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ireverie · 3 days ago

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sexcapade

pairing ↠ co-worker!sunghoon x (f) reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, professor!sunghoon x professor!reader, infidelity, unprotected sex, sensory deprivation, overstimulation, almost getting caught

summary ↠ with things in the bedroom getting stale with your husband, you start searching for excitement and your co-worker, sunghoon, is more than willing to provide it for you. on campus, you barely acknowledge each other, but in the sheets, you can't stop calling out his name.

wc ↠ 2.2k

a/n ↠ originally posted on my blog revehae, i am not plagiarizing myself. part 1/3 of the in my blood series. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

it started in the spring. like there was pollen in the air, too there was lust, gentle breezes seemingly sweeping you flush against sunghoon’s chest where you could never not inhale the manly scent of him; never not leave with it clinging to you.

you were very aware that it was wrong. matter of fact, every time you laid eyes on your husband’s face and looked into his, saw how they twinkled at the sight of you and how they were bewitched by the charm of your soul, guilt ruptured your heart with an angry, unmistakable pang of ire.

so you did not think with the throbbing inside your chest, but the throbbing between your thighs.

a woman needed excitement in her life, a kind of which sunghoon was more than glad to offer. sex quickly got boring in the bedroom after so many years of unlively routines and you taught molecular biology to a class of undergraduates that couldn’t wait to get the fuck on with their lives. to say nothing of the long nights spent sifting through overdue assignments. you were allowed to have fun sometimes. after all, you were only in your early thirties. you still considered yourself young.

like many other women, specifically younger ones that found him attractive for an older man, you noticed that sunghoon did not wear a ring on his finger. upon further discussion, you learned that though he was no longer married, he had a twenty-something-year-old son who took your class. apparently, his son spoke delightfully of you, which was flattering, but you’d always been more interested in what sunghoon thought.

and you quickly found out.

“had enough?” sunghoon asked, poking his head through the doorway.

not that you could see. there was a blindfold taut around your face, hindering your vision for the past forty-five minutes. to you, it felt like an eternity. the toy between your trembling thighs buzzed, inducing orgasm after orgasm, a number so great that it had tears slipping down your cheeks past the fabric of the blindfold.

speaking of orgasms, you couldn’t stop the cry that parted your lips as heat unfurled throughout your body for the umpteenth time, spreading from between your thighs to your head where there was nothing but empty thought and faintness.

“that was beautiful,” sunghoon remarked, only watching.

“please,” you croaked.

sunghoon played dumb with you. he had a penchant for it, drawing out your agony by pretending as if he were oblivious to your needs, when in reality he was the most attuned to them. “you want more?”

“no!” you exclaimed, desperate. you couldn’t even feel your legs if you tried, that was how long he had left you here with yourself - and this fucking toy. “please, no more. it’s too much, sunghoon.”

“but baby,” sunghoon started, donning his sweetest tone. “you wanted this. remember?”

that was true. you knew when this affair first started that sunghoon was available to open you up to new, exciting things, because your bedroom experiences with your husband could all be described the same way. though with sunghoon, there was room for variety.

it was just overwhelming sometimes. sunghoon could be so harsh under the guise of merely giving you what he wanted. you knew that it was what he wanted if anything, that you were just his lab rant to experiment on, but you never admit that you liked it that way. nor would you admit that you would’ve also liked to be a little more.

but sunghoon knew that. he never mentioned a word of it, because it didn’t need to be said. it went without saying that you were his to do whatever he pleased with.

“sunghoon…,” you trailed, your voice shaky.

sunghoon, ignoring you, asked, “how many times did you cum?”

you gulped. racking your brain for an answer, you ultimately came up empty. by the third one, time lost all meaning and so did thought. “i… i lost count.”

“then, you know what that means, right?”

you gasped when the toy was moved. not at the action itself, but because you didn’t realize he’d gotten so close. his footsteps were so quiet.

“but…,” you started.

“but nothing,” sunghoon said, snatching the blindfold off of your face. you blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the brightness. the cuffs around your wrists were next. “you know the rules, don’t you?”

you whispered, “yes, sunghoon.”

“hands and knees.”

you didn’t hesitate to crawl into the said position, regardless of the exhaustion weighing down your body, because you knew what to expect if you didn’t comply with whatever he wanted. there were times were sunghoon was generous enough to let you cum, times where you didn’t deserve it, much like now. you wanted to get around punishment, but it would never happen if you didn’t satiate him.

the bed creaked when he raised himself atop of it from behind you, the sound of him fumbling with his belt making you wetter. once upon a time, you didn’t even think that that was possible, but you never stopped dripping when with sunghoon. somehow, he made even simple things like the anticipation arousing.

sunghoon dropped his shirt, followed by a toss of his pants. he had no need for them anymore. for the forty-five minutes that you’d been ruining his sheets, weakened by the overstimulation, sunghoon had been in his study trying to shake the thoughts of you while he attempted to grade papers. he was already hard from his imagination and the memories of stuffing you full of his cum, but seeing you in front of him, waiting for him, your pussy soaked for him, it did unfathomable things to his cock.

you released a shaky breath when you felt him lubricating himself with your arousal, slipping between your glistening folds, and writhed from the sensitivity. “sunghoon, it’s too much,” you whimpered.

sunghoon chuckled. “baby, i’m not even inside you yet.”

your face burned. you could feel yourself dripping and it was humiliating, because you only got like this for him and him only.

“so fucking wet,” sunghoon cursed, having fun teasing your folds. “just for me.”

you cried out when he suddenly slapped your cunt, mouth parted as you gasped out, “sunghoon...”

“fuck, you always get so wet for me. isn’t that right, baby?” sunghoon asked, enamored with you. it was magical how he could pretend as if you meant nothing to him at work and become so addicted to you when nobody was watching.

you bobbed your head. “yes, sunghoon. just for you.”

that must’ve did it for him, because the very next second, you felt sunghoon finally start to roll inside of your cunt, mumbling curses under his breath. you almost collapsed then, almost slumped and gave out just from the tip of his cock, but you resisted because you had something that you needed to prove.

sunghoon was slow, but his cock slipped right inside you with ease, it was almost pathetic. not to mention that he was bigger than anything you could’ve imagined taking, so much that you always found yourself gasping when you realized that he wasn’t completely buried inside of you yet. you couldn’t believe that he had so much to give.

“oh my god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back from how full you were. no man had ever satisfied you like this, and sunghoon was just getting started.

not only were you filled to the hilt with his hard cock, but also the ache for him to fuck you until your entire body went numb like he’d already done countless times. sunghoon gripped your hips, using them as an anchor. when you felt so good as you did, as tight as you were, it would be dangerous not to ground himself.

sunghoon grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling just tight enough to let you know the trip was there. you were basking in his warmth and being crushed underneath his weight while he balanced your hips in one hand and the grip on your hair in the other. he smacked your ass and hissed, “so fucking pretty.”

sometimes you wished that he was yours. you could imagine coming home with him day after day, singing to music in the car together while his company made minutes feel like hours. you didn’t mind that he had a son, either. you always wanted a child, though not one that would be the product of shitty sex and a broken marriage.

the liking you’d taken to sunghoon went beyond sex, though the endless orgasms and fulfillment he never neglected you of definitely encouraged those feelings. moments like now, when he was balls deep inside you, you were more than willing to risk it all for him. you would get a divorce. you would move in. anything he wanted, just as quick as he said the word.

i am out of my mind, came your thoughts, though your grip on them slackened the more sunghoon fucked you into oblivion.

“it’s so… deep,” you gasped, marveling.

sunghoon chuckled. though you had never said it outright, your constant fascination with how big his cock was or how deep he could fit inside you, stretching out your velvety tight walls, was more than enough of an indication that your husband was not exactly packing like he was. you made it a point to mention that sunghoon was huge.

“yeah?” sunghoon asked huskily, wanting to suck a bruise onto the side of your throat, but he willed himself not to.

“mm-hm,” you mumbled. “can feel you in… in my stomach.”

“where?” sunghoon kept one hand at your hip but dropped the one at your head, wrapping it around you, and reaching for your stomach. “here?”

you bobbed your head. he could feel it too, and it elicited a deep growl out of him, one that had you clamping involuntarily around his size.

sunghoon could fuck you for hours if you let him. the same way that he was the best you’d ever had, he simply couldn’t get enough of you. there were times throughout the day where his mind would only flicker with debilitating thoughts of you, memories of your face and how you tasted. at times, you made it difficult to move on.

“dad,” came a voice from down the hall, one both of you were very acquainted with.

“shit,” sunghoon hissed, irritated, and clamped his hand around your mouth. your cries and whimpers were muffled into his hard palm and your breath was cut off, because it was so difficult to breathe solely through your nose. “be a good girl and keep quiet.”

“dad,” sounded jake’s voice again, just outside the door.

your heart was racing. your eyes were wide, the fear and excitement of getting caught fighting for totality in your icy veins. his son was one of your students and students talked. if it got out that you were having an affair with sunghoon, this could destroy you, but there was something so arousing about the thrill.

“i’m in here. don’t open that door,” sunghoon said, breathless voice betraying what was happening behind that door.

his son was far from stupid, that you knew all too well, and retorted, “dad, are you getting laid? is it the hot nurse you were flirting with at the hospital? tell her i said ‘hi.’”

you frowned.

before sunghoon could even get a word out, his son added, “i’m leaving. you two have the house to yourselves again.”

“bye,” sunghoon huffed, dropping his palm from your face.

you inhaled sharply. you could finally breathe again.

sunghoon kissed the back of your neck, nibbling at your ear. “you did so good,” he whispered, voice gentle and sweet as ever. “if you beg good enough, i’ll change my mind and let you cum.”

you hopped at the opportunity like a ravenous pack of wolves starved through the winter, begging with the utmost desperation, “sunghoon, please. please let me cum. i’ll do anything, oh my fucking god, i need it. i need you.”

“you need me?”

so fucking bad. more than anything. “i need you,” you repeated, whinier. needier.

“cum around my dick,” sunghoon commanded, voice deep and throaty and just the way you liked it. you would steal a soul for him if that was what he wanted.

it wasn’t very long before one final cry of his name escaped you, pouring out of your lips like honey as you stuttered around his cock, heat spasming between your legs. tears trickled from your eyes, the stimulation from all of the orgasms you’d had in one night alone, and you couldn’t stop yourself from convulsing. your muscles slackened and your limbs went limp to your sides.

sunghoon was directly behind you, spurred on by the sight and feeling of you coming undone around him, and you knew when his hold on your hips tightened and that lethal growl parted his mouth that he had met his climax, the feeling of his hot cum seeping into your cunt being the unnecessary confirmation.

“good fucking girl,” sunghoon praised, still sweetly in your ear.

you sighed contentedly when he flipped you onto your back, sweeping you into his arms and kissing your lips as a treat. he wiped the tears out of your eyes, watching you still shudder.

“stay the night,” sunghoon said, looking into your hazy eyes.

you blinked, breathing heavily to catch your breath. “sunghoon, you know i can’t do that. my husband will...”

“i wasn’t asking.”

“well,” you replied, quietening. “i guess i can come up with something.”

sunghoon smiled triumphantly, smashing his lips against yours again. you sighed again, still content, though there was a thought lurking on your mind. i don’t know what i’m going to do.

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x you #enhypen x you #enha smut #enha x reader

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niniwritesxo · 2 days ago

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‘you thirsty?’

kang dae-ho x fem reader

summary:

daeho does something unintentionally attractive and the reader is trying their hardest to keep it together.

——————————————————————————

You were sitting on your bunk, trying to pass the time by tying and untying knots in a scrap of rope you’d found. The waiting between games was unbearable, and the only thing worse than the boredom was the anxiety gnawing at your stomach.

Across the room, Dae-ho was leaning against the wall, talking to one of the other players. You tried not to watch him, but your eyes kept drifting his way. It wasn’t your fault he had this annoyingly magnetic presence, standing there with his broad shoulders and that infuriating smirk he always seemed to wear.

Then it happened.

The other player handed him something, a bottle of water with the cap screwed on too tight. Without a word, Dae-ho took it, wrapped his hand around the bottle, and twisted the cap off with a casual flick of his wrist.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just a bottle of water. But the way his forearm flexed, the way his jaw tensed for half a second before relaxing, it was enough to make your brain short-circuit.

You immediately looked away, your cheeks burning. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Hey,” Dae-ho’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts.

You glanced up to find him standing in front of you, holding out the water bottle. “Thirsty?” he asked, his tone casual.

You stared at him, your mind still stuck on the moment from earlier. “What?”

“The water,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring at me for, like, five minutes. Thought maybe you wanted some.”

‘’I wasn’t staring!’’ you blurted, far too loudly.

His lips quirked into a half-smile, and he crouched down so he was eye-level with you. “You sure? Because it definitely felt like staring.”

Your face grew impossibly hotter, and you snatched the bottle from his hand just to give yourself something to do. “I was just… zoning out.”

“Zoning out, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Interesting coincidence that you happened to zone out right when I opened the bottle.”

You took a sip of water to avoid answering, but his knowing smirk made it clear he wasn’t going to let it go.

“Didn’t realize opening a bottle was so fascinating,” he teased, leaning his forearm on the edge of your bunk.

“It’s not,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing,” you lied, but the warmth on your face said otherwise.

His smirk widened, and he tilted his head, studying you like you were the most interesting puzzle he’d ever encountered. “Huh. You really are blushing. What’s got you so flustered?”

“Nothing!” you snapped, setting the bottle down with a little too much force.

Dae-ho leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You sure about that? Because I think I know.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, wondering if he’d figured it out. But instead of saying anything, he leaned back with a smug grin, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Whatever it is,” he said, standing and stretching lazily, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your face was still burning. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving you to stew in your embarrassment.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. You’d never live this down.

#kang daeho #dae ho x reader #squid game #player 388 #kang daeho x reader #squidgame fanfic #the brainrot is real

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jeanjauthor · 2 days ago

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I am a Lightbulb Killer. Incandescents & fluorescents do not last in my presence. They perish at a rate 10x faster than all others...or even faster. For ten (10) years, I kept a "kill book" recording exactliy which lightbulbs died in what fixtures, and what my frequency of proximity was to them.

Those lightbulbs in rooms I never went into (parental bedroom) but which were used just as frequently as my own...rarely died at a rapid rate. But anywhere I lived most of the time, such as the corner of the couch where I sat to watch tv, my own bedroom, the bathroom I used most frequently, the kitchen where I was doing a lot of the household cooking...those died off rapidliy.

When I stopped watching television when they cancelled Firefly, the lightbulb in that corner of the living room stopped dying off. It was still being used just as much (my dad claimed that corner of the couch, lol; he had other shows he wanted to watch), but the lightbulb deaths tapered off.

Even all the way back in elementary school, junior high, senior high...the fluorescent light bulb tubes would always be going out either directly over wherever I sat, or in one of the lighting panels immediately adjacent. I'd get a month of good lighting...then flickering...and then death of the tube.

I have yet to kill an LED lightbulb.

I am very, very lucky I don't suffer from the cycling issue, and I, too, hope that folks find a way to fix that for others. But for the first time in my life, I'm NOT buying a pack of lightbulbs every 2-3 damn months!

In 10 years, there were only 2 months where I did not kill any lightbulbs simply by sheer proximity. Both months, i was away from home for over a week.

LEDs aren't a solution for everyone, but they are a solution for me.

And I do hope people find a way to fix this issue!

This is one of those things where the discourse is just completely broken. Both of these takes are shit and no one is concerned about the actual problem.

Republicans want to bring back incandescents because they just want to trigger the libs and have decided light bulbs are woke.

And the "LEDs are fine" crowd are throwing people with flicker sensitivities under the bus. And, no, you don't have to be "pretty far on the spectrum" to notice a difference. And even if you did... why in the world is this person so dismissive of the millions of autistic folks?

LEDs, for the most part, are superior to incandescent bulbs. Collectively they save people billions of dollars in energy costs and greatly reduce fossil fuel use. You have more options for color and brightness. You can control them with your phone. LEDs are fantastic.

Unfortunately there is a design flaw that makes LEDs hard to use for certain people. Due to AC power, most LEDs have a 60hz refresh rate. Meaning they turn off and on 60 times per second. With incandescents this didn't matter because the filament didn't have time to lose its glow between cycles.

Most people cannot see this flicker in LEDs. But there are millions of people who are sensitive to it and it can cause migraines and discomfort.

The solution is definitely not to go back to incandescents. There are flicker free LEDs and I think with some regulation we could make sure all LEDs are flicker free or at least make sure flicker free bulbs are easy to find and not priced at a premium.

Thankfully there is a group testing bulbs to find the ones that will most likely cause no discomfort. They call themselves the Flicker Alliance and their website has a pretty decent selection of tested and approved bulbs.

So if you feel like your LED bulbs might be causing you distress, that is a good resource to try. I think there is also something you can do to make sure the LED drivers are using DC power, but I haven't really looked into that.

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witherby · 22 hours ago

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imagine how cute would be if Bruce brings the little wayne to his work on wayne tower 🥺 the moment would be ruined if some paparazzi taking photos with flash and scaring the baby

Sooo the baby didn't end up getting scared, but this idea did make me spit out 2000 words worth of content. I hope that's a fair compromise :3

THE LITTLEST WAYNE: TAKE YOUR KID TO WORK DAY

Featuring: Bruce talking to you like a colleague, a newspaper article, and an overprotective Damian.

"Morning, Clarice. Donuts and coffee are getting delivered in five minutes if you wanna pop downstairs and help yourself. Afterwards, do me a favor and rebook the consultation with Lexcorp for sometime next month? The further out the better."

Bruce's secretary nodded, fingers flying across the keys to accommodate his request. She tucked a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and shot him a polite smile.

"Of course, mister Wayne — oh, goodness gracious."

Bruce's placid expression quickly became embarrassed. He tried to walk past her but she was already on her feet and rounding the desk, heels clicking over the linoleum floor to stand in front of him and the bundle on his arm.

"Who is this!" She cried, immediately fawning over you. You stared blankly at her as you suckled on your binky, wrapped up in a tiny Nightwing onesie (Dick got to the clothes first this morning) and hugging your father's arm. "Oh, my, you're the most adorable baby I've ever seen! I'm Clarice! I'm your father's personal secretary, and apparently the last person to find out anything, including when he adopted yet another child!"

"This wasn't a...planned acquisition," Bruce muttered, the tips of his ears pink. He let the blonde gently squish your fat cheeks and you preened under the attention, lifting one fuzzy-wrapped hand to brush against her wrist.

"A planned acquisition. Like you're another company he bought on a whim and not a precious angel," Clarice giggled. "What a doll... If you ever need a babysitter, Mister Wayne, please don't hesitate to call me!"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, exasperated but smiling good-naturedly. "Have a great day, Clarice."

"You, too! Bye-bye, angel!" She waved, and squealed when you waved back.

Bruce disappeared into his office with you, bouncing you gently on one arm while the other shrugged off the duffel bag he carried with him. Zipping it open, he quickly tugged out a pop-up bassinet to place you in, then the pieces to an enclosed play pen he built and filled with some blankets, a couple toys, and an extra Red Robin binky (Tim got to the toys first this morning).

"Okay," he sighed, scooping you up and relocating you to the pen. "I've actually got to run my own company for a bit, and the others are busy, so you get to hang out with me today."

Bruce rested his arm on his desk, then his chin in his hand, and stared down at you. You were staring intently back at him, the binky bopping up and down as you suckled on it.

"You're a little young to learn the ropes, but I'll explain what I'm doing anyway. Every baby book I've looked at tells me you get something out of it even if you don't understand what I'm saying, so today it's time to do payroll. I'd make you sign an NDA, because you're about to see a lot of personal files, but you don't know how to hold a pencil, read, write, or speak yet, so I think we're fine."

Bruce had two monitors on his desk. He duplicated his screen and spun the other one around so you could watch what he was doing in real time.

"I don't like to delegate this task to other people because the last six times I did, they were eventually found embezzling money. Unfortunately, that tends to happen when you live in Gotham. Right now I've opened the pay software — it's this icon here, where the mouse is circling — and I'm going to ask it to open the time sheets for the last two weeks..."

---

A NEW FAMILY MEMBER? BRUCE WAYNE SPOTTED IN WAYNE TOWER WITH INFANT, SPECULATION GROWING

CEO of Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne seen with a baby after exiting his office this afternoon!

[An image of you in your Nightwing onesie, tucked securely in a smiling Bruce's arms as he walks out of an elevator, is printed on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.]

Sources say Wayne filed another adoption form with the courts a week ago and is being met with mixed reviews. Large portions of the public are joking that Wayne has an "adoption problem" while others speculate he is too inexperienced to foster an infant.

"Wasn't his youngest kid, like, 9 when he adopted him?" Asks one Carmine Falconi, recently released from Blackgate on good behavior. "None o' my business, of course, but I don't think he knows how to raise a tiny tot like that. My guys ain't touchin' a hair on that one's head, though. Kidnapping the odd teen or two, sure, go nuts, but even us crooks got codes, and that one's off-limits in my book."

Wayne declined to comment when the Gotham Gazette reached out and remaining family have further refused interviews about the subject.

(Alfred got to the phone first.)

---

The newspaper clipping was already framed and proudly sitting on the dining room table when Bruce woke up the next morning and shuffled downstairs for breakfast with you in his arms. He spared it a tired glance, put you in your high chair, and relented to Damian's insistent shoving so the boy could sit next to and feed you (he got to the pantry first).

"The next time you plan on actually doing your day job," the boy hissed, "bring one of us with you. There was an abysmal amount of security protocols you ignored when leaving work to allow paparazzi the chance to grab photos. I won't let your frivolous behavior cause them harm."

