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silksaddle · 3 years

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The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: 1907, Old West. Talk of the Statesman gang is slowly on the rise while Jack continues to distract you from your chores, taking you on another but entirely different night-time outing.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, guns, mentions of alcohol and gangs, copious flirting, SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex/piv sex, outdoor sex, thigh spanking, please pardon me for the amount of smut content in this chapter, a crumb of plot development, Jack Daniels again...

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

A/N: gif credit to @javier-pena once again! thank you my beloved astrid! and as always, much love to my amazing friends who sent me inspo posts and listened to my anxious ramblings about god-knows-what. you are all the best and you have my heart.

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

Jack is spreading his half-naked body over the mattress in a contented stretch when you return to the bedroom, flustered and hot-cheeked.

“You here to take my sheets, darlin’? I must insist I keep ‘em,” he chortles, turning his bright face over the soft pillow as you attempt stripping the sheets from under him, your lungs emptying in a huff when he catches your wrist and draws you to him instead. Your body lands perfectly on top of his with your weak protest, a poor match for his irresistibly gravel-like voice and his buzzing snugness.

“You’re making my job quite difficult,” you mumble into his neck, kissing the smooth skin there although your words are much more harsh. His chest rumbles, fingers running the length of your clothed back from when he’d hurriedly laced you back into your dress, lips skimming graceful but mindless lines on your temple.

“Mrs. Adler thinks you’re doing your chores.” Jack’s palms are now ghosting over your shoulders as you prop yourself up on your elbows, taking his gaze with you as you move, and you can tell your dilating pupils are betraying the falseness of your annoyed tone when you look at his expanding chest. He takes a deep breath in, the angle of morning light catching his eyes just right to melt them into golden flecks, his dishevelled hair incurable without a bath.

You card your fingers through, and though it’s slightly tangled, the texture is silky enough to brush through the messy state and straighten it out, just a smidge. The touch causes his eyes to flutter closed, and shimmying up his body, he leans his head back to expose his neck further, the long lines and tone popping against each other. His breath hitches when he feels your own puffing across it, his chest immobile while he waits to feel something more from you, but you don’t kiss him, don’t nip him, don’t caress him there.

“I’ve only come to take your sheets to wash them— I should already be downstairs,” you insist and he mopes, your voice softly carrying throughout the bright bedroom, limbs absent-mindedly wrapping around his firm ones until he clings to you.

“Oh,” he hums, tipping his body until you roll under him onto the no-longer-fresh sheets, landing on your back with his hands cradling your head. His handsome smile makes you forget you ever needed to take his sheets in the first place, and when he kisses you deeply, moaning low when you open up for him and his bare skin slides over you, you don’t even remember where you are. “Thought you’d wanted some more of me…”

“Mmm, Jack— she’s already a little suspicious of me,” you giggle, wriggling underneath his heavy weight and it’s a futile effort beneath his affection, his lips laying warm insistent kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. He’s unstoppable, whether it’s the heaviness or the happiness that makes you lie there and take it with quiet laughter as the rough skin of his cheek touches gently to yours.

Jack is as much the sunshine of the room as the real thing, chuckling sweetly along with you and growing more pleased the louder your squealing sounds become, your fingers pulling across the bare skin of his back— he likes it too much to let you off in a timely manner.

Mrs. Adler had only just believed your excuse of a poor sleep as you’d rushed out in a tizzy with your disheveled hair and clothes, and a terrible flourish of panic had bloomed in your chest at the thought of an unchecked mark lingering on your neck. But Jack had looked you over meticulously; deft fingers had worked at the laces of your layers. And even before making it to the kitchen, two dozen kisses wet on your thighs, you’d opened the door only to find the old woman pacing about on the landing of the stairs. Slamming it shut with your back on the wood, panting in the face of confrontation, Jack snickered and peeked out for you a minute later, confirming your chance to slip out undetected.

Now finished serving breakfast, Jack once again prevents you from carrying out your tasks.

“You’ve left me with a lastin’ impression,” he rasps, eyes crinkling as he slips a hand under your skirt and the touch tickles and inspires a giddy laugh from your throat as you swat him away, at last slipping out from under him.

“Give me your sheets, you greedy man,” you order, lifting your chin and furrowing your brow with your arm extended. Jack purses his lips and thinks, sitting up to run a hand through his dark hair, your smile growing despite yourself when it sticks up in bulky curls to leave his contented face in view.

“These sheets have got your smell on ‘em now,” he grins like it’s his most favoured fact in his whole life, leaning back into his palms and his cock is slowly hardening between his legs as he considers his next words, “your cum is on them.”

“Jack,” you chuckle, “you’re dirty.” Inching closer to him, his joyous face turns dark when you arrive in the middle of his strong thighs extending past the edge of the bed, “Get up, please, or I’ll have you explaining why I’m behind schedule for the second time today.”

He presses up onto his feet, his gentle scent covering you as if a fleeting spell, and before any more rational thoughts occur, your hand is reaching into his unbuttoned pants, wrapping around his hard length. His head tips back, the softest growl filling your ears and he pushes his hips forward, placing his hands on your cheeks, urging your lips to slide along his as he fucks into your tight fist. It’s a sweet kiss compared to his already desperate thrusts, his cum still streaking your thighs, inside of you, outside of you, from mere hours before.

“I told you I’d come back here tonight. We’ve plenty of time to ruin more sheets.” Your whisper earns a heavy sigh expelled onto your skin, his grip sliding down to your neck and as his mouth hangs open, you nip at his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth, a tender suckle on the plush softness. He hisses as you let it go, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and stilling his movements with your hand, he lets you work him like that— your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you slide it in and out of your palm.

“Fuck me,” he groans, “I better see you back here if you’re gonna touch me like this, darlin’.”

Smiling, you pump him quickly, whispering how you can still feel him as if he’s fucking you right now, how good he is, how thick, and he growls from his chest, shutting his eyes tight in concentration.

“Maybe you’ll let me touch you tonight, too, Jack, leave your ropes for another time…” Your free hand clamps around the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of it, before tugging him down for a slower kiss, capturing his striking whine in your mouth.

“Shit, darlin’... I’d do anything you say right about now… Christ,” Jack’s fingers trace the neckline of your bodice as his lips skate along your cheek, and his voice is so husky and rumbly, you almost consider a greater risk of trouble.

He makes no protest as you bend carefully, still pumping his thick cock while you yank the sheet away from the mattress, pulling back to fold it into your arms and finally leaving his hard length unattended. Jack’s eyes snap open in a crushing neediness, his displeased but wrecked voice calling after you in a bid to keep you here and he laughs incredulously, “You get back here right now.”

Backing up into the door, your lip caught in your teeth, you reach behind and find the cool handle, offering a cheeky grin before you slip away and murmur, “I’m busy.”

A mellow afternoon follows Jack’s disgruntled exit to the fractional post office, stealing a rushed kiss in the corner of the parlour for the mere seconds you were alone together, giddy glances spared through the window on his walk to work. You spend a small segment of your time concocting tea for Mrs. Adler who pours over the payment book, thanking you as she slides a list across the bar; it’s full of all things you know to do without the help of paper and pencil.

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

Spluttering, you swivel on your heel, unsure of the intention of her question, your eyes mistakenly blowing wide with no answer to fill the subsequent silence. She must know, you worry, she must.

“What about him?” You query, looking down at your apron in no need of smoothing, yet your hands fiddle with the pockets, and her amused scoff scrapes through your uneasy stance.

“My, you’d better sleep well tonight... that man whipped those fools down in a second,” she laughs, flipping the page of the large notebook and scribbling something down with a spotted, shaky hand.

“He did.” Wiping your face, you conceal a sliver of a smile under your hand when you think of him— ease and cockiness burned down to his big pleading eyes looking up at you for permission. “Thought you disliked him.”

“Well, I could admit we need someone like that around here more often,” she croaks as you pretend to look over the list of laundry, sweeping, cooking, cleaning. The sentiment lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest— you no more than agree with her and you could never tell her why or how.

“Oh, and dear, the sheriff came by this morning,” she adds, relaying his spiel of reports.

Only the most notable happenings make it over from town to town, lawlessness rendering crime nothing more than irrelevant. It takes a mass robbery, or a mammoth fire, or an offense so deeply doused and coloured red in rage to make the rounds of neighbouring settlements, so when Mrs. Adler shares the spreading news of heightened gang exploits a little ways north, your heart sinks and adopts a painfully heavy sensation.

“He advises to be extra careful,” she finishes with a stern look, “they could be coming here for all we know. Those Statesman men are horrible…”

“Statesman?” you echo her words, scouring the back of your mind to place the familiarity of that name, but she smiles in return to soften your worried brow. Statesmen, a Statesman. You’d read it somewhere, embellished into leather or stitched into the label of a visitor’s coat while tidying.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If anything, girl, that Daniels boy should be of use.”

A challenge not to snicker, she gives you, when she tells you not to fuss, as if you’ve got the liberty to enjoy the outdoors where a vigilant attitude is required— but Jack is the remedy, you think, eyeing the stray strands of her brittle grey hair twisted up, scrunching your nose.

“Alright, Mrs. Adler,” you agree, passing her through to the laundry closet.

The air is stuffy inside the small, shelved room, where pleasing, cooling, tiny splashes pepper your forearms as you pour the water bucket into one of the tubs, then grabbing the soap, you flump onto the short stool and drag the laundry basket to your side. The first sheet on the pile is the last one you’d taken— Jack’s— carrying his heady and wood-fiery scent now mingled with yours. With a vibration of anticipation up your spine, your thoughts twirl upon your admittedly cruel handling of his need— tonight, you’re surely in for it.

The usual, slowly passing and hot hours fill with inescapable reveries toeing the line of unrealistic: a cloudy day in bed, a sunny evening at the river, clothes discarded to the side. Shaking those heart string-stretching thoughts and trading for a better focus, you hang the wringed sheets on the line as the last blazes of the sun spread over the field, and take a moment to rest your elbows on the log fence at the back of the yard overlooking the vast, lush area.

Something heavy, once more, tugs at your weary limbs, watching the calm breeze push along the beige blades of plant-life, and you think of Sylvie— her bright mane and soothing demeanor, the rush of riding with her and him. The thrill no longer chased, waiting for you still. There must be a few months worth left of him, two at the least, perhaps enough to soothe your aching heart in seeking more vibrant days. But before too long, you set back on your course of chores, trekking up to tidy the bathing rooms for those coming back from a dirty day.

Jack finds you there an hour later in the open door, kneeling on the floor by the bathing tub, scrubbing away at its already-shiny exterior, and he smiles under the sticky and sweaty clothes, watching the way your body jostles with movement.

“Hey, cruel woman.”

Halting, your head briefly hangs between your shoulders before you sit back on your heels and grin up at him, his weary feet leading him towards you, a set of clean clothes hanging off his arm. His shirt is sheer in some places more than others, namely his chest, damp with muscular effort.

“Did you have a hard day, Jack?” You question, making big eyes at him from your low spot compared to his tall height, and his face grows slightly stern.

“Oh, darlin’, you know I did,” he kneels, takes your chin in his hand and you find yourself leaning up into his face, mere inches from his lips, entranced by their pouty curve. But he doesn’t kiss you. He pinches your chin harder, a deep pressure as he looks over you, taking in the way you indulgently advance until you’re on hands and knees, caged by his own, staring at him with none of the power you held this morning.

“You oughta continue what you started…” he whispers almost on your lips, never close enough to touch, your eyelids heavily drooping as you look down his torso, leading to his cock.

“Oh,” you sigh, slick pooling where he can’t see or feel it, “Jack, I can…”

You crawl forward between his spread legs until your nose nudges the material of his pants, resting your weight back on your knees when you reach out for him, but his face is a sinister, knowing grin when steadily rises back up to stand, rocking into his heels.

“Not now, though,” he coos, swiping a damp thumb over your lip, “off you go, little lady.”

“Why—”

Whining involuntarily, you watch while he shrugs off his suspenders and closes his eyes, fluttering back open with a smirk at Mrs. Adler’s distant call for you to prepare dinner.

“That’s why.”

Your mouth hanging open, you roll your eyes, taking his calloused hand as he aids you upward from the hard floor, though he finally gives you a greeting of a peck on the cheek, “Later, angel, you can show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day.”

Nudging your body, he sends you off to your chores in a frazzled state and shuts the door with a wink, settling in to wash himself off from the dust and dirt.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so needy, it nearly feels stupid to still have the crushing weight of wanting Jack as you chop ingredients, peek into cupboards, fill plates. It’s even worse when he sits at the table, clean and fresh and irresistibly smooth, chatting in easy conversation with Mrs. Crockett who enjoys his company dearly as she tells him uninteresting stories of her husband.

He watches your back as you turn about the steps, as you pass along plates to each person, and he brushes his fingers purposely along yours when you arrive at his spot, a gesture to offer his silent token of appreciation. Your breath catches, and his wink sets it free again through a quiet sigh, smiling sweetly for him. He tries not to laugh, you notice, and you stop yourself from touching his shoulder here in front of everyone— namely Mrs. Crockett, who has also made a poor reputation of gossip and a budding friendship with Mrs. Adler who is closest to her in age. The last thing you can manage is a rumour about your little life; by that point you’d be begging Jack to take you with him even before the post office is built, even with so much left to explore with him.

As the chitter-chatter diminishes down to an empty table with empty plates, and the visitors disperse into corners or run off to different buildings— they always come back for dinner to get their money’s worth— you sort out the dried laundry, slipping into the ladies’ rooms to aid with corsets, all with distant thoughts in a place where they shouldn’t be. They never ask about your day so much as they speak of theirs, whether time spent with their sweetheart, telling you how they prefer their things folded, or muttering how much they liked dinner. The last one you take lightly, thanking the ladies in whispers. Now, though, it doesn’t cause as much of an ache in your heart when you listen to their free and happy memories— you think of doing the same with Jack, of asking him and receiving his sweet smile in return, ready if you are.

When you finally sit at your simple vanity, it’s with a powerful sigh that you remove your boots, step out of your clothes, and trade them for your nightgown. You pull the threaded pink ribbon taut into a bow, and look over yourself in the mirror, giddy in your stomach for when the time comes to slip into Jack’s room. Judging by the clock, another half hour would do to be sure everyone has settled in so you can sneak in complete privacy, and it feels less daunting now than it ever did before.

Folding your petticoat to lay the soft cotton on the tabletop, you hear the handle click and turn and you gasp fiercely in response, rising from the chair as Jack all but barrels in, haphazardly shutting the door before swooping you into his arms.

“Oh, my—” you squeal, cut off by a rough kiss that you eagerly return, bombarded with the scent of his soap and shaving cream. You only urge him off with your hands sneaking between your bodies to press on his chest and ask a burning question, his lips not wanting to part from you. It’s a tiny struggle but he eventually gives way, fondly looking down at you as you speak. “Did anyone see you?”

“Hall was empty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you… lost my damn patience,” he croons, plushy lips open on your neck, leaving kisses that bloom into pleasant flourishes of need like ink dipped into water. It’s a new spot that you allow him to explore, bringing your hands up his wide shoulders as you turn around the room together, stepping at random. “Had to keep from touchin’ myself and dreamin’ of you…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, reeling him in closer for a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to dream, Jack, I’m here.”

His breath stutters uncharacteristically and it must be your chance to keep him like this, his pleasure dependent on what you decide to do with him— so you pin your front to his and he grunts, giving a miniscule, testing rut back.

“No more teasin’?” he asks hopefully, sweet brown eyes glowing in the low light of your little lamp. “You weren’t so nice this morning…”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not so sure about that.”

In a mirror of the morning, you slip your hand lower to find his cock hard again, splaying your fingers over its thick length and rubbing over the fabric. He squeezes your waist, digging his thumbs in helplessly as he staves off a groan in a bid to keep what willpower is still left with him, then loses it all when you place a simple kiss to his collarbone, not open or rough or wet— just plain, pressed lips to his skin, and he asks you for more.

“Will you let me touch you this time?” you murmur, urging him backward onto the bed. He slumps over the mattress, eyes trained on your face as he places himself further up with his legs spread, palms sinking into the covers. He swallows thickly when he takes you in: standing over him in the sheer, light fabric of your nightgown, its lace edges bordering the slopes of your body.

“I want you in my mouth,” you continue, lowering yourself to your knees, hands over his own as he shuts his eyes and breathes deep, long breaths, grunting when he feels your fingers working at his buttons. “Think I’ve earned it.”

“You could ask me for anything you want, darlin’... shit—” His thighs tense under your ministrations as you reach in and pull his cock out, the tip of it shining in his own, generous arousal. He looks down from himself to your sparkling eyes, and cups your cheek in his large hand, its smoothness traveling down the curve of your face. “Anything you want.”

His lip twitches, mouth falling delicately open and his eyes shutting once more as you place your tongue flat at the base, licking upward, circling around the head while you watch his face strain and pull, his neck sticking out prominently. He’s gorgeous when you touch him like this, still so fresh and clean from the bath. The warm drips of precum glide slowly on your tongue as you hold it out, then wrap your lips around him, whining when he fists through your hair and cramps his fingers.

“That mouth is just about gonna kill me already,” he rasps, bucking his hips up a smidge to perch himself deeper in your mouth, your hand rising to cover his at the base of your neck. Its heat is dangerous yet satisfying in its revelation of just how affected he is, a tiny spot of sweat swiping from his palm onto your neck.

Blinking up at him, you pull off, wetly sliding over half the length of him before moving back down to take more, feeling it brush against the back of your throat. You keep him there as he squeezes you harder, his spine curling over you and the new sound he makes is just begging to be heard, but he smothers it with a bite of his own lip to quiet it.

“Like that…” he sighs, carefully canting his hips forward as you wrap your fingers around his base, enveloping him and spreading the wetness of your mouth over his entire length.

He glistens like that, shimmering in the low and golden light, fisting at the blanket and your hair, puffing focused breaths every time you take him deeper, longer, sucking him harder.

Up and down, you keep your lips wrapped snugly around his cock, its throbbing heft a pleasurable weight on your tongue, the satisfying hit of the head at your throat.

“Where have you fuckin’ been,” he nearly laughs in disbelief that you’re even here, much less on your knees, much less with your mouth around him.

Pulling off for a deep breath, you trace the edges of your nightgown, eyeing him and his debauched, handsome face as you bring the lacy straps off your arms, leading them from your wrists. “I’ve always been here.”

The fabric gathers at your waist in a soft pool of cotton and ribbon, your chest bare and level with his cock.

“Do you like that, Jack?” you preen, settling closer to him this time over the hard and truthfully painful floor— you don’t notice it as much when you feel him hitting that spot all the way down your throat.

“You know I do,” he smiles breathlessly, crinkles and that little dimple creasing in his content face. He leans down for a kiss, its nature unlike the urgency of your own mouth wetting his cock— it’s always sweet like he is to you in every other way, lingering there before you lean into the space between his legs, eager.

“I wanted you all day,” you coo, running a thumb over his tip, a saturated kiss placed there before you put him in your mouth for a brief suck, managing to keep him inside for a few short seconds. “I should have felt so tired after what you did to me, but all I could think of was this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he then lets it go in a gravelly sigh as he holds your bobbing head in his hands, spanning the sides of your face. Your forehead brushes his soft stomach as you push down, hollowed cheeks hugging every inch of him and he jolts, driving himself the smallest bit further, moaning at the tight and wet sensation of you. You pump him, looking so falsely innocent between his legs, your chest and shoulders bare for him to admire, peeking out of the fine gown.

“Keep goin’ darlin’, I’m gonna fill that pretty mouth up... know you want it down your throat, bet you thought about havin’ my cum drippin’ from your mouth all day, too, hm?”

Licking the tip and rubbing him faster, you nod fervently, opening wide in a stretch to finish him off with firm squeezes and strokes, his breaths now raggedly rough from above you every time he hits that spot. Your mouth is hot on his skin and he warns you he’s going to cum soon, he’s going to fill your mouth up nice and good, and you shut your eyes tight in concentration, focused on the thick feel of him sliding in and out between your lips.

“Wanna see you when I fill you baby doll, c’mere n’ look at me.” Jack’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, and you strain to look upward before you slide your hand over his slick cock. He tenses up by another degree, his chest and forehead damp, throat straining as he swallows thickly.

A final squeeze and he cums all over your extended tongue, the milky liquid sliding off and onto your chest as he moans through gritted teeth, dazed as you are as you both watch it drip all over your exposed half. You swallow what remains in your mouth, letting your jaw drop to show him your now clean slate.

Bending into you and still panting, he smiles, streaking his thumb down your chin to gather up what’s left, guiding it into your open mouth. Heart racing, you take it in, your enthusiastic glow causing his face to soften.

His gaze drifts south to linger on your glimmering chest, pressing his palm flat and firm into the slight pool of it. He paints you with it, spreading his cum all over each breast with a clear sheen from the separation, special attention granted to each nipple with a flick of his wet thumb. Its initial warmth has cooled and with it lingers a soothing cover over your front as you lay your cheek over his knee, toying with the worn laces of his boots.

“Now… how to thank my darlin’ girl and her perfect fuckin’ mouth…” Jack wonders aloud as he cups your cheeks in his hands and puts a contrasting, innocent kiss to your forehead.

Grinning up at him and placing your hands over his, you tell him that’s all you wanted to give him, all you needed was to finally feel him in your mouth.

“Well,” he whispers, “I wanna show you what I was thinkin’ about all day long.”

The spark in your eyes must be a blinding one, his hands gliding over the slope of your body as you work yourself back onto your feet, your knees throbbing and sore. Wincing, you balance yourself on his broad shoulders, glancing down to notice his eyes not relieved of their dark hunger.

“Jack, you’re…”

“Not done, angel,” he finishes for you, and that’s when you feel it, the slick dripping past your core to spread slightly down your squeezing thighs. He pushes his sleeves up as the corner of his lip tugs upward too, straight teeth glinting the same as his eyes.

“Your turn, then,” you murmur, parting his hair through your fingers. It falls back into place, his pillowy and gentle lips finding yours as he stands with you, always chasing you, waltzing you backward until your ass bumps against the thick windowsill.

“I was choppin’ wood, thinkin’ of settin’ you right here,” he confesses lowly, ensuring the curtains are drawn completely open with a quick swipe of his hands over the gauzy lengths previously covering the glass, “thinkin’ of fuckin’ you on my fingers like this.”

You situate yourself properly on the sill and he steps back, taking a comically focused once-over of your seated body, but the desire is still so thick it doesn’t even bring you to laugh when he hurriedly comes back to you. He spreads your thighs wide, his palms a fiery heat that couldn’t be further from where you want it.

Tugging at his collar, you reel him in to place an open kiss just under his ear. “Give it to me how you want.”

The glass cools the staggering temperature on your skin as he knocks you into it, your back sticking to its chilly surface in the midst of his swirling breaths, ghosting the edges of your shoulders before he hikes your thighs up higher to his waist.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs with a husky voice, and it’s a powerful shock from your head to your toes, seeing how easily he’s worked back up to needing you as he lowers a hand to your core. His fingers part you, a slick and effortless slip through your folds to your entrance. “Darlin’... you’re soakin’ my hand already. Did suckin’ my cock do all this to your sweet little cunt?”

A hushed, restrained sound tears from you and is quieted by his mouth covering yours when he rubs his calloused fingers over your clit, rasping those low words sweetly into you, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth as the digits travel lower. The arousal dripping from your cunt makes that first slide so easy, Jack bottoming out to his knuckles with a soft sigh. His stomach nearly touches your own still covered by the bunched nightgown and he pauses there, a reassuring squeeze to your side and then a smooth gracing of his free hand to hold your thigh tight to himself.

“This is where I’ve wanted to be,” he confesses, his nose drawing a line from your shoulder, delicately down to your chest as he bends and swipes his tongue broadly over your sensitive nipple. The signals from your brain to your muscles are jumbled now, feeling the heat of his wet tongue tasting the cum on your chest— it’s out of your control when you arch your back into him and whine, when your fingers tangle into his hair and tug.

He responds in a groan, licking across your skin to your unattended nipple which he suckles on gently, lapping at it. Jack curls his two thick fingers before straightening out to kiss you fleetingly on your lips; he parts and watches your eyes intently, a stray curl falling to hang between his brows.

“So full already, hm?” he teases, his thumb swiping slow patterns on your clit, and you lean further back into the glass with a pant, its surface no longer able to cool you down.

“Yes,” you manage to respond in a gasp as he grants a second, deeper hit, a slight slapping sound causing you both to hug each other tighter and chuckle.

“Tight, sweet thing,” he groans, extended curls and strokes stretching you wholly around his hand, “take my fingers just right. Is that it, darlin’, were you made for me to fill you?”

“Mm,” you suck in sharp breaths, “mhm, you fill me up, Jack, you fill me up so good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder, digging into it hard as he holds you with one toned arm snaking around your waist. Like this, your damp chest brushes his, his fingers pump and work you open another smidge wider as he pushes in, grinds his palm against your clit, pulls his fingers out a fraction of the way. The motions of his hips against his own wrist are gentle, unhurried for now, having already cum into your slack mouth.

With the flat of his free palm caressing your back through soft strokes, he draws his lips back and forth over the curve of your neck.

“You know what I see?” he asks, urging his knuckles deeper in the hardest plunge he's given you tonight, an agonizingly fiery touch to your clit. “Men, walkin’ around all dumb— could see me fuckin’ you right here on my hand if they’d just look up— shit, they got no clue I’m feelin’ the wettest little pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, Jack,” your nails dig into the lean and muscular bulge of his biceps as he keeps you upright against the glass, your thighs squeezing him so close he can hardly fuck you anymore— he just rubs and grinds his hand against you while remaining far inside your aching pussy, soaking his already drenched fingers with more slick.

“And only I’m gonna watch you cum,” he adds in a grunt, working himself into you with every last drop of energy he’s saved, his soft moans and sharp teeth spurring you closer to coming all over his perfect fingers. You might have gone longer if not for the irreversible, desperate need for him that sucking his cock had instilled in you— had you nearly dripping onto the floor, your body left unimaginably sensitive that each time he brushes up against you now, you dig deeper into his skin. He likes it though, and it makes him move with a crazed edge, his moans transforming into snarls.

“Only you…” you echo, starting to grind with him yourself, rolling into and meeting his short, fast thrusts, every muscle tensing and straining and it’s so close, almost there—

“There you go, doll, can feel you squeezin’ me so tight… cum on my hand, fuckin’ soak me, c’mon…”

“Jack, Jack I’m gonna—” Urgently, you tap at his shoulder with wide eyes and worried brows as you feel it start to happen, knowing how close you are to crying— your nails dig into his shoulders so intensely when you cum, jaw dropped and eyes shut and he makes a wincing yet completely pleased noise into your mouth; it’s cruel. You manage not to make a peep at the cost of losing large breaths, and it makes your orgasm all the more intense: light headed, woozy, and tingling numbness reaching the length of your body.

“Sweeter than fuckin’ honey when you do that,” he smiles widely, until his mouth drops fully open at the way you hug his hand inside from coming so hard around him. Your slick gathers between your thighs and you still can’t breathe, his face buried into the spot under your jaw as he pulls them out of you, dragging the pads up to your clit while the rest of it spreads throughout your folds. He stares down at it, at the wetness dripping and glistening from your core, and he groans again, blinking slowly.

Placing his palms on the sill by either side of your trembling figure, he hums, your smile against his skin buzzing at his insatiable drive, how he’d fucked your mouth and your pussy with such short rest, feeling the damp hair at the back of his neck. He drops his head down as an offering and you take him in a gentle cradle, kissing his forehead as he’d done to you while he nestles. He looks up and back down, waiting for another, your fingers smoothing the unruly hair from his face.

“Hell, if I don’t wanna fuck that pretty pussy every night till I die,” he exhales, another glance at his wet fingers, dropping a kiss to your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack,” you laugh, your heels hitting the wall underneath you, “if only you were here for that long.”

His face scrunches a little in confusion before his lips curve, “How many times do I have to remind you I ain’t leavin’ so soon?”

“As many times as it takes,” you whisper, fingers scratching down his arms, his own dipping into your cunt again without a warning, “fuck—”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he croons, “I got somethin’ to prove to you still?”

You nod with a greedy smirk and he retracts his fingers, taking them into his mouth after drawing a line between your breasts to taste your mingled releases, moaning in your ear. “Go n’ get on the bed. You’re gonna ride my face.”

A shiver chills your spine, mainly at the way his voice has dropped a miraculous third time, his hand landing a light swat on your ass when you pass him, shaky legs taking you toward the mattress. He follows to lay on his back, perpetually pleased with himself, arms outstretched and beckoning you forward. You crawl up to him and you can feel your own cum streaking your thighs as you move, soon beside his large body, and he raises his brows impatiently, “Well go on, sugar, I wanna taste some more of that.”

Stretching his neck every which way, his eyes crinkle as he grins between your thighs while you throw one over his shoulder and his arms fall behind him, fingers searching for yours until he laces them together, squeezing.

“You’re not tired yet, old cowboy?” you tease lightly, the force of it lost when he gives a broad swipe of his tongue and moans yet another time, indulgently, swallowing the remnants of your previous release.

“I ain’t ever gonna tire of this,” he replies, another lick from your entrance to your clit, such an easy slip of the muscle, your sensitivity dialed up too many extra notches. His brows knit together in effort, rough cheeks pleasantly scratching on your skin when he moves his head side to side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and edging with a perfect pressure all over your sensitive bud.

“I’d hope not,” you exhale, grinding your hips over his wet mouth until his grip moves to your thighs to prevent you from moving. His eyes look up at you keenly as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, your head tipping in silent rapture as you take it all for him without the relief of motion.

“We go real nice together,” he grumbles into your slick center. Tightening the hold of your thighs, he laves his tongue all over you in focused circles, faster, with just enough force for your legs to start shaking around his handsome face, for another gush of arousal to spread over his swollen lips. All that’s left for you to handle it is to scream it out, how good he makes you feel, how precious, but the house is so silent and only you can hear the slick sounds of his mouth on your clit— he won’t even let you rub yourself over him. You can only bite your lip and hold your breath, yet little puffs and moans sneak out when he does something unforeseen, like a single bite on your thigh or a gentle nip to challenge you— it’s all on purpose and easily noticed by his gratified face.

He tugs your clit a short, miniscule distance and lets it go, shaking his head when you mope over the loss of contact.

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

“You’re being tough on me,” you whine, shimmying further up his body to regain his lips that are brightly shining.

“If I ain’t tough then it ain’t right,” he whispers, “stay still and quiet for me and I’ll take you out again.”

He tips his head down and forward, swiping his prominent nose to spread you further open, but you don’t even consider the promise of a gift, your focus on the return of his soaked tongue to your throbbing core, biting hard on your lip to quell the need to cry.

“Is my darlin’ gonna come? You gonna cum all over my face? Gimme another one, dolly.” His mouth latches back onto your clit and you can’t think, much less form an answer in your blank head where all you see is white, or maybe blinding stars, or just plain nothingness as you let go, his moustache wet with you, his lips dripping.

By some miracle, the scream you fend off becomes so high pitched in your throat that nothing makes it out of you save for the helpless cry of, “Jack!” as you tremble around his cheeks.

“Yes,” he grunts, and thank goodness it’s muffled by your soaking core; your fingers finally escape his hold to grip at his hair with a fierce, unforgiving tug, and that softer sound fills the room again while your body freezes up and you cum harder this time, covering him, coating him. He grumbles something again, but it’s nothing you could hope to make out in the crushing wave of pleasure that hits you— the light sensation does not leave you, though the shaking eases off as Jack places a tender kiss to your clit, and you jolt at just that velvet brush, his eyes turning sympathetic. You breathe deep, slumping with great exhaustion and the dazed happiness of having him in your room now as you lift your thigh from his body and he leans his head up to grant a quick kiss while it slips away from him.

“Knew you could be quiet,” he smiles under the shine of your second release, resting his arms open over the blanket to welcome you into them.

