, there's a dozen more near us, hidden under the crevices.” He walks near the banks, head downturned, eyes scanning the plants. “And they've got their noses on us now.”

“Where are you going?” You stand, wrapped fish in your arms. “Hobie!” You start to yell when he has walked a few ways away from you.

Hobie crouches down, hunting knife digging into the soil. You watch him take a bushel of grass, he walks back and now you get a closer look at what he's carrying. You thought your eyes are deceiving you, instead of the familiar green hue, the plant is pink, a very bright shade. There's still dirt clinging to the stems when Hobie carefully covers it with a handkerchief.

“That's oleander, Hobie.” You stare at him, concerned. “And that many could kill a fucking elephant.”

“I know, you taught me, remember?” You nod as shoves it inside your messenger bag. He pauses at the sight of the bundle of letters, then he dismisses them, closing the bag. “It might come in handy.”

“What's your plan?” You're terrified.

“We head to a train station.” He sighs, completely winded, and worried for your safety. “Bounty hunters and outlaws I can manage, but them?” He points at the two bodies. “They've got more resources than either group, and more people in their pocket.”

“Wouldn't that be obvious? Riding the train? We can handle them, just like we always have—”

“They hate my guts more than anyone, Y/N, and they don't fear me as much as bounty hunters or outlaws.”

“But a train…” you shudder. “We'll be in the south in a few days instead of weeks— that's quick, too quick…I don't—” I don't want to leave. “I can't.”

“You wanted the scenic route, right?” He starts to unhitch the horses. “It's the last place they'll look for thinking that we'll be traveling by our lonesome out on the backroads.”

“Yes, but—”

“Nothing’s more scenic than a train ride. C’mon, love, get on Cherry. Before more come out of hidin’”

You nod, tears threatening to spill out. Walking around the corpses, you get on Cherry with a far away look in your eyes. “To the train station then.”

[noeou]

MEMENTOS OF YOU.

as the scariest students in the nrc, they can't help but spark curiosity in those around them when he's found with a rather 'adorable' souvenir. little do the others know they have a rather 'adorable' lover with a matching one back at home.

includes: riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, and malleus draconia.

contains: fluff! romantic. overbolt gang. implied immortal lover for malleus. implied long distance relationship. reader is referred to as 'pretty.'

more like this: masterlist.

sincerely noe ,⠀my middle finger is cramping because i can type with every finger but my thumb and index. i wish i could've written more this weekend, my apologies :(

riddle : an earring in the shape of a rose.

yes, just one. at home, you have the other.

he rarely ever takes it off, only when he cleans it or goes to sleep. but even for the latter he has a spacial velvet case for it.

he keeps a simple silver earring in his other ear, because he isn't the biggest fan of feeling something on one ear and not the other.

the adeuce duo are the only ones nosy enough to ask about it, making their housewarden redder than the piece of jewlery itself.

"are you two done staring?"

riddle was sipping his tea, trying his utmost best at ignoring them. it was their whispering to one another that made it so impossible.

"uhm, yea... i guess." their eyes said otherwise.

"what is it?" riddle sighed, putting his glass down.

finally looking away from him, they exchange glances with one another.

"hurry then, speak."

"why are you wearing that?" ace asked, subconsciously tugging on his own ear.

"— and where's the other?" deuce added.

you couldn't help but wonder if the blush on riddle's face resembled that of the one he had in the moment, as he recounted the story to you.

leona : a photo of himself.

yes, he left you with a massive portrait of himself. how romantic.

he keeps a smaller one of you everywhere. in his wallet, under his pillow, in a random flower pot...

ruggie has even memorized what you look like after finding a photo of you everywhere.

when he first found the lion doing something other than sleeping, enma couldn't help but ask:

"who is that?"

leona didn't move his eyes nor attention away from your conversation lighting his face as he messaged you. but he wouldn't pass up a moment to talk about you so, he'll answer the newbie's question.

"who is who?"

enma pointed at leona's phonecase, and repeated, "who is that?"

"yn?" he asked. looking at the case as well, only you would have noticed his glare soften for a second. "yn."

waiting a moment to see is he'd continue, enma proceeded, "who's yn?"

"why is that any of you business?" leona sat up, setting his phone down beside him. answering for the, now pissed off, house warden his phone lit up with another notification from you. the heart next to your name saying all it needed to.

azul : fisher’s net keychains.

the meaning is unbelievably corny, he refuses to tell anyone what. (including you.)

he found them when he was looking for a gift to give you when he asked you out for the first time.

high on the feeling of adrenaline when you agreed to the first date, he thought that the fisher's nets symbolized how, while there are many fish in the sea, you still caught him. completely enthralled in everything about you.

it's a small trinket with his many, many keys. a constant reminder that the new bowl is only temporary. (i need to get over this fish stuff, im sorry.)

tossing the keys up yet again, looking for a gold one that looked like every other one on the chain. azul let out a huff, beyond frustrated by now. he was supposed to be on a phone call with you, but he left his phone in his office.

not a great way to end the week.

as if drawn by his struggle, a nosy eel popped out, behind him.

"whatcha doin'?" floyd questioned, examining the keys with more intent than the other.

with holding his scream, azul sighed, "floyd... i was looking for my office keys. what are you doing here it's past curfew."

"your keys are too loud."

oh.

"here they are." floyd pulled up the mini net chain, a specific gold key much like the one azul was looking for. "you always keep these to in their own ring, thank me later! and stop being noisy."

how was it possible that a simple net could leave the house warden as flustered as he was? thankfully, floyd was too tired to care.

jamil : a mini music box.

he found them at the marketplace, two that looked very different but at the same at the same time.

one had a person, hugged by snakes in the center; upon opening. the other had a man and a swan at his feet.

you can guess which went to who.

he made you pull an all-nighter with him, trying to pick music for it.

“this?” a random tune played from the antique. as tired as you were, you couldn’t help but laugh at the stupidity of it.

“when you remember me while you’re at one of the prestigious schools in the land… you want to listen to beatboxing?” you were near tears at the thought of it.

“well actually it’s for you.. i’d say my first beatboxing attempt went well.” jamil didn’t look at you as he continued fidgeting with it.

“oh im sorry— every time i miss the love of my life, and i can’t call you ‘cause of our conflicting schedules, i’ll want to listen to your beatboxing.” you snatched the gadget from him with minimal force, “i’ll find something, you dork.”

vil : a mirror.

he's one that used magic on it before gifting it to you. you both can see each other in its reflection, upon request. it's not in a creepy way, it's voice locked so not anyone can look into it.

it's convenient because you two aren't cropped on your screens and can see one another whenever.

rook has walked in on him using it once and boy was he confused.

most of the time, he'll watch you do whatever in your room or just the room itself when your out. it's relaxing and soothes his homesickness.

"oh my— vil! you creep!" you nearly screamed when you entered the room, the familiar form of your lover staring right back at you through the glass of the mirror. letting out a laugh you through a jacket over the surface to cover it.

"hey! how rude." the housewarden glared at you, a silence taking over.

you tossed you bag on you bed, grabbing a seat and sitting infront of the mirror. mirroring the fairest's position.

"you're taking care of yourself." he noted, finally.

a smile returning, you broke your stare and looked away embarrassed. "you as well."

"ask me." he smiled back, softly.

only the question he asks you most came to mind, curiously you obeyed, "vil, who's the fairest of them all?"

"you who continues to plague my thought, dear. it's been a while... how are you?"

idia : plushies of each other.

he found you could make custom ones when he was looking for some of his favorite character, when he was procrastinating packing.

he has so many of you everywhere in his room, it's arguably the cleanest item in there.

the one he keeps on his lap when he games actually has a small bluetooth speaker in it, that he connects his phone to when you both call.

he also has a small one he keeps as an ipad chain, the sight of it made headmaster curious. what a great way to start the first day.

"idia shroud!" crowley's booming voice scared the introvert to something near death, if not death itself.

"h-headmaster? w-what- no- can i help y.. you?" idia asked, glancing around, nervously.

"who's this? err.. what's this?" crowley lifted the mini you with the hope of a closer look.

unable to speak and wishing he could jump into the screen of his ipad, idia decided he might just do that from now on.

malleus : a compass filled with magic.

not just any compass though, compasses that were tuned with magic from the wizard himself.

it was so many years ago that he gifted yours to you, keeping his for himself. when you found his, you couldn't help but 'decorate' it a bit.

while malleus found all the compass coated in the charms and what not of your favorite colors, he found it endearing. much unlike his caregiver who couldn't stop laughing for a week straight.

lilia helped him do the same to yours, telling your lover it was only fair he did it back.

