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barnacles34 · 9 days ago

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Mr. Rager, Can I Tag Along?

Part I

Synopsis: Mr. Rager finally joins the birds in the skies. Dedicated to the song Mr. Rager by Kid Cudi.

tags: 8k, smut, so much romance, fluff, addiction, recovery, virgin Ryujin

Ryujin x Male OC

CHAPTER I:

You might hear the birds singing flying around,

You never see them too long on the ground,

You wanna be one of them, yeah.

Cocaine toxicity. Solipsism finally vindicated. He was going to die—truly. That cloudy feeling of mind and body separation, as if the ribbons of heaven had finally let him grasp their reins, swaying him toward some version of forever happiness.

Mmmm.

He thought he’d care about dying right there in the nightclub. The shame of weakness, of collapsing with foam at the corners of his mouth—he’d truly thought he’d care more about it. But now, one worry gone, he was worriless. Life had its charm, but it wasn’t for him; he’d been walking on sticks until the very end. Now, the floor felt so right. His body sank into it, slipping slowly, as if turning to slime and merging back into the earth.

Each second, his grip over his fingers weakened, a constant slackening with every passing moment. His eyelids grew heavy, and the outline of the nightclub around him blurred. He couldn’t control his fingers anymore; he was truly sinking. When would heaven begin? When would this fantasy end? Mind-death, a complete and utter submission to the lifeless realm - he’d never recover.

The faint tingling of powder lingered at the rim of his nostrils. At least, he’d had a good high - a nice ecstasy haze along the fine columbian - before dying. Finally, his eyes closed, nerves shutting down, and he felt free, unchained from his body like a ghost.

"Stay with me!" A voice, deep and feminine.

Hm?

"Don’t close your eyes!" Again, that voice.

What?

Whatever. It was too late anyway.

"How many fingers am I holding up!?" Still images flashed through his fading consciousness, fingers held up just before his face, barely visible, though he couldn’t tell how many anyway.

"What’s your name?" He couldn't place a face on the voice, but it was distinctly feminine - separate from his inner voices.

They were trying so hard. If they’d responded any faster, he might’ve been forced to go back - to life.

Go back…

Did he want to go back?

Hell.

Mr. Rager - that’d be a good name, he thought. If he were reborn, given another chance, that’s who he’d be.

"Mr. Rager!"

What? Could the paramedic hear him?

"Mr. Rager! Come back! Fight back! Don’t go off on an adventure!"

—

Flash. Eyes open. He was alive - he was… alive.

"Mr. Rager. You’re okay; don’t make any sudden movements." A soft, padded palm rubbed his forehead with a gentle, compassionate touch. He looked up. A young woman, petite yet strikingly beautiful, looked back at him.

"What’s your name?" he asked, despite himself. Still a bachelor, after all. "My name is Ryujin." She was dressed in a way he couldn’t quite place, something different from what he expected. "I’m part-time, by the way," she said, noticing his confused look. "That’s why my clothes are different." He rubbed his forehead; it was pounding, but with a distant sort of ache, incongruous with a proper headache. “What the hell happened?” he asked, properly confused. “You went into shock, someone already administered naloxone to your body, thankfully; otherwise, you would’ve-” she abruptly bit her tongue, preventing herself from talking about a potentially sensitive topic that Mr. Rager was subjected to.

“And, by the way, this was my first call ever.” A subtle transition, a conversation starter.

He blinks, trying to relieve the soreness in his eyes, “God, I’m sorry, this is such a fucking shitty situation.” And the way he said it, that emotional self-deprecation.

She might’ve realized something, “Were you trying to commit suicide?” She asked, very bluntly.

“It’s none of your business. Thank you for the hospitality, I’ll be taking my leave now.” When he tried to take the IV fastened to his vein, Ryujin softly, with the firmest grip and tone, said, “You’re going nowhere.”

All Mr. Rager could think of were cuss words, cusses against the world, against destiny to be alive for the foreseeable future.

A resolve to suicide is the moment the mind, at the cusp of mind-death, truly enters a dead mind. The inescapable rock-bottom, a self-fulfilling prophecy where one feels truly and utterly fastened to the floor - inhibited of all its freedoms, its happiness.

–

Mr. Rager, or better known as Min amongst his peers - not friends. At the hands of his peers, Mr. Rager sustained a traumatic head injury that tormented him with chronic migraines right from the start of it all - the drunk brawl, that he decisively lost in, at just the age of 17.

See, Mr. Rager had not a single family member except his aunt who embezzled all the funds Rager’s parents left for him. And the last time he tried to talk with his aunt was when he sustained a knife wound on his forearm from her - a deeply tormented individual, she was locked in a home-made cage for most of her adolescence.

And, unfortunately, there’s not a single time where his life is measurably better than the year before - only getting worse until the overdose.

–

Ryujin didn’t inquire further, she was hoping somewhat that her presence might help Mr. Rager. She sat next to Mr. Rager, her hand still on the side of the hospital bed, feeling its soft fabric. Mr. Rager, still irritated, asked, “Why are you still here?”

“Cause I want to be here.” A joking undertone, perfectly acted out. In truth, Ryujin pitied him so much, her first patient, a successful businessman who tried to kill himself at the age of 29 - now that’s fucking rare, usually the cases accelerate at the age of 50 or so.

“Why’d you take this job?”

She replied, “Artistic inspiration.”

“Hm, fantastic idea by the way.” He was sincere about it.

“Thanks.”

“Do you have enough material now?”

“Oh. Plenty. Plenty enough.” She giggled.

“What if I don’t consent to my likeness being represented in your art - medium, whatever?”

“Mr. Rager, don’t you worry, I’ll refurbish it so much that it'll be closer to the likeness of… let’s say… me.”

“Quit the teasing,” he stated, straight to the point.

“I don’t want to.” She replied back, he was one of the few people where teasing seemed to genuinely improve their immediate well-being, and for someone like Mr. Rager - it’s huge. And, he was finally laying, no longer trying to plan an escape, on the flatbed, staring at the ceiling, observing the music player. “By the way, is this music player provided to everyone recovering?” He’s not one to mix words.

“You’re pretty smart.” She replies, a confirmation, fiddling with her torn skirt, presumably from rushing into her para-medic role.

“That’s what I owe you for?”

“Mhm.” Still fiddling, a pouty sort of face formed on her face, it was her favorite skirt.

“How do you want the debt paid?” He inquired, he’s one to never ignore the nascent attachment to his favorite items - thus, he understands: the exorbitant value placed on favoritisms. “I dunno. You’ll still owe me. Big Time.” She stared back, this time, their eyes entwined with a sort of friendliness that is almost, just almost, ethically wrong in hospital circumstances.

“Very well then.” His tired eyes kept pulling on his eyelids. Genuine sleep had seemed to completely take over his body, and yeah, that’s all the meds he’s under: naloxone, antibiotics, withdrawal medicine, and a lovely dose of morphine. “I feel new.” His voice was dozing as his intra-reflection began. As he nodded off, he felt the faint grasp of her hand, so small, yet filled with so much conviction. He’s tripping balls, but she’ll never tell him - presence was what was required of her.

And that was all the validation he needed: for sleep.

As Mr. Rager finally slept; Ryujin stayed for a bit, or about 4 hours. And, still, she’s sitting beside him - making sure that he sleeps and recovers. Just from the chance encounter of a paramedic call, she felt the compulsion to guard Mr. Rager. Poor girl, if she’d seen a dead body for her first call then she’d vomit a week’s worth onto the ground.

After another hour, Ryujin finally decided it was time to leave. She wrote a thoughtful letter, of things that needn’t be said - obviously. But she also left a partition, finagling a creative way to demand what she’s owed. After, she let her boss know that she quit on the spot, that she’d also come back to the same room - a reservation of some sort. She left, leaving the stale, minty air of the hospital with a melancholy that wouldn’t be fixed until she saw him again. Because, when she was writing the note, she wished she asked more questions - Mr. Rager just seemed to lead on the conversation to a charming degree, that other circumstances were of lesser importance.

Ryujin, outside, breathing in the fresh air of the summer, caught the last bus of the route. This route, passing by the road that she was taken on inside the paramedic van, also led to her apartment. Unfortunately, it’s an old, decrepit apartment where only the rudest sort of parties happen. Half the time, the floor above is vibrating thump, thump, thump from the heavy jumps, or the lower floor blasts some of the most needlessly, eardrum-breaking music.

At least she has solitude. Finally free from the dictates of those she didn’t get along with, finally separated from her friends who’d get too boring if she hung along for too long. Now, her family is charming - easy to get along with; now, her friends are always interesting - fascinating to be around. Distance is a marinating technique, or whatever.

Ryujin, the charming shut-in, finally arrived at her place, and began on her art piece. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to list that’s positive about her obsession with art. It’s the time where she vents her frustrations of being a failed trainee - rather, a placement that was restricted from becoming an idol; wallows in the misery of the color tone she loves the most: dark; and, to top it off, she gets bored of visual arts when she tries to make money off of it. Some dastardly sign from the man above, “Your hobby will stay a hobby.”

All that displeasure would be the paint upon the canvas: checkmate, mental turmoil turns to art, she thought. Swipe and swipe, the dirty colored watercolor painting had nearly no form worth thinking - almost entirely brown from the intermixing of the wet, damp color. Then the second layer, an apparition of segmentation, a deeper color, colors that entice and bite back. Then the specificity of the lines, things left unspecified were on purpose. But, this recurring thought, this pounding idea, that she left a man that fell in the depths of the void alone - really began digging into her soul. This thought unto Ad Nauseam brought her nausea that really can’t be eliminated with the will of her conscience. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve stayed” - the recurrent thoughts that never seemed to leave her. With a sad howl, she fell to the side, crying deep, ruining all her pretty into the sheets - a room so small that her chair was the bed.

–

“I’m still alive”, Mr. Rager repeated this to himself over and over after waking up - not sure whether to feel some sort of rendered triumph. For a moment, he was truly tip-toed in the void, almost encased into the endless hope, of unrendered reality and a horrible sadness; now, he’s alive, breathing, with a full control of his body.

Nothing had caught his attention, the environment, whether there were people around him or not, only life as he knew it - coursing through his veins. The feeble thumps of his chest - his heart, still persevering.

–

Several days of this sort of morning locomotion went on, it was also the time that Ryujin came over. Poor girl brought over new confectionaries - mostly of her favorites; brought lunch boxes she herself fully funded; found ways to amuse herself and Mr. Rager during the listless hours.

“What’s the interest rate of this debt? Surely, a person like me, fastened to the bed with belts (a pure exaggeration), wouldn’t be extorted with dubious rates?”

“Mr. Rager, you’ll have to declare bankruptcy by the end of it, seriously. You owe me. Big time.” She joked back, of course, she didn’t really expect much. By her own goodwill, Ryujin was looking after Mr. Rager, an exchange of her goodwill would almost sour all her community service - again, a flash of her trait, a blithely weak trait in modern society, a subtle revulsion to being paid for her services.

Mr. Rager, however, was the opposite. Rogue-man, Rager man, Mr. Rager, a name that fits him so closely, from the early onset of consciousness, an unruly rebelliousness coursing through his veins at all times, with flourish - with the crimonest red. He’s done it all, disowning his billionaire politician parents, who still relish the thought of meeting Mr. Rager one day; losing all his wealth, gaining it back the next; then, enjoying it all on a single roulette wheel, then forgiving the casino when they couldn’t pay his winnings; and then dying for a few seconds, under the angelic influence of the so-called hellish “nose candy”. But for his closure, his preference—he’s pastless, futureless.

That’s the dilemma, Ryujin hadn’t learned a single thing about Mr. Rager that was worth pulling a strand on. Contradictory statements only confounded her further, and a reply to her joke - of bankruptcy and debt - he’d say, “I’d have to find it buried somewhere.” And she’d think, “What? What the hell? What’s buried? What’s ‘it’ ?”

Often the thought was interrupted, never fully leaving its conception—Mr. Rager wanted to keep it that way. Ryujin, often on her phone, never leaving her eyes off Mr. Rager, spent her delicate hours in the breezy, spacious hospital room.

Mr. Rager, of course alarmed, would ask - every day - “why do you visit so often?”

Then, Ryujin, really not knowing an answer, would default to a bland answer of so and so - real political talk. This procession, of nothing happening, stretching on for days was repetitive. It also made them happy. She’d put on her makeup, with her artsy hands - quick and fast. The rapidity with which she approached this situation, so contrary to all the aspects of her life - seemingly, Mr. Rager had brought vitality to Ryujin.

And in comes the day of withdrawal, the hospital withdrawal - where Ryujin and Mr. Rager resided comfortably. The door clicked softly as the nurse entered; simultaneously, Ryujin and Mr. Rager’s hairs stood up - what are they alarmed for? It was not, the nurse, no, absolutely not, the nurse was jovial, happy, thinking that she was delivering happy news.

She didn’t know that both of them found their only sources of joy inside this hospital. The nurse thought that she was relieving them of a most ludicrous bill, by ending it as soon as possible - as this hospital in particular, charges in hours, yeah, real dystopian shit. And so, it was a surprise when both the people had an almost disdainful stare towards her - it’s just my imagination, the nurse thought.

–

“Are you sure? You know overdraft schedules cost significantly more?” The nurse asked, confused, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I just want to stay here for one more day.” Mr. Rager replied.

“But, but - do you have any ailment? That’ll bring down the price.”

“None at all, I just want to stay here for another day more.”

Rich people are nuts, the nurse, still, complied, letting him stay, leaving him for another day.

–

As the day progressed, Ryujin came back, again, in the evening. “Your schedule, how do you do that?” Mr. Rager was genuinely impressed with how Ryujin utilized her time, imagine his surprise when she just says, “I just skipped some stuff.”

“Alright, well, thanks for coming.” And that got Ryujin thinking, was this his first time thanking me? Which, in fact, did make her day. And, she wouldn’t dare challenge this once in a lifetime behavior - that’d be a quick way for that behavior to be stashed away, forever. Again, as soon as she entered, the atmosphere changed.

It’s about damn time they understand the euphoric peacefulness they rouse for each other. And, today was one of the moments where Mr. Rager gives a slight glimpse of his life - the confounding ones that really led to nowhere. “I think my aversion to alcohol comes from the fact that I had kids with this chick, married this chick, bought a mansion for us to live in - and, only too late, realized that it was really the alcohol that talked.”

Ryujin’s heart sank, “what? You have kids?”

“Not anymore, don’t have custody over them anymore.” He was so unbothered, utterly unbothered.

“I’m sorry for asking, just curious—what happened to them?”

He chuckled, “No more personal questions after this, alright?”

She nodded, her beady eyes on full alert. The pillow that she borrowed from the hospital bed, on her lap. She was intently listening from the comfortable armchair.

“I let her take the kids, she didn’t ask for alimony or anything like that—just that, on the condition that I don’t contact them ever again.” He stared at the ceiling, sorting some of it out, not sure if it was some traumatic experience. Nevertheless, he continued, “she found me unbearable after a while, and I found her unbearable as well. I was never there too: too busy with money. She probably didn’t chase after alimony because she already had a sweetheart - with money - to get back to.” With so much ease, as if he’d been through too many lifetimes - too many he can remember.

“Oh,” that’s it, that’s all the reaction she can give.

“Oh, what’s with that reaction?” He chuckled.

“I-I’msorryIdon’treallyknow-” she paused, “Hey! You’re being so annoying today.”

“Sometimes, a flipped script - like teaser gets teased - leads to masterpieces.”

“Any examples?”

“Nah, I just made it up.”

From then on, the conversations continued; the deep introspective pauses continued, listlessly; and both began to feel the drowsy effect of the combination of warm light and black-out curtains.

And a tired Mr. Rager loves beauty.

“Ryujin.”

“Hm?” She looked back, staring at him with her doe eyes.

“You’re like marijuana.” One can say he has a way with words.

“What?” Her brows stitched in confusion.

“You’re fucking amazing to have around. But, I swore to never, nev-” He fell into a deep sleep, so contrary to his habits: he’s never fallen asleep with his own mind’s permission.

Her doe-like eyes opened farther open. Her heart began beating listlessly, skipping beats. I’ve got to leave, before I-. Yet she magneted closer to the bed, where Mr. Rager slept so peacefully. Did I do that? He’s always complaining about sleeping, yet- yet he slept so easily. She was making up all sorts of situations, scenarios, theories - none of them healthy for the mind.

And, before she knew it, under the bright moonlight radiating into the room, gentle shadows across his face, she leaned closer, letting her soft lips touch the peak of his cheekbone, causing shivers across her spine, and she thought fuck, fuck, I’m really doing it - and when that wasn’t enough - then his forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from his forehead on her lips. But no more, that’d be too much, too much.

Under her own shame, her bright flush cheeks, her dilated pupils, twin pools of dark moons: she quickly left the room, carrying all her stuff such that it’d be guaranteed to fall in the middle of the hallway, a real mess she made of herself.

