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scuttlingcrab · 29 days

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Fiendish Rewards

Summary: Raphael appears at Withers' party, hoping to finally collect the Crown of Karsus from Tav. However, an unexpected turn of events causes Raphael to re-think his plans.

Notes: Featuring growing tensions and light angst. I always wondered what would happen when Raphael wore the Crown for the first time. This might be a wee bit too long but I initially intended this to be another submission for @dmagedgoods Raphael romance collection.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via raphael-ancunin)

Raphael knew he was intruding. He had no business attending Withers' party, yet he arrived fashionably late all the same. He would never show his face, grace the companions with his presence, merely to exchange pleasantries. As tempting as their tadpole-free souls were, the simple minded mortals had no meaning to him now that the Elder Brain was defeated. That evening Raphael’s only desire was to collect the Crown of Karsus. And perhaps, converse with that little mouse, if time allowed.

Thus, the Devil did what he knew best: lurked from the shadows of the wings and listened for his cue.

Raphael had abided for over a millennium after he lost the Crown to Mephistopheles, lashing out with such violent anger in the first century that he nearly eradicated an entire plane. That initial taste of defeat never left his memory; the bitterness, that rotting feeling he felt deep within his core still haunted him. It was his first introduction to failure and the last.

He eventually learned how to forge that frothing hatred for his father, his revulsion at the cursed cards he had been dealt with, into a far more superior weapon: knowledge, his greatest strength. Raphael researched, manipulated, and opened up the recesses of his mind to devour the ins-and-outs of the Hells. He painstakingly plotted, weaving his schemes into the very fabric of fate itself, planting the seeds of prosperity for what he hoped would eventually gain him a win.

Despite all Raphael had endured since the collapse of Netheril, the last 6 months had been the most excruciating. Waiting. Watching. Hoping. There was no longer an Archdevil in his path, but a mere mortal. His hunger for power grew rampant as he watched Tav continue to elude him, to harbour the final piece of his victory as she tried to reclaim what was left of her old life. That selfish creature.

To Tav’s credit, she had been quite remarkable on the battlefield, showcasing her strength and resolve as she smited enemies and climbed through the carnage to her destiny. She left a sea of corpses in her wake, the mortal rubble alone was unlike anything Raphael had ever seen. Out of all the calamities he had been fortunate enough to craft and witness, being a spectator during the fight against the Netherbrain would forever be a highlight.

When the Crown fell into the River Chionthar, Raphael eagerly watched as Tav spent weeks fishing it out, taking her precious time as she retrieved each broken piece of his future. He restlessly stormed the halls of his domain, cursing the woman for attempting such an arduous task alone. He could have aided her, sent in Korrilla as a last resort, but he refused. He would not give Tav the satisfaction, she would have to work just a little more to complete her end of the bargain. Besides, there was something endearing about watching Tav work so diligently, the determination in those eyes reminded Raphael of himself.

The little mouse was Raphael’s greatest investment and he’d be damned if she failed him now, or if he let his sudden affinity for her overtake his true purpose. Raphael’s ambitions for the Crown had somehow intertwined with his infatuation for the woman, and he was just as much to blame.

He had let this farce go on for long enough. Raphael would not stoop so low in his final moments before he rose to glory. Once Tav crowned him, these foolish emotions would cease and he would continue with his grand plan. He was a Devil and he would not let these cursed mortal emotions falter his intentions any longer; he would never allow anything, anyone, to destroy his work. Raphael’s blood, sweat, and tears would not be in vain.

Cheering suddenly came from the camp as Tav and her companions raised their chalices in celebration. Withers' speech had finally ended, much to Raphael’s delight. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could’ve listened to the monotonous dribble. The monologue was indeed rousing, but Raphael could’ve done better, if given the opportunity.

One by one, the group of heroes slowly disbanded, until only Tav remained. She made her way around the camp, stopping by each empty tent. It was as if the little mouse was paying her respects, bidding farewell to the ghosts of her past.

When Tav was done she wandered to the lakefront and sat down on a mossy rock, staring into the sparkling evening sky. The light in her own eyes vanished, leaving a dark cloud looming above her.

Raphael took that as his signal. He quietly removed himself from the cover of the treeline and began his entrance, approaching Tav with a swagger.

“If it isn’t the hero of Baldur’s Gate. My, how far we’ve come! It feels like only yesterday you fell from the skies, tadpole and all, and began your little adventure; slowly scurrying your way to triumph.”

Tav smiled at the sound of Raphael’s voice, turning to greet him. They locked eyes, her expression brightening. That look pierced through Raphael’s defences with such ease, a slight chill crawling up from the base of his spine. He stopped in his tracks, quickly recovering by placing a hand on his hip. It had been too long since they were alone, when he had last gazed into those cursed eyes. Careful now.

“Raphael, always the poet.”

“The little mouse is no longer, but now a ferocious lion. Congratulations are in order.”

Raphael gifted Tav with his most flourishing bow, hoping the gesture would distract from his earlier misstep.

“Now do tell, how does it feel to be the victor? To have saved the world? Is it as the bards have sung?” Raphael rose, taking another step towards Tav.

Tav merely shrugged, her lips quickly returning to a frown.

“Dunno.”

“I would have thought a hero to be more eloquent.”

“I'm still waiting for that ‘ah-ha!’ moment, but if we’re being honest tonight, I’m not really sure what it means to be a hero.”

“You will come to understand eventually. It’s the very nature of your existence.”

Tav remained silent, pulling her eyes away from Raphael. She stared down at her hands, studying her scarred palms.

“May I?” Raphael inquired, gesturing towards the available space on the rock.

Tav nodded and Raphael sat himself beside her, intentionally leaving a minimal amount of space between them.

“You have something that belongs to me.”

“There it is,” Tav said, through a faint laugh, “You know, I was expecting you to come sooner.”

“I’ve often found the best persuasions are the ones that aren't forced.”

Tav looked up at Raphael, her eyes moving over every inch of his guise, stopping briefly near his lips. He was close now, so close. To the Crown. To his objectives. And to that damned woman.

“May I see the Crown, please?”

Tav smiled, moving towards Raphael. For a split second, Raphael expected a kiss. It was only natural for mortals to attempt such a distraction in times of distress. Infuriating as it was, he wouldn’t have been opposed to such a notion. Tav instead reached down for her backpack lying in the sand, placing it on her lap.

She pulled open the straps and yanked out the Crown, handling it as if it was but a petty trinket. Raphael suppressed a sigh, he would not let the significance of this moment be soiled due to the mortal’s lack of formality.

“I managed to reforge it, to the best of my abilities, thanks to the Annals of Karsus. Though I haven't tried it on yet to see if it worked.”

“A wise choice.”

Tav held the Crown out towards Raphael, but he raised his hand. With a flick of his wrist, the Crown floated out of Tav’s grasp, slowly moving towards him. It was just as beautiful as he remembered, if not more so. It glistened under the moonlight, calling to him. Soon. Very soon. He let the Crown hover, spinning delicately, for a few more seconds.

“Do you need me to remind you of our terms? The deal was that you are to crown me. I would’ve come to you long ago if I could simply put it on myself.”

“Gods. Really, Raphael?”

“Truly.” Raphael donned his notorious smirk in response.

“Fine, are we to do this here then?”

“I couldn't think of a more fitting location.”

Raphael rose, walking towards the middle of the lakefront. He snapped his fingers, and a luscious red silk pillow appeared. He shifted it slightly in the sand and bent a knee, preparing himself for the crowning.

“Come, it is time.”

Tav stood intending to grab the Crown, but before she could reach it, Raphael beckoned it towards him. Tav quickly followed, positioning herself above Raphael. He raised his head to gaze at the magnificent sight in front of him. The moonlight framed Tav perfectly, she was silhouetted against the dark sky, glowing. The Crown and the little mouse, side-by-side, as it was always destined to be.

Raphael took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He absorbed the scents and sounds around him; earthy tones, a hint of wetness, mixed with the fresh woodland air. Faint chirping from various insects called out to him, the leaves rustled slightly against the warm summer wind. His heartbeat intensified, growing more rapid, adding an extra drum beat to the night’s symphony.

“Let’s get on with it then.” Tav spoke.

Raphael opened his eyes and watched Tav grab the Crown, lowering it on top of his head.

When the Crown touched his forehead, it reformed itself to accommodate his size, shrinking to provide a snugger fit. It hissed into place and then in an instant, everything changed.

Pain, pleasure, fear, anger, confusion; every possible emotion tore through his very being. He was ripped in two, three, four… millions of tiny little pieces. His head throbbed with information, so many secrets, so much… he saw and felt everything, what could’ve been, what might come to pass… it was too much. Too much! Too fast!

He fell forwards, his hands digging, ripping through sand. He was alone, always alone, darkness surrounded him. No. There was light, light flooded in from the top of his skull, projecting into every possible direction. He was the light. He was the dark. He was all-encompassing.

Raphael screamed, his voice echoing into the abyss around him. He had never read about such a reaction, in all his years of researching, how could he have missed… could it be because… NO. He will tame this. He will persist. He will…

The sand beneath Raphael turned to liquid as the newfound power continued to surge through his limbs, burning his veins. He tore at his own flesh and bones to rid himself of the agony, but it wouldn’t come to an end.

“Raphael!” He heard a voice shout, such a familiar tune. But who? He couldn’t quite place it.

Raphael erupted, his devilish wings tearing through the skin in his back. There were flames all around him, growing hotter, thicker. His chest melted, his ears ached from the thunderous explosions. Whispers, whispers everywhere. He heard so many, and the cries, the screams. Would they never cease?

Something tore at his head, pulling the Crown away from him. The Crown. NO! He cannot lose it again. Raphael raised his hands attempting to fight back, but he was grasping at nothing. It was over as fast as it had begun. There was now silence.

Raphael’s vision cleared. He was on his back, looking up at the stars. Tav stood over him, holding the Crown in her hands. She eyed him with concern, tears flooding down her cheeks. He raised his own hands, his claws trembling. Raphael tried to think but his mind was vacant, every thought achingly bounced back. His skin burned, bones ached. There were deep lacerations all over his body, his own hands were covered in blood. He gasped, looking at Tav’s body but found no abrasions. He let out a disgruntled sigh. If he had harmed her in his rage, in those brief seconds of failure… would he ever forgive himself?

Tav threw the Crown aside and helped Raphael to his feet. His eyes followed the artefact as it landed on top of the sand, taunting him still. How?

As if reading Raphael’s mind, Withers' voice cut through the silence as he appeared before them.

“Thou hast succeeded but are not yet ready. Take care that thou are not too hasty, thine pursuits will lead to plights.” There was a long pause as Withers continued staring at Raphael, looking straight through him. He met Withers’ expressionless gaze, waiting for him to continue. “The pattern has been woven and all circumstances interlaced are as fate decided.”

Raphael never imagined the consequences of his premature investiture. He was always going to reforge the Crown himself, in his own image. How could he possibly trust a mortal to handle such a relic successfully? But in the heat of the moment, and in the fine print of the very deal he crafted, he had opened himself up to carelessness, becoming the very thing he despised.

His eyes darted to Tav, searching the woman for any excuse against his actions but he could only look at her with veneration. He would not blame her for everything. His vanity, eagerness… his obsession for the Crown and that cursed woman nearly brought him to his untimely demise. Let this be a lesson to Raphael to heed his own warnings. The Devil would need to cool his heels in preparation for the battles looming ahead.

Raphael turned to face Withers, but the curious being had vanished. Instead he hummed thoughtfully, looking at Tav.

She stood next to him, her body trembling. Tav's eyes were fixed on Raphael, still full of worry but there was something else present, another emotion he thought he’d never see from a mortal again.

Tav’s expression sent a sudden stabbing pain through his chest as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. There was another mortal who had once looked at him with the same kindness and understanding. He had buried it deep within his subconscious, but it was rising back to the surface, like a blooming flower. He would NOT allow himself anymore turmoil this evening.

“I owe you my thanks.” Raphael whispered, his voice on the verge of cracking.

“Raphael, I don’t understand, you were nea…”

“If you value your life, you will hold your tongue. There will be no talk of this moment again. Ever. Have I made myself clear?”

Tav’s eyes widened at his sudden change of tone, but she nodded nonetheless.

“I must return to my House of Hope. For healing and reflection. There is work yet to be done, as you have borne witness to this evening.” Raphael snapped his fingers, a raging portal materialised behind him. “You may join me, if you so wish.”

Raphael extended his arm, welcoming her acceptance.

“Would you consider our deal completed then?” Tav asked, apprehensively.

“You have upheld your end of the agreement, exceptionally well, might I add, bar this evening's hiccup. Now please, let me show you my appreciation.”

A dash of colour appeared on Tav’s cheeks as she wiped away the remaining tears. She grabbed her backpack, placing the Crown inside. She swiftly reached for Raphael’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Raphael nodded in acknowledgment and led Tav through the portal.

Indeed, their deal was complete, but Raphael wasn’t done with Tav yet. She would continue to prove a valuable ally and more in the months to come.

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megamindsecretlair · 6 months

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Let Me Hold You

Pairing: Tyrone x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. PWP, virginity loss, shy reader, cursing, PIV, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, possession kink if you squint, Soft Tyrone, all consensual. Mentions of religion, God, and Christian-leaning faith. Sorry if I miss any!

Summary: Ask: ...the reader is a virgin church girl, who, finds herself entangled in a predicament when her parents forbid her to be with the charismatic Tyrone. Despite this, the reader has a genuine friendship with him. They have crushes on each other but do not know how to tell each other.

Word Count: 5,803

A/N: Welp. This healed and broke some things in me! LOL. This was a wonderful ask from @notapradagurl7. I'm SO sorry this took forever to get out, I felt so bad. I hope this was worth the wait. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland

“And we don’t want you hanging out with that - that boy!” Your father paced the living room floor, his loafers kicking up the delicate fibers.

“What?” You shrieked. Already, fear spiked into your heart. The thought of not seeing Tyrone? It was inconceivable. You looked toward your mother who perched on the end of the plump chair, proper as you please. She kept her eyes on your father. You wouldn’t get any help from her.

“I’m an adult, you can’t ban me from seeing my friends,” you protested. Did he really think he was serious?

“It’s not appropriate for you to spend time with someone like him. If you’re to entertain anyone, there are plenty of nice young men at the church.”

“Malcolm just returned from college to be an engineer. I always knew that boy was smart,” your mother chirped in.

Your eyes darted between your parents. You half expected aliens to burst from their necks. These people were foreign to you. Unique in their united anger for Tyrone, a boy you’ve known your entire life.

“Judge not lest ye be judged,” you quoted. Your mother scoffed and glared at you as if you said you wanted to shake your ass for Satan’s minions. Your father stopped his pacing and gawked at you. Like you were the foreign one. A daughter he didn’t recognize.

“No daughter of mine will hang around someone like that boy. Peddling that poison to people in this community,” your father said.

“That boy has been nothing but nice to us. A boy you watched grow up. A boy you assume is doing dirt,” you countered. What episode of the Twilight Zone was this?

“I have eyes,” your father said. “And I see what’s going on. All the people running in and out of his house, his mother’s house I might add, and bumping that music…”

“I still live at home. Are you going to judge me for that too?” You asked. Your father pressed his lips together.

“It’s different for women,” your mother said as if it were a fact.

You tuned your parents out as they tried to tell you the difference between young men and young women. You didn’t have the heart to listen anymore. Your blood roared in your ears and you stared off into space, trying to calm down.

You stood up suddenly. You needed to be anywhere but here. Looking into their judgemental faces. You made one mistake. Funny how they didn’t take into consideration all of the times you were a “good girl”. How you minded your Ps and Qs your entire life. Never did anything bad. Never wanted to do anything bad.

And now, they wanted to effectively place you under house arrest. Only leaving for school or church. This was not the stone ages. You couldn’t sit here under this oppressive weight. Constantly holding yourself to a higher standard.

What higher standard? Did God really think that oppressing women was the ticket into Heaven? Placing all of these restrictions was the ultimate symbol of propriety? What happened to love thy neighbor?

Your parents called after you, but you kept moving. You’d never defied them. You always deferred to them. They had experiences you didn’t and just wanted you to have a good life. Bullshit. They wanted a little doll to dress up and tote around town.

At the door, you slipped into your flats and left the house. No purse, no phone, no keys. It felt…invigorating. That type of freedom was intoxicating. Your parents’ indignant shouts followed you out of the house but they didn’t come to the door.

You took that opportunity to head down the block towards Tyrone’s house. You hoped he was home. You hadn’t had a chance to check your phone before your parents ambushed you.

His house looked dark for once. There were no cars bunched up in front of the house or thumping music coming from the front door. You ran up the steps and knocked on the metal door.

The cold air caught up to you, edging past the heat of your anger. It could only warm you up so far. There were no sounds coming from the house so you knocked again. It was still earlyish but you didn’t want to be loud and disrespect his mom.

“Yeah,” Tyrone called out sleepily. You suppressed a smile. Just hearing his voice instantly calmed you down.

You heard a series of locks and bolts being undone. Tyrone swung the door open. He called out your name and looked behind you.

“What’s up? We were s’posed to meet?” He asked.

“Can I come in?” You asked.

“Always,” he said. He moved out of the way and let you enter his darkened house. You took in the space and got a chilling sense of loneliness here. You didn’t know why. Tyrone closed the door and locked it.

“I was sleep. Come on,” he said. He took your hand and led you to his room. Inside, the sudden light gave you a tiny ache in your eyes and you rubbed them. Tyrone sat on his bed, leaning one leg up onto the mattress.

You remained standing, suddenly shy. You hated feeling unsettled wherever you went. Even in the company of your friends, you paid attention to everything you said. Were you being weird? Were you not talking enough? It was all incredibly awkward whenever you tried to join the conversation and people had already moved on to the next topic.

“What’s up?” Tyrone asked.

You sighed and recounted everything that happened with your parents. You paced his small but comfy room, poking at random objects on his desk or hanging on his wall. He had wrinkled Lakers posters torn in one corner. You picked at it as you spoke, not wanting to look him in the face while you spoke and ranted and raved about your judgy, overbearing parents.

Tyrone was a great listener. He never interrupted you, he kept his comments to a minimum, and when you were brave enough to look at him, he’d nod for you to continue. So you did. You told him everything, even the part about your parents judging him for his side hustle.

“They don’t want you to see me anymore because of that?” He asked.

You nodded and sat on the bed next to him. “I told them they’re nuts. They can’t ban me from seeing you, I’m not sixteen,” you said.

“You were pretty cute when you were sixteen,” he said.

“Shut up! I’m trying to be serious here!” You pushed his shoulder. He moved as if you were strong, but you knew that he let you. Tyrone had always been an immovable force. He moved through life like it owed him money and he was coming to collect. He had a surety about himself that kept you up all night thinking of him.

Your hand lingered on his bare arms, taking in his large biceps. His navy tank top hung just so, highlighting his broad smooth chest. He wore his signature black basketball shorts and you quickly removed your hand. You should not be having these thoughts about your best friend.

“I’m serious too!” He said and chuckled. He quickly sobered up and glanced at you. “I’d miss you if I couldn’t see you.”

You smiled slowly. “You’d only miss the chips I bring you,” you said.

“Naw, I’d miss you. I’d have to stage a breakout or something,” he said.

You laughed, picturing hopping into Tyrone’s getaway car just to drive a few houses down. Bonnie and Clyde ya’ll were not.

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “There’s nothing that can keep us apart,” you said. You stuck out your pinkie finger. Tyrone looked at it and laughed, shaking his head and licking his lips.

“Really?” He asked.

“Yeah, so you know I’m serious,” you said. You pushed your hand into his chest to urge him to do it with you. He shook his head again and wrapped his pinkie around yours.

