#getting a headache just thinking about them

[anhesacardia]

Forbidden Promises

Chapter 8 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Also I love women and the depiction of women gushing over sukuna is purely for the plot point of reader realizing she’s not okay with Sukuna being with someone else and she still loves him. I don’t agree with the demonizing of other women jut because they flirt with someone who’s not taken and I think it perpetuates misogynistic standards. At the same time I would like everyone to remember this a fictional story and these are these are fictional characters, jealousy, Hana finally gets to know Sukuna is her dad!! That’s it for now, if anything else is there please message me and I’ll add it!!

Wc: 2.1k

The layout of your house was confusing for anyone who was visiting for the first time. At first glance, it would seem like the only way in was through the backdoor of the bakery, but what most people didn’t know was that the  main door situated between the bakery and the building to the right opened to a longer pathway which led to the entrance of the house. Not that it mattered, since you rarely invited anyone over to begin with. 

That’s why you didn’t register the doorbell the first time you heard it, years since someone had used the chime you chose half a decade ago. Your head snapped to the door, the ringing becoming incessant after a few vexing minutes..

A frown framed your face and Sukuna’s gaze darted towards the door, pissed that some asshole dared to interrupt his time with you. You looked at Sukuna for a second, murmuring some excuse as you ran down the stairs, quickly opening the door before you got a headache from all the ringing. 

Uraume was standing before you, worry painted across their features as they peeked over your shoulder, frown deepening further,

“Sukuna-sama, there is something urgent you need to attend to right now, it seems as though one of the investors have pulled out of the newest project,”

Sukuna walks down the stairs, hand skimming over the railing as he pushed his hair backwards,

“What the fuck happened now, Uraume?”

The man scowled, standing behind you with a hand on your back, resting the other one on the railing of the door as he looked down on Uraume. 

You felt worry claw up your spine as you watched the two converse about topics that you quite literally didn’t care about, only wanting to sooth the crease that had formed in between Sukunas forehead with your thumb. 

A few minutes passed by while your attention wavered between Uraume and Sukuna, the man’s hand on your back stopping you from leaving when you tried to slip away. You gave in and let yourself indulge in his touch even though you knew better.. 

Sukuna finally shut the door in Uraumes face after a flurry of curses, pushing your back to the cold wood and bending down to rest his head on your shoulder. Your arms wrapped around him reflexively, threading your fingers through his soft pink hair as he groaned. His arms encased your body, effectively caging you in, chest an inch away from brushing against yours,

“...What’s wrong?”

Sukuna didn’t respond, just sighing heavily,trying to bury his head further into your body. You took a peek at him, the tattoos on his face had faded a bit, more blurry around the edges compared to when he had them freshly done out of highschool, a sort of rebellion towards his parents when they refused to accept you. 

You were shocked when he first got them, mouth open as you stared at him for a good ten minutes before he barked at you to stop. You let him hold you a bit tighter that night, tracing the healed outlines with your finger as he leaned into your touch. 

Sukuna turned to look at you when he felt your gaze on him, smirking when you flustered at getting caught,

“Somethings come up, looks like I’ll have to go now. Uraume’s waiting outside,”

His breath tickled the hair on your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he moves his lips closer to your cheek, hesitating,

“What were you going to tell me, pet?”

You feigned innocence, pushing at Sukuna’s broad shoulders as you turned your head away, avoiding the dreaded question,

“Sukuna we should talk later, I need some time to think about everything, it’s just a lot to take in now and I-,”

Sukuna sighed, the sound making you pause as you looked at him, he untangled himself from you, hands itching to hold you again. 

“Got it, sweets. don’t have to worry your pretty little head over it,”

He punctuated his words with a flick to your forehead and you yelped, hands coming to soothe the ache. He smirked at the gesture, hand floating over your head for a second before he patted it once, pushing you out of the way and opening the door.

“See you later, pet.”

He raised a hand, waving, before the door shut close behind him, leaving only the scent of his cologne behind. 

The bakery was unusually packed, couples and families lining every table and filling the shop up with bustling chatter, warm smiles and carefree laughter. Fumiko was helping you out at the cashier, the waiting line reaching the end of the shop,as one by one, the pastries you worked hard on were starting to disappear with each satisfied customer.

The herd of customers had come to a slow stop around midday and combined with the lunch rush  earlier, it was getting far too overwhelming for you to deal with by yourself. Fumiko had even started to send customers away as per your request. 

You were a few minutes late to the pick up time, Aoi told you that her son had come down with a cold and was pulled out of school early. What you didn’t expect, by the time you reached the kindergarden, was Sukuna being surrounded by a dozen single mothers, manicured nails raking over his arms as they batted their lashes up at him. 

Your stomach churned with unease, feeling underdressed compared to them. You were still wearing work clothes, apron dusted with flour and other unknown powders, sweaty from half running to the kindergarten. You clenched your hands at your sides, mind rushing to think about how many women Sukuna had been with since after you. 

Even during college, Sukuna’s popularity had just skyrocketed, rumours about him being violent or cruel did nothing to deter the women that tried to hang off of his arms, no matter how many times he said he was uninterested. 

The dark feeling just multiplied in your gut as you saw Sukuna politely push them away, heart beating uncomfortably fast as you tried to gouge out every reaction from his face. 

Why wasn’t he pushing these women away, was he really going to entertain them after kissing you like that just a few hours ago? 

Your skin pricked with goose flesh, stuck in daze as you watched the scene unfold in front of you. Only snapping out when you heard a man calling out your name, 

“Ah it’s good to see you again!”

You turned your head around and he grasped your wrist in his, curling his fingers around the skin and making you want to pull him off.He was one of Hana’s friends' fathers, another single parent like you. His wife had passed away in childbirth and sometimes you would look after his daughter when he came home late after work.

He had found out about your situation when he trespassed your home to get his daughter one evening, noticing the lack of photos of a husband in your living room and questioning you about it until you eventually came clean and he promised to keep it a secret. You never trusted him though, always walking on eggshells for the slight chance he used the information against you. 

A practiced smile came over your features as you greeted him, he was getting far too comfortable with you, calling out your name like that in public and touching you without your consent. People could misunderstand this and you did not want Hana to be hearing things from her classmates or their mothers, god knows the last thing you need on your hand is rumours about you being promiscuous. 

“It’s good to see you too Mr.Takumi,”

You pulled your wrist back, cradling it behind your back as you tried to not let your displeasure show. 

It was then when the bell rang and the kids came running out, the teachers behind them chiding them not to run lest they fall.

Hana saw you and her face lit up, a similar smile dancing on your features as you crouched to catch her in your arms. Her tiny arms wrapped around your neck as she giggled into your neck,

“Mumma! You came!”

You smiled, getting back up as you patted her back. It wasn’t often that you came up to pick up Hana, only when the goods ran out early, which was rare or on special occasions- like birthdays or holidays or the one day you take off every year to go explore places with her.

Takumi had his daughter in his arms too, the little girls talking together as they leaned forward for a hug while still being in their parents’ arms. You leaned forward, shoulders brushing against Takumis as you held the same tight lipped smile. 

That’s when you felt Hana being pulled out of your grasp and you gasped, Sukuna was standing next to you, balancing Hana on one arm as the other wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him.

He had been watching ever since he heard your name being called, pushing away from the crowd of women as he strided over to you. Takumi sputtered for a second as he saw Sukuna, the six foot man was a good head taller than Takumi and was currently glaring at him, looking down at him through his nose. 

Sukuna bent down to nose your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips as heat rose up your cheeks at the action, eyes widening as you stared back at him. The man just smirked before turning his attention back to Takumi,

“Hope you don’t mind me cutting the conversation short, been a while since my wife got off of work early ,”

The shorter male fumbled over his words and Sukuna held in his grin as he waved goodbye, glancing back with amusement glinting in his eye. 

Hana looked at Sukuna and then at you, a suspicious expression on her face as she furrowed her eyebrows and pointed at Sukuna,

“Mumma, is the mean mister your boyfriend?”

You stopped on the sidewalk, turning to look at Hana in her fathers arms as you took her in yours, letting Sukuna hold her bag. 

Sukuna felt uncomfortably warm as he awaited your answer, huge body almost shaking in anticipation. His eyes trailed down to yours and held eye contact for a while before you brushed a stray hair from Hana’s forehead,

“Hana… why don’t we go home and have a talk hmm baby?”

Hana just nodded, ever the understanding child when it came to you, lying her head down on your shoulder as she hummed. 

Sukuna on the other hand looked like someone had just informed him that he had to spend thirty more days in the burning pits of hell while being forced to clean Satan's shit at the same time. He quickly plastered on a fake expression, hiding his true feelings once again.

“So how did it go?”

Sukuna was once again sitting at your dining table, this time playing with the utensils as he stared at Hana sitting at her own table and patiently waiting for her food. 

“How did what go?”

He turned his attention to you, brow cocking up in question as he looked confused. You stopped plating the food and made eye contact with him again.

“Your work? Uraume said something went wrong?”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, looking like a petulant child in the comfort of your own home. 

“Got that dealt with as soon as I could to see the kid again,”

Hana perked up at the mention of a kid, eyes gleaming in excitement as you finally put down the plates in front of Sukuna and Hana, dusting off your hands as they held the same hungry expression,

“Mister you have a kid? How old are they? Where are they? Are they a boy or girl?”

Hana’s endless curiosity had stopped phasing you long ago, you ruffled her soft pink hair with hand, pinching her cheek as you sat down in the dining table,

“Baby, mumma and mister have something to tell you before you eat your food okay?”

Sukuna glanced at you, then back down at your trembling hand under the table. He reached out, enveloping your own hand in his as he squeezed softly, calming you down with his warmth as you let out a shaky sigh.

Hana sensed your anxiety and immediately ditched her food, running up next to you and climbing into your lap with a scared expression,

“Hana, this is your father,”

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[allthingsfangirl101]

Not Supposed To Hear That – Glen Powell

My face started burning the second I stepped onto the set. I've been working as a PA for Netflix for five years. Over the years, I've worked on several movies that Glen's been a part of. But something changed as we filmed Hitman.

Glen and I have interacted on every set we've worked on. It started with my cold hands putting on his mike. Then it moved to him using my cold hands to get rid of a headache. It progressed when he knocked my lunch on me and offered to take me to dinner to make it up. Things didn't really progress much further. We ended up filming late and never rescheduled. Instead, we had small-talk conversations whenever we saw each other.

That is, until last night.

I'm not entirely sure how we ended up in his hotel room, naked in bed together. It might have something to do with a ton of us going out drinking after we finished filming early.

I woke up to the feeling of someone wrapping their arm around me. As soon as my eyes opened, memories flooded my mind.

Drinking.

Dancing.

Grinding.

Making out.

Undressing.

And every moment after.

I hesitated before finally looking over my shoulder. Glen seemed like he was sleeping, but his smirk made it clear that he wasn't. My thoughts changed from memories to worries. I started to overthink why what happened last night had happened.

Right as those thoughts started to get a little too dark, Glen started kissing my neck. I squeezed my eyes closed and struggled to hold in my moan as the kisses got a little more sloppy. A moan escaped when he bit my collarbone.

"There she is," he moaned against my skin. I gasped when he grabbed my hips and rolled me onto my back, quickly hovering over me.

"How'd you sleep, gorgeous?"

"Not bad," I said, the butterflies in my stomach going crazy. His eyes softened as he lowered his body closer to mine.

"You know that this wasn't just a drunken mistake," he whispered, "right?"

"No," I confessed, my voice as soft as his. "But it helps that you said that."

Glen chuckled before leaning in and pressing his lips to mine. I wrapped my arms around his chest as we repeated last night's events.

About an hour later, Glen finally let me leave. I went home and quickly showered before heading to work. I walked onto set, everything feeling a little hazy. I went about my normal routine with my mind on last night and this morning. It wasn't until I overheard something I clearly shouldn't have overheard that I was pulled out of my dream-like state.

"So, Powell, a little birdy told me you completed the dare?"

I froze.

Please don't let them be talking about what I think they're talking about.

"And what little birdy was that?" I heard Glen scoff. There was something in his voice that made my stomach turn.

"One of the girls in the makeup trailer," another guy spoke up. By the sound of his voice, it might have been Luke, the weapons specialist we hired. "She told me that Y/N came into work this morning with a very big smile on her face."

"I can't believe you actually took that bet," Oliver, one of our camera guys laughed.

"I can't believe that Hollywood's bad boy, Glen Powell, actually got quite shy little Y/N to sleep with him," Paul, another cameraman, chuckled.

"Oh shit," Luke swore when his eyes landed on me. All of the guys, including Glen, turned toward me.

"Y/N. . ." Glen stuttered. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," I said but it got caught in my throat. Glen tried to take a step closer to me. I instantly took a step back. I shook my head as the tears burned my eyes.

"Y/N, it's not what it. . ."

I didn't hear the rest of his excuse. I turned on my heel and ran until I got to my car. Tears streamed down my face as I drove home.

* * * * *

My breath got stuck in my throat when I opened the door. Glen was standing on my porch with his Red Carpet Ready smile.

"Hey, you."

"What are you doing here?" My question made his smile drop.

"You wouldn't return my calls," he stuttered.

"Yeah," I sighed, leaning against the doorway. "There's a reason for that."

"Y/N, I was just trying to. . ."

"I can't do this," I cut him off. "I don't want to do this. Please leave."

Before he could say anything else, I shut the door. I was about to walk away but something stopped me. As I tried to figure out what that was, it became clear.

"Look," I heard him sigh through the door, "I know nothing I say is going to make this better. And I know you're not going to believe me when I say this but I'm going to say it anyway - I didn't sleep with you because of the bet. "

"You're right," I said, yanking the door open again. My voice broke as I continued, "I don't believe you."

"I get that," he smiled softly. "And you have every right to think it's not true, but it is. I swear, Y/N. I didn't sleep with you because of the bet. The guys saw us talking one day and started teasing me about it."

"What were they saying?" I asked, my voice still soft.

"They kept asking if I was talking to you because. . ."

"Because what?" I pushed.

Glen sighed before admitting, "Because I wasn't getting any anywhere else and you were the best available."

"Wow," I scoffed. I started to shut the door but he didn't let me close it this time.

"Y/N," he said, his tone changing, "I want to explain. Please. Let me in."

I sighed before opening my door and standing aside. After he walked into my apartment, I slowly closed the door. I took a shaky breath before turning around and following him into the living room. He stood awkwardly until I sat down on the couch. He hesitated before sitting next to me.

"Listen. . ." He slowly started. "The guys are asses. They think that a girl and a guy can't be friends. They think the only reason someone like me would be talking to someone like you is because of sex."

"Someone like me," I mumbled.

"No!" He gasped. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant an actor and a PA."

"You're not helping yourself, Glen," I sighed, subconsciously scooting away from him.

"I know," he said under his breath. "Let me try this again."

My heart jumped into my throat when Glen turned toward me, grabbed my hands, and turned me toward him.

"I am so sorry, Y/N," he said gently. "But you have to believe me. I didn't sleep with you last night because the guys dared me to. That dare was a joke. I didn't accept it. I didn't even tell them we hooked up. They kept asking questions and that's what you heard. They saw you get angry and storm off. The second they started asking me how it was, I chased after you. When you left, I found them again and threatened them."

"You what?" I stuttered.

"I told them to leave you and me alone," he explained, slowly reaching over and grabbing my hand. "I told them that if they ever made you uncomfortable or spread rumors about you, I'd beat them senseless."

"Glen. . ."

"I had to," he said quickly. "I had to stand up for you. I didn't want you thinking that I used you. I'd never do that to a girl, Y/N. Especially a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" I asked, barely finding my voice.

"A girl I really care about."

He grabbed my other hand and pulled me closer. I didn't stop him as he leaned in and delicately pressed his lips to mine. I hesitated before kissing him back. As our lips moved in sync, he let go of my hands and gently grabbed my face. To respond, I reached forward and grabbed his shirt.

Next, Glen did something I didn't expect; he pulled away.

"Y/N," he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine. "I need to know that you know I didn't sleep with you because of that damn dare."

He leaned back and studied me. I realized that he was waiting for me to reassure him.

"I know," I said, my voice under my breath.

"Good," he said, instantly relaxing. He smiled as he reached up and tucked some hair out of my face, his hand lingering there. "All these weeks, we've been teasing each other, bringing each other coffee and lunch, making jokes. Spending more and more time together. That was all real, Y/N. And over those weeks, I have fallen harder and harder for you. In fact, I'm crazy about you, Y/N. Absolutely, positively crazy about you."

I studied his eyes, struggling to sort out my feelings. I wanted to believe him. And I almost did.

"Glen," I said, my voice softer than I wish I had.

"I'm crazy about you, Y/N," he said again, his eyes desperate. "Please believe me."

"I want to," I stuttered. "But I just. . . I can't get that conversation out of my head."

I quickly stood up and started pacing back and forth in front of Glen, who was still on the couch.

"I can't stop thinking about the way they all laughed," I started to ramble. "They were laughing at me, Glen. At the idea of us. And they're right! No one would believe that Hollywood's Heartthrob would fall for a boring PA. But when I only think about you, and the time we spend together, and how you make me feel. . ."

"How do I make you feel?" He asked, slowly standing up and making me stop pacing. He didn't look away from me as he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. I took a shaky breath as he repeated, "How do I make you feel, Y/N?"