CHAPTER II:

Keep movin' forward, keep movin' forward

I'm so-I'm so reborn, I'm movin' forward

Along the way home, the realization washed over her like a molotov flame - its gentle but fiery shimmer covering the entirety of her body. And the way her heart pumped, any performative act she could do to stop it was useless - ultimately doing nothing, nada, zilch. The sound of his roaring laughter from her jokes, the curve of his smile, the messy stubble, god, she was really losing it inside the bus. Her every thought, motion, every constriction of her body - pulse and all - was consumed by him. Her legs rubbed together desperately, and the slightest, faintest moan left her quivering lips as she let her imagination go wild.

And the fact that… that an elderly lady was behind her, judging her provocative movements, just nudged her on further - full on deviant shit.

As soon as she’d be home, she’d have a towel under her.

–

Fortunately, past the hospital departure, they wanted to see each other again - platonically. However, it’s been days, and though that may seem quite short, they’ve never been separated for more than 12 hours.

And these days, these listlessly long days, let Ryujin know of her sympathetic entanglement, and, seemingly intensifying it. Ryujin, with her sore body, stared at Mr. Rager’s phone number on her phone - the curves of the numbers kept reminding her of everything she thought about days before (the curves of the numbers some dubious correlation with Mr. Rager). She’s about to do it again, two fingers, knuckle-deep, into her folds until she’s a drooling mess on the bed. She was already a mess to begin with, a crook in her neck, half her bed unmade, sleep-deprived.

That isn’t to say that Mr. Rager wasn’t just as affected. He never succumbed to the pleasure of the hand, but the dreams, the wistful dreams. Imagining her close smile against him, moaning soft and goading phrases right into his ear - melodiously erotic. Her soft palms against his broad back, pressing deep - trying her best to not scratch up his back. You’re fucking me so good, mm- she’s whimpering, right on your ear, fuck, shivers throughout. Then, halt. It’s the fucking alarm.

Both awake, going through their groggy morning routines to finally meet again. Would it be as magical as it was in the hospital? Would it ever be so calm?

–

The time to meet was approaching quickly. Ryujin got ready, her perfect face, judiciously given with all her perfect talents, was colored with minimal effort, any more and she’d show off her inexperience with makeup - Mr. Rager would’ve lost it all regardless. Because, she was dressed in this tight dress, the type of dress that a girl like her deserves, expensive, ornate, sexy; but, she was a special case, she’d never worn something so ornate and so revealing, and the mirror would reflect a little doe desperately pulling on the hems that revealed her taut thick thighs, the cusp of her petite bosom, and any effort to cover was an ultimately futile effort, this was something she had come to terms with, before leaving her small studio.

And, as if she were in a Wong-Kar Wai movie, she entered the bus: all glammed out in a shitty environment. And the nervous eyes in the bus quickly looked away, intimidated heavily; still, some passengers hoped that they could get a glimpse with the spasm of their pupils to her direction - that’s how good she looked.

She sat down mindfully, crossing her legs - alarmingly aware of the stares. Her face adopted a natural blush - a face too beautiful to hide. Her eyes, set beneath her delicately arched eyebrows, stared at the reflection of herself from the wide glass. She’d never be able to understand her own beauty, too often enveloped in imposter syndrome, and the only person, Mr. Rager, would be the one, who could tell her the beauty of her cascading black hair; her large eyes, accentuated by a deep-set gaze; the beauty with which she carried herself, awkward, yet enigmatically, always, the most beautiful person in the room.

Mr. Rager, gaunt from the opioids, still looked herculean, a fitful combination that fit any clothing piece. With an androgynous face that was covered with sharp eyebrows, dark under eyes, high cheek-bones, and a sort of asymmetrical face that was almost better than the conventional symmetry: in summary, he was someone you couldn’t miss. This inherited comeliness comes with its risks, from the ease of life to the women, things that Mr. Rager succumbed to in violent fashion. Other than that, his preparation was pretty rapid, hopping into his entirely dark-tinted - for obvious reasons - car and set off into the gentle night.

Ryujin landed at the closest bus point to the meeting point. Her dress was unsuited for the weather, and her body began going frigid under a chilly summer day. That’s until a black car, a mercedes s-class, stopped ahead of her. It was nothing to be worried about, she’d just pass by it, acting as if she didn’t see it. However, the figure that exited the car was all too familiar: Mr. Rager.

“Ryujin.” Mr. Rager took a look, scanning her body - making it all too obvious with his pupils - instantly realized why he’s been thinking constantly about her - she’s just the most beautiful person.

And Ryujin, the way her knees slightly folded from seeing Mr. Rager, a slight spasm in her joints - she really missed him. And her hands crossed together between her loins, her eyes opened slightly larger.

“Don’t be so nervous.” He chuckled, that chuckle, that deep chuckle - Ryujin could feel the heat in her core. “Come in, you still have a long way to go,” she gladly accepted, entering into the car: feeling the soft seats, the fragrance of the unusual smell of vanilla and sandalwood (in a car?), and the overwhelming luxury around her surroundings.

“Be sure to dial the temperature or dial whatever you need, I’m sure you were pretty cold outside.” Mr. Rager said, aware of how Ryujin is not one to engage in something without permission - only if he knew what she’d done, the moment before she left, that day. However as he talked, all Ryujin could respond with was a chuckle, she was too focused on how the sentence sounded, how his eyes placed on her face, and occasionally, how it landed on her chest. And that was just the pinnacle for her.

He couldn't stop his gaze, this fermentation of a pending calamity was bounding closer and closer, and thrilled both parties to no end - they couldn’t even hide their own temptations behind the screen of a platonic hang out. By the seconds, the passing seconds, they got bolder, he got bolder. He let his eyes wander far down, her creamy white legs, her meticulous maintenance of it all. And Ryujin was wallowing in it all, his sharp gaze made her feel warmer, wetter - enticing her to dial down the temperature, a contrast from when she was so cold outside.

Still, they’d say nothing, despite it all. The silent hum of the tire scraping against the asphalt was all the credence, the distraction, they were allowed. The rest was this endorphin-filled, endorphin-crazed environment where both of them knew that they were pushing too quickly, given the fact that this companionship began from a suicide attempt.

Still, there’s this slip of time, where they could, possibly, love each other. Though, before these exponential entropic forces caused all sorts of calamity, they arrived at the spot. This run-down complex, that hid a quaint restaurant with private rooms, was a source of nostalgia for Mr. Rager. Ryujin followed, climbing the stairs, ascending just behind him, pulling down on her dress, sticking her thighs together as she climbed (a natural precaution). The restaurant was exactly that, quaint. They entered one of the tight-fitting cubicles, where they sat across from each other, a small sitting-table separated their bodies - unfortunately.

“Don’t be too worried about this restaurant, it may be run down, but it’s a great experience.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not worried about that, I frequent far more run down establishments than this.” As the words left her tongue, Ryujin cringed, frequent? What am I? A prostitute? Her eyebrows knitted.

“Relax Ryujin,” he chuckled, “enjoy yourself, I’ll pay for it all.”

“That’s the first step to the debt?” Ryujin grinned, loosening, gaining her natural confidence.

“Perhaps. Come on, go crazy.” There it is, that nice toothy grin, her cheeks ripple into some sort of whiskers - god, he’d do anything for that, again and again.

The dishes came, oily dishes full of food, and Ryujin’s eyes glazed in excitement. After a brief, too quick, moment of eating, both of them leaned back - absolutely full.

“You got a bird’s stomach for your ambition, Ryujin.”

“And you’re a head taller than me, but you’re leaning as well!”

“Good point.” He chuckled, fighting indigestion through it.

“I don’t even like oily food.”

“Me too.”

This time, a collaborative laugh.

Mr. Rager paid the meager bill, leaving all the food to rot on the table - the plight of abundance.

–

“Anything you want to do today?” Mr. Rager asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“It’s really late, I really wanted to punish your wallet, you played your cards right going out so late..” Ryujin relaxed into the seat, fully comfortable, in-tune.

“Well, if you don’t have any plans. Mind if I go the reservation for us?”

“What reservation?”

“That’d ruin the surprise, Ryujin.” The ambient sound of the tires against the ground in combination with the dark night - the darkest night before morning - was an even more intense atmosphere.

This peaceful atmosphere, intense, yet peaceful, again, just like the hospital visits. This interesting continuation of happiness, so foreign to his life, was something that he could get used to. His forearm pressed against the storage compartment, letting his hand spill over; his other arm was loosely steering, as loose as the gentle dark night.

As he trailed the road, occasional peeks at Ryujin showed her transition to sleep: drowsy eyelids that infrequently close for periods of time, then, longer periods, then, sleep.

Who was this angel? This angel that wrought Mr. Rager all manners of hope, of happiness, of reflection. If he hadn’t been so stubborn about his affliction towards personal information, maybe, just maybe he’d understand her more, this girl - so beautifully clad in a flowery dress.

Is this love, this elusive feeling? How could it be so cruel? So cruel as to bring it to me at a time so random, and so heavily…

Again, he forgot his bad habit: speaking his thoughts out loud.

He realized too late, and he could feel her large eyes staring at him, confused.

Yet, and yet, he felt the gentle warmth of another palm on his forearm - a reassuring grip.

“Min, I love you too.”

CHAPTER III: No Longer Mr. Rager

I want to kiss you on your space below your navalette

The place you keep so neat, so moist like a towelette

Ryujin, her beautifully beady eyes looked at you, as she lifted your forearm, planting little kisses all over it.

“Oh Ryujin.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that, Min.” A statement that left her lips as she continued worshiping his forearm.

Jesus, this woman.

He pulls into the closest parking spot, giving not a single fuck that there were a few cars there - all likely empty, anyway.

And, with all pretenses and courtesy removed, the forearm that was so judiciously worshiped, wrapped around her nape, pulling her into a searing kiss. That deep moan, that accepting moan as his mouth opened against hers. He almost forgot the most essential question - suddenly, slightly pulling away from the kiss.

“How’d you find out about my name, Ryujin?” Min asked.

“A woman doesn’t disclose her secrets, besides, how could my love not have a name?” Cheesy, feisty, what a woman.

“Good point.” Another searing kiss, dynamic, evolving, every step more depravedly romantic than the previous.

He was pretty sure that he’d break something, in the middle compartment, that separated you from total body connection. Again, you pull away, this time, it brought out a desperate whine out of her, her arms that wrapped desperately around you kept pulling you in - like a vortex.

She understood the memo as soon as he exited the car - love connection. This time, with a wider space, still constricted, was the best they could do, and they’d relish this extra space. Min, naturally assumed dominance over Ryujin, her body acclimated against his aggressive pulls and pushes - all for the pleasure of Ryujin, and she didn’t take it lightly, each breath heavy with the densest pleasure. Oh, oh, oh, keep manhandling me. She’d whisper. And he’d obey.

As Ryujin, with her tight dress, splayed against the seats on her back, took initiative to take off Min’s clothes, button-by-button. “Oh I’ll fuck you so good, Ryujin, so fucking good.” He’d repeat, over and over, and Ryujin would get more aroused by each iteration: “Yes, yes! Please.” Occasional soft bites were felt all over his collarbone, his neck, his earlobe. “Possessive little bird, I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed her head, making sure that he’d also mark her, a heavy hickey on her neck.

And Ryujin fucking loves it, she softly caresses him, soft grasps against his back, locking her taut legs around him, begging for continuations. And, Min would obey, in his own rebellious way, tightly grabbing her breasts - hidden behind the dress - then pressing kisses all over her neck, nearly all of them hickeys.

“Fuck the reservation,” he grunted, it was an expensive reservation, but he doesn’t give a fuck: Ryujin’s right under him, begging for him to ravage her taut body. And she replies, “That’s right, that’s right, mister, master!” The end of her sentence was capitalized by Min’s heavy grasp on her breasts.

“That’s right, little bird.” Low grunts against her ears, his thick shaft, covered, grinded against her body, while his mouth assaulted hers.

And she cums, her head turns up, looking wherever - straining her neck - to release her pleasure. “Ngghhh!!!” A heavy whine, so enthusiastically human, straining against the seats that held her back. “Holy shit! That was so amazin-” enough talking, he’d motion, locking mouths together.

Silent moans, “mmmf..” hummed against his tongue, Ryujin was so turned on, and he’d love to fulfill all her wishes. Each rotation of his hip against hers were accentuated by Ryujin’s deep moan, squeaky moans, the moans that she couldn’t hide by covering her mouth. His hand, fixed onto her breasts, finally ventured below, feeling her lithe abdomen - the slightest abs - then letting his hand rest on her pelvis, just above her pussy.

He finally released himself from the hypnotizing kiss, staring at her body - mostly still covered by the dress: now, that, won’t do. He pulled on the bottom hem of her dress, revealing her wet core, an embarrassed squeak along with it all. “You’re so fucking hot, Jesus,” he had a taste of what her body looked like, and he just can’t get enough. All precaution thrown out the window, the expensive dress was about to be ruined, and Ryujin - ever resourceful - seemed to allow it. He pulled the upper hem of the dress down, breaking the straps that could’ve been removed easily - this is a statement, I own you - Ryujin seemed to get the memo - all beady and begging.

Her soft breasts, creamy, smooth, with pink nubs spilled out from the tight dress. He pressed both his hands, all over her body, exploring the transitions from her taut skin to the scrunched dress, making sure to remember every facet of it all. “How badly do you want it?” He whispered, wholly focused on her body, subtly noticing her wet core, the outline of her pussy growing clearer by the second. And Ryujin didn’t even have to answer the question, locking her legs around his waist, frantically trying to get her hips on his covered shaft - yeah, she’s fiending for it.

And Min, ever the indulgent, gently moved and hovered his hand over her neck, waiting for that confirmation, that wink, that nod - and, Ryujin, calming down from the intense pleasure, nodded. That first grasp, tight, measuring her tolerance, measuring just the moment when the eyes go back to her eyes - and he seemed to completely pinpoint it, that slight spasm of her body, and her inner thighs are just soaked.

Finally, Min decided it’s time to give her sopping cunt some attention. Peeling the layer to the side, wet with the highest arousal, hid her bright pink core - and it, her core, was begging to be sated, pulsing, glistening, beautifully fragrant.

Firstly, he let a single finger prod, then entered. And Ryujin was already shaking, her eyes went straight to the back of her head, and her neck vascularized - all veiny - from the soft choke. It would’ve been too cruel to give her too much pleasure, so he took his hand off her throat, instead, patting her head - letting her know that she's doing so good, so good.

In and out, motion of the ocean, slick covering his finger the deeper he went, earning the most virile moans out of her cute mouth. “You like that, huh?” He dug deeper, until his knuckle - a loud moan. She had never felt anything like this, her two fingers could never compare, and she’s a virgin after all, and she’s about to get deflowered in the backseat of a car - and, she loves it.

In a swift motion, where Min continued his manhandling of Ryujin, he pulled his finger out - in a hook motion to agitate her g-spot, earning a girlish yelp - then, let Ryujin taste her own juices on his finger.

“You’re doing so good.” Min whispered, so overly joyed by Ryujin, how her petite body convulsed in pleasures beyond what he could ever imagine.

“I know.” Ryujin replied, defiant to the end. She knew exactly how this inspired him to be rougher - and she loves it. He gripped her waist, gripping harder, letting her firm abdomen mold against his grip, dug deeper into her cunt, placing his thumb over her engorged clit. One. Two. Three motions around her clit, three motions of his finger into her cunt - before she squirted onto the side window, far more girlish yelps, and desperate panting. This time, Min with his wet hand, spread it all over Ryujin’s face - the essence of her arousal, via his hand, spread on her face, where makeup was placed so thoughtfully, only to be ruined by her own squirt. She’s panting amidst all this, unable to process anymore than her overwhelming second orgasm.

“You’re a fucking mess, Ryujin, cumming this quickly?”

“You made me this way…” She huffed, “you fucking brute.”

This time, all Min does is press against her pelvis - specifically, the pelvic bone, where just below is her g-spot, and the slight pressure, was absolutely deadly. All the while, he declared, “That’s right, little bird. I’ll press you against the seat, face-down, slam into your ass with all the force I can muster - then, when I’m deep, too deep, cervix-level deep, I’ll release all my cum into your precious little womb.”

“Nghhh~~!” And another squirt, where her legs closed together, toes curled, and her head hung back. While Ryujin was trying to recover, Min placed a quick and wet kiss on her lips, but that'd be the only romanticism that Min allowed her. Quickly, he let her sit up, pulling her by her thin wrists. Then, he pulled down his own pants - letting his shaft free from the restraints of his tight clothing, the painful onset of an early blue balls in its conception, that was only fuel to the fire to fuck Ryujin good, and hard.