"lilia, are you almost done?" malleus peeked into the general's room, fiddling with his hands, "i was hoping to get it back to yn as soon as possible..."

"ah, you youngsters with you impatience!" lilia didn't look away from his project, tongue sticking out at the corner of his smirk as he concentrated. "the sooner you stop distracting me the sooner i finish!"

"very well," malleus stared at lilia, equally as anxious and hesitant as he was when he entered.

you happened to run into the sight of him pacing outside of lilia's quarters, curiosity getting the best of you. "malleus, my love, is everything alright?"

looking up from his gloved hands, he smiled at you, "hm, i suppose. can i assist you, dear?"

"yes," you smiled up at him, hugging his arm, "have you seen my compass, by chance? my locating magic is failing me at the moment."

you already have the fae's marriage blessing, you can reign all hell on him now.

[cmncisspnandmore]

Tarmac and Tears

Pairings: John Price x F!Reader, Platonic!141 X F!reader.

Warnings: Character death, angst

You were one of the civilians that worked on base working in the admin department. Your main job is to file the paperwork and reports from the missions. It wasn't glamorous or even rewarding, but it didn't matter to you anymore. Being on base meant that you got to see your husband, and you would work any job if it meant you got to spend extra time with him. 

He was a busy man, he was constantly being pulled away for meetings, training, or missions. Any extra moment was cherished, even if it was just sitting in his office eating lunch together.

You had heard a conversation that Task Force141 was on their way home after being gone for 2 months in the middle east. Your heart pounded in your chest, he was finally going to be home. After months of sleeping alone, months of missing hearing him in the mornings making coffee. He’d been gone so long that his side of the room no longer smelt like his cologne.

But that was going to change, he was coming home today. 

You gathered your jacket, pulling it on over your button up blouse, as you rushed to get to the tarmac where the planes were landing. You shoved open the heavy metal doors to the air strip, the cold wind biting at your cheeks. 

You bounce nervously on the balls of your feet, the shadow of the plane becoming visible through the thick clouds. The only other people on the tarmac were the regular crew who worked out there. The wind whips your hair across your face as the plane bumps to a land and starts slowing to a stop. 

You wring your hands nervously as you wait for the stairs to drop down, the metal frame scratching against the pavement. This was it, a few other people started to climb down the stairs. You gave them a small wave as they walked by hauling their duffle bags over their shoulders as they walked to base. 

You see Simon first. His large imposing form taking up most of the small staircase, his skull balaclava over his face. His duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he got to the bottom of the stairs. He pauses looking up at the next person, Kyle Garrick, his blue baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. You see Kyle say something to Simon but youre too far away to make it out.They take a step away from the stairs, allowing Johnny to climb down. His mohawk blowing in the wind. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks over, he's the first to see you. He leans over and taps Gaz and Ghost, their own faces turning towards you. 

There's an unreadable expression on 2 of the 3 mens faces. They take a moment talking to one another before they start walking over to you. Your brows furrowed in confusion as the stairs of the plane pulled back up, and it started to slowly move to the bay where it's stored. Your heart pounds against your ribs as they come closer, where was John?

“Where's John?” Your voice is surprisingly steady.

The three men who fought alongside your husband stop in front of you, their bodies blocking the view of anyone else out there. 

“I’m sorry…” Kyle's voice cracks, his eyes filled with tears as he looks at you.

“Did he get tied up with something? Did he fly out to see Laswell?” You ask, your brain refusing to process the defeated look on the others' faces.

“No, Love… Price. He,” Kyle takes a deep breath, “he was killed in the field.” 

You shake your head, “don't mess with me like that, when is he coming home?” 

You look between all of them again, “tell me hes coming home…” your voice breaks.

“I wish i could bonnie…” Soap whispers, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver chain, a pair of dog tags, and a thick gold wedding band on it. He turns your now shaking hand over and presses the metal into your palm.

“N-no…” you whimper, the rest of the world fading out, the only sound the rushing of your blood in your ears. The pounding of your heart and the ragged, harsh rhythm of your breathing.

He was supposed to come back, he promised. 

Your shoulders shake as you sob hysterically, hands curling over the cool metal in your palm. Why did he leave you? What were you going to do now? 

“He wanted you to know how much he loved you… he didn't want to leave you,” Kyle says softly, and your tear filled eyes meet his face. You didn't realize you said that out loud. 

The cold wind doesn't even bother you anymore, your entire body feels numb, like when the dentist gives you laughing gas. Your limbs don't want to cooperate with you anymore and your legs finally give out. Your head falling into your hands as you scream and sob. Three sets of hands go to catch you, but it's Kyle who manages to keep you from falling. His arms wrapped around your waist to keep you on unsteady feet. 

Simon and Johnny share a look over his head as they watch Kyle hold you up. Your tear stained face pressed into the soft gray fabric of his shirt. Wordlessly Simon takes Kyle's duffle bag from him, slinging it up over his shoulder as Johnny shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. Your entire body trembles, as Kyle picks you up, one arm around your lower back, the other under your knees. He carries you into the base, your face pressed against the side of his neck as you sob. Johnny walks ahead of him, opening doors for him and Simon takes up the rear. Giving a sharp look to anyone who dares look a little too long.

You were by no means quiet, so people stared as the three of them walked you through the halls. You didn't know where you were going and you didn't care. Your heart was just ripped from your chest, and nothing mattered. The place where your heart once settled is now an open wound, festering with grief. 

Kyle carefully lowers himself on to a couch, with you cradled in his lap. He listens to your heart wrenching sobs become quiet. The other two members of 141 stared blankly at the floor. It seemed like hours had passed when your sobs stopped. Your head resting against Kyle's chest. The front of his shirt soaked through with your tears. You stare at the white cinderblock wall. What were you supposed to do now?

The entire world seemed to go on outside of the room you sat in. It wasn't fair, why did other people get to be happy? Go home to their spouses, when you are going back to an empty house. You would always be going back to an empty house. There wasn't going to be anyone to cook dinner for. No midnight dances in the kitchen while the radio played an old love song. 

John wasn't going to be there to help you with the gardening or bringing in the groceries anymore. He wouldn't be there to tell you, you looked beautiful when you showed him the new clothes you bought. You'd never feel his lips brush across your forehead when he left for work and he thought you were still asleep. No more breakfast in bed on anniversaries or birthdays. 

He was gone.

And now, you wished you were too.

Because then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much, it wouldn't feel like someone had slashed you open and left you bleeding on the floor. It wouldn't feel like someone ripped your skin open with thousands of papercuts and soaked them in lemon juice. 

Because maybe, in whatever afterlife people ended up in you would get to see him again. Get to tell him you loved him one more time, feel his arms around you, hear his laugh. 

But he wouldn't want that. John wouldn't want you to give up on life because he was gone. You had talked about what you would do if something happened to him, but you weren't sure you had the courage to go on like he had wanted. You weren't sure if you wanted to live in a world where John Price wasn't part of it.

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part five

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

<< previous chapter

Man who makes a beast out of himself got nothing to lose Sold my soul long ago, nothing left to choose I'm tired, tired of singing the blues - Tired of Singing the Blues, Lana Del Rey.

"There's nothing rich people love more than free things," Jacaerys mused watching his relatives fight over freebies, some were exquisite works of art like that little Monet that his uncle brought or the jade mirror from the Ming Dynasty. "You're not going to join them," you raised an eyebrow - taking a sip of your champagne.

The younger boy stared.

"I still love my life, unfortunately." he chuckles. "We've got a very eccentric family, I hope that this isn't too new for you." Jacaerys apologized, walking you into the other room. "I don't think I know what normal is. I'm an orphan, my mother died pretty young." you admit, biting your lower lip. "Father?"

"Couldn't be more bothered to acknowledge my existence." you shrug, feeling a familiar presence behind you. "Aemond," Jacaerys greeted with hidden rigidity - the atmosphere between the both of them was tense. You were a good judge of character, and you could see that neither of them liked each other.

"Jace," your boyfriend smiled falsely.

Aemond was a shadow in his younger nephew's presence, Jacaerys the golden boy - could do no wrong. While Aemond struggled with being accepted in the school of his dreams, Jacaerys was welcomed - and he still had the nerve to decline the invitation, instead choosing to study in some stupid university in the countryside.

