#mari writes apparently writes things

[jittyjames]

is...is your side fandom...jesus christ superstar.....

*sigh* yes

[firebirdsdaughter]

I'm gonna say it…

… Wish they'd just let Wincroft at Adalind.

[ooblech]

impulsivity + irrepressible urge to point out everything i notice = "oh man that was actually really mean, i should NOT have said that" every three business days.

[fushitoru]

chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers, 

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor. 

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess. 

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write: 

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo. 

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation.  Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

 The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense. 

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions. 

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1. 

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the 

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

 The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet. 

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer. 

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes. 

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue. 

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.” 

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest. 

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

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[werehamburglar]

can't believe mom of the year bridget von brandt named her daughter annabelle "worm" morgenstern after a piano playing robot with a pinocchio complex that she thought was neat

[maddilynmuse]

Memory of Liar

Another fic for @mari-lair ‘s Siffrin? More like Sif’s Out AU based on this memory exclusive to it. This one got a lil long, as I think y’all can see. Also I enjoy writing Odile. Apologies for any formatting opposed, I wrote this on my computer but had to upload on my phone.

No major CW’s beyond just “Odile questioning Siffrin’s mental health.” Enjoy!

It hadn’t been too long since that one loop. That loop where they found out just how good Siffrin was at pretending to be fine. How convenient that not long after, Odile got a skill to deal with it. Memory of Liar. It allowed her to know when Siffrin was lying (albeit not by omission, but still). Ideally, it would be a niche skill at best, one to keep on for a loop or two and forget that she had-

“Hey Odile!”

Siffrin began his usual greetings. Seems Mirabelle reminded him about the clocktower “sleepover” this time. She must be feeling nostalgic; they’d all planned to meet up at the clocktower afterwards anyways, so there was no need to send Siffrin on a quest to go talk to them all, but given how low he got, how useless he felt, it made sense for her to give him a task. Would it be too cynical to say Mirabelle was establishing a baseline? Perhaps.

“So, what will you do after?” Siffrin asked her.

After. Gems, at this rate such a thing felt laughable, but she bit her tongue well enough. What had she planned to do after this? So much time had been spent on loops and the breaking of them that leaving Dormont was starting to feel like more of an impossibility than beating the King ever had been.

“I’ll probably go back to Ka Bue,” she said. It seemed like the next most logical step. She had a home there, after all. Besides, it might be nice to get far, far away from Dormont.

“And wrap up your research?”

“Research?” Oh, right. Her fake research.

“Your research into cultures-ology?”

Had he said that last time? When was the last time Mirabelle called for a sleepover? Gems, she didn’t like this.

“Cultures-ology isn’t a field of research, Siffrin.”

“But it is the field of research you spent your life trying to create…”

“No,” she said bluntly. He looked a little put off by that, so she changed the topic the most natural way she could. “What about you? What will you do after we beat the king?” If they ever get to leave Dormont, that is.

“Come up with my own field of research.”

… huh?

Something about what he said there, it sat oddly in her gut. It felt… wrong. But how could-

Right. Memory of Liar. He was lying. Of course he was, why wouldn’t he be? She knew from the start that was likely a joke, and a joke could count as a lie, she supposed. Maybe this ability wasn’t particularly discerning. She’d have to test that too, wouldn’t she? Would it activate at anything that wasn’t true? Or would it only activate if Siffrin was actively trying to deceive?

As Siffrin walked out again, only then did it occur to her… what did the rogue intend to do when he got out? Well, a question for the others, she supposed.

------

They were back at Dormont. It wasn’t of much use, asking the others. Bonnie and Mirabelle couldn’t remember off the top of their heads, but apparently Siffrin had told Isabeau they intended to start a comedy club… That sounded considerably more likely than them going into research, but she was still inclined to double check. It was nothing wasting a whole loop over, but they’d agreed that next time they looped back to Dormont, Mirabelle would tell Siffrin about the clocktower, and Isabeau and Odile would “switch places,” so to speak. She needed to be the one to hear him, so she had to come last.

As Siffrin got up sleepily, almost tauntingly laid back, he greeted Mirabelle saying the nap was a solid 9 out of ten… The thought that their rogue was rubbing in their lack of exhaustion was illogical, something she knew all too well, but maybe she wasn’t in a particularly giving mood as she squatted in the bushes against the protest of her knee. A few more pleasantries were shared and…

“Where will you go after?”

“Oh! You know… maybe a pilgrimage? I-I suppose this all kiiiiiinda already counted as a pilgrimage, but, um… does it?” Does it if she only half remembers some of it, so much time taken over by these last few days? Or was Odile projecting here?

It didn’t matter.

“What about you though Siffrin. What will you do after?” Mirabelle asked.

Odile watched him like a hawk as he had his little smile, looking up to the sky, and, “Go on a pilgrimage too, maybe.”

“Oh! That’d be lovely,” Mirabelle said.

If only it were true.

Odile waited for them to get to the store—the store she often started at but currently housed Isabeau—forcing herself up and stumbling like a drunk from the woods, knee seizing up all the way. Mirabelle rushed over, using a bit of healing craft on her.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, I’m fine…” Odile said, though sighed in relief at the healing craft easing the pain.

“… so?” Mirabelle said.

“He was lying. He has no intention to go on a pilgrimage.”

Mirabelle sighed but nodded. Neither of them were surprised, really?

“Can you even go on a pilgrimage if all you do is travel anyways? What’s even the difference?” Odile muttered to herself. “Ah, no use now. I have to catch up before Isabeau runs out of ways to stall.” Thankfully it was a short walk. The door was open, she simply had to linger near it.

“What will you do after?” Siffrin asked Isabeau.

Seems she was right on time.

“Eh, I’ll probably just go back to Jouvente. Not sure about rejoining the Defenders, not after they left Mira, but maybe I’ll try some clothing design?”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were interested in that. That sounds great, Isa!”

“Heh, thanks Sif. But what about you? What will you do when we beat the King?”

Assuming Isabeau did a good enough job of recapping what he said before, presumably Siffrin’s answer would be the same…

“Start a comedy club!”

… that one wasn’t true either? She’d honestly thought it might be, or at least that it was fifty fifty, but no. Almost a shame, it fit all too well. Then again, it meant more people were spared his puns…

She tuned out the rest in favor of trying to get a head start on making it to the East side of town. Siffrin tended to dawdle when left to his own devices, but still would be nice to find a way to listen in that wouldn’t be physically painful this time…

Oh right. There’s a building here, right near Bonnie. She’d basically gone blind to it, considering it no more than any other house: pointless. Though she did know the open phrase, well, the only thing of value was the “Long Thingy Thing” (as Bonnie put it), and they didn’t really need to go through the trouble of crafting a bomb at this point. That said, she did know the open phrase, so she could probably get inside, and she could hear Bonnie, but could she hear Siffrin? Then again, once Siffrin was near Bonnie, she could sneak closer.

And so she did. It went off almost disappointingly easily. Gems alive, what she wouldn’t give for something to go awry in a way that would let her dig her teeth into something again. But no, no. This was more efficient. (Everything was efficiency these days, that’s how Siffrin got so bad).

She crept closer as the two talked. Siffrin was needling Bonnie, and Bonnie was rising to the bait. Was it genuine irritation and stress, or just their mimicry of it? She wasn’t sure, maybe both. Not too long in, the question came up.

“Well what about you, Frin? What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll go to space.”

… she didn’t even need the Memory equipped to know that that was a bald-faced lie, but she supposed that confirmation was nice? Well this one was a waste of time. Best to try to slip out towards the favor tree and play her own part.

Four different answers, none of them true. Why would he hide what he intended to do after? Maybe earlier in their adventure together she would’ve assumed that it was for nefarious purposes, but if he was an assassin on the behalf of the King or anything like that, he’d probably have done something to stop them on at least one of the occasions that they killed him. Whatever happened with Euphraise usually seemed centered on him, but he always looked shocked, so it was unlikely he expected it any more than the rest of them had the first time.

So if not foul play, then why? Some charitable part of her mind wanted to say his plans were just embarrassing, but…

As they’d recently learned the hard way, their little rogue wasn’t nearly as fine as he seemed. All it took was one day of them taking the lead a bit too much for him to consider himself a useless idiot. He rarely spoke of home. Never spoke of loved ones, at least not for more than a few sentences. He’d taken losing his eye almost too well. She wouldn’t say that he was at risk of becoming a Sadness or doing something willingly stupid, but the more she thought on it, the more things painted a picture she didn’t like the look of, but couldn’t afford to look away from either.

If she didn’t know better, she could mistake him for a ghost. A spirit. Maybe even some Expression. Nothing but a being floating through to help. But she’d seen him eat, seen his blood splatter on the floor, heard his gasps and screams at hard hits. She’d seen him lose an eye. Ghosts didn’t do that. He was flesh and blood yet missing so much he seemed almost insubstantial. Was he aware of this one some level? And what could do that to a person? Gems alive, she knew he had bad memory, but maybe she should’ve been delving deeper into it. Why hadn’t she? It wasn’t like her to see something so strange, to see someone start stories over and over that never reach an end, to see him speak of things and lose his train of thought halfway through, and she just…

Never questioned this?

Gems alive, her head was pounding along with the beat of her heart, but she screwed her eyes shut and blocked the world out, determined to follow this rabbit hole down. Something was wrong here, and maybe if she could puzzle out what, if she could find the missing piece, she could somehow make him whole again and, expressions willing, maybe that’d be the key to fixing this whole mess. Maybe it’d set them free. She just had to figure out why-

“Hey, Odile, are you okay?”

She jolted, whipping her head around to see, “Gems, Siffrin. You startled me…”

“Sorry,” he said. “Thinking on your wish?”

“Hah, no, I already made that,” she said. A stupid wish to win a coin flip that came to nothing in the end. And unimportant. She had to figure out… figure out…

Had to figure out what Siffrin intended to do with his life, right? Yes, that’s what she’d been doing.

“I was just… trying to figure out what to do afterwards,” she said. Maybe it was manipulative, but if she pretended she needed suggestions, maybe he’d offer something more tangible?

“Hmm? You don’t already know? I figured you’d wrap up your research.”

No, that’s right. He already had that idea in mind, didn’t he? She let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll let you in on a secret. There is no research, Siffrin. It was just a convenient lie to explain why I’m here.”

He looked at her with a hard to read expression. “But… huh???”

They were off balance. Good. Maybe it’d trick him into saying something real.

“Yes, yes, sorry to give the game away, but I guess I realized that if I don’t admit it now, I might never. And I wouldn’t want to actually beat the King and then have to figure out what next. Plus I figure if I have a plan for after, if I have a goal, I might be more driven to reach it. Whatever helps, yes? So, any ideas?”

He was looking at her like she’d grown a second head, clearly thrown off. “You could… actually start researching something? Or, um… aren’t you writing a book?”

“My journal? That’s just personal notes. It’d be nonsense to anyone else.”

“Oh.”

She waited but, no, they weren’t offering anything up, were they. She’d have to take the offensive.

“What about you, Siffrin? What do you plan to do after?”

“Oh, uh…” he looked around and shrugged. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

… not a lie. Interesting…

“Oh? Why not? I mean, you’re not even from Vaugaurde, you must have joined for some reason, right?” She could list theories, but that’d likely give him an out. She was wise to his game. At least half his answers, maybe more, were just mimicking what the other person intended to do. Otherwise it’s just what they’d most likely want to hear, save for perhaps telling Bonnie they’d go to space. An interesting outlier, that one. It seemed innocuous, but maybe it was important?

No, focus now. Theorize later.

Siffrin squirmed a little and finally chuckled awkwardly, offering an awkward shrug. “I didn’t really have anything better to do…”

And gems alive, he was not lying.

“I… see.”

Maybe she should let him go, but she needed to know one more thing first…

“And after we all go our own ways, you’ll be alright, right?”

“I guess I’ll go back to how I was before.”

Not a lie, but not an answer either. “And were you happy before?”

“Of course!”

She needed to talk to the others about this.

——————

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

[midnighvtm4ss]

Rosemary

Summary: Arthur is smacked right in the face with the consequences of his actions as the fate of your relationship is hanging by a thin thread. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (a better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors :/

wc: little under 3k

A/n: before any of you come after me, blame the angst on the bad weather not on me !! (plus we both know you love it <3) anyways reader absolutely eats arthur alive in this chapter so grab your popcorns and tissues !! Next chapter is gonna be the last so it’s gonna take a bit of time to write sorry :(( as always let me know if you like this chapter thank you all for the amazing support you’ve showed for Rosemary <33 gif from pinterest.

The sight of Clemens Point camp emerging from the thick woods surrounding its path, felt strangely like the sight of heaven to Arthur, his muscles aching and screaming at him from the tiring day. Between his visit to Rhodes with Mary and all the manual work Uncle put him under in the morning, the only things he longed for were the softness of his bed and you engulfing him in one of your warm embrace. 

Spending three hours chopping wood and gathering whatever material Uncle needed for his mysterious project that supposedly ‘would help a great deal everyone in camp’, proved to be a tiring job even for the camp’s main enforcer, his strength dulled by the biting cold of October and the constant ache of his heart. Each swing of the axe in the air helped Arthur think, his mind consumed by you, trying to figure out what the hell happened for you to act so cold and distant towards him. The image of his darling’s sweet face contorted in an expression of hurt and disappointment at the sole sight of him from this morning hunting his mind, making each swing harsher than the other. 

When Uncle decided to call it a day, Arthur internally thanked the maker above as he felt his patience wearing thin every time he called Uncle out for not lifting a finger to help him while the older man comfortably sat under the shade of one of the tall trees near the outskirts of camp complaining about his ‘lumbago’. His relief, though, was short lived as the memory of Mary’s letter flashed in his mind.

Mary had been writing to him almost every two weeks, since her late husband died she had been writing to Arthur asking for help, him being the only male left she knew, after her abusive father went mad, gambling all their possessions away and his brother ran off. 

The first letter he received a few months prior left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was tempted to just throw it in the bin and forget about it. After years of nothing she found the guts to write to him again, asking to save her little brother from a strange cult that apparently worshiped turtles, as Arthur understood. That first letter woke inside him an anger he thought died down. He needed to confront her. So a few days after receiving the first letter, Arthur rode to Valentine, his mind fixed on refusing to help her, yet after hearing her story out he didn’t find it in him to tell her no.

It’ll be just a one time thing, after this he’ll never see her again. He reassured himself. 

But then another letter came and then another, and he felt like a fool for helping her every time. Worse yet, he felt like an absolute bastard lying to you each time he went to help Mary out, always finding an excuse as to why he was out late. His conscience shouting at him to tell you the truth each time he looked into your hypnotizing eyes as you both layed naked in the comfort of your tent, but how could he explain it all to you ?

Mary, on the other hand, knew about you, having heard of you once from Arthur when you first joined the gang, but now she knew about your relationship with him. He told her from their first encounter, quick to not let her think he had any other intentions.

He’d help, sure, but only for old time’s sake.

Although Arthur sensed she wasn’t particularly excited about his newfound love, she respected your relationship, often asking him for updates and lending him some advice. It felt strange talking about you to his ex fiancè but she’d ask and he’d talk, never shying away from an opportunity to talk about his darling girl. 

Finally free of Uncle’s relentless job, he jumped on his horse, riding into town to meet with Mary. 

The town of Rhodes was particularly busy when Arthur arrived, the usually calm town buzzing with life and chatter. Men and women dressed in all kinds of fancy dresses and tall hats adorned with feathers and ribbons, strolled around town. From what Arthur heard from a couple near the saloon, a famous singer from Saint Denis was doing a show in town.

Suddenly conscious about his rugged and worn out attire he quickly made his way toward the general store, where Mary told him to meet her. Something about buying some plumbing tools, she said. Their evening went smoothly, they chatted away as Arthur helped with her shopping advising her which tools to buy and which ones to avoid. As the moon came high in the sky he escorted her to her accommodation before finally riding back to camp.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

“Who goes there!” the shout of Bill’s voice followed by the cock of his shotgun thundering in the night from his usual lookout position.

“It’s Arthur, you moron.” 

As the faint chattering of camp filled Arthur’s ears, images of you began to cloud his mind. He needed to find out what was bothering you. He needed to make it right by you, whatever it’ll cost. He hitched his horse, patting his mane a few times whispering sweet praises that made the horse sway its tail before walking towards your shared tent. 

