#i was going to add more but my eyes are giving up

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Watch my 9mm go BANG!

Tags: Caleb x fem!Reader, smut, gun play, dead dove, caleb is a walking red flag in this one, the gun goes WHERE???

An: So um… I’m obsessed with him, and I sincerely apologize for writing this.

No, you’re absolutely right. Sylus would never fuck you with his gun. He cherishes you, worships your body as if you’re a goddess who fell into his lap. He’s too weary of accidentally hurting you. He couldn’t fathom shoving an object of war inside your pretty little pussy, the most safest of places that he knows. It’s a blasphemous thought really.

but you know who would do that…

“C-caleb, th-that… oh my god… what are you doing-? Mmph! Shit,” you gasp and pant, looking down between your legs to marvel at the black weapon adorned with silver attachments sliding through your slick folds.

Caleb’s lilac eyes are on you, watching you from between your knees, and he has a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches the confusion, fear, and arousal take precedent on your face.

This type of debauchery is only something you could take part in with someone you trust with your whole life. Caleb already knows all your secrets… What’s one more sick kink to add to his arsenal of blackmail?

“What’s the matter, pipsqueak? This is only such a small step up from my hand.” He taunts, raising his robotic arm up to give you a teasing wave.

His other hand is carefully dragging the handgun up and down, watching as you coat his gun in the most beautiful of shine. Truthfully, he’s considering doing this with all of his guns. He needs his pretty girl to christen all of his weapons. You know… for luck.

“Ah-!” you gasp and tense as you feel him aim the weapon right at your small bundle of nerves, applying a small amount of pressure before he skillfully maneuvers the gun in small circles.

Your hands are fisting at the sheets, slightly pulling at them as you try to take your mind off of what’s happening to you. He’s using a gun to bring you to the edge, and the worst part was you’ve never been this close to finishing so quickly before.

Your stomach tightens, and you’re on the cusp. Your legs try to clamp around Caleb’s arm and the gun, but his other hand presses to your knee and forces you to keep your legs open.

“Tsk. Come on. Let me see~ I wanna see you unravel on my gun,” his eyes are glimmering with mischief and perversion as he applies more pressure, and he flicks his wrist in tighter circles, pinpointing your pleasure center down with such ease.

“Fuck-! Caleb… I-“ you can’t even get the words out before you feel your body snap like a bowstring. Your pleasure ripples through your body in waves as your walls clench around nothing.

“What a pretty sight,” he murmurs proudly as he finally relieves some of the pressure. “I wanna see it happen again,” he proclaims, sliding the gun further down towards your entrance.

“Wait- You can’t be serious, C-caleb,” you choke out, squirming backwards on the bed away from the handgun being pointed towards your very core.

“Dead serious, pipsqueak,” he affirms as he gives you that cold gaze he’s mastered since becoming a colonel. “What? Don’t you trust me?”

He flips the gun upside down, tilting the handle towards your clit as the muzzle plugs your entrance.

Your body vibrates with anticipation, and you find yourself stilling for him. Some deep depraved part of you is just as enticed as it is repulsed.

“Look at you being such a good girl,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to the inner part of your knee before he slides the barrel of the gun inside you.

“O-oh!” you gasp, arching your back off the bed as you squeeze your eyes closed. The metal isn’t very cold anymore, and it’s adequately lubed with your arousal from earlier.

“Shh, shh.” he whispers as his hands slowly work the gun further inside you. His eyes are enamored with the sight of your puffy folds, happily swallowing his gun like the needy slut you are. “Feels good to let go, don’t it?”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his gun slowly sliding in and out of you. Your warm walls hug around the barrel. You’re completely baffled at how you’re getting so turned on from this. You should be scared out of your mind, but instead, your hips are rolling, trying to seek out more stimulation from the weapon.

“Sooo eager. God, you’re so beautiful,” his voice is husky as he whispers. He can feel the strain in his pants from his erection, but he’s not looking to relieve himself. This is all about you.

He tilts the handle of the gun upwards, pressing the butt of the handle against your small bundle of nerves. The angle of the gun making it possible to stimulate twice as much.

“Oh my— shit, Caleb!” you’re stumbling over words as your cunt flutters around the gun. You’re already close again.

“That’s right, pretty. Cum on my fucking gun. Come on. Give it to me,” he demands, gripping the gun tightly with one hand as he’s pumping it in and out quicker. The sound of metal clicking and squelching echoes in the room.

His face is twisted in pure concentration, and his muscles flex with each time he moves the gun inside you. His chain bouncing around his neck as he works you down.

Your body goes taut, and you lift your hips up off the bed. Your slick is gathered beneath you onto the sheets. You’re dripping.

Your ears begin to ring, and you shout his name as you squeeze around his gun. His hands become more methodical, pumping the gun leisurely with his hand.

You can hear him let out a low growl as he watches your pussy constrict. You’re such a pitiful thing — trying to milk his gun as if it could even give you anything.

You’re gasping for air as he slowly pulls the gun out of you. Its shiny metal was glistening in your slick. Caleb smirks to himself, knowing that every time he cleans it, he’s going to have to plunge it into you again.

“Messy girl,” he grins as he admires his weapon. He then slowly brings it up to his lips before his tongue lulls out, and he licks your juices straight off of his gun, savoring your taste.

“You’re sick,” you pant, unable to tear your eyes away from the downright pornographic sight.

“Says the one who just came on my gun like a psychopath.”

[bywons]

WHISPERS BEHIND VELVET ✷ AGENT!PJS

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝖺𝗒 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋

【 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 】 ｡ 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍!𝗃𝖺𝗒 & 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍!𝖿!𝗋 2332w 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗌𝗉𝗒 𝖺𝗎 ━━━━ 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ❛ 愛 ❜

する ܃ something out of my comfort zone, tried my best not to go overboard with it ! i hope you guys will like it, then maybe we'll get more agent enha :3

reb𝑙ogs────𝑓eedbacks 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 ꪆৎ

“this is it. keep your head in the game, rookie.”

jay’s voice is calm, yet there’s an undercurrent of tension in his tone. the quiet command sends a shiver down your spine as you watch him adjust the cufflinks of his black tuxedo with meticulous precision. everything about jay screams control���his posture, his movements, even the way he holds himself. he’s been in situations like this countless times, while for you, this is your first real undercover mission. you feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

“i’ve got this,” you reply, though the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

jay glances at you with a sharp, knowing look, his lips curving into that signature smirk of his. “we’ll see.”

as you’re about to get yourself ready for the mission in your mind, jay is quick to break it.

he slides his hand around your waist, and pulls you in until you bump against his chest. blood rushes to your cheeks as you gasp, softly trying to push him off.

“don't,” jay states, his voice firm and strict. he looks at you from the corner of his eyes, his infamous smirk on his face, “we’re husband and wife for the night.”

you gulp, slowly nodding at your superior before stepping out of the car.

you swallow hard, nodding as you grip the fabric of his tuxedo tighter. “right.”

he adjusts the strap of your dress that had slipped slightly, his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. “relax. and remember, follow my lead.”

his touch is firm but not overbearing, and you force yourself to relax, your hands smoothing over the fabric of your dress as you lean into him. “fine. but next time, give me a warning.”

jay leans closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “noted, darling.”

the valet opens the doors to the casino, and you step out into the night. the rush of cool air hits you as you survey the sprawling, glittering casino before you. the monte carlo casino is everything you’ve read about and more—opulent, filled with sharp-dressed gamblers, the rich scent of cologne mixing with the faint hum of excitement in the air. chandeliers hang overhead, casting soft golden light onto the marble floors.

you adjust your black satin dress, the coolness of the night air brushing your bare arms. the dress fits you perfectly, hugging every curve and leaving just enough to the imagination. the slit that runs up your leg is meant to be daring, and it certainly is, but it also makes you feel like you’re walking into the lion’s den with your heart pounding.

beside you, jay smooths out his tuxedo and pulls at his cufflinks one more time. “remember the plan,” he says softly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear.

you nod, fighting the nerves bubbling in your chest. “act, distract, gather intel. piece of cake.”

“stay alive, rookie,” he adds, his tone firm, though there’s an underlying edge to his words.

you want to argue, but you just nod, clenching your jaw. staying alive. right.

the casino's grand entrance swallows you both, and as you step inside, the atmosphere changes immediately. the murmur of conversations fills the space, punctuated by the clinking of glasses, laughter, and the sounds of roulette wheels spinning. every corner of the room is bathed in soft, warm light, reflecting off the gilded trim and luxurious décor. high-rollers sit at card tables, their laughter loud and smug, while others try their luck at the slot machines.

jay’s hand brushes the small of your back, and though it seems like a gesture of intimacy, you know it’s a signal. a reminder to stay alert. you walk side by side through the casino, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your eyes scanning the room.

the target, marcus delacroix, sits at a corner table, his face familiar even from this distance. marcus is a man who exudes wealth and power, his tailored suit and diamond-studded rings just as much a part of his personality as his menacing grin. he’s notorious in the arms trade, and he’s known for his temper and ruthlessness.

“remember,” jay whispers, “you're the star of the show, y/n. let me sugar talk to him and you get the drive. one mistake and he escapes.”

you flash jay a tight smile, nodding slightly. you’re no rookie in this line of work, but the nerves are still there. you can’t help it. this mission is a big one.

the two of you approach the table. marcus looks up at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. his gaze is predatory, a glint of recognition flickering in his eyes.

“mr. delacroix,” jay greets, extending a hand, his tone smooth but firm. “james daniels. and this is my wife, victoria.”

marcus doesn’t immediately take jay’s hand. Instead, his gaze flicks over to you again, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your appearance. “a pleasure to meet you both,” he says, his voice slow and deliberate. “i have to admit, james, your wife is even more captivating in person.”

“she’s not just captivating,” jay replies, his voice dripping with a light charm as he pulls you closer, “she’s my good luck charm.”

you can feel marcus’s eyes lingering on you, along with jays, as though trying to peel back the layers. you force a smile, leaning into jay slightly. “it’s a pleasure,” you say, your voice smooth.

marcus gestures to the chairs around the table. “please, have a seat. join the game. it’s not every day i have such fine company.”

you sit, playing your part flawlessly, and the game begins. your eyes flicker over the chips and cards, but your mind remains focused on marcus. every word he says is calculated, every movement purposeful. you catch glimpses of the guards stationed throughout the room, their eyes scanning the crowd. two near the bar. another by the exit. more near the staircase. you notice the subtle but deadly threat in their eyes.

through your earpiece, your handler’s voice crackles to life. “rookie, you’ve got fifteen minutes. delacroix’s laptop is in the suite upstairs. two guards posted outside. you need to move quickly.”

you glance at jay, who’s talking to marcus, his expression engaging but calculating. without missing a beat, he subtly glances over to you and gives the slightest nod.

“got it,” you whisper.

you excuse yourself from the table with a warm smile, smoothing down the front of your dress. “if you’ll excuse me, i need to freshen up,” you say lightly, your tone betraying none of the tension coursing through your body.

marcus’s gaze lingers on you, his smile sharp and untrusting. “don’t keep him waiting too long, mrs. daniels.”

you chuckle softly, leaning down to brush a kiss against jay’s cheek for added effect. “i never do.”

jay’s hand squeezes yours under the table briefly, a subtle signal to stay focused. you give him a slight nod and turn on your heel, heading toward the grand staircase that leads to the private suites.

the casino floor hums with energy, but the second floor is quieter, its opulence more understated. plush carpets line the halls, and abstract art decorates the walls. as you approach the suite at the end of the corridor, your pulse quickens. two guards stand at attention outside the door, their sharp eyes tracking your every move.

you don’t hesitate. confidence is your best weapon now. pulling out your compact mirror, you glance at your reflection, pretending to fix your lipstick as you stumble slightly on your heel.

“oh,” you mutter, looking up at the guards with an apologetic smile. “i’m sorry—new shoes. are the restrooms down this way?”

one of the guards hesitates, glancing at his partner. “no. they’re downstairs,” he says gruffly, jerking his chin toward the staircase.

“thank you!” you reply cheerfully, walking past them as if you’re heading back to the main floor.

once you’re out of their line of sight, you duck into a small alcove and pull out the lock-picking tool hidden in your clutch. with quick, practiced movements, you bypass the suite’s secondary door a few feet away from the guards.

“rookie, status?” jay’s voice crackles in your earpiece, his tone calm but firm.

“inside,” you whisper.

the suite is dimly lit, the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air. the room exudes wealth—dark wood furniture, leather armchairs, and a massive desk that holds marcus’s laptop. you make your way to it quickly, plugging in the usb drive and initiating the data transfer.

as the progress bar creeps forward, you hear muffled voices outside.

“rookie, you’ve got two minutes,” jay’s voice warns, a hint of urgency slipping through his usual calm.

“almost done,” you mutter, your eyes darting between the screen and the door.

just as the transfer completes, the door bursts open, and one of the guards storms in, his gun already drawn.

“step away from the desk,” he growls.

your heart pounds, but you force yourself to stay calm. you raise your hands slowly, stepping back as your mind races for a plan.

before the guard can act, a muffled shot rings out, and he crumples to the ground.

you turn to see jay in the doorway, his gun raised, the suppressor still smoking.

“cutting it close, aren’t you?” you quip, your voice shaky but light.

jay steps into the room, his eyes scanning it quickly before turning to you. “grab the drive. we need to move.”

you snatch the usb drive from the laptop and follow jay into the hallway. more footsteps echo from the direction of the staircase, and jay’s jaw tightens.

“run,” he orders, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward.

you sprint down the hallway, your heels pounding against the carpet as adrenaline courses through your veins. the echo of heavy boots behind you grows louder, and you chance a glance over your shoulder.

jay, a step behind you, fires off two precise shots over your shoulder. a guard grunts and falls, but another rounds the corner almost immediately, shouting for backup.

chaos soon ensues in the casino, causing screams and shouts from the rich guests, evacuating the casino soon enough.

“left!” jay barks, and you veer sharply, skidding slightly on the polished floor as you turn the corner.

a guard steps into your path, raising his weapon, but jay is faster. he shoves you behind him, lunging at the man with brutal efficiency. one hand grips the guard’s wrist, twisting the gun free, while the other slams into his jaw with enough force to send him sprawling.

“keep going!” jay snaps, shoving the gun into his pocket as he pushes you forward.

you run, the sound of your own breath loud in your ears. the grand staircase comes into view, but two more guards block the way.

“stay behind me,” jay says, his voice low and commanding.

you press yourself against the wall as jay moves. one guard charges at him, but jay sidesteps smoothly, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the marble railing. the second guard draws a knife, slashing at jay, but he deflects the blow with his forearm and counters with a sharp kick to the man’s knee.

the guard stumbles, and jay finishes him with a swift punch to the temple.

“downstairs. now,” jay says, grabbing your hand again and pulling you down the staircase.

the casino floor is chaotic, the commotion from upstairs drawing attention from the guests and staff. you weave through the crowd, jay keeping a firm grip on your hand as you head toward the exit.

but marcus himself steps into your path, his gun trained on jay.

“going somewhere?” marcus sneers, his expression cold and calculating.

jay doesn’t hesitate. he lunges forward, grabbing marcus’s wrist and twisting it sharply. the gun clatters to the floor as jay delivers a brutal punch to marcus’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

“move,” jay growls, steering you toward the exit as more guards converge on the scene.

the two of you burst into the cool night air, your chest heaving as you stumble to a stop in the shadow of the casino. before the guards or any of marcus's men can grab you both, jay pulls you into a black limo which drives off instantly.

“you alright?” jay asks, his dark eyes scanning you for injuries.

“yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

jay leans closer, his hand cupping your face as he studies you. then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is fierce, raw, a collision of adrenaline and relief. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips move with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as the chaos of the mission fades away. the heat of his body against yours grounds you, his presence overwhelming in the best way. you pull him closer by his collars, and he smirks into the kiss.

jay doesn't care there's a driver inside the car too, at this moment he just cares how your lips move against his, as he practically pulls you into his lap.

his lips travel from your lips to your jaws to your neck and then back at your lips, his hands traveling everywhere.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“you did good tonight,” jay murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“so did you,” you reply, your heart still racing.

jay smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “next time, don’t make me work so hard to save you.”

“next time, maybe you let me save you,” you tease, your tone light despite the lingering adrenaline.

jay chuckles softly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “come on. we will do better next time.”

together, you disappear into the night, with jays lips back on yours.

© BYWONS, 2025 / do not copy or repost without permission . div ctto

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films @k-nets CLICK ME

[channiesbakery]

movie night —

prompt / request — domestic/established relationship fluffy smut

pairing — girlfriend!reader + boyfriend!dino

word count — 587

genre — smut

authors note — yay! first request on this blog!! i haven’t written in almost two years so this was fun to write to get back into it :)

when chan suggested having a lazy movie night, you should’ve expected that it’d lead to more. not even halfway through the movie, chan started whining about being bored, which led to your position now.

you’re straddling his lap, lazily making out with him while the movie continues playing in the background. his hands rest on your hips, occasionally moving down to give your ass a light smack or squeeze.

you suddenly break the kiss and he tries to chase your lips but you turn towards the tv. “oh i love this part!” you exclaim and he just lets out a groan.

“seriously, baby? you’re in my lap, making out with me and the movie still has your attention?” chan gives you a look. “maybe the movie’s more interesting,” you tease him.

“well in that case, let’s focus on the movie then,” he hums, turning your body around so your back is pressed against his chest.

chan behaves for a few minutes, not making any moves and you think he’s actually watching the movie. until you feel his lips on your neck.

“chan–” you start but he shushes you. “shhh, just pay attention to your movie baby,” he whispers against your skin.

his hands slide up your thighs before he shoves one hand down the front of your sweatpants, his fingertips immediately moving to feel the wet patch on your panties.

“you sure the movie’s more interesting, baby? your body seems to say otherwise,” he chuckles in your ear. you only let out a whine in response as he moves your panties to the side, his fingertips rubbing against your wetness.

“so messy and all we’ve done is make out,” he starts, slowly sliding one of his fingers inside your pussy. “if you weren’t so focused on paying attention to your movie, i could’ve had you bouncing on my cock right now,” he continues, his finger slowly pumping in and out of you.

you whimper softly as he adds a second finger. you turn to face him, trying to connect your lips but chan uses his free hand to grip your chin, turning your face back towards the tv.

“uh uh, pay attention to your movie baby,” he hums. his fingers speed up as his thumb rubs your clit, bringing you closer to the edge.

the combination of his lips sucking and nipping on your neck and his fingers sliding in and out of you is enough to make your head spin.

“channie–” you manage to gasp out and you don’t even need to finish your sentence for chan to understand what you’re trying to say.

“go ahead baby, let go for me. doing so good,” he praises softly, curling his fingers just enough to make your eyes roll.

you moan softly, your head falling back against his shoulder as you cum on his fingers. he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, whispering soft praises in your ear.

he slows his fingers as you come down from your high, removing them and bringing them up to his lips to lick clean.

“so sweet,” he whispers in your ear. “did so good for me, baby,” he adds, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as you catch your breath.

once your breathing evened out again, you get up from his lap, confusing him for a second as he watched you grab the remote to turn off the tv.

chan smirks as you walk back over to him, straddling his lap again.

“finally ready to give me all your attention?”

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Permission Denied

Pairing: Dark Shouta "Eraserhead" Aizawa x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: You’re bored – stuck inside the house while it’s sunny and nice outside. Aizawa doesn’t care about that. 

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Captivity.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

--

From your spot on the couch, you steal a glance at the black-haired man that sits on the table, surrounded by piles of paper. Midterm exams, he said.  

It seems like a boring task, but Shouta doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike you, who’s getting restless by the minute. 

There’s nothing for you to do.

Your hobbies are fairly limited, only granted when Shouta is feeling generous enough to notice your boredom, which hasn’t been the case lately. 

He’s too busy between the Hero course class and patrols, which inevitably results in neglecting you. There are no new books for you to devour and the TV’s control remote is still “missing”. 

The kitchen is off limits, which means no cooking or baking.

There’s nothing to do!

Perhaps you’re not being as sneaky as you believe yourself to be because Shouta’s suddenly looks up to meet your gaze, catching you off guard. 

“If you have something to say, then spill it.” 

You look at him, eyes still round with surprise. 

“Well, I…” The words stammer when coming out and you tautly twist your hands. “I’m bored.” 

Shouta looks at you. 

“Yes, I have noticed.” 

It’s a bit disheartening when he goes back to marking papers, leaving you at that. 

“So…I don’t know. Maybe…I could go to the garden?” 

He pauses his scribbling, and you rush to add, “I wouldn’t be alone, of course! You’d be there too, you could grade the papers on the outside table, right?”

His eyes are sharp when he looks back at you, the neutral expression on his face making it harder for you to decipher his true thoughts. 

“I could.” 

Your heart positively jumps at that, and almost fool yourself into believing that you’ve successfully convinced Shouta to do something for you. You’re wrong.   

“But I won’t.” he denies your request just like that, barely batting an eye as he crushes down your hopes. 

Feeling so upset over it makes you feel stupid, but then again, you haven’t left the four walls of Shouta’s home in weeks.

You’re so tired of being here, trapped in the bland ugly house. Tired of him and his insensitivity. Tired of the obnoxious boring routine that has been forced upon you. Tired of everything.  

“Why not?” you burst, even if it comes out more as a demand. 

Shouta’s eyebrows raise at the intensity of your words, and you inhale a small breath, calming yourself down. 

“Why can’t I go outside?” 

“Because at this moment I have a task at hand. I’m sure you can see that.” 

"But I’ve been good. You said that yourself.” your nails leave half-moons in your palms, an attempt to keep your anger at bay. If there’s one thing you’ve learned over these past months is that Shouta doesn’t appreciate hysterical displays of frivolous emotions.

Useless and energy-consuming – that’s how he calls them. 

“You have.” he pauses for a moment, tone slightly softer as he sets the pen down. “I’m not denying that. You have been exemplary these past weeks.” 

Even when you don’t ask it, the question lingers in the tense air. Then why?

Aizawa answers it.

“It’s got nothing to do with your present behavior.” his reassurance does little to soothe your bubbling frustration. Aizawa seems to sense it, semblant turning somber and stern as he stares at you.

“However, my priority is your safety, not your happiness. Perhaps you still remember the last time you were allowed outside? Or of the … incident that occurred?”

He grimaces at that and so do you. 

The incident meant the one-single time Aizawa took you on a late evening walk, where you ended up bumping into one of his neighbours – an overly enthusiastic blonde man – and in the moment of heat, you ended up taking the poor decision to reveal your hostage situation, hoping for help.

Only for said neighbour to turn out to be Aizawa’s close friend, someone Shouta had asked to test you. 

Needless to say that you failed his loyalty test. Hence the house arrest. 

You glance away from him, opting to ignore his question. Aizawa sighs, taking his sweet time cracking his neck from side to side. 

“Like I was saying,” he resumes the conversation, “I’d prefer to reduce that sort of risk from the root. Perhaps one day, if your behavior remains ideal, we can have this discussion again – in a few months.”

Aizawa looks at you with red-streaked eyes, taking notice of your well-concealed frustration as well as blatantly ignoring it.

Picking up the pen, he continues to correct the papers, marking the end of your little discussion and leaving no space for argument. 

Leaving you back in the reign of boredom. 

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [5]

series masterlist previous || part five -> kermes || part six -> madder

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: big nun, little nun w.c: 3.5k tags/warnings: guilt, religious / moral turmoil, stockholm syndrome, child abuse (past), scars, simon returns, corruption (past), misogyny (past), whipping (past), blood, suffering (past mostly), power imbalance, freeze response (past), guilt, dissociation, dom/sub dynamics, we're learning consent (kinda? eeh), violent imagery, dubcon/noncon, vaginal fingering, choking, throat grab

When Johnny asks how it felt to go from there – the convent, you think he means – to here, you can only describe it as dunking your hands into ice water. 