"It's been a while," Jace added, attempting to keep the conversation civil. "Five years? Is that how long it takes to study college?" Aemond undermined his rival. "I took a gap year," Jace turned his head in your direction, trying to put a finger on why you looked familiar.

"- toured the world, I even saw the Arc de Triomphe." the younger man smiles. Aemond says nothing in return - as if sensing the awkwardness, Jace chuckles.

"Well, I think this is my cue to say goodbye." he raised his glass, retreating into the foyer.

(Harrenhal. The Past.)

"I don't know why you keep me here. To prolong my agony?" you rasped at your older sister. Harrenhal had big rooms and soft mattresses that you could just sleep in for thousands of years. You laid in the beds in the morning, feeling tired and sucked dry of life, but in the night - you couldn't sleep.

Memories of what happened months ago came flooding back. Haunting you awake. It felt like you were standing on a pile of bodies. You turned to look at your older sister again, her eyes were once filled with warmth at the thought of you - now they were dim.

"I'll keep the windows open, if you hate your life - then jump - like that niece of yours, Helaena." she announced in a tone that wasn't sad nor happy. Your eyebrows merged into each other. Princess Helaena was dead? But you weren't bothered - you didn't know her.

A bitter chuckle escapes your mouth.

"You took my life into your own hands, to play with as you please. Now that you're tired, you want me to pretend that it was my own agency that led me here?" you argued.

"Perhaps you and I are the same." Alys responded.

"I had a dream before you were born that Aemond would come and free us, save us from our father's abuse. I know better now than to believe my visions." she turned away, slamming the door shut - leaving you alone.

Dreams were portals of the world - you could see the past, present and future in them. Alys Rivers could vividly remember the man in her dreams, his warm purple eye and long silver hair.

The Prince would come and his song will be that of Ice and Fire. From his blood would come the prince that was promised, opposite of him in temperance and demeanor - you almost wouldn't believe that they came from the same tree, but they were and the prince's breath would save them against ice.

"And when will you return, this time?" Alys leaned on the doorframe, staring at your frame that was frantically packing her bags. "Princess Rhaenyra tells that she needs my help, I can't deny her." you smiled.

"She's Queen now - and she's asking you because she needs you to fight in a war." Alys' lips turned thin at the thought of losing you. "Rumors have swirled around, they believe that she killed Harwin." she proceeded, trying to persuade you to stay.

"You told me that Larys killed our brother." you froze slightly. "I don't want you to leave, stay please - I've been dreaming about salvation. If you stay here, we'll be safe." your older sister pleaded.

"I'm never in your dreams, almost like I'm not supposed to be here. I need to save the Queen's soldiers, to ensure that she wins in this war. You tell me that her heirs are fathered by Harwin, shouldn't we protect our blood?" you inquired and your sister takes a deep breath. There was no stopping you.

"Promise me that you'll stay safe," she pleaded, handing you a small necklace that she enchanted. "I will," you promised - squeezing her shoulders as a way to show that you weren't kidding.

Like a ghost, you didn't even realize that you were sitting on the dinner table. "Columbia University is pretty hard, what did you major in again?" Rhaenyra inquires, taking a bite of her steak.

"Mathematics, it was supposed to be my pre-law course but life happened and I had to change a few things." you smiled, eyebrows merging with each other in confusion. What the hell happened? Why couldn't you remember anything before this?

"Ooh being a lawyer is the coolest. It's uncommon to see someone with Math as a pre-law, you must be really smart." Helaena adjusted her glasses and the people around you agreed. "Never in a million years did we expect that Aemond will end up with someone like you." Harwin articulated and Aemond rolls his eye.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he chuckled, trying to make it seem like a joke. "I always saw you with someone weird, like that Claire girl that does music now." Harwin quickly rebutted.

Alicent knocks on wood three times. Rhaenyra giggles, "Put some respect on that girl's name, isn't she engaged to a billionaire?" she inquired and Aemond shook his head. "They broke up." he confirmed.

"Three kids and he just throws her away like nothing."

"It is not nice to gossip," Alicent interrupts their conversation. "Gossiping is done by small-minded people." she insisted and Rhaenyra looks away. They used to be close friends, Alicent was her former-babysitter - then somehow she had an affair with her father.

"So are affairs, but none of us complain." Rhaenyra grumbled and the other woman pretended not to hear. "You're the one to talk, didn't you cheat on your ex-husband with mister hunk here?" Aegon pointed at Harwin and Daemon's eyes widened.

You know what they say - a shot of whiskey for luck, and a bottle of whiskey for disaster. "Oh my god I can't believe we're talking about this again. I didn't ruin a family and as far as anyone is concerned, Laenor was totally fine with it. Weren't you, Laenor?" Rhaenyra turned her head at Laenor's direction.

"I liked it, actually." he hummed watching the drama unfold. "Yeah cuz when you have a mistress it's alright, but when it's my father - suddenly, my mother's the fucking devil." Aegon insulted.

You took a deep breath, what were you to make of this situation.

"So you do agree, that your mother was a mistress?" Rhaenyra said smugly, Daemon bit back a chuckle. "Can we all calm down?" Harwin placed his hand in front of the siblings. "This is supposed to be my son's birthday, and we have a guest here. A little decorum would be nice." Harwin tried to decrease the tension.

"Yeah, whatever." Aegon stood up to leave. He hated his fucking life.

Shortly after Aegon's outburst, you and Aemond decided to leave. "That was the most eventful birthday party that I've ever attended." you chuckled, fastening your seatbelt.

"I can't believe that they decided to pull that shit while you were there." he complained, driving out of Rhaenyra's driveway.

"That's family, I guess." he shrugged.

"- and we're never going back." he added

next chapter >>

[changingplumbob]

The rain wasn't all bad, it made the plants grow after all. It made Glenn feel refreshed as well, like having a good shower. It also encouraged the frogs to come out. One rainy morning Glenn headed down to the river, feeling the normal walking through mist feeling as he passed through the barriers. He'd decided to stick with his umbrella. Normally he didn't have a problem getting rained on but he was having a particularly good hair day and did not want to ruin it. Sure he could cast a barrier to keep the rain off but he didn't want to run in to any humans obviously dry in the pouring rain, too many questions could be asked.

On the other side of the river Silver had noticed something moving through the rain. The last week or so here had been peculiar. There were certainly less people and also less animals. The big trees in the middle of the park that should be teeming with birds were bare, everything choosing to roost just beyond the empty park. Wiping the rain off his face to try get a better look his breath caught in his throat. The scent on the air... it had been at Grayson's house. It had to be someone from the crew or... green hair? No he was seeing things. It couldn't be, he wasn't that lucky.

Glenn: Froggies? Anybody hiding in there for me today?

Silver stilled. The voice was definitely the same as it had been on the TV. It had to be Glenn.

Silver knew he wanted to go talk to him. While he was happy Glenn didn't end up with Grayson it was clear from editing the spellcaster had left heartbroken. It would just be good manners to check in, right?

Glenn: Come on out little dudes. I promise I won't go throwing you in any potions

Silver smiled to himself. Glenn liked animals? That was good. He hadn't been sure with Glenn not talking to Olive but he supposed there could have been a million reasons for that.

Glenn: I really just want to help you fulfill your biological urge to reproduce. Don't you want to come with me and woohoo and make tadpoles in safety?

But how could he introduce himself? Silver didn't dislike people but he'd been on his own for so long. His socialising skills were rusty to say the least, and people tended not to like his blunt and direct nature. Normally he didn't care, he didn't like people back but... something inside him wanted to make a good impression. He did a last spot of grooming to make sure he was presentable, then it was time.

Glenn had just scooped up the last frog when he heard disturbance in the water behind him. Straightening up and turning around he was shocked to see a tall handsome man standing in the rain smiling at him. Was he actually dreaming right now?

Silver: You look even better in person

Glenn: Thanks? Do I know you? You look kind of familiar

Silver: Oh, right, you're meant to say hello first. Hello Glenn. I'm Silver. I'm ah... I'm Grayson's brother

Glenn: Grayson's brother? I didn't know he had-

Silver: He thought I was dead

Glenn: Oh that's- wait. You said I look better in person. Did I look bad on the TV? *panics*

Silver: *chuckles* You looked good

Glenn felt his cheeks heat up. He wasn't used to people telling him he looked good, normally it was on him to tell others. Make conversation, he should make conversation.

