#and I think I needed to hear what prev said

[dilf-docs]

So Is it Your Place Or Mine?

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: summer is over, but your affair with joel isn't (or, you grind on joel's belt buckle while sarah is at soccer practice)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., exhibition kink (sarah is again a victim of this), brat taming (this two are soo into it), degradation kink, praise kink, lwk breeding kink, daddy kink (wow! it's a whole library of alexandria of kinks in here), fingering, dad bod!joel (best joel you mean), angst (oh guys look oh no it's alr starting), dirty talk!!!!! (they're so dirty ew i want it too wait who said that)

word count: 3,701 words

side note: and it became officially a series. hope u all are into this as much as i am because it's my first series ever !!!!! ALSO angst finally makes it way in this mess LET'S GO (i'mcrying i really looked up big texas belt to come up with a mental image in the middle of class, i'm so sorry to whoever sat behind me but idc abt me writing smut while at uni; we die like real men)

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"What do you mean you're not coming?"

It's been an unspoken rule that, even if you hate sports and the ball stays ten meters away from you, you always come to Sarah's soccer practice, cheering for her from your usual spot at the benches.

Except today, you aren't there. And now Sarah is calling you when she shouldn't, but that she doesn't know.

"I can't. I have stuff to work on stuff"

Bullshit.

Your laptop and the half-written essay sit untouched at the coffee table. The thing being touched in question, is something entirely different.

"Need help?"

His hands grip any free spot of your glistening skin, sucking on the rosy pink until it turns maroon red.

"I'm at my dorm, sorry"

Double bullshit.

Sarah doesn't even know your car is parked next to her dad's truck. She has about four hours to find out.

"I can drop by later then" she suggests.

His hot breath tingles against your neck as his nose caresses the spot. Bad girl, he mouths, like he wasn't the one who told you to pick up, despite his daughter's name on the caller's ID. You try to reach for a kiss, but his digits press on your hair, pulling you back with violence to forbid your lips from touching his. Bad girl, and your arousal drips with more intensity at the remark. Bad girl.

"No!" the answer comes quick, your voice strained, and Sarah jokes that you should take it easy with your classes, instead of suspecting anything else.

"Fine! I won't go if you don't want me to, but if you show up dead by stress, I'll be free of guilt"

He kisses the outline of your jaw with sloppy movements, like he just wants to busy himself while Sarah blabbers about the practice, and you keep trying to make her stop, but she tells you not to worry, that she's on a break right now, and the task to avoid whimpering at his rough kisses across your neck becomes increasingly difficult. A gasp escapes your lips when his teeth sink into your flesh. Mine, not to be said but to be felt. Seen by the rest. A pretty red that tastes like the blood he craves, the hunger akin to violence. Bad girl, and he's biting your lip to stop any other filthy noises from escaping. What if she hears?

"Are you okay?" concern laced on Sarah's tone. Guilt creeps through the cracks of the worn-out paint of his bedroom, one your friend had practically begged him to restore; the joke of it all was that was about his job yet he couldn't fix his own goddamn house. "Y/n, did you hurt yourself?"

I'm treating you well, ain't I, doll? and then he'd grin against the crook of your neck before looking at you, his dark blown-wide pupils gazing at you with a hunger you didn't think it was possible. They'd burn, and the fire didn't scare you: it was the warm your cold body needed. Tell Sarah her daddy ain't hurting her slut of a friend.

"I-I'm fine" you manage to choke out. Good girl.

Joel's lids feel heavy as a crown. But you like 'em rough, don't 'cha, baby?

"Should I worry?"

Joel pulls harder, your scalp burning at the harsh tug. Answer when I ask. You breathe in heavily, and Sarah keeps on asking you if you're okay, threatening to burst through a dorm door she'll find empty.

"N-no" you meekly answer, and he laughs at your demeanor. Under his weight, pinned down on the mattress, there's nowhere to run to.

"Is it okay if I-"

"Sarah I need to hang, okay? My head hurts. Bye" it all comes down in a rush, the words a vomit of excuses. You make sure the call has ended, and so does Joel, that in an act of mercy, has stopped. You both look the screen until the lockscreen is back up again, a picture of you and Sarah. Despite used to having his weight on top of you, your throat feels constricted.

"Do you want to traumatize your daughter, Mr. Miller?"

He's back at his task of kissing, making you moan and writhe at the sensitivity of your kissed and bit skin during the last hour. You hate how he takes his time―edging you; unbearable.

"What I want is you"

The lie comes out effortlessly from his teeth. He wants you, needs you, but does he really want you? His daughter's best friend, the college girl he was going to lecture just last summer―to live life and forget about him, yet couldn't. He lies to himself, saying he didn't because you felt asleep, but feeling a warm body next to him, being your beautiful frame of all people, made it hard.

The way he makes a moaning mess out of you, how he knows every spot of your body no one had been able to please before, how your cunt stretches perfectly around his cock, how you call his name like no one else had done. It belongs to you now, and this is a vice.

It's like he's got a wound, and you're the only balm that can soothe the pain. But the effect is temporary, and after you leave, he always finds himself wanting more.

The doubt on his eyes has your heart beating out of fear.

"Then have me, Mr. Miller" you dare.

When Joel smiles, barely noticeable, something flutters in your stomach.

"Al'ight, impatient one. We have sum hours until Sarah's back. Spread" his hand nudges your thighs apart, and you oblige, making Joel chuckle at your obedience. "Good girl, baby. S'good f'r me"

You let out a gentle moan at the praise, and he smirks at your reaction.

"Feelin' desperate, are we?" he taunts, seeing your pretty lips parted and face flushed, a whine escaping them.

"Shut the fuck up and just kiss me already" you beg, pussy throbbing painfully.

"Damn brat" he hisses, "ain't you such'a needy greedy slut?" his finger hooks on your panties, tugging you closer into him, your body rising to clash against his softer frame that has nothing to do with his rough demeanor. You can feel the bulge that has formed through his pants, making you moan in delight.

"Sorry, daddy. I'll be a good girl" you squirm under his weight, pouting lips and batting eyelashes. "Please, kiss me. Pretty please, daddy"

"Jus' cus you asked well" but he knows it's an excuse to capture your sweet lips until he's tasted all of you. You once heard old men kiss like they want to devour every inch of your mouth, to make space for their tongue like it's going to live in there, and they were right.

He pulls away from the kiss to pull out his shirt, revealing his soft body. Your hands itch, immediatly reaching for it with wandering fingers. He chuckles at the eagerness, but then he catches the subtle adoration in your eyes, and his breath hitches, heart stopping.

"What's wrong?" you look up, and it's gone. Maybe he imagined it.

Joel doesn't know why he feels dissapointed by it.

He tries to push the thoughts back, head diving down between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and messy trails of saliva with his tongue on each one. He gives a special lick to your hardened nipples, making you squirm.

"Gonna bend y'r fuckin' sexy little body on this sheets. Gonna make you cum all'over, until y'r scent is'mpregnated on 'em"

You groan at his words, fingers pulling down the pajama shorts you brought over, revealing your pretty black laced lingerine.

"Fuck, baby. You wore 'em for me?" he's asking, and you'd be crazy if you think the tone reveals devotion. Is Joel even capable of warmth?

He leaves a new trail of kisses, this time, running from your neck to your stomach.

"Gonna make you scream my name 'til that's the only thin' you know how to say" his hot breath tingles over your abdomen. He buries his face in there, the mustache and scruffy graying hair tickling the skin. "Gon' give you such'a load, this flat stomach of yours will be bustin' with my seed"

You whine at his filthy words, mouth agape slightly. He looks at your soaked panties, arousal on clear display now. Joel's cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

He lets out a low growl. "Look at you, such'a slut for me. Drippin' wet like a fuckin' whore and desperate, when I ain't even touch you"

To prove so, Joel teasingly runs his fingers along your inner thigh, dangerously close to your soaking core.

He pulls your underwear down, taking them off.

"M'gonna fuck you real good, baby" his fingers dig on your thighs for support, the burning sensation of his calloused digits on your soft skin delicious. "Gon' take care of what's mine"

Mine.

The words ring loud and clear. The only other noise to be heard is his lips leaving wet sounds against your thighs. Does Joel even realize what he said? Or was it in the heat of the moment?

No, wait. Stop. Why do you care?

He begins to rub circles in your clit, coating his fingers in your dripping arousal, prodding the tense needy hole, making you moan in desperation.

"Please, daddy" your lips cry as you beg for him to do anything to remove the pain in between your legs.

"Please, what?" Joel teases, voice raspy. He keeps prodding your center, his digits in and out in a gentle manner, contrasting his hard hold on your thigh. You squirm and whine at the sensation, but maybe it's the dark on his eyes that's really responsable for making you shrink under his gaze. "Think 'm doin' this for ya'? To please ya'? No, baby" he tuts, "you were a bad girl. Almost got caught"

"If you didn't make me answer" you seethe, a moan almost escaping your lips when his fingers hit that sweet spot of yours. "Maybe if you didn't, she wouldn't-"

Joel removed his fingers from you, and you reduce to a moaning mess, begging for the release you were chasing and now it's lost.

"But you wanted'er to know, didn't ya'?" he unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his worn-out jeans, revealing a barely concealed neediness on his side. "Wanted'er to know where 'er slut of a friend was: at daddy's house, beggin' for his dick like a cockhungry slut"

"I-I want it. Want you dick" you barely choke out, lips parted at the sight of his pulsating dick's silhouette under his brief.

"Then take it, hungry one"

His tip buries deeply into your cunt before you even speak again, sliding inside in one swift motion. You gasp, as he fills you up completely, because despite the way your cunt stretches for him, or the way you have had his dick and need it, his girth never fails to amaze you.

"D-daddy" you moan, walls stretching to accommodate his size. Your sweet arousal drips down your thighs, coating Joel's balls. Fuck, doesn't he love to see you squirming under him. He's never had a woman like you before, wrapped around his finger. You may be a girl, but God, you feel so much better around his dick than anyone else: your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his dick twitching when he takes a look at your legs shaking and fucked out state.

"That's it, pretty girl. Beg for'it"

His words go straight to your core as you moan. "Please. Let me take all of you, Joel, please"

You said his name. Fuck. He shouldn't be this aroused, but the way you say it like that's the only thing you know, like it means something more, it makes his dick throb and heart sting. That he, Joel Miller, old bitter man, single dad, could mean more to a young pretty girl like you.

"Fuck" he grunts, grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you with harsh movements. The sound of skin clapping is obscene as he begins to fuck you mercilessly. "Ain't you a noisy lil' thing, huh? You like that, baby? You like it rough?"

Your voice comes out shaky. "Y-yes, daddy. F-fuck, just like that. I like it a l-lot"

"Good girl" he grins satisfied with your respone, his thrusts getting rougher and messier. "Lookin' s'pretty with my dick's inside of you"

Joel changes angles without telling you, brushing your g-spot. A noise so loud and vulgar comes out of your parted lips, and you feel ashamed.

But then he's brushing a strand of hair from your face, with a delicacy you've seen reserved for his daughter only. It feels weird, and you try that it doesn't distract you from your looming orgasm.

"Joel..." you breath out his name.

"Yes?" with everything coming out of his mouth: possesiveness, neediness, pleasure. Like he'd give you the world if you just ask, despite telling himself he wouldn't.

"K-keep going"

Your gaze bores into his eyes with an intensity that almost makes him stop. Because the words are simple, but Joel's been alive enough on this Earth to know it doesn't mean just that.

Keep going. Don't stop. Don't end this. Don't let me go.

"Whatever m'princess asks if she asks 'em nice"

You scream in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, his balls slapping against your cunt, as your slick begins to run down your thighs. Joel thinks he's going crazy at the way your folds take him, how tight you feel, and the loud noises you make, begging him to fuck you harder, to use you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, writhing under his touch as you begin to see stars.

"You close, aren't ya'?" he laughs, but it's devoid of mockery. A subtle softness hides behind them. Ask nicely, and I shall give. "Gon' cream 'round my dick like a good girl, right?"

His digits dig in the flesh of your hips, guiding himself to fuck you harder, for you to take him better, caging your body under the sheets, pushing you even closer to your orgasm. You mewl loudly, tears in the corner of your eyes at the delicious burn.

If you told yourself a year ago you'd be crying over Joel Miller's dick, of all people, you'd probably laugh. But no college boys had been able to please you, less bring you to tears as you reach your orgasm. This is heaven, and you aren't ready to say goodbye to the paradise you found in summer just yet.

Your core tenses around him, body so close to finishing, hair a mess, eyes brimming with tears, and lips spilling the filthiest sounds ever heard to humankind. It's heaven, and Joel isn't ready to give it up just yet. Your pussy throbs, and as your juices mix as one, you roll your eyes and head back, your high approaching, knot in your stomach tightening faster. Before you can register, your mind goes blank and you're seeing stars.

You come around his cock, coating it in your arousal as Joel admires how you cream his member, tight walls almost pushing him out of you. He groans at your simmering cries, some tears coming out of your eyes.

"What'e fuckin' slut, baby. You sure are somethin' else" he chuckles, his thrusts messier by his own high approaching. "Wait for me, yeah, baby?"

You humm, as he buries deep into you, filling you up completely, as his hips stop their harsh movements when he feels the tension in his abdomen release.

"Fuckin' sweet" he uses a finger to clean some of the slick that's run down your leg. "Good girl"

He licks them off in an obscene display, making sure to never break contact.

"If you keep doing that, I'm gonna become a real bad girl" you taunt.

Then he pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your cunt. He grabs one of the corners of his sheets, cleaning some of his seed from your thighs. Joel should be careful, but all his foggy mind can muster is you being his in every way he can. Making you his. Mine. Mine. Mine. You plead him not to do that, but he argues laundry day is soon and he likes it better when it smells like you anyway. You confess with a cute light blush in your cheeks that you do the same when he comes over to fuck you in your dorm, sleeping better when the covers smell like him. He shouldn't feel like this: like it could be. But he allows himself to, even for an instant.

"Oh, yeah?" he pants, "what you gon' do?"

Your eyes travel to his jeans and untied buckle he hadn't wasted time taking off, rather just pulling them down.

"I have something in mind..." you wander off, remembering filthy thoughts of your first night together, how you briefly thought about it. "I-" you cut off, blushing furiously.

"Yes?" he holds your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him as his rough fingers press on the skin. "Remember what I told ya', baby? To ask nicely? 'Cause you said you'd be a good girl, so be one and tell daddy what'd ya' want"

You gulp, trying to hold his gaze. You never back down. You never back down. But the intensity of the shinning copper makes that insufferable character of yours to be tamed, boiling against the surface but just scratching, all screams lost. Is like he knows this power over you, acting on it with a benevolence so sick, it has you thinking loving Joel Miller isn't impossible.

You never back down, but being with Joel feels like walking over stones, always thinking about the next step and the ones that were, ghosts of the lingering doubts and afterthoughts behind every step you take. It's like there's a river below them, washing away regret.

But you're still here: water up your knees then and now over your head.

You're barely floating. You'd be willing to drown anyway.

"I want to ride your belt buckle"

There's silence in the other side, until its met with a light chuckle.

"Yeah?" Joel keeps on laughing, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "S'that what that filthy head of yours be thinkin' on?"

"Stop it" you groan, covering your hot face with your palms. You wish you could erase that ugly smirk off his face. "I'm never telling you anything again, ever"

"Now c'mon, baby. I was jus' messin' 'round" his tone adquires a soft edge to it, tender warm hands removing yours from your face. "Don't cover your face, baby. You're too goddam pretty" you blush, and Joel better resist the urge to kiss you just for the sake of kissing you. "I didn't mean to make fun of ya'. You know y'can tell me anythin' that's goin' inside that head of yours"

"Then you'll let me?" your pretty eyes look up to him, shinning like the stars of the summer night sky months ago.

He can't deny you anything, and a small crack of fear wounds his impenetrable heart.

"Get'ere you filthy slut"

You eagerly climb onto his lap as he sits against the beds headboard, your thighs pushing against his belly.

"Now" he tries to put in a more comfortable position, his tired joints creaking. He avoids your gaze, coughing over his blush. "You do all the job, baby. I ain't gonna help you, this greedy pussy took all of my energy"

You giggle, moving until your bare pussy clashes against the cold. A shiver runs down your spine, the dried juices moistening again over the metal piece. His hands move to your hips, hands now soft as they hold you, and he seems unsure of it, both of your breaths coming out ragged.

"You said you weren't gonna help" you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck. His face feels closer, and you can see lines time has marked across his features. "But thanks, daddy"

His heart takes a dangerous leap.

"'Course, baby" he smiles. "You know I spoil ya' too damn much"

You begin to roll your hips, sliding your pussy over the cold material, your arousal making a wet slick sound that bounces off the walls, a shiver down your back as you feel your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

"Mmm, can't say no to me, can you, baby?" you mock, rocking your hips back and forth. A shaky breath escapes your parted lips, and Joel feels his renovated dick spring hard. You moan, your ass barely touching his now tense member.

"Quit runnin' that mouth of y'rs, baby" his digits dig on your skin, "or I'll bend ya' over again"

"Sorry, daddy" you feel the metal star on the middle digging inside your pussy, the borders of the imprint brushing your leaking cunt in a pleasant way. "I promise to be good"

"Do" he grunts, "you're runnin' out of time, doll"

You close your eyes, movements more quick and erratic, little moans leaving your body as you groan.

"Tell me how this lil' experiment of yours feelin', baby"

"F-feels good, daddy. Fuck" you groan, lifting your hips a bit as you grind yourself down across the material. "So so good, daddy. Thank you, daddy"

"Mmm, that's right. Now be a good girl and come for me. Let me see that pretty face of yours when ya' come over ma' belt"

You let out a shaky breath, juices spilling over his jeans even as you see stars. He chuckles, enamoured at the sight.

"You gonna need help with that?" you point out his boner.

Oh, aren't you a doll? So kind-hearted.

"That's okay" he breathes out, tiredly. He thinks of the next trip to the bathroom, the image of what he'll fuck himself to clear now.

You smile at him, for the first time forgetting this started as a blowing-off-steam-time or transaction.

For a moment, it feels like it could be.

"Jus' seein' you cum all over me so prettily is'nough, baby"

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒─

Warnings/MDNI: Slight fluff, angst, abuse , reader being called names e.g. harlot // I don't condone such beheviour irl! ✰ 9K

★ Prev I concept m.list

Two weeks had passed...The mornings at camp always began too early for your liking, the faint rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks of the canvas tent like unwelcome intruders.

You had grown up in silk and lace, with meals served on porcelain , peaceful, and quiet environments. Now, you woke to the distant clatter of pots and pans, the sharp bark of someone’s laughter cutting through the cold morning air, and the unfamiliar scratch of coarse blankets that smelled faintly of damp wood and tobacco smoke.

Suki, your beloved, was your only source of comfort. Her soft purrs against your chest at night were a balm to your wounded spirit. She stayed close to you, a reminder of the life you’d left behind. But there was also the reality laying behind you...his snores making you remain awake. Awake to the new truth, the bitter truth.

Arthur brought you food without asking if you were hungry. He made sure your tent was stocked with rations, even as the others made do with far less. His instructions were on the second morning when you still couldn't process anything. Just more control disguised as care.

Don't walk to the river alone

Don't even think about walking too far from camp. (as if you can even walk to the stables...considering the tight watch on you from him and the men)

Don't get out of the tent at night for unnecessary reasons.

Stay in the tent when strangers come to camp.

If anyone gives you trouble, you come to me, not Hosea, not Dutch, just me.

Keep your voice down, no one needs to hear you arguing with me. (which must be a joke--because....what? Not happening.)

Don't do any hard labor around. For anyone. No matter what anyone says.

"Don’t need you breaking a nail." The words stung, a bitter reminder of the prison disguised as protection. The audacity to say that after shattering your whole life.

What a gentleman.

But you didn’t let it touch you.

When he handed you a plate of food, you ate in silence, your expression unreadable. When he tried to drape his coat over your shoulders on a cold night, you shrugged it off the moment his back was turned. Always facing the canvas wall and not him at night and shivering with fear. Sleep never came easy for you. And when Arthur left the camp, you felt Bill’s eyes on you, not subtle in the least, his broad figure often leaning against a post or pretending to tend to some task, but always nearby. It wasn’t protection, it was surveillance.

You didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or cry or beg. You knew it wouldn’t work. You’d seen the set of his jaw, the steel in his eyes that said he wasn’t letting go. So, you resisted in the only way you could, being quiet and in your shell. Inside the prison.

A cold silence when he spoke. A pointed look when he tried to touch you. A refusal to acknowledge the small gestures he thought would win you over.

Arthur didn’t say much about your resistance, but you could see it in the way his hands tightened into fists when you ignored him, in the way his jaw clenched when you sat stiffly beside him at the fire (which he dragged you to) , not saying a word. Not exactly a picture perfect newly wed couple others hoped. Or perhaps he lived in the delusion of.

When Grimshaw came by, she didn’t carry the same judgment as the others. Her tone, usually sharp and commanding, softened around you. Once, she even sat beside you, her hands busy mending a shirt as she said, almost too casually, "It gets easier. This life, I mean. Not right away, but… it does."

You didn’t reply, but she didn’t seem to mind. Grimshaw didn’t push; instead, she surprised you with an unexpected patience. She offered small gestures of comfort, a steaming cup of herbal tea to "settle your nerves," as she put it. Or heating up some water for you to freshen up.

Her vigilance extended even to the simplest of tasks, like when you went to use the girls’ makeshift toilet/bathroom. It was yet another struggle, a constant reminder of how far you’d fallen. Gone were the days of soaking luxuriously in your own bathtub. Now, even basic necessities felt like a downgrade.

Every now and then, she’d drop off chores she thought were manageable, like sorting linens or cleaning a few utensils, tasks that didn’t require you to step far from your tent. “Something to keep your mind busy,” she’d say, leaving before you could refuse.

You hated how grateful you felt for her small kindnesses, didn't actually mind it, but it didn’t go unnoticed. When you’d reluctantly finished the tasks she left, there was a quiet understanding in the way she’d nod at you from across the camp or leave another small task the next day. It was the closest thing to routine you’d found here.

Still, even her attempts to draw you out fell flat most days. You could see the pity in her eyes, the way she lingered as though waiting for you to say something , anything , but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Even when she tried to talk about mundane things, like camp chores or the horses, complaining about men here, all you could do was nod or mutter a half-hearted reply.

The girls would occasionally stop by, trying to talk to you or cheer you up, asking questions to piece together fragments of your life. But their curiosity, their attempts to connect, never went far. You rarely engaged, and when you did, it was clipped, distant. You didn’t miss the taunts about your so-called "lavish" past either, were they innocent jabs or something more bitter? You couldn’t tell, and truthfully, you didn’t care.

You would never trust these people. Not after everything. And then there was this incident with Mary Beth, on what? The third day? You don't even fucking remember. You came to know about her calling this all..... "romantic" as if sprinkling more salt on your wounds and you lost it.

The night had been calm, the campfire casting a warm glow while everyone gathered for supper. Mary-Beth sat on her usual spot, her knees tucked under her as she read, her face serene.

Before she even realized it, her book was in your hands, and then, rip. Pages tore from their spine, fluttering like wounded birds to the ground.

"Romantic, huh? This is what you read?! The fuckin' nerve of you. You think this is all fun?! LOOK AT ME!" you screamed, your voice shaking as you threw the remains of her book aside and grasped her face making her freeze in fear and shock. "AM I FUCKING PRANCING AROUND HERE, GIGGLING?!"

"Hey! I-what-"

Before she could get a word out, Tilly stepped between you, untangling you, her hands raised, her tone firm but careful. "We didn’t mean it like that-she didn’t mean it like that. Trust me. We were just talking-"

"Then don’t fucking talk about me!" you snapped, now turning to her. "Don’t even DARE! How dare you all even think that?! Only people like you can celebrate such a shit and cruel tradition! Bunch of morons!"

You didn’t care how you looked, wild-eyed, trembling, growling like a maniac. You didn’t care about the stares or the silence that followed, broken only by your ragged breathing. You now grabbed Tilly's arms shaking her. "Nobody here should even say my name out of your nasty TONGUES! I'll kill someone if I hear such shit again. YOU HEAR ME?!" Your voice echoed across the camp, sharp and seething with fury. Then a strong hand clamped around your arm. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Arthur.

"That’s enough."

"Let go of me! ASSHOLE!" you hissed, trying to wrench free.

But he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened, and with one sharp tug, he spun you around and started dragging you back toward the tent.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Enough!" He shoved the flap open and all but pushed you inside, stepping in after you and yanking the flap closed again.

"You done now?" he asked, his voice quieter but no less sharp.

"FUCK OFF! I HATE YOU! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

The tears were already spilling over, and before he could say another word, you threw yourself under the covers of your bedding, burying your face in the fabric as the sobs came harder, relentless.

Arthur stood there momentarily, his hand falling to his side, unsure whether to press or leave you alone. He sighed his jaw tightening as he turned away. He wasn’t going far though. Not tonight.

And then days passed in cold, depressive silence from you until last night...

The cot creaked under the weight of his broad frame as Arthur lay down beside you, the narrow space forcing his presence against yours. His arm brushed against your shoulder, and though he made no move to pull you closer, the heat of him was impossible to ignore. You lay stiff as a board, your back turned to him, your entire body practically vibrating with anger and fear.

The tent was dark except for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the canvas. Outside, the muffled voices of the gang were distant and always the same to you.

“Y’ain’t gonna say a damn thing, huh?” His voice broke the silence, low and raspy, laced with irritation.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t answer. The effort to stay silent was exhausting.

Arthur shifted beside you, making the whole cot shake in protest. “You’ve been mad at me for days now. Hell, darlin’, I’m startin’ to think you enjoy it,” he said, his tone teasing, yet tired.

Your fists balled up under the blanket, your nails digging into your palms. You stared at the canvas wall ahead of you, refusing to dignify him with a response. The fucking audacity of this monster.

He let out a frustrated sigh. “This ain’t gonna fix anything, y’know. You bein’ all cold and quiet. It ain’t gonna change what’s done. If I could’ve done it different, I would’ve. But I can’t. And I ain’t lettin’ you go."

His words made your blood boil. What’s done?? As if he hadn’t ripped your life from you like a thief in the night.

"Go to sleep." you muttered finally, your voice cutting through the dark like a knife.

Arthur let out a low chuckle, humorless and rough. "Now, that’s the first word you’ve said to me in forever," he drawled, the smirk clear in his voice. "Progress, I guess."

You bit your lip almost to the point of eating it off.

He shifted again, his arm brushing against your waist under the blanket to which you immediately moved even further away if that was even possible. The casual contact felt intentional, as if he was testing you.

"You’ll get tired of this eventually," he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "Can’t keep runnin’ on anger forever."

Shut the fuck up already.

You wanted to tell him he didn’t know the half of it. That he didn’t understand just how deep your resentment ran. But instead, you stayed silent.

"Fine," he murmured, his voice trailing off. "Be mad all you want. I ain’t goin’ anywhere...I ain’t good at this, I’ll admit it. But if you think I don’t care, you’re wrong."

And with that, he settled in, his arm resting just barely against your back. Even as your eyes burned with unshed tears, you stared into the dark, resolute.

And as if matters weren’t bad enough, someone else decided to get under your skin.

Marston.

Of all people decided to bother you today for the first time since you arrived as he wasn't at the camp before. The man you assumed wouldn’t even remember your name with the peanut-sized brain he seemed to possess.

"Came back as a Morgan now, huh? Well, I’ll be damned," he said with a whistle, his voice dripping with mock surprise. He stood outside your tent, leaning against one of the poles, his arms crossed as if he had the right to judge. "Honestly, I’m shocked. Didn’t think anyone could tie down Arthur. But not completely shocked it turned out to be...you. So childhood love, eh? And he did the word....damn. First in our gang. Shit, I missed it all.."

Your teeth clenched at his smug tone. The insinuation was too much. You shot up from the cot, the anger bubbling over as you shoved him back.

"Get out of my sight, you pathetic piece of shit."

"Whoa there!" he said, stepping back with a laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Still no manners, huh? Well, if you’re gonna live here, might as well start being nice to your brother-in-law. Oh, it's going to be much more fun annoying you now.'

That smug wheeze of his was the final straw. Your hand shot to the nearest object on the small table a tin cup and you hurled it at him. He ducked, barely missing it, his laughter only growing louder.

"Rich words coming from a man who still has to pay women just to glance at him. Exactly what I envisioned you’d grow up to be, John. You didn’t disappoint."

His grin faltered, just for a moment, before he forced it back, shaking his head with a low, humorless chuckle. "Same ol’ spoiled you, huh? Guess some things never change."

"And some people never grow up."

"You think you’re better than us? Look around at where you are. To end up here, with him... surely you must’ve been no less than a harlot yoursel--HEY! GET OFF ME!"

"Complete it! Go on, I dare you, asshole!" He tried to shove you off, but the moment your grip loosened on his collar, you struck, delivering a sharp smack across his face.

"YOU LITTLE-"

"John!" Dutch’s voice boomed from his tent across the way. "Go do something productive! Leave the girl alone. NOW!"

John froze, his lips tightening as he registered the command. "…What? I was just greeting her. Y’know...family and all.'' He let out a defeated snort, shoulders slumping, and muttered something under his breath as he sauntered off.

You didn’t bother watching him leave. With a huff, you grabbed the tent flaps and yanked them shut, the fabric swishing angrily in your hands. You flopped back down onto the cot, the reality of everything crashing into you again.

Tears blurred your vision as they spilled freely, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself, swaying back and forth.

(Y/N) Morgan.

Harlot.

(Y/N) Morgan....

Harlot.

The words kept burning like acid.

No matter what they do, I get blamed?! Of course. Another Saturday being a woman.

Pieces of shit, dirt.

Absolutely the fuck not.

You clenched your jaw, wiping at your cheeks harshly. Don’t let a loser’s words get to you, you told yourself, trying to drown out the echo of John’s taunting voice and your own festering anger.

You are , yes , still are more accomplished and better than anyone here. Not a thief, not a murderer and definitely not a harlot.

But deep down, it wasn’t just John’s words that haunted you. It was everything, the name, the camp, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in someone else’s world.

You will always be (Y/N) (L/N), fuck this tradition. It means nothing.

❀˖°

"Finish this. C’mon."

He held the spoon in his calloused hand, leaning closer. You turned away, clutching Suki tightly to your chest, her soft fur grounding you.

'Why can't he just get lost in a ditch somewhere? Why does he keep coming back? Why doesn't death encounter him with all the dangerous shit he does?'

Should you tell him about John calling you names- NO. You don't need him to deal with your problems, as he would have done if you both were young. You don't need anyone's help.

"I ain’t bringing these for free, y’know. So they ain't gonna rot, you are gonna finish them."

"I didn’t ask you to," you snapped.

"Good thing I ain’t waitin’ for permission, huh? So yeah, I’ll keep doing it anyway because it's my duty."

Your grip on Suki tightened as you turned to glare at him. "I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Arthur. Trying to create this illusion, ‘Oh, look at me, I’m bringing her fruit and meat so she’ll forget what I did.’ No, Arthur. It doesn’t work that way. None of this is worth anything. It’s not going to reverse anything, not even come close to the comfort I had."

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his piercing gaze darkening further. "I don’t care what you think or had. This is your fucking life now. Why do I have to keep reminding you , huh?!." he growled low, his voice like a warning rumble of thunder. "Don’t piss me off more right now. Eat. It. Right. Now."

You held his glare for a moment, your hands trembling with restrained anger as you snatched the fruit plate from him and placed it on your lap. You didn’t touch it, though not with him standing there like some damn lieutenant, watching your every move. But thankfully he went away, probably to freshen up.

You take a few hesitant bites. Your thoughts drift to your family, mother, father, and brother. What might they be doing right now? Are they sitting down to supper together, or is your absence too heavy to ignore? Your work, you miss going to the office with your father. And Omar, is he well? You prayed for him daily. His family? Well, they must be cursing you. Your heart broke that they might be regretting the whole engagement and calling you names too. Is your father doing anything!? Is he trying to find a way to bring you back? He must be. He should be.

But every time you let yourself believe in that fragile hope, Dutch’s cold, calculated words clawed their way back into your mind.

"And you damn well know that even if the law gets here, they won’t care about this. It’s only a crime on paper… in reality, the sheriffs and marshals? They won’t lift a finger. They don’t give a damn about this."

If that’s really true, then… is this it? Is this your life now?

No.

Money can turn heads, grease palms, and open doors. If your family offered enough, those same indifferent lawmen would find a needle in a haystack if it suited them. And your family? They don’t lack for that.

But your reputation.

Your hands trembled, clutching Suki closer as the tears threatened to spill again. The voice in your head....why doesn't it go away...?

No. No, I didn’t lose anything. I don’t give a fuck. Let people think and talk all they want. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and it won’t be the last. They always need something to talk about.

You exhale sharply, forcing the tears away as though the pain will evaporate with them.

And once you get back, no, once you’re free, you won’t stay in this Godforsaken country anyway. Neither will your family. Let this place rot. It doesn’t deserve you. It's hurt you enough.

Another thought had been gnawing at the edges of your mind, something your ears had picked up unintentionally the other morning.

Pinkertons.

You knew about the agency hell, Arthur had mentioned them in passing during one of your 'old' meetings, which were just distant unreal memories to you now. A band of relentless hunters after outlaws, but they weren’t saints themselves. You remembered your father’s words about them, greedy, opportunistic, willing to do anything if the price was right.

Mhm...

Your attention snapped back to the present as a heavy presence settled beside you on the cot.

Suki leapt off your lap, stretching lazily before sauntering off. Almost as if she held the same disdain for his presence. Ain't she your good girl.

You felt his eyes on you, his silent scrutiny made your skin crawl, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you lifted another bite to your mouth, not because you were hungry or needed the sustenance, but because you didn’t want to engage with him again.

Arthur’s lips pressed into a thin line as he took another bite of his meal, his gaze flicking to you out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t like he minded bringing the food from the fire or making sure you didn’t waste away, but the whispers and sidelong glances from the other men by the fire in camp grated on him.

"Our boy got himself a pretty little wife now."

"Maybe she’s got you on a leash, huh? How’s it feel, boy?"

"Careful, Arthur, don’t forget to tuck her in tonight."

"What kind of outlaw plays house, huh? Real sweet, Morgan."

The words clung to the air like the smoke from their cigarettes, thick with mockery and amusement. Arthur didn’t flinch at their jabs, but he didn’t rise to them either. As for the additional rations and snacks, he brought them in secret, stashing them away like contraband treasures. Caring for his wife, it seemed, was a sin in their eyes, an act that invited ridicule from men who barely knew the meaning of responsibility, let alone love. He couldn’t give you the life you once had, not completely, but he could offer enough to make you forget it or at least dull the ache of its absence. Spoil you rotten in his own way. And if it meant robbing, killing, or bleeding himself dry until his last breath, then so be it.

Because you were his, and no one, not Dutch, not the gang, not even the damned world, and even you, could take that from him.

He told himself it didn’t bother him, but he couldn’t ignore the edge in their voices. Greed? Jealousy, maybe. Or perhaps they just didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom why he’d go to these lengths. Arthur didn’t need their approval. Let them talk. They always yap. They’d never have what he has, even if you still looked at him with cold disdain and fear.

But his pride did bristle every time someone insinuated he was soft as if keeping you... alive and halfway sane somehow made him weak.