"Are you volunteering?" Bruce asked, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee Alfred handed over. He quietly greeted Dick and Jason as they filed into the room and had a quick rock-paper-scissors match to see who got to sit on your other side. Jason won. "Any networking events I have to attend, you almost always find a way to weasel out of."

"If it will keep our new charge safe," Damian huffed, "I can handle a few stupid luncheons."

"That's not a pass to skip school. If it's between a social or a class, you're going to class."

Damian looked simultaneously pissed and relieved. His fist clenched tightly around the small, silicone spoon, before he forced himself to relax and continue feeding you. You opened your mouth obediently for another offering of mushed-up bananas, apples, and cinnamon baby food from a high quality brand, giving a happy hum.

"Then the duty falls to one of you fools," he snapped at Jason and Dick, "which is akin to trusting a mosquito not to drink from you at the first possible opportunity. You'll pick up the slack when I'm otherwise indisposed."

"No can do, baby bat," Dick said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. He quickly snapped a picture of you with your mouth open to accept another spoonful of food. "I have a day job, too. I don't even live here. I'm just on an extended vacation until the end of next week, then it's back to Blüdhaven."

Damian focused his glare on Jason next, who smirked back and shook his head.

"Legally dead. So, 'less you want Brucie Wayne and an innocent baby seen all around town with Red Hood, the crime lord, it's a no from me."

Damian weighed the pros and cons. Bruce shot him a look and shook his head, dismissing the idea entirely.

The boy grit his teeth. He scraped the last of the baby food from its jar and fed it to you, then delicately wiped the remnants from your mouth. You gummed at his finger and made grabby hands, indicating your desire to get out of the high chair. Jason scooped you up first with a swift call of "dibs!", carrying you away to get bathed and dressed for the day.

"Then...then you have to go into work with Timothy!" Damian demanded, facing Bruce again, who had finished his coffee by now and was eating a slice of buttered toast. The man raised a brow, looking only marginally more awake than he was at the start of the day.

"Tim hates being at the office with me," Bruce explained as Alfred came around to set a plate of pancakes, eggs, and freshly-squeezed orange juice in front of Damian. "Says the Brucie act is annoying to be around and it drives productivity down at least 8% every time. It's a lie, I've checked the numbers, but if he doesn't want to be at the Tower at the same time as me then I'm not going to push a non-issue."

"You?" said Damian, incredulous. "You aren't going to push a non-issue? You push everything. It may as well be your middle name."

He cut into his food with more force than necessary, cutlery scraping unpleasantly against the plate until he lifted his hands again. He shrugged off the hand Bruce tried to place on his shoulder, chewing angrily on a mouthful of pancake.

"I'm open to ideas, son," the man said, "but here are the facts: You have to go to school Monday through Friday. I won't let you homeschool because you need to socialize with people in your age group. Jason isn't interested in declaring himself alive right now. Dick doesn't live at the Manor full time and has separate responsibilities. Tim is juggling college, Wayne Enterprises, and patrols. Alfred is too ol— is aging gracefully, and might prefer to have more time to himself instead of watching the baby all alone for hours on end."

Alfred took Bruce's empty plate away with a very sharp look, then excused himself back to the kitchen.

Bruce turned in his chair to fully face Damian, who glared at his breakfast like it personally caused this mess, and not one hyper-empathetic man and his bleeding heart for orphans.

"Now, can you tell me how best to solve this problem without the occasional "take your kid to work day," or enrolling the baby in a daycare program?"

Yes, he could. But unfortunately for Damian, he had inherited a bleeding heart of his own, which constricted at the thought of giving his little sibling back up for adoption. Instead, he swallowed his next mouthful of food and sighed.

"More research is needed," he mumbled, which was the closest he could ever get to admitting he didn't know something. "However, my complaints still stand. Let the paparazzi get a bad photo if it means keeping the babe safe. Their well-being is your top priority, so act like it."

"Heard," Bruce said, sounding far too fond for Damian's liking. "Finish your breakfast and then get ready for school."

The boy grumbled but complied, and soon stood next to the door waiting for Alfred to pull a car up to the driveway. He watched Bruce carry you in his arms after he slung the duffel bag with your essentials over his shoulder, tugging the small hood of your red oneside up (Jason dressed you first today) over your head to ensure you didn't get cold.

"Have a good day, Damian," Bruce told him.

"Sure, whatever." Damian took you from his father and adjusted your hood himself. You grabbed his finger in your small fist with all the strength you could muster and tried to put it in your mouth. He gently pried it free, and Bruce popped a Batman binky in there instead. "You will be safe today. When I'm finished conforming to what American society deems a proper education, I will retrieve you myself."

Your binky bopped up and down as you suckled on it, staring silently at Damian. It was practically a yes to him, so he took it.

Glancing briefly at his father, he hesitated a moment, then kissed your forehead and quickly passed you back to Bruce before heading outside to let Alfred drive him to school.

Bruce watched him go with an unreadable expression. He quickly turned and faced Dick once Damian was out of earshot.

"Did you —"

"I'm texting you the picture right now," Dick said, thumbs flying across the keyboard. "What should the caption be for my Twitter post? #BestBrotherEver or #SecretSofty?"

"Either way, he's going to kick your ass."

#batfam x reader #littlest wayne au #batfam adoption au #batfam #can you guys tell i went to school for journalism and then hated it and then dropped out #writing articles was SO BORING

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flowersforthemachines · 2 days ago

Text

Some facts about Harding gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash to be added tomorrow (or on Monday Jan 5th)

Family and past:

Harding's parents split up a few years ago. Her father lives in Amaranthine. She's okay with that and thinks her parents are happier apart

Harding’s mother never taught her how to cook, she's entirely self-taught

Harding carries around the first letter her Mother sent her after joining the Inquisition

Harding doesn't have siblings

Harding had a mabari named Contessa who passed away from old age

(If in romance) Taash offers Harding to get a mabari together

Time with the Inquisition:

Back in Skyhold, Solas once told Harding he was sorry dwarves couldn’t dream

Harding thinks that if she had never joined the Inquisition, she probably would’ve got married and tended to goats

Harding volunteered for the Inquisition because their soldiers kept scaring the sheep because they all had super old maps. And because she didn't want to spend the rest of her life watching sheep

General:

Harding likes sandwiches, they are one of her favourite foods

Harding finds Treviso very beautiful (who doesn’t)

Harding would bring a bow, clean socks and a spoon to a deserted island

Harding likes books about blood and gore

Harding doesn't like killing, but she doesn't feel bad about it. She compares it to farmers having to kill wild animals that get too close to their land, as sometimes a quick kill can prevent more suffering (i.e. if a wolf gets inside your sheepfold, your own animals will die in pain)

She says that this kind of mindset is the reason why a lot of Inquisition scouts came from farmers, as they need to kill people when necessary (even if those people aren’t their enemies personally), but don’t go out looking for it

Harding likes almonds. They are crunchy :)

Harding is fascinated by Minrathous’s nightlife

Harding doesn't drink alcohol

Harding really likes puns

Harding has fought a Stormrider dragon before

Harding has a detailed and decorated scrapbook with her kills (with doodles. Including a cute giant spider)

Harding never visited Nevarra before the Veilguard, though she had heard of Cumberland’s Summer Exhibition. Emmrich disregards it as just a market with a horse show

Dwarves and magic:

Harding finds herself more hungry than usual since getting hew new powers

Neve and Emmrich hypothesise that Harding developing Titan powers may have increased her lifespan (or even granted her eternal life)

Harding describes using her magic as “touching something vast and eternal, a well, deep inside”. Lucanis says that it sounds similar to him using his demon powers

Relationships with companions:

Bellara, Neve and Taash call her “Lace”. Davrin and Lucanis call her “Harding”

Emmrich calls her "Harding" most of the time, though he calls her "Lace" on two occasions (in a banter about Emmrook, and the one where he talks about seeing her aura differently after he becomes a Lich)

Harding grows special plants for Davrin to help him mask the griffon smell in his room

Harding grows truffles for Assan

Harding lets Assan sleep on her

To Lich!Emmrich, Harding appears different from other dwarves. She has a special aura (but it comes and goes)

Harding buys an enchanted barbed arrow to take out Lucanis/Spite if push comes to shove. She later tries to give it to Lucanis and apologises, but he insists she keeps it as a sign of his trust

Harding finds Teia intimidating because she is “polished” (Lucanis disagrees but notes she keeps good track of all utensils Viago poisoned at the table)

Teia called Harding fearless in a conversation with Lucanis

Harding invites Neve to her house in Ferelden after Neve's apartment in Minrathous burns down, in case she wants to get away from the Lighthouse

Harding is very excited about Neve taking over the Threads (“Do they have to kiss your hand?”) and wishes she were a crime boss

Harding once dreamt of Neve stealing her strawberry tarts

Harding starts humming Taash’s name to herself after they get together

About gifts from Taash:

Harding doesn’t use the archery bracer because it feels so special she’s afraid it could get lost or get dirty

She also doesn’t wear the hairpin because she’s afraid to lose it

Taash got the cheese in Minrathous

Conclusion: get Harding cheese, it’s the only thing she isn’t afraid to actually use

Garden and plants:

It's enough to mention a plant for it to start growing in Harding’s garden

The Fade plants normally don’t need tending. However, they may begin to wilt if that’s what you expect them to do

Smuggler’s Rose clouds the person’s mind if you are wearing it like perfume, letting you pickpocket other people more easily

Sage bane mixed with troll moss can be used to treat toenail fungus

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age #lace harding #davrin #neve gallus #taash #veilguard spoilers #lucanis dellamorte #datv banters #meta #references #flowers.txt

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redroomreflections · 2 days ago

Text

Her Best Secret

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and R are having an affair.

Note: I wrote this after watching Mother's Instinct with Anne Hathway and Jessica Chastain. I needed to make it gay. I don't know what this is truly but it's here.

Warnings: Smut and fluff kind off.

Picket fences. Two-and-a-half children. A dog in the yard. A steady job. A house on a quiet street. Nuclear family. Marriage. College. This was what life was about. The checklist of happiness, painted in bright colors and polished to perfection, like the chrome trim on the cars Sam sold so well.

Tonight, it all seemed true. The music drifted out from the open windows of Steve and Natasha’s house, mingling with the scent of freshly cut grass and neighbors' laughter on the patio. The neighborhood had turned out to celebrate Sam’s big promotion—another shiny star on the life everyone was striving for. You stood by the punch bowl, watching as Natasha twirled beneath Steve’s hand in the center of the makeshift dance floor. Her laughter was light and infectious, her cheeks flushed in a way that made her even more stunning under the string lights. She looked happy—effortlessly so.

Your gaze lingered a moment too long before you turned away, your hand brushing absently over the fabric of your dress. Sam was recounting the story of his big sale to an eager group of neighbors somewhere nearby. You could hear his voice rise and fall, full of charisma and charm, the same traits that had swept you off your feet all those years ago.

"Mama, come dance with us," Claire demanded as she tugged on your hand. Your daughter was the perfect mix of the two of you, and she never ceased to make your heart swell. You smiled down at her, smoothing the hair out of her face and taking in her toothy grin.

“In a minute,” you promised, swirling the punch in your glass. “Let me finish this.”

“Okay,” Claire shrugged, already distracted. She launched into her version of the jitterbug as “Why Do Fools Fall In Love” spun on the record player. Her tiny feet shuffled wildly, arms flailing with abandon. It wasn’t quite the jitterbug but hers, and she owned it.

You smiled, watching her. The song brought back memories of Sam. You could almost feel the warmth of his hands around your waist, guiding you through the steps, the two of you laughing and stumbling over each other in the middle of your living room. A good memory.

“It’s a great party, right?” came a voice behind you.

You turned to see Sarah Wilson, her warm smile disarming as always. She was one of those rare people who could make anyone feel at home. Your sister-in-law had been a steady presence in your life, offering unsolicited advice and unwavering support.

“Oh, of course,” you nodded, eyes flicking between Claire’s eclectic moves and Natasha and Steve, who were swaying comfortably in the center of the dance floor. “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Sarah chuckled, nodding toward the dance floor. “I didn’t think Natasha would ever get Steve out there. That man’s all business. But look at them now.”

You smiled into your glass, forcing a little laugh. “They seem like they’re enjoying themselves.”

“Speaking of enjoying,” Sarah said, her tone shifting as her gaze landed on Claire. “Your little one’s a great dancer. She’s got rhythm for sure.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling a touch of pride.

“Have you two thought about giving her another playmate?” Sarah’s voice was casual, but her eyes gleamed with curiosity.

The question was unexpected, and you took a step back. It was a fair question. Most couples with kids would have more than one. You had known that since the day Claire was born. But the thought of having another child—with Sam, of all people—made your stomach churn.

Sarah was waiting, and you knew her well enough to know that she would keep pressing until you answered.

"Oh, well,” you began, fumbling for an answer, “I’ve been thinking about returning to work. It’s just not the right time for us.”

Sarah arched an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “Work, huh? Well, I’m sure Sam has his own thoughts about that.”

Before you could respond, Sam appeared beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his easy grin softening the tension in your chest.

“Oh, nothing,” Sarah said lightly, though her tone betrayed her nosiness. “We were just talking about Claire’s dancing—and whether she might get a little brother or sister someday.”

Sam glanced at you, his brow lifting in amusement. “Is that so?”

You felt your cheeks warm as you shrugged helplessly.

“She said she’s thinking about returning to work,” Sarah added, her teasing smile turning to him.

Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Come on, Sarah. Leave her alone. She’s got enough on her plate without you playing matchmaker for the kids. If you'll excuse me, I want to dance with my wife."

Sarah rolled her eyes at her brother. Then, with a quick wink to you, she said, "Okay, okay, I can take a hint. But don't go too far. We're doing the fireworks after dinner and need help setting up all the chairs."

Sam took your hand and pulled you out onto the dancefloor, ignoring his sister, twirling you playfully before pulling you close. His eyes shone, and you wondered how much he had had to drink. It didn’t matter. You needed this right now; you needed to feel the warmth of his skin against yours and a distraction from seeing her with him.

"I didn't know you were thinking about returning to work," he said, his eyes searching yours.

"It's been on my mind, yes," You nodded.

"I thought we agreed you didn't need to," He tilted his head slightly. "You'd be leaving Claire with a babysitter or at daycare. We can afford to take care of her ourselves."

"I know, but..." You trailed off.

He grinned down at you, his frown barely noticeable as he leaned closer. “But what?”

You laughed softly, letting him spin you again, your hesitation hidden behind the dance. “I just… I like the idea of doing something for myself again, you know?”

Sam pulled you close, his hand firm at the small of your back. His grin widened, his tone teasing. “You mean besides raising the most beautiful kid in the neighborhood?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his charm. “Exactly,” you quipped, tapping his chest lightly. He pulled you tighter to him.

"I know it's what you want," He whispered. "But you look so beautiful when you're pregnant."

You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous, Sam."

"I'm just being honest," He said, his tone light and playful.

"You're drunk, and I'm tired." You tried to pull away, but he held fast, his hands firm on your hips.

"You know you want to," he teased, his breath hot on your ear. Finally, he sighed. "I love you."

"I love you, too," You muttered, closing your eyes as his lips brushed your temple. When he moved to kiss your lips, you didn't pull away. You loved Sam. You really did. You always had.

And yet...

"Okay, lovebirds,” came Natasha’s voice, cutting through the music with playful ease. “Sam, let me take her away. It’s my turn to dance.” She said it with a teasing grin, the kind that made her so easy to like. Natasha, your closest friend, was a familiar presence, one the neighborhood never found threatening.

Sam chuckled, loosening his hold on your waist. “Fine, but don’t wear her out,” he replied with mock seriousness. "I need her tonight."

You pulled away and offered him a polite smile, careful not to meet his gaze.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sam exchanging a glance with Steve. The two men shrugged, their silent communication as effortless as their friendship. They knew nothing could come between the two of you.

“You alright?” Natasha asked softly, her voice low enough for only you to hear.

“I’m fine,” you replied.

She smiled, her lips curving into that mischievous way of hers, her eyes sparkling like she already knew the truth. “Good. Let’s go find some real fun.”

Before you could respond, she grabbed your arm gently but insistently, steering you off the dance floor and down toward the basement. She fumbled for the light control before pulling the string.

“What are we doing down here?” you asked, a small laugh escaping as she guided you to the landing. "I'm going to twist my ankle."

Natasha continued. “Sometimes a girl needs to breathe,” she said lightly, though there was an undercurrent to her words. "And Steve keeps the good beers down here."

"Well, thank God for Steve," you laughed.

"Amen," Natasha nodded as she rumbled through the deep freeze. "Ah, we only have one."

"We can share it," You shrugged. "We have the best stories, and I think we've earned it."

"Cheers," Natasha said as she raised the can and pulled the tab to open it. She wasn't anticipating the rush of foam that exploded from the top, so she stepped back in horror. Droplets landed on the floor and her dress.

"Oh no," You groaned.

"Shit," She muttered, trying to brush the beer off her front.

"Oh, no. Natasha, I'm so sorry. Come here," You reached for the paper towels on the table and tried to wipe off the beer. "I think I made it worse."

"Yeah, me too," Natasha muttered, frowning as she dabbed at the wet stain. "God, I can't believe this. This is the worst."

You sighed, trying not to laugh. "It's not that bad. Just tell people it's a design feature. Or... or pretend it's a bloodstain. Tell people you got a little violent."

Natasha's laughter bubbled up, and she gave you a playful shove. "Don't joke like that! My blood is supposed to stay on the inside, thank you very much. Also, it's clear, and blood is red."

You chuckled, reaching for the can. "Here, give me some of that."

Natasha relented and watched as you sipped from the can. Her eyes never seemed to leave you.

"So...how's Sam?"

"He's...good."

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's it?"

You shrugged. "What do you want me to say? He's...good. Things are good."

"Mmm," she hummed, tilting her head slightly.

"What?" you asked, your voice coming out more defensively than you intended.

"What were you guys talking about?"

"Nothing. It was nothing. Just...work. Stuff. Things. Nothing important."

Natasha pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

You sighed, trying not to fidget under her stare. "He wants another baby."

Natasha blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And what?"

"How do you feel about it?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. "I mean, I love Claire, and I don't know if we're ready for another baby. And..." You trailed off.

"And?"

"It's just...hard," you admitted quietly. "He's so attentive when I'm pregnant, and I get to spend a lot of time with him, and then when the baby comes, he gets so busy. It's just...hard. And sometimes, I think maybe it would be better if we didn't have any more kids."

"You don't want Claire to have a sibling?" She probed. "Are you guys being careful?"

"By careful, do you mean not letting him finish inside me?"

"Um, yes?"

"Then yes," you confirmed, nodding. "Do you really want to hear the ways Sam and I are practicing safe sex?"

Natasha laughed, the sound soft and low, a private melody just for you. “No, no, I don’t,” she said, shaking her head slightly. She would rather you not sleep with him at all. She sighed, the corners of her mouth tugging downward, then licked her lips—a slow, deliberate motion that drew your attention, as it always did. That shade of red was your favorite on her, and she knew it.

Her green eyes met yours, steady and probing. “Are you happy?”

The question hit you like a stray gust of wind, sudden and disarming.

“Of course,” you replied, the words tumbling out too fast, too practiced. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

Natasha raised a single, elegant eyebrow, the expression laced with skepticism. “Because I can tell when you’re lying,” she said plainly, her tone cutting through your defenses like a knife through butter.

Your shoulders slumped slightly as you leaned against the countertop. The calm surface grounded you, though it couldn’t stop the swirl of emotions rising in your chest. “It’s just hard sometimes,” you admitted quietly, almost to yourself.

Her gaze softened, the sharp edges of her wit giving way to something warmer, something more tender. “Yeah, I know,” she murmured.

She set down the beer can she’d been holding, the metallic clink almost imperceptible under the weight of her words. Her fingers drummed on the countertop; the rhythm was uneven, nearly hesitant, as if her thoughts were tangled in the silence between you. The crimson polish on her nails caught the dim light, matching the glow in her eyes as she studied you.

“Sometimes,” she began, her voice barely audible, “I think we forget we’re allowed to want more.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the implication hanging like unspoken truths. You glanced back toward the stairs, where laughter and music blasted above you, but it felt a world away from this moment.

“And what if we can’t have more?” you asked, your voice trembling just enough to betray the depth of the question.

Natasha’s lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Then maybe we take what we can get,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving yours. Before you could respond, Natasha's lips were on yours. Soft. Warm. Inviting. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating from her body.

A quiet moan escaped her, muffled against your mouth, and you could taste the sweetness of the beer lingering on her tongue. You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the warmth of her touch, in the familiar scent of her perfume. Your mind raced, and yet your thoughts were perfectly still. Her body was so different. Her touch was so different.

A loud thump, followed by the unmistakable sound of laughter, cut through the air. Then a cry and a scream of "Mama" followed. Natasha pulled away quickly, her face flushed, her breathing uneven. You glanced at the ceiling, the spell between you broken. That was the cry of your child.

"I should probably go and check on her," You said while Natasha spoke.

"We should probably get back," Natasha murmured.

You nodded, unable to meet her eyes. Wiping your mouth, you glanced back at her before heading upstairs.

*****

You could smell the firecrackers before you saw them, the sharp scent of smoke mingling with the sweet smell of hamburgers grilling. Claire sat in your lap, the three-year-old tired and sleepy from all the excitement. You couldn't blame her after the day chasing the other kids around the house.