"I can't really explain," I said slowly. "I get all. . . fluttery inside. When we hang out, I feel like there's a stampede in my stomach. When we talk, I feel like my heart is running a marathon. When you look at me, I feel like the world freezes. When you smile at me, I feel like everything is perfect."

Glen leaned in and smashed his lips to mine. I let out a small moan as I slid my hands up his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. We broke apart, both of us breathing heavily.

I smiled as I added, "When you kiss me, I feel like everything around me freezes so we can stay in that moment longer."

"I know I've owed you this way too long," he chuckled as he reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, "but can I take you to dinner?"

[marilynthornhilllover]

Hi! I have a request on "Angry Mommy! Agatha x bratty! reader"? (When reader disrespect agatha and agatha got angry at reader?)

Detention

Mommy Agatha x bratty reader

Warning: brat play, praise kink, mommy kink,degradation kink, breed kink, fingering, cunninglingus, nipple play, chocking, spanking, squirting, public sex, slight overstimulation .

You were running late…. Again. For the third time for the week already. And to make everything worst, you were late to one of the most strictest professors class. Ms. Harkness. Your English drama lecturer for the semester. She was a total headache. You couldn’t stand her, she always had an attitude and gives so much assignments to complete in such little time. And whenever you had drama class she’d humiliate you infront of everyone, and when you had competitions she’d purposely remove your name from the list so you’d miss try outs and auditions.

She was a total bitch. She had a problem with everything you did. You couldn’t submit work a day late with a very valid excuse, she’d either not mark it or give you a zero with a caution letter. If you were even five minutes late to her class she’d either tell you to stand outside for the entire period or tell you to take a trip down to the principals office. Don’t have her literature books for class or a change of clothes for drama class, detention for three weeks. Everyone hated her, and to make matters worse she had her favorites, who weren’t even saints.

Like little miss goody toe shoe Cheryl grey, the school’s popular girl. She’s an uptight spoiled bitch of a slut who thinks she’s got what everyone wants. When in reality it’s mommy and daddy’s money and no one really wants to be her friend, they’re all just using her and she knows but who will she be without them…. The both of you had beef last year, well not you, she had imaginary beef with you because her boyfriend asked you out and you rejected him so he told her it was the other way around.

The both of you got into a huge fight and you were both sent home for eleven days along with community service around the school for three additional days. And at the end of it, Ms. Harkness started calling you ‘little miss trouble maker’ when she knew exactly how the story unfolded because she was present that day. She even told the principal you started it when you were literally the one trying to be the bigger person.

This morning just wasn’t your morning, you couldn’t find your bra, your longer skirt wasn’t washed so you had to wear the one that was super short with your ass cheeks on show case, your blouse two first sets of buttons were gone leaving your cleavage on display for wondering eyes. You washed your hair the night before and had completely forgotten to blow dry it so now your hair was frizzy and lose so you decided to try rocking a cute messy bun.

You were already twenty five minutes late to class but you hadn’t had breakfast so you decided to stop at the schools corner cafe to get a sandwich and a soda. You entered class through the side door with a slight push, trying not make your presence obvious but the door creaked signaling your arrival and everyone’s head turned in sync to the sound, including Ms. Harkness. And let’s just say she had the most unpleasant look pained on her face. She looked absolutely pissed.

You looked like a deer in the headlights under her gaze. Her eyes were captivating, god it’s crazy how much she could still make you fold even though she’s a total bitch.

“ so you turn up to my class half an hour late, with food, earPods in and dressed like a slut, it’s clear to me miss y/l/n that you don’t give a fuck about my time and efforts here” a few snickers could be heard around the room, and everyone else just looked completely fazed or entirely shook. Even you, she didn’t even allowed you to speak, explain. Nothing, and dressed like a slut? Infront of the entire class like that? She didn’t even talk to you about it in private now that’s a bit disrespectful. You’ve had enough of her shit and if she didn’t care you really didn’t see why you should.

“ well maybe if you had asked why I’m late I would have told you, and plus what I do before your class shouldn’t concern you it’s my business w–“ before you could finish your sentence she responds to you as she slowly takes steps towards the area where you were standing.

“ you know what? Save it, this is why you have failing grades, you have detention for the rest of the semester and I’ll have the principal informed so you can have an hour of community service before and after school since you have so much free time and you’ll have to write everyones drama script for them for a week, since what you do out of class is none of my business I’ll surly make what you do in class my business” her voice is clear and stern as she folds her arms over her chest, silently challenging you. Daring you rather.

The room falls silent with a couple boys ‘ohs’ from the back row, and you just stand there in a face off with her completely in disbelief with your jaw dropped.

“ you can’t do that! I didn’t even do anything you wouldn’t let me explain to you why I was la—“

“ exit my class please, you can waste your own time but not my other diligent students time” she turns her back to you and proceeds to walk over to the projectory white board before switching the slide and picking up her marker before proceeding to write the next sub topic.

“ you fucking bitch” was the last thing you said before you walked out of her class and into the hallway, you turn the volume of your music up and went straight to the school’s library. Students generally weren’t allowed in there during class time unless they had proof of a free period but the librarian was your aunts best friend so she usually just lets you get a free pass but before you could open the door your name gets called over the PA system to come to the principals office immediately or you’ll face serious consequences.

When you arrived you knew immediately what the issue was because sitting the in left chair infront of Mr. Joules desk was no other than Ms. Harkness.

“ please have a seat y/n” he says softly, he watches you from over his glasses as you make your way from the door to the chair before you plop down with a annoyed huff. He sighs as he places his hands on his hips before his eyes shifts between you and Ms harkness.

“ young lady I am disappointed with the news that harkness brought to my attention regarding you this morning, she said that you showed up to her class almost an hour late, in appearance to not caring and to close the statement you had an attitude and you disrespected her infront of your classmates causing them to laugh” your eyes snapped up at him before they quickly turned to her, to which she was already looking at you. Smirking.

This fucking bitch…….

“ that’s so not true! She didn’t even let me explain myself this morning and on top of that she was the one to disrespect me by calling me a slut and then drafted up stuff for me to do without explaining—“ she smirks at your response but it quickly goes away when Mr joules looks over at her.

“ is that part true Ms harkness?” He askes and she clears her throat before sitting up.

“ absolutely not, I would never say such a thing to any of my students, all I told her was to stop wasting her own time and her classmates time by being a distraction and that her grades are already low” your mouth was on the floor with her response. Not only is she a fucking cold hearted bitch she’s rootless liar. Great. Before you could fire back at her claim Mr joules speaks up.

“ i agree, your grades are currently dropping as we speak young lady and you haven’t been improving even with the tutoring programs your parents have instilled for you. It breaks my heart to have to do this but you’ll have detention with Ms. Harkness for the rest of the semester, you’ll complete a community service task each morning before school and once drama class falls on one of those days you’ll occupy yourself by writing the scripts for your peers. Hopefully this keeps you on your toes and ahead of time and improve your behavior and academics, so do I make myself clear young lady, because next stop will be expelling you” you felt utterly mistreated and hopeless because all of this was just unfair.

You agreed to his terms and dismissed yourself quickly from their presence before they saw the tear drop that fell from your eyes as soon as you stepped foot out of the office. Detention starts on the exact day of the offense so after your last class you made your way down to her lecture hall. You waited for the students to file out before you went in. She sat at her desk her legs crossed and eyes focused on what ever her screen displayed.

She was typing something on her laptop and haven’t even noticed that you had came in, she wore a black pencil skirt that was tightly fitted with a slit at the slide exposing her flexed caves, and a slightly lose longs sleeved blouse that had two buttons undone. She looked absolutely stunning to tell the truth. You did feel attraction towards her but you killed the feeling due to her attitude.

You decide to not wait for her signal to come in and instead move with haste to your seat. It wasn’t far from her desk. Just like two steps away. From your angle you could see her porcelain skin and the valley down towards her breast. You forced yourself to snap out of the trance and took out your English books, it’s true that you did have failing grades for English, it’s something you struggled with, at least the essay writing part. You sat there scratching your head as you tried to figure out how to express yourself in words.

You heard a faint sigh from her and the faint push of her chair, you quickly grabbed your pen and started pretending to write something. You heard the click of her heels approach you before they stopped right beside you. She leans down and her perfume immediately intoxicates you, it’s a strong smell of wood and citrus with a slight tinge of floral essence.

“ do you want help, sweetheart?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, it was raspy and husked and you could hear the faint exhaustion that came with it. You prayed she didn’t see the way your thighs clenched, and they way you bit your lip hastily before releasing it.

“ I’m fine” you replied quickly, a little too quickly because you came off a bit too rude, before you started to bounce your left leg.

“ get up” there was a slight change in her tone and now, you were confused but not wanting to get into any more trouble or have another incident with her patterning to confrontation you obeyed her orders. As soon as you raised to your feet you felt her suddenly grab a fist full of your hair and slam you down onto the desk causing your pencil case and book to fall off.

“ I’ve had enough of your brattiness and I think it’s time someone put you in your place.” Your back arches slightly as a soft moan escapes you subconsciously. Her grip on your hair was brutal and firm. You squirmed when you felt her hands wander up and down your thighs before slipping their way into the depths of them pushing your skirt further up your ass.

“ whoring out yourself for mommy? Hmh want her to see how perfect and round this ass is, this body is mine isn’t it?” She purred as she watched your body react to her by shivering, you felt the dampness in your underwear from just her words and god were you ashamed of yourself for it. She spreads your legs further apart and pulls your underwear to the side as she moaned at your wetness.

“ fuck look at that, all this for mommy? I’ve barely even touched you yet baby” you turned your head to the side to look at her but her grip in your hair keeps your firm and in place, you feel a firm blow come down on your left cheek and a loud whine makes it’s way out of you. She firmly tugs you upwards by your hair before her hand quickly wraps around your neck pulling your head back and deepening your arch.

“ are you gonna be a good fucking girl and take what mommy give to you baby?” You nod and you feel another harsh slap come down onto your left cheek, echoing throughout the room.

“ answer me darling” she whispers in your ear nibbling on your earlobe as she massages the redden area.

“ y-yes mommy, i promise” you whimper as she releases you causing you to fall into the wood with a soft thud.

“ that’s a good fucking girl, come here” she pulls your already limp body towards her desk. She takes her seat and pulls you down onto her. She rips your panties off and pulls your skirt all the way up around your abdomen. She spread your legs over her lap and pushes you back against the desk slightly. She unbuttons your shirt and freezes when she doesn’t see a bra to unclip. Her eyes flick up towards you and a sly smirk plays on her face. She lets your shirt drape over your shoulders before wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling your chest into her face.

She attaches her mouth to your nipple and begins to suck and twirl her tongue around it. You closed your eyes and wrapped your hand around her neck as you pulled her closer, you gently intertwined your fingers in her hair and gently scraped your nails against her scalp with she twisted your nipple extra hard, she then released your nipple with a pop before going to the other one. You were lost in this fog of desire and lust for this women. You were absolutely losing your sanity and self respect for her.

You felt so hot and needy right now in her embrace, you needed her to touch you right and kiss you and fuck you so good, fuck out the attitude. You just wanted to know how she feels, how her tongue feels on your skin, how her fingers feels in you. You wanted her to do the most unholy things possible to you. You just needed her to completely ruin you.

“ please” you moaned, you didn’t even know what you were begging for, you just need to feel something more intense. She released your nipple with a pop again before looking up at you. Her eyes twinkled as she chuckled at your heated state. She gently lifted her thighs lifting you in the process as she slowly inserted a finger into you, you bit your lip as she slowly sank you down onto her digit, you moaned as you felt yourself slowly taking it deeper within you. God it felt so good. You rolled your toes as you clenched down around her finger.

“ fuck” you muttered as you collapsed onto her, you tucked your face into her neck as you rolled your hips to feel her more. She grappled your hips firmly and sank you deeper down onto her digit as she tightly inserted another one. You clung onto her shoulders for dear life as she started thrusting them in you.

“ good girl, you feel how deep mommy is in you?” You nodded as you felt her swirl her fingers against your spongy walls causing you to cry out. She chuckles darkly before slowly sliding her fingers in a twisted position as she increases the speed of her thrust. Your eyes roll back completely as your moans get stuck in your throat and she can tell you were close by the way your walls hugged her fingers neatly. So warm and thick with so much slick.

“ does that feel good my love? You want mommy to breed you? Huh, fuck I wish I had a dick I’d put a baby in you, make you so round and full” she whispered, peppering kisses along your neck and across your jaw. That did it for you. After a few more drawls of her fingers in you, your orgasm hit you like a mad train. Scooping you up into a high bliss of clouds and heavens. And for a moment you swore you saw angels and the most beautiful golden forest.

You could feel her gently caressing your body as you came back down from your high. No one has ever made you feel so good, not even yourself. She got up and gently lifted you with her as she laid you onto her desk. You winced at the coldness of the wood before you relaxed at looked down at her. She smiled softly at you before completely removing your blouse from your shoulders and taking off your skirt from your waist. She then removes her shirt and bra and lord of heavens did she have the nicest tits, so firm and beautiful. They were plush and pink, with stiff and redden nipples. And her abdomen was so firm with abs.

She left her pants on but slipped off her heels. She then leaned down and kissed you. It was soft and blissful before it turned into something so sinful. She then began to make her way down your body leaving trails of kisses in her wake. Pushing your thighs apart she began to kiss in between your thighs. Softly with deliberate slowness. Your hands flew to her brown locks as she carefully started making her way closer towards your center. A audible gasp escaped you when her lips pressed against your labia.

Her eyes flicked up towards you before she slowly started tracing your clit with the tip of her tongue. You moaned softly and closed your eyes at the feeling. Soon she started licking and twisting her tongue at a more faster pace that you couldn’t keep up with. Your body started to squirm beneath her as she pushed your thighs further apart, sprawling you out for her own pleasure. She enveloped your clit entirely in her mouth as she assaulted it with sucks and pulls. Her finger gently playing with the entrance of your hole before slipping it and slowly working up to speed.

You felt overwhelmed and pressured. A dark wave of orgasm was building up within you and you didn’t know how to comprehend it. You tried closing you legs up but she’d just suck and thrust harder and deeper within you making you cry out. Your breathing started to get more intense as your stomach began to tie in knots as you started to feel a deep pressure in your belly and the urge to pee.

“ f-fuck shit, hold on I need to pee, I’m gonna pee stop—“ you tried moving away from her but she’d continued fucking you. It’s like you were encouraging her. She fingers went deeper in you as you felt them hitting that sweet pot in you. And the constant sucking of your clit was making your tie curl. She was driving you insane. She grabbed you thighs and wrapped her arm around it as she pushed them even wider apart that you couldn’t keep feel her knuckles push even deeper.

Agatha pressed a hand on your stomach as she continued to fuck you faster you closed your eyes as you tried pulling away quickly but then you just felt a huge wave of oblivion wash over you as your body began to spasm. You felt like you were in a completely other dimension. After a while Agatha pulled out her fingers as she watched your release ooze out of you. She quickly caught it with her finger pushing some back in you in the process as she licked the rest off her fingers. She smiled at your tired state before rising to her feet.

“ I hope to see you again tomorrow for detention young lady…….”

[cvnt4him]

Its hard bringing certain things into words. Feelings happen to be one of them. It upsets you deeply when you can't put a name to what's wrong with you; what you're feeling.

You aren't sure why you're feeling so down and saddened but it's really bothering you. So much so you're having trouble with a lot of your daily necessities. Eating becoming too much to handle, your jaw growing just as tired as you feel every time the repeated cycle of chewing happens.

Whether it be cleaning your teeth, doing your laundry, showering ect. It was tiring and seemed like a chore you couldn't force yourself or gaslight yourself into doing anymore. Ensuring those who worried about you that you were okay became tiring. Because lying to yourself became far too much for you to handle.

You couldn't keep telling yourself it's a temporary thing, that it'll go away if you keep trying, to just keep going through it no matter what. You were growing bored and weary of this repeated cycle. Everything changing in what seems to stay the same. It was too much for you. You hadn't realized you were falling apart, but others began to worry.

You hadn't texted your boyfriend back in a while, not bothering to answer calls and fill him with almost the same amount of disappointment you feel in yourself. You couldn't upset him with how bad you feel and how you couldn't explain yourself. Classes becoming too much, worrying about your future just adding more fuel to your stress filled fire. You were tired scared and over this bad feeling. You wished there was a way to extinguish this growing ache inside.

You struggled with a lot of things that weren't good for you. Things you had a hard time talking about, it was only times like this when every little thing got to you. From small comments to down right insults. They made you feel inferior and less than human.

You lied in your bed, in a half assed burrito you tried to snuggle yourself in. Staring at the ceiling, fired and crusted tears along the sides of your cheeks and the corners of your eyes. They were reddened due to the unexplainable crying you'd been doing, you just felt so unhappy. You couldn't explain it.

Thinking about it anymore, the constant frowning and furrowing of your brows. Thinking about all that upset you and seemed to defy you causing a migraine to creep onto you. You groan only egging on the head aching pain, you turn around and hide your head underneath your pillow trying your best to contain the tears that wanted to fall again.

There was a knock at your door. You figured who it could be, in all truths you didn't want to get up. You felt bad for bed rotting and getting like this at your big age but what else could you do than to succumb to your emotions.

You got up, messy and wrinkled pajamas lazily falling down your body as you shuffle slowly to the door. More knocks only egging on your full blown headache, you groan in annoyance.