And then there was you. Lost...and yet fighting. He wanted to snap at you, to force you to listen to him for once, but he knew how that would end. Another night of tears, of you retreating further into yourself, and him sitting outside the tent wondering what he was doing wrong.

What he in fact, did wrong.

Damn it.

Hell, he still felt shit for leaving you tied up on the cot on the first night for hours to teach you some lesson, which resulted in bruises on your wrist which he could still spot under your sleeves. He was indeed totally lost that day.

He looked down at his plate, then at you, the frustration in his chest threatening to boil over. But beneath it, buried deep where even he didn’t like to look, was something else.

Guilt.

He didn’t miss the way your hands trembled slightly when you reached for another bite, or the shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before all this. If you’d let him, he’d feed you himself daily. If he had all the time in the world, he’d spend it making amends, caring for you, pampering you from head to toe, and trying to piece together what he’d broken. You were different now. Smaller, quieter....almost soulless. He missed your laugh, jokes, and teasing that could pull a grin from even the most miserable bastard. The light in your eyes...

He craved what any man would, a wife waiting for him, dolled up or simply present, a comforting sight to return to after long days. He remembered his mother doing just that, though his father had been far from the best. Well… that was another story.

Sometimes, the thought crossed his mind to demand it, to make you adorn yourself as he wished. But again, he didn’t want your compliance born of fear, he wanted it to come from you, willingly...which only felt like a dream.

Snap out of it. Don't let this get to you. It's done. And sooner or later she'll come around. She has no other choice.

Even going on jobs in these two weeks felt different now. Before, his concerns were solely for the gang, their survival, their next meal. But now, you were part of the equation. You weren’t just another responsibility, you were something altogether separate, fragile in a way that set him on edge. He had to think of you, your safety, your future.

And yet, every morning, he pressed a kiss to your head, as quietly and discreetly as he could, fearing you’d stir. It was a small, selfish ritual, one that whispered his own fears. What if he didn’t come back one day? What if everything he’d done, the risks taken, the damn word, ended up being for nothing?

But you, in your own quiet way, were a motivation too....as in your mere existence back at the camp in his tent made him stronger.

"Finish the damn fruit," he muttered finally, his tone softer now, though still edged with irritation. "I’ll be back in a few with the stew. But don’t get comfortable thinkin’ this is how it’s gonna be. If I ain’t lettin’ you work for others, that sure as hell doesn’t mean you ain’t gonna do my work and your own. Ya' ain't gonna be cooped up here as some princess forever."

You glanced at him, finally breaking your silence, though your voice dripped with venom. "Your work? O-h, you mean cooking your food, cleaning up after you, and playing the perfect little captive wife?. Should I start callin’ you ‘sir’ while I’m at it?"

"You’re real good at smartin’ off, but I don’t care if you’re mad, this ain’t a damn vacation."

"Mad? Oh no, Arthur, I’m thrilled. Thrilled that you think you can steal my life and then bark orders like I’m some ranch hand. I am not doing shit for you or anyone."

Arthur’s gaze darkened, his hand tightening around his fork. "You think I like this? I don’t. But it’s better than sittin’ here wasting away. You think I stole your life? Maybe I did. But I’m tryin’ to keep you in it."

You leaned back against the cot sighing in disbelief at his words. "If you wanted a servant, you should’ve hired one. But I guess stealing a wife was cheaper, huh? And I don't care about wasting away. Sounds a thousand times better than whatever this is. I'd rather die-"

"Watch your mouth, woman." His hand as on it's own shot out to your chin giving a reprimanding shake.

"Why? Bec-ause I didn’t like losing my freedom either, but here we are. And I am not scared of you Arthur...you already showed the worst of yourself. I won't be surprised if it gets worse than this."

For once, he didn’t respond. He stood, his boots scuffing the ground as he left the tent in utter silence which you smelled as guilt but does it change anything for you? No. Does it make him take you back? No. Then fuck him.

❀˖°

The faint orange hues of dawn barely began creeping over the horizon when a rough hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked up at the shadowed figure looming over you, the faint smell of tobacco and leather unmistakable.

"Get up," Arthur’s voice was low but urgent, a gruff whisper that didn’t match the stillness of the early morning.

You groaned, clutching the blanket tighter around you. "Wha-?"

"We’re movin’," he said, already turning away to toss a saddlebag onto the cot near your feet. "Pack your things. Got no time to waste. And don't forget anything here." He was well aware how precious your stuff was.

"What?" You pushed yourself up, the chill of the morning air biting against your skin. "Why? What’s going on?"

"Don’t ask questions, just do it," he snapped, though not with anger, more like the sharpness of someone who had too much on their mind and not enough patience to explain it all. His movements were hurried, shoving items into a chest without care, the clinking of metal and the rustle of cloth breaking the fragile silence of the camp.

"We ain’t got time for your temper right now. Pack what you need and be quick about it. I need to tear down the tent too. Hurry!."

Your mouth opened to retort, but the tension in his jaw and the way his hand hovered near the gun at his hip made you think better of it. He wasn’t in the mood for arguments. With a huff, you threw the blanket off and started gathering your belongings, half of which you hadn't unpacked anyway.

"Where...are we even going?..."

"Somewhere safer. Don’t matter where right now, just that we ain’t here when the sun’s up. Wear something warm too."

"Wh-where's Suki-?"

"She'll be-" He left mid-sentence as Dutch called him over.

Typical.

God, how far could this new place be? What if you were this close to being found by your parents, and now you were moving further away again?

First things first, you need to find your pet. And with that, you dashed out of the tent, eyes scanning the camp until you spotted her, comfortably perched on Hosea’s lap as he cooed at her.

"Oh… here, (Y/N). Hope you didn’t mind-"

“It’s fine.” You were already turning to leave when Hosea stood up from the crate. “Where are we going?” you asked, catching him just before he walked away.

“Just another, safer place. Up the hill.”

“Why, though?”

He shrugged, his gaze distant. "Dutch wanted a change of scenery."

Oh really?

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another move. It felt like an escape, an escape from something you weren’t allowed to know.

"Are you serious?"

“You know him,” Hosea added, his voice tinged with an understanding sympathy before he walked off, leaving you standing there, feeling more annoyed than ever.

Geez… Dutch’s mood, huh? Pfft. And they say men aren’t emotional.

"(Y/N)!".

What the fuck now?

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, "God, help us, Suki. You alright girl, hm?" The last thing you wanted was to deal with him again. You didn’t rush your steps as you turned back toward the tent, taking your sweet time, not bothering to acknowledge his call just yet.

The thought of sharing a horse with Arthur made your stomach twist. The last thing you needed was him too close, breathing down your neck, holding you like his personal doll, a constant reminder of the mess you were stuck in. But you had no choice.

Grumbling to yourself, you finally made your way back to the tent, knowing full well what he’d want next. Anything to keep you under his watchful eye.

Great. Just great.

❀˖°

Taking you back home or at least letting you meet your parents was something you’d stopped asking about after the second day. But today, after settling into the new camp, Silverpine Crossing, situated on rather a height, not too far from the previous camp though. As if the weather wasn't cold enough and waking to the stillness of yet another isolated morning, you felt the misery again. He was being sent on a supply run, and you wanted out. Not just to interact, fuck that--but rather just to see a fresh face, smell something different, anything that wasn’t this suffocating place or these people.

The idea was barely out of your mouth when he shoved you back into the tent.

"Wha-"

“You can’t understand a word, huh?"

"B-but it's not like I am going alone-"

" I said fuckin’ no. So sit your ass down!”

“F-or like what? Forever?!”

His hand shot out, grabbing your bicep with bruising force, his grip making your breath hitch. "Until you learn to be fuckin' grateful and nice. Now quit whinin'. And when I come back… see that pile over there?"

Your gaze darted to the heap of clothes by the cot, his clothes.

“They better be fuckin’ washed. Or you’ll make me do something you’ll regret yourself. Ya hear me?”

"Excuse--me?--- laundry?! I don't know shi-"

"THEN FUCKING LEARN!" Each word was punctuated by the bruising squeeze of your arm and making your fear heightened. With a warning shove and a glare that seared through you, he turned and stalked off without another word.

You could hear him calling for Susan...no, please, no.

Learn , my foot. Asshole.

❀˖°

You huffed as you scrubbed one of the shirts against the bucket. The water was icy against your hands, but the repetitive motion of washing was at least keeping you occupied, even if it felt degrading.

"Never thought I’d see the day," came a sly voice behind you.

You glanced up to find Karen standing nearby, hands on her hips, her signature smirk plastered across her face. She looked amused, tilting her head as she studied you.

"Look at you, being all in...the picket fence character," she teased, crouching down beside you. "Arthur got you washing his drawers now, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes, irritated by her tone, but you didn’t stop scrubbing. "How about you shut it and walk away."

Karen chuckled, leaning back on her hands. "Don’t take it so personally. Men like him? They expect it. Don’t mean you gotta roll over, though."

You frowned, her words stinging even though they weren’t entirely wrong. "First of all , nobody here is rolling over and secondly what do you want?"

"Easy, now. Take no wound to the pride. Just thought I’d keep you company. Ain’t like anyone else’ll do it," she replied with a shrug. "Besides, I figured you could use a little girl talk."

You scoffed softly, tossing the shirt into the rinsing bucket. "Girl talk? Right. And what would that be about?"

"Oh, I don’t know," she said, pretending to ponder, "maybe 'bout you ending up here in the first place.."

"Isn't it clear how I ended up in rags from riches huh?"

"No... I mean... why? Because none of us-well, I speak for the girls here--never thought he’d actually go this far. Never thought Mr. Morgan'd do it," she said cautiously, her hands busily sorting through the clothes.

You let out a hollow laugh. "Well, he isn’t a saint, and he’s made that crystal clear. No less than the devil. No, he is the devil."

A painful silence hung between you, the kind that seemed to stretch endlessly, until finally, she broke it again, her voice softer this time.

"But... he wasn’t like this before And by that, I mean... he could have done this before too. If he’d wanted to."

Her jumbled, hesitant words made your neck snap toward her, your curiosity getting the better of your anger. "Hm?"

"There was this lady. Rich, too. City girl. Like you, almost. They had a thing, a good one. They were even engaged. Mutual love, that’s what I mean. But then..." She hesitated, glancing up briefly before looking back down at the fabric in her hands. "Things didn’t work out. Her father, her name’s Mary Linton, by the way--yeah, so, her father married her off to some bloke. Happened...like three years ago."

Your mind reeled, and every word hit you like a blow.

What

The....

"Y-you-you're telling me that-" You sucked in a sharp breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to choke you. "There was a woman he could���ve done this with, but he didn’t, and instead-"

"I-I mean-yes-but she got married and he probably found later...this is just a hunch though. But-"

"He took what? His anger, or I don’t fucking know--revenge out on me?!" You were on your feet now, your whole body ablaze with rage and confusion. "H-how-why?! God, why?!"

Before she could say another word, a voice cut through the rising tension, smooth and calm yet dripping with authority.

"Mrs. Morgan, a word."

You froze, your head snapping toward Dutch’s tent, where he sat, as composed as ever, watching the scene unfold like he was enjoying just another sunny afternoon.

Oh, this fucker.

Your body stormed towards Dutch's tent while he sat there as calm as ever, thumbing through a book like he hadn’t just summoned you out of thin air.

"Come in, come in, missy," he said smoothly, gesturing to the space before him. "I wanted to-" But you couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you happy? Hm? All of you? How could… you do this to me?" Your voice cracked as sobs wracked your chest, but you didn’t care. The words poured out like complaints of a child. And at this moment you were a child again. Lost and vulnerable once again. "I can’t believe there was a time…" You gasped for breath. "A tim-e when I held your hand and… came here, blindly following you. And for years… I-I was grateful to you… and this is what I get f-for that?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond you. For a fleeting moment, there was something in his expression a hint of reflection, perhaps regret?

Oh you were mistaken if you took that for guilt.

"Sometimes," he finally said, "good things happen… for the worse too, girl. A curse in disguise." He tilted his head slightly, his tone hardening. "Believe it or not… accept it or not, I wasn’t the one who webbed this. It was in your fate. Because if you’re going to play the blame game," he continued, his voice cutting deeper, "then there are plenty of others. Your own parents, for leaving you alone in the care of greedy relatives. Your relatives, for treating you like garbage. And then yourself, for giving a thirsty dog water and not expecting it to follow you home."

"So being nice is a crime? Being a friend is-"

"Man and woman, friends?" He barked a chuckle sharply. "You young generation sure have your own beliefs. But that is a hoax, girl. A trap. And you fell for it." He leaned forward, jabbing a finger in your direction, his eyes hard.

"What about her then?! That Mary girl! They weren't friends, they were engaged! He should’ve done this with HER! Why me?! Why did you all ruin my life?! Why didn't you stop him!?" The words tore from your throat like a wounded animal. Your fists lashed out, colliding with his chest and face over and over, your anger and desperation boiling over. He stood firm, his jaw tightening as he absorbed every blow.

"Dutch! Hey- what is she doing?!-" Molly sauntered hurriedly to the entrance.

"Miss O' Shea, give us a moment."

Without a word, he reached over and shut the tent flaps, sealing you both inside and ignoring your latest panic-fueled outburst.

"Listen here," he growled, pushing you away. "I don’t need more drama in this camp from you. I understand this may not be ideal for you, but life ain’t always ideal, missy, is it? So stop this at once! I won’t have this nonsense. Him, being the hard worker he is, loyal to the bone, and you," his eyes narrowed, "his spouse, acting like a damn lunatic. He made his own decision and you need to accept it!."

You froze for a second, seething, your body trembling with fury. Then you straightened, glaring at him with all the venom you could muster. "You people...made me a lunatic!! And I'll act however the hell I want, Watch me. And I’ll tell you this-I won’t ever forgive any of you for this. EVER! Ya'll think you are on top of the world? You are...going to one day fall deep in the same pit you all are digging. And it's Ms. (L/N) for next time."

❀˖°

Arthur held up the tattered remains of his shirts under the firelight, his fingers brushing over the jagged holes that mocked him. His scowl deepened as he turned them in his hands. Karen stood a few paces away, putting on her best performance.

"I swear I saw her hang them up, and these shirts were pristine, Mr. Morgan. I am tellin' you, it’s gotta be one of the boys pulling a prank. Y'know how John gets when he's-"

Well, none of it was true of course. She was the one who washed them and hung them which you later slashed. Karen regretted telling you everything altogether.

Arthur’s glare cut her off. "Do I look stupid to you, Ms. Jones?" and without another word, he stormed toward his tent, the worn fabric of the shirts clenched in his fist.

Can’t have one damn evening in peace.

His jaw tightened as he moved, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wanted things to be normal, to make them better for you, but you made it so damn hard. So difficult to keep himself in check.

He yanked the flap of the tent aside and stepped in. "What is this, huh?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness as he displayed the ruined shirts in front of you one by one. You flinched as they hit the floor in a crumpled heap. His anger was evident in every movement, in the way his chest heaved and his eyes burned into you.

"I asked you somethin'-" His hand shot out, grabbing your chin to force your gaze upward. "Fuck--look at me!"

Your eyes locked on his. For a fleeting moment, you saw it, his anger faltered, his grip loosening as his eyes softened, regret flickering in their depths like an ember struggling against the cold.

"Why, Arthur?" Your voice wavered, but you steadied it with a bitter edge. "That’s what you wanna know? Hm? Well, I do too." You patted the cot beside you, your tone turning mockingly bright. "Have a seat, here. Let’s figure it out together."

He didn’t move, his jaw tightening again as he studied your faux-bubbly smile and his frown deepened as he watched you rise from the cot, the firelight catching the tension in your movements.

"What? Don’t wanna sit with your wife? Oh... hm. I understand. Must be hard, huh? Coming back here, to this-" You gestured vaguely around the tent and his shirts, your tone teetering between anger and despair. "And maybe--just maybe--you dream of seeing someone else. But what did you get? Or rather, what did you take? A replacement for your broken heart?"

His jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

"And this?" Your voice was sharper now as you raised your hand, the ring catching the dim light. His earlier warnings still echoed in your mind, but you ignored it. Recklessness burned through you as you slid the ring off your finger, holding it up like it was a mockery of everything between you.

"Is it hers too? Damn...you never told me about your tragedy filled love-story before. Why not?" The anger you felt was just. You wished she was in front of you so could beat her to a pulp and ask her 'Why didn't her ass marry him!?' because now you are the one paying the price for these discounts Romeo and Juliet.

Arthur’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, his presence looming, his voice low and cold. "Don’t."

But you didn’t stop. You held the ring out, your own anger a match to his. "What, Arthur? Don’t what? Don’t ask if this belonged to the woman you couldn’t have? The one you let go? Who I guess didn't even agree to running away with you?" Your chuckle was biting, venomous and you wanted to hurt him as much as you could. "Or more like you were too late to snatch? Guess, someone else beat you to it."

"You don’t know what you’re sayin! It's yours! Put it back right now, I swear to God-"

"Why did you destroy my life!? ANSWER ME! WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THIS WITH HER!" Your hands collided with his chest with full force but he didn't budge.

"BECAUSE I JUST DID! I COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! Fucking accept it! How fucking--dense can you be! You are not the first woman it's ever happened to so stop acting like this!"

"But...does it make it right? I won't be the last too...I jus' know there must be some girl right now...out there...relaxing, hell, just existing, and next thing you know....a man, like you comes and...plucks her away-"

"Did you forget what I confessed to you?! That meant nothing to you?!"

"And I rejected YOU! You still have time. Go on, GO! Kill her husband and bring her here and let ME GO!"

"You--you think this is a joke?"

You wiped your tears putting on a firm mask again. "You made my life a joke, Arthur..... made me...a joke."

He, however, wasn't in the mood to hear all this again.

"Put. It. On. Now." He stepped closer as his fists clenched. He didn't even know that he possessed this much restraint until now. He grabbed your hands but you struggled.

"Put Omar's on too, make it even then at least-"

Before you could fully register the shift in his expression, he twisted your arm, forcing you off balance and sending you crashing to the ground with a thud. You barely had time to breathe before he was towering over you, his rage evident in the wild flickers of his eyes.

"Repeat that."

"I loved my life too! You h-ad no right! No right!--I love him too! He didn't deserve all that too! NOBODY DID!"

Love him too?

A pained scream left your lips as he slammed his boot on your bare hand pressing on it with brutal force.

And again.

"Done acting like a wench?!" With that, he grabbed the numb hand and forced on the ring again. " This ring ain’t comin’ off your finger, not while I’m alive."

You struggled to catch your breath, the pain too much to even register and tears clouding your vision. But before you could even react, Arthur’s hand was on your hair, dragging you up with such force that your head spun. His movements were quick, and cold, and there was no mercy in them. You gasped, trying to free yourself.

"Arthur-" you cried, but your voice was swallowed by his fury.

"Shut the hell up!" he roared, his voice vibrating with anger as he dragged you across the dirt. You tried to dig your heels in, desperate to break free, but it was no use. His strength was overwhelming.

With one final yank, he threw you into the back of the wagon, your body hitting the wooden floor with a painful thud. Before you could sit up or gather yourself, he slammed the door shut, trapping you inside in the pitch-dark, cold space.

"Fuckin' stay there," he growled from the outside, his voice harsh and final. "I won’t have you disrespecting me, not like this. You’ll stay in there until you get your damn head on straight. This is the only language you seem to understand."

"Mr. Morgan--stop-please-let (Y/N) out!" Grimshaw's voice cut through from beside him.

Arthur's head snapped toward Grimshaw, his expression hard, his eyes like ice. "She will stay here until I say so. And if anyone dares to come near her or try to help, they’ll answer to me. And tell the girls to fuckin' stay away from her. They don’t talk any nonsense to her. Got it?"

With a final, warning smack against the wooden door, Arthur turned on his heel and walked off, his boots thudding against the ground as he headed back toward his tent.

Susan turned toward Hosea who met her gaze, his worry evident as he nodded, then slowly made his way to Arthur's tent. Inside, Arthur was calmly sitting on the cot, casually removing his boots as though nothing had happened.

"Arthur, enough," Hosea's voice broke the stillness. "I won’t sit here and watch you treat a woman like this, the woman you brought here yourself. Isn't this inevitable? Were you expecting her to bend to your will?"

"SHE DAMN SHOULD! I really am trying. But it ain’t workin', and I’ve got no choice now. So don’t meddle."

"You’re only pushing her further away, Arthur."

"Gentleness won’t always solve the problem."

"But it sure as hell won’t make it worse. You’re handling this all wrong."

Arthur stood up, a hint of defensiveness in his posture. "She’s the problem, Hosea. She doesn’t fuckin' understand-"

"No," Hosea interrupted, his tone heavy with conviction. "She ain’t a problem. She’s someone’s daughter, and now, unfortunately, your wife. Even if you've done what you’ve done, roughness will only shatter what little is left of her. A hammer may break... the glass, but it does nothing for the vase."

❀˖°

The enforcer's thoughts still sharp with anger, but the sharpness had dulled just enough for him to notice the start of morning chill in the air. His hands gripped the edge of the cot as his mind lingered on the coldness between him and you, the things he’d said and done in a moment of blind rage.

He didn’t want to be this man. Not again. Not with you.

But he couldn't control it.

His boots scraped against the dirt as he made his way toward the wagon. The camp was still quiet, the morning still young, and as he approached the wagon, he saw her, Suki, curled up down by the wheel, her small body trying to make the best of the cold rough ground. The sight of her, peaceful and innocent, did something to his chest. If she could curse...she would be doing it too for what he has done to you until now.

His hand moved to scratch behind her ears, the motion automatic, a familiar comfort. But as soon as his fingers made contact, Suki stirred, her small body tensing as her golden eyes flicked open. With a flick of her tail, she stood and slinked away, padding off a few feet before halting, glancing back at him with a clear sense of judgment.

Arthur's heart sank as he watched her move, the way she embodied a certain grace, withdrawn, distant, unwilling to let him in after what had passed between you two. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he felt his own anger twist back to the forefront. The cat had always been your companion, your comfort. And now she was moving away from him, just like you had.

It hit him harder than he cared to admit. She wasn’t just a cat to him right now, she was you.

If he's soft...you hate him, when he's mad...you hate him.

You.... hate him.

"The woman you brought here yourself. Isn't this inevitable? Were you expecting her to bend to your will?" Damn man is always right.

He slowly and with a deep sigh undid the chain on the lock and then...he saw you curled up inside, your back to him. The vulnerable position made his heart ache once again.

“(Y/N),” he murmured, almost a plea in the softness of his voice. He couldn’t force you to face him, couldn’t drag you into another fight. He knew you needed space.

You didn’t respond, didn’t even stir at the sound of his soft murmur.

With a sigh, Arthur stepped back out of the wagon, leaving the door open. He made his way over back to the tent with his thoughts swirling in a confusing mess. He didn’t know what else to do.

He grabbed the thick, warm blanket and returned to the wagon, crouching to get halfway inside. He carefully draped it over your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin as he settled it around you. He couldn't see your eyes as it was shadowed with your arms and hair. He wanted to say something, anything that might make you feel seen, understood. But the words got stuck in his throat, due to guilt.

"I won’t drag you back in," he whispered softly, not wanting to force anything on you. "But... it’s cold out here...."

He took a step back and let the blanket rest gently on you, pulling the door flaps of the wagon back slightly to let in the morning light and some fresh air. All he could do was wait, try to be patient...

Arthur didn’t leave, though. He wasn’t going to walk away. He pulled a nearby chair over, sitting down just outside the door of the wagon lighting up a smoke.

Patient.

Patient...

It was hours later when he watched from a distance as Susan approached the wagon. Moments later, Arthur saw you emerge, wrapped tightly in the same blanket he’d left draped over you. You looked... weak, exhausted, and withdrawn, leaning heavily on Susan as she guided you down. His jaw tightened when he saw how carefully Susan covered you, pulling the edges of the blanket tighter as if shielding you from everything, including him.

His heart twisted as he watched her take you to his tent, her voice low and comforting, her hand steady on your shoulder. He stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on the two of you until you disappeared inside. His chest ached with a mix of guilt, knowing that it wasn’t his arms guiding you, wasn’t his words offering comfort. Instead, he was the one that hurt you. He wanted to run inside and apologize...but where would he even start. His apology would be nothing but a joke...a painful reminder...to you.

"Arthur."

"Dutch…"

The older man leaned in, his voice calm but firm. "What you need is a bit of distance. Cool your head, boy. I’ve got a few jobs to need doin’, away from camp. Might take you a few days."

Arthur hesitated, a protest forming on his lips. "Yeah, but-"

"Her hand might be broken..." Susan’s voice cut through the moment, matter-of-fact, her sharp eyes fixed on Dutch as if Arthur wasn’t even there.

Shit.

Guilt once again rose like a wave, crashing hard against his already frayed nerves. He took a step forward, instinct driving him, but Dutch’s hand shot out, firm on his shoulder.

"No. You go. Charles will take her and Grimshaw. If it’s not too serious, Hosea can just treat it here."

Arthur tensed, his jaw tightening at the mention of Charles. The thought of you going anywhere with him, trusting anyone else. “I....don’t like that idea,” he muttered, his voice rough.

Dutch arched a brow, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, I know you don’t. But it ain’t your call now, is it? Don't worry though, we are here, aren't we? Ms. Grimshaw, tell Hosea to check her."

Arthur stood there, torn between guilt, frustration, and something he couldn’t quite name. Dutch gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

"Come, I will give you the list of tasks."

After receiving that, he strode to the camp's edge finding Bill lounging idly near the horses. "Bill," he barked, his tone short. "Keep watch over the camp while I’m gone. I’ll be back in four to five days, maybe less. And uh...her too. No one bothers her, got it?"

"...Got it."

Arthur nodded once, curtly, before turning to his horse. With a final glance at the place he should’ve been, where he should’ve stayed, Arthur swung onto his horse.

He didn’t look back as he rode out of camp. He couldn’t.

─AN: To be added or removed, you can always comment. Interactions are always appreciated.

★ tag list: : @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool @lain3iwakura @bashfulcowgirl87 @catjsashrine @bipolarbitties @lizynownow @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @meheheasasa

[luvvictoria]

Blood-Stained Bonds

+ pairings. suguru geto x f!reader/satoru gojo x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, cheating, betrayal, dark romance themes, love triangle (more like a square), secrets and lies, eventual smut

+ status.on-going

+ official playlist.by victo

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

+ summary. Haibara’s shocking arrest for drug dealing sends ripples through the group, exposing cracks in their friendships and raising suspicions about Suguru’s involvement. [Name] begins to uncover the extent of Suguru’s lies with the help of Utahime and Satoru. As more truths surface, including Suguru’s cheating with Shoko and his possible ties to Sukuna’s shady dealings, [Name] is forced to confront the painful reality of who Suguru has become.

The news of Haibara’s arrest hit their circle like a bombshell. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing the always-laughing, always-lighthearted Yo Haibara in handcuffs — it was the undercurrent of betrayal that came with it. The grainy footage of him being led into a police car played on a loop in [Name]’s mind, the image refusing to let go.

She sat at her kitchen table, the hum of the fridge the only sound in the room. Her phone lay in front of her, the screen still glowing from the news article she’d read over and over. The charges against Haibara were stark and unforgiving: drug possession with intent to distribute. Each word felt like a blow.

“Yo,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. “How did it come to this?”

Her hands shook as she reached for her coffee mug, the liquid inside now cold. Beneath the initial sadness, there was something darker — a gnawing suspicion that Suguru wasn’t as uninvolved as he’d always claimed to be. Memories bubbled up: the way Suguru had laughed off questions about Haibara’s odd comings and goings, the cryptic comments about "connections" that didn’t make sense at the time.

She hadn’t spoken to Suguru since their breakup, and she didn’t plan to. But his shadow loomed over everything, especially now. His charm, his magnetic presence — it was all a carefully constructed illusion, and Haibara’s arrest was just another crack in the facade.

The next day, the group met at their usual spot in the park, but the energy was anything but usual. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that made your chest ache just by being near it. Satoru stood leaning against a tree, his sunglasses perched low on his nose. His arms were crossed, and his jaw was set in a way that made it clear he was barely keeping his frustration in check.

Utahime sat on the bench, her back stiff and her expression hard. Her usual warmth was gone, replaced with something colder — anger. [Name] took the seat beside her, clutching her phone in her lap, its screen now dark. They were the only three who showed up. Riko had sent a brief message saying she needed space, and Shoko... well, Shoko had disappeared entirely since the fallout.

For a while, no one said anything. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the distant sounds of children playing and the occasional rustle of leaves.

“Do you think Haibara... was actually dealing?” Utahime’s voice broke the quiet, her tone carefully measured.

[Name] flinched at the question. Hearing it said aloud made everything feel more real, more damning.

Satoru uncrossed his arms but didn’t look up. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low. “But if he was, he didn’t do it alone.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. [Name] turned to look at him, her stomach twisting in knots. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru hesitated, his blue eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. For a moment, he looked like he was debating whether or not to say more. Then he sighed and pushed his glasses up onto his head, meeting [Name]’s gaze directly.

“Just... be careful who you trust,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

The cryptic warning made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Utahime wasn’t having it. She leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees, her eyes boring into Satoru.

“You’re talking about Suguru, aren’t you?” she demanded.

Satoru didn’t answer immediately. He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Utahime snapped. Her tone was sharper now, her anger bubbling to the surface. “You know something, don’t you?”

[Name] felt her throat tighten. “If you know something about Suguru— about Haibara — you need to tell us,” she said, her voice shaking. “This isn’t the time to stay quiet!”

Satoru rubbed the back of his neck, clearly torn. “Look, I don’t have proof,” he said finally. “But Yo didn’t just wake up one day and decide to start dealing. Someone pulled him into it, and I think Suguru knows more than he’s letting on.”

The words hit [Name] like a punch to the gut. She stared at Satoru, her mind racing. She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to hold onto the version of Suguru she used to know — the one who had once been her everything. But deep down, a part of her knew that version of him was gone.

Utahime scoffed, shaking her head. “Of course he’s involved,” she muttered. “Why else would he be so calm about all of this? He always acts like nothing touches him.”

[Name] felt tears prick at her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I just... I don’t understand. How could he let this happen? How could he let Haibara get caught up in something like this?”

Satoru’s expression softened, but there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Because Suguru only cares about Suguru,” he said quietly. “And the rest of us? We’re just collateral damage.”

The words were like a dagger to the heart, and [Name] couldn’t stop the tears this time. She wiped at her face angrily, hating herself for still feeling anything for Suguru, for still wanting to believe he could change.

“Yo didn’t deserve this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “None of us did.”

Satoru stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “No, we didn’t,” he said softly. “But it’s not on you to fix it, [Name]. This isn’t your burden to carry.”

She looked up at him, his face blurred through her tears, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe she couldn’t fix the broken pieces of their group, but she didn’t have to face the fallout alone.

That evening, [Name] sat curled up on Utahime’s couch, a blanket draped over her legs. The warm glow of the floor lamp softened the room, but it couldn’t ease the tension that hung between them. They had been talking for hours, their voices rising and falling like waves, breaking against the silence as they vented about everything — from Shoko’s betrayal to Haibara’s arrest to the suffocating weight of Suguru’s secrets.

Utahime sat across from her, legs tucked beneath her, a cup of untouched tea in her hands. She hadn’t taken a sip since pouring it. Instead, she stared into the cup, her brows knit in deep thought. The frustration in her eyes mirrored the storm in [Name]’s chest.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Utahime said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet. She set the cup down on the coffee table with a soft clink and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Shoko... she was acting weird that night at Mei Mei’s party. Remember? She kept looking over her shoulder, like she was waiting for someone. And Suguru? Don’t even get me started. He’s been dodging questions left and right.”

[Name] hugged the blanket tighter around herself, her nails digging into her palms. Her chest felt heavy, a mix of anger and sadness twisting in her gut. “I don’t want to think about him anymore,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “But it’s like everything — every piece of this mess — leads back to him.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Utahime reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. “[Name],” she said gently, her voice softer now. “I know it’s hard. You’ve been through so much, more than anyone should have to. But maybe it’s time to face it. You deserve the truth, even if it hurts.”

[Name] blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill over again. She looked up at Utahime, her friend’s determined expression breaking through the walls she had been trying so hard to keep up. “I don’t even know if I can handle the truth,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “What if it’s worse than I think? What if... what if everything I thought I knew about him was a lie?”

Utahime gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll face it. And you won’t be alone. I’m here, Riko’s here... even Satoru, in his weird, cryptic way, cares about you more than he’ll ever admit. You’ve got people who love you, [Name]. Don’t forget that.”

The tears came in that moment, slow and silent at first, then falling faster as her shoulders shook. “I just don’t understand,” she choked out. “I gave him everything. I tried so hard to hold on, to make it work, even when I knew he was slipping away. And for what? For him to betray me like this with my friend ?”

Utahime slid closer, pulling her into a tight hug. “You loved him,” she said softly. “And that’s not a weakness, no matter how much it hurts now. But love isn’t supposed to break you, [Name]. It’s supposed to make you stronger, make you better. He didn’t deserve you, and deep down, I think you know that.”

They sat like that for a long time, the only sound the quiet hum of the radiator and [Name]’s muffled sobs. When she finally pulled away, her face was blotchy, and her eyes were swollen, but there was a spark of resolve in them that hadn’t been there before.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice still shaky but laced with determination. “I need the truth. Even if it hurts. I can’t keep living in this... this limbo.”

Utahime smiled, a flicker of pride lighting her features. “Good. Because you deserve so much better than this, [Name]. And whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, [Name] felt a sliver of hope. It was fragile, barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to hold onto.

When [Name] returned to her apartment, the emptiness felt heavier than usual. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the dimly lit space. She dropped her bag by the door and let out a long sigh, the weight of the evening pressing down on her shoulders. Her mind was still swirling with everything Utahime had said, the fragments of truth she was too afraid to piece together fully.

As she sank onto the couch, her phone buzzed. The screen lit up, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name.

Satoru: You okay?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertainty knotting in her chest. She thought about lying — saying she was fine, brushing him off like she had done with so many others — but the truth clawed at her throat, demanding to be heard. Finally, she began typing.

[Name]: Not really. Can we talk, please?

She hit send and stared at the screen, waiting. The seconds stretched into an eternity before the familiar three dots appeared, signaling his reply.

Satoru: Of course. You home?

Her throat tightened at the simple question. He always had a way of making her feel seen, even in the smallest gestures. She typed back quickly.

[Name]: Yeah. Can you come over?

There was no hesitation in his response.

Satoru: Be there in 10.

She set her phone down and glanced around the room, suddenly self-conscious of the scattered papers and empty coffee mug on the table. With a shaky breath, she began tidying up, though her movements felt mechanical, her mind elsewhere. Why had she asked him to come over? What did she even want to say?

By the time a knock sounded at the door, her heart was pounding. She wiped her hands on her jeans and crossed the room, pausing for a moment before opening the door.

Satoru stood there, his usual confident demeanor softened by concern. His silver-white hair glinted under the hallway light, and his blue eyes searched hers. He held up some bags of snacks in one hand and a drink in the other.

“Figured you could use these,” he said with a small smile.

She couldn’t help but laugh, a weak, broken sound, but it was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “Thanks,” she murmured, stepping aside to let him in.

As he walked past her, the familiar scent of his cologne filled the room — a mix of cedar and something sweet, like vanilla. It was comforting, grounding. He set the snacks on the table and turned to face her, his expression serious.