“So what you gonna do since they dropped the hammer?” Tyrone asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. You tucked your legs under you, holding down your dress so no one got a free show. You played with the hem. “I wish they’d see me as an individual instead of an extension of their dead hopes and dreams.”

“I feel that. You’re just gonna have to prove that you grown now,” he said with a shrug.

“There’s nothing I can do. They’ll only see me as a goody two shoes who’s always ready with a smile. Like, I don’t have feelings or something? I’d have to rob a bank or have…” You trailed off as the intrusive thought came to you.

You became very interested in your dress as you played with the rolled hem. “Have what?” Tyrone prompted.

You hummed and shrugged. “Lost my train of thought. Point is, I’m tired of living and dying by their own expectations,” you said.

The thought didn’t leave you though. In fact, the more you turned it around in your head, the hotter it got in the room. Your imagination ran away from you, providing images of a naked Tyrone standing over you. Bending you over. Calling you dirty names. You shifted on the bed as the images became a little too vibrant.

You usually indulged in your fantasies late at night, safe and comfortable in your head where no one would know except you. It was harmless to be as nasty as you wanted, getting yourself worked up and needy but ultimately not doing anything about it. Could you imagine trying to order a sex toy and have it sent to the house? Trying to hide the buzz buzz as you got yourself off? It was either the towel on the pillow or your own fingers but once you felt awkward, it was hard to get back into the mood.

“So don’t live by their expectations. What do you wanna do?” He asked.

You glanced at him. He treated it as seriously as possible and that only made your heart melt. He was the bestest friend you could have hoped for, growing up together. But would you always be someone he grew up with? Forced to talk about his conquests over and over and wishing it were you?

You licked your lips and faced him. You sat up straight and looked him in the eyes. Your heart thundered in your chest. You felt the steady beat all over, thumping in your arms and in your head. Now or never.

“What would you say to a crazy idea?” You asked.

Tyrone shifted to allow you more room on the bed. “What kind of crazy idea?” He asked slowly.

You smiled at the mistrust in his voice. You were kind of known for some out of pocket schemes. It was not your fault that Mrs. Edwards came home early that one time. How were you supposed to know?

You lost a bit of your nerve, looking down at your fingers. You gripped your dress hard, your fingers pressing the thin fabric. “What would you say if I asked you to take my virginity?”

You risked a glance at him. He was frozen solid, gaping at you. After a moment, he blew out a breath. “Wait, what?”

“I am tired of doing what people expect of me. Nothing is ever good enough and I never get anything out of the deal. I want something for myself. I want to have sex. I want to have sex with you,” you said.

He tilted his head so you forged on, explaining why you wanted to have sex. “And I know it might be a little weird considering we’re friends but I’m pretty sure you’re not seeing someone right now? Right? Because I’d rather it be with someone I trust, at least the first time…” You rambled. You were rambling and you couldn’t make yourself stop. You heard the words. You said the words. But you couldn’t find a way to disconnect your brain from your mouth. “And you’re totally free to say no. Like, we can totally forget I asked.”

After you crawled into a cave or yeeted yourself off of a cliff, surely you could be around Tyrone and not think of this stupid situation.

You opened your mouth to ramble more because he was just sitting there, but he captured your lips with his. His hands cupped your jaw and pulled you into it, moving your lips against his. Your hands gripped his, but not to push him away. You held him there and kissed him back. Tyrone ran the tip of his tongue to trace around your lips. You gasped and he pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You have no fuckin’ clue how long I been wanting to do that,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Wait, what?” You asked. Your head was pleasantly fuzzy. Like you were full of fluffy clouds. “You’ve been wanting to kiss me?”

“Every time I see you. You got kissable lips,” he said. He made his point by kissing you again, humming low in his throat. He pulled away and ran his thumb across your lips. Each pass of his lips on yours or his calloused fingers on you only made your head fuzzier. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling yourself get more and more worked up.

“Why didn’t you ever say? Especially after ninth grade!” There was once upon a time where you two had danced at the high school you attended. You had found a dark-ish corner away from the chaperones and told Tyrone that you’d never been kissed. He had laid one on you, probably not well now that you thought about it, but it had been so precious to you. He ended it by saying, “Now you have”, and walked away.

The memory was always bittersweet. But hell, it was still your first kiss.

“I was a dumb ass kid. I didn’t know how to tell you I liked you more than a friend,” he said.

Warmth spread from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. This lonely torch you’d been holding for Tyrone wasn’t one sided. You looked into his molten brown eyes and smiled, not knowing how to properly process this new information.

In fact, it blew you away that you were here at this moment. Who knew your holier-than-thou parents were good for something?

“And now?” You asked.

Tyrone removed his hands from your face and you missed them instantly. He grabbed one of your hands, pulling it across his lap so that you could cup him. You gasped at the sheer size of him. Despite common myths, you have seen a dick before. But you’d never touched one. Held one. Sucked on one.

Your mouth went dry at the thought. You wanted to suck him, but what if you were bad at it? Your lip rolled in between your teeth and you bit down, wondering the mechanics of it all.

“Well, you did ask me for something huge. Are you sure?” He asked. His voice held a strange, raspy quality to it. You flicked your eyes back to him and he was breathing a little faster. Oh shit, he really did like you. How the hell did you miss it?

“I’m very sure,” you said. You pressed your hand in more, stroking him over his basketball shorts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he opened them and grinned at you.

“I’ll do it. But I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me if you don’t like something or if you want to stop, okay?”

You nodded. “I promise. I’m a big girl, I can use my words,” you said. Your hands still moved over him and you must’ve been doing something right because his breaths left him in quick bursts. He rubbed his face and gripped his jaw, eyes tightly shut.

“Okay, okay,” he said. He stilled your hand on him and moved it off. “Okay, okay. Virgin. Have you done anything? Gotten eaten out?” He asked.

You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, I just snuck them up to my room while my dad was busy in the kitchen,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled. “Okay, smart ass. Give me a minute. I’m like…I don’t wanna just jump on you even though I want to,” he said. He stood up and rubbed his hands together, jumping in place.

You giggled. “I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one,” you said. And you were! Your nerves were shot. Your hands trembled thinking of what the hell you were about to get into. You had fantasized it so many times, wondering who it would be. Sometimes wishing it were Tyrone. And while you didn’t think it would be all glitzy like they do in the movies, you did think you’d be married. Or at least in a steady relationship.

As you looked at Tyrone though, you were glad it was with someone you were comfortable with. Someone who took your usual anxiety from 100% to about 65%.

Tyrone smirked. “If you knew the thoughts I be having about you…you might run out that door,” he said. “I’m trying to do this right.”

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Don’t treat me like some glass doll,” you said. You titled your head and stared him down. “You forgetting I know all your nasty little secrets?”

Tyrone chuckled and squeezed your hand. “Shut up. That’s different. I ain’t care about them, but I do care about you. Don’t ever treat this shit as casual,” he said.

You sucked your teeth. “Not you too. I promise, I’m not going around opening my legs for any man that wants it,” you said. You were about to go on a tirade about how it was your body and your rules. Tyrone shut you up with another kiss, tugging on your bottom lip.

“The thought of anyone else in between your legs makes me angry,” he whispered against your lips.

“Angry?”

He nodded and continued to kiss you, sliding his hands up and down your arms. His warm, big hands chased away any lingering chill from outside. He slowly knelt so that he wasn’t bending at an awkward angle.

His knees sank to the floor and he nestled himself in between your thighs. His hands continued to travel down, squeezing your hips, your outer thighs. Your hands held on to his shoulders, kneading and massaging his back. He moaned into your mouth and a delicious tingle went up your spine.

“Mhm, so don’t say that shit no more,” he said.

“You can’t expect…”

His hands crept closer to your pussy and you ended your sentence on a squeak. Heat rose up your neck and cheek. “Relax,” he said. You took a few deep breaths, nodding, but you were as stiff as a board. Tyrone stopped moving his hand and kept it on your thigh.

“You gotta relax. And let me do this for you,” he said. His thumb pressed into your thigh and your body caved in. He somehow zeroed in on a knot and his thumb worked it out. “Oh fuck,” you said.

“Mhm, you’ll feel better in a minute. But you gotta relax for me,” he said.

Sure, as if you could snap your fingers and relax. Wouldn’t you know it, anxiety was a light switch you could flick on and off at your leisure. Tyrone must’ve seen your thoughts play across your face, because he chuckled.

“Do you have any fuckin’ idea how sexy you are?” He asked.

“What?” You asked. The question caught you off guard. You knew you were gorgeous, you knew you were working with some thick thighs and a pretty tummy. But sexy? Somehow, you missed the memo about sex appeal. You swore that guys could see “virgin” stamped across your forehead.

“Mhm. Whenever you walk out the house in one of these dresses, I just keep picturing how you look underneath. If that pussy nice and pink and wet.” His voice went deeper, harsher, bringing with it dark, carnal promises.

Your thighs tingled. Your hands shook. You bit your bottom lip to keep from moaning like a ho. Tyrone kissed your jaw, then moved up to your ear. “You nice and wet for me? You want me to play with it right?” He asked.

“Yes, yes, play with it,” you said.

Tyrone moved his hand up. Your thighs were burning hot from where they rested against each other. Tyrone nudged you to open your legs. He hummed while he kissed along your ear. “I wonder if you taste as good you feel.”

You dropped your head against him. “You can’t be saying shit like that,” you said.

“Look at you, with your little potty mouth,” he said.

“Shut up, Tyrone!”

He only laughed and finally, blessedly, reached your core. He played with the edges of your panties, seeing the way you squirmed and moaned. He slipped his finger past the material and cursed under his breath.

“Damn, all of that for me? How you gon’ run home to Daddy with panties this soaked?” Tyrone asked.

You stuttered out a response. How were you supposed to form a coherent sentence when his fingers were on you? His fingers glided in between your slick folds, pushing past your pussy lips, and tracing the outside of your clit.

Your eyes bugged out of your head. Your mouth dropped in a tiny little ‘o’ and Tyrone’s eyes narrowed as he took in your expression. He kissed you once, too quickly for your taste, and smirked at you.

“You gotta stop being so damn cute,” he said. “Makes me want to do all kinds of nasty shit to you.”

You moaned, picturing those disgusting things. His thumb rubbed over your clit and you scrunched up your face in pleasure.

How was it that this felt infinitely different and better than when you did it to yourself? He knew exactly what to do, taking cues from your moans and grunts and pretty gasps. You sent up a prayer, thankful that this was with someone experienced. Then again, God probably wasn’t listening right about now.

Tyrone traced slow circles on your clit. You looked through your lashes at his smug face. He knew he was driving you wild. You hissed and jerked when he got to a particularly sensitive spot. “Shh, shh, breathe,” he said.

He held your gaze as you took in deep breaths. Your belly flipped and tightened, the beginning stirrings of something naughty making its way to the surface. Your gaze traveled down. Tyrone’s hand was completely under your dress. It was somehow hotter that you couldn’t see what he was doing to you.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” You moaned.

“Mhm, pray to him for mercy. Because you ain’t gettin’ that shit from me,” Tyrone’s raspy voice was like its own arrow of desire. Your thighs shook. Your feet dangled over the side of the bed. Your toes curled.

“Tyrone, please,” you said. You gripped his shoulders. His smooth brown skin shone with its own light.

“Let me take these panties off,” Tyrone said.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you said.

Tyrone stopped rubbing your clit. “No,” you growled. What the hell was he doing? You were so close! Your belly still felt tight, overripe like at any moment you would burst.

Tyrone chuckled and lifted your dress. The fabric drew across your thighs like scorching fire. You hissed. You were on a precipice and any movement would hurt or hinder. You didn’t want to find out which.

Tyrone pushed your dress up to your hips. Then, he grabbed the top of your panties and moved it down. He held you as you lifted up and slipped them off your ass. He smiled. “Never thought I’d get to see you like this,” he said.

“I’m glad it’s you,” you said and smiled.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he said. “Remember to breathe for me.”

He kept your gaze as he pushed your legs over his shoulders. He grabbed your hips and pulled you forward until your ass was half hanging off of the bed. You cried out and he kissed your thighs until you calmed down.

Your heart beat in your pussy. The throb throb throb drove you mad. You were needy. You needed something more, anything more.

Tyrone blew a breath across your wet pussy and you cried out, jerking your hips. Tyrone only locked his arms around you, curling his biceps around your thigh. “Oh fuck,” you moaned.

Tyrone flattened his tongue and licked you from your pussy to your clit and back down again. A choppy moan left you. Your back bowed off of the bed. Your hands gripped the front of your dress. It wasn’t enough to hold so you moved your hands down to grip the bunched up hem.

He ran his nose through your folds. He inhaled. “Smell so fuckin’ good, got damn,” he said. “Pretty ass pussy.”

He then drew his tongue in a slow circle around your clit. Locked as you were, he didn’t leave room for movement. You barely wiggled. Squirmed underneath his sinful tongue. With each new circle, he moved in closer. He tongued you closer to your clit and you whined and moaned and cried.

Your belly tightened once more. A cresting inferno built and built, radiating waves of heat throughout your body.

Somehow, this too was more potent coming from him. Your body jerked out of your control, twitching every which way, as he created magic around your clit. He slurped up your juices. Slurped it loudly and greedily. He tongued it all down, getting his juicy lips wet with your essence.

You spoke in tongues, muttering and chirping. Tyrone’s tongue moved downwards, rimming your entrance and pushing his tongue inside.

“Oh god. Oh fuck. Tyrone, Tyrone,” you moaned. Your hands flexed. You searched for Tyrone’s head, his neat cornrows were going to get messed up tonight. You palmed him anyway, pushing his head into your pussy and started to gyrate on his mouth.

“Mhm, mhm,” he encouraged. “That’s my good girl.”

You came with a loud yell. You could barely breathe. The sounds and words were dragged out of you. A hidden instinct buried in your DNA to say something, to help ride this awe-inducing wave. A flood of pleasure moved through you.

Tyrone held you down through it all. His biceps flexed with your movements back and forth. He still ate you out, flicking his tongue around your nub.

“F-f-f-.” Fuck it, you couldn’t say it.��

You flopped onto the bed, spent. You moaned as you twitched and calmed down. Tyrone leaned up. You looked at him. His face was slick across his jaw. A spit chain drooped. He licked his big lips and moaned.

“Ready for this dick?” He asked.

You sniffled and nodded. “Please. Please, I'm so ready,” said.

“You don't’ need a break?” He asked.

“Hell naw. Please,” you said.

He nodded and placed a wet kiss on your thigh. He cleaned off his face on his tank top. He stood up. He grabbed your hands and pulled you into a sitting position. You put your chin on his stomach and looked up at him.

He sighed and rolled his neck. “What I tell you about lookin’ so cute?” He asked.

“I can’t help being cute,” you said.

“Lyin’ ass. Yes, you can,” he said.

You sucked your teeth. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Ion know. Burp or something,” he said.

You giggled and hugged him around his middle. You grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed.

“You really have no idea,” he whispered. You grinned.

He stepped back and pulled off his shorts. His dick bobbed twice, standing at attention. He was definitely thick and long and perfect. Your shyness tried to budge back in. Your heartbeat sped up thinking of that getting inside of you.

He twisted and leaned over. You admired his body as his muscles bunched. He was solid, stocky. A thick man with amazing thighs and ass. Cool air blew across your pussy and you bit your lip. Fuck.

He grabbed a condom. Watching him was its own brand of sensual torture. His fingers moved deftly to open the package. He rolled on the condom, pulling the latex over the length of him. He pinched the top.

He stalked closer, running his eyes over you. “Let me take this dress off,” he said.

You smiled and nodded. He helped you pull it off. Your bra went next. “You’re so damn sexy,” he said.

He palmed your breasts, rubbing and pushing them together. He leaned down and brought your nipples into his mouth. He moved between your boobs, suckling and placing that warm mouth around the peaks.

Your legs jerked up. You wrapped them around his waist. His shirt got trapped beneath your legs. He pulled it out and the shirt draped across his chest. His dick brushed against you and you cried out. He was so close to giving you what you needed. Your nails dug into his sides. He ignored you. He played with your nipples until you were a bumbling, squirming mess.

“T-T-Tyrone,” your teeth chattered.

“Mhm, I know. Ready for me?” He asked.

“Yessss,” you moaned.

“Sure?” He asked. He rubbed his dick through your arousal. You soaked him instantly. There was so much on you. The cool air hit across it on your skin. You knew exactly how much of a mess you made. It made you hornier. How did you go through life without this? Without this feeling?

Without this obsession running in your veins. This deep-seated need. This lustful shot of adrenaline threatening to burn your skin off.

Tyrone’s hand wrapped around your hip. His other hand guided his dick towards your entrance. He pushed in and you gasped. He slipped in thanks to how wet you were. But fuck! He filled you completely.

“Breathe,” he commanded. He stopped and moved his shirt out of the way. “You gotta breathe.”

You nodded. He helped you take deep breaths. “That’s right. Be a good girl for me. Good girls get dick,” he cooed.

That should piss you off. But you wanted to be a good girl for him. You wanted to listen and get praised some more.

Your breathing evened out. Tyrone leaned down and kissed you. As he kissed you, he pushed in. Your hand flew to his chest, pushing at him. Fuck. It kind of hurt, but it was a good hurt? You could tolerate him pushing in. You clenched around him and he hissed.

He sank inch by inch into you. He cursed the whole time. “Fuck, feel too good. Feel too good,” he muttered. “Gripping the shit out of me.”

The praise made you moan and you clenched around him. A drop of his sweat fell onto your chest. Your own sweat slick skin pebbled in the cool air.

Tyrone moved out and then pushed back in. The slide in would hurt briefly but then morph into pleasure as you felt him move inside of you. He was deep, stretching you out. Molding your pussy to the curve of his dick.

He began to speed up. He flipped his shirt up and held it in his mouth. He moaned. “Can still smell you,” he said, though his voice was muffled.

Both hands held onto your waist. He moaned as he sank deeper, you welcoming him better. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yuh,” you nodded.

“Sure?”

“Yu-uh,” you moaned. He was doing nothing more vigorous than moving back and forth, but he felt amazing. He filled you up. He hit that deep seat of emptiness inside of you. A place you hadn’t been able to get to on your own.

The feeling brought tears to your eyes. He twisted and brought you down on his dick a little faster. “Ohmygod,” you cried. He reached a spot that made you explode all over him.

You cursed the heavens, you cursed hell. You cursed the world in between. You felt large. Humongous. You felt like you could grab the world with both hands. Power and pleasure suffused you. You moaned out loud, heedless of anyone who could hear.

“Oh fuck, so tight,” Tyrone hips jerked. His fingers dug into your hips. The pressure made you moan. He jerked and thrusted one more time, going as far as he was able, and you felt him pulse inside of you.

You imagined him filling you up with his cum. You moaned as the thought made your pussy throb. Tyrone twitched and panted on top of you. He left you slowly, sliding out in a way that wouldn’t hurt you.

You missed him immediately. He wiped his sweat on his shirt and took off the condom. He tied it and threw it in a nearby trashcan.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You flopped onto the bed. Looked up at the popcorn ceiling. Were there words to describe how okay you were? How fantastic you felt? “So good,” you murmured.

And you did feel really good. You expected to feel shame after having sex. You’d avoided it for so long, you started to feel like a freak for still being a virgin at your big age. But you didn’t. You were mostly sore. You were going to feel this in the morning and right now, you couldn’t care less.

Tyrone left for a moment and you just focused on your breathing. On trying to recapture that euphoric feeling of that orgasm. Chasing after it like the wayward string of a balloon.

He returned and placed a warm cloth against your pussy. You hissed at the unexpected sensation. He cooed at you while he cleaned you up. You smiled at him. “You didn’t have to,” you said.

