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not-neverland06 · 1 day ago

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𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚘𝚗

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

A/N: It's finally here, the fruits of my labor have finally come forth lol. I finally managed to get out those last few bits that I was struggling with so much. Turns out, finally getting on anti-depressants is actually a fucking game changer. Who knew?

I'd like to apologize for how long this took, but, also, I'd like to thank you all for being so supportive. I know there can be a lot of toxicity in fandoms, especially in fanfiction. I have been absolutely blessed with such wonderfully supportive, understanding, and kind readers. I want you to know that I do not take you guys for granted and absolutely love the small community I've found on here. Thank you all, and know that the epilogue is nearly finished and will be posted within the next 1-2 days, as I'm sure some of you will be wanting it after this one.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: The end is nigh. Arthur feels it in the air, the broiling tension and building hostility within the gang. Their enemies are no longer their biggest problem. Instead, they have to worry about each other now. There's betrayal at every turn and Arthur is stuck in the middle of it all, pulled incessantly between two worlds. His old life as an outlaw, and the possibility of a new one with you.

You heave the hog off your shoulder and drop it onto Pearson’s table with a heavy thud. The legs creak under the weight, groaning as though they might give way. For a moment, you hover, watching the table tremble before it steadies. Satisfied, you take a step back.

Pearson ambles out of his tent, wiping his hands on his stained apron. He spots the hog, and his face twists into a suspicious scowl. “What the hell is that?”

You give a faint grin, more out of habit than humor. “Helped a farmer down the road. Didn’t have the coin to pay me, so he gave me one of his prize hogs.”

Pearson’s frown deepens, his lips twitching as though he’s struggling to process the situation. After a beat, he shrugs. “Alright, fine.”

You scoff, the lack of gratitude digging under your skin. Would it kill him to crack a smile? Shaking your head, you turn away, irritation simmering as you leave him to his work. Maybe you’ll go for another ride tonight—most likely camping out under the stars. Anything to clear your head.

You’ve still got a few hours before sunset, so you mull over how to kill the time. A race with Sadie might do the trick. The familiar sound of hooves splashing through the mud catches your attention. Normally, you’d ignore it, but a sudden commotion pulls your focus.

Mrs. Grimshaw’s gasp pierces the air, her hands clasped over her mouth in shock. Frowning, you follow her gaze, your stomach twisting as you spot riders approaching. Their faces are blurry in the distance, but something about the way they move makes your chest tighten. Stepping closer, your heart drops like a stone.

Dutch is at the head of the group, leading his men back into camp. Those who’d been on the ferry are all there, alive and well—except for one. The absence burns hotter than the sun on your back. Anger flares like wildfire in your chest, threatening to consume you.

The others cheer and laugh, crowding around the returning riders. Your gaze locks with Micah’s, and your teeth clench so hard it hurts. Dark circles frame his eyes, and he coughs into a bloodied cloth. The sight of him—the fact that this bastard gets to live while Arthur doesn’t—is enough to make you sick.

You turn away sharply, unable to stomach the celebration. Across the camp, your eyes meet Sadie’s. She’s leaning against the cabin, her face a mask of restrained fury. The sight of Dutch soaking up the adoration like a starving dog gnaws at what’s left of your patience.

You can feel it slipping away—your peace, your freedom. Dutch’s return threatens to drag it all back into the muck. But not this time. You swear it, not this time.

Dutch Van der Linde isn’t your leader. He isn’t your friend or your family. He’s nothing but a man who takes and takes until there’s nothing left.

Your gaze hardens on his back, your lips curling in quiet defiance. Tonight, you’re leaving—for good. Damn the gang. Damn this camp. And damn Dutch Van der Linde.

Arthur finds Diablo waiting for him at Shady Belle, as though the horse knew exactly where he’d return. He walks up to him, rubbing the horse’s nose gently. He finds an apple and gives it to Diablo, relishing in the familiar connection.

He’d known, deep down, when he was on his way here, that the gang wouldn’t be around. There was no way they could stay near St. Denis after what happened. Still, when he doesn’t see you immediately, the gut-deep ache doesn’t fade, even if he’d expected it.

The note Sadie leaves is easy enough to figure out. Going off the hooves circling around the house, he’s sure the men who were ahead of him discovered the location too. Mounting Diablo and riding off toward camp is such an achingly familiar feeling it almost hurts. After weeks in Guarma, scorched by the sun and tortured by corrupt politicians, riding Diablo feels like a return to something sacred, something he can’t quite explain.

Reacclimating himself to the feeling of riding a horse isn’t an arduous task, but it is uncomfortable at first. He’d walked across every inch of Guarma, then spent weeks on a boat. It’s been so long since he felt the freedom of the open plains.

Arthur looks toward the horizon, to the setting sun and the golden light casting its net across the world before him. It won’t be much longer until he’s back with you. He’s almost looking forward to hearing you say ‘I told you so.’

It’s not much longer before he’s riding through the muddy puddles in front of the cabins deep in the moors. Sadie is the first to see him. Her head is ducked, eyes down as she speaks in hushed whispers with you. Your back is to him and he doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not. The idea of a reunion has felt like a distant dream, he’s not sure if he’s truly ready to see you again.

Sadie’s head lifts slightly, eyes locking on his. Her face goes slack with shock, cheeks pale, and eyes wide. “Sadie?” You ask, and your voice is like a balm over all his aches and pains. “What is it?” You don’t look,as stubborn as ever, you nudge at Sadie’s shoulder, waiting for an answer.

She spares you a brief glance as Arthur dismounts, eyes still stuck on him. “Turn your ass around and look,” she demands, her voice a mix of disbelief and wonder.

Arthur doesn’t notice the way Sadie throws herself at him, her arms wrapping around him, pulling back, and slapping his shoulder. He’s too focused on you. Your shoulders are stiff, fists curled tight like you know he’s there but can’t bear to turn around. In all his time thinking of this moment, of seeing you again. He’d forgotten something very important.

Finally, you turn around. Arthur grins, the relief in his chest rising. “Well?” He teases, arms open wide as he narrows his eyes at you. “Aren’t you gonna say hi?”

You don’t answer, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you look close to tears. Arthur’s brow furrows in confusion. He thought you’d at least look happy to see him. “Arthur Morgan,” Sadie chides from beside him, though her grin betrays her. “I thought you were dead, you bastard.”

Arthur feels his heart drop, finally realizing why you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost. He was gone for weeks, last you heard he’d been on a ship. And word had probably gotten around that they’d been shipwrecked. Weeks without word, the shipwreck, and the rumors that must’ve circulated. He hadn’t thought for a second that you might actually believe he’d left you behind. After the way you’d parted, he supposes he didn’t do enough to convince you otherwise.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, chest clenching tight, “I-”

You take quick steps toward him, boots splashing through the mud. He mutters your name lowly, an apology and a promise laced between the syllables. You suck in a sharp breath and he thinks you might hug him. Before he can say anything else, his head is whipping to the side, cheek stinging.

Your hand lingers in the air for a moment, as if still caught in disbelief. You stare at him, your eyes wide, voice trembling. “Arthur?” you whisper, your words barely audible, your face crumpling under the weight of the truth.

You surge forward, grabbing the collar of his tattered shirt and dragging him down. You surge up, pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly matches his own. He can taste the salt of your tears as you kiss him, the way they streak down your cheeks.

Arthur’s heart drops. He’s used to being a disappointment to the people around him. He’s experienced this a hundred times. His relationship with Mary was no exception, he should be used to this pain by now. But knowing he’s failed you, makes it hurt worse than it ever has before. Arthur grabs you by the waist, desperate to make up for everything. He pulls you as close as he can get, pressing his lips to yours.

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, desperation nearly a physical thing as you return his touch. You hold each other as though this kiss could somehow erase the weeks of suffering you’d both endured.

He doesn’t want to let go again. Arthur never wants to see that heartbroken look on your face. And he doesn’t ever want to be the cause for it, not anymore. The ache in his chest loosens as he breathes you in like you’re the only air he’ll ever need. Arthur won’t let you go again, he swears it to himself, because he knows you won’t ever believe him again.

You and Arthur sit toward the back of the cabin, away from the heart of the gathering. Everyone had been thrilled to see him alive, their greetings warm yet subdued, their relief tempered by everything they’d been through in his absence.

Your hand rests loosely in his, a token of comfort you hardly seem aware of offering. Arthur studies your face as you listen to Dutch’s grand retelling of Guarma, your narrowed eyes betraying the skepticism simmering beneath your otherwise still expression. Each time Dutch embellishes a detail, you flick your gaze toward Arthur, silently searching his expression for the truth. The scrutiny makes Arthur shift uncomfortably, though he knows it’s not unwarranted.

“I truly do not know how you all made out so well here.” Dutch comments, lips curled slightly as he glances around at the thick layers of dust and dirt coating the walls

Tilly grins eagerly, motioning toward you and Sadie. “It was all Mrs. Rowe and Sadie, they found this place. They been taking care of everything.”

Arthur’s brows furrow as he watches a sheepish smile grow on your face. He squeezes your hand and you glance toward him. He lifts his brow in question and you nod your head. “Ain’t been doin’ much,” you tell him, shrugging.

Sadie must hear you because she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You kiddin’ me? Once you finally stopped mopin’, you were the only reason we didn’t all lose our minds.” Your smile tightens, the edges hardening as your shoulders stiffen.

“Well,” Dutch interrupts smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension. He fixes you with a look, and you straighten under his gaze. “I suppose I should thank the both of you for holding things together.”

“Suppose you should,” you reply sharply, meeting his eyes without flinching. “Or maybe you could apologize for that half-assed plan that got us stuck in this mess in the first place.”

Arthur’s hand tightens on yours, his voice low and warning. “Don’t—”

You whip around, glaring at him, and he’s startled by the fire in your eyes. Without a word, you yank your hand free and stand. Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Dutch steps forward, his gaze narrowed in on you.

The tension is interrupted by the door bursting open behind Dutch. Bill stumbles in, his face red and sweaty. “Go’damn!” he bellows, his chest heaving. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all damn day. Had to ask every soul in town where the hell you were.”

Arthur’s gut twists. He bolts to his feet, striding toward you and Bill. “What’dya mean you asked around town?”

Bill falters, his face draining of color. His lips part as if to speak, but the words are stolen by a booming voice from outside.

“This is Agent Milton,” the voice calls. The blood drains from Arthur’s face as he grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. “You have one minute to surrender before my men decide to take you in dead.”

“Dammit, Bill, you fool,” Arthur growls, the words biting through clenched teeth. His mind races as he grips your arm firmly. He knows the men outside won’t hesitate. They aren’t the type to spare the women or the children. They’ll gun you down just for being around him and the others. He tugs you closer, instinct has him shielding you from the chaos as best he can.

Milton doesn’t wait for the countdown. “Forget it,” he barks. “Start shooting.”

The first bullets shatter the cabin’s windows, sending shards of glass spraying like rain. Arthur curls his body around yours, as the rest of the gang scatters, some diving to the floor, others scrambling for cover. A lamp explodes nearby, and the oil catches fire, dripping to the floor and licking at the walls.

Arthur’s focus is on you, but you’ve already moved. You duck and grab a rifle from beneath a cot, slinging it over your shoulder. There’s no hesitation, no look back for approval. You dart toward the door, your movements swift and purposeful.

“Wait, dammit, don’t!” Arthur shouts, but you’re already outside, firing before the Pinkertons can adjust their aim. The sun has dipped below the fire, he only spots you through flashes of bullets and the fire steadily growing behind him. He tugs his revolver out, shooting wildly, the Pinkertons are swarming out of the forest like wolves, there's no point in aiming now.

Arthur follows along behind you, taking cover behind a wagon as some of the others pick up their own guns. He spots Sadie running past him, shouting something indecipherable as she takes out the Maxim gun. Blood flies as bullets make their marks, after weeks on a boat it almost feels foreign to feel the warmth of someone else’s life pressing against him.

Through the chaos, he watches you move with precision, directing shots with a cold efficiency that makes his chest tighten. You’re not the woman he left behind. You’re faster, bolder, and sharper, your confidence and stupidity is clear as you throw yourself into the center of danger, taking aim at some of the men on the roofs of the cabins.

Arthur sees another man creeping up behind you. His gun has been abandoned somewhere, he only has a machete in his hand now, arm arcing down toward your head. Weeks without practice might have left him slower than he used to be, but he’s still quick enough to shoot the blade out of the man’s hand.

You flinch at the shot, whipping around with a pinched expression. The attacker shouts, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. Without hesitation, you rise and swing the butt of your rifle at the back of his skull. The man crumples face-first into the mud, lifeless. You don’t even look at him again, your focus snapping back to the fight as you resume shooting, each shot clean and deliberate.

The tide of the fight begins to shift. Once Sadie got ahold of the maxim, the Pinkertons had no choice but to start their retreat. Even outnumbered fifty to one, the gang still has some fight left in them. But it’s a fragile victory, and Arthur knows it won’t last.

He weaves his way toward you, his mind racing, but you speak first before he can get a word out.

“They’ll regroup,” you say, your voice firm but low. “We need to track them into the woods, pick them off before they get away.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “What’re you talkin’ about?” His voice is sharper than he intends. “You’re stayin’ right here. You hear me? I’ll deal with it.”

Your face screws up and it’s the first time you’ve given him a glance of the anger that had been burning under the surface. You go silent, lips set in a firm line before you glance over his shoulder. “They’re getting away,” you tell him quietly. “You can stay here if you want, but I’m going after the rest with Sadie and Charles.”

You move around him without waiting for a response, your rifle brushing his arm in a way that feels deliberate, distant. The message is clear: you no longer need his protection. Arthur watches, stunned, as you stride toward the others.

For a moment, he stands frozen, the weight of the realization sinking in. The way you fight now, the fire in your eyes, the complete lack of hesitation, it’s all different. You’ve become someone who doesn’t need him, someone who’s learned to stand alone.

His chest tightens as he mounts Diablo, his gaze flickering toward you one last time before spurring the horse forward. He’ll follow the Pinkertons like you suggested. But even as he rides, a different battle churns inside him.

This isn’t something a few dead Pinkertons will fix. The distance between you both is growing and for the first time, Arthur feels powerless to stop it.

Dutch moved them down to Beaver Hollow, it’s a nice enough spot near the base of the mountains. The only problem is a bad brood of folk called the Murfree’s. A bunch of animals masquerading as men, cannibalizing people, and taking women without a care. Arthur hates the idea of you being anywhere near them. He’s doing his best to keep you in camp and you don’t argue. Arthur’s surprised at your easygoing obedience after what happened at the other camp.

He’s getting worried about you. You’re quiet more often than not, you don’t bite back at Dutch or Micah like you usually would. And you’re more on edge than he’s ever seen you. He tries to talk to you about it, to understand what’s going on with you, but you won’t tell him.

You always just say you’re worried about what’s going to happen when everything finally goes wrong. He thinks he knows what you mean, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. Too many times has he been told that the reign of outlaws is over. There’s no room left for them anymore.

When he was a boy, he would have thought that the time of outlaws was immortal. It’s easy when you’re young and foolish to think that you’re invincible, that nothing can ever touch you. He sees everything coming close to an end now, though. Despite the elation of their return back to a land they know, nothing’s the same.

Micah’s only gotten worse since they returned from their shipwrecked time in Guarma. He’s always coughing, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. A doctor down in St. Denis told him it was tuberculosis a while back, Arthur knows that their time on the island only further agitated the disease. Since then, he’s been angrier, always whispering in Dutch’s ear.

And Dutch, he won’t listen to Arthur anymore. Since the Pinkertons turned up at the cabins, he has it in his head that everyone’s a traitor. The only person he’ll trust is the one whispering poison into his ear. It drives Arthur mad. He keeps trying to get Dutch to tell him what’s going to happen next but he just says the same thing every time. “I have a plan, Arthur. Don’t you trust me?”

Before Guarma, before the O’Driscolls, before you, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t trust him anymore, he can’t. Not after Dutch left him for dead, and then Sean and John. Sadie and Arthur had to go bust them both out of the chain gang they’d been working at in jail. It had been a mess and a half but when they’d returned to camp the only thing Dutch had to say was, “I had a plan.”

He’d been angry at them for rescuing the men and Arthur couldn’t understand why. He never would have left them to rot if Hosea were still here.

The thought of the old man’s death leaves an ache in Arthur’s chest. He keeps picturing him lying on the St. Denis road, bleeding out. He knows Dutch couldn’t have done a damn thing about it, that bastard Milton was never going to spare him. But, if he had been given the opportunity to save Hosea by turning himself in, Arthur knows he wouldn’t have taken the chance. Dutch has grown selfish and arrogant, prioritizing himself over the rest of the gang and it only makes Arthur’s resentment grow.

Still, he can’t help but see him as the man who’d taken him off the streets. Dutch and Hosea had taught him how to shoot, how to read and write. They’re the reason he knows how to hunt and make it on his own in the wild. How can he turn against the man who raised him to be who he is today?

You shift restlessly beside him, turning out of his hold and onto your side. Arthur frowns at the action, placing a light hand on your arm. You don’t shrug out from under his touch but you don’t reciprocate. You’ve turned cold and it’s only making everything harder.

“I want to leave,” you whisper, and he startles slightly, thinking you’ve been asleep this whole time.

“Huntin’?” Even as he speaks, he knows it’s not what you want, but he tries anyway.

You scoff, the noise bitter and angry. “No.” You tell him shortly, tone clipped as you rise from the cot. Without another glance at him, you start changing out of your nightgown. Arthur sits up slowly, watching you. He doesn’t know what he’s done to spark this sudden shift in you, but the tension is near suffocating. “You have to see it, Arthur,” you say, pulling up your pants and tightening the belt. You glance over your shoulder, your expression is expectant, almost pleading.

He lets out a rough sigh, figuring that there’s no chance of convincing you to rest a little longer. “See what?” He asks, dragging his hand over the stubble on his jaw. A low groan slips from his lips as he gets to his feet, back protesting at the too-small cot.

“This,” you motion wildly, arms swinging out towards the camp that waits outside the closed flaps of his tent. “All of this, Arthur. It’s coming to an end. I can feel it,” you tell him, voice impassioned with fear and urgency. “There’s only so far we can run.”

Arthur looks away from you, shrugging on his shirt. “I know it’s hard right now. But Dutch-”

“Has a plan?” You snap, taking a step closer to him. Your brows knit tightly together, anger burning hot behind your eyes. You swat his hands away as he fumbles with a button, doing his shirt up for him. Even in your frustration, you can’t help but help him. It’s oddly endearing, despite the tension yawning between you. “He’s gonna get us to Tahiti?” You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm as you roll your eyes. You smooth out his collar before stepping back, movements curt and precise.

He reaches forward, hands catching your waist and tugging you back toward him before you can get far. You don’t meet his eyes, stubbornly looking away, but you don’t stop him from pulling you closer.

“We’ll leave,” your head whips towards him, face lighting up with hope. He winces, wishing he was more clever with his words. “For a few days,” he clarifies and your eyes narrow into irritated slits.

“I promise, what happened in St. Denis isn’t going to ever happen again.” He needs you to believe him, to understand just how much of a fool he felt like getting on that boat with Dutch. They hadn’t truly had another choice, but if he had a chance to do it all again he would have ran away with Charles. He never would have even left you at camp.

“After a certain point, Arthur,” you squeeze his hand in yours and he feels just a little bit of relief at you finally returning his touch. “Your promises stop meaning much when you don’t keep them,” you slip out of his hold and his face falls flat, chest caving slightly. “But, sure, we’ll leave for a few days,” you shake your head, slipping out from his tent as he stares at the spot you’d once occupied.

How had things gotten so bad?

“And where are you going, Mrs. Rowe?”

Arthur turns toward the sound of Dutch’s voice, spotting him standing near Pearson’s station. He looks for all the world like he’s at ease, but the tense set of his shoulders and twitch at the corners of his lips betray him. Arthur’s gaze shifts to you, standing by Lady, one hand gripping the reins of the restless mare.

“For a ride,” you say curtly, your tone flat and face pointedly blank. “What’s it look like?”

Arthur’s stomach knots as he notices the tension in the air. You’re already gripping the horn of Lady’s saddle, pulling yourself up with practiced ease. Arthur watches as you glance down at Dutch, your expression hardening and eyes slit in challenge.

Dutch steps closer, his mouth curving into a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I understand things were run a little differently while we were gone. But I don’t think you going out alone is what’s smart right now-”

“Frankly, Mr. Van der Linde,” you interrupt, voice laced with venom, “I don’t give a damn what you think. I’m going for a ride.”

Arthur watches the muscle in Dutch’s jaw tighten, the flare of his nostrils betraying his irritation. Dutch turns to him, his eyes sharp, searching Arthur’s face for the usual complacent obedience.

Arthur whistles, and Diablo trots up to him obediently. Swinging into the saddle, he shoots you a quick look. “You heard the lady. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

The trail you lead him down is unfamiliar, winding through thick trees and rocky inclines. Arthur catches himself stealing glances at you- the way you sit tall in the saddle, the ease with which you guide Lady over uneven terrain. He tries to meet your eye, but each time, you only offer him small, polite smiles. They feel hollow, and it gnaws at him.

The silence stretches, prickling at his nerves. Finally, he speaks, voice cutting through the suffocating stillness. “Alright. Where are we goin’?”

You glance at him briefly, nodding toward the mountains in the distance. “Meeting up with Charles and the local tribe. I’ve helped them hunt a few times, but,” you trail off slightly, voice growing heavy, “they’ve been having problems.”

Arthur raises a brow. “Problems?”

You hesitate, your jaw tightening. “With the military,” you admit.

He doesn’t feel like you’re telling the whole truth and he can’t help but prod you further. “What kind of problems?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting in your saddle. “The kind Dutch has been making worse.” You shoot him a pointed look and his jaw clenches at the blame lurking in your gaze. “He’s been riling up the chief’s son, getting him involved in jobs he shouldn’t.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, his brows furrowed as he struggles to think of Dutch’s reasoning for getting involved with the local tribe. Though, it’s not as if he’s been involving him in many plans lately. “Why would Dutch do that?”

Your head snaps toward him, your eyes filled with pent-up ire that’s been waiting to spill over. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Hey, now,” Arthur objects defensively, his tone growing just as sharp as yours. “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You fall silent, your expression flattening as you look ahead again. The weight of your resentment hangs heavy between you, unspoken but undeniable. Arthur feels it like a stone in his chest, and it makes his teeth grind.

Arthur isn’t sure what he expected, but the sight before him twists his gut. Women huddle around children, feeding them thin soup from chipped bowls. Elderly men and women cough into bloodstained rags, their frail bodies barely covered by thin blankets. The air smells of sickness and desperation.

Arthur glances at you, but you’re already dismounting and striding toward the center of the settlement. Despite the distrustful stares from the tribe members, you move with purpose, your shoulders squared.

Charles stands near an older man, his voice low but urgent. Arthur catches the tail end of the conversation. “…my people will not survive this much longer,” the man says, his voice weary but resolute.

Arthur follows behind you as you approach. The man carries himself with a quiet strength, but his face is lined with worry and it’s ageing him by the minute. There’s a glint of familiarity in his eyes as you approach and he nods his head in greeting.

“Arthur, this is Rains Fall, he’s the chief of this tribe,” you explain to Arthur, introducing the two. “He-”

“I know you,” Rains Fall interrupts, still looking at Arthur. “You were there in the city. Your leader was meant to help my people.” He shakes his head, and Arthur sees the pain of being betrayed one too many times in the old man’s face. “Now the military is holding our medicine hostage.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene. It’s worse than he imagined. He’s heard the stories—the government stealing land, taking children—but seeing it up close is something else entirely.

Being associated with Dutch has never brought about anything but pride. But standing here, seeing the people he’s taking advantage of, he’s overcome with shame. Rains Fall speaks again, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “If we cannot retrieve the vaccines soon, we will lose many more. My people are already weakened.”

Arthur looks to Charles, who meets his gaze with grim determination. “We’re going to get the medicine back.” he tells him, and Arthur knows that you’re going to help, whether he wants you to or not. “The officer’s camp isn’t too much further down the mountain. But we can’t risk this looking like the tribe’s retaliating, it’s why I need your help, Arthur.”

Arthur and Charles are close, perhaps not as close as they should be. But they respect one another. Right now, Charles isn’t just asking for a favor, he’s asking for the help of a friend. Of a brother. And Arthur won’t allow himself to keep disappointing the people he cares about.

Arthur nods, his decision immediate. But the truth burns in his chest: Dutch’s hand is in this. Somehow, the man he once idolized has turned these people’s suffering into a means to an end.

He glances at you, and your expression says it all. This is what you’ve been trying to warn him about. The look you give him is sharp, almost scolding, as if to say I told you so. Arthur doesn’t have the words to argue—not this time.

The conversation with Rains Fall and Charles winds down, and the three of you prepare to part ways. Arthur adjusts his hat, turning toward you. “You comin’?”

You pause, exchanging a glance with Charles. The look between you is brief but meaningful, and Arthur feels a pang of something he can’t quite name.

“We’ll catch up,” you say simply, your tone dismissive.

Arthur hesitates, searching your face for… something. An explanation? Reassurance? But you’ve already turned away, speaking quietly with Charles. He lingers for a moment longer, then mounts Diablo.

Arthur finds himself screwing up more often than not lately. But letting Dutch know about the plans for the tribe, has to be one of the stupider things he’s ever done. Dutch wants to get involved, of course, for the good of the natives, he claims. Arthur knows him, though, he knows it’s more than that.

Together, they go and find Eagle Flies, the chief’s son. He’s already with his own band of men, each of them young and healthy, the few fighters their tribe has left. Their plan to get the medicine back, to stick it to the military, is far more violent and grand than yours and Charles had been.

“This is the dumbest idea I have ever heard,” Arthur tells Eagle Flies, glaring down at the dynamite in his hand. He turns toward Dutch, expression disbelieving, “I can’t believe you’re encouragin’ this!”

“Encouraging what, Arthur? These young men to fight for their home, their land back. I’m disappointed in you son,” Dutch chides, and the way he says son rubs Arthur the wrong way. “I thought you, of all people, would support a cause such as this.”

“I support the cause,” Arthur snaps, snatching the dynamite out of Eagle Flies hand, “but I cannot support acting like damn fools and getting yourselves killed.” He turns toward the boy, imploring him to see reason, not to listen to Dutch’s silver tongue. “My friend has a plan for your people, he can get the medicine back. And he can do it without getting anyone killed.”

“What is the point in that?” Eagle Flies growls, taking the dynamite back from Arthur. “You want us to just lay down, belly up like dogs and let these men take everything from us? You would have us stay quiet instead of fighting back? The only way your people hear us, is if we make ourselves loud.”

He steps back, looking around Arthur to Dutch. “Tonight, we’re going to their camp and we will send them a proper message. You can join us or not,” he snaps, storming back toward his men.

“Dutch-”

“I’m disappointed in you, Arthur,” Dutch starts, shaking his head as he makes his way back to the horses. “Not just for this, but for how you’ve been acting lately.”

Arthur stops in front of Diablo, eyes narrowed on Dutch, “And how have I been actin’?” He snaps, tired of the superiority that Dutch carries himself with, as if he’s not trying to get these boys killed.

Dutch stares down at him, distrust and suspicion lingering between the both of them, “Like someone I can’t trust.”

“Well,” Arthur shakes his head and mounts Diablo. “I guess we both feel the same, then.”

Charles is furious as Arthur tells him Eagle Flies plan to blow up the military encampment and steal back not just the vaccines, but the deed to their people’s land. “We had a plan,” Charles shouts, the first time Arthur has ever truly seen him lose his temper.

“Arthur,” you start, letting out a low sigh. “Why did you tell him?” He doesn’t need you to say his name for him to know who you’re talking about.

“I thought,” he can’t finish his sentence. Too ashamed of what the end might be. He thought that, maybe, you were all wrong, that Dutch could still be relied on. That the man he once knew was still in there somewhere. It felt too childish to admit out loud.

“We’ll need the others,” you start when it's clear Arthur doesn’t have a reasonable excuse. “We won’t be able to stop Eagle Flies on our own. Especially not if he actually picks a fight with the military.”

It doesn’t take long to gather the rest of the gang, some of them ready to join Dutch as he goes to see Eagle Flies. But Arthur knows that he’s doing this for the wrong reason. He doesn’t understand what Dutch thinks he can gain from exploiting the tribe, and he knows that Dutch is never going to share it with him.

The ride toward the military encampment is quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. Eagle Flies and the other men are already moving around the area when they arrive, dynamite placed and ready to ignite. Their faces are set with the determined fury of men ready to face death.

Charles brings Taima to a harsh stop and swings down before she’s fully still. He heads straight toward Eagle Flies, face tight with anger. “What the hell are you doing?” He demands, voice sharp as he jerks the boy forward by his arm. “We had a plan! Your father-”

“My father would do nothing!” He snaps, ripping his arm out of Charles's grasp. His hands ball into tight fists at his side, as though he’s prepared to take his anger out on anyone close enough. “He waits, and we die slow. The army has taken everything from us, and you want me to stand by and watch?”

Arthur dismounts from Diablo, mud splashing around his boots as they hit the ground. “You blow this place sky-high, you think they’re just gonna walk away? They’ll come down even harder on your people.”

Eagle Flies’ expression flickers for a brief moment, the weight of his father’s disappointment visible in the tightness of his jaw. Before he can respond, a sharp sound cracks through the night. Everyone turns to face it as another breaks the silence. A gunshot, clear as day.

Chaos erupts instantly, soldiers startling from their tents and returning from their watch along the treeline. They run forward, rifles raised, gunfire already ringing out through the night. “Shit!” Arthur curses, reaching for his revolver.

As he turns to run for cover, the rest of the gang scattering, he realizes that he can’t find Dutch. He doesn’t want to assume the worst, he can’t. But he wasn’t beside Arthur when the first shot rang out, and the soldiers didn’t even know they were there yet.

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought as the first explosion detonates prematurely. A fireball launches to the sky, the ground below him shaking as though it’s about to split open. The horses make a run for it, bucking off riders and racing for cover. Shouted orders and screams become one cacophony as he finds cover. He fires from behind a stack of crates, bullets disappearing into the dark of the night, but the return fire is relentless.

Arthur has lost sight of everyone, you, Charles, he sees no one except the soldiers bearing down on him.

He grits his teeth and keeps shooting, even as the fire begins to spread across the dry grass and smoke fills his lungs. He sees one, two, three men drop before he’s forced to reload. As he turns, he spots Dutch nearby, moving through the smoke and fire with a calculated calm. For a brief moment, Arthur feels a flash of relief, if only to see one familiar face.

Then, something slams into him. He’s knocked to the dirt, teeth rattling from the force. A soldier grapples Arthur and raises his arm, a knife flashing in the firelight as he swings it toward Arthur’s throat. He catches his wrist just in time, muscles straining and breath ragged as he holds the soldier back. The blade trembles inches from his neck, the soldier’s weight pressing him further into the suffocating earth.