“As if you don’t make it hard.” Huffing, it’s with a reciprocal smile that you crawl back to him, nearly toppling over on your way with the weakness of his own power against your body, and he chuckles at you, not shying away from his joyous teasing when you throw him a half-glare.

“Did I wear you out again?” he questions, guiding you into his side, turning his body over yours to swipe his tangy tongue over your bottom lip.

Whimpering, it turns into a cheerful giggle as he drops pecks over your nightgown, wrapping his finger around the tail of the ribbon.

“You just keep going, don’t you, Jack?” you cup his face in your hands, and it’s now that he adopts a sheepish expression, turning his eyes away to tilt his neck and kiss your stomach once more.

“Until you ask me to stop, darlin’.” He lends two more kisses, one to each breast, and then gathers the straps of your nightgown from the pooling of fabric underneath your chest, tenderly helping your arms through the holes. You admire him quietly as you sit up to ease the gesture, letting his fingers guide the intricate lace edges back to your shoulders. He pats the cotton down to smooth it, your thumb stroking over his left eyebrow. His hands pry under you to wrap his arms around your middle, his cheek resting over your belly as you scratch through his dark hair.

“I think you’re softer than you realize,” you whisper, twirling a lock around your finger and he peeks up, the apples of his cheeks rising in a twinkling smile.

“I can shoot a gun a million times but I sure don’t like it more than kissin’ you,” Jack coos, tickling up your sides and swatting away your protesting hands until you make an involuntary squeak and his eyes widen, hurriedly covering your mouth with his own. You titter over his smooth lips, his weight pinning you as he opens his mouth, taking more. “I’d think I’d have sold my soul to the devil to end up here with you if I didn’t know any better.”

You let the next bubbling ripple of affection take over you when he whispers that with his gleaming eyes, and you kiss him three more times, each slower than the last.

He rests there for some time, indulging in the carding of your fingers over his scalp, and he ensures you’ve drifted off before he rises in search of a cloth. He finds a green one folded by your petticoat, his fingers briefly dragging across its white lace before he dips the cloth in the small dish of water left beside it. He crawls back up beside you, lazily yet with careful attention guiding it under your slip and over your breasts, relieving you of the stickiness. You stir but don’t wake— his touch is too light, yet still unlike a feather— he cleans you off, sets the cloth back in its spot, and resumes his position, nestled up next to you.

Sneaking into Jack’s room— or him into yours— becomes a habitual routine after the goodnight click of Mrs. Adler’s door, though you often find yourself with an early visitor with eyes too bright and a needy little grin on his face. It follows his giddy lips on your neck hours before in scarce moments of isolation from other guests, or after he’s stared too long across the bar, and to ease the tension, he’ll ride to take Sylvie to stretch her legs, a sympathetic look on his face at the door knowing you can’t join.

And he wears you out. Nightly. A simmering threat to your timeliness in the morning that you can’t let go of. A single time, he’d taken the sheets with him in a rapid roll onto the floor as Mrs. Adler knocked and knocked outside, calling for you to rise, until she barged in and the thump had to be blamed on yourself, standing in your disheveled chemise. Her shifty eyes become less of a fear in your head and more of a laughing stock, though not as much as Jack was in his stupid course of action to thump on the floor behind the side of the mattress, taking the blankets, too.

His dignity is not lost, though, each time you press on him about it— his grip tightens over your thighs as you straddle his lap, feeling the impression of his leather settling into your skin.

A rare clump of clouds settles over town the following week, lingering long enough to darken this evening further and forcing an early lighting of the lamps inside, a cozy glow over the hectic and crazed state of the bar.

“Let’s not slack, dearie,” Mrs. Adler sings in her urgently high-pitched voice as you handle the treacherous beast of the card game hours, handling too many requests for the strongest liquor from the cabinet, working your wrists as you open new bottles and impatient sighs crumble out of overworked throats.

Jack glances at her, a rapid flick of his angry eyes as he sets his glass of whiskey down, furrowing his brows in obvious disagreement with her words.

“She’s doin’ fine,” you hear him grumble, and you don’t have it in you to turn and face him to offer your surely-silencing glare, and without it he continues, “think we could offer a little patience.”

Chest fluttering, you shut your eyes with a bothersome huff, setting your hands flat over the counter as you wait for Mrs. Adler’s response, and the other men waiting at the dining table chat over things well beyond you, another fleeting mention of the Statesmen— but Jack remains silent along with her, and you can already picture the way he must be maintaining a hard stare at the old woman to leave her increasingly frazzled.

“My girl does this every day,” she states primly, blocking his view of your back with her own body after an uncoordinated waddle, “you keep out of it.”

Jack scoffs, soft but pointed, the wood groaning under the slide of his glass as he moves it aside, “If you cared to notice, ma’am—”

Spinning on your boot, away from the assortment of glasses set over the counter in their stage of finishing touches, you raise a hand, his first name almost slipping out until you choke on the unspoken word, widened eyes earning a mirrored expression from Jack, “It’s alright, Mr. Daniels,” you soothe, and his smirk is much too telling in his amusement of your spluttering, that you’d called him the old, proper name.

Mrs. Adler huffs a victorious breath as she checks over the full and heavy tray, granting approval while you giggle at Jack’s silly face made behind her back, followed by a wink of his eye.

He closes his eyes as Mrs. Adler finally limps off into her study— what she achieves in there he does not know— and watches you with affection and a warming dose of admiration in his stomach as you handle the tray, setting down shining crystal glasses on the table, a soft smile on your face as the youngest card player offers his thanks. They rarely ever do.

“You look real nice,” he drawls as you round the counter, his elbows sliding along the surface as he leans in, all sparkling eyes and teeth with his wide grin as he follows your steps. “I think I’d like to get my hands on—”

His words fall away to a whisper as you shake your head in feigned annoyance, the laughter stealing your breath as you lean opposite him, taking in the sly look on his face and the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, tentatively, and you’re powerless against the sweet touch on your fingers as he traces them out, pulling your palm into a bed of his two hands.

You watch as his eyes set on the random patterns he draws, eyelashes curling against his face every time he blinks, your conscious mind soon oblivious to your placement in relation to the large group at the dining table— but it doesn’t matter. They’re as absorbed in their gambling as you are in his focused touch and feel, your heart an obnoxious flutter when he smiles up at you, a perfect mix of kind and sultry darkness.

“I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs, those repeated words spoken lower this time and with a twinkle, raising the back of your hand to his lips. A gentle press, your eyes locked together in a soft gaze to match, and he gives you back your hand as the spell of slowed-time is broken by a shocking round of cheering from the group behind you both.

With a subdued grin, you ease yourself away from the magnetic pull of your lips to his, “You’ve always got your hands on me.”

“And in,” he huffs, stifling a snicker at the fifth roll of your eyes today, watching the ends of your tied apron’s ribbon swing around over the length of your skirt.

“You’d better find something to do in the meantime, or I’ll be asking Mrs. Adler to send you off herself.”

Jack shudders in a fake paddy of fear, the miniscule shakes of his body diminishing the sooner he realizes the severity of your words, and he merely chuckles. “Why’d you want to get rid of me?”

The pleading pull of his face and the wide and warm eyes he gives are somehow not enough to stop you from gesturing your head towards the pile of dirty dishes from dinner, waiting beside the basin. “You’re distracting.”

“Sweetpea, I’m ‘fraid that’s what you’ve got yourself caught up in,” Jack rests his chin in his palm, eyeing the clearing weather outside, “if you insist on woundin’ me, I think I’ve got a horse who needs to go for a ride, and a little lady who’ll have to join us next time…”

“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you whisper, rounding the edge of his ear with your fingers, easing his hair back into place and he adopts a light blush— softer things always more efficient in pausing his heartbeat than harsher things— and he grabs his hat left to the side of him, placing it over his head and bidding you a caring goodbye, “Miss me, darlin’.”

Once the room has cleared at last, leaving you in that familiar spot with soapy hands, sore feet, and a wandering mind, you arrange the wet dishes to dry, stacking each on top of the other with meticulous attention. You dry your hands on the fabric of your apron, rough cotton soaking up the water, your back leaning into the hard edge of the bar behind you. The strain in your neck grows sharper as you push your head back, groaning, willing away the next few hours until you can put your feet to rest upon Jack’s lap.

And at the thought of him, a whistle from the exterior shoots your stream of mental pictures down as your head whips to look out the window, and there he is— Jack, thighs spread wide over Sylvie’s back as he urges her to stop, his eyes straining to find you through the window. Stomach twisting, you make a speedy trip to the stash of berries hidden away, and you pull a handful of them into your apron’s pocket before sparing the parlour a thorough peek and slipping out the front door.

It’s not loud enough for you to make out, but it must be Jack’s voice in a baby soft tone as he tells Sylvie what sounds like “there she is,” with a pat between her perky ears and a smile towards you.

“Hello,” you grin, stepping to the edge of the porch where you meet the two of them, shamelessly devouring the way he sits tall upon her in the dying sunlight clear of clouds, dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes, a bandana hugging his neck under his glistening throat. “Back so soon?”

“It was her idea,” Jack pokes, leaning back in the saddle as Sylvie adjusts her hooves into place over the dust and sparse blades of wheatgrass. “Suppose I had to lead her here, though…”

With a hand gliding along her wide neck, you watch his smile only grow in size as he watches you gather the berries from your pocket and throw a quizzical look his way, to which he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward again to watch and guide.

You call her name softly, approaching her from a better angle, and she makes an odd pattern with the movement of her head before she digs into your offered palm of treats, her wide mouth a great tickle on your skin that you try not to flinch at.

“Nice girls,” Jack whispers, swiping his hand over Sylvie’s shoulder, then turning his attention to you. “No more flak from the lady, I’m hopin’?”

“No, haven’t seen her since,” you giggle, “you know, Jack, that was kind what you did, but I am still fine.”

Sylvie chomps down the rest of your stash of berries, licking the leftover juices off your palm as you gasp, retracting your arm, and Jack extends his hand far across to you in a warm beckoning. You give him the dry one and he laughs when he notices, “I ain’t afraid of no horse’s mouth,” steering you around to where he’s sat on the saddle.

“You’re not even afraid of Mrs. Adler,” you say bluntly, resting your laced hands over the meat of his thigh and then your chin on top, and Jack stares down at your widened eyes, his chest stuttering with a slightly choked breath.

“I came here to see you, darlin’, to tell you somethin’.” Running his thumb over your hand, he starts to lean his body down, your own straightening for his lips to meet your ear in a warm breath, sending ice down your spine and a melting heat between your thighs.

He waits for your prompt, his radiating need causing your posture to wither as you slant up and into him, “What is it?”

Whatever upward curve your lips adopted seconds before falls away as your eyes close, that heat between your thighs now wetter, your grip on his leg tight enough to pinch.

“I’m gonna take you out again tonight, gonna lay you in the grass and fuck you dumb, listenin’ to you whine loud as you can.”

He’s utterly pleased with the visible, hitching breath you can no longer take in, your chest pausing in its stunted passing, and he straightens up his back again to look down at you with his face shadowed under his hat. “Ain’t that somethin’ old girl, the little lady is speechless…” Jack coos to the horse and she puffs, followed by another pat of her hoof on the ground, and his grin is a mix of genuine and egotistical happiness.

“Jack,” you purr, all bothered and wobbly-knees, a helpless look in your eye as you tug the looped rope, and he prepares to ride back off. He doesn’t partake in your pleading this time, instead giving a squeeze of his legs over Sylvie’s back.

“Same place, darlin’,” he calls, “I expect you.”

A backward glance and a tip of his hat as courtesy— or to make up for his foolish teasing— and his figure dies off in the gunpowder dust behind him and his girl, his jacket the same one you’d worn your first time away.

It’s cool and dark the next time you step out onto the porch, carefully shutting the door behind you, locking it with your key. You rub your hands over the sides of your arms as you creep over the wood, peeking past the pillars before descending the three short steps. Same place, he’d said, so you set off in the direction of the stables, bathed in the soft light of the spaced lamp posts, the same exhilarating rush as the first time bubbling head to toe.

“Ever heard of a sweet little maid ‘round here?” Jack’s happy rumbling sounds just behind you, turning into laughter at the yelp you let out, its sound squeaky and fearful until he catches you by the waist, pulling your back into his chest to sway your body around aimlessly. “Works for a Mrs. Adler, prettiest face you ever saw…”

An endeared giggle falls out of you, mouth covered immediately by your hand when he comes to place his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly to your middle. His clothing feels rough by your neck, unlike anything else you’ve felt him wearing against you, but his cheek is soft and freshly shaven, his lips hungrily kissing behind your ear.

“Oh, I’m not so sure I have…” you murmur, allowing yourself to sink backward into his promising support, and his hum is sweet into your skin when you say so, arms squeezing you just enough for your feet to lift from the ground.

“She’s got angel eyes,” he whispers, a finger coming to trail down your cheek as he lets you back down, until his hand cups your chin, turning your head sideways to capture your lips in a deep, swelling kiss. Your own hand rises to mirror his gesture, knees suddenly like water with their wobbly weakness, and the ball of your foot scrapes over the dust as he tugs you even closer, tasting your lips.

“That might ring a bell,” you smile when you finally part, stroking your thumb over his jaw. He likes the way it feels, tilting himself further into your light grip of his face. The world surrounding you will never be the same level of interest when he stands before you— a daydream of an outing only seems as sweet if he’s there. A guidance, of sorts, a protector.

Roaming your eyes over him, a surprised gasp follows that welcoming kiss when you notice his top half covered in a navy blue poncho, its edges finished with white tassels and the wool adorned with white lines making intricate patterns over the length and width of it.

“Where have you been hiding this from me?” you simper, picking up the edge of it to feel the slightly scratchy material. He grins, weight shifting to one foot with a cocked hip, hands resting at the base of his suspenders underneath.

“Hidin’ it?”

“You’ve always got that jacket on,” you murmur, leaning upward, grabbing his face in an internal fit of fondness at seeing him covered in the blanket-like garment, giving him a harsher kiss that surprises him enough to nearly stumble backwards. He gains his balance, beaming against your mouth as he steadies the both of you, the world returning.

“You sure keep me on my toes, little lady,” he breathes, brows raised in bashfulness that you forget he has stored in that cocky brain. “Don’t you stop.”

Humming, your hand falling to rest on his chest as you recall more private contexts to his last words, you notice he wears a cross-body leather satchel underneath the poncho. “What have you got in there?”

“I can’t be full of surprises if you wanna make me spill ‘em all,” he teases, pushing his nose into yours, “come on, just you n’ me tonight.”

With your fingers laced together, Jack leads you through the familiar field to an unfamiliar spot at the top of a climbing hill, large rocks worsening the upward trek under the minimal light.

His hands find the backs of your thighs as he helps you over the last hump and your frustrated huff gets lost in your throat when you realize his hands are helping you up under your skirt instead of over.

“Jack,” you guffaw, using your biceps to push up and over the hard surface and he plays dumb behind you, a deep chortling following as you roll over to the flat space of dry grass above it. Looking ahead you notice a small gathering of wood placed in a circle around the center of the clearing in the trees while Jack rolls up next to you, much more gracefully with what must be years of practice.

He shares a sideways glance with you, “What?”

His pouty lips drag downward in his falsely innocent question, your eyes rolling without annoyance but with affection. He grabs your hand again, tugging you near the woodpile and he reaches into the satchel, revealing a box of matches in his palm.

“Is this what you did earlier?” you ask, a bewildered softness easing over your shoulders, and he nods with a grin.

“Sylvie n’ I came here to get it ready.”

Sliding the box open, he strikes the match against the rough side of the cover sleeve and the spark ignites a smoking, small flame that he holds to a coil of waxed thread under the arranged sticks and wood. It catches on and flourishes upward, sprinkling tiny sparks that rise then fall by Jack as he recoils, standing back up to his feet.

“How’s that?” he looks at you, pulling you into his warm side, your fingers instinctively wrapping around a tassel. You raise your other hand to hover over the fire, its heat so pleasant and lively on your skin and you look back at him with the same fondness as always for his generous gifts, that might not even be considered a gift to anyone else but you.

“Thank you, Jack.” On your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek filled with all the words you can’t think to say— it’s only a campfire, and to you, it holds all his care, burning there.

“There’s more,” he whispers, and his fingers rise to touch where your lips had just been, then he looks to them and you, smiling. “Said you wished you could run,” he starts, pointing to an old, battered tin can sitting atop a tree stump several feet away, “reckon there’s a few things you’ll need to learn first.”

From underneath the wool, he pulls out one of his revolvers and it shines in the flickering fire, freshly polished. He extends his hand, your own hesitantly touching it’s handle, cupping the barrel with the other as you slowly hold it on your own.

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

“Careful,” he coos, circling back to stand behind you and placing his hands on your hips, he helps you adjust your grip with the beginning of his lesson whispered into your ear, his hands gentle as they cover yours. “Two hands.”

“I’m not sure I’m the gun slinging type,” you whisper nervously, your palms becoming clammy just handling the weapon, and you remember when its silver glint was pointed at Mr Porter, under its power.

“Always assume a gun’s loaded,” he continues, aiding you in extending your arms out, the aim at the can improving as you go. “Feet apart.”

With the toe of his boot on the inside of your ankle, he pushes your feet further apart until shoulder-width, and your shoe slides over the dry grass as you suck in a deep breath at the physical order.

“Hold it tighter,” he whispers next, ensuring your fingers are hugging the grip tightly, your other hand cupping the trigger guard firmly. “Don’t leave your finger on the trigger unless you’re aimed and ready.”

Jack is rasping now, a growing hardness on your ass from watching you handle his own weapon with determination and he pinches your hips, inciting a gasp as you try to keep your arms steady.

“The cylinder's full,” he adds, “you hit the can and I’ll make good on my promise.”

With the shot of arousal that comes after his words and the reminder of his promise to fuck you hard over the grass, it’s too easy to convince yourself that you’ll miss every shot.

“Won’t somebody hear it?” you question, turning your head as far as you can and he hums thoughtfully, pinching you softer.

“It’s luck if you hear a gunshot from a distance,” Jack soothes. And it hits you, that when Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant started shooting blindly in the house, that those were the closest bullets had ever been to you— and here, you hold them in your palms.

“Go on, sugar, knock it over and I’ll fuck you right by this fire.”

A whine escapes you before you can aim it again, the grip even sweatier than before, the fire merely a glint now as you focus on the target tin.

Locking your grip around the handle, your pointers steadying the direction, you shut one eye, then the other to test the placement, and you pull back the hammer with a stretch of your thumb.

“I’m scared,” you breathe as your arms remain pointed forward, and Jack nods, applying pressure to your shoulders with his palms.

“I’ll keep you steady. S’okay if you miss.” Jack rubs some of the tension away, your arms growing tired from holding them up as you make one last adjustment. The jolt when you pull the trigger is more powerful than you’d expected, and Jack keeps you still as your body reacts to the sharp sound and the full shock of it. The bullet only just skims the side of the can, a tinkling sound following the jarring shot from the barrel.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, his eyes wide and his smile too, when he looks from your near-shot to your frightened face turning into confidence. He throws his hat to the side, smoothing his hand through his hair before bending slightly behind you, “that was fuckin’ close, darlin’. Go again.”

His tone is pure excitement as you shake off the last lingering threads of apprehension, and you aim again, not a one inch difference from your first shot, pulling the hammer down a second time.

You place your pointer over the solid trigger and Jack’s breath hitches as he waits and watches intently, his hands still supporting your shoulders. This time, when your upper body jostles back from the force, the shot is farther off but still close, hitting the bark where a small explosion of wood chips scatter to the grass and you startle at the cracking noise, casting a worried look to Jack.

“Keep tryin’,” he soothes, cuddling his cheek to the side of your neck as he cozies up, and you’re certain it’s not the best condition for a shooting lesson, the middle of your thighs gathering slick and your palms more nervous sweat. With a deep breath, you stretch your arms out once more, muscles pulling up tight as you adjust your feet, your eyesight on the tin can reflecting the flames of the little campfire.

“That’s it,” Jack whispers as you touch your finger to the hammer, “focus.”

Scoffing, you settle your aim, determined to ignore the way he’s still pressing up against you.

“You’re doin’ great,” his voice scratches just before you pull against the trigger’s resistance and the bullet releases, harder it feels like, and pierces the tin with an incredibly loud metallic pang, sending it fast off the stump. Although you’re not too far from it, you don’t trust it yet; looking back down at the weapon in your hand and then to him, his smile already turns smug. It’s a surprise to hit it at the same time that it’s not— luck or natural talent, you don’t think you’ll ever find out. He shakes his head with pride dripping all over, crushing you into his side with a tense squeeze of his arm, your neck fitting in the bend of his elbow.

“That’s too quick,” you breathe in modesty that Jack tells you to shush away, as your disbelieving eyes fall back on the tree stump, tin can-less. “I wasn’t far away enough.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He disembarks, jogs to the stump, picks up the can behind it. A hole burns through the center on both sides. “Still shot it on the third try.”

When he arrives at your feet again, you peer down at the silver gun in your hold. Struggling to accept your own accuracy, you slowly hand it back to him.

“It'll be harder next time,” he purrs, sliding it back into its holster pocket, “but I think you’ll make the most charmin’ gunfighter in the whole damn world.”

“That’s your title,” you smile, brushing the dark hair from his forehead, curling your fist into the wool draped over him. “And the most handsome, too.”

Jack’s chest puffs out against yours as he preens at your softly-spoken compliment, the tone of his hum pitched in a questioning way to urge you on to continue.

“I’d rather like to learn more about that lasso,” you say instead, fingering where it’s attached to his hip, and he looks at you through his eyelashes, closing his hand around the one fisted in his poncho.

“Hell, if I taught you the ropes I doubt you’d let me out of your room for a whole week, darlin’. We’d better work up to that…”

“Oh well,” you tease, perching yourself up to level your lips with his ear, “you’re too soft on me to be my teacher anyway.”

“Too soft?” He raises his brows, eager to know, causing you to step back as he advances on you.

“Too easy. I ought to shoot that can three more times from ten more feet away just to be sure I’ve learned.”

Jack lays the thick blanket next to the crackling fire after pulling it out of the satchel, motioning for you to come.

“Sugar, I’ll show you rough,” he grumbles, dragging you down to the blanket with him, your chest thumping square on his when you land, a stunted breath into his mouth. His promise, listenin’ to you whine as loud as you can, returns to you now as he holds the back of your neck and opens his lips to brush yours, nipping your lower lip to earn the first wince.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you taunt, landing yourself rolled over and pinned under his heavy weight as he lifts the poncho from his head and drapes it over your bodies, hidden and warm together as you share the fiery heat of yourselves and the physical fire beside you.

“I’d hate nothin’ more than to disappoint you.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his fingers creep up your leg, a soft ghosting until he reaches the stark wetness compared to your dry skin everywhere but your core and he’s already groaning at just the sensation of your slick covering his fingers. “Think I could fill you right now, hm? Soakin’ me so fast…”

“I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” you demand, your head tipping back against the ground underneath the blanket, heat accumulating in your own makeshift tent of the dark poncho. His fingers twitch over your clit as he watches your face twist in effort to get your last coherent thoughts out, “This is where I can cry.”

“Jesus,” his head falls into your shoulder and he rubs his cock on your thigh, covered by his trousers. He’s hard and thick, just as he was watching you shoot his gun, and he lifts your skirt higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. “You always get what you ask for from me.”

Blindly searching with your fingers, you find the buttons of his trousers and pull them open, carefully taking his cock out, the tip leaking generously onto your skin. You spread it for him though it runs out quickly, but your own burning arousal is enough for the two of you as he settles himself closer, his hair flopping out of place. His moustache brushes against your temple when he spreads your legs wider, a soothing slide of your skin over the blanket before you feel his cock running through your slick folds, and it’s enough to start whining. Even the little sounds you let out at the house are suppressed and quietened— here, there is no one but the two of you.

“Give it all to me, baby doll,” he rasps over your throat as he positions himself and pushes past your entrance, slowly stretching you open on his thick cock and your thighs fall open wider, too, your breath heavy and low for him to bask in. “Ain’t that sweet…”

Jack’s eyes carry the glint of the fire beside your bodies as he stays there for some moments, letting you squirm all you need before he flattens you to the ground with his chest, cooing encouraging gentleness to contrast with the untamed way he’s going to fuck you here, on the blanket, again. His cock pushes deeper with the added mass, your whimper not enough when he finally thrusts and hits his hips to your wide-spread thighs and works the wetness of you all over his cock.

“Ja— Jack—” you whine, and his hot hand soon comes to glide over the innermost part of your thigh, rubbing it firmly as if he’s about to—

He spanks your thigh and earns the high-pitch moan he’s been working for all along, drawing himself back to return with a harsh thrust as he keeps his hand on the stinging sensation, groaning out his nose.

“Fu-uuck, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he grunts through stunted breaths as he sets a new, punishing pace, sliding with ease in and out, hitting deep inside to brush against that satisfying spot that when he slaps the same part of your leg, the pleasure from both makes you cry louder, moan louder.

He draws the wool tighter around his back as he lowers his lips to your mouth, emitting an animalistic groan over your face when you clench around his cock and pull him in closer for another open-mouthed kiss, true and full.

“Oh, god,” you groan, his hand caressing the underside of your thigh, until he draws it up to push your knee on your chest, fitting his hand in the bend of your leg.

“Gimme more, sugar,” he demands, landing a sharp swat to the side of your ass lifted off the ground that gives him your neediest, filthiest sound yet as you fist his hair, taking his brutal pace.

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Fuck,” he curses back harder, “I’m gonna steal you every god damn night for this.” Jack hisses through bared teeth on your collarbone, keening when you raise your hips to meet his. The fire rises beside you at the same time a wave of building pressure in your abdomen knocks through your lower half, and you place your hands on his face, sliding them up to meet his hair.

A shaky breath puffs out of you, the sting of his spankings spreading over your leg as you crane your neck and cry out while he buries himself and grinds against your clit, “You just get wetter n’ wetter for me,” he remarks hoarsely, “just can’t help but need me, hm?”

“I... Yes,” you sigh into his heated neck, your limbs softening in their hold of him as he fucks you hard over the blanket, his grip deathly on the side of your thigh.

“I want to hear it, darlin’, say it to me,” he scrapes, his voice at the bottom of his register, and when the words get stuck in your mind and jumbled out of order from the fullness of your core, he draws himself out and rolls you onto your stomach. Mindlessly, empty, you whine with an equal hoarseness to his own, the end of it pushed out prematurely when he flattens his chest over your back, lining his cock back up with your soaking entrance.

“I’ll pull every last pretty sound you got left in you if I have to.”

The words are a terrible blow to your senses, sparking a rapid increase in the sound of rushing blood in your ears as he pushes your thigh up to the side and presses down on it with his palm.

“Please…” you breathe, “I’m so close— fuck me, please fuck me again—”

Shutting your eyes, hoping to feel him push himself back inside you, you instead are met with a final, cracking swat on your leg that sends you wailing as Jack waits for you to scream it, “Tell me, sugar!”

“I need you, Jack— I need you!”

It doesn’t sound like your own voice. Never has it been clouded by so much desire and such a sinful edge to your witless begging, but it’s enough for him. A push forward, and he fills you; his own sounds have grown needier too, reaching far out. He plants a hand by your face and you grab onto his wrist as he shoves his cock repeatedly deeper and at this angle, you could consider the punishing stretch of him painful, but it’s everything you need, causing you to whine a step higher every time his hips hit your ass.

“You’re all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’,” Jack mouths at your earlobe, your bodies turning slick under the poncho and your clothes, “here you are, shootin’ my gun n’ lettin’ me fuck your tight little pussy, beggin’ for me— gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

Your jaw drops and an involuntary squeal stumbles from your hanging lip, Jack snarling behind you as he plunges again, hooking his hands under your shoulders and splaying his fingers wide over the tops of them.

It’s a taut stretch of your chest when he pulls on you like that, the soft curl of his hair tickling your neck as he nestles his face to yours and muffles his grunts and groans. You pull up tighter around him, squeezing his cock, nearly driving him to collapse over your back when he feels it happen and what is easily his hardest, neediest and wrecked groan tears out and spreads over your limbs with the rumbling breath he takes after.

“Jaaack,” you whisper, his movements heavily weighing on you, your body resting just at the precipice of something overwhelming, “So… full..”

“I’m gonna fuck my cum into that sweet cunt.” Jack fists the blanket with his supporting hand and the next time he rams his hips forward, a full-bodied scream fills the air, and once more, you squeeze him tighter as you cum hard around his cock, your nails starting to dig into his wrist as he fucks you through it.

“Baby doll, you’re too fuckin’ good to me— squeeze me so fuckin’ tight when you cum, keep it comin’—”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god— fuck!” You can’t stop gushing around him as his thrusts lose rhythm, as he focuses more on the sounds you’re making and the grip you have on his cock and it just won’t end, tears beginning to form in your eyes while the movements never cease.

“That is just heavenly,” he says with a strained laugh, “shit, you really did need me, huh? You want my cum inside you too? Want to be spoiled?”

“Yes!” you cry, miraculously raising your ass just a little against his cock as the orgasm finally calms, a growl and a bite on your shoulder at your ceaseless will to beg.

“Take it.” One final, gorgeous moan from his throat and he buries himself, a wet warmth painting your walls, his chest deflating as he settles around your back and rubs your thigh in a soft contrast to what was his stinging swats minutes before. He blows and pants to recuperate, and as he brings himself out, you feel the warmth spreading and dripping down to your clit. For a moment, you share the breaths you’re both trying to catch, but the sensation of his cum sliding over your skin is yet another obstacle to returning to a manageable state of being.

“This…” he whispers, taking his hand back, leaning on his other elbow to support himself as he slides his fingers under your skirt to lead them to your swollen cunt, “is my favourite, darlin’.” He spreads his cum over your folds, milky liquid sliding wherever he traces, and you push back on your knees to raise yourself for him while he guides it back inside you, your throat tired but still whimpering as he pushes his fingers in.

“Keep me inside,” he murmurs on your temple, urging you to lay back down over the plushy blanket, and as you relax, mussed and twinkling by the fire, he drapes the poncho over your body, tucking the fabric under your sides. He strokes your cheek with the dry hand, lifting your head to his lap as he carefully sits by you, your eyes delicately fluttering closed.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and without opening your eyes, you shake your head no. Jack makes a purring sound, considering the moans his actions pulled out of you, and he begins to stroke your face some more. “Hope I never do,” he adds softly, studying your peaceful expression under the firelight and stars, “you’re soft.”

The last two words make you blink and smile up at him, finally granting him a peek which he returns with curved lips, and you know that “soft” doesn’t mean “weak” when he says it.

“I got an idea of where to take you next, if you think you can handle it...”

tags for yeehonk idiot:

@filthybookworm @frannyzooey @javier-pena @javierpcna @astroboots @userdindja @pedros-mustache @princessxkenobi @trashcora @writerdee1701 @thelemongeneration @libraryofrecs @fan-of-encouragement @herb-welch @writeforfandoms @queenofthecloudss @leannawithacapitala @the-feckless-wonder @kesskirata @fuck-goes-on @lawfulgranola@apascalrascal @prismaticpizza @xemmaloveskillianx @littlemissoblivious @quica-quica-quica @spideysimpossiblegirl @little-big-mac2 @recklesswit @frankie-catfish-morales

let me know whether you’d like to be added or removed!

#agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #pedro pascal #agent whiskey #pedrostories #userastrid #tuserdaniela #userdindja #xuserannie #userhai #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #western au #jack daniels i love you forever #no devil dealings here...

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chasingpj · 3 years

Text

𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝

"You only want to stay because of your little boyfriend. Is he more important to you than us?“

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 5,297

warnings: angsty, mentions of breaking down

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story click here

a/n: i'm so fried after editing this, if i missed any typos, i'm sorry. as always, let me know what you think! i love getting feedback from you guys!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Your siblings sit in a half-circle at the back of the Hermes Cabin, ready for their lesson. James lays out the materials you’ll need for the potion he was demonstrating today: the mortar and pestle, herbs, spell books. He has almost everything except for the sand, which was the most crucial ingredient. So, he had sent you to retrieve some from the dunes since you were the only one who didn’t need the lesson Ernest was teaching.