Glenn: So... do you come here often

Silver: *shrugs* A few times a year. I shift around a lot but it's got good woods for camping

Camping? It was then that Glenn looked past Silver and noticed the pack and sleeping bag under a tree. Watcher how long had he been sleeping out here? He couldn't stay out in the rain, he could get sick.

Silver: I wanted to make sure you were doing okay after everything that happened

Glenn: You were worried about me? You're the one whose bed wants to become one with the river

Silver: I've been in worse situations. I'm a werewolf, I can look after myself

Glenn: I wasn't trying to say you couldn't. I was just meaning I'm not stuck living under a tree

Silver: I'm not stuck, I'm where I want to be. What's wrong with under a tree? You afraid to get dirt in your pretty hair?

Glenn: No! I can handle dirt. I just... I don't like to think of you out here by yourself

Silver: Aren't you out here by yourself?

Glenn: Not exactly

Silver: What does that mean

Glenn hesitated. Miranda had gone on and on about coven safety. But that was to keep human's out. Silver was saying he was a werewolf so that should be fine... maybe. If he got him in without running in to Drusilla.

Glenn: You see the park back there? That's uh... that's actually where my coven is. The place is just shielded to keep people away

Silver felt his heart sink a little. Talking to one person at a time was one thing but a whole coven? He hoped Glenn didn't want him to impress anybody.

Silver: I didn't know you were part of a coven

Glenn: I'm not really, my grandfather is just friends with the leader. After the whole bc loss he wanted me to be around people like me. To learn more about how to protect myself

Silver: Do you need protecting

Glenn: Sometimes we all need protecting. Take my hand and I'll show you

Silver: Show me what

Glenn: The buildings. You can come to my place, have a hot shower, a warm meal

Silver: You must think I'm really good looking to ask me to move in after five minutes

Glenn: What? No I- I mean yeah but- the spells. To get you through the spells you'll need to hold my hand

Silver: Oh, right

Silver reached out and took hold of Glenn's hand. Glenn pulled out his wand and waved it muttering, sending Silver's possession flying through the barrier. Then he swapped hands and led Silver towards the eerily quiet part.

Silver felt the aversion he'd been feeling to the park grow bigger. The damn spellcasters, that must be their doing. No wonder the animals had fled. Glenn stopped and still holding his hand began muttering. While he was distracted Silver looked down at their hands. He had hugged Grayson sure but other physical contact... it had been a while. Glenn hadn't seemed offended when he attempted to flirt. Maybe Silver could really mess up his hair some time. If Glenn didn't mind the dirt all the better. Then Glenn spoke shaking him out of his thoughts.

Glenn: Alright

Silver: Alright what?

Glenn: Look

Silver looked up and gasped. It was like the buildings had snuck up on them.

Silver: How did you do that

Glenn: It wasn't me, the others put up the protections and the buildings. I just got us through

Silver: Still, it's amazing. Are you ready?

Glenn: Ready? I don't know, maybe. I hope so. Wait, ready for what?

Silver: You were going to take me home

Glenn: Oh *chuckles* Yeah I'm ready for that

Previous ... Next

[ratsetflummi]

Okay, now the FUNNIEST Legend of Drizzt moments. *gets popcorn*

uhhh, how much time do you have?

i need to put this under a read more, because i ended up finding one scene per book on average

told you that this series is actually a comedy

1) that time when drizzt thought that three lighting bolts aimed directly at his face were just a friendly sparring session, and then immediately got distracted and forgot all about that attempted assassination because he saw a cat

2) drizzt and zaknafein both going "oh no, he is lost to the evil ways of our people, i would do the world a service by killing him" at each other, but not doing anything about it

3) the first thing we ever learn about jarlaxle being that he has special gay pride merch that is enchanted so you can still see that it's supposed to be a rainbow even in complete darkness

4) that one human wizard drizzt ran into in the middle of the underdark. just. that wizard's entire existence. why does he have a german accent. why does he keep shooting lightning bolts out of his tower when they keep being reflected back at him. rip brister fendlestick, you were only in that one scene, but i miss you every day

5) the mindflayers going "fwoop!" when they shoot a blast of brain melting energy at you

6) drizzt: who are you? you are not my father! zombie!zaknafein: no, i am your… mother!

7) drizzt learning what a skunk is

8) that one wizard that entreri was travelling with in streams of silver messing up her knock spell and dropping entreri's belt instead, and entreri going against what you would expect from his archetype in that kind of story (which would be getting angry and possibly violent) and just sarcastically going "oh wow, great job" and calmly picking his belt up again

9) drizzt casually revealing that he can juggle, suggesting that either he juggles as a hobby (unlikely) or implying some interesting things about drow weapon training

10) entreri choosing to put sewer water in his mouth just to gain little tactical advantage (and then still losing the fight anyway)

11) entreri showing up disguised as regis, dropping his own name in conversations weirdly often under the assumption that the companions are way more worried about him than they actually are, and the companions being completely oblivious about regis acting way differently than normal

12) entreri's insistence that he and drizzt are great rivals, while drizzt can barely be bothered to remember that entreri exists

13) drizzt training a seal to retrieve guenhwyvar's figurine from the bottom of the ocean

14) the heart-shaped drizzt-seeking locket. the fact that that exists, as well as the fact that entreri had that back in the peak rivalry days

15) entreri casually introducing himself as mister do'urden for absolutely no good reason (i genuinely still don't know why he did that)

16) jarlaxle: kimmuriel, you are the leader of the bregan d'aerthe now, i'm going on a road trip with entreri kimmuriel: i'm what?! entreri: you're doing what?!

17) entreri going to the effort of painting jarlaxle's silhouette on the wall to throw knives at the crotch

18)

19)

20) jarlaxle being peak peacock in promise of the witch-king

21) jarlaxle throwing pies at a random couple in a bakery because he mistook them for assassins

22) the reveal that jarlaxle and kimmuriel were just casually watching entreri fuck his girlfriend

23) the several scenes in pirate king where salvatore seemingly forgot that regis is a halfling, because drizzt keeps putting his arm around regis' shoulders and walking away like that, when really regis' shoulders should be down somewhere around drizzt's knees

24) a manifestation of mielikki coming to carry catti-brie to the afterlife, catti-brie responding that she needs to go sleep with her husband first, and mielikki allowing this and just coming back for her in the morning

25) entreri and dahlia behaving in a way that i can only describe as two teenage girls fighting over their mutual crush

26) the entire scene when they threw charon's claw into the primordial pit and entreri failed to die

27) drizzt: come on an adventure with me! entreri: drizzt, it's two in the fucking morning, what the fuck

28) drizzt making puppy eyes at entreri so he will please go on an adventure with him and entreri just closing the door in his face

29) the entire soap opera that was drizzt and dahlia's relationship

30) kimmuriel walking in on jarlaxle sleeping with at least two drow of undisclosed gender and just standing there and staring until jarlaxle finally puts on his trousers

31) jarlaxle's constant innuendos and seeming inability to shut up about his sex life

32) jarlaxle looking completely calm and composed from the outside at all times, but any scene from his pov revealing that he has no idea what he is doing and is lowkey panicking half the time

33) catti-brie: drizzt is my husband, i have been brought back to life to help him and not for anything else bruenor: yeah, same! uh, except that he isn't my husband

34) the dragons flirting with drizzt and drizzt kinda panicking about how to reject them without being eaten as revenge

35) jarlaxle finding drizzt down in a tunnel fighting demons, and just pulling an entire fine dining set out of his hat and having fancy dinner while his bird is ripping more demons apart just around the corner

36) the reveal that jarlaxle is bald because of repeated fireballs to the face

37) this instance of everyone rolling nat1s on their geography check

38) jarlaxle threatening people with knowledge of his kinks

39) random citizen: she's so pretty jarlaxle: yes, thank you, finally someone who recognizes my beauty

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

cute scenario that came to mind, Killer croc making pals with the reader during one of his stays in prison. They’re like in a cell right next to him but end up striking conversation with Waylon out of boredom, where they hit it off from there as the reader talks to him like any old Joe even knowing who he is. The reader being a surprisingly down to earth sorta person with a way of looking at the silver lining, who never really reveals why they’re in prison in the first place besides “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

sorry if this is too much😅feel free to ignore

"Sharing is caring" Killer Croc x Reader

Don't even worry about being too much! I've just been busy with life stuff which... congrats to me I got one of the highest scores on the final in class. Which. Granted it was only a 75 but that gives you an idea of how stressful this class was. And then scarecrow stuff I was working on and was really excited to show everyone. You're good!

