#honestly this fic has been in my head in some form for a long time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

serawritesthings · 3 months ago

Text

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

Pairing | LowHonor!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary | How can we do good when all we were raised to do is bad? A cruel fate, indeed. Yet when your past, and a certain outlaw, finds a way to set its claws in you once more, perhaps you'll soon find there is a way to change fate's design. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, heavy description of violence and wounds, angsty Word Count | 22k A/N | Oh god, I'm so nervous about posting this. First of all, thank you SO much for the love you showed to Our Dear, Green Little Friend. It has completely warmed my heart that so many of you like it, and even though it's taken me very long to post my next fic, it was one of the key motivations for me to continue writing on it. So thank you very, very much! <3 Also, like I said earlier, I'm very nervous about posting this fic since it's very long and perhaps quite different than what I've written before, but I hope to god you like it! I haven't been in the best mindset when writing it since I've dealt with some stress both privately and at work. I will let you know that I will soon go through it once more and edit it slightly, but I felt like I had to get it out to you guys since I feel bad that I haven't posted in a while, and I'm honestly quite sick of rereading the story time and time again. Please let me know if there are any serious misspellings, and I'll fix it directly! Anyway, sorry for the long text, and I hope you like it!<3

For some, it might’ve seemed cowardly, yet you couldn’t bear to unravel some memories, for they hurt too deeply–wounded too far. However, the thought of letting them fade was somehow worse, and while you feared the pain they would surely bring when confronted, you hadn’t been forced to face them until now. So, it turned out to be quite the coincidence they would come to haunt you now that time seemed to be at a standstill; the world around you had never been this calm before.

“Miss, would you mind taking these back?” A hearty voice broke your thoughts, speaking in a mumbling fashion as the loud sound of books hit the wooden table. Wading through the dust that floated around you that stirred from Eustace’s sudden motion, you found his ageing eyes gazing at you amusedly, chuckling at the sour expression that formed on your otherwise soft features.

“I don’t mind,” you said, giving him a small smile that turned vicious once the heavy pile of books was cradled in your arms. “If you don’t mind taking a round with the whisk.” You didn’t get the chance to see the irked look on his face, disappearing quickly into the towering bookshelves.

“Don’t forget to dust the higher places as well!” Chuckling warmly at the man’s miffed mumbling, you walked on carefully, making sure not to stumble on the ratty carpet as his grumbling grew distant.

The bickering that seemed constant when you conversed with the older man was by all means with no ill intent, more so done in jest. And, while your friendship might seem rather unusual, there was no doubt that his presence brought you an undeniable comfort in a world that had done you more wrong than right. Sure, it might sound dreary, but you recently concluded that you grew more and more content with the thought of staying here.

You loved how a sense of calm always seemed to rest over the building, the smell of old books filling your senses, although an ever-so-poignant whiff of hot steel and grease found its way in from the open window as the train chugged to a stop and steam billowed through the surrounding air. Sighing, you took the liberty of closing the window, the sharp whistle making you cringe as it brought you out of your solitude.

Eustace had taken you under his wing when the bearings of your life had become too heavy, giving you a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach. It made you wonder how sparse kind souls like his were in this world, never having met one quite like him. While your compromised situation originally had been the reason for his kindness, he had found your fascination and vast knowledge of books intriguing and, therefore, refused to take no for an answer when he asked you to start helping him around his bookstore. Yet, despite how much you appreciated it, you couldn’t flee from the unease that still hooked its claws in you when you pondered the reason you had ended up here in the first place, the tendrils of it creeping into the sanctuary of the bookshop like ivy upon ancient stone. Despite your dislike of it, you bore the weight of it every second, and although well hidden, you had become tethered to the memories that followed your past.

Like shattered glass, memories pierced your heart with sharp edges at every twist and turn. Distant echoes of laughter that had long since faded into silence, the faces blurred by time yet etched into your very being passing before you as your pace slowed down, the wooden panels creaking something so terribly under your weight.

With a heavy sigh, you moved among the hundreds of books, fingers deftly tracing the spines as you sought their rightful place amongst their brethren. Arranging them on the shelves, you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts by humming quietly in the otherwise quiet room. The shop had been empty for quite some time now; the townsfolk’s interest in the subtle words on the pages dimmed in their struggle to survive their daily life—only pretentious men stepped inside at times who, by crook or hook, imagined they would leave a mark on this world with their clever words and supposed hierarchy in society. It lessened, though, as they went for bigger–more extraordinary–things than this muck of a town, wherever that might be.

Amidst the quiet rustle of pages and the soft creak of wood–and your less than favourable words, the air suddenly turned congeal, thick with a sudden tension that tickled your senses with its uncertainty. A chill coursed down your spine as you felt an ominous presence looming behind you, casting you in its shadow as the weight of something cold and unyielding pressed against the tender flesh of your temple. With a tremble, you froze, the books once held tightly against your chest cascading to the ground in a tumble.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, beating against your ribs like a caged bird as its frantic beat drowned out the world around you. You grew too fearful to move, the clicking sound of a gun daring you to resist.

“Easy there, miss,” a gravelly voice spoke, vibrating dangerously in your ear as warm breaths turned cold on the bare skin of your neck. “No sudden moves, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

You remembered that voice, feeling it dance just beyond the reaches of your consciousness, its familiarity almost touchable. How could you not voice it when the name lingered on your tongue, teasing and beckoning you? There had to be a mistake; there was no other conclusion to be made, for if it happened to be someone you had known, they might be less agreeable than the common bypasser.

“What do you want?” you managed to whisper, voice barely above a breath.

“Money, jewels. Whatever you got,” the voice replied, words heavy with a certain kind of roughness only a man holding a gun to a woman’s head could possess. “Just keep quiet and do as you’re told, and we’ll be on our way.”

Your mind raced in a jumbled mess of fear and uncertainty at the sudden intrusion you should have known was a high possibility in such a city as Blackwater. Yet, the thought only made your heart heavier against your chest, knowing all too well what kind of men hid in the darker corners of the alleyways. For one to threaten a woman in broad daylight, though, seemed very daring yet not an ounce less terrifying.

Summoning every bit of courage you possessed, you tilted your head to glimpse at the man pushing his head against the side of your face, opposite where the cold metal touched your temple dauntingly. As you did, you met the eyes of the man who held your fate in his hands–and in that fleeting moment, as your gazes met, you saw something flicker behind the hardened exterior of the outlaw.

Recognition dawned like a bolt of lightning. What stared back at you was not the face of a stranger but the familiar features of a man you had once known—a man whose presence had once held the promise of escape amidst the terrible deeds that clouded your life. Arthur Morgan, that’s who was standing behind you. His name echoed in your mind like from a long-forgotten dream, memories hidden so well you could barely remember them.

Two broken souls, trying to find what others seemed to have handed to them on a silver platter: warmth and solace, the comforting thought of finding a home–somewhere to belong. Yet, the relationship wasn’t made to be perfect, and in your despair, nothing good could’ve come from it. As many things go, it became too fragile. It couldn’t—didn’t—last, and what you once saw as a light beyond the heavy curtains of darkness was quickly swallowed up.

Instead of the kind ones you remember, dark, dangerous eyes stared into yours, the swirls of blue coated in a rich black that ran like coal through his acidic gaze. So harsh and cold were they, burning through yours as thick brows fell like a shield over the dark pools, hiding behind his squint and hostile snarl. Almost unrecognizable, he was seemingly both older and larger as the lines on his face were more defined and wrinkles on his nose nearly etched onto his face.

As your fearful eyes stared into his stoic yet calculating ones, you felt your body shiver in fright, every bell of alarm that once sounded so clearly in your mind turning quiet, now only the clock ticking discernible as blood rushed in your ears like a flood. The gun cocked dangerously, dread creeping through you at the wordless threat when you stayed quiet for longer than he had the patience for.

“You deaf?” His growling voice burned deep in his throat. A warm breath brushed against your cheek as he kept your gaze wholly, completely disregarding the unmistakable fear in your expression.

“I-”

You stumbled over your words, voice thick before a gasp left you. Between the disbelief of seeing Arthur’s face once again, although more weathered than you remember, and the thought of having a gun pressed to your temple, there was not a single word you could utter that would seem sensible.

Suddenly, you were turned around, hands pushing you against the bookshelves in a hasty motion, never minding their grip on you. Your head craned as the gun now found your neck, trying desperately to get away from it but instead having it digging harder into your skin.

“Now, are you going to do as I say?” You could feel the tendrils of disgust burn through you, face contorting as you twisted in his arms, proving futile against his leverage.

“Nah, none of that. You hear me?” His grumbling could be heard from deep within his chest while his face soured, the sharp lines of his frown growing darker under the shadow of his hat. Tightening the grip he had on you, his arms wound themselves like vices around you, daring you to make another move.

He was close now, his hot breath chilling the skin on your face as the smell of sweat and leather filled your senses–tears almost welled up in your eyes from the stinging feel of smoke emitted from his clothing. Every calm yet strained breath that left him was audible, contrasting heavily with your hectic breathing that filled the now-empty room.

It was daunting yet all too familiar as memories clouded your mind of the same man who was now threatening your life. Did he even recognize you? Or was he too far gone? Had the devil set its claws so deep inside him that he couldn’t longer differentiate friend from foe? It would seem so, you concluded, gazing again at his hardened face, which only recognized a stranger before him–a puppet to get what he desired the most.

“We ain’t got much.” Your voice strained against your throat, thick with unshed tears that lingered in the corners of your eyes. All you got in return was a faint squint of his eyes, gazing at you cautiously as he looked behind him calmly before returning his eyes to you.

“Do as I say.” Not a word left you, and whether it was from stubbornness or fear, you couldn’t be sure, but the look you were given made sure to convey that crossing him would not end well for you.

That was until it changed. Arthur’s features softened after he observed your face, running his eyes over your eyes and the slope of your nose until they reached your lips, quickly averting his gaze as he turned his head away momentarily. Did he remember you, you wondered, finding no other explanation to make sense.

It was a long time ago, too long for you to consider the shadow of a man standing before you a friend, yet you had never remembered him to be quite so harsh. So, brutal, perhaps? You had undoubtedly missed a few chapters, but the years were far apart, and time had a funny way of doing its worst to those who deserved it the least. Like wet paint, it spreads, leaching onto good people like a virus–just like bad fosters bad, and good fosters good.

“Please…” You pleaded with him, fright seeping like syrup into your shaking voice, pathetic and childish. “I-”

There was no time to finish your sentence. The loud thundering of hooves broke through the room’s tension, audible even through the closed window. Loud calls could be heard, as well as swear words further into the building that you did not recognize as Eustace. Worry filled you when you realized Arthur hadn’t come alone in his business to rob you blind, and now you were fearful that your companion might be in an even worse predicament.

The frown on his face deepened, the hold on his gun softening just enough as he pushed you hastily back towards the bookshelf, your legs weakening underneath you as you fell towards the ground. In long strides, he marched towards the window, hiding behind the wall as he peered out, almost blending into the shadows as the light from outside shone brightly. You could see people running past it, in too much of a hurry to peer inside as the shouts grew louder.

“Arthur!” A voice called out, recognizable as the rich timbre echoed through the corridor, gravelly yet smooth. “We have to leave!” As the last syllable left his mouth, you jerked as the first sound of a gun going off could be heard, hands quick to cover your ears as the noise punched a hole in your gut. “Now, Arthur!”

Everything after that became a blur, your whole body growing rigid as the world turned into chaos. Bullets could be heard going off left and right, rather like a thunderstorm than a gunfight echoing outside the room that now held you in prison. Your body stiffened, muscles tensing as you were brought back to the sounds that filled you with dread, memories flooding you, both unbidden and unwelcome.

Faces twisted in fear, the acrid smell of burning flesh, rising smoke, and gunpowder–sounds of screams echoing in your ears. You wished for it to cease, for the images to disappear, searching every corner of the room for an escape, somewhere you could go to to rid yourself of the horrid thoughts.

Momentarily, amidst your glancing around in stress, you found a pair of calculating eyes boring into yours, seemingly undecided as they stayed planted beside the window. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the staccato rhythm of gunfire echoing through the building, mingling with shouts of panic and the sound of breaking glass.

Arthur’s gaze was fixated intensely on you, and a sense of uneasiness settled when you realized. It was heavy, and your heart raced as your eyes stayed plastered to the others–the urgent shouts from outside pierced through the silence as danger lurked outside the room’s walls. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, piercing you with a scrutiny that left you barer than if he were to strip you of all your clothes and examine you naked. You found yourself unable to look away, moved by the indescribable way he didn’t seem to be either.

“Arthur!”

Barreling through the door in a flash of binges breaking loose and dust clouding your vision, a pair of men fell roughly onto the ground a few meters before you, blood seeping through their clothes like a rich, red paint. Splattering on the ground, it almost reached your clothes as bullets rained after them, shooting holes in the walls the few times it missed their targets.

Frantic eyes searched the now corpses in front of you, expecting to see Eustace's body among them. Yet, you found none–and hadn’t you been too preoccupied with the currants of relief coursing through you, you would have seen the young faces of the poor boys who had found their doom that day only because their perpetrators wanted to fill their pockets.

It didn’t seem that Arthur paid any mind to the mess that transpired in front of your very eyes, more so, still focusing on you like you were the only one in the room. Visibly distressed, it didn’t seem to deter him, his fingers flexing as his gaze burned dangerously under the shadow of his hat.

That was until he suddenly tore his attention from you in annoyance, seemingly finding the dead bodies in front of you a menace, a simple block in the road. That was until a faint grunt seemed to leave one of them, a grunt filled with pain as frantic eyes flickered around while the rest of his limbs appeared paralyzed, only able to stare at the roof.

Rounding him immediately, Arthur stepped around the man, walking with his dirty boots and rattling spurs into the blood that loitered the floor as the sound of the thick, wet fluid reverberated in your ears. Without a single word, he gave you one last glance. You stayed on the floor, clutching your shoulders with your hands as he bent over the man and stared him unapologetically in the eyes–the only sound after being the loud bang of his gun.

The sight was gruesome, and to think a man could do something like that without a blink of an eye, you considered even more cruel. You had seen your fair share of malice and anger, anger that turned even the kindest of men into herds of both sheep and wolves, meaning you couldn’t possibly be surprised. Yet, it reminded you too terribly of a time you thought you now would get the chance to lay behind you, never more having to stare these horrible men in the eyes any longer but instead keep them closed.

And you did keep your eyes closed this time, waiting for the moment pain would fill your chest. Yet, it didn’t come since only silence followed, and when you opened them again, the room was devoid of any life except your own; Arthur now only seemed to have been a figment of your imagination if it weren't for the poor victim, his blue eyes staring lifelessly into yous, wide open and terrified, seemingly having turned to you in the last second, hoping you would save him from his terrible fate.

—

Some would say you were of the quiet sort, choosing the words that fell from your lips carefully, both pondering and cautious. It came from a life where those assets were vital, a simple way to keep your tongue in check and do what you had to survive –which you would like to say wasn’t easy when it felt like your mind ran a thousand miles a second, never resting and finding it troublesome to make sense of the world that unveiled itself before you.

With your mother gone, you found yourself thrust into a world of uncertainty, your father's callousness only serving to worsen the fate you seemed to have been handed as he appeared indifferent to your loss, attention consumed by the demands of those around him. But alas, he was affected too, and you had come to learn that different people react differently to whatever hardships they come by–and those who don’t respond at all seem to be the ones that eventually act the harshest.

That was at least how your father had acted; you perceived his anger as something only a daughter could experience from a father. It was brutal and sudden, only appearing after a silence that rang like sirens in your ears–then grappling and choking. What could possess a man to harbor such anger, you couldn’t say, and while you knew he had it worse when he was little, you wondered if the thought of you only being a child ever crossed his mind.

You should be filled with anger and resentment, so much it could consume your life, fuel every action, and affect every choice you make. You should’ve been immersed in sadness, crying until your voice gave out and tears dried up, yet you couldn’t. They were inside of you; you could feel them leaking into your chest, and as you stared into your own dry eyes, you could only see the malice of your father reflected in them–the malice that seemed to be reflected in most eyes these days.

It didn’t matter if it was the ladies who sometimes passed by the dusty town of Blackwater or the lone man begging for coins in the corner of some run-down store. Deep-seated anger was in them all, rooted so gravely it felt like the air blackened when you stepped outside. Like a curse, it seeped into the very bones and festered there.

Why? Perhaps that’s just how humans work, always needing something to prove that the inhabited anger they felt had a cause, always searching to direct it to someone else less deserving of it. So, perhaps there wasn’t anyone to blame for the whole thing—maybe it was just the nature of humans–just like happiness or sadness is a natural way of expressing oneself. It seemed more manageable for you to grapple with it when thought of that way, for it became more of a fact than somewhere to cast your blame.

That’s why, when the bodies being dragged out the door left their track of dark, red blood, you could only gaze at Eustace, who spoke to one of the officers, refusing to look at the bloodshed around you. It turned out that your old man had been fine, answering in irritation while he told the sheriff that the outlaws probably hadn’t found him big enough of a threat as they searched every cabinet and shelf, taking no care to be careful of the things around them as it tumbled in heaps to the floor.

You couldn’t be sure if you felt relieved or not to have been further away from Eustace than you had been, wondering how your fate would have been decided if the lot of them had found you instead. Perhaps it had been your saving grace to see that the man from your past reached you first, but you couldn’t possibly say. Or maybe your saving grace was the officers who reached you just in time, for there was no telling what Arthur would have done with you had they not arrived when they did.

When you thought about it, he’d always been unpredictable. While his face was familiar to you, he was unrecognizable in many ways. His movements had been calculating and menacing, and his eyes looked right through you as if it didn’t matter who was standing before him. The only thought reflected in his eyes was the hope of shiny gold and glittering diamonds. But there was also greed–greed and hunger.

You could tell, for you had seen it before. There was a time when that was all you saw, and for a long while, you wondered how far a man could go to satiate his needs–if greed only could grow, worsen like a drug. The more you got, the more you needed, the high never enough, and the thought of gaining more pleasurable to the point of doing anything to receive it.

However, it was never a look you had seen coming from Arthur when you’d known him, as he’d been more prone to emit a childish want for justice and righteousness, pride, and a strong sense of doing what was right though the act was considered wrong. But it was a long time ago, and you realized that your vision might be clouded by a young girl's naivety that the world was a good place–that people could be wholeheartedly good.

“Dear girl.” Your thoughts were broken by Eustace’s low, seemingly now more careful voice, walking over to where you stood amidst the rushing forms of lawmen. “Are you alright?”

Were you? It was hard to tell, so you had no straight answer to give him. It was too crowded, and since you had nowhere to gather yourself, you weren’t in the right mind to devise a sensible response. So, instead, you answered in a way that would get you the least amount of questions–even though it might have been considered lying.

“Oh, I’m alright, Eustace; they never got the chance to find me.” Giving him a tight-knit smile, you touched his arm, grateful for his concern. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

You glanced up at him, finding his sharp eyes doubtful. You should have known. He never took kindly to lying and had an incredible knack for noticing when someone did. It would indeed be your doom one day–and many others, no doubt.

“No, I suspect they didn’t find the old man much of a threat.”

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t.” His eyes softened, and he heard your words despite your mumbling. Your gaze stayed stuck on his shoulder, deep in thought.

Even though the danger had passed for some time, it still felt like your heart resided somewhere deep in your stomach. Your thoughts and the looming dread–the slightly metallic smell of blood filling your nose—were heavy. It didn’t help that Arthur’s face became more prone to showing up after that incident, his grim expression wearing a sharp nose and piercing eyes cutting through the yellowed paper plastered on the city walls, surrounded by his unlawful friends that didn’t look any less menacingly.

5000§. That was the price for a man taking what he deemed his own, countless murders and robberies on his hands, blood heavy on his mind, and dollars flooding his pockets. It didn’t help your case that the poor boy selling newspapers in the corner outside the bookstore had pipes to last for days, reminding both you and the townspeople of their latest misfortune of having a gang hiding in the shadows.

Since trouble always seemed to find you, there wasn’t much for you to chastise yourself with, all too familiar with the thought of being at the deep end of one conflict or another. It was laughable, really, that one person could be doomed with such a case of bad luck and an increasing magnetism towards people who fought with bloodied knuckles for power and status. But, in the end, maybe the weak belonged to the strong—just like flies sought feed from the skin of rotting corpses to consume the waste left by those who always strived forward, no matter their intentions or values. Perhaps it was an unspoken law of nature, an inevitable dance between vulnerability and dominance, where the fragile were snared in its horrid embrace.

What could you possibly do against nature’s firm grip on the world? It wasn’t as if it was an imagined force you could call upon when needed—it was just how it was, and no amount of will or strength could make that fact undeniable. You came to terms with that realization long ago, but the gnawing feeling in your chest was more stomach-twisting than anything you had felt before. What you were scared of, you possibly couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the leftover tremors that still coursed through you or the dampening feeling of nausea that persisted, yet somehow, it was something else, a faint sense that the danger wasn’t over yet.

Could Arthur be the one causing the cold sweat to run down your back even though the room was boiling from the heat outside, making you twist and turn in your bed as you prayed that the wind that sometimes passed through the slightly open window would carry an ounce of coldness so you could feel anything but the enclosing heat that now seemed to warm you to the bone? Your eyes closed tight as if you pressed them hard enough; you would fool your mind that you were asleep, the gnawing voices in your head ceasing so you could, perhaps, finally rest.

There was no doubt about it—you were frightened. It was unusual, this feeling, since while you’ve had many instances in your life where fear was the key factor, after some time, your body—or mind perhaps— grows familiar with it, so familiar that it washes away with the wind. Some fare well when scared, responding automatically as if their minds grow clearer when faced with the means to survive. In others, which is the category where you fit in, grow blank, like a heavy fog settles, keeping you from sensing left and right. A perfect prey, indeed.

And a perfect prey you were, the open window inviting anyone who happened to pass by, and in excellent condition for someone to climb the two stories to reach the wooden frames and then slink into the room with their grubby fingers and glinting eyes—stupid girl, to think so carelessly as if the streets were safe and people were kind.

Clothes rustling into the quiet night could be heard if you focused your ears hard enough, the floorboards creaking under the soles of muddy boots and clinking metal. Whoever could it be, one might wonder—and you grew paralyzed as the thought hit you, only able to stare at the tapestry that covered the wall in intricate patterns. The room’s darkness lets you hear every slight sound that would otherwise blend into the background, your senses heightened.

Perhaps the perpetrator thought you were asleep, your dreams already taking you to a land where you were dancing among clouds, not a single thought of the fright that would soon take over and turn the clouds so dark you couldn’t differentiate them from reality. Then, you thought, maybe you had been asleep as the sounds disappeared, all too familiar with waking up along the frantic beating of your heart, wide awake as horrible nightmares chased you till morning.

Your laboured breaths were the only thing that could be heard now, only a fool mistaking them for sleeping as you tried to steady your erratic heart. But you would soon find that the cold chill that ran up your clothed arm wasn’t the wind from the window caressing you but the hand of something more foul, riddled with scars that seemed insignificant in contrast to its owner’s sin.

Creaking under you, the bed groaned from the sudden weight, bedsheets rustling slightly as you closed your eyes tightly shut. The figure loomed over you, its large hand carefully moving further down your arm. You wondered, perhaps, if you stayed still long enough, you would be left alone or maybe dismissed as dead if you held your breath long enough. The thought seemed more appealing when you felt the cold skin burn through the garment, the smell of smoke so strong it felt as if you took a drag of the tobacco and let it scald its way to your lungs. It was vile, and in the presence of the sweat that bit its way through your nose, your eyes watered, your body begging to escape the horrid stench.

That was until the pressure lessened, and the room stayed quiet for a while, your heart beating so heavily it felt like someone held it right up to your ear, breath shaking with every small intake. But then, as the silence continued, you felt a warmth spread slowly down your arms, the substance thick like syrup as it made its way through the cotton of your shirt, spreading til the white fabric darkened to a deep, unsettling red. The scent of iron filled the air, subtle yet unmistakable as the shirt clung tighter to the skin beneath.

You shot your squinting eyes wide open just in time to feel a heavy weight falling over you, unmoving and grim as what you now saw was a man gasping for air. Your first instinct was to scream, but you didn’t get the chance as a hand roughly placed its palm against your mouth, leaving the terrified noise that escaped you muted while your eyes flickered around wildly, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Quiet now,” a rough voice spoke, removing its hand from your mouth when you became quiet, too shocked when recognizing who it was that spoke. It only grew heavier when your eyes got more familiar with your surroundings, the heaviness that lingered over you being in the form of a man, the warmth you had felt turning out to be from the deep cut across his neck, blood seeping like a waterfall from the paling flesh.

Another scream left you as you struggled to get the limbs away, squirming and trashing as you pushed the hand off you in the process as you begged for the suffocating smell of iron and sweat to disappear. When it did, you crawled backward, body bathing in the slick, blood-soaked sheets. Pushed to the floor, the man was left in a lifeless heap, eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

Those eyes–the sharp nose and squinting eyes—seemed familiar, reminding you of someone you couldn’t quite put your finger on, not while the room remained dark. However, you didn’t have the chance to ponder any longer as more harshly than before, a hand covered your mouth as you remained pushed up against the bedframe, coddling your hands to your chest.

Wet eyes stared into a pair of dark pools, once blue eyes now appearing black in the obscurity of the night as its facial features bathed in the light from the moon. Even still, it was hard to make out who it was, but his voice alone was enough for the realization to set in, now undoubtedly aware of who held your mouth with one hand and the shining blade of a knife in the other.

“Keep screaming, and you’ll damn us both.” A familiar, grumbling voice spoke out, hushed, yet the warning of danger lay smoldering underneath the surface.

“Arthur?” Your voice was hoarse when you spoke, riddled with shock when you realized that the man you had feared was in your bedroom, unwelcomed and unwished for.

“Wh-” You didn’t get to finish your question before he ripped his hand from you, casting you a dark look as he stepped off the bed, the floorboards groaning awfully at the sudden weight.

“Quiet.” There was no need for him to say anything else as you complied, the rattling anger in his voice only fueling his hasty, rigid movements as he bent down, checking the pulse of the man bleeding out on the floor.

The sight was gruesome, blank eyes shining in the moonlight as if they were somewhere far away, lost in a dream. A dream, you pondered amidst your shock. Yes, this could all very well be a dream—a bad dream, perhaps, yet the thought of it maybe not being real brought you a sense of comfort. But how could it be? It felt too real, and you could vividly recall every moment as it played out in front of you, feel every touch, and smell every scent.

Lost in a haze, you stared down at your body, the thick, red blood more visible as your eyes got used to your surroundings. Closing your eyes, you cast away the faint memories that grew bolder as the smell of iron crawled up your nose, almost gagged by the sight and the imposing smell that grew stuffier, fuller somehow.

Your eyes shot open, watching the dead body heaved on Arthur’s shoulder being thrown over the window sill, the impact noticeable with a loud thud. You could only stare at him as he leaned over, looking around quickly before turning towards you again, nodding his head towards the window.

If you had been in the right mindset and not scared witless, you would have laughed at his blatant naivety for thinking you would dive head-first into the darkness of the night, with him no less. There might have been a time when you knew him, but that wasn’t the case anymore—the dark eyes cowering behind his hat were unrecognizable, and the unkind tone of his voice was entirely someone else’s.

“Shit,” you heard him mumble when you made no motion to move from your spot, only cradling your arms tighter around you. Rubbing his eyes in stress, he glanced at you again, almost scoffing at you when you gave him a blank stare.

“Come on then, I ain’t got all day.” As you made no further movement that would give him the impression you were complying, he sighed and, with heavy steps, stalked towards you as the bed rattled slightly from his movements. You only held out your hands when he grabbed your waist roughly, fingers betraying you as they trembled wildly against his chest.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” His movements halted, his leatherbound hands stopped around your middle, and his eyes twitched when he heard his name being spoken. Along the ridges of harshness, you could see a faint confusion lingering in his stare, blatantly staring deep into your eyes unabashedly as he lifted you from the bed.

“Wha—” You pushed against his chest, and while it didn’t succeed in making him back off, it only made his brows furrow deeper.

“Listen here,” he said darkly, grabbing your upper arms and shaking you slightly. “Do as I say—follow my every word, and you won’t die.”

You stopped for a moment, bewildered by his words. You couldn’t make sense of it—none of it. Questions were brewing in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to speak them, couldn’t find the words to scream for help. It might seem funny to be scared of a man you once knew to have a good heart, but you have known men your whole life, and it never takes much for them to see right from wrong and still do the wrong thing.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” you breathed shakily, glancing at his hands, which gripped your arms when they tightened. It was hard to imagine that they had once been so gentle, the thought seemingly miles away as you returned your gaze to his squinting eyes, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Why are you here?”

Your voice had grown quiet as the question hung loose in the air. Shuddering, the wind flowed wildly into the room, banging the windows against the wall.

“Come on,” Arthur curtly said as he pushed you in front of him. You quickly realized you could hear footsteps from the stairs behind the shut door—Eustace, you thought, a cold chill running up your back as you gasped.

When you stopped before Arthur in protest, he only gave you a mean glance when you gazed back in concern, telling you all you needed to know. Disbelief was written on your face when you realized his cruelty, feeling it reverberating in your head a few moments before you could make sense of it.

“Don’t-”

“Then do as I say.” He whispered harshly, pushing you forward to make you move, and this time, your feet strode hastily toward the window. Two stories high, the room was, and before you could glance back in protest, Arthur pushed past you quickly, landing with a heavy thud against the dusty ground, clouds of it forming as it danced in the falling glow from the lamppost.

The street below was bathing in darkness, the sullied street more daunting from this high up and saddening when Eustace’s voice could be heard echoing through the hallway, his worried tone reverberating through the walls. It was hard to leave and listen to him calling out for you, yet you realized there wasn’t a choice for you now, and a big part of you refused to see him come to harm. If Arthur would’ve stayed true to his threat, that is.