Shocking, painful, and prickling all over.

He only says hm, and moves on. His face is pensive. You don’t tell him that sometimes, you wake up and aren’t in the water anymore.

Even in prayer, you hadn’t thought as much as you had since you’d been taken. Hadn’t worried as much. Teachings from adults since youth had told you that everybody was inherently sinful, even children.

So why is the community around you so happy without God? They have their own, you know this, but the multitude of them and their roles in divine hierarchy aren’t necessarily about absolute power.

There are woman-Gods, Gods without designations, Gods for the earth and the children and unions between people. You find it hard to continue calling them heretics, devils, when they’re really just people. Different, yes, strange and incomprehensible, but people nonetheless.

Heathens, you try to think. Heathens, devils. They took you

You wonder when the last time you thought of yourself as just a person was, when you weren’t a thing set within a rigid mold, beaten down in more ways than one.

On the eve of Simon's return you catch Johnny doing something secretive. He's hunched over the table, the tip of his tongue stuck out of his mouth in concentration. The soft sound of scraping, of wood gently knocking is all you can hear over the fire.

“What's that?” you ask, when your curiosity gets the best of you.

Johnny turns, one eye squinted, the every picture of concentration. He holds up a carved figure – a woman, it looks like. Ah, it’s you. Though hard to tell, the woman wears a veil and sits on a chair, hunched.

Your veil. You’d nearly forgotten what it felt like. It used to be a weight, heavy and pressing, a shackle. Now you miss the safety of not feeling so exposed all the time.

Somewhere in the journey here it had been lost, or maybe thrown overboard. Your habit, too, replaced for the woolen Viking-style dresses bought and bartered for by Simon and Johnny. Even you have to admit you enjoy the colours more, even if the conformity of the convent felt safe.

“How long were you watching me?” you breathe, eyes wide and still staring.

“Not long, lamb,” he smiles disarmingly. “Ah just remember ye, sittin’ pretty.”

“Working on the tapestry,” you correct him, though it doesn’t really matter.

He looks back down to his little figure, pensive.

“Ah guess so,” he says jovially.

“It was my punishment,” you add. This probably matters even less, but the clash of worlds has thrown you off balance. You feel unbearably present, unbearably lucid.

I was a nun, you think. Am I still a nun?

“Punishment?” he frowns. “Ah thought they struck ye?”

“Sometimes. But sometimes I had to work extra hard.”

“Like a bairn?”

“A what?”

“A child, lamb,” he smiles again.

You look into the fire, thinking. Punishment applied to everyone, not just children, no? Even Simon and Johnny had punished you. But who had given them the right? Had you, with your secret want? Your secret lustful sin?

“You punished me,” you settle on.

“Aye, we did,” he nods. “Ye needed it.”

“Then why do you… ah, disparage the church for doing the same?”

He turns to you.

“Ah think ye got it all wrong,” he says simply. “We don’t give it to ye to make ye hurt. Aren’t ye better after? Righted?”

Righted. That’s a word worth its weight in gold. As is the truth of his words, but you stay quiet and look into the fire instead of responding.

You take up Johnny’s offer to spend time with Kari. Johnny walks you there, holds your hand in the cold and blows hot air on them as you wait together outside their door.

When Gaz opens it, he hoots and hollers as if the frigid air outside has no effect on him, as if his inner warmth and naturally excitable disposition is no match for the cold.

You have to admire that. At least a little.

“Hi there,” Gaz says to you, a greeting softer than the one he gave Johnny.

“Hello,” you try to subtly peek inside, “it’s… nice to see you.”

He doesn’t take offence to your awkward, stilted attempt at politeness. Maybe he knows you’re not quite comfortable here, to put it lightly, and only claps your shoulder gently to pull you in.

“Have fun!” Johnny shouts, already leaving, “and give me my wife back in one piece!”

That makes you sheepish, but you try to ignore your feelings in favour of moving towards Kari and the little baby, Tyra.

“Hello again,” she greets, smiling. The baby stares at you, babbles ceasing as if she’s seeing you for the first time. Her little head swings towards her mother, hiding despite her clear curiosity.

“You’ve met me before,” you say softly, trying valiantly not to frighten her as you take a seat opposite to Kari.

“She’s feeling shy lately,” Kari looks down and tuts, swiping a thumb over Tyra’s chubby cheek, “needs her mama.”

Weaving here is not much different than weaving at the convent. Once you get the basics down, you’re threading dyed wool into cloth astride Kari.

Some spirit of confidence grips you.

“Will you tell me anything about Simon and Johnny?”

“About-” she lifts her head, “Simon and Johnny? Don’t they speak to you?”

“They - do,” you rush to assure her, though your voice maintains a weary unsureness.

Luckily for you, she gives you a small but comforting smile over the wool.

“You’re looking for an outside opinion? That’s okay, lovely girl, I just might not know as much about them as my husband does,” she gestures with her chin towards Gaz, who walks towards you both.

“What d’you need to know?” he asks casually, sidling up to Kari affectionately, “think they’ll be able to answer better than me.”

“I only really know… what I’ve seen. I haven’t…” your mouth twists as you trail off, frustration germinating as you struggle. Right, you can commit sins of the flesh but you can’t ask a question to sate curiosity — one which might be the difference between surviving and not surviving.

Knowledge is important, after all. Powerful. You think of Eve, who doomed humanity for it, naked as the day she was born and as clueless as Adam yet ate the apple anyway.

“I know they’re… warriors,” you pause, “since they’re all scarred, but—“

“Well, not necessarily—” Kari starts, until Gaz puts a palm on her thigh and gives her a look you can’t discern. 

“That’s not something we should share,” Gaz says tightly, but kindly.

“How else..?” you frown.

Tyra stirs, and Kari gives Gaz another look.

“Simon’s father used to be chief,” she lifts the babe back into her lap, patting, cooing, “it’s not a nice story, but if you need it to understand them better then I don’t mind telling it.”

“I want to know about them,” you insist, trying to push past the sense of danger, the sense that you’ll be hurt or killed for toeing out of line.

Testing the elasticity of safety here perhaps isn’t wise, but testing it might be what you need to settle. Knowing where the boundaries are, what’s expected, where they come from… you wonder if you’ll doom everybody, like Eve.

“Believe it or don’t, but we’ve only just rekindled the hunts, the raids. How it should be,” she starts.

Gaz sighs, leaning back where he’s sitting. You assume his hesitance is out of loyalty for his comrades, but you choose tentatively to ignore him in favour of his wife.

“We had a lazy, drunken leader,” Kari continues, “Simon’s father inherited the title through lineage, not through prowess as is… more natural to us.”

You nod slowly, trying to imagine. In the church, such things were often gained with corruption: any wealthy lords’ son could rise high in the ranks, if he had the money and means.

The convent had somewhat of a similar issue, though the women were ‘married’ into the church and the power rested in the hands of their families. 

Such was the world.

Not always, but you’d heard of it often enough. One of the abbots of the monastery in the closest town had been the son of an affluent donator, and thus received power of authority over the other monks.

“To make a long story short, and more respectful to Simon—” Gaz looks at her then “—his father was needlessly cruel both to his own children, his wife, and to those he was responsible for.”

“So, those scars…?”

“Some are from fighting, of course. But usually, no one’s getting close enough to those two to land that kind of damage. I’m sure you can fill in the rest.”

Gaz butts in here,  “or, you can ask him yourself.”

“How did that woman, I forgot her name, come to be chief?” you frown in thought.

Gaz takes over again, his hand dragging up from the small of his wife's back and squeezing her nape. It’s as much of a warning as you’ve seen, though it’s quiet and Kari looks sheepish, not afraid, “Kate challenged him.”

“A challenge?” you frown, “such as?”

“A fight to the death.”

“Oh,” your lips close, and thin, and your eyebrows fly up. “I didn’t realize… I mean, violence is…”

They don’t do you the courtesy of filling in for you, so you go silent and the air settles.

Johnny picks you up later, when you’ve helped Kari with a big portion of her weaving. You love the threads, the dyeing process. It’s meditative.

“Good ?” Johnny nudges your side, slipping a hand to just above your waist, fingers tickling the side of your breast.

“Yes,” and it’s honest.

He walks you home, hand in hand, and cannot stop talking about Simon's return.

“Ah’ve never been without him this long,” he rambles over the fire, stirring a potato soup, “think yer gonnae be witness to something dirty. Sorry, lamb.”

Only he’s grinning, and he’s not sorry, and you can see the front of his pants begin to tent.

Johnny later offers you that very same sin, tilting his hips towards you and swinging his cock obscenely, cheekily. You do not take him up on it despite the smolder that begins between your legs – you simply turn, and try to sleep through the sounds of his self-abuse.

Simon returns without much fanfare, slipping into the house with a seemingly practiced silence. He moves like a ghost.

Johnny doesn't wake yet, sleeping like an affectionate log behind you.

His gaze meets yours, as impassive as always, framed in a halo of white winter light. He looks handsome this way, though it also has the effect of making his scars look deeper – crevasses on his face for shadows to lay in.

You watch as he strips his winter garments, slipping then beside you, evening out the weight on the bed.

“How did it go?” you whisper. If he's surprised that you spoke he doesn't show it, staring up at the ceiling, muscles decompressing. Sighing like a big dog.

In lieu of speaking, he lifts something into your focus. Oh, it's a tooth, sharp and white. A predator's tooth.

“The rest tomorrow,” he says quietly.

You can tell he's tired. His face looks weary. How far do they travel for these hunts? You assume quite far, as it’s enough to tire even a seasoned warrior.

So, rather than speaking, asking him from which creature he took this tooth, you tentatively reach your hand up to press your fingers against his thick scars.

Simon freezes, as do you. Then, as he relaxes, you trace the grooves on his face with your fingers tightly. Very lightly.

A delicate moment is born then. Johnny's deep, sleepy breathing behind you, Simon's acquiescence – it's a tranquil thing. As thin as lace, as sweet as a crisp apple.

After some time, when you've traced his face twice over and his eyes are half-lidded, you speak softly.

“Why me?”

“You're beautiful,” he says simply, sighing again, “we wanted to.”

It becomes harder, again, to hold the belief of them as devils. That they smelled the sin on you and picked you that way.

“Don't you think it's cruel?”

“No,” finally, he turns to you.

“It was,” you assert recklessly. Fear twists in your gut, poisonous.

“You were scared.”

“Yes.”

“Are you still scared?”

“I feel like you can see right through me. That scares me.”

“Not at first.”

“Then when?”

His hand finds the dip of your waist. Squeezes.

“On the boat, when you pushed up against me like a wet kitten. Even scared, you needed it.”

“You were cruel to me then, too.”

“I’m a cruel man.”

There's a stray thought that wiggles to life in the back of your head that suggests sympathy for him despite his statement. That you can begin seeing the path of his life and understand how he came to be.

You think of punishment again; about parents and children, husband's and wives, about Simon and his father. That wasn't punishment, if you're understanding it the way Kari implied.

A memory strikes you, unbidden and unwelcome. 

Salt blows in the air,  metallic and thick in your nose. Not sea salt, not the wind you love so much, but from blood spraying. 

The man brought his son to the convent, citing his bad behaviour as ungodly. Sister Margret was pleading with him, hands clasped in desperate prayer and voice high, reedy, as she begged him to just stop hitting him – please, just stop hitting him!

The boy cowered. Not a child, but a boy nonetheless. Young enough to make an impression, round-cheeked, on the cusp of manhood. Stained with blood.

He lifted the rope, again and again and again, even as Margret leapt for his arm and tried to stop him, pulling, shouting.

You were stock still, frozen, not even a tremble in your body. Your eyes had widened when he first struck the boy and you’d been stuck since.

Simon takes your hand, peels it away from your dress, pulling you bodily towards him and out of the memory.

With your cheek pressed close to his bare shoulder, you murmur, “did you take me to hurt me?”

“No,” he says, sounding for once like he isn’t hiding anything.

“Did you hit me to really hurt me?”

“No,” he repeats, then, “I hit you because you needed it, because you liked it.”

“I’ve seen…” you don’t continue.

“I know.”

“We’ve both been hurt,” your voice is a whisper.

“Mm,” Simon confirms.

You think of the boy. Of his father. Of his terrified, deer-like eyes, blood splattered on his back and on the ground and soaked into the rope – about how four townsmen had to pull his father away for fear of killing the boy.

How you felt when you hit yourself, when the abbess hit you, how different they were to when Simon took his palm to your ass.

Shame. That had been in the boy's eyes that day. He had hid his face in his arms, cowering not only from fear but from being seen.

You’d felt that same shame each time you’d been punished, intensifying, twisting together until you’d learned to turn the same pain inwards.

 “Are you afraid of being seen?” you murmur to Simon.

“No.”

You don’t have to say the silent part; that you’re the afraid one. That Simon correctly interpreting your need for a different kind of control, one that let you lose yourself, felt like you’d been flayed for all to see.

Simon moves his hand lower, cupping the soft curve of your behind, staring at you, testing the waters. You know that if you said no, he might anyways, but you stay quiet as his fingers lift the hem of your dress.

The fabric slides over your skin, a whisper in the air, tickling you. He rubs his rough, hairy knuckles against your thigh close to where it meets your leg.

He pauses there, breathing slowly, before he slides a finger up your slit and through the thatch of hair above it.

“If I made a request,” you murmured, “would you grant it?”

“Make it, and I’ll tell you.”

He slips a finger to rub your hole, just outside, teasing, while his thumb finds your clit.

“I don’t want you to take me until we’re man and wife… men and wife.”

Simon hums, rubs gently, makes your hips undulate.

“Do you think you’re in a place to be making requests like that, love?”

“I haven’t asked for anything else.”

He raises a brow, sliding his finger inside you to the knuckle when you’re wet enough.

“Haven’t you?”

Your breathing deepens, hands coming down to hold his thick wrist, pulling almost subconsciously. Even now, you can’t totally let go, leaning away from him and the pleasure.

But he understands, leaning over you, using his other hand to pin you to the mattress by your throat. It’s not the nicest hold, but the burning of your lungs heightens the pulsing in your cunt.

“Think you just made a few requests right now,” he grunts, using your leg to rub his hard, clothed cock.

There’s a stirring beside you. Johnny groans as he wakes up, then laughs sleepily.

“Ah woke up just in time,” his voice is rough with sleep.

Simon hums, mmm, in that deep rumble of his. He slips another finger inside you, crooking them, making you gasp raggedly. Your hands still clutch his wrist, weaker now, but it’s half resistance half comfort.

“Mm, good girl,” Johnny murmurs. He curls into your side, cock growing against your hip, wrapping a leg around you while his hand climbs beneath your pulled up dress and palms your tit.

God, you could die just like this: fighting for breath, touched all over, held down and made free. The hate you had for them feels irrelevant, the fear, the brutal way in which they stole you.

You can’t even think about if Simon will disregard your request – your last frontier against them, the treasure between your legs for a husband only.

Simon’s knuckle deep in it, but still, you can’t let go of that final tether. Not yet, not without any other internal pillars to hold you up.

Everything else has been wiped away. Drawings in the sand on a beach swept by foamy white waves.

Johnny leans in and bites your shoulder, gnawing, hips moving against you. You can’t arch like you want to, but you try.

Wet, sinful sounds grow as you gush around Simon’s fingers, as they use you to get off.

When you peak, white spots dance in your vision, mouth open in a silent scream choked away by Simon's heavy palm.

It’s like flying.

In the afternoon, when you’ve all slept, Simon leaves to speak with John and you prepare lunch with Johnny.

More fish, more potatoes. It’s growing on you.

When Simon returns, he has in his arms a rolled up fur. Though unprocessed and still wet underneath, it’s beautiful, pale, spotted.

He takes a heavy seat in front of you, laying the skin over his knees, taking your hand in his and bringing it to the fur.

Soft. Dense. Your fingers move through the pelt.

“For you,” Simon says.

You look up at him, heart dancing.

His gifts. The apple, the orgasms, this– you don’t know what to make of it. Yes, it’s a kindness, but he’s a cruel man. He’d said so himself, and you’d felt the brunt of it.

Leaning into that cruelty has given you a strange power, a strange solidity. You’d so begun to familiarize yourself with his harshness that you’d forgotten this complexity.

You pinch the fur, feeling it between your fingers, breathing slowly. Your neck ached, but it wasn’t a bad ache; it felt like a phantom hand.

“For me?”

Johnny slides three bowls on the table, grinning.

“Yer first wedding gift,” he says jovially.

 “Oh, I see,” you murmur, but it isn’t a disappointed oh.

Simon leaves later again, full of soup, to process the rest of the hunt’s boon with John. He takes the pelt with him, a snowcat pelt you’ve learned.

Yet, he’d returned with not much more than scratches on him from travel. Tired, yes, but a few hours of sleep and splattering his spend on your belly had fixed that earlier.

You’d bathed, since, though the feeling was hard to shake.

Johnny putters about again, returning to his carving of the little mini you. A peek into the past, one you no longer embodied.

“Can I see when you’re done?” you ask, slipping your favourite wool dress on. The red, well worn one. Soft, comforting. 

“Course,” he mumbles, concentrating. Then, his head shoots up.

“Ye want one o’ Simon ‘n’ I, lamb? Carry us around?” Only it sounds like aroond.

You nod, walking on socked feet to where he’s carving.

“Yes.”

[blxxmingrose]

the pancakes turned out perfectly, mirroring hans’ good mood as he placed them carefully on sunny’s plate. hearing the raspy remnants of sleep on june’s voice was too endearing, and hans found himself wanting to keep it in his memories. “it wouldn’t be out of my way, it would be fitting for my h-o-s-t-a-g-e plans,” hans replied back as he sat down, spelling the word out to be delicate about sunny hearing it. “i want to make sure you get here safe.” 

his mind was already working up a list of things he needed to pick up—marshmallows and more snacks to go with their hot chocolates being at the top of the list. he knew sunny would have more to add when they were in the store, and he was willing to allow a few more sweets into the mix. it was that kind of fun day. “okay, we’ll finish up breakfast quickly, then we’ll get going. take your time, we’ll see you soon.” 

sunny leaned forward in her seat and, with a mouth full of pancakes, spoke, “bye mr. june!” hans was in the middle of laughter when he ended the call, giving june plenty of time to prepare while they ate. there was another plate of pancakes in case he wanted them later, and hans couldn’t help but stare at it while he finished his. 

“now, sunny bear,” he spoke in a firm but gentle tone, looking sunny straight in the eyes. “we’re heading out in a bit, but it’s going to be slippery outside, so we both need to be on our best behavior, okay? and then, we’ll drop by june’s house so we can get him for movies. how does that sound?” 

the grin that he got was as good a response as any, and much to hans’ delight, she finished her pancakes without making as much of a mess. it made cleaning up easier for hans, and after a few minutes to get dressed in their warmest clothes, they were out the door with their plan in motion. he quickly typed a message before starting the car, letting june know of their progress, his smile now a permanent fixture on his face. 

hans: we’re heading out now. you better be ready to see us both!  hans: sunny behaved really well this morning. kept all the syrup on her plate! 

he chuckled as he reread what he had typed, and with an almost guilty glance in sunny’s way, he headed out of the driveway and to the store. 

june hadn’t expected a call so early, but hearing hans’ cheerful voice immediately brought a smile to his face. he could picture the scene so clearly — hans making breakfast with that effortless grace of his, and sunny, already wide awake, waving at the phone as though he could see her. “good morning,” june said, his voice still carrying the soft rasp of sleep. he rolled onto his side, nestling the phone closer. he chuckled softly at the thought of sunny waving. “tell sunny i’m waving right back.”

hans’ plan sounded so well thought out, so undeniably hans, that june couldn’t help but smile as he listened. he pictured himself sitting in the passenger seat, sunny chattering away in the back, the easy warmth of their company wrapping around him.

“that sounds like a plan,” june said after a moment. “you don’t have to go out of your way, though. i can just get a ride over later if it’s easier.” his voice softened as he added, letting the thought linger for a moment before adding with a playful tone, “but if you’re really offering to pick me up, i won’t say no.”

june paused, his smile growing softer as he thought about hans calling him first thing in the morning, how natural it felt to talk this early. he shifted in bed, tossing the blankets aside and sitting up. “i’ll get ready so i’m good to go when you swing by. drive safe, alright? and let sunny know i’ll see her soon.” his tone was still playful, but beneath it was a warmth, a gratitude that only deepened his excitement for the day ahead.

[thezombieprostitute]

Your Champion: Introductions

Summary: Former boxing champion Steve Rogers gets a new life as a collector for the mob.

A/N: Inspired by a tag I received from @alexakeyloveloki

A/N2: Part of the Yours AU.

Warnings: Implied abuse, Violence. Please let me know if I missed any! There will be non/dub con later in the series.

"It's not what you know, it's who you know" is one of the biggest truths in Steve's life. He was in and out of trouble pretty much every day of his life until he met up with Fury. Fury got him off the streets and into the ring. He became a champion. And he couldn't be bought.

That's how he met Bucky. Bucky was an up-and-comer in a new gang that was steadily building power. He'd made a lot of money betting on Steve. He regularly bet on him when he'd learned that Steve was approached by other gangs, trying to rig the match, but had thrown them all out on their ass. Bucky respected that.

Unfortunately the representatives of those other gangs didn't care for how they were treated. Steve was ambushed, taking a major beating, and a couple bullets, that left him unable to ever fight in the ring again.

When he was healed up, Bucky offered him a job as a collector. Easy money, easy work, and he'd be taken care of. Nick liked that Steve was a man of integrity and approved the hiring. Steve was the one that took some convincing. Only after he was shown how Fowler was investing money in actually taking care of the community, that protection money actually got people protection, did he agree to the job.

Soon he learned another benefit of the job: he could punch bullies and abusers without reproach.

Which is how he met you.

Your father was a gambling addict and a thief. If you'd ever had anything of value it'd been stolen and pawned off to fuel his bad habits. Every penny you made working at the grocery store had to be spent on food and bills before he remembered it was payday. If he even thought you were holding out on him he'd fly into a rage. You couldn't afford any more hospital visits so you had to give him what he wanted.

You were making your nightly meal of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a small yogurt, your biggest meal of the day, when the door suddenly burst in. You screamed in surprise as your father shouted and started to get out of his recliner. He'd barely gotten out of his chair before he was pushed back down by a tall blond man. You curled up into a ball, too scared to do anything.

"You owe Fowler a lot of money," the blond tells your father.

"I can pay it, I promise! I've had a lucky streak---" Your father is cut off by a backhand to the face. You whimper as you see the blood from his split lip.

At the sound the blond turns to you. "Who are you?"

You manage to stutter out your name.

"You his girl?"

"His daughter."

"You want her? Take her!" your father is quick to add. "Take her to pay off my debts!"

You don't have time to register your father's words before the blond punches him so hard the recliner falls back. You start crying out of fear, covering your eyes, wishing you could just be invisible like you were to everyone else.

The blond crouches down so he's eye level with you. He's cooing, "it's okay. You're not in trouble. You're not gonna get hurt here. He'll never lay another hand on you, I promise." He takes your hands away from your face and gets a good look at you. "You work at Pete's grocery, don't you?"

Surprised, you can only nod.

"I've seen you working there," he confirms. "You work hard. Lotta hours from what I hear." Looking around the meager apartment he looks back to you, "I'm guessing he gambles it all away?"

Again, you can only nod.

