#i will chew up canon and spit it out

[daddyjackfrost]

Lost in The Wild ; B. Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers!F!Reader

Synopsis: It was supposed to be an easy mission. In and out. But then communication went out. The intel became useless. The weather turned horrific. Bucky lost his gun. And then, you.

Warnings: Fluff, slow-burn, friends to lovers, horrible weather, blood, injuries, yearning, cursing, Ft. Sam, Steve, and Natasha, SMUT, p in v, oral (f rec.), kissing, praise, MDNI, unprotected sex, brief crying, they’re so in love your honor, down!bad bucky, lmk if I missed any! WC: 12.9k

A/N: First ever Bucky post! It’s been years since I’ve written on this account so have mercy on me. Thank you to all the wonderful writers on here that are so talented and inspiring. As for timeline… I don’t know. Canon? What canon? Comments & Reblogs are appreciated!

The rain had been coming down in sheets for hours. Not the kind that offered relief or clarity—no, this was brutal, heavy rain, the kind that blurred the edges of the world and made the earth itself hostile. It was the kind that soaked you to the bone, made every step a battle, and turned even the most solid ground into something slippery, a trap waiting to swallow you whole. 

The terrain had started off rocky, already a pain in the ass. Sharp crags jutted out from the hillsides like broken bones. Narrow passes that barely fit a single person had suddenly become rivers of slick mud and falling debris. Visibility was horrible and comms were patchy at best, and then they were gone entirely—just static and silence, the kind that settled into your chest and made it difficult to think straight. 

Bucky’s boots sank with every step, the mud sucking greedily at the soles, threatening to pull him under. His jaw was clenched tight, his vibranium arm flexing and twitching as adrenaline surged through him. He was briefly glad that he had cut his hair and didn’t have to worry about strands on his face. A small feat, but a significant one. The cold bit through his tactical gear, but he barely felt it. All he could focus on was the silence in his ear. 

Your voice, gone. 

One second, you were right behind him—mud on your face, grinning like an idiot, breathless and half-laughing about the total bullshit of intel you both had been fed. He had grunted and told you to stay close. 

Then, the world cracked open. 

A landslide tore through the ridge, and before he could grab you, before he could warn you—before he could even think–you were gone in a roar of earth and stone and rain.

He screamed your name. Loud, desperate. Absolutely no care as to who may have heard. He screamed once more, the rain slapping harshly against his skin. 

There had been nothing. No response. Just the sound of the storm ripping the world apart. 

Now, he was moving blind and completely alone. Mud covered his hands, smeared across his cheek, soaked into his skin and clothes. His rifle had been torn from him earlier and his sidearm was somewhere in a ravine miles back, lost in the chaos. All he had now was a combat knife and fear—chewing through his chest at an incomprehensible rate. 

In the distance, he could hear the screams of the Hydra agents. Some had been swept away when you had been and the others were trying to hold on, trying to find him and survive. He silently prayed that another landslide, something horrific, would wipe them out. 

He knew that the bunker had been emptied. He stumbled upon it when he began looking for you and had been tempted to go in, try and get some help. But he needed to find you, first. He had turned around and hadn’t looked back. 

He tripped over a root, hit the ground hard, and didn’t even flinch. Just pushed himself back up, spit blood, and kept moving. He had to find you. 

He had to find you. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough and low, throat raw.

“Focus. Come on.” 

Every snapped twig, every distant sound—he turned to it like a live wire. He felt like an animal, something manic, as he listened for any sound of you. Hope and terror felt the same now as his heart beat too fast. He was distantly aware that his hands were shaking, and not from the cold. 

You were out there somewhere. For a split second, he let his mind wander. You could have been crushed—dead. 

No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He blinked once, harshly, before shoving all those horrible thoughts to the back of his mind, where he kept all the bad. 

You were smart. Deadly. He knew that. He knew you were better than most people–most soldiers–he’d ever worked with. But even the best had limits and you were human. Flesh, bleeding, breakable. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. You had looked so small as you disappeared into the landslide. He couldn’t get the picture out of his mind, of the way your eyes had briefly widened and your lips had parted. His tortuous mind wondered if you would have called out for him.

It didn’t matter, he decided. He hadn’t acted fast enough, hadn’t caught you. He didn’t even realize he was whispering your name again until it broke in his throat. 

“Where the fuck are you?” 

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the twisted trees and gnarled terrain. He whipped his head around, trying to look for anything, then, he caught the shimmer of something. He wasn’t sure if it was metal or blood but he moved fast. Slipped once, hard, landed on his knees again but didn’t stop. His hands clawed through the mud, his breathing loud and ragged. 

Then—there. In the shadow of a fallen tree, half-covered in mud and leaves and blood, was you.

Your body was twisted awkwardly, like you’d been thrown by the force of the slide. One arm cradled to your chest. Cuts littered your face, lips split, blood soaking into your torn-up gear. There was a deep gash along your side—too deep—and your eyes were half-lidded, fluttering like you were waiting to let go. 

Bucky tore through the mud, pulled and stretched his torn muscles and dropped beside you with a choked breath. His hands hovered over your body, not touching yet. Not sure where it was safe. Not sure if he could bear to feel how cold you were. 

His fingers twitched, and he bit down roughly on his bottom lip to prevent the wounded sound that almost left his throat at the sight of you. Your eyes fluttered once more before gently shutting. “Hey—hey, no,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t you fucking dare. Open your eyes, doll.” 

His warm breath brushed against your cheek and your lips twitched, a shallow breath escaping. You willed your eyes to open, even if it was just for a moment.

“Barnes…”

He nearly collapsed from the sound of your voice. It was quiet, weaker than he’d ever heard it or wanted too, but it was there. 

Relief hit him like a truck and he moved closer to you, but it didn’t fix anything. You were still bleeding, still barely breathing. He could feel the tremble in your body as your fingers brushed against his sleeve like you were checking if he was real. He pressed his arm closer to you, finding brief comfort in the way you squeezed his skin. 

It was the first time he had felt warmth in the last three hours. 

“Alright, I got you,” he whispered, lips trembling from the cold. “I’ve got you now, okay?” His voice was low, rough, tight with something he couldn’t name. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/n. Just—just stay with me, yeah?’ 

You tried your best to nod but everything felt too heavy and you were too weak so you simply hummed and he almost choked at the sound. He pushed the tree off of you, murmuring softly when you groaned in pain.

“I know, I know, just a second, doll.” 

He breathed in deeply before he crouched down and scooped you up, carefully, like you’d shatter if he breathed wrong. His arms and body were solid beneath you like he hadn’t suffered similarly, like he wasn’t injured. You hissed in pain but your arms naturally curled weakly around his neck. At the moment, you trusted him more than anything. More than the pain, than your own body. 

Bucky held his breath and kept his eyes ahead, knowing that if he made eye contact with you like this, all broken and bleeding in his arms, he’d crumble. He tightened his grip on your body when your eyes shut and pressed his chin into your hair. 

“Open ‘em, doll,” he muttered. “Come on. Please.” 

You tried, but your head felt heavy so you dug your fingernails into his neck instead. His hold on you tightened even further as he ran, rain striking down, harshly and unforgiving. The temperature was dropping rapidly and he knew he had to get you somewhere dry, somewhere he could take a look at all your injuries. 

By some miracle, and he would later pray about it, he found shelter not far from the ridge–a cave. He remembered seeing it during the initial scope of the terrain, during the mission brief. You had joked about it, something stupid about him retreating into the cave for a nap. He laughed—or, he thinks he did. He wished he had. 

He’d kill a man to hear your laugh right now. 

The cave was barely more than a dent in the mountain—narrow and damp, carved into the rock like the earth itself had given up trying to stay solid. The wind howled outside, slicing through the trees and screaming through the cracks in the stone. Rain still battered the world, relentless in its fall. 

He had to crawl to get inside with you in his arms. 

The stone scraped his knees, his elbows. His back ached from how he curled around your body to shield you from the worst of it. He didn’t stop, barely felt it. All he saw was the blood soaking through your clothes. You were shivering, lips blue, breathing unevenly. A faint wheeze escaped with each breath, and even in sleep, your brows were pinched in pain.

Once he was deep enough, he laid you gently on the stone floor. Bucky knelt beside you, soaked through, hands shaking. His face was drawn tight, teeth clenched so hard his jaw clicked. Rain still dripped from the ends of his hair, trailing down his neck, his face, soaking into his torn shirt. His fingers were red and brown, a deep maroon that he had painted with before. 

He blinked down at your unmoving body and clenched his fists. He could barely think straight with his heart beating out of his chest so he breathed in deeply and flipped the switch, the one he hadn’t used in years. The one that turned him into a machine. That buried softness and kindness and everything he didn’t deserve to feel beneath layers of instinct and orders and purpose. 

He was a soldier. You needed a soldier. You needed him to be smart, tactful. 

He peeled his jacket off and wrung the water out, laying it beside you. He scooped your unconscious body gently and laid you down on his jacket. He cut away the arms with shaking fingers and wrapped them around your side, trying to stop the bleeding. 

He looked through his field kit, whatever was left of it, to find something, anything, that he could use to put some part of you back together. He used the wipes to clean the blood and dirt off your face, sanitized your cuts as best as he could before he plastered on the bandaids. His fingers pressed against your skin, once, twice, and then he pulled away like you had burned him. 

He pulled his belt free and used it to tighten the splint he’d carved for your arm out of his remaining gear. He moved with precision, detachment—like you were just another asset, but his hands trembled when they brushed your cheek and he hated it. Hated how you made him feel even when you were barely conscious, when he was trying inexplicably hard not too. 

“Come on, Y/n,” he breathed out. “Open your eyes.” He curled his hands into your body, trying to stop the tremors. He’s not sure he’d be reacting like this if it were anyone else. He doesn’t even want to entertain the thought, because the conclusion is one he can’t face. You’re his partner, his teammate. You laughed at his terrible jokes sometimes. Shared your food with him when he forgot to eat. You always waited until he got on the jet before calling it in, like you had to make sure he wouldn’t get left behind. 

You weren’t his, weren’t anything. He shouldn’t be shaking like this, blinking rapidly like if he focused real hard, this battered version of you would be replaced by the you he knew. But he knew your laugh. The sound of your footsteps. The way your eyes sometimes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking. You mattered to him, which was so much worse.

And now you were bleeding out in a cave that stank of moss and wet rot, and he couldn’t even fucking stop shaking. He didn’t have the right materials or any way to contact Steve or Sam. He felt useless, which is just another thing he hated about himself at the moment. 

He stood up slowly, recognizing the familiar aches in his body, already mapping the bruises and new scars he knew littered his body. He had to get a fire started, had to get you and himself warm, so he scanned the area for a completely dry place before he dropped to his knees, fumbling through his kit. The cotton lining of his gloves—dry enough. He tore it out with his teeth, rolling it into a crude nest with shaking hands. He shoved it beneath a wedge of dry bark he’d peeled from the heartwood of a split branch, praying the core was dry enough to catch.

The first strike of flint against steel sparked nothing. The second—nothing. He swore, then coughed, the sound raw. His hands were still trembling.

Third strike. A spark jumped.

It kissed the cotton and died.

He closed his eyes. Again.

Fourth strike. Fifth.

A breath. A tremble. A single ember caught—barely a glow, a flicker like a dying star. He hunkered over it, shielding it from the damp air with his body, and blew—gently, desperately, his breath ragged. The ember pulsed. It grew.

It flared.

Tiny flames licked the shredded cotton, then the bark.

Heat.

He nearly sagged with relief as the fire cracked to life, light dancing against the slick cave walls. His hands hovered over it, aching, blistered with cold. He gave himself a moment, a single moment to enjoy the heat before he crawled to you and gently pulled you closer to the fire, close, but not too close. He didn’t want to risk it. 

His fingers moved over your temple, gently checking the wound there. You flinched and Bucky almost sighed in pained relief. At least you weren’t unconscious. Just sleeping. He could deal with that. His fingers scraped gently against ripped skin and you flinched again, a broken sound leaving your throat. 

He froze before his thumb brushed your eyebrow. He blinked once at the action before he snapped at himself, standing up so fast he smacked his shoulder against the cave ceiling. Pain rippled through his back and he lurched forward, clutching his left arm. 

He fell to his knees, coughing. The sound echoed and for a moment, it truly felt like his own personal hell. He looked down and grimaced at the blood. He had yet to take a moment and analyze his own injuries, but he knew there was no point. Whatever it was, he’d survive, and you…you may not. He had to focus on you. 

He wiped his mouth and stripped off what was left of his shirt, wet and freezing, and crouched beside you again, lifting your body into his lap to wrap his arms around you. Your temperature was dropping and there had been pregnant pauses where you had stopped shivering. 

He didn’t like what that may mean. 

You were limp against him, your face tucked under his chin, breath fanning across his throat. He could feel every line of you—every bruise, every tremble. He murmured a soft apology when his arm accidentally grazed the gash in your side. The fire’s orange hues danced across your skin and he watched carefully, momentarily awed. 

You were alive, he had to remember that. He was rocking back and forth like he had forgotten. 

“I didn’t mean to lose you,” he whispered, barely audible over the raging storm outside. “I should have kept you in front of me. Watched your back, instead of you watching mine.” 

His hold on you tightened and he released a small breath when you pressed your nose into his throat. “I could have grabbed you, kept you from falling…” 

His voice cracked and he pressed his mouth to the top of your head, breathing you in like a man starved. All he could do now was wait, wait for your body temperature to rise, wait for you to wake up. 

He hated waiting. 

The cave was wet, and water dripped steadily from the ceiling into the puddles forming near the entrance. The air smelled like steel and earth and his knees ached from the cold rock floor, his back stiff from how tightly he held you.

All he could do was ignore all the feelings that threatened to crawl through his chest by thinking about next steps. When you were awake, able to move, he knew that getting in contact with Steve or Sam was going to be difficult, but it needed to be done. 

Briefly, his mind flashed to the bunker. Hydra had kept it a secret but SHIELD had found out, as it sometimes did. It should have been an easy mission, in-and-out, but as reachable as everything sometimes seemed, the weather had always been untameable, with a mind of its own. 

Still, while they had prepared for it, no one had expected it to get this bad. Even now, the storm raged wildly outside. The sound of it was both anxiety-inducing and welcomed, background noise he hadn’t asked for but didn’t mind. 

While your breathing slowly evened out, he pressed you closer to his body and angled you closer to the fire and shut his eyes.

You woke to the sound of breathing.

Not yours—his. Measured. Steady. Like he was forcing every inhale calmly, despite its aggression. 

Your head was on his shoulder. His hand was on your thigh, warm and still. The cave was still cold and dark but the fire offered welcome heat and glow. Everything inside you ached—bones and skin all stiff and frozen, some cracked and some bruised.

You stirred slightly, a soft movement of your chin. Bucky felt it, he had listened closely as your breathing changed and your muscles shifted. 

“Bucky…” Your throat was hoarse, lips dry. You were still pressed against him, his hands warm and solid, holding you together. 

He didn’t answer at first. Just a small movement of his shoulder. 

Then he exhaled hard. “We’re moving.” 

The softness from before—his trembling hands, the whisper of your name, that broken honesty in his words and body—was gone. Replaced by that rigid, sharp-jawed version of him you’d only seen in combat or when he was forced to engage with strangers. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring toward the mouth of the cave like the storm may break in at any second. 

You slowly nodded, your nose brushing against the skin of his throat. His throat bobbed before his hold on you loosened just a fraction. 

“I can walk,” you rasped, words muffled as you tried to sit up. 

Instantly, Bucky’s arms around you tightened. “No, you can’t.” 

You tried again, “I can—”

“You can’t.” His voice cut like a blade, a little throaty and gruff. “Your ribs are unstable. Your shoulder’s fucked, and the gash on your side will rip open any second. You’re not getting back up.” He exhaled. “I’m not risking it.” 

Instead of answering right away, you slowly wiggled your fingers and toes, trying to get feeling back in them. After a moment, you lifted your head off his shoulder and groaned in pain, wincing when your unused muscles moaned in pain. 

“Hey, fuck,” Bucky’s exterior slipped for a second and he looked panicked, one hand on your good shoulder and the other on your arm, trying to offer some support. “Be careful.” He helped you slip off his lap, hand on your back—warm, solid, pulsing. 

Once you were sitting up straight, Bucky leaned back on his heels, one hand subtly reached out towards you in case you needed him. 

You swallowed hard and blinked away the exhaustion in your eyes. “Where are we going?” 

“I’ve got a plan.” His tone was clipped, controlled. Every word chosen to shut you down before you could argue. You could tell by his stiff shoulders and the way he refused to look at you that he wasn't to be reasoned with right now. 

Still, you had to try. “Bucky, look at me.” 

He froze, kept his eyes on the floor. For a second, you thought he’d listen. You just needed to see him. Needed to hear everything his eyes had to say. Instead, he shook his head. 

Bucky stood, already pulling his remaining gear together—knives, makeshift medkit, the remnants of his utility belt. He moved like a machine, like he’d mapped the next twenty steps and was already living in them. 

You watched him carefully, watched his body and the stretch of his muscles. By his movements alone, you knew he had injured his leg a bit, perhaps a sprain. His ribs hurt, probably bruised. He hadn’t cleaned himself up, not like he had you. There was still mud and blood on his face but it did little to hide his exhaustion, the frustration that had etched into his skin. 

Remnants of his soft whispers, his delicate touch still danced across your skin and you locked them away, kept them close to your heart as you came to terms with this version of him. You wanted him to look at you. 

He rolled his shoulders once, picked up his jacket, now warm, and slipped it on before he knelt in front of you. 

“This is gonna hurt.” His arms slid under your knees and shoulders, lifting you like it was nothing. But you could see the strain on his muscles. “Try not to pass out.” He slowly maneuvered you until you were draped across his back, legs and arms locked around him to the best of your ability.

You gritted your teeth, breath catching as pain stabbed down your side and back. You didn’t fight him—couldn’t, because his body was warm and solid against yours, still slightly soaked through, even trembling slightly beneath the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. 

You wanted to thank him, wanted to tell him to take a moment for himself, knowing he must have spent hours just taking care of you, but you also knew better. Knew that you both had to get out of this storm. 

You pressed your face into his neck as he bent to crawl out the cave. His knees and hands scraped against the rough, cold floor and you winced for him. He said nothing as his hold on your waist tightened and he stepped out into the storm. 

The cold slapped you both in the face. The wind cut sideways through the trees. The rain had turned the world into a mess of slick rock and rotting leaves and ankle-deep mud. Bucky moved like he had done this a hundred times, like he had spent hours analyzing the terrain and perfected where to step. 

You didn’t speak as he carried you down the ridge, every muscle in his body tense with focus. He didn’t look at you once, even when you had hissed in pain. His jaw was locked, veins tight in his neck, eyes scanning every inch of his surroundings. The rain  and mixture of leaves slapped against his face. Instinctively, you wiped his cheek clean. 

You didn’t recognize the path he was taking. It wasn’t toward the evac point—not unless he’d circled back, which didn’t make sense in this terrain or weather. You stretched your neck, trying not to pay attention to the coldness that seeped into your bones. His fingers tightened under your thighs. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, lips brushing against his ear. 

He hesitated for just a second. “The bunker.” 

You lifted your head weakly, eyes wide. “The Hydra bunker?” 

“There’s a comms room. Secure line. I can tap into SHIELD frequencies. Get a ping out.” 

He really had thought about this. You frowned, the thought of Bucky holding you in that cave, his mind running rampant as he kept you alive, circled in your mind. 

“But it’s full of—” 

“It’s empty,” he said, with certainty that chilled you. “I already scoped it. Before I found you.” 

“You—” You blinked, once, twice, and then leaned your head over his shoulder, trying to understand him. “What?” 

“I saw it when I was looking for you. It was empty. I was going to go call and wait for help, but I turned around.”

You stared at him. Logically, you knew that made sense. If he had called for help, maybe neither of you would be in this situation. But, a small, twisted part of you frowned.

“You were going to leave me,” you whispered, even though you knew it wasn’t true. He had just said that he turned around and he did find you. But he could have taken longer, or not come to find you at all if he had been ordered not to. 

Bucky finally turned his head and met your eye. And, there it was—something breaking loose in his face, just for a second, like the very thought you just had, had been eating away at him. “I was going to get help. But I knew I had to find you. So, I did.” 

You looked away, chest tight, heart fluttering with something unexplainable.

He didn’t speak again. 

It took an hour to reach the edge of the treeline. An hour of silence, mud, and Bucky’s unyielding grip around your trembling body. Every step he took was a choice, to not panic, not spiral, not let himself fall into the noise that threatened to tear his mind and heart apart. 

He needed to stay sharp and diligent. You were depending on him. 

So, when he saw the crumbling silhouette of the Hydra compound through the trees—half-collapsed, rotting into the ground—he didn’t hesitate, just kept walking. 

“We’re close,” he muttered, and set you down gently behind a fallen log, hidden beneath wet pine boughs. His hand gripped your thigh and his finger curled under your chin, tilting your head so you could meet his eyes.

“Stay here. No matter what.” 

“Bucky—”

He dropped his hand and pulled his knife from his side holster, checking the edge. “One of them might still be in there. I’ll handle it.” He pointed the knife at the ground. “Do not try and help me.”

You sighed. “You don’t have to—” 

“I do.” His voice was rough now. Not angry, but final. An edge to it that resembled the very sharpness of the blade in his hand. “I’ll come back for you.” 

He looked at you one more time. Let his eyes meet yours for a moment before they travel the length of your body, pausing at your side. 

Then he was gone. 

The forest swallowed him whole. 

You waited, every breath sharp in your chest. You were drenched, hair sticking to skin. Rain pattered softly on the leaves above you. Your hands trembled in your lap. You hated the way your body felt like a prison—useless, aching, broken. Hated that you couldn’t follow him. 

You had been through worse, had survived so much worse. You could have helped him, could have stood on your own if you really had to. 

Bucky made it so you didn’t have to. You didn’t know how you felt about that, about him. 

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Or, so you guessed. 

Then, you heard it. A single, muffled thud. A body. There had been someone in there. 

But then came nothing else. Just silence. 

The underbrush shifted and he reappeared, soaked and stone-faced, blood drying on his knife and on his neck. You didn’t ask, didn’t have to. He was breathing more heavily, slowly, and you knew his injuries had worsened. 

He was a super soldier, but he wasn’t immortal. 

Bucky knelt beside you, eyes meeting yours briefly before scanning the sky through the trees. ��I got through. Signal’s weak, but I managed to reach Steve. They’re getting the jet in the air.” 

You reached out, fingers grazing his wrist. He didn’t look at you and didn’t pull away either. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife and you slowly pried it from his hands, tossing it beside you. 

“You’re going to be okay,” he said softly. It was so quiet, like you weren’t meant to hear it. 

He barely acknowledged what he said and you decided that he didn’t know he had said it, pretended like the words didn’t make you freeze, remind you of him in the cave, feeling and talking to you like he had already lost you. 

You sat shoulder-to-shoulder as you both waited for the quinjet. 

The warmth of your bodies pressed together reminded you strangely of home.

The extraction was supposed to feel like relief. 

But to Bucky, it felt like exposure—too loud, too bright, too late. 

The quinjet split the sky open with its roar, cutting through the clouds like a blade. Trees bent under the force of the rotors. Wind tore through the clearing. And all Bucky could do was hold onto you tighter, shielding your body from the chaos and branches like his own didn’t matter. 

Sam was the first down the ramp. Steve right behind him. Both armed, both scanning for threats. 

Bucky didn’t speak at first, just waited until Sam looked over at him, then stood up, his leg pressed against your back for stability. 

“She’s critical,” he yelled, voice flat. “Bruised ribs, busted shoulder, hypothermic, and infection risk.” You looked at him, eyes wide. “She’s lost too much blood.” 

Steve’s eyes flicked over both of you—your limp body, Bucky’s slashed and bloodied arm, the bruises blooming across both of your cheeks. He didn’t ask questions, just nodded. “Let’s move.” 

A medic stepped forward with a stretcher. Bucky stepped in front of them like a wall. “Be careful.” You almost smiled. The medic—young, wide-eyed—nodded quickly. You slipped your hand into his and fingers curled around your hand.

Bucky helped you onto the stretcher, murmured something soft when you winced in pain. He didn’t let go of your hand until they forced him to.

Sam and Steve watched closely as Bucky followed right beside the stretcher, matching their steps, never more than an inch away. His jaw was locked, eyes burning. You reached out for him again and he took your hand in his. 

You turned to the medic and pulled Bucky closer. “He’s injured,” you rushed out. “Badly. His leg, ribs, and arms.” Bucky tried cutting you off but you squeezed his hand. “Shut up, Barnes.” 

The medic stared at you both and you blinked slowly. “Treat him, okay? Don’t listen to him. Listen to me.” You smiled softly, trying to ease the tension between the poor, young medic’s shoulders. “Talk to Steve if he complains.” 

“Y/n,” Bucky muttered, “I’m fine.” 

The quinjet lifted, slicing up through the trees. 

You passed out again before they hit altitude. 

The world returned slowly. 

A dull ache in your side, your chest. The sterile scent of disinfectant. The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. 

And then, warmth.

A heavy hand around yours. Thumb brushing back and forth in a pattern you could feel in your bones, something soft and ingrained. 

You recognized the weight, the press of skin. You blinked, the ceiling fuzzy above you, mouth dry.

“Buck?”

His head snapped up from where it had been resting on his forearm. His eyes were bloodshot. His stubble had grown into something darker, rougher. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in centuries. 

You tried to smile, muscles groaning after minimal use.

“You look like shit.” 

For half a second, something cracked—his face shifted like he was going to laugh, maybe even cry. His eyes widened and his lips wobbled. But then he shut it down, wiped the emotion clear. 

Slid the mask back into place. 

He sat upright, hand still enclosed around yours. “You’re awake. Good.” He kept his voice smooth, monotone. It was killing him, pretending to be indifferent, but he couldn’t express the relief he was feeling. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long, hadn’t seen that smile. 

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing. It hurt a bit and you faintly recalled soft fingers brushing against your forehead. “Don’t do that,” you whispered, clearing your throat. 

Bucky blinked before he brought a paper cup filled with water to your lips. “I’m fine.”

Eagerly, you pulled the straw into your mouth and sucked, letting the water wash away the dryness. You finished all the water and wiped your chin. “I didn’t ask if you were fine.”

His jaw flexed. He looked away. Hand still around yours, thumb still tracing patterns into your skin. 

You tightened your grip on his hand and his eyes met yours briefly before he looked at the monitors as if he couldn’t describe your charts with his eyes closed. 

“Thank you,” you said, quietly, a small smile on your lips.

It was silent for a moment, something that could have stretched into something uncomfortable, but then he bowed his head and broke—his shoulders shaking just slightly, his hand gripping yours like he was trying to ground himself. 

He didn’t cry, not really. But you could feel it—the sheer weight of everything he hadn’t let himself feel, the weight of your life on him, the heaviness of his guilt. 

You stayed silent, held his hand tightly as your thumb drew circles on his skin. You had your own guilt; the weight of what you could have done, how you should have been more diligent, reached out for him, fought for yourself harder and made it to him, been less of a burden. 

But this wasn’t about you. This was about him, and how he tried his best, his very hardest to keep you alive. How you made him confront his feelings for the first time, with the threat of loss looming behind him. 

“I thought I lost you,” he admitted, hoarsely. “I—fuck. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I’ve never been that scared in my life. Not during Hydra, not even when I came back.” 

You stared at him, heart tight and eyes shiny. You weren’t usually an emotional person, but these were unusual circumstances. When you had been swept away, as you were thrown around and bruised, all you could think about was him; how he’s your best friend and you never told him, how all you wanted was for him to be more, someone you could love and hold. 

“I would never have made it,” he said, eyes bright, “If anything happened to you.” 

Your eyes stung and your heart beat faster, the monitor beeped in warning. Neither of you noticed. 

You breathed his name and he leaned closer, the heat of his body caressing yours. You brought your joined hands to your lips and kissed the back of his hand, slow and soft, eyes on him. 

His breath caught like you’d hit him with a bullet, his entire body stilling. His lips parted in wonder and his eyes widened slowly. 

“I’m okay,” you smiled. “Nothing happened. You made sure of that. I’m okay.” You needed him to know, needed him to understand that you wouldn’t have made it if anything happened to him, that you were grateful to him. 

Before he could answer, the door slid open and Dr. Bates stepped in, tablet in hand, coat wrinkled like she hadn’t taken it off for weeks. 

Her eyes fell on you, Bucky, then your joined hands. She smiled, just a little. “Sorry to interrupt.” Bucky straightened up but didn’t let go of your hand. You turned towards her. “I’m glad you’re awake, Y/n. It’s good to have you back.”

You smiled at her, glancing at the tablet in her hand.

“Thanks, Doc.” 

“You’ve been under for two weeks,” she started gently, coming to the edge of your bed. Your eyes widened in surprise and you glanced at Bucky, who stared at you, unblinking.

 “We had to keep you sedated—” she explained, “your body was in rough shape when you came in. Ribs deeply bruised, bordering on contusions. Your right shoulder was nearly dislocated, and you had early-stage sepsis. If you hadn’t been found when you were—” she paused, glancing at Bucky—“you wouldn’t have made it.” 

You turned your head slowly towards him, lips pulling into a frown. 

He looked away. 

“You’re lucky,” the doctor continued. “He kept you alive long enough for us to stabilize you. Field-treated half of your injuries himself. Not exactly regulation, but…” she smiled, gently, “it worked.” 

You gave Bucky’s hand the faintest squeeze. “So…Am I cleared to go?” 

Dr. Bates hesitated, then nodded. “As long as you don’t overdo it. No combat. No gym. No carrying anything heavier than a coffee cup. You’ll need regular check ups—especially to monitor your lungs and immune response. And, you shouldn’t be alone.”

Before you could speak, Bucky’s voice—clear, rough—cut in. 

“I’ll be with her.” 

The words were simple, but the way he said them—calm, final, almost soft—settled something in your chest and made warmth swim through your body. 

Dr. Bates blinked, almost like she’d expected a fight. Then she nodded again. “Good. Then I’ll start the discharge paperwork.” 

She turned and left, and the door hissed closed behind her. 

Silence fell again, heavy, but not uncomfortable. 

You stayed quiet for a beat, still absorbing it all. The ache in your ribs had settled into something manageable, but another kind of ache twisted low in your chest, one you couldn’t ignore. 

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, eyes slowly growing heavier. “What about you?” 

Bucky looked up from where he was still gripping your hand, a blanket of something softer, something resembling relief had been draped over his shoulders.

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice soft. “Your leg…and your arm. Your ribs. You were limping when—when you carried me.” 

His brows pinched together like you’d just reminded him of something he’d forgotten and you briefly panicked. Bucky would refuse to get medical attention if it meant he had to leave you, you knew he would. It was just who he was. You loved him so much. 

Abruptly, you blinked—eyes wide for a second before you schooled them. You had never let yourself think it, much less admit it so openly. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, quickly, trying to brush it under the rug. 

You narrowed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat. “Don’t give me the bullshit brush-off, Bucky. What did they say?” 

Before he could dodge the question again, the door slid open and Dr. Bates reappeared, a different tablet in her hands. 

“Something wrong?” She asked, glancing between you. 

You nodded gently towards Bucky. “Can you tell me the truth? About him. Did he let you take a look?” 

Bucky gave a little sigh, leaning back in the chair. And yet, even then, he didn’t let go of your hand. You briefly wondered if he knew he was still holding it, but the weight of it, the way it felt like his lifeline, made you aware that he did. 

Dr. Bates didn’t even hesitate, like she had expected this sooner. “He came in with three fractured ribs, a torn ligament in his left leg, and deep lacerations on his arm. Didn’t want to be checked and told us to prioritize you.” She sounded almost fond. 

You blinked at him slowly and he looked away, mouth twisting into a hard line. He didn’t want you to know these things, didn’t think they were relevant. He had half a mind to remind the doctor of patient confidentiality, but then he lifted his eyes and the genuine concern on your face, in the tremble of your fingers, kept him quiet. 

She continued, tapping her screen. “The serum accelerated his healing, of course. Most of it was resolved within days. He’s been medically cleared since the first week.” She paused, then added, almost like an afterthought, “He also requested a bed next to yours. Just in case.” 

Your heart flipped and your ears felt warm. He was so obvious in his care, it dripped and leaked out of him no matter how hard he tried to keep it locked up and it was so beyond endearing, you almost burst into tears. 

Bucky still wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

“He said—” she glanced at him, a small curve in her lips “—and I quote, ‘I’ll only sleep if I can hear her breathing.” 

Heat bloomed in your cheeks and you blinked hard, trying not to let it show too much but your heart rate had picked up and it was obvious on the monitor. “Oh.” 

Dr. Bates softened, just a little. She leaned in, like she was about to tell you a secret. “He hasn’t left your side since the quinjet. If that tells you anything.” 

With that, she set the tablet down on the edge of your bed. “Just sign whenever you’re ready and press the red button. It’ll only take an hour or so to get you discharged.” She smiled at you and then turned and left again, door shutting gently behind her. 

Silence, familiar, settled between you, thick and humming. 

You finally looked at him, a smile on your lips. “You’re an idiot.” It’s all you could stay, your heart on fire and chest bubbling with affection and love. 

His mouth twitched and for a second, he looked younger. “Takes one to know one.” It was stupid, something he would have said to Sam, but your eyes were bright and his attention was divided. 

You reached up slowly, hand trembling, and brushed your fingers across his knuckles. He didn’t usually let you touch him this easily. It was riveting, freeing. “You should’ve told me.” 

“I didn’t want you worrying about me,” he muttered. “Not when you were fighting for your life.” 

You stared at him for a long moment. Then, softly, replied. “I’m not fighting anymore.”

He stared at you, deep blue eyes reminding you of the ocean, of the storm you both had survived. 

“I’m not fighting anymore so you can stop worrying.” You smiled at him, sweet and soft. “I know you think that it’s your fault but it isn’t. You found me, saved me.” 

Bucky cleared his throat and clenched his jaw. He didn’t need you telling him not to worry because it wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t change the fact that he stayed awake at night and hovered in the hallways, slipping into your room to make sure you were breathing, keeping an eye on your vitals. 

“Bucky,” you said, voice thicker and full of steel. He sighed and slowly nodded. He was many things, filled with guilt, but he wasn’t immune to you, to your wants and needs. And what you needed was him to be honest, to listen. 

“I hear you, doll,” he sighed, quietly. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He squeezed your hand once and almost pulled away but your grip tightened and you smiled. 

As if you knew what he meant, could see the depth of his care. Like he hadn’t folded and crushed the love he had for you and shoved it in the deepest parts of him, trying to keep it hidden. It was unravelling, fast and without permission. 

The door slid open quietly. 

Natasha stepped in first, concern in her eyes but a small grin tugging at her lips at the sight before her. 

Steve followed behind her. Sam too. They all looked tired, but relieved. The doctor had alerted them when you had woken up an hour ago, wanting to give you time to adjust. 

They looked at you and Bucky—still close, your hand in his, his chair pulled right up against your bed—sleeping. Your head rested on the pillow and Bucky’s on his arm.

They didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. While they had been in and out of your room, sending flowers and asking for updates, Bucky hadn’t moved. He had only complied with getting medical help because it had been your last demand before passing out. He had stayed by your side for two weeks, unwavering. 

Steve hadn’t seen him sleep. Bucky had refused any drugs that may have knocked him out and every time Steve came to check on him, he was up. Usually watching you. This was the first time either of them had seen him at peace, and it was with his hand around yours. 

“They’re sweet,” Natasha whispered, her smile growing. She had known, of course she did. She saw the way you both looked at each other when the other wasn’t looking. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “About time, too. I almost owed Clint $50.” 

Steve frowned, eyes drifting to Sam. “You bet on them?”

Sam shrugged and quietly laid down the flowers he had gotten you on the already full table. “It was Tony’s idea.” 

Dr. Bates entered last, holding a juice box. “Oh, visitors.”

“Sorry, Doc,” Steve apologized, moving to the side. 

“No worries, Mr. Rogers.” She set the juice box down on the table beside you. You needed the sugar before getting on your feet. 

Before Steve or anyone could respond, Bucky shifted and his eyes flew open. His spine snapped up and he blinked at the people in the room, a frown on his lips. He glanced at your sleeping face and momentarily, his eyes softened. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “She’s sleeping.” 

“Hey, you,” Sam cooed, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Before Bucky could growl in annoyance, you stretched your arms and yawned, your hand slipping out of his.

“I’m awake.” Then, “Don’t provoke him, Sam.” 

Natasha snorted and you opened your eyes, smiling at the people standing in front of you. Sam rolled his eyes before he moved closer and ruffled your hair, his eyes softening. 

“Hey, Y/n.” He picked up the juice box and poked the straw through it, handing it to you. “Glad you’re not dead. Don’t do that again.” 

You smiled in thanks and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Sam. Don’t plan on it.” 

Steve and Natasha moved closer too, soft smiles and softer words. They asked you how you were feeling, if you needed anything. Bucky stayed beside you, his fingers twitching, now that your hand wasn’t in his. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and leaned back in his chair, head falling back. 

He hadn’t slept properly in days. Figures that he’d find a moment of peace beside you. 

As you spoke to Natasha, your hand searched for his. You were okay, the pain was dull and the trauma wasn’t at the forefront. But, you still needed his comfort—no, wanted it. 

Bucky felt your fingers brush against his and, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he captured your hand in his. His heart fluttered when you squeezed and he looked away. He was in deep. 

Dr. Bates cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly when the conversations died out. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’re cleared to go.”

You sat up, eyes wide. “Really?” Steve’s lips quirked upwards at the excitement in your voice. Bucky felt his heart settle at the sound, at the way you had managed to light the room in a soft glow.

The doctor nodded. “All the paperwork is done. I’ve prescribed you some painkillers you can take, as well.”

You sighed in relief and turned to Bucky, eyes bright. You were glowing and he felt like a moth with the way he leaned in.

“Thank you, Dr. Bates. Truly.” 

She smiled at you before glancing at Bucky. “Of course, Agent. Take care. I hope I don’t see any of you soon.” With that, she turned and left. 

Natasha grinned at you and Bucky before she stepped back. “I’ll get your clothes, Y/n.” 

You smiled at her gratefully as she slipped out of the room. Steve and Sam stood by your bed and you looked up at them. “So, what’d I miss?” 

Sam clapped his hands together, instantly filling you in on all of the drama you had missed. Steve laughed quietly at his antics and Bucky snorted, the tension in his shoulders slowly fading and a real, genuine ghost of a smile on his lips. 

The elevator ride to your floor was quiet. 

Not in a cold, distant kind of way—but in the way people are quiet when there’s too much to say and not enough breath to say it. You moved slowly, one foot in front of the other, careful of your ribs and side. Bucky walked beside you, close enough to feel the heat of him, one hand a steady weight at your lower back. 

The metal was cold against your thin sweater, but there was still something soft about it. The way he stayed beside you, rubbed his thumb up and down your skin, absentmindedly. 

You could feel him watching you. 

Not like before. Not scanning like a soldier. Just…watching. Like a man trying to memorize every detail before it’s gone. He was desperate, soaking in all your warmth and all the time he got with you. You could feel it, his earnesty. 

Your floor was dim when you entered—peaceful, untouched since the mission. But, not entirely untouched. A folded hoodie on the couch. Your plants watered. A fresh pair of pajamas neatly laid across your bed, one you couldn’t see but knew was there. 

You turned to look at him, brows raised and a hint of a knowing smile dancing on your lips. 

Bucky’s jaw ticked. For a second, he looked embarrassed, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I, uh, came by a few times. Brought you fresh stuff. Didn’t want your plants dying while you were—” He cleared his throat. “—while you were healing.”

Your insides felt all warm and gooey. He was making it so difficult to stay indifferent, to keep all your feelings and wants and needs hidden, like they weren’t about to bleed out of you.

You took a step closer to him. 

“Thank you.” 

His eyes flicked to yours, then away, like he couldn’t quite take the weight of your gratitude. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, a rare and endearing nervous habit, eyes scanning your space like it was unfamiliar now. Like he didn’t belong, even though he fit here so perfectly. 

You saw it clearly, the way he moved. The way his boots thudded soft against your rug. The way his broad body filled your kitchen doorway. He belonged here, in your space. With you. Not just for now, not suddenly. But always. 

You ached for it, for him.

Bucky hesitated near the door, shoulders stiff. 

“I’ll head out, let you settle in. Just…yell if you need anything. I’ll be around.”

You knew what that meant. It meant he would wander, hover. He’d be in the shadows, waiting and anxious. He had this habit, when he was worried. You first learned about it when Steve was injured on a mission they both went on. He never said it, but Bucky wanted to be there for Steven in case he wanted anything. 

You had run into Bucky late in the night. Steve had missed dinner so you were checking on him, making sure he was pushing fluids, when Bucky’s large frame obscured your path. 

Sometimes, and he’d never admit it, but when Bucky had nightmares about you, or anyone else on the team, he’d often seek them out at night. Just a moment, outside the door. All he needed was to hear you breathing, make sure you were okay. 

That the Winter Soldier had not gotten to you. 

“Stay,” you said softly. “Have a cup of coffee with me.” 

He blinked, his hands dropping. “I—yeah. Sure.”

You padded into the kitchen slowly, feeling him trail behind. He sat on the stool at the island while you made two cups. His eyes were heavy on you the whole time, tracing every moment. He watched you carefully as you brewed fresh coffee, getting both of your favourite cups from the cupboard. As you waited, you glanced back at him and to your surprise, he smiled at you; soft, crooked, and quick, but attractive and warm all the same. 

He loved you like this. In your space, as you carried yourself with no expectations. When he was new to the tower, years ago, he often found peace in just watching you to the most mundane tasks. It brought him a sense of calm, normalcy. How you moved with grace, carried yourself like you didn’t have skeletons in your closet. 

It made him have hope. Like he could one day be okay, or a semblance of it. 

When you turned to hand him the mug, his fingers brushed yours, a quiet jolt of warmth passing between you. 

“You okay?” 

He was quiet, eyes drifting across your face before he nodded. “Yeah. I am now.” 

You sat beside him on the stool, legs barely touching, cups between you on the counter. The coffee was simple—black for him, creamy for you—but it felt like a ritual. Something sacred. You couldn’t remember the last time you had shared a mug with anyone else. 

“Are you going on your run tomorrow?” Your voice was quiet, like you couldn’t dare to disturb the peace. 

Bucky hummed, drinking slowly. “Maybe. Why?” He raised an eyebrow at you, concern creeping in. “Do you need something? Tell me, I’ll get it.” 

You laughed, soft and breathy. “No, no. I was just wondering.”

His shoulders sagged and the edge of his lip curled up. “I’ll tell you if I go.” He paused. “I’ll run past that bookstore you like. Get you something so you won’t be bored.”

Your grip on your mug tightened and you lifted your gaze to meet his, warm and heavy. “You don’t have to.” He didn’t like small spaces and you weren’t even sure if he liked the bookstore, even though he always came with you, even when you didn’t ask. 

“I know,” he replied, meaning something else. He set the mug down. “That was good. Thanks.” 

You thought he might stay. That maybe, just maybe, he’d slide a little closer. 

Instead, he stood. 

“I should let you rest—”

“Bucky.” 

He stopped. In his tracks, and breathing. 

You stood too, slow and careful. You stepped towards him, giving him the chance to step back. He didn’t. Just stood still, frozen, like if he didn’t move, this dream might never turn to a nightmare. 

You said his name again, like a prayer. He was almost undone. He should have stepped back, should have done something, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He needed this, needed you. 

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him towards you. He stumbled slightly, caught off guard—but his hands went to your waist without hesitation. 

You kissed him. 

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was desperate, full of years of tension���your lips crashed onto his, hands fisting his Henley. He kissed you back just as hard, like he’d been starving. He swallowed your gasp of surprise and kissed you ferociously, pressing his chest against yours, hand cupping your cheek. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him messily, teeth against teeth. He pulled you unbelievably close, flush against him. He was wrapped around you, or you around him. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and you moaned, your hands sliding up his solid chest and into his hair. 

When you pulled back, your chest was heaving, lips plump and bruised, face flushed. Your eyes fluttered open and you almost whimpered at the sight of him, hair tousled, lips plump. He looked completely undone, absolutely perfect. 

“Stay,” you whispered, borderline begging. “Please, Buck. I want you. You belong here—with me.”

He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer before the deep blue swept you away. His forehead dropped to yours, nose brushing against your cheek. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he rasped, breathless. 

“I do.” You pressed your forehead harder against his, kissed the edge of his mouth. “I do.” 

You kissed him again. This time, it was slower, sweeter. Your hands moved to cup his jaw, your lips soft against his. He melted into it, groaning low in his throat. HIs hands trembled against your waist. He pressed a sure, hard kiss to your jaw before he pulled away, breathing heavily, gasping. 

“Fuck, doll—fuck.” His arms pushed you into him further, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the skin under your eye. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He glanced down at your side before lifting his eyes. “Are you breathing alright?” 

You exhaled through your nose, a quiet laugh. So caring, so obvious in his love. You don’t know how you never saw it before. How it wasn’t painfully obvious to you. He was filled with love, all you had to do was let him feel it. 

Gingerly, you moved the hand on your waist to your side, slid it up to your abdomen. Then, up to your heart. It was beating incredibly fast, you wondered if he could hear it. His breath hitched and his eyes flickered to yours. 

“I’ve never been better.” 

He looked like he was a second from losing his mind. His throat bobbed and he tilted his chin. 

“You sure?” 

You sighed and fisted his shirt again. Nothing but pure honesty and desire and love in your eyes. 

“Just kiss me, Bucky.” 

He pressed his thumb into your skin, his pulse in his fingertips. He looked at you again, really looked, trying to search for the answers. You couldn’t tell what he was looking for so you stood still, smiled at him widely. 

Whatever it was, he found it. 

Bucky surged forward and captured your lips again, his heart beating rapidly against your chest as his arms circled your waist. In a rush of confidence, Bucky slipped his tongue into your mouth, trached the crevices of your teeth and gums before sucking your tongue, guiding your hips into his. You clawed at his back, guiding him blindly through your apartment. His hands never stopped touching—your sides, your arms, your face, reverent and shaking. 

You barely made it to your bedroom. 

He laid you gently on the bed, like you were something fragile and breakable—but his body trembled with restraint. He hovered over you, breathing hard, his eyes almost black. 

“We don’t have to,” he whispered. “We don’t have to do anything. You’re still hurt.” 

“I want to,” you whispered back. “I need to feel you. All of you. You’ll take care of me, I know you will.” 

He kissed you again, tender and slow. Took his time exploring your mouth. Then, he kissed the edge of your lips, licked and kissed down your throat, nibbling and sucking. His hands brushed against your warm skin, your cheeks and neck and then slipped beneath your sweater. You lifted your arms carefully, letting him peel it off, revealing faintly bruised skin and healing ribs. 