The camp was almost empty, being close to midnight the only people up were Javier who sat near the campfire, tuning the guitar in his lap as Reverend Swanson chatted animatedly about his past life experiences with a tired Mister Pearson who looked worse than one of his stews, and then there was Abigail who was chatting with you at the entrance of your shared tent. The both of you dressed in your best dresses, the sight of your body wrapped in the soft cotton and laces of your dress making Arthur’s heart race.

You were one of God’s angels, his sweetest and most beautiful creation, he was sure of it.

As you noticed his presence coming towards you, you hurriedly whispered something to Abigail, making the brunette widen her eyes, before entering your tent, leaving Abigail outside, her eyes finding Arthur’s as he came to an alt before the opening of your shared tent, her expression resembling the ones she had after a fight with John. Anger and care blended together.

After casting a quick confused glance at Abigail, Arthur ducked through the entrance, his broad stature making his action look quite awkward. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim light that shone from the oil lamp on the bedside table, he cautiously sat down his hat, his expression a mix of confusion and wariness as his eyes found your figure, sitting at the edge of your small cot. The skirt of your dress puffy around you making you look like a doll, your head bowed making it impossible to him to read your face and shoulders stiff, toying with something in your hands. You looked up at him, red eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill once again. Something in the pit of his stomach told him this was going to be a long night. 

"Darlin’," Arthur began, his voice soft as if not to scare a small deer away. 

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” you slurred a little. He could smell the faint scent of whiskey on your breath, a sign you’d been hanging out with your girl friends.

“Where were you tonight Arthur ?”

He felt his throat tighten at your question. “I jus’ came back from a job,” he unsteadily replied.

"Right, back from your ‘job’ mhh?" you echoed, your voice tight trying with all your might to keep yourself together. You stood up your wobbly legs almost letting you fall, stepping forward, holding out one of the letters as if it were a weapon. "Or back from meeting her?".

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion, and then realization dawned. His stomach dropped as he recognized what you were holding, the sight of you holding one of Mary’s letters felt like a punch to his face. 

"Darlin’, it ain’t what you think," he started, his voice filled with urgency.

"Then, please, tell me what the hell it is!" you raised your voice, making it crack under all the weight of your emotions. You didn’t care if you were yelling, if you were to wake everyone in camp. You were tired of all the bullshit.

"I found them, Arthur. A whole fucking drawer full of letters from Mary. I might not be the brightest at reading, but I know her damned name when I see it.” despite all your best efforts to remain strong your eyes betrayed you as fresh warm tears run down the path that your previous ones left.

Arthur moved closer trying to take one of your hands in his, you took a step back, shaking your head. "Don't," you whispered, voice breaking.

“I went to Rhodes today with the girls, ya’know to clear my mind a bit from all your bullshit, and guess who I found having the time of their lives together ? Laughing and what not.”

He paused, his hand hovering in the air between the both of you. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to dry your tears and comfort you, to explain, but he knew you needed to hear the truth first. "Please darlin’, you’ve got to believe me. Mary’s just, she's just- I’m just helpin’ her out. Her husband died, and she’s got no one else,"

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh at his poor explanation. Did he really take you for this big of a fool ? Was this really what he thought of you ? Tears poured down even more from your eyes at the realization. "And you, what? You swoop in to save her like some kind of hero? What are you mh, tell me Arthur, are you her bitch ready to bark if she told you to ?”

The venom spilling from your words hit Arthur hard, making him physically flinch as your words hit him right into his face. His heart shattering at your sight, you were physically and mentally distraught. All because he didn’t have the courage to tell you everything from the start.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you? Gosh, all this time, Arthur, all this damn time I’ve just been, what? A distraction? Something to pass the time until you could get her back? Poor silly me, thinking I mattered something to you !" Now you definitely woke someone up, your throat burned as you shouted your whole heart out at Arthur, you felt disgusted, dirty even. The alcohol you previously drowned your sorrows into making you nauseous.

You were ready to give your heart to Arthur, you gave him everything. If he asked you the moon you’d give it to him.

And here you were, the biggest fool in the West, thinking you could have a space in Arthur’s heart.

"What, no!" Arthur’s shout was raw, it definitely hurt his throat, you never heard him shout this way, you never heard him shout at you at all. His voice filled with a mix of frustration and fear. He took another step toward you, stretching his hands out in search of your trembling ones, but you stumbled back, almost tripping over the edge of the cot.

"Darlin’, you’ve got to believe me, I'm beggin’ ya” 

“You’ve been lying to me for weeks, Arthur. For weeks you’ve been kissing me, lying in bed with me, you’ve been telling me that you love me while lying to me, for god’s sake ! How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?"

"Because I’m tellin’ you the truth!" Arthur pleaded, his voice thick, cracking with emotion. He could sense your heart getting further and further away from his. He wanted nothing more than to take your pain away seeing the way your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into one of his bear hugs you always loved and make you believe him, but the distance between the both of you felt like a chasm too wide to cross anymore. The only bridge between you deteriorating before his very own eyes.

"Sweetheart, I love you. I always loved you, you’re the only one I care about."

But you shook your head, circling away from him before hitting the cold canvas of the tent wall.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your sobs. "Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that after everything you’ve done to me… after all these lies."

"Darlin’, please…" Arthur broke down, his voice saturated with panic as he saw you back towards the exit of your tent, his eyes desperate as he looked at you. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping this from you. I thought- I thought I could handle it on my own, that it would be over before you ever had to know. But I see now I see how big of a moron I was, how fucking wrong I was."

You looked at him, your face twisted in pain, your heart painfully torn between the love you still felt for him and the harsh betrayal you couldn’t shake away. "I can’t do this, Arthur," you meekly said, your voice trembling. "I can’t…I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. Who lies straight to my face as if nothing."

Arthur’s heart shattered at your words. He couldn’t believe this was happening, not again. He was not losing the love of his life again. But unfortunately he could see the resolve slowly hardening in your eyes, the way you were getting yourself ready to walk away. Every cell of his body was screaming at him to find a way to keep you.  "Don’t leave me, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything… I’ll tell you everything, from now on. I’ll never see Mary again, just don’t go. Don’t leave me alone." he finished his sentence, his tone slowly going down to a mere whisper. His eyes filling with tears.

But you were already pulling away, turning your back on him as you moved toward the tent flap. Slightly hesitating with your hand on the thick canvas, your body trembling with the force of the decision you were about to make. If you did this there was no turning back. But this wasn’t your fault.

"I need to think," you said emotionless, your voice hollow as your sobs died down, leaving you with a hole in your heart, "I need…I need some time for myself."

"No, please don’t…" Arthur’s voice was choked with tears he wouldn’t let fall from his eyes. But it was too late.

You slipped out of the tent into the cold harsh night, leaving Arthur motionless at the center of the cold emptiness of your shared tent, feeling the walls closing in around him. The crushing realization that he might have just lost the one person who truly meant everything to him came down on him at once making his head spin.

Alone in the darkness, Arthur finally let the tears fall, each one a silent plea for a second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You needed to get away from him, to get away from everything right now. You felt that if you were just a second more inside that tent you’d take him into your arms, begging him to never let you go. But you couldn’t.

He lied to you, you didn’t care about Mary, about his secret rendezvous with her. He lied to you. That’s all you could think of.

Realizing that Arthur could easily follow you in camp you decided to completely get out of camp. You needed space, from him, from everyone. You just wanted to be alone.

Venturing into the woods at night wasn’t the smartest choice you’ve made per se, but a small ounce of alcohol was running through your veins still and you decided to blame it for your poor choice.

The moonlight shone brightly, illuminating faintly your surroundings, the harsh chill of the midnight weather biting your exposed hands as you once again forgot your gloves.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as more tears threatened to spill from your tired eyes, you were near the clearing you and Arthur found out a few weeks ago, in need of some privacy when your mouths were chasing each other and his hands, warm and calloused, explored your exposed back, your touches burning with raw desire.

The memory of that night burned in your heart when suddenly you heard a twig snap. You turned towards the direction of the sound fear taking over you, shaking every cell in your body. You were physically and emotionally drained, you didn't have a gun with you, not even a knife. The only thing left to do was pray it was just a fox wandering around.

And then you felt it, a sharp burning pain in the back of your head, kicking the air out of your lungs.

The last thing you saw was the forest floor.

Before darkness took over you.

[babygorewhore]

Unholy Contrition

Rafe Cameron immediately wrote you off as some Bible thumping prude. And when his father died and left the entire fortune to him, he absentmindedly chose your father, A preacher, to speak at the funeral. But he catches something about you that reminds him of his favorite Porn Star. And he decides he’s going to corrupt you. What he doesn’t know is…you’re not as innocent as you act.

Okay guys the horny demon got me and I once again had to write about cocaine daddy because I’m addicted to him. Thank you so much to @xxhellfirebunnyxx for helping me with this and beta reading. I love you dolly.

Word count 5K!

Moodboard

Warnings! Talk of religion (duh) reader is a porn star, masks, masterbation, slight cat and mouse, choking, degrading, oral, unprotected sex! Virgin reader! Daddy kink! Kinda perv reader tbh but same. Slight breeding kink. And barely proof read I apologize.

Disclaimer: female in photos just for aesthetic purposes!!

When Rafe first saw her, it was at the annual outdoor movie where the pouges and Kooks got together. The pouges served food and drinks while he and his family sat comfortably in the front row. Topper, Kelce and himself watched JJ and Pope after their encounter. He thought they knew better than to fuck around with him and his friends. But he’d have to teach them. Burn it into their brains.

He was Rafe fucking Cameron. And they would learn their god damn place.

“Watch them.” He told Kelce and he got up. Kiera was getting a drink and this was an opportunity to assert his intent.

“Tell your boy, we know what he did.” His warning did nothing to sway her loyalty as she walked away. He smirked and then it fell when a girl was walking up to the line. It was the Preachers daughter.

He towered over her like most people but what caught his attention was the high neck shirt, covered thighs and worse. A cross on her neck and a wrap around cross bracelet around her hand. Her hair was in pig tail braids. She had doe eyes and bitten pink lips.

And she was carrying a fucking Bible. Which was a shame. She was pretty. Beautiful even. But he hated the church.

“Excuse me,” She whispered and moved past him. He had an urge to snatch it out of her hands and throw it. But he had more important things to do.

“Yeah; go ahead Jesus freak.” He hissed, bending down to say it to her ear. Her eyes widened and her brows pulled together.

“I-“

But he walked off. He wasn’t going to waste him time when he had two pouges asses to kick.

Your dad gave funeral talks all the time but now you were weirdly excited to go. Not that you were excited about Ward’s death but more about who’s attending. Rafe Cameron would be there and you actually thanked god for it. It wasn’t that you didn’t have your own belief system but the entire restriction? Fuck no.

But for the sake of your poor older father, you kept up the good girl facade. It was easy really. Keep everything simple, light pastel clothes while hiding what was underneath. Your nickname was Kitty from the cat ear beanie you had since you were a teenager. But your dad had a variety of nicknames for you.

All of them were gentle. Pure.

You adjusted your white lace turtleneck before your hands settled on your ankle length pink skirt. The very sight was way out of your true style but it would do for the service. Your white socks and black Mary Jane’s. Your cross bracelet, and necklace was a little overkill.

But no one knew how you used the cross in secret on your only fans.

The black thong you were wearing was already growing wet as you stood next to your father waiting for him to arrive. He greeted everyone with a handshake. Your eyes drifted over the crowd, mascara thick on your lashes as you subtly rose to your tiptoes. Damn, was he late to his own fathers funeral?

“Kitty, look who it is. Hello, Sarah.” You forced yourself to smile. She was crying with Topper on her arm. Apparently she and John B, Rafes arch nemesis, had broken up. For now anyway.

“Hi, Sarah, I’m so sorry…” You gave her a genuine hug and she squeezed tightly.

“Thank you, kitty.” She sniffed.

“Mr. Cameron, now that you’re here-“ You tried your best not to snap your head too directly in his direction but you slowly turned your head.

Rafe was wearing a suit and his hair was slicked back out of his eyes. Different than he had been running around a few weeks prior before he inherited the entire fortune.

He seemed…more unhinged. Something in his eyes flashed when he saw you, drank you in like a man after a day in heat. You gave him a sympathetic smile and you rolled your ankles, trying to seem smaller. More vulnerable. “Hi…Mr. Cameron. I’m so sorry for your loss…” You murmured.

His strong hand engulfed yours, his fingers long, covered in gold rings and warm. You looked into his blue eyes, shining on you and he said. “It’s still Rafe, little bunny.”

The nickname made you want to cum in your panties but you ducked your head with a blush. But you couldn’t blame him with your modest clothes and makeup. He returned to speaking with your father and you tried to keep your glances to a minimum. He was going to work for it.

The service was simple. Outdoors and you stood next to your father. You held a small Bible that was gifted to you in middle school as your cross dangled from in between your fingers. Rafe was staring at you. You could feel it but you wouldn’t give him the chance to meet your gaze yet.

You had a lollipop in your pocket. One you took out of your collection as you left your house. You always sucked on something. Your cross. Your dad wouldn’t think twice as you subtly unwrapped the paper and slowly licked a circle around the candy. Your tongue was lewd as you then pressed it passed your swollen lips.

You took another measure by your pointer and thumb pushing it back and forth and then you stuck it further…until it hit the back of your throat. Playing dumb, you gasped quietly and coughed. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, lipstick slightly staining. You then took an opportunity to look at Rafe.

His jaw was tight and he was biting his lower lip. Blue eyes were darkening as he inhaled the process of your action. His chest moved up and down rapidly. You wanted him to know you were baiting him. But you also wanted to fuck with his mind. So you did the most reasonable thing your thoughts came up with.

You gave him a small wink.

After the funeral, he was out of your sight. But you took the extra step by linking your second account on your instagram story. You knew he would watch it.

Your obsession with Rafe Cameron started in high school. He was a few months older so he graduated sooner. But when you first saw him, hanging around other girls and guys at the private school. Disobeying rules but having enough family power to ignore them. Turned you on. His rebellion was something you craved. Your attraction only grew when you saw him one day yank a girl into a closet and you heard how good he made her feel. Granted, you hid right outside the door. You wanted to be her.

You want him to throw you around. Use you. Take you like you were only made to be his little toy. Your fantasies only grew when you followed him on social media, he was public so you had fast access.

What he didn’t know was that you used your second account. Where you wore your sluttiest clothes without showing your face. You posted stories about sexual thoughts, songs and thirst traps of your body. And he commented on every single one.

“Fuck, I wanna see your pretty face.”

“I want to fuck you. Fuck your throat. Watch you leak with my cum.”

It was an endless amount of fun. You knew he wanted you. He just didn’t know you were both versions yet. And each response you gave him, ended with a wink.

“Kitty, you look tired. Do you want to head home?” Your father asked. You nodded sheepishly. Finally, you could get home and post more on only fans. You knew he would watch as well.

“Thank you, dad. I’ll see you later.” You gave him a kiss on the cheek and started to the car.

It wasn’t an accident you parked across from him and you saw him walking in the direction. You dipped your hand into your pocket, acting like you were searching for your keys as you dropped a thin fabric on the ground. Quickly, before he could approach you, as you heard his shoes you got into the driver's seat.

Playing dumb was simply picking and choosing when you showed innocence. As you drove away, your plan cemented and you bit your lip.

Getting home and settling into your bed, you wore the lingerie Rafe always requested. Normally you charged him more, but you’d give him a treat today. You pulled out your rabbit, spitting on it and slathering it with lube. You barely needed any on your pussy as you set your phone exactly where it showed the best angle.

You wore the cross on your bracelet as you traced your clit with it. A lot of girls did this but Rafe would consider that it’s yours. Maybe he wouldn’t. The doubt would drive him crazy. Just like he drove you crazy.

He was infamous for snorting coke at parties you were never invited to and you imagined smearing it across his gums before licking them. Or his strong fingers holding you down as he did a line on your body. What you wanted most? Being pinned down as he spat on your mouth and slapped your pussy. These thoughts drove you to easily slip two fingers inside as you grind onto your hand.

“Fuck me, daddy. I need you.” You whined. You wish he was here. You wish it was his hand instead of yours.

You tried to hold back, usually taking longer for a video but you came extremely quickly. As you laid there, sweaty and still needy. You glanced at the notifications. They were repeated. Sliding on your side, exposing your bare ass, you picked up your kitten mask and read the messages.

They were all from Rafe.

He was sending money. “Please, let me see that fuckable face. I’m begging you, kitten. I need it. I need to fuck that soaking pussy. Daddy needs you.”

You had to bite your lip to keep from chuckling.

Normally, you just winked. But this time, your fingers swiped and you replied.

