#You are the best for sending me this shit

[poguehearted77]

Hi!! I saw that your requests were open and I'm a big fan of your work and I was wondering if you could write something for rafe where reader is a pogue and they need to steal something from tanney hill but Rafe comes home unexpectedly and reader is supposed to distract him but they end up fucking >.< tyyy!!!

Oooh this is freaky. I love it.

My requests are still open.

smut!! -> >.<, penetrative sex, rafe gets flashed, dom! rafe, missionary, size kink, tummy bulge, rafe doesn't pull out..

In and out. That was the plan you and Sarah had agreed on. She would search through the office while you guarded the halls to make sure the coast remained clear.

Things got complicated. Plans changed when Sarah realized that Rafe had taken the liberty to add locks onto the cabinets where the files are kept. Your heartbeat drummed through your ears as you noticed the flash of headlights from Rafe's truck shine through the glass windows.

"Shit. Sarah, Rafe's back early. ETA on the files?" you panic, scurrying through the tiles halls until your feet take you into the office where the blonde crouched, picking the lock with a bobby pin. "I've almost got it. Distract Rafe, keep him as far from here as possible."

Your legs carried you as fast as they could, hoping to meet him outside the front door but he was already inside, your head bumping into his firm chest at full force, sending you tumbling to the ground. "Holy shit. What the-" He's mid-curse when he notices the face of the intruder. Your face.

"Y/n? What the hell are you doing in here?" His thoughts beat your lips to the answer as they geared the possibilities. His jaw locks as it dawns on him, "Where's Sarah, huh? Is she in here? You helping her steal from me now too?"

His steps are powerful as they begin to clear the premises but you desperately grab onto his bulging biceps. "No, Rafe! Stop." Not expecting him to obey so easily, he whips around, startling you.

Just over his shoulder, you see Sarah's head peek out of the office. She gives a wave with the needed files in hand. You had to make sure Rafe didn't turn around, at all costs.

"I thought you were different, y'know? I always thought you were too good to be hangin' with those pogues-" He's about to turn around while Sarah sneaks out the back. You do the first idiotic thing that comes to mind. Your fingers are hooking under the fabric of your top and heaving upwards to flash him your tits.

His sentences break off into chopped, undecided stutters and his hands slowly reach for your round mounds. His hands were hesitating until you gave him a slight nod. "H-holy shit. Most fuckin' perfect pair of tits I've ever seen." His mind is racing to catch up with his hands that gently massage your breasts and you let out a soft moan.

That's the last time either of your clothes were still draped across your bodies. The interaction was quickly followed by uncalculated steps and heated kisses toward the couch where he'd laid you down and fucked you dumb.

"You feel that?" Rafe relishes in the depths of your soaked cunt that sucked in his generous length. Summoning him to a state of bliss, serving a sentence he wished would last the rest of his lifetime.

His hand is placed arrogantly on your lower abdomen where the outline of his girth could be seen pushing up against your insides. Surely, the question is rhetorical as you'd been reduced to a whimpering mess under his touch.

"My dick's splittin' you open. You fuckin' like that shit?" His hips snap, and you squeal, your whole body jolting with every moment of his much bigger one. The sight of you beneath him was more than enough to get him riding along the edge of ecstasy.

"You got the best fuckin' pussy on the island, goddamnit." His lower lip is tucked between hiss teeth, doing his best to hold himself back.

Rafe wouldn't deny any allegations of previously imagining having you in this very position, but the reality puts the products of his imagination to great shame. "R-rafe!" You moan, unbelievably turned on by your 'sworn enemy'.

"Yeah-- shit. Me too." It's not long before his thrusts begin to falter with strained grunts but added force, and he cums not long after you do. He slowly pulls out, admiring the stringy white cum that kept you connected before he realizes what he's done.

"Rafe..." You slowly sit up, dreading the consequences of his actions. "Fuck--I know, shit. I jus' got so caught up- and your pussy jus' felt so good. I wasn't thinking straight." You're both scavenging to get your clothes on as he rambles on.

He reaches into his back pocket and grabs a wad of cash, "Go get a plan B, and we can both act like this never happened, okay?" With a cold gaze, you pocket the money before rushing outside where the Twinkie is waiting for you around the corner out of sight.

"Y/n! Oh my god what took you so long? We thought Rafe had done something to you." Sarah gasps once you finally pull open the doors of the van. Your head shakes, "Nothing. Just Rafe being Rafe, let's go."

[lubdubology]

Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k 

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave. 

One month. 

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away. 

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist. 

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help. 

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves. 

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart. 

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features. 

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth. 

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further. 

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips. 

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it. 

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway. 

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter. 

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.” 

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.  

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence. 

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver. 

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft. 

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin. 

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind. 

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you. 

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus. 

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile. 

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence. 

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into. 

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity. 

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity. 

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt. 

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry. 

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing. 

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls. 

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper. 

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured. 

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say. 

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before. 

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go. 

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin. 

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense. 

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack. 

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart. 

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole. 

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. 

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.” 

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you. 

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer. 

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features. 

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is. 

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. 

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase. 

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock. 

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering. 

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm. 

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him. 

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release. 

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well. 

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel. 

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. 

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent. 

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture. 

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony. 

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him. 

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you. 

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you. 

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees. 

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose. 

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat. 

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. 

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet. 

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit. 

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist. 

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp. 

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you. 

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close. 

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.” 

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him. 

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease. 

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his. 

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan. 

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face. 

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life. 

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter. 

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.” 

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

[viesglitterwings]

18+ minors dni

being sarah cameron's best friend meant that her older brother, rafe was strictly off limits. but sarah didn't need to know about the lingering looks you and rafe shared whenever you were at her house, or about how every night you found yourself with your hand between your thighs fantasising about rafe. rafe liked you, you knew that, and you also knew you shouldn't have let your jealousy get the better of you while you were drunk, teasing rafe about liking some girl at one of topper’s parties.

"do you ever shut the fuck up?" rafe hisses, one large hand snaking under your waist to pull your hips against him, the other wrapped around your neck, his thumb stroking your pulse. a pitiful moan bubbles up your throat, muffled as rafe pushes your head into the blankets.

"jesus christ, this all it takes, huh? a big dick to shut that bitchy mouth up, yeah?" he groans, his hips slamming into your poor cunt, his cock brushing your cervix.

"rafe! fuck, please- pleasepleasepleaseplease-" you whine pathetically as his arm wraps around your shoulders to pull you up against him.

"yeah, show me how much you love this dick, oh shit," rafe groans as your cunt clenches against him, his cock hitting a deeper spot you didn't even know was possible, moaning when rafe's calloused hand comes down hard on your ass, knowing damn well it's already red.

rafe lets go of you, letting your chest fall forward onto the bed, your smeared lipgloss sticking against the sheets as your running mascara smudges the pillows.

"rafe- ray, fuck i'm so close!" you moan, your head lolling to the side as he pounds into your poor pussy, his abs brushing against your ass at every slam of his hips.

rafe tsks, both hands going to your hips, his groans becoming louder, his movements sloppier, "yeah fuck, baby, you gonna come? yeah? shit- come for me, that's it-" he encourages as you chant his name like some kind of prayer, your fingers curling around the sheets for desperate support.

his hips slam into yours one final time before he comes, painting your walls white, your release following soon after.

"for the record. i like you, not her." rafe says, breathlessly, pressing a gentle kiss to your head.

an: this was my first time writing smut so please be kind! send me requests i'll be happy to write more!

[annasellheim]

We're sitting at the table I'm glaring at them. These heroes ("The Big Three" as they are known in the industry) are questioning me? ME? They're questioning ME???

These motherfuckers made me come to the Cape Crusaders big, tacky mansion to justify my actions to them?

The thing that pisses me off the most about their reservations is the fact that what I do SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT WORK than them. These idiots just punch bad guys in the face and send them to prison, just so they can escape and start the cycle over from scratch.

I've already saved so many more lives than they ever will. I've made more of a positive impact on this planet than anyone will ever know.

Because my power is to stop disasters, and the most effective way to do that is to prevent them.

No one knows how many wars I've stopped before they began, how many diseases I found vaccines for before they became epidemics, how many cities and countries I've helped create infrastructure for so they could avoid being over run by natural disasters.

And my job is made even more difficult than it sounds because no one can truly fathom how bad things would be if I don't use my powers. I have to fight ppl tooth and nail to get it anything to happen because they don't know how bad it'll be if it's not acted on.

No one sees what I see. They don't feel what I feel. They'll never know the particular ache in my chest that somehow has has an entire narrative wrapped in it whenever a potential disaster hits me. An ache that is so powerful that it's made my knees buckle multiple times.

And the feeling doesn't dissipate until the disaster is fully prevented. It means that when I know something needs to be done, I have to make sure it's dealt with, or-

It's destroying me in a way. Doing so much, all the time, with no compensation or recognition.

The heroes at least knew about my powers and know that I have nipped a bunch of really bad shit in the bud.

The villains thing has come up before and it's irritating. For years I thought it was because they were lazy and just were angling for help over shit that I didn't have time for, and in the big picture, didn't matter. Asking for even more help than I already provide.

I'm at my limit already.

But looking at these three at this table in this enormous, extravagant kitchen, it hits me how wrong I am.

These heroes don't have my powers. They can't foresee and stop disasters. For all they know, these clowns that rob banks and occasionally attack and murder people, can cause major disasters down the line. I'm not perfect, I can't stop all disasters. I have to sleep and eat and work a fucking day job.

I still feel residual aches from time to time for every disaster I've failed to stop.

They aren't trying to get more free work out of me, they're trying their best to figure out what villains can do major damage in the future.

They're scared.

"So, the way my powers work," I say while leaning back in my chair, "is that at some point, I know something will go from being an issue to a problem to a disaster. I can only intervene when I know it'll be disastrous, otherwise I can't use my powers, it's like they don't exist. Until something goes over the thresh hold of becoming a potential disaster, it's like I have no powers at all."

"How do you know when a disaster is going to happen? Is it like a vision?"

"It's more internal than that- it's like a feeling I guess...I'm not sure how to articulate it."

Huh, no one has ever bothered to ask me anything specific about my powers or the work I do. I don't have a lot of answers if they keep prodding.

"So, yeah, it's not that I'm neutral to villains, it's just all of the ones you guys been dealing with don't-" I yawned "- don't give me that feeling. I'll let you know if it changes."

I put my head in my hands. Fuck, I'm so tired. It's not like I can stop being a hero, I see the alternate world where I don't intervene, I feel it. But I'm so, so tired.

"Go take a nap."

My head shoots up, "What?"

The Masked Crusader (dumb ass name btw, just like his dumbass mansion) says it again, "Go take a nap. I'll make us all dinner. Go use my guest room and pass out for a bit.

Damn it, did I say I was tired out loud? Or was mind reading one of his superpowers? I can't remember, things have been so overwhelming recently, my memory is shot.

"No, the Masked Crusader can't read minds, that's me" Brainiac says.

Oh. Shit. Right.

"We just, we see you burning out, let us support you for once," chimed in the Singing Banshee.

This was not how I was expecting this conversation to go AT ALL.

Banshee continues, "You've got a lot of walls up, probably from years of running yourself into the ground saving thousands of people without any help. So, we're now going to help you."

"That's not a request by the way," the Masked Crusader says as he slides me a glass of water. "We're doing it whether you like it or not."

Shit, I hadn't even realized I was thirsty. Have I drank any water all today?

And then *BOOM* I get hit with it- the feeling of an impending but preventable disaster. But it's different than any other disasters I "felt" before.

It's me... It's me, in the near future, collapsing and being unable to do anything about, well anything. I wouldn't be able to stop future disasters, hell, I won't be able to function. And the only way to prevent it was to lean on these people.

This was a lot.

I chugged the rest of the water and wiped my mouth.

"Ok, thanks..." I whispered.

This was too much to think about right now. It was too much to feel right now. I'm not used to, I don't know, being taken care of. I don't know how to be supported.

I'll figure out a way to properly navigate this later. Right now I needed to lay the hell down.

You're a superhero who specializes exclusively in stopping disasters. The other heroes just don't understand why you need to remain neutral to the villains…

[pboogerswbb]

TOO LOST IN YOU - part V

Paige Bueckers x bartender!oc

playlist, part I, part II, part III, part IV

Warnings: toxic!p, language, sexual themes, themes of cheating etc

Wordcount: 5.8k

A/N: WE ARE BACK! no smut in this one sorry ik you love it but i think this a bit of a turning point in the fic :) again pls send me feedback and live reactions! it's the best part of writing this series ANYWAY GO READ ty for everything you guys do

-

We’re both sweaty, my skin sticking to hers as we try and catch our breaths - that fourth round had really done us in. If it hadn’t been for me, I’m sure the blonde next to me would’ve gone for fifth. That damn athlete’s stamina. This had become a daily routine the past week, ever since our sleepover.

“You stayin’ over, right?” Paige asks, hand in my hair brushing through it gently. I consider it, the idea of falling asleep in her arms, getting to wake up being held tight by her warming me, but in the back of my mind there’s something gnawing at me. I’m pretty sure I had something to do tonight. Oh right. Jay. Shit.

Clumsily climbing out of bed and pulling on my clothes with urgency makes Paige let out a confused chuckle as she sits up, watching me closely. “Damn ma, chill, you can go if you want.”

“No, I just-” I mumble through my red knitted sweater, pulling it over my head. “I was supposed to see Jay.” In fact Jay had insisted we celebrate because it’s been exactly a month since we started seeing each other. I didn’t really get it. Maybe if we were actually dating, and even then just after one month felt… Excessive to me. But she had insisted.

Paige goes uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, a hint of something unfamiliar on her face as I pull up my flared yoga pants. I check myself in the mirror, mascara smudged over undereyes, lipstick all over my face and my perfectly styled blowout matted at the back - I looked completely fucked out. The hickey on my collarbone, and the smell of Paige’s cologne on my clothes didn’t help my case.

“Paigeee!” I groan at the reflection staring back at me, scrunching my face as I force my long brown locks into a high ponytail, but the blonde sitting behind me on her purple comforter remains quiet, eyes low and face stoic. It’s so unlike her I turn around, tightening my pony as I watch her concerned. “P?”

She finally lifts her gaze from the corner of her room to meet my face, smiling weakly. I could tell something was off, and it made my stomach stir. Before I can ask Paige leans her head against the wall behind her, looking to the ceiling and taking a deep breath.

“You sure you can’t stay?”

It sounds vulnerable, almost pleading if I didn’t know better. For a moment I waver, but instead I brush it off, turning back to the mirror and fixing my makeup while Paige watches on the bed.

“Nah, she wanted to celebrate our one month… Something,” I murmur, reapplying the maroon lipstick.

A deep sigh from Paige fills the room as she fidgets with her hands before bringing them up to her jaw, rubbing it.

“Why are you with her?”

“Huh?” I ask, turning to her but she won’t meet my gaze.

“You heard me, why are you with her?”

I’m baffled, astonished by the question. A blush rising to my cheeks I suddenly feel defensive for some reason - mostly because there was no good reason. Jay was nice enough and I liked her company. Sometimes. But at least I knew for certain she would never do what Paige had done to me in the past. Never.

“Because she’s good to me! How’s that any of your business anyway?” my voice rises as I ask, my arms crossing but Paige is quick to get up and walk over to me, pulling me into a hug.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you right,” she quickly lets out, rubbing up and down my back and the anger immediately subsides. “Stupid question, sorry.” She sounds almost scared. I had never heard her sound like that. Trying to understand what it meant made my mind turn to mush so I focus on the way she kisses my forehead and holds my face, our eyes meeting.

“Thursday then? After my game?” Paige suggests, now kissing my neck, making me forget all about who was waiting for me. My eyes flutter shut as I hum, trying to answer.

“I can’t,” I murmur, Paige’s lips doing their best work as her teeth nibble my earlobe making me hiss. “Me and Jay are gonna come watch you play,” I admit breathlessly, making her pull away from me.

“Seriously?” She asks, brows furrowed in annoyance. I shrug, unsure why she was so upset.

“I’ve been beggin’ for you to come see me play and nothin’? But for Justine…?”

“It’s her birthday! I promised I’d do what she wanted!” I argue, my voice rising the tiniest bit once more.

Paige looks at the ground and shakes her head frustrated, breathing heavy through her mouth. I couldn’t help but feel a little bad, I never in a million years thought she cared this much about me seeing her play. I didn’t even care about going with Jay. Honestly, I just wanted to see Paige in her element. I loved listening to her talk about ball, the way her eyes sparkled with knowledge and passion. She might be a piece of shit and an asshole but I really admired her resilience and ambition. If Paige was anything it was incredibly focused and dedicated. Sometimes to her own fault, I thought.

“Besides I bet Claire or-”

“Clara.”

“Right, Clara, will be there to watch you play!” Her name tastes sour in my mouth.

“I don’ care about her, want you watchin’ me!”

“Well I will be watchin’ you!”

“With Justine!” Paige groans with a roll of her eyes, her hands waving around as she speaks. I watch her bewildered when it hits me. She’s jealous. Paige Bueckers is jealous.

“You’re jealous?” slips from my mouth with a confused scoff, making Paige freeze. She looks at me for a moment, debating, then shaking her head.

“No. I just- I don’ wanna talk about it, I don’t wanna fight,” she sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingers. There’s a hint of defeat in her voice which makes me waver. My annoyance and confusion slip away as I watch the way her blue eyes soften. 

“Let’s not fight Val, please.”

“Okay,” I hum and let her pull me into a hug. As her nose buries into my hair, for a second I think she’s smelling it, inhaling carefully - but I must be mistaken. She had never done that before.

“P I gotta go,” I murmur against her chest, not wanting to but knowing Jay was growing more and more suspicious as time passed. Frankly, we still weren’t exclusive so none of this was technically cheating. Still, I hadn’t told her. I had convinced myself that eventually I would. I just don’t know when.

“I’ll walk you,” she whispers, making me chuckle.

“Yeah that wouldn’t be sus at all huh?”

Paige grins, looking down at me. “Just tell her we’re fucking around.”

With a furrow of my brows I shake my head. “Nah.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Paige is smirking smugly now, staring into me. “Oh because then you’d have to tell her how I fuck you better than she do?”

I blush and roll my eyes. I wasn’t about to admit she was right.

Pushing her off me, I grab my bag from the floor and give her one last glance. She reaches her hand to my jaw and holds it, pressing a tender kiss to my lips making my heart flutter for a second.

“Text me when you’re there ma,” she murmurs against my lips before letting go and opening her door for me.

“I will.”

Waving bye to Jana and Allie too who I’d become friendly with this last week, I walk out of the dorm into the chilly evening, February still forcing me to wear my white puffer jacket. I wrap it around me tightly as I hurry towards Jay’s dorm, trying not to think myself to the grave over Paige’s behaviour  - loving, caring, a different Paige than I knew last fall. I almost wish she was the same as she used to be, the careless player who didn’t let me sleep over or get to know her roommates. Because now I had what I had always wanted from her. Except it wasn’t a dream come true. It was terrifying. My heart wanted to give in, to let myself feel. But I was horrified of what she could do again, how she might hurt me this time.