He stared for a beat, his expression softening, endearing, filled with affection. You had never really cared about your appearance, but his attention, the heat of his eyes, made you feel wanted. 

“Fuck,” he murmured, his fingers ghosting over your scars. “You’re beautiful.” 

His lips immediately reattached to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone and your head fell back, trying to pry yourself open for him. “Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, “So fucking pretty.”

You smiled, pulling his shirt up. He let you strip him bare. His chest was covered in scars, blemishes, burns, healing wounds. 

You traced them with your fingers, touch as light as a feather. The lamp beside your bedside cast a low amber glow across the room and painted his skin in warm gold. He looked godly, absolutely stunning above you. 

He had one forearm braced by your head, the other cradled your cheek. He watched you as you watched him, anxiety swimming in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him this gently. 

“Y/n,” he whispered, begging. You smiled at him and tilted your chin up, kissing a scar on his shoulder. He kissed you softly and your hands found home in his hair, fingers sliding through the thick, soft strands, tugging gently just to feel him melt. He made a sound in his chest, low and aching, and deepened the kiss, tongue flicking gently against yours. 

His body—muscles, scars, and heat—pressed closely against yours. You could feel it, though, he was holding back. Whether it was because you were injured or he was afraid, you didn’t know. You wanted all of him, his strength and roughness. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he pulled back, eyes glassy and softer than you’d ever seen them. “This what you want?” His voice cracked a little. “Am I what you want?” 

You touched his cheek, feeling the rough edge of stubble and the quiet vulnerability just under his skin. “I want you, Bucky.” He held his breath. “I want the man who waters my plants and dusts my shelves. The man who carried me through a forest and saved my life. The man who learned how to play different card games for me, the one who learned how to make tea the way my mother used to.” 

He blinked, lips parting slightly. “Y/n…”

“I notice everything,” you said, voice trembling. “How you always walk on the outside of the sidewalk. How you breathe deeper when you’re trying to stay calm. How you always make sure you’re between me and danger. Regardless of what it is.” 

He let out a soft, stunned breath. His hand slid from your cheek, down to your shoulder, then your waist, clutching like he needed to anchor himself. 

“I didn’t realize…” His voice cracked and he bit his bottom lip. “Didn’t realize you watched me so closely.” He watched you closely, knew all of your habits and quirks. He hadn’t realized you were watching him just as closely. 

“I always have,” you murmured, as if you hadn’t just turned his world upside down. 

Something cracked open in him then. 

He kissed you hard—like the dam had broken, like every piece of love he’d locked away had finally burst free. His mouth moved with aching reverence across your lips, your jaw, your throat. He kissed down your collarbone, your shoulder. 

He pulled back only to help you undress completely. His hands were so gently—touching, peeling away fabric like it was sacred. He unhooked your bra and dropped it somewhere behind him, pausing when you were completely bare beneath him, worshipping. 

“You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, doll.”

You reached for him in return, pulled at the waistbands of his jeans. He let you, watched with a gaze so soft it made your chest ache. When he was finally bare, you ran your hands over his ribs, his thighs. He shivered under your touch, leaning into it. 

He kissed down your body, pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to the skin between your breasts, licking and sucking, swallowing the taste of your sweet sweat, memorizing it. You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pulled and scraped his hair and the nape of his neck. Your entire body felt like it was on fire. 

Under a trance, Bucky pressed a soft kiss on one of your breasts, his fingers brushed the nipple of the other. He kitten-licked your swollen, aching bud before he latched on, circling his tongue as if he could have convinced your body to submit to him completely. 

His other hand pinched and squeezed your other nipple, before he released your swollen and wet nipple with a pop, not even breathing as he latched onto the other one. All of your senses were going crazy, overwhelmed to the point of hysteria and tears. 

He pushed himself up, rested his forehead against yours as both of your chests heaved. You leaned forward and pressed a swift kiss to his swollen lips, licking his bottom lip. You both breathed in the other, bodies sweaty. 

“I’d kill for you,” Bucky admitted in a rush, hoarse. You blinked at him, trying to catch your breath. 

“What?” 

“I would,” he said. “For you. I think I have, already. But you have to know. I’d kill anyone for hurting you.” 

You heard what he was saying—really saying. It was a clear day. His devotion. He was panting, sweat collecting on his forehead. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose. 

“I know,” you answered. “I love you, Bucky.” 

His arm trembled but he caught himself. He stared down at you for a second before his entire face softened. He brushed his cheek against yours, lips and breath warm, tickling. “I love you, Y/n.” It was soft, like it was still a secret, but it took your breath away all the same. 

He went back to kissing you. 

Everywhere. 

He took his time, dragging his mouth across your stomach, your hips, your thighs, murmuring soft praises into your skin. He kissed along the edges of your scars like they were maps that led him home. 

When he finally kissed between your legs, it was with awe. 

“Let me taste you,” he begged, voice gravelly. 

You nodded, breath catching as he settled between your thighs. He shifted downwards and pressed his nose against your cunt, holding down your hips as your legs twitched. You cried out and pulled at his hair but he was adamant, ignoring the pain and pushed your legs further apart. 

You squirmed under him as he stared at your cunt before blowing warm air on it, finding your agony adorable. You knew though, that he’d notice if you were in pain before you did. 

He spread your legs even further before he kissed your pussy softly. “Fucking pretty pussy,” he praised. His tongue was slow, teasing, reverent—licking up through your folds, curling just right against your clit. His hands held your hips, thumbs stroking circles into your skin as he worshipped you like you were holy.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “Please.” 

“I know, doll,” he nodded, his nose brushed against your slick folds. You grinded your hips against him, trying to get some sort of relief. “You taste like heaven,” he groaned. He licked a harsh stripe of your core. Pressed his face closer to your cunt as his tongue pushed in and out of your sopping hole, licking and sucking as if you were his last meal.

He traced his name, his devotion, into your gummy walls, his nose pressed against your clit. You moaned out a broken, gagged version of his name and arched your back as his nose dug further into your clit, rubbed it until he’s sure you’re all he’ll smell for weeks. 

His hand pressed against your cheek and you clutched his hand, brought his metal fingers to your lips and sucked. He groaned into your cunt and the vibrations had you seeing stars. 

He curled the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost screamed, tears fell down your cheeks at the pleasure.

“Yes, yes,” you chanted, words muffled by his fingers. 

Lifting his eyes, Bucky hummed at the sight of your pleasure, the way tears prettily fell down your cheeks, and lifted his fingers from your tongue. Before he could bring his hand back towards him, you grabbed it and settled it on your chest. His wet, dripping fingers pinched your nipples, teasing the sensitive skin.

“Bucky,” you panted, hips arching. “I’m close, please, baby.” 

Despite everything inside him telling him to keep going, he pulled up, releasing your clit with a messy pop. He kissed your folds and cooed as you cried out, licking you clean. “I know, Y/n, I know.” He kissed your inner thigh. “But if you’re gonna cum, I want it to be around my cock, pretty girl.” 

You stopped breathing. “Bucky…Oh my gosh.” He kissed up your body, licking the wetness from his lips, grinned like he’d never truly lived before. He hovered above you again and you cupped his face. 

“You’re insane,” you laughed, giddy. 

“I really like you, doll.” Bucky was grinning, and although his eyes burned into yours, you couldn’t tell if he was speaking to you or your pussy. 

You laughed and curled your fingers around his dog tags, pulling him close. “I need you,” you whispered. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged. He kissed you softly before pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised. “I’ll go slow.” He pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifted your head. He looked between your eyes, trying to find any hesitation before he glanced down at your lips. 

Pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Bucky lifted your head, his gaze almost scoldering. He looked between your eyes, trying to find any hesitation, before he glanced down at your lips.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Bucky needed you to know that you were safe with him. “I’m serious, Y/n.” 

“I know, Bucky.” You traced one of his dog tags. “It won’t. I trust you.” 

He wrapped one of his hands around his hard, leaking cock and slid up and down once. “I’ll make it feel good, doll.” Your pussy fluttered at his words and he could feel it against his legs. He almost, almost, lost it right there and then, instead, he brushed the back of his hand against your cheek, looking as sinful as ever. 

Slowly, he pushed himself in. 

The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls made you both moan in unison, your body lit up as he sunk in completely, the base of his cock hit your core. The stretch felt amazing, so good, and all you could do was tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob. 

“Fuck,” he groaned out, knuckles white with how hard he gripped your skin. “Fuck, so fucking tight and warm.” You pressed a soft kiss to his neck and he jerked his hips upwards, filled you to the brim, his tip reached parts of you no one ever had. 

When you licked a long stripe of his neck, sucked his adam’s apple until it was red, he collapsed on top of you, his cock leaking in your pussy, veins pulsing. 

You welcomed the weight of his body. He felt so warm; so real, so yours, you could feel the weight of his muscles against yours, the weight crushed the lingering loneliness that had crept into your bones over the years. 

You wrapped your arms around his body, scratched his back and pulled at his hair as you littered his throat and jaw with kisses.

Desperation clawed at Bucky and his thrusts became erratic as he pushed your body flush against him, forcing your hips to match his bruising pace as more slick poured from your legs and onto the sheets, your needy moans mixed with his broken ones. 

“Close–I’m, oh,” you stuttered out, eyes closing when Bucky’s fingers grazed your clit, his own eyes shut for a second when your walls squeezed him impossibly tight as he pressed his fingers against your clit. He could feel it, the dizzying feeling of euphoria building in his chest, the way it was running through his veins. He could tell you felt it too by your breathing, the way your pussy wept for him. 

Stars danced around in your vision and he knew his own vision mirrored yours, the tightness in his core was almost unbearable and he tipped his head forward and pressed his lips against yours, smiling briefly when your hold on him tightened. “Go ahead, doll. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” his voice was sweet, borderline crazed. 

You fell limp in his arms when he thrusted into you once, twice, right against your cervix, and you had come undone for him, release washed over you, body weak as your legs shook under his. His hands were all over your body, caressed your skin to comfort you as your body convulsed for him. 

His lips littered soft kisses to any skin he could reach, and when your walls tightened completely, coating his cock in your cum, he softly cried out your name as warm ropes of his cum filled you to the brim. 

You could barely blink, senses still overwhelmed as he kept kissing you, kept cumming, filling you up so well, until you could almost taste him. Quiet praises filled with love and encouragement were whispered against your skin as he remained buried up to the hilt in you, his hips still pushing his cum into you, almost as if he had no control over himself. 

Your entire body was shaking and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbed your back gently until your whimpers turned into heavy breathing, until all you could mumble was some variation of his name. He forced his hips to still, forced himself to breathe deeply. 

“I love you, Y/n,” he said, devout. “You mean so much to me. I’ll protect you, always.”

Bodies sticky and sweaty, he ran his hands up and down your back, nails grazed your skin to ground you. He was sure he was still cumming but if he could distract you, keep your attention on anything other than your overly stimulated, stuffed pussy, he’d do so. 

“That’s it, doll,” he cooed lovingly, kissed the shell of your ear. “I got you.” He smiled when he felt you nod in the crook of his neck. “Did so well for me, pretty girl.” You simply hummed in response, unable to form any sentences at the moment. Bucky rested his cheek against your head, fought the urge to grind his hips against yours. 

You breathed in Bucky’s scent slowly, head safely tucked in the crook of his neck. The way he held you now, so soft, so lovingly, had your heart settling. You could barely feel your legs, moaning lightly when his cock twitched inside you. Wrapped around his body, you pressed an open mouthed kiss to his neck, sucked softly when he tilted his head to give you more access. 

Your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck and he shuddered. You could have fallen asleep right there and then, with his cock stuffed safely in your pussy, sticky wetness fusing your both together.

Slowly, Buckley lifted himself off your body and you both hissed. He brushed your hair out of your face. You stared at him and his legs wobbled at the look in your eyes. You brought a hand up to his face and traced the length of his eyebrow, brushed your fingers down his nose, and along his cheek. 

“Pretty,” you mumbled, and he leaned forward and kissed you softly. 

It was different, slower, more intimate as he cupped your cheek and tilted his head, lips plush against yours. You moaned into his mouth at the intimacy of it; the way his cock was still buried inside you, the way your mixed juices still leaked out of you, the gentle caress of his hand as he whispered loving praises into your mouth. 

Gently, Bucky pulled out of your sopping cunt, biting back a groan. He shifted his weight and maneuvered your body until you were laying in his arms, your back pressed against his chest. He knew he had much to clean up, but your eyes fluttered shut occasionally so he put it off, knowing you needed him more. 

He ran his hands along your arms and then your shoulders, pressing into your skin occasionally to remind you that he was right behind you. You snuggled into him, back pressed flush against his chest and he wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Let me run you a bath,” he whispered, pressed a kiss to your head. 

You shook your head and waved him off. “Maybe later. I can’t feel any part of my body.” 

Bucky laughed, but he lifted himself a bit, looked down at you. “Do you need anything? Medicine? Water? Does anything hurt?” 

You snorted and slowly shifted, chest pressed to his. You wedged your leg between his, ignored the stickiness that coated you. “Only you could fuck me like this and be this worried after. Just hold me, Buck.” 

He smiled at the fucked-out look on your face, pride bubbling in his chest before his eyes skirted to the scars on your skin. He kissed your cheek and slowly pulled himself away from you and out of bed. 

“I’m going to grab you a glass of water and clean you up. I’ll be right back, doll.” 

You hummed and squeezed his bicep. “Okay, baby.” 

By the time he came back, you had fallen asleep. He placed the glass of water on your side and sat beside your sleeping body. His hand hovered before he cupped your cheek. “I don’t think I could survive ever losing you, Y/n.” 

"I love you," he whispered, the words flowing out easily.

Maybe it had always been easy, with you.

[specialgradefckr]

Tiger in the Alleyway

tw: homelessness, implied mistreatment/assault, suggestive content. sukuna/reader. hybrid!sukuna, hybrid!reader. sukuna is not like, canon sukuna, but he's not really much better

It doesn't really surprise him that it's ending like this.

The thought occurs to Sukuna as he stumbles into the alley, tail swaying weakly behind him. Even injured as he is, a low growl - a tiger's warning - is enough to clear the stupid mutts out of his way.

He lived his life cursing others. Biting, tearing, eating. Taking whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. It was a life full of enemies, and that had to take its toll eventually.

At least he lived well. A good life. Free, on his own terms, by his own merits. He closes his eyes with a heavy breath.

There's a patter of rain - ugh. One final annoyance to accompany him into the afterlife. He supposes it might wash some of the blood and filth off him.

Louder, louder - this sound isn't rain at all. One bright red eye flashes open, glaring at the intruder - you.

A tiny, shivering housecat hybrid, crawling carefully up to his side.

Sukuna snorts. Of all the witnesses to his death, it had to be you.

You're nothing to him, of course. And nothing in general, really. A house pet, thrown out of your home - the worst fate for a domesticated creature like you.

A wild thing born and bred for companionship, to be a toy for humans - the only thing you deserved was pity and scorn.

That's all he'd ever looked at you with. He'd crossed you once or twice in alleyway scraps - never fought, oh no. You're a pathetic creature and you know it. Always surrendering, running from every fight.

Whenever you scrounged up any food for yourself, you had to hide or eat it right away. A good spot to sleep? You'd get bullied out of it. Anything nice, or soft, to comfort or amuse yourself with? Stolen from you within days.

You knew your place, and it was on the very bottom of the food chain. He supposes that your self-awareness was commendable, if nothing else.

He scorns you equally, now, if not more than ever. A worm like you, outliving him? How pathetic.

But his warning growl doesn't scare you off. For you, of all people, not to fear him -

What's that smell?

He smells it before he sees it. You carried it in your mouth, sitting carefully next to him and taking it into your hands. Offering it up.

It's a single, lonely sardine, probably the last from that little tin he'd seen you squirrelling away after he put down some mutt in an alleyway.

Fucking disgusting animals. Barking and pissing and shitting everywhere.

It comes together to him, then. Your pathetic, hopeful, wide eyes as you raise up your offering. You think he helped you. On purpose.

Eugh. For fuck's sake! A wave of revulsion shifts through his body, so strong he nearly hurls.

"It's okay to eat," You say with a painful kindness, "I had some! Take it!"

Putting up to his lips - he nearly pukes. Then again, he is pretty badly hurt.

"Stupid," He manages, it a low growl, but that only has his mouth open enough for you to stick it in.

Reluctantly, he chews, swallows. If only because spitting it out would do nothing at this point.

It seems dying wasn't a fit enough punishment for living a life like he did. Apparently, he had to live with the indignity of getting help from a waste of skin like you.

The rain is falling, harder now. He feels a tug on his sleeve and an involuntary groan of pain escapes him.

A small noise, like a whimper of disappointment, bubbles up next to him.

He hears you patter away - fucking finally - only to hear a scrape and scramble in the distance, along with a slow drag of something against the pavement.

There's a shift as you push him away from sitting against the wall - he hisses viciously at that - and then there's a cardboard set against it. With his weight back on it, it's held against the wall, hanging over his head and protecting him from the rain.

Sukuna sneers, "Stupid cat. You think you'll get something from me if you do this?"

His words are low, mocking, "You think I'll reward your kindness? You'll be lucky if I don't break your fingers for laying a hand on me."

Everything about his tone conveys exactly what he thinks of that idea. He's never needed help before and he doesn't want any now.

Especially not from some pathetic, weak creature like you.

"...could you do it on my right hand, please?"

A beat. "What?"

"Just... break the ones on my right hand. I can't really use it anyways, so... that should be fine..."

He remembers, then, how he'd seen you clutching one arm to your chest always. Probably an old injury that never healed right.

Just his luck. Choosing the most ineffectual threat possible for someone who had so little to lose.

The cold is just about to set in, bone-deep, when he feels the warmth against him. Stiffening, hissing in warning.

"...if... if you're so mad," your trembling voice says, "Th-then just push me off! Otherwise, I'm cold, so I'm gonna borrow your heat!"

He stops. Pauses. Calculates, thinks about it - but the numbers feel so far away from his tired mind.

The numbness feels like a solid, frozen mass inside him... but your form curls into his. Your tiny little housecat tail settling over his lap. It's thin, frayed, with notches and cuts in it, but your chest is warm pressed into his side.

And he can't push you away, can't muster the strength. He supposes death will soon spare him this indignity -

A painful breath batters his ribs as he hisses again. It stings!

His eyes flick down to see you. Neck carefully stretched, reaching over his form so you can lap at a cut by his throat.

This time, your eyes hesitantly meet his, but you still lick carefully, sterilizing it, watching him wince from the contact. It doesn't stop you from a moment.

Clearly, you have no fear for your own life. Are you enjoying his humiliation? The fact that a powerful tiger like him is weak enough to succumb to the whims of a tame little kitten like you?

One of your legs brushes forward, between his, and -

The moan that comes out of Sukuna's mouth is purely from pain. It has nothing to do with the rough, wet strokes of your tongue over his enflamed wounds. The heat of your body against him. The weight of you on his exhausted body.

His chest heaves, from exertion, labored breaths. A low, warning rumble is the best deterrent he can make.

Your eyes flicker closed as you tuck your head into his neck, nuzzling closer. "So warm..."

At this point, you've half-climbed into his lap. Arms around him, legs twined with his. He's got a little feeling back in his limbs with the cold staved off - just enough to feel them ache and throb.

Sukuna tilts his head back with a weary sigh, letting it hit the wall behind him. His arms have found their way around your body. If you're offering your warmth, after all, he'd be a fool not to take it.

But you're a fool, too, if you think this will get you anything. He doesn't need help from an abandoned stray like you.

There's a small, barely-there tremor against his chest. It's low, and gentle, and before he can complain about it, it's lulled him to sleep.

[maldaptivedreamer]

...Ride A Cowboy - Arcane

It’s been quiet, suspiciously quiet, since John skipped town. His presence lingers in your mind, haunts your home. And despite the time that has passed, the strain between you and your mother remains. It may have eased slightly, but it's still there, hiding in every word and whispered with every civil greeting.

And then there's Sevika.

A new kind of tension manifests itself between the two of you. You find yourself stealing glances at Sevika more often than you'd like to admit. Her presence on the ranch has become a constant, almost comforting in its familiarity. Yet there's an undercurrent of something else, a spark that ignites whenever your eyes meet or your hands accidentally brush.

content: Sevika x fem reader, errors/mistakes, wild west au, outlaw/cowboy sevika, young adult sevika, strained mother/daughter relationship, homophobia, fighting/violence, death/murder, blood, gun/knife, name calling, canon character cameos, wlw smut, choking kink cameo, spitting kink, praise kink, pain kink, spanking, grinding, fingering, cunnilingus, tribbing, angsty ending, slow burn where??

wc: ~14.2k

a/n: What’s up gang, this part is gonna end pretty angsty so beware of that. Ignore the song choice being totally inaccurate to whatever time this is placed in. I couldn't not pick the "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowgirl" cover by Chloe Breez and Annapantsu for this story. Not really significant in the story tho. Hope to have the 3rd part done and finished soon. Taglist open, just lmk!!

MINORS DNI NSFW 18+

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, you glance back at her. “You done already?”

She lets out a soft hum of affirmation and leans against the door, her silver eyes following your every move as you strain to lift a large bundle of hay into a wheelbarrow.

Her gaze lingers on you, admiring you. The corners of her mouth curl up in a mischievous smirk as she speaks up. “You know when I met you, you were wearin’ a skirt. You only save them for special occasions?”

You grunt as you hoist the large bundle onto the wheelbarrow, panting. “I wear ‘em when I can.” You reply with a shrug, shooting her a smile as you adjust the gloves on your clammy hands. “What can I say?… I like my skirts and I like my pants.”

As you push the wheelbarrow out to the horse pasture, Sevika trails behind you. Her slow, admiring gaze travels from your hat down to your booted feet. You feel heat rise to your cheeks under her intense gaze.

"I really do like your skirts." She says, her voice low and husky. She glances down at you, licking her lips. "And I like your pants too, angel." The intensity of her stare makes your core ache with desire.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your bashful smile as Sevika steps closer to you. The heat of her breath dances across your tingling skin as she grasps your face in her hand, the roughness of her callused fingers pressing into your cheeks as she squeezes them.

A teasing glint sparkles in her eye as she scolds you. "You seem to do that a lot, sweetheart." She says, her voice laced with amusement. “That rollin’ your eyes nonsense may get you into trouble one day.”

Chewing on your lip, you look at her through a veil of heavy eyelashes. “Maybe I like trouble, Sev.” You reply coyly.

A smirk curls on Sevika's lips as she rubs her thumb just beneath your bottom lip and you shiver. “Sev huh?” She says with amusement.

“Mhmm.” You hum, unable to suppress a smile.

Sevika's large stallion nudges between you, interrupting the moment and causing both of you to break away with a laugh. You send her an amused glance before turning your attention to the horse, petting him affectionately. “Yah know, you never told me what his name was.”

She takes a step back, her eyes flicking over to you with a questioning glance. “He doesn’t have one. Why would I need to give him one?”

Your eyes widen in shock as you gape at her. Blinking rapidly, you wave your hands at him. “Why wouldn’t you give him a name!? He deserves one!” 

“What like Honey?” She sends you a look and you glare at her. “He's a horse. He doesn't need a name."

Your glare falls as you gasp dramatically, placing your hands over his ears. "Don't listen to her, boy. She doesn't know what she's talkin’ about." You coo at the horse, stroking his mane.

Sevika watches you with amusement, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Fine… What do you think?"

You pause, studying the stallion intently. You shrug. "You know him better than I do. What do you think?”

Sevika snorts, her nostrils flaring in exasperation. "I don’t know. Stubborn shit."

Sending her a smirk, you laugh. "Must take after his rider." Sevika rolls her eyes in response, and you give the horse’s cheek another soft pat. “Maybe just take some time to think on it.”

Sevika silently watches as you hum in the silence, spoiling the large horse with attention. 

Suddenly, her stance changes. Glaring at the sky, Sevika sets her hands on her hips, her frustration palpable. “Why’d your mom keep him ‘round for so long?” She asks bluntly.

You briefly pause before continuing to brush your hand over the stallion’s nose, lost in thought. Sighing through your nose, your voice is quiet and contemplative. “She wanted me to marry him.” Your hand falls from the stallion.

Feeling the need to distract yourself, you move to the wheelbarrow and attempt to lift a bundle of hay above your head and into the feeder. Your arms tremble with effort. “But we got plenty a’ ranch hands, so I don’t mind runnin’ everythin’ myself.” You grit out with a grunt.

Sevika's lips curl up as she watches you struggle. She slowly shifts closer, her silver eyes sparkling.

Seeing her move to help you, you frantically shake your head. “Hey! I can-”

Ignoring your protests, she gently pushes you aside and effortlessly tosses the hay into the feeder. Giving you a cocky smirk, she silently returns to her spot and you gape at her. 

Her smirk widens as she leans back, looking down her nose at you. "Careful, angel." She taunts playfully. “You might catch somethin’ with your mouth wide open like that.”

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you give her an indignant shout, quickly turning to cover your face. Your voice trembles with flustered frustration as you continue. “As I was sayin’… I don’t need a husband to take care of. Mama’s just worried I’ll be lonely, I guess.” Your words become quieter and more guarded.

“No one in town good enough for you?” She pries.

Avoiding her gaze, you scratch at your neck nervously. “I-I don’t think so, no… Plus they don’t really like me, so…” You trail off.

Scoffing in disbelief, Sevika's voice grows indignant. “Why wouldn’t they like you?”

Rolling your eyes, you groan. “Well, it doesn’t matter. There’s not really anyone who’s uhh- my type. Yah know?” You finish with an awkward shrug, feeling self-conscious under her intense gaze.

With a playful nudge, she raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s your type, angel?”

Avoiding the question, you forcefully fling off your gloves and toss them into the wheelbarrow. Rubbing your hands over your face in frustration, you begin to pace back and forth.

“Well they don’t like me, cause of this dumb rumor. Somebody started goin’ round town spreadin’ this rumor that I like women. Which means that people keep their distance from me.” You confess, angrily etching a path in the dirt with your steps. “I mean, some of them are nice to my face, but-”

“Do you?” She interrupts, her voice intense but devoid of judgement.

You chew your lip nervously, studying her features for any sign of disapproval. Releasing a shaky breath, you shrug helplessly as your arms flop down by your sides. “I- I think I do… I- I like women.” You finally confess, stuttering over your words. “Have for a- a long time, I guess.”

Her voice is husky and alluring as she gazes at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “Come here.” She commands.

Your heart flutters in your chest at her tone, your breath catching in your throat as you take hesitant steps towards Sevika. 

She reaches out and hooks a finger into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you closer until your bodies are pressed together. Your pulse races as she looks down at you, her silver eyes darkening with desire.

"There's nothin' wrong with likin' women." Sevika purrs, her thumb tracing small circles on the skin of your hip. "Nothin' at all."

You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "You don't think it's… wrong?"

Sevika shakes her head, a small smirk playing on her lips. "No, angel. I think it's just fine."

Her hand glides up your arm, leaving a trail of raised hairs and goosebumps in its wake. Her hand lingers at your throat, fingers wrapping around the base with a light but firm squeeze. A gasp escapes your lips as you lean into her touch; her chest rumbles against you as she chuckles.

With a gentle lift of her hand under your chin, she tilts your head upwards. She drags her thumb over your bottom lip, tracing the curve in tantalizing slow motion.

Flicking your tongue out, you stare at her beneath your eyelashes as you nip at the tip of her thumb. She releases your lip with a grunt and your eyes drift closed as you feather your lips against hers in a tentative peck. Your lips barely touch and Sevika resists the urge to smile at your timidness.

Swallowing nervously, you grow more desperate for her you kiss her again, deepening the kiss. 

Her lips are like velvet against yours, moving with a practiced ease. You let out a small moan as she guides your movements, her hand threading through your hair, the other squeezing the plushness of your hip. Your body responds eagerly, melting into her touch as your hands find their way to rest on her cheeks.

A small whimper escapes you as Sevika's tongue traces your bottom lip, seeking entrance. You part your lips, and her tongue slides against yours. The taste of her overwhelms your senses - a hint of mint and tobacco, mixed with something uniquely Sevika.

Your inexperience shows in the slight awkwardness of your movements, but Sevika doesn't seem to mind. She pulls you closer, bending her knee and grinding you onto her thigh.

Your legs tremble beneath you at the sensation and your hands fly to her shoulders for support. She consumes the moan that escapes your lips as she rubs your core against the muscle of her thigh.

Sevika breaks the kiss, both of you breathing heavily. As you look up at her, you notice a dark wave of arousal hiding the grey of her eyes. "You okay, angel?"

You can only nod, unable to form words as your lips tingle. Every nerve in your body hums with a desperate hunger for more.

Sevika's thumb traces your swollen bottom lip, forehead resting on yours. "Been wantin' to do that for a while now." She admits with a raspy chuckle.

Your heart races at her words, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. "Me too." You reply breathily, your fingers clenching the fabric of her shirt as you grind against her thigh. “I- Can we do more?” You plead.

She nods, her intense gaze locked on yours as her hands find their way to your hips, grinding you down onto her knee. "Like what, angel?" She teases, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Leaning in closer, your lips brush against Sevika's ear as you whisper desperately. "Everything. I want to feel you." You whimper.

A low growl rumbles in Sevika's chest at your words, a primal sound that sends shivers down your spine. In one fluid and powerful motion, she grasps the back of your thighs and effortlessly lifts you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around her waist as she carries you to her horse, your heart racing with excitement.

"Where are we going?" You ask, trying to steady your voice but failing as it trembles with anticipation.

"Somewhere more private." Sevika murmurs.

She carefully places you onto the horse's back before swinging on behind you. The saddle is a tight fit with both of you on it, but you hardly notice as Sevika's hand falls to the horn of the saddle. You gasp as her other hand moves under your shirt and fans over your stomach. Bending to your ear, she hoarsely mumbles into your skin. “Found a spot that I think you’ll like, angel.” 

Your cheeks flush as heat spreads down to your chest and further to fill your core. You can feel the muscles in Sevika's thighs clench as she urges the horse forward.

With each trot, Sevika's hand on the saddle grinds into you, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “Sevika, how far is it?” You whine, desperate for release.

Pecking your cheek, she hums. “It’s not far, angel. Surely you can be patient for me, can’t you?”

With tears in your eyes and a pleading grip on her hand, you guide it further down to your stomach. “Can’t. I need you, please.”

Biting at your jaw, she cups your core and grinds her palm against you. “Look at you angel, so desperate.” Sevika mocks.

Your hand grips tightly onto her thigh as the other holds her hand against the heated pool between your legs. Your hips buck eagerly into her palm as breathy moans escape your lips.

"That's it, angel. Let me hear those pretty sounds." Sevika purrs into your neck, sucking on a spot below your ear.

You whimper as her fingers increase the pressure against you through the denim. The roughness of the material combined with the rhythmic movement of the horse beneath you creates an intoxicating sensation that has you squirming in the saddle with pleasure.

Sevika's arm wraps tightly around your waist, steadying you. "Easy there, angel." Her warm breath tickles your ear as she whispers softly. "Don't want you fallin' off now."

"Sev, please." Your words come out in gasps, your head falling back against her broad shoulder.

Her words are teasing, taunting. ”What would you have me do, angel? Stuff you full of my fingers where anyone can see?” She pauses, letting out a degrading laugh. “But maybe you would like that, wouldn’t you? If I shoved my fingers knuckle-deep inside of you and showed everyone that you were mine to touch.”

Her lips brush against your skin as she drags her nose up your cheek.

“Oh, but I could never do that to you, sweet girl. I’m greedy.” She growls, her teeth possessively sinking into the skin between your neck and shoulder. “I don’t wanna bless anyone with the noises that fall from your pretty lips. Those are only mine to hear.”

A low growl rumbles in her chest as she nuzzles closer to you, her hand trailing down your side. Your fingers tangle in her hair as she soothes the bite mark with her tongue. "We're almost there." She murmurs reassuringly against your skin.

True to her word, Sevika soon guides the horse off the path and through a small gap between the trees.

You gasp as it comes into view. Surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers, is a beautiful garden. The colors of the flowers range from vibrant pinks to soft oranges, creating a peaceful and enchanting atmosphere.

Carefully dismounting from the horse and leading it further into the lush foliage, she guides you off of the stallion with a gentle touch.

Lowering you down onto the soft grass, her body hovers above yours. Sevika's eyes roam over your face, searching for any flicker of hesitation. "You sure about this, angel?" She asks, her voice filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation.

Wordlessly, you grip her shirt and guide her onto your body. Your hands tremble as you press a desperate kiss to her lips, craving the taste of her. As you roll on top of her, straddling her toned frame, a low whimper escapes your throat. You instinctively move your hips, seeking relief for the intense ache between your legs. She sits up, her body moving in perfect sync with your thrusts.

With a sharp intake of breath, you release a guttural moan that echoes through the air as you throw your head back in ecstasy. Her lips travel down your throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your skin. Her hand fans against your back while the other squeezes your ass, rolling your hips into her.

Her name escapes your lips in a breathless gasp. You look at her with desire-filled eyes, drinking in the sight of her heaving chest and tangled hair. Stray blades of grass cling to her disheveled strands. With a burst of energy, you push yourself off of her and hold out your hands. “I’ll be right back!” You promise hoarsely before rushing off towards the stallion.

Your heart races with adrenaline, your fingers fumbling with the saddle buckles in your haste. Tossing off the saddle, you snatch the blanket from the horse's back.

As you approach her, panting and flushed with arousal, her expression transforms from confusion to delight as she watches you spread out the blanket on the ground. Sevika's eyes soften as you carefully smooth out the corners, her heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth at your thoughtfulness.

Shifting onto the blanket, she reaches for you, pulling you back into her arms. “Well don’t you know how to treat a lady, angel.” She teases, brushing a stray hair from your face and admiring you. "You're somethin' else, you know that?"

You blush under her intense gaze, suddenly feeling shy. "I just… I want this to be special." You tell her earnestly.

Sevika cups your face in her hands, her thumbs stroking your cheeks. "It already is, angel." She reassures you with a soft smile.

Her tenderness catches you off guard, making your heart flutter. You look up at her, searching her silver eyes. For what exactly, you’re not sure. "Did you mean what you said… before? About being yours?" You ask hesitantly.

Sevika nods without hesitation, her silver eyes only growing softer as she gazes at you. "I did. Do." Leaning in, you capture her lips in a clumsy kiss.

Sevika gently rolls you onto the blanket, not separating from your lips. You arch into Sevika's touch as she slowly lifts your shirt, her calloused hands caressing your bare skin. A shiver runs through your body, echoed by the flutter in your core. Sevika breaks the kiss to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside.

You whimper softly as Sevika trails kisses along your collarbone and down towards your breasts. Your hands tangle in her hair as she moves lower, teasing you through the thin fabric of your bra. With deft fingers, she stretches it over your head, leaving you exposed.

Sevika takes a moment to admire you, her eyes dark with desire. "You're perfect, angel." She says before slowly, torturously slowly, leaning in to capture one of your nipples between her teeth, flicking her tongue over it teasingly.

A guttural moan escapes your lips and your hands eagerly push underneath her shirt, nails raking over her back. She responds with a low moan and a shiver.

Her fingers, skilled and experienced, unbutton your pants effortlessly. As she slips her thick, warm fingers into your panties, she growls in approval at the wetness that greets her.

She gives your nipple a tantalizing roll between her teeth before releasing it with a wet pop.

As Sevika's thick finger dips into you, coated in your slick arousal, you gasp and spread your legs wider around her. Her intense gaze never falters as she watches your face intently. Her other hand soothingly rubs your thigh as she whispers in your ear. "You’re gorgeous, angel." She whispers, planting a series of soft kisses along your jaw. "So pretty spread out for me."

Every touch and whisper from Sevika's lips sends a shiver down your spine. You force yourself to relax into her ministrations, letting go as she circles your clit with her thumb. The rough pad leaves you moaning and clawing at her shirt.

"That's it, angel." Sevika encourages, adding another finger and curling them both inside you. "You sound so pretty and I wanna hear more. Will you give me more?" Her husky voice rumbles through your chest and you nod eagerly.

Speaking past a pleasured cry, your voice warbles with need. “Need more Vika. Wanna see you.” With shaky fingers, you reach for the hem of her shirt and lift it.

Sevika chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that sends another wave of heat through you. She withdraws her fingers, eliciting a whine from you. But your disappointment is short-lived as she swiftly rips her shirt open, revealing taut muscles and her soft breasts. A white bandage wraps around her stomach and some of your lust fades as you stare at it.

"Better?" She purrs, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You feel her hands pulling your pants down your legs, the cool air hitting your skin as your panties fall with them.

Pausing, you press your hands to her chest. “Wait, Sevika. Your stomach. Should we be doing this?” You ask, concerned.

Bending to leave wet kisses on your neck, she mumbles. “I’m fine, angel. Don’t worry about me.”

Sevika’s fingers return to their place in your warmth while her lips find yours. She inhales the surprised gasp that falls from your tongue. She consumes every muffled gasp, every desperate moan.

Your hands roam over her skin, careful of her wound, tracing the lines of her muscles and the curves of her body. She shivers under your touch, breaking the kiss to let out a soft moan as your breasts rub against hers.

With a wet peck to your cheek, Sevika lowers herself between your legs and your hands reluctantly fall from her skin. Rising on your elbows, you watch as she trails kisses down your stomach before her mouth reaches your core. Her eyes darken at the sight and scent of you, and she growls softly before delving into you with her tongue. The sound reverberates through you, and she groans.

Your head rolls back, mouth falling open in a silent plea as you grind against Sevika. Your core clenches at the wet sounds of Sevika's fingers moving inside you.

A sharp intake of breath escapes your lips as she roughly shoves her fingers into you, causing you to yelp in surprise. Your head whips towards her, eyes wide and pleading as she stills. With a harsh suck, she parts from your throbbing clit, her voice a breathy rasp. “Watch.” She demands.

Tears cloud your eyes as you nod, your arms trembling. Her dark eyes gleam with satisfaction as she flicks her tongue out with a harsh lick and a smirk playing on her lips. “Good girl."

“Please, Sevika.” You shakily beg.

Sevika pulls you closer, her arm wrapping around your thigh as she brings you deeper into her mouth. Her warm tongue flattens against your clit as her thick fingers curl inside you with each thrust. Your moans blend with her satisfied groans and skin slapping against skin.

“You taste heavenly, angel.” She praises before diving back into you.

Your hand tightens around hers on your thigh, while the other twists and pulls at her hair. Your body curls, every muscle tensing as a deep, guttural moan escapes your lips. “S’vika!”

As you approach your peak, drool trails down the corner of your lips. Your eyes water as you struggle to keep them open, finding yourself powerless against Sevika's intense grey gaze that holds you hostage as she watches you.

With one hand clenched tightly around both of your fumbling hands, Sevika's fingers continue to twist inside you. Her tongue continues its relentless movements without faltering or slowing down at your cries.

Overwhelmed, you whine. “Vika, I can’t.”

Your trembling thighs tighten around her head as she pulls her slick fingers from your body. Her glistening fingers fall to your thigh as she hungrily devours you, running her tongue up your slit before filling you. Sevika eagerly drinks every drop you have to offer, her mouth a wet and sloppy mess on your core. You can feel the pressure mounting within you again.

Sevika's mouth licks and sucks at your pussy, pushing you towards a second climax. You're teetering on the edge, your hands clawing against her restrictive hand as your breasts heave with each panting breath.

"Sevika, please." You gasp, your voice hoarse and desperate. "I can't take anymore." You sob.

But she doesn't let up, her gaze ravenous as she continues her ministrations. You feel yourself climbing higher and higher, your muscles tensing as the pressure builds.

With a light drag of her teeth on your sensitive nub, you're sent hurtling over the edge. A strangled cry tears from your throat as your back arches off the blanket. Your vision goes white as waves of pleasure crash over you, more intense than before.

Sevika works you through your orgasm, her movements gentler now as she eases you down from your high.

With one final swallow, she rises up and licks her shimmering lips, a satisfied smile on her face. Your entire body is still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasms and your eyes dilate as she thrusts her fingers into her mouth. Letting out a deep groan, her eyelids flutter as she savors the taste of you on her tongue.

Reaching for your chin, she grasps your cheeks tightly and pulls your mouth open. You instinctively outstretch your tongue.

She drops a mixture of your essence and her saliva onto your waiting tongue, watching intently as it gathers on the pink of your tongue. With a rough shake of your chin, she mumbles darkly. “Swallow, angel.”

The feeling of her touch sends shivers down your spine as you comply with her demand. She grunts, eyes falling down to your throat as you swallow, rubbing her slick thumb over your lips roughly before withdrawing her hand.

Sevika collapses beside you, pulling you into her arms. You curl into her warmth, your body still trembling slightly. She presses soft kisses to your forehead, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin.

"You okay, angel?" She murmurs, her voice tender.

You nod, nuzzling into her neck. "More than okay." You whisper. "That was… Thank you."

"You did so well, angel." She says, tilting your chin up to look at her. Her silver eyes are soft as they roam your face. "So perfect for me."

A blush creeps up your cheeks at her words. You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “You’re awful good with your hands, cowboy.” You murmur against her mouth.

Sevika chuckles, her body shaking beneath you as looks at you in amusement. "Just my hands?" She smirks, a teasing glint in her eyes.

A playful glint sparks in your eyes as you roll them, but your grin only grows wider. Your thumb traces over her plump lips, eliciting a flicker of her tongue against the soft pad. “Maybe your mouth has its uses too.” You purr, teasingly.

"Well, I’m yours to use and put to work, angel." She winks before capturing your lips again, claiming your mouth as sloppily as she did your pussy.

Brushing a thumb over her pebbled nipple, you slowly draw a line down her stomach, tracing the curve of her body. As you reach for the button of her pants, her hand stops you, halting your movements.You feel a twinge of embarrassment, thinking that maybe she doesn't want you to pleasure her in return.

Sensing your embarrassment, she gently lifts your face by your chin and meets your eyes with a soft smile. “As much as I want you angel, this was about you. You can take care of me some other time, hmm?”

You bite down a giddy smile. “Another time?” You say shyly.

She lets out a scoff and leans back, tugging you with her until you're lying on top of her. Her hand rests on the small of your back, pulling you closer to her body.

“Yeah, another time… What? Did you think that once was good enough for me angel?” Her chest puffs underneath you. “Told you, angel. You’re mine. You taste heavenly. And I don’t plan on giving that up anytime soon.”

You press a kiss to her neck with a pleased grin. Snuggling even closer to her, your fingers trace delicate patterns on the soft skin just below her breast.

Her grip tightens and she gives you a light squeeze. “You effectively reassured now, angel, or do I need to whisper some more sweet nothin’s?” She sounds equally condescending and caring.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, followed by a cocky shrug. “Wouldn’t hurt to hear how sweet and perfect and heavenly I am.” You mumble with a smirk that more closely resembles a gleeful beam.

Sevika's lips curl up into an amused simper. “Oh, it’d hurt plenty. As sweet as you are, seems the more I tell you, the brattier you get. Wouldn’t want to spoil you.” 

With an incredulous gasp, you lift your head. “Bratty? I am not bratty nor spoiled cowboy.” You protest, trying to sound indignant but failing miserably as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “I am perfectly humble and grounded.”

Before you can argue further, her hand comes down with a sharp smack on your bare ass. A yelp escapes your lips as a flush creeps over your skin.

“Maybe you’re just perfect for everyone else, angel, but on our way over here, you were anything but. Used my hand to get off, angel, right out in the open.” She rasps out teasingly.

With a playful tap on your backside, she begins to knead it beneath her palm. “But we can do that later, right, angel? We have plenty of time to work on your manners.” Your body shivers in response and you nervously lick your lips before nodding. “Good girl.” She mumbles against the crown of your head.

As you both lay in each other's embrace, the outside world begins to invade your peaceful bubble.

Fiddling with her finger, you frown as you look up at her. “I- I don’t wanna hide this but my mama…” Your voice trails off as you swallow the lump in your throat, speaking in a whisper. “I think she knows, but she’s ignorin’ it. Just hopin’ that it’ll go away.” You say stiffly.

Pressing your face into Sevika’s skin, you let her scent, her touch, comfort you. “That’s- that’s one of the reasons I’ve been such a cunt to her. Cause it feels like she wants me to be different. Like she’ll only love me until she can’t ignore it anymore. Until I don’t let her ignore it.”

Smoothing a hand over your back, her voice is steady in promise. “Well, I’ll be here with you either way.”

You nod against Sevika's skin, comforted by her words but still anxious. "Thank you." You murmur softly. "I just… I don't know how to tell her."

Sevika's hand continues its soothing motions. "We'll figure it out together, angel. There's no rush. We can take it slow, tell her when you're ready."

You lift your head to meet her eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Together, huh?"

She nods, her silver eyes soft but determined. "Together."

As the sun dips lower in the sky, you snuggle closer to Sevika's body heat. "We should probably start headin’ back." You say reluctantly with a sigh, pushing yourself to your feet.

Sevika watches you slowly dress, her hand propped up behind her head. A smile tugs at her lips as she sends you small glances and laughs when you roll your eyes while pulling on your shirt. 

“You know, you’re a real bad influence.” You playfully scold her. “Made me miss a whole day of work.”

Chuckling, she sits up and puts on her own shirt. “A bad influence, huh? Didn’t hear you complainin’ much when you were cummin’ on my fingers, angel.”

With a gentle hand on your calf, she pulls you towards her. Lifting the hem of your shirt, she trails kisses along your navel. You resist the growing hunger inside of you and instead press your hands to her cheeks. Tipping her face up, you give her a pointed look at her roguish smirk.

Licking your lips, you place a chaste kiss on her nose. “Easy cowboy. Wasn’t complainin’. I like your influence on me… Can’t wait to return the favor.”

Pressing a thumb to her bottom lip, you give her a light peck. “Can’t wait to taste you. To hear your pretty sounds while you ride my tongue.” Pulling away, you send her a heated smirk as you turn. “How’s that phrase go, ‘Save A Horse’…”

Your teasing words leave Sevika momentarily speechless, her eyes darkening with desire. She quickly recovers, a low chuckle rumbling in her chest as she stands and pulls you back against her.

"Careful, angel." She murmurs in your ear, her hands roaming your sides. "Keep talkin' like that and we might not make it back to the ranch."

You lean into her touch, tempted to give in to the heat building between you once again. But the fading light reminds you of your responsibilities back home.

With a tempted grunt, you turn in Sevika's arms and press a soft kiss to her lips. "As much as I'd love to stay out here with you all night, we better head back before my mama sends out a search party."

Sevika chuckles, snatching up the blanket and intertwining her fingers with yours as you walk back to the horse. "Wouldn't want that. Though I'm not sure how we'll explain why we were gone so long."