“Work for it, daddy.”

Rafe couldn’t get the image out of his head of you sucking the lollipop out of his fucked up head. You were the preacher's daughter for god's sake. Someone he teased for being some sort of Bible thumper and she probably didn’t even know what kinky meant. But…god she was pretty. The way she innocently batted her eyelashes at him like a bunny. That was what stuck out to him. A little bunny rabbit.

And then she winked at him. It felt so pointed. Purposeful. She also dropped a black damp thong on her way to her car. Rafe snatched it up before anyone could ever see it and he half scoffed and moaned. A creamy stain that was recent. Either she secretly touched herself or she was so wet that it soaked through and ran down her pretty legs.

The last words of the mystery girl on Only fans, who was his favorite porn star, gave him more than a wink this time. Work for it, daddy.

It made him cum all over his hand again just from her words so he couldn’t even imagine her pussy. But the doubt. The doubt was there. But she was-he clenched his fist. It was during the day and he had a second to breathe in between meetings.

Rafe typed her name on instagram.

As he suspected, it was mostly scenery shots, half faced selfies and photos with your father. A few of them you were smiling, apparently whoever took the photo made you laugh when you were at the beach. He almost swiped to another photo when he narrowed his eyes.

It was very small. He almost missed it but there was a small…handprint? Right below your swimsuit above your thigh. It had to be your hand, given the size but his mind drifted to a particular video where mystery girl spanked herself to his request. Was he being paranoid? He looked at another photo, a flashback to your graduation where John B took you to prom. And he felt at twitch in his jaw. But not before another detail caught his attention.

Underneath your bracelet. Left wrist. He saw a black mark. Not a mark, he zoomed in, careful not to like the picture.

It was a tattoo.

He couldn’t see what it was but his eyes widened. Mystery girl also had a tattoo there.

But you couldn’t possibly have one. Not the preachers daughter. Weren’t they forbidden or some shit? It was starting to drive him insane when his alarm went off.

“Fuck.” He muttered to himself and clicked the button. Turning his screen black. It couldn’t be you. Not this innocent girl who called him Mr. Cameron. But what if it was? He’d have to find out for himself. Anyway he needed to.

And here he was. At fucking church. He couldn’t remember a time he was here other than his dads funeral. Your dad was on the stage, flipping through a book he assumed was the Bible when he looked up.

“Mr. Cameron. What a pleasant surprise. Kitty, guess who’s here!”

He tried to keep his expression neutral as you came from a door on the left side. You wore a long light colored dress right above your ankle with the same shoes as the funeral. Your hair was in two braids with a kitten beanie, in this weather? And you still wore your two crosses.

But you were so pretty. Prettier than last time if it was possible. You gave him a small smile, ducking your head. “Hi, Mr. Cameron.”

He neared you both, trying to think of a way to subtly touch you without catching the attention of your father.

“Rafe. Um. I just wanted to stop by. Say thanks for the service. It-helped. Especially with Sarah. She’s all emotional and shit.” He quickly glanced at your dad. “Sorry.”

“No need. Freedom of speech is a gift. But you don’t need to thank me. It was Kitty who told me about him as well. So I could make it personalized.”

Rafe swore your eyes flashed. Just for a second. So he pushed. “You did? You friends with Sarah or something?”

You twirled your hair, apparently sucking on some sort of candy. When you opened your mouth, your tongue was red. “Yeah! We talk sometimes. I just wanted to help, you know?” You started sniffing. “I can’t imagine losing my dad.”

“Oh, honey…”

Rafe cleared his throat. Desperate to get you alone. “Hey-can I talk to you? Just for a minute, I wanted to ask you something.” He eyed you carefully and you nodded. Your dad didn’t seem suspicious. Which made his doubt increase.

Maybe the wink was a fluke. A nervous habit? Or maybe you did that to everyone.

You both stepped away, slowly walking down the aisle. He felt uncomfortable, wearing a suit when he wanted to feel loose. It was too constricting. You played the cross on your bracelet. He raked his brain for something or someway to look at your arm. He had to prove that you didn’t have a tattoo and he was just crazy.

“So, what did I want to talk about?” You prompt him and he clears his throat.

“I’m-“ Oh, no. What could he possibly say? “I’m trying to be more spiritual. You know, with my dad dead. I just want to have hope, you know? That I’ll see him again someday. I would ask your dad but you know. You’re more my age-“

“Oh, Rafe. You don’t have to explain yourself. Do you want me to help you? I can just…go over scriptures with you. Meet with you here. Doesn’t have to be complicated.” The way you said his name made him feel insane.

You had a tilt to your voice. The way you said the word. You didn’t sound like a little mouse for an instant. You sounded-confident. And then it quickly disappeared as your eyes flicked away. “Only if you want, I mean if you don’t, I understand-“

“No, I’d love that. And I also wanted to apologize for what I said. A while back.” This was the most awkward conversation he’d ever had in his life. You started twirling the end of your hair with a painted fingernail.

He squinted, trying to see any sort of ink. Nothing. He was right. And now he was stuck with some sort of scripture offer. “I-“ and then you stretched.

Your arms over your head and he didn’t know where not to look. Your tits were lifted, your neck exposed and then he saw your sleeve lift.

It was a black butterfly tattoo. It was medium sized. Pretty. And then he saw a few more peeking on yiur skin. Mystery girl had the same tattoo but it looked like you had more. Rafe snatched an opportunity.

“I like your tattoo.” He complimented. Hoping to get some sort of answer.

“Oh, thank you. The first one is from a while ago but the rest are new. Dad doesn’t approve but I promised to keep them covered up.” The candy you were sucking on. You rolled it around in your mouth and Rafe was bouncing with some sort of frazzled energy.

“What do you do? Outside of church?”

“I make jewelry. My own business. Sarah actually bought a few things. It’s obviously not Cameron level but I do pretty well.” A blush reddened your cheeks. Jewelry making? Damn. He didn’t have a fucking clue. But why did you wink?

He was going to lose his mind.

“That’s cool. I’ll have to-“He checked the time. He stopped here before going to the building for work.

“I have to get going. But I’m glad we talked. And I’m sorry again.”

“It’s okay, Rafe. I understand. Besides, I was still in high school and I was a little awkward.” You giggled behind a hand. Your smile was adorable and he had an urge to cup your face.

What was he doing? What was this end goal?

“Yeah, me too. Um-“

“Here,” You brought out your phone and opened the number key. “Just put your number in here and I’ll let you know when we can get started if you still want to!” She chirped as he quickly typed in his number.

Her phone in his hand was so small and he felt a twitch in his crotch. Her camera roll. It could be so easy. Just a Quick Look. Just to see. Just to be sure. But to his surprise, you took it back before he had a chance.

“It was nice to see you,” You nodded with a smile.

“Yeah! You too.” He said quietly and watched you walk away. His mind was even more fucked.

Who were you? Or who was the mystery girl? For once in his life, he did consider praying for an answer.

Getting more tattoos at the same time he showed up at church wasn’t planned but it worked out exactly to your favor as you shut your room door with your hip and set your bag down. But you saw the wheels turning in his head. He was taking the bait and you smirked. This was almost too easy. Trapping him. But he was so desperate.

You needed to spark something in him, either get him to ask directly or get him to cave.

Adjusting your hair in your car mirror, you scanned your white dress for any stains. The small flowers decorating the fabric and your cross on your body. But this time you wore a pair of boots that your father nearly had a heart attack with. They were completely different than you normally wore. But you needed more proof that you were his favorite little bunny.

The church loitered with a few people, as they normally did after a Sunday service. Your knee bounced as you waited for Rafe as you sat in the front. You had a few scriptures in mind, ones to stir him and you knew he’d never imagine were in the Bible.

“Sorry, I kept you waiting.” His raspy voice caught you by the surprise but you slowly turned and looked up at him.

Rafe wasn’t in his suit today, instead his casual clothes but there was nothing casual about the way he was staring at you. His eyes were on fire. Full of desire and confusion.

“Oh! That’s okay, Rafe! I wasn’t waiting long! Please sit,” you scooted over and he seated next to you. His knee against yours. You didn’t move it.

“So, you want to hear a few scriptures, or I can pray for you, which would you prefer?” You spread your legs a little and Rafe swallowed. His jaw clenched.

“Uh-I-i don’t think I’ve ever prayed before. So the Bible is fine. I just want to make peace, you know. With my dad. But I have another problem.” You raise an eyebrow.

“There’s someone I really want. And I know it’s…against the lord of whatever. And I need some help. What should l do? How do I resist it like you?” His question hung in the air and your chest tightened. You were so tempted to tell him but that’s not what you wanted.

“Well. I just listen to what the Bible says about that. It keeps me strong. What it says is clear.” You nodded. You opened the book on your lap, “1st John 1:9 ‘if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness’” you looked at him.

“So, if you confess, God will help you.”

Rafe bit his lip and leaned in closer. “This girl. She’s a fucking porn star,” he growls. “And she wears a little kitten mask and she fucks herself all nice and obedient for me. But the problem is she teases me like a brat. She never shows her face even though I give her more money than she’s ever seen. She’s her fathers only child but she calls me daddy. And had the nerve to tell me to work for it. She fucks her cross on her pussy when she knows damn well I could do it better. But she hides. Hides behind this little innocent act with the holy Bible and looks at me with eyes that make me want to rob every single innocence away from her and expose her for the whore she is. And baby, I think it’s you.”

Your core was dripping on the bench. You were almost shaking with want and you almost had to look away from him. You felt exposed. He did figure it out. You weren’t quite prepared as you thought with his reaction. Despite your activity behind your close door, you hadn’t fucked anyone all the way. Making out with friends at sleepovers was as far as you got in real life. Your obsession with Rafe made you wait. You always knew he’d be yours. And you made it happen.

“I-“ he held a finger against your lips, cutting you off.

“No, no, no, see you’ve fucked around with me a little too long, little girl. Now, I get to show you exactly how big of a mistake that was. So, you’re going to go home and think long and hard about what’s going to happen next. For once, I think your God isn’t going to protect you from me.” Rafe pulled away and stood.

“How does it feel to be left high and dry? And by the way, nice tattoos.” And then he winked at you.

You gasped as he walked away.

Your thighs were growing damp from the leaking arousal and you were breathing heavily. Holy shit. It worked. You bit your lip as you pulled out your phone.

He had texted you. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

When you got home, your dad was out. He was gathering his sermon scriptures and then to spend time with his small circle of friends. You told him you didn’t feel well enough to go. Your mask was secure on your face as you took photos in your bra and panties.

You planned on making more content but it was getting harder because you wanted Rafe so badly. You wanted him to fuck the brat right out of you, making all your dreams come true from his earlier talk. Pouting, you started going through tik tok, laying on your stomach. But then a noise caught your attention. Sitting up, you went to grab your robe when your door was bashed open.

Eyes wide, you see Rafe walk towards you, with a sadistic smirk on his face. He tilted his head, trailing his blue irises over your body, your naked knees pressing together.

“Hey kitty.” He said, stalking towards you. Rafe kneeled on your bed before grabbing your ankles. You shrieked as he dragged you towards him and loomed over you. “The mask was a really nice touch, baby.” Rafe glanced at the cross on your neck after he tore off your mask and threw it. He pulled it, tugging you up.

His breath hit your mouth. “You want to be my slut? All those fucking videos for me. Making me crazy. Making me doubt myself. You’re gonna regret it. Open your fucking mouth.”

You immediately obeyed and Rafe spit inside. He grabbed your jaw and closed it.

“What’s wrong? What happened to that little brat? Aw, she’s done isn’t she? Fuck, and I haven’t even done anything.” He tapped your cheek harshly. You felt his silver rings against your skin.

You were trembling but you grabbed his face and smashed your lips together. You tried sitting up but Rafe would have nothing less than submission as he pinned your hands above your head and dominated his tongue in your mouth. He kissed you with brutal force and you almost came just from that. All these years and it was better than you could have ever imagined.

He ripped away and wrapped his hands around your throat. “Tell me you’re going to be good.”

Your air was cutting off and you nodded rapidly. “I’ll be good.”

“Say I’m sorry, daddy. I’m sorry for making me have to search for answers. And finally break into your fucking house.” Rafe snarled and tightened his grip. You could feel him hardened above you.

He shoved his hand inside your underwear, grazing your soaking pussy. His two fingers rubbed your clit but with too light pressure. Your eyes rolled back as your stomach tightened.

“You’re so pathetic. Gonna cum and I haven’t even fucked you yet. You’re a fucking virgin, aren’t you? A little whore but you’ve never done this with anyone but your own tiny fingers.” Rafe lent down and hovered over your mouth that was parted.

He pulled his hand away and you whined. “No, please, I’m sorry daddy. I’m sorry for doing all this-“

“I’m sorry daddy,” Rafe mocked you, his fingers shoving inside your greedy entrance. “I’m sorry daddy that I’m a dripping whore and I need the Bible to get you to fuck me.” He started chuckling as you grew noisier. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

“I’m-“ He stopped and you almost screamed. “I’m so sorry, daddy. I’m a stupid dripping whore but I want you so bad. You can do whatever you want to me. I’ll take anything but please stop teasing-“

Rafe broke then, his hand removed from your neck and you sucked in air. His mouth slammed against yours as he ripped your underwear off, and fumbled with his belt. He slid down, kneeling on the floor as he spread your legs. Your glistening cunt made his eyes darken. “You’re so fucking wet for this.”

His tongue lapped at your clit, circling it around the bud before he licked the underside with pressure. You mewled and clawed the bed as he devoured you. Rafe’s tongue slipped inside you with ease as you clenched. You were so close it was painful. But he was relentless. Slowing when you were just about to reach your peak.

“Daddy, please make me cum.” You cried out, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m sorry, but please daddy.”

Rafe stopped and yanked off his pants and boxers. His heavy leaking dick was bigger than you thought as he wasted no time running it down your pussy. “This may hurt a little,” He warned before slamming in. “But you can fucking take it.”

Your nails clawed his back as he thrusted again. You moaned so loudly it surprised you but he met you in volume. “Fuck, daddy!” You said against his ear.

“Are you going to behave?” Rafe grunted as he crudely started massaging your clit. “Are you going to behave from now on?”

Your vision went white as your stomach tightened, “yes I promise,” You whispered before your pleasure exploded.

Rafe did too, his movements stalled as you felt him empty inside you, and your damp forehead rested against his.

“Maybe I fucked a baby in you, kitten.” Rafe sneered with a fucked out look. He was still inside you. “Looks like you corrupted me to your religion.” He smirked before pulling out.

“So…” You cleared your throat and looked at him with a small amount of vulnerability. “What does this mean? Is this it?”

Rafe inhaled and his fingers went to grip your jaw. His powerful face above you sent chills down your naked spine. “If you think you’re anything else but mine, then you’re a dumb little bunny. No one will ever touch you but me. Be with you but me. And besides,” He grinned wickedly. “Your dad already likes me.”

Tagging

@imyourdaninow @drewstarkeyslut @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @slvt4jamesmarch @reidsbtch @lesservillain @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @imyourdaninow

[remlionheart]

Can you do a Chuuya x fem reader where her bra can be shown from her white shirt?

pov: you request a simple spicy lil fic from me, but my manic brain is physically incapable of not giving it an entire backstory and plot and making it at least 4k+ words (thank you so much for this idea tho, it was super fun to write! ღ)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ My first attempt at Chuuya smut (and goddamn, do I love that angry lil man ★~(◡‿◡✿). New to the city, you're coerced into working for the PM after a drunken night out. Scared and now in the heart of one of Japan's most notorious criminal organization's headquarters, you decide to reclaim some of your power by ~*teasing the absolute fuck out of Chuuya Nakahara~*. 4.8k words. Porn with a plot. I can't even lie, this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet while writing, lemme know whatcha think. luv u ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When you'd first moved to Yokohama 2 months ago, you had promised your parents that you'd be safe. That you'd find yourself a decent office job to afford you a lofty apartment and that you'd be settled in relatively quickly. You'd pictured yourself walking amongst tall buildings on your days off. Exploring the city with your coworkers on the weekends. Living instead of just existing in your small hometown.

You thought you had your future all mapped out and maybe you did, but those dreams of normalcy were all but destroyed the night you crossed paths with Koyo Ozaki.

She had noticed you from across the bar, quietly observing the way you'd been drinking by yourself all night. It was odd to see a girl with your beauty and lack of abilities so confidently roaming downtown alone. She wasn't sure if you were brave or naive, but the moment you took a seat next to her to thank her for the whiskey and coke she had ordered you, she realized you were the perfect blend of both.