You couldn’t say why you were so scared, having faced dangers more bone-chilling than this. But perhaps you feared to once more fall into the wrong arms, the arms of a man who reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you. But that might’ve always been the case for people who lived a hard life, feeling it better to put it to rest than reawaken it.

Without casting a glance behind you to see the shadow in the hallway flicker wildly as a stressed cane could be heard audibly hitting the wooden floor; you climbed over the window frame, the chipping paint sticking to your tightly gripping hands. It wasn’t until the trashing of air surrounded you that you fell into a pair of arms that immediately embraced you, hands gripping under your waist to ease your landing.

Quickly, before his hand could linger, you backed away, relieved when you no longer felt the tight hold he had managed to capture you in. His gaze remained heavy on you, and you did your utmost to avoid him, letting your eyes falter, not daring to meet him. How he could act so carelessly, you couldn’t possibly justify, yet his presence alone made you take a few steps back.

His movements were harsh as he adverted his eyes, and you could see how his body was rigid and tense, as if he’d been bathing in ice-cold water. He glanced towards the window, walking towards you as he motioned you to turn around and walk through the streets until the building disappeared behind tons of others, his grip on your arm tight like he worried you would slip out his grasp—or attempt to. Most likely, you thought, knowing exactly what he would do if you tried when considering his earlier threat.

“Where are you taking me?” You applauded yourself for dampening the tremble in your voice when you spoke, somehow finding the simple thought mildly embarrassing while aware it would be entirely valid if you did. This time, you found yourself getting an answer to your question, and although harsh and hasty, it gave you reason to question its meaning.

“Somewhere safe,” Arthur grumbled under his breath before pushing your back against the local general’s store wall, your figure hidden behind his large frame in the deserted alley. You made another attempt to question him further, only managing to open your mouth before the leather of his gloves covered it, hushing you as his eyes found yours, a threat lying deep within them.

A few moments passed in silence, the brick wall against your back cold as the small stones pressed uncomfortably against your shoulder blades. Moving slightly, you turned your head to gaze out towards the street, finding Arthur’s hand turning your face back instantly, shaking his head.

It wasn’t long before loud footsteps could be heard through the streets, metal clanking and murmurs echoing as their shadows grew taller from the orange light of the lamppost.

“Be still,” Arthur whispered under his breath, the sound of his gun cocking slowly as if to make as little noise as possible. Stepping away from you, he motioned you to step further into the alley, where the darkness would almost swallow you whole. “Stay there until l come back, and keep quiet.”

You didn’t get the chance to follow his command, though; the sharp sound of a gun went off, the noise so bone-rattling in the quiet, sleeping town it likened to the sound of thunder—a thunder turning into a full-blown storm as it didn’t even take a millisecond before bullets rained through the air, shooting holes into walls and shattering surrounding windows.

Your back found the brick wall again, Arthur’s back meeting your front as he shielded you with his body. Peeking from behind the building, the sound of his gun went off booming in your ear, his face growing even more grim, cursing under his breath as a bullet flew right past him. His weight pushed against yours when he once more took cover, taking the chance to reload as you gazed at the small cut on his neck where the bullet had grazed him—happy that it hadn’t been you.

Your hands turned pale as they gripped Arthur’s jacket, eyes screwing shut as the noise around you only grew nearer, each intake of breath shallow and rapid, as if the air in and of itself had turned hostile. Desperation clawed at your mind, begging you to slip away from the man holding you back and make a run for it, but you found that you couldn’t, damning yourself for staying still when all you wanted to do was get away.

Although warmth suddenly enveloped your hand, the rough leather and warm fingers wrapped around your sweaty ones. You opened your eyes, breathing erratically as you were once more met with the familiarity of Arthur’s jacket. As you glanced down, you caught a glimpse of his hand encasing you before the sight disappeared just as the feeling passed. You wondered if the hard, cold man in front of you had been the one to do it or if you’d imagined it.

With no more time to ponder, Arthur hastily stepped out on the streets, wildly looking around him with his gun raised as he turned his body in all directions. All dead, you presumed, as no more shots were being fired, yet you could hear more footsteps coming your way, alarmed voices shouting as doors slammed open in the distance.

“Shit,” Arthur muttered, a loud whistle cutting through the air before he returned to you, casting a glance your way as you gazed worryingly towards the direction of the loud calls, stumbling towards Arthur, feeling like the ground was tilting beneath your feet.

“What’s happening?”

“Law,” he stated, grasping your waist and hoisting you up what you discovered was his horse. The strong muscles flexed under your weight as you sat behind the saddle, and the chestnut coat softened under your fingers as you tried to find stability.

“Hold on,” Arthur said after heaving himself onto the saddle, casting a look backward when you took too long to follow his words, only setting off when your hands crawled tentatively around his waist, gripping the material under your hands firmly.

You wanted to ask him where he was taking you, but fear choked up your words and rattled your brain as you tried to comprehend your current predicament. So, instead, you held onto his jacket til your fingers turned a paler shade, closing your eyes as you wished that with it, you could disappear—perhaps wake up in your bed once more and feel the morning sun shine brightly upon you as it had done now for quite some time, instead of the cold, harsh air blowing against you, seeping through every garment you were wearing.

You had happily laid the unknown fate behind you when you found Eustace, not knowing the past from the present—not knowing what lay before you. As a child, it had been everything you’d known. And, being brought up always moving, you’d grown used to a stable home, a far-off dream, if even that, since you had never known that stability existed. Food on the table, clean clothes that didn’t reek of sweat and were stained with dirt, and clean water that would surely do you better than the burning alcohol you often got as a substitute for liquid.

All in all, finding a home with Eustace had been a blessing, no matter how absurd your situation may have looked to others. Therefore, suddenly, having to leave made everything ten times worse—you didn’t want to go, and you cursed the man in front of you, cursing him for disrupting your peace, for taking you away for—well, you weren’t quite so sure yet.

Although it itched inside you to ask him, you hadn’t missed the part where Arthur seemingly wasn’t the man you had once known. Therefore, you kept your mouth shut, not daring to speak a word while you gazed behind you as the city lights dimmed with time, buildings replaced with trees, and people with animals that scourged away into the woods surrounding the path when the clacking of hooves grew near.

You rode for a long while in silence, and with every chance you got, you glanced behind you, expecting to see the sheriff’s men closing in on you despite Arthur’s brutal pace—to see the pistols aimed at you in a way you’d thought you’d laid behind you after all those years on the run. But no, no galloping horses followed you, only darkness engulfing your sight as you looked back, the only noise the huffing of the horse beneath you.

Night turned to day, and you never stopped to regain your breath, to make sense of your surroundings. It was consuming, yet you took the chance to feel the now brisk air of the morning caress your cheeks softly, smell the bracing dew and the carrying of fresh air before the heat would set in a few hours. For a long while, you’d forgotten how good it felt to be outside of the city map with no walls confining you, no bustling crowds jostling for space. Nature’s gentle, soothing sounds replaced the constant hum of urban life—machinery and voices. The rustling leaves, the chirping of birds, and the distant call of wildlife may have once done their best to soothe your rattled nerves, yet it didn’t ease now, and you found yourself only growing more nervous.

—

“We ain’t got no other choice but to stay here tonight,” Arthur said as the horse slowed to a trot, examining the area as he squinted against the sharp evening sun. “Reckon, we’ll be safe enough out here. If they ain’t following us, of course.”

A small sigh left you, almost letting a groan escape you as you moved slightly behind the saddle. Feeling the muscles ache deep within, you were unwilling to face a second longer seated atop the horse. You didn’t even register his last words and their hidden threat, trying to remind you what heap of danger you were in—as if you weren’t aware, as if he didn’t already make you more at edge.

As the horse finally stopped at a place Arthur found agreeable, you didn’t wait a second to glide down towards the ground, feeling your feet planted on firm ground, the grass underneath them heavenly as you stretched with your newly-found freedom.

“Don’t run away,” Arthur muttered as his gaze stayed on you, warning laying deep in his voice.

“And where would I go?” Raising your arms, you gave him a frustrated look, not understanding how he would even make the assumption that you could, the landscape stretching on for miles with only vegetation and no roads as far as the eye could see, only lurking animals awaiting you with open mouths and greedy arms.

“I don’t know, just don’t do it,” he grumbled, sliding off the saddle before throwing you a blanket. As he crouched down, making you believe he was setting up a fire, you walked closer to him, carefully watching the guns on his back, like devil horns sprouting like bone from his shoulders.

“Arthur,” you began, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Will you tell me who those men were?” His mood was terrible, yet somehow, the words left you before you could stop them. There was, of course, still lingering anger at him inside of you, the underlying tones of sorrow that stung its way through you. Yet, you had to know—had to understand why he had turned his visit into a raging bloodbath and who that man was whose blood had dried up your clothes as the fabric had now grown thick and pasty.

“The law, I already told ya,”

“I know that,” you sighed, trying again, finding it easier to look at him when his back was turned. “But the men before that, and the man in my bedroom….” you trailed off, recalling the horrid moment and the consuming smell of blood, the lifeless eyes once again staring straight through you, brows still furrowed while the eyes stayed wide open.

He halted slightly in his motions, casting a glance sideways yet not entirely looking at you as he rubbed his eyes. Sweat ran down his face as he lowered his hat to rid himself of the still-blazing sun, cursing under his breath at the damned warmth that almost felt torturous when the wind laid to rest.

“Jesse’s men,” he said, continuing his earlier action. Your stomach plunged, shock traveling through your body as you froze, wishing sincerely he’d said any name but that.

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

Backing slightly, you could feel your throat constricting when the familiar name left Arthur’s mouth. It had been a long time ago, yet now it seemed so near, almost too near, being able to grasp the memories that made your heart lurch and stomach turn, something waxy and cold lining your insides at the thought.

Although, with it being given more thought, wasn’t this just your luck? Had it not always been your luck? To find yourself amid everything terrible, of all that was rancid and chaotic—entangled in the embrace of men who, above all else, desired more, strove towards gaining what they deemed necessary. Because of this, there had been many instances where you had felt greed, the familiarity with currents so strong there was no other explanation than rendering yourself no better than others when it came to it. And, unfortunately, it was consistent, for it appeared in everyone—everywhere—whether consciously or not, there had been no way for you to unsee it.

“But I don’t understand,” you said, your voice quiet as you spoke to yourself, gaze far off as you absentmindedly stared into thin air. “Jesse already killed Charlie. Why would he go after me, and now of all times? He couldn’t possibly be that greedy?” Silence followed, Arthur’s eyes finally meeting yours with reluctance, as if your question bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Could he?”

“It ain’t—” he trailed off, eyes flickering as if pondering how best to form the words soon to be said. “Well,” he said more directly this time. “Death ain’t enough for some, I guess.”

As his words sunk in, Arthur avoided your gaze, the silence from you enough to tell him that he’d struck a chord in you with his admittance. Horrifying, yet how could it surprise you when you had faced the inner turmoil of men many times, knowing the ways of honor and respect they so desperately clung to? Although there was an underlying dread to his words—like someone had wrapped a bag over your lungs when you thought of what could’ve been—where you could’ve been if Arthur hadn’t been there that night.

When you were both smaller and much more naive than today, you’d seen the bullet that flew right through your father’s skull with both eyes by the hand of Jesse, wide open and undoubtedly too young to stand witness to such a thing—no less it being a parent. You’d been too little; you simply didn’t understand it, and while you can honestly say it didn’t impact you then, being too used to seeing things like that firsthand and not particularly close to your father, it plastered itself onto you like a stamp whether you liked it or not.

Charlie, your father, had grown too careless and brave to think himself above others, particularly Jesse. All in all, that didn’t sit right with him, and as your father went through the grief of losing your mother, growing both colder and meaner with time—an image of his former self—he didn’t have much to care for except the gluttony that grew more consistent as the years passed. Sometimes, you’d ponder if any man could be blamed for it, for it seemingly was engraved in our bones, perhaps a fundamental part of the human mind.

You’d concluded you couldn’t cast that blame at your father when he tried to usurp Jesse, for then greed battled greed, and you had to choose which one was more deserving of understanding. Yet, you soon came to realize it didn’t matter who was more deserving, for power played a bigger part, and it didn’t care for either justice or discernment—only in which hands it could grow stronger, in which mind it could spread its dark tendrils until it grew satisfied. The only problem was that it never did, and you deemed it the downfall of many, both great and horrible men, those who deserved it and those who didn’t.

After that, you didn’t have much more to say, continuing the late evening in silence as your mind raced terribly after your conversation. You couldn’t help but stay unsurprised by Arthur’s theory, somewhere deep down knowing they probably did have much more in the plan for their leader’s revenge. Death, all in all, might not be so horrible after all when you’d imagine all the other vile and stomach-wrenching things one could do to deem their revenge agreeable—righteous.

It was impossible to imagine yourself being the one to endure it. You almost felt lighthearted at the thought of men’s grabby hands and hungry eyes, conjuring up bone-chilling scenarios that would make any sane person’s face pale and skin gray. The slap of a harsh backside of someone’s palm was, of course, humiliating enough for you. Still, with time, it somehow felt less personal, as if the memory healed with the bruise, while someone infringed on the fleshier part of yourself, not quite humiliation, for it stretched farther than that—scarred deeper. Pure rot and filth would surely spread through your body and mind, growing until it became a part of you, your past, and your future.

Your fright for Arthur did lessen as you pondered, growing thankful when you deemed his company much more preferable than the men who sought after you. It reminded you of a time he’d been the safest point in your life—perhaps the first since you laid in your mother’s arms, the warmth only a child could feel from a parent. Safe and undoubtedly free, his arms around you not encasing you—caging you in—but pushing you forward so you could feel the air of the wild blow through your hair, showing you there was more to life than death and violence, that there could be more to a man than his demons.

Of course, you had known what he was capable of—the brutality he wielded with his hands, the blood that tainted them, tainted him. In some deranged way, that thought had always made him even more comforting than he would be without it. It was what you’d known your whole life, and there was no hiding it. It drew you in, but never once had he made the slightest incantation of hurting you, and that’s what made you stay.

God, you’d been so alike, you and Arthur, and your childhood likewise. It felt like he’d been explaining your life when he told you of his. It didn’t help, for it glued you together, and you wondered if it could even be undone, knowing the rip of the glue, if you ever did, would strip away both skin and bones—take so much from you you were unsure if it could ever heal again. To think it would be horrifying indeed, and in the end, it was; the bruising went so deep you’d wanted to dry-heave when you left, almost ripping your heart out with everything else as you pushed him away.

You wondered, the saddest smile almost showing on your lips, if he had realized how carefully he had handled you since you first laid eyes on him, thinking not of his threats and harsh demeanor but the thoughts behind his actions. Ever so thoughtful and very unbecoming of him, yet somehow entirely expected of his character. You lowered your head, letting your hair fall around you as you tried hiding how the corners of your lips suddenly turned into a frowning smile like you were in on a sad secret only you knew about.

As you tried forcing your lips to maintain their straight appearance, you raised your eyes carefully after some time, observing Arthur through your lashes as he gazed into the fire. Leaning against an oak, he sought shade from the sun after providing you with something to eat. He seemed deep in thought as the flames caressed his face in the darkening evening, highlighting his sharp, harsh features. A heavy shadow cast over his eyes, hiding what thoughts lay behind them.

He looked no doubt like a man to fear, with features just as deadly as he was, like the guns resting on his hips and the twitching of his fingers ready for even the slightest inclination of danger. It looked like he was sleeping, yet he was vibrating with tension, like his mind was resting without his body, as if it ran on auto, already aware of every danger that could occur upon you as if it was plastered in the back of his eyelids.

You conclude that living the life he did would surely do that to a person. You’re not sure what he’s been through since you last saw him but deem it nothing good. Your eyes wandered over his face, gazing over the slightly suntanned skin, watching how the evening breeze made his roughly cut hair tickle his face. The trail of beard started to form, littering down to his neck, where a cluster of chest hair took over, disappearing invitingly into the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

Lingering over the bare skin that glistened with an inclination of sweat from the still humid air and fading sun, they followed over the expanse of his chest that stretched the fabric of his shirt, rising steadily in harmony with his breathing. The faint feeling of his skin under your fingertips ran through your mind, the slight memory so far away that only the feeling persisted. The sharp, musky smell of smoke was almost burning under your nostrils as the feeling persisted, coupled with a smoldering scent that was hard to word; you could nearly feel the warm skin underneath you—the faint sense of hair tickling your cheek.

It calmed you to watch him, the slow breaths that left him making your eyes grow heavy as time ticked on, the chilling fog of night settling in, accompanied by the warmth of the fire you so desperately relied on. It wasn’t until you were at the brink of sleep a pair of darkened eyes met yours, bathing in the glow from the fire, that your eyes faltered, a scorching blush fighting its way up the skin of your chest till it covered your cheeks wholly—shit. It grew hotter, the air suddenly turning stuffed as embarrassment from your delirious, wandering eyes had been caught red-handed.

You could only stare at the ground in shame, the small pebbles suddenly turning interesting as your eyes stared in false interest. You blamed it on your worn-out mind, the fatigue that had overtaken your body, trying to justify it to yourself. You felt the brutality of another pair planted on you, unwavering, hoping to higher powers they would dissipate so you could pity yourself without an audience.

“Cold?” Arthur’s gruff voice broke the silence, the words still quiet, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Did he mistake your blushing cheeks for you being cold? Or, had your distracted mind kept you from realizing that the cold air had done so when the darkening sky fell upon you, too? Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt a shudder run through you, hairs raising as if on cue.

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, inching closer to the fire that had begun to falter. The embers around it were glowing red as they crackled loudly into the night, the sudden noise making you jump slightly.

“Mmh.”

You stared into the flames as silence followed, refusing to meet his eyes. Your pulse was still pounding quickly, and your mind was caught in the horrible moment. Hell, you’d say it bordered on humiliating, throwing off your facade of irritation directed at Arthur and his actions that you were so dead-set on keeping up as well as your walls—so high he couldn’t peer over them the way you couldn’t look over his.

“Come here.”

Your eyes fitted to his, in an instance, baffled by the words that left his mouth, if even that was what he said and not something your sleep-deprived mind made up.

You could only stare at him for a while, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. Your face was straight as Arthur stared back at you with an expression that could rival yours, arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned against the tall oak. You damned his ability to keep his face so unreadable, eyes still as sharp as they always seemed. His voice was calmer, perhaps slightly warmer, heating like embers glowing in the hearth.

“What?” you mumbled tiredly, voice laced with a sleepy confusion.

“You’ll die of hypothermia before I even get the chance to get you out of here.” His tone was laced with annoyance, grumbling irritably as if the mere thought of the conversation you had bothered him immensely—as if the words leaving him were reluctant and bothersome.

He didn’t continue, staring at the flames flickering wildly when the wind suddenly picked up—if it was a means to avoid your now wakened eyes or the nonchalance in his spoken words, you couldn’t tell.

The irritation that had been simmering in your mind grew at his words. Your throat constricted with words you wanted to speak, wanting to tell him that there wasn’t a single fiber of your being wishing to be close to him, to give him such a privilege. Had the world turned his head that daft, or had he simply stopped caring what effect his words and actions had on others, no less you?

A few moments passed, and you stared at him, eyes growing hard and sharp like glass, where confusion and fear were replenished. So, to rid both of you from the onslaught of feelings coursing through you, you turned around on the hard ground, bringing your arms tighter against you for warmth as a shudder ran through you.

“When did you grow so cruel?” you asked quietly into the night, watching the warm air leaving your mouth become clouds when you breathed a shaking breath. You weren’t sure if you were speaking about his sudden audacity or the change in his character that so starkly contrasted the one you had known. Nonetheless, you didn’t expect an answer, but you did get one, and a humorless laugh accompanied it as if the truth was some masochistic joke.

“If you only knew.”

—

The night continued in silence, and you woke between the hours from the cold, staring heedlessly into the darkness, ears taut as every noise made your breath hitch, almost expecting to find prying eyes staring back at you when you got the guts to open them. But, as sunlight found its way to you behind the trees, rising warmly over the cliffs, you could finally feel yourself relaxing against the hard ground, bringing the jacket that lay over you closer as you breathed in the scent of smoke and something warmer, muskier.

Blue orbs, hidden beneath the surface of anger and hatred, gazed at you through squinted eyes as the orange tendrils hit the skin of your cheeks just above ĥis jacket. They followed along the strands of hair that ran down your face, tickling your skin slightly as you shook them away from your face in deep sleep.

For far too long, they had only seen gruesome sights—things that would make even the strongest men empty their stomachs. So they stayed a while longer, feasting their eyes on something lovelier—a forbidden fruit laid out before them. The steady breathing lulled them closer as if calling for them, begging them to stray nearer until skin touched skin.

The skin he had once known so well, so well the mere thought of it had become less of a luxury and more of a second nature, a constant need. You might’ve let time do its part in receding the memories, but not him—not when every thought of you had become his way of finding something good in this world—his world. Whatever was left of it gnawed at him, clawed at the inside of his flesh, the scars with age growing visible, larger to only himself; only the aftermath of anger and resentment was what was shown to the world.

Embedded in the darkest corners of his mind, you laid like a hidden haven, formless yet shaped by recollection. He rarely touched it, for every time he did, he found the flesh of you that was once so bright, so warm, turned colder and grayer, rot spreading its way up your delicate skin, his disease only managing to span through your body. The eyes had grown too lifeless to be associated with yours, the sunken eyes dull and almost bordering on hateful. He couldn’t stand it, so he let it be after some time, outmost refusing to taint your memory with his cruelty and violence, refusing to cover you any longer with his filthy hands.

It was a part of his life he’d had to lay behind him, a chapter that he had looked upon so fondly laid to rest, only for the next to take form. Oh, how it was riddled with filth and violence, the edge of the papers burnt and soiled. It was simply how it was, he’d concluded at the time, all too aware that it was what lay before him, what had always been destined to be his life.

What once was a heroic attempt, a means to do good, had been overtaken by gluttony, the constant want for more. A bare and raw sin was what he had turned into, a hungry wolf, led by his brutality and fear—a fear of realizing what he was, what he had always been.

So, he couldn’t help but just for once take you in now that your watchful eyes weren’t gazing at him in fright—a fright he had grown all too used to when others looked at him, whether it was by the end of his gun or in the final short few breaths of their life. You had turned in your sleep, chin resting against the hard ground, when his eyes fitted over you, resting in the soft curves of your face and lashes that lay delicately on your skin.

The gentle rise and fall of your chest was a lullaby of sorts, a contrast to the storm inside of him. He wondered what dreams might be drifting through your mind, hoping they were far removed from the darkness that often clouded his own, hoping he wasn’t turning them vile.

Arthur gazed over the plump cheeks that seemed fuller, akin to his memories, a soft glow over them as the morning sun washed over you. You had always looked prettier in the sunlight; it was something he had always thought, for it was like two twins meeting each other again, laden with the same light and warmth. The ghost of a wistful smile begged to tug at the corners of his mouth as he indulged in this rare moment of stillness—the rough edges of his hardened soul seemed to soften, if only for a heartbeat.

He wanted to reach out a hand, rough and scarred, and try to let it hesitate above your cheek as he thought it would break the spell of sleep that enveloped you. He could feel his breath caught in his throat, a mixture of awe and sorrow, for deep down, he was aware that the world he lived in had no place for such beauty and peace. He was a ghost in your serene world, an intruder with no right to stay. Still, he would linger, savoring the moment like a condemned man savoring his last meal.

A dream was all it was, to imagine a different life where you could bask in the sun’s glow without fear and violence. But, as the sun climbed higher, reality would begin to seep back in, and he would reluctantly pull his hand away, the humid air now filling the spaces between you. The weight of his choices and the path he’s walked pressed down on him, so for now, he’d indulge in the simple act of watching over you as you rested—not sure where to go where the men now seeking your death couldn’t find you yet promising to himself he would keep you far, far away from them.

—

When the sun’s warmth began to cover your skin in a faint layer of sweat, you awoke, being met with the smoking of a dying fire and a soreness in your body that only laying on hard ground could create. You had almost expected to awake in the comfort of your old bed, feeling the soft wind caress your face as it blew through the open window, curtains fluttering in the air as the far-away sound of people chattering could be heard, and the constant chugging of the train.

Homesickness, you thought. It was strange; never before had that feeling grappled you so intensely; never had the thought of being back with Eustace seemed so wishful, so desperate. It pulled something inside of you, and as you sat up, you could only find yourself wishing the feeling away, rubbing your eyes as you set your gaze forward, refusing to ponder over it any longer.

“No sight of Jesse’s men yet, so I think we’re good,” a voice called out nearby. Looking behind you, you found Arthur going through the saddlebag, his back facing you as you slowly stood up.

“Do you-” You cleared your throat, still riddled with sleep, both rough and quiet. “Do you think they’re still after us?”

“Sure,” he drawled, fastening the bag before patting his horse encouragingly. “We just killed their leader; I don’t think we’re off the hook that easily.”

“You,” you stated, dragging your fingers through your hair as you felt the various knots get stuck in your hand. You tried to sort them out but found your effort unsuccessful.

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they’re still coming for you nonetheless.”

“And the law?”

“If we keep away from Blackwater, we’ll be fine,” he said, turning towards you.

“Then where do we go now?” you asked, staring at the ground as you grieved at the thought of not being able to head back to Blackwater, back to Eustace. He only glanced at you, the slight movement of his shoulders indicating he wasn’t so sure either.

You walked tentatively towards him, meeting his gaze as he leaned towards the tree where his horse was stabled. He watched you cautiously as if he had any reason to be careful around you.

“How did you know Jesse’s men were after me?”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing as he considered his response. “I have my ways,” he muttered, eyes darting to the horizon. “Words travel fast in these parts, and I keep my ears open.”

You only gazed at him for a while, hearing him sigh when you didn’t let your eyes waver, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, measuring how much truth to reveal. He adjusted his hat, the shadow casting a veil over his expression. “We heard things. Rumors in the towns. Jesse’s men have a way of making themselves known.” You nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense in a twisted way; your past seemed to chase you no matter where you ran or how far you went.

Arthur shifted his weight, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “And when we ran into some of his boys a few days back, well,” He stared at you hard. “They mentioned you.”

“Me?” Your breath got caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he admitted tersely.

You blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, your tone betraying none of the turmoil.

He only sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting your questioning eyes again. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed,” he retorted sharply, his words tinged with frustration. “Especially after everything that happened all those years ago.”

Many emotions flooded through you—confusion riddled with anger, a strange sense of relief you wanted to cast far away. Anger at his presumption, a deep ache for the man he once was when he mentioned the past. “So you’ve been watching me all these years?” you countered, your voice carrying a cutting edge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his temper flaring. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe,” he mumbled, his voice growing snappier.

The reality of his words sank in, and you struggled to process the implications. You met his gaze, trying to keep your composure, refusing to let his anger shake you. “Protecting me by keeping me under surveillance?” you shot back.

“Call it what you want, but I had to make sure you wouldn’t end up lying dead somewhere,” he said gruffly, staring stubbornly at you. “Jesse’s men aren’t exactly known for sending love letters.”

“And did it ever occur to you that I might’ve been wanting to be left alone?”

“You don’t get it, do you? They’ve been after you this whole time; they still are. You think you can just walk away and be fine?”

The air hung tense between you and Arthur, his words cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. “You had no right,” you hissed, your voice low but filled with simmering anger. You knew you were right, and you were sure Arthur knew as he quieted down, grumbling as he strode past you, stepping on the fire’s dying embers to put it out, his movements stiff and rigid.

“We’ll keep moving, get you out of the wild for a bit.” You stayed facing away from him when he spoke, only moving when he extended his hand, motioning you towards the horse.

“Listen,” he murmured, turning you around before you could sit behind the saddle. “I didn’t—” he turned his head away from you for a moment as if thinking about his following words, hands gripping your shoulders carefully, flexing slightly. “I know how these types of men work, and you would thank me for keeping an eye on you if I told you what they would’ve done to you.”

“And how are you so different from these men you talk of, Arthur?” Your voice was accusing and bitter, and only silence followed from his side. “I used to know a different man,” you murmured. One who was understanding,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper as your walls crashed, a somber look glazing over your eyes. “Kind.”

You felt him stiffen before you, and he didn’t respond immediately, as if surprised by your words. “Things change,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of sentiment.

“I can see that,” you said, lifting your hand as if to move his hat out of the way but faltering at the last second. “ I barely recognize you.”

You hadn’t failed to realize it, and it had consumed your thoughts fully since you first discovered it was him when he held that gun toward your head. Never did you imagine he would be the type of man to wield such a dangerous weapon towards a woman—towards you—yet that’s precisely what he’d done.

“You don’t understand the world we live in now,” he said, his tone hardening. “Things aren’t as simple as they used to be.”

“Maybe not,” you replied, feeling the weight of your disappointment settle in your chest. “But I didn’t think you’d let it change like this; I didn’t think you’d become-”

“What? Like them?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “You think I had a choice?

“There’s always a choice,” you shot back. “You used to be a different man.”

“And what good did that ever do me?” he snapped, stepping closer. His breath was warm against your cheek when you lowered your face, staring at the fabric of his shirt.

“The world is cruel, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, and I had to make sure to keep the gang safe, and I still do.” The last part, he muttered to himself. “And since you decided to leave me-”

“Leave you?!” you gasped, appalled at his choice of words. The familiar stabbing pain gripped your heart when he accused you, and you stepped backward slightly only to find his hands rooting you in place. “I had no choice!”

“No choice, huh?” He said, his lips curling into a bitter smile as if your words were ridiculous and filled with lies.

“I asked-, no begged, you to come with me, but you refused! Talking all sorts of rubbish about loyalty and Dutch this and Dutch that!” It felt like a stone the size of your fist was plunged down your throat while the muscle could only constrict around it, twisting your body slightly so he would let go of you.

