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mirandasidefics · 1 year ago

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But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 2

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Chapter 2 Summary: Lucien and Rhysand argue over Reader's imprisonment, only one cell is traded for another. Lucien reaches out to an unlikely alley for support in getting Reader free.

Word Count: 6.3K

Warning(s): Mentions of injuries, mentions of self harm, mentions of body issues/insecurities.

A/N: I was too excited to wait the full month so here is part two a bit early! I apologize that this gets a bit dialogue heavy at the end. I may fix it later. This is going to be a long slow burn fic with a lot of angst. This will also have crossover with some of the Crescent City characters. It also probably goes without saying, but this will not follow canon past the events in HOSAB. Comment on this post if you want to be included on the tag list.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 1

Seven days. Seven days he’d been arguing and advocating for her release with Rhysand. For seven days he listened to the same rehearsed list of excuses as to why Rhys wouldn’t budge in his decision.

“You and I both know that the gate to Velaris was sealed with blood magic. Only those whose blood is linked to the seal can pass through, which she shouldn’t have been able to do. On top of that we don’t know what world she came from. I’m not risking the lives of my family-my court, which includes you- on what equates to no more than a hunch.”

While the High Lord’s statements were reasonable and valid points, his insistence she remained confined in that dark and dank cell was not. Lucien hastily made his way down the main steps that lead into the catacombs, thoughts of his last spat with Rhysand swirling in his mind.

“Why do you care so much about what happens to this woman?” Rhys had questioned. Lucien had asked himself the same thing; but how could he say that it was less about her and more about what she represented? That when he saw her cowering form in the corner of that cell, images of Feyre, Elain, and Jesminda flashed through his mind. He had failed the two sisters. He had failed his first love. He would sooner have the Cauldron blast him from existence should he fail to protect another innocent female. He’d kept his composure standing in Rhysand’s office at the River House long enough. A simmering rage permeated the space as the raven-haired male stared him down. A silent challenge in the already tense atmosphere.

“How can you stand your own hypocrisy?” He seethed, “You sit there thinking of yourself so high and mighty, yet a simple human frightens you? You allowed Feyre into Velaris the second week she spent with you. You allowed Bryce into your home within minutes of her crashing into our world. Yet this human…this woman scares you so much you have her imprisoned in one of the most dangerous areas of your court?”

“ENOUGH!” Rhysand bellowed, his own violet orbs simmered with rage. Lucien felt his flames rise up and encircle his palms. Rhysand’s High Lord command held no sway so he continued.

“Are you that much of a coward that you could not have just asked her a few simple questions? You couldn’t have just looked into her-”

“I could not enter her mind!” Rhys’ breaths were ragged. “Something is protecting that mortal, and it is strong enough to keep me out. So long as those shields of hers remain impenetrable I cannot trust her. I must keep my mate and child safe.” Lucien scoffed, his fire dwindled. “Which is not something I can say I see you doing for your own.”

Lucien could still feel the cracking of bone and cartilage of Rhys’ nose as it connected with his fist. The argument surly would have resulted in them demolishing the entirety of the business wing had Azriel’s arrival not stopped the two males in their tracks. The Shadowsinger’s haggard appearance set them both on edge, but his words allowed Lucien to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m done with this Rhys. I cannot keep hur- I cannot do this… she knows nothing.” The High Lord merely looked between the Emissary and the Spymaster. Expression relaxed and revealing nothing, even as blood dripped over his lips.

“Bring her up to the Moonstone Palace,” the commanded was towards his brother, “Since Lucien is so smitten with the woman he shall remain with her there for the time being.”

Lucien soon found himself outside of her cell. Only darkness and cold emanated from beyond the door. He paused his own breathing, wondering if she was even still alive. The last time he saw her, she hadn’t hesitated to slice open her own skin. Azriel wasn’t far behind and pushed past Lucien to enter the room. Lucien’s breath remained caught in his throat as he took in the mangled sight of her.

You had no idea how long you’d been in the darkness of your cell. Hours had turned into days, but just how many days you weren’t sure. You had gone silent on what you assumed was the third day. You knew nothing of how you got there, and you had no idea where to begin when Azriel-who’s name you gathered early on-asked you about the world you came from. Its not like he would believe you if you said your world had no magic, at least not in the same way it was here. Then again, that was clearly an incorrect assumption on your part. And after everything that has transpired you determined that this was no dream. It was a nightmare come to life. You weren’t sure how much more your psyche could tolerate. Surely death would be better than the horrors that would plague your mind for years to come if you were allowed to live. You prayed silently to whatever deity would listen to let you die. You started as the metal hinges of the door screamed into the darkness.

“Mother above,” The horrified yet soft baritone drifted to your ears and you strained to open your eyes. You recognized the voice and Lucien’s warm body was immediately next to yours as you dangled from the ceiling. The male made quick work of the metal shackles holding your wrists high above your head, a bright light flooding the small space making you hiss. His large hand encircled your wrist and you could feel the skin repair itself. Lucien slowly lowered your arms down.

“Her name is (Y/N),” Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was ashamed of the space his normal speaking voice would take up in the small cell. As if what he said would break you further. Lucien held you up, warm hands around your rib cage holding you steady.

“(Y/N),” His testing of your name tentative, “(Y/N), my name is Lucien…I’m going to take you out of here.” His arms wrapped around you, and you could have sworn you felt your skin get warmer, the cold melting away like ice. His grip never lessened, which you were grateful for as you weren’t sure your legs could fully support your weight.

“Do you feel safe enough to come with me?” You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move your head in agreement. Couldn’t specify that you felt safe with him. You could only muster enough strength to cling to the front of his shirt, hoping it conveyed your trust towards him and him alone. Your eyes burned with tears. He shushed you as one of his hands rubbed up and down your spine. A footstep echoed in the chamber, and then you felt Azriel’s shadows attempt to wend their way over your bare feet. Your flinch was followed by a low warning growl, one that you felt more than heard.

“Follow me,” Azriel’s swallow was audible.

“Can you walk?” Lucien’s hand lowered to your waist, pushing you back far enough so he could meet your eyes. They felt swollen and your vision was unfocused and hazy, but you tried to keep them open so he could see that you would try your best. You shifted your weight back onto your heels and slowly slid your right foot in front of you. A lightning like bolt of pain traveled up your leg. Air harshly sucked into your lungs.

“I’ve got you,” his voice was reassuring as he continued to support most of your weigh in his arms. You took another step forward. Then another and another. His hands never faltered from their place on your torso as he moved himself to walk behind you. Ready and poised to keep you balanced and catch you should you fall. “Good girl,” he praised, “Let’s get you cleaned up so I can heal you yeah?”

The walk up from the catacombs to the palace proper was brutal. Your legs burned from the muscle strain and you were regretting not accepting help from Lucien while you bathed. However, the last thing you wanted was to have anyone see you naked. Lucien had helped enough with getting the large sunken in bathtub filled. The scent of vanilla and lavender contrasted with the grime and dirt that filled your lungs for the last week. You had specifically asked for the water to be scalding, wanting it to burn away the memory of everything that had been done to you in the dark. The deep cold that laced your bones was finally seeping out in the hot water. A soft knock rapped on the stone archway leading into the bathing chamber. Unable to move your neck freely you covered your chest and turned to face the male. He walked over to the bench set near the tub, a bundle of cream-colored fabric in his arms. Unless it was a bedsheet you doubted that any clothing he found would fit you. Then again, magic existed so its possible that the fabric could be altered instantly. He sat on the bench and set the garment next to the towel that awaited you.

“Are you certain that I can’t be of assistance?” He looked beyond you towards the open windows that overlooked the absolutely stunning expanse of wilderness below the palace. A darkened city jutting out from the base of the mountains the only thing that disrupted the sight. You were thankful for Lucien’s offer. Truly you were, and despite the feeling-knowing- that you could trust the male, your self-conscious nature surrounding your body was too strong.

“I-” You cleared your throat of the gravel you were certain had lodged itself inside from screaming against the rocky surface of your cell, “I’m good.” The vibration of your vocal chords felt like sandpaper as they rubbed together. He looked at you then and reflexively you squeezed your arms tighter around yourself; gripping your elbows as you dipped down into the water until everything below your neck was submerged. You were grateful for the tub size making you look small. It could easily fit two full grown adults and deep enough to reach your waist when you stood to full height. It almost reminded you more of a jacuzzi rather than a bathtub.

“Then I’ll leave you to bathe in peace,” He stood and clasped his hands behind his back, “I’ll be in the room just beyond these arches. Just call our if you need anything. I’m here to ensure that you’re taken care of.” You nodded your understanding and turned towards the side of the tub lined with soaps and lotions, his foot steps retreating against the stone tiles. While you had difficulty with your range of motion, you managed to rid yourself of the dirt, grime, and dried blood from your skin. Your hair felt silky, soft, and light compared to the heavy oily mats from not washing it for a week. You had also found a razor nearby and took the opportunity to shave, savoring the feeling that you were becoming a person again. Drying off was easier with the relaxed muscles. The vanilla scented lotion felt like heaven as it penetrated your dry skin. You surmised that the bath had really only removed one layer of nightmares as you scanned your form in the mirror on the opposite wall. Your eyes first saw the plethora of cuts in every size cover the expanse of both your arms, shoulders, and collar bone from the dagger-Truth Teller-that Azriel had used during your interrogation. Next you took in the dark red and purple bruise on the left side of your jaw. The discoloration spanning from the joint below your ear to your chin. It was a miracle that he hadn’t knocked any of your teeth out or broken your jaw from the force he hit you with. Eyes trailing further down you saw a second healing bruise, its blue-green hue spanning the length of your ribs on the right side of your body. Laying down on your side was going to prove difficult still. Finally, your eyes landed on the only injury that you yourself were responsible for. The shadows had played too many tricks on your mind, too many whispers promising to break you. The psychological and emotional pain was worse than the physical injuries and honestly became too much for your soul. Something in you broke. You still couldn’t figure out exactly how you managed to grab Truth Teller from him, too focused on plunging the black blade into your left inner thigh and dragging it along the flesh. You couldn’t reach your throat, so you had been aiming for the next major artery you knew of in the hopes that you’d bleed out fast, but Azriel was quick. His attempt to get the blade back from you pushed it away from where it would do the most damage. That was the last day that Azriel brought any form of weapon with him, and the last day he put his hands on you. Rhysand had only managed to stop the bleeding, but a large and deep jagged slice remained. Had you paid more attention you may not have doubted the guilt that lined his features as he worked to heal you. You didn’t want this to be real. You still held out hope that if you somehow managed to end your life you’d wake up on the cold concrete of the path leading up to your front door. You didn’t belong here.

You shook the memories from your mind and picked up the fabric on the bench. You expected the intrusive thoughts and nightmares, but you didn’t think that they would be plaguing you so immediately. You slipped on the airy cotton tank top and loose-fitting matching shorts. You were indeed surprised they fit as well as they did, let alone fit at all. Your bare feet padded along the cool stone floor and entered the massive bedchamber. The room encapsulated a warmth with its cream and ivory base colors. Splashes of blues, teals, and turquoise giving it a calming effect. The dark cherry wood of the four-poster bedframe provided an interesting accent color adding to the space. Lucien sat on an ivory colored couch that faced a white marbled fireplace. Sadly, the flames did nothing to help illuminate the space and only seemed to cast heavier shadows. You glanced around the room again and noticed that the bedsheets had been turned down for you, for whenever you were ready to sleep. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to get any real rest with your injuries being what they were. Rhysand had only stopped the bleeding in your thigh. He did nothing for the other injuries. So, Lucien stated he would heal those for you. Carefully walking over, you sat your self on the couch, keeping enough space for another person to sit between you and the crimson haired male. He turned towards you with a slight smile that quickly faltered as he took in your appearance. He moved closer towards you and examined every inch of your skin. His one real eye held no warmth even as a flame seemed to ignite the iris. He took your chin in his hand to get a better look at the bruise on your jaw. His touch was gentle, but even you could tell that the male was furious with what he saw.

“I had hoped some of this had been dirt,” He turned your head to the side, a finger tracing down along the side of your neck. A metallic scent permeated the air as the hand cupped the left side of your face, covering nearly the entire bruise. His gaze slowly traveled down to your shoulders and the cuts that littered and marred the skin of your arms and shoulders. The skin warmed and tingled under his gentle caress. His eyes paused at your torso, no words needed to understand that he wanted to see the injury to your ribs. You carefully gathered the material and lifted as high as your stiff shoulder and neck muscles would allow. His fingers traced the outline of the mark, and you cringed at the touch of his hands moving your fat rolls out of the way so his palms could lay flat against the skin. Embarrassment colored your cheeks. Lucien continued his healing wordlessly. He motioned for you to stand, grasping your calf and propping your leg on the cushion of the couch. Your inner thigh completely exposed to him allowing the full extent of your wound to be seen. You watched as skin healed almost instantly. His gaze then shifted to the healed scars on your upper thigh, near the junction where it met your hip. “Um…y-you can leave those,” you brought your leg back down to stand before the male, “Thank you Lucien.”

“You’re most welcome,” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. You started to pick at your already blunt nails, a nervous habit you used to ground yourself. You glanced around the room for the third time, almost not believing that you were no longer in the cold and dark. The white walls and bedding opened up the space.

“Is…is that for me?” You pointed over towards the massive bed covered in decorative pillows. Lucien’s red hair swayed with the movement of his head as he followed your gesture.

“The bed is for you,” He stood and walked over to the small bedside table to the left of the headboard, “As is this sleeping draft.” He picked up a deep cobalt vial, giving it a slight shake before setting it back down. You hummed and nodded, but didn’t move from your spot in front of the couch. It went without saying that the potion would be needed after what you experienced over the past week. And you would only feel guilty if you woke him in the middle of the night.

“There’s water for you as well,” His voice softened as he noticed your hesitation. You chewed on your lower lip. The sun was still up, but you didn’t know how its position revealed the time of day. Depending on the time of year and how far north, or south, on the planet you were, you estimated it could be anywhere from 3pm to 9pm. You supposed it didn’t really matter as sleep was sleep and you’d likely remain unconscious for several hours, Gods willing at least.

“I will be in the room next to yours,” He pointed over to a door opposite from the entrance to the bathing chamber, “If you need anything, anything at all you come to me. We’ll get you some food in the morning.” You nodded again as your eyes started to water. You didn’t want to be left alone, but you also didn’t want to take up his time more than you already were. So, wordlessly you forced your feet to move and made your way over to the bed. You crawled in under the blankets that had been moved aside. You grabbed the vial from the bedside table and uncorked the stopper. The scent of chamomile, lavender, and something unknown wafted to you. Before you gave yourself time to reconsider you downed half the contents and set it back down. Lucien was patiently waiting at the door and smiled his first genuine smile towards you.

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

“Goodnight Lucien.”

Lucien had answered all your questions, to the best of his ability, during your first day in the Moonstone Palace. He filled you in on the basics of the Night Court and Prythian. For each bit of information he provided about the land or himself, you matched it. He also informed you that while here, Rhysand insisted that you work on finding any potential information of your world and how to get back to it in the texts that he sent. A new stack of books was brought into the small library within the palace every morning. So far, your hours of reading yielded no results. Then again, you could only read a fraction of the texts given to you. Most were in languages that you couldn’t even begin to understand. Still you scanned the tombs for any words that even looked remotely similar to names of places within your universe. Sadly, all you could find was information related to a Midgard, which was frustratingly NOT the same as the mortal realm described in Norse mythology. Lucien then explained that they had already received visitors from this Midgard that were set to return to Prythian soon. You had gathered that one of them was Bryce, but you’d not been given names for anyone else.