I’m still in my thoughts when I reach Jay’s door, knocking on it urgently. Before I can even lower my hand, she opens the door, a frown on her face.

“You’re late.” she says, letting me in nevertheless. The room is lit with candles, homemade dinner gone cold on the plates and a bouquet of flowers in a vase - my heart sinks. Not because I missed out on what Jay had planned, but because I didn’t want this. Not from her. I felt like a piece of shit for thinking that this was way too much. But it’s true. 

“Fuck Jay, I’m so sorry. I got caught up at Ted’s. I didn’t know a Tuesday night would be this busy,” I chuckle trying to lighten the mood, seeing a teddy bear with a big red bowtie sitting on the couch, giving me the creeps.

“Whatever Val,” she sighs, clearing the plates away. I watch, not sure what to say.

“Your roommates, where-”

Jay turns to me, tears in her eyes. “I paid them both to be out tonight, to make tonight special. But you didn’t even come.”

“I’m here now!” I say, walking over and grabbing her hands. I never knew what to do when someone cried, I wasn’t the consoling type, I was the advice type. My friends didn’t come to me to be comforted, they came to me to know what to do next. I always had a plan. But this was way out of my comfort zone. I hated when girls cried because of me.

“Look, I’m sorry, it was so busy. I didn’t even realise I was late,” I lie, looking straight into her blue eyes. It’s hard, I don’t like it, but the words slip from my lips more easily than I thought. 

Jay pouts and nods, wiping the tears from her eyes. “It’s not your fault just… next time call.” Her voice is weak. I really felt like an asshole. I had to end it with Paige, I knew I did. I just simply couldn’t. My heart didn’t let me for some reason.

“Okay, I’m sorry Jay. C’mere.” I pull her into a kiss, but it feels wrong, icky almost. She kisses me back though, her hands wrapping around my waist. I catch a whiff of Paige’s cologne on my sweater.

“Let’s order pizza, okay?” I ask against her lips, not wanting to open my eyes and face reality, the tugging of my heartstrings. I felt like I was being ripped apart, stuck between crossroads. I could feel myself falling for Paige. I knew it by the way my heart ached when we said goodbye, the way my eyes were constantly looking for her in a crowd. I was falling for her, yes. But the moment I admitted that the fear would come roaring in, like a tide, ready to bury everything underneath it. She had so many tools to hurt me, so many that she was unaware of. God if she knew how I felt I’m sure I’d never heard from her again. It would ruin everything. Being with Jay was good, secure, the right thing to do. Even if I didn’t feel half as much for her, my heart didn’t flutter for her - at least she couldn’t break it either.

-

Be you. Be great.

I watch the text from my dad flash on my screen, sitting in front of my cubby, legs bouncing nervously. I already knew we’d win today - we weren’t playing anyone special. An attitude Geno would surely smack the back of my head for, but it’s simply true. It wasn’t the upcoming game making my finger tap nervously against the back of my phone, it was the text I had typed out, my finger hovering over the send button, making my stomach flutter.

Miss u Val

“Yo warmups!” KK snaps me out of my trance, my finger accidentally pressing down on the send button. Shit. Now Valerie was gonna know I miss her. 

Sure it had only been a couple days since she was last in my arms, but being away from her made my heart ache. Usually the more I saw a girl the less I wanted to see her. Valerie, however, seemed to have the opposite effect. I couldn’t get enough. Guess it had something to do with the “feelings” I had for her.

“Shit you scared me,” I chuckle, my cheeks turning red as I hide the screen which KK does not miss. She grins at me, elbowing my shoulder teasingly.

“You texting Valerie?”

“Yooo,” I roll my eyes but don’t deny it, a sly smile forming on my face. Raising my brows and scratching the back of my head I look at the shorter girl standing in front of me. “She’s comin’ to watch tonight.”

“Oh forreal?”

“With Justine,” I scoff, standing up to join KK in heading in for the warmups, my jersey on, hidden underneath the warmup clothes. She snorts and shakes her head.

“Crazy work to name a child that,” She laughs.

Nodding, I snort a little. “That’s what I’m sayin’ like.” I might joke, but Justine was the one getting to bring Valerie to a game. Not me. I would take a stupid name like that too if it meant I got to do that.

“You jealous?” KK asks, noticing the way my teeth grind together. I quickly shake my head, not very convincingly, but flexing a little to make up for it. “Nah, I’m the ultimate rizzler remember? Nothin’ to worry ‘bout.”

Truthfully? I was a little worried. Taking a deep breath I try to push that feeling away as we enter the court, the seats slowly filling as the crowd makes their way in.

“Bro just tell her how you feel,” KK murmurs as we both stretch, watching some of the girls running around the court.

Her words make me scoff, how naive. “It’s not that simple,” my voice is stern. No one seemed to understand the pressure I was under, not even my best friend. To even suggest something like that felt insane. I couldn’t tell Valerie. Not with a natty on the line, not with all this pressure. 

Besides, what then? She feels the same and we date? I’d make a shit girlfriend, I know it. I was too selfish, an asshole. I wasn’t girlfriend material. Not for anyone as special, as precious as my Valerie. All she did was complicate things. Even now, my head was spinning with the thought of her. As if I don’t have to be at my best, have my head in the game in like an hour. God, I need to get a grip. Maybe I deserved to lose today. I was unfocused, a disappointment.

“Girl you’re an idiot,” KK sighs as we jog up and down the court. My eyes are immediately looking over the student section when her golden brown hair glimmers in the light like a beacon just for me to find her. She’s sitting in the third row, legs crossed in a mini denim skirt, much too short for the weather outside. An oversized black sweater reveals her left shoulder and collarbone, the mark I had left visible to everyone. Bold. I suppose Jay must have thought it was her doing. Boy if she knew. Part of me wanted everyone to know she’s mine. Only she wasn’t.

It’s not just Valerie’s hair, but the gold dangling on her wrist as she brushes her hair back, the rings decorating her fingers and the earrings contrasting against her dark locks that make the whole place shimmer, all because of her. I simply can’t look away. My twisted fantasies of having some sort of ownership over the brunette is quickly interrupted when Justine’s hand wraps around her shoulders and I notice the blonde girl, kissing Valerie’s cheek. My Valerie’s. I nearly trip over my feet, making KK laugh out loud - her laughter echoing around the court, taunting me.

-

“Guys what the hell is wrong with you, we should be up by 20 at this point against a school like this? That was the worst offense I’ve seen in my who-”

Geno’s scolding is ear-piercing as I sit in the dressing room next to the other girls, my elbows leaving red marks on my thighs as I lean against them and wipe the sweat dripping down my neck. My chest heaves as Geno takes turns chewing off each of us, dreading for my own turn.

We were only leading by four pathetic points, and had to struggle even for that. It was all my fault, I already knew. I didn’t need Geno or anyone to tell me that. I was unfocused, making bad decisions, causing turnovers - I even missed a free throw for the sole reason that just moments before I had seen Jay’s lips pressing into Valerie’s. God, just the thought was making me feel sick.

“Paige,” Geno’s stern voice snaps me out of it, my eyes lifting to meet his. But all he does is shake his head, and it’s even worse than him yelling at me. I wanted him to cuss me out, anything else.  “You know,” he simply says and I nod. I did know.

At least now I had the confirmation of everything I had suspected all along. A girl was nothing but a disturbance, a hitch in my plans. I can’t believe I had let myself do this, get distracted because of some girl. A classic fool. And I was about to make a fool out of my whole team too.

Once Geno leaves and gives us some time before the third quarter, I check my phone, my repentant thoughts quickly subsiding when I see the texts.

i miss you too p

fuck you look hot in that jersey

okay biceps you looking swole? when have you had time to hit the gym that much

wish i could come spend the night

My heart flutters, all of it is flattering sure. But it’s the first and last message that get me to take deep breaths. She misses me. She wants to spend the night with me. The weight on my chest eases up.

U should come over after

i can’t

promised jay

Fuck Justine 

Just come up w sumn

you really miss me that bad?

So fucking bad baby

Going to ted’s after the game

ok i’ll figure something out

Something about the texting and the adrenaline from the game made me bolder, more honest.

Valerie?

yeah?

U look gorgous

Gorjes

gorgeous?

Shut up it’s hard to spell :(

student athlete who

Gotta go warm up

paige?

Yeah?

go kill em

-

It’s hard to miss the moment the Huskies walk in, all in a big group in their navy blue Uconn trackies laughing and hyping up the blonde in the middle, whose face is scrunched up as she tells them to chill. I knew Paige well enough that she didn’t mean any of that, she loved the limelight.

All of the second half of the game Paige had been glowing on the court, completely unguardable, the star I always knew she was. With her help the Huskies had won with a 20 point lead despite the rough first half. I could’ve watched her forever. Every shot, every pass, every block had me on my toes, and I swear I was always the first one to jump to my feet to cheer for her. I forgot about the crowd, even Jay next to me. On the court it might as well just have been Paige Bueckers, I wouldn’t have noticed the difference.

“Babe, tell Alex I’m right!” Jay interrupts my thoughts, forcing my eyes to snap from Paige to her sitting around a table with some of her friends, a red partyhat on her head for the birthday celebration.

I blink stupidly, having missed the whole conversation.

“Shots for everyone!!” I hear Paige yell behind me, forcing a crooked smile to grow on my face.

“Uh sorry I couldn’t hear you,” I admit, glancing over my shoulder hoping the tall blonde would notice me eyeing her. She was too busy leaning over the bar, clearly eager for the drinks.

Jay giggles and presses a wet kiss on my forehead. “You’re so cute,” she murmurs. I nearly vomit. 

Suddenly claustrophobic from her closeness, I brush Jay’s hand away. “I need another drink.”

“But you still have some-”

I quickly down the rest of my vodka soda, before standing up and taking quick steps in my boots towards the group of really, really tall girls surrounding Paige, flutters in my stomach growing with each step.

“Valerie!” KK is the first to notice me and wrap an arm around me. The sound of my name makes Paige’s head snap towards my direction, the smile on her face only growing wider when she sees me. Without thinking and before I can stop her, Paige is wrapping her hands around my waist and spinning me in the air, giggling, her head on my shoulder.

“Oh my God put me down!” My command is not cogent, the chuckles making me less convincing. Paige obeys anyway and lets me go, both of us glancing towards the table where Jay is sitting, still immersed in conversation with her friends. Feeling bold, Paige’s hand rapidly slides down my back to my ass, groping it harshly before letting go. The fact that Jay could see only makes me want her to do it again. Maybe I should see a therapist.

“Val I know you’re not working but can you make the Shirleys pleaaaase,” the blonde in front of me begs, her pleading blue eyes almost getting to me. “They’re fire.”

“No! I’m a free woman tonight!” I proclaim, leaning my elbows against the bar. Paige does the same, her side pressing into mine sending jolts all over me. 

“Fine, whatchu drinkin’ ma?” she asks. “Vodka soda?”

“With crush-”

“Crushed lime, I know.”

Paige orders the drink, paying for it without making it a big deal in any way. I always found her smoothness so incredibly sexy. Right now as she stood there, elbows on the bar, chewing on her bottom lip, shower fresh and beaming from the win, I swear I had never felt so attracted to her. It wasn’t just pure lust, but something else too. Something more.

“That third quarter,” I start, the praise immediately causing a smirk to grow on the blonde’s face.

“Yeah? You watched me?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

I smile too, looking down to my feet. “You were born to do that.”

When our eyes meet again there’s a hint of something vulnerable and genuine in Paige’s expression. All the other noise seems to quiet down, leaving us in our own bubble, just us two. It bursts quickly when I feel a hand wrap around my waist. I know who it is before I even look, evident by the pure annoyance on Paige’s face.

“Hey babe are you fangirling over here?” She jokes, kissing my cheek. I pull away a little but Jay’s a few too many drinks in to notice.

Paige quickly smiles and shakes her head, sipping her drink. “Nah, I was. She makes the best dirty Shirley around, trust.”

I stare into her blue eyes, secretly enjoying this little game we were playing. Tiptoeing the line between strangers and something more.

“Yeah she insisted on getting me a drink for all the times she’s been yelling into my ear to play Drake,” I tease back, my mind immediately going to the many nights Paige had made her way behind the bar, one time even getting on her knees on the disgusting, sticky floor and begging me to let her play a few songs. From the smirk on her face, I know Paige is thinking the same.

Jay’s eyebrows shoot up watching us, clearly surprised. “Hm. No one told me you two know each other that well.”

“I mean we don’t, I just know she works here,” Paige quickly corrects, her brows furrowing as she points to me. “Your name’s uh… Vivien?”

“Valerie.”

Paige and me both smirk a little, Jay missing it completely. 

“Riiight sorry,” Paige grins, sipping her drink and turning to the blonde next to me. “Sick hat.” She’s being sarcastic.

“Thanks man, it’s my birthday,” Jay answers, a little flustered at the attention she was getting from the girl in front of us.

“Damn, happy birthday,” Paige says politely, patting Jay’s shoulder in a manner only I knew was condescending. 

Excusing herself, Paige leaves me and the blonde girl by the bar, every cell in my body screaming to follow her.

“Paige Bueckers just wished me happy birthday,” Jay says in awe.

-

The girl whose waist I’m holding, kissing my neck might as well not exist - I barely notice her. My stare is locked on Valerie and Justine, giggling and dancing in the corner of the packed bar. They look happy. 

A pang of guilt washes over me momentarily. Here’s Justine who, yeah sure is short, but really seems to like Valerie, takes good care of her. And maybe Valerie would learn to be happy with her if I just let her. The nauseating images of them adopting a dog together, getting married, raising children and growing old with each other flash through my mind. It’s enough to cause a tremble in my lower lip, my eyes welling up. The ache in my chest was trying to tell me something I wasn’t ready to admit.

“Can we go back to yours?” Clara hums, her teeth nibbling on my earlobe when a single tear rolls down my right cheek. I quickly wipe it off, my eyes finally turning to the girl next to me. To my relief she’s too busy trying to turn me on to notice my red eyes.

“Not now Clara,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the music and chatter.

The girl’s face scrunches up in annoyance as I push her off me, gently but with a firm hand.

“What’s your problem? You’ve been like this all night, it’s like I’m not even here.”

“Not now.” I rub the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes and trying to take calming breaths.

“If you don’t want me he-”

“I don’t want you here Clara, I didn’t even ask you to come.”

There’s a moment of heavy silence between us, the girl next to me staring at me with wide eyes, hurt written all over her face. I wasn’t strong enough to fight how I felt anymore. It was time to face my feelings, even if it scared me.

“This is over, okay?” I admit, my gaze meeting Clara’s. She blinks at me slowly, processing. I feel like I should say something, explain myself. But nothing I could say would make it better so I stay quiet.

In silence, I watch Clara hop down from the bar stool and look at me one more time.

“My friends were right about you.”

With that she leaves Ted’s and relief washes over me. I grab my phone, and type out a text.

I’m sorry but I can’t see u anymore, just got too much going on

I copy and paste it, sending the words to each girl on my roster, not bothering to wait for any responses before deleting their numbers. Zoe, Jenny, Sofia, all gone. It was almost exhilarating, the way my body worked before my brain could catch up. Glancing to the opposite corner of the bar I finally catch Valerie’s eye. I nod my head towards the bathrooms before heading in myself. She’s quick to follow, leaving Justine behind. It was time to be brave, the kind of person who deserved Valerie.

The bathrooms are tiny, both of us making the space more cramped when I let Valerie in, locking the door behind us. Before she can say anything, her big brown eyes blinking at me, I’m kissing her. Not with any other agenda except aching to feel her lips on mine. My left hand cups her face, right hand holding her body close to me by her waist. Hungry for more, my tongue slips between her lips.

“Paige…” Valerie’s voice is soft against my lips, her breathing heavy as her hands hold my hips. 

“Shh,” I hum, my hands gently brushing through her hair as my kisses turn from hungry to loving, our lips slowing down in their dance. After a while we both pull away breathless, our foreheads resting against one another. Before my brain catches up, the words spill from my mouth.

“Leave her.”

Valerie’s brown eyes widen as she leans her head back to look at me.

“I- huh?” 

I swallow, thinking about doubling down for an instant. No. This needs to be it. Be brave Paige.

“Justine. Leave her.” There’s a hint of anxiety in my trembling voice, but the way I stare at the brunette girl in front of me lets her know I’m serious. Her expression is hard to read, the cramped space muffling the sounds of the world outside. In this moment it’s just us. Frankly, I had no idea what I was doing. I might really screw us up now. Lose her forever. But I didn’t have any fight left in me. It was bound to happen.

“Why?” she asks, her dark brows furrowing a little.

I scoff lightly, taking her hands in mine.

“Why? You know why.”

From the way Valerie blinks at me confirms that she did know - this wasn’t just sleeping around anymore, this had gone beyond. We both knew.

My thumbs smooth over the soft skin of her petite hands, the red polish decorating her nails, the chunky gold rings cool against my fingertips. I was trying to be patient, giving her time to process. But the pounding in my chest was making me lightheaded, the anxiety making my cheeks turn red. I felt vulnerable, exposed, terrified. Yet, I don’t speak or hurry her.

“No, stop it.”

Before I realise what’s happening, Valerie pulls her hands away from me, her eyes full of suspicion. My stomach stirs as she reaches for the door but I stop her.

“No, wait, please Val,” I plead, hand on the door handle.

“I can’t do this again,” Valerie cries out, her eyes filling with tears. I reach to wipe them away but she moves back from me. It breaks my heart.

“No ma, ‘s not like that this time. I left Clara, I left all of ‘em. Fuck all of ‘em ok? I don’t want ‘em!” My voice is desperate, chasing the brunette’s brown eyes as she avoids my gaze. 

“I need some air,” she murmurs, unlocking the door. However she doesn’t get far before bumping into Justine’s chest, standing right outside the bathroom eyeing both of us.

All three of us go silent as the blonde girl stares dumbfounded. 

“What the fuck is going on?” She slurs, alcohol evident in her voice.

“Jay I-” Valerie starts but Justine is quick to flip around and take hurried steps towards the exit. I follow the brunette out of Ted’s, the parking lot quiet on a rainy night.

“Jay, please wait! Let me explain!” Valerie pleads, grabbing Justine’s hand but she pushes her away, forcing the brunette to stumble back a little. My fingers flex with anger as I step between the two girls.

“Whoa, yo nuh uh,” I say sternly, shaking my head at Justine who’s looking at me like she might actually jump me. I wasn’t worried, I could take her. “Don’t touch her.”

The blonde scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You can’t tell me not to touch my girl!”

Her girl? I feel anger rising from my gut, heat ascending to my neck and cheeks. I step into her space, looking down at her as I do. 