“I realized there wasn’t a place for me there, with you, any longer, so I had to leave before I went insane!” you said. “I couldn’t bear it, living that life anymore. My whole life had been filled with cruelty and violence, and I needed to feel as if I was the one living it instead of watching myself from the sidelines!” Flashes of faces, both grim and cruel, passed your vision, the image of a younger you looking for somewhere to hide but only finding broken souls wandering around you.

Like lost in a maze, you had tried left and right, but with no guidance, it proved useless as you kept wandering, trying to make sense of the world that you grew up in, parentless and abandoned in a gang whose hearts had been ripped out of their chests and feasted on by the devil. His pupils were all that was left, and you, a lost child, were made to endure a world that had been stripped of both kindness and care.

“But you-” your voice was choked up, trembling as your frenzied eyes flickered around you. “You didn’t care enough to see that, and now I can see why.”

“You’re just like them.” As your words ended, the onslaught of feeling simmered underneath your hectic breathing, and you finally felt the pressure loosen on your shoulders. Taking a few steps back, you passed the back of your hands over your eyes, feeling the warm liquid rub into your skin.

Those years felt distant now that they were brought up, and you had done your utmost to keep them far away until one day, you woke up feeling like that life hadn’t been your own; the person you were hadn’t been you and the memories entirely someone else’s. It had become too much, the air around you thick and nauseating when it felt like none of it would stop, like you were in a loop that never ended, only bringing you back to where you first started but with different people this time.

You soon realized that since you managed to remove yourself from Jesse and his men, you’d only wound up sleeping on a hard ground once more, the twigs and sticks poking you through your back like they’d always done. However, the people around you were new, but they were still the same lost souls as you, and the thought terrified you. You couldn’t handle the idea of that being your life, of always following someone who strived towards a goal that, when reached, would only be replaced by another one.

You didn’t dare glance at Arthur, yet you felt his eyes on you. As you tried to calm your breathing, you wondered why he didn’t say anything, defend himself, or retort and fight back like you thought he would. Yet, his lack of words made you second guess your revelations, shame soon filling your body when you realized how much of yourself you’d given a man who no longer cared to understand, who was so far gone your words meant nothing, just like the men he killed in cold-blood—a menace and an obstacle.

“Let’s go,” was all that he replied with after some time, avoiding glancing at you before grabbing your waist carefully to sit you behind the saddle, stomping one last time at the dying fire before sitting before you, no doubt noticing how your hands ghosted around his waist as if touching him alone was a vile and horrid thought.

—

You couldn’t help but ponder over what transpired this morning, all too aware it had to be spoken about sooner or later, but you wished he’d tell you more, explain why he’d acted the way he did and why he’d changed so much even though the words might’ve been said in anger. Yet, perhaps, that is a ridiculous exception, for who can say why they’d change if they even stopped enough to notice they did? Still, you realized what he had to say might not be what you wanted to hear, and the thought didn’t fail to make your heart sink.

It’s terrible what time can do to one person, but you could not understand how it could wound its way into Arthur so firmly, as if not considering his past self that had been so different from who was before you now. Perhaps being young and in love had made you fail to realize that maybe the man he was now is only an older version of who he’d been then and that he’d only shown the sides he felt deemed to you. Why, you wondered. Had it been shame or fear, knowing very well the cruel place you came from, not wanting to admit that he was a criminal—that he did exactly what every other man would do when following another blindly?

Bringing yourself out of your thoughts, you observed that day had once more turned into night, the familiar setting sun casting its warm gaze over the landscape as the horse huffed underneath you in exhaustion from running all day—tired from the lack of rest and the growing tension that was heavy between its riders.

Rising your gaze to look at his back for the first time since you set off, you let the follow along the chestnut tone of his hair, trailing over his tense back, eyes focusing on the various scratches and stains on his clothing, the blood that had been rubbed so many times it had turned into a lighter shade, yet the slight pinkness still resided, marking him unknowingly, as if his clothing represented his being.

It was so unfair, you concluded, yet you felt angry at him, furious at yourself and the world for being unpredictable, for never making anything easy, and more so for laying trouble over minds that from the start were pure, a blank canvas now to be trifled with. But there was also a tinge of sadness over the people you had turned out to be and grieving over the man you seemed to have lost behind smokes of black and anguish.

The pit of darkness that now filled you turned into thunder, and as the rain began to pour, the cold drops doing nothing to wash away the hollowness you felt, you failed to hear the hooves that could be heard from a distance. Arthur, though, had sensed them for some time now, trying to make his abrupt, faster pace less noticeable, hoping to gain some distance before you could see their dark figures form behind you.

Unfortunately, they only gained on you with every minute that passed, reaching out for you with their slinky arms and wild gazes, bullets vibrating in the metal, begging to be released so they could bury themselves into your flesh. Yet, it was hard for them to see, the heavy downpour blurring their vision of you, the fading sun offering them no help, and the galloping of their horses dizzied their sight.

A gasp left you as the horse suddenly stopped abruptly, the reigns held tightly as it skidded across the slippery ground. You didn’t get the chance to be surprised, hastily brought down to the ground, Arthur’s hands almost lifting you with the way he pushed you as you clumsily glided across the ground, grasping onto his arms to find stability as you walked up the small stairs that appeared on front of you.

A small porch, desolated and lonely, spread out around you; from the hasty look you could get, the windows seemed dark and lifeless—not a single light shining through them. The two-story structure seemed to stand on the outskirts of a forgotten, overgrown field, its once-white paint nor a peeling, weather-beaten gray where ivy and wild vines clung to the sides, creeping through the cracks in the wooden boards. The roof sagged precariously, shingles missing in place, revealing patches of rotting wood underneath.

“Shit!” You could hear Arthur shout as the loud weather dampened his voice, grasping the handle as it refused to open.

“What’s going on, Arthur?!” you said loudly so he could hear you, but you got no answer to your question. He pushed you to the side with one motion, trashing his shoulder into the door, and rusty hinges groaned in protest; the flimsy wood bent slightly before he bolted against it again. With this attempt, he opened it, and it smashed against the wall; the smell of something musty reached your nose as it escaped the house, contrasting heavily with the freshness of the rain.

“Get inside!” he shouted, and as you hurried inside, you heard the door slam shut. Your back pressed against the wall beside it, and Arthur stood before you, peeking out carefully from the window beside it.

It grew quiet the minute you stepped inside, the rain reduced to a slight humming as it splattered against the one-story house that seemed long abandoned, the faint smell of mold and neglect traveling through the air–the stale, dry air left a metallic tang in your mouth, the taste of dust was ever-present, gritty and unpleasant, seemingly coating your tongue and throat with each short, terrified breath you took.

“Arthur,” you whispered, craning your neck so you could gaze up at him where he leaned against the window, his eyes scanning the storm outside as his hands squeezed your arms gently but firmly.

“I gotta hide you,” he said, his voice low, his throat straining around the words when he finally looked into your eyes.

He pulled you from the wall, leading you deeper into the cabin. The floorboards creaked underfoot, threatening to give away with each step you took. Moving through the tiny parlor, past the broken chairs and sagging sofa, you moved into the kitchen where the cabinets hung open, their contents long since scavenged or rotted away.

As you gazed back, you found Arthurs’s eyes darting around the place, searching for a place where you would be hidden from the gruesome and horrible event that would soon take place in this already damned building. A small pantry, its doors hanging loosely on its hinges, seemed to be the only hiding place he deemed approvable.

“In here,” he said, guiding you towards it.

“Why?” you asked, hesitating to enter the small space.

“They caught up to us,” he murmured, watching your hand grasp his shirt. “Jesse’s men.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur replied, momentarily passing his hand over yours. “I’ll handle them, just please-” he trailed off, grasping your cheeks between your hands so you would focus entirely on his and his words. “Please don’t come out until I tell you.”

A few moments passed before you tentatively nodded, feeling his hands leave you so you could squeeze into the pantry. The small space was barely big enough to hold you as the doors were closed gently, slightly ajar so you could breathe through the thick, consuming air.

A few moments passed, your eyes wide in the darkness as you took in his words. It surprised you there were still so many, remembering the night in Blackwater where it seemed like bodies littered every corner of the streets when you passed them, lifeless and now soulless. How many, you wondered, were outside now, and how had you not managed to feel their presence before, to catch sight of them behind you, yet Arthur could without a glance?

As the first sign could be heard, you held your breath, the beating of your heart almost audible in the small space as it fought against your chest, your hands covering it as if it would give away your position. That was when the door burst open, and you could only clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp that escaped against your will, listening tentatively at every noise that could reach you.

You could only make out Arthur’s voice, low and steady, even though you couldn’t make out the words that left him, almost wanting to cover your ears as if it would help against the terror you knew would soon erupt, praying-no begging Arthur would be alright, that you wouldn’t have to be dragged away from there a weeping mess as Arthur lifeless eyes stared into your own, bullets imbedded in his flesh as you awaited your fate.

The sound of struggle filtered through the storm—the clatter of boots, shouts of men that boomed through the cabin, and the crackle of gunfire. Each noise made you cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to block out the terrifying reality, hands shooting up to cover your ears as the loud sounds lessened; instead, the more vile noise of flesh hitting flesh ensued, the noise bones made when broked and the bloodily smack of skin against skin.

It ensued for a while, the disgusting sound of grunting and groaning making you remember the many times you had to hide your smaller self and only listen. Listen till the danger was over, examining every sound that could be heard to tell if you’d be alright stepping out or whether it would lead to your death—which had most of the time been the biggest possibility. You felt like you had traveled back in time, with not an ounce more courage than you had lacked back then, quivering like a fool while others fought like madmen around you, wishing you could be somewhere else—for someone to swoop down and save you like in some sad fairytale.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, heart pounding in your ears as you didn’t dare to peek out from the cracks. Then, amidst the chaos, you heard a voice—Arthur’s voice, calling your name as you heard him breathing heavily, your name strained as he spoke. A sense of relief coursed through you, now knowing he was alright, yet you still lingered for a second, hand hesitating at the door as you feared what sight you’d be presented with. Yet, as you pushed it open, you stepped into the cabin again, taking small steps leading further into the house, trailing over the dark red liquid as you closed your eyes at the bodies it came from.

“They won’t hurt you no more,” Arthur murmured.

He stood there, hands at his side, his eyes as blood-filled as his hands, the red liquid dripping onto the wooden planks, staining them til they flowed beneath the cracks. Fitting to yours, you could only gasp, taking a step back as you were filled with dread over what he just did, the brutality of his actions, and the lives that now lay devoid of it around you. There had been too much death over the last few days, and although it was either their life or yours, you couldn’t help but detest the constant smell of the deceased resting just under the tip of your nose.

You gazed over the chaos; the broken glass shattered on the floor, blinding you when the sun was reflected on their surface. The white porcelain was stained red, and the walls had been painted the same color. You felt his eyes stay on you, unmoving and seemingly not bothered by the brutality he just possessed—always had possessed—but not making any attempt to move, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move, speak the first word.

He looked tense where he stood, and despite his horrible deeds, he looked at you as if he searched for your acceptance, as if trying to convey that he did this for you, that he dirtied his hands only to keep you safe, just like he’d always done. And, as you stared at him, you could almost see his hand flex slightly, as if it wanted to reach out to you, yet was held back, rooting him to the spot.

It might surprise him what you would do next, as the first tentative step towards him—although riddled with a faint fright and shaking hands—never wavered, carefully stepping over the bodies in your way until you stood in front of Arthur, ignoring their deathly, vengeful eyes that almost followed you, rolling into the back of their heads when you went out of sight.

His hands were still shut tight, knuckles white against the suntanned skin that flexed slightly when your fingers ran over them, bringing them higher as you felt the callousness that bruised his hands. They contrasted so heavily with your own, soft against hard, the veins beneath his skin protruding til the blue shades created valleys, irritated and angry. The warmth of your touch contrasted starkly with the cold reality of his actions, a shiver running down your spine when the blood on his hands painted your untouched skin. Arthur didn’t attempt to push away from your touch but stood like a statue, eyes cautious when you brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you ghosted over them.

Every breath you took was heavy; each inhale difficult to make as his gaze remained locked onto yours. The bluish shade grew molten on the edges, warming up the coldness of the otherwise sharp hues, staring into yours like he was waiting for something or perhaps fearing something. It made the ache in your heart settle daftly, staring into the eyes you could now recognize from the ones you had known many years ago, see the man you hadn’t been able to remember till now rightfully.

You pulled away slightly when you realized that man wasn’t standing before you but a figment of him, perhaps a vivid remembrance yet not reality. Your fingers lingered on his skin, though, as if afraid to let go, afraid you might’ve lost him as you’d done before even though he wasn’t whole—the pieces of him scattered wherever he went, falling away like fragments with every step.

Brutally and cold, the devil resided in his eyes, each glance laden with sin and searing pain that engulfed like wildfire, encircling and trapping in its flickering, scorching embrace. It was a warmth that turned cold, caressing with its chilling touch, raising the hairs on your skin in protest—an unwelcome sensation that one dared not wish for. Yet, amidst this, your heart beats heavily–not in fear, but in yearning for his touch to linger.

How could your heart betray you so? How could it stray so far from reason, captivated by a man who made you unable to tell between reason and desire? Traitorously, it thudded heavily within, not out of fear but wishfully. It created an ache that settled so deep in your bones it hurt, a pain born of longing—a desire that scorched like a fever. Every instinct screamed for you to flee, to turn away against your now abandonment of all sense and sensibility—to run far away from the life he reminded you of, a life you’d so desperately feared.

You were caught between shame and confusion as if he could sense your pulse racing against the barriers of cotton and leather. Did he notice your heart’s betrayal and the quivering of your lips as your shaking breath rose like wisps of smoke in the cold air? Maybe he did, for as you closed your eyes, unable to handle the downpour of emotions coursing through you, you suddenly felt his breath against your lips as his presence enveloped you, casting a shadow over the world when he drew closer. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes opened in protest; the space between you dwindled, narrowing to nothingness until you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with your own.

His eyes burned like smoldering coal, holding you captive as every voice in your head told you to run, hit, scream–anything to get away from him—only to silence when his lips brushed against yours in a feather-light caress. It was far away and fleeting, the small touch of skin almost ghostly as they moved over your trembling lips. His breath was warm, so warm it made heat crawl up your neck, spreading slowly throughout your body.

His careful touch made you wonder when the world turned him so cold. To carry the burns of his soul, hideous and bare, with not a single kindness seemingly left inside him. Was he ashamed of his skin, which wrapped so harshly around his bones, scarred yet strong–cold but fond? Was it right for you to fear the hands that once fell so delicately on your skin, porcelain never having been touched as carefully as he had touched you? There were days you now could remember so clearly, the warm look in his eyes as they caressed over your skin, the naivety and desperation that shone so bright within them—a want so fundamental it made you wonder if it was even possible.

The years had passed now, and you were both older and saner, but through the shades of blue in his eyes that were covered with darkness that rested like a veil over them, you thought you could still see the same man you had once known, and as his lips met yours firmer if felt like the past washed over you again. And it was good, so good you felt your knees almost give out, stumbling backward slightly but finding yourself not falling heedlessly towards the ground. Instead, the pressure of standing on the ground disappeared as your felt fingers worm their way under your thigh, lifting you in the air.

Softly, your back met the planks that creaked audibly when Arthur pushed you against them, the material groaning and protesting when he leaned more of his weight against you as if the pressure was too much to bear. You were trapped in his embrace that spoke only of desperation—desperation so raw you wondered if it spread from his skin to yours like a disease, if it traveled through your body, infecting everything it passed in its way.

A certain rigidness could be felt in the hands that held you, their grip tight yet unmoving as if he battled against letting them touch any other part of you. They were there, yet somehow unwilling, like he needed to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Perhaps, you thought, he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be best to end it here, not to get any more pain that would surely hurt more than do good. Yet you missed him, missed Arthur so much it felt like a part of you had returned when he was this close as if you could imagine him being who he once was.

You chastised yourself for it when his lips caressed you softly, letting them push further against yours. The distant sound of chattering and calls beckoned you from afar, the clanking of pots loud in your ears as he had you pushed up against a tree, far and hidden from curious eyes, all your senses focused on him. It had been so simple then, such a warm, inviting touch, the feeling differing strongly against the violence and pain that had followed you until you met Arthur. It was the only reason you’d stayed with him for as long as you had, for never had hands handled you so carefully, so tender; never before had you stared into a pair of eyes that, without a blink, promised to keep you safe and sane.

It felt different yet the same; for now, those feelings mingled together, the brutality shining so strongly within him. Yet, his hands were so gentle, his means to keep you and cradle you in his arms til no one else could touch you so palpable it made every fear you had for him dissipate with the wind that flew through the cracks in the wall. It felt like you held a giant in your grasp, a lost soul seeking the goodness of his past, wishing to erase the bad and expel the vile, monstrous thoughts that he’d been forced upon—expectations he grew up with. How could you possibly blame him? How unfair was it for you to tell him he was wrong, that he acted wrongfully?

Your hands shook as you brought them up to his cheeks, claiming< them in your grasp, feeling him sigh when your fingertips ghosted over him as if the feeling alone chilled his blazing—scorching—skin. Following that means of human nature, his hands that kept you lifted from the ground raised one, caressed its way over the swell of your hips, letting it feel the warm flesh emitting from under your clothes until it followed the path of your sides til it found the valley which where your waist sunk in, letting fingers grip under the harsh bones of your ribs.

A gasp left you, lips parting as if to speak but only inhaling his warm breath, pushing your head away, yet your grasp on his cheeks making him follow you—ordering him to chase the pink, swollen skin that begged for the sensation of more—demanded it. You realized soon that you didn’t have to, his imposing frame pressing you further into the wall, no longer needing to hold you by the tight to keep you from the ground as his lips sensually now found yours again, a deep, dark rumbling—like thunder brewing—could be heard deep into his chest.

It was sickening, the air thick and pasty, like breathing into sourdough bread, the swelling yeast filling all spaces around you, making it difficult to breathe. When you needed air too much, begged for the oxygen yet displeased with the thought of parting with Arthur, he pulled his head away slightly, eyes opening to gaze at your closed eyes, the warm tint of red rising from your chest to your cheeks.

Opening them, you’d only be given a moment to stare upon his face until he leaned in again, his lips finding their way to the dip of your collarbone, rising to cover the space where your shoulders dipped up to the slope of your neck. Inhaling, exhaling, he breathed in the dizzying warmth of your neck, groaning when he let his tongue taste the humid skin that was scorching under his wet, slippery touch.

So divine, yet so dangerous to touch what wasn’t his anymore, what couldn’t be his—but he couldn’t deny he longed for you, couldn’t deny that your smell alone awakened the man he had been, your hands reaching out to him like the gates of heaven shining with its door wide open. A cruel joke was what it was, but he had no want to dispel it, to turn it away. It taunted him, laughed at him, giving him a fair bit of pleasure so the rest of his living days would turn to torture, a small taste of what he could’ve had before dooming him to an eternal defeat—dooming him to live the rest of his days a hollow shell.

Your hands found the back of his head, fingers threading through the strips of hair that felt like velvet under your skin. You couldn’t help but push on the back of his scalp to bring him even closer, dismayed when you realized he was as close as he could be, fingers gripping his hair so tight you feared you would leave tufts of it when you released your grip. You only got a hum of satisfaction in return, the feeling of a wet muscle traveling down your collarbones til they ghosted over the swell of your breasts carefully, like waiting on a signal before they could devour, let their touch consume you.

“Arthur,” you mumbled, lost in what was wholly him, the very fibre of your being begging for him never to stop, wishing he’d never done all those years ago.

You only got a low, appreciating groan in return, only gained the feeling of cold air hitting your legs as he snaked his hands under your skirt, hitching it up as he let them run over the bare skin like a starved man, not even an inch of you left untouched. The wind’s chill lessened when his rough, warm hands caressed you, soothing your aching, quivering legs. Almost, it seemed, he mended every bruise and hurt, internally or externally, replacing them with something that felt so divine you were nearly sure you were dreaming when he returned to your lips, his once guarded eyes bare before you.

He took a few steps back, letting your feet hit the floor as you followed him. You did not let him back away further as you walked with him, rising on your toes and writhing your arms around his neck. You were now the one to cage him in—cage him with your want and desire, your love and hope. It would be a terrible defeat if he stepped away from you, and your stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar pang of sadness only love could create.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, feeling his arms wound around your waist as he stumbled backward, his tall frame big and clumsy in the tiny house. He frantically ran his hands over you before hoisting you up again, seating you on the dark wooden table in the kitchen’s front of the sink. Your mind had grown clouded, his whole being morphing into the man that had once caressed you so gently—and when he did now, it made you dizzy, wondering if they were so unlike as you thought.

“I won’t,” he mumbled against your lips, the words hasty and muted when he didn’t want to waste a second of feeling you against him.

“I won’t,” he spoke once more, this time the words only coming out in nonsensical grumbling as he pushed you softly towards the poorly sawed planks after pushing the various knickknacks of it, plates falling audibly to the floor to join the rest of the mess, burying his face into the nape of your neck to once more take a final breath before standing up.

The mess around you turned vile and filthy compared to the wondrous look on your face as you watched him, the familiar pang of pleasure beating so heavily in his stomach he thought he might puke—coupled with the still warm, wet blood now lining the skin of your legs from his hands. A few moments passed where he stared at you, ignoring your hands that reached out to him as the horrid monster clad in black garments and poisonous fingers got to him first, digging its claws into his back, wrapping its fabric over his mouth till he felt himself suffocating.

It wasn’t until he felt nimble fingers ghosting over his hands, running along the inside of his wrist until they intertwined with his, that the small, supple kisses on his cheeks became his saving grace. Diminished the cruel and twisted devil that rested on his back, all he could think about was the gentleness of your hands, gazing to watch your furrowed eyes filled with understanding—yet a gracious knowledge at that.

“I know you, Arthur,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. Listening to his wildly beating heart, you found comfort in his erratic breathing.

“No,” he mumbled, resting his head on top of yours. His arms were slack on his sides as your hands passed over the broadness of his back. You gripped the dark leather of his haunches as you slid them down his arms, letting them hang in the stuffy, thick air. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

“Well, you’re still as stubborn as you used to be,” you said softly, the corners of your mouth rising slightly when a grumble left him, acting like you couldn’t feel his slight smile against your head. “Still as warm as you were then,” you mumbled, hands slowly running over his arms that flexed slightly at your touch, mouth opening slightly as they came to rest on the table, trapping you beneath them. “Still as strong,” you gasped when he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you.

He closed his eyes as you spoke, basking in your quiet, warm tone, which he missed hearing. “That don’t matter anymore,” he said, feeling you snake your arms around his neck, arching your body against his, as one of his hands naturally found sanction on your waist. “What I’ve done—” he trailed off. “What I am, it’s not something I can run from.”

You felt your brows furrow, grief finding you at his words that rang so melancholy into the quiet air, the heaviness of his voice alone ripping the tapestry and breaking the windows. As you were about to tell him he was wrong—that although his actions had been so blood-filled and vile, you knew who he was deep down, for you had seen it, seen it in his eyes when he looked at you, seen it in the way he still cared about you—he instead laid you back down on the table carefully, covering you with his body as he hitched your legs around his waist.

Your breath hitched when you felt the rigidness rest against your warmth, feeling it lay heavily under the fabric of his pants. “Yes, you can,” you gasped, hands finding his shirt as you searched for something to hold onto, wishing it away so you could see the skin underneath it and feel it against your own.

You didn’t gain an answer, only the tugging of your undergarments, the chill from being bare cold against your skin, yet Arthur’s hands warming them straight back up when he tenderly caressed your inner thighs, stabilizing their trembling although never letting his palms stray too far, ignoring the way your legs tightened around him, trying to chase his touch as they attempted to chase his touch but finding his hips pressing into yours further, leaving you no place to go but stay in place.

The motion made a groan, quiet and unprepared, leave him, yet you had heard him. As your hands wound their way beneath his shirt to palm over the broadness of his chest, hips moving against him with the bit of space you had in protest, you looked up to find his gaze planted on you, head raised. Yet, eyes looking down at you, like he was trying to hold himself away, failing to escape from the softness of your touch.

He was too deep into it now. He felt the restraints that once were so tight around him lessen as he kept staring into your eyes, those deep and fascinating eyes that he didn’t deserve—that no one would ever get the chance to deserve. It was selfish for him to continue, but he wished to feel you one more time so he could restore his memory of you until he turned viler, meaner, the black poison coiling around his heart til he faced its death wrapped up in its grasp.

So, he found himself leaning into you once more, focusing on your hands that now had seen the planes of his back, his muscles flexing involuntarily as you did, his hand hitching your dress up further, letting it go past the delicious curve of your waist, groaning internally when he realized he couldn’t rise it further. So, he let his head rest between your breasts, pulled out from the tightness of the fabric, letting his tongue run over the warm skin.

You felt the arms of your dress hastily go over your shoulders down your arms, breath hitching when you felt his mouth able to travel lower until it caressed the inside of your breast, his rough stubble like sandpaper against the sensitive flesh. It was addictive, his whole persona making you desperately cling to every bit of him you could manage, grasping wildly as if he was made from thin air, trying to find something that would turn him back into a solid form, something you could touch.

The slight feeling of him grinding into you made you clasp harder. Your hands found his biceps as the back of your head hit harshly against the table, and your hips wound tighter against his waist. The roof above you blended, the colors of brown and ashen blond mingling as the morning sun shone through the windows, the tendrils of the light casting the room in a way that almost looked ethereal—too good to be true.

And it was, the whole moment was, and you memorized the touch of his hands and traveling mouth, imprinting it in your mind so you could remember it forever. It still, despite his words, felt like he would somehow dissipate, and it turned into your worst nightmare, like the last pages of a book that would send you reeling, biting at the corners in despair and slamming yourself against the wall in anger. It was pitiful, the way you were brought to your knees in front of the man you had not nearly long ago feared—more so wondering if you feared his actuality or feared how long a time had passed, how time changed and ruled people's character, how you didn’t know him anymore.

Or perhaps you feared the way you knew it had been doomed from the start, always known, the very first day he had planted his brisk, blue eyes on you, full of life yet the underlying promise of something that could only be transcribed into pain—of hurt and blame. Perhaps you were afraid of knowing that it didn’t matter how often you’d come upon one another; it would always end the same way, for you were both too broken by the life you laid upon you. The chance of redemption was maybe possible once when you were younger, but you feared that it was lost. And, while Arthur reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you, prayed and prayed through years of peril and hurt, wished you could run from it, you perhaps had reminded him of what he’d once had and what he could never deserve to have again.

As Arthur lifted his head, you could see in his eyes that he knew, knew there might not be a time when you could live out your life together, for he too was aware that it might be too late, that the world's grip on the both of you was too firm. Yet you both ignored it, entangled with one another as your limbs melted into the others, your motions becoming erratic and desperate, wishing—no, seeking desperately to bring the other back to life, back to what you once had been.

“Please, Arthur.” Clawing and almost beating his chest in desperation, the tension so ripe it felt like you might combust, you begged him to let his skin lay upon yours, bare and exposed, as close to each other as was humanly possible. It felt like a border, keeping you apart in a pitiful, almost laughable way.

“I know, honey,” he murmured, his voice steady, yet the beating of his heart speaking more than his tone ever could. “I know.”

Rising from you for the slightest of seconds, he hoisted his pants down his hips and over his thighs, dark, desirous eyes never taking their gaze off you where you lay breathless on the table that, compared to you, looked like rotting wood. He damned himself for letting you lay upon such misery, to unveil you in such an appalling space that now reeked of death and foulness.

When your hands reached out to him, he let them bring him back down, watching the way your eyes fluttered when he graced upon your pulsating warmth, his own eyes closing for a second before opening again, looking away so he could regain his senses, regain his clouded vision that only flashed with pictures of you beneath him, as if you had surrounded him. That is, only for a short while, not taking long before he had to—needed to— return to you once more, to slip through the warmth of your walls that wrapped around him, the palm of his hands slamming down the table as you clenched around him, the sheer bliss that left your throat burning like embers inside of him.

There was no outlet for him, nowhere to go, so he hitched you further up the table, pressing into you so he could feel you closer. The feeling of your hands in his hair was nauseating, the taste of your skin intoxicating as he kissed the corner of your neck, burying his head into it as he felt your strands tickle his cheek. Slowly pushing out to then enter you once more, he grew greedy, not wanting to spend even the slightest of time away from you.

It was tender the way he moved—careful—and you could only follow his movements as he stayed on top of you, the strokes desperate and short. The small moans that left you rose into the quiet house, your breathing hitching with every thrust of his, almost feeling like the air was being punched out from your chest as you slid further up the table. Arms wound themselves under your shoulders, one hand grasping the back of your head to keep you in place—to avoid letting your head hit the hard surface.

It wasn’t enough; how could it ever be enough? Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gasped audibly when his hips moved faster, now almost grinding into you, his breath shallow and erratic, white knuckles grasping on the end of the table, as if he was controlling himself, unsure what to do with the pleasure that was riding through his body, bleeding into his very bones.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently lifting you so you were seated upon the edge of the table, looking up to meet his eyes. Continuing his tender thrusts, your lips sought him, finding his eyes not closing but planted on you, eyes lidded and chest red from exhaust. A sheen of sweat dripped slowly down his neck to his chest, disappearing through the unbuttoned shirt, the material sticking to his skin like glue.

Pushing your hips further against his, he groaned, resting his head atop of yours when you placed mindless kisses on his exposed skin, mumbling nonsense as he hugged you closer, his breath hot and ragged. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, sharply white and burning red, coiling tighter and increasingly tighter within you. The sound of your mingled breaths filled the room, and you could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, almost seeming to tremble.