“ I'm coming, damnit.”

You sigh heavily and swing the door open to see your boyfriend, tall and surprisingly a worried expression on his face. Your eyes widen as he scoffs in relief at the sight of you, a silly grin painting his face

“ man, you look like shit.”

He chuckled as he walked in. you almost close the door on his face as you turn and walk back to your bed with a grunt as you lie down and cover yourself.

Kuroo didn't want to believe what he had already confirmed, you had been ignoring him and skipping all of your classes. None of your work getting done and he wasn't even sure if you were eating.

You were locked away in your dorm for the past few weeks and his concerns were only growing. Of course you texted him a bit telling him you didn't need him to come and that you were okay but of course that didn't stop his suspicion.

He wished he would've came sooner at the sight of your form. It was filthy, he could tell you were really going through it.

Kuroo walked to your bed, setting his bag down right beside it and patting the side of your bed. Your back was facing him, you couldn't see him but you felt the parting signifying he wants you to scoot over.

You didn't move, honestly after you laid back down you felt like you couldn't. It really was growing to be a lot just to do the simplest things. And it upsets you in that moment. A small sniffle leaving you as terrible thoughts flooded your mind.

Upon hearing it kuroo sighed and scooted you over himself, your heavy body slightly shuffling to the side as he slides in bed next to you. It was awfully cold in your room but he knew you liked it that way. He always joked about how you must've been a bear in your past life, hibernating every time it got a least bit cold.

Kuroo was quick to wrap his entire body around yours, his long arm draping over your squishy body and pulling you closer to him. He buried his face in your neck, his nose already cooling to the temperature of your dorm.

You could smell his familiar scent, always finding a way to calm you. His touch was soft and delicate. Ensuring not to startle or upset you more, he was gentle and tried his best to soothe and ease away any pain you felt.

Small kisses planting to your temple and the side of your head. He hated seeing you like this, he swore it hurt him just as bad as it did you. Kuroo is a people person, he's very observant and pretty good at reading people. Its scary and honestly shocking considering how shy he was when he was a kid, dare you say even more antisocial than kenma.

“ t’s getting bad again, huh.”

you couldn't help the tears that left your body. All of the sadness you tried to keep inside just crashing into you. You hiccuped and sobbed turning to face kuroo and burying your nose in the chest of his hoodie. Every time you inhaled you could practically taste his calming smell.

He cooed small nothing into your ear as his hand found itself in your head, small strokes in an attempt calm you. He would tell you how proud he was of you, how he wished you would've spoken to him and how it only gets better from here.

In all honesty, you were fucking tired of hearing that... "everything would be okay" it was all tiring. So fucking annoying. You couldn't handle being told things would get better when they haven't proven to do so. All your trying and all the hard work you put into what you do. It's draining.

It takes everything out of you. You were tired. But he was there. And lucky, he wasn't going anywhere.

[starlightwoofwoof]

🐞💜✨ Random DW x MLB AU Fun Facts, Featuring Random Doodles!!! YIPPEE [Part 1?? I think I’m gonna make this a series lol why not] ✨💜🐞

okay where do I start uhhhhhh let’s start with some fruitcake why not

🍓💖✨ Sprout, Cosmo, Dessert Despair and The Vine Guardian ✨💖🍓

I have now decided that Dessert and Guardian’s ship name is Protectivedessert :]

I feel like if they met, Dessert and Guardian would just hug each other for hours on end

Not sure which one of them is taller, but they might be the same height, idk-

If they are, Guardian is sulking and going limp in Dessert’s arms because he’s just that happy to see him 💖✨

I do feel like Guardian would trap Dessert and take care of him too much lol

I’m not sure about the specifics of Sprout’s akumatization, but I like to think it was because either he thought something bad happened to Cosmo and he got hurt or something bad did happen to Cosmo. Either way, it made Sprout feel terrible for not being able to help him

���💜✨ Allureium and Akumatization in general ✨💜🦋

about time I talked more about the main villain and his funky little powers!!

The way Allureium manipulates the toons changes between who he’s talking to. If the victim is more likely to give in and accept his deal, he’s nicer to them and tries to convince them that he’s trying to help them. (Goob, Toodles, etc.) However, if they’re not willing to succumb so easily, Allureium will just straight up bully them into accepting 💀 (Rodger, Sprout and even Glisten, as seen in my comic about his akumatization-)

Not sure what you would call the dark transformation stuff that releases out of the possessed item after the victim accepts, but the miraculous wiki refers to it as ‘ether’ (I personally like to call it transformation goop lol)

btw if you didn’t know, to free the akuma victims, you have to break their possessed item. The victims usually don’t remember what happened during their time as a villain

Akumas can basically change your whole brain chemistry, like, a toon can go from being friends with someone to completely despising them

This doesn’t happen in the show, but I like to think that the akuma victims show different side effects, as shown in the AU introduction- (headaches and aches in general, nausea, passing out for hours or even DAYS after their defeat depending on how powerful they were, etc.)

The toons react differently to their possessions afterwards, obviously- mainly depending on how aggressive their villain side is (some of them just accept that it happened and moved on, some of them feel guilty after but feel better eventually, some of them have genuine trauma from it …… *cough* G L I S T E N *cough*, etc.)

… omg what if the transformation goop is ichor in this AU AND ALL THEIR AKUMA FORMS ARE THE TWISTEDS OH MY GO- (sorry getting ahead of myself lol, still gotta figure out the cartoon)

🖤❤️✨ Drama King and Dazzle ✨❤️🖤

figured I’d give these guys their own section because you guys seemed to really like them last time :3

Drama King has complete control over both of their legs, but Dazzle still has control over their right arm

Drama hates having to share his “rise to fame” with Dazzle (it’s like with what I said about the whole changing thing- Razzle would normally love his brother dearly, but as Drama, he doesn’t anymore)

I feel like despite Drama being giggly and laughing all the time, he has some big anger issues. Especially when Dazzle is “nagging” to him about how he shouldn’t do what he’s doing, and how much he misses Razzle. The true Razzle

Someone reblogged with an idea of how Razzle got corrupted because of multiple cancellations and rejections to just be apart of backstage work, and I love the idea- cause y’know, it makes sense (and it’s angsty lol)

Dazzle tried to make Razzle feel better about the whole situation they were in, but I feel like Dazzle wouldn’t be … great at comforting people-

🍭🌈✨ Extra Fun Facts ✨🌈🍭

extra fun facts I couldn’t really fit into a whole category lol (it’s mostly about Basserker and Hatred lol)

I feel like Basserker and Hatred’s ship name would either be Sharkbite or Sharkattack or something like that :3

Basserker has a great sense of smell, but his nose is very sensitive, booping it would probably make him jolt, even if he’s expecting it

Hatred’s arms are longer than they should be

I feel like Shrimpo didn’t accept Allureium’s deal for him (“I HATE BEING AKUMATIZED”) …… until Allureium promised violence-

I feel like I should mention Dandy, since he isn’t the main character anymore- Shelly replaced him for the main protagonist role in this AU lol

Dandy runs a little supermarket with help from Pebble, of course :]

okie I think that’s all I can think of for now!! 💙✨

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Skelly has a neighbor thats a Karen and a neighbor that painted their house rainbow

They hate each other and often scream at each other

Undertale Sans - Sans likes to play the model little neighbour so his Karen neighbour trusts him, but then he's bitching with the other neighbor in her back and gives them material to get revenge. It's entertaining. Sans still wonders if he should paint his house rainbow out of nowhere just to see her reaction.

Undertale Papyrus - Papyrus is desperately trying to make them get along together, tricking them into improvised meals so they have no choice but to talk. He soon realizes it's going to be more complicated than he thought. At least he's never bored!

Underswap Sans - He couldn't care less, but he still keeps an eye on them as he's worried one of these days, they're going to do something stupid and get in trouble. He's trying to calm things down when their arguments are going a bit too far.

Underswap Papyrus - He's tired of hearing them scream under his window daily. Honey works at home, so it's difficult to focus when the neighbours are fighting all day. He's so pissed off that he actually snaps once or twice and screams at them to shut up from the window. He swears he's this close to calling Blue to arrest them for making too much noise.

Underfell Sans - Red loves chaos too much to not make things worse. When no one is looking, he's throwing dog poop on their windows or painting their alleys rainbows, then he runs home and goes to watch from the window, vibrating with excitement. He's an asshole.

Underfell Papyrus - Edge is a big Karen himself so he participates in the arguments lol. He doesn't even know why he hates them at this point; he just can't help it: he hates their guts. Both of them. And he's going to find any little excuse to go at their face. You think your worst enemy is the other neighbour? Wait until your bushes are poking out from two inches on his property.

Horrortale Sans - Their constant screaming is giving him headaches. Oak usually leaves when they start arguing, so he doesn't have to hear them, but sometimes, he has no choice. So Oak found a new solution that's very effective! He throws his axe by the window, straight between them, and watches with great satisfaction as they run away in fear, screaming at the top of their lungs. Finally, some peace.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow is a big gossip and tries his best to stay discreet to not interrupt them. The thing is that Willow is also very expressive, and sometimes he can't help but gasp or go full googly eyes when one of them says something crazy, which kinda busts him every time, and then they all scream at him for listening to a conversation that doesn't concern him. Not that he cares about their complaints lol. He simply goes in his kitchen and opens the window to hear the rest of the argument. It's his favorite morning telenovella.

Swapfell Sans - He's not even hiding lol. Every morning, he goes to drink his coffee in front of the house to watch his daily dose of fun and angst. Sometimes, he comments on what's happening, which pisses off his neighbors, but it's not like you can just go at him and tell him to fuck off. He's literally a celebrity, you know. Nox absolutely is aware of the fact that they can't do anything to him and is having fun.

Swapfell Papyrus - He's making things worse. He's friend with both of them, and doesn't hesitate for one second to tell the other everything their neighbor did today, and amplify it a thousand times to see how they'll react. He could never get bored with it. His favorite moments are where they start to throw hands at each other; this way he can bet with random people on who's going to win and make free money.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Well, while they're fighting, they don't give him attention, and Wine hates when people are not giving him attention. So Wine always come to save the day and then gets praised by both his neighbours for always finding what to say to stop their arguments. What Wine doesn't tell them is that he sometimes starts the arguments himself when he's bored, but no one needs to know that. He's clearly the hero of the street.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee doesn't like all the screaming, so he usually goes to play some video games to not hear them outside anymore. He's annoyed they're so loud he can't focus sometimes. He wishes he was confident enough to tell them to shut up, but he's not. So, uh, video games are fine.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Mint and Memory - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

not me actually doing research for this series, i literally learned sm about medicinal herbs just so i could be accurate😭 sobbing and throwing up a lil bit from the ending bc i’ve put so much of my own feelings and experiences into Y/N

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 3.72k

series masterlist | main masterlist

The woods are quieter than usual today, like the breeze decided to hold its breath.

You follow just behind Katniss, watching the way she moves through the trees like she was born for it—sure-footed, quiet, eyes always scanning. The sunlight filters through the leaves, warm on your arms as you trail after her, basket in hand.

She crouches beside a patch of green near the base of an old oak. “Peppermint,” she says, running her fingers gently over the leaves. “It helps with pain and headaches. You crush it to release the oil.”

You nod, crouching beside her and mimicking the motion. “It smells… clean.”

Katniss glances at you. “You’ll get used to identifying it by scent. There’s a difference between this and spearmint. Subtle, but it matters.”

She plucks a few leaves and drops them into the basket you’re carrying. You’ve done this together enough now that there’s a rhythm—she identifies, explains, harvests, and you listen, ask questions when you’re brave enough, carry the basket like it’s a small price for her time.

“You remember what this one is?” she asks, tapping a short plant with pale purple flowers.

You frown, reaching down to brush the leaves between your fingers. “Lamb’s ear?”

She nods. “Good for wounds. Stops bleeding and helps fight infection.”

You smile faintly. “The fuzzy one. I remember because it feels like touching a cloud.”

Katniss actually cracks a smile at that. “That’s what my dad used to say.”

The mention of her father hangs in the air for a moment—soft, reverent—but she doesn’t seem to pull away from it. If anything, she seems a little more open out here, in the woods where she probably feels him most.

You walk in silence for a few minutes, stopping occasionally to harvest more herbs. You point out burdock by a streambed, and Katniss raises an eyebrow, impressed. “Not bad.”

“I’m learning from the best,” you say, only a little sarcastic.

She snorts. “Try saying that when you’ve got poison ivy in your socks.”

“I’ll just blame you,” you quip.

She gives you a look, dry and amused. “Then I’ll tell Haymitch you almost cried when you were talking to Peeta about the shoulder incident.”

You gasp in mock horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

You shake your head, but your grin doesn’t fade. There’s something about being out here, with her, that makes things feel easier—more grounded. Like the worst parts of the world can’t quite touch you in the dappled sunlight and the smell of crushed leaves.

Katniss stops at the base of a slope and crouches beside another plant, long-stemmed with narrow leaves. “Yarrow,” she murmurs. “Another one for wounds.”

You nod, committing the name to memory. “You ever think you missed your calling as an apothecary?”

She shrugs. “If things had been different… maybe.”

You don’t say it, but you think she would’ve been good at it. She’s precise, thoughtful, always watching. The kind of person who doesn’t say much unless she means it. You trust her, even when you don’t know how to trust yourself.

Your thoughts drift to the familiar ache on your upper thighs. It’s been worse today, lingering and dull beneath the surface, tugging at your attention.

You shift your weight. “Hey… is there anything that helps with old scars aching?”

Katniss glances up at you, her eyes catching on your wrists for a second. “Scars?”

You nod. “The scars on my thighs. Some days, they just… hurt. I think it’s because they’re worse.”

She studies you for a moment, then nods. “Mint oil helps. Especially when you mix it into a balm. I can show you how.”

You blink. “Really?”

She stands, dusting off her hands. “We’ve got most of what we need already. Come on—we’ll get the rest and make it back before the heat really sets in.”

Katniss doesn’t say much as you walk, but she doesn’t need to. Her presence alone feels steadying—like being tethered to solid ground. You fall into step beside her, the basket swinging between you, filled with mint, yarrow, lamb’s ear, and a few other herbs you’ve learned to recognize by name and scent.

She points out a low-growing plant with small, round leaves. “Plantain,” she says. “Good for inflammation. We’ll use it in the base.”

You crouch to gather some, mimicking her careful fingers. “Do you just… know all of this? Like, from memory?”

“Mostly,” she says. “Some from books. But mostly from my dad.”

There’s that quiet again. Not uncomfortable, just thoughtful. You glance at her as you stand.

“I remember when he overheard my mom screaming at me once, made him promise not to tell my dad and he said he wouldn’t as long as I came to your house if it got too bad.”

You never did go to her house on the days it was worse, too scared to admit that your own mother believed you were worth nothing.

She nods, smiling softly. “He was good like that.”

You don’t say more. The weight of shared grief doesn’t need to be spoken. You both understand what it is to miss someone who made the world feel a little safer.

By the time you return to her house, the sun is higher and the air heavier. Katniss leads you into the kitchen and nods toward the sink. “Wash everything. Gently. I’ll get the supplies.”

You do as you’re told, scrubbing your hands first, then rinsing the herbs under cool water. The smell of mint hits you hard—clean and sharp, like a breath of fresh air in a stuffy room.

Katniss moves efficiently around the kitchen, pulling jars from shelves, a small pot from a cabinet, beeswax and olive oil from a basket. She doesn’t explain at first, but you don’t mind. Watching her move is its own kind of lesson.

“Here,” she says, passing you a clean towel. “Pat everything dry. We don’t want water in the balm.”

You nod, following her lead. She grates a bit of beeswax into the pot and adds oil, setting it on the stove at the lowest heat.

“When it melts, we’ll add the herbs. Let it steep.”

You blink at her. “You make this sound way too easy.”

She smirks. “It’s not hard. Just takes patience. And not setting things on fire.”

You glance at the stove with mock suspicion. “No promises.”

Katniss snorts, then gestures for you to join her. Together, you add the mint and plantain to the melted mixture, stirring slowly. The smell rises almost instantly—cool, earthy, calming.

You watch the mixture swirl in the pot. “Feels weird making something like this. Like I’m doing something good for myself.”

Katniss shrugs. “You are.”

You nod slowly, swallowing the lump that rises in your throat. “Feels… selfish, sometimes.”

Her gaze flicks toward you, sharp but not harsh. “It’s not.”

You nod again. “I know. Just… hard to undo that kind of thinking.”

Katniss says nothing for a moment, just stirs. Then she murmurs, “That kind of thinking usually isn’t yours to begin with. Someone put it there.”

You glance at her, surprised by how closely her words hit the mark.

But again, she doesn’t push. Just waits until the mixture darkens and the herbs have given everything they can, then strains it into a small jar to cool.

“Try it tonight,” she says. “Rub it into the scars. Should ease the ache.”

You study the jar before glancing over at her. “Thanks.”

She shrugs. “You helped make it.”

You offer a small smile. “Still. You didn’t have to.”

The balm cools on the counter, its soft, pale green surface gleaming under the kitchen light. You and Katniss leave it there while she heats water for tea, and you both settle at the table. There’s something easy in the air now, like the stillness after rain.

Peeta arrives first, his boots scuffing the porch before the door creaks open.

“Smells good in here,” he says, brushing dirt off his hands as he walks in. “Mint?”