Ernest stands in front of Sage, Alice, Lou Ellen, and Atticus, lecturing on the properties of sand. Your siblings listen attentively, taking notes in their notebooks, all of them but one. Ernest looks up from reading a part of his book of shadows, noticing Atticus is distracted by his familiar.

"Atticus, are you listening?" Ernest asks, raising his eyebrow as he closes his book. Atticus cradles Harvey in his arms as if he is a newborn baby, his finger scratching his tummy as the animal curls up towards his chest. He doesn’t notice the other staring at him for a few seconds, looking up after realizing he had stopped talking.

"Me? Yeah, dude. I'm listening," Atticus bluffs, and Ernest squints, leaning back on the desk behind him.

"So what did I just say?"

"Atticus, are you listening?" Atticus repeats, smiling as his sisters giggle beside him. The corner of Ernest’s mouth tugs into a slight smirk as he rolls his eyes.

"What did I say before that?" He clarifies. Atticus sways in his place, continuing to soothe his tired familiar, and he hums, trying to recall what they were discussing. He’s quiet for a while before grunting. He really wasn't listening, too distracted by his surroundings to focus. Ernest pretty much lost him at “alright guys, today…” However, he remembers you volunteering to get sand after James realized he forgot to get some himself.

"Ehm… I don't know. Something about sand?"

Ernest sighs, "Yes, I was talking about sand. Can anyone catch Atticus up on the properties for sand?"

"Different sands have various spiritual properties, but the lake sand that you're using today can be used in spells for self-reflection and grounding," Travis chimes in all of a sudden. He's laid down in his bed, holding a comic book over his head as he looks at the group.

James turns away from the materials, amused that the other has probably been listening this entire time. It was the middle of the day, so the Hermes cabin was pretty empty since everyone was out doing their own thing. The only other people in the cabin were the Stoll brothers and a handful of their siblings. James chuckles,

"Travis, you want to be a witch too?" He jokes, and Travis shrugs,

"I practically am already. I'm always listening to your lessons," he admits amused, returning his attention to the comic book he was reading.

"Everyone has a little witch in them. See Atticus; even Travis was listening," Alabaster teases.

Atticus grunts, "Yeah, yeah. I was trying to put Harvey to sleep!"

“You act like he’s a baby that needs to be coddled!” Sage raises her eyebrow. Atticus had always been super affectionate with Harvey. She swears she’s never seen Atticus and Harvey separated for long like the way you and Ambrose have periods where you’ll be apart. When Ambrose knew you were safe, he’d usually wander off to find your siblings or mess around with monsters in the forest, so he wasn’t with you 24/7. But Atticus managed to have Harvey with him all the time.

“Do not judge my parenting! He likes being held,” Atticus defends Harvey, and Lou Ellen rolls her eyes.

“Parenting? You sound like a single dad.”

Alabaster snorts, “anyways," he cuts in, grabbing both of their attention. "we can start the potion whenever Y/n decides to come back with it," he says as he sits down in a nearby desk chair.

Lou Ellen hums, "she's been gone for almost 40 minutes now. The dunes are on the other side of camp, but it shouldn't take her this long?"

"Maybe she got sidetracked?" James shrugs. "We can go look for her if she doesn't come back in another 10 minutes, but I'm sure she's fine.”

"I'm here!" You announce as you burst through the cabin door, Ambrose running next to you. He runs through the wall, rushing to join your siblings. You sigh, your arm coming up to wipe your forehead that was a little damp from sweat, and your cheeks are a little flushed from being in the summer heat.

"Look who decided to come back," James announces, shaking his head in playful disapproval. You smile sheepishly, too caught up in your breathing to say anything as you pass the jar to him. You return to your spot between Lou Ellen and Atticus, hoping they wouldn't ask too many questions.

"What took you so long?" Lou Ellen asks, her voice concerned. You clear your throat, attempting not to sound hesitant as you come up with a lie on a whim.

"Oh uh, I just got distracted… some of the girls from the Aphrodite cabin were hanging out at the dunes, and I got caught up in conversation," you stutter a little, suddenly feeling nervous as Atticus squints at you. You accidentally meet his stare before looking away fast, turning so that your back is facing him.

"You're lying," he declares. You scoff,

"No, I'm not!"

"I'm your twin, y/n. I know when you are lying!" He reminds you, and you groan.

You and Atticus have always had this weird twin sense. You both can tell when the other is lying because you could pick up on each other's emotions really well. You thought maybe if he didn’t see your body language, he wouldn’t be able to pick up on your lie, but of course, he didn’t need a visual to know that you were nervous. You could also feel each other's pain to a certain extent which has always been annoying. Atticus was pretty accident-prone when he was younger and, well, still is. This meant any bumps and bruises he managed to obtain, you would always get dull aches in the same area. The most annoying part of it all was that the more severe the pain, the more you felt. Once you had period cramps so bad, you both had to call out from school because he was also curled up in his bed, declaring that he’ll never make period jokes again in his life.

You weren’t sure why you had this connection with your brother. Since you’ve had it your entire life, you had thought this was a regular thing, but you’ve recently found out that it wasn't normal at all. You just assumed that it came with the quirks of being children of a sorceress goddess. You had to admit that it was cool, but at times like this, you wished you didn’t have it because Atticus called you out a lot.

You didn't want to admit you got distracted by Percy in the combat area. On your way back, you saw him practicing with the test dummies. You watched him practice for a few seconds, and you had no intention of stopping to talk to him initially, but when he caught you walking by, he called you over.

"Admit it, you were nervous," Percy laughs, continuing to tease you about how you ran away from him during Capture the Flag. You scoff, nudging his shoulder,

"Of you? Please,” you deny even though you were nervous about going head-to-head with him, but he didn’t need to know that. “It doesn't matter if I ran away because I still won!” You stick your tongue out at him, and he smiles,

“You should still practice your sword fighting, Y/n. You can’t always run away from a sword fight,” he points out, and you frown,

“I’m not a close-range fighter. It’s just how it is.” After declaring that you “failed” in sword fighting, you were a bit insecure about your abilities. It was a good and bad thing because after your “failure,” you delved into your magic studies, and you were proud of how much better your abilities have gotten. You could confidently say that you are now a more powerful and seasoned witch than you were at the beginning of the summer. The bad part was that you never stepped foot in the combat area again. The dagger you carried around barely saw the light of day, strapped in its holster most of the time.

"Well, one day, you might not have a choice… c'mon Sabrina Spellman, show me what you got," he jokes as he gets into his stance. You smile, putting the jar of sand down before taking your dagger out of its casing.

"I don't got much to show," you say playfully.

You thought that you'd just go one round with him, but the next thing you knew, he was giving you an entire lesson. He sparred with you a few times, analyzing how you fought and he gave you tips here and there. He was helpful and patient, and you did walk away knowing a few new things.

You swallow as you feel the stares of your siblings, now interested as to why you lied. You try not to become more flustered as you recall the feeling of Percy standing close behind you. His touch was gentle, hands slightly calloused as he adjusted the way you held your dagger, and with light fingertips, he moved your limbs, putting you in a stronger stance.

You shake your head, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you trailed off, hoping Atticus would drop it. You turn to your brothers, James preparing everything, but Alabaster and Ernest were just as interested as the others regarding where you could have been.

"She was probably with Percy,” Connor mocks, a sly smirk on his face as the whole cabin filled with Ooo's and amused chattering. Your shoulders slouch, head hung low, and you felt like you wanted to crawl in a hole.

"Were you actually?" You hear Atticus asks with amusement in his voice. You don't move from your place, keeping quiet. You knew there was no use in denying it because Atticus would easily sense the lie.

"She definitely was!" Alice squeals when you don’t say anything, and you glare at your sisters, making them giggle.

Lou Ellen nudges your shoulder, "what were you guys doing? You looked flustered when you walked in here,” she teases and winks.

"Probably making out!" Connor butts in before you could answer, and you gasp, snapping your gaze to him.

“We were just sparring!" You blurt out, and Connor laughs at how defense you suddenly became. The last thing you wanted was rumors leaving the cabin, and you groan as your sisters start pestering you with questions, along with the assumptions of your other cabinmates.

"Okay! Okay," Alabaster shouts a little over the chattering. "We need to focus. You guys can talk about that later," he says, and silence falls amongst your siblings. You nod, relieved that you get to avoid the topic for now. You watch as they exchange looks, silently communicating something to each other. You had an idea that it had something to do with you as Ernest’s eyes flicker in your direction and Alabaster’s face hardens. James gave them a dismissive wave with his hand as if he was telling them not to worry before continuing to sort out the materials in front of him.

"Let's start this potion. Some of us have chores to do," James cuts through the silence as he grabs the mortar and pestle and sits down in front of you and your siblings.

As James puts the potion together, carefully showing you how to cut and crush certain herbs, Ernest sits beside him, explaining the steps carefully. You lean a little forward, focusing on the lesson, and you diligently write notes in your notebook, trying not to miss any crucial details.

“Take good notes; I’m copying those,” Atticus whispers in your ear, and you squint at him playfully. His arms were too occupied with Harvey, so he was just watching the demonstration, confident that you’ll take thorough notes for him to copy. You shake your head, turning your attention back to Ernest as he speaks. After demonstrating it, they pass on the materials to you guys, and it was your turn to try it out.

The potion was a little too easy for you, and you find yourself growing a little bored as you put everything together. It annoyed you because you felt like your brothers were going easy on you and you were itching to get into the more advanced stuff such as healing potions or something like a disguising potion.

Out of your three older brothers, Ernest was the most knowledgeable about potions. He was always helping out in the infirmary, making healing potions for the Apollo kids to use. Sometimes the Hermes kids would ask him to make potions for pranks, and you’ve even seen some of the girls from the Aphrodite cabin begging him to make love potions for them. Usually, Ernest would decline their requests, giving lectures, especially to the Aphrodite girls, why a love potion is a terrible idea. But in the times that he has agreed to do them, the results were always hilarious. Once, he made a Hilarity Potion for the Stoll brothers that turned the Ares cabin into a bunch of giggling messes for 24 hours. Until that day, you’ve never seen someone giggle aggressively before.

You were the first to finish the potion, bottling it up in a miniature glass jar before pushing the cork into the top. You carefully wired wrapped the jar, attaching it to a necklace and fastening it around your neck. After being praised by your brothers, you were off to do the chores that were given to you by Connor as repayment for not ratting you out to the Aphrodite Cabin about your spontaneous meeting with Percy at the docks.

You were done right in time for dinner, the time passing as usual as you and your siblings talk and laugh at the table. Soon, you were singing along to the songs at the campfire, and by the time it came to an end, your eyelids were heavy with fatigue. You knew then that you were not going to study into the night as the soreness from sparring with Percy started to settle in your muscles. When you arrived at the Hermes cabin after washing up for bed, you could barely keep your eyes open. The last thing you remembered was mumbling a good night to Atticus and turning over in your bed.

Your dreams were always weird, so when you’re taken to a meadow in the middle of nowhere, you weren’t surprised. Actually, you were pretty content, preferring this scene instead of the bizarre settings you often came across.

You swore you could feel the soft summer breeze blowing on your face, and you take a deep breath, basking in the fresh air. You look out at the grassy land ahead of you, noticing you were standing at a crossroad. Two gravel roads stretched in either direction, one path seemingly identical to the other. You turn around to study your surroundings further. You squint, hand hovering above your eyes to protect them from the shining sun that's beginning to set behind the hills. The valley was still; the only sound you could hear was the wind whooshing past your ears, and you felt safe.

“Come with us, y/n.” A familiar voice cuts through the stillness, and you gasp, looking in the direction it came from. You find Alabaster standing on the left road, James and Ernest standing beside him. You felt your stomach turn as their eyes darken. Your arms wrap around your frame as the once warm wind turns cold. Dark clouds roll in, splitting the sky in half as the right side remains the same sunny meadow. Groans of thunder echoed throughout the land, and you can sense an eerie presence lingering in the air.

“What?” You whisper to yourself, noticing Atticus standing on the right road.

“No! Don’t,” he shouts, his expression glazed over in fear, and you step back.

“Don’t listen to him. We know what’s best for you,” James says, his arm extended out for you to hold, and you shake your head. “Come with us.”

“No! Come with me!”

“Come with us!”

You feel your heart racing in your chest, the screams of your brothers sending goosebumps to your skin. Their voices become more desperate, and you can hear the grief and panic in their voices.

“No, no, no. It’s a dream… you can change it,” you whisper, becoming overwhelmed as the thunder grows louder and so the desperation in your brother’s wailing. You stare down at the ground, and your hands are pressed firmly over your ears. You try to concentrate on shifting into another dream, but before you could, you felt as if your body was sucked into a vortex. A distant voice calls your name, and you groan, your vision blurry as your eyes flutter open.

Alabaster stands over you as he nudges your shoulder softly, whispering your name until you finally wake up. “C’mon, get up.”

You lazily sit up in your bed, your surroundings fuzzy as Alabaster guides you to stand up. You assume that it must be morning as you slip your feet into your slippers and you rub your eyes. It didn’t take you long to notice that it was still night time and you whine softly, confused and annoyed that you were woken up from your slumber.

“Al? What’s going on?” Alabaster doesn’t answer, grabbing onto your wrist, and you were too groggy to protest, following him to the back window of the Hermes cabin. You stumble a little when you land on the grass, Atticus coming to your side and grabbing on to your other hand. You don’t even notice the nervous look on his face or the way his hand was shaking, too busy attempting to stay awake.

Your vision was still fuzzy, and you lay your head against your brother's arm, feeling Ambrose’s mouth tugging on your shirt frantically as Alabaster leads you into the forest. You don’t know what it was, but you had this feeling that something was wrong and a soft sigh leaves your lips as you gather your strength to get out of your grogginess.

“Wait… wait!” You snatch your arm from Alabaster's hold. “What’s going on?” You ask as your brothers turn around.

“We’re leaving,” Ernest says, and you furrow your eyebrows. “We’re going to join Kronos’s army.”

“We? Are you insane?” You felt your heart drop to your chest, and you tried to look for any sign that they were joking.

“Come with us, Y/n,” Alabaster pleads, and you feel goosebumps forming on your skin as you get an overwhelming feeling of deja vu. The tone of his voice, the way their eyes darkened, was the same as the dream you just had. Your brothers glowered down at you, waiting for your decision.

"No… no, this isn't right,” you whisper. You let go of Atticus’s hand, just now noticing how tight his grip was. You wipe your shaky palms on your pants, and for a moment, you thought you were still dreaming. At least, you were hoping that you were still dreaming. You scan your surroundings, trying to find a sign that would tell you that this wasn't real, but you don't find one.

“There is no reason to stay here, to fight on this side. Kronos will win the war. The camp doesn’t stand a chance,” Alabaster declares confidently. Your mind wanders, recalling the dark stormy clouds that loomed over your brothers in your dream and the eeriness that took over. You could practically feel your pulse in your ears, grasping the fact that your dream was a warning.

“And how are you so sure?” Your voice quivers, and you sigh in disbelief.

“Because mother told me,” Alabaster says, and your head jerks back, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Mother? She spoke to you?”

“Yes. She’s fighting for Kronos, and she believes it is in our best interest to join her.”

A wave of emotion washes over you all at once. You were shocked, furious, even a little jealous. Your mother never came to speak to you. You knew that she tended to favor your more powerful siblings. Your older brothers have talked to her a few times, and the reminder made your chest feel heavy. You knew she looked after you, obviously. She had saved your life by sending Ambrose to you and your brother's aid. You prayed to her daily, and she occasionally sent you signs that made you feel she was there with you — but coming to see you? That was a privilege that you weren’t worthy of; at least, that’s what it felt like.

Your fury came from the fact that your mother was the motivator of all this. Why would she persuade your brothers in her own interests? Weren’t there rules that your godly parent couldn’t interfere with certain things? You weren’t sure what the rules specifically were, but this didn’t feel right. You shake your head,

“Mother isn’t omniscient. She doesn’t know who will win.” Your fist is clenched hard on your side, and you watch as Alabaster’s expression hardens,

"You're only fighting on this side because of your little boyfriend. Is he more important to you than us?"

"Boyfriend?! What are you talking about-”

"I'm talking about Percy! Don’t think we haven’t noticed you hanging out with him. Sparring together? In the strawberry fields together? You guys were practically flirting at the campfire, and Connor told us that you’ve been meeting him at night. Is that true?"

You feel your face get hot, but it wasn’t at the accusation of Percy being your boyfriend but the rage that was swirling in your chest. You hated that he thought you would compromise your loyalty to your siblings for a boy. That wasn’t true. In the right circumstances, you would always put your siblings first because you knew they would do the same. But this wasn’t about Percy; you haven’t thought of him until Alabaster brought him up. This was about loyalty to the camp.

"He's not my boyfriend. It doesn’t even matter what side he’s fighting on. I couldn’t care less. Al… this- this is about family!"

"Family?! What?”

“The camp,” you say shakily, and you shift on your feet as a sarcastic laugh leaves Alabaster’s lips.

“The camp? You mean the camp that doesn’t deem our mother worthy of her own cabin? We’ve been trapped in that Hermes cabin since the beginning. Half of us didn’t even have a bed to sleep in the first summer we arrived. You and Lou Ellen had to cram in a twin-size bed the first couple of weeks until you got lucky and something opened up. Y/n, they don’t care about us. They toss us to the side, barely give us a space to learn our magic. This camp isn’t family. We're your family, Y/n. We understand you the most. We share the same powers, the same mother. We care for you."

You look down at the ground, hating that you were unable to deny that the words he spoke held truth. The children of minor gods were treated differently. You didn’t have a cabin dedicated to your godly parent, and that was enough to make you feel lesser than. You remember Ethan Nakamura saying in passing that being forced to sleep in the Hermes cabin was pretty much an odd punishment for not being a child of one of the 12. You remember laughing and brushing it off, not thinking much of it at the moment, but now, it suddenly occurred to you that he wasn’t joking at all. He was dead serious.

You have to admit that the living situation wasn’t ideal. It affected how you were able to study your magic and came with annoying inconveniences. You slept in a sleeping bag for your first summer, tucked away in the corner of the room with Atticus. The system in place for who gets a bed was set up by seniority. The longer you've been at camp, the more secure your sleeping arrangements were. You only got a bed because, at the beginning of the summer, a good chunk of kids had left to join Kronos’ army, which bumped you up on the waiting list.

You almost gave in, only so that you'd be with your siblings. If you stay, most of them will be long gone, and you'll be forced to fight them on the battlefield, but you couldn't leave. It didn’t feel right to compromise your loyalty to the camp. Though there were days where you did feel like an outcast, you couldn’t ignore the times you didn’t. Your friends here were important to you too, and you’ve always seen the camp as your haven. It was the only place where you didn’t have to worry about monsters or entities. Sure, some people at camp saw you as some freak, but you never felt as much as a freak here as you did in the mortal world. In the end, it boiled down to one question. Did you want to fight alongside your friends for a camp that brought you a sense of comfort? Or will you fight for a bitter, greedy titian who’s only using you so he can have the throne?

"No, I’m staying,” you say with a tight jaw, looking up to meet Alabaster’s eyes. You kept thinking of the dark clouds, the thunder roaring in the background, the way the valley darkened. That was a warning. That was a clear sign to run the other way, to not walk into the storm.

"Atticus?" Alabaster shifts his gaze to your brother, who stands beside you. Your entire body tenses up, your teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek.

He couldn't go. You couldn’t bear the thought of being without him. Though you were sure that he would be on your side, it was then you decided that if Atticus left, you were going to leave too. You hated that you were second-guessing him, but you weren't sure what to believe after this whole thing being pulled by Alabaster.

"... I'm staying.” His voice is more confident than you expected it to be, and you sigh out shakily, feeling the weight of dread lift from on your shoulders. You’ll still have your twin, and right now, when you felt like your whole world was falling apart, that’s all that mattered.

"You both are fools," Alabaster hissed, and your fist clenches, gaze snapping up.

"You’re the damn fool. How are you so sure that if Kronos wins, everything will suddenly be better? Alabaster, he’s feeding off your anger for his own agenda. You really think if we fight in his little army, he’ll care about us?” Your voice cracks, you scan the crowd of your siblings looking at you. You peer over at your sisters, who were huddled behind your brothers.

“Sage, Alice, Lou Ellen? This isn’t right. We- I- don’t go, just stay here at camp,” you plead, hoping that if you could persuade them to stay, maybe your brothers will forfeit their plan. “I have a bad feeling. I had a dre-”

“Stop,” James barked. You couldn’t help but cringe; the way his eyes narrowed at you was something you’ve never seen before.

“The odds are in Kronos’ favor. He has a bigger army. His allies are strong. This camp doesn’t stand a chance. You asking them to stay is the same as asking them to die,” he declares. “Mother says if- when he wins, she will take care of us. We can live and study with her, she promised.”

Your eyes sting with tears, and you close them, fingers anxiously peeling the skin around your nails. It was way too good to be true. That’s probably something you’ve always wanted, to live as a coven with your siblings. You only wished for a conversation with your mother, but the opportunity to learn from her directly was tempting. Still, you thought about the chaos that would reign across the country, across the world. You didn’t understand how a world under the rule of Kronos could be any better than the world you had now. And you deduced that it would probably be even worse.

“It’s all bull,” you spat, and you scoff. “I’m asking them to die? Take a look at where you’re taking them! This is mad. Guys, please,” you plead again. You frown as Alice and Sage refuse to look at you, huddling close beside each other.

“I- I’m staying,” Lou Ellen suddenly breaks the silence, and you feel a rush of hopefulness. Her head is lowered in a bow, avoiding the stares of your brothers as she walks to you. You reach out your arms, grasping her hand the moment she was close enough. You hear Ernest scoff, turning around to look at Sage and Alice.

“Anyone else would like to stay?” His tone is harsh, cutting through the night and Alice and Sage stare at the floor. You could tell from their trembling hands that they were scared. If they felt any conviction, any second thoughts, they didn’t dare to speak up.

“Let’s go before we get caught out here,” Alabaster announces, and you meet his eyes one last time.

“We’ll see you on the battlefield, sister.”

The walk back to the Hermes Cabin was silent. You hold on to Lou Ellen’s equally clammy hands, the three of you shaken up from what just happened. A part of you still couldn’t even believe that this is how your night played out. You glance at Atticus, his face expressionless, but you knew his mind was scattered with a million thoughts. If your own grief wasn’t enough, you were met with the burden of the grief radiating off of him.

Atticus coped with things differently than you did. You were quick to cry when you’re sad, scream when you were angry, but he bottled it up. He would bottle it up until all his emotions boiled over the limit. Even then, he was private, never letting it out where people could see him, but no matter what, you felt it, and no matter what, you were there comforting him.

He meets your gaze, and you take in the sadness on his face. The sight of his sorrow made it hard to hold back your tears. You knew that when Al called his name, he felt your panic. He felt your dilemma. You didn’t exactly know his stance on the impending war, but you knew at that moment, Atticus made his decision because he didn’t want to be separated from you. He manages a sad smile as there is a mutual understanding of this between the two of you. He slings his arm around both you and Lou Ellen’s shoulders in a failed attempt to lighten up the situation. He swallows hard,

“We’ll be okay,” he musters out, and as confident he wished to sound, the weakness in his voice was unavoidable. You suppress the sob that threatened to leave your lips, a tear falling down your cheek, and you nod,

“Yeah, we- we’ll be okay.” Your voice falters.

and hopefully, they’ll be okay too.

masterlist taglist: @nct127bee @xxyrr

#my writing #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympian fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson imagine #percy fanfic #percy jackson au #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson and the olympian fic

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sunjaesol · 4 years

Text

clandestine meetings and longing stares

juke secret dating au | title: illicit affairs // taylor swift | a middle of the night scribble

When twelve year old Julie Molina got a stern talk from her father that she wasn't allowed to date until college, the tween had no qualms with it. The only boy she's ever liked had been Sokka from Avatar and that was it. Real boys didn't interest her.

Until she turned sixteen and caught sight of Luke Patterson.

In the years between, she had small crushes here and there. Lance, Nick, Noah. None, however, competed with storm that erupted in her stomach each time Luke smiled at her - her heart in a constant frenzy.

It was the beginning of junior year when he randomly sat next to her in music class and brought out all the bravado. It shouldn't have been cute. Julie should've rolled her eyes, dismissed his cute smirk, but she simply couldn't. The shimmering green of his eyes and the nice laugh was too alluring, too attractive. Soon enough, Julie was crushing on him hard. Which was fortunate, since he very much liked her as well, something he never hid from her.

("Watch out, Julie," he joked during one of their first conversations. "The charm is gonna make you get a crush on me!")

Luke kissed her two weeks after, chastely and secretly under the bleachers. Her infatuated mind forgot in that moment how she wasn't even allowed to look at a guy and eagerly kissed him back. It had been her first kiss and wow - what a perfect one at that.

A beat later, she realised her mistake and told him about her dad's stupid rule. His face had crashed for all of ten seconds when a mischievous grin crawled on his lips (an expression that would get her into serious trouble one day) and said: "Why tell him?"

Had it been any other boy, she would've shaken her head and regret kissing him. But this was Luke. She really liked Luke. The idea of not being with him, of not seeing where this could go, was a greater fear than her father's disappointment. In response, she snatched him back into a kiss he all too hungrily went along with.

Rule #1: Don't date! Broken, busted, thrown out the window with a smile.

It started off easy. At school, no one had to worry. She sat with him at lunch and let herself be coaxed under the bleachers and snuggled into his embrace at the end of the day. On the parking lot, she could pretend she was simply saying goodbye to her boyfriend and not going home to lie in her dad's face about why she was so overly chipper all of a sudden.

(Luke made her so ridiculously happy it was unfair. Each time he surprised her with a hug, her feet lifted from the ground; each time they kissed, his thumbs grazed her cheeks like she was a precious gem; each time she came up with a clever lyric, he gave her the toothiest grin and called her all the cute nicknames he could think of. Boss, baby, babe, Lyric Queen.)

God, she was complete mush for this boy. Sometimes she wondered if she was doing enough, not quite matching his overt display of affection, but she knew she must be doing something right if he never stopped smiling when she talked. That his eyes held a certain softness, timidness, reserved for her only.

They outgrew school quickly. Both wanted to go on dates without raising suspicion, Luke wanted to come over and just be with her without causing havoc.

"Why does the rule exist anyway?", he asked at the end of a cool December day.

Julie toyed with the lapels of his red shacket. "It's dumb. I mean, I get it, but it's dumb." Sighing, she explained his reasoning. "He wants me to fully focus on school so that I can get into a good college. Once I secured that, then I'm allowed to have fun."

Luke frowned. "I- I guess I kind of get it."

Her eyes rolled teasingly. "You don't even want to go to college."

"Correction: I wanna go to frat parties and have the college experience-"

"Without the classes part," she deadpanned. His face fell flat, a giggle of her own following.

His frown returned, a look she hated seeing. "You don't think he'll… I don't know, let go of that rule when he sees we're good?" His calloused hands slipped from her waist to softly cradle her face. Julie sighed, leaning into the touch. Resisting Luke and everything he did was hard. A smile twitched on his lips. "Would be pretty dope to come through the front door and kiss my girlfriend."

Her heart clenched at his confession. It would be amazing, but it sounded so unbelievable that it could easily be taken as a joke. Dad would go absolutely insane if she pulled something like that. Hey dad! Don't mind me as I jump into the arms of my boyfriend and he kisses me like a heartthrob from the movies!

She should've known Luke would try something. His impulsivity was an admirable trait, she found, though the pebbles hitting her window past midnight have her such a fright that she cursed for a beat how one track minded he could be. Until she caught sight of him. Eyes twinkling in the moonlight, a wide smile, his casual stance. He pointed at her and she nodded, grabbing her phone to text him there was a ladder by the garage.

Quiet like a ghost and quick like a fox, Luke snuck into her room, feet falling onto the floor with a soft thud.

Butterflies raged in her stomach. Her secret boyfriend was here, in her room, right now, with her father sleeping just down the hall.

"What're you doing here?", she whispered, already breathless from having him near.

His nose scrunched up. "Trying to be romantic. Should I have called you first?"

She shook her head. "It's fine. Maybe next time. It's-" Her arms slung around his shoulders, heart hammering a mile a minute. Her pyjamas were nothing special, an oversized pullover and sweatshorts, but it felt oddly intimate to be so cozy together. His own faded t-shirt was from a zoo in Oregon and his sweatpants softer than any of the ones she owned. Julie almost asked to borrow them, if it wasn't for his lips to swallow the words with a warm kiss.

Her fingers slipped into his hair. Yeah. This was better than talking.

It soon became routine. Every other week, Luke would text her a moon emoji and then climb into her room around midnight. They'd kiss and cuddle, Luke often leaving by five am and then making a whole show at school as if he hadn't seen her. Julie thought it was cute. If she could, she'd return the favour and go to his place, but Luke assured her she did not want that and, consequently, her father would just know. Unfortunately, she didn't have Luke's agility like some parkour champ.

"Trust me, Jules, I don't mind," he told her at lunch while stealing a cherry tomato. "I like sneaking in."

Alex shot him a look. "You like feeling like the main character of a movie, that's what."

"You brainwashed me with romcoms, so it's your fault, dude,' Luke retorted, grinning when the blonde flipped him off.

They got cocky though. Julie knew her dad would be gone during the day for a photography gig in Santa Monica, all the way on the other side of Los Angeles. It was the perfect excuse to get Luke over. Excited, Julie opened the front door for him with a flourish and did a silly courtesy.

"Your first time using my door," she teased. "Must feel special."

His cocky nod made her roll her eyes. "Super special," he replied gravely, playing along. "She's been begging for me."

Her expression turned sour. "I haven't been begging for you."

His smirk widened, tugging on a curl as he slipped past her. "Was I talking about you?"

He didn't, but he did start making out with her the second they were in the safety of her bedroom, so she knew there wasn't much competition.

That afternoon, they successfully avoided her dad's wrath and felt arrogantly confident about it. It made them daring. Pushing the limits, how far could they go, how blatant could they be before he knew? It was almost a game, the thrill part of the insane attraction she felt each time he snuck in.

His strong arms were wrapped around her as she straddled his waist, kissing him. Every touch was languid and intentional, a searing passion that rippled her skin and left her mind empty. Kissing Luke always put her in a dreamy, blissful haze. Her fingers clawed at his shirt and he shrugged it off in one fluid motion, pulling her back in. His skin was warm, hers to explore. Julie grinned into the kiss. His fingers toyed with the hem of her top.

"Julie?"

They froze. Her dad. Other side of the door. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. As quietly as possible, the girl hoisted herself from his lap and motioned at her closet.

"Julie?" The door handle began to shake.

Her voice squeaked. "Just a second!" Luke tiptoes into her closet, Julie kicking his shirt under her bed as she ran to the door. Her flushed cheeks would be a dead giveaway had her father ever doubt her trust. Fortunately, Julie Molina was in the eyes of her family a perfect good girl.

(The guy hiding in her closet would whisper something else in her ear.)

"Why is your door locked?" Dad frowned. "You never lock your door."

Julie shrugged, innocence leaking from her tone. "I can't have some privacy?"

"Of course, Julie," he said, though his lips were pressed into a thin smile. This clearly wasn't the last time they'd talk about it. "I'm going to the store. Do you need something?"

"No, thanks," she rushed. "Anything else?"

"Uh, no. Don't lock yourself in, hm?" It was said as a joke, his brows lifted, but both she and her father knew he meant it. No more locking doors. Shit.

When the front door fell shut and the car rumbled into the street, Luke reappeared with a careful smile.

Julie sighed. "That… was close. Maybe we should stop hanging out right after school. I didn't even hear him coming up the stairs."

"Damn, Jules!” Peppering two kisses on her forehead, it did little to relief her stress. “Now that's an ego booster."

"I'm serious!" She huffed. "I hate this. I hate the rule and I hate that I'm making you put up with it."

"Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's shitty, yeah, but you're not making me do anything." Nodding at her lips, he added: "Your smile is already…"

The smile bloomed on its own accord when he trailed off, edging closer. "What?"

That little shake of his head almost made her kiss him, but she wanted to know what he was going to say, why his lips were parted in that wonderstruck expression. When nothing came, a curious hum rumbled in her throat as she placed her chin on his chest.

He relented, tapping a finger against her cheek. “Your smile is already making me do dumb stuff.”

Oh, God. If he was going to continue saying things like that, she might actually fall in love with him. Back when Julie and Flynn were still obsessed with those relationship quizzes in magazines, she always claimed she’d like guys that weren’t so smooth with their words. She thought it meant they were players. But Luke never half-assed anything.

Her head tilted, amused. “Do you always have words ready?”

“Zero words, Jules,” he quipped. “Ever.”

Yeah, she might actually love him.

Public dates became a thing after that conversation. She simply couldn’t let him get away because of some rule, even if he claimed he wouldn’t. Eats & Beats was a cute, little café in the heart of Los Feliz with live music and amazing lattes; it was also their regular spot. They’d settle themselves into a booth, share a baked good (“If we’re trying the carrot cake now, we’re doing the pastel de nata next week.” “Deal.”) and talk for hours. Sometimes, when either was tinkering on a song, they’d work on it together.

One leg overlapped his, his fingers drawing pictures on her knee. The booth with the suede red couches and the scratching of a star in the wood was their safe haven.

“Mh, no,” she swallowed the piece of muffin. “That’s such an ugly word, don’t use that.”

He grinned, shoulders nudging as a tease. “Drencher not doing it for you?”

A laugh bubbled up, kissing his cheek. “Just use ‘rain’, you dork!”

“Dork?”, he mocked, getting in her face.

“Yeah.” Her nose brushed his. “Dork.”

“You are a dork.”

“That’s the best you’ve got, Patterson?”

Luke smirked, eyes flicking across her frame. “Want me to show you my best, Molina?”

She pushed his face away, a blush creeping up her cheekbones. They haven’t done it yet, but whenever he got like this, she felt her entire skin heat up at the mere idea. A part of her wanted to take that step, but she felt bad doing it if her dad or tía didn’t know. Knowing that they wouldn’t support her for as long as the rule existed, made her settle with that heat for a little longer. Her leg slipped from his and turned back to his songbook.

“So-”

“Julie?”

The couple looked up, once more paralysed as her dad’s familiar voice called her name. Why was he literally everywhere?! His tall figure stood in front of their booth, his hat shrouding the grimace on his face as his scrutinising eyes flitted between them. Oh, God. Did he know? Did he see? How much did he see? Did he see Luke checking her out? Mortification didn’t even come close to what she felt.

“Dad!” Her pressed smile hopefully looked relaxed to him. Her dad had moments of obliviousness; she might be able to save this. “What- hi, I didn’t know you had a booking here.”

His suspicion didn’t waver. “Yeah, honey, for the Rodriguez’ - I told you last night. Was just getting, ah, coffee.” He nodded at Luke. “Who’s this?”

My boyfriend. The one I’m falling for. The boy I’ve been hiding for months. “This is Luke, he’s one of my classmates.” The way his arm tensed at the label made her ache, but she had to truck on. “We’re working on a song.”

If he didn’t believe her, she just hurt her boyfriend for no reason. It did the trick though. Her father’s face mellowed, noticing the scribbles in the tattered book. “You’re working on a song?”

“Yeah. It’s really getting along.” Her finger tapped against his thigh. “Right, Luke?”

He perked up, a cough following as he straightened his attitude. This really was not the way she wanted them to meet. “Uh, yeah.” His hand stuck out. “Hi, mister Molina.”

Dad shook it with a smile, fully relaxed now. “Ray. Nice to meet you.” The barista called out his name. “See you at home, Julie. Don’t stay out long, yeah?”

Her smile twitched and crashed the second he turned around, grabbed his coffee and closed the glass door. She groaned, dropping her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I gotta be honest,” he whispered. “That hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

Luke sighed. “I was okay being a secret before, but…”

She coaxed his jaw, needing him to look at her. “It’ll hurt more if I tell him and forces me to break up with you.”

For a moment, silence sunk onto the table, wedging itself like thick smoke between her and Luke. He seemed pensive, the green of his eyes peering. Suddenly, they lit up. “But wait, aren’t you getting your results? Early admission?”

She sagged in her seat, pouting. “If UCLA wants me.”

“They will,” he smiled. His arms wrapped around her. “Of course, they will. And if you get in, he can’t be mad that you’re dating me, right?”

Hope tinged her chest. She hasn’t considered that. She’s been so focused on Luke and trying to keep it hidden, that everything college-related went over her head. The letters and essays and interviews happened before she and Luke got serious, so with her being on that pink cloud ever since, school stress has been locked away. Why bother mulling over UCLA when she could be having fun with Luke?

If she locked in UCLA… then Luke might be right. And if not UCLA, then she’d hear of USC and NYU next year. (If they were even still together by the time those letters got in the mail.)

“You might’ve found the loophole,” she teased, hoping to lift the tension. And then she uttered out her biggest fear: “But if you haven’t… will you stay?”

His kiss answered her, soft and sweet and with a hint of blueberry muffin. A grin bloomed on her lips, burrowing her face in his shoulder. She felt it. That overflowing, unbridled adoration overwhelming her all at once. Julie loved him. It was April fourteenth and it only took her six months but Julie loved Luke. They stayed in the booth until they had to go home.

Her phone was mocking her. Luke and her were in her car, stagnant, as both stared at the white screen. Every few minutes, she refreshed it, yet no email came. Gah! Couldn’t colleges just send the email when they said they would? What was taking so long? Did that mean she didn’t get in? Was this a bad sign? It helped having Luke there, easing the rising stress that clenched her ribcage, but she wouldn’t be fully okay until that freaking email come through.

As if sensing her thoughts, he drummed against the dashboard. “It’s gonna be cool. You look great in blue and gold, you gotta get in.”

She giggled, nerves lacing her tone. “Imagine if that’s how you got in. You’d get into USC then.”

“Are you saying I look hot in red?”, he teased.

“You know you- oh my God!” She lurched for her phone as a new email pinged in, heartbeat stuttering in her ears. Frozen, her thumb hovered over the fated email. This would change everything - for better or for worse. She knew she should focus on the fact that it would determine where she’d go to college, but all she could think about was Luke, Luke, Luke. Was it selfish to care more about junior prom then UCLA? At this very moment, she thought it was completely justified.

She shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t do it. You open it.”

His brows raised. “You sure?”

“Yeah-” She stuffed the phone in his hand and put her trembling ones on her lap. “-do it for me.”

Luke took a deep breath. Julie shut her eyes. Please. Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please accept her. Please let her be with Luke.

Ten seconds passed. His voice gave nothing away. “Julie?”

“Just rip the band-aid off,” she choked out.

A familiar, calloused hand softly grabbed hers. Her eyes cracked open. Luke had the biggest smile on his face and it made her heart pop out of her chest. She bit down on her lip, fighting off a grin. “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not,” he sang, reaching across the console to show her phone. You got accepted! blinked in bold, black letters. “You’re UCLA bound, baby!”

Euphoria burst out. Julie squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss. She got in! She fucking got into college! A great one at that! Another Molina was going for gold!

And it might even get her to date Luke without secrecy. God, she hoped this was enough. She wanted to do everything with him. All the time, the entire time. Flynn has called them clingy, but Julie just wanted to get rid of the anxiety of her dad finding out. To finally relax and be fully with him.

Her head tilted, bashful. “Is it crazy to say that I might be in love with you?”

He dropped her phone in the cupholder and peppered another kiss on her mouth. “No. That’s good.” His thumb traced her bottom lip, eyes glittering with adoration. “Cause I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you too.”

She pecked his thumb, giddy. “Fuck it. Let’s tell my dad right now. About UCLA and you.”

He smiled. “You sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

Storming inside the house, the couple made a beeline to her dad’s office, his hand in hers.

“Dad!”, she called out, door slamming open. Her startled father perked up in his seat, his wide eyes going from Julie to Luke right behind her. “I got into UCLA!”

Ray sprung up, cheering. “Mija-!”

“And I’m dating Luke!”, she yelled after. “And that’s okay, cause I got in, so you don’t have to worry about the rule anymore! So... ” She put her foot down, awkwardness creeping in her tone. “Yeah!”

Flabbergasted, dad faltered and let the cheers die in his throat. Luke came to stand next to her, squeezing her hand. Slowly, he nodded. “Ah… so that time in Eats & Beats-”

“A date,” she admitted. “And I’m sorry I went behind your back, papa, but I… really care about Luke. And we figured that if I got in, you’d stop enforcing the dating rule.”

His grap became even tighter. “I, uh, really care about her too,” Luke mustered. “Sorry that we kept it a secret.”

Ray sighed, propping his head in his hands and scrubbing the confusion away with his palms. The pair shot each other a look. He wasn’t mad, she deduced, so that was a good sign at least. Finally, dad moved again and gave her a tight hug. Her confidence grew, hugging him back and withholding a cry of victory.

He pulled back, crossing his arms with a hint of amusement. “Well… the rule clearly didn’t work, but you seem happy and you- you did actually get in, right?”

She laughed, nodding, and showed the confirmation email. His smile grew. “Then I guess,” he trailed, “you’re allowed. To date. But no funny business!”

Julie quickly nodded, grabbing back onto Luke’s arm and jostling him in excitement. Luke bounced on his heels, trying to temper it but failing miserably. She thanked her dad, promised him they’d celebrate her acceptance later tonight and rushed back out with Luke. Dad yelled something about establishing new rules, but both gleefully ignored it. Once in her bedroom, he snatched her into a tight embrace, kissing her full on the lips. Julie whooped against his mouth and danced between his arms. This might be the best day of her life! Luke was her real real real boyfriend!

“You heard your dad, Jules,” he teased. “No funny business.”

She pouted, faux-peeved. “You won’t get to climb through my window again.”

“Won’t have to hide in cars anymore.”

“Won’t have to say you’re just my classmate.”

Luke dragged them onto her bed, laying side by side. “I can take you to junior prom.”

She kissed him with a giggle. “You’re taking me to prom?”

“Hell yeah, I am!”, he bellowed, drumming his fingers against her hips. “Let your dad take pictures of us and everything.”

She scrunched her nose. “Let’s maybe not push him just yet.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled, humming in agreement. “You’re probably right.”

Luke did that her to junior prom, to homecoming, to senior prom, called her hot in blue and gold and vetoed no when she begged him for a bright, blue velour couch for their first apartment. When someone asked her father what it was like, seeing his daughter find the one at sixteen, he had to admit with embarrassment red on his cheeks that it all flew under his radar.

That it all started with sneaky bleacher kisses and a hopeful heart.

@blush-and-books @ourstarscollided @sophiphi @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily

#can you tell i'm not american? because i can lol sorry for any inaccuracies regarding school #juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better

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ag3ntl3vi · 4 years

Text

Kenma Kozume X Male Reader | “Fighter” | ☁️

I wrote this out of boredom at like, 3AM.

Word count: 2,345

Trigger Warning: Fighting, cursing, blood.

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Such bullshit, you thought as a group of violent alphas glared up at you. You clicked your tongue, swinging your prized metal bat off your shoulders, slapping it loudly against your palm.

"You're such a nuisance," you grumbled.

"Us?! You're the one spreading their pheromones like a whore!" The self-proclaimed 'leader' spat, venom lacing his words. You rolled your eyes, moving your body into a fighting stance.

"Yeah? But aren't you the shitbag who touched that omega chick without consent?" You lowly growled. The alpha faltered, giving you your answer, before snapping back to reality. "She asked for it! Practically begged! Her scent-!"

"Her scent, what?" You took menacing steps forward, pushing your bat under his chin aggressively. You were relatively tall which made you intimidating along with your mean features but you weren't feared enough to be spared violence due to your second gender, and Omega. You could easily be mistaken for a powerful Alpha from afar.

You were born with slanted, glaring eyes and a harsh resting bitch face, so you could understand why people tended to avoid you at first glance.

Your eyes glared with pent up rage as you lifted your bat above your head and brought it down on the shitty alphas shoulder.

A sickening crack echoed through the empty alleyway, the alpha gasping in pain before another blow from your knee slammed into his chin. He stumbled back onto his ass, gripping his shoulder pathetically.

"Your scent is disgusting," You grimaced, waving your hand in front of your nose.

"Get them, idiots!" He whined loudly. His goons charged you a second later. Swiftly, you dunked under one's metal pipe, kicking his gut and pushing him off his feet. You dropped to the concrete and quickly knocked another's ankles from under him, swinging your bat over your head (hitting someone's chin in the process), and bounced it hard against his soft belly.

You rolled over but was forced back by a shoe to your cheek. You hissed, looking up before having your silky locks fisted and your face smashed into a hard kneecap. You gasped as blood oozed from your nose.

You forcefully shook off the pain and grabbed your offender's wrist and with a burst of short-lived power, swung him over your head and knocking him out cold against the hard floor.

You laid there for a hot second, staring up at the baby blue sky. There weren't any clouds, you noticed sadly.

You were tempted to fall asleep but you were sure when the sad excuses of alphas woke it wouldn't be pleasant for you.

You knew the scene looked horrible to an unknowing eye, but you couldn't bring yourself to give a single shit.

You sighed and picked your slightly bloodied weapon up to lazily toss it over your shoulders, walking to the entrance of the alleyway.

Though, surprisingly, you had bumped into someone. It wasn't your fault you couldn't see him, you had the worst vision. You furrowed your brows internally, you needed to see an eye doctor soon.

The guy you bumped into bristled like a startled cat, taking a short step back as he clutched his Nintendo DS close to his chest. You glared down at him.

"Ah... Sorry," He muttered, lowering his eyes to the ground. He glanced down the alley at the sound of a pained moan.

You scowled at the noise, releasing a loud sigh through your nose.

"No, sorry. I wasn't paying attention." You quietly said. Kenma nodded slowly, looking back to his gaming device, not caring too much about the very obvious fight that had just ensued.

"You play Animal Crossing?" You asked, recognizing the soft music instantly.

Though shocked a guy like you knew the game, Kenma nodded again.

"Cool, me too. Give me your name," You said smoothly, though internally you were ecstatic someone else played the game.

That's how you met the pudding haired boy. After exchanging your contact information, you went your separate ways.

You texted Kenma first.

To: Kenma

From: (Y/n)

I want to play COD. Do you have it?"

To: (Y/n)

From: Kenma

yeah. whats your gamertag?

To: Kenma

From: (Y/n)

DyNaMiTe.

Don't ask.

To: (Y/n)

From: Kenma

I won't.

Let's play.

To: Kenma

From: (Y/n)

Oh, btw, do you have a mic?

After adding your new friend on the Playstation, you connected to a call and played several rounds of COD before you got bored of slaughtering random enemies.

"Let's play Mario Kart," You stated.

"Okay," Came Kenma's short answer.

You ended up playing until sunrise. You had to admit, the bloodshot eyes and sore muscles were worth it. Kenma was a surprisingly good player and you could say with confidence he was now a gamer buddy.

More time passed since you met the setter, but he knew deep down it was only a matter of time before he was forced to introduce you to his childhood friend. As of now, he was thankful he told him very little about his newfound friend.

The more you hung out with Kenma at school the more open he became, giving you longer answers rather than his short, to the point ones. Sometimes he'd call you randomly at night requesting you play Animal Crossing with him and everyone else had gone to sleep.

It was a lie. Kenma didn't have any other friends, but he wouldn't admit that anytime soon. He had to go when a loud voice called for him to get his ass to bed, though you weren't sure who it was. Maybe his dad? But he sounded young. You shrugged it off, it wasn't your business anyway.

A week later you and Kenma sat on the roof of the school. You took a large bite out of a thick sandwich layered with meat and cheese. Kenma favored a neat bento his mother made him the night before. Occasionally, you'd glance at his teriyaki and whine. It took a while but the blonde finally gave in, holding a ball of meat in between his chopsticks towards you.

"You wanted one, right?" He muttered, avoiding eye contact. You grinned and sloppily took it from him, thanking him as you chewed. Kenma grimaced and wiped at the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, idiot.." He whispered.

Aw, look! He's being nice~ Your inner Omega swooned. You pushed down a blush, though Kenma could've sworn he saw a thin layer of pink dusting your cheeks, though he couldn't tell due to a large bruise. He brushed it off.

More time passe. As the days increased so did the bruises, cuts, and even a few stitches. Kenma had noticed you being pulled out of class through the window of his classroom but never really questioned it, assuming you were skipping with your friends.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

"You're fucking joking," You muttered, staring at that shitty alpha from a few months ago standing in front of your classroom. He had innocently claimed his teacher needed to talk to you, something about your grandma's passing or some bullshit excuse. Your grandmother had been dead for three years.

"Come along now, (Y/n)," He whimpered sadly, patting your shoulder. "You wouldn't want anything bad happening to your little blonde pal, would you?" He whispered dangerously in your ear. You allowed him to lead you out of the classroom.

You glared, growling. "You're bluffing," You accused, crossing your arms across your chest.

He raised a brow. "Am I? I have a buddy in his classroom, all I have to do is get him to bring your pal out. He doesn't look like a very strong alpha..." he trailed off, a sick grin pulling at his cheeks.

You cursed under your breath, an image of Kenma's small, shy smile crossing your mind. No way in hell would you let this dickbag of an alpha touch what's yours.

Mine. Your Omega growled loudly.

Ours, You thought back.

You would protect him all you could.

After school Kenma went to volleyball practice, per normal, but you weren't waiting for him when he left his classroom. Normally you would pick him up and walk him to the gym then wait on the side of the gates where Kenma would make up an excuse to walk home with you instead of Kuroo.

He furrowed his brows, confused. He checked the bathrooms on his way to the gym, not seeing you. Did you get sick? He made a quick stop at the nurse's office, asking if you had gone home. She shook her head, claiming nobody had gone home today.

As nervous as he was, he made his way to the volleyball court, changing into his proper shoes. As little as he normally played, he couldn't get his mind off you. He had a sinking feeling something was very wrong.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he had started to develop feelings for the taller Omega. He had denied it for a while, but he had soon come to terms with it. What was the point in acting like they weren't there? It would be there anyway. He couldn't act like his heart didn't start to pound in his chest every time he saw you or how worried and protective he felt when he saw a new bruise or cut on your body. He felt butterflies when you laughed at your victories in first-person shooter games or that childish grin you got when he caved and let you have his teriyaki at lunch.

"Kenma!" Kuroo called, jogging over. Kenma hummed, looking up at the raven.

"Are you alright? You're more out of it than usual," Kuroo asked, his brows knitting together worriedly. The blonde bit his lip, looking down, to the left and right before meeting his gaze again.

"You.. Know that guy I told you about?" He muttered.

Kuroo raised his eyebrows. "The one you're madly in love-" Kenma yelped, slapping his hands over his mouth quickly, his face exploding into a red blush. "Sh!" he hissed.

Kuroo smirked behind his friend's hands, giving them a wet lick. Kenma gagged, jerking his hands away and wiping them violently on the rooster haired male's black shirt. "Gross..." He whined.

Kruoo laughed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know the guy. What bout him?"

The setter sighed, voicing his concern. "He wasn't here today to get me," He started. "He didn't text me he was leaving and it looks like he's getting.. hurt more often." His voice dipped into a whisper as worries and anxieties flooded his brain. Something wasn't right, he just knew it.

Kuroo hummed, tapping his finger on his chin. "Have you asked him?" Kenma shook his head. "You should," Kuroo gave him a long stare. "I don't see why you haven't."

Kenma opened his mouth, then closed it. "I don't know." He said. "Somethings wrong," He looked down, shuffling his feet. "Really wrong. With him."

An overbearing scent caught his attention. Faintly he smelt the omega's natural scent, pine, and fresh campfire.

"Find him," Kuroo smiled. "I think there's something between you two, more than a bro-bro relationship." He teased. Kenma blushed, wasting no time in changing into his outdoor shoes and Volleyball jacket before he bolted out the door. He zipped the red jacket up to his chin and smelt the cold air, searching for his crush's scent.

He ran to the gates of the school and made his way to the empty park. It was concealed by the thick forest and thicket, but the unmistakable smell of him.

He pushed through the thorns and sniffed the air. His smell was strong, he was close. A heavy feeling of anxiety and excitement settled in the pit of his stomach as he broke through the bushes.

Kenma's golden eyes caught sight of a figure hunched over in a swing and he jogged over.

"(Y/n)?" He asked. You flinched at his voice, as comforting as it may have been to you, you lowered your head, your hair blocking your face.

Kenma's nose picked up on a dreadful, and disgusting scent. Blood.

"(Y/n), what happened?" He lowered himself to the dirt, looking under your bangs. "Please, look at me.." he muttered, reaching up to brush the hair away from your face.

You sniffed and looked up, tears brimming your narrowed eyes as blood dribbled down your face from a large cut across your temple, your nose, and busted lip. Your knuckles were a bright red, dotting with blood. A tear slid down your cheek and you hurriedly wiped it away, jerking your head aside.

"It's nothing," You growled. Kenma narrowed his eyes, standing up.

"It's not." He said.

"It's nothing, Kenma." You whispered, smearing the blood across your face when you rubbed your sore nose. "Just a stupid fight."

"(Y/n), talk to me," Kenma muttered, glaring down at your hunched form. "I can't help if you don't fucking talk to me, you know." You winced at the harsh curse. The shorter one didn't cuss often, only at games when he lost a hard round or when he was pissed.

"I said it's nothing, drop it." You hissed, your (e/c) orbs piercing into his honey eyes. He held your stare sternly.

You caved.

"Someone threatened to hurt you if they didn't get revenge. They wanted a punching bag for a while. In exchange, they'd leave you alone. Satisfied?" You huffed childishly.

Kenma gaped at you.

Had you really gone and got yourself beat to a pathetic lump all so he was spared a little pushing around?

When he didn't answer you took a breath.

"I'd rather be a human punching bag than allow the guy I love to get hurt," You grumbled, holding your breath. Yeah, fuck you, you knew what you were saying. You were low enough and if the setter didn't return your feelings the internally bruising would heal with your external cuts.

"The guy you love?" Kenma whispered. "You... Love me?" he stared at you, slightly wide-eyed. You nodded stiffly.

"Me too."

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#kenma x you #kenma x reader #hq kenma #male reader #x male reader #haikyuu!!#nekoma #romance #bxb #kenma kozume #kenma kozume x reader #kenma kozume x male reader

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msmarvelouswinchester · 4 years

Text

Irresistibly Yours

Chapter 2 - Noise Complaint

Summary - Y/N Y/L/N moves to NYC in hopes for a fresh start after a nasty breakup. There she meets her neighbor, the cynical lawyer, Dean Winchester. A love-hate relationship starts evolving between them ever since they met in the elevator one morning but a desperate situation and a string of lies forces the two friendly rivals to go on a date or rather a fake date. Will sparks fly between them when Dean gets to know Y/N real and up close? Will Y/N finally find her Prince Charming in the grumpy, workaholic, divorce lawyer?

Pairing - Lawyer!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - None expect meanie Dean (Suspicious, isn’t it?)

WC - 2154

Square Filled - Don't put me in this position ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N - I promise the next chapter will have more of Dean and more conflict! This is just the beginning of a very long ride. Enjoy!

Beta’d by @miss-nerd95

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist Masterlist

The silence in the cab on her way back to her apartment gave her the quality time she needed to think. In a few weeks, Meg was getting married and now, since they knew, Y/N had to show up with her 'boyfriend’. She racked her brain, scrambling to come up with a good excuse because it was all a big lie.

Every time, however, she reached two conclusions - either make a fool of herself and admit that she lied or tell everyone that she broke up and be the one person at the wedding that everyone looks down on with pitiful eyes.

There was a third option, which was risque as hell too, cause Y/N barely knew the man and their first meeting did not go so well, but there was definitely something about him that made her blush every time she thought of him.The way he carried himself and the dominating vibes he gave off, sent shivers down her spine. Maybe he wasn't a morning person and she did start blabbering in the elevator the minute she stepped in. She swallowed hard when she remembered the way her name rolled off his tongue. ‘How did he know?’ She wondered.

As Y/N boarded the elevator, she thought about how, she wanted nothing more than to see a certain green-eyed man again. She had been residing in this complex for almost three months but she had never seen the man before. Maybe he was new here, in this apartment building, who knew? Mind plagued by millions of thoughts, Y/N trudged down the empty hallway to her cosy little home.

“Who invented these fucking heels?” She grumbled as she freed her feet out of the painful, yet pretty high heels when she reached the comfort of her own home. Shrugging her coat off, she relaxed as her ass hit the soft mattress of the couch.

“I need a date in seven weeks.” She said, making a mental note of the wedding date. This was the only wedding she ever looked forward to attending where she knew she wouldn't have to face the constant stream of questions involving her dating life and a particular man. All she ever wanted was to be with her close friend on the best day of her life.

“First dress fitting - tomorrow at 10.” Her phone lit up with an incoming text and groaning, she dropped her head backwards. Y/N couldn't even skip the wedding if she wanted to. She was one of the bridesmaids and it wouldn't be fair to both Meg and Cas, if she didn't attend it. A smile graced her frowning face when she remembered the time Cas proposed to her friend on Valentine's Day. Cliche- Y/N would say, but deep down, she knew she just wanted what Cas and Meg had.

A sigh left her lips as she got up, still in her work clothes. She put on some light music as she went into the bathroom to freshen up. After the long, tiring day she had, a warm bath and a Ryan Gosling movie were very much needed. Quickly stripping off, she stepped into the tub. She leaned her head backwards, closing her eyes, as the warm water soothed her aching body and her troubled mind.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone,” Y/N sang along the song, slightly off tune but she didn't care, as she stepped out of the bathroom after some time. She let go of the towel wrapped around her body and stepped into a pair of comfortable pjs. Getting a box cold pizza out from her refrigerator, she turned up the volume of the music playing in her apartment.

“He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring, and said,” Y/N yelled out the chorus when she started to heat up the pizza. Her private singing session, however, was cut short by a sudden knock on the door. She grudgingly pressed pause as she walked up to the door to find out the unwanted visitor.

“Excuse me- Ms L/N?” As soon as she opened the door, she was met by a very familiar, deep baritone that had been haunting her.

“Dean Winchester. And please, call me Y/N,” she breathed out. The formality in Dean’s voice made her cringe. Her eyes fell as she took in the man in front.

Dean had gotten rid of the dapper grey suit and slipped into a much laid back look. A black polo t-shirt fitted over his body and plain blue jeans hugging his bowlegs perfectly. The look on his face mirrored the one from the morning and Y/N wondered if he would look better with a smile on. Her train of thoughts were again rudely interrupted by the man speaking.

“I assume you're having somewhat of a casual evening,” Dean said, his hands waving to point at her pjs, making her suddenly self-conscious of her clothing state.

“Y-yeah. How may I help you?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“See, I moved in the apartment right beside you a few days ago, and I think you might have noticed sometime or the other that there are other people living in this building as well,” Dean said, his face not imparting any sort of emotions, “You might be having a casual evening but I can assure you that there's at least one person who is certainly not. Turn the music level down.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open at Dean’s words but she wasn't going to turn down the volume just because a man turned up at her door, asking her to do so. His words were sharp, but his tone was downright rude, and it was definitely not because he wasn't a morning person. The least he could have done was ask her nicely.

“Well, listen here pal, no one's having a problem, other than you. So you can go back to your room, put on some earplugs and do whatever the heck you were doing before you decided to make my day more awful,” Y/N said, taking a threatening stance with hands on her hips, a deep frown on her face.

“I'll file a noise complaint report against you.” Dean warned with his pointer finger right in front of her eyes.

“It's just music. Learn to appreciate the little things in life.” She said while rolling her eyes.

“I'm a very busy man and I got work to do, alright? And speaking about music, play something actually good like Zeppelin and people will personally come up to thank you. This song is not even a classic.” Dean spat back.

“Believe me or not, everyone is a Swiftie at heart.” She smirked with a sarcastic shrug. Dean’s lips twitched in anger as his face grew more rigid before he said, “If you don't lower the volume, expect a noise complaint report delivered with your newspaper tomorrow.” He walked away before Y/N had a chance to even think of a comeback.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean went inside his own apartment room right beside Y/N’s. She glared at the empty hallway before swinging her door shut and walked back to her room towards her amazon echo, turning the music down anyway. She couldn't risk getting a report filed against her, and the man appeared to be dead serious about what he threatened to do.

“Stupid Dean Winchester.” She grumbled.

Squinting at the clock, Y/N woke up the next morning to loud bangs on her door. 7:30 am, it read. Removing the covers, she immediately shivered when the cool air hit her bare legs.

Hair still a mess, she grabbed her robe from the nearby chair, putting it on along with her slippers before she warily made her way to the door. “Dean will be complaining now for sure.” She grumbled as she unlocked her door to reveal her friend standing on the other side in a dishevelled state, eyes red like a mad woman.

“Meg?” Her face scrunched up in confusion as the said woman shoved past her into her apartment. “You’re wearing your shirt inside out.” Y/N closed the door behind her as Meg took a seat on the couch.

“Can I have some water?” Y/N dumbfoundedly nodded at her friend’s request and went to her kitchen to retrieve a glassful. Handing the glass over to her, she sat down next to the brunette who gulped down the entire glass of water in one go. Setting the utensil down on the wooden coffee table in front, she turned towards Y/N with slightly glossy eyes as she spoke, “I don’t want to go and finalise the dresses.”

Her words elicited a laugh from Y/N before she said, “Okay, bridezilla, we can reschedule it. Cas should better watch out!” She chuckled out the last words.

“No, y-you don’t understand!” Meg grabbed her friend’s hands, surprising the latter, “I don’t want to try the dress on at all.” Y/N was utterly surprised over her friend's outburst.

“Honey, you have a wedding in less than two months.” Y/N cooed as a few drops of tears rolled down the bride-to-be’s cheeks. “Meg, talk to me. Did something happen between you two?”

The woman shook her head, letting the other lady in the room know that she didn't have to kick Cas’ ass to her relief, but it confused her even further. Since their engagement five months ago, Meg had been over the moon and had started planning every minute detail with high precision and finesse for her big day.

“What if I'm making a huge mistake?”

“Don’t put me in this position. You know how I am when it comes to-”

“But I need to know, and I trust you.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line before she said, “Cas is the best thing that has ever happened to you-”

“You barely even knew me when I started to go out with him. We have only been together for fifteen months - five of which I have spent being engaged to him. What if I regret this later?” Meg's words were correct. Y/N used to barely talk to her when she had started dating Cas, but all through those eighteen months, as she slowly got to know the pair well enough, she knew that they were clearly meant to be in it for the long haul.

“But I have never seen you regret your decision to be with Cas even once… so why start now?.” Y/N politely answered, her hands letting go of her distraught friend's iron-clad grasp and reaching out to soothe her.

“Sometimes even if you have been with your man for what feels like forever, marrying him might seem to be the worst decision you can ever make, but it doesn't matter how long you have been with him. When you know, you know. Follow your heart.” Meg looked up at her as she mulled her words over before speaking.

“I love him.” She said.

“Then go, be with him.” Y/N smiled. Crisis averted.

A smile started to appear on Meg’s tear stained face as her eyes twinkled with a suggestive glimmer in them. Fiddling with her sparkling ring, she said, “Dean’s good for you. Don't let him go.”

Y/N was taken aback by her friend's supposition. She sat up straight in her seat as heat crept up her neck. Her mind was stuck in a turmoil as she tried to come up with an appropriate response.

“He’s not-Dean is not-” She stuttered, the words got stuck in her throat when she tried to think of a decent excuse. Maybe, this was the universe giving her a chance to take back everything she had said before, but the disheartened look on her friend’s face made her rethink her decision. After all, a little white lie never hurt anybody. “Yeah, he is a good man.” Meg smiled as Y/N played her into the deception game once again.