You whispered his name, a plea and a promise all at once, and he responded with a low rumble that resonated deep within his chest—a guttural groan escaping his lips as he pushed deeper, the table beneath you creaking with the force of his movements. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, just like you were before, just like you once had been—Arthur guiding your movements as if he was determined to merge his body with yours.

His arms tightened around you when you straighten your back to reach his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left you more breathless than you had already been as his pace quickened. The friction, heat, and sheer desperation were too much to bear, yet you craved more. His eyes were wild, almost desperate, as he responded to your plea, every thrust, every gasp, every whisper filling up inside you as you begged to god it would never end, hoping and demanding that nothing would take it away from you.

Yet, you knew it wouldn’t last, and therefore, you felt the tears burn at your eyelids, the hot liquid falling slowly down your cheeks as you found your back pushed against the surface of the table once more, Arthur’s hand softly wiping away the tear that fell from your eyes as despair filled his own.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, a low groan leaving him when you tightened around him, unable to ignore the way you sucked him back in. “I can’t-” He ground his teeth when the familiar coil spread through his stomach, wrapping itself around every organ and bone. “Please, honey, I don’t want you to cry.”

“I miss you,” you gasped under your breath, words choked up as you focused on the way he dragged himself in and out of you, feeling like someone was twisting your guts inside your stomach when you thought once more about him disappearing from you hold like ash, only leaving faint memories before blowing away with the wind. “God, I missed you, Arthur.”

He struggled to catch his breath, his hand finding your thigh as he pushed it further up the table, the new angle making your breath hitch. “I know,” he groaned. “God, I know-”

Was it all a dream, he wondered, would fade away from him as his evil deeds caught up to him, for once letting karma do its part? Would you vanish right before him, leaving him to face the consequences of his actions alone? He only held you closer as the thoughts passed, keeping you tight in his embrace as his elbows encased your head. Capturing your lips on his own, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to memorize the feel of you—the warmth of your breath, the softness of your lips, the way your body moulded against his.

The time seemed to stand still, yet it passed too fast, the coil wrung so tight it felt like your stomach would combust, pleasure so raw filling you it felt more like torture than anything else, and as you felt his hips ground themselves into you, one hand stroking so tenderly over your brest it felt like shots of electricity zapped its way through your body, you thought yourself tightening around him, gasping for air.

“You’re alright,” he murmured against your lips, consoling you as your moans left you without your allowance, desperate and bordering on pitiful as your whole body felt like it was burning up—like the very flesh was set afire with gasoline.

“Please, Arthur,” you gasped, not knowing what you were pleading with him for, yet the words left you involuntarily. Perhaps you wished for him to remove the hollow feeling that resided deep within you, to soothe the pain that never seemed to go. Or, possibly, it was deeper than that as you pleaded for him to return to you, to show that he was the man you’d remembered.

“That’s it,” he cooed at you, kissing your forehead softly as you clenched around him. Your hands found his shoulder as they gripped tightly, head knocked back against the table as a long, drawn-out moan left you. Staring up at the ceiling as the world grew dizzy around you, the bliss that traveled through your body was like no other.

His movements didn’t slow as you relaxed slightly on the table, now running your hands over his skin soothingly, gazing into his eyes as he groaned audibly, chest heaving heavily as he frowningly stared into yours, observing you like you held something he couldn’t have that he strived for, pushing and pulling you closer to him.

Lost in pleasure, it felt like he was gasping for air, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the now quiet house, only the splatter of rain still audible from outside, yet his ears were focused on something else entirely as you whispered his name, beckoning him to your as your eyes were tired yet warm in the afterglow, looking like something not quite real—more or less surreal—or perhaps ethereal.

With one final thrust, he buried his head in the nape of your neck, hands grasping the edges of the bale as he grimaced, taking a few seconds before letting a guttural groan leave his chest and travel through his throat, muted into your skin as he gritted his teeth. Pulses of pleasure wound themselves through him in intervals, the warm, wet feeling of your walls encasing him, wrapping around him wholly as he, with one last movement, buried himself deep, so deep there was no way out—and god, he thought as his breathing stayed hectic, god how he wished there wasn’t.

Especially when he rested against you, trying to catch his breath, revelling in how you hugged his head closer to you, pressing small, quiet kisses against his jaw as if you tried not to disturb him, letting him regain his senses. Letting a hand travel down your sides, he caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath it as it went further down to then rise back up again, finding pleasure in the way your breath hitched from the sensitivity as he passed a thumb over your breast.

You didn’t speak much, for there was so much you wanted to say that it became overwhelming, leading to you saying nothing. How could you, when you weren’t even sure how to describe your emotions, which seemed still but then everywhere at the same time, running through your mind endlessly with no sense of direction or heading? Where could you go from here that would satisfy you both and let you stay with one another despite your differences?

You wished you could drag answers out of Arthur, torture his mind and soul until he had no choice but to respond, yet you doubted he could even know what to tell you, for he wasn’t sure, and you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch that contradicted his mind starkly. Every motion and caress was soft yet reluctant, and you could hear the slight sway in his voice when he spoke to you as if he battled against his will and obligations. It tore you apart to realize he struggled against himself, struggled against his beliefs and wants.

You realized that whichever hands managed to strangle your relationship before would surely do it again. To be quite honest, it did scare you, more than you dared to admit, for you knew you were two different people now, and when your bond wasn’t strong enough all those years back, how could it be now that you both had your inner anguish that clawed itself inside your walls, thrashing and screaming. More so, changing for someone else is a terrifying thought per se, and there was no mistake in thinking that would be the case for both of you. A cruel, horrendous fate, indeed.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption

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florenceafternoon · 2 months ago

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━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

I've also seen a lot of people asking for 6/7th year jily so I tried to include some. These fics explore how much they've grown in that period between the end of school and the rising tensions of war.

Of course, I've also included fics with marauders shenanigans. As always, these fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries.

Death and Other Inconveniences by @asteriaem

When James Potter disappeared for ten days in the middle of the spring term of their fifth year, the whole school noticed. He buried his parents in a quiet ceremony and returned to school amid outrageous rumours.

When Lily Evans disappeared for three days before the Christmas holidays in sixth year, two people noticed. She found the house packed, a nasty note from her sister, and spent the rest of the holidays sleeping rough. Both are left grieving and angry at Hogwarts over the summer, with no where else to go and war raging around them. Really, how else could it have gone?

God where do I even start? This fic is incredibly well written; everything from how well-rounded and dynamic all the characters are to the dialogue and descriptions. For everyone tired of character deformation and would like to read a long-form that explores the turbulence of adolescence coupled with grief and the uncertainties of war this fic is for you. When I say I miss old jily, I mean this exact era of characterisation.

Notes by @scriibble-fics

On an ordinary Tuesday in October of 1975, James Potter passes Lily Evans a note. She has no way of knowing it, of course, but it’s the first note of thousands that will pass between them in the years to come.

Head of House by SwissCheesePlant

The consequences of Sirius and James pretending to be boyfriends weren't supposed to come to a head during a convoluted and unnecessarily kinetic drinking game... but such is life.

As If By Magic by @annabtg

Lily Evans, Head Girl, is starting her seventh year at Hogwarts. Alongside her, Head Boy James Potter, who has always had a crush on her yet has given up all hope of winning her over. But between working together, sharing fun times with friends and getting through the darker moments that come with living in an era of war, things between them are bound to change...

Questions and Answers by lizardcookie (on ao3)

The simple question of whether or not they're dating doesn't exactly have a simple answer (seventh Year jily).

Come Together by @thequibblah

It’s difficult to say when James and Lily took the first steps to love. Perhaps they had always been walking this road, unaware of the person they were walking towards until the mist cleared. They would fall in love eventually — but we would be remiss in ignoring the hiccups along the way.

Okay so confession, I haven’t read this but it's been on my TBR for ages and everyone's been recommending me to read it. Judging by other works by the same author that I have read, I can attest that Lily and James have always been well-written so I trust that this fic is no exception.

These next few fics are all by @gigglesandfreckles-hp because Abi's characterisations are perfect and there’s just something about her writing that transports me to the scene. This woman can make me laugh and cry and worry all in under three thousand words.

roots of memory

Lily frowns slightly, mulling it over. “I’m not really sure either,” she admits. “Honestly, don’t take this personally, but I don’t remember much about you in the first couple of years. I think I was too focused on trying to figure out school and magic and everything else.”

James clutches his chest in mock offence. “I’ll act like that didn’t just irreparably damage my soul.”

crafting chemistry

“Is there something that needs to be discussed between the three of us?” Minerva prompts, her eyes narrowing sharply.

Lily’s face betrays her first. A bright flush creeps slowly along her cheeks, blooming from her neck upward, as though her skin can’t hide the emotion simmering underneath. She keeps her eyes stubbornly trained on the far corner of the office, anywhere but James. Minerva notices James’s hand, the one that had been habitually running through his hair, freeze mid-motion, his fingers tightening slightly.

but we dream in the light (a continuation of one of my favourite fics)

“Lily Evans, we have got to stop meeting like this,” he grins.

She shakes her head, laughing. “Jesus Christ.”

James spins around dramatically. “Where?”

the dance of mischief and duty

Lily Evans is an infuriating mosaic of traits—beautiful and she knows it, captain of the House Quidditch team, and the loudest voice in nearly any room. She has this way of floating through the school, her laughter ringing out as she moves between corridors and classes, one arm usually slung around Sirius Black’s shoulder and the other gesticulating wildly as she spins tales of misadventure.

But she also sort of has a point, and that’s possibly the most infuriating part about her.

prompt: flip the script

my church offers no absolutes

She stares at him, her eyes the only ones open as the priest prays, but she can’t look away.

James Potter is here.

under the influence of loss

“Like what? You fancy me! Kiss me.”

Each time she says it, it’s like a new bruise blooms around his heart, her words pressing on all of them at once.

“I can’t!” he shouts, the frustration cracking through.

“Because I’ve been drinking?” she demands, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Your chivalry is duly noted, Potter, but I’m giving you a pass here. Just—”

“It’s not about that,” he interrupts.

You know what they say, you can tell who an author's favourite character is by how much they make them suffer

From the Edge by @maraudersftw

A three-hour-long detention. A barrage of unspilled words. A kiss that has remained unacknowledged. Until now.

That Summer by the_casual_author (on ao3)

In which James and Lily spend the summer in a house by the sea. (and fall in love in the process)

pleasant, poised, polite, professional by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily Evans' journalism career is stagnating, and when Mumblemumps sweeps through the office, she couldn't be less pleased to be asked to cover the sports beat. James Potter, the captain of the Wimborne Wasps who is campaigning to win Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile, only seems to confirm her worst fears about athletes. Until.

If you enjoyed James' characterisation in James Potter Won't Go Quietly then you'll enjoy this

Fantasise also by @ /ohmygodshesinsane

When Lily ends up taking Veritaserum as part of one of Sirius' games, James finds that he really doesn't need to know any of the nitty-gritty details. Fate has other plans.

And James Potter also by @ /ohmygodshesinsane

The most unfortunate part about being one of the best students in the year, if you ask Lily Evans, is being forced to work alongside James Potter. The most fortunate part about being one of the best students in the year, if you ask James Potter, is getting opportunities to annoy Lily Evans. The fact of the matter is, that despite their both being talented, intelligent students with bright futures and burning competitive streaks, Lily and James will never get along. No matter how much others think they ought to.

Braid also by @ /ohmygodshesinsane

Sick and tired of revision, Lily gladly takes a distraction in the name of giving James Potter a helping hand.

Revenge Tastes Sweeter by @charmsandtealeaves

This by far had to be one of the more stupid things that Lily Evans had ever agreed to, and she’d gone along with a lot of her friends' bullshit ideas. She’d wanted to maintain her dignity in breaking up with her shit of an ex-boyfriend. However, fake dating James Potter hadn’t been in her grand plan of dignity. She’d merely been venting her frustrations to her dorm mates in the common room, she hadn’t expected advice and well… plotting. Though she should have expected better, these lot were always plotting something. Was it too late to just go with Dorcas’ “Stab him!” suggestion?

Simmer Until Ready by @kay-elle-cee

James Potter is not a healer. His is a potioneer—the Order of the Phoenix's lead potioneer, in fact. So when their top field fighter—Lily Evans—comes to him for treatment after a particularly rough mission, he helps the best way he knows how: a vial of freshly-brewed Skele-Gro and a dose of laughter.

Kels always writes the best order!jily

climb higher by penniesinthepool (on ao3)

It's been three (long) years since Lily and James have seen each other. Now, he's living out his dream playing Quidditch with Puddlemere United and she hers as an Auror.

They're happy. But fate (and annoying friends) works in funny ways, sometimes, and through a series of chance meetings, they begin to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they could be happier. My take on what would maybe happen in a universe where James wasn't Head Boy, taken to the extreme.

after O.W.L.s by @juniperpyre

a short snippet of James Potter's and Lily Evans' thoughts after their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., and before the altercation with Severus Snape changes everything.

It was so close to going a better way

Haley's characterisations are always on point

”Just” Partners by @petalsthefish

James asks Lily what they are after a series of long and hidden snogs in dark corridors.

tied to you by @jjameslily

Lily’s foot sank into the damp earth as she stepped closer to the water’s edge. The lake mirrored the starry sky above, but something else caught her eye – a shape in the reflection.

James my sweet summer child, thank you for looking after her

Love for the Summer by @missgryffin

It's the summer after sixth year, Lily Evans is realizing she fancies James Potter, and James has Sirius Black's motorbike to thank for getting Lily out of the friend zone.

of hearts and keys by the_crownless_queen (on ao3)

In a world where magic means everyone can see your soul, Lily Evans wonders what it would feel like for someone she loves to open her heart.

Seven Years and Seventy More by surlybobbies (on ao3)

When James walked into the 7th year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory a few moonstruck minutes later, he found Sirius lying in bed with his hands folded across his stomach. “Been with Evans, then?” he asked, without lifting his head. There was a distinct note of disapproval in his voice.

James froze in the act of unwinding the scarf from his neck. “Er, yeah.”

“She doing well?” Remus asked from his bed, the closest one to the door. He had a book open on his lap but had lifted his gaze when James came in. His stare was steady and pleasant, but there was a sharpness behind it that put James on the defensive.

(James has some news.)

This Town Is Fake But You're The Real Thing by @tedwardremus

Teen radio star Lily Evans works for a show on the wizarding wireless network called, The Marauders. The teen soap drama stars James Potter as an arrogant school jock and centers on the secret adventures of his friends in the forbidden forest as illegal animagus and a werewolf. The show's antagonist, played by Severus Snape, left after a scandal, and now Lily has a romantic storyline with James in the final season of the show. Basically, her life is a disaster.

Prophecy by Alohaemora (on ao3)

Faint rays of sunlight began to filter into the nursery from the pink-red sky outside, the morning song of robins and thrushes lilting as all of Sirius's worst fears manifested before him, devastating in their might.

"Fuck," he whispered. A horrible, painful lump swelled in his throat, clawing, stinging. "Fucking hell."

The corners of Lily's lips trembled. "James didn't know how to tell you."

Not quite a jily fic but I wanted to share

not as smart as you think you are (or how to fall in love in 7 months) by Squidge_06 (on ao3)

Lily Evans has spent the past 6 years excelling at school and hating James Potter. Both these facts converge suddenly at the beginning of her 7th year when she’s confronted with a less than perfect grade and a Transfiguration tutor who is the very last person she wants to see.

That same person might just turn out to be a whole lot more complicated and just a little more wonderful than she could ever have imagined.

Meeting the Potters by FloreatCastellum (on ao3)

It's always a risk, introducing your parents to your girlfriend. Most people don't have to worry about whether or not their mother is going to be in handcuffs, though.

Mistle-Wow by LiveLaughLoveToRead (on ao3)

Lily and James Potters’ love was fiery, filled with passion, tragedy, and love. It was not a fast ignition of a flame that proceeded to burn bright. No, it was a flame that was lit on the Hogwarts Express before anyone had joined the compartment. It burned brighter as their years progressed, and it was lit ablaze in their seventh year. It burned until the day they died.

Or an incident that would have had Madam Pince seething (if they were caught)

Simple Math by yallofthemwitches (on ao3)

Remus notices something is off about James and Lily at the Prefect's meeting.

#lily evans #james potter #james x lily #lily x james #jily #jple #jily fic rec list

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sugoi-and-spice · 5 months ago

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Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission

Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

AO3 Link

A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.

Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.

I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.

Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)

Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD

“Hey, hey— are you alright?”

She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days.

“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?

The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”

And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.

But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.

Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.

“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”

“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”

“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”

“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”

“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.

She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.

“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”

She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.

Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:

“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.

Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.

“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”

And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.

The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.

But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.

It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.

And that was better than nothing she supposed.

Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”

Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.

“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head, “Damn it— you can say that again.”

Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”

She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”

“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”

Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”

She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.

“If I do… Do you mind—”

“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”

She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person.

The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.

And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.

She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.

She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.

Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”

She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.

“Yeah, I fucking told you.”

Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.

She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.

If only for a little bit.

“What’s going on?”

She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.

“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”

“You start your period or something?”

He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same.

Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.

“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”

She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.

“Are you nauseous at all?”

Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.

“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.

“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”

He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.

And between her legs.

“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.

“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”

“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief.

…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?

She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.

“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.

He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.

“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”

She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.

“No funny business?” she pressed.

He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”

More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.

So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.

Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.

She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.

“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”

Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”

In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.

With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.

A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair.

He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.

“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”

“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.

She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”

He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.

Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.

She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets.

“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”

She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.

By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.

Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.

“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”

She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.

“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”

It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all.

Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.

Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.

He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck.

Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met.

Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.

Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.

And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.

It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Shigaraki wasn’t here.

She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…

She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…

Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.

Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.

Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.

If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.

She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed.

She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.

And really fucking nauseous.

She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.

A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.

“Let it out. Just let it all out.”

She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.

“Here.”

She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.

“Drink some of it too.”

She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice.

And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form.

Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”

“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”

She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.

“Don’t like salmon?”

“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”

“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”

Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.

“W-What?”

Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—”

Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something?

Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.

“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.

She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…

“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”

She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest.

He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”

She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.

“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last.

“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”

He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach.

She sighed.

“Yeah… Yeah okay.”

Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed.

But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.

She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.

“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”

She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.

But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.

Like something was wrong .

Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.

There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…

And a little dish of four pills.

Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…

“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”

As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.

And she was ready to get the fuck off.

“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”

Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping.

“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”

He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”

He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…

“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”

He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.

“ Both of you .”

She froze.

No.

No, he couldn’t mean—

She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:

“... what? ”

Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.

“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”

She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.

He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!

“Th-That’s not funny.”

His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.

“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”

“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”

“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”

He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”

Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.

“B-But my birth control pills…”

“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”

Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.

And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came.

Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.

Horribly fucking right.

Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly.

“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”

His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.

“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”

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hayatoseyepatch · 27 days ago

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𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: Soshiro Hoshina was hard to rile up, but after seeing a certain captain flirting with his girl, it seemed he needed to take matters into his own hands. Maybe he needed to remind you that he was the only one to bring you pleasure, in any shape or form.

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗: Soshiro Hoshina (Kaiju No. 8)

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.9k

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘: Fem!Reader x Hoshina. SMUT.

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Thigh Riding, Impact Play, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, Narumi being an instigator, Condescention, Choking, Possessive Behavior, Calling Reader 'Kitten', Hair Pulling, Slight Power Dynamics (if you squint).

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: Here I am once again back on my Hoshina agenda. Welcome to the cult. Listen this has been on my mind since I saw pookie fight for the first time honestly. So please enjoy this very indulgent fic. (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.�� Also, oops its late. The full masterlist for my kinktober can be found here.

There were few things in this world that truly got under Hoshina's skin, in a world with so much devastation he tried to keep things light and only took situations seriously when it mattered. Keeping a smile on his face nearly constantly, being told by his colleagues his inability to take things seriously. However, when it came to you? Hoshina never took things lightly. Your safety and happiness came above all else. It was one of the reasons he detested your shared occupation at times. Dating his subordinate was taboo to say the least, highly frowned upon.

But, just because you both couldn’t explicitly be forthcoming with the nature of your relationship, didn’t mean anyone with a brain in their head could tell there was something at the very least between the both of you. The longing looks sent in eachother’s direction, late nights spent “training” together, the distinct marks that peeked through the collar of your uniform that could have only been left behind by his signature canines. There were more than a few indicators to hint that the both of you were an item, even one particular close call with Kafka before his reassignment in the training room long after lights out. So why was it that he felt the need to flirt with you every time the first and third divisions were forced to be in the same proximity?

Narumi had always had a nasty habit of finding Hoshina’s last nerve and dry humping it. The two divisions both being based in Tokyo, that natural formed rivalry, assisted in the competition between the two men. Often unable to be in the same vicinity as one another without it devolving to the both of them arguing, throwing nasty insults in each other’s direction. However, as of recently, Narumi had begun to take a different approach since your promotion to platoon leader. Whether he knew what was going on between you both or he simply suspected that Hoshina had feelings for you, was still indeterminable by the vice-captain. Regardless of either possibility, he had seemed to make it his mission to not only flirt with you but make comments regarding you consistently while in his presence. Mentions of “how good you filled out your uniform” and how “he’d like to have some private training with you”. Doing anything to get his blood boiling with rage.

What Hoshina didn’t know was Narumi was fully aware there was something going on between you both. He had incredibly good eyes, eyes that had immediately locked in on a peculiar mark that stood proudly against the collar of your uniform. There was also the time he saw you exiting the vice captain's office readjusting your uniform with kiss-swollen lips as he was on his way to discuss a joint training. He just loved how easily Hoshina was riled up, his signature smile growing tight at each mention of you. So when one of his platoon leaders was sent away and an important mission came up for the first division, of course Narumi was strolling into Hoshina’s office cheshire smile stretching his face as he leaned against the door frame advising him he had already spoken with Mina and he’d be borrowing you for a bit.

To say Hoshina was angry was an understatement, he was absolutely livid, but he gritted his teeth and bared it. He was on edge the entire length of your absence. Was a week truly necessary? He perked up like a pathetic puppy as the sound of your laughter met his ears, indicating your return. However, his excitement was quick to melt into jealousy as he watched you stroll in with Narumi, the current source of your laughter. Whatever he said couldn’t have been that damn funny. His sour mood continued long after Narumi’s departure, the two of them exchanging looks, Narumi’s unbelievably smug while Hoshina’s dripped venom, a concealed threat clear in his gaze.

You, oblivious to being the object of their most recent assault on each other, being caught off guard by Hoshina’s change in mood. Normally whenever you were sent away he all but rushed to your side upon your return. The most you got was him gripping your arm, lips pressed against your ear as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll be in your room after lights out I want you ready for me, no fucking panties you hear me?” He was already walking off before you could even formulate a response, more than confused by his abnormal behavior. That was how you found yourself in your current position, waiting for his arrival anxiously in nothing but a large sleep shirl.

Hoshina entered your room after a few moments, not even a single word exchanged before pulling you to your feet. His hands cupped your cheeks harshly as he dove to capture your lips with his own. The kiss was intense from the start, a clash of teeth as his tongue immediately bullied its way past your parted lips. He made out with you hungrily, moving to sit himself on the edge of the bed, taking you down with him. You were quick to straddle his lap, whimpering into the kiss as your hips rolled against him in search of some friction. Without warning, the loud echo of a slap rang its way throughout the room. Hoshina’s large palm coming in contact with your ass. The same hand trailed it’s way up your form, fingers curling around your throat, using it as leverage to pull you away from the kiss.

“How was your time in the first division, baby?” There was an air of harshness in his tone, one that told you he clearly had no interest in how your time had been. “Shiro, what..” Your words were quickly cut off by his lips as they crashed against yours once more. Hoshina rarely lost his temper, but there was something about Narumi that agitated him, his comfortability with you had him seeing red. The captain was extremely popular, garnishing more than a bit of female attention. But you were his, Narumi would have to pry you out of Hoshina’s cold dead hands. “Fuck kitten, missed you so bad.” He groaned against your lips. His desperation clear in his voice. Now, you may have been oblivious, but you were by no means stupid. Hoshina’s actions were out of character, and you were fully aware of his distaste for the first-division captain, he was jealous. Of course he was, it all made sense now. “Missed you too baby, so fucking much.” You whispered as best you could in the kiss.

Your words helped qualm is aching envy, even if only a little bit. His hands traveled south, gripping your ass in his grip, another harsh spank delivered to your ass. Sometimes you forgot just how strong your boyfriend was, a stark reminder coming as he manhandled you into straddling one of his thighs as he pulled away from the kiss. “Yeah, baby? Missed me?” He purred, tensing the muscles of the thigh you were sat on, guiding you’re his by the grip he had on your ass until they started moving of their own volition. “Then show me how much you missed me baby, cause you could have fooled me with the way you sauntered back here, giggling with that fucken ass.” Jealousy dripped from his tone, but you were too far gone. So distracted by the rough material of his cargo pants against your bare pussy as you ground you’re his against his thigh. “Fuck, Shiro, need you so bad.” Your voice was dripping with desperation, your cunt already causing a damp patch to form against the material of his pants with how it was crying for him.

Hoshina’s hand came down on your ass a third time, the sting causing tears to form along your lashline, feeling the skin to warm with the impact. “That’s vice-captain, kitten. You could use my name once you’ve fucking earned it.” He growled, hand returning to its previous home around your neck. There was something about when he got like this, it wasn’t often, but when his seriousness only seen when fighting Kaiju bled into your sex life you folded nearly instantly. Unconsciously your hips bucked, your head fuzzy as he applied just enough pressure to constrict your airflow. Your hips moving of their own volition as you grinded against his thigh.

Normally you would find the act degrading, but between missing him and the allure of him being so jealous you couldn’t help but to give into him. “Yes, vice-captain, please need you so bad.” Your compliance brings a smirk to Hoshina’s face, using his grip on your throat as leverage to force your eyes to lock with his. Vermillion boring into your own as he speaks. “That’s my girl, don’t want you to hide a single sound from me, don’t care if the entire division hears you. I’m done with hiding, they can't afford to lose either of us, what are they gonna do? Fire us? Oh fucking well, need everyone to know your mine. Want that fuck to hear you all the way on the other side of Tokyo, kitten.” His words went straight to your cunt, spurring your movements, rutting against his thigh like an animal in heat. Your thighs were already trembling, the drag of his pants against your clit causing your vision to blur. “Please, fuck, vice-captain, please.” You were not even sure what you were begging for at this point, too far gone to think of anything but the pleasure you were on the receiving end of.

Your words had Hoshina letting out a groan, his own head falling back as your thigh brushed his cock. He shuddered, his cock throbbing with need in the confines of his pants, but he needed this. Needed you to come undone without any other stimulation than just his thigh. His hand moved from your throat, burying themselves in your hair, taking a fistful and yanking your head back to look at him once more. “Gods, fucking look at you kitten.” He groaned, you looked absolutely destroyed, eyes lidded with lust, practically drooling at the thought of your impending orgasm. “Go on baby, do it, fucking come for me.” Each of the last three words was punctuated with a rut of his own hips, giving an added layer of friction to your cunt. “Oh fuck, Soshro!” You all but screamed, your head thrown back, the thrusts of your hips growing sloppy as you rode out your high on his thigh, uncaring of your volume. Your eyes blown wide at a newfound sensation in your belly as the coil of your pleasure snapped, squirting against him, successfully drenching the fabric of his pants.

His fingers detached themselves from your hair, cradling you against his chest. Your body was trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. He cooed softly in your ear, rubbing up and down your back in a soothing gesture. All the jealousy melted away as he held you in his arms. “Shhh, my dear, shh. Did so good for me kitten, such a good girl for me.” He reassured between tender kisses pressed against your temple while your head buried itself in his neck while you caught your breath. Once he was sure your breathing had returned to normal, he tilted your chin up to press a sweet kiss against your lips. Pressing his forehead against yours and bumping his nose with yours in a pseudo-kiss. The tender moment didn’t last long before Hoshina grinned. “I’d like to see that two-toned bastard do that. Now come on sweet cheeks, now its my turn to show you how much I missed you, and that I could fuck you better than he ever could, yeah?” You were in for a long evening, and by the end of it you weren't sure if you wanted to thank Narumi or strangle him.

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖇𝖞 @/𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖊 & @/𝖘𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖐𝖆-𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖘.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @littleplantfreak @maruflix @umemiaa @stunies @eevees-hobbies @143-ilyuu @uzxotic @princesstiti14 (𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙/𝖉𝖒/𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖘) (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

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colorfulbard · 3 months ago

Text

Sacrifice

‿︵‿꒰͜͡ ♡ ͜͡꒱‿︵‿︵‿︵‿꒰͜͡ ♡ ͜͡꒱‿︵‿︵‿︵‿꒰͜͡ ♡ ͜͡꒱‿︵‿

Summary♥︎ A forced visit to Whole Cake Island takes a turn for the worst when Big Mom is experiencing hunger pangs while Katakuri is away on a mission.

Pairing♥︎ Katakuri x Fem!Reader

warnings♥︎ Reader has kids with Katakuri, angst at the end

a/n♥︎ I've been starving for some more Katakuri fics so I had to take matters into my own hands. I put that warning because I know some people don't like reading fanfic where the reader has kids. Don't worry there will be a part 2!

‿︵‿꒰͜͡ ♡ ͜͡꒱‿︵‿︵‿︵‿꒰͜͡ ♡ ͜͡꒱‿︵‿︵‿︵‿꒰͜͡ ♡ ͜͡꒱‿︵‿

People always say, "practice makes perfect". That means, the more you do something, the better you'll be. Like baking, for example. If you practice making the same for over twenty years, you would be considered an expert. You might even be running through the steps on autopilot.

But, no matter how many times you've dealt with this scenario, it never became easier. Honestly, it felt harder to deal with each time.

An easy going saying like, "practice makes perfect", doesn't apply when dealing with a tyrannical emperor with deadly hunger pangs.