Claire leaned her head against your chest, her eyes heavy with sleep. You rubbed her back absently, smiling at how her small hand curled around yours.

The sky was dark, but the backyard was lit by the string lights draped over the trees and the fireworks in the sky. You were amazed at how she could sleep through this. Sam sat next to you in the grass, his arms wrapped around your waist and his hands rubbing your side. He felt at home.

Briefly, you could see a flash of the light catching across a couple, and your eyes moved towards them. It was Natasha and Steve. He stood almost a foot taller than her, his arms wrapped around her midsection as she leaned back into his chest. They looked comfortable like they belonged together. How their bodies seemed to mold into each other was the kind of thing romance novels talked about.

They were so beautiful together.

The thought made you uneasy.

Sam leaned over and whispered in your ear, his breath warm on your skin. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," you murmured, leaning into him. "Just a bit tired. She's a heavy sleeper."

He chuckled softly, his hand reaching up to caress your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin, and you closed your eyes, enjoying the sensation.

"You know, it's our anniversary tomorrow," He said, his tone casual, but the meaning behind his words clear.

"Oh," you said, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

"Yeah, five years," he smiled.

"Wow, I can't believe it's been that long," you admitted.

"Me neither," he grinned, kissing your lips softly. You couldn't see Natasha's eyes on the two of you.

Sam looked up and noticed the fireworks lighting the sky. He nudged Claire and whispered, "Come on, sweetheart. You're going to miss the fireworks."

Claire lifted her head, blinking blearily. "No, Daddy. I'm sleepy," she whined.

"Come on, pumpkin. Let's watch the show," Sam coaxed, his voice gentle and coaxing. Claire groaned softly but let Sam lift her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, her tiny hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “Alright, pumpkin,” he said with a chuckle, “just for a little while.”

You watched them walk toward the edge of the patio, where the first bursts of fireworks lit up the night sky. Claire’s sleepy eyes reflected the vibrant colors as she yawned against her daddy's chest.

Five years. It was a long time. You'd built a life together. One you were proud of. One you were comfortable with.

Your eyes drifted to the couple again, and your chest tightened. Natasha and Steve looked so natural together. So at ease. And then there was you, feeling like an imposter. You weren’t the girl Sam fell in love with anymore. You weren't the one who wanted all the same things he did. And you couldn't tell him. You couldn't shatter his image of you.

Sam whispered something into Claire's ear, lifting her head to look at you.

"Mama, come watch."

"In a minute, baby," you called, your voice thick with emotion.

You swallowed hard, trying to fight back the tears. How could you be so selfish? Sam had given you everything. He had given you Claire. You were blessed, yet you couldn't seem content with what you had.

Natasha echoed in your mind: Sometimes we forget we're allowed to want more.

*************

Tuesdays were sacred. At exactly 12:30, without fail, Natasha would appear at your front door, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she walked the three doors down. By the time the clock struck the half-hour, you would already have the kettle whistling on the stove and the good china laid out.

It started as a casual thing—a neighborly gesture during those quiet, lonesome afternoons when the house felt too big and Sam was at work. But over time, it became something more. A ritual. A promise.

This Tuesday was no different. You were finishing the vacuuming when you heard Claire shriek with laughter from the living room. You smiled to yourself, knowing what that meant.

You rounded the corner, the vacuum still humming, and saw Claire spinning in circles as Natasha crouched down to her level, a broad smile on her perfectly painted red lips.

“She’s getting good at this,” Natasha teased, catching Claire mid-spin and lifting her off the ground.

“Too good,” you replied, switching off the vacuum and leaning against the doorway. “She’s going to join the circus at this rate.”

Natasha laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Her gaze traveled to the hallway and the bags of groceries waiting by the front door.

"Let me help," She said, setting Claire back on the floor.

"Thanks," you murmured, grabbing the nearest bag. "I don't know why I let Sam talk me into doing this today."

"Probably the same reason I let Steve convince me to get the new patio furniture," Natasha chuckled, following you into the kitchen.

"He can be persuasive, can't he?"

"Yeah, yeah, he can," She agreed, her tone wistful.

"It's not a bad thing," You said, placing the bags on the counter.

"Tasha, come play," Claire begged.

"In a minute, little one," Natasha promised. Claire nodded and rushed back into the den with her toys.

"How about some tea?" You offered.

"You read my mind," Natasha smiled.

You took the teapot from the cupboard and filled it with water, watching as the steam rose from the spout. Your thoughts drifted back to that night in the basement, and you wondered if Natasha felt the same. There had been many nights like that. Many shared kisses. Shared looks. You think back to that night months again when you'd given her her first orgasm at the hands of a woman.

It was a moment that changed things. It was the moment you knew you were done pretending.

"I'm glad we have this," Natasha murmured.

"Tea?"

"No, silly. Time." She turned to look at you, her green eyes softening. "I'm glad we have this. This friendship."

You couldn't help but smile. "Me, too."

"So," Natasha said, leaning against the counter and folding her arms over her chest, "how are things going with you and Sam?"

You shrugged. "Good."

"That's all you're going to give me?" She prodded, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"There's not much to tell," you admitted.

"You guys had an anniversary a few nights ago," Natasha reminded you.

"Do we discuss the juicy details like that still?"

Natasha hesitated, then shook her head. "No, but I'm asking because I care about you, and I know Sam has been a bit persistent about the baby thing."

You sighed, turning back to the stove. You were silent.

"I'm sorry," Natasha said quietly. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, no, it's fine," you assured her. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, it's just me," Natasha reminded you gently, reaching out to touch your arm. "You can tell me anything."

You hesitated, then blurted out, "What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Us," you said, gesturing between the two of you. "What are we doing? Is this just a...thing?"

Natasha blinked, her expression unreadable. "A thing?"

"Yeah, like, I don't know, an escape or something," you tried to explain. "Like, a distraction."

Natasha shook her head slowly. "No, no, I wouldn't say that."

"Then what would you say?"

"I'd say that I enjoy spending time with you. I'd say that you're a beautiful, smart, funny woman, and I'm lucky to call you a friend."

"But what does that mean?"

Natasha stepped closer, her hand moving from your arm to the small of your back. Her gaze never left yours, her eyes searching for an answer to a question she couldn't quite voice.

"It means that I care about you," she said softly. "And if you ever need a distraction, I'm here."

"What if I don't want a distraction?" You breathed.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn't answer. Instead, you pulled her across the kitchen to the laundry room. You left the door open to hear Claire in case she needed you. In an instant, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to hers, kissing her like it was the last time.

She kissed you back, her hands resting on your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. Her tongue parted your lips, and you tasted the sweetness of her breath. Her hands moved lower, sliding over your curves, and you moaned softly against her mouth.

"Tasha," You gasped as her fingers traced the waistband of your jeans, her touch burning hot against your skin.

She broke the kiss, her eyes dark and hooded. "Yes?"

"I want you."

"I'm yours."

Her lips crashed against yours, and her hands fumbled with the button of your jeans, her touch making your skin tingle.

"Tasha, we can't Claire's here." You reminded her between kisses.

"She's playing," Natasha muttered, her fingers finally popping the button. Before either of you could ponder her statement, the front door opened. In a flash, Natasha was in the kitchen, pushing the rest of the groceries into the fridge as you attempted to gather your bearings. She was so fast.

"Hello?" Sam's voice called from the foyer.

"We're in the kitchen," You answered, closing the laundry room door and ensuring it was locked.

Sam walked into the kitchen, his suit jacket draped over his arm and his tie loosened. "Hey," he smiled. "I thought I'd surprise you guys."

"Well, it worked," Natasha laughed.

"Sorry, I forgot my lunch. I'll grab it and head out," Sam said, moving past the two of you. He glanced between you, his gaze lingering on your face.

"I'm going to finish the dishes," You murmured, turning away.

Sam stopped and frowned. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile. "Just feeling a little tired."

"You should rest," Sam stepped closer to you. "Have a cup of tea?

"I will."

"Good," Sam leaned forward and kissed your cheek. "Love you."

"I love you too," You said, the words coming out automatically. Sam lingered, landing another sweet kiss on your lips.

Natasha looked over her shoulder at you, her expression unreadable. "Sam, before you go, can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can I borrow a screwdriver? We're working on the deck chairs, and one of the bolts keeps slipping," She explained, her voice surprisingly steady.

"Sure, no problem," Sam said, digging through a drawer. He pulled out a screwdriver and handed it to Natasha. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Natasha smiled. "Oh, and before I forget, I'll have those pictures of Claire for you next week."

"Thanks," Sam replied. "And thanks for keeping them company."

"My pleasure," Natasha grinned.

"Okay, I'm heading back out. See you later, baby," Sam kissed you once more before disappearing into the foyer. The front door opened, then shut, leaving the house strangely empty.

"That was close," Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "Yeah, it was," you agreed. "But it was worth it."

"Do you regret it?"

"No," you said without hesitation.

"Me neither," She murmured, stepping closer.

You leaned into her, resting your head against her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. "Tasha?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being there. For being my friend. For just being...you."

Natasha hugged you, her arms wrapping around your waist and her chin resting on your head. "Anytime," she said softly, and you knew she meant it.

*****

Drive-In Night was interesting. It's a couple's night, truly. The four of you would get together and watch whatever movie was playing. This time, it was How to Marry A Millionaire. You all piled into Steve’s car, a vintage Chevy that seemed as timeless as its owner. It was a tight fit, but no one complained. The air buzzed with the crowd's excitement as headlights flickered across the makeshift parking lot of the drive-in theater.

Natasha sat into the passenger seat, leaning her elbow out the window, her eyes scanning the packed lot with a subtle smirk. “I’m impressed, Rogers. Didn’t think you’d show up for something so… pink.”

Steve laughed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “What can I say? I’m broadening my horizons.”

From the backseat, you chuckled. “You mean Natasha dragged you here, didn’t she?”

“Guilty,” Steve admitted, glancing sideways at Natasha, who simply shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like Sam and I had a choice.”

Sam, beside you, snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Real gentlemen, right?” He stretched his arm along the back of the seat, pulling you closer. “But hey, don’t think I’m above enjoying a rom-com. I’ve got range.”

Natasha tilted her head back, laughing. “Sure, Wilson. You’ll be crying by the second act.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Sam fired back, grinning.

You rolled your eyes fondly. They constantly bickered like this, but it was good-natured. You could tell they were friends. Real friends.

The movie began, and the warm glow of the screen washed over the car. The plot unfolded with charm, full of meet-cutes, sassy best friends, and conveniently timed rainstorms. It wasn’t bad, but you couldn’t help but notice Sam shifting every so often, clearly restless.

“Alright,” Sam announced midway through a particularly swoony montage. “Steve, snacks?”

Steve glanced at Natasha, who was far too engrossed in the movie to notice him leaving. “Yeah, good idea. You girls want anything?”

You and Natasha exchanged a look. “Popcorn,” you both said in unison.

Sam and Steve left the car, their silhouettes fading into the crowd as they made their way to the concession stand. Moving closer to the front seat, you shifted and settled comfortably against the backrest.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder, a smile playing on her lips.

You smiled back.

The moment passed.

"You're so far away," You whispered.

"I know," she whispered back, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. "Come closer," She whispered. You climbed into the front seat, quickly glancing at the long concession line.

"Is this better?" You asked, settling in.

"Much," she said, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"You're cute," She said. What she was doing was risky business. While it was dark, anyone with eyes and the guts to look your way could see.

"So are you," You responded.

"I want to kiss you."

"You do?"

"I do."

"I want to fuck you," She said.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the heat between your thighs growing with each passing second. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You leaned in. Her hand rested on your thigh, rubbing you through your skirt. "Tasha," you whimpered.

"Yes, kitten," she whispered.

"We can't"

"Why not?"

"It's too risky."

"No one's looking."

"What about Sam and Steve?"

"They're at the concession stand. And the movie is loud."

"But what if someone hears?"

"We'll be quiet."

"We've never been quiet," You giggled.

"We'll try," she whispered. She knew she didn't have much time. She needed this to happen and fast. Her hand slipped under your skirt, and she felt the dampness of your panties.

"Jesus, you're soaked."

"I can't help it."

"Neither can I."

She slid her hand down, pushed your panties aside, and plunged her fingers inside you. Your hips bucked, and you bit back a moan.

"So tight," She moaned.

"So good," You whimpered. She was an expert by now. She knew your body well and learned how to make you cum.

She fucked you hard and fast, her fingers hitting all the right spots. She was gentle while somehow being able to get you there so quickly. You couldn't moan or tell her how close you were. You couldn't even thrust into her fingers. You could only sit there and take it. Your face remained natural even as you closed your eyes. The pleasure was too intense, and you wanted to focus on it. You wanted to savor every second.

When you came, you bit down on your lip, drawing blood. Natasha watched you come undone under her hand.

"You are perfect," She whispered, leaning in and kissing your cheek. You were a trembling mess.

"Tasha," You breathed, trying to catch your breath.

"I can't wait to do that again," She said.

"Me too."

She kissed your cheek once more before sitting back.

You were her best secret.

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #black widow x female reader #natasha x you

245 notes · View notes

lushrue · 16 hours ago

Text

dinner party (nsfw)

ghoap x fem!reader

cw: oral (m and f receiving), dubcon (sort of?), voyeurism, dom ghost

it was supposed to be a normal dinner party.

by all accounts, it had been up to this point. it wasn’t unusual for your husband to invite the men he worked with over for dinner, especially johnny. the man lives alone, he’d said, least I can do is give ‘em a nice home-cooked meal every once in a while. you always pulled out the stops, cooking something bordering on gourmet that the mess halls couldn’t even hope to replicate. tonight, it had been grilled salmon with wild rice and roasted asparagus.

conversation over dinner was normal, aided by the wine and whiskey loosening everyone’s lips. you’re far more sociable than simon is, but that doesn't take much, so the alcohol kept the words flowing freely. it wasn’t until after dinner that things started to shift.

the three of you settled in the living room with your respective spirits, wrapping up the night with friendly conversation over light dessert. you moved to your usual spot in the armchair beside the bookshelf, but the sound of simon clicking his tongue at you stopped you in your tracks. he was sat in his own chair nearest the sofa, legs spread like a king on his throne. you couldn’t quite keep your eyes from wandering, admiring the way his jeans clung to his thighs. he met your gaze, the corner of his lips quirked up in a mischievous smirk. he patted his thigh and you felt embarrassment burn your cheeks.

you glanced over to johnny, as if to remind simon that you had company, but he didn’t seem to care. his dark eyes stayed fixed on you, silence falling over the room as johnny’s gaze followed his lieutenant’s. simon cocked his head, a gesture that you recognized as obey or else. you didn’t feel like testing the waters tonight, so you padded over to him, perching yourself on his thigh.

your husband’s arm snaked around your waist as you swirled your wine in your glass, staring at the whirlpool it created to distract you from the way johnny was eyeing you. simon had pulled you onto his lap for a reason, and part of you wondered if it wasn’t entirely selfish motivation that had you positioned here. simon’s hand stroked over the crushed velvet of the dress he’d insisted you wear, sliding down to grip your ass occasionally when you got too fidgety.

conversation gradually turned to their work, so you tuned them out. it wasn’t that you weren’t interested; most of it just flew over your head. it gave you time to focus on the way your husband was feeling you up. his hand never stayed in one place too long, sliding from your shoulder to your spine to the nape of your neck and down. it made shivers run down your spine, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs the longer it continued. despite your squirming, you managed to stay ladylike, a metaphorical aspirin between your knees as the two men talked.

“so, how’s y’r sex life?” simon asked, which snapped you back to attention. johnny seemed just as bewildered as you did at the question, his cheeks flushed scarlet beneath the stubble. you nudged simon’s shoulder, shaking your head at him. “simon, that’s not polite,” you said, but he didn’t pay you any mind. he was too busy watching johnny fluster and scramble to find his words. “l.t., I-” he started, but simon held up a hand to stop him. “nah, don’ play dumb with me, lad. heard ya jus’ the other day in the rec room. talkin’ about how ya haven’t had a good shag in months, somethin’ like tha’.”

you were just as embarrassed as johnny was now. you knew simon wasn’t the most tactful of men, but this was a whole other level. johnny stuttered around his words, trying to find some kind of reply that was appropriate for the situation. nothing would be appropriate for this situation, you thought. simon just chuckled, his hand rubbing the plush cheek of your ass. “look how flustered ‘e is, lovie,” he said to you, finally giving you his full attention. “poor man, doesn’ have a good bird like I do. no one to cook ‘im a nice dinner and keep ‘is cock wet.”

as flustered as you were, the words sent a jolt straight to your core. taking care of your husband was a sense of pride for you. you got a primal satisfaction out of sinking to your knees and sucking him dry after he’d had a hard day. it meant the world to you when his shoulders sagged and released the burden that he’d been carrying, all at your hands. you shifted on his lap, pressing your thighs together to get some relieving friction.

simon looked back at johnny, who seemed just as affected. he had his hands clasped over his lap, his gaze cast down at the throw rug like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “ya wanna know wha’ it’s like, sergeant?” simon asked, his voice dropping into a register only you got to hear. “wanna feel my sweet, pretty dove wrapped aroun’ ya?” johnny jolted like he’d been shocked with a prod, wide blue eyes looking up at his commanding officer. there was bewilderment there, you noticed. clearly, he hadn’t been expecting this. but behind the surprise, there was something more carnal. he looked hungry, like a mutt begging for scraps from the table.

your husband placed a firm hand on your back, taking the wine glass from your hands and coaxing you to stand. “g’won, lovie. on your knees for our bashful lad, hmm?” simon’s choice of words struck you. our. this was for both of you, not just simon. the two of you had discussed the idea of a threesome once, but it felt like a pipe dream then. you’d expressed interest, never really expecting simon to share but confessing your fantasy all the same. and now, here it was. Happening.

you did as you were told, kneeling in front of the sofa where johnny was. from this angle, you could see how harshly his chest was rising and falling, his breath quick and uncertain. it brought you a strange sense of satisfaction that you could fluster a special ops soldier so easily. you sat there expectantly, but johnny didn’t move. he just stared at you, almost the same way he’d stared at his dinner plate before digging in. his eyes traced the contours of your body, over your shoulders and down to your full chest, over your breasts and down to the plush of your stomach and thighs where they pressed against your dress.

“starin’ won’ make ‘er cum, johnny,” simon quipped. you drew in a sharp breath, glancing back over your shoulder at your husband. he clicked his tongue again, motioning back towards johnny. “ah-ah, keep your eyes on ‘im, precious. he needs y’r attention more’n I do.” you looked back up at johnny dutifully, your lips parting slightly as you waited for him to do something, anything. the fabric of the rug was biting into your knees, making you a tad uncomfortable. “she’s yer wife, simon, I cannae jus’-” “you can an’ you will,” simon interrupted. “the only way she gets any pleasure tonigh’ is by your hand, an’ I don’t let my wife go to bed unsatisfied.” you let out a whine at that, the stakes so much higher now that you knew the terms. johnny just had to touch you.

“steamin’ jesus,” the Scot cursed under his breath, your whine sending a spark of pleasure between his legs. he’d never heard a woman make that sound before, especially not at the prospect of being pleased by him. “i can touch ‘er?” he asked, but he didn’t look at simon for an answer. his stare was more intense, sizing you up, deciding which piece of you would be most juicy to sink his teeth into. simon hummed in amusement. “unless y’r bloody telekinetic, s’pose ya have to, don’ ya?” simon responded, shifting in his chair. you heard the zipper of his jeans go down and it was almost painful that you couldn’t look at him.

johnny reached forward, taking your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he stroked his thumb along your jaw, shuddering on his exhale. “y’r so soft,” he breathed out, marvelling at the beauty of you on your knees. you lean your head into his touch, following the pulls and pushes of his hand as he inspects you. “such a bonnie bird,” he cooed, spreading his legs and pulling you in closer to him. you shuffle forward, settling yourself more squarely between his knees.