“Don’t you get it?” I chuckle, an arrogant smirk on my face, basking in the way she had to tilt her head up to look at me. “Val’s not your girl.”

“Paige-” Valerie’s voice is careful behind me, her hand gently reaching for my forearm.

“You wanna know why she been too tired to come over? Because she’s been in my bed, getting fucked like she deserv-”

“PAIGE!”

Valerie pulls me back by my arm, her eyes wide and furious as she looks up at me. The adrenaline was making me bold, I wanted the world to know she’s mine. No one else’s. My Valerie.

“Fuck you both.” Justine slurs, heading back inside the bar, clearly not the fighting type. Deep deep down I wish she had jumped me just so I had the excuse to punch her at least once for calling Valerie her girl.

The brunette lets go of me and scoffs, shaking her head as she starts walking away from me. Suddenly coming to my senses, I follow behind her apologetically.

“Ma, wait.”

“Paige what are you doing?” She cries out, a desperate frustration evident in the way she speaks as she turns to look at me.

I step into her space, hands itching to touch her. Better not. Not right now. Biting my lower lip I sigh and shake my head.

“Sorry it just pissed me off hearing her-”

She’s not listening but profusely shaking her head, eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t understand you, I don’t get what you want from me!” She bursts out. My hands come to hold her shoulders, taking it as a good sign when she lets me.

“I want you Val,” I finally admit. Not just to her but to myself.

“But what does that even mean?!” She’s clearly frustrated, tired of the confusing cat and mouse game we’d been playing since we met. I was tired too.

“Look ma, I’m done with all the other girls, and you’re done with Justine. I dunno what that means but-”

“But what? We date? Become girlfriends? Then what?” She spews. I rub my forehead and eyes with my hand, feeling my head spinning. Maybe I hadn’t thought this through.

“Maybe-”

“Until you find the next girl you wanna fuck? Or freak out again?”

“No Val not this time-”

“How do you know?” She asks, a hint of desperation in her voice, looking for any sign that this was a risk worth taking.

“I uh,” I mumble, my skin turning hot, bringing my hands behind my head, rubbing my hair, trying to soothe myself.

“How do you know, Paige?!” Valerie screams, her big brown eyes pleading with me for a reason. Before my brain could catch up my mouth’s already forming the words. The words I had not had the time to admit to myself yet - that feeling that had been gnawing at me for weeks now. The twist in my gut, the dizziness in my head. I finally understood.

“Because I love you Valerie!”

-

taglist:  @thaatdigitaldiary @wbbismypassion69 @bueckersfive @onlyhereforpazzi @lovegalor333 @frankoceanlvr303039 @angryflowerwitch@mamixdanni @rosemariiaa @d3arapril @vbueckers @sageworld @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @justliketoreadsowhat@oreo2sblog @sftlyortega @slvt4her @julieloveswbb@vsz333 @faeries-posts @vamptizm @ellapurnellmybeloved @ivorygoal @onlyhereforpazzi @thelightknight21@paigeluvvr@absolutelydreadful@imamartini@lupinqs@authentic-girl03@isurpussygreen@xxloveralways14 (SORRY IF I FORGOT TO TAG)

[genderqueerdykes]

holy shit wait…your 32???

I…im gonna cry

I didn’t know we can live this long…

not just trans mass but…

alterhuman…and plurals..and…

I can’t…

so happy

gonna cry……..

yes i am! i was born in 1992 :)

that's exactly why i have my age in my bio- i've wanted to show people that you don't "outgrow" fundamental parts of your identity. it's natural to adopt and shed identities as we age, but i've been out as genderqueer since 19! nothing has changed, i'm still the same genderqueer person i was all those years ago!

and if anything- life has gotten better in my 30s. as a word of advice to most people out there: your teen years and your twenties FUCKING SUCK!!!!!!!! they tell you those are the "best years of your life" but they're NOT- you're growing into a world that is terrifying and doesn't understand you. you're scared. your brain and body are still developing and you're constantly facing new challenges. those are honestly i think the HARDEST years of your life, hands down

when i was a teenager, i would think to myself "phht there's literally no way i'm making it past 25 lmao" and figure that life ends after 25. well, that day came where i turned 25... and nothing changed.

and then i turned 30. still, nothing changed

now i'm 32 and... nothing has changed. maturation happens with age, yes, but it doesn't mean that you're suddenly a completely different person. people have such a shitty view on 30 year olds, like it's somehow "embarrassing" to be above the age of 25 years old. people in their 30s are constantly picked on, we're constantly told to "act our age" when... we are. i'm happier than ever realizing that I made it to my 30s, still trans, still nonhuman, still plural

i've been in treatment for DID since 2017, and while i've healed a lot, i have not integrated with my alters, and i never will. i don't want to. this is how my brain functions. the dissociation can be a nightmare for me, but my brain needs different people inside of it in order to be able to function properly. we tried to force ourselves to live as a singlet for 3 years and what ended up happening was that host at that time cracked from being under the constant pressure and still has never returned. the amount of stress it placed on us to try to live as a singlet was not worth it. at all

there hasn't been a singular moment in my adult life where i stopped being nonhuman, either. that was something that i never even tried to force myself out of. i never viewed it as weird or something that i should "outgrow"- i told my own mother that i did not identify as human as a child and that never left me. even now, i still wear dog collars, ears, tails, and take nature walks and do things to make myself feel more like my nonhuman selves. i'm still a furry, too!

i might not be a queer "elder" yet, but i'm happy as can be to be able to be an older queer person who can use their experience to help younger folks. thanks for sending this message! trust me, there really is a life after your 20s. your teens and 20s suck massively. but after i passed 30 i became more down to earth about my age. it's not a bad thing to live past 20- in fact, it's a badge of honor. i made it. i'm still breathing, i'm still here, still queer, despite all attempts to prevent me from still being here.

i'm going to continue be here for a long, long time, and you can be here with me, too.

take care of yourself! thanks for stopping by!

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

baby, ride me to the darkness of the night

“F-Fuck—Ughh—can you feel it, baby? Can you feel my big cock pounding into your pussy to the rhythm of the music?”

Of course you could feel it. Oh, you felt it all too well.

Falling for Gojo Satoru’s charm wasn’t exactly a challenge. One glance from him was enough to have you slipping your panties down, wet and ready, waiting for him. And once he was inside you? The sensations he’d bring were like nothing you’d ever felt before.

You hadn’t even wanted to go to the club tonight, but your best friend had insisted you needed to celebrate finishing your midterms with something fun. Begrudgingly, you’d let yourself be dragged along, realizing that the night’s control was no longer yours.

At first, you’d rolled your eyes and sighed. But after a few shots, you felt bold enough to dance. On the dance floor, grinding against your best friend, collecting every wandering gaze, you had no idea the most dangerous one of all had already undressed you with his eyes and was fucking you senseless in his mind. Not until your friend leaned in, whispering about the blue-eyed devil watching you from upstairs.

People had given him many names: “The Strongest,” “Blue-Eyed King,” “Perfect Face.” But to you, the only one that truly fit was “Devil.”

Devil always got what he wanted. Sometimes, he lured people into his games with wicked tricks. Other times, he simply waited, his prey crawling to him willingly.

When you glanced in the direction your friend indicated, it became clear the Devil had already chosen you for his game. And without a word of protest, you chose to be his willing sacrifice.

You had no idea when exactly his hand gripped your waist and pulled you away while you were dancing with your friend. You could feel the hardness pressing against your ass. In fact, it was impossible not to feel it. And you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering just how much harder he could get.

Well, testing it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Turns out, the results were conclusive. So much so that the Devil himself—Gojo Satoru—couldn’t hold back anymore. He’d dragged you into the women’s restroom, pinning you to the wall, his lips devouring yours the moment you were alone.

And now? Now your legs were wrapped around his waist, your already too-short dress pushed up to your hips, while his thick cock plunged in and out of you.

Each thrust hit that perfect spot, leaving you delirious as the beat of “São Paulo” synced with the rhythm of his hips. Your back slammed against the wall with every stroke, driving you closer and closer to madness.

You were letting the club owner fuck you senseless in the women’s restroom—something you never would’ve imagined yourself doing.

“S-Satoru—sl-slow-slow down, it’s too much,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the pounding music outside.

“Fuck no, baby. Haaah—I know you don’t want me to slow down. You just want more, you filthy little slut. F-Fuck, yeah—” he growled, his masculine rumble sending a shiver down your spine as he thrust into you harder and faster.

The sound of your bodies colliding echoed through the bathroom, but not a single soul dared to interrupt. It was as if, even through the blaring music, your shared moans were enough to warn everyone off. Nobody wanted to interfere with the Devil’s play.

And they had no right to.

“Mmmfp—I’m—I’m gonna—OH GOD, Satoru, I’m coming! Keep going!” you cried out, your voice trembling with the orgasm building inside you.

With one hand braced against the wall and the other gripping your hip, Satoru quickly moved his hand from the wall to your hip, using both to bounce you harder on his cock. It felt so good that you weren’t sure anyone else could ever fuck you this perfectly again.

“Shit—I’m coming too… You’re going to take all my cum like a good girl. Like *smack* a *smack* good *smack* fucking *smack* girl,” he hissed, accentuating each word with a deliberate thrust.

With a guttural groan, he spilled inside you, his head dropping to rest against the curve of your neck as his hot breath fanned across your skin. You could feel his semen dripping down your thighs as your legs trembled around him.

You closed your eyes, trying to process what had just happened.

You’d let the Devil ride you to the darkness. And it turned out, people were right—devil wasn’t a little red man with horns and a tail.

Sometimes, he had striking blue eyes and a massive cock.

a little note: i was listening to "são paulo" on the metro, and this idea came to my mind. this song definitely gives off Gojo vibes.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[sturnioz]

messing around with bbf!matt while he's playing a game with your brother. based off this ask i got a while ago. (i changed it to a bbf!matt prompt cos im missing him)

you shouldn't be here. you should be at your friends house like you promised your brother you would be. but lying to him and sneaking into his best friend's house instead?

oh, you're definitely not the perfect sister you always prided yourself on being.

you're a liar, and the guilt does gnaw at you — a constant reminder of your betrayal, but you just can't stay away from matt, and the thought of anyone trying to pull you away from him would have you kicking and screaming if they dared try.

matt is like a drug to you, so unbelievably intoxicating and utterly addictive, and each moment spent with him only drowns out the voice of reason that tells you to stop.

even your friends have sat you down, telling you how wrong it is to get involved with your brothers best friend. they even reminded you how furious you'd be if your brother was doing the same with your friends.

and they're right — you would be mad.

but you guess you're just a big fucking hypocrite.

none of that matters right now, though. not when you're wrapped in matt's warm embrace, straddling his lap, your heart racing as your chest presses against his. he's focussed on the game, playing with your brother and their shared friends.

you're trying your best to stay silent as possible, to remain invisible to your brother and to not be heard over matt's headset — but the way he sounds; each grunt, each curse, each movement of his body sends a thrill through you, and you can feel the heat building up in your tummy.

it also doesn't help that you can feel his cock pulsating inside of you, nestled in the tight heat of your walls that fit snugly around him. cockwarming him was your idea, promising to be a good girl and just sit still after pleading him to give in.

"don't move, don't make a sound," he had told you after he muted his mic, helping you get settled in his lap. "and maybe i'll fuck you after this, alright?"

you're trying. you're trying so hard not to move and to not make a sound, but the slight promise of a fucking already has you dripping around him. you're so turned on and horny that you forget for a moment who he's playing with, and you whine into his ear and rock your hips slightly, feeling his cock graze against your gummy walls.

matt stills, and you fear you've been caught when you can hear your brother's voice through his headset — but you ease up when you hear him talk about the game, and you continue to subtly roll your hips, in desperate need for some friction.

you whine again when you clit rubs against him, and one of matt's hands leave his keyboard to grip your hip in warning, trying to stop your movements but you're relentless, moving more deliberately against him.

in a desperate attempt to make you stop, matt moves his own hips, thrusting up into you as he can't use his voice to tell you off — yet the sudden thrust, the feeling of his cock sliding in deeper sends a wave of pleasure through you, and instead of stifling your sounds, it makes you whine even louder, the desperate noise escaping before you can catch it.

"the fuck was that sound?" your brother's voice slices through the air, snapping you back to reality in an instant and your eyes widen in panic, and a rush of fear floods through your system once again.

"fingers crampin' up bad," matt lies swiftly, his tone casual but you can feel the tension radiating off him. you can also feel his jaw tighten against your cheek, the muscles clenching in response to the sudden pressure of the moment. "gonna head off. shits hurtin' me."

"dude, what?" is the last you hear from your brother before matt abruptly ends the call, the screen going dark and the game fading away into silence.

the abrupt quiet feels heavy, and a mix of adrenaline and anxiety courses through your veins as matt's grip on your hips tightens slightly, and you're worried you might've ruined things.

you go to open your mouth to apologise, but matt suddenly stands with you in his arms, carrying you over to his bed, never once dislodging himself from your slick folds and you gasp, clinging to his shoulders as you feel yourself slip.

he drops you down onto the bed, a hand wrapped loosely around your neck as he thrusts deep inside your warmth; the pace relentless as every stroke is followed by a deep grunt.

"you're that fuckin' needy, you wanna risk gettin' caught by your own brother?" matt's hips slam against yours, pounding into your cunt with fervour and you mewl, your body bouncing on the bed. "i told you, sweetheart. told you to not to move 'n to not make a sound... and you disobeyed me."

you writhe beneath him — choked whimpers leaving your lips as you claw at his arm, pressing his hand down on your neck as your legs wrap around his hips, trying to pull him in deeper.

"you're makin' this fuckin' hard to keep secret, sweetheart," matt grunts as you clench around his cock, his balls slapping against your puffy folds. "you want him to know what we do? huh?"

of course you don't, but you can't help but arch your back and cry out his name as mind-numbing pleasure crashes over you as his continues to drive into you, holding you down to the mattress.

you're cumming before you can even register it, your eyelids fluttering and body convulsing beneath him; your pussy contracting around his cock and he groans loudly, burying himself fully inside you and painting your inner walls white.

© STURNIOZ

[band--psycho]

Vander x Reader - 5 Years Later...(Part 2)

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Requests are still open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

Part 2 to my Vander x Reader series - Part 1

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Thank you all for the continued support!💛

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Vander Masterlist / Arcane Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of grief, feeling of dega-vu

You knew the Undercity wasn’t the safest of places to go, at least that’s what your father had always told you. 

So why were you down here? 

Because as much as you appreciated your fathers protectiveness, what type of friend would you be if you let one of your closest friends go down there alone? 

A pretty shit one. 

Which is why, despite the risks, you went with Jayce down to the Undercity. 

Besides, seeing as you were training to be an Enforcer and Jayce was just a student at the academy it was basically your job to escort him and make sure that nothing happened to him; that’s at least what you’d tell Greyson if she asked where you’d been…and your parents, if they asked which you hoped they wouldn’t. 

“Remind me where we’re going?” You asked in a slightly hushed tone as the two of you turned a corner walking down a dimly lit alley, before 

“I need to get some supplies for a project I’m working on,” Jayce answered simply; with an optimistic gleam in his eyes. 

“What project?” you inquired, unable to keep your curiosity at bay; it had certainly been a while since you’d seen Jayce this excited about a project.

“It’s best I don’t tell you, until I can get it working,” he replied; his answer only furthering your curiosity, but perhaps it was for the best for you to know as little as possible…especially if the academy wasn’t aware of it, which by the seams of things, they weren’t. The less you knew the better; though it still played on your mind as the two of you continued walking through the Undercity.  

To most people the Undercity was just an underdeveloped land across the river, deep in the canyons,  beneath Piltover, filled with misfits and thugs; but as you walked through the lanes of the Undercity, you couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it. 

The beauty of how vibrant the lights atop of the shops shone in the darkness; the difference of industrial architecture, making each building its own, if only in a little way.

It was different from Piltover, of course, but beautiful nevertheless. 

Since you'd arrived down here you couldn’t shake this feeling of deja-vu…like you’d been here before. 

It was odd. 

You’d never been down here; not once; so why did it feel so familiar?

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you hadn’t realised Jayce had stopped walking until you walked into the back of him. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, hearing a small chuckle fall from his lips. 

“Lost in your own world again?” he teased, turning around to look at you. 

You simply rolled your eyes at his comment and looked at the building you’d stopped outside; a pawn shop. 

You shot Jayce a confused look; you didn’t understand what this place had that any of the shops in Piltover didn’t; except from some anonymity. 

Down here no one knew him. 

But that only caused the curiosity you had about his project to grow. 

“Stay out here, I won’t be long,” he said before disappearing inside the shop. 

You went to follow him, before you heard a song in the distance, that halted your steps. 

You knew it. 

But you were certain you’d never heard it before…

How did you know a song from the Undercity? 

You turned on your heel, following the sound of the song; you knew it was risky, venturing off into the Undercity alone and you knew Jayce would be worried if he came back outside and noticed you gone, but you couldn’t help it. 

It was like your feet had a mind of their own and before you knew it, you’d come to the source of the music, it was a bar, or at least that’s what you assumed it was seeing as it was called ‘The Last Drop’ and had a logo of a tankard in the middle of the name. 

‘Why does this place seem so familiar?’ you thought to yourself, your eyes narrowing as you stared at the building in front of you. 

You were about to take another step, before you felt someone grab ahold of your wrist; instinctively your training kicked in and your guard went up, ready to fight. 

That was until you saw that it was Jayce who was holding your wrist; he was panting slightly with a worried look in his eyes, “I thought something had happened to you.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, guilt washing over you, “I didn’t mean to worry you,” 

“It’s okay,” he answered softly, tugging on your wrist slightly, leading you away from the bar, “Let’s just get out of here.”

And with that the two of you made your way past the pawn shop Jayce had been in, passing a little boy with white hair leaning against the wall, he had a proud smile on his face that was until he saw you. 

You waved at him politely, confused about why he was staring at you; but the little boy said nothing, he just continued to stare at you, his mouth hanging slightly agape as you vanished out of his view. 

All you could think about as you made your way back to Piltover was how strange today had truly been. 