In addition to the books you had also been gifted a small wardrobe filled with clothing in your size. It had been awkward when the half wraiths appeared to measure you. But you were provided with some simple dresses, pants, shirts, and under clothes. Nothing fancy, which you were grateful for. Lucien explained the clothes were an apology gift from Rhysand. You told Lucien that if the High Lord was truly sorry he could at least express as much to your face. You couldn’t complain in the grand scheme of things. Rhysand wasn’t obligated to house, feed, or clothe you. He could have easily dumped you in the Mortal Lands, leaving you to fend for yourself. Although, Lucien stated that he knew of two people that would have taken you into their care. Regardless, you did as Rhysand bid, reading for hours day after day and never asked for anything in particular.

Another two weeks went by and you and Lucien developed a little routine. Breakfast followed by hours of research. Then lunch and various exercises and tests to determine if you held any sort of latent magic. Lucien explained that his initial assessment of you that first day showed nothing, but that didn’t mean you were completely without power. Truth be told you felt he was keeping something from you. Then came dinner, after which you were free to spend your time however you wished. Mostly you spent time on the veranda studying the night sky, letting the wind caress your face and hair. There was one night you swore you heard voices held within the breeze. A song encouraging you that you would find peace again. In your world the night time hours used to provide a comfort, but here there was nothing familiar about the constellations that dotted the dark sky above. Instead, the lack of familiarity just made you feel all the more alone. It wasn’t that Lucien wasn’t good company, you just felt bad that he was stuck with you. He tried really hard to get you to relax and fall into the playful banter he likely needed to survive his own punishment. While he never said as much, you had gathered that his babysitting duty was linked to your release and apology from the High Lord. Lucien made your days easy, filled with witty remarks and a warmth that felt natural. An easy friendship had definitely taken root.

However, the nights were hard. You already suffered from extreme insomnia without the added fear of night terrors. So, your sleep cycle was suffering greatly. The first two nights were dream less thanks to whatever Lucien had given you. But the third night resulted in his bursting through the doors of your bedroom at the sound of your screams. As much as you hated yourself for feeling weak, you begged him to stay in the room. He obliged, of course, and slept on the couch. His presence helped slightly. It didn’t chase away the nightmares, but it did make the darkness that permeated the night more tolerable. You had never been fearful of the night before, having even preferred it to the hustle and bustle of the day. You had always the quite of the night to bring you a comforting serenity. But since your time in the cell…you insisted on a fire in the hearth and the faelights to remain lit, believing the light would chase away the shadows that plagued your dreams.

You felt bad forcing Lucien to sleep on the couch. But you also didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable if you offered to share your bed with him. He told you about his mate, Elain, and you felt even worse that your arrival took him away from her. Even if he explained that their relationship wasn’t what would be expected between mates after nearly 4 years of being in each other’s lives. So, you kept the offer to yourself.

Today started out like any other. Lucien and you sat down to a breakfast of eggs, toast and jam with orange juice. You never really cared for tea and coffee appeared to not be available in Prythian if your companion’s confusion was anything to go by. The only difference today were the two additional place settings.

“Are we expecting visitors?” You asked. You immediately wanted to kick yourself for asking what was an obvious question.

“Yes,” Lucien answered, pouring a cup of tea for himself, “I’ve asked some people to come and meet you. As much as I enjoy our time together, it seems that the High Lord still needs convincing that you should not be kept in a cell.”

“I’m not in a cell,” You countered. However, you didn’t miss the fact that his glare told you that your new cell was just a lavish one.

“Our guests may be able to help me make a stronger case for you to be able to move freely about the court, if not Prythian as a whole.” You pondered who he would have contacted. To your understanding, not many members of the High Lord’s “Inner Circle” particularly cared for the emissary. There was also no way that members from another court would be able to hold any sway over the inner workings of the Night Court.

“So, what do they need to know about me?” You asked, spiking the yoke of your egg. In the time spent with Lucien you were able to be yourself for the most part. You held back on your swearing, meme related jokes, and slang, but tested out your sarcasm and dry humor. One of the main things you were worried about was how to speak with others. While you had manners, you had no formal etiquette training. Something that Lucien found utterly hilarious when you asked for clarification on how to address him.

“Relax, its an informal introduction,” His gentle smile reassured you, “Just be the sweet girl that I’ve come to know.” His smile widened. You gave him a doubtful look, tucking your lips into a thin line to suppress a laugh. He batted his irritatingly long eyelashes and the two of you broke out into a fit of laughter. While you weren’t cold or bitchy by any means, you also weren’t a sweet and demure woman either. No, Lucien quickly pointed out that you had a fire within you…at least on your good days. The laughter was cut short by the sound of a thud in front of you on the stone patio. Your eyes immediately tracked the large bat like wings and you stood from your seat. Metal and glass clanged against the stone as your thighs hit the lip of the table. Your chair knocked to the ground, causing you to nearly trip as you backed towards the metal railing. Blood rushed in your ears and your vision started to tunnel. Lucien was next to you in an instant.

“Hey. Hey," He gripped your right shoulder to keep you steady, “Shh, it’s okay. It's not him. You’re safe.” Your gaze remained fixed on the unknown winged male that looked on with worry etching his features.

“See what you did,” the voice of the female he’d been carrying was distant in your ears. Lucien’s other hand cupped your face, forcing you to turn towards him.

“Eyes on me (Y/N),” He encouraged, “Breathe. There you go.” Your eyes focused on his features; the jagged scar-raised and tight, the deep reds sprinkled amongst the warm honey brown iris. Your breath evened out, and you covered the hand on your cheek with one of your own to let the red head know you were okay. You took another breath and released Lucien. However, his hand remained on your shoulder. You turned back to the couple that stood on the opposite side of the space. At first glance, the winged male held features that you noted were similar to Azriel in regards to skin, hair, and eye color. Although, Azriel’s held more flecks of green than the honey gold of the male before you. The unnamed male was taller and broader, his shoulder-length hair softly jostled in the breeze. Your eyes wandered over to the female that was with him. Her striking blue-grey eyes would have reminded you of steel had it not been for the soft sadness that shown in them at your display. You hadn’t expected to react in the manner you did. Your heart still hammered in your chest. You cleared your throat and smoothed down the front of the simple sage green dress you wore.

“I-I must apologize,” You started, “I guess I…sorry.” You wrung your hands together and looked at your feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the female spoke up, "It’s this idiot’s fault. We should have given you a warning.” You nodded slightly in acknowledgment. Lucien’s hand trailed down your arm to your hand. He gave it a quick and gentle squeeze before he bent down to pick up the chair you’d knocked over in your haste to get away.

“(Y/N),” He motioned for you to sit back down, “This is Cassian, the General of the Night Court’s Illyrian army, and Nesta Archeron, Valkyrie, sister to the High Lady and fellow emissary.” Lucien gestured to each as they took their own seats across from yours.

“It’s nice to meet you,” You reached across the table, your hand extended to shake theirs. When neither returned to gesture you pulled back. “Sorry, I’m used to hand shakes as a form of greeting in my world.”

“So, you are from another world?” Cassian asked, scooping some eggs onto a plate and handing it to Nesta.

“Yes, we call it Earth,” you searched the table for a spare fork, yours having fallen to the ground. When you couldn’t find one, Lucien handed you his. You raised your eyebrow at him, but he just shrugged and began to spread a blackberry jam on his toast. “And before you ask, there is no magic, at least not the same as what you’re familiar with. Also, creatures such as fairies-the Fae- shapeshifters, vampires, mermaids, nymphs, and so on - are all non-existent. Just stories that have been reduced to myths.” The two regarded you closely, listening to your spiel. When they didn’t say anything you continued, too nervous to allow silence.

“I’m not sure how I got here. There are stories of humans traveling through portals into the realm of the Fae or other worlds, but they are simply stories. Ones made to keep children out of trouble or explain natural occurrences. All prior to finding scientific explanation, of course. Like the changing of the seasons,” You realized you were now rambling, “or fairy rings-rings of flowers or more often mushrooms…” The three non-humans stared at you.

“Don’t Lu,” you warned as the corner of the male’s full lips ticked up, “Yes, I talk when I’m nervous. Yes, I’m nervous because I really don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t understand why…I just…want to go home.” Lucien took your hand in his again, his grip reassuring and comforting.

“That’s what we’re all working on,” He assured, “There is a library that, should we manage to convince Rhys-”

“Wait, she can’t leave here?” Nesta interrupted, her eyes blazed. Cassian tensed in his seat and gave Nesta a warning glance. It was clear that not everyone knew of your predicament.

“She’s restricted to the East Wing of the palace,” Lucien clarified, “There are barriers up that she can’t pass through. Just like what Tamlin did with your sister.” If Nesta had been upset before, she looked down right lethal now. Of course, Lucien had filled in you in on what transpired with Feyre and his former home in the Spring Court. Cassian cleared his throat, his gaze falling to the other male.

“What is it you need from us exactly?” He looked to you, seemingly trying to figure out why you posed such a threat that you required to be locked away.

“I need your voice in your High Lord’s ear. I have no magic, and we’ve tried various ways to test that out.”

“Which you’re welcome to see,” Lucien interrupted.

“Yes. I don’t really know how to use a weapon, nor do I have much interest in doing so. And, as I already mentioned, up until a month ago I firmly believed that yo-the Fae were not real.”

“What did my brother say his reasoning was for holding her here?” The question was directed towards the other male.

“He can’t enter her mind.” Cassian’s surprise was not well hidden, “He believes that something or someone is guarding her-” It was your turn to interrupt your friend.

“If I was being guarded or protected, then whatever was responsible has already failed me,” Your voice was soft. A silence fell across the table, and most of the food had grown cold. You didn’t know what else to do or say to convince the General and the Valkyrie of your innocence. All they had to go on was your and Lucien’s word. Even if you were to demonstrate the exercise that Lucien put you through each afternoon with no results, how would they believe that you weren’t just pretending. A ruse to fool them. You desperately tried to quell the pinpricks of tears behind your eyes. You feared that if Lucien’s efforts failed you’d be sent back to the catacombs or worse left to rot on that-

“(Y/N),” Nesta’s clear and calm voice cut through your thoughts, “I’d like to hear more about where you’re from.” You nodded.

“What would you like to know specifically?”

“Let’s start with you. Your family, your up brining.” She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed comfortably in her lap. You swallowed and nodded again.

“I can do that.” You spent the next few hours pouring every detail of your life to the trio. Most information Lucien already knew, some he didn’t. You talked about your family and your friends. You briefly talked about your work and academic studies in music. This caught the oldest Archeron’s attention, which launched a discussion regarding your dissertation topic. The two males excused themselves as you continued to talk with Nesta. The topic changed to books and Nesta promising to bring you some of the spicier romance novels that she found to enjoy the most on her next visit; to which you were grateful as you desperately needed a reprieve from only reading books provided by Rhysand. Cassian and Lucien eventually returned as you made a raunchy joke that had you and the female High Fae laughing loudly.

“It’s time to go Nes,” Cassian set his hand on her shoulder. He looked to you and smiled. The expression was genuine. After spending the few hours you did with the male, you had concluded that he was much less frightening than the other Illyrian. At least for the time being, that is. Nesta rose from her seat and joined her mate.

“I will speak with my sister,” She told you, her features hard with determination, “It’s not right that you’re kept any where against your will when you’ve done nothing to justify imprisonment.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, “I hope to see you both again soon. I’m certain this fool is getting tired of having to entertain me.” You gave the male a wicked teasing grin. Cassian let out a booming laugh as ‘your fool’ placed his hand to his chest in mock offense.

“And here I thought you loved my company,” He stated. You laughed as you stood to join him at the patio entrance.

“Yeah, yeah,” You brushed him off, the smile still plastered to your face. The two of you said your goodbyes and watched as the guests flew off in the distance.

“I think that went rather well,” you looked to Lucien, “Don’t you?”

“Yes, it did,” He held his arm out for you to take, “Cassian agreed to speak to Rhys. He said that he and Nesta would allow you to stay in their home or at least help you get in and out of the library.” You hummed in response as you slipped your arm around his. Your mind wandered, and you felt lighter than you had since you’d been here. He walked you to your room and began prepping the couch to be his makeshift bed for the evening. The sun was quickly setting, and you hadn’t noticed that you spent the entire day talking. You paused near the entrance to the bathing chamber.

“Lu?” he hummed, looking up at you while shaking out the quilt. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course, sweet girl,” You rolled your eyes at the term of endearment.

“That’s sticking now isn’t it?” His russet eye brightened with mischief.

“Now that I know it irks you, yes.” You leveled a glare at his to which he just laughed. You huffed a breath.

“If you’re just going to be mean, you can leave,” You stuck your tongue out at him as you made your way into the bathing room. He continued to laugh as he excused himself to his own rooms. When he returned, you were already snuggled in your bed, breathing deep and steady.

Next: Part 3

Tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #lucien x reader #acotar fanfiction #lucien vanserra x reader #plus size reader #lucien vanserra x plus size reader #azriel x plus size reader #BHINfic

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here-to-read-and-write · 2 years ago

Note

Team 141 seeing female reader take off her shirt to train with her friend and seeing she has scars all over her body because she was tortured (burned, knife cuts, bullet wounds, whipped, ect) and reader having a visible pack (I don't care how many packs)

And the boys feeling sympathy for her but also blushing at her body ☻️🤭

You can decline if ya want I don't mind

Should I make Konïg, Las Vargas maybe even add Graves and Valeria versions?

TF 1-4-1: Ghost, Soap, John, Gaz.

don't forget to leave request!!! please!

warning: Torture, no details given. Horny men...little innocent reader, English isn't my first language, my writing!

It was a hot day, and luckily the team didn't have any mission. So they were chilling in the training ground.

It was intimating to see a group of tall and build men sitting and staring at the horizon. Weird too, isn't it? but not when you follow the line where their eyes were so focused on.

In the distance, you stood. Back straight up, as your friends chat with each other. You, on the other hand, were standing waiting for something.

From under the shade, they could see all your expressions, or rather the lack of them. At least, they could admire the stars in your eyes, your pouting plump lips.

It wasn't strange for the TF 1-4-1 to admire you from afar. It became a habit they picked. If you give them a chance they will worship the ground you walked on, not like they aren't already.

They just don't want to hide it anymore, but for now, it will do until you notice their efforts, then maybe things will be different, it all depends on you.

"First, it will be (Y/N) against (your friend's name)" Queu to a groan and a few complaints, while you emotionlessly walked pulling off your mask, and your t-shirt. Leaving yourself bare with only a sports bra as a cover.

It caught the 1-4-1 off guard, especially Ghost, who noticed the ghost's hands, each one holding a breast.

Here comes the train of unholy thoughts.

It sends waves of arousal to warm their stomach and crawl up their spine, as they drank in your form. Each curve, each scares, every inch of you was been craved in their minds.

The men turn away shifting from one foot to another uncomfortably trying to ease the blood rushing down there if you know what I mean.

Some were rubbing their eyes and faces as if it was trying to get rid of the image of you standing there... In only a bra and military pants, but we both know that they were craving it in their mind for later. All for everyone to see, causing a fit of jealousy to bloom in their chest.

Damn you and your body. They thought. Fighting the strong urge to relieve themselves, which could be only done in the bedroom away from prying eyes.

Here comes another unholy thought.

Didn't you know the effect you had on them? Or maybe you know, either way, you really need to stop teasing, or punishment may be the only way for you to understand what you made feel.

They all groaned, for god's sake, they were grown-ass men, not some high school girls stalking their crush.

Fuck!

Why their pants are getting tight?

It was weird for you to show some skins, not like you didn't look great. You looked more than great, but after one horrifying mission, you stopped showing even your hands.

Ghost was present with you that day. He had to watch unable to do anything, as they torture you over and over again for days, and the scars on your body were proof of what you had been through. You screamed still hunting his mind, verytime he closed or opened his eyes.