“Okay,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the couch. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

The question opened a floodgate she hadn’t realized was there. She sank onto the couch, her hands trembling as she clutched at the hem of her sweater. “It’s everything,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Haibara’s arrest, Suguru, Shoko... it’s like everything I thought I knew is falling apart.”

Satoru sat beside her, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

His words broke something in her, naking her soft. Tears welled up, spilling over as she shook her head. “I feel so stupid,” she choked out. “I gave him everything, Satoru. I loved him, and he... he lied to me. Over and over again.”

“You’re not stupid,” he said firmly, his voice low but steady. “You trusted him. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

She looked at him then, her tear-filled eyes searching his face. “Why does it hurt so much?” she whispered. “Why does it feel like I’ll never be okay again?”

Satoru hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking her hand. His touch was warm, grounding. “Because you’re human,” he said softly. “And because you cared. But you’re stronger than this pain, [Name]. I know you are.”

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache. She wanted to believe him, to hold onto the hope he was offering, but the wounds felt too fresh, too deep. Still, as he sat there beside her, his hand in hers, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in days—comfort.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Satoru broke the silence, his voice unusually low and serious. “Yo said something before he got taken.”

[Name]'s gaze snapped up to meet his. “What did he say?”

Satoru hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug. “‘Be careful who you trust. You already know who did this.’”

The pit in [Name]’s stomach deepened, a cold dread settling in her chest. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “You think... Suguru?”

Satoru let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t think,” he said, his tone sharper now. “I know.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean? How can you be sure?”

He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yo trusted Suguru. He gave him money to keep safe — money that disappeared right before Yo got arrested. And Suguru... he’s been acting off. Covering his tracks, making sure no one digs too deep into what he’s been doing.”

[Name] felt her hands trembling in her lap. She clenched them into fists, trying to ground herself. “But why would he... why would he throw Yo under the bus like that?”

“Because Suguru only cares about one thing — himself,” Satoru said bitterly. “He’s always been good at pretending to be the perfect friend, the perfect guy. But when it comes down to it, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect his own ass.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. She had spent so long defending Suguru, convincing herself that the good she had seen in him outweighed the bad. But now, piece by piece, the façade was crumbling, leaving behind a version of him she barely recognized.

“You knew,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

Satoru’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the weight of his guilt was almost unbearable to look at. “I suspected,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to believe it. I thought... I thought I could handle it, keep it from affecting anyone else. But then Yo... and then you...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I should’ve said something sooner. I’m sorry.”

The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over for the nth tme today. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. “I trusted him, Satoru. I loved him. How could he do this?”

Satoru reached across the couch, his hand closing over hers. His grip was firm, steady, as if he was trying to anchor her in the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “Because he’s not who you thought he was,” he said quietly. “But that’s not your fault. You’re not the one who lied, or manipulated, or betrayed people who cared about you. That’s on him.”

She stared at their joined hands, her vision blurred by tears. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort, but it couldn’t drown out the pain clawing at her chest. “I feel so stupid,” she whispered. “For not seeing it sooner.”

“You’re not stupid,” Satoru said firmly. “You saw the good in him because you wanted to believe in him. That’s not a weakness — it’s just who you are. And it’s why he doesn’t deserve you.”

His words were a balm to her broken heart, but they also left her feeling raw and exposed. She had spent so long trying to piece together the cracks in her relationship with Suguru, only to realize that the foundation had been rotting all along. Now, all she could do was pick up the pieces of herself and try to move forward.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “For being here.”

Satoru smiled, a faint, tired curve of his lips. “Always.”

For the first time that night, she allowed herself to believe him.

The next day, [Name] and Utahime stood side by side outside Suguru’s apartment, their shared determination a fragile shield against the storm that awaited inside. Utahime had spent the night meticulously compiling every piece of evidence — photos, screenshots of messages, time-stamped receipts. Her anger was a wildfire, barely contained, while [Name] carried a quieter, heavier pain, like a wound too deep to heal.

When Suguru opened the door, his expression flickered with surprise and then irritation. “What are you two doing here?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe with forced nonchalance.

“Let’s not play games, Suguru,” Utahime said, stepping past him into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “We’re here to talk. Or, more accurately, to show you exactly what kind of person you really are.”

[Name] followed in silence, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shatter her ribcage. She had rehearsed this moment in her head a hundred times, but now that it was here, the words felt lodged in her throat.

Suguru closed the door with a sigh, his eyes narrowing. “What’s this about?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation.

Utahime didn’t waste a second. She dropped a folder onto the coffee table, its contents spilling out: photos of him and Shoko together, text messages exchanged late at night, and receipts that painted a picture Suguru couldn’t deny.

“What is this?” he scoffed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

“This,” Utahime snapped, her voice shaking with fury, “is the truth. The truth about you and Shoko. The lies you’ve been feeding [Name]. The image you’ve worked so hard to protect while you’ve been sneaking around behind her back.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Utahime let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been so careful, haven’t you? So confident that no one would catch you. But you slipped up, Suguru. And now, here we are.”

He turned to [Name], his expression softening, as if trying to appeal to her. “You’re really going to believe this? She’s twisting things — making it seem worse than it is.”

[Name] met his gaze, her eyes brimming with tears. For a moment, the room was silent, her pain a tangible thing that seemed to fill the air. “I don’t need her to twist anything, Suguru,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen enough. I know enough.”

“[Name],” he started, his voice dropping into that familiar, manipulative tone that once would have made her second-guess everything. “You have to understand — things weren’t what they seemed. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice gaining strength. “You meant for it to happen. You just didn’t mean to get caught.”

He flinched, the mask he wore beginning to crack under the weight of her words. “You don’t know how hard things have been for me,” he said, trying a new angle, his voice laced with self-pity. “I was lost, okay? I made mistakes, but — ”

“Mistakes?” Utahime cut in, her voice rising. “Mistakes don’t span months, Suguru. They don’t include calculated lies and sneaking around. You didn’t ‘make a mistake’ — you made a choice. Over and over again.”

[Name] felt tears spilling over, but she didn’t wipe them away. “Do you even care, Suguru?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Or are we all just... people you can use to make yourself feel better? To protect this perfect little image of yours?”

He didn’t answer. The silence spoke louder than any denial ever could.

Utahime stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “You think you’re untouchable, don’t you? That you can do whatever you want and we’ll all just... what? Forgive you? Look the other way? You’re not untouchable, Suguru. You’re just a liar. A coward.”

[Name] took a deep, shuddering breath. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, her voice hollow. “I’m done. You’ve lost our relationship, Suguru. And soon, you’ll lose everyone else too.”

Suguru opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. He watched as they turned and walked out of his apartment, the door slamming shut behind them.

For a long moment, he stood there in silence, the echoes of their confrontation ringing in his ears. Slowly, he sank into the nearest chair, his hands trembling as he lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around him, a bitter comfort in the suffocating emptiness that now filled the room.

He stared at the scattered evidence on the coffee table, his vision blurring. For years, he’d thought he could control everything — his image, his relationships, his secrets. He had believed he was smarter than everyone else, untouchable in his manipulation. But now, it was all crumbling. The weight of his lies pressed down on him, heavier than he could bear.

For the first time in years, Suguru felt the full extent of his loneliness. He had pushed away the people who cared about him, betrayed the trust they had placed in him, and destroyed the connections that once anchored him. And now, all he had was the smoke curling in the dim light and the crushing realization that he had no one to blame but himself.

He leaned back, the cigarette dangling from his lips, his hands shaking as he exhaled. The emptiness was suffocating. He thought of [Name], her tear-streaked face, and the finality in her voice. He thought of Satoru, Yo, Utahime, Riko, Shoko and the laughter they used to share.

It was gone now — all of it. And deep down, he knew it would never come back.

[inksandpensblog]

#some people legit just do not have the opportunity to do these things as teenagers. or even if they do it's ok to want to feel safe first

when someone asks you why you haven't had any of the "normal stereotypical" experiences a young person should apparently have and you just go i don't know what to tell you i just haven't and for the most part you don't care but then the atmosphere immediately shifts and you're being pitied. and most people don't really give a fuck right, they're minding their business, but idk i've had interactions with people who do bring it up in subtle ways and treat you as if you're some innocent little being, like oh cover your ears you poor little thing. so you leave and isolate yourself, but then it's like how am i going to have those experiences if i isolate myself? but then when you do try people shame you for it. and this is the way people act when it comes to soooo many things in life. you're like that and we want you to be like this, but we're gonna laugh at your attempts if that's okay?

[selfcarecap]

Both

✧ Logan Howlett x reader x Storm

✧ summary: Storm and Logan are both hopelessly crushing on you. When they realise that they both like you, they get into a silent competition about who can win you over first… until they realise there might not be a need to make you choose; or: You have a threesome with Logan and Storm

✧ warnings: smut 18+, threesome, oral, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv sex, creampie, liiittle bit of ass play, use of dildo between reader and Storm, I think those are the main things, reader is sub-ish and Logan and Storm are more dominant, reader gets called baby, good girl, princess, pretty girl, bub, nothing happens between Logan and Storm btw because I’m a jealous bitch, reader is shy and a bit awkward, this is definitely mostly porn but romantic feelings are implied too, reader is bi, talking about coming out, but reader is in denial about her crush on Storm and also on Logan bc she’s oblivious and a lil insecure tbh, mention of being drunk, they’re all mutants but it doesn’t rlly come up, Logan is taller than the reader, the part leading up to the smut is a little unserious lol they’re all just whipped but yeah it’s kind of a different fic from my prev Logan ones idk it’s more just fun for the first part; also alternative title is BOAF but I didn’t know how many people would get that lol

✧ word count: oh. umm 11k (the main smut is 4k at the end if you wanna skip to that loll I’ve put a divider (stars) so you know when it starts, you don’t necessarily need to know the backstory)

✧ note: Recently watched X-Men 1 for the first time (yeah i know) and these two are literally the definition of bi panic whaaaatttttt + also I called her Storm and not Ororo(?) because I’ve only watched X Men 1 where they just call her Storm so that’s the only way I’m familiar with her, so yeah idk if anyone else wants this combination of characters but i def do so <33

-

You’re focussed as you do your daily stretches, completely oblivious to Storm and Logan watching you from the other side of the gym. 

They stare as you bend down into downward dog and you make a little exhausted noise at the stretch. Logan almost flinches with how good it feels to hear it; with his enhanced senses it’s as if you’re moaning right into his ear.

Storm’s eyes trail up your legs, over your pink gym set that clings to you in all the right places. She watches a pearl of sweat slide down your belly – she wishes she could lick it off your skin. Logan thinks about making you sweat more if he finally gets you in his bed one day.

He clears his throat after you slide down to your knees, arch your spine and let out a little contented sigh at the welcome stretch. A movement to his right catches Logan’s eye. Storm is standing right next to him, hands on her hips, mirroring his own position.

Is she here to stare at you too? Not that that’s what he’s doing. He was training here himself and was done a few minutes after you got here. Resting his eyes is part of the cooldown – you just so happen to be in his view.

“You training today?” Logan breaks the silence.

“Trained earlier this morning,” Storm answers, folding her arms, “What’re you doing here?” She sounds almost accusatory.

“Just finished my workout. Making sure she’s fine with the weights.” Their eyes drift to you, still stretching.

“She said she might use weights later,” Logan adds, averting his eyes.

The only thing Logan doesn’t like about his little crush on you – if you can even call it that – (you can definitely call it that) is that it sometimes makes him nervous, even if just a little. You’re so sweet and so shy and you’re usually oblivious to his flirting. He’s not used to that.

“Aha,” Storm nods with suspicion and slowly walks out of the gym.

Logan sighs a breath of relief and hopes you didn’t hear any of that. He stops himself from looking at your cute little gym outfit again and leaves to shower.

-

Later that day, Storm knocks at your bedroom door, “I’ve made lunch if you want some.”

Her voice is so angelic, you think, and you briefly wonder if that’s a normal opinion to have about your friend. It’s not just her voice, but those pretty lips her voice comes out of – just from woman to woman. She has nice lips. That can totally be a platonic compliment.

You realise she’s waiting for you to answer as you just stare at her gorgeous, gorgeous face – okay, maybe you do like her as more than a friend.

“That’s so sweet of you, I’ll come join you,” you put on a high-pitched platonic voice.

You’re sitting down at the table getting your plates ready – Storm made your favourite food, said she was just craving the taste today – when Logan comes in. 

“Brought my own lunch, thought I could join you?” He asks but doesn’t wait for an answer, sitting down next to you. 

“What if you can’t?” Storm says, an eyebrow raised, though playfully. 

“And what would your explanation be?”

“We need girl time.”

You’re looking between them with wide puppy eyes. You’re not sure if they’re being playful after all. Their faces soften when they look at you.

“Maybe Logan can stay for lunch and we’ll go to your room later?” you suggest, “We can have a sleepover tonight.”

Storm’s face lights up, “Good idea.” You miss the smirk she gives Logan, who then huffs. 

Logan takes off his leather jacket. You’re sure that’s just your mind playing tricks on you but it almost looks as if he’s doing it deliberately slowly, showing off his big, defined arms. You’re drooling like a dog.

He reaches across the table and your eyes stay glued to his triceps until you hear your name.

“What?”

Logan smiles down at you, “I asked if you could pass the salt.”

You swallow and nod, eyes searching for the salt, but Storm gets there before you. She firmly presses the salt shaker into his hand, and his arm is gone from in front of your face. You resist the urge to pout.

A moment later though, Logan reaches out for the pepper himself, “Sorry, just needa…” He fumbles with the shaker across the table. This time his arm is angled differently and your eyes land right on one of those delicious veins on his skin. 

Storm is kind enough to pass him the pepper too, but this time you think you audibly sigh with frustration when Logan pulls his arm back to his body. You focus on eating instead of panicking about whether either of them heard that.

Storm swallows down her jealousy after watching you mesmerised by Logan’s arms for what felt like an eternity with no idea how obvious you were being.

She finishes her glass of water and gets up to get more. She looks at Logan as she walks to the sink. Two can play this game.

With her back turned to the both of you, Storm undoes the top two buttons of her shirt and places the pendant of her necklace right between her breasts. When she sits back down, she leans her elbow on the table and pushes her forearm right against the side of her tits. Your eyes are immediately drawn to them like a honeybee to a flower.

Storm bites back a smirk. She remains silent so as not to pull your attention away from her cleavage. She wants you to get lost there as long as you need to.

Logan rolls his eyes at her and asks you to pass some food from across the table, pulling you out of your trance.

You see the next exchange of looks between the two of them – their eyes do all the talking. You look away and realise… are they flirting? You thought they were mad at each other, having a silent argument, but now you think you might have been wrong. They’re teasing each other. 

You can’t decide if you should be jealous or turned on. They’re the two people you have a crush on – again, platonic crushes, obviously. If they got together, in whatever way, at least they’d make a hot couple for you to stare at. But you’d also be devastated that it’s not you who gets to be with either of them.

A quiet sound catches your attention – Storm’s fingernail against her necklace, the necklace that’s nestled right between her breasts. You briefly wonder if she’s trying to get Logan’s attention with it, but in that moment you don’t feel jealous. You just appreciate what’s in front of you.

With your elbow perched on the table, you’re leaning your head against your hand, and you notice too late that your arm is sliding off the table. You gasp when your head loses its support and you sit up quickly, gaze pulled away from Storm.

Heat blooms on your face and you lift your glass of water to your mouth to cool yourself down. But the picture of Storm’s perfect boobs lingers in your mind and you spill half of the water. It rolls down your neck and to your chest, and before you can even consider drying off, Storm’s holding a folded up napkin to your skin, patting from your collarbones to the neckline of your low-cut top. 

“Awh, there you go,” she’s done patting you dry and gives you a reassuring smile. Your nipples get hard at the close contact. You hope she doesn’t notice.

You hear a scoff from Logan. Maybe he got something stuck in his teeth. Or maybe it’s directed at you and Storm.

“Thanks, Storm,” you smile your sweet smile and finish your meal. 

But you’re not oblivious to what’s going on between them – the looks they’re giving each other – and you don’t know if you like it yet. Not that your opinion matters, sadly.

-

You bring your own pillow to Storm’s bedroom that night for your sleepover, but she’s got her bed made up all comfy with more pillows than you could need.

“Didn’t know how many you needed,” Storm tells you from in front of her mirror, “I’m so happy we’re doing this. We haven’t had any alone time in so long. Been so busy.”

She’s braiding her hair for the night, hair pulled to one side as she curls the bottom of her strands around her finger, her beautiful neck now exposed. You think about falling to your knees and begging for just one touch. Maybe draw your finger across her skin, or better yet – your lips. The way friends do. 

It’s between the first and second film that you decide to finally say something. You were going to ask her during a boring scene of the romcom you just watched but it suddenly turned into a sex scene. You did your best to seem unbothered and tried to move naturally, scratching your head and flexing your wrist. You’re not sure if it worked.

“Soo,” you turn to your side to face Storm as the credits play, “You and Logan?”

You reach into the bag of gummy bears between you and Storm, attempting to seem nonchalant, as if her answer won’t affect you.

She looks a little panicked, and you’re afraid you know what her answer is going to be.

“What about us?” she asks.

You give her a suggestive look but she waits for you to say it.

“Well, is there something going on between you two? I felt like you were flirting during lunch.”

“No, not at all,” she says almost too quickly, “We’re just friends, if that.”

“Really? You’d make an attractive couple.”

She lowers her voice, “We’re really not into each other like that.” You believe her, and withhold your big breath of relief.

“And anyway, I prefer women,” she adds.

“Really? I mean, yeah, I thought you might. I wasn’t sure. I do too, by the way. Well, I like everyone. I mean not everyone obviously but I like all genders. Not that that’s relevant.”

Storm smiles at you sweetly and puts a soft hand on your wrist. “Of course it’s relevant. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.”

You giggle nervously, “Of course. I trust you more than anyone in this house.”

Storm’s heart swells in her chest.

You continue, “Well, and Logan obviously.” 

Oh.

Obvious, is it?

Well, Storm can work with that.

She picks an incredibly gay film next. She didn’t do it on purpose. She just happened to see the film on Netflix. Sure, perhaps she chose it because there were two women in the picture, but she genuinely wasn’t aware how much sex was in the film.

You’re squirming beside her, even more than during the straight romcom you just watched, and it drives her crazy. She’s just better at hiding it, but she’s turned on too. She wishes she and Logan hadn’t fought over your attention during lunch; if you hadn’t thought that there was something going on between them you might have been ready for more tonight. But she ignores her desire for you, holding her arm tightly as she presses her nails against her skin to relieve some pressure.

When the film is over, Storm tells you how she realised she likes women. When she was little, she had a crush on her babysitter, and ever since then she just knew. You grow bashful when she asks you for your story.

“Uh, Halle Berry as Catwoman? That did it for me,” you tell her as your cheeks heat up. Storm only vaguely remembers the film, but she still has in mind that all of her friends told her that the main character looked like her. 

It’s not that she didn’t know you were attracted to her before, but that solidifies it. Now she just has to get rid of Logan.

-

Storm is busy the next day and you miss her presence the entire morning. You woke up before her, your hands still intertwined from when you fell asleep like that, and – like a fucking loser idiot – you imagined what it was like to be her girlfriend and wake up next to her every day.

Now that you know she doesn’t like Logan, you can fantasise about being with her again without the jealousy looming underneath if he got her before you. And she didn’t just say she wasn’t attracted to him (which is crazy) but that they’re both not into each other (which is crazy of Logan). Both of your crushes are safe.

You decide to try out a new stretching routine to distract yourself from how much you’re missing Storm, your bestie who has no idea how much you like her. The positions are nothing you can’t do, but they’re definitely more challenging than your usual.

Logan’s not expecting to see you when he enters the gym; you’re not normally here at this time.

“Hi,” he says. Your head is between your legs as you’re bent upside down. He crouches down to smile at you from between your thighs.

You grin, standing up to turn towards him to say hello. 

“Y’need some help?” He asks. It’s more of a rhetorical question, he’s being polite.

“Actually, there’s this stretch I can’t get into. I think I should be able to do it, but I just need someone to help push me there.”

Logan huffs out a laugh. This is like the porn he plays in his head every night with you and him in the starring roles. “Of course. Where do you want me?”

-

It’s even better than he could have dreamed. He thought you’d need him to hold your hands and pull to add some resistance, but now you’re bent over in front of him and he’s pushing you into a stretch like a pervy gym instructor. 

You keep letting out these little huffs every time you ask Logan to push you further. They sound awfully close to moans. His knee is pressing into the back of yours like you asked him to but you keep asking for more.

He changes up his position, standing behind you fully. If he moved even an inch forward you’d feel his cock pushing against your ass. Logan would usually feel like he’s taking advantage with all the thoughts running through his mind about little innocent you but you’re the one arching even further into him.

He thanks himself for his level of self control and how he manages not to get hard with your pretty ass pressed up against him. It fuels the animalistic side of him and he wants nothing more than to fuck you right here, right now.

It was obvious that you were attracted to him before, but with the way you’re pushing back against his crotch makes him realise that it’s far from innocent.

“Thank you, that felt really good,” you tell him when you stand back up, losing balance after hanging your head upside down for so long. You use Logan’s chest to brace yourself, palms against the hard muscles there. His hands fly to your waist as he makes sure you’re alright. You nod shyly and, with another quick thanks, quickly make your way to your bathroom.

He’s got you. Now he just has to get rid of Storm, and she’s really good with you.

-

You check in Storm’s room after a long shower, but she’s still out. You find Logan in the kitchen; he’s looking through the almost empty cabinets. 

“Wanna go shopping?”

-

You didn’t think grocery shopping could turn you on, but everything Logan does makes you want to rip off his clothes. 

The little things fuel your crush in more heart-warming ways. Like how he picks all your favourite foods, holds the package up to you to ask for approval and places them into the cart that he’s pushing along with one hand as if it’s not full to the brim. 

He’s got it all down even to the most obscure snacks you like. It’s sweet that he remembers and it makes you as dizzy as you felt during your sleepover with Storm. It’s not like you really have a chance with either of them, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you’re fine liking them both.

But it’s his touch that drives you crazy. 

You’re trying to reach a snack on the top shelf. You’re on your tiptoes and your fingertips are only an inch or so away from it. Just when you’re about to give up, you feel two strong hands on your waist, lifting you that tiny bit with no effort at all. 

“There you go,” Logan smiles down at you, taking the package from you and putting it in the cart. Your body still buzzes with the sparks of his touch. 

You’re not very helpful for the rest of the shopping trip. All you’re doing is staring at him. You almost fall to your knees when he reaches up to the top shelf and his shirt lifts a bit. You think seeing even just a tiny sliver of his abs might be the highlight of your day, until you remember how he was pushed up against you during your stretches earlier. 

God, you’re so into him. 

-

Storm finds Logan as soon as she gets home. She hasn’t had a chance to talk to him since your revelation yesterday yet.

“She’s in her bedroom,” Logan tells Storm when she comes in, assuming she’s looking for you.

“I need to talk to you,” she crosses her arms, “She told me yesterday that she thinks we’re into each other.”

Logan cringes, “What, us two? Is she blind?”

“Apparently. I told her that it’s not like that but I don’t know if she believed it. She thought we were flirting with each other at lunch the other day instead of with her.”

“Alright, we just need to stop making it so obvious we’re fighting over her. Let’s just not get in each other’s way and she’ll choose whoever she’ll choose.”

“Yeah,” Storm agrees.

Logan smiles, “I can’t believe that stunt you pulled when she spilled the water. I mean, come on, that was so unfair, I can’t just press a napkin to her tits.”

She laughs, “Okay Mister Bicep, we both have our benefits.” They smile at each other.

Storm huffs, and reluctantly admits: “I wish she looked at me the way she looks at your abs.”

“I wish she looked at me the way she looks at your chest.”

They’re standing next to each other now, staring at nothing, consumed by thoughts of you. They’re so into you.

“When did you realise you like her?” Storm asks.

“I don’t remember an exact moment but it’s just, her gorgeous fucking face. And her whole clumsy thing just does it for me, I don’t know.”

“I like it too. She’s so adorable when she gets all awkward.”

“It makes me want to fuck her so bad,” they say at the same time, then laugh quietly.

Logan clears his throat, “Not to be crude but I’d fuck all that nervousness out of her.”

“Me too. Until she’s so exhausted she can’t even begin to overthink anything.”

They exchange a look – this is getting too heated.

“May the best one win,” Logan concludes, and with a last nod at each other, they both leave the kitchen.

-

It’s a mutual friend’s birthday that week, and all three of you are going to the party.

You’re walking to your room the evening of the party, and Logan opens his bedroom door just as you’re walking past it.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Logan asks, “I need help with my outfit.”

You smile. It’s an excuse to stare at Logan, of course you’ll help.

He changes his shirt about five times – even though there are only two that he can’t decide between. But every time he changes his top, there are a few seconds in which he’s half naked – his muscular, hairy, gorgeous chest and abs exposed, with that thick happy trail reminding you why it’s called that – and you forget all about what the previous shirt looked like.

You watch him change yet another time, quietly sighing to yourself because at some point you have to decide. You watch him button up his shirt and let your eyes roam over the lower part of his body. 

His trousers are hugging his legs so deliciously, they must be tailored. And that sexy belt he always wears keeps sparkling with the reflection of the light, as if you’re not staring at his crotch enough anyway.

“So this one?” Logan asks. 

“Y-yeah,” you nod, as if he doesn’t look equally good in both shirts anyway. 

“What do you think of the material?” He asks. You smile, getting up to feel it. 

You place your hand on the side of his arm, trailing down it, feeling his muscles while you pretend to be feeling the shirt. 

“I like how it feels,” Logan says, looking down at himself and rubbing his fingers over his clothed chest. You follow, bringing your palm to his collarbone to trace his body, from his chest to his lower abs. 

“It does feel nice,” you say. It’s a normal dress shirt, made from whatever material they’re usually made of, but with the warmth of Logan’s body it’s one of the best things you’ve ever felt. 

Distracted by his body, you don’t realise Logan looking down at you, tracing your every feature with his eyes. He can practically see the water pooling in your mouth, and he doesn’t need his enhanced senses to know that you want him in this moment. 

He clears his throat and it makes you lose your balance, gripping Logan’s shirt to steady yourself as his hands fly to your waist. 

“Careful, bub,” he smiles and you feel the heat on your cheeks. How can this man make you stumble without even moving?

“Are you gonna wear a tie?” you ask quietly — you can’t trust your voice right now. 

“I’ve got one here,” Logan passes it to you. He feels like a tie might be a bit too formal for a birthday, but he won’t stop you from staying close. 

You go on your tiptoes to drape the tie around his neck, nervously fiddling with the fabric. “Actually, uh, I don’t know how to tie a tie,” you admit, giggling at your own words. 

“That’s okay, bub, I’ll show you.” 

You don’t retain any information as Logan helps you with his tie, guiding your fingers with his big, warm hands over yours. 

Your breaths intertwine from standing so close, and you don’t even realise that you’re on your tiptoes again, trying to get as close to Logan as possible. 

You know that he can hear how fast your heart is beating, but when his tie is on and you smooth it down against his chest, you feel his own heart beating wildly against his ribcage. 

Logan looks into your eyes, a soft smile on his lips, and you know what’s going to happen. You’re about to kiss. 

He gently places his hand on the side of your face, leaning in. 

Just when your lips are about to touch, you hear Storm calling out your name from the hallway. 

“Uh, Storm was gonna do my make-up,” you stutter, Logan’s hand still on your face. He silently drops it and smiles sadly, “yeah,” he says. 

He moves back to stand in front of the mirror, taking the tie off again, “Think this is too much.”

You nod, “yeah. Sure. I’ll see you later.”

You walk out of Logan’s room with a weird feeling, but as soon as you get to Storm’s room it’s like nothing just happened. 

It smells so good in her bedroom, a mix of her perfume and hair products and her clean bed sheets. She smiles at you, patting the bed for you to sit next to her. 

You close the door behind you, creating a space for just the two of you. It always feels like that when you’re with her, even when there are other people around. Except for Logan maybe; he’s the only one who can get in without even trying — but it’s still different when it’s really just the two of you. 

You’re immediately lost in the world of beautiful Storm as she presents to you her outfit for the night; it fits her every curve and contour and you briefly wonder how you could ever think of her as nothing more than a friend. It breaks your heart that she only sees you as one, but it doesn’t stop the desire you have for her and the joy you feel when you’re around her.

Storm does your make-up on her bed, both of you sitting cross-legged with your knees touching. Her hand is placed gently on your face as she does your eyeshadow.

“You’re so naturally beautiful,” she tells you in her calm voice, “Don’t really need any of this.”

You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest. She just means it as a friend, she just means it as a friend.

You gulp, “Wish I looked like you. You’re so gorgeous.”

She smiles at you softly, “Thank you, but you’re perfect like this. Lips.” You open your mouth slightly so that she can apply your lipgloss for you. Even though she’s using the applicator, it feels as intimate as if it were her finger.

She called you perfect.

Your eyes go down to her lips and you realise she hasn’t put any product on her own lips yet. You’re not sure what comes over you at your next question.

“You want some too?” you ask, breathless, staring at her lips. Even though you’re not looking into her eyes, you can see her looking down at your lips and she smiles a beautiful, sexy smile and nods.

Storm briefly presses her lips to yours, the way straight girls sometimes do at parties – except that neither of you are straight and you’re not at a party, and you doubt that straight friends feel like this after kissing each other. You pull away instinctively, you don’t want her thinking that you could ever even assume that she likes you like that. You’re just friends, and you know that.

Still, you can’t resist reaching out a finger to swipe the excess product over the top of her lip, and you let out a nervous giggle when you notice that her eyes are still on your lips.

An alarm on your phone interrupts you; you set it for 20 minutes before you have to leave to make sure you have everything. You didn’t notice how close you and Storm were until you both pulled away at the noise. 

The alert pulls you out of your Storm induced warm cloud, an uncomfortable feeling settling on your skin. Being the good friend she is, Storm realises immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, a soft hand on your arm.

“Nothing, I just get nervous about these types of parties sometimes. There’ll be so many people I don’t know, and it’ll be so big and loud. I was thinking of taking a shot or something.”

Storm smiles, “Not that I’m against a little shot for courage, but d’you wanna know something natural that always helps me calm down?”

“Mhm, what is it?”

“I feel like a nice orgasm always makes me calmer. Just a quick one with my fingers or a vibrator.”

Her words knock the air out of you. Somehow, you manage to respond. “I’ve always wanted to use toys but I don’t have any. I should really get one,” you chuckle nervously.

“I’m happy to share one of mine if you don’t mind,” she looks deep into your eyes and all you can do is nod your head pathetically. There are some types of thoughts you’ve done your hardest not to let into your head – she’s your friend, she wouldn’t want you thinking about her like that – and now she’s the one putting them there on purpose.

She twists her lips, almost.. nervously? and, in a low voice, says: “You think an orgasm right now would help you?”

Again, you don’t manage to say any words but you do nod your head, biting your lip. 

“You wanna do it yourself or can I stay?” she asks, one shoulder pulled up seductively.

“S-stay,” you stutter.

“I could eat you out if you want, but no pressure. I just feel like that’s the quickest way.”

You take a deep breath. All kinds of thoughts are shooting through your head, but maybe she’s just horny. During your sleepover the other day, she told you how she hasn’t had sex in a while, and how she gets off on making her partners come, so maybe it’s just a natural desire that she wants to make someone other than herself come again for once. It’s got nothing to do with you, you know that, but you revel in the knowledge that she at least finds you attractive enough to want to make you come, even if it’s just as a friend.

You’re also confused. Your ex always took hours to make you come with his mouth, but, still, you believe every word coming from Storm’s pretty lips.

You nod, “Ye-yeah. If that’s okay with you. That’s a very uh, very nice, friendly favour.” You have to make sure she knows that you’re not delusional, thinking this is more than friendly. 

As you squirm in your seat, you miss Storm’s little sigh of frustration at your oblivion. Instead of pitying herself, she decides she’ll show you why you should be more than friends.

“Y’ready?” she asks, blessing your ears with her bedroom voice.

“Yes,” you breathe. 

Your next breath catches in your throat as Storm leans in to press the most gentle kiss you’ve ever experienced to the side of your neck. She’s warm and soft and smells like heaven.

Her lips slowly press along your pulse point, the tip of her tongue darting out as she makes her way up to your ear. Her teeth scrape along your earlobe, but she doesn’t bite. You almost whimper when her warm mouth is gone from your ear.

Storm slides her hand to your jaw, moving her thumb to your lower lip, “May I?”

You nod quickly, and she pulls your lower lip down, sliding her thumb into your mouth to wet it.

You suck on her thumb, mouth watering at having her so close. Storm takes her hand away from your face with a satisfied hum and gently folds your skirt up to your hips, pulling your panties to the side.

She giggles, “y’got such cute underwear.” You look down and remember the panties you decided to put on today – pink underwear with cherries and a red lace trim. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it, let alone Storm. Before you have time to get embarrassed, her thumb is on your clit.

You gasp at the first contact, and your knees buckle. You’re glad you’re already sitting down. She goes to kneel on her soft carpet, sitting down between your legs.

Her breath is on your pussy and you feel yourself clenching around nothing.

“What a pretty fucking pussy,” Storm whispers, more to herself, and impatiently pulls your underwear out of the way more harshly, making sure it stays there. She looks up at you from between your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest, and you bite your lip.

This doesn’t feel so friendly anymore. Unless she just gets off on making her pretty friends come.

Storm sucks her thumb into her mouth to wet it again and begins to gently rub your clit in circles. She realises how wet you already are and smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to your clit. 

“There you go,” she says quietly, and then puts her mouth on you. She runs her tongue through your folds and she’s so gentle. You’re torn between enjoying it and wanting more.

“Feels so good,” you mumble, and Storm grips the flesh of your thigh to hold you still. 

She smiles against you, “Yeah?” and brings her middle and ring finger to your pussy. Licking your clit, she pushes two fingers into you, slowly making her way inside even though you’re more than wet enough.

Your pussy makes a squelching sound against her fingers as she begins to fuck into you, curling her fingers up to rub against your g-spot. You gasp when you first feel her there, your head dropping to the side in pleasure as you moan.

She pulls her fingers out to suck them into her mouth, tasting you with a satisfied hum, “Taste so good, baby.” You get even wetter at that name alone, squirming beneath her gaze.

“Be a good girl for me and stay still, okay?” she asks, mouth connecting with your pussy again as she looks up at you. You nod desperately, hoping she can’t feel the intense heat spreading over your face down to your chest.

She slides two fingers back into you, fucking you gently but precisely, and you already feel the excitement building up in your belly. Storm’s tongue dances over your clit, exactly how you need it to. The only thing missing now is just a liittle more friction.

It’s like she can read your mind, continuing to fuck into your wet pussy at a steady pace, as she begins to suck on your clit. You see stars immediately.

Her mouth has been on you for only a few minutes when she’s got you coming on her tongue and fingers. You whimper her name as you arch your back, hips chasing her face to prolong your orgasm as it crashes over you in waves.

She pulls her fingers out and rubs your clit for a bit longer until you’re squirming again, patting your pussy before she gets up. “Good”, she simply says, biting her lip.

“You feel better?” she smiles at you, innocently sucking your arousal off her fingers as if it’s something she’s done a million times before. As if it’s a normal thing to do with a friend.

“Yeah, much better,” you smile shyly, wondering how to ask her what that was.

She sits down right next to you, pulling your panties and skirt back in place, keeping her hand on your thigh afterwards. She smiles at you, and it feels so intimate. Storm reaches for the lipgloss again, “It’s all wiped away. Here.”