The deja-vu, the song, the bar, the little boy….none of it was making any sense….

~~~~~~

Vander hated seeing Vi hurt; he also hated that she was a mirror image of how he was when he was younger, so eager to rebel against the topsiders…but it wasn’t that simple. 

That’s what he was trying to get her to understand.

Every action had a consequence. 

He knew that better than anyone. 

He was the one who was too stubborn to call off the uprising, because he wanted to show Piltover that they were worthy of not being left behind on all the grand new ventures Piltover were indulging in; and because of that, he lost so many people that were close to him. 

But no ones ghost was more haunting than yours. 

He just needed Vi to understand that violence wasn’t the way to play this. 

He knew Greyson would probably be paying him a visit soon; the kids, unintentionally, broke an agreement that he’d made with the current sheriff of Piltover, to keep a peace between topside and the Lanes. 

A peace that was now hanging by a thread. 

Once he was sure Vi’s injuries were clean, he rose from the table and began putting away the supplies he’d used to clean her cuts. 

“Vander…there’s something else,” Vi began, halting Vanders movements and making his attention focus back on her. 

“Go on,” he  said calmly, though in his mind he was dreading the next words that were going to come out of her mouth; she’d just been part of blowing up a building in Piltover, what more could there be.

“Ekko said….he said he saw Y/n,” 

Her words short-circuited his mind at the mention of your name.

“What?” he asked; thinking that maybe, somehow, he’d misheard what Vi had said. 

“He said he saw Y/n walking with that topside guy that came into the shop,” she repeated, noticing how Vanders eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to process her words. 

“That was partly why I went up there….to see if she was there,” she continued, rising from her seat, walking over to Vander and placing her hand on his arm. 

She knew how much Vander loved you. 

She knew how much losing you broke him. 

She knew how much losing you hurt both her and Powder; who’d grown so close to you in the few years prior to the uprising. 

That’s why she wanted to be sure that Ekko wasn’t wrong; she’d barely believed him herself when he first told her, but before the explosion happened, she was sure she heard your voice; but without actually seeing you, she couldn't be sure if it was you or if it was just the wishful thinking in her mind.

“She’s dead, Vi,” Vander stated; his voice remaining balanced; although the look in his eyes showed a growing sadness. 

“You’ve never believed that,” 

It wasn’t a lie; he didn’t believe it. 

He might’ve said that you were dead; but Vi knew that deep in his heart, he had never believed it.

He never found your body; and without your body, he could still cling on to the hope that you were alive. 

Vi never really understood why he couldn’t believe your death was real; but now she knew that he was right all along. 

“Ekko got it wrong, it can’t have been her.”

“Vander, he knows what she looks like….” Vi tried to counter, they all knew what you looked like from the photos Vander kept of the two of you; but Vander just went back to putting away the medical supplies before heading to the stairs. 

“He got it wrong,” he answered back, slightly harsher than he’d intended to,before leaving the basement entirely and heading to his own room. 

He all but collapsed onto the side of your bed; his eyes landing on the photo of you he kept on his bedside table. 

You were dead.

That’s what he kept telling himself. 

That’s what he'd had to tell himself for the last five years to keep his own sanity. 

But there was a little voice in the back of his head, a voice that reignited his failing hope…what if you weren’t…what if what Ekko said was true…?

Vander didn’t know what to believe….the memories from that day flooding back into his mind as the pain he’d felt re-entered his heart, tears fell from the Hound Of The Undergrounds eyes, as he tried to work out what to believe. 

What if all these years you’d been alive? 

Why were you in Piltover? 

Why hadn’t you come back to him? 

Did you blame him for what happened on the bridge….did you blame him for the deaths so many people had succumbed to…? 

Is that why you never came home?

So many thoughts were running through his mind; but even if his mind hadn’t settled on a decision, his heart had; he needed to find out the truth. 

And he would; just as soon as he’d smoothed everything out with Greyson about today's incident.

Taglist:

@xacatalepsyx @the-lone-librarian @conretewings @barbersjoy @eternallyvenus @trixiex2 @newlosadventures @eternalgoddessofart @cass-brightwood @fortune-fool02 @arielpanda1 @mothratic @simping-ella @stickyrice5096 @levis-butterfingers @lesbianinyourarea @nagislemontea @dazecrea

I apologise in advance to those who have asked to be on the taglist and aren’t - I’m not ignoring you, I just can’t tag you in it for some reason :(

[apricot-blossomss]

Okokokok hear me out right

The reader is friends with hermes (God or moral reader, your choice!) And they asked hermes to deliver a love letter for them! Days, even weeks go by and Hermes still hasn't delivered it. He doesn't want to, he doesn't want the reader to be directing their attention at anything but him. Maybe this love interest will get tired of waiting! Maybe he should just hold onto it forever. Maybe he should just read the letter himself and decide if this person is good enough for the reader?

And then he reads it and its says something like "hermes I knew you couldn't stop yourself from reading this, I love you, you bastard"

Just an idea <3

☛ hermes steals f!bff!mortal!reader's love letter

☛ sfw; cw: a little suggestive; I got covid so I have some time on my hands

When you asked him for a favor, Hermes couldn't have imagined a world in which he wouldn't fulfill it. Up until now. Staring down at the pink envelope in his hands, he felt his chest constrict with a feeling that could be perfectly encapsulated in the word 'shit'.

"Hermes?"

"Huh?" He looked up into your eyes and kept staring as you laughed about his dumbfounded expression. Your lovely laugh didn't make the situation any better for him, though it usually did. Now, it only added to the growing whirlwind in his stomach, clawing at his insides, screaming at him 'too late, you're too late, idiot'.

"Can you deliver this for me?" you repeated the question. "It's for someone very important to me."

Why not him? Why weren't you sending it to him? He was important to you, he had to be more important to you than whatever douche this letter was for. Hermes had to swallow down the urge to rip the stupid thing to shreds. But it looked like you had put a lot of care into the letter. It even smelled of sweet citrus, which really pissed him off, because the smell was so utterly you and he didn't want any other man associated with it.

"Yeah, sure," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. Gods, it hurt. The worst of it was the way your smile brightened, your eyes so kind and happy when you gleamed up at him. This wasn't right, you only smiled at him like that. Right?

Without turning the letter to look at the addressee, Hermes stuffed it into his bag that was already filled to the brim without much care. Maybe the bag could accidentally slip over the ocean and spill all the letters. Or he could throw it into Hestia's fire and pretend it was an accident. Or maybe he could deliver the letter but hide it somewhere the guy would never find it. Then he would have delivered the letter, technically.

Over pondering this conundrum, his attentive eyes missed the nervous twitching of your fingers and your excited little glances, as well as the way you practically shoved him outside the door with some rushed goodbyes to run into your bedroom and scream into your pillow.

Hermes stood in front of the closed door and had been standing there for a good minute, but he couldn't get his quick feet to move. On the other side of that door was you. You, with the gentle eyes, the dazzling smile and the understanding heart. You, who was his solace after a long day, his joy, his best friend. Right. His best friend he should not have these thoughts about.

Oh, but how dearly he wished to break down these doors, walk up to you and kiss you. How he dreamt of coming home to you, not just in his head and heart but also in reality. Like he already did, he would knock in your window and you'd let him in as if he were a stray pigeon, laughing at his jokes and winks and flirtatious comments. But in his fantasy, it didn't stop there. No, you would kiss him and tell him how much you missed him, he'd surprise you with a romantic picknick and spend the night with you and fall asleep in your warm arms.

Blinking, Hermes snapped out of his daydreams and cursed himself. He was a leecher, thinking about his damn pretty best friend like that. Sighing, he pulled his hat deeper into his face, obscuring his eyes, and set off for his job with flying feet. Knowing damn well he would not be able to concentrate on a single thing today.

🪽

Hermes had never messed up so many deliveries as in the last two weeks- and it wasn't even on purpose. Unlike his father suspected, ever since he had accidentally opened Aphrodite's sex toy delivery. The smacking down still made him wince, even a good five days later. And Hermes tried to concentrate , he really did, but it was hard when the damn letter, still safely stored in his bag, lay heavily on his mind. Stupid, flimsy little thing.

Hermes didn't want to deliver it. He didn't want anyone to get it, and though the guilt ate him up from the inside, he couldn't deny it: he wanted you all to himself. Selfishly, greedily, he didn't want you to give your attention to any man but him- at least not in that way. And, hey, maybe if he procrastinated it long enough, the guy would get tired of waiting and you would just forget him. Maybe he should just hold onto the letter forever.

"Hermes?" you poked his cheek and the god snapped out of his whirlwind of thoughts. Sitting on your couch, he realized you had stood up before him. Your concerned eyes hovered over him and he had to gulp down the urge to pull you down into his lap so he could study them more closely. "Are you okay? You kinda spaced out there for a second."

"I'm fine, baby," he smiled, glancing up at you sheepishly. "I'm not myself tonight." Your forgiving smile was too much for him as he let his upper body slump forward. His head, luckily hat-less as always around you, weighed against your upper body and when it vibrated with your little laugh, Hermes savored the comforting feeling. Choosing to tempt fate and test his luck, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down into his lap, eliciting the most adorable squeak from you. He had to suppress the urge to bite you- you were just too cute.

Your friendship with Hermes had always been very affectionate. Lots of hugging, sitting halfway in each others laps, even sleeping next to each other sometimes, too which you would always wake up to an arm wrapped around your waist and a face in your neck. This open display of affection had you wonder first wether Hermes might see you as more than a friend, when his hand always dipped a little farther down, gripped a little tighter than necessary, when he buried his face in your neck and hugged you as if he never wanted to let go again.

Apart from the fact that having a literal god cling to you like a koala bear was a major ego boost, you really liked Hermes, in more ways than the platonic love you two shared. For weeks you had pondered how to do it and finally worked out a plan: you would give Hermes a love letter with a false address. If he delivered it, no one would read it, but if he liked you back and would try to read it...

"Where are we, like, in the plot?" Hermes muffled into your neck and you felt a light shiver run down your spine- you hoped he didn't notice, but you felt his signature grin form against your skin, and his hands departing from their grip on your hips with fingers like spiders up your sides. Squirming, you swatted them away and the god laughed, still holding you close.

"She slept with both of them and now she hates herself," you answered quickly to shut him up. Managing to get a hold of his hands, you pressed them down onto his lap with little resistance and squeezed them under your thighs to block their means of escape. A choking sound left Hermes' and the god coughed, slipping his hands away and placing you next to him on the couch.

Ouch.

What you didn't know was the war for self-control raging inside your best friend the minute you placed your thighs so deliciously and grabbable over his hands. When his daydreams had, up to now, consisted of confessing your love to each other and innocent kissing, he now felt the overwhelming urge to grab you by the thighs, flip you over on your little couch and have you scream out his name- and his name only. For that one, Hermes gave himself a mental beating and gave you a little smile to conceal his red cheeks- and the fact that you would get wind of his predicament if you only looked down into his lap.

"Sounds great!" Honestly, he didn't even remember your answer to his question, and his overly enthusiastic reaction had you giggling. And that was really all he needed to be happy. Why did he want more? Why was he so insatiable?

The movie was pretty boring, and you seemed to think so too, because your gaze wandered frequently and you caught his incessant staring multiple times. But neither of you turned it off, because really, it was fine. Sitting next to to each other, your head coming to rest on your shoulder at some point, his hand slipping into yours in a completely platonic way.

“Hermes?” you asked when the love interest on screen started to have an intense melodramatic meltdown (Hermes did feel seen).

“Hm?”

"Have you... delivered that letter yet?" You fidgeted with your fingers nervously, but Hermes' stomach dropped down to his feet at least. Shit.

"What letter?" Hermes could have punched himself in the face.

"The love letter I gave to you," you explained carefully. "It's just... I never got an answer so I thought maybe you lost it or..." Your voice droned off and you bit down on your lip nervously. Was Hermes purposefully avoiding the topic? Had he read the letter and now wanted to ignore it out of existence because he didn't feel the same way? You had been so sure there was more to it. At least he wasn't making fun of you, but it was still humiliating, thinking he had read those lines and-

"Ah, that one!" Hermes exclaimed and you flinched at his loud tone. A nervous chuckle left his lips. "Uh yeah, I'm so sorry, baby, I must have forgotten about that one, I forget things sometimes, lots of stuff to deliver and sometimes letters get left behind and..." His rambling droned off and he bit down on his lip like a child caught in a lie, looking up at you.

Your understanding smile nearly killed him. It would have, if it could have. Hermes felt like the biggest asshole when you sighed relieved. "Ah, good, I was a little worried." Fittingly, the lady on screen screamed loudly about how much she hated herself and Hermes pondered over how he could relate to every single one of these over-the-top characters.

🪽

"Good night," you smiled as Hermes exited the door and turned around to you. You were dressed all oversized and cuddly with those warm winter socks and looked just about irresistible. Especially with the way the stars reflected in your wide, slightly tired eyes.

Following a shy impulse, he didn't give you a hug, as usual, but pressed a kiss to your warm cheek. When he pulled away, he did feel satisfaction at the way your face had heated up visibly, even in the dim light. "G'night, baby," he grinned with new fervor and a dreadful feeling in his stomach.

When he turned to leave and pushed himself off the ground to fly up into the air, his decision was made. He would deliver the damn letter. No longer would he be in the way of your happiness. If this guy really was who you wanted...

But, Hermes pondered as the houses of your neighborhood shrunk down to little lights, like the sky but below him, and one of the stars was you. But he should make sure this person was good enough for you. And have an address in case they weren't.

Stopping mid-air, Hermes pulled out the dreaded pink envelope. Not recognizing the address, he decided to look for clues in the letter itself. If you were to ask him, the envelope just kind of ... slipped open and the letter just sort of slipped out of there. When he pulled it out, the familiar smell hit him. After two weeks in his bag, the envelope had lost your smell, but it still stuck to the letter it self. With slightly trembling hands, he unfolded the paper, surprised to find only a few lines written in your handwriting.

Hermes, I knew you wouldn't able to stop yourself from reading this. The address is fake, this letter is for you. I love you, you idiot.

Below that, you had given him three options to pick: () don't ever come near me again, () let's ignore this ever happened because you are the shrek to my donkey, () I love you too. Your messy handwriting on that part had him smile, because he could picture you writing the letter, becoming unsure of yourself and scribbling three options down.

Hermes didn't even bother ticking off option three. He had no time to waste. Within seconds, he was bolting down to earth with the speed of a meteor, the wind howling in his ears, the letter firmly in his hand. You were completely right. He was an idiot. But an idiot who was about to make all your time of waiting up to you.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

[sun-flower-children]

Kirishima, Bakugo + Sero with a really rich S/O

A/N: Thanks for sending in a prompt! I added Sero bc im a simp  because he would be fun to write in this context as well!! I hope you ( the reader ) are also doing well!

Sero Hanta

- He makes it pretty clear early on that he doesn’t like you for your money and doesn’t want you to spend more money than needed on him.

- You will give him little gifts randomly which he loves no matter how much he protests that he doesn’t want you buying stuff for him.

- Sero treasures those little trinkets that you give him; probably has a self dedicated to your guys pictures and the lil gifts.

- !! matching fits !!

- This dude has style, he has taste, Sero is by no means a style disaster

- His style is more street style; might flirt a bit with the tech wear style.

- Matching t-shirts, maybe overall aesthetics

- One thing you do for him is help him with his phone.

- I headcanon that this dude probably drops his phone

Kirishima Eijiro

- He thinks its super manly you want to buy and gift him things as a physical piece of proof of you feelings for him.

- He really likes your gifts and will give you kisses and hugs as a thank you, every single time.

- Probably prefers things that have a sentimental value to him or are part of some kind of inside joke y’all have

- !! promise rings !!

- He would wear his when he isn’t training but at some point he would attach it to a thin gold chain to match the simple gold promise ring you bought for him

- 100% has y’alls name written on the inside of the ring.

- when he misses you a lot he will hold the ring, rub the ring, maybe kiss it :’(

Bakugo Katsuki

- this lil bitch dresses really plainly despite having designer parents.

- He has taste and has a phenomenal style but doesn’t really dress up because he has other things to focus on.

 - He will totally be all like “ don’t buy shit for me dumb ass I don’t need to clutter my room with your bullshit.”

- Absolutely will send you posts of pricey fashion pieces that he likes; he will only say that he likes them and you will buy them is up to you or not.

 - Sometimes he will remind you that he likes you because you are the best

[kooksvspogues]

Happy 1st Birthday Lilian!! 🥳

Part 4 -

Authors note: Let me know if y’all are enjoying the slow burn with this story or have any suggestions! Would love some more input from y’all ❤️❤️❤️

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

~~~~~ Drew’s POV ~~~~~

I know I told her I didn’t want anything more than to just be friends, but how could I not want more. The connection we had the night at the wedding was something I’ve never experienced before. She is something I’ve never experienced before. I thought I could handle being around her and keeping our deal, and I think I could’ve if Austin never showed this much interest in her. The way he talked about her when she was walking into the pool with my niece; “look at the ass on that girl, holy shit, and those boobs, jaaackpooot” he grinned putting up both his fist waiting for Chase and I to bump his, to which I just gave him a stern stare while Chase nonchalantly bumped his fist, trying to send a text.

“You know girls aren’t just a piece of ass, right?” I stared at him

“Well yeah, but it makes it so much better when they have one, ya know why I’m talking about Drew” he winks at me

“That’s my sisters friend, don’t do anything stupid” I plead

“I won’t do anything she isn’t about” Austin tapped my shoulder before getting up and joining Mack and Maddie in the pool.

I couldn’t help the pit that was forming in my stomach or the rage and adrenaline I was feeling in my entire body. I watched as she smiled up at him, but not the same way she smiles at me. She kept trying to keep her distance with him no matter what he tried, and for that, I was grateful.

Austin snatching her up before anybody could say anything to be his partner for beer pong, now that hurt. Beer pong was how we met at the wedding. She stepped up to be my partner since my buddy Paul had stepped away and she ended up being the best partner I’ve ever had in beer pong, plus, she was nice to look at too.

She had done changed out of her bridesmaid dress and into a short light yellow dress and had ditched her heels. Her curled dark brown hair was falling around her shoulders, and for some weird reason, all I could think of was the Disney princess, Belle. When I found out her name was Maddie and put it together that she was my sister’s roommate in college, I couldn’t help but me intrigued. I had heard so many stories and felt like I knew her personally but this was the first time we have been in the same area at the same time.

We won every round of beer pong we did. We laughed and flirted with each other like it was the most normal thing we’ve ever done. When we finally got done playing, we went upstairs to where the balcony was. I had untucked and unbuttoned my shirt to where it was just hanging, leaving the undershirt revealed. I sat down, leaned against the paneling,before pulling her down to sit in between my legs and lean back against my chest. Opening the bottle of champagne we snatched on the way up. That was the most comfortable I had ever been. We sat there for hours just talking about everything, what we wanted out of life, where we wanted to be in 10 years, family, kids, kid name ideas, dream vacations, just anything that come up while we just sat there playing with each others hands and passing the bottle back and fourth with the other. At one point she turned sideways and put her legs over mine while one of her hand planted itself on the wood behind us causing her to face me.

“You really are not what I expected” she admitted

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that, love” I teased smiling

“Just that, I have seen pictures of you, but just didn’t really expect you to be this hot in person, plus the fact that you’re insanely amazing at conversation.” She admits, her face turning a light shade of red when she makes eye contact with me

“I could say the same thing about you” I smile before leaning in closer to her, looking back and forth from her eyes to her lips. I reached up and placed my hand on the side of her neck, my thumb against her jaw just as our lips met.