You bite your lip. "We'll think of something. Maybe we can say we were… exploring new grazing land for the animals?"

Sevika raises an eyebrow, smirking as she drops your hand. "Exploring, huh? That's one way to put it."

You playfully swat her arm, but can't help your giggle. "You’re right. I’ll just tell her that we were exploring each other’s supple and womanly bodies." Your sarcastically retort, helping her resecure the saddle.

As you both mount her stallion, you sigh leaning back into her. “I won’t tell her what we were doin’, but if she directly asks, I won’t deny it. I meant it when I said I don’t wanna hide this, hide you.”

Wrapping her arms around you, she grips the lead and presses her nose into the skin of your shoulder. She tries to disguise the emotion in her voice as you caress her forearms. “That’s good, angel, cause you look thoroughly fucked and I’m not sure how you’ll be able to hide it.”

A burst of laughter escapes your chest and you roll your head back on her shoulder. “Well can’t say I much mind looking ‘thoroughly fucked’ as you so eloquently put it.” Lowering your hand, you thread your fingers through hers.

As you approach the ranch, the sun has nearly set, casting long shadows across the fields. Your heart races with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Sevika's presence behind you is comforting, her arms wrapped securely around your waist.

Slowly, your mother comes into view. Just a small blurred figure on the porch, but you can already feel the infuriated aura radiating off of her.

Releasing a breath of air in resignation, you mutter. “If you don’t wanna deal with her, then I’m fine bein’ dropped off here.”

Sevika scoffs and your head moves with the motion. “M’ not gonna make you walk.”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t nee-”

“‘Specially with the way your legs shook around me earlier.” She interrupts, rubbing her hands over the top of your thighs.

Sevika's teasing words make you flush with heat and you elbow her in the ribs, with a small smile.

"Go fuck yourself." You mutter, though there's no real bite to your words.

“Why do that when I have you to do it for me?” She retorts immediately. Shaking your head, you ignore her as you approach the house.

You can see your mother's figure more clearly on the porch. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her foot tapping impatiently. The sight makes your stomach clench with anxiety.

Sevika must sense your tension because she gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be alright, angel." She murmurs, her breath warm against your ear. "I'm right here with you."

You nod, taking a deep breath to steel yourself as Sevika brings the horse to a stop in front of the house. Sevika dismounts and you quickly do the same.

Your mother’s gaze follows every movement. Lingering on the way Sevika’s hands gently steady you as you step down, hovering around your waist before falling away. Her eyes narrow on the soft smile that you send the taller woman. Sharpen into a glare as you step into the light, revealing your disheveled appearance. 

"Where have you two been?" She demands, her voice sharp with worry and anger.

Already exhausted, you sigh out. “Why? Did you need me here to run your ranch?”

Ignoring your thinly veiled jab, she continues. "I almost sent someone out lookin’ for you!"

A soothing warmth radiates from Sevika's presence behind you, dispelling the lingering anxieties and fears within. “Well I’m glad you didn’t mama.” You sigh out. Turning to face Sevika, you chew on your lip.

Sevika observes you in silence, her expression growing pleasantly surprised as your hands gently frame her face.

With a sudden burst of courage, you rise on your toes and plant a short but sweet kiss on her lips. The radiant glow on your face is almost blinding as you smile, whispering to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Sevika's eyes search your face for any signs of hesitation, but finding none, she nods, sending your mother a glare. Slowly, she makes her way towards her stallion and begins walking towards the stables.

Inhaling deeply, you face your mother with a mix of determination and nervousness. Your mother's face cycles through a range of emotions - shock, confusion, and finally, a flicker of understanding. Her eyes dart between you and the stables, her brow furrowed.

"Mama." You begin, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands. "I know this isn't what you wanted for me. But, quite frankly, I don’t give a shit.”

You wave your hands in emphasis. “Sevika… she makes me happy. Happier than I've ever been."

Your mother's mouth opens and closes, no words coming out. You take advantage of her silence to continue. "I'm not askin' for your approval. I'm just askin'- tellin’ you to stop ignorin’ it. To see me for who I am, not who you want me to be."

Your mother's lips press into a thin line, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "How long?" She finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's new. Like today new." You admit. "But my feelings… they've always been there. Not just for Sevika, but for women in general…"

You lean onto the porch railing, your eyes searching hers. “And I think you’ve known that for a while.”

A heavy silence falls over the porch. You can hear the distant sound of crickets chirping and frogs croaking fills the air. Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to be consumed by the calmness of the night.

Her voice breaks the stillness, raw with emotion. “I want grandkids.” She croaks.

Dropping your head, a shaky laugh escapes your lips. “And I want kids. But it’s too soon to know if it’d be with Sevika.”

She covers her mouth with trembling hands as she stifles a sob. “I-I love you.” She chokes out between tears. “And I’m gonna try. I want to try.”

She shakes as she wraps her arms tighter around herself. “I’m so sorry.”

You silently watch her curl into herself, not reaching out a comforting hand. The softness in your voice matches the firmness of your words. “I love you too… And while I really wish it wasn’t this hard for you, wish that you didn’t feel sorry for who I am attracted to… I appreciate you trying.” Releasing a heavy breath, you tap the wooden rail and turn to walk away.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. For-for not being there, for not being a mom.” Her voice cracks and you pause, your hand resting on the doorknob.

You don't turn back, but nod in acknowledgement, eyes briefly glancing down at the ground. Letting out a sigh, you twist the doorknob and leave her with her thoughts.

The early morning sun filters through your bedroom window, casting a warm glow across your face. You stretch lazily, a content smile spreading on your face. 

You’re fucking gay.

It feels freeing to admit it. The weight that had been pressing on your chest for so long has finally lifted. The past week with Sevika has filled you with a newfound sense of freedom and joy.

As you dress, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. There's a brightness in your eyes that wasn't there before, a confidence in the way you carry yourself.

Heading downstairs, you find your mother already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. There's still a tension in the air between you, but it's different now - less suffocating, more like the growing pains of a relationship in transition.

"Mornin', mama." You greet steadily.

As you look up at her, you notice the redness in her eyes. She responds softly, with a hint of strain in her voice. “Mornin’.”

Your stomach grumbles as you eye the toast and strips of bacon on the table. You can't help but sneak a slice and a few strips before she swats at your hand. With a grunt, you shovel the food into your mouth.

“See y’later.” You manage to muffle through a mouthful of food.

You hear her grumble in disgust as you rush out the front door. Excitedly making your way to the stables, you begin unlocking the stall doors connected to the horse pasture. Each lock softly clicks open and the horses trot out of their stalls.

Honey is waiting patiently in her stall, her soft brown eyes watching you with anticipation. You press your forehead against hers, enjoying the tickle of her mane against your nose.

“How you feelin��� girl?” She responds with a huff and nudges you affectionately. “Alright, you wanna go for a ride?” Laughing, you take a step back from her.

Strong arms envelop you, pulling you into a tight embrace. Startled, you let out a yelp as you're twirled around in a circle. Finally coming to a stop, you lean back into the warmth behind you and catch your breath. “I’d love to go for a ride too, angel.” She whispers in your ear, voice still gravelly with sleep.

Giggling, you swat at her before spinning around to face her. You quickly press a kiss to her plush lips and she follows as you lean back, readjusting your hat. Her arms tighten around your body, pulling you closer to her chest while her own hat sits loosely on top of her head.

“Good mornin’ gorgeous.” You greet her with a grin.

Sevika’s eyes narrow on you. “Mornin’.” Drawing a line on your face with the tip of her nose, she huffs. “What kinda kiss was that angel?” She mumbles discontentedly into your cheek.

Removing your hat, you wrap your arms around Sevika's neck and cover her lips with your own. She lets out a satisfied grunt as her hands wander down to squeeze your rear. Tracing her bottom lip with your tongue, you tilt your head to deepen the kiss.

Sevika lifts you effortlessly, her strong arms gripping your thighs as she presses your back against the wall. You moan as her big hands engulf and knead your ass. Your hats float to the ground, forgotten, as you run your fingers through her silky hair.

You gasp for air as she breaks away from you, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your throat until she reaches your chest. Her hips grind into yours, and your thighs tighten around her. Pulling her hair and she separated from your skin with a wet smack. Moaning, you flatten your tongue on her neck. She groans as you nibble and suck on the sensitive skin.

The sound of awkward shuffling feet and throat clearing breaks through the passionate haze. Both of you turn to see a group of ranch hands standing at the entrance to the stables, their eyes wide and faces flushed with embarrassment. Each one looks anywhere but directly at you two entangled in each other.

With a soft sigh, Sevika slowly releases her hold on you and takes a step back. You linger on the wall and roll your eyes at the unmoving ranch hands nearby. Dusting off your hats, Sevika gently places your hat on your head before adjusting her own.

Resuming your task of saddling Honey, you playfully tap Sevika's ass as you pass her. “Ready to ride, cowboy?”

She returns your mischievous grin with a sly wink. “I’m always ready for a ride, angel.”

Saddling your horses side by side, you exchange flirty glances. With a click of your tongue, you hop onto Honey's back.

“C’mon slowpoke.” You tease. “Would hate for your old ass to get left behind.”

Sevika rolls her eyes with a scoff. “My old ass?”

You give her a firm nod. “Remember when you passed out in my arms cause you were tired.”

Narrowing her eyes at you as she swings her leg over the saddle. “Do you mean when I was bleeding out?”

You shrug nonchalantly and scrunch your nose at her as you ride by. “Eh, same difference, cowboy.”

Shaking her head, she follows. “I was right. You’re a real brat, angel.”

“Easy, handsome.” You chuckle out. “Else I’d think you were startin’ to really like me.” With a smirk, you urge Honey faster and take off.

The wind rushes past you as you gallop ahead, Sevika hot on your heels. There’s a playful competitiveness between the two of you as you race down the dusty path.

Giggling, you slow your pace as a familiar set of trees comes into view.

Falling into place beside you, she leans toward you with a playful grin. Her vibrant silver eyes sparkle in the sunlight as she teases. “For the record, I more than just like you, angel.”

As a fuzzy feeling spreads through your stomach, you both move through the trees. The hidden garden is just as enchanting as it was the first time. Budding tulip flowers have begun sprouting among the bouquet of pink and orange wildflowers.

Swinging your leg around, your boots sink into the soft grass. As you reach for the extra blanket you brought, she watches you intently with a hunger in her eyes. You spread out the blanket and turn to face her, slowly starting to undress with a cocky brow.

Her gaze traces over your exposed skin hungrily as she leans forward on her saddle. “Y’know, I’m startin’ to think you just want me for my body, angel.”

Your smile grows wider at her words and you raise a skeptical brow. “And would that be so bad, cowboy?”

Sevika dismounts her horse in one fluid motion, her eyes never leaving yours. She stalks towards you with predatory grace, smirking. "Not bad at all, angel. But I think we both know it's more than that."

She pulls you flush against her body, her hands roaming over your exposed skin. You shiver at her touch, heat pooling in your core. You wrap your arms around her neck, fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape.

"Maybe." You tease, your lips brushing against hers as you speak. "But right now, I just wanna feel you."

Pressing a soft kiss on her bottom lip, your fingers work at the buttons of her shirt. “Taste you.“ You breathe.

Sevika chuckles, the sound low and husky. "Is that so?" Her hands slide down to your hips, squeezing the plush flesh.

Humming your affirmation, you trail kisses down her chest as you gently push her shirt down her shoulders. Sevika's breath catches in her throat and she smooths a hand over your hair as you lower to your knees, gazing at her beneath heavy eyelashes. Unbuttoning her pants, you pull them down with her underwear.

You take a moment to admire her, drinking in the sight of her toned legs and the neat patch of dark hair between her thighs. Licking your lips, you glance up at her with a mischievous smile. "Mind layin’ down for me, cowboy?"

Sevika's silver eyes darken as she nods, her voice husky with arousal. "Sure thing, angel."

She lowers herself onto the blanket. You eagerly move over her, your lips hungrily seeking hers. As your mouths meet, you can feel the quickening of her breath and the tremble of excitement in her lips. Deepening the kiss, you brush your nails through the soft curls between her legs.

Sevika gasps into your mouth as your fingers tease over her. You trail kisses down her neck, savoring the salty taste of her skin. Her hands tangle in your hair as you move lower, lavishing her breasts with attention. You swirl your tongue around a hardened nipple before taking it between your teeth.

A low moan escapes Sevika's throat. Her hips buck up, seeking friction. "Angel." She warns, her voice husky with need.

You smile against her skin, continuing your teasing descent. Pressing a soft kiss to her bandaged stomach, you settle between her legs. The scent of her arousal makes your mouth water.

You press soft kisses along her inner thighs, relishing in the way her muscles twitch beneath your lips. Her hand tangles in your hair, not forceful, just enough pressure to encourage you.

"You look so pretty, Sev." You purr, leaning in close enough that she can feel your warm breath against her sensitive flesh. "So perfect."

With a soft kiss to her mound, you spread her lips open and run your tongue along her slit. Sevika's breath hitches, her fingers tightening in your hair. You moan at the taste of her, your tongue messily exploring her folds.

Sevika's hips buck up against your mouth as you circle her clit with the tip of your tongue. Her thighs tremble on either side of your head. You look up at her through your lashes, drinking in the sight of her chest heaving with each panting breath.

"Fuck, angel." Sevika groans, her voice husky with need. "Just like that." Sevika encourages breathlessly, her hand gently guiding your movements.

Encouraged by her words, you increase the pressure of your tongue, alternating between broad strokes and quick flicks across her sensitive bud. You slip two fingers inside her wet heat, curling them in her like she did you. Your other hand falls to her thigh, holding her steady as you devour her.

Sevika lets out a low groan, her back arching off the blanket. Sevika's breathing grows more ragged, her moans increasing in volume. You can feel her muscles tensing beneath your touch.

"Can you show me those pretty eyes, Sev?" You ask, breaking away for just a moment. Sevika's silver eyes snap open, locking onto yours. The intensity of her gaze sends your own core flooding with need.

You maintain eye contact as you lower your mouth back to her core. You suck her clit between your lips, accidentally brushing the swollen bud with your teeth. She cries out in pleasure, her legs convulsing around you and her hand fisting your hair tightly.

You hum in understanding, the vibrations traveling through her body. You gently press your teeth into the sensitive bundle before soothing it with long, slow licks of your tongue. Adding another finger, you roughly thrust into her.

With a strangled cry, Sevika comes undone, tightening her legs and locking you in place. Her back arches off the blanket, her hand forcefully guiding your head into her core as she grinds herself against your face.

You continue your rough ministrations, teasing her until her grip begins to loosen. Her legs twitch open, releasing you. You press a soft kiss on her inner thigh before crawling up her body, savoring the feel of her skin against your own.

Sevika pulls you into a deep, languid kiss, her tongue tangling with yours. When you part, she's looking at you with a mixture of awe and affection.

"Fuck, angel…" Sevika trails off, still catching her breath.

A surge of pride swells within you at the sight of her trembling thighs. You can't help but grin in satisfaction. "So you like it a little rough, cowboy?”

Sevika chuckles, her chest still heaving slightly. "Seems like you do too, angel." Her hand trails down your skin, brushing her fingers through your soaked folds. "Don't think I didn't notice how loud, how wet,  you got."

A blush creeps up your cheeks at her words, but you don't deny it. Instead, you press a soft kiss to her jaw. "Can you blame me? You taste so good, Sev."

Her silver eyes darken at your words. In one swift motion, she flips you onto your back, hovering over you. "My turn, angel." She growls, her voice husky with renewed desire.

Your breath catches in your throat as Sevika forcefully spreads your legs apart. She crosses her leg over yours, the heat of her skin radiating into yours. Her hand tightens around your leg, holding it in place as she lowers herself onto you. The sensation of her against you is like pure silk as she grinds your clits together.

A loud cry erupts from your throat as you throw your hands out to brace yourself, one hand landing on her bandaged stomach. Whimpering with pleasure, you bite down on your lip and glance between her dilated eyes. Swallowing down a moan, you apply slight pressure to the wound.

Her hips stutter above you and her movements become more erratic and urgent, her grip on your leg tightening to the point of bruising.

"Fuck, angel." She growls, her voice husky and strained. "You're playing with fire."

Sevika's eyes are dark and dilated with a mixture of pain and pleasure, her lips parted in a pant as she glances down at you. Her tousled hair falls around her face as she moves above you, her skin glistening with sweat.

“Maybe I like fire, Sev.” You whimper, your hips bucking up to meet hers. Your hand moves from her stomach to her hip, pulling her closer.

A predatory grin spreads across Sevika's face. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers. "Oh, I'm sure you do."

Her teeth graze your earlobe as she leans back. Her palm glides over your thigh, massaging the flesh before striking it.

A cry falls from your mouth as your nails dig into the skin of her hip. With a cocky smirk, she roughly grinds against you. You let out another sharp cry as she delivers another firm hit to your thigh.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as your core clenches. But just as quickly as the stinging sensation on your thigh appears, it’s soothed by her calloused palm, leaving behind a warm and tingly feeling. Struggling to maintain control, you grip the blanket beneath you tightly with your free hand while your hips continue to buck and writhe against hers.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps. The pressure builds within you, coiling tighter and tighter with each roll of her hips. She drags her nails over the throbbing skin on your thigh.

"Sev, I'm so close." You whimper, your voice high and needy.

"You need my permission, baby?" She mocks arrogantly. Grinning sharpy at you, she growls. “Cum for me, angel.”

Despite her teasing, her words push you over the edge. Your hands claw at her thigh and your vision blurs in a haze of tears as waves of pleasure crash over you. Sevika follows shortly after, her body shuddering above you, grunting out your name.

She collapses on top of you, both of you panting heavily. You wrap your arms around her, relishing in the weight of her body against yours. For a moment, you just lay there, heads pressed together, basking in the afterglow.

The humid air is thick with the heavy, musky scent of sex and sweat, a heady combination that mixes with the sweet, floral aroma of the surrounding flowers.

Swallowing, you perk up. “Come to the Saloon with me tomorrow.” You pant out.

Your breath stutters in your chest as you bite your lip. She looks beautiful, in her element. Her usually tense muscles are relaxed as she leans back against the seat, one toned arm casually resting on the back of it. The other hand hovers over her cards.

Your eyes follow the slender cigar pressed between her lips, smoke billowing from the corners of her mouth with each exhale. She inhales, her chest puffing out slightly with a small scoff.

The sight of her bare stomach peeking out from under her shirt makes your teeth clench over your lip even harder as you lean back against the rough wooden texture of the bar.

“You’re droolin’.” A deep voice interrupts your thoughts with a chuckle, followed by the sound of liquid pouring into a glass.

“Got a problem with that, Van?” You mumble tensely, still unable to tear your eyes away from her.

Sliding two glasses towards you, he scoffs. “Not at all, kid. Watchin’ you chase after that woman is entertaining.”

You turn to him and press your elbows into the worn wood of the bar. “I’ve done more than chase, old man.” You retort with a playful smirk, the tension in your body slowly easing.

Your smirk fades into a more genuine expression. You trace the grain of the counter with your fingertips as you continue in a whisper. “Thank you… For never treatin’ me differently.”

Vander's thick eyebrows knit together, creating a deep crease on his scruffy face as he lowers his gaze. A flash of sorrow flickers across his features before he quickly hides it and starts drying a glass. “You don’t need to thank me for that, kid… M’ not doin’ anything special.”

Exhaling a disappointed breath, you speak softly. “Wish that was true, Van. I really, really wish that was true.”

Downing the amber liquid in your glass, you carefully slide it back towards Vander with a light tap. He slowly pours more into the glass, clearing his throat and avoiding direct eye contact with you.

“You’re mum’s not talked to you then? I mean, you’ve uh- you’re bein’ safe, right?” He asks awkwardly, his voice filled with concern. He flashes you an uncomfortable, almost fatherly smile. “Diseases are-”

“Oh my god.” You gasp, your eyes bulging in shock. “Please don’t do this. The last thing I wanna talk about right now are sexual diseases before I have sex.” Your heart races and your stomach churns as you stare at him in disbelief.

He lets out a snort, his broad shoulders visibly relaxing. "Fine. I’ll leave you be, kid." He says, almost sounding relieved. “Just be safe.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a glass in each hand. “I hope Felicia’s the one to give the kids the ‘talk’.” You pause, chuckling. “Cause whatever the start of that was, was fucking awful.” With an amused smile, you raise a glass in farewell before walking away. You can hear his deep chuckle following you.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you take slow steps towards Sevika's table. 

“-cures all kinds of pain. Bruises. Sore throat. Animal bites. The poss-” Wincing, you tip-toe around Singed as he pulls another patron into his oil sales pitch.

The noise of the crowded bar surrounds you as you weave between tables, trying to keep your balance on the uneven floor. As you step closer, you find yourself pausing.

Your eyes trail over her toned legs, perfectly displayed under the table, until they land on her core - hidden beneath the fabric of her tight jeans. A rush of desire floods through you and your mouth waters, you tilt your head letting out a heavy breath.

But before you can fully lose yourself, Sevika's amused and cocky voice breaks your daze. “Plannin’ on standin’ there all day, angel?”

Darting your eyes to her competitors, you send her an innocent smile and shrug. “Can’t help the way you stop me in my boots, cowboy.” You gently set the glasses on the table.

She reaches out and her fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt, pulling you onto her lap. “Aww, you just might make me blush angel.”

The two men sitting across the table from her are tense, their bodies rigid and their eyes fixated on the cards in front of them. You observe them with a sense of detached amusement, tilting your head in faux confusion.

“Tell me Sevika.” You begin casually. “I don’t really play poker, but isn’t part of the game observin’ your opponents? Callin’ their bluffs?”

Sevika, with her thick brows raised, glances between the men and then back to you with her silver eyes. “It is.” Staging a whisper, she nips at your chin. “But they aren’t very good, angel.”

You cast a quick glance at the cards and the table before turning back to Sevika with a smirk of your own. “Yah know?” You muse. “When I asked you to come with me to the bar, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

A plume of smoke escapes Sevika's lips as she blows out a cloud of it, her expression teasing. “And what did you mean, angel?” She mumbles, her tone suggestive and playful.

You shrug, leaning back into her. "I dunno." You say with a twinkle in your eye. "Maybe dancin’."

With a casual flick of her wrist, she tosses a few chips onto the pile. Her movements are smooth and confident, exuding a sense of self-assurance. “I don’t do much dancin’, darlin’.” She remarks nonchalantly.

Lowering your lashes and giving her your best smile, you reply in a sugary-sweet tone. “Not even for little ol’ me, cowboy?”

A devilish glint flashes in her eyes as she shakes her head. "Not even for you." She confirms, turning her attention back to the game at hand.

Groaning, you fiddle with her free hand, quickly growing bored. The game drags on, and you find your attention wandering. Your eyes roam the crowded bar, taking in the lively atmosphere.

Suddenly, an idea strikes you. With a mischievous grin, you lean in close to Sevika's ear. "Fine, if you won't dance with me, maybe I'll find someone else who will." You whisper teasingly.

Sevika's hand tightens on your hip, her silver eyes flashing with a mixture of amusement and possessiveness. "Is that so, angel?" She murmurs, her voice low and husky.

You nod, your smile widening. "Mhmm. I'm sure there's plenty of folks here who'd love to dance with me." You make a show of looking around the room, as if searching for a potential dance partner.

Feigning a noise of interest, you nod lazily into the distance. With delicate fingers, you pluck the cigar from Sevika's lips and place it between your own, taking a slow drag. Giving her a quick peck on the lips, you gently return the cigar to its rightful place and slide off of her lap.

“Looks like I found someone, so don’t wait up, cowboy.” You tease, patting her shoulder in goodbye. She snatches your hand and pulls you back into her lap.

Sevika's piercing eyes narrow on you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she absentmindedly throws her cards down onto the table. The sound of groans and curses fills the air.

Rolling her eyes with a sigh, Sevika stubs out her cigar and gestures towards the jukebox. “Find a good song, angel.” She says in a defeated husk.

With an satisfied giggle, you wrap your arms around Sevika's neck and press a soft kiss to her cheek. The worn floorboards creak under your feet as you skip over to the jukebox, excitement bubbling in your chest.

Your fingers trail over the selection of songs, searching for the perfect one. A slow smile spreads across your face as you spot a familiar title.

The opening notes of "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowgirl" fill the air as you turn back to Sevika. She's watching you with a mixture of amusement and affection, her silver eyes soft in the dim light of the bar.

You extend your hand to her, wiggling your fingers with a grin on your face. "May I have this dance, cowboy?"

Sevika rolls her eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. She takes your hand, her grip firm and warm. "I suppose, angel." She drawls, letting you lead her to a small clear space near the jukebox.

As you step onto the makeshift dance floor, Sevika's arm wraps around your waist, holding you close. Her other hand intertwines with yours.

She twirls you around, and the flowy skirts of your dress billow out like wings. Your laughter rings through the air as you both move to your own rhythm. Sevika's grin widens as she looks down at you, her eyes shining.

As you and Sevika sway together, lost in your own world, the atmosphere in the bar begins to shift. The music fades into the background as hushed whispers and pointed stares fill the air.

You're vaguely aware of the change, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when Sevika is looking at you like that, her silver eyes soft and veiled in something all-consuming. Her hand is warm and solid on your waist.

"See? Dancing isn't so bad." You tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika chuckles, the sound rumbling through her chest. "I suppose not, angel. Not with you, at least."

The song comes to an end, but neither of you make a move to separate. Instead, Sevika pulls you closer, her forehead resting against yours. Your hand gently sweeps across her collarbone, tracing the delicate curve of her neck. Your fingers linger on the leather around her neck.

Your hand flattens on her collarbone and you finger at the leather around her neck. “I really like this. Looks good on you.” You mumble.

Sevika's eyes meet yours, and she pecks your nose before pressing her lips against your forehead. She hums, her breath warm against your skin.

Nestled against her warm body, you gently lay your head on her chest and hook your arms around her back. She does the same, holding you close and resting her cheek on your head.

With each gentle rock, a powerful emotion begins to swell in your chest, making it hard to swallow. It's a feeling that you can't quite put into words yet, but it feels overwhelming and intense. Considering the short amount of time you have spent together, it seems almost impossible for this emotion to be so strong.

But as she holds you tight and you feel her warmth seeping into your bones, you know that it doesn't matter how much time has passed. 

You lo-

The heavy wooden doors of the Saloon slam closed with a resounding thud, causing heads to turn towards the entrance. A hush falls over the crowd as they stare at the unexpected intruder.

John.

He saunters in with a casual confidence, his sharp smile oozing with malice as he glances at you and Sevika. His disfigured face, still marred with shades of yellow and green and covered in grime, is repulsive.

Sevika tenses under your palms and you smooth your hands over her shoulders as your eyes cautiously follow John. Seething rage bubbles under your skin at the audacity of the man.

Vander stands stiffly behind the bar, his features hardening as John slowly approaches and takes a seat on a bar stool. Everyone watches, holding their breath as John silently taps his fingers on the counter in front of him.

Vander straightens, his muscles flexing as he wipes his hands on a towel and flings it over his shoulder. His voice is cold as he speaks. “You’re not welcome here.”

John's lips curl into a sneer as he leans forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "That's not very kind of you, Vander. I'm just here for a drink."

The tension in the room is palpable as Vander's jaw clenches. His eyes flick briefly to you and Sevika before returning to John. "I said, you're not welcome. Leave. Now."

John's gaze follows Vander's, landing on you and Sevika. His eyes narrow on your close proximity. "Well, well. Looks like the rumors are true after all." He drawls, his voice laced with disgust.

Sevika's arm tightens around you protectively as she turns to face John, her body partially shielding you. "You got a problem?" She growls, her voice low and threatening. “I’m not sure you’re in the kinda state to be pickin’ fights, boy.”

John stands. The remnants of spit cling to the corners of his cracked lips as he cackles, his laughter echoing off the walls. With a gnarled hand, he wipes away a tear from his crusted face, revealing beady eyes that sparkle with madness. As he stares at you, a twisted grin spreads across his face.

His voice drips with false sweetness, like honey laced with poison. “How’s the ranch doin’?” He pauses, feigning a look of concern.

His gaze moves around the room, taking in every anxious face. "No disasters while I was away, I hope?" A sinister undertone seeps into his words as his leer returns to you. “I’d hate it if somethin’ happened to you.”

Your blood runs cold at John's thinly veiled threat. You feel Sevika's muscles tense beneath your hands as she moves you behind her.

"That sounds an awful lot like a threat." Sevika growls, her voice low and dangerous. Her grey eyes flash with anger as she stares John down.

John holds up his hands in mock innocence, that cruel smile still lingering on his lips. "Just expressing concern for an old friend. No threat intended."

You place a steadying hand on Sevika's arm, feeling the trembling rage in her body.

"The ranch is just fine." You say, your voice cold but steady. "No thanks to you."

John's eyes narrow dangerously, darting between you and Sevika. "Is that so?" He snickers. "Well, accidents can happen so easily on a ranch. Animals die, fences break, fires start…"

"That's enough." Vander's deep voice booms through the room. He steps out from behind the bar, his imposing figure radiating authority. "I won't ask again. Leave."

John's eyes dart between you, Sevika, and Vander. For a moment, it seems like he might back down. But then his face twists into an ugly sneer.

"Or what?" he spits. "You gonna throw me out, old man?"

In a flash, Sevika moves. Before you can even blink, she's across the room, her hand wrapped around John's hair. She slams his cheek into the bar, glasses clinking as she leans into his ear.

You purse your lips in confusion as you glance between her and Vander's face. She leans in, whispering something into John's ear. Seemingly finished, Sevika turns her attention to Vander. They exchange hushed words, their eyes flickering towards you before Vander nods.

Sevika's features contort into a look of disgust as she glances down at the crumpled man on the ground. She turns and extends her hand towards you. Without hesitation, you grab it and she leads you out of the Saloon and into the cool night air.

Untying the reins with steady hands, she carefully mounts her horse. The leather of the saddle creaks as she leans down to you, extending a hand to lift you up. She secures her arms around you as you sit sideways in her lap.

As the horse carries you both through the dark night, the only sounds are the steady beat of hooves on dirt and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees. She leans forward, softly rubbing her hand along your back, offering comfort and reassurance.

The porch light comes into view, the dim glow fighting against the darkness of the night. As Sevika slows the horse to a stop, she gently lowers you to the ground. “Head inside, I’ll be right behind you angel.”

A heavy lump forms in your throat as you stumble through the house, barely registering the familiar creaks and sighs of the old wooden floors. With each step, it feels like your feet are weighed down, dragging on the floor as you trudge up the stairs and into your room. The walls seem to blur as tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision and making you feel like you're walking through a dream. Finally, you reach your room, collapsing onto your bed with a heavy thud.

As you lay down on your side, Sevika joins you a minute later. Slowly toeing off her boots, she lays back, turning to face you, her body mirroring yours as she rests on her side.

Your eyes meet Sevika's, searching her face for answers. Her silver gaze is soft but concerned as she reaches out to brush a stray hair from your cheek.

"You okay, angel?" She asks gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "I… I don't know." You admit, your words shaky. "I'm scared, Sev. What if he… I- what if something happens to the ranch? To you or mama?"

Sevika pulls you closer and you bury your face in her chest, inhaling her comforting scent. "Nothing's gonna happen." She murmurs, her voice low and soothing.

You look up at her, your eyes shining with unshed tears. "How can you be sure?"

Sevika's jaw clenches, a determined look in her eyes. "Because I won’t let it. I’ll be here with you.”

“Promise?” Glancing through the window, you whisper, your voice quivering with emotion as you grasp her hand tightly, afraid to let go.

She meets your gaze and nods, her eyes shining with sincerity. “I promise, angel.”

“Do you wanna stay here tonight? Just- just to sleep.” You ask tentatively.

She lifts your intertwined hands, kissing your palm softly. “Of course, angel. It’d be my pleasure.”

You send her a grateful smile, sinking deeper into her in relief.

With a groan, Sevika blinks away the hazy remnants of sleep. Her skin prickles with goosebumps as she shivers. Every hair on her body stands at attention, her senses alerting her to some sort of danger. Glancing around in the dark, she slowly moves out of bed, adjusting her pillow underneath your head.

Glancing back at you, she cautiously makes her way to the window and gingerly pulls back the curtain with a single finger, peering out. Sevika's eyes narrow as she scans the darkened landscape outside. The moon casts an eerie glow over the fields, creating long shadows that dance in the gentle breeze. At first, nothing seems out of place. But then, there’s a rustle in the trees.

A figure, barely visible in the dim light, darts between the shadows of the fence and the nearby trees. Sevika's jaw clenches as she watches the intruder creep closer.

Without hesitation, she moves swiftly and silently across the room. She pauses at the bedside, her eyes softening as they land on your sleeping form. Leaning down, she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before straightening up. Her expression hardens with determination and she checks the rounds in her revolver.

The chamber clicks closed as she makes her way downstairs, her footsteps silent on the old wooden floors.

Sevika doesn't bother disguising herself amongst the shadows. She wants him to see her coming. She wants him to run.

And run he does.

His beady eyes bulge and his squirrely face contorts with terror as he scurries into the dense forest. Decaying leaves crackle under his feet, branches reaching out and clawing at his face as he runs.

Sevika effortlessly chases after him, her long strides closing the distance between them in no time.

Grabbing a hold of his shirt, she violently yanks him back and throws him to the ground. Scratching her nose, she chuckles darkly. “I told you to stay away. To leave.”

He struggles to get up on all fours, but Sevika forcefully kicks him in the side. He rolls over from the impact and she digs her boot into his stomach. He gasps for air, wheezes whistling past his gritted teeth. “But I’m real fuckin’ glad you didn’t.”

She rolls her neck, savoring the satisfying crackle as she watches him struggle to speak between choked breaths. A sardonic smirk crosses her lips as she watches him glance at the gun holstered on her hip. “You gonna shoot me?” He croaks.

With a scoff, she shakes her head mockingly. “No… That would be too easy.” Slowly advancing on him, she lets her words hang in the air for a moment. “You don’t deserve easy.” She grits out, pressing the weight of her boot into his throat.

Her eyes gleam with a cold intensity as she revels in his desperation and fear. Just as his face grows purple, she relieves the pressure.

John gasps and coughs, desperately sucking in air. Sevika watches him dispassionately.

"You really thought you could come here and threaten them?" Sevika's voice is low and dangerous. "Thought you could scare them?"

John's attempts to speak are cut short as Sevika leans down, her fingers digging into his shirt. Her other hand curls into a fist, and meets his mouth in a punch that rattles his teeth.

"Did you think I lied when I told you I’d kill you if you came back?" She spits. "I know you’re a fucking idiot, but did you think that tryin’ to call my bluff was a good idea?"

Another blow lands on John's cheek.

“They’re coming.” He manages to gargle through a mouthful of blood.

Sevika pauses, her fist hovering in the air. “What?” She pants.

John coughs out a laugh, blood bubbling and dripping down his chin. Sevika releases her grip on his shirt in disgust, watching him writhe on the ground.

Flashing her a red stained smile, his swollen eyes fill with satisfaction as he glances down at her hands. “Seems like you’ve got more than just my blood on your hands… and a lotta people want you for it.”

Her nose flares and she licks her teeth in anger. Her fist clenches at her side, knuckles white with tension.

In a flash, Sevika's hand is around his throat, lifting him slightly off the ground. Her silver eyes blaze with a cold fury as she leans in close, her grip unyielding. “You’re pathetic. Can’t fight your own battles, so you have to tattle to someone who can.” She hisses, her voice like ice. “If they’re already on the way, what’s the harm in killing you?” She snickers.

He struggles to speak against Sevika's iron grip. "Go to hell." He chokes out, a flash of silver glinting in his hand.

But before he can strike, Sevika raises her arm and effortlessly redirects the knife, its sharp edge burying itself in his throat. She steps back, observing the blood splattered on her shirt with detached annoyance.

John gurgles and writhes on the ground, his hands futilely trying to contain the torrent of blood draining from his throat. The metallic scent of blood hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy undertones of the forest.

Sevika watches in silence as John's desperate hand reaches out towards her before falling limply to the ground.

Her throat constricts as she takes in the overwhelming sight of crimson pooling around her feet, her mind flashing back to the image of you, patiently waiting for her in bed.

…

Her mind races as she heads back to the house. She can't stay here, that much is clear. But leaving you behind…

As she enters the dimly lit bedroom, she finds you still curled up in bed, your messy hair framing your face. You’re awake, a patient smile on your lips as you wait for her. “Hey, cowboy. Where’d yah go?” You raise a lazy hand toward her, beckoning her to join you.

She slowly crawls into bed next to you, she pulls you into her side. Curling under her chin, you cross your leg over her.

Sevika swallows hard, her breath quickening. She holds your hand over her chest. “You make me happy, angel… And I…” Her voice trails off into a whisper, her grip tightening.

You furrow your brows, trying to turn and look at her, but her embrace prevents you from doing so. Uneasiness gnaws at your stomach as you hold her closer. “You make me really happy too… You okay, Sev? Somethin’ happen?” You ask, worry lacing your words.

She draws your fingers to her lips, pressing gentle kisses to each one before placing your hand over her chest. “I just wanna hold you. Can I hold you, angel?”

You nod wordlessly, holding her even tighter. Something feels wrong, a foreboding shadow devouring all of the warmth in the room.

But you ignore it. She’ll tell you when she’s ready.

Thump… Thump… Thump…

You slowly relax into her. Blinking heavily, you lazily turn your head and peck her throat.

Thump… Thump… Thump…

The steady, rhythmic thump of Sevika's heart lulls you to sleep.

Thump… Thump… Thump…

Hazily, you feel the soft caress of her lips on your forehead. They linger and her chest rumbles with unheard words beneath your cheek.

Thump… Thump… Thump…

Groaning, you grope blindly at the cold sheets, your fingers searching for any sign of warmth. Grunting, you raise your head blearily, squinting against the harsh brightness of the room. “Sevika?” You mumble, your voice thick with sleep and confusion.

With a loud thud, you flop your head back into the pillow.

Sitting up with a pout, you push yourself out of bed and fumble around for some underwear and your nightdress. As you blink away the remnants of sleep, your gaze falls on a familiar strip of leather lying innocently on your dresser. Your heart pounds in your chest as that feeling of unease returns.

You stare at the necklace, your heart in your throat. Approaching it with cautious steps, your shaky fingers brush against its smooth surface.

Why would-

A jolt of recognition and fear shoots through you. You jump back with a gasp and spin around the room in a panic. Your heart pounds in your throat as you frantically search for any sign of her - but it's all gone.

The stable. She wouldn’t leave without-

You jump down the stairs, twisting your ankle in your haste. “Sevika!?!” You call out, desperation lacing your voice.

Ignoring the pain, you run to the stables. Your thin dress ripples around you as you sprint down the path.

Your mom's hand rests gently on your arm, but you barely feel it as you rush forward. "Sevika!"

Your mom follows close behind, speaking softly in a sympathetic tone. “Baby, she’s-“

Tears spill down your cheeks. “She wouldn’t. Not like this.” You insist through trembling breaths. “Sevika!!”

There’s no answer. 

A warm hand brushes your back trying to offer comfort, but you shrug it off. Your mom’s voice is low and soothing as you stalk toward the stall where her horse should be. “John’s dead. Some of the workers found him in-”

Her voice muffles, growing distant, as static fills your ears. The stall is empty.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you mumble. “I’m goin’ for a ride.”

Your mom's voice pierces the air, shouting and screaming pleas in a desperate attempt to stop you. But you ignore her, jumping onto Honey.

Digging the heels of your feet into her fur, she flies out of the stables, matching your urgency.

A frantic drumbeat echoes in your chest as you jump from Honey’s back and sprint into the garden. Your garden.

The trees blur past as you leap through the gap, scanning the surroundings for any sign of her. Honey picks up on your anxious energy and mimics it, trotting restlessly in circles beside you.

Brittle, browning pink and orange flowers flatten under her hooves. Swallowing down a feeling of nausea, you frantically search for her among the sea of red tulips that cover the ground.

Each delicate petal seems to mock you as your heart aches with longing. With anger and confusion.

Your whole body trembles as the reality of her absence hits you. Your hair raises as the sensation of cold numbness spreads through you. Turning away, you run.

You run away from the house. You run away from the stables. Away from the Saloon. Away from the garden. You run away from every blurred face in town.

…

White hot pain blurs your vision. Your breath comes out in ragged gasps as you slowly pull Honey to a stop. Her sleek fur has grown sticky and matted under your legs.

Nausea rolls in your stomach as you peel your legs from her back. Gritting your teeth, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. Your swollen ankle buckles, your hands flailing to find purchase on the slick fur. Collapsing into the ground, you scream, grasping your foot.

A throbbing burn pulses down your legs and you release your foot with a whimper. With trembling hands, you raise your skirts to examine the source of the pain and are met with raw, shredded skin along your thighs. The pain in your body is excruciating, a constant pulsating that hums through your body.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you resist the urge to scream. Honey nudges you with her nose and you push her away.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

She chews on the cotton material of your dress. You cringe away from her. "Please." You plead weakly. "You're makin’ it worse."

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Ignoring your pleas, Honey continues to gnaw on the fabric while you try to hold yourself. Sniffling, you lift your head and are met with a familiar sight - a stain on a nearby rock. It’s now faded into a rusty grey color. A smeared handprint above a large blood stain.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The piercing shriek that reverberates from your lips is raw and guttural, animalistic. 

Next Part

Taglist: @lez-zuha

[yorsgirl]

In His Arms

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Synopsis: Why should you look for another place to die when you have his arms around you?

Tropes: Angst, major character death

Warnings: Canon Timeline, gn!reader, angst, unhappy ending, non-explicit violence.

Word count: 2.03k

You never liked the sun all that much.

It was always too bright, too warm…always just too much. Even then, the scorching heat did nothing but increase your irritation as you laid sprawled out on the open grass field. Your body felt abnormally paralyzed, heart beating right in your ear; drowning out all the noises of the disaster happening around you.

You don’t remember how you got there.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember anything that happened in the past hour. But you laid there - on the lush green field while the sun burnt your skin, lungs constricting with every breath you took.

You were tired. Exhausted even. Wishing nothing but to fall into a deep slumber. But you can’t. Not in this filthy field (what if some insect crawls up your ear), not when the sun burns so hot (ugh, so annoying), not when your thumping, loud heartbeat almost scared you.

The wish was thrown out of the window when you felt something trickle down the side of your eye. Warm. Assuming it's sweat, you groggily moved your hand to wipe it away. Your eyes drift off to your palm – thick, warm liquid stained it red.

Blood.

For a second, you gazed at it with curiosity.

The next, everything hits you like a bullet to the gut.

The expedition, the unfruitful sighting of two abnormals near your flank, comrades that were trampled or ripped apart by the titans and at last…when it held you in its grasp; ready to chew onto your flesh.

You still didn’t remember, what happened to the accused titan that dared to make you its snack. You groaned but it came out as blood spitting coughs, as you tried to roll over – failed. Everything was still a blur.

Your solitude was cut short when you heard a thud. A figure dropped beside you.

Tufts of Jet black hair and a pair of steel blue eyes hovered through your hazy vision.

“Levi...” Voice strained yet you were able to say his name, without coughing up blood.

The said man kneeled, picking you up in his arms, your head laid on the crook of his elbow and forearm. He gently wiped away the blood aside your eyes and forehead, his touch – like a petal falling on water; almost soothing your aching body.

“I am here,” He assured you, his eyes focused on your face. He didn’t dare look down your body. The sight, even too terrifying for him.

Your right leg was missing from the knee down, the gash running through your abdomen – too deep. The blood loss was significant; staining the grass around red.

In any normal circumstance, he could carry you effortlessly. But this very day, his arms felt weak while supporting just your upper body weight, fingers trembling as he brushed off your hair.

It was minutes ago when Levi reached near the vicinity of your flank (or what once was) after being informed by a fellow soldiers that two aberrants were sighted there. He remembered the moment, the titan’s hand wrapped around your abdomen, as it held one of your limbs in its mouth, the shrieks of horror combined with pain that escaped your lips; enough to break the barriers of his rage.

For a moment, he was pushed back into the utter depths of his memory. A similar expedition, like this one… with a similar scenario where an aberrant took away the lives of his then, only family.

It couldn’t happen again. He couldn’t lose you too…

He just couldn’t.

Seconds, in literal seconds did he disintegrate those titans, their remains were nothing but blobs of flesh accompanied by the blood. The titan- or rather titans, which dared to grasp you; their corpses no- more like what was left of their corpses were left around the bloodied field, steaming into air.

It was painful.

For both of you.

He couldn’t conjure the courage to look down on your injured body, the realization that you wouldn’t make it – too difficult to be accepted. Instead he just stayed silent, as you tried to breathe, all while your chest burned.

“Levi… wh-” You were caught in a coughing fit, spitting blood out of your mouth.

“Easy, don’t talk.” His voice reaches your ears, he gingerly wipes away the blood from your chin. “I am here…” He repeats. You are going to be okay, he wants to tell you that you���d be alright. But he knows the inevitable and he knows you do too.

So the words died down.

Weakly raising your hand to cup his cheek, feeling his skin on yours; one last time. As your trembling fingertips trailed over his cheekbone, his rough hand held yours atop, running the pad of his thumb across the creases of your palm.

Oh… how much you wished for time to stop now.

To let you be like this. In his arms. Just where you were meant to be.

“I am going to die, aren’t I?”

The cursed words lolls off your lips so easily. And Levi just wishes, why does he have to bear this torment?

It’s a question you’ve asked him previously too. A lot of times to say the least. It was annoying, he had thought those times. Shushing you down with the usual - you still have time.

That time is up.

“I told you to not speak.” He rebuked harshly.

But why does this harsh attitude seems to arise from a place of tenderness?

“No,” You state with conviction even though your tone quivered. “You know it too.” You noticed the tighter grip on your hand as well as the stiffening of his body. You were right, he knows it too.

Levi knows he’s in amidst titan territory, he knows letting down his guard is the worst option but… he can’t leave you there. The regret of not staying with you now, would be greater than any regret that he might feel later.

So, he sat down properly, cradling your head on his lap. He stared right into your eyes, memorizing the colour and how the sunlight reflects on them. He gazed down at your lips, memorizing the way it curled as you speak.

 The fluttering of your eyelids does not go unnoticed. He tracd his finger down to the pulse point on your wrist. The rhythm eerily slow.

You held his gaze, focusing on his features through the blur. And even if you don’t like the sun, you can’t help but love how the periphery of his face glowed under its light. You etched the feeling of his touch to your mind.

There are so many words you wanted to say to him, so many sentiments whirling inside you which you wished to let him know.

But you don’t. The declarations too long and time too short.