“Sit on my lap facing me, Ryujin.” He demanded. And no matter how much Ryujin came, squirted, panted, and yelped - she’d always oblige in Min’s demands. She quickly hooked her other leg over him, in a hovered position rather than sitting. This time, he passed his fingers through her wet hair, letting it pass behind her ear, “safe word is Mimetic,” and he earned a soft nod from Ryujin, and consent to batter her sopping, wet, sticky, engorged pussy.

He slithered a hand around her waist, holding her in place; then, placed his other hand around her neck, just on the nape. He pulled her in for one last kiss. The last bit of eye contact before penetration, and all that could be seen in Ryujin’s eyes - beady and all wet from pleasure - was a fiending desire to be fucked silly.

Slowly, he let her descend, right up until his tip kissed her wet folds. She winced from her sensitivity, just from the touch. And that’s when it flashed in her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was ready, given the fact that she hadn’t told him about her virginity. Before she could realize her thoughts through speech, she felt the intense heat of something foreign entering - something so thick and large - and it wrought every emergency signal in her brain - all of them, positive. “Oh–OH, fuck…” is all that Ryujin squeaked out before he pushed in deeper, feeling her gentle pussy wrap around his shaft - all wet and moist. A constant sizzling whisper could be heard from Ryujin as he buried his cock deeper, until, halfway in, where she let out a deep moan. “Holy fuck,” she moaned again, deeper. Holy fuck is right, her body was so resistant, tight right at the start to the end, yet, the way it also sucked his shaft into its wet folds - Min was already addicted.

“Ryujin, you’re so tight.” He said as he kept nudging Ryujin to move farther down, waiting for her glistening pussy to completely wrap around his shaft - then, eventually, completely devour her in the backseats of his own car. Yet, as he went through it with her, he began clueing in on the note - Ryujin is very.. Too sensitive. Why Ryujin focused on getting herself down, skewering herself on his length - desperately breathing, her chest dilating in and out. Through it all, as Ryujin tried to, adorably, hide her inexperience, Min pressed a compassionate kiss right into her mouth.

“I love that. The fact that you’re so horny for a virgin.” He whispered against her mouth, breathing hotly, immeasurably hard.

And Ryujin needn’t respond at all, all she needed to do - well, did - was reach out with her tongue for his mouth, with those prey eyes, begging to be taken, testing her fickle fate - a sign that he needed to kiss her, devour her, again and again until hell freezes over. And finally, during the desperate haze of a reunification of mouths, he finally buried himself straight to the hilt, in her pink, glistening, sopping, beautiful core. And slowly, the wet sounds of sex, so blatantly loud in this claustrophobic environment, reverberated inside the car; the wet sounds of her moans covered this hazy atmosphere, coming from her lips that detached from his mouth, streaks of saliva still connecting them both; and that feeling, this mutual feeling of utter bliss, how her back bent - contorted - into every pump.

They couldn’t stop staring at each other, two perverts, two soulmates who couldn’t go for a second without looking at each other. Even when Min pushed up harder, letting his full length pass through her virginal hole, they still maintained that sensual eye contact - that essential eye contact.

“You fuck me so good, Min.” Ryujin said as her two small breasts jolted from every pump, every contraction of his length leaving her one step closer to ruin - until her eyes went back to that dangerous place, that orgasm line. And the resulting pressure, that heavenly pressure, pressed against his shaft so strongly, that his tight-lipped mouth let out a few growls of pleasure, a sign that he’s close to painting her womb in baby batter.

Ryujin, ever the caretaker, felt the convulsions, and began pressing desperate kisses over his face - anywhere she could reach, whilst patting him on the back. And Min would never admit he liked it, that he loved it, and he didn’t need to admit it, Ryujin already knew.

And she knew exactly, that this was the final straw that she needed to break before she was filled with his essence, the catalyst of that final convulsion. Min immediately seized, grabbing Ryujin in a bearhug - one that could’ve bruised her - and pumped hard, that final wet sound of sex, before, rope after rope of release entered deep inside her, splashing against her cervix, filling her womb.

“FUCKKK!!” He growled, he hadn’t felt this good since ever. And the same for Ryujin, who cried a leaky yelp, where her last bits of squirt flowed down the slightest nook from their love connection. They were static for a moment, relishing in the deviant copulation they engaged in, where, almost, the condensation of their lovemaking was visible in the air of the car.

“I love you.” She kissed him again, staring all lovey-dovey, as if her pupils had gone and turned into hearts.

“I love you.” He stared at her, happy, smiling.

“I love you more.” She added, exaggerating her laugh, trying to tease.

“I concede.” He replied.

“Heyyy! You’re supposed to say it back!” “I’m more for physical demonstrations. Wanna see?”

“Uh no. Please. It feels like it's about to fall off.” She was mentioning her pussy, all swollen and gummy to the eye.

“I love it, it’s so beautiful.” He replied, fully serious, digging his mouth into her neck, he was absolutely crazy about her.

“Min, I gotta take a shower, you’re being gross-” that’s when Min pressed a finger onto her - still engorged - clit, and proceeded to say, “I’m fucking crazy about you.”

“Ngh! Stop! Seriously, it’s about to fall off.” Unfortunately, the collected accumulation of their love juices swiftly dripped down as Ryujin jolted back from him touching her clit.

“Isn’t this gonna stain your car until the end of time?” She stared at the significant puddle of who knows what.

“Let it. A commemoration of our intense copulation.”

Ryujin blushed, quickly grabbing the tissues that Min offered her, and wiping off all that she released, her entire lower half, essentially, was wet. And Min got aroused from watching Ryujin cleaning herself - her little winces when she slightly grazed her cunt only adding fuel to the fire. “Clean my cock.” Min demanded, but when Ryujin grabbed the tissues - ready to oblige - he replied, “with your mouth.”

To be continued...

Ahhh, I love cliffhangers. Enjoy waiting for 10 months! (just kidding!)

Honestly, I wanted to take months with this project, but I just can't seem to stop myself (from writing mid stuff).

#ryujin smut #ryujin #itzy smut #smut #kpop smut #fluff #m!reader #male reader #idol!submissive #fanfic #itzy #kpop #so much fluff #recovery #love #romance

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 9 months ago

Text

Imagine telling Luffy about why you don’t like Shanks…

“Why are you always so upset with Shanks?” Luffy wondered.

You brushed the young boys damp curls and twirled a finger around each strand to define the shape.

“He and I used to travel the seas, you know? We fought sea beasts and all kinds of pirates together.”

Luffy leaned forward. “Really? Was it cool?”

“Very cool and dangerous.” You reminded him with a small hair ruffle to set him back on the chair properly. “We were caught in an ambush and I was injured. Shanks brought me home, promising that we’d set off again after I was healed.”

Luffy grew excited. Maybe if Shanks came for you, he could also be taken along for the journey.

“Are you healed? Do you know when he’ll take you?” He asked.

You frowned and replied rather bitterly. “I was healed up over four years ago.”

Shanks had the audacity to pay a visit these last few months and spend time with Luffy while pretending like nothing had happened. It infuriated you and Luffy clearly caught wind of it.

There was a knock at the door. Your eyes darted up to see Makino standing there with a smile for Luffy.

“The ship has made port.” She told the boy.

Luffy jumped off the seat and ran for the exit. “Sorry Y/n, I have to go!”

You sighed at his speed hoping that he’d be careful on his way to the docks.

Makino looked at you while you put the chair away. “Are you coming as well?” She asked and when you didn’t reply she continued. “He’s been asking for you.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Tell him I-”

“I’m not telling him you drowned again. You’ll have to face him one way or another.” Makino said and then left to resume her duties at the bar.

Honestly, you’d rather not seek out the pirate who abandoned you. Let him have his fun. Yes, you couldn’t avoid him forever but you could reduce the hours in his presence.

And so that’s what you set out to do, you walked wherever the straw hat wasn’t. If he was at Party’s Bar, you were at home. If he was at the docks, you were by the furthest windmill.

You last saw the red-haired pirate downing a bottle of booze at the bar with his little curly haired shadow on the chair beside him. While they were busy, you decided to rearrange the furniture in your home finally able to tend to things that had been long neglected thanks to Luffy always running in and out of trouble.

Fixated on stacking books by the corner of the front room, you missed the soft padding of footsteps coming to a halt by the open door.

“I heard you ‘drowned’.” A voice said, sending chills down your spine. “Imagine my surprise when Luffy told me that you did his hair this morning.”

Shanks mused at you as he stood by the threshold of your door.

Damn, when did he leave the bar? You rolled your eyes and then turned around to place a blanket into a wooden drawer near to where he stood.

“Odd.” You hummed. “I thought you would have welcomed a lie? Aren’t you filled with them or is that only when they’re directed at me?”

Shanks stepped into the room and took your hand to stop you from walking to the next task. He knew exactly what you were referring to. For months you both had avoided the topic by the way you dodged him but this was finally the opening he needed to clear the air.

“I never lied. I fully intended to come back here in three months. But each danger I faced, every terror that sailed into our path and all I could see was the risk of losing you.”

You scoffed at him. Captain Shanks of the Red-haired Pirates was scared? You were surprised his nose hadn’t grown.

Not wanting to talk further, you attempted to leave the house entirely when the man who stole your heart caught you once more.

“Hey,” Shanks took the reins and guided you to the wall, gently bracing you against it. He was tired of the anger of the anger in your eyes, only wanting you to see him like you once did. His hands settled in their rightful place on your waist.

“There are very few things that I am afraid of - but from that list, the fear of losing you is at the very top.”

As you stared in his warm eyes, you were reminded of a saying he often said aboard calmer seas and private moments.

Shanks gazed back at your face, the one he was deprived of seeing each day. He brought one hand to rest against your chest and raised your own to sit above his own. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours in a delicate kiss before pulling away gently.

“I’m not a selfish man by nature.” He whispered. “But for your life and your love, I can be.”

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #shanks opla imagine #shanks x you #shanks imagine #shanks x reader #opla!shanks x reader #opla!shanks imagine #opla imagine #opla x reader #one piece live action imagine #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #akagami no shanks imagine

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leonw4nter · 10 months ago

Text

She Likes The Way It Feels When He’s Right There

ID!Leon x F!Reader

“Mom, for the last time, I don’t want to go on a date with him!” You emphasize for what seemed like the nth time that night. Inviting Hunnigan over for dinner with your mom causes regret to pool in the depths of your belly; she doesn’t need to be around to hear you and your mom argue over your love life. Work was already stressful and your mom is piling up on that tall tower of things that plague your mind. You keep your head hung low, gaze trained on a piece of quinoa on your plate with your fork poking at it as you feel your attention slipping away, making no effort to rein it back in if it means not hearing your mom ramble on about having kids and settling down with someone.

“Y/N? Y/N.” Your mom’s voice snaps you back to reality, bringing you back down to this godforsaken dinner. “Did you hear what I just said?”

You temporarily shut your eyes, fingers stiffly curling over your fork. Deep breaths, breathe in and out, don’t flip the table over like a crazy person.

“No, I didn’t. I was busy thinking about work,” you grumbled in a low voice.

“I was just saying that he makes a good amount of money, maybe a little more than you do. It’ll be greatly beneficial for you,” she urged you. You love your mom, you really do, but there's a time where she gets a little suffocating for you and still acts as if you’re 13, not 30.

“What are you suggesting, mom? My job is just fine and I don’t need a man to rely on for money or my future or anything at all!” You snap, forgetting that your friend is in the same room as you are right now. Hunnigan comfortingly places a hand at your back, causing you to jump a little bit before relaxing down and taking a forkful of your dinner even if your appetite is almost gone.

“Ma’am,” Hunnigan begins, placing her elbows on the table and interlocking her fingers together. “I think whoever Y/N should get with is entirely up to her– that is, if she wants someone in her life. You may be her mother but you don’t have control over how she lives and besides, she’s a grown woman.”

Your mom shuts up, her lips pressed into a thin, burgundy line. For the first time in what felt like forever, silence befalls over the three of you on the dining table. “I was her age once so I know what she’s going through. I’m just giving her suggestions on how to secure a stable future because that’s what I want for her–”

“Well, mom, surprise: I’m still not going to see him. I’m doing just fine and–”

“Y/N–”

“I’m seeing someone, okay? I have someone else!"

Those words shock everyone, including you, even if you’re quite literally the one who said that. Your mouth moved faster than your mind could move, spouting nonsense in desperation to cut this draining conversation. Hunnigan reaches over for a napkin, blotting her mouth and trying to keep her coughing subtle and quiet after choking on her white wine. Even while dabbing at her mouth and still making an active effort to keep her coughing at a minimum, her eyes are wide and bore right into you with heightened interest.

“Who are you seeing then?” Your mom breaks the silence.

“Leon,” you promptly answered. All of a sudden you’re self-conscious, worried that she’ll sense your fib and call you out. You want to smash that bottle of wine against your head and knock yourself unconscious and wistfully get sent into another existence, going missing until everyone forgets you ever existed. It’s too late to take that back now, you really had to name-drop instead of saying “someone from work”. This is going to be one hell of a dinner and even more one hell of a talk with Hunnigan.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Were you being for real?” Hunnigan asked. She has her arms crossed, red glasses placed on her head amongst ebony curls.

“No… we aren’t anything. Just friends,” you regretfully admitted. You rest your head against your desk, cheek in contact with the cold surface.

Hunnigan giggles, grabbing the empty office chair beside you and scoots closer. “Really. ‘Just friends’, my ass. I see the way you look at him– heart eyes and all.”

You close your eyes and groan even louder, burying your face in your hands as you recall that fuck-up from last night. She wasn’t wrong about the heart eyes; you’ve harbored feelings towards that man for years now but you were always too much of a chicken to confess your feelings. Besides, this guy probably has someone in his heart– this fact shouldn’t hurt but it kind of does but who are you to dictate who he should love?

“You’re being so helpful right now, Ingrid. Thanks a lot,” you croaked.

“Why’d you even say his name in the first place? Could’ve gone with Patrick, he and Leon are in the same department.”

Boom. Could’ve said I was seeing Patrick instead… why’d it have to be that man with his stupidly pretty blue eyes and stupidly perfect, pink lips and his stupidly smooth voice and his stupidly charming smile…

“Well– Leon and I are friends, of course he somehow popped up in my mind first! And last night was not one of my brightest moments, okay? People make mistakes!”

Ingrid laughed like it was the funniest joke she’s ever heard, leaning back into the chair and crossing her arms.

“It’s not like your mom’s going to be content with just hearing you date someone. She’s going to ask for proof and probably ask to see him, knowing her.”

“I know! I know, it’s just… imagine going up to Leon and just saying the stupidest thing ever–”

“What stupid thing are you going to say to me?” Leon suddenly chimes in. You shoot up, almost stumbling backwards in the sheer speed you just exhibited. His sudden intrusion causes explosions of pink to burst on your cheeks, eyes to be wide.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” he chuckles. I wish I was a ghost right now. I need to be 6 feet below ground.

“You’ll be in charge of keeping Y/N company the entire afternoon, Kennedy. I’ve got papers at my desk,” Hunnigan explains with a sly smirk. “Catch you later.” Leon throws her a thumbs up and as he turns around, she shoots you a wink. I swear, Hunnigan, I’m so going to throw hands with you!

“Don’t you have work to do?” You ask Leon.

“Nope. Finished them all yesterday,” he replied.

“Briefings?”

“Just came out of the last one earlier.”

“Training the rookies?”

“They don’t have training today.”

“Missions?”

“Won’t be in one as far as I know.”

Fuck he’s going to be with me all day… but didn’t I secretly wish for this…?

“What’s up with all the questions?” Leon asks. “You’re being weird today but then again, it’s not like you’re never weird.”

“Oh shut up.” You exclaim. Despite his joke, you remembered that part of Leon’s job includes being able to read people in terms of their body language which means that he would pick up whenever you were nervous around him. This is not my day.

“Well you’re always busy. It’s just new to see you not doing something,” you retort. You try to adjust your body language, making sure you look a lot less secretive and tense than you were earlier.

“And you’re the one busier than me this time,” he observes, tilting his head to the papers stacked on your desk. “I can help out if you want. They’re just reports right?”

“Um, yeah. I could use the help. That one’s the finished pile, the one beside it is the one that needs checking.”

“On it, ma’am.”

Shit that was kinda hot.

He takes a pencil from your mug and sets it right in front of him before taking a portion of the unfinished stack and placing it on the empty desk beside yours. He distances himself from you, brows furrowed in focus. He gets up and takes off his navy blue blazer, draping it over the back of his chair. If you think that was hot, he also proceeds to roll the sleeves of his crisp, white button-up up until his elbows, veins deliciously adorning his arms. His arms are straining against the fabric, ripples of his muscle bulging beneath. Leon, I swear to God, I’m going to get nothing done if you do my paperwork looking like an absolute snack– no, a 5-star Michelin meal that I can never, ever afford.

“Sight-seeing, I see.”