He holds out his hand to you, "I'm Steve, by the way. I'm going to make sure you never have to worry about anyone like your father ever again."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[vershautece]

ik lu isn’t materialistic but imagine for valentines day u surprise him in baby pink lingerie… idk I feel like he would just worship u and go absolutely nuts…

yess ahh

he’d walk in your room to see you stood looking in the mirror in your new set, brushing your hair. you’d been waiting for him, and your panties were getting damp just thinking about how he’s going to react when he sees you.

he’d wrap his arms around your waist, looking at the two of you in the mirror and rocking you side to side slightly as he plants wet kisses along your neck. ‘baby. when did you buy this set?’

‘today, mm’ you arch your back against him at the feeling of his wet mouth on your neck, and grip his hand at the same time.

‘so pretty for me’ he leaves your neck to turn your face to his and kisses you roughly, tongue immediately slipping into your mouth. his hand is moving further down your stomach, and then he’s rubbing your clit through your panties, making you moan in his mouth. ‘mm, lu’

‘mhm, baby? you wanna say something?’

you grip his wrist that’s pressed against your abdomen, and lean back into his chest, struggling to contain yourself: ‘want your fingers’

‘you already have my fingers? be more specific, dolcezza’ he kisses you again and you’re feeling dizzy - the pet name, his mouth, and his fingers drawing slow circles on your clit - he always knows exactly how to get you worked up

‘baby, i want them inside me, you know i do, i-‘ your breath hitches as he pulls your panties to the side to expose your folds - ‘hate when you tease’

he slaps your pussy lightly, and you jolt back against his chest. ‘look in the mirror, beautiful.’ you look at the two of you in the reflection as he rubs two fingers up and down your soaking slit. his other hand kneads one of your boobs so slowly through the pink fabric. ‘did you get horny just looking at yourself in that pretty set, baby? you knew i’d like it, hm?’ he’s leaving wet kisses all over your neck, and you’re struggling to stand up straight.

‘yeah, i bought it for you’ you gasp as he slips a finger inside, his thumb rubbing your clit. you shut your eyes, arching your body back against his chest as he adds a second finger shortly after.

‘don’t shut your eyes baby, look at yourself’ he whispers into your neck, and you do as he tells you. ‘so perfect like this, my good girl’

his fingers are thrusting into you faster, other hand kneading your left boob and twisting your nipple: ‘answer me, bellissima, what do you want?’ he’s still kissing your neck, and you reach your hand back to caress the nape of his neck - you’re in pure ecstasy already and he‘s only using his fingers.

‘want you inside me’ you whine out, dragging your hand down to meet his bulge against your back. you grind back onto it as you rub him through the fabric of his jeans. he moans into your neck, and the vibration makes your legs shake. ‘oh, lu, fuck me baby’

‘yeah? you want my cock inside you, baby girl? want me to fuck you in this pretty lingerie?’ the pace of his fingers is relentless inside you, and when you grip his cock a little too tight it drives him over the edge and he pulls his fingers out of you abruptly. you gasp at the loss of contact, but then he turns you around to pull you flush against his chest, arms around your waist as he looks down into your eyes. he smiles slightly, dimples showing a little, and your heart melts at how gorgeous he is. your arms go around his neck, and he’s making out with you rough and passionate, hands moving down to grip your ass and knead it in his fingers. he gives it a harsh smack, laughing into your mouth when you moan in response.

‘lu, please fuck me’ you whine in between kisses. you’re pathetically grinding on his crotch, still stood in the middle of your bedroom. he’d brought you close to the edge just to leave you sexually frustrated, and it’s so painful.

‘patience, beautiful. just wait’ he whispers, but you roll your eyes and start unbuckling his belt, tugging his jeans down while he smirks at how pathetic you are for him. then you’re palming him through his boxers, and the sight before him of you on your knees in the lingerie you bought for him is driving him insane: ‘get up, baby’

‘hm? want your cock in my mouth’ you look up at him innocently, and his jaw clenches at how aroused you have him: ‘thought you wanted it inside you. make your mind up, baby’

‘can’t i have both?’ you giggle, smoothing over the wet spot of precum on his boxers. he chuckles, pulling his shirt over his head before taking his cock out for you. it slaps against his stomach and you almost drool at the sight. ‘whatever my girl wants’

‘thank you, baby’ you smile up at him, wrapping one hand around his shaft. you pump his cock up and down, getting even wetter at the sound of his soft moans above you, profanities streaming from his lips before you’d even put him in your mouth. when you do, he instinctively tangles his fingers in your hair, hips bucking up to push deeper into your throat. ‘oh fuck baby, fuck you’re so good for me, such a good girl’

you’re taking him as deep as possible, pumping what you can’t fit in your mouth. you often stop to kitten lick his tip, a movement that draws the prettiest whines from his throat. ‘do you like your present, lu?’ you pull yourself off his cock to ask him the question, and he’s gazing at you with so much adoration and lust you think you could cum right there. you take him in your mouth again, and he lets out a loud whine that you can’t believe left his mouth. ‘it’s perfect. you’re so perfect, baby’ he tries to answer your question through strangled moans - you love that you’re the only one who gets to have him like this. you keep up the pace with your mouth, but suddenly he taps your cheek and pulls you off him.

‘it’s okay, wanna cum inside you’ he brings you to your feet and kisses you deeply. ‘and i don’t want you to get carpet burn, sweetheart’ you both smile at his words, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, on your tiptoes as you make out. he grips your ass tight, and turns you around to face the mirror again. ‘mmm, lu’ you whine as he smacks your ass lightly, kneading both cheeks in his hands. he tugs on the fabric of your lace underwear, letting it slap against your skin, and positions his cock at your entrance, pulling your panties to the side again. you feel his tip rubbing against your soaking folds: ‘ohhh, baby, i need you inside me’

‘i know, dolcezza, you’ve told me several times’ he smirks behind you, still teasing your pussy with his tip. ‘stand upright’ he tells you, and you straighten your posture for him. he moves your hair to one side, pressing soft kisses along your neck while you desperately grind your pussy on his leaking cock. he surprises you when he lifts your right leg in the air, hooking his arm around your thigh. he settles his other hand on your waist to steady you, and slowly pushes in.

the stretch is difficult every time, and you grip his hand that’s on your waist, letting out a pornographic moan. ‘that’s it, baby girl, you can take it. mm, so tight around me’ he whispers in your ear, soothing the familiar pain with kisses along your neck and behind your ear. soon you’re adjusted to his size, and you make eye contact with him in the mirror. ‘luigi’ you gasp - ‘move please, need you to fuck me so deep. i want you in my fucking cervix’

he smirks, still not moving inside you: ‘slow down, baby, you could barely take me seconds ago, and now you want me that deep?’ but of course he knows you can take it, he’s just teasing to see how you’ll react.

‘lu, shut up and just fuck me, please, i can’t take this’ you moan, and with those words he bottoms out and starts a merciless pace thrusting into you. you’re almost screaming - his arm is still hooked around your leg, this specific angle hitting your g spot perfectly. ‘this okay, princess? y’feel me here?’ he moves his hand from your waist to press down on your abdomen, feeling the imprint of his 7 inch cock. you’re nodding mindlessly, too fucked out on his cock to think clearly. ‘eyes on the mirror, baby, aren’t i hitting your cervix? hm? look at your stomach’

‘yeahh, lu, you’re so deep, mm, thank you, fuck’

he lowers his hand to reach your clit, thumb rubbing the bundle of nerves. ‘always wanna treat my girl with my cock, love how you come undone for me beautiful, gonna get you to cum for me’ he pulls your right leg back even further, and this exercise is better than pilates , you know your thighs will be aching so bad tomorrow. this angle is somehow even better, and you scream out in pleasure, arching your back into him as he leaves wet, open mouthed kisses on your neck.

‘luigi, i’m gonna cum, fuck, baby, i love you’

your eyes keep fluttering shut, but you fight to keep them open to stare at how gorgeous your man looks behind you - his curls are messy, eyes dark gazing into yours in the mirror, biting his lip to try to restrain his grunts and whines that fall past his lips anyway, and he sounds like heaven. his grip on your thigh is so tight, and his pace inside you never slows, nor does the pace of his thumb on your clit.

‘you gonna let me cum inside, bellissima? wanna breed your pussy in this pretty lingerie you bought for me’ your eyes roll into the back of your head at his words: ‘god yes, lu, cum inside me, need you to fill me up so deep’

‘yeah, you want it? need to see every drop of my cum dripping out of this pussy, but i need you to let go f’me first, hm? come on baby, cum on my cock’ he’s panting and moaning in your ear & it’s as if his words themselves can command your body, because you instantly get your release.

‘oh that’s a good girl, my girl forever’ he whispers, caressing your waist as his pace slows and he spills inside you with a few quiet grunts. your legs are in pain from the standing position, and he can tell, so he pulls out immediately, smirking at the sight of his seed dripping down your thighs, and wraps his arms around your waist. ‘jump’ he whispers, kissing your cheek, and you do, settling your arms around his neck - he hoists you up into his arms, tightly holding you to him, and carries you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the countertop while he cleans you up. he presses a soft kiss to your clit, smirking as he looks up at your reaction. as expected, you jolt forward. ‘luigi! god, do not do that to me’ you roll your eyes, and he stands up properly, giving you a cheeky smile. you both laugh, and then he’s caressing the side of your face, placing a few soft kisses on your nose. you hum in content, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. you kiss him softly, both of you deliriously in love, trying not to giggle into the kiss.

‘shower?’ lu suggests, and you scoff playfully. ‘yeah, sure, do you want me to completely lose my ability to walk? you’re gonna have to bathe me tomorrow morning, luigi, i think i pulled at least one muscle’

he laughs softly, not bothering to hide the cheeky smile on his face knowing he’s the one who fucked you so good. ‘come on, let’s go to bed, i’ll carry you everywhere all weekend if you want’ he winks, pulling you off the counter and into his arms, holding you tight under your ass as he carries you out of your en suite. ‘you tell your friends i fuck you this good?’ he kisses your forehead, and you push his head back playfully, giggling as he squeezes your ass before placing you in your shared bed.

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜

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

A/N: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry this got delayed so many times. This is such an important chapter to me, it plays such a pivotal role in "Y/N's" development that I kept scrapping it and starting over. I didn't want to give this to you guys until it was perfect, and I think I've gotten about as close as I can. I'm predicting one more story chapter and then possibly one short epilogue.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Arthur's gone and you're own once more. The familiar ache of grief lingers as it always does. But the clouds must always part for light. Through death and grief, you still manage to find yourself.

It always seems to be cold at night, now that Arthur’s no longer there to keep you warm. You curl into yourself, knees tucked to your chest as you smother your face in the thin pillow on your cot. You press the fabric tightly to your mouth, trying to keep the sounds of your crying out of the other’s dreams. 

There should be no surprise that you’re on your own again. Beating a dead horse doesn’t make it move, but somehow, you keep finding yourself tangled in the reins, dragged along by the memory of men who’ve long since let go. You wonder, sometimes, if your life is one bet of many between god and the devil, seeing which one of them can get you to break first.  What you could have done to draw their ire, you don’t know, but you’re not sure how much more pain and loss you can handle. Your lifetime is filled with the empty graves of those you’ll never see again. Now, Arthur’s is just another headstone to add to your endless cemetery.

You worry that you’re too loud on the harder nights. But no one’s ever complained that they hear you crying and you figure they’re all probably too busy mourning in their own way to notice the way you do. 

Abigail is practically an empty shell of herself without John. As much as they fought she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Especially knowing he’s in jail, destined for the noose, and there is nothing she can do about it. 

Karen’s not doing much better. With Sean in jail alongside John, she’s fallen to the drink. She’s adopted a fatalist view that, without Dutch, you are all doomed to die at the hands of the Pinkertons. Sometimes, looking at the depressing faces of those around you, you think she might be right.

Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with only two rotting cabins between what was left of the gang, you are a far cry from the fearsome outlaws you once were. This is no longer the Van der Linde gang. Now, you’re barely any better than a group of desperate wanderers. 

You know sleep won’t come to you tonight, you’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Any longer and you’ll wake everyone else up. Wiping roughly at your eyes, you slip a blanket around your shoulders and head toward the creaking door of the cabin. You try to keep in mind that one wrong step and the groaning wood below you will alert everyone. 

Barefoot, you walk along the muddied planks of the porch and head towards what’s left of tonight’s fire. It’s not ever-burning as it once was. The gang takes care to ensure if anyone were to come looking for you all, you wouldn’t be such easy targets. 

You sink onto the log before the dying fire, with embers glowing faintly in the darkness. Sparks flicker and leap from the blackened wood, a futile effort to reignite the flame. Their struggle is in vain, though, there is no life left to kindle, no warmth to revive. The fire is gone. 

Light footsteps make their way towards you, but you keep your gaze steady on the flickering struggle before you. “I’m gettin’ real tired of this,” Sadie’s disappointed sigh is a familiar one as she comes to stand behind you. 

“Were you in town again?” You ask, ignoring the glare you feel boring into your back. She stares at you for a while longer before letting out a rough sigh and throwing herself down beside you. The log shifts slightly under her weight and you dip towards her. 

“I was,” she grumbles, something white balled up tightly in her fist. You turn towards her finally, eyes narrowed on the paper in her grasp. Her face is drawn tight, jaw set angrily as something vengeful burns within her gaze. 

“What is that?” You ask, tone inquisitive but not truly interested. Her eyes dart towards you before she shakes her head and tosses the paper to the dying fire. What’s left of it, licks eagerly at the paper, trying its damndest to burn brighter.

“Nothin’, don’t worry about it. Why can’t you sleep?” Her switch in conversation is quick and far from subtle. Your head tilts slightly in curiosity, gaze switching between her and the paper that’s slowly curling up at the edges. She’s hiding something, it’s easy enough to tell from the way she refuses to meet your eyes. Besides, she’s snuck into town plenty of times, you’ve never seen her come back this riled up before. 

You jump to your feet and she startles at the quick move. “Don’t,” she snaps, snatching at your wrist as you rush by her and swipe the paper from the fire pit. Sadie gets to her feet, hand held out with an expectant look as she waits for you to give her back to paper. When you don’t comply immediately, she says your name, voice low and tense, a warning. 

Lips curling up slightly in challenge, you leap back as she lunges for you, holding the paper away from her. “What is it?” You tease, curiosity curling over the lingering ache from earlier. 

She snaps your name again and you flinch back in surprise, “I mean it, don’t look at the goddamn paper.” You’d only been joking with her, trying to focus on anything other than Arthur. Now, there’s a familiar churning feeling of dread as you look at your friend. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the thin sheet you’re holding. There’s something on here she doesn’t want you to see, not for her own sake, but for yours. 

Your breath quickens, heart dancing dangerously fast against your ribs as you finally look at what’s in your hand. She hisses your name but you stubbornly ignore her, frowning when you realize it’s a torn-out piece of a newspaper. It’s a smaller article from the local St. Denis paper stand, talking about a ferry being lost at sea. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper, hand coming up to cover your mouth as bile rushes up your throat. You bite down on your tongue until the taste of iron fills your mouth, holding back the nausea. “This is him, isn’t it?”

Sadie lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“You were just gonna hide this from me?” You nearly shout, taking one angry step towards her. Her brows turn down in guilt, mouth settling into a thin line as she shakes her head. “No? You weren’t?” You demand, tone rough with grief. “You were just going to wait until I put the pieces together myself?”

“Dammit, woman, you’re barely holding it together,” she barks out, snatching the paper from you once more. She turns her back on you, shredding it into pieces so small you’ll never be able to finish reading it. “I was going to wait until I didn’t think you were on the brink of completely fallin’ apart. Besides, it doesn’t say anything about the people on the ship, we don’t know what happened.”

“We never will!” The words tear out of you, a sharp, bitter exhale. A panicked smile twists your lips as you struggle to keep yourself upright. “Sadie, your husband is dead, you know that. You have your answer. I never will. I will never know what happened to him. And it doesn’t even matter because he left me!” Your voice cracks, a sob slipping free despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “I shouldn’t care about that goddamn bastard, but I do.” You turn away from her, shoulders caving in as you wipe roughly at the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

There’s a beat of silence behind you. You miss the way her face falls, her hardened exterior falling away just for a moment. She looks at you with something like understanding, pity more likely. She steps forward, her arms winding around your shoulders, trying to hold you steady through the pain. You struggle against her hold for a moment but she keeps her grip firm, forcing you to succumb to the small comfort. 

You sink into her embrace, breath hitching as the grief claws its way up your chest, relentless and unyielding. You can’t keep doing this. You aren’t made to endlessly love and lose, to watch pieces of yourself crumble with every goodbye. It feels as though there should be nothing left of you- no bleeding heart, no raw edges. And yet, every time you think you’ve reached your limit, life finds a way to push you further. 

But life, pain, and the ugly company of grief never stops or goes away, despite how much you wish they would. 

A few weeks later

Physical pains and ailments heal. There may be scars left behind, but for the most part, you can be wholly healed. Anguish of the mind and heart is a different beast to conquer altogether. That sort of pain ebbs and flows. It doesn’t slip away neatly. It comes and goes, sneaking upon you when you least wish for it. 

Distractions can dull the edge. The looming danger of death and the law from any of your multitude of enemies helps. But more often than not, the weight remains a leaden burden on your shoulders and a gnawing ache deep in your chest.

For now, the pain has numbed into something dull that makes you clench your teeth and hiss. But if you force yourself, you can find steady ground to stand on. You can keep yourself calm and sated, if you focus yourself on the anger rather than the grief. 

Anger comes easier than healing. It lashes out at the world and balms over the constant pain, if only for a little while. You find yourself getting into more and more fights around camp. The forgiveness of shared grief has its limits and you’ve been testing them for a while. You’re curious how far you can push before you’re forced out by the rest of them. 

Sadie’s efforts of finding a new place for you all to hide don’t go unappreciated. But this cabin feels like a cage, no matter how far you’ve come from the mud and chaos of the old abandoned camp.  The tight space presses against you, the silence weighs heavy against your chest and constricts around you tightly. You hear the faint rustle of the trees in the wind, but it’s a vacuous cavern inside. 

The memories of Shady Belle plague you like a ghost. The brief moments when you could almost forget everything pressing down, but now, that place, too, is just another reminder of what’s been lost. Memories of nights spent with Arthur or sitting outside and listening to Javier play his guitar are tainted with loss and rage. 

Sadie and Charles provide you brief comfort, but it will never be enough to make this place feel like home. You try to shake thoughts of Arthur, what the gang once was, and everything that came before. You’ve been running for so long, from your past and who you once were, but it feels like you’re being dragged right back. 

Unable to handle the suffocating silence any longer, you take Arthur’s bow out from the chest under your cot. You grab a handful of arrows and jump to your feet. Throwing the door of the cabin open, you stride past everyone lingering outside. A few people give you odd looks, but they don’t stop you from leaving. You’ve become a dark cloud around camp, your presence heavy and actions unpredictable. It’s almost a relief for them when you’re gone. 

Lady’s just as restless as you are, except the dumb beast doesn’t understand that neither of them are coming back. Charles doesn’t know what happened to Diablo or the other horses when he fled St. Denis and you’re not interested in looking for them. She’ll just have to live with the pain, same as you. 

“Let’s go,” you mutter, swinging onto her saddle and leading her out of camp. It’s as if a weight slips from your shoulder the further you get from camp. The tight grip constricting around your chest loosens and for the first time in days, you can draw a full breath as the world opens before you. 

The thick groves of trees thin and give way to sprawling plains of grass and wildflowers that stretch endlessly. Steering Lady off the trail, you ride her hard and fast, determined to put as much distance between yourself and those suffocating cabins. Dirt kicks up under her hooves, flying up behind you as she pushes herself to the limit. 

The world around you blurs into streaks of green and gold as memories and grief slip away from you. You lean forward over Lady’s neck, urging her to go faster even as she huffs beneath you. You’re racing the wind, chasing after a dream that’s been lost to you. The air lashes at your face, the sting sharp and cold. Your eyes burn and you tell yourself it’s the wind, even as wet streaks drip down your cheeks.

Bright beams of sunlight streak across the ground, illuminating the path forward. Morning dew glistening under the light, transforms the earth into a field of stars beneath your boots. You draw in a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and tighten your legs around Lady’s sides, signaling her to slow. Her chest heaves beneath you, each breath a puff of steam in the cold air. You can feel her desire to keep running, that shared, desperate need to escape clawing at both of you. 

But she’s exhausted, and no matter how much you’d like to keep going, you can’t push her until she collapses. You’re tethered, whether you like it or not, you’re always going to be pulled back to camp. It’s a cage and a haven. Though you hate the confinement, deep down you know survival outside of it might be beyond you. You don’t trust yourself not to wither in the wilderness alone. 

The sound of water rushing draws your attention and you turn towards a green hill rousing in the distance. Guiding Lady toward it, you crest the incline and slip off her saddle, letting her graze.

Below, a river carves through the land. Its rushing currents are strong enough to carry something away with no hope of return. You step closer to the edge, peering down as the sunlight dances on the water’s surface. It runs like liquid gold, unnaturally beautiful, almost hypnotic, like the siren call of a sailor’s doom. 

A herd of deer drift alongside the river, their presence serene and almost make the idea of simply drifting away, peaceful. Your foot inches closer to the edge, slipping on the wet grass, and for a split second, the earth feels like it’s tilting forward.  

“You don’t usually ride out this far.” 

The voice snaps you back, and you gasp, spinning around. Charles stands behind you, one hand on Taima’s saddle, watching you with a calm but expectant expression. 

“I can’t stand being there,” you say, moving toward Lady. Your hands fumble with her saddlebag, needing something to occupy them. His eyes flick briefly to the river, then back to you, his gaze sharp and knowing. 

“You’re not the only one.” He strolls to the edge and whistles softly.  “Far drop.” 

You keep your hands busy, pretending to rummage through your belongings. “I’m a good swimmer,” you tell him, voice flat. 

“Not that good.” His tone is clipped, a warning wove into his words.  

You let out a sharp breath and finally turn to face him. “What do you want, Charles?”

He shrugs, resting one hand on his belt as his dark eyes assess you. “Thought you might want some company.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “Or, at least someone to keep you from doing something stupid.”

You wince, knowing how it must have looked. You’re hurt and desperate, but you’re no fool. The river might be pretty, but you’re not looking to drown yourself in it. “It wasn’t anything like that,” you insist, and Charles gives you a sharp, assessing look. “Charles,” you snap, exhaling in frustration.  “Honestly. I just,” you take in a slow breath, shaking your head, eyes downcast. “I need a break.”

“Alright,” he says simply. “We’ll take one together.” He walks back to the cliff’s edge, dropping down to sit with his legs dangling over the side. He glances over his shoulder and motions you to join him. 

Your fists clench at your sides as you take slow, reluctant steps toward him. The dew on the grass seeps into your pants as you sit beside him, hands folded in your lap. Out of the corner of his eyes, you catch his profile, calm, steady, and scarred. 

The aftermath of St. Denis lingers on his face. A fresh scar cuts along his jawline, a reminder of how close he came to joining the others who didn’t make it. Yet, with some of them gone, he seems more at ease. Charles never agreed with Dutch’s grandiose visions, and though he and Arthur had a bond, it’s clear the gang’s collapse has freed him from some invisible yoke. He wears his hair in a braid lately, speaking with nearby tribes and helping them when he’s not in camp. 

If it wasn’t for some odd honor-bound obligation he’s got to you and a few others in camp, you don’t doubt that he’d be riding free by now. Still, he stays with you, and selfishly, you’re glad for it. 

A gunshot cracks through the quiet, echoing among the hills. Birds take flight from the treetops as a hunting group crashes through the grove below. They circle around the herd of deer and let their bullets fly wild. Their hounds snap at the flanks of the animals, jaws clamping around the soft throats of the doe. 