Even then, in that moment you know he has his tongue tied too. The words left on the tip of his lips, never voiced out.

A silence befell you both, as if pushing you into a trance of your own. A place where these titans don’t exist, the complexities of this ongoing war vanished. Leaving you both at each other’s mercy.

The pain that surged through both of you, for a second stops. Converting into something warm…

You lived in that intimate moment with him. When words fell short, but the thread tying his soul to yours remained strong.

After a short while, a noise erupted from you. Instead of cries of pain or anguish, you let out a chuckle. Causing Levi to give you a look, questioning himself if you had gone insane.

“Ah- looks like I will be leaving before y-you,” You chuckled again, as it was followed by a painful cough.

His eyes narrowed, lips twisting into a frown, “And you are laughing?”

“Would be able to re-rest finally.” Your lips stretch in a grin. “It’s tiring to tr-train under you… every day.”

There’s a reason he found you annoying.

The corners of his lip twitched as he wondered would it be the right time to smack your head and talk some sense into you. But he refrained, just glaring at you. The glare isn’t filled with rage, rather undertones of despair.

“It’s tiring… to train under me?”

“uh huh,” You would have nodded but movement seemed challenging too. He almost wants to flick your forehead for making a joke out of this situation. But that’s just who you were. One of the many reasons he fell for you.

He understood your playfulness. A way to divert his mind. He had sworn to not regret anything but there are times. Times when he can’t help but do so. It were one of the rare times. And you just happened to be the antidote in this predicament.

Humorous, it was. You were standing on the edge of life, still it were you comforting him.

He pondered on what he did to deserve you.

The grin stayed on your lips quickly followed by another coughing fit.

Levi gently rubbed your back and shoulders – his touch again easing the pain that coursing through your ripped abdomen.

“Levi…” You call his name again, the word falling off your lips so sweetly.

Oh, how much, he wished that he’d get to hear it again and again.

His eyes flicker to your face again, even though that blood dripped down the side of your face and your eyes half-lidded; he can’t help but still find you beautiful.

As beautiful as always.

“I’m listening.”

You smile, breathing heavily, eyelids drooping down as you force them to stay open. “O-oh nothing... just wanted to say your name.”

He gulps down the lump forming in his throat, wondering how easily you had always understood him. Through the silent nights you spent on the rooftops or when he completed his paperworks as you prepared him tea.

“But if I had to ask for something… hey… Levi,” You whined with a frown. You assumed he wasn’t listening. But he was listening.

Always listening.

“What?” The heaviness in his voice was evident, he was holding back from crumbling down. His eyes drooped down, the grimace on his lips; an expression you knew all too well.

You breathed in sharply as the smile remained, “Watch it… till the end, for me.”

His eyes flickered with something for a second, before he blinked. Once. Twice. The pad of his thumb running circles on your cheek.

With the tightness in his chest, he nodded, “I will.” The same grin from earlier gets plastered on your face again. That assurance was enough for you.

For, if you can’t see the outside world, to taste freedom in its true form. You at least want him to watch it for you, to live in it for you.

Your chest burned again, the blood loss taking a toll on you as your head felt awfully light. Levi noticed it too along with the coldness of your body, as the pulse rate has almost diminished.

“I am sleepy,” Your voice being a mere whisper.

He knew and you did too.

The time has come.

“Sleep,” He replied, “You’ve fought for long, rest easy now. I’ll be here.”

He gingerly caressed your face once again, his steel grey eyes fixated on yours as if there’s no tomorrow, thumb tracing the outline of your lips.

“And when you wake up…” He gazed at you with so much longing and affection. “I will find you again.”

Your lips cracked into one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen. A smile he locked into his memory. With a slight nod of your head, your eyelids closed.

You breathed out once. Then never.

Levi stayed there, holding you tight for as long as he could remember.

As the despicable sun shone on the unlucky lovers, a little too brightly and the noises from the catastrophe elsewhere started to sync in. The grassfield was still as bloody and filthy.

You passed away, in the place you loathed. But didn’t, in your last moments.

Through unsaid words and silent promises, you took your last breath. But it was alright. Cause you were where you were meant to be.

You were in his arms.

[always-just-red]

I loved the Drunked Call with Sylus scenario you made! I like the way you write it and I see you accepting request hehe. Can I request about... Sylus, Zayne and Caleb reaction meeting fem!reader, dates or accidentally met (you name it) and they noticed her long hair has been attached with chewed bubblegum? some kid pulled a prank on her before and she didn't even aware of it

Aw thank you so much!! 💕 I did different pranks for each of the boys just to keep things interesting- I hope you don't mind! They're all equally silly haha, and I had SO much fun writing them. Added Xavier and Raf for good measure, too!

It's Just Not Your Day...

L&DS Boys (& Caleb!) x Reader

Summary: It's you against the kids of Linkon City, and guess what? The kids are winning.

Genre: Humour + fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, reader gets a little stressed (and with some of these boys you can understand why 🙃)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

One of the perks of being a Deepspace Hunter is the way people look at you. You’re used to respect: appreciative nods and gestures, wide-eyed admiration. You’re out in Linkon almost every day, putting your life on the line for everyone in the city. You’re a hero, right?

So why is everyone looking at you so… funny?

“Xavier,” you speak in a hushed whisper, tugging at the sleeve of your partner’s uniform. “I don’t like this. Something weird is going on.”

He yawns. “What do you mean?”

Can he really not see it? Sure enough, a businessman strolls past you, his eyes locked on you as he frowns, mid-telephone call. You think he even stumbles on his words. “Just look around,” you whisper again. Someone is watching you from across the street, their head cocked.   

Xavier is already looking around. You’re on patrol; that’s sort of the point. But he trusts you, so he follows your instruction: casting his sky-blue eyes around a little more carefully. They narrow. “Sorry,” he says, because you’re usually on the same page, “what are you talking about exactly?”

You fold your arms impatiently. “People are looking at us, Xavier.”

“Oh, I…” he seems to hesitate, “I think they’re just looking at you.”

The words could be romantic, but you don’t get the impression they’re intended to be. He’s implying something. He’s uncertain. “What makes you say that?” you ask, hands moving to your hips.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I think it’s your, you know—” his finger waggles in front of his mouth.

You don’t know. “My what?”

“Your moustache.”

“What?”

Your hand shoots to your upper lip, but you don’t feel anything out of the ordinary. Xavier is staring, though, so you reach for your phone and turn the camera on yourself.

A black, cartoon-villain moustache has been sketched onto your face.

You gape at your reflection. “H— how…?” you stutter, tracing your new feature. Then a memory of this morning flashes through your mind: how you’d fallen asleep on the train to work. How there were those two schoolkids, sniggering, when you’d woken up just in time for your stop. Ugh. Really?

Wait— this morning?!

“Xavier!” you exclaim, turning to him like you’d just found his sword in your back. “Why didn’t you say something?”

It’s just gone three in the afternoon, and he’s been with you for hours. “I thought you knew,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck gingerly.

“You thought I…” You’re too bewildered, too betrayed to repeat it fully. Worst of all you feel guilty; how the hell can he look so freaking innocent? You turn back to your phone, desperately trying to rub the ink from your skin. It doesn’t budge. It doesn’t fade.

“Are you ok?” Xavier asks.

Of course you’re not ok, you feel like an idiot. Your cheeks are hot and the redness is spreading to the rest of your face as you fail to reclaim any of your dignity. “No,” you spit back, “honestly, Xavier, how could you just let me walk around like I’m some kind of—”

You glance up to discover he’s no longer listening. He’s not even here; he’s over there, talking to an old man who’s sat completing a sudoku. Great. Wonderful. Why not? At least one of you is making a good impression on the citizens of Linkon City.

With your eyes close to watering, you have one last, futile attempt at wiping the moustache from your upper lip. It’s not working. Gods, you’re gonna be stuck like this, aren’t you?

Someone taps you on the shoulder, and you look up to see Xavier, back at your side. He smiles reassuringly, sporting a drawn-on moustache of his own. The ends of it are curled even more theatrically than yours.

“Xavier…” you half-laugh in surprise, your eyes watering even more. “Why would you—? Now we both look stupid.”

“I look stupid,” he corrects, running a thumb over your wet cheek. “You look really pretty, moustache or not.”

Zayne ❄

“What… happened?”

You sit across from Zayne on a picturesque park bench, like something from a postcard: blue sky stretched above, wildflowers sprouting from the grass below. Birds are singing, butterflies are flittering about, and even the doctor looks perfect— unmarred by the first half of his work day, no matter how stressful it’s been.

It’s a fairy tale you covet: a little reunion with the man you love, on the odd occasion where your lunchbreaks match up and he isn’t drowning in paperwork. And it would be a fairy tale, if it wasn’t for you. You— your uniform soaked and your hair dripping wet. The wooden bench has gone damp beneath you; you’ve literally only just sat down.

“Gee, I don’t know, Zayne,” you hiss, face almost buried in your phone, “what do you think?”

Not too far away from you, some kids are locked in a water-gun battle, their shrieks of laughter loud and infuriating. Zayne glances between you and them, making his deductions. “Why—” he starts.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniff, wiping your forehead with the back of your sleeve. “They messed with the wrong person, and we’re gonna make sure they know it.”

“We’re going to?”  

“Yeah. Me and you. That a problem?”

You shoot him a glare that sends a shiver down even his spine. “No,” he answers quickly— a survival instinct, uncharacteristically submissive— but his composure returns as you turn back to your phone. “Haven’t you got—”

Another dark look.

“Haven’t we got better things to do than start a war with some children in the park?”

“Not really. Justice is justice.” You shrug before pointing a finger at yourself. “Deepspace hunter.” Then at him. “Cardiac surgeon. Precision is kind of our thing, right? They really don’t stand a chance.” You’re laughing, now: “Gods, I almost feel sorry for them.”

Zayne has been watching your descent into madness with a calmness that does him credit. When he interrupts, it’s gentle. “I don’t think—”

Too gentle; you don’t hear him. “Pick your poison, Dr. Zayne!” Your phone is angled at him to reveal the all-too accessible armoury of an online store. “You’ve got your standard water pistols. Your water blasters.” You’re scrolling and indicating his choices as though you’re the salesman. “This one has two options, single shot or power shot, and— ooh! Look at this one! The AquaJet3000!”

With a soft laugh, Zayne pushes your phone out of his face. He would buy anything you’re selling, although— having seen the prices on your screen— he knows he’d be bankrupt within a week. “Linkon City is fortunate to have you defending it, and whilst I would be honoured, as always, to fight at your side, I was hoping we could… relax. You’re on a break, remember?”

You pout as he peels a wet strand of hair from your cheek. “Justice doesn’t take breaks.”

“Well, justice is going to have to on this occasion, because I said so.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “Besides, you shouldn’t fight fire with fire, or water with water. A lot of people look up to you, you know. Me included. So, set a better example. Save violence for the Wanderers.”  

It ought to be patronising: him, lecturing you on right and wrong when you’ve already added three types of water-gun to your virtual cart. He’s always so righteous. So collected. So moral. You want to be mad at him, but how can you be when he’s looking at you like that? Like he thinks the world of you, even when you’re plotting revenge against ten-year-olds.

You have a point to make, so you fold your arms and turn your back on him, even though he’s making your heart feel so frustratingly warm and fuzzy.

“I have something for you,” he says quietly.

To hell with the point. “What is it?” you ask, spinning eagerly around.

He smiles as he retrieves something he’d concealed behind him. It’s a small-ish box, pale pink, with patterns printed to emulate white lace. There’s a logo in the centre and you recognise it at once. “No way,” you enthuse, “that new bakery finally opened?”

You’ve both been waiting for months. “I couldn’t resist when I saw it,” he confirms, lifting the lid. Inside sit two unbelievably pretty cupcakes, buttercream icing spiralled high and adorned with sprinkles of gold leaf. Zayne plucks one from the box. “Perhaps—” he offers it to you— “perhaps this can make you feel better? Without us needing to, well… attack children.”

You giggle; it does sound pretty stupid when he puts it like that. “Thanks, Zayne,” you grin, reaching out for your reward. You’re glad one of you is vaguely sensible— those water-guns were expensive.

The cake is an inch from your fingers when a jet of water sends it flying from Zayne’s hand. It lands at your feet with an unceremonious splat, and from somewhere behind you, laughter roars.

The doctor blinks down at it in disbelief, his hand still hovering beside yours. He grieves for a long moment, then looks to you solemnly like you’re a colleague and he’s about to ask for a scalpel:

“The AquaJet3000,” he says.  

Rafayel 🎨

“Rafayel, call me stupid one more time, and I’ll—”

You’ll… you’ll… what? He’s looking back at you with wide eyes, his hands frozen when they had just a moment ago been drying the plate you’d handed him. He has some nerve, pretending he’s the victim when he’s spent the entire evening insulting you. This is supposed to be a wholesome moment of domesticity— doing the dishes together before he has to disappear to a late-night gala— so why is he ruining it? Ever since you got home, it’s been: so how was your day, stupid? Hey, stupid, want a hand washing up?

He said he was fine with you sitting out the gala tonight, but maybe he’s not.

“I’ll do this,” you finish, lifting a palmful of suds from the sink and raising them to your lips, ready to blow.

“Puh-lease, you bought me this suit. You really think I can’t tell when you’re bluff— hey, wait! Stop!”

You do blow the bubbles at him, and he recoils, holding the plate and dishcloth up to defend himself. He blocks some of them, but not all of them. “Honestly, Raf, if you’re not ok with me skipping out on tonight then you can just say so.”  

He puts the plate gently aside. “I mean, of course I’m sad you’re not coming,” he thinks aloud as he sets about sweeping bubbles from his suit, “but I’m ok with it, really. You’ve had, like, a crazy week at work. You deserve a quiet night in.”

Compassion? Really? After you just—? Ugh. “So why were you being so mean, then?” you sigh, taking the cloth from him and dabbing away the bubbles he’s missed.

“Mean?”

“You’ve called me ‘stupid’ like fifty times in the span of, what— three hours?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs innocently. “Because you told me to.”

Huh? You stop what you’re doing. “Since when did I—”

He reaches over your shoulder and you feel fingers on your back. “See?” he answers, bringing a piece of paper in front of you. It looks like it’s been torn hastily from a notebook, and it says, in bold, capital letters: ‘CALL ME STUPID!!’

You take the note from Rafayel sheepishly, your lips parted in surprise. How did it—? Wait. “Those kids!” you exclaim, thinking back on your walk home from work. “Oh I knew they were spouting bullshit when they said they saw a Wanderer!”

Your dish-washing companion doesn’t seem impressed by your lightbulb moment. He’s watching you, confusion etched across his face, but you can see right through it. “Rafayel!” you slap a soapy hand to his chest, “you had to call me stupid that many times before telling me?”

“I thought you wrote it. Pet names can be weird sometimes— I don’t know what you’re into.”

He’s still acting. Still lying. Fine, two can play at that game.  

You fall deathly silent, turning back to the sink to retrieve the bowl you’d dropped in there the last time he’d called you your new ‘pet name’. “I guess it suits me,” you mumble, half to yourself.

“What d’you mean, cutie?”

He can call you cutie as many times as he wants; you’re out for blood. You give the bowl another once-over with a sponge. “Some hunter I am. Can’t even tell when some kids are messing with me.”

Rafayel frowns. “Hey, it’s been a long week, yeah? You’re just tired.”

“Tired,” you echo, and you drop the bowl back into the water with a dramatic plop. “Tired? No. I’m exhausted. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, there’s always… something. To make me feel like an idiot. To make me feel… stupid.”

“Hey,” Rafayel tries again, and his voice is fraught with worry. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re not stupid. I’m stupid. I’m supposed to make you feel better and instead I was just screwing around. I’m sorry, ok? Don’t be sad. Please?”

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, resting his chin on the top of your head. You don’t give in, not at first, but then you hug him back. “Thanks, Raf. I’m ok— really.” You hear his phone buzz from where he’s left it on the counter. “You should go. Thomas will kill you if you’re late.”

“Nah, he needs me,” the artist chuckles. “You get first dibs, though. You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Yeah,” you laugh quietly back; your heart not quite in it. “Quiet night in, remember? Go on. Go.”

He steps away from you, though not before planting a light kiss on your cheek. “I’ll make it up to you when I get home,” he says, collecting his phone and the rest of his things. He gives you another kiss when he’s done, dodging your efforts to shoo him away. “Miss you already, cutie.”

“Go!”

And he does as he’s told this time, no matter how listlessly. It’s sweet he wants to stay and make things better, but he already has— he just doesn’t know it yet. It wasn’t the hug. It wasn’t the apology. You lean back against the counter with a smirk, savouring the view as he leaves.

It might have something to do with the note you’ve stuck on his back.

…

Rafayel retrieves the note the moment he closes the door behind him, stuffing it smugly into his pocket. He’ll have a story ready for you, by the time he gets home, about just how much you humiliated him. About how he walked around for a good hour before Thomas spotted the note and gave him a lecture about his ‘image’.

He smiles to himself; he’s a really good boyfriend.

Sylus 🩸

“You should know better than to keep me waiting, sweetie.”

Oh, great. This is just what you need.

You peek over the saddle of your motorcycle from where you’re crouched behind it. “Hey, Sylus,” you greet. The man is watching you, his arms folded. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry?” he repeats, an eyebrow raised sceptically. “What— no ‘patience is a virtue, Sylus,’ no ‘oh please, Sylus, we both know you’ve nothing better to do?’”

You had disappeared behind your bike again, but you steal another glance at him. “Wow,” you marvel, “is this what you did before we met? Have arguments with yourself?”

“More or less,” he smiles dryly, then shrugs: “I’m not bad, as far as sparring partners go. You of all people can vouch for that. Besides, what were my other options? Mephisto?” He laughs. “Luke and Kieran?” He laughs harder.

“I’d rate Mephisto above you,” you add distractedly, no longer looking at him.

“Is that right?” he purrs, and it’s very obvious he doesn’t believe you.

He sounds close— too close— so you stand, re-entering his eyeline so he doesn’t come closer. Gods, this is embarrassing. Those stupid kids; he’s gonna have a field day if he finds out. “Yeah.” You wipe your hands slowly with a cloth, disguising the fact that your mind is scrambling. “The things that bird comes up with, just… scathing, honestly. Emotionally devastating.”

“Oh really?” Sylus tuts. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine where he gets it from.”

You smile back at him, resting your hands on your hips. You do feel bad, actually; you’d completely forgotten you were supposed to meet him this morning for breakfast before work. He’d received no texts to cancel. No calls. How long was he waiting at that sweet little café you’d picked out?

Then again, this morning isn’t really going to your plan, either.

“Something wrong with your bike?” he asks, because he’s already figured out that much. “Besides the usual, I mean.”

Your smile drops. Your whole act drops. “It’s nothing, Sylus.”

“You’ve already stood me up this morning, sweetie. Are you really going to lie to me, too?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. Fine. “Some kids graffitied it, ok?”

“This piece of junk? Really?” He toes the front wheel of it, then catches onto the withering look you’re sending him. “Oh no,” he tries again, with absolutely no enthusiasm, “what a dreadful crime against such an advanced, state-of-the-art vehicle.”

Prick. You keep the label behind tight lips as he wanders around the motorcycle to join you, assessing the damage. You’re stood by a bucket of water and the litany of rags you’ve used to try to scrub it clean— each one a testament to your failure. The sight alone makes you want to burst into tears. The skin of your hands is pink. Raw.

You feel cheated; you wish you were at that café right now.

Sylus taps a finger against his cheek, eyes narrowed pensively. They’re spoiled for choice of what to look at: misspelt obscenities, a generous number of crude symbols. All in permanent marker, naturally. “An improvement, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t say. No.”

“Art is subjective.”

“Yeah? So is your face.” Not your best effort. Sylus glances up at you, amused. “Shut up,” you dismiss proactively. “Besides, this is my work vehicle. I can’t ride around Linkon on this. It would be—”

“Too staggering a blow to your professional reputation,” he finishes like he’s bored.

“This isn’t funny, Sylus.”

He points at a particularly chaotic drawing of a penis. “It is.”

You smack his hand away. “It’s not.” Your voice wobbles, ever so slightly betraying you. This is serious; you could get in trouble. You stare down at the graffiti, despair setting in.

Keys dangle in front of your eyes. “Here. Borrow my bike.”

“You’re joking, right?” You swat at them. “You really think that’s gonna help? Me— rolling up to work on a bike that costs twice my annual salary?”

“Twice? That’s cute, kitten.”

You glare at him, any guilt you felt about standing him up long gone. “Can you just stop? Being you? For like, two seconds? Please? This is the last thing I need today, Sylus. I’m gonna be late. I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of everyone. And worst of all? I was actually looking forward to seeing you this morning. Before all of this—” you gesture dejectedly at your bike— “all of this shit happened.”

Sylus is looking back at you, his arms crossed again. He does nothing for a few, slow seconds, and it’s just long enough to make you feel like you’re overreacting. Then he leans over, running a hand across your bike, and you watch as the graffiti flakes and lifts, turning to ash under the influence of his Evol.

He brushes his hands together when he’s done, straightening with a hmph and a self-satisfied smirk. Content (more than content— thoroughly impressed with himself) he turns back to you. Your bottom lip has dropped in surprise and he chuckles, reaching a finger to lift your chin. “You can thank me later, sweetie, and I intend to spend the entire day thinking about how you might. Don’t disappoint me, hmm?”  

You’re still silent, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re bristling with something other than awe and adoration. He frowns. “Sweetie?”

The second ‘sweetie’ breaks you, and not in the way he wants. You slap his chest, hard; he doesn’t really feel it.

“Sylus! You could have done that the whole time?!”

Caleb 🍎

“Sit still, dear.”

Sit still? How are you supposed to sit still when you’re brimming with rage? Every inch of your body is tense, waiting, yearning for you to spring into action. It wants you to retaliate. It wants revenge.

“I can’t, Grandma,” you whine, crossing your arms as if to hold yourself back. You’re still fidgeting on the chair as she navigates your hair with her scissors. “This sucks. Everything sucks. The only thing that could make this worse is if—”

You hear the front door swing open, then closed. Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?

Sure enough, Caleb strolls into the kitchen mere moments later. “What’s happenin’ here?” he asks, dropping a bag of groceries onto the countertop.

“Nothing,” you mumble. “Grandma’s giving me a haircut, that’s all.”

“Ok. So what’s actually happening here?” he tries again. He’s known you forever, after all; he can tell when you’re lying.

You swing a foot out at his shin as he tries to step closer. Nuh-uh. No investigating. No sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Nothing,” you hiss again. “Gods, Caleb. What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem, pipsqueak.” He uses his foot to push yours away. “At least Gran’s on my side—” his amethyst eyes seek her— “can you tell me what’s going on? Please? Pretty please?”

A hand breaks their eye contact. “You don’t have to answer that, Grandma.” You glare Caleb down. “The DAA has no authority here.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

Grandma sighs; she’s had far too many years of this. “You know Mr and Mrs. Lee’s children? Down the road? Well, they—”

“Grandma!” You round on her. How long did she last— all of three seconds? You bitterly regard Caleb, your voice dark with resentment: “They put gum in my hair, ok?”

“Really?”

“Yeah." He wanted the truth, didn’t he? “They lured me in with some nonsense about a Wanderer. I didn’t realise until, well, until…” You wave at your hair. “Too late.”

He considers the story, then shrugs. It’s clearly not as thrilling as he was anticipating, because he disappears from the kitchen, leaving you and Grandma in peace once more. The silence is as uncomfortable as it is sudden. You’d expected laughter— a lot of laughter. Teasing. Maybe even a shot at how gullible you are.

You release an uneasy breath, resting your head back on the chair.

“Sit still,” Grandma repeats, nudging you, prompting you to sit up straight. “I’ve almost got it. Just one more… here!” There’s a decisive snip.

“Thanks, Grandma.” You slump again, staring up at the ceiling.

You’re not sure what you’re waiting for. Maybe for the blush of your cheeks to cool, or for a Wanderer to spring out of the floor, killing you, so you can be dead and not so embarrassed. You hear heavy footsteps— Caleb returning— and you really wish the Wanderer would hurry up.

“Caleb…” Grandma’s tone is wary. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”  

You readjust your head so you can look at him. He’s clutching what must be a dozen rolls of toilet paper; they’re piled up to just below his chin, almost spilling out over his arms. “How about it, pipsqueak?” he asks as he struggles to balance them. “A little team-up between the DAA and The Association— wanna do your part in reclaiming your neighbourhood?”

Now that’s more like it. “Fuck yes! Sorry, Grandma.”

You’re really as bad as each-other. She tuts reproachfully as you leap out of your chair, and she's disappointed, but not surprised.

[cheralith]

— urge.

feat. isagi yoichi (with michael kaiser) || wc: 3.0k cw: gn!reader, no pronouns used, non-canon au, dark content/dead dove do not eat: cannibal!isagi, cannibal!kaiser, gore, blood, body horror, descriptions of cannibalism a/n: au is lowk a mix of tokyo ghoul and beastars im ngl

THE URGE: Shortened from "the urge to feast", a strong compulsion felt by cannibals who have previously feasted on human flesh to consume it once more either to satisfy a craving or feel the effects of human flesh again.

It pains him. How easily he’s able to gaze upon regular food like it’s nothing. 

And it should be nothing to him. It isn’t a delicacy. It’s just a regular ham sandwich with potato chips—a lunch served at even an elementary level. A child can make this. But for some reason, when Isagi stares at the piece of meat and vegetables wedged between the sourdough, he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. 

After all, the blood from earlier is still ghosting his tongue. Such a taste would be hard to overcome with just a regular sandwich. He swallows, feeling the ghost of a chunk of flesh run down his throat. 

His stomach growls, twisting from the emptiness consumed in the past day and a half, but still. He refuses to move, not when he understands that his mouth doesn’t naturally salivate at the sight of food in front of him. Literal food. Something is wrong.

“It won’t kill you,” you mutter, watching how warbly Isagi’s eyes and lips get as he continues to stare at the sandwich placed before him. “But what will is your hunger. You need to eat.”

“I don’t think I should…” he whispers. Shame wallows down upon his body, restricting him from moving. His stomach angrily rumbles again, a high-pitched whine.

“You can still eat regular food normally,” you sigh and cross your arms. “You should anyway, it’ll suppress the urge. If you keep your stomach empty, the more powerful it’ll become.”

His stomach gurgles again unpleasantly, begging for the food in front of him despite all odds he places against himself. A shaky breath draws from chapped lips, eyes closing as he picks up the sandwich and takes a hesitant bite out of it. Slow chews draw the familiar bland taste of the bread mixed with the sauces and meat, lettuce crunching all too softly.

It feels too easy to bite through. The bread is too airy; spongy. The crunch of the lettuce is too quiet; it’s not as splitting and shattering as bone. Isagi’s jaw ticks. He shivers. 

It doesn’t feel like the chewy flesh from the salaryman he had feasted upon, his fatty tissue feeling like the most tender of meats when Isagi had torn himself a piece from his skin, spitting out the suit’s fabric and chewing heartily on the skin amidst the heat of the moment, his mind separated from his body that acted on pure instinct. How the intestines had started to spill from how much he ate from the fleshy part of the belly, unravelling themselves from the caverns of the body.

He remembers the slickness of blood coating his mouth, the metallic tang spreading across his palette, along with the odd sweetness of skin—a malt flavor he had never tasted until now, bits of skin stuck between his teeth.

At least his stomach has stopped twisting itself, satiated from the nourishment. But it doesn’t cease the craving. Something is still missing.

“Feeling better?” you inquire as Isagi gulps down his cup of water. 

He sighs as he puts his cup down, wiping his mouth. The water is too thin; it just barely manages to quench his thirst. “Yeah. I think.”

“Interesting,” you murmur whilst pulling out your notebook from your lab coat. You untuck your pen from your ear, scribbling something down. 

He blinks, confused. “Wh-what’s interesting?” he asks worriedly when he sees your pen moving violently. 

You snap your notebook shut, tucking it back into its designated pocket and looking straight at him, a curious glaze over your eyes. 

“You sure you don’t feel anything? Like not even a compulsion?” you ask again.

Isagi pauses, then shakes his head. His mouth still feels dry and he feels full, but not content. Like a mild itch that has yet to be scratched. 

“That’s funny,” you state while tilting your head and point at the now crumb-littered plate. “Because that sandwich you ate wasn’t ham. It was sliced human flesh. Specifically from a teenager’s chest.”

Isagi’s face draws a blank look. Time pauses for a moment for him to digest your words. 

Human… flesh? But, he doesn’t feel as replete as he did when he devoured the man in the alleyway. He doesn’t feel the rush of euphoria, nor the constant salivation to prepare his mouth for more. 

Then, Isagi shouts a swear, scrambling up from his seat and clutches his mouth in horror. It still feels dry, but he can’t risk it. Heavy breaths come and go, a poor attempt to calm him down from the feat he had just done.

“You—!” he points an accusatory finger at you, anger and betrayal on his half-hidden face, tears pricking his eyes. “You tricked me! You said—you said you would help me stop the craving. Why the fuck would you—”

“Do you feel the urge?” you ask suddenly, cutting him off, with your face as calm as ever despite his antics. 

Isagi’s gaze captures your own, your eyes boring into him, clearly analyzing every movement he does. “What?” 

“I said,” you roll up your sleeves, showing off your fresh, unmarked skin off to him. Isagi yelps and closes his eyes, fearing that he’d feel the horrible rush of dopamine that he felt two days ago when he sunk his teeth into the arm of the salaryman. “Do you feel the urge?”

“Please don’t—!” he gasps, desperate and ashamed of what may come.

“Isagi,” you call for him again, more sternly. “Open your eyes and look at me. Do you feel the urge?”

A furious shake of his head makes the blood rush to his head, eyes still glued shut. He wails aloud again, nails embedding themselves into his cheek, his hand being a make-shift muzzle. “I don’t want to hurt y-you!” 

“Isagi!” you bellow. “You need to calm down! Just tell me if you—”

“Cover your arms!” he howls again, his other hand going to clutch his hair. “Before I do something bad!” 

He can hear the clicking of your shoes and smell your perfume as you come closer to him and snatch his arms away from himself, unsheathing his layer of protection. He doesn’t even realize tears are beginning to spill from him until you force him to look up at you, your brows furrowed in frustration.

“Get ahold of yourself,” you state once more, your voice bellowing itself in the clinic’s office. “Ground yourself properly. Then tell me if you actually feel the urge to eat flesh again. You’re being hysterical.”

Shallow breaths run through him, slowing his heartbeat and his mind from all the thoughts of the future that ruptured his consciousness temporarily. He stares incredulously at you, your frustrated countenance making him quiver before you suddenly, feeling small despite his physicalities surpassing yours by miles. He hears the hum of the air conditioner once again, the ringing in his ears suddenly gone, as well as the wind of the ceiling fan and the scent of cleaning products of the clinic.

His pupils dilate, mind returning back to its original awareness once more of where he is. Isagi swallows again, feeling his mouth still dry and devoid of moisture. He glances up at you and at your bare arms, not feeling any sort of desire to latch his teeth onto them despite how tender they looked. 

“You good?” you ask, gripping his arms still. 

A staccato of short, but steady breaths run through his lips. Isagi purses them, then nods slowly, a slight hiccup managing to slip its way through. You sigh, carefully letting go his arms and letting himself gather back up again on the counter, the panic dissolving away as you roll back down the fabric of your lab coat’s sleeve. 

“What you ate,” you start, putting his dishes into the sink and facing him, “was the flesh of a dead human. We give those to people in rehab because the blood has thinned and isn’t as fresh, so you couldn’t feel the fullness of its effects, meaning you’re still at a stage where you can control and not be dependent on it.”

You turn back to him, Isagi fidgeting a little in his seat. “Will I eventually go back to normal then if I learn to control it? Like, not craving flesh, I mean… and just craving regular food like a hamburger,” he states. 

An apt pause runs through the clinic. Isagi looks at you, waiting patiently for your response in anticipation that this hellhole he got himself into has a way out.

Your gaze softens at him, apologetic. Isagi stiffens at your reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “but once you’ve gotten a taste of human flesh, it’s impossible to go back to living like a regular human.”

His heart drops, his chest icy as if it just plunged itself into deep water. His vision hazes a bit as he digests your words, or at least attempts to. 

You shuffle your cold hands into your pockets, leaning against the countertop. 

“Humans are on the highest level of the food pyramid—ultimately meaning human meat is of utmost quality and is desired the most. Society just happens to have this contract that we aren’t allowed to each other to uphold a peace,” you sigh and roll the tension out of your neck, noticing Isagi’s petrified stare, a stare you’ve grown rather accustomed to from patients like him over the years. They’ll ask if there’s a possibility of normalcy, you’ll say no, and comes the realization that they’ve turned into nothing but monsters. 

“Those who break it, the ones that give into the urge and eat another person,” your eyes flicker to him. “They’re viewed as taboo not only by society, but to themselves. They’ll torture themselves over it, succumbing to madness, which compels the urge to rise back up again. And the cycle repeats.”

Isagi is motionless, still struck by shock at the fact that one impulsive move had led to his entire downfall as a human being—a title that he no longer has the permission of bearing because he’s no longer human, not when he did such a beastly act to another. Not when he feasted upon that poor salaryman like a rabid, starved animal depleted of substance. 

He had looked like one at the time of discovery of his crime. Blood dripping down his chin, crimson staining his teeth, his canines bared. The dead salaryman before him, chunks of his skin ripped off in places where Isagi’s teeth had ripped from his body to eat, to consume, euphoria filling his brain with each chew and swallow. His hands were gripping onto the body so harshly, just in case it got away, despite the beating of the salaryman’s heart stopping minutes earlier. 

You let him take a chance to speak, but when Isagi fixates his gaze to the wooden countertop again, eyes wide and watery, you sigh once more. 

“But that’s where you come in,” you tap on the counter, grabbing his attention at last. “That’s why I wanted you to be my guinea pig for drugs I’m prototyping to help cannibals like you, even thought I’m not one. To stop whatever urges may come before they get worse.” 

Isagi pauses, replaying the memory of you asking the officers to release him on behalf of your pharmaceutical company, that you “helped rehabilitate” people like him. He could barely digest anything outside his jail cell from the time, still barely conscious from the act he had done earlier, but he picked up that much and trusted you instantly when you extended the first kind hand he had gotten since being thrown into the cell.

“My name’s (Y/N). I’m a pharmaceutical scientist from the nearby university,” you had said to him. “I’m here to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“I agreed to be helped,” Isagi starts, a low mutter in his voice. “Not be a test subject.”

You open your mouth to interject, but the door opens suddenly, making you and Isagi pause in your tracks as a blonde stranger walks in in a somewhat straggled manner. 

He’s tall, at least six feet, and wearing red pants with a black button-down that seems to be stained with something, a dark patch in the clothes. His hair chopped into a mullet, dipped in striking blue at its ends. But perhaps the most prominent thing about him was that on his left side of his neck reveals a blue rose tattoo with a black vine running down its arm and leading to a crown tattoo on the back of his hand. Isagi’s eyes narrow at his rather flashy appearance. 

He breathes heavily, a stain of red that matches his eyeliner that frames around sharpened azure eyes that aim towards you painting at the side of his lips.

“Micha?” you question in surprise as the man hobbles toward you. “What’s going on?”

“I ran out—” he heaves dryly, eye twitching, a quick flash of scarlet wavering in and out of his blue hues. “I ran out of vials… shit, do you have any on you?” 

Isagi watches as he pulls out a long, but empty tube flickered with red spots inside of it from his pants pocket. Blood, he suspects. 

“I…” you stagger back, whipping your head around to look for something. “No, I haven’t had time to prepare you a fresh batch yet, you went through them that quick?” 

The man mutters a swear, fisting the vial in his tattooed hand so tightly that Isagi thinks it’ll shatter within it. “Fuck… fuck! Hurry up and prepare me one then! Everything fucking hurts!”

“I don’t have my kit on me,” you say in a gentle attempt to calm him down. “We have some spare frozen fingers the mortuary gave us, will that help?” 

Isagi can see visibly now as the man draws clearer that he’s salivating—a harsh pool of saliva building up in his mouth that he seems to be swallowing every second. 

“No, no I don’t want flesh, I just want blood,” he groans out, Isagi’s presence still unnoticed by him. The man stumbles into the back of the countertop, slamming himself onto it in imbalance. 

Your brows pinch, trying to find a solution to his pain before understanding that there was nothing before you to use. Instead, you pull down the collar of your shirt, where Isagi can see the faint bite marks and scars ridden leftover on your skin. He has to stop himself from reacting. 

“We agreed only for emergencies…” you warn slowly to the man, whose pupils dilate at the sight of your open neck. “Just take what you need for now. You almost drained me la—”

The man snarls and suddenly lurches forward, his teeth baring and latching themselves onto your neck, sinking them so deeply it breaks skin and draws a river of blood down your body, staining your clothes and lab coat a ribbon of red. An extreme howl of pain rips itself from your lips from the impact, your body going limp from the pressure and rapid blood loss as the man licks at the drawn red rapidly, desperately. 

He manages to catch and grasp you before you can fall to the floor, situating you in his arms and moaning at the taste of your raw blood with bits of your flesh that he laps up, eyes flickering madly with red the more he consumes of you.

Isagi stills, just watching the sight unfold before him and not knowing what to do. Clearly you knew him, so he didn’t have to call for help, and had even offered your skin to him, but you look to be in so much pain from the twisted look on your face and the way that you grapple onto him, it worries Isagi. He just merely watches in shock as the man continues feasting, blood dripping onto the floor from your arm, until you let out a cry for him to slow down. 

The man’s eyes suddenly draw towards him, hooded and narrowed, like he was questioning why Isagi was here, but he says nothing and continues to lick at your blood—all the while still maintaining eye contact with Isagi.

The latter can only stare back in a hard gaze, wanting to tell him off and let you go, but as soon as his courage worked itself up, the man detaches himself from your neck, mouth rimmed with ruby. He licks his lips, clearly satisfied, with the blue settling back into his irises. 

A soft groan whispers itself from you, and you weakly fall forward with your eyes closed in the remnants of pain. The man grips you again in his hold, his tattooed hand running up and down your back as if to soothe you—as though he just didn’t commit one of humanity’s most notorious crimes right in front of a witness. 

“Thanks,” he mutters softly into your hair. 

“Anytime,” you heave, defeated. Your eyes crack open and they focus back on Isagi in a tired manner, making him stiff up again at your attention. “Sorry Isagi… let me just clean myself up really quick and I’ll… get back to you.”

He can only nod in silence and widened eyes, questioning what on earth had just unfolded in front of him right now and what to do about it considering he just did witness what could be defined as a feasting right in front of him… even though the man didn’t actually take any flesh from you, just blood. 

You cover up the bite mark with your blood-vined hand and tell Isagi you’ll be right back, with the man helping you hobble your way to the back of the clinic. Just before you and him go behind the door, however, the man throws him another suspicious look from over his shoulder, as if to send some sort of warning message. 

Isagi can only return it back in what he hopes to be equal fervor, brows furrowing and eyes hardened. 

The man’s lips tilt up into a steady smirk. Then, he disappears behind the door with you, leaving Isagi alone with his thoughts.

He reels his gaze back to where you and him stood before Isagi, against the back countertop. Isagi’s eyes narrow, however, when he sees the dropped vial from earlier sitting limply on the floor. 

Next to it, a small puddle of blood. 

Isagi draws a breath, staring at it and its rich color and how strangely enigmatic it was. Isagi gulps, a wetness pouring over his tongue suddenly.

He licks his lips, eye twitching.

a/n: prequel with kaiser: compulsions

[whoopsyeahokay]

Bubblegum

summary: Zed has a bad day and needs an outlet before he goes on a rampage. guess who has to save the town from a possible Zombie attack? yep. it's you or no one.

pairing: Zed Necrodopolis x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - canon doesn't exist here. zombies being zombies. biting. this is not your Disney's Zombie.

💌this is a little bday surprise for @therosietoesy 🩷 i'm still working on your request, my dove, fret not. i just wanted to actually gift you something 🥰

bonne fête, ma belle

___________________________🫧

Bubblegum

The thing about Zombies, you learned, is that they need to bite. The Z-Bands keep a lot of things in check, basically slow-release sedation to tamp down those violent urges, but if their heartrates rise above a certain level, the technology is about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

And Zed's heartrate? Well, in the wake of the Prawn's devastating loss—that he shoulders the blame for—and another infestation of creepy creature that wants to whisk Addison away forever, Zed is on the brink of a total meltdown. To put it mildly.

His sockets are already black as the abyss when he finds you behind the school, snarling and spitting as he tries to ask for help, for an outlet; need you, now. He grabs your wrist as soon as you get to your feet and tugs you against him. Red lips curled back, yellowing teeth bared, the monster inside him clawing its way out faster than you'd ever seen.

You give him a pretty smile, "You wanna take this somewhere private, big guy?"

And, no, he fucking doesn't. Can't. Too consumed by thoughts of beating his fat cock into you until you scream. At this point, he can barely string together a sentence, words reduced to throaty animal noise. You giggle, sweet as sugar, and raise one hand to cradle his jaw and boldly sweep your thumb across his bottom lip.

"You're in bad shape, huh?" You comment, not surprised when he snaps his teeth at your thumb.

Breathing labored, eyes boring into you as you gaze so fondly up at him, "Want," he manages to growl. You don't consider it an attack when he grabs you roughly and pushes you against the wall, brittle nails digging into your flesh as he lifts you by the backs of your thighs. A long pause wherein he just pants against your neck and then, "Please."

Such a courteous beast.

His Z-band is practically wailing, the sound reminding you to cast that neat little spell you've been using since you and Zed started this thing.

You mutter the incantation between stinging kisses before he savagely shoves his tongue in your mouth, fucking it in and out as he tries to taste every tooth and ridge and soft piece of tissue. God, you live for these moments. When he's completely at the mercy of his darker side. The side he tries so hard to smother outside of Zombietown. The side you love.

Not to say you don't love the whole package. It's just that you're more exclusive with the monster than the man. Person Zed isn't as...upfront about what he wants with you. Less demanding, more cautious. Meanwhile, Zombie Zed is a lot more decisive and has sunk his teeth into your neck to claim you more times than you can count. Hence the rubber-skin spell. Keeps your skin intact and the Zombie cooties from spreading.

He finally releases your mouth, biting and kissing a trail from your jaw to your pulse point. He pins you to the wall with his hips as his hands claw under your shirt, fisting into the fabric before, without warning, he tears it open. Needy. Desperate. Fucking hungry for you in his ragelust.

You can feel him through his jeans, huge and growing as the Zombie takes over completely, and your mouth waters. This is going to hurt in the best way. He grinds himself against your pussy; sharp, vicious strokes a threat of what's to come, all the while panting and snarling into your skin as he chews chunks of flesh that don't tear away from your throat.

Witches and Zombies really do make the best match, you think greedily, equally as frenzied as you yank his shirt over his head. Then it's skin on skin, your bra in pieces at his feet; his big, calloused hand groping your tit just this side of painful. He grunts, hips moving harder, faster, blunt teeth grazing the soft underside of your chin.

"Want," He rasps again, long fingers teasing under your skirt and pressing insistently between your pussy lips through your panties. In a brief moment of clarity, Zed leans back, expression pleading, "Baby, let me—fuck, I can't—" And then it's gone, the green mist rushing back in, making his eyes wild and his movements stiff as rigor mortis.

You don't even have the chance to give him permission before his fingers dig under the edge of your panties and plunge into you, corkscrewing deep as he growls in delight at how wet you already are for him.

"Mine," Zed bites into your throat, and you don't disagree, moaning as his fingers snap in and out, drilling your sweet spot. "Only mine."

There's no point echoing his sentiment, Zed so far under that he doesn't actually care to hear your thoughts, just wants to make sure you're aware that you're owned. He removes his fingers long enough to rip a hole in your panties, then to get his fly undone—the button flying, zipper torn—and his jeans pulled down enough to free his dribbling cock.

His free hand clenches a chunk of your hair and he angles your head, presses his brow against yours, demanding, "Tell me." He teases the fat head between your lips, pushes in the barest fraction, and smirks when you keen.

For a second, you have no fucking idea what he's asking until you remember, "I want it, Zee."

"Again."

Louder, "I want it, please, Zee."

Zed leans in, nips your earlobe and breathes, "Good girl...perfect little prey for me..." and then, fuck, he spears inside you, the feeling like being split in two. He has one hand on your ass, the other tangled in your hair, his teeth deep in the join of your shoulder and neck.

Every thrust is brutal, punching sighs and whimpers from your chest. He doesn't care if it hurts. He needs this. Needs you like this. And you lose yourself in it as much as he does, your nails mauling welts across his back. The sensation coaxes him to move faster, harder, both hands on your hips now to guide you on his cock exactly how he wants. Your tits bounce as he fucks you with everything he has, your brain scrambled from the sheer fucking strength he has at his disposal.

"Close," He grunts. He sinks to his knees, keeps your back against the wall, and fucks up into you with abandon. His head thrown back, lips parted, eyes clamped shut in ecstasy. "Fuck, baby, gonna come."

He slams into you a few more times and then roars his release, biting into your neck with the intention of ripping flesh from bone. Zed stays like that, his cock pulsing inside you as he spills an ungodly amount of Zombie seed, so much that some oozes around his cock. He hitches his hips three, four, five more times before going still.

The wailing soundtrack of his Z-band finally stops. You don't actually need that to tell you he's slowly returning to normal. His muscles loosen marginally, his skin warms; popped veins shrink and his skin adopts a less sickly hue. Still grey, just less dead. It takes a minute for him to calm all the way down, and when he does, he removes his teeth from your neck and lifts his head.

You smile at him, gentle, fond, "Hey, big guy. You with me again?"

Zed swallows. Nods. His gaze falls between your joined bodies, and he licks his lips at the sight before glancing back up at you.

"Did I hurt you?" He has to know, his concern palpable.

"No." You promise, "You never actually do."

He doesn't look like he believes you, but he doesn't argue. Not today, anyway. You watch him take in your torn shirt and basically disintegrated panties and bra. With a cringe, he hands you his shirt.

"You know, one day I'm going to bill you for everything you've shredded," You say playfully in an effort to prove you're okay.

It works, "You'd think by now you'd start bringing an extra set of clothes with you." He teases back, smirking. It's the first time that he's acknowledged how he gets when the Zombie takes the wheel, and you almost miss it because you can't get your brain to get your mouth to work fast enough.

"You keep saying 'this is the last time, cutie, I swear'," You parody his voice as you roll your eyes. "So, why would I prep for something that isn't suppose to happen?"

And Zed looks utterly confused—still cockdeep inside you, mind you, hardly softened at all.

"I mean the last time I'll be rough. You know that I've claimed you, like, eight times," He says, again acknowledging for the first time what happens when his inner Zombie comes out.