You smile and let her apply the lipgloss again. Storm places a hand on the bed next to your hip to lean in as she does so. She puts the lipgloss away but stays close. She looks at your lips. Your heart starts beating furiously in your chest – she’s about to kiss you.

This time it’s Logan who interrupts you. He calls out your name from the hallway, it’s time to leave.

Storm sits back, “you ready?”

“Yeah,” you nod. She takes your hand as you leave her room. You don’t let go even when you see Logan, his eyes immediately finding your intertwined hands.

He doesn’t know what it means. There are plenty of platonic girlfriends that hold hands. 

You don’t know what it means either, but you know you like the feeling.

-

You don’t mean to get drunk but that’s kind of what happens when you subconsciously try to keep up with mutants with healing factors that make it almost impossible for them to get drunk.

You arrived at the party still hand-in-hand with Storm and spent the first half joined at the hip with her. Logan couldn’t even get you alone for a second because every time one of you left for the bathroom the other went too without hesitation.

Logan finally finds you alone in the kitchen, looking for another drink.

“Y’sure you should have more to drink?” he smiles.

You notice him then, “Logan!” you run over to hug him.

Being drunk makes you more affectionate.

“Can you mix me a drink?” you ask Logan, his arm still around your waist. It feels good there.

“Maybe you want water for now?”

You pout at him drunkenly, taking a step back and folding your arms, “You’re just jealous you can’t get drunk. Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to.”

Logan lifts his arms in defence, “‘Course you’re allowed to, bub. Just making sure you’re up for it. What do you want?”

-

You, Logan and Storm end up in the living room at the mansion. You’ve been very entertaining in your drunk state but, more importantly, you decided to hold one of their hands each in your lap in the back of the car on the way home. They know you get like this when you drink, and they’d never try anything with you like this, of course. But they could have a bit of harmless fun.

It’s your idea to play never have I ever, but the two of them are just as happy to. You’re playing the game with water instead of alcohol, but that’s probably better for you anyway.

Storm and Logan resist the urge to make the game sexual; they’re unsure what you’d be comfortable with if you were sober. You’re the one who makes it explicit.

“Never have I ever…” you’re leaning the bottle of water against your cheek to cool yourself down, “had a threesome.”

The room is immediately struck with tension. Logan and Storm exchange a look that you miss. How have they not thought of this before? 

You look at them expectantly.

It’s a perfectly innocent statement – well, innocent in a way that you’re not implying anything to them specifically. Even in your wildest thoughts you’ve only fantasised about one of them at a time. 

Your eyes are on Storm but she shakes her head. Logan drinks. He shrugs, “Been alive for so long, you try some things.”

You’re torn between arousal and jealousy, but settle on arousal. You forget all about the game.

“I’m not that experienced,” you tell them honestly, “I’d love to experiment a bit but I get shy. Not that I’m– um, not a threesome necessarily. I’m just saying.” You clear your throat, averting your eyes.

“How many people have you been with?” Storm asks, voice soft.

You swallow, unsure whether to count her or not. Does it count if it was with a friend? “Just my ex boyfriend.”

“There’s been no one else?” Logan asks, and you shake your head in embarrassment.

“I told you I’m shy.”

“Nothing wrong with being shy,” he says, “It can be endearing. Don’t you think, Storm?”

When you turn to her, her eyes are already on you, “I agree.”

Your face feels hot and you’re suddenly nervous. They’re both flirting with you, if the alcohol isn’t deceiving you, and you don’t know who you like more. You think of some stupid ‘never have I ever’ statement to change the topic. They do you the favour of playing along.

It’s not long until you all go to bed, going your separate ways but not without a long hug from both of them.

-

The next morning, Logan and Storm meet in front of your room. She’s made breakfast for you and he’s brought you water and some aspirin.

“I should have thought of that,” they say at the same time. Logan knocks at your door.

“It’s us,” Storm says after another knock.

You’re not in your bedroom.

They look for you in the entire mansion, but you’re not there.

“Maybe she’s walking off her hangover,” Logan shrugs, starting to eat the food Storm made for you as they’re standing in the kitchen.

They don’t see you all day.

Storm’s in the kitchen in the evening, starting to worry. She knows you’re not far, and you can handle yourself, but she’s worried you’re embarrassed about what you said when you were drunk, or regretting what you did before the party yesterday.

There are footsteps coming down the hallway, and she knows it’s you before you’re there.

“Hey,” she smiles when she sees you.

“Hi.”

“Haven’t seen you all day.”

“Sorry,” you sit down next to her, a shy smile on your face, “Didn’t mean to disappear. I just needed to think.”

Storm breathes. “Yeah, that’s okay. What were you thinking about?” Her heart starts beating faster.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about what Logan said yesterday. And I don’t know if I’m misinterpreting things and I don’t want to make anything awkward between us or anything…” you look at her in worry, and she takes your hand. She’s not sure what you mean but she knows you need her encouragement to say it. 

You continue, “I don’t know but maybe… maybe Logan could show us what a threesome is like?”

All the worry on your face melts away when Storm grips your hand tighter and gets up. She grins as she pulls you upstairs.

She walks you to Logan’s room and, without knocking, pushes his door open, “My bedroom. Right now.” He follows you without question. 

“Lock the door behind you,” Storm tells Logan when you’re all in her bedroom. Your skin is on fire.

“Whats’s going on?” Logan has his arms folded, a smile playing on his lips.

His eyes are on you but you look over at Storm, who just smirks.

“Are you gonna make me say it again?” you ask, horrified.

“You got this, baby,” she tells you, and hearing her call you that again gives you courage.

You look at the floor, “Uh, I don’t know if you two want to do that with me but. I was thinking maybe we could, like, have, um, a threesome?” You were a lot smoother in your head.

Logan raises his eyebrows, “You don’t know if we want to do that with you? You tellin’ me you haven’t noticed what’s been goin’ on, bub?” He’s right in front of you now, hands holding your face.

“Uh…” you know he can feel your skin heating up under his fingers.

“Want you so fucking bad. Both of us,” Logan nods towards Storm.

“Oh.”

(Logan decides this isn’t the time to tell you that his threesome was with two guys.)

They both grin at each other and Logan walks you to Storm’s bed. They sit down on either side of you – you don’t even know where to look. You don’t know who to kiss first.

Storm makes the decision for you, gently turning your head towards her. You lean in without another word.

This time you get more than a peck. Her mouth is hungry and wet against yours, her lips soft. You’re kissing messily and loudly, and you do your best not getting on top of her yet. You pull away only because Logan’s there too.

“Been dying to do that since last night,” you smile.

“I know,” Storm giggles, “Knew you appreciated my friendly favour.” You hide your face in her neck at her teasing. You’re not sure how you could be so stupid. Now you know it’s more than friendship.

“What’s that?” Logan asks, an eyebrow raised.

You bite your lip, “We’ll tell you later.”

Before he can question it, you pull Logan closer by his shirt. His kisses are rougher, but not in a bad way. His beard scratches against your cheek with the desperation in his kisses, and he’s pulling you closer. You moan into his mouth as his tongue slips between your lips, and you grab a fistful of his shirt.

Storm starts kissing the side of your neck, the way she did last night, and you’re so lost in pleasure that you stop kissing Logan.

“Too hot,” you mumble, pulling off your top absentmindedly. They both stop what they’re doing.

“You wear stuff like this all the time?” Logan smirks, finger slipping under your bra strap. You forgot about the lingerie you put on for them.

You shake your head, “Thought we might do this tonight.”

Logan grins and starts kissing your shoulder, pulling one of your bra straps down with his teeth. Storm turns your head back to her and kisses you again – gentle, teasing pecks from her soft lips to yours. She kisses over your cheek and your jaw, begins to gently nibble on your earlobe.

Logan pauses when his mouth is at your wrist, “You know, bub, the problem with pretty lingerie like this is that it ends up coming off again real quick.”

You’re already so horny from two pairs of lips on you that you can barely speak. “Doesn’t sound like a problem to me at all,” you mumble. 

“Can we take it off, baby?” Storm asks.

“Please.”

You feel Storm’s fingers at your back, opening your bra, and Logan is the one who pulls it off. 

They both sigh when they see your tits for the first time, moving to the breast closest to them. Logan thumbs over your nipple, gently playing with it while Storm wraps her lips around your other nipple. You feel yourself getting so wet. 

“H-how about—” you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, “how about you take your clothes off too.”

“How about you take them off?” Storm bites her lip. 

You nod quickly, lifting her top over her head to find her bare underneath. You trace your hands over her perfect tits, cupping them as your thumbs rub over her nipples and she lets out the sweetest moan. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan moving to take off his shirt so you quickly turn to him, grabbing hold of his shirt to do it yourself while Storm stands up to take off her trousers. 

You pull off Logan’s shirt and, even though you’ve seen him shirtless before, you’re mesmerised by the muscles and the hair and how good he looks. 

“Y’like what you see, bub?” He smirks and you bite your lip, resisting kissing him. You move on to his belt, trying to ignore how Logan gropes your tits as you get him naked except for his boxers. 

Storm sits between your legs, helping you out of your trousers and you all move to the middle of the bed. You’re panting before anything has even started, “Sorry, it’s just cause I’m excited,” you breathe, grinning with anticipation. 

“It’s okay,” Storm kisses you behind your ear. 

“So are we, bub,” Logan tells you, moving to press his lips to the side of your neck. He kisses further up, to your jaw, while Storm’s lips ghost over your collarbone on your other side. 

Excitement builds up in your belly, your skin tingling all over. You kiss whoever is closer to you – it’s Logan – and start making out with him. The only way to accurately describe the kiss is to say that it’s sloppy. Logan’s devouring you, licking your lips and into your mouth. 

You carefully feel for Storm’s face and don’t stop kissing Logan until she’s right next to you too so you can kiss her instead. She puts a hand behind your neck to pull you in, and you lean your hand on Logan’s leg to steady yourself. 

When your hand moves just an inch, you feel how hard he is, and how big. You force yourself to pull away from Storm, your lips already kissed raw.

Logan’s thigh tenses under your hand, “How are we gonna do this?”

“Don’t know, just wanna cum,” you say. You don’t want to seem petulant, but you’ve never been this turned on in your life. Your underwear is soaked through and it almost hurts how badly you need to be fucked right now.

“We got you, baby,” Logan says, “Can I take these off?” He starts to pull at the waistband of your panties where they hug your hip, and you nod quickly.

Storm gets up to walk to her nightstand, but you can’t focus on her too. Your mind is on Logan all but ripping your panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the carpet. 

He takes your knees to push your thighs up to your chest as you lie down, your head supported by a pillow.

“God, look at you. So fucking pretty. Look at her, Storm,” Logan says, spreading you open for him to take all of you in.

Storm smirks at Logan, “I know.”

You feel Logan’s eyes going between you and her, but she’s leaning down to kiss you so all of your senses are taken over by her.

“Got this just for you, baby,” Storm stops kissing you, pulling something out of the drawer of her nightstand. She’s holding a pink, soft silk bag, “Had a feeling you might want to play.” She pulls out a pink dildo, and you bite your lip as she kisses you again.

Logan asks you something twice before you register what he’s saying, lightly squeezing your ankle to get your attention.

“Huh?” you pull away from the kiss.

“Can I eat your pussy?”

You nod, “But I want you inside me.”

Logan smiles, “Alright, just let me get a taste first. Been dying to know how you taste.”

Storm lies down next to you on her stomach to kiss you some more. Her lips trail over your shoulders and move up to your neck.

Logan bends down so his face is between your legs, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re so wet already, bub. So fucking pretty,” he smiles, moving to lick all the way up your pussy once. 

“Here,” he pulls your legs over his shoulders as he settles between them. He pushes two of his thick fingers into your pussy and puts his mouth on you. His tongue on you is fast and skilled, but you still need more.

“‘S not enough,” you whine, and Logan looks up, smiling.

“Need me inside?” he asks, wiping his mouth that’s smeared with you with the back of his hand. You nod, staring in awe as he finally takes off his boxers and you get to see his hard cock in all its glory.

“Y’gonna be okay, bub? It’s kinda big,” he teases. You can see that. But all you can do is keep staring with an open mouth and nod. Storm wipes some spit from the corner of your mouth and gives you a quick kiss.

“You got this, baby,” she tells you, cupping one of your tits while she strokes over your hair with her other hand.

“Yeah,” you say, eyes not leaving Logan’s cock.

“You ready?” he asks, bending down to give you a long, wet kiss.

“Mhmm, need it so bad.”

He chuckles as he spreads your legs for him again, rubbing the tip of his cock along your pussy. It’s so wet you can hear it.

Logan slowly pushes inside you, and you gasp when he fills you up. He’s big, but the pleasure outweighs the pain.

“Theeere you go, bub. So fucking tight f’me. Taking me so well,” he starts to thrust into you in a gentle rhythm, fucking you deep but pacing himself.

It takes you a few moments to get used to his size, but Storm’s kisses at your neck help you ease into it. You can’t believe this is happening – you never would have thought you’d be with either of them, especially not with both and at the same time.

“Feels so good,” you moan weakly, pulling Storm to kiss you again. You whine when she lets go, but she’s sitting up at your side again soon, holding the dildo. You nod before she’s even said anything.

“Let me,” she leans over to Logan, who pulls out of you. Storm fucks your pussy with the cool silicone for just a moment, and it’s wet with your arousal when she brings it up to your chest. 

She teases you first, rubbing the wet tip of the dildo over your nipples, trailing it up your chest and over your cheek, smearing your own arousal over your face. You bite your lip in frustration, and look down to see Logan jerking off to the sight of you spread out for him. You can’t decide who of them you need more.

You’re salivating just at the thought of Storm fucking your mouth with the toy, and you hum when she rubs it across your lips.

“Close your mouth, baby,” Storm says when you’re about to take it in your mouth. She leans over you and lets her spit drop onto your mouth, smiling as she trails the tip of the dildo around your mouth, your lips desperately parting for it.

“Here, baby,” she says finally, pushing the dildo past your lips. You moan around it, taking the silicone as deep as you can. 

Storm fucks your mouth with it and all it’s doing is making you even more horny. The sound of Logan’s slicked hand on his cock stops, and he’s grabbing your thighs to spread them more, finally fucking you again. This time his pace is rougher, and it’s exactly what you need.

Storm’s wet lips are on your jaw as she continues to push the toy in and out of your mouth as you suck on it eagerly. She bites her lip as she leans over you to watch you, pushing the dildo in just a bit more.

“Doing such a good job, baby,” she hums, holding your chin.

“Yeah, being such a good girl for us,” Logan rasps, voice hoarse as he fucks you, “Look so fucking sexy with your lips wrapped around a cock.” You know he can feel your pussy clench around him at his words and he smirks, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

As you focus back on the cock in your mouth, you notice that Storm’s free hand is down her panties, and you can see her getting worked up too, a bead of sweat rolling down the valley of her tits.

You hum around the dildo and she pulls it out. “Wanna eat your pussy,” you tell her, voice almost whiny.

She smiles, sitting up to pull down her underwear. You reach out to touch the flesh of her thigh, and all you want to do is taste her.

You get up, disregarding how Logan slips out of you as you turn around to get on all fours. Storm sits down in front of you, leaning against the headboard.

“I’ve never done this,” you tell her, leaning down with your ass in the air. Logan positions your hips so he can rub the tip of his cock through your folds, and you take a moment to close your eyes and focus back on Storm.

“That’s okay, baby,” she tells you, “I know you’ll do well.”

You nod eagerly as you spread her legs, leaning in to press a kiss to her clit. You’re addicted as soon as you taste her. You open your mouth wider to lick up all of her that you can, attaching your mouth to Storm’s pussy like you never want to let go.

Her hand goes to the top of your head, careful not to mess up your hair as she spreads her knees wider to accommodate you between them.

You lick at Storm’s clit, tongue trailing down to taste her some more. You revel in the sounds she makes when you start to make out with her pussy, all but putting your face in it.

It’s then that Logan begins to fuck you again, pushing his dick all the way inside your wet pussy. He’s rocking into you so much that it makes your whole body move forwards and backwards with his thrusts, and you can barely focus on Storm’s pussy.

“Sorry, bub”, Logan says from behind you when he notices that you’ve stopped, but you can hear from his voice that he’s not sorry at all. You and Storm smile at each other as you grip her thigh to hold yourself in place and go down on her again.

You get the hang of eating pussy quickly, paying attention to the sounds Storm makes and what makes her knees tremble around your head.

She comes against your lips when you suck her clit into your mouth. Her hand is at the back of your head, hips chasing your face as you play with her clit through her orgasm. 

Being between Storm’s thighs as she comes ignites a fire in your core, and Logan’s fucking you so good, getting messy from how close he is.

You push yourself up on your arms to kiss Storm, smearing her wetness over her lips as you make out. She has to hold your face so that you don’t move too much with Logan’s thrusts, but you’re too weak to keep kissing her as you get closer to your orgasm.

“You close, bub? Gonna cum inside you,” Logan grunts from behind you.

“Mhmm, don’t stop, please.”

“I got you, baby, I got you. Doin’ so well,” he grabs your hips to fuck you even deeper as you arch your back. He hits that sweet spot inside you, and one of his hands sneaks down over your belly to rub your clit. 

Even though you can hear him starting to lose his breath, trying hard not to come yet, he plays with your clit in a way that’s perfect, and your orgasm has you biting back your moans because you’re scared of how loud they’d be.

Logan blows his load in you before you’re done coming, and it prolongs your own orgasm as he fills you with his cum, somehow even deeper inside you than he was before.

You almost collapse when he’s done with you, smiling as you roll over to lie on your back.

Storm lies down next to you and kisses you while Logan gets the bottle of water from her nightstand. She drinks a sip first and then passes it to you.

Logan chugs the rest of the water when you’re done, his adam’s apple bobbing as a drop of sweat slides down his neck. You follow it all the way over his glistening abs and down into his happy trail. You notice then that he’s hard again – or still hard – and you’ve finally got the answer to that question you’ve spent nights thinking about, wondering if his healing factor also applies to his sex drive.

“You want more, bub?” Logan asks as Storm starts kissing your neck in that way she knows how to do so well.

You nod as you sit up, Storm getting the dildo as she gets behind you, Logan sitting in front of you.

“Can I fuck you, baby?” Storm asks, hand trailing down the back of your spine and over your ass as you get on all fours again.

“Yeah,” you tell her, looking back at her with a smile, a new desire forming deep in you.

You get between Logan’s legs, leaning in to kiss him again. Every time his mouth is on you, it feels like he’s devouring you, and it’s one of the best feelings you’ve ever had. He’s all tongue and teeth.

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask against his lips, your mouth squished up with his hand grabbing your face.

“Been waiting for this since I saw you for the first time, bub. Don’t know if I’ll last long.” You never thought you’d hear Logan of all people say those words, but it turns you on that you could reduce even a man like Logan to nothing but his most primal needs.

You grin as you wetly kiss down his chest, arching your back so your ass is in the air for Storm.

“So pretty,” she mumbles, lost in her own world as she runs the tip of the dildo through your folds, and you almost lose balance.

Logan’s cock leans against the side of your face as you kiss all the way down to his happy trail, and without further thought, you take him into your mouth. You can still taste a bit of yourself on him. 

Storm starts fucking you with the dildo just as you’re getting into going down on Logan, and you pull your mouth off his cock. Somehow the dildo feels bigger in your pussy than it did with your mouth. Storm knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Didn’t realise how big it was,” you say, steadying your hands against Logan’s big thighs as you fuck back against the toy.

“Not bigger than me, bub” Logan grumbles, and you giggle.

“We know, big boy. It’s not a competition,” Storm tells him, and even though you can’t see their faces you know this just became a competition for them. And you really don’t mind the two people you have a crush on competing on who can make you come more often.

“Can I play with your ass, baby?” Storm asks you when you’ve adjusted to the toy in you and you’re back to trying to stuff all of Logan’s cock in your mouth. You moan around his dick.

“What was that, princess?” it’s Logan who asks.

“Yeah, you can,” you turn to face Storm, “But I’ve never done that before.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be gentle. Logan, can you pass me the lube from over there?” Logan ignores her – it’s not on purpose, but you’ve gone back to putting your wet mouth on him and you’re sucking his cock, and it’s hard to focus on anything but your wet mouth.

You pull away and look up at Logan, and he passes the lube after seeing the pretty smile you give him.

“Fuck, bub, so fucking gorgeous,” he says, bringing your face up to his to give you a kiss and then getting up to sit next to Storm.

“Just relax for us, baby,” Storm says, and you’ll never get tired of hearing her call you that.

Logan rubs a hand across your ass cheek, kneading your flesh. He finds his discarded shirt at the edge of the bed, wiping down your inner thighs that are dripping with his cum to try and stop Storm’s sheets from getting too messy. 

He runs his hand softly up your spine as Storm squeezes drops of lube onto your ass. Logan’s hand goes back down, settling between your legs to gently play with your clit, not to make you cum but to relax you.

“So pretty,” Storm says absentmindedly as she rubs her thumb over your tight hole.

“Can you come over here?” you ask Logan, feeling weird with both of them at your back. You like having one at each side.

“I’m here, bub,” he sits down in front of you again, lifting your head to rest your cheek on his meaty thigh instead. He gently runs the back of his hand over your other cheek as you sink down into the bed with your upper body.

Storm gently pushes the tip of her finger into your ass, “That feel okay?”

“Feels good,” you hum, letting her go deeper as she simultaneously starts to fuck your pussy with the dildo.

“Such a good girl, hmm?” Logan coos from above you and you sigh in pleasure.

“Doing so well,” Storm tells you, thumb hooked in your ass as she begins to fuck your pussy more roughly. You instinctively start fucking back, your hips moving on their own as you get up on all fours again.

Logan’s biting his lip as he watches you take Storm, hand reaching down to jerk off again, but you shove his hand away. “I wanna,” you pout, wrapping your hand around him.

“‘M not stopping you,” he tells you, sitting back as you make him feel good with your hand.

“I’m close,” you say, suddenly feeling the pleasant pressure between your thighs, looking back at Storm who smirks at your words.

She fucks into you more roughly, the added stimulation by your ass making you tip over the edge. You let go of Logan and grab his thigh to keep your balance as your orgasm flows through you, even better than the previous one.

She pulls out of you slowly, rubbing a hand over your ass cheek.

“Wanna make you cum again,” you turn to Storm.

“Later, baby, come sit on my face,” she says, and how are you meant to resist that?

She lies down on the bed and you straddle her, careful to balance your weight out on your knees rather than on her, “you sure?”

“C’mere,” she says, pulling you down onto her face, and you’re lost in the pleasure of her tongue on your clit for a few moments before you can even open your eyes again. You take Logan by his wrist and make him stand up in front of you so you can keep sucking his cock.

You suck on Logan’s dick as eagerly as Storm’s tongue is on your pussy, spit running down to his balls like it’s running down the side of Storm’s mouth. You hover over her to let her breathe but she pulls you back down.

“Don’t worry about me, I can handle you.”

She sucks on your clit with a new intensity, and you forget all about Logan’s cock as it slips out of your mouth and slides wetly across your cheek. You clumsily stick out your tongue, and Logan chuckles, “So fucked out already, hm?” He jerks off in front of your face, holding you in place. He begins to fuck against the inside of your cheek, filling your mouth with his cock.

You hum, not really listening but simply taking his cock in your mouth as the pleasure builds up inside you when Storm pushes her tongue into you. Her hands are on your ass and she sucks on your clit harder. 

Your back arches as you suddenly cum again, cheeks hollowing around Logan’s cock in the process as you suck him in deeper. Storm plays with your clit for a few more moments, lifting you to roll to the side, and your knees sink into the mattress.

“Such a good girl. Y’gonna make me cum again?” Logan says from above, and you look at him with puppy eyes as you take as much of him as you can.

“Been doin’ such a good job all night, baby. You can take him deeper,” Storm says, watching you. You’re going down on Logan but you want her praise too, so you take as much as you can of Logan under both their gazes.

“Fuuuck, baby” Logan groans, his cum spilling down your throat as you swallow him eagerly and he fucks your mouth until he’s finished, the wet sound of his cock in your mouth echoing through the room.

When he’s done coming, Logan lifts you to kiss him, and you know you still taste like him. Storm is on your other side, and you turn to kiss her, both their hands on you as you keep kissing.

-

You’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve each had by the time you collapse in a tired heap of sweat and lust and endorphins. 

You’re sandwiched between them, your pussy feeling as warm as your heart.

“Not that it’s a competition but I think I made her come more times than you did,” Logan tells Storm over you. 

She props herself up on one elbow, smirking at you, “You wanna tell him?”

You shake your head shyly, looking over to smile at Logan. You’re close to falling asleep, only half registering what they’re saying anyway.

“Helped our beautiful girl calm down before the party last night. Tasted better than the birthday cake.”

Logan smiles, “Can’t even be mad at you, I would’ve done the same.”

They notice you drifting off, pressing gentle kisses to your lips one after the other. You feel Storm’s hand on your face.

“Look how gorgeous our girl is,” Logan says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Those are the last words you hear before you fall asleep.

Our girl. You like it. 

-

P.S. reblog to get a kiss from Logan and let me know your fav moment/line/whatever to get an even sloppier kiss from Storm 😳🤭  (no but seriously skhksjhg😭, I appreciate every single reblog and comment a lotttt, even if they’re just short <333)

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part four)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

You sit in your manager’s office, facing the bay window that overlooks the vast golf course. Your fingers are interlaced in an effort to hide the way your hands are trembling.

When Detective Brading asked for the space as you meekly followed him into the office, your boss shot you an unsettled glance, then agreed and left the room.

It throws you into a chilling realization. Everyone will give you that same condemning look when they find out the truth. You can’t imagine why else a cop unexpectedly came to your workplace and dragged you away – he must know what you’ve done.

The confidence you had last night that you’d get away with this crumbles when the door slams shut, making you flinch. Detective Brading expels a deep sigh. Why doesn’t he just arrest you and get it over with?

“Every second in a missing person’s case is precious,” the detective tells you. He sits on the edge of the desk instead of in the chair behind it, staring down at you. If he’s trying to scare you, it’s working.

Missing. At least that means they haven’t found Porter’s body.

“I hate to disrupt you like this at work.” His words mismatch his tone. “But I think you can help us.”

“How?” you ask.

“You said you were with Rafe for a couple hours the night Porter went missing,” he says. “Do you know where he went after he dropped you off?”

“Home,” you answer quickly.

“And you’re sure about that?”

“I’m…” You can’t be too defensive. It’ll raise red flags. “Pretty sure.”

The detective sighs again, as if you’re disappointing him with every word you say.

You glance at the framed photos of your boss and his family on the wall. He lives such a comfortable, normal life. You lost your chance at normalcy the second you told Rafe to pull the trigger.

“I’m sure it’s hard to hear this about a friend of yours, but we think he played a role in Porter’s disappearance,” he says. “And we need to ask you to talk to him about that night.”

“Me?”

“Yes. We’d have you wearing a wire.”

“What?” you say, floored. “Why me? We haven’t been hanging out that long. I don’t think he’d trust me enough to tell me anything.”

You hope you didn’t just discredit yourself or Rafe. But if they try to get one of Rafe’s other friends to trick him into a confession, you know for a fact that he wouldn't admit a thing. But you? You’re the only person he’d openly talk to about what really happened.

Your body is tight with anxiety. Maybe that’s why they’re asking you to do it. They think you know something and Rafe slipping up in a conversation with you is their meticulous way of proving it.

“I shouldn’t share this, but his other friends don’t believe that he’s entirely innocent,” Brading says. “You’re the only one we spoke to who does. And I think Rafe knows that you’re in his corner. I can tell you’re a good kid. Do the right thing and help us find Porter.”

You don’t buy it. You can’t ignore the instinct telling you that Brading is suspicious of you, too. He’s manipulating you. And for once, it feels good to be underestimated.

If you refuse to help, it could work against you. But if you agree, and you find a way to warn Rafe that you’re being listened to, that’d help your case. And his.

“I’d have eyes on you the entire time,” the detective explains. “He’s out on the golf course now. He came alone. Act like it’s just another day at work. Strike up conversation. See if he can open up about what he did after he dropped you off that night.”

“You want me to do this now?” you stutter.

“Like I said, every second is precious,” he says. “I know you’re caught off guard, but he’ll be, too. It’ll work to our advantage. I’d be in your ear, telling you what to say. You can handle this.”

This is a trick. It has to be. He cornered you because he suspects you, and now, he’s trying to outsmart you.

You mentally run through the possibilities. You can’t contact Rafe to warn him. But you could type a note out on your phone and find a way to flash it to him inconspicuously.

You’ll figure it out. And if you can’t, you’ll back out and say you couldn’t handle the pressure.

“Okay,” you agree. “I can do it.”

“Good.”

“I just need a second. Can I go to the restroom?”

“Yes. I have to ask you to leave your phone. We can’t take any risks.”

He assumes you’ll give Rafe a head’s up. Now you’re sure you’re a suspect, too. You try to look understanding as you hand him your phone.

·········

You’re seconds away from a panic attack as you pace around the private restroom, trying to figure out how the hell you can tip Rafe off. Maybe you should just back out.

Then, it comes to you.

The logbook tucked in your backpocket. The one Rafe teased you about and called your diary just last week. It’s your way out.

You uncap the pen hooked onto the book, open to an empty page, and write: wearing a wire. act innocent.

·········

Rafe lines up his club behind the white ball, his shoulders tight. He can’t shake off what happened last night.

You’re afraid of him. You pulled him in and pressed your lips against his, but then you shoved him away when he tried to hold you. And after you promised you wouldn’t screw him over, you left abruptly and took away the warmth he’s spent his whole life craving.

You’re supposed to have each other’s backs. He owes you and he wants to protect you, but you act like he’s a wild animal you can’t trust won’t bite you. He doesn’t know how to prove that you don’t need to be scared of him.

And it’s not just you expecting the worst of him. The way his own friends have been acting around him, shifty and tense, is pissing him off. He is guilty, but the fact that they have no faith in him digs a hole into his already overwhelming loneliness.

He’s out here on his own because he desperately needs to clear his head. He desperately needs to see you.

You drive the cart over the paved pathway to where Brading told you Rafe is. Your heart is racing, terrified this will go terribly wrong.

“You can still hear me clearly?” Brading says in your ear.

“Yes,” you say quietly. The earpiece he gave you is tiny and unnoticeable. The logbook you placed beside you after you drove off is the only chance you have of warning Rafe.

“Remember, act natural. Bring up Porter when it feels right,” Brading says. “Looks like he spotted you.”

You pull up to Rafe as he places a club in the bag hanging off the back of his cart. You remind yourself over and over that you have to speak about Porter in the present tense.

You can’t believe you’re here. Life twisted and turned and things you never imagined possible are your reality now.

There’s a genuinity in Rafe’s smile when your eyes meet his, the complete opposite of the pompous smirk you’ve seen over the years you’ve known him. If your heart wasn’t already pounding from adrenaline, it would be from the way he’s looking at you.

“Finally,” he says. “I was getting thirsty.”

“Don’t tell me you want a beer this early in the morning,” you sigh tensely, staying seated as you look over your shoulder to the cooler packed in the back. Brading is yards away, parked in a cart and posing as a golfer taking a break. Your breath is shaky.

“I’m kidding,” Rafe says, a little softer. He steps forward, hand on the roof of your cart, leaning closer to you. His eyes search your face. You’ve been aching to see him again. You wonder if he feels the same. “You mad at me or something?”

“Ask him why he’s alone,” the detective instructs you, jerking you out of your small moment of joy.

“I’m always mad at you,” you joke. “How come you’re alone out here? You’re always with your friends.”

“They’ve been pissing me off lately,” he mutters.

“Why?” Brading says. You plead with your eyes that Rafe just look down at your note, but he speaks before you can repeat the detective’s word.

“Why’d you run out last night?” His gaze trails down to your lips, his voice low. “Thought we were having a good time.”

It’s embarrassing to know you’re being listened to. And nerve-wracking that now the detective knows you’re more than just friends. Anyone could tell from Rafe’s suggestive tone that something happened.

You did suddenly leave the closet you’d led him to last night. Kissing him got to be overwhelming. But you can see in his gaze that it wasn’t just an impulsive, passion-filled makeout at a party. It meant something to him. And it’s a relief, because it meant something to you, too.

The chemistry you felt with him was always returned. It was just contained. Watered down. And now, whatever this is could end before it even begins. He could say one thing and get you both into trouble.

You regret agreeing to this. You need to get Rafe’s attention on the open book beside you before it’s too late.

“We were. I had to get back to my friends,” you say. “Why are yours pissing you off?”

“You know,” he says, glancing to the side. “They’re always lookin’ at me like I’m guilty.”

You can hear your pulse. You keep your eyes on Rafe, discreetly tapping on the page. He doesn’t notice. He doesn't follow your silent instructions.

“Are you?” Brading says. You repeat the two words, your throat dry.

Rafe’s brows furrow in confusion. He looks at you again. A tense silence blankets you.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” you say. “Not even my diary.”

Your heart lifts in all-consuming relief when Rafe catches your meaning. He looks down at the logbook and realization washes over his face.

You’re safe. The man in your ear isn’t going to discover a thing.

“What, you agree with them?” Rafe asks. His tone is casual, but his Adam’s apple bobs with a nervous swallow. Your eyes are locked knowingly, enveloped in the comfort that he knows to play along now.

“Tell him no,” Brading says.

“No,” you half-laugh. “I’m just saying, if there is something about that night that you didn’t tell me, you can trust that it’ll stay between us.”

“I was with you.”

“Ask him what he did after,” Brading instructs.

“Not all night,” you reply, cocking your head. “Where’d you go after you dropped me off?”

“Home. You know that,” he replies. “Even you’re doubting me now? Come on.”

“No,” you repeat. You reach for his hand, eyes trained on him. “I’m sorry. I just meant to say… if something happened, I wouldn’t judge you for it. You trust me, right?”

Rafe’s body buzzes at your touch. He does. He completely trusts you and it’s such a new, comforting feeling and he wishes you felt it for him, too.

“I do,” he says.

“You’d tell me?”

“I would.”

You nod reassuringly.

“I don’t know where Porter is,” Rafe says. “And I wish people would stop looking at me like I did something to him. I’m so sick of everyone expecting the worst of me.”

You’re not sure where his lie ends and the truth begins, but his fixed gaze is heavy with sincerity.

“We’re not getting anywhere with him,” Brading mutters. “End the conversation and meet me back at the office.”

“I don’t expect the worst of you,” you tell him.

His shoulders relax and you can tell your words did something to him. You nod again, a small, relieved smile pulling on your lips.

“I should get back to work,” you say. “You sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“You’re just fishing for a tip now,” Rafe replies, smirking.

“Guilty.”

You both share a soft chuckle, the twisted joke behind your word choice not lost on either of you.

·········

The detective is tense when you see him again, a minor crack in his confident demeanor. It’s clear he thought he was going to catch you – both of you – today.

You thought you’d clear your and Rafe’s name through the monitored conversation, but Brading just looks angry now.

“You didn’t mention your relationship is more than friendly,” he says, arms crossed as he stands across from you in your boss’s office. He didn’t even care to sit down this time.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you needed to know that.”

“I need to know everything. You were withholding information,” he tells you. “And there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

The facade he was putting on has faded. He’s on edge and direct about the fact that he doesn’t trust a word out of your mouth.

“There isn’t,” you reply.