He blamed himself every second of the day, because if he had listened to you and didn't leave you alone, you may have been able to fight the enemy together, and neither you nor him, would have been captured.

You ran a hand through your hair, before putting in a high ponytail. Getting in your position and the boys remarked how your eyes were closed. You didn't even open them when your friend was attacking you left and right. You avoided all attacks, without breaking a sweat. As if you sense his movement, your movements were smooth too. Much different form military training.

Price, unlike the others, was more interested in your abilities Why are you lying? he had read your files. All he could say that is he was impressed. He tried getting you on his team, unfortunately, you had taken two years off the military to heal from your last mission.

He had heard from Lasweel, that you looked like a mummy when the doctors were done. They say it was a miracle that you survived, sadly, the scars will be forever graved on your body, just the memories in your mind.

Now you were back, with a few rumours lit up like fire in the woods about you. They were all absurd of course, yet some seem to believe them, resulting in them avoiding you like the plague, but you didn't seem to mind. Actually, he had noticed how agitated you become when you share the same space as someone else.

You are always tensed and on guard, whenever someone was talking to you, the only person who you seemed to ease around was Soap, who the moment notice your packs accidentally when you were training together, was stuck like the glue to your side.

You never pushed him, you responded to every question he asked, like patient parents with their children, and somehow you were able to understand his weird choice of words, and even then you spoke few words, only listening and humming along the way.

That gave Gaz some courage, to try and talk to, and boy did he feel bad!

Gaz was one of the people who believed the absurd rumours. He found them to be real. You never tried to prove him wrong, until, he sat by your side, as you prepare something to eat.

Soap had practically dragged him, to meet his crush you. For a movie night. You didn't speak much, you just listen attentively to each word that comes out of Soap's mouth, and he could a crossed smile, even it was small each time Soap throw a joke, no matter how bad it was.

He watched you all night eyes only focusing on you. In his mind, he was watching waiting for one wrong move, while his heart was memorizing each part of, each move and the reason behind it. Maybe that's how he knew you well.

You didn't do anything that night that proves that you were the person in the rumours. You weren't arrogant, and even with the little emotion you had shown, he was able to conclude that you were a good person, just broken.

That's how you become close with Gaz, not like how you were with Soap but enough for you to salute him or pat his shoulder or head. Which always flustered him.

A few minutes into the fight with your friend and you already tackled them. You, on top of them, hand behind their back comfortable setting on their back.

They start wiggling under you, and for a moment 1-4-1 halted in their movement eyes intensely watching your breast bounce.

"Fuck" they cursed under their breath. They knew it will be better to leave, yet their body refused to obey their brain and move.

You turn to get your shirt and gear and leave when you saw 1-4-1 standing under the shade. You politely waved but none of them seems to notice you, from where you stood, you could see the tips of their ears red, some were hiding their faces between their arm supporting their weight with the metal bars in front of them.

You, being the innocent female lead, you titled your head, worried that the sun may be the cause of their redness.

You took the bottles before walking to them after it you offered them to them. They all took it gratefully before shrugging in down.

You escorted them back inside, as you watched them walking. You took notice of the awkwardness in the air, with a hint of ginger and peppermint. You knew what it was.

They were scent caused by sex pheromones, so why do they smell like that?

Oh, if only you knew!

#cod mw2 x you #cod x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap x y/n #price x reader #price x y/n #john price x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x y/n #xreader #variousxreader

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lizzie-queenofmeigas · 1 month ago

Note

Visenya is the eldest child, and the couple was meant to rule together. Which they do, essentially, at first. Aegon listens to Visenya but he is still the figurehead of king, the final authority, the only one people call “conqueror”, and while she is queen, she is just a consort. Which is fine, and I truly believe she was satisfied with her role, until Rhaenys’ death and Aegon then deciding to stop the siege in Dorne. She is denied revenge and she sees weakness in him. A weakness he will teach Aenys (who already was sickly). It’s then she decides the next generation will need her which is why she gave birth to Maegor and raised him at her image (we can discuss how exaggerated his cruelty is as a child due to who he becomes later, but it’s clear he shares the sense of loyalty to his brother). Visenya then sees Rhaena as the rightful heir, and she suggests uniting the two lines. Maegor as a consort for Rhaena, which would be him performing her role as Rhaena performed Aegon the Conqueror’s but she is denied. Then Maegor marries and its the beginning of his decline. Later, she sees how Rhaena is the dominant figure while Aegon the Uncrowned resembles Aenys, and the response of the Faith to their wedding says it all. Rhaena is strong and proud but she doesn’t assert herself as Visenya did. Maegor was a council to Aenys, a protector, as she had been, but Aenys sent him away for poligamy, saying a second marriage is void and his only wife is the first.

Which in turn denies Maegor his very claim to the throne. Visenya is not just the oldest and the one who is willing to go the extra mile to make things clear, but she is the first wife. By denying her son to belong in the realm she helped build due to something previously accepted — a second wife. Aenys was the oldest, but he was the second wife’s son. Then he died and she recognize that Aegon the Uncrowned would not be able to fight against the Faith so she brought Maegor. She lost a lot for that legacy, and if there was an extra reason for the conquest, she needed to protect it. Her siblings are dead, she is the only one left. I feel though, while Maegor was already ruthless and also felt betrayed by Aenys, the turning point is his near death. Dark magic accentuated his violence and paranoia (which most likely began with getting dismissed by his brother, who he admired and also was raised to protect and serve). He questions what Visenya taught him, about loyalty to their house and her death is the final straw. But Visenya was clearly a pragmatist. It was about their house, not their family, although her presence still protected the others. Her decision in bringing Maegor back by all means also came from a need of seeing the job done. She had wanted to send a message before, they were not to be opposed, and it all goes back to her and Aegon’s breaking point. She saw weakness in him for not giving her the right to avenge Rhaenys, she saw it on Aenys, Rhaena was denied, establishing previous pattern, Maegor was denied, and then she saw the same on Aegon the Uncrowned. Time to act when she still could.

Exactly.

#visenya targaryen #visenya the conqueror #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #fire and blood #fire & blood #house targaryen

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prince-rowan-of-the-forest · 5 months ago

Text

Never Did I Truely Hate You

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Janus doesn't expect any of the others to want him around after he's accepted. Even Remus has been acting off. So, of course, the most sensible course of action would be to avoid the source of hurt entirely.

Virgil does not agree.

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| Ao3 |

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Warnings: Self isolation, pretty negative self image

Pairings: Anxceit, very background intrulogical.

Word Count: 2071

Notes: Did a poll on here for which fic I should post next and this one won in a tie with another fic that I will post on Wednesday :3

I feel like I don't write very much canonverse anymore so lmk what you think!!!

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Janus hadn’t expected everything to be perfect now that he - and begrudgingly Remus - had moved up to the light side’s commons.

He did not expect Roman to forgive him, or become any less hostile towards him at all, after everything he had done to him. He didn’t expect Patton to want much to do with him, and he expected Logan to prefer talking to anyone but him - even Remus, who he’d spent a surprisingly long amount of time with recently, but whatever, that was none of his business.

And even more than that, He didn’t expect a single ounce of kindness from Virgil.

Not after he’d left, not after the quips and insults and snipes whenever they’d been within hissing distance of one another. No, he didn’t even expect Virgil to want to be in the same room as him, let alone talk to him, or heaven forbid sit down at the same table as him.

So, Janus decided to intrude on their space as little as possible. It was better to avoid the emotional turmoil and annoying pain it would cause than go through it all… right? …Right??

And so that was how Janus found himself becoming almost nocturnal for the first few weeks of this new arrangement. He also just so happened to spend an ungodly amount of time in the private greenhouse Remus had made for him as an extension of his room (fit, of course, with deadly tropical plants and poisons). He sat there for hours reading, or spent time caring for the snakes that also shared the space and he didn’t come out when someone knocked.

Which was rare because, of course, no-one wanted to talk to him.

He spent time in the commons at night, making food, eating said food, sometimes even watching a film during the dead hours of the morning. It was fine, he was fine with this arrangement, and he was sure everyone else was enjoying business as usual - you know, without him there.

So far, Janus had managed to avoid running into any side at night - aside from one time, when he came across Roman, though he was already passed out at the kitchen island, so it hardly counted. Something he should have remembered - and would kick himself for forgetting after the events that were about to unfurl because of it - was how awful Virgil’s own sleep schedule was.

He realised this fact very abruptly when, one night at just past three in the morning, Janus went to open the fridge, only to be attacked from above and tackled to the ground by some kind of hissing creature.

Moments later, when he gathered his thoughts just enough to will the lights in the living space to turn on, he realised that said hissing creature was actually their resident spider himself, who was now sitting firmly on Janus’ chest as he pinned him to the ground with strong hands on his shoulders. What the fuck?

“Virgil?” Janus asked after a long stretch of silence in which they both stared at each other.

“I finally got you,” Virgil huffed, seeming a little out of breath from the violent attack, “I’ve been - trying for the last week but you’re too fucking - slippery.”

“What??” Janus asked, staring at Virgil in disbelief, “why?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding all of us since you came up here, idiot,” Virgil said, pushing a little more weight onto Janus’ shoulders, it was starting to hurt, just a little, but he wasn’t about to tell Virgil to get off - this was the closest he’d gotten to him since… before, and Janus wouldn’t lie - at least not in his own thoughts - about how big of a crush he’d always had on Virgil. So yes, he was confused as hell, but he was absolutely not going to push Virgil away when he willingly touched him for the first time in years. What could he say, he was selfish.

“And?” Janus said, trying to make sure his face didn’t betray his raging feelings the position they were in were causing, “So what? I totally expect you and the others would actually want me around.”

“...So what? Dude I’ve been worried sick! Patton asks if we’ve seen you literally every day at breakfast- what? Even Remus doesn’t know where you’ve been!” Virgil yelled, “And then- I was down here on the sofa one night and - well I guess you didn’t fucking see me or whatever but you came down and then disappeared again - so I’ve been trying to catch you every night since to work out what the fuck is going on.”

“There’s nothing ‘going on’,” Janus protested, he was pretty sure he’d lost his hat when Virgil had knocked him over, he didn’t feel too comfortable without it, “I’m just giving you all space to recover after the last episode.”

“No you’re not,” Virgil said, shaking his head with a frown, “I know you too well for that, and we don’t need space, what’s going on, Janus.”

“I-” Janus trailed off, realising that Virgil had really trapped him in a corner here - both literally and metaphorically, Virgil knew him too well, even now, he could spot his lies easily, “It’s nothing of your concern.”

“I didn’t tell the others,” Virgil said, Janus blinked, staring at Virgil’s face in confusion.

“...Didn’t tell the others… what?”

“That you were coming down here at night, that I was trying to uh - do whatever you call this,” Virgil huffed, lifting one hand from his shoulder to gesture to the position the two of them were in, “I didn’t tell them.”

“Why not?” Janus asked, frowning.

Virgil groaned and rolled his eyes, “Because I know you too fucking well, now tell me why you’ve suddenly turned into an owl instead of a snake.”

“I’m saving you all the trouble of pushing me away,” Janus snapped after a long enough pause that Janus knew Virgil wouldn’t relent, “I already know that you all totally want me here, even if Patton’s stupid gesture to accept me meant anything.”

Virgil was silent for a second, didn’t break eye contact as he hesitated, before moving his hands from Janus’ shoulders. For a moment Janus expected him to stand up, dust himself off and mention something about how he was right before walking off. Instead, Virgil sighed and flopped down so he was lying fully on Janus’ chest, head tucked under his chin.

Almost completely on autopilot - since his brain was entirely bluescreening at the action - Janus’ arms came up to wrap around Virgil, who let out a surprised hum at the action.

“...Virgil?” Janus asked, voice wary. Everything he could have possibly expected from this interaction had just been flung out of the window with a single action.

“When Patton accepted you,” Virgil said, voice a little muffled to Janus’ ears, “I- I was angry at first, but then I just thought that like- now that they liked you I could - I could go back to liking you too, I was excited, I think, to have you back - but then you just disappeared and I - started overthinking it as usual.”

Janus couldn’t help but chuckle even if it came out a little sad, “I thought you out of everyone would want to see me the most, you definitely made that very clear in all of our recent interactions.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, readily and without hesitation, “I was awful to you, and it was - it’s no excuse but I only did it because everyone else chose to hate you too I - I was scared I’d lose their respect over it, but - it doesn’t matter now? Because Patton accepted you so - so they’re not going to hate me for liking you, right?”

Virgil lifted his head to look at him, and Janus sighed.

“You already know that I don’t know the answer to that,” Janus said, “and I’m sure the others will totally just like me without question now that Patton has accepted me.”

Virgil chuckled, “Roman is still mad about the moustache comment.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Janus said, shaking his head, “And I certainly don't expect that Logan isn’t still angry with me about the courtroom.”

“Okay so maybe we- we don’t tell the others about uh - this,” Virgil said, resting his head back on Janus’ chest.

“I totally know what’s happening right now,” Janus said with a sigh.

“I’m lying on you.” Virgil said, matter of factly, “B’cause you’re cold and strong and nice to lie on.”

“Okay, well this floor is definitely soft and warm and comfortable,” Janus pointed out, “So if you want to continue to lie on me may I suggest we move somewhere that wont give me back problems?”

“Oh right, yeah of course, sorry if I hurt you, when I uh - tackled you, by the way,” Virgil said, almost immediately getting up, looking a little sheepish.

“It’s fine. Would you like to watch The Black Cauldron?” Janus asked as he sat up, changing the topic, “I think there’s a DVD of it around here somewhere, we could lie on the couch…?”

“You… remember that I like that film?” Virgil asked, sounding oddly quiet, Janus turned from where he had begun walking over to the couch, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

“Of course I don’t,” Janus said, “It’s not like you made us watch it every other week - interchanged with The Nightmare Before Christmas - without fail since Thomas first watched it or anything.”

He couldn’t help but delight in the way that Virgil’s face flushed red, despite him hurrying to join Janus by the couch.

“I had almost forgotten about that,” Virgil admitted, “I’ve barely watched it since being over here.”

“I haven’t watched it since you left,” Janus sighed, “I highly doubt I remember the plot.”

Virgil smiled tentatively, “I’ll probably fall asleep before it finishes… but… that just means we’ll have to watch it again at some point, right?”

“Of course, let's take this opportunity to watch it now, shall we?” Janus said, summoning the DVD case in one hand whilst offering the other to Virgil. There was a long second of hesitation during which Janus could almost feel his world crumbling around him as Virgil didn’t take his hand, for a second he thought this must have been a trick, to have a relationship he wished for so badly dangled in his face and then snatched away again at the last second.

But no, that couldn’t be right, Virgil might be sarcastic, mean at times, but he wasn’t cruel and he certainly wasn’t dishonest enough to pull such a stunt so sincerely. Which meant…

“Are you alright?” Janus asked gently, taking back his hand.

“Oh yeah, Yeah i’m okay,” Virgil lied, Janus raised an eyebrow, “Okay fine, no I- when I left I just- sorta maybe convinced myself that you guys hated me and I just- I didn’t expect you to be so… I definitely didn’t expect you to remember my favourite film, or- or want to cuddle while we watched it.”

“It’s not like I expected you to be any kinder towards me,” Janus replied, face going soft, “But… maybe it’s safe to say neither of us actually hate each other?”

Virgil snorted, “Yeah uh- maybe not, I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Janus answered, “And I’m sorry too, honestly.”

There was a second where Virgil just took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Thank you, I forgive you too.”

“Good,” Janus smiled, putting the DVD into the player before sitting down on the couch, patting the seat next to him in invitation, “Because we’ve missed a lot of weekends - so we’d better make up for all the lost viewing time, hm?”