The steps taken when it began never changed. All high ranking officials were to report to the surveillance room, turn on the video snails, and give orders to anyone available at the Chateau.

Those down at the Chateau were to remain clear of Big Mom and evacuate any and all innocent citizens.

After many, many years, those steps were done in no time at all. And yet, the sick feeling of fear in your stomach never subsided. Your hands were pinned under your arms to keep from biting your nails. Too bad that didn't stop you from biting your lip instead.

You truly hated traveling to the main island for this reason. You longed for your home, back at Komugi island. The one you shared with your husband, Katakuri, and your fifteen children. Peace and quiet may be impossible to come by, but dealing with a child's temper tantrum was preferable to Big Mom's.

Having to deal with this on your own only made your bitter feelings towards the Whole Cake Chateau grow. The initial plan was to travel together, you and Katakuri. He knew how nervous being alone with his mother made you. But those plans were squandered when Big Mom ordered all ministers gather ingredients for her blasted wedding cake. Then, to make matters worse, he was called away on another mission.

Now, because of that string of unfortunate events, he somehow convinced you to bring your two oldest sons with you, Warabiko and Manju. For some reason, you had said yes. Probably just to ease his mind. In return, your mind was not at ease. It was filled to the brim with anxiety.

You took a slow, deep breath. "And we're sure it's not possible to catch the croquembouche that checked out this morning?" You asked slowly to keep your voice steady.

"It doesn't seem plausible. Either way it'd be a half hour."

You wanted to open your mouth to argue, but it was too difficult. The screams of the terrified homies made it impossible to focus. Those screams were keeping you in a continuous state of unease. You couldn't be selfish and mute the video feed. It was imperative for everyone to hear what was happening.

Big Mom was getting further away from the current video snail. It was time to play the waiting game and see when the feed would switch. You looked down at the floor for a moment of respite from staring at the rampaging Emperor.

You clenched your eyes shut. The screams were distant now, but you could still hear them. Your mind unwillingly imagined it as your sons. You knew they were somewhere safe, away from harm. You made sure of that before you reported to the surveillance room. Even so, as the screams continued, your mind took you the worst possible scenario.

You let your head tilt down to face the floor. At least then, if you somehow managed to open your eyes, you wouldn't be facing the screen.

'Kata... Please, come back to me soon..' Tears began to form behind your eyelids when you thought of him. You needed him to be here.

A hand softly landed on your shoulder in an attempt to not startle you. You took that as a nonverbal sign that the video feed switched. You glanced over your shoulder to see Tamago's hand, but he wasn't looking at you. His eyes were locked onto the screen, his mouth agape.

Your brows furrowed, he always seemed much more coolheaded than you in these scenarios, so, why did he look so spooked? Before checking the footage, you glanced at everyone in the room. Their expression matched Tamago's. The air in the room was tense, as if your anxiety had seeped out of your body and infected everyone else.

You finally looked towards the screen. The scene was the same except Big Mom was getting further away. Homies were still trampled and distant screams could be heard as she trampled over more. But you didn't even notice any of those things.

When you spotted what everyone else was staring at, you froze. Your muscles were locked.

Right there, where Big Mom was stomping through moments ago, stood your eldest son. You couldn't see his face, his back was facing away from the snail. He held onto his sword tightly. It was a gift from you and Katakuri on his eighteenth birthday.

Your hand moved on its own to cover your mouth in shock, the other moved to your stomach. Were you breathing? You couldn't feel anything.

Your head shook from side to side. "No." You whimpered.

Static flickered through the screen and then showed an enraged Big Mom rampaging. You breathing hitched when the sight of your son was gone. The silent scene of your son's determination was replaced by helpless homies getting eaten or stomped on.

Every second that was wasted staring, your son was getting closer to Big Mom. Without wasting anymore time, you pushed Tamago's hand from your shoulder and ran out of the room.

The state of the room remained the same as you left. Everyone stayed silent as they continued watching the footage. Too anxious to see what might happen next.

When Warabiko finally reached Big Mom, he was horrified. All of citizens of Whole Cake were terrified, running for their lives lest they be squashed under her heel. He had never seen this happen. He now understood why his family's trips to Whole Cake never lasted more than a day.

He remembered that whenever a tea party was held for one his newest siblings, you demanded to leave as soon as it was over. No matter how much his siblings whined about being tired and wanting to sleep on land, you put your foot down. This was his first time being here for over a day, much to your chagrin.

When he grew older and more mature, you told him stories of his grandmother's famous hunger pangs. The stories were short and brief. He could tell you didn't like talking about them. He finally understood why as he watched Big Mom rampage with reckless abandon.

Something in his gut told him to turn back now and hide with his brother. He ignored that feeling. He couldn't stand by and do nothing. With his father away on a mission, the duty of evacuating citizens and calming Big Mom fell on his shoulders. He was going to make his father proud.

Fighting her was out of question, but he could try and reason with her. She had to be willing to listen to his first grandchild, right?

Her path of destruction was never-ending as he got closer to her. He had to be careful. It was clear that when she's this hungry, all of her sense was gone. She didn't care who or what was in her way during her search.

It didn't even matter if it was an innocent little girl. She hadn't even tripped over the rubble, she had tripped over her feet trying to keep up with her mother. The mother hadn't even noticed, too terrified to look back.

The girl shakily stood on her feet and rubbed the debris from her knees. Her heard swayed from side to side to try and spot her mother. She had no idea Big Mom's foot was inches away from crushing her.

Warabiko immediately lunged towards Big Mom's feet and grabbed the girl. He landed on his feet and placed the girl on the ground.

The girl looked up and smiled up at her savior. "Thank you so much!" She cheered, "that was fun!"

She acted like she wasn't just moments away from being killed. Warabiko smothered his feeling of shock down and sighed. "Run away from her and find your mother. It's not safe," he instructed.

The girl nodded with a giggle and ran off, far from Big Mom.

Whilst Warabiko had dealt with the girl, Big Mom had busied herself with eating any homie or building in her way. Her anger grew as each thing she shoved down her throat tasted nothing like her craving.

"Where is it?!" She whined, "where is my croquembouche?!" She punched another building. Nothing but croquembouche could placate her.

"Mama, please! You just have to wait! The chefs will be here soon!"

Warabiko recognized the voice as one of his uncle's, Mont-d'Or. Another one of his uncle's and aunt led citizens away in the opposite direction.

Nothing Mont-d'Or said got through her to her. He was too far away for her to care. Warabiko's jaw clenched and he ran to stand in front of her, arms out. "Grandma, please! You have to stop!" He pleaded.

Big Mom paused and locked eyes with the source of the sound. She snarled and clenched her fist, "who's there?" She questioned.

Warabiko's brows furrowed and he could feel himself grow warm. "I-It's me! Grandma, it's Warabiko!" His voice grew higher in pitch, his hands began to shake, "don't you recognize me?" The question was practically a whisper.

Big Mom growled and swung at where he stood. Warabiko was able to dodge, but not without losing his footing. He fell onto scattered rubble and grunted when it dug into his back.

Mont-d'Or's mouth was open wide in shock the moment he saw Warabiko enter the fray. "M-Mama! Wait!" He pleaded, coming closer. "You have to stop! It's Warabiko! Your grandson!"

Big Mom paid Mont-d'Or's pleading no mind. She was still infuriated that her search for croquembouche was interrupted. "Where is my croquembouche boy?!" She demanded. "All I want is my croquembouche!" She swung at the building next to Warabiko and ate the contents she managed to grab.

The remnants of her snack flew all around. Warabiko turned over on his side and cradled his head. He could hear it land all around him.

Mont-d'Or clenched his jaw as he watched Warabiko cradle himself. He couldn't go over there and try to save him, he'd end up dying too. He just hoped Warabiko was a fast runner.

"Warabiko, you have to run! You can't reason with when she's like this!" He yelled.

Warabiko lifted his head and looked towards his uncle. Judging by the way Mont-d'Or stared at him, he was sure his terror was plain as day. He couldn't move thanks to that terror gripping his muscles. It was affecting his brain, not allowing him to choose between fight or flight. Maybe Big Mom wouldn't pay him any mind if he stayed silent.

She was still there, right behind him. Warabiko didn't have to turn his head to know that. He could practically feel her breathing down his neck. The only part of his body that managed to move was his spine as shivers went down it. She wasn't moving away from him. Her gaze was burning into his back.

Big Mom's breathing grew stronger and he could smell the sweets emanating from it.

Warabiko somehow willed his head to move back to look at his grandmother. His next breath was caught in his throat when he locked eyes with her.

Her scowl was gone. In its place was a sickening grin. Her eyes were unrecognizable, they were glazed over and crazed. Drool was dripping down her chin and she stared at him.

She leaned closer to his face. "Life..." She whispered, giggling like a mad woman, "or treat?"

Warabiko couldn't answer even if he wanted to. The words were caught in his throat, choking him. He could only watch as his grandmother raised her first high in the air.

He knew what his grandmother's fruit was capable of, his father had told him. His father had probably hoped he would take it as a warning to stay away. Too bad he didn't listen.

Everything began to slow down. His mother's first was taking minutes to reach him and Mont-d'Or's yelling was indistinguishable. Typically, these were the moments where one's life would flash before their eyes. Oddly enough, that didn't happen. He only saw one thing. It was you. His sweet mother, smiling down at him. Your eyes crinkled as you smiled. They were the same color as his own. That was the only feature you two shared.

From his point of view, he could see his hands attempt to grab your face. They were so small here. He must've been a baby. This was a memory he didn't even realize he had.

You were giggling at his futile attempts. You brushed his cheek with your finger and began to sing.

La la lu

Oh, my little star sweeper

Your voice was so soft and sweet. His eyes began to droop as your singing lulled him to sleep. The warmth of your arms was seeping through the soft blanket touching his skin. He recognized the blanket. It was his favorite, handmade by you. Each of siblings had one similar to it, a different color for each one.

He could feel you moving him about the room, swaying him. Through his half lidded eyes, he could see his father standing at the corner of the room. The scarf was gone, and he was smiling.

It was such a nice, warm memory. It was perfect for falling asleep. Warabiko kept forcing his eyes open to stay awake, but your voice was so comforting. It reminded him of the warm donuts you made, fresh out of the oven on a quiet morning.

There was no harm in closing his eyes, he'll see you again when he woke up. His small body went limp in your arms as his eyes began to close without fight.

His body was mere milliseconds away from relaxing into a comfy sleep. Until a sharp jab at his side forced him awake. The warmth of the memory was gone. Whatever it was that hit him launched far from where he previously was.

Warabiko was on high alert now. Big Mom was still angry, still searching for croquembouche. He shakily stood on his feet with a hand on the side where he was jabbed. He glanced back to where he remembered seeing his uncle's and aunt.

Physically, he could see they weren't hurt. But their faces held a different story. They were terrified, all color was drained from their faces. It was odd considering Mont-d'Or and Opera's skin tone.

Warabiko dared follow their gaze and he soon wished he hadn't. His heart stopped and ice filled his veins, making him freeze in place.

He didn't even notice nor hear Big Mom stomp away in the opposite direction, demanding croquembouche. In that moment, in his mind, everything was quiet.

A mirror image of his eyes was staring straight into his own. That familiar color he always saw in the mirror was drained away, and only white remained.

The only movement that was seen wasn't a sign of life. It was just your body falling to the ground. The sound of it reverberated throughout the whole Chateau.

Warabiko would hear that sound in his nightmares.

#charlotte katakuri #katakuri x reader #angst

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junabuggy · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! I love your writing! Would you be up for writing a fic where reader has super bad separation anxiety from Al, but he has to go somewhere without them and either Angel Dust or Husk is in charge of taking care of them/keeping them calm while he’s gone? Thanks a bunch!!! ❤️

Separation anxiety! GN! Reader x Alastor/husker?

A/n: Of course !! Honestly this has been super fun and I’m more than grateful for all the people who seem to enjoy my silly little fanfictions/headcanons, many thanks everybody ♥️♥️

Also, if you couldn’t tell from a lot of my writing, I’ve taken quite a liking to Alastor… So I get it, I love him too y’all ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Warnings: Mentions of separation anxiety, Mentions of alcohol, Alastor being Alastor so light mentions of blood and cannibalism (doesn’t actually happen)

Fluff✔️ Comfort✔️ Angst❌ Smut❌

Hope yall don’t mind a few headcanons first about this :33

📻𖤐 it’s hard to tell how Alastor would realistically react to someone being attached to him in that way..

📻𖤐 Like do I think it would bother him? No, he wouldn’t mind you tagging along wherever he went as long as you didn’t bother him too much or get in the way of things but there are just times where he requires or wants to be alone. Which is where Husker would come in lol

📻𖤐 He probably wouldn’t leave you with Angel, even if Husk wasn’t available for whatever reason he’d just get Charlie to look after you while he was away.

📻𖤐 I feel like he cares/loves in an odd way.. like he wants to tear you apart and lick up all your delicious, sweet blood but in an affectionate way??? If that makes sense?? Remember that pomegranate cannibalism metaphor that went around on TikTok for a bit there? Think that.

📻𖤐 of course, he wouldn’t do that, he wants to keep you around.

Okok I’m done yapping about silly radio man lol, onto the fic

Unfortunately, today was one of those days you couldn’t tag along with where Alastor went, he was attending an overlord meeting and obviously you not being an overlord it meant that you couldn’t go with him despite all of your protests and begging.

Before his departure, he sat you down at the bar with Husker and gave you a little pat on the head, telling you that he’d be back shortly and walking out of the hotel doors.

The grumpy cat demon poured himself a drink as he stared at you, this wasn’t exactly the first time Alastor had left him on “babysitting” duty with you and he didn’t exactly mind it. You were quite sweet for somebody who landed themselves in a place like hell.

“Where’s he off to this time?” Husker asked before taking a sip of the alcoholic beverage he held in his hand, attempting to make some form of conversation with you.

“Oh.. just some kind of silly overlord meeting…” You mumbled out a short reply whilst looking a bit glum. He simply nodded in response, setting his glass down on the bar countertop to mix you up a little something as well.

Husk didn’t understand your attachment to the Radio Demon to be completely frank with you. He and a lot of others viewed Alastor as something to fear, respect, and try to avoid contact with the best they could… so seeing someone who enjoyed his company was a foreign idea to him. But he wouldn’t judge you for it. It wasn’t exactly his business anyways and at least he seemed to treat you decently.

“Don’t stress it kid, he’ll be back soon. He keeps his promises I’ll give him that much.” Husk attempted to reassure you, giving a slight smile as he slid a drink down to you.

You smiled back weakly and nodded, taking a deep breath as you grabbed the drink he had slid over to you. You took a sip and it tasted like a screwdriver, not too bad of a drink and it would probably take your mind off of things a little bit if you had a few of them. Which was probably the goal Husker was trying to reach.. he couldn’t imagine separation anxiety to be very fun.

Later into the night once you got a few drinks in you, you started to forget all about why you were upset and/or stressed out in the first place. Chatting with Husk about random stuff and occasionally mentioning and talking about a person or two.

Husk wished there were more nights like this, more time spent with you… and who knows? Maybe you’ll be visiting the bar more often for him after tonight if he was lucky. He was pretty good at playing his cards right, after all.

(Sorry this was kinda short !! I wasn’t sure what else to write. Lmk if you guys maybe want a part two with Alastor coming back from his little meeting, I might do that :3)

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

#requests open #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fluff #alastor headcanons #alastor x reader #husk x reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #husker #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel comfort #angel dust

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winterarmyy · 2 years ago

Text

Plot Twist | Part III*

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III* (end) | Extra

Words: 4.8k++ (of mostly filth)

Pairing: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, lots and lots of praises, bucky's filthy mouth, tiny hint of wife!kink from bucky, soft!bucky being romantic, fluffy date, reader is quite a menace at the end, honestly.

A/N: This is the last chapter because I didn't really have a long plot for this specific fic. I wrote this fic entirely out of impulse.

P/S: I have no idea what I just wrote for the smut scene; partially because english is not my first language and the rest is because I literally have no experience but I hope y'all enjoy it somehow!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

"Don't hide those noises from me, doll. I want to hear you." Bucky licked a strip up across her gushing pussy before lewdly suckling on her sensitive clit.

"Bucky." she whined so needily as if she hadn't just come on his tongue a few moments ago.

How did they even get here in the first place?

One minute Bucky was proposing to ditch the gala, that's when she decided to bring him to one of the most underrated diners in Brooklyn.

Then somehow, there was Bucky, eating her out as if he was still starving.

"Oh my, Irene is that you?" The way the old lady gasped with excitement as she walked towards the couple; Bucky was assuming she was indeed talking to his wife.

Y/N grinned with a tiny scrunch on her nose, a goofy smile that Bucky never seen before. Entranced, he didn't even notice how his heartbeats quickens, let alone process the fact that Irene was not his wife's name.

"Long time no see, Maria." Y/N didn't hesitate to be engulfed by the warm and welcoming hug from Maria as if she was one of her grandchildren.

The tight squeeze loosen up after a while, followed by a compliment, "You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart." By the way she was looking up and down at Y/N, it seems like she doesn't want to move on from the topic.

But swiftly, a frown formed on her forehead when she realizes, "But why are you having a date at my old rackety diner?" Maria was quick to read the room.

Well, it's not that hard when you see a gorgeous, well-dressed couple walk in together. Him opening the door for her, the shy smile on her lips, any excuse to have his hands on her, glimmer in those eyes of hers.

Of course, it was a date.

"Now, why would I trade some fancy overprized steak with your absolute perfection of a burger? God don't get started on those crispy fries. I've been craving them for weeks!" Y/N could feel her mouth-watering from her own imagination.

"Oh, stop it! You're exaggerating!" Maria chuckles, lightly taping the side of Y/N's shoulder.

"I certainly am not!" Y/N exclaimed, almost animatedly.

The conversation in front of Bucky seemed to be silenced by his own racing thoughts.

Bucky was certain that these past few months being married to Y/N, he already knew her. All her patterns were memorized in the back of his head.

But this was different. It doesn't look like her; at least not the look that she always displayed around their mansion, nor any events they went to.

However, it feels so much like her at the same time.

If she still has other sides and expressions hidden from him, then wanted to see them all.

His hearing started to regain its ability when Y/N spoke, "This is my date, Sebastian. Babe, this is Maria, the owner of this diner." She introduces them.

Bucky leaned forward as he offered his hand, only to be pulled into the similar hug that his wife just received. Maybe he let his guard down, or maybe Maria was just stronger than him to be able to pull him in like that.

"I heard so much about you and this place. Thought nice to bring Irene to her favourite place for a date." Bucky was partially lying. He did promise her that she could choose anywhere she wanted to go to, but at the same time he had no idea this place existed before.

Maria had an approving smile on her face, as if he ticked off several of her checklist for choosing Y/N's boyfriend. She shot a look at Y/N, showing her approval which only made Y/N rolled her eyes.

When they settled in their booth and their orders taken, Bucky started to come up with the first topic, "So, Irene..." he purposely slowed his pace, as if he knew that Y/N would burst into laughter. A triumph smirk curved across his lips, knowing he managed to pull one of her rare laughs.

"...I just wanted to say that I, Sebastian, am honoured to be able to take you on a date this lovely evening." He managed to sound effortlessly posh while saying it, which makes Y/N laugh even more so.

"Oh god, stop, Bucky. It's just us. You don't need to act anymore." Her eyes briefly pointed to their surroundings. Indeed, there was just them and a group of teenagers all the way across the diner.

Bucky chuckled, "Well the way you act just now makes me think you me to stay in character."

"I didn't know that my wife had different identities. Wanna tell me about it?"

Y/N hesitated at first, she wonders if Bucky can accept what she had to say about this, but the anticipation and curiosity in his face seemed to look like he was sincere.

She took a deep breath before letting out a sigh and explained, "People like us can't just go out and about with our family names attached on our faces. We'd be sticking out like a sore thumb."

Bucky thought of what she said for a bit before he asked, "And you hate that? Having my name as part of your identity?" His brow quirked.

She exhaled deeply, "No, I didn't mean it like that, Bucky."

Her hesitation after only urged Bucky to silently demand for further explanation.

She admit defeat as she spoke, "Let's be real our lives are not ordinary. We weren't born in normal society like these people do." Y/N gaze roamed around the few people within the diner. There was this longing in her eyes.

"And I just want to feel what is it like to be one of them. To able to bond other people without greed or malice behind their intentions." There was only truth in her gaze, and Bucky saw that.

"I-- it's like an escape for me. A breath of fresh air if you will." She expressed.

"Like your books? Are they your escape too?" Bucky asked after thinking about how many hours she spent reading.

A fond smile curved on her lips, "Precisely."

He thought deeply before asking, "If you're constantly trying to escape, then what is it that you are trying to run from?" he riddled.

Y/N leaned back to her seat and think of the best way to put her feelings in simple words, "Nothing. I guess that I haven't find something that make me wanna stay in this reality."

"Yet" Bucky didn't mean to say it out loud. It was supposed to be his personal thoughts, but Y/N's eyes unexpectedly lit up, "Yet." She repeated his word, with a hopeful tone behind her natural voice.

The prolonged eye-contact broke when Maria came to serve their food. The conversation after that was nothing too deep, nothing too general. It was the type of conversation that left a light-hearted residue within their chest.

Hours passed and the music resonating from the jukebox seemed to shift into something slow, something more ballad-like. Bucky had an idea. He stood on his feet and walk out of their space while straightening his jacket.

Y/N was confused at first, "Are we leaving already?" was what she thought of before Bucky spoke, "A dance, my dear?"

She trailed the hand that was outreaching towards her, then up to his face. His smile was charming, and the crinkled lines on the side of his eyes were even more endearing.

Who'd knew those small things could become one her little weaknesses. She accepted his offer by grasping on his hand while he gracefully pulled her out of their booth towards the empty space between rows tables and the jukebox.

Bucky pulled her in, even closer than deemed necessary. She followed his lead; fingers laced lightly with each other's. His other hand rests right above her backside. And hers on one of his shoulders.

Though both of them didn't have a clue on how to dance but it didn't stop them to naturally fall into step and let the rhythm control their movements.

Everything else around them; the diner, the people, seemed to dissolve with time. It felt like there was just him and her, alone. Only the sounds of their heart beats and the music that remained.

People in the diner sat on their seats; watching the couple swayed along the melody of the song; couldn't help to admire the sight in front of them.

Even the bunch of teenagers on the other side was suddenly intrigued, some of them gawked and squealed at them, others didn't waste any time and started pull out their phone to record the moment.

Bucky leaned in as he whispered her name. She looked up in respond, with a smile spread across her beautiful face and eyes curved into upside down crescent moons.

A storm of uncontrollable emotions surged throughout Bucky's body, and his nerves tingled in delight. His brought his hand towards her face and brushed his thumb across her cheek.

His body was acting on its own as all the restrains he locked himself before vanished into thin air. Nothing was holding him back from this slice of paradise.

Her eyes glistened the moment Bucky's thumb pressed against her soft lips. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. Do you know that?" He whispered. His eyes searched her features as if he can't believe that his wife was real.

Her lips parted as a laugh escaped through her mouth; it seems to be that she doesn't believe him. Though the truth was clear, and yet somehow she couldn't see it.

"I'm serious, doll. You don't know how gorgeous you look right now." Her cheeks deepen in the colour of rose.

Bucky drew her close to his chest, so close he could feel the warmth of her body; while she wrapped her arms around his neck, tip toe-ing towards the side of his face. He could smell the delicate perfume on her.

Her lips went to his ear as she whispered ever so softly. "And you're such a flirt, do you know that?"

She returned to her original position, looking up with mischief gleaming in her eyes. Whatever spell did she just put on Bucky in that very moment, it certainly work wonders as all he can think about is how her lips feels against his own.

Bucky looked like as if he was in a daze, lips slightly parted, his gaze soften as they fixated on her maroon painted lips.

Y/N seemed to pick up on what's going to happen. Her hands trembled in anticipation; his scent was alluring, almost intoxicating that she might recall this moment whenever she smell this cologne again.

The moment seemed to prolonged but then it feels like the time stops entirely when Bucky pressed his lips on hers. The kiss was delicate, and soft, and passionate and real all at the same time.

Bucky pulled away momentarily only to pull her close again by the back her neck, tilting the heads in opposite direction as he licked her lips for permission in which she gladly comply.

Her hands gripping on the fabric of his shirt that's rested on his chest, holding on to him for her dear life as he stole her breath away.

Soft moans were slipping through the kiss as she felt the delicious burn of his stumble on her skin. Little did she know that, that might just be one of a trigger for Bucky to lose control.

He grunted in disapproval when she pulled away, wanting nothing more than to kiss her again and again and again until both of them forgot how to even breath.

But looking down at her trembling lips, the glaze across her eyes, her shaky breath; Bucky might just turn feral right there and then.

"Bucky..."

Bucky swore that she was whining his name.

"...Take me home."

Which then leads to this very moment where Bucky grabbed her by the waist, pushing her cunt further on his tongue before wrapping his arms around her thighs.

He wants to make sure she's strapped in for another wave that's about to crush her.

He flicked his tongue in an up and down motion, gliding through sensitive bundle of nerves. As if he knew what she like. No, he knows exactly what makes her squirm.

It took him a few orgasms on his tongue to know that she loves those small circles over her clit, those flat licks when he spread her pussy apart, how she much prefer to have her clit played rather than her hole fucked by his fingers, all of the little notes were already buried in Bucky's head.

And oh how divine does she look when she came for him. Bucky couldn't take his eyes off her; he was already addicted her taste, the shudders of her thighs on the sides of his face, and her pretty voice moaning his name.

Why hasn't he done this earlier?

"It's been too long, doll. Should've claimed this gorgeous pussy long ago. Shit." He growled his desire before diving back to her leaking heat.

Wet vulgar sounds echoes within the enclosed space of their bedroom as he devoured her whole. His changing speed really was too much for her to handle, and him gripping onto her thighs was the right choice.

Especially, when she started to squirm upwards, "Oh god Bucky,," moaning as she threw her head back to the soft pillow under her head.

Smirking proud against her parted lips, he pulled her back where she was before, pinning her hips against the bed. He sucks her aching bud into his hot, wet mouth so ferociously she can only gasp to the immense pleasure.

Oh, does it feel good having his mouth wrapping around her pussy like this, while the tip of his dangerous tongue flicking mercilessly on her swollen bundle of nerves.

So good to the point she was seeing stars. Literal stars at the back of her head as her high was reaching for euphoria. The aching pleasure caused her toes to curl and thighs burning, shaking as she cried out his name.

But, he wasn't satisfied yet, insatiably greedy for more, "So sweet, baby. Come on give it to me." He growled against her.

He continued to abuse that cunt over and over as the shameless wailing and chanting of how bad she wanted to come, filling up not just the room but also his pride.

Bucky wants to make her feel each stroke and glide of his wicked, delicious tongue. Feeling the electrifying pleasure surging within her core, her thighs involuntarily started closing around his head.

He can barely breathe from how much she was suffocating him, but he certainly refused to stop.

Not until he ruined that needy cunt of hers.

Over and over, he sucks and pulls while his tongue danced through her until her sanity was close to breaking, body trembling in his hold.

The wet squelches, the lapping of his tongue, her sexy moans. He drowned himself to every single one of them.

"Fuck! Bucky, I'm coming. Please, please please don't stop!" She begged for his mercy even if he never asked for it.

Her moan was getting needier than ever, while her hips jerked upwards to meet his tongue. Her fingers gripping on his soft hair, guiding his through the sweet torturous pace.

Fortunately, she wasn't the only one who was close to an explosive high. Bucky's cock, hard and pulsing, twitched against the constraint of his boxer. Even without any simulation from any kind of touch, his cock was more than overjoyed to come along with her.

And it was all because of her.

From the way she was shamelessly humping against his mouth, using him to get herself off. Gripping and pulling his hair, so she could ride his tongue faster.

Bucky hummed against her clit, before chuckling, "You're already such a good girl, doll. So perfect. You taste..." his tongue licked through her folds, grazing on the throbbing clit. "...Perfect."

A whisper of his name escaped as she gasped into a back arching shudder, head thrown back, eyes rolling, unable to focus on anything other than the pleasure of his tongue.

"Do it." he growled out. "Come for me, baby. Make a mess on my tongue."

That command was all it supposed to take, for her to finally let go but feeling his tongue flicking against her clit was what ripped the orgasm right from her begging pussy.

A loud scream of curses of his name was the only thing she can utter once the orgasm washed over. She let the pleasure unravel from within to every part of her shivering body, until she was left limping on the bed.

"Gorgeous..." he grunted with a horny tone, tongue sliding in between her wet slit, making sure every lick managed to collect the sweet nectar she had bestowed him.

Finally pulling away from between her legs, the lower half of Bucky's face was drenched; his lips glistened with the mixture of spit and slick, dripping down along the chin, down to his neck.

His eyes closed in an euphoric high, tongue licking her cum off his lips before forming a devilish smirk on his face. He looked as happy as a man can be with that smug smile of his.

Bucky smirked at her broken moan, "...so pretty coming for me." he praised ever so endearingly.

He climbed over as he continued to praise what a good girl she was, how well she did, how addictive she tastes, and how he would gladly eat her out for the rest of his life.

Bucky's mouth watered and his cock twitched at the beautiful, yet filthy sight of his wife splayed on their bed; her breasts moved every so gracefully despite her heavy breaths, legs spread apart as he kneeled in between.

Looking down at her mess, he might just want to be greedy and devour her once again, but his cock was much more needy than his anticipated. Right now, he wants nothing more than to feel her tightness around him.

Bucky levelled his face over hers, "Open up, honey." he husked. Still in a slight daze, Y/N blindly followed his temptation, only to feel his lips on her, his tongue settled within her heated cavern.