His voice snaps you from your swirl of diabolical thoughts, grounding you again.

“I wasn’t.”

“Your eyes on my hands told me otherwise.”

“Fuck off! Just do the paperwork!”

He simply smirks and chuckles to himself before really starting on the paperwork, blue eyes focused on the dark ink on paper, occasionally marking things. Lord have mercy, please, I just want to get work done.

Taking a deep breath, you take your own stack of papers and start work; it would be hypocritical if you kept urging Leon to work but you were just busy shamelessly drinking in your friend’s arms. Right. We’re just friends.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Since two people worked on the papers, you managed to get them done faster than you thought. After dropping them off at your boss’ desk, you head back to your cubicle to get your things ready before clocking out for the day. Leon had already finished getting his things together and changed into black bootcut jeans and a black leather jacket over his white long sleeves, black helmet on the nook of his arm since he rode his bike home.

“You wanna ride?” Leon asks, which causes you to raise your eyebrows and smirk. “On my bike, I meant. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Of course I know what you mean, dumbass. And as much as I want to, I brought my car to work so… I’ll pass for now. Thanks though.”

He nods, before setting his helmet aside, and helping you pack your things even if they aren’t much. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

You two walk out of the dark office and make your way out of the building, heading for the parking lot. Just before you get into your car, he speaks up.

“So… you know how Valentine’s Day is highly commercialized?” he begins.

“Mhm. What about it?” you asked.

“There’s this high-end restaurant downtown and they’ve got good food at the cost of a wallet-decimating bill. They’ve got a discount for couples who dine there and�� I was wondering if you’d wanna come along with me as a fake date. It’ll be easy on the pocket with the discount they’re offering.”

Your eyes widen, warmth creeping up from your back and settle at the nape of your neck. It’s not like he’s even asking you out on an actual dinner date, the man just wants to have dinner that’s easy on the pockets… even if he’s out here riding on the latest model of a Ducati but he still asked you out, instead of other women in the agency– women who have fuller hips and better hair than you do. Women who you think have a better chance of catching his eye anyways.

“That sounds nice. Um, yeah sure. I’m free. I’m assuming that this is going to be on the 14th?”

“Yep. So uh… I guess that’s a date then?”

“Yeah.”

The air turned slightly awkward, you two just standing around awkwardly with gazes either downcast or focused on something else.

“I’ll- I’ll go now, Leon. Um, bye!” you say.

“Uh, bye. Get home safe and goodnight,” he responds.

With a small nod, you get in your car and start it. Buckling your seatbelt, you pull out of your parking spot and drive home. You noticed that Leon stayed behind, making sure he got to see you leave before you catch a quick glimpse of his bike’s lights from your rear-view mirror.

You still felt kind of awkward around Leon especially with last night’s mortifying cover story but luckily his chill demeanor made you feel less on the edge. You thought about all the times he made you feel flustered: when he switched places with you on the sidewalk so he’d be the one on the outer part instead; when he ran to a convenience store to get you pads and new underwear when you bled while at work; see him interacting with one of your coworker’s kids; when he pretended to be your boyfriend when several drunk guys were trying to hit on you at a bar; the endless pet names he’d give you. Sometimes it felt like flirting but you know that Leon likes to joke with anyone; maybe you’re just looking too much into things and this is just a manifestation of your growing feelings for him. It’s hard not to fall for your best friend when he’s more than just good looks and his stupid jokes and beneath those he’s a truly brave man– probably the bravest man you’ve ever met. He’s stupidly selfless; in most situations where you’d probably run away and save yourself, he’d stay behind to finish the job at the cost of his life. He’s still standing firm at the faces of mind-bending horrors, doing this because “if no one does then who will”, as he always said. He probably has someone to fight for that’s why he’s this dedicated, even if he was forced into this kind of work. With a sigh, you turn up the volume on your radio and force all your thoughts to the back of your head; you’ll bring them out again later when you get home, accompanied with a cold beer.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“So let me get this straight: Leon asked you out for dinner?” Hunnigan’s voice comes out of your laptop.

“Yep.” you respond.

“And you two will go as a fake couple to be able to get that discount because the food is normally expensive.”

“Mhm.”

“Listen, girl. I’ve known Leon longer than you have and it’s not like he’ll just ask random women out to be his fake date.”

“He didn’t ask me to be his fake date, he just asked me to come along with him.”

“Think about it: he could’ve asked anyone. He could’ve asked me or Ashley or Shen Mei but he chose to ask you! This is something!”

“It’s nothing. Besides, I was the only one at the parking lot with him so he asked since I was the nearest.”

“Dude! He was free the whole day! He had plenty of time to look for anyone else but he chose you!”

“He wasn’t exactly free since I had him help me out with reports.”

Hunnigan lets out an exasperated sigh at the other end of the call, probably frustrated that your negative thinking is getting the best of you. The both of you stay silent for a bit, nursing your beer before taking a small sip.

“Well, regardless of whatever he thinks of me, I’m going to enjoy dinner. It wouldn’t hurt to think about it as a friendly get-together, y’know,” you speak up.

“It would hurt, Y/N. I know you; you’ll probably get home and blast your greatest heartbreak hits or something,” Hunnigan points out. You bite your lip, not even making an effort to tell her she’s wrong when she’s painfully right– you’d sulk and just berate yourself for being so pathetic with these feelings.

“You know, you should just ask Leon what you are to him. Tell him you’re not happy with all the meaningless flirting if he’s doing that with non-romantic intentions. I’m sure he’d just apologize and beat himself up over it.”

You stay silent for a little longer, thinking about Hunnigan’s words. You’re an agent, for God’s sakes– you‘re supposed to be comfortable with confronting people and you are… just not with Leon but why? What are you so afraid of? For Leon to be distant from you and your friendship fizzling out into nothing? Maybe. Just maybe.

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks girl, that was really good advice.”

“Hey, no problem. You can always count on me with your boy problems.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Several days after that call, you managed to get out of work quite early. There wasn’t much to do since all papers that you and Leon did a few days ago were already good and there weren’t agents under your watch that were on overseas missions so you got off early. Since Leon offered to give you a ride to work on his bike, you didn’t bring your car along so you’ll commute going back home if you were to clock out earlier than him. You looked around for Leon, telling him that you were going to go home early to get yourself ready for the dinner “date” later this evening. You spotted him in the break room with a few other agents, chatting with Patrick.

“Leon, hey. I’ll be heading home now since I don’t have anything else to do. See you later.” You say with a small smile as you peeked around the door frame. Everyone turned from their conversations to look at you, then looked back at him.

“I can send you home, since I’m free too,” he offered. Though your gaze was on him, you could spot other agents with smirks on their faces.

“Yeah, Leon. We can take it from here, you can go out with Y/N. It’s Valentine’s Day too,” Shen Mei adds. She gives the agent beside her a small nudge with her elbow, shooting them a knowing look before shifting her eyes back to you.

“Are you okay with it, Y/N?” Leon asks. Though his voice sounds relaxed, you can see a hint of something that flashed in his eyes that you can’t quite put a finger on.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” you respond.

You swear you see Leon’s face light up when you say yes, instantly moving from where he was and going closer to you. “Let’s go.” he softly says. You don’t miss the ghost of his touch hovering over your waist, causing your heart to relentlessly pound against your ribcage. You bite back a small smile, chewing on the inside of your cheek and hoping that your cheeks don’t turn pink.

Now you two are in the parking lot, standing beside his bike. He hands you your own helmet while he wears his own, offering you his leather jacket, which you take anyways. Protection, he says.

“Hey, I think it’ll be a bit boring if you just head home so why don’t we do some things before dinner?” he suggested, putting his gloves on.

“What things?” You mused.

He averts his gaze for a little bit before continuing on, looking a little shy with his movements. “Maybe a visit to the park would be nice,” he offers in a small voice.

His sudden shyness makes you smile a little, a quiet giggling bubbles from your throat but you take his suggestion nevertheless.

“Sounds like a plan,” you say.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The afternoon was fun; you two went to the park and took nice pictures of the view, though you noticed that Leon’s pictures were mainly of you but you didn’t mind it. You also suggested having ice cream and going to an empty playground, the sight of two adults on the swings and having the time of their lives both silly and wholesome. Of course, he sent you home safe and made sure to come back in 2 hours to pick you up for dinner. This time, he said that he’ll be using his car so that the wind won’t ruin your clothes. Immediately, you dashed to your room and picked out a dress and heels that you’ll wear for the dinner while also planning the make-up look you’re going for and figuring out what hairstyle you’ll be doing. An hour later, you shower and get dressed; the dress you chose hugged your body well, which made you feel a little more confident in yourself. You got your hair styled and your make-up done, opting to do it a little different than you usually do. After getting ready, you sent pictures of yourself to Hunnigan. In response, she sent so many voice messages of encouragement where she’s practically screaming. After a few minutes of waiting, Leon calls to let you know that he’s waiting outside.

You walk out and see him leaning on the hood of his car, an elegant arrangement of flowers on one hand.

“Hey,” you softly say. He turns around and faces you, taking a hand out of his trouser’s pocket. It’s as if his eyes have the moon and stars on them, his face lighting up when he sees you. He lets go of a breath he didn’t know he held, a subtle pinkness dusting his cheeks as he places a hand on your waist and leads you to the passenger side of the car. He walks over to his side and opens up the door, taking his time in staring at you for a little more.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mutters in a low voice that’s something else entirely, his words coming out with a slight rasp.

Now it’s your turn to feel flustered; why wear blusher on your cheeks when you have Leon to keep a blush on your cheeks all night long?

“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself, you know.”

He turns his attention to the steering wheel before he remembers to give you the bouquet, that dorky smile of his completing his look.

“Here, got you these. Just because this isn’t an actual date doesn’t mean I won’t put effort into it.”

Here we go again with another game of “is he into me or am I just looking into things too much?”.

“Thanks. These look really pretty,” you observe. You noticed that the flowers didn’t make you sneeze or cause your face to itch, much to your surprise.

“I remembered how you have allergies to flowers so I got ones that didn’t trigger an allergic reaction so I’m glad that turned out well.”

Oh. Oh.

Oh boy were you in deep. Leon Scott Kennedy, he’s really more than just a pretty face and dad jokes. He even remembers the little things. Gosh, I’m in deep.

“That’s… that’s really thoughtful of you, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. So… shall we?”

“We shall.”

He starts the car and drives you two to the restaurant he talked about. During the entire ride, you noticed how his eyes wouldn’t stop flitting from the road and to you. You joked about keeping his eyes in front of him and how they can take their time admiring you during red lights or when you finally get to the dinner. You two sat in comfortable silence, sweet music coming from the radio filling in for the stillness inside the car. He stops at a red light, fingers drumming on the sleek leather of the steering wheel.

“Can I be honest with you, Y/N?” he suddenly asks.

You nod, turning your head to face him. “What is it?”

“I don’t want this to be a dinner between coworkers or friends.”

His words yank the breath from your chest, the inside of your mouth feeling a little parched. You can hear the thundering of your heart in your ears, drowning out the song on the radio.

“Huh?”

“Does this seem fake to you?”

“Yes– well, no– I mean–”

“I’m going to say it now while we’re not there yet: all this isn’t just for a discount.”

You go silent, thoughts disappearing and trying to piece things together. What does he mean by “does this seem fake” and “all this isn’t just for a discount”?

“What are you trying to tell me, Leon?”

“I heard you and Hunnigan days ago. You like me. I overheard you talking to her about your mom wanting you to see someone and then you blurting out that you were seeing me as a way to escape being set-up with some dude.”

Shit! He heard! I’m going to dive head-first into a cement-mixer right now. Argrhaghrag–

“I knew and heard that, that’s why I didn’t press any further.”

Didn’t press any further? Didn’t press with– Oh. He didn’t press any further when he suddenly piped in with his “what stupid thing are you going to tell me?” question because he already heard all the context he needed. He was just polite by not telling me he heard Every. Single. Thing.

“Listen, Leon. I’m so sorry– I was not thinking when I suddenly blurted that, I hope you don’t feel harassed or anything–”

“I like you, Y/N. That’s why I asked you, you specifically. I could’ve gone to dinner with anyone else but I didn’t.”

He runs a hand through brown locks, soft strands sifted through slender fingers.

“I asked you to dinner under the guise of wanting to take advantage of this day’s commercialization but I lied. There isn’t even a discount, actually. I just want dinner with you. The food really is great but I don’t think it’ll taste as great as eating it with someone I love.”

And to think that you didn’t expect him to ever like you.

“I don’t just want us to be friends, Y/N. Unless you think otherwise, then I’ll respect it.”

You two just sit there in total silence, some 80s romantic song serving as background music for whatever magical moment is happening right now. Leon looks a little more anxious now, sapphires shifting between your eyes and lips.

“I feel the same way too, Leon, and I don’t just want this to be a fake dinner– not ever. I just didn’t think that you’d actually get feelings for me when there’s all those other women in the office,” you shyly admit.

“I’m in love with you and you only, Y/N. They’re not you.”

Those words set off a reaction similar to a factory reset in your mind and suddenly, you don’t have a single thought and you’re not thinking before moving. You lean in from the passenger seat and with a silent prayer that his windows are tinted (highly likely they are), your hand finds its way into his blazer. You bunch the fabric up and draw him in for a kiss, shutting your eyes. You feel him tense up a little bit before he relaxes into your touch, a calloused hand reaching to cup your cheek. The soft smack of lips can be heard inside the car before you pull away, half-lidded eyes staring straight into inky pupils that swallowed all the blue in his eyes. Your gaze is downcast, admiring the glossy smear of your pink lip gloss on his lips.

“I bet I look real good with your kiss,” he rasps with a small smirk.

“I bet you’ll look better without these later,” you hinted while eyeing his suit, giving him a wink.

“Oh?”

This was not how you thought your dinner night would play out but you didn’t mind.

NOTE - Finally done with 3/4 Valentine's fics!!! Personally, I don't think anyone's getting me anything for Valentine's Day but a girlie can continue to dream :') I finally got to see my grades and I'm really happy with how it turned out-- all my grades (except for one subject-- WHICH IS NOT MATH surprisingly) went up by several percent so I hope I get to do the same thing this quarter!!!! Anyways, that's it and thank you for reading this fic!!!!! I <;333333 U

The dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy fluff #biohazard #resident evil x reader #rebhfun #infinite darkness #resident evil leon #resident evil: infinite darkness

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bellarkeselection · 8 months ago

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Okay so Ryan and Dutton!reader are engaged and she finds out he got branded after the whole Colby and Teter thing. That kinda the basis of what I was thinking 🤔

The Ranch Brought Us Together

“I understand that your father doesn’t really want big events at the ranch. So I’m just hear to tell you that it wouldn’t be huge. Just our normal crowd and my parents would be coming into town.” I quickly followed the heels of Beth Dutton who was walking to her car to go to work.

She opened her car door stepping inside responding to me. “Y/n, you have been loyal to my father almost as long as Rip has.”

“Yeah but it’s his ranch and I don’t want to feel like we are overstepping with trying to do even a small wedding here-“

She touched my arm, giving me a half glaring smile. “Which means he will say yes. I know you’ve already asked him and he said possibly but don’t panic I’ll make sure and sweeten the deal where he definitely agrees. Now get out of my way, I’ve gotta go ruin someone’s day.” She shut the car door and drove down the driveway leaving me standing there by the wooden fences.

My fiancé worked for John Dutton for a few years now. We actually met and fell in love while working here at the ranch. Tucking some hair behind my ear that had come out of my ponytail I heard someone coming in my direction where I spun on my feet. “Ryan! You’re never done with work this early.”

“You’re right I ain’t done with my day. I just could wait any longer till I got to see you for a little bit.” Ryan pulled the reins of his horse to a stop, dismounting his horse coming over to hug me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck hugging him back. I smiled leaning my head against his chest until I pulled back seeing something sticking out of his shirt that was opened. “Wait a minute. Did you get hurt?”

“No I didn’t.” Ryan answered, tiling his head down to meet my gaze.

Moving my hands up his chest I threaded my fingers through his jackets and the open section of his jacket. Pushing the fabric apart my eyes landed on a red Y symbol on his right side of his chest. “Then what the hell is this, Ryan!”

Ryan lowered his gaze down to the symbol that I had exclaimed about. “Oh that. I got it after…after some guys hurt Colby and Teter the other day.”

“Ryan, I ... .don't scare me like that.” I sighed heavily laying my head on his chest staring at the fresh red mark that was slowly healing.

I had gotten the brand a few months after Rip had done it after he accidentally killed one of the other workers when they talked back about John’s daughter. I knew it meant you never left here and it was an honor with the ones who got a second chance. But we hadn’t talked about him getting it. “I’m sorry, babe. It all just happened so fast and you have been busy planning our wedding. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well you did.” I hit his chest, shoving him away from me beginning to walk away from him. “You know what I can’t marry you after this.”