“I think we’d get bored if we watched it that much,” Virgil couldn’t help but laugh, flopping down on the couch next to him and immediately leaning into his side, and God had Janus missed this.

“Perhaps,” Janus nodded.

“Maybe if you actually came to the movie nights we tried to invite you to we’d have more things to watch,” Virgil murmured as Janus pressed play.

“You tried to invite me to movie nights?” Janus asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah - we all took turns knocking on your door every time we did one, you never answered.”

“...oh.”

“Now shut up, the film’s starting.”

Neither of them made it halfway through the film before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

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Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @littlerat2 @goldnskyart (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

#sanders sides #janus sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #anxceit #rowans writings #ts virgil #ts janus #tss fanfic #ts fanfic

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plussizeappreciationfics · 4 months ago

Text

One shot: Going over the lines

Requested?: yes by @queenofstarsign85

Request: Hello! Could I please request a one shot tom hiddleston x light-skinned black reader? The reader is an actress who has a major crush on tom, they know each other for a year and he also likes her too. They prepare to work together in the series the night manager where he plays Jonathan pine. And she Costars with him in the series, she plays his love interest. While going over their lines and pretend sex scene real feelings are revealed, with spicy smutt and fluff :) thanks!

Warnings: INSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving)

Images found on Google/Pinterest

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tom asked, his breathing heavy as the two of you stood in front of each other, only bathrobes covering your bodies. The two of you were standing in his bedroom, nervous yet excited as the two of you had decided to try and act out the intimate sex scene for the second season of The Night Manager.

Of course the two of you wouldn't be having real sex in front of the camera, but the two of you would be complete naked. Tom first had thought that his suggestion would be inappropriate, fearing that you would think that he's a creep. But to his surprise, you agreed as the two of you knew that acting out the scenes would be very awkward.

"I am sure, we both signed the contract. It's our job" you added at the end and smiled nervously, hating that you didn't have the nerve to voice your real feelings.

It had been known that Tom and his fiancé had broken up a while ago and were raising their kid in harmony, everyone knew that Tom was also one that put his blood sweat and tears into his work and didn't like mixing his private life into the matter. He had done it a few years ago, and wouldn't dare to make the same mistake twice.

That was until he met you, of course. But the British actor didn't even think about pursuing you. He kept his feelings hidden as he feared the next heartbreak would be the complete end of him. At the same time, Tom hated how his feelings for you only grew by the second you spent with each other. Your beauty, your grace and your personality had the poor acting dreaming about you, yearning for your love and body.

"How do you want to start? We know the lines and the first intimate scene starts with you straddling me..." Tom's cheeks gained a light crimson color as he watched you let out a shaky breath before gently pushing him onto his bed and straddling his lap.

The two of you were already breathing heavily, staring deeply into each other's eyes while you felt the tension shift. You were lying if you didn't pretend to feel your sex slowly getting wetter as you gently grinded your hips against Tom's.

"Is this okay?", you gently asked while staring down at his lips, the urge to kiss him overwhelming you.

"Yes", the actor quickly breathed out, his strong arms wrapped around your thick waist while you continued grinding yours in a slow motion that made both of you get hotter and greedy by the second.

"I-I've been wanting to actually do this for a while", you had surprised yourself by voicing your inner thoughts. Tom's eyes widened in surprise before surprising you by cupping your big butt cheeks, squeezing the softness and letting out a soft moan.

You couldn't help but moan with him, "Me too" is all the actor responded before pressing his soft lips against yours, devouring them while moaning into your mouth. His hard cock was now twitching beneath your clothed sex.

"Take me", Tom begged in between the passionate and longing kisses, his head spinning while he drank in every single delicate sensation coursing through his body. Your ego didn't allow him to repeat himself as you quickly wiggled out of your bathrobe and pushed his upper body against the soft mattress.

"Look at you", Tom gushed while breathing heavily, opening his own bathrobe while you helped with the lower part of it, letting out a soft moan at the sight of his hard cock, throbbing and waiting to fill you up. "God, I can't wait any longer", you voiced to which the two of you let out quick chuckles as you also had said your lines from the sex scene out loud.

"I am all yours, (Y/N). Body, mind and soul" the British actor promised to which you couldn't help but smile widely while you quickly straddled his lap again and positioned yourself right above his cock. You took it in your hand and gave it a few steady strokes, biting down your lip when Tom moaned and thrusted his hips upwards as a sign for you to finally make him yours.

You guided him to your already wet entrance and made sure that he looked at you while you slowly sank down onto him. "So big" you breathlessly moaned while enjoying the sensation of your inner walls being stretched out overwhelmed you.

A shiver ran down your spine once you had completely sat down onto Tom. His thickness pressing against your sweat spot while goosebumps covered both of your skin. Your hips began to move on their own, the motions making the two of you let out soft whispers of each other's names while making sweet love to one another.

Tom's hips thrusted themselves in sync of yours, groaning and gently caressing your body, from your tender breasts all the way to your big stomach. Your head was spinning as part of you still couldn't believe that you were finally acting out your deepest inner feelings. It was indescribable, the sensual sensations were overwhelming.

Your inner walls started to clench when Tom surprised you by flipping you over, you now lying on your back and the actor immediately placing your legs on his shoulders before sliding back into you, his hips snapping fiercely against yours.

"Yes!" you cried out in pleasure while arching your back, the overwhelming pleasure rushing through your body like tidal waves while the delicious knot formed in the pit of your stomach.

Every push pushed you deeper into the mattress, your breasts were jiggling all over the place while the sound of your sweaty skin slapping against one another filled the entire bedroom.

It didn't take Tom long before he had you on the edge of the ecstatic cliff, your orgasm surprising you entirely. Your legs shook violently while your weak screams of pleasure echoed through the room. The actor couldn't help but stare down at the beauty that you are while his orgasm was just around the corner.

He grunted loudly and gave you a few more sloppy thrusts, his spurts of release filling you all the way up while your inner walls were still clenching onto his cock, milking him until the final drop had been spilled inside you.

You couldn't open your eyes as your high had left you completely powerless. Tom gently slipped out of you and tried catching his breath while he laid down next to you, scooping you into his strong arms and placing gentle kisses on top of your head.

"Sleep, my love. I am here" he whispered, making your heart flutter in your chest while you cuddled closer to him, not being able to speak a word as the emotions were overwhelming you.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x plus size reader #tom hiddelston imagine #plus size reader

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tmwcs · 1 year ago

Note

to continue with that other anon, what if y/n actually sent her nudes to one of Heethans friends by accident??

and tried to rile him up more abt it by saying “it’s not THAT big of a deal”……

“No Big Deal.”

SMUT MDNI 18+

Theres mentioning of smut, slight description of smut/smut things, and mentions of photos being sent to others, overstimulation....umm....Heethan is kind of a brute.....but ofc.....he's not sorry. #sorrybutnotsorry.

".....no....oooohnononononooooo....what have i done?"

Your hand shook vigorously as you held your phone and observed the name and number of the recipient who you mistakenly sent a wide variety of photos to.....nude photos.

You could have sworn you typed in the first three letters of Heeseung's name, which would have autofilled to his contact name "Heethan" which you had saved to reflect the two loves of your life. Yet somehow, you must have fat fingered punched a different letter as the photos were all sent to someone else....someone who shared the same class as Heeseung. 'Hewitt'.

Quickly, you reacted by sending a message to Hewitt, explaining the situation.

"Hi, so sorry. this is a mistake, i meant to send those to Heeseung, I have no idea why it was sent to you, please erase those and do not open them."

Biting the tip of your thumb, you anxiously await for a response back.....but not one single message was returned.

"Shit....."

You waited in the room patiently. Since Heeseung went to the store, he ensured that his housemates were all home and residing downstairs so that you were safe and not alone inside the house.

...................

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes. Just stay here and if anything happense, my house brothers and their girlfriends are all downstairs. Just call me."

....................

He had been gone for ten minutes already, and Heeseung was always very prompt when it concerned matters of leaving you alone. Whenever you were in class or left in his room, he never played around with timing. Preferably, he always wanted you with him, yet this time around, with the intentions of surprising him with some sexy photos, you feigned a headache and opted to stay behind.

....................

"I'll get you some medicine while I'm at the store. Did you want anything else, pretty baby?"

....................

The image of his concerned look as he leaned down and kissed your forehead made this whole ordeal excruciating as you reflected on your careless mistake.

"Maybe...if i just....don't act like it's a big deal........maybe he'll reflect that it isnt....based off the vibe....because if I'm freaking out it only enhances the negatives.....but if i'm calm, maybe he'll feed off of that energy."

......................................

Exactly at the fifteen minute mark, you hear his car pull up. You peeked through the blinds, ensuring that the lights in the room was shut off, careful to make sure that your silhouette couldn't be made out as you knelt down on the bed and peered through the window.

Watching him, he had a plastic bag in hand with the contents from the store. He looked calm, or at least it was all you could make out as he wore his hat in the traditional manner of covering his eyes. His casual attire along with the exposure of his strong arms made him look irresistible, no girl could ever blame you for wanting to send him nudes......you kicked yourself for feeling so stupid and careless....how could you have done sent it to someone else?

Your eyes trailed after him as he walked towards the front door. You quickly laid down on the bed, checking your phone once more to see if Hewitt had responded.....to your despair, he did not.

"Dammit....."

You should have erased his number long ago. Reflecting the moment when you had gained Hewitts number, it was back when Heeseung was assisting one of his teachers, so he had you coordinate with Hewitt to pick up the materials for one of his classes as h/n used Jake's car and drove you, since the latter was with Heeseung, also assisting the teacher.

That was the only time you and h/n ever interacted with Hewitt, a calm and quiet individual who seemed like a decent young man. Hopefully he honored your request and erased those photos.

Yet the lack of response from his side furthered your anxiety and made you even more worrisome.

Suddenly the door opens, you remained lying still on the bed, and to your surprise, he didn't immediately turn on the lights. Leaving the room in darkness, you wondered if he genuinely thought you were sleeping from the 'headache' you were experiencing, possibly not wanting to wake or disturb you.

He was always that way, so considerate whenever you were in pain or if something had been on your mind, Heeseung was always your biggest supporter. Obviously, he was always going to be as such, the man was insanely obsessed with you...infatuated.....totally in love with you to the point that, while you haven't seen it yet, you wouldn't put it past the man to resort in developing a 'killer instinct' in order to have you all himself or to 'protect' you. It was the look in his eye that he would get sometimes that made you wonder....

The footsteps breaching in your direction snaps you out of your zoned state of mind. You tried to maintain a relaxed and steady breathing pattern, which had escalated once you felt him sit on the edge of the bed next to your body. Hearing the plastic bag being set down on the floor, you felt the movement of his body as he leans in, and gently caresses your face.

"You awake, pretty baby?" he spoke so calmly.

"Mmm....mmhmm...." you managed to mumble out.

"How are you feeling?"

".....Fine....."

His face closes in and you felt his lips meeting with yours. Gently kissing you, he embraces you with his arms and shifts his position to lay on top of you.

It was...interesting.....only due to the mere fact that he didn't seem to know, but also....normally, whenever you had complained about not feeling well, he usually opted to let you rest. Perhaps when you answered 'fine' he took that in a literal sense and decided to not hold back any longer. The man did have such a high sexual drive when it came to you, according to Jake, who confirmed that while Heeseung always did have a potent libido, since meeting you, it had been stronger than ever.

"You need any medicine for your headache? I got you a few." he calmly speaks against your lips.

"...N-no....it's fine...i'm fine...thank you." reaching your arms around his neck, you pulled him in for a tight embrace, slightly shaking from the fear of whenever he was bound to find out what you had done.

"You're shaking. You cold?"

"mmmm.....no....."

"mmm........good."

Getting up, he walks over to the light switch and flips them on. Turning back around to face you, you saw that horrendously frightening grin of his Ethan side.

"Baaaaaaaaaaaabyyyyyyyyyyyyy......"

"...Y-yes..?"

Walking over to you, he takes out his phone from his pocket, all the while making direct eye contact with you.....those eyes....they were wide with a taunting smirk to accompany that sadistic and malevolent look in his expression.

Kneeling down before you as you positioned yourself to sit on the edge of the bed, legs dangling and your feet delicately resting on the ground, he crouches down with his hand gently placed on your thigh.

Without saying anything, he shows you the contents of his screen......a message from Hewitt.........

..................................

"Kind of careless.....aren't we?" his voice was low. You felt his fingers slightly digging into the skin of your thigh as he spoke.

"uh.....yeah...it was....a mistake.....it was supposed to be a surprise for you...but......i guess if you look at it...it's not....really a big deal..."

"NOT........A ......BIG DEAL?......." his eyes widened as his smirk transitioned to one that reflected irritation and amusement.

"Well...yeah....i mean...if you think about it....he didn't look at them....he sent to them to you....and he's not sharing them with anyone.....so.....its......its all good....." you mumbled out in a soft....a very quiet tone.

"Hmmm......that right?......"

"......y-yes...."

He gets up and tosses his phone on the desk.....the loud clank of the device landing on the surface was hard, you'd be surprised if the screen made it out without any cracks. By the way he threw it and scoffed out an irritating sigh as you watched his backside walking towards his computer, you could tell.....he was mad.

By the direction he was walking in, you figured he was going to sit down and perhaps play some of his video games to take the edge off.....instead, he walked over to the dresser, grabbing on to the hem of his shirt and lifting it off and over his head, removing it. The flex of his back muscles as he took off his shirt nearly caused your mouth to gasp open as you saw the definition of each muscle, lined perfectly and lean.

Tossing the shirt off to the side, he remains standing with his back facing you, digging something out of the top dresser. Turning back around, he maintained a malicious grin as he bites down on his lower lip and as usual, draws blood from his bite.

Walking over to you, he fully extends and displays the satin sash he had in his hand, it was an eye mask, but from where?

"Wh-where did you get that?"

"Mmm......a friend.....who likes to play with toys....."

"A friend?.....Is it....."

"Shhhh.......come here....lets have some fun....."

................................................................

You're not sure how long it had been since he placed the eyewear over your lids and started to 'punish' you with his ravaging performance, yet you didn't care as long as he was finally done. The overstimulation of his dick thrusting into you at such vibrant speed, all the while he flexed and twitched inside of you as he burrowed deep into your tissue muscles, it all caused you to grow weak and sore just within minutes....let alone the hours that passed by.

Breathing deeply, trying to regain your oxygen intake, you lay still with the mask still covering your eyes. He wouldn't let you take it off during the entire session.

"Ready for some more?"

"N..no....no more....please....."

You felt his eyes shift down onto your cavity as he held your legs spread wide open, the shifting sound of his head tilting is what gave it away. Reaching down, you felt his finger probing at your womanhood, scooping up the thick and creamy substance that was caused by the constant throbbing friction of his thrust, his skin, and his muscle merging into your opening as he practically 'melted' into you.

"Lets see if we can go deeper."

"Ethan no! T-too deep! You're too deep! T-take it out! Pleaase!"

"Fuck keep talking like that and I'm going to explode."

"Ethan no more!"

"I love seeing how it looks when I do it to you.....it looks like i'm melting into you, you know that?"

"Uuuugh!"

"Yeah? You fucking like that dont you? hmm? DONT YOU?"

"N-no.....UGH!!"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaah you dooooooo......come here baby, come here......i'll go harder, just for you."

"N-no! Ethan!"

"Yeah...I'll go deeper...just for you."

"Ugh!"

"I'll go faster....I'll fucking cum.....really deep inside...just for you baby."

"Ethan!!!"

The overstimulation you suffered from was immense. He must have released at last eight or nine times, though you wouldn't be surprised if it was more....considering you lost count after the sixth round.