She'd spent the next hour chatting you up, effortlessly coaxing information out of you without you realizing it. She'd offered you an administrative assistant role for the group she worked for, describing it as a "lucrative" and "underground" organization. You were in no position to say no, especially after spending the last month relentlessly applying to jobs with little to no luck.

You woke up the next day musing about silly things like fate and serendipity as you raided your closet for the perfect first day outfit. You felt like this was your big break. The first stop on the roadmap of adulthood that you'd created for yourself. You ironed a pair all black slacks, pairing it with a white-button up quarter-sleeve shirt, and your favorite suede Mary-Janes. Optimism swirled through your head as you eyed yourself in your bedroom mirror that night. You were determined to be so good at this job.

You showed up freshly showered and prepared when you arrived at the sleek, high-rise building. Ozaki waited for you out front with a rather intimidating dark-haired man who introduced himself as Mori, head of the fucking Port Mafia.

Your anxiety rose with each step you took behind them, quickly realizing that this was not the run-of-the-mill clerical job you had envisioned while hazily chatting with Ozaki over whiskey-neats. This was an underground criminal organization full of some of the strongest ability users in the world. You had absolutely no idea why you were here. Why you'd been selected, let alone trusted, to work alongside these people.

You were given your own small office, equipped with a bare desk and landline phone. Mori told you to stay put, explaining that you were to stay out of sight until further notice. You were essentially there as a cover-up.

Apparently, they'd been scouting for girls like you. New to town and completely clueless. They wanted to bring in a handful of these 'administrative assistants' to help keep up the illusion that this was just another ordinary building in the business district of Yokohama and nothing more.

Mori left you with a curt warning about the temperament of the other Mafia members and a haunting, "Welcome to the team." as he closed the door to your office and disappeared down the long corridor. Your heart was slamming into your chest, your anxiety growing the longer you sat. You were angry. Disappointed in yourself for being such an easy target.

You sat for at least an hour staring at the wall in existential dread, wondering what you'd done to end up here. Wondering what you were going to have to do to get out now that you were here. Even if it wasn't necessarily a "job", it still didn't seem like something you could just casually walk away from.

You were in the middle of the Port Mafia's headquarters and you were rightfully, terrified.

The sound of two muffled voices pulled you away from your thoughts while you froze in your chair, realizing that they were right outside your door.

"You're fuckin' with me, right?"

"No, that's really where they're keeping her. She's going to be a fulltime member."

"A member?" it was the first man again, his voice full of shameless snark and volume as he laughed at the idea. "A Mafia member with no ability? C'mon, Akutagawa. Even Mori isn't that stupid."

"There's going to be more, she's just the first to show up."

Tension crept along your spine when both voices came to a curious stop, one quietly scolding the other before the heavy wooden door began to creak open.

A pair of azure eyes stared back at you, disheveled shoulder-length red hair draping off of one shoulder as he mumbled, "Holy shit."

The taller of the two, draped in a long black coat, tried to pry him away, but he shrugged him off with an irritated. "Chill out, I just wanna introduce myself to her."

The dark-haired man scoffed and continued down the hallway while his ginger companion closed the door behind him, leaving just the two of you looking back at each other skeptically.

Despite his height, he had a powerful demeanor. A blend of apathy and cockiness that exuded off of him as he carefully made his way towards you. "So, you're the new girl, huh?"

Your eyebrows furrowed when you looked back at him, your words suddenly stuck in your throat as his foot made contact with your desk.

You managed a nod, remembering the way Mori had advised you not to engage with the other Mafia members, but what were you supposed to do when you were suddenly locked in a room with one?

"God, we really can't just have one normal day around here, can we?" He sighed, almost seeming embarrassed as his shoulders dropped and he leaned against your desk in the spot next to you. "Stealin' girls out of bars? Tch, the hell are they thinkin'?"

His opposition to his boss' plan made you relax a bit. It was the first time all day that you thought you might make it out of here okay.

He picked up on your apprehension rather quickly, taking his hat off and setting it down before extending a gloved hand out to you. "Chuuya." He said simply.

You stared at him for another moment or two before introducing yourself, trying but failing to mimic his nonchalant tone.

"Hey," He said, lightly nudging your foot with his, "You're gonna be alright. I'm sure this gig will only last for a couple of weeks until they move on to their next big, idiotic idea."

"You think so?" It was the first time all day that you felt like you could breathe.

"Trust me, Mori's plans are always changing. He'll probably cut you a fat check for hush money and then send you on your way sooner than later. Just lay low in the meantime, yeah?"

Your eyes were still locked as you nodded at him again, giving him a feeble, "Okay... Yeah, I can do that."

"Good." He smirked, pulling himself away from your desk.

You watched him pause just before exiting the room. He turned around to face you again, his gaze landing a bit lower than your eyes this time.

"And maybe uh -" If you didn't know any better, you'd swear that you saw a flash of red flare across his cheeks. "Maybe don't wear that bra with a white shirt next time."

Out of all of the anxiety and fear that you'd been drowning in over the last few hours, your choice of outfit had been the very last thing you'd considered worrying about until just now.

You looked down, noticing what he meant as you saw the dark, lacy fabric of your Victoria's not-so-secret peeking through the white of your blouse. Your tits were pushed perfectly together, nearly on full display through the sheerness of your shirt.

He flashed you another faint smirk before clicking the door shut, once again leaving you to your own crippling thoughts as your head dropped into your hands.

What an absolutely mortifying first day.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next few shifts were a blur.

You'd clock in. Sit for what felt like an eternity in your bleak little office. Leave mid-day to grab lunch at a cafe across the street. And then head home 9 hours later despite the fact that you’d hardly done anything.

You'd learned to bring in books and cross-stich patterns to keep yourself busy throughout the day instead of rotting away at your desk. It wasn't an ideal situation, but if Chuuya was right and there really was a big check waiting for you around the corner, you'd decided that it was worth it to see this through. Because no matter how nervous you got each morning, the painful truth was that you couldn’t afford to turn down easy money.

By the end of the week, you found yourself doing more than just sneaking in romance mangas to make the job more bearable though. You were doing everything you could to gain back even a semblance of power.

If you had to be here, you had decided that you were going to make it everyone's problem.

With the ginger's words still fresh in your mind, you made it a point to wear darker bras. Tighter blouses. Shorter skirts that barely covered your ass. It had almost become an inside joke with yourself at what a distraction you'd become to the Port Mafia. Maybe couldn’t make these men fear you, but you could certainly make them trip all over themselves any time you entered the building.

You'd hardly been able to keep a straight face yesterday afternoon when Akutagawa's coffee fell from his hands and cascaded around him after he saw you walking down the hall in black knee-high stockings. You'd finally managed to make everyone here as uncomfortable as they'd made you and it felt good.

You were half-way through the iced matcha you'd picked up on lunch, sitting with your feet propped up on your desk as you continued to embroider the word "fuck" in pretty, cursive letters next to a pink and yellow flower when a knock arrived at your door.

You quickly stashed the circular cross-stitch pad in one of the desk drawers and straightened your back as Tachihara poked his head into your office. "Yo, new girl. Nakahara wants to see you."

Your brows knitted together as you looked back at him in quiet confusion.

No one had ever requested to see you in the time that you'd been here. Even in your attempts to disrupt their daily tasks, they'd still not bothered to learn your name. But now... you were expected to go see Chuuya... in his office?

"Why?" It was the only question you could think to ask.

"Dunno," Tachihara shrugged. "but I wouldn't keep him waiting. He's kind of an asshole." And with that, you were once again left alone and anxious.

You took a breath, standing up to smooth down the fabric of your skirt before venturing down the hallway.

You did your best to push Tachihara's warning out of your head, reminding yourself of the kindness Chuuya had shown you on your first day while your heels clicked across the marbled floor.

Maybe he wanted to tell you that he'd talked to Mori and that your time with Port Mafia was finally up. Maybe he wanted to hand deliver the check you'd so desperately been waiting for. Maybe he just wanted to see how you were doing. Whatever it was, you were holding onto hope that there wouldn't be any more bad news.

You let out a sharp exhale as you rounded the corner and found yourself standing in front of his office. You gave the door a light tap, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve when he finally appeared.

His eyes traced over you slowly, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he counted not one, not two, but three undone buttons along your blouse that revealed the deep-purple push-up bra decorating your chest.

"Get in here."

His tone was clipped, dripping with what felt like vexation as he closed the door behind you.

His office was much bigger than yours, adorned with high-rise windows that overlooked the city and pristine black marble flooring that matched his leather furniture. The room was dark, just barely lit by a lamp on his desk. You wondered how it was possible for him to get any paperwork done in here but then promptly realized that with his ranking, paperwork was probably far beneath his paygrade.

Still not entirely sure how to approach the situation, you hesitantly took a seat on the over-sized armchair across from his desk.

"Quick question," he said, standing in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, his voice still riddled with irritation. "What does the phrase 'lay low' mean to you? Because I can tell you right now, this ain't fuckin' it."

Your pupils widened, his words hanging heavily in the space between you.

Your mouth opened and then closed again, too focused on the way he was staring at you to form a proper response.

"Is it -" you wavered, mustering up all the courage you had to try and play this off as innocent confusion rather than what it actually was: sarcasm. "Is it my outfit?"

If looks could kill, you would've been 6 feet under.

Chuuya's eyes darkened, a flustered hand rubbing feverishly over his face as he struggled to keep his composure. He wasn't sure if you were trying to piss him off or if you were just genuinely the dumbest girl he'd ever come in contact with.

"Yes," He said with all the restraint he could possibly manage, his teeth nearly grinding together with each syllable. “The outfits are getting out of hand. You've gotta stop."

You were playing a dangerous game, but you were slowly starting to realize that you were... winning.

"What's wrong with them?" you asked, pretending to cover your chest in embarrassment.

You wanted to hear him explain it. Hear him tell you in his own words that you couldn't wear short skirts anymore because it was causing too many unexpected erections around headquarters.

"I -" The poor redhead looked as though he was going to have an aneurysm if you kept this up much longer.

He snapped his eyes shut and let out a frustrated exhale, his hand now bawled into a fist at his side. "Listen, a lot of the guys around here have... noticed you, okay? And I can't take one more day of hearin' those fuckin' assholes talk about how they caught a glimpse of your ass in the break room. Got it? I'll buy you some new clothes if I have to. Just please, no more shirts like this, alright?"

He was actually bargaining with you. Entering the third stage of grief as he tried so hard to keep his cool. To keep his eyes locked with yours and nowhere else. To explain all of this in the nicest way he could.

It was in that moment that you realized where the real source of his trepidation was coming from.

Hearing his coworkers ogle over you was probably annoying for sure, but the more damning, infuriating fact of the matter was that he was ogling over you too. And he was fucking tired of not being able to get any work done when he knew that you were right down the hall. He was pissed that he had to come into his office every morning and lock the door just so he could jerk himself off to the idea of you.

He was in so many words begging you to stop because he wasn't sure how much longer he could take seeing so much of your body without being able bend you over his desk like he did in his mid-morning daydreams.

He was losing - both his resolve and this game at an alarming rate.

"Hmm," you hummed, toying with a pen you'd found wedged between the cushion of his chair. "Well, I'm sorry. I just like feeling pretty before I come in. I didn't know it was creating such a problem for everyone."

The wheels in Chuuya's head were spinning.

Emotions weren't his strong suit and doing these mental gymnastics with you was making him need a cigarette.

"It's -" he sighed, groaning as he forced himself to backpedal. "It's not your fault. I mean, you do look pretty, y'know. It's just... distracting, is all."

It was hard to hide your smirk.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't think he was a bit distracting himself, but he didn't need to know that. Not yet anyway.

"Okay, well," you conceded as you began to stand up. "I’ll wear a turtleneck or something tomorrow then.” You shot him a small smile as you got to your feet, "Promise."

He looked marginally relieved by your understanding. "Sounds good." He huffed, rubbing at the back of his neck while following behind you as you made your way out of his office.

But just before you reached the door, you accidentally dropped the pen you'd been fidgeting with. Bending over without warning so that your ass was right in front of him, peaking out of your skirt as he walked straight into you, his hips suddenly meeting yours.

You thought he might actually kill you this time with the guttural noise of frustration that escaped him.

He grabbed you by your shoulders the second you were upright again, spinning you around so that you were forced to face him.

“Okay, seriously." He said between gritted teeth. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched the unfettered anger flicker through his blue eyes.

It was a stupid move, you knew that before you did it, but you didn't expect it to draw this much of reaction out of him. His restraint was lost. Composure long gone while he waited for you to say something with his face mere inches away from yours.

"Sorry," You lied, "It slipped out of my hand so I -"

"Bullshit." He snarled. "Enough with this innocent act. What do you want out of this, huh? For every guy in Port Mafia to want to fuck you? Is that what you're gettin' at here?"

"No." Your head shook before you even had time to think about what you were about to say. "Not everyone..." Your eyes were still glued to his. "Just you."

You didn't know what you were doing anymore or where all of this recent shamelessness had come from, but there was something about being here that made you feel like you could do anything. Be anyone. You weren't sure if it was the power or the crime or the ungodly amount of money that Port Mafia was raking in, but the collective feeling of chaos that these walls housed was finally latching onto you too.

You didn't even flinch when you said it, instead continued to stare at him unapologetically, noting the way his grip had tightened around your shoulder the longer he looked back at you.

"What?"

If the wheels in his head had been spinning before, they were now fully off the ground, exploding into the air as his gaze drifted along your face. Searching intently to make sure you were actually being serious this time before he went any further.

"You really want me to fuck you that bad?" he asked, the warmth of his mouth now ghosting yours.

The question went straight to your center, wetness seeping between your legs as you nodded back at him.

Truth be told, your midmorning fantasies while cross-stitching the last few days hadn't been much different than his.

The gravity manipulator's fingers were suddenly tangled into your hair, his body forcing your back against the door while his lips collided with yours.

"Y'know you could've just asked instead of doin' all this bratty shit, right?"

His mouth was warm, his movements somehow urgent and careful at the same time as his hands wandered along your curves.

You smiled against his lips, letting out a breathy, "I'm sorry." as his palm began to graze the inside of your thigh.

"No, you're not." He smirked, sucking your bottom lip in between his teeth before biting down with just the right amount of pressure. "But you will be."

You let out a small whimper as he placed his free hand under your chin, moving your head to the side so that he could continue his descendent down your neck.

His leg wedged itself between yours, brushing against your clit while his mouth worked along your collarbone.

You were too lost in the feeling of it all to realize that he'd been leaving a trail of meticulously placed bites down the nape of your neck. Bruises in the shape of his mouth that he knew everyone would see.

"Chuuya -" you tried to protest, but it was more of a moan than an objection. "You - fuck, you can't -" You grinded helplessly against the firmness of his leg. Hips rocking back and forth, desperately trying to gain friction while he kept on nipping away at you.

"What's wrong, babe?" he purred against your sensitive skin. "You're wearin' a turtleneck tomorrow anyway, remember?" his breath fanned across your chest as he ripped the remaining buttons off of your shirt. A gloved hand palming at your chest, sliding your bra down so that your tits were fully exposed for him before you felt his tongue glide across your nipple.

Tachihara was right, he was kind of an asshole. But for some terrible reason, you were living for it. Almost embarrassed by how bad you wanted him. Wriggling against him and riding his leg. Whining while you let him leave visible marks on you and destroy the only clothing you had.

"C'mere." He pulled his head away from your chest, swiftly grabbing you by the arm and leading you back to his desk. He picked you up with ease, shoving a binder aside to sit you down in front of him.

"Spread your legs for me." His voice was heady, eyes glossed over with lust as you complied with his demands.

He held his hand up to his mouth, removing his black glove with his teeth before pushing your skirt up and sliding your underwear to the side. He bent over slightly, running two rough fingers along your clit as he watched your nails dig into the edge of his desk.

"Fuck," he groaned, still not taking his eyes off of you. He'd barely done anything and you were already soaked, your pussy practically throbbing for him. “You really do want me that bad, huh?"

“T - told you.” You whimpered, your head tilting back as he drew slow, blissful circles around you.

He kept up the same pace, basking in the way you were so easily falling apart for him.

“Chuuya, please.”

A smirk tugged viciously at the corner of his mouth, slipping a finger into you this time as your walls swallowed him. "Please what, baby?"

You may have had him in the first half, but you were now on the losing end of this game. Forgetting how to speak altogether as you watched him part your legs even further, bending all the way down to rest his head between your thighs.