Ryan gasped rushing forward, snatching my arm. “Y/n, hang on. I’m sorry - shit please don’t not marry me.”

“Ha! Ryan you idiot. I’m not breaking off our engagement. I could never do that cause I love you too much.” I tugged my wrist from his hand slapping my hands on his knees.

Ryan removed his hat from his head running his fingers through his hair. “Fuck that’s a relief.”

“Hey you know something we’re matching now.” I unbuttoned the top of my shirt tugging down the right side of my shirt. His eyes found the same mark that he had seen on me previously in life the first time we had sex. “We’re now connected in love and in our work life.”

Ryan sets his hat on top of my head, looping his arm around my waist pulling me up against him. “That doesn't sound too bad to me. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I grinned up to him, kissing him slowly. He kissed me back before he had to get back on his horse and go back to work. The Dutton ranch was our forever home.

#ryan yellowstone #ian bohen #yellowstone series #yellowstone #yellowstone imagine #yellowstone masterlist #yellowstone x reader #ask box is open for anything #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated #beth dutton

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givethemsmut · 3 months ago

Text

The Pack | Chapter One

Characters: Dylan O’Brien, fem!reader

Pairing: Dylan O’Brien, Dylan x You

Every female on the planet wanted a reason to be close to the actors on the hit TV show, Teen Wolf, except me.

I don’t dig wolves. Now some hot vampires? All day.

My dad loves producing so much that he was constantly trying to get me to join him on set in any shape of form. He wanted me to love his vice just as much as him so I would understand abandoning his entire life it. But I didn’t want to act or produce, I wanted to throw myself into college so I could figure it out.

The easiest choice would be the medical field… for so many reasons… but that felt like salt in my very much open wounds.

Twenty-three, living at home with my dad, while trying to forgive him should have been a course I signed up for in college. Instead I got to feel awkward being the light of his life. It wasn’t all bad - he was barely home and I got free rein over my life.

Sleeping in was the best part of not having class. It was just past noon when I dragged myself downstairs at the allure of the coffee pot. I had it set for noon just so I wouldn’t sleep my life away. I didn’t even notice my dad in the corner of the room, at the large dinning room table we never used, busy on his iPad.

“Sleeping in again? Another finger pointing to you coming to work for me.” He didn’t even look up at me when he talked, neck deep in his night shoot edits.

This was a constant battle we waged. “Dad, I have school full time. I don’t have time to come play on set with you.”

He sighed almost defeated for the day on the topic, “only girl in the world who doesn’t want to be on the Teen Wolf set.”

Laughing to myself I didn’t relish being some kind of gatekeeper. Every one of my friends had asked every question you could think of about the show’s star: Tyler Posey but I had no answers. My dad hit the nail on the head.

“That’s because I’m a beautiful, unique snowflake. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll surprise you for your birthday next week.”

We both knew I wouldn’t crack so easy. So happens that fate had other plans for me and my boundaries.

The following week my dad left his wallet and house keys at home which honestly wasn’t strange. He was constantly forgetting the essentials. He would buy conditioner without buying shampoo. He would invite you to lunch just to forget his wallet. He would blame being on set when part of me believe he was just that absent minded.

I was casted to the forgot parts of his brain the same way.

He texted me go bring them to set for him which was fine because my lecture was over early and I had zero weekend plans.

Being on the lot reminded me a lot of my mom. We had a bond because of this lot that kept her King and my keeper from us. We would make our own adventures, explore and pretend to be other people all day while he worked tirelessly.

Until she couldn’t pretend anymore. That was when she decided my dad loved his work more than her. That betrayal extended to me when she moved us into another house, quietly divorcing him and securing half of everything just to make sure we survived.

Everyone called her the gold digging failed artist. Everyone called me a spoiled brat.

I snapped out of my thoughts when the guard handed me my ID back through the car window printing the gate to lifted to let me in. With a big inhale I could almost smell her perfume again, earthy and seductive. Pulling through the stages I found him in the same place he always was, back of the lot, taking up the most space.

I breezed in like I, in fact, owned it. Snatching my sunglasses off my face I found my dad coaching the star through the scene with too much passion. “You love her! I need to see that protective side, Ty. That need. That sacrifice. This isn’t some crush but the mate you’ll have forever.”

She needed that side of my dad when she was dying of cancer alone in a big house without her husband.

“Dad. Keys and wallet?” Turning around he took his belongings from my hands and attempted to awkwardly hug me when it failed.

Shifting my eyes I could feel Tyler digging his gaze into me even deeper. He was wondering why he hadn’t seen me until now, if I was some hostage, if I was absent for a reason. I could see the gears shifting behind his eyes.

Beaming my dad’s hand hovered along my spine as he introduced me, “Tyler, this is my daughter. And a hero. Now I can order sushi.”

Tyler laughed and went back to rehearsal with a couple girls whom I can only assume are in the show too. I told my dad, “Well. I’m gonna get going. I’m gonna see if Alex wants to hang. Maybe a frat party is happening.”

My dad pulled over the chair that was already near him, “We’re about to start. You can’t leave yet.”

So that’s how he was going to force me to be here, cool.

I dropped my head as let my bag drop on the floor loudly, purposely, and I watched the cast hit their marks before a clear action was shouted. I couldn’t deny a shirtless Tyler Posey was easy on the eyes for sure. The scene was dark, emotional and ended with a kiss. Even someone who didn’t watch the show, like me, could feel the impact of the episode. After the director yelled cut my dad started speaking again, “I’ll be home late okay? I have a date right after this. That’s why I really needed my wallet and keys.”

I was shocked. I had a million questions. “Wait, excuse me? You’re dating now? How did you meet? Who is she? Where are you going?”

He laughed, “I downloaded a dating app. Okay? I’m going go to Don Antonio’s with her. She’s a nurse. Busy like me so she should understand how it is.”

Being excited for my dad was one thing, finally he wouldn’t be alone yet I couldn’t help but hate him for it. A part of me expected him to pin for my mother his whole life.

I gave him a giant hug before I told him I was taking off but he held me tighter while saying, “You may be over 18 but I sure as shit will ground you, take your phone and car if I found out you went to a frat party with Alex. Have a great night at home with Netflix’s!”

We both laughed, he trusted me and for good reason.

I was still a virgin. Which was rare for a kid in LA let alone an industry parent.

I grabbed my bag and headed for my car before they locked me in silence with another take or scene. On my way out I crashed into a hard body who apologized immediately, “Shit. I’m sorry. I was rushing. I’m late.”

I nodded signaling it was okay but that didn’t stop him from shouting after me when I walked away. “Hey! Are you new? Do I know?”

I stopped walking backwards while answering, “Nah. Just stopping by. Visiting someone.” With that being all I said I opened my door and smiled before getting in.

I knew I wanted to make myself invisible incase my dad came home with his date. It’s not the cool thing to do when you have to introduce your adult age kid after a good meal and before making out.

After I got home from the lot I texted Brody to come over for while. I don’t know how to describe that relationship at all. I’ve known him since we were 5 years old and we were always friends but when we started dating - everything changed.

He was very cute and accessible. All innocent until high school when hormones came into play. We had done everything but go all the way. Lately that wasn’t enough for him…

He came through the door without knocking carrying some beer while I stood at the counter pouring my wine. I felt him push against me, kissing my neck while I pushed the cork in the mouth again.

“Hey beautiful. How was class?”

Brody graduated two years before me and already had a job as a business consultant for a popular firm who advises people on how to be successful, handling money and recruiting for them.

He was stable. He was hot. He was older.

I was feeling frustrated as I took my very full cup of wine and dragged him upstairs behind me by the hand to my bedroom. Every time we were alone with alcohol I always contemplated that I would have the courage to go all the way with him.

Being a virgin still shows anyone how well that went. We got comfortable on my bed fitting like puzzle pieces as I scrolled through Netflix for over 10 minuets searching for the perfect movie.

I felt his hand on my thigh, slightly rubbing as his lips crashed against the side of my face. He felt comfortable so I don’t know why I wouldn’t give in.

I felt his familiar lips against mine and our warm tongues touch. He pulled off his shirt and his husky voice crashed into me, “Take this off baby.”

It was déjà vu all over again. Every time we were alone it was a replay of the same events. There wasn’t any feelings, not the way the movies shaped my expectations.

As he kissed my neck he whispered, “Come on baby. You’re dad isn’t home. Just take off your panties.”

His kisses felt good but not convincing. I whispered his name when I felt his fingers lace inside my panties as he tugged them down my legs.

We fooled around before, he had seen every inch. We kept kissing with our tongues and I felt his body settle between my legs. Reaching for his wallet and he pulled out a condom before his mouth collided with mine again. Pressing my palms again his chest, gently giving myself space, enough to decide on no.

I whispered again, “Brody. I’m not ready. I’m sorry.”

I felt his felt him tense at the rejection, “Why are you being a fucking bitch? How long are we gonna keep playing this game? I’ve seen you naked, I’ve licked your pussy, we’ve showered together.”

His warmth on top of me left as he sat as it came when he pushed his legs off the edge of my bed to put his shoes on. I didn’t even walk him out.

D Y L A N P O V

She smelt like butter and home. She felt safe. She was the most beautiful, sarcastic, tiny firecracker I’ve ever met.

We met on the set of a movie called The First Time back in 2011 and been together ever since. She just got back from Canada filming a TV show Girl Boss for the last 3 months and I couldn’t wait to have her myself.

We both had our own places with our own roommates but we wanted as much time together so she was crashing in my room. And let’s be real, I hadn’t had sex since she left months ago.

She was straddling my legs in her panties and nothing else as I coaxed her out of them. Her hips were rocking over my crotch as she leaned down to kiss me.

Sex was never our problem. We met and practically fell into bed together. Pushing her down onto the bed below me as I pushed myself further between her legs. She felt every inch of my excitement caress her thigh.

I kissed her chest and neck, every exposed inch when my head flicked up at the sound of her phone loudly alerting her she had a text. We both ignored it as I pulled my shirt off.

Another ping. We ignored it again.

I saw her look over almost like she expected a text but couldn’t get to it. Her face went from ecstasy to disappointment. Looking down at her, “We good babe?”

She shook her head, “Yeah, yeah, we’re good. Okay I’m ready, Dylan.”

On my knees, my hands smoothed up her legs until my fingers laced into the straps of her panties. Pulling them down was too easy when I got a glimpse of her wet pussy.

Ping. Ping.

Exhaling loudly, stopping to grab her phone off the night stand I had lost focus enough times to get annoyed. I was going to put it on do not disturb but the texts content was right there on the lock screen.

“Did your flight land? Can’t wait to see you ;)” “He can wait until after I see you first.” “Meet me at my place. I miss that little body.” “Ditch Dylan.”

I felt my heart stop.

Pushing myself to the edge of the bed I contemplated if I was dreaming. Did I fall asleep and have some kind nightmare? Britt, my girlfriend of 6 years was cheating and me. I had proof. I threw her phone across the room in her silence letting it crash against the wall.

She tried to touch my shoulders from behind, on her knees, forcing me to jump up. Pacing I pointed towards my bedroom door. “Get the fuck out. Get out.” She tried to touch me again but I pulled myself away quickly. “Go! Get out of my face!”

All she could say, “Dyl. Baby. Don’t be mad. I can explain. It was a mistake. Just one mistake.”

I was pacing, arms not able to stay by my side and I couldn’t even look at her. “How can you explain that? It’s pretty fucking clear!” She started getting dressed giving up explaining.

As she got dressed she said, “It was one mistake, Dyl. We were apart so long. We were just friends I swear! Please forgive me.” She picked up her phone and jacket to leave. She stood against me best she could at her short height, kissing my chest and still apologizing before exiting my room.

A party couldn’t have came at a better time. I was ready to get wasted. My only hope was that Posey heard everything and would be there as she walked out. His disappointment was damning when he wanted it to be.

#dylan obrien smut #dylan o'brien #Dylan O’Brien x reader #Dylan O’Brien fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf

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jnnul · 1 year ago

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let me let you go

a/n: no, i still don’t like it but it’s been a full 10 days since i’ve posted anything so i feel like i’m gonna fade into the abyss unless i post smth. sorry lol 😕

word count: 0.7k

tags: angst bruh, uhhh, breaking up w the one person u know will always love u, not my best writing i’m ngl sorry to disappoint guys

gif creds: @choibeomggyu

beomgyu choi has but one little regret in life.

not to say that he hasn’t done many stupid things in his life. in fact, beomgyu has probably done every stupid thing there is to do when you’re young, dumb, and broke.

he’s accidentally set his hair on fire (no one told him that hairspray is flammable), sent his high school homecoming date an ‘i love you’ text the first time he got drunk (she’s lesbian and was in the closet at the time), and has greened out and eventually had to be hauled off in the trunk of yeonjun’s car because it was too much of a hassle to get him in a carseat.

but even so, he’s never regretted any of those things. sure, he didn’t like the fact that it took nearly a year to grow his hair back out but he really rocked the buzzcut. and his lesbian homecoming date was the one who hooked him up at the internship he was at right now. and every time he had done a little too much at a party, he had woken up the next morning with videos he knew he would look behind on fondly.

and with even all of these things, beomgyu regretted you the most.

he regretted not being the man you deserved. you were just so sweet, so kind, so good and he had let you slip through his fingers. every time he did something dumb, you would be there to smile and laugh at his uneven hair or his crazy stories.

you never made him feel dumb for the stupid things he did. taehyun always got on his ass about doing things impulsively without thinking about how the consequences might play out. beomgyu had a really habit of just rushing into things - especially if he thought it would be a good story to tell later on.

you were the opposite though. you didn’t really party (although you went hard when you did), kept to yourself most of the time, and honestly, you were a little bit of an overthinker. it was like you would go through every single terrible outcome from each small step you took before you finally made a move.

and yet, you never tried to rein him in. honestly, maybe beomgyu wouldn’t be wrestling with so much regret if you had. if you had tried to change him, maybe beomgyu would remember the memories he had with you with a little more contempt than he does now. maybe he wouldn’t try to access your instagram page through his friends accounts just to see what you were up to.

or maybe he would be here with you right now. maybe if you had tried to change him, beomgyu finally would have come to his senses and would’ve learned to settle down. or settle up, really.

even if you never tried to change him, and you always told him that you liked him just the way he was, beomgyu felt like he was the best version of himself around you. he thought a little more, spoke a little less, and laughed a little louder every single time he was in your presence.

instead of getting down in the dumps about he felt about himself (inevitably causing him to then do something stupid to get his mind off of it), he felt like he could talk to you. he liked to hear your calm and rational opinion on his matters. because you would never try to overly praise him or try to bring him down too hard. you would just tell him the truth.

which was why he broke up with you.

you brought out the best version of him, sure, but beomgyu couldn’t hide his faults forever. even if you never judged him, even if you always laughed at his stories instead of scolding him, beomgyu couldn’t help but wonder if you would still look at him the same way if you knew just how much darkness he hid behind his smile.

and so, he broke up with you. he knew if he told you his true and honest feelings, you would’ve called him out on his bullshit. that’s just who you were. even if you knew it would hurt, you would tell him the whole, neutral, honest truth.

beomgyu didn’t like that. he didn’t want someone as perfect and accepting as you to be with someone riddled with too much energy to expel and too many overwhelming emotions. so he let you go.

and he has regretted it every day since then.

#jnnul #beomgyu fic #txt fic #beomgyu angst #txt angst #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #choi beomgyu #txt headcanons #beomgyu headcanons

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rewatching-sam-and-dean · 1 year ago

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The Schrödinger's SPN Revival

So, recently there’s been a lot of talk on here and twitter because a couple articles have been published citing Jared and Jensen (or just Jensen in one POS article) mentioning discussing possibilities for a revival. Does this make it any more likely to happen or closer to being realized? I don’t know, but the guys have been mentioning it off and on for years already, so I’m not sure it’s any more likely now than it ever was. Also, with networks and the whole industry in seeming disarray, even if J2 want to get a revival going, I’m not sure it will happen.

But, let’s speculate anyway. Shall we?

(I CANOT get the link to work for some reason!!)

My thoughts on this, under the cut.

I’m no authority on anything in the TV industry, but I have watched our little show a lot, so I have thoughts. Let’s take look at each person on this poll.

Kripke - Obviously, he understands Sam and Dean. He created them after all. But, would I trust him with the revival? Well, judging by The Boys, he seems more focused on shock value than tight storytelling these days, so I’m not sure I would want to see an SPN on a streamer that he ran. It might become a case of all fireworks and little to no heart. Also, if he had ended the series in Season 5, both Sam and Dean would have been trapped in the cage forever. Not exactly a happy ending. Still, is he capable of manning a revival snd doing a decent job? Yes. Would I totally trust him with it? Maybe. Maybe not. Do I think he even has time to do it? Not really.