“Yeah, I did. I was raised to clean up after myself,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. He left once more, getting rid of the washcloth. He took off his shirt and hopped into bed with you, pulling you chest to chest. He rubbed your back and looked into your eyes.

“You’re so cute,” he said.

“You are,” you said. You bumped his nose.

“How you really feelin’?” He asked.

“Honestly? I feel really good. Sore, but tired.”

“Would you want to do it again?” He asked.

“Hell yes! Are you kidding? There’s so much I want to try,” you said.

Tyrone laughed, shaking his head. He pecked you on the lips. He moaned and then pressed in for longer, licking your bottom lip and rolling it between his teeth.

“Mm, does that mean I can get back in that pretty pussy?” He asked.

You caressed his cheek. Running your thumb across his supple skin. “That’s exactly what that means.”

&&&

Psst, there's more! The Secret Tyrone Files

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Tyrone Files #They Cloned Tyrone smut #They Cloned Tyrone fanfic #They Cloned Tyrone fan fic #They Cloned Tyrone fanfiction #They Cloned Tyrone fan fiction #Tyrone x Black!reader #Tyrone x Black reader #Tyrone x Fem!reader #Tyrone x Fem reader #Tyrone x Virgin!reader #Tyrone x Virigin reader #Tyrone x plus sized reader #Tyrone x reader #x Black reader #Tyrone x you #Megaminds asks #Megaminds requests

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 8 months

Note

Hii! I'd really appreciate if you could recommend me fics where Stiles leaves Beacon Hills and makes new friends. (He may or may not return to BH later) thank you!

I do!

The Truth of It by alisvolatpropiis

(1/1 I 2,158 I Mature I Sterek)

Derek took the picture late one night the summer between Stiles’ junior and senior years of college, the last of their four summers together.

Or not-together. The last of their four summers of whatever it was they were to each other in those years, fucking nonstop and spending nearly every waking moment together for three months at a time, both of them aggressively maintaining the it’s-just-sex-it-doesn’t-mean-anything rule they set their very first time together, the night of the pack’s high school graduation party when, slightly drunk, Stiles kissed him for the first time, determined and eager, heart pounding in Derek’s ears.

Not Your Emissary by sapphireginger

(1/1 I 2,428 I Teen I Steter)

Stiles squeezed his mate’s hand to soothe the angered alpha and watched Scott puff out his chest in a pitiful attempt to be intimidating. “No.”

“NO?!” Scott growled. “What do you mean no? This isn’t negotiable. You're my pack!”

“Am I?” Stiles asked calmly.

Scott hesitated and nodded firmly. “Yes.”

Stiles shrugged one shoulder. “I love Peter and he loves me. I’m not leaving with you, and you can’t make me.”

“Wanna bet?!” Scott snarled.

Peter’s control was rock solid, airtight, never faltering. His presence alone was enough to drive fear into the hearts of most. It was always a turn on to see the alpha put people in their places.

We'll be Better Around the Second Time by Cantabo

(12/12 I 26,589 I Mature I Sterek)

It's been months. Months of fading contact with the pack. Months of the silent treatment from his father. Months of nothing but himself and the occasional lesson with Deaton to entertain him.

It's too much, and eventually, Stiles leaves.

For years, everything goes great, until of course his dad gets injured, and he is suddenly forced to deal with people he thought he left behind in his past for good.

OR: Stiles gets pushed out of the pack, hits the road, makes new friends, learns how to grow up, and falls in love.

Abraca-Fuck-You! by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 28,906 I Mature I Sterek)

“Who needed you?” Stiles asked, uncapping his water.

“Hm?” Cole had been looking out at something in the field, and he focussed back on Stiles then. “What?”

“You said it comes about when someone needs us. Who needed you?”

He probably shouldn’t have asked, because Cole looked sad all of a sudden. Like he hadn’t thought about becoming a Sorcerer in a long time. Stiles could see that being what he was had cost him greatly, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to run into the same problem.

“A friend,” Cole said quietly. “Someone who was very dear to me. But I didn’t get there fast enough.”

Stiles paused in recapping his water, pressing his lips together. “What happened?”

“I waited too long to help them.”

At Our Ex-Spence by sapphireginger

(26/31 I 41,923 I Explicit I Steter)

Stiles is ready to leave Beacon Hell Hole-Beacon Hills-behind. An offer to join the FBI is his ticket out of there. A blue eyed wolf follows along, and Stiles doesn't mind a bit.

On the other side of the US an amber eyed man puts on his glasses and gets out of bed. His first day at the FBI is almost here. "Stu?" the man's girlfriend calls out. "Coming!" he replies and rejoins her in their bedroom.

Stiles is about to start his FBI training. He meets two people of major significance on his first day. Life gets even more complicated, and he has so many questions. However, he's not sure who he trusts to give him the correct answers-to give him the truth.

I've Been Everywhere With You by Leslie_Knope

(10/10 I 61,551 I Explicit I Sterek)

“Dude, you should totally come with me.”

“What? Like on the road trip?"

“No, come with me. To Austin. Get out of Beacon Hills.”

Derek paused. “What?” he asked again.

When It Comes To Being Lucky by sterekcrush

(46/? I 157,701 I General I Sterek)

Derek Hale doesn't do love. He's tried twice; the first time it made him a killer, and the second time cost him his whole world.

So he doesn't do love, and he definitely doesn't love Stiles. He doesn't care about Stiles' new powers or the fact that Stiles has been talking to Derek's dead mother, or even the fact that for some reason supernatural creatures from all over the country are sending Stiles offers of courtship.

But when Stiles claims he's not part of Derek's pack and takes off for parts unknown...well, maybe Derek cares a little after all.

Guardian by Lerya

(100/100 I 202,041 I Mature I Steter)

After Stiles finally realises how little he means to Scott, and how little his opinions and even his research mean to the 'true Alpha', he's had enough. With most of the original Hale pack getting away from the Hellhole that is Beacon Hills, he prepares to do the same. The extra addition wasn't planned, but most welcomed, as was an invite by the counsel.

He could do this, going around the world, helping other Supernaturals, getting to know the world, and learning about himself and the community.

Manipulated by DearDaisy (Scribblesnpaws)

(30/30 I 221,251 I Mature I Sterek)

Nine years ago, Scott kicked Stiles out of the pack. Stiles left and never returned. But now his dad has been hurt, so Stiles returns to take care of him. No one knows the truth of what happened back then, not even Scott or Stiles. But that's about to change.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #road trip #steter #peter hale #magic!stiles

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tired-biscuit · 27 days

Note

we need more angst with stepbrother kiba 🙏🏼 the jealous and the fear to tell the truth ughhhh i need more

imagine that after the awkward encounter of him knocking on your door and you giving him the cold shoulder, you end up spiralling into some kind of rebellion phase.

i mean, if he can do it, why can’t you? so you start partying more often rather than hanging out with him in the living room, and dress yourself in those pretty but short clothes that have been gathering dust in the back of your closet, and stop calling him to pick you up, and basically completely shut him out of your life in the process.

he watches from the sidelines for a couple of weeks as you let yourself go wild, walking on thin ice and trying to initiate contact again just to be brushed off each time in response and outright ignored. it drives him crazy. drives him mad. he hates being ignored, especially by you.

and kiba being kiba, he just can’t keep his mouth shut, you know? so it’s no wonder that he throws a backhanded comment your way when you bump into each other in the kitchen one late night after you come back from yet another party and he’s left his room to rummage through the fridge for a midnight snack.

he doesn’t talk to you at first, but he stares. your make up is smudged under your eyes and you smell like overly sweet perfume and sweat. the first couple of buttons of your top are undone and the skirt you’ve got on is so short that he can see the back of your thighs when you walk past him to grab yourself a glass of water. you’ve clearly been having some fun with someone that definitely isn’t him, he doesn’t need to ask to know that.

and that makes his chest tighten, painfully so. he knows he’s got no right, he knows, but he just can’t help but turn snarky and mean because of the jealousy that sears his heart and causes his jaw to clench so harshly that he’s gritting his teeth. like, really mean.

he mutters something disrespectful about your messy appearance. for some reason, you also can’t help yourself, so you throw a rude remark right back instead of simply continuing to pretend like he doesn’t exist. as is expected, it goes back and forth like this; with both of you refusing to relent, the tension quickly rises and already hot blood begins to simmer within your veins.

blind anger turns you both terribly inconsiderate. by the time he calls you a slut and you tell him that you wish he just straight up died, you’re nearly at each other’s throats. your voices grow in volume and it gets so bad that your father has to rush out of bed and down the stairs to see what all the commotion is about, only to end up having to hold you back because you’re seconds away from clawing your stepbrother’s eyes out.

doors are slammed shut when you both go to bed that night and neither of you sleeps well. but when morning comes and you venture back downstairs, you’re relieved to find out that he’s already out of the house. the only time you see him again in the following days is during family dinners in the evenings and if you sometimes cross paths on your way to your respective bedrooms, but even then it’s fucking awful.

you even go as far as to switch seats at the table. you sit next to your dad and he sits next to his mom, and neither of you talks or looks at each other during the entire meal. your parents think this is just a hurdle you’ll get over eventually, a mere bump in the road — most siblings have fights, don’t they? — but they don’t know the reason as to why that bump is there in the first place. they don’t know that it’s way more complicated than simple bickering between a brother and sister. they don’t know shit.

and neither do you. you don’t know that your shift in attitude stems from attraction yet, while he’s pretty positive that he’s got the hots for his little stepsister, but refuses to admit it to himself. so you’re both frustrated as hell.

but hey, maybe it’s better this way. after all, if you’re on bad terms and not speaking to each other, he can stop fooling himself with the idea of actually having a chance to find out what the inside of your mouth tastes like.

come to think of it, he’s just being a good big brother; protecting you like he always does.

only this time he’s protecting you from himself.

#cw stepcest #biscuit mail

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star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

Ember in Your Hands

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: sorry this chapter is kinda short i was tired lol but anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, mentions of death, mentions of knives, crying, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Seven- Ghost

—-

“Shh,” you mutter, gently running your hand over Lo’ak’s braids. He squirms in your hold for a moment, his already fitful sleep disturbed by Jake.

Tuk stirs next to you, gripping tighter onto your leg, and Kiri sits by your feet, eyes blank and rimmed red, silent tears wetting her cheeks.

Jake’s eyes lock with yours, and then they slowly run across each of your children. Neytiri looks from from where she scratches Neteyam’s back, even though he has long been asleep and would have pushed her away if he was awake.

He watches as his children sleep on edge, and you find yourself wondering what horrible nightmare their small minds could be conjuring up.

Jake looks back at you, and you press a kiss to Lo’ak’s forehead, to push away all the bad and make it good.

Then, he sits, and cleans the blood from his axe.

—-

Since what happened last night, the three of you haven’t talked about what would happen next. You know something has to happen, that what your children experienced last night- they never should have had to in the first place.

You never should have had to hold them while the cried, scared that they were going to die.

So, when Jake corners you and Neytiri in your home, you’re not surprised. You find that you just don’t want to talk. You want to forget it all ever happened, go back to a year ago, when they hadn’t come back yet. When it was just happiness.

Jake was right. Happiness is not forever.

But you have managed to tide yourself over, while you wait for that big moment, that something to happen that will change it all. You know that no matter how much you want it, it will never go back to how it was.

You feel like a ghost trapped in a haunted house, looking at photographs that are slowly being covered with dust- but you are a ghost. You can’t wipe the dust away.

“This thing, this Quaritch? Whatever he is, he can walk right in, right under Eywa’s nose.”

You have to sit down because Jake is right.

“This is our family. This is our home!” Neytiri says. She paces for a moment, like she’s trying to walk off all her anger and move it somewhere else.

“You can not ask this, Jake. You cannot ask us to leave our lives…” You trail off, feeling like that haunted house is crashing down on top of you. “I will not. I can not.”

“I will not leave my people,” Neytiri hisses.

“He’s hunting us,” Jake says. Unlike you and Neytiri, he speaks evenly, no emotion in his voice. “He’s targeting us-”

“You can not ask this!” you say, louder this time, your hands clutching the edge of the hammock. “The children, everything they’ve ever known, the forest-” You stand, “You can not ask this! This is our home!”

“He had our children,” Jake whispers, making a cruel movement with his hands like he’s holding someone to his chest with a knife to their throat.

It’s where Neteyam’s throat would be, and you have to look away.

“He had them under his knife,” Jake says, and he finally lets that emotion pour through, and he sounds like a father.

Neytiri gasps, and you still feel like you’re being crushed, but she only grabs her fathers bow, and holds it in front of Jake.

“My father gave me this bow, as he lay dying! And he said, ‘protect The People.’” Her voice grows hoarse, and you count three stray tears falling down her face.

One sinks into her skin, disappears, and the others slides past her jaw and onto her neck.

“You are Toruk Makto!” she yells, but she’s just pleading for him to change the world.

“This will protect The People!” he shouts back. “Quaritch has Spider. That kid knows everything — our whole operation. He can lead them right in here.”

But you know Spider. Jake has always been so weary, a little to eager to push aside this memory of his nemesis. Neytiri sees a human, but all you see is a child, an orphan.

“If The People harbor us… they will die. Do you understand?” he takes a step forward, and you look him up and down. You see his scars, the evidence of everything he has survived.

You don’t know if you can stay here if he doesn’t think you should. You don’t think you can.

Not only would Jake drag you to safety, but you don’t think you could live without him. You couldn’t live, knowing he was still here, just somewhere else.

He was living and breathing without you, and that feels wrong.

“Look, I got nothing,” Jake says, his voice on the edge of a masochistic laugh. “I got no plan.” He tilts his head down and pressed his lips together. “But I can protect this family. That I can do.”

Neytiri gasps and presses her hand to her head.

And just as quick as his anger was there, it’s gone, and he grabs your wrist and pulls your closer, and leans down in front of Neytiri to pull her attention away from her tears. You can’t keep track of them this time.

You feel like a ghost, dragged around by others, but what has already been there. You let Jake pull you around, because he would never hurt you- but you find that your heart still twists painfully.

“But I know one thing,” he whispers. “Wherever we go, this family is our fortress.”

His eyes move from you to Neytiri, before Neytiri lets out a sharp breath and Jake pulls the two of you into a hug.

You let your hand cup the back of his head.

“A family should be a family,” you whisper.

—-

taglist:

@eywas-heir @mjesecevo-dijete @ok-boke @tsukicores @neteyamforlife @itsyoboysparkel @tejas-kris @noname2246 @skxawngsworld @itsemy01 @littlexscarletxwitch @ara-a-bird @ghoulbli @ssc7514 @kitkat1690 @hai-kbai @disaster-in-waiting @milf-lover-23 @hot15936 @ssc7514 @ducks118

everything taglist:

@monsterwasstolen @fanboyluvr @artologia-blog1 @tulipatheticee @elvyshiarieko @fluffisalliwant @fluffi19 @jeizllz @myheartfollower @fy-fy-world @minkyungseokie @ivy-plays @blueberryfailureclinic @cryingwhilereading @thatratprincessforever @dumb-fawkin-bitch @sillyblues @buttercup-beeee @smollangrycat @n7cje @eternallyvenus @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @w3ird11

#jake sully x neytiri #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader #avatar way of water

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randomfandomwrites · 2 years

Text

For Better or Worse (Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader)

*not my gif*

Summary: Billy comes home late with Max, and you’re in the car. Neil is waiting for him outside.

Warnings: probably cursing, yelling, kind of angsty?, Neil being an ass, sad Billy (is that even a warning lmao)

Word Count: 1,806 oops

A/N: this is a little dramatic for my first story. it’s not that great, but it’s midnight, so whatever

Billy pulled up to his house, trying not to smile at the sound of your laughter. He didn’t think Max’s jokes were funny, but damn it if your laugh didn’t make him light up every single time. You were in the passenger’s seat of his Camaro, looking back at Max and giggling at every one of her stupid puns. Billy shut off the his car and turned to face the backseat.

“Get out, Max,” he said in an annoyed tone. Max grabbed her skateboard and backpack and climbed out of the car, throwing a goodbye to you over her shoulder before slamming the door as you waved enthusiastically from your seat.

Billy wasn’t particularly happy about sharing you with Max, but you looked so happy talking to her on the ride home and you were so excited about meeting his sister (“She’s not my sister,” Billy had insisted) that when you and Max begged asked him to take the both of you out for ice cream, he gave in and took you to the nearest ice cream shop. Max got rocky road, while you and Billy opted to share a few different flavors. It would just be a few minutes, Billy thought. Everything will be fine, right?

Wrong.

A few minutes turned into almost two hours of you and Max sampling ice cream and getting to know each other, while Billy mostly watched in silence and held your hand under the table. Billy knew he was going to be late, he knew Neil would be angry, but fuck, you looked so happy that he pushed his worry to the back of his mind and tried to focus on you, only you. Eventually, you made it out of the place, but Billy already knew there was no talking his way out of this one. The closer you got to his home, the more anxious he became, which did nothing to ease his frustration. Billy wasn’t really scared for himself, he had long since stopped caring about anything his father said to him. But right now, you were in the car with him, and he knew all hell would break loose if Neil saw you.

As soon as Max closed the door, Billy sighed in relief and looked over to where you were sitting. You grinned at him, beginning to thank him for taking you and Max out when, out of the corner of his eye, Billy noticed someone walking towards his car. His heart dropped.

“Shit,” he said, beginning to panic. You were the last person in the world he would ever want to witness Neil’s abuse, let alone be subject to it.

“What? Billy, what?” you asked, anxiety building inside you before you glanced out your window. Your breath caught in your throat. You had never seen him before, but you knew from Billy’s reaction and the fear growing in your mind that this must be Neil. “Oh, fuck,” you whispered.

Billy’s hands were shaking as he fumbled with the keys and tried to start the car. “Come on, come on, come on!” he almost shouted in anger. Finally, the keys slid into place and Billy placed his foot on the gas, ready to speed away when Neil ducked into Billy’s rolled-down window.

“Billy! You’re home! I was starting to think something had happened to you. I figured it was the only reason you would be late,” Neil said, with uncharacteristic friendliness. You bit your lip, wondering what was about to happen. Neil was acting nice, but every instinct in your body was telling you to run, to get out of the car, to get away from him. “Did you hear me, Billy? You’re two hours late.”

“I know, sir. I’m sorry. She wanted to go out for ice cream so we-” Billy started.

“Do I look like I give a shit about why you’re late? I told you to be home by 3:45 at the latest! Can you tell me what time it is?” Neil shouted.

“Almost six o’clock, sir,” Billy said, trying to keep his voice even. Right now, he was just glad Neil was leaving you out of this.

“That’s right. I’m glad you’re not a total fucking idiot. You are not going to be late again, right?” Billy nodded silently. “Right?!” Neil screamed, slamming his fist into the car door. You flinched, but Billy remained completely stoic.

“Right, sir,” Billy responded.

“Good, I’m glad we understand each other,” Neil sneered, before slowly dragging his gaze to you. Your heart stopped in your chest. “Who is this, Billy?” You tried to keep your breathing quiet and even, not daring to look over to where Neil was.

“She’s no one, sir,” Billy mumbled, tensing at Neil’s words.

“Oh, well if she’s no one...” Neil stepped away from the car for half a second, pretending to shrug it off. “WHO IS SHE!?!” Neil screamed, hitting Billy’s car again. Billy closed his eyes, fighting tears. He couldn’t cry in front of his father.

“She’s... my-” Billy broke off, inhaling shakily. “She’s my girlfriend,” he whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

“Son, I’m gonna teach you a little life lesson right now. Girls like her are nothing more than common whores you can pick up at the supermarket. She’s a bitch. She’s nobody, Billy,” Neil spat, looking at you with contempt.

“She’s not a whore,” Billy muttered.