You moaned at the feeling of his tongue pressing against you. The heavenly lines he was drawing uppp and downnn your center with his middle finger still sliding in and out of you. He was generous in the way he handled you, making sure he didn't miss a single spot. Lapping and slurping up every bit of cum he could as he added in another finger. Groaning against you the louder you got for him.

The only word you seemed to be able to remember was his name, repeating it over and over while your nails lodged deeper into his mahogany desk and your body shamelessly grinded against the warmth of his mouth.

You were in a delirious daze, losing yourself completely to the way he was devouring you.

He could feel you getting close too, noting the frantic rhythm of your hips. The gorgeous, fucked-out noises you were making for him. The death grip your walls suddenly had on him. He knew you were right there, right where he wanted you.

"Chuuya, 'm - I -"

Your legs were locking around his head, shaking uncontrollably as your hand ran through his hair.

He'd never admit it, but he almost could've came at the sounds you were making alone. The pouty way that you called out his name each time his fingers plunged into you was almost enough to drive him over the edge. You were so pathetic and adorable and he was determined to make everyone in Port Mafia hear just how needy you were for him.

As much as he wanted to edge you for what you'd done to him, as much as he wanted to make you beg and plead for him to let you cum, he couldn't fucking pull himself away from you. He was just as lost as you were, drowning in your cunt and not at all wanting to be saved.

His tongue didn’t leave you until he was absolutely sure that you'd ridden out every last wave of your orgasm, still pumping his digits in and out of you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

He came up for air with an exhausted smile, wordlessly coaxing your lips apart with his thumb before bringing the two fingers he had fucked you with into your mouth. Letting you clean off the blend of slick and salvia the two of you had created together.

"See how fucking good you taste?" he panted. "I think this is gonna be a real problem for both of us."

An enamored shade of pink brushed across your cheeks as he dropped down onto the chair across from you, running a tired hand through his hair.

"At least I won't be here much longer, right?" You said, playfully kicking his leg with your foot.

"Oh yeah," he smirked. "That actually reminds me..." Your eyes widened as he shifted around to dig an envelope out of his pocket. "Mori wanted me to give this to you."

Your hands trembled, opening it as delicately as you could to make sure you didn't rip anything when a check for 1,490,200 yen fell into your lap.

"Think that'll be enough to buy yourself a shirt that fits?"

Your eyes snapped towards him in disbelief, your pulse ringing through your ears as you tried to process that you'd somehow made this amount of money in a little over a week.

"Is this -" You stammered, thinking back to what he had told you when you first met. "Is this like a severance check then? ...Hush money or whatever?"

"Tragically, no. Mori wants you to stay."

Your hand instinctively flew up to your neck, covering the love-bites that the redhead had left you with, horrified at the realization that everyone was going to see them. Even more horrified at the fact that they had probably heard how you’d gotten them.

"What?"

"Yeah, he said somethin' about you how you've been 'boosting the morale' around here."

Your head felt like it was going to explode.

You had not only been marked by Chuuya Nakahara, but you were now being asked to stay in Port Mafia.

You couldn't decide which was worse.

"So... that means..."

"Yep. We'll be seein' a lot more of each other." He confirmed while checking his watch. "But hey, you better get outta here, Rando and I have a meeting in 10 minutes."

You looked down at your lack of clothing, the spit and cum that was still stuck to your skirt, the obscenely noticeable bruises that he'd so proudly gifted you with.

"Give me your shirt." you demanded.

"Nah."

The grin he shot you was so cocky, so vile, so... hot.

"Chuuya." You whisper-shouted, biting back your own stupid smile. "Be so fucking for real right now, I can’t go out there like this.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you put on that skimpy-ass outfit I guess.” He shrugged.

You hopped off his desk, straddling him in his chair as you forcefully began to undo the buttons along his collar.

The room filled with suppressed laughter, neither one of you able to contain it anymore as he finally conceded, wrestling you off of him. "Alright, alright, chill. I have extras in here, hang on."

You both stood up, your eyes locked on him while he walked over to an expensive looking armoire in the corner of the room.

He pulled a white shirt that resembled the one you were wearing earlier off of a hanger and brought it over to you, guiding your arms up so that he could put it on.

His movements were calculated, almost thoughtful as he dressed you, adjusting it so that it covered up most of the damage he'd done.

"There." He said, double-checking his work. "Now get out of here before I decide to rip that one off of you too.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Part 2! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[babybluebex]

i’ve had this scenario banging around in my head since the movie came out but imagine a fic where the reader has a massive crush on angus but they see him kissing elise at the christmas party 😭 like i loooveee angst and i would write this fic myself but i lost my last neuron when i fell off an electric scooter and got a concussion 😔

oh no concussion!! :( i'm so sorry about that honey, hopefully this'll make up for that!//word count: 2.1k, tw for grief/loss

You couldn't help but notice the way Angus grinned when Ms. Crane said her niece's name. It was a real smile, not the firm, thin thing that he had given you at lunch— you supposed that he hated being stuck at Barton as much as you did, maybe even hating you in the process. Being the only girl at Barton was hard, but especially at the holidays, when you really felt like your choices were the school or a fucking grave. It hurt, sure, but that smile on Angus's face hurt worse.

Elise pulled both you and Angus into the basement, where children sat, doing crafts with paste and glitter and pom-poms, and you smiled at one of the little girls, playing a popsicle stick as a little doll. You heard Angus and Elise talking to each other as they crossed the room, and you lifted your eyes to him just in time to watch him raise his arms in a silly pose and pull a goofy face. You almost started to laugh at him, as per usual when Angus was doing his antics, but Elise laughed first. Her laugh was gentle, her eyes bright, and your heart sank. She really was beautiful, and she was creative and knew whatever painting Angus was talking about. She was something that you weren't, and you sighed gently. And, based on the way that Angus reacted to her, he wanted what she had.

You took to playing with the little girls, keeping an eye out for Angus and Elise across the room. He didn't look at you one single time, keeping his gaze on her the whole time, spreading paint around the page with his long, thin fingers. You tried to distract yourself, but nothing worked, and you looked at the pair just in time to watch Elise lean over the table and press her lips to Angus's mouth.

Your heart stopped and your mouth went dry. Of course. After everything, all the time you spent with him, the tells of friendship and maybe more that was building throughout the vacation, he still chose her over you. Would anyone ever choose you? Even at your old school, you were cast aside, forgotten. You thought that there was something with Angus, little flirtations and lingering glances, you could have sworn there was something there, but apparently not. You rubbed your lips together and lowered your eyes, feeling hot tears prick to the surface, and you quickly got up from the short table and made your way upstairs. You needed the bathroom, or the kitchen, or somewhere where there wasn't other people.

Unluckily for you, as you pushed into the kitchen, you heard a shuddering sob, and you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of Mary Lamb bent over the counter, crying. Danny, the janitor, who you had interacted with a handful of times, stood in the corner, obviously wanting to help her but not wanting to aggravate her.

"Mary?" you mumbled. "Everything okay?" Even in your upset state, you hated to see the strong and smart Mary in a bad moment. If she was crying, something was wrong.

She said nothing, drawing in a breath and weeping, and your heart clenched. You turned back out of the kitchen, going in search of Mr. Hunham, but before you could even think about his whereabouts, you collided straight into Angus's chest. "Oh, hey," he said with a crooked smile. "You disappeared really suddenly; you okay?"

Seeing his stupid smile made your tears return, and you struggled to breathe. You could worry about yourself and your complicated feelings towards Angus later; you needed to worry about Mary. "M-Mary—" you started, pointing towards the kitchen. "She's— Where's Hunham?"

"What about Mary?" Angus asked, looking past you to the swinging door of the kitchen.

"Where is Hunham?" you repeated firmly, and Angus's smile fell.

"I'll go find him," he mumbled, and you turned back to the kitchen without a word. Mary's head was hanging now, her tears dripping on the counter, and you carefully approached her. "Mary?" you started softly. "Do you want some water or something?"

Mary sniffled and shook her head, and you frowned. She obviously didn't want anything, and you took a step back as Angus and Mr. Hunham noisily bustled into the kitchen. One look at her had Hunham closing the door, and Angus stood in the corner, arms crossed, as he watched Hunham lay a hand on Mary's back.

You felt sick as you listened to her sob about her Curtis, the boy you never met but would always admire, and the group of you was quick to grab your jackets and decide to go home. You were glad; if you ever saw Elise again, you might have dropped dead. But, of course, Angus was whinging the whole walk to the car about leaving Elise behind. "I was having a good time!" he complained. "You can take Mary home and pick me up later!"

"Yeah, having a good time sucking Elise's tongue," you scoffed before you could stop yourself, and Hunham's head snapped to you with intensity.

"I can't believe you two," Hunham grunted. "This poor woman is bereft with grief—" Mary interjected that she didn't need anyone feeling sorry for her, but Hunham paid her little mind— "And all you can think about is that silly girl!"

"What did I do?" you gaped. "All I said was—"

"I heard you, miss," Hunham said. "Mary and I are going to get the car, and by the time we get back, you two had better fix whatever this is."

Your face heated up with shame and embarrassment as Mary and Hunham scuttled away, and you couldn't even bare to look at Angus. But you did, and you saw, on his pale and sharp chin, the smallest red mark, a cut, a nick from shaving. "You have a cut on your chin," you mumbled.

"I know!" Angus spat. "What's your fucking problem suddenly?"

"Hey, don't yell at me," you said quickly. "Look, I'm sorry that you're being pulled away from the love of your life or whatever, but you've got to start giving a shit about other people!"

"Like who?" Angus asked. "Like you?"

"Like Mary!" you said, even though your heart was screaming, begging for Angus to see you. For him to really see you, see through your timidness and shyness and see how badly you liked him. "Oh my God, this is her first Christmas without her son; Jesus Christ, at least act like you've got a heart inside your chest!"

"Why do you care so bad about her?" Angus asked. "And, for a matter of fact, why do you care about Elise?"

"Trust me, I couldn't give less of a shit about Elise," you said, crossing your arms in front of your chest in the cold. "But Mary, I... Fuck... My dad died in January. S'why I didn't wanna go home for the break... It would just be me and my mom, alone in our place, not being able to avoid the empty space on the couch where my dad should be. I don't know what Mary's going through, I'll never know how that feels, but... I get it. It hurts like fucking shit, and, like, you'll never understand how that feels because your parents are alive—"

"My dad's dead."

The way Angus venomously spit out his words made you feel rotted inside. "But..." you started. "I thought your dad...? Saint Kitts...?"

"That's just some rich prick my mom married," Angus said.

"So you should get it," you sighed. "The first holiday without family is hard, every day is hard, but Mary... I can't imagine how she feels, and I'm trying to be as sympathetic as possible, try to make it easier for her or something, y'know?"

Angus was quiet for a long moment, pressing the toe of his shoe into a snowy patch on the sidewalk. "I guess I like Elise because she likes me," he said softly. "S'not everyday I find someone who likes me."

"God..." you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. "Is that what that was?"

"Shut up," Angus sneered.

"Hey, easy," you said gently. "Angus, I..." You didn't know what to say to him. You had no idea how to start the conversation, let alone get to where you wanted to be quick enough— Hunham only parked around the corner, he and Mary should be coming back at any second— and you said, "Was that your first kiss? Just then, with her?"

"All-boys schools don't make it easy to find a girl to kiss," Angus mumbled.

You sighed heavily. Your eyes drifted down to a snowbank at the edge of the street, watching it glitter under the streetlamp for a moment, and, before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him and pressed your mouth to his, grabbing his upper arms to keep you upright with your shaking legs. He started for a moment, shocked and surprised, and his hands hovered above your hips, wholly unsure of how to proceed, and you broke the kiss quickly. His owlish eyes stared you down, his mouth open, but he didn't look upset.

"Say something," you whispered, and he let out a breath, the warmth of the air hitting your lips. "Fuck, please, just say something—"

He kissed you again. His hands grabbed your hips and tugged you against him, and you easily looped your arms around his neck and rose up on your tip-toes to reach his height. His lips were warm, if a little dry, and his nose bumped yours as he went to deepen the kiss, his fingers itching in the skirt of your dress. You smiled, unable to control yourself, and Angus did too, pulling away from your mouth.

"Oh," you whispered, and you smoothed your thumb across his top lip, wiping off a little bit of the rosy lipstick that you had worn to the party. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Whatever," Angus said breathlessly, his eyes soft as he gazed at you. "You taste good."

You chuckled lightly, lowering your eyes to his shoes. That shyness returned as your skin flamed, and you worried your bottom lip between your front teeth. "S-So I guess you see why I wasn't too jazzed about Elise," you said, trying to attempt a lightness in your voice.

"I'll say," Angus said. "How long have you liked me?"

"Since I met you?" you squeaked. "Since, um, I got sat in front of you in Hunham's class...? I don't know, it's dumb."

"Nuh-uh, that's not dumb," Angus said. "I've liked you for... I don't know, I guess since that first day too. We had, um, heard that a girl was coming to Barton, and I didn't really care too much, but I heard how much the other guys cared, and it... I don't know, it became a contest on how little I cared. But then I saw you... Heard you laugh... Watched you sneak a cigarette behind the bleachers during a football game..." You laughed, as did Angus, and his big hand came to cup your face, angling you to look at him. "But I think I really, really fell for you when I kissed her."

"Huh?" you asked, wrinkling your nose.

Angus rolled his eyes, obviously a little abashed by his admission. "Listen, I'm a teenage boy, it's in my nature to daydream about you," he started. "I had dreamed about what it would be like to be your boyfriend, to kiss you, to have my first kiss with you... Then, Elise kissed me, and, when I opened my eyes, I was sorta disappointed to see her and not you."

"Oh," you said softly.

"You went upstairs, and I went after you to try to talk to you about that," Angus said. "And then Mary, and... But yeah. I've just been too chickenshit to tell you before now."

"Well..." you whispered, listening to the quiet rumble of Hunham's car come from around the street corner. "Thank God for Elise."

"Don't you ever say her name again," Angus told you, and he leaned down to kiss you again. You were acutely aware of how Hunham and Mary could certainly see you two necking in the middle of the sidewalk, but you didn't care. Hunham said to work it out, and so you had.

The blaring of the old Buick's horn made Angus pull away from you, and you heard the window squeak down before Hunham shouted "Will you two quit and get inside the goddamn car?"

"Take it easy on 'em," Mary said as you slid into the backseat, followed by Angus.

"Yeah," Angus said. "Take it easy on us."

"I don't need your sass, Mr. Tully," Hunham said, glaring at you two in the rearview mirror. "Now I have to find a way to separate you two at night, no more sleeping in the same room, no more..."

You didn't care to hear Hunham's ramblings; you leaned your head on Angus's shoulder, you took his hand in yours, and you closed your eyes. Maybe the rest of break would be okay.

[jackoshadows]

It's so confusing and weird that Bridgerton introduced in world racism both with Lady D and Simon in season one of the show and in Queen Charlotte and at the same time they also want the audience to accept that somehow Marina Thompson or the dark skinned Indian Kate Sharma has more privilege and power than Penelope Featherington?

Kate Sharma was also poor, so much more than the Featheringtons. She depended on Lady D to host them. The Sharmas were looked down on by the ton because Mary Sheffield married an Indian. The Sharmas were disowned and ostracized by the Sheffields.

Kate was also an unmarried spinster. No one was asking Kate to dance. As much as Kate wanted love and romance and to dance at a ball wearing pretty dresses, she got none of that. She was also the woman on the sidelines watching as others danced and fell in love.

Racism and colorism is also very much a thing in eurocentric notions of beauty considering the setting and characters of Bridgerton is 99% white.

We got so little of Kate's backstory, of who her parents where - we didn't even get their names!! - of the trauma (explained for both Simon and Anthony using flashbacks) that had Kate overlooking her own happiness for that of her sister.

Despite bragging nonstop about the diversity of Bridgerton the showrunners thought that the white Featheringtons needed more screentime in season 2 rather than the South Asian family.

And Kate was planning on going back to India and work as a governess to pay for her livelihood. Because, you know, there's more honest ways of being a 'working woman' than running the equivalent of the regency 'Daily Mail' dragging other women down. The modiste Madame Delacroix, Kate planning to teach and Sienna in season one are all working to pay a living. Black, brown and lower class women looking to alleviate poverty.

And considering how much harder Kate already had it as an outsider in the ton, it wouldn't have been easy with Penelope using her gossip rag to describe the unmarried Indian woman as ' a Spinster of a beast'. What did Kate do to Penelope to warrant this? Nothing. Just a way for Penelope to make money at Kate's expense.