Jensen - Come on, people! If you want him to reprise his role as Dean, then he isn’t going to be the showrunner. Also, he’s an actor, not a writer, so it’s not even in his wheelhouse. So, no. This wouldn’t be a good idea. And after The Winchesters, I think it’s extremely unlikely that he’d be put at the helm in this way. The only upside to Jensen being a show runner? We know damn well Destiel would be ignored as vigorously as it deserves.

Robbie Thompson - Exhibit One: The Winchesters. So, no. Also, while he has written some episodes that I like of SPN, he was always trying to make the show something it wasn’t, whether it was Fairytale time with Charlie or trying to shoehorn romance into a platonic brother love story, he’s shown that he shouldn’t be trusted with the OG show in a position of power.

Sera Gamble - Season 6 while having some absolute bangers, was also a bit of a mess in some ways. And Season 7 was more so. How much of this was due to Gamble hersel and how much was due to Singer tugging at the reins, I don’t know. She is a proven showrunner, so I believe she could do it. She actually understands and enjoys Sam, so that would be a huge relief for those of us who actually care about Sam and want to see him get his due on screen. Also, she has never written Dean badly from my observations, despite certain past claims by “some people” on women not writing male dialogue well. In a lot of ways, I think she could be a good choice. But, would she be interested even? I have no clue.

Andrew Dabb - NEXT!!

Jeremy Carver - For reasons relating to Season 11, I would like to see him helm a revival. He can clearly follow through with a connected and coherent arc. However, for reasons relating to Season 8, where he had characters do a few hugely out of character things for the story’s sake? No. For Season 10 snd the bore thst it was for me personally (though that potentially had something to do with pressure that came from Singer)? No. All in all. I think he’d be capable of ruining a revival, but something tells me he isn’t particularly interested and they guys may not be that ready to chose him, either (purely just my gut).

Robert Singer - No. I believe he interfered with Gamble and Carver’s plans; I just don’t know to what extent. And worst of all, he did nothing to help steer Dabb away from the mess that was much of Seasons 12 to 15. Also, he’d probably bring Buck-Lemming with him. And can I just say a big, “Fuck no,” to that.

Again, all of this is just me rambling. I have no real idea how likely any of them would be to come back for a revival. And I also don’t know how much J2 would want any of them to run a revival, or whether they’d want to just get someone new who might be more likely to listen to their ideas. I don’t even know if J2 would have an easy time agreeing on who would make a good show runner from that list because I think they might not even agree on who they considered to be better writers, or be better candidates to showrunner. For example, I think Jared might be more enthusiastic about Gamble than Jensen would. And Jensen would probably welcome Singer more than Jared would. Again, I don’t know any of this for certain, but it just my impression based off of things they’ve said over the years.

If a revival happens what do I want?

First, it sounds to me like if there is one, J2 want to be a big part of it with Sam and Dean as central focus. This is what I would want. I watched the show for them. I stuck it out through the rough seasons for them. The only way I would watch a revival was if it heavily featured both Sam and Dean. Second, I think I would enjoy if they did a revival during the years (according to J2) between Episodes 19 snd 20. I would like this because it would make the likelihood of angel or demon interference minimal. And this would be the more likely scenario for us to get a more old-school creature hunting revival. We could still see Jody and co for those who care about that. There would be no need for Cas or Jack to show up, which I would prefer. Yet, it would be easy enough for them to make a brief appearance if J2 wanted to pander in that way. Also, I’m so very sick of Angel BS, and this seems like the best way to avoid it. Third, I could be interested in a bit of a prequel with John and the boys, if they could find a way to include J2 without making it convoluted and pointless. Finally, if they come back from heaven for some reason, I think it would be hard for the revival to have much in the way of stakes. And I really wouldn’t want a huge dose of Cas, which we’d potentially have in that case.

Anyway, here are my thoughts on the potential revival, thoughts thst no one asked for admittedly. Lol.

If anyone read this far, what are your thoughts on a revival. If it happens, who should run it and what would you want to see happen?

#supernatural #SPN Revival Speculation #my thoughts #if they have one what should it be about?#Revival talk #castiel critical #anti destiel #*edited for so so many typos*

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thexsanctuaryx · 2 months ago

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{ wish it was something I could just spit out }

Summary: Watching the game together takes an unexpected turn. Pairing: Original Character { Emma Harper } x Marc Spector Contents: fluff, that's pretty much it, friends to lovers energy Warnings: a little spicy but def not smut, some regression if you squint, but nothing too overt, it comes off mostly as shyness in this piece but it is part of their dynamic, so don't come for me if you don't like it Author's Note: The Boys have been demanding more softness with their fiancé, so here's some with Marc. Can't decide if I want to consider this Flufftober-- but maybe? Word Count: 837 Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

He’s been going on for what feels like forever, in reality, probably all of 3 minutes. While she’s been trying to get up the courage to just tell him how she feels.

She’s not even sure what he’s talking about anymore as she stares blankly at his lips. He hasn’t even noticed, he’s too busy watching the game—right, baseball—that’s what he’s been talking about.

She clears her throat, scooting closer to him on the couch. “Marc…” He continues talking over her. “Marc!”

He abruptly stops, his head snapping in her direction, not remembering her being that close. “What? What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice laced with panic.

She rolls her lips in, dimples coming out in full force as she looks down between them. Now that she’s gotten his attention she’s not sure what to do with it. Her heart hammers in her chest as she tries to find the words.

“Is it the game? I thought you liked baseball…”

She closes her eyes, pushing a heavy sigh through her nose. “I do—I love it—that’s not—”

She releases a noise of choked frustration, all at once she takes his jaw in her hands, rushing forward to press her lips to his.

He's completely caught off guard, his lips smashed beneath hers, frowning as she withdraws immediately stringing together apologies.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I—I shouldn’t have—”

He shakes his head slowly, finding it hard to place his own words. As she goes to remove her hands from his face, putting them up in a sort of surrender, it’s him that moves in again to reclaim her lips, hesitating a few times before finally catching them slowly with his, his own hands coming to cradle her face more gently.

As soon as she begins to respond, her lips moving in time with his, he leans into her further, his own attacking hers with more energy. She only reciprocates that energy causing a soft groan to leave him before he can stop it.

The sound sets off a tidal wave through her system, rippling out through her body. There’s a pivotal moment where she tries to decide her next move – to stop and apologize again, or to go for it. In the split second her mind works over this dilemma, she opts for the latter.

She shifts quickly, moving to swing a leg over his lap and coming to rest in it without once breaking away from his lips. Marc’s hands, in turn, drop to her thighs as she settles into his lap, his fingers surging up to spread out over them and grip them tightly.

A soft whine escapes her at the possessive feeling of his hands on her, too desperate for more to be embarrassed at this point. The sound, however, sends a shockwave of his own through Marc.

Emma’s grip comes up to smooth over his chest, traveling to his throat and anchoring the tips of her fingers at the edge of his jaw as if to steady herself. She continues the languid movements of her lips over his, deciding to take the plunge and slip her tongue out seeking entry from him.

He’s much quicker to acquiesce than she anticipates, and heat begins to pulse under her skin. It’s in that moment that she seems to come to her senses, withdrawing just enough to cause him to lean forward, chasing after her.

Her breath is labored against him, not opening her eyes, just trying to rein herself in.

Marc, on the other hand, opens his eyes heavily, his gaze roving over her features as he breathes her in. He reaches one hand up to comb his fingers through her hair as he marvels over what just happened.

He wants to ask her what it means for them, but some deeper fear of rejection holds him back. The last thing he wants right now is for her to tell him it was a mistake—that she just got too caught up in a moment. What he doesn’t realize is that she’s experiencing that same crippling fear.

He scowls as his fingers run through her hair once more, leaning in hesitantly to pull gently at her lips a few more times. To his surprise and amazement, she responds in kind, but much more timidly than before as if suddenly remembering that she doesn’t have the confidence she seemed to exude before when she first kissed him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks quietly.

She immediately shakes her head, ‘no,’ seemingly having lost her voice.

The sudden shyness from her causes him to ache in a way he didn’t know was possible. His fingers come through her hair again as she rolls her lips in, painfully bashful despite her previous actions. He presses a slow kiss to her forehead and she shifts to hide her face in his throat.

He summons a deep, silent breath, as his arms come to encase her protectively, murmuring against her, “Okay, baby, okay…”

#moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight system #moon boys #marc spector #marc spector x oc #{ moon knight }#muse: marc spector #muse: emma harper #temp tag: marc/emma #{ oneshots }#{ events } flufftober #that life seems like light years away { queue }

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theycallme-thejackal · 2 years ago

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One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

185. august

August slips away like a moment in time.

It’s been nearly a year. Nearly a year of spending random, infrequent nights twisted in bedsheets with one Miriam Weissman, and Lenny is coming to realize what he’s known all along.

She’s not his. She never was.

It’s for the best, really. For her to keep an emotional distance between them. He’s not good enough for her. He’s tried to be. He’s tried to rein in the arrests, to stay off the dope, but in the end, Lenny Bruce is a weak, cursed man.

To be fair, he’s off the drugs for the most part. The morphine has been hardest to kick. But he’s managing to wean himself off of it pretty well.

Doesn’t make him worthy of her.

“Lenny.”

He blinks out of his thoughts and turns his head to look at her, lipstick kissed away, mascara smudged, and hair tousled from their lovemaking. She’s always beautiful, but this is his favorite version of her. Naked and disheveled and smiling at him.

She’s got her head propped up on her hand as she lies on her side, looking down at him. She taps his forehead with one finger and says, “What’s going on in there?”

He sighs as her finger trails into his hair, her nails gently scraping against his scalp, and he nearly fucking purrs. “Just...thinking,” he murmurs as his eyes close.

He hears her laugh quietly as she continues stroking his hair. “About?”

“Us,” he answers honestly.

“Uh-oh,” she drawls teasingly. “Thinking about us and frowning. I guess I need to learn some new moves.”

It gets a chuckle out of him, and he opens his eyes to look at her. “You are lovely,” he rebuts.

She smiles softly at him and dips her head. “So are you,” she breathes before kissing him softly.

“I don’t know about that,” he replies when she pulls back again.

“Well, I do,” she insists. Her fingertips slide down his neck to his chest, where she starts drawing patterns over his skin. “You want to talk about it?”

He considers it. Considers voicing all of his fears. Telling her how he really feels about her. That he loves her. That he wants this to be real. That he wants this to be forever.

But if he just keeps those thoughts to himself, he can at least pretend she could ever feel the same way. “I’m good,” he promises, resting his hand over hers and squeezing gently.

She looks at him, clearly skeptical, but she doesn’t push. She just dips her head and kisses his chest. “Want to hear what I was thinking?”

He chuckles as she slips her leg over his and shifts to lie partially on top of him. He slips his arms around her, trying to push the negative thoughts from his mind. Significantly easier with her entire naked body pressed against him. “What were you thinking?”

Her eyes move away from his, down to their joined hands. “I was thinking that...maybe when you’re on the show next week...we could...”

He lifts his brows in question as she trails off. “Christen your dressing room?”

She laughs softly. “No. Well, yes, now that you mention it, but...” She bites her lip as she looks at him. “Maybe we should start telling people.”

His brows fly higher toward his hairline. “You want to tell people we’ve been fucking like rabbits?”

Another louder laugh escapes her. “No, that we’re...I mean I know we haven’t really been dating, but...I mean, I’m not dating anyone else. I don’t know if you are - and I don’t need to know. But I was thinking we could - ”

“I’m not,” he interrupts.

“You’re not?”

“If I’m not gigging, I’m either at your show or sitting home, waiting to see if you call,” he admits then.

She grins at that, biting her lip as she does. “You are?”

“Pathetic, huh?”

“Well, it would be if it weren’t so fucking sweet,” she replies. Her toes drag up his calf slightly, her cold toes making him shiver a little.

“So...you want to date?” He asks carefully.

Midge nods slowly. “I mean...I’m pretty sure you love me,” she explains.

He chuckles, hoping it masks the way his heart starts racing beneath their joined hands. “You’re pretty sure?”

“I’d say about eighty percent,” she confirms.

He exhales slowly as he gazes at her, her eyes betraying her own nerves, and he lifts his hand to brush his fingers through her hair. “And you...do you...?”

“Love you?” He nods, and she smiles at him. “Yeah, I do,” she whispers.

He finds himself feeling lighter. Like all of his anxieties have faded, and he lets himself smile for real when he says, “I love you, too.”

She breathes a quiet laugh and then kisses him deeply.

#midgelenny #midge x lenny #midgexlenny #tmmm fanfic #marvelous mrs. maisel fanfic #otp: more important than god #jackal fics #mltswift

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

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The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter 7

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 8

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I highly recommend reading it here, as I am more likely to post on ao3 and not update here in the future as the story progresses

Warnings: blood, gore, fighting

Word Count: 4509

Masterlist

Tired patrons meandered through the tavern, searching for breakfast before their hard days’ labor. The bustling and merriment of the night were traded in for half-lidded eyes and quiet exchanges. Jaskier, despite taking forever to wake up, seemed to be the most energetic of anybody else there. However, you were truly the most awake.

“So,” Jaskier said, “where to?”

“What do you mean?” You looked at him over the rim of your tankard as you took a drink.

Your expressions were muted; surrounded by strangers and townsfolk that could turn on you at any moment, you never gave anything away. Yet Jaskier could see the hints of emotion in your eyes, so adjusted to reading Geralt after so long. He knew your cold neutrality was a barrier, and through the carefully laid bricks he could see the curiosity in your question.

His fingers rubbed against each other as his nerves caught up to him. He wasn’t shy by any means, but since Geralt yelled at him, his mind seemed to always find ways to second guess himself. He wasn’t sure if he should be asking questions; if he could. But you didn’t shut him down. You didn’t give any hint at all that you may have been annoyed with him. He had to cling to that.

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to be traveling around, looking for monsters and things to kill, and, uhm,” his fingers fiddled with the handle of his tankard, “well, I need a guide to Oxenfurt. If you’re heading that way, that is. I don’t wish to…” He watched your eyes trail to the side, brow furrowing slightly as you thought. “Impose.”

“Are you looking to winter there?”

He nodded, emboldened by the question. “Yes! I have a little townhouse there, and usually the University hires me to lecture. Talk about my adventures and,” he gestured, “heroic deeds.”

You nodded slowly as you tried to picture a route from Hengfors all the way through Redania. “It’ll take a month to get there, if the weather holds up. We can follow the Braa river west until we hit Tridam and head south from there.”

“You’ll really take me with you?” His eyes lit up. Without even knowing it, he leaned forward over the table, as if being closer would reveal more truth in your slitted eyes.

“Of course, Jaskier,” you answered easily. You allowed yourself a barely-there grin, easily missed by the other patrons. “That’s why you’ve got Adhara; so you can keep up with me.”

He huffed a laugh, relaxing back into his chair. “You won’t regret this, Viper. I promise…” His shoulders fell. His eyes got a distant sort of look to them, and his smile dimmed, as if he only just realized what he was about to say. He swallowed. “Things will be different.”

Jaskier was nose deep in his journal, mumbling to himself as he scratched out words and rewrote descriptions.

On your way out of town that morning, you’d passed by the town notice board, and hidden under Gwent challenges and requests for eggs, lay a contract for a nest of Drowners. Simple work for good enough pay. Enough to make back for the cost of breakfast, anyway.

The fight with the Drowners had passed by so quickly - and the bard had never before been allowed to be so close to a fight - that he had rushed to get down every single thought he had in the moment. Unfortunately, now he was left with the terrible endeavor of translating his own words. He’d been at it for almost 30 minutes now. On the rare instances he wasn’t chattering away, you gave him silence to work.

Except, for the last 30 minutes, you’d had to keep Bayard at a steady pace right beside Adhara to keep her from trialing off the path. She was well-trained and obedient, but Jaskier barely had a hand on the reins in his eagerness, and the nearby river looked perfect for a dip.

You cleared your throat, and after a moment Jaskier realized it was to get his attention. Bright eyes stared at you like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You smiled. “How was your first Drowner experience?”

He chuckled airily and at last tucked the journal and pencil back into his pack. The question was rhetorical, he knew. It was obvious to anyone the event had tickled the artist within him, and he knew you’d been aware of his mad scribbling. Still, he grimaced playfully. “I didn’t realize they were quite that ugly,” he joked.

You huffed a laugh. You were free to do so, by now miles away from the judgemental eyes of townsfolk. Jaskier enjoyed seeing this side of you. It was a breath of fresh air after Geralt’s forever stone-cold exterior. “Wait ‘til you see a Rotfiend.”

His hands held tighter to the reins, eyes searching for an explanation. “A Rotfiend?” he enunciated. “What’s that?”

“They’re horrid,” you scowled. “Imagine a walking corpse, bloated, with skin sloughing off. Where one is found, more are sure to follow. They build their nests on old battlefields - anywhere there’s lots of death, really. The worst part, though, is when they die.”