“Dutch!” Arthur chokes out, struggling to keep the knife at bay. “Dutch, help me!”

He sees Dutch stop and turn to face him. The gunshots have lessened, soldiers dropping to the ground like flies as the gang swarms over them. Dutch has nothing to worry about as he watches Arthur. Yet, his eyes are unreadable, cold in a way Arthur has never seen before. He looks at Arthur for a long time. Then he turns.

And runs.

Arthur’s grip slips, for a horrifying second, he nearly lets the knife drive through his throat. The shock and betrayal hits him like a punch to the gut. But before the knife can land, a wet, gurgling sound fills the air. The soldier jerks, eyes going wide and face paling as blood spills from his lips.

Eagle Flies stands behind him, his knife buried deep in the man’s throat. He rips it out without a care and the body slumps to the ground. Arthur remains in a state of shock as Eagle Flies offers his hand. He hesitates, only for a second, before grasping it and hauling himself to his feet. He barely has a moment to catch his breath before another shot rings out.

Eagle Flies gasps, his body jerking to the side as blood blossoms from his ribs. “No!” Arthur shouts, whipping around and putting a bullet between the eyes of the soldier who fired the shot. The man drops, but Arthur barely pays attention as he turns back to the boy. He grabs Eagle Flies as he wavers, slinging his arm over his shoulder.

“Come on, kid. We’re gettin’ outta here,” he swears. Eagle Flies groans in pain but doesn’t argue. Arthur grits his teeth, half-dragging and half-carrying him away from the battlefield, bullets whizzing past him.

He stumbles through the trees as the soldiers scream, wildfire consuming them quicker than his revolver ever would. He hears your voice over the sounds of death, sharp with desperation. “Where’s Arthur?” You shout and he lifts his head. You stand by the horses, face tight with worry and finger twitching close to the trigger.

Dutch stands in front of you, expression impassive. “Where the hell is he?” You demand, stepping back from Dutch and raising the rifle to be level with his face.

“Here,” Arthur calls out before you put a bullet in the man’s skull. You spin, your relief immediate but fleeting as your eyes fall on Eagle Flies slumped in his arms. Charles steps forward, his face contorting with grief as he looks at the boy.

Arthur meets Dutch’s eye, something flickers in the man’s expression, something that could be shame if Arthur didn’t know better. He stares at him, and for the first time, he sees Dutch for what he truly is. A liar, a coward. And a man who would leave him to die.

“I’m takin’ him home,” he turns his back to Dutch and prepares for the long ride back.

He pushes Diablo faster than he ever has, heels digging into the shire’s side as he pushes him over the edge. Eagle Flies is only getting weaker and he can’t return another dead son to Rains Fall. He can’t be the reason that the rest of his family dies.

He knows, though, that there is no chance of survival for a wound like Eagle Flies. No herbal remedy or medicine could fix this. But the least he could do is give them one last moment together.

When he rides back onto the reservation, Rains Fall is already waiting to greet them. He rushes forward, face stricken as he sees his son slumped against Arthur’s back. Charles walks over, helping Arthur gently lower Eagle Flies from his horse.

Rains Fall kneels beside his son, quickly scooping him into his arms and pressing his forehead to his. Eagle Flies is too weak for words by this point, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into his father’s embrace.

“You brought him back,” Rains Fall murmurs, his voice breaking. Arthur nods, not trusting himself to speak. The chief closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they’re wet with sorrow. “This land will never be safe for us. We must go. Find somewhere else to settle.”

Arthur looks away, knowing nothing he could say would ever fix this. He could never salve over a wound like this with something as trivial as empty promises or kind words. You and Charles stand at his side, watching Eagle Flies take in his last shuddering breath. The disappointment is palpable.

He can’t face it any longer. Can’t face the death or the grief that seems to follow him wherever he goes. Without a word, Arthur mounts his horse and rides off into the night, leaving the weight of it all behind him.

And he knows, deep in his very soul, that nothing will ever be the same again.

The trail lightens as the sun begins to rise. The sounds of the reservation fade behind him, swallowed by the rustling trees and the distant call of an owl. He rides without direction, without thought, just the steady rhythm of Diablo’s hooves against the earth, carrying him further from everything he no longer knows how to fix.

Then, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Oh!” Someone shouts from the trees, “You goddamn, useless,” the man’s voice trails off into a series of expletives that’s too quick for Arthur to make out. Face pinched in confusion, he nudges Diablo forward, leading him towards the man.

An old man stands in the middle of a clearing, hopping around on one leg, fist waving wildly in the air as he curses to himself. Arthur chuckles to himself, watching the man plop to the ground with a huff. He reaches down and rolls his pant leg up, revealing a stump where his leg should be.

Arthur frowns, slipping off Diablo and moving closer to the stranger. He’s barely got a chance to greet him before the man's whipping out his revolver, eyes narrowed in suspicion as Arthur approaches.

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, sonny.” The man tells him, pulling back the hammer of the gun.

Arthur puts his hands up in surrender, shaking his head, “I’m not lookin’ to cause any. Only wanted to see if you needed any help.”

The man’s eyes turn into thin slits, lips pursed as he eyes Arthur up and down. He looks the part of an outlaw, but right now the stranger doesn’t have much choice but to trust him. He lets out a heavy sigh and puts his gun down. “Hamish Sinclair,” he offers as an introduction. Arthur gives him his name and Hamish gives him a brief smile.

“Forgive my poor manners, don’t see much of anyone ‘cept those Murfree folk.”

Arthur shakes his head in dismissal, taking a step closer. “It’s fine. You wanna tell me what’s got you out here shoutin’ at the sky?” He can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out when he sees how Hamish’s shoulders slump in embarrassment.

“It’s my damn horse, Buell, bucked me off, took my leg with him.” He gestures vaguely behind Arthur with a huff, “ran off that way.” Arthur nods, grabbing his rope off Diablo and heading off. “Feel free to shoot him,” Hamish shouts from behind him, “bastard’s caused me enough trouble.”

Arthur laughs quietly to himself, Hamish reminds him a bit of you.

It doesn’t take long to find the horse. But Hamish wasn’t lying, he was a right bastard. It was more of a chore than Arthur thought it would be to get him lassoed and corraled back to the old man.

Hamish’s leg, as he’d promised, was still tucked into the stirrup, the wooden appendage waving in the wind as Buell stomped around. “Oh!” Hamish shouts, waving his hand as Arthur brings the horse forward. “Shoot the son of a bitch, I’ll go get me somethin’ nicer,” he mutters, reluctantly bringing a hand up to pet Buell’s nose.

Arthur offers Hamish a hand up, holding the wooden leg out for him to take. Hamish holds himself steady on a nearby rock and latches the leg back on. “Cannonball,” he says idly.

“Which war?”

“Civil, whatchu think?” Hamish snaps, narrowing his eyes at Arthur and shaking his head. “Named this damn thing,” he lays a heavy hand on Buell's side, “after my commander. They were both pains in my ass, and they both cost me my damn leg.” Hamish laughs at himself, swinging up onto the saddle and glancing down at Arthur. “Comin’ or not?”

Perhaps it’s the loss of Hosea that has Arthur following this man. Or maybe it’s just the need for a moment of escape. Either way, he finds himself mounting Diablo and following after him. “What were you doin’ out here, anyway?”

Hamish digs his heel into Buell’s side with a huff, driving the horse down a small path Arthur wouldn’t have found on his own. “I went out to get some bait. Got this pike that’s been eatin’ all the fish in my creek,” he turns and gives Arthur a wild grin over his shoulder. “I’m lookin’ to turn it into my dinner.”

A smile curls upon Arthur’s lips, something uninvited and unnoticed. Things in camp have been so tense, every conversation with you or Dutch just feels like a noose tightening around his neck. He’s being drawn in so many different directions that he’s forgotten what it feels like to just talk to someone without any ulterior motives. There’s no hidden message within Hamish’s gaze or underlying threat to his words. For right now, he can just ride and pretend that all is fine within his world.

“Can’t seem to get the damn thing on my own, maybe you’ll have better luck. You seem a touch spryer than myself.”

Arthur snorts and shoots the old man an amused look, “A touch?”

“Hey,” Hamish warns, tone light as he grins, “I may be weathered, but I can still take you down, sonny.” Arthur raises his hands in surrender, bowing his head in defeat as Hamish lets out a low chuckle. “Gotta say, been a while since I hollered at anyone ‘cept those Murfree boys. It’s quiet out here, that’s for sure.”

Arthur takes in the scenery around him. The way the sunlight just barely parts through the thick cover of trees and shines across the creek running beside them. The deer he can hear rustling off in the distance. There’s a whole other world around him, one he hasn’t been a part of in a very long time.

“Quiet’s what I’m looking for,” he mutters, not much thought behind the words as he makes note of a bunch of wildflowers. They look like some you used to pick for the tent.

“No point in quiet when you’re all alone,” Hamish chides softly, a heavy sadness hangs off his shoulders that Arthur’s not sure he’s ready to dissect. Hamish doesn’t leave him worrying for long, shooting Arthur a quick smile and shaking away the emotions. “Nearly there,” he tells him, nodding toward a clearing.

Wildflowers and rocks that reflect the midday sun surround a shimmering lake he’s never noticed on his travels. Arthur’s fingers twitch toward the journal in his satchel, the scene too perfect not to draw. Still, he doesn’t think Hamish would appreciate the interruption much.

Instead, he commits the image to memory. The quaint cabin that sits in the middle of it all, so unimposing it looks as though it had grown there like a tree. He’d have to draw it later, maybe even show it to you.

Hamish leads him around the cabin and orders him around like he’s spent all his life doing it. Arthur drags out the fishing poles and takes the boat off the shore. He laughs when Hamish slaps his hand away when he tries to help in the boat. And he laughs even harder when Hamish nearly topples over the edge in his stubborn fit.

The fishing itself is spent in silence. One of them occasionally breaking it by humming something or thinking they spotted movement in the water. It makes Arthur’s chest ache with a familiarity that’s a stranger to him. Yes, he used to do this with Hosea. But Hamish wasn’t Hosea, and there would never be anything to replace or soothe that gnawing pain of never being able to sit on a boat with him once more.

“There!” Hamish slaps his shoulder hard enough to force Arthur out of his spiraling grief. He nearly knocks him out of the boat as he starts frantically jumping up and down, arms pinwheeling to keep himself balanced. “There’s that bastard, whoo I got you now!” He hollers, lighting a stick of dynamite and tossing it into the water before Arthur knows what's happening.

He ducks, bracing himself as a ripple of water nearly puts the boat on its side. It’s quickly followed by a fin rising up in the water in the distance before disappearing once more. “My god,” Arthur gets to his feet, jaw gaping as he watches the behemoth of a fish swim away. Not once, has he ever faced a pike as large as that before. It could eat him.

“What’re you doin’, you fool? Reel it!” Hamish snaps, already lighting another stick of dynamite to force it back towards them. Arthur shakes off the silent astonishment and quickly grabs his fishing pole. It feels like a battle, hauling this fish toward them and finally killing it.

They must spend nearly an hour on those waters, blowing up half the lake just to haul a fish the size of Bill out of the water. Hamish is cackling and hollering the whole way back to his cabin. He goes on and on about how long that pike has been taunting him. How Arthur must be his goddamn lucky charm to have gotten it on their first day.

It’s only when Arthur lingers by the edge of Hamish’s doorway do either of them acknowledges the shared pain between them. Arthur doesn’t know exactly what Hamish lost in the war, but he knows it must be something just as bad as Arthur. There's a creeping loneliness that they both know neither one of them can fill. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try.

“You helped kill the bastard, sit down, I’ll cook up some of him for ya.” It’s an invitation that Arthur can’t deny. He gives Hamish a small smile, sitting down at his table while Hamish moves quickly through his cabin.

“Did I ever tell you,” Hamish starts, as though they’ve been friends long enough for Arthur to hear his stories. Arthur doesn’t object or interrupt, he leans back, eyes alert as he listens to everything Hamish tells him. Tales of the war, the time before, the time after. Arthur shares a little about himself, but for the most part, he’s content to let the old man talk.

That’s how most of their time together goes. When Arthur manages some time away from Dutch’s suspicious eyes, he goes to Hamish. He listens to his stories. And they use the excuse of hunting animals Hamish claims to be haunting him. It’s on his fourth visit that Arthur mentions you.

“I don’t get it. You’re big, strong, you gotta have someone.” Hamish pauses, glancing away from his fishing pole and narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “Don’t tell me I’m your only friend, son.”

Arthur chuckles a little, shaking his head. “I got a lady,” he tells him, reluctant for Hamish to know exactly what company he keeps. Hamish nods his head, giving him an expectant look. Arthur lets out a low sigh, rubbing his palms across his pants and shrugging. “She’s gorgeous,” Hamish lets out a disbelieving snort and Arthur shoots him a look. “Smart” he continues and it’s the first time he’s ever struggled to describe you.

Such simplistic terms don’t seem fitting for someone like you. If he had his journal, if he could show him a drawing of you, of the little bit of you he’s managed to capture on paper, maybe Hamish would understand. “And she’s a good person, a better one than I ever will be-”

“Then what’s she doin’ with a fool like you?” Hamish interrupts, snickering when he sees the irritated look on Arthur’s face.

“Weren’t you just tellin’ me what a catch I am?” Arthur snaps, eyes narrowed in amusement at the old man.

He shrugs, tugging slightly on the string of his fishing pole and huffing out a laugh. “Eh, she can’t be that great if she’s with someone like you.” Arthur straightens up but Hamish barrels on, paying him no mind. “Bring her down tonight. I’ll cook up whatever we catch here. It’ll give me something other than your ugly mug to look at.”

Arthur scoffs, “You are a piece of work, old man.”

Hamish waves him off, leaning back in the boat and smiling softly as he waits for a fish to bite his bait. Arthur shakes his head, looking back to the familiar blue waters and feeling something like contentment settle over him.

“You didn’t have to dress up,” Arthur tells you, holding his hand out to you. Perched atop Lady, you give his outstretched palm a long look before slowly settling your hand in his.

“I’d hardly call a corset and some nice pants dressing up, Arthur,” you tease. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to each other without there being some underlying current of tension to your conversation.

He leads you toward Hamish’s front door, smiling slightly when you stop to admire the garden at the side of the cabin. “I wanted to make a good impression,” you tell him, straightening up from where you’d been smelling some of the flowers. You give him a brief look out of the side of your eye before brushing dirt off the knees of your pants. “You’ve been talkin’ about him a lot and well,” you suck in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I know things have been hard after Guarma,” you can’t seem to look at him, eyes always darting away from his.

Arthur stays silent, worried anything he says will ruin the first honest conversation you two have had. “And everythin’ has been so odd between us." You take a step forward and Arthur follows, craving the closeness that has been so sorely lacking. Looking up, you finally manage to meet his eye. The hurt and frustration so plainly displayed on your face makes his stomach clench.

“I care about you, Arthur, deeply. And that’s not ever goin’ to change.” He expects there to be a ‘but,’ some clause added on that means he needs to change his ways. Or even you telling him that you just can’t handle this life anymore. He wouldn’t blame you if you told him that, but just the thought of it makes him hurt.

Instead, you give him a smile and lean up, pressing your lips timidly against his cheek. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly, like an assurance to you both that there’s still something to be saved between you.

Arthur can’t help himself as he turns his head, capturing your lips between his own and tugging you closer. You let out a short huff of laughter, smiling against his lips. It’s a chaste kiss, certainly one of the more demure ones you’ve shared. But it means more to him than he ever thought it would.

“What the hell are you two doin’?” You startle back from him, eyes wide as you turn. Hamish has his head peeked around the corner of his porch, a stern look on his face but a slight mischievous tilt to his lips. “I invited you to dinner, I didn’t need a show to come with it,” he scolds, but there’s no hiding the humor in his tone.

You bite your lip and move away from Arthur, though you let your hand linger in his as long as you can before you slip to the porch. “It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Hamish sheepishly.

“Hm,” Hamish shakes his head as he looks at you, “Can’t believe you let Arthur fool you into bein’ with him.” He grins at Arthur’s affronted scoff and nods you along. “Go on inside, fish is almost ready.” You send Arthur one last look before heading off.

Climbing the steps of the porch, Arthur lightly shoves at Hamish’s shoulder. “What’re you playin’ at, old man?”

Hamish shrugs, beckoning him inside, “I need somethin’ to entertain myself with.”

“How long have you been out here?” You ask Hamish as you settle down at his too-small table. He plates the fish and takes a seat across from Arthur, brow wrinkled as he thinks.

“Well,” he laughs lightly and shakes his head. “It’s been so damn long, I can’t quite remember. Probably longer than you’ve been walking, sweetheart.”

Your eyes round, something like concern flitting across your face. “All on your own?” Arthur pauses from where he’d been cutting into his meal, content to let you carry the conversation. He glances up at Hamish, gauging the look on his face.

Hamish’s solitary lifestyle has been something Arthur’s been avoiding talking about. He knows there’s something painful in Hamish’s past, something he does his best to keep quiet about. Arthur hasn’t wanted to push, too afraid that he’d ruined the good thing they had going.

But the look on the old man’s face isn’t defensive or angry. It’s soft, his eyes are sad as he looks nostalgic, as if thinking back to happier times. “All on my own,” he confirms and Arthur sees the way your expression slacks with sympathy. “Honestly, this cabin is starting to feel too big,” he admits, glancing around at the barren walls.

Where some would have family portraits, heirlooms, or memorabilia, Hamish has mounted deer and stuffed fish. There’s nothing besides a slightly dusty metal from the war to hint at what his life had once looked like. “It needs a family, or,” he glances back at you and smiles, “someone besides a sad old man.”

Hamish turns back to his meal and asks Arthur something, he responds vaguely, eyes still trained on your face. Your gaze has hardened as you glare down at the fish on your plate. There’s a wrinkle between your brows that he’s come to know as you plotting something. Whatever Hamish has said has given you an idea that Arthur’s not sure he wants a part of.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Hamish shouts, jumping from his seat and running toward the window. “That goddamn bastard!”

You shoot Arthur a bewildered look and he shakes his head, standing up to join Hamish by the window. “What is it?”

“That boar! It’s back!” Hamish points to a vague shadow of a shape on the crest of the hill. It’s larger than any boar he’s ever seen, but Hamish seems to be cursed with animals of legendary size and vindictiveness. He runs from the window, grabs the rifle mounted above his fireplace, and runs toward the front door. “You better get a move on, boy, I ain’t waitin’ for ya!” He hollers over his shoulder, already whistling for Buell.

Arthur sighs and gives you an apologetic look. “I oughta make sure he don’t get himself killed.”

Smiling, you wave him along, “Go ahead, though,” you muse, glancing out the window, “it doesn’t look like he needs much help.” Arthur turns, letting out an aggrieved huff as he sees Hamish already shooting wildly at the beast.

“Won’t be long,” he promises as he rushes out the door.

He only vaguely hears your small, “I’ve heard that before.”

Arthur spots Buell grazing in a small patch of grass and leaves Diablo beside him. The two horses don’t seem to get along very well, but he’s more concerned with the trail of blood in the underbrush than them.

Kneeling down to investigate, he’s stopped by nearby shouting. “I’ve almost got him, Arthur, hurry-” Hamish’s voice is cut off by a loud cry of pain and a boar squeal that almost sounds like screaming.

Dirt flies up under Arthur’s boots as he races forward. He pushes through the thick foliage, stumbling out into an open area where Hamish lay sprawled on the ground. His body twitches, fingers weakly grasping at a dark, gaping wound in his stomach. Blood pools beneath him, soaking into the earth.

“Oh, Hamish, no,” Arthur mutters, dropping to his knees beside him. He presses his hands over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. He can see it in the way Hamish struggles for breath, his chest stuttering with each ragged inhale.

Hamish lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and gurgling. “Flesh wound,” he croaks, though the blood trailing from the corner of his mouth says otherwise. His voice is strained, each word dragged from his throat like it pains him to speak. “I’m an old man, Arthur. This was bound to happen sooner or later.” Arthur wants to tell him to stop talking, to save his breath. But he’s seen death enough times to know there’s no coming back from this.

“Don’t,” Hamish chokes on his blood and flinches forward. Arthur props him up on his knee, still keeping his hand over the wound. It’s not doing anything except prolonging this, but he can’t find it within himself to let go. Hamish settles, lungs wheezing with effort. “Don’t be like me. Don’t die lonely.”

Arthur doesn’t have the chance to tell him he’s not alone before the light leaves his eyes. He finally takes his hands off of him, looking up as he hears squealing. He spots the boar in the underbrush and picks Hamish’s rifle up off the ground.

The trek back to the cabin is slow. Hamish’s body is slung over Diablo and Buell carries the boar. Arthur wonders if Buell knows that his master’s dead. If he can smell it, or if he even cares.

He leads them both toward the hitching post at the side of the home. He sees you watching in the window, eyes narrowed in on Hamish’s body before you disappear from view. Footsteps sound out on the porch as he slings the body over his shoulder and walks it toward the clearing of wildflowers.

“What happened?” You call out, voice soft as you join him.

“Boar,” he answers shortly. He doesn’t have the patience to speak. He’s faced and caused death hundreds of times, but something about this feels like a slap in the face. It wasn’t enough that he had to lose Lenny and Hosea and then watch as what used to be his family falls apart. He had to drag Hamish into his problems, had to loop you into this business.

He knew, when his mother died and when his son died, that he was cursed to lose everyone he loved. That he would never be allowed a happy, or a simple life. And yet, like the fool he is, he keeps trying. He keeps trying to allow himself a sliver of peace or happiness.

You hand Arthur a shovel as he sets Hamish down on the ground and he starts to dig. Until the sun sets and the moon is high in the sky, he digs a grave for Hamish. You stand there with him the whole night, never saying a word, and for that he’s grateful. He’s learned that it's better not to have to do something like this alone.

When he’s done, and Hamish is six feet deep, facing the east so he can see the rising sun, he leads you back to the cabin. It’s a comfortable quiet as you help him rinse the dirt and blood off his hands. You take the clothes he stores on Diablo and bring them to him, convincing him to just stay at the cabin for the night.

He’s too tired to understand the concentrated look on your face, but there’s something niggling at the back of his mind. A sort of intuition he usually wouldn’t ignore but can’t bother with tonight. “Good night, Arthur,” you whisper but he’s already asleep before he can say it back.

When he wakes up, you’re sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap piece of paper. You turn slightly, smiling briefly at him before going back to the paper. “What’re you writin’?” He asks, sitting up in bed and stretching out the soreness from digging for so long.

Your shoulders tense up, expression going blank before carefully reconstructing itself into something pleasant. Placing the pen down, you slide the paper away from yourself and turn fully to face him.

“Eagle Flies is dead.” Your voice is clipped, emotion buried beneath steel. “Dutch was at the heart of it all. He didn’t just destroy a tribe and a family for nothing but his own gain, he left you for dead.”

Arthur grimaces, shooting you a sharp look. “I don’t need the reminder-”

“I think you do, Arthur.” Your tone hardens, cutting through his defensiveness. “Charles is devastated. He won’t stay with the gang much longer after this. That’s who the letter’s for,” you say, nodding toward the paper on the table. “I need to tell him some things before he disappears for good.”

Arthur watches you carefully. There’s something else behind your words, something bigger than just grief over Eagle Flies. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

“John and Abigail are leaving soon,” you continue, voice steady but insistent. “They won’t risk Jack getting caught up in Dutch’s mess. Sadie’s been itching to go off on her own for a while-”

“What’re you gettin’ at?” Arthur snaps, frustration creeping in. He’s tired, exhausted from everything, and you dragging this out isn’t helping.

You inhale sharply, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing yourself. “I want to stay here.” Your expression is unreadable, your voice flat. “Here or anywhere else, but I am not going back to that camp. I won’t.”

Arthur stiffens, dragging a hand down his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tugs his shirt back on with sharp, jerking movements, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “You want me to just leave?”

You shake your head, voice calm but firm. “I want you to do what you need to do.”

Arthur doesn’t believe that. He can’t accept that you would be so calm giving him permission to leave again. He searches for an ulterior motive, for some hidden tone to your words, even though he knows there won’t be one. “They’re my only family. You expect me to just walk away?”

Your expression softens, but he can see it in your eyes, the steel behind each word. Your resolve isn’t bending, you won’t be changing your mind anytime soon. “I expect you to decide for yourself, for once.” You step closer to him and he feels two ideals, two lives, warring against each other in the back of his mind.

“You’ve spent your whole life followin’ someone else’s lead- Dutch’s, Hosea’s.” Arthur wants to leave before he has to listen to anymore, not ready to confront the truth. “Even now, you’re just tryin’ to hold it all together because you think you have to.”

Arthur swallows hard, “It ain’t that simple,” he argues, even though, deep down, it truly is.

“It is,” you counter gently, voice calm like you’re soothing a bucking horse. “I’m not tellin’ you to abandon anyone. But you know how this ends,” the look in your eyes shifts. It changes from something earnest to the distant gaze of someone whose sick and tired of marking new graves. “You’ve always known.”

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he turns away from you. If he doesn’t meet your eyes, maybe he won’t have to face the truth in them.

But you’re stubborn as all hell and you never know when to quit. “I’m stayin’ here. This is my choice. And I’ll be here when you get back,” you pause, your last words quieter, “if you choose to come back.”

Arthur hesitates by the door. There’s so much hanging over the gang, the Pinkertons, Cornwall, Dutch’s tightening grip. Even if they all wanted to leave, Dutch would never let them. And Arthur…

Arthur has to see this through.

“I have to go.” His voice is quiet, resigned.

“Then go,” you tell him as if it’s the simplest idea in the world.

He lingers a moment before stepping through the door. He doesn’t look back, but he knows what he’s fighting for now. What he’s fighting to come back to.

Arthur rides into camp, his gut twisted with unease. He’s not sure what he was expecting, certainly not an idyllic scene, but the sight before him still takes the breath from his lungs.

Molly lies sprawled in the dirt, blood soaking the earth beneath her. Mrs. Grimshaw hovers over her body, shotgun in hand and the barrel still smoking. Her face is unreadable. The rest of the gang looks at her in stunned silence, some horrified, others grim.

“She said,” Susan mutters, voice hoarse. “She said she sold us out. Gave us up to the Pinkertons.”

Arthur’s stomach drops. He steps forward, his voice low and urgent. “No, she didn’t,” he looks at Molly, the flickering light of the fire dancing across her lifeless face. He turns his gaze to the real snake in their midst. “It was Micah.”

Mrs. Grimshaw pales and Micah scoffs. “Oh, give me a goddamn break.” He leans lazily against a post, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are alight with amusement as if this is all some great joke to him. “You’re graspin’, Morgan. I get it, you need someone to blame, and Molly’s already dead, so why not pin it on me?”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, “I see you for what you are, you rat bastard.”

Micah just shrugs, cocky as ever. Mrs. Grimshaw, though, in all of her wisdom and unflinching loyalty, sees right through him. Her eyes narrow and she comes to stand beside Arthur, “Arthur’s right.”

That’s all it takes. The shift on Micah’s face is instantaneous. The gunshot rings out before Arthur can even react. Mrs. Grimshaw jerks back, her body crumpling to the ground. Blood seeps through her blouse and spreads across her chest.

The camp erupts. Shouts ring out, insults are thrown, and guns are pulled by people who had once called each other friend and brother. Dutch steps forward, getting between Arthur and Micah, his hands raised, eyes darting between them both. Arthur can’t read his face. It’s calm on the surface, but beneath it, something fragile and uncertain lingers.

Micah steps back, but he isn’t alone. Bill and Javier fall in beside him, weapons drawn.

John pushes Abigail and Jack behind him. Charles and Sadie round up the rest of the women, dragging John’s family off as they lead them to the horses to flee. John meets Arthur’s eyes, and there’s no hesitation. He grabs his revolver and steps to Arthur’s side.

Arthur breathes out sharply, giving Dutch one last chance. “You can still do this,” he tells him, voice raw. “You can still make this right, Dutch. You can stop this.”

Dutch’s face twists, pain, doubt, anger, all flickering at once. He shakes his head slowly. “I thought of you as a son, Arthur.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Then louder, firmer, “I can’t believe you’d betray us.”

Before Arthur can say another word, the Pinkertons ride in, guns blazing. Chaos takes hold of the camp as Micah takes his eyes off of him to start shooting at the others. Arthur doesn’t hesitate, grabbing John as they bolt for their horses. Bullets fly past them, grazing against their clothes and nearly nicking them. Pinkertons certainly aren’t good shots.

They mount the horses, racing through the woods. The sound of gunfire and shouting follows behind them before slowly fading. They can’t afford to slow down or stop, wordless as they push their horses harder and faster than the animals can stand.

They don’t stop until they reach the base of a mountain. The money’s nearby, stashed away in Dutch’s greed-fueled paranoia. It’s their only chance of making something out of this mess. Arthur can’t afford to let Dutch and the other’s get to it first.

Arthur dismounts and John follows. “This is it,” Arthur turns toward John, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You take the money, you get Abigail and Jack outta here. Make somethin’ of yourself.”

John frowns, shaking his head. “Arthur, I ain’t-”

“Go,” Arthur’s voice is firm. The finality of it stops John short. “I’ll hold ‘em off.”

John hesitates, and Arthur knows how desperately he wants to stand beside him and fight. To prove that he’s more than a coward. But he knows better than to argue, and he knows he can’t leave his family behind. He gives a short nod and starts running.

Arthur begins his climb up the mountain, hoping to find a vantage point to hold the Pinkertons and the others off. He’s not far when he hears them behind him. Turning, he sees Micah and Dutch closing in.

Micah grins, “Should’ve run while you had the chance, Morgan.”

White hot fury floods through Arthur’s veins, it pushes him forward and he lunges at Micah, grappling him to the ground. Micah lets out a wheeze, his blackened lungs not prepared for the attack. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his fist down until he feels bones crunch under the force of his hand.

Micah struggles against him, kicking him off and struggling to his feet. Arthur lets him get up and then he goes after him again. He pins him against the wall of rock behind them both, letting his rage drive him forward as he hammers against his face. Micah keeps gasping for air, arms rising feebly in defense only to get knocked down again.

A click echoes through the cold air and Arthur freezes, dropping Micah and letting him slump to the dirt. His eye is purpled, swollen completely shut and Arthur almost can’t recognize him anymore.

He turns, finding Dutch standing behind him, gun aimed at his chest.

For a long, silent moment, they just stare at each other. Dutch’s finger hovers over the trigger and Arthur just watches. He sees the conflict in Dutch’s eyes, the doubt warring with years of manipulation and ego.

But in the end, Dutch does what he always does.

He runs away.

Micah groans, nails digging into the dirt as he struggles for air. Arthur doesn’t bother finishing him off. He watches Dutch disappear into the night and leave them both behind. Breathing slowly, his chest heaving, Arthur turns away from Micah and leaves him to rot.