“Will he be at the wedding?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What are you waiting for? Unless he is a figment of your imagination, ask him! I want to meet this certain Dean Winchester.” Meg giggled.

“I don’t have such vivid imaginations, Meg.” Y/N let out a nervous chuckle. She was now being given an ample amount of opportunities to tell the truth, then why was it so hard for her to deny everything she had said? Maybe she liked living in this utopian world where for once, no one deemed her as the broken, pathetic girl who failed to make a man stay. Maybe deep down, she wanted this damn lie to be true.

“I’ll ask him but you do know how men are about weddings.” She replied, having no knowledge of how to keep her end of the promise.

Chapter 3

Feedback is highly appreciated

If you want to be tagged in the series, lemme know!

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #au dean x reader #au dean winchester x reader #dean fanfics #dean fanfiction #spn fanfic #irresistibly yours

126 notes · View notes

ssamie · 4 years

Text

ten. SENPAI

suna rintaro x fem! mitsuri reader

(kny x hq)

warnings: spelling mistakes, really long [4k words], i kinda hate this nnjsjk, italicized words/ sentences are her thoughts, mitsuri’s hair+eye color was used.

gen masterlist. sakura mochi.

"good job, zenitsu!!" she cooed at the blond as he once again snapped out of his unconsciousness

"hah??" zenitsu spluttered as he looked around him, and the dummy that he had just beheaded "what happened??" he asked with a frantic look on his face as he looked at his sword and hands

"you did a great job, zenitsu-kun!" y/n cheered for him "you were even faster than before!"

"i was?!" zenitsu shrieked in surprise "b-but i was asleep!"

"yeah you were" she nodded with a smile

"then are you lying to me?" zenitsu cried childishly "you don't have to lie to me, y/n-senpai! i know im weak!" she frowned at his words and went to pat his back, "you're not weak zenitsu-kun, you were just frightened, but that's fine! you still did well!" she huffed

"no." zenitsu denied in a cold tone

"i don't tolerate bittersweet lies like that. don't lie to me. you probably cut that dummy to make me feel better, right? well it didn't make me feel better. i hate this. i hate myself. im gonna die if this keeps up. i don't wanna die, y/n-senpai. i wanna leave and start a new life in the mountains. sword fighting will only shorten my lifespan. "

"ah.. okay.." she mumbled back in return as she looked at him with dotted eyes and a blank smile, while he gives her a cold stare

"..."

"y/n-senpai! it's my turn to train with you" tanjiro chimed in with an excited smile "oh, of cour-"

"shut up, monjiro! it's my turn!" inosuke interjected with a loud scream as he pushed tanjiro away

"and you, (wrong name)! fight me! fight me!" inosuke challenged her, followed by a loud laugh

"AGH, SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU! IT'S STILL MY TURN TO TRAIN!" zenitsu whined aggressively as he hugged her waist with a snarl "eh?? but you said you didn't want to train anymore!" tanjiro said with a frown "you were saying it'd shorten your lifespan or something" tanjiro raised a brow

"i- you heard nothing." zenitsu dismissed "anyways, y/n-senpai" the blond faced her with a dumb lovestruck smile, a bright and flowery aura surrounding him

"should we continue-"

"get the fuck away from her, you whiny cunt." obanai abruptly snarled. as expected, zenitsu shrieked and jumped from fright. his eyes were wide as he shuddered from obanai's glare

"iguro-senpai! i didnt even hear you!" zenitsu shrieked as he nervously hid behind tanjiro "obanai-kun tends to silence his footsteps and breathing when sneaking up on his opponents" y/n pointed out

"i guess it works even on you, who has a heightened sense of hearing" she hummed thoughtfully

'so cool! obanai-kun is so cool!' she squealed internally

"anyways, obanai-kun.. is there any reason that you're here?" she asked him "yeah. i got you food.." obanai answered quietly as he presented a container of muffins before her

he smiled fondly as she eagerly took it from his hands with a wide grin, looking almost too excited for a simple snack "ahh!! thank you, obanai-kun!!" she exclaimed with a flustered smile as she hugged him to her chest

"um- its fine.." obanai replied with a sheer blush covering his cheeks "anyways, let's eat!" she cheered excitedly as she grasped his hand and dragged him over to a wider spot

"wait- tanjiro! he's stealing y/n-senpai all to himself!" zenitsu cried upon realisation "let's just leave them be, zenitsu" tanjiro waved him off as he turned around to leave

"B-BUT I WAS GONNA TRAIN WITH HER-- what was that?"

zenitsu abruptly stopped his tantrum to suspiciously eye the doors leading to the entrance of the dojo. he cupped his hands around his ears, as if trying to eavesdrop in a conversation

"huh? what is it, zenitsu?" tanjiro asked in curiosity "i heard some unfamiliar voices outside.. but one in particular kind of rang a bell.." he replied

tanjiro and inosuke looked at him curiously, trying to decipher what he meant. "the hell are you talking about, monitsu?!" inosuke snarled with an amused scoff as he swings his swords around

"im saying that thOSE VOICES COULD BE THE DEMONS THE OLD BLIND GUY TALKS ABOUT IN HIS STORIES!!" zenitsu yelled in panic

"don't address oyakata-sama like that!" tanjiro frantically shushed him by slapping his hand over the blond's mouth "also, it can't be demons, zenitsu. it's probably just some vendors selling some food" tanjiro sighed

the door to the training room suddenly opened, revealing a nonchalant looking muichiro and three boys behind him ".. or not?" tanjiro muttered in confusion

"um, muichiro-kun, who do you have there?" tanjiro asked him with a confused but kind smile. muichiro simply stared at him with empty eyes, slowly looking up and humming as if he was in deep thought

"i forgot." he replied

"oi! we just told you our names a minute ago, dude!" atsumu whined with a sigh of exasperation

"yo" suna nodded at them in acknowledgement "oh! it's you!" tanjiro exclaimed upon realisation "it's nice to see you again, um suna-san, right?"

"yeah. hey" suna waved at him

"agh! it's you!" zenitsu shrieked as he glared at the brunette "he stole y/n-senpai from us back then, tanjiro!" he hissed aggressively into the boy's ear

"ha?! who the hell are you?!" inosuke exclaimed with a huff "oi! muziro! don't let strangers in here!" inosuke yelled as he pointed an accusing finger to the younger hashira's face

"sorry for the intrusion. we're here for y/n" osamu clarified "she told us to meet her here"

"hmm. what's the color of that plant again?" muichiro mumbled to himself as he strayed at the potted plant by the corner of the room "green." suna answered him

"i don't know you." muichiro deadpanned "but.. y/n does.. i think" he muttered "yeah, we told you that like a minute ago" atsumu mused

"shut up. don't intercept my thoughts. you don't amuse me." muichiro said in a cold tone as he pushed past atsumu and walked out the door

"anyways, come in! we're having a short break at the moment" tanjiro chimed in with a his usual kind smile. the boy was holding back zenitsu and inosuke from lashing out and scaring off the guests, while trying to make the boys comfortable

"anyways, are you two the miya twins?" tanjiro asked the pair as he made them sit on some tatami mats "yeah we are." osamu answered in a polite manner "your dojo is very nice-"

"yo! is that a pig head?!" atsumu exclaimed excitedly as he pointed at inosuke's boar mask "ha?! the hell did you call me?!" inosuke yelled back as he tried to slash him with the sword, although zenitsu held him back

"im sorry. he's very dense and have no sense of respect sometimes." osamu said with an unbothered look on his face "yeah, just pretend he's not there." suna chimed in with a sigh

"oi! you're both so plastic! im nice, alright?!" atsumu huffed in aggravation "also, i was just asking if the head was real cus it looks cool on ya!" atsumu defended

"no, no! it's alright, we're really sorry about inosuke" tanjiro laughed nervously

"he's very aggressive and-" "extremely stupid" zenitsu cut him off

tanjiro sweat dropped but nodded anyways "ahm.. yes that.. we're sorry again" he bowed in apology "inosuke?" tanjiro turned to the boy, only to see him sitting uncharacteristically quiet with his hands folded on his lap

he was looking at atsumu through his mask, white puffs and sparkles surrounding him as he does so "seriously?" zenitsu sweat dropped "he gets this happy over a compliment?" he sneered

"you're not really any better, zenitsu" tanjiro sighed and shook his head lightly

"anyways, we'll call y/n-senpai-"

"wahh!! suna-kun is that you?!" y/n squealed excitedly from outside where she was eating with obanai "i guess there's no need to call her" tanjiro chuckled lightheartedly as he watched the girl run towards the brunette

"suna-kun, im so glad you're here!" she cheered as she hesitantly hugged his waist "i didnt think you would actually come" she chuckled nervously

"well, i did say i wanted to watch you train, right?" suna cooed with a chuckle as he briefly hugged her back

"ehem. cough cough. ehem. we're here too" atsumu fake coughed "we're here. alive. standing. waiting for you to notice us.. not just suna.."

she gave him a grin and ran into his arms, slightly swaying from side to side as she let out a train of apologies "samu-kun, i didn't think you'd be interested in showing" she said with a laugh as osamu snatched her from his twin

"why not?" osamu questioned as he patted her head with his hand "well, i thought you'd rather be cooking or something like that.." she said with a hum

"well, i actually did cook you something" osamu said as he pulled out a bento for her "but i don't know if you've eaten already or not" he said

"thank you, thank you, thank you!!" she exclaimed with a grin as she excitedly grasped it in her hands "i can eat that later" she hummed excitedly "but for now, i need to train.." she said

"heck yeah! that's what we came here for" atsumu cheered

"correction. that's what i came here for." suna said with a grunt "you just followed me uninvited"

"hey! now who said we'd leave you alone with her, sunarin?" atsumu narrowed his eyes at him

"what the hell" a voice hissed from afar. they all looked over to see obanai glaring at their direction, looking overly annoyed and unamused

"oh, obanai-kun! suna and the twins are here to watch me train" she said to him "is that so." he hissed out

his heterochromatic eyes wandered over to the three boys, briefly eyeing them up and down before sighing "whatever. let's get it going then" obanai muttered as he turned around to unsheath his sword, with kaburamaru hissing by his shoulder

y/n dismissed his indifference and simply jumped up on her feet, giddily following along as she discards her sword's sheath "are we gonna fight each other, obanai-kun?" she hummed cheerily

"yes. unless you want someone else to take my place" obanai muttered as he fixed his stance "nope! this should be fine!" she exclaimed happily as she points her sword directly at the male

the kamaboko squad was sat alongside the twins and suna. the boys were more than happy to watch the two hashiras spar. though for the three swordsmen were looking forward to gain more knowledge and technique

whereas the twins were simply watching wide eyed in awe and admiration despite y/n not doing anything just yet

and suna. well, suna was just there.

he was admiring her from head to toe. she didn't look much different than how they usually see her. except this time, she was sporting a dress-like uniform and haori and some green striped stockings which matched her hair

her chest was heavily exposed, though he was nice enough to avoid looking at the exposed skin.

well, atleast he tried not to.

"she looks so.." suna muttered as he watched her twist her wrist to gently swing the sword around "AWESOME!!" the twins simultaneously yelled as they started bumping each other's shoulders in excitement

"haha, she does doesn't she?" tanjiro chuckled lightly as he started pulling the three males further away from the hashiras "but as cool as she looks, she might not have enough space to maneuver so we gotta stay out of their way" tanjiro explained

"you might get injured" tanjiro warned them "or stabbed! or killed!" zenitsu followed up with a shriek as he frantically hid beneath the comfort of his haori

"HA! AS IF I'LL HIDE FROM THAT!" inosuke huffed cockily "THE GREAT INOSUKE-SAMA WON'T BACK DOWN FROM A LITTLE SCRATCH-"

everyone stopped talking as blood suddenly started dripping down inosuke's arm. they all blinked twice from shock, before breaking out into loud screeches.

"W-W-WHAT THE HELL?! DID YOU SEE THAT TANJIRO?! THE BOAR GOT SLICED! HE GOT SLICED!" zenitsu yelled in fear

"shut up, you damn pigs." obanai scowled as he suddenly reappeared from behind inosuke "i-iguro-senpai! why did you do that?!" tanjiro panicked as he hurriedly took off his haori to press it down on inosuke's wound

"if you lowlifes won't shut up, you can just leave." obanai hissed as he started walking back to his initial spot

"so shut up, will you?"

"y-yes sir!" they all saluted him and quickly backed away into a corner "what the hell was that?!" atsumu whisper shouted to tanjiro "did he just try to kill him?!" osamu whisper shouted as well

"ahaha, well.." tanjiro chuckled sheepishly "he did, yes."

"what the hell?! and this is normal for yall?!" atsumu shrieked out as he hugged suna's arm out of fright

"well yes, but don't worry! im sure iguro-senpai was just joking around" tanjiro laughed half-heartedly as he continued to press down on inosuke's wound. they all sweat dropped as he kept on a smile on his face while basically keeping the poor boy from dying

"i don't think that should be considered 'joking around' , you know?" suna muttered with a sigh. suna looked away as soon as they started talking once again, not really that interested in whatever absurd topic they were on.

instead he looked ahead to watch y/n scold obanai for his shameless act. to his surprise, obanai was actually looking ashamed. he was muttering apologies, though suna was sure it was only so she wouldn't get mad at him.

"geez" she sighed loudly, "let's just start then. after this, you should go get your shoulder treated, inosuke" she said

"dont tell me what to do, you hag!" inosuke scowled followed by a taunting laugh "why you-" obanai hissed through gritted teeth as he once again got ready to attack the poor boy

"obanai-kun!" she yelled out warningly, using her sword to block his just attack just before it could hit him again "he's not your opponent, obanai-kun" she cooed in a sweet tone "you're fighting against me, so put some respect in my name and blade and fight me properly, okay~" she cooed with a giggle

"fine." obanai muttered in reply

"man, she's so cool" atsumu let out a low whistle as he laid his back on the wooden walls "they're fast" osamu muttered, desperately trying to keep up with their almost inhumane speed

"i don't want to hurt you, y/n" obanai muttered as he harshly brought his blade down onto her neck "dont worry about me, obanai-kun, you're doing very well" she cooed in admiration as she swiftly dodged the blade

"they're able to hold a conversation during this?" suna muttered in slight disbelief and amusement "more importantly, shouldn't they have done this outside?" osamu asked as he picked up some more chipped wood off the floor

"they're basically destroying the place" he said

"dont worry about that, miya-san" tanjiro said "this is how the training rooms normally end up, anyways" they nodded and proceeded to watch.

"obanai-kun, suna-kun is here so im gonna show off a little okay?" she whispered to him with a smile. obanai looked up at her in confusion, irking a brow as he felt his stomach churn from jealousy

"what the hell are you talking about-"

"im sorry in advance, obanai-kun!" she exclaimed as she whipped her sword around. the distinctive components of the blade let it bend and sway in ways that they were sure defied physics

"eh? the sword bended?" suna muttered in confusion "not just the sword, her whole body bended!" atsumu shrieked as he pointed to the girl's figure

she was balancing her weight on both her arms as she bended backwards to avoid obanai's blade . she swung her legs and landed perfectly with ease.

'oh my, obanai-kun almost hit me' she thought to herself

'he's so cool!' she squealed internally

'but this fight has been going on for too long' she thought to herself as she watched obanai pull his blade from the wooden walls where it struck

'and suna-kun.. does he think im not good enough?!' she suddenly panicked

she looked back to see suna with his eyes trained on her figure, watching in awe and admiration. though since it was suna we're talking about, his face was still as stoic as it could be, causing her to jump into unreasonable conclusions

'does he think im boring and weak?!' she panicked 'fine then, i'll do my best'

the room seemed to quiet down as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before sighing.she grasped the hilt of her sword tightly and muttered,

"love breathing. first form. "

obanai paused and widened his eyes in surprise. it has been an unspoken rule between the two of them that they were not to use their breathing styles against each other. or atleast not in petty and unnecessary circumstances like this.

"is she seriously using her breath for some lousy boy" he scowled quietly to himself

"shivers of first love" she muttered as she dashed forward in an inhumane speed

"eh? shes gone?" osamu said in surprise as a huge gust of wind flew by, followed by the sudden disappearance of the hashira

"no, she just ran towards iguro-senpai." tanjiro explained "it may have been too fast to tell by the naked eye, but she simply dashed forward while attacking" he said

the twins, along with suna, nodded and proceeded to watch the fight with intensity"man, its no use. i can't see anything" atsumu sighed in defeat "they're too fast"

they were indeed moving in impeccable speed. y/n's blade was winding around obanai in a series of slashes, all while he simply blocks it off with his sword

"whatever." obanai muttered dejectedly. the male hashira dropped his arms to his side, his sword following, which left his neck wide open for her to hit. though just before her blade could slice through his skin, she abruptly stopped

"um.. are you alright, obanai-kun?" she asked in a worried tone

the boys finally looked up to see her standing infront of obanai in a stance, with her arms frozen mid air. the blade was less than a centimeter away from his skin, and it seems like obanai could care less at the moment

"you win" he muttered

"oh.." she muttered back

she dropped her hands to her side, nervously fiddling with the ends of her hair as she waited for obanai to say something else

"are you.. mad?" she asked him in a whisper

"no, im just-" obanai cut himself off as their eyes clashed. he sighed and patted her head. he fixed her haori and nodded towards suna "you should spend time with them instead of forcing yourself to do so with me." he said in a monotonous tone

"im sure you'd enjoy it more anyways"

she frowned at his words but nodded anyways, seeing as he was already making his way out of the room

"but i always enjoy spending time with him" she muttered to herself

a frown had etched itself onto her lips, her brows furrowing as she watched obanai's retreating figure. though the melancholic feeling was quickly disrupted by zenitsu's loud voice, yelling out yet another marriage proposal

"Y/N-SENPAI~ YOU WERE SO COOL!" zenitsu exclaimed "YOU'RE SO STRONG AND FAST AND PRETTY AND PERFECT TO BE MY WIFE! PLEASE BE MY WIFE! I'LL DIE WITHOUT YOU!"

she chuckled sheepishly as she patted zenitsu's back, who was currently latched onto her torso, nuzzling his cheeks onto her soft chest "oh my, but i thought you wanted nezuko-chan to be your wife, zenitsu" she cooed tauntingly as she smiled down at the boy

"she never answers me!" zenitsu cried as he shoved his face into her chest

suna sighed loudly as he watched zenitsu thoroughly enjoy his heavenlike experience between her soft mounds. suna sighed again, this time louder and more exaggerated as he side eyed her

finally, she looked at him and laughed in amusement "is something bothering you, suna-kun?" she asked "hmm, kinda" suna answered as he opened his legs and motioned for her to sit

'eh? does he want me to sit on him or beside him' she thought to herself

"you were so cool, y/n-chan!" atsumu cheered as he grinned widely at her "you never told me you were so fast and flexible like that" atsumu wiggled his brows suggestively paired with a flirty smirk

"ah well" she smiled nervously as she walked towards suna while gently prying zenitsu off of her

"tch, shUT UP YOU DAMN GEEZER" osamu scowled as he sent a harsh slap onto the blond's nape "ouCH GODDAMMIT!" atsumu hissed in pain as he slapped osamu back

"ah, they're a very lively bunch huh, senpai?" tanjiro mused with a smile as he plucked zenitsu off her body "well then, i'll go get some drinks for us all, so you can all just catch up for now" he said "and you're both coming with me" he said in a passively aggressive way as he clutched zenitsu by his haori and inosuke by his mask. he dragged them away, despite zenitsu's whines and inosuke's screaming, leaving the four of them alone

she smiled blankly as she threw a random towel over the trail of blood that was left by inosuke and walked over to the boys "well then, did you atleast enjoy yourselves?" she asked

"im sorry if obanai-kun was a little aloof towards you guys" she said

"its alright bunny" suna replied "and we enjoyed watching ya guys" atsumu said as he ruffled her hair "you were so amazing back there!"

"you did so well!" osamu joined in, ruffling her hair as well like a bunch of dads "ah geez" she chuckled with a hint of red slowly creeping up her cheeks

'AGGHSJSNS SO CUTE SO CUTE! THEY'RE SO CUTE!' she screamed internally

'THEY'RE TOUCHING MY HAIR!! THIS IS SO WONDERFUL!' she gushed as she relished in the moment

"you guys flatter me too much" she said "it wasn't a very serious fight anyways"

"its way more serious than any fight ive ever seen atleast" suna mused "also, the blood from the pig dude is everywhere" suna gulped as he pointed to the towels she had laid out which had crimson red seeping through it

she hurriedly jumped on her feet and wiped it off, quickly discarding the towel by simply throwing it out the window "haha, there! no more blood!" she cheered with a beaming smile as she sent them a thumbs up

the boys sweat drop as the watched the remainder of the mess heavily stain her hands "ah, if you say so" they muttered with a nervous laugh

the moment was then ruined once again by zenitsu, who came dashing in the room, followed by tanjiro and inosuke "Y/N-SENPAI! LET'S DRINK TEA TOGETHER!" zenitsu exclaimed as he burst in through the doors

"HAHAHA I'LL DRINK MORE TEA THAN ANY OF YOU, JUST SEE!" inosuke boasted with a laugh "inosuke! you're still injured!" tanjiro scolded him once he walked through the doors after being forced to carry their drinks

"zenitsu, stop pestering her please" tanjiro sighed tiredly as he placed the tray of drinks on a small table "senpai~" zenitsu cooed out in a lovesick tone as he started chasing her around

"z-zenitsu-kun??" she huffed out as she ran in circles with him following close behind

"y/n-senpaiii~"

"please stop chasing me, zenitsu!"

after another lap around the room, suna pulled her down on his lap just in time to avoid zenitsu's prying arms "s-suna-kun?!" she shrieked out as her face and neck slowly starts to turn a concerningly bright shade of red

"calm down, bunny" suna snickered under his breath as he gripped her by the waist to adjust her position on his lap "ack?!!" she squeaked out as she looked ahead into nothingness with a look of disbelief present in her features

"this is okay, right?" suna cooed into her ear as he rests his chin on her shoulder

"r-right!" she squeaked out as she continued on looking off into the distance, as if staring at god himself

"y/n-senpai! t-tanjiro! he-he's taking y/n-senpai!" zenitsu whimpered "senpai!!!"

"zenitsu, why are you even crying?" tanjiro sweat dropped

"dang, he's crying now" suna whispered teasingly into her ear. she shuddered, feeling chills run down her back, and her head going all fuzzy

'ah, is this heaven?' she gushed

'am i gonna have a nosebleed?' she pondered to herself as she gingerly touched her nose

"are you feeling alright?" suna asked her. she squeaked out followed by incoherent murmurs as suna's toned arms suddenly tightened around her mid area

"hey, are you alright..."

".. senpai?" he cooed in a teasing tone

"ACK! S-SENPAI?!" she shrieked flusteredly, eyes wide and quite literally on the verge of passing out

'agh that was so hot!' she thought to herself

'why was his voice so smooth and erotic?!'

'okay calm down, clam down, calm down' she chanted repeatedly in her head

'okay, it's alright, im calm. im okay'

she breathed in and out before smiling in content, turning back to look at suna to hopefully act as normally as she can "yo, bunny, seriously are you okay?" suna asked in genuine concern

'ah, is he messing with me again?' she huffed

'not this time, im fine now, he can't tease me' she laughed evilly in her head

"of course!" she beamed cheerfully "really?" suna deadpanned "because you had a nosebleed just now."

"eh?"

she blinked dumbly in response, reaching out to wipe away the blood that was dripping down her nose "Y/N-SENPAI! ARE YOU DYING?!" zenitsu shrieked in horror

"wait wait-" she muttered out in fright "am i?"

"a-AM I DYING?!" she yelled along with zenitsu "you're not dying" tanjiro reassured her with a kind and patient smile

"really?!" "yes, senpai."

"really?!" "you're alright-"

"SHUT UP ORPHAN BOY! STOP LYING! WE'RE GONNA DIE! I KNEW IT!" zenitsu yelled "i- that's so mean!" tanjiro exclaimed in offense "you're an orphan too!"

"NO I'M NOT- actually, i am"

the twins and suna watched them argue with a look of dread on their faces. nervously gulping, osamu raised his voice to ask, "are you guys okay?"

"definitely."

"well that's definitely a lie."

67 notes · View notes

kitkat1003 · 3 years

Note

If you want another Spirit prompt, maybe #1 "Don't give me that look." With Spirit and Pigsy?

1. Don't give me that look

Quick Warning for disturbing imagery and blood

Have fun! :)

It was all because Spirit got the mail.

That was the long and short of it. Spirit went to get the mail, pulling out a crystal ball that had exploded in their hand, and when Pigsy, Tang and MK ran out to see what the commotion was about they found a child where the Spirit that was familiar used to be.

This child goes by Yin.

This child has four eyes.

This child smiles, and there’s nothing sad in their eyes when they do.

A conference with Monkey King and some studying of the residue left by the exploding object proves that it was likely meant to stall MK by temporarily turning him into a child. The prime suspects are Yin and Jin-they seem like the two to have such a hair brained scheme.

Monkey King and MK head off to see just what MK was supposed to be kept from stopping, leaving Pigsy and Tang with the 8 year old.

“Where’s mom?” They ask.

Pigsy sighs.

The day goes on mostly as normal. Tang and Mei entertain Spirit with phone games and medicinal texts. It seems Spirit’s love of medical knowledge has not changed with age, and they sit in Tang’s lap and follow his finger as he reads out what plants can be ground up into a healing balm for wounds.

They were told that their mom was out on a trip to get medicine, and left them with Pigsy and Tang as babysitters. They seem to believe that.

Red Son sneaks in to see them when he hears about the incident from Mei, and Spirit is entranced by his hair, reaching up with wide eyes.

“It’s pretty!” They shout, giggling when Red Son picks them up so they can card their fingers through the flamey strands. “You’re really pretty!”

They bump their forehead against Red Son and smile, and Red Son looks...

He looks a lot younger than he is, staring at them as if lost in another time.

He doesn’t stay for long. He lets Spirit play with his hair and shows them that he can melt metal with his fire if he tries, but eventually he stalks away with a terse, if kind, farewell. There’s a quiet look of discomfort on his face, and Pigsy wonders if Red Son ever knew Spirit before they were scarred.

By the shock on his face when he’d seen Spirit’s four eyes, Pigsy doubts it..

They’re far more trusting than Pigsy has known them to be. He feels like he could tell them the sky is actually purple and they’d believe it. They talk a lot, too, chattering with questions and comments about anything and everything. Pigsy and Tang had worked hard, to get the Spirit they know to be comfortable enough to ask any questions at all. They’re very inquisitive, regardless of age, but the eight year old isn’t afraid. They ask, without hesitation, and drink in every answer.

Pigsy makes them lunch, placing a bowl of noodles in front of them. He reaches over and ruffles their hair, and

Spirit doesn’t flinch. They don’t freeze, for a split moment, as they register that the motion is a kind one and not an attack. They don’t awkwardly let the touch happen, pulling away because they feel like they have to.

Pigsy knows they like to be pet. They like contact. But contact has been marred by centuries of it being used as a weapon and so they still treat hands reaching to them for comfort as if they were blades.

This Spirit doesn’t see it that way. This Spirit leans into the touch and giggles, bouncing in their seat. Their tail wags, their hands flutter, their feet kick out beneath the counter.

Pigsy has seen them stim before. It’s rare. Typicaly, they’ll let their hands shake with the energy that wants to be released, too nervous to flap their hands like MK does. Tang and Pigsy have been coaxing that out of them, too.

It’s terribly sad and wonderful to see that they used to do it with no fear at all.

They slurp up he bowl of noodles with a gusto he doesn’t recognize, messy and unfocused and silly in a way only a child can be.

“You’re a really good cook!” Spirit says, grinning with all their teeth, wide and unburdened.

Pigsy smiles back.

It’s when Spirit sprints off to the restroom that Tang levies his eyes onto Pigsy, raising a brow. There’s something knowing in his gaze, and Pigsy knows what he means when he stares at Pigsy with pity and reproach.

“Don't give me that look,” he grouches, turning away. He knows what Tang is going to say. He knows.

“They’re not going to stay like this forever,” Tang, predictably, reminds Pigsy. He says it gently, though it still stings, but Pigsy knows Tang doesn’t mean it to be cruel, voice as soft and sad as Pigsy feels.

And Pigsy wants to rage. He wants to punch a wall and scream, because he sees that child and he sees Spirit centries later, blades in hand on a death mission because it was the only way out, in their eyes. He sees wide smiles and childish innocence and sees Spirit limp, tired, and empty on his couch, with nothing left in them to give.

But that’s for later. When Spirit is grown and gone to bed Pigsy will mourn what no one else before had thought to, the person Spirit used to be and could have kept if not for a world far crueler than it should be. Pigsy knows, now, and knowledge is not always kind.

“I know,” he responds, quietly, just as Spirit comes skipping back to their seat, leaning over the counter to watch Pigsy cook.

“How does that work?” They point to the stove, curiosity painted on their face.

Pigsy turns around with a blank slate plastered on his face, and explains it with a smile as Spirit stares at him as if he knows everything.

Mei pops in from time to time, helping with deliveries and bringing Spirit random candies that they munch on. She’s taken to ruffling their hair, and has turned their tiny ponytail into a mini braid. Spirit spins around to try and catch a glimpse of it, stopping only when after a full minute they get so dizzy they fall to the floor.

Mei takes a video of it. For later. She also takes a picture of the braid so Spirit can see.

“That looks so cool!” Spirit bounces on their feet. “Mom always has her hair up in a bun, but I don’t have eough fur for that. I can’t wait to show her this though!”

They all tense, at the reminder.

“When’s she’s coming to get me?” Spirit asks.

Mei fumbles, looking off to the side as she tries to find an acceptable answer.

“Sometime tonight,” Pigsy replies. “It’s a long journey, though, so you might have to sleep over if she can’t come this evening.”

Spirit nods, taking the answer as truth.

The lie sits like a stone in Pigsy’s stomach, and he doesn’t look at the kid in the eye for at least an hour after.

As the sun begins to set, traces of light peeking between the large buildings that block the view, Pigsy begins to close up the shop. Tang headed upstairs a few minutes before, both to see what quick meal they can make for a child in their kitchen and to set up a bed on the couch should Spirit have to stay the night.

Spirit watches him clean up the shop kitchen, tail swishing back and forth from their seat. They seem endlessly fascinated by the mundane. It’s endearing, and almost familiar. The Spirit Pigsy knows found cooking very interesting, once Pigsy introduced them to it.

The sun disappears behind the horizon, and gold turns to blue as Pigsy finishes wiping the stove down.

“Where’s mom?” Spirit’s voice is quiet, and sends a shiver up Pigsy’s spine.

“She’s out right now, getting medicine,” He replies. “I told you earlier, remember? It might be an overnight trip, but we have a bed for you to sleep in if that’s the-”

He turns around, and freezes.

“Where’s mom?” Spirit repeats, tiny hands gripping the counter.

They’ve grown a little bit, he notes. They’re growing up.

Their eye. One of them, the top left, is melting. It drips from the top of the socket in strands, slowly pulling away from bone and collapsing in on itself like a deflating balloon, revealing the void behind it.

Whatever the eye melted into disappears, and as streaks of blood drip down Spirit’s face, Pigsy is suddenly reminded of how four becomes three.

He thinks he’s going to be sick.

He rushes out of the kitchen, as Spirit drops out of their seat and stands, dazed, in the middle of the dining room.

“Kid, look at me,” Pigsy grips them by the shoulders, turning them to him.

Spirit looks so confused, as blood continues to pour down one side of their face.

“Where’s mom?” They ask again. “She’s supposed to be here. She can fix it. She-she fixes it, and then she...,” They trail off staring into some far off place, and Pigsy grips them tight enough to bruise because he’s terrfied they’re goining to melt out of his grip.

Spirit starts to cry.

“I’m sorry,” They sob. “Mom’s gone. She got hurt. She helped me and she got hurt, and she was cold-and-and,” They shake, tail curled around their leg in a familiar motion that makes his heart jump in his throat.