Jaskier leaned toward you, trying to get as close as possible, as though it would provide him with even more information. He was always eager to learn, even as his face curled in disgust. “What happens?”

“They explode.”

He centered himself in the saddle, scoffing. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

“No, I’m not!”

“They explode?! Like-” He motioned his body exploding, starting from his chest and leaving him in an outward burst. “Explode-explode?”

You nodded.

He shook his head. He refused to believe something as vile as you were describing did something like blow up. “You’re messing with me.”

“They do! They explode and release clouds of poisonous gas!” A wide grin spread across your face as you tried explaining the monster to the bard. You couldn’t remember smiling like this since your time at Gorthur Gvaed. “The good news is one explosion can set off any others close by. One after another, all bursting into red clouds. I once had five of them die that way.”

Your head snapped to the side as a twig snapped. It was too far away to have been one of the horses. Jaskier didn’t notice as you pulled Bayard to a sharp stop, trotting on ahead. “Yeah, well, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Jaskier. Stop.”

Like a flip was switched, you were a Witcher once again. Yellow eyes scanned the forest edge like a predator searching for lunch. The rippling of water was the only sound.

All at once, you realized what was wrong. The birds stopped chirping. How long ago had they fallen silent? You were so caught up with Jaskier- You cursed yourself for making such a stupid mistake.

Before you could absolve yourself, you were falling off Bayard’s back. You screamed as the harsh impact sent shock waves through your spine. Bayard startled and reared on his hind legs, scaring Jaskier’s horse into doing the same. The bard couldn’t get a hold of his mare’s neck fast enough. He swore as he fell on his back right beside you.

He turned, ready to help you fight off whatever was attacking, whatever was scaring your horses, but he was stopped in his tracks by the arrow sticking out of your shoulder. Bright red pooled around the wooden shaft. The archer had found a gap in your armor. The only barrier the projectile had to pass through was your undershirt, now somehow darker as the blood stained it.

You clutched at your shoulder, digging your fingers into your arm as your mind screamed for you to rip it out. Get the arrow out. Get it out of your arm. It took all your willpower not to listen. You writhed against the dirt road and fallen leaves.

Bandits poured from the forest edge. A few broke off to calm the horses and prevent them from bolting. Two dragged Jaskier up to his feet by his arms and held him there, no matter how much he wriggled or fought back. Another, possessing an air of power and control, chuckled as he leaned over you.

“It’s not easy to get the jump on a Witcher,” he cackled. A muddy boot pressed down on your shoulder. You cried out through grit teeth. “But getting the jump on a Viper? That is, truly, something special.”

You grabbed the dagger at your hip, covering the handle with blood. The end of a longsword met your throat before you could drive it into him. He tsked, shaking his head. “Drop it, or we start breaking that one’s fingers.”

For a moment, Jaskier wasn’t sure what you’d do. He watched with a racing heart as you glared up at the bandit. Your fingers tensed around the hilt. One of the men holding him wrenched his hand free, grabbing hold of his fingers. And for a moment, you stared at him. Only for a moment. As brief as a whistle. And the dagger was dropped to the ground.

“A wise choice,” the bandit commended. He removed the blade from your throat, but pressed harder on your shoulder. You squirmed under his boot, a scream ripped from your throat. “Nilfgaardian scum.”

Anger boiled in your soul, like a bubbling pot of stew over a fire, ready to overflow. When the adrenaline subsided, all you had left was your rage.

Bayard and Adhara anxiously stamped their feet across the camp as gruff men pulled off their packs and saddlebags. You could practically feel the way Jaskier tensed when they grabbed his lute. Thankfully, they did little to harm it aside from tossing it onto a pile of potion ingredients they had no use for.

Blood dripped languidly down your arm, leaving a warm, sticky trail in its wake. The arrow held back the majority of it, like a dam holds back water. Having to keep your hands behind your back, clasped in place with no doubt stolen shackles, however, pulled at the wound, allowing enough to slip through to worry Jaskier.

He glanced around the camp. The leader of the group watched his underlings ransack your stuff, searching for anything valuable. They wouldn’t find much other than your money. Jaskier didn’t know whether to be grateful or worried for this.

When he determined the bandits were far enough away, he ducked his head closer to yours. Your snake eyes hadn’t left the leader since you were captured.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

As though snapped back to reality, you blinked and finally looked at him. It was not in a casual, carefree way. You did not look at him like he’d just come back from a night bar-hopping and performing for coin. There was so much fire behind your eyes. When you scanned him over for any hint of injury or harm to his person, all he could think of was the way you defended him atop the mountain. When you turned from yelling at Geralt and ushered him away; the way the anger had taken several minutes to actually fade from your body, despite the soft smile you wore. You did not answer his question.

“Did they hurt you?”

He shook his head. Where relief should have been was a hole, filled to the brim with guilt. He wasn’t hurt. He was perfectly fine, aside from the fear that spiked his heart rate and picked at his fingers.

But he could have been. He could have been hurt. And it’s all your fault.

“Hey!” The sharp shout startled Jaskier into leaning back away from you. The leader crossed the camp quickly, sneering down at you. “No talking.”

You stared silently up at him, defiant. He began to step away, foot turned toward the horses, but he stopped. A wicked grin pulled at dirt-covered cheeks. He chuckled, all too pleased with his realization.

“Boys, we didn’t just catch a snake,” he beckoned. The others stopped what they were doing, dropping your things and gathering around to hear what their leader had to say, like sinners in church hoping for their priest to provide them with salvation. The leader knelt down in front of you. His face was inches away, and his breath reeked of tobacco and ale. His voice changed to a low hiss. “You’re Nilfgaard’s prized Viper.”

A murmur arose between the underlings.

“You’ve got a pretty price on your head.” A gloved hand reached out and touched your cheek. You jerked away from the touch. “Just the head, mind you.”

The hand trailed down your throat until it brushed against the silver of your medallion. The snake engraved on it seemed to pull back, prepared to bite the finger, but it was only a trick of the light that scattered through the canopy overhead. He stared into your eyes as his hand wrapped around the metal, and in one quick tug, the string broke. An emptiness replaced the ever-present weight.

“Of course, you won’t be needing this anymore, eh?”

He chuckled as he stood up, briefly scraping the edge of the medallion across your cheek just to see you flinch away. His eyes only glanced over Jaskier. The bard’s popularity was lost on the bandit. For that, you were grateful. To them, he was just another bard, not one of the most famous, who traveled with the White Wolf and sung songs of Witcher glory.

The leader turned. With a wave of his hand, the rest of the men went back to work. Wood and grass was piled up in the center, and soon enough a fire was crackling away. They pulled out the dried meats from your bags and they tore sections off of a loaf of bread, and they sat laughing amongst themselves around the fire as the sun grew lower in the sky.

Jaskier sighed mournfully. He scowled as he watched them rip chunks from the jerky with their teeth and slosh ale between bites of bread. He only looked away when he heard your cuffs clinking together.

Your fingers felt around the metal, feeling out where it was locked, where the chains attached, and which was weaker of the two. You watched the group, but you weren’t staring at food like he’d been. When a bandit glanced over, your fingers stopped moving. As soon as he looked away again, you felt around more.

Jaskier, as soon as he realized you were trying to be sneaky, looked away. His eyes darted between the group.

Ducking your head, you whispered to the bard, “I need a distraction.”

“What kind of distraction?” The question came out more anxious than he intended. He didn’t fancy the idea of being bait, but you’d both been stuck here for hours and he was more than ready to get as far away as possible.

You ran your fingers along the chain again. It was sturdy, but all you’d need is one broken link. The real issue came with the execution. “I need 2 minutes.”

He sighed. He didn’t fancy getting beat up for an escape, either. But he nodded anyway. He’d entertained worse crowds, surely he could draw their attention long enough.

With some effort, he pushed himself up to his feet. His legs were numb from sitting on his knees so long, pricks and pins sticking him every stumbled step over to the fire. He grinned widely despite the situation.

“Gentleman!” All conversation died, replaced with glaring eyes and grotesque sneers. “You seem to have done quite well for yourselves out here. It would be my honor, as Jaskier the bard, to sing a song to your greatness!”

Some of the thugs chuckled. “You’re gonna sing us a song?”

He nodded. Their eyes all followed him as he circled around the group, pulling their attention further away from you. As soon as they were no longer faced that way, a dim orange light emitted from behind you. “I could sing for you all through the night and morning! Or until that one,” he gestured his head to one of the thugs that swayed in his seat from ale, “falls over, leastaways.”

They all laughed. The ones closest nudged the drunkard playfully. They all fell quiet when the leader uncrossed his legs and sat forward. Cracked lips curled around browning teeth. “Go on, then,” he encouraged. Yet something lingered beneath the words, as a snake slithers unseen under bushes. Something dangerous. He stood and paced around Jaskier, standing too close behind him. The bard swallowed as hot breath touched his ear. “Sing for us, little bird.”

With little time to think of all the songs in his repertoire (most of which revolved around a Witcher), the first song that didn’t deal with a White Wolf slaying beasts heroically was the song he sang. And though without a backing instrumental or the assurance that they would know the song and join in, Jaskier endured. For the few seconds he got to sing it, that is.

“Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger. Come quell-”

A gloved hand grabbed his hair and pulled hard enough he almost fell to the ground. As it was, he was bent over backward trying not to have his hair ripped out. The leader leaned over him. “Not that fucking tripe.”

With another sharp tug to his hair, Jaskier was flung to the ground by the horses. He winced as he landed hard on his shackles.

From across the camp, sharp yellow eyes watched helplessly.

“Try again.”

A rough sigh passed the bard’s lips like a huff. He was just as powerless as the Witcher he traveled with. The thugs watched as he floundered. His lips formed half-thought lyrics, before he stopped himself. His heart raced as he sang the next song.

“The fairer sex, they often call it-”

You watched as though in slow motion as the leader swung his leg in an arc, rubber sole catching Jaskier across the cheek. The momentum sent him to the ground. Their laughter burned your ears as they watched on. With his hands still clasped behind him, Jaskier fought to get away from the crowd. His cheek was pink, though not twinged by the humors of alcohol. And from a small cut beneath his eye fell a drop of blood.

You saw red.

In one final burst of Igni, you felt the chain break apart. It glowed red as you forced yourself to stand. For a moment, everyone was too distracted bullying Jaskier, until you cut off one of their heads with their own sword.

The fear in the leader’s eyes was worth all the pain. Had you been a wild beast, you would have relished in their terror. Soaked in the way they stepped back, tried to find a way to get their weapons, try to figure out an escape. But you weren’t. And all you could think of was getting Jaskier out of there.

“Touch him again,” you hissed, “and I will ensure no god will recognize you when I am finished.”

Clinging to the last of his confidence, the leader scoffed. You could hear the waver in his voice. “You’d kill us all, for what? A bard?”

“In a heartbeat.”

All color drained from his face. He shoved his men forward to fight while the coward grabbed Jaskier and dragged him backward into the trees for protection.

Truthfully, you didn’t remember most of the fight. You recalled your injured arm becoming useless halfway through. And you distinctly remember a sharp, burning pain along your spine the more blows you took and the more men you felled. By the time the last grunt had fallen to your stolen sword, you were covered in gore and viscera.

You stepped lazily over bodies as you crossed the camp, one arm limp and the other hanging from exhaustion. The sword was heavier than your daggers, and required a completely different fighting style than you were trained in. Even at a disadvantage, you’d wiped out the entire camp so quickly you would have been praised back at school.

“Not one step closer!”

Your feet stopped at the edge of the campfire’s glow. Just beyond, back pressed up against a tall oak, was the bandit leader. Jaskier was trapped in his hold with a knife pressed to his throat. He tried not to squirm under the threat to his life, but the fear radiated off of him so thickly you could smell it through hints of vanilla.

“No closer or the bard gets it!”

You almost chuckled. “You’d kill your only bargaining chip?” You took a step forward. “Really?”

The blade pressed tighter against his neck. “I’ll do it, I swear!”

For a long moment, you both stared, studying each other. You watched the way Jaskier swallowed his whimpers down. The way the bandit’s gloved hand trembled. The silver glistening in his pocket.

“What do you propose?”

He blinked. “Drop the sword.” Your fingers tightened around the hilt. “Drop the sword and I’ll let him go.”

Jaskier thought for a moment you would refuse. The blade caught the firelight as you contemplatively shifted its weight in your grasp. He hated how shocked he felt when you did finally drop the sword. And the relief as you kicked it away from yourself.

The bandit waited a moment to ensure you weren’t trying to pull a fast one over him. Then, he lifted the knife from your bard’s neck, and shoved him forward. You grunted as you caught him, as he stumbled into you roughly. You held onto his sleeve when he gathered himself, stepping away from you, and watched over his shoulder as the cowardly leader ran away.

Jaskier sighed. It was shaky, filled with relief and disappointment. “You’re going to let him go?”

“That wasn’t part of our deal,” you answered lowly. Jaskier felt untethered when you released him and swept up the sword you’d kicked away. At the edge of the treeline, you used your whole body to gather the momentum, and threw the sword at the retreating figure. It spun through the air and landed on its mark. The bandit collapsed to the forest floor. “Stay here.”

The command was quiet and held no real power behind it, but Jaskier complied nonetheless. He watched from afar as you stepped clumsily over protruding roots.

The leader, gasping in agony, clawed his way along the ground. His gloves were hastily removed and chucked aside in hopes of gathering more traction. He screamed as the sword in his back was ripped out carelessly. A boot kicked him onto his side, and another forced him to lay on his bleeding, gaping wound. Blood stained orange and brown leaves indiscriminately.

“Mercy!” he cried. His face contorted into a gross facsimile of the man he once was. Tears clouded his vision and poured down his dirty cheeks. His hands clasped in prayer. “Mercy, please!”

You aimed the tip of your blade at his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed against it. “You hurt my bard,” you reminded him. Your voice was quiet; a mere croak of what it usually was. But the threat it carried remained as powerful as if you screamed it. “You ransacked our horses, ate our food, stole my medallion.” You twisted your grip on the blade so your palm faced you. The sword stood straight up against the hollow of his neck. “I have no mercy left to give.”

Steel sheathed itself within his neck. You watched remorseless as blood pooled in his mouth, and as he coughed and choked on it. Taking his life was all too satisfying.

With a groan, you reached down and plucked your medallion from one pocket, and the key to your cuffs from the other. You used the trees for support as you stumbled back to the camp. Jaskier met you at the treeline and pressed his body into your side to keep you upright. You held onto his sleeve again.

“Are you alright?” he whispered. He didn’t wish to take his eyes off you, even as you turned him away so you could free him from his shackles. As soon as they were off, he was facing you once again and holding you by the arms to support you.

You couldn’t find the words to answer him. Were you? Half your body was numb; the other half burned something fierce. You felt no remorse taking so many human lives, but guilt festered like an open wound when you spotted the blood on his cheek. Without thinking, you raised a hand and brushed it away.

Jaskier stayed by your side, holding you up, as you shambled toward the horses. “Need to move on,” you muttered. Were those spots in your vision? “We can get a few more miles down the road if we-”

“You’re bleeding, Viper.” He pulled you to a stop. “You’re covered in blood - I’m covered in blood.”

“You barely got a splatter on you.”

“The sun’s already beginning to set and there’s fire and food aplenty here. We should stay and rest, not charge off into the night!”

You shook your head. “Monsters’ll smell this blood. Ten minutes, tops, we’ll be fighting off rotfiends and- and everything else.”

Irritated, he looked around the camp. He really didn’t want to sleep surrounded by corpses, but you! He’d watched the fight. It was messy and sloppy, and you’d definitely be bruised in a few hours. He wasn’t entirely certain you hadn’t broken anything. Surely it would be best to patch yourselves up first?

You didn’t wait for him to argue any more. Bayard saw you approaching and met you halfway. Without a command, he laid down so you could easily mount him. Jaskier begrudgingly helped you settle in the saddle the bandits neglected to remove, and he watched as Bayard stood as carefully as he was able to avoid flinging you out the seat.

You fought to keep your eyes open as you watched Jaskier find something to step on so he could mount Adhara. Your body screamed and begged for rest. For the pain to end. But you couldn’t sleep. You refused to, when Jaskier could still be in danger from the monsters that lurked in the dark woods. No. You’d ride a while longer, and then you could rest.

Barely tugging the reins, you guided Bayard from the wooded clearing. Low hanging branches scratched against your face, but you couldn’t find any part of you that really cared. You could hear Jaskier grumbling as he pushed the branches aside.