The ride back to the cabin is slow. Every muscle in Arthur’s body aches, his lungs burning with each breath, but for the first time in a long while, he’s not carrying the weight of the gang on his shoulders. It’s over. Dutch is gone. Micah is as good as dead. The life he’s known has fallen apart, but he’s still here. And he’s free.

He crests the final hill, the cabin coming into view, and there you are- waiting.

You’re not crying with worry or pacing in anger that he left again. You stand, arms crossed, watching the road like you always knew he’d come back.

Arthur exhales, something in his chest easing at the sight of you. He slows Diablo to a stop, dismounting with a grunt of pain. You don’t rush over to him and demand to know what happened, or how he got the fresh bruises littering his skin. The both of you have always known that the only way this was going to end was bloody. Arthur looks up and you hold his gaze, waiting for him.

Waiting for him to finally decide. The outlaw life, or this new one with you.

He takes a step toward you, and you stay still as a statue, another and he’s nearly on top of you. You don’t move away or take a step back, you peer up at him, meeting his gaze expectantly. “It’s over,” he tells you simply.

You nod, nothing gleeful or victorious on your face that you finally got him right where you wanted. You’re not Dutch, this was never about controlling him, he realizes that now. Without his loyalty blinding him, he can finally understand that you were only ever trying to help him. “I know,” your voice is calm as your eyes rove over his face.

A silence stretches between you, heavy with words left unsaid. Then, slowly, Arthur lifts his hand toward you. You don’t pull away, and when his fingers brush your waist, you sigh, your shoulders easing like you’ve been holding yourself together for too long. Arthur doesn’t waste any more time pulling you in close to him, the both of you holding each other up.

Arthur breathes out slowly, resting his forehead against yours and pulling you as close as he can get. Your hands come up, gripping his shirt like you’re trying to make sure he doesn’t slip away. But he knows he won’t, not ever again.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Arthur allows himself to feel real and true hope. He keeps you tight in his embrace, and you bury your face in his neck, he can feel your lashes flutter against his neck as they finally close and you relax against him. He’ll make something of this second chance. He’ll become a man you can be proud to call your own.

As the sun rises, casting its golden light over the both of you, Arthur finally leaves behind his old life, to begin this new one with you.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @martinys-world

#Arthur Morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x you #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 #Hell Hath No Fury

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sanguinesky-if · 1 day ago

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[Dev Log] February 2025

Hello, I hope your winter days are going well!

This is the first dev log of 2025, which means the end of my January break and the resumption of:

▹ Patreon billing and monthly activity. ▹ Monthly dev logs.

Although I took things easier in January, I still worked on the story and have quite a bit to share about my progress.

What was done last month?

▹ Worked on the draft for Chapter 3 Pt. 2.

Since shifting the story format from a visual novel to IF, my draft has required some changes and updates. There are some scenes I'd like to include from the old version, but I hesitate due to the potential increase in workload [I discussed them on Patreon]. Even without those additions, Chapter 3 Pt. 2 is shaping up to be massive, and I already can tell it shouldn't be expected until late spring [assuming I decide against including those moments and scenes]. As usual, the most recent updates on my progress will be shared weekly on Patreon and monthly in the dev logs here on my blog.

▹ Refined stats and their distribution.

I began refining the stats distribution in December, but I also made some changes throughout January. Overall, the full list of changes includes: ▹ Refinement and redistribution of personal and hidden stats. ▹ Renaming the "Approval" stat to "Alignment" [this change will apply in the next update]. I'd like to thank this anon for the idea; I should have done it sooner. A few more words about the stats: Something about the personal stats feels… lacking. I can't quite pinpoint what it is, but I have a feeling I need to progress the story further to understand what's missing, so for now, I've decided to focus on Chapter 3 Pt. 2.

▹ Finished the shortcut to Chapter 3 Pt. 2.

I decided to take care of the shortcut feature in advance, and it took me some time to compile all the choices due to the variations readers can encounter in different scenes. While I may return to it later if I decide that some choices from Chapter 3 Pt. 1 should be included, I'm glad I finished adding all the essential parts.

▹ Improved some scenes and fixed numerous grammatical errors, as well as a few coding issues.

Here's a list of major changes: ▹ L's phone call scene [Chapter 2]: Added a reserved flirt option and made the non-romantic option available to everyone [these changes will apply in the next update].

▹ K's morning scene [Chapter 3]: The last assertive flirt option in K's scene no longer includes "I forgive you", so the reader is not forced to immediately let go of all the tension when choosing a flirt option. Small note: I have some reservations regarding the choices provided in K's scene after their apology, so I will likely post a poll on Patreon to gather feedback on this matter.

▹ Solo morning scene [Chapter 3]: Due to an oversight, the solo scene didn't include a variation where the reader decides not to talk to the MC's twin sister and immediately goes to sleep. This variation of the scene has now been added.

What will I be working on in February?

▹ Chapter 3 Pt. 2: translating the draft and outlining the files for coding.

In addition to that, the bonus content on Patreon that will be released this month will include:

▹ Morgan's NSFW Alphabet. ▹ K's NSFW Side Story POV [Interactive].

Author's note.

I'd like to extend my gratitude to everyone who took the time to send helpful error reports, asks, and kind messages! Your support and interest help me improve my story, which truly means a lot to me.

Thank you for reading to the end! Wishing you a wonderful week and days after that! ♥

#interactive fiction #sanguine sky #sanguine sky if #ss general #dev log

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femmecelworld · 1 day ago

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something I have been thinking about these last few horrible weeks is how similar this is to trump's first administration, when it was clear the strategy was to overwhelm people with fresh horrors every day. fascism thrives where people are tired, and feel morally depleted and apathetic. too run-down to fight.

right now, there are organizations fighting back, filing lawsuits, etc. obviously all of that is crucial. but the day-to-day resistance of ordinary people is just as important. when your coworker cites some piece of propaganda from elon or trump or ben shapiro or whatever, push back on that. you don't have to start fights with people or even 'talk politics', you can say, "I've heard that (propaganda) too and I looked it up, turns out (real information) is how this works instead."

an acquaintance recently tried to tell a group of people that, "it's not right immigrants can just commit crimes without consequences," and I had to swallow my immediate response of "you are a fucking idiot" and moderate myself, then tell him and everyone that if an undocumented person commits a crime, even a misdemeanor, they can be deported immediately. immediately. nearly 50% of people deported by ICE have no criminal record at all. so no part of what he said was true.

the overton window has shifted drastically in the last decade and it's wild what people now believe, or will admit to in public without shame or pretense. the slow, insidious creep of lying about basic facts has been growing for decades and it's at a sprint now.

we don't have to let them normalize fascism. we have blown past a lot of (nearly all) early warning signs of fascism (demonizing immigrants, propaganda, disregard for human/civil rights, mocking education and the arts, rise in misogyny, puritanism and sex-shaming, increased fearmongering about national security threats, etc. etc.) but we don't have to give up. these fascist shitheads are counting on that.

when someone says some bs about immigration, I counter with facts but then ask them what they're more worried about, people that have become a vague amorphous threat of 'they'll steal your jobs' by political framing or the fact that US federal minimum wage has been at $7.25 since 2008 while CEO pay rate is 400x that of the average worker. giant corporations made record profits during the pandemic from price-gouging and creating record inflation. in the pandemic, American billionaires increased their networth by 1.5 trillion dollars. (from Oxfam)

The corporate tax rate is 21%—and that's before overseas tax shelters. Most billionaires pay less in taxes (by percent) than you or I do. You really should read this report from ProPublica about how billionaires avoid paying taxes and manipulate the IRS. And this series is from 2021, so these numbers don’t account for the 1.5 trillion in wage theft during the pandemic.

So why is our political conversation about crime and ‘radical woke’ and ‘the trans agenda’? About the price of groceries—but not about who sets those prices? Well, 1) these are the same groups of people the Nazis blamed for the ‘downfall’ of their country. Marginalized people are always an easy scapegoat for fascists. But also 2) because it is massively profitable for billionaires to fuel political strife. Keep the ordinary people fighting each other instead of pointing the finger at the .1% ruling class who have profiteered from wage theft and price gouging.

Get people to think about who benefits from working class people fighting each other instead of looking at who's stealing all the wealth in their country.

I could go on and on, but you can look this stuff up too. ProPublica & Media Matters are two of my favorite sites and Mother Jones does good reporting as well. As an American, I also read foreign press because they often have better reporting than we do under almost dead American journalism half propped up by self-serving billionaires. Beware the AI search results and news outlets owned by billionaires (almost all of them, but AP is still good)

there are also some soft fascism warning signs I think we all have gotten way too comfortable with, like the massive amounts of tradwife content, along with more and more puritanical ideas in young people, censoring words about sex and queer identity, and slut-shaming. every generation has some kind of feminist trend where, mysteriously, misogynistic reframing pops up to shame women (the bra burnings of the 70s that never happened, man haters, girlboss, ‘i’m just a girl’, etc.)

I know the world right now is exhausting, but we have to push back on this stuff. some of the most overlooked foot soldiers for fascism are women (mostly white women), who uphold the patriarchy + insist women belong in the home submitting to the authority of men.

you all have seen pictures of the infamous Nazi book burning, right? that was the library from Magnus Hirschfeld's Institute for Sexual Science, which was a center devoted to both educating people on sexual health and understanding homosexuality and trying to normalize queer identities. Hirschfeld was one of the earliest voices of the century to advocate for trans rights and trans existence (♥️). the Nazis trashed the building and burned all the books they could find. the first books the Nazis burned were about erasing stigma on sex and sexual orientation. sound familiar?

fascism relies on lying/fearmongering, playing the victim, and violence. call out lies when you hear them or see them. don't argue on their grounds—reframe the argument, like I did there ^ . don't let them play the victim. it's very easy to look up facts about wealth disparity -> social inequality and which groups of people have the most power.

we do not have to normalize fascism.

"Mass propaganda discovered that its audience was ready at all times to believe the worst, no matter how absurd, and did not particularly object to being deceived because it held every statement to be a lie anyhow. The totalitarian mass leaders based their propaganda on the correct psychological assumption that, under such conditions, one could make people believe the most fantastic statements one day, and trust that if the next day they were given irrefutable proof of their falsehood, they would take refuge in cynicism; instead of deserting the leaders who had lied to them, they would protest that they had known all along that the statement was a lie and would admire the leaders for their superior tactical cleverness."

—Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, published in 1951. She was a historian and philosopher who studied Nazism and Stalinism. She was also, very crucially, a German Jew who escaped the Holocaust.

#hannah arendt #fighting fascism is a daily effort #i am begging everyone to read the news again instead of headlines on social media #the fascist playbook has not changed in 100 years

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fandomtrumpshate · 14 hours ago

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Unlisted Fandoms Challenge

Welcome to the LAST update on write-in fandoms for FTH 2025 (only one day left to sign up! go Do The Thing!)!! We have a LONG list of fandoms for you - TWO HUNDRED EIGHTY ONE write-in fandoms this year. So far!

And there's been some movement near the top of the list. Jeff Satur, with 10 signups, still holds the lead, but in second place we now have a TIE. Control (Remedy Game) gained *four* new signups to match Zhen Hun / Guardian's 9 signups. Cabin Pressure has also moved up the rankings, with three new signups bringing it to a total of 7 to claim third place. Whew! Just below them we have:

a four-way tie for fourth place with 6 signups includes-

6 Alien Stage 6 Carry On 6 Dimension 20 6 Dungeon Meshi / Delicious In Dungeon

two fandoms with 5 signups each, in fifth place are-

5 BBC Ghosts 5 White Collar

which brings us to an eight-way tie for sixth place with 4 signups each-

4 Detective Conan 4 Fire Emblem Awakening 4 It - Stephen King 4 Pathologic 4 Roswell New Mexico 4 Schitt's Creek 4 The X-Files 4 Transformers 4 Voltron: Legendary Defender

and with 3 signups each, an 11-way tie for seventh place-

3 Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast) 3 Fields of Mistria 3 Fire Emblem Fates 3 Inception 3 Iron Widow 3 MotoGP RPF 3 Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint 3 Rusty Lake/Cube Escape 3 Stand By Me/The Body by Stephen King 3 The Goblin Emperor Series - Katherine Addison 3 Zhen Hun / Guardian (drama) RPF

Below the cut are 56 fandoms with 2 signups each, and 195 fandoms with a single write-in.

2 Animorphs 2 Attack on Titan 2 Avatar Legend of Korra 2 Beyond Evil 2 Biggles Series — W. E. Johns 2 Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu (Cute High Earth Defense Club) franchise 2 Black Sails 2 Bridgerton (TV) 2 Britpop RPF 2 Castlevania (All Media Types) 2 Challengers 2 Cherry Magic 2 Conclave (2024) 2 Dan and Phil (rpf) 2 Dangan Ronpa 2 Dead Boy Detectives RPF 2 Digimon 2 Dishonored 2 Dr. Stone 2 Due South 2 Dune (Villeneuve) 2 Five Nights at Freddy's - All Media 2 Fruits Basket 2 Grantchester (TV) 2 Gravity Falls 2 IndyCar RPF 2 Jeeves and Wooster 2 Kingdom Hearts 2 Law & Order: Special Victims Unit 2 Link Click (Shiguang Dailiren) 2 Lovecraft Mythos 2 Lucifer (tv) 2 MAS*H 2 Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury 2 Nirvana in Fire (琅琊榜) 2 Oasis 2 Princess Tutu 2 Sailor Moon 2 She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) 2 Slow Horses 2 Sonic the Hedgehog (Games) 2 Team Fortress 2 2 The Blue Wolves of Mibu 2 The Empyrean - Rebecca Yarros 2 The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (TV series) 2 The Poppy War 2 The Stanley Parable 2 Tiger & Bunny 2 Tower of God 2 Universal Century Gundam 2 Valdemar Series by Mercedes Lackey 2 What We Do In The Shadows 2 When the Third Wheel Strikes Back 2 Word of Honor 2 Yu-Gi-Oh! 2 ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 / JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken / JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

1 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) 1 A Court of Thorns and Roses 1 Akatsuki No Yona 1 Among Us 1 Ancient Greece 1 Arctic Monkeys/The Last shadow Puppets 1 Arknights 1 Around the World in 80 Days (TV 2021) 1 Babylon 5 1 Back to the Future 1 Baseball RPF 1 BBC’s Musketeers 1 Bendy and the Ink Machine 1 Binan Koukou Chikyuu Bouei Bu Love/Happy Kiss 1 Black Doves 1 Black Jewels 1 Bob's Burgers 1 Books of the Raksura - Martha Wells 1 Boygenius (Band)(RPF) 1 Brilliant Minds 1 Brokeback Mountain 1 Buddy Daddies 1 Bullet train 1 Canji Baojun De Zhangxin Yu Chong (The disabled tyrant's pet palm fish) 1 Cassette Beasts 1 Castle 1 Charmed (1998) 1 Countryhumans 1 Criminal Minds 1 Cyberpunk 2077 1 Danger Force (TV) 1 Dark Deception 1 Dark Rise 1 Dead by Daylight 1 Death Note 1 Descendants 1 Destiny 2 1 Dexter 1 Dexter: Original Sin 1 Divergent (Movies) 1 Dominion of the Fallen - Aliette de Bodard 1 Downton Abbey 1 Dragon Ball Z 1 Dragonball 1 Dragonlance 1 Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey 1 Emma - Jane Austen 1 Ensemble Stars! 1 Etta Invincible 1 Fairy tale 1 Fangs of Fortune 1 Farscape 1 Fear & Hunger: Termina 1 Finder no Hyouteki / Finder Series 1 Flight Rising 1 Formula 2/3 RPF 1 Frieren 1 Game Changers Universe (Rachel Reid) 1 Gangsta (Anime & Manga) 1 Generation Loss (Web Series) 1 Gilmore Girls 1 Giselle 1 Grimm 1 Hatoful Boyfriend 1 Haven (TV) 1 Helluva Boss 1 Henry Danger (TV) 1 High School Musical (Movies) 1 Hikaru ga Shinda Natsu 1 Hikaru no Go 1 HLVRAI - Half-life VR But the AI is Self-Aware 1 Holby City 1 Homer's Epics, Ancient Greece Religion and Lore, Epic The Musical 1 House MD 1 I Am Nobody (CDrama) 1 In Other Lands 1 In Stars And Time 1 Infinity Train 1 Initial D 1 It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia 1 Jet Lag The Game RPF 1 Jurassic Park (Extended Universe) 1 Kamen Rider Gotchard 1 Kane and Feels 1 Kuroko no Basuke / Kuroko's Basketball 1 Kushiel's Legacy 1 La Casa de Papel (Money Heist) 1 Law & Order 1 Lays of the Hearth-Fire Series - Victoria Goddard 1 Lies of P 1 Life is Strange 1 Live A Live 1 Lord Seventh/Qi Ye 1 Malory Towers 1 Mass Effect 1, 2 or 3 1 Metaphor: Refantazio 1 Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries 1 Mononoke (2007 series and 2024 movie) 1 My Time at Sandrock 1 Mystic Messenger 1 Mythology 1 Nancy Drew (TV 2019) 1 NBA RPF 1 Nerdy Prudes Must Die 1 Norah Grant Bruce's Billabong books 1 October Daye series - Seanan McGuire 1 Oh No! Here Comes Trouble 1 Once Upon A Time 1 Order of the Stick 1 Outlast games 1 Over the Garden Wall 1 Pacific Rim 1 Paradise Of Thorns 1 Peaky Blinders 1 Person of Interest 1 Persuasion - Jane Austen 1 Pirates of the Caribbean 1 Power Rangers (2017 movie) 1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen 1 Prodigal Son 1 Project Sekai 1 Project Zero/Fatal Frame 1 Psych (2006) 1 Puella Magi Madoka Magica 1 Qiang Jin Jiu (Ballad of Sword and Wine) 1 Quantum Break 1 Ranma 1/2 1 Resident Alien 1 Resident Evil 1 Rise of the Guardians 1 Riyria Revelations 1 S.C.I Mystery 1 S.W.A.T. (2017 show) 1 Saint Seiya 1 Sanders Sides 1 Saw franchise 1 Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated (2010) 1 Shipwrecked Comedy 1 Skulduggery Pleasant 1 Sleeping Beauty (1959) 1 Slenderverse 1 Sonic The Hedgehog (movies) 1 South Park 1 Spinning Silver (Novik) 1 Spirited 1 Squid Game 1 Starkid Musicals (no hp) 1 Static Shock 1 Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical 1 Super Sentai 1 Tales of Arise 1 Tales of Series 1 Tatort Saarbrücken 1 That 70s Show 1 The A Team (either the 2010 movie or the 1980s series) 1 The Coffin of Andy and Leyley 1 The Devil Judge 1 The Glass Scientists 1 The Good Place 1 The Hands of the Emperor - Victoria Goddard 1 The Librarians 1 The Masquerade Series 1 The OC 1 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston 1 The Paradise of Thorns 1 The Radiant Emperor 1 The Silt Verses 1 The Umbrella Academy 1 the vampire diaries universe 1 The Venture Maidens 1 The Walking Dead 1 The West Wing 1 Thousand Autumns 1 Thunderbirds are Go 1 Tokusatsu 1 Tron 1 Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles 1 Turning 1 Under The Skin (Cdrama) 1 video games by Arkane Studios 1 Wander Over Yonder

1 Warriors / Warrior Cats 1 Watcher Entertainment/BuzzFeed Unsolved RPF 1 Weak Hero Class 1 1 Wind Breaker 1 WNBA RPF 1 Wonka 1 World Trigger 1 Xenoblade Chronicles series 1 Yellowjackets 1 Young Wizards (Diane Duane) 1 Yuwu (Remnants of Filth) 1 Zatch Bell 1 Zombieland Saga 1 บ้านหลอน ON SALE / Peaceful Property (TV)

#fth 2025 #unlisted fandom challenge

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justgivemethephd · 1 day ago

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01.02.2025

Happy Saturday everyone!

I meant to upload last night, but unfortunately the evening very quickly got away from me. I had a super busy week, and between work, baking, training, and general socialising it all felt like one never-ending day.

I gave a presentation about my project this week and absolutely smashed it. Literally the most confident I have ever presented and the best I have ever answered questions. I did so well that my supervisor, who is not one for praise, messaged me to tell me I had done well. This has been such a massive reassurance that I know my topic and I know what I'm talking about, and it's such a relief to see I'm making progress and not panicking nearly as much when I get to the questions at the end of a talk. I also received feedback on my upgrade report and I'm going to spend some time this weekend and on Monday fixing everything before sending it to my supervisor. I've officially started the process of fixing a date for my upgrade which has given me quite the wave of anxiety to deal with but I know I can handle it and I'm excited to finally get this over and done with.

The next few days are going to be busy busy but I'm going on a weekend away to Amsterdam on Thursday so I want to get a lot of stuff done before then and ease my mind a little. I truly do have a habit of giving myself a million things to do right before a trip...

Oh! And I did really well with my training this week. Week 2 is over, and no pain this time so I could successfully complete my whole plan. I feel very proud of myself, and although I'm a little frustrated that I won't be able to work out as much next week I know I'll pick it right back up when I return.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend! Please remember to relax a little and allow your brain the downtime it deserves. We are not machines, we were made to live, laugh, enjoy and explore. Take care of yourselves.

_____

🎧 - Telephone by Lady Gaga

🎮 - Planet Zoo

📖 - Onyx Storm by Rebecca Yarros

#study aesthetic #study blog #study inspiration #study motivation #study space #studyblr #studyinspo #studyspo #study tips #phd life

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sweetenerobert · 19 hours ago

Text

make you mine

8.1k | sister’s ex boyfriend tommy miller x male reader

summary: the intense feelings you've swallowed down for your sister's boyfriend are shown when he's comes back to pick up the rest of his things

warnings: MDNI 18+, mentions of abuse, pet names (bunny, baby, sweetheart, etc.), friends to lovers tommy, no mention of age besides your sister is older, and so is tommy, no description of reader, but tommy lifts you (2), rimming, oral (m!giving/m!giving) yearning for each other, spit as lube, unprotected p in a, spanking, cocky!tommy, tommy's dick is fucking HUGE AF

a/n: I'M BAAAAAACK!! UGH GOD, i missed this app so much, after countless attempts of writing, i finally have an idea im sooooo excited to share with you. i promise i wont leave again (hopefully), i have a lot of ideas i've written and i need to finally find the time to write so you guys can finally read soon, but for now, i hope you enjoy 'make you mine'!

a/n 2: also a huge thanks to @sofmoth, @king-simp, @pedgito, @perotovar, and @strang3lov3 for beta reading, love uuuuuu sooooo much.

a/n 3: just wanted to say @king-simp for putting up with me for like months and hearing my ideas days after days, and hearing me out so many times on ideas, and making them soooo much better than what I thought. Love you girlllll 🤍🤍

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Oh shit, It’s so inappropriate how bad I’ve wanted to do this to you, bunny.”

You were shocked by Tommy’s sudden confession; you raised your head at the man fingering you with beads of sweat on your forehead. “What?” You whimper. Rays of sunlight kept dancing through your eyes as you were washing the dishes, home alone, and making sure your parents didn't have something to complain about, and your sister couldn’t find the special dish she took to work. It caused that feeling of chills crawling down your spine thinking about it. Your family wasn’t intense; they just worked a lot and were under a lot of stress at times; you wish you could say the same about your sister; the times you’ve quietly excited a room from her intensity, you wouldn’t be able to count them on one hand.

Speaking of family, you heard your doorbell go off as you hung the last dish on the dish strainer, turning off the water, thinking your sister or one of your parents was coming home early and forgot their keys, you shook your hands in the sink, noticing how pruney your hands looked, grabbing a paper towel nearby, and wiping your hands, quickly throwing away the wet paper towel into the nearby garbage can. The doorbell went off again as you began walking towards the door. “I’m coming, jeez,” You start as you grab the doorknob and turn it. “Forgot your keys again?” You pull the door towards you as you expect your sister to be on the other side to answer your question.

But you had been met with a familiar sight of shoulder-length hair, a mustache that could make a grown man cry, a denim button-up shirt hanging on broad shoulders, and you swore your sister loathed the material of his shirt. Tommy Miller was on the other side of your front door. Your sister and Tommy had dated for about a year and five months. He and your sister weren’t the on-and-off type, but there were times when you could hear them arguing, and you felt terrible for Tommy for having to face your sister’s wrath. “Oh, hey, Tommy.”

“Oh, hey, bunny,” Tommy’s southern accent felt rich, and a light chuckle escaped his mouth. You chuckle as you rest your fingers against your forehead. “You know I hate that nickname,” You commented. Tommy chuckles again before he opens his mouth to speak. “It’s not my fault you're obsessed with that one character with long ears who looks like a bunny.” Tommy crossed his arms, angling his eyes towards you. “He’s a puppy,” You commented, staring at him

“I’m still calling you bunny.”

You and Tommy chuckle together as you enjoy each other’s company; a thought passes. Your sister didn’t say anything about Tommy dropping by. Now that you think of it, no one has mentioned Tommy’s name since you returned from your trip. You replicated the same action as Tommy and leaned yourself against the door. “Not to burst your bubble, my sister isn’t here,” You shrugged.

Tommy nodded, glanced at the floor, and then back at you. “Yeah, I know,” he started. “Oh,” You were shocked, to say the least. Then why was he here? “Are you guys moving in together or something?” You shrugged. “She and my parents haven’t said anything since I got back,” You added. “Your trip, that’s right,” Tommy spoke, shoving his hands into his pockets. “How was that?”

You and your best friend had decided to stay in New York for a week, the vacation the both of you desperately needed and craved. When you came back, in your eyes, it was as if nothing changed. “Fun needed a break from life,” You joked. “Felt that,” Tommy huffed a chuckle.

You smiled and nodded. “But, did something happen?” You shrugged, confused. “It’s like your name is a curse or something.”

“Ah, bunny,” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, squinting his eyes towards you. It’s complicated; maybe you should ask your sister.” You could tell Tommy wasn’t trying to add more fire to whatever drama occurred when you were gone. Being the nonconfrontational type, you appreciated Tommy for keeping whatever secret to himself, but you already knew asking your family would be a bust. He would be the next best thing. “Can I come in?”

“Not unless you tell me what’s happening,” You shrugged. Tommy huffed a breath, not in a moment of frustration or loss of patience; it was a breath and finding the words to come up with ways to come clean about something he’s been terrified of you finding out differently. “We broke up,” Tommy announced. You blinked your eyes into a shocked look; of all the things you were trying to mentally prepare yourself to hear, him and your sister breaking up wasn’t something that you wouldn’t think would happen.

Yes, the duo wasn’t perfect together, but you always thought they would make it work. Without a thought, you moved yourself away from the door to give Tommy enough space to walk in. As he walked in, Tommy nodded and smirked at you; you felt a breeze hit your legs as he moved past you. Glancing down at your legs, you noticed you opened the door in your underwear. “Fuck me,” You muttered to yourself; you closed the front door, locking it as a habit, and walked towards where you knew Tommy was going.

You pushed your sister’s bedroom door open and spotted Tommy in your sister’s closet, getting his clothes from their hangers and placing them on her bed. “Wait, you guys broke up?” You questioned, closing her bedroom door behind you. “Yep,” Tommy nodded, looking into the closet.

“What, why, what happened?”

Tommy glanced towards you as he saw your face riddled with confusion. He drew his lips in a thin line, exhaled through his nose, and made his way towards to stand in front of you, crossing his arms, huffing his chest towards you, the material of his denim shirt bending around his biceps. “Do you know why I would often ask you to go out and drink, and I labeled you as my “drinkin’ buddy”?” Tommy questioned.

“I just thought it was you being nice, you know, making sure your girlfriend’s brother didn’t feel left out,” You shrugged.

“Not entirely,” Tommy started, sitting on the edge of his ex-girlfriend's bed. “Your sister ain’t the best type to drink with, unlike you. She can tend to overdrink, which we’ve argued about multiple times. There have been a couple of times where she’s tried to get physical with me, trying to limit her drinking habit.”

The thought of your sister being physical sent a shiver down your spine, hearing someone else say the words. You swallowed harshly and nodded your head for Tommy to continue. “A week ago, when you were out and so were your folks, I told her that we aren’t good together, and she flipped out on me, cursing at me, screaming at me, she even clawed at me.”

Shocked wouldn’t be the word expressed on your face; bewilderment would be. “What? Where?” You questioned, you asked, sitting on the left of him. Tommy used his left hand to pull his collar down to show you three scarred-up claw marks on where his left collarbone rested. “Oh, my god, Tommy. I’m sorry.’

“It ain't your fault, bunny. You ain’t do nothing,” Tommy waved off as he let go of his collar. “Exactly, I didn’t say anything, I should’ve–”

“There was nothin’ you could’ve done,” Tommy placed a hand on your back. “You’re a good person already; that’s all I wanted.” You sighed in defeat while Tommy continued to soothe you, rubbing your back. “It’s going to be weird not seeing you here.”

“Ah,” Tommy waved off, removing his hand from your back and slapping it against his jeans. “You still have my number? You can always crash at my place if you ever want to escape this house of horrors.” You chuckled at Tommy’s invitation and shook your head, contemplating the option. “I’ll hold you to that,” you pointed at the man beside you. He laughed, and you joined him. It seemed like something that fate had landed on your lap.

You felt the mattress shift lightly as Tommy leaned towards you. “You know you’re in your underwear, right, bunny?”

“Yeah, I know,” You hide your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “It’s fine,” Tommy slapped his hand on your bare thigh and then laced his hand with his own. For the split second, Tommy’s hand was on your thigh; his hand felt warm against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity toward your spine. “You’ve seen me in mine, so we’re even.” Tommy acknowledged, and you nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately or fortunately, I have.”

“What do you mean, unfortunately?” Tommy playfully shoves you. You laugh as you regain your balance next to him. “I mean, not to make you uncomfortable, but you do have an amazing body,” Your chuckles slip out from time to time.

“Amazin’ body, huh?” Tommy teased, leaning his head towards yours. “With your sister’s scratches, It’ll take a while before I’m back to “amazing body” status.”

“Hey, scratches or not, you still look good,” You commented.

“Oh, really?” Tommy questioned, playfully pushing his shoulder with yours. “Yeah,” You nodded.

“You ain’t so bad yourself,” Tommy spoke, placing his hand on your thigh again, but this time, he didn’t let go; the warmth of his hand had been caked onto your skin. You balled your hand into a fist behind Tommy. The feeling felt nice, but it felt different from the cold breeze that kept rubbing against your other leg. “Is this alright?” Tommy asked. Looking up towards the southern man, you nodded your head, and Tommy’s hand rose.

You shuddered lightly as Tommy’s hand got closer to your cock, his thumb pressing onto the tip of your cock, making your toes curl. “You like that?” Tommy softly spoke into your ear. “Mhm, yeah,” You nodded. “How about this?” Tommy slipped his hand further as he began cupping the bulge in your underwear. You inhaled deeply, puffing your chest, and your hands gripped the sheets of your sister’s bed. Pushing out an exhale, Tommy chuckled as he saw your cock throbbing underneath his hand. “Look at you, bunny, twitchin’ under my hand,”

“We–.” You swallowed sharply. “We– we shouldn’t–”

“We shouldn’t be doin’ this?” Tommy questioned; his hand started to come off your cock before you began to speak. “We shouldn’t be doing this in my sister’s room,” You nodded, looking at him. Tommy huffed a smile as he took you and made you straddle his lap; you laughed as you placed your hand on the side of his neck, his forehead rested against yours; you could see the smile radiating off him, something you seemed to have only seen when he’s around you.