Charles scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t kill the does,” he mutters angrily. “Just the bucks. These men... they have no respect for the laws of nature.”

You let out a sardonic huff of laughter, gesturing toward the chaos below.  “Welcome to the future of our country,” Your gaze drifts toward the horizon, where smoke from St. Denis factories smudges the sky. Even this far out, civilization stretches its claws, unstoppable. “The west is dying, Charles. The time of outlaws, of freedom, is being shackled and destroyed.”

You turn to face him, meeting the same burning anger in his eyes that’s been smoldering in your own for weeks. It’s the first time you’ve seen that fire in him so clearly- the shared, silent rage, you’ve both been trying to suppress. “Our time is over,” you tell him, voice low with finality. 

His eyes narrow, jaw tight with defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, but then he rises to his feet, his movements purposeful. “Maybe,” he says, his voice steady, “but not today.”

Without another word, he strides toward Taima, tightening the saddle and checking the reins with precision. “What’re you doin?” You call after him, brows knitting together in confusion. 

He gestures toward the hunters below, his tone sharp. “You want to do something stupid. Fine. But take it out on someone who deserves it, not yourself.” 

His words hit like a slap, and before you know it, he’s leading Taima down the hill. 

You linger in the sharp sting of what he said only for a moment. Jumping to your feet, you rush to Lady, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you mount her. With a kick of your heels, you follow Charles down the path toward the hunters, your rage finally finding a target. 

For the first time in a long while, the weight around your chest lightens. You might not be able to fix the world, but you can make sure someone pays for tearing it apart. And as you ride beside Charles, you remember why he’s still here. He’s not just keeping you alive, he’s giving you something to live for.

Sitting inside the cabin, the smell of venison drifts toward you. After the incident with the hunting party, you and Charles salvaged what you could of the herd. Neither of you liked the idea of anything going to waste. Some materials were given to the local tribe, and the rest have been feeding the camp for days now. 

Last night, you’d scoured the woods for herbs and other ingredients and discreetly left them on Pearson’s cooking table. You were growing desperate for a flavor other than plain meat. Judging by the faint smell of mint wafting through the air, it seems he finally took the hint. 

Propped against your flimsy pillow, you run your fingers along the worn leather of the journal in your lap. For weeks, you’ve toyed with the idea of opening it, of seeing the world through Arthur’s eyes. 

Here, in the rare serenity of a quiet camp, you finally give in. The journal is as you would expect, sketches, details of some of the more pivotal moments for the gang. Every once in a while you’ll find a sketch of someone and a brutally honest recollection of how Arthur thought of them. Some of them are less flattering than you would have thought, you’re almost worried for how he might have seen you. 

You make it through his entries about Blackwater, the sun setting lower in the horizon as the light from the window gets dimmer. Outside, voices grow louder as people gather around the fire for dinner. You force your eyes to stay on the page, blocking out their drifting voices. 

His entries after the mountains are almost amusing. He’s clearly frustrated about something, though, he skirts around directly addressing what it is. Only a few times are you directly mentioned, for the most part, he avoids writing about you. But you catch glimpses of yourself hiding in the pages. A half-finished sketch of your hand holding his, the beginnings of your face abandoned before he can finish. 

There’s an entry a few weeks after you acquired Lady. A sketch of her and Diablo grazing together, their noses nearly touching as they crane their necks towards the grass. Surrounding the drawings are small notes about herbs and foliage he’d collected on his hunting trips. Among those sketches, there’s a small blurb about the horses.  

Diablo seems to be taking a liking to Lady, odd pair, I think. 

An odd pair, you suppose there’s not a better way to put it. Something that never should have worked, a devil and a lady, yet it still clawed and fought to find its way. In the end, though, one of them was always going to be left behind. You can’t help but wish it hadn’t been you.

A rough sigh escapes you, and you flip past the next few pages. Then, you stop. A familiar pair of eyes stare back at you. 

You’ve changed so much since this journey began. Your skin is weathered, your once-pristine hair is now more often than not dirtied and knotted from the wind. Your body has grown leaner, stronger, shaped by the relentless movement and harsh diet. The woman in the red dress from St Denis was already a stranger, someone you couldn’t recognize. 

Even from Arthur’s view, you still don’t know her. The general shape of your face remains. You have the same slope to your nose, your jaw still tilts the same way. But your eyes are so different. He drew them with fire, with life, with a fight you had once thought yourself incapable of. 

You feel invulnerable as you stare down at her, as though her fire can be passed so easily to you. The feeling flickers and fades, replaced with the same familiar ache you’ve grown used to. 

You can’t make sense of it, how he could have seen you so kindly, and yet still walked away. 

“Got that look in your eye again,” Sadie’s voice cuts through the stillness, startling you. She leans against the doorway, one hand lingering on the revolver strapped to her hip. 

“What look?” You mutter, glaring down at the journal. It feels too raw, too personal to keep reading. Torturing yourself with thoughts of him isn’t getting you anywhere. He’s gone. You’ve faced death all your life- mourn, move on. That’s how it’s meant to go.  

“Angry,” Sadie tells you, voice soft and knowing. “Like how I looked after I lost Jake. You ain’t look like that when you lost your husband.”

You shrug, fingers tracing the lines of your face through Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur was nothing like my husband. He leaves something to be mourned,” you tell her simply. She watches you a moment longer, but when you get to your feet, her expression sharpens. 

“Going somewhere?”

“Out,” you reply curly, the cabin walls closing in around you. You’re growing tired of the suffocating way Charles and Sadie hover as if they’re both waiting for you to break again. That moment on the cliff, your grief by the fire, it was all a lapse of judgment, nothing more. You’ve fought too damn hard for your freedom just to throw it away because the men you love always leave you behind. 

“Need some compan-”

“No,” you snap, cutting her off. Your tone leaves no room for argument. 

You step outside, the balmy evening air clinging to your skin as you head toward Lady. You don’t know where you’re going, but that’s fine. You just know you need to figure out how to live for yourself. And you can start by riding. 

The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light threading through the plains like silver threads. Clouds roll overhead, slowly swallowing the stars. You smell rain in the air, a promise of a storm tomorrow. You’re sure you’ll be holed up in the cabins tomorrow while it pours. 

For now, you have the trail and the night for yourself. You let Lady take the lead, her slow gait a soothing rhythm as you settle into the ride. Normally, you don’t risk staying away from camp overnight. There are too many lawmen and bounty hunters looking to make a name for themselves. Tonight, though, you make an exception. 

A loud whoop cuts through the stillness, yanking you from your thoughts. You pull Lady to a halt, eyes roaming the dark horizon. A lone rider crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight, his path set toward something hidden around the bend.

“Must be my lucky day!” He hollers, voice manic. There’s a flash, the sharp crack of a gunshot splitting the quiet, and a scream follows. 

You curse under your breath, driving your heels into Lady’s sides. The two of you round the bend in time to see the rider poking his head into a finely adorned carriage. The driver slumps lifelessly over the reins, blood pooling beneath him.

Grimacing, you draw back into the shadows of the hill. “Alright, ladies first,” the bandit taunts. He reaches into the carriage, his groping hand causing a shrill shriek before he’s grabbing a woman and tossing her into the dirt. You grit your teeth, tucking yourself further out of sight, hoping to go unnoticed.

The glint of his revolver catches the moonlight as he climbs into the carriage. From inside, the muffled sounds of arguing give way to fists striking flesh. The woman lies with her face obscured by her hands. She flinches and sobs with each punch landed and the noises make Lady shift uneasily. Her hooves snap against the dried brambles of a dying bush. 

“Damn horse,” you mutter, eyes clenched shut as the noises momentarily pause. 

“Who’s there?” He calls out. It’s barely a moment before his patience snaps and he fires a warning shot into the air. “You don’t want me to come find you,” he warns, voice low and tight. 

Knocking the brim of your hat down, you let out a resigned sigh and turn the corner, forcing yourself into the open. “Howdy,” you call out, trying to mimic the casual confidence Arthur used to have in moments like these. Bandits, outlaws- they all recognize each other through the ease with which they face situations like this. You only hope you’re a good enough liar. “Just passin’ through, friend, no need for problems.” 

For a moment, his gun dips to his side. Then, his face is twisting into a wide, erratic grin. “Nice trail isn’t it? Perfect for catching big fish,” he says, swinging the revolver toward the woman’s husband. She whimpers loudly and grasps at the slumped-over man. You can hear his shallow, wet breaths from where you sit. 

“There ain’t no need to shoot ‘em,” you tell him, voice steady despite the tension coiling around you. “There’s a fence not far from here, you’ll get more money selling that carriage than you will killin’ them.”

He crackles and it makes your skin crawl. “Where’s the fun in that?” He sneers, cocking the hammer back as he points the gun at the woman. 

This man laughs, taking far more pleasure in tormenting others than in the act of robbery itself. He’s malicious, sadistic—the very picture of a perfect outlaw. For a fleeting moment, he sees something in you, thinks you might be cut from the same ruthless cloth. But he’s wrong, and there’s something exhilarating about stepping beyond the mold your family and husband once shaped for you, discovering who you can be on your own terms.

Your hand drifts to the revolver on your side, slowly easing it out of your holster. His head snaps toward the sound of you pulling the hammer back, but it’s too late. From your spot atop Lady, all you see is blood splatter as his body drops to the floor. The woman screaming lets you know you hit your mark near perfect. 

Opposed to the man now bleeding out in the dirt beneath you, there’s no thrill in the kill, no satisfaction. Just the cold thrum of your nerves, the slight tremor in your hands as you slide off Lady and stride toward the couple. 

With the bandit dead, the woman’s husband seems to make a miraculous recovery. He springs up, blood still streaming along his chin. “Thank God for you, sir-”

He stops short when you tip your hat back. Perhaps his ears were still ringing from one too many blows, dulling his senses, or maybe he was simply too pigheaded to grasp the fact that he’d just been rescued by a woman. You level him with an unimpressed glare. “Not a problem,” you say flatly

“Oh, good heavens,” the woman gasps, whispering your name with a startling familiarity. You freeze, eyes wide, as your blood runs cold. 

Elsbeth Morton. 

You’d know the voice anywhere. Of all the people you could have run into, she’s the last you’d ever want to see. Your tormenter through finishing school. She used to cut your hair in your sleep, stain your dress, and make your life a misery for sport. 

Her sneer hasn’t changed, though the lines around her mouth suggest her spite has only deepened. “Well,” she drawls, voice laced with faux pity, “I see nothing much has changed for you. Still scrounging out an existence in the dirt, are we?”

Your jaw tightens. “Elsbeth,” you grit out. “You’re welcome.”

She laughs, short and derisive in a way that makes you bristle. “For what? Subjecting me to this humiliating spectacle? Honestly, I think I preferred the company of the bandit. At least he had the decency to get on with it instead of pretending to play the hero.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay calm, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s almost tragic,” she continues, brushing the dirt from her skirts as if trying to erase the sight of you. “You’re still so desperate for approval, aren’t you? Trying to prove you’re something you’re not. What’s next? A big speech about how strong and independent you are?” She snickers, tugging her husband to his feet. “We both know better.”

Your voice comes out low and steady. “You’ve always been good at pretending you’re better than everyone else, Elsbeth.” God hates you, you’re sure of it. If he doesn't, why is she here? Dragging you back to everything you loathed about your former self—the vapid, dependent, hollow shell of a woman who had once believed her worth was defined by the man standing beside her.

“Pretending?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “Darling, I don’t need to pretend. You can wear all the trousers you want, but we both know you’re still the same timid little girl, hiding behind a man and hoping no one notices she doesn’t belong.”

Her words cut, but they don’t sting the way they once would have. Instead, they ignite something, a fire born not of anger, but clarity. 

You’re not the man bleeding out in the dirt, killing for the joy of it. But you aren’t the polished girl she remembers, desperate for a man’s approval. You’re something else entirely. Unbound by society, free to choose your own path, you’re a beast of your own creation. And if there is one thing you’ve learned about yourself- you love putting your past in the grave. 

You let out a slow breath, your hand drifting toward your revolver. “Elsbeth,” you call, voice sharp enough to cut through her self-satisfied grin.

She stops, turning back with an arched brow. “What now?” she huffs. “Come to beg for my acceptance? Or just another pathetic attempt to-”

“That husband of mine,” you interrupt, voice cool as steel, “was good for one thing.” You draw your revolver, the barrel leveling with her chest. “Teaching me to shoot.”

Her eyes widen, her sneer faltering as her hand instinctively flies to her necklace.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Now, how about you hand over those pretty jewels?”

She scoffs, but you see the way her grin falters, the slight fear in her eyes. You shoot her a wink and take a step closer, reveling in how she stumbles back. 

“And while we’re at it,” you continue, voice tightening into a sharp, mocking edge, “why don’t you hand over those earrings too?” You laugh, waving your gun recklessly as you shrug with a faux playfulness. “Actually, what the hell, I think I’ll take that dress—seeing as you’ve gone and gotten it all muddy anyway.” You take a step forward, your gaze narrowing on her trembling hands. “Hell, even that hair ribbon. You always did like rubbing your finery in everyone’s face, Elsbeth. Let’s see how you like losing it.”

She stares at you, disbelief flickering in her wide eyes, her hands frozen in hesitation. “You can’t be serious,” she whispers.

“Oh, I’m dead,” you pull back the hammer of your gun with a slow, menacing click. The sound hangs in the air like a threat. Your eyes narrow, and a dangerous smile tugs at your lips. “Serious.”

She moves hesitantly, every motion weighted with reluctance, disbelief etched across her face. You, the woman she used to torment and cow with a simple look, now dismantling her composure piece by piece. The power shift is palpable, and for the first time in your life, you watch Elsbeth Morton falter.

“Go’n now,” you say, your voice cutting through her trembling silence. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her husband flinches as she begins to remove her jewelry, her fingers trembling as she unfastens each piece. You hold out your hand, and she hesitates, her face flushed with humiliation as she steps forward to place them carefully in your palm, one by one, like a chastened child.

He glances at you, then at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust as if the sight of her submitting is too much for him to stomach.

Your eyes narrow on him, your hand tightening slightly around the revolver. The smug smile creeping onto your lips says it all—you’ll deal with him next.

You understand, finally, that you’re no longer the woman shaped by the men in your life. The husband who failed you, the outlaw who abandoned you, the society that tried to break you. People will learn that you aren’t afraid to take what’s yours anymore, because for the first time, you’re carving your own path, and God help anyone who tries to stand in your way.

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy

[sporadicallyanenthusiast]

First of all, let me just thank you for taking the time to explain all of these points! There were many contexts here I didn't know about and it helps make more sense of the story! So thank you so much ❤️

And the thing about Ancient Greek and color is really fascinating! Kudos to the people that first began translating the ancient texts, because oh boy! Hahaha @mari--lace also mentioned in the replies how it is not a consensus on Athena's eye color either. I've only ever heard about the "wine colored sea" point, but never had the thought to dig deeper and learn more. I am definitely going to change that hahaha There are so many interesting things to learn, no wonder so many scientists have been studying the topic for centuries.

I'll have to admit, our poor Menelaus really did suffer a lot, dear Gods. Since my first contact with him was through the Odyssey and some fandom posts, sometimes I forget Agamemnon was his brother. And yes, as much as he loved Odysseus, learning about your brother's death like that can't be easy to digest. And the timeline of how long he stayed shipwrecked was a little fuzzy to me, so it makes sense that after 7 years, his memory would be hazy! I see what you mean when you refer to it as a vision/dream now. I didn't know Aegisthus had them exiled either, so that definitely adds even another layer to the hell Menelaus' life was at that time! We talk so much about Odysseus' hardships, but oh my, poor Mene didn't catch a break either, I'm appalled 😰 I have yet to wrap my mind around the fact the the poems were supposed to be performed out loud as well. A lot of the narrative choices make way more sense when you remember that, it's not just a regular book. I suppose that is why some things sound jarring when you read it for the first time.

And yes! Oh my, I never thought the texts would be so expressive and so warm, you know? We tend to have this idea that people from different times were too cold and distant, but they were still human at the end of the day. Of course they'd be affectionate to the ones they loved! And to be honest, it reminds me of when I read Sherlock Holmes for the first time. It really caught me by surprise how Sherlock and Watson were described and how they talked about each other in such a loving way. I don't know when we stopped writing platonic relationships so beautifully like that, but it truly is a loss to modern literature, in my humble opinion.

And I had no idea about Odysseus' own prophecy! I did know he tried to avoid going to war, but I just assumed it was because he had a newborn son and wanted to be there for Penelope. In that scenario, it really is fair to point out Menelaus trying to warn them wouldn't change much. On that note, Athena herself also told Telemachus Odysseus was alive and he didn't believe her, the Wisdom Goddess hahaha I hadn't thought about that before, but it really does illustrate how hopeless all of them were. If Telemachus didn't believe Athena, you're right, he wouldn't really care about Menelaus' letter either.

I knew about the law of Xenia, so I assumed that was the only reason stopping them from sending the suitors away. I admit I was a tad bit confused why Telemachus didn't force the suitors to leave once he outright had Athena's and Zeus' blessing, so your explanation really helped me make sense of everything!

It's such a nice and sweet detail to have Telemachus and Odysseus going through their journeys at the same time (Telemachus' first journey and Odysseus' last journey, even!), only to meet again at home and taking back control of their palace together. Maybe I teared up a bit, can't deny nor confirm hahahahaha

You are still way more knowledgeable on the topic, and your academic background gives a perspective other people might not have. So I think it's fair to call you as such 🥰❤️

Oh, I see! Sorry, I'm a bit too anxious at times and end up worrying too much that I gave the wrong impression or was rude by accident hahaha

This has been a lovely discussion indeed! Once again, thank you so much for being so kind to explain everything, I'll definitely be reading the books with new perspectives and insights!

Telemachus is so much stronger than me for real. Cause if I had traveled for days, by sea AND land, arrived at the palace of my father's friend and my mother's cousin to humbly ask if they know anything about my missing father and instead of just fucking telling me already, this mf started a monologue about how gay he is for my dad and about the time he captured a God that granted him wishes three, I'd already be telling him to Hurry The Fuck Up. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY.

But if the same motherfucker then turned around and told me that he had known FOR YEARS NOW that my dad is trapped on an island AND THE MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T TELL ANYONE!!!! NOT A SINGLE LETTER!!! I would have already strangled Menelaus with that fucking blond hair of his in front of his wife and children, unhelpful son of a bitch.

[emmasclaws]

summer lovin✿-rafe Cameron

social media/ irl au

you wanted a laid back and chill summer until one of your moms rich snobby friends lent you two rooms In her ridiculously huge summer house. now you're forced to hang out with her kids the entire summer.

pairings: rafe Cameron x mamas girl reader

warnings: low self esteem, curse words, sexual innuendos, eventual smut, angst, arguing. I'll add more if needed :)

(that's all the smau you'll get for now the juicy stuff hasn't happened yet and she's sorta a loser😭)

I looked up from my phone as I felt the car stop looking out of my window up at the big mansion like home that I'll be staying at for the next 4 months of my life "mama this is a huge house" you said unbuckling your seat belt. "no wonder she offered us to stay" my mom said sharing my awe and surprised at the size and beauty of the house. (I'm glazing)

after getting our bags from the car we approached the house before we could knock on the door a lady opened it who I assume was rose by the way her and my mom started squealing their hellos and hugging each other.

"oh and this must be your daughter! she looks just like her mama oh my god you are just beautiful" she said opening her arms gesturing me to give her a hug I obviously obliged not wanting to seem rude or disrespectful, first impressions are important."ok come I'll show you two to your rooms and then once y'all are settled I'll show you around the house".

As we walked into the house it was very warm and cozy. we walked up the stairs with my mom and rose chatting on about plans for themselves and planning family dinner that already sounded awkward. it was actually nice to see my mom getting along with people who weren't me.

"ok sweetie this is your room it's just one room away from my daughter Sarah's and right across from my son rafes room." she said while gesturing toward both rooms and opening the door to my room for me. "thank you so much Mrs. Cameron" I thanked her while putting my luggage in my room.

"ok so that was my room so now lemme show you the whole house." I said to bailey who I was facetimeing, I opened my door heading towards the stairs I stop in my tracks when I see the son rafe I hadn't expected him to be home so soon I thought he'd be out partying and doing what guys like him do, I only assumed this because I sorta kinda stalked his and his sisters instas but that doesn't matter rn.

"oh hi you must be the girl rose was talking about, y/n right?" he said as he fully got up the stairs. holy shit he was handsome how am I supposed to spend an entire summer with him." yeah I am your must be rafe, it's nice to meet you" I said with a soft smile on my face trying to hide the pure nerves inside of me right now.

"yeah nice to meet you too, well I'm going to my room see you later" he said as he walked off toward his room, I replied with mhm and a nod before staring right back at phone to see if bailey had just seen the absolute man that I just saw.

"oh my god? he was like so hot I guess you will find a hot guy this summer" she said in a quiet squeal "I know omg oh but anyways house tour girl" I said walking down the stairs and heading towards the kitchen. As I headed toward the kitchen I saw Sarah Cameron or on her Instagram Sarah Routledge she was scrolling on her phone while eating strawberries out of a bowl.

"oh hi your y/n right?, nice to meet you!!" Sarah said with a big smile and reaching for a hug, "yeah and you must be Sarah nice to meet you too!" I said with the same smile on my face, she's so pretty oh em gee. "y/n are you still there?? earth to y/n" bailey said from the phone, "yeah sorry omg" I apologized "I'm on the phone with my friend doing like a house tour you know" I explained to Sarah her eyes lit up with excitement before saying "omg lemme show you around I love showing the place come on follow me" she said getting up to show me and bailey the kitchen.

In the middle of the tour bailey said she had to go cause her mom was dragging her to the store to get groceries for dinner, so sarah out of kindness for her new house mate and her potentially new bestie decided to continue the tour and that's what they were doing right now. "ok so this is the movie room it's basically a movie theater except we can put YouTube and like all the other stuff on the big screen it's so fun we should have a movie night soon" she said while pointing at all the things she was describing. I was obviously answering and talking back to her but I was just really taking in the richness of it all I've never even had a tv in my room let alone a whole movie theater it was great.

a little while later and we had finished the tour as we headed up to our rooms she told me that rose had planned a breakfast for all of us to get to know each other and so we could all become friends? I don't know roses words not mine.

this chapter was a lot shorter then I wanted it to be but wtv next chapter will be longer trust me I hope you liked it and if there're any critiques plz give them!

[historiawon]

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT

You, Rafayel's bodyguard, ask if you can commission him to sketch your next tattoo.

Based on this post. Can also be found on AO3 :)

Tags: gender neutral reader, getting closer (professionally as well as casually), reader is NOT an artist, rafayel is NOT a numbers guy, bickering, close proximity, lots of eye contact

Kindly read under the cut!

They say, ‘Strike when the iron is hot.’

The mantra repeats excessively in your mind as you watch over Rafayel, the person who employed you as his bodyguard. Because the current chances of Wanderers attacking the Mo Art Studio is low (never zero), you give your mind permission to wander. A little. Just a little.

Your mind wanders as far as a few weeks ago: the request at the tip of your tongue. That will later be inked to your skin.

As they say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ You’re standing a few feet away from a brilliant artist. This is your chance.

You cough. “Excuse me.”  

“I have a name,” Rafayel says, as he brushes past you to rummage through his box of tools. He takes out a scraper.

“Right. Rafayel?”  

“What’s up?” He returns to his stool.

“I have a question, and please indulge me: what do you think about doing commissions?”

“Commissions?” Rafayel repeats, as he scrapes the dried pigment off the canvas. “Like, other people paying me to paint for them?”

“Yes.” 