“You are so beautiful” I whisper to her, feeling her smile against my lips, as she pulls her legs back to her before turning completely and straddling me, reconnecting our lips immediately.

The kiss was so deep, tender, gentle, rough, everything you could ever want in a kiss. What felt like would never end got cut short the moment I started kissing down her neck. She tapped my chest making me pull back and look up at her.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, your Mack’s brother” she says starting to stand up

“Maddie..” I say grabbing her hand

“No, let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, okay? For Mack?” She begs and I just nod slightly, watching as she takes a deep breath before running back downstairs.

Now I’ve had to watch Austin’s hand on the small of her back, lifting her up, her almost naked body against his, his hand so close to her ass and his face so close to her chest, then for him to have the audacity to place his hand on her leg right next to me.

I couldn’t do it, I can’t watch this, I can’t let her get away this time. I just need to make sure she still feels something on her end towards me before I do anything else. Which is why my feet quickly sped upstairs to her once Mack came back outside, telling everyone I had to run to the bathroom.

But, yet again, she ran away. But she also didn’t deny still feeling anything. Just gonna take some time to break through that wall, and I’m willing to do whatever I got to do.

~~~~~ Maddie’s POV ~~~~~

I walk into the downstairs bathroom, closing and locking the door quietly. Fanning my eyes, trying to keep myself from crying, but I fail quickly at that, feeling a tear fall from both eyes. I place my hands on the counter and look at myself in the mirror.

“I got this, it’s just a week of being around him, I can make that, I’m here for Liliana and Mack, that’s it” I whisper to myself before looking down at the floor shaking my head. I wipe the few tears away, open the door, and head back outside when I see Drew coming down the stairs.

“Maddie” he says

“Drew” I say opening the back door slightly

“Wait” he says just as I open the door completely and walk out “or not” I hear him mumble before walking out behind me, keeping the door cracked just incase Liliana wakes up.

Everyone else was back in the pool so I went to the edge and just sat down putting my feet in the water. A few minutes later, Drew walks over with two bottles of beer, offering one to me.

“Truce?” He asks as I look up at him

“…truce” I say grabbing the bottle as he goes to sit down next to me.

“I’m sorry” he whispers as we watch the rest of the groups playing beer pong

“It’s okay, I get it, that night was great, neither one of us can deny that, but me and you in any way, just can’t happen” I whisper to him

“Can I ask why?” He asks looking over at me with curious eyes

“Me and Mack made a promise, both of us have brothers, we knew at some point we’d meet them, and we promised that family, especially brothers were off limits cause we never wanted to jeopardize our friendship in any way” I explain quietly as he nods biting his lip, looking down at her hands right next to each other.

“I get that.. but is that real—“ He starts but I cut him off when I see Austin swimming over to us grabbing my legs, rubbing his thumb against them

“Hey gorgeous” he smiles up at me as I smile down at him slightly, “want to come be my partner again?” He asks me

“Nah, I’m good right here, I’ve done dried off” I say

“Oh okay, well if you change your mind, I’ll be waiting for you” he winked before getting called back over for his turn.

“Is that really gonna be a thing?” Drew asks looking over at me

“I don’t know… he’s sweet.. we’ll see” I confess

“Please don’t jump into something with him” he pleads

“I’ll be okay” I smile over at him

“I know, but still..” he says locking eyes with me as we just stare at each other.

“Why aren’t you looking away?” He asks me smirking

“Oh shut up” I say smiling, pushing him away making him laugh

“You can’t do that” he says in a warning tone

“Do what?” I ask furrowing my eyebrows

“Look at me like that” he states

“Like what?” I curiously ask

“Like you want me to just lean over and kiss you like we did their wedding night, like we’re the only two people that are here” he quietly explains keeping his eyes locked with mine

“Are you ever gonna give that up?” I tease him knocking my shoulder into his

“Not a chance sweetheart” he winks at me making me shake my head.

“You’re a headache” I laugh

“Just a man trying to be your headache, my bad” he throws his arms up laughing making me roll my eyes playfully

I catch Mack and Garrett in the corner of my eye looking over at us before whispering something to each other. I clear my throat and jerk the huge smile off my face looking over at the group of boys playing beer pong.

Me and Mack lock eyes and she has her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised, with a slight smirk on her face. I raise my eyebrows at her in curiosity and she just shakes her head, still smirking before looking away from me.

Great…

Chase and Austin end up leaving not too long after they got done with playing beer pong. Of course, Austin couldn’t leave without planting a kiss on my cheek. Which made me feel more weird than anything.

“Mack, can I stay here, I’m too drunk to drive home” Logan says a lot louder then needed as he wrapped his around around me planting his chin on the top of my head

“Yeah, that’s fine, Drew you staying here too?” Mack’s asked

“Yeah, might as well” he says

“Okay, y’all can take the other guest bedroom till mom gets here if you want or one can stay on the couch and the other in the bed, y’all choose.” Mack tells them, “you know where everything is, me and Garrett are going to bed” she said giving all of us a hug, “do you need anything before I go to bed?” She asks me when we she pulls away

“Oh no, I’m good, thank you though” I smile at her as she gives me a look that I can’t decipher before walking upstairs.

“Mads, can I just sleep with you, I want cuddles” Logan begs

“Why don’t you go cuddle with your brother” I tease

“That’s weird” he said making me and Drew laugh

“Here, let’s get you to bed” Drew says taking Logan’s arms off me before walking him to the guest room. I go to the fridge and grab a bottle of water before heading for the stairs.

“Hey, goodnight” Drew says at the door. I turn to face him, giving him a smile

“Goodnight Starkey” I say before going up the stairs and into my room.

I decide to go ahead and get a quick shower, wash off all of the stress from today. When I get out, I throw on a big shirt and crawl into bed. Leaning over to turn the lamp off is when I notice a note sitting on the nightstand. I grab it off the table to read it,

Maddie,

I know you say that we can’t happen and all I know as of right now is because of Mack. But, at any point you’re ready to give it a shot, I’ll be waiting, cause I’m not giving up on you. There’s nothing in me that will allow me to. Just give in to what we both know you’re feeling.

Text me - ###-###-####,

Drew

I can’t help but smile but also know deep down I can’t give in completely. Not yet. But I do decide to go ahead and add his number to my contacts, deciding to go ahead and text him so he has my number too, just incase something ever happens and he needs it.

“Goodnight again Starkey” I text him and roll over to get comfortable.

“Goodnight beautiful, glad to finally have your number” he texts me back.

I shake my head, deciding to leave it at that for right now, closing my eyes and letting the alcohol take over and hopefully giving me a good nights rest.

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

Tag list: @percysley @dilfs-4life

[littlxpxtal]

A World Alone

TYRANTS || STORY MASTERLIST

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ Content, swearing, sexual content, drug and alcohol use, violence

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

All the double-edged people into schemes

They make a mess, then go home and get clean

You're my best friend, and we're dancing in a world alone

World alone, we're all alone

I know we're not everlasting

We're a train wreck waiting to happen

One day the blood won't flow so gladly

One day we'll all get still

December Continued

The aroma of the house smells like a warm cookie. Mom had put out the desserts and I was finally able to excuse myself form the dinner table, down to my room to experience the first moment of silence since 8am this morning. After lighting a candle and changing into my pajamas, I settled into bed, turning on the TV and continuing the episode of The Vampire Diaries I had fallen asleep to last night.

A few moments later my phone started buzzing.

Income FaceTime Call: Rafe Cameron

“Hello?” I ask in a hushed voice as if anyone would know I just answered a phone call from Rafe.

“Alright what the fuck” he starts, his face contorted with anger, a hoodie pulled over his head, airpods in.

“Excuse me?” I ask, sitting up in my bed.

“Just watched the second to last episode of this first fucking season and ‘m pissed.”

I think back to what happens in season 1 in Game of Thrones and begin to laugh.

“Oh yea I should’ve warned you. The ninth episode of every season is like known for being chaotic.” I respond, trying to hold in my giggles at the thought of Rafe being frustrated over the loss of an extremely prevalent character for his first and not last heartbreak of this show.

“Yea a warning would’ve been nice I dont even wanna finish this shit now.” he huffs into the phone.

“What time is it there?” I ask, trying to change the subject and cheer him up.

“It’s like 3:30. What about you?”

“9:30. Im practically ready for bed.” I say with a yawn, laying back down and propping my phone up on my pillow. “How’s your Holiday been?”

“It’s fine. We did the whole forced family bonding earlier. We were out all morning so I’ve just been laying around until it’s time to get ready for dinner.”

“That sounds like fun.” I say, my droopy eyelids fluttered closed for a second.

“What about you sleepy?” he asks. I pop my eyes back open.

“Opened presents bright and early, had breakfast brunch with everyone. We played board games and prepped dinner, had dinner and then sat around and talked.” I went on, recounting my day as Rafe stared at me intently through the phone.

“That actually sounds nice. If it was with people I could stand to be around.” I laugh and rub my eyes.

“Yea, they’re fine. It’s always nice to see them but sometimes I wish I could just go far away.” I murmur.

“Like Bora Bora far?” Rafe says with a grin.

“Yes, Bora Bora far.”

“You should’ve came with us.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes at him.

“‘M serious. You used to come on trips with us all the time.”

I recount the trips I used to take with the Cameron’s when we were kids. For a while there I was practically their fourth kid. We visited Florida numerous times, went up the coast to New York, Boston and Maine. One year we had even convinced our parents to send us all to the same surf camp in California. Lucy and Wheezie were too young to go, but they packed me, Kinsey, Sarah and Rafe on a plane for two weeks.

“You thinking about that one surf camp?” Rafe asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yea how’d you know?”

“Cus that was all you and Sarah could talk about for months, how could I forget.” he says with a smile.

“I had my first kiss on the trip.” I gleam into the camera with a full smile.

“Yeah and you wouldn’t shut up about it.” Rafe chuckles.

“Who’re you talking to?” Sarah’s voice comes through the phone, slightly muffled, but it’s so recognizable I wouldn’t miss it.

“Y/N” Rafe says, turning the phone to face Sarah and she leans down and smiles, waving at me.

“Girl why the fuck are you on FaceTime with Rafe.”

“He called me to bitch about Game of Thrones.”

“Oh my god you got him into that shit too?” she asks with a smirk, looking at Rafe and then back at me through the phone screen. “You two are something else.” she says walking away.

“Alright ‘m gonna let you go.” Rafe says, fumbling with something on the couch, probably looking for the remote to watch the season finale.

“Okay, bye Rafe.”

“Bye Y/N Sweet dreams.” he says with a wink. The call ends, and almost immediately my phone starts ringing again.

Incoming FaceTime call: Sarah Cameron

I hesitate for a second, but accept the call. Shes now in a bathroom, away from Rafe.

“So what’s going on between you two.” I’m thrown off by her bluntness as she combs her hair, the phone propped up on the bathroom counter.

“What do you mean?” I ask, unsure of how this conversation was going to go. She starts to part her hair and smiles into the camera.

“You know exactly what I mean.” she was right. I did. I didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone, while she was miles away. I was hoping to have it when they got back form their trip. I sigh and turn over in my bed.

“There’s not much going on. We’ve just been seeing each other a lot more recently.” I say nonchalantly. Not completely lying, but keeping the whole truth in.

“You guys totally fucked.” she says, laughing into the camera, working her hands to complete a dutch braid on the left part of her hair. I gulp and shake my head.

“What?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“You and Rafe were bound to happen.” she says smugly. I furrow my eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s always had a thing for you. It didn’t ever seem like you reciprocated but he’s been after you since I can remember.”

“Sarah what are you talking about?” I ask again, feeling a weird knot in my stomach. Rafe and I’s relationship was purely sexual at this point. We weren’t “together”. What does she mean hes been after me?

“Remember when we used to go to Carowinds, and Rafe always sat by you on the rides, while me and Wheezie sat together?” She says, finishing up the braid and starting up on the other half of her hair.

“I thought that was because Wheezie wanted to sit by you on the big rides.”

“No it’s because Rafe would force us to let him sit with you.” I think back to all the rides we rode the last few times we would take trips to Charlotte and visit the amusement park. Now that the memory resurfaces, I recount all the times Rafe has made his way to the seat right next to me. Every. Single. Time.

“Its not like that.” I finally say.

“I’m sure its not, Rafe’s not one for commitment. But I knew something was up when I saw your name popping up on his phone more than mine.” she says with a straight face.

“Sarah I’m sorry. I really didn’t know how to tell you. I wasn’t even really sure what was happening myself. He’s kind of confusing and I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know what I want. We’re just messing around.” I mumble the last part, embarrassed to see her reaction. She finishes up her last braid and picks the phone up.

“I’m not mad.” she says. “I just want you to be careful. Rafe can do whatever he wants but when it comes to you, “ she pauses for a second. I hold my breath, waiting for her to continue.

“Look you’ve got a lot of people on your side. A lot of people that don’t want to see you get hurt. Just remember that.” I know she’s referencing JJ, John B, Pope and Kiara. I smile faintly at the screen at the thought of my friends having my back, even when I feel like I can no longer return the favor.

“I love you Sarah.” I respond. She smiles sweetly into the phone.

“I love you too. Now help me pick out my dress for dinner.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[azaharinflames]

I just want to get over this. Like why am I still so sad about that how many weeks later? But I am. And I also want to hold out hope but maybe it’s better to quit because the not knowing for sure and just being sad all the time is a lot.

Hi, @phillystrega! Thanks for your ask <3

Listen, I fully get it. Real talk here, I spent a solid week with constant anxiety after 806 - granted, it wasn't just because of 911, it was sort of the straw that broke the camel's back after a lot of shit had happened in the world and my personal life, so.

At the end of the day, 911 was supposed to be our comfort show. And I think, having something like this happen, seeing everything that has happened before, has made it so it stopped being that, and that's bound to hurt.

Your feelings are normal. It was more than a couple we liked breaking up - in context, sure, but also in what meant right after. I said it right after - it truly felt like they responded to the love we tried to send into the world with hate, and they responded to hate from that side of the fandom with love.

It wasn't entirely like that. But at the time it very much felt like that. And it's normal to still be dealing with feelings surrounding that.

Here is my advice (feel free to not take it if it's shit lol):

Focus on life in the fandom if it's fun for you. The BuckTommy fandom truly helped me process my feelings and channel them toward something more positive. Talk to people, be creative, see everyone's art and posts... it truly is healing.

Block anything that threatens your peace of mind. That being accounts, hashtags, or even keywords, so you don't find it in your dash.

Go back to your comfort shows if you have any, or try to find a new one if you feel you need to latch onto a new one. I'm here if you want suggestions. No joke, binge-watching Modern Family made me feel incredibly better.

If you have a hobby, dedicate some time to it. Or try a new one if you want. I had to embroid a tote bag for one of my best friend's birthday and honestly, it truly helped. So much so I want to do some embroidery as Christmas ornaments - we'll see how that works lmao (I sound 60 when I'm mid-twenties, dear God).

All of this will slowly take you out of this mentality, mostly because you will focus on other things. I realized I was focusing too much on how all of this was making me feel - and as much as it's healthy to face our feelings and know where they come from, we don't want to fall into a cycle, or drown in them.

After all of this, with a bit more perspective, maybe it's easier to make the decision of either continue, or move on. You can also stay in the fandom and enjoy it with no expectations, maybe check every once in a while how canon is doing. And if at some point you decide it's worth checking again, you can do it. And if you decide to fully move on, that will also be okay. Overall - protect your peace.

This was very long, but I truly hope it helped you, even if it was a little.

My inbox is always open to rant, vent, or discuss (911 or whatever you want).

Take care <3

[ak319]

Dark J.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim

Syno: Word of claim, a tradition where a man fires his weapon outside a woman's home and speaks her name, and in that moment, she becomes his wife. Though long banned, deemed a crime, a taboo… who cares? Outlaws never follow laws, do they? Warnings/MDNI: forced marriage, angst, blackmailing, kidnapping, suggestive non-con, manhandling, in conclusion just men being shit as usual except Hosea-// I don't condone such behavior irl! ✰ -12.5K taglist: @shackspossum @nayykura @whalecage

"You ain't gonna run away this time, BOY!"

The words spurred him on, his pace quickening to a near sprint, even though his legs felt like jelly from the biting cold. He couldn't stop. Not now. Not ever.

Wait...what's that? There, a good hideout.

His heart pounded in his chest as the sound of galloping hooves grew louder behind him. Amateurs. They knew how to buy fine horses but didn't know the first thing about riding them right. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed it, the lawmen were dismounting, choosing to pursue him on foot instead.

John vaulted over fence after fence, each leap bringing him closer to the dark silhouette of his salvation.

A barn.

The doors were already ajar. Luck, or maybe fate, was on his side tonight. He wasted no time slipping inside, diving for the best hiding spot he could find amidst the shadows.

Outside, the world was alive with ominous noises, the muffled crunch of boots on frozen ground, the baying of dogs in the distance. The chill in the air seemed to seep straight into his bones, but the tension was far worse.

Dutch and Hosea are gonna kill me if I get caught tonight

After a tense stretch of silence, the barn door creaked open.

"Show yourself," a man's voice demanded, calm but laced with authority. "I know you're in here, I saw you from the porch. Come. Here."

John let out a quiet, defeated sigh. He had no other choice. Slowly, he emerged from his hiding spot, muscles taut with apprehension. His eyes landed on the figure of a man, no badge, no uniform. Just a regular man. Probably the owner.

"Sir--look, it was just a pickpocketing offense, I swear! Just let me stay here for the night--no, no, scratch that. J- Just give me some water, and I'll leave! But please, don't call them back, I-"

"You got nerves."

The man stepped closer, his gaze heavy and unforgiving.

"You come onto my property, and you think I’m gonna coddle your sorry ass? I've seen plenty of boys like you in my time, desperate, and reckless, they always end up worse than this."

John flinched, not just at the sharpness of the words but at the dull throb of his wounds from the earlier scuffle with the officers. His voice wavered, desperation bleeding through every syllable.

"Please...sir. Just--water... and I'll be out of your hair-"

The man didn’t even hesitate. Without a word, he struck John across the face, sending him sprawling onto the cold, hard floor. Stars danced in his vision, but before he could even register what had happened, the man grabbed him roughly, hauling him up like he weighed nothing.

John struggled, but it was no use. The man dragged him out of the barn, his grip like iron.

Outside, the officers were waiting by the gate, their grim expressions lit by the flicker of lantern light. John’s heart sank as the man shoved him forward, handing him over without a second thought.

"You wanted him? Here he is."

"What's going on outside?" you asked, placing the folded clothes your mother had handed you into the cupboard. Your expression mirrored her own as curiosity and concern flitted across her face. Without hesitation, both of you hurried to the porch to see what was causing the commotion in the distance.

"Make sure he learns his lesson. Boys like him should never go unpunished," your father’s voice carried stern authority, cutting through the cold night air.

The officer gripping John roughly by the arm nodded with a self-satisfied grin. "As if that’s even a question. This little shit’s been stealing from a lot of folks around here. Thanks for the help."

John, still reeling from your father’s earlier slap and the rough handling of the lawmen, struggled to stay on his feet. His breaths came in short gasps, his legs wobbling under him. From where he stood, his bruised gaze caught sight of two figures on the porch. Shadows obscured their faces, but there was no mistaking it.