Tommy’s hands rested on your waist before he slipped them onto your ass and then rested under your thighs. “Is it inappropriate to say that I’ve probably dreamt of this moment before?”

You smile before you answer. “That you wanted be close to your sister’s brother?”

Tommy huffs a smile before pressing his nose lightly against yours. “That I would be happy with someone like you.” Your hands trail up against his cheeks, your thumbs trailing his cheeks as he smiles at you. “You have such cute freckles.”

Tommy laughs at your compliment. “No, seriously, they suit you a little too well,” You smile as Tommy dips his head below, his lips centimeters away from yours. Almost as if he were playing with you, backing his head up ever so slightly just to put them back centimeters away. “You are such a cat,” You announce.

“Oh, you love it.” Tommy stood up, and your legs stopped bending into the mattress and just rested against the sides of his hips while his hands rested in the bends of your knees; you smiled and rested your arms onto his shoulders; it wasn’t until Tommy collided your back with your sister’s bedroom door was when he connected his lips against yours. Tommy didn’t hold back when he kissed you, his hands digging into the skin of your thighs as one of your hands rested on the nape of his neck. You felt his tongue connected with yours, making the kiss feel more passionate. His lips felt soft while his mustache on your upper lip felt coarse, the opposite sensations putting your body into overdrive. You knew in this very moment that this is something you’ve wanted to happen for so long, the number of drunk thoughts you would have about Tommy turning sexually, that you wanted something to happen with your drunk friend like it had been a scene from your favorite fanfiction or something, but you knew it was wrong because of your sister.

But you didn’t care about how she felt then; you wanted Tommy, you have Tommy, now you don’t want him to go away. “Fuck, you taste good, bunny,” Tommy breathed as he grinded his pelvis into yours; you moaned into Tommy’s mouth, while he grunted into yours. “I can’t get enough of you,” Tommy grunted. One of his hands slipped from the bend of your knee, reaching for the doorknob, backing your body away from the door, opening it, and walking towards your bedroom. Still kissing each other, Tommy readjusted his hand back and continued to walk towards your room.

Pushing the door open with your back, Tommy rushed into your room and placed you on the edge of your dresser. You gasped when one of Tommy’s hands slipped onto your waist, and the other slipped under your shirt. His soft but calloused hand was warm against your stomach as he latched his lips onto yours. Your hands reached to cup his face as you leaned down to deepen the kiss.

Kissing Tommy felt like the sensation of finding gold for the first time, exciting. A sensation you didn’t want to let go of when your hands slipped into his hair, and you lightly gripped his hair. You understood that Tommy felt the same way when the grip on your waist and your bare stomach grew tighter. With each smooch, Tommy breathed heavily against your lips, feeling the texture of your soft lips against his; he never felt more present in the moment.

Slipping your hands onto his broad shoulders, you were eager to feel more of Tommy. You slip your hands down even more and feel down his chest; his pec feels like a handful against your hand. Tommy chuckles and smiles against your lips. “Eager, ain’t we?” The southern questions. “Shut up,” You smiled as you raised your hands on the buttons of his shirt.

You or he didn't break the kiss with each button you popped off Tommy’s shirt, not even when Tommy tossed the denim shirt aside. He just wanted to keep on tasting you.

It took a lot to be the one to break the kiss after what felt like minutes of your lips dancing around each other. Tommy’s hand moved from your stomach to the sides of your thighs. “Somethin’ wrong, bunny?”

“No, I’ve just wanted this moment for so long, is that fucked up?”

Tommy shook his head and rested your forehead against his as you bent your head down and took your hands in his. “A little,” Tommy started. You groaned into your hands, and then Tommy caused you to look at him while he took your hand in his. “But, that’s what I like about you,”

“You're funny, spontaneous as hell, and sweet, geez, I couldn’t have met someone better than you, bunny,” Tommy reached for your cheek, cupping your face into his palm, rubbing your cheek. You smile as you go for Tommy’s hand, rubbing your thumb against his knuckle. “Do you think we could move to the bed?” You questioned. A raised eyebrow came from Tommy Miller's face; he chuckled before licking his lips. “Eager, are we, bunny?”

“Yes, but my butt is getting so sore, sitting on the edge of this thing,” You winced and laughed before Tommy took his hands and put them back on your waist. “But I haven’t even done anythin’, baby.” You give a look, Tommy, and the man chuckled while you wrapped your legs around his waist again, and he rested your back against your mattress, kissing you once again while crawling in between your thighs.

You felt Tommy grind his hips into yours, feeling his bulge underneath the denim against your cloth-covered cock. Tommy’s lips trailed down from your lips down to your jaw. With every time Tommy grinded into you, a moan escaped your lips, and you could feel a smile from Tommy against the tender skin of your neck.

Sliding your shirt up and planting kisses trailing from your chest to your navel. Tommy’s thick fingers grab the waistband of your underwear as he slides them down. “Lift your hips, bunny.” You do as Tommy orders; he slides your underwear off your thighs and disregards them aside, looking down between your bodies and chuckling at the sight he was seeing your hard cock twitch against the bulge in his jeans. Tommy wanted to see something, so he slowly grinded your bare cock, and you lightly squirmed at the sensation. Hearing you shudder, Tommy smirks at you and lightly picks up the pace.

“Fuck, baby, you like that?”

“Yeah,” You nodded.

“Fuck yeah, I love it when you squirm for me.”

As Tommy begins to stand up, you breathe in relief as if any more times he were to grind against your cock, you would’ve exploded. Tommy pulls you towards the edge of the mattress, and you are surprised at the sudden action. “Look a’that, y’hard f’me already, baby?” You huff a chuckle at Tommy; you gasp as you feel his lips press the tip of your hard-covered cock. With each kiss brought against the tip and the shaft of your cock, it feels like heaven to you, bringing you absolute bliss against your skin. You get your foot against Tommy’s bare shoulder as your other one hangs off the edge of the bed, arching your back in pleasure as Tommy’s mouth moves down your thigh.

“God, you’re s’fuckin’ perfect, baby.” Standing up from his position, Tommy softly presses his lips against yours, bringing his hand into the bend of your knee, his other hand holding the side of your face. Tommy's tongue licked your bottom lip, awaiting your mouth to open. Tommy slips his tongue into your mouth, slightly parting your lips, causing you to smile at Tommy’s eagerness.

“How do you feel?” Tommy questions against your lips.

“Good, so good.” You breathed. “How about I make you feel even fuckin’ great.” Tommy’s question came out as a statement, causing you to question his meaning. Without warning, Tommy backs up from your face and laps his tongue on the all too sensitive head of your cock, making a moan escape from your mouth, your toes curl, and your eyes roll in the back of your head, sliding his tongue against the slit of your cock, moans escaping your mouth. “F-fuck, Tommy,” You breathe.

“Y’like that, baby?”

You breathe out an answer as Tommy starts to slowly stroke your cock as he rests himself on one knee on the ground next to the bed frame. “Yes, so fucking much.” You arch your back as the pleasure sets in. You never knew this level of intensity until Tommy; he knew what would make you tick without even having any sexual experience with you in the past, everything you imagined about what the southern would do to you if things had gone a complete 180 after your hangouts, but now the reality is kicking your imagination out of the park.

Wrapping his mouth slowly around the tip of your cock, Tommy slowly goes down the shaft of your length, causing you to moan and white knuckle your sheets as you throw your head back — arching your back and snapping your eyes shut in pleasure. “OH, fuck!” You exclaim in pleasure. His pace was slow but patient. Tommy wanted to make you feel something you rarely experienced — something once in a blue moon. Wrapping his hands around the shaft of your cock, his fingers would let go for a moment before wrapping.

Dragging your fingers into Tommy’s curls, you slowly push his head down, hoping he could speed up. “Fuck, Tommy. This feels amazing,” You breathed.

“Can you go faster, please?” Your question sounded like a plea.

“Oh, sweetheart. I can show ya one better.”

As Tommy’s mouth felt warm around your cock, he started to go faster as you gasped in pleasure, you gripping the material of your sheets; you felt Tommy’s hand slide from your thigh as he slowly began to tease your hole. The skin of your taint felt sensitive with each stroke of Tommy’s finger teasing you; each swipe, each light poke, and prodding made your body shiver in anticipation. You had been put into overdrive because of your older sister’s ex-boyfriend. Tommy was slowly rising you towards your peak. Your cock twitches in Tommy’s mouth showing the throbbing pain that was threatening to shoot out. Slowly and teasing, Tommy slides his mouth off your cock, swallowing the spit that had collected in his mouth; Tommy wipes the reminder off his lips with the back of his hand, glances at you, and chuckles as he strokes your cock. “Y’close, baby?”

“Yes,” You whimper. “So fuckin’ close. It hurts so much. Can I cum yet, Tommy?”

A sly smirk appeared as he started to chuckle – staring at you. Tommy stops pumping your cock — landing on your stomach, precum leaking from the slit. “Not yet, bunny. We ain’t done yet.”

Lifting your legs, Tommy slides his head down deeper in between your thighs. He laps his tongue against your aching hole; you bite your lip, causing a shaky moan to escape your lips as you hold your legs up so Tommy can get better access to your hole. His hands are planted on your inner thighs as he keeps his tongue against your taint. Tommy’s tongue felt like magic against you, showing you things you’ve never felt before — things you’ve only imagined happening. His tongue sliding up and down, in and out of your hole, made you want to cum by how much Tommy has been treating you.

The sensation of soft lips and a coarse mustache planting kisses against your taint made your toes curl — the bones threatening to pop out, your nails digging into the skin of your thighs, your moans escaping from you with each movement of the mix of feelings from Tommy’s lips and tongue was giving you pleasure.

A new feeling appeared when you felt something being pushed inside you, causing a moan to rush out of you as you let go of one of your thighs, started gripping the sheets below you, and threatened to rip them up. You look down at Tommy, plump cheeks looking up at you with a smirk on his face; you notice what is being pushed inside you; Tommy’s thick middle finger has taken a turn to please you.

“Y’like that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Oh fuck, yeah, I do,” You whimper, throwing your head back, closing your eyes, and moaning with each pump of Tommy’s finger.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Tommy spoke as he slid another finger into you. You exclaimed in pleasure. “You make me happy, bunny. You always have been the one to make me.” The man huffed a smile towards you, and you reciprocated a smile back towards Tommy before you rested your head on the mattress. “Fuck, my sister is so fucking stupid for letting you go,” You breathed as you withered in pleasure. Tommy chuckled at your statement. “Good thing I finally have the better sibling,” Tommy grunted. You laughed, and then the laugh turned into a moan.

Sliding a third finger in, Tommy’s pace had gone faster. You knew he was trying to test your limits; it would be an adventure for both of you to find it. “Look at how your hole wraps around m’fingers; it keeps sucking me in no matter how hard I try to pull out, baby.”

The sudden movements from your hips as you kept raising your hips and bringing them back down. Gritting your teeth, and tiny whimpers leaking through your teeth. Pleasure flowed throughout your body — something you yearned for Tommy to reach with you.

Tommy would admit this if you asked, and close to you sent him over the moon. He’s probably thought about this once or twice, but he loves that he can finally get this close to you.

“Tommy?” You breathed.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I suck your cock?”

Tommy had never heard that question from your sister; she always wanted things her way, so Tommy hasn’t been pleased in that regard. So, hearing your question surprised him a little bit. Slipping his fingers outside your hole, aching for how you would feel around his cock, Tommy smirks at you, stands up, and opens his mouth to speak. “Yes, you can, bunny.” As you sit up and sit on the edge of your mattress, you notice the length that resided in his jeans. You blinked as you saw the bulge filling his jeans.

Noticing the look in your eyes as he was cupping the growing length in his jeans as he smirked and smiled at you, Tommy looked at you. “I gotta ask, sweetheart, how long have you been wantin'’’ to suck my cock?” You swallowed before you provided an answer. “For so long,” You glanced at Tommy.

Tommy's sly smirk appeared before he bent his head down to get closer to your ear. “Then I best not keep you waitin’.” His whisper sends chills down your spine. Sliding your back against the mattress, you slid so your knees hit the wood below you. Watching the eagerness flood Tommy’s eyes made you feel butterflies in your stomach. Tommy slipped his belt off, throwing it on the ground next to him, releasing the button of his jeans popped above you, and hearing the zipper going down, you watched as Tommy’s cock popped out from its restraints.

You stared in awe at the sheer size of Tommy’s dick. Tommy’s throbbing cock bounced in front of you, precum leaking from the slit of his cock. This was better than you can ever imagine. Veins traveled up the shaft of his cock, stopping at the mushroom tip of his cock. The happy trail from Tommy’s tummy showed up his pubic hair that rested above the shaft of his cock. Your mouth went dry in anticipation. It was the first time you had ever seen a dick this big and thick before and so close to your face.

“Fuck, bunny. I need to feel you,” Tommy groaned.

“Well, best not keep you waitin’ now, can we?” You quoted, dragging Tommy’s jeans down as your knuckles brushed up against the hair on his legs, gravity stopping Tommy’s jeans when they stopped at his ankles, your hand wraps the shaft of his cock. You slowly wrap your lips around the tip of Tommy’s cock, and you hear him exhale in pleasure – a sound you yearned to hear in the past.

Slowly pushing your head down the shaft of Tommy’s cock, lips wrapped tight – spit dripping down your chin; you feel the veins trace the skin of your lips as the head of Tommy’s cock presses into the back of your throat. A groan of pleasure escapes Tommy’s lips as you back your head up. You push your head forward and back leisurely, and you can tell the pace makes Tommy not see straight. His member in your mouth kept throbbing against the roof of your mouth. Suddenly, your pace went a little faster; you looked up and noticed Tommy was bearing his teeth, his hands gripping the back of your head, his hips having a mind of their own as he was obsessed with your mouth around his cock. The warmth of your mouth sent him into his version of heaven, and with each pump into your mouth, he couldn’t get enough of you.

The taste of salt fell upon your tongue as you backed your head up from Tommy’s cock. A line of spit mixed with precum connecting from your mouth to the tip of Tommy’s cock was made apparent as well as the tip of his cock reddened; eventually, the line of spit dropped onto the ground below you as you wrapped your hand around Tommy’s cock and started pumping his shaft, as the man dropped his hands to his sides. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, baby,” Tommy released shaky breaths as he apologized.

You quickly swallowed the spit in your mouth. “It’s okay,” You breathed.

The moans escaping Tommy's lips had been a symphony to you. As your moans were to Tommy. “Fuck, baby. Y’so good at that. I’m so glad it's you doin’ this to me.” His southern drawl causes somersaults in your stomach. Sliding your mouth back onto Tommy’s cock, a deep guttural growl escaped his lips as your lips were at a quick pace, your hands planted on Tommy’s thighs, the hair on his thighs pressed up against your hand as the tip of Tommy’s cock kept hitting the back of your throat. Moans, grunts, whines, and whimpers were all escaping from Tommy’s lips, his hands holding onto your head as his hips humped into your head, his cock pressing deeper – causing you to gag a couple of times. Your nose kept poking into where Tommy’s pubic hair rested; the scent was intoxicating, causing your cock to leak with precum below you.

Suddenly, Tommy held your head – bearing his teeth in pleasure; your throat grasping around his cock, causing you to gag more. Slobber escaping your mouth as with each inhale through your nose – resting on Tommy’s hairy patch made it impossible to exhale without gagging. Your palms were getting sweaty against Tommy’s thighs, the hair on his legs feeling nonexistent against your slippery hands.

His hands slide your head back; lines of spit connect from his cock to your top and bottom lips. Deep inhales and exhales leave your body as you watch Tommy slightly shudder. His cock glistened in your spit, throbbing and visibly reddened. Sweat littered Tommy's shaven chest and forehead; you swallowed the spit in the back of your throat from your excessive breathing. Tommy bent down, grabbed your chin, and kissed you passionately. Your forehead felt heavy with sweat as Tommy backed up from you; he slid his hand up, pushing the strands of hair that littered his forehead. “Fuck, sorry, baby. Y’mouth is so fuckin’ addictin’.”

Tommy, We’re just getting started,” You spoke, disregarding his apology. Quickly eager to show him what you meant, you pick up his cock and slide your tongue on the underside of Tommy’s shaft. Lapping your tongue against his veins, you could hear Tommy’s praise from above. “I wish I had met you first,” Tommy groaned as he slipped his fingers through his hair.

Bringing your tongue slowly down to make Tommy squirm, you feel his body a little bit as you are still holding his cock in your hand; you place your mouth around his ball sack and lightly suck on one of them. “OH, SHIT!” Tommy groaned. Tommy’s body shook, almost falling like a sandcastle; Tommy hadn’t felt this level of pleasure before, from anyone in his past, before meeting you. “You like that, Tommy?” You asked. “Yes,” Tommy gritted his teeth. “Fuck, I love it s’much.” Backing your mouth up, you stroke Tommy’s cock and watch him hold his head back, and moans escape his lips. Bending down, Tommy places his hands between the fold of your armpits and picks you up from your knees.

Planting his lips against yours, the kiss you shared between the two of you felt hungry, Lips mashing against each other, teeth clashing against each other. Tommy’s arms hold you tightly against his torso. Tommy was fucking yearning for you as his lips were latching against your cheeks, jawline, against the skin of your neck. That feeling of Tommy’s teeth against your neck made you know Tommy was marking you as his. Your nails drag against Tommy’s lengthy hair as you enjoy Tommy’s mouth, bringing his head back against your lips. Sweat forming on Tommy’s bare chest was seeping through your shirt. You wanted to take it off to feel Tommy’s skin against yours. Backing your head away from Tommy’s, his head following suit as he watches you attempt to take your shirt off.

Tommy couldn’t wait to get the shirt off and over your head. Wrapping your arms around Tommy’s neck, he wraps his arms against your lower back. The warmth of each other’s bodies radiated against each other. Your cocks rubbed against each other; the warmth you both shared was hot enough to blow the roof off your bedroom. This experience felt surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

Backing his head away from your lips, you notice a look of wanting in Tommy’s eyes, which start to darken as he opens his mouth to speak. “Fuck, I gotta have you now, bunny,” Tommy admitted.

“Get on that fuckin’ bed,” Tommy nodded toward the mattress. You listened to Tommy, letting your arms go from around his neck; you crawled on the bed, right where your pillow was rested, on your chin; as you rested on your stomach, you heard Tommy crawling behind you, readjusting you to have you on your knees – spread apart and your back arched. A line of spit leaves Tommy’s mouth and connects to the tip of his cock, rubbing the spit to lube up his cock. Slowly leaning behind you, Tommy moves his hand from the tip to his shaft as he starts to tease you – making you shudder in anticipation.

Moving his cock to poke your hole makes you yearn for him every slight push into you. Tommy begins to question you. “How bad you want my cock, baby?”

“Badly,” You admit.

Tommy leans up behind you, and you can feel his breath against your ear; as you feel the shaft of his cock fit into the curves of your ass, his hips begin to slightly shift up and down, teasing you, causing your hole to ache. “Just how badly?” Tommy questioned. “So fuckin’ bad, I need you, Tommy.” You hear him chuckle against your ear as he whispers in your ear. “Well then, best not keep you waiting.” Tommy backed up from your ear, and with one of his hands, he angled his cock to press against your hole.

Tommy slowly pushes in; you feel the tip stretch you out and his hands on your hips. You stifle your moans into the pillow below. “Does it hurt, baby?” You shake your head, denying Tommy’s question. His shaft is halfway in before he pulls out fast, his grip let loose on your waist. You gasp before breathing heavily. “Oh shit. Sorry, baby, gimmie a minute,” Tommy commented. Once again, Tommy slides his cock into you, hands back onto your waist, making your moans have no level of intensity as prior lovers. Halfway in, Tommy rocks his hips back and forth slowly into you, hoping you can adjust to his size. Your eyes snapped shut intensely, straining your eyelids. The pain was starting to feel good, too good.

“Is this okay, baby?” Opening your eyes, you crane your neck to notice the concern in Tommy’s eyes. He looked so careful, protective, and sweet; you’ve always liked this side of him. “Yes, Tommy. It’s okay,” You smile. Leaning down to kiss you, Tommy’s hips still rocking into your hole, moans exiting your mouth and entering Tommy’s. Feeling him slowly stretch you out felt indescribable; it felt good, but you did want Tommy to go faster. “Tommy,” You moan against Tommy's mouth. “Yes, baby?”

Tommy backs up to hear you properly. But before Tommy could say anything, it was as if a switch went off inside his head, as his hands were molding into your waist. His pace was faster and rougher. Claps rang throughout the room with each thrust as you angled your hands to reach behind and reach for Tommy’s bicep while Tommy was drilling his cock inside you. His bicep felt huge compared to your hand. It felt like Tommy could read your mind, knowing that you wanted more and that he would give it to you. “Fuck, I could do this all day, bunny. This feels so amazing,” Tommy breathed; the man looked at you and moved closer to you so the curve of your back could fit together with his tummy, his hands placed on either side of your head while his lips latched onto yours as his cock continued to pump inside you. With each pump, you moaned against Tommy’s mouth, and he smiled against your lips.

“Y’wanna know how bad I’ve wanted to do this?” Tommy breathed.

“How much?” You asked through gritted teeth.

“Every time we went drinking,” Tommy grunted. “Every single time we got too close to each other, whenever you would rest your head on my shoulder.”

“God, I must’ve asked for this countless times, goddamn prayed for it,” Tommy gritted while holding your chin, causing you to look at him again as he slowly started pumping his cock; he was slowly humping in and just staring at you in your eyes. “Now I finally got what I want, you,” Tommy announced as he slid his cock out of you and laid down next to you; his cock was still hard, but Tommy wanted more of you. You adjusted yourself on your side, and Tommy started holding the bend of your knee; Tommy adjusted his cock to press against the hole of your taint, causing you to shudder and chuckle when you craned your head over your shoulder and saw Tommy’s cheeky grin. You feel Tommy’s cock slide inside your hole; as you placed your head on the pillow, you felt his stomach against your back again; that feeling of closeness with someone you never thought you could have made your cock throb.

Tommy’s arm had wrapped around your head. As you picked it up and rested on his forearm, you could hear the grunts and groans leaving Tommy’s lips and feel his breath on your ear.

“Y’wanted this, didn’t ya?” Tommy grunted.

“Fuck, yeah, Tommy,” You writhing in pleasure, “Wanted this for so long.”

“I’can say the same about this boy pussy of yours, grippin’ onto me so tight, it doesn’t want to let go, and I don’t think I want it to.” You bring your hands to Tommy’s head and plant your lips against his. An exhale leaves Tommy’s mouth against yours. This may sound like a diss to your sister, but seeing this side of Tommy made you wonder if she ever made Tommy this pleased. “I gotta ask,” You breathed. “My sister never made you this happy, right?”

“Your sister,” Tommy grunted. “Never wanted to do the things you asked for; always wanted things her way.” Tommy’s cock kept hitting your G-spot; you moaned in pleasure as your hand craned onto the back of his head. “And with you, I know what we both like,” Tommy pumped his cock forcefully, causing you to meet him at the base of his cock. “So I’m gonna fuck you so hard till we both get what we want.” Tommy’s cock pumped inside your forcefully again, and you felt your walls slowly adjust to the size of his cock.

Tommy’s length was stretching you out as his cock kept pumping into you, causing moans to escape through your mouth. The sun's rays glistened on both your skin and Tommy’s as sweat littered on the both of you. Tommy bore his teeth and started to fuck you senselessly. Wrapping his forearm in the front of your neck and his other arm deeper in the bend of your knee, – his hands interlocking with each other. You moan in pleasure as you hear low growls escape Tommy Miller – feeling his breath against your ear causes shivers to crawl down your spine. “Fuck, you feel my cock stretchin’ you out, baby?”

“Mhmm,” You nodded, shutting your eyes, avoiding his glare.

“Hey,” Tommy’s voice made you snap your eyes open to look at him. “I need a clear answer,” His teeth gritted. “No more of that ‘Mhmm’ shit.” His pace began to slow down a bit.

You couldn’t tell if you were turned on or scared by his dominance, but you could feel your cock throb once again, so you had your answer. “Yes, I feel your cock.”

The man behind you grins, “Well, you better get used to it. This boy pussy is mine; nobody elses; I don’t give a shit what your sister says or your folks. You’re mine now, understand?”

You were about to nod your head until you answered. “Yes, I’m yours.”

“Envision this,” Tommy’s hold was still the same, with his hands still interlocked, but his gaze wasn’t on you anymore. It had been at the door he carried you in moments prior. “Your folks walk in, and they see this; your sis sees us together, but I don’t give a rat's ass, and I just keep going,” One deep thrust caused you to groan. “I just keep filling your hole with my cock, because I don’t care anymore because you – deep thrust – are – deep thrust – mine!” In the last thrust, Tommy released his hold on you, and you moaned into your pillow.

As your face was in your pillow, you felt Tommy’s hand smack your ass. “C’mon, bunny. We ain’t done. You chuckled as you picked your face up from your pillow; you saw Tommy adjust himself in the middle of your bed – his head is where your feet should be, and his cock was throbbing and leaking with pre-cum. “What do ya say, bunny?” Tommy patted his thigh. “You gonna take this stallion for a ride?”

Playfully biting your lip at Tommy’s question, you playfully crawl towards him and straddle his lap. You feel the tip of his cock on your ass cheek, so you maneuver the shaft of his cock to sit in the curve of your ass; you begin to grind your ass back as if you were trying to tease Tommy. “I kinda just had a funny thought.”

You hear a light chuckle from the man under you – his hands on your waist – moving you back and forth against the shaft of his cock – your hands on his chest, “What is it?” Tommy smirks. “I can always tell my mom I’m going to be at a friend's house when in reality,” You bow your head closer to his. “I’m actually having the time of my life at Tommy Miller’s place. Do you like that idea?’

“Oh, I love that idea,” Tommy growled, his hands slapping your ass. “Oh really, you do?”

“I’m fucking obsessed with it, baby.” Tommy’s lips latched onto yours, you placed your hands on each side of his face, and you started grinding your hips against the shaft of his cock again. “Oh, fuck, baby,” Tommy’s southern drawl was moaned against your mouth, “You’re gettin’ me all hot and bothered, making me feel things I never thought I would ever feel.”

“Huh, really?” You asked cocky.

“Mhm.” Tommy smooched against your lips.

“How about I give you another one,” You say as you adjust the tip of Tommy’s cock to press up against your hole. Sliding yourself down onto his cock, the both of you groan into pleasure as you place your hand back onto his chest. You started to breathe heavily as you tried to readjust to Tommy’s length. “Hey, hey, you got this. Deep breaths,” He reassured.

When you met the base of his cock, a howl escaped Tommy’s lips. “Would ya’ look at that? Fits just like a glove, huh?” His hands spank your ass again. “What was that you said about feelin’ another feeling?” You watched as Tommy bore his teeth and started to fuck you senselessly. Wrapping his hand tight on your waist. You ball your hands into fists on Tommy’s pecs – your knuckles begin to get sweaty. “You like this, don’t ya, baby?”

“Fuck, yeah,” You nodded.

“You want my cum to swim inside you – gettin’ you pregnant?”

“Fuck, Tommy, I need you now.”

His hands went up the small of your back – your face leaning feet away from his. “Imma give you what you, baby. Don’t you worry,” Tommy reassured.

That feeling of being stretched out came back as you rested your forehead on Tommy’s. His hands are on your upper back, holding you in position; each push of his length made your moans push out of you more. It was like your body was in heat — Tommy’s warmth.

He was so different from the respectable man you met; he had become someone different because of you, and you loved every minute. “I’m so close to cummin’ inside you, baby. Fuck, you feel my cock throbbin’ inside you?”

If you were lying, the feeling of each throb that was coming from Tommy’s cock, caused you to feel like you were about to cum. “Tommy, I’m so close. Keep going,” You begged.

“Fuck,” Tommy growled. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.” His pace was going faster, and it felt the tip of your cock felt like it was going to explode with your cum. “Fuck, Tommy. I’m gonna cum.”

“Fuck, bunny. Me too.’

“Here it comes,” Tommy gritted his teeth.

With one final push, you see your cum shoot out onto Tommy’s chest, and you also feel Tommy’s cum swim inside you – you see the man slightly shudder as strings of cum shoot inside you. Light breaths are escaping both of you as you lightly pat Tommy’s chest. You slowly start to slide off his cock; you feel his warm cum slide out from your hole. A sigh of relief exits your mouth, and you rest your body next to Tommy’s – your head on his shoulder. The both of you breathing heavily as you were both exhausted, the adrenaline wearing off, his soft cock against his stomach as you see his chest dip and rise from the breaths he’s taking.

“On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate–” You start, but then you get cut off by Tommy.

“A fuckin’ twelve – shit, an a million.”

You chuckle against Tommy’s shoulder and place your hand on his chest, right over his heart – you feel it racing. “An a million?” You smile.

“A million,” Tommy repeated, looking at you and placing his hand over yours. Both of you smile as you look into each other’s eyes; you slightly shake your head and lick your lips, which Tommy notices. “What?’

“My sister is so fucking stupid; the fact that she couldn’t treat you right means she’s fuckin’ brain dead.” Tommy couldn’t help but chuckle as he heard what you said about your sister. “I”m serious, your caring, sweet, protective, and you know how to fuck, like a beast.”

“Oh, I know how to fuck, huh?”

“What would you call what we just did? Dancing?” You joke. Tommy always did love your nonchalant attitude. “That was makin’ love, baby. Pure and sweet love makin’ with the guy I love most.” Tommy smiled and planted his lips on your forehead, backing up and looking into your eyes again.

“Now, I don’t want to be a party pooper–”

“Then don’t, baby,” Tommy moved the arm you were resting on and held you tighter in a cuddle. “Let’s just enjoy our moment together.”

“You need to get the rest of your things out of my sister’s room, and I need to shower; quite frankly, we need a shower.”

“Why is that, bunny?”

You adjust to rest your head on his chest, his arm still holding you. “So I can tell my mom, dad, and sister that I’ll be at a friend’s house when, in reality, I’m at your place,” you smile.

Tommy’s face went into a frown as he was thinking. “Well, in that case, I’ll meet you in the shower?”

“I will try to meet you in the shower; my legs are killing me.”

“Okay,” Tommy quickly let you go and got out of your bed faster than he would if he were in lava. You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw him leave your bedroom and move towards the bathroom. You smiled and exhaled when you realized you finally got what you wanted.