“Homemade balm,” Katniss says without looking up. “For her scars.”

Peeta’s eyes flick to you, gentle and curious. “They hurting again?”

You nod, but it doesn’t feel as vulnerable saying it this time. “A little. It’s worse when the weather shifts.”

“Didn’t know you were getting into medicine now,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly as he passes to grab a cup. “You’re gonna put me out of a job.”

You snort. “Pretty sure baking and balm-making are two separate industries.”

Peeta shrugs. “Still. You’re on thin ice.”

Katniss rolls her eyes. “You’ll live.”

You sip the tea Katniss slides in front of you, watching the way they bicker softly, the way the edges of your own defenses seem to dissolve in this space. It’s strange—how comfortable it’s starting to feel. How much you’ve grown to rely on these moments, even if you still doubt them on bad days.

The door creaks open again.

“God,” Haymitch calls from the doorway. “The smell in here’s like a damn apothecary and a bakery got in a fight.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Peeta calls back without turning around.

Haymitch steps into the kitchen, flask already in hand, and eyes the jar on the counter. “What’s this? Secret potion? Love spell? Poison?”

“Balm,” Katniss says flatly.

“For her,” Peeta adds, nodding toward you.

Haymitch squints. “You’ve gone fully domestic, haven’t you?”

You sip your tea innocently. “Just wait ‘til I start knitting.”

“I’ll burn the place down,” Haymitch mutters, sliding into the chair next to you.

Katniss raises an eyebrow. “Thought you were all about chaos.”

“Chaos, sure,” he says, “but not decorative yarn chaos.”

You laugh under your breath, and Peeta sets down a small bowl of berries from the garden—strawberries, blackberries, and a few wild ones you can’t name.

“Thought these might go well with the tea,” he says, sliding them to the center of the table.

“Perfect,” Katniss murmurs, already reaching for one.

You follow suit, plucking a particularly ripe-looking strawberry and popping it into your mouth. The sweetness hits instantly, and you hum in approval.

Haymitch watches the exchange with a smirk. “You two having another one of your bonding tea parties?”

“Jealous?” you shoot back, licking a bit of juice from your thumb.

“Deeply,” he deadpans.

Peeta chuckles and leans back in his chair, brushing a smear of dirt from his shirt. “I think he’s just upset you don’t invite him to herb lessons.”

Haymitch scoffs. “Yeah, no. I don’t care about flowers and leaves.”

You snort, picking out another berry. “You know, you say that, but I bet you’d actually love it. Bet you’ve got a soft spot for chamomile.”

Haymitch raises his flask slightly in mock salute. “Only if it’s steeped in something stronger.”

“Does everything have to be alcohol with you?” Katniss mutters, though there’s no real heat behind it.

“It’s a hobby,” he says, then glances at you. “Like your sudden obsession with plants. You start naming weeds in your sleep yet?”

You shrug. “Only the deadly ones.”

“That’s my girl,” Haymitch grins.

The words settle strangely in your chest—unexpectedly warm. Your gaze flickers to him, but he’s already stealing a berry from the bowl, his face the picture of innocence.

Katniss watches the exchange silently, something unreadable in her expression. She doesn’t say anything, just shifts slightly to rest her elbow on the table, chin in her hand.

“I still can’t get over using mint for the balm,” you say, turning back to her. “I thought it was just for tea.”

“It’s one of the best herbs for soothing inflammation,” she says. “My dad used it for burns and joint aches. I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.”

Haymitch squints at you. “Wait, is that what you two were doing earlier? Frolicking through the woods like little apothecaries?”

Katniss doesn’t even blink. “Yes. We frolicked.”

“Braided each other’s hair too, I bet.”

“Peeta braided mine once,” you offer with a grin.

“That was one time,” Peeta says, hands raised. “And you asked.”

“You did a good job,” you say sweetly, turning to Katniss. “He’s got gentle hands.”

Katniss snorts into her tea. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever heard.”

Peeta only rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

You lean back in your chair, letting the chatter fade around you for a moment. It’s easy here—too easy, some quiet part of your brain whispers. The kind of easy that makes you nervous. Like the second you stop guarding it, it’ll slip away.

You shake the thought loose.

“Alright,” you say, grabbing another berry. “Who wants to learn the difference between yarrow and poison hemlock?”

Haymitch makes a face. “Why the hell would I want to know that?”

You pop the berry into your mouth. “So you don’t die, for starters.”

Katniss nods sagely. “Important life skill.”

Peeta nudges the bowl toward Haymitch. “We’ll make you a study guide.”

“Make me a drink instead.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s already your solution to everything.”

“Exactly. Why fix what’s not broken?”

“Fine,” you say, leaning your elbows on the table. “But if you keel over from picking the wrong plant, I’m not carrying you home.”

“Good,” Haymitch mutters.

Peeta chuckles. “We’ll just wheel him back in the wheelbarrow.”

Haymitch lifts an eyebrow at you. “See what you’ve done? Got the boy thinking he’s funny.”

“I’ve always been funny,” Peeta argues lightly, wiping his hands on a cloth.

Katniss tilts her head. “In a very polite, bakery-adjacent way.”

Peeta gasps, mock offended. “I take that as the highest compliment.”

You shake your head, laughter bubbling in your chest before you can stop it.

Katniss stands and stretches, her arms arching overhead as she steps out into the small patch of sunlight spilling through the open kitchen window. “I need to check on the herbs I’m drying upstairs,” she says. “Y/N, you still want that lesson on storing them?”

You blink, surprised but pleased. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

She nods and gestures for you to follow. As you push up from your chair, Haymitch leans back and rests his hands behind his head.

“Don’t let her teach you too much,” he says lazily. “Next thing I know you’ll be growing roots.”

Peeta grins as you trail Katniss into the living room. “Try not to get recruited into her herb cult,” he calls after you.

“No promises,” you call back, and Katniss just shakes her head without turning around.

The upstairs of their house is quiet, filled with the scent of drying herbs and something faintly sweet—lavender, maybe, or thyme. You trail behind Katniss as she moves toward a table near the window, where bundles of plants are tied and hung with careful precision.

“I forgot how peaceful it is here,” you say softly, fingers brushing the dried edge of a sprig of mint. “Everything in District 13 felt… clinical.”

Katniss hums. “Yeah. That place didn’t know what to do with quiet.”

She sits on the edge of the table and begins carefully sorting through a pile of dried leaves. “This one,” she says, holding up a small, curled plant, “you’ll want to keep sealed tight. It loses strength fast.”

You nod, absorbing her instructions more easily than you expect to. Something about Katniss’ voice when she’s teaching—steady, calm—makes it easier to focus.

She glances at you after a moment. “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”

You nod. “It reminds me of my dad. He used to point out plants to me when I was little. I don’t remember much, but… I remember how his voice sounded when he talked about them. Like he was telling me something sacred.”

Katniss is quiet for a long beat. Then she says, without looking up, “I remember that too. Your dad used to bring my dad these weird root clippings to mess around with. They’d argue about the best way to boil pine bark for hours.”

You smile faintly. “That sounds right.”

There’s a long, comfortable silence before Katniss adds, “He was a good man. Kind.”

Your throat tightens. “He was.”

“You’re like him,” she says, and it’s not soft, exactly, but it’s genuine.

You blink down at the table, something in you cracking just a little. Not in a bad way. Just enough to let some light in.

“I hope so,” you say quietly.

Katniss doesn’t respond. She just keeps working, methodical and calm.

After a while, she tosses you a bundle of yarrow and tells you to get to work.

You start mimicking Katniss’ motions—careful, deliberate, though your hands are slower. She doesn’t correct you unless she has to, and when she does, it’s brief, straightforward. No judgment, just facts.

“You’re better at this than you think,” she says after a moment, not looking up from her own bundle.

You glance at her, surprised. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not,” she replies, tying off a bundle of mint with practiced ease. “If I didn’t think you could handle it, I wouldn’t waste my time.”

That makes you smile. It’s the Katniss version of a compliment—half a threat, half encouragement. Somehow it means more than anything softer.

You both finish what you’re working on, the quiet not awkward but settled, like a breath held steady.

She stands, brushing plant dust off her hands. “Come on,” she says. “If we leave Haymitch and Peeta alone too long, they’ll start debating which one of them is the real culinary genius.”

You snort. “Spoiler: it’s neither.”

Katniss lets out a low, amused breath and leads the way back down the stairs.

The stairs creak as you and Katniss descend, the scent of mint still clinging to your fingers. You step into the living room to find Peeta now sitting cross-legged on the rug, sketching something in a small notebook. Haymitch is in your usual chair, looking far too comfortable and vaguely smug.

“Look who survived botany boot camp,” Haymitch says, tipping his flask in your direction.

“We made a potion up there,” you reply, brushing a stray leaf from your shirt. “Might use it to poison you.”

Katniss grabs a berry from the bowl on the coffee table and pops it into her mouth, eyeing the both of them. “You two need hobbies.”

“This is my hobby,” Peeta says, tapping the edge of his drawing. “And baking.”

“Annoying me is his hobby,” Haymitch mutters.

You snort and settle on the floor near Peeta, peering over at his sketch. It’s not quite finished—some kind of plant, delicate lines shading in the leaves. Your stomach twists with something you can’t quite name. He’s always creating. Always turning something small into something beautiful.

“You drew that from memory?” you ask.

Peeta shrugs, almost sheepish. “I liked the way the light hit it earlier. Figured I’d try to keep it.”

Katniss sits close to him, cross-legged like she’s preparing for a strategy meeting. “You should show her the ones you’ve been hiding.”

Peeta stiffens, but only slightly. “They’re not finished.”

“They’re better than finished,” Katniss replies.

You glance between them. “What’s this?”

Peeta hesitates, then flips a few pages ahead and tilts the notebook so you can see. Your breath catches.

It’s… you.

Not just one drawing, but small moments. You, sitting on the porch with a blanket over your knees. You, holding a mug of tea and staring out the window. You, asleep with your head tipped against the couch.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“They’re not all great,” Peeta says quickly. “Just… I draw what feels quiet. That’s all.”

You swallow thickly, your eyes still on the page. “I didn’t know I looked like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… someone worth seeing.”

Peeta doesn’t respond, just gives you a small, steady smile.

Haymitch clears his throat loudly, and you glance over to see him watching with a slightly uncomfortable expression.

“If we’re done with the sap,” he says, “someone pass the damn berries.”

Katniss tosses him one without warning, and it hits him square in the chest. You burst out laughing as he fumbles to catch it before it rolls off his lap.

“Violence,” he mutters. “Always with the violence.”

Katniss tosses another berry at Haymitch, this one intentionally softer, and Peeta catches her hand before she can reach for more.

“Alright, that’s enough aggression for one night,” he says, his voice light but fond. He pulls her hand toward him, brushing his lips over her knuckles in a gesture so easy, so instinctive, it makes something in your chest tug.

Katniss rolls her eyes, but her mouth twitches at the corners. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet you’re still here,” he murmurs, and she doesn’t argue. She just leans against him slightly, her shoulder bumping his as she steals a berry from his hand without looking.

It’s not overly romantic. It’s not flashy or dramatic. It’s just… soft. Natural. Familiar.

You watch them for a moment longer than you mean to, that quiet warmth from earlier starting to turn bittersweet.

It must be nice, you think, to have that. Something steady. Someone who sees all your sharp edges and doesn’t flinch. Someone who chooses you even when it’s inconvenient.

For a second, you let yourself imagine it. What it would feel like to be touched like that—to be held like you’re worth holding. To be loved like it’s not a risk.

But then the thought slips, and another voice takes its place. A cruel one. Familiar.

The only people stupid enough to love you are already dead.

It’s your mother’s voice, cold and matter-of-fact, slicing through the quiet of the room like broken glass.

Your stomach knots.

You glance down at your hands in your lap, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place they look here—how out of place you look, surrounded by people who belong to each other in ways you don’t.

You press your fingernails into your palm, grounding yourself in the sting.

Don’t spiral, you tell yourself. Not here. Not now.

You manage a soft smile when Peeta glances your way, and he doesn’t question it. Just offers you another berry from the bowl, like nothing’s wrong. Like you aren’t fighting a war with your own mind.

You take it.

Because for now, pretending is easier than explaining.

Next Part

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟔─

Warnings/MDNI: mentions of abuse, slight fluff // I don't condone such beheviour irl! Syno: Faith and fear walk hand in hand, but which one leads? ✰ 7.2K +++ pics ain't mine. First one by Miranda tho the other two i can't find again-/Pinterest.

★ Prev I concept m.list

A day later....

Finally a secluded spot to unravel your pain and misery and bandage it up again-

"Here you are... and hey-" Arthur crouched down in front of you, gently taking your hand into his rough, calloused ones. "Let me change it."

"I am doing it-"

He ignored your protest, already reaching for the bandages and the kit. The set of his jaw told you there was no arguing with him. He worked quickly, carefully unwrapping the old bandage, as though afraid to hurt you further. His hands were steady, but you noticed the way his brows furrowed when he saw the bruises and marks beneath.

You leaned back against the tree, letting the warm sunlight bathe your face, and turned your gaze elsewhere, as if looking at him would make it worse. A slight wince escaped you as he cleaned the wound, but you refused to acknowledge it. Instead, your eyes wandered to the camp, landing on... what was her name again? Adeline? Addison? Your mind was so cluttered, a constant swirl of noise ever since that day. It was as though your thoughts had grown too loud to leave room for the simple things. At this point, you'd almost be surprised if you remembered your own name.

For a fleeting moment, you thought about telling Arthur everything. The truth burned at the back of your throat, but you forced it down. What would it change? Dutch’s threats weren’t empty, and Arthur… well, he was loyal to a fault, wasn’t he? A damn lapdog to Dutch’s whims. What could he possibly do against the man he followed like a shadow?

Hell, for all you knew, he might break your jaw just for thinking you were trying to drive a wedge between them. As if your words matter to anyone...

But you couldn't let yourself give up. Not yet. Not like this. Not like your 'father.'

Your gaze drifted back to... Abigail-yes, that was her name-her hand resting over her stomach as she sat down for a break. Pregnant, wasn't she? Susan had whispered about it the other day. Six months along was it? And John... it was his or... not?

Your eyes flickered to Arthur's hands as he delicately wrapped the bandage around your injured hand. Caring now , are we? His movements were precise, almost tender, his full attention on the task at hand. You couldn't see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat, but you didn't need to.

Good.

The less you saw of him, the less you'd have to think about everything that had gone wrong. And knowing Arthur, he'd probably stick around the camp for the next few days after being gone so long. Another headache you'd rather not deal with.

"Ohoo, lovebirds..."

Not again.

That voice grates like nails on a chalkboard.

Arthur doesn't even look up, but you see his shoulders stiffen. You sigh heavily as Marston strolls into view, a cocky grin plastered across his face.

"What do you want?" Came your ' dearest husband's' irked response but John only grinned wider.

"What? Can't I stop by to check on my favorite couple?" John leaned against the tree, crossing his arms like he's settling in for a show. "Ain't it sweet? You playin' doctor, Morgan. Real cute."

Arthur ignores him, focusing instead on tying off the bandage with practiced precision. You can see the tension in his hands, though, the way his fingers tighten for a moment before relaxing again.

"Didn't mean to interrupt your...moment. You know, domestic bliss and all that. Didn't think you had it in you, Arthur."

Arthur finally looks up, his glare sharp enough to cut. "Boy, you got about five seconds to turn around and walk away before I make you regret comin' over here."

John holds up his hands in mock surrender, but his grin doesn't waver. "Alright, alright. No need to get your britches in a twist. Just thought it was funny, that's all. You, playin' house-"

"John, I swear to God-"

"Fine, fine, I'm leavin'," John says, stepping back with exaggerated drama. "Don't want to interrupt your little picnic or whatever this is. Y'know, honestly you haven't changed much, Arthur. Same grumpy ass. (Y/N)-what was the point of all this, am I right? Perhaps you need to cut him some slack-" John's giggled like a little boy as Arthur abruptly stood up.

It's always better to ignore whatever the hell this shit-show is.

"Fine, I'm leaving," John grumbled, though the grin lingered on his face as he turned to walk away.

"You better not go out and get wasted in a ditch again," Arthur called after him.

"Hm... doesn't suit someone who's about to be a father," you couldn't help yourself. Thinking your voice was only loud enough for you was proven wrong as John froze and turned.

"What did you jus' say?"

"She said nothing wrong," Arthur cut in, his voice firm as he sat back down.

"'Course' you're gonna say that," John bit back, but there was something bitter in his tone. He lingered for a moment, then shook his head and walked off, muttering under his breath.

Well...that was fun, I guess.

Arthur sighed, his broad shoulders still taut as his eyes lingered on the spot where John had disappeared into the trees. Turning back to you, his expression softened, though the steadiness in his hands never faltered as he finished tying the bandage.

"Ignore him," he murmured, his voice quieter now, carrying a faint undercurrent of regret. "He don't know what he's talkin' about. Like always."

His words drifted between you, but your mind was elsewhere, slipping back to your father's voice-low, steady, carrying that all-too-familiar tone of resigned wisdom.

"In business, (Y/N), a little humility now buys you power later."

So that was it, huh? That's what he did too? Lowered his head to criminals just to keep things intact?

But why?

Why hadn't he sought help? Why not turn to his allies, strike a deal, pay off the Pinkertons together? That would've been the logical move-everyone benefits. Unless, of course, they refused. Or maybe... maybe it was his pride. Not being indebted to someone. He hated that. Yeah...maybe he couldn't stomach the thought of owing anyone.