You, a girl, around his age. Standing behind your mother.

A pang of something sharp, humiliation, resentment, or despair, stabbed through him.

"Tsk, kids these days," your mother muttered under her breath. She shook her head and ushered you back inside, the door closing firmly behind you, shutting out the scene.

It wasn’t long before your father joined you in the living room, his face stern as he explained what had happened. A boy of sixteen--three years older than you--tried to hide in the barn after looting folks and thought he could get away with it.

"This is why one should always stay alert," your mother sighed, sinking into her chair with a shake of her head.

Meanwhile, John sat in the cold, damp cell, shivering as time passed. He waited, days blending into one another, the monotony broken only by the gnawing ache in his stomach and the wish to escape.

Then Dutch came. Days later, the gang leader strode in and bailed him out, though not without delivering the most humiliating lecture John had ever endured.

"You think this is what it means to be a Van der Linde? You think crawling around barns like a whipped dog is what I taught you?! If you’re gonna live, you fight for it. You hear me, boy? You fight."

John clenched his jaw and bore it, but the sting of those words didn’t come close to the bitterness curdling inside him. He couldn't shake the memory of your father standing over him, cold and unrelenting. Denying him even the smallest shred of mercy.

Kindness, was that too much to ask for?

The years had been cruel, but this moment burned. He’d lived through enough to know that most people treated him like a piece of dirt under their boots. But this time, it was harder to swallow.

His words echoed in his mind.

"People like you don’t deserve kindness. You’re a lesson, boy, a warning to others."

John replayed it over and over as he rode back to camp. The fury in his chest smoldered alongside an ache he couldn’t explain. But what also stayed with him most was the fleeting glimpse of you, standing behind your mother on the porch.

Oh...he won't ever forget that night.

❀˖°

"Are you insane?! What are you, twelve?!" Hosea’s voice rose, his frustration nearing its peak and so was the urge to bang his head against a tree.

"I’m not a kid, and it’s about time you stopped treating me like one!"

Hosea’s eyes narrowed, the lines on his face deepening as his temper flared. "Look, John, this isn’t just about doing it! It’s about what happens after! Are you in your damn senses? You can barely take care of yourself, and here you are, standing there, demanding to do this shit like you’ve got it all figured out!"

John smirked, his chuckle low and mocking. "That’s exactly why I’m doing it, old man. To bring someone to care for me."

Hosea froze for a moment, disbelief washing over him before disgust replaced it. "You’ve lost it," he muttered under his breath. With a grimace, he stormed toward Dutch’s tent, muttering curses under his breath.

Dutch glanced up as Hosea approached, his ever-watchful gaze already settled on the scene. "No need to explain, Hosea," Dutch said calmly, snapping his book shut. "I heard it all."

John strolled in behind Hosea, with his usual casual swagger. He leaned lazily against the pole of Dutch’s tent, his smirk still in place.

"John," Dutch began, his voice low and measured. "You sure you know what you’re getting into? This ain’t some childish stunt."

"I know exactly what I’m doing, Dutch," John replied smoothly, though the fire in his eyes betrayed his calm facade. "It’s time I take something for myself."

"You are talking about a whole-ass human here!"

"I don’t see what’s wrong with it," Dutch drawled, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Boy wants to marry... let the boy marry. Am I right?"

Hosea’s jaw dropped, his face a perfect picture of disbelief. "Dutch, don’t tell me you’ve lost your fucking mind too! You’re gonna let this little--God help me--this child pull some old tradition stunt?! What, are you trying to check off every damn crime we’ve missed on your list?"

Dutch let out a soft snort, clearly amused by Hosea’s exasperation. Without a word, he stood and moved to shut the flaps of the tent. Wouldn’t want Annabelle overhearing now, would he? No sense in tarnishing her view of him.

"Hosea, Hosea, Hosea. We’re outlaws, remember? And this-" he waved a hand toward John, who stood with his arms crossed, a stubborn set to his jaw, "this is nothing."

“Nothing?” Hosea’s voice cracked, raw with incredulity. “That’s a person, Dutch, not some goddamn prize you can pluck from a house like a trinket! And what happens when John realizes he’s too immature to handle this? Huh? What then?”

Dutch shrugged, unbothered, his calm exterior unshaken. “Then he can toss her aside. Send her back. Leave her somewhere if it comes to it. But why fret over what might happen when we’ve got a score to secure now?”

Hosea looked like he might combust on the spot. “Are you listening to yourself?! Toss her aside?” he repeated, his voice rising. "You want John to ruin someone’s life because he’s too stubborn to let go of a grudge?!”

“It's not that big of a deal."

Hosea scoffed and glared daggers at John. But Dutch continued.

"Besides," Dutch added, tilting his head toward John with a knowing look. "Didn’t you mention they’re loaded? That true, son?"

John nodded, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "Yeah… big house. Plenty of land too."

Dutch’s grin widened, "There you go, Hosea. A little risk, a big reward. Ain’t that what we’re all about?"

Hosea shook his head, exasperation dripping from every word. "So you’re gonna loot them too? Good Lord, have mercy. You’re gonna make that poor girl lose her mind in less than a day! Look... I think looting is a fine alright? So how bout' we just do that? Isn't that enough damage, John?"

"Oh yeah? And then what?! As if that's gonna affect his rich ass! That's not enough damage! Money comes and goes...but honor doesn't. I wanna strip him of his dignity! Men like him--rich snobby assholes--that's what they deserve! And this is what we are supposed to do! We are not some bunch of softies ol' man!"

"John but you are not-"

"I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!" John’s voice was raw with rage, his fists clenched tight at his sides. "Just like her daddy didn’t give a fuck about me! So why the hell should I, huh? Why should I!?"

"I’ve never seen a man so petty in my entire life. Grow the hell up, John! You’re twenty-three, for God’s sake, and you’re still hung up on something that happened years ago. Dutch! Tell him-"

"ENOUGH!" Dutch’s booming voice cut through the chaos, his towering form commanding silence as he paced the length of the tent.

"I allow it," Dutch declared, his tone final. "John...I give you my blessing." He glanced at Hosea, raising a brow. "Hosea, how do you think outlaws got married back in the day, huh? Even now, people loathe us and spit on us. And why? Because we don’t follow their precious rules. Well, guess what? We’re outlaws. We don’t play nice. But we ain’t that bad, are we? And we require some good cash for the move. This is a good opportunity, no doubt."

Hosea groaned, dragging a hand down his face, muttering something about losing his sanity.

But John didn’t hear any of it. Dutch’s words were all he needed. A smirk spread across his face as he turned and strode out of the tent, his mind already racing ahead to the moment he would face your father. The thrill of it burned in his chest, the prospect of taking the one thing that man must cherish above all else.

Just like he didn’t respect my dignity, I won’t respect his, John thought, his resolve hardening with every step.

He remembered the day he first laid eyes on you, properly, for the first time. It was at your sister's wedding, though he had only been a silent, distant observer. From the shadows of the tree line, he saw you, a vision of elegance and quiet beauty, entirely unaware of his presence. Pretty, he thought then, prettier than he had imagined.

Pretty enough to be taken, both from home and...

Your father would have loved seeing your pretty tears if he decided to go with that plan...

He could have made his move right then. Could have stepped out of the shadows, disrupted the festivities, and declared his claim in front of everyone. The laughter, and the music, all of it could have stopped on his word.

But he didn’t. He stayed hidden, watching you smile and dance, every moment searing itself into his memory. No, he thought. Not yet. This required precision. Patience.

Through his web of old connections and childhood companions, people who owed him favors or thrived on chaos, he kept tabs on you and your family. Quietly. He bided his time, gathering everything he needed to strike when the moment was right.

And now, that moment was near. Everything had fallen into place. All his waiting, all his planning, it had led to this. You would be his. Not because he could take you, but because you would have no choice. Neither will your father.

"Boys...let's go, my treat."

"Got the permission?" Javier glanced up from the fire.

John let out a low chuckle. Sean joined in, his wild energy spreading through the air like a spark.

“Permission? Your brother here got the 'Dutch' blessing.” Their laughter was like a haunting chorus as if they had no care for anything and anyone.

The three hooted, grinning to themselves, heading towards the stables. But just before John could mount his horse, a voice called out to him again.

"John..."

“What now?” John sighed with a hint of frustration. He didn't want to listen. He didn’t need to hear any more warnings, he had made up his mind.

“Just... what if you had a sister, and it happened to her, son?”

He gritted his teeth, and for a moment, his mind flashed to something else, something buried deep within.

Damn it, I know he's right, but my reason is more important than that. Throw her out? Destroy her life? The words replayed in his mind, loud and damning. A part of him bristled at the idea, hell, wasn’t that what he’d been dreaming about? Taking something back for himself, ruining your father's life? But another part, quieter yet sharper, whispered back. And then what? What kind of man does that make you, John?

Hell, John didn't know what would happen, how this would all play out. He didn't even know how he would make it through this, let alone anyone else involved. But in the moment, it felt too distant, too abstract to fully grasp.

No...

Why the fuck should I care?

It wasn’t his problem. His mind was made up. It wasn’t about what they would face, this is a matter of his honor and self-will. The kid never did learn to respect boundaries and to listen. And damn the consequences. For now, John just had to move forward. The rest could burn.

“Well, that’s why I don’t have one. Let’s go, boys.”

The words hung in the air, bitter and final. There was no turning back now. Hosea, standing off to the side, watched as John’s figure disappeared into the dusk with the others. The old man sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his years, and his regrets. He turned his gaze toward Dutch’s tent, where the gang leader sat, listening to music with an air of nonchalance.

If only… if only your father had shown him mercy that night. If only he had opened his door and shared a shred of kindness. Maybe then, he’d be a hidden guard dog for the family, ready to lay down his life for them.

But it was too late for that now.

❀˖°

"(Y/N)--Oh my God, this girl---HEY! Wake up!" Your mother’s sharp voice sliced through the morning quiet as she stormed into your room. You groaned, snatching the covers back over your head.

"Let me be!" you mumbled, burrowing deeper into the bed.

But your mother wasn’t having it. She yanked the covers off with a vengeance, ignoring your muffled protests. "You listen to me, young woman! Get up, have breakfast, and help with dinner! Or have you forgotten your sister is visiting this evening?"

You groaned dramatically, rolling onto your stomach. "What do we even have maids for?"

"They are doing other stuff, (Y/N)! Oh my God! Get your lazy ass up. I swear, your father’s coddling has turned you into a complete bum!" Your mother threw her hands up in frustration before softening her tone, just slightly. "I’m going to prepare your breakfast, honey, but you better be down to help with some things. You need to start learning this stuff someday. In fact, I’m telling your father to start looking for suitors soon-"

"HEY! HEY!" You leaped out of bed, cutting her off. "Woman, calm down! I swear, a hundred witches must’ve died for you to end up as my mother."

Undeterred, you leaned in, pinching her cheeks with a mischievous grin. "Like, c’mon, you’re so lucky to have birthed me and you are going to just send me away like that? No, not happening."

She swatted your hands away, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Are you done?"

"Not yet, " you teased, smirking. "Firstly, that day is far away--no--it's nonexistent. And secondly, even if it happens, tell Papa either he sends a servant with me as a marriage gift, or he makes sure there’s a line of them wherever he fixes the marriage which I think he sure will anyway. Otherwise, I’m perfectly fine staying here."

Your teasing tone only made her groan in frustration. "Tsk, get out of my way. You’ve already wasted my precious time. And make yourself presentable before coming down to wolf your food!"

You stretched your limbs with a lazy chuckle, savoring every second as you took your sweet time getting downstairs.

After finishing your breakfast, you placed the empty plate on the kitchen table and took a long sip of your coffee. "Mama, just tell me what I have to help with so I can get it done and go play."

Your mother turned to you with an incredulous look, hands already on her hips. "Excuse me? For God's sake, (S/N) and Leo are coming for the first time after the marriage. Can’t you skip your silly games just this once? I swear, (Y/N), grow up! You’re not five anymore. You and those girlfriends of yours!"

This was a familiar battleground between the two of you, and honestly, you enjoyed riling her up about it. What’s wrong with living your life and having some fun with your pals?

"Mama, don’t be pouty just because you didn’t get to enjoy your youth, alright?" you teased with a grin. "Besides, we play right out on the lawn! Maybe they can even help us with dinner-"

"NO!" she cut you off sharply. "The last time you brought them into the kitchen just to get water, my whole crockery set was broken! Keep them far away from my kitchen!"

You rolled your eyes and muttered under your breath, "Jeez… you’re a totally different person when guests are about to come."

"What did you say?" she snapped, making you jump slightly.

"Nothing! Nothing....." Please don't start again. With a sigh, you began assisting, grumbling internally about how overly dramatic and anxious she always got before any visitors showed up.

❀˖°

You were setting the table, having just come back from the lawn after instructing Mateo, the gardener, to move some pots around.

"My lovely daughter looks as lovely as always," your father said warmly, patting your head before joining you to help with the table.

You grinned and leaned closer, whispering with a giggle, "Your wife really knackered me today, Mr. (L/N)."

That earned a wheezy laugh from him. "Now you know what it’s like to deal with her every day, kid."

"Papa," you whined, playfully dragging out the word. "I hate when she brings up those stupid marriage talks! I swear, she’s going to ambush you about it next. So when she does, just dodge it. Okay?"

Your father paused, turning to you with a softer, more thoughtful look. "For how long, though, (Y/N)? Isn't it gonna happen someda-"

"Shush!" you cut him off, placing your hand firmly over his face.

He chuckled at your antics as you grinned mischievously. "No, no, no. You’re supposed to be on my side and say, ‘Of course, dear.’"

"Alright, alright, as you wish. Of course, dear. I’ll ignore her."

"Ignore who? Hm?"

Both of you jumped, startled, as your mother appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray of glasses, her focus seemingly on the task but her tone suspicious.

"Nothing," you both said in perfect unison, struggling to keep straight faces.

Your mother rolled her eyes, clearly unconvinced, and glanced pointedly at the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner. "Where is (S/N) anyway? They’re running late, aren’t they?"

"Relax darling, they might be here by 7. Let's all relax for a while." Just as you all three sat down on the living room couch, loud hooves could be heard. But it didn't sound like just a single horse carrying your brother-in-law and sister, it sounded more than that. "They came in a carriage or something?" You asked giddily and your father got up.

"I'll go check."

Outside, the night seemed unnaturally quiet, save for the restless shifting of hooves on gravel. The stillness in the air was unsettling, as though the world itself was holding its breath. Then came the sound, the sharp reports of gunshots cutting through the silence.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Then the sixth...

“(Y/N) (L/N)!”

Your name was like a chilling punctuation that seemed to freeze time.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a call. It sounded like a declaration, a command that seemed to cut through the very air around you. You had no idea what was happening or what the hell even was that. But for your parents, it was a blow to their very core.

“Wh-at-what was that? Who-” Your words caught in your throat as you turned to your parents.

Your mother’s face drained of color, her hands trembling as she reached for you. “Upstairs. Now.”

“Mama, what’s happening?”

“(M/N), get her out of here,” your father said, his tone low but brimming with an intensity that made your stomach twist. He hadn’t even turned to look at you; his eyes were locked on the door, his jaw tight.

“Will someone tell me-”

“I said GO!” His voice boomed now, reverberating through the walls.

Your mother didn’t hesitate. Her fingers dug into your arm as she dragged you toward the staircase, her steps hurried and uneven. The panic in her movements was more terrifying than the voice outside.

You stumbled up the stairs, half-dragged, half-running. At the top, your mother shoved you into your bedroom and spun around, shutting the door behind you with a force that rattled the walls.

“Mama! What’s going on?!”

Her hand hovered over the handle, shaking, but she didn’t turn back. “Stay here,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The door clicked shut, the lock turning with a dull finality.

Downstairs, the scene was entirely different as your father swung open the door,. The guard stationed at the gate was on the ground. Dead? Stabbed? Knocked out? (F/N) couldn't tell because his attention was on the four men standing rigidly by their horses. The one in the center, who had fired the shots moments ago, stood with his hands clasped in front of him, the barrel of his gun still gripped tightly in one hand. His smile, wide and disturbingly sweet, suggested he thought he’d done something worthy of praise, though the horror in your father’s chest told a different story entirely.

Sick--sick--sick bastard.

"What the hell you guys want?! Get off my property before I report the authorities!"

"Mr. (L/N), same as before...." John stalked closer, his gait confident and casual.

"I think I made it very clear what I came here for didn't I? Right boys?" Your father's jaw ticked as he heard agreeing grunts and snorts, even a whistle. “I said the word and you know the rules.”

"You sick--don't you fucking know what you are doing is a crime!? Now get off my property-" John didn't even have to say anything as your father halted his words when he heard the three other rifles click on him.

The cold, metallic clicks of the rifles were louder than they should have been, echoing in the oppressive silence of the night. Your father froze, his fists clenching at his sides, but his eyes remained defiant, locked on the man in front of him.

John tilted his head slightly, the smile on his face never faltering. “Crime?” he echoed, almost lazily, like he found the very word amusing. “Well now, that’s rich, coming from a man like you. Don’t act like you’re any holier than me, Mr. (L/N).”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me!"

“Oh, but I do,” John said smoothly, taking another step forward. The moonlight glinted off his gun, still hanging casually in his hand, though the threat it carried was anything but casual. “I know plenty. Enough to know you’re not in any position to lecture me about morals. Besides…” His eyes flicked up toward the mansion, lingering somewhere around the second floor. “I didn’t come for you.”

Your father’s breath hitched, and for a moment, his composure cracked, just slightly. “You’re not taking her.”

John’s grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were sharp, cold, and calculating. “Is that so?” he drawled, almost teasing. “Well, you see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve said the fucking word. Everyone here heard me, and you know what that means.”

“You think anyone cares about your outdated, backwoods tradition!?”

John’s smile disappeared in an instant, replaced by a cold, hard glare. “Tradition or not, I’m here to collect. And I don’t like repeating myself, old man. Now, you go bring her down, or...I'll do it myself."

One of the other men chuckled darkly, breaking the tension just enough to make your father’s stomach churn. “Might wanna think carefully about this, Mr. (L/N),” Sean said, his rifle trained steady.

Your father’s mind raced. He could see the resolve in John’s stance, the ruthlessness in his eyes. Negotiation wasn’t an option. His hands twitched at his sides, itching for the revolver in the drawer near the door, but the odds weren’t in his favor. Four men, three rifles aimed at him, and you upstairs, unaware of the danger that had come knocking.

John’s expression softened into something almost mocking, a twisted version of pity. “You should’ve thought about that before, Mr. (L/N). Actions have consequences. You taught me that yourself, didn’t you?”

"You...tha---don't tell me...you-"

"Yes, the boy you threw like garbage to the lawmen. Here, have a good look. All grown up now, and what did you say that day? Yeah, turned out worse than you thought, didn’t I? Guess being in jail doesn’t always change a person."

(F/N) staggered back, his entire body flooding with dread. Cold sweat ran down his back, but he had to remain composed. He had to stay strong, for you.

"Look, kid," your father finally said, voice trembling but laced with fury. "You got a problem with me... take me, kill me if you want, but don’t drag an innocent into this. She has nothing to do with it!"