“simon says ya suck cock like a dream. is he righ’?” johnny asked. you nod, leaning forward to mouth at his crotch through his jeans. you could feel how hard he was already from barely having touched you. instead of focusing on the fact that simon was going around blabbing about your blowjob skills, you chose to take in as much of johnny’s musk as you could through his pants. you couldn’t quite smell him, but there was the barest hint of his body wash peeking through.

simon had started stroking himself to the sight of both of you, the wet shlick reaching your ears and emboldening you. knowing that your husband was enjoying this ignited a fire that started in your core and spread through your veins. johnny got the same motivation, locking eyes with simon for only a moment before shoving his jeans and boxers down. you gasp at the suddenness of it, placing your hands on his bare thighs to steady yourself. before you can fully get your bearings, johnny grabs the back of your head and shoves you down.

he’s not as long as simon, but he’s certainly thicker. he fills your mouth almost instantly, your cheeks aching a little with the stretch. you and johnny moan in unison, your eyes fluttering shut as johnny’s hand balls up in your hair. simon chuckles behind you, his hand tightening around himself. “tha’s it, lad. fuck ‘er mouth good, she likes it a bit rough.”

johnny’s hips start thrusting, the ruddy tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. tears bead up in the corners of your eyes, whimpers and moans giving johnny some vibration as he fucks your throat. you applauded yourself for the decision not to wear mascara; cleaning the tears and spit from your face would be difficult enough. saliva dribbled down johnny’s length, wetting your lips as you hollowed your cheeks. the salt of him coated your tongue, precum leaking down your throat. above you, johnny was grunting and groaning like a rutting bull, thrusting into your mouth with abandon. “how’s my girl feel, johnny?” simon asked, his voice sounding strained. hearing just how affected they both were had your pussy dripping with arousal. “fuck, si, she’s…ah, so warm. fuckin’ milkin’ me.”

your tongue traced the protruding vein on the underside of johnny’s cock, delighting in the shudder you earned from him. it didn’t take long after that for him to finish down your throat. you swallowed every drop, taking in everything he offered. he was more bitter than simon, but you enjoyed it all the same. you pulled your mouth off of johnny’s cock with a wet pop, peeking up at him with heavy lidded eyes. the man you saw was not the man who’d sat across from you at dinner. he looked downright feral, grabbing you like a man possessed. he pulled you up from the floor, laying you out on the sofa and tugging your underwear down.

before johnny tossed them away, he held them to his nose, drinking in the smell of you. he groaned, balling the fabric up in his fists. “y’r bird smells like heav’n, l.t.,” he rasped, dropping the panties and fixing his wild gaze back on you. “bet she tastes even better.” without any further warning, he dipped his head between your thighs, thick tongue lapping up the moisture from your cunt. you squealed in surprise, throwing your head back against the cushions. simon bit back a curse behind his hand, watching his best friend devour his wife like his last meal. the mere thought was enough to make him spill all over his hand and stomach, his release silent so as not to distract johnny.

you didn’t think anything could. your thighs clamped around his head to keep him in place, but it was hardly necessary. even the rapture couldn’t pull him away from your pussy and the nectar that dripped from it. as much as you enjoyed the feeling, johnny wasn’t as coordinated as simon was. his tongue was wild, moving for his pleasure rather than yours.

you twitched and moaned when he would happen to graze your clit, hoping that he’d get the hint, but he never did. there was no technique, no purpose. johnny came up for air, hazy eyes meeting yours. he was pussy-drunk, your juices shining on his lips and chin. he nosed at the inside of your plush thigh, sinking his teeth into the fat there. it stung and your back arched, reaching down to push his head away. the sting wasn’t pleasurable, not compared to his tongue against your cunt.

the moment simon caught the resistance from you, he was on his feet, yanking johnny back by his mohawk. the Scot gasped, back arching as simon held his hair tight in his fist. “easy, mutt,” simon growled in johnny’s ear, pushing his head down to look at you. “tha’s my girl, and y’r gonna treat ‘er with the respect she deserves. not some blushin’ virgin tha’s never had a woman, are ya?” johnny huffed, taking the question as an insult to his manhood. “‘course not,” he said, voice tense and strained. simon shook johnny’s head, then released his hair. “didn’ think so. remember y’r place, treat ‘er right.”

the scolding from simon had leveled johnny, forced him to slow down and think with his brain and not his cock. you twitched and whined as he paid more attention to your aching clit, swollen and puffy with desire. your hips bucked against your will, pressing against johnny’s tongue harder.

finally, his tongue pushed inside you, caressing your walls. you clenched around him, tension building in your lower stomach. “don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged, chest heaving. simon appeared at your side, stroking your hair. his gaze was soft, admiring, a welcome contrast to johnny’s. “cum on his tongue, love. he’s been waitin’ for it, not gonna stop ‘til he gets it.” those words were all it took to push you over the edge, shuddering and whining as johnny licked you through your orgasm.

you felt floaty after, the pleasure of having your husband’s best friend eat you out while your husband watched going straight to your head. there were cooed praises and kisses to your cheeks, but you weren’t entirely sure who they came from. hushed words were exchanged at your feet, then johnny was zipping himself up and kissing you goodbye. simon wrapped you in your favorite fuzzy blanket, the gentle sway of his gait soothing you as he carried you to the bedroom. once he’d laid you on the bed, he started to leave, but your soft hum and hand on his arm stopped him. “si? can we do that again?” you asked, voice soft and wrecked.

simon just chuckled, brushing your hair away from your face. “don’ you worry, lovie. he’s comin’ back for dinner next week.”

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robinsgrl · 17 hours ago

Text

FEARLESS

chapter four. doors and burgers

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pairing ⇢ rafe cameron x plus size!reader

word count ⇢ 2.2k

warnings ⇢ fatphobia, insecurities, panic attack, boobies lol, Scarlett should be her own warning, daddy issues,

authors note ⇢ sorry that i messed up on my last post yall!! i confused scarlett with heather. she was supposed to be Heather but i was like….. heathers get too much crap thank you conan 😒 and i forgot to change it lol sorry!!! also i rewrote this like five times and i this was the one i was most satisfied with, so enjoy!!

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Scarlett leaves from what you can tell. People are talking about the kitchen debacle and there are mixed reviews. Some are still kissing Scarlett’s ass, others don’t like her any longer. But it doesn’t seem anyone’s on your side. You’re still invisible. You’ve since taken off your jacket that was drenched and Rafe has given you his. It’s big but it doesn’t cover you entirely, and that makes you feel so damn embarrassed.

Despite your mission being to get Jonah to see you, neither of you can find him anywhere. Kiara and Sarah had their eyes out for him as well but they’ve since lost the mission at hand. Now, you’re all sat in the living room where there are a few people dancing around Sarah who’s singing obnoxiously bad on the karaoke machine. No one has any idea where it came from but everyone is loving it.

You’re clapping along with Kiara, laughing when Sarah messes up another lyric and blames the song. For the first time in what seems like a long time, Rafe isn’t drinking. He isn’t doing much of anything but staying by your side. He’s sitting beside you, watching his sister with amusement. He refuses to clap though, only doing it when you reach over to lift his hands and make him clap.

It’s Kiara’s turn to sing when you get up off the couch and look for the bathroom in the huge figure 8 house. The home has photographs scattered, a happy family shown in them all. It might just be the beer in you that makes you want to cry. You’ve seen the kid around school before and he isn’t anything to you. Anything at all. But you’re wishing him the best. Yeah, you realize it’s the beer.

You stumble into a random room and let out a screech when a body gets up from a bed.

“What are you doing here?” Jonah’s voice sends a flutter through your belly. Your belly. Your stomach. You take a hold of Rafe’s jacket and tighten it around yourself, hiding your body from the guy you want badly.

“Oh… uhm…” you wipe the tears from your eyes that had bled out at the family pictures. “I’m looking for the bathroom.”

He’s immediately up on his feet at the sight of your tears. Your eyes widen when his hands take a hold of your round face and examines you carefully. “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Your breath hitches at the feel of his warm hand. It’s soft. Far too soft for a man who puts his all into the gym and football. “Oh? I… uhm… haha, what? Yeah? I'm… I’m fine. Just…” you sniffle and gently move his hand from your face. You’re refusing to meet his eyes,shy about your sadness. “The pictures… they look so happy.”

The look on his face makes you want to run away. And then, he laughs. “You’re crying because Tommy and his family look happy?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, stuck. “It’s not a bad thing.” Are his words when he seems to realize how stunned you feel. “It’s… adorable.”

You fumble your words, “oh, I, uhm, yeah, okay, that’s… yeah.” To have the guy you’ve been into for years call you such a word is a rush. A scary one. But you like it. And whatever it is you did, you wish you could keep doing it until he saw you as you saw him. Perfect.

You’re still standing by the door of the random bedroom and it’d be easy to just run off. But you can’t. Making a fool of yourself in front of Jonah will only make your plan harder. And Rafe would kill you for letting his effort go to waste. “What are you doing in here?” It comes out more abrasive than you wished, internally scolding yourself.

But he doesn’t seem to mind. Rather, he takes his seat back on the bed and shrugs. “It’s noisy.”

You understand. You really, really do. And you want to say it aloud but your tongue is tied as you watch him throw his head back, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows gently. After a moment, you semi-gather yourself. “Did you leave cause of Sarah?” You joke lightly. “That’s what made me leave.”

This garners a soft laugh out of him and you want to jump up and squeal. But Rafe told you to act nonchalant. “Yeah, she’s certainly… singing.”

You take one step away from the door. Just one. You were going to sit beside him. You were going to talk to him. Really talk to him.

The door behind you swings open and hits your head. Hard. “What the fuck?” Jonah’s quick on his feet, rushing to you in a panic. You turn to look at the culprit and your frown turns into a glare. Rafe.

“What the fuck, Rafe?!” You hiss, sending a punch to his shoulder.

“Why were you standing so near the door?!”

“Why would you swing it open like a maniac?!”

“It’s not my fault you were standing there—“

“Maybe don’t open doors like that—“

“Oh, shut up, do you ever not complain—“

“Says you! You’re, like, the king of complaining—“

“King? King—“

“Should I leave?” Jonah’s soft voice speaks and you shove Rafe’s face as you look at him and smile.

“N-no, you shouldn’t have to. He was just leaving.”

“I was? I don’t— ow, fuck, okay, I’m leaving.”

The mood was ruined. Whatever mood Jonah was in was gone. And so was your confidence. It's awkward as you sit next to him on the bed. The palm of your hands are on your knees, anxiously rubbing at them. He’s laid back on the bed, arm crossed over his eyes, the only thing telling you he’s up is the soft twitch of his fingers.

“Does it hurt?” His voice cuts through the thick silence.

Panicked, you glance over at him with wide eyes. “Does… does what hurt?”

“Your head. He opened the door pretty hard.” He still doesn’t move from his position and you’re grateful he’s not looking at you. You do better when people can’t perceive you.

“Oh, my head… yeah, it’s fine, doesn’t hurt. I-it’s a little sore but I’ll make him pay for it.” You shrug, fixing Rafe’s jacket on your body.

“You two are close.” It’s supposed to be a question. It doesn’t sound like one.

You shake your head despite his eyes being covered up. “Not really. I… he’s nice but we’re not like friends.”

He sits back up and this makes you tense up, looking straight ahead at that damn door you hate now. “Just never seen him with anyone but his same three friends.”

“I’m friends with Sarah. We’re just… around each other more.” It’s a lie. But you don’t believe Rafe would want people to know just how much time you’re really spending together. The less people that know, the better.

“You and Scarlett are really done?” He questions, eyes on you. But you can’t look over at him. You’re stiff and awkward and unsure of how to act around him.

You nod softly, “y-yeah… she’s, uhm, not a very nice person.”

It’s quiet for another moment. “She’s been running her mouth about you. Calling you names. Really bad names. And all you can say is ‘she's not nice’?”

Hearing that she’s still talking about you is a punch to the guy and suddenly you don’t care about your crush. You don’t care that you two are sitting so close to each other. All you can think is how horrible she truly is. How blinded you were. And how stupid you feel for missing her. “Well… just because others are doing bad things, doesn’t mean I should. Be the bigger person and whatnot.” You let out a small and awkward laugh to try and shrug off what you’re really feeling.

“Wow.” Are his words as he gets up off the bed and walks to the dresser of the bedroom and picking up a magazine. “You’re really not like other girls.” An even bigger punch to the gut. Logically, you know he’s trying to be kind. He’s only saying this to make you feel better, your feelings on Scarlett written all over your face.

You don’t wear makeup, not like other girls do. You don’t dress up, not like other girls do. You don’t giggle over guys, not like other girls do. You don’t go out and have fun, not like other girls do. But you want to do it all. You want to be like other girls. You never felt worth it. Lipstick on a pig. You’re too big to fit trendy clothes. You don’t giggle over guys because they’d be disgusted that you’re into them. You don’t go out because you’d be the biggest out of the group of girls that are around you. You’d be an eyesore.

In a frantic move, you get up off the bed. “Right. Well, I, uh… I have to go.”

“Huh? What—“ but you don’t pay any attention to his words as you rush out of the random bedroom. There are kids littering the hallway. The steps are being used as seats, shoving people slightly as you go. The music is loud. Too loud. You can feel it bouncing in your eardrums and filling your already muddled thoughts. Theres nothing you can think about other than getting out of that damn house. And in your panicked stupor, you can’t find the damn. The house is too damn big.

There’s a couple making out in the bathroom when you rush inside and when they see the fear in your eyes, they rush out, leaving you to be.

The drive isn’t awkward. Not like you thought it would be. He didn’t question you. And despite his last text, he didn’t bring it up. And you’re grateful he didn’t.

“Where are we going?” You ask when you realize you’re headed downtown. “I want to go home, Rafe.”

He shrugs, hands on the wheel. “I’m hungry. We’re just stopping by The Wreck real quick.”

He doesn’t ask you to get down with him. He parks, heads inside, and he’s out fifteen minutes later. But he doesn’t start driving. In fact, he immediately takes a bite out of his burger, your food untouched on your lap.

“You’re not gonna eat?” He asks with his mouth full, but you don’t grimace like you should. You grab a napkin and hands it to him but he shakes his head refusing it.

“You’re dirty.”

“And you’re not eating.” He swallows his food.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re lying.”

“So because I'm fat, I must be hungry?” It’s a joke but the look he gives you tells you he’s not amused in the slightest. “Tough crowd. Seriously, I'm not hungry.”

“Is this that thing where you don’t eat in front of people cause you’re with a guy? Sarah told me it’s some shit she does.”

“It’s that thing where I’m not hungry, actually.” But it smells divine. Usually, you’d happily eat this but after tonight, you’re not sure if you’ll ever eat greasy foods again.

He scoffs, putting his burger down and holding a fry up at you. “Try the fry.”

“You try the fry.”

“I already did. Seriously, my mom had this trick while we were growing up. Sarah always swore she wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t get anything to eat but she’d make her try something from the plate to realize how hungry she really was.”

“How old was she?”

“My mom? She was pushing forty.”

You glare at the proud look on his face at his joke. “Sarah, stupid.”

“I don’t know… seven?”

“You’re treating me like a seven year old?”

“Try. The. Fry.” He swipes it across your lips and this gets a laugh out of you, shoving him away.

“Okay, okay! I’ll eat a fry. But that one has lipstick all over it now.” You pick a fry from his and he squints his eyes at you.

“You have a perfectly good batch.”

You pop the fry into your mouth with a content smile. “Not as good as yours.” And he was right. The salt and buttery soft fry proved to be true— you are hungry.

With a sigh, you grab your burger and say— “okay… just… don’t look.”

This amuses him. “Don’t look at you eat your burger? Well, there goes my spank bank.”

“Ew, Rafe!” You laugh, nose scrunching at his crude words.

You take a bite of your burger. And it’s absolutely delicious. Just like you knew it would be. Instead of worrying over stuffed up cheeks or looking fat while eating, you share laughs, mouths full and not a single care.

taglist. @pinkyqily @chalahyung01 @lunalvrsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @jayjsbaby @yawnzshit @mytimeiswaiting @tsshifting @always-reading @chimchimjiminie16 @ayy1234567 @acidfeens @congratsloserr @murdockcastleslut @cl4uus @clairesblouse @ange111 @daddydraco @wtfdudesblog @honk4emoboyz @fionaapplelover2010 @raiemarine @totonella1 @lilmixed-girl @enjoymyloves @darlingisntit @c1gsaftewhat @lil-sparklqueen @bambisribbon @easybakeoven7 @vviolets444rroses @aesthetic-lyss @dr3wstarkey @sleepmaster69 @yose2123 @aligned-starz @vex-et-soleil (if your name is red, it’s not letting me tag you for some reason, sorry!)

#rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smau #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron outer banks #outer banks fanfic #outer banks #outer banks x reader #drew starkey #posting this at work #in between people #lol #sorry for any mistakes

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pbaz7 · 19 hours ago

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AGAINST THE TIDE: PART EIGHT

paige x azzi

word count: 3.5k

A/N: I’m sorry 😔 it’s necessary for the plot. It’s also kinda all the other writers fault because they broke my heart too many times with their updates recently so I was being a masochist. Leave some live reactions and I’ll make it up to you before the weekend is over.

—————————————————————————

September 2022

It had been a whirlwind of a few months for Paige. Between tearing her ACL during a pickup game in August and spending weeks avoiding everyone—including Azzi—things had been rough. At first, Paige couldn’t stand to be around anyone, the weight of her injury crushing her spirit. She didn’t understand why this kept happening to her. The most she could manage was sitting silently on FaceTime with Azzi, who didn’t push, didn’t prod—just sat there on the other end, offering quiet support.

Eventually, Paige started to miss her. Not just the quiet presence on the phone, but Azzi herself. She missed her laugh, her teasing comments, and the way she always seemed to know when Paige needed someone to hold her together. She knew she wouldn’t get better by sulking, so she started physical therapy. Azzi, of course, was by her side every step of the way, cheering her on through the grueling sessions and sneaking in snacks when she thought the trainers weren’t looking. One day Paige even pointed out that Azzi didn’t have to sneak her snacks, she could just give them to her and Azzi shushed her saying it was no fun that way.

The connection between them was undeniable, and as soon as they were back to spending every moment together in person, they fell right back into their old habits—flirting, teasing, and, inevitably, sleeping together. They had been doing that a lot since that night in the Jeep.

Now, their situationship was as confusing as ever. Best friends, friends with benefits, something more—they didn’t bother defining it. What mattered to Azzi was that they were together in some way, even if it wasn’t official.

The team’s popularity had skyrocketed since their championship run, with Paige’s popularity growing right along with it. It seemed like every time they went out, someone stopped her for pictures or autographs. Paige always said yes, her natural charisma making her a magnet for attention. Azzi usually found it amusing—until recently.

She’d never considered herself a jealous person before, but watching people fawn over Paige had started to get under her skin in ways she didn’t want to admit. Paige always teased her about it when they got back to their room, whispering in her ear about how she only had eyes for Azzi. Those moments usually ended with clothes scattered across the floor and all frustration Azzi had prior completely gone.

Tonight, the team was at Ted’s, their usual hangout spot. Paige, still on crutches, sat at their table while Azzi headed to the bar to grab them drinks. Insisting that she didn’t want Paige hobbling across the crowded room.

While waiting for the bartender, Azzi glanced back toward the team’s table—and froze. Three random girls had surrounded Paige, their body language a little too friendly for her liking.

One of them leaned in, her hand brushing against Paige’s forearm as she laughed at something the blonde said. Another one tossed her hair over her shoulder, clearly trying to get Paige’s attention. The third girl just stood there, starry-eyed, hanging on Paige’s every word, though Paige wasn’t saying much.

Paige just smiled and nodded as they spoke, her natural charm working its magic even though she wasn’t meaning for it to.

Paige’s gaze suddenly shifted, locking with Azzi’s from across the room. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face as if she could feel the possessiveness simmering behind Azzi’s dark eyes. She winked, and Azzi’s jaw clenched.

Azzi grabbed their drinks from the bar, her grip tight around the glasses as she made her way back. When she reached the table, one of the girls noticed her approach and immediately lit up.

“Oh my god, you’re Azzi, right? Paige’s teammate?” she asked, her tone overly friendly.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, placing the drinks down. “Yeah. Teammate,” she replied coolly, slipping into the seat next to Paige—closer than necessary, her shoulder brushing Paige’s.

Paige looked over, biting back a smile at Azzi’s obvious claim of space. “Thanks, Az,” she said lightly, reaching for her drink.

The girls, undeterred, continued talking over one another, their eagerness to capture Paige’s attention almost comical. Paige didn’t lean into it, but she didn’t shut it down either, her polite demeanor keeping the conversation going.

“So, Paige,” one of the girls said, a playful edge to her voice. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi froze beside her, her grip on her drink a little tight.

“No,” Paige said simply, her tone casual.

Azzi scoffed, the sound loud enough to draw Paige’s attention. Paige glanced at her briefly, her expression unreadable, before turning back to the girls. “Not really looking, though,” she added.

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to make a smart comment, but before she could, one of the girls leaned in closer to Paige. In her attempt to get Paige’s attention, the girl bumped Paige’s injured knee.

Paige winced, her hand immediately going to her leg. The sharp intake of breath she let out wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make Azzi snap.

“You need to be careful,” Azzi said, her voice a little tight, cutting through the noise around them.

The girls all froze, surprised by the sudden shift in Azzi’s tone. She glared at them, her usual calm replaced by an edge of irritation. “I think you guys should go,” she said, her voice low and laced with a little venom.

The three exchanged glances, murmuring awkward excuses and apologies to Paige as they shuffled away, leaving Paige and Azzi alone at the table.

“You didn’t have to scare them off,” Paige said, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice as she reached for her drink.

Azzi turned to her, her gaze softening as it dropped to Paige’s knee. “You okay?”

Paige nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine. Didn’t know you were so protective.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “Someone has to be, considering how much you clearly love the attention.”

Paige chuckled, leaning toward her. “Only yours,” she whispered, her voice teasing.

Azzi’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile, her earlier anger melting away as Paige’s words settled between them.

…

The night continued with its usual buzz, but Paige and Azzi remained in their corner, the tension between them slowly dissolving as they sipped their drinks. They’d fallen into their familiar rhythm, laughing and leaning close as they talked about everything and nothing all at the same time.

That was, until another woman approached their table, her sights set squarely on Paige. Azzi noticed her immediately—the confident stride, the deliberate way she positioned herself in Paige’s line of sight, and the overly friendly smile she flashed.

“Hi,” the woman said, her voice smooth as she directed her attention toward Paige, completely ignoring Azzi. “I just wanted to say I’m a huge fan. You’re incredible on the court.”

Paige, immersed in her conversation with Azzi, looked up, her expression polite but distant. “Thank you,” she said, her tone kind but not inviting.

The woman didn’t take the hint, shifting closer as she spoke again. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you ever have time, I’d love to pick your brain about basketball. Maybe over some dinner sometime?”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, and Paige caught the subtle shift in her posture. Without missing a beat, Paige reached for her drink, her free hand brushing against Azzi’s under the table.

“Sorry, but I’m not really looking for anything these days,” Paige replied smoothly, her eyes flicking briefly to Azzi before settling back on the woman. “But I appreciate the support.”