TW: discussions of violence

When they'd first been put in Arkham Asylum for a series of terrible and stupid choices, they expected things to go south very quickly. For fucks sake, most in the criminal world knew the story of Warren White becoming Great White Shark in Arkham.

The new person. The "crazies" at Arkham and how violent they could be. By a stroke of pure luck, they managed to arrive at a time that cells were not shared due to a lack of space. No one to try and stab them in the middle of the night.

Yet their neighbor... They'd heard about Killer Croc. Crimes and atrocities committed. Some said he was trying to turn a new leaf. Didn't stop him from ended up here again.

When the new inmate found themselves bored and understimulated one night during lockup, they managed a small whisper to Mr. Jones. Asking if it's always so, so deathly quiet.

"Nah, usually it's a fuckin' laugh riot. Can't get any sleep."

"So you're sleeping now?"

"What do you think, smart ass?"

It was an exchange that could have gone poorly. Yet they ended up talking until they both fell asleep. They'd wave to one another in passing. More conversations to keep the darkness and the silence away. Then when other more famous rogues came to the facility, it was to block out the hum and buzz of disturbances in the night.

Neither of them spoke to why they were there. It wasn't really needed. There were brief comments here and there about being stupid or violent acts. Both of them on medication to attempt to soothe their minds.

Mostly they spoke about their lives surrounding the criminal. His mother and their path to making up. His grandparents and the sprawling property they sat on. Swamps and weeping willow trees. The new inmate shared personal details of their own. Bonding.

By the time an appeal got turned over this way and that and the newbie was given the chance to leave, they'd become quite close. Talked through wounds Jones was given by guards due to his "dangerous" nature and the electrified collar he was forced to wear. Advice on how to knock a man's teeth back into his throat if he got creepy or too aggressive for the newbie. A silent but obvious vow of protection and vengeance should something happen to one of them.

Waylon was quiet when it was time for them to go. Refused to say goodbye at this point.

"I'm gonna see you later, don't act all sad. Just stop doin' stupid shit and I'll see you." A promise.

Life outside of Arkham was going to get very interesting once the both of them were out...

[holly-fixation]

Transition

Summary: Sephiroth learned the voice he hears is his mother's. She speaks to him far more often, molding him into the perfect son. 

A short collection of memories from his childhood.

Author's note: Beyond the main plot, these are loosely connected scenes, and it can completely be read on its own. Since it would have been a transitional chapter (like a 1.5), it doesn't have a true ending. Be sure to read chapter 2 of Since the Beginning if you want to see how it all ends for this silver haired boy!

…

After weeks of testing, Hojo told him the voice wasn't real. It was only the result of a bad mutation in his head, and he should not tell anyone about it or speak to it outside the lab. But she helped him. How could she be bad? She was his mother. Her words aided him time and time again even before Gast heard him speak to her. Once he learned who she was, he wanted to speak to her all the time, but that made Hojo angry, so he tried to keep their conversations short.

He awoke in the middle of the night, hours before his day truly began. He tried closing his eyes, breathing slowly, lowering his heartbeat until he returned to the realm of dream just as he was trained. But he didn’t. He was wide awake. He was nervous, but he hoped Hojo was asleep. 

He mumbled in the softest voice he could manage. “Mother? Are you awake?”

I am here. 

She sounded soft and kind as always, flooding his mind with care, but he couldn’t ignore the butterflies in his stomach. “I don’t mean to bother you…”

You are no burden to me.

“...I can’t sleep…” He admitted, countering her claim despite sensing the truth in her words, hiding his face in his blanket.

That gives us time.  

He almost smiled. “Really…?” During all the scans and tests on his brain, she only had time to comfort him. They had not truly spoken since he asked who she was.

You have many questions about me. Ask.

Sephiroth let out a sigh bordering on a pout. “Hojo didn’t let me ask before, but um… How are we talking? And where are you, Mother?”

You are my son. 

He bundled himself tighter at the title she had never used. My son.

We are bound by blood and mind. I convert my feelings to words and send them to you. When you grow older, you will communicate with me wordlessly.

“R-really?” Excitement bubbled in his chest before popping quietly. “Why can’t I do it now?”

You are young. Your mind needs further development. Until then, I read your body when you cannot respond.

“Does that work?” 

There was a small pause.

For now. 

“But where are you? Are you in the lab too?”

I am far.

“How far?”

Across The Planet. 

Cat-like eyes fell silently. “Will you ever come see me…?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer, but he needed to know.

One day, you will find me.

“Why do I need to find you?”

There was another pause, a longer one. Then a single bang on his door clanged and he gasped, terrified of an orderly stepping in and punishing him before a warm breeze wisped through him. Sleep finally pulled. He nuzzled his pillow.

Another time, perhaps. For now, rest, Sephiroth.

He recognized the feelings inside him. “Why…?”

You need your energy for training. Take what I give.

She gave him comfort. She gave him warmth. He wanted to share it with her but he didn't know how.

“Thank you, Mother…” That was all he could do. 

If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn he felt pets to his hair as he drifted off into the harsh mattress of his cell.

* * * 

“Sephiroth, be quiet and focus,” Hojo’s shrill tone tore through the air, making the boy shake his head and completely disregard his other conversation. The scientist flipped a switch, a door opening and a new robot entering the training arena at once.

The child hesitantly took a defensive stance, whispering so only Mother could hear him, “I don’t wanna get hurt again…”

You are capable of defeating this creature.

“But it always hurts me… can you take away the pain again…?” He took slow steps backward as the machine whirred closer.

“Quit whining. I’m not turning it off,” the scientist spat, “so take it down quickly or suffer until you do.”

Removing your pain depletes your energy. You will be helpless.

The machine swung. He rolled under its attack before barely having time to lock its second blade with his singular weapon. “It’s getting smarter… And stronger…! I'm gonna get hurt bad!” 

“Boy, if you speak to that useless voice again, there will be consequences. Get it together.”

Pain is necessary to know when you are in peril. It is a machine. It attacks in a pattern. Discover that pattern and it will fall. 

It rushed him with a flurry of slashes, cutting into his arms with every failed parry. He cried out, trying to retaliate but forced to remain on the defensive. 

Jump left.

The silver haired boy obeyed without hesitation. The machine’s next attack couldn’t reach him, yet he was closer to its body. 

It always mirrors its first attack. Left-right. Up-down. Right diagonal-left diagonal. Follow and strike the red of its center. 

Sephiroth nodded. She was right. Of course she was. With her direction, his attacks grew stronger, sharper, cleaner. He finally took steps closer, pressuring the machine into a corner.

You are not gaining strength. You are focusing the strength inside you.

He pulled his blade back and thrusted forward, a perfect pierce through robot’s circuits severing its connection to its limbs. It twitched and sputtered, lightning buzzing as it tried to obey its commands but quickly crashed to its side in a meaningless heap.  

“See what happens when you finally take this seriously? You would be far better if you paid attention from the beginning.”

Sephiroth hung his head in shame.

Learn to find these patterns and openings. My words may not reach you in time. 

The boy mouthed a silent ‘thank you’, hoping his mother understood. But before he could threaten celebration, the door clicked and began rising once more, revealing a slightly larger machine.

“Now, again.”

* * * 

Sephiroth’s imagination ran wild with images he hoped would be his mother. She knew of his question and promised to show him one day. For weeks, he managed to keep his curiosity silent. For weeks, he asked so many questions with so much emotion in his heart. But he couldn't ignore his desire forever. 

“Mother, I'm ready,” He spoke so quietly against his pillow, terrified Hojo would hear. There was an odd pause. She always responded faster than this. What happened?

…My true form is not what you hope.

“It doesn't need to be.” 

He felt her denial, cold and isolated. 

“You said you can show me…”

I have much to explain first. 

“But you said I'm not ready for an explanation…” She confirmed his statement with a warm stir, but he didn't want to feel warm. “You sound like Hojo…”

That is not my intention.

Ice. Freezing sharpness pierced him despite the calm lull of her voice. He didn't want to make her mad. Why did he always do this? He hid, bowing his head into his sheets. 

I am not angry with you. 