“Listen,” Brading says, his voice heavy and terse. “Porter’s family brought me into this because I’ve had a long, successful career of putting away scumbags like your boyfriend. I know your type. I know you’re covering for him. And you’re just making it worse for yourself by not telling me what you know.”

You don’t respond, staring at him blankly, your heart drumming in fear.

“I could make things easier for you if you just admit it,” he says. “A judge is likely to be lenient when someone helps with an investigation. I’d vouch for you.”

He’s intimidating. But you won’t give in. You never will.

“I don’t know anything,” you state.

His lips close into a firm line as he steps past you.

“I’ll see you soon,” Brading threatens before he opens the door.

·········

The lip of the sun still clings onto the ocean horizon as Rafe drives south. He was relieved when you texted him to come over tonight. He needs to see you. And he needs to talk about what happened this morning.

You answer your front door and Rafe takes in your gentle gaze and he swears that the pull he always felt towards you is a thousand times stronger because for once, you actually seem glad to see him.

“We can go to my room,” you say. You’ve been anxious to meet with him. You can’t control your impulse and you don’t see any reason to.

You press your cheek against his chest and wrap your arms around him the moment your bedroom door shuts behind you. His heart is thudding against your ear, his body hard and warm.

Rafe hesitantly cups your arms, not sure if you’ll push him away like you did last night.

“He just showed up at my work,” you say in a nervous rush, “and I thought if he heard you say you didn’t do anything, he’d back off, but then he said he knows I’m hiding something. He’s onto us. I don’t think we should talk to him without a lawyer. I can’t afford one. You have to help me pay for one.”

Rafe realizes you’re trembling beneath him. He doesn’t give a fuck that the man who scared you like this is a cop; if he was in front of him right now, he’d punch him.

“I will,” he says. “That was smart. The note.”

“I was so worried you wouldn’t see it.” You pull back, craning your neck to meet his eyes. “I know it was risky. You did a good job.”

He nods, gazing down at you. He’s not used to people telling him he did something right.

It’s unreal to be here, standing in your bedroom, past the guard you’ve forced him to stay behind for so long. It’s intimate seeing where you live, where you sleep, where you exist.

“He told me a judge would go easy on me if I helped with the case,” you admit, “but I have your back. And I don’t expect the worst of you, okay? I know you have my back, too.”

“You trust me?” Rafe asks, a hint of surprise in his deep voice. His hands drag down your arms, stopping at your wrists.

You wriggle against him, a subconscious test that you’re not trapped. He immediately releases you.

It makes his chest ache to know you expect him to harm you.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says.

Your body betrays you. Tears surface, hot and fast. The fresh wound lodges against your heart.

“It’s not…” You step back, knees wobbling. Your legs are suddenly desperate to rest and can’t hold you up any longer. “It’s not personal.”

You step away, sitting at the edge of your bed, head in your hands. You’ve barely been keeping it together, trying to outrun the shadow of pain that’s been haunting you. There’s no limit to what you’d give to forget what happened.

You brush your hands off your face when you hear the floorboards creak. Rafe leans in front of you, crouched at your feet. You watch his hands ghost over your calves.

It throws you for a loop, seeing him on your floor like this. For so long, all you assumed about him was that he thought he was above you. Now, he’s on his knees for you.

“Hey.” He says it in the same way he did after the gun went off. He doesn’t have to tell you to look at him. You know that’s what he wants.

You meet his eyes, and when you see the genuine concern swimming in the deep blue, all the strings hardly keeping you together unravel.

“It wasn’t about money,” you utter tearfully.

“What?”

“It wasn’t ever about money. He didn’t rip me off.” Your sobs start to come out as gasps. “He hurt me.”

Rafe’s veins turn to ice. He frantically searches your face for an explanation because no, it can’t be what he’s thinking.

“I passed out while he…” You shake your head, tears rolling over your cheeks as you shut your eyes. “It’s like my mind couldn’t take what he was doing to my body and I passed out. And then you came in…”

His breaths grow shallow. That’s why you were as angry as you were. Why you cried as hard as you did. Why you tense up and shove him away when he holds you.

When Rafe pushed Porter in that room, he never would have expected you’d be there, bearing the pain of something that fractured you. He’s furious, disgusted, in disbelief.

He sees now that you meant when you said you don’t regret killing him. The empty look on your face was never guilt. It was fear. Trauma.

“I know I shouldn’t have gone upstairs alone,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “I didn’t think–”

“Stop,” he says softly. His hands rest on your face, palms gently cupping your wet cheeks. Of all the things you thought you knew about him, you would’ve never expected him to be so tender. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It settles your coiled heart hearing him dismiss the nauseating, intrusive thoughts you’ve had blaming yourself for what happened. You finally open your eyes to look at him again.

His eyes are glossy. He knows now and he’s looking at you with so much sympathy that your chest stutters with your gasps, stomach somehow twisting in both pain and relief.

For once, Rafe doesn’t say the first thing that pops into his head – that if he knew what Porter had done, he would have made him suffer, he would have tortured him, instead of shooting a single, life-ending bullet. Because there’s no point. You saved his life that night and he wishes he could’ve saved yours, but all he can do right now is tell you what he will do instead of what he would have done.

“I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again,” he murmurs. “I swear on my life. You’ll always be safe with me.”

He’s hesitant to startle you with his touch, but thankfully, you lean over and wrap your arms atop his shoulders and it’s so gratifying to know you’re using him to ground yourself.

Rafe holds you like he can’t get close enough. Because he can’t. Nothing he does now can take back what happened to you but everything he does moving forward will be to make sure you never experience a horror like that again.

His life is no longer a cycle of numbing thrills. He has a real reason to keep going now.

You inhale the comforting smell of his neck, your cheek pressed against his. You curl into him as you shake through your sobs.

“Nobody else knows,” you admit, voice muffled against his skin. “I didn’t think I’d tell.”

Even after what you’d done together, a bond that didn’t exist between you before digs its roots into you both. He’s holding you with softness you didn’t know he was capable of, after making a promise so sincere that you felt it in your core.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. And for the first time since that terrifying night, you feel it.

·········

It’s been five days since Brading accosted you at work. Even though he hasn’t bothered you since, and there haven’t been any public updates on the investigation, you’re on edge knowing that you and Rafe are suspects.

Since then, when you’re not working or hanging out with your friends, you’re with Rafe.

You still haven’t told the guys. You don’t know how you could possibly prove to them how good of a man Rafe actually is when you can’t tell them a single detail of what’s happened between you. You’d rather not have to explain yourself to them. Not yet.

Rafe doesn’t pester you about being your secret. As long as he’s something to you.

It’s dusk and you’re sitting on the quiet beach with him, cocooned in comfort and curled up on the sand, the setting sun playing across his handsome face.

Since your conversation in your bedroom, you haven’t spoken about the night that tied you two together.

But you have been speaking to each other like never before, holding onto the playfulness that always existed beneath your banter, allowing yourselves to talk and joke and kiss with no inhibitions. Except he doesn’t dare hold you without asking if he can first.

Tonight, as you sit side-by-side in the clouded orange and pink glow, Rafe feels a smile on his face, a real one, after not smiling for so many years. Being with you is the first time in a long time that he feels vaguely normal.

“It’s too bad,” you say, gazing at his dimples.

“What is?” Rafe rasps.

“That you’ve been keeping this smile from me for so long,” you say with a glint in your eyes. “Why were you so dedicated to hating me?”

“You hated me,” he scoffs with a smirk.

“You started it. All that Pogue/Kook crap.” You meant it as a joke, but Rafe’s smile fades. He looks ahead at the crashing waves. You hit a nerve.

“What?” you ask softly.

Rafe is consumed by his own emotions. He’s a victim to how demanding and overwhelming they can be. He’s been like that for most of his life.

Being with you has cleared some of the fog in his head. He knows now that he was desperate for some form of connection and that’s why he bought into the idea that being part of a group meant something.

If he had nothing of substance to him, nothing lovable, at least he had wealth in common with a social circle he always felt disjointed from. It was a ridiculous substitute for a sense of belonging.

“I was jealous,” he finally admits.

“Jealous?” you echo.

His jaw tenses. He can’t look at you.

“You’ve seen it yourself,” Rafe mutters. “When shit hit the fan, nobody backed me up. Nobody checks up on me. Nobody gives a damn. I don’t have any real friends. And you called your friends family. I don’t have that. I don’t have anybody. It’s why I sell coke. It’s pathetic, but at least I have something worth…���

He doesn’t finish his sentence. The man who you thought had everything never did. He was in pain, lonely, selling drugs because at least it gave people something to like about him.

“Rafe,” you say quietly. He meets your gaze. You wish you could unsee the hurt in his eyes. “You have me. I care about you so much.”

You look at him in all the ways he’d always secretly hoped you would. The years of longing for you – the girl who always has a retort, who always keeps him on his toes, who always looks so frustratingly beautiful – all those daydreams don’t come close to how it actually feels to have you like this.

He wonders if you have any idea of all the ways you can break him.

“Yeah?” is all he can mumble, his throat tight.

You nod, finding his hand and pulling it to your chest. He’s not sure if you meant to press him up against where he can feel your pulse, but he feels the rhythmic thudding coming from beneath your skin, and God, is it insane that he feels like he lives for your heartbeat?

He thought he was fine living an empty life. But he’s gotten a taste of being wrapped up in you and he doesn’t want to lose it. Ever.

“You keep me safe,” you say softly. “Let me do the same for you in my own way, alright?”

He nods, blinking away tears. Your heart breaks and you lean forward, losing yourself in his kiss. His lips are soft and gentle, pushing against yours with a soft fragility.

“Are you okay?” you whisper against his cheek. He hasn’t been okay in so long. But this is the closest to it he’s ever gotten. He doesn’t want to hide you. He wants everyone to see you chose him.

“Do you want to go to that bonfire tonight?” he asks.

There’s a party at the beach you spoke at a couple of weeks ago, back when Rafe stopped you after you bought a joint from Porter.

“Together?” you ask. He nods, uncertainty pinching his face. You can tell he’s expecting you to say no. As if you’re ashamed of him.

You’re almost sure your friends won’t be there. They asked you to hang out at Pope’s tonight and you declined and said you’d stay home. They probably won’t be at the bonfire.

Either way, you’re willing to take the risk. Rafe is worth it.

·········

Gossip spreads like weeds. You can tell by how people stare at you when you arrive with Rafe that his name has been in everyone’s mouths, whispering conspiracies about what he did to Porter. You know your name will start to come up in those conversations, too.

“So, it’s true,” one of his buddies says when he sees you cupping Rafe’s bicep as you join the group, the bonfire crackling. “You’re really messing with a Pogue.”

“That’ll be the last time you call her that, got it?” Rafe says sharply. His friend scoffs a laugh, putting his hands up in feigned surrender, his beer bottle sloshing.

Rafe leans to mumble in your ear, “Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah,” you say, eager to take the edge off.

You swallow the bitterness of the drink Rafe picks up for you, staring ahead at the ocean, thinking about how somewhere in the vast expanse, Porter’s body is lying at the bottom.

“Man, it’s weird just… continuing to live life, isn’t it?”

You look up to see a man standing beside you. He’s a friend of the person you killed. You recognize him from the day at the club when Porter called you over. You still get shivers remembering his smile.

“What do you mean?” you mumble.

“Porter. He’s just gone,” he continues. There’s a slur in his words. He’s drunk. “He’s gotta be… you know. There’s no other explanation.”

You tighten your grip on Rafe’s arm, but he doesn’t notice, lost in conversation with one of his buddies.

“Yeah,” you offer. “It’s sad.”

“He told me he liked you,” he says with a raised brow. “He had a huge crush on you.”

You can taste bile on your tongue. You look up at Rafe, whose attention is on your conversation now. His stare is hard, his nostrils flared in anger.

“I didn’t know,” you say simply.

“Really?” he laughs. “He said you were playing hard to get.”

His vile words make your breath hitch.

The flame in Rafe rises so fast that within two seconds, he swings a punch. And suddenly, he’s leaning over, knuckles ramming into the idiot’s face as he lies on the sand, unleashing the rage of what happened to you and the urge to take your pain away.

He could kill him.

Rafe feels hands at the crooks of his shoulders pulling him back. He struggles to get on his feet, his friends’ words overlapping as they try to calm him down. He’s breathless, looking up to meet your eyes, taking in how completely lost and anguished you look.

He roughly pushes his friends off as he stumbles towards you, his shaking hands resting on your shoulders.

“Let’s go,” he says to you, looking at you like you’re the only one here.

“You’re such an asshole!” the guy on the ground shouts.

Rafe ignores him, his hand on the small of your back as he leads you away from the crowd. You’re trembling, thrown back to that night, thrown back to being called a tease, thrown back to being held down.

You reach the parking lot, not nearly far enough from the loud crowd, still hearing the crackling of the fire, when your knees buckle.

Your heart is pounding so hard that you’re afraid it’s going to give out. But Rafe holds you up as you stand between parked cars, looking at you with desperation.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

You find strength as you pull your arms up around his shoulders. He holds you tightly, firm and still against your shaking body.

You’re slowly finding peace.

Then you hear JJ’s voice mutter, “What the hell?”

You pull back, spotting him a few feet away with Pope and John B getting out of the car, looking at you with an expression you can only describe as appalled. You don’t have words. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Blistering sirens reverberate through you. They get so loud so fast that you don’t realize you’ve lost contact with Rafe until a police car jolts to a stop a few feet away from you.

This has to be a nightmare.

Detective Brading swings open the door, followed by another cop, rushing towards you and Rafe. He’s carrying handcuffs. You might lose consciousness.

“Knew this day was coming, didn’t you?” Brading says before he grips Rafe’s wrist, pushing him up against the nearest car.

Rafe struggles, but Brading slams him against the hood of the car so hard that you hear the thud of his skull against the metal.

“Stop! You can’t hurt him like that!” you cry. The other police officer steps in front of you, pushing you back. You expect him to handcuff you, too. He doesn’t.

You look around you in terrified desperation as if someone can help. The crowd has quickly come closer, watching in awe, as if you and Rafe’s lives aren’t being pulled apart for everyone to see.

You meet Rafe’s frightened gaze as the side of his face presses against the car. Brading flatly recites his rights, handcuffing him, ignoring you as you beg that he tell you why he’s being arrested, that he stop hurting him.

Rafe doesn’t say a word until you whimper in pain and plead to the officer keeping you back to stop holding so tight. He tries to charge forward, demanding he take his hands off of you, earning him another rough push against the car.

Brading hauls him away and you try to follow, but the other officer keeps you back, gripping you so hard that it reminds you of Porter all over again.

“You want to get arrested, too?” he mutters. Your muscles give in, losing tension. You still don’t understand why Rafe’s being arrested and you’re not.

“No. Sorry. I’ll stop,” you say weakly. “Where’s he being taken?”

The officer doesn’t believe you at first, but eventually, he loosens his grip.

“The county jail,” he says, looking past your shoulder as the car door shuts.

Then, they leave, and you’re in front of the crowd, in front of your friends, frozen and speechless.

·········

Your mouth is dry as you wait in the lobby of the quiet jail. They won’t give you any information. Nothing about what the charge is, how long Rafe will be here, if he’ll be given bail. It’s been an hour.

You hold JJ’s car keys in your shaking hands. You were frantic when you begged him to lend you his car, promising you’d take care of it.

He confusedly agreed and you left immediately, not exchanging any other words, following the police car just in case the officer lied to you about where they were going.

Your phone is dead and your connection to the outside world is dead with it.

Your stomach drops when you spot Brading exit through a door behind the processing desk.

“What’s happening?” you ask. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

He stiffly cuts through the lobby, pushing open the front door, letting it swing behind him. You grunt as the door hits your palms.

“I suggest you go home,” Brading mutters as you trail him into the dark parking lot. “I can charge you for assault against a police officer if you don’t stop harassing me.”

“Please. I just want to know,” you plead. “Nobody will tell me anything.”

You’re sure he’s getting a power trip out of this. You didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. Now, he won’t tell you.

“Please,” you repeat, feeling utterly powerless. The detective stops abruptly, facing you, his face in a scowl.

“I’m ordering you to go home,” he says sharply.

“Brading?” someone calls behind him.

Within a matter of seconds, you hear something you never thought you’d hear again. The single and unmistakable blow of a gunshot.

·········

You’re in disbelief, staring ahead at the stranger sitting in your living room as her gaze travels between you and your parents. The woman introduced herself as an agent, flashing a shiny badge before she came inside.

Last night, you gave the cops a statement about what had happened in the parking lot. A man was out there, agitated and waiting for Brading. He shot him and looked you dead in the eyes before another man shouted for him to get down on the ground.

He drove away, tires screeching, as the officer who’d rushed out of the jail shot at the car. You remember dropping to the cold concrete, being interrogated by a detective, and eventually being ordered to go home and not tell a soul what you’d seen.

You’re still terrified, unable to accept what your life has become and how the domino effect you’ve been thrust into could be so vicious.

“Detective Brading is in critical condition,” the woman says, “but he was able to identify the man who shot him.”

“What about Rafe?” you ask. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who that is.”

You sniffle your tears, shaking your head in disbelief. You still haven’t been given any updates on him.

“I’m here because the man from last night,” she continues, “is part of a family that has dangerous affiliations. Brading has a history of putting away high-profile criminals, and he arrested the shooter’s brother. His brother recently passed away in prison and… he tracked Brading down to make him pay. He’s still at large. According to your statement, he saw you, is that right?”

You nod anxiously, waiting for her to get to her point. By now, you have enough trauma to last you ten lifetimes.

Then, she tells you that for you and your parents’ safety, you’ll need to be put into witness protection and that you’ll be relocated and given new identities immediately.

When you ask what you’re supposed to say to the people you’re leaving behind, she’s eerily calm as she tells you, “Nothing. I’m sorry, but there’s no way you can contact anyone you know. Everyone will be under the impression that you’ve died.”

·········

You consumed Rafe’s thoughts as he sat in the county jail cell. He didn’t focus on how suffocating the room was, or how badly his wrists burned from the handcuffs, or what his future was going to look like.

He thought about you, how completely and deliberately you were in his corner, how all the embarrassment of being arrested in front of all those people was erased when you yelled in his defense.

The only voice in the crowd standing up for him, while everyone else watched, was yours. He has never cared about someone more than himself. You changed that.

That’s why when he receives the news that you passed away in an accident, he snaps.

next >

note sorry for the drama… now i can finally share that this inspired this part of the story 🤭

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

TW: Bruises/Hickies, Church

AN: Surprise shawtyyy! I was fighting demons to keep a poker face up until this point lolol also normally, I'd have a follow up post for Tuesday if I post on a Monday - but next update will be later this week, as I'm at the point where I'm just straight up making poses for the whole thing lol. (trying not to, because it's time consuming).

Transcript under the cut

Malcolm: Are they done yet? This is boring!

Jonathan: You don’t get it.

Malcolm: Get what!

Jonathan: Mom and Dad. They’re in love and stuff.

Malcolm: Bleh!

Nancy: [whispers] I’m sorry.

Geoffrey: Hm? What for?

Nancy Narrates: [For betraying you]

Nancy Narrates: [For always wanting more when this should be enough]

Nancy Narrates: [You don’t deserve this..]

Nancy: [whispers] Nothing. Nevermind.

-

Jonathan: What happened? What’s wrong with Mom?

Geoffrey: She’s ok, she just needs to rest-

Malcolm: Is it cause she’s drunk?

Geoffrey: Malcolm- Ok, how about you two find a movie for us to watch for boy’s night and I’ll get Mommy ready for bed.

Geoffrey: Nance. I need you to sit up so I can get your night gown on.

Nancy: Mhm.. s’fine.

Geoffrey: [snorts] Alright, suit yourself. Don’t try and steal all the blankets when you get cold tonight.

Nancy: [whimpers] M’ gonna be better, Geoffrey. M’so sorry..

Geoffrey: There you go, apologizing again. You know it’s ok if you do steal them, right, silly? I run hot at night any...anyway-

-

Nancy Narrates: [I made a silent promise to my family that I’ll never stray away from them again. I would make it right, somehow]

Deacon: Today we gather to reflect on the sacred gift of family. God created humanity in His image. From the beginning, we see family is part of His design.

Deacon: It is within our families that we first encounter unconditional love that mirrors God’s own love for us all.

Priest: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Nancy: Amen. [softly] Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been- [exhales] a while since my last confession.

Priest: What is troubling you, my child?

Nancy: I’ve- fallen prey to my weakness for the same sex. I fear what I’ve done will ruin my family.

Priest: Have you struggled with this before?

Nancy: I’ve never really acted on it, until now.

Priest: How do you feel about what you’ve done?

Nancy: Guilt. Shame. Disgust.

Priest: My daughter, these emotions are a sign of your conscience at work. You have acted against your own values. You know these unnatural ways is not in accordance to God’s design. For your penance, I want you to spend time in prayer and consider the harm you’ve caused for yourself and for your soul.

-

Judith: Oh, brother. He said that?

Nancy: It’s nothing I’ve never heard before, growing up in the church and all.

Judith: You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?

Nancy: [scoffs] I cheated on my husband! That’s unforgivable, in any situation. If Geoffrey ever found out, he’d leave me. The boys would have to suffer through a divorce- a broken family. The media would eat us alive. And my mother, God, if she knew-

Judith: Oh, I am so sick of hearing about that old broad!

Nancy: I just need to put it behind me. Move on. I got it out of my system, so I have no reason to speak to Lily ever again. I’ll never think about another woman. I’ll be good. Normal.

Judith: What the hell is normal, anyway? If you’re abnormal, than so am I.

Nancy: [sighs] You’re not married or a mother.

Judith: Have you even allowed yourself a moment to revel in this?

Nancy: Why would I?

Judith: Because you finally gave yourself something you wanted. Put the shame and all those nasty feelings aside for a second and tell me about it.

Nancy: [groans] God, it felt so good. The sex yes, but there was something about her obeying everything I said that thrilled me. If I close my eyes now, I can still feel her teeth in my skin, her gasps when I squeezed her throat.

Judith: There.

Nancy: What? There what?

Judith: The real you. You pack her away so much that when you finally allow her to show, she shines.

Nancy: She frightens me..

Judith: Good! She’s a real bitch, and she’s ready for her debut! I want to see you at your brightest, darling. It’s when you’re the happiest.

Nancy: I don’t know if happiness was in the cards I was dealt.

Judith: I believe it is. And when it comes, bask in it, darling.

-

Jonathan: Move, Malcolm! I have the phone!

Malcolm: NO! Let me talk to mommy!

Nancy: Quit bickering, you two. Jonathan, let your brother speak too, please.

Malcolm: YEAH!

Jonathan: [groans] Fine! Mom, are you almost home? Will you be late again?

Nancy: I’ve just wrapped up my last client and I’ll be on my way.

Malcolm: Then we can look for a Christmas tree?!

Nancy: We sure can, my love. I’ll see you both very, very soon.

Jonathan: Promise?

Nancy: I promise. I love you both so much.

Assistant: Mrs. Landgraab, you have a guest asking for you in the lobby.

Nancy: [scoffs] You’re joking? No, no I can’t. Have them book an appointment. I’m leaving for the evening.

Assistant: I suggested that, but they refused to leave and insisted on seeing you.

Nancy: Oh, fucking hell.. fine. Page my driver to wait for me out front anyway. I’ll make this quick.

Nancy: [breathlessly] Vanessa.

Vanessa: Hello Nancy.

[ivysprophecy]

please please please

word count; 1644

summary; turning off your phone and shutting out the world isnt the best way to handle your problems but its what you do. and jjs had enough of it.

warnings; i dont think there is any? mentions of anxiety attacks? tagging @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

masterlist

prev. | next

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

"well hey there stranger"

i turn from my book to look behind me, seeing the boy id been actively avoiding for the past two days. carrying his surf board.

i shouldve remembered he'd come here to surf. i just wouldn't have guessed this early in the morning.

"hey jayj."

"oh thats all i get? 'hey'? no 'i miss you so much'?" he sets his board in the sand taking a seat next to me on my blanket.

guess im not finishing my book today. "oh my god jj! youre here! ive been dyingggg to talk to you! i cant believe youre really in here in the flesh! there. better?"

"oh dont be like that- cmon mama whatd i do?" i feel bad with the genuine concern on his face.

okay was ghosting him out of nowhere awful of me? probably. i just didnt know what else to do.

after that night at the bonfire i realized that with my feelings for him growing it wasnt a good idea for us to continue our casual... something. it played with both our emotions. it isnt fair to either of us.

especially after his 'i love you'. that really did it in for me.

"you didnt do anything jj. trust. i just... ive been in a funk. needed some me time thats all."

"well... do you still need your 'me time'?" he looked so hopeful. how could i say yes? where jj maybank is concerned ill easily fold every time. "cause you havent answered my texts so i couldn't ask you to surf with me this morning."

"... i dont have my board. but i suppose i can hang out with you for a little while."

"im honored," he smiles laying back on his elbows, "but really. are you good? i like to think i know you pretty well and this whole MIA thing was not normal."

turning to face him more, i sigh, what the fuck am i supposed to say? 'yea im just so in love with you i cant be around you' yea that would go over really well.

"i dont know. just gotta lot of stuff goin on. you dont have to worry though. im good."

"well do ya wanna talk about it?"

"trust me jay you dont wanna hear about my problems. theyre trivial at best."

"what are friends for if not for listening?" he nudges me with his shoulder urging me to talk. i really dont think i can do this. i was not prepared.

"youre not a very good listener," i point out, to which he immediately takes faux offense. jaw dropped and everything.

"oh thats just not true! i can listen!"

i run a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. this cannot be how i tell him. it just cant. i came here to get away from thinking about this and now hes right here in front of me acting so unserious while im spiraling.

"jj i really appreciate how eager you are to help me but its really not necessary. i didnt really prepare myself and its just too much-"

"prepare yourself? mama what the fuck are you talking about? does this have to do with that night after the bonfire? i mean obviously it does who am i kidding you havent talked to me since then. did i do something wrong? was- was it bad?" he leans in closer, lowering his voice thats laced with worry and guilt.

oh my god that is the absolute last thing i expected him to say. shit i really fucked this up. and honestly just not true.

"what? no! no jj you didnt do anything wrong and it was perfect. promise," i try to reassure him but i know deep down hes gonna over think this whole thing if i dont tell him straight up

i may love him but i never said he was the brightest in the bunch.

"okay so whats the problem?"

"the problem is that it was perfect," i cant help but let out a sigh before hiding my face in my hands as the words leave my mouth.

god my heart is racing, im not ready for this conversation. maybe if i pass out i wont have to. yea if he has to call an ambulance then we can avoid this all together. but an ambulance is also like five grand so...

shit.

"... youre mad at me because you had a good time?" his face contorted in a weird fixture of confusion.

"no! no- god youre so dense sometimes!"

"mama i dont have a fucking clue what youre saying! how does that make me stupid??"

i hide my face in my hands again trying to compose myself because what the fuck kind of confession is this?

"jj im avoiding you because ive been developing feelings for you and i cannot in good conscience keep being so casual with you and sleeping with you knowing this and i know that you do not want anything serious so i figured id just make it easier for the both of us and just take myself out of the situation entirely so that nothing bad happens and i cannot stop fucking talking so please for the love of god say something or do something because i feel like my heart is about to beat out of my chest and-"

oh my god im getting my book moment. he just kissed me to make me stop talking!!! oh my god hes kissing me.

is this where i kiss him back?

of course i kiss him back!! what the fuck!!? and oh my lord does it feel nice, so so so nice.

the way his tongue presses against mine, the way he cups my jaw and pulls me close to him. it was slow and confident and loving and everything he knows i like. his hands find my hips like muscle memory, pulling our bodies together, eventually having me on his lap. where he takes my hands and places them on his chest so i can feel his chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

“… mama you need to learn to breathe.”

“that’s not funny right now jj. im actively having an anxiety attack, horrible thing to say really."

"what're you so anxious about? i think we're havin' a pretty calm conversation, dont you?"

"i mean yea- but thats not-" he interrupts me while shaking his head with a shrug.

"listen, i get why youre a little nervous to say that, all things considered. but i thought it was pretty obvious i was into you, i just didnt wanna push you because you made your boundaries clear so i just took what i could get."

my eyes bug out of my head in shock. am i the dense one? i mean yea hes a really good kisser and i can feel he cares deeply about me when we do stuff and makes me feel safe and supported but that doesnt mean-

yea im stupid. he all but outright said it. actually he has. thats what started this panic.

"... okay yea- maybe. but you agreed they were a good idea so i figured that meant you wanted them there too. and i dont know- it just kind of got overwhelming and i didnt wanna be one of those girls who expects something huge after sex so... you know what i mean? and truthfully youre not what i expected for me."

"what does that mean?" his face showed a little offense.

"i just mean- ya know. for one i didnt expect to love my best friend. and then on top of that i didnt think id love a guy who was a treasure hunting, or- adrenaline junkie i should say."

he leans back putting some space between us, "is that supposed to be a bad thing?

"no! no jay im not saying this right- i-... youre a fighter and youre adventurous- a lot of things im not. if that makes sense. all im sayin is a few years ago i wouldnt have expected to be here. but i like it here. love it here even," i smile at him teasingly trying to ease his worries. the last thing i need is to say the wrong thing right now.

"so what youre saying is that you love me?"

"youre such an idiot."

'but do ya? because i think you do mama."

i roll my eyes chuckling, "yea. yea i do maybank," i press a small kiss to his cheek leaning back into him.

"does this mean youll let me make you a maybank mama?" his eyebrow was quirked up as he teases his question.

"lets not get ahead of ourselves. how about we take this slow?"

he looks down at my button up shirt i was wearing over my bikini to shield me from the ocean breeze, and i could tell he was debating taking it off of me. giving me that same look he always does.

"slow? mama i dont think we're gonna be too good at that."

"all 'm sayin is we dont have to jump the gun, we both admitted it, doesnt mean we gotta change the way we act or announce it or nothing. we can just enjoy this ourselves ya know?"

"you embarrassed of me mama?"

"not at all baby, just want you all to myself. is that too much to ask for?"

he shakes his head leaning up against me, our faces inches apart, "nah i dont think so. i like the sound of that."

i meet him the rest of the way pressing his lips to mine, smiling into it. pulling him as close as humanly possible. i need him under mind skin, in my blood, you know?

"i do too, so we agree? we'll keep this between us for now?"

"whatever you want mama. yes maam."

[livwritessometimes]

I Will Never Make You Regret This—Regret Us

: Part 18 (Lando's Version)

: All’s well that ends well to end up with you!

: Prev |

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

…

The night grew colder as Y/n stared out at the city. It had been minutes—hours, maybe. Time had lost its meaning for her these days. The cold reminded her of the last time she was here.

...

"Be my girlfriend," Lando repeated this time, looking her right in the eye.

"Are you serious?" Y/n questioned. If you had told her a month ago that the noisy neighbor from the floor above her, whom she hated with a passion, would be standing in front of her asking her to be his girlfriend, she would have laughed in your face.

"As serious as I'll ever be," Lando said, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

"Yes," Y/n whispered, as she leaned in to close the gap between them.

...

The memory left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. It felt strange to think about him again. It had been a while since she thought of him as anything but hurt and betrayal.

The cold air nipped at her skin, but she didn't feel anything. It was as if she were trapped in the ghost of their past—so much so that she didn't hear the soft creak of the door or the footsteps that approached the secluded area where she stood, the one that offered the best view of the city.

"Y/n!" Called out the voice Y/n had been dreading as much as she had been longing to hear.

She whipped around to find none other than the boy she loved—the one who broke her heart, "Lando!" She said.

Time had stopped for the two, and for a moment, neither of them knew what to do. The weight of everything left unsaid was suffocating the both of them.

It was Lando who broke the silence first, his voice softer than she remembered. "I didn't think you'd be here," He said.

"Yeah, someone once told me it's a nice place to go to when you need a breather," Y/n shrugged as she turned back to look over the city.

Lando was at a lose for words. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn't figure out where to begin.

"I hate myself," said Lando. He continued, "I hate myself for ever agreeing to that stupid dare. I hate myself for continuing with it, knowing that I had started to fall for you. I hate myself for thinking that calling off the dare would make things better. More than that, I hate myself for breaking your heart."

Y/n felt tears streaming down her face. She couldn't turn around and face him just yet, knowing that if she did, she would break down even more.

"I know that nothing I say or do can erase what has happened between us, and I don't deserve your forgiveness," Lando said, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. "But I hope, someday, I can make things right between us," He finished.

"I've been thinking about this a lot...and I have looked at a few houses," Lando said.

Y/n felt her heart beat even faster in anticipation of what he was about to say.

"I am going to move out," Lando said. "Us living in the same apartment complex makes things even more difficult, and I've hurt you enough already. I don't want to cause any further pain beyond what I've already done," he continued.

Y/n felt torn; the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Taking her silence as an answer, Lando turned to make his way downstairs.

'I don't hate you," Said Y/n.

Lando stopped in his tracks, afraid that if he moved, he'd realize that he had just imagined this.

"In fact, somehow I can never bring myself to hate you," Y/n continued.

Lando's heart felt like it was about to combust—he definitely wasn't imagining this. Slowly turning around, he saw a teary-eyed Y/n looking back at him.

"What you did was an awful, awful thing to do, and I hate that because of it, I had to question the authenticity of everything that happened between us," Y/n said, wiping away the fresh tears that were falling.

"That being said...I don't want our story to end like this. I believe that there's more to our story, and I—I'm willing to take the risk, but I swear to god, Lando Norris, if you make me regret this, I will never ever forgive you. Ever. You hear me—" Y/n was cut off by Lando suddenly throwing himself at her.

"I promise I will never make you regret this—regret us," Lando said pulling her in tighter.

(3 months later)

…

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[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜🧸

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕨𝕠: Why is she here?

Word count: 3832

Summary: In this chapter, Felix anxiously prepares for Y/N, their new pack member, to arrive at their home. Despite Chan’s announcement generating excitement, some pack members, especially Hyunjin and Seungmin, are skeptical. Felix reassures Y/N that the pack is eager to meet her, even though he senses underlying tension. Upon arrival, Y/N is greeted warmly by Minho and Han, which helps ease her anxiety. Felix explains the pack’s bond, which allows them to communicate and sense each other’s emotions. Though apprehensive about the bond, Y/N finds comfort in Felix’s support. During dinner, the atmosphere turns tense when Hyunjin and Seungmin express disapproval of Y/N’s inclusion, leading to a confrontation. Upset and overwhelmed, Y/N has a panic attack. Felix comforts her, helping her calm down and feel more at ease despite the rocky start.

Warning: Angst/comfort, cursing, hate, insecurities,

It had been about 15 minutes when Felix, the only person awake at the moment, noticed that they were approaching the house. His nerves grew as he worried that the boys wouldn't like her. The group chat began to buzz when Chan announced the new member of the pack. As usual, everyone except Han was skeptical about the situation, but they were also buzzing with excitement.

"If you all are sure about it, then I am," Changbin said through the bond for everyone to hear.

"I'm with Changbin. I trust you guys, so if you're so sure about it, then let's see where this takes us," Minho adds to the conversation.

Sometimes, Felix wondered why they even needed to text each other when they had a bond and could communicate through it. However, Chan said that texting was important for their human connection and that they needed to learn social skills, which was a fair point after all. Chan knew best.

"Thank you Mingi," Felix politely said as they stopped in front of the house. He turned to Y/n and gently pushed her hair away from her face, revealing a small beauty mark that resembled Hyunjin's.