The woman hesitated, clearly not expecting the polite rejection, before finally backing off with a forced smile. Once she was out of earshot, Paige let out a soft sigh and turned to Azzi.

“Alright, I think that’s our cue to call it a night,” Paige said, standing carefully and grabbing her crutches.

Azzi stood as well, her expression still unreadable, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Yeah, before I have to fend off another one.”

Paige laughed, leaning on her crutches as they made their way out of Ted’s. The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, and Azzi stayed close, her hand lightly brushing Paige’s arm every so often as they walked to the car.

When they got back to Paige’s apartment, the teasing smile was back on her lips as she closed the door behind them. She turned to Azzi, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know,” Paige began, her voice low and playful, “I think it’s cute how jealous you always get.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the slight blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I wasn’t jealous,” she said, her tone defensive but unconvincing.

Paige grinned, stepping closer until they were nearly chest to chest. “Really? Because it definitely felt like it when you tensed up anytime somebody looked at me.”

Azzi crossed her arms, though her resolve was clearly slipping. “I was just protecting my teammates space,” she said, though the way her eyes softened as she looked at Paige said otherwise.

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “I can show you why you don’t need to worry about nobody else.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her arms falling to her sides as she looked at Paige, her expression caught between exasperation and anticipation.

“Fine,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “But you better make it convincing.”

Paige smirked, her eyes darkening as she pulled Azzi closer. “Oh, I will.”

…

The next morning Paige stood in Azzi's room, leaning on the edge of the dresser as she pulled on her shirt. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric. She glanced at Azzi, who was seated on the bed scrolling through her phone, and decided to fill the silence with something she had been thinking about.

“I was thinking we could check out this spot downtown,” Paige began casually. “It’s got these cozy booths, good food—kinda intimate but not over the top. I think you’d like it.”

Azzi’s head looked up, her brow furrowing. “That sounds like a date, Paige.”

Paige shrugged as if the words didn’t sting. “Nah it doesn’t have to be a big deal. We can just grab some food.”

Azzi set her phone down, her voice a little firm. “Just because we don’t call it a date doesn’t mean it won’t feel like one.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, the easygoing front she tried to maintain cracking. “Is it the worst thing in the world for us to go on a date, Azzi?”

“Yes,” Azzi said immediately, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “Considering we aren’t dating.”

Paige let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Here we go with this again. So what is this then?” she asked, gesturing between them.

“It’s...complicated,” Azzi said, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair. “I really don’t want to argue about this today Paige.”

“No,” Paige said sharply, her voice rising. “It’s not complicated. We make it complicated. You make it complicated. God, Azzi, we spend every night together. You let me whisper all kinds of shit in your ear, you let me touch you—hell, you beg me to touch you—but you won’t let me take you to dinner? What the hell is that about?”

Azzi frowned, her frustration building. “You never get it, Paige. This isn’t just about us. I’ve told you that.”

“Then explain it to me,” Paige demanded, stepping away from the dresser, her crutches clacking against the hardwood floor.

Azzi sighed heavily, clearly reluctant to have this conversation. “You’ve already made a name for yourself. You could never play another game, and you’d still be drafted. Me? I’m still proving myself. I can’t afford distractions like that.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, her voice tinged with anger. “Oh, so I’m a distraction now? Is that all I am to you?”

“That’s not what I said and you know it,” Azzi snapped.

“Then what are you saying, Azzi? Because honestly I’m getting a little sick of this half-in, half-out bullshit!” Paige’s voice was rising now, her emotions spilling over.

Azzi stood, pacing the room as she tried to collect her thoughts. “I’m saying this...this thing between us could complicate everything. The team, our careers—”

“So what, we'll just keep sneaking around forever in your mind?” Paige cuts her off, her tone incredulous as she says things she knows aren't true. “I’m good enough to sleep with but not good enough for you to actually be with. Is that what it is?”

“That’s not fair,” Azzi said, her voice tight.

“No, what’s not fair is what we’ve been doing!” Paige shot back. “You’ll scream my name all fucking night, let me do whatever I want to you, but God forbid I want hold your hand in public or call this what it is. Do you even hear yourself?”

Azzi stopped pacing, her face hardening. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Azzi?” Paige pressed, her voice cracking. “Because from where I’ve been standing, it looks like I don’t mean that much to you.”

Azzi’s expression softened for a moment, guilt flickering across her face. “You mean the world to me, Paige. You know that.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Do I? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it when you won’t even agree to a simple date with me.”

Azzi threw her hands up in frustration. “I’m not dating my fucking teammate, Paige! I’ve told you that so many times. It’s too messy, and it’s not worth the risk.”

“Not worth the risk?” Paige repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. She grabbed her crutches, her movements sharp. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi stepped toward her, her voice softening. “Paige, don’t—”

“No,” Paige interrupted, her voice rising again. “You don’t want me to leave? Then stop treating me like I’m just some convenience for you. Because I’m not doing this anymore, Azzi. I’m not just some fuck toy for you to play with when it’s convenient. Find somebody else to fuck you if that’s all you want from me.”

“You know that’s not all I want!” Azzi protested, her voice desperate now.

“Then what the hell do you want, Azzi?” Paige asked, her voice a little raw.

“I don’t know!” Azzi yelled, the words hanging in the air.

Paige hesitated, her chest rising and falling as she fought against the lump in her throat. Finally, she looked Azzi in the eye, her voice quiet but trembling. “I love you, Azzi.”

The words hung in the air, heavy. Azzi froze, her expression unreadable as she stared at Paige not expecting her to say that in this moment. For a few agonizing seconds, she said nothing, and then softly, “Paige...I–”

The silence was all it took. Paige’s face hardened, her jaw tightening as she turned away. “Forget it,” she muttered, grabbing her crutches and heading for the door.

Azzi reached out, panic flashing across her face. “Paige, wait—it’s wet outside. Your crutches…You shouldn’t—”

“I really don’t want to look at you right now,” Paige cut her off, her voice icy. “I’ll be fine.”

With that, she walked out, the sound of the door slamming behind her echoing in the room. Azzi stood there, staring at the empty doorway, her chest tight as the weight of their argument settled over her. Azzi realized just how much she just fucked up and she didn’t know if she could fix it this time.

…

Azzi tried to give Paige some time to calm down so she left her alone for the rest of the day. But the next day after their fight, Azzi couldn’t stop thinking about her. She stared at her phone, her fingers flying across the screen as she sent text after text.

💗: Paige I’m sorry about yesterday, Can we please talk?

💗: I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you P.

💗: You mean everything to me, P.

💗: Please just let me fix this

💗: Paige, please…Just answer me

💗: Are you okay?

💗: How was physical therapy? Who took you?

💗: I thought about going but I figured you didn’t want me to.

💗: I hate how we left things

💗: I miss you P

💗: I know I messed up, please don’t shut me out.

By midday she had sent at least twenty messages and about a dozen phone calls to Paige, each one unanswered. She was about to give up for the day when her phone buzzed.

P 💗: ok.

That was it. Just two letters, but it was enough to send Azzi flying out the door.

Now Azzi was sitting in Paige’s room, the tension between them so suffocating it felt like the walls were closing in. They’d been talking for some time, exchanging quiet apologies for some of the harsh words they had thrown at each other the night before. But the heart of the issue still lingered, unspoken.

Azzi broke the silence, her voice soft but insistent. “I do love you, Paige.”

Paige’s breath caught for a moment before she exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “No, Az. You don’t.”

Azzi frowned, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “How can you say that? You don’t know how I feel.”

Paige met her gaze, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “Because if you loved me—really loved me—we wouldn’t be in this situation. You’d want to be with me, Az. Not just here, not just like this, but completely.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, her hands clasping together tightly in her lap. “Paige, it’s not that simple.”

“It is to me,” Paige said quietly, her voice breaking just slightly. “I love you Azzi. I love you so much I’d give up anything for you. Do you understand that? I’d leave this team, this school, all of our friends, my dream of winning a championship here... I’d walk away from all of it, because none of it matters to me as much as you do.”

Azzi’s eyes began to glisten, but she stayed silent, the weight of Paige’s words settling over her.

“I’m not saying you have to do that to prove you love me,” Paige continued, her tone soft but firm. “But I know you don’t love me the way I love you. Not yet. Not even if you won’t let us try to be together.”

Azzi blinked, a tear slipping down her cheek. “That’s not fair, Paige. Just because I’m scared doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Paige’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she held back her own tears. “You might love the idea of me. Of us. Of what we have when no one else is looking. But love—real love—it’s more than that, Az and you know it. It’s being willing to take the risk, even when it’s scary. Even when it’s complicated.”

Azzi’s voice was a whisper. “It’s not just fear Paige I’ve told you that. You’ve already made a name for yourself. You could never play again and still be drafted. But me? I’m not there yet. I can’t afford to let anything get in the way of what I’ve been trying to build since I was a kid.”

Paige nodded slowly, her heart breaking even as she forced herself to stay composed. “I get it Az. I do. And I promise I’m not mad at you for it. I’ll keep supporting you But I can’t keep doing what we’re doing, Az. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with having only part of you when I want so much more.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her tears now falling freely. “So that’s it? We’re just... done?”

Paige hesitated, her voice trembling as she spoke. “Yeah I think we have to be.”

Azzi reached out, her hand holding Paige’s as their fingers intertwined. “I love you so much, Paige. Maybe not the way you want me to yet, but I promise I do.”

Paige closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek as she shook her head. “I can’t do ‘maybe,’ Az. Not with you. Not right now”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging between them. After a moment, Azzi stood, her movements slow and reluctant.

At the door, she paused, glancing back at Paige. Her voice was barely audible. “You’re still my best friend, right?”

Paige gave her a small, sad smile. “Always, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded, her expression filled with sorrow as she whispered, “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want yet P.”

Before she stepped out, Azzi turned back one last time, her heart heavy with everything she felt like she couldn’t explain to the girl she loved more than anything. She moved toward Paige and, without a word, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, her lips touching one of Paige’s tears, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Her lips whispered against her skin as she pulled away, her voice barely a breath.

“I promise this isn’t the end of our story P. I just need time.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat, but Azzi was already turning to leave. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that echoed in Paige’s heart. Alone now, she let out a shaky breath, her hands covering her face as she laid back and the tears finally came.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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princess-of-purple-prose · 10 minutes ago

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[ID: A collection of tweets by bobby 🐀 #BENIGN DEVI… @/bobby_speeds that read:

"the System really convinced Shen Qingqiu that the Jade Guanyin token could be used to save his life later, so he held onto it despite wanting to return it, and then when the time finally came to use it, the System withheld it until it was too late to actually save his life

"I know I'm just theorising but like, it's SUCH bullshit that it had to "load" the item. That had literally never happened before, but it just soo conveniently meant that SQQ had no choice but to choose another "scenario pusher"

"It wasn't enough for SQQ to just pull out the token, calm Binghe down and let them talk about their feelings, which by ALL rights should have been what happened, if SQQ and Binghe had just been people in a real world instead of characters in a narrative

"but it just doesn't make for an interesting climax, so it couldn't be allowed to happen. the audience (the in-universe readers of the revised PIDW, but also, like, us) would have found it underwhelming, so who cares how badly it traumatised the people involved??

"The System is just so fucking horrifying when you look past the cutesy emoticons. It acts cheerful and silly all while threatening SQQ with death or punishment and will happily make anyone suffer in the interests of "the narrative"

"I won't ascribe malicious intent to the System. It's an unfeeling entity that exists for no other purpose than to create an interesting story without regard to its characters' lives, but that in itself is way more scary.

"people LOVE watching characters suffer. I love it!! I like happy endings but I NEED an interesting middle. reading it, analysing it, thinking about it. the maigu ridge scene is horrific, but I'm literally deriving entertainment from it right now!! I'm having fun writing this!!

"and I hate the system so much, but what would this story be without it?? can any of us honestly say we'd enjoy this story half as much if SY had woken up in PIDW and lived a peaceful life of spoiling his disciples with no abyss and none of the major conflicts that resulted?

"The System is just the most incredible villain. It's terrifying and uncomfortable but it's us!! it did those things for US!! for our enjoyment as readers!! and we ate it up. we loved it. WE did that to them.

"The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System (Image of a Tumblr post that says: “Based on my obsession with the concept of The Narrative I think we should invent a new kind of tumblr/twitter discourse where we argue that it's inherently immoral to write fiction because its prevents characters from exercising free will” / “'girl help my characters are unionizing'”)" End ID]

#i am literally only reblogging this post bc of the person who called tlj a 'jolly immortal dumbass'. no further notes #svsss #described #described by me

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lgbtpopcult · 3 days ago

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Ranking the Top 10 GL Series of 2024

10. My marvelous Dream is You

A highly expected gl from Idol Factory that fell short of our expectations not for lack of chemistry from its love team (they in fact had some of the best chemistry in the industry) but because of the bad writing. The writing simply didn't allow the story to flourish. The couple spent most of the series apart, and we don't mean simply not in a relationship. They hardly spend any time together at all, and when they did, there were no romantic moments happening most of the time. What saved the series was its couple that sold the rare moments they had together really well. No surprise that they're dating in real life.

9. Apple My Love

Short and sweet, this story was a fun little romcom that fulfilled its purpose well. The couple needed to prove themselves as a love team, and they did. Happy to know they got a new series out of it.

8. Petrichor

For the people who had heard of Englot but had only seen them as a love team on Show Me Love, their popularity remained a mystery until this series. This police drama/romance has been good enough to prove they may not be the team with the best chemistry out there, but they're definitely not completely deprived of it like Show Me Love made us think. The series itself is interesting if you like your romance in small doses amidst the action.

7. Blank The Series

Here comes the controversy. One of the most successful and also controversial series of the year. We have to acknowledge that unlike what some fans would like us to believe the problem was not in the age difference per say but in the fact that one of them was 21 and initially very immature for her age. However, she was not underage, she was not unintelligent, and she had agency. She was the one who persistently pursued the relationship. The story was exciting and passionate. Also, mommy issues sell.

6. 23.5

A series that gave milklove, a much beloved love team, its chance to shine. It was a sweet high school romance that was enjoyable for most people and had some great highs. Its jealousy episode was one of the best around, and both of the admins here in lgbtpopcult are willing to die on that heel. It did, however, have the limitations of an innocent high school romance. A lot of time was dedicated to side characters and the couple could not be shown in a more mature relationship. Still, a good time!

5. Mate the Series

It is endlessly entertaining to watch Gen and Aoey interact. The perfect ice queen, rich girl that wanted to only be with the perfect man (somehow nobody was ever the perfect man) trying to resist her innocent, tempting friend. They are funny and sweet and passionate at the same time. The series does a good job of focusing on their relationship with little interest in anything else

4. The Loyal Pin

This production, supported by the Thai ministry of culture, definitely deserves its spot at number 4. At 16 episodes and with great production value, it is a journey through time that not only shows us the love story between two women but also the food, dance, and customs of the country of Thailand. The love story itself did a good job of remaining entertaining by inserting some jealousy and lots of obstacles in the course of the couple.

3. Affair the Series

A fierce debate broke out amongst us about whether this series would occupy the third or the second place in this list. You see half of it, the second half, was so incredibly good. The push and pull of a couple with exploding chemistry while they lived together. The obsession Wan had with Pleng. The amazing love scenes. But the first part of the series dragged it down. The chemistry was there from the beginning but they spend too much time in the past when the leads were young, and one of them was pushing the other to be with a guy just to avoid her feelings. That part wasn't bad, It had its moments, but it was at times frustrating and too long. A great series nonetheless.

2. Pluto

This series has it all. A love team with great chemistry, an interesting plot, good acting, and quality writing. It did not only show us an exciting romance but addressed issues of disability and even teased a throuple (through a side couple don't worry the mains are as crazy in love as gl couples should be). Insert some surprising twists and turns and it's a go!

1. The Secret of Us

The number 1 spot could go to no other series. It wasn't even a debate. Lingorm, the love team comprised of Ling and Orm, was tasked with proving a gl can go toe to toe with straight romance series on a major Thai network. They knocked it out the park! The Secret of Us was super successful. Throughout its run, it remained in the top 10 of Netflix in Thailand and the other Asian countries it was available in. It frequently occupied the number 1 spot, and its numbers on the network's own streaming app surpassed those of its straight counterparts. There was a reason for all of that. The story was a very popular romance trope (angry ex vs. regretful ex) done right, the chemistry of the love team was enticing and both main characters were infinitely charming. We all fell in love.

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not-neverland06 · 2 days ago

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𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: While the two of you might think whatever could have been is irreparable, one very meddling old man has other plans. Hosea sends Arthur and you on a hunting trip that ends with blood on your hands once more. Despite the mangled mess of it all, you still find yourself drawn to the hope of something more between you and Arthur.

Arthur stayed up most of the night, waiting for you and Charles to come stumbling back into camp. He expected drunken revelry, he thought he might have to corral you into bed. The same tedious tasks he went through with anyone who stayed out as late as you both did. He didn’t expect both of you to be stone-cold sober and in different clothes. He hadn’t paid too much attention to what Charles had been wearing, but he was certain that you had changed before you came back to camp.

He can’t imagine what would have called for that or why you were both out so long. He’s not sure he likes the few explanations he can come up with. He’s got a nasty look on his face as he watches Charles lead you over to the ladies' tent. His hand hovers over your waist, nearly touching but not quite. His mouth is pressed to your ear, whispering a secret between the both of you.

Arthur wasn’t jealous. That wouldn’t make any sense. The two of you barely knew each other. And he was still recovering from what was the entire mess with Mary. He didn’t think there was a part of him that was still capable of feeling like that. But he’s not comfortable with secrets in the camp, especially with newcomers. It just seems like bad luck. If you can’t trust the gang, who can you trust?

Charles nods his head in a farewell and heads back to his own tent. Arthur watches as you rub your tired eyes. Your shoulders go up to your ears, back hunching over itself, and you have the countenance of a woman worn down. He frowns, eyes narrowed in suspicion as you collapse onto the bedroll beside Mary-Beth. John clears his throat as he walks past Arthur, giving him an odd look when he sees how intensely he’s glaring at your sleeping form. Arthur frowns at Marston, shooing him off and closing the flaps of his tent. He hadn’t realized just how focused on you he had been.

The others don’t share his suspicions. They only saw him making you cry earlier. In their minds, he’s probably no better than Micah. He hates that thought but he’s sure it’s not too far from the truth. Neither of them are good men, but Arthur would never hurt you. He would never willingly hurt any of the women. He’s only worried about you.

He takes his hat off, tossing it beside the picture of Mary on his table. It knocks into the edge of the frame, sending it tumbling into the dirt. “Dammit,” Arthur mutters. He bends, scooping it off the grass and checking for any cracks in the glass. He lets out a heavy sigh and brushes the dirt off the grooves of the frame.

Arthur pulls the picture back and stares down at it. Mary wasn’t smiling in this one. He’s sure he has another one of the two of them around somewhere. He knows they’re smiling in that one. But after a while, he stopped liking to see himself in pictures and she stopped looking so happy. Arthur slumps down onto his cot and rubs a weary hand over his face. Mary’s stern eyes glare at him from the worn photo.

He can’t do this again. He can’t watch another bright woman lose their flame because they chose to love him. Loving him is always a mistake. First, it was his son and his mother, then it was Mary. He can’t ruin you too. He won’t be able to live with himself if it’s your life in his hands.

Arthur places the picture back on the table. He flips the frame face-down so he doesn’t have to sleep feeling eyes on his back. He rolls over and stares up at the canvas roof of his home. He wishes he could see the stars through the fabric. His fingers itch to draw the night sky, just from memory. But he forces himself still, makes himself sleep.

Arthur’s up before most of the camp, as he normally is. Dutch sits by his tent, reading, and just barely lifts his head in greeting before going back to his book. Pearson never seems to stop making that damn stew and Arthur doesn’t think it’s ever improved in taste. Mrs. Grimshaw isn’t even awake as he goes around camp. He can’t imagine why he’s surprised that you’re still sound asleep.

He resents the little ache that festers in his stomach. It feels too much like disappointment. He can’t imagine what he would say to you were you awake. There’s no apologizing for yesterday. You’d made it clear how you feel about him and he should honor that.

Besides, he knows he needs to keep away from you. He’d done both of you a favor by making it clear how much of a bastard he was so early on. He lets out a rough sigh and forces himself away from your tent. He’s sure he’s got something he can find to occupy his time with.

Arthur’s cleaning his rifle when he hears her start huffing and puffing. Mrs. Grimshaw lingers by the edge of his tent, arms crossed and foot tapping faster than he can keep up with. “Thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us,” she grumbles under her breath. “Just because she married into money-”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Arthur demands, trying to suppress the amused smile on his face. He’s sure he doesn’t need her to see it, she’s already in a mood, might as well not have it turn on him.

Mrs. Grimshaw throws her hands up in the air, whipping around and glaring at him like she’s been waiting for him to ask the entire time. “That,” she sucks in a sharp breath, clearly struggling to bite her tongue, “woman,” she finally spits out. “Mrs. Rowe,” Arthur straightens up at the mention of your name, eyeing her suspiciously.

Mrs. Grimshaw ignores him and turns back towards you. He gets up as she starts walking towards the barrel of water by Charles's tent. “She thinks just because she’s a lady, she can laze around and let the rest of us work for her?” She grabs a bucket and drops it in the barrel. Arthur’s sure the only reason she manages to heft it back out is because the woman runs off pure spite.

“We’ll see about that,” she snaps, marching towards you, arms poised to give you a cold awakening. Arthur chuckles a little, he follows behind her, prepared to stop her. But Charles steps out of his tent and catches on quickly to her plan. Before Arthur can intervene Charles is taking hold of Mrs. Grimshaw’s wrist and tugging her back.