He wants to pull them back. He wants them to be 8 again.

A small, dark part of him wonders how long Spirit had to wait, bleeding and broken, before their mom found them and made it right.

“It’s not your fault,” he breathes, even though he knows the words won’t stick. “It’s not because of you, Sprite.”

But Spirit isnt listening, because he watches the empty eye socket and the full one beneath it begin to merge. He watches them grit their teeth and shake as their skull shifts, as it changes, as two becomes one. The eye swirls and grows to take its new shape, and then finally settles into something heartbreakingly familiar.

The blood disappears, as does the tears. Spirit grows a little more.

With every passing minute they get a little bigger, and Pigsy wishes they didn’t. Every passing minute he watches a new wound and then scar appear. He watches the light in their eyes get duller and duller and he watches them get taller and hunch lower, trying to disappear.

They whisper things too, like ‘Sorry, Red’ and ‘Yes Sir’ and “I miss you, Mom’ and all sorts of awful secrets that add weights to their stance.

By the time they’re familiar, wearing the company shirt with their magenta pants, Pigsy can hardly breathe.

“Pigsy?” They finally say, voice small and uncertain. “Are you okay? You look really upset.”

Pigsy stares at the familiar, and wishes with all his heart that the Spirit he knew wasn’t.

In the end, they tell Spirit that they were hit with an artifact meant for MK, and that they were different for a day. Spirit remembers nothing of it, which is a blessing and a curse, and no one has the strength to explain the truth.

Spirit doesn’t know. That’s for the best.

Things go back to normal, with Spirit helping out in the kitchen. Pigsy finds his movements slower than normal, and he can tell Spirit notices, but they don’t ask anything.

They’re too nervous to ask those questions, now. They would before.

They keep rubbing at their one eye, today, as they help with the cooking.

“You alright?” Pigsy asked.

“Oh!” Spirit jumps a little, dropping their hand with a nervous grin. “Sorry, uh, my eye is a little itchy today. It happens sometimes.”

Their tail loops around their leg.

“It does?” Pigsy turns back to the broth, so Spirit won’t feel so scrutinized.

“Yeah,” Spirit replies. “I, uh, I can still feel the spaces. You know, where the two used to be.”

Pigsy freezes. He glances to the side, and watches Spirit trace the two eyes on their face, quietly. They trace it with pinpoint precision.

“I, uh, I read some stuff on it,” Spirit continues. “It’s kind of like phantom limb pain? My brain knows there’s supposed to be four, but there isn’t, so,” They shrug.

Pigsy is reminded, again, of how four becomes three. How two became one.

He feels vaguely sick.

“Sorry,” Spirit says again.

“I’m sorry. Mom’s gone. She got hurt. She helped me and she got hurt, and she was cold-and-and,”

“Don’t be,” Pigsy waves a hand, and wishes he could take the part of Spirit that thinks they need to say sorry because they are and shake it out of them. “You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.”

#kitkat1003 #Yin Spirit #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #monkie kid oc #monkie kid pigsy #blood #gore

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fallingfor-fics · 4 years

Text

Teachers Pet- chapter 1: Hogwarts express

All chapters

prologue

"Ok so once you get everything secured on your cart all you have to do is locate the correct platform, which is 9 ¾ , don't go to the wrong one or you may seriously hurt yourself, once you find it stand about 20 feet away and run straight through, easy as that!" she said as we still sat in the car. "Wait. You're not coming with me to see me on the train?" I asked my mother, clearly shocked she would just expect me to do it on my own the first time.

"Oh you'll be fine! You're almost 17 if you can't do this, how can I trust you to be ok by yourself, plus I need to get to the new house and start unpacking!" she said as if it was all no big deal and unpacking was more important than my wellbeing. "how do you know so much about all of this stuff anyway? I don't wanna be rude but what if you have your information incorrect and I get transported to like, I don't know Brazil?" I questioned. Oh yeah, my mother was a muggle, which was the only downside about moving away from my father, I had no mentor, no one to tell me what i'm doing right or wrong. "Don't be so dramatic I promise you all my information is correct I got very detailed instructions from Albus and your father." she retorted. I sat there not looking at her and just keeping my gaze ahead at the crowds of people. I played with my fingers and chewed the inside of my lip trying to distract from the almost nauseous feeling I had in my stomach. "Well are you gonna get out and go? You don't wanna be too late." she asked annoyed and staring me down waiting for me to move or speak or even breathe. I didn't realize I had been holding my breath. "It's a Sunday. I don't think I can technically be late for anything." I responded. "Mmm well still I wanna get to the new house while theres still daylight" she said unlocking the car door to try and encourage me to get the fuck out. "It's noon I think you'll have plenty of time." I remarked. "Merlin y/n get the hell out of my car and go!" she said lightly shoving my arm clearly annoyed with my behavior. "Fine! Damn!" I said frustrated she wasn't being more understanding. I took a deep breath and opened the car door, stepping out and breathing in the putrid air that wafted from the train station. "God why does it smell like ass here" I said sarcastically but with genuine wonderment. "Muggles" my mother responded. "Hmm great" I responded, putting the letter from Dumbledore and my wand in my bag and putting it over my shoulder and across my chest. I reached in the car and grabbed my belongings. "What if someone sees me?" I asked, leaning down to look at her. "They won't, they can't," she said, not making eye contact distracted by who knows what. "Mm ok cool" I said slamming the door shut. She rolled down the window and gave me a "really" look. "Bye darling you are gonna be just fine, and you can write to me if you ever need anything!" she said practically already pulling out of the parking spot. "Ok sounds good" I said very unenthusiastically. "Love you!" I shouted as she pulled out and began to drive away. "Love you too!" she said waving her hand out of her window and practically zooming off.

I sighed, still standing in the parking lot and staring at the loads of people. Trying to calm my nerves and get the energy to move my feet. I reached down and grabbed my suitcases and headed up towards the station. "Ok platform 6, 7, 8, andddd 9. Where is it?" I said talking quietly to myself. I stood there looking around. I kept walking a bit more and eventually found it. "Wait which wall do I run through?" I thought out loud. I guess it's the one with the sign attached, I sure hope so. If I end up running into a literal brick wall I may just have to turn myself into a roach and get stepped on. I didn't see any carts but figured I didn't really need one. I only had two suitcases I could manage. I stepped 20 feet back from the wall and looked around at all of the people, they didn't seem to pay any attention to me, or even see me for that matter. I exhaled a breath of air I had been holding in and tightened my grip on my luggage. I stared the wall down and took my stance. I dont know if I can do this I thought to myself as I kept staring at this stupid wall. I took another deep breath and told myself I'd go on three. "One" I held my luggage close to me. "Two" I closed my eyes and got ready. "THREE" I hollered and sprinted as fast as I could not opening my eyes the whole way. I opened my eyes and saw that I was still in one piece. "Holy. Fuck." I said to myself. That was totally insane. I can't believe it worked! I felt a slight spark of joy that I was able to do it on my own. I had always been pretty independent, others usually relied on me so I wasn't too shocked I got through. "Ok now I need to get on the train and take the nine hour ride all the way to hagwarts" I snickered. I mean Hogwarts. I let out a breath and found a door to get onto the train. I stepped into the Hogwarts express and found a seat alone. I closed my door and set my luggage down on the seat across from me. My mother told me the train would probably be pretty empty, which she was right about.

I opened my bag and found an envelope that I didn't remember putting in there. It had my name on it in my mothers handwriting. I used my finger to open it up and pull the paper out from it, along fell a small pouch that felt sort of heavy and jingled. I opened it up and saw a good amount of galleons. I looked at the letter in my hand and began to read it. As soon as I did I felt the train begin to move and realized it was officially happening and in nine hours, give or take, I was gonna be at a new school. I sighed and read what my mother had written.

Dear y/n

I know you have always been very hard headed and strong, and very very stubborn, but I also know this means you are very capable. But I didn't want to leave you in control of the reins completely until you get to know your new surroundings. I have put a pouch of coins in this envelope so you can go to the so called Hogsmeade and buy yourself a uniform and any books you may need. Don't worry about rushing to get it all done alone today. I have informed Albus and he will get you all settled tomorrow.

I know this may be scary but I also know you are more than ready. If you have any questions Albus will be there to help. I'm sure you will be very excited to see him again.

Best of luck,

Mom

Hmm wow ok that's pretty nice of her. A little shocked not gonna lie. And I was for sure excited to see Dumbledore. I hadn't seen him in three years but we were always very close. He was more of my grandfather than my real ones were. He would send holiday and birthday cards to my sister and I all the time. I took some comfort knowing he was going to be there. I put the letter and the coin pouch back into my bag and took my wand out. Holding it my hand as I laid across the seat and closed my eyes. Hoping I could just sleep the whole way there, I was so tired from all the speed packing today, so that's exactly what I did.

#snape x reader #Snape slowburn #severus snape x reader #snape #severusnape #severus x reader #severusimagine #hogwarts #slytherin #x reader

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dayseternal-blog · 3 years

Note

Hi Days! I'm a huge fan of your work and your tumblr blog bc you give so many naruhina fanfic recs and talk about your stories, etc.

To sum it up, you're my favorite person lol, I'm a bit shy so I'm asking this as an anon, but I wanted to tell you something random just because I've always just thought about it and maybe you would agree or comment on it.

Have you ever listened to mitski? If you haven't I recomend you do bc she's amazing, but anyways I was listening to a song of hers called "washing machine heart" and it reminded me of naruhina, like the fic "together you and I" but different you know, like naruto only married hinata because he couldn't have sakura, she was his second option and every time he looked at her he wished and pretended it was Sakura, so Hina tries her hardest to look pretty and try to be the person he wants, always getting saddend by the idea that she isn't the one he wants, she knows his heart will only belong to Sakura. She let's him trample all over her heart and use her because she loves him unconditionally, maybe cry to her on some nights because he longs for Sakura's love that will never come.

I've read so many fanfics and I've never encountered one using this concept, I'd write it myself, but I'm not good at writing, maybe I'm reaching but it could inspire an angst story made by you or just a prompt or idea/concept for anyone to use. The hurt in this could be inmaculate and I bet a good writer could bring everyone to tears if they read a story like this. You don't have to do anything ofc I'll love you either way, I'm not meaning to push you to write a whole story with this concept by any means or to even post this ask, it's just something I made up/ related to this certain song, so I wanted you to see it, perhaps share your opinion or thoughts on it or just think about it. I love pain a lot hahaha bc I'm not a narusaku shipper in any way, I actually dislike the ship a lot.

Thank you for reading this and pls keep up the awesome work!! I'll always be a fan and support you and your spectacular writing❤️❤️

GAH What an awful fic idea you have 💔

“The Ring that Binds” by softwind - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Naruto and Hinata are married. So why is Naruto calling “Sakura” in his sleep?

“Girl No 10″ by meeiwen - Rated M, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto makes a mistake with a dancer one drunk night. Years later when he meets her again, he begins realizing his perfect life is a lie, but he’s too late to fix it.

And

“Territorial” by @bunny-hoodlum - Rated M, High school AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. When Hinata takes advantage of Naruto’s desperation for love, they’re both a little too much for the other to handle.

Are similar to what you have there.

HERE’S MY VERY QUICK AND INCOMPLETE STAB AT YOUR PROMPT IT’S UNEDITED UNREVISED CANON-DIVERGENT AU RATED T FOR LANGUAGE BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE WHAT I COULD COME UP WITH 😘 THEY ARE NOT MARRIED BECAUSE I WOULD BE TOO SAD

...

Naruto finally makes it to the Hokage’s office, having had trouble shaking off fangirls on his way. He can immediately tell he’s the last one there, even though it’s the eve of the Rinnegan Festival. Tense expressions greet him, the atmosphere somber.

Sakura whips her attention back to the desk before them. “Rokudaime, with all due respect, I don’t think Naruto belongs on this mission.”

Her behavior has confused him all night. First moving away from him so that Hinata would sit between them at Ichiraku when Hinata could have just sat on the other side of him. Then pushing him to follow Hinata back home. He said aloud that he’d be seeing her later, and that he wanted to catch up with everyone first, but Sakura just glared at him...

She’s been pushing him away, more and more every day, breaking his heart to smaller and smaller pieces...whether knowingly or not, he’s not sure about that, but she’s never rejected him from being her teammate on a mission.

Worried, he meets Kakashi’s gaze.

“I understand your concern, Sakura.” His tone is heavy. His usual careless attitude nowhere in sight. “Call it just my gut-feeling...you’re going to need Naruto’s strength for this mission.”

Hanabi was kidnapped.

Hiashi and Hinata are nowhere to be found.

“What do you mean...?” Naruto finds himself asking. “I just saw her. We just saw her. Not even an hour ago.”

“When Sai reported Hanabi’s kidnapping, believe me, Naruto, we moved to notify her family immediately. Anbu can’t find them.”

“What?” The last memory he has of Hinata abruptly leaving dinner and running off without hardly a word nags at him, inexplicably tightening his chest. “She’s fine. Hinata’s strong. She can take on anybody. No one would dare-”

“Naruto,” Sakura interrupts, her gaze cutting sharp. “She’s nowhere to be found. And as much as you believe that, no one is invincible. Not even Hinata. We need to form a plan, otherwise we’re losing precious time.”

“No one is invincible. Not even Hinata.”

An emptying numbness invades his insides, discomforting slickness muting him.

This isn’t his fault, is it?

What if she needed to tell him something?

She was acting strange at Ichiraku.

Quiet, unusual for her as of recent...

But how was he supposed to notice? Should he have followed after her, like Sakura said? But they were supposed to meet at his apartment later on anyway, so why did she have to come out early like that and ruin the good time he was having? She knows how he hasn’t given up on Sakura.

She knows everything about him. She’s been his rock after Sakura tried to shut him down for good. So how can it be that she’d just disappear? There’s no way.

There’s just no way that she disappeared right after she left...

Hours.

Hours of wandering around in abandoned, desolate, war-stricken villages in god-knows-where, and nothing. No one.

He’s asking for the hundredth time, but he doesn’t care, he’s past the point of desperation, and anxiety-laced tension fills the air. “Taku, you really don’t see anything?!” The Hyuuga they have on their team led them into this godforsaken wasteland.

Taku turns on him aggressively, getting in his face in reaction, and yells, “What about you?? You think I’m not trying my best?! This is my family! Just because you’re Hinata’s boyfriend doesn’t mean you’re any more worried than the rest of us! You don’t sense her??”

No. He doesn’t.

His Sage Mode has never been so useless. In fact, he senses no one besides them in this place, and it’s with terrible unease that he begins to entertain the thought that she’s gone for good.

“There’s no one even here besides us! Nothing! Why’d you take us down here? Where are we even?! How do we get out of here in the first place?!” he argues back.

“Sakura-san was right! You don’t belong on this mission! I don’t know what Hinata-sama could ever see in you, I haven’t seen her smile in months!”

“What do you mean by that?! She smiles all the time! I’ve never seen her act so cheerful in my life!”

“So you fucking know it, too!” Taku glares at him with an incredulous expression. “That she’s just acting!”

“What the hell do you mean by that-”

And he doesn’t know what happened next, but Sai’s grabbing onto Taku and he himself is locked in Shikamaru’s shadow manipulation. Chakra’s sparking off his own hands, while blue embers warp along Taku’s.

“Calm down,” Shikamaru orders both of them. “We’re not getting anywhere if the two of you keep fighting.” He waits for Taku to loosen his stance.

Sai lets go of him.

Taku throws an insulting glare around before sauntering off.

Shikamaru sighs. Hard. “Go cool your head, Naruto.” He retracts his shadow, and Naruto wastes no time walking off in the opposite direction, far from wherever Taku is heading.

Yet Taku’s ridiculous words ring in his head. “That she’s just acting.”

But she said that she’s happy to be with him. That she doesn’t mind that he’s still in love with Sakura. She said that she’s just happy to be with him.

She said that. She did. And she wouldn’t lie to him, right?

She was just acting?

“You’re not going to finish your ramen?” he asked her on their date last month.

“No...” Suddenly, she smiled brightly, something she’s been doing more often ever since he mentioned that he’s always liked how genki Sakura is. “Do you want the rest of mine? I’m dieting.”

He scrunched his eyebrows at her. “Dieting? Why?”

“Well...” She looked thoughtful for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. “Naruto-kun, you like thin girls, right?”

He knew she was talking about Sakura. “...I guess...”

“I want to make you happy,...” she started. She bit her lips for a hesitating moment before continuing, “so I’ve been trying to lose a little weight.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know what to make of that. Unbidden, he looked her over.

“Can you tell?” she asked, her characteristic shyness lowered her lashes, yet she didn’t fidget under his examination, and he could tell how she was trying her best to have that confident persona he admires in his former teammate.

Despite her recent changes in attitude, Hinata’s still been so physically small compared to himself and everyone else. Under her jacket, he couldn’t tell if she looked skinnier or not, and even if she was, he doesn’t think she really needed to be skinnier.

But then she looked up at him with that heavy, hopeful weight in her gaze, and he couldn’t let her down. Not when she’s trying so hard for his approval.

He fibbed easily. “Yeah. You look really good.”

She shined another smile at him that made him feel good. Even if their relationship wasn’t traditional, he could at least still make her happy. He could at least tell her some sweet words and see her sweet smile and-

She was lying.

She wasn’t happy?

He never made her happy?

Then what was the point of any of it?

No, she must have been happy, right?! She said so! She told him so! Many, many times!

After all, he asked her. All of those times he thought she was faking her smile, he asked just to make sure, and she vehemently told him that she was really happy to be with him.

She said he could talk to her about all of it. That she could take on his heartbreak because her feelings were so much bigger than...

“Uzumaki Naruto.”

The unfamiliar voice has him leaping to his feet.

A man as pale as a ghost with piercingly icy eyes is floating down to him on some strange platform. “You’re really as pitiful as I expected.”

“Who the hell are you?!” He readies his stance. He’s not in any mood for games, and he’s ready to let loose some of his stress on this very suspicious character.

“Hinata’s fiance.”

“Hinata?!” Fire races through his veins, heating his feet, and he’s ready to leap at this guy. “Where is she?!”

“With me.”

His heart rate exponentially explodes, beating into his ears, his skin practically bristling. “Let her go,” he demands, and the threat of his words leaks from every pore of his being. “Now.”

The man almost snorts. “What makes you think she wants to see you? You only ever used her, broke her...” His collected expression hardens, and Naruto can sense that he has no intention of releasing her. “I’ll make her happier than you ever could.”

Several thoughts fly too quickly through his mind to properly process any of it, leaving only residual uncertainty and that deepening sense of his culpability in her sudden disappearance. But he doesn’t linger on the unpleasant sensations. “What the fuck do you know?!” And he’s charging at him, a Rasengan heavy in his hand.

The enemy is far more powerful than he appeared, immediately blowing him back with some kind of focused chakra. “Weak, pathetic.”

“GIVE HER BACK!” He replicates himself a dozen times, each of them throwing Rasenshurikens at the man.

Yet more of that strange yellow chakra protects him. He’s unscathed even under his shadow clone onslaught. “No. I gave her a choice, and she came with me. I’m just here to get rid of you, take revenge against you for her sake.”

He hardly comprehends the nonsense spewing out of the enemy’s mouth, and he rallies his clones into close combat, but the man manages to avoid many of the attacks while landing hits of his own.

Clones poofing away only to be replaced by more, frustration and fury starting to blind him into sloppier and sloppier moves.

“I love Hinata. That’s why I deserve her.”

He chokes on his own breath, and in his momentary loss of concentration,...

He’s falling.

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

aaannnnd that’s as far as I want to go with that. Imagine the rest of the team arriving in time to notice Toneri making his escape toward the sky, and I guess the rest of the story would sort of follow the rest of The Last...Naruto self-reflects a lot in a bundle of depression for a long time and yeah.

...ahhh... I encourage you to write the fic you want to see in the world ❤️

#anon #thank you for thinking i could do your fic idea justice #but in the end 😅 i'm sorry that this is a letdown #i'm not much one for angst you know #who wrote white lilies not me #thank you for laying the praise on thick 🥺 don't know if i'm deserving #thank you for reading!

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lilyharvord · 4 years

Text

The Chain (Part 10)

Main concept: Two love struck idiots get sent back to a pretty UGH time period in their lives (that required me to reread all the books again) and have to hide the fact that they know everything.

Find the rest of the fic here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9

Tag list: @delilahlbard, @king-maven-calore, @thatoddgirl777, @elliekratzzz, @evangelineartemiasamos, @evangeline-of-montfort, @scxrletguardsdawn, @freaky-freiday, @petergrantkavinsky, @kuwei, @whatsup-gorls, @katiemoore, @redqueenetwork, @tranquil-dusk (I’m trying to add you but for some reason it wont @… the same problem happens with @thatoddgirl777 and I have no idea how to fix it)

(/Mare/)

I’ve been freed from Protocol for the time being. Cal pulls the same strings as last time, and I am put into Training. It makes my blood sing to know that I am going to be joining him there too. One more place where we can protect each other and plan without anyone knowing. We are a secret, united front that the Silver’s will never see coming.

It’s been a week since my first meeting with Farley. I almost expected Maven not to show up to join us, but just as he did before, he appeared out of the shadows with the servant Holland. He was just as full of the righteous fire I remembered, smiling at me and promising things he will never give. Swearing fealty to Farley and her cause for the good of everyone. I wish I had the courage to ask him if he had meant those things.

I’d gone back to my rooms cold and shaken, feeling in all senses of the word numb. Walsh had to practically guide me back to avoid me taking wrong turns and getting lost. In bed, I drown in the memories of the future that I am rapidly stumbling towards, trying to keep my head up as the tides suck me deeper. I toss and turn for hours, kicking the blankets off before pulling them back on when I wake from my hazy doze shivering uncontrollably because of invisible silent stone walls.

I’d slipped through the secret door in my closet and felt my way through the dark tunnel to Cal’s rooms. It was silent in them, not even the sound of his breathing disturbed the space. Sure enough, his bed was empty and neatly made. He wasn’t even in Summerton. I’d sunk onto the bed before slipping under the blankets and burying myself in his smell.

I’d woken to warm hands lifting me out of the blankets. Gripping his shirt, I’d whispered sleepily to him as he carried me back to my rooms. His voice was soft as he’d replied with a gentle, “you’re fine. I’ve got you.” I had to enter my room alone though, just to avoid the cameras seeing him.

Now standing in the training room a week later, I still can’t shake the blanket of cold that envelopes me. Dread pools in my stomach the closer we get to the Ball and the closer I get to those names Maven will deliver. Everything is working perfectly, I have no reason to worry. And yet, a part of me quivers with nerves. Maven is as charming as ever, but something bubbles behind his eyes. Maybe it’s because I know what to look for now and I see it. But I had been just as untrustworthy the first time around. I would have seen it then too.

Standing off to the side with my arms crossed I watch the young Silvers prepare for a session of tearing each other apart. Inhaling slowly, I take in the scent of the freshly washed matts and the summer breeze from the open windows. It’s been sweltering for the past few days, and sure enough a bead of sweat rolls down between my shoulder blades, tracing the track of my spine.

On the other side of the training room, Cal catches my eye. He quirks a brow before pushing off the wall he’s leaning against. Strolling across the room, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his training jacket. When we’re standing side by side he rolls his shoulders a few times and says, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there a few nights ago.”

“You were off being a crown prince.” I say and wave my hand for emphasis, “doing crown prince things.” My lips quirk up a little bit at the edges when his frown deepens. I haven’t teased him much since we got stuck here, I forgot how much fun it is.

“I won’t lie; I did think someone put a dead body in my bed.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” I tease him, hiding my smile behind my hand. On the other side of the room, Evangeline holds court around the targets. She hasn’t made any moves like she did in the breakfast room weeks ago, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have something planned. If I recall, today is dueling day, and this was when she decided to take a piece out of my face.

“Hard for him not be, he’s so very good at it.” Maven’s voice cuts the air between us like a knife. I spin to face him quickly, throwing up a smile to hide the fear that rushes through me. He tilts his head to the side and smiles as well. “What is he being dramatic about now?”

Cal clears his throat, and hides his discomfort with a laugh. Setting his hand on Maven’s shoulder and squeezing he says lightly, “something to do with Shadow Legion. It’s been… difficult.”

If Maven is fooled by our game, I cannot tell. A part of me sends a silent prayer that he didn’t hear anything. But a smarter part of me chastises myself for even falling prey to my fears and searching out Cal. Have I doomed us with my little slip up?

“So I’ve heard, has Rhambos been giving you trouble again?” Maven grins at Cal in the way only brother’s sharing a private joke can.

“You have no idea.” Cal’s relief is near invisible, and I have to force my own to be that way as Maven comes to stand next to me. His eyes dart to me and he gives me a small, tentative smile. I return it, wondering exactly what is going through his mind. What I wouldn’t give to be a Whisper just so I can know if we are in the clear.

He turns his eyes forward as Arven calls Tirana forward to duel. His name comes next, and as he leaves my side, the little bubble of heat I didn’t notice him exuding leaves with him. His shoulders are tense as he steps into the makeshift arena to face the nymph. Next to me, Cal’s hands clench into fists.

When he comes sulking out, dripping water all over the floor, his eyes are burning. They dart to me and soften for a heartbeat before hardening once more. Mercifully, Cal keeps his mouth shut and turns to watch the next match when Maven steps in between us. The air crackles with heat, and a few of the other Silvers take a step back, making it appear as if they are simply interested in something else.

“Nothing to say?” Maven murmurs when Cal continues to sit in silence. My eyes dart to them, and my hand slowly closes in a fist at my side.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“You always have something to say, forgive me if it’s a surprise when you don’t.” Maven turns those eyes on Cal, and I imagine his stare could turn Cal into a puddle of human parts if he weren’t a burner as well. He’s instigating, something I never saw him do. Or maybe it’s happened before and I never got the chance to see it. Cal makes no move to show me panic, so maybe Maven being this bitter has occurred sometime in the past before I met them. Maybe nothing is wrong and he’s picking a fight because he’s upset about the embarrassment of his loss.

Straightening his shoulders, Cal turns a neutral look onto Maven, sweeping him over with his eyes. “You could have beat her if you had given her a bit more space. You were stronger than her the whole fight.” Cal assures, his eyes dancing to me for a moment. We both know that isn’t what he said last time. But this didn’t occur last time, and without a script Cal struggles.

Maven’s entire body tenses, even as his expression cools. It’s such an odd contradiction that I’m not quite sure what will happen next. Reaching out, I close my hand around his wrist and squeeze. He’s cold as ice, and I shiver involuntarily as my skin makes contact with his. I don’t know why I expected heat.

His flips around to look at my hand, his lips pursed in a tight line. I swallow my grimace and offer him a gentle, knowing smile.

“There will be more fights. More important fights.” I raise my brow, hoping he takes my hint. The anticipation of his reaction practically drives me to dig my nails into his skin. I’m surprised he doesn’t flip around and demand to challenge Cal right here, right now. It would be a short fight, but it would be no less damning.

His shoulders soften though, and his stance shifts to one of embarrassment. “Of course.” He murmurs, his other hand coming to rest on mine. “There always are.”

Hiding my relief behind a smile, I try to pull my hand away. I can’t believe I thought he would actually go to blows with Cal. He’s smarter than that, and better at playing the long game than I give him credit for in the moment.

Before I can pull my hand away completely, he grips it tighter and stares me down, daring me to pull away. He puts up the mask then, the one that I loved dearly and searched for during my months with him in Archeon.

“Even if some battles are already lost.” He whispers as he leans close to me so his words are only for me.

He’s a desperate boy now. I can hear the ache in his voice. What does he know? What does his mother know? Nothing, I’m certain they know nothing. Elara didn’t get anything from me, and she hasn’t gotten anything from Cal. We’ve been careful enough, we’re never together in a way that anyone could question. We haven’t even gone into that moonlit room yet. I haven’t put a knife in Maven’s back yet. Maybe he was more jealous of my escapade to the Stilts than I initially noticed. That’s the only thing he has to work with, and maybe the fact that Cal and I were obviously teasing each other before training just now. He’d never been so outwardly jealous of Cal though. His jealousy was always a quietly simmering pot that never overflowed. He was so much more dangerous because of that.

Pulling away from me when I stay silent, he gives me a rueful smile and turns to face the arena where Elane and Sonya are tearing each other to pieces. I can’t focus though; my mind turns into a tail spin of panic. Have we slipped up? Did I damn us a few nights ago? Are we even off track? What if we are? What has changed?

I am so lost in my own thoughts I almost miss Evangeline demanding our fight. Lifting my eyes to her, I take in her gloating smile. She senses my panic, but has no inclination of the source.

Maven jumps to my defense like a cat would to a mouse. Evangeline doesn’t back down though. I should be grateful for this, at least something is back on track. It’s been a while since I’ve been glad for Evangeline Samos, and even though she is not my friend now, she is the closest thing I’ve seen since training started.

(/////)

Sitting in the darkness of my room that night, I watch the moonlight as it passes over the floor. Are the Sentinels watching me on their screens, wondering if I’ve lost my mind? I doubt it. Unless Elara had told them to keep a closer eye on me. I wouldn’t be surprised, when she’d corned me and Maven in the hallway I had felt her creeping in my mind, searching in the mirrored halls I’d barely had enough time to drag up to protect my memories.

Sighing, I let my head fall into my hands as I breathe. Focusing on the hum of the cameras, I follow the source of the electricity along the wires. The purr of the current fills my senses and drowns me. For a moment, I let myself just exist in the peaceful darkness behind my eyelids. Things will only get harder from here. I regret not tuning for Montfort more than anything now.

A gentle knock on the door drags me out of my meditation. Raising my eyes to the door, I wrap my robe tighter around me as I stand. My steps are near silent as I creep across the room and crack open the door.

Leaning against the frame of the doorway, Cal looks more exhausted than I’ve ever seen him. With a shadow creeping along his jaw, he looks more like he did in Montfort. He was on the verge of doom and greatness here, and there too. He wears the years he’s already lived tonight in the bags under his eyes and the weariness of his shoulders.

When he spots the sliver of my face behind the door, he gives me a tentative smile. “Up for a dance?” He asks quietly as I open the door a little wider.

Nodding, I let him pull me out of my room and toward a moonlit room where I can at least pretend for a little while that I’m safe even if I’m the furthest from safe that I’ve ever been.

(////)

In the hours leading up to the ball, while I am being painted and primed, the names Maven gave as targets ring through my head. When he had visited me late in the dark to tell me them, I had expected him to give me different names. I’d whisper to Cal that I thought I had messed up, and given us away. He’d tried to assure me that everything would alright. And when we kiss this time, there was a desperation to it. Like Maven, he is terrified to lose me, and he poured that fear into the kiss he gave me.

Reynold Iral, Ptolemus Samos, Ellyn Macanthos. Belicos Leorlan. Those names chase me and haunt my waking hours. The prospect of them being wrong, and Maven adding more names, or different ones, haunts me even more.

Belicos with his two young children who will die tonight too, Ptolemus Samos who will live to someday kill my brother but father a beautiful daughter with Wren, Colonel Macanthos with her sly eye that can see right through Elara’s schemes, and Reynold, a man I’m pretty sure is lost somewhere anyway dance behind my eyelids and in the corner of my eyes. I don’t think I will ever be rid of my ghosts.

I couldn’t breathe when I stood before Mareena and saw her in the mirror. She was lovely and wicked in the light of my room, and I’m sure she’ll look the same way at the ball tonight. The dress is the same riotous mess of gemstones and purple fabric that I hate even more this time around, especially when I have to stand next to Maven and observe him in his beautiful charcoal suit. He is beautiful in it, as beautiful as I remember. It makes my stomach twist every time I look at him.

The pleasantries leave me just as breathless, and I can feel Evangeline’s eyes on me as she glares down the line at the people who are to come. It’s almost a relief when Maven pulls me out onto the balcony, just so that I can inhale fresh air. As we go, I feel the brush of Cal’s hand as he reaches back to catch my skirt. My eyes dart to him in warning, but he’s already hiding the movement behind setting his hand on Evangeline’s back and smiling at Belicos as he steps forward to greet them.