“Excuse me?” Neil shouted. “I’ve had enough of your fucking disrespect.” He reached into the car and grabbed Billy’s face, forcing Billy to look at him. Neil moved his hand down to Billy’s neck, slamming his head into the car seat. “Whoever this bitch is, she is not worth your time or mine. She’s a fucking slut and she’s probably the reason you were two fucking hours late. I don’t want to see her, or anyone, around here again. And you,” he said, looking past Billy to meet your eyes. “you stay the fuck away from Maxine and Billy. I better not ever see your fucking face again in my life. You’re a worthless fucking cunt, and if you interfere with my rules again, I’ll kill the both of you. Am I clear?” You looked straight ahead and nodded. “AM I CLEAR?” Neil screamed, slamming Billy’s head back again.

“Yes sir, you’re clear. I understand,” you answered quickly.

“Am I clear, Billy?”

“Yes, sir,” Billy breathed almost inaudibly. Neil was calm for a moment, then slapped Billy with the back of his hand.

“I can’t fucking hear you,” Neil growled.

“Yes, sir, very clear,” Billy said.

“Good, good,” Neil smirked. “Now get the fuck away from my house.”

Billy didn’t have to be told twice. He jammed his foot onto the gas, speeding away as fast as he possibly could, tears pouring down his cheeks. You were crying too, though not as much as him. “Billy...” you murmured. He shook his head vigorously, unable to say anything until he was far, far away from his father. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel too hard, and you gently reached over and put your hand on his. Billy allowed you to pull that hand from the steering wheel, and you locked his fingers with yours. He squeezed your hand just once, glancing over at you. He pulled into an empty parking lot and turned off the car. You sat in silence for a while, waiting for him to speak.

“(Y/n)... (y/n), God, I am so fucking-” he cut off, trying not to sob. “I’m so fucking sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cried. You had seen him cry once or twice, but never like this.

“Billy, it’s okay, I don’t care what he says about me.”

“But he fucking said those things, and I didn’t fight him, I didn’t do anything, fuck,” Billy rambled. “I should’ve told him to shut up, I should’ve driven away, you weren’t ever supposed to see that, hear that, fuck-”

“Billy, hey,” you said softly. He turned to face you, tears still glossing his eyes. “It was my fault we were late. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about...” You couldn’t look at him.

“It’s not your fault, babe,” he whispered. “Neil’s just a dick. He always has been. But I never wanted you to... shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Billy, do you remember when we started dating and you told me that you had never been in a real relationship before?” Billy nodded. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“(Y/n), I gotta admit, I’ve never really done this whole dating thing. Like, the loyal to one person and not fucking around thing,” Billy laughed nervously. You took his hand and laughed.

“I’m glad I’m your first for something, Billy,” you teased.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, blushing. “I just... I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to hurt you, I’ll never want to hurt you, I’m never gonna, but I’m scared that I’m gonna fuck things up and you won’t love me anymore.”

“Billy, we’re dating now. That means staying and sorting things out, no matter how hard or annoying they seem. Plus, I’ll be here every step of the way,” you grinned. “I’m with you no matter what, for better or worse, okay?” Billy returned your smile.

“Okay”

“Do you remember what I told you?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Billy’s face.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I’m with you for better or worse, baby. Now and always,” you said.

Billy ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just scared that with me, it’s gonna be for worse. You don’t deserve that,” he mumbled.

“You don’t deserve it either,” you pointed out. Billy grunted, looking at the floor. “You don’t, Billy. I don’t care what Neil, or anybody, says, you deserve to be happy. And I’m glad I’m the one who gets to make you happy because-” You took a deep breath. “Because I love you, Billy,” you finished quietly. It was the first time you had said it out loud. Billy whipped his head to look at you, wincing a little.

“You love me?” You smiled slightly and nodded.

“Yeah, I do.”

“That’s good, because I love you too.” Billy smiled a genuine smile for the first time that evening. He pulled you toward him, leaning in to kiss you. The kiss was soft and gentle, unlike Billy’s usual rough, passionate kisses. He just wanted to be close to you right now. You placed your hands lightly on the sides of his face, careful to avoid the place where Neil had hit him. Billy wrapped his arms around you in response, pulling you still closer to him before breaking the kiss. You placed your forehead against his and stroked his cheek. “For better or worse?” Billy asked.

“Now and always,” you replied quietly. Billy smiled again.

You loved him.

Thank you for reading! I went a little overboard but whatever. Love you all!

xoxo

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x (y/n)#billy hargrove imagine #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine

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lilyrizzy · 2 years

Text

just a little something based of a csi fic i read 100 years ago, but cannot for the life of me find online to give credit to. if anyone recognises, pls do let me know!

outsider pov

cw: crash aftermath, breif mention of parent (guess who lol) being homophobic and a general dick

Sophie had always hoped that lighting a candle in church and crossing herself at the race track would be enough to appease God. Maybe she had angered him, missing so many Sundays this year to spend instead with her son, at his church; the track. Maybe it is just that God gives his hardest challenges to his loyalist followers, something she has heard repeated over and over since she was a child, something she taught to her own children.

Either way, watching the stewards pull her son’s unconscious body from a race car, it’s enough to have her wondering if there was more she could have done.

Sophie lets herself into Max’s apartment with an easy twist of his key in the lock. Easier than she remembers, but then she’s struggling to recall when she was last here. The most recent times she’s seen Max, it’s been in the Netherlands or at different race tracks around the world. He says he likes to come home to see her, and it’s always warmed her heart too thoroughly, the idea that her house is home to him despite him never growing up there, for her to question that.

Now, she wonders if there wasn’t more of an ulterior motive.

Flicking on the hallway light, immediately she can tell it’s different. Splashes of colour she doesn’t remember seeing on the whitewashed walls. An antique-looking clock, letting her know it is 3 am. Artwork she’s never seen before hanging next to it, photos too, photos actually in frames. Years ago, there had been just one, her, Max and Victoria. Both of her children actual children in the picture, standing in front of some race track or other, and it had been frameless, stuck to the fridge with a magnet in the shape of a Red Bull can.

Now that one picture has multiplied, to make an entire collage frame, five photos in total sat inside it, the word ‘family’ written underneath.

Putting the keys in the glass bowl beside the front door- another new addition- she steps closer. The urgent, anxious need to be back at the hospital has dimmed, and she realises she feels closer to Max here than in a white, soulless waiting room, carefully avoiding both eye contact and conversation with his father.

The first photo she notices has a girl, no a woman, smiling at the camera with two small children by her feet. A boy and a girl, her hand on each of their blonde heads. The woman has dark hair though, a wonderful smile and kind eyes. Older than Max, probably by ten years. Sophie has never seen her before, can’t recall ever being introduced to her, and she wonders if this is the reason she has been kept away from this apartment, a secret girlfriend.

But Sophie can’t see any other photos of her, just a picture of Max’s own family, her, Victoria, Luka, Lio. A few photos of podiums at Red Bull, from when Max was just eighteen, then again at twenty, if she can guess right. A photograph of a sunset, the two blonde heads of the children just at the bottom of the frame, so maybe-

There’s a noise, the sound of footsteps that have her reaching for the can of hairspray she carries in her purse just in case, and-

“Fucking hell,” a man says, hand flying to clutch his chest, “Sophie, you scared the shit out of me.”

It’s a voice, a face that she recognizes.

“Daniel?” Her face is hot, embarrassed at her own overreaction, as her hand drops from the zip of her bag. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer, eyes widening a little as though there is still something to be afraid of. Quickly, her eyes track over the rest of him, the sweatpants and Red Bull Racing t-shirt he is wearing, both looking a few sizes too big. She wonders how much weight he has lost since being with the team, for the clothes to hang off him the way they do.

“Is Max okay?” He asks, and his voice sounds- Hurt almost. Definitely worried.

“He is still in surgery,” she says, hoping her tone is reassuring. He seems to need it. “I took his keys too- Well the nurse said maybe he would like some things, for when he wakes up. To help him feel more at home.”

A part of her, embarrassed, had wanted to ask the nurse, ‘like what?’ It had occurred to her then that she has no idea what her 25-year-old son would want, what he would need to make him feel better. She hasn’t been somebody who has comforted him when he is hurt, or sick, or even just upset, for a long time. With her, he is always happy, and though she has always cherished his smile, his laugh, she wonders just how true it is that he always feels that way.

Daniel nods, running a hand through his curls but doesn’t say any more about Max. Instead, he turns, walking into the kitchen, gesturing for Sophie to follow him.

“Would you like a coffee or something? It’s pretty late, but-“ he shrugs then, tapping his fingers against a fancy, expensive-looking machine that again, Sophie has never seen before.

“Yes, that would- Daniel what are you doing here?” She feels rude, interrupting his politeness with a question he dodged the first time, but she’s beginning to worry she’s let herself into the wrong apartment, or something equally ridiculous. Vaguely she remembers Max telling her, when he was newly moved to Monaco, that the building was nice and he knew so because Daniel lived there.

Daniel Ricciardo, his teammate and then ex-teammate, who Sophie heard endless stories about for the first few years of her son’s time with Red Bull, and then suddenly, nothing at all. The next she’d heard about him was when he left the team, Max saying dutifully that he was happy for him, but not much else.

They’d stayed friends, she knows, or whatever variation of friends rivals, competitors, can truly be.

“I live here,” is what Daniel tells her now though, turning his back to her to fiddle with the machine, “do you take milk and sugar?”

Sophie doesn’t know if she manages to hide the shock that must have found its way onto her face in his admission, by the time he turns to face her again with a tired smile, teaspoon in hand. She does manage to shake her head though, to take the cup from his outstretched hand and take a sip of bitter, black coffee without it burning her tongue.

“I’m sorry,” she says, once he’s finished fixing his own cup, “I did not know that you had been staying with him.”

She waits for an explanation.

Keeping up with the grid gossip has never been her strong suit, but she's heard the rumours like everybody else that this might be Daniel’s last season. She expects to hear something that makes sense, like maybe Daniel has already sold his Monaco apartment, and Max is helping him out. That he’s broke, that he’s in between apartments, that he’s an alcoholic that needs someone to hold him accountable, anything.

Not for Daniel to shrug, giving her the same wary smile, and say, “why would you?”

She nods like that makes sense, like any of it makes sense. Like she isn’t getting irritated by his attitude, by this feeling that there is something he knows that she doesn’t.

Her baby boy is hurt, she doesn’t want this. She doesn’t need this, to feel confused in his home, when she could be by his bedside, stroking his hair. Hopefully asking him herself, why Daniel Ricciardo is living with him. If he’s awake, if he can even-

“Where is his bedroom?” She asks, setting the cup on the counter. “I cannot be too long.”

He mirrors her, putting his own mug down. “I can get some things for him, no problem,” he offers, but she shakes her head.

“You should get back to sleep,” she tells him with a polite smile, “it is very late.”

He purses his lips and looks at her as though considering something. Clearly, there is an internal conflict that again, Sophie is not privy to, but it’s over as quickly as it comes, with Daniel shrugging and saying, “okay. Let’s sort him out some stuff.”

She’s about to insist again that it’s fine, she doesn’t need his help, but he’s making his way down the hall to another room, presumably Max’s bedroom, before she has the chance.

Inside, again, it’s nothing like she remembers, and she has a moment to stand in the doorway, watching Daniel open and close drawers, to take it in.

The walls are painted a soft green, where before she is almost certain they were white. The furniture is a dark wood, instead of the white Ikea flat packs she helped him to pick out when he first moved here. Even the bed is different, bigger, the bed sheets patterned, but not distastefully so, complimenting the features of the room.

An adult’s bedroom.

It isn’t the décor isn’t the thing that gives her the biggest pause though.

It’s the way the bedsheets are crumpled, as though somebody- Daniel- only just got out of them.

It’s the way there are two phone chargers plugged into the wall on either side of the bed. Two bedside tables littered with items. One with a couple of water glasses, a racing magazine, a watch Sophie recognises as one she brought for Max’s 21st birthday. The other is tidier, just a book and a photo frame resting on top.

The picture is the final thing that makes her understand. Daniel with his arm wrapped around Max’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek,

She looks from the photograph, then to Daniel, who is watching her carefully, something on his face quietly pleading for understanding.

“You should pick him some comfy clothes,” she suggests, swallowing down all the questions suddenly at the tip of her tongue, “for when he is discharged.”

That earns her a soft smile and a nod, and he starts rummaging through the wardrobe behind him, pulling out a jumper, a pair of worn tracksuit bottoms, a couple of plain white t-shirts. He walks to another set of drawers to get some boxer shorts and socks, moving around with comfortable familiarity, before dipping into the adjoining room, the bathroom Sophie gathers when he comes back holding a toothbrush and toothpaste.

“He doesn’t- The normal kind is always too minty for him,” Daniel explains, holding up the tube that Sophie recognises as a children’s brand, strawberry flavoured, before putting it on top of the small pile of belongings he’s made on the bed.

“Maybe a book?” Sophie suggests, wanting to feel helpful, but Daniel just snorts, not looking back from where he’s back in the wardrobe, reaching on his tiptoes for something off the top shelf.

“Good luck getting Maxy to read,” he says, “but maybe his headphones so he can watch a movie?”

“Sure,” she allows, “where are they?”

“Bedside drawer, but don’t- ah,”

She’s opened, seen, and slammed the drawer shut again in the time it takes for him to say it. Different, bright colours of silicone, and- When she looks back up at him, his face is pink the way hers feels, and his hand is cupping the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he’s saying, struggling to meet her eye, “I tried to warn you.”

She pastes on the brightest smile she can muster. “It’s okay,” she laughs, but it’s forced, “I should know better than to go poking in my son’s bedroom drawers, maybe- Maybe you can find me a bag, instead, and I will just pack the things to take.”

Daniel nods, “right, yeah, let me just-“ and before long they have a system. Daniel places items, more clothes, a magazine, a phone charger, onto the bed, and Sophie packs them.

“Maybe this too,” he says after a while, holding up a tattered rag he’s retrieved from the bottom of Max’s wardrobe- their wardrobe- that it takes Sophie a moment to recognise.

“Oh,” she says, and the smile that spreads across her face this time is effortless. “I cannot believe he still has kept this.”

It’s her dress, the dress, the one she wore when she had him and gave him when he was a toddler, because Jos said he was not allowed cuddly toys or else he would turn out- Well, turn out exactly the way he has anyway, if the apartment he shares with another man is any indication.

“I used to wrap him up in this when he was a baby,” she explains, taking the dress from Daniel, rubbing the distantly familiar fabric between her fingers. “It was all he was allowed, as a boy, to cuddle. Jos tried to tell me no, but-“

But it was something she had stood her ground and paid the price over.

Daniel nods, “I know,” is all he says, “he loves it very much.”

The words lodge themselves thick in Sophie’s throat, as though she is the one to have spoken them. She remembers what it was like, to hold her new baby, her first baby, in her arms and to know that she would do whatever it took to make sure they were happy.

Even if that meant leaving them behind. It is just that standing in this apartment, in the middle of the life her son felt the need to keep secret from her, she is questioning what the right thing to do was more and more.

At the time, she had felt selfless, but now she just feels naïve.

They gather and pack the rest of Max’s things in silence. It is not until they are done, Sophie standing once more in the kitchen, this time a small duffel between her feet and Daniel’s that she speaks again.

“So how long have you- How long?”

If Daniel is surprised by the question, to his credit, he doesn’t show it.

“Six years,” is all he says, then tilting his head to the side as if to prove he is thinking, “seven in a few months.”

Sophie nods, as though the length of time is not a slap across the face. For seven year her son has loved somebody, and she has never known. Max would have been eighteen, barely. Daniel, what, 26? 27?

It should worry her, she knows, but she finds that strangely it doesn’t. Max is not a liar, it is not in his nature, so for him to have felt the need to hide this from her, it must have been something precious in his eyes. Something worth protecting.

“And I suppose you moved in here, let me think, four years ago?” She asks, and this time he does look shocked, and she relishes the only opportunity she’d had to make him feel this way, when he has caused that same emotion within her countless times since she came through their front door.

“That is around the time he stopped inviting me to stay with him here,” she offers as an explanation when he doesn’t say anything.

His face smoothes over into understanding.

“Ah,” he says, nodding with his lips pursed again, “I thought- Well, my mum, she said she always kinda knew that-“

“That you were with Max?” Sophie interrupts, because this is not something she has considered. Was she supposed to have seen this coming, all the times Max mentioned Daniel, unprompted, during the first season of his career?

“No,” Daniel says though, shaking his head, “I mean about me. My mum always thought I was, well, different was the word she used, but what she meant was ‘a little gay.’” He grins then, as though he expects that to make Sophie laugh, but it doesn’t. “I’m bi though,” he adds in a bit of a rush, as though that matters to her.

Bi. Gay. Which one is Max, she wants to ask, but is afraid she’ll fail some kind of test doing so.

“So your mother does not know? About you and Max?” She questions instead.

“No, she knows,” Daniel admits with a shrug, “my dad too.”

Jealousy spikes within her, and she feels her jaw tighten as she has to look away, to the sea just the other side of the balconies sliding glass door that would be visible if it wasn’t so dark.

“Who else knows?” she eventually demands, voice clipped to her shame.

“Well, my sister,” Daniel begins, and with that, he gestures to the new photograph stuck to the fridge, the RedBull magnet replaced with one in the shape of a race track. The Yas Marina circuit, if Sophie had to guess.

It’s another photo of the same woman Sophie had thought might be Max’s girlfriend not twenty minutes ago.

“A couple of my best friends, who I trust,” Daniel is continuing, “one of Max’s, you know Martin, right? That’s it though.”

“So Victoria, she does not know?”

Daniel’s eyebrows knit together, and Sophie wonders if he is considering how much he can stretch the truth without it being an out-and-out lie. It stings, to consider that Victoria might know what Sophie did not. She has always, and maybe foolishly so, considered her and her children a trio, one that didn’t keep secrets from each other.

“No,” he says eventually, “I think Max always thought she wouldn’t be able to keep things from you. You two are close.”

They are. Sophie had just thought all three of them were.

“And Max wanted to keep it a secret?” She asks, because that is what she cannot wrap her head around. Her sweet boy, so eager to put his head in her lap to be close to her, hiding, being deceitful.

Eyes glancing towards the door behind her, as though wishing he could use it, could leave this conversation altogether, Daniel sighs. “I think Max is afraid. Of what you would think.” Then, frowning, head tilted to the side as he reconsiders, “of what Jos would think.”

The unhappy look on Daniel’s face at just the mention of her ex-husband’s name has Sophie thinking he knows, just like she does, exactly what Jos would think.

“Max should know better than to assume I would share anything with his father, much less an opinion on this.” She tells him firmly, harsh and unfair considering Daniel has done nothing but try to answer her questions and help her pick things to take to Max in the hospital.

“I think- Look this is something you should talk to Max about, yeah?” He allows, an apologetic smile on his face. “But if- Look if you really don’t care, tell him that. Go to him first. He’ll open up if you push him, trust me.”

She nods, as though this isn’t strange. As though it isn’t her who should be giving him advice on how to handle her son, and not the other way around. She is his mother, and yet, this man she hardly knows, knows Max so much better.

“Thank you,” she says, grateful anyway.

Daniel just hums in acknowledgement, eyes fixed on where he is picking at one thumbnail using the other. There are a few beats of silence, and then he is speaking again.

“Is Jos still at the hospital?”

It’s then that Sophie considers how terrible this must be for him. To be stuck here, in the home he shares with her son, when he should be there, by his side.

“Yes,” she tells him, and now it’s her turn for the apologetic smile, “but not for much longer. We- Obviously we are not supposed to be in the same room together, and I know he was planning to fly home soon.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at her. Keeps picking at his thumbnail.

“Would you like to come?” She asks.