“B-But I messed up…”

A sharp knock hit the door. “Another word out of you and we'll resume training, boy. Am I clear?”

Sephiroth nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. I apologize.”

Footsteps receded and the little boy buried his head. What was he supposed to do now? 

Listen to my words. Respond only with movement. 

He felt the smallest comfort. He nodded slowly, his nose brushing the scratchy fabric. 

I know your desire to be normal. Your longing to be human. 

Another confirmation. 

Yet you know you are special?

He shook his head. Hojo told him he was, but why would he believe it?

You are not told lies. But the truth is hidden from you. You are not normal. Not fully.

Silver brows crossed. 

Not fully human. 

He violently denied the claim, clenching and curling tightly. 

I am not human. You carry part of me. 

She couldn't be right. Maybe-

I am real. Hojo is lying to you. He does not understand what we have is true and inseparable.

He hesitated. 

I warn you of this because I worry you will fear me… if you see me. 

His breath bated. His eyes stung. He didn't want it to be true. 

Sephiroth, rest. Breathe. 

Now he was afraid, afraid of a horrid, incomprehensible monster trapping and choking him just like his training. 

I will never harm you. And when pain is unavoidable by any skill or talent to gain true strength, I will take all feeling away. 

He wanted those words to be true but nothing else she said tonight. 

Do you still wish to gaze upon my form tonight?

Terror twisted his throat as he moved his head up and down slowly. 

I will give you time to rest. And through dream, I will show myself to you.

Sephiroth hid hid face in his pillow, stifling his uncontrollable sobs. Crying was a weakness. He needed to stop. He needed to be stronger and better, but then he felt the same petting on his back as he had before. 

It's okay. It's okay. 

Instead of beratement, she validated his fear. 

Feel the weight. Overthrow it. Emotions are necessary. Allow them to flow until peace remains. 

He sobbed harder at her kind advice, the wetness of his pillow growing beneath his cheeks. She was so different. She was so much better than everyone at Shinra. But she wasn’t human? What was he supposed to do? After much time, his breath regulated, and his eyes fell close in quiet acceptance of the request he affirmed.

He felt nothing around him, an endless black void consuming all. He floated, unable to see anything beyond his own body.

This was not a normal dream. He had full control of his hands and his legs and his thoughts.

Ahead of him, a light began to glow, the end of its beams visible through the darkness. First it gave him warmth and color, then it slowly showed him something new. 

Her face. Her silver hair. Her imperfect skin. At first she looked normal despite the glowing pink eye. She almost looked human. But as more entered the light, more twisted and changed. The tube from her stomach connecting to her heart, a massive one at her feet, not in her chest. Severed wings protruded from her back. Unexplainable coils only vaguely resembling organs that did not belong scattered the sides of her almost human form. 

She wasn't human. But he couldn't stop looking at her face. 

He didn't want to move, even as thick tentacles extruded out of the massive heart languidly, tenderly wrapping around his body. He tried leaving her grasp as a simple test, and without any resistance his arm was free. 

She gave him a choice. 

No one ever gave him a choice.

He let her hold him, allowed the slithering limbs to bundle him. She was cool, not cold, but the faintest sense of warmth under her skin made him want to be closer. He wanted to be near her, to see her, to hold her. But this dream was all he had. 

“After tonight, can I see you again?” Sephiroth forced his thoughts into the void. He couldn't say them awake, so he decided to say them here. 

The sincerity in his heart clashed with the eeriness of her smile. Her glowing pink gaze overflowed with a suffocating emotion he did not recognize but craved with his whole being. 

Could it possibly be love?

* * * 

For months she visited his dreams, the hope he'd see her again always making him rush into sleep. However, he had so many questions: if she wasn't human, what was she? What was she doing here? Was he supposed to be doing something too? 

His mother always answered him honestly. Her knowledge made too much sense. With his eyes and his hair and Hojo's muttering of his unbelievable strength, she was right. Of course she was. 

Would you rather be human? 

He was still hesitant. He didn't have an answer yet. Somewhere inside he wanted to be normal. Yet somewhere else he wanted to be greater. 

Studying and learning were difficult now. He desired the knowledge of the textbooks, but he also prioritized Mother over all. 

Some days, he wasn't good at hiding that truth. 

A snap directly into his ear made him flinch. 

“Stop daydreaming, boy. Your presentation to the board is in three days. Do not make a fool of all the work I've done here by going in without any knowledge.”

He glanced down. “But I really like fire materia. Why do I have to learn all this other stuff?”

“Fire will not be the answer to all your problems. Further knowledge will prepare you for a multitude of scenarios, whether or not you've faced them before.”

Materia is the knowledge of the Ancients. Knowing their spells will prevent you from my fate. 

He couldn't stop his small gasp. She answered his question. He didn't ask her but she answered anyway, and her reasoning was far stronger than the scientist's. He flicked his inhuman eyes back to the text. 

Hojo flicked a switch and the door suddenly opened. “Back to training. You'll receive a new scenario to apply this concept.”

Sephiroth looked up, moving slowly and carefully. “But I still need to figure it out.”

“You'll learn on the battlefield. How many times have I told you to silence that voice?”

How did he know? How did he know?! “It just clicked. This. The reason to use other types of materia. Hojo, I didn't-”

“Did you listen to the voice?”

“I was trying to understand-”

“Did you. Listen. To the voice?”

“I can't control when She speaks!” He instantly wished he could rip his words back, to swallow them down his nervous throat. Why did Hojo always know when he lied?

The scientist stood firm. “To the training room. Right now.”

Sephiroth gulped thickly and retrieved his sword. “Yes, Hojo…”

He is cruel to you. 

He is evil. Human.

Her voice rang through his head, reverberating like a bell as he walked. 

He harms you for such a small infraction. Humans are evil.

He truly began to see it as he entered the chamber, and three beasts ran in without warning. 

I will protect you if these creatures poison you. However, you can handle this. Focus. Breathe. Don't let Hojo win again. Prove him wrong. Show him your strength with and without the knowledge he forced upon you. 

Show him your inhumanity. 

Break his spirit before breaking free of this lab. You will not be free today, but show him what you will do when you are.

A fire burned in Sephiroth's heart, incinerating his childish fears from her words alone. She did not give him this feeling. This was his heart, begging him to be inhuman, begging him to win. 

He swore he would be free.

He swore he would find her.

He swore he would finally have his Mother at his side.

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading!

Since the Beginning - Part 1, Part 2

[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 31

Sorry it's been a bit of a wait, but I hope this chapter is worth it!

There were aches in places that Nesta did not even know she had muscles. Her throat was parched. Strangely, she had woken in a bed beside Eris. The last thing she remembered was trying to keep her eyes open in the chair next to his bed in Orla’s.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Faintly, if she strained her mind, Nesta could remember flashes of silver then red. The barking of the smoke hounds. Shadows covering her.

Nesta stretched her hand across the gap between the beds to take hold of her husband’s. It was pleasantly warm although Eris remained deep in sleep. That was for the best. His body needed to heal from whatever creature had been set upon him in the Prison.

At the sound of her easing from the sheets, one of the dogs raised their heads. Firo dragged his belly across the floor then came to Nesta for a fuss. ‘You’re still looking after us. Good boy. Stay here with papa.’

Nesta never knew if the dogs understood her, but still she spoke to them. Often, she narrated everything she did to Safera.

Her tired legs carried her towards the kitchen.

‘-suspected it for a while.’

‘What does it mean? Sentient. Aren’t my shadows?’

At the sound of Azriel’s voice seeping from the kitchen, Nesta stilled. Why was he inside with Orla? Her brows pinched as she continued listening into their conversation.

‘Your shadows are shadows that you sing to. The clue is in the fucking name.’

‘Niamh, shh. Magic should not have its own thoughts. It should not react without an order or its master’s will.’ She heard Orla exhale then set something down on the table. ‘It means-’

‘That we are in big fucking trouble if Nesta ever loses control of it.’

‘Eris seems to have a way to soothe it,’ replied the healer to her sister.

‘And if Eris pisses her off and her magic decides it wants rid of him? You should be counting your stars that Nesta has not killed you or your precious court yet, Az.’

It was jarring to hear Niamh call him that. They weren’t friends. That was probably why she did call him that way. Nesta was ready to blow the door open and charge in there like a hurricane. She hated people talking about her. But something must have happened last night that she didn’t understand. The reason why her body was so sore and exhausted today.