#tommy miller x you #tommy miller smut #tommy miller gif #tommy miller fic #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller tlou #tommy miller #tommy miller x male reader #gabriel luna x male reader #gabriel luna x reader #gabriel luna characters #gabriel luna #tommy smut #tommy fic #tommy #tommy miller fluff #tommy miller fanfic #tommy miller au #tommy miller one shot

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 15 hours ago

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WILD CHILD KISSES

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem! Summary: Eddie's finally told he'll be graduating, but his spotlight is soon shadowed after a certain event is coming up. Warnings: mentions of drinking, flirting, tears, kissing. A/N: this is also kind of a warning, I am not American/ do not live there, therefore I do not know how your schooling day works, I have searched it up but there is no clear answer that will help me, so I shall continue to set it up the way my school does here in Australia, which is 2 periods, then 20 minute recess, then 1-2 periods, 40 minute lunch, then 1-2 periods.

buckle up, this is a long one. sorry. 7.3k

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Eddie Munson had spent the better part of the last three years sitting in this very chair, staring at the principal’s desk like it was some medieval execution block. He’d been here so many times he had the wood grain of the desk practically memorized. Detentions, lectures, warnings- all of it leading up to the same crushing reality year after year.

But this time? This time was different.

Principal Higgins let out a sigh, rubbing his temple like the news physically pained him to deliver. “Against all odds, Munson, it appears you’ve finally done enough to graduate.”

Eddie blinked. He was sure he’d heard wrong. “What?”

Higgins folded his hands atop his desk. “You passed, Munson. By the skin of your teeth, but you did it. You’ll be getting your diploma with the rest of your class.”

A slow grin spread across Eddie’s face. He slumped forward, pressing a hand to his chest like he’d just been shot. "you're fuckin' with me, right?"

Higgins cut him off with a dry look. “Language, Mister Munson, and no, it mostly came down to us wanting you out, but you passed, so"

Eddie placed a hand over his chest, right where his heart was and faked a tear, wiping it away with his free hand

"I'm flattered, Higgs, really-" he started before the older man huffed, rolling his eyes at the nickname the teen gave him.

"Yes, yes, now go to recess, boy"

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

He shot up from his chair so fast it nearly toppled over, practically sprinting out the door.

The lady at the front desk of the office looked up at the sound of the door slamming but she visibly relaxed when she saw Eddie's wide smile across his face as he almost skipped through the office.

"Farewell, Linda, you lovely old bat!"

The older woman gasped in offense as Eddie rushed past her, practically spinning her in her chair as he runs down the hall to the cafeteria.

He didn’t care that his boots squeaked against the linoleum, that a couple of freshmen nearly flattened themselves against the lockers to avoid being bulldozed. He had only one thought in his mind:

Tell Hellfire.

By the time he burst into the cafeteria, he was breathless, heart pounding like he’d just run a marathon. Quickly spotting his lost sheep at the Hellfire table, he smiled. The guys were mid-conversation, probably about their next campaign, when Eddie slammed his hands down on the table.

“Guess who's graduating"

For a second, silence.

Then, absolute chaos.

Dustin practically fell out of his chair, Jeff and Gareth erupted into cheers, and Mike started laughing like it was the greatest plot twist in history. Gareth, always the most dramatic, actually leaped onto his seat and threw his hands in the air. “WHAT? NO WAY!”

“I know!” Eddie cackled, throwing his arms up, “I thought I was doomed to haunt this hellhole forever, but lo and behold, miracles do exist!”

The guys pounded on the table, throwing their arms around him, shaking him with excitement. It was loud, ridiculous, everything Eddie could’ve hoped for.

And then, you.

You were smiling at him from across the table, bright-eyed, genuine. Like you were actually proud of him. Not just amused, not just surprised- but really, truly happy.

And without thinking, Eddie turned and hugged you.

It wasn’t like the one-armed, casual side-hugs he’d given other people. No, this was different. He wrapped his arms around you fully, pulling you against his chest, his heart still hammering in exhilaration. You smelled like something sweet- maybe it as your shampoo, maybe something you put on that morning. Either way, it was dizzying.

You were taken back at the hug, not sure where all this came from seen as though everything had been awkward between you today until now.

Your mind was tracing back to the almost-kiss yesterday, it made you nervous and weak in the knees every time you thought about it.

And believe me, you tried so hard to not think about it.

Arms wrapping slowly around his torso, you hugged him back.

For a second, it was just nice. Warm. Familiar in a way that made no sense.

But then it must have hit him. The tension.

His breath hitched, and suddenly, it wasn’t just excitement burning under his skin- it was something else. Something more dangerous.

Reality crashed down, and his arms stiffened. He pulled back, just slightly, just enough to put space between you both- but it was too late. The moment had already stretched just a second too long, crossed into something else.

You blinked up at him, still caught in that moment of pure joy, but it was already shifting. Already becoming something awkward.

Eddie swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands, what to do with himself. His voice came out rough, unsteady. “Uh… sorry.”

And then, before he could look at you again, before he could see whatever expression you were making, he turned away, rubbing the back of his neck like it never happened.

The Hellfire guys were still talking, still cheering, still high on the energy of the moment. None of them had noticed the weird shift between Eddie and you. But you noticed. He knew you did.

You were still standing there, arms now folded over your chest, watching him like you were trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Eddie didn’t want to figure it out. Not right now.

So, he did what he did best.

He played it off.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, forcing a cocky smirk. “Who’s throwing me a graduation party?”

Dustin immediately started rambling about how they had to do something legendary, and just like that, the conversation shifted. The guys took the bait, launching into plans, joking about how Eddie had to go out with a bang.

But across the table, you were still watching him, your gaze unreadable.

And Eddie? He felt like his stomach was in knots.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t just trying to ignore the tension.

He was afraid of what it might mean.

It made you wonder if he really meant what he said- what he admitted to, last night.

Did he like you? did he really like you?

The bell rang, cutting through the chaos of the cafeteria. Eddie glanced around, the guys still animatedly discussing plans for his "legendary" graduation party, but the noise felt distant now. He glanced back at you, still standing there, arms crossed over your chest, looking like you didn’t know whether to stay or go.

"Guess we better get to class," Eddie muttered, his words a little too casual, though his heart was pounding in his chest. He tried to act like nothing had shifted, but he could feel it. You felt it too. Didn’t you?

You nodded, but the hesitation in your step matched his, like neither of you was quite ready for what came next. You pushed your chair back, and Eddie mirrored your movements, both of you standing awkwardly, not sure if you should say anything else.

The silence stretched between you as you both started walking toward the door. Eddie’s boots clicked on the linoleum, his pace a little faster than normal. He didn’t want to rush, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t keep the anxious energy from bubbling up inside him. Every now and then, he’d glance at you- just a quick look, but long enough to see the way you quickly turned your gaze elsewhere.

And then, he’d steal another glance, the second one always a little longer, like he was trying to figure out if you felt the same tightness in your chest, the same unease that was gnawing at him.

"So… you're finally graduating, huh?" You finally said, your voice a little quieter than usual, like you were trying to convince yourself it wasn’t all just some dream.

“Yeah…” Eddie said with a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, his fingers trembling slightly. “I still don’t know if I believe it, honestly. It’s like someone’s pulling a prank on me, but… here we are.”

He was trying to make light of it, but the truth was, his chest was full of nerves. What if this- what if everything- was just him imagining it all? His mind kept cycling back to the moment you hugged him. That warmth, that connection, that feeling of having you pressed against him—it wasn’t like anything else.

But what did it mean? Was it just excitement, or was it something more? Was it possible that you felt the same way?

Eddie couldn’t keep himself from glancing over at you again, and this time, when his eyes met yours, his breath caught. For just a fraction of a second, everything in him wanted to step closer, to close the gap, but he held back. He couldn’t push it. He wasn’t even sure what ‘it’ was yet.

You weren’t looking at him anymore. Instead, your eyes were fixed straight ahead, but Eddie could see the subtle way your lips pressed together, like you were thinking about something, something important. He felt a pang in his chest, the realization that you might not be as sure about all of this as he was.

Your voice broke through his thoughts again. “I’m glad you are, though, took you long enough”

Eddie blinked, surprised. The way you said it, your tone so genuine, it made his heartbeat even faster. It felt like you were saying more than just what you meant, like there was something else there, something he had to pull out of you, but he didn’t know how.

He offered a small, sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Yeah… I’m glad too.”

There it was. That moment when everything felt like it was about to tip over the edge. Eddie didn’t know what to do with the way his pulse was racing, the way his thoughts kept spiraling back to you, to what had happened at the table, to everything that might happen next. What was he supposed to say? What if you didn’t feel the same way?

The hallway felt strangely smaller now, like the space between you both had been shrinking with every step, and Eddie had no idea how to fix it.

You were still walking beside him, your steps so quiet compared to his, but every time he glanced over, your eyes seemed to flick back to him before you quickly turned away. He could tell you were nervous, just as unsure as he was. And that made it worse, because if you were thinking the same things he was, then what?

He couldn’t just keep pretending like it wasn’t happening. He couldn’t keep pretending that every time you looked at him, his heart didn’t race.

The classroom door loomed ahead, and you both hesitated before stepping through, but Eddie didn’t want to stop walking. He didn’t want the moment to end. He didn’t want to face the reality that he might be the only one who felt this strange, burning thing between you two.

He followed you into the classroom, taking his seat beside you. There was still too much space between you both. It wasn’t enough to feel close, but it was too much to ignore. Every glance, every shift in position made his stomach twist in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

And every time his eyes met yours, all he could think was: Does she know? Does she feel it too? Or am I just reading too much into this?

You met his gaze once more, and for a split second, everything seemed to pause- his heart in his throat, your eyes wide with something unreadable. And then the moment passed, just like that, leaving Eddie both relieved and disappointed all at once.

He smiled awkwardly, looking away, trying to focus on anything but how badly he wanted to say something, anything, that could break the silence that was threatening to crush him.

But for now, neither of you spoke. And Eddie wondered if maybe he was the only one who was brave enough to admit it.

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Third period zoomed past, you and Eddie making a few comments on the work here and there, but it was mostly laid back as the end of school was only a week away, teachers slacking off and letting the kids do whatever.

The hallway erupted with noise as students spilled into the corridors. You and Eddie stepped out together, moving in the same direction toward the cafeteria. Neither of you spoke at first. You had walked with Eddie plenty of times before, but today, it felt different- charged with something unspoken.

The walls were lined with prom posters, bright colors and glitter catching the fluorescent light as you passed. PROM: A NIGHT TO REMEMBER! in bold letters, surrounded by stars and hearts.

You frowned at first, knowing that all these decorations were not up an hour when you entered this class. So, there had to be a handful of people to decorate every hall and corridor in an hour.

Prom, yes, everyone was already talking about, for at least 2 months now, but these decorations make everyone's eyes light up and smile-

But your stomach twisted. You could feel Eddie glance at you, but by the time you turned to meet his eyes, he was already looking away.

He was acting weird. But so were you.

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. Would he ask you? He had confessed yesterday, hadn’t he? It wasn’t a dream, wasn’t some drunken mistake. He liked you. So why hadn’t he said anything about prom?

You stole another glance at him, catching the way he ran a hand through his curls, looking everywhere but at you. The usual easy-going, over-the-top Eddie Munson was nowhere to be found. Instead, the boy walking next to you was fidgety, lost in thought.

And truthfully? So were you.

Maybe he doesn’t like me after all.

The idea had been creeping into your mind all morning. If he really wanted to go with you, wouldn’t he have asked by now? Maybe the almost-kiss yesterday didn’t mean anything to him. Maybe he regretted telling you how he felt. Maybe he just said it because he thought you needed to hear it.

You felt something heavy settle in your chest.

Eddie, meanwhile, was caught in his own storm of thoughts. He wanted to ask you. Hell, he’d spent all morning thinking about it, trying to work up the nerve. But the words never made it past his lips.

Because deep down, he knew the truth.

She wouldn’t want to go with me.

You were you, and he was him. The town freak. The guy everyone whispered about in the halls, the one teachers sighed over, the one the jocks mocked for sport. What would it look like if you showed up at prom with him? What would people say about you?

Besides, if you did like him- if you really liked him- you would’ve said something by now. Right? You would have said so yesterday, when he told you. You wouldn’t just sit there, waiting. You would’ve told him.

Which meant you didn’t.

And that was that.

So he stayed quiet, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as the two of you pushed through the cafeteria doors.

The Hellfire table was already buzzing with conversation. The usual chaos of lunch was in full swing- trays clattering, voices overlapping- but today, there was one subject dominating the table: prom.

"Okay, but hear me out," Dustin was saying, practically bouncing in his seat. "I think prom could actually be cool if they had, like, a real band instead of some cheesy DJ."

"You can’t even go, Henderson," Gareth pointed out, rolling his eyes. "You’re a freshman. None of us are seniors except Eddie and Jeff"

That was when Dustin’s eyes landed on the two of you. A slow, knowing grin stretched across his face. "Speaking of which-" he turned to you, practically vibrating with excitement. "Did Eddie ask you to prom?"

The words hit you like a slap.

Your heart leaped into your throat, cheeks flushing with heat. It was such a sudden question, so blunt, that for half a second, you couldn’t even react. Your eyes darted to Eddie on instinct, searching for something- some sign of an answer, some confirmation that, yes, of course he was going to ask you-

But Eddie wasn’t looking at you.

He was staring at Dustin like the kid had just lit a stick of dynamite and tossed it onto the table. His face drained of color, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

"No!" he blurted, voice cracking slightly. "No, I-uh-no, I didn’t-"

He was stammering.

The breath you didn’t realize you were holding slipped out in a quiet exhale, and something cold settled in your stomach.

Oh.

The disappointment hit you harder than expected, like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Dustin, completely oblivious, laughed. "Dude, why not? You like her, right?"

You froze.

Eddie froze.

The table went quiet.

Eddie let out a strangled laugh, running a hand down his face. "Henderson-shut up." His voice was strained, panicked.

Dustin blinked, confused for half a second before realization dawned on his face. "Oh." His eyes widened slightly. "Wait, she doesn’t know?"

You felt your breath hitch.

Oh, you know, you just didn't know anyone else- the whole of Hellfire- knew.

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath before turning to you, finally meeting your gaze.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. His confession from yesterday flashed in your mind. You knew he liked you. He had told you. So why was he acting like this? Why was he shutting it down like it wasn’t even an option?

The way he was looking at you- like he knew he just messed up, like he knew you were hurt but didn’t know how to fix it- made your stomach twist even more.

You swallowed hard, forcing a tight-lipped smile as you pushed your chair back. "I’m gonna grab some lunch."

Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

You didn’t wait for a response. You just stood up and walked away.

You heard Eddie shift beside you, like he was about to say something, but he didn’t.

Because what could he say?

The noise of the cafeteria faded into background static as you moved toward the lunch line, your mind racing.

You had thought- hoped- maybe he would ask. Maybe last night meant something. Maybe he meant it when he said he liked you.

But now? Now you weren’t sure anymore.

And Eddie- Eddie just sat there, staring after you, hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

He wanted to go with you. God, he wanted to.

But he had a feeling he just ruined everything.

And the worst part?

He had no idea how to fix it.

By the time you returned to the Hellfire table, tray in hand, the conversation had fizzled out. The guys had sensed the shift in energy- how the excitement over prom had suddenly turned into something way more awkward-

And one by one, they had made their exits. Even Dustin, who normally lacked any kind of social awareness, had mumbled something about needing to grab a book from his locker before practically running off.

So now, it was just you and Eddie.

Alone.

He was still sitting in the same spot, hunched forward with his arms resting on the table, fingers tapping restlessly against the wood. You sat down across from him, trying to ignore the way your heart twisted at the sight of him- how his usual confidence had been drained from his posture, how his brows were slightly furrowed like he was deep in thought.

For a minute, neither of you spoke.

You focused on your tray, picking at your food without really eating. You could feel Eddie watching you, could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he struggled for the right words.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Uh- so- " He ran a hand through his curls, letting out a sharp breath. "That was… a whole thing, huh?"

You didn’t look up. "Yep."

Eddie winced at your clipped tone. He hesitated, then leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Look, Dustin’s just- he’s an idiot, alright? He doesn’t know when to shut up."

You shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. "I don’t care."

Eddie blinked, caught off guard by how casual you sounded. He had expected you to be mad, or embarrassed, or something- but not this. Not this calm, unaffected brush-off.

"You don’t care?" He repeated slowly, testing the words like they didn’t make sense.

"Yeah," you said simply, finally looking up. "I mean, it’s not like I wanted to go with you anyway."

That was a lie.

But the words came out so easily. So effortlessly. Like they were true.

Eddie barely had time to mask his reaction.

It was quick- just a flicker of something in his expression, something unguarded and sharp, like your words had landed right where it hurt.

He covered it up almost instantly, forcing a chuckle as he leaned back in his seat. "Right," he said, nodding. "Of course. Why would you, right?"

You could tell he was trying to play it off, trying to act like it didn’t matter.

But you knew Eddie well enough to know when something did matter.

And this?

This did.

But you didn’t take it back.

You just smiled, small and polite, before returning your attention to your tray.

Eddie watched you for a moment longer, his fingers still tapping anxiously against the table.

Then, with a barely audible sigh, he slumped back against his chair, staring up at the ceiling like he had just royally screwed up.

Because maybe, just maybe, he had.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The parking lot was loud with the usual after-school chaos- cars starting up, doors slamming, groups of students lingering to chat before heading home.

Eddie stood by his van, hands shoved deep in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. His stomach was a mess of nerves, though he’d never admit it. He had been waiting—hoping—you’d show up.

And then, finally, you did.

You were walking towards the buses, books hugged to your chest, brows slightly furrowed like your mind was somewhere else entirely.

He hesitated for half a second, then pushed off the side of his van, striding over to you.

“Hey,” he called, trying to sound casual, like he hadn’t been waiting for you.

You glanced up, a little surprised. “Hey.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck.

“So, uh, the guys are heading to my place. Y’know, to celebrate my miraculous academic achievement.” He smirked, tilting his head. “Figured I’d give you a ride.”

Your grip on your books tightened. “Oh- I, um- I actually have something to do.”

Eddie frowned. “What?”

You shifted your weight, glancing toward your car like you were in a hurry. “Yeah, I just- I can’t make it. Sorry.”

Eddie blinked, caught off guard. He had been so sure you’d come.

He forced a chuckle. “C’mon, what could possibly be more important than celebrating me finally getting out of that godforsaken school?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I just-”

“Please?” Eddie’s voice softened, and something about it made you freeze.

He wasn’t just asking. He was really asking.

Like he needed you there.

You looked up at him, at the hopeful, almost nervous glint in his eyes.

And just like that, your excuse- your whole plan to put some distance between you two- crumbled.

You sighed. “Fine.”

Eddie’s face lit up. “Really?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Munson. You win.”

Eddie grinned, stepping back and gesturing toward the van with a dramatic bow. “Then hop in, sweetheart.”

And God help you.

Your stomach flipped, your breath hitched, and for a second, the world tilted just slightly.

That stupid nickname.

He said it like it was nothing, like it didn’t curl around you, warm and teasing, making your heart stutter in your chest.

Like it didn’t make you feel dizzy in the worst- and best- way.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to play it off, to act like that one word didn’t shake you to your core.

And despite everything- the tension, the confusion, the ache in your chest from earlier- you found yourself smiling as you followed him.

Because, really, how could you ever say no to Eddie Munson?

The guy that's been driving you crazy as of late, the guy you can't get out of your head. It was nothing but unfair, really.

Eventually, the van rattled to a stop in front of the trailer, the familiar sight of Forest Hills mobile homes stretching out under the dimming afternoon sky. The drive had been… mostly quiet, filled with a comfortable kind of tension that neither of you had tried to break. The radio had been the only real sound between you, some old rock ballad playing low through the speakers, but even then, neither of you had been really listening.

Eddie pulled the keys from the ignition, glancing at you before shoving the door open.

You followed him up the steps, the screen door creaking as he pushed it open. The moment you stepped inside, you were hit with the familiar scent of coffee and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

And there he was, sprawled out on the couch with a cup of coffee in one hand, his other resting on his stomach. He barely glanced up from the newspaper at first.

Then he saw you.

And the absolute shit-eating grin that took over his face was so immediate, so smug, you almost took a step back.

“Well, well,” Wayne drawled, folding the paper and setting it aside. His eyes flicked between you and Eddie, like he already knew something neither of you were saying. “Second day in a row, huh? Should I be expectin’ you tomorrow too?”

Your face burned instantly.

“Oh- uh-” You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Eddie groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “Jesus Christ, Wayne.”

Wayne smirked, sipping his coffee like he wasn’t watching you both squirm. “I’m just sayin’- you never bring anyone over, and now suddenly I got a guest two days in a row? Feels like I should be puttin’ out another dinner plate.”

Eddie huffed. “She’s not- ” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Forget it. Can we not make this weird?”

Wayne just chuckled, but the teasing gleam in his eyes never faded.

Eddie sighed and flopped into the recliner, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I brought her here so we can celebrate, old man.”

Wayne raised a brow. “Celebrate?”

Eddie leaned forward, his grin almost boyish. “I’m graduating.”

For a second, Wayne didn’t react. Just blinked.

Then, slowly, his expression shifted, the teasing melting away into something softer.

“Say that again?”

Eddie’s grin widened. “I’m graduating, Wayne. Like, officially. No more repeating senior year, no more Higgins breathing down my neck. I’m done.”

Wayne set his coffee down, staring at Eddie like he had just grown a second head. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

And then, before Eddie could react, Wayne was up- clapping him on the shoulder, gripping the back of his neck in one of those rough, affectionate gestures only Wayne Munson could pull off.

“Goddamn, Ed,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “You really did it.”

Eddie laughed, leaning into the touch like he was twelve again and just scored a home run at some little league game. “Told ya I would.”

Wayne huffed. “You told me that two years ago, and I stopped believin’ ya after the second time.” But his voice was warm, proud.

Your heart clenched a little, watching the moment unfold.

Eddie was trying to play it cool, but you could see it—the way his shoulders relaxed, the way he ducked his head slightly, like that small bit of approval from Wayne meant the world to him.

Which, knowing Eddie, it probably did.

Wayne turned to you suddenly, pointing a finger. “And you- you keepin’ him outta trouble, or are you the one gettin’ him into it?”

Eddie cackled. “Oh, definitely the second one.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Wayne smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

And just like that, he clapped Eddie on the back one last time before heading for the kitchen. “I got a couple beers in the fridge. You want one?”

Eddie grinned. “Hell yes, I—”

Wayne shot him a look before looking at you, to which you nodded slowly.

Wayne snorted but grabbed a couple of drinks anyway, muttering something about damn kids under his breath.

You just shook your head, sitting down on the couch while Eddie kicked his boots off and sprawled out beside you.

And for the first time all day, it felt like maybe- just maybe- things didn’t have to be so complicated.

Wayne handed each of you a beer, the cold condensation dripping onto your fingers. He patted Eddie on the back, a proud smile creasing his weathered face.

"Well, I gotta get ready for work in about an hour, so we can celebrate tomorrow, ay?" He glanced over at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And I assume you'll be there too?"

You felt your cheeks flush, and you quickly looked down at your feet, suddenly finding your worn-out shoes incredibly fascinating.

"Wayne—" Eddie began, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

But his uncle cut him off with a chuckle. "—so that's a yes?"

You couldn't help but feel the flutter in your chest at the idea of being invited to another hangout, but it left you a little nervous, too.

Eddie sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "We'll see, Wayne. Don't scare her off before then."

Wayne laughed, clearly enjoying the moment. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you kids to it."

As he walked away, you dared to glance at Eddie. He met your eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. The air between you both felt thick with the unspoken.

"Sorry about him," Eddie muttered, his tone more sheepish than usual.

You shook your head, offering him a soft smile. "It’s alright. He’s... nice."

Eddie returned your smile, and for a brief moment, the world outside the trailer seemed to blur. There was something warm in the way he looked at you, like you mattered to him. But before it could linger too long, he cleared his throat.

"Wanna go to my room?"

You nodded. "Sure."

Eddie led the way, his boots echoing in the narrow hallway. His room came into view, posters of bands covering the walls, and an old guitar standing proudly in the corner. You stepped inside, your eyes scanning the space. It was exactly how you'd imagined-

Chaotic and full of character.

You stopped just inside the door as Eddie turned to face you, but before either of you could speak, Wayne's voice cut through the air from the kitchen.

"Better keep that door open!"

You and Eddie exchanged confused glances.

"Why?" Eddie asked, his tone laced with annoyance.

Wayne leaned against the doorway, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Don’t pretend what I walked in on you two doing yesterday didn’t happen. I don’t wanna be a grandpa just yet, boy."

Your heart jumped in your chest, your face burning with embarrassment. "We didn’t-"

Eddie’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he cut you off. "Jesus, Wayne! Nothing happened!"

Wayne laughed, enjoying the discomfort he’d caused. "Just messing with ya. But seriously, door stays open."

Eddie rolled his eyes and led you into his room, leaving the door ajar as Wayne insisted. As soon as you were inside, Eddie dropped his backpack onto the floor with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry about that," Eddie muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Still think he's nice?"

You laughed, trying to shake off the awkwardness. "Yeah, He's alright"

Eddie collapsed onto his bed, stretching out with a groan as he kicked off his Reeboks. You hesitated for a second, standing in the middle of his room.

The silence between you was comfortable at first, but soon, you felt it shift. The questions you both had about each other lingered in the air.

Eddie finally broke the quiet, his voice low and thoughtful. "so...about yesterday."

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you turned to look at him, a little nervous. "What do you mean?"

Eddie rolled over onto his side, propping himself up with one arm. His eyes flicked to you, and his gaze softened. “I mean... I’ve never really been good at this whole ‘being honest’ thing. But with you? I don’t know, it’s different. I keep thinking about it—about what happened between us, what it means. And it’s weird, but in a good way."

Your heart beat faster, the uncertainty clouding your thoughts. Could he really be saying what you thought he was saying?

Eddie laughed softly, rubbing his face in frustration. "I’m not good at this. But I don’t want you to think I’m just..." He stopped himself, looking over your frame from where you stood

"do you wanna sit?" he patted the spot on his bed beside him, shuffling over.

You looked around before slowly stepping to his bed, shuffling to the wall beside him, when you look up to come face to face, you shuffle away, not realising how close you became.

Clearing your throat, you mumble an apology, but he only stares at you, his eyes soft and warm as he smiles, his dimples on display as he fiddles with his rings.

Your gaze followed down to beside him, where a fluffy brown bear sat lopsided on his pillow.

You smiled and leaned over him.

His breath hitched when he followed over every curve of your body the way your ass stuck in the air and the way your shirt revealed cleavage so dangerous that he had to close his eyes, a cold sweat breaking out as you leaned away to sit back down

"Is this Ozzy?" you beamed brightly when Eddie opened his eyes.

He frowned for a second "how do you know that?"

Eddie never tells anything that personal to anyone- especially you, why would he tell you he still sleeps with a stuffed teddy bear and has a name for him?

With a raised eyebrow you laughed softly "on our da- at the fair... I told you I had a few teddys and you told me you had one"

You played with the worn-out bear in your hands and Eddie felt his heart explode in his chest. He remembers it, and he curses himself for forgetting

"right, yeah" he nodded slowly

"S'pretty worn down" you mumbled, examining the bear

The teddy bear looks like it's been loved for years, its once soft fur is now matted and thin in some places, with patches of faded color. The edges of its ears are frayed, the stitching barely holding on in places where it’s been hugged too tightly over the years.

The eyes are scratched, losing some of its glossy shine. The bear’s nose, once a neat little button, has worn down into a faded stitch, barely visible. Its limbs, though still stuffed, are soft and floppy, having lost the firm structure they once had. the bow around its neck stained and ripped. There’s a small tear on its side, the fabric worn thin, but it’s been lovingly stitched back together- a sign of years of comfort, care, and maybe a few bumps along the way.

Despite the wear, it still carries that comforting, familiar scent of childhood- a mix of dust, warmth, and a little bit of home.

Eddie chuckled lowly "yeah...well, s'about fifteen years old so..."

"Mm. Ozzy hasn't been making music for that long, though" you pointed out

"Yeahhh. I only named him when I was...thirteen?" he smiled, looking and loving the way you handled him with care "don't know... Mum tried to think of names but...none of them really felt like him..."

You looked over at him, finding his gaze stuck on the teddy, eyes hung low, rested.

"So, your mum gave him to you?" You spoke, handing it to him.

He smiled, nodding, letting the bear sit in his lap as he brought his knees up.

"yeah...she saved up for months to afford him...she tried to make that birthday so special...I remember dad getting mad when I opened it, he didn't want her spending so much money of a stupid gift for 'girls'" he laughed humourlessly.

"but it was one of the best gifts I've gotten ever...mum always treated us like brothers because that's what I wanted her to do...dad thought it was stupid though; he hid him for about 2 months before mum found him and gave him back..."

When the first tear fell you rushed to brush it away gently. He shook his head, putting the bear beside him as he cleared his throat.

With a sip of his beer, he sighed, leaning his head on the wall as he looked forward.

The room was silent for a few moments. You take the time to look around the room, really look.

The Corroded Coffin banner above your head and the pictures that look like they have been ripped out of a magazine scattered on the walls. Clothes piled in the corner of the room, random trinkets all over the floor, it was so Eddie.

He sat up with a groan, going to his CD collection in his desk, right below his guitar that's hung up against his mirror "music?"

With a quick nod, you looked at the options he handed you. finding a bunch of covers that look straight out of a horror film, but your eyes wandered to the orange and yellow CD, one that looks familiar and frowned

"I know Metal freaks you out" he chuckled lightly "but it's the only music I have"

You remember, the music store where you had been caught looking at that exact album.

He saw your gaze on W.A.S.P the last command and smiled "still fascinated by it?"

Before you could respond, he placed the disc in the player and the blasting of music came on.

The first notes hit, and your chest tightened instantly. It was loud- the kind of loud that filled every inch of space, that crawled under your skin and took over your heartbeat.

The guitar riff tore through the air, sharp and reckless, and when the drums kicked in, you swore you felt them in your ribs. The sheer force of it had you frozen, your hands gripping the edge of Eddie’s bed as if the sound alone might knock you back.

Then the voice came in.

"I ride, I ride the winds that bring the rain…"

Your breath caught, pulse stuttering. The way he sang- gritty, hungry, like every word was bitten off with sharp teeth. You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as you listened.

Eddie was watching you.

You felt it before you even turned your head. He was leaning back, one arm draped over his knee, the other lazily tapping a rhythm against his thigh. His rings caught the dim light of the room, glinting as his fingers moved.

But his eyes?

His eyes were on you.

"A creature of love and I can’t be tamed…"

Heat crept up your neck, a flood of goosebumps creeping their way onto your skin.

You weren’t sure if it was the song or the way Eddie looked at you, but something in your stomach flipped, twisting tighter with every second.

The chorus hit, bursting through the speakers like a wildfire.

"I’m a wild child, come and love me…"

Your hands clenched into fists.

It was so blatant, so bold, like the song wasn’t even trying to hide what it was about. It wasn’t sweet, wasn’t careful- it was raw, unashamed, hungry.