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you for a split-second before returning his attention back on the painting. He calculates a precise location before scraping again. “In your dreams. I don’t paint for anyone. I don’t even speed up my painting process for Thomas, even if he asked.”

“Even if it will earn you extra income?”

“And extra work! I already work hard enough to finish original pieces as they are.”

You nod and remember the instances of him submitting a painting late. “True. I suppose that your original works already earn enough to support you. . . and Thomas, ‘cause you pay him,” and me, as your bodyguard, you add as an afterthought. Wait, does he even pay me?

(You make a mental note to clarify that later; you have a more pressing concern right now.)

Slowly, Rafayel puts down his scraper and turns towards you. “You want me to paint something for you, is that it?”

“Hm.” You try to be vague. “No, I was just curious.”

“No, you’re not ‘just curious.’ There’s a follow-up question to it; I know.”

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you exchange a prolonged and loaded eye contact. Your breath hitches at the full attention. His pupils glance at your throat before looking back at your eyes.

Y/N, I know, his gaze seems to say.

Your steady look asks: You know?

With a nod, Rafayel’s expectant gaze answers, Try me.

We’re going off topic, Rafayel.  

“Ha! You blinked first!” He exclaims in victory then raises a hand as if to stop you from opening your mouth. “Yes, Y/N, I know a staring contest wasn’t what we were doing. But I know you have a follow-up question.”

“I do, but I was planning to take this slow. I know we have…” you gesture to the space between the two of you, “professional boundaries. I’m not in the position to ask for commission requests yet. It’s not even open.”

“So considerate,” Rafayel teases, but his gaze on you softens. “That’s cute.”

“Still, right?”

His ears flush pink, like he can’t believe what just happened. In a snap, he changes back to his usual self and touches his ear. “Just shoot your shot. Time will pass whether you ask me now or later.”

“My follow-up question was about if I can avail your services for an art commission. You can just draw; no colors. I’ll pay. What’s your price?”

“Assuring me straight up that you’ll pay? I like that in a customer!”

“We’re going off topic, Rafayel.”  

“Hey! What’s with the accusatory tone?” He says as he rubs his ears. The pink turns to red. “You’re no different. You went on a roundabout way just to ask me for a piece! You can just say,” he straightens his posture—highly reminiscent of your current posture that was earned from your job as a hunter—and imitates your tone, “‘Hey, Raf, can you make this for me? I’ll pay!’ Simple. Done.”

You break character and scoff. He chuckles at your reaction.

“Yes, but that was more of an opening rather than ‘off-topic.’ I’d rather know if you accept commissions or not before I ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s polite.”

You bite back a grin when he makes a face. He apparently notices the way you hold back a smile—he glances at your mouth once and his ears turn red. Again. Redder than that dried pigment he’s been scraping off. “Whatever. I can be polite.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.”

“It was implied,” he whined.

You adjust your expression back to a more neutral and respectful one to stay on track of the topic.

“So, how much will a sketch cost?”

“Hmm,” he looks at the ceiling and puts a finger under his jaw, which stains his skin with color. He seems too used to it to bother reacting. “Given that I’ve earned my spot in the industry, it would be, I don’t know. . . a lot?”

“Right. Do you have an exact amount?”

“Oh, cutie, I gotta be honest with you…” Eyes on the canvas, Rafayel scrunches his face with some hard-to-decipher smile. He picks up his scraper and scrapes off a small piece of dried pigment in the corner of the piece. A huge chunk of dried powder falls out. Yikes. “I don’t really know much about the numbers aspect. Will you bother Thomas with a hypothetical question? Don’t tell him I’m considering to give you a commission! I don’t wanna deal with his lectures.”

You make a mental note.

“Sure. I will do that. Do you want me to pay you directly? Since I imagine the price will be a lot, I can pay you in installments, if you accept.”

“Wow,” he drawls, tone impressed, “You thought this through.”

“Mm. I’m serious about this.”

Rafayel’s adam’s apple moves as he fixes his gaze at the canvas with intensity. “I’ll decide depending on the drawing. What do you want me to sketch?”

You imagine your budget, yet again. “Depends on the price.”

“Y/N,” he drawls. “We’re going in circles! Off-topic!”

“I was hoping you would sketch a tattoo for me.”

At that, Rafayel whips his head towards you so fast. The crack of his neck is loud enough for you to feel bad.

“What?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Is your neck OK—”

“For—forget my neck. Off-topic,” he repeats, with his eyes almost teary on you. “Repeat what you said.”

“A tattoo. Just a small one. Under my ear.” At his stunned silence, you continue, “Well, it’s not every day that I can talk to a talented artist. I’m taking my chances and I’ll pay you, I promise. If I’m unable to pay it in full, then you can take money off my sala—”

“You—you want me to draw a tattoo?”

“Yes. For me.”

“I’ll draw it? Are you sure?” he almost chokes on his words.

“Yes, it would be an honor.”

“’An honor’—oh my god. No, it would be an honor to me. Not to you, to me.” Rafayel fans himself with his collar. “Wha—what—what kind of tattoo?”

“I was thinking of a sunset.” You feel a little unprepared at Rafayel’s reaction. His eyes are wide and mouth agape. No amount of spotlight could top the nerve-wracking feeling of someone’s full attention on you. “Like… I don’t know how that would look good, but… preferably, uh, you know those sketches that are made in a continuous line? Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Does that look good? Any professional, artistic opinion?”

“Whatever you want,” his voice cracks again. You wince. “It’s a tattoo, silly. It’s supposed to be personal.”

“The mere subject is personal. I don’t mind much about the artistic style it takes to get inked on me, as long as it fits the way I look.”

“On your neck, huh…” he mutters. “I’ll help. Let’s make it perfect.”

A pause. Rafayel stands up from his stool and tears off a piece of paper from a sketchbook. “Uh, you might want to sketch what was in your mind. Then I will modify it, if you’re unsatisfied with what you made.”

“I just said I don’t mind ab—”

“A tattoo is personal. You should draw and I’ll check.”

You wave your hands away from the paper. “Ah, no! I already tried. I’m bad at drawing. That is why I need your help.”

Rafayel avoids your gaze and leaves the paper on the stool. “OK, um, I’ll be back. Let me wash my hands first—”

“You don’t have to do it now—” you say, but the man is already brushing past you to wash his pigment-stained hands (and face). He belatedly locks the bathroom door behind him, and you can hear muffled screams from where you are standing.

What’s up with him? You wonder. Is this what happens when you strike a hot iron? You didn’t think you would go this far.

_

Rafayel returns as if you didn’t hear his muffled screaming. “Who’s gonna do your tattoo?”

“I found a tattoo shop at Linkon city. They said we’re allowed to bring designs of our own.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and crosses his arms. “And you think they can imitate my genius?”

“I hope they can,” you indulge him a compliment. His ears flush pink—you can see it with the short distance between the two of you.

“How much is it?” You ask again. “Hey, does asking for your opinion have a price?”

“Geez. Why do you keep asking me about money and prices? I literally said I’m not a numbers guy. Don’t go back to the circle, Y/N.” He widens his eyes at you.

“I don’t know; you might be similar to a legal counselor. Don’t they charge clients per session?”

“We’re going off-topic, Y/N,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t know about other artists, but I’m not charging you for asking. Actually, you know what? Pay me with a favor instead. Don’t ask Thomas about a price! You’re commissioning me with a favor!”

The mental note in your head falls down like a ripped-out post-it. “Oh, OK! Thanks?”

“And no, my opinion is for free. You might never ask me for it again if I said it costs something.”

You shrug. “Possibly.”

“So let’s—” Rafayel looks around the room. “Sit down. Your legs must ache from standing all afternoon.”

You sit down on the couch he gestures to. It’s a little relieving on the leg area. Meanwhile, Rafayel tugs his collar with a nervous swallow as he sits next to you. In his hands are two pencils and an eraser shaped like an octopus.

“So, sunset?” He asks awkwardly.

You look at his eyes and smile. “Yes. Sunset.”

“OK. Sunset.”

“Uh-huh. Sunset. Should I get the paper you ripped earlier? And the sketchbook so it can be on top of something?” You say with hands already outstretched.

“So chivalrous,” he teases, but the frown on his face makes the teasing come off as awkward. You playfully scoff to avoid embarrassing him. “Yes. Please start.”

With the paper and sketchbook on your lap, you draw the first line.

The second. The third.

Then regret it.

“Yikes.”

“Hm?”

When you look at Rafayel, he no longer looks flustered. Replacing his awkward eyes is an intense, focused gaze. You instinctively cover the “drawing” with your palm, but Rafayel’s warm fingers pulls it back.

“This will be my tattoo.” You try to avoid feeling awkward.

He studies the drawing for a few beats. Then intently at your neck.

“Press your ear like this. I want to see the space where this will go.”

Awkwardly, you turn your head and press your ear forward to fold it.

“Is it this ear?”

“Yes.”

“Portrait?”

“Yes, portrait. I want it to be visible.”

You hold the pose for a few more seconds. Rafayel’s silence is making you feel more and more flustered. He exhales, mind in mid-thought.

“What do you think? As an artist?”

“I won’t answer that,” he says earnestly, “but do you want me to change it?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I mean, that’s what the entire conversation earlier was about, anyway. A talented artist to draw my tattoo. Hopefully.”

“I’ll make a few suggestions.”

Rafayel does not take the paper on the sketchbook away from your lap. Instead, he uses the second pencil and draws on it.

This is weird.

The warmness that radiates from him—from his close proximity with you—feels quite comforting. You suddenly remember the mattress of the bed when you used to live with Grandma. It just… it felt nice. You feel your upper body lose its tension.

Plus, you can see the violet strands of his hair up close. It’s a pretty color. Maybe violet will be your favorite color, from now on.

“Here, check this out—”

You snap out of your thoughts, but you do not make it obvious.

Rafayel created two sample tattoos, following at least two of the three lines you drew. It seems like the base for his modification drawings.

“What do you think?”

Your heart starts thumping in your chest like a lion in its cage. There’s a… there’s a rush of excitement in your stomach and in your throat. This is pretty. This is genius. Rafayel is able to turn something amateur into something great and you can’t help but be amazed. “That’s infinitely better, wow!”

“Are you sure? We can do better than that. I mean, this one’s stroke is out of line…”

“Sure, but these are pretty as they are! I must owe you a huge favor for this ‘commission,’ right?”

Something changes in Rafayel’s eyes. He looks a little sheepish. “Actually.”

“Yes?”

“I know what favor to ask of you now.”

“Tell me. Strike while the iron’s hot,” strike while we’re on the topic!

“How open are you to having me as your tattoo artist?”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

you in my eyes [5] l Javier Peña

Summary:  you weren't friends and you certainly weren't planning anything more together

Warnings:  smut, fingering, kissing, enemies (?) to lovers, misogyny and sexism at work, some bad language, Murphy shows up, alcohol

A/N: I don't know how many people read this series, but I wanted to add another chapter. Maybe I can make someone happy with it.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[previous chapter]

[masterlist]

You turned down the TV and sat up on the couch, someone was knocking on the door. It was already late Friday evening, which you decided to spend at home. After Messina announced that O'Connell had been urgently called to the States, you felt calmer. That's why you didn’t go to any pub or place like that.

The knock repeated and you finally approached the door.

"Javier?" the man on the other side smiled “What are you doing here?”

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, a little confused.

"No. But it's late. Is something wrong?"

He raised his hand, in which he held the bottle of whiskey, and waved it, smiling slyly.

"I won the bet," he boasted.

You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the door frame, looking at him with interest. Peña was pleased to note that you were wearing a green baggy t-shirt, probably from the department's supply, and your hair was still damp from the shower. You looked nice.

"There was a bet, back at the office. The guys were betting on when O'Connell would give up and come home." Javier explained. "And I won."

"You bet he'd leave right now?"

"No. I said someone would punch him in the face."

You burst out laughing. And even Peña laughed, still holding his bottle in front of you.

"We're partners, so you deserve it, too."

"Oh! How generous of you! You flatter me, Agent Peña."

You bit your lip as if you were thinking about something, then gently pushed the door open, nodding slightly. 

He entered the room, bringing with him the smell of cologne and cigarette smoke.

"I wasn't expecting guests." You announced, pulling glasses out of the cabinet.

"I was wondering if I'd find you home." He mumbled, unscrewing the bottle and giving you a furtive glance. "Didn't you want to go out somewhere?"

You put the glasses down on the coffee table with a clatter and sat down on the couch, pulling your legs under you. "I wasn't in the mood. I think I'll skip places like that for a while."

Javier poured the amber liquid into the glasses and handed one to you, sitting next to you.

"¡Salud!" He raised his glass in a toast, and you did the same. "What are we drinking to?"

"Peace of mind." You replied. "Unless you have other suggestions?"

"Naah. That's good too."

You tipped the glasses down and Javier filled them again.

"Nobody's waiting for you?" you asked as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and lit one. "I think you'd find better company than me."

"Oh! I definitely would!" Javier chuckled, blowing a wisp of smoke from his mouth. "Don't tell anyone I came here, you'll only ruin my reputation."

You laughed and covered your eyes with your hand as if you were thinking about something. "God! Can you imagine that?" Javier raised his eyebrows expectantly. "What the girls in the office say about you, what the guys say about me... And what would they say if we started sleeping together? Damn! Loise would go gray in an hour."

"Murphy would beat the shit out of me." Javier stated, sipping his drink. "He probably thinks you're too good for me."

"And he's right." you shrugged "I could be with the commander, but I'd trade him for a simple agent? Sorry, Peña, no chance."

"Fuck, you're a menace." he snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

It was nice. He sat with you, talked about work and life. Melancholic stories from your past life, no plans for the future, because where you were you didn't really plan anything. Neither of you delved deeper, because why would you, it was just a friendly conversation over a Friday night drink.

After the third glass, he noticed your legs, exactly when you got up to go to the bathroom. The skimpy shorts gave Javier room for imagination. His eyes, dark as night, followed you involuntarily, and then he cleared his throat.

The alcohol was coursing through his veins, he felt hot, so he took off his jacket and threw it on the armchair next to him, rested his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He didn't even hear you come back. Only the feeling of you sitting down next to him, the smell of your shampoo caught his attention.

"I'm a terrible housekeeper." you stated finishing your drink, Javier raised his head looking at you with interest "I don't have anything to eat, nothing I could give you." you pouted and he chuckled.

"Please, hermosa." he sighed "If I wanted to eat something, I would take you out for dinner. I have a hard time believing you cook anything yourself, to be honest."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise "You're suggesting that..."

"I'm not suggesting anything." he interrupted you and instinctively placed his hand on your thigh, stroking it gently "You just work a lot, like me."

"Maybe if we had someone to cook for sometime..." you pondered, completely not noticing his gesture, which only made Javier not withdraw his hand "Murphy and Connie, they definitely cook."

"Not as often as they both might claim." he raised an eyebrow and you laughed "But Connie is good at it. Anyway, you'll find out tomorrow."

"It's nice that they invited me, I guess..." you lowered your eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed "I mean... We don't know each other that well, right?"

Peña frowned.

"What the hell are you talking about? If it wasn't for you, they would still be collecting our fragments from the surrounding trees by now."

"Don't say that."

"But it's true." he moved closer to you, his hand moved higher, now resting on your hip, his thumb stroking your body hidden under your shirt. Neither of you felt embarrassed by this, maybe it was because of the drinks you had, or maybe it was that night. "You're doing a great job here. Everyone can see it."

"They think I'm a slut." you mumbled almost incomprehensibly and Javier had to tilt his head slightly to hear your words "No matter what I do, I'm labeled an easy girl. You know... I try not to worry about it, people will always talk, but sometimes... Sometimes it hurts."

He grabbed your chin and lifted it slightly. Beautiful brown eyes stared at you intently. "The most important thing is what you think about yourself. Double standards suck, you said so yourself and you were right. Surely if I say you're the coolest chica in the office, it won't change anything, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "Please..."

"And you have the prettiest legs." Peña added quickly, you chuckled "Your smile is also very pretty. And when you're excited about something, your eyes widen and shine so nicely." you snorted, your hand closing over his, which was still holding your chin. "And when you yelled at me the first time, I got hard."

The smile disappeared from your lips, which slightly widened in surprise. You fell silent, both of you a little surprised by this bold confession.

"Javier..."

His name was quieter than a whisper, but he heard it clearly. He leaned even closer. Warm breath brushed your lips.

"This is really a very bad idea." you said with difficulty.

"You can stop me, hermosa." His lips lightly brushed yours, you closed your eyelids, inhaling the air.

"Did I really make you hard?"

"Mhmm..." you didn't see the smile of satisfaction on his lips. "They call it difficult working conditions."

It was a split second and you felt his lips on yours. All dilemmas disappeared, and when you kissed him back he knew he was gone. Your hands instantly found their way to his face, your fingers tangled in soft hair and you pulled him closer, parting your lips.

An invitation that Javier read flawlessly. His tongue slipped into your mouth, you tasted the whiskey, and that was even more captivating for him. The kisses were intense, deep as if you both could finally give vent to what had been brewing inside you for a long time. You felt him squeeze your buttock and you moaned, but his tongue effectively muffled you. So you didn't wait for anything more, in an instant you slid onto his lap and clung to his body. Javier felt your breasts under the thin T-shirt, you didn't have a bra. He knew that, of course he had already glanced at your breasts, but when he felt it…

You pulled away from his lips for a moment and looked into his dark eyes.

"You can back out at any time. No hard feelings." you said. "I don't want you to feel..."

"Used?" Javier laughed quietly. "I guess I'm the one who should be saying things like that, don't you think?" his hands gripped your buttocks tighter, making you feel the bulge in his jeans.

"Oh!"

"That's a clear answer, I guess."

He lifted himself up and his lips captured yours again. The excitement grew in your lower abdomen with every passing second, with every kiss and touch. His strong hands shamelessly slid under your shirt, first stroking your back, and after a moment he grabbed your breasts. He kneaded your tits, rolled your nipples between his fingers, and you moaned as much as his tongue in your mouth would allow you.

"Take it off." he ordered, tugging at your shirt.

"Do it yourself."

"You're something else, you know that?"

You bit your lip, smiling obediently, raising your arms up so the shirt could be removed. Javier kissed you the second your lips peeked out from behind your collar. Damn, he was a threat to you.

Large hands explored your body, testing every inch of it, teasing every nerve. Could you want more? God, you didn't have to ask, he wanted to give it all to you.

When he slid his hand into your shorts, you gasped loudly.

"Fuck, you've got a real pool here, sweetheart." he mumbled, smiling slyly. "Would you like me to take care of that?"

A nod.

"Words, hermosa. Just words."

"Yes, please."

He ran his fingers over your folds, hot and wet, knowing perfectly well that he would be able to slide them inside without a problem. And so he did. And when you threw your head back, sighing quietly, he marveled at how wonderful the sight was.

Hot lips closed over one of your nipples, sucking and teasing with his tongue, fingers moving in and out, searching for that spot that could take you apart.

"Shit, Javier..." you moaned.

You clenched your fingers in his hair, hips rising slowly and rhythmically as he finger fucked you. Why did this have to feel so good? You couldn't remember the last time you felt like this, when someone had made you feel so...

"Oh fuck!"

"I think I found it." Javier chuckled, kissing your cleavage, your skin was slightly salty from sweat but still smelled of soft soap and you "I'm holding you, hermosa, take what you need."

He crossed his fingers with his thumb massaging your clit, the pressure was perfect and soon he felt your walls clench around his fingers, your body tensing and you held your breath for a moment feeling the pleasure spread through your body.

You rested your head on Javier's shoulder breathing deeply, his hands stroking your thighs sending a pleasant shiver through your heated skin.

"That was the first one." Peña finally spoke.

"The first one?" you lifted your head and looked at him curiously "Planning more of these?"

"Oh, sweetheart..." he sighed, brushing the strands of hair from your face, then bringing his lips to yours and stealing a tender kiss "At least two more tonight." another kiss "Two in the morning." another one "And how much more will you allow me to have with you, because - fuck - I want to see you cum again. I knew I'd get in trouble with you."

Your hand stroked the back of his neck, you could probably let him have a little more of you.

It was like an addiction. Javier was addicted, and you were his best drug. Before he knew it, you were crawling under his skin, coursing through his veins, and rushing to his head. Sometimes it felt like every time he saw you, his addiction grew.

His fingerprints were all over your body, and he proudly wore yours, even though no one was around to see it. You kept the fact that you were dating a secret, even though you never talked about it like that.

God! You never thought you could fall for a guy like that, and even more so that you would let him do things like that to you. Because sex with Javier was on another level. 

Never before, no one had made you feel so desired, enough, beautiful, and fulfilled. Peña gave you the best orgasms, the ones that left you silent for a moment afterwards because you couldn't form a grammatically correct sentence in your head. The sleep problems disappeared and lazy mornings were something you loved doing with him. 

His sleepy eyes, his hot body, his ruffled hair... In the dictionary, next to the word 'sex', they should have put a picture of Javier, you were sure of that.

In your apartment or in his, in the car in the parking lot, or at work in some tight space, because you wanted a quickie. It was getting more and more intense and what you were feeling was starting to scare you a little. A little over three weeks since O'Connell left, and you felt really good. For a while.

The information about the mole in the office was bothering Messina and she had talked to you about it many times. You promised that you would revolve around it, but for some time you hadn't found any new leads. It was frustrating.

"I talked to informants, but no one would tell me anything." You muttered one evening, resigned.

Peña opened a beer and sat down with his ordered food. "Maybe you're looking in the wrong places? Maybe it's not some higher agent or something?"

"But all this information that's been leaking..." you sighed.

“Honestly, many people have access to it. Hermosa, stop stabbing your food with fork and start eating,” he replied, gesturing to your plate.

However, your gaze drifted away for a moment. Javier noticed it after a moment, huffed impatiently. "Hermosa." he repeated warningly.

"Hmm?"

"You'll have cold food." he shook his head in disbelief. "I really don't know why I'm here with you."

You looked up from your plate and smiled. Your foot, under the table, slowly slid up his leg and headed for his crotch, rubbing it lightly. "I think I know why."

He raised an eyebrow expectantly. It was nice, what was between you. Although neither of you named it. The sex was fucking amazing, you could talk or not talk at all and Javier loved it. You didn't pressure him, you didn't expect declarations or confessions. You took what he gave you, you gave just as much.

And eventually both of you started eating more or less regularly, although the last attempt at cooking ended in burnt chicken, because when Javier came back from work he had a strong urge to get into your panties.

He grabbed you at the ankle and squeezed lightly which made you smile, he loved it. You spent quite a lot of time together and he slowly started to notice the little things he liked about you. Your smile was his favorite though.

"Murphy and I have to go out of town. We'll be gone for a few days." he said watching you as you reached for his beer and took a few sips.

"Anything important? Do you have new sources?" you asked, frowning.

Javier nodded "Yeah, we want to check them out. We also need to watch one guy."

"Okay. Just watch your backs. I won't be able to save your asses there." You squealed as he gripped your calf tighter and pulled you so hard you almost fell off the chair "Peña! Fuck you!"

"You wish." he chuckled, but then turned serious "You watch your back too, hermosa. Promise me that."

And you promised, and then you gave him something so he wouldn't forget about you and would have something to think about when he and Murphy were out of town.

"Will you miss me?"

You shook your head. "I don't think so."

"I think you will." Javier stopped the car in front of the office building and turned off the engine.

It was still early, the streets were empty. You were enjoying your last moments together. His hand on your thigh squeezed you lightly, it was nice.

"Tell me you'll miss me." He looked at you with a gentle smile and those eyes of a poor puppy. "I know you have a soft spot for me."

"You wish!" you chuckled.

"I will."