You're almost stunned at how casual he's suddenly being about everything after months of ashamed side-eye and stilted aftercare.

"I think that's a pretty convincing argument to be prepared, babe." He tacks on, his expression telling you that you should've known.

Gaping at him, "Wait, I thought all of that was heat of the moment stuff?" You blink wide eyes at him, almost falling back on your ass when he dislodges you and helps you to your feet.

"Heat of the mo—You know I'm still me when I'm Zombied Out, right?"

Actually. No. You didn't know that. You assumed up to this point that Person Zed and Zombie Zed were completely separate entities with conflicting views on what they want from you.

Oops.

"So, when you say I'm yours...?" You ask slowly, not quite able to believe that this whole time you've possibly been Zombie married.

Zed scoffs, hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you into his body, his gaze turning dark and heated. "It means your mine, baby girl." And then, "Why the fuck do you think I come to you when I'm having a meltdown?"

"...because I don't scream in terror and run away?"

"You're an idiot." Zed snorts as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

You shrug, "Apparently, I'm your idiot."

In playful retaliation, Zed nibbles your neck, bites and pulls the skin, chuckles, "Definitely mine." Then, dangerously, "but it looks like I gotta make sure you really understand what that means," he murmurs right as his Z-band beeps its first alert.

🫧___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter VIII

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 7.289 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

Silence weighs heavy in the kitchen as Rafe remains there, in the door, looking at you. His smirk widens, a flash of perfectly straight teeth between his swollen lips. – The new chef, huh? You already hired?

Kareem stands, frantically wiping his hands on his apron. – Mr. Cameron, this is—

– I was talking to her. – He takes his time scanning the room, gaze sweeping over the kitchen like he’s searching for something out of place, something to pick apart. When his eyes land on Kareem, there’s a flicker of amusement, barely there before it smooths into something more polished, more calculated. He gives you a slow, easy smile, practiced like the rest of him. – Didn’t know we were hiring new help.

Kareem only barely bites back whatever it was that flashed over his face so violently.

Rafe exhales a short laugh, like he’s humoring him. He moves closer, leaning against the counter like he’s settling in for a show, and pushes at your plate. – So? What's on the menu?

Kareem puts his fork down, fidgeting with his hands. – Lunch’s already in the making. The new hire was just showing off.

Rafe’s eyes flick back to you, trailing down to the plate before drifting back up. – Was she now? – The way he says it makes your skin prickle. Like he’s talking about a trick dog instead of a person. Like the whole thing is some private joke only he’s in on. – Damn, – He whistles, tilting his head. – Guess we’re getting fancy. You go to culinary school or something?

You hold his gaze, forcing your shoulders to stay squared. You don’t know what game he’s playing at, but you’re almost thankful he’s pretending not to know you. – No, sir. Just experience.

– Sir? You serious? – Rafe grins. – I like it. Real respectful. Could use more of that around here.

There’s an edge to it. A warning disguised as praise. You don’t miss the way Kareem stiffens slightly, the way his grip tightens around the fabric of his sleeve. Rafe doesn’t like him. That much is obvious. But more than that—he likes making sure Kareem knows it.

He reaches for the plate without asking, plucking a piece of cornbread from the edge. He takes a slow bite, exaggerating the motion like he’s savoring it, like he’s considering whether or not to spit it out. Then he hums, licking a crumb from his hand.

His eyes gleam as when he meets your gaze. – Not bad.

– Glad it meets your standards. – You say evenly.

His eyes flick back up, a flash of something sharper beneath the surface. – Careful, – he warns, low and amused. – Flattery’ll get you everywhere.

Kareem shifts beside you, his hand landing on your shoulder as if he's trying to tranquilize you. He's shaking. – Mr. Cameron, is there anything we can do for you?

Rafe doesn’t move. Just chews, watching you with the kind of patience that isn’t patience at all. – Yeah. Well, not you. But maybe she can do it. – He takes your fork, scooping up some of your mashed potatoes. – Lamb roast, like the one at the Wreck. Kareem over here always fumbles it, his lamb tastes like beef jerky.

– Mr. Cameron, the supper’s already planned.

– Well, then, un-plan it. – He says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, taking some more chicken and mash from your plate, and chewing slowly. – We have a very special dinner guest coming over and I want that lamb for dinner. So chop chop. Go ahead and buy the things. I wanna see if your new hire really is up to my standards. – He looks back at you, mischief glinting off his eyes. – Right, newbie?

You let your eyes drift back to Kareem, nodding quietly. – I think I can handle a second interview.

– Great! – Rafe’s smile is almost innocent, he chuckles lightly, his shoulder brushing yours. – Off you go, Kareem. She can handle a second interview.

The man’s eyes linger on you for a moment. His brows drawn together, eyes overtaken by worry. His lips fall open, but they close again as he reaches for a tote bag on the back door. – I won’t be long.

It's a reassurance, you realize, but as soon as the door closes Rafe starts laughing like a child, covering his mouth as he leans into your side.

– Are you always this charming?

– You know I am, baby. That's what you like about me. – You don’t know what to say. A twinge of discomfort still lingers in your chest after watching Rafe treat poor Kareem, who ranks much higher than you, as if he was nothing. – So… – He pokes at you, eyes wide and intent, and pulls the chair behind you closer with a grin. – You’re officially employed now, huh?

– You could say so.

– You know what that means? – He takes another bite of the chicken and hums, happily. Happier than you’ve ever seen him.

You sit down, and he pulls your chair even closer, his knee brushing yours. – That I don’t have to worry about starving anymore because you saved my ass?

Rafe chuckles, the sound light and careless. He seems so different like this. So different from the guy that was bullying one of his employees not a minute ago. – That too. But mostly, that you’ll have to fulfill all of my cravings, no matter how insane.

His eyes darken as he leans close. You don’t miss the suggestiveness, but you look around, at this giant, pristine kitchen, at the calm surrounding you, at this perfect new job you only have because of Rafe.

You don’t have it in you to be bothered for much longer.

Things never go your way.

You might as well enjoy the smooth sailing while it lasts. – Tell me about these cravings then. I know you like my lamb roast. – He nods, taking the other fork on the counter and handing it to you. – What else do you like?

– Tryna get to know me huh? That's cute.

– Go ahead, Rafe. I’ll make it easy for you: Favorite soup, favorite roast, favorite pastry.

He looks at you, challenge glinting off his eyes. – You’re the professional here, aren’t you? Let’s see if you can guess my taste. Give me your palm reading.

– Palm reading? – You laugh. – I’m a psychic now? Shit, I gotta put that on my resume.

– You’re not gonna put shit in your resume. This is your job now. You ain’t getting fired.

His words are even, level, almost casual. Like he hadn't thought before the words left his mouth. But he is still pressed against you, holding up the fork as an invitation, an attempt to make you feel part of his world.

You take the fork from his hand, twirling it between your fingers as you watch him. His expression changes then. He looks so smug, so sure you’ll get it wrong. But you’re good at this. You've never been good with yourself, but you've always been good at people.

– Alright. Let’s see… – You lean back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. His knee is still brushing yours. – Favorite soup? French Onion.

The smirk on his lips twitches, almost falters. You know you have him.

– Interesting. Why?

– You like rich food. Heavy, but classic. Something you’d get at a steakhouse or some bougie country club dinner with your dad. Here's the thing though, I think, for you it has to be indulgent. Something you could eat for days. It's gotta be tasty.

He nods. – That’s what I'm talking about.

– Cheese too. I bet you put a lot of cheese on your soup. What do you like?

He smiles, leaning so close he's almost glued to your side. – I like a good Gruyere.

– Okay, fancy!

– I'm a man of culture, okay?

– I see it. – You tilt your head, watching his reaction. – That’s my first guess. Am I wrong?

His tongue darts out, running along the edge of his teeth. As if he's thinking about it. – Not bad. Not bad at all, baby.

You grin, triumphant. – Roast is easy. Man like you? Only one option: Prime rib. You like it rare, still bleeding.

His brows lift, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and genuine curiosity.

– You sure about that?

– Oh, I am positive. Lamb is still your number one, but prime rib is a close second. You wouldn’t go for anything too gamey—no pork, no turkey, chicken only if it's fried. – He laughs, the bone of your fried chicken still in his hand. – You like the expensive stuff. The things other people think are only good because they cost a lot, but that are actually better than the rest.

Rafe lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. – You really think you know me, huh?

– Oh, I do.

He’s still grinning, but there’s something sharper in his gaze now, like he’s sizing you up in a way he hadn’t before.

– Alright, psychic. Last one.

You take a beat, tapping the fork against your lip.

– Pastry… You pretend you don’t have a sweet tooth, but you totally do. – His smile sharpens. Rafe licks his lips slowly, his gaze fixed on your mouth. – You’d never admit it, though. So it has to be something subtle. Not over-the-top, nothing too sugary. – You pause for effect, then snap your fingers. – Madame Routledge says... Chocolate croissant.

Rafe stares at you, and for a second, you think you’ve finally missed. But then he lets out a small tsk, shaking his head. – Close.

– Close?

– Chocolate éclair.

Your mouth opens, then closes. That’s—okay, that actually makes perfect sense. – Damn. That was my second guess.

Rafe grins, tilting his head as he leans in just a little closer. – Sure it was. – You narrow your eyes at him, but you’re smiling too. – You’re kind of freaky, you know that? – he mutters, taking another bite of your chicken.

– And you’re easy to read.

His smirk deepens, his knee pressing just a little firmer against yours.

– I’ll let you think that.

– Okay, Bella Swan. What else do I need to guess? – You smirk, teasing him back as your hand grips your cup. You’re not intimidated, but it’s hard to ignore how his presence seems to consume the space around you.

He leans back in his chair, watching you with a new kind of amusement. The food he's eaten entirely, almost licked the plate clean, and even as the plate lies between you two, there’s still an unspoken hunger in the air, only it’s not the kind that comes from a full stomach.

– My favorite drink. What do you think? – He takes your glass and runs his thumb along the rim, gaze never leaving yours. There’s a definite playfulness to his tone, but it’s mixed with a touch of challenge. He’s testing you now.

– It’s hard. – You tilt your head, putting your water down. – Scotch. Or something with vodka, maybe a Moscow Mule if you’re trying to play classy.

– Oh, I see, you think you’ve got me pegged now. – His lips curl up. There’s that cocky smirk again. – I do like a good scotch. But you missed one.

Your brow furrows. – What'd I miss?

Rafe’s eyes gleam with something almost conspiratorial as he leans in, lowering his voice. – Gin. The real gentleman's drink. Never would’ve guessed that, huh?

You blink, surprised yet somehow not. – I'll give you that one. You’re full of surprises.

– I like to keep people guessing. – His voice is low, and there’s something almost predatory about the way he’s watching you.

Before you can respond, he casually throws another challenge your way, his eyes alight with the thrill of the game.

– Alright, let’s go for the ultimate test. You ready?

You laugh lightly, rolling your eyes. – Born ready.

He leans even closer, his lips just barely brushing your ear. – Guilty pleasure.

You pause. He’s looking at you like he’s about to tell you something you’re not supposed to know. You lean in, matching his intensity. – What is it? It's something sweet isn't it?

– Peach pie. – He drops the bomb like it’s the most casual thing in the world, his grin only widening at your confused expression. – I eat the whole damn thing. Never fails. It’s the one thing that can put me in a good mood, no matter what’s going on.

You blink, trying to process it. – Rafe Cameron... peach pie? – You let out a small, incredulous laugh. �� You? The ‘I’m so fancy’ guy? Eating peach pie like it's your last meal?

He doesn’t flinch, just smirks. – Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. It’s the filling, sweet, juicy—and the crust? It hits every spot.

You shake your head in disbelief, but you can’t hide your smile. – I guess I see it.

His hand moves, brushing against yours again as his eyes drop to your lips for a moment. – What else do you think you can guess? Maybe... – He trails off, leaning back slightly, a new challenge in his gaze. – ...a favorite movie?

You smirk knowingly. – That’s easy. The one you would say, is The Godfather. Definitely. Eldest son of a legendary man, making the world his own? That's all you, Rafe. – There’s a different glint to his eye now, his smile softens, his eyes round the slightest bit, like one of the walls he's put up just fell to his feet around the both of you. – But that's not your favorite is it? It's cool, but it can get a little boring. Not the sort of thing you re-watch. You like a little feel-good.

– You're getting colder…

– I think... Men in Black?

Rafe laughs. – Nope. – He leans in again, lowering his voice just for you. – Shrek.

You blink at him. – Shrek? – You can’t contain your laughter. It feels so fitting, just the right amount of darkness with a lot of humor. It's Rafe to a T.

He grins wickedly. – What? I like the layers. I’m a complicated guy.

You shake your head, laughing. – Of course you do. You’re a walking contradiction, Rafe.

Rafe leans back in his chair again, that infuriating smugness back on his face. – That’s what makes me interesting.

You narrow your eyes, but your smile says it all. – So, what’s your real secret then? You’ve been dropping little hints, but I think I got you figured out.

He grins, standing up to grab the bottle of scotch. – Not yet, that’s-so-Raven. You still have a lot to learn.

He pours himself a drink, you can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he’s starting to enjoy the game as much as you are. – You want me to dig deeper? Think you can handle that?

– Oh, I can handle it. – He dawns the drink in one breath, flopping back on the seat right in front of you.

– Give me your hands, traveler. Let's see what’s written in your soul. – He’s laughing as he hands himself over, you can see the smallest of shivers blooming in his arms as you cart a finger through the lines of his right hand. – Favorite color, favorite season, favorite ice cream.

– You’re never gonna guess that. None of that.

– Wanna bet?

– What do I get when I win?

– Don’t jump the gun yet, mr. This-is-my-swamp-Corleone. I have not yet revealed all of my talents. – He raises a brow, licking his lips as his eyes trail down your body.

– I’m hoping you’ll show me the talent I’m thinking about when I win.

– Hilarious.

– I’ll guess you! – He grins. – Best of three, how bout that? Loser drinks with every wrong one.

You can feel the smirk tugging at your lips before you even speak. – Someone’s getting cocky.

– I don’t get cocky. I just know you’re not gonna get it.

– You better not bet a drink then. You’ll be owing me a bottle when I’m done with you.

– Fine then, baby. – His eyes flick to your lips. – A kiss then, loser kisses where the winner says.

– With this lipstick? You’re out of your mind.

– I don’t mind if you leave a mark. I like it. – You can see the gears turning in his head. – C’mon. Is someone gonna chicken out?

– Oh, you’re on, mister. Me first. Your favorite color: Judging by the fact that every shirt I’ve ever seen you wear is blue, and your shoes are blue, and your comforter is blue, and your eyes are blue, this is a really tough one. I’d say, blue.

– What kind of blue?

– So I’m right! – You can’t help the giggle. You’ve always been competitive, and this day has you in such a good mood, it falls from your lips before you can even think.

– No! You gotta guess the shade too!

– What am I, home depot? Nobody’s painting walls here, just accept that I won!

– Okay, okay. Where do I kiss? – You laugh, take back your right hand, and point to the floor. It takes Rafe a minute to follow the line. – You’re absolutely hilarious, y’know that?

– I don’t know why you think I’m joking.

– Where do I kiss you?

– Changing the rules, now, Mr. Cameron? – He doesn’t even answer, just leans closer, a smile bright on his face as he pulls back your shirt to kiss your collarbone. His lips remain there for a moment, brushing against your skin like he’s savoring every second. – Sore loser.

– We’ll see who’s losing next. – He squeezes your nose in his fingers as he pulls back, still smiling. – Go ahead. What’s my favorite season?

– Summer.

– You think I’m that much of a plebe?

– Plebe, really?! – You’re laughing now, and he’s holding both our legs as he pulls his chair closer, until his is less than a foot away from yours. – You are a sociological experience, Rafe.

– Wrong. – You can see the pleasure it gives him to say that. – My knee.

You can’t even help the scoff. – You’re wearing pants.

– I can take them off, if you want. – He's squeezing you know, eyes glinting with something almost possessive.

– That's funny. It's just gonna stain.

– Maybe I want it to stain. – He hums, hooking his right hand under your knees and pulling you closer. – Now, you get down there and kiss me.

You shake your head, laughing, but stay put. He doesn’t wanna play your game, might as well play by your own rules.

So you lean in a little closer, just enough that you can feel his breath hitch against your skin, and pull at the collar of his polo. Your lips land just where his had, on the collarbone, and Rafe chuckles lowly, humming with his hand in your hair, keeping you there until you pull away.

You watch the shape of your lips peek from under the cotton of his shirt, deep red and perfectly contoured. It almost seemed like a tattoo. – Your favorite ice cream now. – His fingers are still tangled in the strands of your hair, warm as anything, but still as a stone. – You are a man of hedonisms. You like it sweet, rich, flavorful. But, you are also very layered.

– Thank you.

– That’s nothing. My guess is something indulgent, that’s sweet but not too sweet. Some different textures, some contrasting flavors. A rocky road, if you will. – He smiles, defeated. And you know you read him like a book. – I told you I was good. If I may go a little deeper?

– Go as deep as you want.

– Your perfect rocky road is the dutch chocolate one, with hazelnuts, and marshmallow bits.

– Marshmallow swirl. – He corrects.

– Damn. – You snap your fingers, earning a laugh out of Rafe. – I’ve gotta give it to you, there is not a single thing in your list that is even remotely dubious. Everything is undeniably great.

– That’s who I am. Perfect all-round

You laugh. – Conceited, much?

– Honest. – He corrects. – Now you.

You’re shaking your head before he even starts. – This is not about me.

– You think you’re that hard to guess?

– You’ll never know, Rafe. I will never tell you. My mama always said, remain a creature of mystery. Otherwise people get bored and fuck off. – Rafe raises a brow. – Yeah, that’s it. That’s her whole philosophy.

– Sounds like a bitch. – You laugh, and he does too. You feel a little lighter. – But lets get into it. I wanna know you too.

– That’s too damn bad.

– That's not fair now, baby. You had an advantage.

– Oh, boo-hoo. – You grin. – Told you I would win.

– I still have to kiss you somewhere else.

You hum, tapping your finger on your chin as you smile. Rafe doesn’t even seem angry, his eyes just glint darkly.

You extend your hand. – As Rodrigo Borgia said to Caterina of Forli: Kiss the ring, bitch.

Rafe’s laughter echoes in your ear, low and rich with something dangerous as he takes your hand, his fingers curling around yours. He leans in, lips inches from your hand, but instead of kissing your hand, he trails his mouth up to your neck.

– Careful, – You murmur, almost smiling as you press your palm to his chest, trying to push him away, but his lips keep moving against your skin.

– You said I had to kiss somewhere else. – He whispers, his voice muffled against your neck as he pulls you closer, his hand sliding to your back, pulling you into his body. His other hand is still entwined in your hair, gently tugging to hold you in place.

You roll your eyes, amused by his persistence. But just as you're about to push him off again, something startles you. His phone, tucked in his pocket, rings—a sharp, sudden sound that cuts through the tension between you two.

Rafe groans, pulling away from your neck, a growl of frustration slipping from his lips. His eyes narrow. – No way, – He mutters, already diving in again.

You stop him. – Could be important.

He glances at the screen, and his irritation becomes palpable, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he stares at the name flashing on the display. It’s his father. You can see it clearly from here.

– It’s him, – Rafe mutters under his breath, exhaling sharply through his nose. The smirk he had on his lips fades slightly, replaced by an edge of annoyance. – Of course it's him.

You can’t help but feel the shift in the energy between you two, but you lean back, giving him space to take the call if he has to. – Go ahead. I should get back to work, my boss is really strict.

He shoots you a glare, but there’s something almost resigned in the way he looks at the phone.

– I don’t have a choice, do I? – He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair before answering the call. His voice is low, almost cold as he speaks into the phone, and you can’t help but notice the way the playful, carefree Rafe fades with each word exchanged.

The call doesn't last long, just a bunch of monotone sounds from Rafe, who sits there, sulking, as you clean up and start chopping vegetables. When he eventually hangs up, there's an unsettling silence from him. Rafe sighs, his hand running over his face in frustration.

– Bastard. – he mutters, more defeated than you’ve ever heard him. He looks at you, his eyes softening, but the playfulness is gone. – Guess you got lucky this time, – He says, the words carrying a weight that wasn’t there before.

– No big deal, I can always beat your ass later.

Rafe leans back in his chair, and stands, coming closer. He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes distant for a moment as he comes up behind you, looking at your work as he leans his chin on your shoulder. – I have to go.

– It's okay. I'll catch up with you later.

He doesn’t seem to hear you. Instead his arms snake around your waist, face burying deeper into your neck.

You look over your shoulder, hoping Kareem is still far.

– Your father's gone, right?

The question stops you cold. The knife in your hand suddenly feeling heavy. – Yeah.

Rafe burrows in a little closer, breathing you in. – Did you ever wish he would drop dead? – A shiver tears through you as he remains there, holding you in that iron grip, as if he was physically grounding himself, as if his father might burst through the doors and try to drag him away.

You think about it, but you don't have to.

The answer is easy enough.

A thousand times.

Every time you walked into a room he was in, he'd sigh, heavy, as if your presence alone made the space uncomfortable. At some point, you stopped wishing you'd die, and transferred over that rage to him.

Whenever he scoffed at you, you prayed for a heart attack.

When he cursed at you, you wished he'd be mugged in the street.

When he grabbed you, when he'd pull you around, your thoughts got more violent. They worsened and worsened until the day he slapped you, and you found yourself laying on the floor, digging your nails into your hands as you thought about the knives you were always sharpening, sitting there in the drawer, completely unwatched.

You fed on that memory for a while. To the point that every time you saw him you were clenching your fists.

But had you meant it? – Yeah. A couple times.

Rafe doesn’t say anything else. He squeezes you one last time, almost as if plucking the feel of your body against his from that moment. You can feel him hanging onto it as he walks away.

His steps echo loud into the house, beyond the threshold you can step through, and you go through the motions almost robotically, cooking and prepping and cleaning as if it was gonna save you from the thought he’d left you with.

Work goes by smoothly, though your mind remains a wasteland. Kareem is quieter, too, after he returns, and he keeps looking back and forth between what he does and the doorway, a strange resentment burning in his eyes. You don’t meddle, your own spirits low after the talk with Rafe.

Lunch goes by in a blur, even without the chaos of lunch rush at a restaurant. You feel yourself drown out the noise around you, diving completely into the work. Your partner makes a couple comments here and there. He checks your roast, tweaks your reduction, analyses your vegetables. His smile is reassuring everytime he turns to you, tasting this dish and the other with the comically tiny spoon he keeps in a special pocket on his apron, and pats your back like a middle aged dad whenever the servants come in to take your trays away.

– You work quick. – He finally comments, finishing the plate you made for him, as Rose and Ward lunch alone in the dining room. – Every time I looked at you you were doing something else.

– You work quiet. – You smile back, and when he widens his eyes, you immediately clarify. – It’s nice! Like working with a zen master. I’ve never cooked for so long without someone screaming at me.

– Working at a restaurant kitchen makes you feel like the world’s gonna end. – He laughs, but his eyes fall back to the plate, suddenly darkening. – I actually used to have nightmares about burning entrees and being late on mains when I still worked at the bar.

You ponder what to say for a moment, clearly caught in a touchy subject. – I can tell you’re sleeping well, now. Your skin is glowing.

Flattery really does go a long way.

Kareem smiles, finishing his food in silence as you clean up, and the two of you don’t really speak much until the dinner prep starts looming closer.

Supper waits for no one, and Kareem snaps back into focus as the time approaches. — He’s methodical, you admire that in him. —So you follow his lead, letting routine take over, movements automatic as you prepare the kitchen. The momentary stillness gives way to the familiar rhythm of preparation—the clatter of knives, the hum of the oven preheating, the weight of expectation settling over you like a second skin.

You take charge of the entrees and the main dish while Kareem handles the sides. The lamb roast is yours to perfect, its success a quiet challenge, a second interview you refuse to fail. You roll up your sleeves, minding the ingredients you laid out, and get to work.

You begin with the prep, sliding the lamb onto the cutting board, fingers tracing the marbled surface, gauging its density, its fat distribution. A perfect cut. You reach for the boning knife, and trim the excess fat—just enough to allow the seasonings to penetrate deeper, not enough to sacrifice flavor. The rendered trimmings will be saved, melted down for later use. Nothing wasted.

Next, the seasoning. Garlic cloves are smashed under the flat of your knife, their oils bursting free, before you mince them into a fine paste. Rosemary leaves are stripped from their stems, crushed between your fingers, the scent sharp and green. You mix them with flaky sea salt and cracked pepper, the coarse grains binding to the moisture of the garlic. The mixture is worked into the lamb with steady hands, pressing into every groove, every fold of muscle, ensuring the flavors seep into the fibers of the meat.

The pan is already waiting, and you’re happy for the freedom of throwing a healthy dollop of butter on the iron without having to watch out for Anthony’s pretentious complaints. The sizzle is loud as you lay the lamb down. The heat grips the surface, searing it to a perfect crust, the scent of browning fat filling the kitchen. You tilt the pan, spooning the bubbling butter over the top, watching it soak into the herbs and garlic, turning the surface deep amber. When every side is sealed, you transfer it to the preheated oven, where the slow heat will coax out the tenderness, the juices locking in beneath the crisp exterior.

Beside you, Kareem dices vegetables with methodical efficiency, the rhythmic tap of his knife grounding like the hum of a monk deep in prayer. You glance over your shoulder, watching as he peels and slices carrots into thin ribbons, tossing them into a pan where melted butter and honey wait to coat them in a glossy sheen. He looks so peaceful, so in his element. It's almost cute. You catch the faintest scent of citrus as he zests an orange, preparing the glaze for the carrots, and there’s a moment where he looks up, meeting your eyes briefly before returning to his task.

Turning back to your own work, you begin assembling the entrees. You lay out fresh slices of crusty baguette, rubbing each piece with raw garlic before topping them with a blend of ricotta and herbs, the creamy spread flecked with chopped basil and thyme. Cherry tomatoes, roasted until blistered and sweet, are gently pressed atop each slice, their juices seeping into the bread. A final drizzle of balsamic reduction finishes the dish, the deep, tangy aroma curling into the already fragrant air of the kitchen.

By the time everything comes together, the kitchen smells like warmth, like the indulgence you and Rafe spoke of, and you find yourself praying this tops every memory of the lamb he had before, just to give you that reassurance. The roast rests, juices settling beneath its crisp, golden crust, while Kareem plates the sides—a creamy potato purée, the glossy, honey-glazed carrots, a crisp asparagus sauté with almonds. Dessert waits to be finished in the background, Kareem’s perfect pie crust resting easy beside the fresh-chopped peaches you left soaking in syrup, soaking up all the flavor until the moment is right.

You step back, wiping your brow, allowing yourself a moment—just one—to take it in. The meal is set, a quiet triumph, and for now, that’s enough.

Kareem slumps down on the chair as the echo of greeting and bickering in the room next door gives way to the hums and awes of enjoyment. – Who knew art could be so tiring, huh? – You say.

He looks up from his hands, an easy smile on his face, and nods. – “it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment.” – The hum coaxes a brow raise from you as you wash your hands again.

– Okay, private school. – You laugh, and catch his shoulders shaking slightly as he watches you. – Care to enlighten the country bumpkin here before you?

– It’s a quote by Colin Murray Parkes.

– The actor?

He laughs even louder, delighted with your lack of poshness. – The psychiatrist. Didn’t you have psychology lessons in your school?

– Does the Outer Banks seem like the sort of place that would offer that curriculum?

– Well, no, of course. But you’re not from here, are you?

You gasp:

– Of course I am. – He doesn’t even pretend to hide his shock. – Born and bred in the OBX.

– Seriously, Routledge. Where did you learn to cook like this? Couldn’t have been here. – You let out an incredulous laugh, but the question is so ridiculous you can’t even find it insulting. – I didn't mean it like—

– I know. – You grin. – I learned how to cook because it’s the only luxury I could have, food can be elevated. It's the other things that are hard to come around. Sometimes I forget you tourons don’t read class cues like the islanders. I’m flattered you even considered the possibility of me being a kook.

– I feel like I’ve just been spoken to in tongues. – It's your turn to laugh again, the genuine bewilderment on his face a joke of its own. – Toro? Like bull?

– You’ve been living here for years and nobody taught you the hierarchy? – He shakes his head, earning more laughter from you. – I’m kinda glad. But here it is: OBX 101, brought to you by a Routledge. So the rich folk, inhabitants of the Figure Eight, this lovely little neighborhood we’re currently in, are the Kooks. Golf players, country club goers, the cream of the crop. Now they’re rich, but not rich like you’re rich.

– I’m not rich. – He pouts, and you have to bite back the brow raise.

– Says the man who had advanced psychology in his high school curriculum. You’re private school. Now, that’s not something to be embarrassed about. But, a pogue, the poor people of the island, the ones that live in the Cut, like me, we can tell.

– I think that’s just you. You get a good read on people. How’d you learn that by the way?

– My older brother who hated me kind of poisoned the well for me when it came to friends. I had to get my hands on whatever outsider I could reach.

Kareem’s brows furrow. – He sounds like a piece of shit.

– He used to be. We’re better now. – He seems unbelieving, but you don’t go any further. – Now you never told me where you’re from, but maybe I can guess you.

– I doubt that. – He says, the hum of his voice low and steady.

You tilt your head, and he smiles at you, signing for you to go on. – You’re a Texan, that much is obvious. By the accent, I’d say Dallas. And you’re a farm boy, clearly old money. Blue blood, boarding school bred.

– I’m from Highland Park. Which is, to your credit, in Dallas. – It feels good to be right. – But I’m not posh.

– Never said you were. – He’s the one raising a brow now, but before he can say anything else, the door opens again.

Daniel, one of the servants, stands there, his face almost worried. – Mr. Cameron asked to see the chef. – Kareem swallows thickly, face suddenly void of all the playfulness he’d had just a moment earlier. But Daniel stops him again. – He asked for her.

You stop cold, heart hammering against your ribs. Daniel’s words echo in your head, but you don’t let yourself hesitate. Kareem steps forward, a steadying head wrapping around your arm. – Hey, don’t worry. Look, they probably just wanna compliment you. That lamb, it was great. Don’t worry about it.

– You don’t know that.

– Routledge, – It's almost pleading, the way he says it. A soft lull of a voice brushing against your ears as he tried to tranquilize you. But it doesn’t help. How often did things go well for you? You should’ve known better than to hope.

– I’ll be right back. – You murmur. Kareem tries to argue, but you’ve brushed past him before he can think to say anything else.

The walk to the dining room feels longer than it should, each step pulling tighter at the knot in your stomach. The hall seems to stretch around you as you reach the warm light bleeding in from the cracked door. You push through it, and immediately, the air thickens.

They’re all there.

It’s Rafe who holds your attention first. He’s leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin on his face, self-satisfied. Like he’s been expecting you. Like he’s enjoying this.

Ward sits at the head of the table, relaxed, a glass of wine in hand. Rose is poised beside him, her smile the perfect shade of contempt. Wheezie barely looks up from her phone, and Sarah… Sarah’s expression falls as she sees you, and she looks up from her plate with something can’t quite place.

Then your eyes shift, and you freeze.

At the opposite end of the table, just beside Sarah, sits your brother.

The sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. His expression is cold, unreadable, but the anger simmering beneath the surface is unmistakable. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches.

Your fingers tighten around the towel in your hands.

– Ah, there she is, – Ward's voice cuts through the silence, warm, approving. – When my son told me he had to fire the last cook, I didn’t think he’d go out and find us a new one. I doubted him, but I have to say, I was… pleasantly surprised. That was the best lamb I’ve had in years. Truly remarkable.

The words come out immediately, but no relief fills you as you speak. – Thank you sir. I’m glad you liked it.

– Liked it? Young lady, I loved this dish. I have to give it to Rafe, he’s ordered nothing but this for years, and I never saw the appeal, but, really, it’s fantastic.

Rose cuts in, a sharp drawl that shatters whatever sliver of gladness was building up. – Honey, you don’t need to be pedantic.

– But, I’m not, Rose. Really. Good help is so hard to find these days, especially on short notice. Very few people put their back into their work. And this, this is exactly that. Passion. I can tell you’re good at what you do.

– Thank you sir, really.

He smiles, gesturing toward his plate, then at Rafe, who’s still watching you like he knows something you don’t. – My son’s gonna sleep like a baby tonight. – He chuckles. – Lamb’s his favorite. But I’m sure you know that.

You swallow hard, forcing a nod. – Yes, he did tell me that.

– She used to work at the Wreck. – Rafe hums, his eyes fixed on you, smiling from ear to ear as he swings a glass around. Scotch, by the looks of it. – She was a chef there. Some moron fucked up her order, and I… Well, I couldn’t think of never eating that lamb again.

You feign laughter, as demure as you can make it. – Yes, thank you for that. I really appreciate it.

– You already thanked me, – His grin is sharp, and he averts his eyes for a fraction of a second, gesturing for you to cut him another piece of lamb. You do, thankful for your steady hands and the heavy knife. – in the interview.

His father makes a sound of surprise. – You interviewed her? – He looks at you as you set the plate before Rafe.

– Yes he did. He was very thorough.

Ward seems pleased. – I’ve never seen this side of you, son. I’m glad to see you take an interest in what goes on in this house.

– What can I say? – Rafe looks back at you, signing to the bottle across the table. You don’t know what game he’s playing, but you’re sure it's not meant to be fun for you. – I’m a proactive kind of guy.

Ward hums, taking a long sip of his wine as he watches you pour Rafe another drink. – I’m glad, son. I’m really glad. – You put the bottle back in its place, trying to ignore the gazes burning holes into your skin as you move to your original spot. – And what’s for dessert?

You hesitate only for a moment, wishing you could disappear. – Peach pie. It should be ready in ten minutes.

The reaction is immediate.

Ward smiles, slow and knowing, but before he can say anything, Sarah speaks.

– That’s Rafe’s favorite. – Her tone is cold, almost suspicious.

Your heart stutters, but you keep your face smooth, your voice even. – Really? That’s a coincidence.

John’s voice echoes then, chilling your blood to ice. – Funny, right? It’s my dad’s favorite too. But she knows that. That why she makes it so well.

Ward doesn't miss a beat, even as Rafe turns to glare at your brother. – You two know each other?

John answers for you. – You could say that. – The earth could just split open, and swallow you whole. – Y/n is my baby sister.

– Really? – Ward’s laughter is deep, but somehow not incredulous. – And she’s Rafe’s friend. God, what a small world.

– Looks like it's getting smaller. – John adds. His stare burns into you, hard and unrelenting, like he’s waiting for something.

You don’t let yourself look away first.

Instead, you square your shoulders, holding onto the only thing you can control—the steady rhythm of your breath, the knowledge that you belong here, no matter how much it feels like you don’t.

– Yes. Well, I’ll go check on that pie, and I’ll bring it out soon enough. – You say, voice steady.

Ward nods, pleased. – Good. We’re looking forward to it.

As you turn to leave, Rafe’s voice follows you, low and amused.

– Good job, newbie.

You don’t stop. You don’t react.

But your pulse thunders in your ears all the way back to the kitchen.

Kareem is already there, watching you closely as you step inside. – You okay? – His voice is low, cautious, but the concern is obvious. He nears you as if he’s cornering a wounded animal, warm hands landing on your arms like he’s afraid you’d bolt.

You try to nod, but the motion feels stiff, forced. Your hands are cold, even in the warmth of the kitchen. Kareem notices. He steps forward, brows furrowing as he reaches for your wrist. – You’re pale. Come— C’mere. Sit down for a sec.

Before you can respond, the kitchen door swings open again.

John walks in.

The air turns sharp. Kareem’s hand drops as your brother steps inside, his expression unreadable but heavy with something darker. He doesn’t look at Kareem. Just you.

– You have anything to say? – His voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the steel beneath it. – You already lied to me this morning, wanna get it out already?

Your pulse stumbles.

– John, please. I’m working right now.

Kareem straightens beside you, eyes flicking between the two of you. – Sir, you’re not supposed to be here—

– No. – John cuts in, still staring at you. – This doesn’t concern you, okay man? This is family business.

– Don’t talk to my boss like—

– I’ll talk if I fucking want to!

Kareem doesn’t hesitate, his hand resting on your shoulder for a split second before he steps in front of you. – This is not a therapist’s office, sir. She’s working, and you’re not supposed to be back here. So please, leave.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez

[gingernut1314]

Don't Jinx It ch. 5

Summary: Silco comes to visit you at work to let you know he has a surprise to show you.

Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, Nadia is Viktor's mom, young Silco, young Sevika, young reader, pre-Sheriff Grayson, reader using water manipulation, unrequited love, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna, The Gray)

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: so I'm still SCREAMING over those Vander flashbacks and Silco--SILCO my loveeee. So we're giving Silco long hair as per canon eheheeheh its perfect. Also we're aged up a bit now so lots of fun! I hope you all enjoy!

↞ to The Water's Cold Embrace Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

Act 2: 

Four Years Later

For the past year or so the same small batch of enforcers visited at your Boss’ diner-shop. A batch of enforcers you were convinced your boss only let in cause she had made friends with their Sergent. A one Ms. Sergeant Grayson. 

You, Nadia, and Sevika watched Grayson and Boss laugh together in the booth they occupied, chatting with each other like they’d known each other their whole lives. 

“I still don’t get it.” Sevika gruffed, slicing into a gray-scaled fish you two had helped catch that morning. “Boss hates enforcers. Spits on their shiny gold badges any time she spots one, but she’s all but eating out of the palm of that one's hand.” 

“They’re fucking.” You chimed in from where you leaned against the counter watching the spectacle unfold before you. “They have to be fucking. That’s the reason.” 

“So vulgar.” Nadia shook her head at you two, nose wrinkled at your words. “Maybe Boss has just made a friend in her. Is that so hard to believe?” 

“No, no. You’re right.” Sevika started, beginning to slice the pink flesh of the fish into tiny strips. “Boss definitely’s been in her. That’s for sure.” You laughed while Nadia huffed. 

“You two are barbarians.” You flipped around, snatching a bit of sliced fish Sevika had just cut. You grabbed for a second slice before you had even shoved the first into your mouth, the woman chopping her knife all too close to your fingers in her way of telling you to knock it off. 

“You know we can’t help it, Nadia.” You mumbled around chews, the fish nearly melting on your tongue. You offered the second slice to Nadia who took it gently. 

“Unfortunately, I do know.” She huffed, taking a small bite from the bit of fish. 

“You coming to hang out with us tonight?” You asked Nadia hopefully. 

“Forgive me.” You gave a dramatic groan Sevika mimicked. “Nikolai and I are taking Viktor to spy on the newest…eh…flying…ship?” You quirked a brow at her as she bit another near-mouse-sized bite from her slice of fish. 

“Airship?” 

“Yes!” She beamed at you, “I prefer to keep my eyes on the earth and my paints but you know how my boy is.” You nodded, peaking a glance at the fish Sevika was still cutting up. 

“He still gonna build me that mini-fridge?” You joked, slyly inching your fingers closer and closer to the bits of fish. Nadia chuckled at your words. 

“I think in the near future, yes. He’s slowly beginning to toy with bigg--” You yelped when Sevika snatched hold of your wrist and yanked you closer. 

“You keep being a little seagull and Boss’ girlfriend is gonna have none.” You smirked up at her. 

“You think that’s it? They're together together?” Sevika gave you a long roll of her eyes, releasing your wrist. “It’s a perfectly tragic story. Two enemies turned lovers yearning for each other despite everything.” You gave a playful gasp. “They’re forbidden lovers.” 

“You two need to stop meddling in their business. They just seem to be friends.” Nadia chimed in. 

“You’re right, Dee. Enemies to friends to lovers.” Sevika joined in once more, taking a slice of fish and tossing it your way. You caught it just as Nadia sighed deeply. “Makes it even more tragic.” You gave a mockingly mournful nod. 

“You two are insufferable.” She popped the last of her fish into her mouth before she went back to her tables. Tables you and Sevika had purposely made sure were other like Undercitians, not wishing Nadia to be near the true barbarians of the night. 

Nadia was kind. Too trusting of others and both of you feared it would only lead to an enforcer getting the wrong idea.

You and Sevika, on the other hand, had no problem letting those bucket heads know just where they could shove it. And if they needed a bit of help neither of you had any problems doing it for them.

You had just shoved your newest piece of fish into your mouth when the bell hanging above the door gave a ring. 

“Better tell him it’s not a good time before Boss kills him,” Sevika spoke, gray eyes looking to who had just walked in. Excitement shot through your chest fast at her words, knowing exactly who she had spoken them about in moments. 

You tried your best to not whip around in your search for him. You didn’t want him to actually think you were excited to see him. No…nope. Not at all.

Silco’s seafoam gaze found you instantly, a small smile tugging to his lips as he walked over. 

“You have two minutes Silco,” Boss called from her booth, her eyes not lifting once from her glass of wine, which she gave a small swirl. “Before I let this one take you back with her to Piltover.” 

“Be gone in one,” Silco responded, Boss giving a heavy sigh.

Grayson, despite her being a horrid badge-wearing oppressor, was fair. She was one of the very few enforcers, maybe even the only enforcer, who didn’t have a stick shove so far up their ass it stuck out of their mouth. 

And she chuckled at Boss, saying something only she could hear. 

“Gods--I mean their practically fucking right in front of us,” Sevika muttered so only you and the quickly approaching Silco could hear.

“What do you think?” You asked in way of greeting Silco, who pulled so close you could smell the fresh shower he had just taken. It was a smell you thoroughly enjoyed, one you wanted to grab and rub your face all over, but one you knew had a bitter backing. 

The same year you had met Silco, Piltover had reopened the mines they had promised would stay closed forever. Opened them in the promise of progress and ample jobs for all. In helping ease the “struggle of the good people” down here.

You wanted to say it was fine at first. That it gave jobs to those who might not have had one otherwise. That Piltover might be right for once, but you would only be fooling yourself. 

Working in those mines was like dancing with death herself and Piltover knew it just as well as everyone else.

You had the usual risks, cave mouths collapsing and people getting lost within the labyrinth that the mines made up, but then there was the Gray. Smoke that still leaked its way out into The Lanes from past generations, more so now thanks to the mines having reopened as such. 

And the Gray--well, the Gray was death’s lover. 

Smoke so thick you couldn’t see through it. A smog that clogged your throat and made it feel like every breath you took filled your lungs with a thousand tiny needles.

Janna, the very Winds of the Undercity, had been trying ever since its birth to rid its poisonous wrath from us. She told you the story of her first coming to the Undercity a few times over the years. She had been called here on the prayers of the people who were suffering from its oppressive choking hold. She had managed to keep it at bay. To give the people a moment's relief to breathe freely.

But ever since then, she has been struggling to try and purify the smog. 

It was a story she typically told you when she had you practice trying to purify the waters lapping at The Lanes’ jagged edges. 

And every time she had you practice, every time she told you her tale, you asked how you were supposed to do the same if she, who was a goddess, couldn’t even do it herself?

She would settle you with her glowing, unblinking gaze before instructing you to try again. 

All play no work that one…if only. 

You hated that Silco and Vander went down there, especially since there was nothing to be done for the Gray. It was something you told him many times that same year he had started work. So many times he had snapped at you to stop because it wouldn’t change a thing. 

What very little money the boys earned went right into The Last Drop to keep it standing as Piltover rose taxes and Vander’s father passed, leaving every leak and creaky floorboard to him.

So you agreed to stop bothering him with your worries…though it did nothing to keep you from doing so voicelessly. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Silco glanced their way, the two seeming to have grown even closer in the two seconds you had taken your eyes off them. “Seems a perfectly typical interaction between officer and civilian.” His eyes found yours own more, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

You couldn’t help but look over every feature you could get away with looking at. Took in his nicely sharp features, his thinly soft-looking lips, and the shaggy hair he was allowed to grow out. Hair he planned on growing out so long he could braid it and gods did you agree. 

No longer was he the scraggly and bony teen you had first met. No, he had grown rather handsome. 

Painfully so. 

A beauty you struggled to think past most days.

And just as you knew how handsome he had grown, so had the rest of the Undercity. Women and men alike were drawn in by his looks and his smooth talk. 

His all-seeing and ever-calculating eyes only grew sharper. Eyes he used to see just how to make a girl grow ever the more flustered and fidgety under it. Eyes he used to track and log just what they liked to hear from him. 

He had become quite the playboy, capturing the hearts of many but never holding onto them for long. 

You think it has grown into a game to him. A game to see how many he can draw in and claim. See how many he can break in the same breath. 

You think sometimes he tries to play the game with you…and oh do you wish to play, but you knew he never truly meant the looks and the playful words he sent your way. 

You two were…friends. 

Strictly. 

Even when it disappointed you greatly. 

“Nah, they’re screwing.” Sevika huffed, reeling you back in from Silco’s charming looks. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, backing slightly away only for your hips to hit the counter. His eyes quickly tracked your movements. Movements he did the opposite of and stepped closer one more. 

“You get off work at seven.” He matter of factly told you. 

“What? Do you keep my schedule pinned to your wall or something?” Silco all but rolled his eyes at you. 

“I have something to show you.” Curiosity sparked at your heart and you instantly leaned closer despite knowing you should keep far away for your own heart's sake. 

“Ooo…what is it?” 

“And ruin the surprise?” You nodded quickly. Surprises were great but you found yourself impatience. Silco teasingly smirked your way. “Never.” And just like that he pulled away, leaving you feeling as if you had been tossed around by a riptide. “I’ll be back at seven.” He called to you as he headed back for the door. 

You swallowed sharply.

“Yeah. Okay.” You called back. 

You watched him give Nadia a small wave goodbye, the woman more than edger to do the same, before he was back out the door like he never was there in the first place. 

Sevika huffed at you, gaining your attention once more. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’.” You watched her sharply as she plated the beautifully cut fish on an equally as beautiful plate. She fixed you with an all-too-teasing gaze. “You two are just as bad. No…no. Worse. You’re worse.” Your brows furrowed in confusion as she passed you the plate to take over to the Boss and Sergent Grayson. 

“What do you mean?” Sevika all but ignored you, looking back over the diner.

“Dee, it’s worse right?” Sevika called to Nadia who was carrying a stack of dirty plates back to the kitchen. 

“Much worse.” She agreed as she passed. Before you could snap at the two for an answer, Boss called your name sounding not pleased. 

“This is not over.” You huffed Sevika’s way who only smirked back at you. 

“Sure, guppy. Sure.” 

You spent the rest of your shift cursing yourself for not having packed a better change of clothes. You had planned on being able to head home to change into something a little more nice before you went to The Last Drop, but Silco’s surprise threw a big wrench in your plans.

Not that you were complaining. Not truly.

You would pick hanging out with Silco over a nicer pair of clothes any day.