As you neared the road, the sound of trickling water returned. Oh, the things you’d do to slip right into that cool river. Horse hooves clopped mutedly against the dirt road. Every step rocked you gently. Dark spots overwhelmed your vision, and finally your eyelids closed. Jaskier screamed your Viper moniker as he watched you slide limply off your horse once again, and collide with the hard ground below.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonsimp

@cool-ontherun-world

#fanfic #fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #jaskier x reader #jaskier #jaskier the bard #witcher jaskier #the witcher jaskier #x reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #cross posted on ao3

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cookinguptales · 1 year ago

Note

oooh I love your little playlist fic idea! Thanks for doing something like this! If it hasn't been chosen yet, 6 tends to be a nice number for me. As for a word... how about "esoteric"? Feel free to include whatever niche references to obscure folklore you desire; if I don't know something, it'll just be an internet research goldmine for future me!

Well, the song in question is Ghost Riders In The Sky, in particular the version by The Ventures. That said, I took inspiration from Stan Jones’s original version when I thought about how I wanted to go about this. And — I have to be honest, I’ve always associated this song with The Wild Hunt, a bit.

The Wild Hunt is one of those phrases that we give to an awful lot of disparate folkloric traditions that have a supernatural hunt in common, so I suppose when I was thinking about the direction to go… I used ideas about the old Germanic version of the ghostly hunts as well as a relatively modern addition of Hecate as the queen of the hunt (with a little whiff of Sleep No More, I’ll admit) and folded those in with Stan’s ghostly riders forever doomed to chase cattle they’ll never catch as atonement for earthly crimes.

Also, I made it gay. :|

(Hope none of that got too esoteric, lmao. THOUGH now that my beta has looked over this, apparently the actual esoteric reference in this fic was what a Black Mariah hearse is.)

The clouds were thick overhead, and the moisture in the air felt unfamiliar out here in the desert. A storm was coming, Danny could feel it. Electric potential trickled down her spine, and she could feel it nestled there in the small of her back.

She looked sidelong over at Ruby sitting on the horse next to her. Ruby’s eyes were fixed on the horizon, past the brewing storm and into the future.

Their future. Whichever one they chose.

“You don’t have to do this, Ruby,” Danny said, low.

“Don’t I?” Ruby asked, and her eyes flicked over to Danny’s. “Don’t we?”

Ruby’s voice was soft and husky in her throat, and it made something in Danny’s stomach tighten, like it always did. But this time it wasn’t just a wondering hunger, the simple joy of finding one lone soul out in these arid lands who understood the heart that beat beneath your breast; this time there was just a little bit of fear. “I—“

“Danny,” Ruby said. “Do you really wanna be a ranch hand all your life? Don’t you wanna get out there and see the whole wide world?”

Danny swallowed. Of course she did, and Ruby knew it. They’d lain there together amongst the prairie-fire and the desert lilies, a riot of color that painted the landscape for too damn short a time, and they’d talked about lands far away. Flowers that bloomed all year round.

Ruby knew exactly what Danny wanted. That’s why, back then, she’d curled in close and trailed her fingers down her knee. It’s why she’d whispered soft promises and halcyon dreams into her ear as she’d made her gasp there in the afternoon sun.

It’s why the two of them were sitting here, right here, and staring down at old Wilkes Pass.

“There will be people in that coach,” Danny said softly. And that was a gun there at Ruby’s hip.

“There will be money, too. A lot of money.”

Danny swallowed. Then, almost without thinking, she reached out and linked her fingers with Ruby’s there between their horses. “Let’s go back, Ruby. I know he’s not the best boss in the world, but—“

“I’m tired of bosses, Danny. I’m tired of all this. The only thing I’m not tired of is…”

Ruby didn’t say it, but her fingertips tightened in Danny’s all the same. Their clasped hands looked dark there together against the baked earth until the first few drops began to fall.

“Rain’s here,” Ruby said softly, and it was. It was like the sky itself was weeping at what the two of them were about to do, and the ground beneath their feet went dark. Black.

Danny could hear a faint rumble in the distance, and Ruby’s eyes snapped up toward the road, her hand dropping Danny’s as she took her horse’s reins in hand.

It wasn’t time yet, was it? The stagecoach wasn’t due round these parts for another hour at least. It came early sometimes, sure, when it was coming to drop off the miners’ paychecks, but…

No. There was nothing there on the road, nothing but the patter of rain and the faraway caw of crows who were none too happy about getting wet.

Danny looked up, then, wondering which way they’d fly, and what she saw… No. That couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be real.

Her lips parted around a silent gasp, and it was one beat of her heart, two, before she managed to hiss, “Ruby,” and point up at the sky.

Obediently, without question, Ruby looked up. And her eyes widened. “What on earth…”

So she could see it, too.

The clouds were spilling out across the sky above them like floodwaters in a canyon, and amidst them, between and betwixt, Danny could make out shadows. They flickered in the storm clouds, a flame painting stories on the rocks at night, and slowly, slowly those shadows coalesced into shapes. Into figures.

Danny could see them now, riding across the sky. They shimmered there on their beasts, ghostly riders made of sun showers and lightning, and she could see the way the eyes of their pale horses gleamed red.

Ahead of them, too, hooves pounded, the sound of it lost to distant thunder coming closer all the time, and Danny could see the quarry they chased. Cattle, from the looks of it, young, strong ones that made their charges back home look downright pitiful.

They were beautiful creatures, captivating in a way, and it was only the way their eyes, too, glowed red, that kept Danny very firmly in her seat. Below her, she could feel the fine tremble of Sally’s shoulders as her horse muttered her discomfort.

Ruby, though… Danny glanced over at her again and saw it. The rapture there in her eyes. The way that the cattle’s devil-gleam was reflected in her dark eyes.

Danny had looked into those eyes for hours before this. Had whispered devotion to them. But the look in them now was one that she didn’t recognize, and that she didn’t like.

“Ruby?” she whispered, fearful somehow of being heard above the thunder.

“They’re beautiful,” Ruby said softly. “Danny, they’re—“

There was a longing there in Ruby’s voice that Danny didn’t like, not one bit. There was something faraway about it. Something fey. Something so desperate that Danny didn’t even know how to describe it.

It was like that longing called to the clouds, though, and their ghostly inhabitants, because there was a peculiar curl to them now, like they were beckoning the two of them up. And one shadow, darker than all the rest, seemed to still there amongst all that flickering carnage.

A long, low whistle sounded out across the plains, echoing against their little ridge, and Danny shuddered. There was lightning and thunder in that whistle, cowbell and the shriek of a train shedding its tracks.

And Ruby, oh Ruby. Ruby threw her head back, fingers to her lips, and she whistled back.

The ghostly riders rode ever on and on, but their leader, or perhaps their driver, peeled away from the pack. The clouds parted for her, and her pale steed left no tracks as it galloped down through the sky.

The woman, if words like that could be used for such things, stared down at them with a tangle of red hair about her shoulders and eyes that gleamed.

That, Danny thought faintly, is a witch.

The witch’s mouth moved, lips red as blood curling around words that Danny couldn’t hear but could feel all the same.

She could feel the witch’s words stream through her like a knife to the gut, like a spider’s web drawn tight between the dawn and the horizon and herself suspended upon it. Those blood-red lips whispered about love and freedom, joy and madness. They whispered about all those things that seemed just barely out of reach, those dreams that run from the best of us on hooves tinged with thunder.

They whispered about the hunt.

Danny recoiled from the sensation, but she knew without even looking over that Ruby did not. Hell. She knew without looking over that Ruby could do more than feel those words; she could hear them.

“Ruby,” Danny whispered again, and she reached out to take her lover’s hand in hers once more. But Ruby’s hand was so cold now, and she could feel the way it shook.

Danny chanced a glance over at Ruby, and her heart sank at what she saw there. Ruby’s eyes were wide and sightless, the sweet, pretty darkness that she’d fallen in love with taking on a scarlet tinge that scared her. She was mouthing words and Danny couldn’t hear, either, and she wished she knew what fey conversation the two of them shared.

Maybe then she’d know what to argue back.

“Ruby, please,” Danny said, her voice stronger in her throat this time. “Don’t listen to her.”

But Ruby couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hear her. Danny could see it in those strange, deep eyes now. The lust and the greed and the desire for — for a quarry that could never, never be caught.

It wouldn’t be enough, would it? It would never be enough. If they knocked over that coach today, the money would only whet Ruby’s terrible thirst. It would be opening a gate that neither of them would be able to close again, a flood that could not be dammed, and Danny knew right then and there that it would drown them both.

“Ruby.”

But Ruby wasn’t listening at all anymore. Maybe all she could hear was the poison dripping from the lips of that woman who was smiling now, wild red hair barely restrained by the dark hat she wore, and maybe all she could see was the way that witch was raising a hand in invitation.

Ruby’s fingers felt numb, cold, dead in Danny’s hand, and they slipped unfeelingly from hers as Ruby dismounted her horse.

Danny just watched her go for a moment, frozen in a rictus of terror, and then—

She heard it.

It was a laugh, wild and awful, echoing around the mountains and the canyons and the plains all around them, and though she could see the witch’s mouth open, the sound didn’t seem to be coming from her. It came from everywhere and nowhere, all around them, thunder in a torrential downpour and lightning in the hills ahead, and every bone in Danny’s body went cold.

She was out of her own saddle before she had another moment to think of it, and if Ruby was desperate to gain some nebulous treasure that would never, ever be enough, Danny was desperate to protect the only one she already had.

And Ruby, now, was walking towards a cliff edge. That sounded like the sort of pretty thing you might hear in a song, but women like them, they weren’t pretty and they weren’t songbirds. Danny meant it entirely literally when she said that Ruby was sauntering directly toward a cliff.

It was the cliff that they’d chosen as a lookout point, the cliff that would let them see when a stagecoach rounded the bend, bound for the little town that had served as their cage all their lives.

To Ruby, that stagecoach had seemed like freedom. This cliff seemed like escape. But Danny was sure now that this was just another cage, a snare set out by a hunter much, much scarier than they’d ever known before, and the only thing waiting beyond that cliff was a tombstone that neither one of them could afford.

The witch on her pale steed beckoned and Ruby stepped forward and maybe it was just as foolish a decision, but Danny didn’t know what this situation called for if not foolishness.

If not a little bit of bravery for the first time in her miserable life.

“No,” she said, and her voice wobbled in her throat. She swallowed hard. Tried again. “No. You can’t have her.”

That old witch, her eyes narrowed beneath the brim of her hat, and that smile of hers faltered. Twisted into a scowl.

Our choices are our own, little girl, and we must pay for them.

The witch’s voice was like spiderwebs and shivers in the back of her head. Like the faraway scream of a cougar in the night. It made Danny’s stomach go hot and cold and terrified, but instead of loosening her resolve, it only firmed it.

How dare this woman speak to her this way? How dare this woman make her feel like this? How dare she try and take what was hers?

“She hasn’t done anything yet,” Danny said, and she could feel a stubborn, angry, wild sort of desperation filling her, too. “She’s not yours.”

Yet.

“She’s still alive, ain’t she? She’s still got dreams. Not—“ Danny swallowed hard as she realized just how true her words were about to be. “Not night mares like you.”

She dreams of riches. Of power. She dreams of the hunt.

“She dreams of me, you old bitch. And she wants to be free.”

The woman sat back in her saddle, and for the first time Danny saw that it was all pale leather embroidered with scarlet thread. And all those designs, meticulous in their sewing, were made up of little blood-red names.

And Ruby’s would not be one of them.

We are free here in the skies, the woman said, gesturing to the riders, gaunt and skeletal, that rode behind her. We are not bound by human laws or desires.

“You’re nothin’ but desire, are you?” Danny scowled. “I know what you are.”

She was hunger and she was thirst. Jealousy and lust and covetous greed. She was the pit at the bottom of their stomachs when they hadn’t made quite enough to earn dinner and she was the dark underbelly of every dream they’d ever had.

This woman, this witch, was human want. But the booze this one served would only make you thirstier, until that thirst ate you up inside. Until it ate you alive.

She was a hole in the human heart where all the happiness leaked out, and she wouldn’t be happy until she’d clawed that hole in Ruby.

But if there was one thing Danny had learned about loneliness and hurt, it was that it could be patched if you just found the right thing to nurse you. Or the right person, as the case might be. And she’d been patching up the holes in Ruby’s heart for so many years that she knew it better than anybody in this world or the next.

She knew all about Ruby’s hunger. She knew all about her need.

And she knew how to sate it. No goddamn witch required.

You know nothing, small one.

Well. Maybe not much. But “nothing” was pushing it. “I know what’s mine.”

The woman scoffed, and the sound was like rolling thunder in the distance.

Danny ignored her, turning to Ruby instead and ignoring the way her back shuddered to be turned toward such perilous danger. She stood in front of her now and placed her hands on unfeeling cheeks. Leaned up so she could press a kiss to cold, cold lips.

“I know you’re in there, baby,” she whispered, fierce. “And I know you don’t want this. Because if you go down this hill, I go right down with you.”

She thought about all the time they’d spent together. All the times that Ruby had looked at her like she wanted to give her every good thing. All the good things in the world. She thought about every time that Ruby had held her, protected her, had guarded her against danger.

She felt Hell itself at her back, and she almost laughed at the way things had turned.

“I want to make a life with you,” she murmured against still lips. “But down there? That’s just death.”

She could hear the rolling of an old stagecoach’s wheels, and she did not turn. She’d heard those wheels before, and whether full of money or trouble, opportunity or danger, she knew the sound of a goddamn Black Mariah.

“Let’s go, Ruby,” she said. “We don’t have to go home, but we sure can’t stay here.”

Ruby’s lips moved beneath hers, and though she couldn’t hear the words, Danny could recognize her own name. She could hear a hiss of anger behind her, the wind kicking up fierce all around them, but she didn’t back down, not now.

“Come on now,” she crooned. “Don’t tell me you think that old witch is prettier than I am.”

Ruby blinked once, stared into the distance behind Danny’s back, and Danny could feel a shudder roll through the body beneath her hands. “No. She sure ain’t.”

Danny didn’t know what that witch looked like now, all fury and hunger, but the wind was furious, the rain needles against her skin, so she had a feeling the old bitch wasn’t happy. Her laugh came out more like a sob, and she felt Ruby’s hands come up automatically to steady her, just like they always did. “Always knew you had good taste.”

Ruby’s eyes flicked down to the road below them, and Danny could see her swallow hard. “The coach is here,” she said softly.

“I know, Ruby,” Danny said. “Let it go.”

“But we—“

“Let it go.”

For a moment, all seemed still. The wind, the rain, the wretched thunder of hooves on sky plains. It all seemed to wait for just one breath as Ruby looked down at the road. As she looked up and locked eyes with a witch, a devil, a goddess that Danny could no longer see.

And then Ruby closed her eyes and all the tension seemed to leak right out of her. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s — let’s go, Danny. Let’s go home.”

Wherever the hell that is, Danny thought to herself. Still, though, she thought as she dragged Ruby in close and kissed her soundly, she had a pretty good idea that they could make one anywhere as long as they stayed together.

There was a scream of pure fury, pure lightning and thunder and awful, awful power, and Danny could feel the ground shake beneath them. But Ruby was no longer looking at the witch, was no longer captivated by promises that she had no intention of keeping. And the bridle that the witch had been slipping around her neck had faded away into nothing but the wind whipping at their faces.

When Danny pulled away a minute later, the stagecoach was gone, and so was the witch. The rain had eased all around them, the torrent easing into a gentle patter, and Ruby’s skin was warm beneath her fingers.

Danny turned finally, squinting into the clouds on the horizon and was relieved to find them empty. And down there, not too far away from where they’d intended to lie in wait for the coach once it’d come into view, Danny could see the wrecked remains of a tree smoldering in the rain.

“Lightning,” Ruby said softly, and Danny could see that she knew it, too. That the two of them would’ve been goners down there if they’d chosen that path.

They would’ve been riding in that witch queen’s wild hunt a lot sooner than even Danny had thought.

Ruby’s throat was working, and Danny could see the beginning of tears in those pretty brown eyes. “Back home again,” she said. “To an asshole boss and sleep for dinner.”

“Or,” Danny said, “we could go.”

“Go?” Ruby’s eyes slid to hers. “Go where? We don’t have money, Danny.”

“I don’t know,” Danny said, and once again, she slid her hand into Ruby’s. “But I know we’re alive. And that means we can go anywhere we want.”

They weren’t tethered down yet, not to this land and not to the ghost riders in the sky.

Ruby’s smile was rueful, like she still didn’t quite believe Danny’s words but she liked the sound of them nevertheless. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They kissed there in the rain, just the two of them and no one else, and Danny didn’t know where their choices would take them in the future. She didn’t know what their tombstones would eventually say when they were laid to rest.

But she knew that they’d be laid to rest together, and their spirits would not be chained to the sky.

#this came out a little over 3k which feels a little unwieldy for tumblr...?#unsure where to post it though #AO3's rules are a bit weird for non-exchange origific #but maybe I'll do it anyway if there's any demand #origific #fic stuff #idk how to tag this bye

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