Every wave and movement of his tongue on hers were purposely slow and gentle. She can feel herself melted into the kiss, even more hypnotized into a dreamy haze.

Bucky pulled away with a rumbling hum, "Taste good doesn't it?" He prompted as he stroked the strand of her hair behind her ear. Y/N can only nod with an approving moan as she relished the gentle caresses on her cheek.

"That's all you, babydoll. Addictive isn't it? So, when I ask for this pussy, you will give it to me. Every single time. Do you understand?" Bucky tighten his gripped on her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

Her eyes gleamed in ecstasy, "Yes, Bucky." she let out a breathy tone, not trusting that she can keep her moans in if she speaks any louder.

Bucky smiled fondly, "That's my girl." he proclaimed.

"Now, how about making a mess on my cock, hmm? That sounds good to you, angel?" Honestly, it was Bucky who wanted to make a mess in her pussy, but she didn't need to know that for now.

"Yes, please." Y/N answered that way too quick, but she didn't care. The other reason why she was constantly leaking apart from Bucky's skilful tongue, was because she wanted to feel his cock stretching her apart.

Bucky chuckled to her neediness while his hand worked its way to remove his boxers. His cock sprung up to his stomach, with precum spilling from the tip. God he was so wet for her.

"...Hmmm, my sweet little wife had been so so good for me, isn't that right?" He cooed as he pulled her hips to him and lined his cock with her slick entrance that was just aching to be filled.

"Yes, Bucky" She breathed his name, as she looked up to him with full blown lusty eyes. The anticipation for him to plunge inside her needy hole were immaculate. But Bucky loved to edge a little.

"So good to me." Bucky stroked his heavy cock in between her slippery folds; the tip gliding so easily against her clit before proceeding to insert his throbbing length into her, groaning out a pleasurable 'ahhh' when he felt his cock wrapped around her tight, twitching walls, "F-fuck" He nearly whimpered, closing his eyes as he refused to come right when he just entered her tightness.

She gasped in pure ecstasy, feeling his cock in her core.

Bucky stilled as he fully filled her to the brim, letting her adjust to size as he peppered gentle kisses on her face, down to her neck and breasts.

The trembling in her cunt didn't drop its pulse, instead he swore it just increases, "Ease up, baby.. " his mouth wrapped around her nipple, "..or I might come before the fun begins." He mumbled against her breast before giving a harsh suck on her nipple.

That might just multiply the pressure around his cock though.

Even if Y/N knew she might come just by him adjusting the pace, but she didn't care, she craves the friction inside of her, "Buck-- Move please."

She didn't need to tell him twice, Bucky complied quite instantly.

"Oh, fuck!" She whimpered as his cock glide in and out of her at a sluggish pace.

"Fuck you feel damn good, baby," he rasps under his breath, his eyes drinking in every little expression she make. The little nose scrunch, her brows furrow together when he hit the spot deep within her, the way her swollen lips parted only to let out those sinful moans of his name.

"Never stop giving this pussy to me. God, I need this pussy y'hear me? I need it so bad." Bucky was well aware how addicted he was already. And he had no shame on that.

It didn't take him too long to increase the speed which led to him railing her into the bed as her muffled screams filled the room. Y/N sobbed softly to the overstimulating pleasure that started filling her body with Bucky's harsh thrusts. "So good, so fucking good!"

"Mhmm! Too much, I can't" She whimpered. She could feel how Bucky was tearing her apart, spreading her cunt as his cock lunged inside her tight walls, deliciously.

Bucky looks down to where his cock was fucking into her cunt and he shamelessly moaned, loud, deep from within his chest.

He wished she could see the vision in front of him; how her pussy displayed and wide open for his cock as he plunged in and out of her hard.

Gritting his teeth, he fucked her harder, more desperate than before, his fingers digging into her hip.

Y/N was whimpering mad, eyes rolled back mouth wide open, drooling to every thrust Bucky pushed into her. By that point she just had lost every sanity she had in her mind and just wanted Bucky to really fuck the life out of her.

It felt so good.

Too good.

Bucky’s brows knitted into a frown, and his mouth falls open. The deep grunts he was groaning turn into frantic higher pitched moans. His eyes shut, and his head falls back in pleasure.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck for support as her body racked in pleasure from his deep, hard, merciless thrusts. Her body jerked back and forth with his movement.

Their skin on each other; chest touching, the intertwining sound of sinful moans and lewd, wet squelching sound, the whispers of praises uttered for one another, lingered their mind as it gave physical effect to their body.

"A little more baby, please, please— fuckin' take my cock." When was the last time he felt this good? Perhaps never because he couldn't believe how close he was to coming already.

"It feels so good, Bucky."

"Yeah? hmmm, you're handling it so well, honey."

"Yes, yes, yes, -ahh shit, so deep inside me, fuck."

"...Can't believe this pretty little thing is mine."

Those were one of the many, many whispers they had said to each other. They were dirty yet it so sincerely intimate.

Not able to control himself any longer Bucky began thrusting faster than the original pace he had set before, causing her body to thrash around.

She gripped on the bedsheets behind her as he was grunting mad over the way his cock slipped so easily in and out of her tight pussy. The way she bucked her hips to match Bucky's pace, to have more friction between the two.

Oh, it was nastily enticing.

Everything about this moment was passionate and overpowering; to the point where their minds were getting fuzzy.

It's amazing how his body conquered hers like no one had before. Somehow, he knew where all her sweet spots were and how her body would react to them, but he would still be eager to found new ones to tease her right after.

Y/N's body jerked up in pleasure as his cock repeatedly hit her spot. It felt so good, her body to started shake and spasm. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes as the pleasure racked her body with such force she had never felt or known before.

And Bucky was the only one to ever see her like this and he would like to keep it that way.

"Mhmm, can't wait to come in this pretty pussy of yours babydoll. Fuck-- I'm already leaking inside you, baby. You're going to be so full and messy. Don't you want that, angel?" he teased as he thrusted in and out of her, groaning.

His thumb manage to find its way to play with her sensitive clit, not wanting to neglect that poor needy thing.

Feeling electrified from both his drilling cock and the way he was skilfully rubbing her clit, she squirmed and whined out unintelligible words, somewhere in between moaning his name and something about dying.

Bucky chuckled an amused laugh, somehow he managed to understand her words perfectly.

He removed his other unoccupied hand from her hip, and went to grab her both of her hands, placing them above her head. Restraining her wrists as he continued to fuck her hole; deeply, deliciously.

His body hovered over hers and their pupils dilated as their hot breath danced upon each other's skin. His erotic slid in and out of her cunt with such ease and his strong hands held a hard grip onto her contained wrists as he felt his orgasm arriving.

She felt the same familiar knot in her stomach just aching to be released." oh -oh god, Bucky. I'm gonna come!" she cried out.

"That's right, fucking cum for me!" he groaned out as he pressed his finger a little rough on her throbbing clit.

She shivered and gasped as she could feel her excitement gush out of her pussy as Bucky continued to fuck her through her high. Obscene wet noises coming from between her thighs.

And oh how Bucky relished the feeling of her walls clenching and twitching uncontrollably around his cock, licking his lip as he watched her wet juices spurting out of her pussy, drenching him more than be it was before.

"Feels fucking amazing to be inside you when you come like this, doll. So wet and tight for me..." he praised, getting replies of 'thank you's from her; she sounded delirious but that only ignites the feral in Bucky.

"...F-fuck I'm coming." His cock twitches violently. "Coming inside you, my pretty little wife. Fuckk--" His body jolted, eyes opening for just a second before they rolled shut as his hips snapped forward.

He came with a loud cry of her name, hips stilling as ropes of hot and slick cum shot out of his cock. His hot seed spread over her walls, filling her nice and full, sending shudders down her back.

Y/N can feel how he throbbed inside as each pulse of the delicious sensation came along with the ropes of cum that shoots from his cock.

He sighed as he thrusted his cock with a few more slow and lazy thrusts, letting her twitching walls milks the rest of his cum.

Bucky, soon slowly pulled out of her; she hissed as felt his cum dripping out, down to her asshole. It's a shame that he pulled out quite early than she expected; Y/N wished he could stay inside a little while longer.

He leaned down to spread multiple of soft kisses all over her face. Praising every little thing about her. Bucky thought of giving her the softest after-care she well-deserved after such a long night.

But when she looked up at him with those pair of lust-blown eyes, he never thought those words would've come out from her mouth, "Want more, please Bucky?" her tiny hand managed to grasp on his semi-hard cock, before rubbing his tip on her cum-filled hole.

Bucky never been that hard within that short amount of time. He grunted in pleasure when she pushed herself on his cock.

He let out a breathy chuckle as he cock reached the deepest part of her, "What a plot twist you are, doll."

End.

<< Part II || Extra >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Even if this is the last chapter, I’d still love to hear from you! 🤍

#winterarmyyfics #plottwistfic #mafia!bucky #mob!bucky #bucky barnes au #mafia!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x reader #arranged marriage #husband!bucky #beefy!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

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olsenmyolsen · 5 months ago

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Hi lovely!! To answer your question about what I’d like to see in the future, first of all I just want to say that I am so so deeply glad you’ve started writing and sharing your work with us, I just think you are so so so good at writing and extremely original with each concept you come up with!! I get SO excited every time I see you’ve posted something!! Personally, my favorite fics to read are female reader with either Wanda or Natasha, or with wandanat. Hands down my most favorite fic you’ve written and that I find myself thinking about frequently is, ‘you have me for the night,’ like it is seriously mindblowingly amazing as a concept and the way you executed it!😍

My other favorites you have so kindly created and shared with us to enjoy include ‘ups and downs,’ I just can’t get over how fantastic your writing is and how funny and enthralling this story is. ‘Taste,’ simply had me in a chokehold with how hot it was and all the pining and sexual tension! Your vampire reader stories and ‘inspiration,’ are also some of my personal favorites from you.

I think I personally really like stories that have some pining and build up which you write soooo deliciously well.

I would also eat it up if you ever had any interest in a female reader and Wanda or wandanat fic with reader being a new avenger and a werewolf who discovers that Wanda (or wandanat) is her mate when she joins the team. Maybe Wanda (or wandanat) even doesn’t like reader much or doesn’t trust her when she joins so it’s like an enemies to lovers, lots of pining kind of situation.

To whoever requested this mooooonths ago, I am so so so so sorry it took me this long to complete it. I honestly started and deleted writing it like five different times. I just couldn't find the right plot in my head. But hopefully, you enjoy this <3 And I truly apologize if you're upset with some liberties I took and changed.

After Midnight

master list . maroon master list . dark master list

Yes loosely based on the Chappell Roan song :)

Monster AU (Female Werewolf Reader X Monster Hunters WandaNat)

Summary: For some time now, Wanda has had visions of you. She doesn't know who you are, but when her senses lead her and her girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff, to a club, they end up learning more about the world than they thought they knew.

Word Count: 2.6K

Content: Crowded Places, Monsters, References to Sex, Teeth, Biting, Lust

You danced in a dress that you wanted forever with red lipstick painted on your lips.

The poppy music swirled around you and through the club, as you drank and made quick friends with girls you knew wouldn't remember your name the next day.

Only the fact that your teeth sunk into their neck.

And the cry of pleasure that followed.

Regardless, with a smile, you danced and drank (as if you could even get drunk) and waited for the woman you had been dreaming of for the last few months.

A woman you knew belonged to you.

A woman who, like you, had been dreaming of someone she felt connected to.

You.

"Wanda, are you sure this is it?" Natasha Romanoff asked of her partner Wanda Maximoff as they arrived outside the club The Full Moon.

To say Natasha was annoyed would be an understatement. Her girlfriend Wanda had been having these dreams of an ethereal animalistic woman for months.

Wanda was open and honest about what she would see. Natasha almost wishes she wasn't.

Almost.

And yes, Natasha knew what she was experiencing was jealousy, but when her girlfriend says she "feels a connection" to this mysterious person, how else was she supposed to feel?

So, as the two of them entered the club, they both had their sights set on finding you. Whoever you were.

The second the pair of Monster Hunters enter the club, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your sense going off. Yet, through the bodies of people in the club, you can't locate them as quickly.

Especially in your human form.

With a sigh, you give your empty glass to a hammered girl with big boobs and glasses as you leave the dance floor.

You hope to find the two monster hunters faster this way.

However, across the club, as the rainbow lights bounce off everything around Wanda and Natasha, they also sense something is off. Wanda gives Natasha a quizzical look after they order their drinks.

A purple cocktail for Wanda and a beer for Natasha.

"You sense it?" Wanda asks. Natasha nods as her eyes are already scanning what she can see. "A monster on this side of town? This late into the month? I don't know." Natasha replied to Wanda, who picked up her cocktail seconds after it was delivered.

Wanda also looks around the spacious room. "See anything?" She asks Natasha, who shakes her head. The two of them are experts in their field. They should be able to snuff out who or what is breaking the laws set before them, but they can't.

On top of that, they're off the clock.

Natasha turns back to the bar and takes a sip of her beer. Wanda looks at her girlfriend. "Let's just focus back on finding this mysterious person and figure out why I'm drawn to them."

Once again, that option isn't as thrilling to Natasha, but she follows along. She loves Wanda and knows how much this means to her. "Okay." She says, grabbing Wanda's hand and following her to the dance floor.

You move from your sat postion at a table far too close to a speaker as you watch the way a redhead follows another woman hand in hand into the crowd of drunks on the lit-up floor.

"Gotcha." You whisper spotting the off the clock Monster Hunters silhouetted in black. You smile, knowing you like to have fun with these people regardless, but it is far too late into the night for them to do anything.

After Midnight.

In the middle of a sea of people, Natasha and Wanda slowly start to lose themselves to the indie pop hits of today, but just as Wanda goes to finish off her cocktail, she gasps. Natasha immediately notices and comes to her side. "What is it?"

A vision plays out in Wanda's head—a vision you also see.

You smirk as the vision dissapears in your mind. You finally figured out what these visions mean.

"What is it?" Natasha asks as Wansa looks up and around the place. "She's here." Natasha looks as well but stops when Wanda gestures towards you, making your way through the crowd.

Natasha freezes as she looks over you. You're, of course, gorgeous (something maybe Wanda didn't fully explain), and you're wearing a red dress that hugs your curves beautifully.

Natasha looks from you to Wanda, whose mouth is slightly apart, in awe. "It's you," Wanda says, making you tilt your head with a smirk.

"Aside from my visions... Where do I know her from?" You question yourself before you stand in front of the pretty pair of faces looking at you. "Hi!" You say it with a sultry tone, making Natasha blatantly roll her eyes. Something you find amusing. Something Wanda ignores as she brings her body closer to you. "Hi." She says it with a soft, almost too-quiet tone.

"So you're from my vision." You cut to the chase as you bring your body closer to the brunette. Ignoring the glares from the redhead. "And you're from mine," Wanda replies.

Natasha huffs as she interrupts the eye fucking going on. "Okay. Yes. You have dreams about one another. What does that mean?" Natasha not so subtly moves in between you and the brunette. You look from the girl with the soft expression to the one with raging red hair. "And you are?" You say, biting back a smirk.

Natasha hates your attitude, forcing herself to narrow her eyes. She thinks you're lucky she's using all her strength not to fight you right now. "I'm Natasha Romanoff. I'm this one girlfriend." She says, pointing back to the brunette.

You smile. "Girlfriend?" You ask, questioning the other woman, who nods. "I'm Wanda. Wanda Maximoff." She extends her hand and raises her voice above the club music. You gingerly take her hand and shake it. The action sends a jolt of electricity through the two of you. Making you smile even wider.

"What?" Natasha asks as she sees the look on your face.

"It's just you two don't know why you've been having these visions, do you?" Each person shakes their head at you. "Well... there's no easy way to say this." You look around. Maybe the middle of the dance floor isn't the best place. "Follow me." You say to them, not caring if Natasha wants to follow or not.

You knew Wanda would.

You paid off the bouncer to the VIP area and closed the door to a private room. "Oh, come on." Natasha groans, seeing the bed in the middle of the room. "I didn't know The Full Moon was this kind of place." Wanda quietly held in a laugh as her girlfriend squeezes her hand. Annoyed. "It's not like that, I promise." You say, gesturing between you and Natasha, ignoring the comment about the bed as you move in front of the girlfriends.

It was just there for people to have a good time consensually.

As you look from one face to the other, it clicks for you.

However, just to be sure, you lightly sniff the air in the room, and your senses instantly alert you to the presence of two Monster Hunters.

The ones in front of you.

You can't help but shake your head and smirk.

Of course.

"You two don't seem to know much about this place." You say to Natasha mainly. She rolls her eyes again. "Look, just tell us the real reason we're here." You put your hands up in a fake surrender and walk over the bed. Sitting down on it before moving back ever so slightly. Your covered breasts and long tan legs perfectly make Wanda want more.

"Wanda is my mate." You come right out and say it, knowing it would throw the two of them for a loop.

Also laughing knowing that they're Monster Hunters. They weren't supposed to be able to mate with said Monsters.

Wanda stares at you wide-eyed as if she can't believe what she just heard. Even if it was the truth and not that far from unbelievable.

She has witches blood in her after all.

Natasha, on the other hand, can't fathom it. She laughs like it's a big prank and steps closer to you. "Mate? Yeah right. Okay. Quit messing around around. Tell us the real reason."

You squint your eyes at Natasha and lie down on the bed. Sighing. "That is the real reason." Natasha opens and closes her mouth before stumbling to say: "Only Monsters can have mates." Natasha looks at you and slowly backs up. Grabbing a stunned Wanda, the two of them move away from the bed. "If it's true, then you're a Monster. That's why we sensed something. It was you!"

You lift your head up slightly. "First correction. Monsters aren't the only ones who can have mates. And secondly, do I look like a monster to you?"

"I th-"

"I was asking Wanda." Natasha closes her mouth and looks at her girlfriend. Her gaze on the person on the bed. You. "I.. I don't think you look like a Monster."

"Wanda!" Natasha says, unable to believe what Wanda was saying. Or trying to say. "I'm a beauty, Nat. What can I say." You smirk before looking at Natasha and winking.

Even before tonight, she was having trouble coming up with reasons to be here, but now she's really struggling.

Natasha looks from Wanda to you once more. "What are you?"

"Wanda's mate. Now I don't know-"

"What are you really!?" Natasha asks, not wanting to hear any more about you and HER girlfriend. "Tasha." Wanda quietly says as she pulls on Nat's hand.

Wanda understands Natasha's frustrations and anger, but to Wanda, you were attractive, and Wanda did want to know more. Being rude wasn't going to solve anything.

You slowly pull yourself up and off the bed. Standing several feet away from the two. "I'm a Werewolf." You say, a tad quieter than you had been all night.

Something Natasha and Wanda picked up on.

"How do we know you're not lying?" Natasha asks, looking for more answers. "Aren't the visions enough?" You reply, almost annoyed. Natasha shakes her head. "Prove what you are."

You roll your eyes and take steps closer to Wanda and Natasha. Neither woman moving away. They're intrigued. You lift your upper lip up so the Monster Hunters can see a large canine tooth form before going away.

"The closer it gets to a full moon, the harder it becomes to control my human form."

Silence rests between everyone.

"Funny name for a bar then, no?" Wanda breaks the tension with a joke that makes you laugh. A sound Wanda giggles at.

Natasha squeezes Wanda's hand and does her best not to smile as she looks at you. "So now what?"

"Well, you're not taking me in. I'll tell you that." You look from the green shimmer in Wanda's eyes. "We won't," Wanda says without missing a beat.

Natasha sighs. "We weren't going to anyways. It's after hours and... and now the situation's complicated."

Truthfully, Natasha didn't care if she saw you ever again. But the more Wanda hung around you, the harder it was to pull her back.

"You know..." Natasha speaks up. "We came here tonight with one goal in mind. To see who Wanda was sharing visions with. But now that she's supposedly your mate and all that... What happens?" Natasha swallows and looks from Wanda to you and back. "Because I'm not losing Wanda to you. Not tonight." Natasha shakes her head as her eyes sting. But she sniffles and holds back the tears.

The thought of Wanda not being with her is eating away at her.

"You don't have to lose Wanda." You smirked as you brought your body closer and closer to Wanda. Her soft eyes going from her girlfriend to you.

She doesn't want to lose Natasha either.

"You know..." You lift your hand, making Natasha step forward, but she stops when she sees you push some hair from Wanda's face. "Us Monsters or Werewolf's aren't like Seahorses." Wanda tilts her head as she lays your hand on her cheek, bringing your eyes to Natasha. "Mating doesn't end with one person. It's normal and what usually happens, but... it doesn't have to be."

You bring your gaze back to Wanda as she looks from you to Natasha. Both of them understand your words. "You wouldn't lose her, Natasha."

You're honest and surprisingly caring. At least that's what Natasha thinks of you now.

"What are you doing now?" Natasha asks as you lean forward and look at Wanda's skin—especially the beautiful place on her neck.

Wanda can sense what you're thinking. "She wants to bite me." Natasha widens her eyes and goes to push you away, but you quickly grab her arm and twist it.

Your true strength coming through.

"I'm trying to be a good, good girl." You let go of Natasha, making her huff and stand in between you and Wanda. "I'm sorry I just love a little drama."

"We should get going," Natasha speaks to you as her eyes never leave yours. Yet she doesn't move. The second she gives you makes your mouth work faster than your brain. "I'm feeling kinda freaky." You raise a playful eyebrow. "Maybe it's the moonlight. Maybe it's something else. The club lights?" You shrug and step closer to Natasha.

Wanda watches as your eyes travel to Nat's smooth skin.

"I kinda wanna kiss your girlfriend, if you don't mind."

Natasha opens her mouth to argue, but Wanda stops her. "She's not talking to you," Wanda says as Nat looks back at you, wearing a widening grin. "M-me?" Natasha asks you.

And since walking into the club, the chip on Natasha's shoulder melts away. Wanda walks up behind her girlfriend, wraps her arms around her, and kisses her cheek. "We could never lose each other."

Yet Natasha still can't process what you're asking.

You nod as she stares at you. "You, Natasha." Wanda brings her lips up to Natasha's ears. "It's okay." You nod as your ears pick up Wanda's words. "And then Wanda."

"And then Wanda-" Natasha gets cut off as you invade her space and take her face in your hands. Your callous fingers move down Natasha's cheek as your aggressive kiss slows into one of passion.

This is what I wanted. This is what I like.

When you pull away, your lips are darker. Natasha stands stunned before bringing her fingers to her lips. Touching where you just were. "Yo-you just kissed me.?" She speaks, making you blush. "We can do more than that." You offer with a laugh.

Wanda, with her eyes dark, can read your mind as your kiss with Natasha opens up the connection between the three of you.

She knows you're not joking about the offer.

"Wanda..." Natasha turned her attention to Wanda as her girlfriend looked over her fondly. Lovingly. Natasha can see Wanda isn't upset by what just happened. Making Natasha's brain scramble for an answer.

A solution to the chaos of tonight.

"It'll be okay." Wanda steps forward and gives a quick peck. She can even taste you on Nat's pretty pink lips.

"B-but now... now what?" Natasha asks as she can't even think. You make your presence known again as you gently bring your hands to Natasha's. "We belong together. We make it real. I want to make this real." Natasha watches you for a moment in silence before your hands leave hers and grab Wanda's hair.

Moving it over her shoulder.

Exposing her neck.

This wasn't right.

And yet. Natasha can't help but move closer. Her mind being made up with each step. Natasha holds Wanda as you open your mouth.

However, it wasn't until the three of you were in the middle of the dance floor once again that you put your canine teeth in the side of her neck.

A scream of pleasure left her, and after midnight, that night, the three of you became more.

dividers by @/benkeibear

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alienoresimagines · 4 months ago

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I wish you would write a fic (canon era, modern au, any setting really) where Buck is sick and Bucky fusses over him. Maybe with Buck’s head in Bucky’s lap?

I loved your fic of Bucky watching Buck sleep, so anything with that type of vibe? ❤️

I don't know the difference between a snippet and an actual fic so this is 1.4k 😅 But hey, Gale's awake for this one! Thank you so much for this inspiring ask, I've been writing angst for a week so going back to fluff felt really good 🥰❤️ Featuring : A sick Gale and a worrywart Bucky Also on AO3 Find my other Mota fics here

"Do you need anything ? Blanket ? Water ?" His hands hover over Gale's shivering form but the other weakly bats his hand away when John reaches out to check his fever.

"M'fine, Bucky." Gale's usual deep voice is now raspy and hoarse from too much coughing and Bucky winces in sympathy, knowing how much just saying those few words must've hurt. It also happens to be one of the biggest lies he's ever heard, on the top of his list with Buck's other countless "I'm fine"s he's heard since meeting the other. Bucky's only slightly exasperated.

"Like hell you are." He grumbles unhappily but fondness rounds the edge of every word as he fusses with the army issued blankets until only two unimpressed, slightly hazy with fever, blue eyes could be seen above the green fabric. John has to physically suppress a coo at the sight, sure it wouldn't be welcome, and very much not in the mood to wrestle Gale back in bed a second time.

He's honestly surprised the other held on for as long as he did considering the entire 100th had fallen victim to a nasty cold in the past two weeks, even Bucky himself. Buck had nursed him back to health and despite the pounding headache he remembers, John had enjoyed every minute of it. He would've enjoyed it a lot more though, if this stubborn sweetheart of a man hadn't also decided to take as much of a workload as he could while the rest of them were bedridden, disregarding any signs of his own degrading health.

A hand pulls on his sleeve until he sits on the edge of the bunk, the heat from Gale's body warming his side even through two blankets. Those pills better kick in soon or John might just die from worry. Over a damn cold.

Well, that's not exactly true. Even if the depth of his feelings for Gale still scares him absolutely shitless, he's past the shameful stage of denial. A mere small splinter would be enough to have him worried sick if it was in Gale's finger. But, he considers, maybe he went a bit overboard when he tucked Gale in with all the blankets available. Perhaps just four would be enough... which is why he lets Gale, although unhappily, drop some of the blankets on the bunk next to him. His mouth opens then closes with a click at Buck's glare.

Three blankets it was.

Gale settles again under the remaining covers, graciously letting John adjust them until his neck is covered. His lips, despite being chapped and not as pink as usual, still look so inviting that Bucky has to physically stop himself from pressing his own lips to Buck's. Three days he's been deprived of Gale's kisses and he has never wanted anything more in his life - except for Gale himself. During the two days he was sick, Buck had imposed a no-kissing-on-the-lips rule, much to his own chagrin but he respected Gale's boundary and need for cleanliness. Besides, it's not like he wanted to get Gale sick. And today, on the day he'd been longingly awaiting for 48 endless hours, Buck himself was sick and would refuse Bucky's kisses, he knows. It doesn't stop him from gazing mournfully at those plump lips.

"I was really looking forward to those kisses." He whines dramatically in a defeated sigh, a pang of fondness in his chest at Buck's own saddened eyes. He hasn't been alone in his longing, and the thought sends warmth through his body. Yet, coldness courses through him as he watches guilt overcome sadness when Gale turns his head sideways to avoid looking at him.

"M'sorry." All theatrics forgotten, a frown crosses his face immediately. He leans closer to Buck's face, gently sweeping his hair of his forehead and then cupping his flushed cheek to stroke over a high cheekbone until Gale looks at him.

"Hey, Buck. Listen to me." With his thumb, he tenderly frees Gale's bottom lip from the cage of his teeth. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. Damn cold got everyone, it's no surprise it'd get you too. Nothing shameful 'bout that, okay?"

Later, when the other isn't as miserable as now, John will grouch to him about working himself to the bone instead of going to see Smokey as soon as he’d started feeling bad. Later, he'll make Gale promise to come to him too, if he doesn't feel like talking to their flight surgeon.

The thing is, Gale is John's safe place. With him, he doesn't have to worry about talking too much, touching too much -as much as he could in public- being too much. He just wishes Gale would allow John to be his safe place too. And he knows that Gale allowing him to see that vulnerable side of his is already a huge show of trust. But he wants Gale to trust him not only to catch him when he falls but also to lean on him when he misses a step or falters just a bit.

For now though, he accepts the small nod he gets and relishes in the soft, barely there up of the corners of his lips, which blooms into a sweet smile when Bucky leans down to press a kiss to his forehead.

"As soon as you're back on your feet, I'm kissing you 'till you push me away." He promises against the too-warm skin of Buck's forehead before pulling back and grinning down at him. Gale looks amused, if a bit tired, but the light in his eyes is one of amused defiance. Even if he doesn't speak, Bucky hears him anyway and it sends thrills of anticipation down his spine. Just a few days more.

There's a moment of silence as John mindlessly plays with sweaty golden strands until Buck blinks slow and long and Gale's warm hand slips into his under the blanket. He has to bite his lips to keep the dopey smile from his face but he does stroke his thumb back and forth the expanse of Gale's knuckles. Shivers still wrack his form, though they did subside a bit compared to minutes ago. It's not nearly enough for Bucky.

"You sure I can't get you anything ?" Buck audibly groans as he opens his eyes just enough to show Bucky just how hard he's rolling his eyes and John snickers sheepishly. He raises the hand not in Gale's soft grip in mock surrender, the amused glint in sky-blue eyes only spurring him on.

"Sorry, sorry. But really, do you need anything ?" Gale licks his lips once and oh, John knows that look. It's as adorable as it makes his heart ache, the way Gale doesn't look him in the eyes. He thinks of a young boy, barely knee tall, not daring to ask his father anything and imperceptibly clenches his jaw. Softly squeezing Buck's hand in his, he smiles encouragingly when the other faces him.

"Anything, Gale." Tired eyes look at him for a moment, searching for something but John isn't sure what. He keeps his face open, knowing perfectly well there's no way he could hide how he feels about the other man when no one is around. Gale must find whatever he's looking for because he bites his lip slightly, seemingly pleased and content, if a little shy.

John is keeping a tally of how many kisses he's been robbed of.