And Eddie was still watching you.

His gaze flickered, his lips twitching into something almost knowing. Like he could see the way your fingers curled in your lap, like he knew exactly what kind of effect the music was having on you.

You tore your eyes away, staring at the stereo instead.

"I need you to touch me… ‘Cause I want what you do to me…"

You exhaled shakily.

It wasn’t just the lyrics. It was the way the guitars screamed, the way the drums crashed like a thunderstorm, the way every single note was laced with something untamed and electric. It sent shivers down your spine.

And the worst part?

You liked it.

Eddie leaned in slightly, voice barely loud enough to hear over the music.

"Not so bad, huh?"

You swallowed, your throat dry.

He was close- closer than before. You could feel the warmth of him, the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne and something else uniquely Eddie.

Your heart pounded.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze again. He was grinning now, lazy and pleased, like he could feel your nervous energy crackling in the air between you.

You had no idea if he was thinking about the song’s lyrics. If he was thinking about how they fit.

But you were.

As the song swelled, the raw, electric energy filled the small room, pressing in on you from all sides. The words pulsed in your veins, the heavy beat vibrating through your bones.

"I’m a wild child, come and love me… I want you…"

Eddie was still watching you.

Your heart was racing. Not just from the music. Not just from the way it shook the walls and the floor beneath you. But from him. From the way he was looking at you- eyes half-lidded, like he was memorizing every part of this moment.

You could barely breathe.

And then, as the chorus hit again, as the song begged and burned, you turned your head just as he did.

Your noses brushed.

For a split second, neither of you moved. Just hovered there, inches apart, the music crashing around you, your breaths uneven.

Then Eddie whispered, "Sweetheart..."

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Your lips met his- tentative, hesitant- But as soon as you felt the warmth of his mouth, the way he sucked in a sharp breath, you knew there was no stopping it.

Eddie made a noise in the back of his throat- something between a groan and a sigh, relief and desperation tangled together. His hand lifted, fingers tangling in the back of your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening it.

The song roared around you.

"A naked heat machine, I want your love!"

Your stomach flipped as his lips moved against yours, slow but sure, like he’d been waiting for this. And God, maybe you had too. Maybe that’s why it felt so dizzying, so right.

You kissed each other like you were both afraid it wasn't real.

When you finally broke apart, you opened your eyes.

And you found that you weren't kissing him.

Instead, you were in his van, music blaring in your ears as he drove you to his trailer, talking about his graduation party, and you? you were imagining kissing him for the 100th time this evening.

God, you're so hooked screwed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Ha. you really thought? sorry.

Taglist:

@exploding-bonbon @xlostitx @pupwrites @carolineesnell @foreveranexpatsposts @itsmadamehydra @thedoubleexposurephotography @g3n3zshack @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @emxxblog @nubedeoctubreval @bimboshaggy @sheneedsrocknroll92 @callmytherapistplease-blog @ifeelbadbutimhot @littlemissholy @sammybrrr @alastorssimp @e-c-a-r-l-a-t-e

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

#x fem!reader #imagines #fluff #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem #ami's new series!#eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fic #angst #kiss you series

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hivemuthur · 4 hours ago

Text

Nothing's New - Ch.3.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut sort of present moving from this chapter forward

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 5,5K

tag: #nothings new

summary: Alright folks, some abrupt decisions are made in this chapter and I am foreshadowing Viktor's self-discovery (I will place a warning in the next chapter, as here it's still not that relevant). I will post some smut in a minute so you all don't get too sad :v

Cross-posted on AO3

—

You’ve spent the entire weekend stewing in your thoughts. Replaying the events over and over, from beginning to end, picking up pieces you might have missed before. It’s been a week since your last interaction with Viktor, and today is the final day for you to collect your things from his apartment.

You’ve been lying in bed, wondering if what happened last week was real or just an odd case of pareidolia—attaching meaning where there was none. Viktor’s anger, his cracking voice, the way he slumped back into the chair after you hurled fragments of conversation at each other. And yet, those fragments were more than anything that had happened between you in the past year.

People do such strange things after breakups. They throw themselves anywhere but into the breakup itself. They drink, get addicted to something, take up an extreme sport—or extreme hookups, which could also count as a sport—start smoking, dive into a new relationship, or become completely hopeless or cruel versions of themselves. And those versions do stupid, strange things.

Like giving your ex the keys to your apartment to pick up their stuff. Or being the said ex and going to your ex’s apartment to pick up your stuff. Utterly deranged. Utterly strange. Cruel on one side, hopeless on the other.

You have waited the entire weekend, sitting on pins. You haven’t seen Paul once, ignoring his texts and phone calls. Then, inevitably, Sunday noon has crept in, and you realise, that you have to go.

The journey is a drag in itself, but once you are in front of his apartment, you pause. You hold your breath as you slide the key into the lock. Getting here was torment. You thought the cursed triple-date restaurant ordeal was horrific, but you knew nothing. This is horrific. This is true terror. The terror of what’s on the other side of the door gnaws at you the whole way here, and now it gnaws harder, your hand frozen on the key, frozen in the lock.

When you hear it click, you release the trapped breath and close your eyes, stepping in. It’s dark. The day is muggy, with rain on and off, as the weather broke earlier in the week. The first licks of autumn hang in the air, and suddenly, you remember how freezing Viktor’s apartment is during the colder months. Your apartment. The apartment you lived in together. Whatever.

You take a timid stroll through the hallway—some pictures have disappeared from the walls. The ones of you and him. It’s expected, no reason to sulk. Moving on.

There it is: the lounge. The space where you’ve spent so much time reading, yapping, playing records, having sex on the couch, on the windowsill. Sleeping in front of the TV. So much time spent there alone, waiting, falling asleep with a book on your face, or staring expectantly at your phone. So many times you were abandoned here.

Viktor’s desk by the window is still covered in books, papers, and notes. He’s taken his computer away for the weekend, leaving behind a sharp square-shaped void outlined in dust where it had been. You draw a sad face in the dust with your finger, then hesitate, wondering if you should wipe it away so Viktor doesn’t notice.

You sit in his chair and spin yourself around, your feet dragging on the floor. No pictures to stare him in the face while he works, no particularly personal notes. No signs of Julia yet. No assprints in the layer of dust on his desk. Check.

You turn to the box he’s left for you in the middle of the room. Your name is scrawled angrily on it, as if Viktor forced himself not to write something like "CUNT" instead. It’s sealed, ready for you to grab and flee. But you want to see what remnants of you he’s collected, the things he so firmly believes need to be returned.

You rush to the kitchen and grab the first knife you see. Back to the box. A strange feeling churns inside you—something close to excitement, but also to dread.

With trembling hands, you slice the tape, reopening the wound. The box is stuffed with paper on top, meticulously packed. You pull the layers out and start digging.

Your books and clothes, mostly. You take them out one by one. Your T-shirt with "ALL MY BOOTS ARE FUCKED UP" written across it in huge letters. You used to sleep in it. You hadn’t realised it was left behind. It smells exactly of nothing—just a piece of cloth that’s been hanging in a closet for months. And yet, it smells faintly of Viktor, though maybe it’s just your imagination.

Books, each of them ones you love. Especially your first edition of The Lord of the Rings. Not the first edition, just the first one you ever got. A couple of notebooks with notes for work and personal scribbling. Your pin that says, “Bono in short legs shock.” Nothing in particular.

A few records are stuffed to the side. You wince at how he’s squeezed them in there and wonder if they’ve already melted and warped in the heat that was killing you not so long ago. And then, your heart sinks. Between the books and the clothes and an odd perfume bottle, lies a small box.

A gift you’d brought him: the tiniest chunk of meteorite you’d bought at the weirdest book convention you’d ever been to. It had been mixed with a natural minerals expo, an esoterica expo, and a reptile expo. Truly terrible. Until you spotted a man selling pieces of stars from his private collection. And you thought to yourself that if anyone on this planet deserved to receive a star for no occasion, it was Viktor.

He was speechless when you gave it to him. “Amazing,” he’d whispered, his eyes glinting as he weighed it in his hand. For something so small, it had felt so heavy. His heart had felt heavy too, with affection and devotion. He kissed you, kept kissing you until you were out of breath. It was wonderful.

And now it sits in your hand, discarded and abandoned. And it feels heavier than ever.

Forcing the tears back where they came from, you take a shaky breath and scramble up from your knees, clutching the box in your hand. You go to return the knife to where you’d taken it from in the kitchen, determined not to leave any sign of your snooping—except for the sad face drawn in the dust.

When you turn from the counter, it hits you violently in the face.

A Post-it note on the fridge. Viktor’s handwriting. Very old-fashioned. Very Viktor. More intimate than text messages. He’d left those for you once, before your intimacy had died. But this one isn’t for you.

“Miláčku, if you could grab my notebook on your way to work, I will be eternally grateful. V.”

In an instant, you forget your intention to leave no trace. You snap it from the fridge door, twisting it violently in your fingers. Something roars in your chest, and you can feel yourself spiralling. The need to go somewhere safe is overwhelming. So you go to the bedroom.

And there you are, confronted with another square-shaped void. The outline of where the bed used to be screams at you with the darker shade of wooden floor compared to the rest of the room. The empty space—what you remembered as small and cramped—now feels massive and vast.

You crumble onto the floor, squeezing the box with Viktor’s star in one hand and the wretched note in the other. There is no force that could stop your tears. Your lungs burn as you release a pathetic wail of a sob, granting yourself one of the ugliest cries you’ve had in months. The sun sets at some point.

Your chest and shoulders shake in spasms as your tears fall onto the piece of yellow paper, distorting the handwriting into blurred stains. This is the worst you have felt since the beginning. This is the bottom, surely. Crying in your ex’s apartment, on the spot where your bed used to be, clutching a word in your fist as if you refused to give it away to another woman. You refuse to give Viktor away to another woman. You refuse to give yourself to another man.

When you’ve run out of tears, you just stare at the note. For about ten minutes. No, for around twelve hours. You have no idea how much time has passed. You sit there curled up where the bed used to be, unable to move, unable to cry. The remnants of whatever composure you had when you stepped in are all gone.

You don’t even flinch when the door unlocks, and you hear footsteps and a sigh from the hallway. You are completely content to die here in your ignominy.

“Why are you still here?” Viktor’s voice echoes through the corridor, making him sound like an annoyed ghost. Hearing no response, he sighs again, louder this time, to emphasise how distressing your presence is to him. A caricature of a sigh, almost as if mocking someone else’s.

“I asked, why are you still—” He pauses when he sees you. “Are you alright?” The way his voice is laced with genuine concern makes you sick. It is the truest thing he has said to you in such a long time. One of the very few true things he has said in a year.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice utterly sad and so small. You open your shaking fists, and Viktor crouches awkwardly to make sense of what you are showing him. Once he sees the box and the wet, yellow paper, he understands.

“This,” he says calmly, “is something I no longer want. And this is a note to my girlfriend, Julia.”

His tone is devoid of emotion—quiet, calm, calculated. Inside, he is a storm. He left those two things intentionally, to stab you back. He had no idea the stabbing would work so well.

He planted them to stop feeling so fucking sodden. The rush of adrenaline at the thought of you finding those items was a momentary relief because he wasn’t able to tell you how stumbling upon your things jabbed at his heart. He wasn’t able to tell you that he actually played your records and read your books. Or that, when he found your T-shirt hanging in the wardrobe, hidden under his sweater—the one you stole all the time in winter—he died, just a little. How he hadn’t realised until he put the sweater on and discovered there was another skin underneath the wool. And that it still smelled of you after all this time. He wouldn’t tell you that he’d rather eat drywall than smell it again.

“Why is it saying what it’s saying?” you ask, your voice a sharp, trembling whisper, disbelief written all over your face. It’s so undignified to ask this. But dignity is a luxury you have to shed to get through this.

“Because I forgot my notebook for work the other day,” Viktor replies, his tone dispassionate, his eyes studying you like a scientist observing a failed experiment. This has truly backfired. Or rather, it has worked too well. In his wildest dreams, Viktor wouldn’t have dared to think he would find you curled up on the floor, your face swollen and defeated, exposing yourself to another blow.

“Do I have to wipe your face with it, so you answer my question?” you hiss, though the answer isn’t unexpected. The tiny dent made the last time you saw each other was, in the end, only a dent.

You wouldn’t even call it a crack—something you could peel off and peek inside. So, of course, you have to keep hitting.

His jaw tightens, but his voice remains cool, measured. “It is a pet name. A word you use for someone you are in love with.” He is hitting back. Your anger makes him angry. The fact that you are so angry and broken means that nothing has ended, nothing has resolved. And it boils the fear within him, and he attacks when he is afraid. Normally, it wouldn’t be a phrase to play with. But now, he is afraid.

The paper in your hand crunches loudly as you snap your fist shut. “It belongs to me,” you say in a dark tone, your voice brimming with equal parts defiance and anguish.

Viktor scoffs. “That’s rich. Nothing in here belongs to you, save for the trash you refuse to take out.” He stands up to accentuate his disgust. “Are you honestly being jealous right now?”

“No!” You shake your head and pick yourself up to level with him. “But this is just… cruel,” you shoot back, your voice rising, cracking under the weight of his dismissal.

“You will forgive me,” Viktor says with a bitter smile, “but I don’t follow. Which part of me doing the exact same thing that you are doing—moving on—is cruel?” He hasn’t moved on. He is standing stuck in one place. Julia is a distraction, and he knows it. And he knows it’s wrong to use someone like that, but he is only human. And there is no comfort in the idea of being eternally broken.

“You know exactly what I am talking about! Did you leave it here intentionally? Did you do this to hurt me?” Low. You are so low right now, the sound of you hitting this new bottom is echoing across your skull.

“You are so fucking full of yourself,” he spits, his voice dripping venom. “This is my house. It was on my fridge. As far as I remember, there was nothing in my fridge that you might possibly need to take with you.” Except for this exact note that I left there for you to see. That I left there to hurt you, and you are absolutely right about me because you know me better than I know myself.

“Why did you make me come here?” you demand, your voice trembling with rage and heartbreak.

“Do I look like a delivery man to you?” Another cold scoff. Fast, so fast, he’s afraid you are going to see.

“Viktor. This—this is not going to work the way you think it will. You can’t just get rid of me. I will be in your life. I—”

“No!” he roars, the crack in his composure finally showing. “I want you gone. You—you fucking abandoned me! You ran, as if I were some abusive bastard. You do not get the right to demand anything from me!”

You are actually being screamed at by Viktor. Your brain short-circuits, and you blink a couple of times.

“What about Jayce and Mel?” you counter, clutching at straws, desperate to find a thread that could keep you tethered to him. Why, though? Were you really going to be friends again?

“I don’t give a fuck about Mel. And if I can live without you, I can live without Jayce,” he snaps, his voice teetering between fury and despair.

“Viktor, you cannot be serious right now. Jayce is—”

“I would rip off my leg to rid myself of you,” he cuts you off, his voice raw and unfiltered, his accent thickening under the weight of his emotions. “The good one. There is nowhere I wouldn’t go to rid myself of you. I regret—”

“I could slap you for that,” you interrupt, your voice low and trembling with fury.

“I wish you would,” he shoots back, stepping closer, his face a mask of tortured defiance. “I wish you would do fucking anything other than run. I wish you had waited for me that evening and talked to me. I wish you didn’t wipe your face with a note. I wish you’d picked up the phone instead of turning it off. You ruined me. You stole so many months of my life. And you dare to be surprised that I have found someone.”

“You abandoned me first,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but the words hit him like a blow.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice tight, his eyes closing as if to shield himself from the truth. He knows. He knows. But for once, when he needed you to be strong, you were weak, and he couldn’t forgive that. Just once, when he crumbled under the pressure of stress, under the pressure of investors gnawing at him and Jayce, he just wanted you to stay put. To just be the person he came back to, day after day, until it passed. And when you crumbled, he hated you because you made him hate himself for being weak as well.

“You abandoned me first,” you repeat, louder this time, the words escaping your lips like a confession. “I loved you so much.” There are so many bottoms yet to be discovered by you, you realise. Stacked in layers, only for you to be painfully peeled off, like the paper skin on shoulders burned in the sun.

“Stop,” he says again, his voice faltering, the dent cracking as you keep hitting. As you keep scratching and clawing your nails at it.

“I tried to stay, but I couldn’t,” you continue, tears spilling over your cheeks, your voice alien even to you.

“Stop this,” he pleads, stepping closer. His hand reaches out, hesitating in mid-air before brushing against your face. His touch is tentative, trembling. His thumb sweeps the tear running down your cheek. His face, morphing in anguish, rage, something you can’t read—hesitation, resignation—all of those things watercolour across his eyes, his eyebrows, his lopsided mouth, transforming from one into another second after second.

“It ripped me apart,” you whisper, and his hand drops, his head bowing under the leaden weight of it all.

You feel the fear of the moment escalating or fading—both wrong—as now this is the most real thing that has transpired between you in almost a year. Your breath hitches when Viktor steps closer. And then.

He rubs his face against yours, his breath trapped in his throat as his composure fades. You freeze. The feeling of his skin on yours—so familiar. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple jumping, and finally, his golden eyes meet yours. And then. And then.

And then.

The featherlight brush of his lips—not yet a kiss. A strangled movement, hesitant and unsure. Your face cupped in his hands, the pull of gravity still stronger than the pull of his arms. And you stay, fixed in your place, breathing in his scent.

The last time you kissed was a long time ago, save for the absent pecks you gave each other when coming and going. And before that, you kissed many times. But never like this. Never so uncertain, so afraid.

He holds the back of your head as if you were water. It isn’t just one kiss. It’s plenty of lingering, sad kisses—no tongue, just his soft lips gently pressing against yours, making tiny smacking sounds each time he retreats to start again.

The outside of him is calm, but his heart flutters in his chest, and you can feel it under your hands, fisting his sweater. You kiss him back with equal, fleeting tenderness. Your hands travel to his neck, to his cheeks, ghosting over the beauty marks on his face. In the deafening silence of this space, all you can hear is his shuddery breath.

So this is how it used to feel. You remember. The one tremendous feeling that was missing, that you had forgotten about. Belonging. It crawls back into the periphery of your nerves—the sensation of being taken and kept, falling from his mouth to yours. But this time, you take him back; you keep him back.

He closes his eyes and kisses you deeper, pulls you closer. The familiarity of it erases all his careful plans to kick you out of his life. It clouds his judgment as he does the unthinkable. His fingernails scrape faintly against your cheeks, and you open your mouth fully for him, allowing him to swallow you. Your tongues touch, and Viktor groans. Because it feels different than with other people, and he can’t deny it.

His cane clatters against the wood as he leans on you, pushing you toward the windowsill. His fingers now dig into your ribs, knocking the air out of your lungs. You hop up, open your legs, and he is between them immediately. Leaning on you, squeezing the back of your neck, his hands all over you, under your clothes, and you gasp for air, rutting your hips against him to feel more of him—all of him.

Your hands fumble with his shirt and sweater so you can touch the flat plane of his stomach. His belly button glues itself back to his spine as you slide your palms underneath. Your breaths grow heavy as his hands fist your hair and press you further into his face until you can’t breathe. He gropes you so hungrily it almost hurts; all the clothes you are wearing hurt your skin, and only Viktor’s skin can soothe this pain.

You desperately pull the layers between you up and press your stomach to his. His hips buck into yours, his cock straining in his pants, and he wants—he wants, he wants you so much he whimpers, rutting into your core, the pang of lust and need twisting in his lower belly.

It all falls back into place when he suddenly remembers what it’s like to be just blissfully fucking you, what it feels like to be inside you, and he is aching. He thrusts against you hysterically, cursing his clothes, his hands grabbing fistfuls of your flesh, and you wrap your legs around his hips, digging your thumbs into the hollow of his cheeks.

And it’s only when you moan out his name that he remembers something else—how hard it was to breathe when you left. How bad he felt under Mel’s worried gaze. And he knows he wouldn’t survive it if it were to happen again.

So he pauses, breathing heavily, resting his forehead against yours. He snarls and pulls away, and you feel something hooked out of your chest violently, leaving a gaping hole behind. He disappears from your space so fast you can only register him moving further between your blinks.

When you open your eyes again, you see him in the far corner of the room, hunched on his cane, chest heaving, turned so that he wouldn’t face you.

“Get out.” His voice is flat and rotten, as if someone has made him eat poison.

Wordlessly, you take the box with the star chunk from your pocket and place it on the windowsill before leaving the room. You drop your belongings back into the previously gutted box, not bothering to seal it back up, drop the keys into the bowl by the door, and leave with a loud thud echoing all the way back to the bedroom.

Viktor stands by the window, waiting to see you out on the street. His hand clasps against his mouth, trying to suppress a sob, his eyes fixed on you down there, so tiny, waving in a cab. It swallows you and takes you away, alongside your things.

It’s getting late, but he still calls Julia. He gives her the worst, most generic talk he can muster. He gives her a weak “It’s not you, it’s me,” which is, of course, a lie. Because it’s about her—not being you. And he can’t bear another woman crying in his apartment on that day, but he braces through it. He doesn’t tell her about the kiss. She cries a lot, but they part in peace. She’s understanding like that. And he feels about one stone lighter when she leaves.

But it’s not enough. One stone lighter, that’s all he feels after. His apartment is still heavy, still weighed down by the absence of you. He locks the door, leans against it for a moment, trying to breathe. The quiet settles over him, a suffocating silence that makes his chest tight. It’s not like he thought it would be. He should be relieved, shouldn’t he? He doesn’t have to juggle anyone’s emotions anymore, doesn’t have to pretend to be something he’s not. But all he can think about is you. How you left, how he watched you go, how he felt that piece of him break off and disappear when the door shut behind you.

He makes his way to the couch, sits down heavily, his hand finding its way to his lips. His fingers press against the spot where you kissed him, still lingering with the faint taste of you, the memory of your warmth. He mumbles a quiet apology, but it feels hollow, empty, like he’s talking to the walls.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over, the words breaking him. “I love you. God, I love you...”

His breath catches on the last confession, as if saying it aloud will somehow make it real, but it only makes the absence feel sharper. It’s almost unbearable. The pain of not having you here, the pain of knowing he pushed you away. He presses his palm harder against his lips, as if trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through his fingers. He feels completely gutted.

And you come back to Paul with your gutted box of things. He lets you in, no words said. He makes you tea and sits you on the couch. And you feel... so rotten, so evil for doing this. He cradles your head on his lap and makes quiet, soothing shushing sounds. When it starts to feel worse and worse, you snort up your sniffle and sit up.

“I have to talk to you,” you say in a cracked voice, Paul still smiling, still not realizing, because he would never expect you to do something so horrible.

He cocks his eyebrows and hums. “Oh-oh.”

“Paul, I’m serious,” you say, your voice trembling. The tea in your hands cools as the weight of what you’re about to tell him crushes you into the couch.

“You sure you want to do this now? Seems like you had a hard day already,” Paul replies, his tone gentle, though his gaze searches yours cautiously, as if bracing for something heavy. He’s ready for many things. He understands breakups are complicated. He knows how fresh this is when you started. And he’s told himself he’s ready for this kind of moment as well. Yet. Yet.

“I need to tell you something,” you insist, setting the tea down and folding your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking.

“Let me guess. Things are not as over between you and Viktor as you thought they were,” Paul says, leaning back, his face unreadable but his voice still gentle, knowing.

“I—” you stammer, feeling a lump rise in your throat. Were you this obvious?

“You don’t need a genius to know that. It was pretty fast… you and me. I am aware,” he continues, his voice soft but tinged with resignation, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. He’s actually hoping to be wrong, but well.

“We kissed,” you admit, the words spilling out like a confession you can’t hold back any longer. And then you wince as the memory somehow becomes real once you speak it out loud. But you can’t tell him what kind of kiss it was. That you’ve betrayed Paul about a million times today, with each tender and longing kiss Viktor gave you—and you gave back to him. Let him think it was just a kiss.

“Oh.” Paul freezes, his expression shifting ever so slightly, though you can’t tell if it’s surprise or hurt—or both.

“Oh?” you echo, your own voice quivering with uncertainty, afraid of what will follow.

“Well, I… I didn’t exactly expect you to say that,” he admits, running a hand through his hair, his movements deliberate, as if giving himself time to think.

“What did you think I was going to say?” you ask, your voice cracking, the weight of guilt pressing on your chest like a vice. The bottoms just keep coming.

“Oh, I don’t know. That you’re not ready to move in yet? I don’t know what I was thinking, really,” he says with a bitter laugh, his shoulders sagging as he looks away from you for the first time.

“Paul—” you start, but he cuts you off with a raised hand.

“Do you want to get back together with him?” he asks, his tone measured, though the tension in his jaw betrays him.

“No,” you say quickly, but the certainty in your voice wavers under his gaze. No. No, you don’t want to. You’re sure you don’t want to. And yet.

“Do you want to move in with me?” he asks, his voice quieter this time, almost cautious, as if he doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“I… don’t know,” you admit, your hands clenching into fists against your thighs, wishing you had an answer that would hurt less. No. You don’t want to.

“Do you still love him?” Paul’s question lingers in the air like a storm cloud. You swallow hard, your silence speaking louder than any words could. And you hate yourself for it. This poor, kind man. And what you did to him. Almost the exact same thing Viktor did to you.

Paul sighs, the sound heavy with understanding and pain. “Do you love me?”

“I—I don’t know,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes under the pressure of his scrutiny.

“Well,” Paul says, forcing a weak smile that makes his lines more prominent. “I guess that concludes it.”

“Paul—” you try again, desperate to say something, anything, to fix this.

“Don’t,” he interrupts, his voice breaking slightly. “I guess I should’ve known. Jesus, how have I been so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid. I am. I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your chest aching with regret. He looks so hurt. And it aches to be so broken that you can’t love a nice, beautiful, boring man. It would be so easy if it weren’t so hard.

“Is that all it was? Just a wait up before you can get back with him?”

“Paul, I’m not getting back with him. And no, it wasn’t. I just… don’t think it’s fair. To be with you, when I’m not…” anything in particular. Not in the relationship, not outside of it. Just complacent.

“Do you have any idea… what it feels like to be with someone who is in love with someone else, all the time?” He looks at you and the answer is written all over your face, then takes a long sigh. “I’ll call you a cab.”

You sit in silence for a while. You drink your cold tea. You stand up, pick up your box for it to be taken from your hands and carried by Paul to a cab. He slumps it onto your knees and closes the door before you can say ‘thank you.’ Then he pats the cab’s roof and sends you away. He will make you his own box, soon.

And you come back home, to your dark place, with one box, and another already anticipated, to stack one on top of the other. Thoughts clattering in your head. Viktor, the mess you’ve made, the confusion—all so harrowing.

You should feel something, shouldn’t you? Relief, maybe? But it’s just emptiness, the kind that fills every corner of your flat, each inch of it reminding you of what you’ve lost. You try to focus but your thoughts slip back to Viktor, to the kiss, to the way he touched you, like he still cared, like he still wanted you.

Sitting down on the bed, you press your fingers to your lips, the memory of his kiss burning there, so vivid, so real. You can almost feel him again. The warmth of his hands, the way his lips fit against yours like they were made to. Your chest tightens, the ache deepening. You close your eyes, leaning into the pillow, whispering, “I love you. I miss you so much,” to the fabric, as if hoping that saying it aloud will somehow help you to repent.

And in that quiet moment, when the dust settles down, the truth you've been running from finally breaks through. It was always there, under the surface, but now you admit it. Now, you let yourself feel it, how much indeed you love him and miss him.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #nothings new

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 23 hours ago

Text

didn’t realize this was the liberal arts, part 2

Jason decides to ask you out for coffee. turns out you’re an asshole.

Part 1 is here

Back again. It’s a series, I’ve decided. This was born because I’ve already written reader as a bitch but it’s funny (see my vampire!reader series), now I want to write reader as a bitch but it’s mean. Jason’s still sad. Like I said, you’re mean.

Swearing. No use of y/n I don’t know how long this is.

————

Jason decides to scout you out. He finds nothing.

It’s extremely irritating. He would expect that there would be something, anything, to suggest that the person he sits next to in his seminar is the same one who goes out and cracks heads at night. But there’s nothing. You seem to be perfectly normal, you act in class like any other person would. Your emotions aren’t heightened, you’re never deeply angry, or deeply upset, or deeply confused. You’re not deeply anything. The most he can say is you get mildly frustrated.

Which is fair. You get frustrated when someone makes a frustrating point. He gets it.

But that’s it. You giggle quietly when someone makes a joke, you purse your lips as you consider a question, you nod when you agree with someone. Other than that, you give him nothing. It’s almost enough to make him believe he didn’t see you beating up his perp last week.

Almost. But he’ll never get the image of you scowling at him, standing over a knocked out drug dealer, out of his mind. That’s there rent free, as it were.

He studies you. Your clothes are exceedingly normal, you wear jeans and sweatshirts. Nothing noteworthy, except Jason does a double take one day because that’s definitely the sweatshirt you wore when Red Hood caught you in the act. And you’re wearing it again like it’s no big deal. At least you’ve cleaned it.

Are you a psychopath? Is this some Patrick Bateman, American Psycho shit? Maybe. It doesn’t seem like you have that many friends. Or any, really. While the other people pair off or leave class in groups, you walk out on your own. Again, fair. He’s a loner, too.

Besides, Jason doesn’t think you’re a psychopath. You weren’t coolly beating the shit out of the guy when he found you, you were furious; uncontrolled anger pushing you forward.

Heh. Been there.

Jason does a cursory search for you online, which also comes up empty. You don’t have any social media accounts, and your last name is an extremely common one that gives him no leads. He could slip into Red Hood and illegally widen his net, but that feels…invasive. The obvious place to start is to take a crack at the Gotham U servers and see if he can access your student account. That’ll get him your phone number and banking info, at the very least. But doing that to a fellow student doesn’t sit right with him. That’s not the only option; he could break into your apartment, or even snatch your phone out of your bag. He doesn’t like that, either.

Jason decides to do an experiment. He asks you out for coffee.

It’s weird. Really weird. It’d be easier if he were working undercover on a Red Hood op, then he could slip into any number of personas. But you already know him as that one dude from your lit class. And if he declares as an English major at the end of next semester, which he probably will, you might be in other classes together. He can’t slip into and out of your life on a whim, he has to do this as Jason.

That makes it a million times harder.

It is hell getting up the courage to talk to you in the first place. Maybe this should surprise him, but it doesn’t. He hasn’t talked to a normal person since before he died. Everything from that point on has been cold, cruel planning, or rebuffing the clumsy attempts of Bruce and Dick to get back in touch. The only people he talks to on the regular are the criminals he’s scaring crapless. And he sure as shit hasn’t made any friends at the university, whether that’s by his design or rough coincidence. This is his first time trying to make a friend in years.

Is that what he’s doing? Does he want to be your friend? That one confuses him. It’s the first time he’s tried to get close to anyone his age since he woke up. Definitely the first time he’s done it as Jason. Does this count as making a friend? If he’s only getting close to you because it’s easier than doing it as Red Hood?