Between tapping into Heeseung and switching back to Ethan, it felt as if each time they swapped personas, the face you were at mercy from came back fully energized and renewed.

Feeling him re-inserting, he slides right in at ease. What with the amount of moisture from your body's natural lubricant, the white discharge from all the thrusting, plus with your opening a bit loose from his constant flexing and entry, you were rendered helpless as he found himself 'home' immediately.

"Ah.....my girl is a little more open now that I broke you, huh?"

"S-stop......Heeseung....please...I-I'm.....so tired....and sore."

"Shhhhh....its okay now.....I'm here to take your mind off that."

Thrusting at a high momentum, with a ferocious vigor, your vision remained enveloped in a shroud of darkness from the satin mask as you hear Heeseung groan against your ear.

"Fuck......you like listening to what I do to you?"

After suffering for the final time, he cums once more and you remained nearly breathless, drenched in sweat and covered by the colors of his 'love'.

You hear his hand extend past and past your head, it sounded as if he reached for something, though you were too exhausted from wondering what it was. Another toy? God.....you hope not. Fearful of what he had planned next, you let yourself go and black out from the effects of tiredness and the euphoric overstimulation........

................................................

The next day.......

Waking up, your eyes opened to the naturally lit room as the morning sun was just nicely rising. Heeseung's arm caresses your waist as you lay against his chest, your backside spooned by his broad frame, as he remained deep asleep.

"Thank God...."

He too must have succumbed to the effects of exhaustion considering the number of times he ravished you. Although the effects always hit him differently than it did with you. For him, there was less pain and agony, it was just pure pleasure, unlike for you, where you got the bitter end of the stick by receiving a mixture of pain and euphoria, something that Heeseung and Ethan took great delight in giving you whenever you had broken the rules or 'misbehaved.'

Reaching up for your phone, you were shocked to see over 23 messages that came in.

"Oh no....did Hewitt...?"

Fearing the worst, you opened up the messages.....if what you had suspected was true......you had a feeling that Heeseung.....and Ethan were going to repeat their performance from last night....meaning you would get no rest....and will be sore for alot longer than just today.

The most recent message was from H/n.... the first bit of her message confirmed your worst fear....

"Oh my God.....he did.....Hewitt did share them....what am I going to do? Is Heeseung going to kill him? What is he going to do with me? What is he going to do?"

Reading on, you continued to examine the messages from H/N....it only brought you emotionally lower.

"Oh my God......why Hewitt...why?"

Unable to read on, you dropped our phone and buried your face into your hands. You felt like crying.

"How could Hewitt do this?.....How am I going to calm Heeseung down now?"

A ding comes in, signifying another message, although this time, it wasn't coming in through your phone. Heeseung's phone was resting on the nightstand beside the bed, which was odd considering the last time you remember seeing it was when he tossed it on the desk.

Picking it up, you took advantage of his sleeping status and decided to see the message that came in. His forearm still wrapped around your nude body as you leaned slightly away to grab onto the device and open it; once you had entered the passcode, your face reflected the most horrific shock as you unveil the contents of a certain message from Jake....

....................

Trembling, you read on to find the photos that H/N and Jake were referring to........were not the photos that you mistakenly sent to Hewitt.......

Suddenly, you felt Heeseung's arm that laid around your waist tighten and tug you closer to his body. You turned around slightly to find that his eyes were already open, staring at you with a sly smirk as half his face was burrowed into the pillow.

"Pretty baby...did you sleep well?"

".........wh-what....did you do???"

You stared at him with furrowed brows and wide eyes. How could he do this? This was way too far.

You nearly wanted to scream at him, although that wouldn't have worked out in your favor, yet still, you were on the brink of breaking down when suddenly his words nearly caused you burst into tears.......what could you possibly say in response?.......

"Aw baby, dont be that way, it was an accident. Dont worry, its not like they shared it with anyone else.....remember? Its....NO BIG DEAL."

Enjoyed this piece? Show love and treat your girl to a cup of coffee. ♥️

☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/reinbow

#heeseung x reader #heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha heeseung #heeseung scenarios #enha x reader #yandere enhypen #heeseung yandere #yandere heeseung #yandere x reader #male yandere #heeseung fanfic #enha imagines #enha fanfic #enha drabbles

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say-hwaet · 2 months ago

Text

That's The Way it Is

Chapter Two: In Retrospect Author's note: Here is the second chapter to my biggest fanfic! If you're keen on reading ahead, the entire story is posted on AO3! I am merely sharing it on here for funsies, as this blog is all about writing and Red Dead in general. :D

After resting overnight just outside of Valentine, you are back on the road again. Jeremy has been giving you enough courtesy to remain silent the first few miles towards Strawberry. While you are eager to get back, there is one more quick stop to pick up some lumber from the Appleseed Timber Company. Not a large order, Jeremy reassured you, but Mr. Lewis offered to pick it up since it is only but a small detour back to Blackwater.

You don’t care. The farther you are from Valentine. From him, the less pain you are in.

You can tell by the tall trees, that you are nearing the timber company. You can also see the trees thinning out, and you cannot help but feel sad about it. Something about loss, the lack of something missing as more stumps come into view.

The scent of fresh pine fills the air, a sharp contrast to the dusty, dry landscape you've become accustomed to in and around Blackwater. The timber yard is bustling with activity, men shouting over the whir of saw blades and the thud of falling trees. Despite the chaos, there's a rhythmic allure to it, a working machine of flesh and bone, not shy of risk and danger.

Jeremy pulls off the road and sets the wagon brake. Several men taking a break nearby turn and see you, their attention taken as you stare back at them. You begin to feel uneasy and you adjust yourself in your seat.

“Wait here,” Jeremy tells you, and he gets off the wagon and heads for the main building that looks a little more than a shack.

You try to avert the men’s gaze, who knows how long they’ve been working out here without seeing much of civilization.

The scent of pine grows stronger, and you distract yourself by focusing on the trees that remain standing, strong and defiant against the human intrusion. You wonder about their stories, their silent witness to the changing world around them—something you feel a kinship with in your fragmented state.

As you sit there, lost in thought, a sudden flash of memory appears in your mind. A bunch of trees. Several small, box-like wagons are arranged in a circle. A large fire. Music. Music you haven’t heard being played in the hotel or saloon. It’s sharp, foreign, bordering exotic.

You feel a set of hands taking yours, as you begin to be pulled in a circle around the fire, women in embroidered scarves tied around their heads. Their skirts with red flowers and leaves at the hems.

“Držte krok, Kitka!” The woman beside you encourages. “Tančit znamená být lehký na nohy!”

You seem to know what she is saying to you, but you can’t fashion a reply. You only keep up with your feet as you dance to the rhythm of the music.

And as quickly as the memory floods you, it begins to disappear like an underdeveloped photograph, the developer reversing the forming image that had already begun to appear. You try to reach for it, but at the thrumming threat of a headache, you let it go.

You hear footfalls on wood and opening your eyes, you turn to see Jeremy walking with a thick-bearded man, chatting idly.

You feel the wagon shake and quickly turning around, you see an assembly of men loading up the wagon with short-cut timber.

As you sit there, they continue to load the wagon and it isn’t long before their work is done. Jeremy finishes chatting with the man, shakes his hand, and returns to the wagon. He glances up at you, smiling. “You ready to head back to Blackwater?”

You nod. “Please.”

He hoists himself up, and you are soon on your way again.

The way back to Blackwater via Strawberry is a pleasant drive. However, with the winding road and the sharper turns, he has to drive slower. You are eager to get back home. You’ve had enough for one day.

“Still got your headache?” Jeremy asks.

You shake your head tenderly, as there is still a soreness. “It’s nearly gone.” You reach for your temple again. “They seem to get worse and worse.”

Jeremy's expression softens, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes as he maneuvers the wagon carefully down the path. "You ought to see Doc when we get back. He might have something for that."

You nod, considering the option. You aren’t about to argue your way out of it this time, it isn’t worth the energy. “As long as he doesn’t ask me more questions.”

Jeremy gently nudges you. “If you let me go with you, I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

You smile at that, feeling a little heat in your cheek. “Why have you been so nice to me?” you dare ask. “It isn’t because I might be wealthy, is it?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

You look at your hand, the ring still on your finger. You haven’t brought yourself to remove it, regardless of what it might mean. “What if I am married? Or engaged?”

Surprisingly, he offers a quick answer. “If you are, I don’t understand why they haven’t looked for you, yet.” And he pauses. “You could also be a widow.”

You blink. “A widow at 29?” you chortle, unable to fathom such a tragic fate at such a young age. “I hardly think so.”

Jeremy’s eyes widen. “You just said how old you are.”

He’s right. You didn’t know that before. You blink, still shocked at the revelation. How did you come to do that? “How…?” Your mind reels, trying to process how this information slipped from your lips without your conscious knowledge. A surge of panic courses through you as you grasp at the small shred of individuality this revelation has given you.

Jeremy's words only fuel your unease as he stammers in an attempt to rationalize the unimaginable. “Maybe those headaches are a good thing…”

You shake your head vehemently, denying the possibility that such agony could hold any positive outcome. "I refuse to believe that!" you declare, but a seed of doubt has been planted, casting a dark shadow over everything you thought you knew about yourself.

His expression softens, quickly looking ahead to redirect the horse. “Look, Jane. I know this sounds bad. I mean, nobody wants to go through pain…” Putting both reins in one hand, he takes your hand in his other. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You look up at him, and as you see the softness in his eyes, for a split second, you don’t see Jeremy’s face.

You see his. You see Arthur’s.

You know it is him, but he’s not the same. Younger, not sun-beaten and mud-covered, but his eyes. His eyes are the same.

“You’re not alone, Kit,” he says. “We got’chu.”

You lean away from Jeremy, nearly losing your balance and tumbling off the wagon seat. “Jane!” His strong arms reach out and pull you back, steadying you with care. Once you are sitting back up again, he pulls on the reins and the wagon comes to a stop. Your heart races as you try to steady your breathing and take in your surroundings. “You alright?”

It's happening again, those sudden flashes of memories and thoughts that seem familiar, yet foreign at the same time. You grip onto Jeremy tightly, seeking comfort and grounding in his presence. As your eyes take in the towering walls of rock ahead, a sense of unease settles over you. The rough texture and imposing faces of the stones seem to be reaching out towards you, almost menacingly. A shiver runs down your spine.

“We gotta get you back,” Jeremy says quietly. “Hang on.” He flicks the reins again, and the wagon lurches forward, the horse taking a steady pace as they enter the road between the rocks. “The river isn’t too far from here. Once we reach it, we will be on our way to Blackwater.”

That settles you for a moment, and you continue to clutch onto Jeremy’s arm as the wagon jostles a little.

You begin to pass by what looks like an old settlement on your left, a fence made with large planks stuck into the ground in jagged patterns, its ruins leaving an ominous mark. You think to ask Jeremy what the place is called, but you find no interest in speaking. There have been enough words.

But you haven’t noticed how ominously quiet it has become.

“Woo,” Jeremy says softly, pulling the reins back. The horse comes to a stop and Jeremy sits upright, listening quietly.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Something just doesn’t feel right.”

That’s when you hear a pik pik . Looking on the sloping rock face, you see small pebbles falling. You follow where they had fallen from, only to have a split second to see a man standing on the ledge, guns pointed at you, before a shot is fired.

BANG!!

You hear a sound, one that sounds striking and heart-stopping. You soon realize that it is the ripping of flesh, as the bullet goes right through Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Jeremy…!!” you scream and his body instantly topples over the wagon seat and falls to the ground.

“Aye, we got ‘em, boys…!” The man shouts. “Let’s get the girl and then take what’s ours…!”

There are other shouts and whoops as there is no more need to hide themselves. You find several men up top and you hear footfalls behind you as men come down the slope with guns raised.

You need to act quickly, lest you find a similar fate to your companion.

Oh, Jeremy…!

You reach into the back, picking up the rifle and with great finesse, you roll out of your seat, flipping backward and supporting your weight upside down as you reach the ground. Shots start firing, and you hear the bullets make contact with the wood of the wagon, bits and slivers flying.

You return right side up and sequester yourself against the wagon, between its wheels. If you had strength, you could flip it over, and use it as a shield, but you don’t have such creativity.

Creativity…create…

Why does this excite you?

You instantly remember that Jeremy has always carried with him a tiny flask of moonshine. Not to drink on the job but at the end of each day. He would always make a trip to the saloon to see his cousin, who owned the bar and they’d share a swig or two.

Did he have it with him now?

You look under the wagon and see Jeremy on the ground, still and unmoving. “Jeremy…!” you cry. Getting down on your stomach, you crawl underneath the wagon as fast as you can. Once you reach him, you try to search for signs of life.

Oh, he’s breathing. “Jeremy…!”

You grab him by the ankles and with all the strength you can muster, you drag him back to the safest side of the wagon. He moans, tossing his head from side to side.

“Jeremy,” you speak. “I need your moonshine.”

He tries to open his eyes and he grimaces. “Jane…?”

You see the blood oozing out of his shoulder, bleeding into his jacket. Not getting a response from him, you search his pockets until you feel the metal container. You clutch it tightly and remain where you are, setting down your ingredients before you. You go to the rifle, unloading it of all the bullets it has. Then, you reach down to your skirt. Taking hold of it, you rip it, trying to allot as many pieces as you can.

You hear Jeremy groan. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet.” And you look up at him. “Can you shoot any?”

His eyes open more, but he’s visibly weak, he draws his revolver. “I’ll do my best.”

You then hear more calls from the bandits. “They’re hidin’ under there!”

“We can’t just keep shootin’!”

“Let’s just scorch ‘em out!”

That isn’t good. You need to work faster!

You have seven good pieces of fabric. Taking the bottle of moonshine, you twist the cap open and begin to douse the pieces of cloth.

“What…?” Jeremy pants. “…are you doing?”

With trembling fingers, you work to disassemble the bullets, emptying a good amount of powder into the center of each of the torn skirt pieces. “I don’t know…”

When there is a pile, you begin to bring the corners of the fabric together, tying them in a knot or using a thinner piece of fabric. Jeremy, weakly, shoots a couple of shots with his revolver. If he can’t hit anything, it might serve as a distraction of some kind.

That is the best way to find your escape, Kitka. Turn their attention away from your hands…

You shake the voice out of your head and keep working. Finally, you have what you need.

You don’t know what they are, but you made them, like breathing it came easy.

You also remember Jeremy smokes a pipe. Turning back to him, you search his pockets again, finding a small box of matches. His eyes weakly follow you as he pulls the hammer back on his revolver to shoot again.

You waste no time in striking a match, lighting the first bundle, and exposing yourself for a brief moment, throwing it to the group of men on the ledge.

You must have a good arm, for just as it reaches them, it explodes.

The chaos that ensues is immediate. Shouts of alarm and confusion blend with the sharp crack of gunfire. You don't wait to see the results; grabbing another bundle and lighting it up. You throw it up there again, moving on instinct now, your body somehow remembering its given swiftness and agility.

The flames engulf them in an instant, their screams echoing off the rock walls as they try to escape the inferno, their curses slicing through the smoke and tumult that you have created. They didn't expect this—no one expects a store clerk from Blackwater to wield makeshift bombs with the expertise of a seasoned demolitionist. The edge of the embankment reacts under the force of your third creation, chunks of rock flying and sending two men tumbling down the slope.

But it isn’t over.

“Jane…!” Jeremy shouts weakly. “Look out…!”

Turning around, you are suddenly attacked by one of the bandits, eyes wild and fiery as he clutches onto your throat. “You think your little magic tricks will be enough?” He squeezes hard, his nails digging into your larynx and he forces you to the ground.

“Jane…!” Jeremy cries and just as he gets to his feet, he is soon attacked by yet another, and the gun falls out of his hand. They wrestle into the ground, and with his injury, Jeremy struggles to gain the upper hand.