There was something in his tone of voice that made the laughter die on your lips. Those ambiguous sentences made your heart beat faster, but you calmed it down every time. You didn't want it to happen so soon. And what was that anyway?

"Maybe a little." You finally sighed, his lips stretched into a smile.

"Kiss me, hermosa."

It wasn't a request, more of an order, but you didn't mind. Javier moved closer, you stroked his cheek tenderly, and then you let his lips brush yours. At first gently, because he was teasing you, and he loved doing that. Finally, you curled your fingers in his hair and Javier slid his tongue between your lips, you moaned. His hand grabbed your waist as if he wanted to pull you even closer. Damn, he kissed like a dream.

Another brush of lips, another tender touch. Finally, he rested his forehead against yours and sighed. "Maybe we still have time, huh? Murphy will definitely be late."

"I don't think so." you replied quietly.

"He's always late."

“But not today.”

Javier looked at you, surprised, and then turned around. Steve was standing in front of the hood of his car, his glasses slid down his nose and he looked at you with disbelief on his face.

You opened the door. "I guess I'll go now." you said, smiling uncertainly, "Take care of yourselves."

"You too, hermosa." Javier replied, sitting down in his seat and putting on his glasses.

Steve nodded in your direction, then walked over to the car. "Really?" he asked, staring at his friend, "You and her? Really?"

Peña didn't even look at him, "Get in."

"Is that why you haven't been so annoying lately?" Murphy chuckled, but got in and closed the door with a soft click.

The engine started and the car slowly rolled down the road.

It was strange. They managed to come back a day early. He wanted to surprise you. He even bought some oranges, which you liked so much lately. But the apartment door was closed. Javier kept knocking for a while. He glanced at his watch. It was late, so you should have…

"She left." The older man peeked out from behind the neighboring door and glared at Javier.

"Long time ago?" he asked, surprised.

The man shrugged. "I don't remember. But she looked really nice." He smiled slightly. “You must have been late, boy. If she’s not here yet…”

Javier nodded and quickly went down the stairs. Something strange tightened his insides. He didn't expect this...

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist: @qpiiee @missladym1981 @axshadows @djappleblush @picketniffler @txmel @wowitsafemale @cheekychaos28 @underneath-the-sky-again @misstokyo7love

[justmeinadaze]

November Rain (Part 4)(Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: They and I have been through so much that I just wanted to give them a comfortable day at home.

Enjoy <3

Warnings: Warnings: Older (Late 30s) Daddy Eddie/ Young (early 20s) Plus Size Sub Fem Y/N, SMUT, morning shenanigans, LOTS of dirty talk, reader gets a phone call and Eddie makes a show of it (so semi public...I guess...Idk lol), Daddy kink of course. FLUFF, they spend the day together just talking, being intimate, and getting to know each other. Ending is hella fluffy to. No Cliffhanger.

Light Angst, like I said reader gets a call from an asshole, Eddie talks to his lawyer briefly, Reader mentions her parents divorce (again brief)

Word Count: 4501

Series Here

Instead of my normal donate button, I'm going to add some charities here. Please help anyway you can <3.

Border Kindness- "provides asylum-seekers, migrants, refugees, and the displaced with comprehensive services that include food, shelter, clothing, medical care, and legal services."

Trevor Project-"Your generosity will power The Trevor Project’s 24/7 crisis services, advocacy, peer support, public education, and research programs."

Human Rights Campaign-"Your membership donation will help push for LGBTQ+ equality and fight the attacks on our freedoms." 

Planned Parenthood- "We're working every single day to make sure patients can get the care and information they need to control their own bodies and build their own futures."

Eddie rubs his eyes as he groans awake at the sun just barely peeking through the curtains in his apartment. 

A heavy sigh leaves him as his mind runs through all the things he should get done today. 

“I have to go for a run and then weigh in to make sure I’m on track for my fight next month. I need to call my lawyer and double check some information for my divorce hearing. I should check my email to see if my boss approved those extra OT hours I requested. I need to go grocery shopping for some protein and while I do that maybe I can call Paige to check in. Let me go smoke a cigarette and then I can text Y/N to see if she talked to her douchebag.”

Reaching for his pack beside his bed, he realized there was a bit of resistance when he tried to roll over. 

When his eyes landed on your sleeping frame, his heart melted. He was so used to waking up alone lately that for a few moments his brain forgot you had spent the night. 

All of his anxieties evaporated as he rolled onto his side to face you.

What did he do to get lucky enough to wake up to a Goddess like you in his bed?  

Your hair flowed away from your face so he was able to get a good look at your plump cheeks that he reached out to caress as his thumb ran along your still slightly swollen lips from your night of kissing him and leaving your usual marks along his body. 

Eddie had left a few on you, smiling to himself when his fingers traced the hickies along your neck and shoulder. 

As he lightly tugged on the comforter under your arms, you stirred slightly as you rolled onto your back, allowing the blanket to come free as he pulled it halfway down your body. 

Along your skin were more of his love bites but his favorite was the slight ring of purple around your areola where he had sucked and flicked his tongue around your nipple loving the way you squirmed at the feeling while your fingers tangled in his hair. 

Eddie loved the way you reacted to him in more ways than one. Ava was never really vocal in bed and the few times he tried she would shut down so he stopped all together. When he would masturbate in the shower in the morning, he would picture a woman like you. A beautiful woman who would beg to be ruined by him while clinging to his body as he made them cum.

Unlike his ex-wife, he never strayed and did everything he could to satisfy her sexually even while putting his own pleasure to the side. 

You weren’t like that. 

You always voiced your concerns or found ways to let him know you were enjoying his touch. You asked him after those first few times you were intimate if there was anything else he may enjoy. 

“Tell me everything. Tell me all of your fantasies.”, you murmured as you smiled up at him, curled up in his warm embrace.

“Fuck me. Are you real? Are you sure you aren’t just a figment of my imagination?”

Your grin grew as you cupped his cheek in your palm and your eyes looked up at him as if he had hung the moon in the sky.

“I want you to enjoy yourself. I like hearing you whimper, pant, and whine when you’re fucking me.”

Eddie breathily laughed as his fingers moved your hair back as he kissed your forehead. 

“You won’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh, please, Daddy. Tell me.”, you respond playfully as he lightly blushes. 

“Honestly? I think my biggest fantasy was…is…you.”

As his beautiful eyes continued to visually drink you in, he couldn’t help himself as he tilted downward and his tongue flicked out to lightly lick your nipple. You face didn’t move or make any indication you felt anything but your body did as the bud became more erect causing him to salivate at the sight. 

Diving in again, he wrapped his mouth around the nub allowing the muscle within to play as his irises remained glued to your face. Your head turned towards him but your eyes remained closed while he tried to carefully scoot closer to your frame. His lips lightly trailed along your skin leaving little remains of his spit as his tongue would occasionally dart out to taste you. 

While delicately kissing your cheek, his palm disappeared under the comforter and he couldn’t help but groan at how warm you were between your legs as he cupped your sex. 

“Fuck, pretty girl. You’re always ready for Daddy, baby, aren’t you?”

Eddie’s husky whisper roused you slightly, as your body seemed to absently search for him and his smile grew when your side pressed against his chest. 

“Come back to me, sweetheart. I want to see those beautiful eyes.” Rough fingers slid between your folds and the metalhead moaned as he pressed his nose into your cheek. “Are you fucking kidding? How can you be this wet this early? Are you dreaming of me, honey?”

Feeling a sudden fullness, a deep moan left your lips as your eyes fluttered open meeting his now closed ones as two of his digits stretched your pussy open. 

“Daddy?”

“Fuck, baby, don’t…don’t talk like that. I’m going to bust right now if you use that sexy ass voice…God, can you feel how fucking hard I am for you?”

You nod, feeling his cock grind against your thigh. 

Craning your neck slightly, you kiss his lips and he subtly whines against them. 

“Do you want me to help you cum, Daddy?”

“Can I fuck you, sweetheart?”, he pants, barely able to get the words out as he licks his lips. 

When you give him permission, he haphazardly climbs on top of you and pumps his dick with you slick that was coating his fingers before guiding himself inside you. Your legs wrap around his waist as you hold him to you, tenderly kissing the base of his neck as his head falls beside you. 

Your light touches are a stark contrast to his almost animalistic pace as he continuously pants in your ear. 

“You feel so fucking good, Y/N. Fuck me. I don’t—don’t deserve you, pretty girl.”

You giggle as your legs lock around him at the ankle, slowing him down as he pushes up onto his palms to look down at you. 

“Yes, you do, baby. You deserve all the good things.”

“Shit…I’m gonna cum.”

Eddie falls against you once more and chases both your highs. A whine escapes your lips as your mouth falls open while your pussy quivers around him and you cum. The feeling is almost too much for him as Eddie’s fingers close around the pillow beside your head and he pounds his release inside of you. 

“Oh, oh, oh, go slow, honey.”, you whimper as he carefully pulls out and falls onto his back beside you, trying to catch his breath. “Good morning.”

He breathily laughs at your joke as he rolls onto his side to face you.

“Good morning. I’m sorry, I just…you looked so beautiful I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh my god.”, you giggle even as you lightly blush. “What do you have to do today?”

“Um…I kinda want to…spend the day here with you if that’s alright.”

Smiling, you lean towards him and gently kiss his lips.

“I’d like that. I just have to text Paige and let her know I’m not dead.”

***

Throughout the day, you two barely left each other’s side as if to make up for the lost time of the last two weeks. He made you breakfast and afterward you both relaxed on the couch watching a movie that was one of his favorites as a kid.

“From what you told me, your uncle doesn’t seem like the kind of man to let you watch Gremlins at such a young age.”

“Hey, the 80s and 90s were like the wild west, sweetheart.”, he chuckled. “Plus, as a kid, I didn’t actually realize how graphic this movie was. I mean look at the little Mogwai!”

You offered to make lunch but he insisted on doing it himself which you were absolutely fine with. You loved watching him move around his kitchen as he focused on the task in front of him. His eyebrows would meet in concentration and sometimes his tongue would stick out making you smile. 

“Where did you learn how to cook?”

“My mom was a wiz in the kitchen and Wayne was a master at the grill.”

“What about your dad?”

“He, uh, wasn’t really a master at anything except being a fuck up. He could cook up some pretty get rich quick type of deals but other than that…”

As his voice trails off, you grab his arm, pulling him to where you were sitting on the counter, placing him between your legs and wrapping your own limbs around his neck so you could kiss him. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to but I’m always here whenever you want to talk about it. You can tell me anything, Eddie.”

Softly smiling, he tilts down to kiss you again before asking you about your family.  

You tell him everything you can think of including your own parent’s divorce that you breeze past hoping he won’t ask any questions which he doesn’t and after finishing the delicious meal he prepared you sit on his couch as you two continue to talk about everything that comes to mind. 

You weren’t sure why but talking with Eddie came easy and it wasn’t just because of the topic of conversations. While you told a story, he always kept his chocolate eyes zeroed in on your face as if he was literally taking in every word and digesting it into his soul. Occasionally, his palm would reach for yours or another part of your skin and his thumb would softly caress your flesh as if subconsciously reminding you that he was there and you were being heard. 

In the middle of one of your stories, his phone rang but he didn’t make a move to answer it nor react like he even heard it go off.

“You can answer that.”

“They can leave a message.”, he replies casually.  Smirking, you reach for his phone and when you read off the name, Eddie heavily sighs. “It’s my lawyer.”

“Answer it. This could be important.”

“Not as important as you.”

Again, your eyes locked on his as you searched them for any deception or indication that he was just saying these things to make you feel good before breaking your heart. He saw it immediately, the trepidation. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to change on you nor am I hiding how genuinely beautiful I think you are. You mean a lot to me.”, he murmurs soothingly as he reaches out to cup your cheek. 

After giving him a quick kiss, you press the green answer button as he playfully growls and pushes the speaker button with his finger. 

“Hey Carl.”

“Hey, Ed. I thought you were going to come by today?”

“Yeah, um, something came up.”

“Your dick.”, you mouth silently causing his eyes to narrow as he reaches out to lightly poke your side while you bite your lip trying to stifle your laugh. 

“Ok, not a problem, but please come around at least before Friday so we can talk about things. Are you sure you still want to give her the house? I mean after what she did you don’t want anything—”

“Ah, nope, Carl. I’m good with everything. I just want to get this over with as quickly and seamlessly as possible. I’ll come by tomorrow so we can talk. Ok, bye.”

“Well, that didn’t sound suspicious at all.”, you laugh as he takes his phone and hangs it up before tossing it on the table. 

“Sorry. Force of habit. Usually, when people find out I’m not asking for anything I either get the ‘Be a man’ speech or the ‘after what she did’ lecture. I just want to move on, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. My parents dealt with their divorce for a couple of years going back and forth on petty shit. Imagine being a little kid watching your parents go to court to argue about who gets the silver lamp in the living room.”, you giggle as your eyes fall to the void. “It took a while before they got to fighting over me.”

Calloused fingers lift your chin and you’re met with soft lips to yours. 

That evening without telling him, you ordered both of you a pizza and he sighed at your stubbornness as he shook his head. 

“I take care of YOU, little miss.”

“Yeah, ya do.”, you grin as you open the box and crack open one of his beers. “But I can take care of you sometimes to.”

Smiling the entire time, you two finished your meal and you were so giddy off the alcohol and the evening, you crawled into his lap to curl up in his embrace. 

“You alright?”

“More than.”, you giggle as you nuzzle into his neck. “What were you like when you were my age?”

Eddie laughs and as his whole chest vibrates you feel yourself dropping down further into that headspace. 

“Welp, back in ma day…”, he starts with a southern accent, unable to keep it up when he feels your body radiate with a happy energy that has him grinning wide. “No, um, I guess you could say I was a nerd. I played D&D with my friends and was into all that fantasy shit even then.”

As your forehead presses against his neck, your palm absently rubs his pecs to his shoulder before repeating the process. 

“I loved heavy metal and playing with my guitar. Some nights I could stay up till dawn just smoking cigarettes, playing, and talking with my friends. Then suddenly I was a husband and a father.”

Eddie feels you scrunch closer to him and his hand comes up behind you to tenderly stroke your hair. 

“Being a husband was never like this.”, he murmured. “I never felt…I don’t know…everything happened so fast. There’s not one moment I can think of where we had a day like I had today with you.” Your palm cupped his cheek as you leaned back so your eyes could meet his. “Thank you.”

Nodding, the tip of your nose touches his as he tilts down, pressing his lips to your own. 

“You’re welcome, Daddy.”

A gentle smile paints his lips as he tilts you onto your back to allow your head to lay on the arm rest as he opens your legs and lays his upper body between them to kiss your soft tummy beneath his shirt you were wearing. 

Eddie’s large hand braces against your hip as he closes his eyes and rests his head, exhaling when your fingers come down to play with his hair. You’re not sure how long you both lay like that but you know its long enough to fully fall into the warmth of your subby girl headspace and when his head tilts to look up at you, you know he sees it to. 

“If we were the same age and went to school together, do you think you still would have wanted me?”

His grin grows as you nod your head before your mouth opens and you tease, “No.”

Biting your lip, you giggle as he quirks his eyebrow and very lightly, spanks the side of your behind.  

“I’m just kidding, Daddy. I definitely would have wanted you to be mine. We would have had to sneak around though.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“My father wasn’t a fan of me dating, let alone dating bad boys like you.”

Eddie’s laugh hisses through his teeth as he leans his cheek against your knee and places his palm on your mound, allowing his thumb to hover near your parted legs. 

“What makes you think I was a bad boy, huh?”

“Guitar, smoker, motorcycle, getting into fights… Naw, you were definitely an altar boy.”

Your breath hitches as his thumb presses down on the fabric of your panties just barely allowing friction on your clit. 

“Psh, I didn’t learn how to ride a motorcycle till I was 30.”, he jests. “Everything else was on point though. I definitely would have had you on the couch in my uncle’s trailer on the second date.”

“Second date?”

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart.” Eddie smiles wide when you cackle, loving the way your body moves when you do. “Jesus, these panties are soaked. Is that all because of me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

His chocolate irises lock on your face as his tongue flattens against the garment blocking your cunt. 

“Fuck, you always taste so good.”

Pushing up onto your elbows, you watch as he slowly licks up and down repeatedly driving you crazy at the delicate pace. 

“Daaaaaddy…”

“Am I being too mean, baby?”, he chuckles at your whine. “I’m sorry. I just…I love taking my time with you.” Your body slightly trembles as he tenderly kisses the meat of your thigh, trailing his lips to your core before making you pout when he stops. “Let’s get these off.”, Eddie whispers as he reaches for the band of your underwear and slides them down your legs. 

Your phone on the table vibrates but you ignore it as you feel his tongue finally where you want it. 

“Please.”

“So beautiful, Y/N.”

Placing your palm over the one he has resting on your side, you moan as he runs the organ in his mouth from top to bottom between your folds, stopping to flick and suck your clit before repeating the process. 

“Fuck, just like that.”

Your heavy pants encouraged him while he continued to devour you, his lips always having you see stars. 

Again, your phone went off and you grunt in frustration when Eddie pauses. 

“You should check that.”

“I can call them back. Don’t stop—”

“Could be important—”

Angerly you grab your device, checking who was stopping you from getting what you needed. 

“It’s no one.”

“Yet they’ve called twice—”

“Eddie, please!”

The man moved in the blink of an eye; his muscular arm reaching over you to grip your cheeks till your lips puckered out. He didn’t say anything and he didn’t need to. His annoyed eyes burning into your own as you swallowed, trying to calm down. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Eddie nodded, accepting your apology as he brought your lips to his. The phone rang again and this time you showed him your screen. 

Brad

He growled lightly before a devious smirk painted his features and he answered the call. Your eyes widened in shock as you hit his shoulder but he effortlessly caught your wrist and pulled you forward so his lips could kiss you again. 

“Hello? Y/N, are you there?”

“What do you want, Bradly?”, you hiss sassily causing the metalhead to snicker. 

“I want to talk. It’s been a couple days and I haven’t heard from you. I got punched in the fucking face and my girlfriend doesn’t seem to give a damn.”

“I’m NOT your girlfriend.”

With amazing strength, Eddie pushed you back against the couch and lifted your legs over his shoulders as he pressed his face back between your folds. 

“Then what the fuck have these last couple of weeks been?!” Covering your mouth with your hand, you tried to muffle the moans that wanted to escape as the boxer made out with your pussy, his mouth barely lifting from you while his tongue expertly roamed. “Huh?! Fucking answer me!”

“It…it was…was a mistake. Now leave m-me alone.”

“You think you can just play around with my emotions like that?!”

“Fuck…Fuck you…you can’t just…come b-back into my life and think—”

“Y/N are you…are you with someone?”, he growled eliciting a smile when you felt Eddie do the same. 

Climbing up the length of your body, two of his fingers slide effortlessly inside of you and as he thrusts them into your cunt his head falls beside yours. 

“Tell him, baby. Tell him Daddy’s taking care of you.”, he whispered, your eyes rolling shut. 

“I’m with…with Daddy…fuck M’gonna cum.”

“Naw…you…your fucking lying. Trying to make me jealous. Who would want someone like you?”, he sneered. 

“There she is. That’s it, pretty girl. Cum hard for me.”, Eddie said more prominently as your body shook and the coil snapped. “Good…good girl…MY beautiful angel.”

You smiled up at him as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. 

“Alright, honey, time to let little boy go so Daddy can make you cum on his cock.”

“Fuck you! And fuck you, Y/N! How dare you—”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he hung up your phone and tossed it across the room on the opposite chair. 

“Do you think he’ll recognize your voice?”

“I think he was to hung up on his ego to notice, fucking asshole.”

“Aw…I like who you get all grouchy like an old man.”, you coo obnoxiously as he chuckles. 

“Hey now. You’re my girl and no one insults my girl.”

At his words, your smile faulters slightly as your fingers reach up to caress his cheek down to the stubble on his chin. 

“I’m your girl?”

“Yeah…yeah, sweetheart, if you want to be. I know we have some…I don’t know…kinks to work out—”

“I guess you could call it that.”, you joke and his grin grows.

“But I just want you to know that I’m not…I mean…I haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”

“I haven’t either. Brad and I didn’t…we didn’t do anything, I swear. I like being with you. I feel safe with you.”

The tip of his nose grazes your own. 

“You are safe with me, baby. No matter what happens I’ll be here and I’ll protect you.”

Your lips gently kiss his, steadily growing more passionate as his lower half grinds against you seeking friction and Eddie lets out a soft hum as your palms run down his bare, muscular back. With closed eyes, his forehead leans against your own as you pull down his sweats enough to free his hard cock within. 

Your eyes watch his gorgeous face as his eyebrows furrow together and he licks his lips at the feeling of your hand around him. 

“Let me feel you, pretty girl.”, he whispers and you oblige as you guide his length to your entrance.

He effortlessly takes over as he gradually thrusts his cock inch by inch into your cunt and every time his hips touch your own an utterly sexy strained grunt escapes his mouth as his jaw goes slack.

“Fuck, your pussy takes me so well. Mmph—taking Daddy so deep, baby.”

Your legs lock at the ankle around his waist and his head falls into the nook of your neck as his hand comes up along the other side to dig into the fabric of the couch as if he’s using it for leverage to try and push himself deeper. 

“Atta girl…how-how does it feel?”

You struggled to find words as his mushroom tip delicious glided along that spot inside of you gradually that had your eyes rolling. Pushing up on to his palms, his long hair tickled your face forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Tell me, honey. I need to hear it.”

Eddie knew what he was doing. 

He knew you having trouble recollecting the English language as he purposely arched his back and rolled his hips.

“Tell Daddy, baby.”

At his whispered words, he smirked as your pussy tightened around him and your whimpered breath hit his face.

“Feels good…Fuck… please…”

Falling flat against you, his palm slid down to rub your thigh around him.

“Please what?”

“Faster, Daddy, please. I wanna cum.”

The feathery kiss he placed just below your ear was light but the way he thrust himself was anything but as he did what you pleaded. Your fingers threaded through his hair as your arms wrapped around his back and Eddie mewled at the feeling of your lips trailing along shoulder to his neck. 

“Cum…Cum with me.”

He didn’t verbally respond but you felt him nod as he picked up his pace and his grunts of pleasure filled your ears. Clinging him tighter to you, your orgasm crashed into you like a wave and a giddy smile remained on your lips as he roughly pumped his release into your heat. 

While his head rested on your chest, you kissed his forehead before he pushed up onto his elbows to give you a soft kiss. 

“Nooooo…”, you whine as he starts to get up and push away from you.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart, I promise. I have to clean you. Do you want another shirt? Something not slightly covered in my sweat.”, Eddie teases as he pulls up his pants and starts heading for the bathroom. 

“No, thank you. It… smells like…you.”

He chuckled as he shook his head and disappeared to get a washrag. 

“Well, at least let’s move to the bed so you’ll be—”

When he entered his living room again, your eyes were closed giving him pause as he took in the sight before him. Kneeling down on the floor, he carefully opened your legs and tried to clean you without moving you too much, murmuring soft apologies when he notices your face scrunch at the feeling. 

“I think you were a good husband.” Eddie’s brown irises fleet to your face as you continue, your eyes still closed even through your head was turned towards him. “You said…being a husband never felt…like this. I don’t think…that was your fault. I think you were a good husband…”

Smiling, his hand cups your cheek as his thumb runs along your soft features. 

As he watches his arm across you rise and fall steadily, he realizes you’d fallen asleep again and as carefully as he can, lifts you in his arms to bring you back to his bed. After crawling in himself on his side facing you, you promptly scoot closer to him and press your face into his chest. 

His arm circles around you as he places his chin on top of your head while staring out the window behind you into the city skyline.