That's the thing I dislike the most about the way the character of Penelope is written on the show - her victims don't deserve her vitriol and are often in much worse circumstances than her. From Kate Sharma to the unnamed seamstress who apparently lost all her customers because Penelope wrote falsely about their work in the her tabloid as a bribe for Madam Delacroix.

And I think that's what I find problematic about the writing of the show and even the discourse surrounding it - when characters like Marina Thompson (the poor black cousin who would have ended up destitute on the streets because of Penelope) and Kate Sharma arguably have it far worse than Penelope Featherington as per the show's writing and yet we are supposed to have the most sympathy for Penelope because her crush Colin didn't love her back and she's a curvy white woman?

I guess that's the difference between how I perceive this world and these characters as a woc and the majority white female audience for this show and it's such a huge disconnect for me. I guess this is also partly because the show has this badly written and 'strangely toothless racism' as Ash Sarkar beautifully put it. As in the racism is treated in this world as a little problem solved by handing out a few titles to black people instead of being a white supremacist ideology which treated black and brown people as inferior, serfs and slaves.

From what little we got from season 2, Kate Sharma definitely did not have it easy navigating the ton as a poor outsider and that certainly contributed to her poor choices. She is also put through the wringer, treated like the other woman, is miserable for several episodes, had to apologize again and again and nearly die before Edwina forgives her!

In contrast Penelope's actions have hurt so many and yet she gets a pass by both the show and a fandom that wants Colin to grovel before her because of a single offhand remark and because he didn't return her affections.

Also making it clear here that I am not comparing Penelope to the male characters who always get the better writing, flaws and all. I am comparing Penelope to the female characters of colour - Kate Sharma and Marina Thompson.

I mean, Marina Thompson gets so much vitriolic and sexist hatred for not having told Colin Bridgerton the truth of her pregnancy. How dare Marina hurt this privileged white man Colin Bridgerton. When she was desperate to not end up destitute on the streets or get raped by old white men. And yet Penelope gets a pass for hurting women like Marina and Kate.

It continues a trend of white female characters never being held to the same standard as female characters of colour. Daphne sexually assaults Simon in season one and that was not even addressed on the show. Male rape is apparently no big deal because Daphne wanting children is what's important. It's Simon who has to apologize and within one episode resolve his trauma and accept being a father. This is despite both Daphne and Penelope having more screentime and more writing that builds their character unlike the stick thin writing given to Kate Sharma in season 2.

So yeah, I will be checking into season 3 to watch the ten minutes we get with Kate Sharma since we got so little of her in her own season and it's so singular to get dark skinned south Indian characters in a period drama romance like this. It's just the way the writing on the show, the production and even the fandom treats it's characters, especially characters of colour has been disappointing to say the least.

[ak319]

Haii!, I really like your Arthur Morgan series and I've also read it several times and it's not boring at all!🫶🏻

Can I make a request? If so, can you make the reader jealous because Arthur is close to Mary Beth?🫶🏻 (Arthur and the reader's relationship is not platonic!)

(AN: Tsym! Remind me why we making Y/n suffer again? PS: I'm terrible at writing jealousy shit ngl and I legit dunno why. AND THATS LIT WHAT YALL KEPT ASKING FOR-😭☠) Hope yall enjoy reading lol)

Warnings/MDNI: None, just angst and then fluff to soothe your asses-

You were by the lake, lazily washing clothes. The day had you feeling sluggish, and the pleasant weather didn’t exactly help motivate you. The water was just the right temperature, cool enough to refresh but warm enough to keep you rooted in place. You should really pick up the pace, finish up, and grab some tea--or coffee--or a well-deserved break.

The faint hum of camp activity behind you was oddly comforting, a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. That is until you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel, quick and impatient, followed by a sharp curse.

“Dammit! I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, girl.”

You glanced over your shoulder, grinning as Molly stormed up to you, her face a mix of exasperation and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“For God’s sake, Molly, you know my Tuesday routine by now,” you teased, tossing a wet shirt into the basket beside you. “It’s not like this camp is big enough to lose someone. Honestly, I think you’re just bad at looking.”

She didn’t laugh. Not even a crack of a smile. Instead, she stood there, arms crossed, her expression tight with barely-contained frustration. You paused mid-scrub, a curious eyebrow raised.

“What’s gotten into you? You look ready to murder someone.”

“Oh, sure,” she snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Leave it to ever-so-clueless (Y/N) to not notice a damn thing going on around her.” She gestured wildly toward the camp as though you were missing some grand spectacle.

You blinked, thoroughly confused. “What the hell are you on about?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she hesitated as if debating whether you were even worth the explanation. Then, with a dramatic huff, she took a step closer, glaring down at you like you’d personally wronged her.

“Let me spell it out for you. Do I even bother tellin’ you what’s happening? Or should I just assume it won’t make a difference because your ‘dearest cold heart’ won’t care? Or worse, you’ll just laugh it off like you always do!”

Your hands stilled in the water, the soap slipping through your fingers. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

"Y’know, what I just heard and saw?” Molly huffed, throwing her hands in the air for emphasis. “Mr. Arthur Morgan, having a chat with Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth! That same snake who’s all over Dutch, and now, apparently, your man, (Y/N)!”

Her voice rose with each word, and you blinked, caught completely off guard. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge your reaction. “I swear to God, she was asking him to buy her another one of those silly romance books for her lovesick brain. I mean, why Arthur, huh? Why doesn’t she go pester Kieran’s ass instead?”

Hearing her rant, you stood up, gripping the damp shirt in your hands as you processed her words. “Wh--sounds like a friendly chat to me, Molly,” you said, trying to brush it off with a shrug. “I mean, Arthur brings stuff for everyone. He goes out the most, doesn’t he? And, well, Kieran… he’s not exactly allowed far from camp neither he can afford anything right now. They still don’t trust him, y’know. And Arthur, he’s like a brother to Mary-Beth-"

“Don’t even start with that ‘brother’ shit, (Y/N),” Molly snapped, cutting you off. “It's just a facade.”

Your mouth fell open, heat rushing to your face at the implication. Uncertainty clawed at your chest as you tried to stammer a response, but she wasn’t done. Molly’s jealousy toward Mary Beth only seemed to fuel her fire, her words coming quicker now, sharp and biting.

“And don’t act like it couldn’t happen. You think she doesn’t see how kind he is to you? How he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching? Oh, she sees it. And she’d snatch him up the moment she gets the chance.”

You clenched your jaw, her words making you shift uncomfortably. Sure, you trusted Arthur, but the venom in Molly’s tone, the way her words seemed to twist around your insecurities, left you feeling just the slightest bit unsteady.

"Did he even say goodbye to you before he sprang into action?” Molly pressed, her voice softer now, almost pitying. “And the other day, weren’t you telling me you needed some cream for your hands? You even told him, and look, just look at your hands.”

Her gaze dropped to your chapped and reddened fingers, and you instinctively tried to wipe them dry on your skirt, as if that would somehow make them better. Her words were digging deeper now, clawing at something vulnerable in you. Did he forget to bring it? Or worse, did he not care enough to remember? Had your wishes, his woman’s wishes, stopped mattering to him altogether?

“This is bullshit, you should have run away with that pen pal of yours, to be honest when you had the chance,” Molly muttered, crossing her arms. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you she’s after Dutch. And now she’s after both! I swear, those books she reads must be teaching her these tactics. Manipulative little-"

“I--y’know what?” you cut her off, your voice suddenly firm as your gaze drifted to the camp, your eyes narrowing.

“What?” Molly asked, surprised by your sudden shift in tone.

“Let’s just go,” you said, your voice laced with resolve.

“Go where?”

“Town.”

Without waiting for her to argue, you kicked the bucket of soapy water, sending it tumbling into the river, the suds spilling out and disappearing downstream. The laundry lay abandoned on the grass as you turned and marched toward the stables, Molly following close behind.

Damn everyone, then.

❀˖°

Arthur returned to camp, expecting to find you in his tent as usual. But when he stepped inside, the familiar space felt oddly empty. A frown tugged at his lips.

"Hey... um, Sadie?" he called out, spotting her near the campfire. "You seen (Y/N)?"

Sadie glanced up from sharpening her knife. "Oh, yeah. She and Molly went to town."

"What?!" The word escaped him before he could stop it, his voice louder than he intended. Clearing his throat, he muttered a quick, “Thanks,” and walked back to his tent, feeling heat rise to his face. He slumped down onto his cot with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

You know how he felt about you going far from camp without him, even if you were with one of the girls. It wasn’t a matter of trust, it was fear.

And still you did.

There were too many dangers out there, too many things that could go wrong, and the thought of you out there without him stirred a storm in his chest.

It was 5 p.m., the time when you two usually sat together to talk about your day over supper. The time he looked forward to most whenever he was at camp. And now? He sat there, staring at the flap of his tent, the minutes ticking by painfully slow.

But what bothered him more was why you’d gone. And with Molly, of all people. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he didn’t have a problem with her, not really. But something about the way you two were together always set him on edge.

He’d told you how he felt about it once. About how Molly seemed to lean on you a little too much, how her sadness and drama sometimes seemed to pull you down with her. But of course, you’d defended her, saying you couldn’t just turn your back on your best friend. That Molly found her only comfort in your company.

And you were right. He knew you were. But that didn’t make it any easier to sit here, waiting, imagining where you were and what could happen.

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, his appetite gone. Instead of heading to the campfire for supper, he threw himself onto his cot, pulling his hat over his face in an attempt to block out the growing worry gnawing at his chest.

But even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t shake the unease. Images of you and Molly wandering through town, far from the safety of camp, flickered in his mind. He trusted you, of course, but the world out there? That was another story entirely.

“Damn woman never listens to me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with equal parts frustration and concern.

Sleep didn’t come easily, and even as he tried to rest, he knew one thing for certain, when you came back, this was a conversation he wasn’t going to let slide.

❀˖°

Arthur woke with a start, roused by Bill’s loud guffaw somewhere in the camp. With a groan, he rubbed his face, taking a moment to shake off the haze of sleep and piece together his scattered thoughts. Then it hit him, the memory of you leaving with Molly, and the worry twisted sharply in his chest again.

He pushed himself up with a sigh, his body stiff from the restless nap. Moving through camp, he glanced around, hoping, praying, to catch sight of you. But there was nothing. No sign of you or Molly.

He considered asking Dutch, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. Dutch would likely know even less than he did, and Arthur wasn’t in the mood for meaningless chatter.

Back at his tent, he sat on the edge of his cot, pulling out his journal in an attempt to distract himself. The flap of the tent was open, giving him a clear view of camp, but his eyes kept flickering toward it, waiting for you to appear.

His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to eat, not until you came back, served the meal, and sat down beside him. That was how it went. That was how it had to go.

He was about to get up and go to find both of you himself when-

"Um, Arthur?" Abigail’s voice broke through his brooding. She appeared by the flap of his tent, holding a coffee pot. "There’s some coffee left, and I’ve got to wash the pot, would you like a cup?"

He shook his head, barely sparing her a glance. "Why’d they go to town?"

"Molly and (Y/N)?" Abigail tilted her head, her tone casual. "Oh, they’ve been back. Got back about half an hour ago. They’re in my tent, just hanging out."

Arthur blinked, first in shock, then confusion, which quickly morphed into anger. Half an hour? You’d been back for that long and hadn’t even bothered to come see him? Not even a word after being gone all day?

He shut his journal with a snap, the sound echoing his rising temper, and stood. The muffled chatter coming from Abigail’s tent grated on his nerves as he stalked toward it, each step heavier than the last.

What the hell was going on with you?

He cleared his throat outside the tent before pushing the flap open, only to find you and Molly sitting cross-legged, enjoying supper.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you."

You swallowed your bite, not bothering to look up at him. "Needed a few important things from town, actually, so I had to go."

Arthur’s jaw tightened. "Can you come with me? I want to talk."

"I’m already talking to Molly," you replied, your tone curt, still avoiding his gaze.

Damn it. Why the hell weren’t you even looking at him? That gnawing frustration in his chest boiled over. He had enough of this.

"I said, Come. With. Me." he demanded, his voice low but firm, the tone sharper than he intended.

Your head snapped up, eyes glaring at him with such intensity that, for a moment, he regretted using that tone. Hell, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him just a little.

"Oh, excuse me, Mister. Don’t you dare order me around like a maid, alright? I sit, talk, and walk when I want to. And right now? I don’t want to. Now go away, we’re busy."

Arthur ignored Molly’s taunting scoff, still fixated on you. Something about this--about you--just didn’t sit right.

"I’m sorry, okay? I’m just hungry. I was waiting for you... Can we eat now?" Arthur’s chest tightened, guilt creeping in. He rubbed the back of his neck, his anger softening. "...I was just worried as hell."

Hell, I still am.

But you didn’t let it go. "I’ve already eaten, and I didn’t ask you to wait for me. There are plenty of people around here you can share your meal with, Arthur. Plenty."

You turned your attention back to Molly, flashing her a rueful grin with your hair covering your face but he definitely caught it.

The Irishwoman gave you a knowing smile, her voice full of mischief. "Oh, girl, there’s always someone around."

This is how it's gonna be huh?

His first instinct was to walk away, but no. Arthur wasn’t the type to run from problems. With one swift movement, he grabbed your arm and dragged you out and behind the tent, just past the tree line. He stared down at you, his expression a mix of annoyance and desperation.

"What the hell is that all about?! And you know I hate it when you go out alone-"

"I don’t care! I don’t care anymore!" you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. "I hate going out for some petty stuff too, which, by the way, I clearly asked you to get, and you forgot! I guess books are more important than me, huh?."

Arthur’s chest tightened. He rarely saw this side of you ever since you both got together, the frustration, the hurt, the coldness. "See, this is the problem," you continued, your voice rising. "When men find someone vulnerable enough to control, to fix, they get bored. Then they move on, find someone else to repeat the same damn cycle. Am I right?"

His mouth went dry. The words cut deep. But what hurt him the most was the thought that maybe... maybe you believed that.

He wasn’t asking for much, was he? Three meals with you, a cup of coffee, that was it. Simple things that made him feel like you cared. That made him feel loved. But you didn’t... or did you?

The silence between you two was deafening as he tried to process what you said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur started, his frustration mounting. "See, this is why I don’t like when you and Molly-"

"Oh, no, no, no. Shush. Don’t you dare," you interrupted, your voice sharp, but there was a deep hurt behind it. "She’s always been right, Arthur. I was the dumb one. I’ve been working my ass off for you, and you didn’t even bother to say goodbye this morning, huh?"

Arthur froze, guilt beginning to gnaw at him. He wasn’t ready for this. "You know, I had a chance to leave this life, you know exactly who I’m talking about. But I didn’t. I chose you. But if I’m just gonna be sidelined like this? Nuh-uh. My ego doesn’t allow it. Nobody gets to disrespect me like that."

You took a deep breath, eyes blazing. "If you don’t want me anymore, then say it. Don’t play these stupid-ass games with me. I’m not Molly, not when it comes to this."

Arthur’s stomach dropped as the weight of your words settled in. He could feel the hurt radiating off of you, the betrayal that had built up. And now it made sense. Molly had probably warned you, just like she always did. He could almost hear her saying it a dozen times in the morning,

'Don’t let him treat you like that, they are all shit.'

"There is NOTHING like that, woman!" Arthur snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "Is that what this is about? You’re ready to just forget, hell, even think like this over a misunderstanding?"

"Call it whatever you want," you replied coldly, not backing down. "But not gonna lie, the pattern makes sense now, Arthur."

He took a step back, trying to steady his breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Don’t say that... c’mon. You know it’s not true! She’s like a sister to me! For God’s sake, how can you even think--"

Without another word, you grabbed his satchel, the leather creaking in your grip, and flipped it upside down. A book slid out and thudded onto the ground.

Arthur froze, his eyes darting to the book, then to the scattered contents of his bag. He watched, his heart sinking, as you threw the satchel aside in disgust. "Bravo," you muttered, the bitterness in your voice sharper than a knife.

"Don't even bother explaining. I’m tired." You began to walk away, but before you could get far, Arthur grabbed your wrist.

"Don't you dare, no way you’re... sleeping away from me." His voice started strong, then faltered into a desperate plea, but you didn’t turn around. With a sharp jerk, you freed your hand from his grasp and continued walking.