“Leave her alone,” he commands.

“Excuse me? This is my camp-”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he tells her, taking the bucket out of her hand. “Let her rest.” Mrs. Grimshaw wants to say more, they can both see it written plainly on her face. But she also won’t argue with one of the men in camp. She just throws her arms in the air in defeat and storms off, still grumbling under her breath as she goes.

Charles looks back at you and Arthur narrows his eyes at him. Something is tickling in the back of his mind, a thought that’s taking too long to form. The answer for this odd kinship between the two of you is somewhere inside his head but he’s too stupid to work it out.

“What’s goin’ on?” Charles turns back towards Arthur with a questioning look and he nods towards you. “You got a thing for her or somethin’?” Arthur laughs but he knows Charles sees right through it. That insufferable look of his gives it away.

“Do you?” Charles asks, crossing his arms and smirking at Arthur. Arthur glares at him and rolls his eyes.

“‘Course not.” Charles doesn’t say anything. Something lurks between the two men, a tension only shared by Arthur. After a moment of silence, neither of them willing to give in, Charles surrenders.

“You’re an idiot, Morgan,” he walks past him, patting his shoulder and laughing under his breath. Arthur wasn’t even sure the man was capable of smiling. But here he is, managing a laugh at Arthur’s expense.

It feels like the day is passing by incredibly slow. He feels like he’s been in camp for hours and it’s not even noon yet. Everyone seems to be avoiding him, either for how he acted last night or because of the way he’s pacing like he’s a caged lion.

He’s not sure what he’s been waiting for all day until he hears it, “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to sleep so long.” Arthur damn nearly takes out Pearson and that god-awful stew with how fast he whips around.

You’re sitting up, rubbing at your face and trying to shield your eyes from the sun as Sadie stands over you. “Just don’t go botherin’ Mrs. Grimshaw, she’s after you.” Your face screws up and you let out a heavy sigh.

“Dammit, why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Sadie rolls her eyes with a huff and Arthur takes a step closer. “You’ve got a goddamn guard dog.” Arthur tenses up, thinking she’s talking about him for a moment. He’s gotten used to that comparison, especially when it comes to you. You had been pretty reliant on him for a while. Instead, she points to Charles.

He’s trying not to hate the man but it’s getting hard.

Charles sits on a nearby boulder, fastening together some arrows and watching everyone out of the sides of his eyes. Arthur looks back at you and sees you smiling at your guard dog. “Sorry, Sadie. I’ll do laundry tomorrow, how’s that?”

“Damn right,” she sniffs, nose pointed to the air and walks away. Shaking your head and closing the tent flaps, you come out a minute later in one of the outfits you must have bought last night. Arthur tries not to stare but it is odd to see one of the women in camp wearing pants.

Arthur runs through everything he’s wanted to say to you as you move closer to him. He goes through every shitty apology and winces when he realizes what a fool he's going to sound like. It’s a stupid idea, to even try, but he just feels awful that you’d had to be on your own all day yesterday. You at the very least deserve a real explanation.

He half expects you to pivot at the last minute, to head towards Charles and ignore him the rest of the time you’re with the gang. But you keep coming towards him, something clutched in your hand that he can’t quite see.

You stop a few feet away from him, arms tucked behind your back and lips pressed into a thin line. Arthur has an odd urge to close the distance. “Arthur,” you say his name tersely and he tries not to let his disappointment show.

He might not want to be involved with you, but he likes you. You’re smart, smarter than him, and you’re funny. He wouldn’t hate being friendly with you. But he can tell, just from how you’re standing, that you’re not interested. “Yes, Mrs. Rowe?”

“Here,” you hold something out to him but he’s more focused on the fact that you didn’t even correct him on your name. He’s got no chance with you now, that’s for sure. You shake your hand impatiently and he finally bothers to look at what it is.

It’s a bunch of crumpled bills, the same ones he gave you yesterday. Though, after your day of interrupted purchases it’s quite a bit lighter than it had been. “Dont-”

“Please,” you stop him before he tries to convince you to keep the money. You take a step forward and he matches you. You don’t look too concerned by the proximity so he risks another step. You lean forward, take his hand and gently coax his fingers open. Your hands are warmer, softer than his own. A life of having servants and maids has kept you away from the harshness of work like his.

He doesn’t know if he appreciates the softness you provide or resents you for it. “I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have spent it so freely. Buying the horse was a foolish, impulsive purchase.” Your hand lingers on his a moment longer before you slowly pull away.

Arthur shakes his head but he puts the money back in his satchel. He knows, from the way you’re looking at him, he’s got no chance of getting you to keep this. “Wasn’t impulsive,” he argues. “Those damn O’Driscolls,” the mention of their name causes you to wince and he sighs. “Those men,” he corrects, “took everything from you. And you needed the horse.”

“I suppose I did,” you concede but you don’t sound sure of yourself. Still, Arthur will consider it a win. You look like you’re ready for the conversation to end but Arthur isn’t sure he is.

“You give her a name yet?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What do you mean?”

He laughs a little and nods towards the mare standing beside Diablo. She’s pretty big, not nearly as tall as his horse, but larger than some of the others in camp. “She’s gotta have a name. Can’t just go round callin’ her horse.”

You roll your eyes in indignation and Arthur shakes his head. He truly does not know why you hate horses so much. But considering it’s the only form of travel for a couple of hundred miles, he thinks it’s pretty ridiculous. “Can’t I?” You sound so much like a petulant child, he has to bite his tongue not to laugh.

“Really don’t like ‘em huh?”

The hardened look on your face softens slightly and you smile. “That obvious?”

“Little bit,” you chuckle and Arthur grins. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” he concedes.

“Oh,” you toss your hands in the air, glancing around like someone might be holding up a sign with a name. “Fine,” you sigh, “how about Lady?”

“Lady?”

“Lady,” you growl the name out, glaring at him. “I’m not gonna come up with anything better than that.”

Arthur looks over at your mare and huffs out a laugh. She did look a little uppity. Nose in the air, looking away from the other horses hitched by her. She didn’t even seem to want to eat the same grass as the others. “Yeah, Lady works,” he chuckles, looking back over at you and trying to spot the similarities.

It’s no secret you were used to a life of luxury. Sadie wasn’t a friend, she was a former employee. You’re used to wearing fine jewelry and finer clothes. This life, sleeping on the ground, shooting off bullets at anyone that pisses you off, isn’t made for you. You don’t seem like you should fit into this mold.

But he’s never seen you complain about your chores around camp. And you might not be happy about it, but you’ve never tried to get anyone in the gang to turn away from their violent tendencies. You don’t stick out like a Lady forced into rags, you could well have been born into this life if it weren’t for that smooth skin of yours. He wonders why you seem to fit so well when so many others in your place have failed.

“Right,” the easy banter fades into a tense silence. You cross your arms behind your back, taking a step away from him and refusing to meet his eye. “I’ve, um,” you trail off and Arthur takes a step towards you as you stumble away. “Thank you, again.” You turn, refusing to let him speak as you rush towards Mrs. Grimshaw.

Arthur grimaces as she begins to lay into you, her voice carrying throughout the camp about not letting your former status get so far into your head. You’d rather take a whooping from her than have to talk to him any longer.

Arthur takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair and glaring down at the mud under his boots. He’s never going to be able to bridge this distance. And he shouldn’t be trying to. You both know that nothing good can ever happen between you. There’s no point in torturing himself with something impossible.

He shoves his hat back on and storms towards the horses. A few people glance his way, but for the most part, they know to ignore him when he gets like this. He takes Diablo’s reins and leads him toward the forest. He doesn’t have a destination in mind but he needs to see the stars tonight. He can’t be stuck in the canvas tent anymore, he’s been cooped up for too long.

It’s been a week since you’ve killed your husband. A week since you fed his body to the hogs. And a week since you’ve talked to Arthur. You can’t meet his eye, too ashamed of what you’ve done.

You’re sure the man has killed more men than you can count on both your hands. Yet, you’re still worried he’ll think less of you for what happened. Maybe it’s because you know how the others see you. Everyone else in camp thinks you’re soft. At least Sadie was a working woman before all this happened, she helped her husband keep up some rich employer's estate. And you were the rich employer.

They think that you’re soft, and better off than they are. They also seem to think that you’re constantly looking down your nose at them. Every time Dutch says, “I know you’re not used to having to live like this, Mrs. Rowe,” you feel like the entire camp turns and glares. Or anytime Mrs. Grimshaw yells at you not to let your former status get to your head, she has to remind you you’re just as bad as the rest of them now.

You don’t judge them for how they live. You know they do it out of necessity, some for pleasure. You don’t care. Outlaws have always been a part of this country and you’re not looking to fix that, but they don’t seem to understand you. All they see when they look at you is the same type of person who’s kept them down all their life.

You know that the second the rest of them find out what you’ve done, you’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll be held over your head for the rest of your time with the gang. And Arthur, you know he’ll stop looking at you like you’re something to be protected.

You don’t know if you’d love it or hate it. You’d no longer be soft to him, wouldn’t be this pretty new thing to play with. You’d be like every other woman he’s surrounded by. And what does it matter? He’s already got a proper lady.

You don’t know how you missed it before. You’ve seen the pictures he keeps at his bedside. But part of you had always hoped it was a sister, or as wicked as it sounds, a dead lover. You feel like a proper fool. There was never any way this infatuation of yours was going to go that would be healthy for either of you.

You place your book to the side, something Mary-Beth had lent you that only makes your heart ache something fierce. You wished she had something other than romance. You hate reading about how happy they are at the end. It feels like a slap in the face to what your marriage had been and the thought of what you and Arthur might have been.

You need something to keep your mind busy. You’re not confident enough to go on horseback alone. And no one in camp, except, of course, Arthur, is willing to take a woman out for a ride. They seem to think you’re all better off being cooped up here in camp. You don’t have any chores left. Much to Mrs. Grimshaw’s chagrin, she has nothing to hound you about today.

Your eyes dart back to the book but the thought of suffering through another sappy scene makes you leap to your feet. You pace around camp for a few minutes, trying to find anyone who looks like they could entertain you.

Tilly and Lenny are both playing Dominoes, but you’ve never been a fan of the game. It wouldn’t do anything but drive your mind further towards the outlaw you’re avoiding. You skirt around Dutch’s tent, not even wanting to attempt to speak with him. He’s been growing bored of Molly, and you’ve felt a little of his gaze drift towards you. You’d rather not tempt him further.

You’re considering just attempting a ride on your own when you spot Charles moving away from Pearson’s table. He has new arrows in his hand and his bow is on his back. He’s moving towards his horse like a man on a mission and you finally see your opening.

“Charles!” You shout, trying to catch him before he leaves. You draw a few eyes towards you but manage to ignore them for the most part. One pair feels particularly intense but you do your best not to meet it.

He’s got one hand on Taima, slightly turned towards you as he waits for you to catch up. You slide to a stop in front of him, the sun glaring into your eyes over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Going hunting,” he answers bluntly, shifting slightly so you’re less blinded by the bright light of the early morning. Well, that had been obvious. But you’d been hoping for something more inviting.

“Mind if I come?” You ask, rocking on the heels of your feet impatiently.

Charles doesn’t usually mind you hanging around him. You’re not sure if he likes it, but he certainly doesn’t object. He seems less sure now, though. His face pinches and he tilts his head, already preparing to say no. You feel whatever hope you’d had sink to your feet. It’s going to be another day of staring at a tree and hoping something interesting happens.

“Charles!” Hosea calls his name before he can tell you no. You both turn towards the old man, furrowed brows on your faces. “Need your help with something today.” Charles sighs and shoots you a bothered look. You wince, mouthing an apology as he brushes past you. You’re sure if he hadn’t been held up by you he would already have been on his way.

“I was going hunting. Pearson needs more meat for camp.” Charles argues as he comes up to the fire. Hosea shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coffee. Something curls at the edge of his lips that feels remarkably familiar to you.

“Don’t bother. Arthur will go.” Arthur looks up from his journal, flipping it closed and frowning as Hosea volunteers him. “And he’ll take the lady with him.”

“No-”

“Why-”

You and Arthur both shoot each other sheepish looks, cutting each other’s objections off. You know why you’re saying no, but it doesn’t make his rejection sting any less. He wasn’t exactly slow to protest against time alone with you.

Hosea holds his hands up, shooting both of you sharp glares. “I need Charles's help with some herbs,” Charles lets out a little huff but Hosea continues on. “Arthur’s our next best hunter and I do believe Mrs. Rowe needs to learn how to hunt. Are you saying that you don’t think she should know how to take care of herself, Arthur?”

Arthur’s jaw hinges and closes like a fish as he sets Hosea with a narrowed-eyed look. “Now, you know I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m just thinkin’ someone else can take her.”

You try not to let that hurt but it does. He has every reason to avoid you, you haven't exactly been welcoming. But it hurts to see how much you’ve messed this all up. “I don’t see any volunteers, Arthur.” Hosea pretends to search around camp but he just shakes his head and shrugs. “Going to have to be you. I think you both can handle some time alone. You’re adults aren’t you?”

You and Arthur share a look over Hosea’s head. One of shared suspicion that the old man has more than just simple hunting up his sleeve. You both grit out a reluctant, “Fine.”

Hosea smiles and takes Arthur’s map. “Wonderful, here, I’ve marked a spot on here for where you should go hunting.”

Arthur snatches it back and lets out a loud sigh. “Hosea, this is gonna take us two damn days.”

“Well then, I guess you best get riding.”

You know Arthur wants to laugh at you. You don’t blame him, you’re sure you look like a clown on top of Lady. She’s not working with you and you’re slipping and sliding along the saddle. You can’t get comfortable, constantly fidgeting and lifting yourself up and down. It’s making her twitchy.

You can see her flicking her tail in irritation every time you fidget. “Comfortable?” Arthur calls out.

You look over at him and glare. He’s so wonderfully content on top of his perfect Diablo. “Just fine,” you grit out, trying not to be jealous of how much more his horse likes him than yours likes you.

Lady seems to have been appropriately named. She’s got all the stuck-up makings of one. You shift again and she flicks her head, whinnying and nearly scaring you off her damn back. “You need to calm down,” Arthur instructs, riding a little closer.

“I’m trying to get her to,” you argue, tone broaching the line between sharp and petulant.

“Not the horse,” he chuckles and reaches over, covering your hands with one of his own. He forces you to look up at him and you’re caught wholly off guard by how close he is. You’re practically sharing breaths as he keeps up stride with you.

“You need to calm down,” his voice is low in your ear, you can feel the rumble of it down your spine. “She can tell you don’t trust her,” he slowly releases your hands in favor of placing them on your back. “Just take a deep breath,” you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into the warmth of his voice. “There you go, good girl,” your eyes shoot open but he’s talking to the horse now.

You’re ashamed to say you’re jealous of the damn horse.

He pulls Diablo back and nods towards Lady, “She won’t trust you if you don’t trust her.”

“How am I meant to?” You grouse, but she’s already calmed down a bit just from Arthur pacifying you.

“Sometimes you just gotta open yourself up to something, even if it might hurt.”

You want to point out the irony of him telling you that but it doesn’t feel appropriate. “Thank you,” you mutter. You risk leaning forward slightly, running your hand through Lady’s soft mane. You think she makes something of an appreciative noise but you can’t be sure.

He nods his head, humming an affirmative and keeping his eyes strictly on the scenery around you. You try to think of something else to say to him, but every train of thought leads to confessing your guilt about your husband. Forced to keep your mouth shut, you train your eyes forward and keep your attention on calming Lady.

Above you, the sun peeks through the canopy of leaves, its golden light reflecting off the early morning dew. When you suck in a deep breath, you can still smell the rain in the air, remnants of the night before. Through columns and rows of light, the warmth of the sun manages to reach you.

Ignoring the tension between you and Arthur, this is possibly one of the most peaceful mornings you’ve had since your home was turned over to the O’Driscolls. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty and the freedom of the world around you.

You're on your own horse, wearing pants, without a chaperone as you ride beside a man. You don’t have to sit here and fret over whether or not he’ll still want you if you speak out of turn. There’s no society to be shunned from here. It’s just you and nature. If you listen close enough you can hear mourning doves and the rustle of creatures in the underbrush beyond you.

Lady keeps her steady trot, letting you leisurely take in all you can. You’re not sure how long you’ll stay with the gang. You don’t know how long before Dutch will decide you’re dead weight. But you know that life will never get any simpler than this. Anything you manage to find outside the gang will just be the same suffocating, dull monotony of your past life.

You have to appreciate the beauty of moments like these while you still have them.

“How are you likin’ it?” Arthur’s rough voice breaks the tranquility of the moment. You open your eyes from where you’d been absorbing the warmth of the sun and turn towards him. Your brows furrow in question and he smiles slightly, though it seems strained. “The life of an outlaw,” he clarifies, arms out as he gestures to the world around you.

You laugh a little and shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a little more boring than I had expected,” except of course for you murdering your husband.

He barks out a laugh and it makes a smile spread over your cheeks. He’s got a contagious laugh, you’ve discovered. It fills your stomach with a warmth that makes your legs tingle. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part, all you’re doing is sitting around camp. You just wait for something to happen.” You stretch your truth, teasing him a little to try and get another loud laugh out of him.

Sadly, he only shakes his head with a little amused huff of breath. “Suppose it’s easy to think like that when we’re like this.”

“Hunting?”

He shakes his head and gazes off at something you can’t see in the distance. “On the run, laying low. We’re not exactly goin’ to run around robbin’ branks when we’re tryin’ to keep the law off our back.” His voice grows quieter, more sentimental, “Not when we’ve already lost too much.”

You feel something like shame clogging your throat and wish you’d never said anything at all. It was easy to forget just how much loss they’d all experienced. They didn’t wear it on their sleeves like others might. Just carried it with them in their heavy hearts.

You’d noticed that Arthur, especially Arthur, tended to turn it all inwards. He blamed himself for any loss or death that occurred within the gang. He never actually blames the person who truly deserves it. You wish you could help him, but you can’t keep trying to fix broken things; you only end up cutting yourself in the process.

“We’re gettin’ close,” he speaks before the silence can reach any further. His voice is a little rougher now, slightly closed off from you. He turns towards a thicker grove of trees and you try and nudge Lady to follow him.

She keeps going straight and you tug a little harder on the reins. “Come on,” you mutter, trying to tilt her towards Arthur. You look over your shoulder and see he’s already hitched Diablo and is retrieving his bow from the saddle. “Oh, this is just embarrassing, you wicked beast.”

She knickers in discontent and you roll your eyes. Of course, out of all the horses you picked, it had to be the most stubborn one. You nudge your heel into her ribs and she comes to a complete stop. Her tail flicks with irritation and you throw your hands up in defeat. “I absolutely despise you-”

A sharp whistle rings through the air and cuts you off. Both you and Lady whip towards the noise. Arthur is leaning against a tree, fingers still hovering over his mouth. He pauses, making eye contact with Lady, and whistles again.

You startle as she takes off in a trot. You grapple for the reins and glare down at her in confusion. “How in the world did you do that?” You call out as Lady approaches Arthur. He chuckles and reaches for the reins in your hand. You give them over willingly, not wanting to try and reason with the stubborn bastard any longer.

“Got years of wranglin’ these things under my belt. You’ll get there one day.” He comes back around to your side of the saddle and holds his hands out for you.

“I’m not sure I want to,” you grouse as you slip your hands in his. He eases you off of Lady’s saddle and helps you gently onto the soft grass below.

Arthur pulls out his map and turns towards the clearing a little way before you. You hear the rushing of water in the distance and figure this is where the deer come for a reprieve from the day. You don’t have to imagine how exhausting it is to always be running from predators. You know what it’s like living your life by taking soft steps and trying to make sure you’re never seen. You’d never go back to that if you had the choice.

“The place Hosea wanted me to look at isn’t too far out. Couple minutes walk, probably.”

Arthur starts off without looking back and you frown at him. “Hey,” you call out, “shouldn’t I have a bow, too?”

Arthur’s brow quirks up and he’s silent for a moment before he barks out a loud laugh. You roll your eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He’s got a big grin on his face that’s making it hard to actually be mad, but you’re trying.

“You ever shot a bow before?”

You tuck your tongue in your cheek and frown. You’ve used rifles and pistols plenty of times. Of course, then you had really just been shooting at bottles. But you can’t say you’ve ever experienced a bow. You’re slow to answer, “No.”

“How ‘bout we see how you do today? I’d rather not have you shoot my damn eye out.”

He starts walking back towards you and you practically stomp your foot. “Oh, Arthur, that’s ridiculous-”

He cups your elbow in his hand and forces you forward. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve seen it happen. It ain’t pretty.” You can’t find it in yourself to argue anymore. You’re too caught off guard by how tender he’d sounded when he’d called you that.

Sweetheart. You wonder if he ever calls Mary that.

The thought leaves a sour taste on your tongue. You jerk your arm out of his hold and do your best to ignore the surprised look he sends you. He should be more careful how he acts around you, especially if he’s got a woman of his own.

You and Arthur drift into another tense silence, one of your own creation, yet again. You follow along whatever path Hosea’s created on his map and let your mind drift away. You try not to linger on any passing thoughts. Instead, you want to focus on the world around you.

You take in the sounds of bird song and try to memorize the melody. You never want to lose this feeling of being so wholly encapsulated by the world around you. Walking along quietly behind Arthur feels like you’ve become just another slinking animal in the forest.