Gasping for air, your vision tunnels, the edges tinged with blackness. In this desperate moment, you reach out, fingers clawing at anything they can find. Your hand brushes against the cold metal of Jeremy's discarded revolver. With a jolt of adrenaline, you grasp it, jamming the barrel against the bandit’s stomach, and pulling the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the air, a sharp, definitive sound that momentarily slices through the cacophony of the ongoing battle. The bandit’s grip loosens as he leans back, eyes wide in shock and pain. He falls backward into the dusty ground, clutching at the wound that now mars his abdomen.

You gasp at the sight, unsure if it is because of the violence or a flash of memory.

A woman, being shot in the head. And a man with dark hair and dark eyes letting her body fall to the floor…

The man now dead, you whip around with the gun in your hand. You can do this, you can save Jeremy. The man is on top of him, landing blow after blow into his head with a rock.

You cock back the hammer and fire.

Jeremy’s attacker recoils as the bullet rips through his chest and he falls backward into the dirt.

You breathe for just a moment, looking around sharply to see if there are any more. There aren’t. They’re all gone.

Relieved, you look back to Jeremy, and he’s not moving. You study his body, and you cannot see the rise and fall of his chest, for there isn’t none.

An icy grip squeezes your heart. “Jeremy!” Your feet move on their own accord, propelling you towards him until you are kneeling at his side. His once smooth and handsome face is now a twisted mess of blood and bruises, an image that will haunt you forever. The metallic scent of blood fills your nostrils and bile rises in your throat as you try to hold back tears. You can feel the weight of the world crushing down on you as you see him in this state, and all you can do is pray for some miracle to save him from the brink of death.

But your prayers would be in vain.

You know he’s dead.

He’s dead.

You feel sick. An image of a boy lying in your arms. Pale and lifeless, your voice hoarse from screaming, begging on the streets.

“Jeremy…!” you scream at the top of your lungs, your throat burning from the pain until you hear nothing left escape your lips.

You feel dizzy. Your head pounds with an ache that begins to weigh you down. The world spins around you. A whirlwind of days and hours gone in a matter of seconds. Jeremy, his life, gone, without as much a fighting chance. How many times has he gone on this journey before? What could he have done to deserve this?

And then it appears again. The boy in your lap, your hands, young and cold, reaching out to touch his face…

“Antek…” you say…your voice but a whimpering cry.

And as it leaves your mouth, you feel the weight of it all and the world fades to black.

***

You feel something soft underneath your face. You feel the weight in your body as you lie on your side. Warmth, something deeply warm heats your skin. You smell charred wood and hear pops and crackles. Fire.

Explosions.

Those men.

You open your eyes and quickly push yourself up to a sitting position. You feel the softness under your hands. You look down. An animal pelt, all white beautiful under the glow of the firelight.

How did you get here?

“Jeremy…?” you whimper, though you are unsure why. He’s dead.

“I couldn’t help him.” a deep voice speaks softly.

Your breath hitches and you feel the blood draining from your face. You’ve encountered it enough to start recognizing it. Turning slowly, you look past the fire near you, into the eyes of Arthur.

You feel something building in your chest, something that burns more than the fire ever could. You flare your nostrils. “You…!”

He holds up his palms, unmoving from where he sits. “Look, I was—”

“You followed me?!”

He shakes his head. “I was nearby. I…I was trackin' you, but I came runnin' when I heard the gunshots.” He pauses and seeing that you aren’t going to interrupt him this time, he continues. “By the time I got there, most had run or were dead…” And his eyes soften. “And you were just layin’ there.”

“And Jeremy…?!”

“He was already gone. I…buried him.”

Your eyes narrow. You only hope that he got a decent burial. “Where?” you hiss.

He looks pained at your words and something else you can’t pin down. “In Great Plains. Just after crossin’ the river.” He looks at you, almost wantonly. “I…risked a lot doin’ that for him.”

You scowl. “Giving someone a burial is risky?”

“When you’re a wanted man, it is.”

Your eyes widen. “Who are you?” And you dare ask a more important question. “And how do you know me?”

You see it in his expression, an aching familiarity, a recognition as he regards you sitting there. His mouth opens and closes, words wanting to escape but don’t. “You…you was with us, in a gang.” He reaches behind his head to scratch his neck. “We…kinda grew up together.”

The flash of memory you had when Jeremy took your hand. Arthur’s young face. That would make sense if you grew up with this man. “We’re siblings?”

He almost laughs at that and shakes his head quickly. “No.”

Then you remember the music, groups of people dancing. But those people were different. You felt shorter, smaller, and he wasn’t there. It’s strange. When you think about things that had hurt your head before, they don’t hurt now when you bring up those exact thoughts again. Perhaps, it is only new ones?

You remember what Jeremy said, about them being a blessing in disguise.

Oh, Jeremy…!

You feel the tears swell up in your eyes and you find no willingness to conceal them as you begin to sob. “He’s dead…!” you cry. “He’s dead and I couldn’t save him…!”

Your chest tightens and you feel like you can’t move, can’t breathe. The tears fall heavy down your soiled cheeks and you hold yourself for comfort.

That’s when Arthur moves toward you. You feel a sudden uneasiness when he reaches for you.

You quickly move back and rise to your feet. “Get away from me…!” you hiss and he moves backward, raising his palms.

“M’sorry,” he says softly. His voice holds a trace of genuine regret, a sound that stirs something within the depths of your fragmented memories. The campfire casts shadows across his face, making him appear both menacing and mournful at once.

You wipe your cheeks roughly with the back of your hand, trying to regain some form of composure. You need to mourn, but you also have questions. You have an obligation to Blackwater, you need to return to Mr. Lewis. But what will you tell him?

But if what Arthur says is true, if you were with a gang, could that mean you’re wanted, too? Not an aristocrat?

Would it be worth going back at all?

You sit back down on the pelt, and Arthur carefully returns to his spot beyond the fire. You appreciate the space he’s given you, despite his recent effort to embrace you again.

“It weren’t your fault what happened,” he speaks softly. “A lotta wagons get raided ‘round there.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Arthur doesn’t react in anger, but his eyes look saddened. “I am a bad man,” he says. “But I ain’t like them.”

“Does that make me bad, too?” you snap.

He is quiet for a moment. “You ain’t never done the things I have.”

You’re still skeptical, but your own curiosity is betraying your bitterness. “What did I do? What role did I play?”

“Are you makin’ fun of me?”

You snort. “I just don’t know if I believe you.”

He readjusts his sitting position on the ground and cocks his head, you can see more of his face under the brim of his hat as the glow of the fire is on his skin. Those eyes of his, even in the dark, make you think of paintings of the sea.

Where have you seen those?

“What if I tell you some things about you? Things that only you and a few others would know?”

You raise an eyebrow, a small gesture of disbelief and confusion. "I don't even know who I am," you say with a hint of despair creeping into your voice.

His shoulders slump in response, a mixture of disappointment and understanding in his expression. "You don't remember anythin’?" he asks, his tone gentle yet searching for any flickers of recognition in your face.

A feeling of emptiness washes over you at the thought of having no memories to hold onto. "No," you reply, shaking your head slightly. "I just remembered how old I am."

A soft smile forms on Arthur's lips, his eyes filled with compassion. "29," he says, the number rolling off his tongue like a familiar melody.

Your eyes widen in surprise. He could have thrown out any number to try to convince you, but he chose the precise and accurate one.

“Let me tell you some things.” The man's voice lingers in the air, hesitant yet eager. You feel a flutter of curiosity, your reservations slowly fading away. Memories flood your mind, images and whispers that have haunted you for weeks.

With a deep breath, you meet his gaze once more. “Who is Kitka?” The question tumbles out of your lips before you can stop it, the name feeling both foreign and familiar at the same time.

His smile widens, his piercing blue eyes that hold a wealth of secrets. “That’s you. Your name.”

You can't help but feel a rush of confusion and excitement at the revelation, wondering what other mysteries this enigmatic man holds. You repeat it, and it doesn’t feel uncomfortable settling there. “But when you grabbed me…in Valentine…” You see his frown fall, it must not be a pleasant memory for him, either. “You called me Kit.”

He offers you an explanation. “That’s what most call you. Guess some have trouble sayin’ your real name.”

“Do I have a last name?”

He grimaces. “I might be sayin’ it wrong, but it’s Petrova.”

You roll the name around in your mind—Kitka Petrova. There's a distant echo of familiarity, like a whisper from far away. "Petrova," you repeat, tasting each syllable. It feels foreign yet oddly comforting.

Arthur watches you closely, his gaze intense but not imposing. "There's more to you than that, though.”

You tuck your chin. Minute by minute, you are coming to believe him. This was more than what any doctor could help you with and it doesn’t hurt or give you a headache. You heard a woman speak that name, you felt her take your hand and dance. “There was a woman…” you begin, feeling your hands tremble at the thought. “She knew my name…” You look back to meet his eyes. “Do I have a mother?”

Arthur looks at you, his eyes softening as he speaks. “She died before I met you.” But lifting his forefinger, he points to the ring on your hand. “But that…that was hers.”

You look down at your hand, the gold band shining in the orange light. “So…I’m not married? Or engaged?” You feel a pit in your stomach. “No one was looking for me.”

You hear a rustling and look back up to see Arthur moving to you again, but he stops suddenly, remembering the proximity that you prefer. But he speaks to you earnestly. “We thought you was dead. I…”

But you clearly aren’t. “Folk in town say I was found in an alley. By the docks.”

His eyes widen. “That ain’t what Dutch told me.”

Dutch. Why does that name sound familiar…?

Suddenly, your head begins to pound.

Oh no, a new memory.

You want to fight it, so badly, but after knowing what happens afterward, you are tempted to let it run its course. You press your palms against your temples and feel yourself bending over into your knees without straining yourself.

“Kit…?!” Arthur says, his voice raised and concerned.

You don’t want him to touch you, you don’t want anything to interrupt. “Let me be…!” you snap.

You close your eyes shut and try to give in to what your mind wants to tell you.

You see something white. Grey. Paper. Words and lines. A Newspaper. A Headline.

BLACKWATER MASSACRE

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE GANG RESPONSIBLE

Your head pounds heavily and you feel it intensify. It’s becoming too much, you have to stop.

You try to open your eyes and come out of it, and stumble as you try to move. “I…have to…” You rise to your feet, your vision blurry as you try to get some air. It is dark, with nothing but light from the moon creeping through the trees, you hold out your hands to protect yourself as you keep walking.

“Kit?” You hear Arthur stand up and follow you.

You raise a hand to keep him at a distance, needing space to breathe and think. The name Dutch Van Der Linde spins in your mind like a relentless cyclone, pulling at the edges of your fragmented memories. “I need to walk,” you manage to say, your voice tremulous but determined.

Arthur hesitates, but he nods. “Just, let me go wit’chu.” He raises his hands. “I’ll keep back, I just want you safe.”

You nod, albeit reluctantly, and begin walking away from the campfire's comforting glow. Your feet crunch the dry leaves underfoot as you navigate through the dark forest. The air feels crisp against your skin, and each breath you take seems to clear your head just a little more. Arthur follows a few paces behind, his footfalls heavy and sure. They don’t frighten you or worry you, but they almost seem comforting.

You know this man. You don’t remember him fully, but somehow you know him. That much is clear.

You keep walking until the headache subsides again, and by now you have gone deep into the forest you aren’t sure you can navigate your way back. You stop and you hear Arthur stop as well.

“If we aren’t siblings…” you finally say. “But we grew up together…” You turn around to look at him. Shadows are cast from the moonlight, but you see his figure standing there. “How did I come to be in a gang of outlaws?”

“Kit…” he begins, his voice almost hesitant. “It might be too much to tell you…After what you just—”

“I want to know,” you insist, your strength returning. “Tell me.”

He sighs. There is a pregnant pause before he speaks again. “Hosea found you…in California. He heard you beggin’ for help.”

“I was hurt?”

“No.” His pause makes your heart pound in your chest. “But your brother…”

Brother? You try to search through your mind, struggling to find a face, a name—anything. “A brother?”

“Yes,” he answers. “You told me his name was Antek.”

The name hits you like a crashing wave. You remember the feeling of it in your mouth, then you remember. You said it before you passed out. You do know.

He was the boy in your arms. The boy pale and brow misted over in fever.

Arthur steps closer, his voice gentle. “He was very ill. You were cradlin’ him; alone and desperate. That’s when Hosea brought you to us. No doctor would help you ‘cause…well…”

“I was different,” you say, remembering the slurs that have been echoing in your mind for the past month.

Gypsie. Circus trash. Slavic scum.

You never understood why they were addressed to you, but you realize it now. You weren’t born into a wealthy family. You were born into a family of immigrants.

Your head begins to hurt again, but it isn’t as painful, for parts of this new information were already remembered. “But what about the music? The dancing?”

In the dark, Arthur’s voice is the only indicator of his presence. “Dancin’?”

You can barely see your hands in front of you. “There were wagons, men and women dancing.”

“That might be somethin’ before our time,” Arthur reasons.

You shake your head, frustrated. “It’s all jumbled. Why can’t it just be in one order? I…I remember your face, but not my family…?”

It is then that you feel a hand take you gently by the arm. Your breath hitches but you don’t try to pull away this time. “Come back with me,” he offers, his voice tentative. “Let’s get you back and rest. Then we can go to our camp on Horseshoe Overlook. Maybe the memories will come easier in time."

Go with him? To the gang? You don’t know where Horseshoe Overlook is, but you have a feeling that it is far from Blackwater.

Blackwater. Mr. Lewis.

But you know now that this gang that you supposedly were with, was the same gang that was responsible for the massacre. You don’t know how you were directly involved, but you aren’t the person you thought you were.

You aren’t a good woman. You are a wanted criminal, and it is a miracle that you’ve made it this long without being discovered.

You can’t go back now.

You nod, feeling the exhaustion tug at your limbs with an insistence that can't be ignored any longer. “Okay.”

“Let’s find our way back.” You hear him swallow hard. “Take my hand.”

Using your arm as a guide, you find his hand that has a gentle grip and take it softly, your hand is so small in his, his calloused hands showing signs of years of hard labor. You tried to remember the last time you held his hand, but the memories are like water slipping through your fingers — impossible to hold. As you walk alongside Arthur, the moonlight casts shadows that play tricks on your eyes. Every rustle of the leaves, every whisper of the wind sounds like a fragment of a forgotten melody, the echoes of your past life calling out to you from the depths of the night. You feel your heart beating faster, not just from fear or confusion, but also from a budding sense of anticipation. What if the key to unlocking all your lost memories lay just beyond the horizon, at this camp that Arthur mentioned?

Or will it reveal more things about yourself that you don’t want to know? You once thought that you were a wealthy woman engaged or married, but now you are a poor orphaned immigrant.

The journey is silent, save for the occasional crunch of dry leaves underfoot and the distant howl of a coyote. With each step, you feel a tug on your mind, fragments of forgotten dreams or perhaps buried realities trying to claw their way to the surface. You glance sideways at Arthur, studying his profile against the moon as the light finally bleeds through the trees again.

He’s rugged. His thick beard is clean now, and his face isn’t covered in mud. His nose has a scar over the bridge, indicating he’s been in more fights than the one you’ve seen. Do you know where he got that scar? How long have you known this man? You also see the mark you left on his face when you struck him in Valentine. “I’m…sorry for hurting you.”

Arthur senses your regret, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "It's alright, Kit," he murmurs, the sound of your name in his voice stirring something deep within you. The familiarity of it sends shivers down your spine, a mix of fear and longing intertwining within your chest. You find that your hand feels comfortable in his. You don’t want to let him go and you can’t figure out why. Your breath comes out of your nostrils loudly, frustrated at your own mind not helping you.