He snorts then. “Of course I do, but-“ He shrugs, doesn’t need to say what is the unspoken truth they both know.

It is important that Jos does not know.

It is important to Max that it stays that way.

#sorry that everything i write atm seems to be set around crashes or hospital drama oops #or coming out:/#i just love love love outsider pov so couldnt resist #the next thing im planning to write is actually NOT medical drama related lol #or coming out #shock #hope someone out there enjoys regardless #thank u to my gals for pre reading and encouraging me to post this #especially lorna for never getting bored of chatting about angsty drama with me<3ly #max/daniel #fic

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acoraxia · 7 months

Text

i missed you I watched elementals today with my friend, thus, short ficlet about mistyembers (2k words, and a little messy)

———————————————————

Hm.

It’s annoying.

Almost truly tedious.

Hong Hai’er isn’t one to be sentimental about the past nor does he try to touch anything that comes with it. He leaves the events of the Samadhi Fire behind, he craves nothing of the past even if it means moving on from the fact his father left and his mother rejected every idea he had with a hint of malice. They’re growing now, being better parents, and he dubs everything down to stress and the inability to stop Heaven’s wishes of having his father imprisoned for over a hundred years. He doesn’t linger on it anymore, he moves on; and he stands there, garage and storage room burnt and charcoaled, wondering why he feels such an intense amount of woe over the fact he’s lost contact with her for over a year now.

He doesn’t miss the ice cold touch of the Bone Spirit’s hands, the shrill laugh that came with it—he steps over broken glass shards and his lips twitch in disgust at the ash piles that he steps into when he tries to dodge a car fragment. It’s been… well, a rough start ever since they moved so far out from the city where his Uncle now lingers. He’s kept in touch with him, brought important matters to his attention, and the two often see each other when he comes by, gift in hand, ready to greet his mother and father with a smile. Still, he wishes he has stayed in the underground areas of the giant, technology driven city than having agreed to move to this wasteland of an area. It’s empty and it lacks humidity.

He misses the beach, all of a sudden.

His relationship with water has always been tied to her, after all, and no matter how many times he refreshes and reloads and pieces his phone back together he hears no word of her. He looks on the positive, as Xiaotian would put it, and thinks she’s merely forgotten how to use the damn device despite his numerous well-written instructions being given to her with the object—he breaks one of the door handles to his newest vehicle and throws it down on the floor, hissing under his breath.

He lost contact with Chenxia for a few months when his father got possessed. She’s an acolyte for the very Master Subodhi that his uncle trained under, her hair long and black, eyes filled with a calmness to them that he could live without, throat drying at the thought of seeing them again after so long; she’s been near him since he studied under Guayin, learned her ways and was handed back to his parents after years of lectures and teachings—and he can never forget the cold, gentle touch of her hands on his, the way his embers seemed to shine brighter around her. She used to smile at him with calm and patience that could rival the lakes of purity that he’s seen in his travels.

Chenxia is—familiar, to put it simply, and he feels anger boil up inside him when the very last trace of her is ruined and gone by a mere misdemeanor from a bastardous spirit, upset that Heaven could not adhere to her ‘perfect world’. The selfish witch.

He sniffs. He runs a hand through his hair, annoyed at how easily it flares up into flames now.

Chenxia had always had a never ending flow of patience for him; she combed his hair and calmly asked him to remember to breathe when his fire got too out of hand, her hands untouched by the scorching flames that moved towards her as if she were made of wood. It was beautiful, somewhat, that she managed to find a way to help him control his fire until it did nothing but keep her warm when his emotions got out of hand. She was everything.

He wants to revive every cursed spirit and deity that had a hand in the ice witch’s plan solely to deliver them to Diyu himself. His teeth grind against each other out of habit, his mind focusing on how every rainy day was a reminder of her and her quiet voice against his cheek, pressing cold touches to his skin.

He misses her.

His phone buzzes when he manages to get to the supply closet that was somehow untouched by his flames, broom in hand when he squints at the messages from Xiaotian and Sun Wukong. He opts for the latter, the annoyingly bright comments of optimism that the boy would bring were not favorable for the demon at the moment. He’d rather tell Sun Wukong that he’s busy than deal with his acolyte.

It takes three messages before his patience runs out over the long intervals between texts and he just calls the damn simian, sliding his gloves on as he prepares to start reworking on all his inventions.

“Oh, bad time, kiddo?” Sun Wukong sounds… light, as always. Not the same voice he feigns when talking to Xiaotian or Xiaojiao, it’s a voice Hong Hai’er has grown up with since childhood, light and airy, like a sun’s warm ray on a snake’s back during spring. Warm. “I thought I could deliver you some good news today.”

“Please, Uncle, I’ve no time for your trickery. I have work to do, something you couldn’t even fathom considering you barely even attend all those Heavenly Court meetings about the ‘calamities of the world’ or whatever else happens up there—”

A choked laugh. “Who told you that’s what they do?”

“Nezha, of course.” He slides his goggles on, frowning slightly when he sees how dirty they are.

“Kiddo, Nezha doesn’t even like those meetings.”

“My point stands: I’m not going to waste time talking to you about whatever random person you bumped into or how inaccurate the latest movie about you was when I could be doing something more productive.” Hong Hai’er snatches a rag from his desk and promptly begins wiping the glass on his headwear, narrowing his eyes when the stains don’t come off. “Besides, don’t you have some scroll pieces to sort through?”

“Funny that you mention it, dearest nephew of mine, fellow member of the forged fires trio of the Heavens; did Xiaotian tell you what happened in the scroll during his time there?” He avoids the question. Of course he does.

Hong Hai’er scoffs. “Of course not. That boy is taking after every single toxic trait that flows through your peach infested vain—”

“So he didn’t tell you he saw Chenxia?”

Hong Hai’er swore, once, that he’d learn to control his emotions. He’s touched water with gentle fingers, watching it curl and coil around his own hand with a tenderness he wouldn’t ever forget. He’s learned to channel his energy into more productive things—his inventions and vehicles, machinery—and he learned to meditate to channel his inner flame.

And yet his phone nearly shatters from the way his hands burst into flames, fire licking at the nearby wrenches and screwdrivers, nearly melting with the intensity that comes with it. His eyes are burning —from tears? desperation?—and he screams into the phone about the information. He rambles and goes off on a tangent, eyes burning harder until he digs a palm into one, squeezing it shut to try and smother the flames out of existence. Sun Wukong waits, disturbingly patient, and asks, “When are you free?”

The remains of his sigil on the perfectly cut green grass of the temple base are going to remain for a solid year, seeing how deep they settled into the earth, and Hong Hai’er stands there with a black shirt and disheveled hair, his goggles sitting skewed atop of his head. The Monkey King raises a brow and Hong Hai’er coughs into his fist, waving away traces of smoke as he vanishes the goggles and fixes the jacket tied around his waist. A hand comes to stop him from moving further, profanity and insults sitting at the top of his tongue when his Uncle—Gods help him—proceeds to dust off his shirt, brushing away traces of ash and smoke.

“Gotta look good for your lady, kid,” he coos and Hong Hai’er almost burns him to a crisp right there and then.

The temple is nothing to bat an eye at; it’s pristine and clean—no doubt taken care of by the several acolytes running around, exchanging jokes and going off about lessons from their master. He eyes the youngest group, watching the way Wukong trails behind just enough that he expects him to tear away from him and go join them in their mischief. They carry on the hallways, the young adults promptly ignoring them as they do, surely already aware of their arrival by Hong Hai’er’s entrance.

(He makes a quiet, small note to open a portal further away from the temple next time, wringing embarrassment out of his system by saying it was a spur of the moment decision, nothing else.)

And—he’s quite sure he’s never felt this awkward to stand on the open area of the tree infested entrance to the temple. It’s hidden away, kept from mortal eyes, and yet, somehow, the group of miscreants had managed to find it—ah, no, they were taken to this place by the immortal master himself. Of course. How else would they have found the very home of the calmest person he knows? The one who stares at him now, with dark gray eyes and uncertainty on her face when they step into the clearing.

He looks to Wukong for guidance—a loud ‘are you serious?’ leaving his mouth when he finds the simian is absent from his side. He’s alone. With her. With Chenxia.

Gods.

Her hair is longer. She’s tied part of it into a top knot, her outfit still the same color as the other acolytes in the temple. He remembers her in brighter clothes, more reminiscent of her smile and better suited for her eyes. He wants to ask about it—and then she moves closer to him and he frowns, arms crossing over his chest to try and hide the rapid beating of his heart. Blood pusher. It was messing with his head, somewhat, how calm she was in approaching him. He should be angry—snap at her for not calling or informing him of her whereabouts—and yet when she reaches up to brush a smear of oil from his face he softens, fire soothing into a candle-like ember instead of a raging storm.

It’s terrifying how he leans into her touch, sighing out in relief when she smiles at him, familiar and comforting.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she murmurs, bringing another hand to cup his face in its entirety. “I—your friend, Xiaotian, he-”

“He is not my friend,” he mumbles, turning his face to press a chaste kiss to her palm. It’s funny how she laughs at that, quiet and secretive, and he makes an effort to press another kiss for good effort. “I should be mad at you.”

“I know,” she says.

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I will,” she lowers her hands onto his neck and then his shoulders, holding her gaze steady as she does. Her eyes are serious and Hong Hai’er’s softness leaves him in small, gentle waves.

He reaches up and grasps her hands, gently, into his hold. “I… was beaten up by Sun Wukong when an immortal bone spirit possessed him.” She blinks, startled, and he laughs at that. Because it’s funny how easily her expression changes. “I’ll… tell you everything. Then you can explain what happened.”

Her lips twitch. “Alright.”

Hong Hai’er inhales, tugging on her hands until she’s closer to him, tilting his head down so he can press his forehead against hers, her skin cool against him. She closes his eyes after a heartbeat and he follows suit, inhaling the smell of the ocean breeze and soothing meadows.

“I missed you,” she says against his lips.

“Me too,” he answers and then leans in.

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phoenixkaptain · 1 year

Text

Do you think Yoda saw all of his past students in Luke?

He saw that rage and unquenchable desire for a system corrupted to be changed, just like Dooku? He saw that peace and patience and desire to learn that Qui-Gon had? The same sass and empathy that Obi-Wan held? The same desire to live up to the people who came before him, just like Ahsoka?

And, of course, he saw Anakin there. In blue eyes and lopsided grin. In the affectionate touch to a droid. In the raw power, the untapped potential that could sway to the light or the dark so easily.

Do you think he saw the best and worst of them all? Do you think he looked at Luke and remembered training Dooku? Do you think he saw Luke heading in the direction of a maverick and missed Qui-Gon? Do you think he watched Luke grow and learn and all he could think about was that pure, uncorrupted kid from Tatooine? The kid who wanted to free slaves, the kid who fell in love hard and fast, the kid whose trust was hardwon, the kid who grew up into the antithesis of everything he once was?

Do you ever wonder what was going through Yoda’s mind on long nights? When Luke would get impatient and storm off, only to return a few moments later, calm and ready to try again. Do you think he held onto that fear, the fear that stuck with him for so long, that yet another member of his lineage would die before their time or turn to the Dark Side or just leave entirely?

Do you ever think of Yoda trying to hide things from Luke, only to get tired of it? He told Luke about his sister. The one secret that would have died with him. Artoo can’t tell anybody. Everyone else who knows - Padme, Bail, Obi-Wan - is dead. They could have just left him in the dark. They could have taken that secret and not let it potentially sway Luke’s emotions one way or the other.

That was the plan, wasn’t it? Obi-Wan is surprised when he finds out that Yoda told Luke. The plan had to have been to not tell him, to never tell him, to never risk Luke forming an unhealthy attachment to his sister that would lead him down the path of the Dark Side. That would never start Leia on the path of becoming a Jedi, meaning she would never even be at risk.

But, Yoda was dying. He was dying and he had so long to think of all the things he should have done differently. He was dying and he looked up at Luke, who they were putting the weight of the world on. They were telling Luke that the future of the galaxy was entirely on his shoulders. The sale of absolutely everyone was on him and him alone. They told him he was the last Jedi.

So Yoda must have looked up and seen that pressure. That loneliness. The Jedi of old had large communities. They lived and breathed and grew with each other. They never felt alone, because they always had someone to turn to, someone to talk to, someone they trusted to keep their head above water.

And here they were, leaving Luke alone. Telling him to rebuild the Jedi Order. Telling him to kill his own father. Telling him to kill the Emperor, but not out of anger or hatred or guilt.

Yoda figured out that this would just make it all happen again. Dooku turned because he didn’t trust the Jedi Order and he felt alone. Anakin turned because he didn’t trust the Jedi Order and he felt alone. If Luke was sent to face off against two of the most powerful Force-users, both of whom are Sith, then he would only lose faith in Yoda and Obi-Wan, and he would feel all alone, and he would turn to the Dark Side.

I think Yoda told Luke about Leia out of a desire to give Luke that support system. The Jedi all had bonds with each other, with their teachers and students, but even without bonds, they were still functionally telepaths. They were empaths. They needed a strong support system to be there when the weight got too much to bear. When the darkness of the galaxy weighed on them, when the failures of the past haunted them, when they felt so lost and confused and empty, they had each other. And that’s what Yoda was giving Luke.

He was trying to say, “Even without your father, you won’t be alone. Even without me or Obi-Wan, you won’t be alone. You’ll always have another person, a person who can and has built you up and kept your head above water. A person who you’ve done the same for. You support each other, you’ve supported each other for years now, and you will always continue to support each other.”

Luke and Leia aren’t “attached” to each other. They’re each others’ safety net. They need each other, but not out of attachment. They need each other as everyone needs someone or something to remind them of all the good things in the world when things get rough. They remind each other that they need to fight, to live on. They remind each other that the galaxy is good at its core, filled with good people who just need some help.

They remind each other that they aren’t alone. They trust each other. They don’t need the power of the Dark Side.

And that’s why it’s so important to remember that Yoda told Luke there was another Skywalker. Yoda, who has been against attachment since the beginning, is the one who risks Luke getting attached. It’s important because this is a major character moment for Yoda!

He sees them. All of them. Dooku felt alone and left them behind to try and feel power to feel safe. Qui-Gon died alone, with only Obi-Wan there to help him, far away from the Jedi. Obi-Wan died alone. Anakin felt alone and abandoned and wanted power to feel safe. Ahsoka felt alone and abandoned and left the Order, because she no longer trusted them. They all lost it, that safety net, those people who were always around them to keep them above water, that support system that reminded them that they weren’t alone and they would never be abandoned and —

Don’t you think Yoda blames himself?

His own Padawan felt like he had no choice but to leave. Obi-Wan feared attachment out of fear of being cast aside, of being abandoned. Anakin fought that desire for attachment, that desire for someone to be there when he fell, and he when he finally got even a hint of it, he hid it out of fear of it being taken away and him being abandoned for having needed it in the first place.

Of course Yoda blames himself. He outlived all of them. He’s far older than them. And his own fear of his loss overpowering him, the fear that watching everyone he loves die over and over again beause of how much longer he’ll live than any of them, is what kept his Lineage from having those safety nets in place. Those support beams.

He looks at Luke and he sees that rage that Dooku had, that eagerness to learn that Qui-Gon had, that empathy that Obi-Wan had, that innocent desire to help that Ahsoka had—

And he sees that little boy from Tatooine. The one who grew up into a monster. The one who grew distorted and disfigured and who hated them all and tore them all down. That possibility lives within Luke to. The overwhelming weight of responsibility put on one person’s shoulders, the same weight that Palpatine used to manipulate Anakin into believing that none of the Jedi could ever help or understand him.

Yoda tells Luke about Leia. He isn’t specific, he doesn’t name a name, but he knows he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t want Luke to feel lost and abandoned and alone. He wants Luke to feel strong. He gives Luke that support beam. That attachment that could so quickly overwhelm him or become unhealthy. He gives Luke this because Luke trusts him, and he doesn’t want Luke to feel like he can’t trust him.

He doesn’t want any Jedi to feel alone. He doesn’t want to see them fall to the same things the Jedi in the past did.

But most importantly, Yoda cared for the Jedi. All of them, and especially his own students. He feels their loss, even lightyears away. He wouldn’t have felt the loss of life if he didn’t care for them, not from such a far distance. And he wouldn’t have been as affected by it if he didn’t care about them. He cared about the Jedi, about his students and his Lineage and even about the little runt that Qui-Gon brought back from Tatooine.

He cares about Luke. He has so much faith in Luke. He doesn’t want Luke to die like the others. He doesn’t want Luke to die alone and feeling abandoned.

Yoda gave Luke that attachment. Because he didn’t want Luke to drown under the weight of everything they were expecting of him.

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fizziepopangel · 9 months

Note

Got any Octavia headcanons? Just in general 🦉🌠

Now, I don't have a ton since Octavia isn't one of my favorite characters and doesn't have a ton of screentime, but I did have a few, so ask and you shall receive!

“This place REEKS of corporate shame.”

(Octavia headcanons I think are pretty accurate)

Octavia is super active on Sinstagram, but unlike most girls her age, she mostly posts photography and sometimes she tries silly trends or makeup looks with her dad.

Despite her original anger at her father’s affair, Octavia grows to love Blitz as if he were a second dad.

Via practices magic often with tutors or in school, but she prefers learning with her dad because she enjoys the bonding time it gives them. When her parents split up, one of the hardest things for her was having her studies with her dad cut in half.

Her favorite snack is roasted marshmallows (sometimes smores). She often just gets a bag of marshmallows and sits in her room, using her pyrokinesis to roast them while she watches horror movies in bed.

While she is asexual, Octavia is biromantic. Stolas and Loona are the only two people who she's felt comfortable enough to come out to.

She loves to read, mostly thrillers and mystery novels. She plans to have enough books to rival her father's plant collection.

After her trip to the human world in “Seeing Stars”, Loona and Octavia made it a point to have coffee at least once a month. While the two usually have coffee and walk around Stylish Occult and other hell stores similar to it, they use the time to vent about their fathers, school/work, unbeknownst to their fathers, the girls sometimes sneak to earth to take in the sights there.

Loona is the first person she tried drugs or alcohol with. Via really wanted to try something rebellious so Loona supervised her while smoked a little weed and took a few shots.... then spent the rest of the night holding her hair while she puked and trying to bring down the paranoia levels. They both agreed Stolas and Blitz never needed to know that happened.

Stella is afraid of reptiles…. Unbeknownst to her, Stolas has let their daughter keep a pet snake that she found in his garden. Via has had this snake for almost 4 years without her mother's knowledge and it's name is Starlight.

Octavia still hasn’t mastered transforming into her full demon form, but she is more interested in learning to transform into her human form since she’s seen both of her parents and Loona do it before and she thinks they all look quite pretty in their human forms… Since she struggles with finding anything attractive about herself now, she wonders if she’ll be as pretty as them.

Octavia is extremely musically inclined and despite her mother hating it, Via taught herself to play the drums.

Via visits her father in the hospital every day. He makes her promise to take care of his plants and she actually ends up really enjoying tending to the garden, she even talks to the plants and plays music for them to try to cheer them up since, much like her, they're also feeling a bit lost without Stolas at home.

After taking up journaling, she took up writing poetry and she sometimes performs it at open mic nights. She’s never told anyone, but she really enjoys it and despite her demeanor, she’s found that her mental health has improved tremendously since she started writing.

Collects interesting/weird taxidermy and gives each one a unique and personality.

Up until her first appearance in Helluva Boss, Octavia actually did the most to earn her mother’s affection. She stopped in hopes that the drastic change in behavior would catch her mother’s attention… When it didn’t, she slowly started learning who she was apart from her parents and came up with her current personality and aesthetic.

Loves spice. Like could care less about cookies or cupcakes most of the time but wants to eat the hottest pepper she can find like a tic tac.