Or maybe, somewhere deep down, he had simply given up on you.

A much easier option. After all, you were just a daughter, weren’t you? A forgettable commodity at the end of the day. Someone else’s burden now that you’d reached the right age, or some bullshit like that.

If that’s how he saw it, then bravo. Because in 22 years, he never once made you feel lesser. And now, all of a sudden, it was as if he’d cast you into a bottomless pit, the same man who once held you above everything else.

Damn good acting, 'Papa'.

Letting you slip into this life so society would forget. So they wouldn't have to answer uncomfortable questions about you, about what happened.

But then why did his words keep ringing in your head?

Your gaze shifted instinctively, drawn to movement in the distance-Abigail, her figure cutting through the morning haze.

Then to Arthur.....as his hands, rough yet uncharacteristically gentle, brought you back. His calloused fingers brushed yours, his touch more tender than you expected as he kept your hand resting in his lap. His focus remained on you, not prying, not pushing-just steady.

Humility...

Then, as though deciding he'd earned it, Arthur shifted closer, settling beside you with his back against the sturdy trunk of the tree. He moved cautiously, like he was afraid you'd vanish if he wasn't careful, his arm brushing yours in the process.

Damn, this feels nice, he thought, letting himself ease against the bark. The warmth of the sunlight fell over you both, weaving through the branches, casting everything in golden tones. For once, it was just the two of you. No bickering, no shouting, no chaos.

You were quiet, lost in your thoughts again, but Arthur didn't mind. Not one bit. At least you were here, close enough to touch, close enough for him to feel like everything is well.

❀˖°

"Whose this for?" Molly asked, her tone sharp as she crossed her arms, stopping Susan mid-stride. The plate of steak and mashed potatoes in Susan's hands trembled slightly as she stared back at Molly.

"For (Y/N)," Susan replied tersely, as if daring Molly to question her.

Molly raised a brow, unimpressed. "Why do you, of all people, baby her the most? You don't do this for anyone else."

"Is there a problem, O'Shea?" she shot back, her voice laced with irritation. "Because that girl there needs to eat."

"So, what? You're just going to spend all the best meat on her? There's an entire camp to feed, Susan."

"Arthur and others brought enough meat for everyone. One steak for her isn't gonna hurt anyone. And considering how much he does for this camp, they both deserve it. So unless you've got a better way to keep her from wasting away, step aside."

Molly's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't say another word as Susan brushed past her with the tray in hand. With a huff, Susan marched over to the tree where you and Arthur sat, placing the tray down with a sharp clatter.

"Here," she muttered curtly, her tone making it clear she wasn't in the mood for gratitude. "You better finish it all, dearie."

She walked off without waiting for a response.

"Damn, well you heard her darlin'. C'mon."

You couldn't deny that your mouth watered at the sight of the steak and mashed potatoes. The comforting smell of it made you realize just how hungry you actually were. Before you could grab the fork, he did.

"No, you're not feeding me like a baby in front of everyone," you muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed at the idea of him spoon-feeding you in front of the camp.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I said so."

Arthur didn't miss a beat. "And I want to, I have to," he said, his tone still light, but with a hint of something softer underneath. "Besides, you ain't moving from here till this finished."

"You're...you're...going.... to do whatever you want forever, huh?"

The implication, which he, of course, didn't catch on to... made you shiver.

Edie's words echoed in your mind. "(Y/N)...speak facts here. What if he does? Would you be able to stop him?"

"Do you want me to stop carin', darlin'?"

His voice was more serious now, his gaze steady, searching your face for an answer. You gulped in horror.

No....no..

Not to his question-but to your own thoughts. The ones creeping in, whispering things you didn't want to acknowledge.

Your fingers curled tighter around the grass beneath you. If he stopped caring... if this warmth, this presence, this side of him disappeared-then even breathing would be hell. You didn't know how much more you could take...

Ironically, right now, he was the last person you wanted to be indifferent to you.

Arthur ignored your hesitation, and without a word, he picked up a forkful of mashed potatoes and fed it to you. You almost wanted to refuse, but the warmth of the food and the genuine care in his eyes made it impossible to protest.

"You're a stubborn one, always have been," he said under his breath, almost teasing, but you could tell he was relieved to see you eating.

Just as you took another bite, Suki wandered over, her tail swishing behind her. She meowed loudly, rubbing against both of your legs as if demanding a share of the food. Arthur chuckled, giving her a small portion of his steak.

"There you go, girl," he said softly, placing a few pieces on the ground for the cat. "Good girl."

He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening as he watched you take another bite yourself. His hands gently rested on the tray, a quiet sense of pride in his gaze. Both of you, his good girls.

For a moment, everything felt simple. The warmth of the sun, the comfort of the food, and the quiet care from Arthur-it was almost enough to make you forget about everything else.

But you couldn't. It's never that easy.

Just as you finished your meal , the sound of hooves cut through the air, and your body immediately stiffened. A cold shiver ran down your spine, and you instinctively shrank back, your mind racing with the recognition of who it was.

Arthur didn't notice your shift in demeanor. He was too focused on the figure approaching, the one you were dreading.

Micah.

He spotted Arthur right away and made his way over, heading straight toward him. You felt a sickening twist in your stomach. Before you vomited the food back out, you pushed yourself off the ground and quickly moved to Abigail's side, keeping your head down.

"Howdy, cowpoke," Micah's voice rang out, dripping with mockery.

Arthur, still not realizing the full extent of your discomfort, watched you leave. His eyes narrowed, and he stood up, positioning himself between Micah and you, blocking his view. His frustration was evident, clearly annoyed that his quiet moment had been disturbed.

"Whaddya want?" Arthur, his tone colder than usual.

"Just came to say greet, is that a crime now?" Micah's voice, dripping with sarcasm, echoed through the camp.

Arthur barely spared him a glance. "Just cause' you can doesn't mean you have to," he jabbed back.

"All this attitude cause' I interrupted some quality time with missus or somethi-"

"Watch it."

Micah let out an exaggerated sigh with his smirk still in place. "Geez, here I am, bustin’ my ass workin’ for y’all, and this is the thanks I get? Our groom boy’s got his feathers all ruffled." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Tch, tch. Y'know… I’ve got some news about (F/N)…"

At the mention of (F/N), Arthur's posture stiffened, and his eyes narrowed in immediate interest.

"Word is, it's happening a day later, Wednesday. On a train. They're planning to loot his cargo there. Poor man..."

Arthur's expression hardened, the gears in his mind already turning. He was about to speak when his gaze flickered toward you, still with Abigail. He took in the sight of you, your back turned toward him as you conversed with Abigail.

Arthur hesitated for a brief moment. He gave you one last glance before turning sharply, walking to join Micah, who was already heading toward Dutch's tent.

Arthur's thoughts swirled as they walked together, Micah prattling on about the finer details of the plan, but a small part of him couldn't help but notice how you'd seemed... settled. Abigail wasn't bad, she kept her distance, minding her own business, leaving you to breathe.

Good, Arthur thought. You needed that. You didn't need anyone stirring the pot. His mind quickly snapped back to the present. Micah was waiting for him to catch up, and there were more pressing matters to attend to now.

But even as he walked ahead, a part of him stayed tethered to you, wishing he could somehow fix the rest of the mess you were in. Maybe later. For now, business was business.

❀˖°

"Must be such a dark hour for you, bearing his kid."

The 19-year-old blinked, her mouth agape as she processed your comment. If it were any other day, you might have laughed at the shock in her eyes.

"Relax, I'm kidding," you added quickly, though the tone wasn't entirely playful. "Well... not really. Having a kid with a kid. Big bummer. Anyway, how's it going?"

"Um... good," she said hesitantly, still trying to figure you out. "Thanks. Seems like... you're settling in, then?"

"Mhm... like you, I don't have a choice, you know. But again, do women ever really have a choice?"

You settled on the chair beside her with a heavy sigh. There was a tense silence that both of you didn't know how to break--well Abby did.

"Ms. O'Shea had a choice. But look-"

That made you nearly snort along with her, but you managed to contain yourself, the words tickling something dark within.

"Can't believe someone would...leave everything behind to be with a...never mind. She's rich too right? Had a good life?"

"Yeah. She did. People... do silly things in love."

"Evil too..."

"I-I am sorry for-

"It's alright."

She turned her body a bit to your side, getting comfortable. "So...what should I call you, just (Y/N)..?"

"Yeah. Just (Y/N)," you answered flatly, your voice empty of any warmth. "Don't bother with a last name, and all that Miss stuff, please. Both names I've been given, and neither of them... really feels like mine...now. One's forced, the other... lost. Anyway, hand's...fine, I guess."

She stayed quiet for a moment, processing your words. You saw her glance at your hand, still wrapped in bandages, but she didn't press.

"Ms. Grimshaw said to not talk to you thou-"

"It's fine. And it's not her 'order', it's...his. But well, don't see him getting all red now...so it's fine."

The air between you two settled into something more comfortable, though unspoken thoughts lingered just beneath the surface. You weren't quite sure what either of you expected from this conversation, but for the first time in a while, it didn't feel as much like a battle. Just two people trying to make sense of things they hadn't chosen.

She just seemed like one of those people you could instantly connect with, for reasons you couldn't quite understand. God knows how the hell she'd connected with John, but whatever-her story was her own.

"So how... far along are you?" you asked, trying to shift the topic a bit.

"Seventh month is bout to start..." she replied, her voice quieter now, distant almost.

"Mhm. You are... don't you think...that bringing a child in such a world...I mean..." you asked, not trying to be cruel but feeling the weight of the words as they left your mouth.

"I did think it was," she admitted, looking down at her hands for a moment. "But... it's gonna be the only thing that's mine in this... broken life and..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, and you leaned in slightly, expecting her to say more.

But she let it go. And you did too.

You glanced back at the leader's tent, now closed off, and asked, "He come here often?"

"Who...?"

"That... um, Micah guy."

"Oh, him. Yeah. He does. Never stays, thankfully. Loves to run his mouth too."

And hands too. Son of a bitch.

"Mhm."

"Why?" she asked, a curious tilt to her voice.

"Nothing. Never seen him, that's why. Anyway... I'll be right back." You quickly turned away, heading back to the tent. It wasn't until you reached the chest that you noticed it still packed with gifts. Sitting down, you began to sift through them.

Jewels...

Fabrics.

A scarf.

Can't wait to burn them...

But wait, damn. He actually got your favorite chocolates. You stared at the box for a moment, the urge rising inside you. You knew exactly what you should do-destroy it, reject it, but-

Control, (Y/N).

Then an idea struck you. A plan. Like a final piece to a puzzle. Yeah, these are something to be kept. And used for the better. For the right time. A gift for later on. But for now.

Let's go give some fruits to Abby.

❀˖°

The night was thick with silence, save for the sound of Arthur's steady breathing beside you. He shifted slightly, his voice breaking through the quiet.

"Tomorrow... I'll be going to... get some people off your father's back."

Wait , he's sharing his schedules now...?

You swallowed, the tension building in your chest as your mind raced, bracing for what he would say next.

"The 'Driscolls are after his cargo, so we're gonna get 'em. And no, we are not taking anything. Never on my watch."

You exhaled sharply, "What more can you take...?" The words were more to yourself than him. As if anything can get through him when it comes to this topic.

Arthur's head snapped in your direction, his eyes scanning the back of your head with a sharpness that you could feel even without looking at him. He softened a little, though, glad you were finally talking.

"Not this again," he muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, just that lazy, drawling exasperation that only made your irritation spike further. His hands found you before you could shift away, pulling you into him with an ease that made your stomach twist. "Go to sleep, darlin'."

"I will when you-" You pushed his hand away, irritation flaring in your chest. "Don't touch me."

He let out a low chuckle, ignoring your struggle as his grip tightened, arms locking you in like a trap.

"Yeah? You sure about that?"

Your heart kicked against your ribs. "Arth- "

"Hush now." A lazy drawl wrapped up in a tease once again. He nuzzled closer, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

"Quit your fussin’ and sleep." His fingers curled at your waist, grip just firm enough to remind you who was holding who. "Ain’t lettin’ go, so don’t bother askin'." He exhaled slowly, like he was settling in, like you were nothing more than some restless thing that just needed patience and a firm enough hold. His hand, warm and heavy, splayed against your stomach, fingers idly tracing slow, lazy shapes.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn't tell if it was the words, the situation, or the way his hand had slid just a little lower that had you so riveted in fear.

"(Y/N)...speak facts here. What if he does? Would you be able to stop him?"

His body pressed against yours, too close, too overwhelming yet made you felt safe in this camp of....venomous , unpredictable , lecherous men.

Look how low you've fallen, you thought bitterly, that this is the comfort you've come to crave.

But you knew why you felt this way. It was because you were still traumatized due to the recent incident, the one day, you actually would have appreciated Arthur's protection. How would he have reacted to all of that? Would he have just stood and watched his 'father figure' with pride or stepped in? Dutch's words and...the pain of further loss and...what more that would come. It was all too much to bear , no matter how much you still tried to be strong.

At least your family is not suffering....

❀˖°

Arthur was busy packing, his movements slow and deliberate, each gesture a quiet reminder of the control he wielded. The sound of his boots scraping against the ground filled the silence, and his sharp eyes flickered toward you the moment you stepped out of the tent.

"Where you goin'?"

You froze mid-step, the weight of his voice pulling you back like a chain.

"It's not even...dark yet, Arthur," you shot back weakly. He glanced up, his gaze narrowing, and you swore the look he threw could have pinned you to the ground. But he didn't say anything, returning to his packing as if the exchange was already over.

The silence pressed down, thick and heavy. You hesitated, unsure whether to retreat into the safety of quiet or take advantage of the moment. You chose the latter.

"Arthur...?"

"Mhm?" He didn't look up, his focus still on the task in front of him, but the hum of acknowledgment wasn't dismissive-just calm. Too calm.

You cleared your throat, the knot in your chest tightening as you tried to muster the courage to ask what had been haunting you. Another discussion or, more likely, another fight-either way, you couldn't hold it in any longer.

Here goes nothing.

"You... said that..." The words stumbled out, and you felt your voice falter. You hated how small you sounded, but you needed clarity. "In the café. Remember? You said you'd-if you could-you'd leave this... lif-"

A short scoff cut you off as he turned, the brim of his hat dipping low enough to shadow his eyes. "That was different," he said, his voice carrying that unyielding certainty you'd come to resent. "When I said it back then... it was if you had said yes. But now-like I told you-we've got the same world, you and me. And I don't think I have it in me to leave these people who need me."

Your stomach twisted painfully, the weight of his words sinking in like a stone.

"W-wait-so... you're going to do this... forever?"

"Not forever--I dunno'..." he replied casually, turning back to his packing like the conversation meant nothing. "But there ain't any signs of leavin' the gang. Not anytime soon. The gang needs me, and Dutch..." His voice softened, almost fond. "Well, he stood by me through all this. Wouldn't look right if I just up and left, not after what he did for me, would it?"

You wanted to scream. The pit in your stomach churned, bile rising as the realization hit. Support? He meant support him doing the Word. Of course. Of course , how can he ever forget such a gift he was bestowed upon by Mr. Van Der Linde.

"And another thing," his voice cut through your thoughts, low and firm, leaving no space for argument. "You need to get this through your head now. I think you already do, don't you? What Dutch is to me. To all of us."

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest. "Don't tel-l me you're gonna start forcing my thoughts about someone too-"

"Ain't forcin' nothin'." His voice was edged with something firm, the tone that of some school teacher as he stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the space between you. "Just tellin' you how it is. So listen real good. Never, and I mean never, talk about leavin'. And don’t go runnin’ your mouth about Dutch in front of anyone else. That ain't somethin’ you just throw around. 'Specially not as my woman. You know why? 'Cause the young ones here, they look up to Dutch. To Hosea. To me. And now? Like it or not, they’re lookin’ at you too. If any of us start sayin’ shit like this, then what hope do they got?"

"We’re all tied together in this, and this gang, it ain't just a gang. It’s a family. Start pickin’ at the seams, talkin’ careless? You ain’t just riskin’ yourself. You’ll tear the whole damn thing apart."

He exhaled sharply, but his voice softened, just a fraction. "And he cares for you too, in his own way. You know that. You've seen it. He took you to your family, didn't he? See? He always does. Hosea does. Most everyone here does... I do too."

All you could focus on amongst the bullshit he just spewed was...

"Against Dutch..."

"Against Dutch..."

The words echoed in your mind, lingering long after he'd said them. You weren't surprised though.

"Ya' ain't just some girl in camp no more. Being my wife ain't just words. That comes with weight, so hold it steady. Do it right."

Arthur didn't wait for a response, didn't need one. He grabbed his coat, the one you had gifted him ages ago. The mere sight of it repulsed you now. Reminded you of your mistake and delusion of that friendship. The movement snapped you out of your trance, just in time to catch his next command.

"Hand it over."

Your eyes darted to his outstretched hand, following it to the satchel resting on the table beside you.

You gritted your teeth, defiance bubbling up, but you swallowed it down calmly. Reluctantly, you shoved the satchel into his hand, hoping to pull back quickly and end the moment. But Arthur had other plans.

Before you could step away, his grip closed around your wrist, pulling you toward him in one swift motion. His arms encircled you, firm and unyielding, pressing you against his chest.