A sound breaks through your thoughts of nothing. Something like the wet squelch of blood. It reminds you of how your husband’s brain had sounded under your boot. You come to a stop that goes unnoticed by Arthur. He continues ahead but you’re stuck in a memory.

There’s a low growl like the click of your gun’s hammer as you’d pulled it back. A fierce bark rings through the treetops like a gunshot. You whip around to face the sound and find nothing but the bright green of the forest.

As though pulled forward by a rope, you find yourself walking without thought. You step carefully over roots and push through brambles. You follow a red trail dotting along the leaves on the ground until you manage to push your way into a small clearing.

The trees are thinner here. They carry less leaves and occupy less space. They give you just enough room to see what has drawn you forward like a siren’s call.

A wolf dangles from another wolf’s bloody maw. She’s panting, eyes practically red with bloodlust as she crunches down on the neck of the wolf beneath her. There’s a pathetic whimper, quickly followed by the low gurgle of death. The second wolf hangs limply from her jaws and you’re reminded even more of your marriage.

But you’re not the bleeding, weak, shadow of a creature on the ground. You’ve turned into the hunter, the defiler. You won’t ever let yourself be cowed by someone weaker than you are. You’ve forced yourself into the role of an animal, blood on your maw and righteous fury in your eye.

The wolf hasn’t noticed you yet, but you feel as though you’ve seen this animal before. A shadow pacing before your home’s door. The howl outside the camp in the dead of night. She’s haunted you for so long and has only allowed you this one glimpse now. Why?

Something clamps down on your shoulder, heavy, hard, and calloused. It takes everything in you to tamp the scream in your throat down. “What the hell were you thinkin’? Could you stop runnin’ off all the damn time?”

Arthur glares down at you. He hasn’t seen the wolf yet, he’s only just found you. Your eyes widen and you turn slightly towards her. His brows furrow in confusion but he follows your gaze and you watch as his face pales. His hand immediately drifts to the revolver on your hip but you lunge forward, stopping him before he can fully grab it.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Stop,” you plead, voice heavy with emotions he’ll never truly understand. “Don’t.”

His eyes dart between you and the wolf. You can see the battle waging within him. He doesn’t want to upset you but he can’t risk turning his back and having the wolf on him. You squeeze his hand, eyes big and pleading as you stare up at him. Finally, he relents with a sigh, grip going lax on the handle of the revolver.

You let out a breath of relief and he takes your hand in his, tugging you back a little. The wolf doesn’t feast on her kind, she just stands over him, lips curled back and ears pinned. You keep your eyes firmly on her as Arthur guides you both out of the clearing.

Once you’re safely out of earshot, Arthur starts grumbling under his breath. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he says vaguely. You frown and catch up with him, shrugging your shoulders in confusion. “There’s plenty of prey in the area,” he clarifies. “It shouldn’t be killin’ its own.”

You look over your shoulder, as though you might see the wolf again, but she doesn’t come back. “Maybe she had to,” you muse. “Maybe he had it coming.”

You don’t miss the odd look Arthur gives you and you don’t blame him. You don’t quite understand yourself sometimes. But you do know you were meant to see that. Whether as a reminder of your sin or a confirmation you did the right thing, you don’t know.

You’re crouched behind a fallen tree as Arthur shows you how to properly nock an arrow. A herd of deer graze along the grass only a few feet ahead. Arthur’s got his sights set on the biggest one and you can already feel your stomach squirming at the thought of watching the beast hit the ground.

You’d just seen a wolf ripping another wolf to shreds, but the thought of a buck dying makes you nauseous. You need to get your priorities straight.

Arthur lifts the bow and pulls the string back. He’s facing away from the herd for now, still trying to get you to understand the basics. “Alright, you want your arm level, one finger above the arrow,” he wiggled one of his fingers on the string and you smiled slightly, “two below.” He brought the bow back down and shrugged. “Ain’t too hard, you’ll have to get used to the effort of keeping the string back. Beyond that, point and shoot.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Well,” he smiles slightly and shakes his head. “Nah, it’ ain’t that easy. You gotta consider the wind, how far the arrow needs to travel, and you gotta be steady.” He pauses and runs his tongue over his lips, struggling for words. You tilt your head in question, letting him find them. “You haven’t been steady in a while, sweetheart.”

There’s that name again. You’d be pleased if it weren’t for what he just said. “Steady?”

“Calm,” he clarifies. “You can’t even ride your horse.”

“I don’t like horses,” you try and defend yourself but it sounds weak, even to you.

“You and I both know it’s not just that.” He moves a little closer. He leans over you, blue eyes imploring you to just tell the truth. You want to, every part of you is screaming just to give in, but you can’t.

“Arthur, not now, please,” you’re practically begging. You can’t meet his eye any longer, looking at the ground instead and praying he just drops it.

He lingers behind you for a moment longer before letting out a low breath. “Alright, fine. We’ll just hunt. I mean it, though, eventually you’ll just have to let go of whatever it is that’s buggin’ you.”

That won’t be happening anytime soon, but there’s no point in telling him that. Instead, you turn back to the herd of deer. It’s thinned slightly, a few of them having run towards the fields beyond. But the big one remains, antlers decorated with moss as he cranes his lithe neck for a drink in the river.

Arthur passes you the bow and you shoot him a concerned look. “Just give it a try, like I showed you.” When you don’t move, he wraps his palms around yours and forces the bow and arrow into your hands. He lifts them, leveling your arm with your chin and pulling it back until the string is just by your ear. “Come on, you’ve got it,” the whispered instructions should have you melting into him but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to loose the arrow.

Your arms drop to your sides and you shake your head. “I can’t,” you utter, sounding completely defeated. “I can’t shoot.”

Arthur mistakes your reluctance for insecurity and smiles slightly. He slips behind you, his chest pressed against your back, and lifts your hands again. “‘Course you can,” he encourages. “I’ll help you.”

Once more, he guides you into the right position. Except, this time, he doesn’t let go. He keeps his palms firmly wrapped around your fists and guides you until your aim is just right. He waits for the breeze to stop blowing, forcing you to keep your tight grip even as your bicep begins to tremble with strain.

“Hold on,” he mutters, eyes narrowed as he focuses on the buck. Your heart kicks up a beat the longer you watch it move. As much as you’d like to relax into Arthur’s warmth, you can’t. You’re watching this animal move and live its life. And you’re about to kill it like it’s nothing. What right do you have to claim it’s blood?

“There,” Arthur lets you go before you can stop him. Your hands naturally follow his guidance and the arrow whistles through the air. The deer notices it too late. You can hear the thud as it embeds into his neck. It lets out a loud, dying, bleat that alerts the rest of the herd of danger. They jump around for a moment before racing off.

Your arms sink to your sides and Arthur squeezes your shoulders. “There ya go! Told you, you could do it!” He grins down at you, waiting for you to celebrate along with him. You can’t, all you hear is that awful noise the animal had let out as you killed it.

Arthur pauses, finally seeing the downtrodden expression on your face. “Hey,” he cuts himself off as the first tear falls. You can’t help it. It’s like a dam has burst with that deer’s death. You crumple into yourself, hands rubbing your eyes raw as you try and stem the tears. “Dammit,” he hisses, “how do I keep doin’ this?”

You laugh wetly at that, sniffling as you wipe your nose against your sleeve. “It’s not you,” you promise him.

“Then what’s wrong?” His voice has lost any tenderness it once held. It’s rough, and commanding, as he tries to force some answers out of you. You don’t blame him for being upset. He’s right, you really aren’t steady right now.

“I can’t-”

He cuts you off with a rough shake of his head. His hands find their way on your shoulders and he forces you to turn towards him. You try and slip out of his grip but he grabs your chin and ticks your face up. “Look, I know you and Charles are hidin’ somethin’. I may be a fool but I’m not blind. I’ve also never seen someone cry so hard over a damn deer. You gotta give me somethin’ here.”

You can’t tell him the truth, you know that much. Besides, you’d be implicating Charles in your crime as well. You don’t need to drag him down along with you. But Arthur seems so desperate. You know, deep down, that all he wants is to help, to finally get you to stop crying. And you suppose you owe him something after breaking down on him so many times.

“I did something,” you whisper, staring down at your hands and for a moment seeing blood on them. “Something awful, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be forgiven for it.”

Arthur’s brows furrow and he rubs the back of his neck. “Forgiven by who?”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t ask what you did. You know he’s used to all sorts of awful things in his life. You suppose he probably thinks your definition of awful is simply killing a deer- not the man you’d promised the rest of your life to.

“I don’t know,” you shrug and attempt to collect yourself. “God. Myself. I feel like I’m tainted,” you clench your hands shut and take in a shuddering breath. “Like I’ll never be able to cleanse myself of this.”

Arthur’s silent for a while and you worry that you’ve lost him. There’s a shuffle of feet and you force yourself to finally look up.

Arthur's eyes soften with concern, but his face is still tainted with a slight suspicion. “Look, I don’t know what happened and I won’t pry. But you’re a good person. I haven’t known you very long,” he amends, a little sheepishly. “But I know you well enough to see just how kind you are. There’s a lot of good inside of you. A lot more than what’s left in me or any of the rest of the gang.”

You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear, and offer him a shaky smile. “You sell yourself too short, Arthur Morgan. You’re a good man, one of the finer ones I’ve met, that’s for sure.”

You swear you almost see a blush on his cheeks as he looks away. “Ah, I wouldn’t go that far. Can’t seem to stop makin’ you cry, anyway.” You laugh a little at that and he finally looks at you again. He gets to his feet and holds his hand out, “Come on, it’ll be dark soon, we gotta get a move on.”

You nod, slipping your hand in his and letting him help you to your feet. He doesn’t let go of you right away, instead, he lets you lean on him as he leads you forward. You appreciate his strength and, as selfish as it is, you relish in the feeling of his body against yours as you walk together.

You try not to think of his lady or your husband or even the dead buck ahead of you. Instead, you hold onto Arthur’s words. If he believes there’s good left, then maybe there is.

Arthur told you the ride back would be too long and that you probably wouldn’t do well with Lady at night. You’re sure he’s right but part of you thinks he’s just not ready to be back at camp yet. You can’t blame him, you’re not either.

It’s nice to get away from the noises of others. Surrounded by the tranquility of nature is the sort of calming environment you need right now. You hadn’t realized just how frayed your nerves had been until you broke down on Arthur for the second time.

Arthur finally gets the tent set up and comes to sit beside you on the ground. You throw another branch onto the fire and watch as the sparks float up towards the stars. You don’t know why the thought of his woman flits into your mind again. It could be because of how close you both are or simply because she’s lingered in your thoughts since you discovered her.

You find yourself prying into a man you’re sure would be happier left alone. “How do you think your lady would feel about you sitting so close to me?” You try to give him a teasing smile but you know it only seems strained.

Arthur’s face drops before it pinches quickly in confusion. He lets out a very ungraceful, “Huh?” And you can’t help but snort slightly in laughter. “The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout woman?” He demands, turning towards the fire and tossing some more sticks on it.

“The woman in Valentine,” you clarify, still laughing a little. “Oh, I’m sure you remember abandoning me in town for her,” you remind him airily. He lets out a heavy sigh but you keep on. “Doubt she’d appreciate us being so close.”

“No,” he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a sardonic smile. “She wouldn’t, but it don’t matter much now. We haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh,” you keep your face schooled but there’s a little bit of giddiness bubbling in your gut. But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you leave me in town alone to go be with her all day if you’re not together?”

“I-” he starts and stops himself a few times before giving you a defeated shrug. “Suppose I owe her. I dragged her down into this life, tainted her with my love, I guess I owe her a few favors.”

“Tainted her?” You scoff and wave him off. “I doubt a day goes by where she doesn’t count herself lucky to have been loved by you.”

His face takes on that familiar flush you saw earlier. It could easily be dismissed as heat from the fire but you know better. He’s not used to such blatant honesty, especially not when it compliments him. “Really?” He scoffs and shakes his head. You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s going to say.

“I doubt it,” he drawls, rubbing the back of his neck with a stubborn refusal to meet your gaze. You know it’s only because he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth staring back at him. “What about you then, what about your husband?” He easily deflects, throwing you for a curve as you rip your eyes off him.

You focus on the flames of the fire until it makes your eyes burn. You know he doesn’t know anything about the truth, but you still have to be careful about what you accidentally let slip. “Oh,” you let out a short dismissive chuckle. “Neither of us were lucky. Certainly not me.”

“Why not?” Arthur sounds genuinely curious, not the sort of patronizing inquisitiveness you’ve heard from others in camp. You realize that you’ve not talked about your marriage much. You’ve done your damn best to keep it off the minds of everyone in camp. Starting a new life means not constantly dredging up the old one. But you suppose you owe Arthur just a little bit of honesty.

“He never loved me the way a man is supposed to love his wife. I count myself lucky to have gotten away from him.”

“He wasn’t kind to you?” Arthur asks, but you both know the answer.

You finally let your gaze drift off the fire and shake your head. “Not in any aspect of the word. The only part of our marriage that was real was the papers. And now he’s lost and so are they.” You suck in a deep breath and force a smile, turning to face him once more. “I’m finally a free woman.”

Arthur meets your eyes with a startling intensity. There’s something pinched on his face, a thought that’s just taking too long to form. You see the internal battle with himself as he debates whether or not to open his mouth. Your fingers dig into the softened material of your pants, fidgeting as you wait restlessly for his question.

“Would you ever want that again?” He asks slowly. “Not marriage, but to be with someone like that.”

You look off to the edge of the clearing you’re camping in. The trees provide you both with a thick cover, the tips of them nearly reaching the stars. You’re used to a clear view like this from your home in the mountains. But you never realized just how much you were missing being locked up in that house. There are so many things you thought you’d never have the chance for, so many new opportunities to make.

“I used to think to myself that if I ever got away from him, I would never be involved with a man ever again.” You wonder if you make up the way his shoulders stiffen slightly. “I had thought they were all just as cruel, just as useless as he was.” His gaze rips away from you and he stares pointedly towards the wildflowers in front of you. You let out a breathy laugh and lean back on your hands, shrugging. “I’m starting to think I might have been wrong.”

Arthur turns towards you and you wonder if you’re imagining the hope in his gaze. Is it just a projection of your own wishes, or is it the truth? “What about you?” You deflect, not willing to hold the weight of the conversation anymore.

“With the right person. With someone who understood that this is just who I am.” Someone who won’t try to change him, you finish his unspoken thought and nod your head. He hesitates for a moment on his next question. “You think you’ll ever find the right man?” You feel your cheeks pull up unwittingly. Your fingers drift across the grass, just barely brushing against his. He doesn’t pull away from you or frown at the touch. Instead, you feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand. “I think I might be starting too.”

Next Part

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption #red dead 2 #red dead redemption x reader #Hell Hath No Fury #rdr2

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palmerzy · 20 hours ago

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lowkey, spencer would totally be such a pervert when it comes to camgirl! reader.

like he’d constantly be checking his phone even away in cases, for notifs of announcements of your next streams and if he has the time, he’d try to catch even a small glimpse of a stream while in bed on a case.

the way he’d totally spend every earnings of his income on you 🤭❤️

answering this rn because i like the concept :3 not too well versed with all this stuff but either way, i hope this suffices 🙈

NSFW! - explicit sexual themes, incl. camgirl!reader and kinda perv!spencer (depends on your definition of a perv, really).

spencer doesn’t even remember how he stumbled across your page, probably through a rogue advert or something on his computer. but what he does know is that he was hooked right from the start.

he’s never really been one for watching porn, too busy analysing their body language and concluding that these people aren’t putting as much passion into it as he enjoys. you, though, you’re sweet and soft spoken, and still innocent to your subscribers whilst doing the most filthy of things.

the first thing that caught his eye was on your free page, a picture of you in a black and white lingerie, with a chess set in front of you - captioned ‘play with me?’. he couldn’t not subscribe to your main page after that. a beautiful woman and his favourite game? he couldn’t help wanting to see more.

at first, he felt a little odd and embarrassed about literally paying for porn, but he kind of just reminded himself that a lot of people do it, and he wasn’t the odd one out. plus, he was helping someone pay the bills, so in his mind - it was a good deed. his hefty salary could take the hit.

he didn’t even realise you did streams alongside your cutesy videos until he was in a random hotel room on a case, scrolling through his phone, the notification popping through. his brows had furrowed in curiosity, and he couldn’t stop himself from clicking onto it.

there you were, camera set up in the usual spot, sat in your bed. you were still fully clothed, which was…rare, and he soon realised that over the course of the stream things would grow more dirty. he could see people talking in the chat, sending in large sums of money, to which you were responding. as much as he wanted to, spencer was not about to actually talk to you. he’d rather die.

however, he did sometimes send you money. he didn’t have his name in his username, so he’d feel a little more confident typing a message along with the $50-100 dollars he’d send at a time. small things like “you’re so pretty,” “i love your voice,” and maybe a little “do you think you could read dante’s inferno on stream one day? :)”. yeah, he really loves your voice. probably more than he loves your body.

the thing is, he knows it’s your job, he knows you’re willingly putting these things on the internet because people want your body, but with each video and stream, he mostly focuses on how you sound, or how your eyes gleam any time you smile. he’s always a little miffed if you go live whilst he’s working a case or on the jet, but thankfully you upload your streams after, and he can’t help thinking it’s just for him.

he gets a little…attached, lets say, and soon enough he’s watching your videos every day. even your youtube channel, which is safe for work, where you simply upload makeup and clothing hauls - he loves it. every second of it.

though on your paid site, it’s literally porn, so obviously he gets turned on looking at it. he watches your face in your videos as you make yourself come, more than he watches the ministrations of your hands or toys. he conjures up images in his mind of those being his hands, your noises of pleasure being for him.

the first time you uploaded a video with someone else, he considered unsubscribing. he felt almost betrayed. he was paying and spending his salary on you, not coworkers and other men. nonetheless, he persevered, deciding to just not leave a donation on those posts - as if in protest.

he still never comments or talks in your lives, but he’s always lingering. he gets a little more confident when he sends money, instead leaving notes like “buy yourself something nice :)” or “maybe get a new mic? would be good to hear you clearer :)”

he’s slowly been getting less embarrassed by it, knowing it’s just a simple vice, everyone has one. that is, until, he leaves his phone on his desk when he goes to the bathroom, and morgan catches a peek at the notification from a well known camgirl site. safe to say, he’ll never live it down.

am happy to write something that goes more in depth onto what the reader does but i feel like it would just be x yourself smut LMAO

#tia’s ask box 💋#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid #spencer reid blurb

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winnisblur · 2 days ago

Text

“Cracks In Our Hearts.”

pairing ❤︎‬: gender neutral reader x sunghoon. w.c ‪‪❤︎‬: 4.5 - 5k (it’s word vomit at its finest) synopsis ‪‪❤︎‬: you’re a player in squid game, and thanks to a certain square guard, you’ve managed to survive (and get fucked).

this fic includes ‪‪❤︎‬: smut so mdni, death(s?), blood, sunghoon is a guard and is hot with a mask and pistol, he��s also cold(i think that’s the word), reader just trying to survive, ends up dying tho lol, bathroom sex, choking, pain and gun kink, degradation, sunghoon is actually a jerk beneath the mask, so is reader, unprotected sex, readers skin colour nor private parts are mentioned and etc.

warnings ‪‪❤︎‬: english isn’t my first language, not really proofread so srry about that, and i’m nervous af cus this is my first time writing T-T, this is based off of s1 so spoilers ahead (for those who haven’t watched both seasons”.

…..I shouldn't have survived the first game.

The thought clings to me like a stain as I sit cross-legged on the cold gray floor of the dormitory. Around me, everyone's faces wear that same haunted look-eyes sunken, shoulders hunched-but it does nothing to erase this truth: I'm still here, and a hundred others aren't.

My hands shake as I clutch the bottle of water they gave us, the only comfort in this nightmare. “Red Light, Green Light” was supposed to be simple. A childish game, nothing more. But then, when the first shot went off, the simplicity was in pieces. I kept my head down, my steps calculated. An act of luck rather than any skill saved me. Halfway, my legs had locked, but the chaos around saved me. I was too scared even to breathe, let alone blink while that giant, doll-like machine scanned the field. The screams. The silence. They cling to me as much as the relief of being alive.

But that leaves me with just one question: how long will I last?

Dalgona Game

As the guards herd us into the grounds, that feeling of luck is not there.

The sun knocks heavily upon the earthy ground, and a whispering wave curls through the players. In front of us stood a table piled high with tins, each containing the next nightmare: “Dalgona candy.” The guard with the square mask appears to be in charge; he steps forward. His voice rumbles from behind his mask. "You will each choose a tin. Inside is a shape. Your task is to extract the shape from the candy without breaking it. You will have ten minutes."

That's it? A shape?

But then I look at the examples on the display-circle, triangle, star…and an umbrella. My stomach does a flip. Not just precision, but luck too. A wrongly picked tin means my death. The queue moved fast; shaking hands reached for tins, people picking as if their lives depended on it. Because they do.

When it's my turn, I force myself to breathe and reach for the one closest to me. The metal feels cool and heavy in my hands. I don't even open it right away, afraid to see what fate I've chosen. Finally, I lift the lid.

The umbrella stares back at me.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. I look around, and there are a few groaning in despair as they unveil their shapes. Most got stars or circles—luckies. The timer starts, and the courtyard almost becomes a battlefield of concentration. People start licking their candies, tapping needles at them, and quite a few try to bite them. I take the given needle and gently press it against the candy. The sound of cracking candy nearby makes my heart run. I start shaking and tracing the thin, delicate lines of the umbrella. "Steady," I say to myself. Halfway through, it happened.

Snap.