"Y/n, we're here," Felix murmured softly, gently shaking her awake. She blinked, taking in the imposing structure of the house before them. The sight of it made her heart race. Was this really happening? Was this grand building about to become her new home? Her mind swirled with worries—what if the pack didn't accept her? What if she made a mistake? What if—

"Hey, stop overthinking," Felix said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm nervous too, but believe me, they're excited to meet you. I can feel it through the bond." It wasn't entirely true—Felix did sense the excitement the pack was feeling through the bond, but he was also acutely aware of the frustrations and anger simmering beneath the surface, which churned his stomach.

He couldn't ignore the undercurrent of tension from Hyunjin and Seungmin. It hurt to think that two members of the pack, were already shutting her down with such negative feelings toward her when they barely knew. He understood their protective instincts and where they were coming from—they had always been like this ever since... well, ever since he had left. Felix knew that their feelings came from a place of deep loyalty and protectiveness for their home and pack.

"Really?" she asked, a wave of relief washing over her as his reassuring words eased her anxiety. She felt a surge of confidence and was finally able to take a deep breath. "Wow," she murmured, her eyes widening as she took in the grandeur of the building. "You all live here?"

"Yeah, it's amazing, right?" Felix replied with a grin. "Minho-hyung put so much effort into building it. He wanted it to be nestled by the forest, and Chan, being all love-struck, was totally on board. Now we can go hunting, fishing, or just let our wolves roam whenever we want." As they stepped inside, Y/N was greeted by a jumble of shoes at the entrance and a medley of sweet scents that instantly made her omega purr with contentment.

"I'm home!" Felix called out cheerfully as he stepped through the door. "Leave your shoes here," he instructed, and Y/N followed his lead, slipping off her shoes.

"Finally, Lix! Dinner is ready! Go wash up and—oh, hello! Who's your new friend, Lixie?" A strikingly handsome man appeared, his face beaming with a radiant smile. He wore an apron smeared with flour, which made Y/n chuckle.

"Minho-hyung!" Felix groaned in mock exasperation as he tiptoed to wipe the flour off Minho's face. "I told you to act natural, but you're terrible at it." He planted a quick kiss on Minho's lips before turning back to Y/N, who was smiling warmly at the scene.

"Okay, okay, I know," Minho said with a playful roll of his eyes. "But how was I supposed to act natural when you texted the group screaming that you'd found the last soulmate?" He huffed dramatically, still teasing Felix as he continued to fuss with his apron.

"Yeah, I didn't quite think that through..." Felix mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway, Y/N, this is Minho—or Minnie, or babe, or baby, or—"

"Okay, okay, I think she gets the point, Felix!" Minho interrupted with a groan, ruffling Felix's hair affectionately. He turned to Y/N with a gentle smile, as if she were the most delicate thing in the world. "Hey there," he said softly, "It's really nice to meet you. You're absolutely beautiful."

Y/N blushed deeply, her cheeks turning a soft pink as her omega purred in delight at the warm welcome. "T-thank you, Beta," she responded shyly, her voice trembling with emotion. "It's nice to meet you too, Minho. You smell really nice, and you're so pretty." She gazed up at him through her long lashes, and Minho's heart nearly burst with happiness.

"Thank you," Minho said warmly, his eyes shining. "I made a big meal to welcome you to the pack. Why don't you wash up with Felix and then come join us? I'm sure you're starving." As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, drawn by the tantalizing aroma of the food cooking in the kitchen. She nodded, her face flushing with embarrassment.

"Thank you, it really means a lot," Y/N said, bowing slightly. Before she could straighten up, Felix had already tugged her past Minho and into the living room.

"Oh my God, I need to give you a tour of the house," Felix said with a chuckle, "but first, you might want to brace yourself."

"What do you mean, Felix—" Y/N started, but her question was cut off as Felix suddenly called out, "Han! Guess who's here!"

Confused, Y/N barely had time to react before she heard rapid footsteps descending the stairs, accompanied by a fresh, fruity scent—cherries and sweet lemon.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!" chanted a brown-haired boy as he flew down the stairs, nearly tripping over himself. Without hesitation, he leaped into Y/N's arms, snuggling against her as if she were his long-lost friend. "I'm here!" he cheered, burrowing into her embrace like an exuberant puppy. Y/N giggled, trying to keep her balance as she held the enthusiastic boy.

His large, brown eyes and round cheeks made her coo at his cuteness, reminiscent of a fluffy squirrel. He pulled back slightly to touch her face. "So pretty," he whispered in awe.

"Told you," Felix said with a grin, watching the scene unfold. Han then threw his arms around Felix in a tight hug, showering his face with kisses. "Felix, you did it! You found the last piece! She's so... SHE'S SO..."

"Breathtaking!" a deep voice boomed from the corner. Everyone turned to see a muscular, imposing figure stepping into the room, his presence commanding immediate attention.

"Binnie! Hey! Come say hi to Y/N!" Felix called, waving enthusiastically. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the strong scent of mint and rainy forest emanating from the approaching figure. An alpha. Though she wasn't terrified, she couldn't shake off the lingering trauma from her past. Her instincts made her take a hesitant step back behind Felix, causing a flash of hurt to cross Felix's face.

"Hey, he won't hurt you," Felix said softly, his voice tinged with concern. "This is Changbin, remember? I told you about him. I know alphas can be intimidating, but I promise you he's really nice. I'll be right here with you." He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Y/N nodded slowly, forcing a smile as she extended a hand towards Changbin. "H-hey, Binnie. It's nice to meet you," she said quietly.

Changbin's face lit up with a relieved smile as he took her hand gently and kissed it. "Hey there, little one. It's nice to meet you too. Welcome to the pack. I hope my scent doesn't trouble you," he said softly.

"No, it won't," Y/N replied, tracing her fingers over the spot he had kissed. "I just need some time to get used to it, Changbin. But judging by how my omega is reacting, she really likes you." She looked into his eyes earnestly. "Please be patient with me?"

"Of course, love. Just know that you're one of us now, and no alpha will ever lay a hand on you," Changbin said, his hand gently resting on her chin as he rubbed his thumb across her cheeks, which were now flushed with a rosy hue.

"Ugh, seriously?" Minho's voice came from the kitchen door, dripping with mock disgust. "There are people around! And didn't I tell you two to wash up? Dinner's going to get cold!" The boys groaned in unison as Felix quickly pulled Y/N away, leading her up the stairs.

"Sorry about that," Felix said, a bit flustered as he led her through a maze of corridors. "They get a little clingy when they meet new people."

"It's okay," Y/N reassured him with a small smile. "They seem really nice. Where are the rest?"

Felix stopped in front of a door painted blue with his name on it. "Just a sec. I'll check with I.N." Instead of pulling out a phone or walking to I.N's room, Felix closed his eyes, focusing intently. After a moment, he exhaled and said, "He's in the downstairs gym but he'll be up soon."

Y/N looked at him, intrigued. "How did you...?"

Right..she didn't know about the telepathy. "We can communicate through the bond," Felix explained as he sat down on the bed, removing his sweater. "Have you heard of it?"

"Bond? No, I don't know what that is," she admitted, shaking her head.

"Well," Felix patted the bed beside him, inviting her to sit, "when we became a pack, Channie hyung taught us how to use the bond. It's a way we can communicate and feel each other's emotions. We can even see what someone else is seeing sometimes. It's a bit complicated and might seem strange at first, especially when he marks you. It's a bit embarrassing because we can see, hear, and feel everything you do."

As Felix spoke, Y/N's eyes widened in apprehension. "That sounds... intense."

"Yeah, it can be overwhelming at first," Felix said with a comforting smile. "But you'll get used to it. And remember, it's all about being connected and supporting each other."

"Don't worry, it's not scary at all," Felix said, waving his hands as if to reassure her. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, making her blink in surprise. The warmth of the gesture was comforting, and despite her initial shock, she couldn't help but feel a flutter inside. After all, he was undeniably attractive. "Would you like to shower first?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the more overwhelming aspects of their pack's secrets. Felix knew Chan could explain things in a way that would be less daunting for her. After all, he'd once been the new omega himself.

"Yes, please. But I don't have any clothes," she said, glancing down at her old maid's outfit with a frown.

"No problem," Felix said with an encouraging smile. He reached into his wardrobe and pulled out a towel. "I can get you one of my pajamas. Just go ahead." He gently nudged her toward the bathroom, then turned on the water for her. "This is how you turn on the cold water, and this is how you turn on the hot water," he explained, guiding her step by step. She nodded, memorizing each instruction as she absorbed the information.

"Um, Felix?" she said softly, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for everything, really. You're such an angel. I don't know how I could ever repay you," she said, her gaze dropping to the floor as she thought about her uncertain future—probably facing starvation in a dungeon somewhere.

"You don't have to thank me, my love. That's what soulmates are for," Felix said, nuzzling her cheek gently. His touch elicited a soft purr and a contented whine from her omega. "But I do have one request," he added shyly.

""What is it? I'm open to anything," she said quickly, snapping out of her trance and looking up at him.

"C—can you remove your patches?" Felix asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "My omega keeps whining because we can't smell you." His annoyance was directed more at his own omega's insistence than at her. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively placed her hands on her glands, a look of embarrassment crossing her face.

"I—Felix, I wish I could, but... my scent is rotting right now—"

"What? Why?" Felix's concern was evident as he interrupted, his face falling as realization dawned on him. "That only happens when you're... oh." His whisper was filled with regret.

"Yeah," she said softly. "But I promise I'll remove them once I'm feeling better. Please?"

"Of course," Felix said, his voice softening. "I'll get more patches for you." He quickly left the room, and Y/n let out a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind him.

She stepped into the shower, finally peeling off the itchy patches. The hot water felt soothing against her skin, easing some of her tension. As she let the water cascade over her, she traced her fingers over the bruises covering her body—old and new, a mix of purples, blues, and yellows. She winced as her fingers brushed against one particularly sore spot, her mind drifting back to the moment she'd sustained it. The pain was a stark reminder of the trials she'd endured

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"Here you go," Felix said softly, handing her a box of patches and a steaming cup of tea. "This should help with the um... subdrop. Minho works with medicine and he said it might clear up the rotting scent, though it won't do much for how you're feeling," he explained delicately. "I hope it's okay that I told him..."

"It's okay, Lixie. Thank you." She accepted the tea gratefully, taking a soothing sip as Felix slipped into his pajamas. He then gently began braiding her hair, his touch light and comforting. "I.N is here," he whispered, just as a knock resonated through the room. Felix's face lit up with a smile as he opened the door, only to be enveloped in a warm hug. The alpha then placed a tender kiss on Felix's lips before stepping into the room, his grin bright and welcoming.

"Y/n, this is Innie," Felix said, his voice filled with affection. "He's the youngest alpha and the youngest of the pack. He's really sweet." Felix ruffled Innie's hair playfully before settling back down beside Y/n, who offered a shy wave.

"It's nice to meet you, Alpha," she said, bowing slightly as she took in his scent of chocolate and peppermint, which filled the room with a comforting aroma.

"Ah, I see," Innie cooed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "So, they were calling you two the 'sunshine twins.'" He smiled warmly at them both.

"Innie! Stop it," Felix whined, his cheeks flushing a deep red as he covered his face.

"Yah! Stop being so cute!" Innie teased, his voice filled with warmth. "It's so nice to meet you, Y/n. Let's head downstairs to eat before Minho goes mad. Chan just got back from the company. Come on," he said, extending his hand.

Y/n glanced at Felix for reassurance, who nodded encouragingly. She took Innie's hand and then reached for Felix's, the three of them making their way downstairs together. They entered the dining area where all eight packmates were seated, patiently waiting. Y/n offered a quick bow and a wave before sitting next to Felix, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as she joined her new packmates for the meal.

"So, Y/n, I trust you've met everyone?" Chan's voice filled the room, drawing everyone's attention to her. She looked around and replied, "No, Alpha. I've met 6 out of the 8."

The room was rich with various scents, each contributing to an overall feeling of safety and sweetness, though there was a faint, sour note in the mix.

"She's really sweet, Hyung. She got along just fine with I.N and Changbin," Felix said, his pride evident as he spoke. Chan nodded in approval before taking another bite of his meal.

"That's good to hear. If you need anything, Y/n, don't hesitate to let me know or just talk to Felix or Han," Chan offered her a polite smile. "I'd like to have a chat with you after dinner, if that's alright."

"I'm perfectly okay with that, Oppa," she replied quickly, eager to show her willingness to integrate.

"Alright, enough talk. Welcome to the pack, little one!" Leeknow exclaimed, giving her a friendly ruffle of her hair and adding more meat to her plate. The room erupted in cheerful applause, but Y/n couldn't help noticing the two betas sitting together, casting her sharp, disapproving glances.

One started to speak up but whas quickly shut down by Chan. "Hyung, are you sure—"

"Not now, Hyunjin. Don't ruin the night," Chan cut off the blonde boy, who was seated next to him. Y/N hadn't met either of them yet, nor the other guy with brown hair and blonde streaks. She could tell they were betas and, judging by their expressions, they weren't thrilled about her presence.

Her ears twitched as she overheard snippets of the conversation, but her attention was soon captured by Han, who cheerfully linked their hands together, offering her a warm smile.

"We should go shopping tomorrow, Y/nnie!" Han exclaimed, running his fingers through her long hair with a bright smile. "Felix and I will take you."

"That's exactly what I was thinking, Han!" Felix chimed in enthusiastically from beside her. "Great minds think alike," he added with a boastful grin.

"I—I would love that, but I don't have any money," she hesitated, feeling a bit self-conscious.

"Don't worry about that!" Han waved off her concern with a playful flick of his hand. "That's why we have Chan and Changbin's credit cards. We never go broke. So stop pouting!"

Despite Han's cheerful reassurance, Y/n couldn't shake off the pang of guilt. "I couldn't— I mean, you guys have already welcomed me into your home. I honestly couldn't impose."

"Y/n, you're part of the pack now," Han insisted with a grin. "You don't have a choice. Let us love you and treat you right! Pretty pleaseee?"

"They won't stop until you say yes," Changbin added with a chuckle, startling Y/n as she hadn't realized he was listening. His presence was subtle but his voice carried well, especially against Han's enthusiastic chatter. "So just agree."

"Fine, we can go shopping, Han—"

"And also get nesting supplies—"

"And room decor," Felix interjected with a wink.

Y/n couldn't help but smile at their excitement, feeling a bit overwhelmed but also touched by their eagerness to include her.

"Yeah, you're right," Han continued, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We can also get her hair and nails done—"

Y/n glanced back and forth between Han and Felix as they eagerly planned out the next day. She couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm and care, touched by their efforts to make her feel at home. Her gaze drifted back to her plate, but her attention was soon drawn when her name was called from the other end of the table.

"Yes, Oppa?" she responded, looking up at Leeknow.

"I need to know your dietary requirements so I don't accidentally cook something that might make you sick," Leeknow said with a friendly smile.

"Oh, Hyung! You didn't ask us for our dietary requirements," I.N whined from his seat across the table.

"Yeah, well, that's because I don't need to worry about you lot," Leeknow retorted with a snicker. "You guys eat like a small army!"

"Meanie," I.N muttered, giving Leeknow a mock glare.

The sudden loud thump of Hyunjins's fist hitting the table made Y/N flinch. Instinctively, she nuzzled into Felix, seeking comfort from the commotion. Felix wrapped an arm around her, offering a reassuring squeeze as he gave her a warm, comforting smile.

"Hyunjin, don't—"

"No, Chan! You're acting like she's the Luna or something. She's messing up our dynamics!" Hyunjin's voice was sharp, cutting through the room. Every eye turned to him in shock, except for the beta, who merely looked bored.

"You didn't even consult us about adding someone new to the pack," Hyunjin continued, his frustration palpable.

"Hyunjin, stop it! We were always meant to be nine, not eight," Changbin growled, his scent growing increasingly sour. Felix's grip on Y/n tightened, his own scent turning bitter.

"Did you really have to do this in front of her?" Leeknow's voice was a low hiss, his irritation evident.

"He's right, Hyung. You can't just expect us to accept a random, lawless omega—"

"Seungmin, that's harsh! Why would you say something like that?" Han's voice rose in defense, standing up to protect Y/n.

"I-I can leave," Y/n whispered, barely audible. Tears welled up in her eyes as she choked on her words, her heart sinking. She had feared this moment, and now it felt like her worst fears were coming true.

"Felix, take Y/n to the living room. I'll be there in a minute," Chan ordered, his tone icy as he glared at the two betas who had soured the evening.

Without another word, Felix lifted Y/n from her seat and carried her down the hall. As they left, the last thing she heard was Hyunjin's bitter remark: "You're trusting someone we don't even know with Felix? That's absolute bullshit."

They entered a large room with dim lighting, cozy couches, and blankets scattered around. A massive flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall, and a bar was set up in the corner. Her knees gave out, and she sank onto a couch, curling up into herself. Quiet sniffles escaped her as she struggled to hold back her tears, overwhelmed by the sharp sting of rejection.

"Hey... it's okay. No need to cry. I'm sorry—"

"Please don't..." Y/n whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Her fingers trembled as she picked at the frayed edges of her hoodie, her panic escalating into a storm that churned in her chest. Every breath felt shallow and tight, her heartbeat a frantic drum in her ears. The room seemed to close in around her, a suffocating presence of her fears and insecurities. She felt an overwhelming wave of shame and self-loathing crash over her, thoughts spiraling in a dark vortex of self-doubt. No one would want a ruined omega. They were dirty, used, and unworthy—

"Breathe, Y/n. Breathe for me, please. You're panicking," Felix's voice cut through the storm. His eyes, full of concern, locked onto hers, grounding her in the chaos. "You don't have to talk, but you need to try and calm down, okay?"

She turned away, her breathing ragged and uneven, but his hands gently guided her into a hug. The warmth of his embrace enveloped her, his scent—a soothing blend of cedar and honey—washing over her in waves. "I'm right here. No one is going to hurt you. Not while I'm here. Those two are just being pricks. I promise, we all want you here..."

As Felix's scent enveloped her, her frantic thoughts began to blur, the edge of her anxiety softening. Her body felt like it was melting into his embrace, every tense muscle loosening under his tender care. "There we go... nice and easy," he whispered, his voice a soft, reassuring murmur. He continued to coo softly, his gentle presence a balm to her frayed nerves, slowly pulling her back from the precipice of her panic.

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Taglist: @ihrtlix @bowsnbang @katsukis1wife @thegingerthatwaited (open)

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.

— CW: strong language, forced/arranged marriage, kissing, slight sexual tension, alcohol consumption.

— note: so sorry for how long this has taken me. i’m still unsure how i feel about it but i refuse to scrap it again. feedback is very appreciated! likes, comments, reblogs!

prev parts: one, two

series masterlist ⤑ taglist form

2 days later…

Y/N

It’s been two days since the encounter with Rafe at the Country Club, and it’s all I’ve thought about. He was drunk, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. He was drunk, and he didn’t actually mean any of the shit he’d said to me. Rafe hated me, just as much if not more, as I hated him.

I needed to shove his face, and the way he looked at me that night, down. I needed to get my head on straight, because tonight… Tonight I had to glue myself to his side and pretend to be happy. Pretend that I was madly in love with my future husband, pretend we didn’t despise one another.

But as much as I tried, I couldn’t. I couldn’t get the look of pure lust he’d had on his face that night out of my head. I couldn’t get the way his hands grabbed at my body out of my head. I couldn’t get the things he’d said out of my head. He was stuck there… Almost like he’d wanted to insert himself deep into my mind and make me trip over myself, wondering, waiting… Did he mean what he said?

I squeeze my eyes shut, hearing his low and raspy voice at the back of my mind.

“Baby, you’re going to be crawling on your hands and knees begging for me to touch you. To kiss you. To please you. You can act like you hate me now, Lord knows I can’t stand you. But even I can admit, you’re fucking gorgeous. And I know you find me somewhat attractive.”

Fuck. What is he doing to me? He is attractive, but I’d never admit that out loud. He’s a fucking douche, and he knows that. I just wish this could be easy, I wish I was being forced to marry someone I somewhat like… That would make this a whole lot easier, but no.. Of course my parents would set this shit up with the Cameron’s. My dad and Ward have only been friends for as long as I can remember.

Fuck them, and fuck Rafe. I-

A knock sounding on my bedroom door rips me from my thoughts, and I sit up fully on my bed, crossing my legs and saying, “Come in.”

My door is pushed open, and I’m met by my mother’s eyes.

“Hey sweetheart, you’ve been locked up here all day, are you okay?”

I fight the scoff that wants to come out, not in the mood to fight with my parents today. Instead, I put on a fake smile and say, “Yeah. I’m fine, just trying to keep my energy up for tonight s’all.”

My mother makes her way to the end of my bed, sitting down and placing a soft hand on my leg. I sigh, knowing this is about to be some long lecture I wasn’t in the mood for.

“Sweetheart, I know how you feel about Rafe.. But this is a good thing, okay? I’m sure the two of you can learn to get along, he’s not that bad of a person is he?”

I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say, but my mind fails to think of anything. She has a point. He isn’t that bad. He’s just had a shitty life — Well.. To an extent.

His father was known to be a major ass. I’d personally witnessed the verbal beatings he’d given his son, not to mention the few times I’d seen Ward actually lay hands on him. Rafe didn’t know what it was like to be loved and in turn, didn’t know how to love. Maybe things would be different had his mother not passed when he was only eleven, maybe she would have loved him, and taught him how to love. But we’d never know the answer to that.

“Honey? You still with me?”

I lift my head, finding my mother’s worry filled eyes once more.

I nod my head, “Yeah sorry, mom. I’m just tired. How long do I have until the engagement party? I think I might take a nap.”

Standing from my bed, my mom makes her way to my bedroom door, opening it but stopping to answer my question. “You have about three hours, guests will begin arriving in two. Take you an hour nap, then get ready. Your dress is on the back of your bedroom door. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She closes the door softly behind her, and I throw myself back into my pillows, letting out a deep breath. I close my eyes, hoping I can take a nap and not dream about Rafe and his fucking hands on me, I don’t want him to have this power over me, but fuck if he hasn’t burrowed his way into my head.

-

RAFE

“Rafe, we’re leaving here in twenty minutes!”

I roll my eyes, looking myself over in my bathroom mirror once more and straightening my tie. I just have to get through tonight, and then I don’t have to deal with her again for another few weeks. I could do this.

She’d been on my mind for the last two days though… That night at the Country Club, and how good she’d looked, how her voice sounded. Fuck, how could I have never noticed her like that before? How could I have always overlooked her?

She was fucking beautiful, and fuck her attitude, and the way she looked when she was mad… It had my cock straining for days. I hated her though, and nothing would change that. Not even good pussy would change the fact that I fucking hated her.

I clear my throat, straightening my tie for the millionth time before finally turning away from the bathroom mirror and walking into my bedroom. I make my way over to my nightstand, opening the top drawer and grabbing out the flask I’d had hidden in there.

Quickly unscrewing the cap, I tossed it back, swallowing as much as I could before screwing the top back on and shoving it back into the drawer, closing it. Fuck, I needed to use some mouthwash before I got into a car with my dad. Last thing I need is him bitching me out for drinking before we arrived at the Y/L/N’s house.

After swishing around some mouth wash, i grab my phone, wallet and keys, shoving them all into my pockets before inhaling a deep breath and letting it out slowly. You can do this, Rafe. It’s just the engagement party.. You still have three weeks until you’re officially married off to her.

I make my way down the stairs with one minute to spare, seeing my dad, Rose and two sisters all standing by the front door waiting for me. I meet all of their eyes, one by one taking in the expressions on their faces.

“Let’s go. Don’t wanna be late right?” I say slowly, pushing past all of them and out the door.

-

We arrive at the Y/L/N’s house within five minutes, their driveway and the sides of the street already filled with cars and the yard all the way into the house filled with people. I swallow nervously, running my hands up and down my dress slacks.

“You okay?” I hear Sarah say from the right of me.

I glance down at her, narrowing my eyes. She never gives a shit about me or how I’m feeling.

“Just peachy, Sare. You don’t have to pretend to give a shit about me.”

She scoffs. “I’m not pretending, Rafe. I couldn’t imagine being in your position, I’m just-”

“Look, I’m fine. Can’t be that bad, right?”

Before she even has the chance to respond, I lean over her, opening the car door and looking at her, my face letting her know to get out of the car. She does just that, exiting the car and smoothing down the front of her baby pink dress.

“If you need anything, you can talk to me. I know we don’t get along, but I am your sister, and I do care.”

It feels like a thousand needles prick at my throat, my eyes stinging from tears wanting to well up, but I don’t let them. Fuck, I need a drink. I nod my head at Sarah, thanking her before climbing out of the Range Rover and slamming the door, slowly making my way toward the front porch steps.

As I enter the house, the sound of music and chatter fills my ears, and I can’t help but wince. I’m used to this sort of environment, lots of people, music, the works. But it’s always people my age, and we’re having fun, not celebrating the engagement of two people who could care less about one another. Every last person here is oblivious to the fact that Y/N and I do not want to be married, fucking ignorant bliss.

I make my way into the kitchen, finding various bottles of liquor on the counter tops. I settle for a bottle of Whiskey, grabbing a small glass from the counter and pouring two fingers, tossing it back and pouring another.

“Do not make an ass of yourself tonight, son. I swear to God if you embarrass our families..”

I roll my eyes, slowly turning to face my father who stands so close to my back I can feel his breath on my neck.

“Don’t worry, dad. I won’t embarrass us. I just need a drink or two so I can get through this shit fest.”

My dad’s eyes narrow, but he keeps his mouth shut, turning and storming off into the house, probably in search of Y/N’s father. Good, hopefully Mr. Y/L/N keeps him off my ass tonight.

I toss back the second drink, placing the glass into the sink before shoving my hands into my pockets and slowly working my way through the crowd of people. A lot of the older men and women stop me, shaking my hand and congratulating me. I guess some people already know why they’re here tonight, shocker.

I approach the foyer of the house, scanning the length of the room when my eyes land on her. She looks absolutely beautiful tonight, shit. She’s making it really hard to not notice her lately. Why? I’ve been around her since we were kids, grew up together, and I’ve never paid her any attention. Why now? Maybe it’s because I’m being forced to marry her, so she’s been consuming my mind, or maybe it’s because Topper hasn’t shut the fuck up about her the last five days, ranting and raving about how “hot” she is, and how I should enjoy her. Maybe he’s right, and maybe that’s why I’ve been so infatuated with her these last few days.

Without even realizing it, I make my way toward her. My soon to be wife. The soon to be Mrs. Cameron, mother of my children.

“Hey.” I say lowly, my eyes scanning the length of her body in the tight fitting white dress.

She flicks her gaze up to my face, her eyes searching mine.

“Hi.” she responds.

I swear I see a blush cross her face, and I don’t miss the way she shifts back and forth on her feet, her white strappy heels clicking against the tile floors.

“So, we’re supposed to stay glued together tonight, shall we?” I ask, holding my arm out for her to take.

She hesitates for a moment before finally linking her arm with mine. A weird feeling erupts in my chest, and I shake my head, trying to shake the weird feeling.

We begin walking through the crowd of people, all eyes on us as we try and find our parents, knowing they wanted to go ahead and announce the engagement and wedding date so everyone can enjoy the rest of their night mingling and drinking.

Finally finding our parents, we slowly step up the stairs and onto the landing, standing between our parents — Ward and Rose beside me, her parents beside her.

Ward clears his throat, clinking a small fork on the side of his whiskey glass and getting everyone’s attention.

Fuck, there are so many fucking people here.

“Thank you for coming out tonight everyone. We have a very big announcement to make.”

He stops speaking, turning his attention to Mr. Y/L/N and letting him continue.

Y/D/N places a loving hand on his daughter’s shoulder, clearing his throat and speaking. “We have invited you all here tonight to announce the engagement of our two eldest children, Rafe and Y/N. We wanted to throw this party in their honor tonight, to celebrate two people becoming one.”

I discreetly roll my eyes. Two people becoming one my ass, more like two being being forced together so two companies can become one…

“The wedding will be in three weeks. Saturday June fifteenth. We hope to see all our friends and family there.”

The room erupts in gasps and cheers. A fifty-fifty of mixed emotions throughout. I notice Y/N’s hand tighten around my arm, her eyes scanning the room quickly. I take note of a few girls I’d slept with in the past, glaring at her. Fuck. I need to do something, these girls will eat her alive, they’ll know this is all bullshit. I need to try and make it seem real, but I don’t think Y/N is going to like my plan very much.

I slowly unlink our arms, turning her so she’s facing me and I cup her cheeks in my hands. She sucks in a sharp breath, narrowing her eyes on me.

“Trust me, okay?”

Her chest rises and falls quickly, but she squeezes her eyes shut and nods her head.

Without a second thought, I dip my head down and capture her lips with mine. The kiss is slow and soft at first, but I quickly deepen it, shoving my tongue into her mouth and feeling her body tense up underneath my hands.

She kisses me back, her body relaxing and melting into mine as the sound of the hoots and hollers slowly fade. There’s no one but us in this room. Shit, she’s a good kisser.

She finally pushes me back, wiping the corner of her lips with her hand and staring up into my eyes.

“What… What was that for?” she asks.

I glance behind her, seeing Jessie and Caraline rolling their eyes but stomping away. I can’t help but smirk at that, Y/N is the only girl I’ve publicly shown any affection towards, and they all know that.

I shrug. “I was saving you from being eaten alive by the bitches of my past s’all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, thanks. But I think I can handle a few girls.”

I can’t help but smile at that. She’s strong, she’s tough, and in three weeks, she’s all mine.

“I bet you can, but, you’re welcome.”

Her eyes continue to search mine, her hands shaking at her sides as she continues to stare up at me. God, my cock is painfully hard right now. I just want to take her up to her room and ruin her innocence, but I won’t. I’ll wait until the wedding night, I can wait three more weeks.

“Now, let’s go enjoy this party. It’s gonna be a long night, baby.”

RAFE TAGLIST: @drewstarkeyslut @princessslutt @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @sturnioloshacker @starkeysprincess @rafescurtainbangz @atorturedpoetx @redhead1180 @jjsmarijuana @romaescapes @kisses4angel @lovelysturnioloos

[twig-gy]

heart: you like him. you definitely like him. my impulse to shove you two into a closet together has never been higher

mind, being a bold-faced liar: i hate religious people

anyway nonromantic mindsoul. anyway no matter if its romantic or not the pining would be. so bad. so bad it would be toxic. shows up on geiger counters kind of aggressive. heart would be like 'idk what you two have going on but fix it' and mind would hit him with a metal bat

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part five) (end)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

Rafe knocks again. And again. And again.

Your front door rattles in its frame, his knuckles still sore from the punches he threw at the bonfire last night.

He sat in the holding cell after being questioned by Brading, ruminating over everything he’ll say to you when he sees you. He needs to tell you that you’re right; the detective is onto you both.

Brading brought up your name, asking about Porter, asking what Rafe had over you that would make you want to protect him.

He’s confident you’re both guilty, but he doesn’t have the evidence to prove it. He’d booked him on a drug charge, telling him they’d searched his bedroom and found enough coke to arrest him for more than just possession.

His questions had nothing to do with that.

He demanded Rafe tell him about Porter, trying to provoke him into a confession. As he sat in the small, dingy interrogation room, your words echoed in his head. I don’t think we should talk to him without a lawyer.

So, he didn’t. Brading gave up and threw him back into his cell. Rafe would’ve lost his temper if he didn’t have you to protect.

The lawyer came in with Ward early this morning. After Rafe told him about the arrest, the lawyer explained that Brading had abused his power by not providing Rafe with his right to make a phone call.

Rafe couldn’t make eye contact with his father as he was escorted into a courtroom for the bail hearing an hour later. The lawyer was well worth the money Rafe is sure his father is paying him. He was given a court date and granted bail, which Ward covered.

“I’m sorry I got mixed up in this, okay?” Rafe had muttered to his father in the car on their way home. “I’ll get clean. I’ll stop selling.”

“You should know better,” Ward sighed. “The cops showing up to our house like that… what are you thinking?”

“I’m not,” he said.

“And what was that… about that missing kid? You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

His own father jumping to the worst conclusion, even though it’s true, pierced the wound Rafe has held in his heart since childhood. He’s nothing but a disappointment. A stain on the family name.

Now, he’s at your front door, and he’s been knocking for what feels like five straight minutes. Nobody’s answering. The house looks empty. The car is gone.

He checks his phone again to see it’s almost two in the afternoon. All his texts and calls to you have gone undelivered.

He can’t even entertain the thought that you’re doing it on purpose; he knows you’re loyal to him. He never thought he’d trust somebody the way he trusts you, but he does, and he would never expect you to turn on him.

He needs to find you.

He makes his way to the country club, figuring you must be at work. When he rushes to the restaurant, tapping the bartop, he impatiently asks where you are.

The bartender looks at Rafe with a look he can’t quite read.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Rafe says. It’s the first time he used that title, but it feels right for what he has with you. “Is she working today or not?”

“Oh… I…” The bartender uneasily looks around the room. “I shouldn’t be the one to... I don’t…”

“What?” Rafe snaps.

“Our boss told us this morning,” he responds, his expression pained. He leans closer, hesitating as he says, “She was in a car accident and she didn’t make it. I’m sorry, man. I wish I wasn’t the one to tell you.”

Rafe straightens, his body flooding with a sharp, harrowing chill.

“You…” He shakes his head. “You got something wrong. You don’t– you’re confused.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know her that well, but…” The bartender nervously shrugs. “Everyone liked her.”

Liked her. Liked. You’re not in the past tense. You’re here. You’re somewhere around here. The ringing in his ears grows louder. The man only shakes his head, frowning in sympathy.

“You’re confused,” Rafe repeats. “What did– who told you that?”

“My boss,” he tells him again.

Rafe erratically rushes out of the building, starting his car even though he doesn’t know where to go, and looks ahead with a blank stare as his chest heaves.

“No,” he mutters to himself, his voice strained. “No, this is– he’s fucking wrong. This is…”

There’s no way this is real.

He pulls his phone out to call you. Again, it doesn’t even ring. His phone beeps with the dropped call notification. He tries again. Nothing.

His limbs are shaking, eyes burning with tears. A mistake. It’s a mistake. He just needs to find another way to contact you.

He opens a social media app to message you there. Before he can type in the search bar, a smiling photo of you is at the top of his feed.

It’s a news article. Local woman dead after late night crash. The post caption reads: This is crazy. She was so young :( Rest in peace.

He taps to read the comments, reading worthless prayers and canned condolences as he keeps scrolling, every roll of his thumb making him sicker.

He finds the article. Saliva coats his tongue and he’s sure he’s about to throw up as he reads it.

The vehicle was traveling southbound… Ran off the roadway… Pronounced deceased on scene.

No. You were just with him last night, a living, breathing, beautiful girl telling him you care about him, your touch warm and soft and real.

Deceased. That cold, final word doesn’t describe you. It can’t.

He barely makes it in time to open his door and vomit on the concrete. When he slams his hands over his steering wheel, he does it until his palms throb in pain. He cries until his throat burns.

No. This can’t be real.

╰┈➤ three weeks later

The town you live in now is in a land-locked state with an even smaller population than Kildare. The agent in charge of your case gave you and your parents everything you needed to assume your new lives.

Your old one ended on a road back home, covered up with a story that you’d lost control of your friend’s car and died on impact.

You’re sitting in the therapist’s office, picking at a loose string on your shirt. The protection program placed you with a clinical psychologist who specializes in trauma recovery, but you worry you’ll never be able to rid yourself of the paralyzing pain that has sept into your heart.