"Hey-"

"Shhh," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Now... this feels like home."

He silenced any further protest by burying his face in your hair, breathing you in deeply, as if he could imprint your scent into his very being. The warmth of his breath ghosted against your skin, and for a moment, his hold softened-but only enough to pull you closer, to make escape impossible.

But then...

"Don't wear those perfumes I brought you outside." His voice shifted, dropping into something darker, laced with a quiet warning. "I don't want anyone catching a whiff of you."

As if you were planning to-

You wheezed, struggling against the pressure of his hold, trying to shift just an inch away, taking the opportunity to wipe your tears away on his apparel. "Why'd you bring them, then?" you managed.

"To wear inside," he replied smoothly, a smirk curling in his voice. He let the words settle, then let out a small, almost amused breath. "You ain't worryin' 'bout all that anyway," he muttered, about the previous topic. "Ain't like you got anywhere else to be."

His grip eased, but not enough to let you go entirely. "What now? You wanna live in a house, huh? You think you'd like that? Nice little place, far from all this?"

A quiet chuckle, low and knowing left his lips. His fingers flexed against your back, keeping you close.

"Was just...asking."

"Yeah? Jus' askin', huh? Is that so?" He dipped his head slightly, trying to catch your eyes, but you kept them down, hidden in your hair.

For a moment, he was quiet, then-

"Well, don't." His voice was softer now, but no less firm. "Ain't no use thinkin' 'bout things that ain't real. "

His hand came up, fingers brushing against your chin, coaxing you---commanding you to look at him.

"'Less you tellin' me you want it."

As if.

"Y-you should go."

Arthur’s smirk deepened, eyes glinting with something just shy of amusement as he leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted against your skin. "Always so eager to see me off, huh?" His voice was low, laced with something almost mocking. The hand on your cheek gave two light taps, patronizing, possessive, just enough to make your stomach twist.

"Kay'," he muttered, the smirk never leaving his face, though something darker flickered in his eyes. "Don't do anything stupid. And take care. Ya' hear?."

❀˖°

The sound of hooves grew louder as Arthur and a few others returned from the job. Arthur's mind was still tangled with the events of the day, but as soon as his boots hit the familiar ground, his eyes scanned the camp.

His gaze landed on you-there, in the cooking wagon, bent over the wooden table with a knife in hand, cutting vegetables with a precision that betrayed the weight on your mind. Your posture was stiff, distant, and the quiet motion of your hands only seemed to underscore your discontent. It hadn't escaped him that you were avoiding him, and the sight of you, calm yet distant, sparked a flicker of anger in him.

The memory of the way your hand had looked-broken under his own force-still lingered fresh in his mind. He'd done that. He had to do that. But now, seeing it bandaged up like a delicate thing, it twisted something deep in his chest. He was angry-angry that you still looked so calm, so cold despite everything.

His steps were purposeful as he approached, his boots heavier now, the tension in his chest rising. Without a word, he was beside you, his hand snatching at your wrist with an intensity that made you flinch.

"What's this?" he growled, eyes flicking to your bandaged hand, still raw from what he'd done to it. He could feel your pulse beneath his grip, steady but colder than he liked. "What the hell do you think you're doin' with that knife, huh? Your hand shouldn't be near such things."

You blinked, lifting your eyes slowly to meet his. The anger in his voice cut through the air like a knife, but you didn't flinch. Instead, you straightened, your knife paused mid-motion.

"How'd the job go?" you asked, voice calm, steady. It was as if you were talking about the weather. "Was anything stolen?"

Arthur blinked, thrown off by your lack of the usual rage, the usual hurt. The words died on his tongue for a moment as his brow furrowed. The job-protecting your father's cargo from the Driscolls-it had been messy. Tense. He wasn't sure whether he was supposed to be angry with you or the world around him. But you, asking him about the job, still holding that knife like it didn't matter-didn't even seem to care that he'd broken your hand, it made his chest ache in a way he couldn't explain.

He snatched the knife from your hand, his eyes narrowing. "First, give me that. And why the hell are you workin', huh? You should be inside, restin'-"

"To protect my other hand.... Didn't you say I should participate?"

"I--I didn't mean-" He stopped himself, frustration clear on his face. "I said my work. Scratch that, you ain't doin' any work with that hand for now." His tone softened slightly, a fleeting concern. "Now, come-"

"Arthur! How'd it go, son? The others say it went well."

His posture stiffened as he turned away from you, positioning himself between you and Dutch. "Uh-yeah. Went well. There weren't many of them, only around ten, I guess."

"Mhm, good," Dutch chuckled, his voice low as he stood behind Arthur. "Well, let's eat then. But hey, look at you-gettin' all sly. First thing you do after a job is rush to (Y/N), and in the kitchen, no less? Never thought I'd see you in here. Hell, Pearson would be laughin' his ass off if he saw you now."

Arthur's cheek flushed a deep red, and you swallowed shrinking further behind, the familiar lump in your throat growing with each passing second. The curses bubbling in your chest. Oh how you wished to stab everyone with that knife right now and never stop.

You knew exactly what Dutch was doing-teasing, poking at your the wound, while simultaneously...keeping up the facade.

"I-well-"

The deep chuckle echoed through the camp again, and Dutch waved a hand dismissively. "No, no. Don't mind me. Of course, I'm happy. See you both around then."

❀˖°

After coming back and making sure Arthur and the others were resting, Hosea made way across from the stables to his friend's tent.

"Dutch?"

"Oh, come in, Hosea."

Hosea stepped inside, pulling the tent flaps closed behind him before placing a small package on Dutch's table. "Here. $750. And he sent this...letter too.."

Dutch opened the envelope and let out a soft scoff.

"The usual...'Take care of my daughter now that I am doing what you want, please--yada yada-' Well, he kept his word at least. Tomorrow, I'll head to the courthouse to pick up the filed deed, then to the county clerk to finalize the transfer. The process is a bit lengthy, but..." He smirked, fanning the cash slightly. "This will help speed things along. By tomorrow, it should all be done. Which means, Hosea, we're that much closer to breaking ground."

Hosea shifted slightly, crossing his arms. "Yeah... about that. Will taking (Y/N) to the county be necessary?"

"No, of course not."

"Right. And the construction-?"

"Me and you will head out next week to buy the materials."

"So, we sending any of the boys to help or...?"

Dutch leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment. "I was thinking we could pay for labor, but it wouldn't hurt to have Mac, Davey and Bill check in from time to time."

Hosea hesitated before speaking again, his voice lowering slightly. "And Arthur? What if he finds out? What do you think he'll say?"

Dutch exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Not much. I mean... he won't like it, sure. But I just don't want him knowing. I don't need any more damn drama. You wouldn't believe the headaches I've been getting. And what would he do? Take it back? Pft." He tossed the last of the counted bills onto the stack and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "We keep this quiet, Hosea. Just until it's all set in stone. I just want this all started as soon as possible."

"No need to complain now, Dutch, when you're just as responsible for this headache as I am."

Dutch let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair and propping his legs up on the cot. "Oh, come on, Hosea. Don't act like you didn't like the idea." He spread his arms with a self-satisfied smirk. "Moonshine, just imagine the cash flow. Perfect location-near the railway, but not too close to civilization. And now? We own it. Ain't no son of a bitch gonna argue with that."

Hosea's lips pressed into a thin line. "Good plan, I'll give you that. Long-term security, in more ways than one. What I fail to understand, though, is how you suddenly got so law-abiding."

Dutch let out a rough chuckle, the sound filling the tent. "Because, Hosea, some bitter pills need swallowing if you wanna stay healthy and strong. Get it?" He tapped his temple. "And it's not like we're turning saints. We're doing this for the bigger picture. The bigger reward."

He glanced toward the flickering lantern, his smirk widening. "High time we played smart. And God bless Micah for the moonshine idea."

❀˖°

Arthur looked up, caught off guard by the sight of you standing there. Of all people, you were the last he expected to come asking for him.

"Arthur... you free?"

He blinked, shutting his journal and rising from the crate. "I-yeah. What is it?"

"About going... out." Yes, he wanted to take you out to 'clear your mind' but you didn't see a purpose in that, well until now.

"Sure, let'-"

"For Abigail."

His head tilted slightly in confusion. "Roberts? Wh- I don't get it."

You shifted on your feet, glancing around as if searching for the right words.

"She needs to be properly checked... at a clinic. For once. It's necessary."

Arthur wasn't sure what to feel. Proud? Curious? Shocked? Maybe all of the above. He knew you were the most educated among the women, and if anyone understood these things, it was you. You'd seen your mother go through it with your brother, after all.

"Um... so you want me to take you both to the doctor?"

"Yeah.... I'll go tell her."

Before he could respond, you were already walking away. Arthur exhaled a small chuckle, a faint smile tugging at his lips. What a strange way to settle in. And the first place he was taking you? A clinic.

Not that he was complaining.

❀˖°

"Is... is it necessary, (Y/N)?" Abigail asked for what felt like the millionth time.

Your grip on her hand tightened slightly as your expression softened. "Trust me... it is."

Your gaze flickered to the doctor as he pulled on his gloves, then to the door-where Arthur waited outside.

Clearing your throat, you tried to distract yourself. "Last time I was here... for my hand, there was this nice nurse. Ed- um, what was it- oh yes, Edie?."

"Oh, Edie. Ms. Moore," the doctor corrected with a nod. "She's on the evening shift today."

"I see."

"Relax for me, Ms. Roberts. Just a routine check."

It was useless coming here-or at least, it felt like it. But when the doctor finally gave his reassurance, you caught the grateful smile on the girl's face.

Someone's happy, at least.

As the three of you exited the clinic, you, as always, ignored Arthur's existence and made sure Abigail got into the wagon first.

Arthur stood frozen as he stared at the poster, just like he had when he saw the one about your father... a year ago. But this time, it was different.

Ms. (Y/N) (L/N), taken from her wedding to Omar Alban.

"If anyone sees my fiancée, please report to the nearest station. A hefty amount will be offered on the spot! She might be spotted with a gang, the Van der Linde gang, and the man named Arthur Morgan."

His eyes burned when they landed on the sketch beside yours-his own face, drawn with just enough detail to be unmistakable.

No mention of the Word. No acknowledgment that you were now someone's , his wife.

How dare he-

But deep down, Arthur knew the man was doing what he was supposed to. It didn't mean he had to like it. The guilt crept back in, tangled with jealousy and the bitter truth that he was still alive to have this posted-to know that this existed because of him.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw you, frozen just like him. But he didn't miss the tears you blinked away before sitting beside Abigail. That sight alone made his fingers curl into fists.

In one swift motion, he tore the poster down. Abigail clung to your arm in fear as well, her eyes trained on Arthur as he climbed into the wagon and sped off without a second thought.

The wagon rattled over the uneven road as Arthur drove it hard, the tension between you both a heavy, unspoken force. Abigail sat beside you, her grip firm on your arm as if she patted your back.

Arthur's knuckles were white against the reins. He hadn't said a word since ripping that damn poster down, but you could feel the anger radiating off him-anger at Omar. At himself? No, that would be a miracle.

"You okay?" Abigail's voice was quiet, hesitant.

You nodded stiffly, though your throat burned. You weren't sure what you felt-, grief, rage, fear? The sight of Omar's words...his effort made every droplet of blood in your body dry...due to the heartbreak. And Arthur tearing it down....how symbolic.

You shut your eyes and turned away , the distance between the town and you three increasing.

❀˖°

"Bastard thinks he can just put a bounty on ya' like you're some lost damn dog."

You bit your lip, your gaze fixed on your hands. "He did what was....right." You barely could speak the words, making them come out in a slight whimpered mess.

Arthur scoffed. "Yeah? As if he didn't see me doing the whole-" He cut himself off with a frustrated shake of his head. "Forget it. It's useless talkin' to you about that anyway."

You stared at him blankly as he sat on the cot, seething, his fingers working at the tension in his neck.

"You don't have to... worry about him."

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. A thick silence settled between you.

"He dead?"

How could he say...that so casually?

"No. But he's not... here anymore."

Arthur huffed a laugh, laying back with a sigh. "Gave up, huh?"

".....Made to."

"Yer' daddy told you?"

"Yeah....how else would I know?" There was a tremor in your chest, in your voice-so quiet you almost missed the words yourself,

"Funny he thought someone could waltz in, pull you outta this, coin after ya’ from some damn poster, like I wouldn’t put a bullet in the poor fool first. Hell, I almost wish someone had tried... just so I could see the look on their face when they realized they weren’t makin’ it out alive."

Your stomach twisted, fingers clenching into the fabric of your clothes. Your legs weakened, your body caught between warmth and a bone-deep chill as you settled on the chair.

You didn't notice when Arthur moved until he was suddenly in front of you, his fingers tilting your chin up. "Ain't right, but what is?". Your teeth clenched on instinct, your gaze darting away. Pulling away was futile.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you with more space to breathe, leaving you room to breathe. The closest thing to chivalry you'd seen from him since all this began. I'll show you what's right.

─AN: Miss me?👀. To be added or removed from tag list u can always lemme know and interactions are always appreciated folks!

(◔◡◔)

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[easterbonnet]

Of Monsters & Men

student!f!reader x prof!remus lupin

{{ professor lupin finally settles down to mark the werewolf essays snape set the class in his absence. however, one in particular gains his undivided attention }}

. . .

Lupin perched on the wooden windsor chair in his private chambers situated in front of his bureau. The knackered professor rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the tension that resided behind his tired eyes. Another transformation down in the long line that awaited him. And yet, it got worse, Snape had personally hand delivered the essays he had set his class when Lupin had been out of action.

And what was the topic? No less than how to recognise and kill a werewolf…

Too overcome with exhaustion and malaise to care about Severus’ petty revenge, he sat in his comfortable striped pyjama bottoms, one woolly sock and no shirt. His bare foot bounced on the worn mahogany flooring, the other placed on the front spindle of the chair. Despite the windows of his bedroom being wide open, flooding the room with fresh, crisp air, Remus was overcome with what felt like a fever. One of the many symptoms of a long and random list that occasionally made themselves known to him every month.

Headaches this month, ears ringing last month, aches and pains the next, cramps, nosebleeds, vomiting… a new thing every time.

He wasn’t feeling particularly up to marking the schoolwork just yet, nonetheless he was going slightly stir crazy cooped up in his quarters like this.

Dipping his quill in a pot of ink, he slouched over the table, reading the students' essays.

A deep sigh left his chest as he skimmed the pages of parchment, the words eventually lost their meaning.

Stunning spells, fire spells, unforgivable curses, some of the muggle-borns even suggested silver bullets.

Lupin tried his best to read the homework from a non-biased perspective but how could he?

"Just grit your teeth and bare it", he murmured under his breath, trying with all his leftover might not to shove the stack of homework straight into the bin.

Harry Potter - E

Ron Weasley - A

Hermione Granger - O

Dean Thomas - A

Draco Malfoy - E

Amidst his annoyance and the sick feeling building in his core, Lupin couldn't deny his pupils of their deserved scores, no matter how much he wanted to give them a D (dreadful) or even a T (troll) when they described in great detail what vile creatures werewolves were and the many ways of ending their wretched lives.

"Just doing what they've been told, Remus, that's it, none of them have any idea what you truly are", he spoke to himself reassuringly, crossing his leg over the other, planting his ankle atop his knee.

The sleepy teacher grabbed a spare scrap of parchment and made a note to get new textbooks that weren't so biased against his kind.

With one last essay to mark, he folded the top of the paper between his fingers, getting a better look at who it belonged to… Y/n Y/l/n

“Should be well written” he said, knowing she always put her best into her work. He was tempted to just give her an 'Outstanding' but he didn’t want her efforts to go to waste.

He began skimming the words but it wasn’t long before he reread it, and reread it again, rubbing his eyes to check he wasn’t delirious from the lingering pain in his body.

. . .“Whilst there are many ways in which werewolves may be slain or recognised, I refuse to explore these as I think it wrong to discuss such topics when the same would not be asked of me about human wizards or witches. Despite the general societal beliefs of werewolves and lycanthrope being predominantly negative and discriminating, I disagree wholeheartedly with the prejudice against these people.

In my essay I will be exploring the hardships thrust upon lycanthropes from the very beginning of their kind. In my opinion, they are nothing more or less than the rest of the wizarding worlds societal members" . . .

Remus stared at the page, utterly speechless at the gall of this girl, her morals, her maturity. Going against a professors orders because they didn’t align with her beliefs…

He was truly baffled, more so than he’d ever been in his life. The words he’s always wanted to hear, something he’s always wanted to be told. Lupin read through the writing once more, lingering his gaze on one particular line.

'I disagree wholeheartedly with the prejudice against these people'

"People", he repeated to himself at a whisper.

It was the first time he'd seen his kind referred to as people down on paper. Not monsters, creatures or beasts, but people.

For a few minutes nothing in the dull room moved besides the hands of the clock ticking on the wall, or the raindrops dripping from the drainpipe above his window.

He shakily picked up his quill and wrote a large O in the corner of her writing with a few plus signs next to it, he wasn't even sure if a grade so high existed, but he didn't care.

From the moment he began teaching her class, he knew there was something different about that girl, with her morality didn't come cowardice, but compassion.

She may have valued intellect and good marks, but she surrendered them for her ethics, and for that Remus was beyond proud.