Even as Maven pulls me onto the balcony, my heart is pounding. Seeing Belicos a second time does nothing to ease the ache in my heart. His children, I remember their bodies laid out next to his like they were nothing. Was Maven’s emotion in the moment a scam? Had he felt anything seeing their little bodies. I don’t know what’s real and the closer we get to the moment, the more my fear increases. .

“You’re giving them a father.” I whisper, the words like poison on my tongue. He’d give anything to topple the Guard, and he did give everything. Even if I hadn’t been enough to completely crush us. At the same time though, he wasn’t the one to truly give those names. Elara told him who to pick and he acted like a good little mouth piece. He could have chosen not to give that name though. In the moment he could have chosen to spare a father and his children. He’d made that choice. I know he’s braver than he claims, especially where Elara is concerned. Farley was right to call him a coward.

He lets go of me but doesn’t step away when I speak. He stays close instead, his hands just ghosting over my skin. He looks like a marble statue in the moonlight, his lips drawn in a tight line. Achingly beautiful, a boy on the cusp of manhood and his own demise, an angel teetering over the edge of the abyss.

He backs me into the wall, his eyes like chips of ice in the pale plane of his face. Slowly he places his hands on either side of my head, trapping me so that I have to listen to him.

“Reynald is a father, too. The Colonel has children of her own. Ptolemus is now engaged to the Haven girl. They all have people; they all have someone who will mourn them.” The words are forced and cold. A part of him believes those words but the larger part of him, the one Elara has groomed to be king someday knows it must be done. “We can’t pick and choose how to help the cause, Mare. We must do what we can, whatever the cost.”

My skin feels like it’s alive. I might electrocute him right here, right now, until he backs away from me. I have half a mind to press my hand to his chest and shove him over the balcony. It would take one push, and I know all the weak points to knock someone of balance now. It would be so easy. I could claim it was the Scarlet Guard, that they appeared on the balcony and pushed him.

His breath is warm on my face as he whispers, “I want this to be done with the least blood shed possible.”

His hand trembles as he brings it up to brush his fingertips along my cheek, a ghost of a touch, like he can’t bear to let his skin connect with mine. “Tonight will change everything.”

My heart pounds harder against my ribs as he pulls back enough to give me space. His eyes dance away from me and back to the line of dwindling nobles. The pleasantries are over, it’s time. Even if I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready though.

The shadows break again and I recognize Cal’s familiar outline as he steps onto the balcony. “You two all right out here?” His expression is hesitant, probably worried that he’s interrupted a moment that I am supposed to be getting information. His eyes linger on me, his expression softening. These next moments will be the hardest. “You ready for this, Mare?”

Maven jumps on my silence. “She’s ready.”

Taking my arm in his, he pulls me along. He was never this aggressive with me. At least, not that I remember. Maybe I had been so blinded by my emotions of the night that I hadn’t realized how he was acting. He’s agitated though, and monsters are dangerous like that.

Still, Cal’s fingers brush against my wrist, his touch somehow colder than Maven’s. I wish he actually took my hand and held it. When I look over my shoulder at him, his expression is stormy. He’d never been so outwardly nervous about Maven. At least he’s not afraid. We know what comes tonight. I told him what to expect, and he knows what he has to do. I wonder if he will be able to put Farley through the pain of the Gilican shiver’s torture now. I have to rely on him to do just that though.

Evangeline appears at his side, her jewel encrusted fingers enclosing his arm. She squeezes tightly when she sees my eyes lingering on him.

Oh Evangeline. I wish I could help her now. She has her own battle to fight though.

Maven’s lips almost brush my ear as he whispers to me, “This is the hard part.”

Even with all the eyes on me, I don’t blush. He pulls me into the frame but his skin is warmer than I remember. And as we start the dance, his eyes never leave my face. What is he looking for there?

As we move in the box formation, he raises a brow and his lips curl into a smile. “You’ve been practicing.”

“A bit, didn’t want to step on your toes.” I reply with my own smile. I put as much true joy as I can behind it.

His eyes flash for a moment and he leans a little closer to whisper, “You’re just full of surprises.” He chuckles, and the grin he gives me as he pulls back makes my stomach flutter. There is the boy that had captured my trust and my heart. I turn away at the sight of it, my stomach dropping.

I spot Cal spin Evangeline, who looks more like a glittering ball of spikes than a human. I’m surprised she doesn’t slice Cal’s hands open when he rests them on the back of the dress. I miss her more casual regalia that she wears in Montfort. I never saw her casual outfits that she wore here, but I imagine she carried that style into Ascendant.

Sensing my gaze, Cal’s eyes meet mine. His fingers close around Evangeline’s waist, and a million memories of him doing the same thing with me come back. I can almost feel his hand sliding around my waist in the tiny living room of our apartment as he hums the song playing on the radio. I can remember laying my head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat and the sound of his humming reverberating in his chest. He can’t carry a tune to save his life, but it is still wonderful.

We spin through two songs until I feel dizzy with anticipation. Just when I think Maven will pull me to the side though, he leans close to me. I almost pull away, but instead force myself to stay close and turn my head slightly to give him a shy smile. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them though.

“I told you that everything changes tonight.” He breathes against my ear. I nod, confused where this is going. “And I do have to admit that I’ve… kept something from you.”

What? What is he getting at? I pull away, panic flaring through me as I search that face for the truth. He’s too good at hiding it though. I grip his hand tightly, prepared to push as much electricity through his body as I can muster.

His hand burns in my grip instead. My lips curl in pain, but he ignores it and spins me so that my back is to the crowd around us. Forcing me to step into the next dance, he tilts his head forward again to whisper. “I did give Farley four names. But I lied to you about one of them.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice is cold, dangerous too. He senses it, pulling back a fraction. We stop dancing, and his hands drop to his sides. My heart beats so erratically, I worry it might beat right out of my chest.

He tilts his head to the side, his lips falling. “Ptolemus is a good target. Removing him would send the officers into chaos. But there was… a better target, one that would cause more chaos.”

“Who did you give?”

Who did your mother give? I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake it out of him. His lips curl up slowly, a remorseful smile if I ever saw one from him. My blood goes cold at the sight of it.

“Farley agreed with me that you were getting too close, that your attention was becoming divided. She also agreed that if there was ever a time to cut the head off the snake it was now.” He takes my hand and squeezes my fingers. “I’ll step up in his place. My father will never recover from the loss, so Farley can do what she pleases. It is a win for all of us.”

Realization burns through my stomach, followed immediately by frozen panic. “What have you done?” I wheeze as I flip around, searching the crowd, desperately trying to find Cal’s silhouette. In the mass of bodies, I can’t find him and my fingers twitch at my sides as I glance up in the rafters. The Sentinels pace, searching the crowd but they are looking in the wrong places. Above them, shadows move too. The Guard is already in position, ready to carry our Farley’s plot.

“I know that you two have become…friends.” Maven begins, taking my hand and pulling me back around so that I face him. I try to turn my head and search the crowd still, but he grabs my chin and drags my eyes back to his face. “That’s why I asked Farley to take the shot. She’ll give him a quick end. One bullet and a dynasty will end.”

One bullet that won’t miss. One bullet that will tear my future away from me. One bullet that will break me, because Farley never, ever misses.

My blood boils and sparks dance on my fingertips as I glare at him. Cold calm washes over me as the rush of adrenaline leaves. I am in battle mode now; survival is all I can think about when I stare down the man before me.

“Farley removed you from the mission. That’s why I didn’t tell you I gave her his name. She thought you might compromise us.”

We were wrong. I gave something away. Elara never would have dared to target Cal. She needs him to get rid of his father, she needs a scapegoat. But if she looked in my head or his and saw the future, she would have seen that he is more trouble than he’s worth. She would have found out that cutting him from the equation might someday save her and Maven.

If I turn and run after him, I will confirm whatever they believe about us, whatever they have found. But if I sit here, I will lose everything. I can’t go after him; I can’t save him or else I risk Farley and compromising this whole mission.

I am a selfish creature though. I always have been, and I always will be.

Ripping my hand from Maven’s grip I flip around to push my way through the crowd. I have time, there’s still time. I am racing against a clock I can’t see though. It’s like push through mud as I shove my way through the crowd. People gasp and glare at me, but I have eyes only for one person and I can’t find him.

My eyes start to water, and my breathing comes in ragged gasps.

Farley doesn’t miss. And she will make sure she doesn’t miss this time.

Memories of him lying on the sand of Harbor Bay, grey and lifeless threaten to overtake me. I shove them down. He won’t be made into a symbol tonight. I still have time.

There.

He stands with his back to me, speaking quietly with some military personnel or another. I shove through the last of the crowd, my hand extended for him. Elara’s eyes are on me, I can feel them, but I don’t care. I don’t care about keeping things on track. Jon can damn himself to the hells. I won’t lose him.

“Cal!” I scream his name, making him turn. His brows furrow, his expression confused by my panic and fear. I’m five steps away. Then four, hand outstretched as he takes a tiny movement forward as if he might meet me halfway. He never gets the chance.

The lights drop and four guns fire at the same time.

I scream so loud that my own ears ring. The lights around us flare to life on their own by the sheer force of my ability. My vision tunnels, even as someone slams into me from the side, screaming in panic as the lights directly above me explode in a shower of sparks.

I shove them away from me and sprint to his downed form. The man he’d been speaking to is gone, probably lost in the panic. People are screaming, shouting and pointing to the roof.

I slide the last foot between us on my knees and come to his side. Blood, there’s so much blood. I choke on a sob as I try to find the source of it. His eyes are open though, and his mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish.

Relief like nothing I’ve ever felt rushes through me, and I choke on his name as I feverishly try to find the source of the blood. It’s staining his uniform and pooling around his shoulder. His hands press to his chest, and I immediately press my hands on top of his. Sticky, burning blood pours through my fingers though.

“Mare.” His voice is ragged as he gasps my name, and I tear my eyes from the wound long enough to meet his eye. His going grey, the black undertones starting to appear under his eyes.

“No, stop trying to talk. You have to keep breathing.” I cry as I press the heels of my palms harder into the wound. More blood pours out and I feel like I’m fighting an uphill battle when I reach down and rip some of my dress off to press it to the wound. “Healer! Someone get a healer!” I scream to the panicked crowd. They’re like spooked animals though. No one notices their crown prince on his back bleeding out.

His hand closes weakly around my wrist and squeezes, trying to get my attention. His eyes are wide, but his expression is anything but fearful. “Don’t—” he begins, but ends up coughing on blood instead.

“No, no, no.” I sob as I push harder and glare at him. “No last words Calore. Not tonight. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to sit and drink coffee and talk with Julian again, and see Clara and my family again. And—and we’re going to see our baby, we’re going to hold him and watch him grow and become a better person than either of us. It’s going to be fine. Everything will be fine!”

His grip weakens on my wrist even as he smiles. My throat closes and I drop my chin to my chest. It’s a pretty picture I paint, but it fades with every slow beat of his heart. “Help!” I scream uselessly one more time, hoping someone will hear, that someone will come to my aid.

The crowd parts for a moment, and Sara who whipped around at the sound of my scream finds me. She barrels her way to us, and drops to her knees on Cal’s other side.

“Help him, save him.” I sob at her.

Her lips twist at the sight of all the blood, but she immediately pushes my hands away from the wound and replaces my hands with hers. Cal’s head falls back and his eyes close the minute she does. I leap for him, grabbing his face and trying to get him to open his eyes again. His neck falls slack in my grip through and I end up almost shaking him.

“Open your eyes, open your fucking eyes.” I scream at him, tears pouring like rivers down my cheeks. Hands grab me and try to pull me away, but I thrash against them and scream. When I’m flipped around, I meet Julian’s tortured expression.

He pulls me to him, keeping me out of Sara’s way as she works. His eyes never leave his nephew’s face. I wonder if he is seeing his sister in his grey features. Cal looks like a corpse, and my entire body feels like a live wire set to explode at any second.

“Don’t let him die. Please, don’t let him die.” I beg Sara, reaching a hand out to grab Cal’s hand. It’s cold in my grip and I almost vomit when my stomach clenches.

Her eyes dance up to me, and I see the resolve there. Is he lost? I don’t know if I will be able to bear that burden, if I will be able to survive this crushing blow.

She pulls her blood stained hands away and I dive out of Julian’s arms to grab at Cal. For a moment, I think he’s truly gone and a pained sob leaves my chest, sounding more like a scream than a moment of weakness. Underneath my hands though, his chest hitches with a breath, and then begins to rise and fall slowly.

The ballroom is practically empty around us. The royals have fled, the Sentinels have gone after Farley and the others. All that is left is us and the corpses. But there is one less among them.

“Cal,” I whisper to him as I brush his hair off his forehead. His eyes open for a moment only to close in a grimace.

“I wasn’t one of the targets.” He breathes, and I slowly let my forehead fall to rest on his chest. He wasn’t, but he survived. Turning to answer my call had saved his life. He’d changed his positioning, too fast for Farlet to correct her shot before the lights went out. She’d shot blindly, and almost succeeded in killing him.

“This sounds like a conversation for more… private chambers.” Julian’s voice is a dangerous rumble. I glance at him over my shoulder, belatedly realizing that he saw me sob over a prince that is not mine. He heard Cal mention targets, and judging by the fury behind his eyes, he is rapidly putting two and two together.

“Julian,” I reach for him, but he pushes to stand and then steps up to Cal’s other side.

“Sara will finish her work in my rooms. You two will come with us.” He bends down to grab one of Cal’s arms and help him sit up. I almost try to stop him, but he glares down at me. “Help me get him up and moving. We will have to move quickly.”

I crawl over Cal and grab his other arm before helping him to his feet. He stumbles, barely able to take his own weight. I grunt underneath him, and press into his side. Already I can feel the heat returning to his skin, and it sends such a thrum of relief through me that I have to swallow more tears.

(////)

Julian’s rooms are dark and after he helps me deposit Cal on one of the couches, he works quickly to shut all the curtains and lock the doors. I search for the cameras, but there are none for me to turn off.

He lights a few candles and brings them to the side table to light Sara’s work space. She shoes me away and takes my place at Cal’s side before tearing his ceremonial suit off. While she healed the artery that was severed, there is still a bullet in his chest. I can just catch one of the edges reflecting in the dim light.

Sara holds out an expectant hand and not even a heartbeat later, Julian sets a small cloth wrapped set of tools in her hands. She sets them in her lap and goes to work as I edge around the back of the couch and take one of Cal’s hands in my own. His pulse is getting stronger with every passing second, and his grip increases as Sara digs the first tool in to get the bullet out.

“Both of you, talk.” Julian’s fury is like nothing I’ve seen before. Even when I came to him for help in freeing Farley and Kilorn, he had still been soft, quiet. This fury is the fury of a man that has seen horrible dark places and is terrified to be forced back into them.

I glance at Cal who grimaces and grinds his teeth together when Sara starts to tug on the bullet. He won’t be able to make this decision right now.

“You wouldn’t believe us.” I say quietly before looking up at Julian and begging him to understand my hesitation.

“Try me.” He grinds out past his clenched jaw.

My stomach turns and Cal squeezes my hand. I glance down at him, and he nods slowly. We have been compromised. It’s time.

“You have to… listen the whole time. Don’t waste time with questions.” I urge, and in the low light, Julian’s nod creates dark shadows across his features. He looks older than I’ve ever seen him. Bowing my head, I inhale slowly and then launching into the story, starting with the most dangerous truth.

It takes more time than I want for Sara to finish with Cal, and for me to finish the story. As he gets stronger, Cal interjects, adding bits and pieces that I forget. Julian keeps true to his word and stays quiet, but his expression pulls into a deeper and deeper frown as we go.

“How could you not trust me with this. If you know what I am to be to you, why would you not seek out my help immediately?” He pushes to his feet and begins pacing the space before us. Sara watches him, her eyes solemn.

“We—I didn’t want to put you in danger.” Cal whispers, pushing to a sitting position. I try to push him back down, but he fights me off.

“I end up in danger anyway.” Julian turns his gaze on Cal, but it’s softened considerably. I relax as he steps forward to look both of us over. “You’re certain Elara knows the truth?”

“Cal wasn’t a target. But Maven made him one tonight and pushed me off the mission. He knew about me and Cal and if he knows about that, then he knows about everything else.” I whisper, and take the rag Sara had brought a few minutes ago. Wiping some of the blood of Cal’s chest, I shake my head. “I gave us away completely tonight by saving you.”

Cal closes a hand over mine and squeezes softly.

“You must have given yourselves away some time before that.” Julian stops his pacing to set his fists on his hips. Glaring at the carpet like it is the sole reason for his worry, he says, “and now you are once again at the mercy of Elara’s mechanisms.”

“Not exactly.” Cal argues, sitting up completely and starting to shrug his uniform jacket on. Julian raises a brow at his words, but waits until Cal gives up with the buttons to let him speak.

“We know what her ultimate end game is, and there is more than one way to get to the point we want.” Cal glances at me warily. “You and Maven are supposed to meet with Farley when we get to Archeon. You are going to have to warn her, and tell her the truth. All of it.”

I jump to my feet, shock coursing through me. “Have you lost your mind? Julian would understand, but Farley?”

“Farley will understand if you tell her the truth and give her proof.” Cal urges.

Sara and Julian watch our responses bounce back and forth like spectators at some sports match. It’s my turn to pace though, so I start wearing a trench into the floor, grabbing fistfuls of my gown as I do so. “Even if I did manage to get her to believe me, what are we going to do?”

“Elara doesn’t know that I know right?” He reasons with a tilt of his head. I pause my pacing to glance at him. He finishes buttoning up his jacket and nods at whatever plan is forming in his head. “She may think you are the only person that knows the future. That only you are here.”

“What are you talking about? If she’s seen my memories—”

“Then she’s only seen the ones formed before.” Julian jumps on the plan. His eyes dart between the two of us. “You would know if she was in your head Cal. And you are certain she has not looked. She has only seen your memories Mare. As far as she is concerned you are the only person with knowledge of the future.”

“Then why get rid of Cal tonight?” I wave a hand at him for emphasis. My fingers are still shaking, and my body still feels numb from the near death scare.

“You said so yourself. He plays a role in toppling her and Maven. Remove the tumor before it becomes cancer.” Julian offers with a shrug. Setting his hand on my shoulder, he gives me a tired smile. “You may still have a card up your sleeve. Go to… Farley, and get her to believe your story. Make a new plan, one that will put you back on track.”

How am I going to do that? How will I keep Maven in the dark? I’m smart, but he’s always been so much smarter than me, and with the knowledge Elara now has, the game has just become that much harder.

Cal rises on shaky legs, his expression cold. “Speaking of Farley, she might be done in the cells now.”

My blood goes cold and I blink stupidly. “But you didn’t catch her this time. She got away.”

“I didn’t catch her the first time. The Sentinels had already apprehended her by the time I caught up to them.” He nods to Sara and with a slow dip of his head whispers, “thank you, for saving my life.”

She smiles at him, a tiny weak expression but it lights up her face. She takes Julian’s hand and rises from her chair.

It feels good to have the two of them on our side now, playing the game with us. Maybe with them, we can actually win this time around.

#The Chain #my writing #red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #my fanfics #thank you so much to everyone who stuck around and waited #here it finally is #she's thic and important and she knows it #(((:#I know it moves fast at the end but it's time to pick up the pace with this fic #I've been dragging it out too long.#marecal #the eternal ship #and now they get to be badasses together #it's great

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theneverfinishedstory · 3 years

Text

6. Six-Shooter

(Whoops I am several days behind in yeehugust )

Mirage collapsed in a heap. Gasping in for air, she tried to keep from dry-heaving or worse, actually throwing up the corn mush she ate for breakfast. Breakfast that was only maybe three hours ago when the sun hadn’t even gotten up. Shakily holding herself up on her elbows, she heard the patient footsteps of one of her mentors behind her. Her leg shot out just as the person came close.

“Gods damn it,” Ransom swore. He barely caught himself from falling into the dirt next to her. Mirage rolled her head back to look at him, grinning.

Even though the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, Ransom wore his beaten cowboy hat. His white hair was shaved close on the sides with the longer unruly pieces stuck out under the hat across his forehead. Even with the shade from the brim, Mirage saw white eyes looking down at her. Like other members in their branch of the Shifting Sands caravan, he wore a marigold colored bandana around his neck. On it was the broken hourglass symbol. Tiny grains of sand spilled from the shatter and pooled around the glass. Ransom’s shirt underneath was buttoned up to the top, his sleeves were unrolled and firmly buttoned at the wrist, and his pants went down to the heels of his boots. Being a drow in the desert sun was a life of avoiding it. Mirage hadn’t heard him complain about it yet though.

“I came down here to tell you your form is all wrong. You aren’t nearly as quiet as you think you are and I think I could outrun you even if you had a head start,” Ransom said, his drawl quiet in the early morning.

Mirage dropped to the ground and rolled on her back. She scrunched her nose up, angry at the dark blue early morning clouds for no particular reason.

“Well, whaddya expect? I had to do a buncha push ups and then a buncha pullups and then run down that stupid hill and jump around on boulders” she huffed. “And I know I’m doing better than last week. I heard you almost say it yesterday!”

“When?”

“When you thought I was asleep and you were talkin’ to Arabella.”

Ransom made a noise of disapproval. He offered a hand to her anyway. Mirage counted to three before grabbing it and pushing off the ground. Even though the ends of her hair tended to drift up and away like smoke, sweat on the other hand, glistened on her forehead. She used the back of her arm to wipe some off.

She smirked, “So that makes me think I’m doing better then you’re tellin’ me. You’re just mad I tripped ya.”

Ransom walked off, Mirage trailing behind him. The last week or so had been a blur for Mirage. She hadn’t been the only person the Caravan chose to train. A few others had been picked up across the desert and each Caravan branch leader got one to train. Mirage had been chosen by Arabella McClain, an impressive tiefling woman. Ransom Jericho was her second and in charge of running Mirage ragged. Every day there were countless exercises building stamina, strength, and flexibility. While Mirage had never been very out of shape she had never been this in shape either. She was seeing changes to her body and even felt like there were a few in her mind too. Everything seemed a bit sharper and her reflexes felt more natural then they ever. What she really wanted was the thing Arabella and Ransom kept calling ki. With that, the possibilities were endless.

Skipping behind Ransom, Mirage leaned a little closer, asking, “Since I’m gettin’ better, are ya gonna show me the cool gun trick?”

Ransom snorted. “What cool gun trick? We don’t use guns, Mirage. Rule number seven.”

“C’mon, Ace was telling me all about it. The six-shooter test!” Mirage said.

Ransom stopped in his tracks. He turned his head towards Mirage. “He did, did he?”

“Yep.”

“Did he tell you what that was?”

“No,” Mirage said. Seeing the hard stare Ransom was giving, she took half a step back. “But he said you think I might be ready.”

“Did he?”

Mirage felt unease burn inside of her. Before she responded, Ransom started off in the direction of camp. Mirage had to run to keep to pace. At the camp, breakfast for the full fledged members had just started. Most of them had a tin plate with some reheated corn mush on it. A human man had a spoonful halfway to his mouth when Ransom hoisted the man out of his seat. The corn mush plate fell in the dust.

“Ransom, what in the Nine Hells-” he started.

Ignoring the outburst, Ransom called over his shoulder, “Arabella, I’m gonna need that gun.”

Scrapes of spoons on tin stopped. Grumbled conversations halted. Arabella, holding a cup of hot coffee in her hands, raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“Six-shooter test.”

Arabella lowered her coffee mug. “Oh?”

“And Ace here is gonna lead it.”

“I am?” he repeated.

Ransom let go of Ace’s shirt and went over to Arabella. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a bundle of rags. Inside the bundle, was a small silver key. Ransom took it and went over to Arabella’s pack. After taking a few bundles, he got to a small case. The key went in easily like it was a lock that wasn’t used very often. Inside was a simple six-shooter gun. He loaded it as he stood back up. Looking at Ace, Ransom motioned with it to an open space between clusters of sage bushes.

“Mirage, you too.” Ransom ordered.

At that, Arabella stood, yet she made no move to stop her second. Ace looked at her, eyes shining with hope. When Ace didn’t move, she said, “You heard him.”

The uneasy feeling in Mirage’s stomach was growing to be the size of a boulder. Her mouth always got her in trouble. Typically, she could get out of it. But this seemed like she was stuck in a dust devil with no way out. She walked over to the empty space, Ace, Ransom, and Arabella following. The other members remained seated but their eyes were glued to the scene unfolding.

“Mirage, go on down there. Maybe about thirty paces or so,” Ransom said.

She did as he commanded, but didn’t turn her back, instead walking backwards, too scared to take her eyes off of him.

“Ace, since you said I thought Mirage was ready for the six-shooter, I guess I’ll have to agree with you,” Ransom said

He clicked the safety off and handed the gun over to Ace, who had only gotten paler with each second.

“Since you’ve been training with her day after day after all,” Ransom said as Ace took the gun.

“Now Mirage,” Ransom called over “What you have to do is dodge and deflect the six bullets Ace’s gonna shoot at you. Now this is pretty close range so you’ll have to be quick on your feet. And, of course, if you mess up, a real bullet’s gonna be in your chest. Keep that in mind.”

He clapped Ace on the shoulder. “Ready when you are, Ace.”

Mirage tensed and fought to control her heart rate. The way Ace had talked last night, he made it sound like it was a gun trick, not a gun test. This was not something she felt remotely ready for. Barely evening her breath out, Mirage widened her stance and raised her fists, trying to focus on the gun in Ace’s hand. But the seconds dragged on. Ace raised then dropped the gun a few times before fully aiming it at Mirage. Now the seconds turned into a full minute. Nothing happened. The gun remained pointed at Mirage, Ace’s finger twitching at the trigger. Arabella, her lips pursed the entire time, put her hand on Ransom’s shoulder. With that, Ransom grabbed the gun away from Ace and in a quick follow-up, punched him straight on the jaw. Ace stumbled to the side, almost falling over.

Grabbing at his jaw, Ace choked out, “Ransom, it was a joke is all! Stupid joke! I just wanted to ruffle her feathers a bit!”

“Don’t you dare lie to someone using my name,” Ransom growled.

“ ‘M sorry, Ransom. Won’t happen again.” Ace said. He rubbed his jaw more as he straightened up. “Just thought-”

“That pretending I thought she was ready for something and fillin’ her head with big ideas would be funny? Or have you forgotten that this training is the most important thing we got going for us out here. And if we don’t train our recruits right they end up dead? Or have you forgotten that?” Ransom looked like he was ready to swing again.

Arabella whistled a short high pitch whistle. “Alright Jericho. Bring it in.”

Ransom clenched his fist but eventually stepped back next to Arabella. Arabella took the gun from him and started to unload it. Each bullet made a clink in her pocket.

“Ace, take a walk to the stream and dunk your head in. Maybe the chill will clear your head of any more stupidity with our recruit,” Arabella said. “Ransom, go in the opposite direction and beat something up. Neither of you come back till you’re sane again.”

Ace nodded, turning on his heel and headed for the stream half a mile away. Ransom said something in hushed Undercommon before walking back towards the camp. He didn’t stop there, instead he walked past back towards the training grounds. Mirage stood at the other end of the impromptu shooting range slowly lowering her fists.

Arabella walked over to her. Once close enough, she asked, “You okay, Eolian?”

“ ‘Bout shit my pants, but now that’s done with,” Mirage let out. She looked towards Ransom’s retreating back. “Did I mess up? I didn’t know it was such a big deal, honest. I woulda never brought it up! I thought it was some sorta cool move or something!”

“You didn’t mess up. Ace’s stupid,” Arabella said. “Six-shooter is an old Caravan test that I’m not fond of and don’t really like using. Neither does Ransom. And Ace should know better than saying Ransom recommended it.”

“Did something happen?”

Arabella looked down. “I won’t give you the details. That’s Ransom’s story. But someone close to him didn’t make it through the six-shooter years ago. Since then, he’s pushed against its use. But Caravan hasn’t banned it yet, so it’s still in rotation.”

Mirage glanced at the empty pistol. “So I’ll have to do that?”

Arabella moved the gun out of sight. “Not until Ransom thinks you’re ready.”

“When will that be?”

“Never, maybe.”

#yeehawgust2021 #yeehawgust #six-shooter #ttrpg stuff #dungeons and dragons #original story #fantasy writing #dnd story #smoke genasi #dnd monk #dnd character #short story #wild west dnd #cowboy stories #dnd 5e #late post #trying to play catchup #dnd drow #dnd tiefling

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koiotic · 4 years

Text

AU where Zuko has 30% less impulse control and 1% better decision making

This fic idea has been bouncing around in my head for weeks, but I want to get more done on my other fics first. Anyway, here’s a snippet.

Zuko makes a different decision in the Crystal Catacombs-

•••

“I need you, Zuko. The only way we win is together.”

Azula smiled her sharp smile, but - was he seeing things, or did it look softer than usual? Was there something like desperation in the back of her gaze?

A cold, twisting feeling shot through him. He was seven again and running through the palace corridors, clutching her hand and helping her steal mochi from the kitchens; he was six and watching her bend her first flames in awe; he was five and hugging her tight as they hid in one of the empty rooms because dad was angry and they knew better than to cross his path.

“You are free to choose,” she said, suddenly cold and even all over again, like nothing had happened.

Uncle was saying something, but he couldn’t hear anything apart from the blood rushing through his veins. She said she needed him. It might be a lie, but she’d needed him before and he’d left her. Not by choice, but he’d left her. This time, he had the freedom to choose.

He made a decision, and prayed to the spirits it was the right one. Her words ricocheted around his head - honour, father’s love, everything you wanted. And that look on her face, the closest to vulnerable he’d seen since she was four and curled up under the bed with him because mother and father were yelling in the next room.

He was running without thinking, almost stumbling into the cavern behind her. The waterbender - Katara - looked up with something like hope shining in her eyes, the Avatar looking dubious but not instantly attacking. And that harsh glee was back on his little sister’s face, making her look so like father it stung. But she said she needed him. She needed him.

He sent a silent apology in his head to whatever spirits were listening, and struck.