Very much the type who wants to advocate for those who are struggling. Since she can’t do much to make hell better, once she’s old enough and learns to shift into her human form, she totally comes to the human realm to help with protests for causes she believes in.

Speaks in nothing but song lyrics sometimes. No reason, just does it.

#fizziepop thoughts #helluva headcanon #vivziepop #helluva boss #ars goetia #octavia helluva boss #octavia headcanons #helluva boss season 2 #stolas goetia #loona and via

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orionchildofhades · 5 months

Text

steddie swapping soulmate au part 14

---

Time passes.

Steve and Robin unexpectently grow closer, some mutual understanding and rather uncomfortable first meetings (mainly due to their switches happening far more often than Eddie's and Steve's) leading them to a profound friendship.

Steve is glad for it.

After his initial hurt, he found that Robin's friendship was far more valuable than the others he had been nurturing throughout his life, far more consitent and honest than the whispered rumours and mean laughs thrown at the expense of others.

Steve, for a while, kind of forgets about Eddie. The only reminder of his being his soulmate are Robin, usually holding a dangerous glare through the cafeteria when she sees him doing his theatrics and spitting on the jocks -and honestly everyone else that is not part of his little Dungeon game.

The year ends without flourish expet the rumours of Robin and Steve dating.

That happened in a rather catastrophic mess of events when Robin was being violently picked on by some guy who had tried to ask her out and were calling her names, and making some horrendous promises to help her 'turn back'. Steve had rushed there, he had previously been foaming with anger near his locker, and stepped in before Robin to tell them to back off. Things had escalated until Steve felt forced to say that they were dating. The bastards had soon left after that, apologising to him of all things.

Robin had cried that day, so tiny in his arms and had admitted that maybe, only maybe, people thinking they were romantic soulmates was not that bad because she honestly couldn't deal with it sometimes.

Steve had wondered how it felt. Because he was a year older and was part of the cool kids and even if some people liked to joke about being bent or queer or fags or God knew what, nothing had ever felt quite as scary as watching Robin stuck between them.

So now people were sure than Robin and Steve were a thing, and girls kept sending him looks before whispering how far beneath him Robin was, or how they couldn't understand what he saw in her, but at the very least summer was coming and they'd both be free from all the heavy glare.

Robin had actually met Steve's parents, both when they had switched and later been asked to come for dinner and even if she was not part of the 'proper society' his parents were so keen on having close, they could admit that she had some potential. The fake couple had not shared with them the fact that Robin played soccer and played the French Horn out of all things because honestly Steve did not want to bother with it. His father believed that only men should play sports and his mother was a fervant believer than the piano was the only good instrument there was for a young lady, or perhaps the harp if one really wanted to get out of their way to be extra.

Out of everything, life was pretty peaceful. Robin had helped Steve study during their so called 'dated', and she had also got Steve playing soccer with her. He still hang out with Tommy and Carole but he didn't really bother trying to stay with the rest of the rising popular gang. They had promised each other to leave Hawkins, for college first, but then to find a nice place, open minded and accepting, for Robin to officially go on the dating market because "Steve, I can't do anything here, you don't understand how the girls are here. Even if some are pretty, they are so...Hugh". Her last point had not been exactly clear as she had thrown her arms in the air before collaping back on the table. Nonetheless, Steve was ready to follow.

It all crashes down when Steve and Eddie swap for the third time when Will Byers goes missing.

#steddie #steve harrington #steve harrington ficlet #steve x eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson ficlet #steddie ficlet #stranger things ficlet #steddie soulmate au #they swap bodies #orionwritesthingies #eddie x steve #steve & robin

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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year

Text

Springtime On The Moor [Chapter 3]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Story Tags: Regency AU|Slow Burn|Arranged Marriage (affectionate)|Strangers to Friends to Lovers|Angst/Comfort Proofread: No lol Taglist: @trfanglophile @fairy-writes @feeiry Chapter Summary: You and Viktor finally have an actual conversation with each other, revealing family secrets and deciding what to do about your future together.

You watch as the maid exits the room quickly, straightening her apron as she goes. Part of you feels bad for demanding she control her temper in the way you did - you could have spoken less harshly, you think, and tried to reason with her.

Instead of insinuating that she owed you respect because you’re her employer.

Your father had always taught you to be kind to the working class, growing up. Explained to you that no one person was inherently worth more than another, and that everyone was just trying to make their way through life and do the best they could.

Maybe she was just having a bad day, you think, slouching back into your chair, worry beginning to creep up in the back of your mind.

What would Viktor think of you, after such a show?

Would he think you a temperamental woman? Too fiery and loud to make a good wife? Would he think you were overbearing, or classist? Or would he-

“Why did you redirect her anger like that?” Viktor asks. His voice is thankfully quiet, and you can’t detect any kind of malice or ill intent. He just sounds curious.

You peek up at him from behind your lashes, and push yourself to sit up straighter.

“I’m your wife,” you explain softly. “Matters of the home fall onto my shoulders. That includes…asking the staff to be kinder.”

You watch as his features pinch together ever so slightly, drawing into the faintest frown you’ve ever seen. The corners of his lips quirked downwards, pressed into a straight line.

“I wasn’t aware our duties varied based on gender,” he admits. “I thought marriage was meant to be a partnership?”

You’re well and truly shocked by his assumption.

Nothing in his posture says he’s being facetious or dishonest, so…what kind of rock has your husband been living under, to not understand the most basic of social systems? Even those who didn’t participate in the kinds of interpersonal games that you did, were still aware of how unions worked.

Understood what kinds of roles everyone was meant to play.

There were, of course, some special exceptions. Your father, for example: a widower of many years, now. He hadn’t grown up knowing all the work it took to run a home. Your mother had shared everything with him, all her decisions and the goings on of the day - he had been forced to play the role of both parents to you and your siblings.

But that was a very special circumstance.

Your husband, on the other hand, just seemed…oblivious.

“Viktor,” you begin, somewhat hesitantly, unsure of how to proceed without offending him in some manner. “Did your parents never teach you about any of this? About what to expect from a marriage?”

You try your best to stay as outwardly kind as you can, knowing that one small slip in tone or posture could push him away from you, and cause him to clam up. He already seemed so reserved and unwilling to socialize, and you don’t want to undo whatever progress you may have made.

But despite your best efforts, you still watch as discomfort makes its way into his expression. The slight tense of his shoulders, and the way in which he so casually avoids eye contact.

“I just want to know where I should start explaining, that’s all,” you tell him, honestly. “You’re not going to face any judgment from me, not for this, and least of all for not knowing something in general.”

You’re still, as his gaze travels over you. Looking for any sign of deceit, anything that might hint to him that you’re trying to set him up for…for something unpleasant.

A joke, you wonder, or maybe just to ridicule him in general?

You would never.

But he doesn’t know that.

Finally, he relaxes in the slightest, mirroring your form to slouch back in his seat.

“You’re aware that I’m adopted, yes?” he asks, and when you give a brief nod of confirmation, he continues. “I am the youngest of six, and I don’t share blood with any of my siblings. When my parents were no longer able to have children of their own, they plucked me out of an orphanage in an attempt to raise one last baby.”

You can feel the surprise stretch across your face, loud and prominent. Had he really been taken in so young? With how your father had spoken of him, and described him as a boy, you’d assumed that he’d been brought home around nine or ten.

But as an infant?

Where did he learn his mannerisms, then?

“We -meaning my siblings and myself- had all assumed that I wouldn’t end up with any kind of claim to the family fortune,” he explains, chewing on the edge of his thumb nail. “Even from a young age, they would not pass up a chance to remind me of my place - I was the outsider, and I had no business trying to continue our parents’ legacy.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table.

“But you share a surname, don’t you?” you wonder.

Viktor nods to your question.

“We do,” he confirms. “But that hardly matters. Not when the purity of the bloodline is in question.”

Your heart sinks slightly, knowing he must have felt incredibly lonely growing up. Having a family, and being loved by his parents, but otherwise ostracized by the people his own age. Never being allowed to expect the same treatment as his siblings, as if his background made him somehow less.

You watch as he reaches for a bottle of wine that’s been set out on the table, reading the label for a brief moment before uncorking it with a soft pop.

He fills his glass a little more than you would consider polite, but then, you couldn’t really fault him for it, could you? Especially not when he gestures towards your own goblet at the last minute, as if he’s just remembered that you might like some, too.

He’s trying.

You slide the glass towards him, and wave him off when you’ve got a sufficient amount of red nectar - a little more than you’d usually indulge in, but with dinner on the way and a heavy conversation in your midst, you feel as though you’re entitled to it.

“At least,” he finally resumes, swirling the wine around in his cup, “that was what I had thought.”

He takes a sip, and reclines back in his chair again.

“We were of the mind that my brothers would take over the business when my parents either passed or retired, and my sisters would run the estate once they were married,” he goes on. “We assumed that I would be permitted to stay in the manor as long as I pleased, as part of the inheritance conditions. All of us were happy with that outcome. The business has never been in any of my interests.”

He takes another mouthful of drink, his expression pulling into one of frustration.

“Imagine my surprise, upon finding out that my parents willed everything to me.”

He doesn’t sound angry about the situation he’d been given - not really. Fed up, perhaps, and like he had never expected his life could go the way it has.

It makes you sad, the more you think about it. Imagining your husband as a little boy, tormented by the people who he was meant to call family, never allowed to believe that he could be more than their words, or achieve anything. Not even allowed to dream.

And now, forced to marry someone he didn’t know - someone he probably had no desire to know.

“I’m…sure your brothers and sisters were not so pleased?” you suggest, earning dry laugh from your husband.

“That’s one way to phrase it,” he scoffs. “They were outraged. Even when I told them that I had no idea I was in the will - told them that I would be happy to hand over everything they’d been previously promised! All I wanted was a place I could continue working.”

You finally take a sip of the wine in your hand, listening intently to the sweet aftertaste of cherry.

“But there was no reasoning with them,” he laments, his tone growing somber. “They were scorned, and they blamed me. I knew that if I gave them anything, they…would have taken everything. I would have lost years of work - my home, any semblance of a future. Even now, they still…”

Your eyes remain trained on him, following as he stoops forward to lean his elbows on the table, pressing the tips of his fingers into his temples to rub slow circles.

A very well-practiced motion, you realize.

“My siblings have done everything in their power to drive my life into ruin. I have never been one to care for my social reputation, but…the rumours. Their threats, scaring away most of the staff employed by the estate.”

He finally looks over to you, his eyes wide with a forlorn sense of sadness.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the garden. There’s no one in town who is willing to risk their social life to care for it, so it’s fallen to ruin. I would do it myself, but…” He gestures down towards his leg - out of your line of sight, but you know that he’s pointing towards the shiny metal brace that you’ve never seen him out of.

Of course he’d love the place he’d grown up. Of course he’d want to take care of it. You’re furious with yourself for ever thinking he might have just been a careless man, unconcerned with what other people thought of him.

In truth, he cares quite a bit.

And how frustrating it must be, you think, to see something so beloved falling to ruin around you, unable to do anything to stop it. To have people actively working against you, counting and praying on your downfall.

You quietly drum your fingers on the table.

You can feel Viktor’s eyes on you, questioning and curious - and you can tell that he knows you’re thinking.

“Has your business been impacted by any of this?” you ask.

Suddenly enough that he hesitates a moment before replying.

“The family business has taken a loss-”

“No, no,” you interrupt with a wave, taking another sip of wine. “I mean your business. The deal you have with Mr. Talis. HexTech, if I’m correct?”

His jaw slackens when you reveal that you know about that. And in truth, it had required quite a bit of digging around and asking questions: you’d been far too curious about the mysterious man who’d appeared out of the darkness to ask for your hand.

He was difficult to find a trace of, you know, always careful to cover up his tracks and make sure no one saw his face or knew his name.

You would have thought him shady, were the HexTech company not so well-known.

“…not thus far, I don’t think,” Viktor finally replies.” My participation in our projects is not typically brought up when speaking to sponsors - Jayce does all the networking, and we do the rest together.”

You drum your fingers on the table some more.

“Your siblings will try, then,” you tell him, bluntly.

Worry falls over him when he figures out what you’re implying: that the people he once called family were ruthless in their endeavors, and would stop at nothing to see him brought to his knees. That they would be willing to ruin anyone’s lives to do it.

Even when they discovered his association and partnership with Mr.Talis, they would simply seek to tear him down, too.

“They have been successful in bringing you to ruin thus far,” you tell him, “No one wants to work for you, save the select few you have employed - but nowhere near enough people to keep up with the work that a house demands. Your estate is in shambles, and your name is so tarnished that the people I considered close friends didn’t show up to our wedding.”

He peers over at you, guilty.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, and you cut him off with a wave.

“Don’t be,” you sigh, taking another sip of your drink. “I will admit that I was upset about it yesterday, but…knowing that very little of your reputation has been your choice has calmed me down a bit.”

You smile at him, sweet yet mischievous.

“I’ve a proposition for you, husband. Something that will benefit both of us.”

Viktor raises a brow, intrigued, and gestures for you to continue.

Your smirk widens.

“I suggest revenge.”

His face falls a fraction, but before he can say anything, you speak over him.

“I’m not suggesting bodily harm. I’m not suggesting any kind of like-minded retaliation, either,” you promise, easing some of his tension. “ I’m well versed in social politics. Quite frankly, I find it entertaining and invigorating - and I enjoy getting to dress up on special occasions. It wouldn’t take a lot of prodding among my typical circle to get your name bouncing around.”

You take the last mouthful of your wine, and set the goblet down on the table.

“ A couple of kind words here and there. Everyone knows that you…lack social prowess, so any word of mine would be considered an absolute truth. I’m your wife, after all - and I’m meant to know you in ways that are far more intimate than your siblings ever would.”

You don’t miss the way he fidgets in his seat at your choice of words, nor the way pink begins to blossom across the tops of his cheeks. His awkwardness is honestly quite charming, in your opinion, if not slightly frustrating.

Frustrating, because how easily does he manage to catch your interest.

“All I’d have to do would be to let slip a few things that directly contradict the rumours spreading around, to the right people,” you finish, proudly knitting your fingers together to set them in your lap.

Unsurprisingly, though, Viktor seems unconvinced.

“Do you really think that all the damage done is so easy to fix?” he wonders, almost incredulous. “Talk to a couple of your friends and let them gossip?”

“No,” you admit. “I don’t. But we don’t need to convince anyone, Viktor. We just need to make them doubt. Doubt your siblings, doubt what they’ve heard. Once people start questioning, they’ll be willing to look a little closer, and be a little closer.”

Finally, finally, he seems to understand what you’re saying.

“What would make someone angrier than thriving, despite their attempts to assure otherwise?” you ask, of no one in particular.

Your husband smiles then, and not just a small quirk of the lip. A genuine smile, laden fully with the same sort of mischief that you have. A giddy, almost playful edge to it, and…something you can’t quite decipher. A sense of longing, perhaps - hope?

“You’ve thought this out very thoroughly,” he says, “and yet you’ve only been here a day.”

“Well, it’s not just your life anymore, now is it?” you tell him, matter-of-factly. “It’s our life. Our name, our home, our reputation. And neither of us deserve to be treated so poorly.”

There’s more you want to say to him - more conversation to be had about how to improve your lives and where to start, how to fix the garden. Your entire plan, really, as unfinished as it is.

Were it not for the servants’ door flinging open, startling the two of you away from each other.

The kitchen staff begin pouring in with dishes of food, setting them out around the table so you might choose what you’d like to eat - much of it which you’d never seen before, spices you’d never smelled, colours you’d never eaten.

Viktor promises you later that you’ll speak on the matter tomorrow, after you’ve both had some time to rest - claiming he still had some work he’d yet to finish that evening, and that he didn’t want to be late on its completion.

You’ve half a mind to ask him to stay with you: to ask him to spend the night with you, as a husband was meant to - even if it just meant sleeping together in the same bed. But with his beliefs and general awkwardness…you know even suggesting something like that would make him retreat back into his shell.

You’ll just have to work on refining your plans for the manor, and hope they would be enough to impress him.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #Springtime On The Moor

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two-white-butterflies · 2 years

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coaxed you into paradise

Chapter Fifteen: Blood is Thicker Than Water Description: Saera Targaryen was her father's forgotten daughter. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her sister and seeks solace in the arms of her uncle. Not realizing that the consequence of their affair is just as dire as her sister's. masterlist

<< previous chapter

THE FAMILIES WORE THEIR COLORS. With Alicent wearing green, Rhaenyra with her black and Saera with her beloved white. It seemed like the table was a clash of colors all aiming to overpower each other.

King Viserys sits down in the middle of his wife and favorite daughter, almost tripping in his steps. He opens his mouth to speak, his golden mask shining across the poorly-lit room.

"It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow, to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world..." he pauses as he looks around the room.

His eyes bouncing from his wife, to his brother — his children and his grandchildren. "yet grown so distant from each other in the years past," he groans as his back remained hunched across the wooden table. His hands reached for the straps on his mask and he begins taking it off.

Showing everyone in the room that he was past his due. He looks at his oldest daughter — almost forgetting about his other children. "My own face, is no longer a handsome one. If it indeed ever was." he jokes as Daemon chuckles lightly.

It seems that his daughters were the only ones who could look him straight in the face, without fearing the monster that he had become. "But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am." he looks around once more,

"Not just as a king, but as your father, your brother — your husband and grandsire. Who may not as it seems, walk for much longer among you." he settles as his brother offers him a kind smile.

They were family at the end of the day, and with fire and blood as their motto — they would be undefeated once united. "Let us no longer hold ill feelings in out hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if its branches are divided." he looks towards his wife, almost in an accusing manner.

Alicent's face turns sour, hoping to bring up Rhaenyra in the middle of the dinner — but seeing as her husband was not in a good mood. "But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the realm then for the sake of this old man. Who loves you all so dearly." he pleads as Saera looks down,

There had been a grudge growing in the back of her heart. Wondering why her father always favored Rhaenyra. She looks at her sister, watching as she glared intently at the Queen.

Saera stands up quickly, but pauses allowing everyone to pour their attention unto her. She raises her cup, and smiles at Alicent — hoping to anger her sister in the process.

"I wish to raise my cup to her majesty, The Queen Alicent, who has safeguarded the realm in my father's absence. We could not wish for a more dutiful Queen." she swallows as Alicent smiles at her. Both of them knew that it was nothing but false niceties.

"I also wish to thank her for arranging a betrothal between my daughter, Princess Alyssa and her son, Prince Aemond. It is an honorful offer, one that I graciously accept." she smiles watching as every molecule in Rhaenyra's body soulfully cringes.

Daemon smiles at his wife, knowing that offered insult and compliment to both sides of the family. He claps his hand lightly, as she sits back down. Watching as Aemond cheerfully elbows her daughter, Alyssa's face turning red.

Viserys smiles in comfort, happy that there was peace between his wife and second-daughter. A peace that there wasn't between Rhaenyra and Alicent.

The Queen stands up too, raising her cup and smiling at her step-daughter. "I raise my cup to Princess Saera. One of the most dutiful princesses in the realm, and on top of that — a wonderful mother and wife." she compliments as Saera smiles back at her.

"Thank you, my queen." she thanks as the woman sits back down. The servants already beginning to fill the table with delicious meals. Alicent turns towards her sons, and clasps her hands together.

"I suppose we should pray before the meal." she suggests as the table agrees. Alicent reaches for her father's and husband's hands, her eyes closing as she began her prayer.

"May the Seven guide our family, may the Smith mend bonds that have been broken for far too long. And may the Mother guide those who have been truthful." she opens her eyes as the silence engulfs all of them.

Viserys silently thanks his wife and turns towards the minstrels, "May we have a little music?" he smiles as they began to play their song. With Daegon standing up and offering his hand to Helaena. "A dance, my princess?" he bows dramatically as she giggles and follows him.