The handle of the umbrella broke off clean. My blood ran cold.

It was over.

Instantly, my head jerks up to find the nearest guard. They are already converging on other players who busted their candies. I heard shots ring out and immediately froze. That is when I see him.

One of the square-guards, taller than the others, stops a few feet away. I cannot see his face, yet there is something different in the way he looks at me. His head tilts slightly, studying me, and for that one fleeting instant, the noise falls away. Then he takes another step closer.

"No," I whisper. Shivering, my heartbeat surges as I hold the shattered candy tightly against my body, to hide it from view. But instead of brandishing his weapon, he leans in and whispers, "Pretend you're still working." I stare up at him, appalled. "Do it," he says sharply in a low voice, and I automatically comply. I push the broken pieces together, my hands shaking so severely it's a wonder they don't break into a hundred more pieces. The guard-he-stands close enough that I can sense his presence. He occasionally looks around, subtly blocking the other guards' view of me. “Why?" I dare to whisper. He says nothing.

Minutes tick by-although by some miracle, no one notices my snapped candy. When the buzzer goes off, I hold my breath for the worst to happen. Instead, the square-guard advances, feigning that he's inspecting the other players. Somehow, I get away.

The dormitory is noisier tonight. Some are cheering, others crying, but I do not think of anything besides him. Why did he save me? Was this some sort of mistake? A test? My head runs with the different connotations, but no sensible fact makes sense. Guards are not supposed to show mercy.

When the lights dim for night, I am awake. I play that moment in my head over and over-the quiet authority in his voice, the way he lingered just long enough to save me. There's just no getting answers, yet I couldn't help my mind from running over and over with thoughts of him.

Sunghoon’s POV

This was reckless.

I lean against the wall of the guard quarters, helmet in my hands, and let my breath out slowly. My heart hasn't stopped racing since I saw them-their trembling hands, the way they froze when their candy broke. I should've ignored it. I should've done my job. But something about the way their eyes widened, filled with fear and determination, stopped me. I don't know why I helped them. It wasn't out of pity. It wasn't out of guilt.

It was them.

I have seen hundreds of players, most of them desperate enough or selfish enough to catch nothing but their own survival. But they're different. I shouldn't be feeling this way. Guards aren't supposed to feel anything. Yet every time I think about their face, my resolve cracks just that little bit more.

If anyone finds out, I'm as good as dead.

But somehow, I just can't seem to care. Tomorrow's another game, another chance to see them. I just hope I can keep my distance.

For both our sakes.

The Next Day

I wake up to this gnawing feeling in my chest. It isn't the ache in my limbs or the exhaustion of staying up all night, reliving the events of the Dalgona game in my head; it's the dread of what comes next.

Another game, another chance to die.

They walk us to the next arena as effectively, coldly, with all the same efficiency of people used to doing a day's labor. My head was down, letting myself just become part of a whole, not standing out too much. The cold-faced, geometric-mask-covered guard statues line the wall opposite. My eyes fly toward each square mask.

Grievously stupid. Insane even-but what did it matter? Had he watched me just then? Was he going to try to save me?

A small part of me wants him to, but the larger part is reminding me of one crucial thing: here, I am on my own. Completely and utterly. Not even him.

Sunghoon’s POV

There they are.

Perched atop the arena above, my eyes find them in a heartbeat. They scan the guards again, their shoulders tense, eyes keen despite the exhaustion clinging to every player out there. I shouldn't watch them. Shouldn't give a damn.

Yet I can't peel my eyes away, though. Still alive, that's what matters.

My grip tightens on the rifle in my hands as the Robotic Female’s voice booms across the arena, announcing the rules for today’s game. I already know what’s coming. Another trial, another bloody mess.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they survive. Even if it means breaking every rule I’ve sworn to follow.

The Tug-of-War Twist

We are brought to a very large outdoors arena, with several platforms towering up to the sky. Ropes traverse atop thick, and beneath these? A fall so long I could hardly see the bottom.

Tug-of-war.

The explanation is simple: teams of ten; whoever wins lives. Losers. well, the fall does the talking. I'm pushed towards a group, and panic bursts in my chest as I realize the dynamics are uneven. None of them appear to be very strong. A few even shake so hard that I don't think they can hold the rope.

This is bad.

The guards line the edges, rifles in place to take out anyone showing even a millisecond of hesitation. My eyes flicker to them out of instinct, and there he is-square guard. His posture is stiff, but his helmet angles toward me as I step on the platform. Is he looking at me?

The thought's cut off by a buzz. And with that, the first match begins. I am horrified as the opposing team pulls with ruthless precision. Losing is being dragged, inch by inch, toward the edge. Their screams echo when the rope jerks once more, sending them plunging into the void.

This isn't just about strength. It's strategy.

When it's our turn, I reach for the rope, my palms already slick with sweat. My team looks hopeless, all whispering prayers and clutching at whatever scraps of courage they can muster. The opposing team, however, is all muscle.

"Pull!" someone yells as the buzzer sounds, and I dig my heels into the platform. The rope's abraded heat against my palms sears the skin as we're yanked forward. Arms scream, legs wobble-it feels like we are seconds away from catastrophe. "Lean back! Use your weight!" someone yells, but it's futile. We're losing so much ground. That's when I saw him.

The square-guard stood near the edge, his head cocked as he watched me. For what feels like an eternity he doesn't move, before finally he moves a step closer and leans on his rifle at his shoulder. I'm stuck until his hand moves after all, and it does really slowly.

It was the signal.

I watch transfixed as his gloved hand takes direction toward the other guys on the opposition side of this platform, then he tap-dances his foot quickly yet small - almost in a blur-close around anchor point holding their ropes steady. My eyes widen.

Is he telling me their side is rigged?

I have no time to think. I lean back with all my strength and yell to my team, "Pull to the left! They're off balance!" The others hesitate but follow my lead, shifting our weight. The opposing team stumbles, losing their footing, and in the chaos, I catch something flicker in the corner of my vision-a quick, subtle motion from his side.

The anchor point snaps.

The opposing team barely has time to act before they're pulled forward, screaming as they tumble into the abyss. We collapse onto the platform, gasping for air. Relief washes through me, tainted with disbelief.

I should be dead.

I glance toward him again but he's already gone, sucked back into the sea of guards. Tonight, I cannot get him out of my mind. The square-guard. The one who has saved me over and over again. No one else is paying any attention to anything but celebration or mourning as I slip into the shadows near the edge of the dormitory. The guards patrol the perimeter, their masks gleaming under the dim lights. And then I see him.

He leans against the wall, a little apart from the others. As I approach him, my heart pounds, and every step sounds louder than it should. "What are you doing?" I whisper. His head snaps toward me, and for a second, I think I have made a mistake. But then he steps forward, his voice low and sharp. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you," I shoot back, emboldened by adrenaline. "You've been helping me. Why?” He hesitates, glancing around before tugging me further into the darkness. "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to," he says. "I think I deserve an answer," I say, crossing my arms over my chest despite the tremble in my hands. "You've saved my life twice. Don't act like that's normal." For a moment, he says nothing. Then, with a sigh, he lifts his mask just enough for me to see his face.

He's younger than I expected. Sharp jawline, intense eyes that seem to pierce right through me. "You stood out," he admits, his voice softer now. "Most people here…they're just trying to survive. But you-" He catches himself, as if he's said too much. "But what?" I press.

“You fight," he says so simply. "Even when you're scared. Even when you shouldn't." The words dangle in the air, between us like a challenge. Heavy, electric. "I don't know why I do these things," he continues more irritably. "But if you wanna stay alive, don't trust me. Don't trust no one." His words shouldn't assure me, and yet suddenly, for the first time since I have been here, I do feel one thing: hope.

"Thanks," I say under my breath. He doesn't answer, but pulls his mask back down and steps away, leaving me in the shadows.

I trudge up the stairs, the fluorescent lights above me flickering with every labored step my legs take. It was mountainous, but I had survived another game, another step closer to whatever hellish end this place had in store. The other players say nothing. Their faces are hollow, their skin pale. No one dares speak anymore. Silence is safer.

I stop on the last step as a guard blocks my path. Square mask. My heart catches. "What's this?" I say, sharper than I mean to. Exhaustion has sucked any tolerance from me. "You're flagged," he says bluntly. "There's suspicion you might be carrying something you shouldn't be. You'll have to be searched." My blood turns cold. Suspicion? Prohibited? “That's crazy," I say, my panic rising into my chest. "I don't have anything-"

"Follow me." There's no request about it. The other players glance my way, their eyes wide and wary, but they don't get involved. They're too frightened to risk drawing attention to themselves. I hesitate, my mind racing. If this is a setup, if they think I've broken a rule, this could be it. This could be my end.

But I have no choice. Taking a deep breath, I follow the guard down a dimly lit corridor and into a bathroom. The sound of the door locking behind me makes me shiver. “Turn around," the guard instructs in a cold, emotionless voice. I do so, my heart racing. "Look," I begin, "I don't know what you think I've done, but-"

"Stop talking.” It cuts through my protest, and there's something about it-something familiar. I turn to face them, my brow furrowing. “What is this?" I ask. "Who are you?" For a moment, they don't respond. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the guard lifts their mask. My breath catches.

It's him.

The square-guard who's been helping me. The one I thought was gone, fired, or worse-killed for breaking the rules. "You-" I stutter, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had to see you," he says, his voice soft, yet urgent. "I couldn't stay away any longer." I blink, trying to process the rush of emotions-relief, confusion, anger. "I thought you were-what happened to you? Why did you stop-" "I had to lay low," he interrupts. "They were watching me. But I'm still here. I don't know what to say. My mind is racing, torn between gratitude and frustration. “Why did you bring me here?" I ask finally.

His eyes lock with mine, intense and unyielding. “Because I couldn't take it anymore," he says, his voice low, stepping closer. "Watching you risk your life, knowing I couldn't do anything to stop it-it's been driving me insane." I swallow hard, my heart racing as he closes the gap between us. "You shouldn't be doing this," I whisper. "If they find out—"

"I don't care," he says with finality. "I've already broken the rules for you. What's one more?" And before I can say another word, his hands frame my face, and he kisses me. It's not soft or tentative-it's desperate, raw, like he's pouring every ounce of fear and longing into the moment. I'm stuck in a freeze-frame moment for a second, mind whipping. Then I yield and cling to his uniform while kissing him back with every ounce of fierce intensity of my own. The world falls away, and I feel something other than fear for the first time since this nightmare kicked off.

But not for long.

He pulls away, forehead resting against mine, hard breaths mingling between our lips. "I can't protect you anymore," he says, his voice cracking. "Not with what's coming." I search his face, my chest tightening at the pain in his eyes. "You've already done more than enough," I whisper. He shakes his head. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough."

A heavy silence falls between us, and I know this is goodbye. Expect it wasn’t actually, his lips captured mine again, his lips….almost saying they wanted me, needed me. That is until he broke the kiss again, and pinned my back against the cold, colorful tiled wall of the bathroom. His body language seemed like he has longed for the dramatic (sort of) crash of holding me against the wall, kissing me like he was dreaming about this every single minute of the day.

He winced as my nails raked across his back through his pink suit, he probably felt like his outfit was being torn by my nails, which could get us both in trouble if that was actually to happen. He winced again as he took ahold of my wrists and slammed them to the wall in retaliation, wedging his knee between my thighs, which made a gasp leave my lips at the slightest bit of friction I was getting from his thigh.

“Didn’t know you were this desperate for me,” he teased after breaking the heated kiss for the nth time, leaving him and me breathless, panting with saliva connecting us. His low chuckle echoed through the empty, now suffocating bathroom, and making his vampire teeth pop out. “it’s laughable, really. Does the games make you horny?” he teased yet again, raising his thick eyebrows in a way that seemed mockingly, his thigh moving back and forth slightly, earning a whine from my lips as he chuckled like he was enjoying me being teased. “Does your life being on the line make you horny? You sadist bit-“ Pain blistered across Sunghoon’s cheek, he couldn’t help but grin as it sent shockwaves of sensation tearing across his body. Adrenaline hummed through his veins as he hungrily kissed me again, choking me with his gloved hands. I thrashed, ripping at the back of his head by a fistful of hair and biting down hard on his lower lip. Both of our lips were bleeding now, but the metallic tang only made him deepen the kiss even more, greedily trying to taste much of it as possible, masochist much?

“Fucking slut,” He hissed, licking blood and spit from my chin. “You’re a cunt and a dick, a motherfucking cunt and dick sucker.” I hissed back, he chuckled. He fucking chuckled this was all a fucking a circus show for him. “Damn right,” he teased. “But only good girls or boys get their cunts and dicks sucked by me, which isn’t you unfortunately.” he grinned, his hips rolling against my privates, yet again another chuckle slipped from his lips like he enjoyed watching me being frustrated sexually, and I could confirm it just by looking at his eyes that had a glint, a glint of giddiness everytime pain was inflicted upon me.

I hooked my foot behind his knee, forcibly collapsing it. First, he tries making me shit in my pants from coming out of nowhere and telling me that I had to be pat down, makeouts with me, choked me and almost knocked out all of the air in me, calls me names and now his hand is reaching up to my knee to bring me down with him…great. He smirked as he yanked me down onto him, flipping me onto my back and pinning me to the cold floor now instead. He gave just one slow, merciless grind of his hips against mine, and I’m only just realising but…he’s fucking big.

“Who said that…I want you to fucking suck me off or eat me out?” I bit out, nursing my injured lip to keep from moaning as he set out a torturously slow pace through our clothes. “It seems pretty eager to me,” Sunghoon teased, gloved fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “I bet I could make you cum in- shit-!” His head smacked harder against the tiles than it should have as I tossed him onto his back, thighs clenched tightly around his hips. The throbbing pain only added to the throbbing pleasure as I rolled my hips. “Just who do you think fucking I am? Just- fuck- just because I’m trying to survive and win doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your fucking bitch.” Sunghoon grinned up at me, I was already flushed bright red and riding his hips with rough, desperate japs of my hips. “Big talk for someone who’s riding me like their life depends on it, ironically.” he snickers. “I can feel you, asshole. You’re in the same situation as I am!” Sunghoon smirked, and in one quick move, he snatched my wrist and rocketed back to his feet, spinning me back around and leaving me face-first against the wall. “You might not be able to kill people like me, and neither I could survive the games you’re playing but god…you’re right, I do want you.” I shuddered at his deep voice. I shifted, legs spreading to support myself better and Sunghoon slotted his knee right between them once more, hands settling on my waist as I got my one free hand between me and the wall, trying to push and give myself some space. I only succeeded in pushing our bodies closer than before, his cock nestled firmly against my ass.

“Let me have you,” Sunghoon purred, squeezing my waist and slowly moving up my sides the way that turned me into putty. I moaned, shuddering again. “Fuck you! If you want me so badly, then come and take it, take me!” well, that is an invitation that Sunghoon hasn’t heard before, even before doing this whole crazy guard thing at a unknown island. He growled, jerking my pants down in a hurry, like he actually couldn’t believe that his dreams are about to come true. I threw my elbow back, but Sunghoon just pinned my wrist back to the wall. “Stop being a fucking brat,” he hissed. I struggled and choking back a moan, feeling the material of his pink suit against my bare ass. “Get your shitty ass outfit outta the way,” I demanded. “Shit feels like sandpaper!” I hissed. “So sensitive and demanding,” he cooed, even as he let me have both hands back to brace myself against the wall. Sunghoon didn’t dare to move back and give me an opening to escape, only reaching up to unzip his suit and free himself, mostly his cock that was strained against the fabric and begging for friction as it twitched in his underwear. I adjusted, leaning away long enough for Sunghoon to free himself. “If you were me, you’d complain too!” I hissed. “Yeah, yeah, stop running your big mouth. You want it or not?” he rolled his eyes, his suit and underwear failing to his ankles as he leaned forward, completely trapping me between him and the cold wall, his bare cock resting just on my ass, just right where I needed him, so far yet so close. “I told you you fucking idiot, just take it-“ Sunghoon couldn’t help but thrust all of his cock in one go. Making me moan out loud at the blissful pain from the thrust.

For Sunghoon, you were a wet dream come true to life; Sunghoon’s cock glided through you without resistance, soft and slick, tightening only as he rutted against a known sweet spot along your walls. I moaned, arching my back, wrapping tightly around him. He groaned in response, leaning over me, his hands covering mine, fingers almost interlocked. The sweat on my neck left a layer of salt on Sunghoon’s tongue, but beneath it was nothing but you. Sunghoon muffled his own moans against my throat, sucking and biting his way down to my shoulders. I turned my head, covering my mouth with the inside of my elbow as he fucked me against the wall. Sunghoon hiked me up onto my tiptoes, leaning back to appreciate the view, your skin glistened with sweat under the fluorescent lights. “…Please, I’m close da- fuck-!” your words and moans rang loud in his ears, in the bathroom, the silence sharpening your cries. They acted as pokers to the hot coals of fire in the pit of Sunghoon’s stomach, making him embarrassed over how loud you were, neither was the wet and loud sound of skin smacking was making it any better. If any of his fellow guards were outside or just a tad bit close to the bathroom, he’s fucked and killed to death alongside with you.

That is when Sunghoon got an idea, an idea that satisfies his other personality, the one that was created whilst being here for a very long time that he has lost sense of time, and that is fear. He lives off of the idea of goosebumps appearing on the player’s skins just before he kills them, and in this case, while he’s fucking them and practically making them cock-drunk from his stroke game. Sunghoon leaned down and grabbed his long forgotten, abandoned pistol on the floor, aiming the barrel at your forehead, and with that his thrusts became harder, sloppier but you…you were terrified. Terrified on why there’s a gun to your head suddenly, is he going to kill you after using you like a worthless, lifeless sexdoll? Is that what’s going to happen? You couldn’t lie to yourself because the thought kinda turned you on and made you wetter even more, because you wouldn’t mind being his sexdoll if his cock was constantly inside you and making you go brainless. “Stop moaning like a whore unless you want me to pull the trigger right now, and kill you before they find us.” he threatened lowly in my ear, licking and bitting as he tried to muffle his own sounds. By now, you knew you looked pathetic with your eyes red, red and snotty nose as tears stained and wet your flushed cheeks as you began to bite onto your ragged and bloody jacket, trying to keep quiet because as much as it turned you on at the thought of dying on his dick, but you valued your life at the moment because, living longer equals bouncing on his dick for even more before you die.

Sunghoon barely managed to pull out on time, painting his pleasure all over your ass. He grinned at the realisation that you were still haven’t even came yet, still hanging on the edge as he lowered his pistol and patted his gloved hand on your ass, watching it jiggle with the motion of his hand, giggling to himself as he brought his head up and was met with the sight of you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed at him. “Get your own self off, brat.” he teased, putting on his suit back and mask, giving you one last cocky glance before he makes sure he looks presentable in the mirror and walks out on you, leaving you frustrated at him, at not being pleasured enough, at the games, and yourself because behind his handsome looks, he’s actually just like the other guards, ruthless and cold.

The Final Game

The days blur all together.

The games are getting more brutal, and the players, myself included, are growing desperate. Every moment feels like a race against time, against fate. The tension among the remaining participants is palpable. We’ve all become numbers now, not people—just pawns in a game that doesn’t care about our lives. The final game is announced, and my heart skips a beat.

It's the one everybody's afraid of: the glass bridge.

We line up in a row, one behind the other, in front of the two routes laid out before us, each comprising several glass panels, some strong and some weak. We had to walk over them and choose appropriate ones to cross or plunge to death. A shiver runs down my spine as the first few players go up front, and what happened was inevitable. One after another, they fall. Screams pierce the cold air, but clear had been the instruction from the guard that no one was to move unless his turn came upon him. Just as I'm about to take my first step, I suddenly feel. something.

It's him.

The square-guard above watches on, his eyes tracking my every movement, and for a split second, our gazes meet. The connection is brief, but it's enough. I don't know what to make of it, but something in the way he watches me is different. There's something in his eyes-something almost…regretful.

It's my turn.

I step onto the bridge, my legs trembling as creaks come from within the glass as my body weight presses down upon it. The first few steps are just fine. My luck has to turn sometime. The crack starts to give under me and I freeze. I looked back, and that is when I see it-something shifting in Sunghoon's posture. Moving.

Too late.

Balance is lost.

I heard him scream my name-my real name, not a number-and did not care. I fell. This was a never-ending fall. The world spun and the only thing I was aware of was air rushing in as I dropped with the pretty firm knowledge I'd not live to cry out.

And then, there was nothing.

Sunghoon's POV

The world is silent.

I stand in stock-stillness, my heartbeat the only sound of the drumbeat as their body disappears into the void below, and with every shattered piece of me. I should have. I should have—

My fist slams against the metal wall. Its echo rings out into that space. Why didn't I act sooner? Why couldn't I pull them back? Why couldn't I protect?

I close my eyes, the guilt suffocating me. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. But here I am, crushed under the weight of it, the weight of my failure. I should never have gotten involved. I should never have helped them.

But I couldn't stop myself.

And now…

I failed.

I failed them.

The game goes on, but Sunghoon's mind is a maelstrom.

The rest of the players are like shadows, their faces hollow with fear and exhaustion. To Sunghoon, however, time has stopped. He stares at the rest of the players, his eyes searching among them for any sign of the one he couldn't protect. Every step weighs too much to be taken. Every decision he makes feels like a mistake. And when the final buzzer goes off, he barely hears it.

It's the end of the day now, and it doesn't matter anymore.

The only thing filling Sunghoon's head is the weight of his own guilt. The others are rejoicing, but his mind is consumed by you-your face, your eyes, and the time you spent together. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

And he never will.

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