You come here once a week. You’re supposed to be moving on, setting roots here, accepting your new identity.

But you haven’t and you can’t. You’re not allowed to contact anyone, but every day, more and more, you yearn to find a way to tell the people you love that you’re okay, to put them out of their grief and misery.

You wouldn’t dare take the risk, but you’re constantly checking on what you left on the island, searching news sites and social media for anything you can find through a faceless account.

Rafe’s arrest record is public. Sale and distribution of an illegal substance. You know now that Brading arrested him for coke that night. You’re sure he did it just to get Rafe in custody to be able to intimidate him into talking about Porter.

You know nothing else about him. He hasn’t posted anything since you left. His name only comes up on the law enforcement website, offering no further information on a trial or a sentencing.

When you look up your friends, seeing the photos and messages they posted in memoriam of you never gets easier. You left JJ and Pope and John B with the shock of seeing you in Rafe’s arms, then you left in JJ’s car, unknowingly racing towards your faked death.

The investigation on Porter has hit a dead end. The last article came out a week ago titled: Family seeks closure as disappearance of Porter Arnoult remains a mystery.

And the man who shot Brading, who made a full recovery, is still at large, meaning you’re still in danger.

“Come on in,” your therapist says gently, peeking out her office door.

You settle in the worn seat. You’ve told this woman everything but for the truth about the night that was the catalyst to the mess your life has become.

You promised Rafe you’d keep the secret to the grave. You meant it.

·········

The heaviest, sharpest ache sits in Rafe’s chest as he stands at your final resting place, as he reads your name in stone, a hyphen between two years that are much too close to each other.

There was no funeral. Word had gotten around that your parents were too distraught and left town shortly after the accident.

His head is pounding with his hangover, his body weak from the booze and coke he’s been pumping into it.

Stay out of trouble. That’s what his lawyer told him. But his court date is in a couple of days and he’s done everything but. This is the first time he’s come to your grave and he feels like a piece of shit for waiting so long, but he couldn’t do it.

He never deserved you. A piece of him knew, gnawed at him, that you’d realize he didn’t measure up. But he was ready to try, for once in his life, to be better.

And then, you were taken from him. And the idea of paying his respect to a girl who’s nothing but a memory now is not for your benefit. It’s for the grieving, and while he’s not worthy of that relief, he came to the cemetery in case he won’t get the chance again for a long time.

He’ll likely be going to prison soon. His lawyer said the best case scenario is a reduced sentence and a heavy fine.

Rafe’s numb to it. It’s why he’s been getting fucked up at parties, telling anyone who asks about you or him to shut up because he knows they don’t care. All he does is get wasted and open his wallet only to buy more shit to dull the pain.

You were a light in the clouds that always consumed him, and because you’d followed him after he’d gotten arrested, you died.

He’ll never forgive himself for the fact that caring for him is what killed you.

╰┈➤ one week later

It’s Rafe’s last night of freedom.

He was sentenced to 14 months. His life is fucked. All because he was an idiot who decided to sell coke.

Brading sat in the courtroom as the arresting officer, looking bitter, likely because his plan to get Rafe to crack about Porter’s case never worked.

His lawyer told him it was a win to get such a short sentence, as if living behind bars can ever be considered some sort of victory. He’s being locked up tomorrow, a nasty blotch on his record, a traumatic experience waiting for him.

He’s at a party on Figure Eight, dipped into a numbing high on a couch. Coke and booze coarse through his veins. He’s subconsciously been hoping that it’d kill him before he has to go to prison.

It’s been a month since you died. The hole in his chest only digs itself deeper, burying him alive. He ignores the people who pretend to care about him, remembering how they’d acted when rumors spread about him doing something to Porter.

He knows this will follow him forever, being suspected for Porter’s disappearance, being connected to you, the innocent girl who got involved with him then tragically passed away.

He doesn’t care what people think. He thought he was lethargic before. That was nothing.

He gets lost in the high, hearing the people and the music around him, catching flashes of phones in the crowd as people celebrate life while he wishes his would just end.

“What were you doing with her?”

Rafe’s vision blurs and refocuses until he can see who’s standing over him in the crowded living room. It’s Pope, his nostrils flared in anger.

JJ and John B stand close behind, disgusted looks on their faces.

“Fuck off,” Rafe slurs.

“What were you doing with her?” JJ shouts louder. A few heads turn at the noise.

Rafe’s jaw tenses in anger. His body is heavy, but he pushes himself off the couch, staring at your friends, knowing they have no fucking clue how badly he’s been suffering without you.

“She didn’t want to tell you,” Rafe mutters, “because she knew you assholes would make her feel bad about it.”

“She’s… she’s fucking dead because of you,” JJ says, his voice laced with tears. “She was on the road because of you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Rafe yells. He swore on his life that you’d always be safe with him. He deserves to die.

He has nothing to lose. He shoves JJ down onto the floor, landing a single punch before he’s pulled back and struck in the jaw with a hard fist.

Rafe spits out blood, his neck at the crook of the couch, knowing no amount of physical pain could come close to matching how bad his heart hurts.

·········

When you see Rafe in the background of a Kook’s social media story, your breath hitches. He’s sprawled out on a couch, head tipped back, lips parted and eyes rolling.

You know it’s stupid. You know you’re putting yourself in danger by doing it. You’re not supposed to contact a soul from your past life.

But he looks near death in the video.

You go to Rafe’s account and start to type with trembling fingers. You’re using the burner account you made, a fake name with no photo, but you hope reminding him of something only you two would remember is enough.

It’s me. The girl you always gave a $50 to at the club. I’m okay. I had to go into hiding. I had no choice. Please take care of yourself and don’t tell anyone about me. I miss you.

You don’t see his reply until you wake up the next day. What kind of sick joke is this?

It’s not a joke, you respond. I used to tell you all the time not to call me a Pogue, remember? I know this is confusing. I wish it wasn’t like this. I’m sorry.

He doesn’t respond. You don’t blame him. He thinks it’s a twisted prank. But even though it was a stupid risk to take, you’re glad you tried. You just wish it worked.

A day later, you unsend your messages and delete your account just in case.

╰┈➤ sixteen months later

“It’s completely your choice,” the program agent continues, sitting in the living room of the home you still don’t consider home. “We set you and your family up for permanent placement, but the man you saw was captured with his associates and died in a shoot-out. We’re confident you’re no longer in danger. You can choose to stay here, or go back.”

You look at your parents with wide eyes, in utter disbelief. It’s been over a year. You all have jobs and friends and a foundation now, even though it’s built on lies.

But you’ve been aching to go home since the day you moved here. And you’re going back to the island, with or without your parents.

╰┈➤ three days later

The flight was painfully long. You came alone. Your parents didn’t feel the need to go back in time and come here. They don’t have the ties you do to home.

The fact that they could watch you leave was confirmation that all you shared with them was a last name. You always felt alone around them. You never had their love. Not really. It’s why you clung to your friends.

Kildare’s salty breeze is the same. Even the way the sun hits here feels unique. You keep the window of your rental car down as you drive through familiar streets.

You’d considered contacting your friends before finding them, but what happened with Rafe would likely happen with them. They’d think it was a cruel prank. They wouldn’t believe you.

It’s a sunny afternoon. You knock on JJ’s door. Your heart is in your throat. You’ve been discreetly keeping up with what your friends publicly post. It seems life here never changes much.

You crave the familiarity. The peace.

The door swings open. JJ stares at you like he’s seen a ghost. You expected as much.

“Hi,” your voice is thin, what you rehearsed coming out rushed. “I witnessed a crime and I was put into protection. They had to fake my death and put me somewhere safe. But I’m not in danger anymore. And they let me come back.”

He doesn’t have the words. You don’t blame him. He pulls you in and this is what you’ve been missing so agonizingly – feeling wanted.

He invites the guys over and after a tearful reunion and a long catch-up, you finally ask them about Rafe, terrified you’ll hear the worst, even though you’ve been keeping up with local news.

“He just got outta jail,” JJ says.

“For what?” you ask, worried he took the fall for what you did to Porter.

“Selling coke,” he says. “I think he got like, a year. I’m pretty sure his dad paid to get it scrubbed from the internet.”

“He kind of went crazy after you…” Pope trails off. “Crazier than usual. But since he got out, he’s not bothering us. He’s just quiet. He’s different now.”

You nod, desperate to go see him.

“What happened that night?” JJ asks. “Were you and him… like, a thing?”

“Yeah,” you say. “He’s… He wasn’t who we always thought he was. I was surprised, too. It happened really fast. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” JJ says.

You give him a grateful smile, knowing it won’t take long at all to get used to this again, to being your old self with your old friends. You left, but your heart stayed here.

·········

Rafe’s sister is visibly in shock to see you when you show up at the Camerons’ doorstep later that afternoon. You tell her what happened, sure the gossip will spread before you even step foot off the property, and ask her where Rafe is.

She tells you he went out on the family’s boat. You thank her and head over to the marina.

·········

Rafe spent every day in prison thinking about those messages he got the night before he was put behind bars. The person behind the account knew things only you would.

It might have been a twisted joke or someone’s way of keeping him above water while he wished he could drown.

But nobody would care enough about him to do that. Only you.

He never saw a response after he replied, and fourteen months later, when he got his phone back, the messages and the account were gone.

It’s been nearly a year and a half since you left. Hope is a ridiculous thing. He doesn’t even consider it your death anymore. You left.

The only thing that kept him going through his monotonous, soul-draining time in prison was the nearly invisible shred of hope that it really was you who sent him those messages.

He wishes he could remember the account name. It was a random assortment of letters and numbers. Sometimes, he’s convinced he dreamed it, like his survival instinct kicked in and made him hallucinate the possibility that you didn’t actually die.

He gazes out at the deep blue water, white caps tumbling over the waves as the boat bobs with the tides.

After you, he missed the sea most.

You remember where his boat was parked. Every detail of that night is burned into your mind. Vowing to keep the secret in the beach house, dragging the body over the dock, planning your alibis on his boat.

There haven’t been any developments in the case. Porter’s body is still out there somewhere, your secret lying with him.

Your heart stops when you spot Rafe’s back as he pulls a rope on his parked boat. His hair is buzzed now, his back broader and his arms larger than you remember. You close the distance, almost falling off the dock when you approach his boat because you’re that awestruck.

You’ve dreamt of this moment. You weren’t sure it’d ever come.

He turns, wrapping the rope around the cleat of the boat, squinting under the sun. He breathes a quiet grunt as he tightens the rope, then stands and surveys it.

Something catches the corner of his eye. He looks up. And pure relief washes over his handsome face.

Rafe rushes towards you like you might disappear if he doesn’t reach you fast enough. He jumps off the edge and nearly knocks the wind out of you when he surrounds you in his heavy arms, squeezing you.

Tears prick your eyes, and suddenly, you’re sobbing. From disbelief. From relief. From love.

“I knew it,” he whispers shakily, nuzzled into your neck. “I knew it. I knew it. Fuck.”

Your eyes are shut as he holds you, both of you suspended, bobbing boats creaking around you, gulls crying in the sky.

He finds the strength to pull back, meeting your eyes. Those eyes. They never left his mind. He knew you were out there and he wondered what they were seeing every single day.

You gaze up at him, vision blurred from your tears. Safety. That’s what he feels like to you. Like nothing can hurt you.

“I missed you,” you say in a whisper, but the words can’t possibly represent how painful life has been, how much you’ve been worrying about him.

“Me, too,” he says, cupping your cheek like you might break, like you’re a dream that might slip away. “I can’t believe…”

You nod. You can’t believe much of what’s happening, either.

·········

You’re in Rafe’s arms until the sun goes down, sitting in the hull of his parked boat, not wanting to part for even a second to allow him to drive out into the water. You don’t need to go anywhere. You want to be rooted with him.

You sat here once before, in a past life of a past life, conspiring and coming up with a story to cover up the murder.

“I never forgot what you did when I got arrested,” Rafe says into your ear, your back flush against his chest, the sun an orange sliver on the horizon. “Yelling at that asshole not to hurt me.”

“It was horrible seeing him do that to you,” you murmur, remembering how hard Brading had pushed him against the car to handcuff him. “He eventually gave up, huh? I kept checking the news, but the case went cold?”

“Yeah. He left town,” Rafe tells you. “He had no evidence. We got rid of it all.”

You nod with a long sigh.

“How was it?” you ask.

You don’t have to say it. He knows you’re asking about prison.

“Knowing you were okay kept me through it,” he admits. You turn to meet his pained blue eyes.

“It’s all behind us now,” you say.

He presses his lips against yours, warm and tender and soft, dismissing the cold that’d been sitting in your soul since you were forced to leave.

Epilogue

You’ll always feel the void of the year and a half that you were gone deep in your heart. But as time goes by, it gets smaller and smaller.

You’d planned to stay with one of your friends while you found your footing to get your own place, but Rafe insisted he buy you a condo, saying it’d be the best use of his money.

He hadn’t expected to still have access to his family’s bank account, but his father seemed to see a difference in him after prison.

You see a change in him, too. You mention it to him sometimes, how his temper has completely faded away.

“Still like me, though?” he once asked, half-joking.

“I love you,” you told him. It was the first time you said the word and his heart felt like it was going to burst. He kissed you hard and told you he loved over and over.

Rafe comes over all the time, preparing meals together, making up for lost time.

One night, as he dozes off next to you in your bed, you realize you still don’t regret your crime and if you don’t by now, you never will.

Sometimes you wonder if you should be remorseful for taking a life. But that man was evil and the world is a better place without him. People die, but the past doesn’t, and while you may carry it with you forever, you wouldn’t take it back.

Your eyes slowly trail over Rafe’s face in the dim light, your heart pounding as you think about how you got here, two broken people who found each other on a terrifying night.

It’s all still so crystal clear in your mind. The blood on his face the night it happened. The way he held you when you told him what your real motive was. The tears in his eyes when he reunited with you.

You pull a blanket over him. He’s everything to you now. And like your love, your secret remains between you two, binding you together forever.

(the end)

[fvsm4x]

𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐃 ✧ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩 𝟏 • 𝐫𝐞-𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝

Growing up as childhood friends, you and Satoru Gojo share a deep bond that only strengthens as you both mature. Now, as your personal knight and protector, Satoru's feelings for you become harder to hide.

cw. guard gojo s. x princess fem. reader / arranged marriage / violence / tension / wc. 12k

taglist: @sadmonke @theonlyhonoredone @itzmeme @dcvilxswish @kalopsia-flaneur @misslovingpearl @gojoslefttoenail @ryumurin @zoeyflower

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The morning sun spilled across the palace grounds, casting long shadows over the training fields where knights sparred with precision and discipline. But inside the royal stables, the atmosphere was anything but orderly. You tightened your grip on the reins of your horse, the powerful creature pawing the ground impatiently as you readied yourself for the day’s escape.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached your ears just as you swung up into the saddle. You turned to see Satoru Gojo, your ever-vigilant knight, striding toward you with that familiar mix of exasperation and amusement in his eyes. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, tousled in a way that hinted he’d rushed here, probably after hearing you’d once again slipped away from your royal duties.

“Y/N,” Satoru called out, his voice a blend of authority and a sigh that told you he’d been through this too many times before. “Tell me you’re not planning to ride out of the palace again.”

You flashed him a grin, the kind that always made his shoulders tense. “And what if I am? You know these council meetings bore me to tears, Satoru. I need a real adventure.”

He reached your side just as you guided your horse toward the gate, his hand landing on the reins,“And what do you think your father will say when he finds out his only daughter has ditched her royal duties for the fourth time this month?”

You shrugged, meeting his gaze without a trace of guilt. “He’ll probably scold me and send you to fetch me, just like always. So, why don’t you skip that part and let me have a few hours of freedom before you drag me back?”

Satoru’s lips quivered in a half-smile, though his eyes held a warning. “You know I can’t do that. My job is to keep you safe, not to mention make sure you’re present at these meetings. You’re the future queen, Y/N, not a knight out for a thrill.”

His words were serious, but they only fueled the rebellious fire burning in your chest. You leaned forward slightly, your voice dropping to a daring whisper. “Maybe I’d rather be a knight than a queen. At least knights get to see the world beyond these walls.”

Satoru’s grip on the reins tightened just enough to halt your horse, his gaze locking with yours. “And maybe you forget that the world beyond these walls isn’t as forgiving as you think. It’s my job to remind you of that, even if it means being the one to stand in your way.”

For a moment, the air between you was charged with the tension of an ongoing battle—a battle you both knew too well. Satoru was right, of course. Your father had assigned him to you not just for protection, but to temper the wild streak that had always set you apart from other princesses. But where was the fun in always being right?

With a dramatic sigh, you sat back in the saddle, a playful pout on your lips. “Fine. I’ll attend the council meeting… after we take a quick ride through the forest. Just to clear my head.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “And by ‘quick,’ you mean?”

“An hour. Maybe two.” You flashed him your most disarming smile. “Come on, Satoru. It’s a beautiful day. Don’t tell me you’re going to spend it cooped up in that stuffy council room.”

He studied you for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the struggle between his duty and the undeniable pull you’d always had on him. Finally, he sighed, releasing the reins and stepping back. “An hour,” he said, his tone firm. “But if you’re late to the meeting, I’m not covering for you this time.”

You grinned triumphantly, nudging your horse forward. “Deal. Now try to keep up, Sir Gojo.”

With a whoop, you urged your horse into a gallop, the wind whipping through your hair as you sped toward the forest. Behind you, you heard Satoru mutter something under his breath before he mounted his own horse and followed, the sound of hooves thundering against the ground.

As the two of you raced toward the trees, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of exhilaration. Satoru might be your protector, but he was also the only one who understood your need to break free, even if just for a little while. And in these moments, when it was just the two of you and the open road ahead, you felt more alive than any crown or royal duty could ever make you feel.

The dense canopy of the forest enveloped you as you and Satoru plunged into the shadowy depths, the sunlight filtering through the leaves in dappled patterns. The familiar scent of earth and pine filled your senses, calming the restless energy that had driven you out of the palace. Here, among the towering trees and winding paths, you felt like yourself—wild, free, unburdened by the expectations that came with your title.

You glanced over at Satoru, who was keeping pace beside you, his expression a mixture of focus and resignation. His horse moved as if in perfect sync with him, every motion smooth and calculated. You knew he was keeping a close eye on you, ready to react if you did something particularly reckless—as you often did. The thought brought a smirk to your lips.

“So, how long before you try to drag me back this time? Cause I don‘t believe you will allow me to be here for an hour.” you teased, leaning forward slightly as your horse jumped a fallen log.

Satoru didn’t miss a beat, easily clearing the log himself. “You’re right, but it depends on you, princess. If you manage to stay out of trouble, maybe we’ll actually make it back on time for once.”

You laughed, the sound echoing through the forest. “Where’s the fun in that? We both know I’m not built for sitting still and behaving.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “But maybe, just this once, you could surprise me.”

You leaned back in the saddle, the reins loose in your hands as you looked over at him. “Surprise you? Like agreeing to marry one of those pompous suitors my father keeps parading in front of me?”

Satoru’s smile faded slightly, and his gaze turned serious. “Y/N, you know this isn’t just about you. The kingdom—”

“—needs me to marry for alliances, to secure peace, to fulfill my duty,” you finished for him, the familiar words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’ve heard it all before, Satoru. But no one ever asks what I want.”

Satoru's expression became gentle, and he moved his horse closer to you while speaking in a softer tone. He asked, "What do you want?" The question hung in the air, the only sound being the steady thud of hooves on the dirt road as you both rode in silence for a moment.

This question had crossed your mind before, usually when you were alone in your room feeling overwhelmed by thoughts of your future. You wanted freedom, adventure, and the chance to live life on your own terms. But there was something more profound you yearned for, something beyond duty and your royal responsibilities.

You felt a deep desire for something meaningful, something that resonated with your true self. This unspoken longing stirred within you, pushing you to search for a sense of purpose that went beyond the boundaries of your kingdom.

But before you could respond to Satoru’s comment, the sudden rustling of leaves in the underbrush snapped your attention back to the present. Satoru’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, his sharp eyes scanning the dense line of trees ahead. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to spring into action. “Stay close,” he commanded, his voice dropping into a low, serious tone that left no room for argument.

Of course, you ignored him. You pulled your horse to a halt beside his, your eyes narrowing as you scanned the shadows. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, and for a fleeting moment, you almost convinced yourself it had been nothing—a deer, perhaps, or the wind stirring the branches. But then, out of the darkness, figures began to emerge, their forms blending into the gloom until they were almost upon you.

They were men clad in ragged, mismatched armor, their faces hidden beneath hoods pulled low over their eyes. Bandits.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” you muttered under your breath, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline surge through your veins.

Satoru shot you a hard look, his voice a razor-sharp edge. “Y/N, get back to the palace. Now.”

The command bristled against your nerves. You tightened your grip on the reins, your jaw set stubbornly. “I’m not running, Satoru. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

His eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he drew his sword with a smooth, practiced motion. The blade gleamed with a deadly promise, catching the dim light filtering through the trees. “Fine,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “But stay behind me.”

The bandits clearly underestimated you, assuming they’d caught an unprotected royal on a leisurely ride through the forest. They had no idea who they were dealing with. As the men moved to encircle you, Satoru spurred his horse forward with a speed and ferocity that caught them off guard.

You leaped from your horse, landing lightly on your feet as you reached for the short sword hidden in your saddle—a gift from Satoru, who had spent years teaching you how to wield it. The first bandit approached you with a lazy confidence, his swing wild and uncoordinated as if he expected an easy kill. You sidestepped his attack, your blade slicing through the air with precision as you cut across his arm. The bandit stumbled back, clutching his bleeding wound with a pained grunt.

As you turned to face your next attacker, you felt a sudden pull on your gown. The fabric snagged on a jagged branch, and with a harsh rip, it tore from your hip to your knee, exposing your leg. You glanced down briefly, irritation flaring at the sight of the ruined silk, now stained with dirt and torn wide open. But there was no time to dwell on it.

Another bandit lunged at you, and you refocused, your movements unhindered by the ruined gown. If anything, the tear gave you more freedom to move, allowing you to dodge and strike with greater agility. You parried his attack with a quick flick of your wrist, then countered with a swift slash across his side, sending him crashing to the ground.

Satoru was a force of nature beside you, his sword slicing through the air with lethal precision. His movements were fluid and controlled, every strike landing with deadly accuracy. Even in the chaos of battle, there was a part of you that felt strangely alive—more alive than you ever felt within the walls of the palace. Here, in the midst of danger, you weren’t just a princess confined by duty and expectation. You were a fighter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the one person who made you feel truly free.

The battle ended almost as quickly as it had begun. The bandits, realizing they were outmatched, retreated into the forest, leaving behind only a few groaning bodies and the remnants of their failed ambush. You stood there, chest heaving with exertion, a triumphant grin spreading across your face as you watched them flee.

Satoru sheathed his sword, turning to you with that familiar look of disdain. “Next time you decide to skip a council meeting, could you at least pick a direction that doesn’t involve getting us ambushed?”

“And miss all the fun?” you shot back, wiping a smear of dirt from your cheek. “Besides, you’re always saying I need to learn to defend myself.”

“You did alright,” he admitted begrudgingly, though his tone was far from complimentary. “But if you’d just listened to me in the first place, your dress wouldn’t be ruined.”

You glanced down at the torn fabric, the once-beautiful gown now reduced to tatters, and shrugged. “It’s just a dress. I’ll tell my father it was a casualty of battle.”

Satoru sighed, shaking his head. “Your father’s going to have a fit when he sees you like this. And I’m going to be the one who has to explain it.”

"That’s what you get for sticking around," you quipped with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe next time you’ll think twice before volunteering to be my knight."

Satoru’s usual smirk flickered, but instead of the usual banter, his eyes darkened with something harsher. "Believe me, I will," he muttered, his voice carrying an edge that made you flinch. His tone sharpened as he added, "You think this is a joke, don’t you? Running around, playing hero. You could’ve been killed back there."

You bristled at his words, your own irritation flaring up. "I’m not some helpless damsel, Satoru. I can take care of myself."

His eyes flashed, and for a moment, the anger simmering beneath the surface broke through. "Yeah? And what happens when your little stunts get you killed? Who’s going to take care of the kingdom then? Who’s going to explain to your father that his only heir got herself killed because she couldn’t stay out of trouble?"

The harshness in his voice stung, more than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but the words caught in your throat when you saw the genuine fear in his eyes, barely concealed by his anger.

For a brief moment, the tension between you felt like a knife’s edge, sharp and dangerous. But then Satoru’s expression shifted, the anger fading into something more conflicted. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his white hair. "Damn it, Y/N," he muttered, his voice softer but still tight with emotion. "You don’t get it, do you?"

He reached out abruptly, wiping a smudge of dirt from your cheek with a roughness that was more from his frustration than anything else. His hand lingered for a moment, and then he quickly pulled back as if realizing he’d let his guard down too much. "Be careful next time, will ya?" he added, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation.

You stared at him, your own anger mingling with a confusing swirl of emotions. "Whatever," you muttered, trying to dismiss the moment, but your voice lacked conviction.

He scoffed, clearly still irritated. "Yeah, 'whatever.' Just remember that next time you’re charging headfirst into danger, thinking you’re invincible."

You met his gaze, the tension between you heavy and palpable. His eyes were a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, worry, something else you couldn’t quite name. You wanted to say something, to break the tension, but before you could find the words, he turned away, the harsh reality of your situation crashing back in.

"We should head back," you finally said, your voice tinged with reluctance as you pulled away from the charged moment. "Before my father sends the entire guard to find us."

Satoru nodded, but there was still a tightness in his expression, a lingering anger that hadn’t fully dissipated. "Yeah, we should," he agreed, but his voice was clipped. "Wouldn’t want anyone else thinking you’re out here getting yourself into more trouble."

As you both turned your horses back toward the palace, the tension between you didn’t fully fade. It hovered, unspoken and unresolved, following you like a shadow. Every step your horse took seemed to echo in the heavy silence that had settled between you and Satoru. The air around you felt thick, charged with the weight of things left unsaid.

The ride back to the palace was quiet but not peaceful. The silence wasn’t one of comfort, but of brewing storms. Satoru rode beside you, his posture stiff, his jaw clenched tightly as if holding back a flood of words. You could feel his gaze flicker toward you now and then, sharp and assessing, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Not that you needed him to speak to know what he was thinking. His anger was palpable, radiating off him like heat from a fire that hadn’t yet burned out.

The wind tugged at the torn edges of your gown, a constant reminder of the fight you had just won. You could still feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, though it was beginning to fade, leaving behind a weariness that seeped into your bones. The thrill of battle was something you had never been able to resist, but it always came with a price. Now, as you neared the palace, that price felt heavier than ever. The fight was over, but you knew the real battle awaited you inside those stone walls.

You risked a glance at Satoru, who was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable. But you knew him well enough to see the signs—the tense set of his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the reins a little too tightly. He was angry, maybe even more than usual. His silence spoke volumes. You could almost hear the reprimand he was holding back, the same words he always threw at you after a dangerous encounter: You’re too reckless. You’re going to get yourself killed. Why don’t you ever think before you act?

But you weren’t about to apologize. You had done what needed to be done. You weren’t some fragile flower that needed constant protection, and it frustrated you that Satoru couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see that. You knew he cared, but sometimes his concern felt suffocating, like a chain that kept tightening around you. You weren’t just a princess locked away in a tower. You were a fighter, someone who could handle themselves in the face of danger. But convincing Satoru of that was a battle you never seemed to win.

Satoru’s concern cut deeper because you’d known him for so long. You weren’t just a princess to him, and he wasn’t just your knight—he was your childhood friend, someone who had stood by your side through countless trials. That connection was what made his anger sting all the more. He wasn’t angry because you were a princess who’d been reckless; he was angry because you were you, and he cared too much to see you put yourself in harm’s way.

You tried to shake off the irritation, but it clung to you as stubbornly as the dirt on your dress. Satoru hadn’t said much since the bandits attacked, just the occasional sharp comment about your recklessness. His voice still echoed in your mind, laced with a bitterness that stung more than any wound. "You think this is a joke, don’t you? Running around, playing hero. You could’ve been killed back there."

You knew he was right, at least partly. But the way he said it, like you were nothing but a foolish child playing at being a warrior, made your blood boil. Who was he to lecture you? He was just your knight, sworn to protect you, not to control you. He had no right to judge your choices, especially when you were the one who had to bear the weight of the crown someday. The crown he seemed to forget you were destined to wear.

The palace loomed ahead, its imposing towers and thick walls casting long shadows in the fading light. The closer you got, the heavier the sense of dread that settled in your chest. You could already imagine the scolding you’d receive from your father, the disapproving looks from the council. They wouldn’t care about the bandits you’d fought off, the danger you’d faced. They’d only see the torn dress, the dirt, the reckless princess who couldn’t stay out of trouble.

As you approached the main gates, Satoru finally spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

His tone was sharp, laced with the irritation he’d been holding back for the entire ride. “You know,” he began, not looking at you, “one of these days, your luck’s going to run out. And when it does, I won’t be there to pull you out of the fire.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. The tension between you had been simmering since the fight, and now it felt like it was about to boil over. “I didn’t ask you to pull me out of anything,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” Satoru shot back, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Because getting ambushed by bandits and nearly getting yourself killed is just another day for you, right?”

You tightened your grip on the reins, trying to suppress the frustration building inside you. His words cut deep, not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it—like you were nothing but a burden, a reckless child who didn’t know better.

“I didn’t nearly get killed,” you retorted, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay calm. “I handled it, just like I always do. I’m not some helpless damsel you need to save every time something goes wrong.”

Satoru finally turned to look at you, his eyes flashing with anger. “No, you’re not helpless,” he said, his voice low and intense. “But you’re reckless. And one day, that’s going to get you in trouble you can’t fight your way out of.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. You could feel the anger radiating off him, but beneath that, there was something else—fear. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was there, lurking behind the harsh words. Satoru was afraid for you, and that fear was what fueled his anger.

But instead of softening at the realization, you felt your own anger flare up. “You don’t get to decide how I live my life, Satoru,” you snapped, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. “I’m not some fragile flower that needs to be kept under glass. I’m going to be queen one day, and I need to be able to fight my own battles.”

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “And what good is being queen if you’re dead before you even get the chance? You think just because you’re royal, you’re invincible? That nothing can touch you?”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. The truth was, part of you did feel invincible—like nothing could truly harm you as long as you kept fighting, kept pushing forward. But Satoru’s words cut through that illusion, bringing the reality crashing down around you.

“I know I’m not invincible,” you said quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of you.

Satoru didn’t respond right away, and when he did, his voice was softer, almost resigned. “Just don’t make me bury you, Y/N. That’s all I ask.”

The words hit you harder than anything else he’d said, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The thought of leaving him behind, of dying and never seeing him again, was something you couldn’t bear to think about. But you couldn’t let that fear control you. You had responsibilities, duties that went beyond your own safety.

“I won’t,” you promised, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

The palace gates creaked open, and as you rode through them, the tension between you and Satoru clung like a heavy fog. The silence was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaos of the fight that had just ended. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions pressed heavily on both of you, making each breath feel like an effort.

The ride through the palace grounds was quiet, each hoofbeat echoing in the cold air. The once-thrilling adrenaline of battle had dissipated, leaving a weary heaviness in its place. The torn edges of your gown flapped in the wind, a constant reminder of the skirmish and the mess you were about to face. The closer you got to the courtyard, the more the anxiety of returning to your father and the council weighed on you.

As you arrived in the courtyard, the scene was immediately filled with the unmistakable tension of disapproval. A group of guards stood at attention, their faces a mix of concern and irritation, while one of your father’s advisors, an elderly man with a stern demeanor, was clearly waiting for your arrival. His gaze shifted to your disheveled appearance, taking in the torn and dirt-streaked gown with an almost palpable disapproval.

The advisor’s eyes narrowed as he took in the state of your attire. “Princess Y/N,” he began, his voice carrying a sharp edge, “I trust you have a very good explanation for this?”

You dismounted with a weary sigh, trying to steady your nerves. The advisor’s scrutiny was the last thing you needed, but you knew better than to brush it off. “I’m fine,” you said, your tone firm though tired. “There was a bandit ambush. We handled it.”

The advisor’s frown deepened. “Handled it, you say? And what of the dress? This is hardly suitable attire for someone of your status.”

Before you could respond, Satoru, who had dismounted beside you, stepped forward. His face was still set in a hard line, but there was a note of frustration in his voice. “The dress can be repaired,” he said, his tone sharp. “The important thing is that she’s safe.”

The advisor looked between you and Satoru, clearly not impressed. “Safety is not the only concern, Lord Gojo. The princess’s appearance and behavior reflect directly on the crown.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened, and he shot you a quick, unreadable glance. The flicker of irritation in his eyes was almost imperceptible, but it was there. His anger wasn’t solely directed at the advisor or the situation. it was also a manifestation of his frustration with the entire situation, including your stubbornness and the danger you had willingly walked into.

You felt a surge of guilt and irritation. The bandits were no longer the issue; it was the aftermath—the judgment from those who couldn’t see past the torn fabric to the reality of what had happened.

The advisor's voice cut through the air, carrying an edge of reproach as he spoke. "We will need to discuss this matter further. Please proceed to the council chamber immediately. Your father is waiting for you."

You exchanged a brief, frustrated glance with Satoru before you nodded and replied, “Well, I’m here now. So lead the way.”

The advisor’s lips thinned, but he made no further comment as he turned on his heel and started walking towards the council chamber. You and Satoru followed closely behind, the sound of your boots echoing in the grand hallways of the palace. The opulence of your surroundings felt distant now, overshadowed by the tension that gripped you both.

As you walked, Satoru leaned in, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You know, you could at least try not to make things harder for yourself,” he said, his tone sharp and edged with frustration.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, replying in the same hushed tone, “And you could try not being such a nag. But I guess we can’t all get what we want.”

Satoru’s response was a soft snort, though there was a hint of genuine frustration in his voice. “Maybe if you actually listened to me once in a while, I wouldn’t have to nag.”

You quickened your pace, creating a bit of distance between you. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re the only one who knows anything, I might consider it.”

The conversation fizzled out as you reached the grand doors of the council chamber. They swung open to reveal a room filled with stern-faced nobles and advisors. The soft murmurs that had been filling the room fell to a hushed silence as the assembled crowd took in the state of your disheveled appearance. The dirt smeared across your face and the torn gown made a stark contrast against the polished grandeur of the palace.

At the head of the room stood your father, his face a storm of worry and barely concealed anger. The lines around his eyes deepened as he took in the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice heavy with a mix of frustration and concern. “Where have you been, and what on earth happened to you?”

You met his gaze, trying to steady your nerves under the intense scrutiny of the room. “I was out on a ride, and we encountered some bandits. We managed to handle the situation, but... well, this is the result.”

The council members exchanged looks, their whispers rising into a cacophony of disapproval and concern. You could feel the pressure mounting as your father’s gaze never wavered, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that made it clear he wasn’t just upset about your appearance.

“Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?” he demanded, his voice rising. “This isn’t just about your personal safety—it’s about the responsibilities you have to this kingdom. You can’t keep acting as if you’re invincible.”

Satoru remained silent by your side, his presence an unspoken weight in the midst of your father’s fiery reprimand. The tension in the room was palpable, a mixture of frustration and concern etched into Satoru’s features. Despite his silence, his presence seemed to amplify the gravity of the situation.