“Thank you, baby, for what you said. I’d…I’d like a chance to try again one day…to be a husband…maybe someday soon.” When you don’t react, he knows you’re down for the count. “Baby?”, he questions, just to make sure but when you don’t stir, he cranes his neck to kiss your forehead before whispering delicately against your skin, “I love you, Y/N.” 

###################

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @micheledawn1975 @hardladyheart @chelebelletx @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paleidiot @alphabetically-deranged @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @yesimabratandwhataboutot @idkwhattoputhere08 @gryffindorqueensworld @mewchiili @veemoon @heavenlyhorrors @twirls827 @jamiecb66 @chelebelletx @longpondlibrary @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @hellv1ra @utterlyinsanity @eddiesclub @wiinterwiidow @stylesxmunson

[moonshynecybin]

hiiiii i was gonna save this for their evil little joint bday week but i finished it and thought it would be fun to post... anyways around 2k of rosquez porn have fun i hope ya like it

“Are you Valentino Rossi?” Comes the question, sweet and eager, just to his right.

He looks over. The kid standing there is in a tight t-shirt and has a starstruck, too-big smile plastered across his handsome face. The kind of handsome Vale likes, dark hair, brown eyes, thick brows. It makes him shift on his stool, turning on the point of his elbow to face him, and open his legs a little. 

“Allora, that’s what they tell me,”

“Well,” The kid’s mouth stretches wider once he realizes he’s got Vale’s attention. He's thrilled. Perfect. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Vale ignores the question. This guy’s Italian is clumsy, thick in his mouth, and they’re at Mugello, so this is a bit strange. He raises an eyebrow and tugs on his earring, surveying him.

“You’re Spanish, no? You weren’t rooting for Lorenzo, maybe?”

The kid shakes his head, oddly confident. “No no, when I was young I liked Pedrosa, I wanted to be just like him.”

“Ah, Dani,” He says knowingly. This guy is short and Spanish, so that makes sense.

“Him, and you.” He adds on, and flushes prettily, pink on his cheeks, looking at Vale with a clean, incongruous sort of intensity. 

“Me, huh?” He stretches back and lets his eyes go half lidded, dragging up and down the kid’s body. “What's your name?”

“Marc,” he says, and brightens immediately, taking a seat next to Vale like he’s got permission, like he’s won something. He orders two shots of tequila without asking Vale what he likes. Jesus, he is young.

When he turns his overeager gaze back to Vale, a curl of hair flops into his face, bolting dark and inky down his forehead. Low light throws his cheekbones into sharp relief, and it’s striking. He's striking. Vale likes it. Marc licks his lips like it’s a habit. His hands are broad and his wrists are small, delicate, tapping jittery little patterns on the slab of the bar. His pinky is crooked, it matches Vale’s.

He takes him in.

“So, do you want to tell me why?” He asks.

“What?” Marc grins, surprised and confused and delighted.

“Tell me why.” Vale repeats, to watch the confusion deepen.

“Why, what?”

“Oh— why you like me, over Dani. And Jorge,” He adds like it’s an afterthought. It’s not.

“What, do you need an ego boost?” Marc replies, a burst of something behind his eyes, a little bit of a challenge. He laughs hard after he says it, but Vale doubts he was fully joking. 

He finds himself wanting to know how many different emotions Marc’s smile can actually be a cover for, wants to examine and catalog them, find out what he can say to crack the mask, break the seal.

He smile even wider, like he thought it was just as funny as Marc did, and makes it sleazy. It's a game, now. He loves games. Maybe Marc will be able to play.

“Ah, an insider secret for you—riding is a game of confidence. You say you’re a fan?” Marc nods fast. He leans forwards and watches Marc’s pupils blow out, more ink spilling. He wants to write a letter with it, wants to draw something. “Then of course you should want me to be confident, so I can win. You know, that would make me very happy.”

Marc holds his eyes for a moment. They spark. He bites at his lip again.

“Really? You want to know what I like about you?”

“I do.”

“Can you do me a favor first?” Marc knocks back his tequila, then looks at Vale through his lashes. Coy. He can play.

“Hm,” Vale refuses to commit. He's curious, though, in more ways than one.

Marc could ask for anything, and Vale could decide whether or not to give it to him.

“I have something for you to sign.”

That’s easy—perfect, even. Vale looks around, Marc’s hands are empty, “Where is it?”

Marc grins suddenly, flavored with victory. Vale wonders how it tastes.

“Back at my hotel room.”

Once Vale has finished laughing, they go.

*

Still eager, still young, Marc kisses him before the door is even closed. Bites at his lips while Vale tries to talk, hands hungry on his body as if Vale’s going to take off and leave in the middle of the fucking hookup. He hears a door slam and smoothly suppresses a flinch. Marc doesn't see, which is good. He has a part to play here.

“Hey hey hey, you know, I know you are not famous,” Marc chuffs out a belly laugh, jajajas against Vale’s neck at the joke. “But paparazzi, they do follow me. I don’t want my picture in the paper next to my one night stand, it could ah,” Marc nips at his earring, plays with it with his tongue, lets Vale squeeze the muscle of his ass. “Ruin my reputation.”

“Is that what I am?” Marc breaks off of the hickey he was working onto the skin behind Vale’s ear and hooks two fingers into his belt, hauling him into the room. He kicks the door shut. “A one night stand?”

“I fly out tomorrow,” Vale lies regretfully, and Marc smirks at him a little too knowingly, then drops to his knees.

“You asked me what I liked about you,” He says, working at Vale’s belt, his fly. Vale flips off his shirt, toes off his shoes.

“I did,” He starts, and Marc leans in.

When he’s got him out, he takes the head into his mouth, throat working in slick sounds as he slides further down, starts to work the base in his hand. Vale works not to moan, biting the inside of his cheek, and he thinks Marc cant tell, because he looks up at him like he would smile, if not for Vale’s cock in his mouth.

“I like that,” Marc says once he pulls off, wiping a little at his face in a prissy sort of movement. His lips are shining, a bruised, swollen red color, and there’s still some spit sloppy on his chin. He leans forward and licks at the blunt head, one broad, flat, long stroke that makes Vale’s toes curl from the power of the sensation, the vulnerability of it, and then he stays close. Speaks with his lips against the delicate, overheated skin of Vale’s dick. “Will that help you win?”

Vale catches his breath, blows out some air from his cheeks, loosely curling a hand in the mess of Marc’s curls. He feels out of sorts, off balance. Thrilled.

“Well, you know it cannot hurt,” Masking how eager he is with a joke, to lance the sensation, make it a little less keen. How bad he wants it. it’s not even new, he’s been in this position hundreds of times— it shouldn’t feel like it is. He shouldn’t need it like this, like if Marc walks out of the room he’d be taking a chunk of Vale with him.

“So, ah.” He covers, remembers what he should say. “What was it that you wanted me to sign?”

Marc giggles and stands, shucking off his clothes as he does. Smooth skin, built thighs, compact body full of muscle and scar tissue. Vale looks hungrily. His cock is hard and big, hanging between his legs.

Oblivious to Vale's eyes or pretending to be, Marc sits on the bed and gestures to his body, twirls the marker between his fingers. “Could you?” He asks sweetly, and Vale realizes that what Marc wants him to sign is himself. 

His dick throbs. This kid.

“Where?” He asks, smoothing a smooth hand over Marc’s shoulder and gently pushing him back against the bed. Marc arranges himself against the pillows easily, boyish smile huge on his face.

“Wherever you want,” And Vale kneels over him, sits back on the solid shape of his torso so he can feel Marc’s big dick twitch against him, get that feedback. Vale settles, surveys, palms himself. Marc swallows.

“I think here,” He muses, splaying his fingers like a frame and holding them above Marc’s right nipple. 

“Does that look right to you?”

“Yeah,” Marc breathes. 

He plucks the marker from Marc’s fingers, asks, “Is there anyone I should make out the message too?”

His brown eyes are wide, bottom eyelashes spiky against his cheek. Butter wouldn’t melt. “No,”

“No one? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?” He's trailing his other hand over Marc’s pecs now, pinching at his nipple to see him squirm, tease him a little. Hips buck up, rubbing his erection against Vale’s ass and blurting a wet streak of pre-come there.

“There is someone— an older guy from around here, but we haven’t slept together yet so I don’t know if he’s, how do you say it in Italian— leading me on,” Marc says impatiently, still trying to fuck up against Vale, and Vale laughs, spits, and starts to work himself in his hand.

“Okay, okay,” He uncaps the marker with his mouth and positions his other hand over the smooth skin of Marc’s chest. He signs his name, Valentino Rossi, in silver against golden skin, and Marc shudders, a full body tremor, as the nib drags over his skin in a practiced stroke. His mouth drops open, still pink from Vale’s cock, and Vale presses his thumb hard against the nipple when he finishes, and throws the marker on the floor.

"God," is dragged out of Marc like he cant help it. Vale doesn't know if he's talking to him or not. He fists himself from tip to base.

His hand picks up its pace, fixes on the shine of his name on Marc, the way he’s whining now, small noises as his he moves in little abortive thrusts against Vale’s thigh. He grinds down, braces his free hand on Marc’s tit, framing it, and runs his mouth, mindless, says Marc’s name over and over until it's all he can think, all he can think.

“Marc, Marc,” He murmurs, and his dick kicks in his hand, and he comes, stunned, all over his name splashed across Marc’s chest. He makes a noise, one he can't help, and finds that he barely minds.

Marc doesn't let him recover, his hips still shoving upward, his hands an urgent grip on Vale’s thigh.

“Vale,” He whines, demanding, and without really thinking Vale scoots backward, bending down and sucking Marc into his mouth, working him over hard, until he can hear Marc make a noise and twist his fingers into the fabric of the sheets. He looks up at his face, at the color high on his face and the furrow of his brow as he pants. He wants to see it happen. Wants to make sure.

One suck, two sucks, and then a flood— Marc tensing and twisting, thighs coming up to Vale’s temples, and it’s over, Marc twitching and gasping through the aftershocks, the silver of the marker and Vale’s come shiny on his chest. 

“That was fun,” He says dreamily, and Vale hums, feels a little dizzy. He wants to bite at Marc’s thigh, so he does. He'd rather taste sweat than come. Rather mark him in more ways than one, than two. Wants it any way that he can have it.

Marc pets his head lazily, rucking up the sweaty curls in a familiar motion, and then reaches over to the nightstand and puts on his wedding ring, twisting it down his finger.

“We should do that again,” He sits up to grab his phone— probably checking messages from Álex. Vale crawls up to flop next to him, leaning over the bed and grabbing a t-shirt to mop up the mess on Marc’s chest. He doesn’t like to be sticky for too long.

“Yes, yes we should,” He agrees.

Marc hums.

“Next time, I get to be the rider, I think.”

“Really? Eight time champion Marc Marquez picking up fans in bars? I could tell the papers.” He tosses the shirt over his shoulder.

Marc shoots him a look over his phone, then reaches, hand catching at Vale’s wrist and hauling him back close.

“Oh, but I thought I was not famous.”

Vale grins, collapses in to hear Marc grunt at the crush of his weight, to press his face against the soft skin of Marc’s armpit. He traces his name, and then traces Marc's scar.

“Caught that, did you?”

Marc winds an arm around his back. Keeps him there.

“Hm, yeah I did.”

“I was getting into character.”

“The character is you.”

“Yes, and I am a funny guy.” Vale says, and then he reaches up to turn off the light.

[writerinlearning]

𝐂𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞

plot: henry hart has a crush on his best friend and doesn’t know what to do with his feelings. an unfortunate mishap and a little nudge from team danger might just change that.

pairing: henry hart x fem!reader

show: henry danger

warnings: none that i can think of.

word count: 7,2k

author’s notes: english isn’t my first language, apologies for any mistakes. it's been proof-read, so there shouldn't be many mistakes anyway. it’s heavily inspired by the episode cave the date from season five of henry danger, so most of the dialogues and the story is most likely to be very familiar to y’all. it does go canon-divergent by the end though, and of course it’s reader instead of charlotte. this ended up being longer than i thought it would be. i hope you enjoy!

henry hart masterlist | main masterlist

It’s the perfect day, a quiet one the Danger team hasn’t had in a long time. Between all the petty crimes and the more serious villains who wanted to end Captain Man and Kid Danger, Y/N doesn’t remember the last time they could all just hang out in the Man Cave, undisturbed. She sighs contentedly, flipping a page of the book she’s reading, leaning further into the couch. Schwoz sits next to her, concentrating over a game of chess he’s having against himself, for some reason. Charlotte is nearby too, sitting on the chair at the supercomputer and reading her own book about “nuclear physics for smarties”.

“I will not see that coming.” Schwoz mutters to himself through the silence in the room. “I did not see that coming!” He adds, spitting out the water in his mouth after turning the chess board around.

“Do you ever get bored of playing chess against yourself?” Charlotte asks him, placing her book on the console before her.

“No, I don’t.” A pause. “But sometimes, I do.”

Y/N snorts at Schwoz’s antics. Her text ringtone rips through the silence, followed by a groan rumbling from her chest. She checks her screen, rolling her eyes when she sees the text notification from Jasper, and she looks at Charlotte with brows furrowed in annoyance as she closes her book and puts it down on the table before her.

“The guys are coming back.”

“Give me your book.” Charlotte tells her, extending her hand out.

“Why?” Y/N asks her, raising a brow. “I haven’t finished reading it, and I need to know what happens between Sel and Bree.”

“Just– give me your book.”

“H– hey! hey! hey! Char! Why’d you do that?”

Y/N screams, watching in horror as Charlotte moves from her spot on the chair to grab Y/N’s beloved copy of Legendborn by Tracy Deonn, putting it into a shredding machine and destroying it in the process. Charlotte then does the same thing with her own book.

“Ray gets mad whenever people do ‘smart stuff’ in front of him.” Charlotte explains, putting her hands on her hips. “You should know that, Y/N, you’ve been here the last two years. Schwoz, give me the chess board.”

“But I’ve got myself right where I want me!” The science man protests.

“You’ll get yourself next time.”

Schwoz grumbles, reluctantly handing his chess board and chess pieces to Charlotte who proceeds to throw them into the shredding machine. It makes a strange noise and Y/N winces at the sound, closing her eyes when the grinding noise finally stops.

“Where were they anyway?” Charlotte asks, sitting back on the chair behind the supercomputer.

“They went to throw melons at that abandoned house that people throw melons at.” Y/N shrugs.

“Without me?” Schwoz chirps in. “But I’ve been saving melons for months.” He adds as he glances to his box of rotten melons that’s been laying next to the supercomputer for nearly two months.

“So, they should be back soon, right?” Charlotte wonders.

“Yeah,” Y/N nods. “I just asked them to swing by my house and pick up my phone charger on the way back.”

Schwoz snorts. “You sent Ray, Henry, and Jasper to your house with no adult supervision?”

“Yeah, what’s the problem?”

Just then, the elevator doors ding open and out step the three men they were just talking about, in what seems to be a really serious discussion about Disney movies. All three of them have dishevelled hair, as if they’d just run a marathon, but the ashes smeared across their face and stuck to their clothes and hair give way to an entirely different story.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Y/N interrupts them, standing up from the couch as she takes in their appearance.

“Hey.” Jasper greets her. “What’s up?”

“What have you guys been doing?”

“Hmm?” Henry chimes in.

“What have you guys been doing?” Y/N repeats herself, hands going to her hips as she raises a brow. “Did you go to my house?”

“Sure did.” Henry replies.

“Oh yeah.” Ray continues.

“Walked right in.” Jasper finishes, smiling proudly.

Y/N looks over her shoulder to Charlotte, brows pulled together in a confused frown. They both have the same questions running through their mind. Why were the boys all dirty with dark ashes, and why were they acting so innocent all of the sudden. Innocent, and clueless.

“So… what happened?” Charlotte asks then, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Weee got Y/N’s phone charger.”

Henry trails out, throwing the phone cable in Y/N’s hands but she drops it almost immediately, squealing out in surprise.

“Aaahh! Why is it hot?!”

“Because we pulled it out of the fire.” Jasper answers her.

“You are welcome.” Ray adds. “Hit the showers.” He finishes, out of the blue.

The boys whoop, starting to head for the showers when Y/N stops them again. Charlotte and Schwoz watch in amusement, seeing them rolling their eyes and groaning under their breath.

“Whaaaaaaat?!” Henry drags out.

“I told you she’d be like this.” Ray whines, motioning towards Y/N. “What did I say?”

“Yeah, I owe you ten bucks.” Jasper says, defeated.

“Did you guys light my house on fire?!” Y/N questions, panic in her voice.

“No, no, no, no…” Henry stutters. “ ‘Course not.”

Y/N glares at him, her eyes growing darker than he’s ever seen before. Okay, maybe Henry had underestimated his best friend’s anger, but to be fair, it wasn’t his fault they’d set a fire in her house. Still, he shoves his hands in the front pockets of his pants, casting his gaze to the floor to avoid looking directly into her eyes. He begins to balance himself on his heels, racking his brain for the right words to say as he bites down on the inside of his cheek. He inhales slowly through his nose and finally, he looks up to her. He sees the expectation in her eyes, her eyebrows raised as she waits for an answer. Henry swallows the growing lump in his throat; he hates to see her mad at him, when he knows she rarely ever gets mad at anyone. He knows her anger is not only directed at him, but at Ray and Jasper too, and yet he still takes it personally. He doesn’t know why he does, but his chest tightens when he replays the events from earlier, and the guilt settles in the back of his brain. He lowers his gaze again, his feet suddenly becoming more interesting than anything.

“I– I mean… y– yeah.” Henry admits, stuttering.

“Just the kitchen.” Jasper clarifies.

“The kitchen is part of the house.” Y/N deadpans, crossing her arms over her chest.

“The kitchen’s gone. It’s gone.” Jasper blurts out. 

“The rest of your house… totally fine.” Ray adds, clapping his hands together.

“Y– yeah.” Henry finishes.

“How could you guys light my kitchen on fire?!”

Y/N asks them, throwing her arms up in the air in exasperation before her eyes fall back to the three men, glaring at them. By then, Charlotte has joined Schwoz on the couch in the centre of the Man Cave, as if they were watching the most interesting movie ever made. Charlotte knows her friend, and judging by how fuming she is about the whole situation, she knows it won’t end well for the boys. 

Henry still can’t bring himself to look at Y/N, but he can imagine the hurt and confusion written all over her face. He’s known her for as long as he’s known Charlotte and Jasper; it’s always been the four of them. They can read each other like open books. 

Jasper flinches when Y/N raises her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard her raise her voice before, she’s usually calm and composed. He glances at Henry, and when he sees that his friend has suddenly found an interest in his shoes, Jasper knows they messed up big time. 

Ray frowns when he sees Y/N crossing her arms over her chest again. Her cold stare travels from Henry, to Jasper, to him, and by the way she holds her head high, lips flattened into a thin line, he can sense the anger radiating off of her. What Ray doesn’t understand is why.

“Oh, this is gonna be good.” Schwoz chuckles as he gets up. “Let me get some popcorn.”

He returns a minute later with a red bowl filled to the brim with popcorn, setting the food on the table as he sits back on the couch next to Charlotte. Both watch, shoving food in their mouths, as Y/N shifts on her feets, body tense.

“What. Happened?” Y/N asks again, gritting through her teeth.

“Okay, first of all,” Ray begins, holding his hands out in front of him as he takes a step towards the girl. “We couldn’t find a light switch anywhere.”

“It– it was very dark.” Henry chirps in, barely glancing up at her as he tries to justify their actions. “And kinda cold.” His voice falters as he looks back to the floor.

“I happened to have a flare on me.” Ray adds, as if there were nothing wrong with that.

“Which would solve both problems.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at Jasper’s comment, her nostrils flaring as she grows impatient. Without even realizing it, she begins to tap her foot against the tiled floor of the Man Cave, her cold stare directed towards Ray. 

“So, I had a flare… in your kitchen.” Ray begins to explain again, somehow proud of himself.

“And then, we started exploring!” Jasper smiles.

“First thing we uh… found were the curtains.” Henry adds sheepishly. “Well… the flare found ‘em.”

Henry tentatively looks up to his friend, a sheepish smile across his face. It falters when he sees the hurt flashing in her eyes for a brief second. He hates to see her like this, and he never wants to see her like this again. He has to admit it, lighting up a flare in her kitchen had been a bad idea, and he doesn’t know why he and Jasper didn’t try to stop Ray from doing something this stupid. They should be used to it by now; Henry has been dealing with his boss’s antics for the last five years, so has Charlotte, and both Jasper and Y/N have been dealing with it for the last two years. Ray, more often than not, acts without thinking twice about his actions, and perhaps that is because he’s been indestructible since he was eight years old, but he often forgets that the teenagers, and Schwoz, are not him and that they aren’t indestructible. His impulsive actions often bring them into trouble, and Henry has always wondered how they haven’t been badly injured by now, or sent to the hospital for an undetermined amount of time. Lighting up a flare in Y/N’s kitchen should have been an idea that stayed in Ray’s childish brain.

“Those things went up fast.” Ray laughs as Jasper imitates a fire starting.

“Did you guys try to put it out?!” Y/N asks, exasperated.

“Yes! Of course we did.” Jasper tells her.

“But uhm, you know the saying “fight fire with fire”?” Henry asks tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, that does not work!” Ray snorts.

“Oh my god!”

Y/N groans as she lets her arms fall to her sides, turning on her heels and heading for the elevator. She pounds her fist against the button, letting out a frustrated yell when the elevator doesn’t come right away. Jasper tries to reach for her, but she whips her head over her shoulder, sending him a stare that could have put him to his grave if her eyes held daggers. Jasper raises his hands up in defence, taking a step back to stand in between Ray and Henry. 

“Where are you going?” Henry asks his best friend, voice filled with guilt.

“None of your business.” Y/N grits through her clenched teeth.

She doesn’t mean to speak to Henry that way, but she’s beyond mad that they burned their kitchen, and what pisses her off most is that they don’t even seem to be aware of how bad they messed up.

“Wh– whoa there, Y/N.” Ray exclaims, raising his arms up in defense.

“Yeah, what’s your deal?” Jasper scoffs, nudging Henry.

“My deal–” Y/N speaks through gritted teeth. “–is that I have a date tonight, with Jack Swagger. And I was gonna make him dinner at my house, but you guys blew my kitchen!”

Y/N yells exasperatedly, turning her head back towards the elevator and using one hand to push the up button on the panel on her right. 

Charlotte stands from where she sat on the couch, walking over to the boys. She’s the only one who knows of Y/N’s date night with Jack Swagger, and she’s also the only one who knows Jack Swagger out of his international fame. The two girls had met him at camp, ten years earlier, and he contacted Y/N to let her know he was coming to Swellview for a couple days, and that he wanted to hang out with her. Charlotte also knows the real reason why Y/N had agreed to go on a date with Jack, and it wasn’t because she used to have a crush on him when they’d first met. 

“Wait.” Jasper’s voice cuts through Charlotte’s train of thoughts. “You know Jack Swagger?” He asks, taking a step toward Y/N. “International music superstar Jack Swagger?”

“Youngest person to win a Grammy Jack Swagger?” Schwoz questions, rushing to Y/N.

“You have a date?” 

Henry asks Y/N, a little surprised that his best friend has a date with someone and that she didn’t tell him about it.  

“Yeah, I had a date.” She answers him, coldly.

“With Jack Swagger?” He asks again.

“Yes, with Jack Swagger. Can we not do this? I have to go and see the mess you guys made in my house. See if I can fix anything, or if I have to cancel my date tonight.”