John’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Ooooh, you don’t get it, do you? It’s not about her. It’s about you, and your suffering, ol' man. Damn, I’ve been waiting for this day. I ain’t going empty-handed. Call the whole damn battalion if you want." His voice darkened, a promise of violence lingering in his words. "But don’t worry... I’ll take care of the sweet thing."

"You son of a bitch!" (F/N) shouted, his anger surging. But before he could land a punch on John, he was thrown him aside with a swift, brutal smack, sending him crashing to the ground, just crossing the threshold.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” your father hissed, his voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “You’re destroying her life. For what? Some petty revenge? SOME SICK GAME!?” The complaints went ignored, however.

John, followed by Javier and Sean, strode into the house as if it were his own, moving with lethal purpose. Bill stood at the door, guarding the entrance, his rifle trained on (F/N). The threat in his eyes was unmistakable, any movement, any protest, and there would be hell to pay.

As soon as John stepped inside, he waved off Javier and Sean with a flick of his wrist, a signal that they were free to do what they came for. Javier grinned darkly and immediately went to work, tearing through the house with an almost practiced ease. Drawers were flung open, cupboards ransacked, and anything of value that could be carried away was seized. Sean, equally quick and eager, followed suit, stuffing pockets with anything that caught his eye, silverware, jewelry, anything shiny or expensive.

Down the hallway, John’s attention was solely on the task at hand. He had no need for material things, what he was after was far more precious to him. He knew where you would be, locked away in your room, hiding from the chaos, just as your parents had hoped. The door was already locked, but that didn’t slow him down. With a single harsh kick, the door splintered open, the wood buckling under the force of the impact.

Inside, you and your mother froze at the sudden intrusion. Your heart slammed in your chest as your eyes met John’s, and your mother quickly moved to shield you. But she wasn’t fast enough.

"Shhh, don’t make this harder than it has to be," John said with a twisted smile, his voice dark, almost too calm.

"DON'T TOUCH HER! PLEASE!"

He moved towards you with purpose, and before you could react, he grabbed your arm, yanking you toward him with an iron grip. Your mother reached out, but John shoved her aside with a cold sneer, not even sparing her a glance.

"MAMA! HEY-"

His hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you. His grip was too strong, too unrelenting. With a swift motion, he spun you around and threw you to the floor, your limbs twisting beneath you in a desperate attempt to break free.

"LEAVE MY DAUGHTER ALONE!"

“Stop squirming,” he hissed as he quickly bound your wrists and ankles together. The rope was tight, biting into your skin as he hogtied you with practiced precision. You could feel the coldness of his touch as he tightened the knot, making sure it was secure.

"LET ME GO YOU INSANE BASTARD! YOU LUNATIC-" Your screams got muffled as he tied the rope around your face too. Your mother hits on his body doing nothing to help.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but there was nothing you could do. You were helpless. Your mother’s cries echoed through the room, but John only chuckled darkly as he hoisted you up, dragging you toward the door.

“You’re coming with me, sweetheart,” John murmured into your ear, his breath hot and threatening against your skin. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Your mother lunged forward again, but her efforts were futile as John simply shoved her away, his strength overwhelming. He pulled you out of the room, your body flailing helplessly as he dragged you down the hallway.

You could see your father still struggling with Bill, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t stop what was already set in motion.

John paused just outside the door, glancing back at the mess his men had made of the house. The walls were littered with broken vases and frames, drawers pulled open and their contents spilled across the floor. But none of it mattered to him now. He had what he wanted.

The sound of hooves thundered outside, and moments later, (S/N) and her husband Leo appeared on the porch, rushing toward the house. Their expressions shifted from confusion to horror as John stepped through the door, carrying you in his arms, your wrists bound tightly, your face streaked with tears.

“Stop! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!? Let her go!” (S/N) screamed, her voice cracking as she surged forward. But Bill stepped in her way, his broad form blocking the door as her fists pounded uselessly against him.

John stood back, watching the chaos unfold with a cruel sense of satisfaction. "Nice to meet y'all, I am your younger brother-in-law as of today," he said, a wicked smile on his lips. "I wish I could join the lovely dinner. But got business to take care of..."

Leo moved to intervene, but Javier’s rifle cracked across his head, and he crumpled to the ground. (S/N)’s cries turned frantic as she struggled against Bill, who merely smirked at her attempts.

John’s voice cut through the chaos, smooth and mocking. “Ah, family reunions are so sweet, aren’t they?” He didn’t stop walking, his grip on you firm as he crossed the yard to his horse. He glanced over his shoulder at (S/N), his grin sharp and cruel. “Don’t worry. Your sister will be well cared for! Better than she ever was here.”

“LET HER GO!” (S/N)'s scream was shrill, desperate. “You can’t do this! Please!”

John chuckled darkly, tossing you up onto his horse like you weighed nothing. “Oh, I can. And I will. Your father should’ve thought twice before crossing me."

As they mounted their horses, victorious gunshots and howling filled the air, echoing into the night.

Your father’s voice boomed as he followed with his gun, his words filled with desperation. “You sons of a bitches! I’ll kill you! Let her go, she has nothing to do with this!

John chuckled and took off with a speed, remaining at the front while the others covered his back. You could hear shots being fired by your father and shouts of the lawmen too but nothing could stop what was happening. Your own panic was palpable by your muffled noises and panicked breath amidst the ongoing chaos.

This has got to be a fucking nightmare.

The group of four rode off into the night, leaving the house and the shattered remains of your family behind. John smirked at your muffled noises and looked over his shoulder speeding up. "Ain't you a loudmouth. But don’t ya' worry, sweetheart. I’m taking care of everything. I’ll show you a life you’ll never forget.”

❀˖°

The air was thick with tension as he rode through the night, his mare's hooves striking the ground with rhythmic, almost predatory steps. Behind him, you, his new wife, slumped over the back of his horse, bound and silent. You had no choice. No voice. So different...it felt so fucking different from the bounties he hunted.

Which made the familiar guilt bloom again in his chest but he pushed it aside like a fly out of milk.

John couldn’t bring himself to care about your struggles. No, in his mind, this was necessary. This was what he deserved. What they both deserved.

As they neared the camp, the flickering fires grew larger, their warm glow contrasting against the coldness that had settled in John’s chest. This wasn’t just about you, or this stupid tradition, this was about proving something to the others. Proving that he could do it, that he had control.

John’s boots crunched against the dry earth, his grip firm on his captive as he dragged her toward the large tent. The men watched him, their curiosity piqued, but no one dared to speak. They all knew what this meant.

John didn’t waste time. He entered the tent without hesitation and laid you, if you call throwing: laying, in front of Dutch. Your hands were still bound and your throat was in pain from all the screaming. You had lost the strength at this point.

“Well, well. Looks like we have a new addition to the family,”

Dutch sat up in his chair, his eyes flicking from John to your form on the ground. His lips curled into a slow smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Javier, Sean, and Bill, carrying the spoils of their work, approached, and John gave a small nod, acknowledging their effort.

“Well, well, look at that… Damn, John. Good job, son.”

Dutch handed over a heavy bag of gold to John, who accepted it with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers tightening around the weight of it.

"Thanks...Dutch."

“This gold’s yours. Wouldn't want your newlywed bride to be empty-handed now, would we?” Dutch’s smile was sharp, a predator's grin, as he pressed the bag into John’s hands.

John didn’t smile back, his eyes darting to you, the girl who had been claimed, bound, and dragged here. His grip tightened on the bag, his expression unreadable...

'What did you gain John....? You destroyed a girl's life to feed your own ego?'

His eyes met with Hosea's whose expression seemed to concur with his own thoughts.

'This is how you gonna treat her? You already failed as a man.'

You heard it all, the words, the taunting, the lecherous laughs. Each syllable felt like another crack in your heart, another layer of your dignity stripped away. These men, every one of them, were complicit in this. In what John had done. In what they all were willing to let happen.

Dutch’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts again, though it wasn’t directed at John this time. Instead, he crouched down in front of you, his voice low, almost mocking in its softness. “Now, you listen here, Missy,” he began, his words dripping with false kindness. “We’re good people here, alright? And in time, you’ll understand that. I raised this boy in front of me, so rest assured.”

The bile rose in your throat as he spoke, and if it weren’t for the ropes binding you, you’d surely be sick. You held it down, the nausea gnawing at you, but you refused to show any more weakness than you already had.

“No doing anything silly here, to anyone else, or even yourself. Also, I wouldn’t suggest running back, ‘cause…” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think a woman being taken by a hoard of men and then returning home would be labeled with any honorable name.”

Is...this it? You can't escape this? Not after what had happened?...Ever? The words, these horrible words...no...

"And John?" Dutch's voice brought him back to his senses. "You gotta behave responsibly now...got it? Cuz' I assure you, marriage ain't a kid's game. Right, Hosea?" The latter ignored Dutch's joke and stormed off, fed up with this nonsense.

John’s hand found you again, roughly pulling you up, dragging you away from Dutch’s feet. The fact that he was your “husband” now sent a chill down your spine.

Dutch called after him with a final, taunting word, “Get her settled, boy. And congratulations!”

John pushed past the flaps of the tent, you felt your body being thrown down onto the ground again, a soft thud as you hit the dusty floor. The tent was dim, but you could make out the faint outline of bedding and supplies.

John stood over you for a moment, his shadow dark and looming in the light of the flickering fire outside. He was silent, staring down at you, his expression unreadable. The ropes around your wrists burned, but you didn’t try to move. What was the point?

His voice was low when it came, like a command more than a suggestion. “You stay here. Don’t make me come back and remind you why you’re here.”

And with that, he left, the flap of the tent snapping behind him as he went. You were alone now, but not really. The weight of the men’s presence lingered in the air, suffocating, even as they all carried on with their laughter and celebrations outside.

The only sound was the rustle of the tent in the wind and the faint murmurs of the men as they settled into camp. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the burden of this new life, of your new reality, pressing down on you.

Mama...Papa...(S/N)..

God...why you? Why--just why?!

You didn't know how long you stayed there, or how many times you panicked and even fainted once. Then he came again...

"Listen--I... I’m going to take the ropes off, and you better stay quiet, alright?"

For a moment, his words almost felt like a plea. What the hell was this? The same man who had torn everything apart now seemed... pathetic. The man who had taken you, who had stolen your life, now sounded like he was afraid. His shaky voice didn't make you feel sympathy, it only fueled your hatred.

As soon as your hands were free, you didn’t hesitate. You swung with all the anger you’d been holding in for what felt like an eternity. Your hand collided with his face, not once, but twice. The sharp slap echoed in the air, and John staggered back, his face flashing with surprise.

“You wanted revenge, right?! YOU GOT IT! YOU MADE MY DAD SUFFER, SO NOW KILL ME! DO IT. I DON’T WANNA LIVE WITH YOUR SORRY PATHETIC ASS! JUST LOOK AT YOURSELF! Nothing, fucking nothing screams HUMAN about you! YOU DUMBFUCK!”

He didn’t react at first, standing still, his mouth tight. His mind seemed to stall, his eyes betraying a flicker of confusion. Maybe he thought you’d just... accept it.

"You listen-" He started, his voice suddenly more commanding, trying to regain control. But you weren’t going to let him.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" You screamed, your palm crashing into his face again, hard enough to make him step back. “Either take me back or kill me!”

John recoiled, blinking hard, but he didn’t speak for a moment. You saw him swallow, like he was struggling with something.

"STOP WITH THE KILLING TALK! I DON'T KILL WOMEN!"

You sneered, your blood boiling with disgust. "OH YEAH!? BUT YOU SNATCH THEM, HOW FUCKING NOBLE!"

His eyes were still locked on yours, but now there was something else there, something resembling frustration, even confusion. He didn’t know how to deal with you, didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do now. His whole plan had been thrown off.

You saw it in the way he stood there, shifting uneasily, the cracks in his control finally starting to show.

"Take me back or kill me, you son of a bitch!" You shouted, your chest heaving with raw emotion, your hands still clenched in fists at your sides. You were done begging. "You are nothing but a coward! All of you here are nothing but cowards, not men-"

That's it.

His grip was unforgiving, forcing your head up, his fingers digging into your chin with such force that it hurt. The pressure was unbearable, and your neck strained under the weight of it, but there was no escaping him. His eyes were cold, hard, and unblinking as he stared down at you, his breath hot against your skin.

"No," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You will fucking listen, got it?" He shook you violently with every word, the anger seeping from his tone. "I ain’t always gonna deal with these temper tantrums like your daddy. I am your husband now. Yeah, get that," he spat the words, venom in every syllable. "Get that fucking imprinted in your head. You gonna come to terms with it, whether you like it or not."

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you felt the tears, those damned pathetic tears, begin to form again. You tried to speak, to shout, to do anything to make him stop, but your mouth was clamped shut under his forceful grip. You could barely breathe, could barely move. His words hit you like a punch to the gut, making everything inside you twist with dread. The world around you felt like it was crumbling, the horror of what was happening suffocating you in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

"Please..."

The single word you managed to croak out hung in the air, fragile and desperate. It caught his attention, just long enough for him to look away, his jaw tight, his eyes shifting in something close to irritation. And then, with a sudden motion, he released you. The force of his grip pulled away so quickly that you tumbled backward, crashing onto the cot with a jarring thud.

"Just fucking stop! I said NO!" he repeated as if your resistance was some kind of insult to him, a challenge to his authority that he couldn't let slide. "And take this..."

He tossed the pouch at you. It landed on the cot with a soft clink. You froze for a second, blinking at the pouch. When your trembling hands slowly reached for it, you realized what it was, your mother’s gold jewelry.

Inside, there was more than just that, the gleaming gold pieces and the precious gems were accompanied by something much more sentimental. Your grandmother's necklace, an heirloom that had been passed down for generations, was nestled carefully within the folds of the fabric. You could almost hear your mother’s voice, her warmth in every memory attached to the jewelry. As you held it in your trembling hands, you couldn’t help but feel a strange relief.

At least this wasn’t taken from you.

You tried a different approach, your voice trembling with desperation, hoping, praying, that perhaps this might reach him.

“Y-you’re… going to do all this?” Your words broke with hiccups, but you pressed on, your desperation giving you courage. “Call someone your wife, k-kidnap them?... Someone who will hate you for eternity? You’re going to live with that? How do you people...sleep at night... hm? H-how?”

“You think I care how I sleep at night?” His voice was low, rough like splintered wood, and it made you flinch. “You think I don’t know what this is? What I’ve done?”

He took a step closer, his boots heavy against the ground, and you instinctively shrank back.

“Listen to me,” he spat, pointing a finger at you, his hand trembling just enough for you to notice. “I don’t want your damn hate, but if that’s all you’ve got, fine. Hate me. Curse me. Throw whatever you want my way. But don’t think for one second I’ll let you run. That won't have good consequences...remember that. Especially for your family. Whether you run to them or elsewhere. Imma' take my anger out on them either way."

Your breath hitched, but he wasn’t finished. He crouched down to your level, his face inches from yours, his words colder now.

“You think guilt’s gonna stop me? You think your tears are gonna make me let you go? No. You’re staying here. You’ll learn, one way or another, how this is gonna work.”

“I’m not proud of this,” he muttered, more to himself than you, his tone quieter now, though no less firm. “But it’s done. And you better start figuring out how to live with it. Because I ain’t letting you go.”

You stared at him in horror, tears streaking your cheeks. There was no reasoning with him, no way to break through his own guilt and stubbornness. He stood abruptly, towering over you once more.

“You’ll learn to live with it...you’ll understand. Eventually. You will have to for your own sake."

The tent flap shifted as Susan entered, carrying a bowl of food. She said nothing, her expression unreadable as she handed the bowl to John. For a brief moment, her gaze flickered toward you, a glance heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. Pity? Disdain? You couldn’t tell.

Then she turned and left, the fabric of the tent swaying shut behind her, leaving you alone with him once more.

John sat down, the bowl in his hands. The air between you crackled with tension as he placed it firmly on the makeshift table beside him.

“Now eat,” he ordered, his voice low and sharp.

You shook your head, your body trembling as you choked on your sobs.

His jaw tightened, and his gaze darkened, the softness from earlier entirely gone. He stood, leaning over you, his presence oppressive and inescapable.

“Don’t make me say it again,” he growled. “I’m not asking. Eat.”

Still, you shook your head, tears spilling freely down your face.

John’s patience snapped. He grabbed the bowl and held it up as a threat, his tone cold and unwavering. “You think I’m playing with you? I swear to God, if you don’t eat, I’ll force it down your throat. I. Said. Eat.”

His words cut through the air like a whip, leaving no room for argument. You flinched, staring at the bowl with wide, tear-filled eyes, knowing you had no choice. Your hands trembled as you reached for the spoon, your stomach churning with dread.

“Good,” he muttered, backing away just enough to let you breathe but keeping his eyes fixed on you. “About time you started listening.”

The minutes dragged on, each one more dreadful than the last, as you mindlessly forced the stew down, barely aware of its taste. When you finally pushed the bowl away, too sick with fear and despair to continue, he grabbed it and set it aside with an air of finality.

Then, without warning, John reached for the pouch of jewelry your mother had so carefully saved. He yanked it open, spilling its contents with no regard for the sentiment or sanctity they held. Your heart clenched as you watched his calloused fingers sift through the delicate gold pieces, his touch desecrating what was meant to symbolize joy and love.

"Here," he said, holding up the bangles, his tone commanding and without patience. "Wear these."

You instinctively backed away, clutching your hands to your chest as if shielding the last remnants of your dignity. The urge to snatch the precious jewelry from his sinful hands burned hot inside you, but the fear of his reaction held you in place.

"I said, wear em'."

Before you could think to resist, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a bruising grip. You winced but didn’t dare cry out, not wanting to provoke him further.

With a brutal kind of carelessness, he forced the gold bangles onto your trembling wrists, each one slipping over your hand with a sharp jingle that felt like the sound of shackles locking into place.

"There," he muttered admiring his work as if he’d achieved something. “Now you look the part.”

John’s gaze lingered on you as you sat there, your shoulders hunched and trembling, every ounce of defiance beaten down into quiet submission. You didn’t dare look at him, your hands resting on your lap, fidgeting with the edge of your dress as if trying to distract yourself from the weight of his presence. His earlier words of gruesome threats, and fear for your family still echoing in your mind.

The golden bangles on your wrist caught the dim light, gleaming against your soft, trembling skin. His eyes drifted to your face, the softness of your features now marred by fear. There was something about the way you sat there, quiet but unyielding, that made him feel like he won something precious.

Precious indeed.

“Look at you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His voice was low, almost reverent, though it carried a jagged edge. “All quiet now, huh? Guess you’re finally startin’ to get it.”

You didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, but he noticed the way your shoulders tensed under his gaze. It was enough to make him smirk, though the satisfaction in it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, John suddenly pushed himself to his feet. The movement was abrupt, startling you enough to glance at him before quickly looking away again. He stood there for a moment, towering over you, his arms crossed as he regarded you with an unreadable expression.

“Listen,” he began, his tone gruff, “I ain’t sleepin’ here tonight.” For a moment, relief flickered across your face, so brief he almost missed it. Almost.

“But,” he continued, “come tomorrow, you’d best start makin’ some space. ‘Cause this is my tent. Got it?”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his words settled over you like a suffocating weight. He waited, watching for a reaction, for some acknowledgment that you understood. When none came, he gave a low, humorless chuckle and shook his head.

“Silent treatment, huh? Fine. You’ll come around.” His voice softened, but the undertone was still sharp enough to cut. “You’ll see. This ain’t as bad as you’re makin’ it out to be.”

With that, he grabbed his hat from the table and left the tent, the flap snapping shut behind him.

❀˖°

The second night fell heavier than the first, the air in the tent still and suffocating. You hadn’t moved much throughout the day, just sat there, staring blankly at the tent walls, every sound outside making you flinch. Food had been brought and taken away untouched. No one had come to check on you, not that you’d wanted them to. The isolation wrapped around you, heavy and unrelenting.

When the flap of the tent rustled, your heart leapt in panic. He stepped inside like he had every right to be there, his figure casting a shadow across the space. John’s hat was off, his coat slung carelessly over his arm. He moved with an air of certainty, his boots scuffing against the ground as he set his belongings on the small table by the cot.

“You’ve been quiet. Guess that means you’re learning.”

You didn’t respond, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively. His eyes landed on you, taking in your hunched posture, the way your face turned away from him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between you, tense and unbroken.

He walked closer, and every step made your breath hitch. When he finally stood over you, his shadow loomed large, swallowing you in its weight. “Scoot over,” he ordered, his voice calm but firm.

You froze, shaking your head before you could stop yourself. The fight was small, but it was all you could manage.

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he crouched down to your level. “Didn’t think I’d have to remind you how things are. But I will if I need to.”

You shrank back, but there was nowhere to go. He sighed, straightening up and running a hand through his hair. “I ain’t here to fight with you, but you’re makin’ it real damn hard.”

Without another word, he sat on the cot beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and you shifted as far away as you could, your back pressed against the tent wall. He didn’t seem to care, leaning back and kicking his boots off as if this were just another night.

“I told you last night. You’re gonna have to get used to this. To me.” His gaze flickered to you, lingering for a moment. “The sooner you do, the better.

You wanted to shout, to tell him how much you hated this, how much you hated him, but the words were stuck in your throat. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, paralyzed by fear, by helplessness.

“No,” you whispered, your voice cracking as the tightness in your chest made it hard to breathe. You said it again, louder this time. “No.”

His lips curled into a mocking smile, barely visible in the dim light. “Mhm... funny.”

He stretched out, reclining with one arm behind his head, and the weight of his presence filled the space between you like a physical force. Your body instinctively flinched as he purposefully spread his legs into your space, a quiet challenge in his movements.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, his eyes half-lidded as if he were already drifting off. “We’ve got a long road ahead tomorrow, and you’ll need your rest.”

You barely had time to process his words before your mind went racing. Where!? Where were they taking you? Even more far from your family...what if they never will be able to find you?!

“W-where...?” You managed to croak, confusion creeping into your voice.

"Far, far away... to mountains and caves,” he said with an exaggerated flourish, his eyes twinkling as he gestured through the air. The dramatic gesture made you freeze, eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief.

He burst into a laugh, the sound echoing through the tent, thick with derision. “I’m just kidding, Princess. But it’s still gonna be far.”

His laughter faded as he leaned back on the cot, his casual tone not fading, he wanted to see the reaction again. “Though, if you really wanna go home,” he added with a shrug, his lips curling into a mocking smile, “you’re welcome to ask. Hell, I’ll even walk you to the edge of the camp myself. Let you find your way back. You’ll be easy pickings out there, though. Lots of nasty things in these woods, not all of them human. It’s just you and the big, wide world. Wolves , bears… maybe worse as in...bandits." His voice dipped lower, soft and dark, almost a whisper.

The insinuation hit you like a punch to the stomach, your throat tightening as panic crept in. He watched your reaction closely, his smirk widening as fear flickered across your face. “But maybe you’re braver than you look and stronger,” he said, almost teasing. “So, what’s it gonna be? Want me to toss you out right now? C'mon then, get up.” He grabbed your wrist which you instantly flinched away from.

You shook your head quickly, your voice breaking as you stammered, “No... no...please.."

“Good answer,” he drawled, reclining again, satisfied. “Smart girl.”

Your chest started heaving as you fought to steady your breathing. The tears came suddenly, hot and uncontrollable, spilling down your cheeks as you sat there, trembling. Another blow of his cruelty crashed into you, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. Sobs wracked your body, sharp and desperate, as your chest heaved with the weight of it all.

“Please…stop, s-top it,” you whispered between sobs, your hands shaking as they gripped your hair as if you were going insane, Hell you already had. “I-I can’t...I just wanna go ho-me...ple-ase.”

Inside, something twisted painfully in his chest. He hated it, seeing you like this, fragile and terrified because of him.

Fuck fuck fuck--Just what the fuck is wrong with me?!

"Alright, alright," he muttered, his tone softer now. "No need to get all worked up. I...was jus'...I was jus' messing around."

Was I? Or was I about to do that?

You didn’t move and kept weeping and he felt that unfamiliar pang again. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, don’t cry, alright?" he said gruffly, almost annoyed with himself for caring. "I’m not gonna... leave you out here or.... anywhere."

When you still didn’t move, sobbing quietly, he muttered a curse under his breath.

"Lay down," he ordered, his voice low but not unkind.

"C'mon, jus' lay down, I...am sorry," he repeated, softer this time and gently, he eased you down onto the bedroll, your sobs still trembling through your body. He tugged the blanket over you, his hands lingering awkwardly before he sat back, watching you silently for a moment.

His jaw tightened as he listened to your broken sobs. The sound tormented him, louder than any scream, worse than any wound. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop himself from hurting you, only to hate himself when he did?

❀˖°

The long journey had ended, and the camp settled into its usual rhythm, dust hung in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of campfires and the distant rustle of wind through the brush. You sat by the tent, legs pulled tightly to your chest, trying to steady your breath. Every bone in your body ached from the relentless days of riding, your wrists still red and raw from how he'd gripped them during the trip. The journey had been brutal, with no rest, no kindness, only his clipped orders and the suffocating silence that surrounded you. Yet, there had been moments, brief and fleeting like the time on a cold morning, when he had given you one of his warmer coats, the thick leather lined with fur, his gruff voice commanding you to put it on. You had hesitated at first, but had no choice but to obey.

“Get up and go fetch me some coffee,” he ordered without even looking in your direction.

You didn’t respond right away. Your hands gripped the edge of the crate, your heart pounding in your chest. The idea of getting up, moving, doing anything for him was unbearable. You knew the drill, he could force you to do anything, but right now, in this moment, you wanted to pretend you had control over something, anything.

“No,” you retorted sharply, your voice hoarse.

"Excuse me?"

"I am not...your maid."

The next thing you knew, you were yanked off the crate, your body jerking against his iron grip. He dragged you by the arm, unceremoniously. The camp was alive with activity, and you felt every pair of eyes land on you. His grip tightened, making it impossible to escape, his voice low and cold in your ear.

"You think you get to refuse me? I don't think you understand, sweetheart. This is your life now."

He tugged you toward the large stew pot, where a man was stirring it. He looked up as you approached, and John gave a single, dismissive wave of his hand. "She’ll be working here, Pearson. You got it?"

Your stomach churned as you were forced to stand beside the stew pot, the acrid scent of boiled meat and thin broth filling the air. Your mind drifted, traitorously pulling you back to unreachable memories of a life far removed from this. Memories of sitting at a polished table, sunlight streaming through wide-open windows, and more than one dish laid out before you for breakfast alone, fluffy eggs, fresh fruit, steaming tea, and pastries you could barely finish.

Now, the single, unappetizing pot seemed almost mocking, its contents a reminder of how far you’d fallen. You blinked hard, willing the tears away, but they pricked at your eyes nonetheless, a lump forming in your throat

Everything here is going to taste nothing but broken dreams and grief to you.

"Now," he ordered, pushing you toward the cooking wagon. "Get used to the smell. Get used to the work. You want to know where you're going to spend most of your time Princess? This...right fucking here."

But John wasn’t done. He moved again, dragging you along with him to the laundry area.

"And here, you’ll wash the clothes. See how nice it looks? This is your world now, little by little. I don't care if you're tired. I don't care if you're angry. Nobody does. You’ll do what I tell you, or it’ll be worse for you."

His words were venomous, and they stung deeper than you cared to admit. The powerlessness of it all seemed to suffocate you, leaving you with nothing but the grinding reality of your situation.

He let go of your arm then, but still hovered over you.

"You can stay here and sulk if you want, but just know this," he added, his voice cold again. "You’re part of this family and there is a limit to where I and Dutch will tolerate your moodiness. He can be pissed too when he wants to be so don't embarrass me in front of others. And I don’t take kindly to disobedience. Not from you. Daddy must have spoiled you but here none of that shit happens."

You didn’t respond, but the pit in your stomach grew heavier. The space around you, the smell of the stew, the relentless noise of the camp, it all felt suffocating. You felt like you were drowning, your heart aching with every passing second.

"John! Stop it!" Sharp with panic, a voice broke through the suffocating fog of confusion that had clouded your mind. You turned, eyes blurry with tears, just in time to see Annabelle rush to your side. Her presence was like a shield, her arms wrapping around you as she positioned herself between you and him. "As if you already hadn't disappointed me enough! Get fuckin' lost right now!."

Their argument became muffled as you stood there, breath shallow, heart pounding. Everything that had happened, everything you had lost, overwhelmed you. You thought back to that final day with your family, the day that now felt like a distant, unreachable dream.

Why had you taken everything for granted? The simple comforts, the warmth of your home, the sound of your mother’s scolding, your father’s jokes, their laughter that filled the air. How you longed to hear those things again, to feel their embrace, to be wrapped in the safety of your old life.

You closed your eyes, letting the memories flood your mind. Mama… The name escaped your lips in a breathless whimper, and you clutched at Annabelle desperately, as though she could somehow give you back everything you had lost.

Annabelle's arms tightened around you, her face hardening with a scowl as she glared at John. She didn’t need to say anything. The fury in her eyes spoke volumes. But in that moment, you felt like you were in a world of your own, lost in the painful yearning for a life that no longer existed.

"I can’t," you whispered, the words barely a sound. "I can’t… be here. I want to go home. I beg you.."

Annabelle’s grip on you softened slightly, but she didn't let go. She didn’t have the words to ease the ache in your chest, but she had the strength to offer you something, a shield, a comfort, even if it wasn’t enough to erase the crushing weight of your new life.

John stood there, a silent observer for now, but you knew the storm was far from over. Every moment with him felt like a battle, and you were too broken, too tired, to fight anymore. You thought yourself crumbling once again.

Annabelle whispered something to you, comforting words, but they were lost in the haze of your thoughts.

God, this is heart breaking to watch, why can't it be just a piece of cake? Why are you making it so hard?

But John knew it wasn't your fault, not in the slightest. He couldn't take it anymore so he turned, his boots heavy against the dirt floor of the camp and walked away with a grumble, disappearing into the shadows of the camp, leaving you behind in the dimming light, holding onto whatever remnants of dignity you had left.

Annabelle, still by your side, squeezed you tighter, her expression hardened as she watched John leave. Her voice was a whisper, a promise, as she comforted you in the only way she knew how. "I am here, alright. Don't be afraid. We’ll get through this... together."

❀˖°

John lay on his back in the dimly lit tent, the muted crackle of the campfire outside casting faint, flickering shadows across the canvas walls. He knew you were awake. His gaze shifted downward, catching on your hands where they rested near your chest. The bangles on your wrists glinted faintly in the low light, the same ones you hadn’t been allowed to remove. But it wasn’t the jewelry that held his attention. It was the raw, chapped skin of your fingers under the shadow of the blanket, evidence of the cold and the endless work you’d been made to do. Not to mention your shivering...

With a quiet sigh, John sat up, the bedroll creaking under his weight. He stood, the night air slipping into the tent as he stepped outside. A few moments later, he returned, a spare blanket draped over one arm. Without a word, he leaned over, laying it carefully across you.

He laid back down with a soft huff, his hands laced behind his head as he stared at the canvas ceiling above. Silence stretched between you, but it didn’t last.

"I know," he murmured, his voice low but steady. "It’s probably a nightmare for you. Not exactly the fairytale you might’ve dreamed of...I mean...I would be the last person you would even imagine yourself to be with..." He chuckled, the sound bitter and humorless. "But it’s real. And it’s done. There’s nothing that can be done about it now."

His head turned slightly, enough that you could feel the weight of his gaze even though you couldn't see it. "What do you want? For me to throw you out? To let you go back? You think that’s an option? Because it’s not. Believe it or not but...it ain't some tradition...it's a commitment and... I’ve taken on a responsibility, and I’m willing to see it through. But not if you keep acting like this."

The cycle was obvious to him now.

He gets gentle with you, just for a moment, and you start acting up, that defiant spark in your eyes resurfacing. Then he gets pissed, and you get scared. And that fear? Those tears? They make him more fucking pissed.

Your tense back beside him seemed to beckon, and he found himself turning toward you, his hand hovering hesitantly. His fingers twitched, itching to close the space between you, but for a fleeting second, something strange held him back. Fear? Doubt? Is he doing this then? He brushed the thought aside, refusing to examine it further.

When his hand finally settled on your waist, you immediately swatted it away, which he both expected and loathed. He placed it back, this time firmer, pulling you against him.

"Listen here,” he muttered, his voice low, close to your ear. “If you start to accept it, this, us, I might even take you to see your family...” He let the words out, unsure himself if they were a genuine promise or just another thread of control. But right now, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to feel the soft warmth of you against him, to revel in the fleeting sense of peace it gave him. He wanted to test all of this out...unravel this sweet chaos he had caused.

Damn, the warmth, the softness, the scent. Mhm. Not...bad... I could get used to this.

“Got it?” he whispered, his lips almost brushing your ear. You didn’t answer, only buried your face into the pillow with a shaky nod. A smirk tugged at his lips, satisfaction blooming in his chest and e tightened his arm around you.

"Good, that's what I thought, Princess." This time, his voice lacked its usual taunting edge, carrying a note of unexpected softness instead.

"Or should I say, Mrs. Marston.."

He buried his face into your hair and neck, sighing at the softness, and his mind, as if on its own, pictured it almost too vividly...even when he tried to stop himself.

Children with your eyes but his resolve running through the camp, the echoes of their laughter filling the space he once thought too hollow to hold anything but emptiness.

He always wanted a family, a real one. Something steady, something lasting. What he craved for himself as a kid. And maybe if he had that, people would finally start to see him as more than some reckless kid. As a man. A mature, responsible man.

Responsibility... That was what he needed, wasn’t it? Something to ground him. A driving force to keep him steady, to give all of this chaos some kind of meaning.

His legacy, carved into this broken world. Something that wouldn’t burn away with the next heist or the next score.

And when he came back from dangerous jobs, when the blood and the dirt weighed heavy on his shoulders, what then? A man’s eyes needed to see somethin’ peaceful after all that. Not just poker cards and stolen loot. No, he’d need somethin’ better. Like....you, rocking his kids to sleep in your arms. Their tiny fists clutching at your shirt, your voice humming low to calm them.

You’d resist at first, of course, you would, and damn it, that only made the thought burn brighter. He could see it so clearly, the defiance in your eyes softening with time, with understanding. And then, after a while, you wouldn’t be able to fight it anymore.

He swallowed hard, the image filling his mind. The thought of you, his woman, his wife, with his child.

He smirked in the dim light, his grip tightening and his chest rumbling with a hum, " You'd make a fine mother. Yeah...they’d be beautiful. Tough, too. With my grit and your… well, everything else.”

Your body stiffened instantly in disgust and terror. The thought sent a cold wave of dread through you, the very idea of this made you sick to your stomach. “No way in hell,” you hissed, your voice sharper than you intended.

John stilled for a moment, the smile slipping from his face. The quiet that followed was dangerous. Then, slowly, he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to overtop you.

"Say that again." His voice was quiet, too quiet, but the simmering anger beneath it was impossible to miss.

"I said, no way in hell. No. I’m not… I won’t…you are insane to think-"

His hand slid to your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You think you get a say in this, Princess?"

You tried to turn your face away, but his hold tightened just enough to make you freeze. He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "I’ll make you see it my way, one way or another. You’ll thank me for it one day when they’re calling you Mama and lookin’ up at you like you hung the fuckin' stars."

He let go of your chin harshly. Turning back onto his side, he muttered under his breath.

"Might be the only thing that keeps your mind away from your home. A family. My family."

(AN: Do yall want an Arthur version for this concept?👀 Also to be in the taglist , just comment down below. )

[genderqueerdykes]

My best friend's bf is a cis man and he's a sweetheart. I've been forced to change my own perspective because of him. (I was chronically online) But the point is, they really are not all bad.

thanks for taking the time to send an ask! i'm glad you have that person in your life. cis men are not inherently evil or shitty people, when we open our eyes to the caring, good, sensitive and supportive men in our environment, we begin to break down patriarchy. the belief that men are inherently violent, dangerous and oppressive upholds patriarchy and forces people to believe that men can never do better or be kind, that men can never be gentle, that men are inherently abusive, possessive and controlling. when we doom cis men to being irredeemable scum, it tells them they can never be anything than what they are currently, so why would they ever try to change? if we keep telling men that they are and basically HAVE to be bigots, we perpetuate the cycle of abuse and oppression at the hands of patriarchy.

"cis man" is not an inherently evil gender, much like any other person, cis men come in all shapes and forms. one of my old best friends was a cishet man who, when i came out to him as a trans guy, IMMEDIATELY switched to my new name and pronouns and never screwed them up not ONCE. he also never gave me shit for being bi/gay. he was very open minded, sure he wasn't perfect, but literally nobody is! out of all of my friends at the time, that guy had the least issues with my gender and sexuality. my friend at the time who was a cis woman struggled harder than he did.

thanks for taking the time to stop by and share your experience! i hope you have a great week