You struggled to maintain your composure, the scrutiny from your father and the council members weighing heavily on you. “I understand your concerns, Father. But there are times when immediate action is necessary.”

Your father’s stern gaze softened just a fraction, though his voice remained firm. “That’s not the issue here. You have a responsibility to protect yourself as much as you have a duty to safeguard the kingdom. Charging into danger without proper preparation or escort endangers not only yourself but those who are tasked with your protection.”

Satoru, unable to hold back any longer, stepped forward. His irritation was clear in his tone. “Maybe if you spent less time trying to prove how invincible you are, and more time considering the consequences of your actions, we wouldn’t be dealing with this right now.”

You glared at him, your frustration boiling over. “And maybe if you weren’t so busy controlling every aspect of my life, you’d actually see that I can handle myself just fine.”

The room crackled with tension, the sharp words hanging heavily in the air. Before the argument could escalate further, your father’s authoritative voice cut through the discord. “Enough, both of you,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “We will address this matter further later. For now, Y/N, go and make yourself presentable.”

You clenched your fists, biting back a retort. With one last glare at Satoru, you turned and stormed out of the room, your torn dress trailing behind you. Satoru’s footsteps echoed behind you as he followed, and you couldn’t help but feel the familiar mixture of frustration and… something else whenever he was near.

As you headed toward your chambers, the silence between you and Satoru was thick and charged. The grand corridors of the palace seemed to amplify the tension, each echo of your footsteps underscoring the unspoken frustration between you.

Satoru caught up to you with a determined stride, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice laced with irritation. “You know, it’s not just about you trying to prove how tough you are. It’s about all of us who have to clean up the mess when things go wrong.”

You shot him a sharp look. “And here I thought you were just my knight, not my babysitter.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s a lot easier to keep you out of trouble when you don’t keep running headfirst into it. Do you have any idea how reckless that was? You could’ve been seriously hurt, or worse.”

You felt a sting at his words, but you bit back a retort. “I can handle myself. Maybe if you didn’t act like you’re the only one with a brain around here, I wouldn’t feel the need to prove that.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched. “Oh, right. Because risking your life is the best way to prove you’re capable. You know, sometimes I wonder if you do this on purpose, just to get a reaction out of me.”

You stopped in your tracks, spinning to face him. “And maybe if you stopped being so overbearing, I’d actually listen to you once in a while. I’m not a child, Satoru. I don’t need to be shielded from every danger.”

His eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and something softer, almost pained. “It’s not about shielding you. It's about keeping you alive. But if you’re so determined to ignore everyone who cares about you, then fine.Do whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to always be there to pick up the pieces.”

“Don’t worry, Satoru. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Without waiting for a reply, you slammed the door behind you, the resounding thud echoing in the corridor. Satoru stood there, his face a complex mask of frustration and concern, but you didn’t give him a second glance.

You made your way to a full-length mirror positioned against one wall of your chamber. The sight that greeted you only fueled your irritation. The gown that had been a symbol of elegance and grace was now a tattered mess, its once-pristine fabric stained with mud and torn in several places. The dirt smeared across your face made you look every bit the disheveled warrior rather than the poised princess you were supposed to be.

As you began to untangle the tangled fabric, the task quickly proved to be more overwhelming than you anticipated. The corset, which had once fit comfortably, now felt like a confining cage, a stark reminder of the expectations and constraints that weighed heavily on you. The delicate silk was now in shreds, and the frustration of the day seemed to pile on top of the physical mess in front of you.

Just as you were about to give up on the gown, a knock at the door drew your attention. You turned to see one of your maids standing in the doorway. Her familiar, soothing voice broke through your turbulent thoughts.

“Princess Y/N? May I come in?”

Grateful for the interruption, you managed a curt nod. “Yes, come in.”

The maid entered with a look of concern as she took in the state of your appearance. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of your torn dress and the dirt streaked across your face, but she quickly masked her surprise with a professional demeanor.

“Oh, my! What happened to you?” she asked, her tone a mixture of worry and astonishment.

“It’s nothing,” you replied sharply, though your voice lacked the conviction you hoped for. “Just… a bit of trouble on my ride.”

Without further prompting, the maid began to work on the gown, deftly maneuvering the fabric and doing her best to salvage what she could. As she worked, her gentle hands and quiet presence offered a brief respite from the chaos of the day. You sank onto a nearby chair, feeling the weight of the events pressing down on you. The adrenaline was gone, leaving behind a weariness that made every action feel like an effort.

As the maid continued to repair the damage, you found yourself staring blankly at the reflection in the mirror. The image of yourself, so unlike the poised princess you were expected to be, brought a fresh wave of frustration. The torn gown and dirt-streaked face were stark reminders of the day's struggles, both physical and emotional.

The maid worked in silence for a few moments before speaking again. “It’ll take some time to get this dress back to its former state, Your Highness. Would you like me to fetch a new gown or perhaps a bath to help you relax?”

You shook your head, the urgency of the situation driving your decision. “No, there’s no time for a bath. I need to change and get ready for the meeting. Just help me get into something presentable quickly.”

The maid nodded, understanding your urgency. “Of course, Princess. I’ll fetch something suitable for you to wear.”

You could hear Satoru’s voice echoing from outside your chambers, tinged with impatience. “Are you done yet? We’re already late. No amount of time will fix you, trust me.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated by his usual sharpness. “I’m almost ready,” you called back, trying to keep your tone steady despite your growing frustration.

While she went to find a new dress, you started unfastening the torn gown with clumsy fingers, trying to ease the tangled fabric from your body. The act of undressing only heightened your frustration as the corset constricted your movements.

A few moments later, the maid returned with a more practical dress—simple but elegant, better suited to withstand a day of duties. You quickly changed into it, the soft fabric offering a slight relief from the tattered gown. As the maid adjusted the new dress and made minor adjustments, you took a deep breath, focusing on regaining your composure.

When she was done, you gave yourself one last look in the mirror. The new dress wasn’t as elaborate as the one you had worn, but it was clean and presentable. The dirt on your face had been cleaned away, but the fresh look only highlighted the fatigue and stress in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said to the maid, your voice softer now, though still edged with the urgency of the situation.

“You’re welcome, Princess,” she replied with a sympathetic smile. “You look ready to face the council.”

As you opened the door to leave your chambers, you nearly bumped into Satoru, who was waiting just outside. His gaze quickly took in your new attire, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of relief and irritation.

“Finally,” he said, his tone betraying both exasperation and a touch of amusement. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

You frowned and glanced down at your dress, feeling a sudden pang of self-consciousness. “Yes? What’s wrong with it?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you met his gaze.

Satoru’s expression remained neutral, but the slight smirk on his lips told a different story. “Nothing, it’s just that it’s a bit… plain. I expected something a bit more impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your annoyance. “Isn’t the point to blend in rather than stand out? I’m not here to make a fashion statement.”

Satoru shrugged, his shoulders lifting slightly in a nonchalant manner. “Sure, blending in might be the goal. But if you want to make an impression—or avoid further criticism—maybe you should have gone for something with a bit more presence. This dress isn’t exactly going to win you any favors.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of his comment add to your already high stress levels. “Could you at least try to be supportive for once?” you muttered under your breath, your voice tinged with frustration.

Satoru’s eyes flickered with a hint of surprise, but his expression quickly hardened again. “I’m just trying to be honest. If you want to make an impact, you need to do more than just show up. And you know as well as I do that appearances matter.”

You shook your head, feeling your irritation boil over. “Right, because you’re such an expert on what’s appropriate for me. I’ll just add ‘fashion advisor’ to your list of duties.”

Satoru didn’t respond, his silence amplifying the tension between you. You both walked briskly down the corridor, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the walls. His presence, once comforting, now felt like an added burden.

The grand doors of the council chamber loomed ahead, their imposing presence adding to the weight of the moment. As you approached, you took a deep breath, doing your best to ignore the discomfort of the corset and the restrictive nature of your dress. The anticipation was palpable, the pressure of what was to come pressing down on you with each step.

When the doors swung open, a hush fell over the room. The council chamber, lined with ornate tapestries and heavy wooden furniture, was filled with nobles and advisors, all turned toward you with varying degrees of interest. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to thinly veiled judgment, and you could feel the scrutiny like a physical force.

You walked to the center of the room, determined to present yourself with confidence despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The head of the council, an elderly man with a sharp gaze and a graying beard, looked up from his seat. His eyes, though kind, held a hint of skepticism that made your heart race.

“Princess,” he began, his voice echoing through the chamber, “we were beginning to wonder if you would make it.”

You met his gaze steadily, trying to mask any hint of unease. “I’m here now,” you replied, your voice firm. “Let’s proceed.”

Satoru, who had followed closely behind you, positioned himself slightly to your side. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by a more serious expression, though his eyes never left you. The council members, who had been murmuring amongst themselves, fell silent, their eyes flicking between you and Satoru with varying degrees of curiosity and assessment.

Your father, seated among the council members, cast a critical eye over you as you entered the room. “Ah, Y/N,” he began with a forced cheerfulness, “Don‘t you look beautiful right now. Much better than you did in that torn dress, wouldn’t you agree, Satoru?”

You shot a brief, uncomfortable glance at your father, whose tendency to comment on your appearance and then seek Satoru’s validation always put you on edge. It was as though your father valued Satoru’s opinion more than your own, and it often left you feeling awkward.

Satoru, though he caught the underlying tension in the room, offered a polite smile. “Indeed, Your Highness,” he said smoothly. “Princess Y/N looks as perfect as ever.”

With a decisive clearing of his throat, the head of the council drew everyone’s attention. “Now that we’re all here, let us address the matter at hand.”

He looked directly at you, his expression serious. “Princess Y/N, as you know, our kingdom’s future stability hinges on more than just defending it from bandits or ensuring its safety. It is also crucial that you fulfill your duty to ensure the continuation of the royal bloodline.”

You braced yourself for what was coming next. The topic of your marriage had been an ever-present shadow, hovering over you for months. The weight of this responsibility felt like an anchor around your neck. Your role in finding a suitable match to ensure the survival of the royal bloodline was an expectation you could hardly escape

“The council has been discussing the urgency of securing an heir,” the head of the council continued. “It is imperative that you marry soon and produce an heir to continue the bloodline. The stability of our kingdom and the future of our dynasty depend on it.”

The room’s atmosphere grew heavy with the gravity of the statement. You could sense the murmurs of agreement from the council members, their eyes fixed on you, awaiting your response. Your father’s gaze was stern, a reminder of the familial and political pressure weighing on your shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, you faced the council head-on. “I understand the importance of securing an heir,” you said, your voice steady despite the pressure. “But can we not consider the urgency of finding the right partner rather than rushing into a marriage that may not be in the best interest of the kingdom?”

The head of the council’s eyebrows furrowed. “We’re not suggesting you act recklessly, Princess. However, the sooner you marry, the sooner we can ensure the future stability of the realm. Time is of the essence.”

Your father’s eyes softened slightly, though the firmness of his words remained. “Your duty to the kingdom requires you to balance personal desires with the needs of the state. It’s time to prioritize the future of our dynasty.”

The weight of their words pressed down on you, the realization of your role in the kingdom’s future becoming all too clear. You had always known the responsibilities of being a princess, but hearing it so directly was a stark reminder of the sacrifices and decisions that lay ahead.

As you tried to absorb the gravity of the situation, you could feel Satoru’s presence beside you, his gaze intense but unreadable. He said nothing, but his silence was a reminder of the support and understanding he offered, even in the midst of the council’s scrutiny.

The head of the council cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “To address the pressing matter of securing a suitable match for Princess Y/N, we propose hosting a grand ball. This will provide an opportunity for eligible suitors to present themselves, allowing the princess to meet potential candidates.”

The room filled with murmurs of agreement, and you could feel the weight of the suggestion settling heavily on your shoulders. A ball would not only thrust your personal life into the public eye but also place immense pressure on you to find a match quickly. The tension in the room was palpable, and you knew this was not just about finding a partner—it was about aligning with another royal family.

Your father nodded in approval. “Indeed, a ball will not only facilitate meeting potential suitors but also demonstrate our kingdom’s prosperity and strength. It’s a tradition that has proven effective in the past.”

You glanced at Satoru, who was standing beside you. His usual composure faltered for a moment as the council’s discussion turned more serious. When the head of the council said, “It is crucial that Princess Y/N marry a royal from a different family. This union will strengthen alliances and secure our kingdom’s position,” Satoru’s face twitched slightly.

A subtle cringe crossed his features, barely noticeable but unmistakable if you were paying close attention. His jaw tightened, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if trying to suppress his discomfort. The mention of marrying into another royal family seemed to hit him harder than he intended to let on.

The head of the council continued, oblivious to Satoru’s reaction, “The ball will ensure we find a suitable candidate who meets these requirements.”

You caught Satoru’s eye, and his expression was a mix of frustration and concern. He clenched his fists briefly before forcing his face back into a neutral mask. The hint of annoyance in his gaze, however, was hard to ignore.

Satoru’s frustration broke through as he spoke up, his voice laced with irritation. “A ball, really? Because nothing says ‘find a husband’ like parading the princess around like a trophy.”

The head of the council looked at Satoru, slightly taken aback. “It is a time-honored tradition, Sir Gojo. It’s the most effective way to ensure Princess Y/N meets candidates who are both capable and of high standing.”

You shot Satoru a sharp look and took a deep breath, trying to mask your unease. “I appreciate the council’s efforts,” you began, “but I must express my concerns. A ball feels like an imposition. I believe it’s important to take the time to thoroughly evaluate potential suitors, rather than making a decision based on a single evening.”

“We understand your concerns, Princess Y/N, but the ball will proceed as planned. It is essential to our kingdom’s future to marry into another royal family to solidify our position and forge necessary alliances.”

You tried to maintain your composure, but the weight of the council’s decision was heavy. “I understand the importance of finding a suitable match,” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady. “But rushing this process doesn’t seem prudent. There must be another way to approach this without putting so much pressure on me.”

The council members exchanged glances, their murmurs now tinged with a mixture of agreement and dissent. Your father’s gaze softened slightly, but his determination remained firm. “The ball is a necessary step,” he said. “We need to move forward with it. The future of the kingdom depends on it.”

As the council turned to discuss the specifics of the ball—finalizing guest lists, drafting invitations, and other intricate details—you felt the enormity of the upcoming event pressing heavily on you. The realization that your personal life was being turned into a political spectacle was almost overwhelming. It was as if you were being reduced to a mere pawn in a game of alliances and power plays.

Satoru, standing slightly behind you, had retreated into a rare silence. His usual banter and teasing were absent, replaced by a tense stillness that was almost palpable. Though he didn’t speak, his presence provided a form of quiet support. His silence seemed to amplify the weight of the situation, a tacit acknowledgment of the immense pressure you were under.

You could feel his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, his concern evident despite his outward composure. The frustration he had shown earlier was now tempered with a more subdued, but no less intense, support. It was clear that he understood the gravity of the situation, even if he had struggled to express it earlier.

As you and Satoru exited the council chamber, the weight of the meeting pressed heavily on your shoulders. The grand ball was looming, and you were already dreading the upcoming spectacle.

Satoru, noticing your troubled demeanor, couldn't resist a bit of teasing. "So, how does it feel to be the center of attention for all the wrong reasons? I bet you're thrilled to be paraded around like a prize."

You shot him a sharp look, frustration bubbling up. "Oh, really? You think it's funny? I'm not exactly looking forward to being scrutinized by everyone."

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Not funny—just the reality. You should embrace it. Think of it as a chance to show off those 'charming' qualities they're so eager to see."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the sting of his words. "Charming qualities, huh? Like my ability to endure endless scrutiny and put on a perfect smile?"

"Exactly," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If anyone can pull this off, it's you. Just try not to let them see how much you're actually dreading it. It'll be more fun for everyone that way."

You couldn't help but let out a short, exasperated laugh. "Well, thanks for the pep talk. I'm sure it'll make the experience so much more bearable."

Satoru's grin widened. "Anytime. And don't worry, I'm sure the men will be falling over themselves to meet you. After all, you're not just a princess—you're the princess who's about to make their lives infinitely more complicated."

You shook your head, unable to stifle a small smile despite the tension. "You really know how to make a difficult situation seem even more unbearable."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say? It's a talent. But seriously, if you need someone to help you navigate this circus, you know where to find me."

You nodded, appreciating the rare moment of genuine support behind his teasing exterior. "I'll keep that in mind. And try not to be annoying in the meantime."

Satoru chuckled as you walked side by side down the corridor. "I promise nothing."

As you and Satoru continued down the corridor, the tension from the council meeting lingered, but there was a subtle shift in the air between you. His presence, as infuriating as it could be, was also oddly comforting. You walked in silence for a while, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

Just as you were about to comment on the absurdity of the situation, a young maiden stepped into your path. She was one of the palace servants, her simple dress and demure posture marking her as such, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes as she looked up at Satoru.

"Sir Gojo," she greeted with a soft smile, her voice lilting with a hint of flirtation. "It's been a while since I've seen you around. I was beginning to think you were avoiding us poor maidens."

Satoru stopped in his tracks, and you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor—a playful smirk tugged at his lips, and his usual nonchalance morphed into something a bit more charming. "Avoiding you? Now, why would I do that?" he replied, his voice dropping into a smooth, flirtatious tone that made your eyes involuntarily roll.

The maiden giggled softly, her cheeks flushing as she glanced up at him through her lashes. "Well, with all your duties, I thought maybe you'd forgotten about us."

Satoru leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Forgotten? Not a chance. It's hard to forget someone as lovely as you."

You watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, unsure whether to be irritated by his shameless flirting or impressed by how easily he slipped into this role. Satoru had always been good at charming those around him, but seeing it in action, especially now, was a reminder of how effortless it was for him to play this game.

The maiden blushed deeper, clearly taken by his attention. "You're too kind, Sir Gojo. Perhaps we could catch up later, if your duties allow?"

"Perhaps," Satoru replied, his tone light. "Though I can't promise I'll be able to stay away from you for too long."

You crossed your arms, feeling the need to interrupt before this flirtation dragged on any longer. "Satoru, we don't have all day. Or have you forgotten about the ball preparations already?"

He glanced at you, an eyebrow raised, but the smirk never left his face. "I haven't forgotten. But it wouldn't hurt to take a break every now and then, would it?"

"Not when there's work to be done," you shot back, your voice tinged with impatience.

The maiden, sensing the shift in mood, quickly curtsied to both of you. "Of course, Your Highness. Sir Gojo. I won't keep you any longer." She gave Satoru one last smile before slipping away down the corridor, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Satoru watched her go for a moment before turning back to you, his expression still annoyingly amused. "Jealous, are we?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes again. "Hardly. But if you're going to waste time flirting with every maiden who crosses your path, maybe I should find someone more focused to help me."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax, Y/N. A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone. Besides, I'm more than capable of multitasking."

"Maybe," you conceded, starting to walk again. "But if you keep this up—."

Satoru fell into step beside you, his usual playful demeanor intact. "Don't worry, Princess. I'm not about to let anyone else steal your attention—not before I've had my fun."

You couldn't help but shake your head at his words, a small smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself. "You really are impossible, Satoru."

"And yet, you keep me around," he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I must be doing something right."

As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Satoru's presence, frustrating as it could be, was something you'd come to rely on.

But as you continued walking side by side, the playful banter that usually filled the space between you did little to ease the underlying tension. His flirtation with the maid had struck a chord, one that resonated deeper than you'd expected. You stole a glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but he appeared perfectly at ease, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

You quickened your pace slightly, as if the physical distance could help you escape the thoughts swirling in your mind. The jealousy you felt was an unwelcome intruder, one you tried to dismiss as irrational. After all, this was just how Satoru was—charming, flirtatious, and completely at ease with everyone. You were used to it by now, you told yourself. It shouldn't bother you.

Yet, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of your composure. Satoru, of course, kept pace effortlessly, his lighthearted demeanor seemingly unaffected by your sudden change in mood. It was as if he hadn't noticed the shift at all—or worse, that he had noticed and simply didn't care.

"So," you began, trying to keep your tone neutral, "How many more maidens do you plan on charming today?"

Satoru glanced at you, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "Should I be flattered that you're paying such close attention to it now?"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm just wondering how you manage to get anything done when you spend half your time flirting."

He let out a soft laugh, tilting his head slightly as if in thought. "You heard her—I haven't been with any maidens for a while, so I'm clearly not spending half my time flirting. But now that you mention it, maybe I should change that. That maiden did seem quite lovely, didn't she?"

Satoru's words struck a nerve, and you felt a flare of irritation rise within you. He said it so casually, as if it didn't matter at all, as if he could just switch his attention from one person to the next without a second thought.

"Oh, really?" you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady but failing to mask the edge of jealousy creeping in. "Well, don't let me stop you. I'm sure the maids would love to have your undivided attention."

He tilted his head, his grin widening as he took in your reaction. "Why, Princess, you almost sound jealous. Could it be that you're not as indifferent as you pretend to be?"

You rolled your eyes, your arms still crossed defensively. "Jealous? Hardly. I just don't see why you have to be such a... a manwhore about it."

You continued,"I just find it amusing how you spread your charm so thin. You must be exhausted, keeping up that act all the time."

His smile widened, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he saw right through your attempt to deflect. "It's not an act, Princess. I'm just naturally charming. Besides, it's harmless fun. You know you're the only one who gets under my skin."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you quickly masked it with a sarcastic retort. "Oh, lucky me. I'm the one who gets the full brunt of your insufferable personality. How special."

Satoru chuckled, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. "You are special. But I wouldn't expect you to admit that."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest. "Stop flattering yourself, Satoru. It's unbecoming."

He laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "I'm not flattering myself. Just stating the obvious. But if it bothers you so much, I can tone it down—at least when you're around."

You frowned, hating how he always seemed to turn the tables on you. "It's not that it bothers me. I'm just curious how you manage to stay focused on anything serious when you're so easily sidetracked by a pretty face."

Satoru stopped walking, turning to face you with a serious expression. "Y/N, I've never been distracted when it comes to you. Not once. And you know you're pretty."

He chuckled, adding, "But of course, I get distracted by beauty sometimes. After all, I'm still a man with needs." His eyes lingered on you, hinting that his distraction wasn't just about any beauty—it was something more personal.

His words hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. For a moment, you were caught off guard by the intensity in his gaze, realizing that his distraction might sometimes be directed toward you. The weight of his gaze made you uneasy, as if he had just hinted at something deeper.

Then, just as quickly, he broke the tension with a grin, letting the moment slip away as easily as it had come.

"Anyway," he said lightly, "don't worry about the maids. They're nice and all, but none of them keep me on my toes like you do."

You shook your head.

-

Later that evening, after the council meeting and the unsettling conversation with Satoru, you found yourself alone in your chambers. The grand ball was only a few days away, and the weight of the decisions that lay ahead bore down on you like a leaden cloak. The pressure to secure a politically advantageous marriage, the expectations of your father and the council, and the unresolved tension with Satoru—it all swirled in your mind like a storm that wouldn't abate.

You wandered over to the large window at the far end of your room, pushing the heavy drapes aside. The evening sky was a deep shade of indigo, with the first stars beginning to twinkle faintly. The palace grounds stretched out beneath you, the manicured gardens and courtyards bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Beyond the walls, you could see the distant lights of the town, a reminder of the world that awaited you outside these stone confines.

Leaning against the window frame, you let out a sigh, your breath fogging the glass slightly. The cool night air felt soothing against your skin, a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat of the day's events. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to gather your thoughts, but they were as elusive as the wind.

Your gaze drifted over the familiar landscape, your thoughts turning inward. You'd always loved this view—the way the palace seemed to stand as a fortress against the world, offering a sense of security. But tonight, it felt more like a cage. The walls that had once protected you now felt like barriers, keeping you from the freedom you craved.

You thought of the upcoming ball, of the parade of noblemen who would try to win your favor, each one a potential suitor with his own agenda. The idea of marrying into another royal family, of becoming someone's pawn in a political game, filled you with a deep sense of dread. You'd always known that this was your destiny, that as a princess, your life was not entirely your own. But knowing didn't make it any easier to accept.

And then there was Satoru. His words from earlier still echoed in your mind, his teasing and flirtation tinged with an undercurrent of something more. You had known each other since childhood, and his presence in your life had always been a constant. But lately, things had shifted between you, the lines between friendship and something more blurring in ways that left you feeling off-balance.

The thought of Satoru made your chest tighten, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within you. He was infuriating, insufferable even, but there was no denying the connection you shared. The way he could make you laugh, even when you wanted to strangle him, the way he seemed to understand you in a way no one else did—it was all so complicated. And the jealousy you'd felt earlier, seeing him flirt so easily with the maid, had caught you off guard, forcing you to confront feelings you'd been trying to ignore.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. This was no time for distractions. You had to focus on what lay ahead, on the decisions that would shape not only your future but the future of the kingdom. Yet, as you stood there, looking out at the world beyond the palace walls, you couldn't help but wish for a different life—one where you had the freedom to choose your own path, to follow your heart instead of your duty.

But that was a fantasy, one that had no place in the reality you faced. With a resigned sigh, you turned away from the window, the cool air brushing against your skin like a fleeting promise of the freedom you could never truly have.

Just as you turned away from the window, lost in your thoughts, the door to your chambers creaked open. You glanced up, startled, to see Satoru stepping inside without so much as a knock. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by a more serious expression that caught you off guard.

"Satoru," you began, but he raised a hand to stop you, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you.

"You were thinking too hard, I could hear you from my room" he said, his tone half-joking, half-concerned as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

You gave him a tired look, your earlier frustration with him simmering just beneath the surface. "Do you ever knock?"

He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I figured you could use the company."

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the window, though you were acutely aware of his presence just a few steps away. "I'm not in the mood for your teasing tonight, Satoru."

For a moment, he said nothing, and you almost thought he'd left. But then you heard his footsteps, soft on the thick carpet, as he moved closer. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious than you were used to from him.

"Alright, no more jokes," he said. "You seem to be carrying a lot. What's going on?" His unexpected sincerity made you glance at him. He stood beside you, looking out at the same view you had been absorbed in moments before.

"Why are you here, Satoru?" you asked quietly, your exhaustion evident in your voice.

He didn't answer immediately, his blue eyes scanning the emerging stars. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted, his tone unusually candid. "Maybe because I care."

You gave a tired chuckle, the edge of your frustration softening. "Wow, Gojo Satoru cares? That's new."

He looked at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I might surprise you sometimes."

You shook your head, a wry smile forming on your lips despite yourself. "Is this one of those rare moments?"

"Maybe," he replied with a playful glint in his eye. "Or maybe I just know when someone I care about is struggling."

You felt a flicker of warmth at his words, but you quickly suppressed it, reminding yourself that this was Satoru—the same infuriating man who'd spent the day flirting with maids and poking fun at you.

"You don't have to worry about me," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I can handle it."

"I know you can," he replied, his gaze finally shifting from the window to you. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop caring or offering support. Sometimes, it's the least I can do."

You studied his face, trying to reconcile this unexpected display of concern with the Satoru you were used to. The genuine look in his eyes was at odds with his usual playful demeanor, and it made you feel vulnerable.

"This is all just... politics," you said, trying to sound dismissive. "I'll go to the ball, meet the suitors, and do what's expected of me. It's what I've been trained for, after all."

Satoru's expression darkened slightly, and you noticed his hands clenching at his sides. "And that's it? You're just going to do what they tell you, marry some royal from another family because it's what's 'expected'?"

The edge in his voice surprised you, but you refused to let it sway you. "That's what being a princess is, Satoru. It's about duty, about sacrifice."

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the small space between you. "And what about what you want? What about your happiness?"

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "What I want doesn't matter," you said, more harshly than you intended. "This isn't about me."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you almost unbearable. Then Satoru sighed,"You're always doing this," he muttered, half to himself.

"Doing what?" you demanded, crossing your arms defensively.

Satoru's frustration was palpable as he ran a hand through his hair. "You put everyone else first, always sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of duty."

His words hit harder than you expected. "What do you know about it, Satoru?" you retorted. "You're not the one expected to marry for political gain. You don't have to choose between what's right for the kingdom and what's right for yourself."

Satoru's gaze was intense, his voice low but steady. "Maybe I don't, but I know you're more than just a pawn in this game. You deserve to have a say in your own life."

You shook your head, feeling a mix of anger and sorrow. "I've accepted my role. It's my responsibility."

Satoru stepped even closer, his voice softening. "But does that mean you have to resign yourself to a future you don't want? I know you feel trapped, but you can still fight for what you want."

For a moment, the room was heavy with silence, the tension thickening the air. You looked away,"It's not that simple," you said, your voice trembling. "There are consequences I can't ignore."

Satoru's eyes were soft with concern. "What consequences?"

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts turning to the day's events. "You saw what happened today when I defied my father and went into the forest instead of attending the council meeting. He was furious. I need to do better, follow the rules."

You turned to him, feeling a surge of frustration.

"You even told me to stop being reckless, saying, 'One day your luck will run out and no one will be there to save you.' Remember? So why are you suddenly against me acting like a princess? What changed?"

Satoru's expression softened, his gaze searching yours. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated, the weight of his own words clearly affecting him.

He looked at you. "Just please be yourself," he said earnestly. "I don't mind if you're reckless or if you make mistakes. I just don't want to see you lose who you are trying to fit into a mold that's not you."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. "It's not that simple, Satoru."

He shook his head gently. "I know it's not easy, but you're stronger than you think. And whatever happens, I'll be here for you."

The sincerity in his voice was comforting, and you allowed yourself a moment of respite from your worries. "Thank you, Satoru. I appreciate it."

He gave a playful shrug, the familiar smirk returning. "Don't mention it. Besides, it's not every day I get to be the serious one. I'm kind of enjoying it."

A genuine laugh escaped you, the tension easing just a bit. "Don't get used to it."

"Whatever you say, Princess," he said, his voice light again, though you could see the shadow in his eyes. "Just remember, I'll be there at that ball. And I'll be watching."

You forced a smile in return, though it didn't reach your eyes. "Good. Maybe you can keep me entertained while I'm paraded around."

He laughed, the sound almost normal, but as he turned to leave, you couldn't shake the feeling that something important had just been left unsaid.

As the door closed behind him, you were left alone once more, staring at the spot where he'd stood, your thoughts more tangled than ever.

Whatever you were feeling, it didn't matter. Satoru was your childhood friend, someone who had always been there, someone you could rely on. He was insufferable, always flirting and teasing, but that was just who he was. There was nothing more to it, nothing more to analyze.

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

banner art belongs to _3aem

[endlessfuckup]

feel slightly better about the election but i am still worried

Watching this debate has me like this rn

[ivysprophecy]

good graces

warnings: (did i write this watching a nonsense christmas? maybe?) i dont think there is any, cursing?

word count: 1061

summary: jj thinks he needs a big gesture to apologize about the previous nights' events, but when he gets back youre just as anxious to make up for your mistakes.

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@bernardsbendystraws divider

jj's been gone an hour. i thought he was supposed to be back sooner than this?

ive been sitting in the chateau all day bouncing my leg nervously or pacing the house or throwing rocks into the water. anything to calm my nerves.

im drawing in the dirt when his bike finally pulls up to the house.

hes wearing a helmet? since when does he wear a helmet? ive been yelling at him to get one for months.

i watch as he swings his leg over the seat of his bike and takes off the helmet and shakes his head letting his hair fly free. he hates when it sticks to his ears.

then he finally sees me sitting on the poarch.

"what the hell are you doing out here?? go back inside!!" he runs up to me dropping his bag on the ground shooing me back into the house.

ive never been so shocked by something he's said before. literally jaw dropped.

"excuse me? jj im trying to talk to you- apologize to you! why are you acting like this??" i shove him back as he urges me through the screen door.

"mama you can apologize later im trying to set up your surprise youre gonna ruin it- get your cute ass inside-" he turns me back around and moves me through the door.

i let out a little chuckle with a hint of scoff "jj im still fucking mad at you- what the hell are you doing?"

"im fixing what i fucked up," he leans down and kisses me chastely before grinning, "now sit down on the couch and wait for my say so, pretty please."

"youre being awfully demanding for someone on thin fucking ice."

"it will be worth it mama i promise. please?"

okay im mad at him... but hes being really cute. i think that outweighs my guilt.

"fine... but im not waiting forever."

"it will only be a few minutes. i promise," he kisses me forehead after i sit on the couch and runs back out the front door leaving me dazed and confused.

what has this boy got up his sleeve?

after another ten minutes of nervously waiting in the house, scrolling through my phone, bouncing my leg, biting off my finger nails, i hear the sound of 'you are in love' by taylor swift blaring from a speaker outside.

and he KNOWS thats my favorite song from my favorite album.

THAT catches my attention, and im taking it as his clue to finally come outside.

when i finally make it onto the poarch i let out an audible gasp covering my mouth at the sight. this stupid amazing outrageous throughtful fucking idiot.

theres sea shells spelling out sorry on the lawn, and hes sitting there with my favorite flowers that grow from my secluded beach reading spot, a bag of my favorite breakfast foods, and two helmets for his bike. with both our intitals.

"im really fucking sorry mama... i didnt get a chance to explain myself- i swear id never do that to you. ever. i love you so much and i know how many doubts you had about us. and sarah said id probably need to reassure you and i dont really know how to do that so i just figured id do some kind of gesture and-"

i cut off his rambling but running up to him and wrapping my arms around him, probably suffocating him but i dont really care.

this is so fucking adorable.

"thank you... you didnt have to do all of this."

"what happened to being all pissy?" he looks down at me, doing a horrible job at hiding his smirk.

"shut up... im sorry i was being so crazy. i just saw that i freaked out, i wasnt thinking. im so sorry jay-"

he gently grabs my face, pressing a small kiss to my forehead, "i know... and i shouldve made it clearer what had happened and reassured you. im not good at this boyfriend stuff, but im trying. with sarahs help if were being honest."

"youre doing great jj... this whole gesture is so sweet and thoughtful. im sorry that im a crazy girlfriend who flies off the handle when the slightest thing goes wrong."

jj shrugs innocently, sitll having me in his arms, "i dont mind it. it was kinda hot."

"youre such a pig," i smile leaning up and pressing a gentle, loving kiss to his lips, "so... forgiven?"

"youre forgiven if i am."

"you already were."

i lean over and pick up the flowers hed set down so i could hug him, bringing them to my nose.

they have a faint salty smell of the ocean stuck on them, thats one of the reason i love them. that and wild flower bouquets are really freaking pretty.

"these are perfect... thank you jj- really. this is so perfect."

"im glad you like it mama... it was this or me begging on my knees for forgiveness."

"i wouldve loved either option," i joke. "and i promise i will do better to communicate more clearly," i press pause on the speaker so we can hear each other a little better.

jj sits me down on our hammock still holding me close to his side.

"i know you will, we both got shit to work through but were gonna be fine. im not givin up on you that easy."

"you put up with a lot from me."

"eh, its worth it all in the end. when we go to bed."

"god you are such a perv!" i bump him with my shoulder laughing. while hes laughing with me i find the back of breakfast food and stealthily take it from his side and start to snack on it. "god this is so good. youre an angel."

jj throws an arm around my shoulder pressing another kiss to my temple.

"eat up. im gonna clean this up before everyone gets back and makes fun of me. do you wanna keep the shells?"

i nod shoving a bite of hashbrowns in my mouth enthusiastically.

"alright then," he heads to the yard picking up all the shells and putting them in his backpack for me to keep. maybe ill make stuff out of them so we have them forever, to remember this.

like a picture frame or a coffee mug or something crafty.