You continue walking, and it isn’t long before you reach where he had set up his small camp. You finally take the time to see his layout, a small tent, his untied horse, a mahogany bay Tennessee Walker, who grazes on a small brush nearby, and the fire, whose coals are still glowing. “How far are we from them?”

“Not far,” he answers softly, and you feel him let go of your hand. He approaches the fire, and takes a stick on the ground before stirring the coals. “You hungry?”

You fold your arms. “No.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t look at you, his eyes still gazing at the fire pit. “You can take my tent. I’ll…sleep out here.”

You aren’t sure why, but you don’t like that suggestion. You haven’t been the most kind to him, and you’d hate to take his only shelter. “That doesn’t feel right, Arthur…”

He looks up at you at the sudden mention of his name. That is the first time you ever said it out loud, at least to your knowledge. You see it in his eyes, there is something there, a hunger, a loneliness that seems to mirror your own. It’s as if in that single moment, the distance between you both isn't just physical but emotional, stretching back years, across untold secrets and shared memories. Things he clearly knows but hasn’t told you.

Arthur breaks the gaze first, chuckling softly. "Kit, I insist. You need rest more than I do." He stands erect after throwing some more wood in the fire and he begins to remove his buckskin jacket. Walking around the fire, at a distance from the tent, he rolls up his jacket like a pillow and goes to his knees. “We will head back in the mornin’.”

Your aching body and weariness remind you of your need for sleep, you yawn deeply. “Alright.” You head for his tent and crouch your way in without saying another word.

Inside, the tent smells faintly of leather, tobacco, and pine, a scent that is oddly comforting and familiar, like a distant echo from a past life. You settle into the sleeping roll that was already laid out, pulling its cover up to your shoulders. The fabric is coarse wool but warm, and as you snuggle into it, you finally give into sleep.

***

The sounds of birds chirping wake you up and you discover to be out of the sleeping roll and hugging it. The wool is pressed against your face, your nose buried in its scent. For the past month, you’ve never woken up to being in a position like this before, but then again, you haven’t been sleeping in a tent outside, but in your own room in the hotel in Blackwater.

And as your mind wakes up, so do your other senses.

You hear a metallic sound coming from beyond the tent and rising to a sitting position, you rub your eyes. “Arthur…?” you call softly, hoping that is the source of the noise.

“Mornin’,” he replies. “Got some coffee if you want some.”

You smack your lips. Do you like coffee? You don’t remember drinking it at the restaurant or the hotel. Can’t hurt to try it.

Straightening your shirt, you see your torn-up skirt. You can’t go back to Blackwater for your money and clothes. You’ll have to make do for now.

You crawl out of the tent. Opening the flap, you see Arthur by the fire, pouring a pot of coffee into a small, tin cup.

He’s wearing a different shirt, a dark green, but the hat is the same. He must travel around a lot, to pack another set of clothes with him. “It ain’t the best,” he excuses. “But it warms up the bones pretty good.”

You rise to your feet and so does he, holding out the cup to you.

You take the cup from his hands, feeling the warmth seep into your chilled fingers. The steam rises in gentle swirls, carrying with it a rich, earthy aroma that sparks a faint memory, like a whisper in the back of your mind. You wrap both hands around the cup, enjoying the heat before bringing it to your lips.

He lied to you. This coffee is the best you have ever had, or remember. Of course, that isn’t the best compliment you can think of, but you can think of worse things to conjure up.

He must see the approval in your eyes, for he looks down, almost bashfully. “You seem to be doin’ okay…after last night.”

You swallow before speaking. “I suppose it could be worse.”

He nods, smiling. “That it can.”

He pours himself a cup and drinks it slowly, you both taking in the morning view. He had set up camp in a small clearing, with an opening of the trees leading the eyes to look into a canyon and waterfall below. You aren’t sure where you are, but by the gradient of green to golden, you suppose Blackwater isn’t far.

“Why Blackwater?” you ask. “I remember the gang did it.”

Arthur offers a solemn answer. “I wasn’t there on the boat. Nobody really will tell me what happened.” He sets his cup down on the ground by the firepit. “I came in time to help them escape, when Pinkertons showed up, and things went bad.”

“You didn’t see me get shot,” you infer.”

His eyes meet yours and you see the regret in his eyes. “I was…We…” his voice trails off and he looks away. “I weren’t there.”

You look into the little bit of coffee that remains in your cup. “I was shot in the back, the doctor said it’s a miracle I’m still alive.”

“Shoah is.”

There is a moment of silence and you can’t help but wish he had more to say about the massacre. If he wasn’t there until the end, then he couldn’t possibly know about Heidi, or what happened to you. Dutch said you were dead. Could he have seen you?

Arthur begins to kick dirt into the fire. “We should get goin’. We want to make it back before it gets dark.” He walks over to his tent and begins to take it down as he speaks to you over his shoulder. “Can you go into my saddle bag and give Montana an apple?”

Your brow furrows. “Montana?”

“The stud over there.” He gestures to the Tennessee Walker with a tilt of his head. “Got him up near Colter.”

Not sure what Colter is, you walk over to the horse as he looks on at you, his brown eyes soft and alert. You see the flare of his nostrils as he takes in your sent. He doesn’t move once you approach his side, and you get on your tiptoes to reach into the saddlebag. Feeling the inside of it, you find something smooth and round. Pulling it out, you reveal a red apple.

Montana nickers excitedly, spotting the fruit in your hand.

You can’t help but smile, feeling a soft spot for him already. You extend the apple towards Montana, watching as he gently takes it from your palm, his lips tickling your skin slightly. It's a brief interaction, but one that fills you with a sense of comfort—something that’s been rare since the ordeal.

As Montana munches on the apple, you glance back at Arthur, who has finished with the tent and is now watching you. You feel something in your stomach, and you wish your body and mind would work together for once.

“He likes you,” Arthur says. “You’ve always gotten well with my horses.”

“Have I met this one before?” you ask with interest. You like the idea of having a way with animals. Maybe that’s what you did in the gang. It seems less violent and dangerous.

He shakes his head. “No, he’s new. The last one, Boadicea, you knew her. Wouldn’t let anyone else ride her except you 'n me.” His smile falls. “She was shot durin’ our escape. I had to leave her.”

The revelation hits you like a sudden gust of wind, disorienting and cold. To learn that such loyalty had been cultivated and then lost under such brutal circumstances stirs a deep sorrow within you, one that resonates with your own fragmented memories of loss and abandonment. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur watches you carefully, perhaps gauging how much of the past you remember, or maybe how much you could handle knowing. "Thank you," he replies softly, turning away momentarily as if to hide a flicker of pain that crosses his rugged face.

A silence hangs between you, thick and heavy, as the remnants of sunrise paint the sky with streaks of purple and orange.

You offer a soft smile. “Maybe we should get going.”

He nods. “Perhaps you’re right.” He walks up beside Montana, packing his tent and bedroll on the saddle. Without another moment, he hoists himself up on Montana’s back and offers you his hand. “You okay with riding behind me? Your horse is back at camp.”

You feel a sudden excitement and take Arthur’s hand. He pulls you up as though you were but a flower on the ground and you swing your leg comfortably over. You settle behind him and try to figure out where to hold on. Bashfully, you place your hands on his waist, clutching onto his jacket.

With a soft clicking sound from his mouth, Montana trots on through the trees.

“I have a horse?” you finally ask. “And you’ve kept them this whole time?”

“‘Course, she was all I had to remember you b—” and he stops himself, quickly changing the subject. “You named her Odliv.”

It comes to you naturally and you smile. “Low Tide.”

You see Arthur nod in front of you. “Right. You always said you played in tide pools when you were little.”

“In California,” you deduce.

“Yes.”

You resist the urge to lean into his body and inhale the scent of pine and tobacco you can’t seem to get enough of. “How old was I, when we met?”

He answers quickly. “16.”

You frown, realizing that was how old you were when your brother died. “I was just a child.”

“Yes.”

After a moment, you think of another question. “And how old are you?”

Arthur laughs, and you feel the vibration in his body. “How old do you think I am?” You don’t like the teasing, after asking a rational question. Your intrusive thought wins, and you slap him hard on the arm. “Ow…!”

“Remember what I did to you yesterday?” you threaten, but clearly with a hint of jest. “I wasn’t trying to joke.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “I’m too old.”

You furrow your brow. That isn’t what you would’ve guessed. By his agility in the fight, and how he lifted you in the saddle, you’d think the man would have more confidence. “You may be sun-beaten and gruff, but that doesn’t make you old.”

He laughs. “I’m 36.”

And somehow, that doesn’t bother you. “You’re only as old as you feel, Arthur.”

You can feel his body tense for a second. “You told me that once.”

Your heart skips as memories flicker like distant stars in the vast night sky, obscured yet persistent, leaving a tenderness in your head. You wonder how many of those words from your past linger in his thoughts, how many times he's replayed them during your absence.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable yet filled with unspoken questions. Montana’s steady pace picks up and you ride alongside some train tracks as they line the ground westward.

After a few more miles, you decide to ask another question. “How many are there? At camp?” You look at the landscape as you pass it by. “I imagine most will expect me to remember them.”

“They might also regret callin’ me a liar.”

“What?”

“I told them what happened, in Valentine. That I saw you. They thought I was goin’ crazy, took one too many hits from that fool. Even Dutch, he—” His body tenses again and he shakes his head. “They’re gonna believe me now.”

You can sense the growl in his voice, his determination to prove them right. But you have other concerns. These are people you supposedly know. People you’ve talked to, and shared memories with, and you don’t remember a single one. You managed to remember Arthur, so you hope that you will these people, in time. “Tell me about them, Arthur,” and you pat his abdomen, hearing his breath catch. “Tell me their names.”

And so, after relaxing, he begins as you brace yourself for the headaches that may come. “There’s John Marston, he came into the gang when he was just a kid. He picked on you a lot, especially when I weren’t around…”

Thank you for reading!

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sorinethemastermind · 27 days ago

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Fluffcember 2024: Coming Home | Rayllum & Sorvus & Clauderry Callum is determined to ask Rayla to be his girlfriend this Winter Break. But if he can't even start a fire, how is he supposed to create the perfect moment? Soren has decided to stay on campus this Christmas, but with Rayla and Callum as his only company, he's starting to feel like a third wheel. Except maybe it's not just the three of them left on campus after all. Meanwhile Claudia is trying to have a nice Christmas with her family, but maybe her family isn't at home...

Corvus was sitting on his couch with Soren, snuggled up under a blanket with the other man’s arm around his shoulder.

Corvus was sitting on his couch with Soren. And they were sharing a blanket and the other man’s arm was around his shoulder.

He scarcely dared move. And then the phone rang, and Soren simply fished it out of his pocket and answered the video call.

“Yo?”

Corvus watched as Soren’s face lit up.

“Clauds!”

Soren’s sister beamed at him from the phone screen, her image a little distorted and grainy. Corvus noted that the glass had been cracked. More than once, by the looks of it.

“Sorbear!” she trilled. “Wait, what are you doing? Who’s that?”

“This is Corvus.” Soren pointed the phone into his face and Corvus leaned back, giving a small wave.

“Hello.”

“Hiiii.” Claudia sang and Soren pulled the phone back, turning it once again to face himself. “So am I interrupting something or-”

“Nah. My friend Corvus and I were just, uh, well there was this lake and-” Soren began, but Claudia cut him off with a heavy sigh they could hear even though the phone, blowing through the speakers like distortion.

“Sureee there was. But anyway! I had something I wanted to ask you-”

Corvus did his best to tune the rest of their conversation out, feeling a bit like he was intruding even though Soren didn’t seem to mind. He pulled out his own phone, scrolling through his texts to see if he had any unread messages. His social life was as barren as he remembered it. Except for one, which pinged up onto the screen even as he was going through them.

Opeli: Do you remember the ground rules we talked about?

Corvus: Yes. Why?

Opeli: You better. No inviting “friends” over. I don’t care if I’m not there.

An image popped up after her text, grainy, like it was from a screen shot. Corvus gawked at the image of himself and Soren, arms wrapped around each other, walking down the path towards their dorm room right after the incident on the ice. Someone - Corvus had a distinct feeling he knew who - had captioned it just snog already.

Corvus was going to have some very strong words with Rayla later about what happened to people who didn’t mind their own business. Also, Soren didn’t like him that way. He might not even be queer.

Corvus thought back over the past two weeks.

Alright, he was probably queer, but that didn’t automatically mean he liked him in that way.

Corvus was about to reply to Opeli (with an equally stern message about poking her nose where it didn’t belong) when he heard Soren’s tone shift dramatically and the other man stood, letting the blanket fall off of him and back onto the couch.

“Put Claudia back on.”

“If you’d just pick up when I called I wouldn’t have to do this.” came a man’s voice from the phone, pointed and sharp, cutting through the room like a knife.

Soren stalked to the other side of the room, putting his back between Corvus and the phone.

“Put Claudia back on.” he repeated.

“I will. But first I have something to speak with you about.”

Soren pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fine. What do you want?”

“You don’t have to sound so sour about it.”

“I said what do you want?”

The man cleared his throat. “Your Mother seems to believe that you didn’t come to the cabin this year because of something I’ve done and she won’t stop needling me about it. I would appreciate it if you would just clarify things with her. Or, better yet, come and spend the holidays with your actual family and at least pretend to care.”

While he’d been speaking Soren’s hand had dropped back to his side, curling slowly into a fist. Now he spoke up again.

“First of all, it is because of you. And secondly, I do care.”

“If this is about that stupid-”

“It wasn’t stupid! And it’s not. It’s about-” Soren’s voice rose, then dropped abruptly back down. “You know what, forget it. I don’t have the energy for this. This is exactly why I didn’t go to the cabin with you. To avoid all of this bullshit.”

“If you have something to say, say it.” the man who could only have been Viren snapped. Corvus felt his own fists clench at his sides, Opeli forgotten.

“It would be a waste of breath.” Soren spat.

Corvus had never seen him like this, never heard his voice rise. The venom in his tone, the bitterness felt like it was coming from some entirely other person. Someone kept neatly locked away, hidden where no one could find them; concealed behind layers of self-deprecating humor and quickly thrown out jokes.

“Oh, you are so ungrateful.” Viren said, his own voice rising. “After everything I’ve-”

“Oh shut up!” Soren cut him off, nearly shouting now. “I’ve heard it a million times. Thanks for putting in the effort to keep me alive. Thanks for doing your job as a fucking parent. You sure haven't done it since so at least you did a really good job once.”

Viren seemed to be just as startled as Corvus was, falling silent for a moment.

“Tell Claudia to call me back later.” Soren finally said into the silence, and then he hung up.

He just stood there afterwards, hand falling to his side as he hung his head, hair flopping across his eyes. It wasn’t until Corvus reached out and put a hand on his shoulder that he seemed to remember he’d been in the room the entire time.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” he blurted, glancing up and pushing the hair back from his face. His eyes were wide and apologetic, any traces of anger quickly locked away again. “I should have taken it outside, I just got so caught up, I totally didn’t that about the fact that you were-”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Corvus asked gently, cutting him off.

“I-” Soren turned away. “Not really.”

“Okay. Then we don’t have to talk about it.”

He guided him back over to the couch, draping the blanket back around both their shoulders. Soren had started shivering again, or maybe it was adrenalin, he wasn’t really sure.

“I just wish I knew what I’d done. Why he doesn’t-” Soren broke off, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Soren. Don’t be sorry. He sounds like an asshole.”

Soren sniffed, and Corvus’ heart clenched in his chest. He wrapped an arm around the other man’s shoulder.

“He is a bit of an asshole.” Soren said after a moment.

“A bit?”