You found Silco waiting outside for you just as he had said, messing around with one of his daggers. He perked up instantly when you emerged, dagger put away as you came to his side.

“So…you want to tell me now?” You asked, only for Silco to lean downward so that he was looking directly into your eyes. You felt your heart give another damning flutter in your chest. 

“Tsk, tsk.” He smirked, “Impatient thing aren’t we?”

“This just something you're figuring out?” Silco gave a small, amused huff of air from his nose. Those seafoam eyes danced over your face, not helping the restless movement in your chest.

“Come,” He gestured with his head for you to follow. “It’s not too far away.”

“As soon as I drop Nadia off I’m getting drunk, ya hear you two!” Sevika called as you began following after Silco. 

“Won’t take long,” Silco called back to her. 

“Better not.” She shouted, “I’m itching to beat you at cribbage tonight.” 

“Want to bet on that outcome?” Silco glanced back to the woman, eyes bright in the promise of competition. 

Your two friends were unchallengeable at any card game they played. Their smarts and trickery were not something to go up against lighty.

When the two played against each other, the game always was a close one. One point could determine the winner.

And between the two…you would bet on Silco to win. He was the only person in all of the Undercity you had known to ever beat Sevika and beat her he did every time. 

Sevika, of course, never admitted it.

“Nah, 'cause I know I’m winning. No need to jinx it all to hell on a damn bet.” She called back as she started off with Nadia. 

“If she wishes to win that bad all she needs to do is play against you.” You sharply shoved Silco away who only gave a chuckle. 

“You’re an asshole.” You huffed, pulling the strap of your patched-up bag further up your shoulder. “I can play cards.” 

“You can play Go Fish.” 

“Hell yeah I can play Go Fish! I’m the best damn Go Fish player in all of The Undercity. No--The Undercity and Piltover.” You threw your arms out dramatically as you turned on your heel to face Silco as you walked backward. “In the entirety of Runterra.” Silco quirked an amused brow at you.

“Oh really? The whole world?” You gave a humming nod. “Well then, Go Fish World Champion, we’ll play tonight.” 

“And I’ll beat you.” You knew you wouldn’t. Even in the only card game you had mastered, Silco was still the best at it. 

“Want to bet on it?” You turned on your heel once more to face away from him. 

“Nope. Sevkia’s right. Betting beforehand is only going to jinx it.” You once more adjusted the strap of your bag.

“Jinxes are just a fiction.” You shrugged. 

“Maybe…but what if they're not? Huh? What are you gonna do then?” You asked, craning your head to look back at Silco who was watching you closely, an easy smile on his thin lips that you couldn’t help but mimic. 

“Then I guess I’ll face it head-on.” He quickened his pace a bit to come back to your side. “Let me carry your bag for you.” He offered his hand out for the item. 

“You trying to steal from me?” You asked in mock concern. 

“Oh yes. I want your dirty work clothes and sea shells.” You shrugged. 

“You're right. The sea shells would be worth stealing.” You pulled the tote from your shoulder and handed it to Silco, who slung it over his. “Got a pocket watch in there too.” 

“Oh? And where did that come from?” He asked, pulling at the edge of the bag to look for said watch.

“Those enforcers were so generous. Just gave it to me out of the goodness of their heart.” Silco let the bag fall back against his side. 

“How kind of them.” He huffed. “Why your boss feeds them is beyond me.” You gave a sharp nod. 

“Agreed. That’s why we think there is something else going on. Boss kills enforcers on the spot typically.” Silco shook his head, eyes turning away from you as a deep anger filled them. 

“Shiny things are nice,” Silco started, seemingly changing the topic.

“Very nice.” You agreed once more. 

“But it’s not worth putting you at risk.” Concern. He was concerned for you and was telling you that. 

You couldn’t help that damn fluttering again.

“I thought we agreed a long time ago not to do this.” Silco’s hardened eyes glanced back down at you, seafoam softening at their edge the longer he watched you. 

“Do what?” 

“Oh please be careful. Oh, I’m so scared for you. Oh, those big bad enforcers are going to catch you. Oh please be safe.” Silco gave you a dramatic eye roll at your mockery.

“Please. I’m hardly saying any of that.” You gave him just as dramatic an eye roll back. 

“Really? Then what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying--” Silco’s gaze flickered quickly over your face before looking away once more. “That if you steal from them enough your boss will find out.” 

“Still kinda feel like you're worried about me.” You felt Silco’s hand on your arm only for it to shove you away. A wicked cackle pulled from your throat. 

“Look whose being the asshole now.” Silco gruffed. 

Silco led you down another street, through an alleyway, climbed down a steep stairway that seemed to go on forever, and right back down another street before coming to a small, hardly used bridge. 

You knew you were right on the border of the Promenade Level, where your boss’ diner-shop was located, and the Enthresol Level which was where The Last Drop beat at the heart of the city. 

You had taken this route a few times in the past. Only ever with Silco, so you were familiar with it, but why you two were taking this roundabout way to the bar was what nagged at your curiosity when you could have just walked back with Sevkia. 

“What are you--” Silco pressed a thin finger to his lips, telling you to keep quiet before heading for the metal ladder built into the side of the bridge. 

You followed close behind, the bite of cold metal digging into your palms. Silco hopped onto the grated platform, rusted bits of metal having created holes here and there within its flooring, before turning to offer you his hand. 

You took it, even though you knew you didn’t need his help, but you knew you needed to be able to feel his skin against yours. Chill skin that was covered in tiny scars and callouses that always made you feel like it was just the two of you in that moment.

He didn’t let go of your hand as he led you over the platform and you couldn’t help the growing warmth that his hand was creating in you. A warmth that rushed up your arm and all over your body. Warmth that made that damning flutter grow near pounding. 

You made it all the way to the other side of the platform and that's when you heard it.

It was soft at first. A sound you almost didn’t believe you were truly hearing until you were standing before the source, staring at the bundle of twigs, string, fur, and hair nestled between a rounded design in the arch of the bridge. 

“Oh…Silco…” You breathed, watching the small, featherless baby birds chirping and chirping for their mother, little bulging bellies no doubt starving. 

“Fantastic aren’t they?” You nodded, holding his hand a little tighter. 

“How--they shouldn’t be able to live down here.” Your voice was quiet to keep from startling the babies, but also in disbelief. 

Quiet in a growing dread that they probably wouldn’t make it for very long. 

“Yes…yes, it’s quite strange.” Silco spoke just as softly as you. “I saw their mother and followed her down here. Found these sweet ones.” You felt his hand hold yours just as tightly back. “But this means it can really happen.” You turned away from the miracle before you to look up at him. 

Silco’s seafoam eyes were already watching you.

And you knew that look in his eyes. A look he only got when talking about one thing. 

“Zaun.” He nodded, that hopeful gleam in his eyes burning with passion. It was a dream you all let burn deep within your bellies. A dream you all spoke of often. Spoke of enough you all had given such an outlandish wish a name. 

You turned to look back at the babies, who still had yet to stop begging for food. 

“But what if…those plants don’t even live near the bridge.” You thought of the rooftop you two had first encountered each other on. A roof where someone had been trying to grow tomatoes, though those tomatoes had withered and died before they could even yield a ripe crop.

“We’ll come visit them. Maybe we can help keep them going.” You nodded, even though your negative side nagged at you that it wouldn’t matter. That these sweet babies would wither and die before they had even sported their first feathers. 

As if reading your mind, Silco grabbed your other hand, turning you to face him. To bare his determination for Zuan down onto you. 

“It will happen.” He spoke like he was trying to convince himself it would. You nodded again.

“I believe it. We’ll make it happen.” But that look didn’t fade from his eyes. A look that mixed with something else that told you something was upsetting him. Something outside of the typical truths of your lives you lived down here in the filth. “What--did something happen?” You asked hesitantly. 

“I--” He hesitated himself. It had taken Silco a long time to fully be able to open up to you. Friends you may be, he kept his true feelings, deep dark ones, hidden behind a high wall. And though he more freely spoke with you on such topics now, you knew it was still a struggle. That, even though the wall had created a door for you to peek inside, the door wasn’t always unlocked.

“A mine shaft caved in this morning.” It was all he had to say for you to understand what had happened. For you to know why he had followed the bird down here. Why he had come to visit you at work. Why he had voiced his worry for you. 

Because he’d seen death today. 

More death that only Piltover could be blamed for and Zaun was Silco’s--no, everyone’s last bit of hope for things to get better.

You silently pulled him closer. Silently pulled your hands from his only so you could wrap them around his waist and hold him tight. And Silco silently let you hug him, when typically such affection was slapped away. 

Silco snaked his hands around your own waist, pulling you flush against his thin, yet strong body. You felt his breath against your neck as he buried his face there, warming your skin nicely.

You two stood like that for a long moment. Long enough that the babies stopped chirping, thinking you two had turned statue. 

“I have an idea.” You murmured, giving him one last, tight squeeze before pulling away. Typically you would curse yourself for ending such a moment. A moment you so rarely got but you wanted to try and lift his spirits, if just for a moment. 

Silco watched you carefully as you reached into your bag, which you didn’t bother pulling from his shoulder. You rummaged around for a little bit, making all the random trinkets you carried in it clink together until you pulled out one of the larger shells and your canteen, which you had learned to always carry with you for easy access to water. 

“What are you doing?” He asked to which you tossed him a playful smirk.

“And ruin the surprise? Never.” He huffed in amusement at your repeat of his words from earlier that night. 

He watched you carefully as you found a level spot on the bridge to place the shell, before unscrewing the canteen. With little effort, you reached for the water with your magic, pulling a fist-sized droplet of water out. 

Silco eyes shimmered in fascination, pulling so close his shoulder was pressed against yours. You once more savored the touch, turning yourself so you could peek unstrained glances up at his seafoam eyes here and there as you worked. 

“For their mama. And for these three when they grow up.” You said. Silco glanced down at you as you let the droplet of water fill the shell. “And because it’s magic water.” You gave your fingers a little wiggle at the word magic that further tugged a smile to Silco’s lips. “It’ll never run dry… hopefully.”

“You’ve been practicing,” Silco observed.

“Yep. I’ll be able to create tsunamis next, just you watch.” Silco’s easy smile came back in full then. A smile that brightened his eyes and stirred those damned flutters right back up in your chest. 

“I will.” Silence fell between the two of you, now filled with the returned chirping of the babies. A silence that thickened and made your eyes flicker downward to his lips, which you wanted to feel so so badly against your own. “Thank you…for all that.” You swallowed the growing dryness in your mouth down sharply. 

“Yep--” You gave your throat a little clearing as you turned away from Silco, knowing the longer you looked at his handsome features the more you were going to be drawn in. “Yep. No problem.” You recapped the canteen and all but shoved it into Silco’s arms. 

“Alright, I need a drink.” You announced, making your way towards the ladder and begging your heart to stop beating so loudly. “I’m kinda feelin’ like I might want to bet you about that win now.” Silco laughed, his footsteps sounding as he followed after you.

“I thought you said betting beforehand would only jinx it.” You shrugged, throwing him a mischievous little look. 

“I think I’ll just face it head-on, like you said. I’m feeling lucky.”

Previous | Next

[strawberry-nugget]

Chapter 3 // prev chapter

~Technically this should be your fresh start. Moving to Japan as a single mom and getting a regular job, living the peaceful life you've always wanted. But trouble finds you in every corner, taking either the form of those weird monstrous things you catch in a blurry half gaze ocassionally, or of that extremely hot single dad, whose son, Megumi is friends with your daughter.

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, canon divergence, single parents au!, slow burn, Toji is actively a hitman in this (k*lls a target in the end of the chapter), heavy on angst in this chapter, Megumi cuteness overload

Word Count: 8.5k

“Hey…” he starts and you glance over at him, laced with curiosity “Can I crash at yours tonight?”

The question lands too easily, too casual—like he’s asked it a hundred times. Like it’s no big deal. But it is, and you both know it.

You spent the last ten minutes of driving convincing yourself that having sex with him was casual, born from something just physical and acted upon because of the setting you brought him into. 

It’s not that you don’t want to have him sleep over, it’s just that… you’re not really used to being asked for it after a hookup.

You’ve only ever lived in touch-and-go, always aimed for more than you could chew— the fish that's bigger than you that ends up devouring you and spitting you out like your taste is disgusting. And truly, you shouldn’t be thinking too far ahead about Toji. Maybe for him, too, like all your past lovers and flings, this doesn’t mean anything.

You didn’t come to Japan to fall in love.

And frankly, you’d rather avoid it.

Still, you blink at Toji “Megumi’s not home?”

“He’s at a sleepover,” Toji says a little too quickly. “S’nothing. Just…” He shrugs, mouth pulling to the side as he presses his lips together. “Don’t feel like being alone tonight, without him”

He doesn’t want to get out of the car.

Megumi’s not home. He knows that. He planned for that. Said the kid had a sleepover which, technically is not a lie. But he just left out who was watching him. He left out that there’s someone else. Someone he keeps at arm’s length, someone who’s convenient and available and who doesn’t ask questions, which is what makes her useful.

But you would. Maybe not with words. You’d ask with your eyes, with the way you hold silence between your teeth like you’re weighing what not to say. And that thought alone makes his stomach knot.

He looks at his apartment building. The light’s off in his window. Nothing waiting for him in there but four walls, a couch that creaks, and whatever guilt’s clawing around in his chest right now.

He doesn’t move.

You shift into the car and finally, finally you have a response.

You nod slowly, your hands still on the wheel, fingers tapping into your palm “Yeah. Okay.”

That’s all he says. That’s all you say. You don’t ask who the sleepover’s with, even though something about his tone trips a wire in your gut. You don’t press, because he’s already looking out the windshield like he regrets asking.

But when you start driving again, he exhales—quiet, relieved—and your stomach flips a little.

The city rolls by in a soft blur now, all edges dulled by fatigue and whatever the hell this thick, sparking silence is between you. He doesn’t speak, and you don’t prod. The weight of his presence is enough—solid and tense and very much there, like he’s holding something back with both hands and gritted teeth.

He doesn’t look at you. Not really. Just stares out the window like there’s something out there worth focusing on, jaw ticking faintly, eyes dark.

You don’t know if you’re imagining it, but something about the way he asked—Can I crash at yours?—felt more than impulsive. More than casual. It felt loaded. And he didn’t lie, not exactly. But in the few short moments in which you know Toji, he never says more than he has to.

And this felt…like a half-truth. The kind you build up around, the kind that asks you not to dig too deep. The kind that doesn’t need someone like you to ask questions about.

You glance over at him at a red light. The only traffic light in between your houses and your fingers loosen on the steering wheel. His leg is bouncing; barely. Like he’s wound up under that relaxed slouch. Like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on, are you?” you ask, voice low, barely heard over the rumble of the engine.

His jaw flexes. Just once.

Then he says, “Nope.”

You huff something that’s not quite a laugh and not quite a sigh. “Didn’t think so.”

He finally looks at you then. A glance that's weighted. His eyes are sharp, but tired too.

“I’ll be good,” he murmurs, almost like an apology. “Promise.”

You don’t say ‘you don’t have to be’. Even though you want to. Instead, you just nod, give him a small smile, and drive the rest of the way in silence.

He sits heavy in the seat like something’s weighing on him, jaw set, eyes trained forward but not focused. You can feel him thinking too loud. Can almost hear it under the soft hum of tires against asphalt. He’s not trying to fill the silence this time. He’s stewing in it.

You glance at him as you turn onto your street, and his profile is cut sharp by the low light. That usual cocky smirk of his is long gone—what’s left is quieter. Raw around the edges.

When you pull into your parking spot, you cut the engine with a click. For a moment neither of you move. Your hands rest quietly on the wheel, and Toji stares ahead like the car’s still moving. He doesn’t wait for you to invite him in again. He just grabs his jacket from the back of the seat, opens the door, and follows you up like he’s done it a hundred times. Like this is normal. Like this is his place too.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing here.

No—that’s a lie. He knows why he asked to come back with you. He just doesn’t know why it feels so different this time.

Usually, when he’s with someone—if he’s even with them, it’s transactional. Body heat and convenience. Easy. But this isn’t that. You’re not someone who lets people in easily. You’re cautious. Calculated. A mother in a foreign country. And for some reason, you let him in anyway. That’s the part that fucks with him the most.

Then, you glance at him. “You okay?”

His jaw ticks. “Yeah.”

But your brows twitch like you don’t believe him.

Toji exhales and scrubs a hand over his face. He hates how soft your voice makes him feel. Hates how the scent of your perfume has clung to the interior of your car. Hates that some part of him doesn’t like to just come into your house and just sleep on the couch—he wants to sit with you, wants you to ask more, to see him, even though it terrifies the hell out of him. 

It's so late into your driveway, the street’s gone still—like the whole neighborhood is asleep except for you and the man sitting next to you.

Your porch light is the only thing glowing. A soft, yellow beacon in the dark. It makes everything feel smaller. Quieter. Like if you breathe too hard, the walls inside might wake up.

The door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels out of place. Toji’s presence fills the apartment like smoke; slow, creeping, impossible to ignore. You toe your boots off quietly, instinctively mindful of the creaky floorboard near the hallway. The lights are low—your sister must’ve dimmed them before crashing in your daughter’s room.

You don’t say anything. Just let out a little hum and toss your keys into the dish by the sink. Your daughter’s door is closed. You resist the urge to peek in, to press a kiss to her cheek just to soothe the knot in your chest.

Because it is there—tight, hot, growing by the second. Guilt. Not for bringing Toji here, exactly, but for… liking it. For wanting more.

He sits on your couch like he belongs there. Legs wide. Hands relaxed between his knees. Watching you without watching you.

“She’s out cold,” you whisper, glancing toward the hallway where your daughter’s bedroom is. “My sister’s on the pull-out. Don’t worry, she snores through earthquakes.”

Toji huffs something like a laugh. He’s sitting with his arms loose at his sides, eyes sweeping the place like he’s cataloguing details. Like he’s trying to find something to anchor himself to.

You don’t ask if he wants water or to shower or to sit. You just move toward the kitchen and flick on the under-cabinet light, letting it cast the softest golden glow across the counter. He follows, upping himself from the couch, his steps slow. Quiet.

“You can take the bed,” you murmur, busying your hands with a glass just to do something. “I’ll—”

“No.”

You glance up. He’s already peeled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch. His shirt clings to him, slightly damp with leftover sweat and heat from the car. His eyes don’t leave yours. “I didn’t come here to sleep alone,” he says, and it’s so steady, so quiet, that it makes your fingers still on the rim of the glass.

You’re trying to act normal, and he’s letting you.

Toji hears the way you linger in the hallway. The way you open the linen closet slow, like maybe if you go quiet enough it’ll erase whatever just happened between you. Or maybe you think it’ll hide the fact you want it again.

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing here.

Not really.

He told himself it was for Megumi. For appearances. For comfort. But that’s bullshit, and he knows it.

The truth is uglier: he didn’t want to go home to that girl. The one who watches Megumi sometimes. The one who thinks she knows what she’s doing.

She’d stayed late, again. Called herself helpful. But it wasn’t help, it was attachment. And Toji’s been down that road. He knows how it ends: in something bitter and resentful, something messy and wrong. He didn’t want Megumi seeing that. Didn’t want to deal with the guilt that curls into his spine every time he lets someone close who shouldn’t be.

So now he’s here. With you.

And it’s so much worse, because this isn’t transactional. This isn’t forced. He likes it here. And that’s dangerous. Because earlier tonight he was thinking about ways to gain money off of you, off how you race. To think that now, after fucking you once he comes home to see you try to relax your shoulder, he sees your humanly side.

You don’t trust yourself to speak. Not with the way he’s looking at you. Not with the ghost of his grip still on your skin.

There’s no heat in it. No demand. Just truth. Quiet and hoarse and too full of something neither of you should name.

You set the glass down. “You want the left side or the right?”

His lip twitches—something like a smirk, something tired. “You pick.”

You move first. Down the hall, past your daughter’s door—pausing for a moment, instinctively. Toji follows just behind, steps softer than you'd expect for someone his size. You don’t even need to look to know he glanced toward the door too. You feel it.

In your room, you flick on the lamp. It glows warm. The bed is unmade, like you left it in a rush. There’s a little dinosaur sticker stuck to the headboard—Mai-Mai must’ve snuck in again last night. You pretend not to notice the way Toji’s gaze lingers on it.

“I’ll sleep on top of the covers,” he says after a moment, shrugging one shoulder. “Not tryna weird you out.”

You nod. “You’re not.”

You offer him one of your way too loose shirts and he takes it, decides to change in it without even waiting for you to turn around.

You peak, only a little, and that weird attraction is still there, slipping off that deep line between his pecs, the veins adorning his muscular arms.

But despite it, when you crawl into the bed, you do it under the covers. And when he settles next to you—dressed in your shirt, smelling like you, letting you smell that coconut detergent you're using for the first time, he's still on top of the blanket—he’s close. Too close. The kind of close that says he needed this. Not your bed, not your apartment but you. Your company.

There’s a long silence. You stare at the ceiling. He breathes like he’s trying not to.

“G’night,” you murmur, snuggling into your covers.

“’Night,” he echoes.

And you lay there. Awake.

You think about the way Toji looked at you in the car. The way his hands felt. The way you liked having him here.

Then you think about Mai-Mai. And how you promised yourself you wouldn’t let someone blur the lines again. How much easier it was when, a week ago, he was just your daughter’s friend’s hot dad with too many secrets and a crooked smile.

Now he’s in your bed, and you’re not sure what he wants—or worse, what you want.

You roll over. Pretend you don’t see that bug like creature at the left corner of your ceiling bubble and foam.

You let the guilt of tonight press into your ribs like a weight.

Toji doesn’t sleep.

Not really.

Just lays there, one arm tucked behind his head, eyes locked on the shadowed ceiling. The house is too quiet, like it’s holding its breath and there aren’t even any settling sounds that break through the silence.

Though, on second inspection, he can hear the faint whir of the fridge. The creak of the pipes. The soft shifting of someone in the back room; probably your sister. Not you. Maybe Mai-Mai.

You haven’t moved since you laid down.

Toji shifts. The blanket you gave him still smells like your detergent. Coconut and something citrusy, maybe lemon and it’s pissing him off more than it should. Because he shouldn’t feel comforted here. He shouldn’t like this.

He shouldn’t feel this settled in a house that isn’t his, with a woman who shouldn’t be giving him any more time than the occasional neighborly wave. With someone that was this easy to crack, have sex with him after a few glances and sweet, teasing words.

You didn’t ask him why he didn’t want to go home. Didn’t press. Didn’t judge. You just asked if he’s okay.

And maybe that’s worse because it means you trust him more than he deserves.

Toji lets his hand drift over his chest, fingers tapping against his sternum like he’s trying to shake the weight loose. But it’s still there. Heavy. Too damn familiar.

What the hell is he doing here? 

———

The morning sun is just beginning to spill through the gauzy curtains in soft streaks of gold when a tiny hand tugs at your blanket.

“Mama,” comes the whisper, barely louder than the rustle of sheets. “Mama, wake up.”

You blink, the fuzz of sleep still clinging to your lashes, and turn your head just enough to see her—your four-year-old, Mai-Mai, standing beside your bed in her favorite bunny pajamas, one sock halfway off, her stuffed, teddy penguin clutched under one arm like a shield.

“Mama,” she says again, more insistent this time. “Can we make pancakes now?”

She pays no mind to the huge bulge in the shape of Toji in your bed

You groan softly and peek at the time on your phone. 6:41 a.m. Of course.

“You hungry, baby?” you mumble, voice rough with sleep.

She nods so hard her curls bounce around her face. “Starving. Like a dinosaur.”

You smile despite yourself and reach out to pull her into bed. She squeals and climbs up eagerly, immediately flopping onto your stomach like she’s made of feathers and bricks at the same time.

“Mama,” she giggles, smushing her face against yours, “your breath smells like dragon breath.”

You gasp. “Excuse you! That’s princess breath.”

“Nooo,” she cackles, wiggling on top of you, “it’s dragon! But I still woooooove you.”

She presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, which you return with an exaggerated mwahhhh. You tickle her sides until she’s shrieking with laughter, kicking the blankets off and making your pillows tumble to the floor.

Toji doesn’t seem like he would be woken up by the sounds, but still, you shush her, kindly.

Eventually, she wriggles free and jumps off the bed, arms wide. “C’mon! Let’s make heart pancakes!”

You finally sit up, hair wild, sweatshirt twisted, mascara running down your eyes like you’re a panda but your heart is full in a way that makes the early hour bearable. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and yawn. “Alright, alright. But you’re helping. Is auntie awake?”

Mai-Mai shakes her head with a little bounce, curls flopping. “She said if I wake her up again, she’ll turn into a gremlin.”

You snort, rubbing your eyes. “Fair.” Your sister is a teenager after all.

Behind you, Toji shifts under the covers, still as silent as a rock. You glance over your shoulder. He’s lying on his stomach, face half-buried in your pillow, arm sprawled out where you used to be. His hair is a mess, lashes thick and low over his cheekbone. Peaceful. You quietly reach for a spare blanket—the one you were laying with— and tug it over his back.

Mai-Mai notices your movements, pokes her head to the side like a small puppy, full of tiny little questions and whispers, “Is that Gumi’s dad?”

You nod slowly, standing to stretch your arms over your head. “Yeah, baby.”

She tilts her head further. “Does he always sleep like a sleepy bear?”

You chuckle, shrugging in response.

“Can we make him pancakes too?”

Your heart tugs a little at the way she says it. So natural, like he belongs here. Even she knows him better, longer than you.

You walk with her toward the kitchen, her tiny hand gripping two of your fingers, and glance back one last time at the man asleep in your bed. There’s something in the scene that still feels too fragile to name, but warm enough to not want to disturb.

“Yeah,” you say softly, “we’ll make him pancakes too.”

“Yay! Im the pancake queen,” she announces proudly, already marching toward the kitchen like she owns it.

You follow after her, smiling as you pass the living room—where Toji’s jacket is still draped over the back of the couch—and something about the moment settles in your chest. Too cozy. Too real. Like a normal home. Like there’s finally a man filling out an empty spot in the void and cluster of your house.

By the time you’re in the kitchen, Mai-Mai’s dragged a stool to the counter and is standing on her toes to reach the bowl. She’s ready! Whisk in hand and Choko, her plush penguin companion watching dutifully from the corner.

You pull out the pancake mix from the cupboard above the sink and kiss the top of her head. “Alright, your majesty. Let’s make some breakfast magic.”

And she beams like you’ve just handed her the world.

You adore how she loves helping you in the kitchen and tries to follow every single thing you do; it reminds you of when you were younger, trying to help your grandmother make a cake on Sundays while dipping your finger in the leftovers of the mixture just to get a taste.

Mai-Mai just happens to take it a step further though, she likes to get involved with the ingredients, that's how she always ends up, like now, with flour on her hair.

“Okay, okay, no more flour in your hair, sweetie pie” you laugh, trying to catch Mai-Mai’s wrists mid-spin as she dances around the kitchen. 

There’s batter on her nose, a dollop of it somehow in her eyebrow, and she’s giggling like she just invented joy. “But Mama, I’m a frosted pancake pie now!”

“You’re a pancake batter mess,” you correct her, laughing as you scoop her up and spin her around once before setting her back on the stool. She wobbles dramatically and flops over the counter like she’s fainted, tongue out, making you snort.

You pass her a chocolate chip to eat—just a teeny tiny one—and she presses it to her lips like a secret before devouring it.

Everything is soft and golden. The smell of pancakes is warm in the air, the pan sizzles low on the stove, and the window is cracked just enough to let in the cool morning breeze. It’s peaceful. It’s yours, your home. And gosh, you wish you had a cigarette before you decided to get started on the pancakes.

But then, out of nowhere, Mai-Mai’s voice gets smaller. “Mama?”

You pause, midway through flipping the last pancake. “Yeah, baby?”

She doesn’t look at you right away. She’s playing with her penguin’s flipper, thoughtful in a way kids sometimes get when they’ve been chewing on a question too big for them.

“Does… does everybody have a daddy?”

The spatula goes still in your hand. You glance over.

Mai-Mai’s eyes are still on her toy. Her brow’s scrunched, her voice quieter now. “Megumi has a daddy. And Yuki in my class said she has a daddy who picks her up from ballet.” She glances up at you, blinking, a little uncertain. “But-b-but Megumi’s daddy is here. Mine isn’t here?”

There’s a flutter in your chest. An ache that sneaks up even though you’ve known this day would come. You swallow, and gently set the spatula down, turning to face her fully. She’s watching you, open and soft, like she’s not sure if she asked something wrong.

You sit beside her on a stool, brushing a curl from her cheek. “That’s a really good question,” you say gently, voice steady even as your heart pulls taut. “And you’re right. Megumi does have a daddy who’s here. And some kids have daddies who pick them up from school or take them to ballet.”

Mai-Mai nods slowly, like she’s trying to follow along.

You take a breath, eyes soft on her small, batter-dusted face. “But not all families look the same, baby. Some kids have just a mommy. Or two mommies. Or grandparents. And some daddies… they aren’t ready to be daddies. Or they make choices that aren’t very good.”

She tilts her head. “Like… like they get lost?”

Your smile is small, tired. “Kind of. Some people get lost in a way where they forget how to love right.”

“Gumi said he doesn’t have a mommy”

Your breath catches just a little.

“Yeah,” you say softly, glancing toward the hallway as if you might see Megumi appear there, quiet and observant the way he always is. “That’s true.”

Mai-Mai picks at a dried bit of batter on her sleeve, lips pursed in a thoughtful little frown. “Did she get lost too?”

You lean forward, resting your arms on the counter, searching her small face for the right words. “Baby, I have no idea, Toji hasn’t told me”

“But why?”

“Some things are very very painful for other people for us to demand an answer to feed our curiosity” you tell her and bump her nose. “Just like it hurts mommy to ask about daddy, okay?”

Mai-Mai giggles, likes she’s trying to take in what you just said. But ultimately, and after a lot of staring into your eyes, she nods, lips pressed into a determined thin line.

“It’s fine mommy. I gotchu”

That—that alone makes you want to burst into tears.

“Me too baby, come here gimme a hug. I got you forever”

From the other room, where the floor creaks quietly beneath his set of heavy footsteps, Toji stands just out of sight—silent, watching, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

He doesn’t move. Not yet. He just listens.

But he doesn’t mean to listen in.

He’d just wandered down the hall looking for the bathroom, barefoot and bleary-eyed from the soft drag of sleep, the smell of pancakes warm in the air like a distant memory. He’d meant to step in, to say good morning—or at least grunt it with a smirk—but then he heard Mai-Mai’s voice.

Small. Curious. Sweet. And your voice too, softer than he’s ever heard it. Careful, like the words hurt to shape. He catches just the tail end of it.

And you…your laugh is damp at the edges when you whisper. 

“I got you forever”

Toji stands there in the shadow of the hallway, spine pressed against the wall like he’s avoiding a bullet. There’s a strange pinch in his throat. Familiar. Too familiar.

Megumi was even younger when he asked where his mom went. It had gutted him, because what do you say to a child who lost someone before he ever really had her?

He even hears her speak sometimes in his sleep. His wife. A name spoken with warmth and weariness in equal parts. A name he can’t scrub out of the cracks in his memory even if he doesn’t quite remember her voice anymore.

He can’t help but wonder now… would she think he deserves this? A warm kitchen, a gentle voice, a little girl who curls into her mother’s side and says that’s okay, I got you?

Ugh, why the fuck isn’t Megumi here? Why the fuck did he left his son to spend such a sunny Saturday morning with his fling, why did he allow him to exist in this space and time as only a notion of your daughter. Megumi deserves normality too.

A good life. A good father.

A warm kitchen on a spring Saturday morning. A house smelling like freaking pancakes too.

He exhales quietly through his nose and scrubs a hand down his face. His chest is tight in a way that pisses him off. It feels like guilt. Or grief. Or both. Or that secret third thing that feeds away from his gut every time he is a bad, bad, horrible father.

He almost backs away, gives you your moment. Gives himself his own too.

But then he hears the tiny patter of feet against the floor.

“Mama, I think Toji’s awake,” Mai-Mai says, her voice bright and completely unaware of the weight in the air.

You groan softly. “Did the floor rat us out again?”

There’s a beat. Then, his voice, rougher than usual—lower from sleep, or maybe from that evil thing in his gut—cuts in from the hallway.

“Damn floor’s got no loyalty for real.”

You look up, startled, but not unkind. Never unkind.

He steps into the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest, and he looks too big for the space, but somehow like he’s supposed to be there. His eyes flick from you to your daughter.

Mai-Mai grins wide, pancake batter still on her cheek.

“You want one?” she asks, offering a floppy pancake on a tiny plastic spatula.

Toji huffs a laugh, steps in closer, and crouches slightly to her level. “Only if you made it.”

“I made it with extra chocky chips.” She beams. “And love.”

Toji meets your gaze over her head. Something raw flickers between you, quick as a spark.

“I’ll take two,” he says. “With extra love”

You turn back to the pan with a quiet smile, and as you drop another pancake onto the skillet, you let yourself breathe again.

“We made some for Gumi too, where is he?” Mai-Mai whines

For a second, Toji hesitates.

Just for a second.

It’s barely a breath, a flicker of tension in his jaw before he schools his expression and shifts his weight on the balls of his feet.

“He’s with a friend,” he answers, carefully. Not lying, not entirely at least. But it’s not the whole truth either. “They’re watching movies and eating junk. He’ll be back tonight.”

Mai-Mai hums, not quite satisfied, but accepting.

And then his phone chirps in his hand. It’s nothing dramatic, just a faint brzzz against the palm of his hand where he’d been holding it since earlier. No one notices but him.

Toji stares at the message for a beat too long. Something shifts in his jaw.

The burner app doesn’t show names, but he knows the tone. Clean. Cold. Precise.

Shiu: You in? Need a second gun. Big payout.

And oh, oh his little Megumi… he deserves a fucking father that doesn’t get his hands dirty.

Toji sighs, deeply from the depths of his chest. Your little kitchen skit has much of an expiration date for him as his time with his son. 

You offer him a cup of coffee without asking, the mug warm between your hands, and he takes it like he’s afraid it might burn through his palms. He doesn’t respond to Shiu’s message. Not yet.

Fifteen good, quiet minutes pass like that. Mai-Mai babbling about syrup ratios. The coffee cooling just enough to sip. And for a second, it’s almost easy to pretend the outside world doesn’t exist. That he could just… stay. Bring Megumi over, ignore Shiu for as long as he can.

Then your sister appears in the doorway like some sleep-dazed creature summoned by the scent of carbs and caffeine. She’s a mess of tangled hair, one sock half-off, oversized t-shirt sliding from her shoulder, and a faint pillow-crease stamped on her cheek. She yawns, dragging the back of her hand across her eyes as she shuffles into the kitchen—and then freezes mid-step, caught off guard by the unfamiliar figure of a grown man leaning in your kitchen like he belongs there. 

Her eyes land on him. Toji. The man.

Standing barefoot in your tiny kitchen, leaning against the counter like he lives here. Shirt slightly rumpled, veiny bicep peeking at the edge of his sleeve, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a chocolate chip pancake in the other. He glances up casually, gives a small nod.

Your sister blinks at him. And then again at you. Then—

“What the fuck?!” she hisses in your native tongue, all pretense of sleep wiped clean off her face. “Who the hell is that?! Is that the guy you said was just a friend? Is he wearing your clothes?!”

You flick your wrist at her like you’re swatting away a fly, trying to stay calm in front of the batter-covered child sitting at the counter. “Please don’t do this in front of Mai-Mai,” you say back in a matching whisper. 

Mai-Mai can still understand some of your native language, just enough to communicate.

Toji sips his coffee, gaze sliding between the two of you. His brow lifts slightly, amused but quiet. He doesn’t understand the language, but the tone? The volume? The scandal? The nasty, side eyed look he’s receiving from your sister? Oh, he’s definitely catching all of that.

“Everything alright?” he asks casually, voice still rough from sleep.

“Yeah,” you say, tight smile. “My sister’s just… surprised.”

Your sister leans in, speaking rapid-fire now. “You let him sleep over? While Mai-Mai’s here?! What the hell were you thinking? Do you even know this guy?!”

“I do know him,” you mutter back in your shared language. “And nothing happened.”

She gestures wildly. “I saw him. That is not a ‘nothing happened’ kind of man. That’s a ‘locks his jaw and kills people with one hand’ kind of man. He has scars.”

“I’m right here,” Toji says mildly, watching the exchange like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Should I be worried?”

You don’t respond. You’re too busy slapping a pancake on a plate for your sister and shoving it toward her like a peace offering.

She takes it with narrowed eyes and mumbles something under her breath. You catch it. Of course you do.

“You’re insane. And you reek of burnt tires. Tell me you didn’t—.”

Toji doesn’t catch the words, but her tone makes him glance at you again. “She mad at you, or me?”

“Both,” you mutter, setting another pancake on Mai-Mai’s plate.

Mai-Mai, entirely unfazed by the adult tension ricocheting through the kitchen, beams up at her aunt. “We made heart pancakes! Wanna see the one I made for Gumi?”

‘His son’ you mouth sign to your sister towards Toji.

Your sister exhales, clearly trying to pull herself together, and smiles down at her niece. “Of course, baby. You’re the only one here I trust not to ruin my life.”

Toji looks between the two of you, setting his mug down. He stays quiet, observant—he’s no stranger to tense households, after all. But even in the unease, there’s a glimmer of something different in his posture. A kind of reluctant respect. Your sister might be young, but she’s not afraid to stand her ground. And she clearly loves Mai-Mai more than she loves her sleep.

Toji’s eyes meet yours again, brow raised like he’s silently asking if you need backup or an escape route. You just sigh and shake your head.

“She’s not wrong,” you say in Japanese, watching your sister try to scrape syrup off her fingers. “But she’s dramatic.”

Your sister mutters something else under her breath and Toji leans toward you just slightly, voice low.

“I don’t know what she said, but… I think I deserve that pancake.”

You snort. “You better help with the dishes, then.”

He holds your gaze. “Deal.”

From the hallway, Mai-Mai lifts her plastic spatula again, waving a floppy pancake like a flag. “This one’s for Gumi!” she yells.

And for a second, you all pause—three grown ups and a little girl in a kitchen that smells like sugar and warmth. It’s chaotic. Awkward. Kind of a mess.

Toji doesn’t say anything. Just raises the coffee to his lips and sips, like he hasn’t just become the most confusing part of your shared morning.

He looks up.

You’re in the middle of rinsing the spatula, humming something soft under your breath, the domestic rhythm so natural it almost hurts. Mai-Mai’s still at the table, drawing on a napkin with a purple crayon, tongue poked out in concentration. Your sister’s half-listening to a video on her phone, hair messy from sleep, one slipper missing.

He replies to Shiu. A simple ‘yes’

Toji presses the message away. Locks the phone. Again. He already knows he’s going. Always does.

He breathes through his nose, jaw tight, the inside of his cheek caught between his molars. Megumi deserves better than this—than burner phones and vague excuses, than a father who flinches at the scent of warm pancakes because it feels too fucking soft to be meant for him. He should stay here. Should have said no.

But Shiu doesn’t ask twice. And the money’s too good.

He rubs a hand over his mouth and stands slowly, deliberately, like the weight of this moment might crack the floor.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, directed toward you now. You glance up.

“I need to head out. Something came up.”

You dry your hands on your pants instinctively and Toji finds it so undeniably hot, he has to pull away “Right now?”

Toji nods. “Yeah. I wouldn’t ask, but…” His fingers curl loosely around the edge of the counter. “Can you watch Megumi tonight? Maybe tomorrow too.”

You don’t hesitate. “Of course. He’s fine here. We’ll go shopping in Harajuku in a bit, though– my sister is leaving tomorrow and I asked her to come to Japan with an empty suitcase. Megumi can come with”

He nods. Quiet gratitude flickers in his eyes, but there’s something else, too. Something that looks a lot like defeat. Like guilt, dragged in behind him like a shadow he never got rid of.

“I’ll send a message,” he mutters. “Let his friend’s mom know to bring him here before you leave.”

He doesn’t say what it really is. Doesn’t tell you that his hands will be bloodied by sunrise, that Megumi isn't being watched by a friend’s mom but by someone he has sex with, or that the peace you gave him in your kitchen—the peace Megumi should have had for a fleeting moment—is already slipping through his fingers.

Instead, he moves toward the hallway, already planning what he’ll pack, already pushing emotion out of reach.

But as he passes the table, Mai-Mai looks up at him with a grin. “Bye, Toji!” she says, waving her sticky crayon hand.

And his scarred mouth softens at the corners, just barely.

_______

A woman with a perfectly honey colored balayage leaves Megumi to you, almost an hour after Toji takes his leave.

She’s tall. Perfect posture. Perfect face features. Everything on her looks enticing, even if she looks older than you.

You’re just there in a pair of loose jeans, a tank top and a cropped leather jacket.

Her sunglasses stay on the whole time. She's polite in the stiff, almost rehearsed way. She hands Megumi off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and my Goood– Her nails are immaculate.

You thank the woman politely, bow just low enough to match hers, and keep your face pleasant. The moment the door clicks shut behind her, though, you’re already turning it over in your mind.

Something about her didn’t sit right.

She hasn’t said Megumi’s name once. Not even a warm “have fun” or a casual “he’s been talking about this all day.” No familiarity. No maternal air. Not even a glance at the boy she supposedly brought over. She says something about "Toji running off again," and then glides back into her sleek black car like she was never really here.

Megumi steps into your house quietly, backpack slung over one shoulder, face unreadable, pouting with his top lip overlapping the bottom one.

Megumi stands in the entryway, methodical as ever. Shoes lined up, backpack slid down to his feet like he’s done this routine a thousand times. His expression is flat, unreadable in a way that reminds you too much of his father.

“Hey, kiddo,” you greet, softer now. “You eat yet?”

He nods. “She got me food.”

“She your friend’s mom?” you ask, keeping your tone light, smiling softly at him.

Megumi just shrugs. 

You pause. Just long enough to make you feel like you’re standing on something that might crumble. But you let it go—for now. You’re not about to interrogate someone else’s child. Especially not when his shoulders are already drawn up so tight.

“Well,” you say, forcing brightness back into your voice, “we’ve got pancakes and we’re going shopping. You up for that?”

He looks up at you, dark eyes flicking from your face to where Mai-Mai is already yelling something about “matching outfits” from the living room. His face lights up immediately, like he wasn’t in wrath with the whole world just a few seconds ago.

“GUMIIIIIIII” your daughter yells from inside the house, but Megumi is already halfway through the living room, yelling her name back at her.

Your sister greets him in broken Japanese.

_____

Takeshita Street is its usual chaos; candy-colored and humming with noise, every corner packed with fashionistas, wide-eyed tourists, and enough crepe stands to sugar-shock a small army. Megumi and Mai-Mai too, beg for a sweet treat like their dual, connected and synced voice can get you to fold. Even if one yells for crepes and the other for bubble waffles. 

You insist on your ‘no’. You don’t know what Toji’s rules about sweets are when it comes to his son and you’d rather he treats him to something himself, instead of risking an allergy reaction or an angered dad.

Your sister is already half a block ahead, snapping blurry pictures on her phone and dramatically swearing about her GPS leading her in circles. “I swear it was right here…the thrift place with the angel wings in the window! Where the hell is it?!” she yells back over her shoulder, waving her hand in the air before disappearing into a narrow side alley.

Mai-Mai is practically vibrating with excitement, her tiny hand gripping yours as she points to everything—plushie machines, oversized bows, a man with pink hair handing out bubble tea flyers. “Mommy look! They have socks with bunnies! Gumi! Want socks with bunnies?”

Megumi blinks, caught off guard, still pouting over your denial of crepes, but solemnly nods his head at Mai-Mai.

Your poor little heart shatters. 

If you can't treat him to food, you’ll at least buy him something. Anything.

The bunny socks come first– two pairs of them so he and your daughter can match. He giggles a little, when he spreads his arms toward the counter and you actually give him the paper bag with the socks in.

“C’mon,” you laugh, steering them toward a tucked-away shop. “Let’s get you something else as well. No arguments.”

Megumi looks like he wants to argue on principle, but doesn’t. Instead, his eyes wander curiously over a shelf of sleek black backpacks and capsule toy machines, fingers hovering over a display of enamel pins shaped like tiny cats with swords.

You crouch beside Mai-Mai, who’s clutching a soft, strawberry-shaped purse now, big enough to hold maybe three raisins and one very confused penguin plush. Hmm, well, maybe the penguin plush is pushing it actually.

 “That the one?”

She nods vigorously. “I’m gonna put secrets in it.”

You grin and straighten. “And you?” you ask Megumi, watching him hesitate. “Something small? No pressure.”

He pauses. Picks up one of the pins and turns it over in his hand like it weighs more than it should. “This, can I have this please?”

“Of course sweetie,” you say gently. “We’ve got a whole afternoon. No one leaves empty-handed.”

At the counter, Mai-Mai bounces on her toes, proudly holding up her purse like it’s designer couture, while Megumi stands a little behind, still adjusting to the idea that he’s allowed to want things without earning them.

Your sister returns just as the cashier bags the items, breathless and triumphant, holding up a faded plastic business card and a bag that's much alike like she’s won the lottery. “Found it! They were hiding behind a Lucky Cat mural, the bastards.”

“Proud of you,” you deadpan, handling over the receipt the cashier gives you.

You end up visiting three more stores, telling yourself that you're in dire need to buy Mai-Mai even cuter clothes, but ultimately buy an outfit for Megumi too. 

And then a small Batman action figure that he kept looking with drool practically leaking from his mouth.

Then, a matching Catwoman one for Mai-Mai who almost threw a tantrum about buying all things that match with Megumis.

But it’s fine, it’s just the race money, you tell yourself, it’s something you’ve earned in a few minutes and can earn again as easily. It’s a much bigger price to see your daughter happy. Her friend too.

After you buy yourself something too—because frankly, you’re too jealous of only kids buying things— you buy them both cold drinks. Strawberry tea for Mai-Mai, lemon soda for Megumi—and sit together on a low stone bench tucked beneath a mural of a rabbit DJing under a disco ball. 

Your sister slumps beside you dramatically, legs stretched out, sunglasses perched on her head now. She scrolls through the photos she took, grumbling at the exposure but refusing to delete a single one.

Mai-Mai climbs into your lap, straw poking at her cheek, while Megumi sits beside you, quiet but so cutely close. His fingers turn the cat pin over and over again while peeping at the bag in which the bunny socks are in, that by now he has given to you, seeming too focused on his little Batman figure smooching Mai-Mai’s catwoman one.

“Megumi, you good honey?”

“Mmmmhm. Thank you,” he says after a long moment, not looking at you, voice barely above the sound of the street. But it’s there. And Mai-Mai is making him giggle with something she says about Batman having a t-Rex in his bat cave.