Y/N pounds her fist on the elevator button again, but her movement is less angry and more frustrated. In truth, even if she originally did not want to go on a date with Jack Swagger, she’d warmed up to the idea and she was really looking forward to it. Besides, she’d figured it would help her forget about a certain someone that’s been on her mind twenty-four-seven. 

When the elevator comes to a stop and the doors ding open, Y/N steps inside, pressing the up button without looking at it, and she keeps her death stare on the three men as the doors close again. 

Henry watches as she disappears behind the now-closed elevator doors, but he knows she hasn’t gone up just yet, or they would have heard the loud squeaking noise from the elevator’s mechanical whirring. Perhaps she’s calling Jack Swagger; he did see her reach for her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. For some reason, however, knowing about the possibility of Y/N cancelling her date with Jack makes Henry feel less guilty about his responsibility for being part of the reason why Y/N’s kitchen burned. He knows he shouldn’t feel happy about it, but he does. 

“How does she know Jack Swagger?” Jasper asks, turning towards Charlotte when the elevator doors close.

“Me and Y/N went to camp with him, like ten years ago. He was Jack Swaggowitz back then.”

“Okayyy… How did we not know this until now?”

“We’ve told you like a million times! You guys just never listen to us.”

“Okay, fine! Fine!” Jasper raises his hands up in defeat. “So, why can’t they go to Sotto Voce? Or any other restaurant in Swellview?”

“Yeah! Sotto Voce is a nice place.” Ray chimes into the conversation in agreement, snapping his fingers. “Romantic, and kitchen not burned.”

“That you know of.” Jasper nudges him.

“That I know of.”

“They tried that.” Charlotte explains, sighing. “He’s too famous and gets mobbed wherever he goes.”

That catches Henry’s attention, and he raises a brow as he turns towards Charlotte. What does she mean by “they tried that”? Did Y/N have other dates with Jack Swagger, and she only told Charlotte about it? Why is it bothering him so much that Y/N goes on dates with other boys? She is only his best friend, he has no right to decide who she can date. He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest as his friends’ voices come back into focus.

“I got it!” Jasper exclaims, snapping his fingers. “We need someplace to turn into a fake restaurant. Okay? Some place nobody knows about; somewhere underground.”

“So?” Charlotte raises a brow.

“I say we make a fake restaurant in Henry’s house!”

“No.” Henry deadpans, letting his arms drop to his sides.

He doesn’t want to get involved in this. He doesn’t want to make up a fake restaurant so that Y/N can enjoy her date with Jack Swagger. And he especially doesn’t want it to happen at his house. Because if it happens at his house, it means he has to be there, and he has to be forced to watch his friend enjoy her date with some stupid international celebrity when she should be enjoying a nice date in a nice, real restaurant with him– Oh.

Henry bites down on his lips. Take a deep breath, he thinks. He inhales deeply and then, he remembers what Piper said when she called earlier today.

“Why not?” Ray asks.

“There’s a hawk in my house.” Henry answers, silently thanking his idiot dad for bringing a hawk to the house.

“There’s a hawk in your house?” Schwoz questions.

“That’s what Piper said.” Henry shrugs. “I may need to crash here ‘til the hawk leaves.” He adds.

Good thing there is a hawk in his house simply because his father had wanted to get rid of a cricket. It doesn’t make any sense, and Henry hadn’t asked his sister for the details, but right now he was glad he wouldn’t be making up a fake restaurant in his house.

“Okay…” Charlotte trails out, thinking. “So we’ll do it in the Man Cave.”

“Do what in the Man Cave?” Ray wonders, looking at her.

“Make it a secret restaurant so Y/N and Jack can have their date.”

“No! We are not turning the Man Cave into a secret restaurant.”

Oh, no. If they turn the Man Cave into a fake restaurant, it means that Henry, and perhaps Charlotte, will have to pretend to be waiters for the night, and Henry isn't sure he can act the part. Well, if it were for anyone else, he’s pretty sure he could, but not for Y/N. Luckily for him, there’s no way Ray would agree to Charlotte’s idea but the elevator doors ding open, and out steps Y/N. She’s got that hopeful look in her eyes, and Henry knows she’d heard them from inside the elevator. He silently curses under his breath. There go his hopes of Y/N cancelling her date with Jack Swagger. 

“You owe me, Ray.” Y/N says, tilting her head. “You burned down my kitchen.”

She raises a brow expectantly, crossing her arms over her chest. Henry shifts on his feet, body tensing as he clenches his jaw. Deep down he hopes that Ray will say no, but Y/N is using her convincing look that none of them can resist, when she’d stare at you intensely until you give up, and she’s backed up by Charlotte, who’s standing next to Y/N and who’s using her famous judgemental look, with her hands on her hips.

“You owe me.” Y/N says again, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

Ray groans, throwing his head back in defeat. “Fine! We’ll turn the Man Cave into a restaurant!”

Y/N squeals out excitedly, turning around to embrace Charlotte in a tight hug, before she goes back inside the elevator, closing the doors behind her and the mechanical whirring activates to indicate that Y/N has gone up to Junk’N’Stuff, the store a half-mile above the Man Cave. 

Henry’s shoulders drop, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants, a million thoughts running haywire in his brain. Charlotte notices it, and a smile begins to grow in the corner of her lips. She shakes her head in disbelief before she nudges Jasper’s side, pointing at Henry with her chin. Jasper raises a brow, and he looks back at Charlotte with a knowing smile of his own. 

—

“Sorry I’m late.” Henry says begrudgingly as he steps out of the elevator. “The hawk grabbed my tie and wouldn’t give it back. Luckily, my dad distracted it with his face.”

“Is he okay?” Jasper asks his friend.

“Yeah, he’s okay. He’s got like… razor talons and like, a knife beak. So.”

“No, no. I meant your dad.”

“Oh! No, he’s in serious pain.” He pauses. “This place looks, uh… great…”

Henry looks around. Silver and pastel purple curtains cover the entirety of the Man Cave, hiding away anything hero-related like the tubes or the sprocket. Three tables are set for two, with silver tablecloths, white plates and silver cutlery, wine glasses and pastel purple napkins to match with the curtains. A grand white piano with fake candles on it stands in the corner, where the couch usually is, and the floor of the Man Cave is covered with a variety of used red carpets to hide the blue and red logo that’s usually visible on the tiled floor. Henry also notices the white peonies and Calla lilies that form one bouquet on the centre of each table, Y/N’s favourite flowers.

There’s a tugging at his heart as he takes in his surroundings. His mind is telling him that this is not right; and he wonders why he is doing all this, but then he remembers. He did participate in burning Y/N’s kitchen, so he owed her this, as much as Ray and Jasper did. He is surprised that they even managed to create a romantic fake restaurant in the Man Cave in the first place, but it doesn’t mean that he cannot loathe the idea of Y/N having a date with someone. 

“Where’s Ray?” Henry eventually asks Jasper to try to forget about his unresolved feelings for Y/N.

“Chef’s in the kitchen.” Jasper answers, shrugging.

“Wh– where’s the kitchen?”

“Behind the soundproof curtain.”

“Whaaaaat?”

Henry trails out dumbfounded as Jasper mouths “I know”. Ray’s voice reaches their ears almost immediately as Henry slightly pulls open the curtain to make sure Jasper’s telling him the truth about it being soundproof.

“Are you kidding me?!” Ray shouts exasperatedly. “I just had it! How could I lose– it was here two seconds ago! I swear on my father’s prepurchased burial plot–”

Henry closes the curtain, then turns back to Jasper. “Hm. Chef sounds mad.”

“Yeah, we should check on him.” Jasper agrees.

The two friends step through the soundproof curtain, and they see Ray frantically looking around for something, flailing his arms around with two lit flares in each of his hands.

“Oh, come on!” Ray yells.

“Woah, whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?” Henry asks, raising a brow. Anything to get his mind off of Y/N.

“I can’t find my fifth flare!” Ray whines. “And if I don’t have all five flares, it’s ruined!”

“Put the flares away man. They’re for emergencies only!”

“Or for playing Truth or Flare!” Jasper adds.

“It’s fine. I just had the thing! Where– it was here a second ago!”

Ray keeps muttering to himself as he searches for his flare inside the made-up kitchen. He pivots on his feet, his back toward the teenagers, and Henry sighs exasperatedly when he spots the flare inside of Ray’s backpocket.

“Found it!” He says. “I found it!” He goes to grab a dish towel. “Stop. Move.”

“Where is it?” Ray asks again, more to himself.

“Dude, you gotta stop lighting flares in kitchens.” Henry deadpans as he grabs the lit flare from Ray’s pocket.

“Why? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Henry and Jasper exchange a look, before they try to pry the flares away from Ray’s hands.

“Okay, hand them over.” Jasper says when Ray tries to resist.

“Give them to me man.” Henry groans. “We’re done. We’re done! We’re done!” 

“Ah! You’re ruining my process! No, don’t put them in there! Don’t put that– Oh…”

Ray whines again as he sees the two teenagers throwing his flares into a steaming pot of water. Henry wipes his hands over the black apron tied around his waist just as Jasper’s phone beeps with an alert. He quickly checks it, and he adjusts the bowtie around his neck.

“Okay. Y/N and Jack Swagger are close.” He says, putting his phone in his pocket. “I gotta go up to Junk’N’Stuff, meet Charlotte, and pretend it’s a fake store.”

“It is a fake store.” Henry snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly. This guy gets it.”

Henry shakes his head in disbelief. So much for trying to forget about his feelings.

—

“I am so sorry, we are fully committed this evening. There are no tables available– Madam President.” Jasper hangs up the phone, raising his head as the shop’s bell dings. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there because I was just on the phone with– Y/N?”

Y/N stands awkwardly in the middle of the shop when Jasper finally acknowledges her presence, but he frowns when he notices she stands there, alone. Charlotte stands behind her, with a sad look on her features and she takes a tentative step towards her friend.

“Are you okay Y/N?” Charlotte asks. “Where’s Jack Swagger?”

“He– he bailed on me.”

Y/N chokes out, trying to keep her tears at bay. She knows how much effort her friends put into creating this fake underground restaurant just for her to have her date with Jack, she can’t cry in front of them. And yet, she did not expect Jack to bail on her when she was inside a taxi and on her way to pick him up from his hotel. She couldn’t call her friends to tell them to cancel everything, she didn’t have the heart to. They did all this for her, so she could have a quiet date with a celebrity she’d known since she was ten; she couldn’t bail out on her friends after what they’ve done for her. And yeah, she only ever agreed to go on a date with Jack to forget about her unresolved feelings for someone else, and she knew it probably wouldn’t have worked out between her and Jack, but it had been nice to know that someone cared enough about her to take her out on a date. She wasn’t even mad that her date wasn’t about to happen, she was upset because her friends had created a fake restaurant for her and Jack, and he’d bailed on her at the last minute.

Y/N shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield herself from the cold, and she hugs herself tightly as Charlotte puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. Jasper gets off from the chair he’s been sitting on, and he walks around the cashier counter to join his two friends.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jasper wonders, genuine concern in his voice.

“H– he texted me. I was already in a taxi on my way here. I was supposed to pick him up on the way, when he texted. Said he couldn’t make it, superstar stuff he said…”

“Y/N… You could have called us.” Charlotte says. “To tell us your date was cancelled.”

“N– no. You guys made up a fake restaurant in the Man Cave so that I could have my date with Jack. It wouldn’t have been fair to you guys if I had cancelled, not after all the effort you must have put into doing whatever’s below us. I– I’m gonna go down there, and I’m gonna have a girl’s dinner by myself.”

Charlotte smiles sadly, before an idea pops in her mind. She lifts her head to look at Jasper, and an understanding passes between them. Charlotte knows what she has to do. 

“Don’t be ridiculous Y/N. I’ll have a girl’s dinner with you.” Charlotte lies, having another idea in mind, but Y/N seems to buy it.

“Dinner for two, then?” Jasper chimes in  as he walks back behind the counter.

“Yeah, okay.” Y/N laughs. “We have a reservation for Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

“Ah! There it is. Right this way, ladies.”

Y/N and Charlotte look at each other before laughing at Jasper’s antics as he leads the way to the elevator in the back shop. 

Down in the Man Cave, Henry waits by the white grand piano as the elevator dings open and out come Y/N, Charlotte, and Jasper. The first thing he notices then, is the absence of Jack Swagger. He frowns, and his grip on the fake menus tightens. His jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth, but his features soften again when his eyes land back on Y/N.

Henry’s breath gets caught up in his throat as he looks at her. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, with her hair cascading down her shoulders and the mesmerized smile hanging on her red, lipstick-covered lips. She spins around on her feet, taking in the sight of the remodelled Man Cave for the occasion, and the long dress she wears twirls as she does so. Her soft chuckle is like music to Henry when it reaches his ears, pulling him out of his reverie just as Jasper and Charlotte walk up to him. But his eyes never leave Y/N, not even when Jasper drags him behind the soundproof curtain until he can’t see her anymore.

“What’s going on?” Schwoz asks, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “Why’s Henry all lovestruck?”

That seems to pull Henry out of his trance. “No, I’m not!” He says, shaking his head. “Jasper, what’s going on? Why is Y/N on her own?”

“Oh! Jack Swagger bailed on her.” Jasper answers nonchalantly.

“What?!”

“Yeah. He texted her when she was on her way to pick him up in a taxi.”

“So, she came on her own?” Schwoz questions, raising a brow. “Then, what’s the point of a date?”

“She didn’t want to cancel, because she knows how much effort we put in turning the Man Cave into a fake restaurant. She’s going to have a girl’s dinner with Charlotte instead.”

“Well, actually… I lied.”

All four men -including Ray, who’d been eavesdropping on the conversation while stirring a pot- jump on their feet, startled by Charlotte who’s now standing behind Jasper, the soundproof curtain closed behind her. 

“Y– you lied to Y/N?” Jasper asks incredulously. “W– why?”

“I thought we were on the same page!” Charlotte groans, throwing her head back.

“Did you– did you leave Y/N on her own?” Ray asks, pointing an accusatory finger at Charlotte.

“No, Piper’s here!”

“Wh– What? Piper’s here? Wh– why?” Henry questions.

“She thought she’d see Jack Swagger with Y/N, so she came to play the piano.”

“But Piper doesn’t know how to play the piano?”

“That’s what I said! She was gonna use her phone to play slow jams, and she’d just fake playing.”

“Uh, makes sense.” Schwoz shrugs as he nods approvingly.

“Any-Ray…” Ray interrupts. “Why did you lie to Y/N, Charlotte?”

“Come on! I can’t be the only one smart enough to have figured it out, can I?” When no one says anything, Charlotte says, “Henry is going to take Y/N out for dinner here.” 

Henry drops the fake menus he’d been holding onto all this time, and he whips his head towards Charlotte, blinking several times as if she’d grown several heads and he couldn’t believe it.

“Wh– wha– what?” He breathes out in shock. “Wh– wh– why?! I can’t take Y/N out for dinner, have you lost your mind Char?”

“Hen, we know you like her.” Charlotte implies, and her statement is followed by a chorus of hm.

“Wh– what? N– no, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” Jasper states. “Now that Char’s said it out loud, we know what she’s talking about. You’re not good at hiding it.”

“Even Ray could tell you like her.” Charlotte adds.

“Hey!” Ray whines. “But it’s true though. You do like her.”

“Yeah! You’ve been doing oogly eyes at Y/N whenever she comes to work.” Schwoz carries on, nodding.

“What does that even mean, Schwoz?!” Henry wonders.

“You can’t take your eyes off her!”

“Schwoz’s right.” Charlotte agrees. “You even started to read her favorite book. And you hate reading.”

Henry sighs, throwing his head back and lifting his arms up in defeat.

“Okay, fine! Fine.” He says. “So, what if I like her? What am I supposed to do?”

“Take her out on a date, Kid.” Ray answers, motioning towards the soundproof curtains.

“But what if she doesn’t like me that way?”

“But, what if she does?” 

Henry glares at Ray, before he glances towards Charlotte. Surely she’d been joking when she suggested he takes Y/N out on a date here in the Man Cave turned restaurant. But she looks at him with a knowing smile, arms crossed over her chest, and she’s backed up by Jasper, who has a smug expression plastered on his face. 

Henry sighs. It’s true that he hasn’t been really excited to play-pretend being a waiter in a fake restaurant, because it meant being forced to watch Y/N enjoy her date with Jack Swagger. It’s true, now that he thinks about it, he’d felt slightly jealous when Y/N first mentioned her date with Jack Swagger earlier today. And it’s true that he’d felt slightly relieved when he found out that Jack Swagger bailed on Y/N. So, what is he so afraid of now? Charlotte’s offering him a chance to take Y/N out on a date, in this fake restaurant they’d spent all afternoon setting up, why doesn’t he want to take it?

He glances at the soundproof curtains, knowing Y/N’s behind with his sister, and Henry can hear the thumping of his heart the more he thinks about how she looks tonight. Her bright smile, the wonder in her eyes as she’d looked around the remodeled Man Cave for the occasion, her H/C cascading down her shoulders, or how her dress fitted her perfectly as she twirled around.

“Earth to Henry. Earth to Henry.”

Henry blinks, pulled out of his thoughts by Ray’s voice, and when he turns his head back towards his friends, he knows what he has to do. He fumbles with the knot around his waist, before handing his apron to Jasper.

“Why are you giving me this?” Jasper asks, raising a brow.

“I’m gonna take Y/N out on a date.” Henry says confidently. “Give me your tux jacket.”

Jasper grumbles and reluctantly gives his jacket to his friend. Lucky for the both of them, they wear the same size so the jacket fits Henry like a glove. 

“Let’s get this date on the road!” Ray shouts as he fist-bumps the air, returning to his cooking.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t blow up another kitchen with those flares.” Charlotte sighs, watching as Ray childishly lights up a flare.

“Thanks.” Henry whispers before he turns to Jasper.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll be the waiter tonight.”

“Thanks man.”

—

Henry steps out of the made-up kitchen, instantly spotting Y/N by the grand white piano, laughing as Piper pretends to be a professional pianist. He nervously adjusts the tie around his neck, wiping his moist hands on his trousers as he walks over to the two teenage girls. Tentatively, he puts a hand on Y/N’s back, and she turns her head around to look at him.

“Oh, hey Hen.” She smiles. “What’s up?”

“Char told me what happened,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Where is Charlotte, by the way?”

“In the kitchen, making sure Ray doesn’t blow it up.”

“Oh.”

Henry can hear the disappointment in her voice, and he instantly feels guilty, dropping his hand from the small of her back. He swallows nervously, and he hears the rustling of the curtain behind him, meaning Jasper’s waiting to settle them at their table.

“Y/N?” Henry calls for her attention.

She lifts her head, eyes looking into his. “Hm?”

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” He asks her, rubbing a hand against his neck out of nervousness.

“Wh– what?”

“This is going to be interesting.” Piper whispers under her breath as she watches.

“I, uh… I’d like to take you out on a date if, uh… that’s okay with you?” Henry tries again, albeit clumsily. 

“Are you– are you asking because Jack Swagger bailed on me?”

“N– no! No!” Henry shakes his head, hands dropping to his sides. “No! I’m– Listen, Y/N, I– I like you. I mean, I like like you, Y/N. And I’d love it if you’d go on a date with me.”

“You– you like me?” Y/N stutters, blinking.

“Yeah, I do.”

Y/N lets out a trembling breath. She doesn’t know what to think; she’s had the longest crush on her best friend that she doesn’t even remember when she’d first caught feelings for him. He’d been the whole reason she agreed to go on a date with Jack Swagger in the first place; to forget about her confusing feelings for Henry. But here he is now, after she’d been bailed on, asking her out on a date in a fake restaurant he’d put up all afternoon with the rest of their friends. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart as she looks back to Henry. What an interesting night this turns out to be, she thinks.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Henry Hart.” Y/N says eventually, smiling.

“Shall we?”

Henry asks as he offers her his arm to take, and shivers run down his spine when her hand finds the crook of his elbow. He looks at her with a smile, before he leads her away from the grand piano, where Piper resumes fake-playing a slow tune, and towards Jasper who holds the fake menus in his hands.

“If the two lovebirds would follow me,” Jasper says as he slips into the role of a waiter in a fancy restaurant. “We have your table ready right over here.”

“Thanks.” Henry says as he pulls the chair for Y/N.

Y/N sits down, placing her small purse on her thighs as she waits for Henry to sit across from her. She spots the flowers in the centre, and she smiles. Her favourites. For a minute she wonders whose idea it was for the flowers, and after pondering it she comes to the conclusion that it had either been Charlotte, or Henry. 

“So…” Y/N trails out, a smirk on her lips, as Henry sits down. “What’s this place called?”

“It’s called Food.” Jasper answers proudly.

“That’s dumb.” Y/N snorts.

“Is it? What if I told you it’s ‘food’ spelled with a U with two dots over it.”

“Now, that’s interesting.” She glances at Henry, who smiles sheepishly.

Jasper hands them the menus. “Take your time, I’ll be back for your orders.”

Y/N gives Jasper a grateful smile, watching as he disappears behind the silver curtains. For a short minute, she can even hear Ray yelling there and she cannot suppress a laugh as she shakes her head in disbelief.

“This place is nice.” She says, looking at Henry again. “For a fake restaurant.”

“Right? So private.”

“Henry, we’re the only ones here. Of course, it’s private.”

“Ye– yeah, I know. I just– I like the idea of our first date being private. Y’know, without anyone around.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Maybe that your sister is eying us from the piano, and that everyone else here has poked their head through the curtain to spy on us.”

Y/N finishes explaining with a laugh, and Henry looks over his shoulder to see Ray, Schwoz, Charlotte, and Jasper with their heads poking through the soundproof curtain, one head after the other. He frowns, giving them his best menacing stare, and all of them scurry off back behind the curtains. Then he glances towards his sister, his lips pressed into a thin line when he sees her with her phone in her hand as if she were going to take a picture. He wants to tell her off, but the words get lost in his throat when he feels a hand above his on the table, and he turns his head back around to look at Y/N. She’s smiling that soft smile she always wears around the people she loves, and Henry’s breath gets caught up in his throat again. God, she’s beautiful, he thinks as he flips his hand around so that his palm touches hers. 

“I’m sorry this isn’t the date you had in mind.” He tells her, holding her hand in his. “And I’m sorry Jack Swagger bailed on you. And that you’re stuck with me inst–”

“Henry.” She interrupts him, smiling. “I’m glad it’s you I’m stuck with. And it may be a fake restaurant, with fake chefs, a fake waiter and a fake pianist, but I’m happy it’s you here with me.”

“R– really?”

“Yeah. Honestly, I’m not sure it would have worked out between me and Jack, if something ever were to happen… I don’t think I’m cut out to be the girlfriend of a superstar.” She laughs, rolling her eyes playfully. 

“And what about being the girlfriend of an awesome sidekick to a superhero?” Henry asks with a smug smile on his lips.

“Henry Hart, are you asking me to be your girlfriend at the beginning of our very first date?”

Y/N questions him, letting go of his hand as she leans over the table, resting her elbows on top of the silver table cloth, and she rests her chin atop her linked hands. A playful smirk grows on her lips as she watches him, raising a brow as she waits for his answer.

“And what if I am?” He says then, mimicking her movements. “What then?”

Y/N hums, feigning deeply thinking. “I don’t know. Do you know any awesome sidekicks here in Swellview?”

“I might know of one. Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name is Kid Danger.”

“The name does ring a bell.” She says playfully, leaning further over the table. “Do you know where I might find him?”

“I heard he works in a store called Junk’N’Stuff.” Henry answers, leaning over the table until his forehead touches hers. “And I heard he’s really Henry Hart behind the mask.”

“Well then, Henry Hart,” Y/N says with a smile. “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

ⓒ writerinlearning – 2025