And that got a chuckle out of him. “He’s a massive asshole.”

Corvus gently guided Soren’s hands away from his face. “Soren, I’m so sorry.”

“Pfft-” Soren glanced away, hair flopping into his eyes. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because you didn’t feel like you could talk to me about… about whatever this is. And I know we haven’t been friends very long, but I want you to know that you can talk to me. About this, about anything. I don’t know what’s going on, but if I can help, I will and-”

Soren had turned back to face him, and the look in his eyes made Corvus’ voice falter.

“-I just wanted you to know that. And apologize if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about things.”

“Corvus, it’s not you. I don’t talk to anyone about things.” he admitted. “I- I’m not very good at…”

They both fell silent, at a loss for words. Corvus supposed neither of them were very good at talking about things. So he just clasped Soren’s hand between both of his and gave it a squeeze.

“Maybe we can practice, then. Together.”

“Yeah.” Soren glanced up at him, those big blue eyes staring like they could see into Corvus’ soul, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I think I’d like that.”

#fluffcember #fluffcember 2024 #fandom event #the dragon prince #soren tdp #corvus tdp #sorvus #soren fic #corvus fic #sorvus fic #my fic #modern au #viren tdp #claudia tdp #vissa #claudia fic #viren fic #vissa fic

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gaysindistress · 2 years ago

Text

Fine Line

summary: Forgetting his first love is easier said than done as memories of his best girl are the only things that Steve thinks about during the days leading up to his wedding. Not once did he think of Peggy even as she walked down the aisle or when they were pronounced husband and wife or when she refused to let him go throughout the celebrations. He hoped that with time she would leave his every waking thought but time would prove to be a cruel mistress and would not grant him such luxuries. A decade and one failed marriage later, she still hasn’t left his mind.

pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

warnings: angst, the feels

word count: 3.3k

Tag list: @vickie5446 @cakesandtom

Dial Drunk - part 2 & Cocaine Jesus - part 3

a/n: SURPRISE! I’m not fully back but I missed you guys so I’m giving you Fine Line early. Everything else will resume on 7/7 like planned. Also I’m torn between making this a series or keeping it as a one shot. What are y’all thinking?

masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

Falling in love was supposed to be the greatest accomplishment for a person. The rush of emotion, the butterflies in one’s stomach, the flush when one’s lover is near, the feeling of complete joy and fulfillment. Falling in love was supposed to be the happiest moment in one’s life. It’s meant to last forever, the eternity that a couple walks on this earth. It’s meant to persevere through any and all hardships that life throws in their way and strengthen the bond they share. Love, true love in its purest form, is meant to be the greatest healing force that nature has to offer and will provide a couple with an endless supply of cures for any ailment. Love is the one thing that people seek out the most in any and all forms but the love that is found in the arms of a lover is the most sought-after. Love is meant to be a good thing until it is not.

When love sours and turns into resentment, hatred, pain, and angst, it destroys. It becomes the ruination of once strong and powerful people. It becomes a weakness that anyone can expose, one that anyone can exploit when needed. When love fades away into nothingness, the hole that is left is permanent. It will never be filled, will never shrink, will never heal. The hole that loves leaves is a stark reminder of what was meant to be and what actually happened. It’s filled with what-ifs and theories of what could’ve been, questions left unanswered and will continue to go unanswered. When love is lost, the two lovers change and something new becomes of them. In the case of Steve Rogers, an entirely new man was forged from the fires of lost love.

At barely 22, he was faced with a decision he’d hoped would never come. Being the son of a crime boss and the natural next pick to lead, it was his duty to pick a suitable partner to support him when his time came. Of course, some standards and stipulations accompanied his decision but he quickly learned that there was a predetermined pick already in place. He had no choice, no free will to decide his own future, and with that, he would have to leave behind the love he had known since they were children.

“You can’t be serious, Dad,” Steve’s hands shook with anger as he held back the urge to smash something, anything at all.

“The Carters are very good friends of ours and Peggy is a sweet girl. She’ll make for a lovely wife,” Joseph Rogers, the current leader of the Rogers crime syndicate, explains while not batting an eye at his son’s aggression and continues to eat the roast his wife made.

“You can’t just force me into this. Mom,” he turns to Sarah who is sitting quietly at the kitchen table, “please there has to be something else, anything else.”

She only shakes her head, eyes downcast on the dark wood of the table where they’d been eating dinner as a family moments ago. Joseph spares her a very brief glance to ensure that she isn’t going to give in to her son’s pleas for help.

“What’s done is done. You will marry Peggy Carter at the end of the week and that is the end of this conversation. I do not want to hear another word about it, am I clear?” The authority in his tone forces both his wife and son into a quick nod and ‘yes sir’ as the only other sounds that fill the room are those of him cutting the meat on his plate.

Another stern look from his father has Steve returning to his seat but not without one last question, “What about…”

Joseph slams his hand on the table, rattling nearly everything and everyone as he cuts Steve off, “I said not another word and as for that girl, you will break it off and forget about her.”

Easier said than done as the thought of his best girl and leaving her are the only things that he thinks about during the days leading up to his wedding. Not once did he think of Peggy even as she walked down the aisle of the grand catholic church in her expensive white gown or when he briefly pressed his lips against hers as they were pronounced husband and wife or when she refused to let him go throughout the celebrations. Not once did Steve stop thinking of his true beloved his entire wedding day or night when he begrudgingly commenced their marriage. He hoped that with time she would leave his every waking thought but time would prove to be a cruel mistress and would not grant him such luxuries.

She inhabited every corner of his mind for the next 15 years and nothing could shake the memory of her tear-stricken face when he told her that they were done. To spare her the real pain of the truth, he lied and said that he had been seeing Peggy the entire time they were together. Whether or not a cheating revelation was really better than an arranged marriage was lost on him and he regretted every word the moment they slipped out. Of course, she hadn’t believed him, he would never do something so horrible as cheating on her. She knew him better than that, she knew him better than he knew himself so lying to her would never be successful. Yet she accepted it and didn’t pry any further, knowing that if he was lying, there was clearly something far worse happening.

He watched all love drain from her face and tears wet her skin when the lies filled her head. Everything they had built together over the last year had been ruined with two sentences; It’s over. I’ve been cheating on you with Peggy and we’re getting married.

15 years later and only God knows he would be able to make up for those lost years and cruel parting words. Rain storms around him and soaked his thick black outer coat as he stands in front of the blue door. The thunder drowns out the sound of his blood pulsing in his ears as nerves start to take over him. Should he really be here? Would she open the door for him? Hell did she even live here anymore? All sorts of questions scatter any rational thought he has. However lucky for him, the door opens and reveals her standing there and everything completely leaves his brain at the sight.

“What are you doing here?” her voice is calloused and devoid of all emotion as she stares up at him.

“H… Hi,” he stutters, his chest constricting as it works to breathe. In and out, in and out.

“What are you doing here?” she repeats.

“Can I come in?”

“It depends. Is someone dead or are you just here to reminisce?”

His hand strays from his pocket to scratch the back of his neck, an old nervous habit his father had tried to break for years.

“Either way, I don’t want you here so leave,” she says, going to close the door on him and everything that might blossom from this moment but the stray hand blocks that from happening.

“Please, I just want to talk.”

“No. Just go,” she tries again to push on the wood alas she is no match for the strength he has built up over the years and she lets out a defeated sigh.

“5 minutes. That’s all I ask.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

The smile she had only dreamt of for years finally becomes real again as it stretches across his short stubble covered face, “Not a chance in hell, honey.”

The woman steps back but only enough for him to squeeze past and invade her no longer safe space. She knew when the sleek silver car pulled up that any sense of safety would go. His showing up at her front door made her a target for any and all of his enemies after she’d spent years trying to erase any memory or sign of him from her life.

He glances around the room, taking in every detail it had to offer from the various books that lined the brick walls to the pictures of family and friends on the countertops. One, in particular, halts him. It’s a small polaroid from the first night they’d since each other since childhood tucked into the corner of a mirror that’s amidst the books. In it are two much younger versions of them smiling drunkenly with fireworks in the background.

It had been the fourth of July the year he moved back from college. Sarah, his mother, insisted that they throw a late welcome home of July party since this was the first time in four years he had been back. The college had been an escape from the greed and foulness of his father’s world but his tranquility had to be shattered when he was presented with the prophecy of him taking the Rogers family business. Sure he knew it was going to happen but being faced with the reality of it proved to be too much for him. He’d spent the afternoon sneaking away to take shots in between his beers because he needed to be drunk to not remember a thing to survive this night.

It was probably around the 5th secret shot when his sweet honey had shown up, stumbling upon him looking for the bathroom. There she stood in her cutoff Levi shorts and white tank top that showed off the red bikini top she’d worn to the lake earlier. He should’ve heard her coming down the hallway given that she was wearing flip-flops but the deafening effect of the alcohol must’ve kicked in.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she stutters, frozen with embarrassment, “I’m sorry but where is the bathroom?”

Coughing from nearly choking on his shot, he wipes at his mouth both physically and metaphorically, “Um it’s across the hall.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she whispers while closing the door.

“Wait how do you know my name?” his voice halts her and she cringes when she hears it.

“Oh uh… I guess you don’t recognize me,” she says, pushing her hair back, “I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Oh, OH,” it suddenly all clicks into place and he feels immensely guilty for all of the thoughts that had run through his head, “I should’ve known. It’s been uh… a crazy week.” “It’s all good. I’m sure your parents have paraded you around like a circus animal. Ya know, the prodigal son returns and all,” the sound of far-off laughter has her checking over her shoulder, “Anyways I should go. It was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah it was nice seeing you too,” he trails off, too caught up gawking at how short her cutoffs were and how if anyone dared to look her way, he’d been cut their eyes out.

He’d made it his mission that night to watch over her and make sure that no one got close to her. Of course, this was unbeknownst to her and any attractive guy that showed up quickly disappeared, refusing to even go near her. About 4 guys in, she’d spotted the reason for her bad luck leaning against the sliding glass door with his arms crossed over his chest. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes from behind his sunglasses, she could tell by the way his jaw was set that his death glare had scared off any and all men that approached her.

“Is there a reason why you’re ruining my chances at finding a guy?” she asked him as she came to stand at his side.

He briefly glanced at her from the corner of his eye before readjusting his arms tighter over his chest, straining his white button-down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally settled on but she doesn’t buy it for a second.

“You know exactly what you’re doing and I want to know why.”

“And what do you think I’m doing?” “Being a bitch and not asking me out yourself so you’re resorting to giving everyone the stare-down.”

He scoffed at the suggestion but deep down he knew that she was right.

“The fact that you didn’t even try and defend yourself proves I’m right so are you going to man up or pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he tried to defend himself but it was too late and she gives him an annoyed look, “Want to go inside?”

She pushed off the door, took his hand in hers, and dragged him inside, “I thought you’d never ask.”

She clears her throat, drawing his attention back to the present and he hesitantly looks at her through the mirror. She doesn’t look exactly pleased that he had seen the last photo she’d held onto but she doesn’t let her bothered attitude show and gestures for him to sit at the kitchen island.

“Why are you here?” she asks him while getting things to make iced coffee. “I wanted to see how you were,” he lies, taking a seat in the tall wicker chair she’d thrifted a few months before.

“You had 15 years to do that. Why are you really here?”

“We got divorced.”

She freezes for a moment but continues to make herself a cup and offers him one. He shakes his head, awaiting her response.

“Oh?” is all that comes out of her as the rain drones on outside.

“It had been a long time coming.”

“I’m sorry,” her body language tells another story that is the opposite of her words. The indifference is clear as she passes him a cup made to his exact preference anyways. Feeling his bright blue eyes burning holes into her skull, her own eyes flicker up and meet his, “You can’t expect me to care. You cheated on me with her and dumped me the same week you married her.”

“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t expect you to feel bad for me,” he says, taking the cup from her hands.

“But here you are; showing up at my house and begging me to open the door to what? Talk? Talk about what? You didn’t come here just to tell me that so what is it?” she pries, leaning against the sink behind her to keep as much distance as she can between them.

He takes a sip and savors the thought that she absentmindedly put into it before answering her question, “I wanted to set things straight.”

She merely raises an eyebrow but allows him to keep talking.

“My dad arranged my marriage to Peggy and forced me to break it off with you. It was… I never…. I never cheated on you.”

Eyeing him from her place, she takes a long drink from her cup to think over his revelation. Half of her laughs at him and how stupid he must be if he thinks she is really going to believe that. The other part tenses at the idea that maybe they could have been together after all if they had run away like they planned.

“I lied because I thought it would be easier than telling the truth but it made everything worse and I’m sorry, honey.”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything regardless if you lied or not. Now you’ve said what you needed to, so leave,” she tells him, pointing at the door with the cup in her hand. He can see the scar on her hand from when she broke through a window after she’d locked herself out trying to sneak back in. A smile breaks onto his face which frustrates her even more.

“Really, Steve, you need to go.”

“Is this it? Is this how it ends?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

He holds up his left hand in his defense and the carved-out space where his wedding band once sat causes her breath to hitch slightly.

“I’ve spent the last 15 years thinking about YOU and what we could’ve had. You can’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind at least once?”

She drops her gaze to her cup, unable to look at him and the anguish clear on his beautiful features, “What does it matter? It didn’t happen. You got your perfect life and I had to make my own way.”

“You were always a part of what I wanted my life to look like and what I got with Peggy was all fake. I never wanted her or any of it for a second, I just wanted you,” the lull of his voice tempts her to look up again but if she does that, she’ll break. She can only imagine the way his brows pull together from stress or how his jaw clenches to stop the emotions from overtaking his senses. She can only imagine how he’d slowly blink with that sad smile of his when she would make eye contact or how he’d lower his voice to say her name in the softest tone he could manage.

“Go.”

“Honey please look at me.”

“Go,” she tries a little louder, her grip on the cup growing tighter as she struggles to keep her composure.

“Look at me first.”

“Go,” she says one more time, “Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go”

Each go grows more and more desperate as her composure slips away from her and everything she’s suppressed from the night he left comes rushing to the surface as lava does when its volcano starts to erupt. The cup shatters under her death grip, sending pieces of glass and iced coffee everywhere. Neither of them flinch at the sound, having grown used to much worse noises thanks to his business. However, the dam within breaks, and tears slip down her nose as she spaces out on the wreckage of her anger at her feet. Steve quietly stands from the island and gathers her into his arms, pulling her away from the mess on the floor. She doesn’t fight it, wrapping her arms around his bicep as she cries into it. The comforting words he whispers into her hair go unheard but she can feel the rumble of his voice in her chest and that provides all the comfort her body craves.

Feelings of fulfillment and joy fill him as he finally holds her in his arms again but it doesn’t last long when she starts to speak.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have come here.” He pulls away a little to look down at her, “I don’t understand.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she repeats for the third time, “Things were different when we were kids but we’re grown now and too much has happened. You’ve done too much, I’ve done too much for us to be together. This won’t work.”

“We weren’t kids though,” disbelief fills his voice with uncertainty causing it to wobble.

“Yes we are,” she persists, “You were 22 and I was barely 18. We were stupid to think it was anything more than a fling.”

“A fling?” he drops his arms from her and takes a staggered step back as if she shoved him.

She turns her back to him to spare herself the look of utter hurt he wears, “Please. Just go.”

Receding footsteps mix in with the rain as he does what she asked and leaves. Her front door slams shut and the shutter shakes the house as well as her. Dropping down to her knees on the sticky floor, the tears fall now like a tidal wave and the sobs rack through her body as she blindly tries to clean up the glass shards.

Love is not meant to feel this way.

#mob au #mafia steve rogers x reader #mob steve rogers #mafia! steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mafia steve rogers #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #mafia au #fine line steve rogers

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