“You like Harajuku, Mai!?” Your sister asks and Mai-Mai responds with a vigorous nod, then she turns to Megumi “Anaaaata, Megumi?”

Megumi understands her effort to speak to him in Japanese and nods just like your daughter.

“Daddy and I don’t shop a lot” he finally says to you.

“Really?”

“He leaves a lot so..” 

You don’t push it, but your heart shutters for him. He looks so small, so thin, so cute when he’s grabbing some of his soda, trying to blow bubbles into the straw as your little troublemaker practically bullies her figure into his face.

For a moment you're just happy, happy happy happy, like it’s a competition, that your daughter won’t say that too but then, the last six months drown all over you as fast as you’ve managed to forget them.

You understand. 

Toji and you aren’t very different from each other. Your kids aren’t either.

You just smile awkwardly and take a sip of your drink, nudging his shoulder gently. Megumi turns to you and smiles big, with the edges of his lips almost reaching his ears.

You can’t help but think of how much you wanted a son too, of your own. How at one point in your life, if Mai-Mai’s dad wanted to, you’d give him another child.

“What did he say?” You sister asks and you purse your lips at her in response

“About his dad being gone constantly”

The silence that follows after, punches you so hard in the chest that you forget how to breathe.

The four of you stay like that for a while—city noise softening around you, the afternoon golden. Something warm starts settling inside your ribs.

_______

A cleaner version of itself with all the color stripped out—like the filter of a security cam feed. Concrete, steel, and silence. That’s about Kyoto at night.

Toji leans against the hood of a matte black sedan in a half-empty parking garage just shy of downtown. The kind of place no one looks twice at. Not unless they’re paid to. His phone buzzes once.

Shiu: North stairwell. Bring your piece.

He pockets it, pulls his leather jacket tighter, and walks toward the dim green halo of the emergency exit. The air smells like old piss, rubber, and oil. Familiar. Sharp. Like slipping into an old skin. He should know, having taken a job like this more than a hundred times, like he doesn’t have a 9mm in the waist of his pants, just in case.

Inside the stairwell, Shiu’s waiting. Slick hair, gloves, a black case balanced on the rail. He’s smoking again, but when does he ever not? No smile on his face, no nothing, he even looks like he hasn’t been taking care of himself lately. His eyes are hollow all around and he’s unshaved. Toji knows, he’s not just sporting a new look.

Nonetheless, whatever’s going on, Toji isn’t here to ask questions.

“You’re late,” Shiu says. Then, flat: “Client wants it done tonight. High-floor penthouse. One, maybe two guards. You go quiet. I watch from across the street.”

Toji rolls his neck once. Like a stretch. Τhen he asks the million dollar question. “The payout?”

“Seven figures. Cash. No trace.”

He adjusts the holster beneath his coat. Glances at the blueprints flickering on Shiu’s tablet. He’s done this before. Names blur. Tech upgrades. Steps stay the same: go in. Ghost the mark. Walk out.

But something drags in his chest tonight. Not fear. Just the shape of a sticky hand holding a pancake and a wish that Megumi. Was. There. Too. 

Shiu doesn’t notice the change of sourness in Toji’s face but if he does, he doesn’t speak on it.

Across him, Toji nods. “Let’s get it done.” Then he’s already at the building across. He moves up the stairs, the sound of his boots swallowed by concrete.

The building is a glass carcass. Forty stories of marble, chrome, and capital. Empty after hours except for the lights humming behind high-priced doors. The kind of place that forgets you the moment you leave.

He ditches the coat. Swaps it for just his black compression shirt. Tactical pants, soft boots, a zip-up with room to move. Pistol tucked low. Silencer already on. No mess. No questions.

He doesn’t think about breakfast. Or the way Mai-Mai waved with her syrup-sticky fingers. Or the stillness in Megumi’s eyes the night before, when he left him with her. He puts the thought down like an old photo. Face-down.

Focus.

Thirty-nine floors up. Private elevator. Biometric lock.

Shiu’s voice cuts in low over comms. “Two guards on thirty-eight. One posted. One walking the loop. No movement in the unit since 02:10.”

Toji steps onto floor thirty-seven.

Takes the last two flights by foot. The stairwell lights stutter awake with each step. Buzzing. Trying to sterilize something already too far gone.

He stops just before the door. Cracks it open.

Two guards. As promised. One bored by the elevator. The other pacing with a phone in hand.

Toji slips out.

Twenty seconds.

The first doesn’t even blink. A hand clamps his mouth, knife slides under the ribs, downward. Fast. Quiet. Weight sinks to the floor.

The second turns too late. One shot. Suppressed. Neat.

No one breathes differently than Toji’s had on the trigger commands.

Shiu: “You’re in.”

The biometric lock gives like wet paper. Cheap hardware pretending to be secure. Toji doesn’t slow. Inside, the penthouse is steel-dressed decadence. Cold furniture, wide glass. A skyline view that forgets people are dying of curses below.

The mark is on a chaise near the window. Shirt open. Drink in hand. Laptop glowing beside him. Legs crossed like he’s never been scared in his life.

He looks up.

One shot. Through the eye. Drops his glass.

Fast and Final.

Toji moves. Clears the space. Gloves wipe handles, edges. No flourish. No guilt.

The body behind him is already cooling, bleeding out.

He stands by the window for a breath. Just one. Not for the dead man. He doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even know his name, never will get to know it most likely.

But out there—past the lights, the glass, the soundproofed sins—one mini version of himself is with you. He dreams of bikes, deserves one nice morning with pancakes for breakfast, not even fathoming of bodies cooling on polished floors.

Only Toji knows what it’s like, and maybe thats for the better.

Lately, Megumi has been sucked into liking Batman. The hero who beats up bad guys, the one who despite his tragic past is protective, vengeful towards evil. But Toji—Toji is one of the guys Megumi’s sweet fictional Batman would leave crippled. In Arkham penitentiary. There’s no Batman-like redemption for him.

Shiu: “It’s done?”

Toji turns from the window. Slides the last piece of himself back into place, no need to think of Megumi now. He doesn’t deserve to think of Megumi right now.

Toji:“Yeah,” 

Toji: “Done.”

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

[stupidfuckingwindow]

So fucking special. // (Mohawk) Mark Grayson.

Notes: Prisoner and Omni are my faves but he's lowk making his way up the hierarchy. Mohawk without piercings is like an angel without wings I can't believe he doesn't have any in canon. He looks naked without them. Sorry guys he doesn't actually say the title can you tell I hate writing dialogue?

Content/warnings: Mark is an asshole and he smokes. Orgasm denial, he has piercings, vibrator used (on reader), mention of being tied up (reader), not proofread. Afab reader.

Word count: 822

Tag(s): @tammytonya @onlybatsyy

The only light you can see when Mark turns off the overhead ones, is the little red-orange dot of the cigarette held in his fingers. Your eyes have to adjust a minute, to the dim, barely-there silver-blue shine poking through his bent and broken blinds. What little you make out is the shadow of Mark's frame, and glimpses of his skin revealed under the glow of his cigarette. The curve of his fingers, and, when his hand lifts to his face, his jaw. The thin ring of purpled skin under his eye from all-nighters. When his hand drops again, you can see the dark blue and black fabric boxers- matching his suit, because he's fucking annoying- contrasting the tanned, scarred muscle of his thigh.

The smoke permeates the air even after he puts out the cigarette. You can taste it on your tongue, draw it into your lungs with every breath and feel it's earthy, harsh burn in your nostrils. The grey curls of smoke weigh down on your chest with the combination of the warm, humid air, but it's not as heavy as Mark's stare- Something you feel, instead of see. The cuff tying you to his bedpost feels colder on your wrist. His steps are soft enough on the carpet that you miss the sound of them until the bed is sinking around your hips and his warm breath is fanning over your face, smelling like ash and the mint gum he'd been chewing earlier.

He settles a calloused palm on your knee, lips brushing against yours. They're chapped and bitten, little cuts in the pink flesh that taste faintly of metal, and only soften with spit. Mark pulls away slightly, only to be felt leaving a trail of bites and kisses down your throat and sternum, teeth catching your nipple and tongue following to soothe the ache.

He pulls away, shifting you closer by a soft tug of the hips and fitting himself between your thighs, hooking your legs around his waist. His lips are on yours, again- Cold piercings lightly poking into your chin and mouth, breath hot and mixing with yours. Less careful or tender, this time. Something rattles on the nightstand as he blindly searches with his hands, and a soft click is heard, followed by the hum of your vibrator. He sucks on your bottom lip, pressing the wand to your clit. You can feel him smile a little to himself mid kiss when you buck and give a whine.

Smug asshole.

He kicks the setting up far higher for a full minute, snickering when you writhe and squirm, and grinds it into your cunt- hard, before the vibrations drop back to that initial slow, teasing buzz that keeps you teetering on the edge of orgasm. The vibrator is pulled back completely after, and you hear it hit, presumably, the wall when tossed away. “Mark-” He cuts you off with a squeeze of your thigh. “You don't need it when you have me, anyway, babe.”

He flicks on a lamp, after that. Blinding you, stupid smiling face the first thing you see when you adjust to the lack of darkness again. His boxers are gone, now, cock standing straight against his stomach and silver piercings glinting in the low light. Your vibrator is a casualty on the floor- Random pieces scattered about and a teeny, tiny dent in your wall. You should be angrier at him, but the argument dies on your tongue when he taps the fat head of his cock against your clit. For a second he's serious; Brows knit together in focus as he pushes himself past that first tight ring of muscle and groaning when his hips press flush into yours. But as soon as you make a noise, all that disappears back into the usual annoying ass smirk.

He rests a hand on your stomach as he settles into a lazy rhythm, smile crooked at the feeling of the bulge in your stomach against his palm as he grinds against you. His fingers lightly press into it, and you scowl at his dumbass. He makes up for it, though- Hoisting your legs up onto his shoulders to fuck you deeper, folding himself over your body and hands on the headboard, which creaks at the pressure of his fingers as they tighten, the closer he gets to orgasm. Mattress springs creak and groan in sync with your huffs, and gasps, and his ragged groans, and the increasingly louder sound of his hips snapping against yours.

Your headboard crunches and splinters under his hands as he comes, head hung low and hair messy, fucking you through your own orgasm and collapsing over your form, crushing you for a split second before he readjusts to lay his head in your cleavage, and his eyes squeeze shut, satisfied, despite the fact that you know he'll be right back at it in a few minutes.

[peachdues]

Phantasmagoria (Part I)

Tell Me to Stop (Sanemi’s Version)

Sanemi x F!Reader, Modern AU

A/N: it's time. This one is very personal to me, and I've drawn a lot upon my own life/experiences to write this. I hope it lives up to expectations, but in case it doesn't, remember there is still a part two and a part three (so more smut/angst/feelings).

Massive TW: grief, loss of parent to cancer, canon character death (in non-canon way), drug and alcohol abuse, anger, unhealthy coping mechanisms galore.

CW: 10.5k words; explicit sexual content. Unprotected sex/oral (F!receiving), mildly dubious consent (Reader doesn't tell Sanemi it's her first time, and there's a question whether he would've done it); both Sanemi and Reader are under the influence. Creampie, lots of cursing, angst.

For the playlist, listen here.

Without further ado!

Speak in tongues / I don't even recognize your face / mirror on the wall / tell me all the ways to stay away

phan·tas·ma·go·ri·a – an exhibition of optical effects and illusions; a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or imagined.

Once upon a time, as a little girl, she’d believed love was pretty; she imagined it would be soft, pink, and shiny and make her feel warm and pretty in return.

As an adult, she’d come to realize that love wasn’t pretty at all; it was cold, lonely, and painful.

Love was dull and harsh and all-consuming.

Love was black.

For Y/N, loving Sanemi Shinazugawa was like falling into one of the black holes she’d learned about in science class as a child. It was infinite and empty and there was no space for anything but the all-consuming void that promised to rip her apart and condemn her to oblivion.

This love had taken her naïve, romantic heart to chew up and spit back out, leaving her only with a misshapen lump held together by the leftover sinew of her hopes and dreams.

Y/N believed her love for Sanemi would be the death of her. It was a poison that had seeped into her veins and was slowly rotting her from the inside out. She knew it was stupid to love someone who would not and could not love her back, but she hadn’t yet figured out a way to stop.

And since she could not stop loving him, she could only resign herself to its toxicity until it killed her for good.

—————————————————————————

Summer had ended, and Y/N was dreading having to return to Ubayashiki University. Dreading it because she’d spent the entirety of the summer back in her – their – hometown, caring for her ailing mother, and that isolation had meant she didn’t have to wake up every day with a pit in her stomach at the thought of running into him. But then her mother had finally succumbed to her illness a week prior, and Y/N was now forced to carry on in the world as though hers had not just been blown apart.

Looking back, Genya’s death had marked the end for a lot of things, including the once-irreverent trio that had been Y/N, Kyojuro, and Sanemi.

They had been friends – the best of friends, really, since pre-school, in large part because of their parents. Kyojuro, as warm and as vibrant as the sun, had been their grounding force, always wise beyond his years but quick to laugh. Then there was Sanemi, and though he could be prone to his episodes of anger, he was a staunch, loyal defender of his friends and would do anything if it meant making them smile. Last, there had been Y/N, and she’d been so happy to just love her boys and be loved by them. She’d always felt invincible with them by her side, ready to take on the world, together.

And for a while, they did.

Their friendship withstood even the toughest of trials. It lasted through the death of Kyojuro’s mother and the subsequent decline of his father, so unable to cope that he could not function without the bitter sting of alcohol to soothe the pain of Rukka’s absence. Their friendship had even endured the deaths of both Sanemi’s and Genya’s parents at the hands of a drunk driver, the shrapnel from the crash permanently scarring both of the boys’ faces, though Sanemi had born the worst of it.

But because they’d had one another, they’d made it through. Y/N’s own mother, though a single parent, took in both Shinazugawa boys until the state placed them in a home, though that rarely stopped Sanemi from frequenting Y/N’s house after school. Even Kyojuro grew to be a constant fixture around her house, drawn to the warmth and love her mother showed both boys as if they were her own.

And then they all grew up, and they were set to begin their first year of university at Ubaya-U come the fall. The three of them had been eager to set out into the world, to grab at any and all opportunities that arose, and for each of them to become great in their own right.

But not two weeks into the fall semester, Sanemi received the phone call that had brought his world crashing down around him. Genya, his beloved, cherished younger brother, had been shot dead outside of their foster home, killed by some kid in retaliation for some fight Genya hadn’t picked.

Y/N hadn’t been with him when he received the news, instead only getting a text from Kyojuro to getthefuckoverhereNOW. She’d bolted from her class and ran to the boys’ dorm across campus. She’d found Sanemi, curled into a ball on the floor beneath a hole he’d punched into the drywall, sobbing, and she hadn’t known what else to do but hold him along with Kyojuro while her own tears threatened to blind her.

Hours later, when Sanemi realized he would have to return to their hometown to make final arrangements, he’d asked Y/N to accompany him to the train station. Kyojuro would have gone as well, but he’d been unable to call off from work, and so the three had planned for Y/N to return with him the next day, as she was the only one between the three of them with a car on campus.

Of course, Y/N agreed to drive Sanemi to the train station, because she couldn’t possibly imagine leaving him alone. He’d looked so lost, so broken, and she would’ve done anything, anything at all, to lessen the weight on his shoulders.

Because she loved him, and she’d loved him for years, and love meant giving everything you had, everything you were to the other, especially in times of need. So she agreed, and though he’d been unable to speak, Sanemi had rested his head on her shoulder in silent gratitude.

She’d not known that, in her efforts to love and support him at his lowest, she would doom their group’s entire dynamic.

In retrospect, she shouldn’t have said anything. It was the wrong time, the wrong way to tell him what was in her heart, and she’d known that; but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. She’d been unable to stop the way her heart clenched as she walked him towards the platform at Amane Station, his head hung low and his eyes rimmed red from hours of crying. It hurt her to see him in such pain, hurt so badly that she’d been desperate to alleviate it in any way she could. She’d thought it would have been enough to hug him, to give him a reassuring squeeze and a promise that she and Kyo would be back home the following morning and that he wouldn’t be alone.

But then, before she could stop them, those cursed words had fallen from her lips and ruined her, ruined everything.

I love you, Sanemi. With all my heart.

As soon as she’d heard herself say it, she’d known she’d fucked up. She knew, as Sanemi stiffened in her embrace and pulled away from her, that she’d indelibly altered things between them, and that she could never take those words back. And she’d known, the moment she saw the cold, bewildered look in his eyes, so angry it made her stomach drop, that he neither returned nor wanted her love.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” He snapped, stepping back from her, creating a chasm between them that could not be bridged.

His train had finally arrived, and he’d stormed away from her, turned his back to her, and refused to look back as he boarded the car. She’d stayed behind, standing there amidst a throng of travelers and their families, for a long while, tears slipping hot and fast down her cheeks until the salt burned permanent tracks into her skin.

It hadn’t mattered that Kyojuro had called her later, Sanemi having filled him in on what happened, what she’d done, to tell her not to worry; that Sanemi had just been frustrated and overwhelmed, and that all would be well between them after the funeral.

Kyojuro lied. Sanemi hadn’t so much as looked her way the entire time she and Kyo were with him during his brother’s funeral and had refused to even acknowledge her small greeting. Y/N understood he was going through the worst pain imaginable, and she’d known he was angry because she’d dumped her feelings on him when he’d been in no place to receive them, but his rejection still fucking hurt.

Worse than his rejection had been his total ignorance of her, his obstinate refusal to so much as acknowledge her existence. Y/N hadn’t been able to understand how he could be so angry with her to not even treat her like a person, to pretend as though they hadn’t been friends – best friends – since they were in diapers.

Y/N had wanted to give him space, however, and wanted herself to stop loving him so things could one day go back to how they’d been, so she started to distance herself from Sanemi, believing she would still have Kyojuro, her sun, to lean on if she needed it.

But she’d been wrong, so very wrong. Because Kyojuro had defended Sanemi with a not-so-gentle reminder that ‘he’s dealing with a lot right now,’ which only fractured her heart even more because Kyojuro had taken a side and it hadn’t been hers.

Thus, Y/N was left to love them both at a distance, and she was forced to watch them carry on their friendship without her, even though they’d all come to Ubaya-U together and even though her exile from the group meant that Y/N had no friends at all.

So, her first semester at university, the semester she’d dreamed would be life-changing and exciting, became a cacophony of sobs smothered into her pillow at night so her roommate wouldn’t hear her winking out like a dying star. And she had no friends, because her best friend didn’t think she was his, and she couldn’t stop loving a boy who didn’t want to love her back.

—————————————————————————

Her mom got sick in the spring of her first year. Initially, it had been a good prognosis. Y/N somehow managed to balance her busy, pre-law class load with her mother’s care, fluidly alternating between office hours and hospital appointments. But no friends meant she’d had no one to talk to, no one to lean on in those moments when her legs gave out and sobs wracked her body because she’d been so fucking scared of losing her mom. But she’d been kept busy enough to be able to squash that loneliness down and ignore it like her boys had ignored her, and so, she’d pushed through.

By the time summer had come, however, things had grown exponentially worse. Several nights ended in Y/N having to call an ambulance to rush to her home, because her mom had fallen and Y/N wasn’t strong enough to lift her by herself, and there hadn’t been anyone else she could call.

There had been a few times – maybe two or three – when she’d passed Kyojuro on the street, home briefly to check on his little brother, and the fiery blonde would make a face like he wanted to say something like he wanted to talk to her or care about her, but Y/N would turn and run before he had the chance.

She never saw Sanemi, though that hadn’t surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to be able to stomach being back home so soon after Genya.

Her mother’s condition yo-yoed throughout the summer and into the early fall of her second year of university. Just when it finally seemed as though things were looking up for her mother, when she was just days from her last treatment, she died.

No one had been there to hold her – to comfort her – when Y/N began wailing as her mother’s chest rose for the last time and did not go back down.

Her mother had died, and Y/N had been left utterly and completely alone.

Her mother’s funeral had taken place on a sunny October day, the autumn air cool and crisp as an apple. She’d stood beside her mother’s casket as stranger after stranger passed, offering their condolences and personal anecdotes of her mother’s kindness.

Not once had she seen a familiar face. Not once had either of her boys made an appearance, not even for the woman who had loved them as her own.

She’d returned to campus a few days later, and because the universe had decided she’d not suffered nearly enough for some unknown crime, she ran into him. By the cruelest twist of fate, Sanemi decided to cross the street opposite her at the same time, and what was left of her heart skipped several beats.

For all her efforts to put distance between them, she still loved him, and it was a realization so bitter she thought she would start dry heaving right there on the pavement. She tried to duck her head, to avoid catching his attention, but the crosswalk light changed, and he was suddenly walking towards her, and she couldn’t help but chance a glance up.

Lilac eyes collided with her own, and Y/N thought the world was about to open beneath her and swallow her whole.

His gaze lingered for a touch longer than normal for a stranger, and Y/N feared he’d be able to see the scars from her tears on her face or see how her heart still bore the tattoo of his name. But then he blinked, and she took the chance to vanish among the throng of students, dashing back to her dorm before the tears could spill down her cheeks once more.

She barely made it to her room before her legs gave out from under her, her sobs choking from her throat.

She wished her mother had taken her with her.

—————————————————————————

It was fitting that Y/N met the personification of spring at the start of the spring semester.

Her name was Mitsuri, and Y/N sat next to her in her 8:00 AM class. The girl was so bubbly and bright that it was difficult, even for the drab Y/N to resist striking up a conversation with her. Mitsuri was a streak of color that bloomed across Y/N’s eternal gray sky, with her exotic pink and green hair and permanent blush. It took only a few weeks, but Mitsuri and Y/N became the best of friends, and Y/N could not get over how good it felt to have one of those again.

Mitsuri and Y/N began to do everything together, and bit by bit, Y/N felt herself smiling more, laughing as her friend flirted with every him, her, and them who crossed their path. They figured out they shared nearly every class together, and when they weren’t furiously taking notes during their lectures, they were studying together in small corners around campus, dreaming of what was to come after exams and graduation in a year and a half.

Her pink-haired friend helped Y/N feel confident again, like a person. Mitsuri helped bring Y/N back out of the shell she’d so carefully crafted in the wake of her abandonment, and she began to feel a little lighter, a little more buoyant thanks to the happy, beautiful girl at her side.

That wasn’t to say Mitsuri didn’t have her own demons – she very much did. At night, Mitsuri and Y/N push their beds together in the latter’s dorm (Y/N’s first roommate had long since moved out). There, huddled together under the mess of blankets and pillows, they would whisper the names of their heartache with one another – Sanemi and Obanai – and they comforted each other, wiping their tears away with soft promises that as long as they had one another, they would be okay.

By March, Mitsuri convinced Y/N to go clubbing with her. Y/N was hesitant until she looked in the mirror after her friend had spent the evening primping her and turning her into a woman Y/N scarcely recognized in the mirror. Her friend had dressed her in a short, emerald green dress that hugged every curve just right, a teasing slit going high up on her left thigh. Y/N’s hair had been slicked back into a high ponytail that swung tantalizingly between her shoulder blades. Her cleavage was a bit more exposed in the pinkette’s dress than Y/N was accustomed to, but damn if she didn’t look downright sumptuous.

Y/N was determined to let loose, to not think about the black stain on her heart that was him, and so she greedily accepted Mitsuri’s hand as the two braved the chilly, early spring air. Mitsuri pulled her through the doors of the club -- the Kizuki Moon Lounge -- and for the first time in a year and a half, she felt alive.

Beneath the strobe of multi-colored lights, amidst the pulsing bass of the techno-music threatening to rupture her eardrums, Y/N had found herself anew; no longer was she the sad, morose girl who barely existed. Under Mitsuri’s care, Y/N transformed into a raving princess, who owned the sticky floor of the Kizuki’s club each time she and her friend traipsed onto it in their too-high heels, wearing too-short dresses and clutching too-strong drinks in their greedy hands.

In April, Mitsuri introduced her to Shinobu, a wisp of a pharmacology student who was every bit as beautiful as she was terrifying, though Y/N could not exactly place why the petite girl could scare off any ill-intentioned man that tried to swagger over to them, given her ever-present, sugary-sweet smile.

She also met three girls – Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma – who were beautiful and fun-loving and rounded out the newly-formed friend group with their fire-and-ice personalities.

First, there was Hinatsuru – quieter, but still capable of throwing it back and having a grand old time, especially once her drink of choice (rum and Coke) had the opportunity to work its way through her blood. A pretty blush was always the telltale sign that Hina was ready to jump up on a table and captivate anyone who had the pleasure of watching her dance.

Next, there was Makio, brash and bold, but fiercely loyal. Some asshole had made the mistake of snapping the thong-like top of Mitsuri’s skirt once and found his head shoved down on the table, his arm pulled back in a self-defense maneuver as the dark-haired beauty threatened to wrench the man’s offending arm from its socket.

Finally, there was Suma, who often clung to the other two like a lost child, but once she gained her confidence, would flirt with absolutely anything and everything that moved, with a sultry giggle and a bat of her pretty eyes. Within only twenty minutes of knowing her, Suma had convinced Y/N to make out with her, the beautiful girl tasting like cotton candy and summertime as their tongues lazily danced together beneath the throb of the club lights.

With her new group of girlfriends, Y/N began to lose herself to the alluring beck and call of Ubayashiki’s local rave scene, her nights quickly becoming defined by sticky drinks and jeweled makeup, and the skimpy outfits Mitsuri always shoved her into. But she could not find it in her heart to care, because for once, her mind was on something else that didn’t involve the smell of pine, or lavender eyes, or the feeling of a home that no longer existed.

But even though the sour drinks made her feel so warm and vibrant while she danced, there were still moments when clarity hit and she missed them.

She missed the way Kyojuro’s strong arm would drape around her shoulders, heavy and warm, and how his embrace always felt like home, his deep laugh infectious.

She missed the way Sanemi would pretend to hug her unwillingly but would leave his hands lingering on her back or her waist once she moved to pull away, a small smirk tugging on the corners of his tantalizing mouth. She missed the smell of his cologne, woodsy and clean, as he would lean in close to her face to tease her until she blushed.

She missed them so much that the sharp sting of alcohol eventually stopped dulling the pulsing ache in the cavity where her heart once beat. No matter how many shots, no matter how many sticky acid drinks she tossed back, that gnawing in her chest would not cease.

Then, one night, Shinobu pressed a small, lilac pill into her hand, and everything changed.

Initially, Y/N was apprehensive, because the pill perfectly matched the hue of the eyes of the person she wanted to forget most. But Shinobu promised her that this pill she’d created in a lab for school – Wisteria – will have her feeling like a kid on Christmas, and that promise, coupled with a flutter of Shinobu’s pretty eyelashes made Y/N cave.

At first, she felt nothing, no impact beyond the slight buzz provided by the round of shots she’d done upon first arriving at the Kizuki. But then, as Mitsuri twirled her beneath the flashing lights of pink and yellow, Y/N’s world exploded with a vibrance she’d neither seen nor felt in nearly two years. Everything, all at once, became magical; effervescent; infinite.

The Wisteria seeped into her veins and made her feel like Christmas lights had been implanted under her skin. Y/N felt shiny and beautiful and sparkly under the combined effect of Shinobu’s magical concoction and the balancing burn of her tequila, and with her new group of girlfriends flanking her side as they bumped to and ground against one another to the beat of the music, Y/N felt almost like she did when it was just her and her boys. Only now, Y/N felt even better, because, with her girls, she could ignore the way the black in her heart was slowly beginning to fester, even if that meant Y/N was beginning to feel more and more numb with each passing rendezvous at the club.

Because that numbness meant that at least she couldn’t feel the acrid bite of her unrequited love for him, and that was what she wanted all along, right?

—————————————————————————

(May)

Of course, Y/N should’ve known she couldn’t stay light and resplendent and numb in her neon and black light paradise forever. Because unfortunately, despite the large student body at Ubaya-U, her new friend group just has to intermingle with them.

Really, it was all Shinobu’s fault. Towards the end of the semester, Shinobu began dating a quiet, withdrawn boy named Giyuu, who happened to be good friends with the man that Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma all have a thing for – Tengen.

Tengen was a recent graduate of Ubaya-U, and an even more recent hire at the local police department, his imposing size and discerning ears a coveted asset amongst the group of detectives who’d scouted him out. Having someone affiliated with the local police be part of their group ended up being a huge advantage to them, however, given the general inclination for people to look the other way whenever Shinobu began dealing her Wisteria in the secluded corners of the Kizuki’s lounge.

What was not an advantage, however, were Tengen’s friends, because Tengen, apparently, had become best fucking friends with Kyojuro, and by default, him.

Y/N stood awkwardly between Mitsuri and Shinobu as the latter presented her group of girlfriends to the new, rag-tag medley of boys that now included the very two Y/N had gone to great lengths to avoid. She tried to ignore the burning weight of both boys’ stares as Y/N finally introduced herself to Shinobu’s new boy toy. Only when she could not possibly avoid them any longer, not without raising questions, did Y/N finally allow herself to turn to them.

“Y/N!” Kyojuro looked so surprised to see her and yet, so overjoyed that it didn’t feel fair.

Y/N could tell by the jerky way the blonde’s arms twitched towards her that he’d been about to envelop her in one of his signature bear hugs, but he’d hesitated, apparently uncertain whether he was still permitted to do so.

Ultimately, Kyojuro’s elation at seeing her once again won over his doubt, and he pulled her in tightly against his chest, his arms squeezing her with a security she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. For the briefest moment, Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as she allowed herself to thaw, ever so slightly, in the fierce warmth of her friend’s embrace.

It was a mistake; the moment she’d allowed herself to relax, she’d felt the damning prickle of tears behind her eyelids, and an uncomfortable lump had begun to take form in her throat. So with more reluctance than Y/N wanted to acknowledge she felt, she stepped away from Kyojuro, hoping that the dim lights of the club concealed the mist clouding her eyes.

Unfortunately, the end of Y/N’s reunion with her former, fiery friend meant there were no more obstacles, no more distractions, between her and the white-haired, scar-speckled man who gazed at her with an intensity that, to her annoyance, still made her want to squirm.

And as his eyes bore into her, she chanted over and over in her mind for him not to say it, to not let her name fall from his lips, because she could not bear to hear it. It would’ve been easier, so much easier, if he simply pretended like she didn’t exist, because then she could go on pretending like she wasn’t walking around without a heart; like he hadn’t been carrying it with him even all these months later.

His eyes did not match the smirk he had as he said her name, but it still took everything Y/N had not to fold right there.

But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t let him know that he still held any power over her, and so she merely raised an eyebrow at him and smirked back, challenging him.

“Sanemi.”

—————————————————————————

“’Sanemi’ is your name when I’m mad at you,” Y/N warned him, tapping his knuckles with the spoon she used to stir the cake batter. “Otherwise, you’re just ‘Nemi.’”

Sanemi smirked at her, sticking his finger back into the bowl to swipe another glob of cake batter as Y/N mixed Kyojuro’s birthday cake together. “And what about when I’m being annoying?”

Y/N flicked a bit of batter at him, nailing him perfectly on his nose with the chocolate mixture. “Asshole seems the most appropriate.” She squatted down to pull a baking pan out from below her mother’s stove. “Did you remember to get the candles?”

The grocery bag crinkled as her white-haired best friend shook it, the box of candles within jostling. “Sixty-one candles for the sixty-one-year-old man,” Sanemi said proudly.

“Haha,” Y/N mocked, though she swiped the bag from his hand to check to ensure he’d actually bought sixteen and not, as he claimed, sixty-one candles. “I’m impressed. It seems you are capable of following directions.”

Sanemi leaned across the counter and peered up into her face, that damn smirk of his widening as he saw the faint blush creep across her cheeks. “I always follow your directions, Y/N.” He said lowly, raising a finger to wipe a speck of cake batter from her cheek.

“Hardly,” Y/N scoffed, using the need to get Kyojuro’s cake in the oven as an excuse to turn away from him and hide her warming face. “I think you prefer malicious compliance.”

“You wound me!” Sanemi protested, splaying across her mother’s counter in mock-injury. “When have I ever not followed your instructions with a smile on my face?”

Y/N turned back to him with a teasing grin. “’Nemi, since when do you ever smile?”

—————————————————————————

Shinobu’s eyes flickered back and forth between them, a smile forming on her face even as Mitsuri tugged pleadingly at her hand. “Do you two know each other?”

Sanemi said “yes” at the same time Y/N said “no,” and the former’s head snapped to Y/N’s face, who fought to keep her features neutral and cool. “Not anymore, anyways.” She clarified though she refused to acknowledge the way Sanemi flinched in response.

Shinobu looked between them again, her smile fading to something more pensive. Kyojuro only continued to watch Y/N, his expression sad and so very out of place in this castle of infinite pleasure and fun, and Y/N found herself desperate to escape it – to escape them.

Suma, the gods’ gift to the universe, interrupted the tense moment with her arrival, and she produced a small baggie of those lilac pills that promised Y/N’s escape. Y/N could feel both Kyojuro and Sanemi gawking at her as Suma pulled her in close, the little lilac pill already dissolving on her tongue, and kissed her, as they’d done so many times before.

When the raven-haired girl pulled away with a giggle on her lips, Y/N looked back to her former friends and held her tongue out, Suma’s pill now almost completely dissolved in her mouth, and she winked at them. Let them realize that their Y/N was long-gone, buried alongside the mother whose death they refused to acknowledge.

Suma offered the newcomers a pill each, and Y/N was surprised that both accepted. Kyojuro hesitated more than the ivory-haired man next to him, who held Y/N’s eyes as he placed the little tablet on his own wicked tongue, an answer to her earlier challenge. Y/N grimaced at the idea that Sanemi was willing to play along in this little game, willing to impose upon her paradise if it meant torturing her a little more.

So Y/N tossed her hair over her shoulders and turned her back to him, letting Suma and then Makio, tug her back into the crush of people on the dance floor to twirl and grind to the music, as both boys stared after her and she let herself be lost to them once more.

—————————————————————————

He found her the following Friday, as she waited against the bar for her drink.

“And where have you been hidin’ all this time?” Y/N fought the shiver that threatened to lick up her spine at the sound of that cursed, gravelly voice that had always made her weak at the knees.

But Y/N hadn’t spent the last twenty months learning how to keep off of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s radar for nothing, hadn’t learned to keep her grief and rage and pain locked deep inside the empty cavern of her chest, just to crumble under the intensity of that lilac stare.

Y/N threw her head back to swallow the shot of tequila the bartender had placed in front of her before turning to face him. Sanemi looked every bit the simpering, cocky asshole she’d always known him to be, leaning up against the sticky wood of the bar, one fist resting idly under his cheek as he watched her.

She met his gaze evenly, shoulders loose with a relaxedness that she didn’t feel. “I’ve been right here,” she replied smoothly.

Sanemi shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at her. “Nah, you haven’t,” he downed his own shot of vodka before returning his eyes to her, looking her over in consideration. “Though, I guess it would’ve been hard to know it was you anyways.”

Y/N bristled at the comment but kept her voice light. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Sanemi watched her carefully for a moment, though his eyebrows furrowed, as though he was struggling to choose his words. “I just wouldn’t have expected to see you in a place like this.” He decided, after a moment, a frown tugging at the corners of his sinful mouth.

It was Y/N’s turn to smirk. “That would assume you knew me at all to begin with,” she challenged, motioning to the bartender for another shot.

Something tightened in Sanemi’s eyes as he held her gaze, and it clenched the knot of unease that had balled in her stomach. “I did, once.”

Y/N kept her face impassive. “Maybe, as a girl.” She accepted her second shot from the bartender and brought it to her lips, biting down on a wince as the sharp burn of the cheap liquid slid down her throat. “But not as a woman.”

Though she did not show it, his words struck a wound deep within her that she’d not realized still festered; because, as hard as she tried to pretend that the man beside her was a mere stranger, his words reminded her of the harsh truth.

She was still in love with him; had been, ever since she’d learned what love meant.

A shadow flashed across his face before disappearing, that insufferable smirk sliding onto his face once more. “I guess you’re right; a girl doesn’t wear a dress like that.” Sanemi purred.

Y/N fluttered her eyelashes at him, a foreign boldness taking over her mind even as the echo of her heart begged her to flee. “Do you like what you see, Sanemi?”

Her former friend’s answering grin was wolfish. “I’ve always liked what I’ve seen of you, Y/N,” he grabbed her last shot from her hand, ignoring the protest in her eyes as he tipped the tequila back easily down his throat. “You just always seem to disappear before I have a chance to properly appreciate you.”

Y/N knew she should run away from him, and fast, but her hand betrayed her as it reached up to brush a bit of confetti from his hair that lingered from earlier. She nearly hummed in satisfaction at the way Sanemi’s breath hitched in his throat as she drew close, her fingers just barely grazing the skin of his forehead.

“Guess you’ll have to catch me.” Was her only response, before Y/N departed for the dance floor and her friends once more.

Sanemi’s eyes remained locked on her the entire night.

————————————————————————

The days blurred into weeks, as Y/N and Sanemi’s new relationship took form.

The convergence of their friend groups was inevitable, though Y/N resented it; but now, they all went out as a unit, rather than as two separate groups which just so happened to run into one another, and it annoyed Y/N to no end.

More annoying was the fact that Sanemi seemed as willing to partake in the sacred ritual of taking Shinobu’s precious Wisteria with them, though he seemed to do it less out of a desire to feel like the flashing strobe lights of the club and more so because he wanted to get on Y/N’s nerves.

“Drugs are bad for your health, y’know,” that damnable gravelly voice snapped her attention away from the Wisteria that sat in Shinobu’s palm.

Sanemi’s shoulder bumped into hers as he came to stand beside her in a darkened corner of the Kizuki’s seating lounge, out of sight from prying eyes as Shinobu dispersed her latest batch of tiny purple pills, a smirk on his lips and a challenge in his eyes.

Y/N scoffed, reaching to take the small offering from her friend’s hand. “And so is that vodka you keep slugging back.” Y/N’s fingers were about to close around the Wisteria when Sanemi plucked it from the dark-haired girl’s hand, a cry of indignation squeaking past Y/N’s lips.

Sanemi held the pill teasingly in front of her mouth as Y/N glowered up at him. “Open up,” he ordered, pinching her key to paradise between his thumb and index finger.

Eyes locked with his, Y/N slowly let her lips part and held out her tongue. Sanemi leaned forward, taking her jaw in his free hand as he placed the small tablet on her tongue with the other.

 “Good girl,” he murmured, eyes lowering to her mouth as he watched her, hungrily.

As she accepted the Wisteria from him, Y/N let her tongue flick out and graze against his skin, dragging it lightly up the calloused edge of his index finger before she closed her mouth, letting the tablet dissolve on her tongue. Sanemi exhaled harshly through his nose, his hand gripping her chin possessively as he stared down at her mouth, and Y/N thought for a moment that he was about to give in right there and kiss her.

At the last moment, Kyojuro clapped him on the shoulder as he returned from the bar, and the spell was broken. Y/N blushed slightly as she turned back to Shinobu who made no secret of her raised eyebrow at the exchange between the two former friends.

Later, as she broke away from her friends dancing on the floor, she’d noticed Sanemi for once, was not looking at her, but at the hand he’d used to slip her the Wisteria, an unreadable heat in his eyes.

————————————————————————-

Sanemi liked to watch her while she danced.

At first, it had been unsettling to feel a pair of eyes boring into her back as she bumped and ground against Mitsuri or Suma, head tossed back as she let Shinobu’s pills work their magic, but she’d grown accustomed to it. Now, she craved the knowledge that he was thoroughly transfixed by her, because that meant at the very least, she was filling his thoughts while they were out almost as much as he filled hers every moment of the day, despite her efforts to numb him out of her life.

She’d confided her secret joy in Mitsuri, who’d conspiratorially promised her they would do anything and everything to drive the lilac-eyed man wild with desperation so that he might feel an ounce of the pining he’d shackled Y/N to feeling every time he so much as looked her way.

One night, a gaggle of them had gathered over in one of the Kizuki’s seated lounge areas as Shinobu pressed her Wisteria into their greedy, waiting palms. Sanemi’s eyes were locked on Y/N, as they usually were, as she’d exchanged a knowing glance with her pink-haired best friend and placed her pill beneath the heavy glass of her discarded drink and ground the violet pill into magic dust.

Eyes on Sanemi, Y/N delicately cupped the powder in one hand and brought her free fingers to the low bodice of her corseted top, tugging lightly on the strings to loosen it, inching it down lower to reveal the tops of the twin swells of her breasts, though stopping before she could be accused of exposing herself in public. She then turned her attention back to Mitsuri, her pink-and-green friend watching her with a sugary deviousness that made her stomach bubble with excitement.

Wordlessly, Y/N leaned back on the table, to the cheers and cat-calls of her friends, and she sprinkled some of the violet dust along the exposed top of her cleavage. Mitsuri leaned over her body, all vanilla perfume and pink hair tickling Y/N’s delicate skin as her friend held one nostril closed and inhaled every speck of the amethyst powder with the other. Y/N’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she let out a wanton moan beneath the black lights of the Kizuki, as her best friend kissed her collarbone in thanks.

Sanemi had gruffly excused himself for the bathroom and did not return for another five minutes. In his absence, Mitsuri had slyly let Y/N know that his eyes hadn’t once left her face throughout the entire vulgar exchange, much to her secret delight.

Y/N knew she was dancing closer and closer to the fire.

She knew that Sanemi wasn’t far from snapping, from losing whatever restraint he thought he had when it came to her, as she deliberately pressed each one of his buttons every time their group ventured out.

The next time he came close to breaking was when he saw another put his hands on her.

A hand gripped her ass, and Y/N turned and saw a man with long white hair and odd-colored eyes give her a wink. He was attractive, that was certain, but there was something predatory in his eyes that made her feel gross, so she moved closer to her circle of friends, keeping an eye over her shoulder.

Eventually, the strange man wandered off, and Y/N felt as though she could relax once more as she swung her hips to the beat thumping over the stereo strongly enough to make the dance floor vibrate. Shinobu held out a hand that Y/N eagerly grabbed, her friend twirling her as she laughed, carefree and alive beneath the resplendent rainbow of lights.

The song slowed to something more sensual, and Y/N was about to take her cue and move toward the bar when a hand grazed her upper arm.

Though it had been nearly two years since she’d last felt his touch, Y/N knew only one person capable of bestowing such a warm and gentle caress, even in spite of his hardened appearance.

Sanemi, to her eternal surprise, had made an appearance on the dance floor – his first if she remembered correctly.

His eyebrow was raised in question at her, and Y/N couldn’t help but appreciate he was asking permission to dance with her, rather than just sidling up and grinding on her like any other man would.

Sanemi looked so god damn handsome in that printed short-sleeve shirt. His sleeves had been cuffed to further show off his considerable biceps, and he’d left the top three buttons open, revealing his scarred but downright divinely toned chest. As he leaned in slightly, waiting for her permission, Y/N caught a whiff of his cologne, and it smelled like home.

Fuck it, she thought, her lips curving up into a siren’s smile as he stepped closer to her, bringing one large hand up to hold her waist as they began rocking to the beat of the music. Their foreheads were nearly touching as their bodies pressed closer and closer together, Y/N’s hips completely flush against his as they danced. Their noses brushed, and Y/N realized how dangerously close their lips had come.

Sanemi brought his other hand up to press against the small of her back, the one on her waist tightening slightly. Y/N looped one arm around his neck, her other hand coming to rest against his chest as they ground, Sanemi setting the pace perfectly in time with the beat.

Through her eyelashes, Y/N could see Sanemi’s amethyst gaze drop to her lips.

She knew she should pull away; she knew if she let him close the distance between their lips, she would also be closing the distance she’d spent so much time carefully crafting between her, and him, and even Kyojuro.

But Y/N also knew she couldn’t pull away, either; she’d waited, for so damn long, to know what his lips would feel like, and she was drunk and a little high, so the inhibitions that would normally have sent her running had long since been overshadowed by her unbounded want for him.

She felt his breath against her lips, and she closed her eyes.

Before she could finally achieve her lifelong dream of kissing Sanemi Shinazugawa, the music changed from the slow, sensual beat that they had been grinding to, to something louder, faster, and more exciting.

A scream grew louder as Mitsuri returned from heaving her guts up in the bathroom, and grabbed Y/N’s wrist, wrenching her from Sanemi’s grip and hauling her deeper into the dance floor to rave alongside her.

By the time Y/N was able to emerge from the surging crush of people dancing and raving, Sanemi was already back at the bar, leaning against it with his beer in hand, watching her.

She’d half expected him to look angry, but he only raised his drink at her, in toast.

The smirk that tugged on the corners of his mouth was full of promise.

—————————————————————————

Y/N supposed it was inevitable that this game of cat-and-mouse they’d been playing would end, and end like this.

She’d known where the night was heading the moment she showed up at the club in Mitsuri’s emerald green dress – the one she’d worn her very first time there in that strobe light palace – and saw his eyes darken from lilac to eggplant. Y/N felt the blazing heat of his stare in her bones even as she danced with her girls, could feel his magnetic pull as he watched her like a predator eyeing its next meal.

The more sober part of her was nervous, knew that she was about to cross a line she couldn’t walk back from. She knew that what was about to happen – giving her first time to Sanemi – would do nothing but exacerbate the poisonous love in her heart, but that part of her was so small, so feeble against the fire she felt in her blood as she approached the bar where he stood.

She pretended not to notice that he watched every move she made as she leaned over the ledge to order another shot. Only after the bartender placed the little glass in front of her, only after she tipped her head back and let the acid liquid slide down her throat, did she turn to meet his punishing gaze.

“You really should try joining in on the fun, Sanemi,” she kept her voice at a normal volume, forcing him to lean in slightly to hear her over the pulsing beat of the club music. She resisted the urge to close her eyes as the familiar whiff of his cologne hit her nose, the smell of a home and of a time before he ripped her heart out and stomped it to dust.

Sanemi smirked, and her stomach dipped at just how beautiful he looked, standing there below the pulsing glow of the lights. “I’m havin’ fun watching from here.” His lips were close enough to her ear that she shivered, gooseflesh erupting over her bare arms.

She wouldn’t let him know how much he still got to her, but she also couldn’t resist teasing him a little further, curious to see how far she could push him until he broke. She lifted her hand to pat the part of his chest he’d left exposed, his skin burning under her touch, as she made to pass him.

Sanemi snapped.

He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away and tugged her closer to him, knocking Y/N’s breath from her as he whirled her around and pressed her up against the dirty club wall to kiss her like she’d never been kissed before. He pinned the hand she’d had on his chest against the wall, over her head, while the other burned its imprint onto her waist. His kiss was demanding and hard, but Y/N was addicted to him. She brought her free hand to his neck, digging her nails in slightly to the sensitive skin to elicit a growl from him as he nipped her bottom lip.