It makes him scratch his head. That’s above his pay grade.

So, asking you out is hard. He decides to rip the bandaid off after your next class. While everyone is packing up, he clears his throat to get your attention.

You look up from your bag. When you register that it’s Jason talking to you, your eyes become guarded. It makes him lose his focus. What was that for?

“Yeah?”

“Uhh…” your gaze becomes disbelieving as he fumbles. “I’m Jason.” He winces.

“Yeah.” His face flushes. This is humiliating. Is it his imagination, or are the other students giggling at him? Is the prof looking at him in sympathy?

Oh my god. Why is this so fucking hard?

“Are you…do you want to get coffee?” He runs his hand over the back of his head. Somewhere, Dick is laughing at this, Jason’s first time asking someone on a date as a college kid.

Is he asking you on a date? His eye twitches.

You still haven’t answered, and Jason’s hoping you’ll turn him down just to put him out of his misery. He’ll leave with his tail between his legs and resigns himself to breaking into your apartment.

“Yeah, okay.”

Jason picks up his head, eyebrows shooting to his hairline. Oh. Great. Mission accomplished.

Something inside jumps at the thought of anyone wanting to spend time with him. Like a flower stretching toward the light.

He temporarily ignores it. Again, above his pay grade.

“Now?” you ask quizzically. Jason shrugs.

“Yeah, why not?” Might as well get this over with.

“Okay.” You finish packing up and follow him out of the building. When you realize he’s heading toward the student center, you frown. “There?”

“Uh, yeah.” It was the only place that had come to mind. “There’s a cafe inside.”

“Do you mind if we go somewhere off campus? This one jacks up the prices.”

Jason tries something he’s seen in movies. “It’s on me.” He gives you an awkward smile.

Your eyes narrow. After staring at him for a few seconds, you shake your head. “No thanks. I’d rather just go somewhere else, if that’s cool.”

Huh. “Yeah, sure,” he says easily, and lets you lead the way. Maybe your refusal should seem strange, but it doesn’t. He’d have done the same thing.

You’re silent as you lead him off campus and a few blocks over to a nondescript coffee shop. It’s not cute or anything, the decoration is minimal, and there are only a few people inside.

He coughs. “You come here often?” On its way out he realizes it sounds like a pickup line, but he genuinely wants to know.

Your eyes narrow at him again. “Sometimes.”

Wow. If you’re going to have a stick up your ass, why’d you agree to come with him in the first place?

Moving aside, you gesture at him to order. He gets a small black coffee with room for milk. You order the same. He finds himself wondering if that’s deliberate, or just your normal coffee order.

You both dump in milk, and Jason notices you sprinkle some cinnamon on top. This is a useless detail.

He hears you scoff. Glancing up, he sees you’ve caught him staring into your cup. He flushes, but lets a sheepish grin unfold on his face. You ignore it, turning and stalking off to a table.

What the hell is your problem? He trails after you, dropping into a seat across from yours. You set your coffee on the table and fold your arms over your chest, glaring at him.

“So, uh…” he racks his brain. “How do you like the class?”

“It’s fine.”

He waits a moment, but you don’t ask any follow up questions. “What do you think of Paradise Lost? Do you like it?”

“Oh, sure. ‘Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven,’” you recite easily.

Jason resist the urge to analyze your choice of quote. For one, it feels stupid, and for another, it’s arguably the most famous quote in the whole poem. That’ll get him nowhere.

“Yeah,” he says lamely. You raise your coffee to your lips.

Again, he waits for you to ask him a question, but you remain silent, drinking your coffee steadily. Damn. Why the hell are you so closed off? He squints at you, and you stare back openly. You’re deliberately trying to keep him in the dark. But then why did you agree to get coffee?

Faced with your hostility, he relaxes. You clearly don’t like him, so what does he have to lose?

“What do you think you’ll study?” he asks you.

You flick something off your sweatshirt. “Literature, probably,” you say off-handed.

He nods. “Me too,” he offers, but you stare at him blankly.

He chuckles. Seems like you’re an asshole, but this is actually kind of fun.

“Why’d you come to Gotham U?” he prods.

You shrug. He opens his mouth. “Really? No reas—”

“Why did you come to Gotham U?” you cut across him bitingly.

That stops him short. He can’t help it, he shrugs, knowing you won’t like it.

You roll your eyes. He stifles a grin.

“Did you grow up in Gotham?”

“Yes.” You don’t elaborate.

“Where?”

“Did you grow up in Gotham?” you parrot instead of answering.

He inclines his head at you, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Where?” Jason doesn’t answer, smiling knowingly at you. You scoff and look away.

“You got any siblings?”

You hesitate. Jason clocks it eagerly. “Yeah,” you say, a second later.

“How many?”

“You got any siblings?” you ask instead of answering.

That pulls Jason up short. He should’ve seen that one coming, probably should have avoided it by not asking you in the first place. He pauses, for much longer than you did. He half notices you catch it, but his mind is elsewhere.

Does he have any siblings? That would mean he has a father. He can’t go down that path.

He chews on his lip, absently watching you watch him. Bruce might not be his father, but Dick…he and Dick are something. Not friends, definitely not friends. Maybe brother is the best word.

“Yes,” he settles on eventually.

You raise an eyebrow, and he braces himself, but you don’t ask him how many. Instead, you look away, gulping down your coffee.

You’re obviously not going to make an effort. Jason tries again. “What do you do for fun?”

“Nothing.”

He bursts out laughing, and you look at him accusatorially. He can’t help it.

“No sports or anything like that?”

“No.”

“No martial arts?”

This gets your attention. “Maybe,” you say begrudgingly. “Why do you want to know?”

Jason leans back in his chair. “Just trying to make a friend.” He looks at you earnestly, barely hiding his glee.

“Pick someone else.”

That makes him laugh all over again. What crawled up your ass and died? By the way you’re acting, you’d think it was Jason.

His laughter seems to make you furious. “What do you do for fun, then?” you shoot across the table.

Jason smiles, laughter dying out. “Nothing,” he looks at you innocently. Actually, it’s the same shit as you.

You glare at him, lifting your coffee to your lips. Jason realizes your cup is almost empty. You’re probably trying to escape, but Jason’s having too much fun to let you get away. Besides, he’s still got some questions.

“You done? Here, let me get you a refill.” He jumps to his feet before you can stop him, all but running to the counter. Getting your coffee gives him time to think.

So martial arts, huh? That’s what he’d thought. He’s seen you move around campus, you can’t be that well trained, or you’re taking great pains to hide it. Jason’s got good eyes though, and he thinks you’re pretty unskilled. That’s enough to get the drop on most petty criminals.

He considers this as he pays for your drink. You’re not well-trained, and you don’t have any weapons or tactical gear. You’re probably not trying to break out as Gotham’s newest vigilante. It seems like this is a short-term thing, you’re on some kind of mission.

He remembers how angry you were as you beat that guy to a pulp. Some kind of revenge mission, maybe? Plenty of reasons to want revenge in Gotham.

Jason looks back to you, half expecting you to have left when his back was turned. But no, there you are, holding a five dollar bill between your fingers. He chuckles, adds milk and a splash of cinnamon to your drink before returning to the table. You wave the money in his face, and he takes it from you.

“I get to keep the change, then?”

“No.”

He smiles, fishes out his wallet and hands you a dollar. You squint at him, holding out your hand for the remaining fifty cents. “That’s my tip, because I remembered to add cinnamon to yours.” He grins wildly.

“Okay.” You rise to your feet, pulling on your jacket. “This has been great, but I’ve got shit to do.” You pick up the coffee and walk out.

“We’ll do this again?” he calls to you. You don’t even look back at him.

Jason smirks through the rest of his coffee. He didn’t learn shit about you, but damn. This ‘date’ just made his whole week.

#jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #dc imagine #teeth writes #I think reader should be a bitch actually #I think it’s good enrichment for him #dc

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yangjungwonisms · 2 days ago

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Hi all!! Here’s a random JW one shot I wrote a few weeks ago! Hope you enjoy! And if you see any of these posted on Ao3 it is me!! I’ve posting them there under a different account @ najaemincoded

CW: NSFW MDNI 18+

An Indecent Proposal- YJW

You knew how everyone saw Jungwon. He was always so sweet and caring and reliable it drove you crazy. Every single thing about him got under your skin. You know, it sounded like you hated him really you didn’t. In fact you were deeply in love with him. He happened to share that sentiment. You two also happened to be in a relationship. You’d been together nearing 2 years now. Hell you even lived together. What drives you crazy is how good he is at showing everyone just how good of a guy he is. It’s not for show, he is all of those things and more. What you can’t stand is how innocent and cute everyone thinks he is. And in some ways they aren’t wrong but Jungwon hasn’t been innocent in your relationship for a long time now. As a matter of fact, he’s way more perverted than you are. You swear it’s true. He’s very much the sweet and caring boyfriend everyone paints him out to be, but he’s also dangerous.

It was just another day for you two. You hadn’t spent much time together the last few days due to your work schedules so you were both a little needy for each other. Jungwon would message you every once in awhile during the day when he had free time. The conversations you two were having hadn’t even indicated if he was feeling one way or another.

You were standing in the kitchen scrolling on your phone when Jungwon arrived home. You didn’t even hear him walk in that’s how quiet he was. You really didn’t know what had gotten him so wound up given that he’d just laid eyes on you for the first time all day. You were alerted to his presence when he hugged you from behind. You immediately relaxed in his arms finally feeling all of the anxiety and stress from the week melt off of you. You could tell by the urgency of his movements that he was in a mood. “Fuck baby, you look so sexy right now”. You were sure he’d gone crazy, you were in an oversized t shirt and sweatpants. “Jungwon what on earth are you talking about. Look at me, how is this sexy to you”? You couldn’t help but let out an incredulous laugh. He could only shake his head and chuckle. “Kitty, you should know by now I always find you sexy”. Oh god, you knew as soon as he called you ‘Kitty’ that you were in for it. You turn yourself around to where you are now facing him . “Hmm you look pretty sexy yourself baby”. He really did too. He was wearing what he wore to the office every single day, maybe it was the sleeves of his shirt pushed up showing off the veins in his arms. Maybe it was the expression he wore on his face or maybe it was his hair pushed off his forehead. It was a deadly combination of everything. Within seconds he had you backed up against the counter and your lips locked in a heated kiss. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh at the contact. You’d been waiting to feel his lips on you all day. You can feel him get more worked up by each second that passes.

You two stay like this for a little while just enjoying being with each other. “mmm so sexy baby. love kissing you could do it all day”. He made a point to start leaving kisses down your neck each one messier than the last. “Then keep kissing me won. please I missed you so much today”. You knew you were screwed when he let out a sinister laugh upon hearing your confession. “want your mouth on something else baby. Get on your knees for me”. You’d think he was being bossy if not for the fact he knows how much you like it. You hadn’t realized how hard he had gotten until you were on your knees face to face with his clothed cock. He made quick work of getting his pants and boxers off so you could get to work. Normally he lets you work up to it but today he was way too wound up to wait for you. You’d never tire of the predatory way he stared at you when ordering you around. “Wanna make you choke okay princess”? You knew it wasn’t a question.

He was inpatient today. It was bad enough he doesn’t get to see you much during the week but combine that with the work piling up on his desk and his desperation for you and you were a goner. He knew he was being a little over the top with you but he planned on making it up to you just as soon as he was satisfied.

Wasting no time he grabbed hold of his cock taking a second to tap the head of it on your mouth signaling for you to open up. The pace he sets is unrelenting. The only time he’s giving you to adjust is the time it takes for you to take him fully in your mouth. Once he’s bottomed out his hands find purchase in your hair gently guiding your movements. After a few seconds he stills your movements altogether holding your head in place so he can continue to fuck your mouth. You truly didn’t mind him using you this way, in fact you loved it. In the privacy of your own home you two often had intimate moments such as these. From the outside it looks like Jungwon is brutal and mean with the way he speaks to you and the things he makes you do. But when you two became involved with each other you were both inexperienced virgins. Neither of you had any idea what pleasure meant to you. But through time and plenty of trial and error you two came to define your sexual relationship. Your roles came naturally to you both. You tended to take a more submissive approach to your encounters while Jungwon tended to become more dominant. He needed this and you knew that. So much of his day to day life is answering to other people and managing his own team. He loves his job but what he lacks in his professional life he makes up for in his personal life. And so because of that, you’d let him use you whatever way he needed knowing it made him happy. Also because he’d make it up to you tenfold when he was finished.

Even though you were struggling to breathe and there were tears running down your face you could never get enough. It was worth it with how heavenly he sounded. Even more so with how heavenly he looked. He had a habit of rambling off the filthiest words while getting himself off. He almost always had his eyes closed with his brow furrowed. The sexiest thing was the closer he’d get to finishing the more he’d bite his lip to try and keep his pretty little noises at bay. But he knew how much you needed to hear him so eventually he stopped holding back.

Your boy has the face of an Angel but the words that tumble out of his mouth are anything but. “Fuck, such a good fucking good girl taking my cock like this huh. God you fucking love it baby I know you do”. It’s then he takes a second and makes eye contact with you. His beautiful desperate little slut on her knees being so good for him. This and countless other things are why he loves you so much. His love for you often consumes him but it’s also what anchors him and brings him back down to earth.

He’s known for awhile now that he was going to marry you someday. But moments like this bring a kind of clarity he’s grateful for. Which is why the closer he gets to climax the less control he has over his words. He meant to do it a different way. He wanted it to be all about you but he just couldn’t help himself. “So beautiful for me like this baby. Fuck baby you’re doing so good for me. God you know I love you so much right”? He’s staring right at you one hand caressing your cheek. He’s seen you like this for him countless times but something about this moment makes it feel more raw and emotional than it ever has. He doesn’t need you to answer he knows you’re very aware of how he feels about you and how much he loves you. “Gonna marry you one day baby. Gonna give you everything you’d ever need. Fuck please marry me baby, gonna make you so happy”. By that time he was so high off how your mouth was making him feel that he was no longer in the same room as you having finished mere minutes after his accidental proposal.

You choose not to mention it until after he’s regained his composure. In fact, you both go about your business after that. He pulls you off of him giving you a quick kiss before beelining to the bathroom to shower. You can tell he’s embarrassed but if he’d actually talked to you about it instead of running away he’d have known how badly you wanted to say yes. You leave it be until after dinner, figuring he needs time to himself to sort through his emotions. But when you’re getting ready for bed and he still hasn’t mentioned it you can’t take it anymore. “Are we gonna talk about it won? And don’t try and play coy and act like you don’t know what I mean”. He freezes in place the moment you brought it up. “Won it’s okay. You don’t have to mean it, I understand you were caught up in the moment. It’s okay really”. That seemed to snap him out of it. He paused for a second looking deep in thought before he got up and walked across the room. You aren’t sure what he’s doing until he comes back with a box in his hand and motions for you to sit down next to him. “Princess you misunderstand, it’s not that I’m embarrassed or even regret that I proposed to you. I’ve been planning to for awhile now”. Now you’re confused even more. “Okay wonie if that’s the case then why have you been avoiding me”? He couldn’t help but let out a laugh he’d been holding in for hours. “Baby, the reason I’ve been avoiding you is because I proposed to you while you were giving me head. You deserved far more from me than that”. You’d be damned if that didn’t make you even more sure of your answer.

“Won, to anyone else I could see how it’d be embarrassing but, it’s you and it’s me, it doesn’t matter the circumstances”. Pausing for a second you continue “did you mean it though baby”? You could’ve swore you saw stars in his eyes when you asked him that. He didn’t go to answer immediately, instead he moved from where he was sitting and got down on one knee. “God you’re so perfect baby. Please for the love of god, marry me”? You knew it was coming and you’re still overwhelmed. “How long have you had this ring for”? Without skipping a beat “I’ve had this ring since the first time I told you I loved you. I was so sure within weeks of meeting you that I wanted to marry you someday”. You can’t even form words all you can do is nod your head. “Princess I need to hear it��. Forcing yourself to focus you reply with “Yang Jungwon I want nothing more than to marry you”. He wasted no time taking the ring out of the box and placing it on your finger. You were so overwhelmed with emotions that all you could focus on was how sexy he looked in that moment. You needed him and you needed him now. “Baby, get on the bed”. He turned his head to the side giving you a confused look. “Jungwon, get on the bed”. Once he finally moves to the bed you waste no time launching yourself onto him. At first you’re just kissing him wanting to relish in the feeling of being newly engaged. When you pulled away from the kiss he let out sounds of protest not wanting to break the kiss. You look at him before leaning in to whisper in his ear “baby, can I ride you please”? God how could he say no when you were looking at him with puppy dog eyes. “Fuck baby, go ahead”. You don’t hesitate to rip off any remaining clothing. You’re so desperate you forego any foreplay seeing how he’s visibly straining against his sweats. You opt to sink down on him with no prep, you knew you were ready to take him having been wet since you gave him head earlier. Jungwon thinks he’s in heaven watching you ride him like there’s no tomorrow . Jungwon was no stranger to you riding him but he can’t remember a time you set such a fast pace right off the bat. “Fuck you’re riding my cock so good baby. You always take it like a pro. You gonna let me cum in your pussy pretty baby? Gonna take what I give you huh”. It didn’t take long for either of you to finish. But the moment you did Jungwon flipped you over onto your back and started fucking you again. This time he kept a slower pace choosing to take this moment to really feel you. Once he made you cum one more time he pulled out of you and proceeded to start eating you out. He always did love to eat your pussy when you were well and truly spent with no fight left in you. You can only imagine what’s in store for the rest of the evening. In fact, you’re sure the festivities are going to continue throughout the weekend.

#kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop writers #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen smut #kpop smut #jungwon enhypen #enha jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 hours ago

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Marriage Problems Chapter 2

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon. Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling. Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives. Can they get their spark back? Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings: language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky rushed home after work that day. The presentation had gone well, securing his bonus, but had run over the time he’d originally planned. He had texted Y/N, but never got a response. He got home as fast as he could, walking into the kitchen to find it empty. Fuck, missed dinner, he thought, chastising himself as he unloaded his things and cleaned them. He walked toward the sound of the kids’ voices in the front room. They were all spread out on the floor doing homework, spouting off endless questions to Y/N, who was trying her best to help them while also mediating between Winnie and Becca, which seemed like a constant these days.

“Mama she won’t stop brushing her eraser shavings on my paper!” Winnie whined, trying to shove the eraser bits back toward Becca.

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” Becca whined back. “Not everything I do is to spite you. Maybe if you wouldn’t sit so close to me they wouldn’t land on your stuff!”

“Guys, please,” Y/N sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Hello my loves,” Bucky called out, trying to distract them.

The kids all looked up at him with smiles on their faces, quickly getting up and giving him hugs and greetings before sitting back down. Bucky moved over and around them to Y/N, kneeling down next to her. She gave him a small smile in greeting. “How did your presentation go?” she asked quietly.

“We got it,” he replied, smiling at her.

“Congratulations,” Y/N’s smile widened.

It was one of the few real smiles he’d gotten from her in a while, and it made his heart soar. Before he could say anything else the girls were bickering again, and James started firing off questions.

“Quit with the eraser! Geez, do you just not get it so you keep having to restart? How stupid can you be?”

“Mama, did you sign that form for the field trip yet?”

“I’m not the stupid one, you are!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“And I have that bake sale coming up, did you sign up for cupcakes? Or muffins? Your cookies last year were good. Oh and my soccer uniform is all grassy, did you wash it yet?”

Y/N shut her eyes tight, trying to breath through the mounting noise.

“Guys,” Bucky said in a warning tone.

“Dad she’s being so annoying. Why can’t you just leave me alone? This is why you don’t have any friends.”

“I have plenty of friends. You wouldn’t know anything about that because all the friends you have are just guys trying to date you. How does it feel knowing that they don’t actually care about you, just what they can get from you?”

“At least I can get a date.”

“Mama, what does she mean what they can get from her?”

“OH MY GOD SHUT UP!” Y/N screamed, standing up fast and pushing away from them all, covering her ears. “SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU! JESUS CHRIST!” They all froze, staring at her in shock. “No, James, I haven’t done any of that yet. It will get done eventually. As for you two,” she pointed at the girls. “I know you’re both in a very weird stage of teen years right now, but if I hear one more mean thing said between the two of you I will ground you both for the rest of the school year, do you hear me?” They both nodded quickly. “I cannot stand this anymore. This constant bickering, the noise, the incessant leaning on me for every little thing. I’m so sick of the same thing day in and day out! I’m done!”

Bucky stared at her in shock. She had yelled at the kids before during rough moments, but this was different. Y/N looked at them all with a deep look of disgust. “I love you all very much. But this is absolutely ridiculous, and I will not put up with it anymore. I deserve better than this endless, repetitive, tedious bullshit! Don’t I?” Bucky stood up and walked over to her. She had started crying as she spoke, and as he cupped her face in his hands she looked up at him, her eyes pleading and exhausted. “Don’t I?” she cried.

“Yes, you do,” Bucky whispered, nodding as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against her forehead. “Just breathe, pretty mama. Breathe.”

Y/N sputtered, her hands in fists at her sides as she closed her eyes. She let herself relax against him for a moment, but just as suddenly as it started she shook her head again and pulled out of his grasp, sniffing hard. “I…I’m fine, I just–” she glanced at them all, her face twisting into a look of horror. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, then turned and ran up the stairs.

Bucky watched her run, sighing when he heard their bedroom door shut loudly. He turned to look at the kids, each of them with a look of shock and sadness on their faces. “It’s gonna be okay, guys,” he said quietly, sitting down on the floor with them again. “Mama just needs some time. But she’s right,” he said, looking down at his hands then at Becca. “Becca, if what Winnie’s saying is true, you need to find better friends. Boys, especially at this age, aren’t worth it.” She frowned and looked down. “Winnie, you need to let Becca have her time away from you. Just because you’re both close in age and go to the same school doesn’t mean you’re both the same. She is her own person, and you are your own person. Does that make sense?” Winnie’s lips tightened, but she nodded. “James, I know you mean well, but asking a lot of questions all at once is very overwhelming for Mama, and as much as she is willing to help you, she needs a breather just like everyone else. Got it?” James nodded sadly. “As for all three of you, you’re old enough now, and your mom and I have taught you enough by now, to be able to handle yourselves more. That means from now on you’re responsible for knowing your schedules, taking care of yourselves with your personal hygiene, cleaning up after yourselves, and as of now you’ll be responsible for getting your lunches for school ready, preparing your own breakfasts, and making sure you’re out the door on time for the bus. Also, laundry,” he said, glancing at James for emphasis. “Your clothes, your problem. Do you all understand?”

They all nodded solemnly. “Good. We are going to have to work together to take the brunt of the work off of Mama. She’s done too much for all of us for too long. Which makes her an amazing mother and wife–” he stopped, nearly getting choked up on his words, before quickly clearing his throat. “But it’s too much for just one person to handle. We are a family, and family loves and supports each other, right?” They all nodded again. “Okay. Are you all done with your homework enough for tomorrow?”

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

“Great. Then go get ready for bed,” Bucky said. “Good night, my spawn.”

They all giggled and gave him goodnight farewells and hugs, gathering their things and putting them away before trudging up the stairs to get ready for bed. Bucky sighed as he stood up again, stretching before looking around the main floor of the house. It was mostly pretty clean, so he got to work cleaning up the last few little messes and things he could see that needed to be done, then ate the leftovers from dinner.

When he was finished the kids had all settled down in bed, and he tucked them each in before heading to his bedroom. Bucky hesitated at the door, unsure of how to broach what had happened. He knocked lightly, waiting to hear anything, but after a moment of silence he slowly opened the door. He peered in and found Y/N already in bed, her soft snores the only sound in the room. Bucky walked in and closed the door quietly, walking over to her side of the bed and kneeling down. She was already in her pajamas, and judging from her makeup free face and the puffiness of her eyes, she had cried as she got ready for bed and up until she fell asleep. Bucky’s heart broke for her. He and the kids had been leaning on her for everything for so long. They had taken advantage of her. She had been suffering silently because she felt like she could only depend on herself to get things done. He reached up and gently wiped away the last bits of tears that were still wet on her face, then leaned forward and kissed her nose. “I’m so sorry, pretty mama,” he whispered, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I love you.”

Y/N squirmed a little in her sleep at his touch, but didn’t wake, letting out a short hum as she readjusted herself. Bucky smiled at her, fixing the blanket around her and tucking her in before getting ready for bed.

@cjand10 @sebastians-love @sherwoodforesttales @shanksstrawhat

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #chapter 2 #mother!reader #father!bucky barnes #married couple #bucky x reader

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mydadleft471 · 2 days ago

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A Jester Indeed: Part 2

Children, I have returned! Glorious day!

I FINALLY wrote Messmer shit again! Yippee! Thank you all for waiting so patiently. I also have over 500 reblogs which is crazy! I'm so happy.

Anywho, here you go. Enjoy your dinner.

Link to part one here!

Link to my Masterlist here!

You’ve been having a fantastic time in the Shadow Keep.

Putting aside the demigod who you may or may not have been annoying for the past few weeks, there’s so much history to delve through. His Storeroom, which you had begged him to let you go into, held a great many mysteries about the Shamans and the Hornsent. The books you’ve been pouring over alongside shambling shades were fascinating; so much so that you often brought them back to your quarters to read until you fell asleep in your very comfy bed.

Messmer, as promised, had your quarters cleaned. The dust was gone practically overnight and you had fresh clothes, sheets, and as much food as you could ever want. Perhaps this was Messmer’s way of thanking you for sparing him?

Speaking of that, he hardly had time for you. When he wasn’t shut away in his quarters, he was out training with his men. You had often watched him work, muscles rippling and his soldiers watching with as rapt attention as you did. He truly was a fearsome warrior.

You got really lucky.

There was one occasion when he came and visited you not long after you were settled in your new home. He had knocked on your door long after the moon had risen into the starry sky, and you welcomed him in. He looked around the room, inspecting it with a scrutinizing gaze. But his anger quickly dissipated once you let him know just how much you loved your time here. You spared no detail, exclaiming about the lovely clothes you were given and how comfortable your bed was.

He looked so pleased.

As you run through your memories of the last few weeks, a discarded book about Hornsent religious practices on your lap, a loud knock sounds at your door. You get up, carefully placing the book on your side table, and make your way over to the door and open it. It was Salza, a longtime friend and confidant of Messmer’s. He was the most agreeable of his high-ranking men in your eyes, as he had no problem walking you through the Storeroom and loading your arms full of books as he regaled stories of old battles.

“My Lady,” he bows respectfully.

You sigh. “Salza, how many times have I reminded you to just call me by my name?”

“And how many times have I ignored you?”

“You make a fair point.” You gesture into your room, inviting him in.

He shakes his head. “As much as I would like to continue my stories of my long-lost days of grandeur, Lord Messmer requires you today.”

“Requires me? What am I, a concubine?” You scoff.

Salza opens his mouth to say something, then quickly shuts it, shaking his head. “Would you accompany me? Lord Messmer does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

As you begin to take a step forward, Salza’s arm shoots out and stops you. You shoot him a puzzled look.

“Not like that. Wear something nicer.”

You look down at your clothes, a simple tunic, pants, and boots. Not very fitting for a lady, you say to yourself mockingly.

“Fine, fine. Give me a few minutes.”

“I’ve brought servants with me to help you, my Lady.” A few shades linger behind him in the dim light of a chandelier.

You quickly wave them in and shut the door. They all wander over to your wardrobe and pull out a few dresses that are, of course, all differing shades of red. You pick the one closest to the fiery red of Messmer’s hair, and the servants nod at your choice approvingly. They quickly get to work ridding you of your garments and lacing up your dress. A nice pair of sandals is placed at your feet and you quickly slip them on.

You move to sit at your vanity, which had to be replaced with one that was more your size. It’s made of a beautiful dark red wood, carefully carved with intricate linings of ivory and ebony. The servants flutter about you, two combing your long hair and taming it, and another picking out earrings and a lovely choker with two silver serpents. A light dusting of blush on your cheeks and some crimson is laid carefully on your lips. Looking into the mirror, you appreciate how beautiful you look. Sometimes, you hardly recognize the battle-hardened warrior you were before coming here.

The servants do one final pass over you and decide you look perfect enough after a few sprays of floral perfume that makes you cough and sneeze.

Finally returning to your door and opening it, Salza looks you up and down.

You hold up a hand. “Don’t say it. Just lead.”

He begins to walk and you follow him closely, your dress gently swishing as you move.

“I was merely going to ask you if you think My Lady fits you now.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” You say wistfully.

Soon, you arrive at the large door to Messmer’s chambers. The last time you stood in front of these heavy doors, you were trying to kill him. The irony is not lost on you.

The guards stationed in front of the door open them wordlessly for you, the metal screeching against the rough stone floors in protest. Salza stands at your side, and as the doors open, you see the chamber is fully lit up. And very occupied.

All of Messmer’s top men are gathered around his large throne, with the man himself perched impatiently on his seat. He flexes and relaxes his fingers as if he’s summoning his spear.

Salza leads the way inside and you follow, hot on his heels as your sandals scrape against the floor. He takes his place at Messmer’s side and positions you next to him, only a man away from his Lord. You don’t notice so much as feel Messmer’s eyes watch your every movement. As you take your place, Messmer gives you a look of approval, a soft gaze that sends your mind reeling.

“My Lord, I believe everyone is here. Shall we begin?” Queelign says.

Fucking simp.

Messmer nods and raises his hand. The doors open again, and a man with dark robes and a hood over his head is escorted inside. He’s moved to the middle of the room when the hood is taken off his face.

You almost pass out on the spot.

It’s Sir Ansbach, a fellow Tarnished serving Miquella the Kind, like Lady Leda. His mask has been taken off and is dropped at his side. He can’t move with two guards at his back and his hands bound.

“Speak thy name, trespasser.” Fire Knight Kood rumbles out.

“I am Sir Ansbach, loyal follower of Lord Mohg, and the last of the Pureblood Knights.” His voice does not waver despite the circumstances.

“A follower of Mohg? Here?” Messmer speaks, and you notice his men straighten even more at the sound of his voice.

“Yes, Lord Messmer. I have nothing to hide, nor have I any reason to disguise my allegiances.”

When Messmer doesn’t speak again, Queelign does so for him.

“Have thee any relation to Miquella the Kind?” God, his voice is annoying.

“Once, perhaps, when my heart was stolen by him as I tried to save my dear Lord. No longer, however, as his charm has broken.”

“How many of Miquella’s followers are in the Realm of Shadow?” Kood inches closer to Ansbach.

“Five that I know of, my Lord. I do not know their whereabouts or if they have been freed from the charm as well. I came here for knowledge, nothing more.”

“Speak their names.” Messmer summons his spear.

“Lady Leda, Moore, Freya, Hornsent, and Dryleaf Dane.”

You knew all of these names, except one. Dane remained a mystery to you.

“Is it the truth that spills from thy lips, or venom, Sir Ansbach? I do not know you.” Messmer’s voice sends a chill down your spine.