She quietly stepped back down the corridor then made a show of stomping and clearing her throat to announce her arrival.

At the opening of the door, their conversation suddenly veered course.

‘Can bats fly in the daylight, Azriel?’

‘Yes. Actual bats are nocturnal. If you are referring to me-’

‘I am.’

‘-then yes.’

Niamh drummed her finger on the table. ‘Why is the Night Court not permanently in a state of night?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Good morning, Nesta. As your overbearing healer, it is my duty to feed you and check you over,’ said Orla as she wrapped an arm around her shoulder to lead her into a chair.  

A refreshing flurry of magic tickled Nesta’s skin as Orla examined her then toast was thrust into her hands. She took a bite and forced it down. ‘I don’t know what happened last night.’

Niamh’s eyes went to Azriel. His, in turn, flickered to Orla, passing the duty of truth onto her. ‘Your magic erupted last night. Nobody was hurt – except the curtains which really were ghastly – so do not worry. We’re just glad you’re alright.’

‘That’s it? My magic erupted and no harm done.’ Her lips puckered. ‘That shouldn’t happen, should it?’

‘It has happened before, after you scried,’ Azriel reminded her.

That time, her magic had seized control of her body. Not even Rhys was able to subdue it until Cassian intervened, giving it a momentary pause. Nesta built a bridge over her worry rather than drowning in it then continued nibbling at her breakfast.

‘Most people have flowers as a centrepiece,’ she said between mouthfuls then jerked her chin towards the Harp that sat in the middle of the table.

‘We weren’t sure what to do with it,’ Orla admitted.

At that moment, Niamh chose to stand and declare she would go and check on Emerie in Windhaven. Azriel stood too, saying he’d ensure Gwyn was safe – but reassured Nesta that the library would always be safe. She neglected to reply that no, it wasn’t. Her and Feyre had been attacked there. Then the shadowsinger did something that surprised Nesta. He leaned towards her and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

‘You scared me last night,’ he murmured. ‘I worry for you, even if you’re not a part of my court. You’re still a friend.’

At the sounds of the door opening and closing, Eris was roused from his bed. He still pressed his palm to the stitches of his stomach so Orla demanded he remove his shirt so she could inspect it there and then.

‘Let me at least kiss my wife first,’ he’d replied, words still slurred.

The tight set of his jaw suggested to Nesta that Eris was still in a great deal of pain. That did not stop him from wrapping his arms around her to kiss her softly. The slash across his stomach was puckered and red, making Orla frown as she examined it.

‘It is healing, but slowly. Slower than I would like.’

While Eris forced down small bites of toast, he leant back in the chair so that Orla could clean the wound properly. Again, she had opted for mortal remedies, claiming there was merit in learning them. It made Eris wince and groan then he had a telling off that he was worse than a babe.

‘The last time you were stabbed in the stomach, you didn’t make this much noise.’

‘That’s because I didn’t have a wife to fuss over me,’ he winked.

The storm cloud was coming for Eris. Not that he knew. Her darling husband kept meticulous notes on her training in his preferred shorthand that was decipherable to most. Eris would have known if her magic was sentient. He’d have figured it out long ago.

They had spent too long away from the Forest House. Their absence would be noted. They dressed quickly then Nesta winnowed them to the cottage where the Harp would be stored. It took a lot out of Eris to ward it. She could see the exhaustion etching into his features as his magic wrapped around the cottage. It was her magic that winnowed them to the massive gates of the Forest House. Eris extended his arm for her to take as they crossed the paths, but his weight rested on her, breaths came out laboured. The stifling corridors were silent though not empty. Servants knew to scurry from their paths as if they were cats and all the servants were mice. Nesta hated the atmosphere of fear that Beron cultivated. He thrived from it. Dominating his children, his wife, his followers. They would not follow Beron if they had any other choice.

Once back in their room, Cotton-tail scurried towards them. She scooped the rabbit against her chest and kissed the spot between his eyes.

Eris slumped against a couch, exhaling loudly.

‘You should have rested longer at Orla’s. You aren’t well enough to be up.’

Eris grimaced as he swallowed. ‘Time moves quicker in the Autumn Court. You can never leave the Forest House for long. There’s always somebody waiting in the shadows to claw at your place.’

Nesta refused to let the storm come. Her husband had proved his love over and over. She held back the clouds, the thunder that should have rippled through her as anger squeezed her heart. Instead, Nesta knelt on the ground to remove Eris’ shoes then pulled a blanket around him. She knew him well enough to know that he would not lay idle. He would have a stack of paperwork to plough through, plots for the Harp to undertake. First, she had to be sure.

‘My magic is sentient, isn’t it?’

His jaw clenched together. ‘How do you know?’

No denial.

She perched on the narrow strip of the couch beside Eris and pushed back a tuft of his hair. ‘I overheard them talking this morning. My magic decided to put on a show last night, it seems.’

Eris dipped his chin, anticipating her words to pelt him. When Nesta did not berate him, he continued, ‘I wasn’t sure for a long time.’

Even now, Nesta could feel it purring in her chest, knowing it was being talked about.

On the shelf, Nesta retrieved a book bound in dark green leather at Eris’ request and he untangled the code, reading his observations to her.

Moves independently of will. Like calls to like. Responds in kind to flame. Developed a bond with N. More than death. Winnowing? Never wanes. Transformative? 

It was uncomfortable to listen to another’s observation of her magic, but Eris had spent the most time with it – seen her use it every day under his encouragement. It was only his observation, not an opinion of it, of her. He had never acted differently towards her as a result of his suspicions.  

‘I know that I should have told you sooner, but you were not in a place to hear the news when I realised. You are no longer afraid of your magic. I didn’t know how it would react if you knew and were scared to use it.’

‘It can hear you,’ she replied. ‘It’s always listening.’

‘Hello,’ Eris said. He continued, ‘I am sorry I haven’t told you. I’m a coward for not finding the moment to do it. You have so much on your shoulders. You always have. I didn’t want to add more, but it wasn’t my place to decide if you deserved to know.’

‘It changes nothing. It is how it has always been.’

Since she was saddled with it, she thought. Her magic was a living, breathing thing, stolen from the Cauldron in her rage. As long as she used her magic regularly, ensured it was given a run out, then it would bend to her will. Her magic might have its own will, but hers was made of steel. She was formidable in her own right.

‘Rest.’

A kiss was pressed to Eris’ temple.

‘You know I won’t – not with your safety on the line.’

For hours, they lay on the couch together, nuzzling for warmth while Eris finished reading reports. He had some accounts gathered from across Prythian from ancient texts about Koschei and the trove. His attitude was that the more knowledge, the better. She couldn’t help but marvel at him. The threat of Briallyn should have been a maelstrom that Nesta could not outrun, but with Eris as her husband, she knew they would weather it. He would find a way, as he always did, to take care of her.

‘I love you.’

If Eris had not been still so unwell, then he might have taken her there on the couch. Instead, he scooped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close. ‘I’m so proud of you. For everything.’ The pad of his thumb stroked against her cheekbone. ‘Do you want to talk about yesterday?’

The events of the Prison still had no landed because Nesta would not let them. She could not think of the golden-haired male who had promised her universes to conquer, not of the fact that she might have said yes before Eris had intervened. If he knew how close she had been to accepting the immortal’s offer, he might look at her differently.

Instead, Nesta drew Eris a warm bath and had servants bring them a bite to eat. She pressed chunks of cheese and apple into mouth as his head rested against the edge of the bath with his eyes closed. In a quiet, unsure voice, Nesta recounted what had happened when she had passed through the wall into the empty chamber.

Eris forced his eyes open. ‘I am trying not to get too excited but it sounds like the lost Dawn Court could have once been there.’

‘Do tell me more.’

‘I would love a willing audience to my theories, my darling, but I am too exhausted to move my jaw.’

‘Another day then,’ she murmured. Nesta swept a flannel through the water then began washing his beautiful body. The lean muscles of his body did not intimidate Nesta. It was nice to know that Eris could fight with words as well as weapons too.

She dabbed at his face and Eris made a low hum of relief.

‘I worried for you down there with Cassian.’

‘Did you think he would try to finish me off?’

The thought did not bear thinking about. A potential Blood Duel had swirled around in Nesta’s mind a few times as she pondered what lengths Cassian might go to in his goal of dragging her back to the Night Court. She knew that long ago Cassian had stabbed Eris in the gut when Feyre escaped the Spring Court. He would probably like the chance again.