For the first time in a million years, the House of the Dragons found itself in laughter. With the sisters joking with each other and the cousins not fully at war. It was joyous, and almost perfect. If it weren't for the grief Rhaenyra bore.

She walks towards Saera who by now was standing up and watching her children dance. "Mandia. (sister)" Rhaenyra walks towards her, with a goblet placed on her hand. "Rhaenyra," she answered with a content smile. Finding herself at peace with her life.

"Skoro syt gōntan ao jiōragon aōha tala's ondos naejot Alicent's tresy? (Why did you offer your daughter's hand to Alicent's son?)" she questioned as she draw circles on the cup.

In all of her allies, she least expected her sister's betrayal. How could she think of her sister as a traitor, when her eyes were light purple and face as as soft as summer sun?

"Nyke teptan zirȳla iā iderennon. (I gave her a choice)" she reasoned as she watched Alyssa and Aemond laugh at each other. "Se ziry iderēptan se sȳrje iderennon, (And she chose the best option,)" she angles herself back to her sister.

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, not believing that her uncle's ambition didn't prompt the both of them to choose her son. "Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma? (What do you mean?)" she questioned, her eyebrows almost reaching the ceiling above them.

"Kesan daor dīnagon ñuha tala isse se naejon hen vīlībāzma. (I will not put my daughter in the front of war.)" she replied as the older woman chuckles, already predicting where the conversation would lead to. "I will not gamble her queenship under the guise of your sons' legitimacy." she insulted in common-tongue.

Rhaenyra's eyes dimmed, and she opens her mouth to speak. But was quickly shot down. "Nyke gīmigon. Yn avy jorrāelan, Rhaenyra. Tolī than nyke jorrāelatan Harwin (I know. But I love you, Rhaenyra. More than I loved Harwin.)" she adds as she begins to look away.

"What you did was entirely your own choice. I have forgiven you long ago. The Dragon does not forget — but it knows how to forgive." she smiles, playing with her necklace.

Saera takes a deep breath, not bothering to hear her sister's explanation. Instead, she walks away and sits beside her husband.

next chapter>>

taglist: @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @mirandastuckinthe80s @duhitzdae @schniiipsel @areaderinlove @i-yam-awesome @ladystardvsts @brezzybfan @rockerchick05 @flawroses @joygirlmelii @princessmiaelicia @prettybiching @saraandthejets1 @naturallyspontaneous @hnybitches @lxdyred @inpraizeof @claudie-080102 @1-800-isabellapotter @mamamooqa @23victoria @curiouser-an-curiouser @queenofshinigamis @alexisabirdie @kindaslightlyacidic @anaisbambia @my-dark-prince @sebastian025 @yor72 @esposadomd

#daemon targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x oc

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bansept · 10 months

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Ichihime week 2023!

Day 1: Tanabata

Tanabata, "七夕", also known as the "star festival", takes place on the 7th day of the 7th month of the year, when, according to a Chinese legend, the two stars Altair and Vega, which are usually separated from each other by the Milky Way, are able to meet.

There is a river in Karakura.

Crossing the Minamikase district, it used to be an uncrossable border splitting her world. The morning would come and she would wonder how he would feel as she got dressed for school. Was he sad, traveling down the path next to the river edge every day? Was this river a cruel reminder of what he believed was his incompetence to protect? Was he angry for the blinding light reflected on the calm water? The night would come at the end of the school day, and she would hope to float down this river, find its source and drench it, empty the sorrows she knew he carried. So many burdens on his young shoulders.

The river reminds her of her brother, of his gentle smile, of his soothing voice, of his laughter, so precious to her heart. Of how she had parted with him in anger and agony the first time. The river had been so agitated that day, so monstrously grey and muddy. For their second parting, she has a feeling the river was calm yet again, just as it was when she and Tatsuki had chased fireflies and gasped in awe at the fireworks.

After graduation, when they were still circling around each other, unsure how to word out their feelings, shy and silly, Ichigo once mentioned how calming the river was to him.

"When mom died... I walked by the bank of the river the entire day, way up to the Kitakawe district." He had smiled, something that was becoming more and more casual for him. "I thought I could find her again if it meant roaming around long enough. But, of course, I didn't. All I found was sadness, and... I don't know. Melancholy, I guess?"

They were sitting on the grass, on the hill by the river, the Saturday morning air gently waving through their hair. She placed a timid hand on his own, hoping to convey some comfort.

"I used to dislike this river, because it reminded me of that day, and the ones after that where a 9-year-old would use his shoes and get blisters from walking all day. But now... I find it a beautiful sight."

Ichigo had blushed deeply, taking Orihime's hand in a successful attempt to make her heart beat faster.

Orihime smiles.

She wished she could be the rain once. The rain that binds people together, that allows one to feel another's pain. She wanted to understand him, help him. She didn't know at the time he too was yearning to help her, shield her from her own tragic past.

Kazui coos in her arms, and she makes a silly face.

"Oh, what is it, baby? You're waiting for Papa, hm?" She raises her arms up to kiss her son on his soft and puffy cheek, which makes him gurgle happily.

She is by the river, watching the calm water sparkle with the dying sun, like oil. It doesn't let the wind break its surface, it stays still and glowing, like billions of gems.

Ichigo is trotting on the bridge to them. He looks so handsome in his two-piece costume, the white shirt two buttons opened for now, his forgotten tie in his hand as he jogs back to them with a dashing smile on his face. His hair is short after a fresh cut, courtesy of Yuzu.

He crosses the bridge separating them hurriedly, as if they have been apart for a whole year.

Kazui waves his little arms at his father, the same smile pulling at his lips. He may have a lot of Orihime's features, like her eyes and eyelashes, as well as her hair, but his smile is the spitting image of Ichigo's.

"Sorry for that, honey." He breathes out, not at all out of breath even after the kilometer he just ran back and forth from their home.

"I would be fine with you not wearing a tie, but since Rukia and Renji insisted on proper clothes..." Orihime teases him, and he winks back at her. "Kazui was growing impatient."

Ichigo kisses his son on the forehead, placing his finger next to the baby's hand for him to grab onto. Kazui immediately takes the opportunity and Orihime chuckles.

"Did I make you impatient too?"

"Of course. 5 minutes without you is enough to make me tap my foot." She jokes, and Ichigo shakes his head mockingly.

"I'll do my best to redeem myself after we visit the Soul Society. Let's get going." He smiles and takes Kazui, offering some relief to the young mother. Kazui is definitely going to get heavier very soon with the way he eats.

They walk together to Urahara's shop, hand in hand, joking and laughing, placing bets on how many people will want to hold Kazui, and how many times people will tease Ichigo for his not-so-new haircut.

She remembers the two lovers from the story. The forbidden love, the punishment. Forced to live separately for a year and allowed only once to see each other again. The weaver princess and her human husband.

Orihime smiles, sending a look at the river. The bridge has been crossed, and their time together is finally here. But never to end.

#bleach #ichihime #ichigo kurosaki #orihime kurosaki #kazui kurosaki #ichihime week 2023 #ichihime fanfiction #ihweek2023

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buckysgrace · 11 months

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Forty Two

Kim didn’t even have the chance to confront Billy that night. She had practiced it, rehearsing the lines in the shower and in the mirror as her heartbeat anxiously for the sight of his return. Every second just made her angrier as she realized he had left without a word and was most likely out partying as the hours ticked by. His absence didn't go unnoticed by Neil, who seemed to be growing even more furious the longer he was back home. She had a feeling their vacation hadn't worked out like Susan had been hoping. It was fairly obvious that Neil had no plans of changing.

She had waited until everyone was asleep to creep to the phone. She was hesitant but called her father all the same. She needed to know, to hear from his voice that he hadn't received anything from her. Not that it got very far. As unusual, her father seemed to miss her phone call again. That, or he had taken to ignoring her completely now that he hadn't received any money. It scared her, thinking that her relationship with her father was completely gone.

Billy confirmed her suspicions about being out partying when she heard him dragging himself into the house in the early hours of the morning, reeking of alcohol and smoke. She felt anger brewing in her chest when she waited for him to open her door, then, she was even more angry when he never did that. Despite being so tired, she stayed awake to stare up at her ceiling. She was so mad at him that she had kicked her stuffed animals off of her bed, letting them rest on the floor.

So, she practiced the next morning once she was dressed. She looked in the mirror, thinking of everything she was going to say to him once she saw him again. Not that he made it easy. He had locked himself in his room and as each second passed, the angrier she grew. It was irritating. She desperately wanted to find out why he would do that to her but it seemed like he had other plans. She wondered how long he had kept this from her and if he just expected her to never find out. She didn't understand him sometimes.

“I’m off,” Susan kissed the side of Kim’s head as she nibbled on the pancakes she had made. Kim grumbled in response as she dug her fork into her fluffy pancakes, “Are you okay?” Susan questioned softly. Kim spared a glance at her mother.

“I’m fine.” Kim said shortly, not feeling like she was able to trust her mom with anything she said. She knew if she told Susan that her dad had asked for money she would freak out. Her parents hadn’t ended their marriage well and this would be another reason for her mom to hate on her father. Kim was still convinced he wasn’t a bad man.

“Hm,” Susan fluffed a hand through her hair softly, not sounding convinced, “Things will get better.” Kim looked up at her longer this time, noticing the tired lines under her eyes. It suddenly made Kim sad, realizing something was wrong.

“Will they?” Kim was uncertain as she watched a sad look pass through her mother’s hazel eyes. Susan kissed the top of her temple and Kim felt like she was a little girl again, wrapped up in her mother’s arms. She felt safe, like nothing was wrong. She thought that if she closed her eyes hard enough, she could still picture their tiny house with yellow, peeling walls.

“We can only hope. I know they will for you and your sister. You’re both so smart and sweet. You won’t ever end up in a situation like me.” Susan promised and it made Kim sick to her stomach. She wondered if one day she would be grown, in a happy marriage, and thinking about all of the shitty things her mother had gone through. She wondered if her mother had thought the same thing, that one day she would be in a happy relationship with a kind man and escape the abuse that had come before her.

“Mom,” Kim looked at her worried, “I’ll help you. We can figure something out. You don’t have to live like this.” Susan looked as if she was really lingering in her daughter’s words, but shook her head just as fast.

“I’m happy,” Kim listened to the strained tone in her voice as she tried to convince her eldest daughter. Kim thought that this must be part of the reason she had said that love didn’t exist. She was sure if she was in her mother’s shoes, she would think the same thing. She really would really want the best for her daughters too, “Oh, I got you an appointment for Wednesday. It’s at 9:15.” Susan turned quickly, picking up her purse from the counter. Kim watched, still feeling like she was the scared little girl who used to sleep on her mom’s side of the bed when she was scared. She lingered in her thoughts as she remembered her mom would be the one, she would go to when she was scared, not her father.

“Thank you,” It was hard to swallow as Kim looked at her mom. Things still didn’t feel the same between them, but Kim wasn’t sure if she blamed her anymore. The way they were talking now reminded her of the other day and when they used to live in San Diego. Way before Neil. Kim realized that her words from the other day weren’t from her, but from Neil. It made her worried, thinking that Neil must have something terrible to dangle over her head, “I can make dinner tonight if you want.” Kim offered softly.

Susan took a hold of her keys and Kim tried not to think about how weird it was that Neil hadn’t taken her to work. She didn’t need something else to be upset about.

“Oh, that would be nice. Go have some fun today,” Susan smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I’m really sorry about how things have been going between us.” Kim nodded her head stiffly; afraid she would cry if she said anything else. Susan walked out towards the living room, to the back staircase. Kim stared after her for a moment before she dumped the rest of her pancakes into the trash. She carried her plate to the sink, washing off the sticky syrup quickly as her mind wandered.

She went to the phone again, picking it up and dialing her father’s number again. Her heart throbbed in her chest as she curved the phone to fit her face. This had been the fourth time she had called since this morning. He hadn’t answered yet and she wasn’t sure why she thought he might answer this time.

"Hello?" A woman's voice answered on the other end, just as Kim felt her heart sinking back into her stomach. She paused, her mind thinking a hundred different thoughts as she urged her tongue to move. She clutched the phone tightly to her ear.

"Hi," She breathed out quickly, unsure of who she was talking to, "Is Sam nearby?" Her heart was racing in her chest as she waited to hear her father's voice again. There was silence on the line for a second.

"Yeah," The girl on the other end sighed dramatically like it was an inconvenience, "I'll go get him." Kim grew anxious as she rehearsed what she would end up saying to her father. As angry as she was at Billy, she didn't want to risk having it get around to her mom that he had messed with her money. She couldn't see Neil being very happy with that.

"Hello?" Kim felt the tears welling in her ears as her father's warm voice traveled through the phone. She breathed deeply, trying to relax her breathing before she broke down into tears.

"Daddy, hey," She breathed out quickly, "How are you?" She held the phone tightly, as if she could will him to stay and talk to her. She glanced over her shoulder, wishing that Max was here to talk to him too.

"Kim?" Sam sounded confused when he finally spoke up, "I'm doing pretty well. I didn't expect you to call." She lingered for a moment, blinking her eyes as she furrowed her eyebrows together. She wondered if she should mention how many times she had tried to call.

"Yeah, I missed you," She spoke softly, twirling the wire around her finger. She waited for him to say it back, but he never did. She spoke up again, "Hey, there was an issue with sending the money but I'm going to get it sent again. Sorry it took so long." She explained as vaguely as possible.

"Oh, oh that's good," He suddenly sounded interested, "Things have been really hard over here." Kim nodded her head, listening to every syllable he said. She missed him so much.

"I know, I'm so sorry," She responded quickly, wanting to get as much of a conversation in as she could. She thought about her complicated feelings towards Billy and thought that her dad might be the one person to help untangle them for her, "I've tried to call. I've wrote too, but I don't know if it goes through." She tried to not sound as defeated as she felt.

"I've gotten your letters," Sam spoke and she thought she could hear the smile in his voice, "You still have a knack for your silly stories." She paused for a moment, exhaling slowly.

"You've gotten my letters?" She repeated, waiting for his response.

"Of course, I love reading them. You're so bright, I knew you would be." His tone sounded happy but none of that mattered to her anymore. She felt like her heart was dangling loosely in her chest, barely holding onto the veins that raced through her body. Her grip loosened on the phone.

"I never got any letters from you." She managed to not sound hollow, despite feeling like there was an empty spot inside her chest. It hurt, realizing that he had received everything she had wrote to him and not taken the time of day to send anything back. She would've been happy with an empty envelope that had his name signed on it. At least it would've meant that he cared enough to speak to her. She wondered how many phone calls he had purposely ignored, thinking that it was her or Max. The other line was quiet and for a moment she wondered if he had hung up, so he didn't have to answer her.

"Oh, Kim," Her dads voice was soft as he spoke, "Things have just been so hard on me recently. I haven't had time to do so." She thought of how she would write to him in California, how often her and Max would call, and he would never answer. She paused for a moment before she hung up the phone up on him, feeling more alone than ever. She didn't have anything left to say to him. Her heart was throbbing as if he was actually here in front of her, stabbing her in that exact spot. She exhaled, expecting to feel the need to cry but instead feeling nothing.

She pulled off of the wall at the same time Billy’s door popped open. She felt the angry brewing in her chest again but her speech about confronting him had left her suddenly as she stared at him. He had on a light blue buttoned up shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans. His curls were looser than usual, and his grin was sloppy as he looked at her like nothing was wrong. Her heart did tumbles in her chest, and she only seemed to grow more infuriated from it. She couldn't even seem to stay mad at him.

“Smells good in here,” His voice was raspy as he walked by, letting her know that he must’ve woken up just a little bit ago. She kept quiet as he passed her, stepping towards the kitchen and rummaging through the bags of cereal. She felt that it served him right that he didn't get any of the pancakes she made, “Is everyone gone?” She watched his lips curl into a mischievous grin, but she ignored it, forcing her soaring heart to calm itself as she walked to the living room. She didn't want to give in so easily, she knew she had a right to get angry with him over this situation. Even if this all boiled down to her father.

“Yeah.” She thought that maybe she should leave and find somewhere to go so she didn’t have to see him. She wasn’t necessarily comfortable showing up at her friend’s house unannounced and she really didn’t have anyone else to hang out with. She turned on the TV, pretending to focus on what was on while she rehearsed the lines in her head again. She could feel her pulse in her wrists and her hands grew sweaty with nerves. She wasn’t good at confrontation. It made her sick as she thought about having to tell him that she knew what he had done.

She thought of her father again and wondered what he was doing. If he was truly mad enough to not talk to her or if he was just busy trying to straighten his life out. She had a feeling it wasn't the second option. It made her worried and feel even more full of guilt, not hearing from him for this long. She had Max and her mom, but he had no one. She couldn't imagine how lonely it must feel for her dad to be on his own and facing his addiction alone. She didn't think he was right to ask her for money, but Billy wasn't right in taking her choice away either.

“Okay,” She listened to the way he rummaged in the fridge and poured a bowl of cereal. She dragged her eyes to the bottom of the floor as she realized she was staring at his reflection through the TV, “Are you doing anything today?” His voice sounded like smooth honey in her ears as she listened to him. She exhaled again, trying to focus on the words that was coming from the person on the show rather than him.

She hated how easily her heart still beat for him even though she was mad. She chewed on her bottom lip, “I don’t know.” She was being short with him, but she didn’t care. She was too mad with him, not understanding why he would do that to her without saying something. She felt like she was able to handle him telling her that it was a bad idea. She didn’t think it was fair for him to go behind her back and do it without asking.

“What?” He looked up at her, his mouth full of cereal as he chewed. She dipped her eyes back towards the TV, ignoring him as she wrapped a blanket around herself. She didn’t have anything to say at the moment, “What did I do?” He tried again, nudging his foot up against her. She turned to him, fairly sure that her irritation was showing on her face.

“Did you do something wrong?” She asked him, tilting her head as she did her best to analyze him. She was positive she could see the gears in his head turning as he tried to think. It was almost funny, watching him try to find something that he may or may not have done wrong.

“I don’t think so,” He grumbled, glancing back towards her rigid form. His blue eyes looked soft as he searched over her irritated expression. She figured she wasn't as good as hiding her expressions as what he was. She shrugged her shoulders stiffly, "You're acting like you're mad about something."

“Then nothing’s wrong.” She said simply, turning away again. She was tempted to go to her room and pout again but decided against it. He sat forward, resting his cereal bowl on the coffee table before scooting closer towards her. She nestled herself as close to the arm of the chair as she could.

“Kim, cut the bullshit,” She looked at him surprised, “What are you upset about?” He looked genuinely concerned and it just seemed to make her even more upset. She felt like she couldn't trust him, like he had been lying about everything.

“You took the money I was going to give to my dad.” She didn’t ask him, she told him. As much as she wanted to deny that he would do it, she knew deep down that he was the only one that would. She watched the way his blue eyes softened and that was all she needed as a confirmation before she was standing from the couch and stomping to her room.

“Will you at least let me explain?” He was right behind her, catching the door with his hand so she wasn’t able to slam it shut in front of his regretful face. She felt her eyes narrowing as she stared at his large hand and wished that she had a bit more strength inside of her to push him away. She wanted him out.

"What's there to explain?" She was still trying to barricade him out of her doorway, "You said before that I shouldn't comment about your relationship with your dad. What makes you think you have the right to do that with me?" She meant every word she said as she stared up at him, trying to pick him about and understand him.

"You act like it's a big deal. All I did was put your money back where it belongs. He's an adult, he shouldn't be looking to you for money." Billy's voice was soft as he spoke, and he looked at her as if he didn't understand why she was so upset. She gulped hard, knowing his words were partially true but she didn't want to admit it. She wasn't ready to think of her dad in that manner.