Sanemi released the arm he’d pinned to the greasy club wall to hold the side of her face, tilting her head to he could deepen their kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth to dance with her own. Y/N couldn’t control her body as she pressed into him, desperate to feel him against her, to feel him fill every empty part of her until she felt whole again. She knew she was dooming herself further, knew she was only setting herself up to fall harder than she already had, but she couldn’t stop because it was Sanemi, and she loved him.

She felt his growing hardness against her thigh, and she couldn’t stop her hips from grinding against him, heat pooling in her belly. Sanemi moaned into her mouth as her hips undulated against his, and Y/N felt herself go molten at the sound. She wanted to make him do it again and again, but Sanemi tore his mouth from hers before she could.

His chest was heaving, and his eyes were wild and dark as he looked at her. His eyes fell on her reddened, kiss-swollen mouth, and even in the dim light of the club, Y/N could see his pupils explode. He grabbed her hand, and suddenly he was tugging her through the crowded dance floor, through the groups of people near the exit, until they were outside, the night air cool on their overheated skin.

Together, they stumbled down dark, empty streets, though Y/N could not find it in herself to feel afraid, because Sanemi was there, and while he may not have cared about her enough to love her, he was still a gentleman who wouldn’t let her be hurt by anyone but him. They walked as she laughed because he kept stopping and pulling on her hand to kiss her again and again, as though he too, could not get enough of her.

Y/N didn’t know where they were going, but eventually, they arrived at an apartment complex, and it dawned on her that he’d brought her to his home. His lips were on hers the whole walk to his door, never breaking even as he fumbled for his keys. Sanemi finally unlocked the door and pushed her inside his dark apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

Sanemi’s hands shot for her waist as he crushed her against him, his tongue licking the roof of her mouth. Y/N was sweaty and slightly sticky from the club, but the way Sanemi held her to him made her feel so god damn pretty like he’d been set adrift in a starless sea and she was his only lifeline. Sanemi’s hands moved from her waist to cup her ass, kneading her flesh as he moaned into her mouth again. His hands slid lower, grabbing her thighs to lift her up so her legs could wrap around his waist.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmurs, her head tilted back as Sanemi’s lips laid claim to her neck, his hips pressing her harshly against the entryway wall of his apartment.

The snow-haired man groaned, his hands fondling the soft curve of her ass beneath her dress. “Then tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath hot as his tongue teasingly traced across her collarbone.

Y/N whimpered as she tightened her legs around his hips, locking him closer to her. If he stopped then, she thought she would fall completely apart.

“Tch, just as I thought,” his teeth nipped harshly against her throat as Sanemi pulled back to look into her eyes. “You can’t.”

Sanemi set her down, but he did not pull away, instead kneeling before her to run his large, warm hands up the length of her calves before bringing them around to the back of her knees. He tapped each leg one at a time, signaling her to lift it slightly. With a jolt, Y/N was completely suspended in the air with both legs over his shoulders, as he buried his face into her cunt.

He did not even bother removing the flimsy, lacy thong she’d worn under her dress, choosing instead to bypass it entirely as his tongue dragged right up her slit. Y/N’s head smacked into the wall behind her as she moaned, and she couldn’t tell whether it was the Wisteria or Sanemi that had her seeing fractals of light behind her eyes. She found that she didn’t much care either way, however, because what Sanemi was doing to her felt fucking incredible.

Her fingers fisted in his hair as Sanemi fucked her with his tongue, his teeth grazing across her clit in time with his thrusts into her. He was groaning lewdly as he feasted upon her, eyes lifting every so often to meet hers, to ensure she was enjoying it as much as he was.

“I knew you’d taste fucking sweet,” he muttered as he broke for air, fingers digging firmly into her ass as he hauled her back onto his mouth. His tongue darted in and out of her folds, lapping up every drop of her essence that he coaxed out of her, before he dove right back into her entrance, forcing her to ride his tongue as she writhed above him. Y/N desperately sought to grab onto anything for purchase, so that she could grind harder against his face, but Sanemi had her pinned in the middle of the wall, rendering her helpless to let him tear her first orgasm from her, followed by another, and then another, never once lifting his mouth off her tender core.

Eventually, Sanemi decided he’d had enough, and he moved to carry her to his bedroom. Just after he tossed her onto his plush mattress, there was a moment before he pounced on her when Y/N could really look at him. The only source of light was from the full moon outside, casting everything in Sanemi’s bedroom in its silvery glow. The moonlight illuminated the soft platinum of his hair, made his lavender irises melt into precious gems of amethyst as he raked his eyes over her panting, blushing form. His gaze darkened at the sight of her dress strap, hanging off her shoulder, before dropping to the hem that has ridden up her legs.

Y/N barely had time to take another breath before he was on her again, almost ripping the fabric from her in his haste to get it off, to expose her.

“This fucking dress,” he growled in her ear, finally tugging the zipper all the way down and shoving it down her legs, chucking the flimsy material behind him.

She was almost bare to him, but he was still clothed, far too clothed. Y/N sat up and ripped his shirt, the buttons popping all over the bed while he smirked down at her. She couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed, however, because then his skin was touching hers, and it felt like heaven even if Y/N knew she was only descending deeper into hell.

Sanemi graced her lips with one more bruising kiss before beginning his descent down her body, and Y/N felt electrified under his touch.

His hot mouth first came to her bare breasts. “Fuck,” he whispered as he let his tongue trace the first of her mounds, swirling around her hardened nipple before letting his teeth nip gently at her. Y/N squirmed under his ministrations, the sensation foreign to her and yet somehow, it felt wholly right, that the first person to explore her body this way would be him.

Not that she would tell him, of course; she didn’t want him to hold back, she needed him to fuck her as though there was no tomorrow. If he knew it was her first time, he would slow, or perhaps insist on stopping altogether, given that they were both high, and she couldn’t have that.

Sanemi pressed his hips down against hers, pinning her against the mattress and stilling her movements as he took his time lavishing her breasts, covering her in small marks that he soothes with sweet kisses that were enough to get her utterly drunk on him. Y/N let out a high-pitched whine as she felt Sanemi grind against the mattress as he sucked on her other breast, his abdomen pressing deliciously against her aching cunt still covered by the lace of her thong, as she desperately swiveled her hips, eager for him to relieve her once more.  

Her desperation spurred his movement, as he detached himself from her breast with a low groan, resuming his descent down her body, pausing only to suck and nip at her stomach, before settling between her legs once more. Sanemi’s lips met the band of her thong and he growled, deep and guttural as he pressed his nose against her, inhaling deeply and letting his tongue flick out once more to lap at her wetness over the rough lace obscuring her from view.

Y/N was nearly sobbing from overstimulation, Sanemi having already ensured she’d finished on his tongue three times in the hallway. Now, she needed him to fill her, and quick, or else she thought she would combust.

“Sanemi,” she whined, and his eyes flicked back up to hers, dark with want. “Please, I need you.”

Her words had an instantaneous effect on the heaving man between her legs, because suddenly his body was covering her own, his weight pressing down on her, and his pants were gone, and he was slamming into her with a force that left her screaming and writhing against his soft sheets.

“Shit!” Sanemi snarled in her ear as his cock plunged into her dripping heat, so tight and so unaccustomed to the thick length now bullying in and out of her with abandon. “You’re so – ah – fuckin’ perfect.”

Y/N was sobbing on his mattress, but not from any discomfort. The combination of Sanemi’s body mixing with the Wisteria had utterly blurred out any pain or unease she felt at the intrusion of his rigid length into her core, and instead, Y/N felt herself shatter into a million pieces, only to be fucked back together again by Sanemi, who kept one bruising hand on her hip while the other ensnared itself in her hair as he thrust wildly in and out of her.

But she was not close enough for him. The silver-haired god above her pulled her legs over his forearms and braced his hands on her inner thighs to spread her wide as he pounded into her, leaning down into her face to make her blush, just like he used to do. Only now, instead of teasing her, he was whispering filth that had her turning scarlet and begging for more.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he grunted, his hips snapping in and out of her with a ferocity that left her breathless. "You've no idea –”

The speed with which he drilled into her propelled them up his bed, but Sanemi moved an arm to come between her head and the wrought iron of his bedframe, protecting her.

“You’re a fucking dream,” he snarled, sitting back on his knees as he began to bounce her against his groin, her breasts jolting with every forceful snap of his hips.

“Sanemi,” Y/N moaned, her back arching off his luxurious sheets as her legs tightened around his hips. Under his breath, Sanemi swore.

“Again,” he croaked, the sticky pap pap of his hips slapping against hers filling his room with the sweet music of their dance. “Say it again.”

Y/N could hardly process his demand over the sensual drag of his cock in and out of her needy walls, Sanemi’s movements chasing every breath from her and replacing it with him, as though there were some parts of her that remained untainted by him.

“Again,” Sanemi insisted, his groin pressing against hers as he ground against her, his rough base swirling over her aching clit demandingly, causing her legs to spasm around his hips.

“S-Sanemi!” Y/N howled as he lifted himself from the mattress by his knees, taking her hips with him as he suspended her half in mid-air and pounded relentlessly into her, rendering her incapable of making any other sound that wasn’t a devotional to him.

Through bleary eyes, Y/N looked to see Sanemi’s own gaze fixed on the way her mouth was frozen in a perfect “o” as he pulled moan after sigh from her throat with his hips, his fingers digging into the plush of her ass as he bounced her up and down his aching member again and again. Y/N arched her back even more, allowing him to hit deeper within her and she felt an unfamiliar pressure begin to build in her stomach.

It was similar to what she felt out in Sanemi’s hallway, beneath his tongue, but this time was different. Every push and drag of his cock into her syrupy wetness had her feeling electric like the lights of the Kizuki club were being strung beneath her skin and plugged in, and she was slowly becoming a beacon of light for the man chasing his own release above her. Her eyes rolled back into her head as that coil wound tightly, Sanemi’s name falling from her mouth like a plea as she begged him to let her fall apart in his arms.

Above her, Sanemi fared no better, as his hips began to jerk and press into her without the steady rhythym he’d so carefully built, a cacophony of snarls and moans pouring from his mouth along with the filth he muttered against her skin as he sucked harshly at her neck.

Sanemi readjusted his stance above her, his thighs pressing hers down into the mattress, and Y/N lost control.

“N-Nemi!” Y/N gasped as the unfamiliar coil in her belly suddenly unwound. She was far too overcome by her pleasure to recognize she’d accidentally used her old, affectionate nickname for him as she reached her peak.

But the slip did not go unnoticed by the snow-haired man rutting into her from above, as the moment the nickname fell from her lips in her haze, Sanemi’s own release followed, his seed barreling into her hot and fast as a pleasured cry of her name tore from his throat.

Sanemi’s hips rolled into hers for what felt like hours as he poured every ounce of himself into her greedy, demanding core, Y/N taking every drip of his cum. It felt exquisite, to have the man she’d so desperately loved for so long be reduced to such a mess by her body, and Y/N savored the way his warmth filled her, as though it were possible of bestowing life back upon her even though it was he who’d chased it away to begin with.

He collapsed atop her, finally spent and satisfied, an arm winding around her waist as he sleepily pressed a kiss into the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Sanemi rolled to his back, pulling her with him, and locking her against his chest as though they were lovers. But the combination of the night’s activities with the dwindling effects of the Wisteria had exhausted him, and it was not long before his chest began rising and falling in a steady pattern of sleep.

Y/N giggled quietly to herself, marveling over the fact that her tolerance for Shinobu’s Wisteria was apparently much higher than his. Under the moonlight, she found her dress puddled in a corner of his room and shrugged it back on, gathering her heels in one hand and locating her bag with the other. She turned back and looked at the sleeping face of the man who still held her heart and smiled slightly, before closing his bedroom door gently and taking off into the summer night.

There was a new ache between her legs, no doubt the product of having her virginity taken in such an enthusiastic way by the man she’d left sleeping in his apartment, though he was none the wiser. Y/N felt oddly satisfied, as though she’d achieved some lifelong goal, as the summer air caressed her face. As she stumbled down the night-warmed pavement back to her apartment, Y/N laughed, her chest feeling light and empty for the first time in a long while.

Want more angst? Smut? Pain? Stick around for part two and see shit literally hit the fan.

Likes, reblogs, tags, and comments are always appreciated!!

[mymoonss]

my all time favourite fics <3

- marauders era! ships are majority wolfstar, jegulus and rosekiller!

coast to coast by lumosinlove | rating: explicit, ch: 9, wc: 59,139

opinion: i love love loveee me some oknutzy. THEY ARE SO CUTEE. (spinoff of sweater weather, another AMAZING fic) also idek if this counts as a marauders era fic but i love them and they need more hype

chew me up, but don’t spit me out by damagecontrol | rating: explicit, ch: 25, wc: 261,000 jegulus

opinion: AMAZING characterization, angsty as FUCK, and HOT

Atelier, Bloom St. by succulent_nurturer | rating: explicit, ch: 17, wc: 101,178 wolfstar

opinion: i’m exposing myself here :’) if you’re gonna read PLEASE read the tags!!!!!!!! it’s a cutie little fic with some smutty friends

Black Friday by gildedingold | rating: mature, ch: 12, wc: 65,477

opinion: just an overall amazing fic! black brothers >>

the golden king by maladaptivewriting | rating: explicit, ch: 160, wc: 711,414

opinion: canon DIVERGENT, jegulus, wolfstar, AND drarry?? what more can i say! angst, smut, and a smallllll bit of fluff, yes please

forget the world by amberlink | rating: explicit, ch: 27, wc: 113,123 wolfstar

opinion: greys au?? yes pleaseeee! the fic is absolutely GUT wrenching, if you’re not sobbing after this there’s something wrong with you

barty crouch jr's three step guide to getting over your ex boyfriend by locomotiveodyssey | rating: explicit, ch: 1, wc: 13,637 rosekiller

opinion: rosekiller.

braving the ocean by unsalted | rating: explicit, ch: 29, wc: 212,776 wolfstar

opinion: band au 🙃 wolfstar is wolfstaring

dark humor and dry cereal by my_castlescrumbling | rating: explicit, ch: 10, wc: 21,554 rosekiller

opinion: dating app au with my fav ship??? yes yes

more than a (sick) love story by seekthestars | rating: mature, ch: 23, 107,102 wolfstar & bitchkiller

opinion: after prank fic 🥲 sirius is going throughhh it! bitchkiller but they’re sooooo toxic, endgame wolfstar :)

A Streamers Guide To Public Simping by siriusblackstwinkbrother | rating: explicit, ch: 1, wc: 13,810 jegulus

opinion: james is down bad and reggie… oml i don’t even know what to say about him. i loveee streamer aus please write more :)

that’s it for now but i might come back and add more 😁

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 10/?

Hello hello! Excited for new chapter, a little more world-building adjacent, hope y'all like! Before I posted this chapter I've also gone back and added some more details (and fixed some grammar/typos whoops), like reader wore gloves a lot of the time, so they wouldn't be able to meet their soulmate(s). (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn

Wordcount: 2569

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

Yet again, in hindsight, you should have stayed longer. Waited until they were both awake, maybe even slept some more while you waited for them (mostly Wade, since you had apparently woken Logan), and then made more concrete plans. The unplanned movie night and nap had helped, but it still didn’t take it all away, your body still aches as you unlock your apartment door.

Closing it behind you, you lean against the wall for a moment, massaging your head. It feels tender, so you press the heel of your hands over your eyes, groaning. You feel better, but not okay. Part of you wants to go back, to make it even better, but a bigger part of you wants to ignore all this soulmate shit.

So instead of leaving again, you take your shoes off, padding into the kitchen to fix yourself some coffee. It’s getting lighter outside, and it’s technically morning, so you might as well stay up.

While you wait for your coffee machine, you stick your hands in the pockets of your jacket.

There’s a piece of paper in your pocket. 

That definitely wasn’t there before.

Taking it out, it turns out to be a pink post-it note with a phone number and a small chibi drawing of Deadpool holding a gun.

Wade must have slipped it into your pocket while you slept. How deep were you sleeping for him to do that without waking you? You must have been really out of it. Or Wade just has really nimble fingers, a thought you do not let yourself expand on. 

Because, the frustrating thing is, under almost any other circumstance, they would have been your type. Two strong men who are skilled with weapons, and a little insane, you would have gladly taken either or both to bed. But mixing in the soulmate thing? Fuck that.

You crumple up the piece of paper, but throw it into your junk drawer instead of the trash, ignoring the other brief flash pink from Wade’s bandana in there. Your coffee is done, so you take your cup and walk over to the couch, the plan now being to watch some tv before going for a workout.

—---

You last about six hours before you think about the post-it again. In that time you’ve drank three cups of coffee, eaten breakfast, worked out, showered, and started watching some TV.

It’s when you spot a loose thread in your shirt and go to grab a pair of scissors from your junk drawer that you spot the post-it again. You stop, staring at the little piece of pink paper.

You should contact him. Not a call, but text him at least. Start the conversation so you don’t get as bad again. You’ve felt a lot better today, and looked it too, well enough that Dave had told you as much when you ran into him at the gym. (“Hey, look who’s not looking like he’s been chewed on and spit out by some monster! Looking good dude!”)

You spend several minutes crumpling and uncrumpling the little piece of paper, before you’re interrupted by your phone ringing, making you jump. You throw the post-it back into the drawer and slam it shut, grabbing your phone to answer Evelyn.

“Hello.” 

“You busy?”

“Nope.”

“Great, lunch? There’s this new bakery I’ve been dying to try, but Olivia’s busy today even though it’s my day off, so I’m taking you.”

“How dare she. Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice then.”

“Nope! I’ll text you the address.”

—----

When you turn up at the place, it looks like a cute little spot. Flowers in the windows, and if you didn’t have the address, you could have followed your nose to the place. It smells of freshly baked goods and expensive coffee.

Evelyn arrives less than a minute after you, dragging you inside instantly. You chat about what to get, in the end you get a chicken sandwich, blueberry muffin, and coffee. She gets a green tea, BLT, and a slice of lemon cake.

After getting your orders, you find yourself led to a booth next to a window, where you end up sitting across from her.

“So, what’s up with you?” 

“Not much, why? What about you?”

“Just the usual. But I asked you first.” You furrow your bow as you take a bite of your sandwich, chewing a little before answering around the food in your mouth.

“And I answered.”

“Yeah, but only with ‘not much’.” You squint at her, swallowing and putting your sandwich down.

“What is this really about?” She picks at her sandwich, and takes a deep breath.

“You haven’t been looking real good lately, even avoiding working out with Dave-”

“You told me to avoid it-”

“Not for this long. But now Dave told me you’re better. You still look rough, but better.”

“Thanks.” You snort.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“You’ve stitched me up enough times to know I’m often in trouble.”

“Not like this. Not like lasting trouble.” She looks worried, truly worried, not in the annoyed way she gets when you turn up on her table too soon after you promised her to keep out of anything that would need her help. 

You drag a hand over your face, biting your lip.

“It’s not….. trouble, really. Lasting for sure, but…..”

“Could you be any more non-specific or cryptic?”

“I met someone….”

“Okay…. What does….” She looks down on your gloveless hands, you fight the urge to hide them. “Oh!”

“Yeah.”

“Who? When? Where?”

“Remember the guy who slashed my chest and stomach?” You take a sip of your coffee as Evelyn stares at you with wide eyes.

“The guy you killed? How are you not- How did you not-”

“He got up afterwards. He heals, he’s some kind of mutant.”

“Oh.”

“And while fighting him afterwards, I touched him.”

“Your gloves-”

“Forgot em’.” Evelyn blinks, and after a few seconds, to your surprise, she begins to laugh. It’s quiet, but enough that she needs several tries to take a sip of her tea.

“Figures you met your soulmate when fighting him. Fitting.” She teases. “How did it go?”

“Not well, he ran, and I fucking had to track him down.” She raises an eyebrow, tearing off a piece of her sandwich.

“And how did that go?” She pops the piece in her mouth, chewing while she stares you down, very much letting you know you won’t be spared her full and undivided attention until you answer. She grabs her tea cup next, keeping eye contact.

“Considering my second soulmate tried to slice me too, not great.” She chokes on her tea, wiping her chin with her sleeve, mind too preoccupied by gaping at you to grab some napkins.

“Second?!?” You grimace.

“Yeah.” This time when she laughs, it’s a full on cackle. You feel your face heat up as she’s far from quiet. She draws the attention of quite a few other patrons, but quiets down after you kick her under the table.

“So the universe does have a sense of humor after all.”

“I don’t think it does, I just think it likes to be annoying.”

“Of course you do. But you gotta admit there’s some sort of irony in not wanting soulmates in any form, and then you get two. Do you know if it’s just strictly platonic or not?” You don’t want to answer, already so done with talking about it, but you remind yourself she’s your friend, she’s asking because she cares.

“It’s not.” You leave it at that, she gives a little smirk, though it quickly transforms into a frown.

“But you’ve been looking and feeling like shit for a while. Which…..” She sits up, leaning on her elbows on the table, staring you down. You feel like you’re in the principal’s office after pulling a prank that’s gone too far. “Have you been avoiding them?” She fucking knows you, so of course it’s an easy guess to make. You grind your teeth, but nod. In return you get your full legal name, which is never good.

“You know you should fucking take care of yourself, even if it means doing shit you don’t want.” She doesn’t grab your shoulders and shake you, but you assume she’s not far from doing it. “Are they not your type?”

“Um, well yes, but-”

“Then no buts, they are made for you, and you for them.”

“I’m not made for anyone, I don’t want the universe to decide for me.”

“Or are you just afraid of being seen?”

“I thought you were my friend, not my therapist.”

“I don’t need to be your therapist to know you.” She jokes, her smile slipping into something more fond as she looks at you picking at your nails. “I’m just your friend, and I just want what's best for you.”

“How do you, or the ‘universe’-” Here you do air quotes with a grimace. “-for that matter, know what's good for me?”

“Do you?” Annoyingly she is right. “But you looked like less shit yesterday, even worked out.”

“How did-” You cut yourself off and cross your arms, hiding your bare hands from her view. “Dave, of course.”

“He was worried about you, as we all were. But back to it, you looked less like shit. Which means….” She gestures at you. “You did go see them.”  You look out the window, watching people pass for a few seconds. You wish you were out there, in the throng of people, not talking about something you don’t want to even think about over the minimal needed amount.

“Well, I reached my limit. Felt like someone had thrown me in a cement mixer with rocks, and then tried to cave my skull in, so I went back to their place.” She sips on her tea as you look back at her.

“And…?” She prompts as you keep quiet.

“Not much. They ate, we all watched a Barbie movie which I fell asleep during, then I left.”

“Left or ran like a dog with his tail between his legs?” Oh, how wonderful it is to have friends that know you.

“Something like that.” 

“Did you even plan anything for the future? It clearly didn’t fully stop you feeling and looking like shit-” She gestures to you, you roll your eyes.

“Thanks.”

“How are you even going to contact them again? Just turn up and hope they’re home?”

“We didn’t plan for much, but I did get Wade’s number.”

“So call him and set up a date.”

“Don’t call it that.”

“Meeting then.” She rolls her eyes. “You need to, literally.” You rub your face, pinching your nose.

“I know, believe me, I am very much aware.” You glance up at her, and her gaze softens. She puts her hand out on the table, palm up, you put one of yours in hers. She turns it over, grasping it with both hands, massaging your palm with her thumbs.

“I’m happy for you though.” You don’t voice your disagreement on that, you know she means well even though you’re sure she knows your response without you needing to say it out loud. “Promise you’ll call?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Or else I would have banned you from dinners for three months.” You gasp over-dramatically.

“You bitch!” You take the offering of being able to dissipate the heavy talk, switching to wax poetically about her wife’s cooking instead.

—----

Several hours and a lot of chatting later, you’re home again. 

Your junk drawer still holds the post-it note, the pink paper being easy to spot on top of all sorts of bits and bobs.

You grab it, unfolding it again. Taking a deep breath, you pull out your phone. You decide to just start with a simple ‘Hi’ signed with your name.

Then stare at your phone for ten seconds as it almost instantly starts ringing, Wade’s number shining up at you.

“Fucking hell.” You mutter to yourself. “Hi.” Is what you start with as you answer it.

“Fucking finally, was starting to feel like a prom queen stood up during homecoming, I even wore my good panties!” You have to hold the phone away from your ear, as along with Wade’s words, there’s wind blowing into the speaker, crackling.

“Where the fuck are you?” You put the phone closer, luckily having just a minimal amount of trouble hearing him over the wind.

“Ohhhh, are we doing the fun thing of you picturing me somewhere sexy? I am so down for phone s-”

“No Wade, the audio is just awful.”

“Oh, that’s what happens when you answer a phone while riding a bike.” You rub your forehead, feeling a headache forming as you close your junk drawer.

“Is your handsfree that shitty or are you just holding it normally?”

“Nothing I do is normal, pookie, but don’t worry, Logan is the one driving. Say hello Wolvie.” You don’t hear anything except more wind. “He just told me to fuck off for holding my phone in front of his face, don’t think the phone picked up his sexy rumble.”

“It didn’t pick up shit except wind.” You lean your elbows on the kitchen counter, hearing Wade fumble with the phone.

“Logan, stop for a sec! Yes I know we are- Come on! I’ll blow you for being nice later.” Again you don’t hear if Logan responds, but the wind dies down, and now you can hear a bike rumbling, even more clearly as you’re put on speaker phone.

“There we go! Now you can hear both of our sexy voices!”

“You could have just waited, or just texted.” 

“Texting and driving is dangerous!” 

“Didn’t you just say you weren’t driving? And didn’t you have to have an arm free to answer your phone?” You move away from leaning on the kitchen counter, heading towards the couch instead.

“Yes, but texting would have needed both hands loose, I’m a double thumb texter I’ll have you know, and the fabric of the suit is a bitch to get out road rashed skin.” You hear Logan snort, and then a smack. “Anywho, you reached out. Finally missing us?” Your body certainly is, you wince as you sit down on your couch.

“Not in the slightest, but since we’re kind of stuck together, I thought we should at least set up a specific meeting time instead of a vague plan of once a week.”

“I know you said you would see Logan in a week-,” You’re not sure if you are imagining the brief sour tone in Wade’s voice. “-but what about tomorrow at 5 pm? At our place.” Wade offers before Logan speaks up for the first time, his gruff voice almost vibrating through the phone speaker.

“We got dinner with Peter tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah! Hmmmmm, day after, noon, our place?” Logan doesn’t object at the time, so you agree. 

“Sure.” You don’t know what to say next, but are saved by hearing something nearing in the background. It takes a beat for you to realise what it is.

“Are those sirens?” 

“Whoops yeah, that would be our sign to get going.” You hear the rev of the bike’s engine, then the wind starts back up. “Kisses and smooches, pookie, don’t be late!” Wade hangs up, leaving you staring out into space.

What has the universe gotten you into?

[kiss-theggoat]

I’m back again! I’m a sucker for Thomas Hewitt okay, and there isn’t enough about him! I was wondering if you could do another fic about him, a childhood friend of Thomas’s who moved away comes back in town. She ends up staying with them while she is in town, unknowingly having interrupted their killing plans, leaving a victim down in the basement and unknown from reader. But when the family isn’t home (who knows why) victim escapes and attacks reader. Reader attacks back but ends up killing the victim on accident. In fear she hides the body but the guilt kills her and she ends up telling Thomas. (I know out of character stuff)

A/N: Thank you for the request, I really love writing for Thomas and hope you like! 🖤

Surprise!

Thomas Hewitt x F!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Summary: After years of being away from home, you finally decide to visit your hometown…only to see it’s been shut down. Only one family still lives there, and thankfully, you know them, and they offer to let you stay there! But…after a few days, you start to sense that something isn’t right.

TW: Canon-Typical Violence

The drive to Texas was long, but as you watched the dust and sagebrush go by, your chest swelled with excitement. You hadn’t been back in your hometown since your parents made you leave when you were younger, and now that you finally had your own car and your own money, the first thing on your list was to visit that sleepy little Texas town you’d missed since you left. The only issue was that as you kept driving…you noticed that all of the street signs leading to town were decrepit. You thought…well, you’d been gone a long time…just normal wear and tear under the Texas sun, right?

Wrong.

As you drove into town…you felt your chest tighten at the state of things. Almost every single building was boarded up, windows shattered and spray painted, signs on the ground and covered in dust. There was no way that anyone lived here, hell, the only stoplight in town didn’t even work…

Your car sputtered to a stop in front of what used to be your favorite little convenience store. Where you used to go inside and beg your mom to buy you all of the candy she said was off limits. The same store you got caught stealing a candy bar with your best friend and thought you both might get arrested by the sheriff. You slammed your car door shut, dust clouding around you in a plume of sadness in nostalgia. It was so quiet…not even a cricket…until you heard a siren.

How can an abandoned town have law enforcement? You raised a hand to block the relentless sunlight, turning to the source of the sound, where an old cop car rolled up beside you. The tint on the windows was definitely illegal, but thankfully, the sheriff slowly rolled it down, revealing his scowling face, eyes blocked by sunglasses.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in town?” He asked, lip stuffed with chew. His voice was gruff, but sounded so oddly familiar to you. You leaned in closer, eyes squinting in order to get a better look at him. You peered at the name badge…Hoyt. That didn’t sound familiar at all…but then he said your name. You continued to look at him in confusion as he pulled his sunglasses off, his eyes full of recognition. This man obviously knew you…but who was he?

He stepped out of the car and shut the door, leaning against it as he spit a puddle of black sludge onto the ground. “Well I’ll be damned. Thought I’d never see your pretty face again.”

“I’m sorry…it’s been a long time since I’ve been here and…the name Hoyt doesn’t ring any bells.” I told him, pointing at the nameplate on his chest.

“Oh this is a buddy’s uniform. Lost my own badge. The name Hewitt ring any bells? Charlie Hewitt.” He spit again, closer to your shoe this time, making you cringe and step away just a little. At first, you didn’t remember the name Hewitt either…until you remembered Thomas. The one boy in your class that never came to school, was always bullied or called names because of his face. Your eyes lit up as you made eye contact with him, a smile spreading onto your lips.

“Hewitt! Yes! I remember Thomas.” You said happily. If the Hewitt family was still here, then the town couldn’t be completely shut down, right?

This seemed to annoy Charlie in a way, his lip curling up into a sneer at the sound of Thomas’ name. “Course you remember that big oaf. Hard to miss ‘im.” He spat the rest of his chew onto the ground, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, “Where you plannin’ on stayin’?”

This made you sigh. You were hoping the little motel would still be open, but you’d just driven past it, and from the looks of it, its only residents were probably rats and roaches. “Well, actually…I probably have to drive back to Austin tonight. I didn’t know the town had…” you stopped talking, eyes landing on Charlie’s wrinkled face, not wanting to say anything rude about the hometown you shared.

“Gone under?” He broke out into a wheezy laugh, making it very clear to you that he’d probably been smoking like a chimney since you left. “Yeah. Not a lotta folks left. But Austin’s a long way and it’s gettin’ dark…not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be alone.” The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine. You knew him…but he seemed …different. His eyes had a sinister glow to them, the way he stared down at your chest made you want to hop in your car and never come back. “Why don’t you come stay at the house? M’sure Luda Mae would love havin’ another girl around.” He took a step closer to you, eyes still focused where they shouldn’t be.

You spoke quickly, definitely quick enough to make your uneasiness known. “No, that’s okay…I really don’t mind driving back into the city.”

This seemed to amuse Charlie. “Oh, we insist. Tommy will be there…don’t think he’s seen someone like you in his whole life.”

For some reason, the mention of Thomas made you actually want to go. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but your memories of Thomas, while very little, were only fond. He was a big kid for his age, and very misunderstood, but always very kind and quiet. And…he did say there would be another girl there, right? So you wouldn’t just be alone with this creep. Maybe going to visit the Hewitt’s would be a nice walk down memory lane.

“Okay…sure. It is getting pretty late, I guess.” You agreed, making him smile and show off his stained yellow teeth.

“Perfect. Just drive behind me.” He told you, opening the door to his cop car.

The drive to the Hewitt’s home was longer than you’d thought, and their house was huge. As you parked behind Charlie, you stared up at the house in awe, seeing every single window illuminated. You supposed that with the entire town pretty much out of commission, they owned whatever property they wanted. Your shoes crunched against the gravel as Charlie led you inside, and the moment he opened the door, a feeling of discomfort settled deep in your stomach.

The house was cozy, but eclectic. Too eclectic, like every item inside belonged to a different owner at some point in time. It smelled like a mixture of expired perfume and rotting meat, a sickeningly sweet film settling on your sweaty skin, making it hard to breath inside the home. You stuck a smile on your face anyways, not wanting to seem rude as you were led into the dining room. It seemed as though you were interrupting dinner, everyone already seated in front of their bowls, full of some sort of stew. Your presence immediately turned heads, all six eyes fixed on you and Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Well I don’t believe it…” The lady whispered, who you immediately recognized to be Luda Mae. God, she’d gotten old. You remember her being old when you were in elementary school, and part of you wondered how she was still alive. Across from her sat an elderly man, who somehow looked twenty years older than her. He was sitting there, eyes on you but unfocused, like he was staring at the air between you and the table. Last to meet your gaze was Thomas.

Your heart sank when you saw him, or what was exposed. The leather mask covering his face upset you beyond reason. You knew that Tommy had been bullied for his looks when you guys were little, but never thought he’d make a custom mask to wear, even around his family, and at dinner for god's sake. That’s when it occurred to you, he wasn’t even eating.

“Found ‘er down by the old gas station lookin’ for a place to stay. Ain't she pretty?” Charlie asked, his voice low and predatory as walked towards his seat at the head of the table. The way he spoke about you, like you were just a piece of meat, made your skin crawl.

You gave everyone a polite smile and a little wave before speaking. “Well, I expected the motel to still be open…really, I can find somewhere else to stay, I hate to impose if-“

“Oh don’t be silly!” Luda interrupted. “We’d love to have you. You’ve just gotten so pretty…hasn’t she Tommy?” Your eyes shot to a very flustered looking Thomas, his eyes fixed on his steaming bowl of stew, still untouched.

“Please dear, have a seat, you’re just in time for dinner.”

To be completely honest…you didn’t want to eat their dinner. Something about the house and their demeanor made you want to leave, but if there was one thing you learned about growing up in Texas, it was to accept the hospitality.

“Thank you, Luda Mae.” You said softly, accepting the seat beside Thomas. Charlie scooped a full ladle of soup into a bowl and set it in front of you. With clammy hands you grabbed the spoon, noticing that none of their silverware matched. The spoon you had was delicate, handle slim with swirled details adorning the shiny silver.

All of the Hewitt’s stared at you with prying eyes as you scooped yourself a bite. It contained a chunk of meat, a carrot, and an onion, along with the broth they soaked in.

The moment that stew touched your tongue, you knew something was wrong. The meat tasted off, way too gamey. You’d had your fair share of meats, different kinds of game and homemade foods made with hunting prizes but this…unlike anything you’d ever tasted. It was tender, and didn’t taste bad, but the unfamiliar taste tainted the whole soup, causing alarm bells to go off in your head.

You were soon distracted by the sounds of the family scarfing down their own dinner, spoons hitting porcelain and lips smacking. In no time, your bowl was empty, and so was everyone else’s…except for Thomas’. But, this seemed normal among dinner time as Luda Mae cleared the dishes without a word.

“Tommy. Show our guest to ‘er room for the night, would ya?”

The wooden chair screeched against the floor when Thomas stood. He just seemed to keep going…he towered over you. You craned your neck to stare at him, mouth open and eyes widening. You stood from your own chair, noticing how much larger he was than you. You stood at his chest, and he easily doubled you in width.

Without a word he started walking past you, and you figured he meant for you to follow, so you did. The more you explored the house, the less cozy it got, and by the time you made it to the guest room, it was plain and simple, just a bed with white sheets in the middle of an empty room. Thomas stood at the door, taking up the entire entrance.

“Thank you, Thomas.” You said quietly, giving him a small smile that made him turn away from you. “It’s really nice to see you.”

The longer you stared, the more you realized that he was still the same old Tommy. A gentle giant with pretty brown eyes that sucked you in until you didn’t want to look away.

Just as you were getting lost in your thoughts, Charlie shoved Thomas aside, holding your bag that you’d left in your car.

“‘Ere you go, gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Charlie…” you said softly, grabbing the bag. That was nice of him, but you don’t remember giving him your car keys…

“My rooms just downstairs if you need anythin’.” Charlie sent you an uncomfortable wink, reminding you to lock your door tonight, and walked away. Thomas stood with his head down, still in the doorway.

“Uhm…goodnight, Thomas.” You said softly, a smile gracing your face again. This time, he looked at you. And you could’ve sworn that before you closed the door, his eyes crinkled, like he might’ve smiled too. You closer the door, and grumbled at the lack of a lock, finally getting ready for bed.

A shriek yanked you from your peaceful slumber, making you sit up straight in bed. Your heart was pounding, and you reached over to turn on the small bedside lamp. You were hoping it was just a nightmare, something you could just ignore and go back to the weirdly comfy mattress but the longer you sat there, the more you heard. Footsteps, whispering…but they sounded so frantic. Not like someone getting up for a glass of water or a midnight snack.

Slowly and hesitantly, you walked towards the door and pulled it open, bare feet finding every single splinter in the floor until you were finally in the hallway, staring down the stairs in the dark with wide, fearful eyes. Everything seemed fine…until a woman stumbled into your field of vision. She was bloody, open wounds on her back in an odd spot…did she just break into the house? She was near the front door and none of the Hewitt’s were with her. You stared at her, panicking, especially when you made eye contact.

Your blood went cold and you quickly backed up, barely hanging onto the banister.

“You have to help me, please! You have no idea what is going on here, we have to get out, you have to help me!” The girl started to ramble, but her voice was a whisper-like scream. Her bloodied hands hit the stairs and she began to crawl towards you.

You stared blankly, overcome by the fear and shock of seeing her inside the home…before you knew it, she made it to you. She gripped your ankle with a sticky hand, pulling you closer to the stairs. “Please!” She hissed, her eyes wide and crazed.

Instinctively, you tried to kick her hand away from you, pulling away. You felt your breathing speed up, panic overwhelming you. “Get off me!”

Her eyes flashed with realization, and she immediately recoiled. “You…you’re one of them…oh my god!” She wailed, voice full of dread and tears flowing down her cheeks. One of them? What did that even mean? This sorrow and dread only lasted a few seconds…before she turned to rage. Her face scrunched and it was like she’d been struck by lightning, body invigorated and suddenly strong enough to function. She stood and lunged at you, hands on your shoulders.

Your breath left your lungs as she slammed you against the wall, the back of your head aching in a way it never had before. In an attempt to get her off of you, you pushed her as hard as you could, feeling the slick blood on her shoulder and her neck where your hands hit her. Your eyes were closed tightly as you shoved, but it didn’t take vision to know what happened to her. Her body stumbled down the stairs, thumping all the way down, groans and grunts escaping her as she trailed blood all the way down.

You covered your mouth with your trembling hands…you’d just killed someone…you felt nauseous, you could feel your stomach turning as you stared at her body at the bottom of the stairs, laying limp. You prayed and prayed that she’d move, but she never did. A door slammed open from somewhere downstairs and that’s when you realized…

You’d just killed someone inside of someone else’s home. Tears rolled down your face and you slid down the wall to the ground, knees shaking and unable to support your weight anymore. Heavy footsteps approached the dead body at the bottom of the stairs…and Thomas came into your field of view. He stared nonchalantly at the woman, but turned to face you when he heard your sob.

“Thomas I’m so sorry I don’t know what happened…” you whispered, face bright red from crying and entire body shaking. Thomas stood still for a moment, but when he started moving, nothing could’ve stopped him. He knelt on the stairs in front of you, huge hand taking yours.

The warmth radiated through your fingers and up into your arms, making them feel less shaky and cold and traumatized. You stared up at Thomas, bleary eyes filled with tears, realizing that he wasn’t mad…or scared…he wanted to help you. Relief overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moving closer to him, arms wrapped around his broad waist, head buried against his chest. With your panicking, you barely noticed the fact he wore a button up and a leather apron, droplets of blood smearing against your cheek. You didn’t care. Thomas wrapped his tree trunk arms around you and held you against him…it was like nothing else mattered. Comfort washed over you and for a moment you felt like you hadn’t just killed a woman for no reason.

“S-she just attacked me, she jumped at me and grabbed me and she was yelling and-“

Thomas’ hand gently stroked your hair as if to shush you, his cheek resting against the top of your head as he held you as close as he could.

There was nothing that would stop him from being close to you. Not the three bodies in the basement, and definitely not the bitch that hopped off the hook.

[hotchfiles]

↪ DANIEL 12:1 ─ chapter two.

AN IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET SPIRITUS SANCTI INSTALLMENT

pairing: hotch x fem!consultant!reader. summary: murders committed using catholic symbology gets emily to convince hotch it's time to ask for an expert. luckily for you, you're the expert. content warnings: canon typical violence. religious themes. spoilers to season 4. mature themes. mentions of throwing up. word count: 1.2K

      At that time Michael, the great prince who protects your people, will arise. There will be a time of distress such as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then. But at that time your people—everyone whose name is found written in the book—will be delivered.

      He didn’t reply to your question, how could he? What type of person asks another if they believe in God after an hour of meeting each other? How could he answer a question he himself wasn’t sure if there was an answer to?

      Did he believe in God? What god? His mother’s, the one who allowed her to drink her feelings and spit it out in form of insults and violence towards her family? The one that allowed his father to die of cancer? The one that didn’t do anything to stop the sick men and women Hotch had to catch every week?

      He shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts back to the case presented now in the board of the DC precinct but his eyes land on you, the way your foot shakes, up and now, your legs crossed, your fingers tapping the table quickly and with a rhythm of their own, your bottom lip would bleed out if you kept chewing on them, but what he noticed most were your eyes, wide and focused on the board with all the pictures from the crimes, even the ones Emily hadn’t sent you.

      This was the reason bringing outside people was not a good idea. Not everyone is prepared to deal with death, horrific deaths at that, the way the BAU members were. You clearly weren’t. He might’ve asked you how you were once more, but as quick as he thought about it, you two weren’t alone anymore as the lead detective and Emily came into the room.

      “They were drugged but could feel everything.” The words ring inside your ears, loud and repetitive like a beating heart. Your heart. Your mouth waters in a way you know too well and you feel your palms clamming.

      You’re going to be sick.

      You give the room half a smile and a nod, quietly excusing yourself from the others while making the effort not to make a scene, but you’re barely able to see where you’re going as you try to reach the bathroom.

      Something tells you you’ve done a good job at being discreet, even if you weren’t able to conceal the awful sounds coming from your throat, the light breakfast you had suddenly not seeming very light. It’s probably the fact no one knows you, or maybe because everyone else is busy trying to solve a goddamn murder case.

      The thoughts in your head were quickly brushed over when you heard someone clear their throat, a light knock on the door of the stall you were kneeling at. Your body reacts fast, holding the door with your palms even though it was locked.

      “Sorry, occupied.” Your voice in rough from putting it through too much, but you stay polite regardless.

      “Are you alright?” There is genuine concern in his, it keeps any shame from creeping up on you.

      “Mr. Hotchner! I’m okay… I ate something bad, it’s alright.” The lie comes without a second thought, but it’s obvious he doesn’t buy it. You get up quickly, opening the door as an attempt to leave the situation behind along with the contents you just flushed down.

      “No one expects you to react to these like we do.” His eyes are piecing and you swallow dry, nodding in understanding and thankfulness, but unable to say much else. “I will leave you to it, we are going through the files again, if you need anything, you can text me.” Hotch hands you his card, realizing you don’t really have his number and stands to his word, leaving you alone.

      Truthfully, he’s not sure what made him follow you to the bathrooms, possibly the fact Emily didn’t seem to notice the way your lips had gotten devoid of color or maybe it was just in his nature to care for others, fascinating alike you or not.

      It doesn’t take you too long to go back to the conference room the team was set, only some minutes to wash your mouth and your face, a few deep breaths to control your heart rate.

      “So the motive isn’t religious?” You hear a police officer ask as soon as you get back.

      “It has religious elements but the message doesn’t seem religious.” You smile to yourself as Emily speaks, fascinated by her quickness to get into work mode, to get into the mind of who was doing all of that.

      “It‘s about punishment.” Hotch repeats your earlier insight, it makes you feel useful, and smart. You knew you were intelligent, brightly so, but having something you said be important in something so big as an investigation was… Different.

      “And how is that not religious?”

      “Punishment coming from a religious motive would probably include whipping and at the most extreme, burning. The use of the cross pose seems purposeful, it is a punishment, a shameful one, but also, there’s some… Status to it, because it was how Jesus was killed.” You can be heard by everyone, but your focus is again on the pictures, your finger quietly drawing invisible crosses along the table. “I guess it can be another way to allude to Catholicism, like Saint Michael, they are the religion with the biggest attachment to the image of Christ in the cross. But then again, it doesn’t have any other aspect of Christ’s crucifixion.”

      No one has the time to reply to your rambling, a loud ringtone interrupting the brainstorming, Hotch answers, promptly putting the call on speaker.

      “The widow was no help, she is shaken up and has no idea who would want to kill her husband.” Derek sounds defeated, “And Hotch, he wasn‘t religious.”

      “Mrs. Beckett said she tried to bring him to mass countless times during their marriage but he always vehemently refused to.” Spencer’s voice is higher in pitch but he sounds intrigued, deep in thought.

      “Alright, come back to the precinct, we are waiting for Rossi and JJ and beginning to create a geographical profile.”

      Your puzzled look doesn’t last long, as the team present begins pinning on a map the victim’s homes and where they were found.

      “No churches near the warehouses, but two near Monica Dawson’s place.” Emily comments first looking at the red pins.

      The phone rings again and you wonder if they don’t get headaches from that sound coming out of nowhere all day, but the sweetest and most cheerful voice you ever heard comes on speaker, Garcia, and you smile involuntarily.

      “Garcia, any leads?”

      “You know I do, my darling sweet boss—”

      “Don’t call me that.”

      “Fine, sweet sir, both warehouses are pretty much truly abandoned, but I sniffed around, and by that I mean I went far far back and found some documents I maybe shouldn’t be sniffing around—”

      “Garcia.” You hold in a laugh at the interaction and the supposedly threatening tone Hotch was using.

      “Both were used for military training, like… SEAL type of military.”

      There is a bit of an awkward silence before Hotch thanks and dismisses her, with the mission to find records of everyone who were apart of those trainings.

      “If we’re dealing with a Navy SEAL…” Emily’s voice is a whisper you’ve never heard before.

      “Things might get ugly. We need to be fast.” Hotch’s shows more confidence, but he is worried and as you realize seconds later when an officer barges in, he has every reason to.

      “There’s been another one.”