Arthur stood there for a moment, his breath heavy as he watched you leave. With a defeated sigh, he bent down to gather the scattered contents of his satchel. Tilly approached, offering to help, but he shrugged her off with a tired wave and handed the book over to Mary-Beth, who was standing a few feet away, her face filled with guilt and sadness. His hand lingered in his pocket for a moment, pulling out the cream he had meant to bring you, adding it to the pile with a sharp scoff.

His posture was slumped, his movements slow and burdened. He didn’t need to say anything, his body language alone was enough to tell Tilly, Mary-Beth, and anyone else watching that this sulking would last for days, and you... you weren’t someone who accepted apologies easily.

❀˖°

And that’s exactly what happened. Arthur waited every day, hoping you would just come, sit with him, and listen. He longed for you to let him explain, to sort things out, so he could hold you in his arms again. Dammit. He missed you at night like a child misses their favorite doll.

But you weren’t just any doll.

You were his doll.

And when it came to you, he was nothing but a man-child.

Everybody knew his routine, the gang enforcer's routine. Simple, predictable. Come back, chat a little, handle his business, talk and eat with you, then the tent flaps closed, just the two of you, a world away from the chaos of the camp.

But now?

Come back, brood in one corner, pace to another, sleep with the flaps wide open.

Arthur’s mood soured every time he saw you doing something that wasn’t just being with him. Chores, errands, anything that took you away, even for a moment, made him restless, agitated. He needed you with him, in the tent, with the flaps closed, where he could hold you, even if it was just in the silence of the night.

Every night, he asked you to come with him. But you ignored him. Yet, he kept asking, unable to stop the desperate hope that you’d return, that you’d see it the way he did.

"Damnit. Damn stubborn ass woman." He grumbled for what? The millionth time? Sighing he petted his horse as it trotted at a leisurely pace, just a few meters from camp. How the hell had it all gone so bad? What was even the point anymore? Are you happy now?

His horse huffed as if sensing his despair, nudging him gently, but Arthur barely acknowledged it. The familiar sound of the camp in the distance only served to remind him that nothing was the same anymore, not the meals, not the quiet talks, and certainly not the comfort of his cot. That's it. This ends tonight.

He is going to carry you over his shoulder if that takes you to talk to him. To hell with your protests and stubbornness.

You were crouched down, sorting through vegetables with Abigail, your hands busy with the task at hand.

It wasn’t long before you saw Molly moving quietly, eyes darting back and forth, heading toward the girls' area.

You knew Molly. You had spent enough time with her to understand that when her instincts kicked in, she often acted before she thought. There was an impulsive streak in her, a tendency to let her emotions guide her steps, and that could be dangerous. Especially now, when tensions were already high.

Without much thought, you excused yourself from Abigail, your voice quick and unsteady. “I’ll be right back.”

You left her with the vegetables and slipped away from the campfire, your steps light as you tried to stay out of sight. Moving quietly, you found a small, hidden spot behind a tent, where you could just make out the faint sounds of voices, though you couldn’t yet hear clearly what was being said. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"(Y/N) and I were so close, in fact, like sisters, but you ruined that too! I don’t know what you told her-" Mary-Beth’s voice cracked, and for the first time, it wasn’t the usual calm, polite tone she carried. There was raw emotion, maybe even a hint of fear, but more than that, it sounded like heartbreak.

"You did it! Just like you're trying to ruin my relationship with Dutch."

"Are you in your senses, Ms. Molly?!" Mary-Beth gasped, trying to defend herself. "How can you even think that?!"

The past few days, you couldn’t help but notice her glances at you, brief but meaningful. It was as if she was caught between wanting to reach out and not knowing if you’d welcome her presence. Her eyes would meet yours across the camp, filled with a mixture of concern and hesitation, as if she longed to approach, to console you, but the fear of intruding, of making things worse, kept her frozen in place.

You understood her hesitation. She was a kind soul, someone who cared deeply for those she loved, and in these tense moments, you knew she wasn’t sure how to navigate the space between you both. And neither did you try to clear the air.

"You and your pretty face are going to be your downfa-"

"Molly, enough." You stepped in, your voice firm. Molly turned to you, arms crossed over her chest, her face filled with frustration.

"(Y/N), don’t tell me you’re under her spell too, for God’s sake. She needs to get a reality check-"

"Molly," you interjected, stepping forward and gently taking hold of her arms. You guided her a few steps away from Mary-Beth, the tension between them thick. "Let me handle it, alright?"

"Don’t pity her, let me make that clear. Otherwise, you’ll be the one regretting it." Molly threw one last angry glance at Mary-Beth, shaking her head before storming off, muttering under her breath.

You stood there, a heavy sigh escaping you as you rubbed your forehead, watching Molly retreat. Turning back to Mary-Beth, who sat on the ground, you softened your expression. "I apologize on her behalf..." You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation. You knew you’d have to work hard to get Molly to let go of her anger, but that's for later.

"It's... alright, (Y/N)." Her voice croaked, and you didn’t miss the tremble in it, nor the quiet tears she tried to hide. Your gaze shifted to the book resting on the makeshift table in the corner. The one she had requested. You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat.

"You’re not reading it?" you asked, your voice gentle.

She looked up at you, shaking her head slowly. You could see the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, and it hurt to see her like this.

You walked over, picked up the book, and sat beside her. "Why not?" you asked softly. It caught her off guard, and for a moment, her eyes softened. She hesitated before returning the smile, albeit faintly, her sadness still lingering behind it.

"I am sorry... (Y/N), if you... if you misunderstood my actions, but I swear it’s nothing. There’s nobody else, except Mr. Morgan that we feel comfortable enough to ask for things... but if you mind it, then we won’t--"

"No. No. You can ask without hesitation, and I am sorry. I was quick to jump to... conclusions," you interrupted, your voice soft with regret. You hugged her, and she gladly returned the embrace. The warmth of her arms around you soothed the tension in your chest.

You placed the book gently in her lap and shifted your body closer, not wanting to break the moment. "I just... y'know... when I love someone, I do it fully. And I don’t tolerate when that gets disrespected, y'know? That’s one thing I will never forgive." Your voice trembled slightly, the depth of your feelings evident. "But anyway, do read it, and then we’ll have a chat about it. You know I love hearing you yap about your books more than reading them myself."

She chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a glimmer of her old self, and you watched her face brighten as she held the book. You stood up, feeling a sense of relief, but also a lingering desire to stay.

"Definitely. But for now, I must go work too, don’t want Susan to bury me alive."

"You better." As you were making your way back to the kitchen wagon, a figure stepped in your way.

"Am I forgiven too?" His voice was teasing, but his expression was genuine. You deadpanned, folding your arms.

"Ummmm... let me think about it," you replied with a mock thoughtful expression, your gaze narrowing slightly.

He mirrored your posture, folding his arms with a smirk. "Not fair, woman. Not fair."

"I never said I was." You gave him a pointed look before turning to walk past him.

As you continued your walk back to the kitchen wagon, you felt a lightness in the air, a shift that felt... right. Arthur, still a few steps behind you, watched you quietly with an almost childish pout. There was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that told you he was waiting, waiting for you to acknowledge it all, to say what neither of you had dared to say yet.

You stopped for a moment, as you placed the cutting board, and turned to face him. The sunlight caught the edges of his hair, giving him a softer, not to mention the dark circles, giving him a more vulnerable look than you’d seen before. There was no teasing now, no masks, just Arthur, looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time again.

"I’m sorry, too," you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. "For the things I said."

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don’t like it either. I swear, I’d rather fight a hundred men than have you angry at me. But..." His hand reached out hesitantly, as though unsure whether he had the right to touch you, to pull you close. "I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I apologize too...for making you feel that way. But I swear it wasn't in my intention."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words. It wasn’t the grand gestures or flowery promises that touched you. It was the simplicity of it, the honesty in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely let show. "Well then let me tell you that," you whispered back, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "I’m not going anywhere."

With a relieved exhale, Arthur stepped forward, his arms wrapping around you firmly, pulling you into his chest. It was as though all the tension from before melted away, and in its place, there was just the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. "I love you," he murmured into your hair, the words so familiar now, but somehow more precious each time.

You nestled into his embrace, letting your worries fade for the moment, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "I love you, too," you replied, your voice barely above a breath, but you meant it with everything you had.

"Y'know darlin'...I was very close to shootin' myself if I had to sleep on the cold bed any longer. It took strength to control myself and not drag you out-" You rolled your eyes and pulled away.

"Right, now go away, I have work to do."

"Absolutely not. To hell with these damn chores. You are coming with me."

You shot him a skeptical glance, hands on your hips as you paused in your tracks. "Really?" you said, raising an eyebrow.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he stepped closer, his broad frame encroaching on your space. "What do you think, darlin'?" he teased, his hands coming up to cradle your face, nearly squishing it with playful force. He gave your head a gentle shake, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It’s been too damn long. You’ve had me sleeping like a corpse for days. You cruel woman."

You tried to hold back the laugh that bubbled up in your chest, but his determination was infectious "Fine," you muttered, giving in more to his presence than anything else. He grinned, his hands reaching for you, pulling you effortlessly toward the flap of his tent.

"Atta girl." His voice held a triumphant edge, but it was softened with affection.

And finally, after days, the enforcer's tent flaps were closed at night--and so was the distance between you two.

(AN: Req/asks closed for now, guys :/ do keep in mind ur ideas and send once I'll announce them open. But u can always send me ur thoughts or dm.)

[newtonsheffield]

Would you ever write another fic with Neddy as a kid? Maybe Kate and Anthony had a one night stand, but Kate only got his middle name (in a little game of them not saying their first name) and when she finds out she is pregnant she can't find Anthony to tell him until one day, years later, she sees him on the tv on the Royal Wedding, "Viacount Bridgerton" written under his face.

Oh my god.

It’s the shock of her life. Even more shocking than sitting in her bathroom hoping the test wasn’t going to be positive weeks after she hooked up with a guy in a hotel.

She knows exactly two things about that guy

1) his middle name is Edmund

2) The night they hooked up was the anniversary of his father’s death.

When she realised she was pregnant she really did try to find him but neither of those facts gave her a lot to go by and he knew less about her. It was the way they’d designed their game. He picked a nickname for her and she only used his middle name after that. They’d gotten a hotel room rather than go to either of their homes. Another part of the game. And now she has a three year old who’s starting to ask questions about his Dad that Kate can’t answer.

She didn’t have any plan to name him Edmund, but the second she held him she saw how the name suited him. The only thing he would have from his father even if she hadn’t told Mary and Edwina that. Neddy is the most beautiful little boy. He’s sweet and kind and he loves cuddling with her and Newton.

But imagine her surprise when she’s sat in Mary’s living room with Neddy on her knee and none of them are paying attention to the news segment about a Viscount campaigning for a new library in Kent until Kate freezes when she hears his voice.

“Holy fuck!”

It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it because there he is. Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton apparently. The man who’d given her a wry smile when she’d said Edmund didn’t suit him. You aren’t the first person to tell me that. He looks exactly how she remembers him and she barely has time to process the fact that Neddy’s father is a member of the aristocracy.

“What?” Edwina frowned. “Do you have huge opinions about public libraries?”

Kate shook her head, cradling Neddy who was about to fall asleep. “That’s N-E-D-D-Y’s D-A-D.”

Both of them are stunned. Kate is as well. And maybe she should have just kept going about her life but she didn’t know how. So there she is, standing in the office she googled. Clearing her throat when the receptionist asks if she’s expected.

“I doubt it, but I really do need to see him.”

“Are you and he acquainted?”

“We… he might not remember…”

At just that moment the door to another office down the hall opened and out he strode, Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton, just as handsome as she remembered. He stopped dead when he looked at her, his lips parting in surprise before a slow smile spread across his lips.

“Ah, Trouble. We meet again.”

“You have no idea.”

[sixstepsaway]

so here's the thing

i've seen a bunch of people say on twitter and stuff how... ed's behavior is very abusive and his anger is dangerous and he isn't romantic lead material because of it

and i get where they're coming from

but to me the main issue isn't putting ed in the position of a romantic lead, but not crafting the narrative around his characterization so that it allows for a spicy romantic pirates-in-love narrative instead of...whatever this is.

i'm going to try and explain this. idk if i'll do well but i'll try

the way she show presents stede is as an innocent baby who isn't really equipped for pirate life. he goes into a fugue/disassociative state whenever there's any real violence, apparently, and needs protecting by other characters when things get too rough - for example when ed is telling ned lowe not to take the poker to stede.

that's fine! it's honestly adorable to see a masc character being so soft around the edges and being protected by other characters this way.

(i'm not going to touch on stede's... eh... not great characterization this season rn)

then there's izzy, who is shown as a bit violent, a bit rough around the edges. he's more likely to draw a sword or throw a punch or hit someone with a chair or take a punch like a champ. violence is just part of life for him and that's okay, it just Is, from small things like smacking stede on the ass to bigger things like being wall slammed, it's not all that big or bad for violence to happen around and with him, he tends to give as good as he gets (there's some nuance here but i'm talking the macro themes not the micro of what izzy does vs is done to him)

and finally there's ed

ed is presented as violent (stabbing knives at guys, telling fang to use the snail fork etc) and used to a life of violence, and then in season 2 he's presented as really violent, his anger coming out in dangerous and terrifying ways

and frankly, i'd be super into it if he and izzy were the main ship and that twisted dynamic from the first two episodes of s2 was explored and fleshed out into something deeper

friends to enemies to lovers who fight and fuck. angry pirates who lay hands on each other, who break the whole ship with each other in the heat of passion.

except instead, s2 gives us... abuse. it gives us izzy cringing and lowering his head and trying to protect the kids crew from ed's angry outbursts.

so when stede comes back and he's still soft around the edges and ed headbutts him and it's deliberate, it's... not a great look, and the vibes are a bit skewed

if stede fought back, if when ed struck out at him he struck back, if they fought rather than it being one-sided, if it was friends to enemies to lovers and not presented as healthy, but maybe they can work their way there, who knows, maybe even more like anne bonnie and mary read because hey, they were doing something very similar?

except they were both into it. they were both enjoying the fighting and the fucking and the burning down the house.

stede's not enjoying it.

i cannot describe how much i hate this sequence just because of the way stede flinches

anne and mary don't!! mary jumps at the unexpected bang but she doesnt flinch, she doesn't cover her face like she thinks the vase will be coming for her not the wall and anne? looks so into it

and the thing is that in real life, no, you don't want to date someone who throws shit around, or headbutts you

but in fiction when it's two fucked up people doing this shit together like anne and mary?

that can be fun.

but instead what we've been given is stede flinching and apologizing to ed and then all of ed's...what, semi-redemption???? is done away from the other collection of people he abused, and then he spends some time on a fishing boat wearing a dog collar and everything is fine because he's good now and won't be doing anything bad ever again

and it's just... poor writing. the vibes are rancid.

i spent a really big chunk of time between s1 and s2 defending ed. i kept saying how what he did to izzy by making him eat his toe wasn't abuse, it was a one-off and abuse isn't a one-off thing it's a pattern, and then s2 made it a pattern.

explicitly. explicitly a pattern.

not just one toe but three.

jim saying "you're in an unhealthy relationship with blackbeard"

and all ed offered izzy was a "sorry about your leg" which might've been fine if izzy survived and they could work on this more, but instead that's all the apology and closure izzy will ever get

ed threw a chair and a vase and made stede flinch in fear and stede was right to do that. what part of any of this implies this will never happen again? that stede won't press the wrong button at some point and be on the receiving end? none of it

and if we'd been presented with a s2 stede bonnet who could handle himself and stand up for himself and fight back, then maybe i could imagine that turning into a weird sexy fucked up anne/mary like thing and maybe that could be why they put that episode in, but instead it feels like that episode was going, "look, see, ed's violence is fine because these two are fine with it with each other"

but stede isn't

ed and izzy or ed and stede in an unhealthy battle of a relationship could be such a fun, interesting and downright sexy thing to watch unfold on tv, and could honestly end somewhere far more down the chill end of the spectrum, but that's not what we've been given here

i cannot argue that ed isn't an abuser anymore, and not just of izzy but of the whole crew. he terrified frenchie.

it's not good writing to try and lean into the idea that ed and the pirates are violent and live a life of violence, so it's okay that ed's been violent, while simultaneously presenting his violence as traumatic and abusive, and then less than three episodes later saying oh it's fine now, he's just a little meow meow who can do no wrong, see?

especially considering they had him murdering people at the end of the season. and sure, you can say the english are just cannon fodder and they dont 'count', but they did before. ed explicitly did not kill before, and that included the english, or the spanish, or anyone else. so either they count or they don't, but flipping him on a dime makes no sense.