Minutely, Gale starts scooting over and John huffs a laugh but obediently sits in the spot just vacated, back leaning on the metal headboard. He's barely put his legs on the blankets that Gale immediately presses in close to rest his head on John's lap like a cat pressing his head on his hand until he gets pets.

Bucky might just die of adoration for this sweet, sweet man he's blessed to call his.

He's half convinced the other will start purring when he strokes his fingers through his hair, nails slightly scratching at his scalp like he knows Buck likes but Gale only presses even closer to him until his body is one hot line against John's leg, a happy hum leaving him. He's asleep in one minute flat, face buried in Bucky's lap as the latter keeps playing with his hair, eyes not leaving the even rise and fall of his back.

John's so, so in love that he wonders how he ever thought he wasn't Gale's safe place just as much as Gale was his.

#clegan #buck x bucky #buck squared #mota fic #john egan #gale cleven #buck cleven #bucky egan #ali writes

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pandorasprongs · 1 year ago

Text

CHAPTER FOUR | come home to my heart.

'it's nice to have a friend' fic masterlist + playlist | previous chapter

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

SUMMARY: jamie tries to get reader to forgive him.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: hello! sorry for such a long wait, i've been on vacation. i also haven't been able to proofread huhu but hopefully the interlude prepped ya'll for this moment because a good chunk of this one is from jamie's pov! don't have much to say because i don't want to spoil much hehe but enjoy jamie's comeback!

Losing Jamie for a second time felt the exact same: like absolute shit. Except this time, you were an adult and couldn't sulk in your room all day. So for the next few weeks, — aside from said crying sessions — you've been dragging yourself to all of your lectures and powering through office hours as if nothing happened.

You already told Liv about it the morning after, and after seeing your bloated face and the fact that you had a massive hangover, she decided to withhold her 'I told you so' speech, much to your relief.

It was unraveling the exact same way as last time and the cherry on top was the fact that Jamie wasn't reaching out in any way, shape, or fucking form. No texts, calls, or anything.

Every now and then, you'd think about reaching out yourself. It was you who yelled at him that night and told him to leave, but you would shake your head every time. No, if Jamie really wanted to preserve your relationship, he would have to be the one to reach out. You got to say your piece and that's it.

And maybe you were being a little petty, taking down all your photos with him from the shelf and stuffing them in a box with all the tokens from Jamie that you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away, but at least it stopped you from nearly breaking down every time you passed your hallway.

Jamie wasn't taking it so well either, despite what you assumed.

After that night, he had this sinking feeling in him. He knew he fucked up, — ghosting you and treating you like a complete stranger at the pub in front of his teammates, — but it hurt even more hearing you shout and tell him how badly it fucked you up.

To this day, he doesn't know why he did it, really. Maybe it was the fact that he felt guilty for never talking to you after you left. Or maybe you were right; he cared too much about what his teammates thought that he ended up hurting you in the process. But no matter the reason, he ruined one of his most important relationships that night.

So what was he going to do? What he always did. Ignore it. Focus on the season, despite the fact that Richmond has been on a losing streak since the West Ham game. While Jamie might be off his game because of you, he wasn't going to acknowledge that. Just bury it and hope it disappears.

It wasn't until after the fifth match in the losing streak that he got a message from an unknown number he was forced to confront it.

Hi Jamie. I'm Liv. I'm not sure if (Y/N)'s mentioned me, but I'm one of her friends and I got your number from her phone. I was hoping to talk to you soon when you're free.

So now, he was sitting in a white office like he was waiting for some test results. It didn't help that the person sitting in front of him was in a lab coat, either.

"Sorry, I know it's weird we had to do this in an office." Liv started and Jamie straightened up in the chair. "I thought you'd want somewhere private to talk."

"Right."

"Yeah, so you're probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you. Uhm, (Y/N)'s been a little off recently. She told me about what happened, which I honestly saw from a mile away, but that's not the point." Liv sighs before continuing. "The last time this happened, back in uni, she practically quarantined herself in her room till her parents came and picked her up. She barely ate, and barely talked to anyone. It was terrible. And I can tell that she's on the way to that again."

Jamie's eyes widened, filled with guilt once again, but he said nothing.

Something about his reaction just triggered something in Liv. "Right, so I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but what the fuck are you doing, man?" The footballer moved back in his chair, but Liv wasn't dismayed. "Why haven't you called her? Or even texted or something."

"I," Jamie's completely at a loss for words. "I thought that she didn't want to talk."

"What gave you that idea?"

"She told me to leave that night so harshly, so I thought..." Jamie trails off, realizing how terrible that reasoning is after saying it out loud.

Liv is thinking the exact same thing, causing her to roll her eyes. "Come on, Jamie! You can't actually think she wants nothing to do with you now. She won't ever say it, but do you know how many times I've caught her checking your contact to see if you've sent anything? She misses you and seeing how shit you've been playing these past few matches, I think it's safe to assume that you miss her too."

Despite this woman being a complete stranger to Jamie, he's suddenly compelled to admit, "Just because she misses me doesn't mean that she wants me back in her life. And I don't think I should be, to be honest." She's better off without me.

Liv's expression finally softens and she looks down at her desk before saying, "She at least deserves an apology."

—

It had been a few days since then, which Jamie had been using to think it over. He knew Liv was right; he needed to apologize. He just didn't know how. And of course, he had to talk to the most emotional man he knew.

"Jamie! What brings you here?" Ted who, despite the team losing yet another game, greeted quite cheerfully. It almost made the football player turn right back around because he wasn't sure if he was in the mood for his coach's relentless optimism.

But he knew there wasn't anyone else he could go to, seeing as you were obviously unavailable, Keeley was way swamped with her new company, and telling his mum would be indirectly telling your parents too. He shuts the door behind him and moves to Ted's side of the office. "Right, um, I was hoping to talk to you about something."

His coach seems to pick up on Jamie's uneasy demeanor and leans forward with a sympathetic look on his face. "What's up, buttercup? Should I gather the diamond dogs for this?"

Jamie, recalling the name that the coaches and Higgins called themselves, was quick to reject the idea. "No, no, I'd rather not have them find out about this. Uhm, look, I know I haven't been doing my best recently,—"

"Oh, we'll get a win soon bud, don't worry." Ted is quick to reassure the player and while Jamie appreciates it, he shakes his head.

"No, I know, but that's not it." Jamie takes a deep breath before continuing. "It's just, I've been a bit distracted recently."

"Is this about a girl perhaps?"

"No," though Jamie thinks about it for a second. “Yes, but no?" Seeing the slight look of confusion on his coach's face, he explains, "A while back, I reconnected with an old friend. She was my best friend actually, back in Manchester. We didn't exactly end on the best of terms and it was my fault. But when we met again, she told me that I didn't need to apologize."

Jamie continued to recount the past few months to his coach, from his blind date to the Bones & Honey incident, along with what he did to you in the pub all those years ago.

"So now, I don't know what to do. Her best friend said I should apologize, but I don't really know how. I'm not really the best with these types of things." Both of them still remembered how long it took for Jamie to get the team to forgive him when he first came back.

Ted takes a second before responding, trying to figure out the best thing to say in this situation. "You know Jamie, I've always thought the simplest ways are sometimes the best ones. Overthinking things tends to complicate them more. You want to apologize right? How'd you used to do it when you were kids and you threw your little tantrums at each other?"

"Coach, I don't think bringing her chocolate is gonna work this time around." Jamie gets flashbacks to your first-ever argument as kids. Jamie accidentally ate the last slice of chocolate cake that you had unofficially saved and you stormed out and locked yourself in your room for an hour.

All it took was Jamie sliding a bar of chocolate through the bottom of the door, explaining that he got hungry, and promising to save her a slice of cake the next time they had a party. You ended up sharing the bar with Jamie.

"Probably not. But in all the times you fought, what were the things that got her to forgive you? What did you say that made her understand your side and know that you actually were sorry for what you did? And how did you prove to her that you weren't going to do that to her again?" Maybe if Jamie thought about this advice later tonight, it'll make more sense, but right now, only one question was occupying his mind.

"D'you think she'll forgive me?" He thinks out loud.

"I honestly don't know Jamie, I don't even know who she is. But if you show her how much you care like how you're showing me right now, I'm sure things will be fine." Ted, now standing, offers a comforting pat on the back.

Without looking up, Jamie whispers, "I never meant to do this to her. To hurt her like that."

"We rarely ever mean to hurt the people we love." Ted offers.

Love. Yeah, Jamie thought, he did love you, even after all these years. Especially after all these years. What, with all the 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' bullshit.

"All we can do after is try to atone for our mistakes and hope they forgive us. And even if they don't, at least you leave knowing you tried." Jamie nods his head and thanks his coach for the advice.

As he got into his car to leave the clubhouse, he pulled out his phone. Hi, are you free tonight? I was hoping we could talk.

He anxiously waited for your reply and started listing all the places he had to pass by before heading to your place if you even answered. But before Jamie even left the car park, you already replied, Sure.

—

Maybe you had been hoping for Jamie's message more than you thought. You were in the middle of the lecture when you got his message, so while your class passed the handouts around, you took the chance to grab your phone and reply.

So now, you were anxiously waiting in your flat, still unsure of how you were meant to feel about all this. You knew there was still anger there, but you weren't sure if exploding on him relieved that feeling or made it worse. A part of you also felt guilty for it too, for not even giving him a chance to apologize in the first place. Maybe instead of awkwardly letting him inside later, you would've been having yet another movie night together.

That's what he was going to do now right? Apologize? You didn't really press on for my details when he messaged you earlier. You just hoped that seeing him again will trigger the right response to whatever he had planned.

You heard the doorbell ring and suddenly, it felt like your heartbeat quickened. You take careful steps towards the door and after mentally preparing yourself for whatever this was going to be, turn the doorknob.

"Hi," Jamie greeted, in the most awkward way possible for a guy as confident as he could. You notice him holding a box of LEGO flowers under his left arm and a pack of chocolate nuggets in his right hand.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you jokingly ask, "Is your apology just going to be flowers and chocolate?" though it may have come across as harsher than you intended.

"No, but uh, in case you changed your mind about talking to me when you saw me, I thought this would at least get me through the door," Jamie explained and you slowly nodded your head.

"Well, you were right." You take the things from his hand and let him inside.

You had already cleaned up the place before he came over and hidden all the messy catalogs and test papers in your room for the time being. Its current condition could honestly pass as one of those display sets in department stores.

You placed the items on your dining table before turning back to Jamie who was awkwardly standing in the middle of the living room.

You didn't want to delay this any further. "So, why'd you want to talk?"

"Right," Jamie started, still unable to look you in the eye. "I wanted to say sorry for not messaging you these past few weeks. I've just been busy and Richmond's been on a losing streak too,—"

"Is that really all you wanted to say?" Your tone was soft, but even you knew you were being blunt. You just couldn't handle the sinking feeling of anxiety in your chest anymore and while you might be rushing him, you just wanted to get this over with.

"No, it's not." Jamie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He moves towards you and starts looking at you intently. "I'm sorry. For everything. You deserved an apology and an explanation a long time ago and I can't go back in time, so I want to do it now."

He pauses for a moment, and when you realize he's waiting for you to say something, you respond, "Go ahead, Jamie."

He nods his head and almost looks like he's psyching himself up before a match. He takes another deep breath before continuing.

"I wanted to start from when I started to get distant. I never told you, but after I started at Man City, dad came back into the picture."

"He did?" Your voice was barely a whisper, and you're unsure if he even heard it because he keeps talking.

"You know how he is, right?" Of course, you did.

Growing up, you knew the exact times his dad would be coming over. There’d be some beat up car in their driveway and if you looked out your window, Jamie’s window blinds would be down. During the early years, you’d ask your mom to call their house, but after the first time and about a ten-minute call with Georgie, she started telling you they were busy. It was only after that outlying car in their driveway disappeared that Jamie would come knocking at your door, asking to play. He'd have this air of discomfort the first few days, but you were so happy being able to see him again that you’d end up ignoring it.

"Anyway, he was on my arse that whole time. He always had something to say after every match about how I fucked up or, how shit I'd been. Even if I was just sitting on the bench, he still had something to say. It was exhausting," You could tell that Jamie was starting to get angry at the reminder of his father, and without thinking, you reach out to hold his hand. Jamie seems to relax at your touch and when he seems to have composed himself, you let go.

"He would go on about the same things. Don't be soft, it's the fucking Premier League and shit like that. I just, I wanted it to stop. And I thought that toughening up would stop him from him getting under my skin. That meant removing everything that did make me soft, vulnerable. One of those things was you, but I realized now that it was in a good way. As in, I only ever felt comfortable and safe when I was with you." Your eyes widened at his confession and you felt tears threatening to fall.

"But fuck, Dad was really in my head back then. I thought that you were making me weak. And I hated the thought of him calling me that. So I stopped picking up your calls and messages. I just blocked you out.

"But when I started to realize I was becoming a prick, I thought you'd never want to talk to me again. That you'd hate me and it wasn't worth trying to get you to forgive me. Plus, Mum always had great stories about you, so I thought you were better off without me. I guess that's why I was such a prick back in the pub, pretending I didn’t know you. Might as well lean into it if I already lost you." At this point, you were resisting the urge to envelop Jamie in a hug and never let go, but you knew he wanted to finish his piece.

"And I know that it doesn't change the fact that it was a shitty way to treat someone I loved, but it's the best explanation I can give you. I really am sorry." Jamie held your eyes, emphasizing how genuine he was being. Someone I loved, did he really just say that? But he starts again before you can even consider what that meant.

"And, I really am trying to be better. I want to be worthy of staying in your life, if you'll let me. This time, I promise I'll never leave you like that ever again."

You were processing his words and couldn't answer immediately, so Jamie added, "And if you decide that you don't want anything to do with me, then you'll never have to see me again. But I promise to keep trying to be better even then."

You continued to stay silent and Jamie took that as your answer. "Right, so that's all I had to say, so I'll be out of—"

You wrap your arms around him, stopping him mid-sentence. The footballer is slow to reciprocate it, but when he does, you're transported back in time. It feels like you're eight again, and Jamie's football team just won the finals. It feels like you're fifteen again, and you've made up during a midnight run to the grocery after a stupid argument. It feels like you're seventeen again, saying goodbye to the only boy you've ever loved.

"I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you yet, Jamie. To go back to how it was before." You finally answer, and if you're being honest, you don't think you ever could go back. "But I want to be able to," you whisper and you feel him relax even more in your arms. "Just, don't fuck it up and leave again. Because I'd really love to have you in my life again."

"I promise I won't." And this time, you believe him.

A/N: and there you go! the angst is over! (or is it? muahaha) some cameos from liv and ted to help snap jamie out of it :) i had written jamie's apology monologue the same time i wrote reader's angry monologue from chapter three with some slight revisions when i put them in their respective chapters, so hopefully it matches up well stay tuned for the next chapter!!

TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchickrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamietarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @taytaylala12 @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fic #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #it's nice to have a friend series

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yexthiccxa · 1 year ago

Text

The Angel With Horns Pt. 2

summary: the man you despise, satoru gojo is unfortunately your mentor at jujutsu high. he agreed to help you get with your childhood crush, suguru geto, but things have taken a bit of a turn after that last "mentoring" session

this is a continuation of part 1, but if you don't care about plot, feel free to read this as a one shot (:

wordcount: 9.7k 🙃 (i guess i just get carried away. this is also 4 chapters btw)

c/w: gojo/fem!reader, geto/fem!reader, gojo/oc, geto/oc, modern!au, teacher!au, smut, fluff & smut, some plot, plot what plot, rough!sex, flashbacks, asshole!gojo, flirty!gojo, cocky!gojo, soft!geto, rough!geto, cousin!shoko, mutual pining, confessing, teasing, flirting, playful banter, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, sensual tension, sexual tension, pet names, degradation, fingering, f!masturbation, oral, fantasizing, choking, light gagging, multiple orgasms, inappropriate use of cursed energy, inappropriate use of cursed techniques

a/n: hiii thanks for the love on pt. 1! again this is my first fic so feedback is very much appreciated! will be working on part 3(some) ;)

Read Part 1 Here!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

Chapter 5: Regret

I’m alone with my thoughts, trying to stop the embarrassment from consuming me. I look out the windows before peeking down the hallway—no sign of Satoru anywhere. I realize I’m searching for someone who doesn’t want to be seen.

The intimacy I shared with Sugu—I mean, Satoru, has me conflicted. My mind thinks one thing, but my body feels the other, ultimately bringing me right back where I started. But this time around, my thoughts are coherent enough to take over.

If there’s anyone who would leave without saying goodbye, it’s Satoru. If there’s anyone who would be an absolute tease, it’s Satoru. If there’s anyone who would fuck now and not give a shit later, it’s Satoru. After all this time we spent together, I thought things would change. But now it’s crystal clear: Satoru Gojo will never change.

“Satoru is so annoying,” Shoko grumbled as she barged into my room.

“What’d he do this time?” I asked. With graduation around the corner, all I could think about was passing my exams.

“I asked him out, but he shot me down. He told me it’s because he likes someone else,” Shoko revealed.

To keep our conversation short, I replied with, “Yeah that sucks I guess, but I’m sure you’re better off just being friends.”

Shoko plopped herself onto my bed, lacing her fingers behind her head while she stared at the ceiling. “Honestly, that’s totally fine—but that’s not the annoying part,” she started. “The annoying part is that he won’t tell me who. He talks about all the girls he hooks up with, but now he wants to keep it a secret? I just don’t get Satoru.”

I let out a sigh, “Maybe he’s just messing with you the same way he does with me. After all, Satoru is such a dick.”

✦✧✸✧✦

I spend the evening doing chores in hopes of forgetting what happened earlier this afternoon. If Satoru is going to be like this, the best thing I can do is to leave the past in the past. With my mentorship being over, I have no reason to even think about him anymore. All I need to do now is stick to the plan and keep my energy focused on Suguru.

Oh, right. Suguru. As the image of him forms in my mind, I’m reminded of our date. I’ve been so caught up with Satoru, I realized that I’m nowhere near prepared for tomorrow.

He said to meet at his place, but are we staying there? Or just meeting, then going out? Should I dress up? Or down? Heels, boots, or sneakers? My internal debate goes on for far too long before I finally decide to give him a call.

The phone rings and I’m greeted with his signature velvety tone. “Did you miss the sound of my voice?” Suguru asks.

I’m immediately paralyzed, unsure of how to reply.

He lets out a little chuckle, “I’m just kidding. What’s up?”

“Ha. ha. Very funny.” I begin to ease up but butterflies still linger in my core. “I actually just wanted to ask what we’re doing tomorrow. I’m trying to figure out what to wear.”

Suguru pauses for a moment, “I don’t want to give away all the surprises, but let’s keep it simple and say dinner. I can’t tell you where, but just wear whatever makes you feel good.”

A surprise? My body tenses in excitement. “Okay, fine. I can work with this. Thank you! I’ll talk to you later!”

“No problem, see you tomorrow,” He replies.

Before I can hang up, Suguru calls for me one last time. When he gets my attention, he finally says, “I’m really excited for our date. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too.” I hang up the phone, and I can’t seem to wipe the grin off my face. I’m finally going on a real date with Suguru.

✦✧✸✧✦

The next day arrives and at 7pm, I find myself standing in front of Suguru’s door. I’m fixing the dress that I picked out the night before. It’s a black velvet mini dress with sheer cuffed sleeves. The sweetheart neck accentuates my chest, while the fitted flare skirt hugs my curves—the perfect blend of cozy, but classy. My nerves increase after the first knock, but it washes away when the door opens and I see Suguru’s face.

Although the door is only halfway open, his physical presence still commands the space. His smile is pure and his eyes gaze at me with sincerity. “Please come in,” he says.

When I walk inside to take off my shoes, he closes the door and his footsteps echo towards me. I feel his hand cup the small of my back and a shock jolts through my body. His fingers brush against the zipper of my dress. As he slowly leans down to my ear, he whispers, “You look beautiful tonight.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my heart begins to melt.

“Aww, thank you. You’re looking quite handsome yourself,” I reply, smiling in adoration.

I take a moment to look around the apartment and my eyes widen. Flower petals line the hallway floor, leading me to the living space. The space is larger than I would expect for a Tokyo apartment. Across the room, windows stretch from the floor to the ceiling, making it feel ten times bigger. The lighting is soft, but the glow from the lamps warm up the space.

My eyes continue to wander until they finally land on his dining room table. Though the table is set for two, it’s completely filled with several plates of food. I see perfectly formed pieces of nigiri, various bowls of soup, an array of grilled fish and meats, and bowls of rice neatly placed on the side.

“Oh my god, Suguru…did you make all of this?” I ask in disbelief.

He nods, curling his mouth into a smile.

“Do you do this for all your dates?” I challenge, raising my brow.

“Nope, just for you.” He makes his way towards the table. “Since you recently moved back, I wanted to make it feel like home.”

I can feel my jaw drop. I try to speak but nothing comes out. “I—I don’t even know where to start,” I finally reply.

He pulls out a seat and offers his hand to me, “You can start by eating.”

It takes everything I have to resist eating everything in one bite, but the taste is so delicious. Each bite is a burst of flavor that sends me to the moon. Even if our date ended here, I would easily be satisfied. When we finish up our meal, I help him pack the leftovers and clean up.

As we’re washing dishes together, I turn to him. “Suguru, thank you for cooking. You’ve always taken such good care of me. I really don’t deserve you.”

He pauses to turn off the water and wipe his hands. I watch him move towards me to cradle my face while his fingers trace the edge of my jawline. “I told you once before and I’ll tell you again, I like taking care of you. Always have, always will.”

We gaze into each other’s eyes, and for a moment, time stands completely still. I gently place my hands on his chest. His heart beats fast, like it’s trying to challenge my own. Is he just as nervous as I am? As I slowly grasp the wrinkles of his shirt, his pulse quickens and his breath becomes shallow. When I see his smile begin to form, I close my eyes and pull him down to meet my lips.

Suguru’s mouth molds into mine and it’s everything I could’ve ever imagined. I love how his lips are soft and his grasp is warm, nothing in this world can compare. As he guides me to the sink, my back arches and I can feel myself getting engulfed into his body. It’s covering me with comfort and protection. I’ve imagined this moment many times and it’s absolute perfectio—he pulls away.

Suguru walks towards the dining room and he mutters something with his head in his hands.

I follow him, tugging at his sleeve. “Hey, is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

He finds his way to the couch muttering, “No, no. It’s not you.” After a moment of thought, he continues, ”Sorry, I just thought I could do this but I’m scared of what might happen to us. I don’t want to hurt you, and I definitely don’t want to lose you again.”

I take a seat next to him, placing one hand on his shoulder, and the other over his knee. “Hurt me? Lose me? Again? Suguru, what are you talking about?”

He brushes my arm, hesitant for what comes next. The room is quiet and I can almost hear his heartbeat with mine. “During your last summer here,” he starts. He takes in a breath and slowly lets his words tumble out. “I was talking to Satoru for you—basically telling him to lighten up on the jokes and all that. He seemed to take it well, but I remember him saying, ‘Fine. But she’s leaving soon anyways so it doesn’t really matter.’ I wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but he ended up telling me that he overheard you talking to Shoko… about moving away.”

My heart drops as memories of that day slowly piece back together…

“Are you really going to leave?” Shoko asked.

I gave an apologetic nod. “It’ll be good for me to get out there, you know? I’d travel the world, learn from other teachers, see if there are bigger and better things out there for me.” I let out a sigh. “I feel like there’s not much here for me anymore.”

“I get it. Well, just know that I’ll miss you. I’m sure the guys will too,” Shoko said as she gave me a hug.

I laughed, “Doubt it.”

I return to the moment and look at Suguru. When he sees tears forming in my eyes, he wipes them away. His hand tightens around mine before he says, “I didn’t think that was true until you told me yourself. It hurt me so much inside but, who was I to stop you from finding yourself or seeing the world? You deserved to do all the things you wanted to do.”

But all I wanted was you. Are you saying you wanted me too? Droplets trickle down my face, but I keep my eyes locked onto his—taking in every single word.

“After you left, I was a mess. I stopped training, so my cursed energy weakened. Then during one of our missions, I fucked up and part of my soul merge with a cursed spirit. When it took over my body, it was strong. It’s a long story, but the main point is— I’m scared to get too close. I don’t think it’s safe.”

I bring myself in closer, moving my hand to his face. “But Suguru, I always feel safe when I’m with you. It’s always been like that, even now…especially now.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I’ve trained myself to control it. When I lose my senses, it slips out, and when it slips out…it isn’t pretty—it just doesn’t feel like me. Even though I’m still the same person physically, everything else becomes more intense. The rage, the aggression, all the things in between.”

He pauses, placing his hand around my cheek. “I like you, a lot. But if I ever let anything happen to you…or worse, if I let myself do anything to hurt you, I don’t know what I would do.”

My heart is pounding, my mind goes blank. The world goes silent as his voice becomes an echo. Is this…real? I open my mouth to let my words out, but nothing. I eventually muster up the strength to ask a question, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to, but when you said that you didn’t have anything left here… well, I thought that also meant me. I never wanted to be the one to hold you back.” He retracts and his face becomes resigned.

Before he can pull away, I bring my face to his. “Suguru, I’ve liked you for a very long time. And I appreciate you for letting me live my life, but I promise you—I’m ready for this. For you. For all of you.”

His face softens and shows a smile of relief. “All I want to do is take care of you,” he starts. I can feel his hands tremble. “But I’m scared of the person I’ll become.”

“Suguru…” I lift myself up, slowly climbing over to straddle him. His frame is large, but I still feel myself fit comfortably around him. As I settle myself onto his lap, I feel his bulge pulse against my center. The tension in the air grows as I move myself closer. I let my mouth linger inches away from his and whisper. “I trust you.”

He stops momentarily, savoring every last word that fell from my mouth. His eyes ignite and I can feel fire coursing through his soul. In one second, I feel his breath and in the next, I feel his mouth. He plants a kiss onto my lips, letting his hands roam around me.

Unlike before, this kiss is searing with passion. One hand grabs my hair while the other grabs my ass, and he lays me on the couch until his body is covering me. He pulls away for just a moment before he growls, “Then let me feel you, beautiful.”

Chapter 6: Rough

Something in the room has changed, as though the air has warmed up around us. Traces of Suguru’s cursed energy illuminate the room, forming a blue haze that floats above us. I let out a breath of awe—everything in this moment feels like a dream.

My attention floats back to Suguru as his kisses effortlessly consume me. It’s like he knows all the spots that make me tremble. As he kisses his way down my neck, his hands move to the contours of my curves. When he gets to my chest, he uses his fingers to pull down the neckline of my dress. My heart beats out of me as I’m completely exposed.

He stares for a moment, slowly cupping his hand around my breast. His tongue works my nipple, while my hands grab his hair. The tie on his bun slips and I feel his locks gently fall. The Suguru I’ve known has always been proper—pristine, but the way he looks right now makes him absolutely primal.

As his lips are tugging on me, I feel his hand slip between my thighs. They’re large and overpowering, but they feel so soft as they dance against my skin. There’s no doubt in my mind that his touch is absolutely perfect. His tugs turn into nibbles and a surge of liquid gushes between my legs. As my back arches with pleasure, he pulls off my panties and gently caresses my folds. Suguru brings himself up to kiss me and purrs, “Baby girl, you are soaking wet.”

He continues to treat my breasts with care and I can feel him rub the edges of my slit. I relax myself back into the couch and let the rhythmic passes of his fingers take me—teasing me with every stroke.

“Please Suguru,” I breathe. My voice is needy, unsteady.

He picks up his head while the edge of his mouth curls to the side. Easing his fingers into me, he rumbles, “Anything for you, my love.”

His fingers barely enter me, but the sheer size of them is enough to make me whimper. The thoughts in my head no longer exist. It’s just me, him, and the rush of desire flowing through me. As he glides them back and forth I can feel my juices slip out. My walls contract and pleasure grows between my thighs.

He slides in nice and slow, feeling every inch of the warmth inside of me. The ridges of his fingers press against me, massaging every crevice he can find. Oh how I wish this would never stop.

“Do you like when I touch your pussy like this?” Suguru asks. His voice is sultry and slow.

I can’t find the words so all I do is nod.

He slows down to give me a kiss before his smirk grows into a full on smile. He slides down the couch until he’s near my entrance. “Spread your legs and I can make you feel so much better.”

Whenever he speaks, goosebumps travel across my skin.

He lowers his head and drags his tongue across my slit. It’s wet and warm, emulating the essence of the cream between my legs. His mouth moves all over my center and I can feel myself pulsate against him. He sucks me, licks me, completely consumes me, and all I can do is yell his name. I lock my fingers onto his hair every time he makes me moan.

“You taste so good.” The vibration of his words travel through my walls.

Just like his kisses, his mouth is rough and needy, wanting to taste every bit of me. He swallows every bit of liquid that oozes out and I can tell his mouth is drenched because of me.

As he continues devouring me with his tongue, I feel the length of his fingers tease my entrance. He slides them into me and my moans begin to amplify. My back arches further and the tension continues to build.

His tongue and his fingers move perfectly in sync, I can’t take it. It’s wet, sloppy, and the drumming around my clit leaves me enchanted. I can feel myself reaching my limit.

“Don’t stop,” I pant. My moans become louder and I can feel the tingles creep into my core. “I— I’m gonna come.”

His pace remains steady, but that doesn’t stop the pleasure from climbing. He doesn’t pick up his head to speak, but the way he drives into me lets me know he’s saying, “Come for me.”

The thought leaves me in absolute heat. I let out one last moan and I feel the orgasm flow through my body. Waves of ecstasy slam against every end of my body. For a moment, I stay still, taking deep breaths and feeling every tingle leave my body. The clouds of Suguru’s cursed energy are still floating around us and I remember that this time, it’s not actually a dream.