He chewed at his cheek, a loose smile on his lips as he read the essay again. After he had done so, he leant back in the rickety chair, deep in thought.

If it was so easy for one of his students to accept him as he is, why was it so hard for the rest of them.

[agneslovestheinternet-blog]

FUCK YOU, don't leave me

Part Four: Better Terms (Part One, Part Two, Part Three)

Special Thanks to @gallyismylittlesilly for reminding me to keep writing this lol :)

Gally x Fem!Reader NSFW

Your purely-sexual relationship with Gally is threatening to blossom into something all-too-terrifyingly real. Your unsaid feelings for each other create an awkward tension that breaks abruptly one night in a very unexpected way. Is this the end of your relationship with Gally? Or just the beginning?

Genre: enemies to lovers, lowkey angst at the end, smut scenes sprinkled throughout

Word Count: 4.4K Read Time:

Warnings & Info: protected p in v sex, blowjob, Gally praise kink???kinda???, nonessential OC’s, movie versions, takes place in TMR with thomas but kind of in a vacuum the plot doesn’t move forward Gally's thoughts in green, Y/N's thoughts in blue

Authors Note: I KNOW I SAID THIS WAS GONNA BE THE LAST PART BUT IT’S ACTUALLY NOT THERE’S GONNA BE ONE MORE LOL. I picked a different format for these last two parts and I hope you like it. I cannot believe the amount of support I’ve gotten on this, I truly appreciate all of you so much. Thanks for waiting so patiently as I abandoned and then re-found this fic:)

–Prologue–

The time has come. That dreaded moment nobody who drank too much last night wants to reach. But it’s here:

The morning after. 

The time when the sun seems too bright, the world seems too loud and everything is moving too fast for you to collect the disjointed memories of the events that led you to the state you’re in now. You’re sweaty, shaky, have a pounding headache and a very weak stomach that is violently threatening to empty its contents, if it hasn’t already. 

This is usually around the time that you start swearing to yourself, your friends, and anyone that will listen that you’re “never drinking again”. This is almost always a lie. 

The version of you that downs shots like they’re water has never met the version of you that is bent over a toilet, feeling those shots come back up, burning your throat just as much the second time as they did the first. The drunk version of you thinks the hungover version of you is a buzzkill and the hungover version of you thinks the drunk version of you is a maniac. But they’ll never meet, so they’ll never reconcile their differences, and you’ll cycle between them continuously until you get older or more boring or die.

The hungover version of you and Gally are doing about as well as you’d expect them too. The former is currently ducking her head behind a bush next to the Med-hut to vomit up bile for the third time this morning and the latter is swaying unpleasantly on the construction site of a new hut that’s going up, silently willing the sun to stop beating down and the volume of his crew’s voices to silence. It is the opposite versions of these two people that have set into motion a chain of events that will lead to a conclusion neither of them would be able to fathom at this moment. 

In exactly 49 days starting from today, Gally will confess his feelings to you. And in exactly 49 days and several minutes starting from today, you will confess yours back.

How exactly does this happen? The versions of you and Gally that exist today still despise each other. 50 days hardly seems like an appropriate turnaround time to go from hatred to fondness. In fact when you look back on the events of this story, the timeline befuddles you as much as it would anybody else. It’s hard to look at the big picture and see the slow change from you two being The Glade’s biggest rivals to then becoming a steamy secret hookup, then a very strange situationship, and then finally two parts of a genuine, real connection. But when you zoom in on all the small moments, (ones that seemed insignificant at the time), it becomes clear as day.

{<--------->}

Day 1

“You came back late last night,” Gia poses suggestively while straightening out the covers on her bed.

“We thought you died,” Ariana continues with mock concern, braiding her hair while sitting on the hut floor.

“Or fell in the pond,” Lireale counters earnestly, setting a stack of her newly folded clothes into her trunk.

“So which one was it?” Elsie takes the direct approach while sitting on the edge of her bed, removing her socks.

“Neither; I just got lost for a bit. Drunk Y/N has a terrible sense of direction,” 

Your lie comes easily and your friends roll their eyes at your poor decision. You usually loved these nighttime debriefings but this one was starting to feel like a minefield.

“I thought you might’ve snuck off with a boy,” the newest Greenie pipes up quietly from atop her new bed in the corner, a smile tugging at her lips. The group breaks into barking laughter that’s just distracting enough to keep anyone from noticing the heat prickling under your eye sockets.

“Y/N isn’t exactly into boys,” Ariana pipes up with a knowing look at you as soon as the laughter dies down.

“I would be if we lived somewhere normal. But we don’t. Trust me, greenie, none of these shanks here are worth any of our time,” Your friends give a rousing cheer and the conversation pivots naturally to the new greenie and how she’s liking The Glade so far. You’re grateful their eyes have left your face, allowing your blush to dissipate gradually and your mind to stop replaying flashbacks of the night before.

Day 2

“Jesus, Newt, I don’t know! I was drunk, I don’t even remember going into the woods the other night. All I know is that I somehow made it back to my hut before morning” Gally snaps, trying to stop the barrage of questions tumbling from his friend's mouth.

“Well, drunk you seemed to be on quite a mission,” Newt counters with a grin, not at all phased by the Builder’s trademark aggression. Newt has a creeping feeling that Gally is full of shit and knows exactly why he entered the woods the other night, but he knows better than to press him. It’s rarely worth it to pick a fight with him.

“I’m sure he was. Next time I’m hammered, I’ll let you know what that mission was,” Gally grumbles, trying his best to put on a sarcastic tone. If he ever did get drunk enough to confess the mission he had been on the other night, he’d throw himself to the Grievers.

Day 5

It hadn’t taken much, really. Some lingering glances, a head jerk in his hut’s direction from Gally, an acknowledging nod from you, a hand signal from him; closed fist to open palm twice in rapid succession (flashing five fingers twice = meet at ten). You’d both been a lot more apprehensive losing your clothing sober, but you’d quickly picked up the passion that had burned the other night once more.

You’re on all fours with your back arched on Gally’s bed and he’s standing behind you, thrusting his hard cock into your quivering pussy as he grabs your waist tightly.

“Are you close?” the Builder huffs out in a low tone.

“Yeah…” He is determined to not leave you without a climax this time and reaches a hand around to your front, fumbling blindly until he locates the bundle of nerves hidden between your folds. When his rough fingers begin to fondle it, you feel a jolt of pleasure zap your body that causes your arms to buckle beneath you.

“Keep…doing that….and…slower….pleeease”. The whine on that last word makes Gally’s cock ache for release but he focuses on delivering you slow thrusts as he swipes at your clit. You feel the warmth building in your core as each stroke pushes you further to the edge until you’re gripping the sheets beside your head and pushing your thighs together, riding your climax to its satisfying finish.

“Did you..?” // “.....duh,” // “Can I-” // “Yeah go ahead,”

With your permission given, Gally quickens his thrusts for a few seconds, his own familiar wave of pleasure washing over him as his cum spurts into the condom buried deep inside of you.

Neither of you says a word while cleaning up and redressing, too high off the post-orgasm endorphins to trust your mouths not to say anything stupid.

“You fuck better when you’re sober,” you finally state with an air of constructed indifference.

“Really?” Gally raises a well-defined eyebrow at you, his blue eyes wide.

“You’re less sloppy. More…” // “...Focused?” // “...Intentional.”

Gally’s heart is pounding in his ears. Your praise of his sexual prowess seems to affect him more each time you express it.

“Thanks. You’re more…responsive, when you’re sober,” It was your turn to become skittish at his soft-spoken, rather clumsy compliment. 

This conversation has been backed into an awkward corner. You cross the room to his door, avoiding his eye contact in the process, ready to make a quick escape.

“‘Night” // “Yeah see you, um, later I guess” // “Yeah,”

The door closes quickly behind you, leaving Gally to curse his lack of verbal smoothness in his now starkly empty hut.

Day 7

You’re wrapping a thick gauze bandage around Chuck’s left ankle, which he rolled while trying to catch up with Minho earlier today. Why Chuck would ever believe he would be able to catch up to a guy whose only job is to run, is beyond you. The youngest Glader always seems to be tripping over his own feet, so this incident is nothing new. As he chatters idly, Jeff pokes his head around the med-hut’s dividing wall.

“Are you close?” he asks simply, entirely unaware of the context in which you last heard that phrase.

“What?!” you snap, your head swiveling so fast to meet his eye line that your hair slaps you in the face.

“Are you close to being done with Chuck?” he repeats, his forehead creasing in bewilderment at your reaction. “Fry burned his hand, we need the exam table,”

“Oh, yeah, give me two minutes,” you reply, relief coloring your voice now.

Day 11

Alby had sent one of his orderlies to fetch Gally “to talk”. The entire walk over, the Builder’s stomach had been doing somersaults. Had Alby somehow seen? Did someone else, and had they told? Did you tell him? His panic was for nothing, as it turned out the resounding answer to all of them was “no”.

All Alby had wanted to say to him was a generic message of praise. He gave sincere thanks for the incident-free bonfire night and encouraged him to keep up his civil behavior. He told Gally that he appreciated that he could be the bigger person.

The Builder had tried to conceal a chuckle at his leader’s choice of words as he exited the meeting room. He knew he shouldn’t be reminiscing about the walls of your pussy taking his cock as deep as he could bury it while getting genuine compliments from an authority figure, but the memories were too intoxicating to stop.

They had him riding a high of lustful endorphins for the rest of the day that confused his crew as they whispered theories to each other about what the hell was making their otherwise surly leader so easy-going today.

Day 14

“Dinner in the Med-hut tonight?” Minho asks comfortably, taking a spot behind you in line in the dining hall.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta restock supplies. Tomorrow Alby’s doing an inspection and the place is a goddamn disaster,” you sigh, not looking forward to your task but feeling it might be better with Minho to keep you company. The Runner was notoriously easy company to keep.

“Cool, I’ll give you a hand,” he states.

“No you don’t have to, you can just sit and talk to me while I-”

“I want to help,” Minho cuts you off, surprising himself with his boldness. Too forward, Minho, way too forward.

“Ok then. I’d appreciate your help,” you smile back, pleasantly surprised by his kindness.

Maybe not too forward?

Day 17

“...and thanks to Gally and his Builders for the new hut by the Map Room. I’m sure everybody who no longer has to sleep in a bloody hammock is grateful,” Newt reads from a clipboard of meeting notes, pride coloring his tone. A small smattering of applause ripples through the meeting room, with the inhabitants of this new hut clapping louder than all others. 

Gally gives an uncharacteristic smile that warms his usually stony face. You lock eye contact with him from across the room. Your gesture is small, (an almost-imperceivable nod and one singular clap of your hands), but he finds himself exceptionally appreciative nonetheless.

Day 19

You’re on your knees in the deadheads with the full length of Gally’s erect cock sheathed in your willing throat. He’s standing against a tree with shaking knees, his large fingers threaded through your soft hair, scattered moans and guttural whimpers falling from his lips.

“Fuck, ‘mclose…” he manages to breathe out, his grip on your hair tightening. 

Your heart flutters at this comment and you alternate between taking his entire length to the back of your throat in short, coarse jabs and swirling your tongue around his tip. The fluctuation is overstimulating for Gally, who still can’t believe you agreed to do this to him, in the middle of the work day. Maybe it’s this sudden surge of gratitude that brings a certain nickname to his mind.

“Thank you…princess…” he moans out, cringing slightly at his own comment at first but quickly losing himself in the pleasure once more. You run your tongue back and forth over the sensitive area just underneath his tip and stroke the rest of his shaft with your right hand.

“Princess…’m gonna…cum-” he chokes out, which serves as your cue to take his entire length deep in your throat and swallow every spurt of bitter liquid that ejaculates from his swollen tip. Gally releases his death grip on your hair and smooths it out softly, breathing heavily and trying to get his vision to quit spinning.

He looks down at you, as you release your mouth from around his cock and plant small kisses up and down his shaft that send shivers through his already-sensitive body.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through a blush, his rough hands traveling from your hair to your cheeks, where he cups them gently. The gesture is affectionate, which means it’s very out of character for Gally. So is apologizing, actually.

“Sorry for what?” you inquire, making eye contact with him through heavily lidded eyes.

“The nickname. I know it was dumb, I don’t know why I thought-”

“I liked it, actually,” you confess, standing and brushing away the dirt that sticks to your knees.

Gally pulls up his pants and boxers that had been pooling around his ankles and breaks out into a proud grin. He stretches himself to his full height and leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Well then; have a good day princess,” he coos, letting the lust color his voice as he slinks away before you can respond.

Day 21

The air in between you and your Runner companion is unseasonably chilly but calm. Birds chirping loudly in the trees, leaves rustling in the trees and two pairs of boots squelching on the wet ground creates the sonic palette beneath your easy conversation. You gather white-headed mushrooms littering the forest floor to make a pain-relieving salve and deposit them in the wicker basket Minho insists on holding for you. 

“No offense to those guys obviously,” you start, depositing a handful of mushrooms into the basket with a soft thud, “it’s just that I wish we could have, like, real clothes,”

“Ones that aren’t sewed by teenagers using whatever materials they can find?” Minho asks with a smile.

“Yes. Ones that might be a tad more flattering to my figure,” you chuckle, straightening up from your leaning stance to stretch the loose fabric of your tunic to its full size with your hands. Minho seems to ponder this comment for a moment.

“I don’t know…” he mumbles, “I don’t think your figure needs much flattering,”

The statement hangs in the air for a moment, almost creating a tense cloud that you quickly dissipate with a well-placed snide comment.

“Yeah right,” you snort, forcing down the smile that threatens to envelop your face.

Day 24

“Y/N, can you toss me that rope?”

Gally realizes his faux pas as soon as the question leaves his lips. Everyone in his immediate vicinity snaps their heads up to look at him, having never heard him say your name for any other purpose than to start a fight. He tries to keep his expression neutral, though internally he’s panicking. There’s no way his fellow Gladers could work out that you two were having sex based on him asking you to hand him a piece of equipment…. but could they? 

“Sure, here,” you respond evenly, tossing the rope that was sitting in the grass next to you towards the Builder. You try to ignore the stares and hope the heat in your cheeks can be easily excused by the midday sun.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and all but leaves a cartoonish puff of smoke behind him, as he turns on his heel and returns to the task he needed the rope for.

That was bold, you think to yourself, watching the Glade’s inhabitants dart their eyes between you and him in bewilderment. You fix your face into a neutral expression, and silently plot to slug Gally in the arm for being so obvious when you see him in his hut later tonight.

Day 27

As it turns out, Gally asking you to hand him a rope is indeed enough to stoke rumors in The Glade that have been steadily growing for several days now.

“It was so weird,” Gladers would whisper to their friends who didn’t witness the minor incident, that has now been retold so many times it’s akin to legend.

“I thought they hated each other?” another would ask.

“I guess they made up,” others would chime in reluctantly.

You and Gally’s outright display of civility seemed to have marked a distinct end to an era for the most prolific gossipers among The Glade’s midst. For months upon months, they could rely on your feud with him to create consistent, free entertainment that provided a welcome respite from the horrors of everyday life. But now the fireworks seem to be over and the only question on everyone’s mind is; why?

Day 29

Gally stands in front of the closed door and allows his eyes to linger on you longer than he normally does. It’s bonfire night once again, and the both of you got stumbling drunk and ended up back here, repeating the steps of last month’s escapade like a well-rehearsed dance. He watches your figure, clothed in just your linen bra and underwear, sway to a beat no one but you can hear. 

Gally can’t explain why, but he’s beginning to like this arrangement for more than just sexual gratification. After the stress of each day beats him down, he can look forward to moments like this. Watching you dance to an imaginary audience, concealed in his hut, away from prying eyes and Grievers and mazes and chores. Just you and him, in your own little world. 

Day 32

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever actually told me what you’re into. Like, in words,” you say, pulling away from kissing Gally and continuing the conversation you’d been having a few minutes ago about your preferences in bed.

“Oh, uh, fuck. I guess…ok, don’t laugh at me,” he shoots you an acidic glare. “But I guess I like when you…compliment me? Like when you tell me I’m doing good or I feel good or whatever. It’s uh…it motivates me, I guess,” His face is bright red and his stomach is doing flips; he’s never been this honest and it’s making him feel uncomfortably exposed.

“I probably would have guessed that,” you chuckle, diffusing the tension, “Noted,”

You file this information in the back of your mind and pull him back into you.

Day 34

“So you and Y/N are on better terms then?” Minho asks tentatively over dinner.

“Uh…” Gally pauses. To an untrained eye it might seem like he’s embarrassed, but he’s actually searching his mind for an appropriate half-truth. He is an impressively bad liar and might not be able to contain just how much better the terms he’s on with you are when asked about them directly.

“Yeah kinda. We uh…talked and kinda realized the whole feud thing is dumb. It’s childish,” Gally dismisses, clipping his voice with frequent pauses to keep his tone steady.

“Oh, that’s…that’s great dude!” Minho exhales, trying to keep the swell of excitement from bursting through his chest. If Gally doesn’t want to kill you anymore, then there aren’t many other obstacles keeping him from pursuing you.

Minho steers the conversation away from his question easily, starting in on the newest Greenie and how he nearly took Newt’s head off with a backhoe earlier today. 

Both the Runner and the Builder are blissfully unaware that the slight blush in both of their cheeks have the same source.

Day 35

“You’re so big, Gally,” you moan out, feeling every inch of him stretch your walls deliciously.