ALSO

having ed be the son of an abusive man who threw plates at his mother and made her cringe and then having ed kill his father to protect his mother and then a season later having ed become the kind of man who throws chairs and vases and makes his love interest cringe is, again, not bloody optimal

i want to say again i dont CARE about tv always presenting healthy relationships or tv always giving us aspirational goals. i want messy fucked up dynamics and terrible people making terrible choices, and still, to this day, i fucking love ed teach. i would honestly love to have seen them continue with ed's darkness and bring stede into it and see where they went with that, to have stede kill ned lowe and not just bury his feelings in ed but get off on it, enjoy the violence, and see where that led, but no

and so instead all we end up with is a protagonist who is being set up for a lifetime of abuse from an intimate partner, and a romantic lead who abuses his love interests (and yes. izzy is a love interest, he is set up like one and positioned like one and treated like one), frightens his love interests with his violence, is erratic and most of all inconsistently written. he was so sorry about scaring fang as though he hadn't been deliberately terrifying the whole crew for fuck knows how long? what?!

the whole fandom has spent so long saying, "no no, i know stede bonnet irl was a slave owner, but ofmd is using the names and not any real piracy, it's more disney piracy, you know? so that kind of stuff doesnt exist!" and then they flipped around and went "blackbeard is blackbeard and so he is evil and does all these horrible things" and i dont know how to rationalize the two sides of that because it feels so out of place

i'm getting rambly, this isnt a particularly well constructed thought process, i just feel like we were robbed both of a toxic, violent relationship that could be fun to see explored on tv and a soft and sweet love story between two middle aged men exploring their first loves in one fell swoop and there's no way for s3 to bring either of those things back because they got utterly torpedoed by making ed a horrible person

ugh

[writerslittlelibrary]

We can be your family, part 2

masterlist part 1 part 2

summary: having been in the foster system all your life, you don't expect much when your case worker tells you you're being moved again. what happens when the car suddenly stops in the most expensive neighborhood in all of New York…

pairing: Natasha x teen reader, Maria x teen reader, Blackhill

warnings: mentions of abusive foster families, mention of sexual assault, a deadly amount of mama Natasha fluff

genre: fluff

words: 1257

a/n: part 2 is here! it's really short but I didn't really know what else to write. this is just mainly here to give closure to part one :) 

I'm not really planning on writing a third part, but if the demand is there and anyone has an idea, maybe I will🫶  

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Living with Natasha and Maria was the most fun you had in a while. They made you food three times a day, always asked for your opinion on things, and always made sure you were okay. it was a completely different experience than you were used to, and it couldn't have been better.

Tonight Maria and Natasha scheduled a movie night, and to say you were excited was an understatement. The day before, Natasha had taken you to the store to pick out all sorts of snacks. Maria had made your favorite dinner and you were happy and content as you three watched the movie.

That was, until Natasha got a sudden call.

You paused the movie while she left the room to pick up the phone. You anxiously looked at the closed, knowing no normal person called at this time of night, so it must be your social worker.

Marie noticed your concerned gaze, deciding to distract you with the mission to help her make you three hot chocolates. 

Soon enough, you were laughing in the kitchen, the amount of mini marshmallows in the hot beverage being absolutely unacceptable, all the while Maria just kept putting more in. 

You helped Maria take the hot chocolates to the couches, putting them down on the coffee table. Just then Natasha walked in, a distressed look on her face. You looked at her, but kept your mouth shut. You didn't want to know what was wrong, especially if it meant leaving.

Her and Maria shared a knowing look, before Natasha sat down next to you and laid her hand on your knee, smiling warmly at you.

"Before I say anything, I just need you to know that you're not going anywhere. You are staying right here, with us. I promise,” Natasha said as Maria took a seat next to you as well.

"What's wrong?" you asked Natasha, and she hesitated a moment before responding.

"Alice called, and apparently, a foster parent you stayed with before has been arrested, and they want you to testify against him…” Natasha explained carefully, and you just sat there, avoiding your gaze back to the coffee table.

"Why was he arrested?” you asked when Natasha moved her hand to your back, rubbing soothingly with her thumb. 

It was silent for a moment, before Natasha took a deep breath and spoke. “ He's been arrested for abuse and…” Natasha took another breath, finding herself incapable of just saying. “And sexual assault…” she said quietly, and you closed your eyes with a soft sigh.

You knew him, and of course you knew why he had been arrested. You just needed Natasha to say it. You needed to hear it.

"I'm done with movie night,” you said after a moment of silence, getting up and shrugging Natasha's hand off your back, making your way to your room without looking back. 

Neither Natasha nor Marie tried to stop you, letting you walk to your room, knowing you needed the space. 

You laid in your bed, your stuffed bunny clenched tightly to your chest as numb tears streamed down your face. You wanted to be alone, and yet, it was almost as if you wanted to be alone with Natasha and Maria. You'd never felt like this before. You've never craved the touch and attention of your foster parents before, so why was it suddenly so different this time?

It was like Natasha had heard your thoughts, because soon after, you heard a soft knock on the door. 

You didn't say anything, feeling too numb to even acknowledge the fact someone just knocked, but it hadn't mattered as Natasha came in anyway, a mug of hot chocolate in her hand.

She didn't say anything as she walked towards you, sitting on the bed next to you and setting the mug down on your nightstand. You sat there in silence for a while, until a muffled sob could be heard from your mouth, and Natasha didn't hesitate to crawl up the bed, sitting against the headboard as she coddled you closely to her chest. 

"It's okay. Everything is going to be okay,” she assured you as her hand gently stroked your back, her other hand on your head as she held you tightly.

You were so close to Natasha, you didn't think you had been so close to anyone else before. You didn't think anyone ever even gave you a hug like this. A hug with meaning. A hug filled with love and care. You cried for a while, and Natasha didn't say anything as she just held you. 

After a while, your sobs had turned to sniffles, and you gently raised your head from Natasha's chest. 

She wiped the strands of hair from your face, smiling gently as she cupped your cheeks.

"Everything is going to be okay,” she assured you again, and you could cry purely from the way that she said it. You didn't cry, instead just sitting up against the headboard next to her, you bunny still rightly in your embrace. Natasha had one arm over your shoulders, making you sit against her closely.

You didn't mind. You wanted to be as close to her as possible. 

"Can I have my hot chocolate now?” you asked quietly while your head leaned on Natasha's shoulder. Natasha smiled and reached for the mug, handing it to you, watching as you drank happily. 

"I don't want to testify,” you then said. Natasha hummed but didn't say anything, waiting for you to continue. “I don't wanna see him again…” you added softly, and Natasha grimaced slightly  at the idea of what he could have done to you. 

"We'll think of something. We'll be here for you, I promise,” Natasha said as she gave you a kiss on your head. 

You nodded as you finished your drink, handing Natasha the mug so she could put it back on your nightstand. After some more cuddles, you yawned slightly, and Natasha chuckled as she sat up straighter. 

"You should get some sleep, you're exhausted,” she told you, and you nodded. 

When Natasha went to get up, you hesitated for a moment, looking at your hands and picking at your skin. 

"Can I stay with you tonight?” you asked quietly, almost embarrassed of the question. 

Natasha smiled as she nodded, letting you stand up before she placed her hand on your back. "Of course you can.” 

You went into your bathroom and quickly brushed your teeth, changing into some pajamas before walking back into your room. You grabbed your bunny and went to Natasha, who was waiting in the doorframe. She smiled as she led you to her room, opening it to reveal Maria already in the bed, a book in her hand.

The moment she saw you, she put her book down, opening her arms and inviting you to get in the bed. 

"Come here sweet girl.” You quickly got in, crawling to Maria and letting yourself fall into her warm embrace. She smiled as she hugged you close, much like Natasha had done. 

"I'll be right there,” Natasha said as she went into the bathroom, but you paid her little mind as you enjoyed Maria's warm hug. 

Once Natasha was settled in the bed as well, you lay in between them, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Thank you,” you said quietly as you laid your head on Natasha's chest, falling asleep in no time. 

"We love you, Malysh…” Natasha said as she kissed your forehead, her and Maria falling asleep as well.

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat

[totaly-obsessed]

can you write for mary where readers ment to be away working but shows up at an important game and surprises her

Two-Week Notice

Mary Earps x reader request

-> Domestic fluff, reader can't attend Mary's game but surprises her.

-> Also for this request

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Meeting Mary had been one of the best moments in your life. Not because it was such a nice or cute moment, but because it let Mary into your life – bettering it by a hundred times.

The goalkeeper had just moved into a new Apartment building after joining Manchester United after a season at Wolfsburg, and she had not met anyone in her building. Life had come at the 26-year-old hard and fast.

And just as fast came the first fire alarm at her new place, and while she had been warned that the alarm often malfunctioned, she would not take any chances. After a quick walk through her apartment, checking that every window was closed and that she had grabbed her essentials, she was out the door into the flooding rain.

You however had lived in the building for a while and should have a routine by now when you were rudely ripped out of your well-deserved sleep. But you did in fact not have a routine, panicking every time.

This day was no different.

You were the last one out of the building, as usual – with no jacket. The rain was not something that you took notice of at first, too shocked that there actually was a fire in the building. It was a taller woman, with a very friendly smile who made you aware. “Aren’t you cold, love?”

As if a switch had been flipped, you started to shiver. “Forgot my jacket.” Mary was a goner the second she saw you shivering in the cold rain, the only thing in your hands, being a pillow, while she had her entire training kit.

The footballer didn’t hesitate to extend her jacket around you, effectively pulling you so close to her, that you could feel the heat radiating off of her. “You don’t mind, do ya?”

That was the beginning of something wonderful. Before you started dating, many evenings were spent together as ‘friends’ cooking and watching movies together. You listened to Mary moan about training and her teammates and she would sit and listen to you complain about your annoying co-workers who apparently could not function without you.

And while it was easy to fall in love with Mary, it was even easier to love her.

It took two months until you officially started dating each other. The first move was made by Mary who just sat you down one evening and asked you out on a date. Just like that, with a calm and collected mind, like she was playing one of the biggest games of her life.

A year later you moved into her apartment. It was the bigger one and your lease came to an end. If the two of you were being honest you could have moved in with each other the second you started dating – you could practically count the days you had spent in your own four walls on one hand.

One of Mary’s favorite parts of living together was the joined naps. Most of the time when she had come home from training you were on the couch napping, trying to stay awake until the goalkeeper came home, but you never quite managed – too tired from the early shift you had worked. After changing she would join you on the couch, setting an alarm so that you would not sleep away the day.

Waking you from your slumber was another one of the brunettes’ favorite moments. You were just so cute. Scrunched nose, red cheeks, and adorable whining that it was much too cold. Mary tended to stare at you, tempted to let you sleep longer, before she eventually just kissed you awake, making you giggle – a noise she loved oh so much.

Once it was later at night and time for bed came the playful fighting. Your favorite topic to fight about? The blanket and Mary’s tendency of stealing it, which was bad enough, but also denying it – blaming it on you.

“Mary, stop hogging the blanket!” She was curled up in it like a burrito, leaving you with just a corner of it. “Mary? Who’s Mary? My name is Baby, or Love, or literally anything else.” She had turned over to you lightning fast when you had called her by her government name, clearly offended by it.

“Okay, ‘literally anything else’ move over, I wanna be warm.” A shriek of speechlessness filled the room when a mischievous smile took over her face. Carefully she unwrapped the blanket, and just as you thought that you had gotten what you wanted and could finally head to bed – she pounced.

“Mary, no. No. No! Don’t you dare! Mary!” your incredibly strong girlfriend had jumped up from the bed, picking you up and holding you like a baby, making you unable to move. You thrashed in her arms as well as you could. “I’m mad, Mary! Put me down. Put me dooown!”

Whining took over the room as you struggled, eventually making Mary lose her balance but before she dropped you and herself, she just threw her body forward, taking you with her, toppling onto the bed.

Silence filled the room for a minute, both of you lying on the messy bed. “Are you still mad?” Instead of answering you pressed your ice-cold feet onto Mary`s very warm back. Swears and shrieks left her mouth as she took your feet in her hands and jokingly rolled you over, straddling your lap. “Let’s see where this night is going, ey cheeky?”

---

---

One of your favorite aspects of living together, aside from getting to hang out with the love of your life for the entire day, was a joined wardrobe. In the beginning, both of you had sections in the huge dresser and wardrobe, but over time your section was left untouched and Mary kept missing things.

“Baby, have you seen my blue Nike hoodie?” The goalkeeper wanted to wear it to a nice night in with the Manchester City girls, but could not find it anywhere. “No! Try the bathroom.” Of course, you had seen the hoodie. You were in fact wearing it, but you hoped, that Mary wouldn’t notice.

At first, she did not, searching the entire apartment before flopping down on the couch, burying her face in your chest – when she noticed that the blue of your hoodie was familiar. “Baby, that’s mineee.” She whined at you, trying to take it off you. “Love – please no. It’s so cold without it.”

For ten long minutes Mary tried to get her clothes back when she discovered that you were also wearing her joggers and socks – but it was useless. She caved once she saw your cute pout. With a loud huff, she went back to the bedroom, getting dressed in a green version of the same hoodie. “Baby, we’re matching – look!” You excitedly held out your arm, showing the material to a very unimpressed lioness. “I think I should join you for dinner.”

“Nu-uh! You don’t deserve it – thief!” But once Mary was opening the front door, she turned to you, asking why you were not ready. She clearly didn’t expect you to be actually dressed.

But alas you were and accompanied her to dinner. While she acted all mad about it, you knew that she loved it – she loved seeing you with her teammates who took such great care of you.

The joined closet was a mutually loved concept – you loved wearing Mary’s clothes and she loved seeing you in them.

---

---

As much as you loved being a WAG, and attended every match Mary played, sometimes it just didn’t work out. That was the case for the quarterfinal of the European Championships on home soil, here in England. The girls were playing against Spain, a feisty match, an incredibly important one at that.

And you? Stuck at work.

Why? Because the men in your company decided to punish you, ‘losing’ the form you had handed in as a request to get the day off. So there you were, stuck at work while Mary was preparing for one of the most important games of her life – without you.

Not only did you have to be at work which was already annoying but your colleagues were weaponizing their incompetence more than usual, making you do everything. Just 20 minutes after kick-off you have had enough. So you stood up, entered your boss's office, and handed in your two-week notice that you had filled out for a while now.

And with that, you just left. Ignoring your boss and colleagues who told you that you could not just leave.

Ten minutes later you entered the Falmer stadium, joining Mary’s parents in the family section who immediately ushered you off to the changing rooms. It was eerily silent as you sat down in Mary’s cubby, fidgeting with her second pair of gloves.

Just a few minutes later you could hear a bunch of cleats hitting the floor, a nervous chatter filling the hallway. Leah was the first to enter, eyes wide in surprise when she saw you. But the skipper did not say anything, as did the others who followed.

As usual, Mary was one of the last people, busy talking to Millie about what they needed to change. She nearly just sat down on you, when she finally noticed. “Baby! I thought you couldn’t come!” Kisses were spread all over your face, the brunette being teased by the other lionesses.

Quietly you explained how you had gotten there, your girlfriend happy that you finally quit, when Sarina and the coaching staff joined the girls in the room. Mary had pulled you on her lap, holding you as close to her as she could, trying to calm down and compose her thoughts.

With a good-luck kiss on her lips and gloves she left for the pitch again. Alessia and Ella followed, also wanting a good-luck kiss on their foreheads, and soon the entire squad of the lionesses had gotten a forehead kiss from you – Mary watching with curious eyes.

---

The second half was tense, especially after Esther scored in the 54th minute. But it was a freshly substituted Ella who got the equalizer in the 84th before Georgia shot the game-winning goal in the 96th. But there were still 20 minutes to go, and Mary did brilliantly.

2-1 to England and the crowd erupted in cheers once the final whistle sounded.

It was Millie and Lucy who had made their way over to you, lifting you over the barrier and onto the pitch – just to be tackled by Ella. “Your kiss helped! Ya must be my lucky charm now.” The excited brunette kissed your cheeks over, and over again, giggling in excitement.

“Get your own good-luck charm Tooney!” Mary had finally gotten to you, pulling you out of Ella’s hands and into a bruising kiss that left Ella squealing. “It's like watching my parents make out!” But you were met with whistles and claps on the back by other lionesses, who laughed at Ella’s reaction.

“I don’t think you have a choice to be at the next game, babe. Good luck charm of the whole team.” Your girlfriend’s smile was infectious, making you laugh as well, knowing damn well that you would be there at the semi-final even if hell froze over.