I keep my eyes locked on Suguru as he climbs off of the couch. His hair is disheveled and his shirt is wrinkled, but he still looks as handsome as ever. He offers his hand to pull me up, and greets me with a kiss. I feel him pull away, but he remains close and utters softly, “I’m not done with you yet, beautiful.”

He gently turns me around and starts to unzip my dress. As his fingers brush off the fabric on my shoulders he tells me, “I’m warning you now… I’ve done my best to remain steady, but if I start to slip I can’t promise that you’ll like who I become. Are you sure you still want to do this?”

My dress drops to the floor and his gaze roams my body.

I slowly lift up his shirt and pull him close. “It’s okay Suguru, I can take it.”

✦✧✸✧✦

Suguru grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me into a fevered kiss. His body towers over me as I race to take off the rest of his clothes. When I make my way to his pants, I let my hand graze the length of his cock. He immediately hardens beneath me and the air takes another shift. The haze of blue swirls fade into red and his skin runs hot like fire.

I can barely pull down his slacks before he grabs my waist to pull me up against him. His skin is smooth, his chest is hard, and I can feel him brush against my center. When his strong grip takes a hold of my ass, I wrap my legs around him while he walks us to his room.

He sets me on the bed and guides me down until my back presses against his sheets. The lights are off, but the red fog illuminates the room—allowing me to make out the contours of his body.

He looms over me and begins to rub my clit. I hum in pleasure and roll my head back.

“You’ve barely even touched me and I’m already breaking,” he growls. He takes another look at my body and I can feel the hunger in his eyes. “You are god damn beautiful.”

Suguru uncovers his cock, and I can feel my eyes widen. He’s big. And I mean big. As he tugs against it, I feel my eyes locking onto him—he’s mesmerizing.

“Is something the matter, princess?” he smirks. His brow arches like it’s a challenge. “Like you said… you can take it.”

I do my best to bite back a smile as my heart continues to race. The haze grows brighter around us.

Suguru lowers himself onto the bed, guiding himself into me. He stretches me so wide, forcing me to moan—but I know it’s only the tip. He continues to ease himself inside and I can’t help but gasp for air.

Once my walls adjust to his size, he grips my thighs and picks up his tempo. I can feel his whole length beat against my cervix. I cry in pleasure as my back arches and my eyes begin to shut.

“Eyes on me, baby girl. The whole time.” My eyes shoot open and see a fiendish smile dance across his face. “Now show me how much of a slut you can be.”

He moves one hand up my body, stopping to stroke my nipple, before landing on the edge of my neck. His fingers gently press on the sides of my throat, leaving just enough passage for air to flow through. His touch is violent, his voice is stern, but all of it has me dripping in delight.

My mind goes numb, registering only the feelings of pleasure and pain. I knew he was large, but the magnitude of his cock leaves me speechless. I keep my gaze fixed on him as he drives inside me, making me cry out louder each time. All I can make out is, “Fuck, Suguru.”

“That’s my girl. Louder,” he growls. “Let me hear how much you need me.”

My moans begin to amplify, but that only makes his thrusts go deeper. I don’t know who this Suguru is, but he tames me like an animal and fucks me like a beast. Everything about this makes me crave him so much more. My thighs clench at the thought, making the juices leave my body. “Fuck—that feels…so—good.” My words are breathy and labored.

“Your pussy is so tight. Fitting for a little slut like you.” He releases briefly and forcefully flips me over. As he grabs a fistfull of my hair to pull me close to his face, I feel him whisper. “Let’s see how well you can take me from behind.”

He keeps his grip wrapped in my hair, and my head presses into his chest. I feel his power surge through me as he pushes his way back inside. My center is so wet, he makes driving into me seem effortless. When he rams into the front of my walls, I feel myself squeeze around him.

Suguru releases my hair, but he wastes no time. His fingers move to hook into my mouth, leaving every part of my body filled. His other hand remains painfully gripped around my waist. I struggle to catch my breath when his pressure doesn’t let up.

“You feel so good, baby girl. I could fuck you forever.” The vibration of his voice tickles the side of my throat. His pace is steady but his movements are rough and relentless.

Every beat has me screaming in desire.

Suguru lets his hands trail from my mouth to my center and uses the wetness on his fingers to rub my clit. I’m overwhelmed with pleasure as I feel my folds throb against him. With my mouth free, he plants hungry kisses onto my lips and I can feel my body wanting to release.

His hips continue to strike into me, causing tears to well into my eyes. They fall down my cheek, but his tongue slowly cleans it up before he returns his mouth back to mine.

The pressure inside grows and I feel my climax calling for me. He’s so good. All of him feels so good. I can’t stop thinking about the way he looks, the way he feels, how perfect he is inside of me. “Please don’t stop, I’m—gonna—” I can barely speak, let alone breathe. “Come.”

“As my little slut should. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” His breath quickens and the way his body moves tells me he’s close too. “Do you want me to come inside of you?”

I moan with pleasure and that’s the only confirmation he needs.

Suguru roars in desire, but the volume of my cry rivals him. I feel him release inside of me as tides of my orgasm flow through my body. My ears are ringing and my fingers go numb.

His come feels hot as it shoots up through me. As his grip tenses around me, I can feel them leaving bruises on my skin. He catches his breath and slowly glides his way out of me. I can feel his liquid dripping down my thighs.

I let myself settle back down onto the bed, feeling the remnants of my orgasm drift away.

Suguru adjusts himself so that his mouth hovers inches away from my ear. “Thank you for gracing me with that perfect little pussy.” he whispers.

No, Suguru. Thank you.

Chapter 7: Relax

The morning comes and the sun beams brightly through the windows. I wake up and see Suguru’s arm wrapped around me. His embrace gives me comfort, and I never want to let go. As I adjust myself to see his face, I notice how the rays of sun bounce off his back. The light illuminates the outline of his silhouette—he is truly an angel.

I think back last night—how raw, powerful, and commanding he was. But as I look at him now, I see that there’s no sign of the animal he once was. His eyes are softly shut, his mouth is calm, and his hair is gently swept across his face. I brush back the strands that have fallen, and place a delicate kiss on his cheek. With one last look of admiration, I slowly inch my way out of the bed to grab a glass of water.

“No, don’t go,” he softly groans. He’s half asleep, but his grasp pulls me right back next to him. He caresses the contours of my naked body, and I’m reminded of how good it feels to have his hands around me.

I let out a little chuckle, “I’m getting water, I’ll be right back.” I give him another kiss and he surrenders. I hear him grumble but he doesn’t fight back as I wiggle my way out of the bed.

I make my way through the living room, and back to the kitchen. Sunlight pours through the windows, unveiling the aftermath of our night. Our clothes are everywhere, the furniture is skewed, and the pillows from the couch have been dumped on the floor.

As I pick up the mess, I hear the door unlock and my heart immediately drops into my stomach. Fuck. I’m completely bare. Running back to the room would take too much time, so I race to put on the shirt that Suguru wore the night before. Who the hell is even at the…oh, it’s Satoru. I forgot they were roommates.

When I realize it’s Satoru, I feel my heart stop and a powerful rage fills me. I’m reminded of the anger, the horror, and the embarrassment I felt Friday afternoon. I thought I could look past it, but I let my emotions consume me.

As the door closes, I hear a vexing voice drifting my way. “Looks like someone had a little fun last night.”

I march up to him as the hems of Suguru's shirt brush against my knees. “What the hell is your problem, Satoru?”

He continues setting down his belongings. “For someone who looks like they had great sex, you seem a little feisty.” His tone is mellow, his grin is smug. It’s everything I hate about him.

All I want to do is scream, but with Suguru asleep, my voice remains hushed. “One—yes, I did have great sex, thank you for noticing. But two—I’m furious with you. What happened on Friday? You literally just left me there. And three—What is your problem? What kind of sick person does that?”

Satoru leans himself against the table. “Listen, angel. I did you a favor.”

I rush in front of him to block the noise from traveling too far. “Keep it down,” I snap at him.

Satoru picks himself up and takes a step towards me. His face hovers over me and I can feel my heart shudder. Our gaze latches onto each other as he softly whispers in my ear. “You seemed like you were enjoying yourself there, and trust me… while I would’ve loved to go further, I couldn’t take that away from Suguru.”

My arms cross and my stare remains unwavering. I scoff in his face. “You are so annoying. What makes you think I would ever let you have sex with me?”

“You wouldn’t?” He fires back quickly.

My jaw drops. I want to shoot back, but I’m at a complete loss for words. The hesitation is enough for his look to become even more self-assured.

He steps a bit closer and the heat from his body warms the air. “I’m just kidding angel. Although, I’m sure Suguru wouldn’t mind sharing.”

I push him back with enough force for him to bump the table. “Satoru!”

He makes his way around me and charges straight for the rooms. “You know what? We can just ask him about that right now. Hey Su—”

“Satoru, shut up!” I try to pull him back but his force is too strong.

A raspy voice emerges. “Good morning,” Suguru appears from the hallway leading to the room. He looks at us and breaks into a gentle laughter. “I guess some things never change with you two.”

He walks over to me, wrapping his hand around my waist to give me a kiss. “Nice shirt.”

My cheeks flush as I'm reminded that all I have on is Suguru’s oversized tee. I cling to him in embarrassment.

Satoru watches us move to the couch as he grabs a drink from the refrigerator. His brow perks up with interest. “This is new. Looks like you two had a fun night,” he calls from across the room.

I feel my eyes burn as I glare at him.

Suguru wraps his arm around me as a gesture of reassurance and I settle into his arms. “Satoru, relax. Don’t you have other women to fuck or bother? Leave mine alone.” He kisses me on the forehead and I look up at him with affection.

Satoru grabs his drink and strolls to his room. “Yes, your majesty,” he mocks Suguru lovingly. He turns to me with a sarcastic bow. “Sorry m’lady, please go about your day.”

I roll my eyes at him before directing my attention to Suguru. “How do you do that?” I ask curiously.

“Do what?” he replies.

“I don’t know, wrangle him? Satoru always listens to you.”

“I get him out of so many things, he basically owes me for life.”

“You’re always looking out for everyone, aren’t you?" I smile because this is the Suguru I know and love. Nothing about him could ever scare me away.

He turns to look at me like I’m the only person in the world. “But it’s only fun when I get to do it for you.”

✦✧✸✧✦

Our morning together is exactly what I hoped it would be. We spend a good bulk of our time preparing breakfast—grilling fish and whipping up tamagoyaki, just to scarf it down with a side of rice.

Unfortunately for me, Satoru joins us for the meal. However, I’m pleasantly surprised when he decides to keep the conversation tame. As much as I hate the guy, he’s not completely intolerable. We spend a few moments cracking jokes and I watch them playfully argue about who would win in a fight. As I look around the table, I smile. I’m overjoyed with the feelings of nostalgia that whip through my soul.

After we finish cleaning up our meal, Satoru heads back into his room while Suguru and I plop ourselves on the couch. He rests one elbow on the armrest, and the other around my shoulder. I snuggle myself into him and rest my head on his chest. He plants a kiss on my forehead and His eyes light up with his genuine smile.

I've shared many years of my life with Suguru, yet none of them have been quite like this. His cuddles comfort me, his kisses revive me, and his touch—well, his touch ignites me in ways I can’t describe.

“You know, I could stay like this forever,” I say to him.

“What do you mean?” His brow lifts.

“Being cuddled up against you. It’s the best feeling.” I smile because it’s true.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is great,” he begins. “But I can think of a couple more things that might feel better.” He moves from the armrest, letting his fingers graze my chest and dance down my body. He lifts up the hem of my shirt.

A jolt of arousal runs through me when I feel the pads of his fingers rub against my panties.

“Suguru!” I playfully push him off with a smile.

He raises his brow and smirks. “What’s wrong? Don’t think you can handle another round?”

“Satoru is right there,” I murmured, carefully keeping my voice down.

Suguru adjusts himself to get a better angle of my lips and presses his mouth against mine. “He can fuck off. Let him see.”

My attention is immediately averted when I hear a passing voice coming from the bathroom.

“I’m right here,” Satoru calls out as he crosses the opening in the hallway.

Without breaking the kiss, Suguru lifts his hand from me, and I shift my eyes to see his middle finger raised at Satoru. I chuckle.

Satoru returns to his room and shuts the door. Once we’re back to being alone, Suguru returns my kisses and focuses his attention back to my folds.

The pleasure rises as I feel his lips part and he slips his tongue into my mouth. He hums against my lips as his fingers gently rub my clit. No matter how many times he touches me, I still feel a rush. My body gets lighter as it drifts away, in search of euphoria and I mutter curses under my breath. I wish this feeling would never stop. My thighs begin to clench as I feel liquid form between them. This is so—

Buzz. I hear his phone chime on the table. He silences it and stays fixated on me.

Buzz. He tries to ignore it, hoping it will pass.

Buzz. He hesitates. Now completely distracted, he momentarily breaks away. “I’m so sorry. Do you mind if I take this real quick?”

I nod, moving from him so he can get up to take the call. I can’t really make out the conversation, but judging from his tone, it doesn’t seem great.

He hangs up the phone and shoots me with an apologetic smile, “Yaga needs me to help with some curse clean up, but it shouldn’t take long. I promise. Do you mind if I step away for a little bit?”

My brow furrows. “Why doesn’t he ever call for Satoru’s help?”

“For what it’s worth, he does call him. But have you met Satoru?”

“Yeah you’re right.” I remember our conversation from earlier. I get him out of so many things, he basically owes me for life. Damn you, Satoru. You owe him—or rather me, big time. I let out a sigh as disappointment washes over me.

Suguru gives me a soft kiss, though he knows that isn’t enough to satisfy the arousal between my legs. “I’m so sorry. Feel free so stay if you want, make yourself feel at home,” he starts. “It’s 12 right now, so I’ll probably be back in an hour—two hours, max. I promise.”

As he gathers himself together, Satoru approaches from his room and appears in the hallway crossing. He rests his arm on the edge of the frame and directs himself to Suguru. “Hey, I heard some shuffling, are you going somewhere?”

My eyes widen as I notice Satoru’s body stretched along the wall. He’s only wearing a pair of sweats while his top is completely bare. The sun from the windows hits the contours of his muscles, making his skin glisten. His white hair rests gently on his face as he tilts his head in curiosity. The blue in his eyes are centered on Suguru but the color still pierces my vision from afar.

My gaze goes from the top of the frame and travels down the length of Satoru’s forearms. It reaches the subtle curves of his bicep and slowly creeps down to the lines of his chest and the ridges of his abs. His build is lean, and his body is defined. My eyes slowly roam as they follow the lines of the V-shaped trail that leads right down to—fuck. Stop.

What am I doing?

I snap out of it and return to find myself plugged in mid-conversation.

“...I can go if you want,” Satoru finishes.

Suguru continues to round up his things, but pauses to place an arm on Satoru’s shoulder and sighs. “I would love that, truly. But no offense, you’d probably get yourself into trouble. Yaga would just call me anyways to clean up your mess too.” He turns to me with a regretful look, pleading for forgiveness. “It’s just faster if I do it myself, I promise I’ll be quick.”

Satoru huffs as he rolls his eyes. “You’re right, but offense has still been taken.”

One more kiss and Suguru heads to the door. “Be a good mentor and take care of her while I’m gone. Try not to be an asshole.” His voice trails, but he stops momentarily to give me one last heartfelt smile. The door closes and my gut churns as I’m left staring at a shirtless Satoru.

Satoru lifts himself off of the frame and heads back to his room. Before the door shuts, he mockingly calls out, “Don’t worry angel, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

I shake my head and let out an exasperated breath. Even when he’s being cordial, he still gets under my skin.

With Suguru gone, I’m unsure of what to do. My core still feels tight and there’s the lingering arousal between my legs. Satoru has locked himself in his room, so it feels like I have most of the apartment to myself. I use this as the perfect opportunity to draw myself a bath so I can finally relax.

✦✧✸✧✦

Stepping into the tub, the immediate warmth cocoons me. It reminds me of being wrapped in Suguru’s embrace. I take a few moments to unwind, feeling the comfort of the water against my skin. My head rests on the edge of the tub as I close my eyes and let my mind drift…

Slowly…

Drift…

My vision jumps to Suguru as he hums into my breasts and teases my folds. His touch is warm and playful, but it’s no surprise that I long for more. The image in my mind is clear, but the feeling falls short. I let my hands slip between my thighs and let the gentle pressure of my fingers fuel my fantasy.

The image shifts, and I envision how Suguru’s frame completely overpowers me. His shoulders are wide, his muscles are thick, and I let my eyes trail down his beautiful body. The contours of his abs feel like steel, but his skin is smooth as his hips rock against me. My gaze reaches his cock and it’s already trickling in arousal.

He teases me, gently sliding the tip across my slit. I bite my lip to hold back my whimper. When he sees how needy I am for him, he guides his length into me and I feel him expand my walls. I let myself mimic the motions with my hands and a rush of pleasure flows through me.

Suguru grinds his hips, thrusting everything he has into me until my pussy is completely filled. The rhythmic motion leaves me dizzy and I can feel my vision beginning to blur. The tension inside me boils as I imagine the friction of his cock massaging me. All of his ridges compliment my own and I can feel myself drip with desire.

Suguru’s presence invades my thoughts and a moan escapes my breath. As I feel myself pulsate against the pressure of my fingers, a devilish voice drifts through my head. Though I can’t make out the voice, the thought just fuels my fire.

“He would tell you you’re soaking wet,” I continue working my clit until I’m on the brink of pleasure. I squirm as the tingles of my orgasm begin to peek over the horizon.

“He would say you’re god damn beautiful,” The words make my core flutter and my center continues to throb. I’m close, so close. The image in my head flips.

“Does he make you feel good?” Yes. So good. A vision of Satoru pounding into me resonates through my body. I’m about to—

“Yes, angel. Come for—” Fuck.

My eyes immediately shoot open when I realize the narrator of my thoughts. No, no, no, no. That did not just happen. I feel like I just woke up from a mortifying nightmare. But…if it’s a nightmare, then why do I still feel myself quiver? Stop.

I grab my towel and I shake my head to wipe away the image. As I let the bath drain, I find myself deep in thought. Why the hell is Satoru in my head and how do I get him out? I press my fingertips against my temples. Please just leave.

I try to collect myself, but memories of Friday with Satoru flood my brain. I get flashbacks of his fingers pressing into me and I immediately feel weak. I remember his tongue on my center and it makes my heart skip a beat. Stop. In my haste, I bolt out the door and collide into a large figure.

I lift my head up to see Satoru standing before me. The warmth of his skin bounces off of me. “What the hell are you doing?” My voice is raised, but he doesn’t realize it’s because he invaded my thoughts.

Satoru furrows his brow with one hand holding a towel around his waist, and the other raised up in defense. “Whoa, can’t I take a bath in my own house?”

My pupils dilate when I realize our towels are the only thing in between our bodies. It takes every bit of willpower to not let my eyes linger below his waist. I decide to keep my head down and swiftly maneuver past him. “Oh, right. Fine, just go ahead.” I get to the front of Suguru’s door, and my hand hovers over the knob.

Before I can turn it, Satoru calls out to me. “By the way, I noticed you were a little loud in there.” I try to move, but my body stands still. ”Were those moans for me?”

I’m frozen in shock. I tilt my head to see if his gaze is darting towards me—it’s not. Instead, all I see is his towel drop, but the door shuts before I can see it hit the floor. Nice ass—Stop.

My cheeks flush, my heart races, and I’m pretty sure my entire soul has left my body. How do I leave every interaction with Satoru feeling absolutely mortified?

Chapter 8: Repeat

Were those moans for me? No. Yes—I mean kinda? So what if they were? Fucking hell, this cannot be happening right now. Stupid Satoru and his stupid charm.

As I struggle to push the thoughts aside, I check the clock and it’s 12:30 pm. It’s only been thirty minutes since Suguru left. That’s okay, I can just relax in his room and avoid Satoru for the next hour and a half. I let out a groan and try to figure out my next move.

I set the towel down and look at my options for clothing—Suguru’s shirt from last night, dirty. The dress that I wore here, dirty. My panties sitting on the floor, soaked… and dirty. With my options limited, I settle for a fresh t-shirt from Suguru’s dresser, hoping he won’t mind. Similar to the last one, this one barely grazes my knees—but it’s cozy nonetheless.

I spend some time mindlessly scrolling away on my phone, until my stomach starts to growl—I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I tiptoe my way to the door and press my ear against the wood to see if there’s any sign of Satoru in the common space. It seems quiet, so I think the coast is clear—but of course, it isn’t.

Satoru is sitting at the dining table with his headphones in. He looks like he’s intently watching something on his phone. His hair is a bit wet, and he still hasn't gotten around to putting on a shirt. Can’t blame him though, it is his apartment after all. After a moment, he notices that I’ve stepped out of Suguru’s room and pauses the video to talk to me.

“Oh hey, you’re alive! I thought you were either masturbating, napping, or dead so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I give him a half smile, spotting an unfinished plate of food resting in front of him. It reminds me why I went out in the first place.

“You’re probably hungry. Here, I can warm up something for you.” Before I can protest, he’s already up to grab me a plate, some chopsticks, and containers from the refrigerator.

“Oh okay, thanks.” Satoru hasn’t teased me yet. In fact, he’s actually being nice? So far so good. I take a seat at the table and try to figure out what’s playing on his phone. “What are you watching?”

“It’s this movie about some mad scientist who turns—”

“People into worms,” I help finish off his sentence.

He smiles. “Yeah, Human Earthworm 4. You know it? One of my students keeps pestering me to watch it. It’s messed up, but I actually think it’s kinda funny.”

“Yeah, I knew I recognized it! I’ve seen this one before and it’s pretty good. Unlike the others, this one feels more like a romance.” I reply with a laugh.

After setting down my food, Satoru disconnects his headphones and moves his plate to the spot next to mine. He props his phone in between us and we spend the last 20 minutes of the movie eating our lunch, huddled closely together around his phone. His body heat radiates as our shoulders touch, sending a brief shock through me.

When we finish our meal, I wipe down the table while he washes the dishes in the sink. We laugh about the movie, share sentiments about the storyline, Satoru even comes up with theories on what Human Earthworm 5 would be like. In moments like this, I’m reminded of the times in our mentorship where we actually got along. This is nice—this Satoru is nice.

As I finish putting the last container back into the fridge, I hear him turn off the faucet. I turn around to see him dry his hands and lean on the edge of the counter. I can tell something in his demeanor has changed. His mouth opens to say something, but he decides to keep it shut.

“Is everything okay?”

He looks away, scratching the back of his head as if he’s nervous to speak. “So, you never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Your bath. Your moans. Were they—”

I immediately cut him off while my eyes roll, and my shoulders drop. I was hoping he wouldn’t bring it up, but I should’ve known better. All Satoru wants to do in life is get under my skin. “I really don’t understand you. I know you’re capable of being a nice and normal human being, so why do you insist on antagonizing me like this?”

He takes a step forward, like it’s a challenge. “You’re not denying it, so I can’t be completely wrong.”

My mouth twitches open, but I hesitate. I guess I’m not denying it.

Satoru moves another inch closer, causing me to take a small step back. His powerful presence is all I can feel. His velvety tone delivers his words nice and slow. “Do you want to know the beauty of the Six Eyes, angel? It means that I can see everything.”

I feel the heat rush to my cheeks and I take in a sharp breath. Everything? What does he mean by everything? “Wh—What are you talking about?” I stammer.

His words are paced and methodical. “I see the way your cursed energy changes every time I walk in the room.”

There’s silence.

“...I can see the way it gravitates towards me when I rest on the doorframe, and the way it struggles to hold your gaze up when I’m wrapped in a towel.”

The sound of my heart fills the room.

“...I see the way it vibrates when you try to get a glimpse of my ass.”

My jaw drops open, but nothing comes out.

“...And I definitely see it sync with your heartbeat whenever I whisper in your ear.”

His hand grazes my shoulder while the other gently caresses my waist. I let him. My gaze locks onto his and I’m completely hypnotized.

Satoru slowly leans down and stops until his face is next to mine. “You want me, angel.”

I stiffen my spine, in hopes of him seeing that I won’t back down. But who am I kidding? I’ve already been caught in his trap. As I take in the scent of his freshly bathed body, I feel myself gush between my thighs. In that instant, I’m reminded that my only piece of clothing is an oversized shirt. “So what if I do?”

Satoru smiles, gently pinning me against the refrigerator. He places his forehead on top of mine and can feel his gaze burn through me. “Do you remember the rules I told you about on your first day back?”

One—If you want me, don’t want me.

Two—If you need me, don’t need me.

Three—If you need my help, help yourself first.

I let him lift my chin and gently kiss my lips. “I think they were for me more than they were for you. Because right now, I want you too.”

When I kiss him back, I feel his touch become more needy. I haven’t said a single word, but he knows my actions speak louder. He grabs my waist and flips me around so that my hips are pinned against his counter, allowing him to go deeper into the kiss. His grip is demanding, desperate to feel every bit of my body.

“I played nice and let Suguru have his fun, but I’m telling you right now—I need you.” He briefly pulls away and I see a rush of desire filling his hungry eyes. “So please angel, help me.”

I direct one of his hands to the bulge of his pants and the other underneath my shirt and in between my legs. “How about you help yourself first.”

“No panties? Angel, you’re making this way too easy.” Satoru tugs down his pants to reveal his cock, stroking it as he teases my folds. He drops his forehead onto my shoulder and I hear him groan as he pleases himself. The size of his length is enough to make me gasp. I watch his large hands tug on it before my vision is blocked by Satoru pressing his lips into mine.

My arms stretch back onto the counter and I can feel the coolness of the sink spike through my fingers. My head rolls back and the rays of sunlight blind me as Satoru kisses his way down my neck.

“I always thought you were a good girl,” he growls in my ear. “I never expected you to prove me wrong.”

The words send shivers down my spine and I immediately tangle my fingers into his hair. He slides his fingers inside of me and my slick oozes out onto his hands. I feel the warmth of his pads, the ridges of his knuckles, I feel everything. He glides himself in and out, and the pressure instantly makes my walls convulse.

He continues to jack himself off and his breath becomes labored. The warmth in his breath hugs me as his kisses move back to my mouth. He’s desperately clinging to my lips and I can hear his groans as I tug on his hair.

He breaks away, panting, leaving our faces inches from each other. “Do you want to know the real reason I left that day?” he reveals.

My gaze locks onto his beautiful blue eyes.

“If I stayed, I would’ve wanted more. I would’ve dropped my limitless and it would be over.” Satoru slows down the pace of his fingers, and I feel myself dripping down on him with excitement. I guide the rest of his pants off and he gently lifts off my shirt.

The softness of his skin roams my body, leaving a trail of fire within me. When his hands are done searching, he drags them up to cup my face. “I left because… If I had the chance to feel you, and I mean really feel you, I would’ve fucked you until your legs give out.”

My mouth twitches and I raise my brow to challenge him. “Prove it.”

Before I can even think, Satoru’s hands race to grab a hold of my thighs. He lifts me up until my elbows are resting on the counter and my feet are off the floor. His grip is powerful as he drives his cock straight into me. No easing, no adjusting, just pure thrusting. I immediately throw my head back and moan in sincere delight, knocking over the dish rack behind me.

His hands venture over to my ass, squeezing so hard like he wants to milk every last bit of me. I don’t mind the bruises as long as it showers me with bliss. The pounding of his hips against mine reverberates through the entire room. All I hear is our moans mix with groans and he’s fucking me senseless like a messy symphony of pleasure and pain.

As his cock drills into me, I feel my back ache as he presses me into the counter. The edges dig into me, but the arousal between my legs overpowers it all. “Fuck.”

When Satoru notices, he eases his stroke to pick me up, and carries me to the table. “Maybe this will be a little more comfortable for you.”

I feel my cheeks touch the surface and slowly lower my back onto the wood. Satoru picks up one of my legs and throws it over his shoulder. Once he settles, he resumes pace and doesn’t let up. Whatever angle he has me at has his cock ramming directly into the sensitive spot in my pussy. I struggle to find a grip on the table, causing the vase of faux plants to crash.

“Angel, you are so tight.” His words have my moans growing louder by the second. How can I be an angel when Satoru fucks me like he’s the god damn devil?

His pace slowly increases and I feel my orgasm works its way to my core. “S—so close.”

Satoru removes his hold from my waist and brings his fingers to his mouth. He wraps his lips around them, before placing them on my clit. The initial shock stuns me, causing my walls to contract. He works with an even pressure, smearing all of my slick around me. The vibrations of his fingers build up inside of me and I can feel my body on the brink of release. He gives one last thrust, knocking down a chair and shaking the table, and I immediately crumble.

My orgasm shoots out from my core, down my legs, and through my toes. I let out a moan but it feels like my cry can be heard from miles away. The pleasure overtakes me and a rush of ecstasy floods my brain. My eyes snap shut, my body tenses, but as my orgasm fades, I wonder if I just died and got railed to heaven.

Satoru falls over me, panting hard to catch his breath. He lifts his head and curls his mouth into a smile. I return his smile with a complementary chuckle.

I slowly prop myself up when suddenly, a voice suddenly emerges from the hallway. “Satoru, you cheeky little bastard. When I said take care of her, I didn’t mean it like that.” Fuck. Suguru.

My mind goes blank and I can’t even move. Satoru’s head perks up as he turns to face Suguru. The air is tense and the silence lingers for far too long. Time slows down and it feels like no one has moved in what feels like hours. As I focus my attention on Suguru, I’m puzzled to see the reaction on his face. I fully expect anger and rage, but it’s…not?

“Hey, I—” Satoru starts.

Suguru lifts up his brow and the side of his mouth twitches into a smirk. “Well, are you going to let me join, or am I just gonna sit here and watch?”

As my eyes widen, Satoru turns his head back towards me. “See angel, I told you he wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Read Part 3 Here

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