“You had no right to do that. That was my money, and I can spend it how I want and give it to whomever I want.” Her chest was heaving as he pushed his way into her room. The back of her throat was burning as she stared at him, waiting for him to apologize. She felt betrayed that he would do such a thing and not tell her about it. No wonder her father hadn’t called, he was probably hurt that she hadn’t sent him anything. She wouldn’t let Billy be the reason her father stopped talking to her altogether.

"I didn't want you to get hurt," He tried to plead to her, "I was trying to keep you safe." She ignored the soft look in his eyes.

"I'm not a little kid. I don't need your permission to make my own decisions, regardless if I get hurt or not. He wasn't forcing me; I chose to send him money." She was angry as she spoke, not understanding how Billy couldn't even trust her to make her own decisions. She had just complained to him about her mom not treating her like an adult, yet he was acting similarly. She knew it was the same reason he didn't invite her to go out last night either. He was treating her like she was a glass doll that could break down into teeny tiny pieces at any second.

“I never said you needed any of that. I just didn't want you to blow your hard-earned money on your pathetic dad. He probably would've blown it all on gambling anyways.” He looked at her seriously, like he couldn’t believe what she had just said. Her jaw went slack, and the anger consumed her as his insulting words bounced around inside of her mind. She knew he had no right to say anything about her father. He didn’t know anything about her dad and there was nothing wrong with helping him out. She was sure he was just busy, probably hurt that she hadn’t sent him anything when she said she would.

“Don’t call him that!” Her voice shook as she yelled at him, the back of her throat burning hard. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, “He’s my dad, not yours. You have no right to say anything about him, you don’t know him.” She meant every word she said too. She knew her dad wasn’t pathetic. No, he wasn’t the best at parenting, but he never hit her. He was never mean to her. He was kind and funny. He was everything that Neil wasn’t. Billy exhaled softly.

“I know he doesn't deserve to be your dad. That was the first time he spoke to you in how long? Kim, he wanted money. That’s fucked up. I couldn’t let him do that to you.” She was crying now, his words cut straight to the bone. They hurt. She shook her head hard, feeling the tears soaking her soft cheeks. Billy looked at her with sympathy, like he somehow could understand how she felt at the moment.

“He’s going through a hard time, and you don’t know him. He’s my dad.” She replied pitifully, staring up at him with reddened eyes. He cupped her cheek softly and as upset as she was, she wasn’t able to pull away from him. She knew he was right, that her dad had only wanted her for her money. It didn’t make the pain hurt any less. She still felt like she was breaking inside as the image of her father continued to fade in her mind.

“I know what it’s like,” Billy rubbed her cheek softly with her thumb, removing the tears from her wet cheeks, “To have a parent that doesn’t want you, that is only there when it’s convenient. Kim, I didn’t want you to have to go through that. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you.” He spoke earnestly. She didn’t know why she felt like he was the only one that could comfort her, even if she was still upset with him. She shook in his hands, keeping her eyes down casted so she didn’t have to look up at him.

“My dad loves me.” She was trying to convince herself. His thumbs felt soft as he wiped away her tears, touching her cheeks so softly she could barely feel it. She didn’t understand at what point her relationship with her father had come to this. She felt as if she had been a good daughter, like she hadn’t done anything to make her dad leave.

“I’m sure he does,” Billy said softly, drawing her away from her thoughts. She looked up at his soft features, feeling vulnerable as he observed her, “It doesn’t mean that he should treat you that way.” He said softly, his tone sounding raw as he spoke. She felt her eyebrows furrow in sorrow as she watched him, realizing the hidden meaning in his words.

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure what she was sorry for, it just felt like it was the right thing to say at the moment. She was still angry, but she realized it wasn’t really towards Billy, it was towards her dad. Even if she had sent the money, he hadn’t called her once to check on her. From the day he left it had been her and Max that had been the ones to make sure he still had something to do with them. He must be too far into his addiction to even care. It hurt her; it made her feel small.

“Don’t apologize. You had a right to be mad,” Billy spoke softly, nudging his nose softly against hers to draw her attention back to him. He pulled away a few inches as she gazed at him, taking in the look of remorse on his face. She wasn’t sure if his actions were right, or if she quite forgave him yet, but he was the only one that could comfort her. He was the only one she wanted to have at her side at the moment, “I didn’t want you to get like this.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss against each of her cheekbones. She sniffled in his hands, still feeling like a blubbering mess.

“Okay,” She breathed out slowly, her eyes felt like they were puffy and burnt a bit as she blinked at him, “I want you.” She admitted quickly, taking a fistful of his shirt and pulling him towards her. She pressed her lips against his gently before he pulled away, much to her dismay. She felt a fresh wave of betrayal wash over him as she watched his blue eyes. He hesitated as he looked into hers.

“Kim,” His minty breath massaged her wet face, “I don’t know if you’re ready.” She kept her grip on his shirt, feeling like he’d slip away if she let go of him. She was sure she looked desperate because she was. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything else.

“Why?” She felt her breathing coming out harder. She wanted to feel like someone wanted her, like someone wanted to be with her. Even if it was only for a few moments, she could pretend that it was something more, “Don’t you want me?” It was a risky question; she knew that if he said no that it would hurt her more than what her father did. His blue eyes looked uncertain as he peered at her, biting down on his bottom lip.

“I always want you,” He told her softly, glancing down at her pink lips, “I just don’t want you to regret anything.” He mumbled so softly that she had to strain to hear him. She watched the look of vulnerability that crossed his face, realizing that his walls were down.

“I would never regret you.” Her heart thumped hard in her chest, realizing he would never truly understand what her words actually meant. She didn’t know how long it took her to realize how special he was to her, but she knew it now. Maybe there would come a time in the future when it was time to let go of each other, but she wouldn’t be the first one to do it. She would forever feel him around her. He would haunt her for what they could’ve been, for what they could’ve had. She knew that whatever happened, she would at least be glad that she had him for a small amount of time.

His eyes lingered against her features, but she ignored the way he watched her, instead, she worked on unbuttoning his shirt as the warmth spread across her cheeks. She thought that after crying she would feel empty on the inside, like there was nothing else to feel. However, all she could think of was him. He made her feel whole, like she wasn’t quite so broken. She pulled the shirt off of his broad shoulders, waiting for him to say something. He kept quiet instead, so she began to fiddle with his belt. She knew what she wanted; he wasn’t just some distraction.

She moved first, pressing her lips up against his lips this time. She was so used to him taking the lead that it almost felt wrong. He still tasted like cigarettes, mint and beer. She wondered what he tasted when he kissed her and if she tasted like salty tears at the moment. He pulled away just as fast, his eyes searching over her features again. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, afraid that he was going to push her away after what she had said. She wished she was able to tell him how much he meant to her.

“Please,” She begged softly as she began to push his jeans down his sturdy thighs, “I’ll stop if you don’t want this. Just say something.” She thought of brushing her nose against his, like he had done. She looked at his blue eyes, worried that she would see uncertainty in them. He watched her softly, tracing his thumb across her skin.

“I want you,” He promised softly, “Are you sure you’re okay? We can do this later; I don’t want to rush you into anything.” She leaned down against his hand, resting her cheek against his warm skin as she shook her head at him.

“You’re not, I promise,” She spoke sincerely, “I mean it, I want you. Please.” She added again, exhaling deeply as she cupped his bulge in her hand. She pressed up against him, in complete passion as she examined him. His eyebrows furrowed together, his lips curling into a small smile. She wanted him to want her as badly as she did right now. She wanted him to care for her in a way she knew he was unable to do.

“Okay,” He peppered a kiss against the corner of her mouth, “Don’t cry about it.” He mumbled under his breath as he yanked her shirt over her head. She winced softly when it caught on her hair but fixed it all the same. She didn’t even care about his tone right now. She needed to feel him against her, to remember that at least a small part of him belonged to her.

“The door,” She reminded him after he had undressed her and tossed her onto the bed. She couldn’t even find it in herself to giggle as she bounced on her soft mattress. Her heart was still heavy as she watched him cross the room and shut the door quickly. He crawled back onto the bed, smiling as he pushed her legs apart, “You’re pretty.” She mumbled softly, catching the sun that glistened off of his smooth skin. He furrowed his eyebrows together.

“Thanks, I guess,” He looked at her a bit amused, but she watched the way his eyes softened after a second of looking at her expression, “You’re sure this is what you want?” She sat up on her elbows to move closer to him as she nodded her head eagerly. She cupped his strong jawline in her hands as she felt captivated by the way he was looking at her.

“I always want you,” She breathed out slowly, pressing her lips against his gently. He leaned forward, deepening the kiss as she rested her head back against her soft pillows. His tongue slid across her bottom lip, before pushing inside and exploring her open mouth. Her whole body felt as if she had been lit into flames. She oddly felt like it would be okay to burn as long as she had him with her, “Billy.” She breathed out softly as his thumb flicked across her hardened nipple. He pulled away, a trail of spit connecting from their lips. It sent electricity between her legs as a deep desire inside of her grew in a way that she had never experienced before.

“Needy little whore,” He wiped the drool from her lip with his thumb, before pressing it inside of her mouth. She sucked on his thumb softly, looking up at him with big doe eyes. The blue in his eyes became harder to see as he watched her, “Fuck.” He bit his lip hard, pulling his thumb from her mouth slowly as he rested back on the heels of his feet. She stared at his hard cock, reaching between their legs to pump him softly in her hand for good measure. Something about this felt different than all of the other times they had been together. She was sure she was on edge and Billy was probably right, she may not be ready for him like this yet. Still, she wanted to feel like she belonged to someone.

“Please,” She spoke so softly that she was unsure if he heard her at first. She pushed his tip between her drenched folds, sighing at the sensation of their skin meeting. He groaned softly, watching her through his thick eyelashes, “Don’t make me beg for it.” She pleaded, watching a hint of amusement cross his face like he was considering it. He nodded, grunting softly as he pushed his hips forward and rubbed his hard cock against her wet cunt.

“I’ve got you, baby,” He promised, and she wished he had her in more than just one way, “S’okay.” He cradled her face with one hand, rubbing her soft cheek with his thumb as he glided himself in with his other hand. Her hips raised on instinct, moaning at the sensation of his cock stretching out her fluttering walls. She felt her eyes fluttering as she drank in the feeling of his thick length bottoming out inside of her. He pressed in so deeply, exhaling softly as she felt his balls rest against her skin.

Her fingernails traced up the side of his muscular arm softly, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake as she lingered near his tattoo. She gripped onto his skin tightly when he slowly pulled his hips back and then slammed back into her tight cunt. She whimpered, forgetting everything she had been focused on. All she thought of was him and the way they fit together like two missing puzzle pieces.

“Oh my god,” She clung to him, digging her heels into his skin to urge him closer to her. He grunted softly, throbbing inside of her as he drew his hips out slowly and pushed back into her. He pushed her hair from her face, leaning down to lick the corner of her mouth. Her nails scraped against his skin as his movements drove her into the bed. She mewled, pulling him down further on top of her until his chest was pressed flush against hers, “More.” She demanded quietly, turning her face to watch his eyebrows scrunch up in pleasure.

He was rutting his hips into her as he moved one of his arms behind her neck, careful not to pull on her long hair. He placed another hand on her hip, desperately clawing her closer towards him as he rocked into her. His nose was brushing against her skin, his breath filling her lungs as she was sure they had never been this close before. She felt the familiar warmth spreading through her body, her clit throbbing as they moved in unison.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmured against the crook of her neck, his lips gliding across her sweaty skin, “So fucking beautiful and all mine.” He promised her, his words vibrating across her pale skin. She moaned, feeling a ticklish feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. His praises went straight to her core, causing her to grind her hips up and push his cock deeper inside of her wet cunt.

She felt her toes curl as he hit the sweet bundle of nerves inside of her, the movement of his hips growing faster as she clenched around him. Her room was filled with the sounds of their moans and of their skin meeting together. She dug her nails into his skin softly, squealing as he thrusted his cock into her harder.

“You make me feel so good,” She whimpered, tilting her head up high as his lips sucked across her skin. She could feel his teeth grazing and she didn’t even care if he left any marks on her. She’d embrace it, she’d be happy that she would have some sort of memory left of the two of them, “Billy.” She cried out, grinding her hips up helplessly as the familiar feeling grew in her stomach. He grunted in response, licking up the side of her neck before connecting their lips harshly.

It was rough and sloppy, their tongues flicking against each other as they chased their high. His arm flexed around her, drawing her in even closer as his hips began to stall. She whimpered against his lips, rolling her hips in unison as she felt the familiar feeling growing inside her.

“Cum inside me,” She begged, her lips brushing against his as she spoke, “Please Billy, fill me up with your cum.” She was nodding her head, like it would help sway his decision. He grunted, rocking into her harder as his skin smacked loudly against hers. Her legs were shaking as she clung to him tightly, feeling herself release around him with a loud cry.

“Fuck,” He exhaled softly, his hips beginning to stall as he rutted his hips down against her, “Holy shit.” He cursed, bottoming out inside of her as he filled her wet cunt with his warm liquid. She gasped in pleasure, soaking in the feeling of being full. She squeezed onto his arm softly, nudging the side of his cheek with her nose. He was still breathless but peppered a kiss against her lips. Their mouths were still met when he puckered his lips and spit into her open mouth. She moaned, swallowing his spit without another thought.

Everything that had just happened felt so small as she held onto him. No matter what she was feeling, it felt right lingering in his arms. Her heartbeat to the rhythm of his own and the line that was between them seemed to be fading to nothing in her eyes. She realized how hard she was truly falling for him as their skin mixed together.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled again, looking at her sincerely. His curls were stuck to his sweaty forehead and his chest was moving in unison to hers, “I thought you’d be mad if I said anything.” She looked at his soft blue eyes, feeling like he was being genuine with her.

“I would have,” She admitted, knowing there really wouldn’t have been a way for her to not be upset, “I just wish my dad was different.” She didn't want to say anything else, too afraid that she would start crying if she brought up any more memories. He nodded softly and she was sure he felt the same way towards his father. She liked the way he never made her feel less than. She knew her father was far better than his own, but he never brought that up.

They laid there together, still wrapped up in unison as they came down from their high. Kim’s legs were still shaking, her clit still vibrating as she relaxed against his touch. She turned, rubbing his tanned skin softly as she watched the way his eyebrows furrowed together. She looked over his thick eyelashes and high cheekbones. She thought if she laid still enough, she could count every freckle on his cheeks while he tried to recollect his breath.

“I love you,” It was like all of the warm air left the room and a chill breeze spread over them instead. Love. The word bounced around every crevice inside of her brain as she tried to process what was happening. Everything inside of her froze for a long uncomfortable minute before it all kickstarted again. Kim’s eyes were just as wide as Billy’s as he stared down at her in horror, looking like he couldn’t believe he had just said that. Kim was too afraid to breathe, too afraid to move as she tried to keep her face as neutral as possible. She felt a flicker growing inside of her as she began to believe that maybe she wasn’t that crazy after all, maybe there had been more to the two of them. Her mood quickly damped as she looked at his expression, realizing it wasn’t filled with love, “Shit, shit, fuck.” Billy pulled himself from her wet cunt quickly, earning a sound of protest from her. His face was reddening like she hadn’t seen before as he moved quickly. Her heart was thumping nervously, and she suddenly found her tongue very dry as she stared up at him. She felt like she had done something wrong suddenly, not quite understanding why he was pulling away so quickly.

"Billy," She breathed out, unsure of what she could say to make things better. Her heart was beating faster in her chest as the familiar warmth grew from her cheeks down to her toes. She suddenly thought of saying the same words back but was unsure if she would mean it. She had never been in love before, and she was certain this was just a crush. Even if she did feel the same way, the panicked look on his face made her feel like it was just a mistake. Like it had been a slip of the tongue. She thought she really would scare him away if she repeated those three words back. She didn't want to be rejected and lose him at the same time, "Don't worry about it." It hurt herself to say. She wanted him to say the words over to her again and she wanted to know what he meant them. He was doing his best to ignore her, his eyes darting around the room quickly.

“I didn’t,” He stammered out quickly, pushing his blonde, sweaty hair off of his forehead, “I wasn’t thinking. That just sort of slipped out. I didn’t mean it; I mean this is just sex. Nothing else.” She had never seen him ramble so much and fight for the right thing to say. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure himself or her. She gulped, feeling her once elated heart grow weak from the stabbing of his words. She quickly nodded in agreement, not wanting to seem like the only one who had feelings. She felt a burning in the back of her throat that she ignored. The last thing she needed to do was cry in front of him.

She watched him for a moment, understanding that she had been the only one to get feelings so far. She realized quickly while she watched him that this probably meant nothing to him. He didn't care for her in the way she did for him. This was purely sex for him, and she was just another outlet for him to use as he pleased. He didn't love her; he had just slipped up on his words. She felt sick and wondered if this was what her mother had been trying to warn her about. She didn't want to have a broken heart, especially not from Billy. She paused as she watched the way his eyes darted around wildly, like he had just done something bad. She tried to pull herself together, not wanting him to feel guilty for anything that he was saying. As much as it hurt, she knew she would keep giving herself to Billy even if he never felt anything for her. She knew there was something between them, even if he wasn't ready to admit it yet.

She wasn’t really sure why she was so upset. She didn’t know what love was, there was no way she could love him. She was sure that she had a crush on him, but that only meant that she liked him. There was nothing deeper between them. At least, she hoped there were no deeper feelings brewing towards him. He had told her well enough that there was nothing on his end.

“It’s okay,” She breathed out slowly, trying to pretend that it didn’t hurt while she laid in a puddle of his come, “It just slipped out. No big deal.” She mumbled, each word making her tongue feel even more numb. She could feel a familiar lump burning in the back of her throat as her heart hung sadly in her chest. Billy couldn’t even look at her and she thought that his actions may have hurt the most. She kept urging him to turn her way and face her again, but he was refusing to do so. It worried her, thinking of how he always held eye contact so strictly and now he couldn't even look in her direction. She wondered if he could see right through her, if he knew that she would've whispered the words right back to him.

“I should go,” For the first time she could see him fully as he had unknowingly torn his own walls down. He looked panicked, full of fear as he sat on the edge of the bed and dressed himself. She stared at the way his back flexed as his muscles moved and she tried to ignore the throbbing in her heart. She wondered if the reason he wasn’t looking at her was because he could see how badly she was bleeding on the inside.

“Yeah,” She was still messy between her legs but that was the least of her worries at the moment. Her throat burned as spoke, the tears threatening to spill, “I’ve got stuff to do anyways.” She mumbled, pulling her panties back over her ankles. She had a strong urge to shower and scrub every inch of her skin. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to clean the dirty feelings inside of her.

“Kim,” He turned suddenly, looking over his shoulder as he watched her, “I really didn’t mean to say that.” She felt a small sliver of hope growing in her chest as she realized it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. She ignored that feeling, knowing that it was too good to be true. It felt like he was twisting the knife as she slowly sat up to look up at his stony features. She did her best to keep her shoulders from sagging, not wanting to seem as disappointed as what she felt. He didn’t feel the same way about her, she knew that, and she knew that she shouldn’t let it bother her. Yet, it did. It hurt so badly.

He didn't love her.

“It’s fine,” She darted her eyes towards him, looking at the worried expression that was plastered across his pretty features. She looked back down towards her feet and shrugged her shoulders, “No hard feelings.” She promised. He didn’t kiss her when he left this time, he didn’t even spare her another glance before he was out the door. She rested back against her bed as a lonely feeling settled in her chest. Her eyesight grew wet as she stared up, urging for her heart to stop crying. She felt worse than she had earlier, like part of her heart had just broken off from the rest of her heart.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove stepcest #tw stepcest #tw pseudocest #billy hargrove x original character #Cruel Summer

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