“Perhaps not, my Lord, but she does.” He gestures to you.

The room goes silent except for the rapid beating of your own heart. If Messmer considers you a traitor, you don’t have your weapon. You don’t even have your flask. You are sure to lose horribly.

“Speak.” Messmer narrows his eye at you.

You take a deep breath before beginning. “It’s true, Lord Messmer. I know Sir Ansbach, and every word he says is true. I know of these followers of Miquella, except for Dryleaf Dane. He remains unknown to me. But I trust Sir Ansbach. I would ask that you do the same.”

Queelign, unfortunately, butts in before anyone else can speak. “My Lord, how can we be so sure that she is not a follower of Miquella herself? How can we be sure this is not some elaborate plot to infiltrate the Shadow Keep?”

Messmer tenses at his words. You narrow your eyes at Queelign.

“Forgive my harsh words, my Lord, but I don’t give a shit about Miquella. I killed his sister and harbor her Great Rune, for Marika’s sake. I never came here to enact whatever master plan he has; I came here for the adventure. Might I remind you of our first meeting, my Lord?”

“My Lord, she how do we know–”

“Enough. She has spoken.”

You could kiss Messmer right now.

Queelign, fuming, but not wanting to do anything to disobey his Lord, sulks back to his spot. With a raise of Messmer’s hand, the guards behind Sir Ansbach cut his bindings.

“Thank you, Lord Messmer.” Sir Ansbach bows deeply, as he was more than likely not expecting to get out of this situation alive.

“Do not thank me. If not for my advisor, thy fate would have been decided in this room.” Messmer looks over at you, something you can’t quite place in his eyes.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, and his lip twitches into an almost smile. Cute.

“A pleasure to see you again, Lady Tarnished. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“Oh, it was nothing. I do this every day.” You joke with a dismissive wave of your hand.

“What does thee know of Miquella’s plan?” Messmer sets the conversation back on track.

“Very little as of now. I came here with the intent on pursuing knowledge so I may know what to do next.” Sir Ansbach replies.

“My Storeroom is open to thee. Pursue to thy heart’s content, but thou wilt harbor no ill will towards my men. Should thee disobey my warning, there will be no mercy.”

“Of course, Lord Messmer. Should I find anything, I will tell you immediately.”

“Salza,” Messmer begins. “Show him to the Storehouse.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

With an audible creak of his bones, he leads Sir Ansbach out of the great chamber. The rest of Messmer’s men stand still awaiting his orders.

“Return to thy posts and sharpen thy blades. A war may be approaching.” His words echo through the room, sending a chill down your spine.

Everyone begins to leave and you go to join them, but Messmer gently grabs your wrist.

“I would have thee stay.”

“Okay. I mean, yes, my Lord.” You curtsy to him.

Once the rest of the guards leave and the large metal doors are shut, Messmer releases your wrist and begins to walk behind his throne. You follow, trying to catch up with him with your much smaller legs, and you notice another large door at the very back of the room. It’s adjacent to the large statue of Marika and partially hidden by deep crimson curtains.

“Come.” He holds the door open for you and you tentatively make your way inside.

With reddening cheeks, you realize that this is his personal chamber. A large bed with red blankets and various furs sits imposingly in the corner, and a few desks and tables litter the room. It is luxurious, but not extravagantly so. You wonder if perhaps he does want you as a concubine.

He clears his throat and you realize he’s waiting for you at a large table covered by a map. As you hurry over, you realize it shows the layout of the Land of Shadow.

“Why have you brought me here, my Lord?”

Something about your flustered face must be funny because he lets out a small chuckle. “I seek your advice.”

“Oh, okay! Because when Salza came to my door and told me I needed to look nice I thought you’d be taking me as a concubine or something like that.” Words rush out of you faster than reason can reign them in, and you find yourself the bringer of an uncomfortable silence.

Messmer’s cheeks flush and his one eye looks around rapidly as long as it doesn’t linger on your form. He places his hands on the table in front of him, and, after some time, he looks down at you with a look.

“Not that I wouldn’t be honored!” You interject quickly. “I just, uh, would like to get to know you better before we did anything like that. But you’re very handsome and… I think I’m going to stop talking.”

It was probably a good thing you did. Messmer looks ready to keel over where he stands from your words. His face is a deeper red than his hair and he opens and closes his mouth rapidly in search of words that never seem to come to him.

Eventually, he gets his mind straight enough to quietly utter a few words. “Thou wouldst consider me handsome?”

“Of course.” You say smiling.

“I am naught but a horrid war-beast.”

“Would you please just take a compliment?!” You all but screech.

“Wouldst thou stop rambling like a child?” He counters.

“You’re impossible. I can’t believe I picked this dress for you!”

Once again, silence encompasses the room. You nervously pick at your cuticles to give yourself something to do.

“Thou lookest radiant. Red becomes you.” He mutters.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He reaches to take off his helmet, sighing as the weight of it rests on the table beside him. His fair, though a bit messy, frames his face beautifully. You just wish you could tell him that without sending him into a spiral.

“I brought thee here for militaristic purposes, nothing more, I assure thee.”

“Oh. That’s boring.”

“And thou wouldst have me take thee as a concubine instead?”

Your face flushes for the millionth time today. “No! I mean… maybe? Can we– can we just get back on track? Please?”

“Wouldst thou take a compliment?” He mocks you.

“I should’ve let you tear your eye out.”

He laughs and it makes you shrink even further into yourself. You do have to admit that he is so handsome when he smiles.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your sudden serious tone has his smile falling off his face faster than it arrived. He nods.

“Why did you trust me so much back there? Your men might not like the fact that you’re listening to a Tarnished.”

His gaze hardens. “Thou hast seen many battles rather recently. My men and I have lingered, burning away hastily-formed groups of remaining Hornsent, but we have lingered nonetheless.”

“Is that all?” You push.

He pauses before replying. “I owe thee mine own life. Engaging thy whims is a small price to pay.”

Your heart swells at his words and you place your hand gently over his. His gaze lingers on your small hand and curiosity gets the better of him. He holds your hand and inspects it, noticing a few callouses from battles fought, but overall, your skin is smooth. He feels unworthy of your touch and quickly drops your hand.

Perhaps privy to his internal battle, you move forward and gently wrap your arms around him, his serpents nuzzling into you. He stands so still, almost as if he can’t believe this is real. How long it’s been since he was given a loving touch.

“You’re sweet.” You mutter those words into his armor that’s been splattered with blood more often than it’s been polished.

He takes comfort in the knowledge that you, his strange Tarnished, does not care.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring x reader #elden ring messmer #i love him #he's yummy oml

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98onlyboo · 1 day ago

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mine now - h.js

>> part 2 of: regret - l.jh

genre: fluff; wc: 1,2k

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

..Jihoon watched you drive off, already knowing this will be the biggest regret of his whole life.

It's been quite alot of time now since you last saw Jihoon. You've been avoiding him at all cost, trying not to hurt more than you already are. Ever since Joshua picked you up, he was there for you 24/7. He helped you move out of your shared apartment with Jihoon and let you live in his for a while.

Every now and then you had days were everything was just too much. You always thought it's your fault that you got cheated on. I mean, if there wasn't something wrong with you he wouldn't have cheated right? That's what you thought at least.

You thought you were doing better when all of a sudden, everyday felt like a burden. You just wanted to rot in bed, having no motivation to do anything. Sometimes you didn't even want to wake up. Joshua tried his best to comfort you, but you could sense that after some time it was too much for him too.

You felt even worse now, knowing you're the reason he feels that way. You decided to show him how grateful you were to have him, even though words couldn't be enough to describe it. As people say, actions speak louder than words so that's exactly what you planned to do.

After you got home from work you started deep cleaning his apartment, knowing by the time he got home from practicing with seventeen he would be too tired to do it himself. Also it was a really good distraction so you didn't mind. After you were done with that, you went out restocking his fridge and also buying some things you were going to cook for him later.

That done, you also got him a little gift. A teddy bear holding a heart and some candy he liked. On the way home you noticed a familiar car in the street just passing by Joshua's apartment complex every now and then. Weird you thought, looks exactly like Jihoons'...

When you got home you unpacked the groceries and started cooking, forgetting about the car. Joshua should be home in around an hour from now so I better get started. You started preparing a five-star meal, just like he deserved. As if he could sense it, he entered the apartment the moment you took the food out of the oven.

You ran up to the door to hug him and obviously he hugged you back, burying his head in your hair, taking in your sweet scent. "I have something for you" you grinned at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Should I be scared..?" he chuckled. "No silly", you laughed and flicked his forehead, "it's something good I'd say." He just nodded and followed you into the kitchen.

"What's that?" he said as he looked at the food. "I made it just for you. I hope you're hungry" you smiled at him. "I sure am" he laughed and sat down at the dining table. You gave him a plate and he ate it like he hasn't seen any food in a year. You just smiled at how cute he is. Wait a minute...

"So how was work?" you asked him, trying to shake off these thoughts. "It was great!! We practiced some of the new choreos and recorded some stuff. Only weird thing is Jihoon wasn't there.." he said while finishing his food. "That's good" you smiled him, remembering the car you saw earlier. "Actually, you said he wasn't with you guys today?" you asked to which he just nodded.

"Weird. I saw a car today driving around the building a few times and to be honest, it looked a lot like you know...Jihoons car" you said looking out the window. "That is indeed weird. But I don't think we should think too much of it. Let's just relax tonight" he said and hugged you from behind.

You didn't know what to do so you just stayed there until he left to go to the living room. "Did you clean in here??" he shouted. "Uh yeah I did, I cleaned the whole apartment for you" you shouted back. You went into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Joshua.

He put an arm around you and pulled you close. "Thank you" he said while giving you a quick peck on your head. "No, I need to thank you. You have been there for me through everything that has happened recently. You always made sure I'm somewhat happy, no matter how tired or stressed you were. You literally let me live here with you, without you I would be homeless. I don't think I've shown you enough appreciation so that's why I cleaned and cooked for you. I know it's not much but I figured it's the least I could do. I wish I could tell you how grateful I am to have you by my side but I just can't put it into words." you said, your eyes starting to water.

He was speechless to say the least. "I-uh I-" he stuttered. "I don't even know what to say right now" he whispered. "Don't worry you don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know that" you smiled at him. There was silence between you two, only the tv delivering some background noise. Then it happened.

Your faces slowly moving towards each other. The tension grew with every passing second and before you knew it, you felt his lips on yours. It felt magical. All your thoughts, your pain and your sorrows were blown away the second your lips touched. It was like the world stopped spinning. Like everything stood still.

His hands found their way to the side of your face pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. Yours made their way into his hair, occasionally playing with some strands. After what felt like an eternity, you pulled apart. Out of breath and cheeks flushed bright pink. "Wow.." he whispered, "you don't know how long I've been waiting to do this."

You grinned at him, pulling him close. You guys continued watching whatever tv show was playing until you both got tired. You got ready for bed and were ready to go to sleep when Joshua asked you something.

"Can I ask you something?" "Sure what is it?" you said turning towards him. "What are we after this? Like, what did that earlier mean to you?" You were taken aback by that question. You didn't really know how to react at first.

"You know.. I really enjoyed that kiss, and your presence in general. I could get used to living with you. Not just as your roommate but you know.. maybe more than that" you said and scooted closer to him.

"Well lucky for you I don't feel any different. I like having you around and... I definitely don't mind kissing you more often..." he whispered that last part before pulling you in again. "You're mine now.."

#joshua #hong joshua #seventeen #svt #say the name seventeen #seventeen fanfic #fluff #cute #happyending #hongjisoo #sebongs #carat #fanfiction

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pompeiiiiiisaidso · 6 hours ago

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(Trying to lure Batclan/Batfam fans over to the Green Lantern fandom, day 1)

What rings I think each Batclan / Batfam members would have:

First, a quick rundown of each different colour:

Red: Embodies the emotion of rage / anger. Once the ring is in the user's finger it fills them with a murderous rage, that they only snap out of once they bathe in a sea of blood. They can't take the ring out, since it has replaced their heart and the user's blood with lava that they can spit out. They can't usually make constructs.

Orange: Embodies greed, but is not getting mentioned in the list because there is only one user.

Yellow: The user has to inspire great fear. Scarecrow has been offered one, I'm pretty sure. They get to make constructs.

Green: Strength of will. The originals. The middle of the spectrum. Green Arrow has used one in the past and was only able to conjure a single arrow with all his will, and it left him completely exhausted and out of commission. Users have to overcome great fear. They also get constructs.

Blue: Hope. They're mostly support (principally for the Green Lanterns), so their offense is not exactly great, but they can overcharge other people's rings and just overall make them stronger. Also, the only way you can take a red power ring off is by putting a blue one in its place immediately. Constructs positive.

Indigo: Compassion. They are made up of assassins and killers who have decided to change their ways and repent. Good vibes all around. Live laugh make constructs.

Magenta (Violet? Pink? Purple? I'm not sure honestly): The Star Sapphires represent love of all kinds. The second of this list to appear in comics, debuted by Carol Ferris, Hal Jordan's love interest at the time. They are all women, but men can also gain this title, as seen by Guy Gardner's brief experience as one.

Bruce: Has canonically been offered a Yellow Power Ring before (War of the Rings, volume 2). He has also been stated to be incapable of wielding a Green Ring due to his inability to surpass his greatest fears and regrets (namely, his parents' death) (Green Lantern #9, 2004)

Dick: Would have a Red Ring during his venture as Robin, and got offered a Blue one when he shed that mantle and took on Nightwing, to his great relief

Babs: She'd be a Green Lantern as Batgirl, and would give up the title after the Joker Incident. She would regret it deeply afterwards, but would stop once she got a Blue ring at around the same time she decided that if she couldn't fight alongside them, she'd be the eyes and ears that support the rest of the Hero Community. And so Oracle was born, though maybe in this universe she'd be Blue

Cass: As a general rule of thumb, children don't usually gain a Power Ring, so I while I don't think she'd have one as the One Who Is All, if she did it would be Yellow. Teenagers, on the other hand, have been known to wield a Ring, so I think she'd have either an Indigo, for her past state as a killer, or she'd have a Magenta(?) ring for all the love she has for her family

Jason: Maybe he'd be Blue while Robin. I don't really know, I haven't read enough of Jaybin to be able to pinpoint his exact ring. It'd be a cute little thing, maybe offering Jason a Hope Ring would be Dick's initiation process and offer both the closure and bond they needed at the time. He wouldn't have one as the Red Hood, mainly because he'd remember Dick's suffering and loss of control of his consciousness due to the Red Ring, and that was one of the only ones that presented itself to him at the time. The other one was the Yellow, and he didn't have the strength to have the same Ring as Bruce at the time. He'd then get an Indigo Power Ring somewhere during his healing process, and depending on what you go with Cass it could be angst material, since last I checked she didn't exactly like Jason because of his purposeful and spontaneous killing

Steph: Would start out with a Green Power Ring and maintain it to the end, though she would keep joking about how she wished she had a Love Ring to fit her theme better. She secretly would be very proud to be considered worthy of being a Green Lantern when Batman didn't think her worthy of being a Robin, and keep that title even during her darkest moments. Her and Kilowog got along like a house on fire, by the way

Tim: As the most like Bruce and unlike him at the same time, I feel he'd either have a Yellow or Green Ring, no in-between. During the Brucequest, he'd either gain a Green one, if he hadn't already, or a Blue one for all the blind Hope he demonstrated. He'd get very emotional once it finally sunk in that despite it all he was still considered pure enough to share a Ring colour with his hero

Duke: My heart wants to say he'd get a Fear ring to maintain his yellow theme, but I know it wouldn't be so. I also want to say that he'd get a Blue due to him being a Signal of Hope to the people of Gotham, but something in me doesn't feel it is right to put Duke, the only super powered bat, with the Ring meant for Support. Duke would get a Green Ring for all his resilience and Strength of Will and for his ability to not only overcome great fear, but inspire the same fire in other people around him.

Damian: Once again, children don't normally wield a Power Ring, and even if they did the League doesn't strike me as a Lantern friendly space, so Damian's ring would come in during his time as Robin. He'd await a Yellow one, as “is his birthright as the blood son” in his own words, so it would be a bit surprising (for him) when he didn't get any. Everyone saw it coming, but no one had the heart to tell him. He'd try to grow around it after some time, but it would still be a bit of a sore spot. His ring would come when he least expects it, as he's calming down a spooked citizen, or helping a hurt animal, and he'd jump in front of whoever he was with to protect them from whatever had caused the loud noise. Damian absolutely cried when he realised it was a Power Ring. He'd get either a Blue, which matches with Richard and that alone would make it Damian's pride and joy, or an Indigo, which makes a lot of sense to his character growth and interests for the future as hinted at by recent comics

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paperclip-skz · 1 day ago

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Hyunjin's Love and Leashes ( part 4 ) Office Blowout

fem*Reader x Hyunjin

*WARNING*

WC: 2.9k

Contains: mentions of sexual content, and BDSM references, second hand embarrassment, this is going to be a lot of parts and little parts to it (there is a cliffhanger at the end)

Also note: This story is HEAVLY influenced by the Netflix movie Love and Leashes. This is just "my" version of it, you could say. I am writing to write and I recommend you watch Love and Leashes. *** This is not an original idea, this IS INSPIRED BY A MOVIE/ANIME**

****

part 1 part 2 part 3

***

Month 2

2 months before the contract ends

In the weeks that followed, you let your imagination run wild with every session.

You continued your research to be more prepared, which led you to the candles you found online. They were safe and specifically designed for burning on the skin.

You booked another room in another hotel and let him rest in the grand bathtub in the bathroom. Lit candles were placed around every corner, lighting the room dimly as Hyunjin rested peacefully. He let his whole body relax, his eyes closed, and his heart steady. You walked over with your special candle in hand and traced your finger down the spine of his back. His muscles contracted in anticipation, but when the first droplet of melted wax hit his skin, his back reacted like clouds, creating a storm. His hushed moans filled the air as you painted his skin.

Then, the following week, you decided that sensory play was the best play you both shared. You gathered objects that made his skin crawl with goosebumps.

Ever since your last “session,” the only thing tying you two together besides work has been stolen glances and hidden commands.

You would hide commands at work, ensuring Hyunjin understood who was in control, even outside the playpen.

“Hyunjin, go grab me the schedule from my desk,” you would say, something completely hidden from everyone else, but the second you made any sort of demand, Hyunjin would sit up straight, a beautiful blush spreading across his cheeks.

You could tell when he thought of that night, the night he traced his lips across your bare skin. You couldn’t deny that you thought of it, too, almost every night. You could feel the faintness of his lips; you could imagine the hunger in his eyes…

“Y/N?” you snap back to the presentation before you.

“Yes,” you say, clearly trying to act unbothered.

“Umm, anyways, as I was saying,” the presentation continues, and you can hear Hyunjin smirk beside you. His cheeks are the faintest bit of pink, but his smile is mischievous.

As the presentation goes on, you slowly lose interest. As words drag and sentences seem endless, you wonder when this meeting will end and how long you really have to be here.

Hyunjin coughs beside you, and you immediately turn your head to look at him. That’s when you notice he’s wearing the glasses you gave him. He seems unbothered and oblivious, as if his body embodies calmness. However, when he adjusts his glasses slightly, his eyes glance toward you, almost as if he’s sending you a hidden message…and you understand instantly.

If anything has taught you about Hyunjin in the past few days and…sessions, it’s taught you how to read him. The difference lies in when he wants attention and when he wants to be dominated. Your spine straightens, and a devilish smirk spreads across your lips.

The presentation soon ends, but you have one last comment: “Thank you for these notes; I’ll get right on them, but I need to discuss something with Mr. Hwang. May we have the room, please?” You ask politely. As each member of your team begins to leave, everyone seems none the wiser.

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

He can’t explain why he did what he did. You both agreed that even when he needed your dominance in the workplace, it wouldn’t interrupt a meeting of any kind. So why did he give you the signal?

Maybe because he was addicted to you, ever since that session where he grazed your skin, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And not just what other parts of your body he could graze, but just you. The way you scrunched your nose when you had a good meal. Or the way your laugh left your lips like a summer breeze. Or just your confidence in everything you did. He was falling, and he was falling fast.

Once the last member of your team leaves, Hyunjin watches as you crane your head back to him with a wicked smile. “What did you need, pretty boy?”

He’ll never admit it, but he secretly loves it when you call him that. Such a praising nickname said in such a degrading way; it made the tent in his pants tighten. “Y-you,” he stumbles.

“Here?” you ask, still smiling.

He nods his head, already at a loss for words. “Tsk tsk tsk,” you shake your head in mock disappointment, “when anyone could see you.” He didn’t miss the fact you said ‘you.’ Almost acting like you didn’t care to get caught, only thinking about his position in all this, his embarrassment. Why did that make his body want to sing? Want to explode with pent-up tension….. It was official: you were going to kill him, and he was going to have a big fat smile on his face when he died.

“Answer me,” you demanded.

He flinched at your sudden tone and stumbled out a shaky “yes.”

He can see a flicker in your eyes, but you keep your confidence.

“Be here after work. I need to teach you a lesson,” you say in the most addictive voice he thinks he’s ever heard.

****( 4 hours later )

You made him flinch. You’ve never seen him flinch like that. Was your tone too strong? Maybe you shouldn’t have been so direct with him….

No. He asked for you to be direct and practically control him. Besides, if he were really scared, he would have said so.

Still, doubts cloud your mind as your and everyone’s shifts come to an end. “Hey,” one of your coworkers pokes their head in through your office door, “me and some others are going for drinks afterward. Wanna come?”

“Nah, can’t,” you say. “Already got plans,” you smile kindly. If they only knew your ‘plans’ included something much more sinister.

They nodded out the door and headed for the elevators, where the last of your team had separated. You had told Hyunjin to return to the meeting room after work, so when you walked in and saw Hyunjin sitting in the same chair in the same spot as before, you weren’t surprised.

You walk into the meeting room, your body in a rush of warmth.

*********

“You needed me. In the middle of a meeting. Why?” Your voice is cold, cold as ice that pierces the silence of the room.

His eyes can’t meet yours. He’s so ashamed of his thoughts he can’t bear to look at you. “Why!” you raise your voice slightly, and he snaps his eyes to yours.

“I-I—” he stutters. How does he explain? He simply can’t. If he did, he would say that he is helplessly falling in love with the woman he asked to be his dominant, but the thought alone makes his stomach turn.

“You what?” you say, your brows pulling in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he’s defeated. Words are lost, and his head hangs low. “I- I don’t know what came over me. I got jealous and needy and I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

A pause. A breath of silence fills the air, his words hanging like bait. “Take off your belt.” Blood rushes to his ears, his whole face red and heated.

“Wha-”

“Do you trust me?” Your voice drips like honey, smooth and enticing.

“Yes,” he breathes, a hint of anticipation in his tone. Deliberately, he removes his belt, the leather sliding through the hoops of his dress pants with a tantalizing slowness. You snatch the thick material from his hands, your fingers brushing against his skin as you stretch it across your palm.

“Stand there,” you command, pointing to the edge of the table, your eyes locking onto his.

Hyunjin moves to obey, leaning against the table with his palms gripping the edge. He casts a quick glance at you, catching the sight of your wet lips and the frantic spark in your eyes, but your posture remains unwavering.

The air thickens with tension, and a heartbeat of silence extends before you raise the belt high above your head. You bring it down against the table with a swift motion, the crack echoing like a thunderclap. He flinches, the sound electrifying, igniting a thrilling rush that races down his spine. It's a feeling he never knew he craved, each sharp sound pulling him deeper into the moment, hungry for the next taste of exhilaration.

“Was that so bad?” your voice lingers in the air, wrapping around him like silk. His chest rises and falls with heavy, intoxicating breaths.

His gaze locks onto yours, and you find yourself holding your breath. The vibrant spark in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a smoldering darkness that sends a shiver down your spine and ignites something deep within.

Hyunjin straightens, a predatory grace in his movements, his knuckles gripping the edge of the table, white with need. “Do it again,” he whispers, each word dripping with desire.

He sits there. And he takes his punishment, letting the slash of his belt pierce the air from how you hit it on the counter. It makes him flinch, but it also sends a wave of electricity through his body, something he can’t describe, something he’s never felt before.

He’s never trusted anyone so much in his life. Someone he would trust not to hurt him but tiptoe just above the edge of pain.

“Do you really think I would do this to just anyone?” you scream.

And then you stop. The chilling air freezes in place, and the silence is so thick you could cut it with a knife. You take a careful step towards him. He shuts his eyes so tightly that tears begin to build, but he refuses to let them fall, not yet.

He can hear your body shuffle, and then a delicate hand is placed on his cheek. He keeps his eyes closed but leans into the touch, grazing his rosy cheeks. And that is when he feels it. Plush lips pressing against his in a kiss he can barely register. It's so soft he can barely feel it. You were so gentle that he almost didn’t kiss you back.

He struggles to let go of the table, but his body stays still, unwilling to reach for you. Instead, his lips press forward, seeking a deeper kiss. He pours his heart and soul into every movement, and tears stream down his cheeks. You gently bring him closer, resting your forehead against his while your thumbs tenderly wipe away his tears.

The belt was long forgotten on the ground. You both stay their in silence, Hyunjin studying every breath you release, roses. He smelt those same roses. His eyes closed as he breathed deeply, his lungs swelled with that familiar smell and a smile danced along his lips. “Are you okay?” you said. Your voice shaky, that recent dominate tone gone and forgotten and replaced by something gentle, careful.

“So much better than okay” he replies, his hands finally leaving the edge of the table and grabbing hold of your waist.

“Don’t worry I just left it in here” a voice call out beyond the meeting room door.

Both you and Hyunjin’s eyes snap to the door…. Shit.

*****

Shit. Shit .Shit.

No one. No one can see you like this. Panic courses through your veins like ice water, and every heartbeat feels like a silent drumroll of dread pounding against your ribcage. Hyunjin, ever perceptive, mirrors the raw panic etched across your face, his eyes wide and glistening with fear.

Footsteps thud ominously behind the door, each echo reverberating through the air like a countdown to impending doom. Your breath hitches in your throat as you sense the crushing weight of your situation pressing down on you. It’s only moments before the jingle of the doorknob slices through the tense silence, a chilling prelude to what’s about to unfold. “What do we do?” Hyunjin whispers, his voice trembling with pure horror.

Your lips part in a silent gasp, and your eyes widen as they dart around the cramped room, searching for a way out that isn’t there. The air is heavy and suffocating, thick with the scent of fear and desperation. Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach when the doorknob rattles, sending a fresh wave of panic surging through you. In a frantic rush, you grab the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt, pulling him down toward the cold, unforgiving floor. You collapse with him, your pulse racing like a wild drum.

“Ah, here it is,” a voice calls from just beyond the door, dripping with malice. Instinctively, you bite down hard on your lip to suppress a whimper, and with a surge of urgency, you slam your hand over Hyunjin’s mouth, stifling any sound that could betray your hiding place.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” the voice continues, each word sending icy tendrils of fear spiraling through you. You hear the door click shut, sealing off the fleeting moment of hope. In that instant, the tension in the room is palpable. Both of you release a shuddering breath, but the momentary relief is short-lived as reality crashes back in.

Memories race to the front of your mind like a gun shooting into the abyss. You brace yourself on your hands above Hyunjin. His cheeks are a lovely shade of pink, but no matter how delicate he looks, no matter how badly you want to feel his lips against yours again. This has all gone far enough. You get up quickly, heart racing as you straighten your outfit and smooth down your hair. Hyunjin mirrors you, but he’s a mess—his outfit is disheveled, his hair tousled, and the worry in his eyes is palpable. He’s terrified you’ll leave, and it grips you.

“I should go. It’s getting late,” you say, avoiding his gaze, the weight of his stare making it hard to breathe.

“Wait, please,” he pleads, reaching for your arm, but you’re already striding toward the door. Each echo of your heels feels like a countdown.

“Y/N, please,” he calls out, urgency lacing his voice.

You hit the elevator button, keeping your eyes fixed forward. You might lose your resolve completely if you dare meet those crystalline eyes again.

“Y/N, look at me, please.” His voice is laced with desperation, tearing at your heart. “Tell me that kiss didn’t scare you away.”

The elevator dings open, and you step inside, spinning around to press the button that seals you both in this small space. Hyunjin slips in right after you, and for a split second, you notice how out of place his tie is and how ruffled his shirt looks. It sends a jolt through you—a mix of desire and fear twisting in your belly.

As the doors close, he stands so close that you can feel the heat radiating from him. “Y/N…” His breathy voice calls to you, normally a melody you’d savor, but now it feels like a siren’s song pulling you deeper into chaos. You both crossed a line, and that knowledge is suffocating. The contract may have left room for this kind of touch, but your own mental barriers were supposed to keep you safe from this kind of connection.

“This is too dangerous; too much is at risk,” you think, panic gripping you. “Goddamn it, Y/N!” he suddenly exclaims, slamming the emergency stop button, bringing the elevator to an abrupt halt. He grabs your wrist, spinning you around until your back hits the wall, his arms pinning your wrists above your head.

The gasp escapes your lips, sharp and raw—so loud it could shatter glass. The roles reversed have your head spinning out of control.

“Will you please look at me?” You can’t look away. You're stunned to silence. Your chest is heaving.

“You- your,” he stumbles. His eyes are frantic, searching yours for something, anything that screams he crossed the line, but he doesn’t see it. He only sees a cocktail of lust and shock.

“I’m being dominated,” you let out in a whisper. You both giggle, but he makes no move to remove your wrists. Hyunjin’s eyes dart to your lips and up to your eyes quickly.

“Tell me that kiss didn’t scare you away,” his voice low to your ear, but his eyes hold an intensity that makes your heart swell. “It didn’t scare me,” you manage to reply, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. “I just—” The rest falters on your lips, caught in the heat of the moment. You glance up at the ceiling, seeking answers in the shadows above, but nothing comes. Biting your lip, you feel the thrill of vulnerability as you expose your neck, a silent invitation that hangs between you.

As if something urged him, Hyunjin leans forward. His lips smother your neck, and his teeth and tongue dance across your skin. A moan escapes you. Never would you have imagined Hyunjijn taking control in a situation like this. Taking the initiative like he would on any given day, but not with you. He always reserved his commanding side for the office, leaving the gentle, submissive side to you.

This was different. His kisses felt desperate and needed as if he were communicating a secret message with every kiss.

In that moment, you don’t think or want to think. All you crave is to feel—every desperate swipe of his tongue, every pleading caress of his lips.

“Hyunjin,” you gasp, and for a fleeting second, his confidence wavers. He pulls away, his eyes shimmering with uncertainty.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads, his voice thick with urgency. Those two words crumble your last defenses, unleashing a torrent of emotions that threaten to drown you, plunging you into a chaos you know is dangerous.

“I won’t,” you promise, though your heart races with fear and longing.

His smile is a lifeline, reaching his ears as he crashes his lips against yours, sealing this moment in desperation. “Come with me,” he urges, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Come home with me.”

….

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