“You fill me up so well…” he leans down to kiss your neck, “...no one else could make me feel like this…” his thrusts quickens as desperation for you sets in, “...you’re so hot…” he whimpers in your ear, feeling his climax looming, “...and strong,”

Your addled mind, too preoccupied with the feeling of Gally’s cock sliding in and out of you, starts babbling compliments that are a lot less sexual in tone. 

“You’re so pretty…and smart…you can do…fucking anything. I’m happy I can…do this…for you. You deserve…a fucking….break. You’re so strong…and good. Gally; you’re so good….you’re good…you’re so good…soooo good…Gally…”

It’s this phrase that causes the Builder’s heart to race like never before. You’re so good. Not good at fucking you, not good in bed, just good. Inherently worthy. 

He’s never had anyone tell him he’s good, full stop. He thrusts harder and sloppier, trying to repay you for the praise. When his orgasm does come, it’s better than all of the other times combined.

He leans down to kiss your collarbone. It’s gentle and needy, not frenzied like before. You feel a drop of liquid on your bare skin, then a few more, then a stifled whimper. 

Gally’s crying. 

His face is hot and he can barely process the feeling of finishing inside you over the shame that’s now washing over him. He kisses your skin, trying to cut off his sobs with the pressure of his lips.

You instinctively run your warm hands up and down Gally’s arms, which simultaneously soothes him and furthers his embarrassment. He sighs and slowly lowers his torso on top of you, nestling his head in the crook of your neck. His heavier body causes unpleasant pressure on your chest but something tells you that moving will spook him. So you don’t. 

Until he pushes himself off of you jarringly, wiping his face and beginning to dress under the oppressive silence that’s now fallen between you two. You do the same, trying to keep your eyes off of him. You debate whether you should just leave his hut without saying a word, until you turn to face him. 

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, bouncing his left knee nervously, his hands clasped in a tight fist in front of his mouth, his eyes staring straight ahead. You sit down next to him and place a timid hand on his arm, which he immediately flinches away from.

“Jesus, dude, I can’t touch you now?” you hiss in a biting tone. You know that Gally deals with outright aggression a lot better than shows of vulnerability.

“I just didn’t know what you were doing, damn,” he responds in an equally huffy tone, though his body language doesn’t match. He lets one of his arms fall from his face and you both intertwine your fingers. Another moment of silence passes, and he finally speaks.

“I don’t-I don’t know what that was. I’m sorry. I just-I didn’t expect-I didn’t think that’s what you were gonna say and I-”

“It’s fine. I didn’t know I was gonna say all that stuff either. It just kinda…came out,”

“Yeah…yeah I get it,” 

Another agonizing stretch of silence fills the room.

“Did you, uh…did you mean it?” he winces as his mouth forms the words, as if anticipating a gut-punch.

“Mean what?” Playing dumb won’t stop this display of feelings but it’s your only defense. Gally doesn’t realize that vulnerability terrifies you just as much as it does him.

“What you said. That I’m…” his voice falters. 

He knows he’s about to puncture the nonchalance of your dynamic like a pin through a balloon. But he can’t stop himself. He thinks about the way your praise made his heart race and the rush of affection towards you he’s feeling right now as your hand is wrapped in his and out comes the word vomit, stinging his throat almost as much as the real thing.

“…pretty and uh, smart and that you like doing this for me…” he’s nervously scanning your face for a reaction but it’s your turn to look straight ahead now, becoming frozen with panic. “...and that I’m-I’m good. Do you…really think I’m good, Y/N?”

Yes, you want to scream, yes of course I meant it. All of it. Yes Gally; I think you’re-I mean, yes; you’re good. 

But you don’t say that. You can’t bring yourself to. This is all starting to feel very real and very far from the no-strings-attached sex you signed up for. You’re not ready to admit that this might be something more. So what you actually say is,

“I don’t know. It was just bedroom talk, Gally. I-I just got carried away. I’m sorry if I gave the impression that any of that meant-”

“Right, yeah, ok,” Gally cuts you off quickly, feeling a terrible ache rumble his chest, like a wall’s been dropped on top of him. He feels the hot sting of humiliation like flames connecting to his skin. He drops your hand quickly and resumes his original position of clasping his fists in front of his mouth, his elbows propped up on his knees.

“Gally I-” It’s already too late for justifications. The moment has passed.

“I think you should leave,” he’s still staring straight ahead, his eyes glassy.

“Uh, ok. Like, now?” you try to keep the pain out of your voice by feigning confusion.

“Yeah. You came here to fuck me and you did so, you can leave now,” he snaps back. Anger always seems to suit Gally better; it’s more becoming of him. 

“I don’t…I don’t understand what I did wrong,” Yes I do.

“Nothing’s wrong. We’re done having sex. Get the fuck out of my hut now,” Please don’t leave.

“Fine asshole; I’m leaving!” I’m sorry.

You rise to your feet dumbfounded. I’m sorry. You grab your jacket from the floor. I’m sorry. You walk to the door. I’m sorry. You turn the knob. I’m sorry. You step over the threshold. I’m sorry. You shut the door behind you. I’m sorry.

Despite the hundreds of times the phrase “I’m sorry” pounded in your ears as you left Gally behind, you never found the courage to say it out loud. You wipe your own tears from your eyes as you walk back to your hut, hoping that wasn’t the last chance you’d ever get to say it.

{<--------->}

Tags: @katie-tibo @my-little-universes @cthood @decaffeinatedpuppygiver @sarahstar11

[holyblonded]

What do renee and captain kim think of Kyra and vic and chickie trio ?

renee thinks they are a headache but also secretly loves them. she pretends to be exasperated every time they cause chaos, but deep down, she enjoys the energy they bring to the team. she calls them the three musketeers, but depending on how much trouble they’ve caused that day, she’ll switch it to the three menaces. she’s given up on separating them because it never works. the one time she tried, they somehow managed to communicate across the training ground without words and still caused problems.

kim just shakes her head whenever she sees them together. she swears they share one collective brain cell, and most of the time, it’s not even in use. she’ll watch them run past, giggling about something ridiculous, and just sigh. “i don’t get paid enough for this.” but she’s also the first to defend them if anyone outside the team has a problem with them. they’re her menaces, and she wouldn’t trade them for anything.

whenever the trio gets in trouble, renée and kim don’t even have to ask who was involved. they just look at each other, already knowing, before calling them over with a tired “what did you do this time?”

[honeyvettel]

so long, come home | alex/franky, set after argentina 2025 [1.3k]

post-podium it’s marc —wide eyes and caring smile— that suggests alex to invite franky out to dinner. “it can be good, no?” because he knows how much alex sacrificed for him in these past five years, his own life too.

so, a shy text, hoping that franky hasn’t his number blocked for whatever reason. address of a restaurant near his hotel room. an emoji at the end of it. no answer. franky actually calls him ten minutes later though. “alex,” and he pronounces it in that velvety tone of his that makes alex’s knees go weak a bit. franky says he’s sorry, he’s too tired to go out, needs to catch an early flight in the morning, and alex doesn’t even think it’s an excuse. because franky doesn’t do excuses. if he doesn’t want to reconnect he’ll just say it. alex thinks about journos discussing franky’s migraines on friday broadcast, and his mind awfully goes back to that day in portimao. it just does sometimes. “i can come to you.” it’s out before alex can think about lines and boundaries and relationships that are no longer there. “if— if you want, that’s—” “yeah. yeah, that’ll be great, alex.” his name against franky’s lips again, after so many years.

alex finds the door of franky’s hotel room unlocked, central light switched off in favor of the two bedside lamps. franky sits up on the mattress as soon as he enters, face blank. it’s weird; it’s so weird and awkward that alex hates it, hates that they used to know each other’s moles patterns and now they are— here. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, nowhere to look expect for the floor. and then franky smiles. he says ‘hi’ and ‘sorry’, clears his throat and add ‘you can sit on the bed’ when he sees alex basically twitching out of his skin. ‘choose whatever you like’ and he passes on the room service menu because right, they still have to eat. alex calls the hall and orders for both of them, with franky’s favorite dish still stamped in the back of his head, and they wait, with the silence growing to a suffocating noose. “drunk on the champagne, already?” alex jokes and it lands so flat he almost thinks marc’s remarks are funnier sometimes. “no, just— a headache.” franky sounds tired; more tired than what should be regular fatigue at this point of the weekend. alex looks up to see if the other has aged thirty years in the meantime. he hasn’t; instead, franky is still looking at him, head lolling against the headboard and a pinch between his brows that reminds alex of darker times.

his throat closes up without reason; all the way up to his hotel room, alex couldn’t stop thinking about the past seven years; franky’s limp body on the tarmac overlapping with their days spent in alex’s bed in andorra. his tilted message left on franky’s answering machine when he heard he was out of the hospital. marc’s scar peeking out from his sleeve. the gourney table set on their living room. his older brother crying under the shadows of his helmet. “alex” this time franky says it different, a high pitch syllable that makes alex almost sob out from frustration, because franky should never sound this scared and confused. the other reaches a hand, lands it on the achy fingers alex had clenched around the sheets. “hey” franky pulls, tries to meet his eyes; alex has frozen on the spot, caught in a reality he doesn’t even know how he had landed on. how he went from recognizing franky’s scent to forgetting how his hands feel like on his skin. “fuck, sorry, ah,” he manages, reaching for the corners of his eyes that are getting wet by the minute. good god, marc used to be the emotional one between the two of them. what the fuck is happening.

he lets franky’s hand soothes him to a steadyness, and even that feels wrong, because it should be the opposite; alex should be the one caring for franky, petting his hair and sit in the dark until the pain in his head recedes into nothing. “i’m so stupid,” he laughs wetly, even if ‘stupid’ doesn’t even begin to cover half of the regret that is piling up at the base of his stomach. “hey, you are not stupid. something is bothering you.” always so reasonable, always so fucking perfect at reading people, franky. you can’t even try to lie in his face. “alex. what’s wrong.” alex wavers between how much time do we have, and everything, and i should be able to go back into the past if i want to. instead, he turns his hand, palm meeting with the blunt edge of franky’s nails. “i just—” he huffs, hates how his voice cracks right in the middle. “i just missed you.” it comes out too desperate and eager, and alex wants to flee out of the room and bury himself under a rug, until the memories of sun-bathed afternoons are scraped from the back of his eyelids. he says the words, and he doesn’t even dare to look at franky, because he knows the other has that smile etched on his face that makes him look enamoured.

“i missed you, too. i never— i’m sorry i didn’t reply to your message, i’m very bad at keeping up with that.”

“don’t even— don’t even mention it.”

alex doesn’t even remember what he had said; he just knows it was bad enough he had to try three or four times without panic choking him. franky was alive and well, declared fit for the first race of the calendar, and he had no right to be this worried for someone he hadn't talked to in over five years. bigger things had started to color his picture after that, and alex, well— he just forgot to check in again. new angry tears spring from the corners of his eyes at the thought, stomach churning; he reaches for franky’s hand and takes it roughly to his cheek. he needs to know that he hasn’t forgotten it, for god’s sake, that the memory is still buried there under layers of resent and ignorance, and that franky hasn’t forgotten either. this is not how he predicted the night would go. they should be celebrating. “alex. hey, come here.” franky can probably sense the tremor on his limbs, how weak and small alex feels just by proving to himself that franky’s touch is still as familiar as it was. they meet halfway, alex practically falling into the other’s lap, and franky’s mouth opens in a kiss against his wet cheek.

“i should have called you. you reached out and i didn’t— i thought you were too busy with marc.”

“i was. i was, but it would have been nice. i was scared, and—”

franky press another kiss at the height of his temple, and alex hates it again that it’s franky soothing him and not the other way around; like it always had been. he buries his head against the other's neck, and it smells of sandalwood and cardamom; that makes him almost break out into an hysterical laugh. because alex remembers it. he remembers. his mind hasn’t tricked him into oblivion. he’s so drunk on the thought that this is what makes him finally reach out, press his lips against franky’s mouth and breath into the reassurance. franky reacts instantly, welcomes him in, and suddenly they are twenty again and sharing shy kisses inside franky’s motorhome. it's brief and innocuous, but it's enough for alex to rediscover the acne scars on franky's cheeks, the light stubble on the jut of his jawline. well-trodden paths, effortless touches; everything's still achingly there.

they break apart when there's a knock on the door, and franky flinches against alex's mouth. his brows are still pinched together, eyes screwed shut, and the migraine shows no sign of relenting. alex smooths out the taut lines on his face, caresses him until franky breaths out in relief. "i'll take that. you still like fried rice, yes?" alex whispers, careful not to make any more noise than necessary. he senses franky smiling against his forehead, slightly nodding.

[silvercap]

hope you're doing well!!! curious for your take on (severe) sleep deprivation for Leon 🤭

I'm alright, thank you!! Hope you're also doing well :)

The world seems to swim around Leon as he stumbles through yet another dingy hallway lit with flickering, naked bulbs in the ceiling, head throbbing with the inexplicable headache he's had since... yesterday? It's hard to tell time when he's missing his watch, but he thinks it's been at least three days since he was dropped off at the mission point. Maybe longer? Lack of sleep has clouded his judgement, which makes sense, because the last time he slept was....

Well, it wasn't during the mission, he knows that much.

Oh, yeah. That's where the headache came from. It's like a wave of heavy pain that's trying to drag him down like a weighted blanket, centralized in a band around his skull that radiates outward and makes his eyes feel like they're burning with the effort it takes to keep them open. He can't close them for relief, though, because every time it happens they get harder and harder to open.

As if hearing his thoughts, his eyelids dip down to touch the lower ones---only to snap open again as Leon stumbles dizzily. He jolts back to himself with the same sensation he gets when he dreams about falling and jumps awake, running a hand over his face in an attempt to bring himself back to attention. He needs to focus. He has to make sure he's not distracted.

It's hard to do when the dreamlike haze he's been caught in for a while now refuses to abate. Nothing feels real. Everything feels too close. He's irritable for no real reason and he just... his thoughts keep jumping all over the place.

The sudden whisper of claws on stone makes Leon whirl around, goosebumps prickling on the back of his neck. There's nothing there. Something brushes up against him and he gasps, lashing out at whatever creature has bumped into him in the dingy tunnel. There's nothing there, again, but he can feel the sensation of eyes on him. He swallows and checks to make sure his gun is loaded, flicking off the safety.

He can still feel drafts of air crawling around him, things itching at his skin that he can't find when he swats at them quickly. Someone laughs, far away, and he strains his ears, uncertain if he'd actually heard it or not. God, his head hurts. He lets himself lean against the wall and shudders at the stomp of heavy footsteps somewhere above him, fighting to control his breaths.

He needs to sit down, he thinks. He's not feeling well at all.

[starrook]

Alcryst laughs seeing that finger push into that hole oh-so-innocently. It's a bitter laugh, too sharp and forced, because he realizes it's useless to say or do anything else. "I can't tell if you're serious anymore..."

He looks away, fingers massaging his temples as he tries to soothe his growing headache. For what it's worth, though, Rafal might be onto something. Alcryst ought to think about what he wants from him. He knows that he won't get a genuine "sorry" out of Rafal—he's not sorry, he's said as much before. But where does that leave them?

If there's one thing they agree on, it's that actions speak louder than words. Alcryst wouldn't have been satisfied with a half-hearted apology regardless. Does that mean shitty makeup sex is the best he can ask for? ...A quiet part of him is at least interested in the idea. Alcryst's shifts in his bed, suddenly conscious of how his heart is racing. Maybe this is how their night should have ended, had it gone better. But it's not the same now.

That night Alcryst wanted to be as far away from 'home' as possible. And look where it's got him...

"Did you really just come here to fuck?" Alcryst flinches at his own words, how blunt they sound outside of his head. He looks downward as he wrings his hands. "Y-You know you're scraping the bottom of the barrel, right? Or... you're still just messing with me... No, you definitely are..."

✦ 𝐇𝐄𝐘, 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ✧

Modern AU, Alcryst & Rafal

[skywerse]

nothing as undoing as a daughter

[relaxxattack]

every time someone calls moirallegience just an alien qpr i wilt a lil like YEAH thats more or less the CLOSEST human thing but its also Literally Not That. like a qpr is fundanmentally not romantic and thats not even going into moirails whole Actual Purpose of calming ppl down. its just. aughhhhh pisses me off i see the confusion but, as aformentioned, aughhhhh

OH MY GOD THIS HAS BEEN BOTHERING ME TOO.... but i don't want to get petty at the people in my notes always saying "moirails are QPRs!" because in some ways that is the closest human thing so it's hard to be mad...

i think there's definitely some overlap in some ways. but NOT because moirallegiance and qprs are the same at all really, but INSTEAD because both relationships can be outside of popular human norms.

you know... like any relationship.

like the only reason the two really have overlap is because they are both committed emotional partnerships that aren't required to involve sex? that should be true for all romance, even if it's not the norm right now.

they're both just romances* that are unconventional to human norms, which makes people view them as the same thing when they're not.

i think the REAL issue here is that humans insist on using human words to understand things that are just, fundamentally, alien. can't we just appreciate alien romance for being... alien romance?

no, moirallegiance is not platonic, it's romantic. it's just romantic in a way you don't understand, is all. that doesn't invalidate that romance.

*in generalization, most QPRs are not romantic, because they are made up of aroaces who are life partners in a non-romantic way. however i want to disagree with you that none of them are romantic, because that is up to the partners in question.