‘If he ever hurt you, I would hate him for the rest of my eternal life.’

Eris cocked an eye open again. ‘Why must you make such devoted declarations? My body is too ruined to enjoy my wife thoroughly today, but these statements make me want to pluck out my stitches and be damned.’

She stroked a finger down his nose. ‘We have time. We have the rest of our lives to enjoy each other.’

At that, Eris gave a sigh of content. Soft lips curved into one of his rare, unguarded smiles. ‘Would you like to be High Lady one day? To be on equal footing with your sister?’

Nesta flicked water towards him. ‘Certainly not. Being your wife is enough.’

‘Queen of queens then?’

At the sight of his smirk, Nesta contemplated drowning him.

Whilst they were languishing on the bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms enjoying a thoroughly deserved lazy day, a servant summoned them for dinner. It was a chance for Beron to dominate and intimidate. He reminded Nesta of a petulant boy from her human village who used to burn ants or cut worms with a spade simply to be cruel. Sometimes he threw stones at dogs or tried to throw water at cats. Nesta had once held out her foot when he ran past to trip him over.

They dressed in silence. Eris moved stiffly, pressing his hand against his abdomen after any vigorous movements. His breathing was shallow and forced out between pursed lips. When she enquired over his wellbeing, Eris simply waved it away. They had opted for dark green fabric, so dark that it was almost black, traced with golden leaves and vines. Her bodice was tight on her ribs, a sign that her body had softened since she had last worn it; she had Eris’ love and Orla’s puddings to thank for that.

The shadowed hallways of the Autumn Court remained cold and unwelcoming as they moved through them towards the large dining room. Eris struggled to pull on his mask of arrogant heir, so Nesta took that role. She plastered a sneer across her face and strode past each of Beron’s sons without a passing glance. For the high lord, she dipped her chin so slightly that it ought to have been disrespectful. There was a fine line between daring and disrespect which Beron often moved depending on how he felt that day. What was applauded one day, would be a cause of punishment the next.

Beneath the table, Nesta laced her fingers with her husband’s, squeezing them gently. He carried her through every storm. Tonight, she would return the favour.

It was a tedious, strained affair.

Xander cleared his throat during a lull in Beron’s constant stream of insults. ‘I knocked at your rooms a number of times yesterday, Eris. It appeared nobody was there.’

Nesta cut in before Eris had the chance. ‘I’m afraid your brother was busy with his wife.’

‘All day and night?’ Xander raised a brow. Beside him, Uther gave a sly grin.

‘I wish all females were as lucky as I am,’ Nesta replied, stroking the back of Eris’ neck. ‘You shall never hear me complain.’

‘And yet she is still not bred.’

Of course, Beron would not address Nesta directly. His cold, flat gaze pierced Eris. Her husband was in no place to deal with his evil father today, but a warm hand settled on Nesta’s leg, stopping her from doing battle with him.

‘Children are loathsome things.’

‘Secure an heir. Your brothers might think twice about killing you.’

What a strange life to exchange remarks about fraternal murders. Nesta had become a pariah for saying Feyre smelt. She’d never tried to murder her.

Eris shrugged then spared a single, pitying glance to his three brothers. ‘Why should I care? Their numerous attempts on myself and my wife have been pathetic. They lack creativity or ambition. The only brother worthy of my worry was exiled.’

‘Do not speak that coward’s name in my home.’

Eliška’s eyes went to her lap at the mention of her youngest. It was clever of Eris to change the course of the river from him to Lucien, but Nesta wished Lucien wasn’t used as a scapegoat. It clearly brought his mother pain.

‘I did not speak it,’ replied Eris, holding his father’s stare. ‘Merely explained that he was the only brother who had the ambition and skill to assassinate me.’

It would never not disturb Nesta that murder could be discussed so openly. This was the cutthroat Autumn Court though. She had to grow with it rather than be suffocated by it. If there had been any attempts on her life, Nesta had not realised. Eris was always a step ahead.

After dinner, the sons were to remain with their father. Nesta linked her arm with her mother-in-law’s then felt the familiar press of her magic, asking to be let inside of her head, as they marched down the silent halls.

I do not like tonight. My smokehounds have been unsettled.

Eliška’s grip on Nesta was tight enough to hurt as they wove through the warren of corridors towards the latter’s rooms.

None would harm me, but I daresay somebody might try to hurt you tonight. Eris was unwell today, wasn’t he? Others would have noticed it. Stay in your room. Keep it locked. If you do not hear from Eris tonight then I will try and send a message beyond these borders to help you.

Her mother-in-law gave one curt bow of the head then swept along the corridor, flanked by her own guards. Nesta wasted no time in hurrying inside and locking the door. She retrieved a knife then searched each room, just as Eris had taught her once. She kept her back against a wall while moving swiftly, opening cupboards and checking under the bed. All of the windows were locked. There were no signs of any movement in the room whilst they had been at dinner.

Eliška’s words echoed in her mind. If she did not hear from Eris that meant he was dead. Would Beron go that far? Maybe not, but he might encourage his sons to. Then Nesta would be alone here with no allies or protection.

She twisted her fingers in her lap, stomach churning so violently that Nesta ended up running to the bathroom to empty it.

Eris was not well. He was weak and exhausted. She could not sit here and hope he would make it back to her safely. It was her turn to battle the storm for him. Her turn to face monsters.

Not knowing entirely what she was doing, Nesta hurried through the Forest House.

‘Find Eris,’ she murmured to her magic.

It slithered out of her like great snakes that scorched the carpet in their hunt. One silver flame remained pulsing so brightly that she had to shield her eyes. That was the one to follow.

It led her down a set of stone stairs. A chill seeped from them as she descended deep into the bowels of the Forest House, into the damp cellars. Eris had once told her he’d had his first kiss in them, behind a barrel of Beron’s favourite wine.

At the sounds of pain, Nesta froze. Her shoe still hovered above a step so she gently pressed the ball of her foot down, careful not to make any sound. She called her magic back to her.

‘Again.’

It was Beron’s voice.

Then, the unmistakable sound of a whip cracking through the air and onto skin.

Another grunt of pain.

She recognised that voice too. Her husband’s.

Unable to control herself, unable to reason that this had happened many times and it would be safer for her to slip back to her rooms, Nesta surged down the stairs.

Beron stood watching, with his arms folded, displeasure painted on his features. Eris clung to a stone pillar. His shirt was discarded on the floor. Blood streaked his back and more was splattered on the floor. Phelan leaned against another pillar, face giving nothing away. Uther held the whip, but Xander was enjoying every moment too.

‘You will not touch him again.’

At the sound of Nesta’s voice, the males turned.

‘Remove yourself from this place.’ Beron’s voice was quiet but authoritative.

Nesta hated him. She hated him so much. From the neat, brown hair on his head to the polished, black boots. She hated the male.

‘You will not touch my husband ever again.’

Her own voice was ragged with pain. Her Eris, who was so strong, so fearless for her, was beaten and broken at his family’s hand for no reason except for humiliation. She would take it no more.

Strike him dead.

Magic ruptured out of her. It was a beast that would never be satisfied. It would kill and kill and kill, if Nesta allowed it.

Tonight, there was only one male she wanted dead.

Beron was flung against the wall. Her silver flames devoured him before he had a chance to fight back. He might have been a high lord, but she was the bitch who had stolen from the Cauldron.

They warped his features, stealing the last of his eternal life, until he crumpled into a rotting corpse. She had stolen his life. And she was glad for it.

A tense silence filled the cellar.

Then a guard’s voice rang out. ‘She killed the high lord. Seize her.’

Phelan was quickest. His knife slit the guard’s throat. Fire then erupted from his remaining hand to cremate the remaining guard. His screams made Nesta close her eyes, as if that might block them out.

‘We saw nothing,’ said Phelan, staring at Xander and Uther.

Eris turned from the pillar. The wounds on his back sealed themselves. A faint, shimmer of gold bled over his skin instead as high lord’s magic seeped into his veins.

Phelan dropped to one knee then bent his head. ‘I swear myself to you, High Lord.’

Eris raked a knife over Phelan’s palm, accepting his blood as his vow. Then his amber eyes turned to his remaining brothers. ‘And you? Do you stand with me or against me?’

Both males followed Phelan’s example, bending to the ground and holding out their hand for Eris to accept their vow.

‘Eris Vanserra. High Lord of the Autumn Court.’

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