Azula dropped like a stone.

~~~~~~

Katara didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. Azula hadn’t either, apparently, eyes going almost comically wide as Zuko moved, hitting her in the back with a precise strike. She crumpled, Zuko catching her moments before she hit the floor.

“Wh- what?” Her voice cracked, laced with pure surprise.

Zuko looked just as surprised as everyone else, which was not very reassuring. “Sorry-“

And then, more to himself, “fuck”.

“Did-“ Aang gaped, “did you just chi-block her?”

“Apparently,” Zuko said, still looking shocked.

“When did you learn to chi-block?” Aang asked, half impressed and half nervous.

“About fifteen seconds ago,” Zuko admitted, sounding a little strained.

“So- you- you just did that and hoped it worked?”

“That’s... basically how I do everything.”

Katara was starting to wonder if they had seriously overestimated Zuko’s threat level. A laugh bubbled up in her throat.

“That was the most anticlimactic fight I’ve ever been in.”

And then one of the walls exploded, sending dust and rubble flying. Katara pulled up the water into an ice wall, then dropped it when she recognised familiar shapes careening through the dust cloud.

“Sokka! Toph!”

“Katara! We have to stop Azula, she-“ he stopped short and blinked, “... is unconscious?”

“I’m not unconscious, peasant,” the princess snapped, “why don’t you come here and we’ll see what I can do?”

A tongue of blue flame leaped up past her lips.

“Wow. Okay, cool,” then- “wait, Zuko?”

“Uh, hi?”

“Can someone please tell me what’s happening?” Toph burst out, throwing her arms up, “because I came here ready to beat up some Dai Li and that’s not happening for some reason!”

“Oh, Zuko chi-blocked Azula,” Aang said brightly, previous awkwardness forgotten.

“Does this mean you’re good now?” Sokka asked dubiously, fixing Zuko with a hard look.

“I... I guess?”

“Awesome!” Aang cried, and Zuko frowned, “does that mean you-“

The walls started shaking again, rocks clattering to the ground. Katara’s stomach dropped as rows and rows of Dai Li approached.

“Now that’s more like it,” Toph muttered, a tiny smirk crossing her face, “fighting now, talking later.”

“The only ‘later’ you’ll get,” Azula intoned, the air around her crackling dangerously, “is in a cell before your executions.”

“Charming,” Sokka muttered, letting his boomerang fly at the first line of earthbenders.

Then the Dai Li struck, the room exploding into cracks and rumbles. Zuko threw up a wall of fire, driving back the agents rushing towards Azula. She jerked forward, clearly trying to get up and start throwing around some fire.

Azula writhed as much as she could, then started screaming insults and curses as she whipped her head about, dark hair flying around her face.

Katara pulled up more water from the streams running through the cave, moving into bending stances that felt as familiar as breathing. Beside her, she saw Aang clutch his staff and Toph slide into a solid stance, waiting to strike.

The Dai Li moved first, striking in perfect synchrony. Their rock gloves shot forward, almost whistling through the air. And fast - Katara barely had time to freeze a shield before it was shattered on impact. Some air blasts from Aang threw more off course, but she caught the flicker of worry before he shifted into earthbending posture next to Toph.

Fighting fire with fire, so to speak.

Zuko, fighting earth with fire, didn’t seem to be having much better luck driving them back, but he was certainly holding his own.

A look of fierce focus had appeared on Toph’s face, and between her own attacks and blocks, Katara saw her precise and almost deadly looking movements. She was certain that if the Dai Li hadn’t been earthbenders capable of weakening her blows, they wouldn’t be getting back up.

She didn’t know how long it lasted, but soon a cold dread was settling in her stomach. Spirits knew how many Dai Li there were, and they weren’t stopping. She had lost her breath at some point and was struggling to get it back, feeling heavy exhaustion set into her limbs.

Beside her, she saw Aang stumble. A second later, so did she.

Two more figures appeared in Katara’s peripheral vision, and she cursed under her breath. Azula’s friends, the acrobat and knife thrower, weaving through the crowd of agents.

The princess saw them at the same time as she did, crying out “Mai! Ty Lee!”

Katara ducked under another flurry of projectiles and sent a wave back with all her strength, but the two girls were undeterred, the acrobat jumping over the water using the heads of flailing Dai Li as stepping stones.

“Zuko!” The knife thrower barked, “what are you doing?”

He faltered for a moment, locking eyes with her - but the girl was completely unreadable.

“Treason.”

The other girl - the actual, trained, chi-blocker, Katara remembered with a jolt - sprang forward before she could drive her back with a water whip. She flipped, landing on her hands in front of Zuko and Azula, jumping to her feet with that seemingly ever-present grin. The firebender moved into a familiar, aggressive stance, but seemed hesitant to strike.

“Treason? Without us?”

And then she was leaping back into the fray, striking with lightning quick movements almost too fast for Katara to catalog. The earthbenders finally broke rank, scattering in futile attempts to dodge or fight back.

Katara thought she saw a tiny smile on her otherwise emotionless companion before her arms flew out almost as fast, and another group of agents were thrown back, pinned to the ground and walls by glinting blades. The Dai Li were dropping like flies, piling up on the floor almost comically fast.

And then there were dozens of unconscious or immobile earthbenders at their feet, and Azula hissing and spitting flame in incensed horror.

“Well,” the knife thrower said, turning to Zuko, “what are we doing now?”

Zuko was frozen, looking utterly stunned, and Katara couldn’t blame him.

“Mai, you- you-“

“Well, I couldn’t let you commit treason without me,” she deadpanned, “I can’t let you have all the fun. And we need to get going. What are we doing with Azula?”

“How about we leave Crazy Blue and get out of here?” Sokka cut in, still looking suspicious but more preoccupied with not getting impaled on a rock, “Appa should be outside, Aang, do you have the bison whistle?”

The acrobat, Ty Lee, appeared at Mai’s side and latched onto her arm like a pentapus. “How are we getting out? We could try sneaking out, but Azula’s might give us away-“

“You’re damn right I will,” Azula practically growled, “I didn’t think even you would be stupid enough to double cross me!”

“Wait-“ Katara cut in, “you’re not coming with us?”

The three stared at her blankly.

“Coming with you?” Zuko looked perplexed.

“You- you turned on Azula and helped Aang. I thought you were on our side.”

Was she going crazy?

“Well,” Mai shrugged, “it’d be a nice change of scenery.”

Zuko exchanged an unreadable look with Mai and Ty Lee and shrugged somewhat helplessly. “I was planning on taking Azula somewhere safe in the Earth Kingdom, but...”

“We would love to!” Ty Lee exclaimed, looking so excited and bubbly Katara could almost forget that she was a force to be reckoned with in battle.

“Alright,” Mai shrugged, then glanced at Azula, “anyone got any rope?”

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unholyplumpprincess · 4 years

Text

Finally

A commission for @shortythescreen TYSM AGAIN AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!

Summary: Anita has been friends with you for awhile and thought her yearning after you was simply her having a crush on you. Not seeing all the signs that pointed to you liking her back. Well, not until you two are in a sparring session and she pins you to the ground after some heavy flirting and goes for the kill. Only to find out you two are in fact, both into each other. Or!!!! In which Anita is oblivious of your adoration of her and once she finds out she fucks your brains out and calls you cute pet names like Princess and Baby Girl.

Reblogs > Likes. DNI if you are a minor or an ageless blog or you will be blocked.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bangalore/Fem! Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader is a cis gal, lots of pet names like Princess/Baby Girl/etc!, brief mention of hand around throat, big monster themed strap, breeding kink, Reader is a brat

Words: 6.1k

_________

Call Anita cliché, but she’d never met a girl like you.

She’d always thought herself to be the ‘not-so-romantic-’ type. Sure, she’d had relationships in the past, but that felt more like teenage exploration than it had been a real connection. Her 20’s had been too busy for her to even begin to think about having a relationship- IMC kept her real busy and made sure all her time had been eaten up. Well. Except for a fling here and there. And by the time she got to where she was now, she had the Apex games to participate in and friends around her.

So why worry about romance now, right?

When you showed up to compete, you didn’t seem like anything real special. Cute, sure, had your own sass about you but so did a lot of competitors climbing their way up the ranks to be known as Legend. You didn’t seem as arrogant or cocky as most competitors did, you seemed focused and determined, so you had that going for you. A plus in her book.

You had wound up clawing your way to the top through the same blood and gunfire as the rest of them did. You’d even gotten your fair share of hits on her. In fact, you’d managed to even take a few of the legends out- including her.

Anita was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t been exactly angry when you’d done it either. Your pleasant weight atop her, a small smirk on your face when you’d practically crooned out, “Nothing personal, Sarge. But, won’t lie and say this doesn’t feel great.” Before you’d taken her out with a knife removed from your thigh’s hilt.

That’s when you really caught her attention.

~Rest Under The Cut~

You were a new legend now, landing out on top of all the other competitors as champion. You’d proven your worth, and the Syndicate made damn well sure you got a great deal to make you stay. Seeing you out on the battlefield all geared up had been one thing, but to see you walking around the compound in casual lounge wear and doing things even like reading a book? That’s when Anita had realized there was something a little more about the way she looked at you.

Infatuation, she’d told herself, you were just hot. That should have been it. Not like she hadn’t thought that way about Ajay, Bloodhound, Wraith, hell even Witt had been smoking, what was the difference with you?

However, those feelings amplified as you two got closer.

It all seemed to click when one night you had been the one to offer a movie night for all the legends. When Anita laughed and said sleepovers weren’t her thing, you’d quirked a brow and asked if she was chicken. Cock fights and being baited into something like movies all because you’d poked at her and called her a coward- she should have known better. And yet she’d puffed out her chest and told you ‘In your dreams’ and showed up anyway.

The gall you had at making a swirl motion around your pinkie at her and mouthing ’Littlest finger’ and blowing a kiss her way SHOULD have made Anita red hot with anger. But instead, she’d been red hot with the feeling of begin flustered curling down her spine.

And the urge to wipe that damned cocky look off your face. Preferably with her mouth.

Freckled cheeks flushed and a huff exhaling from Anita‘s lips as she had turned her gaze away from you all snuggled up against Natalie’s side and trying to convince herself that it wasn’t because she was jealous. You just…looked nice and warm was all.

And maybe you looked extra cute when you laughed and threw your head back at a certain scene on the movie. And maybe Anita at some point didn’t totally wind up sitting behind you just so when you leaned back, you’d lean back all the way into her lap just to try and irritate her with your bratty attitude. And maybe, just maybe, Anita had pretended to look irritated just so you’d stay leaned back into her lap.

She didn’t exactly mean to fall for you, but not like it was hard. It felt like you were a ray of sunshine in her dark little corner at times. Even when Anita would be having a bad day and feeling a bit too touchy when it came to loud noises, it’s as if you just understood her, resting a hand on her arm and offering her solace in any way you could.

Like one day Anita had been rather snappy, it was edging the anniversary of when her brother had…had been taken from her. Everything felt a little too much, memories waging wars in her head and she might have snapped at Makoa for something simple. She, of course, later would apologize to him for it, but in the moment, she’d been such a quick trigger. You had been the one to ask her to follow you until you guys found the nearest empty room being the gym. You’d sat her down on the floor, sat in front of her on your knees and held her shoulders firmly.

At first, she’d been irritated, rubbing her face and about to push you off. But, you’d spoken so softly to her. “Hey, hey, something else is bothering you and I’m not going to ask what, so don’t feel like you have to preach to anyone, okay? Let’s just sit here in the quiet until you can cool off. I’ll be right with you.”

Anita had looked at you like that was silly at first, but then when she caught your gaze your eyes had so much understanding written in them. She swears she teared up, but you didn’t even flinch. Not even when her arms had snug around your waist and dragged you forward into a tense hug that you had quickly returned, rubbing her back soothingly as she buried her face into your shoulder.

You were a good friend—hell, a great friend. She really isn’t sure what she did to deserve you, especially when on days she’d poke and downright be an asshole to you. It’s as if you knew without her ever needing to state the Why’s or the How’s. Not like she was taking all your kindness without giving, she’d found you were quite fond of physical touches like hugging when you were overwhelmed at things too. Now, Anita hadn’t been exactly the ‘hugging kind’, until once again, she met you.

Although, it was a bonus for Anita to see you and for you to light up with a smile as you ran for her at full blast to wrap your arms around her waist and leave the scent of your perfume all over her. Especially if she’d lift and spin you just to make you shout with joy in that little way that always had her heart racing.

Man, Anita really had it bad, huh?

Recently, you two had been able to spend more time together. Not that Anita was even close to complaining about that. You had asked her if she’d be willing to train you on more hand-to-hand combat, explaining you hadn’t really had any that didn’t involve a weapon of sorts. You were great with a knife in close combat, but when it came to disarming someone or getting the upper hand with just fists, you weren’t trained in it.

So, that’s where this all started. Getting you in the sparring area of the gym, a flat ground surface with mirrors on the wall on one area to show your stance if you needed to practice. There, she taught you basics first of disarming someone, of how to knock someone off their feet and throw off their aim. You caught on quickly, tossing her over your shoulder and down onto the soft mats below when you’d yanked her arm back behind her and declared victory.

Anita can’t say she hated being under you, not when you were beaming so bright and proud of yourself.

But when your little bratty nature had come out? With a croon to your tone as you ruffled her curls. ”Maybe I’ll get even better than you in the ring, huh?” Then she no longer thought about being under you.

Anytime that little bratty attitude got the better of you, she thought of wiping that smug look off your face. Not with a hit, no, but by grabbing you by your throat and slamming your back to her chest. Making you watch your face in the mirror as her hand snuck down your pants to rub your clit until you shook and trembled while you had to watch your own pretty little face contort. Often times she got stuck day dreaming about that, throwing her off and making it easier for you to catch her off guard and tease her for it.

If only you knew how wrapped around your finger she truly was.

All your training leads to today, a more hands-on session without her actually teaching you anything. But rather, all your training coming into a sparring session. You look so cute in your workout clothing choice, if a little distracting. A black sports bra and a pair of tight matching yoga pants with your symbol on the thigh, your hair pushed out of the way and pulled back. The expanse of your neck was even more distracting, especially with more of your skin exposed.

Anita wondered if you would like to be marked up. If you would shy away from the pain or if you’d preen at it. Often enough times, hell, even just in this past week it’s all Anita could think about. Whenever she was alone, a hand down her pants and eyes shut as she imagined you beneath her. Taking her cock as your fingers twisted into the sheets and you preened and begged rather than that smart little mouth you always got. Saying her name again and again and again-

“Anita? Heellllooooo, paging Dr. Anita, do you copy?” Your teasing voice draws her out of her thoughts where she’s sat on the floor mid-stretch still. You’re bent over down towards her, waving a hand in front of her spaced out eyes until she blinks a few times and looks up at you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I copy. You already done, Nurse Brat?” She quickly switches the topic, matching your tone, switching legs to stretch and peeking up to see you beaming at her. It makes her heart clench, forcing Anita to look away and pretend to roll her eyes up at you instead when you happily nod.

Her own choice in outfit was camo tight yoga capris and her own sports bra, keeping her own movements free. She’s still riding the high of when you first saw her today, lowly whistling and looking clearly at her ass and complimenting it. Anita would have to try to wear tighter pants without making it too obvious she was trying to get you to look later.

After stretching, she tells you to take your position. Reminding you this was sparring to put everything you learned into motion, and that if you tripped up, don’t sweat it as this was just a practice run. Though, a smirk does rest on her full lips as she teases you. “Not that I’ll be going easy on you, princess.”

“Be as rough as you want, sweetheart. I can take it.” You croon back, fluttering your lashes all the while and making heat course through Anita at the way you say it. It sounded like you were implying more- but, no, that’s just probably her hope.

Right?

You throw the first punch and from there it’s like a dance between you two. Anita makes sure to dodge mostly, making sure you’re keeping your footwork correct and complimenting you the entire time on your frame. ‘Beautiful’, ‘There you go, baby girl, keep it up’, ‘Hey, almost got me there’.

Each time a pet name spills from her lips, your cheeks seem to get redder but not from exertion, and your movements just a touch sloppier. Anita might be paying too much attention to the way sweat curls down between your breasts, or how your lips pout a bit when you miss her but she manages to push you away and back, reminding you to keep your focus despite her own getting a bit foggy.

Wasn’t your fault you looked damn good like that, all pent up and sweaty. A healthy flush across your cheeks as you bounce on the balls of your feet and ready for her next pounce, a furrow of your brow in determination. Your lips part to take a breath and Anita’s eyes fall to them without thinking, and in a blur, you’re rushing at her to try and take her down with a low sweep.

She counters you, grabbing you by your waist to move with your momentum, spinning you until she can slam you down onto the ground beneath you both. You hit the ground on your back with a huff of air leaving your lips, a little out of it with a low groan of frustration leaving you.

There’s nothing but tension between the two of you. Anita’s heart pounds as she looks down at you and your cute little pout when you realize you’ve been defeated, parting your lips to maybe complain about your defeat. But you’re cut off when soft, full lips cover your own. Anita’s warm body fits on top of you, fitting a strong thigh between yours and her calloused hand cupping your cheek so adoringly. She considers pulling your hair, forcing your head back, but she parts after a moment so you two can pant and catch your breath together.

Your breath mingles with hers, only an inch apart and her being able to see your eyes half lidded and looking back from her eyes to her lips. It gives her the confidence in not wondering if what she felt between you two was just her imagination, but that doesn’t stop her from giving you a nervous, crooked grin and showing off one of her dimples. “Sorry ‘bout that. If I read anything wrong–”

“Jesus, no, I’ve been wondering when you’d finally do something.” You breathe back in an exasperated and whining tone. “Was practically popping my tits out the deciding factor for you?”

“No. Been thinking about you for a while. But…your tits are always appreciated.” She teases right back, leaning down to ghost her lips over yours without touching, just to hear you whimper in frustration. Your fingers sink into her curls, trying to urge her down, but she quickly avoids your mouth to kiss your cheek and moving down your jawline to your neck. It’s a blessing at all to feel you press up against her thigh, dizzying her off your heat felt through both of your thin pants.

“You okay with this?” Anita sighs out against your neck, kissing up to your ear and smiling when you shiver when her teeth nip your lobe.

“Thought I made myself clear earlier when I told you I can take it, Sarge.” You’re using that bratty tone again, raising your hips against her thigh where she can feel you lightly grinding. A soft sigh leaves your lips near her ear, and from there Anita isn’t sure she can keep herself cool headed.

Her thoughts amplify, thinking about just whisking you away and fucking you raw and rough until you get rid of that little brat attitude you always carried. Maybe in the showers where anyone could walk in and see you- could hear you crying her name.

Instead, her fingers grip your hips, yanking you closer to her thigh and forcing you to move against her as her lips finds your neck. Her tongue moves along your pulse, delighting in how your breath hitches and your fingers tighten in her hair. “Little girl, there’s a lot of rules I have for you if you want to even think about ‘taking it’.”

From there, she sits back, dragging you into her lap. Your hands fall to her broad shoulders, squeezing as her hand on your hip squeeze fondly in return. Her other hand slides into your hair, yanking your head back and forcing your neck to be bared and making you hiss as she continues. “You know what a color system is? Red, yellow, green?” You nod as best as you can, and she hums approvingly. ”How would you feel if I told you I want to take you back to my quarters and fuck the brat right outta that pretty little mouth of yours?”

“Green.” You practically whine out.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Baby girl ain’t got such a bad attitude when she’s promised some dick?” Anita teases you, tugging your hair to emphasize her point on how good you’re being when your head follows the motion without resistance. When you huff in reply, rolling your hips into her lap without a peep of a response out of you besides a low whine, she’ll take that as a yes.

Your hair is released, your cheek instead cupped and her thumb sliding over your cheekbone as she turns your gaze to her. Anita wants to kiss you again, badly, but refrains as she strokes your hair back behind your ear. “I…I don’t want this to be a one-time thing either. Like I said earlier, been thinking about you for a while. So if you’re just lookin’ for a fuck buddy or–”

“Anita,” You cut her off, her name falling off your lips always making her flash a smile, this time a little sheepish at your tone. ”I literally asked you out on a date last month.”

“To that cafe? I thought that was as friends?”

“I literally held your hand and said you looked beautiful.”

“I…you weren’t just being friendly?”

The look you give her of exasperation makes it all click into place. Any time you had flirted, any time you had brushed your fingers on her lower back, any time you had asked her to lean down so you could fix her hair, any time you had flashed her a smile and told her she looked great in her uniform-

“For such a smart woman, you’re so goddamned dense sometimes.” You laugh out when you watch it all click to place in her eyes. Anita’s cheeks flush red, huffing at you and hitching her arms around you as she begins to stand. You make a sound of delight as she lifts you up into her arms, your legs around her waist and her arms resting under your ass for support.

“Better late than never though, right?” Anita smiles up at you, feeling more and more at home with you in her arms and you beaming down at her in turn with your arms over her shoulders. You look like heaven, she thinks, the lights above you creating a halo around you and the sweat glowing on your skin. A devil disguised as an angel.

The walk back to her quarters is met with no traffic along the way. Able to hold you up with one of her arms to punch in her room code before getting you inside. There’s only a moment at the door where she’s kicking off her shoes whilst balancing you before she’s bringing you to the bedroom.

Her room is simple, minimal and clean. Just like she liked it. Her bed tucked against the wall opposite of the window leading outside, a dresser on the opposite side of the room away from her bed with a few pictures set up of her family atop and few knickknacks of her own- including a childhood bear. It sat with clear choppy repairs and a replaced eye near a picture of her and her brother Jackson in a candid image of them being caught mid arm wrestle and beaming at each other in their uniforms.

“Oooh, is that the infamous Tango I’ve heard so much about?” You croon at the bear before you’re set down on the bed. Anita follows your eyes over to her stuffed toy, rolling her eyes back down at you when you wiggle your fingers at him to say hello. “Should we go turn him around?”

You grin is quickly turned into a muffled laugh when her lips cover yours, swallowing down your laughter as Anita fits between your thighs. You manage to kick off your shoes to the floor, winding your legs around her waist as her hand squeezes your thigh and her other resting on your cheek to guide you through the kiss. When you smile against her mouth cheekily, Anita quickly nips your lower lip, moving her hand from your cheek to your hair to grip it and tip your head back.

Your gasp gives her easy access to lick into your mouth and hear your breath hitch through your nose. Your moan only urges her to grip your hair tighter, making you strain your head back and forcing you to part from the kiss and release the prettiest whine. Anita smiles against your flesh, kissing down your neck where she sucks over your jawline, sinking her teeth lightly there to leave a bruise and relishing in the mindless way your hips lift to hump against her almost frantically.

“Atta girl,” Anita murmurs against your neck, sucking another bruise there. She shudders when your nails slide down her back, gasping lightly when you reach down to grab her ass like the cheeky brat you are. You pull her closer to you, holding her still as your hips move a bit more obviously to try and grind against her with this sly little smile on your face edging through your pleasured sighs.

“Ever thought about being a toy, baby?” You tease her, using that little bratty tone you do when you want something. She knows she shouldn’t be baited into it, that you’re being a brat for a reason, that you want her to grab you by your hair and throw you around. But you really hone that feeling in when you roll your hips pointedly against her, letting her feel how you’re slick enough to be felt through your thin yoga pants. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to learn how to take it–”

Anita knows she’s fallen into it when she grabs your throat and you smile like it’s the best thing she’s ever done to you and fuck if she isn’t smitten with how elated you look at the action. Your smile falls into a pretty open-mouthed expression when she lightly squeezes, a hiss falling from her lips to threaten you. “Watch your mouth before you speak, princess, I don’t play well with brats.”

“And if I don’t want to watch my mouth?” You breathe out when she eases on your throat, making her quirk a brow down at you when you flash your pretty princess smile and flutter your lashes as if you didn’t say or do a damned thing. Wrapped around your goddamn little finger.

“I have other ways of shutting you up. Hold still. Don’t even think about moving.”

And you do, lying oh so prettily on her bed after crooning out a ‘Yes, ma’am’ just to get a further rise out of her. Anita moves off the bed, pulling off her sports bra, watching your eyes greedily fall to her freckled chest and making her confidence rise when you let out the softest, yearning sigh.

Her pants go next, her boyshorts sliding down over her hips and flicked in your face like a rubber band. A laugh falls from her lips when you squeak, jumping and tearing them off ur face with a clear shout on your tongue before you seem to lose whatever steam you had when your eyes fall down to between her legs. She knew she looked good. Soft curls resting there, trimmed with her clit large enough to peek from her lower lips, the curls following the happy trail leading up to her navel. Scars lingered on her body from the past, bullet wounds and knives or impact areas.

“Like what you see, Princess?” Anita teases, a crooked smirk on her face when you nod your head eagerly. “Good. You’ll be getting up close and personal here in a sec. Lie back down for me, will ya? Or do I have to force you to behave again?”

Anita’s pleased when she doesn’t have to. In fact, you gleefully lie back down, doing a mock salute her way. It’s cute- and a bit flattering actually- to have you eagerly grab at her when she comes closer. Your hands slide over her thighs, making this soft, needy sound in your throat once her thighs frame your face. You look just as hungry as you sound when she looks down, resting a hand in your hair and seeing you bite your bottom lip as you look directly at her wet cunt.

Your arms hook around her thighs, clearly tugging to try and get Anita to lower down, but she holds steady above you. Her fingers card through your hair, soaking in how your eyes look up to her face with a pleading expression that has her weak. But she won’t cave, not yet. “C’mon, you’re so good at talkin’ a big game, and now you’ve forgotten basic manners?”

“Anita-” You try to whine out, trying to pull on her thighs again with your brows knitting together and your face flushed at her implication. “Thought you wanted to shut me up?”

“Can’t blame a girl for wanting to be wanted, hm?”

You pout up at her, a full lip out pout that makes her want nothing more than to ruin you until you’re raw and aching. Anita gently tucks some of your hair behind your ear, briefly stroking along your cheek with her fingers, and that seems to do it. Just a little bit of softness having you whining out for her so prettily. “Pleeeease? Please, please, please, let me taste you? Anita- baby, I’ve been a good girl, please, please, please?”

Anita could argue that if this was you being a ‘good girl’ then you two had a lot of training to do. But she’ll save that for another time, following your tugging until she can rest one hand on the wall behind the bed, the other in your hair and sharply inhaling when your tongue drags across her.

You don’t waste a moment for her, licking from her hole up to her clit where you press under it with your tongue in what she could only guess was to feel it jerk against your tongue. You moan like It’s the best thing in the world, dragging your wet lips across her sensitive flesh to wrap your lips around it and using your tongue in ways that make her thighs and hips tremble.

Sighs and soft hitches leave Anita’s lips, so focused on watching you enjoying yourself to even think about speaking. But you part from her briefly, nosing at her thigh and looking up at her from under your lashes with the sweetest expression when you murmur just loud enough for her to hear, “Will you keep talking?”

Anita blinks a few times, her freckled cheeks flushing to her ears when you peek up at her almost shyly when you ask it. She makes a questioning sound, and you nose at her clit in turn to make her hips jerk and a brief gasp escaping her.

“I like to hear your voice,” You clarify, rolling your hips up behind her and against nothing in such a needy fashion that Anita nearly thinks about forgoing this whole ’lesson’ and just making you scream already. “Think you sound sexy.”

“I can do that.” She murmurs, gripping your hair again and guiding your mouth back with ease to her cunt where you get right back to doing whatever it is you’re doing with your tongue that feels so fucking good-

From there, she lets her mouth run. Not sure where it starts and where it ends. Crooning things to you like ’Gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine by tomorrow’ ‘Might not let you get any sleep tonight’ ‘Baby girl might not even get to cum tonight’ that’s the one that makes you whine, gripping her thighs tighter and making Anita’s own breath shake.

Then a test of the waters when she croons out, “Maybe my little princess wants to get bred nice and proper by my cock–”

Anita doesn’t even get to finish her sentence when you’re gripping her thighs tighter, moaning against her clit and seeming to work a little harder. Anita’s cut off by her own grunt, a low groan leaving her and a swear when your tongue keeps sliding across her sloppily. That does her in, cumming against your tongue with both her hands slamming into your hair and her head falling back. Her teeth draw into her bottom lip, humping along your eager tongue and catching when you pat her thigh so she can release you so you can catch your breath.

From there, it’s a blur of moving off you to rip off your clothes, much to your delight if your soft little whines are anything to go by. At some point she pauses in the middle of pulling off your pants to kiss you, a breathy giggle leaving your lips when she parts to kiss down your body and blowing a raspberry on your belly just to hear you laugh again.

There’s a double check you’re still okay before she’s moving off you to get everything prepped. A bottle of lubricant set on the bed near you and a harness disguised as some everyday briefs sliding onto her hips and her eyes looking at her collection of cocks. “How big do ya think you can take, doll?”

“I can take anything you throw at me.”

A quirk of her brow is seen as she looks back at you, but you seem perfectly content and honest in your answer. So she shrugs with one shoulder, trying not to grin as she grabs one of her bigger ones. ”Whatever you say.”

The cock in question is one her odder shaped ones. Marbled with black and gold colorations, with an almost tapered, rounded head that went into the same thickness and bulged with a bigger thickness as it edged the balls. It was thick enough to not be able to touch your fingers when they circled around it, but not too long to make up for its thickness. It was about seven inches total in usable length, definitely enough for you to feel it in total, but wouldn’t kill you. This time around at least.

Once it’s all in place, she moves back to you. Relishing in how you stare a bit too obviously at the cock and where there was a small tube running to her hip where a syringe was full of white, thick lubricant to act as cum. You’re not looking for too long, your head soon thrown back and to the side against her chest as she tucks up against you to lubricate her fingers and begin stretching you out.

You take it like a champ, turning your head into her shoulder as three fingers twist and curl into you. You cum against her fingers like this, humping against her palm and making noises she’d thought she’d only ever hear in her dreams. Your face gets peppered with kisses, even as your lips part and you whine and sob for her as she keeps finger fucking you open. Only when you beg and plead does she finally stop.

Soon the position is moved and she’s under you with your shaky thighs straddling her hips and your hands gripping her shoulders. The second you start lowering yourself down you let out a choked noise as her hands squeeze your hips, a predatory grin crossing her features when you make the prettiest face and hold still. “Aw, what’s the matter, baby? Too big for my girl?”

Your head bows forward in embarrassment, but she’ll hand it to you, you still keep going. Lowering yourself down, down, down until your pelvis is flush with hers and your nails digging into her shoulders. Anita strokes over your curves, down your hips and thighs and back up with soft, praising croons as your thighs quake. “That’s my girl. Good girl. You’re doin’ alright, baby, I gotcha. Just adjust, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”

Once you’re able to adjust, her hands find yours and lace your fingers. Watching how beautifully you bounce on her cock, your hands squeezing hers and using her as leverage. The moans and whimpers leaving you make her tempted to roll you over, but she’s far too entranced with how your chest bounces, how pretty your face looks when your head falls back and you murmur her name. When her eyes fall down to your waist, she can watch your greedy little cunt take her cock again and again, making her mouth dry at the sight.

“Anita-” You whimper out her name in the prettiest tone, squeezing her hands with a quiver to your lips. Your hips are stuttering, looking a bit more frantic as you bounce on her cock and making Anita sigh at the sight. ”Anita, baby, please, I-I-”

Anita shushes you, releasing your hands to catch you in time and rolling you over quickly onto your back. Your legs wrap around her waist, her nails digging into your outer thigh and her lips catching yours to swallow your cries down as she pounds her hips into you. When you break the kiss, your nails are dragging down her back, your face burying into her shoulder to sink your teeth and making her grunt as you cum.

But Anita doesn’t stop there, only letting you catch your breath briefly as you lie back, an arm tossed over your forehead and heavy panting falling from you. Anita sits up, grabbing your hips and yanking you flush to her to fill you again with a jump to your hips and a cry. “Oh, baby, I’m not even close to done with you.” She promises, a dimpled grin on her face when you peek at her with such a helpless look.

From there you’re fucked again, starting off with slow, powerful thrusts to build you back up until you’re in that lost state again. Your eyes rolling back and fingers fisting the sheets as she fucks into you with precision. You’re yanked against her with each thrust, making your toes curl and those pretty sounds leaving your lips again that by this point are driving her crazy. She feels like a starving woman who finally got a meal again. She supposes that’s what yearning for so long did to her.

“What’s the matter, baby? Wanna be bred by my cock?” She croons out when you sob, tears pricking your eyes as they roll back. Anita thinks you’ve never looked more at home- let alone tamed in your life when you keep murmuring ‘please’ and ‘yes’ and her name as if you’ve forgotten every other word.

When you cum this time, she makes sure to press down on the syringe this time to fill you up just like what you keep pleading for. This happens two more times, fucking you in a new position and filling you up. The last one ending with you on all fours, your hair being pulled and your entire body trembling when you cum again.

You’re soon cleaned up, flopped on your side without an inch of feistiness or brattiness in your gaze. You look worn out when Anita returns to you after finishing cleaning herself up as well, returning to bed with herself in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and offering for you to sit up so she can clothe you.

She makes sure to kiss everywhere she’d bitten or bruised as she pulls the large t-shirt over your head. Pulling the lounge pants up your hips and lying in bed with you, bringing your head to her chest and kissing your forehead adoringly. “You all good, princess?”

“Mmmmhhhmmmm.”

“Nothing hurt?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Ready to get some sleep then?” Anita laughs out softly, feeling you squeeze sleepily around her middle and nosing at her chest with another affirmative sound followed by your breath deepening. Damn, quick sleeper, huh?

Well. At least she knows a fun way to get you to stop acting like such a brat, Anita thinks with a smirk. But her thoughts shift when you squeeze her a little tighter, feeling you absentmindedly kiss at her and mumble something to yourself before settling again. Her heart pounds, looking down at you with such an adoring gaze and feeling on top of the world.

Damn. She really was wrapped around your finger.

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